Shaun went into the garage this morning to find this. (Only this picture doesn't show the true peculiarity of the situation because you can't see the height at which it hangs...) so I took this:
So yeah... apparently, there was a riding toy in the way when our garage tried to close last night, so the door went back up. So did the toy.
It reminded me of that classic children's book, Wacky Wednesday.
Labels: dumbhead parenting, humor, parenting, pics
It has been an emotional few days. To say the least. And I feel like I just wrote this yesterday.
It started with a letter from his teacher. It was sweet and all, but nothing in it made me cry- it was just the sight of it. The fact that I was opening a letter from his kindergarten teacher. I had the same experience when I looked at the cafeteria menu. The tension built on this night when we went to his Open House. These were taken with my camera phone because I forgot my camera. Thank goodness for technology or I might've missed these confused scowls and this balding parking lot. Phew.
But the reason I took these are because of his backpack. LOOK at that backpack on him. That is nothing big or fancy, it's a standard sized backpack from Target.
He's the oldest in his class, and the smallest. This is his fake smile at its best.
We had to clear up that he would not be teaching the class. Just kidding. He knew that. He just liked the teacher's chair. It gave him an ego trip.
This is his desk, front and center. Actually, no. Just center and center. He is in the middle of the middle row. Perfect for someone who has trouble paying attention and likes to make his own way. I'm just saying. If I knew a certain 5 year old who was like that.
His teacher told him his number should be easy to remember because it rhymed with his name. He liked that. He found that to be very thoughtful of her.
These are the frantic parents, desperately trying to figure out how to fit entire packs of pencils, markers, and crayons in one supply box as though they were being timed.
This is Shaun making a weird face and Jack laughing because Shaun's making a weird face.
This is what "Little Shaun" did. That's a cookie in his hand. He licked the icing out and handed us the rest- all done. He did that with about 6 cookies. What? Who cares, it kept him quiet.
This is Madalyn on the way to get ice cream afterwards. She is demonstrating how NOT to wear your seatbelt straps.
So all was fine and we felt good about things. Especially Evan. He spent his weekend counting down the minutes until he would go. This morning he woke up at about 5:45 and came in our room talking to himself, "today I get to go." He was so excited reminding us of this that his whole body would clench and his voice would get shaky whenever he got to the name of his school... "today I get to go to..." shake, clench, voice cracks...
It was funny to look back on my preschool post because he was excited about the playground then, and still excited about yet another new playground this morning. This is what he looked like at about 7:20 this morning, when the whole family took him to school to walk him in and drop him off...
But let's back up a minute. To last night, when I had a complete and total nervous breakdown. And I didn't even see it comin'!
I had had a nap Sunday afternoon, so I was wide awake when we were trying to fall asleep that night. I feel sad. I feel lonely. I feel nostalgic. Why can't I shake that feeling? I said to Shaun. I can usually pull myself out of the funk or ask Someone else to pull me out, but I can't seem to shake it.
Well, sending your firstborn to kindergarten is a big deal.
It hadn't even occurred to me that perhaps that was the trigger. As soon as the sentence left his mouth, though, I was bawling. Not tearing up, not sniffling, BAWLING.
And that was the way I fell asleep; remembering that scene from Father of the Bride when he replays all his daughters milestones leading up to that day while Today I Met the Boy I'm Going to Marry serenades all his nostalgic emotions. I mean, talk about NOT helping. I was picturing his wedding day, I was re-living his birth and his toddlerhood. I was a WRECK. A complete and total MESS. A mell of a hess, and seriously concerned about whether I would ever survive graduation... college... marriage... menopause...
Because it's all about me.
Actually, that was what snapped me out of it this morning. When I realized it wasn't about me and I was fixating on my emotions and not his.
As I watched him in all his excitement, rush to his desk, go through his school supplies again, observe the other students and start following suit... I realized he would be just fine.
Fake smile and all.
And if he was fine, I could be fine, too.
(Gosh, though. I still can't look at these right here without tearing up again.)
It's not that he's in school and I will miss him during the day, per say.
It's that he's gotten SO BIG. He is so big.
