Week 11: the stressed-out mommy, the reluctant preschooler and the injured and now ill kindergartener

Monday morning. 6:00. “Mommy, I feel disgusting.” It’s Mac. He is lying beside me in bed and he’s been moaning on and off, just enough to keep jolting me out of sleep, for about half an hour. Then, “I fell like I’m going to throw up.” Wretch. “Go! Go! Go!” I yell, wide awake and groping frantically for my glasses. “Go! Cover your mouth! Go!” he makes it to the bathroom, though not quite to the toilet before last night’s ham, carrots and mashed potatoes make their reappearance. I mop vomit from the floor with toilet paper while he stands above the bowl losing weight by the second. “Mommy!” It’s Sailor. I have awakened him with my yelling and he is afraid. It’s still dark out. The house is dark. “Mommy!” I can’t yell back to him, because my older child is uncomfortably vomiting and the last thing he needs is me shouting in his ear. “Mommy! Where are you?! I’m scared! I want uppie!” “I’m in the bathroom,” I finally call out. He appears in the doorway. He is wearing a short yellow t-shirt with a cartoon drawing of the MGM lion on it, and underpants. I dressed him in warm footie pajamas last night. “It smells yucky in here,” he gags. He won’t pee because of the smell and he wants me to take the baby potty out for him to pee in, in a vomit-free environment. I hold onto his little tushy and propel him to the toilet. “Pee,” I command.

Mac doesn’t feel any better but we all head back to my bed and I insist everyone return to slumber. Mac does. I do. Sailor gets to work on his morning routine of rubbing my back and feeling me up until I growl at him, “Hands to yourself,” and he cries. Hungry, he pads to the kitchen and forages for food. He brings nothing short of the closest thing we have to junk food. A small package containing six crackers lined with something imitating cheese. He can’t open this. Crinkle crinkle. I tear open the package under the covers. I don’t want to awaken my throw up boy. Sailor does not return to the kitchen with his snack. He eats it here. In my bed. Then he climbs over me to the side of the bed where Mac is now resting comfortably, “I need a place to sleep. My side has crumbs.” Welcome to another fun-filled week with the stressed-out mommy, the reluctant preschooler and the injured and now ill kindergartener.

My best friend calls before I have a chance to get out of bed. I’ve already turned on the tv to get a few more winks. I have to stop burning the candle at both ends. Especially considering all I was doing last night was surfing the web looking for a new kitchen table and a new boyfriend.

I set about calling all of our callable activities for the day and canceling and rescheduling those that can be cancelled or rescheduled. I also call the kindergarten mother whose house we had our ham, carrots and mashed potatoes dinner at last night. I want to thank her for her warm and welcoming invitation and also I want to tell her Mac is sick. “So is Ani!” Mac beat her to the toilet by 90 minutes. I wonder if anyone else from the kindergarten is out puking today.

We spend the day at home. I let the kids watch almost non-stop videos. Mac choses an old favorite, The Aristocats. But Sailor doesn’t understand the word and he thinks we are saying the “arrest a cats” and wants to know which cat is going to jail and whether or not this is going to be a scary movie. They watch part of Xanadu so we can clear up Sailor’s confusion: he thinks Tarzan’s name is Xanadu and wants to know if this is the movie with the baby. They watch some Barney. I put in the Princess Bride and Sailor thinks some masked guy is absolutely definitely Batman. I am reading a business magazine and not following and eventually the kids ask if they can put in something else. Curious George rounds out the list. Over all some fairly decent choices.

Mac eats nothing but bread all day and is visibly annoyed when I won’t get him a milkshake. Sailor is hyper and irritating as I now remember is his usual state when Mac is ill and doing sofa time. I make up lots of excuses to drop in on my parents downstairs, such as dropping off dirty laundry, picking up clean laundry, gifting them a small baggie of homemade carrot zucchini nut muffins, supplying my dad with all sorts of paperwork from the art studio, and giving my mom a list of food supplies for her next trip to Costco. Why do I do this? Because they have a big glass pumpkin shaped jar of chocolates in the front hallway! And I will make any excuse to get to the mini Mr. Goodbars.

Both boys are anxious for me to join them in the living room in front of the tv. I am running around trying to do all sorts of things that I suddenly have the extra time to do. But every now and then I heed their call and position myself either between them on the sofa or on the floor beside Mac. And at the very moment that I give in to fatigue and get comfortable, aware that I may be down for the count and stuck watching some video that holds little or no interest for me, Sailor says, “Mommy I want…” Juice. Milk. A snack. Socks. Something to drink. Something to eat. The light on. It’s not long before I settle for just popping in to hug and snuggle my smelly little puke boy and then get back to my house things.

