Week 31

I have finally planned Mac’s birthday party. He will be 6 in three weeks and I have been agonizing over who to invite for weeks. I make four lists and compare who is in his class to whom he wants to invite to whose parties has been invited to and come up with list number 4, which I divide into several sections and will pass out the invitations accordingly. And G-d help me if any one of the mothers ever reads this and figures out that their precious little one did not receive a first-round invitation.

Late in the week I have a most bizarre playground experience having nothing to do with my own children. One little girl in Mac’s class, Katie, keeps coming to me with scraped knees and bothersome kindergarten boys. She is playing with another girl, Emily. Katie runs over and sits between Emily’s mom and myself. “Emily is not being nice to me.” Emily’s mother calls her over to inquire as to the problem.
Before I know what is happening I am refereeing the two little girls and asking them to simply say they are sorry, hug and be done with it. While Emily is hesitant but willing to comply with my directions – why I am giving out instructions to the children, I don’t know, except that it has become clear that no one else is going to intervene on their behalf, despite the fact that both of their mothers are standing right here – Katie refuses to budge. I finally take both girls arms and try to wrap them around one another. My touch is met with such strong resistance from Katie that I only hold onto the girls for a moment before letting go. At which point Katie’s mom finally intervenes. By offering a half loaf of generic white bread to Katie. “Katie do you want some bread?” I am flabbergasted! Partially because the snack she is offering is not fit for anyone or anything higher up in the food chain than the ducks at the zoo and partly at her completely inappropriate response to her child’s current issue. Katie tears at the white bread with less than hygienically sound fingernails. She won’t let the little drama between herself and Emily go. She rails on. Unfortunately the little girl’s speech difficulties make her nearly unintelligible and I feel the pain of the child, so unable to clearly communicate her unhappiness. Emily cops a bit of attitude with her fancy clothes and socially confident six-year-old self. I remind Katie that it’s over, that there is nothing more to argue about. Her mother leans in with a Tupperware container. “Would anyone like some cantaloupe?” she offers. “With toothpicks, I guess,” she continues, holding out another, smaller Tupperware container with the toothpicks.

What the hell just happened here? Why was I in charge of straightening out the situation? And why was Katie’s mom so inappropriate in her responses? I am so overwhelmed, as I turn down the offer of cantaloupe with toothpicks I call to my boys. We have to go home. Now.

I send a note to Miss H the next day letting her know I have had a very disturbing experience on the playground and I think she ought to know about it.

Friday morning I attend my first PTA meeting since December. I feel obligated to, since they are going to announce that I have graciously (stupidly?) agreed to take over the position of Newsletter Editor for next year. While the meeting gets started I look through old school photos with another mom. She is looking for any photos of the principal, who is set to retire at the end of this year. Instead I find photos of children I knew in the early 1970s. I find a photo of myself and 4 other upper grade kids. We were in a newspaper article about the school getting its first computer. That must have been 1980 or 1981. I love the way I am dressed. Long skirt, striped polo shirt, glasses, and long, baretted hair. I remember the photo and the advent of the computer at school. Next I find a photo of my father. He must be about 52 years old. It is a color photo and he doesn’t have much gray hair at all. He is with some other adults, who are probably from the band program. I think my dad was president of the band parents or something like this. I keep pointing these photos out to the other mom. It’s proof that I really and truly did attend this school so many years ago. She feigns interest.

After the meeting I have to chat with the current newsletter editor. But before we get started I have to ask her about her ring tone. Her cell phone rang during the meeting and it sounded like the BeeGees and so we spend a good ten minutes playing around with our respective cell phones attempting to locate BeeGees ringtones. We are not successful.

I get home in time to finish off Mac and Sailor’s 2nd breakfast, which consists of bacon and left over pancakes. I love bacon these days, despite my semi-vegitarianistic tendencies.

I have a stack of bills due today and I get on the phone to pay them and make the boys some lunch at the same time. I am stressing so bad about all that is not getting done that I call the mom of the little French girl who is supposed to come over to play after school today and request a rain check. I feel terrible.

Sailor and I drop Mac at school and then meet my sister for a shopping trip for her birthday. I won a $60 GC to our favorite jewelry boutique at the school auction earlier this year. I let her use ½ of it, but her choice – made painstakingly after an hour—comes to $39 and my choices – a large pink sparkly ring and a tiny, “diamond” O – come to $32, and then I see a little heart that says “I love you” and something about being always in my heart, and I know I have to buy this for Mac. So much for a cost-effective shopping trip. We take so long we can’t go to Target. I drop off my sister and pick up Mac, who is unhappy not to have a playdate. At home the boys want to play or read or something. We read for awhile until, 32 pages into a transformers war book, I have had enough. I can’t read this anymore. Mac throws a fit.

I get up and get ready to take my sister out for her surprise birthday dinner.

On Saturday morning I have to work at the CF doctor’s office. There is a very definite pall over the mood in the office today. One of our patients is about to die. He is at the children’s hospital near my house and we are all out in the suburbs. I can tell how badly the doctor wants to be by this little boy’s side as he slips out of his painful body. But he is torn between his need to be there to help this little boy go and stay here to help those who are still alive. My eyes feel heavy all day and I feel sick or dehydrated or something uncomfortable. At 2:30 the call comes in.

I got to go to the hospital with Dr. B and see Joshua and his family. I can’t say I saw Joshua’s body because that sounds so cold, so clinical. But he was there, on his bed, where he died. He was peaceful and it made me think about how truly lucky I am to have two healthy little boys to love and care for.

On Sunday my parents and I take Mac to his first baseball game. We have great tickets out on left field. It’s supposed to be low 60s and sunny. It’s sunny for awhile and cold! Mac, who I thought was overdressed when we left the house, sits on my lap to keep me warm (and, truth be told, to beg me to take him home). Before he gets cold and bored, however, I let him consume a $3.25 bag of peanuts, a $3.50 souvenir cup of watered down lemonade, a $4 hotdog with relish and ketchup, and a $5 bag of cotton candy. Clearly all bets are off when it comes to healthy eating today.

Mac asks GrandDad to buy him something in the gift shop. He is allowed to choose a teddy bear with a baseball jersey and bat. I think the bat is the attraction. Our team wins by one run in the bottom of the 10th inning. We wait an hour for the bus.

On the way home from dinner I am so tired I could fall asleep on the sidewalk. I push the double jogger for both my tired boys and listen carefully to their conversation about which one is the sloppier kisser!