And he is so kind-hearted. He is so naive and pure. Not in a cheesy way, in a wholesome, refreshing way. I know that sounds biased, but mother or not, I am insisting, he's just a good kid- a good person. And I am better for knowing him.
So we left him, were the last parents in the room, (yes, my teacher-friends, we were those parents,) and went to a boo hoo brunch. Then we said bye to daddy. When we drove away from campus Madalyn said to me, "I'm sad, mommy. I miss Evan."
"Me, too, baby," I said.
Then we pulled ourselves together and went to Target, where we ran into two other moms we had just seen. Ahh, Target. The meeting grounds for moms everywhere. It's like the modern day choice prairie for hunting and gathering.
Then we had Madalyn's preschool Open House- this is her in her spot at the table.
I can't believe I have to take her to Kindergarten next year! AHHH. One thing at a time.
This is her with Ms. Jan and Mrs. Larra. Below is Mrs. Christine. Jan and Christine were Evan's teachers last year and Larra is the director of the preschool. I have come to really appreciate these people! They have been true blessings.
Evan told Madalyn earlier in the weekend, "Madalyn, you're really going to like Ms. Jan, you know why? Because she has your favorite kind of hair. It's light white and curly. Like wavy. Isn't that your favorite kind of hair?"
Madalyn nodded emphatically like she had certainly shared this preference with him before.
Now, Madalyn had seen them before, nearly every day when we picked up Evan. She talked Mrs. Christine's EAR OFF. Mrs. Christine was most charmed by her, and went out of her way to engage her. She loved Madalyn's view on fashion and why she chose this particular outfit this particular day and all the things she was thinking about in that moment. I'm sure they will enjoy each other this year, especially seeing as how the class dropped from like 12 students last year when Evan was in it, to FIVE this year, including Madalyn. Which is awesome because they will get lots of one and one. There are four girls- she knows them all from last year- and one boy. Poor boy.
This is not him. This is her first love (well, after her daddy and Evan and Jack.) Meet Andrew.
I believe I wrote about him long ago, here.
Madalyn and Andrew have a special thing. They get downright giddy and flirty around each other. They dream about each other, actual dreams, yes. And they have asked to go on dates. Madalyn asked just this weekend, "Can I go to a restaurant sometime? At night? With Andrew?" You should SEE the eyes she makes at this boy. I am glad she picked a good one. Yes, maybe we should be concerned... but his parents are golden, so instead we are taking pictures and planning their wedding slideshow. Very appropriate of us, I think.
Don't you just love what his shirt says? HA!
So after she had a moment with the Big Man on Campus, we headed to Chuck E Cheese with her little girlfriends in her class. It was really fun for her, and for me to get to know their moms better, even though I saw them all year last year.
Before we knew it we were headed back to get Evan.
When he got in the car he teased me and pretended like he wasn't going to tell me anything about his day.
But I already knew a little because we had arrived early enough to see him not come off the playground when his teacher called and she didn't notice and almost left him! I bit my lip and waited to try and not interfere. He finally realized and ran over to the gate and said, "hey!" And she spun around and I could tell- felt terrible- KNOWING I was watching. THEN she did a head count. She won't make that mistake again.
Neither will Goofy Grin. I hope.
So, when he finally quit teasing me, the first two things he told me- and everyone else who called him to chat about his day later that afternoon- were that his teacher almost left him on the playground, and that there was a girl in his class named, Charlie, and wasn't that ridiculous because that was a boys' name!
And then I tickle-tortured him till he told me more.
And that was one therapeutic tickle session. Boy, was I glad to see him.
It was all pretty anti-climatic, though, as Hurricane Fey has put a big cancellation cloud over tomorrow. It's like we're on a Monopoly board. Stop, Go, stop! Can we just get these new changes going, already? Because I think everyone is going to have a great year.
Labels: bittersweet, boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, Evan, Madalyn, milestones, nostalgia, parenthood, parenting, pics, school, siblings
Well, either he's brave, or just plain senseless, (and you know which one we're all leaning towards,) but he DOES resemble William Wallace from the movie, does he not?
Can you guess what he gone and done?
No, not a sunburn.
Lipstick, that's right. You're good.
From my makeup drawer.
Have I mentioned that he likes my makeup drawer?