My parents give me a very small, very old wooden card table for the kitchen. It will replace the very unstable, soft-topped card table that’s been there since Mac’s 2nd birthday party when a stronger-than-he-looked party guest leaned on our original table and cracked the top off. I wipe it down and settle it in. yesterday we went to Wal*Mart and Target in search of a table and chairs after Mac knocked ours over again, sending fresh baked muffins all over our not-freshly-mopped floor. An unsafe table is a bad thing. But the stores had nothing. Hence this little “temporary” table, which will probably still be here on my 40th birthday.

I accomplish all sorts of menial tasks today. I sort through our year’s worth of un-scrapbooked photos and choose the ones for my mom & dad’s 2007 calendar of the boys. I clean up the playroom and lay out the brand new Wal*Mart area rug that put Sailor into a 30-minute tantrum at the store yesterday because he preferred the yellow, red, pink and purple rug over this blue and green rug. (And because, we found out shortly, he was very hungry.) I make a bunch of phone calls, put away my laundry, discover the wonders of the Magic Eraser, clean up Sailor’s room, pay a few bills, straighten up the work piles on my floor, find my dining room table…. It was a mundane day, to say the least, yet I am just as tired as ever. And Mac feels better. By 3:00 he finds it necessary to throw a fit that I won’t let him go to tap class. I calmly explain to him that there are rules about puking and going places where there are other kids.

By dinner Mac is tired out and refuses to eat. However, not one to pass up a bit of attention, he spends dinner in bed complaining that he can’t breathe. In between bites of rice and trying to keep Sailor’s hands out of his own rice (he is digging, making piles, raining rice, etc.) I am searching out my stethoscope (Mac remembers it’s in my robe. My robe? You know, the white thing in the hallway. Yes, I remember the wardrobe, but we tore it down a few weeks ago.), listening to him take deep breaths, looking down his throat and up his nose with my emergency flashlight (“What kind of emergency, Mommy?” I think he is worried.), and hold some Vicks vaporub under his nose. Sailor, meanwhile, is doing everything with his dinner but eating it. I am yelling and threatening and then he complains of a tummy ache. Not wanting to see this dinner late into the night, I clear his plate and send him off to get his pj’s on.

By 7:45 the house is quiet.

Except for a strange static sound coming from the playroom. Intermittent men’s voices set me off. What the heck? I trace the noise to the Rescue Heroes (or as Sailor calls them, "Rexo Haroes”) bin and dig through to find the walkie talkie that Sailor has left on, I think to torture me.

Just before 8:30 Sailor stumbles out of bed, says “I love you” before he reaches me and raises his arms to be lifted into my lap, “Dis what I want,” he mumbles. His eyes roll around a bit. “Mommy…?” and then he is sound asleep and I am left to type left-handed.

In the kitchen there is a note I wrote to myself. A quote from Mac. The other day he asked me, “How many years have I been five?”

Tuesday morning begins badly. How unusual for us. Mac, lying in bed with me, reaches out for my hand, puts it to his face and says, “Mommy, you smell yucky.” My hand? I have always wondered at what point children’s sense of smell becomes acutely developed. I can recall so many mornings when the father of my children would brutally blow dragon breath kisses in our tiny babies’ faces and they wouldn’t flinch. At what point will they become offended, I always wondered. Apparently the answer is: at age 5. But, in my own defense, what does my little guy expect? There are three people crammed into a queen sized bed under multiple blanket layers, we are all wearing a great many warm sleep garments, and sometimes people have been known to pee in here. Give me a break! He isn’t so fresh in the mornings either, but at least I know better than to not shower. Well, I guess I will be sure to wear fresh jammies every night anyway. Cuz now I am paranoid.

Then Sailor is hungry. So I get up. I start oatmeal. Mac, who threw up yesterday and then only ate three pieces of bread and half a banana the rest of the day, requests Honey Bunches of Oats. I pause. I contemplate. I say no. He throws a fit. I smack the metal measuring cup against the dishwasher to punctuate my displeasure. I make oatmeal. And to drive my point (that I am not a happy mommy this morning) I am silent through breakfast. It’s my best defense. Mealtime is a battle no matter what and I am feeding Sailor to get him to finish his oats. Nothing worse than being woken up for food by a guy who has no real plans to eat the food you provide.

