You Know It's Going To Be A Crazy Day

When you wake up stressing about the schedule and logistics for it at 3AM and can't go back to sleep.

Wish me luck.  Had to drop Thing One off at school early this morning for a dress rehearsal and there will not be so much as one minute's peace or repose until after his band concert tonight!

Wish me luck.  Is it summer yet??

A Question Of Need

Last Saturday was a crazy day, starting way too early with a soccer tournament in East Jesus for Thing One and ending with dinner at a friend's house, with a baseball game, a soccer practice, a playdate, and a few other things sandwiched in between.  (I really do need my Mondays to recover from these weekends...)

Anyway, the friend who had us over for dinner that night is a single mother of one son, who is a few months older than Petunia.  Her ex left her a few years back and they subsequently divorced.  At the time, we were convinced that he was either having a midlife crisis or secretly gay (he is very metro) but it came out much later that he had dumped her for his younger, blonde secretary.  Can anyone say cliche??

For some reason, this subject came up at dinner on Saturday.  The general consensus has always been that her ex was nuts for leaving, since our friend is attractive, loving, a fantastic homemaker and a generally really great person.  It was one of those situations where, as an outsider looking in, you scratch your head and say to yourself, "Well, he's just thrown away the best relationship he's ever likely to have."  Especially since mental illness runs rampant in his family and he has more baggage than your average airline.

There was a slightly older couple at dinner, brought by another friend.  I'd never met them before.  They are probably in their mid-50s.  After listening to the discussion, the husband commented (not in my friend's hearing, fortunately) that her husband had probably left her because she did everything for him and for them (he went to work, she took care of everything else) and he didn't feel needed.

As much as that comment annoyed me (it's been pricking under my skin since Saturday), I have to admit that there may have been some justice to it.  The secretary involved had a very messed-up life, and my friend's husband may have felt all knight-in-shining-armor-like, "rescuing" her from a bad life situation.  My friend, unlike the secretary, actually has her shit together, and comes from a good, stable family, unlike the ex.  It may well be that the secretary makes the ex feel like a big shot and puts him on some kind of pedestal.

But if that's the case, all I can say to my friend is "Good riddance."  Why would you want to be married to anyone that needy and insecure?

Or maybe I have it wrong.  I love my husband dearly and would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to him.  I deeply appreciate how hard he works to support us and what a good father he is and what a good human being he is (and tell him so, regularly.)  But I want to be married to an equal, not somebody whose ego I need to be constantly feeding.  Somebody who appreciates my abilities and accomplishments, not somebody who feels like his manhood is threatened by them.  

Do I have it wrong?  Do men inherently need to be needed?  Is it one of those caveman DNA relics??
      

  

Not Sure This Baseball Thing Is Going To Stick After All

Thing One played baseball for two years, but it really wasn't his sport.  Too slow a pace, not enough action.  Too much opportunity to lose focus and get into trouble.  At the end of his second year, he made his current travel soccer team, and baseball came to an end for him.  I can't say I was terribly sorry about it...the time commitment was significant and irregular and the younger two kids kept getting into mischief during practices, anyway.

So, when Thing Two decided to try baseball this year, I was less than enthusiastic.  I'd already lived the scheduling nightmare, and given that this kid has ADHD to go along with his raw athletic skill, I didn't see baseball as his optimal sport either.  But we figured we'd let him try.  And damned if he hasn't done pretty well at it.  He's still working on sorting out the rules, but he has the basic skills down.

When he was in preschool, he had three rules to follow.  Very simple ones, only six words to make it easier for him with his language issues.

1) No crying
2) No sillies
3) No arguing

Number 3 has always been the real challenge for him.  He's a my-way-or-the-highway type if there ever was one, and he has always been rather vocal about it when things are not going the way he would like them to be going!  This was an issue even back then, when his ability to express himself was much more limited, and it's a real issue now.  He's actually enduring a DS embargo at the moment because of it.

