Late last night after the boys were asleep (they were out by 7:55!) I received an email reminding me of a meeting I have at school this morning. At 8am. Now, when I was single – without kids – I would have been able to get up 30 minutes before my departure, leaving enuf time to get where I was going, I might have arrived less than an hour after waking. I am up several times in the middle of the night to be sure I have not overslept the alarm clock. At 6am I grab the clock and silence it, tiptoe to the bathroom and begin my day. I am brushing my teeth when not one but both children join me. “MOM! It’s too bright in here!” this from Sailor as he waits in line behind Mac to pee. It is still dark outside. I invite them back to bed but they would rather play. Per my instrux they are dressed when I come out of the shower. I am not in the mood for hair and makeup yet and contemplate making breakfast. It is really early.
Over breakfast Mac and I discuss the substitute teacher who will be in his classroom for two week starting tomorrow, while his teacher accompanies the 8th graders to France. Why, I have no idea. She does not speak a word of French and she will be apparently leaving her two small children at home with their father. I will not miss her.
I am helping Mac lean over his plate to get his ketchup covered scrambled eggs into his mouth. He rolls his eyes at me. I remind him not to be rude. He does it again. I can tell already how much fun we are going to have when these children turn to teenagers. I ask him to look me in the face and apologize.
I retreat to the bathroom and dry my hair. This behavior is heartbreaking to me.
Nearly two weeks after Mac brought Mrs. S a jar of homemade icing and a flowering plant from Sailor in celebration of her 39th birthday I have yet to see a thank you note in Mac’s backpack. And seeing as how she is off to France in 2 days I doubt we ever will see one. That is not the way to teach children.
I am generally very disgruntled over the way things have gone this year at school. I am happy to have been able to release Sailor from preschool, but that school was not giving me any sort of problems. I wish I could pull Mac from the big school. I wish it were that easy. I should know in the future not to involve myself with anything school-related if it is not directly Mac-related. That will be my new rule, except that I have already agreed to edit the school’s monthly newsletter for another year. I job I do nearly entirely thanklessly.
I am not sure whether or not Mother Nature has her own calendar, but she seems to be personally unaware that she set Spring in motion nearly a week ago. Our near-50 degree temperatures of yesterday afternoon have given way today to a raining snowstorm. It’s the kind of weather most people would simply describe as “gross.” It’s grey. And everything is wet.
Sailor and I spend this morning playing vigorously at one of those indoor inflatable playgrounds. I am exhausted, as is he. At lunch he swears he will not be taking a nap this afternoon and all the way home he negotiates with me until he finally asks what he has to do to not take a nap. I suggest he fold, distribute and put away (correctly) all the laundry. To which he asks, “And then can I have stories?” It’s only noon, so I explain to him that the reason he does not want to take a nap is that it isn’t nap time yet. So we decide to turn around and go back to the bookstore that has the train table. I can get a coffee! He can get a chocolate milk. We can look at books. “But I will not ask for a toy!” I am so proud of him. We pull into the parking lot and I catch a phone call. By the time I hang up 11 minutes later he is asleep. I start the engine to drive back home until I realize that I am in a parking lot that requires a validated parking ticket. Shoot. I drive up and call the attendant, whom I can see from the windowed booth she sits in across the side walk. I watch her let the phone ring twice before making a face at it, slowly picking it up and painstakingly pressing whatever she has to press to talk to me. The look of disgruntlement on her face is priceless and I wonder exactly how much she gets paid to do this job and precisely what she was doing before I so rudely interrupted her. I explain my situation. “Well, put your ticket in the slot [stupid lady! Don’t bother me!]” I call a generous thank you out to her as the card reader says I owe $0.00. By the time we get home, find parking and I am completely out of breath from not only carrying my winter-coat-clad 35-pound child up two flights of stairs, but carrying on a cell phone conversation simultaneously, Sailor is awake. “I thought we were going to the book store,” he wails plaintively. “Do you want to go?” I ask halfheartedly, tho we do have the entire afternoon ahead of us and the bookstore is always a good choice. He whines a little and I tell him to hang on a second while I go to the bathroom, the real reason I have carried him a block and a half and up two flights of stairs while on the phone. When I come out a minute or so later he has climbed up into my desk chair and is again fast asleep. The flash of my digital camera capturing this precious moment does not wake him. The house is so quiet. I should sleep a bit myself, but I don’t, of course. Instead I plug my new digicam into my laptop and find out how bloody easy it is to down load a photo! Wow, this is so cool.
I also contemplate dinner. We are way overdue for a trip to Trader Joe’s. But sometimes, just for fun, I like to hold out and see just how far we can get when we run out of food, because in truth we could never run out of food! But we are down to our last 3 apples. And while we can do without a gallon of milk due to the endless supply of milk boxes and organic soy milk my mother has so generously bestowed upon us, I just cannot turn a banana granola bar into a real piece of fruit.
