My Internet is getting fixed today! At some point between the hours of 8 a.m. and 8 p.m., anyway.
Thanks for that super-helpful service window, Verizon. I'll just sit here and wait for the inevitable, which is that you will not arrive during any of the many hours I am here sitting and waiting, but will of course arrive during the 15 minutes that I absolutely have leave the house to pick Ike up from school. And you'll get all huffy and impatient and I'll be all apologetic and flustered and we'll get off on the wrong foot, all because my three year old can't "drive" or "cross major intersections by himself." Yet, anyway.
Let's not get off on the wrong foot, Imaginary Huffy Verizon Authority Figure.
Speaking of Ike, he has decided that he is done with preschool, and the fact that he is not allowed to attend kindergarten at his brothers' school has taken over as the latest Three Year Old Worst Injustice In The World, At Least Since This Morning When He Was Served Milk In The Wrong Cup.
(Yes. STILL with the wrong cup. And the dark blue plate. We've also added: Non-Ninja-Turtle Underwear is basically Garbage Underwear, and there is only one acceptable pair of socks in the world, and any time you deny him a plastic straw for his cup you are basically violating his human rights.)
So...yeah. Ike's been a little difficult lately, and even though "lately" technically dates back to his second birthday, I'm guessing some of this has to do with all the travel and upheaval of the past couple weeks.
Because this blog isn’t the only thing struggling in the face of the New World Order (aka Mommy Went & Got A Real Job). There's no denying that this month HAS been really tough on the boys, and while I like to think I shook the majority of my mom-guilt off right around the time I had a second baby and was like, FUCK ALL THAT, LET’S JUST KEEP EVERYONE ALIVE UNTIL BEDTIME…well, I am feeling it pretty hard right now.
At bedtime, Ike makes me promise that I won’t go away again. He crawls into bed with us more nights than not, claiming everything from bad dreams to phantom tummy aches. During the day, He’s clingy and needy and weeps when I drop him off at school. “Don’t leave me!” he sobs as I hand him over to the school staff and get back in the car, feeling every uncomfortable feeling one can possibly feel in the heart area.
The Friday after my first trip, Noah’s class had a field trip. He begged me to chaperone, reminding me that since I’d been unable to chaperone his LAST trip because of work, I’d made some vague promises about “next time.”
So I signed up to chaperone. Less than 12 full hours after I stepped off the plane. MOM POINTS!
But then I stepped off the plane and discovered that my entire family was sick, and violently so. Noah recovered in time to attend the field trip, but I had to back out of chaperoning to stay home with Ezra and Ike. He was devastated.
(Also the only thing I brought back from Orlando for them was a collection of theme park maps from my hotel lobby. Legoland, Harry Potter World, Disney, etc.)
(To be fair, they all really like the maps. But have all now planned our next family vacation with them and hoo boy, it sounds exhausting and expensive and I would really rather not.)
(BREAKING NEWS: I started and abandoned this post so many hours ago that I can now report that I managed to get to and from Ike's school successfully, with no sign of or huffy phone calls from the Verizon guy. I suppose that's a plus, but now means the rest of my afternoon and evening involve MORE WAITING.)
The Friday after my second trip (from which I brought them ABSOLUTELY NOTHING), all three of their classes had their Valentine’s Day parties. Jason had thankfully remembered to pick up a few packages of cheap drugstore Valentines, so I spent most of Thursday night trying to get the boys to fill them out. MOM POINTS!
After Ike threw a huge early-bedtime-worthy tantrum over some heart stickers that I cruelly would not let him put all over his face, I forged his name on a stack of SpongeBob cards, knowing full well that we would be the only Montessori family sending in something commercial and cartoon-based, because all the other Montessori families send in homemade Valentines. Year after year, somehow all getting and agreeing to a memo that I never got, but would probably ignore anyway. Yet once again, Ike came home with a bagged packed full of handmade asymmetrical construction paper hearts with googly eyes, glittery doilies, crayon portraits, and OF COURSE…painstakingly lettered names, even from the littlest class members.
Meanwhile, us: Goddamn SpongeBob, with me using my left hand to forge my child's signature so it would kinda maybe look like we kinda maybe tried. Yep.
(I am not even close to the only full-time working mother in this class, by the way. I am just the one who is the most bad at it.)
That Friday morning I had to tell Ezra and Noah that no, I would not be attending either of their classroom parties that day – after two straight weeks of travel I had to stay at my desk and work all day, as did Jason. Devastated, again.
At a birthday party this past weekend, another mom who attended the Valentine's party related a choice Ezra quote: “My mom had to go away on TWO trips in TWO weeks but when I get home, she’s going to be there! And she’s not going away again!”
And even though I technically did go away later that very night (to celebrate Valentine's Day with Jason and also give the poor man's fraying sanity a break), Ezra seemed quite understanding, and even opted to give me a last-minute accessory from his Valentine's stash:
(Edited super professionally to smear out his teachers' names.)
You know, it's nice to be missed. Even if the people who miss you tend to let you know that they missed you in ways that try your patience to the edge.
(And mess up your proper plank form by choosing that moment for some way overdue togetherness and bonding.)