Responsibilities. What’s that?

I take possession of the new rental.  Tomorrow.  If I get all my confirmations of utilities changes in writing by then.  Our thirty days for this rental are up on the 17th.  That’s plenty of time to move everything.  Right?  In two weeks?

That’s the belief I’m going with.  Except.  I have three boys, who need attention, less they decided to color the house or themselves.  Then I still have to do all the regular chores and errands. I’m the only one packing, which isn’t unusual, but this time there are no packers at the tail-end.  Then next weekend may be Family Fun Weekend instead of Family Fun Day.  Then the weekend after that, I’m out of town. 

-Wait.  How many days do I have again?

Well, at least we have less stuff!  And I gave away a bunch of baby stuff.  (Thanks, Kat.  I love you.  Do you need bottles or spoons?)  And I gave away a couple of bags of clothes.  And I lugged more than a dozen books to the used book store.  Then there’s the yard sale my brother is throwing in a few weeks.  And I really have to figure out what to do with my ewaste.  See?  Less stuff.

But still, I should be packing.  Or switching over the rest of the utilities.  Or figuring out a new organizational system.  Or cleaning.  Or looking for a TV stand online.  Or (Have I had lunch yet?) making lunch.

So if my posts are short (because I still need to write or I will die), it’s because I should be packing but needed a reason to laugh at the barely contained chaos.  If I don’t comment as I often do on my blog or others, it’s because I’m packing when I rather reading brilliant writing by my favorite bloggers.

With a quick glance behind me, I realized I really should be packing.  I’m so screwed.

Recap 5/27

1. Don’t you hate when you have this awesome blog post in your head and then when you sit down to write it, you can’t remember what you were going to write?

2. Why won’t Aidan’s teeth just pop out already?!  It’s driving me crazy!  Ok, it’s probably driving him more crazy.

3. I’m trying something new in parenting.  Instead of freaking out and yelling or lecturing, I’m taking a breath and starting with one thing at a time.  ie: Sean not getting dressed for the last twenty minutes.  I take a breath, get down eye level, and tell him to get on his underwear instead of loudly commanding him to get his underwear, shorts, shirt, and shoes.

4. I have a feeling this makes me look like an idiot because I’m standing still with my eyes closed breathing for like two minutes.  The boys look at me like I’m an idiot.

5. Evan got pink eye Saturday, missing a party.  But the nurse practitioner saved the day by suggesting an eye patch so Evan could go to Sean’s party.  Black eye patch + skill and cross-bones sticker = one ecstatic Evan

6. I think the mess in my house and the to-do-list are multiplying together.  I think that’s illegal in this state.

7. Sean loved loved LOVED his Bowser cake.  My mom rocks.

8. It’s watermelon season!!!  Yea summer!!

9. I have this bad feeling that packing a couple of boxes a night is not nearly enough.

10. After a morning of working on it, my dad pronounced my washing machine DOA.  But at least he was able to fix the other things around the house.

The First Day of Summer

Nevermind that for the last several days, the boys have been sleeping in until 7 or later.  (Weird.)

Yesterday.

Sean climbed into bed, wanting to snuggle at 6:15am.

6:15 am.

Then he said, “Mommy, I have gunk in my eyes.”

Instead of slipping into an already scheduled delightful fantasy in my head, far, far away from my responsibilities, I sprung up and pulled Sean off of my pillow and dragged him out of the bedroom. 

Then I put him on the floor, holding him down as he screamed and flailed around as I put pink eye drops into his eyes.  Then I ran, turned on the hot water, got the crying Aidan out of his crib, wet a washcloth, and returned to the great room.  I placed Aidan on the ground, who immediately started to whine to be picked up again, and handed Sean the washcloth, instructing him to place it over his eyes.  Which he didn’t.  I had to.  Which he fought. So I gave up and scraped the crap of his eyelids.  While he screamed and flailed.

Then I dragged him to the bathroom to wash his hands.  Only I had forgotten that I had a pair of swim trunks soaking from the night before. Ewww.  So I dragged him to my bathroom, where he proceeded to tell me he couldn’t wash his hands because he didn’t have his step.  So I grabbed his step and forced him to wash his hands correctly.

