Cold Spaghetti

During our 140 mile drive from New Orleans to Mobile, I was nostalgic for the way things used to be. Back when we walked uphill 3 miles each way to wait an hour at the bus stop for a ride to school, and had to go to the library and use a card catalog to find books for research papers, and didn’t have a variety of handheld electronics to fight over on car trips. We annoyed our parents with “ARE WE THERE YET,” which is very much preferred over, “I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE GAME THINGY” “NO, IT’S MY TURN” “NO IT IS NOT YOUR TURN” etc.

I tried to explain the joy of simply looking out the window at the dark silhouettes of trees, looking for words and letters in street signs and license plates, listening to the radio, and using your imagination to day dream away the trip. That is how we did it, yessir-ree, and it was character building.

It just goes to show that no matter what you do, what you have, or what you put in front of children during a car ride — they will always annoy you as a point of fact. So save your batteries, Moms and Dads. Don’t worry about the DVD player, the Ipod, or handheld game machine. It won’t matter. They will still make you threaten to pull over that car.

Now that we are in Mobile, here are a few pictures of the kids from January 2007 that I found on my parents’ computer…

The party happened.

I’m very embarrassed to admit this, but it’s a day and a half later and I still feel hung over. From the 90 minute party, in a location away from my house where they did just about everything, with very friendly well-mannered 5 year-olds who had a great time. Based on those facts, my new greatest fear is a sleepover with a dozen 11 year-olds.

10 days ago, when I called Elmwood in a desperate state, wondering if they too had everything booked party-wise, I happened to be on the phone when a cancellation for a party Saturday morning came in. Not wanting to ignore the miracle happening before me, I took the slot. It was for 90 minutes in the Adrenaline Rush Room, 60 of which is dedicated to a all-you-can-bounce inflatable obstacle course and 40-foot trampoline. The last 30 minutes is for pizza and cake. Very clear, straightforward, and easy. The kids had a blast.

Here is some video of them in the first few minutes of the party…

Will blew out his candles (in three tries) surrounded by some girlfriends. He was adorable.

Thank goodness it’s over.

(In that second picture, I tried to play around and see how it would look if I took out the candle reflections on his head. Not too well. Obviously, Momma needs to take in a few more photoshop tutorials on patching. And, if you think the pictures look grainy, it’s because they are. I didn’t want to use the flash — kids hate it — and the available light was dim. Sometimes you just gotta go to 1600.)

Will did not want to go to school today.

First, he tried the Peggy Ann McKay approach. He dramatically explained his sudden illnesses and selflessly proclaimed that he “would feel REALLY BAD if he got anyone else sick. REALLY FOR REAL.” When I felt his head and tested his smile button (belly tickle spot), he was unable to maintain the facade. But I wanted to validate his complaint, “let’s get you a good breakfast,” I offered, “and maybe that will help you feel better.”

Because Paul gets up at 5:30 and walks to the corner coffee shop to start work at 6 each morning, I handle the kids by myself. Some mornings are fine. Other mornings… not so much.

Somewhere between changing Kate’s huge leaking poop and dealing with her current obsession of testing just how committed I am to ignore her when she screams, I forced Will to get dressed.

As in, I carried him to where his clothes were laid out. I pulled off his pajamas. I grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back when he tried to slide away. I forced underwear and pants on his kicking legs. By the time I had his vest on, he was calmer and stood while I tucked in his shirt and helped get on his socks. He fussed and then pouted. Somewhere in the process, he declared me THE WORST MOMMY EVER.

I’m pretty sure that I’ve been called this before, but today I felt like I really earned it. Isn’t forced-dressing right up there with forcing cod liver oil down a child’s throat?

“At least I’m not dressing you in plaid bell-bottoms and taking pictures,” I joked to myself as he continued to be angry.

Finally, I explained the deal. “I love you no matter what names you call me. You can hurt me with your words, Will, but it will never change how much I love you. And I love you so much that I will risk you being angry with me to keep you safe and to do things that are good for you — like go to school.”

He paused and was still.

Then, under his breath, “but you are still not my friend.”

—-

Under the circumstances, I feel it’s okay to post this then.

—

When I have my nervous breakdown and move to the beach to make jewelry on the days when they untie my jacket, THESE are the kinds of things I want to make. Happy place. Happy place. Happy place…

There are so many things that contribute to my Bad Mommy status… using Jack Daniels as a teething soother, stuffing the kids into the overhead bins during air travel, co-sleeping… you get the idea.

But the number one thing that solidifies me as a Bad Mommy is this: I hate my children’s birthdays.

