Week 22: What I Have Learned

If the weeks of school were a pregnancy I would have been able to learn the gender of my unborn baby by now. Since this is not a pregnancy I will say what I have learned this week.

The deep freeze we were suffering for, what was it two weeks, three? It’s over. But, as I told my favorite French mom this afternoon when she asked, yes, it can happen again. The temps can plunge and there could be another blizzard all the way through till sometime in April. Our weather here is that unpredictable. With the warming of the temperature – seriously folks, we have gone from low around zero to 45 degrees F! – comes the melting of the snow. And, much to the delight of my two little boys and little boys all over the city – PUDDLES! The preschoolers walked right out of school yesterday and straight into a puddle. None of them wore boots. Sailor has needed his pants changed on several occasions and more than once in a day due to the changes in weather. As has Mac. So, what I have learned here is that snow boots are not waterproof, but rain boots are. Snow boots only come up slightly above the ankles, maybe to mid-calf, but rain boots come up almost to the knees. Rain boots are not as warm as snow boots. But perhaps since they keep the feet actually DRY they are the better choice. The jury is still out and I am baffled at the incongruity of it all.

And speaking of rain boots, I might mention that Sailor’s are cows. Not cowboy, but cows. White with black cow splotches and a face down there covering his toes. He wore them yesterday when we went to get Mac from school. He was dressed, from the waste up, for winter: winter coat, hat, mittens dangling from clips. From the waste down he was pure spring: cotton blue pants (no, not jeans, actual blue pants, like khakis only faded out navy blue – an unfortunate fashion choice, to be certain) and the cow boots. And in his hands? A sand pail and shovel, fresh from the dollar store and meant for snow play. Except the snow is melting and revealing dirt dirt dirt. And lots and lots of dog poop. And garbage. Otherwise known to Mac as treasures. This afternoon he trailed a box of dental floss three yards behind him as we walked home. He found it, there in the melting snow. A treasure. To be added (after washing, he assures me) to his box of scraps and junk that he is now keeping in his room. Much to my dismay. Ok perhaps dismay is the wrong word. Let’s go with horror! He wants to emulate Anakin Skywalker, who built R2-D2 from scraps. G-d help me! I gave his room a deep cleanout the other night while he slept. I removed all the toys and returned them to the playroom, eliminated all the baby books and re-shelved the remaining books, took down the tattered Harry Potter poster (which he has yet to notice, but I stowed it in his closet just in case), and made the room functional again. And now he informs me that it’s ok that I forgot to vacuum because his room is always going to be dusty because it is his workshop. I need to help him find a better place than his room for all the garbage he is collecting!

Yesterday Sailor’s best pal from preschool invited us out to lunch after school. Ok, his mom invited us. It was fun. Sailor doesn’t get to do this big kid stuff much. It was a nice outing and I learned that a tofu sandwich is divine!

This morning Sailor fell and whacked a hole in his forehead. We were playing at this big indoor play room near home. He and I were building towers to knock down. He turned to go do I don’t know what and tripped over some mom’s big bag that should not have been left where it was. And he cut a hole in his forehead over his right eye. It looks deep. There was quite a bit of blood as there always is with a head wound. And he was rubbing his eyes for crying so blood was all over his face and hand. Looked macabre. He was scared afterwards, he said, but he couldn’t say of what. Just scared. He fell asleep in my arms as I chatted with another mom.

What I learned with all of this? Just because you are wearing a Curious George shirt does not mean you have to wear a matching Curious George band aid. Scooby Doo will do just fine!

The big question of the day from all the moms at the play place today (whose kids were significantly younger than my 2) was, “When does it get easier?” I couldn’t remember, so I said that it gets easier when the little one learns to talk, which I think is true.

It’s been a crazy week already and it’s just Wednesday. On Sunday I spent way too much money buying curtains for the living room in an attempt to make the room more livable. On Monday the kids and I had a rumbly day but we did a lot of fun stuff. Yesterday Mac had the daughter of the cleaning crew company over and I wanted to declare no more play dates til forever. Children, even the nice, smart, well-behaved ones, can be so rude and out of control. I am tired and I still have to get the garbage out tonight. But I won’t. Sailor has to be at school by 9 tomorrow a.m. and the boys both need baths as none of us can remember (though Mac believes it was Sunday) when they were last bathed. I need to be up early tomorrow. Earlier than 8:00! I think I need to invest in an alarm clock.