Mac had homework to finish this morning, which of course ended in a battle of wills as he attempted to write sentences while balancing his worksheet on the corner of the bathroom sink. He does not understand the directions I am giving him in my smart mommy way of telling him how to spell “when.” This is one of your “wh” words, I remind him. He has no idea what to do and I am frustrated. More evidence when I try to explain further and he tells me that his teacher never comes by his desk to help him, that she is not teaching him well. Have I mentioned that I am completely over Mrs. S? Done. Finished. Caput. I will allow her to teach my child for the remaining three months of school but I will not be nice anymore. We are still waiting for her thank you notes from the gifts my boys brought her on her early-March birthday. Not a major error, true, but a very bad example to set for the children. And even worse when I am still disgruntled over her comment that even tho we moms do all the work it is really the father and his family who count. AAARRRGGGHHH!!!! I will not allow this woman to tell me how to raise my child or what name to call him. As I said, I am over her.
My 4-year-old sits at the dining room table while I fold his laundry. He plays with a set of plastic clothes hangers and two tiny plastic army men. There is a lot of shooting noise and moaning sounds. “Repair to die!” I overhear one army guy tell the other army guy.
After school Mac tells me he has learned to patch people up from like the movies, like that guy Fredrick Newtongale.
Saturday morning Sailor has changed his mind about wanting to go tot the strore for healthy donut ingredients. “What should we do then?” I ask him. “Settle down,” he suggests. “Settle down?” I ask. “Settle down, have a coffee, do what you want, do art studio business,” then he adds, “Take a rest.”
Mommies don’t get a rest, I tell him. But he disappears into the playroom and I am left to contemplate his wisdom. I guess in all practicality I could sit down and read a book…. Except I have to prepare my taxes. And I both boys’ rooms are terribly messy (not that it really matters since they don’t sleep there – tho Sailor’s room, still housing both his own and the living room rocker is too crowded to get to his clothing easily). And I do have work to do for the art studio…. Sigh…. There is no rest time for the Mommy. I just want to spend my day with my boys. Not in the same house as they are, but actually with them. Tho I don’t really want to play StarWars.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Week 27 Spring Break
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Everyone in green! I have set out an impossibly green outfit for Mac that includes a green striped oxford shirt, a green striped polo shirt (“My Blues Clues shirt” he calls it), green corduroys (why he has these I am not quite certain) and green socks. Sailor doesn’t get to wear as many green things, but he does have Mac’s Old Navy St. Patrick’s Day t-shirt from two years ago and green socks, and we improvise with army green pants. He tops the outfit with a tall Dr. Seuss-like St. Patrick’s Day hat.
First day of spring break and Sailor comes to ask me if he and Mac can play StarWars. “No,” I say clearly, tho still asleep. He stomps out of my room. I get up soon after and am still peeing when he pops his cute little head into the bathroom to ask again if he and Mac can play StarWars. “No,” I repeat. He starts whining. “We talked about this yesterday and we agreed that StarWars is going on vacation. That’s the end of this discussion.” He storms out of the bathroom saying things about me that I hope he does not mean.
I am busy in the kitchen whipping up green milk and green cream cheese and green scrambled eggs – evidence that the leprechaun was indeed here messing around and playing tricks on us while we slept. “Mommy, I gave Sailor three choices for what to play and one of the choices was StarWars.” I look at Mac. At least he is honest. “Both of you, go to your rooms.” I am calm, I am rational, I am pissed off.
When the boys are back in the kitchen Mac starts in about how the leprechaun didn’t leave any green milk or green pee pee (in other words, the toilet water wasn’t green). I invite them to blow bubbles in their milk using their straws and lo and behold the milk turns green. Sailor doesn’t want the bluish-greyish green cream cheese on his bagel. The two get going on how there is no leprechaun. How Mommy must have done all of this. I can’t win.
I walk out of the room and call a friend. This has been a bad start to spring break. There is definitely room for improvement. We leave late and shop at a fruit market, each boy getting to choose some green vegetables and fruits to eat this week. Mac is all over the place and I realize how much easier my days are when he is in school. He has a lot of energy. This is not to say that I prefer to have him in school. It is just a statement of fact. Three grocery stores later we have a car full of fixings for our annual St. Patrick’s Day Irish Stew. Including $7 worth of hormone free, cage free, antibiotic free beef that you could not pay me to eat. But you can’t make a stew without meat. So the guests will eat the meat and I will eat the veggies.
Next stop: $1 bowling. Great idea. In fact, so great the entire population of some other part of our city has the same idea. The bowling alley is packed and we are on the waitlist for a lane. Friends meet us at the alley and after 30 minutes waiting we decide to reconvene at my house. I set out a healthy share-all version of lunch and put away groceries. The boys play with my friend’s 8-year-old niece while she and I and her college daughter work on a newsletter in the kitchen. When they leave I start cooking and cleaning for dinner. Guests are set to arrive at 5:00. It’s 3:00. Sailor goes down for his nap with such a fuss I nearly have to cancel our plans. Dinner is simmering in a pot. Soda bread is baking in the oven. Wine has been poured. Sailor is napping. Mac and my dad are in the kitchen working on math. And I retreat to the bathroom to fix my make-up and brush my hair. At this point I take time out of my busy schedule to teach myself an important lesson: Do not squeeze a zit on your forehead moments before guests are set to arrive, as doing so will result in a big red monster bite in your forehead for the remainder of the evening.
My friend’s little boys, who are roughly the same age as mine (a few months older), are afraid of the little loaner dog my sister has brought over, very loud, and they won’t even try a bite of anything I have served them. But they are polite and very cute so all is forgiven and the evening is boisterous and lovely.
