Another crappy first

I had a first the other day.  And not a happy first like baby’s first tooth or the first time you saw a really great movie or a first kiss.  No, an unhappy one.  Like the first time you got a zit.  Or the first time you were pulled over.  Or the first time I washed my hands with bleach.  Like I did the other day.  Why?  A funny story, that.

In the midst of making dinner, in the midst of Aidan’s witching hour when he NEEDS to be held NOW, in the midst of sending Evan to time out for wailing on Sean (though surprisingly Sean was fine), Evan went to the bathroom.  As he pulled off the toilet paper, the roll fell of the spindle and into the toilet.  The toilet with crap in it. 

So I heard this:

MMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Crap.

I came running to find Evan standing there with his pants and underwear around his ankles.

Crap.

And then I looked in the toilet.

Crap.

For a moment, I reflected on the fact that I had lost my keys down a toilet a year and half ago, and if those keys could be flushed down a toilet, then surely this plastic tube could be too.  But the toilet that swallowed my tasty keys was a public restroom with a powerful, face-sucking flush.  This was a rental.

Crap.

I grabbed the ever so small sliver sticking out of the water.  I let it drip.  I wrapped it in a tissue and ran for my bathroom, where I dropped in the sink.  I proceeded to scrub my hands.  Once.  Twice.  Thrice.  Four time.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  And where’s the bleach?

And then I washed my hands with bleach.  And then two more times with soap and water.  I let the spindle soak in bleach and water.  Ewwww.

And dinner – Crap.

Recap 1/28

1. I think I have enough material to do a Star Wars influenced post.

2. Remember when you made promises about raising your kids before you even had them?  Yeah, I broke a lot of them too.

3. I found a tiny screw; I’m not throwing out because I’m sure I’ll find what it goes to the next day.

4. Aidan is up to eight teeth.  It might be time to wean.

5. Evan has slept the last two nights in his bed and had a dry day.  We might be turning the corner.

6. Sean is really getting that whole cuter-than-everyone-else thing going.  I may be in trouble.

7. You have to wipe the smile off your face if your going to use The Voice.  For some reason, they don’t respond to a command if you’re smiling.  Go figure.

8. I have a Girl Scout cookie source.

9. I think I finally discovered my irrational fear of early motherhood.  Which I think means I’m getting sane again.

10. I think I’m starting to be more me than I have in a long time.  But I don’t want to jinx it.

Mama’s Boy

It’s always said with a sneer.  No boy wants to be called that.  It’s worse than being told “you throw like a girl.”  (And for the record, I grew up throwing just as hard, fast, and far as my brothers.)  But it’s something boys fear, fathers fear, and mothers fear.  As though a mother’s love is going to twist a boy’s budding manhood.

Lately I’ve been reading a lot of books about raising boys.  They all seem to agree; a child cannot get enough love.  Many of the books talked about the importance of the mother-son bond because the mother is the one who usually teaches empathy and emotions.  Imagine what the world would be like if more people were in touch with their emotions and could empathize with other people.

Which leads me to Sean.  He’s my cuddler, my love-bug.  He tells me he loves me all the time.  I want to save up those words because I know one day the world will tell him he shouldn’t tell me so often, if at all.  And as I hug and kiss him, I know the world will tell him he doesn’t need my love.

I remember covering him with kisses as a baby, thinking, “These are going to have to last you until you find a mate, and they are going to have to be strong enough to carry you through heartache and loneliness, until you find home again.”

Because in the end, we are the model to teach our children to find a partner.  We are the home they will try to recreate.  We are the love that will guide them until they are no longer alone.

Empathy

It must be hard being younger than almost all your playmates.  After school every day, Sean joins the kindergarteners in their games.  He’s younger, smaller, and still talks with a toddler accent.  But none of this stops him from hiding, running, chasing, light saber fighting.

The other day Sean came crying to me.  I got down on one knee, balancing Aidan on the other and held my arm out for a hug.

Me: What’s wrong, Seanny?

Sean: M-m-my friendssssssss w-w-w-won’t playwithme!

Me: I’m so sorry, sweetheart.  Let’s think of something else to play.

Sean: N-n-n-no!  I w-w-w-want tobeaJedi!

I gave him another hug and tried to think of something to say.  When S walked out of the classroom, he was being released to his dad.  He came walking over to Sean and I.

S: Sean.  What’s wrong?

Sean: M-m-my friendssssss w-w-w-won’t playwithme!

S: (patting Sean on the arm) I have to go with my dad right now, but tomorrow we’ll play Jedis, ok?  Will you play Jedis with me, Sean?

Sean: (sniffle, wipe away tears and {ewwww} snot)  OK!  That’ll be great!

S: So tomorrow we’ll play Jedi’s!  Bye, Sean.  Bye, Evan’s Mom!

S ran to his dad; Sean ran to play by himself; I was surprised at the empathy five-year-old boys had. 

Yesterday as my sons tried to hitch a ride with S and his family (because our car and our house are not nearly as fun), I told S’s mom about the incident.  We awwed together, and then I extracted my boys from her car.  As they drove away, S rolled down his window.

S: SEAN!  I LOVE YOU!  I WANT YOU TO BE MY BROTHER!

Sean: OK!!!!

Isn’t that just like a middle kid?  Already creating his own family.

