February 28, 2006

how are you celebrating Shrove Tuesday?

I grew up Catholic, which meant that the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday was the day when my friends and I all had to decide what we were going to Give Up For Lent. In elementary school, we always gave up stupid things, like gum! and candy! which none of us really ever had anyway (and we certainly never had gum at school). But honestly, it’s hard when you are eight or nine or ten to really give up anything of significance. My father suggested, one year, that instead of giving up something that we wouldn’t be missing we try to do something instead, like pick up our rooms or make our beds before my mother had to ask us for the 200th time. I remember liking this idea, although I don’t remember if I actually followed through.

Despite the fact that I’m not a churchgoing person as an adult, I still like the notion of Lent as a time of mindfulness. After struggling with my dissertation for three years, I tried ‘giving’ it up for Lent; my insomnia went away and I was able to focus on reading and writing and teaching in ways I hadn’t been able to when I was ‘working’ on the dissertation. In the past few years, I have tried to see Lent as a time to focus on the details of my life and my day–to play more with my children, to call or e-mail friends I have lost touch with, to take time to meditate or just breathe.

This year, for the next 40 days, I want to consciously seek the peaceful moments in my day, the times when I am not feeling rushed or pulled in a hundred directions, the times when I am still and calm. I want to focus more on each moment instead of worrying about the future. I want to feel like my days are a series of connected occurrences rather than a blur of errands and tantrums and dishes. I can do that for forty days, I think.

I also have a writing project that I want to finish, which will require starting, as it is all still in my head. And no, I’m not telling what it is; you will have to wait and see, although I will say that it is something that started here. I will also say that you should read this (and if you really have some time to kill, you can read the comments too–all 1,000 plus of them) because any more, for me, writing is about the conversation not the isolated words on the paper.

Today, though, as it is supposed to be 80 degrees here, I am going to take the boys to the zoo, and then we are going out for donuts (although they will be Krispy Kreme, not proper beignets) to celebrate the start of forty peaceful days at our house.

February 23, 2006

when I die, I want to be burried with my iBook

Last night was a tough one at Casa Playdate. Various children who shall go unnamed were STILL awake and wandering the house crying and asking for water and lights and a snuggle at NINE PM. Which is WAAAAYYY later than anyone who started life in my uterus is permitted to be awake. After the four millionth time someone said, ‘MOMMY! Come snuggle with me!’ I snapped.

‘I can’t take it anymore!’ I told Wade. ‘I’m with those kids ALL DAY LONG! I have played with Charlie since 7:00 this morning! I’ve read Marsupial Sue fifteen times! I spent half an hour this afternoon trying to get Henry to do ANYTHING with us! And then when I tucked him in, he had the gall to ask if we could get on the computer and READ! After rufusing to do it every time I mentioned it today! I CAN’T TAKE IT!’

Poor Wade. He waited patiently until I stopped ranting and then, very logically, tried to help me think of solutions to the eternal question of what the hell do I do with these kids all day long? And he was, quite honestly, both sympathetic and helpful. Go figure.

I spend a lot of time during the day trying to find things that BOTH boys want to do (besides play Knock Me Down, which is just a trip to the ER waiting to happen). I am combatting both the difference in their ages and the difference in their brain structures. Charlie plays typical three-year-old games: he likes to pretend various things (kitchen, doctor, pirate) or build things with blocks, or do art projects. And he will bring me books throughout the day and ask to read.

Henry, on the other hand, lives in his head a lot–a LOT–of the time. He is particularly prone to this after a long day at school, where he is compelled to follow the rules and do his work and participate. By the time he gets home, his meds are wearing off and he is pretty much a constant fountain of chatter for the rest of the afternoon. Some days he just wants to play by himself, but on other days he will string together some elaborate pretend for he and Charlie to do together. But it’s never as simple as ‘let’s serve plastic food to Mommy and the stuffed friends,’ it’s more like ‘let’s walk in circles around the house hunting for a Heffalump and talking non-stop.’ And when Charlie gets tired of walking in circles or being told what to do, they start fighting. And I start looking into listing them on eBay.

