Get On it

The tooth fairy sucks. At least in my house she does. When First Son lost his first tooth the tooth fairy was "on it". She was so excited. She anxiously awaited the moment when true slumber would set in, then she set about her business. Her intended purpose. Her raison d'etre! She slipped quietly between the pillow and mattress, extracted the precious gem, leaving in it's place a selection of golden coins. On the bedside, a personal letter to the newly toothless kindergartener extolling the virtues of his excellent dental hygiene which had of course produced such an awesome specimen for her collection. Said letter was printed prettily in a fairy-esqe font on a wispy ethereal slice of vellum and tied with a gorgeous silver ribbon. The next morning was filled with the delirious cacophony that comes when children discover something magical. On it. The tooth fairy was on it.

Last week first son had two baby teeth extracted by Dr. Dentist for reasons which fall under the category of unfortunate genetics. They were set in an adorable little plastic treasure chest that first son placed delicately under his pillow. Tooth fairy? She was off on a bender apparently. No note, no gold coins. Just a puddle of drool on the pillow and a look of disappointment and shrug of the shoulders from the now third grader. That damn tooth fairy is really blowing it. In the recent past I have found myself making all manner of excuses for her dropping the ball. "Fairies can't fly in the rain" " Maybe she caught that flu that's been going around." " The tooth dropped on the floor and she couldn't find it" I mean seriously. How hard is it to set your damn alarm get your ass up undetected in the middle of the night Miss Tooth Fairy? What happened to your "raison d'etre"? It is your job. Your only job. Leave a special little something for the newly toothless cherubs. What kind of mythical creature are you anyway?

By my count there are more than 60 deciduous little teeth yet to loosen themselves from the mouths of my cherubs....setting my alarm.

A dream denied

Life is not fair. It's not. Life is not fair.

Tell me something I don't already know.

Today is my birthday. The anniversary of the day my mother so gracefully brought me into this world. For a long time, this day was the one I have most anticipated, celebrating as if it were a sort of unofficial holiday. Then I became a mother. Now my most favorite days are my children's birthdays. All four of them. I guess when you have a child they automatically become more important, more amazing than you are, even in your own mind. Since I have become a mom I have come to think of birthdays as being as much a celebration of the mother who did the birthing as it is of the child who was born. For the last 28 birthdays, I have had to celebrate without my mother.

When I was six years old my mother died. She was sick. A lot of my memories are of her being sickly. In and out of the hospital. Having to be careful and cautious. I remember wanting so badly for her to be able to come upstairs and tuck me in to bed, and my Dad being upset if she did. She needed to "take it easy". Then, one spring day when I was six years old my world changed forever. I was in first grade and I had been sitting with her reading Sally, Dick & Jane. Suddenly she didn't feel right, she needed to go into the bathroom. Next, she was asking me to wet a cool washcloth for her, and go wake up Daddy. Not long after, I watched her wave to me for the last time from the passenger seat of our car as it pulled out of the driveway and my Dad rushed her off to the hospital.

I am 34 years old today and the memories of my Mom leaving that day still bring me to my knees.

My sister and I went "across the street" to our neighbors and friends and played Atari. Later that night we returned home, and I went to bed. I could hear downstairs that other people were there, and the Stanley Cup hockey was on. I already felt so lonely and scared. I pooled all of the blankets around me in a circle, creating a sacred private space for myself to try to feel safe, but I fell asleep feeling very scared. In the morning it was my aunt, my mother's sister, who came upstairs to tell me that there was "no more Mommy".

No child should have to hear those words, or words like them, but they have rattled in my brain ever since. Life isn't fair.

As you might imagine, from that day on I was changed. Just as a mother is defined in the moment her child takes her first breath, I was defined when my mother breathed her last. I was formed into the mother I am today so many years ago when I became a motherless daughter.

Although it means different things for all of us, we all want better for our children than we had for ourselves. I wanted "normal". I wanted the sitcom family a la "The Cosby Show", "Growing Pains" or "Family Ties". I wanted a family. I wanted family dinners with lots of siblings around the table sharing stories about the day. I wanted drawers full of clean clothes, lunchboxes full of carrot sticks and sandwiches. Milk and cookies and Mom waiting after school to help with the homework. I wanted fresh Christmas trees, Sunday church and pot roast. I wanted a Mom and a Dad.

This year when the anniversary of my mother's death approached it was particularly poignant for me. My FirstSon was six years old. It struck me hard to realize that in his short life he had already lived more time with his Mom by his side than I ever did with mine. I also realized that while the past six years have created rich memories for me, have been in fact the greatest time of my life, FirstSon will probably not remember much of it himself. Basically, it hit me this past spring that if I were to die (and as irrational as I know it is, I am always afraid that I am going to die), this whole time would boil down to very little in the memory of my precious children. It made me sad to think of it.

Now of course, I didn't die. No one has. Not really. My marriage. My dreams, maybe. My children can't possibly comprehend what they have lost. They will live a new "normal", and it will be okay, but I will remember. I will remember the time when we were a family, when we were everything I ever wanted.

I wanted so much more for my children. I tried so hard. I thought I had it all. I did have it all. Something, no, someone changed somewhere and now it is gone. Everything that I didn't want for my children to experience is happening, and it is out of my control. IT SUCKS. It sucks to realize that you cannot control what happens to your children, that you can't always protect them from getting hurt. Right now the best I can do is hold them in my arms, kiss away their tears and love them. Life is not fair, but they have their mother.

A Holiday

Seven years ago (really? - seven years?) I was sporting my new spring maternity clothes (so ugly!) and showing off my burgeoning belly. I spent my days and my nights dreaming of motherhood, of the baby growing under and inside my heart. For the past seven and a half years it has been a classic love story, mother and son. My sweet, sweet, First Son. Then, almost two years ago I turned him over, quite reluctantly to the big yellow taxi.

