Week 29 Or What Week is This?

I am now midway into crazy day number 1 of this week, and while it's going ok so far, what do I go and do but sign up to volunteer at the Earth Day festivities at school on Friday afternoon!

8:49 pm and I must pause. I am whipped out and yet…. The house is messy, there is laundry of all seasons everywhere and my nails look as if the word “manicure” is as foreign as any other word I’ve never rolled my tongue around. And so I pause. I have always found it good to type while drying my nail polish.

The tasks and human force required of me in the week ahead are daunting, which may have something to do with why we stayed home doing absolutely nothing but baking cookies, watching videos and playing yesterday. I thought I was getting the house straightened up but when I woke this morning it looked as bad as ever.

Nonetheless we are headed for the dollar store by 9:39 am. I know it is 9:39 precisel because the car radio is also set to the station 93.9. And I am amused. I change the station to the MIX right away anyway. On the way to the dollar store we discuss Mac’s weakening eyesight. He failed his first test at school a couple weeks ago – the vision test. This came as no real surprise. But what is surprising is that Mac claims he can see things far away but not clearly up close, which would lead one to believe he is farsighted, not nearsighted as the entire rest of the family is. Also it would mean that not only does my darling-faced boy need glasses, which is hard enough to deal with even though I got my first pair in kindergarten myself, but that he would need those unattractive magnifying glass-looking glasses that the rare farsighted person needs. I hate to be so vain, especially on behalf of my little boy, but listen, if has to get glasses, which at this point I am fairly certain he does, I would rather he have a regular cute pair than a pair that resemble goggles. I know, shoot me. I am a bitch.

As we get out of the car at the dollar store Sailor says he is hungry and I tell him he can have a pbj sandwich when we get into the store. Only then to realize halfway across the parking lot, that I left the lunch bag in the car. He calms down as soon as I plop him into a shopping cart. We cruise up and down every single aisle. Mac finds some toys that resemble light sabers and the boys drive me nuts as we dodge displays left and right. Six dollars later having not found anything we are looking for at the dollar store we head to Target where thanks to a dollar section full of StarWars stuff (which I am willing to buy one or two of each of but the boys don’t realize this so they pick and choose – impressing me!) a sale on cute summer tops for Mommy and my sister’s upcoming birthday, we spend $54 on the two packs of name tags I need for my dad’s birthday part on Sunday.

We have 25 minutes to get to Mac’s talking doctor. We make it. Only 2 minutes late. Not bad considering parking is a bear. I ask if we can join Mac in his session today to help solve the conflict that erupts between the boys all too frequently, resulting in Mac getting his face scratched by Sailor and Sailor getting in trouble. Mac is reluctant to share his time so his TD compromises and brings us in halfway through the 50-minute hour. Guess what? Turns out it’s all my fault that Mac keeps getting scratched by Sailor because I am giving Mac too much responsibility for his brother. Oh brother! It’s really too bad that I insist on going out of the house looking like a human being and not just a regular mommy. If only I could just put on clothes in the morning, sans shower, forget the makeup and put my hair in a "peeno tail" as Sailor calls a ponytail, all would be heaven on earth between my boys because I would have more time to pick up all the junk they leave lying around, and be right in their faces to discipline every false move they make. Jeez! So we devise a plan by which if Mac has to do all the toy cleanup because Sailor is exercising the use of his new favorite word – “No” (isn’t he a bit old for this??) – then I get to offer Mac a choice of reward. Either he gets a piece of money, which he can save to buy more toys, or he can keep one of Sailor’s toys in his room for a week. Got that? Alrighty then.

And we’re off to school. I am carefully carrying an egg carton full of things that resemble seeds and beans. This is Mac’s assignment, due tomorrow. But he is going to school with the triplets tomorrow and I want to assure this fragile project’s safe delivery, so I hand it to Miss H and explain that the 12th seed/bean will arrive tomorrow. Mac is absolutely positive Miss H will be angry that we are turning in the assignment early and that the final bean isn’t coming until tomorrow. I have assured him that turning work in early is a good thing and that Miss H is not that mean. Of course, there might be something for her to be a bit miffed at tomorrow if she fails to see the humor in our final bean choice: a can of refried beans! Hey, listen, I refuse to go shopping to complete this project.

