Mac spent all day home yesterday complaining of a stomach ache that seemed to come and go. Or perhaps was never even there to begin with. He wakes fine today.
Sailor, on the other hand, does not want me to get out of bed and leave him. “I had a bad dream,” he tells me. He recounts the dream in surprising detail and I reassure him that I am here now and he is safe. I ask him to get dressed in his warm comfy clothes and he tells me he would rather stay in his warm comfy pajamas. At breakfast he complains that his mouth hurts. “Your throat?” I ask. Through cereal I see a swollen spotted tonsil that is no doubt strep throat. I call the pediatrician and say I think my little boy has strep. I am told there are no available appointments today and so the doctor will call me later. I repeat that I think he has strep and say that a phone call is not going to do him any good, he needs to see a doctor. My mind is already alternating between options: go to the ER or back to the old pediatrician who never didn’t have an available appointment to see a sick child. I only call the doc for 5% of all that goes wrong with my kids. The other 95% I take care of on my own, so when I call it's cuz I really mean it.
Wea re given an 11am appointment at which I spend $20 to be told what I already know: Sailor has strep.
Then I drop $100 on a new vacuum cleaner.
And my car is rattling. Seems like everything is falling apart today.
I expect Mac to wake up sick tomorrow morning.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Sailor: "Mom, thanks for the pirates back. I’m really enjoying them."
Sunday, November 9, 2008
We have a big party to celebrate our candidate’s fabulous election to the white house. I drink as much champagne as I can but don’t even catch a buzz (and I don’t like champagne by the way). Mac, on the other hand, is accused of being drunk. From the 2 sips of champagne I allow him and his brother. I don’t think so.
Monday , November 10, 2008
What are we doing today? Sailor keeps asking me. He knows his Judo class starts today and wants to know how many things he has to get thru before his late afternoon class. Not as many as originally planned, as the shoe store I planned to be at when they opened at 9am does not have the boots I want for the boys. And the dinner plans we made last week fell thru. Nonetheless, we still have to grocery shop, go to the library, gymnastics, have lunch and playtime with friends we haven’t seen in over a year, and then go to Judo.
On the walk over, an elderly Asian man is having trouble mounting the curb. I stop the stroller and he accepts my offer of help.
“Wow, Mom, you really are a doctor,” Mac says as we walk away. “I think being a doctor really is in our blood.”
Sailor is a natural at Judo. I watch him. He is intent and serious and handles himself with skill and grace. His partner is a boy of about 10. Mac on the other hand as usual cannot stop giggling. He laughs at everything and giggles thru the entire session. He has too much energy. I think he needs to just run track. Both boys get to borrow the uniform shirt, called gee. They ask about the different colored belts. Sailor surmises that white is the training color, yellow is the trainer and black is the master. Smart kid.
November 11, 2008
Today is Veterinarians Day, according to Mac, and so we have a day off. We go to lunch with my dad at Ed Debevic's. Kids declare it is ok to eat the fries becuz "it's a special weekend today." I can't believe there is NOTHING healthy on their menu. I don't miss that place at all. And I haven't eaten fries since Memorial Day.
We spend the morning shopping for boots. It is getting very cold already and I know we will need them sooner than not. Not a fun spending of the money. Now we are on round 2 of trying to build the 1300+ piece Lego MTT (StarWars thing). This is not a project to start at 4:30 on a Tuesday afternoon!
At dinner – pbj, apples and carrots, becuz I have a stomach ache from eating French fries – Sailor is in some sort of manic mood. He is very funny, but annoying too. He is shooting rapid-fire questions at us that are so fluent one would think he were possessed of some sort of disorder. “Why do you have hair in your nose Mommy? I don’t’ have hair in my nose. I have buggers.”
Sailor wants to know if today was a Judo day. “Will it be Judo day when I wake up?” Oh how I wish they could go to Judo every afternoon. They were so great yesterday I want to see them excel at this sport! This one seems so much more valuable than some of the others they have taken. “Why is Judo Chinese?” Mac wanted to know yesterday. I wanted to tell him that if he could have stopped giggling for single moment he would have heard that it is Japanese. Did I mention, the Sensei is kinda cute. And apparently single.
