Week 26

For some reason I think that when the kids have a friend over I can do my own thing. But I am always sadly mistaken. Which is why the first sentence I write here has already been deleted in favor of an entirely new topic. The boys have Mac’s fiancée over to play and I have told them in no uncertain terms that Sailor is to be included in their play. This particular play dynamic tends to exclude Sailor, leaving him feeling like the worthless dishrag. So now after two spilled milks and a quick time-out for Sailor the three are playing well in the playroom. It’s nice, the children’s chatter about grown-up things. I think they are playing something about a bank.

Sometimes my kids play so nicely. Most of the time, actually. But some days it’s like pulling teeth to get them to play. No, seriously. Yesterday I had some free time in the morning before going to work for the afternoon, and taking a cue from the sunshine outside coupled with the fact that the children are prone to tv watching when they stay with my parents, I wanted to take them to the playground. Except Mac wanted to know why he could not wear his jean jacket and Sailor didn’t want to wear a coat at all and Mac didn’t know where his gym shoes were and Sailor wouldn’t put on his hat. And the real issue was that they wanted to do was stay home and play StarWars. Of course. So how does Mama handle this? She yells, “I’M TRYING TO DO SOMETHING NICE FOR YOU PEOPLE! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?! PUT YOUR COATS ON, WE’RE GOING OUTSIDE TO PLAAAAY!” And so they do. And we go. And we have a very nice time. It is sunny and bright and the kids find some big boys to play with and they get very dirty indeed. And then we head home so I can go to work. But first I throw some healthy lunch their way before my dad comes upstairs and I head out. And everyone is happy.


The boys and their galpal are playing so nicely even the lady at the bank, with whom I have been on the phone for at least thirty minute, has even commented on the happy chatter. They are playing "married." Mac's friend introduces herself with her play name, “Hi, I’m Sarah.” “My name is Steve. Steve Carlson,” Mac introduces himself. I remember as a child how important your pretend name was when playing together. That was the best part to me. I hadn’t even remembered that until now, and I had no idea at what age this part of play kicks in. Apparently it’s somewhere right at about 5 ¾.

I hear Mac tell Sailor, “Actually you’re adopted, you’re at the baby shelter.”

By the time the little girl’s dad comes to fetch her, the two older children are married and dancing something akin to ballroom-style in the living room. Their music is the MIX though and it is all so precious that I wish I had a video cam right here in the palm of my hand.

The playroom is trashed and the kids are hungry and so …..

…Now it’s almost a week later and I have had no time to keep up with this. So let me see if I can touch on highlights of the week, in no specific order….

Tuesday after school we drove over to Mac’s book buddy’s house. This is the 4th grade boy who reads with Mac every Thursday afternoon during school. Several weeks ago there was a big to-do over the fact that Mac and his book buddy had been separated. Mac had been paired with a boy who had been joining their duo for a couple of months and Mac’s original book buddy was given to the new girl from Australia. Mac was unhappy. His book buddy was unhappy. And so the book buddy’s mom and I became quick friends over the phone discussing this highly critical matter at length. I asked Miss H nicely to switch them back, and then I followed up with a note, explaining how Mac and his book buddy had become very close and how I felt with all that Mac has been thru this past year and a half, with his father moving out, etc., that it was unfair to take yet another person away from Mac. Miss H wrote back that her decision was both well-thought out and final. I went back to see her and she suggested I take it up with the principal, a move I was unwilling to make, for various reasons, the biggest of which was that this seemed too petty and too easily solved to have to go listen to why Dr. T would support Miss H’s decision. And then I cried. About how I was afraid Mac would grow up to be the kind of man who could never get close to anyone because so many people he’d cared about in his life had left him. About how Mac can’t even remember the names of his 2 male cousins, whom he once worshipped, and the uncles and grandfather who don’t care enough about us to stay in touch (my ex’s family, certainly not mine). About how Mac has so few role models. About how he has even recently lost my best friend’s husband, one of his “uncles,” because we are not hanging out together these days.

The next day Miss H said she would keep all four children together as a book buddy group.

