Aren’t you starting a little young?

Last year, Evan had a little girlfriend KJ.  She adored Evan talking about him all the time.  Evan adored her because she was energetic and loved playing tag.  KJ’s mom adored Evan because he was a sweet, bright kid.  I adored KJ because she was a whirlwind and a tomboy.  KJ’s dad was not in an adoring mood.  KJ’s attention has never wavered.  Evan’s has.

Evan: Daddy!  I have two girlfriends!

The Husband: From your lips to God’s ears, son.

I was less than amused at that comment, but we’re talking kindergareteners here.  How much trouble could they get into?

A couple of days ago I had to gather up the boys right after school to go pay for Evan’s milk card. 

Evan: K!  I have to go to the office!  We’ll be right back!

K came running in her bohemian outfit and boots.

K: That’s ok!  I’ll wait!

Then she kissed him on his cheek.

Evan pretended to faint.

K giggled and ran off.

Evan got back to his feet and beamed.

I cocked an eyebrow.

Me: My boy, you are melodramatic.

Evan: I’m not melodramatic!  I’m dramatic!

Oh, kid, I’m going to have to beat in gentlemanly behavior into you or you are going to lose your favorite appendage sooner rather than later.

Recap 2/25

1. Holy crap!  It’s the end of February.

2. The best thing about a baby crawling is seeing that face poke around the corner and beam at you.

3. The worst thing about a baby crawling is he gets into Ev.Er.Y.Thing.  As in: Who left out the Lego head?  Who’s ninja is this?  Pick up that little tiny pirate compass before your brother eats it.  Who dropped coins and didn’t pick them up?!  (Oh, wait.  I think that was me.)

4. Nothing like a bleeding cut on your nose to remind you to cut a baby’s fingernails.

5. Some moms, when they don’t get out and away from the children enough, giggle like school girls at the heady feeling of freedom and being in a bar.  Which brings down the cool factor.  At least it became equal when the other two moms had their third drinks

6. I’m starting to suspect Evan is possessed.  I need a couple of gallons of holy water.

7. Something in a kid’s brain hears “Don’t touch” as “Please touch.”  Don’t touch the cookies.  Don’t touch that rock.  Don’t touch that cactus.  Don’t touch that.  Don’t touch my bottom.

8. Sean only needs to learn three more letters to finish off the alphabet.  As long as he can say it before pre-kinder, I’m still good, right?

9. I’ve been so busy that not only did I didn’t read my usual blogs this week, I’ve learned the book that I checked out and haven’t read in two weeks is a week overdue, and yes, they did send me a reminder notice to my email a week ago, which I didn’t find until last night.

10. I’m becoming quite impressed with my own ability to fake optimism and mornings.

Surely, he would stop

There was the post about Evan becoming a budding Casanova.  It was pushed aside for . . .

There was the post of Evan shaving his head.  It was pushed aside for . . .

There was the post where I nearly preformed an exorcism on Evan this morning.  It was pushed aside for . . .

I was outside holding Aidan, talking with my 80 year-old, retired airforce officer neighbor, when Sean came prancing out of the house, down the drive-way in socks and his Ghostbuster t-shirt that he had pulled his arms inside the shirt.

Me: Sean.  Go inside and put on your pants.

Sean: I don’t know where they are!  They’re lost!  Forever!

Sigh.

The neighbor (chuckling): You must have to do a million things a minute, Fae.

Me: Yes.  Well, I’ve got to get Him inside.  Have a good afternoon.

The neighbor: You too, dear.

I walked down the driveway to where Sean was dancing.  I took his hand and led him up the drive way.

Me: Rules are rules, dude.  You are direct violation of Penis Rule #3.  No running outside nude.

Sean: I thought that was Rule #2.

Me: No, that is keep your hands to yourself and don’t touch other people’s privates.  (Which is violated often in this household.)

I walked into the house, released Sean, placed Aidan down with some toys, went and found some new underwear for Sean.  I returned to the room, just in time to see Sean sprinting out the door to the garage.  I dropped the underwear and strolled after Sean because surely he’ll stop at the end of the driveway. 

I walk out of the garage to see Sean sprinting down the street.

I couldn’t call out.  I couldn’t yell his name.  I couldn’t command him to stop, to come back.  I couldn’t use The Voice.

Because if I opened my mouth, I would have doubled over in laughter. 

As it was, little bits of laughter were escaping my tightly closed lips.  I started to walk because I couldn’t run with laughter bubbling inside me.

Of course when he was three houses down, I realized I had to kick it into high gear.  I ran at full speed after the little streaker.  I wondered when was the last time I ran at full speed and realized it was nice to stretch my muscles.  Then I passed Sean, turned around, scooped him up, threw him over my shoulder.  I walked home.

