Points of Interest

• I wanted to pack up as much stuff as possible the night before, but my parents decided that all we needed to do was put in the car seats and load the big bags.
• The mini van was more narrow than my SUV.
• I was ready at 6am.  They were ten minutes late.  I could have slept in ten more minutes.  Ok. Now I’ll drop it.
• “Wow.  You should go away more often.  I’ve never seen your house this clean.”  “You’ve never visited at breakfast before the tornadoes are loose.”
• I can now cuss only in my mind while I struggle to strap boys into seats on a bench slightly too narrow.
• Best line: “I think your son just got the clap.”  My brother took them to the bathroom at a stop.  “Sean laid his junk right on the urinal.”  There is only so much theory teaching I can do.  By the way, Friendly Giant, do you mind teaching them to shake too?
• My boys are completely melodramatic.  “My back hurts so much.  I’m going to die.”  “I’m so cold.  I’m going to die.”  “I’m so bored.  I’m going to die.”  “It’s so fluffy.  I’m going to die.”  (Their reference.  Not mine.)
• It’s totally weird to find yourself getting excited like a homecoming when you no longer live there.
• Two story suite.  A room with two queens and a crib for the boys and me.  The hide-a-bed in the living room for The Friendly Giant.  A loft room with a CA King for the parents.
• Being a loft means there is a half wall at the head of the bed, overlooking the living room.  Up popped a very blond head with sparkling eyes and a mischievous smile.  My heart stopped.
• And my dad laughed.
• Mrs. Knott’s Fried Chicken.
• Thanks to The Violinist for getting us discount tickets at Disneyland.
• We would have been the first ones there except for the free breakfast.  FREE breakfast.
• First ride: Star Tours.  I got the before and after interview on the Flip.
• Thanks to the BFF for teaching me to snag Fast Passes and to hold them and snag when you can.
• Both boys were tall enough for Star Tours, Space Mountain, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. 
• I’m going to say this just once. *I* did not lose any boys on my watch, in my zone, no matter how many I had.
• Sean decided he will never do again nor should the party do again  Space Mountain, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, The Haunted Mansion.
• I found my new hobby.  Building light sabers.
• My family lacks communication when we are tired and hungry.
• Nothing is more fun than the Buzz Lightyear ride with the boys.
• To the jerk who stole a light saber from our stroller while we were in a ride, you suck.  I hope karma kicks your ass.
• So maybe leaving the park at dinner time *was* a good idea.  I still didn’t have to like it.
• S’more bark and the discussion on how we can make it at home.
• Disneyland TWO DAYS IN A ROW.
• Evan was just tall enough to do Indiana Jones.  He freakin’ loved it!
• He also bought a necklace.  I call it creepy.  He calls it Frank.
• Aidan loved The Tiki Room.  And blue grass.  Go figure.
• When we’re not tired and hungry, my mom and I kick @ss as a team. 
• My dad and I left the park after lunch for “naps.” But Aidan fell asleep as we walked to lunch.  He slept through lunch.  He was not interested in napping again.  Far from it.
• On the other hand, the older boys slept for an hour and half, and I had to wake them up.
• Last ride on Star Tours, Evan was the rebel spy.
• More souvenirs.  Little things.  I should have bought the boys more Star Wars cars.
• The ice cream parlor was closed!  WTH!
• The fireworks were awesome as usual, but Aidan prefered to snuggle up in my arms and ignore them.
• Getting out of the park was a b*tch as usual.
• The weekend was much too short.
• I didn’t get to see the BFF.
• Evan came down with a fever on the way home and blamed the Friendly Giant for turning on the AC and making him sick.
• I slept so very much.  Jane Eyre can’t be that boring.
• Now that I think about it.  I should have bought more.  They have a website, right?

Something about that room

The clanging of heavy metal jewelry and the whisper of wooden drawers being opened and closed are now my alarm clock.  Along with “Sssshhh, don’t wake, Mommy” and “Here, look at this one.”

One lesson I have learned while living with another adult is that I like things neat.

I shouldn’t be so shocked.  In my college days, I had a movable pile of jacket, jeans, books that moved from bed during the day and chair at night.  It was my only mess on a regular basis.  My text books and notebooks were piled in a milk create.  My art supplies tucked neatly into a tool box.  The piles of papers looked suspicious, but I knew what each one was.  In high school, I would destroy my room with art projects and getting ready.  But as soon as the project was done, everything went back.  Any mess was organized.