Not an ounce of remorse, tsk, tsk... ohhhhhhhh, there would've been remorse alright if I'd known then (when I took these pictures,) what I know now... which is that he didn't leave this artwork to the porch, but also on my bedspread, my shower door, my closet wall, and the bedroom carpet. You know how they say lipstick is one of those things you can't get out? One of those true stains? Well, "they" are telling the truth.
That poor bed of ours has had quite a week. More on that another day.
Labels: boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, here comes trouble, humor, Jack, parenthood, parenting, phases, pics, pictures
Doo, doo, doo, doodoo, doo, doo, doo-
Today was the first day I haven't worked in I think about, oh, a year and a half. Yes, that sounds accurate. And we made the most of it. We were going to play with all our new bubble contraptions and swim but it rained and poured and looked like 8pm all day outside, so instead we switched gears and had a baking day. We made Kentucky Butter Cake, Banana Bread, and Pimento Cheese. I cooked more today than I have in... oh, about a year and a half.
Yes, that sounds accurate.
I also did laundry. And cleaned up pee. And played Barbie Dolls.
My mom found Madalyn a photographer Barbie, complete with three children, a camera, and backdrops. So basically, I did work today. Only I photographed 3 inch plastic babies with a fake 1/2 inch camera and there are no pictures to edit.
Shaun's boss is sick in the hospital and he has taken on a heavy workload which means late nights, so the kids and I had a light dinner followed by Kentucky Butter Cake. Then they performed a complete Cinderella production for me in the living room. Charlie and I sat on a pillow and clapped like it was the most impressive acting we'd ever seen. (Well I clapped, and he gnawed at my hands thinking it was a game meant for him,) but even with the gnawing, it's nice to have the warmth of a dog in your lap, like sitting by a warm fire. Makes a house a home.
Then we read books in bed while Charlie barked because he wanted to be ON the bed right there with us. He couldn't believe we wouldn't include him in the reading of The Best Nest, (it's his favorite.) And it was such a perfect little evening. We were the perfect family for a few hours. But soon it was time for lights out, for Evan to go to his own room to sleep... for all hell to break loose...
He and Madalyn have been sleeping in her bed together ALL summer. It's exciting, you know, like Christmas Eve. Well, I didn't want them to get too used to it (lest they forget how to sleep alone,) so last night I said they needed to have a night in their own beds. Evan got all genius-manipulative on me, (as you've heard me lament about before.) He asked me if I wanted him to be happy or mad because my decision would dictate his behavior and I had the power to make him happy... to which I replied: I don't care what you are so long as you obey me.
But he kept at it and cried himself to sleep. (That was last night.)
Tonight it was the same song, second verse. He was "crying himself to sleep" when I took the dog out for his nightly romp in the grass. It was dark and misty (rainy day here, remember,) and it was kind of an eery night. About the time this observation registered in my mind, a sharp finger poked me in the back like a knife. I turned abruptly to see Evan standing there, ready to go at it again.
Come on buddy, les go! BRING IT! (My brain has to put on her boxing gloves and jump back and forth, right and left, to get warmed up for the fight ahead or else I lose all cool and resort to "because I said so," which, for the record, I find nothing wrong with, but I feel like I have to get these moments with him mastered now or else high school is going to be something freaky for us all.) EX-HALE....
"You scared me! What are you doing out of your bed? You're in trouble." (I'm very good at stating the obvious.)
"Do you want me to cry all night? See, it's going to be like last night. I told you. You just need to let me go in Madalyn's room and I will be so good you won't believe it. I'm scared. I'm alone."
"No. Absolutely not. You are not the parent. You do not set the rules. You are trying to parent me and you are out of line." (I am reminding myself of this just as much as him... a pep talk, an I think I can, I think I can parenting moment.)
"Fine! That's it. Fine, because you know what I'm gonna do," (stomping to his room in front of me,) "I'm just going to throw a penny in the wishing well and wish you were a kid." I hate for it to come to this, but you leave me no other choice.
"That's fine, Evan," I said casually, and letting down my guard knowing I was now winning the battle.
"Fine? Why is that fine?"
"Because wishing wells aren't real."
"They're not? Are you sure?"
