If This Plane Lands in the Water...

Last weekend, my brother-in-law got married.  My boys were in the wedding (cutest ring-bearers in the history of the job, really), and my husband was the Best Man.  My job, besides doing one of the readings at the wedding ceremony, was to handle the ring-bearers and make sure they made it down the aisle, then sat quietly through Mass.  They did both admirably well, and my husband and I both heaved a sigh of relief when we made it to the end without any outbursts from our children.

The wedding was in Michigan.  My husband was already there (we're moving there soon, and he's been commuting from Florida for several months now), so I flew with the Bean and the Little One on last Wednesday evening.  They were amazing.  Charming, funny, talkative, cooperative...I could not have asked for a better experience.

We were on a large plane that was mostly empty.  There were maybe 30 people in the main cabin, which meant the boys could play with their tray tables and squirm in their seats without bothering anyone.  As we were preparing for takeoff, the lead flight attendant asks everyone to "please direct your attention to the overhead screens for a brief safety presentation."  Ordinarily, I ignore this.  I've flown enough times to know that in the event of an unexpected loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling, and that oxygen will be flowing, even if the bag doesn't inflate.  I also know that my seat cushion makes a handy flotation device in the event of a water landing.

Ordinarily, I said.  This was not an ordinary flight.  This was the first flight my kids noticed the video screen and paid attention.  My "mom antennae" were working overtime and I was already bracing myself for the questions.  The Little One didn't seem to care much.  He was examining the Sky Mall magazine, maybe working on his Christmas list.  I'm not sure.  I'm just glad he wasn't paying attention. The Bean was a different story altogether.

"Mommy? Do we have to wear a life vest to ride on a plane?  I thought those were for boats.  And why are those people on the TV wearing those funny masks on their faces?  Do we have to do that, too?  

Truth versus Anxiety-Free Trip...  Sorry, Truth.  There's no winning this one.  I completely dodged the question.  "Well, sweetheart, I've been on a lot of planes, and I've never had to use those things."  And then I gave him a bag of fruit snacks and told him to look at the all the things going on outside his window.

I turn to the Little One to answer his questions about products available for purchase from Sky Mall, and in the twenty seconds I wasn't looking at the Bean, he went rifling through the seat back pocket in front of him.  Of the thirteen things in there, what does he find to peruse?  The Safety Information Card.  Yay!

"Mommy?  Look at this.  Why is this a picture of an airplane parked in the water?  This is not a seaplane.  It cannot land on the water, Mommy. And why do they need boats?"  He wasn't upset, just confused about why the artist chose to show an airplane in the water with giant inflatable life rafts all around it.  As I stuttered and tried to think of a better answer than my previous one, he continued.  "Mommy!  Are you looking at this?  If this plane lands in the water, the people on it are not going to be able to get where they are going and they are not going to be happy."

The only thing going through my head was, If this plane lands in the water, we have bigger problems than how were going to get to our final destination!   I didn't say that.

Instead, I said, "Wow.  It's getting loud in here.  I think we're about to take off.  Want some more fruit snacks?"

Laugh at me, scold me for not telling him the truth, whatever... I'm just thrilled to say we made it through the two and half hour flight that landed 30 minutes ahead of schedule (which was still an hour beyond their normal bedtime) and both of my children were happy.  

When my husband picked us up at baggage claim, the boys hurled themselves off the escalator and into his arms, screaming, "DADDY!!!!" to a chorus of "awwwww"s coming from everyone around. 

The Bean announced later that night, "We rode a shuttle bus, an airplane, and a monorail train, Daddy picked us up at the airport, and now we're going to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  This is the best day of my life!"

Mission complete.

First Day of School

Wow...has it really been a month since I last wrote a post?  All I can say is that it has been one extremely busy month and I've been fully engaged with my children and my family.  I'll write more about our fun summer vacation and other adventures soon.  Today, I want to write about...today.

Today was the first day of school!