So far our plans are going so-so for this week. Let’s see how the remainder of the week plays out. Oh, and did I mention that it started to snow while I was cooking dinner?
It’s Friday, March 21, 2008. The first day of spring. Or was that officially yesterday? Either way, Sailor has a terrible cold and it is snowing so hard I had to re-shovel before I had finished shoveling. Welcome to spring break, Chicago style! Oh, and Easter is in two days.
Most of our plans this week have been thwarted by one thing or another. First the bowling alley was too crowded, and yesterday I was planning to take the kids to one of those indoor inflatable jumpy places. But Sailor woke up with the cold and wanted to stay home. We discussed it and after a lot of leg wiggling from a disgruntled Mac and a lot of crying from Sailor I left the boys to decide on their own how to handle this unfair situation. I was much too tired to do it myself after having dragged my Spring Break self out of bed early to get them ready to be at said indoor inflatable jumpy place by 9:15 am. We spend the morning watching old Flintstones – whom Sailor has alternately referred to as the Thumpstumps, the Footstones, the Footstumps, the Flipstumps, and finally settling on the Thumps -- cartoons on DVD. The kids think they are hilarious and I love listening to them giggling. Sailor napps in the afternoon and Mac and I watch Les Miserables on DVD. The “talking one” as opposed to the “singing one.” A friend whom I have recently re-connected with and her twins came for dinner early just after Sailor wakes from his nap. So that has been our week. Just a lot of regular days and plans going south.
6:25pm Mac is making popcorn and Sailor is jumping up and down in the living room trying to reach the Thumps movie. We are heading to bed. I have had to shovel once again and as I am finishing up a storm of little white hail/snow balls dumps on our heads. “I just finished!” I shout at the sky. The kids climb up onto my car and together we launch snowballs across the street. Mine go far and I know I will have a sore right arm tomorrow. For now, hot chocolate is gone – a sure sign it should be spring and not mid-winter -- and dinner is over and Mac has filled my DVD player with the Thumpstones DVD and the popcorn is going crazy, abandoned in the kitchen, and while it doesn’t feel like it’s been a long day, I am very tired and so we retreat to bed.
First day of spring break and Sailor comes to ask me if he and Mac can play StarWars. “No,” I say clearly, tho still asleep. He stomps out of my room. I get up soon after and am still peeing when he pops his cute little head into the bathroom to ask again if he and Mac can play StarWars. “No,” I repeat. He starts whining. “We talked about this yesterday and we agreed that StarWars is going on vacation. That’s the end of this discussion.” He storms out of the bathroom saying things about me that I hope he does not mean.
I am busy in the kitchen whipping up green milk and green cream cheese and green scrambled eggs – evidence that the leprechaun was indeed here messing around and playing tricks on us while we slept. “Mommy, I gave Sailor three choices for what to play and one of the choices was StarWars.” I look at Mac. At least he is honest. “Both of you, go to your rooms.” I am calm, I am rational, I am pissed off.
When the boys are back in the kitchen Mac starts in about how the leprechaun didn’t leave any green milk or green pee pee (in other words, the toilet water wasn’t green). I invite them to blow bubbles in their milk using their straws and lo and behold the milk turns green. Sailor doesn’t want the bluish-greyish green cream cheese on his bagel. The two get going on how there is no leprechaun. How Mommy must have done all of this. I can’t win.
I walk out of the room and call a friend. This has been a bad start to spring break. There is definitely room for improvement. We leave late and shop at a fruit market, each boy getting to choose some green vegetables and fruits to eat this week. Mac is all over the place and I realize how much easier my days are when he is in school. He has a lot of energy. This is not to say that I prefer to have him in school. It is just a statement of fact. Three grocery stores later we have a car full of fixings for our annual St. Patrick’s Day Irish Stew. Including $7 worth of hormone free, cage free, antibiotic free beef that you could not pay me to eat. But you can’t make a stew without meat. So the guests will eat the meat and I will eat the veggies.
Next stop: $1 bowling. Great idea. In fact, so great the entire population of some other part of our city has the same idea. The bowling alley is packed and we are on the waitlist for a lane. Friends meet us at the alley and after 30 minutes waiting we decide to reconvene at my house. I set out a healthy share-all version of lunch and put away groceries. The boys play with my friend’s 8-year-old niece while she and I and her college daughter work on a newsletter in the kitchen. When they leave I start cooking and cleaning for dinner. Guests are set to arrive at 5:00. It’s 3:00. Sailor goes down for his nap with such a fuss I nearly have to cancel our plans. Dinner is simmering in a pot. Soda bread is baking in the oven. Wine has been poured. Sailor is napping. Mac and my dad are in the kitchen working on math. And I retreat to the bathroom to fix my make-up and brush my hair. At this point I take time out of my busy schedule to teach myself an important lesson: Do not squeeze a zit on your forehead moments before guests are set to arrive, as doing so will result in a big red monster bite in your forehead for the remainder of the evening.
My friend’s little boys, who are roughly the same age as mine (a few months older), are afraid of the little loaner dog my sister has brought over, very loud, and they won’t even try a bite of anything I have served them. But they are polite and very cute so all is forgiven and the evening is boisterous and lovely.
So far our plans are going so-so for this week. Let’s see how the remainder of the week plays out. Oh, and did I mention that it started to snow while I was cooking dinner?