So Wade gave me a much-needed pep talk (which included a reminder that it’s okay to let Henry go off and be alone after a long day of school, and it is also okay to ask him to do one thing–like read a small story–in order to earn the priviledge of doing something else–like hunting Heffalumps). I love that man.

But! Today! I was the best mommy in the world! For an hour, at least.

Henry has decided that he’s all about Egypt. Just today! Just this afternoon, in fact. We stopped at the bookstore on our way to get Charlie, and he picked up this book. When Charlie got in the car, Henry said, ‘Charlie, when we get home, we’re going to play Ancient Egypt. You can wear sandals or be baretoes. What do you want to do?’ And I though, oh god, my head is going to fall off.

And then I had a Miracle Mommy Moment: we would make mummies! And a tomb! It would fill the time until Daddy came home, or at least until Clifford came on.

The boys each mummified a stuffed toy–Charlie chose Hedwig the Owl, and Henry picked SuperBear, his U. S. Open commemorative beanie bear. We wrapped them in toilet paper and made death masks for them and decorated them with stickers.

We put the tent up in Charlie’s room and I asked the boys what they thought Hedwig and SuperBear might need in the Next Life. ‘BOOKS!’ Charlie yelled, gathering up a pile. ‘Flashlights,’ Henry said, ‘in case it’s dark.’ They piled in plastic food and the pillows and blankets from Charlie’s bed, and their superheros, ‘to guard the tomb.’ And Charlie threw the LeapPad in, saying solemnly, ‘They might want their laptop.’ Smart boy, that one.

When we interred the mummies, Charlie pretty much just plunked Hedwig down on the floor, but Henry made a little bed for SuperBear and tucked him in with Charlie’s fleece binkit, ’so he doesn’t get cold.’ And for one shining moment, I was the World’s Best Mommy.

Then we sat down for our snack and Henry put his foot up on the table and I said, ‘No feet on the table, please,’ and then Charlie put HIS foot on the table and I said, ‘NO FEET ON THE TABLE, PLEASE‘ and the moment was over. Sigh.

All in all, though, I would call today a success.

February 22, 2006

Wade: What are you eating? Me: Asiago cheese brea…

Wade: What are you eating?

Me: Asiago cheese bread with pesto.

Wade: A hot dog with cheese and pesto?

Me: Yes. Do you want one?

Wade: Uh, no. What are you really eating?

Me: You don’t think I would eat a hotdog with cheese and pesto? That sounds kind of good.

Wade: No.

Me: Yeah, you’re right.

February 21, 2006

it’s not possible to get fired from this job, is it?

Has anyone else realized how terribly this website exposes the lie of my assertions that I’m not sporting nice shoes and a manicure? Look! Picures of my shoes! And my hair! Twice, even! I would show you my unmanicured fingernails but I have some horrible dry skin thing going on that no one needs to see. Or hear about! Sorry.

Clearly, my life is just one big spa day. Here are yesterday’s highlights:

Charlie and I went to SuperTarget because we were out of all the essentials like milk and frozen spring rolls and zit cream and we ran into my sister-in-law’s friend M (who I only ever see at SuperTarget and the country club, which also confirms that my life is one of neverending glamour). I told her that my sister-in-law is expecting baby #4 and we chatted about M’s three girls, and it was on the TIP OF MY TONGUE to ask if she and her husband were thinking of another baby. But then Charlie said he had to go potty, so I said goodbye and went on my way.

And then, in the bathroom, I remembered that M and her husband are getting a divorce. Whoo, glad I didn’t ask about another baby! Of course, that got me fretting about not having said how sorry I was to hear they were divorcing, which reminded me that I only knew about the divorce through the grapevine and not firsthand so it was probably a good thing I didn’t say anything and . . .

And then Charlie said proudly, ‘I pooped! In the potty! Wipe my bottom.’

