March 31, 2006

does it make any difference if you know that the eye cream has grape seeds in it?

A few weeks ago, I had lunch with my friend Ms. Educat, and while we did not make margarita slushies, we did go makeup shopping, which is nearly as good. I bought a lovely Nars eyeshadow (in Cairo–isn’t that a GREAT name for a color?), and the nice woman at the MakeUp Bar threw in a sample of this eye cream, which I have been using every since. I like to try new eye creams, because they NEVER WORK and I am able to unleash my hidden cynic on them; the famous Arbonne eye cream, the one everyone RAVES about, made me break out. Yes, really! So I started patting on the sample cream, just so I could say, “Feh! Doesn’t work” when someone asked.

And you know what? IT TOTALLY WORKS! And I totally love it. But it totally costs $52.00 for HALF AN OUNCE. And yes, I realize that a little eye cream goes a long way, but still! Dammit.

So this morning, at my regular Friday playdate, I was asking my girlfriends what they thought about this dilemma (you know, like should I just spend the $52.00 and BUY the eye cream, or should I opt for a lipgloss, which I also need and which would be more like $20.00, and then mooch some more samples of the eye cream and see how long I can make them last?) while our kids played nicely together and we drank our coffee. And it was the most normal mommy moment you can imagine, the complete antithesis of the rest of my week.

I still don’t know what to do about the eye cream, but I do know this: I have remarkable friends. They are funny and smart and so very kind, and this past couple of weeks, they have kept me going. During the week, when Wade is at work and I am essentially on my own to care for the kids and deal with the minute-to-minute (and with my kids things often literally ARE minute to minute) my girlfriends–the ones here in OKC who meet me for coffee and share their babysitters and make me laugh until my sides hurt, and the ones far away who e-mail and IM and call my cell phone to say, “I just thought you might want to talk” which also ends in me laughing until my sides hurt–these women are my most consistent source of support and sanity. And recently, they have listened to me whine and helped me plan and bailed me out. They have asked intelligent and non-judgemental questions about Henry and what comes next and how we’re doing and what they can do to help, and they have talked to me about random things like eye cream and soccer practice and what our kids ate for dinner, which has made me feel less isolated and more–well, normal. Because it’s normal to obssess about the little wrinkles around your eyes, yes? Don’t you?

On our schedule for the weekend are two soccer games and a big family dinner, which pretty much guarantees that I will wind up with something actually FUNNY to tell you about my weekend. And thank you all for picking up the slack here and making me laugh these last few days–I really needed it.

Now tell me what to do about the eye cream.

March 30, 2006

pointy

Did you know that McEwan’s Scotch ale has a higher alcohol content than normal beer? Yes indeed! Did you know that if you drink a couple of them on an empty stomach, you’re pretty much done in? Yes indeed! Did you know that I could type grammatically correct sentences after more than a couple McEwan’s Scotch Ales? Neither did I!

Thank you for, as always, being the kind and decent people that you are and for saying that you wish you could help. I’m passing a babysitting sign-up sheet around; feel free to put your name down as many times as you like! Okay, just joking. But I do appreciate all the supportive and constructive comments and e-mails. You all are the best. Martinis for everyone!

I’m feeling a little less . . . pointless today (and a lot more sober) despite the fact that things have gone from bad to OH MY GOD WHAT DO WE DO NOW??? But yes, you all are right: I need to hire some help, and soon. And all appearances of late to the contrary, I’m not just wallowing in pointless self-pity and McEwan’s Scotch Ale, I’m working on it, I really am. In fact, I’m working even harder to find a sitter as my whole already tenuous chidcare system pretty much spontaneously combusted this afternoon. Yes, really!

See, I had been using school as my childcare, which makes a lot of sense with school-aged children, right? Charlie goes to Mother’s Day Out (okay, not really school, but whatever) all day Mondays and Thursdays; Henry had been going to preschool all day on Mondays and Wednesdays and half days the rest of the week.

Please notice that I said HAD BEEN going.

Before spring break, we started to get some indications that the long day on Wednesday wasn’t working out, for Henry or his teachers. Wade and I talked about it and decided that it was in everyone’s best interest to pull Henry out of the afternoon program. So we did.

Then we had to stop the medication.

Then the speech path had an opening, on Wednesday mornings, so we took him out of school for the whole day.

