July 21, 2007

because no one ever reads the ABOUT page anyway

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, I taught literature in a fabulous liberal studies program near Seattle. I spent my days pondering the origins of the novel, the relationship between gender and genre, and the impact of colonialism on the post-modern narrative. I drank lots of terrific coffee and the occasional mid-afternoon martini. Now I live in Oklahoma City with my husband and our two small sons (Henry, 7, and Charlie, 5); I pass the time contemplating which superhero is the strongest, what park has the most shade, and how many ways vegetarian chicken nuggets can be garnished. In my spare time, I shop for shoes, preferably pointy-toed flats that will make me look less like a mom and more like someone you might want to have drinks with.

All things considered, I love nearly every minute of this life, especially the minutes right after that first cup of coffee and right before the cocktail hour.

In between the coffee and the cocktails, I write for a few other places; you can find a full list on the actual ABOUT page for this site.

This post is part of blogme2007; you can find more information here or here. And if you’re going to be in Chicago next week, for heaven’s sake let me know! We’ll have coffee! Or a martini!

July 19, 2007

can you hand me that corkscrew, please?

I’m going to Chicago next week, for five days, to hang out with Chris, who wrote this today:

Last night Susan called me, way way past her 8:00pm bedtime, so we could co-ordinate whatever it is we feel we need to co-ordinate. Both of us being the lazy Type-A personalities. (I love you, Susan.) You know they type who really want to be in control of everything and worry endlessly, and yet never do much constructive about it. The type who appear laid back, but that is the result of a glass or three of wine.

Exactly!

I’m excited about this trip for a lot of reasons, including five days of snuggling with Chris and SJ and this whole conference thing, but I don’t know what to say about it, really. I’m looking forward to meeting the women I write for (women who hired me sight-unseen, to write about What You All Should Wear, without ever knowing if I spend all day in yoga pants and a tee shirt from ten years ago and rubber flip flops, which I just MIGHT, after all). I’m also hoping that five days in Chicago–five days of eating in restaurants and having cocktails at 3:00 pm and wearing nice shoes and talking to all these smart smart women that I read and e-mail with and not having ANY of those things interrupted by a request to reassemble a Lego firetruck that I JUST spent an hour putting together–will help me shake my unshakeable crabbiness.

Or at least I can be crabby with Chris, which should be fun.

Speaking of fun! I’ve had a couple of e-mails asking how WE WILL HAVE FUN IF IT KILLS US is going these days. The answer is, meh. I’m making a big effort to get us out of the house every day, to do something that requires a LOT of physical energy (Wade likes to tell people that my parenting philosophy is TIRE THEM OUT, which is totally true) but there is still that moment in every day when someone is whining PLAAAAAAY WITH MEEEEEEE or asking for more computer time. Or when I look at the clock and realize that it’s ONLY ONE THIRTY HOW THE HELL IS THAT POSSIBLE?

That was today, by the way.

This morning I wrote the Big Check for everyone’s school tuition, which means that I will be dropping everyone off (AT THE SAME SCHOOL PRAISE JESUS) in just over a month. Wade was reminding me the other night that it’s almost August, which means that we’re essentially counting down to the First Day of School. And of course, I said, “BUT I HAVE TO GET HENRY A UNIFORM! AND SCHOOL SUPPLIES! AND WE HAVE TO CONVINCE HIM THAT HE WILL LOVE THIS SCHOOL! AAAAAAAHHHHH!” Then I opened a bottle of wine, with one hand.

Lazy Type-A. That is totally me.

(Also! Cathy asked if I was still writing for Parent Dish, and the answer is no! and yes! I’m “on leave” for the summer, because all this Having Fun was making it pert near impossible to post every day. I’ll be back after Labor Day. In the meantime, I’m over here and over here AND over HERE, telling you what to wear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stand in my closet for a while and fret about what to take to Chicago. God forbid I actually TRY ANYTHING ON. I’m just going to get some wine and look at my clothes and then call Chris AGAIN and say “What are YOU wearing?”)

July 18, 2007

five is the new two

You know why I like you all? Because you say interesting things. Also because you are nice to me, even when I’m having some kind of Mystery Stress Overload that leads me to complain about my children. But more on that in a minute.

