Obviously I didn’t willingly sit back and let things happen, but not being able to talk my way out of my speeding ticket or express my EXTREME displeasure at yet another extension for the kicked-out kid at daycare turned out to be a fine way of being forced to learn something.  My tendency to obsess over and constantly talk about whatever happened to me really just prolongs the agony and annoyance.  It’s now been over a week since I lost my voice and I still can’t talk normally.  Trying to “save” the voice I have left forces me to choose my words carefully, to be discretionary when yelling at the kids, and to think about whether some things really need to be said at all.

With that in mind, the 24-hour change in Alex is remarkable now that this other child is no longer at daycare.  A bully since he was old enough to walk, this boy kept the other kids constantly on the lookout for sneaky pushes and pokes, and delivered Emily Kate’s first and only smack to the face when she was only 10 months old.  When he wasn’t picking at the other kids, he was screaming his head off about something or other, refusing to follow directions and loudly expressing displeasure over everything he was asked to do.  I know this not only from observation, but because my kids started to bring it home over the last few months, reacting as if I’d told them I was going to chop off a toe when I would offer a snack they didn’t like.

I realized last night how much the situation was wearing on me, on all of us, when I thought back to those mornings when I couldn’t wait to get back to my car and away from this child.  Just 10 minutes with him was a horrible way to start my morning, and here I was dropping off my kids to spend the next 8 hours with him.  Then they would come home defensive and cranky and I would wonder why, and even worse get mad at them for behavior that was pretty much inevitable given what they were exposed to all day. 

Last night and this morning, Alex in particular was a different child – sweet, helpful, polite, playful.  It’s as if he understands that the situation is finally remedied and he doesn’t have to be defensive anymore.  He nicely told me he didn’t like his dinner and wasn’t going to eat it, rather than whining and getting angry.  He gave happy hugs goodbye this morning and at lunch Miss S texted me to tell me what a great day he was having, participating in lessons and songs when often he is withdrawn and quiet.

I feel so incredibly lucky today that a situation I had a hand in causing (by referring the parents there in the first place) is finally done.  I’m not living in a dream world, I know my kids will still act out and act up and argue, and that’s fine.  Because rather than coming from a place of defensiveness, it’s learning and exploring who they are within boundaries set by discipline and rules that will eventually make them productive members of our family and society.

(The speeding ticket parallel is not lost on me with that last statement by the way.  But I would still like to point out that everyone around me was going as fast or faster, and the radar was definitely faulty, and I couldn’t see the sign because trees were in the way.  Ahem. )

What I can remember is that for the second week this month, (I mean last month) I spent the better part of a week in bed, sicker than I’ve ever been. Well except for two weeks ago when I had the worst stomach flu I’ve ever had.  This time I had the worst sinus infection I’ve ever had, with so much pressure in my face I’m surprised it didn’t puff up like a blowfish before exploding.  I finally gave in to the headaches and succumbed to fever on Sunday, when I decided I was still going to be stubborn and refuse to go to the doctor until Monday since I knew I’d just get antibiotics except on Sunday they would cost me $60 more because I’d have to co-pay at a clinic instead of my doc.

Today was the first day I’ve felt less like death and well enough to discover I’ve apparently developed some sort of weird intolerance for amox!cillian since I had it the last time.  I had to actually get dressed and go to the office to give a brief, and lo and behold on the way there discovered that not only am I dizzy and spacy but that I ITCH.  EVERYWHERE.  And am also having inappropriate emotional responses…like crying because Trader Joe’s carries all natural jelly beans.  I’m sucking it up for now because I’m guessing another antibiotic won’t be any better and I’m almost half done anyway.  And the brief?  Let’s just say not the best one I’ve ever given.  Mainly because I made the poor decision while I was still spaced out to not bring any water in with me and my mouth got so dry I might as well have stuffed a slice of bread in there.

Last night, Brett and I were snorting our way through Modern Family when Alex started crying a weird, sad little cry that warranted immediate response, as this was no Mommy-I-dropped-my-book kind of cry.  I came upstairs after first responder Brett ominously yelled down the stairs, “Honey, you better come up here!” to find Alex sitting up in bed with a sleep sack hanging off his face and immediately fell down laughing. That was before I realized that he hadn’t gotten his lip stuck in the zipper, but that he’d actually gotten the zipper pull stuck between his teeth.

I sent Brett downstairs for bolt cutters and he, wisely, came back with a flashlight.  Strapping on his engineering boots, he calculated the precise angle and insertion point and was able to maneuver it back out with a minimum of pain.  As opposed to my method which was to give a little tug and be moderately surprised when it didn’t pop loose.  After administering some cold water and a gentle admonishment not to chew on zippers anymore, we snuck back downstairs and proceeded to laugh ourselves silly for about ten more minutes.