Then, on Monday, he had to come home at lunch time. And this afternoon I talked to the director, who suggested (very nicely, but in a way that left me no room to disagree) that we take Henry out of the Monday afternoon program, and that we rearrange his morning schedule so that the same teacher doesn’t have him two days in a row, which means that he will be going to school three mornings a week, most likely Monday, Tuesday, and Friday. So starting next week I will be down to two and a half hours without kids. Each week. All week.

We may not have any clean laundry around here soon.

But there’s more! Last summer I was childcare free, by choice, and while it was fine, I wasn’t going to do it again this summer. My plan was to send both boys to the church where Charlie goes to Mother’s Day Out. Typically, in the summer, they have Day Out for the smaller kids and summer camp for the bigger kids. It’s a small program and a place Henry is familiar with, and the director (who was Henry’s teacher when he was there) has a background in special education. It would have been perfect.

Except that they are remodeling the church this summer and will have Day Out ONLY for the little kids. No summer camp.

Wade and I talked about the possibility of signing Charlie up for Day Out there and sending Henry . . . somewhere else. Or sending both kids somewhere else. But the bottom line is this: I can’t spend the ENTIRE summer picking Henry up early from summer camp because he’s not able to do what the other kids are doing. Or even worrying about it.

So I’m looking for a sitter, to come once a week starting the week after next and twice a week this summer. I have some good leads and I know that I will find someone and it will be worth every dime, if only because I can pretty much guarantee that a sitter can deal with Henry for three or four hours and will not need to call me to come get him early.

But there is also this: for the next few weeks, Charlie will keep going to my friend Christa’s house on Wednesday mornings, to say with her sitter while I take H to speech therapy. This solves my short-term sitter problem, but soon I will have a different predicament: the sitter I get two days a week this summer will need to cover when I take Henry to speech therapy and to whatever other therapies the new doctor recommends. So my actual time away from the kids gets smaller and smaller, and Charlie’s time with the sitter gets longer and longer.

And yes, I thought about putting Charlie in Day Out just so he would have some friends to play with, but then I don’t have any flexibility, and the thing with doctors is that you go when they have an appointment. If Charlie was in Day Out, I would most likely STILL need the sitter. And then I would NEVER see Charlie.

While I am sorting out all of these logistics, I’m trying very very hard NOT to think about the whole issue of fairness–Charlie is acutely aware of how much time he gets with me and with Wade; I know this because he will talk about it. Today on the way to school, he said, “Next year I want to go to school some long days and some short days, like Henry does. So I can come home and play with you, by myself.”

I think my heart broke a little when he said that.

Tonight Charlie was getting his pyjamas on; they are so old and worn that they have a hole in the knee and he put his foot right through it. “Hey!” he said, indignant. “Look at my FOOT!” I started to laugh at his poor baby toes sticking out through the fabric and he said, “Don’t laugh at me!” and then he started to laugh, too.

“I’m not laughing AT you, I’m laughing WITH you,” I said.

“But I am NOT LAUGHING,” he said seriously. But really he was.

Today I am feeling better, if only because this is probably as bad as it will get. This week, anyway. I still don’t really have a point, or a plan, or any sort of coherent ending to this post. So okay! Tune in tomorrow to see–oh, I have no idea what you will see. Charlie with his foot through the knee of his pyjamas or Henry watching television with his feet on the sofa and his head on the floor or . . .

You can’t wait, can you?

March 29, 2006

and still, I have no real point

Today I read this review of designer Dana Buchman’s book about raising her daughter, Charlotte (who has been diagnosed with a host of learning differences), and despite the fact that I have picked the book up on at least two occasions and not been able to get past page five, the review had me weeping.

Or maybe it wasn’t the book. Maybe it was Henry’s first day of speech therapy. Or Charlie’s playdate. Or the rain. Who can tell?

Speech therapy was . . . fine. Yes, fine! It was FINE! No, it was really stressful and overwhelming, but that seems to be the norm here these days. Henry didn’t cry, although he did talk the ENTIRE way there about how he was making a “plan” to go back to school next Wednesday. And as we were leaving, the speech path said, “I’ll see you next week, Henry!”

And he held his hand out toward her and said, “Yes! Unless you don’t!”

Ha ha, so not funny.

