At the top of the stairs there lives an easel that I change daily as a reminder to the kids of what they are responsible for or to leave them notes each day.
Each morning they are greeted with a list of items like "flush" and "make your bed." Why on earth I'm still reminding my sleepy five year old to flush, I'm not sure.
My bossy daughter decided to erase my rules recently and had some weekend reminders of her own. One for "moorning" and one for "aftrnon."
It all started after Christmas. BoyChild had a friend over and they were playing upstairs in the playroom. I was downstairs starting dinner when he ran downstairs, grabbed the January edition of Vanity Fair with Kate Winslet on the cover and headed upstairs.
- Hey hey hey. Where are you going with my magazine?
- Nowhere. Upstairs.
- Why are you taking my magazine?
- No reason. I just like magazines.
- You have ten minutes of playtime yet. Start cleaning up the mess up there and then y'all get in the car so I can take him home. Leave the magazine down here.
I wasn't sure what to make of it at first. I had already looked through it and I knew there were some rather provocative shots of Ms. Winslet in there that revealed her ass (really lovely, shots in the vein of Belle du Jour, actually), but was that what he was going to show his friend? Maybe they just needed a magazine for some other project they were doing. The kids were always cutting up magazines. That was probably it. I'm sure he was just looking for pictures of cars.
But to be sure, a few days later, I found myself alone with him and I picked up the magazine.
- So, hey, is this the magazine you wanted to look at the other day?
- I don't know, maybe.
- Was there something specific in it that you were interested in?
- Nah (waaay too nonchalantly). I just like magazines.
- Yeah, me too. Do you want to look at this magazine with me?
- Ok, sure.
So we sit there flipping through the pages and we talk about photography and lighting and advertising. I get to the spread of Kate and explain that it's set up to look like a famous movie and that lots of people are involved in picking the furniture and the setting up lights. Blah blah blah. "Oh, and this one is kind of silly because you can see her bottom." He laughs a little. And I go on to explain how lots of photographers and artists like to draw or paint or photograph the human body because it's so beautiful. And he agrees and listens and that's that.
Fast forward to a few weeks later and Drew and I are downstairs listening to an argument brewing upstairs between the kids.
- No! She can't be naked if she's going to be the princess. If you're going to play Barbies with me you have to play right.
-Well I don't want to play Barbies with you unless she is naked.
I listen on the stairs for a while then head up there.
- Hey guys. What are y'all playing?
- (He quickly shoves the naked Barbie under the table.) Nothing
I send his sister downstairs and we have a little chat.
- So, it sounded like you were very interested in the Barbie being naked.
- No I wasn't.
- It's okay if you were. Everyone is curious about what people look like naked.
- Really?
- Sure. I was and so was your dad. Everyone is curious about that.
- Ok.
- Do you have any questions about it?
- Uh...no.
- Well, first of all you know that real women don't really look like a Barbie doll, right? (I resist the urge to go into what I really want to here. One thing at a time) But when girls grow up they get breasts and their bodies change just like boys' bodies change. You remember what breasts are for, right?
- For feeding babies?
- Right! Exactly.
- Then why do you still have them?
- Uh, well, that's a good question. I mean, they don't just disappear. And women who don't have babies have them even though they might never feed a baby with them. And some women have babies and feed their children with a bottle. They're kind of just there in case.
- Ok.
- Do you have any other questions?
- No.
- You know you can ask me anything, don't you?
- Uh huh.
It was at that point that I realized he was so completely embarassed that I stopped. After telling him how normal he was like 32 times and asking him a few times why he was suddenly so interested in all this, I let it go. My first thought was total fear, like, who's been talking to him? Has something happened that I'm not aware of? And then I sort of got that this is how it goes. We aren't quite to SEX yet, but we are right on that cusp.
I got him a book geared for kids with the very basic facts of life. All in kiddie illustrations. Nothing too weird or sexual. Just kind of a funny and normal take on things and I read it with him. He seemed completely disinterested and I set it on the dryer to return to B&N. Then a few weeks ago, I found it had moved to his room. I didn't say a word, just cleaned off his nightstand and left it there.
