Tales of a three-year-old playboy

Evan's first week of preschool seems to have been a success.

This morning he informed me, "One of my girlfriends at preschool has been to the ocean and rode a leatherback turtle." (This is very cute when he says it. In his world, girl rhymes with squirrel: "gwirl.") (Also, this puts her in very high esteem in his mind. Ocean creatures are second only to dinosaurs. She is very, very cool. Although he can't seem to remember her name. Pesky details....) Seems he's hanging out with some fast women....

I asked him how many girlfriends he has at preschool. He had to consider. "Maybe four," he decided. Excellent life, no?

My, they grow up so fast.

And now, Mommy needs a drink.

We really need to work on our stamina. Or else, if the past three days are any indication, we'll be dead by the time Caleb goes to college. Here's a thumbnail of 52 hours earlier in the week:

Sunday afternoon: Evan gets lost at a strip mall on the interstate, two hours away from home. Lost as in we call 911 and the police are out looking for him. He is found by a kind stranger, scared and disoriented, but safe.

Monday morning: Jeff leaves before 6am, to be gone until Tuesday morning. Jensen misses the bus. At the exact same moment the bus drives by, Evan (not the most graceful kid I've ever met) falls and gashes his top lip open and there is a lot of blood and screaming. I get a headache. By some minor miracle I get Jensen to school on time.

Monday noon: Evan goes to his first day of preschool. Surprisingly drama-free, but still a bit stressful.

Monday afternoon: Pick the kids up from school. This is NOT as easy as it sounds: turns out picking kids up from school is a contact sport in this town. Jensen is done at 3:40, Evan at 4:00. In order to stand a chance of getting Evan on time, I have to be one of the first parents in line at Jensen's school. Which means I have to be there at 3:10, at the latest. (Oh, and it seems parents who are supposed to be responsible adults have no compunctions about cutting in line, by the way.) So I wait outside Jensen's school, Caleb in tow, for 30 minutes, scoop Jensen up as quickly as possible, hope to make it out of the parking lot by 3:50, and then try to make the 15-minute drive to Evan's preschool in ten minutes. So I do this whole schtick Monday afternoon. And I still have a headache. From here we go to buy diapers, because I only have two more left at home.

Monday evening: From Target (diapers, remember?) we go directly to Jensen's football pictures. He changes his clothes in the van. Two hours of absolute chaos. We make it home by 7:45. I throw leftovers at the kids and toss them in bed. Then I curl up with my dinner of microwave popcorn and a juice box and watch the Democratic National Convention.

Monday night: Caleb gets up three (1-2-3) times. What?!?!

Tuesday morning: Jeff comes home. Jensen makes the bus. We're off to a good start. I have an early doctor's appointment, during which time I find out that my thyroid function is drastically low. (I could have told you that without having blood drawn, but it's nice to at least have a reason for being so immensely tired.) We're looking forward to a pleasant and relaxing afternoon.

Tuesday afternoon: Seems our hot water heater has sprung a leak. (Reminder: this is a brand-new house.) Jeff figures it out when he notices our downstairs carpet is squishy. He pulls back the carpet and calls our builder and a plumber. In the midst of this joy, I repeat the pick-up-the-kids exercise. Fun!

Tuesday evening: As soon as I retrieve the kids, we tear out the door to drop Jensen at football practice. Then we take Evan and Caleb to an early-childhood education program (check out Parents as Teachers-- very nifty program). After which Jeff whisks Jensen away from football to go to Cub Scouts. At 7:45, Evan and I (Caleb's still tagging along) eat a nutrient-devoid dinner at McDonald's. Yum-my. At home, Evan won't go to bed until Jensen's home, which doesn't happen until 9:00. (Evan's a bit skittish after getting lost Sunday.) I'm assuming Jensen and Jeff ate something somewhere, but am really beyond caring. Oh, and we forget to put out the trash. And we find out sometime in this craziness that our credit card number has been stolen.