The Bean is starting what's called VPK here in Florida - Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten.  He's still four.  Not going to Kindergarten until next year, and thank heavens for that.  I'm so not ready!  The Little One is starting his new school year too - up to three mornings each week from last year's two - in a new school.  New teachers and classrooms for them (and me!).

The boys have been going to preschool two mornings each week for the last two years and we've all loved it.  It's been nice for me to have a little unencumbered time to do...well anything that's easier to do without two little guys tagging along.  They've learned social skills, how to be separate people (from me and each other), that it's okay to trust their teachers to take care of them when Mom and Dad aren't there, and innumerable other things that will help them fulfill all the potential my husband and I see in them every day.

This year is different.  The Bean will be going to school five mornings each week.  Wow...five.  I'm really hung up on that.  This might as well be Kindergarten!  I'm suddenly facing my little boy growing up and I'm finding myself very unprepared for the onslaught of emotion.  I hear things like, "He's ready for it!"  "Don't worry, you'll both end up loving it!"  "Think of all the free time you're going to have!" And I know all these things to be true, but I'm just not ready yet to give up my time with the Bean.  But we're doing it, because it's the best thing for our son.  And we'll do it with a smile and excitement, because he needs to see our enthusiasm to grow his own.

And if, tomorrow morning, the Bean cries and clings to me like he did this morning, I'll once again kiss him goodbye, smile while I promise to be back before lunchtime, and walk out of his classroom door like everything is fine, even though I'm dying inside listening to him pleading with me to stay with him.  There were two moms in my head warring this morning between "Keep walking, it's the best thing you can do for him right now!" and "Have you lost your mind - how could you leave your terrified little boy?!"

When I picked him up today, my little Bean was happy - not because he was leaving school, but because he had a great day!  He told me about his day, the cool playground, explained the green paint on his shirt (finger painting leaves!) and how his teacher helped him feel better when he was sad after I left this morning.  I was bursting with pride and pleasure in him, and gratitude for his teacher, who did what she promised me she would do.  When he wouldn't let go of me this morning, she looked me right in the eye and said, "Will you let me take him from you, and trust me to love him and help him handle this?"  What a blessing good teachers are!

What does the Little One think of school, you ask?  He loves it.  LOVES it.  He was upset that this morning wasn't "real" school for him - it was his classroom "sneak peek," when the children get to come with their parents and explore the classroom and meet their teachers with the safety net of Mom or Dad there.  We walked into the room, he let go of my hand and immediately set out to touch and play with every single thing in his "giant new class" (his words!).  An hour was not nearly long enough to satisfy him, and he certainly didn't want me getting in his way.  On FaceTime tonight with Daddy, he spent five minutes telling a convoluted story about what the plastic donkey was doing in Barbie's Dreamhouse*.  Wednesday will be his first full morning, and as far as he's concerned, it can't come fast enough.  The Bean told me, tearfully, this morning that he wanted to stay home with me forever and never go to school.  The Little One asked when he'd be big enough to ride the school bus.

I'm truly looking forward to what the year will bring, and there is real joy in picking my boys up at the end of their school day.  The big smiles as they dash out the door to hug me, chattering away about projects, games and friends.  They both love going to school and really thrive in that environment, and it's truly a miracle to get to see them grow into themselves throughout each year.  The two mornings each week when it will be just me and the Little One are going to be wonderful, too!  He told me today that he'd like to go to Starbucks with me (ha!) and play with all his brother's Legos (double-ha!).

So - if you're the parent who loves watching their children thrive and grow in school, but who isn't also waiting for the last day of summer vacation with bated breath, or isn't ready for five-mornings-a-week preschool, all-day Kindergarten, or facing the reality of time flying by faster than you can wrap your fingers around it, it's okay.  I'm right there, too. 

ps.
*In case you were wondering what the donkey was doing in the Dreamhouse: Riding the elevator up and down and up and down, and getting dressed to go play in the sand park before heading to the playground, which was bad because he got sand on the slides, and then there was something about using tweezers to possibly break a rope.  I clearly lost a bit of the story there. The Little One definitely has the makings of an Irish storyteller!

