Week 32

I am beside myself with frustration. Mac’s behavior on the playground after school today left so much to be desired. There is nothing worse than seeing your children being mistreated by older children, running across the blacktop to reprimand some third grader you’ve never met, then having said third grader return with, “Well they were throwing their shoes at us.” In defeat I turn to my own two and ask them to please not do that and to apologize. And I look like a fool. A real fool. Perhaps it’s time to let my children fight their own battles on the playground when it comes to hat snatching and name calling. But I still don’t like it.

Oh, and there is actually one thing worse than the above scenario. When I ask Mac and Sailor to stop playing for a moment to pose for a photo – they look so cute in their matching plaid patchwork shirts and rolled up jeans – and Mac says, “No! Leave us alone! We want to play.” Such rudeness is not just an embarrassment, it’s a crushing blow to me as a mom. I have not raised a rude child. And when he acts in this way I don’t even know him. And I fear for his future and mine – ours together. I will absolutely not tolerate the kind of parent-child relationship where the child merely grunts out rudeness to the parent. It would break my heart above all.

Despite the way Mac is playing today and a tantrum over ice cream -- which I would not buy --that threatens to ruin any chance of getting ice cream for the rest of the summer, we nonetheless stay until after 5:00. It is beautiful, sunny afternoon and the warm air does so much for my mood.

I watch my boys run down the street on our way home. They run a bit, then jump in to the stroller for a rest then get out and run some more. Sailor looks so cute in his rolled up jeans an long shirt, and his new rubber shoes. Mac is dressed primarily the same, yet somehow, despite the fact that I have dressed him like this every spring, he looks a little goofy now. His fisherman sandals… his rolled up jeans… and I wonder if he is just too big to dress this cute anymore. I am sad. He will be 6 two weeks from today. I love celebrating his birthday. But this year he ends his innocence. He become a real kid. I want him to be 2 again or even three, despite how difficult he sometimes was then. I don’t want him to grow up and away from me. I want to keep him here. He is supposed to always be mine. And so why is he growing up?

Mac tells me at home that he has math homework and he has to work on his lines for the kindergarten assembly and that he got to share his backward name writing with his class. Yesterday he was practicing writing all of our names backwards. Why not?

My boys are supposed to be cleaning up their playroom – the bane of my existence. It’s past bedtime and I am tempted to do it myself after they are asleep. But if I do it my way there will be no toys left when I am done and my computer desk will be situated in one corner of the room. Sailor comes in and asks me to put his Cabbage Patch doll, Danny, under his shirt. He is playing baby in the way or something like this. It’s hard to understand what he thinks he is saying. Either way, my littler boy seems to have an obsession with babies in the belly!

Mac needs a snack before bed and wants nothing I offer. “Can I have cake?” he asks. “Can I have booty?” I iron patches onto Sailor’s jeans and talk to Mac again about his bad playground etiquette. By the time he gets into bed he is crying in remorse. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done,” he sniffles. I don’t want to make too much of it but I don’t make light of it all either. He needs to be the nice guy, I tell him.

I bring my laptop into Sailor’s room and watch him drift off to peaceful sleep after fidgeting around for ½ an hour. He is so sweet to watch.

I am wiped out. It’s been a rough day of mommying. No rougher than usual. But trying nonetheless.

Sailor’s trendy little rubber shoes were recalled last week and so we stopped in a sports store today to see if we could get the real brand version of the cheap-os. For $14 more than I spent originally Sailor walks out of the store wearing a pair of aqua shoes. His choice, not mine. His color recognition, as well. But then Mac asks me to buy some jibbits, those little things that you poke thru the holes in the tops of the shoes. At $2.50 apiece the inventor of these little decorations has made a fortune. I say no. we leave and return immediately to return the one Mac “found on the stairs.” I make him give it directly to the store employee and apologize. I don’t yell or punish. His cheeks are red and I think my point has been well taken.