Sailor and I drop homemade cookies off at the Alderman’s campaign office and head to McD’s for free coffee. But that special is over, ma’am. Alrighty then. Sailor wants to know why he can’t have chocolate milk and whatever explanation I give leads him to believe McD’s is actually closed. Fine. He is asleep two minutes later anyway and after I wedge the car into an unlikely parking space in front of the house and unload the car I carry him up to the couch. My attempt to follow up on some very due phone calls is hindered by the cordless phone’s detached battery, which I finally discover after a phoneless weekend. I get all the calls made from the kitchen corded phone while Sailor sleeps and I make birthday cards and clean up the playroom.

Sailor wakes on time and we go get Mac at school. But not before engaging in a lengthy discussion over whether or not Sailor will change his outfit. It is that wonderful time of year when it is supposed to be getting warmer out. Which is a grand thing because both of my boys have outgrown their clothes and the only way to make their pants not look totally stupid is to roll them up like capris, which is adorable. Except it’s been in the 30’s outside and way too cold to wear anything ankle-baring. And so we suffer the humiliation of white socks peeking out between the tops of their shoes and the bottom of their floods. I have received a load of 4T clothes back from my best friend, so Sailor could actually change his clothes. But he won’t. And we are out of time. So we leave. Mac is late coming out of school, as usual. And we are late for a party, which I knew we would be. But it’s at the indoor play place so it’s of little consequence that we walk in 25 minutes late. The boys have a good time playing, eating raw veggies, hummus and dip, and cake (Sailor actually passes on the cake).

When the party is over we swing by one of the children’s stores we frequent. They are having their seasonal $4.99 sale. I want to see what they have for Mac. They have a bit of clothing left in his size so we pick up three cute button down shirts, a pair of seersucker pants and a polo shirt for next year. For Sailor we choose a summer hat, a pair of baby-ish shorts overalls with a boat on the front that he will look adorable in, and a knit polo shirt. A big bag of clothes for $45. Not a bad deal at all! The only bad deal is the way the boys act in the store. One would think they have not just finished 2 hours of running around. They are everywhere. And no matter what I say, Mac will not stay with me, they will not stop twirling the racks around and hiding under the clothes. I want to hang them on a rack. I ask the checkout guy, who is obviously gay, whether he would like some boys. He tells me I am doing really well. Which I appreciate. As we leave I explain that they each have a timeout coming when we get home. Then, to make matters worse, I decide I need to stop into Old Navy, as long as we are here. I give them the opportunity to redeem themselves and opt out of the time out by behaving well in the next store. By the time we leave, they are both in very big trouble and I revoke their StarWars play privileges for the remainder of the week. As we drive by the $9.99 Monday special pizza place that we have never stopped at, I ask the boys if they want dinner. They say no until it’s too late and we are down the block, past all the parking spaces. I swear under my breath.

Sailor reminds Mac to go right to time out when we get in the house after parking a block away. I tell them to clean up their rooms and put on their pj’s while they are in there. It’s after 6:30. We read Mac’s 3 homework books in his room. Mac reads the first and I am able to convince him to read the second by telling him Miss H said it was ok if he reads two. The second book is one that Sailor has and either my 3 ½-year-old can read, has a great memory, or is a great guesser, because as Mac struggles to sound out words, Sailor whispers the correct word pronunciations in his ear. I am slightly flabbergasted.