I looked forward to a bedroom where clothes weren’t strewn about, that shoes didn’t trip me in the middle of the night, that my socks didn’t disappear.

Now I have a bedroom where costume jewelry is strewn about by pirates, Star Wars characters attack my feet in the middle of the night, my favorite rings disappear, carried off for booty.  My dresser, no longer a holding pen for random men’s shirts, has become a battle field of jewelry boxes and figurines.  My poor crystal penguin has a lost an arm that no one can remember when and who done the heinous act. . .

Me: . . . And it’s all completely annoying.

I was sprawled on my parents’ bed next to my mom.  She had a book in her hand and that impatient look of get-out-of-here-so-I-can-read look.  I, doing as I had for the last 31 years, ignored the look and handed Aidan the remote control as he sat between us.

The Friendly Giant: Mom!  What’s for dinner?

He crashed on the bed, across the foot, hanging over on both sides.

My mom sighed and opened her mouth.

Face: Ahhhhh!  They’re after me.

He jumped onto the bed, taking up what little remained of the bed.  Evan and Sean came barreling after their uncle and clambered up to pile on top of them.

My dad walked in.  He turned his head and looked out the bedroom door.

My dad: The Bride, they’re all in here!

My dad unloaded his pocket.  I expected him to unclip his holster and badge, but they haven’t hung on his belt for a couple of years.  Now he removed his company badge.  The Bride walked into the room and leaned on my mom’s dresser.

My dad: I have to change.

My brothers and I blinked back.  My boys were trying to jump into their beloved Papi’s arms.

The Bride: I’m sure your parents’ want their privacy.

My brothers and I blinked at her.

My dad: Get out or I start making out with your mother.

My brothers and I scrambled off the bed.

Me: Boys, let’s go.

We all exited the room with more speed than grace.

The Bride: I still can’t believe you guys go in there and hang out like that.

The Face shrugged.

The Friend Giant: We’ve been doing that since we were little.

The Bride: But you sprawl on their bed.

Me: We’re like a pride of lions.

Well, at least, I have a bigger bed.

The dish

Me: . . . worried about heating food in a microwave.  As though it will contaminate food.  I’m like, dude, it’s a tool.  It’ll be fine.  I told him to figure out a solution.

I stood, chomping on grapes in a house I have known all my life.  The copper gelatin molds glistened from the wall near the ceiling.  The wine bottles, gathering dusk, waiting for the next generation of toddlers to christen the floor with them, were tucked under the breakfast bar that I spent my whole childhood kicking as I ate.  The fridge door was full of magnets with some bringing memories of creating intricate stories on the fridge as I waited for the rain to let up or receive another order on helping in the kitchen.

My grandma handed Evan back to me.  He tried to whack me with the shiny set of measuring spoons that I suspected were older than me. “Babies love measuring spoons.”

Grandma: Hold on a sec, Fae.

She pulled a stool over and climbed on it took look in an upper shelf next to the double oven.  She dug into the back of the cupboard.  I bounced Evan on my hip and gave him the names of all the things in the kitchen he pointed to.  “Sink.”  “Plate.”  “Plant.”  “Window.”  “Mixer.”  “Island.”

My grandma is a little, dark thing.  I out grew her at 11.  It was a rite of passage to look over her head.  My family is funny that way.

Grandma: Ah.  Here it is.

She pulled out a pink ceramic something and stepped down off the stool, placing the dish on the rolling island.  Evan and I peered at it.

Grandma: I got this when I had your Aunt D.  (She pulled off the white ceramic plugs with cork underneath the ceramic.)  You pour warm water in here.  And you place the food in the dish.  It’ll warm the food and keep it warm.  I fed your mother, your aunts, and your uncle with it. I fed each one of you kids (She meant my cousins, my brothers, and I.)  from it when you were over.  You can have it.  But don’t tell anyone.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m playing favorites.

My mom snorted as she walked into the room, hearing the last few lines.  She took Evan out of my arms.  I picked up the bowl, studying it.  A sense of history and honor ran through me.

My Mom: You’re not playing favorites.  You’re passing on a family heirloom to your eldest granddaughter.