"Yep."
"What about the one at the mall with all the pennies."
"Not real. Just pretend."
"It is?"
"Yep."
(BIG SIGH OF EXASPERATION.)
"Well, I will not go to bed nicely till you let me sleep in Madalyn's room."
"Well, then you will never sleep in Madalyn's room again."
"I won't?"
"No. Not until you can go to bed by yourself, nicely."
"I think I am SO ANGRY."
"That's okay. You can be angry, but you can't be disrespectful. You can be angry, but you have to obey me."
And then I tucked him into bed, hugged his tear-stained face and body while he sobbed and tried to catch his breath like a defeated solider who had fought long and hard.
It's hard to be angry with him when I hear myself in the whole conversation, a rebellious child refusing to listen to her Father. It's also hard to be mad when every time I think of the wishing well statement, I suppress a laugh. I am smiling right now as I type this, and I was laughing at it when I sat down to write this post: Fine! That's it. Fine, I'm just going to throw a penny in the wishing well and wish you were a kid. Because that WOULD END THIS THING- AND YOU FORGOT ABOUT THE WISHING WELL- I WIN- HOO-AH!
And wouldn't that be nice, indeed? There are certainly people I've encountered who I would love to wish away on a penny. One in particular right now. Where do we humans get SUCH a sense of entitlement? Could you answer that for me?
Just that one question... and I will be so good you won't believe it...
Labels: conversation, dumbhead parenting, Evan, parenthood, parenting, phases, siblings
Today was a full day. All of Spring Break will be full, actually... gotta keep the rascals busy.
We started the morning at the park with friends, then we came home for naps/work. Then we took a swim in the pool and began to think towards dinner and soccer practice, which was when I remembered it was my day to pray and took 5 at the computer to write an email prayer.
BIG MISTAKE. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID. I completely forgot that I can't do anything but children when said children are awake, OR ELSE BAD THINGS HAPPEN:
And see the STUPIDEST part of the above was that I spoon-fed them the idea. Oh, you heard me.
Shaun and I were being stupid with them on the couch, and I tried to scare them with Evan's safety scissors, making snip noises around their heads... and Shaun said, "what are you doing?" But before he even said it I thought, 'what am I DOING?' Like one of those moments when your hands are still moving even though your brain is saying stop, stop, FOR THE LOVE OF SOFT BLONDE HAIR, STOOOOOOP!!!
I think I just wrote stupid and stop like five times each, didn't I? Well, if this were Sesame Street those would be the adjectives of the day. Okay, so stop isn't an adjective (but Sesame Street doesn't do more than letters anyway,) oh just STOP talking, Katie...
She looks okay with the bow though, right? LOOK CLOSER! Just to the right of the bow... and notice how high up the bow is, because her hair is THAT SHORT NOW. What, you can't see it?
Maybe you can see here? No?
Well how about HERE:
Gave herself a nice set of bangs, she did. Was very upset with herself, actually. (This shot taken after the melt-down.) Thinks she looks like Jacky, and I'm not gonna disagree with her, although she also resembles a page boy, or maybe one of those child actresses from an 80's sitcom, the way it goes back to her ear and all.
So while we had a long talk, she and I, and panicked a bit, Jack was still in the shower where I had left him... right? Right? RIGHT?
Wrong.
"Jack... Jacky? Where are you?"
Oh, there you are.
I'm so glad you brought your car. What's a mud bath without a car? Come to think of it, what's anything without a car? What's life without a car? Life with no cars would have no meaning- meaningless, all meaningless!
"CAWWWRRR!!!" (Your favoritest word in all the world.)
Hmmm, you still have no idea I'm standing behind you with a camera. You are having yourself a PAR-TAY, aren't ya now, boy?
Oh and look at that, you've been baking. And eating. No need to think towards dinner now, at least there's that.
What's that? I can't hear you, what with all that mud in your mouth and everything? What are you asking me? Do I know the muffin man?
PS- PEOPLE! I am NOT pregnant, are you CRAZY? Although, thank you for the many emails (and phone calls.) I think this post explains WHY I have closed my womb for business... and after today's events, you all should be sending me extra birth control ASAP.
