One Hundred Boys

Lillian   Mom.  If you had a hundred boys, would you freak out?

Grady   When I'm a grown up and  have one hundred boys, I'll freak out. 

Grady    And if I have one thousand?  My house will pop out!

 

 

 

Yes, boys do make me freak out.  But then, so does a girl. 

Thursday was a rough day for the girl...and the boys. 

Lillian refused to get out of the van.  Again.  When I dropped her off at school.

Grady got sent to the office.  For repeatedly discussing Mr. Potato Head's butt.

And Dempsey got written up for taking flying leaps from the top of the sliding board.

We rolled up to the 'kiss and go' line of Lil's school.  She 'kissed' me.  But didn't 'go'.  Again.  The assistant principal and guidance counselor were called in for back up.  They glanced at the lump of a kindergartner balled up on my minivan floor as my two, make me want to freak out, boys sat clueless.  Possibly discussing Mr. Potato Head's butt. And plots of leaping off of the sliding board at their shared school.  Then they probably moved onto writing their book, The Dummies Guide to Freaking Out Your Mother.

Lillian relented with the carrot of being featured on the video morning announcements. 

Turns out she missed her chance.  The announcements were over by the time she made it inside.  Because she kissed but didn't go.

She was promised the opportunity for the next morning.  Today.  This morning.  Which also happened to be 'Dress for Success Day'.  She was to be the 'Dress for Success' model.

Everyday in our house is 'Dress for Success Day'.  If you're dressed, it's a success.  But Lil's school had something else in mind.   They were supposed to dress as if they were showing up for a job interview.  Lil wanted to wear 'nice jeans'.   I told her it had to be a dress or a skirt.  She compromised.  How about a dress over 'nice jeans'?   That makes mommy want to do a keg stand.  Moving on.

We discuss reasons why she doesn't want to go to school.   She tells us about a mean kid.  For anonymity purposes, I'll refer to him as Ihopehepeeshisbedtonight.  Lil tells us that Ihopehepeeshisbedtonight called her friend 'stupid'.  We tell her to stick up for her friends.  "That's why we chase Ihopehepeeshisbedtonight on the playground mom."  She rocks.  I want to be her friend.

We talk about treating others how you would like to be treated.  Sean points out that mommy and daddy follow this rule and we have many friends.  "You don't have any friends daddy.  Uncle Ryan is your only friend."  Lil retorted.  Okay, so maybe daddy is a bad example.  But mommy has lots of friends!  Think about all those people she talks to everyday!  There's that Fed Ex guy.  Her friend that delivers the mail.  And that person who comes to check the meter!  And don't forget about mommy's special friend, Mr. Beer!  Never mind.  Mommy sucks too.

In the end, Lillian wore a dress to school.  Without the jeans.  Grady kissed Mr. Potato Head's butt and they made up.  And Dempsey promised to never, ever, go to school again.  Mommy and daddy still have no friends.  But there's always beer.



Now that's a butt I'd want to kiss.

That's Not My Breath! That's My Butt!

Kindergarten is hard.  For Lillian.  And even harder for me.  The teachers?  It's hard to believe that they come back.  Every.day. 

It's tough.  Every.morning. 

The 'kiss and go' lane is brilliant.  You pull up to the front of the school.  Remaining behind the wheel.  With your under four crew, still buckled into place.   You kiss your school aged kid.  And they go.  Into the school.  Except when they don't. 

One day recently, I pulled up to school.  Kissed Lillian.  And she refused to get out of the van.   I had no choice but to drive away.  There was a line of parents just waiting to shove their offspring out the door. 

Oh, don't mind us!  We just forgot our underpants!  Just running back home for a quick sec!  What?  Oh, no, no, no.  My kid isn't refusing to get out of the van.  Why on earth would you think that?  Maybe the fact that she's grasping onto the seat's headrest for dear life?  What is wrong with you people?  What is going on in this place?  Kindergartners can't get ice cream at lunch?  Well this place sucks!  I wouldn't want to go either!

The night before, Lil had asked me, "So, do we get to just play all day tomorrow? Or do we have to learn stuff?"  This is going to be a long year. 

The ride to school, leading up to this particular drop off,  was no indication of what was to come.  She had never actually refused to get out of the van before. 

It was the usual.  Lillian turned to Grady.  "Your breath stinks!  Did you brush your teeth?"  To which Grady calmly replied, "That's not my breath, that's my butt!"  Great.  Just great.