I bathe them, send them off to get dressed, bring them back for blow drying. Sailor asks if Mac can accompany him to school again this morning. I explain gently why he can’t and then the crying, whimpering and whining begin. We head out after I find Curious George buried under my bed sheets (which may account for the smell Mac finds so offensive – there’s a monkey in my bed!). But where oh where is my car? Where? Really? Mac thinks it’s on Orleans, but I am certain it’s not. Before we can locate the vehicle I have to go to the bathroom so we come back into the house and think together. Back outside we head in the direction Mac suggests and find the car down at the end of the block. “See, I told you it was over here.” Which is when I realize I have left my bag at home. Oh well. Thank goodness it’s not so cold out or that I am not wearing boots with heels or carrying something heavy! We are ten minutes late for school. Sailor goes through a carefully planned routine of begging me to stay “two minutes” then asking to be walked to the beanbag, then asking for books, then telling me he needs one more hug, then asking for a blanket and deciding he wants one “from here” then saying he has something to tell me and then wanting to walk me to the door. By this point S says it’s time for me to go but Sailor wants to tell me yet one more time that he loves me and I have to leave with him in S’s arms screaming, “Mommy!” and reaching, stretching out to grab me. I’m exhausted. I want to give in and pull him out, take him with me, every single time he does this. Yet when I come back for him three hours later he is bubbly and joyful and happy and he has a headband with a feather stuck in it that he has made during the morning. “My Indian hat!” he tells me. Later he even admits, “I had a great time at preschool today.”

Meanwhile, while Sailor is making Indian hats and new friends, Mac and I are playing hosts to two fabulous women who are, on a trade, in my house making things sparkle. Namely my bathroom and my fridge and stove. They haven’t time for more and will be back soon (halleluiah!). Mac and I haul laundry, the remaining Halloween décor and the last of my summer clothes down to the basement. We finish up a mailing project for the art studio then we work a little more on telling time. Mac has learned this skill in just a day or so and I am unbelievably proud! Guess who will be getting his own watch for Christmas! Monday morning’s lesson was supposed to be shoe tying, but was pre-empted by puking.

We are on time to school today, for a change! Miss H appears ill, a Kleenex clutched in her hand and the light missing from her eyes. I tell her of Mac’s weekend of illness and injury and I tell the kids to be nice because their teacher has the sniffles. Sailor passes out in the stroller so I walk home slowly with one of the other moms.

He naps while I super-mop the kitchen floor. It is so much cleaner than usual. The whole room looks so brite one would think I’ve installed more light bulbs overhead. While I am making Sailor lunch – boxed Blues Clues macaroni and cheese – GASP! – my favorite French mom calls and tells me that the message I left earlier in the day – in French – was very good. She asks if she can continue in French and I tell her to hold on while I turn off the noisy dishwasher. When I hang up Sailor asks me why I was talking in French. I must say, this is so much fun. We will play at the home of the French family after school. But in the meantime Sailor is starving and he is getting mad at me that the food is taking so long. He steps on the new, borrowed, old card table to turn on the extra light. I ask him not to because Nana specifically asked me to make sure the kids don’t climb on the table. And so I am subject to no fewer than 20 minutes of, “I’m mad out you!” and “I’m getting very angry out you because you say I don’t stand on the table. I just trying turn on the light for you!” and so on and so forth. He is grumpy and cute and extremely annoying. Which he apparently understands because he declares himself “noxious” and I couldn’t disagree.

Our play time at the French family’s house goes well. No one gets hurt, anyway. But the children are tired. Despite the beautiful array of French cheeses and wines, we have to go home. It’s almost 6:00p.m. and extremely dark. Of course, it was dark when I left the house at 3:00, too, which was weird.

No one wants dinner. Sailor won’t sit down and Mac pretends to sleep at the table. At 7:15 I send them off to bed with a warning. If they are still messing around in 15 minutes they will come back and finish all of dinner. Mac is in bed in five. Sailor won’t be left alone and prefers the company of his leftovers to no company at all. Except he plays with the food until I let him know that I have no plans and can stay here all night. While reading Mac a story I tell Sailor that whatever is left on his plate becomes breakfast. In moments his plate is clean. I escort him to bed and all is well. But would be better without the games. Oh so much better!

I get email from the mom of the girl who was over on Friday. Apparently her weekend was punctuated by vomit as well. Something must have run through the kindergarten classroom. Fun fun! She also says that her daughter became very quiet when asked whether or not she caused Mac’s fall on Friday. Whether the child is up to admitting it or not, I know I saw it and I know Mac will not be having friends over for quite some time.