In other Alex news, he ate a cheeseburger for dinner tonight.  This HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE, as indicated by the all-caps-headline-nature of the post title.  He also cleaned his plate of sweet potato fries, oranges, asked for yogurt and a cheese stick; and also a cookie.    Yay for all the comments telling me kids go through eating phases!  And also, umm…yay growth spurt?  Here I was thinking that last year’s shorts might actually work for another season instead of looking like Daisy Dukes.

Anyway, it occurred to me Thursday afternoon that I should buy a few things just in case we got a few inches and I couldn’t do the regular Saturday shopping.  As is my way, I kind of meandered around Trader Joe’s throwing things I thought were necessary into my cart.

Things I bought:

• milk (a nice addition to the unopened gallon already in the fridge)
• eggs (ditto for the dozen already there)
• a pork tenderloin (no I don’t know why either)

Things I DID NOT buy that I totally should have if I were seriously planning to not go anywhere for the next 3 days:

• COFFEE ( We are out OUT of everything but decaf and may not survive another day in the house without)
• butter (necessary for everything from pancakes to cookie baking to mashed potatoes)
• salt and pepper (again, necessary for everything)
• mandarin oranges (one of the only guaranteed kids will eat it foods)

So that said, for once we actually got the worst case scenario. In fact, our street is now a solid sheet of 3 inch thick ice.  Total we got about 8 inches of snow topped with ice topped with more snow.

Day 1…waking up to white

You know it’s a good time when your pants are totally snow covered…

The snowman may not have a head but he does have a hat…

Shoveling…

Helping build the snowman…

This year was the first year that Alex was old enough to really GET the whole trick or treating thing.  We’ve spent the past few weeks reading him Halloween books and talking about going trick or treating. 

Me:  Alex, when you go trick or treating you get to ring the doorbell (I lived to rue this little bit of wisdom…)
Alex:  ?
Me:  And then when the person answers, what do you say?
Alex (singsongs):  HEEEEYYLLooooo!
Me: Yes, you say hello and then you say trick or treat!
Alex: ?
Me: And then you’ll get a piece of candy, and then say thank you.
Alex: WOOOWW!
Me:  But you have to wear your costume.
Alex:  NNNOOOO! No wanna wear a costume!

(Lessons learned for future discussions about Halloween - do not say anything about ringing the doorbell, stress that you have to OPEN your treat bag and let the person drop the candy in, you cannot pet people’s dogs that are inside the house, and you must say thank you then LEAVE.)

It was just like I remembered trick or treating, except it was 70 degrees and I was sweating trying to wrangle the kids and keep them from straying onto lawns and into the street.  I shouldn’t complain – poor Alex was melting inside of his 100% polyester beaver that I got on clearance last year. 

This is the only picture of him wearing the hood.  The hood was up for approximately 10.5 cumulative seconds.

From Halloween 2009

Emily Kate…

From Halloween 2009

Too late I remembered that I was going to try and get her to wear glasses, like the little Blind Melon girl. 

Ah well.  Probably for the best.

From Halloween 2009

We went trick or treating with a friend and her son who is 4, and also loves to ring doorbells.  Her and I spent the evening laughing as we choked out instructions from the sidewalk.

From Halloween 2009

“Only ring once!  NO ONCE!  THAT’S ENOUGH STOP RINGING THE DOORBELL!”

“OK, now say thank you!  NO TAKE YOUR HAND OUT OF THE BOWL! SAY THANK YOU!  NO MORE!  SAY GOODBYE!!”

Alex refused to put candy in his bag and instead clutched it in his fist until he couldn’t hold anymore.  At some point during the night, we lost the bumblebee headband with the deelyboppers and I was so devastated you would have thought I lost my wallet.  Yes, I did make Brett go look for them, and no he didn’t find them.

From Halloween 2009

And….we’re spent.

Today I would like to re-affirm my belief that there is very little useful information on television and state that parents who take their kids to Chuck E Cheese are morons. 

Maybe I should have been paying better attention, because now that my kids have been EXPOSED to H one n1, I cannot find answers to any of the questions that are racing through my brain.

For example, can I take a blunt object to parents who send thier kids to daycare sick?  (Recall my trauma from the summer also known as the BIGGEST MISTAKE I’VE MADE SO FAR…and yeah.  It’s them.  Of course it’s them, who else would it be?)

And once we’re exposed, is there like, a morning after pill or something that we can use to head it off?  And if not, why the hell not?

