Week 6 Already?

Monday. Columbus Day. No school. Hurray! Except Mac doesn’t even notice. I drop him off at my art studio for a morning of camp with a few of his favorite girls: Anika, his fiancée, Carter from preschool last year, and Olivia, his new favorite girl in kindergarten. Sailor opts to go to Dunkin Donuts for coffee with me, Carter’s mom, and Nanea’s mom and baby sister. He licks the powder sugar off his donut and is fairly patient. GrandDad calls and wants to come along to stock up on canvasses for the art studio. Not sure why he thinks we need his help, but maybe he’s just lonely. We pick him up. We pick up a cart full of canvasses. We go shoe shopping at a horrible store at which I have an unfortunate $100 credit. We drop off GrandDad. We drop off a bag of playroom debris at the Salvation Army, or as Sailor calls it, just the Army. We retrieve Mac and head to lunch with Anika and her sister and mom. We simply could not pass up the invitation to dine at Mac’s favorite 50’s diner where the waitstaff is downright rude and Mac thinks he can be, too. And we also couldn’t pass up a date with Anika. After lunch (where no one ate anything except the French fries) we do a quick bit of birthday shopping (more pj’s!) and head home cuz Mac has a tummy ache. Mac does well at his tap class and has passed his probation period. He is allowed to stay (and I am allowed to pay!). We scarf down fish sticks and pasta and hop into Mommy’s bed for our favorite show at 7:00 only to find that it has been moved to Sundays. Sigh. Sailor goofs off so much I have to send them to their own rooms. Mac obeys and is out like the proverbial light. Sailor creeps back in to my bed and falls asleep.

Tuesday. Sailor climbs into the car and steps on the purple balloon monkey that was made for me at Mac’s bully’s birthday party on Saturday night. Which we walked to. The balloon has made its way to the car because I left it on our stairs, hoping it would disappear rather than come home with us. It didn’t. Sailor rescued it and now it’s in the car. Except Sailor steps on it. “I’m sorry I popped your monkey, Mommy. I guess it’s not a monkey anymore.” Does is sound as funny on paper as it did in real life? I break the preschool ice by asking Sailor if he thinks Curious George will want Monkey Chow for snack at school. “Let’s ask S if she has Monkey Chow,” I suggest. Sailor giggles away and thinks it is a terrific idea. Except he wants me to ask. And when we arrive I do. We had planned to make S laugh. Instead, S steps right in, “I’m sure we absolutely have Monkey Chow here at school. You can help me make it.” Score another for this teacher! Ten minutes and Sailor is reluctantly ready to be escorted to the bean bag in the corner. I choose a book for him, give more kisses and hugs, and I am off. No one is in tears. At least no one from my family.

“I don’t want to be Mac anymore. I don’t like that name.”
I suggest he go by his middle name, instead. Do all kindergarteners do this, I wonder, recalling the day 33 years ago when I changed my name. I wore a nametag proclaiming I was “Jenny Rebecca,” all day. I was fond of the Barbara Streisand song of the same name. My classmates didn’t like my new name. They liked my name better, so they told me. I changed it back the next day.

“What if they can’t say it?”
Yes, “Seth” could be a little difficult for the more verbally challenged.

Sailor bounds out of school, George under his arm. “MOM! I made you a project!” Indeed, he hasmade three. “I made them to make you happy.”
“Well, you sure did make me happy. Thank you!”
“When we going to BRODY’S HOUSE?! LET’S GO!” He has become somewhat impatient these days. We have scheduled a lunch date with another of his classmates in the ongoing attempt to acclimate Sailor to school. In the car we ask Sailor what he did in school today. He describes lion cookies and berry juice. And then he says, “I was checking out Mac’s friend from last year.” Though we are unable to figure out of what child he was speaking, we both thoroughly enjoy the statement.

We drop Mac at the big school. I poke my head into a minivan to convince pretty little Samantha that one day without her backpack won’t kill her. In nicer, more convincing words. Nothing like some grown up you don’t know talking directly to you and telling you what to do to get you to do it. Samantha hops out of the van, ready to play. In Mac’s backpack, tucked into his otherwise empty folder, is an envelope containing 10 $1 bills. The room mother has requested that all parents contribute $25 for Halloween festivities, field trips, etc. I contribute $10 and a note of explanation of our finances. Sailor and I drive back over to Brody’s, where the kids play until Brody decides he wants a nap. At 2:00 we leave and head for Target so Sailor can spend his birthday gift card on a very noisy and obnoxious Batman sword. Since when does Batman need a sword?