Tomorrow, I am taking him back! Well, for the day anyway, and he doesn't even know it. When he wakes up in the morning I will break the news - no school today! I am proclaiming a holiday. First Son & Mommy Day. It will become an annual tradition. First Son will play hooky from school, and we will climb aboard a train and head into the Big Apple! I am so excited! Just he and I, no little brothers or sisters, no pesky teachers, no phone calls, laundry or spilled milk (well, we might spill our milk, but we will make someone else clean it up for sure!) We are going to see a show, and climb the Empire State Building and eat a Gray's Papaya (that's a hot dog, not a tropical fruit).

Seven years ago I couldn't have pictured my life the way it is today. It is busy and it is wonderful, my life is full. I have so much more than just that one baby I was dreaming of, I have four beautiful children. I have a house. I have PTA committees, and catechist responsibilities, I have everything I ever wanted and more. If there is anything at all that I wish I could have more of, it is the ever elusive time. My baby, my babies, are growing up quickly. It is up to me to put my pointer fingers together and stop time. It is up to me to make memories, to teach my kids to stop and smell the roses, or in our case tomorrow, the subways. There will always be a sink full of dishes, and an overgrown garden to tend to, but my children will grow and change before my very eyes and if I don't stop once and awhile I might miss it.

For just a day I will rewind the clock to when it was just me and First Son. I will try to see the world through his eyes. Maybe we will learn something new about each other. For sure we will chat the day away. He will ask me a million questions, and make incredibly keen observations, and probably tug at my heartstrings a bit. Memories will be made.

The conversation

I spent a lot of my day today thinking about September 11, 2001, specifically how I could deal with the delicate issue of teaching my children, and talking to them about it. I can't bear for this to become just something they read about in a textbook someday. I feel an immense responsibility to impart to my children a sense of what September 11th means to everyone who lived through it. But...they're little. 9/11 is incomprehensible for me still, and I have had 7 adult years to process it.

I asked some friends for their opinion, asked what they tell their children. One friend's son knows some because he has older siblings; One friend's son knows more because his dad is FDNY; one friend's children know some because their uncle served 2 tours in Iraq. Ultimately though, every family, every child is different.

First Son is six. He is smart. He is sensitive. I have been waiting with trepidation for the moment when he and I would have our first real conversation about 9/11. I have been so anxious that I will make a mistake. That I will say too much, or not enough. Today, my moment came, and although I felt utterly unprepared, I think it went well.

We were sitting together in the dining room going over his homework. I asked casually what he did in school today, and asked if they had spoken about it being "September 11th".

First Son: Yeah, Mrs. B asked us about it. Dylan said that buildings in New York City Fell Down
Mom: What did Mrs. B say?
First Son: She said, "yes, Dylan, you're right."
Mom: What do you think ?
First Son: Mom, could you tell me about it,.... please?

Wow. I took a deep, deep breath. Here I am, the moment. I feel completely unprepared, but as in so many other parental situations, this moment was not about my needs, but his. So, I took another deep breath and asked God to please, please help me with this.

Mom: Ok, but I need to tell you first, that I might cry when I tell you. Ok? Don't be scared. It was a very, very sad day, and I might cry, Ok?
First Son: Ok.

Mom: This happened before you were born. There were two very tall buildings where a lot of people worked, they called them the Twin Towers, or you might have heard, The World Trade Center
First Son: Oh yeah, the World Trade Center
Mom: There were some very mean, very bad people who hate America, and they wanted to do something very bad, they wanted to hurt us very bad, and they did.
First Son: What did they do?

How do you put it into language that is respectful, truthful and not scare the crap out of the kid??

Mom: They stole some airplanes, and they crashed them into the buildings, and that's why they fell down.
First Son: Did people die?
does he grasp the concept of die?
Mom: Yes, my love, a lot of people died. That's part of why it's so sad.

Some quiet time...I could see his wheels turning...

First Son: Mom, the people in the buildings...were they scared?
Mom:<> Well, I think that God was with them, so, no I don't think they were scared.
(wow - where did that come from - it's brilliant, and true...I hope)
First Son: Oh, yeah!

More quiet, then I asked if he had any more questions...

First Son: Mom, do you know what? The people, if they hate America, what they should have done was they should have not stolen a plane, no, they should have...you remember the plane like we took to go to Disney? They should have gone on a plane like that and, instead of crashing the plane, they should have just gone somewhere else...if they hate America

Mom: You're absolutely right.
First Son: Mom, you're crying...

First Day of First Grade

That's it. The big yellow taxi has taken my love away. Off to First Grade. It's true what they say, time flies. I still haven't finished uploading the pictures I took at his end of the year picnic back in June, and now he's a big First Grader. He climbed up on the bus and went right to the back - the last row. He wasn't allowed to sit in the back when he was in kindergarten, he wasted no time today. He smiled that adorable smile and waved enthusiastically. He likes school. I like that he likes it. I just wish time didn't have to go so fast. Hubby recently switched his work schedule to a 9/80 work week - 80 hours in 9 days. Why can't they do that with school? Give them Friday off - or let them "work from home" one day?
The bus pulled away, and I smiled and waved, wished him a good day and told him I loved him and was proud of him. Then I cried. Am I the only mother who hates the first day of school? No, I am sure I am not, and truthfully, hate is too strong a word. I am happy to be getting back into a routine. I am excited to see all of the new things he will be learning, and to meet the new friends he will be making. Chances are that I will make a new friend or two myself.
Oh well, now that he's gone, the babies and Curly girl are all still sleeping so...I'm going back to bed!! Next week I'll be getting Curly out to preschool! I'd better sleep while I can!

It ain't easy...

As parents, we all believe that our children are absolute angels, as was Satan himself. My children are no different. They are wonderful people, fun to be around, amazingly smart, funny and sweet. Also, every one of them, (save for little Dexter whose only saving grace is his 8wk age) are fresh, obnoxious, annoying little monsters. Depends on the day, depends on the company. Lately First Son has really been feeling his oats (what does that mean?). He has been so incredibly obnoxious and just so fresh, that each day I manage to not throttle him I believe I deserve a ticker tape parade in my honor. He is really, really difficult.