The center of attention

As I stood bouncing Aidan on my hip, talking to the other moms, Evan was let out of the class.  One of the last because he didn’t hear his name called.  Twice.  He pulled out of his backpack a plastic tube and held it aloft, like Excalibur.

Evan: WHO WANTS TO PLAY WITH MY HEX BUG?!!!!!

Immidiately 16 five-year-olds and two three-year-olds are swarming around Evan, yelling, “ME, ME, ME!”

Then off Evan raced with the pack behind him.  Off went my merry wanderer of the day to lead them all on a merry chase over hill, over dale, thorough brush, thorough brier, over park, over pale, thorough flood, thorough fire.

Well, at least, they’re getting all that energy out.

I didn’t order a wake up call

I’m giddy and slightly delusional from lack of sleep.  I won’t crash until the afternoon, which I figured that I might as well write while Sean is being educated by Sesame Street.  Maybe they can teach him the ABCs, since I’m having little success.

My dreams were invaded by baby talk.  I didn’t wake up right away.  Lately my dreams are all about being domesticated.  The nightmares are about cleaning up toys.  So when it finally penetrated my mind that the noise wasn’t part of the dream, I sat up.

To find Aidan sitting in his crib, talking to me.

Leaving this thought process: What?  What time is it?  It’s f-ing a quarter to five!  Oh no!  Over my dead body!  Come here.  Snuggle with Mommy because you WILL go back to sleep.  I need to drop the crib tomorrow- I mean today.  Later today I need to drop the crib mattress.  Don’t grab Mommy’s nose; grab the bear.  What?  What is that noise of padded feet?  Oh no!  Evan!  Damnit.  Don’t crawl on your brother.  Aidan ignore your brother.  Go to sleep!  Tomorrow I’m calling the rental company about a bigger house.  I mean today.  Was it worth staying up incredibly late last night?  Ssssshhh.  Yes, it was.  Stupid intern-

Luckily everyone slept in, and I woke twenty minutes before they awoke, so I got going early, and we were able to get to school on time with minimal use of The Voice.

Only to have Evan gleefully announce he left his lunch box at home.

Errrrrrr.

Recap 1/21

1. The boys find it hilarious to tell me they hate me.  Hil-arious. 

2. Is it any wonder why Aidan is my favorite?

3. Contrary to popular belief in my household, I do NOT like to yell in the mornings.

4. They are FINALLY selling caffeinated hot chocolate at my grocery store.  I’m in love.

5. Aidan and Sean are tag-teaming nap times.  I don’t get a moment to myself until after bedtime.

6. Evan went his first day without accidents yesterday!

7. Due to complications, my mom won’t be able to start chemo until next week.  Ugh.

8. I love having a babysitter.  It’s nice to go out and be a grown-up once in a while.

9. When I tripped and rolled down my drive-way (which is like a 45 degree angle), I probably blew my whole sexy look, but it must have been hilarious to watch.  To his credit, The Husband didn’t laugh and was very concerned.

10. Road rashes suck.

Retraction

I’m learning that life has a way of taking your beliefs and shoving them into your nose until you admit that you’re a pompous ass.  Back when I started this blog, I said I would force my boys to take responsibility if they knocked up a girl.  A commenter asked how could I do that if they did everything possible and it was THE Girl who wanted a baby.  Too bad, I said, life sucks.

The other day my brother told me how his friend got his ex-girlfriend was knocked up.  The friend had used protection.  They broke up days afterwards.  He didn’t call her.  Then several months later she tells him that she’s knocked up and it’s his.  He’s shocked.  He’s unsure if it’s even his.  She surprised he’s not over the moon about it and that he doesn’t come racing back to her.  He’s not ready to be a father, that’s why he used protection, and he didn’t want to start a family with a woman that he realized wasn’t a good mate.  Not to mention, the girlfriend threatens to sue him for money, then talks about how he should bond with the child, and then yells that he’ll never see the kid.  That’s just the way to start a parent relationship.  Ugh.

So now, I’ve learned there are ALWAYS two sides of a story.  And for every logical stance, there’s another logical stance from the other end.  It’s easy to throw stones when we’re not in the situation. 

So I retract.  If one of my boys gets into a pregnancy situation, I’ll be more understanding and wait to hear all the facts before I murder him.  Ok, kidding.  Kidding.  I’ll hear all the facts and then help any way I can.  At least I can be grateful I learned this lesson without it being one of my sons.

Getting by

Things that are barely making it through the third child:

The stroller (Back wheel keeps falling off its axil)

The music chair (Sometimes makes a pitch squeal or fuzzy noise or no sound at all)

Nursing bras (Wires that need to be reinserted and elastic stretching out)

My time and therefore my sanity (Feed Aidan, hustle everyone to get dressed, drop off Evan, socialize, put Aidan to nap, make lunch, feed baby, put Sean to nap, put Aidan to nap, wake up Aidan to pick up Evan, socialize, feed Aidan, make dinner, feed family, family time, feed Aidan, put Aidan to bed, put boys to bed, clean house.  Does anyone see when I can get errands done?  Much less read blogs or jus relax?  Me neither.)

Just my luck

The day Aidan sleeps in (YEA!) is the day I had scheduled for a portrait session a half hour after his new nap time.  So no morning nap before pictures.  Which meant I’m packing up the kids to get their group picture done on Saturday for take two.  Boys, 5, 3, and 9 months, are very hard to photograph.  Doh.