off the gravy train

When I was tucking the kids in one night last week, I kissed C's forehead and said goodnight.  He pulled his favorite stuffed animal (a mole, creatively named "Moley") from under the covers and said in Moley's voice, "What am I, chopped liver?"  So I kissed the disgusting stuffed mole that has been dragged through who knows what outside and around the house -- deciding that it was, at least, moderately less gross than actual chopped liver.

invasion

Last weekend, Kathy and I were in San Francisco (more on that later).  While we were there, she got a 5 am text from Kathy's ex-husband, asking if he could go to our house for the kids' snow clothes.  Which we ignored, because it was 5 am.  The 5 am text was followed by a 7 am text, which Kathy responded to by reminding her ex-husband that he had his own set of snow clothes, so there was no need for him to go to our house to take our set.  At 8, he informed us that he had gone to our house anyway, and the kids had gone inside to get the snow clothes, because they found a door unlocked.  He assured us he would just send the kids in, not go in our house himself, since he knows -- and we have already said -- that we don't like him in our house when we aren't home.  This was irritating, since he does, in fact, have his own set of snow clothes, but was acceptable, since we want the kids to feel like the house is their home, which they can have unfettered access to. 

When we arrived home, I noticed that the kids' tracks went all around the house, to all the doors.  Because I was concerned that we had left a door unlocked, and because the kids snow clothes were still piled right by the back door where they were when we left, I asked B what door they went in and why they didn't take the snow clothes.  "The back door," B answered. 

A narrowed her eyes suspicously.  "Did Daddy go inside?" she asked, since she wasn't with the other two kids at the time. 

"Yes," B responded.  "He wanted other clothes so he said, 'I'm coming in this house!' and went up to get the long underwear and my sweatpants and some other stuff."

(photo credit)

birthday boy

Today, C turned 6.  This is a big milestone for me because, out of all the kids, I am most parental for C.  Not to say my relationships with the girls aren't important -- obviously they are -- but C does not remember his life before I was in it.  He is the only one of the kids who calls me Mommy (although I rarely respond to it because I am always confused and think he's talking to Kathy).  I remember the days of C in diapers and drinking out of a bottle.

And now, he's 6 years old.  He has no front teeth, and has opinions about what he likes to wear (preferably shirts with numbers on them -- no collars -- and shoes that light up).  He likes to walk up to the school with his friends, and has to be reminded to hug us goodbye. 

One of his favorite pastimes is spying on A.  To that end, he got a secret message pen and a lie detector kit from his sisters.  Nice of A to play along, since she is most often the victim of his secret missions.  He also got a skateboard from the family, a remote-control car that drives up walls (from me and Kathy), Battleship from my parents and a Steelers jersey and jacket from Kathy's mom.  Not a bad haul for 6 years old.  Oh right, and Kathy's mom sent him 6 dollars, so he now believes he is rich.

A few nights ago, C came downstairs with a bad dream.  Kathy snored through it, but I woke up.  He crawled in, curled up in my armpit, and was fast asleep in minutes.  After my arm fell asleep, I carried him back up to bed.  As I tucked him in, he woke up a little bit, and said in a groggy voice, "Thank you, Ewin.  Love you," then was back to sleep.  I'll be sad when the speech therapy at school changes the way he says my name, and when he's too cool to say he loves me.  For now, I'm just glad that at six, he's still such a little boy.

year-end

Yesterday, Kathy woke me up at 6:30ish.  Actually, I first woke up at 5:15 when she got out of bed but was too groggy to ask what she was doing.  Then I woke again at 6:15 and heard her typing in the office.  Then, she came in and said to me, "I think you should get up.  I think you should work out."

The thing is, when you have kids, the end of June is the end of the year.  And with the end of the year, comes obligation -- about a million obligations, actually.  Monday, I got up and went to C's class party.  I came home, took Kathy to the doctor, went directly to my horseback riding lesson, and went to the grocery store.  I got food for the week, plus food for A's graduation party.  I changed my clothes, and went to A's 5th grade graduation and the attendant dinner, which brought me pretty much to 9 pm.  I fell asleep on the bed waiting for Kathy to come in from the other room. 

Then, yesterday's schedule involved B's Coral Reef Day presentation and class party (from 8:30 to noon) then preparing for and throwing A's 5th grade graduation party -- which would go all afternoon and into the evening, between setting up, having the party, and cleaning up afterward.  So, really, 6:30 was the only time there was to work out.