Sailor: "Mom, thanks for the pirates back. I’m really enjoying them."
Sunday, November 9, 2008
We have a big party to celebrate our candidate’s fabulous election to the white house. I drink as much champagne as I can but don’t even catch a buzz (and I don’t like champagne by the way). Mac, on the other hand, is accused of being drunk. From the 2 sips of champagne I allow him and his brother. I don’t think so.
Monday , November 10, 2008
What are we doing today? Sailor keeps asking me. He knows his Judo class starts today and wants to know how many things he has to get thru before his late afternoon class. Not as many as originally planned, as the shoe store I planned to be at when they opened at 9am does not have the boots I want for the boys. And the dinner plans we made last week fell thru. Nonetheless, we still have to grocery shop, go to the library, gymnastics, have lunch and playtime with friends we haven’t seen in over a year, and then go to Judo.
On the walk over, an elderly Asian man is having trouble mounting the curb. I stop the stroller and he accepts my offer of help.
“Wow, Mom, you really are a doctor,” Mac says as we walk away. “I think being a doctor really is in our blood.”
Sailor is a natural at Judo. I watch him. He is intent and serious and handles himself with skill and grace. His partner is a boy of about 10. Mac on the other hand as usual cannot stop giggling. He laughs at everything and giggles thru the entire session. He has too much energy. I think he needs to just run track. Both boys get to borrow the uniform shirt, called gee. They ask about the different colored belts. Sailor surmises that white is the training color, yellow is the trainer and black is the master. Smart kid.
November 11, 2008
Today is Veterinarians Day, according to Mac, and so we have a day off. We go to lunch with my dad at Ed Debevic's. Kids declare it is ok to eat the fries becuz "it's a special weekend today." I can't believe there is NOTHING healthy on their menu. I don't miss that place at all. And I haven't eaten fries since Memorial Day.
We spend the morning shopping for boots. It is getting very cold already and I know we will need them sooner than not. Not a fun spending of the money. Now we are on round 2 of trying to build the 1300+ piece Lego MTT (StarWars thing). This is not a project to start at 4:30 on a Tuesday afternoon!
At dinner – pbj, apples and carrots, becuz I have a stomach ache from eating French fries – Sailor is in some sort of manic mood. He is very funny, but annoying too. He is shooting rapid-fire questions at us that are so fluent one would think he were possessed of some sort of disorder. “Why do you have hair in your nose Mommy? I don’t’ have hair in my nose. I have buggers.”
Sailor wants to know if today was a Judo day. “Will it be Judo day when I wake up?” Oh how I wish they could go to Judo every afternoon. They were so great yesterday I want to see them excel at this sport! This one seems so much more valuable than some of the others they have taken. “Why is Judo Chinese?” Mac wanted to know yesterday. I wanted to tell him that if he could have stopped giggling for single moment he would have heard that it is Japanese. Did I mention, the Sensei is kinda cute. And apparently single.
November 4, 2008 Election Day.
“It’s Election Day, Mom!” Mac wakes me when the alarm rings early. He might as well be waking me with, “Merry Christmas,” his excitement is so earnest. The day – the entire day – is charged with an electricity, an energy … a calm. Election day. The day it will be decided whether we will have another 4 years of the same or if we will finally be able to show the world that the people of America are not stupid!
My boys and I wear our shirts: “A Vote Today ROCKS Tomorrow!” Mac asks me, “What will we do if we don’t win?” I don’t have a good answer for him. I don’t know what we will do.
At school many of Mac’s friends tell me they voted with their moms this morning. Math Genius Boy shows me his mom’s voting receipt. “Look! Here’s my recipe!”
I wait all day, til school is over, to vote. Mac wants to come along. To be part of history. Sailor does, too. I can barely resist walking over to the polling place. But I wait. I want to share this experience with my children.
Dinner is served in the living room so we can begin watching the hours of tv coverage. I am a wreck. We are not going to win. We can’t. Something will happen. It just can’t be… How am I going to sit here for 4 to 5 miore hours?!?!?
