Dirty Little Secret

Today I ran into my neighbor at the grocery store. Not so strange, even though we were not at the grocery store located several blocks from our respective homes but at one several towns away which has lower prices. And is always SO. DAMN. CROWDED. Usually I just split the difference and go to the slightly closer, slightly cheaper and significantly less crowded one that’s located one town away. But what also had to buy Lovebug a boogie board, or as I used to call one, a kickboard. His sister has one and there were savage fights over it during our last trip to the pool.

Plus, it was only $5.

Which I probably saved shopping at the super crowded grocery store conveniently near 5 Below, aka, the shop where they sell cheap kick boards.

So I see my neighbor and she almost stops in her tracks. Which is dangerous at super crowded store, because those bitches will run you over. We smile and say hi and as we race in opposite directions, she calls, “You’re so brave!”

She was child-free – apparently I should have been friendlier with her so that maybe she would share her baby-sitter with me. Because I had all 3 kids with me.

You would think that because I had them all corralled in the genius contraption known as the car cart (that’s right, my kids are so close together in age that all 3 of them fit on a car cart) and that generally they are well-behaved kids, shopping with all 3 of them shouldn’t have been such a big deal.

I should, in fact, be using this post to scoff at being called brave for taking 3 kids to the grocery store. Because, I mean, really, it’s not like going to war. It’s not even like dealing with them for 2 weeks straight by yourself. Which I have done.

But I am not scoffing. Because I loathe unfamiliar grocery stores. Add in construction and rearrangement, aisles not meant for the super-size car cart and the fact that ChunkyMonkey was hungry and I”m surprised we all survived.

So, thank you, neighbor. And thank you for complimenting the kids’ behavior when we ran into you at the check-out. True, you may have been complimenting because the pinching fight Ironflower and Lovebug had just finished left no marks, but I don’t care. It’s your kind thought that counts.

Now how about sharing that baby-sitter?

I really, really don’t want to have to change Lovebug’s blog name to “Crankypants”, but I’m seriously thinking about it. I know there are some people – some amazing people – who do not get grumpy when super tired. I know there are some people who endure constant pain, or constant heartache, and are still filled with patience and kindness.

Lovebug is not related to those people, I’m sorry to say.

Lovebug’s people snap when they are tired or stressed out. And because Lovebug is 4, his version of snapping is crying and whining over EVERYTHING and smacking people. Oh yeah, and last week’s biting episode.

Also, Lovebug’s people may, in fact, not always react with kindness to his whinescream (imagine a fake baby cry delivered at a very high volume) over things like getting bumped or dropping a toy. They may be giving him negative reinforcement sometimes. Ahem.

But I believe the real culprit here is that the boy DOES NOT SLEEP. No matter what time he goes to bed, he is up at 6. Often he stays up until 10, either playing with toys in his room (which we have outlawed, but if I have to sit on the stairs every night to listen I will go nuts) or with the cars he brings to bed. And no, hiding toys does not work. He keeps himself awake to furtively search for them. Without toys, he actually stays up later.

Also, he has quit napping. So, in an average 24 hour period, Lovebug is getting a max of 9 hours of sleep. Which is what I need and is far less than either of his siblings get. And while I’m sure there are 4 year olds who are fine with this amount (and probably grow up to be those assholes who choose to sleep only  4 hours a night), Lovebug is not one of them. Trust me, my boy is TIRED.

The baby is currently sleeping in a play yard in the bathroom because I blamed him for Lovebug’s lack of sleep. There are super-thick shades on the windows and music plays softly. Light comes in through the open door from the well-lit hallway because Lovebug freaks out if it doesn’t. Our getting to bed routine generally takes an hour and includes books and a backrub during some lullabies. He’s not allowed caffeine and we try to make sure he gets at least an hour of activity every day.

So what the hell else are we supposed to do to help him sleep more? We’ve moved his bed time around and his nap time. We’ve rewarded him for staying in bed. We’ve praised his great behavior on the few days he has gotten more sleep and pointed out the link.

We’ve done pretty much everything except slip some Benadryl into his juice. Which I am considering.

