a little bit big

My child is seven years old. I've been a mom for seven years. Unbelievable to me. He's so wise and so amazing. He had a couple boys over to spend the night to celebrate his birthday. I enjoyed listening to them as they talked baseball, Star Wars, and the Revolutionary War (a current interest around here.) They watched The Sandlot, ate pizza and pineapple upside down cake, opened gifts, had a pillow fight, and had Matchbox car races. He was given a chemistry kit and the board game Risk. Sometime after we'd hoped they'd be ready to sleep, CD went in the room and was asked the very important question... "What is 18x4?"

Pook had a pretty short list of ideas for birthday gifts, but I spread them around. My parents got him walkie talkies, we got him a watch, and I figured I'd share the name of the Lego kit he wanted with my sister and her very-Legoy brood. His other grandparents give a magazine subscription and his very-organized-aunt brought his birthday present to Thanksgiving and so didn't need help with ideas. (Yes, you read that correctly. She had his May birthday gift wrapped and ready at Thanksgiving in November. We are not related except by marriage.) My sister, the not-at-all-organized-aunt called me, two days before the event and in the car on the way to Toys R Us, and wanted to know what he'd like. Lego. A Milenium Falcoln kit. Laughter ensued. All she had to do was mention the name of the kit to her very-Legoy children and they knew it. The kit is not available in stores and sells used for $500. Not the kit he'll be getting. But, she and Priority mail (for which she must have some large quantity purchasing deal) did send a Lego gift which arrived the day of the birthday.

He shook it. "Lego! I bet it's the Milenium Falcoln kit!" I decided to try to avoid disappointment. Your aunt says the kit isn't available, I explain. The boys have solutions at hand, quickly. "My cousin could get it." "Maybe you can get it from the computer." I tried to explain again. It really isn't available any more. The stores aren't selling it. You have to get it from someone who wants to sell it and they usually ask for a lot of money. "How much?" "I have $16." "I have $25." "My cousin probably has it." For about $500, I tell them. (silence for a moment) "Well, you could ask Santa for it." "Yeah, Santa could get it. He can do anything."

consensus

Sometimes so grown up. Sometimes still my baby.

joy and responsibility

Pook was responsible for making me a mom. (CD could argue that on technicalities....) There are two moments that I remember as When I Became A Mom. CD may have become a Dad the moment he cut the cord of the pink, crying baby laying on my chest, but it was about four hours later for me. I was exhausted and ready for bed by about 8:30. CD and I brushed our teeth and turned out the lights, getting ready to finally sleep. Then that-thing-in-the-bassinet cried. I had an "Oh crap" moment. I realized that I couldn't go to sleep until he did. I was a Mom.

The second moment was the first morning in my own bed after coming home from the hospital. It was Mother's Day 2001. We placed Pook between us in the bed, content and fed, and I looked at our family. I swore I'd remember that moment forever. Happy 7th Birthday Pook. I should celebrate your day of birth and allow you to celebrate making me a mom.

I can't slight Bug here. It amazes me when suddenly they reach an age where they remember things that have happened only rarely, and possibly a year ago. Or they're told something will happen and they remember a week later without prompting. Last year, when Bug was just past three, he popped into bed with me the morning of Sunday, May 13, and whispered in my ear, "Happy Mother's Day". I must have looked at him with huge eyes and a big grin, because he was smiles ear to ear. How did he know? "I just did."

Clearly my joy was visible to him, because every time he wants to make me happy, such as after a meltdown or when I'm clearly annoyed, frayed, crabby or otherwise irritable, he comes to me and quietly whispers, "Happy Mother's Day." I gladly accept the wishes.


To all the moms out there: Congratulations

applesauce

May is an impossibly busy month. Bug finishes school on the 19th and Pook on the 23rd. They have performances, award ceremonies, field days and end of the year parties with school. I'm invited. What the ....?! These are my last days of freedom and you want me to bring my favorite teddy bear and a picnic blanket for lunch? You want me to scoop ice cream in the noisy cafeteria for two hours? Applaud for kids who don't deserve awards on Awards Day but who receive them so their ego won't be damaged? Enjoy a volunteer appreciation luncheon? Who are these people kidding? When will I accomplish all the things I wrote on my To Do list last August?