The speech path worked with Henry for half an hour, while I read an article about how important it is for women to schedule “me time” in order to avoid things like heart attacks and diabetes and the fat that gets left around your waist, and then it was my turn to “dialogue” with the speech path (her word, not mine). And apparently, “me time” is not on her schedule, at least in reference to ME and my ACTUAL time.

We had a lovely talk about social stories, which, she pointed out, are most often discussed in connection with autism, “but don’t let that put you off!” she said cheerfully. And I wanted to say, no, no, don’t worry, I am FULLY AWARE that the boy ain’t right! Then she asked what, specifically, Henry was having “the most trouble with,” socially-speaking, so that we could tailor his social stories to things he needs help with.

So I told her about him being sent home from school early on Monday, about how he was yelling out answers and jumping around and pushing the other kids. About how, when he and Charlie play together, he ALWAYS (and yes, I mean that in ALL CAPS) has to control the play, the narrative. About how when he tells a story or explains a game he can’t get to the actual STORY or the rules of the game but will go on and on and ON for oh, say, TWENTY OR THIRTY MINUTES about what exactly we’re going to DO with the football. Instead of just THROWING THE DAMN FOOTBALL.

And I watched her eyes get bigger and bigger. Because today I scared the holy living hell out of our speech pathologist.

I am not proud of this. (Well, yes, maybe I am, a little, in a weird way. Because I’m competitive that way. And because, at some level, it confirms that I am NOT MAKING THIS ALL UP. Just exaggerating it, for comic effect, you know.)

But back to “me time”–my homework, before next week’s meeting with the speech path, is to start writing social stories, for Henry to use to practice his social skills. After I write them, I will need to read them with him, daily, before and after school, before soccer practice and playdates and dinner in a restaurant. They need to be illustrated and printed up and LAMINATED (otherwise they are too flimsy and will fall apart). I need to focus on specifics and use repetitive language. I cannot be funny; I cannot talk about how much Mommy needs a drink. They need to have a POINT, for god’s sake.

I really don’t think I can do this.

I have moments–lots of them, whole days of them–where I doubt if I have what it takes to be Henry’s mommy. Today was absolutely one of those days. Because as I listened to this very nice, and doubtless VERY qualified speech path talk about how these stories would work and how we would incorporate them into our daily routine, all I could think was, OH MY GOD when am I going to DO THIS?

Here is what I do NOW, before the Writing of the Social Stories, to get some “me time:” I get up at five am to read. I write late at night. I cram a whole day’s worth of “me time” into an hour or two on the weekend, right after I pay all the bills and load the laundry and fill out whatever evaluations or forms have to be filled out for whatever doctor we’re going to see this week. I meet my husband at the door, after HIS long long day, and say, “The boys have had dinner and a bath. There is a frozen pizza in the oven. I AM LEAVING. If you are lucky, I will come back” (yes, I have said that! Last night, in fact!).

It’s not a good system.

This morning, because I couldn’t take Charlie with me to the speech path, I mooched off my friend Christa, who is an attorney and works two days a week. I left Charlie at her house, first with her (while she got ready to go to work, in a suit that made me want to cry it was so pretty) and then with her sitter. Charlie had a fabulous two-hour playdate with her daughter, Cate–apparently they spent most of the time in a tent in her room, tending to a stuffed leopard who had eaten some balls and some money. Or so Charlie told me.

When I picked Charlie up, Cate came downstairs and solemnly announced, “Charlie, I need to give you a kiss.” And they had a nice hug and kiss. I was nearly killed by the cuteness.

Tonight Cate came to our house to play, while Christa and I went to a coach’s clinic at the soccer fields. Wade said that they played together and they played apart and everyone was very nice and peaceful and polite. And at the soccer clinic I watched Henry not stand in the line and not listen and not play like the other kids and I watched him watch his reflection in my sunglasses when I was trying to talk to him and then in the parking lot someone pulled out behind me while I was talking to Wade on my cell phone and I started yelling at HIM, at Wade. And it made me think.

I need some “me time.” But I don’t have any idea what to give up to get it.

March 28, 2006

random Charlieness

Last night, as I was getting myself all psyched up to nuke something cook dinner for the boys, Wade called to say he was going to be late because he needed to take his new suit back in to have the alterations altered. And while I KNEW he needed to do this, I found myself wishing that he hadn’t waited until FIVE O’CLOCK to call and say he was doing it RIGHT NOW. Especially yesterday.

