Week 34 Happy Birthday, Mac

My baby turns 6 today. Which may be why he wakes me up at 6:00 a.m.
“Mac!” Sailor cries. “You’re 6!”
“Say ‘Happy Birthday’ to me,” Mac whispers back.
“Happy Birthday.”
Mac kisses me. “I’m 6!” And I’m tired.

He reads me the time off the VCR and I beg the kids to go back to sleep, which they don’t. So out of desperation I turn on the tv. Mr. Rogers is on. “It’s Uncle Rogers,” Mac is excited to see the quiet man he first discovered a few years ago – which seems like a lifetime ago – just before the icon of children’s television died.

They let me sleep til 7:15. I feel hungover when I drag myself out of bed. That's so unfair! I should no thave to feel hungover if I did not at least get to enjoy the drinking part the night before! URGH!

Mac wants to open a few gifts. Three. No, five. Six.

I am trying to pull his coveted Cabbage Patch Kid (or Patch Kid in Sailor lingo) out of its box when I decide it’s of greater priority to me to go pee. I am soooo tired. The CPK is named Pierre, which means he must speak French! Hee hee. Mac is excited by new t-shirts: “Cool, Mom, did you order these for me?!” and he loves the little silver heart charm I am hoping to pin to the inside of his backpack. He opens a bag of chapter books about Anne Frank (which he wants to read right away), Thomas Edison, Henry Ford and Harry Houdini. He get StarWars things and I am amazed at his ability to be so excited about a toy he himself picked out at Toys R Us just yesterday.

I prepare a very nice breakfast and I am soooo tired. Mac gets the first shower, I tell him, becuz it’s his birthday. We get it down to 5 minutes today and I am drying him off at exactly 9:38 a.m. The official time of his birth. “Now am I six?”
“Yes, now you are officially six.” And he is. To the minute. And I pick him up and hold him. He is 3 feet 10 inches and about 45 pounds but in my eyes, in my arms he is 17 ¾ inches long and just 5 ½ pounds and his whole butt, not just half of it, fits in my hand. He is beautiful. Red hair. Soft skin. Freckles. I am in love.

And in this moment I realize we are only going forward, never back. With every passing moment, every passing year Mac just gets bigger and bigger and more and more capable of living. He is not going to ever be the tiny baby I could nurse while putting on make-up. Not ever again. Or the tiny miracle who said his first word at 5 months old (I swear, it’s in his baby book!). He’s never again going to be the smartest baby I have ever known. He is never going to be small enough to pick up and hold for more than a minute or two. He was. It was him. It still is. But he is moving forward and I want to stay in the past. I cling to Sailor, just 3 ½ and still small enough to be a “baby.” I love the kid Mac is becoming. And I love the connection that he and I share. I let him go to his room to get dressed. But the clothes I have left out confuse him and he comes back to ask if there are choices. No, I explain, underwear then outfit. With t-shirts sometimes going under the main shirt and sometimes going over getting dressed can sometimes be confusing.

Mac has a very long phone conversation with my sister while I get ready, during which he tells her he invited his dad to his birthday dinner tonight even though he doesn’t like his dad very much anymore. Apparently he also puts the new CPK, Pierre, and Sailor’s CPK, Danny, on the phone, as well. Everyone enjoys the conversation. It’s getting late and I want to take Mac to lunch. I didn’t plan well so we can only go to our fave little place in the neighborhood, Cosi. Mac brings Pierre and Sailor brings Curious George. He fusses through most of lunch, but the guy who works there makes up for it by buying Sailor a lemonade and each boy a hot chocolate before we leave. I carry a cup holder with 5 drinks and Curious George in one arm and hold Sailor’s hand with my other hand. Mac thanks me for taking him to lunch. And I know I am doing a good job with him.