What time is it?

As the Bean gets older, I'm starting to explain to him what the numbers on the clock in his room mean.  It's an analog clock that makes an actual tick-tock noise.  We've identified the big hand, little hand, and he recognizes most of the numbers, most of the time.

Lately, he hasn't been wanting to actually sleep during his nap time.  Even when he doesn't sleep, though, he has a "rest," which means that he can do quiet activities (reading, puzzles) in his bed.  No toys, though, and he has to stay in bed.

Two days ago, I put him and the Little One down for their naps.  Ten minutes later, the Bean comes out of his room and asks if his rest is over.  I send him back to bed with a kiss and a "are you kidding me?" Ten minutes after that, he calls me to help him after he's gone to the bathroom.

Once again, I get him settled in his bed and I show him the clock on his wall.  "You can go to sleep or not, but if you don't, you can't get up until 3:00."  I point out the 3 on the clock and describe that 3:00 looks like a letter "L" - big hand pointing straight up, little hand pointing straight to the side, on the number 3.

"Okay, Mommy!  I know."  I leave him with his stack of books and Highlights High Five magazines.

Thirty minutes later, at 2:01pm, the Bean comes strolling into my sewing room, smiling.

"Hi, Mommy!  It's 3:00!  The hands on my clock are pointing like a letter "L" just like you said."
He's clearly excited and I'm thinking that maybe he's confused the 2 and the 3.  I follow him to his room where he points at the clock and says, "See, look!"

...  ...  ... this is what I found:

I have no words.  I just stare at my son, open-mouthed.  Part of me wants to cheer his ingenuity and critical thinking.  I mean, how great is it that my four year old, who is only just starting to understand clocks, figured this out?!  He climbed on train table to reach this.  Changed the time, and then tried to hang it back up so I wouldn't notice what he'd done.  

I pointed out that changing the time in his room doesn't change the time in the rest of the house.  I asked him to go back to bed and walked out of the room, down the hall to my bedroom, closed to the door, and laughed hysterically.  I'm so proud, so very very proud of this little boy. 

Also, I could hear my dad's voice in my head during this episode, laughing.  He used to joke that every room in our house must be in a different time zone because none of the clocks ever showed the same thing...

Something Serious This Way Comes

Okay...this post is a (semi) serious one.  I won't do this often.  The point of this blog is to be funny.  This is important to me, though, so buckle up...

If you're a parent, particularly a stay-at-home parent, or you're married to a stay-at-home parent, you're at least passingly familiar with the term "mommy wars."  Generally, it's this idea that all of us stay-at-home moms are trying to one-up each other for Mom of the Year.  And I'm not excluding dads from this.  I imagine they deal with this, and other things, too.  It's just, well, I'm a mom, so that's my perspective.

Social media has made it very easy for us all of us to feel inferior.  We're never doing enough.  Never making enough cookies, never volunteering to save the world enough, never wearing the most fashionable, newest clothes, never feeding our kids the most vegetables, never getting them to sit at the table without causing a scene at dinner EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.  We are left feeling that we are not enough.  We see on Facebook, Twitter, and everywhere else, that other people are doing all these things.  And I know this, because I feel like this sometimes.

A few months ago, a friend and former colleague of both mine and my husband's called him to catch up.  She mentioned that she sees on Facebook all the things I'm up to during the day with the boys.  "Your wife is such a great mom.  She's always finding cool stuff for the boys to do and help with."  My husband laughed and said, "Boy, my wife would really love to talk to you!"

About a week or so later, someone else made a comment in the same vein to him about the pictures they saw of the cookies and cupcakes I had made for the Bean's fourth birthday party.