We have a make-up baseball game this week-- one practice and three games between now and Saturday. And a soccer practice and game. And "Family Day" at the ballpark with all the inflatables and ring tosses and junk foods on Saturday. Friday night we're hosting two kids for a birthday sleepover for Pook's 7th. And then come the end of season soccer pizza party and the end of season baseball pool party.

I'm going to blame the scribbles all over my calendar as well as the medication I'm taking for yesterday's spaciness. I'm trying to stay organized so I won't drop any apples, but some are doomed for applesauce. Yesterday was a draw- Target, Kroger, Costco - pick two. I truly hate going to Costco and I only do it about four times a year, but I knew it had to be done. Since my beloved farmer's market opens on Wednesday, I decided to postpone groceries and deal with Costco. I was good there; I avoided samples, didn't impulse buy (much) and stayed under $200. I did, however, buy a couple of their rotisserie chickens.

I shoved them in the fridge at home, dashed to Target and then picked up Bug in the nick of time. Got him home and the furnace guy was in the driveway to check the A/C. Ok, I can handle this, we'll postpone nap a bit. The furnace guy mentions that there are "some men" in my backyard. Oh! The landscape guys came back for measurements. Everyone's in the backyard now. Bug is swinging, enjoying my distraction. As soon as everyone leaves, I read Bug a story, get him in bed, and make it downstairs in time for one piece of Dove chocolate before greeting Pook from school. We get homework done, Bug wakes, LK and BK come over to turn my house inside out play. Mom-next-door (of LK, MK & BK) pops over to see if I can watch LK tomorrow. We start chatting and suddenly it's 5:30 and I have no food even started. I frantically try to thaw some chicken. Water, microwave, oh-just-cook-it-frozen. Pour on some chicken broth, add some paprika. Potatoes. I know I have those because I just pulled out one that smelled bad. Yikes! Many are bad, there are only a couple tiny red ones that are worth eating. I run next door to borrow her potatoes. (I love having friendly neighbors! Good trade: potatoes for LK?) Things get calm just about two minutes before CD walks in. I open the fridge to pour milk.

Two rotisserie chickens.

Applesauce.

what the ...?

Oh, yes. The things they say.

Pook went through a phase of saying "What the --" often. He only had the two words, stopping with that I'm-about-to-say-another-word sound but not saying more. Finally I had to ask him to stop saying it. I explained that many people would think that he was planning to say more words even though I knew he wasn't. Because those people might think he was going to say a bad word, it might just be best not to say the starting portion. I asked if other kids he knew used a final word. He said yes, sounding uncomfortable already. I went for it, and asked what word they used. He got very quiet. He leaned over to whisper in my ear: "heck"


*****

The more I'm around kids from Pook's school, the more lucky I feel that I've got him. So innocent. I want to keep him that way even though I know he'd just be beaten up for it if I did. So, my opinion on foul language is that I simply don't want to hear it. But I don't care if he uses it. I told him there were "playground words" and "Grandma at the dinner table" kinds of words. If he thinks he shouldn't say something in front of his Grandma, then he shouldn't say them in front of me, teachers or other adults. Those are playground words. I understand that there will probably be (if there isn't already) some playground cred to using words I'd rather not know he uses. I'd hate to be the one to keep him from any coolness he may have. He certainly won't have inherited any from me.

the things they say

After a bike ride around the neighborhood with his dad. "Yeah, we biked so far. But... we were still in Georgia."

*****

"Ring ring! I'm on my cellophone!"

*****

Bug was outside with LK and they both had sticks (because they're 4yo boys and that's what they do). He held it up and announced, "I'm Mary Poppins! No... I'm Mary Popper, Mary Popp... Mary Potter...... Oh! I'm Harry Potter!"

*****

"I think Dad needs to come out and lawn the grass. And mow over that anthill."

*****

To me, after repeatedly trying to get my attention away from the computer: "Can't you just do work, play, work, play?" (Point taken.)

*****