Spring Break, or is this Week 28?

We’re on Spring Break this week. We. I mean Mac. Mac is on Spring Break this week. Sailor is not. Sailor will be on Spring Break next week. Which will be relatively inconsequential. This week’s Spring Break, however, because Sailor is not on Spring Break, is an abridged Spring Break. While we don’t have to rush off to kindergarten by 12:35 every day, we do have to work around Sailor’s two mornings of preschool, which cuts out nearly 2/5 of our week o’ fun.

Monday my sister needs us to run Camp with her at the art studio. So we spend the morning painting and eating pretzels and painting and cutting pictures out of magazines to spell our names. It’s nice out. Sunny. The kids want to go to the playground, a reasonable request. I want them to take a rest. Also a reasonable request. I strike a bargain. "You rest, we go to the playground." Tonight we have to go downstairs to celebrate Passover. I want the boys to be able to sit through the Seder. They don’t nap. We don’t go to the playground. The boys get a bath and I help Mac get dressed. He wants to wear his belt. He looks so adorable. Sailor sees Mac’s belt and wants to wear his, too. We change his shirt to one that can be tucked in. Both boys look so dapper. I am so in love with them!

They are good through the Seder and they even approach my father and with help ask the introduction to the 4 questions. I snap a cute photo of them and my sister helping them pour water so my dad can symbolically wash his hands for the assembled. But by 8:00 we are done and though the Seder still has an after dinner conclusion, I take two crying boys up to bed.

Tuesday morning Sailor has preschool. Mac and I drop him and his Build-a-Bear turned Bat-Bear off at school and head to our favorite place to food shop: Trader Joe’s. We fill Mac’s little cart and hurry home. I vacuum, put away some laundry, clean out the next door neighbors’ stairwell, straighten up. It’s getting warmer out and Mac suggests we wait outside for our friends. Little Alex and his sister and mom, who was my sister-in-law for a day back in 1999, come to play for the day. The boys play as if they were born of the same mother. If only all our play dates would go so well.

It’s warm out when they leave late in the afternoon. We walk over to Starbucks and then head back in the other direction so the boys can play at a playground somewhat close to Mac’s school. Mac loves this playground but we don’t play there often. No bathrooms. There are enormous black clouds over the playground. Mac finds a friend from school. He and Sailor play with her until the first raindrop hits. Mac and his friend bicker back and forth a bit. “My mom let’s me drink coffee,” Mac tells her. He is not bragging. Merely informing. “So what?!” The little girl has lost her innocence. But Mac has not. “I was just telling you.” He has remained polite through the exchange but I can see now where he gets some of his attitude. We walk home with the girl and her dad and both boys ask why we can’t go to her house to play. It’s 5:00pm but since it is not dark out my boys have no concept of the time. The girl continues to make rude remarks to Mac as we walk home and my boys continue ask whether or not they can continue to play with this girl. The rain doesn’t come.

We spend Wednesday morning with Sailor’s best buddy from preschool. The cute little boy with whom Sailor gets along so well is moving out of state on Friday. And, as if the kids know this is their last time to play together, they fight, fuss, pick on Mac, gang up on him, get hurt. Mac is in a particularly whiny mood. I am not amused. We stay until 1:30, at which point I am sure the little boy’s mom is very glad to be moving out of state and away from us.

I have my own play date planned with my best friend. I drive out to the suburbs. When the expressway gives way into the ‘burbs I whip out my cell phone and return business calls. I pull up to a light and hope it doesn’t turn green again until I finish writing down a client’s credit card number. I drive, I talk. It’s all business.

We get pedicures and shop. It’s like old times, except the things we buy are for our little boys not for ourselves. I drink a lemonade, share a soft pretzel and down a Hershey bar with almonds. On the drive home I think about the workout DVD I ordered a couple weeks ago and was desperate for. It is on my dining room table. It’s still in the wrapper. This reminds me of three years ago when I went for my 6-week check up with my OB/Gyne after Sailor was born. I had decided to try a diaphragm. She fitted me with one and sent me on my way. Weeks went by and the rubbery little cap remained in its box on my dresser. Months went by. Some time later I finally opened the box to remind myself what the thing looked like. I threw it away not long ago. It never really made it out of its box, except that one time I looked at it. I wonder if this will be the fate of my workout DVD.