By 8:30 they are both in bed. Asleep. I put away all their laundry and drag a basket downstairs. The living room is vacuumed. The kitchen is straightened up. I have just to put away my own laundry pile from the dining room. Ah laundry. The bane of my existence (whatever that really means!). So instead I sit down here. My body is achy and sore from I don’t know what anymore. And tomorrow is going to be such a long and involved day I hope I don’t ever have to go to the bathroom or anything cuz there simply won’t be time. And, as I am certain I will be short on time to write about it later, here is tomorrow’s lone-up of activities:

Vote for Alderman at the school down the street.
Get Mac to the triplets’ house by 8:55 – remembering to bring the StarWars memo board we bought for the boy and the Strawberry Shortcake hair clips that we bought for the girls at Target today and a bag of cookies we made, plus figure out a small transport for some of Mac’s yummy tummy (lactase) in case he has milk or cheese for lunch.
Drop Sailor to school by 9:00.
Work the phones at the Alderman's campaign office from 9:15 – 11:45.
Pick up Sailor at 12:00.
Come home and enjoy lunch and play time with Sailor’s galpal Lauren from school.
Find an outfit among my ripped jeans and velvet gowns that is appropriate for a wake. Iron something, no doubt. Change into said outfit. Get my sister.
Pick up Mac from school at 3:00. Drive to a nearby north suburb that should be 20 minutes away but depending on traffic may be as far away as an hour. (Shoot! Note to self: Mapquest funeral home.) Sailor should nap all the way there.
Attend wake for the mother of my childhood baby sitter and my prom date, who died last Thursday.
Drive back into the city during rush hour. Drop kids home and maybe change clothes or not and close voting polls from 6:00-7:00.
7:00 pm Victory Party at a nearby bar and grill. And believe me, after all that, it had better be a victory party! If not there are going to be a LOT of disgruntled volunteers sucking down free beer tomorrow night.
Sometime between 9 and 10pm I hope to be walked home by one of the Alderman’s employees. A neighborhood guy I went to grade school with, and whom I dated briefly last summer. At my door I hope for a victory smooch before I fall inside, relieve my ex of his child watching duties and put a very long day behind me. That’s how it should go, anyway! Sleep will refuel me for Wednesday, which is the day of the funeral, which begins at 10am in the aforementioned suburb. The boys and I are due back to the Aussies’ home for lunch at noon so we can flip flop watching the kids and picking up our kindergarteners’ 3rd quarter report cards. Mac has FTK at 3:30 and for some reason I feel as if I have agreed to do something on Wednesday night, but for the life of me I have no idea what.

And now it is 9:46 pm. My nails are not dry enough to put away my laundry (oh, bummer) but I should get to bed. Monday night is traditionally 7pm bed time night but the boys were tired enough not to need to go to sleep in my bed tonight and I had too much left on my plate at 7. Sigh. Tuesday awaits! I am nervous about the election! Really! It’s weird.

Tuesday night. Victory! We won! She won! It was close but glorious. And what a wonderful party. I am so excited to have been part of something so important. To have had my entire family working together on this was amazing. After all, how many volunteer experiences have the capacity to involve both my 3 ½-year-old boy and my almost-80-year-old father and everyone in between? I am really proud of us all for having worked so hard.

Somehow mid-party I commit myself to returning to the Board of Directors of our neighborhood association. This is the organization that I left last June with only 6 months of my three-year term left. Right before the victory I declared my loyalty to the neighborhood by announcing (to another, very persistent, Board member) that if our candidate wins, I will return to the Board. Between the first glass of $265 Crystal and the 2nd there is discussion of my taking over the president’s vacancy. We’ll see where that goes.

I hug and smooch the Alderman, get my photo taken, pinch the cheeks of a 30-year-old man who I last saw when he was 6, and get a few friendly good-bye hugs/cheek kisses from the guy I’d hoped would walk me home, and walked in my door at just about midnight.

Wednesday morning I am still reeling with delight. What a great night. The kids are up and playing and I find them in the living room. “Guess what,” I say, “The Alderman won!” “WOO HOO!” shouts Mac. “What?” asks Sailor. I repeat. “Woo hoo!” he mimics Mac and throws himself onto the couch.

I am tired but happy despite this morning’s destination. The funeral in the suburbs. We haven’t time for their Wednesday morning bath. But I dress them up and they look extremely handsome. I put on some old things that still fit and look sedate and mature at the same time. I slip on a pair of shoes that feel so bad I can’t even take a step in them. I discard them and look for my boots.