Both boys have fallen asleep on the sofa when the news comes quietly on the television screen: Barack Obama has been elected president of the United States of America. I cover my mouth to silence the longest scream of my life. Tears streak down my cheeks. I am in shock. I can’t believe it happened. WE WON!!!! Our country is about to change, to unite, to be freed from the bonds of a man who should never have stolen his way into the leadership seat in the first place. Change! It is here. We won!
Mac is too tired to be awakened. Even when a boy from his French class is on tv. I don’t even try to wake Sailor. There will be champagne tomorrow – “That drink you said, that I have never had,” Sailor said earlier today.
I couldn’t sleep last night, I was so nervous about Election day. I doubt I will sleep well tonight, either, from the excitement!
How will we celebrate tomorrow? I wish we had Victory t-shirts! The tv commentators are flagging – with relief I assume. They have been thru a stressful night, with the rest of us. My father, my children’s GrandDad, recognizes the strength of this night, “I never thought I would see this in my life time.” He will live to see the first Black man in the White House. And it only took me 40 years to understand the magnitude of the power of one person – to understand the importance, the right, the privilege to vote! I voted with pride today.
America – Yes we can!
November 5, 2008
I am so tired! I am in the shower trying to wake up.
Sailor comes in, “Hi, Mommy.”
“Hi, Sailor.”
“What are going do today?”
“We have a playdate with Braden.”
“Where are we going to put it?”
“At the art studio.”
“Ahhh.”
The world is a different place today. “I felt like I was 6 inches taller this morning,” said one man. It is a sunny, warm day. There is not a single newspaper to be had from any newsstand. There is a feeling of hope. A feeling of quiet jubilation. A feeling that maybe everything will turn out alright after all.
Except my kids are fighting and Sailor is crying becuz Mac just hurt him. Must do damage control. Some things never change.
Week 8
I realize I should not be measuring our school years in weeks. It’s like a countdown to summer – well it actually is a countdown to summer – but it’s 40 out of 52 weeks! That is too much to count down. It is more than ¾ of the entire year. I have to stop. I have to get over this whole school thing. Even Mac is happy to go to school. Likes school even. And I don’t mind him going. I just wish I had more time to spend with him, to figure him out, to be happy with him, to find the baby in him that he once was and whom I had exclusively.
I am loving my days with Sailor. Most of the time, anyway. He is funny and happy and helpful. Most of the time, anyway. He is still prone to little tantrums and in fact had several today during which he stormed off to his room for things that didn’t seem all that worthy of such drama – a popped balloon, Mac wanting to do a puzzle on his own…. He is still a moody child, but for the most part I am really having a great time with him.
It is Monday night. A busy day, as usual, with no time to slow down for anything from drop-off to pick-up.
Sailor amazes me by agreeing without fuss to walk to pick up Mac after school. It’s raining and his stroller was not covered before the shower began. So he dons green froggy rain boots and matching rain coat, which we realize is too small. I put on boots and grab Mac’s firefighter red raincoat and matching “barilla” (as Sailor calls it). Sailor holds his pirate barilla overhead and I hold Mac’s above my own head. And it is not the first time that it strikes me: I am walking down the street using my little boy’s umbrella and I don’t care. I actually prefer this smaller, lightweight version to the adult model, which always seems a bit clumsy and awkward. Perhaps too large for my small frame. The thought crosses my mind that I should buy myself a little girls’ umbrella, maybe a lady bug one or a flowery thing. Hello Kitty, maybe. But, I realize, it would be impossible to get away with using this. Using my little boys’ umbrellas is ok, because I have little boys. Using a little girl umbrella would point big fingers nasty to my growing insanity as a mother.
At school we fight to find Mac. It is never easy to find or be found through the ever present sea of multicolored umbrellas. Dipping low and holding umbrellas high we try to sneak in close. When Mac emerges with his usual smile and comes forward for his usual hug he turns down his rain coat. “I’m fine now,” and so he is, as he has on gloves, a hood and his puffy vest. “I found this in the bottom of my locker,” he tells me. I wonder how long it has been there. It’s not as if his locker is some sort of abyss.