This has been so hard, I think in part because he is just such a good kid. First Son is known to be a bona fide good kid. To see and hear him acting the way he has been is keeping me up at night. I don't know what to do. Sure, there is a lot going on. A new baby, for one. Okay, a new baby who got extra attention by checking himself into the hospital twice before he was six weeks old, but still, we've had new babies before, twice. Also, he is reading now and I know that that can be a big scary change. He's home from school for the summer which means his schedule is all off, and he also has a bit of a hypoglycemia issue. I am trying to be understanding. I am trying to heap tons of positive attention on him, which does work for a while. Still, he hits his sister, talks back to his mother and disobeys his grandmother. (yes, his grandmother, a.k.a. the nicest sweetest woman on the planet)

I don't actually think that what I am going through is that remarkable. I talk to lots of other Moms and they have very similar tales. Still, it pains me. I love him so darned much that it kills me to have to admit that sometimes I just don't like him very much. Please, somebody tell me that it is going to get better.

Perchance to dream...

Lately I am just so darned tired. It is sometimes hard for me to fall asleep at night because my joints hurt, and I have to wake up early each day to get First Son off to school and tend to Paddy boy (Curly would sleep till noon most days if I let her, and even if she does wake up she's a pro with the remote control!). So, I look forward to Saturday morning as if it were a giant ribbon wrapped box under the Christmas tree. Hubby is home, and I don't have to wake up!! I am entirely too optimistic about this premise though, because both my dear Hubby and my dear First Son were born without the ability to be quiet unless they are themselves asleep, and lately sleeping late for either of them means 6:30AM.

This past Saturday I was so frustrated with the level of noise that I actually rose out of bed at approx. 7:45 to tell the entire brood how ridiculously rude and unfair they were all being. It was not pretty. Hubby tried in vain to defend himself with some lame excuse that went "I keep telling them...." but, I shot him a look of death and then wondered aloud about exactly who thought it was a good idea to turn the washing machine on at 6AM, and then run it unbalanced so that it sounds as if a Mack Truck is barrelling through the house? Hmmmm?

I went back to bed and thought with pleasure about the days coming soon when I will be sedated in a hospital bed, having just undergone major surgery, when I will actually get a chance to sleep! I mean, is that sick or what? I am looking forward to the hospital as a place of peace and quiet?? Does anyone else think something is wrong with that idea?

Well, today came a state of bliss that I thought I would never see. Since I spent 14 hours away from home yesterday travelling to and from the Papal mass at Yankee Stadium, my dear Hubby and MIL worked it out for me to be able to sleep as long as I needed in total peace and quiet! I LOVE THEM! Hubby went into work a little bit late today, and brought the cherubs to MIL at about 7:30 this morning! Except for a random door bell ring at about 7:45 (someone looking for my tenant), which wasn't even that bad as I needed to get up to use the facilities and have a drink of water anyway, I slept uninterrupted until...11AM! Wow. It felt so good. I then brewed myself a nice cup of tea and baked up some fresh cinnamon rolls while watching The View! I can't remember the last time I have been so indulgent! (for that matter, I can't imagine the next time it might even be a possibility to be so indulgent) It really made such a huge difference in my life. Just to be able to rest my tired bones and body was so refreshing to my soul!

Saturday morning I woke up snarling and snorting, Sunday I spent a day with the Pope, and next thing you know today I am sleeping like a...really tired, 9 months pregnant mother of three ( ...well, we know how babies sleep, and I certainly slept better than that!). My 14 hour pilgrimage to the Bronx yields miracles in under 24 hours! Amazing.

Seriously, thank you SO MUCH to MIL - you were a Godsend today, and everyday!

Goodnight Sweet Angel

Every night before I head off to bed to go to sleep, when each of the cherubs is fast asleep and tucked away in their own beds, I sneak into their rooms and ply their faces with kisses. I have a special name for each of them, and I gently whisper my goodnight wishes. Sometimes I take a few minutes to just stare with wonder and thank God for blessing me so richly. It is one of my favorite rituals of the day.

Last night, or more accurately, very early this morning I became aware of the sensation of something very warm and soft on my face. Then, I felt the softest little kiss. (Hubby was snoring away on the other side of the bed) I opened my eyes and saw First Son standing next to me. I said "hi", and he came in for a big hug. I asked him what was wrong, fearing a nightmare or wet sheets, and he just said "I love you Mommy. Is tomorrow Friday?". Then he went back to bed. Wow. So sweet.

I figured that he had gotten up to use the bathroom and stopped by for an extra goodnight. This morning as he was getting ready for school I asked him if he remembered coming into my room last night. He said "yeah". I asked if he had gotten up to use the bathroom, and he said " No, I just wanted to say I love you."

There are some moments in my life as a mother that I would do anything to forget. Things that are messy or embarrassing or situations that I feel I have handled badly. This moment however, is one that I hope haunts me through many years of old age.

My precious First Son, My Sweet Angel, I love you too.

Help a mutha out!

Sometimes, it really does take a village.

Last weekend was a whirlwind. Hubby was OOT for business, which always spells some kind of crazy trouble at home. What kind of trouble? how about: a kid overdosing on steroids; a probable miscarriage that was thankfully only a kidney stone requiring a trip to the ER, where they did NOT give me morphine, by the way, yeah, cause Tylenol might help!; a trip to the ER with a three month old, preceeded by a flat tire in a snowstorm; a car accident on the NYS Thruway, with a two year old and four month old, and yes, another trip to yet another ER, etc., etc. It's gotten to the point where some of my family and friends are petitioning for Engineer Boy to not be allowed any more travel visas. Of course, we have to pay the bills, (even if most of them are hospital visit co-pays and car repairs) so, off he goes.

