Week 3 – Happy 5th Birthday, Sailor!

The rain has ceased. Finally. While we did not flood here, I was stuck on the expressway on Saturday and was forced to – literally -- turn my car around on the northbound lanes and head back south and exit off the on ramp. Needless to say I never made it to my destination on Saturday. But I did work almost all weekend. Except for the quick trip to Pottery Barn Kids to meet the StarWars characters.

Saturday morning I tell the boys to put on their fave StarWars costumes. They choose, instead of their store bought costumes, to make their own. Mac wears a pair of brown cords and a dark grey waffle weave shirt, black gloves and his requisite rain boots (it hasn’t stopped raining since Friday morning). He is Anakin Skywalker. Sailor puts on a tiny double breasted suit. He is Luke. They just look like kids in weird clothes. I don’t tell them where we are going. We stand in line for about 30 minutes only to have both children become either star struck or terrified, I am not sure which. Mac lets me take one photo of him with Luke, Anakin and Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have mine taken with Darth Vader. And then we leave. At which point Sailor bursts into tears. “That was not fun! It was not what I expected!” So much for great surprises.

Monday morning I am tired from being away from the boys so much of the weekend. And from staying up readying the house so that I can decorate tonight for Sailor’s birthday tomorrow. And from IMing with the best friend of a guy I like. So when the alarm rings and Mac says, “I was up sneezing all night and my stomach hurts and I don’t think I can go to school today,” I shut off the alarm and tell him to go back to sleep. When we finally get up at 20 after 8:00 I call him in sick. I know he is not sick. But my plan is to take Sailor up to the ‘burbs for his birthday photo today and I can’t take the risk that Mac will have the school call me to come get him again like last Monday.

Sailor is a gorgeous child. People have commented on him. But when he takes photos he does not let himself go and so he does not photograph all that well. So I have some trouble choosing which photos to order.

We spend the day shopping and getting ready for tomorrow and relishing Sailor’s last day of 4-ness (a term we coined two years ago when he had his last day of 2-ness!). I am not sure I am ready to have my younger child be 5 years old. I still think of Mac as 5 and in kindergarten. But it’s going to be Sailor now. I don’t think he is big enuf to be 5. He still has tantrums. Still naps. Still wants “uppy.” Still rides in the stroller. Yet he can tie his shoes. Shower. Swim. Write.

No, I am not ready for my baby boy to be 5. It seems so many, many years ago that he was born. And yet I can’t believe 5 whole years have just about passed. I remember so much about the day he was born. Mac was so little. Just 2. But seemed so big. And now I don’t even know how we got to where we are right now. And in some ways it frightens me. I am so glad Sailor is not in kindergarten now. My beautiful boy. Mac had a major change in personality when he was 5. Sailor asked me what he would be like when he is 5, how he would be different. He also showed me how big he thinks he will be when he wakes up and is 5. “What if I don’t sleep at all during the sleeping time?” he wants to know, in anticipation of the decorations I will put up while he sleeps.

At the mall today, after the photos, it gets cold. I buy the boys pants. And Sailor a pair of socks to put on under his fisherman sandals. He holds the pants up by the legs to keep them from getting dirty on the ground. Silly boy. Silly sleepy boy who loves to be carried and hugged. When he wakes he will be 5! Half a decade! And now SuperMommy must sleep.

Tuesday
Mac wakes Sailor on his birthday… We proceed immediately to the small pile of gifts on the dining room table, which Sailor is quite pleased with. Mostly toys. A DVD. A couple of shirts. And then I direct him to search the living room (the “Liver-room” as he calls it. “What is it posue-ta-be?” he asks when I ask him how he says "living room") all the while I am continuously reminding Mac that this is Sailor’s birthday.