Only I had forgotten he hadn’t had his morning pee.  And now he did.  Through his underwear and all over the step. UGH!  Rather than screaming or running away, I comforted Sean and then cleaned it all up.

It was now 6:30.

But it’s the first day of summer, and I have half a chocolate birthday cake.  So I served it up for breakfast to the now awake Evan and the recently scrubbed clean Sean.  Aidan was upset that he had to have prunes and toast.  Sucks to be a baby.

Because we couldn’t start the tradition of pajama/underwear day on the first day of summer because I had errands to run, I had to nag everyone into their clothes.  God.  I hate nagging.  Did you pick out a shirt?  Where is your shirt?  Why are your pull-ups on?  Aidan, don’t move.  Don’t roll!  Where’s your shirt?  Why are you naked still?  Where are your clothes?  Fine.  Start with your underwear.  Fine, if you don’t want to wear Mickey Mouse, go get a new pair.  Why are you still naked?!

Aidan rolled off the couch.

So we left later than I wanted to.  I was planning on hitting Evan’s new school, the store, another store, the city hall, the teacher’s supply store, and then lunch.  But by the time we left, I would have been going there at the same time as parents’ dropping off their kids.  Uh, no.  I’ll have enough of that next year.

First the store.  Because “we” (as in “we” are both doing it, but “we” did not come up with the plan but was merely dragged along for the ride) are doing a little experiment on using just cash, I had to go get a money order for a bill.  Imagine the fun of dragging three young children in a store, where they only want to go get smoothies two doors down.  Or imagine the commands as I filled out the forms and mailed out the envelope.

Then off to the next store.  Again we paid a bill.  To lighten the mood, we dropped coins in collection jar, watching the coins twirl and twirl around.  Then I remembered I had to bring something to Evan’s end-of-the-year t-ball party.  So we shopped for a watermelon and cucumbers.  Add in the usual grocery shopping dialogue. 

Once we were at the car, the boys scampered into the driver’s side to jump around in the front as I lashed Aidan into his seat.

Evan: MOMMY!  I LOST A TOOTH!

A what?

Sure enough, I saw a mildly bloody hole was where his tooth used to be with a tiny little tooth coming out of the gum.  For you folks at home, this is Evan’s third tooth.  This is also the third tooth we have lost and been unable to put under his pillow. 

Me: Evan, do you know when you lost it?

Evan: I think in the store.

Well, I’m not going back to look for a tooth.

To city hall, where I paid the water bill, where Aidan tried to overturn the garbage cans and where Sean threw a fit because he couldn’t press the button to open the door.  Wally, my best friend, called, and she managed to tell me about her yesterday that made my day look like a cake walk.

We walked over to the teaching supply store.  As I searched for workbooks for Evan and Sean, they were busy playing in the play area, then the toy area and then using pointers on each other.  The stroller wheel fell off again, and it took a while to fix it.  Aidan did not understand why he had to be in the stupid stroller any ways.

By the time I made my purchase and got to the SUV, we were facing lunch.  So we picked up drive thru; while Evan and Sean took turns feeding Aidan goldfish and juice.

Then it was to the new school to bring Evan’s birth certificate because the registration packet made no mention of any other items needed other than the registration forms.  It took almost a week to get back to school.

Back home, everyone ate.  Aidan napped.  I established a new rule over picking up toys.  They had to do it.  Then there were the usual bickering and fighting with a few squirt gun fights to break up the monotony.  I joined in one.

Then Aidan woke up.  With gunk in his eyes.  What are the odds that was random gunk and not pink eye like Evan had and Sean was having?  Now add a second child screaming and flailing every two hours as I put a drop in each eye.

Then Evan didn’t want to go to his party, so I had to make dinner.  With a cranky baby crying at my feet.  Just as I set down dinner on the table, I noticed Sean was dancing.  I told him to go potty as I placed Aidan in his high chair with his food.  I turned to see Sean, with pants down, standing on the edge of the bathroom, peeing onto the tile.  Ah, crap.  He couldn’t make it to the toilet.  In his mind, it was the next best place.