He just turned seven. I was really not expecting this sort of thing so early. I mean, he's very mature in most ways. I know, I know, I sound like a mom. But he is a weird kid in his social maturity. A friend of ours ate with him in the cafeteria the other day and said he's someone she'd love to just take to lunch and talk to. While her kid is picking his nose and giggling, mine is saying things like, "So, Ryan, I was wondering...what would you like to be when you grow up?" The combination of his interest and his social skills concern me a great deal. There's no stopping it now.
Any mother worthy of having children knows what it takes to get her children in 'the zone.' For mine, it has always been music. Since birth, my kids have responded to music. No matter what crazed mood they are in, I have been able to snap them into calm with the right song.
GirlChild's latest favorite song is one I started singing to her at bedtime a few weeks ago. Within days, she had the entire thing memorized. I can't get her to remember to rinse her toothpaste out of the sink, but she can mostly sing a song back to me after hearing it once or twice. I love her intonations and strange southern accent as she earnestly sings it into her squash microphone.
I also included the real version by Alison Krauss in case this isn't in your repertoire and you'd like to hear the treatment of it by a grown woman instead of the four year old's version.
My favorite thing GirlChild says these days is her use of the word "Lovin'," which I sort of started using in kind of a funny way. But, since she's four, she thinks it's really a word we use.
It goes like this-
1. I get home and she runs to me (usually in an elaborate outfit that involves her swimsuit, some tights, a head band, and some high heels) and pulls my hand to the couch telling me to sit down and hold her because she "needs some Lovin'."
2. She trips and falls in the garage getting out of the car (this was last night) and is bawling. I pick her up and carry her inside and hold her silently until she calms down.
-All better now?
-Yes. Lovin' made me better.
And she hops down off my lap.
3. Bedtime-She has been tucked in and kissed and sang to and I am downstairs watching TV or cleaning up the kitchen and I can hear her yelling from her room, "Mommy! I need some more Lovin'!"
4. I see her in Mommy Pretend Mode, playing with her baby dolls.
-Whatcha doing, Sweetie?
-Oh, just Lovin'. I loved Her and Her and now I'm Lovin' Her.
Ever have one of these days?
For my dear pregnant friend who now gets to sleep in on Sundays and snuggle and have lots of fun sex and go to breakfast and then come home and nap...As you're watching this keep in mind the four (five?) glasses of wine I drank the night before:
I'm going to return to my list of Misc. any day now. For now, consider this a commercial break, so to speak, of GirlChild "Doing Mommy's hair" while Daddy videotapes it for posterity. Both kids are fresh out of the shower and looking for a way to fill up the few hours before dinnertime.
I love how she speaks in my voice, telling me I have yogurt in my hair (which is what she hears me tell her constantly), telling me to look up, saying she's sorry when she slices my scalp with the comb.
In the end, it was the Mommy-on-the-camera (as opposed to the real Mommy in front of her) I think she was most interested in.
I hate being “That Mom.” I didn’t like those broads before I had kids, and they still make me crazy. But I’m beginning to get it.
I think it started with the diagnosis of BoyChild’s peanut allergy when he was three years old. Suddenly I had to deflect all danger from this kid in a way I had not dealt with before. Instead of just worrying he would fall down the stairs or choke on his peaches, I had to find some way to control his food intake when everyone we came into contact with wanted to feed my kid. I‘ve said this before, but he is an EATER.
We had a lock on the pantry for 2 years not to protect him from allergens, for we had long ago disposed of anything suspect, but because he would sit down and eat 5 slices of bread in one sitting. He would spoon Ovaltine into his chubby little mouth. And on more than one occasion, I have found him elbow deep in the mayo. His Grammy says he is a joy to cook for.