At any rate, his baseball team had a game tonight.  He struck out the first time he batted. The second time, he hit a worm-burner toward third and was narrowly thrown out at first.  Then he started arguing with the coach on first who called him out!  It was one of his own coaches, too, not an opposing coach, and this guy is scrupulously fair.  When he got back to the bench, we had a pointed chat about appropriate on-field behavior and rule #3.

This kid is very competitive.  He hates making outs, and he hates losing.  But what really seems to bother him about baseball is him making outs while others don't (never mind that he is new to this game and comparing himself to relative veterans.)  Having to leave the field when he makes a mistake--as he sees it--is a problem too.  Soccer and basketball don't have this element, so it will be interesting to see if he masters the self-control he'll need for baseball or decides to give it up in favor of one or both of those.

Believe me, I can take or leave baseball.  But I really don't want to see the kid quit because he can't keep his mouth shut, either.  I'd cheerfully trade my spring evenings for a little more gray in his black-and-white world.

Not Sure What Happened Today, But I'll Take It

Friday morning, I didn't have to yell at my kids before school.  They didn't argue about what to wear to school, ate what I gave them for breakfast without grumbling, and the boys were out at the bus stop in plenty of time, not running out the door as the bus pulled up.  Even Petunia, who is legendary for her morning dilly-dallying, was ready to leave for school a bit early.  The stars were clearly aligned, an extraordinarily rare occurrence.  There was even a good chance that I would make it to my 9:30 taekwondo class on time.

But then, halfway to Petunia's school, my cell phone rang.  It was the boys' school number.  My first thought was to wonder how on earth one of them had managed to hurt himself already (I get a lot of calls from the school nurse; can you tell?)  Fortunately, there were no injuries, but Thing One had forgotten his saxophone.  This meant that I had to drop Petunia off, go back home, get the saxophone, drop it off at his school for him, and then go to class.  Further meaning that I would be late after all.

And I broke one of my own rules, too...I had told him at the beginning of the year that he had to remember his instrument on Fridays if he wanted to sign up for band, since I have enough to remember already.  The last time I he forgot it and I dropped it off, I told him that it would be the last time.  Unfortunately, since he has a concert this Thursday, I relented and did it again.  But this is absolutely it...I don't think he's going to do band again next year anyway.  I texted my instructor to let her know that I would be late and asked her to set up a large target (heavy bag) for me to beat up when I got to class!  *SO* close to having a conflict-free morning, but no dice.

Today, though, all went well again.  And actually stayed well this time.  I hate it when I have to yell or be upset with one or more of the kids in the morning...it ruins the day.  And today I finally got to lunchtime without a child-induced raise in my blood pressure!  Small victory.

The Rechristening

My kids don't read this blog, but they know that I write it.  They also know that I don't use their real names when I write about them.

They almost never hear their real names unless they're in trouble, anyway...we're big on nicknames around here.  When they hear their first and last names called (or God forbid, the dreaded first-middle-last sequence) they KNOW they're in for it.  This is also true for the adults, I should add...I almost never hear my given name unless my husband is annoyed with me or under stress.

Anyway, back when I was starting this blog, I had to decide what to call the three kids here.  I do actually call my boys Thing One and Thing Two (among many other things) in real life.

For good reason, I might add.  They are named after characters from The Cat In The Hat, by Dr. Seuss.

'i will pick up the hook.
you will see something new.
two things.  and i call them
Thing One and Thing Two.
these Things will not bite you.
they want to have fun.'
then, out of the box
came Thing Two and Thing One!
and they ran to us fast.
they said, 'how do you do?
would you like to shake hands
with Thing One and Thing Two?'

and sally and i
did not know what to do.
so we had to shake hands
with Thing One and Thing Two.
we shook their two hands.
but our fish said, 'no! no!
those Things should not be
in this house!  make them go!
they should not be here
when your mother is not!
put them out!  put them out!'
said the fish in the pot.