Starbucks is in Target. Tall decaf iced pumpkin spice latte. Two kid chocolate milks.

Sailor is asleep moments after we exit the parking lot. I get to school in time to get the last of the illegal-but-ok-to-park-with-your-blinkers-on-for-a-minute parking spaces. But I wait till the kiddies come out, almost 10 minutes late, before running across the street (without the crossing guard’s permission) to grab Mac. “Who’s coming over to play today?” he all but wails as we near the corner to cross back to our car. “Um…” quick, think! “Well, your dad is coming tonight. Is that good enough?”
“Oh. Sure. Ok.” Phew!

Homework tonight. Read the poem. Circle all the Dd’s. We’ll do it in the morning. Hurray for letter D. I think I may use these worksheets and poems as Christmas gifts. Why not. If we get at least to N for Nana by the holidays everyone in the family can have their own unique set of Mac’s Homework, in their own first initial! It’s a keepsake gift, for sure!

14 kids have RSVP’d yes to Mac’s Halloween Bash on the 27th. At the Paintmy art studio. Where we have seating for 16. Hmmm… This ought to be interesting.

Mac spends the remainder of the evening trying to get me to engage in an impromptu fire drill. He had another one at school today. And he watched a video in library because Miss D wasn’t there. He knows all the teachers names: his class teacher, the gym, music, library and art teachers. Yet he spent two years of preschool asking me which of his three teachers -- who look absolutely nothing alike – was which. Sailor has that one down already!

Wednesday morning the kids decide to boycott ice skating in favor of playing at the German boy’s house. We leave the house at 10:30, driving over to save time. Sailor spends the entire time talking about the French boy who lives downstairs and wondering when he’ll be there. When we leave at 12:20, our bellies full with pepperoni pizza bagels and gummy bears, we are greeted with much chillier weather and the realization that Mac has left his backpack at home. Glad for the car we head home for said backpack and warmer jackets. Sailor falls asleep on the way home but wakes up after I gently place him on Nana’s bed. I wrap him in a blanket and plop him into the stroller. I am 15 minutes late for step 3 of 4 of my root canal/new tooth. I arrive in a bad mood. But Dr. Dentist points out how cute and little my cute little guy is and reminds me how soon he’ll be a grumbling teenager like his own three. I can’t stay angry for long. I leave with my face numb and swollen. I have a crooked smile and blood breath. Sailor falls asleep for real on the walk home and I am able to deposit him on Nana’s sofa. I retrace my steps to retrieve the kindergartener. The 3:15 bell rings as I sit on the wet bench in the cold rain. The mother of the triplets takes pity on me and offers me her extra umbrella, which I take. When the children emerge, late as usual, Mac and I book over to FTK. The twins, son and daughter of the male half of the morning radio duo, greet Mac and share his cookies while I return the little boy’s Spiderman underpants to their glam mom. I remind Mac not to make a silly video today and walk over to Barnes & Noble for some moments of solitude. I find and read half of a great book before buying a tall decaf Americano with room for cream and totally dissing the new coffee shop at the nearby competitor bookstore. I splash and spill decaf all over the plastic bag holding the book on my walk back to Mac. I am not so glam, I decide. An impostor really. A real glam mom can walk without spilling coffee.

It’s now freezing and still raining and we have quite a long walk home, which I try to do while holding Mac’s little mittened hand with my right and the splashy coffee with my left. My bag is digging a trench in my left shoulder.

Dinner is on the table by 6:30. Mac is pooped out and in bed by 7:00. I call Lisa. It’s been way too long since we’ve talked to anything but one another’s answering machines. Sailor goofs off. Eat, I tell him. He gets up and pulls magnets from under the shelf and begins decorating the fridge. At 8:00 Mac knocks over his baby rocking chair and half the books on the top shelf of his book case. Mommy is unhappy. I hang up with Lisa and tell Sailor it’s time for bed. Sailor looks for the remnants of dinner and finds only a clean kitchen table. Sailor is unhappy. He wants food. I patiently explain that if you leave the table it means you are done eating. A battle ensues. I tell Sailor he must find his own food. He wants me to cook food. I refuse and yell at both boys.

Sailor ends up sleeping in my bed. Mac wets his.