“How many days til Mac’s Halloween party?” Sailor asks me this afternoon. Good, an opportunity to do a lesson on the days of the week and math. See, this home school thing is working just fine. I put up one finger for each day remaining before Friday. He does the math and then figures out the subtraction for how many days left after we take away each day. When he gets to the last day, he says, “And then the party day!” Later at night he shows Mac what he knows: he holds up his pinky finger and tells his brother, “This day is your party!” No context, just this information. I hug him and tell him how nice it was to be with him today.
Last night we were talking about an illness called cystic fibrosis, which a few good friends have. Sailor says it this way, “Six four five Brosis,” sending me to the computer to email said friends and pass along what is sure to be a good laugh. “What is it really?” he always wants to know when he catches us snickering at something he says. I am always loathe to correct him.
They are asleep now. I should be too. But what I really want to do is spirit them off in the night. To somewhere new. Mac wants a bigger house, “like all my friends.” I am uncertain which friends he is talking about but the majority of the friends who come to mind live in house not much bigger and sometimes even smaller than our house. It makes me wonder why he thinks a bigger house would be better. It makes me sad that he feels this way at 7, and at the public school no less. I thought we would avoid this until he was older, or forever because I wasn’t even able to get him into the fancy private school down the street where the children live in houses whose elaborate kitchens are bigger than our whole place. I thought I would avoid the unpleasantness of this shortcoming simply because he is a boy and I didn’t think he would ever notice enough to care. I can’t fix everything he wants me to fix. Not on my own anyway. I can’t get him a bigger house. I can’t get him a baby sister. I can’t get him a new dad. I can try but I can’t make promises and I can’t give him his heart’s desire on a platter. Even tho I would if I could and I know he deserves it. But I do so much for him already. I guess “so much” is just not enuf. Love is not enuf. It never is….
I am loving my days with Sailor. Most of the time, anyway. He is funny and happy and helpful. Most of the time, anyway. He is still prone to little tantrums and in fact had several today during which he stormed off to his room for things that didn’t seem all that worthy of such drama – a popped balloon, Mac wanting to do a puzzle on his own…. He is still a moody child, but for the most part I am really having a great time with him.
It is Monday night. A busy day, as usual, with no time to slow down for anything from drop-off to pick-up.
Sailor amazes me by agreeing without fuss to walk to pick up Mac after school. It’s raining and his stroller was not covered before the shower began. So he dons green froggy rain boots and matching rain coat, which we realize is too small. I put on boots and grab Mac’s firefighter red raincoat and matching “barilla” (as Sailor calls it). Sailor holds his pirate barilla overhead and I hold Mac’s above my own head. And it is not the first time that it strikes me: I am walking down the street using my little boy’s umbrella and I don’t care. I actually prefer this smaller, lightweight version to the adult model, which always seems a bit clumsy and awkward. Perhaps too large for my small frame. The thought crosses my mind that I should buy myself a little girls’ umbrella, maybe a lady bug one or a flowery thing. Hello Kitty, maybe. But, I realize, it would be impossible to get away with using this. Using my little boys’ umbrellas is ok, because I have little boys. Using a little girl umbrella would point big fingers nasty to my growing insanity as a mother.
At school we fight to find Mac. It is never easy to find or be found through the ever present sea of multicolored umbrellas. Dipping low and holding umbrellas high we try to sneak in close. When Mac emerges with his usual smile and comes forward for his usual hug he turns down his rain coat. “I’m fine now,” and so he is, as he has on gloves, a hood and his puffy vest. “I found this in the bottom of my locker,” he tells me. I wonder how long it has been there. It’s not as if his locker is some sort of abyss.
“How many days til Mac’s Halloween party?” Sailor asks me this afternoon. Good, an opportunity to do a lesson on the days of the week and math. See, this home school thing is working just fine. I put up one finger for each day remaining before Friday. He does the math and then figures out the subtraction for how many days left after we take away each day. When he gets to the last day, he says, “And then the party day!” Later at night he shows Mac what he knows: he holds up his pinky finger and tells his brother, “This day is your party!” No context, just this information. I hug him and tell him how nice it was to be with him today.