It’s a nice day with great weather. We pick up his favorite friend on our way home and drive to the indoor inflatable place only to find not only no place to park but a “Closed” sign on the door. It is 9:30 a.m., nothing is open except Old Navy and the art store and I have two highly disappointed 5-year-olds in the backseat of my car. We have been planning this morning’s events for no fewer than 4 months. I am heartsick for the boys and wishing that I had followed my gut instinct to call ahead (I did check the website!). I drive to the Nature Museum after a quick call that tells me they are already open. We don’t have much time so we play quickly in the water area and the tree house slide area and then pet a box turtle named Harrison and look at tarantulas and walking stick insects and Sailor’s friend gives Sailor a “what the hell?” look when Sailor answers correctly my questions about camouflage. We pick up the boy’s mother and head to the Rainforest Café. When Mac was 4 we went there for dinner and he was terrified. Sailor, too young to remember, saw the big red eyed tree frog (which he identified by name) back in May and asked to go for lunch. Today is the day. It takes us forever to walk to our table as we are all in awe of the sites inside this restaurant. We are seated next to two elephants that trumpet and snort and wink and flail their trunks at us throughout the meal. It is not a relaxed meal as I attempt to engage in meaningful conversation with the boy’s mom and not ignore Sailor, the birthday boy. We have to get back for the boy to be on time for preschool but I really have to stop to pee. No sooner are we a block away from the restaurant and my friend is saying, “I don’t see you car! Did they tow it?” sending me into an unpleasant déjà vu from last summer that Sailor announces, “I hafgo potty.” I toss the keys at my friend and continue down the block to an unexpectedly fancy restaurant whose hostesses both inside and out direct us right to the bathroom without waiting for us to finish asking for it. The bathroom has deep old fashioned sinks and powdered borax soap. Our friends are waiting a block away in our car, already late for junior kindergarten. And Sailor’s poopies are stuck. My phone rings. My father on the other end can’t hear what I am saying. He hangs up and calls me back. I am in a bathroom in a fancy restaurant telling my dad yes, buy me milk at the grocery store.

Sailor falls asleep on the way to the toy store and I let him doze while I phone chat with my college best friend. Inside the store we choose 5 toys to narrow down to one good choice. Sailor wants to buy something for Mac, too. Perhaps this is a ploy to get another toy for himself. But how can you deny such generosity, and on his own birthday no less?!

Sailor takes no more than 2 bites of the birthday dinner he has so carefully planned and shopped for: Macker cheese, broccoli, corn, watermelon and rootbeer. Instead of eating he jumps back and forth between the sofa and the big chair while rest of us eat. All I can say about his racetrack cake, ala Speed Racer, is this: Scooter, $35; decorations, $25; birthday dinner, $80. Getting two little plastic cars on top of your birthday cake and mommy letting you play with them in you piece of cake, priceless! “Did you taste your cake?” we ask him. “Yes, from my fingers.” He is covered in cake and delights us all by licking the cake off the cars as if they were ribs or chicken.

I let the boys stay up way too late because is it, after all, Sailor’s only 5th birthday and so we will be tired in the morning and I will remind the boys that they chose to stay up and play and they will understand.

And we are going along and going along and on Wednesday it all comes tumbling down. Permission slips for the first 2nd grade field trip are in folders this afternoon. My new school ally, the only mom I talk to regularly this year so far, says flat out, “My daughter’s not going.” It’s a walking field trip so I don’t have to worry about the bus issue. Yet. And it’s neighborhood and not on a day Sailor has a class. So I can chaperone. I fill out the form. I write in the volunteer spot that I would like to be considered as a chaperone. I do not mention that if I am not chosen to accompany Mac’s class that Mac will not be going. I will save this big X on my reputation for a later date. No point causing myself trouble before I have to, which is what I did last year. No, no point. I will wait until it comes up. Meanwhile I am still going to stay silent. But I feel the stress in my chest and wonder why I can’t just be like the other moms. And why, when I try to be, I am given a hard time about it anyway. No point trying to do what others expect of me. Might as well just do what I feel is right. Whatever that is. Even if it feels weird overall.

By week’s end it feels as if we have been back to school for months. I knew this would happen and I am pretty bummed about it. We are in a routine that is backbreaking and yet we follow along without question. Mac has his first spelling test back with a perfect score, including extra credit words. This week’s words are somewhat more difficult but still reasonable although he is expected to spell beautiful and consulting as his bonus words. It is no easy task to teach this boy to spell. But on his sentence sheet he writes “My mom is beautiful.” What a good boy I have.

Early in the week a set of 2nd graders was moved into Mac’s class to make room in their original classroom for the overflow of 1st graders, thereby creating a 1st/2nd split class. I am very glad that Mac is not part of the split class and I am happy with the children who have joined his class. Top of the list is Isabella, whose mom is the only mom I have spent any truly significant time with this year. Her little brother is rapidly becoming one of Sailor’s playmates, as we moms linger after the bell rings almost every morning now. Isabella is a tiny girl with dark hair and porcelain skin. And the attitude and self-possession of a girl 10 years older, in a good way. Mac asked me last weekend if I could guess who his new girlfriend is. I guessed Isabella right away and was pleased when he said I was correct. Mac has not had a girlfriend since he broke up with his fiancée, Anika, a couple of years ago. I am glad he has picked such a really nice girl. Between her mother’s overprotectiveness and mine we are in good shape!

