Tough Girl

A few weeks ago, in deciding when my husband would venture to the West for some needed family time, I thought immediately, "Thanksgiving" and told him that was when he should go.

I thought, "Only 2 and a half days of child care," I thought, "He will be able to enjoy everyone since the convening will happen for sure and he can soak in everyone at the same time," I thought, "Maximize the amount of time," and I thought, "We have those travel points, right? Just do it."

I thought differently than I do right now.

It's like when I was younger. I thought soo (that's right, an extra 'o') differently than I do right now.

The older I get, the more emotionally vulnerable I become. I did not think that was part of growing up.

I was able to handle six weeks of husband-lessness at 24. Why is it that 6 years later, 4 days without his prickly beard and I am tapped out?

It is not the fact that I have 2 kids. They have been wonderful.

It's me.

I need my husband.

I have this compulsion to want to build our unit more and to stay so insular. At 3:45a when I woke this Thanksgiving morning and made my way to the commode for that nightly ritual, I thought, "I would have Thanksgiving with just the 4 of us and no one else."

What kind of daughter would say that? I love my mom. I love my sisters and brothers. We all live within and hour of each other. Who am I?

I have become a wife and a mother. My husband and my kids are what everything is for. I have never needed them like this, but they are who I want to serve. They are who matter most.

And my husband is at the top of my list. Thank goodness he left some of his PJs behind.

Tradition

Our current boss started a new going away tradition this year and had colleagues write poems about each other as a sending off. We read them aloud and laughed at them before each of us opened our gifts. Most of them were humorous and definitely demonstrated a prolific use of rhyme.

But what do you say when someone who has known you for less than a year writes something like this about you?

A Juggling Act

As a mother she is always equipped
with barely-bald baby Harrison
hanging contently in her pouch
And crazy Calvin charming the masses
by impersonating a friendly doggy
while wearing his imaginary headphones
The matriarch of her pack
leading her boys
to their next adventure

As a friend she is considerate
constantly searching for the
excellence embedded in all of us
Giggling in appreciation at our
idiosyncracies
and embracing our individuality
A gatherer of strangers
Befriending all
who pass through her threshold

As a teacher she is on point
Breaking through language barriers
to inspire creativity and innovation
In the tongue-tied Turkish students
who grasp for the nuggets of knowledge
that she openly extends towards their reach
A natural-born teacher
Connecting content and culture
To equally access the students in her class

As a colleague she will be missed
Her chair will remain empty
Irreplaceable
Holding her place
and wishing her well in her future home.

I am thinking I should keep this person around in case I need a pep talk. This poem will keep my self-esteem running for at least 10 more months.

Poor Boy

Look at the loneliness in this photograph. Usually the tears are a bit of melodrama - like the boy who cried wolf - this time T. Cal had a cut on his hand that probably could have used a band aid.

I must be a "Bad Mother" by Ayelet Waldman.

Popeye's Secret

Froggie Juice

Make a smoothie with bananas, strawberries, honey, some water, and some juice of your choice and then the secret ingredient - SPINACH. It looks gross, but you call it froggie juice and the kids love it! So when Calvin thinks he is getting dessert, he is really getting his greens. I love it! Thanks to mothers sharing their brilliant ideas.

Another food eating tip that I thought was a joke, but tried because we were bored -- telling Calvin he CAN'T eat something because we want to eat it. He loves this game, and as advertised on my friends' blog, he actually requests that we play it with him.

Evil Mother

Grandma brought an adorable set of outfits for the boys to wear on Easter, and even though it was a little chilly out, I couldn't resist. Look at how much cuter they are dressed the same! I love that they will hate me for this.

Permissions

T. Cal will have his first field trip tomorrow. I got the notice on Monday when he came home from school. It is toy week at Kreş, so they are going to the Toy Museum.

I looked at the permission slip and signed it, but as I was signing it, it felt strange. Who am I to decide it is safe for him to go? Was I supposed to forge my mom's signature or ask someone if it was okay that he go?

I guess not. I guess I am that person now. I guess I should expect him to learn to forge my signature now.

I am still not sure, so I am going as a chaperon.

Day One: Kreş

I made it to sleep in time to wake up to walk T. Cal to Kres this morning.

He dressed himself (as always). He did one sock, I did one. He tried one shoe, I put both on after he told me, "Too strong" (meaning too hard).

We played a round of Meyve Bahçesi (Hi Ho Cherry Oh) and read two pages of Road Dahl's "The Enormous Crocodile." Then Cal put on his coat (flipped over the head) and his backpack. We went outside and her banged on the back balcony with a few rocks while I strapped Hobbes in and off we went.

He transitioned well. Put on his "inside shoes" (slippers) and ate some honey on bread for breakfast. (Carrots and cheese were also on the plate, but Calv just hoarded them).




Upon returning to the house, I nursed Hobbes and laid him down and then realized that was it. I had some time to myself again. My staring contest with the laundry has ended. The dishes realized I wasn't standing them up. The floor was excited it could be seen by the public again. And I will no longer smell. I miss my boy.