Words, words, words

A debate rages on in the household.  Over Aidan’s first word. 

Evan’s first word was dada.  Sean’s was mama.  Aidan had to be the tie breaker.

Aidan said mama first.  But I didn’t mention it to his father because of the separation and wanting his father to have his own joy of hearing a first word.

But after a week, Aidan had not said his word in front of his father.  After a week, Aidan said dada.  So his father believes that dada is Aidan’s first word, and nothing I say will dissuade him from that belief, which he is vocalizing as gospel truth.

But then there is the baby book.  She who fills out the baby book, records history.

So it begins

5:12

March 29, 2011

Evan asked for a cell phone.

Crap.

Explaining God

I overheard this conversation the other day.

Evan:  And God is great.   He is real! He lives in Heaven.  And He can control EVERYTHING.  He can control the weather.  He can shoot lightning from his hands.

Sean: Count Dooku is real!  He shoots lightning out of his hands!

Evan: Count Dooku is not real!  God is real!

Sean: God shoots lightning out of His hands!  And Count Dooku shoots lightning out of his hands!  They are both REAL!

Evan: No, Sean!  That’s not how it works!  (little wheels in the brain spinning, spinning, spinning)

A quick look in the mirror

A week or so ago, I was hustling the children into a restaurant.  The Husband was holding open the door, which allowed another family to go in front of us.  I recognized the husband as a boy I went to high school with and I recognized the man’s father who was a teacher at my high school.  Then my eyes went straight to the pregnant woman who was walking in the restaurant, holding a hand of a toddler.  A.S.  We had four years of honors English together and more importantly we had four years of drama together. 

And I panicked and looked away, busying myself with the boys.

I don’t know why it would shock me to run into any one from my past here.  It is my hometown after all.  While it’s a million strong, I live in the same part of town I did when I was a teenager.  Hell, I’m even looking at houses in the same neighborhood as my high school.  On top of that, in my huge circle of high school friends, only three of us got the hell out of the state for college.

In California, if it was a college buddy or an old co-worker, I wouldn’t hesitate to shake hands and say, “Holy crap!  What are you doing here?!  What have you been up to?”

But then I looked at the man who was holding the door, the man who fathered my children, the man I was divorcing.  Obviously I would have to introduce him.  What do I say?  “This is my husband.  But not for long.”  “This is my husband.  We’re technically married at this point and will be for a while.”  “This is the father of my child.”  “This is-”  When did life become so f-ing complicated?

Lately, I’ve noticed a lot of my favorite bloggers questioning who they are.  Either it’s because of a monumental birthday, an old picture, a turn of a phrase from a child, or a divorce, but it seems everyone is searching for the people they are or were or will be.

I began to wonder in that moment if I was that girl from high school, the one A.S. knew.  The girl who bought her best friend a dozen blue nail polishes because her best friend confided in her that it wearing blue nail polish made the girl feel strong and confident.  The girl who stopped talking in the out field just long enough to catch the pop-up and throw to get the out at home with one hop, surprising the P.E. coach.  The girl who told off her swim coach and left the team before her last chance at finals.  The girl who took over the shop because no one else would.  The girl who laughed when she saw the letters B I T C H keyed into her Bronco.  The girl who stormed into the boys’ dressing room to get the prop she needed, ignoring the boys in the process.  The girl who wasn’t afraid to be loud, different, smart, and difficult.

F it.  When did life become so complicated?

I handed Aidan over and walked into the restaurant.  One moment please.

“Hey, A!  How’s it going?”

Recap 3/25

1. Teacher conferences today: If Evan can’t do it perfectly the first time, there’s no sense of doing it at all.  Yup, sounds like my boy.

2. I was salivating over 45 minutes to myself to have fate cruelly take it away.  Stupid, fate.

3. There’s always tomorrow.

4. I’m a pretty laid back mom.  Like when I let Aidan crawl around on the ground, dragging an apple core from another kid, and then I allow him to eat it.  In front of the other moms at school  Yup, laid back.

5. Or when I sat him down on the gym floor with 25 kids running around throwing balls and frisbees, and he crawled to his adventurous heart was content without looking back once.  Until he wanted to come back.  Then Aidan turned around, saw me, and beelined it back to me.

