Spelling and Eating

There is only one casserole I will eat.  Sour Cream and Chicken Enchilada Casserole.  I adore the stuff.  Apparently so does my baby brother because he asked for it for his birthday dinner.  (I guess when you always eat out, a home-cooked meal is a treat, and I’m just the opposite.) 

Saturday we all gathered to have dinner in honor of my brother’s 29th birthday.  I looked over mid-meal to Aidan who sat next to me.  My little vegetarian (weird for a meat-eating family, right?) was digging into the casserole.  It was almost gone.  I made eye contact with my mom and, in a discreet manner, pointed to Aidan.

My mom: I know.  I’ve been watching him eat.  I can’t believe me.

Me: I know, right?  (giggle)  No one tell him there’s M-E-A-T in it.

Aidan: I eat the chicken!

Oh God. 

Please Lord, in Your infinite mercy, let that be a fluke.

Me: (sound normal; don’t panic; it was a fluke; it was a fluke.)  Is it good?

Aidan: WAY!  I like chicken!  I eat chicken now!

We’ll see next time I give your chicken strips.

No, really, she wouldn’t remember me

Saturday I was at a graduation party for a babysitting charge all grown up with her masters, which is another story of itself.  But I had forgotten that my mom and her neighbor were now exercise buddies in an exercise boot camp, and all the women  were there celebrating my mom’s neighbor’s daughter.  One of these women cornered me and talked with me.  She was so excited to meet me.  Then even more excited to find out I was a drama nerd in high school.  And even more excited to find out who my teacher was.

Woman: You had L?!  How exciting!  I’m friends with L.  We were drama teachers together.  I just was at a different school.

Me: F was great.  A wonderful teacher.  I’m sorry she retired before my senior year.  I would’ve loved to had her that last year.

Woman: I’ll have to tell L I ran into you.  She’ll be happy to know all about you and what you’ve done.

Me: I’m sure she doesn’t remember me.

Woman: We remember our favorites.  Those special kids that stick out.

Me: Well, I’m sure that’s true.  But F was a teacher for so long, and I had only 3 years.

Woman: Oh, she’ll remember you.  You said you owned the Shop?  Then she’ll remember you.

Me: (laughed uncomfortably) Well, give her my best.  She was a wonderful teacher.  Even if she doesn’t remember me.

I know I was memorable to some teachers.  Just not to F.  I was memorable to some high school teachers.  Like my chem/swim coach (for the first two years of high school).  I bugged him at least once a week for three years with some random science question or another.  When I presented my project on using the names of 20 elements of the periodic table (“Because I know not all of you will go into fields where you need this.  Just do something with the names.”), he claimed I was the most energetic presenter he’s ever had.  (I did a radio show with characters, settings, props, and even ads with the element names.)  Or my second year Spanish teacher.  I was horrible in Spanish.  I cheated on the tests.  I would be in the middle of my essay when I would want a word we didn’t know yet, would panic and then slowly open my dictionary.  I’m sure I wasn’t smooth, and I’m sure just reading my essay gave me away.  But my teacher would compliment me on my writing and my doodles and encouraged me to come back, even after I graduated his class, to show him my latest writing or art work.

And let’s not forget the college professors I endeared myself to.  Like my favorite English professor, my intellectual crush, with whom I could dissect works of literature with or talk of classic cars.  I wanted to name one of the boys after him, but I think, even after all those years, the sighing of his name put it on the Absolutely-Not-Over-My-Dead-Body list.  Like my mentor, who said he could never forget this blonde freshman in the back corner sit on her desk on the first, and every, day to see over the big football player.  And then to have her slide over the tables to sit inside the corner of the circle of tables to take his Revelations class because it was the last seat left.  Like the Father, who graded my papers like a real editor and made me lead mass more times than I would want.  Many more times.  When he finally called me “mi hija,” I nearly danced in joy.  That didn’t stop me from arguing with him the uselessness of Shakespeare or critiquing his class by giving him a list of works that would work better in the class.  As a side note, a friend just mentioned how he nearly lost it in class when Father asked us each what book we had just finished reading, and I answered the Kama Sutra.  “He’s a priest!  Not just any priest!  Your priest!  You’re co-leader of the Catholic group!”  Your point?  I was being honest.  (Father took it in stride and went on to tell us the similarities between Hinduism and Christianity.)