Does anyone else have any suggestions before I start drugging my child?

And not in the hot vampire way.

A child was bitten in Lovebug’s class last week (on my birthday, no less).

By Lovebug.

His teacher – who repeatedly pointed out that she’d had him for 2 years and he’d never done anything like this – handled it so amazingly well. Except, well, she talked to the bitten kid’s mom and me at the same time.

I apologized, of course. I explained that ChunkyMonkey has recently started biting and that’s what had probably inspired Lovebug to bite another kid hard enough to leave a mark. But there is nothing like trying to apologize for your kid’s vampire tendencies to make you feel mortified. Especially when your kid is well over 4.

The bitten kid was relatively unfazed, thank God. Possibly he felt guilty for blocking Lovebug from the play house so much that Lovebug flipped out. Possibly he’s just a mellow kid and didn’t realize how easy it is to drive Lovebug over the edge. I’m just glad he doesn’t seem to emotionally damaged too.

Anyway, the teachers talked to Lovebug, the school director talked to him, I talked to him and his father talked to him. We’ve reviewed things he can do when he’s angry and when some kid won’t let him in the play house.

Sometimes I am afraid that there is something wrong, because there are so many times when Lovebug over-reacts to normal occurrences. Then I think about how he doesn’t sleep and wonder if he is just over-tired all of the time. And I try to remember that he is only 4 and until Friday, the entire school staff thought he was an angel.

Then I remember my reaction when Ironflower’s classmate bit her a few weeks ago. Sure, I said all the right things to Ironflower but what I was thinking was, “What’s a 5 year old doing biting? Her parents really need to discipline her more.” And I realize that payback is a total pain in the ass.

The kid is in Lovebug’s group this week too. His mother often gives me pitying looks at pick-up, but so far there have been no problems. Is it wrong that I wish Lovebug had bitten a boy he’d never see again? Or at least a kid whose mom I was friends with?

Has your kid ever bitten anyone? Or been bitten?

When I quit working full time, one of the first things I did was rush my kids to story time. Ironflower was 18 months old, Lovebug 3 months. Lovebug mostly hung out in his stroller. I drove to the main branch of the KC library because they had all sorts of neat kids’ stuff and a craft room and what have you. I was sure that Ironflower would love it because she loved (and still loves) listening to stories.

It was hell.

Ironflower did nothing but mortify me. She walked around instead of sitting in my lap. She talked during the stories. Sometimes she got up and did a little dance in front of whoever was reading, waving at the audience of parents and nannies.

The only reason I kept putting myself through the humiliation (because, even though this was a story time for young children, I got very few sympathetic looks from the staff when Ironflower acted up. Mostly they were annoyed) was because it was also my chance to check out grown up books. It takes a lot more than humiliation to keep me from getting new reading material.

At around 2 1/2 Ironflower suddenly became the pillar of story time. But that was after we moved here, so I never got to show off her excellent  behavior to the people who spent 10 months glaring at me. When Lovebug got mobile, he was always an angel at storytime. I figured it was because he’d been going practically since birth.

Anyway, today ChunkyMonkey and I went to storytime at our local, small library. ChunkyMonkey has also been going to storytime since birth. He does not get up in front of our librarian when she is reading or singing songs. But he doesn’t sit in my lap either.

He explores the room, stopping by to hug me frequently. He is usually quiet, but I don’t think he’s ever sat still for a story or a song. And I feel like apologizing to Ironflower, because ChunkyMonkey and I have a much better time at storytime than she and I ever did. I’m not embarrassed by his behavior or that he doesn’t act like all the sweet, docile children (at least, not in this particular instance). Consequently he does his thing and scribbles a bit on the craft and it’s all good.

Except when he inspires another child to rebel. Today 2 little girls – normally lap-sitters – noticed what a fine time ChunkyMonkey was having while walking around one of the craft tables. So they too decided to explore. And their mothers tried to corral them. Which made them run faster. And shriek. And pull on the table cloths.