But we all knew I was the favorite granddaughter.  I was older than the other granddaughter by a good ten years, plenty of time to establish my role by staying the night, sitting with them in church, “helping” my grandma cook, “helping” my grandpa fix cars.  I was the first of the family to attend a university, cementing my place at the grown-up table, passing an aunt, an uncle, and two older cousins. I was the first to present a legitimate grandchild and the first to have my child baptized in the family baptismal gown, passed down through four generations.  So, yeah, I’m the favorite.  I have plastic barrettes somewhere that say so.  Well, technically they say “Grandpa’s Girl” because my grandma couldn’t read the small writing very well.  But it suited my grandpa just fine.

I held the dish.

Me: Thank you, Grandma.  I’ll take good care of it. I really appreciate this.  It’s the perfect solution.

***

I held the dish.  Memories played in my head, first bites, first tries, hundreds of meals mixed together, trying to put just a couple more drops of formula in the food to hide it. Another generation fed from a serving dish.

I placed it on a high shelf, pushing it to the back, where it will wait for another baby.

The trouble with grandparents or the trouble with *my* parents

As we were leaving my parents’ house the other day, I noticed the storm had blown a huge piece of paper around my tire.  I picked it up and started walking towards the community garbage can, across the street and down the alley, passed two houses.  The boys were playing in the front yard with my parents were keeping an eye on them as well as pulling weeds.  I dumped the trash and started walking back.  I noticed the boys were playing on the corner, on the curb that flowed into the street.  Not a place I wanted my children.

Then I watched as Aidan saw me and started into the street, only to be sidetracked by the giant puddle in the middle of the street.

“NO!  NO!  THE BABY!  THE BABY!  GET HIM!” I screamed.

I ran.

I ran as fast as I could,  but I was slowed down by my flip-flops and the soft mud.  A cold and sickening thought occurred to me as I ran.  I could see through the chain link fence on my left, through the school yard to the end of the street, but I couldn’t see to my right because of concrete backyard walls to see the other end of the street.  And I knew if a car came from that direction, I would be too late.  I pushed harder.

I watched my father stand up, take in the situation, walk into the street, and pick up Aidan, carrying him back to safety.  All with a slowness that made me growl.

I ran across the street, glancing to make sure I wasn’t going to be hit by a car.

I opened my mouth as I stormed onto the sidewalk.

My dad (still holding Aidan): Look at your Mommy!  I bet she hasn’t run like that since high school.  (He chuckled.  He f-ing chuckled.)  She was so worried.  There weren’t any cars coming, Fae.  I had it under control.

Me: YOU had it under control?!!! If YOU had it under control, my child would not have been in the street!!!  (I grabbed Aidan out of his arms.)  What is wrong with you?! Haven’t you learned anything after three children?!  You are not going to watch my children again!

Do you know how hard it is to yell at someone who is taller, bigger, and more imposing than you?  He might be retired, but my Dad still has the aura of Cop hanging on him. Do you know how hard it is to yell at someone who was the imposing authority in your life for your childhood, one that held the balance of justice and law in the house?

I must have sounded like I was five years old, in pig tails and a pink dress, scolding my daddy for letting my Teddy get wet.

Because my Dad chuckled again.

My Dad: You don’t mean that.

I did what any sane parent would do in this situation.

Me: MOOOOOOOOM!

I called in the higher authority.

My Mom: T, keep a better eye on the boys.  Fae, your father knew what he was doing.

Yeah, knew what he was doing.  Right.  Three kids and he still acts sometimes like the stories of my babyhood.  Come to think of it, sometimes so does she.

My parents acted like they didn’t know a damn thing when it came to raising a baby.  When my Mom was pregnant with me, they went skiing.  The doctor told them no, but since he originally said yes, they went any ways. Thank God, it rained.  She refurnished a dresser for me, using paint stripper and white paint, while she was pregnant.  She used chemical oven cleaner while she was pregnant with me.  My dad insisted on doing my first diaper change and then proceeded to get poop all over every item on the cart, the cart, and me.  My Mom stuck to a strict four-hour feeding cycle, which would have been fine if I didn’t sleep through the night, and she ignored doctor’s orders to wake me up to feed me in the middle of the night.  (Now we all hate to wake sleeping babies, but I was nearly failure to thrive.)  No one will admit who held the door and who held me when a hotel door slammed on my head, causing “the most interesting shades of purple and red,” and then no one took me to the hospital.  My Dad was on watch when I did my first roll . . . off of the couch and into the corner of the coffee table.  Sure, I could swim before I could walk, but I also received my first sun burn before my first birthday.  I swallowed a tack.