It gets worse each year. The anxiety, the fretting, the countless nights of web searches for the same ideas. Weeks of calling every mediocre local option to find that it doesn’t matter anyway, they are booked. Worrying over the date, the time, the people. Being frustrated that the weather is a complete question mark (three years ago it was 95 degrees and unbearably humid, last year we had frost on the ground). Feeling disappointment over Will’s obsession with presents. Knowing that I have a team on hand to judge when whatever I do doesn’t live up to expectation. Because it’s all on the Mom. There is no one else on earth responsible for children’s birthdays and every little detail… from the humidity to how the streamers bend to the taste of the frosting on the cake… lie on the shoulders of The Mother.

It’s not that I’m caught up in some ‘perfect birthday’ ideal. I couldn’t care less about theme, crafts, or activities. I just want a simple party with some friends where the adults can hang around and talk and the kids can run themselves silly. That’s it. THAT IS ALL.

Really, what I want is to borrow someone else’s house for the weekend — one with a big yard — rent a jumpy house to put outside, and let the kids run around the yard for 90 minutes while the parents hang back, eat, and talk. I wouldn’t even mind cleaning up afterward. This, in my view, is the World’s Best Birthday.

And the anxiety is because it’s just a total impossibility. Something that simple is simply not possible. There is nothing I can do to have a stress-free party for my kids, and I feel angry that I even have to think about it.

NEW PLAN, Will and Kate! You guys get to stay 4 and 2 FOREVER!

When I was a kid, my Dad was away a lot. As a good Navy family, my Mom, Grandmother, brother, and I would adapt our holidays as needed to when Dad was around. Celebrate a birthday a few months late. Hunt for eggs on an odd day. The calendar was secondary to us being able to be together as a family.

So now I am a Mother of two and it’s the day before Halloween and I am sick. Like, had to go and suck down medicine in a tube in an Urgent Care sick. It’s a head cold turned bronchitis with some sort of nasty sit-on-your-chest-til-ya-wheeze side effect. I’m hawked up on a bunch of steroids and antibiotics and inhalers, weak in the knees and in bed while Paul — poor Paul — handles his job, our kids, and a whole house of cards just tumbling down, one by one, on his hurting head.

Halloween could not come at a worse time. The spider costume isn’t made (I bought the toilet seat covers for the spider body and have the black tights for legs). Will is going to wear his Batman pajamas to school tomorrow — at his request, chosen over my initial offer of his last-year’s Peter Pan — and Kate? Well, she was suppose to be the Little Miss Moffett to Will’s spider, wearing a simple blue dress that is in no way costume-y, but paired with a bonnet (this woman is amazing), and a little sign about ‘curds and whey,’ I figured we could make work. But for school tomorrow? I didn’t think about this. I wonder if last year’s Tinkerbell still fits her? (It’s 12 months size… unlikely.)

Are we the world’s worst parents if we forgo Halloween?

Can we turn it into a belated punishment for all that not-listening in weeks past? (Okay, I admit, this seems unduly evil.)

But what if we just can’t do it? What other options do we have?

Dear Children,

Please accept my apologies for failing today’s expectations.  You are home on your fall break for three days, three days during which I should be using every moment to be A Perfect Mother and enjoy every moment of your smiles, tantrums, and unending begging for cookies.  I tried to prepare for the day with inspiration for pumpkin projects, but managed to screw it up by not trying it ahead of time.  The thought of what we would do over our long weekend has been overwhelming and I wanted it to be so perfect that I wore myself out preparing for it.  Also, please don’t think less of me that during the 3 hours your father let me nap this afternoon, that he did an art project with you, fed you lunch, and did the dishes.  I admit, he is the better housewife.

Love,

Your Mother

*****

This letter is a Monday Mission, as given by The Painted Maypole and designed by the creativity of Collecting Tokens.

I am a very hated Mommy, so says my son, who has decided to declare all out war against me.

He’s been very difficult lately in general.  Argumentative, stubborn, lashing out.  Combined with his sleeping in until 7:30 most days and a complaint that his ear “was popping”, I was suspecting an ear infection or possibly swimmer’s ear: irritability is his major symptom when he has something wrong with his ears.  But there has been no fever and no other real symptoms.

By all accounts, he is doing great in school… except he has been expressing anxiety over one classmate that has extraordinary behavioral challenges.  The school is doing their best, but when you have a child with severe problems and parents that lack the skills or ability to handle it, it can make the entire classroom suffer.  While I have not personally observed first hand how this child impacts the class during the main school day, by Will’s own accounts, it can be a blight on an otherwise good day.  (Paul has seen the child at a birthday party and was absolutely floored at the extent of the problem.)  Will has asked repeatedly if he can stay home specifically to stay away from this child.  We’ve spoken with the school and know that they are doing their best, but at the same time, we are concerned about Will.