It crossed my mind to make ChunkyMonkey sit down with me. That probably would have helped the other moms settle their girls down. But it also would have meant incurring the wrath of the pissed off ChunkyMonkey. This kind of wrath includes kicking, screaming, biting and throwing things.  I looked at him as he toddled toward me. He wasn’t shrieking or pulling the tablecloth or disrupting anything. He hugged me and gave me an angelic, then continued toddling around the table.

I totally let him. I believe the librarian cut short her book reading as the 2 girls ran around the craft tables. But that wasn’t my fault, was it?

So this morning I had to go to the grocery store. With all 3 kids. I know there are some moms who bring their 6 well-behaved kids to the grocery each week, along with their lists and their coupons.

I am not one of those moms.

I try to do my grocery shopping when the older two are in preschool and Hot Guy is able to watch the toddler. I am lucky if I remember to bring my list or my coupons, because I have yet to manage to bring both.

It is not that my kids are bad at the grocery store. Generally, they are pretty good – so good, in fact, that I often bring home more junk food than I’d intended. Because they ask so politely. And they’ve walked in the aisles without hitting each other. It’s just that I have a hard time having 3 simultaneous conversations, remembering what I want to buy and using the scanner correctly.

In retrospect, I probably should have skipped the scanner. But I like scanning as I go, because that means I can bag as I go and then I don’t get stressed out at the checkout. Besides, I thought Ironflower and Lovebug would like using the scanner. As usual, I was wrong about what they’d like. ChunkyMonkey was the only one who liked the scanner. As in, he liked eating the scanner.

Despite the wrestling matches that ensued every time I had to take the scanner away from ChunkyMonkey to actually use it, I made it through most of the store in a fairly good state. In the juice aisle, however, all 3 kids needed me at the exact same second, which also happened to be the second that I was trying to scan juice boxes. So I put the scanner down.

Somewhere.

After dealing with each kid’s issue, I reached for the scanner so that we could resume shopping and get the hell out of there. But the scanner was not in the cart. Or under the cart. Or next to the juice boxes. Or in my bags. Or in ChunkyMonkey’s hands.

I had a sudden vision of having to go up to the customer service counter and tell them that I lost a scanner. I realized that I would have to start shopping all over again. I ordered Lovebug and Ironflower to look. I muttered exasperatedly. Finally, I said loudly, “How could a scanner just disappear?”

The elderly man behind us averted his eyes. He’d witnessed the whole thing and didn’t even give me a smile of sympathy. Fortunately, another mom came by. She discovered the scanner on the shelf under the juice. Where I hadn’t looked, because why would I put it under the juice? That would just be dumb. I thanked her profusely. I was reminded that there are still good people in the world. I will be forever grateful to the scanner fairy. My heart soared until I noticed the sour old man.

He pushed his cart by us, shaking his head. I think he saw me put the scanner under the juice and was too afraid to interrupt my rant. Or he’s the scanner troll.

I suppose you can blame it on the prospect of sending Ironflower to afternoon kindergarten. We were informed at the kindergarten orientation that “not every child can be in morning kindergarten” and that some parents had already sent letters – from their lawyers – requesting morning kindergarten. We don’t have a lawyer on retainer, so immediately I assumed that Ironflower would be an afternoon kid. My main reason for wanting Ironflower in morning kindergarten is that I would like to have both the older kids at school at the same time. Fortunately, the preschool MAY have afternoon pre-k next year. So I could get my wish. . . and have mornings to do fun things with my kids.

Because afternoons? Well, ChunkyMonkey has to nap. And usually, after a busy morning at school, so does Lovebug. Even Ironflower needs to decompress on school days. In the afternoon, my kids are kind of done with structure. They just want to chill. Which is fine. . .except that the teacher in me really wants to teach them things.

But if we had mornings together when they’re all fresh and cheerful and haven’t been beaten down by the man yet. . .er, I mean participated in quality educational programs. . .we could do so many fun things. And then I had this vision of homeschooling them.

Right now, all my former colleagues – with whom I used to teach public school – are probably staring open-mouthed at the screen. My mother is probably dialing my number, ready to say, “Oh, Jenny” just like she did when I told her I got a tattoo. And my husband is probably hoping that he’s going to wake up from this bad dream.