It’s Friday, March 21, 2008. The first day of spring. Or was that officially yesterday? Either way, Sailor has a terrible cold and it is snowing so hard I had to re-shovel before I had finished shoveling. Welcome to spring break, Chicago style! Oh, and Easter is in two days.
Most of our plans this week have been thwarted by one thing or another. First the bowling alley was too crowded, and yesterday I was planning to take the kids to one of those indoor inflatable jumpy places. But Sailor woke up with the cold and wanted to stay home. We discussed it and after a lot of leg wiggling from a disgruntled Mac and a lot of crying from Sailor I left the boys to decide on their own how to handle this unfair situation. I was much too tired to do it myself after having dragged my Spring Break self out of bed early to get them ready to be at said indoor inflatable jumpy place by 9:15 am. We spend the morning watching old Flintstones – whom Sailor has alternately referred to as the Thumpstumps, the Footstones, the Footstumps, the Flipstumps, and finally settling on the Thumps -- cartoons on DVD. The kids think they are hilarious and I love listening to them giggling. Sailor napps in the afternoon and Mac and I watch Les Miserables on DVD. The “talking one” as opposed to the “singing one.” A friend whom I have recently re-connected with and her twins came for dinner early just after Sailor wakes from his nap. So that has been our week. Just a lot of regular days and plans going south.
6:25pm Mac is making popcorn and Sailor is jumping up and down in the living room trying to reach the Thumps movie. We are heading to bed. I have had to shovel once again and as I am finishing up a storm of little white hail/snow balls dumps on our heads. “I just finished!” I shout at the sky. The kids climb up onto my car and together we launch snowballs across the street. Mine go far and I know I will have a sore right arm tomorrow. For now, hot chocolate is gone – a sure sign it should be spring and not mid-winter -- and dinner is over and Mac has filled my DVD player with the Thumpstones DVD and the popcorn is going crazy, abandoned in the kitchen, and while it doesn’t feel like it’s been a long day, I am very tired and so we retreat to bed.
Week 26
Monday is completely lost. As if we had a day off or something. I know I did some food shopping. More than that I cannot say unless I consult the dry erase board beside my desk, which tells me, via barely legible things crossed out, that I food shopped, bought a white shirt for Mac’s assembly on Tuesday, wrote a note to Mrs. S about the 8:30 a.m. meeting she proposed for Thursday morning, called the GI doctor, called the printer, went to the pharmacy, and wrote a policy page for my art studio. I do also vaguely recall that a friend of Mac’s came over around 4:30 with his mom and older brother. But as far as the day goes, in direct relation to this week, I am a day behind,
Tuesday is Mac’s assembly. This is an excellent day to oversleep half an hour. Especially because Mac needs a bath.
Wednesday
Sailor has been a total pill today. Right now I am helping Mac look up "attribute" in the dictionary so he can use it correctly in a sentence for his spelling words. And Sailor is crying that he is lonely and wants me in bed with him right now. This after telling me several times today that I am the worst mom and that he hates me and I am mean and he is going to live somewhere else... all because I would not allow him a piece of rasin toast as part of his pizza and bagel and no veggies or fruits lunch and becuz I asked him to wash his hands after I clipped his nails. I don't know what I do to deserve such "love"! And then when he said I was stupid I spanked him. After which he rewarded me by throwing up in his bed. He came out crying in earnest and was very sweet when he told me that, "I hate to tell you this, but I throwed up in my bed." So I got to clean up that smelly (very smelly) mess this afternoon while awaiting a phone interview with Crain's Chicago Business. Then he fell right to sleep on the couch.
It's just not easy!
sigh
I keep reminding myself how much I love this job.
And after bath he stands on the toilet lid stamping his feet becuz he wants to play. There just are not enuf hours in the day to do everything we want to do, especially on Wednesdays!
Thursday is a regular day except Sailor has a soccer make-up during which I realize that the nice mom I chatted with last week during Parents’ Week at soccer is none other than one of the parents who brings her children to my art studio. Smallish world. Sailor and I run to Trader Joe’s after soccer to pick up some supplies for the next few days. By the time we arrive home Sailor is momentarily asleep and I am totally starving. Neither of which is a good thing. Sailor wakes so I don’t have to carry him in. I carry the groceries instead and barely make it to the kitchen, where I screw open the cap of a huge bottle of juice. Aahh, lunch. I can see that this is going to be a long and difficult day. I am on a clear liquid diet in preparation for my colonoscopy tomorrow. It is not my 1st, but my last was nearly 20 years ago and I am not excited about his one. I am starving. I manage to rejuvenate myself with a can of natural root beer and a big glass of juice. Then I busy Sailor with some squshy mushy, aka play-do, while I return some business calls. I sit quietly for this. I need to store all the energy I can. I have to pick up Mac in a few hours and I am already short on energy. I am a small person and I won’t last long without some food. Sailor says the 14 seconds of sleep in the car was all the nap he needs today and I don’t argue. I need the boys in bed early tonight and his lack of significant nap will probably help do the trick. It is a warm, sunny day. Our first this season. So when I have gathered some strength we head out with the stroller. We take a long walk, and I do some errands. I tell Sailor that good behaviour will be rewarded and so he is patient while I stop here and there. And then he gets to play in the school playground. I read. We bring Mac home and I think it might be nice to go back outside. We walk to the playground near home. The one I swore we would never go to again after both kids fell on their heads last summer. I give them some new safety rules to work with this year. I sit on a bench that is temporarily in the sun and the boys run off their energy playing Luke and Anakin. I appear to be “bad mommy” when I won’t push them on the swings. Must. Conserve. Energy.