When I pick up Sailor from school on Thursday afternoon he tells me, “Andrew is a bog boy now.” I assume his little friend is out of diapers or has just turned three. “Is he three now?” I ask. Sailor answers seriously, “I don’t know if he is three now.” It must be the new underpants then. “So why is he a big boy?” I ask. “Because he is all done with his passy,” and then without missing a beat, “What’s a passy?”

We never used the terms "passy" for pacifier. In fact we never really used the pacifier at all. And for reasons unclear to me, I developed a whole new baby language exclusively for Mac, which I modified for Sailor. Pacifier, in my language, became sucker. After all that’s what you do with one, you suck it.

Mac stayed home from school today. I think he might be coming down with something. Which, in and of itself is not reason enuf to keep a child home from school. However, when said child is crying over insignificant things such as eating cookies before lunch (I said no) and drinking milk (I wanted him to) I notice something might be amiss. After lunch he is still whiney and tired and my dad comes up to watch him while I get Sailor from school. An hour later he is playing with Sailor and I make the mistake of suggesting that if he is well enuf to play he is well enuf to go to school. He agrees but then I realize it’s 1:30. By the time we would get there it would easily be 2:00. Not worth our time or effort. Another tantrum ensues, confirming my original plan to keep him home. He falls alseep and wakes after 3:30 with a low fever.

Meanwhile Sailor is gallivanting around the house in a new pair of sandals. Yes, sandals. In February. I saw them at one of the children’s stores last week and put them on hold while I waited for a coupon to arrive in the mail. 20% off one item did me well, and I got his summer shoes for under $16, albeit 4 months early. And although I was careful to buy a big enough size I doubt they will still fit in June. He is excited to have new shoes, nonetheless. He is a true shoe-a-holic. And he has happy feet. I will let him wear them this afternoon but then we have to put them away until summer. So he asks, “When I wake up it will be summer?” Oh how I wish! “One of these mornings,” I assure him.

Friday comes off like a day off because Mac went to sleep with a fever last night. A two-day week? Ok, I will take that. We hang low on Friday, run a few errands. I realize I am not feeling myself either. But I have a party to attend tonight. At the preschool. It’s the annual Parents’ Night. Or to be a bit more accurate, the annual “get dunk and party all night with the preschool teachers and parents you have never seen before even though your child has been in school for 6 months already” party. I hear it went on till 2 a.m. last year. I have always gone with another mom as my “date.” This year I am going with Jack’s mom. I dress up as if I have a real date, complete with extra eye make-up and a thong. So I can hang out in the preschool. It’s a fun night as always. There are wine bottles everywhere and the food spread just gets better and better every year. Grapes, three kinds of popcorn, cheese, something with spinach, mini pulled pork sandwiches, cookies, veggie trays. The place is packed. There are rules to follow, written by our little ones, which include “no pinching,” and “if you are hungry eat the food.” On the walls are drawings. I find Sailor’s. He has drawn three faces, which, at this stage, are merely two slightly round eyes above a smile. The caption is hilarious. “Sailor, Mommy and Mac going to Target.” You think we shop too much? It’s a fun party. Lots of cute dads. I am the only single parent in the school. But it is still fun to talk. I stay until my mother calls my cell phone at 11pm asking whether or not I am still at my preschool party. I give hugs and kisses, grab a few cookies for the boys and walk home.

In the morning when the boys say they are hungry I let them know there are cookies on the dining room table for them. It takes some searching but they find them amidst all the debris. They play and I sleep in. We spend the afternoon at Home Depot trying to find the right color paint for our living room. We have trouble with the elevator and press all the wrong buttons and an amused guy who is riding with us tells us we are really out of it. My stomach is bothering me so I have neglected to eat anything today. By the time we get home I am half starved and we stop at Cosi for an expensive bite. The boys scarf down turkey sandwiches and I have a cup of soup and bread. I feel more energetic when we head home. My sister and I are going to see Josh Groban in concert. If you are unfamiliar with Josh Groban all I will say is go buy his CDs. He will be 26 years old on Friday next and he has a big beautiful voice, and he’s quite a cutie.