I think I know one person who homeschools, maybe 3 people if you count bloggy friends. In every case, the parent made the choice because of her child’s health issues. That, of course, has nothing to do with my choice. Nor does Christianity, because I’m about as far away from an Evangelical Christian as you can get without actually practicing Santeria. It has do to with me. And what I want for my kids. And my desire to be authentic.

I’m not saying I’m going to homeschool. I’m not even saying that I necessarily want to homeschool. I’m just saying that as a former public school teacher, I do understand the limitations of our current school system and the whole testing culture that has invaded. I understand how nasty kids can be (sure, there are nasty adults out there, but the percentage of nasty kids is far higher. . ..check out your high school classmates on Facebook and see if I’m right). I understand that even at the best high schools there is a lot of time wasted on busy work.

We live in an amazing school district – one that is a huge strain financially. And one in which I think people may focus on the wrong things.  If we were a homeschooling family, we wouldn’t need to worry about school districts. We would have so much more freedom in choosing where to live. . .and when to vacation. . .and when to take a trip to the zoo. . .and yes, what our children learn. And the teacher in me is filled with joy at that prospect.

What do you think? Would you homeschool?

Dear Lovebug,

You have become such a little boy in the last few months. I think back to the first time something you said surprised me (you weren’t two yet and we were playing a “guess the animal” game with Ironflower and suddenly you popped up with the correct answer, even though you were hardly talking yet) and I realize how much you’ve grown up. Every day you say something that surprises me!

I love that you are so independent, that you enjoying playing by yourself and doing things for yourself and yet you still need lots of hugs. The other day I watched you playing rough and tumble games with your friends, constantly expecting you to get upset. But you didn’t. You were having fun, just like a big kid.

You are brave, Lovebug. I know a lot things worry you and new situations cause you anxiety. And I’m so glad that you’re opening up and telling us about it, which is brave. But not only do you do that, you’re starting to do things anyway, even if they do make you nervous. That’s makes me so proud.

Your interest in trains has grown to include cars, trucks and airplanes. You build complicated track systems and roads so well. What has really developed this year is your passion for Legos. I can’t wait to see what you’ll build every day. Even if it is during breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

You are such an amazing brother. You look out for your baby brother and share with him more than anyone could expect. And you stood up to the boys from Ironflower’s class who chased her and her friends, even though they were bigger than you are. You miss Ironflower a lot when she has her long day at school.

You, Lovebug, are a really cool kid. And I am so lucky to be your mom.

I love you,

Mommy

Yesterday the kids’ preschool had a free movie day at a local movie theater. We are on winter vacation this week (around here there are 2 post-Christmas vacations, 1 in February and 1 in April; it’s great if you can afford to go to the Caribbean, not so great if you are trapped in 2 feet of snow with 3 small children) and as I am recovering from the flu from hell (why yes, that is the medical term for it) I thought it would be suitably mellow.

Boy, am I dumb.

The first problem was that Hot Guy was not going to be able to hang with ChunkMonkey as I had hoped. But I figured that if he fussed, I would just take him to the hallway because surely the older two would be settled with their friends.

Ha.

Lovebug started crying as soon as we entered the theater. He hated the curtains. He hated the seats (he has amazing recall. Once a theater chair sort of folded with him in it and he’s never forgotten it. I don’t know why he hates curtains.) He hated the dark – which hadn’t even happened yet. He wanted to sit on my lap before I’d even gotten ChunkyMonkey settled and the stroller out of the way.

Oh, how Lovebug cried. I wanted to just leave, but that set Ironflower off. It was like Sophie’s Choice, but with really low stakes.

Moms around me gave me sympathetic glances, but there wasn’t much they could do. Eventually I moved us farther away from the curtains to a spot behind Lovebug’s best friends.

Still there was wailing.

I believe I asked my son the horrible questions that I swore I would never utter: “Why can’t you be normal and have fun like the other kids?”

This, you can imagine, did not immediately calm the boy. So I hugged him. I let him stand in front of me. And I prayed that Toy Story would do its magic.

God Bless Pixar.