Why can’t my kid get tested for it before a fever develops?  Wouldn’t it be better to start treating it early, instead of sitting around waiting for him to get sicker and sicer then turn blue?

Why do we have to have the flu 4 days before Alex’s birthday, when not only did we score much coveted tickets to see the Imagination Movers live in concert which were NOT CHEAP, but we have grandparents visiting and plans to go to the pumpkin farm and bake a fancy cake all of which will not be the same if we have to do it another weekend?

Dang it, Doctor Lady on the Today show who’s name I can’t ever remember – DON’T TELL ME TO WASH MY FREAKING HANDS - IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT!

Emily Kate and I so far are doing just fine.  I think because she had a flu version at the end of August, and I had the same miserable-ness Labor Day weekend.  If that was it, it sucked.  And if it wasn’t it, well then that is really unfair.  Poor Alex though, is just…gooey.  Drippy sneezes, icky coughs, stuffy nose…

But seriously, time is a wastin’ here – it is 48 hours to the Movers concert, 62 hours to grandparent arrival and 3 days to birthday.  Not to mention that work is so busy right now that I’m close to panic attack mode most days and CANNOT FATHOM how I will take off the time required to nurse a sick kid back to health, which is leading to all kinds of fun fights with Brett over whose job is more important.

When I picked up Emily Kate today I was discussing with Miss S how kids who go to a small daycare with only 3 other kids get exposed to this flu and the conversation went something like this:

me: I wonder where he would have picked it up?  I can see if he was at regular school or daycare at the gym or something but…

her: I think they take him to…whispers… Chuck E Cheese (shudders)!

me: Wow they are even bigger morons than I thought.

So yeah.  We’re sitting around.  Waiting.

I spent the summer reading parenting books and researching chemical sensitivities and food allergies – anything to find an explanation for behavior that I was sure couldn’t possibly be normal, because otherwise no one in their right mind would voluntarily sign up for this.  I cut out any food with artificial colors or flavors, started buying more organic, and behavior-wise tried following the “1-2-3 Magic” method. 

After a rough couple weeks, in which the response to everything I said was, “No, YOU say please” or No YOU stop banging” or No Don’t WANNA go live with gypsies!” Alex has come out nicely on the other side and has reached new heights of big kid-dom.  Yesterday for the first time ever, he tried a kiwi and lo and behold decided it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and proceeded to eat three of them.  Since it was green and that makes it one step away from a vegetable I kept peeling and slicing until all the kiwi was gone.

There hasn’t been one big thing, but it feels 180 degrees away from where we were a month ago, when everything led to a meltdown, when I tread lightly because just saying “no” to watching a TV program could lead to a 45-minute screamfest complete with tears and hysterics, until he would finally collapse exhausted on the floor. 

His language has always been a little behind other kids his age, and when we had him evaluated they didn’t think it was that he couldn’t talk, he just wasn’t inclined to do so.  Now for the first time, he’s starting to use complete sentences and verbalize original thoughts, instead of parrotting back whatever we tell him.  He has a shyness that I recognize, because that was and still is sometimes me…it’s a shyness that comes off as cold or disinterested but isn’t really, it’s just a way of handling a crowd of unknown people or an uncertainty about how to react in certain situations.

In fact, the very things that frustrate me about Alex are usually the same traits I share.  He will do a time-out for 45 minutes because he refuses to apologize.  He will do something specifically because he is told not to, he panics at any daycare other than his regular daily place, he will hang back rather than join the other kids at gym class.  He gets irrationally pissed off when his daily routine is disrupted – one day a few months ago, he refused to eat his lunch because Miss S forgot to ask him to get out cups for the other kids, which he does every day without fail.

In many ways he is the sweetest, most helpful child – eager to please, hopeful, and funny – quieter than his sister. but more observant.  I constantly wonder if I’m being too hard on him, or if I’m fairly dividing my time and attention between the two of them.  Usually Alex answers for me – if my attention is too long on Emily Kate I’ll hear him say, “Hi Mommy!” which is a sure sign he’s doing something he shouldn’t be, like standing on a chair or playing with my work laptop or trying to pour his own glass of juice.

He is just a few weeks shy of three.  Amazing.

From 2009_09_13

From 2009_09_13

Given that when you’re at the water park everyone is literally letting it all hang out, it’s better than TV.  Tattoos, piercings, scars, branding (you know where you burn yourself and make a disgusting scar shaped like your favorite frat or something equally stupid), ridiculously painful looking sunburns - you name it, it’s somewhere walking around the Water Park. 

