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!