So, I know I’m memorable.  I know I’ve been the favorite.  But I just wasn’t F’s favorite.

Even though freshman year I became the youngest student to get certified to do lights and sound.  But my best friend certified a month later and had a better schedule to work nights.  Even though I was the youngest student she allowed to TA.  But one of my friends joined me half way through the semester.  Even though her favorite senior girls adored me and begged her to let me sleep in their room during the New York trip.  But a junior girl dropped out, and the teacher wanted us all to have beds.  Even though my best friend was quiet, shy little nerd, F called me my best friend’s shadow.  My best friend was thrilled.  Really?  Me?  Second fiddle?  To a quiet, shy, conservative bookworm?  I’m loud, outrageous, crazy, um, bookworm-nerd.  Ok, so I was, am, a nerd.  But I’ve always been loud and crazy.  Energetic and – Just say, by the time I was in high school, I wasn’t a follower any more.  I was no one’s shadow.

I didn’t really come into my own until my senior year.  I took control of everything back stage.  Unofficially.  I ran the Shop.  I was consulted on light and sound design.  Any one with any question (about costumes, props, sets, colors, tools, whatever) knew to come to me.  My reputation had been built over the years that I knew everything.  I was The Boss.  I was the Shop Master.  I was that-little-bi-excuse-me-boys-did-you-have-something-to-say-to-me-but-before-you-do-do-you-remember-that-other-reputation-I-have-which-may-possibly-be-why-I-wear-boots-and-why-the-football-boys-give-way-to-me.  Yeah, I thought not.  Scurry along then.

If F remembers me, and I seriously doubt it, it would be because of what happened the last month of school of my junior year.  Every year advanced drama did a talent show, which allowed everyone to perform and do something different or that they wanted to.  Lots of monologues and singing.  Magic tricks and pantomiming.  Stand-up.  It was a lot of fun.  My junior year I wrote a one-act play and convinced some of my friends to do it.  I convinced my best friend to do lights and sound.  I argued one friend into the lead because he would be perfect.

But first I had to let F read it to make sure it was appropriate.

F: Fae.  You wrote this?

Me: Yes.

F: Is it based on a true story?

Me: Well, it’s possibly a ghost story.  Or the main character has delirium tremens and is hallucinating.  He’s not a good man.  He ordered that massacre.  Does history know who was behind it?  No.  But that was a real town.  The Cathars were a real people that the Catholic Church decided to silence during the Inquisition.

F: And you researched this?

Me: Yes.  For two years.  You know I went to Catholic school.  When I got out, I was desperate to know what they didn’t tell us.  The Inquisition was a two-sentence paragraph in our religion class.

F: I see.  Fae, you have some real talent.  You should consider writing more.  Go ahead with it.  Who are your actors?

I told her.

F: You might have trouble with your lead.  He doesn’t work hard on things he doesn’t care about.

Me: I figured his ego would demand him to do it.

She laughed.

The last day of school, she gave her final awards ceremony of awards that she designed.

“To Fae: Our Playwright”

It came with pens and a thick note book.

F: Fae, keep writing.  It’s what you do best.

Recap 5/10

1. Yes, it’s Friday night, and I’m off bedtime guard duty.  My computer has just been turned on.

2. What’s more annoying than having a paper due?  Having your child’s report due.  It’s tedious, boring, annoying, frustrating like before, but add in, you have to yell, nag, and sit there with nothing to do but yell and nag to get anything done.