When I get home Sailor is still up. He napped for an hour and a half just before dinner was ready, my mom tells me. I have to go back out to park my car and when I return from the arctic evening (winter has made a very unwelcome return) I chat with my parents for a moment. I look into Sailor’s room to see if he’s asleep. He is not there. I assume he is in my room and a few minutes later I check. He’s not there. Where is he? My parents assure me he hasn’t left the house. I run through each room, twice. Nothing. No Sailor. I yell for him. My parents hush me because Mac is asleep. I don’t care. I scream for my baby. I run down the stairs and outside. I call for him outside. Back in the house I am in full panic. He is gone. My baby is gone. And I can’t imagine where to and I can’t even think of how. But he is gone and I am desperate to find him. I can’t live without him. My mom hears a noise in my room and I find Sailor burrowing under my covers and when he sees me his face erupts in tears. I am yelling. “Where were you?!” My parents try to quiet me down. You’ll wake Mac, they say again. I don’t care. Again. Sailor is clinging to me, hysterical. I figure he must have been hiding under the cradle, which is still beside my bed (and holding all manner of chaos). He admits he was. “This hiding has got to stop!” My dad tries for power. I am shaking. Sailor is sobbing. We are all fine. I tell him I am not angry but that I was very scared. He now lies right beside me. Asleep. Mac is on my other side. I have no room to move. It’s nice and warm and cozy.

Thursday I cram more into the hours before noon than is reasonable. Mac and I bring Sailor to school and I run into the mom of the little boy who is moving away on Friday. “I think we’re going to have to bail on lunch today,” she tells me. I panic. Her 1-year-old was up all night. What do I tell her? The truth? Or, No big deal.? If I tell her the truth she will have to make up her mind as to whether or not to go to lunch despite having just told me she couldn’t make it. If I tell her it’s no big deal, she will never know what I have planned for her and her little boy. I tell her, “That’s too bad. Because there are actually 15 of us going to lunch.” I say it apologetically. “Fifteen?” She has no idea that anyone was coming along with us. Of course not, it was a surprise. I tell her the names of the children in preschool who are coming along to lunch with their moms and little brothers or sisters. She is so surprised. “Ok, we’ll go,” she tells me, “we’ll be ok,” she says.

Mac and I run over to Trader Joe’s. We have the Australian family coming for dinner and I need some wine and dessert. “Why do we always go to Trader Joe’s on preschool days?” Mac asks. “It’s convenient,” I tell him. We return home so I can take out the neighbors’ garbage. We share our disgust over the neighbors’ rat-poop-and-cigarette-butt-infested yard. Mac wants to know why the neighbors smoke. I tell him they don’t care much about their bodies. He thinks they are dumb. I agree. Even thought I shouldn’t. We put away the groceries and grab a can opener. My mom has called me to tell me she has forgotten to bring a can opener to open fruit for the kids’ snacks today at art camp. Can we please bring one by. Walgreens is half a block away, I think. I toss the can opener in and regard my sister’s disgruntled look. “They‘ve been here since just after 9:00,” she says, indicating that the campers have shown up way too early for 9:30 camp. “And they are driving me nuts already.” I look in on the little group. A line of four children wait for the bathroom. One girl sucks her thumb while her brother reads a book. I remind her that someone loves these children as much as I love Mac and Sailor.

Mac has requested a trip to the Butterfly Museum this morning. Our neighborhood is home to a nature museum that has a live butterfly habitat, thus its nickname. It’s “suggested donation day,” so we get in free, except that there is a robot exhibit that I am sure Mac would like to see. Normally I don’t pay the extra for the special exhibits, but Mac has been really into robots of late. And I only have him with me, and it’s spring break…. We spend most of our time in the robot exhibit because there is a clip from StarWars playing and there are fun things to try out. We walk thru the butterfly habitat and almost melt on the spot. There is a mirror near the exit to check yourself for stray butterflies. Which is when I realize I have a spot on the front of my sweater. Which must have been there when I put it on this morning because I haven’t had anything to eat yet today. I must get myself a new full length mirror! We are just about ready to leave and I am about to give Mac the reminders of good behavior for our lunch with all the kids from Sailor’s class when a better idea occurs to me. “Mac, would you like to have lunch with GrandDad today?” he says he does and I call my dad to see if he’d be happy to take Mac to lunch so I can make Sailor’s event special and give Mac a treat as well. Twenty minutes later I drop Mac with my dad and they head to the pancake house. I pick up Sailor from school and we lunch with his friends Jack, Shea, Lauren and Andrew. The kids are all three years old. And they are well behaved. For the most part. There are a few times when the group takes the opportunity to run thru the door and around the wall that separates our little area from the remainder of the restaurant. Sailor does not participate in this activity and I am pleased. Especially when I try to line up the kids for a group photos and they all escape for another run. Except Sailor, who stays put and waits for his friends to obey my request. After lunch Lauren invites Jack to get a cupcake at the bakery next door and before I know it I’ve just spent $5 on two large Easter cookies. They better be good, I grumble.