Labels: boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, here comes trouble, Jack, Madalyn, parenthood, parenting, pics
Go back with me a few years, back to the Valentine's Day 9 months after Shaun and I were married, when he was a very mature man, all of 20 years old. It was the first morning of the year that he wasn't late for a class, and not only that, but was up before me. Why was he up so early, you ask? Why, decorating the house in pastel Post-its, of course! Reminiscent of candy hearts that said "Be Mine" "Kiss" "Hug" "I Heart You" and- remember he's at the ripe old age of twenty- "Sex" with a small "haha" scratched in above it.
That's right. Forget the niceties, let's talk biology... and you and me, sex baby. And imagine my surprise to awake to a house (okay, a basement,) wallpapered in post-its with such blatant declarations of his love... or his, well...
Fast forward to the present, to yesterday afternoon, when Madalyn found a plastic bag full of college memorobilia in our study and went through it like buried treasure, staring at pictures of mommy on roller skates, and cards with glitter and loopy handwriting, of daddy on a beach when he weighed 130 lbs and looked more like an anorexic version of me...
I let her explore it (aka- fling it to and fro-) appreciating her sentiment. A few minutes passed and then she brought me an old card with some Post-its stuck all over it, featuring the infamous sex! haha Post-it right in the middle.
"Look at the invitation I made for Andrew," she said.
The invitation she made. For Andrew: Sex, haha.
The kids like to make cards for their friends at school and deliver them by way of their cubby holes. Every day is Valentine's Day to them. Evan takes drawings in our junkmail envelope sleeves and showers his classmates with gifts from Acclaim healthcare Benefits daily. So when she handed this "invitation" to me, my mind was already watching her place this it in the little boy's cubby: the what might've been. I could already see the cops patrolling the walk because there was talk of a Sexual Predator who had been placing obscene notes in the children's cubbies: Sex! haha...
When I was in middle school, I remember being in the car with my dad and my brother one afternoon, and they wanted to run in a hardware store. "I'm just gonna stay in the car," I protested...
"Now, Katie," my dad started, "there are a lot of pervs that hang around in parking lots and I wouldn't want you to grab one of them..."
My brother laughed, flaring his front teeth like a horse, and my dad grinned in clever pride.
I rolled my eyes and got out of the car. Probably slammed the door.
What can I say? These mix-ups happen. But notice! The father's always to blame.
Every morning Evan appears in our room first. He crawls into my side of the bed, smothers me with kisses and we cuddle until Madalyn appears. Madalyn then says one of two things: a) "Feed me. Will you feed me, mommy? Get out of your bed." b) "Can I go see Jacky? Evan, come see Jacky with me?" Or, as often is the case, she starts with a and when that's shut down moves on to option b.
Shaun snores and I lie and there and try to determine if I can go back to sleep on a full bladder until someone hurts someone else and the wailing on the monitor will not taper; that's when I roll out of bed and reach in an uncoordinated, exhausted fashion for my glasses (if Madalyn has not already brought them to me,) and retrieve the children. Breakfast commences.
Peanut butter toast and cereal are the staples, and often bananas for Jack. Lately, he insists- (and by "insists" I mean protests with the volume and tenacity of the UAW)- on using a fork. He is undoubtedly soon to start a Union called "United Utensil Users of America," which would conveniently suit his limited vocabulary as UUUA might be something he could babble.
The problem with this for us is that he's utensily challenged. It's that horrible phase where you know you have to let them have the weapons or how will they ever learn to use them, but should we really give weapons to a baby and do we really have to clean up Ground Zero after every meal now? I mean, my hands are so weak in the morning I can hardly hold my coffee cup and certainly couldn't tie a shoelace to save my life... should I, then, really be expected to pick banana goo off the tile with my thumbnail?
This particular morning we went through all of these rituals and got to phase 4, where Shaun and I sit like Zombies on the couch, staring vacantly at the Mickey Mouse Club and clutching our coffee with Whipped Cream (to help us escape,) when we hear a clank on the floor and wailing to follow. The baby has dropped his fork... again.