Last night we were talking about an illness called cystic fibrosis, which a few good friends have. Sailor says it this way, “Six four five Brosis,” sending me to the computer to email said friends and pass along what is sure to be a good laugh. “What is it really?” he always wants to know when he catches us snickering at something he says. I am always loathe to correct him.
They are asleep now. I should be too. But what I really want to do is spirit them off in the night. To somewhere new. Mac wants a bigger house, “like all my friends.” I am uncertain which friends he is talking about but the majority of the friends who come to mind live in house not much bigger and sometimes even smaller than our house. It makes me wonder why he thinks a bigger house would be better. It makes me sad that he feels this way at 7, and at the public school no less. I thought we would avoid this until he was older, or forever because I wasn’t even able to get him into the fancy private school down the street where the children live in houses whose elaborate kitchens are bigger than our whole place. I thought I would avoid the unpleasantness of this shortcoming simply because he is a boy and I didn’t think he would ever notice enough to care. I can’t fix everything he wants me to fix. Not on my own anyway. I can’t get him a bigger house. I can’t get him a baby sister. I can’t get him a new dad. I can try but I can’t make promises and I can’t give him his heart’s desire on a platter. Even tho I would if I could and I know he deserves it. But I do so much for him already. I guess “so much” is just not enuf. Love is not enuf. It never is….
Week 7 – Happy Columbus Day
Sunday I ask the boys what they would like to do tomorrow on our day off.
“Go somewhere we haven’t been before,” Mac says.
“Like where?” I ask.
“Africa?” Sailor suggests.
It is late and I am up not-watching a movie on my laptop ad I ponder all that I have done today while also pondering why it is that is seems people around me feel I am not pulling my weight or something absurd like this. If I were to list all that I do in a 12 hour, I’m sorry, in a typical 17-hour day, I would put you all to sleep, as well as myself. Somewhere between the simultaneous breakfasts and lunches and KP duty and laundry folding, checkbook balancing, playground trip, phone call returning, credit card inquiring, floor mopping and hand scrubbing, dinner preparation, bathroom cleaning… it goes on and on and yet, the outside demands continue to mount and I am loath to tell anyone “no”…
Monday night we are lying in bed reading one of Beverly Cleary’s Ramona (or as Sailor calls them, RE-mona) books. There is reference made to a paste pot. “What is that?” Mac asks. I do my best to describe paste and the little pot it came in, comparing it a little bit to a glue stick.
“Is it still real now?” he asks.
In fact I have no idea whether or not paste still exists but I can still remember how paste smells.
“Cuz I think I have seen a waste pot,” Mac continues.
“A paste pot,” I correct.
Tuesday morning I am in the shower and Sailor is naked and awaiting his turn under the spray. “Mommy, why does my dingle hopper stick out?”
“It wants to play.”
“How do I make it go back down? I keep pushing on it but it won’t go back down.”
“You have to leave it alone and it will get tired and go down.”
I get out of the shower and Sailor gets in.
“Mommy does water make it go down?”
“Um… cold water does, I think.”
“Well my water is not cold but my peeper went down.”
“It’s tired.”
“Maybe it got bored. Mommy, you know when my peeper sticks out it stretches.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Why does it stretch?”
“So it can play.”
“How does it play?”
I quickly think back to Sailor’s confession of last week and realize that this is a child who, if given too much information, will want to experiment with such info. I chose my words carefully, knowing that this is not the time to be “tell-it-like-it-is honest mom.”
“Well it’s kind of a grown up thing. It plays with girls…” I let my voice trail off.
“Mommy? Are you going help me wash my hair?”
“Yes, sweety, I will.”
Whew! That was a close one!