3. Evan is in the second grade, and his report had to be 7 paragraphs.  Handwritten.  With a reference page.  Plus a neat and creative, handwritten poster.  On Louisiana.  It’s done.  Thank God.

4. The Mother’s Day craft was a FAIL.  And another FAIL.  And then when I figured something out and spent way too much money on craft supplies in case of more fails, I had to find time to have the kids do it and I to finish it.  And then I forgot I had no more envelopes.  Sorry MIL.

5. I need to find an occupational therapist for Sean.  That was supposed to be done two months ago.  Apparently, I left the ball in the wrong court.

6. Sean had a melt down because we weren’t throwing his birthday party on his birthday.  I’m raising a brat.  Then I learned he thought we weren’t celebrating his birthday at all, and he would have to wait several days for a celebration.  Oh, that’s much different.  I’m raising a kindergartener about to turn 6.

7. I left my room in jeans and a bra to make sure everyone was following the morning routine.  Aidan demanded that I get a shirt on and then went into my room to get me one.  He actually pulled one out of the drawer and handed it to me.  I’m raising a prude or one of the fashion police.

8. I went dress shopping with my mom.  She was on her best behavior.  I have two new dresses.  We went to the fabric store and bought patterns and fabric.  She commented on my style choices.  She’s slightly on the Western trend.  And I’m vintage ’50′s-’60′s.

9. So lately I’ve been lost in my head, playing with storylines and characters.  My work is being pushed back, and my sleep is being neglected.  I had this problem in high school, not college, which is weird be- OH!  I was writing in college and getting all that stuff out of my head.  So I’m working on a story.  My work is being pushed back less.  Sort of.

10. Today I finally made perfect strawberry jam.  I wish I knew what I did differently.

The 5. I had two days when I hit all five.  So that’s better.  I did a lot more crafts this week and more writing.  Reading blogs and eating apples is still lagging.  But at least I have a checklist hanging somewhere that I see it first thing.  Yea.

Family Rules

Have you seen those family rule posters?  They’re cute and sweet, but I find them tooth-ache-sweet.  A rule to love one another?  A rule about giving hugs?  A rule to say “I love you?”  A rule to “dream big?”  Please.  How annoying.  Or the ones that are against my beliefs.  A rule to “obey” your parents?  I’m sorry; my kids aren’t dogs.  I don’t want to teach them obedience; I want to teach them respect.  A rule to pray?  We do family prayers before dinner and bedtime, but I would never make it a rule.  It seems very stifling.

I wanted real rules.  I wanted something I could use.  I wanted something that would reflect my parenting philosophy. I wanted rules I could stand by and insist on.

When you can’t find what you want, then it’s time to make it.

Our Family Rules.

First I had to figure out what kind of morals I wanted my boys to have, what kind of men did I want them to be.  I needed simple rules, just a few.  I settled on two.  Respect Others.  Respect Things.  But I perceived a lot of loop holes in there, so I decided I had to clarify my point.  I wrote how to follow those rules. 

When I wrote my rules, I wrote them in the negative.  (No hitting; no name calling.)  Then I remembered how people react better to positives, so I rewrote the whole thing.  At the time, it was “House Rules,” and my mom pointed out that I wanted those rules to apply outside the house.  The rules became “Family Rules.”  Once I was done with that, I passed it around to people whose opinion I trusted to get feedback.  I finally mapped out the rules on Word.

Since I was too cheap to buy two different types of stencils, I printed out the main two rules and the title and then covered the back with chalk so I could trace the words, leaving a chalk outline to follow.  Everything worked well, but it took a while.  I like how it came out.

After much debate, I ended up hanging the rules above the time out chair.  Whenever the boys misbehaved, I would ask them if the action fit the rules.  Are you being respectful?  Was that kind?  Were you understanding?  Did you put up your toys?

I’m not sure if this will work, but I figured it was worth a shot.

Tale of Two Days

Saturday was awesome.