I did not know that they made string bikinis to fit woman that top 300 lbs, did you? 

I had an little brush with skin cancer earlier this year, so I spent most of the time not actually in the water outfitted in hat, rash guard, towel around my legs, hiding in the shade.  For the record, when dry, rash guards are the best thing ever to happen to post partum, semi-soft bellies. 

When wet, they suck.  Drippy and heavy, they are hot and will plaster themselves to you so that anything other than a six pack looks like a sackful of puppies under your shirt. 

I have always been a water baby and a sun worshipper.  It kills me to have to cover up, instead of soak it up but I do, mainly because I don’t get tan anymore I just get freckles.  Ugh. 

Last week when we were there, I spent a good 5 minutes laughing at Emily Kate practicing her squats in the water.  Until she fell down, and a cloud of brown poofed up around her out her swim diaper.  She wasn’t actually practicing squats.  That right there is reason number one why you leave as soon as the chlorinated water isn’t sparkling anymore.  It happens around 2pm on hot summer days.

Alex’s favorite thing to do is stand directly underneath a waterfall and let the water pound down on his head.  Ironic, seeing as how he flips out at the mere mention of a shower at home.  He’s big enough to go on many of the adult rides and always laughs his head off during the ride, but then when it’s over informs me, “I no liked that!” 

On the kiddie rides, he somehow always manages to get the lifeguard to laugh which is amazing considering how many kids pass by them every day.  Like the time when he tried to climb into the raft and was so excited he tumbled in head first and exclaimed, “Whoops!”  Finally righting himself, he settled in and proclaimed, “Ready!”

Sodas and sunburns, the smell of chlorine, splashing, floating, yanking the kids up by the trunks when they fall face first into the water.

The last weekend of the summer is here.  How did that happen?

I look in the mirror some days and notice a few wrinkes, but for the most part the greasy skin I was cursed with as a teenager has resulted in reasonably decent skin now.  I see pictures of friends and family much younger than me and am shocked by how many more wrinkles they have.

With 34 a few months away I look at that number and wonder how it could be my age.  My brain still thinks I’m 23, except with lower alcohol tolerance and a requirement for at least 8 hours of sleep a night, with a requirement to be asleep before 11 or the whole night doesn’t count and I’m as tired and cranky as an 11-year-old after a sleepover.

The point is, I’m not really sure what 33 looks like but I think I’m probably on the “looking younger than my age” side of it.  That all changed last weekend when we came home with this:

(That is not my lake by the way, but it is the twin to my new Toyota Sienna.)

Brett and I have been wrestling for months over getting a minivan, because we both wanted one but neither of us wanted to drive it everyday and listen to all the soccer mom cracks and be that person all the SUVs look down upon.  In yet another sign of my aging psyche, I finally caved when a guy I worked with offered to buy my Pathfinder. 

(And in another cruel twist of fate, prospective buyer went AWOL for a week – the same week we bought the van – and came back to inform me that he had purchased a pickup truck instead.)

So we bought the van, and got one with the navigation system which it turns out I hate more than life itself and wish I could rip out of the car, so I keep it turned off which is a huge waste of a couple grand.  I’ve been struggling with the middle-class guilt over buying a new car, when I had a perfectly FINE car that transported us where we wanted to go and had everything I needed, except of course power sliding doors and a DVD system.

I insisted on being difficult and getting it in BLACK, because I am still bad ass on the inside you see, and to get a BLACK one we had to go all the way to DC and that kind of screwed us because we don’t get free oil changes or maintenance unless I drive 150 miles every time I need one. 

(It was handy when I was turning down the add-ons because I was able to say, “Oh sorry I don’t live here so that isn’t a benefit I’ll ever use…”)

Anyway, even if I haven’t been able to fully enjoy the new car, Alex is totally enthralled with it, inside and out.  I can bribe him to do things by offering to let him push the button on the remote to open the doors.  When the hatch closes by itself, beeping on the way down, he says, “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!” and squeals in delight.  He loves, LOVES LOOOVES to ride in Mommysnewcar.  Even when Brett is driving, it’s still known as Mommysnewcar.  All this excitement, and we haven’t even busted out the DVD player yet.  That will happen Friday when we embark on our annual summer adventure known as the Great Northern Tour, when we make the rounds of family and picnics and birthday parties and reunions and every night the kids baths wash off pink lipstick and old lady perfume.

The Sienna and I have yet to bond, partly because it’s a new car that I didn’t truly need and partly because I am still not fully accepting of myself as a minivan driver.  It reminds me that life isn’t all about me like it was 10 years ago.

I find myself behind the wheel of a large automobile, with a beautiful house, and beautiful kids
and I may ask myself, well-how did I get here?