After I emerged, sweating, from the basement, I thanked Kathy for getting me up.  Dragging me out of bed early is always risky.  "Ah, I knew it would make you feel better," she said.  "It seemed the least I could do, since your life is not your own."  There is that.

So, I hope you'll forgive the spotty blog-posts this week, but it is true that my life is not my own right now.  Really, once you have kids, is it ever your own?

birthday

B's birthday was on Sunday.  She is now eight years old.  This is really crazy to me, because when I met Kathy, B was in preschool.  That year, she bossily told Kathy that she was going the wrong way to her preschool.  Even though she was only 4 and had no idea how to get to her preschool.  For her eighth birthday, we got her a black and white hamster.  She said she would have named it Bob if it was a boy, but when we told her it was a girl, she decided to name it Cutie.  So we have a hamster named Cutie.  I would post a picture, but Cutie lives next to B's bed, and it's after bedtime so I can't just go snapping pictures.

I know everyone with kids is always all "blah blah blah they grow up so fast, etc."  But it is actually true, they do.  When I met C, he was in diapers and ate out of a bottle (only once a day, but still).  Now he can read short words, and write sentences like "I lik my but.  I wat to tak my butl." ("I like my beetle.  I want to take my beetle.")  And don't even get me started on A, who is graduating from 5th grade next week, and will then (1) have a cell phone, (2) be able to stay home alone for short periods, and (3) be a middle-schooler, and, therefore, insufferable.  Also, she is nearly as tall as I am and has a size 7 foot.

So anyway.  It really is shocking, but they grow up so fast.  Blah blah blah, etc.

Update:  Some pictures of Cutie, since I know you were dying to see them.  Awwwww.

from the mouths of babes

Yesterday, I spent the better part of an hour trying to figure out why turning on my computer resulted in the White Screen of Death.  I also got kind of a wicked sunburn from working out in the yard (forgetting that the sun does actually shine even if you are not near a body of water -- meaning I did not wear one bit of sunscreen).  I also got a phone call in the middle of my timed practice GRE so I failed miserably at the math section, then cried.

(fancy napkin folding not actually required in our house)

That night, while I was making dinner, the kids started squabbling over the table setting -- apparently putting on the napkins is the worst of the tasks, and one to be avoided if at all possible.  "ENOUGH!" I roared, "ALL OF YOU."  The silence that followed was, for the first three seconds, the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.  Then I started to feel just a teensy bit guilty.  I mean, when I set my mind to it, I can yell LOUDLY.

stepping up

Being a step-mom is complicated.  Not even being a step-mom is even more complicated.  My relationship with the kids is many things -- exasperating, rewarding, loving, fraught.  And much, much more than that.  It isn't now, and will never be, simple.

 

It's the knife-edge I walk between parent and friend that makes it complicated for them.  I live in their house, but they can see I need more personal space than mom.  At the same time, there are some things that the girls, at least, being older, are more comfortable discussing with me than with Kathy.  But all with the lingering awareness throughout the discussion that I am in some ways a proxy for Kathy.

It's the knife-edge I walk between parent and not-my-kid that makes it complicated for me.  It has taken me until now to train myself not to defer to Kathy on every question that does not involve an established rule and trust my parenting judgment.  My heart swelled when B addressed her letter for the parent-teacher conferences to "Mom and Mom."  But I would be lying if I said there was never a time where I thought, "If I have to go to one more [insert child rec league sport] game, I am going to scream."  Sometimes, I think that I lack the patience required to raise children entirely.  Sometimes, I admit, I just want everyone to GO AWAY and stop asking me questions.  Then I wake up the next day to big brown eyes blinking at me from an inch away, and short, fat arms thrown around my neck.  And I'm really, really glad they didn't go away.

the way it goes

Arrrrgh!  Did you notice I didn't put the pictures up last night like I promised?  Bad blogger!

That is because, when you have kids in your life, it is anything but predictable.  A, the 10 year old, had a crisis last night that occupied pretty much the entire evening from the time we got home until 12:30 when I finally collapsed into bed, exhausted (other than when I was busy burning the green beans I was steaming, which I did not even know you could do).  Poor kid.

So maybe tonight with the pictures, then.  We shall see.