Hubby's flight was scheduled to take off at 7:30 Friday night, the same time that my monthly Bunco group was scheduled to arrive at my house! (ok, so I play Bunco, I will be very popular when I move into my retirement community, so there!) I was a wreck trying to get ready for Bunco - which meant hosting 11 women at my home, feeding and watering them all, keeping track of "dues" and distributing prizes, and not to mention a little bit of pressure to have my home looking good, since I don't know many of these women very well. (thankfully, I only have to host the game once a year!) Hubby stayed home all day Friday and was a tremendous help. He really is a gem (sometimes), cleaning, organizing, lifting heavy things, killing bugs and opening jar lids!

Let me just say that the women that I play Bunco with are...crazy! I refer to them as the real desperate housewives of Suffolk County. It just is not safe for husband or child to be around while they are. With Hubby leaving town, I was left with the situation of needing to find a farm willing to take in three extra grazing lambs - overnight! Not always an easy task. Thankfully, Grandma was on board all along to take care of Paddy Boy, so that was one down. Luckily for all of us Aunt Tay was well rested and had recently stocked up on Cheez Doodles, Ice Cream and Cap'n Crunch, so she was prepared to take First Son and Curly Girl. Phew! I was safe. My house was clean (at least the first floor...including, and this is the impressive part, the kitchen floor!), I had a wonderful menu prepared, and the beer was on ice - Bunco would happen. Most importantly, the cherubs were safe from all the mayhem.

We played Bunco. Everyone enjoyed the food, complimented me on my lovely home, helped to clean up and, this is the best part - left at a respectable hour. I didn't win rolling the dice, but I didn't really lose either. Best of all, I had the whole big bed to myself, and there was nobody home to wake me up in the morning! I actually slept uninterrupted (ok, there was one pee break...I couldn't exactly farm out the Fetus!) until after 9AM! To top it off..I had a whole roll of Pillsbury Cinnabon Cinnamon rolls in the fridge just waiting for me to bake and spread with gooey frosting. Life was good Saturday morning!

Well, that was Saturday morning. Life WAS good. That is, until Aunt Tay returned her charges. As First Son walked his way to the front door, Aunt Tay stood behind him slowly and deliberately mouthing the words "cran-ky pants!" Hmmm.. I thought that maybe he just didn't sleep well, being in a different house and all, and sleeping on the floor in his sleeping bag. I asked him if he had had fun, he said "Yes". I asked him if he had slept well, and he snapped at me "I didn't sleep at all!" ( he often says this when he has a sleepover - he convinces himself that he stays awake all night, in spite of videoptaped images of him snoring away that would stand up in a court of law as evidence of the contrary). He then said that his "throat hurt". I figured that maybe Aunt Tay kept her apartment warmer, and therefore drier than we do at home, and that might have made his throat sore. So, I didn't think much about it.

We all sat down to indulge in my cinnamon rolls. First Son took only a few bites before he disappeared. Aunt Tay then mentioned that he hadn't really eaten much at her house, not even the Cap'n Crunch (since his usual cereal choice is either Cheerios or Raisin Bran, it is odd that he would pass up a contraband sugar choice!). I found him lying on the couch, with three blankets piled on top of him. Say it with me..."uh oh." He said he was "FREEZING". Time to get the thermometer. It was about 100', under his arm. Not terribly high, OK, some Motrin and off to bed. I still thought that maybe he was just exhausted. He slept for three hours. When he woke up he was fine. He was torturing his little sister, annoying me, he was definitely back to normal. To quote Suzy Mac, "Hooray, I'm saved". I was planning to leave the cherubs with a teenage babysitter that night and go out for a little while to help my niece celebrate her big "2-5". For a while there I thought I was going to have to scrap those plans.

Paddy boy went down for his afternoon nap, and I pulled out some fun art supplies, including, the much coveted, most fun art supply of all: glitter, and set to work with the kids making our own valentines. It was such an enjoyable afternoon, I almost had myself fooled. Suddenly I looked up to find the project First Son was working on, lonely little glue dots around a heart cut-out, just waiting for embellishment, but First Son was nowhere to be found. He had abandoned his Valentine! I called up the stairs and he replied that he was in his bed because "it's not cold in my bed" I had spoken too soon. Up I went with the thermometer in hand. Once again, 100'. More Motrin, and a call to the babysitter - no night out for Mom!

Ok, truly, in the grand scheme of things, this is not so bad. I wasn't having to go to the ER, I just had a kid home with a bug, and anyway, I was still kind of tired. I didn't really need to go out. I have dealt with much worse while Hubby has been away. In truth, I was getting off easy this time. As long as I kept First Son on Motrin he was in good spirits. We ordered a pizza and a movie. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday night.

And then...we went upstairs to get ready for bed when First Son announced that his "throat hurt". Crap. He has never in his life complained of a sore throat before. Other than a fever, he had no other symptoms. My gut was telling me that this was not good. I got out Hubby's Super Duty flashlight and made the kid say "ahh". Red. Definitely bright red, and possibly a few white spots. Strep Throat. Double Crap. I gave him some Tylenol and sent him off to bed.

I then proceeded to make the first of about 50 phone calls. You see, I work on Sundays. I work for the nicest people in the world, in a very small coffee shop that absolutely relies on their Sunday take to pay their bills. If I don't come to work they have to close shop for the day. I couldn't do that to them. However, it was really important that I get First Son to a Dr the next day. Strep Throat can be dangerous if it is not treated, and unfortunately First Son falls into a category that is "high risk". He was a cherub in need of an antibiotic. I was a Mom in need of a favor or two.