It’s getting warmer and warmer outside and we get home in time to change Sailor’s chocolate milk covered shirt and pack the cupcakes, milk, cups, napkins and Sailor into the wet stroller. Mac is wearing the cardboard crown that reads “It’s My Birthday,” which he got at Toys R Us yesterday. I think he is a dork. I wonder if he will wear this crown to school next year when he is turning 7 in 1st grade. I realize he is not a dork. He is merely an innocent little boy. And I love that about him.

Sailor is confused. Why didn’t Mac lose a tooth today? He isn’t really 6, his tooth didn’t fall out!

Sailor and I hang out at school with Mac in his classroom and after the first activity Sailor and I or I should say, I set up 30 places with a napkin, cupcake, and cup of milk. I video tape Mac standing on a chair conducting his class in their singing of “Happy Birthday to You (cha cha cha!)” and snap photos like a tourist of my two little boys enjoying their cupcakes side by side. Sailor is so well behaved in the kindergarten class. He is shy, maybe even intimidated, but he holds his own.

Most of the kids seem to like our cupcakes and everyone but the Australian girl wants more milk. One would think no one remembered to feed these children an hour ago.

Sailor and I escort Mac to the principal’s office where Mac offers a banana cupcake to the head honcho, who invites him into his inner office and offers him a birthday pencil and takes a few moments to show him (and Sailor, which is peering out from behind my leg, literally) a rain stick and a thunder drum. I am surprised by the display.

I am heartbroken to leave Mac at school. In six years I have never been away from him on his birthday. Not for even a moment. I try not to look back. Sailor and I walk home slowly. I am hoping he will fall asleep but he does not. We inflate balloons and tie them to chairs and finish getting ready for our party tonight. Sailor falls asleep in the stroller on the way back to school an hour later. I let Macplay in the playground for a bit but I am so disgusted by the behavior of some of the older children:

“What do you mean my little boy was humping you? He wouldn’t never behave that way! He doesn’t even know what that is! So don’t take his hat. If you have a problem, come find me and let me know.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t take attitude with me or I’ll find your mother!”
And then from another charming bigger boy to a girl, “Hit him, hit him!”
Me: “Hey, you hit him and I’ll hit you!”
I am only not put off by the boy who comes to me to tell me that he did not take Mac’s hat (because I yelled at him for wearing it, even tho I saw another boy put it on his head). I tell this boy he is fine and not to worry. 4:00 comes not fast enough and we leave. I think seriously about talking to the principal about this bad older kid behavior.

Mac and I discuss the fact that Mac is now officially old enough to eat popcorn, now that he has finally outgrown the official risk of popcorn as a choking hazard age (tho anyone can choke on popcorn) and we try to think of a time we can either go to a movie this week or just have some popcorn at home together.

My sister and Mac’s “aunt” and two little “cousins” are waiting outside when we get home. “Happy 6th Birthday Mac!” is written in chalk on the sidewalk.

Inside I start dinner while the three kids destroy every last bit of the work just completed by the cleaning girls. My sister opens the wine. There are a mere 9 people in my house and yet the noise, chaos and mess are overwhelming. Dinner is delicious tho. Mac and I have chosen to serve our new fave: broccoli, tofu and brown rice. There are balloons, streamers, StarWars masks…. A special “Happy Birthday Mac” banner that I got from a mom whose son had his birthday party at the art studio a couple weeks ago. And Mac’s birthday portrait is on the wall. It’s a party. Mac’s dad doesn’t eat. My dad avoids the tofu. I drink wine.

After dinner Mac opens a firefighter raincoat and his very first umbrella, roller skates (which Sailor takes over immediately), books, work books, a new leather belt, a dino dig, and a StarWars fighter plane of some sort. He is happy. He is well-loved and spoiled a bit. But mostly just well-loved. Sailor handles it all pretty well, especially as he is sure Mac will share everything. Which we know he will, if not today then soon.