Thursday morning I dress up for no reason. I have a long black tank dress that has lingered in my closet for at least 10 years. I pair it with a black high heeled sandals and some nice jewelry and voila! Hot mom. I have to go into the school office for a quick moment. I stop at the security table to sign in. The security guard asks me if I am going to a fancy luncheon. No, I tell him, I just felt like dressing up. He comments something along the lines of, “Well I appreciate it. Thank you.” I wonder which part of the dress he likes the most. I guess after all these years the dress, which clings to every part mercilessly, is still wearable, at least on a “skinny” day. I am flattered by the guard’s attentions. But by day’s end my feet are killing me. Who am I kidding. By the time I walk home from dropping off Mac my feet are killing me!

Later when Sailor falls asleep in the car on the way to finding a parking space to pick up Mac I am in deep trouble. There is no possibility that I can carry him the 3 blocks from the space I finally find. I wake him and he cries. Poor thing. But I simply cannot carry him and walk in these shoes. Which yes, I am still wearing! Who am I kidding? I simply cannot walk in these shoes!

Thursday after French class Mac and Sailor’s teacher, Elisabeth, tells me that Alec is distracting Mac in class. I am not surprised tho usually the troublemaker is Mac, and Sailor is the well-behaved child. Elisabeth thinks Mac may be bored because he is “very advanced” she tells me. I love this bit of info. Mac has been taking French on and off for nearly 5 years. I have undoubtedly spent thousands of dollars on these classes. He is now getting three days a week 45 minutes each at school. I should expect him to be advanced by now, if not at least somewhat conversational. Hurray for Mac!

Sailor finds an acquaintance named Christina in soccer this morning. He knows her from art class and I went to college with her mom (tho we were not friends then). He tells me after class that “Christina is fun to play with.” I am so pleased that Sailor is making some new friends. With no school group to help this along it does my heart good to see that he is indeed making friends in the other settings I am exposing him to.

At Whole Foods Sailor finds a cake that looks like it has a spider web on it. "Look, a Spider Man cake, Mommy!" So yes, I order him one. We have never ordered a birthday cake before. And as this is the go-all-out-for-Sailor’s-birthday year, how can I say no? It is a sweet indulgence. $20. Saves me having to bake, frost and decorate cupcakes! So I don't mind. I am tired. We spent the afternoon setting up for Sailor's party at the art studio so we don’t have to rush over the weekend.

Friday after school we have a playdate with Mac’s 1st grade nemesis. He says they are getting along this year and they want to play. While we wait outside school for the boy’s mom to finish a chat with a teacher, Mrs. S, the demon 1st grade teacher from last year, marches right up to Mac and his friend. “Hello 2nd graders,” she chimes. I want to puke. “What did we learn about how to treat trees? Is this a young tree or an old tree?” she asks, grasping the trunk of the young tree the boys have been clamoring around and attempts to shake it. “What did we learn last year? How do we treat the tree? We don’t climb on it.” She shakes and shakes the tree. Not that it moves an inch. It is strong and well rooted. I am unclear as to her motive. She does not address me. I keep my eyes turned toward the boys and then turn them away and stare into the crowd. Mrs. S. persists. Does she want me to acknowledge her? I will not. Tho I want to. I want to tell her that I will discipline my own children thank you very much. I ignore her and she eventually, after a painfully long display, turns and walks away. I hate her very presence and wish I had the nerve to tell her to stay away from my child.

The boys – my two, and this boy and his little brother – are rowdy and noisy and aggressive and … this mom and I are none too pleased. Mac wets his pants and I refuse to let him change. But give in to a dry pair of the other boy’s underwear, which I have to ask the boy 4 times for. I don’t want him to be wet all over the house. But I also want him to take more responsibility and pee when he needs to! I mean, who doesn’t have to pee when they get home from school? Every one of his friends has immediately asked for the bathroom upon arrival after school at our house. Perhaps I need to enforce the pee-first-thing-after-school rule to get him into the habit as when we were growing up. So I let him change his unders but not his pants, which were also wet. I drape them over the stroller to dry and let him suffer the humiliation of running around in his shirt and no pants. And suffer he does. It pains me a great deal to watch his tantrum, which I assure him is far more embarrassing than his lack of pants.

We opt for a sleepover in the living room for Friday night movie night. Pizza. The Bee Movie. Sleeping bags. It’s fun and the kids think it is a great idea. By 6:30 I want to go to sleep. Wish tomorrow were a rain day. Could use a day on the couch with endless DVDs, but not when it is suddenly unseasonably warm out agian!! I miss the beach!

Mid-movie Sailor decides to show off his newest skill. With a great deal of gusto and talent Sailor demonstrates his ability to “arm fart.” Yep, I am so proud of my little boy. He can tie his shoes, swim and arm fart.

“You have to cuff your arm like this,” he instructs me, cupping his hand under his armpit. He is cracking me up!

Sailor loses his enthusiasm when it is time to go to sleep but falls asleep with his hand under my shirt as he is wont to do.

And another long and tedious school week is over.