I’m really not sure.  But nobody is mistaking me for 23.

(P. S.  The title of this post is a tribute to my friend Emily, who long ago did the same thing and coined the phrase.)

You have friends that you will drop because of the way they parent.

At first it’s sub-concious, maybe you aren’t even sure why you turn down invites to get together.  Or why you dread spending time with them, with or without thier kids.  Then you slowly start to realize it’s because you do one thing, and they do another.  It makes no sense whatsoever to me to observe someone yell at a child for hitting, then spank them as punishment.  I cannot comprehend a parent who has a child that continues misbehaving but will not remove them from the situation, thus making everyone else miserable.  Nor can I understand someone who is off work for the summer leaving a child in daycare all day every day.  Those people are the ones you slowly lose touch with because it becomes more of an effort than a joy to spend time with them and understand their motives.

Back before I knew this, a couple we knew asked us for a daycare recommendation.  We weren’t good friends but didn’t have any issues with them per se, and we were thrilled to share what a great person we had found.

If there is one thing in the past three years I could take back, it would be sharing the name of our daycare provider.  Because for the last 15 months, that couple’s baby (who is now two) has bullied, smacked, bit, disrupted, and generally harrassed and hassled my kids and the other kids in daycare.  He tackles them, pinches, does things specifically to make other kids cry.  Which should be no surprise because he’s exactly like his dad, who reminds me of a 30-year old frat boy.

This morning that kid smacked Emily Kate, who was just sitting there smiling at him like she smiles at everyone and I have not stopped crying since.  The look on her face has haunted me all day, her innocent belief that everyone she meets will smile at her and love her was destroyed.  Something we all need to learn eventually, but not before our first goddamn birthday.

I knew it was coming.  Why should she be any different?  Every kid there has been bitten or hit at least once and now I have a choice.  Do I provide an ultimatum – my kids or this one?  Do I let it go and trust that the situation will right itself despite all evidence to the contrary?   Should I be more direct in my displeasure at the situation?  Because despite the fact that it’s a business – this woman has cared for my children for nearly three years.  I’ve asked her to love them and care for them while I work and she has and I know she wants to do the right thing.  She feels sorry for this little boy because he isn’t getting the discipline and loving attention he should be at home.  I constantly wonder if Alex acting out is a direct result of what he’s seeing – that the way to get attention is to misbehave.

Everything I wanted in a daycare – a family home, educational curriculum, loving provider, small group – all those things are still there.  Just less so, because so much time and energy is spent on corralling ONE CHILD.  And the fact that his mother is home for the summer yet still leaves him every day for longer than my kids are there makes me sick. 

I wonder what his mom would say if I confronted her and asked her what the hell she is doing.  Because it’s easy to tell yourself that you want your child to keep to a routine, and that it’s better for them to be around other kids.  You can say it out loud and people will nod and agree, but what if just once, someone didn’t nod and agree with you?  What if someone called bullshit and made you face the fact that you just don’t want to deal with the monster you’ve created? 

Judgemental?  Hell yes.  Do I know the entire story?  Probably not.  You never really can, and you have to call what you see and what I see is my kids being exposed to things that I don’t want them to be exposed to yet and an eviction process that is taking entirely TOO LONG.  For pete’s sake telling a parent they need to find another method of care for their child doesn’t need to be like firing a government employee.

Just when I thought I’d gotten past my working mother guilt, I’m reminded that the choices I’ve made in one area take things out of my hands in another.  And for the millionth time I question and revisit and beat myself up over those choices.  All because I gave a referral.

Thank God for this blog, where I can go back and read entries about the way things used to be, that remind me he is mine, my child, my first baby.  Every night for at least the last three weeks we put him to bed, he gets up.  Back to bed, gets up.  Lock the door and he screams to the point of hysteria, waking Emily Kate and rattling the house as he pounds on the door.  This goes on for hours.  We’ve tried ignoring, he comes down the stairs.  Yelling is wasted breath.  It has become a dance, a game, and any way you look at it, it sucks. 

My friend C summed it up today when she told me she was praying to Jesus to find out what the return policy was on her 2 year old.

Sometimes though, when he chooses to be he is adorable.  Articulate, soft-spoken, protective and sweet.  Amazing me with details he notices, and fetching things without being asked.  It’s like he doesn’t know who he wants to be.

I was going to write about how it’s probably my fault because I put him in daycare all day, but I think for the first time I’m past that.  Because if I stayed at home, it would really be my fault, right?  No one to blame but myself.  So there’s no one and nothing to blame, it is what it is.