My first call was to my sister, known around here as "Aunt Mean" - which isn't always a comment on her personality. She's an RN, who has already raised four kids of her own, and is the only person other than Hubby who I would trust to take First Son to the pediatrician in place of myself. Of course, I kept getting her voicemail. Since she wasn't stuck at home with a sick cherub she had indeed gone out to celebrate the birth of my niece, her daughter, 25 years earlier. I then tried every other cell phone number of the people who I knew would be out with her. Either the bar they were in was really LOUD, or there was no cell service - surely they couldn't all be ignoring me! After about 15 tries, I finally had both the Sunshine girl and Ignats, my 21yr old godson, calling me back at the same time. Finally - I got to talk to a person! Ignats put his mother on the phone so I could ask for her help but...she gave me some line about a bunch of premature babies in some intensive care unit that she was previously engaged to take care of the next day. Whatever...like that's important, I needed to pour coffee and sling eggs for crying out loud! Crap.

Next I placed my call to the "Chef" - I asked him to please, please, make some calls and try to find someone to cover for me the next day, even if it would only be for a few hours. I explained the whole situation with OOT Hubby and sickly First Son. He suggested closing the restaurant the next day, but I resisted. That would mean him taking a really big hit in the wallet. He said he would start dialing and call me back.

As I sat waiting for some enlightenment, some sloution to my problem, the phone rang. It was Ignats. He offered to take First Son to the Doc for me, since he had no plans the next day. Well, that is a nice offer, but....First Son is a bit wimpy, and knowing that they would be doing a throat culture, shoving a stick down his throat, I didn't really think that Ignats was the best person for the job, a definite Mommy job. Thanks, but no thanks. Then I started thinking...Ignats has some experience is the food service industry...maybe he could come to the Coffee Shop and relieve me for a few hours so that I could get First son his prescription. Yeah...that's the ticket!

So that's what we did. I loaded First son up on Motrin at 7:30 AM (his temp was now 102' and he was miserable), left him and the other cherubs in the capable hands of Grandma and then headed off to work. At 10:00 Ignats arrived, got a quick tutorial and my best wishes for luck pouring coffee and slinging eggs, and I was off to bring First Son to the Doc. As expected, he was diagnosed with Strep, given a prescription for 8 days of Amoxicillan, and ordered to spend the next day home from school. I returned him to Grandma and headed back to work. When I got there there were three people doing my job, and "Chef" was overjoyed to see me, as were my regular customers. I take my hat off to all "working mothers" - again, a whole 'nother post.

By the time I got home, around 5PM everyone was relaxing peacefully. Hubby had returned on an afternoon flight, and just can't seem to understand what was so tough. Hmmph. I need to get myself a job that requires "travel". Perhaps I could start writing a column focused on the best "spas" in the country...then we'll let him give it a whirl!

Sick Day

A Mom doesn't ever get a day off, and she certainly doesn't get any sick time, which unfortunately, is not to say that she doesn't get sick.

Yesterday, First son was home in honor of MLK, Jr. After a lengthy discussion about whether or not the esteemed civil rights leader was indeed a member of a royal family, we decided to embark on some important errands which are most easily accomplished with First Son home from school. Namely, a haircut, lunch with my niece (a teacher, and therefore also off from work), and a trip to the eyeglass store to mend the twisted arm of the famed spectacles.

About a half an hour before we were set to leave the house I was hit by a wave of acute melancholy. This feeling came over me, and I suddenly didn't want to go out. I didn't want to meet my niece for lunch, I didn't want to do anything but crawl into my bed, pull the covers up over my head and maybe...cry. I thought the sudden onset a bit strange but otherwise I figured it was a touch of depression, something which I simply cannot submit to, but which occasionally rears its ugly head. I decided to ignore the feeling as best as I could, and so I laced up my sneakers, made sure all of the cherubs had warm hats and mittens and we headed out the door.

Sitting in the barber shop watching as First Son lost most of his overgrown locks to a #3, #4 buzz combination, I felt myself sighing heavily. Curly girl was talking to me, being as charming as ever, and I had to make a gargantuan effort to stay focused and involved. I was zoning out big time.

My niece and I decided to head to Panera Bread for lunch, since it is a favorite, and conveniently located at the mall, the site of my final eyeglass errand. We sat at the table with scrumptious soups and salads and amazing chewy breads before us - and I just couldn't bring myself to eat any of it. I forced a few bites, but I just wasn't interested. This was strange for sure, because as I said, Panera is a favorite, and lack of appetite never seems to be a symptom of my moodiness. Nevertheless, I asked for my food to be packed up "to go". I mentioned to my niece that I didn't feel good, but I couldn't explain anymore than that. I just didn't feel right. I mean, my head didn't hurt, my throat wasn't sore, I wasn't nauseated or crampy, I just felt this overwhelming need to go home and get in bed. I decided to give in this one time, forgo the eyeglass store, and just head home. Boy am I glad I did.

We were just a few blocks from the mall when I needed to pull over to the side of the road and...get sick. That makes it sound a lot more neat and compartmentalized than the reality was, but I won't go into gory details. We all have our own data bank of personal experience with the stomach flu on which we can draw to fill in whatever colorful aspects of this story I might leave out. Suffice it to say that it was gross, and painful, and not a little bit scary for the three small people seated behind me. (Well, two of them anyway, Paddy boy was oblivious to what was happening, as he was entertaining himself by pulling his hat down over his eyes and laughing hysterically). At one point it became quite frightening as I took my foot off of the brake pedal for a moment only to realize that I had never had the chance to put the car into park, luckily I found the brake again, just before we crashed into a tree.

Curly girl announced that as soon as we got home I was to go straight to bed and let her take care of me. She then wondered aloud about exactly who was going to drive us home, as clearly I was in no condition and her feet don't quite reach the pedals. First Son helped out by locating the roll of paper towels that I always keep in my car for emergencies. Thankfully, I pulled myself together and was able to get us all home safely. I got Paddy boy into his crib and turned on a movie (Thank God for Baby Neptune) while the other two played nicely in the boys' room. I called hubby and begged him to come home from work and then I crawled into my bed and vowed to stay there. That lasted until about 1 AM, when Paddy boy started puking...followed by First Son at 5:30AM. Hubby has since spent almost the entire day either on the porcelain throne or passed out on the couch. Curly girl? Well, someone's got to take care of the rest of us.