So, everyone who shows up brings some li’l sumpin sumpin for him, and I have to be the mean Food Police, the big ole downer to say, “I’m sorry, but those fresh baked cookies that you just brought over might kill him.”
The part that irked me most of all is that I’m just not that person with my kids. I don’t answer questions for them. I don’t do anything for them that I’m pretty sure they could take on. On a day-to-day basis, I’m much meaner to my kids than that. There are no special dinners just because you don’t like what we’re eating (oh wait, that never happens). I limit all options and expect them to deal with it.
School began last week. We all woke up and got dressed and walked BoyChild to the bus stop. We took some pictures and waved “goodbye” And so began the week of letters to and from his teacher. The first day, we had dropped off all his school supplies including snacks galore. At snack time, she wouldn’t allow him to eat anything because she was freaked out about the allergies. He’s a pretty easy-going kid, so no drama ensued, but still…I bought the snacks. So, I wrote a nice little note explaining he could eat those. By the time she wrote me back, on Wednesday, she said those snacks were gone because the other kids ate them and could I bring in some more? Okaaay. I wrote back and said, “Sure!”
All week, he would come home and say he was bored. “All they do is baby stuff.” Getting him up in the morning was a struggle. He was hating it. And that was unlike him. When he complained that he didn’t have time to finish his lunch, I told him he should talk less and eat more. When he complained that he has to use the bathroom only at the bathroom time when the whole class goes, I told him that that’s the way they do it there and his body will adjust (but ask your teacher to go if you can’t hold it.)
Then on Friday, he brought home his work for the week and it was sad. He had a folder of the most basic work, recognizing colors and “find all the squares on the page” kind of crap. He’s a bright kid, sure. But he’s almost six. We’re a little past “can you find the blue triangle” stage. His report for the week said he was having trouble paying attention. Another telling sign for me.
Like any mother, I know my kid. He can be a real pain in my ass and he can be bratty and impossible. But a few things are givens with him. He is socially adaptable in most every situation. He is eager and ready for anything. He thrives if he is engaged even a little. He can sit and concentrate for long periods of time. And he loves school. He craves it. He loves the kids, he loves the activities, he loves the teachers. That’s never been an issue.
All I could think about was the Montessori principle of capitalizing on a child’s inherent desire to learn. Children learn to hate school because of their experiences. Hating school is not inevitable. But this is how it goes…kids are bored, not challenged or not getting the help they need. They are not connected, not engaged, and everything is geared to the group instead of the individual child. If we didn’t get this right, and soon, he would be lost.
So, I sent a very nice letter to his teacher asking if we could find a time to talk about the kindergarten curriculum and what our options are in terms of something more advanced. I explained that there will be discipline issues if he’s bored and tried not to make it sound personal at all.
Later that day, the school principal called me to discuss it.
So, on Monday, the principal walked BoyChild to his new classroom with his new teacher (certified in Gifted curriculum). He will be assessed this week and the class will be broken into groups according to abilities then each group will be taught accordingly. He will also be going to a 1st grade class for part of the day for reading and math. But he gets to hang with his li’l buddies for Art and PE and all the fun stuff.
A few hours later, his new teacher called me to introduce herself and ask me personally what the deal is with his allergy. I was delighted. She also loves next door to my Boot Camp trainer. It is destiny, I tell you.
Yesterday, BoyChild bought his lunch for the first time. When I asked him about what he ate, he said he had some chicken nuggets and some peaches. “There was some cake thing but it didn’t have ingredients on it so Ms. Phillips said I shouldn’t eat it.”
“She walked with you through the lunch line?”
“Yep. She helped me get all my food and asked the lunch lady about all the foods.”
I heart Ms. Phillips. This is why she was Teacher of the Year last year. He is in good hands. Guess that means I should let go a bit, huh?
Sunday morning was our first Fish Funeral and yet another reminder that we should not be pet owners right now.
When BoyChild turned three, we tried this fish thing. Everyone was excited to have our first family pet, but "Goldie" bit it within 2 days (and right before Christmas). BoyChild took it like a champ and I thought maybe we just got a dud fish.