It started off rough.  At 6am, Aidan was screaming “MOMMY, JUICE!” from the bottom of the stairs over and over.  Each word was pushed into my brain like a knife.  Because I’m a parent, I have learned that I only care about peace, so I marched downstairs, got Aidan his juice out of the fridge, and returned to my bedroom to pop some pain meds and try to sleep a little bit longer.

30 minutes later, my nightmare was interrupted by “MOMMY, ROCKET!” being chanted/yelled at the bottom of the stairs by Aidan.  What the f- is he talking about?  What rocket?  OH!  THAT rocket.

I stomped back down stairs and hunted down the rogue rocket from the night before.  The other two boys gave me a “Hi, Mommy” that only two morning people can give.  I found the rocket and returned upstairs.  I took migraine medicine and went back to bed.  I probably wasn’t going to fall asleep soon.  So I got up.

After texting with a friend for a while and trying to come up with a breakfast idea, I finally decided on French toast.  Because we had homemade cinnamon bread and old hot dog buns.  And because it was May Fourth and I own Star Wars inspired sandwich cutters.  So I made two X-Wing Star Fighter and a Tie Fighter.

About this time, I realized that I have to break my no-caffiene-before-lunch rule.  I cracked open an energy drink.  I wondered if I’m going to die from horrible disease caused by caffeine.  But let me quote my baby brother.  “We’re all going to die from cancer any ways.  We might as well live a little.  (as in: “Mom is going to kill you when she finds out you’re still nuking stuff in butter tubs.”  “Fae, we’re all going to die from cancer in any ways; we might as well live a little; I’m dangerous like that.”  Good point.  Why don’t I just throw out my sunscreen and hats?)

The boys had already decided they wanted to go to Lego Club instead of the zoo.  I had a carrot to get them to move and get dressed and get chores done.  Never over look a carrot!  We had two hours, which means nothing at all with my boys.  But for normal people, that is plenty of time to get dressed and do a few chores.  Given the options, the boys chose getting ready for the day first.

I decided it was a picture day, which means I take random pictures of things throughout the day and send them to annoy a special person.  Like “This is breakfast!”  “Yes, I’m drinking an energy drink at 8am!”  “Look; I’m out of vanilla.”  “This is the underwear I’m going to wear.”  Scratch that.  I don’t think I sent that one.

The boys got dressed and did their chores.  Mostly.  We had to clean up the family room for Evan to vacuum the rugs.  I was able to get dressed and exercise.  We made it to Lego Club 5 minutes late, which is fine because it lasts 90 minutes, but that also means I wasn’t able to find out the price of plastic kiddie pools at the hardware store.

Lego Club was great.  I took tons of pictures of the boys building things and posted them on Facebook.  Aidan got bored and took tons of pictures of me, which I did not post on Facebook.  Near the end, Evan and Sean teamed up with two other boys to compete with another group of four boys to build the tallest tower with those huge toddler Legos.  It was awesome to watch them work as teams.  When Lego Club ended, the teams knocked over their towers and raced to help clean up. 

Before we left the library, we checked out Sean’s art piece from school and looked at a few books.  We left with Lego books and a bunch of books of mythology and fairy tales.  Evan was disappointed that all the Viking mythology books were checked out.

We met my parents and the Friendly Giant for lunch at a new burger joint.  Burgers and custard for everyone.  Then Aidan fell asleep on the way home.

Then it was homework time.  After a little bit of whining and complaining, Evan listened to me explain the importance of an introductory paragraph and a conclusion paragraph.  We worked together on it after I told him, “No, I’m not doing it for you; I’ve already written several state reports when I was a kid.”  Sean sat down and did his homework, insisting that drawing a dragon for his favorite character was what his teachers wanted.  “Draw something that lives on Earth.”  “They do live on Earth.”  “Draw something that is in a zoo.”  “Some zoos have dragons.  Mommy, dragons are real.”  Fine.  He has the rest of his life to not believe in dragons.  Not that I stopped.  So I asked him to draw his second favorite animal, which was a king cobra.  Then he worked on his teacher appreciation gifts.