All in all I am thankful that it was just a stomach virus. As much as it sucks to be taken down by a bout of violent vomit, there is a definite end, you know it won't, it can't, go on forever. Depression is much more daunting, and I have had enough of it. If you've never had the pleasure of experiencing a serious case of the blues, now you can imagine...it's kind of like the feeling you get right before you puke.

Daily challenge:

Think you're smart? Try this:

Teach a stubborn, snot nosed five year old to "BLOW your FREAKIN NOSE ALREADY!"

If anyone can do this, I wll give you Ten Bucks!

Jingle Bells

Let me say this first, I adore Christmas. I am only too happy that I now have children with whom I can act like a little kid over the whole month of December. Santa on a fire engine, gingerbread houses, Christmas carols, popcorn balls, tree decorating...I love it all. That said, allow me a moment to Scrooge here, but Jingle Bells may be the most tiring, overplayed, easily annoying Christmas song there is. ("shoes" is a whole 'nother post) It has been used as a parody tune left and right, "Batman smells" - seriously? I mean, the most creative anyone has gotten with this song in a long time was to have a bunch of dogs sing it.
Last Saturday I loaded Rosie up with the fam, and headed down to our church for their annual Santa Breakfast, followed by the town's annual Santa Parade later in the afternoon. It is one of the "funnest" days of the year in my opinion. We got to the breakfast as Santa was arriving, and soon thereafter began a Christmas Carol sing-along. First Son was excited to go gather around the tree, but then was hesitant because Curly was insistent on finishing her pancakes first ( the girl has priorities). I tried to encourage First Son to go, and even offered to go with him (not that sharing my voice spreads Christmas cheer to anyone...but if it made my kid happy, then what the heck!) First Son says that maybe he will go IF...they play his favorite song. "What's your favorite song?" you guessed it..."Jingle Bells". I thought, "sure, that's just the only song you know the name of", but wouldn't you know, seconds later the teenage elf with the microphone announces "now, let's sing Jingle Bells" and zoom, First Son uncharacteristically takes off on his own and joins the group to sing along. Amazing.
Maybe, it really is his favorite song after all. I mean, he only has a little more than five years on this planet, that's just 5 Christmases under his belt compared to my 32! Maybe he hasn't had a chance yet to become annoyed by the trite refrain "jingle all the waaay". Maybe it is also because the song is so simple, it is so easily learned (and therefore stuck in your head), that it becomes a childhood favorite much like the ABC song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (the difference being that those two songs pretty much stay in childhood, that is, until parenthood, while Jingle Bells reappears annually).
This evening, First Son and I were driving together to our local CVS to purchase some items for a care package that his kindergarten class is sending to the troops in Iraq. The entire ride, First Son kept singing Jingle bells, Jingle Bells...he was so proud of himself when he got the part about the "one horse open sleigh" right. I was not complaining, but it was starting to grate on my nerves. I turned on the radio, hoping to distract him. What came on, but some jazzed up version of his favorite holiday tune. I couldn't escape it, so we sat in the parking lot of CVS listening to the radio drone on, well, I was listening to the radio drone on, First Son was rocking out in the back seat! When the song was finally over, I let my too cynical self smile, thinking about the innocence of childhood, and then we started on our way into the store.
The story, or should I say, the song, however doesn't end there. We had to park pretty far from the entrance and walk, (as it is December and all the little elves decided to head to CVS tonight, the coldest night of the year so far, to gather up all their stocking stuffs) and First Son sang the entire way. At the top of his lungs, and without the slightest hint of self-awareness either. He certainly wasn't aware of the sly smiles that he was getting from every passerby we met. What is this...people are smiling at Jingle Bells? It's a revolution!
My Jingle Bell experience made me think of another Christmas song, this one a little more contemporary, "Christmas Through Your Eyes" by Gloria Estefan. I think that tonight First Son may have given a few people, myself included a little dose of just what Christmas is through the eyes of a child. A wonderful, perfect, not yet cynical, beautiful, off-key child!

I Hate the bus stop

I do. Hate is a strong word, I know, but I do. I hate the bus stop. Every morning bright and early at 7:30 AM there are bratty little mongrels running wild on the bus stop making me crazy! And poor First Son, he just wants to be part of the crowd, but he's not a bratty little mongrel.

We share the corner with two other families, the aforementioned smokin at the bus stop Gang-bangers (although no more smoke) and another family I will call the Wild Rovers. The WR are an Irish American family with two boys, one in 1st grade and one who is 4 and just takes the walk to the bus stop - both boys are nuts - especially the little one. The parents are out of their mind. These kids are always out in the middle of the street, riding their bikes without helmets, the 6yr old has a skateboard and a ramp thing - and again no helmet, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if these kids light firecrackers too! Little Jose Gang-banger is nutty too, in that he is just a wild "boy". First Son on the other hand is much more mild mannered, not to say that he can't stir up a ruckus with the best of them.

This morning, as we approached the bus stop, we could see these boys running WILD. Running all around the street, chasing each other with sticks, and screaming! I called First Son over before we even got to the bus stop to have a quick chat. I told him " Remember, you are responsible for you. It doesn't matter what anybody else is doing. If other kids are being wild, that doesn't mean that you have to be wild too." He said "I know" So, we get to the corner and I say my good mornings to the oblivious parents, then set to watching the chaos unfold. These boys are body slamming one another, jumping on top of the tree stumps on the corner, then in order to keep their sticks safe from the other, throwing their bellies down on top of the stump and then piling on top of each other. They are laughing, and screaming as their parents stare off into space. My hair is standing on end. First Son is smirking to himself, to him, this looks like fun. Someone is about to get hurt, I am sure.