I realize now that we are just fish killers of the worst kind.
A few weeks ago, we dragged the fish tank out yet again and got all the gear hooked up. We have the little fake plants and the rocks and the little rock tunnel thing for our new pal to swim through. We used purified water and even allowed it to reach room temperature. Then we headed to the pet store to get not one, but two fish. They could be friends, hang out together in the tank and all that. Not for long. GirlChild's fish was hovering motionless near the bottom within days.
MikeFish (named by BoyChild) hung on until Sunday morning. I guess he saw no reason to go on after his love had gone. Even the rock tunnel was not enough motivation.
We avoided mention of his female counterpart, always feigning confusion when no one could find her. But Sunday morning, when faced with the option to scoop out dead Mike and just keep feeding the empty tank or telling them the truth, I figured we'd go for a little life lesson. I had, after all, explained childbirth the night before with little consequence, so surely he could handle this.
He took it like a man, I tell you. GirlChild preferred to watch WonderPets rather than be involved in this life lesson. After reassuring him that it wasn't his fault, we packed up MikeFish in an empty chewing gum box and buried him the backyard per BoyChild's request.
When asked if he'd like to say anything special, BoyChild responded, "Mike, you were a good fish, but I guess it was time to die. Amen."
I have washed out the fish tank and am now considering selling it on Ebay.
Scenes from the Zoo on Saturday:
click on any picture to view larger
At exactly 2:23 a.m. BoyChild stood next to my side of the bed, hand over his ear, screaming that it hurt. So, I got out of bed and dosed him with some ibuprofen and some ear drops and managed to get him settled. Then I reset my alarm clock to wake up an hour later, aware that I'd be spending the morning at the pediatrician's office rather than stuck in commuter traffic.
As expected, he had an ear infection. Make that two. Two ear infections. One in each ear. It's always a nice touch when the doctor looks in there and says, "Oh, wow! That's not good!" Like, okay, just take my heart out of my chest and stomp all over it because I'm a shitty mother for somehow not telepathically being so in tune to my son's health that I could know, with no symptoms or signs that his little ears were all infected.
Anyway, he gave us the obligatory antibiotic prescription and I dropped the kids at school since he wasn't infectious and seemed fine. Guilt guilt guilt ensues. I should be home with him. He had no fever. Was in no pain. But if I were still a SAHM, I would have kept him home.
So, after work I went to pick up his prescriptions (4 of them!) and as it turns out, the drug store didn't have the stuff he needed. Three drug stores later, I finally came across a Pharmacist who could do some math and change the dosage on 100 mg stuff to make it seem like the 200mg stuff that was prescribed. So, he takes 2 tsp a day instead of one. Of course this took an hour to accomplish as I'm driving to each place in my sweaty and rain-soaked boot camp gear freezing my ass off in the air conditioning.
So, I finally get home at like 9pm and find Drew reading to the kids in GirlChild's room biding his time until I show up with meds and pullups for GirlChild's sleep/pee fest. I load up the little plastic mouth syringe thing they give you at CVS and dose the boy. GirlChild immediately starts in...
My mouth hurts. I'm sick. I need some medicine, too!
No, Sweetie. You aren't sick. Dr. Anderson looked in your ears and they are fine. This is just for your brother. We don't take medicine if we're not sick, remember?
Huge tears. Wide open mouth crying. "But I waaaant medicine!!!!"
She ended up settling for a chewable vitamin which probably only perpetuates the problem. God, they are like a couple of junkies when it comes to medicine. They make that stuff so sweet now, that anytime I break out the grape-flavored Tylenol, my children start jumping and squealing with delight. "More! More! Can I have some more!?"
Having had the opposite experience of having to pry BoyChild's mouth open to get some medicine in him, I suppose this alternative is preferable, but it is a bit disconcerting to watch your children beg for the meds and make up illnesses to get it.