We say our goodbyes to Sailor’s best friend and go home. Sailor surprises me by not falling asleep in the car.

The cookies, it turns out, are good.

No one naps.

Our Australian friends are due over at 3:00. I vacuum. I clean up. I move the living room rug back into the living room and lay the new rug under the dining room table. Our friends call to say they are running 60-90 minutes late. Mac wants to make sock puppets. “Remember you said…?” No, I don’t specifically remember but I take his word. Sailor wants to blow bubbles. I want to straighten up. But I think my boys’ ideas sound more fun and so despite the fact that people are coming over soon, I get out the art box, some old socks, and the bubbles. Sailor spies paints in the art box. He fingerpaints while I blow bubbles. He has a great time. He says he is “hand painting.” He gets silly popping bubbles with his blue and green hands. There is paint on the fridge, the table, the floor. The doorbell rings. Our friends come in and I let the children paint. Mac has done a great job with his sock puppet. Soon enough there is guacamole and chips and a bottle of wine and a really nice evening that doesn’t last long enough because our friends have to leave an hour earlier than planned despite having arrived an hour later than planned.

Friday comes too quickly and we have run out of time. So instead of scheduling one fun activity for our last real day of spring break, I schedule two. At 9:00 a.m. we head out. Our first activity of the day is the Field Museum. We’re going to see dinosaurs and mummies. There is a new dino exhibit and Mac has been studying dinos in kindergarten. He has asked to visit this museum during his break. My father has invited himself along on this trip. This ought to be a nice day. We get to the museum and I offer to drop my three favorite men off out front. My dad suggests I let them off over to the side so they don’t have to climb the Coliseum-like staircase in the front. I am bummed because I love that staircase – have loved it since I was a child – and this is the first time I have come to the museum without a stroller in years. Nonetheless I let them off at the side and drive back around to enter the $15 parking lot. Because I have to walk back around to the side of the building I have to walk three or four blocks and it takes me nearly 15 minutes to get back to them. I gather the boys and we head into the museum. My dad lingers behind. What are you going? I mouth the words. He is too far to hear me anyway. He comes over to where we are waiting. “Don’t you want to check in?” he asks. “Didn’t you do that while you were waiting?” I ask. The boys and I sit in a gathering of comfy chairs and wait. My dad returns and tells us we were all supposed to get our hands stamped. Then he yells at the boys to hurry up because we have to be at the dino exhibit by 10:00 and we have just 15 minutes to get there. We head for the stairs and my dad asks where the elevators are. I know they are around here somewhere. “They take forever,” I mention, because they do. “Ok, I’ll meet you up there when I get there.” We all ascend. My dad is a mere three or four steps behind us. This is going to be fun. We wait in a long line for coat check and then head to the dino exhibit. My dad seems to relax then and the rest of the day goes smoothly.

Sailor is fascinated by the mummies. He has all sorts of impressive questions. At this point we have temporarily lost Mac and my dad and I know we should look around for them, but I am so surprised by the caliber and intensity of Sailor’s questions that I decide to have this moment with him. The others will find us.

There are a few fussy moments, like when Mac declares that we came here for mummies and dinos and noting else and that we shouldn’t have to look at anything else, and when Sailor decides he has to go potty RIGHT NOW in the middle of the Africa exhibit, even tough the nearest bathroom is not even on the same floor. And when Mac begs for every last item in the gift shop. Sailor looks around, pondering the merchandise. He doesn’t ask for anything. Not right away. But when he finds something cool, he asks kindly. He has chosen a crazy pair of sunglasses with huge foam dinosaurs on the side of either lens. $4.95. I want to buy them because he has been so good about not asking. Yet I remember what this was like as a child: I always wanted things – I still do. My little sister never asked. So my mother always bought for her. And that made me feel jealous. Because the only reason I asked for everything is because I truly wanted everything. So I know how Mac feels. I help him choose a really neat sticker story book about dinosaurs. My dad is leaning on the balcony waiting for us. His version of sitting down. It’s around noon. We head down to the coat check and I pull up to the extra window and lean in. Our coats come and so do a lot of people who didn’t realize they aren’t required to wait in the long line to reclaim their coats.