I always joke that I don't take pictures of the kids when they're screaming and crying and fighting with me about picking up their toys, eating their dinners, putting on their shoes, going to bed, or any number of other things.  Who wants to remember those moments?   I don't believe that Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or any other public forum is the place for unloading negativity.  I deliberately try to keep it light and silly.  I post pictures of the boys doing the funny things they do all day, so that our friends and family can keep in touch and find out, if they're inclined, what the Bean and Little One are up to.  If you're not part of my day-to-day non-internet life, though, you'd never know about anything else.

So, why is it that when I see the happy pictures of laughing children or clever crafty projects, or read the posts about children who love eating green beans and who play nicely with their siblings all day long, that I suddenly feel like I must be doing something wrong?  The parents posting those pictures and comments  might have perfect children, who do exactly what they are told and never cause spikes in blood pressure, but odds are....they're doing the same thing I do.  Editing the negative, sharing the things that bring a smile to their faces.  Reminding themselves that these little people we are raising might make us doubt ourselves daily, but they are also capable of producing such an intense, piercing joy, if we, as parents, trust ourselves enough to feel it.

Please - if you see my posts on Facebook and think, "Wow!  I can't believe she made those cookies herself!" or "Her kids are always smiling and so happy!" take a step back and know this:  I called my husband crying one night this week because the Little One was in his room, sobbing hysterically that he was hungry.  I felt like a terrible human being because I wouldn't feed my three-year-old anything, as he had just been at the dinner table for thirty minutes screaming at me that he would not eat chicken, or anything else I'd made.  I'd finally reached my breaking point with his food demands.

Those cookies and cupcakes I made?  I have a mom who is amazingly talented and crafty, and growing  up, those kind of projects were part of the program.   I've been doing crafty projects like that since I was two years old.  I enjoy doing them, and I get a real sense of accomplishment from completing projects like that.  It makes me happy.  But I made a lot of ugly, misshapen cookies and produced a lot of cupcakes with wonky frosting before I learned.

My kids are always smiling and happy?  They are often that way, but I don't take pictures of them when they're on the floor having a tantrum.  I don't write posts on Facebook about the times I lose my temper and shout at them.  Or about the towering guilt that comes on the heels of losing my temper, or the feeling of utter despair that I'm failing my children as a mom.  Who wants to put that out there?!

Next time you're looking at something online and that little voice in the back of your head is saying, "Why am I not enough?" remember this:  you don't know the whole story.  It's like trying to understand the plot of book by reading page 82.  My mom said something to me once, in response to my tearful "I feel like a horrible mother!"  She said, "You're a good mom.  I know you're a good mom because if you weren't, you wouldn't care whether you're a good mom. You wouldn't keep trying."

So, keep trying, forgive yourself when you screw it up, and remember that you don't have to be perfect (what does that even mean, anyway!?) to be the ideal mother (or father!) for your children.  None of us are perfect, despite what it looks like on the internet.


ps.  As a note, I wrote this post several days ago and have been letting it stew, not sure when, or even whether, to post it.  Then, last night I was at a fundraiser event with some friends.  An aquaintance sat down to talk with us, and she said to me, "I can't believe you ever have a bad day with your kids!  You are always smiling in the hall at school [our children attend the same preschool]."  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry!  I decided I needed to post this.  Also, one of my dearest friends pre-read it and begged me to post it too. 

2,487 Web Pages

Everyone who spends any time at all on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or any other social networking site, has seen those ecards with the black-and-white illustration and some sharp, snarky commentary.  I love them.  They almost always make me laugh, particularly the ones relating to motherhood.

There was one going around recently that says if you want to know what the inside of a woman's brain is like, imagine a browser with 2,487 web pages open simultaneously.  Sometimes, I feel like that's absolutely true.  Of course, there are also the days when the wifi is down and no web pages will open.

When I was part of the traditional workforce, prior to having kids, I was absolutely a Type-A control-freak.  Everything on my desk was organized.  I had a white board on the wall with different color markers to keep track of multiple projects and the complex maze of formulas and code relating to the spreadsheets I spent my days programming.  I was good at my job!  I could multi-task all day long!