Tuesday goes as Tuesdays do. Drop Sailor at school. Spend time with Mac. We decide to try for a haircut for him and waste 15 minutes only to have to make an appointment for Thursday instead. We pick up the rest of his birthday party gear. And ever 4 seconds Mac asks a version of “Can you get me this?” I finally have to stop him and explain that he is making shopping with him not much fun. I explain to him that he needs to just enjoy things and not ask for every thing he sees. It bums me out that I can’t buy him something every where we go. But for this instance I am already buying him stuff for his party, and yet it’s not enough and I feel like crap.

After school we head into the playground and I am sure things will be fine given the caliber of our conversations about playground etiquette. One of his classmates comes and finds my not 15 minutes into playtime and tells me Mac has spit on one of his friends. I am livid. Now there is little doubt in my mind that the friend, a girl he sometimes gets along with and sometimes does not, probably provoked Mac. Nonetheless, when Mac won’t own up to his bad display and accuses the messenger of being the one who is lying, we head out.

We spend 2 ½ non-productive hours cleaning up the playroom, again. Which I realize is simply a punishment for me, and not for them. My dad comes up and fixes my vacuum cleaner. “Next time,” he begins, wanting to tell me how to clean out the filter with a brush. I interrupt, “I know, call you sooner!”

Have I mentioned that there is vodka in my lemonade? After it gives me a headache I feel pretty much better.

The children’s father comes over and I am too tired to come up with anything for dinner. Not true. If he weren’t here I would have no problem. But he is. And frozen waffles and fruit or pasta and veggies just don’t cut it in feeding-men world. I head off to take a shower while he orders pizza. Barry Gibb is going to be on American Idol in 20 minutes and while I have never watched Idol before I don’t want to miss my very fave BeeGee.

At 8:00 we head downstairs to pick up laundry, toilet paper and our summer bins. I am sorting clothes for Sailor while my ex reads to Mac. The perfect time for my accountant to call and explain why he has yet to file my taxes in the 2nd week of May. At 9:00 the ex leaves. Mac is on the sofa pretending to sleep. Sailor is trying to get him up and gets pinched. Mac tries to cry that he didn’t get to say good bye to his dad. But I don’t let him. “You aren’t listening to me,” I tell him. I have asked him to get his pj’s on and brush teeth. Urgh! The accountant goes on and on and he finally tells me again how stupid I am, which he is better at, I think, than he is at accounting. “You’re not listening to me,” he tells me, when I am not understanding how the government can take money from me that I don’t have.
“I’m trying,” I tell him, “but it’s 9:30 at night, and I am trying to get my kids to bed because their father left without doing so. One of them is crying in one end of the house and I don’t even know where the other one is [of course I know he’s in his room, because I sent him there] and I have 6 loads of laundry to put away and this is just not a very good time. I am trying to be patient but I think we need to talk about this next week.”
He backs down and tells me he’ll have to really work on the numbers to see if he can figure out which way of filing will give me the best return. Which I assumed he had already done weeks ago.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Wednesday afternoon. Sailor has been crying for an hour. I had him almost asleep but I needed to leave his room for something and he started up again. Why?

The kids played nicely this morning and no one came to wake me up for a snack. Consequently it’s 8:30 when I get up. Sailor’s soccer class starts at 9:30. I left out bowls and cereal last night so all I have to do is fill their bowls. The phone rings and it’s my best friend asking if I want to sell her my double jogger. Against better judgment I tell her I am not ready to give it up. We chat for ten minutes. I point out Mac’s outfit for the morning and let Sailor know his soccer uniform is waiting in his room. He runs off. I get off the phone and shower. Sailor is dragging along down the street as we head to our car, parked two blocks away. “Mac is a fast runner,” he comments. I see my opening and pounce. “Are you a fast runner too?” “Yes! Look out me!” he cries and takes off. I pick up my own pace to catch up. And believe it or not we are on time for soccer. I praise both boys for their star behavior.

The soccer building stinks like cat pee every time we go there. It’s truly disgusting and I am sure it has something to do with the carpeting in the halls.