Wednesday. Sailor blesses me with no fewer than four tantrums . But let me first start by describing the unique manner in which he woke me up this morning. Or shall I say, in which Mac woke me up. Last night I thought I was pretty clever setting out cereal, bowls, napkins, and spoons and filling a small pitcher with milk, which I left in the fridge. No one will wake me up with. “I’m huuuungry!” I’m brilliant. The boys woke early and were whispering across me in the bed until I finally issued a command, “Go play!” They scrambled like mice on cheese and took off for the playroom. Sometime later (how much later, I do not know, but it isn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet) Mac comes back. “Sailor is throwing cereal.”

Sailor doesn’t want to help me clean up the mess. I help him hold the broom and then the dustpan. All the while he complains that he is tired of doing this. Oh, little boy, don’t even get me started. Mac has poured so much cereal into his bowl I have to bag it up 90 minutes later and bring it along as a snack.

Tantrum #1: Kohl’s checkout line. The store wants nearly $8 for a small StarWars figure.
Believing this is a budget breaker, I explain that we can’t get it. Both boys burst into tears. Mac recovers quickly. Sailor cries on into the car.

Tantrum #2: 1:45 p.m. Sailor decides not to nap. He wants to play. He stands in his room screaming until I come in and tell him enough is enough. I can’t listen to this.

Tantrum #3: Sailor wants his Batman sword. The one that lights up and makes cool swashbuckling sounds. I say no, I don’t know where it is. He tells me it’s in my closet. I say just no. He cries. He begs. He makes it impossible to make work phone calls. He wears me out. I refuse to give in. For punishment I get to listen to this begging and whining for an hour.

Mac had a substitute teacher today. A cute guy named Ned something. I asked him to please keep Mac from participating in P.E. He assures me he’ll find something for the two of them to do. After school Mac tells me he ran around in gym today. “But it’s ok, Mommy. I didn’t fall and hurt my lip.” I admonish. He apologizes. I feel sad. I tell him it wasn’t his responsibility.

Tantrum #4: Kohl’s again. Yes we went back. Because as soon as we came home and got our mail, I found a 15% off coupon good for anything you charge on one day. I only shop at Kohl’s at Christmas sale time, aka today. Everything was 50% off. So we returned with the coupon and the receipt and waited while the customer service rep deducted more than $10 from our earlier total. Mac has learned to tell time. A watch would be an appropriate Christmas gift this year. Except Sailor spies a Batman watch that comes with a small flashlight and a black thing. We can’t tell what the black thing is. I calmly and patiently explain that he doesn’t get a watch because he can’t tell time. He doesn’t buy it. My explanation, that is. “Yes, I tell time!” he insists. I would love to get him the watch. But how fair would that be? And it would most certainly take away from Mac’s hard-won accomplishment. So he cries. He screams. He tells me he wants to buy something. When we leave the store he tells me to go back. It’s hard to drive this way. I crank the music. He screams that it hurts his ears. I tell him he’s hurting mine. I think he’s hungry so I suggest we pick up a chocolate milk on the way. He refuses my offer and continues to kick the back of my seat. While I am driving. In rush hour traffic. Until we reach our destination.

Tantrum #5: As we leave FTK with Mac, Sailor requests chocolate milk. Sigh! When I won’t deliver, he cries. And it’s in stereo this time because Mac is “too starving” to walk to the car. To him I give a lame explanation as to how he would not be so hungry if he had eaten the snack I’d brought after school. They do both stop.

At the end of the day my mother asks me, “Do you think Sailor is getting sick?” With the behaviour he has pulled today my only reasonable response is, “I hope so.”

And that’s Wednesday.

Thursday. I ask Sailor to try something different this morning. Not crying when we go to preschool. He must have thought it over because he does a fairly decent job of holding himself together at drop off. But still, right at the end. There are tears. Not many. But enough that 10 weeks into the program I still want to pull him out at every drop-off.

Mac has a talking doctor make-up. On the way there he asks if he can sell a couple of his freckles. I think it’s a fab idea. I suggest we list them on craigslist.com. Maybe the boy can make a buck or two. He has a few freckles to spare. “Mom,” he says so seriously, “I am joking.” I still think it’s a great idea and plan to do it. Despite his protests.

“I want a cookie, let’s go to Starbucks.” I think my holiday letter this year will read something like this: blah blah blah and we kept Starbucks in business blah blah blah.

