Friday, January 16, 2009

Early this week I had a dream that after just a week and a half back to school they were letting the kids out for another winter break. We have not been out of the house since Wednesday. There is no school on Monday. It is somewhat unsettling when your dreams come to fruition. Even the good ones.

It has been so cold these past two days that I simply did not see the value of dragging Mac to school only to have to return for him, painfully, at the end of the day. So we stayed home. Where it is so warm I am sweating.

Yesterday we tried a day of home schooling. Both boys did countless workbook pages, Mac studied his spelling words, completed a word search of the same, engaged in imaginative play using playfoam with Sailor… Sailor practiced his teeny tiny violin. Mac read a Magic Treehouse book in its entirety in 90 minutes Wednesday night and both boys listened while I read them a book from the school library, also in its entirety. It was a successful day for them. And for me. I put all the summer photos in albums, updated our website, sent a slew of emails, and pasted Sailor’s birthday photos into an album.

This morning I am up a few minutes late and making breakfast when my mother calls to tell me it’s 10 below zero outside. We have another day of home schooling. This one includes more violin, more workbook, a states game that bores us all, planting of seeds, and story reading. I consult a friend, a real home schooler, and she praises my efforts. It’s not all about the kitchen table, she assures me.

Monday, January 19, 2009

“Mac, did you put your snowpants on?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I didn’t, too.”
“I didn’t ‘either’.”
“I said I dindn’t”



Late in the day Mac falls off a dining room chair for no apparent reason; meanwhile Sailor is at the bottom of the stairwell shouting thru the mail slot. I don’t know who is out there, if anyone. It is unlikely that there are any people walking the streets in this cold weather. We are waiting for friends to arrive. Sailor is in dire need of a nap that I was hoping sleep would overtake him while I was reading one of the latest Ramona books. I think the big bowl of popcorn was a distraction, however. That and his inability to locate Jango Fett.
Meanwhile, I receive an email survey that asks me to describe my life is a series of single words. A difficult task for a writer, but an interesting challenge.

My boys await the arrival of the tiny girl twins with fun, old fashioned names. They went to school today. At dinner time Sailor’s tiny 3 ½-year-old friend will come for pizza with his mom. I am ready for her arrival, as it will be accompanied by wine.

After my boys sulked gravely after asking to watch a movie at 9:00 on Tuesday night, their television privileges were revoked until February. Which has made these past two days not only extremely productive for us all, but also very long. At 5 minutes after noon, Mac inquired: Is it still morning? Finally it is no longer morning. Afternoon goes faster than afternoon, tho the boys ask regularly if school is over yet. It’s a long day. But the house is picked up and the floors are vacuumed and the bathroom is wiped down as is the kitchen. The garbage is out, Mac’s clothes are put away, my bed is made.

The phone rings. Mac heads for it. But then just stands there watching it ring. “Answer it. Or give it to me!” He hands me the phone and shrugs. “It’s some medical thing.” The twins’ mom is a doctor.

Mac hovers near. He smells sweaty. I am about to send him in for a quick shower before the girls’ arrival, but then I remember he has already showered today. It is hard having a smelly 7-year-old. It’s going to be a long road through adolescence.

The twins arrive. They are tiny, like 7-year-olds are meant to be. Not like my smelly 7-year-old who is coming closer and closer to reaching my full height and will surely overtake me in a matter of a few short years.

They tell me all about the way their mom woke them early and then forgot to make them a lunch and then threw together some snacks and then one twin had to go with her friend (also our friend) who has CF to get her enzymes and so she only had 5 minutes to eat… all in response to my inquiry as to whether or not they were hungry for a snack. I prepare apples, oranges, carrots, organic bunny crackers, and 100% juice boxes.

In the dining room I set to a project of cutting out puzzle pieces printed on cardstock. From the playroom I hear a conversation that leads around to my children’s father.
He doesn’t live here, Mac tells his friends.
Why not? They want to know.
“Because he’s gay!” Sailor is overtired and overwired.
“What’s gay?” one of the girls ask. I wait to hear what my boys answer will be this time.
“It means you’re not part of the family anymore,” Sailor says.
Mac adds, “It means you’re not supposed to marry a girl. He was born with it. He grew up with it.” As an afterthought Mac adds, “He’s also Jewish.”
“When Mac was little,” Sailor tells the girls, “and he comed home every day, he used to yell at him.”
“He was a harassing dad,” Mac explains.

A moment or two later one of the girls asks Mac what he is eating.
“Carrots.”
“Do you like carrots?”
“Yeah,” Mac answers.
“Cool.”

When the girls get bored they find me in the dining room and learn all about scholarships. And our ancestors, the dead ones, Mac says. All the while Mac is bored and looking at the floor closely. “When are these floor boards going to fit together?!” he asks in an exasperated, attention-getting voice.

“You have a Barbie in there,” one girl tells me.
“A Barbie?”She points to my collectors item Sandy from Grease Barbie, still in its original packaging.
“You got her in Greece?”
“No, it’s a movie.”


Saturday, January 17, 2009
Sailor comes in with a Chinese hat on his head. Attached to the hat is a long braid. “Mommy, is this real hair?”
“No.”
“Goose hair?”
“No.”
“Sheep hair?”
“No, synthetic hair.”
“See Mac,” he calls to his brother as he exits the room, “It’s not real hair.”