And the book buddy’s mom and I decided that our boys could cultivate a relationship outside of school. And so we spent 2 hours at their condo on the 21st floor of a Gold Coast apartment building on Tuesday afternoon. It cost me $6 to park in the garage. The boys played well though the older boy’s mom told me later that after about an hour of showing my boys around his room, he grew a bit bored with my children’s lack of focus on one activity at a time. She said her son would like to play again after spring break.

Mac and Sailor had the new Australian children over to play on Thursday after school. Walking home we ended up with another mom and little girl also from Mac’s class joining us to play. We walk home with them nearly every day and it embarrasses me that we seem to keep bringing other children home to play but haven’t had this little girl over since Halloween. The children all played nicely, much to my delight. The list of children who are allowed to play here is now growing, which is good. There are still a few who will not be invited back unless their mothers can accompany them.

Friday night is the annual auction and dinner for the school. I have no date so I have asked the mom who owns the cleaning company. She agrees to be my “date” after my sister agrees to babysit her kids.

Except I am tired beyond reason on Friday and want nothing more than to put on a video and eat pizza with the kids. But I have worked hard to earn myself a free ticket to this event (because I can’t afford to buy one). I drag out clothing from one of my former lives, the one in which I was a glamorous, social wife. I set my hair in hot rollers and Sailor says I look pretty (with the rollers in my hair!). I super-hairspray my curly locks, as it is misty and foggy out.

It’s a fun event. My own kindergarten and 2nd grade teachers are there. About 9 kindergarten moms are there and we create a sort of posse. We are The Kindergarten Moms. It’s a status symbol. For the evening, anyway. I buy one $5 plastic cup of mediocre chardonnay and am treated to another by one of my posse, a mom who looks so glam I have to look several times to determine whether or not she is actually the same mom from drop-off and pick-up every day. And then the bartender slips me a third drink later in the evening, which is not a good idea, considering my self-imposed 2-drink limit. I get the DJ to play one BeeGees song and prove once and for all my true, die-hard BeeGees fan-dom by actually knowing the words and being able to sing along (which, if you have ever listened to 1970’s BeeGees disco – and who hasn’t – is no small feat!). And I dance like I haven’t danced in years. And those French moms can really cut the rug. I bid on several silent auction items and get to hold my big card #110 up high and pretend to be rich for a few moments while bidding, on behalf of my mother, on a week-long stay at a house in Michigan. I do not win the item, but it’s fun to pretend I could have afforded to pay for it.

I cab home with a couple of friends and someone’s father, a man I wouldn’t recognize if I saw him on the street. I regale my parents with tales of drinking and dancing and socializing and bidding and I stay up watching the BeeGees concert until well after 2a.m. in hopes of being stone sober before closing my eyes.

7:30 a.m. comes fast and I am glad not to be suffering my 3rd unfortunate glass of wine too terribly. If I breathe just right I can pretend I had nothing at all to drink last night. It would be a grand morning to sleep in. But a man I know, or knew, in college, almost 20 years ago, is stopping by. He is ostensibly picking up the painting pole he dropped at my front door a few weeks back. Except I know this is just the excuse he is using. We have been emailing for nearly 6 months and have yet to even have a phone conversation. I have not seen him since the late 1980s. And he will be here shortly after 8:00 a.m. He has instructed me to stay in my pj’s and wait for him to come with Starbucks. But I am not that kind of mom. I shower, dress, put on my face and do my hair religiously every day and this day will be no different, especially when a man – a guy – from my distant past is coming to meet me.

He arrives much later than he said he would. But he brings the promised coffee and soon enough I am feeling like myself again. He brings treats for the boys and we chat for a lot longer than it takes to pick up painting equipment, which I almost forget to give him back before he leaves. And when he does, I don’t want him to go. I should hate him. I should never have re-connected with him. Our past was tumultuous, to say the least. But we are adults now and we have been corresponding via email for 6 months and I think our past is truly “in our behinds” to quote The Lion King. Seeing him is like closure of a long-forgotten bad event. Something that happened to someone who is no longer me. Someone who is a grown-up version of the boy he once was. How we change. We are all so different now, as adults. I find this more often than not, and in a way it is refassuring.