By the time Aidan was awake, homework was done, and we got ready to go to my parents’ house to go swimming.  Only I forgot this was the first swim of the year, so the bag wasn’t packed with swimsuits, sunscreen, and other random, needful things.  The boys were excited to wear their new bathing suits, and I learned that Aidan’s hand-me-down was just not going to work.  As soon as the cover was off, the boys were in, and I climbed in after them- and dear god, it’s cold.  Maybe more like too cool.  But still colder than I thought I would be.  After suffering for five minutes, I decided to f- it and dove in to swim a few laps to get warm.  God, I missed swimming.

The Friendly Giant showed back up.  It’s always a great day when my baby brother shows up to go swimming with the boys.  He’s a giant play ground and diving board and water fountain all rolled into one.  I did kick the boys out when their lips turned blue and they began to chatter.  “I’mmmmm no-no-not c-c-c-cold.”  Right.  As my dad pointed out, “Look at naked Aidan; he’s got blue balls.”  And the crowd boo-ed.

Then I decided to be an amazingly awesome mom in the eyes of the boys.  We picked up McDonald’s and had a picnic lunch watching Star Wars: New Hope.  Because it was May 4th.  Because Sean said, “We should watch the fourth one because it’s May fourth.  Fourth.  Get it?”

We ended the day with bedtime and a small bedtime rebellion.  And it was awesome.

Unlike Sunday.

When my hair was a chaotic mess from swimming the day before.  WhenI got us to church 15 minutes early.  When I learned I lost my wallet when I went to pay for our food at the bakery.  When I was so super glad my wallet was back at church under the pew.  When that whole bakery-tear apart purse and car-drive to the church- go back to the bakery fiasco took WAY TOO LONG.  When I left the boys to their own devices for 30 minutes, giving them enough time to dump out ALL OF THE LEGOS and ALL OF THE IMAGINATRIX toys and a large container of toys.  When I withheld lunch because they refused to clean.  When it took 45 minutes to clean up the mess.  When I argued with Evan because he refused to finish his chose.  When my brilliant mother’s day gift idea failed miserably.  When I had tons of salt dough and no idea what to do with it.  When Sean argued, whined, and complained about doing homework.  When Evan took all damn afternoon to copy his state report in nice handwriting without grammar and spelling errors.  When we were running late due to the report so I decided to make Evan take it to my parents’ house.  When I learned Evan didn’t grab any blank paper.  When I had to run home for blank paper.  When I had to clean up the car from the tearing apart earlier.  When I couldn’t figure out a dinner menu.  When we stayed slightly too late at my parents’ house.  When the boys tried to refuse a bath.  When they decided to drench the bathroom.  When they decided they wanted to go to bed naked.  When the older boys wrestled and messed with each other instead of going to bed.  When Aidan had to keep getting out of bed to get books for an hour.  When poor Evan woke up with diarrhea and announced he had a poop accident in the bathroom.  When I realized I was out of bread.  When I was no longer manic and was tired and wanted to go to bed but I had homework and housework to do.

Sunday was less than awesome.

Those are my singing boys

The other Sunday was Children’s Day at the Lutheran preschool/kindergarten Sean goes to.  Like a good family, we went because Sean was singing and it’s a lot of fun after the service with snacks, crafts, and a bounce house.  If more churches had bounce houses after services, more people would go.

It was a nice service.  The children came in singing.  We were smooshed because Evan refused to sit further away from me, and then we didn’t have enough room for Sean when he came.  Aidan sat in the aisle looking through books.  I wanted tell the new parents, across the aisle, with the babbling baby that it was ok.  She was quite the talker.  But the best part came half way through the services when the congregation had to sing “Jesus Loves Me.”