In the comments on yesterday’s moanfest, Catherine said, “Hold on nelly… all I got from this post is that my soon-to-be four year old boy will still be refusing to get dressed and throw himself on the floor daily when he’s five. Good to know.”

Yes, Catherine (where is your BLOG Catherine?) five is the new two. Remember how everyone warned you about how bad two would be, and instead it was a year of sweet kisses and snuggles with your darling baby? Well five will get you back for that. Trust me.

I think five is tough because on the one hand, five is potty trained and able to put a CD in the player on his own and get his own snack and water from the dispenser in the fridge and jump into the deep end of the pool and clear his place at the table. At the exact same time, though, five is afraid of the dark and needs his binkit to fall asleep and doesn’t have the language skills to talk about being scared or frustrated or sad. Five is excited about all the big boy things he can do at the same time that he’s pissed about all the big boy things he ISN’T getting to do.

Five wants to be cute and tough all at once. He wants you to be RIGHT THERE at the same time that he tries to pretend he has no idea who you are.

Five: It’s The New Two. Seriously.

But wait, Catherine had MORE smart things to say! “Actually, your day sounds very much like ours. I’m that mom too. But if we’re all that mom, isn’t that the norm and that other mom becomes that mom?”

Oooh, interesting. Let’s talk about my kids for a second and then come back to this.

This morning, Henry had an appointment to visit with the principal of Charlie’s school (not an interview! we don’t call it an interview when the child is only going into first grade!) because we’re changing schools! Again!

Dammit.

This will be Henry’s fourth school in four years. He’s not happy about the change, but we have our reasons (none of which I am going to discuss with the Internet). Suffice it to say that we feel like this particular school has been a good place for Charlie and will be a good place for Henry. Anyway, Henry had this appointment this morning, and coming on the heels of two days of cranky (for me and the boy) I was a little edgy about how it would go. What if he was totally irrational? or he talked about Bionicles the whole time? or wouldn’t sit still?

And–most frightening to me–what if the principal decided that this wasn’t a good fit and said they couldn’t take him?

I started looking at schools when Henry was 18 months old. I was one of Those Moms, although I still don’t know how that happened. I looked at every school in Oklahoma City and made thoughtful choices about what each could offer my preshus baybee. And yes, Wade participated in the choice, but I was the one who worried. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, by the way, it’s just the truth.

I think we’re all “that mom” at one point or another. We’re the mom who worries too much or doesn’t worry enough, the mom who over plans or underplans, the mom who cooks from scratch or who whips through McDonald’s because it’s late and WE’RE HUNGRY! I like to think that I’m the laid back mom, but every time anyone suggest that to Wade he laughs hysterically because really, I’m the Mom on the Edge.

Seriously.

A couple of you (and my mom) suggested that the boys should have gone to camp and yes, you are right. But I worried about that, too, about how they would do and if they would behave and have fun and if it would just be one more hassle. And so here we are and while I wouldn’t say I’m sorry the kids didn’t go to camp this summer, they most certainly will NEXT summer. For their own good, as well as mine.

So which kind of mom am I? I’m a strict mom and a mom who overthinks and a mom who worries and a mom who wants the kids to grow up already! but not so fast.

I’m a mom who knows that five is the new two, and seven is able to rise to the occasion.

July 17, 2007

you will have fun OR ELSE

So happy birthday to Charlie! Huzzah! And thank you for all your birthday wishes.

Turning five is great, apparently, except for the part where there weren’t enough presents and his dessert wasn’t what he “suspected.” Oh and the whole bit about how I asked him to get dressed this morning. Because GOD how UNREASONABLE am I to expect him to PUT PANTS ON. I mean, it’s his BIRTHDAY for god’s sake. And laying on the playroom floor SOBBING was SO MUCH MORE FUN than getting dressed and going to Starbucks.

Or something like that.

Today was a long day, a long looooooooooong day. I was up half the night, worrying about this and that, and after an hour of the worry, I got up and worked (which was one thing I was worrying about). But by then it was 4:30 am and everyone in the house was up and going at 6:30, so I started the day tired and cranky. And after yesterday’s Tomorrow-Is-My-Birthday! cutefest, the birthday boy was a little bit whiny today. And his horribly neglected brother, who already HAD a birthday thankyouverymuch, was a real delight.

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG day.