At home I make them a small dinner and pour myself another glass of juice. Mac comes to the table, eyes his bowl of chicken broth (which was meant to be MY dinner, except as soon as I pour it I realize it is not clear! AAACK! I am STARVING!) with carrots and organic alphabet pasta floating in it. He takes a slurp and asks, “What’s the main course?”
“This is your main course,” I all but bark, “now please eat up so we can leave the kitchen.” While they eat I am forced to torture myself further with other necessities. I must make Mac’s lunch for tomorrow and prepare as much of tomorrow’s breakfast as possible. I do not know what condition I will be in come dawn and I need to be sure my children are taken care of.
By stroke of miracle both boys seem to fully comprehend the urgency with which I have explained to them that they MUST go to bed right away tonight. I have already explained earlier that I have to take some medicine that will make my tummy sick. All afternoon, concerned Sailor has asked me repeatedly if I have taken the medicine yet. When I do take it Mac seems to know. “You are sick now, Mommy,” he says, “I can tell by your voice.”
Mac gets up to pee twice and then joins Sailor in slumber. They are both out long before 8pm. By 8:30 my stomach begins its preparatory evacuation. I am in bed by 10:30 and only get up a couple times in the night.
Morning goes smoothly and because I have everything so well prepared from last night, the boys are putting on their coats at 8:10am. “You have 20 minutes to play,” I inform them. They are thrilled. My mother picks them up at 8:25 and she and Sailor walk Mac to school. I shower, dress, put on my face, dry and curl my hair, do some work, make some phone calls, and when my last two tablespoons of saline laxative kick in, I do a few Sudoku puzzles. It’s an easy morning. I am fatigued and weak with starvation by the time my mom and I leave for the hospital. Before we go I hop on my parents’ bathroom scale. I find it odd that I weigh a mere 37 lbs more than my 6-year-old. In fact, I weigh the sum of my two children together. My mother, for the first time, does not see my low weight as odd. We examine, and we see that I do not look bad. This is good.
We spend the remainder of the day waiting around at the hospital. After 90 minutes I am ready to pass out, and am finally hooked up to an IV. Aaah… sugar water! I am bored, tired, hungry and cold. But I am over being particularly nervous. The prep has been a breeze and the test goes just as well. And best of all, my doctor tells me mine has been the best colonoscopy all day. I am fine. Nothing is wrong. I am relieved beyond measure.
And so I must do something. Not sure what yet, but I am thinking along the lines of exercise or something. Something to show that I am grateful that the doctor found my colon to be clean and in good health. Something that says I will not take my health for granted again. Something….
And so my week ends. It will be a slow and quiet weekend while I regain my strength and the few pounds I lost.
I must say, the colonoscopy experience was not so bad. I didn’t like the starving part but otherwise I can honestly say that if the doctor had told me he’d see me back next year I would have just smiled and said, “Ok, see you then.” I can’t even fathom how different my life will be when I go back for my next colonoscopy in 10 years. Maybe Mac will drive me!
An ultimatum? On Saturday night the boys are in bed early and I overhear Mac make the following offer to Sailor: “If you let me read to you I will let you play with the Luke with one arm until…” I don’t hear the rest but can’t help wondering if this is an offer Sailor can’t resist.
Tuesday is Mac’s assembly. This is an excellent day to oversleep half an hour. Especially because Mac needs a bath.
Wednesday
Sailor has been a total pill today. Right now I am helping Mac look up "attribute" in the dictionary so he can use it correctly in a sentence for his spelling words. And Sailor is crying that he is lonely and wants me in bed with him right now. This after telling me several times today that I am the worst mom and that he hates me and I am mean and he is going to live somewhere else... all because I would not allow him a piece of rasin toast as part of his pizza and bagel and no veggies or fruits lunch and becuz I asked him to wash his hands after I clipped his nails. I don't know what I do to deserve such "love"! And then when he said I was stupid I spanked him. After which he rewarded me by throwing up in his bed. He came out crying in earnest and was very sweet when he told me that, "I hate to tell you this, but I throwed up in my bed." So I got to clean up that smelly (very smelly) mess this afternoon while awaiting a phone interview with Crain's Chicago Business. Then he fell right to sleep on the couch.
It's just not easy!
sigh
I keep reminding myself how much I love this job.
And after bath he stands on the toilet lid stamping his feet becuz he wants to play. There just are not enuf hours in the day to do everything we want to do, especially on Wednesdays!