“I want to eat some cake,” requests Mac’s four-year-old “cousin.” My sister brings up Mac’s chocolate cake with white frosting (per his request) that is decorated with his StarWars guys in battle, and a very cool candle: Darth Vader holding a red light saber – a candle. It’s a great cake. And I hate how it takes so long to prepare the cake and only a second to cut into it and destroy the beautiful picture. After my dad, Mac’s dad, and the rest of our family guests leave, I assign everyone a room to clean up. More or less. Sailor runs around and Mac gets into bed. I read to him from his new Houdini book. “I’m really into madicians and StarWars,” he tells me. “And Anne Frank, and … (I name a few other things he really likes these days) and Mommy!” I snuggle him. “That’s the thing I’m into most,” he tells me. I love this kid!

After three chapters I am antsy with exhaustion. Tho never as tired as I was the day he was born. That was the most tired I have ever felt in my entire life. Tonight I am tired from everything I have put into making today great for the little boy who has made me a mother and made my life great.

I kiss his pink cheek, his freckled nose. I am so grateful for this little being. I am so amazed that he is mine. That I still have him. That the world has not destroyed itself and us with it (which was my fear, when, at nearly 4 months old, I thought we would never see his 5th birthday after we suffered through September 11th together). I am eternally blessed by this child. Mine. My very own. My baby boy.

It is his birthday today. And it is the day that my life was irrevocably changed because I became a mother. Six years ago. Forever ago. I cherish every moment, cliché that it is.

Happy birthday, my beautiful baby boy, my little Mac. I love you like crazy!

Two nights ago I told Mac it was his last night of going to sleep 5 and still waking up 5. Last night I told him he’d go to sleep 5 and wake up 6. Tonight I tell him he will go to sleep 6 and wake up 6 for the first time. I am such a sap!

Tuesday night we sit at dinner. The back door is open. It feels like summer. From no where Mac asks, “What’s a Piscalalian?”

“A what?” I ask.

“A Piscalalian. What Nana is. You know, not Jewish and not Christian.”

I have to call my mother. “Be patient and listen to Mac’s question,” I tell her, stifling my giggle.

I hear Mac’s end of the conversation only. “I know what a church is…”

When he hands the phone back to me a minute or two later he has some idea of what an Episcopalian is.

Wednesday morning Mac has kindergarten. The school has a half day and it’s the afternoon kindergarten’s turn to get to go to school and the morning class’s day off. We walk over. School starts at 8:53 a.m. so we get a good taste of what school mornings will be like next year. I think it’s going to kill us. Because despite the fact that we were up at 6:40 this morning we still had to kick it to get to school on time.

Sailor and I walk home and stop at the bank to deposit the bi-weekly child support check. And then we run home to pick up the video camera and drop off the stroller. We drive to soccer and get stuck in traffic on the way. Sailor’s friend Lauren is joining him today. Which I am hoping will help him feel more comfortably in the class without Mac. We arrive to find Lauren sitting in the stands with her mother and little brother. Shy like Sailor, she is reluctant to join the class on her own. It takes Sailor far less time to warm up today and he does not cry. I get cute video footage of Sailor and Lauren sitting together, so well-behaved… Is that really my kid? I wish this version lived in my home.

Sailor invites Lauren to join us on the picnic we are going on after we pick up Mac from school. We make a plan to meet in the park at noon and hurry to Trader Joe’s for brioche, turkey, blackberries, strawberries, lemonade, and crackers. We barely make it home with just 5 minutes for me to make a complete picnic lunch, go to the bathroom, and get Sailor to put his shoes back on. Luckily we find parking almost immediately.

It’s nice picking up Mac so early. We have the whole rest of the day to do as we please. Our picnic is delicious and when the kids run out of our site too many times we move over to the playground. Where Sailor’s little friend pops on a diaper to pee. Whatever.

Mac got roller skates for his birthday and he and I picked up a new set of knee and elbow pads for Sailor on Tuesday. So we gather up all of our roller gear and head outside after a quick water break. While sitting on the front steps Mac suddenly calls out, “Rat!”