Now I am wondering whether what is happening at school is impacting his behavior at home?  Do older kids learn defiance and backtalk from watching other kids?  Or is what we are seeing from Will a normal part of being 4?  It’s not like he hasn’t had difficult moments before.

Last night, Paul was away working and I was alone for dinner, baths, and putting the kids to bed.  We all had enjoyed a nice night.  Will ate a great dinner, had a treat, and asked for ‘tea with milk and sugar’ which I happily made for him.  He asked me to sit with him at the table to talk while he had his tea and I obliged.  I got Kate down and then went for Will, who was suppose to be cleaning up Legos that he’d been asked to clean up hours before (after I removed several pieces from Kate’s mouth).  But when I went to get him, Will was watching TV and Legos were still surrounding him.  I turned off the TV and he lost it.  First he threw Legos at me.  Then, when I went to pick him up and bring him straight to bed, he proceeded to alternate between going limp and kicking.  Actually kicking me.  He said a range of hurtful things and when placed in his bed, defiantly jumped out.  Several times over.

Finally, I said: “Will, as of right now, you are not having a birthday party.”  He froze.  And as I walked out of the room, the wail started.  It lasted about 10 minutes and then, after another 10 minutes or so of silence, he walked out of his room and said, “I’m sorry Mommy.”

“Thank you, Will,” I said, “now go back to bed.”

This morning we talked about last night’s incident.  I asked him to recount the progression of events and he did so with great accuracy.  He knew exactly what he did wrong and was appropriately sorry.  I explained that when he acted inappropriately, in ways that he knew were not acceptable, that it broke the trust we have.  And that in order to do fun things, we had to have trust — to know that he wasn’t going to act out or do something that would get him or someone else hurt.  So, I explained that, “if he didn’t show us that he could be trusted to behave appropriately, that we could not risk having a birthday party.” He got it.

Then the rest of the day was great.  We went to the store, we painted pumpkins, we helped Paul in the yard, we played games on the Ipod.  Then, while I was making dinner inside with Kate, the kitchen completely engaged with knives, boiling pots, and food everywhere… Paul carries a bloodied Will inside and dumps him in the middle of the mess.  I had to get crying and sobbing Will into the shower, ice on his boo-boos, wash him off, and help him get dressed in the middle of the critical do-it-or-lose-it moment of dinner making.  Somehow, he recovered enough to have a good dinner, but fell apart soon after.  The whole event from last night repeated itself.

(Except for the ‘I’m sorry’ part.  That hasn’t happened… yet.)

I’m not sure what is happening with him.  Have I done something wrong?  Is he sick?  Is this normal acting out, just on a grand scale?  Is he reacting to his frustrations with his classmate?  We have no idea.

The only thing I know is that, at this point, I may be completely off the hook for having to plan a birthday party…?

Baby Bite Art.

Kate’s attempts at apple-eating.

Is it Art: playing with the positive and negative space of ordinary objects, testing our comfort with smooth edges and defined space?  Or, a Political Statement: exploring waste and the ease with which we throw away perfectly good, nutritional, and wholesome parts that sit right in front of us?

The Artist’s Collection of Bite Art currently includes 2 apples and 1 pear (not photographed).  The banana did not last.

Our children are good at many things.  But going to sleep at night is not one of them.

Well, maybe that isn’t quite true.  Somewhere around age 2, Will became an award-winning, champion sleeper.  Even now, he’s still pretty good about going to bed when told.  Yeah, he politics and rationalizes all the reasons why he shouldn’t go to bed, but when we are firm he typically listens.  This is particularly when Kate isn’t around.

Kate does not like to sleep.  In truth, she’s never liked to sleep.  When she was a baby, I would lay nursing  her on our bed with a leg thrown over her legs and an arms thrown over her body — holding her down as delicately as we could — until she stopped moving long enough to nurse and fall asleep.  This is when she was 4 months old.  It’s only gotten worse since then.

Looking back at some of the milestone posts I wrote about Kate, each one I’ve found says something about her inability to get to sleep and stay asleep.

At some point this past summer, Paul and I took on the near-death experience of teaching Kate to go to bed.  We used this Supernanny-inspired hint of wisdom with Will and found it to be a stroke of genius, without the psychologically damaging side effects of other methods.  The idea is you stay in the room and each time the child gets out of bed, you put them back in.  The trick is that you must do this, without stopping, for about 5 hours.  You don’t eat, sleep, talk, use the bathroom, and after awhile, you don’t even think… you just desperately wish for someone to remove you from your misery.

