Issues

Bobby’s been getting in trouble at school and I’m kind of beside myself. His teacher has told me a couple of times - once at the parent/teacher conference last fall, and once a couple of months ago when I went to pick him up for chess club - that he needed to work on paying attention and not getting caught up in chatting with his friends. But lately things seem to be ramping up - she sent me a couple of private messages detailing bad behaviors (pulling a kid’s pants down, hitting a kid with his lunch bag repeatedly), in addition to the usual not listening and distracting people, etc.

I was upset, but I didn’t think it was the end of the world - for all I know, these behaviors are, while obviously not great, pretty standard for kindergarten boys. He’s never been sent to the office, and apparently some of the other boys are, and pretty regularly. Still, I took away desserts for a week, and the boyfriend took away some toys. He also set up a meeting with the teacher on Monday, and has talked to Bobby about “making good choices” until Bobby’s eyes glazed over.

Right now, Bobby doesn’t really seem to get it. All he knows is he’s being deprived of things, and he couldn’t tell you exactly why, no matter how many times we explained it. His story about the pants pulling down incident has changed again and again - we had him apologize to his teacher for lying about it; but then tonight he tried to say again that he didn’t actually do it even though everyone saw it. Sigh. 

I am emotionally drained. Naturally I blame myself - I’ve always put him first, I pick up after him like a slave, I rarely follow through on punishments - and I’ve created a monster. Or...maybe not. The other part of me thinks everything he’s doing, while regrettable and should be dealt with, is pretty normal six-year-old boy stuff. Part of me thinks it’s the end of the school year, he’s antsy and over it, and he and this teacher never really hit it off (I positively loathed my bitchy kindergarten teacher who told my mother I was “sneaky” and put a big bruise on my arm grabbing me, so maybe I’m projecting a little bit). 

Still, the thought of my precious little boy being considered one of the bad kids, a behavioral problem, scares the living shit out of me. I did not raise him to that; but all mothers of problem children think that. How could my sweet, gentle boy who named the little finches that visit the bird feeder outside our kitchen window, be the same boy that hits people with things and pulls down their pants? What should I be doing that I’m not? Am I just completely missing the mark? Or is the idea of the perfectly behaving six-year-old boy a myth? 

I barely have time to think about it before I take off for another singing trip, this time four hours north to San Luis Obispo. The timing couldn’t be worse, but part of me is relieved to get away from this for a couple of days. This issue, and season 2 of The Handmaid’s Tale, is all I’ve been able to think about this week.

Back on the road

I just got back from my first trip since December. It’s funny how, when you haven’t been away from your kids in a long time, the idea of it becomes a bit panic-inducing. But then you remember, you did this many times and it all worked out ok. And so did this weekend. And so we’re back.

Summer is in the air - the kids’ Lord of the Flies summer camp has posted its availability, although you can’t technically sign up yet. Being able to get up an hour to two hours later starting in June is going to be glorious. Theo’s summer schedule is M-Th instead of T-F as it is now which works much better for me - after the typical exhausting kid-tastic weekend, the last thing I have energy for on a Monday morning is entertaining a four-year-old for five hours. So, yeah - summer is going to be AWESOME. Only six more weeks-!

Last week I had a highly rated contractor over for an estimate on my kitchen - he quoted me almost $90,000. I almost sputtered, “are you fucking kidding me?” He said it was mostly the structural stuff around moving the doorway and adding windows. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but obviously WAY too high end for my tiny little project, which some of his yelp reviews indicated. It’s almost as hard to find a contractor for a project like this as it is a life partner! I decided to call in a friend who is an architect who I trust - I really should have called him first - mainly to start the process of rebuilding my rapidly collapsing garage (apparently it’s such a lengthy process that I figured I might as well get the ball rolling now if I want it even started by a year from now) and incidentally have him look at the kitchen. He can at least give me an idea of what to expect budget-wise whether or not I actually engage him to do the  kitchen. 

One of the hardest things is finding someone who “gets” old houses. No, I don’t want fucking granite countertops and recessed lighting. Yes, I know this isn’t practical or what people do anymore. Considering all these people are men, they just loooove to tell you why their ideas are better than yours. Ugh. 

In other news, boys have been behaving better. Whatever slump Bobby was in - he seemed genuinely depressed for a few days there - seems to have passed. Sometimes I think I influence these behavior trends and sometimes I think they just come and go like the wind. Who the hell knows? But if they’re both happy and (kind of) listening to me, I’ll take it! 

Two steps back

Operation No More Pull Ups has been suspended indefinitely. After two weeks Bobby still consistently peed every night, and started pooping his pants every single day which I theorized had to do with my restricting his water intake every night to reduce peeing, which then lead to dehydration, which then lead to constipation, which then lead to “soiling”. As an experiment I decided to put back the pull ups every night and encourage as much water drinking as he wanted, and voilà, no more random poop stains. I’m sure we both feel somewhat like failures, but the whole experiment lead me to lean far more on the side of “he’ll do it when he’s ready”. Clearly it can’t be forced or even encouraged. So that’s that. 