The movie entranced Lovebug. . .hell, it entranced ChunkyMonkey.

Which is when I started coughing. Not throat-clearing little spasms, either. Great big hacking-oh-my-god-is-she-going-to-die coughs. I drank the baby’s juice. I tried to take deep breaths. But I just couldn’t stop until I basically coughed up the human equivalent of a fur ball. Luckily I had tissues. Not-so-luckily, my aim sucks and I had to use some of those tissues to clean off my poor sons’ shirts.

Ironflower glanced at me in concern, but averted her gaze when she saw the crisis.

Again I was tempted to leave, but they were all so into the movie.

A little mucus never hurt anybody, right?

So I painted Lovebug’s nails the other night.

Why?

Because my almost 4 year son asked me to, that’s why. He asked without whining, with just the sweetest expression on his face. I had just painted Ironflower’s nails a lovely pink. I started painting her nails a few years ago to get her to stop sucking her thumb. Totally worked, but now she wants me to keep doing it.

Plus we may have watched RuPaul’s Drag Race together. (Look Hot Guy’s been gone a lot lately and sometimes I need adult TV that isn’t going to scare the kids. Plus, hello? Drag Queens? I totally wish I could be one.)

Anyway, the point is that I pointed my son’s nails. I used clear, which I explained as the appropriate color for boys (unless they are drag queens, but I didn’t want to remind him of that, because what if he’d then asked for red? I’m sure our family already gives the staff of their preschool enough laughs.)

I like to think of myself as a feminist. I raise my children to think that they can be anything, that toilet cleaning knows no gender and that drag queens are cool. But my boys are obsessed with trains and cars and my daughter loves princess Barbies. . . . . .and I’m really comfortable with that.

I felt sheepish when Hot Guy asked me why Lovebug’s nails were so shiny. He just shook his head at me while refraining from comment.

So I’m curious to hear from other adults, would you paint your son’s nails? And if so, would you force clear on him? Or let him go his own creative way?

(I want to state for the record that if he wants to paint his own nails when he’s a teenager or an adult, I’m fine with it. It’s the fact that’s he so little and that someday he may call me from his therapist’s office and talk about how I feminized him as a preschooler that freaks me out.)

I always thought I’d be one of those really creative moms, the kind that do amazing art projects with their kids on rainy afternoons and let them dress however they wanted. I thought I’d just quietly walk out of the room when angry, or quietly lecture them until they apologized and never did it again. I thought I’d always be happy to read a story. I thought I’d be good at this.

Which just goes to show that life must really begin at 40, because before I had kids, I certainly didn’t know myself very well. While it’s true that sometimes I liked to draw or color to relax, the only time I ever did amazing art projects was when I had to do them to make examples for my students, and even then I only did them while I was watching movies and talking on the phone. As for dressing, well, I tend to conform. And the only time I’ve ever been quiet while angry is right before I’ve exploded. With regards reading stories, sure I LOVE to read and I do enjoy quality children’s literature, but that’s not what my children want to hear. They want to hear Thomas stories and rehashings of Disney movies.

And as I struggle to convince my fiercely independent children that nose-picking is gross, that vegetables will not kill them, that they can let me direct the imaginary play just once and that matching socks are fun, I kind of want to laugh. Not at them.

At me.

How on earth did I think two stubborn, loud parents would produce quiet, malleable children? And turn flexible and quiet upon parenthood? What the hell was I smoking?

What’s really funny is that my belief in an easy child and my subsequent ideal motherhood were going to happen with ChunkyMonkey. Like any third child in our family wouldn’t realize that he’d have to yell just to be heard each day. And like adding a third child to the mix wouldn’t increase my older children’s independence and my own willingness to encourage them to entertain themselves.

And that’s how I know I’m done having kids (aside from the realities that we don’t have enough money or room to have another, of course). I may be a little sad to realize that I won’t be buying baby stuff anymore and that I’ll never nurse again, but the bloom has worn off. I know if we had a fourth s/he would be even more passionate and loud than the other three and that I would become even less of an ideal mother, possibly by barricading myself in my room during play time and letting them all fend for themselves.