Just like the maniac motorcyclists who come up behind you on the parkway at 100mph, who cause the accident, but are never the ones in the accident, who is it that gets hurt this morning? That's right. First Son. Argh. He decides he can't take it anymore, he must be a part of this brouhaha that is unfolding before him. He starts to take off running behind the other boys, but he gets no farther that three steps before he falls, flat on his face. Then of course, there are tears. Seriously? Why can't people be more civilized at 7:30 in the morning?

I calm First Son down, wipe away his tears, tell him that he's okay. He says, can I try again? What!? No. I tell him, loud enough for the other parents and kids to hear, "I don't like running wild at the bus stop, it's not a good way to start the day. When you go to recess, or when you go to gym you get to run. Not now when you have a heavy back pack on your back, and there are cars driving nearby."

The poor kid wasn't even hurt that bad, I think he was just so embarrassed. He was embarrassed because he fell down in front of his friends, and I think he was embarrassed because he knew that he didn't make a good decision.

I love kids, I do. I just hate parents. Seriously, our corner is a pretty busy street traffic wise. What is wrong with these people? Tell your children to "stop it". If you don't I will. Actually, I think I may just start driving to school. That way we can all sleep a little later, and no one gets hurt. Keep looking for that For Sale sign, I really think it's gonna show up soon!

A funny kid

Yesterday afternoon, in part to escape the frenzy of phone calls that followed my previous post, in part to try to soak in the beautiful autumn weather we were having, I packed the cherubs and mother in law into Rosie and headed to the park for a nature walk. We went to a lovely spot nearby with a very big pond and a nice wooded trail. As we approached the pond there were lots of water fowl, some were in the water, others were standing on the shore. There were a few Canadian geese who were standing just on the edge of the water staring intently out towards the pond. As we got closer First Son pointed and said "look Mom!" I said something like "oh yeah, look at all the geese" He then says - "I think they're the lifeguards."
First Son is one funny boy.

Spectacles

There's the bit about First Son and his spectacles. First Son got eyeglasses last year. He needs to wear them when he is reading, writing, coloring or doing any kind of close-up play such as puzzles, or trains, etc. Basically, he needs to wear them when he goes to school.

Well, the first full day of school (which is also the first day that he rode the bus home with 1st graders) he comes home and starts throwing a fit, throwing his glasses around. He's never shown any hostility toward his glasses before, but he does sometimes have trouble communicating his needs when he is tired and/or hungry. So, we figured that this was just the manifestation of his exhaustion from being away from home for a full 7 hours. We got him some protein and some rest. Things calmed down.

A few days later First Son tells me that there is a kid on the bus who wants to fight him for his glasses. WHAT!? Who is it? What's His name? (where does he live, I am going to kill the little maggot!) Of course he doesn't know the kid's name. I am incensed. I am totally unprepared for this type of situation. I try to get more information from First Son, but he doesn't give things up easily. OK, we tell him that he should tell this person to "LEAVE ME ALONE" and then of course, to tell Mommy & Daddy if it happens again. (So that I can hunt the little maggot down and crush him).

Things continue on uneventfully for a little while. Then, First Son starts getting off the school bus without his eyeglasses on his head. "Where are your glasses!!" ( you know, the eyeglasses that you have to wear -or else I am a bad parent - the ones that cost $150, which is $150 more than I have to replace them with if I had to right now! - I am going to have to stand on a street corner and sell my body just so that I don't send my son off to school de-spectacled like a bad parent - those eyeglasses!) He tells me that he has decided to take them off, because then the bully doesn't bother him, he's even a little bit nice. First Son put his glasses in the case in his schoolbag. Oh, okay. Well, I figure, at least he is figuring out solutions to his problems, he is coping. I take this as a good thing. Until...

One day last week First Son gets off the school bus sans glasses, only this time they are not in his case! He doesn't know where they are. We search the schoolbag, the lunch bag - nothing. We search the house top to bottom - nothing. I send a note to the teacher asking her to check the lost and found - nothing. I am starting to panic - I am about to slip on my fishnets...then we ask the bus driver (duh - why didn't I do that first??) - glasses found. Hooray, fishnets, back to the back of the closet! But wait...more drama...

The bus pulls up in the afternoon , and the bus driver tells hubby that there is another child on the bus trying to fight First Son for his glasses! The driver had a talk with the kid, but he wanted to let us know in case it "comes up". "Comes Up"? First Son is on the verge of tears, quiver lip and all. I give him a big hug, assure him that he is NOT in trouble and ask him to please tell me what happened. The kid was kicking him! Suddenly I am channeling Miss Hannigan "Kill, kill, kill." We determine who the kid is and try to develop a plan of action. First Son says that yes, he would like me to talk to Stephen's Mom (yep, that's a real name - I have no interest in protecting minors if said minors are guilty of harassing my kids!) I call my neighbor who shares the bus stop with the culprit to ask her what she knows about the little delinquent. She is actually quite surprised to hear about this but then tells me that I probably won't get anywhere with the parents since...I took French in high school when I should have taken Spanish! Argh.

That night, first Son is awake in the middle of the night for about 2 hours because he is having nightmares that someone is putting stuff in his eyes!! Oh I could seriously hurt someone. How dare you torture my kid like this?? First Son goes into school late the next day because I let him sleep after the nightmares. That afternoon and since he says there have been no problems on the bus. Maybe the bus driver has taken care of it, but I don't know. I just don't understand how this happens, these kids are kindergartners and first graders, how do they even know how to be so mean?

Well, if it happens again I have decided that I will go knock on these people's door. I will just bring my gang banger friend from down the block (who doesn't smoke at the bus stop anymore, BTW) with me! Oh I am so mad!

There were doubts but...

We did it. We survived the first day of school (we, because I deserve at least as much credit as First Son). And with flying colors, I might add. It wasn't easy getting up and having everything ready, since we had just gotten home from Disney at 9PM the night before, but we did it. First son climbed right up the steps of the bus and waved back to us with a great big smile. I waited until the bus pulled away and then broke down sobbing, as was my right. I did NOT, however, get in my car and follow the school bus, which is more than I can say for some of my neighbors. Yeah! me!