His concert, however, fails to live up to my expectations. It is too loud. I don’t say that because I am getting old but because it is actually too loud. You know how when you crank your stereo to get the full effect of your favorite artist’s music? And then sometimes you go just one notch too far and the sound is tinny, distorted? Well that’s how the concert sounded, as if he needed to be turned down just a notch. And he was flat a few times. And we had to listen to some strange music for the opening act and then sit for another 25 minutes intermission. So the 8:00 concert actually began at 9:00. Oh, and did I mention that it is snowing/raining? There’s a winter storm warning tonight and the weather is truly ugly. It’s windy but, thank goodness, not terribly cold. So Josh is cute. At least he looks cute from the screens dropped down on either side of the stage. As far as being able to actually see Josh, well, from our $55 nose-bleed seats, anyone could be singing down there. Half the time I can’t even find him with all the band members and the orchestra. And the worst part is that I don’t recognize the music. I know, I know, I got his latest CD for Christmas, but I have spent most of my CD time listening to the Bee Gees, and almost no time listening to Josh. I expect to hear his older songs. He sings just two. Yet my sister and I spend a total of $70 on two t-shirts anyway.

I have to do some serious ice scraping to get our car out of the lot. It’s raining ice and I need protective eye wear to get my windows clear. Mascara is running down my face by the time we are ready to drive home. I stay up reading till 1:30. I can’t get over my utter disappointment.

On Sunday morning I show Mac and Sailor my concert tshirt. Mac is awed. “Is that Andy?” Sailor asks, referring to Andy Gibb. “No,” I tell him, “It’s Josh Groban.” “But Josh Groban is dead,” Mac says, “Remember? He died in a plane crash.” “That was John Denver,” I remind him. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Why do I always get those two confused?” he asks. I don’t know.

At breakfast Sailor asks me, “What controls me, you know, from the inside?” Is this kid only
3 ½? No. Actually he is not even 3 ½. “Your brain,” I answer, “Or G-d.” Or maybe both.

We spend more than an hour cleaning slush from the sidewalk and water from the next door neighbors’ backyard. This is part of my job with the garbage. We are soaked when we come inside. But not freezing this time. It’s actually rather pleasant outside.

Sailor is eating a bed time snack. “Mommy you are the best mommy I ever had.” My heart soars. I love when he says this. But for reasons unknown Mac pipes up from his room, “I would not assume anything.” What?! His explanation is lame. Something about how I’m not always the best mommy in the world because of when I am bad. Bad? “When you yell at us,” he explains. “You mean when I yell at you because you’ve been naughty?!”
“Yes,” he is backing down.
Sheesh!

Late in the evening the 79th annual Academy Awards are on television. Sailor is exhausted by 5:30 and while I have him in bed before 7:00 he refuses to go to sleep until he crawls, literally, into my bed. He is asleep by 8:00 p.m. Mac on the other hand is coughing, sniffing, mouth breathing, and grunting. I don’t think he is well yet. Though I don’t think the original illness was a cold, it sure is now. He brings us each a cookie and spreads crumbs all over my bed. He can’t seem to keep his hands off my laptop, and while he watches the Oscars with me he makes note of the fact that the Oscar looks like R2-D2. Of course.

As we watch the commercials Mac hears the tag line to one: “There’s an M&M in all of us.” “Is there really an M&M in me?” he wants to know. Do I explain this or do I just make it easy? Tonight I go with easy. “Haye you eaten any M&Ms lately?” I ask him.
“I have,” he says. I have? What 5-year-old talks like this? By the way, this week my 5-year-old became 5 ¾. He is so excited. Only three months until he turns 6. This is a whole quarter of a year away, I realize. But because he is my first child his birthday is actually my favorite holiday of the year. After all, his birthday is the day I became a mom.

Another week ahead. Lots to do. I have become the queen of avoidance and have come up with great home improvement projects in order to avoid things I should be doing but really don’t want to do, such as dealing with my lawyer and his opinions regarding my never-ending divorce.