Yup, my parents were child-raising geniuses.  I’d forgive them if they were teenagers.  They weren’t.  They got better though.  The only crazy thing my mom did while pregnant with my little brother was lie about her pregnancy to ride the Matterhorn Bobsleds at Disneyland.

Maybe I should start looking for another sitter. . . .

It’s all about love

On the phone.

Me: So I’m running a few errands, going to some stores.  Do you want to come?

My Mom: No.  I think I’ll stay home.

See, I have reason to believe my Mom is depressed.  She hates being at home all day.  She likes going out. but not alone.  Sometimes it takes her days to work up the energy to go anywhere alone.  I do everything alone with the boys because if I didn’t, it wouldn’t get done.  So I always invite my Mom.

My Mom: If you want, you can leave the boys here.

Me: If you would like me to.

As many of us have learned, kids slow you down by half when running errands.  But we had spent all day at her house yesterday as I did laundry because I still don’t have a washing machine.

My Mom: Ask the boys.

Me: They will say yes.  They love you.

They will.  They do.

Me: Seanny, do you want to go shopping with Mommy or stay with Grandma?

Sean: Stay with Grandma!  I stay with Grandma, and Eban stays with Grandma!

Me: Evan, do you want to stay with Grandma or go shopping with me?

Evan: Stay with Grandma!  AND I love her!

Sean: I love her more than you do, Eban!

Evan: (pause) Well, I love her more than Mommy does!

Me: (into the phone) Are you sure you want them?

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.

Picking a favorite relative

Evan: Mommy, when you were a little girl, you didn’t have me.  You had to get older and become a grown up first.  Then you had Sean and me and Aidan. 

Me: That’s right.

Evan: And Grandma is older than you?

Me: Yes.

Evan: Is Grandma Sue older than Grandma?

Me: Yes, she is.

Evan: Is Grandma Sue older than Papi?

Me: Yes, she is.

Evan: Is Grandma Sue older than Papa?

Me: Um, I don’t think so.

Evan: Is Papa older than Grandma?

Me: Yes.

Evan: Is Papa older than Papi?

Me: Yes.

Evan: Is Papa older than Grandma-Great?

Me: No.

Evan: Oh.  Grandma-Great is older than Papi and Grandma?

Me: Yes, she is.

Evan: Is Grandma-Great older than Grandma Sue?

Me: Yes.

Evan: Ok.  Grandma-Great is my favorite!  Do you know why?

Me: No.

Evan: Because she’s the oldest!

Well, I guess that’s one way to pick your favorite relative.  Grandma-Great, please come by and pick up your prize; you get to enjoy the company of your great-grandchildren at no extra charge. Don’t you want to spend time with the people who dubbed you the favorite?

Surpirse, Surprise.

We were at church when Evan noticed something about his tooth.

Evan: My tooth is broken.

Me: (whispers) Mouse voice.

The Husband: (whispers) Let me see.

The Husband looked into Evan’s mouth.

The Husband: (Whispers) Did you know he broke his tooth?

Me: (Whispers) No.  But he would’ve cried when it happened, right?

The Husband shrugged.

We went out to breakfast for my Dad’s birthday.  My brothers and sister-in-law were there, and I sat on the farthest end from Evan, who procured a seat of honor next to my Dad.

Evan: Papi!  My tooth is broken!  It’s wably!

Me: What?!

My Mom: Let me see, Evan.

My Mom looked into Evan’s mouth as my Dad put on his glasses.

My Mom: It’s loose, all right.

Me: What?!

My Dad: Wait. I think he’s already missing a tooth.

Me: WHAT?!

I jumped out of my chair and ran around the table to inspect for myself.  Sure enough, my eldest baby, who won’t be five for another week, had a loose tooth.  WHAT??!!!!!

SIL:  Fae, your face!  It’ll be ok.

Sure, laugh.  You’ll be looking the same way when you have a baby ready to lose a tooth.

My mom: I guess I’ll have to make a tooth pillow soon with my wedding dress.

I sat down in my seat and called The Husband to demand why he failed to mention Evan’s tooth was loose.  Failing getting a hold of him, I texted my BFF.

Me: Evan’s tooth is loose!

BFF: Omg!  Omg!

Me: Right?

So when we returned home, I confronted The Husband.

Me: Why didn’t you tell me Evan had a loose tooth?

The Husband: He has a loose tooth?!

Me: Yeah.  That’s why it was broken.