I am not, however, the kind of person who can have the radio and the TV on at the same time and not feel like I'm going crazy.  My husband can filter the sounds and has no problem watching a TED video on his iPad while simultaneously watching a DVR'ed episode of Elementary with me.  I can't focus on either, and I'm left with nothing.

Now, I live with the Little One (age 3) and the Bean (age 4 1/2).  And I'm pretty sure I'm going to be certifiably looney before long.  They talk...about everything.  All day.  ALL DAY.  The Bean even said in the car tonight that he can talk while he's sleeping.  YAY!!!!  It is like have the radio and TV on simultaneously, while some cackling little imp in the corner just keeps pushing the VOL ^ button.  They talk over each other, over everyone else, around each other...but almost never to each other.  Always to me.  At the same time.  And while my poor scrambled brain is trying to filter their voices to make sense the questions so I can form some kind of an answer, they've moved on to repeating the questions a dozen times because I didn't answer immediately.  Even when I do manage to get an answer in edgewise, they keep repeating the question because they didn't hear the answer.  They were too busy...talking!

I want to be clear - I love that they ask questions and share their views on the world around them.  Their insights are, by turns, funny, thoughtful, and usually, spot-on.  My kids are not sheep - they won't be led along blindly anywhere.  Their curious minds are trying to understand everything they see, and I want them to wonder about this world we share.  This will be something I'm intensely proud of in a few years.  I love it.  But it's also exhausting.

So, maybe my brain isn't like having 2,487 websites open simultaneously.  But, I'm pretty sure having two preschoolers in the house is like having 900 HD satellite TV channels and every possible Pandora station going at the same time.

He said, He said

The boys are upstairs playing in their rooms.  Together, happily!  I'm [insert random household chore here] downstairs.

Suddenly, the giggling from upstairs stops.  An unnatural calm settles around the house, like that moment before a storm cloud breaks open with a thunderous boom.  The house is holding its breath.  Then, the ear-splitting wail of a three year old comes bouncing off the tile floors and every other hard surface in the house.  As the first echoes are fading, a second shriek, from the Bean, comes ricocheting through the house.

This is a common occurence in my house.  I put down the [insert cleaning tool here], and head off to investigate.  I am greeted at the top of the stairs by two tear-streaked, anxious faces.

Me: "What's going on?"
Bean: "Mom," he sucks in a big breath, purses his lips slightly, and closes his eyes briefly.  If he knew what the Serenity Prayer was, I'm pretty sure he'd be saying it in his head right now. God grant me the serenity...  "Mom," he begins again, "we was goofing around and both got hurt."  He shakes his head slowly, It's really such a shame how these things happen sometimes, isn't it?

I can feel my eyebrows creeping up my forehead, but I'm powerless to keep the expression of incredulity off my face.

"No we was not!  I was not goofin' off!"  The Little One is indignant.  "He tried to take my [most-important-toy-ever-today] an' I hit him an' he hit me back an' made myself fall down."

So, this is what I've learned:  The Bean has reached an age where he's weighing how much trouble he'll get in if he admits guilt.  But he's smart.  He doesn't lie to me outright.  He does try that sometimes, but he's so obvious when he's lying to me that it backfires on him every time.  We've had many, many, many, many discussions about how lying will only get you in more trouble in the long run, the boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome, etc....  But he's four.  I'm sure he remembers these conversations for approximately three seconds after we finish them.  (But if you swear in front of a four year old, they'll remember and repeat that FOREVER. In front of your parents. In church.)  Instead, he has started distorting the events just slightly - everything sounds accidental and all in good fun in his version.

The Little One hasn't figured out how to lie to me yet, or to distort the truth, as his brother does.  He just busts out with whatever, including incriminating himself when that's the truth.  In his mind, his retaliation, or even provocation, is thoroughly justified, so I'm not sure he even thinks he has something to hide in the first place!