Thursday is a regular day except Sailor has a soccer make-up during which I realize that the nice mom I chatted with last week during Parents’ Week at soccer is none other than one of the parents who brings her children to my art studio. Smallish world. Sailor and I run to Trader Joe’s after soccer to pick up some supplies for the next few days. By the time we arrive home Sailor is momentarily asleep and I am totally starving. Neither of which is a good thing. Sailor wakes so I don’t have to carry him in. I carry the groceries instead and barely make it to the kitchen, where I screw open the cap of a huge bottle of juice. Aahh, lunch. I can see that this is going to be a long and difficult day. I am on a clear liquid diet in preparation for my colonoscopy tomorrow. It is not my 1st, but my last was nearly 20 years ago and I am not excited about his one. I am starving. I manage to rejuvenate myself with a can of natural root beer and a big glass of juice. Then I busy Sailor with some squshy mushy, aka play-do, while I return some business calls. I sit quietly for this. I need to store all the energy I can. I have to pick up Mac in a few hours and I am already short on energy. I am a small person and I won’t last long without some food. Sailor says the 14 seconds of sleep in the car was all the nap he needs today and I don’t argue. I need the boys in bed early tonight and his lack of significant nap will probably help do the trick. It is a warm, sunny day. Our first this season. So when I have gathered some strength we head out with the stroller. We take a long walk, and I do some errands. I tell Sailor that good behaviour will be rewarded and so he is patient while I stop here and there. And then he gets to play in the school playground. I read. We bring Mac home and I think it might be nice to go back outside. We walk to the playground near home. The one I swore we would never go to again after both kids fell on their heads last summer. I give them some new safety rules to work with this year. I sit on a bench that is temporarily in the sun and the boys run off their energy playing Luke and Anakin. I appear to be “bad mommy” when I won’t push them on the swings. Must. Conserve. Energy.
At home I make them a small dinner and pour myself another glass of juice. Mac comes to the table, eyes his bowl of chicken broth (which was meant to be MY dinner, except as soon as I pour it I realize it is not clear! AAACK! I am STARVING!) with carrots and organic alphabet pasta floating in it. He takes a slurp and asks, “What’s the main course?”
“This is your main course,” I all but bark, “now please eat up so we can leave the kitchen.” While they eat I am forced to torture myself further with other necessities. I must make Mac’s lunch for tomorrow and prepare as much of tomorrow’s breakfast as possible. I do not know what condition I will be in come dawn and I need to be sure my children are taken care of.
By stroke of miracle both boys seem to fully comprehend the urgency with which I have explained to them that they MUST go to bed right away tonight. I have already explained earlier that I have to take some medicine that will make my tummy sick. All afternoon, concerned Sailor has asked me repeatedly if I have taken the medicine yet. When I do take it Mac seems to know. “You are sick now, Mommy,” he says, “I can tell by your voice.”
Mac gets up to pee twice and then joins Sailor in slumber. They are both out long before 8pm. By 8:30 my stomach begins its preparatory evacuation. I am in bed by 10:30 and only get up a couple times in the night.
Morning goes smoothly and because I have everything so well prepared from last night, the boys are putting on their coats at 8:10am. “You have 20 minutes to play,” I inform them. They are thrilled. My mother picks them up at 8:25 and she and Sailor walk Mac to school. I shower, dress, put on my face, dry and curl my hair, do some work, make some phone calls, and when my last two tablespoons of saline laxative kick in, I do a few Sudoku puzzles. It’s an easy morning. I am fatigued and weak with starvation by the time my mom and I leave for the hospital. Before we go I hop on my parents’ bathroom scale. I find it odd that I weigh a mere 37 lbs more than my 6-year-old. In fact, I weigh the sum of my two children together. My mother, for the first time, does not see my low weight as odd. We examine, and we see that I do not look bad. This is good.
We spend the remainder of the day waiting around at the hospital. After 90 minutes I am ready to pass out, and am finally hooked up to an IV. Aaah… sugar water! I am bored, tired, hungry and cold. But I am over being particularly nervous. The prep has been a breeze and the test goes just as well. And best of all, my doctor tells me mine has been the best colonoscopy all day. I am fine. Nothing is wrong. I am relieved beyond measure.
And so I must do something. Not sure what yet, but I am thinking along the lines of exercise or something. Something to show that I am grateful that the doctor found my colon to be clean and in good health. Something that says I will not take my health for granted again. Something….
And so my week ends. It will be a slow and quiet weekend while I regain my strength and the few pounds I lost.
I must say, the colonoscopy experience was not so bad. I didn’t like the starving part but otherwise I can honestly say that if the doctor had told me he’d see me back next year I would have just smiled and said, “Ok, see you then.” I can’t even fathom how different my life will be when I go back for my next colonoscopy in 10 years. Maybe Mac will drive me!
An ultimatum? On Saturday night the boys are in bed early and I overhear Mac make the following offer to Sailor: “If you let me read to you I will let you play with the Luke with one arm until…” I don’t hear the rest but can’t help wondering if this is an offer Sailor can’t resist.
Week 25
The weekend passes as weekends pass. Except Mac has a major meltdown in a department store over a toy I don’t want to buy him. And Sailor has $50 to spend from a gift certificate he was given at birth! It’s so old it’s an actual paper gift certificate that I have to turn into a gift card at customer service because the cashiers in the kids’ department don’t know how to redeem it. Sailor uses his $50 wisely: he chooses a linen suit and an Aquaman action figure for himself and the Superman action figure Mac is throwing his tantrum over. I do not allow Mac to have his Superman right away and in fact it is still in the bag. Sailor’s Aquaman is decapitated within an hour of opening when his buddy Chris slams it to the floor. Sailor shows true and justified anger. Chris’s mom superglues Aquaman’s head back on.
And then it’s Monday again.