This summer, my kids have developed a delightful propensity for not wanting to do ANYTHING that might REMOTELY be fun if it involves 1) putting on clothes, 2) leaving the house or 3) not staying in the playroom in their pajamas playing with Legos and Bionicles. No matter what kind of adventure we hold out for them (pool! park! playdate! parade! with ponies!) they refuse, sometimes politely and sometimes less politely. (The ONE thing they are ALWAYS willing to do is go to the grocery, because groceries means SuperTarget and SuperTarget has a TOY AISLE and maybe just maybe if they whine enough I will buy them something. Because my kids? have NO toys. NONE! It’s horrible the lack of toys at our house. Horrible.)

This morning, I had every intention of taking The Birthday Child and his sidekick, Disgruntled Boy, to Starbucks and getting them EACH a donut because how often are you (or your brother) five! But then after Charlie had a tantrum about getting dressed, I nixed that and we just ran drive thru errands instead (pharmacy, video store, bank, dry cleaners). And I read them the riot act about how there would be NO MORE complaining about the Fun Things we have planned, and how I did not want to hear ONE SINGLE WORD for the REST OF THE SUMMER about how long and boring their days were and could they PLEASE play on the computer and watch television. Because dammit we are going to do FUN THINGS if it KILLS US.

Hmmm. That sounds so familiar. Have I said that before? Quite possibly.

(Oh, yes I did. Here. Go figure.)

This afternoon we went bowling, which involved MORE whining and complaining and begging to go to the POOL instead and then much joy and delight and proclamations of BOWLING IS MY FAVORITE THING EVER! which made me want to kill them both. Charlie bowled a 97, and Henry bowled a 99 and a 98. At one point, they were bowling at the same time in adjoining lanes and BOTH bowled strikes at the same time. Charlie came dancing into Henry’s lane so they could high-five and all the other moms died from the cuteness.

I wasn’t fooled.

Sometimes the hardest part of parenting is sticking to your guns. This morning, when I told Charlie that there would be no donut because he wouldn’t get dressed, he sobbed, “My birthday is NOT going like I thought it would.” And my heart broke a little, because how could it not! But it was time to get dressed, and he didn’t, and that was that. We still had to run the errands, but there was no donut at the end because that’s a treat and treats are for kids who get dressed when they’re asked to.

I hate being that mom.

And then there was the little window when, after I had confirmed with the other moms that yes, we would meet them at the bowling alley, the kids started saying they didn’t want to go bowling. No no! We’re GOING bowling! Because you’ve missed too many other fun things this summer, and I’m still listening to the complaints about them. (Charlie: Why didn’t we go to the parade? Me: Because you REFUSED to go. Remember? Charlie: Oh, yeah . . . ) I’m tired of making plans only to have the kids moan about how the plans won’t be FUUUUUUUN before we’ve even left the house.

I hate being THAT mom, too.

When we left the bowling alley, the boys were begging to go swimming. Okay, I said, let’s go home and get a snack and get ready. And then during the snack, in the cool air conditioning, they changed their minds, which was fine with me because I had a gigantic headache. And Henry asked if he could do computer and Charlie asked if he could watch a video and I said yes, 20 minutes of computer and ONE Bob the Builder DVD and that was it.

And when that was over and it was nearly 4:45, Henry said, “Okay! NOW let’s go to the pool!” But by then it was too late and when I tried to explain that he had chosen to play at home instead of going swimming he sobbed and yelled at me and said I ruined his afternoon.

All this having fun is wearing me out.

July 16, 2007

July 16, 2002

Five years ago today, I was counting down to the birth of my last baby, whiling away the final hours before I was scheduled to arrive at the hospital. Wade and I were still discussing the name; for a boy, Charles, but the girl . . . he wanted Elizabeth, which I like in general, but didn’t like for THIS PARTICULAR baby (Me: She’s just not an Elizabeth. I can tell. Wade: [blank stare, crickets chirping.]) I wanted Virginia, after both of our grandmothers; I wanted to call her Ginny.

Or Charlotte.