Next week I at last return to some band travel, which I haven’t taken part in since our Italy trip in December. I cannot wait to escape the every day drudgery and have some adult time, surrounded by inspiring peers. So often I feel like my whole life revolves around dishes, laundry, wiping surfaces, and minding other people’s poop schedules. I realized with a rush the other day that my event is coming up in just over four months and apart from opening for registration I’ve done pretty much nothing about it. So today I set about a flurry of organizing activity - a thousand emails dealing with a thousand topics. I need to reconnect with my work life. It’s been suffering the most lately. And it’s yet it’s still the area where I feel the most competent.

I think someday when I look back at these years with small children that I’ll be proud that I made it through, but I don’t ever think I’ll feel I was particularly good at it. It’s no surprise to me that my aptitude for rearing children is marginal at best; most of the time I’m just exhausted and everything feels like a monumental pain in the ass. How could it not, when you’re literally doing the physical work and carrying the mental load of three people? I simply don’t have the energy to keep up with two rambunctious boys. Maybe I’m too old or not fun enough. But tonight just felt like wrestling two flailing orangutans - trying to get dinner down their throats, homework done, violin practiced, bath administered, teeth brushed, poop butts wiped, pyjamas on - when all they want to do is run and kick and jump, is an exercise in futility. All nights feel like this, but tonight was especially hard. There was a lot of yelling and threatening of punishments. And yet I’m proud of myself that I didn’t completely lose it - I didn’t throw anything or start swearing or slam any doors. I didn’t let it get to me. I just accepted it as “one of those nights” and tried not to hold on to any resentment. I wish I could always be like that when things get hard. 

Tomorrow will be better. My fabulous 1930s Magic Chef stove at last arrived from the Midwest so I’m going to go visit it at the stove restoration place and give them a deposit to get started. This weekend I get to go dancing Saturday night, and next weekend I fly to DC. Until then I get to raid the boys’ forgotten Easter candy. Sometimes it’s the little things that get you through.

Easter hijinks

I have survived my first spring break. I ended up caving and registering Bobby for a spring camp at his local rec center - which he only attended for three days due to developing pink eye. Still, it kept me sane for what will be ten days of (nearly) non-stop child care. One more day off school tomorrow and then normal schedules resume Tuesday. Can’t wait to get back to focusing on work and other non-child centric concerns.

We went to two super fun neighborhood egg hunts on Sat, then did an at home one today, then did our usuals playground-drive around so Theo can nap-play at home-dinner-bedtime thing. 

The other thing I’ve been attempting this week, since we don’t have to get up and go anywhere important, is getting Bobby out of pull-ups at night. I have very mixed feelings about it. Most people who commented on a post where I asked about this “night training” process said to leave it alone and wait until he just stays dry of his own accord; but one person said she felt like keeping pull-ups on her kid kept him peeing all night and once she took them off and woke him at night to pee that it worked. I know that with daytime potty training B would have been happy to stay in diapers forever - I remember one day putting a diaper on my tall, skinny almost four-year-old and thinking, “what the hell am I doing? This is ridiculous!” and just cold-turkeying it from there (although to be fair he was already potty trained at school). When we were kids nobody was in pull-ups until seven or eight years old. What the hell is going on? So, with mixed results I’ve been having him sleep in underwear and the BF wakes him to pee in the middle of the night when he gets home from work. Some nights he’s dry, some he wakes up a little wet. I haven’t had to change sheets yet. But now that this is what we’re doing, I am loath to regress back to pull-ups, even though I don’t think he’s “getting it”; I think it’s just been pure luck on the nights he’s been dry. Maybe I’m entirely wrong and I should just keep him in pull-ups until something just clicks and he starts staying dry all night. But I seriously wonder if that will ever happen - even now he’s so used to just peeing while lying in bed, if I ask him what he’s supposed to do when he feels like he needs to pee, he says, “just pee!” I feel like I need to keep trying this method and just take it day by day. I cannot tell you how I long to be free of all diapers once and for all! 

Bobby is 6

My first born is six. This age is significant for me because it’s the first of my real, detailed memories, so I can only guess that his memories have now begun, too. I think about how my tumultuous childhood was just starting around this age - my newly divorced mother repeatedly moving us from town to town, causing me to attend five different schools before fifth grade; my father vanishing to Brazil and only reappearing once when I was eight. I look at Bobby’s life - same comfortable home, a little brother, a mother with him all the time, even a benign father figure now a part of the picture - and can’t help but pat myself on the back a bit. At least up until now, Bobby has had a good, secure, happy life. Now to just keep that up for twelve more years!

Bobby at six is smart, funny, emotional, sweet and sarcastic. I posited to my mom’s group: “are all six-year-olds smart alecks?” and the answer was a resounding YES. So apparently a certain amount of snark is par for the course at this age. Not a huge fan, but I’m oddly gratified that at least he’s developmentally on track! 