Thursday. It’s COLD out today. The preschool field trip that we are not going on is cancelled and Sailor has to -- I mean gets to – go to school. He goes willingly, pretty much. In one hand, Curious George, in the other a leaf he retrieved from the gutter yesterday for his teacher. In my back pocket, tuition. In my hands invitations for Sailor’s Halloween Bash and The Giving Tree, which Sailor had decided last-minute to bring to the class. Sailor is also wearing the top half of his monkey costume: A very warm, padded jacket complete with not only a hood but mittens. This was an easier choice for mittens, after discovering the chill in the air while taking out the neighbors’ garbage cans, than going to the basement for our winter gear. He is a happy little monkey this morning. I escort him to the beanbag, his safe haven in the classroom. He wants to keep the monkey suit on but tells me after school that he did have to take it off when he was doing his project for me because glue kept getting on it.

Mac reminds me to stop for coffee on the way to the talking doctor. He needs a banana to go with his hot chocolate, which he gets because it is snowing. The hot chocolate, not the banana. Yes, snowing. On October 12th. He is sure we will have snowball fight later in the day or tomorrow.

After discussing my anxiety ranging from partially hydrogenated oils to North Korea with Mac’s talking doctor, we head to Ulta for nail polish. Mac spies Subway and we spend $9 on sandwiches, which we bring home. No parking. I opt to double park for 30 minutes. We’ll drive to pick up Sailor. But I hear the “ooga” of a police horn and book out of the bathroom to find a parking space. Leaving Mac in the house. He’s fine but I am freaking. I get a space on our street, we eat, and we bundle up to go get Sailor. He’s a happy little monkey with a project for Mom! He falls asleep on the way home but it’s the same false sleep as yesterday.

Later we sit at Nana’s house waiting for Sailor to wake up from his very late and very real nap. Finally he does, but I am completely unmotivated in terms of dinner. I sit in my mom’s kitchen soaking up the warmth of being parented instead of parenting, if only for a moment. I feel safe here. My mother is safety for me. Even now. Will I always be safety for Mac and Sailor? I hope so. I have made promises of safety to them. It’s what moms do. And the thing is, as I am promising, I am also believing. It is my duty to keep my children safe, and by G-d I will do that, whatever the cost. Mac asks my mother, “Where’s GrandDad?” Downtown at the Daily Center, she tells him. “Mac, that’s like at your school. You have centers there, too!” Sailor exclaims, so excited with himself.

Mac announces he wants to be a firefighter when he grows up. Again. He vacillates between firefighter, doctor and something akin to Renaissance man. It seems to be fire safety week at school. Again? Still? I was lead to believe there is a fire drill once a month at school. Yet Mac seems to be having them regularly. “Mom, you go out the gym door right here. See? If there’s a fire in the gym.” He wants to have a fire drill at home and keeps ringing voiced alarms. But it’s never convenient. I am a terrible mom.

Friday. We spend the morning in a high rise. Have I mentioned how much I loathe high rise buildings? We are visiting the 23rd floor. The view of the park is stunning. I can’t wait to leave. Mac likes this little girl because she likes boy things. They play with Star Wars toys and look through Star Wars books for the duration. My boys are in Star Wars Heaven. This girl has five light sabers! My boys only have two of the good ones. The kids eat “spegli” for lunch and the mom says she’ll drive the big kids to school. No, I say, we have the stroller. We’ll walk. She is surprised and mentions that she was planning to drive them to school. Yes, and she was planning that I would drop Mac off, too. This mother does not know me. I begin to explain about the car seats; our top-of-the-line super-safe European car seats have been installed by a certified car seat tech (yes, really) and I never take them out of the car. What kind do you have? the mom wants to know. Britax. That’s what we have, she assures me. Ok, but still. I have to go in for the kill. “No one has every driven my kids anywhere. Except for me. Sorry. I’m just a ridiculously overprotective mom.” She understands. “Ok, so how about if you just take my girl to school with you then?” Sure. No problem. I’ll walk her to school. Easy as that. I really am way too overprotective. We get to school and the girl slips into the building before I see her do so. So I have to assume she is really in there. Which is why I don’t let others take my kids. Right, I even grilled Jake’s grandma earlier this week about how she will walk the kids to school next Thursday when I let Mac play with Jake (I’ll have to leave to get Sailor from school, and there’s no sense bringing Mac along as Jake’s house is so close to school). Somehow I put more trust into Jake’s grandma than in most of the moms. Perhaps it’s just because we have had enough time to get to know one another while waiting for our boys. Nonetheless, I was sure to regale her with tales of my overprotectiveness and pummel her with questions such as, “You’ll make them stop at the alleys?” She doesn’t think I am nuts.