The boys start class. In the course of 45 minutes…
Mac has to go to the bathroom. He heads down the hall and I have to let him go alone becuz I can’t leave Sailor in the gym. Sailor plays well for a couple minutes before noticing Mac’s absence. Then he has to go potty too, which I am certain he does not. He wants to go in the boys’ room. I stand outside the door. He says he needs help becuz of the sensor. Neither of my boys likes it when the sensor gets tripped and the toilet flushes while they are still on it. Who can blame them. I take Sailor into the girls’ room. Mac joins us.
“Did you wash your hands?”“No. I didn’t go potty yet.”I know he did. I saw his little feet dangling inside a stall.
“Do you still have to go?”“Yes. The potty flushed too soon.”
Mac enters a stall and waits. Sailor won’t go to the gym by himself. We walk down the hall together. I leave him in the gym and head back to hold my hand over the sensor so Mac can poop without fear of being flushed.
We return to the gym. Back and forth the boys come to me at the bench. I want a drink. I need a snack. I’m lonely without Mac. I am not a good runner. And on and on until finally Mac sits down and tells me Coach Ed won’t let him play. Sailor won’t play without Mac. What gives? Coach Ed approaches the bench. “You know why I won’t let you play?” he asks Mac. I look at Mac who pretends he has no idea. I am so sick of this. “Because you were pushing the other kids.” I want to throttle him. Sailor takes off his uniform, at my command and we leave the gym. Class is not over yet. Sailor is in his underpants. I am livid. In the car the boys hear about it. I am at my wit’s end with Mac’s newfound bad behavior. How dare he misbehave in the class where he is going for free to help out his brother?! And I tell Sailor he has to play soccer without Mac next week.

We drive home for clothes for Sailor and while there I drop an email to Mac’s TD. I think we need an emergency meeting.

The triplets are expecting the boys for a play before school. I hate when parents punish everyone for their own children’s trespasses so despite the fact that I am thoroughly disgusted by Mac’s behavior, we go play. He is more or less prince charming while we are there. I drown my sorrows in a cup of spicy tea. The triplets’ mom is a good listener and offers good advice.

And all is well until we have to leave. At which point Mac opts to ride to school in the mini-van and Sailor is suddenly and unceremoniously ousted from the group. Thus the crying begins. I get him home and hold him in my arms. His anguish is tangible. I comfort him. I think he’ll fall asleep but he does not, and so an hour and half of crying ensues. And… now… he… is… asleep.

I call my dad to come up and watch Sailor so I can get Mac from school cuz there is no way in hell I am waking him up. I leave a juice box and a bag of Trader Joe’s cheese puffs beside his bed. See, Sailor, I promised you a snack if you stopped fussing. I really am a good mommy.

Mac tells me right off that he was bad in school today. My heart sinks. I have a mimed, lip-reading conversation with Miss H over Mac’s head. She says he was just naughty today and not to worry. She doesn’t feel like we need to talk on the phone. Mac tells me he had a fight with two of the triplets, which seems so out of character for Mac. Tho Mac himself seems so out of character for Mac lately. He tells me all about it. I thank him for letting me know. The only thing I have a problem with is that Mac tells me the gym teacher not only made him sit out gym today, but told him he has to sit out gym next Wednesday as well. So I write the following long-winded letter to Miss H later in the evening:

Dear Miss H, May 9, 2007

Mac explained to me what he did in gym class today – more or less, and I told him I appreciated him telling me that he had misbehaved. He also said that Mr. F had him sit out his gym class activity today. I am fine with that. However, he said that Mr. F also said he would have to sit out his gym class next week as well. I have two problems with this and I hope that you might have a word with Mr. F on Mac’s and my behalf and see whether or not he might lift this further punishment.

The first issue I have with this prolonged punishment is that a week from now is a very long time in a small child’s life. Assumedly, Mac will have moved on far past today’s infraction a week from today and it would seem improper to continue his punishment so far out. He knows he was behaving badly today, he “confessed” to me, as it were, and he knows he was wrong. To continue his punishment to next week does not seem age appropriate or even necessary.