After a whirlwind visit, my sister left for NY today. It will be the last time she visits from New York. This week she and her husband put their South Bronx apartment on the market and leave the northeast forever for sunnier climes in Florida. Which leaves me with one living relative left in Massachusetts, my cousin. It’s odd to think that hundreds of years of our gene pool in and around the tri-state area comes to an end now, with everyone either dying off or leaving for warmer temperatures in the south or west. Other than the odd band gig, I wonder if I’ll ever have cause to visit New York again. 

The boys’ crazy bounce house emporium birthday party went well - although as usual tons of people never read the invitation, rsvp’d no at the last minute, or canceled the morning of, it was still packed between my dance friends (who mostly average 2-4 kids), Bobby’s school friends (all boys and two brave girls), and a lone Theo preschool friend. I’m torn about the combined birthday party idea going forward. What may be the best plan as of next year is to have Bobby do an activity with a few select friends and then do a big party for both kids combining everyone. I would just hate to have one kid get screwed because everyone went to one party and not the other. But Bobby is sounding like he wants to do his own thing. I will have to think on it.

With my sister and a close friend paying off their homes, closing up their businesses and planning for the final (or penultimate) act of their lives, it makes me think about these things, too. I’ve already had this in mind, as I’ve written here. In a bit more than a decade, these children will be on their own. My sister’s husband is already 65; my boyfriend is 50 and was a lifetime heavy smoker. We hope they live forever, but odds are we will find ourselves single again at some point in the next 20 years. What then? My sister already plans to move here to California; I still dream of the plot of land with a few tiny homes containing my favorite people, she of course being number one on the list.

For years in the 80s my sister and I lived together in tiny studio apartments in the east village. Is it possible our lives will end as they began, just the two of us sharing a space (of sorts)? I have to admit, I find the symmetry of that highly appealing. 

Easter, birthdays and kitchens

I’m preparing for a bit of a marathon coming up. We have one more week of school, then a week off (I’ve decided to put my big girl pants on and not book a “spring camp” for Bobby and instead keep him home all week...I may come to regret this decision...), sister comes to visit, the boys’ big dual birthday party on the 24th, and then Easter the weekend after. 

I’m glad I kept the boys’ party for them both and didn’t rely on Bobby’s kindergarten friends to fill out his party; only six kids are coming out of his 25 kid class. Now that I know what the returns are on these whole-class invites, it will help me to plan in future years. It will be a big party between Theo’s preschool friends, Bobby’s friends, and all our dance friends. I only just this week got a chance to sit down and do some party planning/designing; it makes me sad when I think of how much time and effort I used to be able to devote to their parties in past years. I think it goes to show how, despite technically having more hours in the day to myself these days, my days are so full and my brain so crowded with complex, emotional “older kid” stuff, that extras like party planning end up lost in the shuffle. I do the best I can, but yeah...some things just don’t get the attention they used to. 

In other news, I’ve decided to forge ahead with my kitchen remodel, whether I can technically afford it or not. A little creative debt management and I should be able to do it without depriving myself of much needed cash in the bank (read: use of lines of credit). I also finally developed a concept for the room. As much as I was tempted to break down walls and go modern, I’ve decided to go the exact opposite route and go WAY back...to the 1920s. I live in a 1906 house, and the 20s was the first time kitchens began to resemble modern ones, with the advent of gas stoves, built in cabinets, and sinks similar to ones in use today. So I think the 20s is a good decade to focus on that would meld seamlessly with the rest of the house while still being functional. I’ve come to realize that the kitchen is my command station - it is my favorite room in the house - and I want it to be my private, pretty, functional space. So rather than opening it up to the rest of the house I may very well close it off even more by getting a swinging door for the doorway that’s currently open. 

I’ve been researching vintage stoves and am planning on getting one like this (technically 1930s, but who’s counting?) and having it reconditioned by local antique stove experts (I went to their shop and they said there’s no problem modernizing these stoves on the inside and making them safe and easy to use). It will serve as my design muse for the rest of the space as well. So - new kitchen, here we go! 

Theo is 4

Today, my youngest turns four. On his birthday, I always run over the details of his birth - how I drove to the hospital alone late at night, leaving my sister home with almost two-year-old Bobby; how I almost got sent home as being “not in labor” but thankfully labor kicked in enough to allow me to stay, the agony of it all and me clamping my eyes shut and begging for it to be over, my doula saying, “open your eyes, your baby is being born!” and seeing little Theo emerge, cranky and dark haired and so different from his brother. 

Those were such different times. We are officially out of babyland - and that all feels like a thousand years ago. If not for this blog I doubt I would retain any of it; the breastfeeding woes, the house vibrating with new life energy with a new baby in it, Bobby peering over his car seat to check out this new little person that had joined our lives.

Now, I have a new four-year-old and a kindergartener. I would say the time has flown by, but it doesn’t feel like that to me. It has felt like four years. I think that’s fair.

Theo is easy going, funny, a good sharer, a true cuddle bug. How much of his personality is informed by being the baby of the family and my being a second time mother will remain a mystery - but personally I think both of those things are huge. Theo has one year and two and a half more months of his preschool life and then I am officially a school ager mother. But for now I can still say, Happy birthday, baby boy!