So, by 10:00 last night, I couldn't decide which I wanted worse: a cigarette, a stiff drink, or my bed. But I don't smoke, and sleep trumps booze every time. (God, I'm old.)

I can hear all of you who have survived multiple years of this kind of activity snickering at me. It's okay; you've earned the right to laugh at my expense. But please, do NOT tell me it only gets worse from here. I know, I know.

That's what scares me.

The First Day

How do I begin this without sounding like a cliche?

I'll just jump in: Evan is at preschool.

For the very first time. I'm just trying to process that right now.

When I took him, I asked him if he wanted me to stay for a few minutes or if he was ready for me to leave. He pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "I'm ready for you to leave now."

My heart swelled into my throat. It's still there.

I don't know what it is that I'm feeling right now. Pride. Love. And some sadness. My eyes sting a little.

The house sure is quiet right now.

I love you, little Evan.

A very happy day indeed

It's gone! The bane of my existence is gone!!!

Until about 4:30 this afternoon, my husband drove the crappiest car in the free world. 1997 Taurus with like 160,000 miles on it. Dents the size of small children that he never bothered to fix. Missing a few parts, like a rearview mirror. Approximately the size of the Titanic. Turn signals worked... sometimes. Oh, but it had a really cool tape deck. That came in handy. We named it The Tortoise. God I hated that vehicle.

The minute we found out it was terminally ill, I danced and yelled like a madwoman. Perhaps I should have been more sensitive.

Nah.

You ever heard Adam Sandler's song about the crappy car? I'm not posting the link because it's very much NOT family-friendly. I think it's about Jeff's car, though.

Anyway, we went and bought a new car, so I couldn't post earlier today.

I'd better like it, because we'll be driving it for the next 18 years. It'll take poor Jeff that long to recover from losing the Taurus.

The Tortoise. 1997-2008. RIP, you POS.

Pencils, books, & dirty looks

Holy cow, not a moment too soon....

School started today. My little Jensen is a second-grader! (gasp. gulp.)

About three weeks ago, it struck me like a bolt of lightning that school needed to start. Now. The kids were snarking at each other, and at me. Jensen was spending increasing amounts of time whining, "I'm bored..." and asking to watch tv. And I was losing my patience.

Let's be clear: I am not one of those parents who wishes that summer could go on forever and that they could always have all of their kids home together. Nope. It's nice for a while, but school serves a very important purpose: it prevents me from throttling my children. Oh, and the education part is kind of important, too.

So Jensen's at school right now. He was pumped this morning. We met his teacher yesterday (after my open-house-screw-up, everything was fine) and he packed his own lunch last night. His pink-eye is even almost gone, so he doesn't look like he got beat up anymore. He was ready to roll.

I walked him to the bus stop, a block up the street. It was pouring rain, and pretty chilly. (The first day of school without 100-degree heat? Unheard-of.) I kind of expected the bus to be late, first day and all, so we took our time getting out the door.

And we waited. For 25 minutes.

Finally I just scratched it and we went home and got in the car, both of us soaking wet. As we were driving away, the bus arrived... 28 minutes late. I was expecting 10 or 15 minutes... but half an hour?! I got Jensen to school two minutes after the bell-- not bad time at all. (Jeff called the school to let them know what was going on.) When I left school, his bus still hadn't arrived.

We had chronic bus problems for the few weeks we were here last year. Jensen was frequently 40 minutes late getting home. The district contracts out the busing, and the company that does it seems to be less-than-stellar. But... it's a new year. I'm just going to chalk this up to first-day glitches. I also am pretty skeptical it'll improve.

Anyway, school's on. Yea!!!

Oh, and does anyone have any suggestions for how to take a decent photo of a seven year old? You know, one where he's not blinking and not pretending to be wayyyy cool? Thanks.

How Jensen saved the Olympics

I have a sarcastic streak. Matter of fact, sometimes I'm downright cynical. Which is why, maybe two weeks ago, I declared the Olympics to be Dead to Me. (I love you, Stephen Colbert.)