A small, cute-ish, terrifying, rat is laboriously climbing up the next door neighbors’ steps and heading our way. “GET IN THE HOUSE!” I scream. I dash up the stairs. Sailor is crying hysterically because he can’t get up the stairs in his roller skates. I run down and grab him. The rat disappears and we are all so disgusted and horrified I never want to set foot on my front steps again. We regroup and head back down. Making lots of noise so Ratatouille does not come out for another visit. We head around the block for a 40-minute skate. Really.

Sailor and Mac are wearing matching camo Superman shirts. Mac’s is big but Sailor’s is enormous. Pair this with their helmets, knee and elbow pads and gloves (Sailor’s set came with fingerless gloves and Mac has pulled out a pair from winter – a smart move) and they are smashingly adorable.

The day goes on and on and we are really getting a nice taste of what summer is going to be like.

Thursday morning Sailor trashes Mac’s room. He gets in trouble. Yet he cries when I try to leave him at school because he wants to be with me. I swear… the boy has exactly 3 days left of school and he is still crying at drop-off!

Mac and I do some shopping for birthday party food for Saturday. And then we stop for a coffee and sit outside in the warm sunshine. I tell Mac about my plan for him and Sailor this summer regarding French class. As Mac doesn’t want to go and Sailor does but won’t go without Mac, I have decided to stoop to the level of bribery. I tell him that I will give him $1 per week to take Sailor to French class.
“You’ll have quite a lot of dollars by the end of the summer,” I tell him, “and if you want, you can buy something special.”
“Like maybe a bunch of flowers for you,” my dear darling boy replies. I am gushing!
“Oh Mac!” He comes to me and I wrap him in my arms. “Why are you so sweet?”
“You raised me this way,” my beloved son says.

Mac feeds pigeons. “Pichkins” he used to call them when he was not yet 2 years old. I tell him not to feed pigeons. He thinks he is sneaking them food. But I am not that unaware.

We have a nice morning. When I am with him I wonder what my life would have been like if he were my only one; if I’d never had Sailor. Yet when I am with Sailor I wonder what it’d be like to be the mom of just a 3-year-old. Each of my children is so unique, so utterly delightful when he wants to be; so much to cherish. I love their smallness.

We walk to get Sailor from school and on the way to the big school he takes off his sandals, which he claims hurt his feet. Mac is making similar claims about his sandals as well. Which leads me to regret spending less than $15 per pair. And which will lead me to Nordstrom over the weekend to pick up two pair of StrideRites.

Sailor convinces me to let him watch tv when we get home. I don’t know how he does it but I think I am just too tired to protest. My feet are falling off – the $76 sandals I bought a few weeks ago have given me blisters on the bottoms of my feet and every other pair of sandals I own are cutting the heck out of the tops of my feet and since I walked probably no fewer than 4 or 5 miles yesterday my legs are just wiped! He watches one video – an old one about Elmo and a Firehouse from when Mac was a baby, which he used to call Elmo Fire -- and then comes into the kitchen to find me mixing up yet another batch of banana cupcakes – my 3rd in a week – and says, “The tv was faster than you.” He is pleased with this and goes off to play. We play pirates for a few minutes, which basically means we put together the pirate ships. And then Sailor pretends he can’t put on his own shoes when it‘s time to leave and the next battle begins. He sticks his tongue out, I let him taste soap, he spits said soap at me, I ask him whether or not he wants more soap. I realize he is tired so I leave him in the bathroom and finish gathering snacks. And he falls asleep on the way to school.

There is a thing going on at school tonight. Tho nobody seems clear on the who, what and why of it. I fill everyone in on the fact that there will be hotdogs at 5:30, a reception for the retiring principal (for whom Mac has purchased a flowering plant and written a card this morning) and teachers at 6, a band concert at 7 and an art fair in the gym. Several of the moms decide to wait with me in the playground until 5:30. I am armed with sippy cups and water, fruit and crackers. We are here for the long haul.