As we walk out the front door, Mac regales me with some tale about a sourpuss who was leaving me a note on my car last night about my fabulous parking job. People don’t seem to understand the rules of parking around here. I scoff at the story and exclaim over our rock star parking. We climb into the car and … the car refuses to start. I am out of gas. We sit in the car for about 15 minutes. I am beyond pissed. We get out of the car. We stomp back into the house and send the kids to their rooms to change clothes. I change out of my grown up outfit. I call my car insurance company and they send out a nice guy who jumps my car. But even better, they send him with 2 gallons of gasoline. We drive to the gas station to fill up and then come home. It’s gray and chilly and starting to drizzle. I feed the kids lunch and then declare naptime. It’s barely 12:25. I send each boy to his room and I hit the sofa. I fall asleep. They don’t. By 1:00 I am sharing the couch with two squirming, wiggling, fidgety boys. Before 1:30 our nap is over. We sit down to do some art and we all make cards for the Alderman, Mac writing his himself, congratulating her for “wening.” We drive over and drop off the card and drop Mac at FTK. Sailor is tired now. I tell him not to fall asleep. We have to pick up Mac’s 3rd quarter report card. We get to school, find a parking spot out front and head in. Miss H is in a meeting. I sit down with Sailor on my lap and within 5 minutes he is asleep. I lay him down on a wooden bench outside the classroom. He rolls over and sleeps soundly. I could leave the building and he would never know. Of course I would not do that but when my time comes to talk with Miss H I issue a general, “If my baby wakes up, send him in,” to all the kind moms and dads sitting around in the hallway. I am ushered into the classroom and while most parents would make a fuss about having to sit in the pint sized chairs I think absolutely nothing of it. I tell Miss H about the dream I had about her getting married to her baby’s father, while she eats the homemade chocolate chip cookies I have brought her. She confesses to having eaten a whole pizza a day or so before and then lets it slip that she is indeed pregnant. Well not slip, exactly. She says it is not a secret. She just wants to keep it in proper order for the children and won’t tell them until after this Saturday’s wedding. We chat about this. Then about Mac and how well he is doing in kindergarten. She reminds me of the conversation we had at the beginning of the year in which I expressed my concern that Mac may be a challenge in class. He is so well-behaved, she tells me, he is really doing great. I tell her how impressed I am with everything he has learned in just 2 hours and 40 minutes a day. It’s a mutual admiration society to be sure. And I have taken up way too much time. There is a mass of parents waiting in the hall when we emerge. Sailor is still asleep. I chat for a few minutes with the mom who has taken it upon herself to watch my baby, even tho she does not know me.

We go to get Mac and come home. My parents have been out all day and have to out tonight so we are on our own for dinner, which is fine. We are in bed early and the kids go to sleep well for me.

Thursday. It just isn’t ending. Sailor doesn’t want to go to school, but of course he goes. With little protest once I help him hang up his coat and walk him over to the bean bag. Mac and I drive home and take out the trash. Why does it always rain on garbage day? We run to Trader Joe’s and spend so much money things are falling out of Mac’s little cart. I leave him to get a big cart. “Don’t move,” I tell him as I pile things up against him. I come back with the cart and he moves. Foods are all over the floor. I guess he doesn’t understand, “Don’t move.”

We head over to Target where we argue at length over what to buy the latest birthday party boy. I want to get him a bathing suit. Mac wants to get him a toy. He insists that this boy doesn’t like bathing suits, and that he specifically asked for a toy. I realize too late that we are running out of time. We grab a few toys from the clearance rack and head to the checkout. I make Mac a turkey and bread sandwich in the car before we drive off and when we get home it’s already 2 minutes til 12:00. I very quickly unload the groceries and we put away the thawing pizza and the other melting frozen goods. I slap some cheese, organic mayo and mustard into Mac’s sandwich and make a half sandwich for Sailor and we run back out. At school Sailor’s friend Lauren’s mom invites us to play next Wednesday. I’ll have to let her know. I am so overwhelmed this week. I just don’t even know! We drive down a street that takes us away from school and circle around four blocks before nabbing a parking space in front of a paper store. I need circles to make Mac’s birthday party invitations. They have some and I am trying to do mental math and figure our how many stickers I need while trying to remember what color paper I have left from my dad’s birthday party invitations when Sailor announces, “I haf go potty! I haf go potty!” Of course. Because we have only about 2 more minutes to finish what we are doing and still make it to school on time.