While I was having this nice moment of telephone bonding with my husband, the boys started throwing a ball in the hallway, which somehow resulted in Henry having a complete meltdown, thus causing me to hang up on said husband (he’s used to it, don’t worry). No, I don’t know how we got from Point A: Playing with the Ball to Point B: Lying on the Floor Yelling, but because I am a TERRIBLE parent and was tired and unwilling to negotiate with someone who wouldn’t stop screaming, I opted to ignore Henry and just leave him in the hallway until he was done melting down. So I said to Charlie, “Want to help me make dinner?”

And he said, “SURE!” Because, you know, that would involve food.

In the kitchen, he said, “I need a CHAIR!” (That is pronounced CHAY–EEER, by the way). He dragged the chair over to the counter, in front of the microwave (he knows the drill) and announced, “I’m going to be the WAITRESS!”

I think it is entirely possible Charlie has been eating out too much lately.

We get the nuggets all arranged and we set the timer and push START, and of course Charlie has to watch the proceedings with his head DIRECTLY in front of the microwave, which probably killed some brain cells, but whatever. And then, when the nuggets were all done cooking, I opened the microwave door and smacked him right in the eye.

I immediately put my arms around him and said, “Oh, baby, I’m SO SORRY! Are you okay? Let me see it.”

And he looks up at me, all squinty because I have hit him in the EYE with the CORNER of the plastic door, and says, “It’s okay, Mama, I’m a TOUGH waitress!”

Charlie has been on a big kick lately where he announces, “I don’t want to be ANYTHING when I grow up,” which is probably better than wanting to be a squirrel, but still makes me nervous because my one consistent parenting goal is to get these kids OUT OF MY HOUSE and not have them living in the basement when they’re 30 playing video games all day.

But last night he said, “I’m going to be a DADDY when I grow up.”

“That’s great, buddy. You’ll be a terrific daddy.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Because when I grow up, I don’t want to do ANYTHING.”

I was really sorry Wade missed dinner.

After dinner, when Henry had gone to his room to talk to himself and Charlie and I were eating Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans (Jelly Bellies, really), Charlie said, “Where is Daddy?”

“He’s on his way home,” I said.

“From Albuquerque?” Charlie asked.

“No,” I said. “From the mall. He had to take his suit back to have it fixed.”

“Oh.” Charlie thinks about this. “So, is he driving naked?”

Finally, this morning, during the usual let’s-get-ready-to-GO chaos, Charlie asked, “Am I going to school today?”

“No, not today.”

“YAAAAYYYY!” he said, dancing around.

“You’re going to stay home and help me with a few things.”

“Oh. Can I go to school today?”

And because I KNOW you’re going to ask, YES, Henry is wearing Charlie’s Halloween costume, and YES those are the still unloaded bags of groceries on the floor (and one random pile of things to go to the recycling), and YES, I really DID take all these pictures RIGHT BEFORE DINNER. And Charlie never once stopped jumping around.

March 27, 2006

pointless (but in a funny way)

When Henry started school, I held my breath for the day they would call me and say “Come get the boy! Right NOW!” And when that particular call didn’t come, not even last Monday when Henry stayed ALL DAY without any medication OR any lunch, I got just a little cocky. Because clearly the boy WOULD be able to go to school ONE day a week, leaving me to my own devices for a whole decadent FIVE HOURS each week. Right?

Wrong.

We were completely–COMPLETELY!–grocery-free this morning; we were out of milk and half and half (so no cereal for Wade and no coffee for me) and frozen French toast and peanut butter and fish crackers and tampons and fizzy water and pretty much every imaginable Friday Playdate staple (yes, fizzy water is a staple–it’s not at your house?). First on my list of Things To Do Before 2:30 was GET COFFEE, and then GET GROCERIES. After that were various other important things like FILL OUT CHARLIE’S SCHOOL REGISTRATION and BALANCE CHECKBOOK and START LAUNDRY and WRITE SOMETHING NOT BORING FOR BLOG. It is also possible that STOP AT GAP TO PERUSE SALE RACK was on that list. Just maybe.

But! I didn’t do any of it! Or nearly so.

I got coffee; I even read the New York Times and ate a blueberry muffin! Without sharing! Then I went to the SuperTarget for groceries, without worrying that I would have to drag a crying child away from the Star Wars action figures. On the way, I called to check on Henry’s school registration (the school had cashed our check but not sent us anything, but yes! he’s in! hooray! because we have no backup plan). I zipped through the grocery aisles, got everything I needed, and headed home. Just–JUST–as I put the LAST cold thing in the fridge, the phone rang.