I have a better idea. “Let’s have lunch at Cosi.” Mac is game because he remembers they have cookies . On the way there we see my parents, who invite us to join them at breakfast (no matter that it’s 11:00 and we are headed for lunch). But Mac declines. “I just want to spend some time at a restaurant with you, Mom.”

We talk on the walk over. Something about first grade. He says he will run right out of school and go right to the playground and I will meet him there. I tell him he will come out with the rest of his class and meet me right outside the school door. “Well,” he thinks about this a minute. Then, tentatively, hopefully, “There might be a playground at college.”

We order. Neither of us varies our selection from the other two times we’ve lunched at this new neighborhood eatery. Mac requests lemonade, however, instead of his usual chocolate milk, which, incidentally, costs twice as much as Starbucks’ chocolate milk. The lemonade machine, we are told, is broken. “Then he’ll have a chocolate milk,” I order, “at the price of the lemonade.”

The wind is howling and whipping around. It’s not a nice day out today.

Sailor is a pixie when we pick him up. All bubbly and happy to see me. He has made a turkey from feathers, a toilet paper roll, and other art materials. “I made ‘dis for you so you wouldn’t be sad.” He also has a multi-colored handprint with googlie eyes and legs. Another turkey. I love this one beyond anything he has done in school because it is his little hand. Worthy perhaps of a little frame. A mommy keepsake.

Despite the gusts of wind tearing down the street, Mac wants to get out of the car and head up the line outside the big school. “Because Jake is always first and today I want to be first.”

Sailor and I pick up Aunt M and head out for Christmas shopping. We hit Borders and Carter’s, but not before a visit to our dearly beloved Starbucks, which we miss so much. We keep running out to drop more quarters in the 15-minute meter just so we can cherish our time inside the aromatic cavern. Sailor, by the way, buys the coffee with his own card. “I have the card so I am the boss.” Ok!

I am now almost completely finished with my Christmas shopping. Today is November 16th.

As we drive home we discuss Christmas gift ideas. Mac wants a baby dolly, he says. What about the dolls you have? I ask. Mac tells me that Jesus doesn’t have any clothes. “Jesus?” “Yes, and did you know that she pees, too? Really. When you look under her there is a hole where her penis belongs and if you feed her a bottle the pee comes out the hole.” I am driving and laughing, so he can’t see my face. “Jesus? I didn’t realize her name was Jesus. Why did you name her Jesus?”

“Because it’s a nice name. And he’s the guy who made the first Christmas.”

Have I mentioned yet that we are Jewish?

In Mac’s folder is a note from Miss H.

SingleMommy,
Mac was misbehaving quite a bit while the sub was here yesterday. I just wanted to let you know, as he had a time-out today as a result.
Thanks, Miss H

Ok, um, Mac is 5. He’s in kindergarten. There was a sub. Give me a break! And the worst of it: The fact that the sub was so out of control that he felt it necessary to tattle on my child. Give me a break!
Friday is the Thanksgiving Fest and assembly. We putz around the house a bit, and then we run a few errands. The girl at Trader Joes is so helpful she opens a box of granola bars for us to sample, thus we eat half a box of granola bars on the house. Staples people are not so friendly and I leave as irritated as usual. Why is it necessary to lock the bathroom doors yet allow customers to use them, but not reveal the secret entry codes, thus requiring a store employee to first be tracked down (usually by me yelling “HELLO!” at the deserted back end of the store while one or both of my children, who always have to go when we are at Staples, threaten to pee on the floor) and then push the magic buttons to let us in to the coveted toilet room. Which begs the question: what are they afraid we’ll do in there?

Next stop is Target. The boys are dressed in very handsome turtleneck sweaters and so I take it into my head to get their photos taken for the holidays. Not that I can afford to order the holiday cards from Target, but I think it’s a nice idea to have a photo of my boys together at this time of year. We are 10 minutes early but they are running late. By the time we’ve had our turn, very little time remains before Mac has to be at school. I am trying to choose which photo I want for my free 8x10 and my boys, who were behaving as model citizens just moments ago, have wandered out into the store. Wrists are grabbed and they are hauled back into the safety zone of the red carpeted photo studio. But a moment later they are wrestling. In their nice clothes. Before the Thanksgiving assembly. I put both if them into chairs and go back to trying to decipher the cutest photo through the graininess of digital imagery when I realize not only are we out of time but I am out of patience. We leave. I am not happy.