Wade says that I was hooked on Charlotte because I knew the baby was a boy and Charlotte is a variation of Charles. He might be right. I knew that Henry was a boy from the very beginning (we didn’t “find out” with either pregnancy, until the delivery room, where there was no avoiding the finding out). When I was eight weeks along with Henry, I announced one morning, on the street outside the Sunriser in Tacoma, Washington (where we were meeting our friend Priti for breakfast), “This baby? Is a boy.” Wade scoffed, and kept up the scoffing until the very end, and when the nurse plunked the wee little not crying baby on my stomach and announced, “It’s a boy!” I said, “I TOLD YOU SO.” Because I’m mature like that.

But this baby, five years ago, was throwing me. Part of me thought for sure it was a girl, because of the heartburn and the argument about the name (with Henry, we picked a girl’s name–Jane–easily, but wrestled with the boy’s name; with this baby, we settled immediately on Charles, and agreed that he would be Charlie for everyday, with an IE and not an EY, but we were quite literally still wrangling over the girl’s name in the delivery room, which would seem to indicate that the baby was a GIRL because clearly we were NOT READY for a girl). I told Wade, probably ten times during the five hours of labor that if the baby was a girl he was NOT allowed to say that her name was Elizabeth because I needed to think about it some more.

The baby was not a girl; the baby was a boy, but when the doctor asked me his name, I was sobbing and couldn’t tell her, and I had to poke Wade until he said, “Oh! Charlie! His name is Charlie!”

But five years ago today was the day before the baby came; it was the last day that I only had one child, the last day that Henry was the magnetic center of my world. It was the last day that the wee little person inside me rolled back and forth, pressing his gigantic feet out against my stomach so that I could trace a heel and five distinct toes. When I think about it now, I think that I should have been more worried, about the delivery and the baby and the change that was coming. But mostly I was just worried about the damn name.

Sometimes, when I lay down with Charlie in his bed, or when he climbs into the big bed with me, I show him how I used to put him next to me to sleep when he was a tiny baby. Last night, I laid down with him, squashing up against his sturdy preschooler body to keep from falling out of his twin bed, and I said, “How can you be almost five years old? How are you not a baby any more?”

“Oh, Mama,” he said, “I will ALWAYS be the baby.” And I covered him in kisses, because that’s what Mamas do with babies.

July 12, 2007

the half life of chaos

Wade: I’m going to Borders. And then a strip bar.

Me: This is because I never showered today, isn’t it?

Wade: Maybe.

I didn’t get dressed today until nearly noon. I sorted laundry, and then left it in piles on the bedroom floor. I made a meatloaf that spent an hour in a 350 degree oven and was STILL not done. And I never showered.

Today was chaotic, in a slow, peaceful way. If that’s possible.

One of Wade’s favorite moments from The Simpsons is when someone (I forget who) accuses Homer of doing a half-assed job, and Homer replies, very insulted, “But I used my WHOLE ASS.” That’s the kind of day I had; no matter how hard I tried, nothing got done. But I swear I was using my whole ass.

Last night, I dreamt that I gained 140 pounds. I don’t know why it was 140, but I know what the dream was about: I have a long list of deadlines, each of which is manageable by itself but which have gotten piled together into a gigantic extra weight that is hanging around my waist. Or is that my hips? Hmmm. Apparently my looming deadlines weigh 140 pounds.

Yesterday I read about how Chris hates board games, and I giggled because board games are FUN! And then this morning, when the boys wanted to play Clue at 6:45 am, I thought my god she’s RIGHT. But because I don’t learn, I bought them a Monopoly game and introduced them to the wonderful world of capitalism, which they spent dinner time explaining to Wade.

Charlie: And there’s a spot where you have to go to jail, and you can only get out with a special card.

Me: Or you can pay a fine.

Charlie: Right. Or have the special card.

Me: Henry wound up with a Get Out of Jail Free card.

Henry: Yes, and I think that the next time someone is in jail, I will give it to them.

Me: Well, you can SELL it to them.

Henry: OR I could GIVE it to them.

Wade: Ah, altruism.

Me: Yeah, too bad the game is about CAPITALISM.

At 4:00, we decided to go to the pool (Henry: Okay, let’s have sunscreen. Me: Nah, it’s late, we don’t need it.) which turned out to be inexplicably closed (good thing, because NO SUNSCREEN). Henry thinks the pool staff have decided to take Thursdays off, in addition to Mondays. I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, but I can understand how it could happen, because sometimes even when you’re using your whole ass, it’s not enough.