It was Henry’s teacher. Henry needed to come home; he was yelling and pushing and hitting and not doing his work. It was 11:00 and all I had gotten done was the grocery shopping and the coffee getting. And I really needed some more coffee.

Instead, I went and got the boy and we went to lunch (he was a little confused about why I was picking him up early, but before he got upset I said “HEY, let’s go to Gourmet Deli and get a grilled cheese!” and that distracted him) and then we went home and I made two VERY QUICK phone calls and we played chess and then we went and got new soccer shorts and shin guards and we picked Charlie up and took him to meet my friend Christa’s babysitter (because I’m leaving Charlie with her on Wednesday so I can take Henry to speech therapy–have I mentioned that Henry cries EVERY SINGLE TIME we talk about missing school on Wednesdays to go to speech therapy? Yes! Indeed!) and then we came home and I thought dammit, I didn’t get ANYTHING done today.

What was my point? I have no idea, but it MAY have been this: I need a vacation. I have a gift certificate for a massage but I have NO IDEA when I will get to use it. On Thursday morning, I’m getting a haircut, which shoots my morning (in a good way, though, really!); over the weekend, Henry has TWO soccer games. Plus two nights of practice and speech therapy and . . .

My god this parenting thing takes a LOT of time. When am I supposed to eat bonbons and watch soap operas? And get my manicure?

And still, I have no point. Thanks for stopping by!

March 26, 2006

the business end of this blog

Good lord I’m tired. Wade’s flight was five hours late yesterday, and it was five too many hours. He came in last night, and I said, “How was your trip?”

“Great,” he said, “except for this ONE crazy thing. You will NEVER believe this . . .”

“Okay!” I said. “I’m going to bed. I love you, glad you’re home, see you in the morning.” And I went immediately to sleep.

Tonight I only have enough energy to tell you about some important blog business. First is this: both Candace and I are taking a break from In the Trenches, for various personal reasons, and we’re looking for a few good parents to help. If you are interested in writing a post (or several!) or have something you’ve already written and would like to contribute, please contact us at inthetrenches3 at yahoo dot com, or contact me directly at fridayplaydate at cox dot net.

Second is this: thanks to all of you who have e-mailed with your comments and compliments about Inkstains. If you’ve not been to see the site, go! Now! Really! And if you are interested in contributing, please contact us at emailinkstains at gmail dot com, or (again!) contact me directly. We’re looking for smart, thoughtful, well-written essays on–well, pretty much anything. We are also always interested in hearing your responses to current posts. Think about it–and get back to us.

Finally, to make up for all this boringness, I have this: we met Wade’s parents for brunch today (this was three days in a row that we ate out with my mother-in-law, and the sixth restaurant meal I have eaten since Thursday, not including the restaurant leftovers I reheated for lunch yesterday. But I digress).

We got the boys some waffles, and then Wade decided that they maybe needed something more substantial (I have no idea what he thought I fed them all weekend–crackers, apparently). So he took Charlie around to all the various “stations” and then came back with a HUGE plate of food–wild rice and chicken and cheese and fruit and a biscuit and I don’t know what all else. I assumed it was Wade’s plate and he was going to share some of it with Charlie. Imagine my surprise when he plunked the ENTIRE plate in front of Charlie and went off to get his own food.

So Charlie is eating and eating and EATING, and singing a little song about what he’s eating and bouncing around in his chair (and yes, he fell off the chair, but that’s really NOT the point of the story). Henry has finished his waffle and has eaten a roll and is peacefully drinking his milk and looking around. And Wade starts asking if he can get him anything else to eat–chicken? potatos? ANYTHING?

Finally, Wade goes and gets a plate of pasta (plain! no butter! no sauce!) and brings it to the table; he puts it down between Henry and Charlie and says, “Look, buddy! Noodles! Just like Mommy makes! Want some?”

Henry says, “No thank you, Daddy.”

And Charlie says, “I’LL have some, THANKS!”

I am going to have to go back to work just so I can FEED that kid.

(Henry ate one noodle; later, he said, “I didn’t like it, but I didn’t hate it. And I ATE it.” I was very proud.”)