“Mom, when I go to college, will you come with me?” Mac is obsessed with the notion of college. Perhaps because he sees it as a separation from me. Thirteen years from now. “Yes, I will live very close to you.” I am obsessed with the notion of being separated from my children. I hope they decide to attend the same university. “Maybe you can go to the college that is right around the corner,” I suggest on Friday night as we drive toward DePaul University on the way to a birthday party. “Where, Mom, where? I don’t see it.” Be patient, I tell him. It’s right around the corner, and I’ll tell you when we pass it. “Can you live with me?” No, I explain, he will have a roommate. “But we can get together for coffee every single day at 2:00,” I say, inspired, and optimistic that we will be financially stable enough to buy that much stock in Starbucks in the year 2019. “Ok, Mom, maybe during recess we can get together and have coffee.” Yes, and I used to try to imagine how one would actually sleep at school.

Mac goes crazy at one of those fancy, brightly colored, over-priced gyms where one of his preschool classmates from last year is celebrating her 5th birthday. These children. Five years old. It seemed as if they were all such big kids last spring when one by one Mac’s classmates turned five. But now, I look at my little boy and see just that. A little boy. A very little boy. Five is just kindergarten. He shares his goody bag with his little brother when he gets home. Not that I give him a choice not to. It’s bad enough we had to leave brother behind.

Mac falls asleep easily but Sailor is requiring fewer and fewer z’s as of late. Once I have them both tucked into my bed (which has remained dry for nearly two weeks now, knock on wood!) I head to the nursery with a screwdriver. Sailor has been out of diapers for 8 months now, yet his changing table has remained in place, assisting with very few diaper changes, but doing double duty holding all tiny size 2T/3T underpants, tiny undershirts, a mass explosion of pajamas, and un-foldable bed sheets. It’s time to dismantle the last effect of babyhood. The crib was replaced by the toddler bed over the summer so it could be used by one of my friend’s twins. The diapers are long gone. The highchair has been a furniture fixture of the kitchen for so many years we don’t see it as anything more than a holder for the wipes that double as table and face wipers. All that remains of my babies is the changing table. Set up nearly 5 ½ years ago by an eager father-to-be, an excited grandfather-to-be, and a very young uncle-to-be. It was probably the first piece of furniture Mac used when he came to our first home. It was probably the most used piece of furniture, as well. I set to it with a screwdriver. It is easy. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, I put the beautiful cherry wood pieces away longing for the day I’d re-mantle the changer, as Sailor called it, perhaps for my sister’s first baby, or perhaps for my third. In the back of my mind I know there’s a chance I’ll never have to re-mantle it. I wonder if that’s a word. I force the notion of never form my mind.
I am nostalgic. Or maybe just ovulating. (No, not yet, maybe next week.) But I want to jump back into that great circle of life. I want to mother a tiny baby again. These two are getting big so fast. I have been so lucky and so blessed to be their mom. Are they lucky to have me? Mac says he is.

I don’t think Sailor will be happy to see his big boy room. So I don’t point it out in the morning. Mac notices, though. And when Aunt M comes to visit, Sailor proudly declares that because we have made more room in his 6-foot x 6-foot box, “Now I can get more toys!” Did I really say we could do that? Well, it sounded good at the time!

Both boys have been full of great lines this week. If only my computer hadn’t caught a nasty virus, I’d have had them all down here for the reading. And you’ll just have to stop by and listen to their chatter yourself. Or take my word for it.

Mac’s folder on Friday afternoon is filled with more papers. Not homework or finished work but notes for me. The PTA is in need of volunteers for the Thanksgiving Fest coming up in a month. And they need donations of used books, CDs, DVDs, videos…. The wrapping paper sale is almost over. Get your money in ASAP! There’s a raffle thing-y, too, and parents are needed to chair the event and solicit raffle prizes. And can we send over some more money too, while we’re at it? I hope it’s enough that we are clipping Box Tops for Education and that we’ve solicited our friends to help us. I have dropped some books to the school library. But I just can’t buy all this stuff. Nor can I volunteer for everything. But I really would like to. Really.