We make it to school just in time to see Miss H release the door despite the fact that I have yelled, “WAIT!” four times. The mother of the triplets bounds up the stairs and catches the door. Mac makes it. But I don’t have a moment to straighten his hair or make sure his face is clean. Sailor and I tour the gym. There are baked goods, used books and videos, jewelry ranging from $1 up to real prices, faux Coach bags that are still way out of my price range, and a whole array of crap that no one really needs, but we are all compelled to spend our money on. After checking it all out we go back to the kindergarten to wait for Mac. The parents have been asked to escort their kids. A few parents have not arrived by 12:50 and so some of us take an extra child along. I am paying for raffle tickets for my boys and one little girl when her mom shows up. I tell her we are buying raffle tickets and I am truly dismayed when she doesn’t offer to buy a round or even thank me. (Luckily for me her little darling doesn’t win a raffle prize on my buck.) We purchase a little bit of everything and too much altogether. Sailor chooses a gold glittery headband for me. Both boys are delighted to find used videos of their liking. And when we buy treats I decide to conduct the sales situation in French. Because the woman at the section of the table where we stop is French. She must assume we are too because she begins to respond in kind. It’s fun. I can do this!

Mac has told me twice not to cry during his assembly. But as soon as the color guard comes in, I am lost. Memories flood back to a day when the color guard consisted of the “big kids.” I remember them. The look of them. The seriousness. The true regard for their post and for the flags they carried. I remember them as big, because I had no reference point yet. I was a little girl. I had never been big yet. Not a 7th or 8th grader, not a high school or college student, not a mom. Now these color guards are just kids. Tall but not really “big.” Just somebody’s kids who aren’t quite as little as mine. We pledge and sing and I cry. I remember Mrs. Bauman, the ultimate pillar of our school the whole 12 years combined that my sister and I attended. The way she recited the pledge, making sure “one nation under G-d” did not include a pause between “nation” and “G-d” and the way she used her arm and hand to conduct the Star Spangled Banner with such seriousness you got over your urge to laugh. It’s a different school now. But so much the same in so many ways.

Out little kindergarteners sing two songs in English, recite a poem about a chicken and a duck, which is really more of a finger play, and they sing a French song, introduced by Mac’s pal Remi, “A French lullaby: Fais Dodo.” I cry so much thru the whole thing that my digicam is noticeably shaking up and down when we watch the video later in the evening. At least there are no audible sobs. The children perform so well. They are understandable and cute and extremely well-behaved not only on the stage but in the audience when they listen to the 7th and 8th graders. I am proud to be the mom of this tiny red-headed boy. As I watch him I can’t help but see the baby he once was not so long ago. And I can’t help but see the big kid he will be when he leaves this school not so long from now. I can’t picture how he’ll look, but he has such poise sometimes and he is so sure of himself up on the stage that it is not hard to see a put-together young man. And it’s not hard to still see the innocence in the unblemished skin, the clear eyes, the groomed but slightly tousled hair, the penny loafers. The beauty that is my little boy.

The 7th and 8th graders wear mostly jeans. Which I find appalling. And I remember Mrs. Bauman again. If a boy showed up for assembly day without a tie, she headed straight for the cloak room where she kept a stash of emergency ties. No student of hers was going on stage improperly dressed. She would be appalled now. As am I. And I promise myself then and there that under no circumstances will Mac (or Sailor) ever be allowed on stage in this manner. Actually this is no new promise. My boys always look as if they have somewhere important to go.

To close, Dr. T says a few words. He points out that this year’s theme at school is the Earth and recycling. This explains the universal theme throughout the presentations of the two upper grade classes. They seemed to sing about the world and the future. I was touched, moved. The 7th graders sing “What a Wonderful World” in English and the 8th graders sing it in French. Dr. T asks us to pay more attention to recycling, to conserving electricity, to reusing things in the house and to enjoying nature. He says there is hope and that it begins here, with us. I cry. I am comforted.

We have an hour before school lets out. We head to Starbucks. The German mom is there. “Do you have a dollar for me? I don’t’ have enough to get my coffee.”

I laugh when I see that she has ordered a grande caramel macchiato. She had enough money for a coffee, just not enough for the one she wanted!

It’s a nice wait and soon we are back at school gathered with other parents outside the kindergarten. Sailor has chocolate milk for Mac. Everyone is exhausted. Sailor has surprised me with stellar behavior throughout the afternoon. We have a car full of fun new goodies. My wallet is all but empty. And we are happy.

And I have the cutest and sweetest little boys in the whole world. Which makes me the luckiest mom.

Time to go list those two freckles on craisglist!