Sailor and I go to the Alderman’s campaign office to help clean up but they are not in need of our help. There is absolutely no place to park when Sailor and I get home after picking up some film we dropped off last Saturday and running into my parents. We circle around. We go in. We go to the bathroom. Answer the phone. Pay some bills. Worry about getting a parking ticket for double parking out front of our own house (it has happened!). We gather some supplies and head back out. We head to the Alderman’s office to get some parking permits and as we are leaving I see I have made the front page of one of the local newspapers. There I am, arms around the Alderman’s neck in a grand congratulatory hug. The photo that was taken just after the victory came in on Tuesday night. I am so famous I can’t stand anymore publicity. After all, the kids and I were first on the news and then in 3 pieces of campaign mail and Mac is featured on the Alderman’s website. My 15 minutes of fame, to be sure. We drive over to school and I have a parking space straight away. Sailor and I play in the playground, just the two of us, for 40 minutes. He thoroughly enjoys having the place to himself and having my undivided attention as I run, climb, slide, chase and wonder why I am feeling so old doing all of this.

The mom of Mac’s French friend comes up and we chat in French about the fact that she walked to school and I have my car. A shame because it’s nice out and we are going to their house to play after school. When our boys come out of school a couple of minutes later I give Mac the option of walking home with his French pal. Sailor and I drive and because we arrive so much sooner than they, I have to listen to him whining and complaining that he wants to go inside, now!

The French mom and I talk about all manner of things from the recent school shooting in the news to her pregnancy to sex to Mac’s upcoming birthday party. The children play quietly and well together. Until the German boy comes down to play. If there is a boy who has more energy than Mac it’s the German boy. He is very cute and certainly nice but the kids get out of hand and soon enough it’s time for us to go.

I have both boys in bed by 8:30 and myself by 9:00 in time to watch ER. I have noticed that my face looks much better in the morning if I sleep more than 5 hours, so I have been trying to do so.

Sailor wakes up on Friday morning with a fever and a cough. This is too bad. Luckily it’s still a low fever because we have to run out for milk and color printer ribbon so I can make some photos for my dad’s birthday party on Sunday and shoes. We spend way too much time in the shoe store and we’re running late again. Mac cries all the way through the grocery store because I won’t let him ride in the cart because it is too hard for me to push, much less quickly. Sailor is asleep when we get home but there is no parking. Again. I unload the car and then someone pulls out of a spot across the street. I unload the stroller from the car and unload a sleeping Sailor into the stroller then bring him into the house. He sleeps just long enough for us to have to leave for school. He rides in the stroller and then sits therefore quite some time, uncomplaining. I have volunteered to spend the afternoon outside in the playground supervising the Earth Day celebration. Which apparently the kindergarteners are not taking much part in. Wish I had known! Sailor gets fussy and feverish and wants to go home. I hold him while I watch four 8th grade boys try to explain deforestation to young school children who would rather run and play on this warm, sunny day. Eventually Sailor falls asleep. Which is good. Except I have to go inside to read to the kindergarten at the end of the day. It takes three moms to lift the stroller and Sailor up the stairs so I can wheel him in. I read three books to the children and conduct a Q&A like a pro. Sailor rolls around and stays asleep. Mac and I leave with the other children and I carefully bump the stroller down the front steps. No one comes to help me. One slip and we’re all on the ground. Mac wants to play in the playground. I tell him 15 minutes. I let him play for an hour more. We get an invitation to yet another birthday party. This one for 2 of the French girls in Mac’s class. I assume he’ll want to attend and tell the moms to expect him. More gifts to buy. I don’t know how we’ll make it thru May financially, even at just $10 a gift.

And now the boys are watching The Polar Express. In April. On one of the first warm-ish days in weeks! Oy!