6. Sean believes his smile will get his way.  Always.  Except it doesn’t work on me.  He hasn’t figured that out yet.

7. Apparently no one wants to show a rental without it being vacant.  I’m on the list to see four rentals in the next two weeks. 

8. I feel the compulsion to justify my expenses.  It’s sick and annoying.  I need to stop that.

9. There’s a reason I don’t wear cute clothes.  The reason is baby vomit. 

10. Being good at and liking to bake is a blessing and a curse.

Some mornings are like that

The main reason I began going to parenting class was for the free childcare.  In this third session of classes, there is no childcare.  I go because the teacher and the other parents are hilarious.  And every class I really do learn something like sarcasm doesn’t work with kids or how sponge-like kids are or that no matter how old and mature I get my mom will see me as beneath her and I don’t want to raise children that feel that way. 

A couple of weeks back, a mom complained about how her son doesn’t get ready for school in the morning.  Every morning was the same.  Lots of yelling and threats as the child moped, whined, yelled, fought as he was forced to get ready for school.  It was an outright rebellion.  When it was time to go to school, everyone was miserable.

And I thought, “I have the chart!”  Evan loves doing the morning routines chart.  I rock.

The teacher told the mom to stop.  She said don’t even fight it.  Just give a warning of time and let the child make the decision.  When it’s time to go and the child isn’t ready, take the child to school any ways.  It was so simple and crazy that it might just work.

The next morning, I had full open rebellion.  No one cared about the chart.  Everyone wanted to play instead.  It was frustrating.

I took the teacher’s advice.  I was skeptical.  Evan loved to dress differently.  He had already gone to school several times in his pajamas for fun.  But I did the method, trusting it would work.  I gave warnings of the time and left it at that. The boys continued to play with their toys.  I got Aidan dressed.  I got dressed and ready for the day.  I gave a five-minute cushion between saying we needed to leave and actually leaving.  When I told the boys it was time to go, Evan scampered into his clothes.  Sean begged me for help.    Everyone was ready on time. 

It was amazing and annoying.  Why couldn’t they just get that life would be so much easier if they got dressed and then played?  But I remember Wally explaining to me about how the shoe story and how half the people put away their shoes right away and half don’t.  The ones who do think it’ll save time later when they look for their shoes.  The ones who don’t think it’ll save time at that moment because they aren’t wasting it putting away their shoes.  Basically, we look at the world differently.

Every day, I did the same trick.  And it worked.  Until today.

Instead of jumping up and getting dressed at the 10-minutes-to-go call, the boys jumped into Sean’s bed and hid under the covers.  Crap.  The 5-minute call found them the same way.  Crap.  I packed up clothes and shoes and threw them into the car.  I told them it was time to go, and they stayed giggling under the covers.  Crap.  Crap.  Crap.  I took a deep breath and put Aidan in the car, strapping him into his seat.  I walked into the boys’ room, pulled off the covers, grabbed their hands, and marched them to the car.

Sean: I’m going to school naked!!!!

Crap.

Sean was naked except for a sock.  Evan was in his shirt and socks from the day before and a pull up.  Awesome. 

I strapped them in and drove to school in silence, wondering if I was too stubborn for my own good, if there was an exit strategy that wouldn’t undermine my authority, if those classes were full of sh*t.   By the time I parked at school, I had no answers.  I got out of the car, shut the door, and sat on the hood of my SUV.  I had made fantastic time, so the other cars were just starting to trickle into the parking lot.  I just thought.

Comedy is how my family deals with situations.  So I messaged an SOS to my adopted parenting sponsor.  I formulated a text to a friend, but before I could type it, one of my favorite moms asked what I was doing.  I explained the situation, giving a brief glance to the windshield.

The Mom: Ah, well, tell Evan that KJ wants to play with him.  And she was excited to see his car was already here.

Then she laughed.  And I laughed.  I opened the door to the car.

Evan: Mommy!  We need to go home so I can get dressed!

Me: It’s too late, buddy.  We leave now, we’ll be late for school.

Evan: But Mommy!