Heaven help me when they learn to work together and start polishing their stories before they tell me what's happening.

I solved my own problem!

Both the Bean and Little One are in non-crib beds now, which has mostly been a blessing.  Bean has a regular, full size bed, and the Little One's crib has been converted to a toddler bed.  We never really had too much trouble with kids wandering the house at night, which has been good.  The Bean just comes to our room if he needs something (occasionally annoying, but better than him wandering around downstairs getting into heaven knows what) and the Little One prefers to scream for "MOMMY" at the top of his lungs.

The big blessing is mornings.  We can actually sleep in, a little, now.  Or at least, even though we're awake, we don't have to rush out of bed to rescue an irate toddler from his prison crib.  The boys even play together.  Once the Little One starts shouting, the Bean (who is the earliest riser in our household, barring an alarm clock artifically waking my husband for work) goes to his brother's room and they play together happily and mostly quietly for 30 to 45 minutes!  YAY!

This morning, my husband was out of town, so I was awakened at 6:45 by the shout "MOMMY" shout from next door.  I heard the Bean go into the Little One's room, some giggling, and the sound of toys being dragged from the closet.  I talked to my husband on the phone for 30 minutes, during which time I heard very little from the rooms down the hall.

After saying goodbye to my husband, I went to check on the situation with the very quiet boys.  I walk into the Little One's bedroom and am greeted by several stuffed animals piled on the floor.  This might seem like nothing to get excited about, until you know that when I put the boys to bed last night, these selfsame stuffed animals were on the top of the hutch that is mounted on the dresser.  Approximately 7' off the floor!!  There is nothing in the room suitable for climbing that high (or so I thought), and I'm struggling a bit for words.

"Mommy," the Bean is grinning widely, "I got my amimals down for me guys!  I solved my own problem!"  

"I see!  How did you do that?"  I ask cheerfully, smiling back, because he's clearly proud of his accomplishment and I don't want to crush his spirit of independence and self-reliance.  They didn't ask me for help.  He solved this problem on his own, and I'm torn between bursting pride and panic.

"Like this, with my rocking horse.  I'll show you!"  He starts dragging the small rocking horse my dad and mom built for the boys when the Bean was born.  It's modeled after one I had as a child, and it's no more than a 18" high.  How is this going to work??

Carefully, the Bean scoots the horse into position beside the dresser, next to the diaper pail.  I'm having visions of him balancing on top of the Diaper Genie and I'm about ready to put a stop to the demonstration, but he does one better than my imagination.  He stands on the seat of the horse, reaches over and grabs the side of the hutch for balance, then steps up onto the hand holds on the side of the horse's head.  Handles - basically about the size of a wooden broom handle in diameter, sticking out about 8" from either side of the head, which is attached the body of the horse with a SINGLE BOLT AND WING NUT!  Yes, I'm yelling!  But silently.  Not at the boys.  I'm struck dumb watching this demonstration.

Stretching up on his tiptoes, the Bean grabs another animal from the top of the dresser, tosses it to his brother, below, and hops down.

I remember to breathe again, and reminding myself to see the pleasure and pride on his face, I check my impulse to shout about the dangers of climbing rocking horses and scaling the sides of dressers.  

"Bean, I love how you worked out the solution to that problem all by yourself!  I'm really proud of you!"  His grin could split his cheeks at this point.  "But, I want to tell you something.  Standing on the rocking horse like that isn't something you should be doing, ok?  It's not really very safe, and I know you didn't realize that, but if the handles or his head had broken, you would have fallen down and could've been hurt very badly."

His brows draw together for a moment, as he studies the horse and considers the implication of my words.  

"Aaaaah."  And with that and a nod, he's off with the Little One to find more adventures and breakfast.

I think I actually felt four hairs spontaneously turn gray watching the demonstration.  

I'm going to be fully gray by the time they make it to Kindergarten.