The neighbor: (laughing) Fae, my dear, I think the young man is an exhibitionist.

Me: Unfortunately, all my boys are.

At least it makes life more entertaining.

Role Assignments

Me: Evan, I need Captain Recycle.

Evan: Ok, Mommy!  Hey!  It’s like you’re Jabba the Hut, and I’m a bounty hunter, and you have a job for me.

Me: You know, I prefer not to be Jabba the Hut.

Evan: Hmmmm.  Ok, you can be Princess Leia, and I’ll be R2-D2!

Me: Better.

***

Sean:  Mommy!  Mommy!  I’m Anakin Skywalker!  Evan is Obi-Wan Kenobi!  You’re Princess Leia!

Me: And who is Aidan?  And Daddy?

Sean: Daddy is Mace Windu!  And Aidan is Yoda!

***

Some days it’s just easier to pick your favorite.

Rogation

To my dearest Aidan,

Today you are weaned.  At 10 months.  And I am sorry. 

Since the day you turned two months, I have felt torn, wanting to hold every moment in my heart, as you will most likely be my last baby, and wanting you to grow up so that I can have my body back.  It is not you that did this, not the want to finish with babies.  It was the implosion that shook our family, that tore a hole in my soul, leaving me bleeding and vulnerable.  When my flight-or-fight system is kicked, I fight.  I cannot fight with a baby strapped to my back.  I cannot protect you and your brothers from the dangers threatening your world if I cannot hold a weapon.  Every day I wanted to enjoy your babyhood.  Every day I prayed for you to get bigger soon.  Every day I felt guilty not enjoying these precious moments, dripping through my fingers, snatches of time I will never get back.

Like a prophetess surrounded by statues and chanting, I could see the dark path twisting in the smoke of incense.  But you were my calling.  Even after months of praying, meditating, debating, spreading out cards and stones, realizing that it was complete foolishness, I had to have you.  You were not the answer to a baby-desire, a girl-child, a completion of a set goal.  As I couldn’t wake in the morning without breathing, eating, or writing, I couldn’t walk the earth without you.  I held my guilt up at the temple of the guilt dump for the stone I was about to throw into the lake of my life and the ripples that would affect the surface and the bottom always forever changed because of that stone.  I trusted. I took the step.  I conceived you.

You are what saved me from hating that year, hating my life, cursing my mistakes.  You are the sun burning off the physical pain of your birth, the soul pain of betrayal, the fear of loss, the agony of lies.  You are my calling in the flesh.  When I watch you battle your way on hands and knees unstoppable, when I listen to your pure breath-catching laughter, when I feel your soft skin as you snuggle close, I know you were what was missing.

Love,

Your Mama

Recap 2/18

1. Best Valentine’s Gift Ever: A Star Wars gun, aka a stick, that Sean insisted I needed.

2. I’m still trying to figure out if cutting Evan’s sandwich into hearts was incredibly cute or a sign I’m incredibly bored.

3. Breaking a bad habit is f-ing hard.

4.  When stuck for a post, move.

5. In response to a friend’s question: No, I actually haven’t started packing at all.

6.  I thrive under pressure, and apparently having three kids, a separation, a mother on chemo, and a rental company that doesn’t return calls is not enough pressure.

7. Some days I’m pretty sure I’m a few crayons short of a box.

8.  Aidan is starting to take a few steps along the furniture; I think I may have to start gently pushing him over.

9. I cannot go anywhere without hearing the “Imperial March.”  Probably because Sean hums it constantly.  At least it’s drowning the ABBA in my head; don’t ask me how that got in there.  It just joins the other crazy junk in there.

10.

Finally!

Problems of being a big brother

I was making dinner when I heard this.

Sean: Aidan, no!  Those are my toys!  You can’t have them!  No, Aidan!  No, Aidan!  Aidan, those are MY toys!  Aidan, stop that!  Aidan!  Aidan!  Are you listening?!  No, Aidan!

Aidan was crawling all over Sean to get to the Star Wars figures.  Sometimes having a little brother is tough.  I should know.  I had two.

A few degrees to the left

I’m a night owl.  It’s just part of who I am.  As the sun sets, I can feel the excitement build throughout my body, and I get my second wind the moment night descends.  It doesn’t matter how tired I was or how little sleep I got; I’m reborn at night.  Carpe noctem. 

Which brings me to the belief that there is a God, and She has a wicked sense of humor.