So I pull out of the 'kiss and go' lane, and into the parking lot.  What to do, what to do.  Lillian still has her fingers tightly wrapped around the metal rods holding up the head rest.  I look at Grady.  He's a mess.  Pajamas.  No shoes and socks.  Jacket-less.  And hair that looks like it was brushed with an egg beater.  I look at Dempsey.  He's dressed at least.  But there's something green hanging from his nose.  And a Frosted Flake is stuck to his eyebrow.  At least he still has eyebrows.  No one has shaved them off yet.  They'll save that for next week.  He also has no shoes and socks.  And is without a jacket.

I call the school.  "Um, hi.  I'm sitting in your parking lot and my kid is refusing to get out of the van."  I describe my vehicle.  In case they might miss the two, half naked boys covered in boogers and Frosted Flakes doing the Chinese Fire Drill.  And the girl being yanked from the van by her ankles.  School sucks.  We all hated it kid.  Get over it.  When this part is over, you get to be a grown up.  It sucks even more.  Then you die.  Blah.

A mom comes out.  One that helps in the drop off lane.  We see her every day.  She rocks.  And even laughed a couple of days earlier when Grady told her his stuffed dog's name is 'poop'.  Because what else would you name your stuffed dog?

She coerces Lillian inside.  With the promise of a pop the next day.  I'm so thankful for my kid's pop addiction.  It works.

I think Lillian worries about what she misses all day while she's gone.  When I'm home with the boys.  Alone.  This is exactly what she misses...

• Grady finding a screwdriver and unscrewing the light switch covers.  Because he wants to replace them.
• Grady and Dempsey stomping off with their blankies while Grady tells him, "Come on bud, we don't really like her."
• Grady taking pictures of me, with my phone, while I'm in the shower.

The shower.  And the shower curtain.  There I am.  Behind it.  Hi.

Me.  In the shower. Behind the curtain.  Wait.  The phone is ringing.  I think it's the Victoria's Secret Model Department.  Nope.  Just the neighbors.  A kid got out again. 

• Dempsey escaping into the back yard while I'm showering.   In the rain.  He escaped into the rain.  I wasn't showering in the rain.  Although that may be more efficient.  I run after him.  In my bath towel. After being alerted of the emergency.  By the kid who unlocked the sliding glass door for him. 
• 'Playtime' in the gym's racquetball court

What do you mean you can't get out?

And she's right.  I would miss all these things too.  If I weren't here for them.

But I'm the grown up.  I'm supposed to pretend this sucks.  Go to school kid.  Because before you know it, you'll be grown up. 

Some people feel lucky when they find money on the ground.  Me?  It's a sign of good things to come when I spot a Magic Hat beer cap. 

Busy.

Busy.  Staggered entrances.  Preschool.  Kindergarten.  Cars.  A visit from Uncle Conor.  Meetings.  Orientations.  A boat ride. A trip to the aquarium.  Doctor's appointments.  Soccer practices.  Grady getting naked and peeing on the playground during Lil's soccer practice.  Finding a tick on Grady's balls.  I thought it was poop.  Then it stared at me.  I don't want to talk about it.  Busy.

After last week's incident with the car, Sean and I sat Grady down for a lecture.  He could have been 15, except he was 3.  We explained to him that he may not sneak out of the house...with dad's keys...and start the car.  It is very dangerous.  He may not drive until he is 16.  Grady stared at us.  "Can I talk now?"  He asked.  "Where's my paci?" He is 3 after all.  I told him it was on the kitchen counter.  He scampered down the hall, glanced back and shouted, "and I won't get the keys!"  Liar, liar, pants on fire.



The smirk.  Ha.  I can't drive your car.  This guy let me drive the boat.



I got a lecture from Grady today.  He wanted to go to the toy store.  I told him, "We'll see."  He lectured me.  "Don't see, let's just go, I don't want to talk about it."

All this time, I thought it would be hard to send Lil off to school.  I thought I'd wish she was still home with me.  Then came the staggered entrance.  Your kid goes to school one day, then has off for the next two, while the other kindergartners have their turn.  After day one, I was ready.  Ready for her to go the next two days.  But she couldn't.  I thought about sending her anyway.  Playing dumb.  But then I knew I'd be known as that parent.  The one that doesn't follow directions.  The letter had perfectly explained how the staggered entrance would work.  It also provided the date and time for the parent/child meeting, with the teacher, scheduled before school was to start.