I get the fork and push the baby back to the table as he has pushed himself away. When my rump hits the couch another clank sounds. Shaun yells something Homer Simpsonesque and takes his turn retrieving the fork. After about 20 more rounds and scoldings of this, we debate taking the fork away. (And I know what you're thinking- really- it took 20 rounds before you even thought about confiscating it?) But please keep in mind that Jack is a United Utensil User of America. His career and every ounce of his being hinge on using that fork, stabbing that banana, and getting that thing to his mouth. If you could see the half moon of one stuck to his forehead and the concentration in his eyes, you would understand. Taking it away is simply not an option. We simply can not take away the very pinnacle of his self-worth.
So Shaun offered up another solution: I'll go look for some string and we'll tie it to his wrist.
Now, the enablers of the Pacifier Users of America came up with the leash idea a long time ago, so it was only a matter of time before the enablers of the UUUA did the same. And the very exciting part of all of this is that when Shaun gets it patented we will be rich, people. Rich like Henry Ford. And then I might hire somebody to make breakfast for us, to bring ME my coffee and clean up the poop in the crib.
Last weekend was one of those where the kids were into EVERY thing. It rained some- was hot and buggy- and since they weren't outdoors expending energy, bad things went down.
There was the mountain of unrolled toilet paper in the bathroom, the pizza grease and juice box on the carpet, the "potions" found on the counters and smeared on mirrors, and the usual slew of toys strewn from foyer to back stoop.
Last night I opened Woman's Day to an article on finding relaxation in the every day: "The Slow Lane; 13 ways to stop rushing, recharge and take back your life" by Chrystie Fielder. It featured a picture of a woman sitting on a white chair with a white fur blanket in casually sexy pjs sipping a cup of tea. Her skin was flawless and porcelain, her eyebrows perfectly arched, her lashes perfectly long, and her full lips slightly curved in a peaceful smile. The article discussed decompressing between tasks, taking naps, listening to a song on the radio before the next errand, and finding "me" time.
Two words for obviously childless and young (spells her name with a "y" and "ie")Chrystie: YAAAAH RIGHT!
I mean, I like what she's saying and I agree that some time of solitude every day would be very appreciated, but that usually doesn't happen without someone needing their bottom wiped. Sure, I could listen to a song between errands IF I COULD HEAR IT over the impatient brood in the back crying out for drink, food, potty and Revolution. Sure, I could find myself a white fur blanket and modern white chair to sit on with a cup of tea... I could even buy myself some new, casually sexy pjs, and get some eyelash extensions... but that would be ridiculous. The chair would be covered in small hand prints, the blanket in soggy Cheerios, and my tea would get cold while I changed the world's grossest diaper, (simultaneously putting the casually sexy pjs at risk of being soiled, my lash extensions at risk of becoming dislodged during the "wrestle the baby" routine.)
I love, love, love my strong, wrestle-mania-bound children. I am thankful they are healthy and that they are mine. But I can't help but find it humorous when articles attempt to make it sound like there is a way to have it all in this intense season. This becomes blatantly clear when one is cleaning up child A's spilt milk and the two tiny hands of Child C scoop, cup, and lift one's buttox in an attempt to see exactly what is taking place.
You've seen the chapters in marriage books about staying romantically involved during the child-rearing years. Well would somebody please admit that that's a huge oxymoron? Somebody! I mean, would I not- WOULD I NOT- have to have multi-personalities to transition seamlessly from one a_ _ - grabbing in the kitchen to another in the bedroom?? I would, Amen?! "Karen" would handle the kitchen, and "Katalina," the master suite... and "Katie" would come blog to you about it...
(And Chrystie with a "y" and "ie" should probably stick to articles about purses, or fake tanners, or else label her pieces warning: does not apply to women with preschoolers- bahahaha.)
Not too long ago Evan used the word "stupid" and I blamed myself. I tend to say, "oh mommy's so stupid!" under my breath when I do something clumsy or flaky. (My mother said that, too. I blame her, too.) Just like when Allie on The Notebook said, "Oh I am a stupid woman," in keeping with her mother's sayings.
I took him aside and asked him where he'd heard that word... made the mistake of saying that it really wasn't a very nice word and mommy shouldn't say it, either, before he told me exactly where he'd heard it. "Oh, well I heard Donald Duck say that."