I spent two years as a cashier at Home Depot.  (It’s amazing what doors open with a liberal arts degree.)  I wasn’t just A cashier; I was an OPENING cashier.  I had to punch in with eyes open, apron on at 6am, which meant I was rolling out of bed at 5am.  Remember, night person?  Not a good mix.  My supervisor and I came to a compromise.  I had to fake friendliness, but I didn’t have to be perky.  Because they did NOT pay me enough to be perky.  I had to adjust my attitude slightly.  I looked for something to smile about in the early mornings, maybe seeing the sunrise, knowing I would be home two hours before everyone else, the smell of mist and flowers first thing in the morning.  Besides I have the uncanny ability to fall asleep and wake up in 14 minutes.

Then motherhood came, and I left the job because I didn’t want to pay for the pleasure of working as a cashier.  (Let me allude to The Office.  If I work any harder, it would be a career, and then I would have to kill myself.)  Then God’s sick sense of humor struck.  I birthed morning people.  And it got worse.  Do you know what’s worse than living off of too little sleep?  Living off broken sleep.  Evan was a horrible sleeper from day one, AND he got up at the crack of dawn.  I was ready to shoot myself for the chance to stay in a hospital and sleep.  Oh, and I got bitter because The Husband got to sleep in, even though he did not get up in the middle of the night to soothe a crying baby.  I’m not a fast learner; it took me a while to realize being grumpy and bitter kind of sucks.  Really sucks.  So I decided to fake it.  I looked for reasons to be happy that I was up with the sun, a laugh from Evan, a new discovery, a new phrase.  Instead of being all bitter that The Husband slept, I started to feel sorry for him.  Look at what he was missing. 

Which brings me to today.  This morning.  Writing while I should be getting ready and getting the boys ready, I had to turn my view a few degrees to the left.  As a night person, I have been finding a reason to stay up late.  Probably much too late, but then I find sleep over-rated.  Then you add the three morning people who rise before the sun and need to be fed, dressed, and commanded to get moving.  I can handle this and fake alert happiness.  I’m an awesome actress.  But today I had two boys in my bed at 5am, discussing how they want to sleep at a friend’s house.  (The house has Evan’s girlfriend and Sean’s best friend.  You can see the draw.)  After a half hour of trying to sleep because it’s FIVE IN THE MORNING (God, I thought they got rid of that time.)  I sent them back to their own beds.  And then God’s sick sense of humor kicked in because two minutes later, Aidan was up and crying.  For the love of God!  I popped in a binky, laid him down, and basically hit the snooze button for another half hour.   I was up and grumpy.  I made breakfast, and then I sent a rant to my best friend.  Then as I stood over the breakfast proceedings, I realized I could be in a foul mood or not. 

And I choose . . . not.

Now as for those afternoons.  They’re a different story.  I can’t fake those.  I’m all for a siesta culture.

Love is . . .

Over the weekend.

Evan: Mommy!  Our Bible verse this month is “Love is patient.  Love is kind.”

Me: “It does not boast.  It is not proud . . . “  (I think you get the idea without me quoting the whole thing.  It’s always helpful to have a few biblical verses memorized in case of exorcisms.  And with the way Evan is acting lately, I might need one, but that is a different post.)

Evan: WOW!  Mommy!  That was neat!

Me: It’s important to know what love is, darling.

It’s kind of neat to hear your kid quote the Bible.  Neat, and slightly weird.

Yesterday.

Evan: Mrs. S told us the whole thing you said!  “Love is patient.”

Me: Good.  Love is all kinds of things.

Evan: Like hugs and kisses.

Me: Yes.

Sean: Like “I love you Mommy.”

Me: Yes.

Evan: Like doing nice things.

Me: Yes.

Sean: Like Count Dooku and Anakin Skywalker.

Me: Um.

Evan: Like The New Weapon!

Sean: Like General Grievous!

May day.  May day.

Evan: Like blood and guts!

Sean: Like brains!

Yup.  Lost total control over this discussion.

Evan: Like worms and mud!

Sean: Like-

And I left the room.  I’m starting to suspect that Y chromosome is a more powerful than I gave it credit for.

Scrapped

The post meant for today was scrapped for two reasons.  First, it was funnier in my head than on “paper.”  Second, an important issue was raised right after school.

Parents, there are a few things we need to agree on across the board.

1. Celebrating birthdays at school should include plates, napkins, cups, and a snack.  No toys, no candy, no ice cream, and for the love of God, no pizza.  Let’s not get all competitive with each other.

2. Let’s all agree on the amount teeth are worth. I don’t like explaining to my son why so-and-so got 10 bucks and he got one.  That first tooth falls out in kindergarten.  They’re happy with a stick of gum; let’s not go overboard.

3.  For the love of all that is holy, please, PLEASE, do not give out Pixy Stixs out to children.  There’s a reason it is nicknamed Kiddie Crack.  I have seen what the power of pure sugar and artificial flavoring and coloring does to a child.  I’ve been that child.  It is NOT GOOD.  If you want your child hopped up and climbing the walls, fine; please leave my child alone.

Thank you.