The Husband: Evan!  Come here!  Let me see your tooth!  Isn’t he a little young?

Me: Yeah!  I think so.

This morning as I tried to wake up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, exiting the bathroom, Evan came running up to me.

Evan: Mommy!  I lost my tooth!

Me: What?!

Evan: See!

There is was a space where a tooth should be.

Me: So where’s the tooth?

Evan: I don’t know.  I was jumping on my bed dreaming, and then my tooth fell out.  It went this way and that way.

Me: Um, what about the tooth fairy?  Remember how your uncles were telling you about the tooth fairy?

Evan: Well, the binky fairy will find it because she’s made out of light and can find anything.

But what about me?  What about the picture I wanted of you holding up your tooth and smiling with a gap?  What about the tooth I was going to hide until you were an adult and surprise you?  What about the tooth pillow?  What about me who is losing my mind that you are old enough to lose a tooth??

Swimming with the tide or against it?

I got the boys into swim lessons through the city.  (YEA!)  After answering several questions about Evan’s ability, they placed him level 2.  Which I thought was awesome.  Until I saw the other kids in his class.  Who towered over him.  Then I became worried.  I mean what if- Hold on.  The boy can swim, so why should I worry?  They would move him if he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

The crazy thing is he kicked ass!  He listened to the teachers.  He swam with his head down more than any other child.  He kicked.  He stroked.  He jumped off the small diving board with glee.  He loved learning “the frog stroke” (aka the breaststroke).  That’s my boy.

And I can’t help but take a little credit, since I taught him last year.  I guess I over taught him, but I wanted him to be able to swim if he fell into the pool.

Now it’s Sean’s turn to learn to swim.  I placed him in the preschool class.  I figured if I can get him in, I would.  With breastfeeding every two hours and not having a swimsuit that would fit my huge boobs, it was better if Sean learned from someone else.  Except Sean won’t go near his teacher.  He won’t go near the water.  Are you kidding me?

On the first day, I tried to comfort him and leave him in the car of his teacher, but he clung to me and would follow me if I left.  After five minutes, we left.  On the second day, The Husband came with us and watched Evan and Aidan as I tried to convenience Sean to stay.  After fifteen minutes, I gave up.  Every time I moved, Sean moved, keeping my legs between his coach and him.  He told us he was scared and that the pool didn’t have steps.   On the third day, my mom went with us, and she took Sean into the pool area to his class as I was too busy breastfeeding.  She made him sit and left him.  He cried, and a female lifeguard talked to him, convinced him to eventually move into the shade of the lifeguard stand.  She almost got him to put his foot in the water, when I stood up to put Aidan in the stroller.  Sean stood up, pointed, and ran for the gate.  D’oh.  On the fourth day, my mom came with us again, and because she had  more luck getting Sean to stay, I asked if she would take Sean again.  Only every time she tried to leave a crying Sean, he would say he needed to use the potty.  So she was obligated to take him, where he would squeeze out a couple drops and cry all the way back to the coach.  This happened like four times, but at least he stayed the whole time.

I tried to introduce him to his teacher.  We tried to get Sean to tell his teacher about Kit Fisto.  My mom introduced Sean to his classmates.  I’ve taken him swimming in my parents’ pool where he’ll blow bubbles, walk the wall, and even kick while I hold him as he tells me where he wants to go.  My mom offered him McDonald’s if he went to class (which he did, he just didn’t go swimming).  I offered a brownie if he would swim.  I bought him new sandals that he could wear to the pool that he picked out all by himself.  Friday, I showed him the Kit Fisto scene from Star Wars Clone Wars volume 1 where Kit Fisto fights the bad guys underwater.  When the boys started to pretend they were pirates, I explained pirates swam, which Sean doubted.  So I showed them the scene where Jack Sparrow saved Elizabeth Swan by diving in the rescue her.  The next step is to take him to the public pool during operational hours and swim with him. 

Does anyone else have any ideas?

Gravel

Reported by my mom

Evan was watching TV on my parents’ bed as my mom read.

Evan: Grandma, why do I have gravel here?

Grandma: (looking up from her book) What, hun?

Evan: Why do I have gravel here?

Grandma: (Looking where he has his hands) Babe, that’s not gravel.  That’s your testes.

Evan: Oh.  So what are they for?

Grandma: Um.  Ask your mom.

Thanks, Mom.

My dad said they’re to keep a man balanced.

What would you answer?