Oh, and I also find myself unfortunately attracted to this man. Unfortunate because of his wife and two children.

The kids and I run over to play at the children’s zoo for a short time before I have to head to work for the afternoon. Except there has been a miscommunication between my parents and me and they are not here to watch the boys. I pack up my laptop, a DVD, lunch and the boys and we head over to get my sister. Before we get there my mom is on the phone with my sister and I am told to turn around and bring the boys home. They burst into tears, their adventure of watching a DVD on my laptop in the backroom of the art studio during a birthday party has been squashed.

Today is Sunday and it is warm out. Not just take-your-coat-off warm, but genuine warm. As in, we were way over dressed in three t-shirts apiece and pants and socks. As Sailor is getting dressed in all these clothes that we will soon realize is overkill, he asks for lotion and smears some on his face. Mac comes into his room and Sailor tells him, “Watch out. I already shaved.” He still has some white smears of lotion on his face.
“Did you use my shaver?” Mac asks, thinking about his plastic toy razor.
“No,” Sailor informs him, and quite seriously, “I used my finger.”
I am cracking up at the cuteness of my boys.

Mac is actually reading a book to Sailor, asking me here and there what this or that spells. I am truly impressed and amazed at his little mind and all it is capable of learning. I think learning to read is one of the greatest challenges of childhood and watching this skill emerge has to be one of a parent’s greatest joys. Meanwhile, I am in the other room putting on my own BeeGees concert. I have looked up the lyrics to their song “One.” And I am singing/dancing along to the CD. This would be a great karaoke number for me to perform, I realize.

I give them each a baseball cap to complete their outfits. Mac is wearing a pair of very long shorts (or maybe I should call them “boy capris”), a long sleeve t-shirt and his Green Day t-shirt, and Crocs. Sailor is dressed in a pair of “army man” pants that I just pulled out of Mac’s drawer this morning when I realized they are a size 4. He has on a long sleeved waffle weave Henley and a powder blue polo over that. He wears his GAP baseball cap backwards. They are two very styling boys, indeed. Mama is sporting her Josh Groban concert t-shirt today and probably looks more like a geek than she realizes and cares less than she should.
We stop for my coffee and head to the playground, where every neighbor child we even remotely know is playing. It is hot out. I strip the boys down so they are each just wearing their short sleeves. And as I finish up with Sailor I hear Mac crying. I turn to see him clutching his head. I tear across the playground, hoping my new clogs don’t fail me. He has apparently fallen on his head, tho I do not have any reasonable idea how he could have done this.
A mom who saw the accident offers ice from her iced tea, but Mac declines the offer.
We head home. Mac asks me if I still remember how to be a doctor. I assure him that I know how to take care of my babies, which makes him tear up.
Our sunny day seems ruined as I make tofu dogs and organic fries and wait for email from my old college buddy from yesterday morning.

We eat in front of a video. When the cold pack on Mac’s forehead, which resembles a melted blue popsicle in a face mask grows warm, Mac hands it back to me, “Mommy, this is all weared out of cold.”

Sailor finds the black and white polka dot rubber gloves I had him wear this morning when he helped me clean the living room windows. I ask him to put them away, but he puts them on instead. “Can I please wear them for a couple whiles?”

I want to go back outside. I think it’s going to take all my weary muscles (I am dreadfully sore from all my dancing on Friday night – a reflection of the fact that I never go dancing anymore, not on the fact that I am too old to go dancing) and the double stroller to get these kids outside again.

They are whiny and tired and I think I could bring my book and coffee and maybe they will both fall asleep before we hit the zoo. They are fighting and playing. Boys. But I do love them so! Mac says, “… and they let out a loud cry!” And Sailor asks him, “Why a cry?” “Well, it’s like a--,” Mac begins and then, “He yells!” They have such active imaginations I have no idea where this stuff comes from! And then Sailor gets up, clearly having to pee, and he puts his hand out to Mac and asks, “Can you pause it?” meaning their play, while he runs off to pee.

On a cute quote note:
"You like you’re cool. You look fancy. You know fancy means pretty,” Sailor says to me later.