DOH! Was that ever a slap your forehead moment. Who knew anyone could understand a word Donald Duck said in the old cartoons... I think he may be the first.
So more recently, last Friday, when I was retrieving him from school, I was greeted by his teacher saying, "Evan got a smiley face today, but there's a little note that says see teacher next to inappropriate words, and I just wanted to let you know what that's about."
Oh no. What could he possibly have said, I thought. Stupid? Poo Poo? Pee Pee? Crap? I mean that's the extent of what he's heard around here. "What did he say?" I asked, bracing myself...
"Well he was spelling words with Play Do and had made an s, h, i... and we said, 'okay, if he goes for the t we'll have to talk to him...' and sure enough, he got the t.'
"Well he's always spelling words on his board at home and we argue about whether they're real words. He doesn't understand that just because they make audible sense doesn't mean they're not real words..."
"Well, it's no big deal, I mean sometimes parents slip-"
"No! No, you don't understand. Crap would be a slip at our house. I mean, he doesn't hear that at home."
It was at that moment that I realized nothing I said would change how these teachers perceived me or him. They were thinking, 'oh, this poor, embarrassed woman, defending herself and her sailor-swearing mouth... and the poor little urchins that live with her...'
"Well, no, he knew what he was spelling," she insisted, "Ms. Jan took him aside and asked him if he knew what word that was. 'Yes, shit.' he said.'"
"Well yes, he can read and make words but that doesn't mean they have meaning to him."
(To this she was secretly thinking, 'right, like when you curse lady, he's not aware that the word has meaning, just that you say it.') But how could I possibly find the words or physical evidence to throw on the table for her? It was a lost battle.
Ms. Jan then came out and we repeated the entire conversation in exactly the same way; them saying he knew what he was saying, me saying he really didn't, and then them telling me stories about their own children saying crap in a doctors office to try to make me feel better. I didn't. They said crap not shit, and they were parroting a parent; he wasn't. Oh the injustice! Oh the depravity! No that we're perfect, but innocent, yes! He was completely innocent.
And me? I was on the brink of tears. The completely unexpected "brink of tears," and I choked up when I strapped him into his car seat, while he chattered away and casually said somewhere in the middle, "mommy, I spelled a bad word today but I didn't know it was a bad word."
That was it. Right then I broke the 6th commandment because I wanted to kill the woman that told my child there were such things as bad words. He's five. I know he'll know that in about a year when he starts kindergarten, but couldn't it have waited?
A couple deep breaths and a reality check later, I realized there are kids who hear these words at home, so how could I blame them? They don't know me; don't know if we do or don't say these things, and the equation for them was "if error, then truth... if sin, then rebuke." So I think they overreacted- tough. This is only the beginning of what is to come with school, teacher, and peer happenings. I'm going to have to grow some even thicker skin. I'm going to have to laugh a little more and hurt a little less. I'm going to have to let him live and have experiences without owning them, because doing that, in a small way, robs him. And those small ways could add up and he'll resent me for it.
I'll have to be more like Shaun, who, when I told the story, replied, "well f$&% her!" (He was kidding, fulfilling the teacher's accusations, before you have a hernia, Nana.)
As hard as it is to watch Evan live and learn, I'm going to have to do it, and do it well. As hard as it is to watch him wrestle through the daddy lion's death on The Lion King, it's good. It's good to talk about Scar, evil, Satan... and Simba, redemption, Jesus. Because somewhere in the midst of it he gets stronger. It's like watching Bambi learning to walk on ice; awkward and sometimes painful, but beautiful, too.
11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. Jeremiah 29
So Evan's smart. It's no secret. I say that in the same frank way I would say he's sensitive, or that they all have big Irish heads... it's a statement of fact, is all. (I realize your kid's smart, too.)
Labels: boys will be boys, Evan, humor, parenting
The kid Evan played Legos with is NOT named Fred. I repeat: no such "Fred" in the class. His name, in fact, is BRETT. Thank you, Stephanie, for helpign me figure that one out. I said, "Evan, I don't think there's a Fred in the class. Did you play blocks with BRETT?" "Yeah, Bread," he said again, like 'that's what I said already, deaf lady!'