My little baby boy, who just 5 years and one month ago was cradled safe and snug in my arms, is now out in the world, without me. It is hard to believe it, because it really does go by so fast. That is what everybody (especially older people) tells you when you are a parent of young children, "enjoy it, it goes so fast" It really does.

For the past five years my little guy has been by my side every single day. All of a sudden I see him for half an hour in the morning and then boom, he's off on the yellow wagon till the dredges of the afternoon roll around. By ten in the morning I looked at hubby and said " I am so lonely". So, I baked a cake. It came out pretty good too, at least I think so. (come on stroke my ego a little, I could use it)

First son had a great time at school, where he was greeted by his favorite stuffed animal, Super Bear (his real name!) His teacher is nice, Hubby and I went up and met her in the afternoon, and I have filled out the form to become "class mother". I will know in a few days if I get it or not. So, first PTA meeting is set for 9/17. As I said, once I made the decision to go ahead with the public school thing I would jump in with both feet. Whee!

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Aren't you curious?

Where have I been!!??

I ask myself this. The thing is that Hubby has been spending more time this month in FLA than at home. August 2007 and I am essentially a single parent! I am not really crying tears in my chicken soup though, I have perspective on this, it's just that I don't have time to blog.

Anyway I thought I would just log on quickly tonight to share the news that you may have been waiting for....


It is official...

First Son is going to kindergarten.

We have made our decision and I am now 100% on board, PTA and the whole bit. That is not to say that on September 5th I am not going to be having a serious mental breakdown, but I promised my friend Karen (another MrsP, seems there are a lot of us) - that I will NOT follow the bus.

So, do me a favor and say a prayer for me, and for First Son. Oh yeah, throw one in for Mrs. Hayes too, she has no idea what she's in for!! Ha ha.

Mom, you're a Hippo

First son and I have this silly game that we love to play. He will say "Mom, you're a Hippo." I will then feign indignation (because really, the term "hippo" - not so complimentary), and I will grab him and squeeze him, then refuse to let him go until he proclaims, through giggles, "Mom, you're not a Hippo, you're my Mommy and I love you"
I can't believe my sweet baby boy is almost 5!

Not sleeping

I must confess, I am not sleeping well at night. Paddy boy has little to do with it. I have something on my mind and it is BIG. Hubby and I are thinking about keeping First Son home from Kindergarten. Homeschooling him. I think about it all the time, I read books, I search the web, and mostly I lie awake in bed at night. I feel like I don't really have anyone to talk to about this besides Hubby, and it is almost the only thing we do talk about. I wish there were someone else whom I could bounce my ideas off of, someone who could help me make this decision.

The thing is that where we live, homeschooling is, well, weird. My family thinks I am crazy, although they have been very nice and respectful, as I requested in an earlier post, but I know they think it is weird. My friends are all so excited about sending their own cherubs off, that they couldn't possibly understand why I wouldn't want to. I don't blame these people for their attitudes, because not that long ago I too would have said - "what are you crazy?" I would never have thought that I would be the type to even consider homeschooling, and yet here I am. There also isn't any one pivotal moment either, this is an idea that has developed over time, I guess the past 5 years.

I have thought about the idea that if this were the right decision, it wouldn't be so hard to make, but when I think about just sending him off to kindergarten, I don't get excited about that either.

The kindergarten bus will be outside my door in a little over a month. I am feeling the pressure to make this decision. Maybe if it weren't full-day kindergarten I would feel better, but it is full day, so there is no room for "maybe". I am leaning toward keeping him with me and teaching him myself. What is holding me back? I think it is peer pressure, society pressure. I don't usually give in to that kind of pressure. Do I? Well, I do have that Vera Bradley bag. Hmmmm.

There are just so many wonderful things about homeschooling, and I can't list even half as many on the opposite subject, public schooling. Still, I am hesitating. Why?

Here it is, an open question, I welcome your comments on the following:

please respond in the comments section, and please do not be "anonymous"

1.WHY should I send First Son to public Kindergarten?

Just a Mom

Today First Son's preschool invited parents to come in and talk to the class about their jobs. They stressed that it should be jobs that deal with people, in fact the class calendar titled today: "Community Helpers". This is why Hubby did not go in and talk to the kids about designing military airplanes and the tons of bureaucratic bullshit that go with it, it doesn't really fall neatly into the "community helper" category. No, they were looking for Doctors and Nurses, Policeman and Fireman, Trash Collectors and Postmen.
(Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood? In your neighborhood? In your neighborhood? Say, who are the people in your neighborhood? The people that you meet each day!)

Well, when First Son got into the car today and we were chatting about who came to his class today ( a nurse, and a construction worker) he said "Mom, I thought you were gonna come and talk about Winnie's". Hmm. I didn't give a second thought to talking about the 1 day a week that I pour coffee and sling eggs, I mean sure, a waitress is "in your neighborhood", but you know what? I don't identify myself as a waitress. I told first son, "sorry, maybe next time" ( he was just hoping I would have brought in grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone since the nurse brought in tiny baby diapers and construction worker dad gave everyone hard hats) But then I got to thinking about my "real job". I know that I have the most important job ever, being a full time, stay at home Mom. I also believe that the job I hold gets nowhere near the amount of respect it deserves, but what did I do about it? Absolutely nothing! I totally could have gone into that class and talked about my job! I could have done it in a way that would have had those 4 year olds really thinking! I could have been a trailblazer, demanding respect and dignity. I could have had no less than 23 other moms falling at my feet, thanking me. But what did I do? Oh I could kick myself!
I told First son that I didn't come talk about being a waitress because that isn't my real job, my real job is being a Mom. And he said - " Oh yeah, you're just a Mom." Boy do I have some work to do!