| School Mans | | Date Created: Sep 11, 2007, 03:10 PM |
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Today started the boys' second week in school. Already it has made life so much better. This morning it was so funny--I dropped the boys at school and then arrived at the first stop light. There were all the other mothers lined up in SUV's six -deep. Through the light we streamed, taking a right at the cut-through street without speed bumps. Half of the line diverted to the drive-thru coffee shop and the rest of us steamed ahead to the gym. Then we all piled out and went in. It was like a movie and I couldn't help but laugh at us all. What a luxury it is that we have the time and money to go to the gym to lift weights grunting the whole time literally pushing our husbands, children, and grocery lists away, to go gangbusters on the elliptical machine as if someone with a trash bag of dirty diapers is chasing us, and to downward dog our way to forgetting it all. I actually skipped the grocery store today--why don't we go out for chicken wings tonight, honey--but if I had made it I'm sure I would have seen more of the same mothers grabbing the two-for-one apple juice and that package of pull-ups which we just gotta believe this is going to be the last one we ever buy.
Like I said, I am so blessed to be able to send the boys to preschool and be able to go to the gym. But it's not an easy task to fit it all in. It seems like even before the boys start any sports teams or music lessons, my life is already broken into little pieces of mechanical time. A block to exercise/sweat away all inner demons/keep in at least decent shape, a block to procure all necessary items such as food/socks that James will wear/laundry detergent-and-lots-of-it/birthday presents/alcohol, a block to feed children, a block to feed self, a block to start laundry, block to dump laundry in piles, block to play outside, block to fix snacks, block to think about getting the broom after snack, block to forget broom and water plants instead, block to think about supper, block to slightly clean house before Will comes home, block to complain about boys' behavior, block to pour wine, block to turn on cartoons (finally!), block to fix supper, block to sit around happy family table, block to bathe boys, block to tuck boys in, block to telepathically send message to Will to clean up kitchen, block to bathe self (finally!), block to feel pillow under head. I wonder how many of us preschool moms are doing the exact same things at the exact same moments!
Anyway, even with everything as planned and scheduled and routined as it is, things are on the up and up. The boys really love school. although the most talkative they get in terms of telling me what went on in a day is when animatedly describing which of them used the potty that day and which used the "zhuszhnal" (urinal). Their favorite toy there is a pretend grill and also the kitchen. Ladies in the 3 - 5 bracket, I'm working hard here making sure these guys know how to cook! After cooking at school, they continue it here to a degree. They started as a restaurant. Then they wanted to use my aprons. Then they brought all of the cardboard blocks downstairs and piled them up. From there, they were delivery men: "beer mans", then "chicken wing mans" with a shipment for California, capri sun mans, and then they were grocery mans and had all of the boxes stacked on the steps and then would rearrange them and put them in grocery bags. I've enjoyed watching this game over the last few days until the incarnation it took today. "Trash mans." This involves filling grocery bags with as many random objects as possible, the smaller and more abundant the better (matchbox cars, for example) and then dumping out the bags in a huge pile.
Speaking of beer mans, don't ask me how in the world they know so much about beer--I mean seriously, don't ask me--but the other night Will and I were watching football and James exclaimed loudly about their stuffed animal badger, "Don't talk to Badger! He drinks too many beers!" To which George replied, "Stripesey has beer only every once in a while. And he's a grown-up zebra."
While their imaginations seem to be going full blast lately, which is fun, if messy, their naps and potty training seem to be a tad on the outs. Today I've been trying the approach of letting them read quietly during naptime instead of having to painfully try to sleep. It worked well for about 20 minutes. Since then I've heard books being dumped over the side of beds and was interrupted in the middle of my shower by a blood-curdling scream. George had wet his pants. Even though he'd already been to the bathroom literally six or seven times since quiet time began 45 minutes earlier. At least I now know I WOULD hear them if something terrible happened while I was daydreaming during my 20-minute Calgon-take-me-away showers.
John has also really regressed on the potty training. Will's mom and I have talked about it maybe being the anxiety of starting real preschool. Last week we had one heck of a night with him. It was sometime between 1 and 3 am. He'd already wet the bed twice that night when we heard him scream out again. We pulled ourselves out of bed and slept-walked down the hall to find John standing in his room wailing. We took him to the potty where of course nothing happened. And he would not calm down. Meanwhile I'm taking the current set of blankets and towels off his bed and adding them to the pile of previously wet sheets and blankets. He goes crazy and wants them back on the bed. They're wet, we tell him. "THEY! ARE! NOT! WET!" He yells. We try to talk to him. It was an accident. You wet the bed. You'll get to the potty next time. But still he yells in our faces like he's possessed. We tell him we are going to take some of his toys away if he doesn't calm down (our latest discipline experiment). We manage to get a pull-up on him--the first one he's had to wear in two months or more. And then we put him in his room and get in our bed. We don't shut his door or ours, but we want him to realize that we aren't going to talk to him or have anything to do with him when he's screaming like a madman. So Will and I lie in our bed listening listening listening waiting for him to fall asleep, throw himself down the stairs, or come murder us in our bed. Suddenly his screaming takes on a wacky script:
NO WHITE BLANKIE ON BED!
NO BIG WHITE BLANKIE ON BED!
LITTLE BIT SCARED!
LITTLE BIT SCARED!
I DID NOT WET THE BED!
THEY ARE NOT WET!
I DUMPED WATER ON ME!
THAT'S NOT NICE TO TAKE TOYS!
THAT'S NOT NICE TO TAKE TOYS!
And his voice gets louder as we realize he is creeping down the hallway closer and closer to our room. Finally Will says, "John, if you stop fussing we can talk." John runs in, says he's sorry in a tiny voice, and then crawls in our bed and curls up, "getting cozy" as he likes to call cuddling, and then starts cooing and giving us kisses. This is what Ms. Jekyll-Hyde must have had to put up with during the potty-training years. Ugh!
So, things are moving along despite the hiccups. There was also the playdate where the boys just wrestled and the scared little girl watched--how embarrassing--and a few poops in the pants that required a fingernail brush after the poopers were "checking" to see if they really had pooped in their pants before they called me. But we've also had an unbelievably smooth visit to the dentist with George who said things like, "A new toothbrush, Mama! I love toothbrushes," to the hygienist and a relatively smooth visit with James. Poor thing. For James, he was incredibly good and brave. When the hygienist started putting the seat back James literally clawed me trying to get out. But with a comfy Mickey Mouse pillow he was a trooper, and we kept our eyes locked during the entire cleaning, his scrawny little arm shaking while I held his hand. I was so proud because he really was afraid. And it's not fair to say James is the scaredy cat, because while George may love being doted on by sweet hygienists, he loses sleep over tigers who might steal our mail out of the mailbox. It's all relative. My guess with John next week is that he'll act just like he does at the barber. Like a 90-year-old man who can't hear or talk but knows just to do what the nice lady says.
Gotta run. James just informed me he was "coming down" from quiet time. It is time for me to let the animals out, but I can't ever let them forget I'M the zookeeper!
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