Somewhere in the second week, we found that Kate was able to actually go to sleep after our bedtime routine.  Granted, she wakes up a few hours into her sleep each night with night terrors — but as this has been a constant in our lives for nearly a year, we were okay with it.  I do plan on asking her pediatrician about it when we can figure out how to actually see a doctor again… best guesses on this timeline is when I have enough time to wait outside the free children’s health van for the uninsured.  It’ll take all day for the 10 minute consult, but that’s okay; it will give me plenty of time to think of some really good fake names.

Regardless of how many times she woke up, we were completely blissed out over having successfully conquered a Bedtime Routine that lasted under 2 hours.

We must have been high on life, because we quickly destroyed it all by going on vacation.  And then spending a week in Mobile, evacuated from our home due to Gustav.  We kissed all that hard-earned work right out the window.

And now, even though we know what is Right and what is Wrong, and even though we really know what we have to do next… what we really want to do is whip them both soundly and send them to bed.

Our plan to divert Ike to Texas by steadfastly preparing to evacuate a second time paid off!  Ike is going to the nearby Red Stet and just to make sure it continues to do so, we are keeping our storm shutters firmly latched, the inside walls bare, and the fridge limited to 5 items within it’s pristine clean interior.  The more we are prepared to leave, the less the likelihood of needing to leave.  It’s a predictive model with textbook correlation.

But even though our living arrangements speak of a family on the verge of evacuation, our days this week have been the slow return to Normal Life.  Kids running around with underwear on their heads.  Me walking halfway to the store before realizing I forgot to put on shoes.  Paul coming to terms with coffee as the key to his salvation.

This week brought on several BIG EVENTS.

The first and Most Important was the start of school.  I was the only parent without a camera when we dropped Will off for his FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN.  Will’s teachers came to my aid and emailed pictures home that they, themselves, took of the kids during different parts of their first day… reading books, playing with toys, singing songs, having recess, eating lunch, and just generally looking cute in their uniforms.  From these, I have proof positive that Will is making friends and having fun at school.  Further, he does not seem to be acting the part of gangsta kid, a character behavior he appeared to be adopting over the summer, as shown by this class picture taken on the last day of his summer camp (note: although I cropped out the other children in the photo, I can promise that they are all smiling sweetly and most definitely not grabbing any unmentionable parts.)

Sometimes, my pride as a Mother leaves me speechless.

Quick on the heals of the first day of school was Will’s First Ever Gymnastics class.  At last year’s Fete, I won a credit for a class at Audubon Gymnastics via silent auction.  Will, who had once been enthusiastically in support of gym class, did a radical 180-degree turn on us Monday morning, announcing how he “HATED GYMNASTICS”.  This is when Paul called “NOT IT!” making me the default parent to take him to the class.

True to their website, Will was the only boy in a sea of pink-tutu clad girls.  After class, I had two big surprises.  First, Will did not once ask for either a pink leotard or a tutu even though he was the only one not wearing them.  Second, he bounced out of the class expounding on his LOVE FOR GYMNASTICS.  Could we come back tomorrow?  How about before school?  After school?  Everyday and forever, ’cause I really love it?  Oh, and Mommy, I REALLY WANT TO TAKE BALLET, TOO.

My heart actually stopped beating for a minute when this came out.  BALLET?  Did I hear that right?  When pregnant, I fantasized about Will being my Billy Elliot, but since then have humbly embraced him for the impressive sports-dude that he seems to be.  Now he wants ballet?  Or maybe he quickly saw the benefits of being a group’s only boy?

I called.  Ballet class was full.  He’s on the waiting list.

Keeping with our summer promise of staying with swimming, Paul took Will to his first Swim Team class today.  The deal is that for $50/month, Will needs only attend two sessions a week (offered M-F) and they teach him what he’s missing from the four basic strokes and work on endurance.  The report from Paul was that the prodigious-ness he showed in the summer was not a fluke; Will continues to astound and amaze in the water.  Proof positive that guys who like ballet can also be kick-ass sports dudes.  And gangsta.

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UPDATE! As I wrote this, another email came in from Will’s teacher with more pictures (!!) and details of their activities today:

Dear parents
Today, Elodie (the other kindergarten’s teacher) went to our classroom to do a science activity while I went with the other class to play hide and seek (cache-cache) with Ouille the frog (grenouille) puppet. She went under (sous) and above ( sur ) a chair like the children did this morning in PE. And then we exchanged, so each class had the 2 activities. They also started some painting and counting activities and they colored the letters of their name. It can seem a little difficult for the new students but don’t worry they do great and they will catch up in French.

Here are some photos from yesterday for PE (motricite) and from today.

Tomorrow they will dance the fish-dance and they will have their first music class.