I went to the back of the truck and pulled out Aidan’s stroller.  I got Aidan out and strapped him into his stroller with a few toys.  I grabbed the bag of clothes.

Me: Get out, Evan.

Evan: But MOMMMY!  I’m NOT DRESSED!

Me: Well, that’s the choice you made when you decided to play instead of dressing.  Get out and stand by the stroller.  (Which I had parked on the sidewalk in front of the SUV and by a bench.)

I got Sean out of the car and led him to the bench.  I figured I better get Sean in underwear before my conservative friend showed up.  Sean was giddy.  Note to self: This doesn’t work on Sean.  Evan was crouched beside the stroller.  I helped the boys into their underwear.  Then I handed them clothes.  They dressed quickly.  Evan ran off as soon as he was dressed.

Perhaps, I handled it well after all.  Though, maybe I should have taken them into the bathroom to get dressed, but it was early so not many people were there and they would have seen more people walking to the bathroom than a quick dress on the sidewalk.  And I thought nothing of the whole thing, since I have on occasion dressed in public.  (Not in front of a crowd.  Jesus.  And I had on underwear.) 

Hopefully they learned their lesson.  I did.

Crap.  Evan, where’s your lunchbox?  Crap.

The empire

Note: I wrote yesterday.  I swear.  But WordPress had some “issues.”  And it didn’t post.  And it didn’t save.  And then I just bit my thumb at the whole thing and thought “Fine.  Be that way.  I’ll post it tomorrow, stupid WordPress.” 

It was cold, windy with the smell of rain in the air.  Evan was whining about the cold and the boredom of being stuck in left field.  I ignored him.  I couldn’t ignore a very upset Aidan, who, like his mama, hated the cold.

We signed Evan up for t-ball because he was really excited about it in the fall.  He didn’t like practicing with us, but he loved going to practice with his teammates.  Since Papi and The Friendly Giant knew little boys preferred to hit and run over throwing and catching, Evan liked practicing with them.

I only got to see 2/3 of the game because Aidan demanded to get out of the cold, and before leaving for the car, I was only able to see a fraction of the game.  So Evan was excited to tell me all about it.

Evan: MOMMY!  Did you see me be the empire?

Me: Excuse me?

Evan: I was the empire!  I always wanted to be the empire!

Me: Oh. You want to be the umpire.

Evan: Yes, the empire.

Me: Sweetheart, you were the catcher.  Not the umpire.

Evan: NO!  I was the empire.  I had a mask and everything.

Rather than argue that point until I was blue in the face, I smiled and moved on.

Confidences

Me: . . . And if he leaves before I get back, I’m not sure when we’ll trade cars.  I NEED the SUV back before tomorrow morning.

I was talking to myself.  It also happens that my cousin’s daughter, our babysitter, was in the room as well.

She blinked at me.

Beth: I’m confused.

What?

Oh.

Crap.

She didn’t know.

Me: The Husband and I are separated.

Beth: Forever?

Me: Yes.

She was up from the table, arms around me.

Beth: Oh, Aunt Fae.  I’m so sorry.

I hugged her back. 

She pulled away to look at me.

Beth: If the boys ever need to talk to someone, they can talk to me.  My parents divorced when I was five.  Remember?

I did.  I looked at her.  My heart broke. 

Beth: And they WILL think it is their fault.

A chill ran through my body.  I wanted to grab The Husband and drag him home and hiss, “Look at her.  See her eyes.  They are too sad and too old for someone her age.  Listen to her voice.  It has depths of sorrow that shouldn’t be in a fifteen-year-old’s voice.  Her parents did that to her.  Her father did that to her.  And we have to do everything we can not to do that to our boys.  We must sacrifice all that we are to keep that from happening to our boys.  It does not matter how we feel towards each other, the wounds we’ve inflicted, the bitterness that we hold.  The boys are only what matter.”

Beth: And Aunt Fae, if you need to talk to someone, you can talk to me.

Me: Thank you, Beth.  You know you can always talk to me about anything.  You can trust me.