The second issue I have with extending Mac’s punishment to next week is simple. One of the reasons Mac occasionally acts out is because he is a small boy with big energy. The fact that he only gets to go to PE once a week would make it a terrible mistake, to me, to keep him from participating two weeks in a row. These children crave physical activity. To insist Mac sit out one of his rare opportunities to work his body does not seem practical and is perhaps more than likely to cause further problems.

All this said, however, if I am misunderstanding Mac’s infractions today, if in fact what he did was far worse than what he reported to me, perhaps you and I or Mr. F and I might have a chat about what is going on with Mac as of late (because something is definitely going on!). Also, if Mac misunderstood what Mr. F said regarding the punishment being extended to next week, then all of this can be disregarded.

Thanks so much,
Mac’s mom

I walk him to FTK and he eats apple slices. I let the teacher there know Mac has been a bit off lately and I leave. Sailor is waking up when I get home. The snacks were a good move. He is warm and cuddly. My dad leaves and I attempt to run to the bank. Remember that activity? Running to the bank. Takes 5, maybe 10, 15 minutes. But not when you have a 3 ½-year-old who has to go potty and wants to ride his scooter but doesn’t like the helmet because it feels funny in the back and doesn’t want to wear his sandals and doesn’t want to put his socks on and really really really wants to wear the shiny black dress shoes that someone gave him in a bag of hand-me-downs and wants to ride in the stroller and doesn’t like the plaid hat and really just doesn’t want to go to the bank at all. We make it to the bank moments before they lock the front doors for the evening. Sailor enjoys an Oreo cookie that somehow makes a grand smear across his face and down the front of his white shirt. We grab the stroller and head out to get Mac. Halfway there the teacher calls to tell me Mac thinks he is going to throw up and can I please get there quickly. I am already walking as fast as I can. When we arrive Mac is back in class and doing well. Roses are handed out by our precious little ones in honor of Mother’s Day this Sunday. It’s adorable.

I feel as if I am holding my breath. Walking on eggshells. One false move and it’s all going to come tumbling down and it’s all going to be my fault.

I am firm, kind, and strict when we get home. My expectations are clear. The boys put on their pj’s while I get dinner ready. We eat. Mac takes care of the overflowing recycling bags. We read the 6 books in Mac’s two book packs (oh, my G-d these books are soooooo drawn out and boring – tho I did learn the names of the three most common types of clouds and what makes lightening and thunder from the weather book that did not hold either boy’s attention for long). And my kids are in bed by 8:00. Both come out once. Mac is hot I think and I tell him to take off the footy pj’s – it’s in the mid 70s outside. Sailor wanders out and I tell them both, “Back to bed, right now!” and they go. No crying no fussing. That’s it. Wow. Ok, maybe Mac is right that he needs more sleep. Can do!

I work on photo albums for the retiring teachers at Mac’s school as part of a project I volunteered to do for the PTA last Friday. I iron Mac and Sailor’s cute outfits for tomorrow. Sailor has the Mother’s Day tea in the morning, which I am to attend. He is very excited, as am I. He tells me there is a gift that he made and wrapped for me but he can’t tell me what it is because it is a secret. Mac would have spilled the beans by now. Mac seemed so much older at this point in preschool, yet Sailor possesses a certain different maturity than Mac had.

Mac is getting his hair cut at 9:30 with the European hottie, who is coming in early to do my little guy’s hair so he will look good in his assembly tomorrow afternoon. For which he has to wear “Sunday best” for his speaking role of one line. I don’t iron very well. I hope he can squeeze into his saddle shoes one last time. I hope I don’t oversleep in the morning. I hope I have something elegant to wear.

My whole life is my children. Really. It’s all about them and being their mom. Which doesn’t bother me at all. I just only wish it were somehow easier.

Hey, maybe if Mac can’t do gym next week and Sailor maybe needs to take a break from soccer or something, I can take the kids to Navy Pier for the day instead!