We decided that our busy week wasn’t busy enough so we should get up at 7am on Saturday morning and do more stuff! I make pancakes for breakfast despite my growing bad mood from having to listen to Sailor beg and plead and whine and fuss over chocolate soy milk, which I will not let him have. I ask the boys if they want turkey bacon. Mac says no, and Sailor says he wants some. But I tell him he will have to eat it, as I don’t want to make it for nothing. “Don’t make it for nothing. Make it for something, Mommy,” he tells me. And then he won’t eat it. Until I have consumed so much of it I have to add a pancake chaser. Then I have to make another round of strips. Two hours later I am in the shower and Sailor comes in and says something I cannot understand then makes some weird noises. My face is covered with soap and I cannot open my eyes. “Are you ok?” He repeats his unintelligible utterings. I am starting to panic. Is he choking? “What?! Are you ok?!” I can’t get the soap off my eyes fast enough.
“SMELL MY BREATH!” he shouts out, “I’m eating bacon.”
G-d help me!

Tomorrow is Earth Day so we gather up supplies and head out to clean up our neighborhood. Mac has a blue recycling bag. Sailor has a tantrum. I want him to have a brown paper garbage bag. We settle on a white garbage bag. And a mitten for each boy to wear on their garbage picking up hand. And sunscreen. It’s actually warm and sunny out today. Sailor doesn’t know why I am slathering white goop on his face. “What this is for?” he asks. I try to explain sunburn over Mac’s incessant chattering. We walk around the block. Mac has a collection of five or six beer bottles and Sailor has half a bag of trash when we get home. We pull in the neighbors’ garbage cans and Mac declares that we do not need to wash our hands before we go to the playground. I counter declare that we do. So we do. And then we head to the crazy crowded playground where I sun my face and the children play for an hour. They have met a boy named Miles who looks to be about 4. Mac loves to come tell me, “We’re making new friends, Mom.” The boys leave well after their 15, 10, 5 and two minute warnings. We go home for lunch. On the way Mac asks, “How come we can’t eat there?” indicating the hot dog joint on the corner. That’s the way they ask for everything these days. I don’t even know how to answer.

After lunch that I spoon feed Sailor to get him to eat, including apple bites that have skin on them – “Guess what you just ate?” I tell him. “They were good!” he says. “Next time I will eat the skin!” – we drive out to the northshore for a book signing, which ends up costing me no less than $50 for books. But the kids have fun and my friend, the book’s illustrator, passes out dustbunnies.
We head back to the city to hear another friend – “My favorite grown up friend,” Mac calls him – perform with a group at a sandwich shop. While we’re there, Sailor asks me if we can chit-chat about something. The kids are each given a free ice cream cone. Mac finishes his but Sailor is uncertain. He already has a beautiful chocolate mustache. He tells me you can eat these cones. Then he asks me if I would please eat the ice cream so he can eat just he cone. I take a few licks and pass the cone to Mac. The scene is so dear. Mac dutifully eating ice cream so his little brother can have just the cone. “Here. Take a bite right here so I can get more ice cream out,” he tells Sailor. It is most precious. At 5:00 we leave for shopping. I need something to wear to my dad’s 80th birthday party tomorrow. We do Old Navy. When I am done lamenting the fact that the store is very short on my size (no pun intended) and asking the dressing room attendants all sorts of fashion questions, such as Can I wear black patent leather pumps and no stockings with these shorts? and Does my butt look fat in this? (Mac says it does, but I know better.) The boys are acting up. They are tired. So am I. And hungry.

We eat. We make a gloopy, green, messy concoction that my mother calls Waldorf Salad and Mac calls potion from Nanny McFee (clear with English accent and lines from the movie). There are so many bad ingredients in this I can’t imagine anyone at the party wanting to eat it. I read them stories. Mac chooses Helen Keller and Sailor chooses something about fish, which he asks me to read twice. They go to bed. Easily. Again. I am so proud of them. It’s nice. And then I stay up past midnight scanning photos and burning CDs for my dad’s party.