She smiled.  In her world, grown-ups were not to be trusted. She hung her heart on her mother and her two good uncles.  But those men had moved away.  Here, with me, she whispered how much she hated her stepmom but her mother told her being the stepmom was hard.  She confided that at sixteen in a few months she won’t have to see her father if she didn’t want to.  She was excited about turning sixteen.  She laughed when she told me her father failed to show up to court to get custody and that only by her mother’s grace did she have to go to her father’s house.

Each word was a barb to my heart. 

When she left, after the babysitting gig was up, she hugged me.

Beth: Can I tell my mom?  She probably has the name of the psychologist I went to.  She was really good.  And Aunt Fae, I can always watch the boys if you need to work.  I’ll watch them for free.

Me: Thank you.  We’ll see what will happen.  And I would love the name of your therapist. 

Then Beth called me by my family nickname, the one all my cousins call me, and told me something that froze my soul.

I hugged her again and thanked her for the warning. 

I shut the door, remembering the first time I saw her, held her.  I had snatched her from her mother.  I sat down in the easy chair, staring into Beth’s eyes.  They were light grey with a circle of dark grey around the iris.  Those eyes were the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, and they were so different from any other newborn’s.  Someone asked me to look up, and a picture was snapped as I beamed up at the camera.  It was a picture I taped to my dorm room wall every year.  I wondered where that picture was.

Recap 3/18

1. Today Evan is dressed like a witch, head to toe, complete with the hat.

2. Sean has dragged himself around the house, saying “Brains.  Brains.  Brains.”

3. Aidan is a vampire.  He bites.  Then he smiles.

4. So what does that make me?

5. I really should get the oil change in the SUV, but I don’t want to go to grown-up time out with the boys. 

6. Last weekend, I had two afternoons off from parenting.  And it was delightful.

7. Right now, I’m debating whether I should check out on the crying/screaming coming from the shut door of the boy’s room, where they are supposed to be “resting.”

8. We have been without satellite for a week.  I could really use that big yard now.

9. After an hour-long debate, I realized I cannot go back to a plain, regular cell phone, now that I have a cell phone.  I.  Cannot.  Do.  It.

10. I don’t miss sleep much, when I’m staying up for the right reason.

Bald

I have hinted before that my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer last November.  It has really shaken things up here.  Not only did it make a crappy year even crappier (stupid 2010), it has changed how often we see my parents as well as altered my babysitting help. It has darkened my mortality, but it has brought out the optimism and fighting nature of my mom.  Granted, it helped that she realized she needed back on antidepressants.  And yes, my dad and brother are grateful.

But with cancer-fighting comes chemo.  And with chemo comes the dramatic loss of hair.  As my mom struggled with the thought of being bald, my dad made the decision to finally shave his head, something my mom had wanted him to do for years.  It was a huge thing for my dad because he’s been bald for years, and the thought of loosing ALL of his hair nearly killed him.  Since my dad was doing it, my baby brother volunteered.  That was a huge deal because his widow’s peak gets more noticable by the month, and he prefers to hide it.

Since my dad and baby brother were shaving their heads, my mom asked me what I was planning to do.  For five agonizing minutes I thought.  “Mom.  (deep breath)  (another deep breath)  What about the Little Brother?”  Yeah, I couldn’t do it.  (And apparently, neither could he.  Wuss.)

But since my mom, my dad, the most favorite uncle – The Friendly Giant- were shaving their heads, Evan decided to do the same.  What could we say?  Sure, he doesn’t know exactly why everyone is doing it.  It’s not the same sacrifice.  But he did in solidarity too.

So we took him to get his head shaved.

After two passes with the razor, Evan turned to me and said, “Mommy, I’m done now.”

Um, no.

With just one more pass to go on the razor, Evan turned to me, “I like it like this.  Can we stop now?”

Um, hell, no.

When it was all shaved off, Evan looked at himself in the mirror, giggled, and whirled around the barber shop like the tornado he is.  He loved it.  We loved it.  My mom cried when she saw it.  Some of the moms at school cried when they saw it.

The next day, Evan jumped around the house in the middle of some daydream.  He looked up and called, “HEY, MOMMY!  You need to buy me a wig now that I’m bald!”

Um, no.

I'm thankful that I didn't allow his head to get flat.