I sat the boys down for dinner.  I cleaned up the urine. Aidan was finished eating and wanted down.  I grabbed a quick bite after settling Aidan with some toys.  I then explained why the boys had a choice between cupcakes and cake and not candy.  I’m a good baker.  What’s wrong with my cupcakes?

Aidan climbed up the step in the bathroom, jumped around to see his reflection, and then fell off the step.

Then Evan wanted to go to his party and threw a temper tantrum because I wouldn’t take him.  I had already canceled.  I had two boys with pink eye.  We couldn’t go.

Aidan needed his usual Mama-belongs-on-the-floor-with-me-while-I-do-other-things time.  Then I noticed Evan was gone.

Me: Sean, where’s Evan?

Sean: Sleeping?

What?  Yup, he was sound asleep on his bed.

Then Aidan’s fingers were slammed by the toilet seat lid as he investigated the water. 

Then I bathed him and put him down.

I played squirt guns with Sean for the last half hour before reading to him and putting him to bed.

I’m hoping the rest of the summer isn’t like this.

Though it did take me several hours to write this.  Sigh.

The Last Day of School

Evan “graduated” kindergarten.  (Am I the only mom who smirks when she says that? {Note to self: Post on why I’m a bad mom})  The ceremony was cute, just like the other millions of kindergarten graduation ceremonies are.  I did have a tearing moment as I watched my boy present facts on eels (They grow to 11 feet long.  They have nostrils.  They have two pairs of jaws.),  realizing I was his biggest fan and always would be.  Though I did learn a lesson, never make faces at the performers. 

Afterwards one of the moms hosted an End of the Year party at the closest park.  She originally planned to have it at her community pool.  I had suggested we pool our money together and hire a lifeguard because I’m all about safety.  Some of the moms weren’t into it because their kids could swim, but I’m a big fan of covering bases and believed there were too many kids not to have a designated watcher, swimmers or not.  One mom was enthusiastic about the idea because she didn’t want to wear a swimsuit (Roll eyes now) and was willing to pay more to get out of wearing one.

Sunday, my friend messaged me in a panic because the community pool was shut down for health code violations.  She was livid because she had told her HOA two weeks ago about the pool being weird and that she was throwing a party there.  She was freaking out because the party was Tuesday.  After a quick debate on Facebook for all to see, we decided on the park with squirt guns, buckets, and those squishy balls that soak up water. 

While commenting back and forth with my friend, it occurred to me that the mom who didn’t want to wear the swimsuit was able to read the comments.  I HAD to make the suggestion of dumbing a bucket of water on said mom.  My friend just HAPPENED to respond with “She could always pay us off not to throw a bucket of water on her.”  So the banter went on all the way through Tuesday.

At the party, I casually dropped hints of the imminent bucket dropping, and my friend dropped hints on the monetary value of said bucket dropping and how we needed to fund the next Mom’s Night Out or, better still, Mom’s Weekend. 

As we were packing up, I dumbed out the ice and snagged a piece.  Of course, the mom in question saw me so I held onto the ice as I put away my ice chest, letting the cool water drip out of my hands.  As I returned back to the ramada, I noticed that she had her back to me as she was cleaning up one of the tables.  I stalked through the gravel, placing my feet for maximum silence, placing my feet in the way that my sandals wouldn’t flip or flop.  I snuck up and slid the ice down her shirt.  I jumped away as she shrieked and turned around.

I made a miscalculation.  Because she turned with a glass in each hand.  I saw her look down as I turned to run.  I didn’t run fast enough as I was coated with ice water.  Crap.

As funny as that was, that wasn’t the best part.  Maybe it was when one of the dads, a firefighter, called his brother, another firefighter, who sent down a truck to spray the kids.  Or maybe it was when one of my friends made a squiter out of a two-liter and tried to get her husband.  Or maybe it was when he grabbed the squirter and twisted it as she squeezed, soaking herself.  Or when the husband ran and grabbed Aidan as a human shield.  Or when she used me as a distraction and got him in the back.  Or when one of the moms covered my boys in sunscreen because they looked like they were getting red.  Or one of the many times a parent would hold on to Aidan as he walked around.  Or it might have surrounded the yummy pasta salad.  Or when one of the moms suggested we all go camping and everyone looked at me and I shrugged and said why not.