We have another glorious day off on Monday. Our first plan for the day is to tackle the still-clogged and now-dripping kitchen sink. I follow the instructions my friend Anna prescribed last week. To no avail. I call Anna to come do it herself promising that I will both entertain and feed her daughters.
The boys and I return home from errands to find Anna under our sink working hard. Again to no avail. And to make matters worse the pipes are beginning to crack and break. I call my father for the plumber’s phone number.
I run the dishwasher by bailing water to the back yard.
When Anna and her girls leave we take a walk to the bank. The boys insist they don’t need coats on because it was slightly warm out yesterday. It is not even slightly warm today. It is cold. But I let them wear their puffy vests and they don’t complain about the cold.
More friends are due for dinner and I try in vain to clean up and clean the kitchen before they arrive with strawberries and raspberries and good conversation. Ten minutes after they arrive the little girl is wandering aimlessly around our playroom and my boys are nowhere to be found. “Did the boys abandon you?” I ask. She nods. I find them in the living room, seated on the sofa reading a book. I am not quiet when I read them the riot act and let them know how rude they are being. I don’t leave them any choice but to hang their heads and tuck their tails between their knees and come up with something they can do with our little friend.
Tuesday is Tuesday as most Tuesdays are (which really means I don’t have a clue what went on two days ago!). In bed that night Mac is asking for another kiss and another kiss and another kiss, and Sailor is following his lead. Which would be sweet and fine if it were 7:30 or even 8pm. But it’s not. It’s 9:30. Which is much too late to be just getting to bed. We have read our stories and the boys should be dropping off to sleep. But Mac thinks it’s hilariously funny to try to lick his own armpit. Which is seriously grossing me out. Finally when I have had enough I let them both know with a not-so-kind tone of voice. Mac cries and I feel like the worst mom in the world. It’s so hard to wind down and get to bed on time, and even harder on evenings when the boys have a visit from their father. I must learn to cope with it better and simply allow for them to be a little extra wound up that night and a little extra cranky and tired in the morning that follows.
Wednesday morning Mac is up first and I estimate it’s about 6:30. Sailor gets up a little before 7:00 and I am last to leave the comfort of the bed at 7:05. I go right to the showering, allowing them a bit more play time and myself a bit of a slow wake up. I am dressed and out of the bathroom before 7:30 and I drop outfits for both boys near them in the playroom. At 7:45 I call them to breakfast. Sailor hops over to his seat and within minutes he has devoured scrambled eggs and oatmeal and he is asking for more of both. I scrub the frying pan to make more eggs while he works on his toast and fruit. Mac is still in the playroom putting together every single one of his puzzles. I am torn among the possibilities of how to handle this, which are all clouded by my guilt for yelling at him last night. I do nothing. He comes to the table at 8:25. “My oatmeal is hard as a rock!” he exclaims.
“That’s because I served it to you 45 minutes ago,” I explain.
Five minutes later I tell the boys it is time to get their coats on. Sailor complies.
“But I’m not dressed!” Mac mentions.
“Well, I am not sure why you are not dressed. I gave you your clothes an hour ago,” I remind him. “And now it’s time to go to school. Put on your coat.”
He is wearing red and black “Incredibles” pajama pants, Crocs and the red turtleneck from yesterday. In my own mind I know he does not have enough clothing on to go out in the chill of the morning. I also know he would have a very bad day dressed this way. I consider tossing him a pair of jeans.
“NO!” he shrieks as he runs to his playroom and dresses faster than I have ever seen him dress.
“I hate stupid school!” he yells, “and I hate getting up so early!”
“Ok,” I say calmly, “let’s not go to school today. I take off my coat and instruct Sailor to do the same. I start some work on my computer.
“No! I have to turn in my homework and my friends are waiting for me!”
I invite him to the couch for a talk.
He is an hour late for school.
I have left word with his teacher that we need to talk. This is just not working out.
Don’t worry. The week actually gets better. I busy myself with Mac’s school’s upcoming auction and with our neighborhood’s summer outdoor event. I shop at Trader Joe’s. I let Mac have a friend over after school on Thursday and find out on the walk home that the little chap is from London. How is it that I have never noticed his accent before today?
We go to bed reasonably. We snuggle and sleep well. We wake up happy. The parking ticket issued by Officer Dick is dismissed. My children are kissy and huggy and affectionate. Things go well.
Sailor is doing so well out of school. He is a different child. I wish I had traded in the grumpy, whiney model ages ago!
Both kids have been saying such funny things lately and Sailor has decided that being a hunter is too dangerous so he is going to be a racecar driver when he grows up. For some reason this strikes me as quite something odd. Considering we know nothing about racecar driving. I don’t even know where this notion has sprung from. It does amuse me no end.
On the way home from school today, for no specific reason, Mac says, “Mom, I call Sailor: Sailor, Brother, Buddy, and sometimes just plain Say.” I live in the same house with you, I think. Also on the way home Mac tells me he got 102% on his spelling test today. Despite the fact that we practiced spelling “perseverance” incorrectly. I am proud!
As for me, I have been 40 for 5 weeks. I think I am doing a pretty good job. Except for my hands, which look like they have preceded the rest of me by a few decades. I am so embarrassed. Next week I get to enjoy another rite of 40-year-old passage: a colonoscopy. Stay tuned for that fun story!
And then it’s Monday again.