I always follow directions.  I write everything down on a calendar, and save important papers.  So I was surprised, when at our meeting, I was handed a package of microwave popcorn with a note attached,  Thanks for popping in.  It was adorable.  "This is from 'Sneak a Peek at your Seat'", Mrs. M told me.  What?  I missed something already?  School hasn't even started yet.  What is going on here?  I've been trying so hard.  I really want to do well in Kindergarten.  I swear I'm trying.  I even went to three different stores to find a primary lined composition notebook.  And I bought four while we were there.  Even though you only asked for one.  Does this mean I have to miss recess?  Because I really love the monkey bars.  See, I even wore my sneakers today.  And I tied them all by myself.  Okay, I admit, we did skip Grady's preschool orientation.  On purpose.  Because I already passed preschool the first time around.

This past Tuesday was Lillian's first day of Kindergarten, with the entire class. It was also Grady's staggered entrance day for 3 year old preschool. Seriously. This is really confusing. Starting next week, Grady will go two days a week, for a couple of hours each day.  But I have to wait for next week.  Because this week is lets see if we can make mom even crazier than she already is week.   I don't want to talk about it. 

Grady's first day.

Days after his lecture, Grady shouted to Sean through the closed bathroom door.  He was tired of waiting for Sean to emerge.  Lillian says that daddies take forever in the bathroom.  Personally, I've decided they are checking their balls for ticks.   "Dad...Can I go for a ride in your car?" Grady asked.   I hear Sean shout "NO."  Grady turned to me, "Mom...he said yes."   Liar, liar, pants on fire.  I'm flushing the keys with the ticks.  And I don't want to talk about it.  The balls, ticks, or the keys.  I'm busy.

Uncle Conor came to visit.  He gave me some tips on Kindergarten.

Who needs another beer?  Oh. Me. Me. Pick me.

The Letter

So Lillian got a letter today.  The letter.  It actually wasn't addressed to her.  It read, to the parents of.  An official looking letter.  It might as well have been a college acceptance letter.  Because that's what it felt like.  But it wasn't.  It was a kindergarten acceptance letter.  My child is quite advanced.  She  was accepted into her first choice of schools.  So maybe our neighborhood was the deciding factor.  Not my advanced child's wit.  We'll just pretend this was a competition.  And Lillian won. 

Within this letter was a name.  The name of Lillian's kindergarten teacher.  I cried when I read the teacher's name.  It sounded nice enough.  I did a background check on said teacher.  Okay, so it was  a background check via facebook.  Through a friend we have in common.  Is this considered stalking?  Lurking?  Am I creepy?  I am creepy.  Who cares, I got the goods. 

She looks nice.  Is she nice?  Will she adore my Lil as much as I adore her?  Will she make sure she eats her lunch?  Gets onto the correct bus?  Maybe I should pick her up?  Will she protect her from bullies?  Teach her how to read?  Give her a hug when she's feeling scared?  Will she know when she's feeling scared?  Or sad, or mad, or happy, or excited?  Will she send her to the nurse's office when she doesn't feel well?  Will she call me if she has concerns?  Will she appreciate Lillian's jokes?  Her thoughtfulness and her craziness?  Will she understand that Lillian is simply a loud child?  She doesn't know how to contain her exuberance for life.  Will she embrace this?  Or try to squash one of her best traits?

I feel like I've been raising babies my whole life.  I've only had five years with Lillian.  Three with Grady.  And Dempsey, for only eighteen months.  But I can't even remember what I did without them.  I can't remember not loving, kissing, hugging, whispering, chasing, teaching, preparing and loving, kissing, and hugging.  I can't believe I actually had a life without them.  What the hell did I do with all that free time?  Was I smart?  Was I interesting?  Did people like me?   I surely never uttered the words mommy milk, poop, pee or potty.  Unless of course you count the time I busted Sean peeing into the Tupperware container, holding 40 pounds of dog food, after he had drank too much 'mommy milk.'   Maybe he was preparing me.  For all the poop, pee, and pottying that was to come.

Lillian is my first baby.  I love her with all my being.  I reminded her the other day that she will always be my baby.  "Even when I'm 80?"  She asked.  "Yup, even when you're 80."  I told her. 

Dear Teacher,

Please love my baby.  Take good care of her.  Watch out for her.  Teach her to read and write.  Make sure she eats her lunch and gets onto the correct bus.  Don't let anyone pick on her.  Remind her to say please and thank you, and treat everyone how she would like to be treated.  Tell her she's special and smart and can do anything she sets her mind too.  Everything I would do.  If I was still lucky enough to spend the whole day with her. 

Sincerely,

Lillian's mom



Dear Lillian,

Don't leave me with the babies!

Love, Mom
xxxxoooo