After SuperTarget (where I bought NOTHING that wasn’t on my carefully preplanned list) Charlie and I headed home. The garage door on my side is all whacked out from the cold weather and has to be opened and closed manually, which is a bitch in the snow and requires locking the door from the garage into the house because the door can’t be closed the entire way from the outside. I slogged through the melting piles of ice in my driveway while Charlie yelled, ‘It’s COLD! Hurry up!’ which was nice in an annoying kind of way and lugged all the groceries in while Charlie stood at the door yelling, ‘It’s COLD! Hurry up!’ which was still annoying but no longer nice and put them all away. Of course that was when I realized that I had forgotten to get apple juice, dates, hummous, and trash bags because even though we needed them, they WEREN’T ON THE LIST. Dammit.

Charlie wanted to watch Charlie and Lola, which gave me time to read my e-mail make the beds, so I turned the TV on for him and said, ‘When this is over, we will need to leave to get Henry.’ We pulled out of the garage with EXACTLY enough time to get to Henry’s school, and then I noticed that Wade had taken the trash out, as today is trash day, except instead of taking the TRASH to the curb, he had taken the RECYCLING, which the trash guys will NOT pick up. This isn’t the first time this has happened; usually we say, ‘Whew, good thing we have two trash cans!’ Today, though, BOTH trash cans were full. Overflowing. Barely containing the detrius of our life. And if we missed this week’s trash pick up, it was going to get ugly.

But! No time to switch the cans! Time to go get the boy!

I pulled up outside Henry’s school with three minutes to spare, and thought oh good, I can call and get a hair appointment (yes, I’m cutting it; don’t act so surprised) only to discover that the battery on my cell phone was dead. Thank god Henry’s teacher didn’t need to find me. Of course (OF COURSE!) when I went up to the door to get Henry, his teacher said, ‘Henry had a really hard morning. I almost called you to come get him.’ I almost said, ‘But you couldn’t, see, because MY CELL PHONE WASN’T WORKING.’ But I didn’t say that; I said, ‘Really, any time you think he’s struggling too much, just call me. I ALWAYS have my cell phone.’ Whew–that was close.

The boys argued all the way home about where they would eat lunch and what they would watch on TV (Higglytown Heros! No, the Heffalump Movie! No, Robots!) and I said, ‘We’re going to eat at the TABLE and NOT watch TV,’ over and over and OVER. At home, I sent the boys in the house, dragged the recycling back to the side of the house and dragged BOTH trash cans to the curb (they have wheels, but still). By the time I came in, I was covered in mud and snow and the boys were fighting. It was just like a Johnson&Johnson commercial. Really.

The rest of the day was filled with loving, cooperative play is a blur of flying blocks and timeouts, capped by repeated bedtime demands of ‘WHERE IS DADDY? WHY ISN’T DADDY HERE? I WANT DADDY TO READ TO ME!’ Daddy worked late, by which I mean that Daddy went out to dinner with the out-of-town consultants while I duct taped the boys into their beds and started drinking cooking sherry. And yes, I got some small joy out of the news that the tilapia at dinner was overcooked. My Cheerios, on the other hand, were delicious.

When I tucked Henry in (after some protracted debate about who Mommy would snuggle with first–both boys were yelling, ‘NO, I don’t want to be first! Go in his room first!’ which made me feel loved) he started to cry because he has decided he’s afraid of the dark and needs ALL the lights in his room on when he goes to bed. I am fairly sure this translates to ‘I want to stay up and play in my room after bedtime,’ and so I told him gently and kindly that while he could NOT have the lights on he COULD have a second nightlight. Which made him cry harder as this is a deviation from The Routine. Meanwhile, I can hear Charlie jumping on his bed and thunking into the walls. And then Wade came home. The end. (No, not really, there was more crying and insisting that Daddy’s closet is haunted and Mommy needs to come lay down with me and blah blah blah but you get the picture).

Yes, this is the life everyone is dying to have. Right? Riiiight.