It’s brisk out this morning. It feels wonderful to me. Cool but not bitterly cold yet. Mac is not warm enuf in his raincoat tho so I offer to swing by on my way to Sailor’s soccer class and bring him a hoodie. I sign into school and enter the office. I hold out Mac’s hoodie to the office secretary. I expect she will take this clothing item from me and deliver it to Mac before recess. “Oh, his class is down in the auditorium. You can just take it to him.” I nearly fall over in shock. No pass to walk the halls. No lecture about how we can’t go into the school and disrupt the classroom teachers. No threats or warnings. What the heck is going on here?! Have I passed some sort of initiation test? Is the principal letting up on his lock down? Are the office ladies getting lazy? I say simply, “Ok, thank you,” and head to the auditorium, Sailor in tow, and search the big room to quietly deliver Mac’s sweatshirt. This school is really something.
Wednesday
This morning Sailor is eating string cheese. “Why do they call this strip cheese?”
Sailor has been sent to his room to find pajamas. “These are a number 5!”
When he puts them on the cuffs are a little short.
“Look! Wrists! I see wrists.” He goes back to look for a size 6.
“Go somewhere we haven’t been before,” Mac says.
“Like where?” I ask.
“Africa?” Sailor suggests.
It is late and I am up not-watching a movie on my laptop ad I ponder all that I have done today while also pondering why it is that is seems people around me feel I am not pulling my weight or something absurd like this. If I were to list all that I do in a 12 hour, I’m sorry, in a typical 17-hour day, I would put you all to sleep, as well as myself. Somewhere between the simultaneous breakfasts and lunches and KP duty and laundry folding, checkbook balancing, playground trip, phone call returning, credit card inquiring, floor mopping and hand scrubbing, dinner preparation, bathroom cleaning… it goes on and on and yet, the outside demands continue to mount and I am loath to tell anyone “no”…
Monday night we are lying in bed reading one of Beverly Cleary’s Ramona (or as Sailor calls them, RE-mona) books. There is reference made to a paste pot. “What is that?” Mac asks. I do my best to describe paste and the little pot it came in, comparing it a little bit to a glue stick.
“Is it still real now?” he asks.
In fact I have no idea whether or not paste still exists but I can still remember how paste smells.
“Cuz I think I have seen a waste pot,” Mac continues.
“A paste pot,” I correct.
Tuesday morning I am in the shower and Sailor is naked and awaiting his turn under the spray. “Mommy, why does my dingle hopper stick out?”
“It wants to play.”
“How do I make it go back down? I keep pushing on it but it won’t go back down.”
“You have to leave it alone and it will get tired and go down.”
I get out of the shower and Sailor gets in.
“Mommy does water make it go down?”
“Um… cold water does, I think.”
“Well my water is not cold but my peeper went down.”
“It’s tired.”
“Maybe it got bored. Mommy, you know when my peeper sticks out it stretches.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Why does it stretch?”
“So it can play.”
“How does it play?”
I quickly think back to Sailor’s confession of last week and realize that this is a child who, if given too much information, will want to experiment with such info. I chose my words carefully, knowing that this is not the time to be “tell-it-like-it-is honest mom.”
“Well it’s kind of a grown up thing. It plays with girls…” I let my voice trail off.
“Mommy? Are you going help me wash my hair?”
“Yes, sweety, I will.”
Whew! That was a close one!
It’s brisk out this morning. It feels wonderful to me. Cool but not bitterly cold yet. Mac is not warm enuf in his raincoat tho so I offer to swing by on my way to Sailor’s soccer class and bring him a hoodie. I sign into school and enter the office. I hold out Mac’s hoodie to the office secretary. I expect she will take this clothing item from me and deliver it to Mac before recess. “Oh, his class is down in the auditorium. You can just take it to him.” I nearly fall over in shock. No pass to walk the halls. No lecture about how we can’t go into the school and disrupt the classroom teachers. No threats or warnings. What the heck is going on here?! Have I passed some sort of initiation test? Is the principal letting up on his lock down? Are the office ladies getting lazy? I say simply, “Ok, thank you,” and head to the auditorium, Sailor in tow, and search the big room to quietly deliver Mac’s sweatshirt. This school is really something.
Wednesday
This morning Sailor is eating string cheese. “Why do they call this strip cheese?”
Sailor has been sent to his room to find pajamas. “These are a number 5!”
When he puts them on the cuffs are a little short.
“Look! Wrists! I see wrists.” He goes back to look for a size 6.
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