Until Mac has to go to the bathroom. Bad. No big deal. He always waits til the last minute. So we run to the bathroom, leaving Sailor asleep in the stroller under the watch of one of the kindergarten moms. I wait in the hallway and he seems to be taking a bit too long. I knock.
“Are you ok?”
“Yes. I just have diarrhea. But I’ll clean it up.”
Clean it up?? I go into the boys’ room. Mac is in the middle stall and he tells me, “Some poop got on the front of the toilet.”
I push open the door and there is poop everywhere. The floor. The toilet. Mac’s underwear. The back of his shorts. And it stinks. And I love being a mom. Because this is where my real mommy self kicks in. I clean it all up. Clean him up a little (it’s too hard without wipes) and make sure he feels ok enough to go home. He wants to go home and put on his pj’s and go right to bed. So much for our evening at school. We walk home quickly. He feels sick-ish and my feet are burning. We make it home. He gets a bath. And despite the fact that against my better judgement he eats a slice of watermelon and macker cheese for dinner, he is perfectly fine for the rest of the evening. I blame the episode on the strawberry shortcake ice cream bar-o-crap that I let him buy from the vendor outside of school. Never again.

During dinner Sailor tells us he has a song to sing for us. He performs an adorable preschool version of 5 little monkeys jumping on the bed. I love it. Then Mac tries to out do him.
A: Now you sing a song, Mommy.
H: Sing something from "Annie."
M: The sun'll come out tomorrow...
A: How come Annie's diarrhea was on the floor?
M: In the movie?
A: No, the other thing.
M: (clearly bewildered by Sailor's question) Do you mean the poopy kind of diarrhea?
A: No, the book kind. (Meaning Anne Frank's diary, which was found on the floor by Miep Geis after Anne and her family were discovered and taken away.)

Mac and Sailor are playing so nicely in the playroom after dinner. I am too wiped to do much so I retreat to the living room. I want to pop on the tv but I know the kids will be all over me like a cat to a can opener if I do, so I grab a book I started week ago and settle on the couch for some “me” time, which is exactly what the book is telling me to do. I listen to the boys play. I read. It takes them roughly 45 minutes to need me. And then all hell breaks loose. Or I should say all Sailor breaks loose. Mac is tired. I can see it in his eyes. He wants to go to bed. Sailor wants Mac to play with him. He throws a fit. When he is over it we play a rock game to see which boy’s story I will read first. Sailor wins and I read a dumb Batman book. Then it’s Mac’s turn. We are on chapter 5 of his new Houdini book. Sailor wants milk first. Then he wants more macker cheese, which there isn’t any of, and he wants to play with my nose and he is being terribly rude. I give him a choice: listen quietly or go into his own room. He chooses his own choice: continue to be an obnoxious and disruptive and tired little boy. He gets carried to his room. A battle ensues.

I am duly punished for taking 45 minutes of me-time. The boys want snacks and I wonder for the thousandth time why I ever bother to feed the boys dinner at dinner time. We always have to have a snack at bedtime, which occurs roughly right after dinner. Sailor uses his 15 minutes of snack time to whine about being thirsty and never actually eats his snack. And then it’s 8:30 and both boys are in bed. Except Mac is afraid and wants me to stay with him. I have to go to the bathroom first. Sailor hears me and wants to ask me a question about two illustrations in the book he is looking at. “Why,” he begins, flipping pages til he finds what he is looking for, “is he sad? And why is he…” he flips more pages, “angry?” Mac is waiting for me in his room. I am one mom. With two children, whose bedrooms are located on opposite ends of my house.

I am so harassed. And once again it’s after 11pm and I am still up and hungry. Sigh.

Friday.

My children’s perception of time is a little uncertain as of yet. Mac asked me today (which happens to be the 30th anniversary of the premier of StarWars, their fave), which came first, StarWars or the Titanic sinking! Mac was wowed when I explained that the Titanic sank before GrandDad was born and StarWars came out when I was nine!