I expect Sailor to fall asleep in the car and he does. Next stop: Chuck E. Cheese’s. Mac requested this venue last week and I thought it sounded like a fun idea. And my dad has expressed some interest in seeing this place. So here we go. I downloaded coupons this morning so we get a pizza and 4 drinks plus 30 tokens for the kids for $21 and some change. I doubt 30 tokens will be enough but they go quite far and the pizza isn’t nearly as bad as I remembered. I let Mac have a root beer and I drink a sickeningly sweet lemonade and realize just how good it feels to be eating as healthfully as we do. Sailor gets the juice box. His favorite game is a thing where you punch ducks over. I don’t know what Mac is having the most fun at because he has gone off on his own. It’s nice how they stamp your hand and your kids’ hands so no one leaves with the wrong adult. It would be difficult to keep an eye on both boys here at the same time. They have a great time. My dad watches from our table. I have a great time with Sailor. And no one gets sick from the food.

Despite the fact that we are all exhausted we drive over to the expensive kiddie hair salon to see about a bang trim for Sailor. But an hour is too long to wait. I stop at a party store to get some invitation supplies. Sailor cries because I leave everyone in the car. At home my dad says he is going to take his doctor-prescribed nap. Mac is asleep in the car and I haul him in. 45 lbs. Up two flights. He weighs half what I weigh. Let’s hear it for my Mommy Muscles! Sailor starts to make intentional noise and I drag him off to his room. He wants to watch tv so I distract him with workbooks. Mac wakes and joins us. Then we move on to play dough. I am Super Mommy today! And I am liking this. Never mind that I have a stack of things on my desk that are desperate for my attention. My kids need it more than the bills and phone calls and other things. I will deal with it all on Monday. Right now I have to show Mac that I am not always on the phone or on the computer as he accuses. Walking past the built-in cabinet in the playroom I spy a movie I haven’t watched in years. We clean up and gather on the sofa for some cuddling and a movie. It’s been a nice day and a good way to end a nice week of spring break. Proving that you don’t need to go to Paris or Florida or skiing to have a nice week. (You just have to go to Florida to find spring weather – it’s colder here now than it was at Christmastime, according to the tv weather guys).

Today is Easter Sunday. Yesterday the boys decorated their Easter eggs while I was at work. A year ago we bought a StarWars egg dye kit and the kids have waited with unbelievable patience all year for this day.

We wake up at 7am. According to my sister, we are due downstairs for brunch at noon. That’s 5 hours for me to keep the boys occupied. We do breakfast. We get dressed. Last night I taped a show on the iceberg that sank the Titanic so we look for it. Can’t find it. So I let them watch some Disney channel thing instead. I sit with them. I put some new photos into our photo album and look at how much my boys have changed and grown since just last summer. They are so cute. We are discussing other activities when my dad calls and invites us to come down and see what the E.B. has brought. Mac has ideas about the Easter Bunny. While he is thrilled to come down and look for his gifts he has already told me that the E.B. is not real. “Who else isn’t real?” I ask him. “The leprechaun, and Cupid.” I need to know who is real. “Santa Claus and the tooth fairy.” WHEW!

My mom decided a while back that the boys needed scooters. I put some thought into this and while I thought bikes might be a better choice, we have no place to easily store bikes. So a week or so ago I picked up two very nice scooters at Target. Sailor was with me at the time. I told him the scooters were for Nana, which was true, in a sense. He had told me that Nana could not ride a scooter. But that he would teach her. So today he is a little thrown that scooters are for he and his brother. We take a ride around the neighborhood. Which takes forever. Forever. Which is why I have always thought scooters or bikes would be a bad idea. I guess this will be ok as long as we only use them as recreation and never as transportation, which will be a harsh reality for Mac, as he has seen many of his friends come to school or go home from school via scooter.

When we get back we’re all tired but no one wants to take a nap. Scratch that. The children don’t want to nap. I’m sure my sister would be happy with a nap and I wouldn’t mind one either. Sailor got Happy Feet in his Easter Basket. “What does that say?” Mac asks. “Rated PG,” I tell him and explain what this means. Parental Guidance Suggested.
Toward the end of the movie, my sister is busy with this little dog she is watching for the week and I have moved into the dining room to work on something that needs to be done by tomorrow. “Guys!” Mac calls out. “You’re supposed to be guiding us.”

Back to school tomorrow. I find it rather curious that despite the fact that Mac has been in school everyday for 7 months I don’t even notice that he is not in school all week. I mean, it still seems more natural to me to have him home with me, where, as far as I am concerned, he still actually belongs. I don’t think about school or that we are going to be late. It is just completely out of my head. I like having Mac with me. That’s what being a mommy is all about. It’s about the children and being with them. Like when they were really little.