But I think the best part was as each mom left, we parted like we were in high school separating for summer and then college. “Call me!”  “I’m going to miss you!” “We have to stay in touch!”  “We have to do something soon!”  “We have to get together sometime this summer!”  “We should go to the movies!”  “I don’t know what I’ll do being with the kids (of course in high school it was parents) all day!”  “Let’s make plans!”  “Everyone should come to my house sometime!”

If we had yearbooks, we totally would have been in high school.  (Hmmm, not a bad idea.  A year book for the moms . . . .  I wonder how much they would pay NOT to have certain photos in there.)

As one of my friends left with her family, I yelled her name and then made a motion of typing on a phone with my thumbs.

Friend: OK!

Me: Wait!  What is the universal sign for texting?!

Friend: I think you just did it!

Me: Well, that’s lame!  We need a new one!

Friend: We’ll figure it out next time we’re together!

Me: Thursday?!

Pause.

Friend: YEAH!  THURSDAY!

See, the summer is shaping up nicely.

Of course this was her text sent last night at 11pm.  “Then I think ‘the kids are home from school.. I don’t have to take them to school in the morning.. yeay!’.. Then I also realize no more 2 hours alone by myself for the rest of the summer.. (I weep silently into my pillow..)”

It’s a going to be a great summer.

What a minute?!  You get two hours to yourself every day!?  WTH?!

A Quick Note

Today Evan “graduated” kindergarten.

Let me rephrase.

Today Evan is out of school for the summer.

For.  The.  Summer.

Help me.

Worry dolls

My mom had been trying for two years to get me to take the last of my stuff out of her house.  I resist because I’m renting and my rental is tiny.  (Crap. The last and best excuse is going to disappear in less than a month.)  But every so often she unloads something on me, usually without me knowing.  Like handing one of the boys an old toy or three.  Recently she gave Evan a small collection of worry dolls.

And Evan loved them, sticking them in his backpack and taking them to school.  When school let out, he gathered a large circle of his friends and pulled out the worry dolls with flourish.

Evan: HERE THEY ARE!  See these are worry dolls!  You tell them your worries, and they keep them for you!  Wanna try?!

The kids: YEAH!!! ME!!!! ME!!! ME!!!!

Hands stretched out, demanding for a doll.

Evan: HOLD ON!  I’ll go first.

The parents leaned in close.  I held my breath.  Finally a look into his little soul to see what I can do to help ease the transition, to help him heal, to make him better.

Evan: (took a breath) I worry that a hippo will run me over!

WHAT?!

KJ: I worry a buffalo will eat me!

The Nice Girl: I worry we’ll hit a turtle!

Boy Twin: I worry a hippo will run me over!

Girl Twin: I worry an alligator will run me over!

K: I worry a deer will run me over!

RJ: I worry a deer will eat me!

I forgot.  Evan’s class is full of budding comedians, trying to one up each other.

Recap 5/20

1. Is it wrong to put your kid in time out because he’s being a jerk?

2. We finally have a new rental!

3. It took only an hour for me to become pessimistic over a new rental.  That’s talent.

4. Aidan prefers crawling.  He’s faster.  Much, much faster.

5. Two more days of school for Evan.  I’m kind of worried.

6. Best part of the week, playing “it” in freeze tag with a bunch of kindergarteners.

7. Sean will still take a nap if I make him;.

8. My new fear: Having to become ultra-organized to deal with a new house, three boys, and, oh yeah, going back to school in the fall.

9. Last Friday was another Mom’s Night Out.  We are vowing not to lose contact with one another.  As one mom said, “Just send us a message if you’re having a bad day, and we’ll all go out that Friday.”  My response, “So we’re going out every Friday then?”