Evan and Sean belted out the song.  It was the first time I had ever heard them sing together.  I was filled with gratitude and love.  I began to cry a little. 

I cried because I was so lucky to raise these boys.  I’m lucky to see them every day and be with them.  I get to hear about their days and thoughts.  I get to watch them grow and do amazing things.  I get to see them try new things and do silly things.  I get to read them bedtime stories and tuck them in at night.  I get to know them and help shape them into the good guys.  I cried because I know one day I’ll have to share custody and I won’t see them every day.  I will miss them when they aren’t being loud and funny and annoying.  My house will be quiet and empty.  As tough as it is to have the boys 24/7, to always be on the clock, they are my boys, and I prefer them with me.

The boys sang every word at the top of their lungs.  Every tear I tried to wipe away secretly.  Only it turned out the boys were louder than anyone else in the church, so people were looking around for them and would smile at the boys.  And of course, they saw me crying.  Also a little blonde toddler jumping up and down next to his brothers.

Since everyone saw me cry, several woman, walking down the aisle for communion, squeezed my shoulder and asked if I was all right.  After church, several women came up to me after church and asked me how I was and told me how wonderful my boys were.  One of my friends came up to me and asked, “Were you crying because it was so funny or because you were sad?”  Honestly, both.  She gave me a hug and said, “I wanted to go over and do this since the song.”

I’m so lucky to be the mother of these smart, funny, crazy, silly guys.  Even with the nagging, yelling, scolding, eye rolling, heaven-help-me’s, stomping, growling, yanking, are-you-kidding-me’s.  They’re my boys.  And I love them.

Now I’m off to nag them back to homework and give them hugs.

Recap 5/3

1. As frightened of a summer of possible parent-detention all day as I am, I’m looking forward to getting out from under the burden of homework.  And then studying for my . . teaching . . test . . in June . . . .  Damnit.

2. We went to the county fair last weekend, and Aidan insisted on walking.  We enjoyed a very scenic pace.  He loved the ride of little cars.  I’m sad I didn’t get in cotton candy.

3. Teacher appreciation gifts.  Glitter magnets and a plastic cup with a lid filled with single-serve drink packets.  We are awesome.

4. I adore the dollar store.  Craft stuff for the kids.  Cleaning stuff.  Toothbrushes.  Cheap kitchen supplies for experiments and play.  And random other stuff.  Like a solar panel hula doll.  Yes, a solar panel hula doll!

5. While making the glitter magnets, Evan knocked over a tube of pink glitter.  There is glitter all over the house.  It’s craft herpes.

6. I went on a field trip with Sean’s class to the used-bookstore.  I learned that I do NOT fit in with those mothers At. ALL.  But the store was awesome, and we all got $10 to spend on books, and I found a mint-condition She-Ra book!  Sean came home with as many Star Wars and superhero books he could find and afford.

7. I’ve been manic all week.

8. Evan had a concert today.  He had to keep waving and calling me and smiling at me until they started singing.  Then he sang the whole time.  Though the kid cannot stomp or clap a beat.  So sad.

9. During my walk with my mom, she said she was glad that I walked with her in the morning.  Especially because I’m “not as negative” as my grandma.  And I shouldn’t worry about being codependent on my kids because I’m too busy with having three of them.  And yes, I kept my mouth shut and the smirk off my face.

10. This weekend.  There’s Lego Club and May 4th.  We need to do teacher’s gifts and mother’s day gifts and homework and chores and Evan has a state report to finish and then my usual craziness.  And the pool should be ready and ice cream to make and restaurants to visit and maybe stores to shop at.  I don’t know.  So much to do, can do, would like to do, have to.  I hope to balance it all.

The 5. About that.  Writing hasn’t happened much, and the stories are yelling at me.  Reading hasn’t happened much, and I really miss my friends.  Apples are washed in a bowl on the counter uneaten.  But hey, I did crafts and excercise.  Ok, back to working on a reminder.