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.