Thursday morning we drop Sailor at school, dressed in an argyle knit polo shirt, shorts, and saddle shoes, and we head out for Mac’s haircut. The Euro Hottie is not there yet so we wait. When he does arrive he takes his time and makes Mac look sensational. I over tip him (which is easy becuz I have a $2 off coupon).

I drop him with my parents, who seem to have forgotten completely that Mac is staying with them this morning. I give instructions and directions and dress up clothes to my dad. I practically run to the preschool. Sailor is waiting for me. He escorts me into the school and shows me, with great flair, I might add, all the food selections I may chose from. This is the annual Mother’s Day Tea, which is one of my two fave activities at preschool (the other being the Bake Sale, which is next week). After he shows me around to all the foods, he takes a plate and loads it up to my specifications. We find a seat on the floor with his friends. I feel bad for the mom and her tiny girl who are sitting just outside the periphery of our little group. But I can’t invite her to join us. She was one of my sister’s friends in grade school and we have yet to acknowledge that we knew each other 20 – or would that have been 30? -- years ago. So while I do acknowledge the mom and her girl thru Sailor, I am, overall, rude, which is not my style and I am ashamed of myself. The preschoolers sing us a song and then they present us each with a gift. Sailor, unlike Mac, has kept the secret of what the gift is. It is a paperweight that he made with some kind of kit. It’s pretty. I love the things the kids make in the preschool. Last year Mac made me a cook book and the year before it was a beaded necklace in a decorated box.
When it’s over we walk to the big school and up ahead we see my dad and Mac walking. This is my dad’s first time walking Mac to school and tho they are quite a bit ahead of us they look so precious together. We eventually catch up. Mac’s blue seersucker pants are too long and he is wearing his penny loafers becuz his saddle shoes are too small and he has no belt on, but with his bow tie and white shirt he is adorable. This afternoon is the kindergarten assembly. He is to speak one line, and so his “costume” is Sunday Best (nice costume for a Jewish boy!). My sister arrives and Mac goes into school and we head to lunch. Except my stomach hurts and so we eat outside and I only pick at my quesadilla. Sailor complains the whole time that he does not want lemonade and sulks off to the side. It’s cute.

The assembly is adorable. The stage is set like stages on tv or in the movies. And each one of the kids does a great job. I can understand them all. They have beautiful costumes and they behave on stage. No one waves to his or her parents, tho many stupid parents wave to their children. I vividly remember being told by my own 1st grade teacher not to wave to the audience.

Mac takes a moment to compose himself in front of the mic before speaking his well-rehearsed line, “Spring has spring in Chicago and in class we are studying the season of sun, flowers, and warm breezes.” Do I get the whole performance on video? No. Why not? Because I have just a few minutes left on my tape. Why did I not check this at home? I couldn’t tell ya’. Always prepared, but never quite prepared. My sister videos as much as she can, including the moment when Mac picks his nose and yawns on stage. Sailor complains thru the whole thing that he can’t see. I cry thru the final song. After, I turn to the Aussie mom, seated with her 3-year-old boy next to me and tell her next time we should hire a babysitter. She agrees. We hug and kiss our little stars and head to Starbucks to kill 45 minutes. I pick up an extra decaf coffee frap for Miss H because, as the principal reminded us, it’s teacher appreciation month and I want to let her know just how much we appreciate her!

Nana had to work and missed the show so she invited Mac to join her for ice cream after school. But I can’t exactly take Mac over to the little corner café and not let Sailor join in. So we all go. Sailor orders ice cream even tho I tell my dad not to let him, because he won’t eat it. And true to form he does not eat it. The boys are tired and their enthusiasm for the ice cream wears thin when the adults all get talking with the guy who owns the café. They tear up the place. Not literally but I am embarrassed by their behavior nonetheless, but then what’s new. I have boys. All in all tho, I really can’t complain about this day. It has bee a nice one. Warm temperatures outside and sandals that kill my feet and boys who please me to no end. I am so proud of them, really. And I love all these little school things that are making strong memories on my heart.