Dead to me, despite the fact that I'm a complete sports freak.

Dead to me, despite Nadia Comaneci's 1976 gymnastics performance (I still remember the lovely polka-dotted leisure suit I wore while watching her).

Dead to me, despite my love for the city of Beijing (I lived there in 1993).

But dead, for lots of reason. The shallow media reports. The blind nationalism (American, Chinese, or otherwise). The competitors who have the nerve to be bitter about winning a silver medal. The imposition of politics.... Performance-enhancing drugs....

So, Olympics? Ciao. {sigh}

Enter Jensen. He'll watch anything Olympics-related and love it. He's equally enthusiastic about shot put, rowing, gymnastics... to name a few. His unabashed affection for Michael Phelps is understandable, but he's just as excited about, say, volleyball.

His enthusiasm is contagious, too. Every night, I watch a little more. The other night, he actually had me cheering for the Romanian woman who absolutely creamed her competition in the marathon. And we cheered for the woman who came in seventh, too. He said, "I don't care which country wins-- it's so much fun to watch!"

Point taken, kiddo.

So the attached photo is when he won a gold medal in our small-town gymnastics tournament, about a year and a half ago. He was happy as a five-year-old can be-- which is pretty damn happy.

This is what it's all about. This is what he's taught me this week. It's okay to get caught up in the moment. It's okay to get goosebumps watching the winners cry on the medal stand. It's okay to be naive, just for a minute or two.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go watch Usain Bolt set a world record in the 200.

Confessions of a Suburban Mom

I was going to post something light-hearted and fun today. I had it all ready to go. But instead I'm going to whine a bit and you all can be my confidantes or therapists or whatever you want. Just be kind; I'm feeling a bit schmucky right now.

I screwed up today. Again. Actually, I screwed up yesterday but didn't realize it until today. I missed my kid's "Back to School" open house. Nice, huh?

For some reason, I had it in my little (miniscule) brain that it was tonight. I was all ready to head out the door at 4:15. For some reason I checked the calendar right before heading out the door... and it was last night.

I took it pretty hard. What will his teacher think? This is, after all, a new school for us. (He only went here for a few weeks of first grade. Hardly counts.) What will the PTA think? What does this say about how much value we place on his education? What kind of example are we setting? Does this foreshadow the kind of school year he's going to have? Seriously, the ways in which I beat myself up about this are nearly endless.

Since we moved, I've had quite a string of stupidities. When we went to our new bank to open our accounts here, they noticed my driver's license was expired. Then, soon after that, I had my little automobile mishap in the parking garage, which will cause our car insurance rates to go up for the next few years and made me feel like a complete dork. I made multiple mistakes in helping plan my parents' anniversary party. I ended up in the urgent care clinic this weekend because I hurt my back really bad (and have since been zoned out on muscle relaxants). Lots of other oversights, too. I'll stop now.

I'm tired of screwing things up. Period.

Those of you who know me probably know that I tend to be a bit of an overachiever. Maybe a bit of a perfectionist from time to time. I like to be organized, I like to be on time, I feel better when things go smoothly. You get the picture. (But still! I'm a fun person!!! Honest I am.)

Here's the other thing: Jensen's had a rough streak lately. He has the worst case of pinkeye I've ever seen (today is Day 11 of the Goopy Eyes; he got new antibiotics yesterday). He's missed his first few football practices because of that, and because he was out of town. And he's stressed about school starting-- going to a new school at the age of seven must be at least a little intimidating. And now he's disappointed about missing the Back to School function. Way to go, me!

My sister (a teacher) reassures me that Jensen's teacher won't think twice about us missing last night. My husband reassures me that this doesn't reflect badly on me as a parent. My son reassures me that it's not that big a deal. I e-mailed his teacher, and will call the school office tomorrow to take care of enrollment stuff. That's all I can do. So I'm writing this post, and will then officially Let. It. Go.

But I guess I just needed to write about it. Sometimes, much of the time even, motherhood is light-hearted and fun. And sometimes it just overwhelms me.