10. Glow-in-the-dark skeleton pirates are the way to Sean’s heart.

The post that almost wasn’t

Yesterday was Sean’s birthday, and Saturday we are throwing his first friends party, people he wants there, not just people we are obligated to invite (and they are obligated to come).  All morning I was composing a post to discuss how I feel like I’m short-changing Sean, and then ten minutes ago, I started shredding the post.

Post: I feel like I’m short-changing Sean on his birthday.  I really am not putting in as much effort as I do for Evan’s parties.

Me: Sean’s easy-going.  He’s not going to notice.  And last year, you pulled off Evan’s part in just over a week, pulling your ass out of a tail-spin of depression to do it.

Post: Evan’s parties always had themes with matching food and treats.  Sean has picked Bowser from Mario Brothers.  What kind of theme is that?

Me: Admit it, you like themes so you can impressed the moms with egg rolls for Kung Fu Panda and Caribbean fruits for pirates.  It’s all about you not them.  Sean just cares if there’s cake.  Since grandma is making a Bowser cake, we’re all set.  Who knows what Bowser eats?  The bones of plumbers who fail to rescue his favorite princess.  How about peaches?  Millions of peaches!

Post: So I’m stuck on snacks and games that fit the Bowser theme.

Me: Snacks.  Covered.  Cake and peaches.  Ok, and watermelon and . . . .   So we need to work on the snack issue.  I really don’t see the problem.  As for games, their father has secured a monstrous bounce house that may be an affront to God.  The kids won’t care about games, and most of them are going to be late from another party, including Evan. Think of a few games, just in case.

Post: I just feel like I half-assed.

Me: Not really.  All Sean cares about is a Bowser cake and a bounce house.  His best friend will be there, so Sean will be happy as a clam.  Chill.  What you should be worrying about is that Evan wants a bigger bounce house with water for his birthday.

It’s a memory day

Once upon a time, this date meant the cumulation of 18 years of hard work.  Eight of those years geared specifically for this date.  Hours of thinking, reading, writing, researching, asking questions, bothering teachers.  Hours of babysitting, xeroxing, filing, answering phones, hauling boxes.  All so that I could make fun of the ceremony with a friend, shake the hand of my mentor after he correctly pronounced my name, and throw tortillas instead of a cap.  It was the most important day in my life.  For a while.

Then that date was eclipsed five years later.

Now, on May 18th, I don’t think about racing home, because I overslept at my boyfriend’s place, to beat my parents to my apartment.  I don’t think about the mad dash to get dressed and to the auditorium on time.  I don’t think of tripping over the word “Ecclesiastes” in front of hundreds of people.  I don’t think of my best friend looking right through me or winking at my mentor as I shook his hand or begging my friend to hide the tortillas because he was wearing pants and I was wearing a dress.

Instead I think of how I begged The Mother not to let me go into labor with four hours of sleep.  I remember withering in pain on the ground as we waited for the babysitter to arrive.  I think of crying at the thought of being too late to get epidural and the relief to get it.  I think of how the baby arrived only because I was too stubborn and willful for my own good.  I remember crying as I held Sean for the first time.  I remember how I wanted just to stare at him, how I felt awake and alive even though I was so very, very tired.

Four years have passed with laughter and tears, smiles and frowns, triumphs and disappointments.  Each day I marvel at this child that is mine who is so different from me and his father and his brother.  Every day I am grateful he is my boy.

Happy Birthday, Sean.

(If you’re bored, here’s Sean’s birth story.)

What did you want?

3:27pm

May 16, 2011

Evan asked for a gun.

What the hell?

***

We were driving home from my parents’ house, and Evan was investigating Sean’s new squirt gun from The Friendly Giant, aka the favorite uncle, for Sean’s birthday.

Evan: Mommy, I think you can give me a gun.

Me: Um, ok.

Evan: I want a gun.  A real one.  Because they’re easy to use.  You just put in the bullets and pull the trigger.  Can you get me one for my birthday?

What are they teaching you in that school?  First you want a cell phone, and now you want a gun. 

 Um, hell no.