'have no fear, little fish,'
said the cat in the hat.
'these Things are good Things.'
and he gave them a pat.
'they are tame.  oh, so tame!
they have come here to play.
they will give you some fun
on this wet, wet, wet day.'

now, here is a game that they like,'
said the cat.
'they like to fly kites,'
said the cat in the hat.

'no!  not in the house!'
said the fish in the pot.
'they should not fly kites
in a house!  they should not.
oh, the things they will bump!
oh, the things they will hit!
oh, i do not like it!
not one little bit!'

then sally and i
saw them run down the hall.
we saw those two Things
bump their kites on the wall!
bump! thump! thump! bump!
down the wall in the hall.

thing two and thing one!
they ran up!  they ran down!
on the string of one kite
we saw mother's new gown!
her gown with the dots
that are pink, white and red.
then we saw one kite bump
on the head of her bed!

then those things ran about
with big bumps, jumps and kicks
and with hops and big thumps
and all kinds of bad tricks.

When I started the blog, I called my third child "The Girl" simply to distinguish her from her brothers.  However, she has recently pointed out that this is a boring name, and she wants a better nom de blog.  In real life, I probably call her "Bug" or "Peanut" more than anything else, but since she is named for a flower, I'll use another flower (and another of her real-life nicknames) for her name here: she will henceforth be known as Petunia.

Oh No You Don't

Both of our first two children were boys.  As much as I love them, I really wanted a girl too.  Himself said he'd do his best to throw me an X chromosome on our third go-round (which was to be final, no matter what we got)--his only condition was that if he succeeded, I had to deal with anything relating to hormones, boys and drama going forward.  

I agreed, which falls squarely into the category of Famous Last Words.

Fast forward to this year.  The Girl gravitates to every boy in the area.  Or they gravitate to her, more precisely.  She is a beautiful child, but it is more her spunk and spirit that draws them in, as far as I can tell.  A boy two years older than she invited her to his house for a playdate on about two minutes' acquaintance the other day...I thought Himself was going to pop a blood vessel!  He's about ready to buy a shotgun and start cleaning it on the front porch. 

It isn't bad enough that she's already engaged to one of the boys in her class at school.  Yesterday, she had a playdate with two others.  They are twins, so they come over as a set.  The three of them were upstairs playing in her room, and I was in the kitchen getting a few things done, with one ear directed up the open stairway to the bedrooms.  They are all young, and these are nice little boys, so having them upstairs in her room together was not of major concern.  Until I heard one of the boys talking about taking off his pants, anyway!!

I'd forgotten about her dress-up box, which contains not only an abundance of princess dresses and such, but also all her brothers' old Halloween costumes.  This boy was innocently trying to put on one of the old racecar-driver suits from the box, but he couldn't pull it on over his shorts.  The other boy and my daughter were dressed to the nines from the box as well, but fortunately both still had all their clothes on.  After sprinting up the steps to see what the hell was going on up there, I had a quiet chat with my daughter in the hall about the need to leave the room when boys are changing! 

The boys went home at the end of the playdate, and about an hour later, we were due at a friend's house for dinner.  This friend happens to have a son about The Girl's age, as did another guest.  Both of these women are longtime friends of mine, and their sons of The Girl's.  Within five minutes of arriving at the house, my daughter asked if she could go and play upstairs with these two boys.  I told her she could only go if she brought Thing One with her as a chaperone.  This kid is going to be a menace when she actually discovers boys...she's giving her father gray hair already!                 

Stat Shock

Messing around with the blog stats today and realized that this is post #366.  Three hundred and sixty-six!  Wow.

For some of you longtime or more prolific bloggers, I know this number is nothing.  But I started this blog on a whim last July, and I'd never have thought that I'd find that many things to write about in a ten-month span.  It's been a good experience so far...I love having this space in which I can vent or be creative or have an opinion, whatever my need might be on that particular day.

Thanks so much to all of you for being part of the ride.