We have another glorious day off on Monday. Our first plan for the day is to tackle the still-clogged and now-dripping kitchen sink. I follow the instructions my friend Anna prescribed last week. To no avail. I call Anna to come do it herself promising that I will both entertain and feed her daughters.
The boys and I return home from errands to find Anna under our sink working hard. Again to no avail. And to make matters worse the pipes are beginning to crack and break. I call my father for the plumber’s phone number.
I run the dishwasher by bailing water to the back yard.
When Anna and her girls leave we take a walk to the bank. The boys insist they don’t need coats on because it was slightly warm out yesterday. It is not even slightly warm today. It is cold. But I let them wear their puffy vests and they don’t complain about the cold.
More friends are due for dinner and I try in vain to clean up and clean the kitchen before they arrive with strawberries and raspberries and good conversation. Ten minutes after they arrive the little girl is wandering aimlessly around our playroom and my boys are nowhere to be found. “Did the boys abandon you?” I ask. She nods. I find them in the living room, seated on the sofa reading a book. I am not quiet when I read them the riot act and let them know how rude they are being. I don’t leave them any choice but to hang their heads and tuck their tails between their knees and come up with something they can do with our little friend.
Tuesday is Tuesday as most Tuesdays are (which really means I don’t have a clue what went on two days ago!). In bed that night Mac is asking for another kiss and another kiss and another kiss, and Sailor is following his lead. Which would be sweet and fine if it were 7:30 or even 8pm. But it’s not. It’s 9:30. Which is much too late to be just getting to bed. We have read our stories and the boys should be dropping off to sleep. But Mac thinks it’s hilariously funny to try to lick his own armpit. Which is seriously grossing me out. Finally when I have had enough I let them both know with a not-so-kind tone of voice. Mac cries and I feel like the worst mom in the world. It’s so hard to wind down and get to bed on time, and even harder on evenings when the boys have a visit from their father. I must learn to cope with it better and simply allow for them to be a little extra wound up that night and a little extra cranky and tired in the morning that follows.
Wednesday morning Mac is up first and I estimate it’s about 6:30. Sailor gets up a little before 7:00 and I am last to leave the comfort of the bed at 7:05. I go right to the showering, allowing them a bit more play time and myself a bit of a slow wake up. I am dressed and out of the bathroom before 7:30 and I drop outfits for both boys near them in the playroom. At 7:45 I call them to breakfast. Sailor hops over to his seat and within minutes he has devoured scrambled eggs and oatmeal and he is asking for more of both. I scrub the frying pan to make more eggs while he works on his toast and fruit. Mac is still in the playroom putting together every single one of his puzzles. I am torn among the possibilities of how to handle this, which are all clouded by my guilt for yelling at him last night. I do nothing. He comes to the table at 8:25. “My oatmeal is hard as a rock!” he exclaims.
“That’s because I served it to you 45 minutes ago,” I explain.
Five minutes later I tell the boys it is time to get their coats on. Sailor complies.
“But I’m not dressed!” Mac mentions.
“Well, I am not sure why you are not dressed. I gave you your clothes an hour ago,” I remind him. “And now it’s time to go to school. Put on your coat.”
He is wearing red and black “Incredibles” pajama pants, Crocs and the red turtleneck from yesterday. In my own mind I know he does not have enough clothing on to go out in the chill of the morning. I also know he would have a very bad day dressed this way. I consider tossing him a pair of jeans.
“NO!” he shrieks as he runs to his playroom and dresses faster than I have ever seen him dress.
“I hate stupid school!” he yells, “and I hate getting up so early!”
“Ok,” I say calmly, “let’s not go to school today. I take off my coat and instruct Sailor to do the same. I start some work on my computer.
“No! I have to turn in my homework and my friends are waiting for me!”
I invite him to the couch for a talk.
He is an hour late for school.
I have left word with his teacher that we need to talk. This is just not working out.
Don’t worry. The week actually gets better. I busy myself with Mac’s school’s upcoming auction and with our neighborhood’s summer outdoor event. I shop at Trader Joe’s. I let Mac have a friend over after school on Thursday and find out on the walk home that the little chap is from London. How is it that I have never noticed his accent before today?
We go to bed reasonably. We snuggle and sleep well. We wake up happy. The parking ticket issued by Officer Dick is dismissed. My children are kissy and huggy and affectionate. Things go well.
Sailor is doing so well out of school. He is a different child. I wish I had traded in the grumpy, whiney model ages ago!
Both kids have been saying such funny things lately and Sailor has decided that being a hunter is too dangerous so he is going to be a racecar driver when he grows up. For some reason this strikes me as quite something odd. Considering we know nothing about racecar driving. I don’t even know where this notion has sprung from. It does amuse me no end.
On the way home from school today, for no specific reason, Mac says, “Mom, I call Sailor: Sailor, Brother, Buddy, and sometimes just plain Say.” I live in the same house with you, I think. Also on the way home Mac tells me he got 102% on his spelling test today. Despite the fact that we practiced spelling “perseverance” incorrectly. I am proud!
As for me, I have been 40 for 5 weeks. I think I am doing a pretty good job. Except for my hands, which look like they have preceded the rest of me by a few decades. I am so embarrassed. Next week I get to enjoy another rite of 40-year-old passage: a colonoscopy. Stay tuned for that fun story!
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