sueeeus

tooth

BB lost another tooth yesterday.  He’s seems to be good at losing teeth on memorable days.  He lost his first tooth on his fifth birthday.  And now, his third tooth came out on Independence Day.  Lucky for the tooth fairy, the fireworks and general mayhem were sufficient excuse to postpone for another day the ritual of leaving the tooth under the pillow in the hopes that the tooth fairy would visit.

We didn’t have a proper tooth fairy pillow or pouch, and I had a day off from work, so it was a good opportunity for a family project!

inspiration waiting to burst forth

I have plenty of scraps on hand, and of course the services of a very capable and prolific artist at my beck and call.

monster

He kept telling me it wasn’t going to work, as he watched me cut pieces out.  He needs to work on his visionary skills.

tooth fairy monster pillow

Now that I compare pictures, I can see that I didn’t get it quite right.  I was originally planning to use the sewing machine, and the body would have turned out more circular, but I ended up changing my mind and using hand stitching, and I see that I forgot to gather the base to give it more of a circular look.  The artist, however, is quite pleased.  The tooth is placed safely in the pouch (on the back side), ready for the tooth fairy to visit.

toothless artist

Look at this wide eyed food faced grubby toothless monster boy!  We must now hope that the tooth fairy has cash on hand so she won’t have to leave an IOU note.

The way he says, “Mama?”, staccato with the emphasis on the last syllable, and a tone so sweet it can make my heart burst.

my sweet nature boy

The way he says, “Mama”, long and drawn with the emphasis on the first syllable, and a tone so sweet it can make my heart burst.

tiger beat

The way he can entertain himself for hours with sticks and leaves and rocks.

ceaseless fascination

The way he can entertain himself for hours with pots and containers and lids.

water child

The way he’s so full of life that he can’t contain himself.

dancing to the beat of his own drummer

The way he so enjoys the moment, that departure therefrom is epic tragedy.

the prince holds court

The pictures he draws for me.

poetry in motion

The food he shares with me.

when you drink from a big boy cup

Motherhood.

It’s a love that aches, a love that makes your heart burst, a love that makes your soul sing.  A love that holds the hopes and dreams and cares and responsibilities of the lives you’ve been entrusted with.

les petites choses

To protect and nurture.  To impart knowledge, consideration, compassion, and respect.  To raise up well.  It’s no small thing, this job, and there are so many versions of how it should be done.

I am doing my best.

And my boys, though they have their moments, are good, good boys.

Sometimes I feel as though I’m spread too thin and I just don’t know how to hold it all together.

I want to be able to give my kids the kind of attention that they need without being manipulated by them.  I want to give them love and support, and I want to nurture them, but I also want to give them direction and I want them to learn to respect others and to be obedient.  I so want them to grow up to be good, upstanding people in this world.

I also want to be able to give due attention to my new found love, and to nurture this relationship so that it can grow and flourish.  I so want it to work.

And I’d also like to give myself some attention, in which I can somehow recharge my weary self so that I have something to even give to the people in my life.

I’m recognizing that when Skills is here, my boys behave badly; there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Clearly, they are competing for attention, and choosing the path of least resistance, which has the most immediate attention-winning potential, albeit negative attention.  I have to be swift and immediate when administering correction.  Everything is disrupted, and in the end, nobody is happy.  It’s exhausting, especially to my gentle, harmony-seeking soul.

Today I had some time alone with BB, and it was nice.  He behaved well, for the most part.  We painted some of the living room while LB napped.

I love his drawings

He was so worried about getting into trouble, he didn’t want to tell me if he spilled a drop of paint, or got some paint on his fingers.  Bless his precious little heart.  The boy is constantly in trouble for not listening or helping himself without asking or not sharing or complaining about what’s for dinner.  He loves to draw, and I’m thrilled to see his confidence and ability grow as he draws and draws and draws.  He’s got great imagination, and I try to let him know how much I like his drawings.  I save almost all of them.  Some day when he’s older I will show him, and he will know that even though he may remember me barking at him constantly, I was always loving and appreciating him.

the artist at work

He doesn’t know that I watch him when he draws.  I see him, intent on his work, and my heart swells with a mixture of emotions — some joy, some wistfulness, much love.  My little boy, alone, entertaining himself.  I need to be more interactive with him, somehow.  Somehow.

Later, BB was tired and LB was wide awake, so I brought LB downstairs with me, snuggled him next to me on the sofa under a soft blanket and we nibbled on crackers together.  He was so happy, there in my arms.  It was sweet to have some one-on-one time with him.  I got to fill up on toddler sweetness, as he’d raise his beautiful little face to look at me and giggle as we ‘talked’ about how yummy the crackers were.

It’s amazing how small moments as these can be so energizing and healing.  To share positive attention with my children, to hug them, tell them I love them, smile into their eyes –these things are so fulfilling.  And yet, somehow, moments like these seem so few and far between.

How I wish I could figure out how to balance it all, how to see and assess the moments and deflect or divert situations before they escalate or explode.  It’s like I’m a bomb squad of one, under constant pressure to figure out whether to cut the red wire or the blue wire.  Or maybe the white one.  Unless there’s a green one.  Or it could be the black one.  It’s exhausting.

Broken families.  They are everywhere.  What is it about people, some people, that they play push-me-pull-you with the children and use them for leverage?  Can they not look past their own pride or agendas and see the selfishness?  Do they think the children are oblivious to these things?  Such fools.  It makes me so angry.

Gadget’s not taking the kids next weekend, since he supposedly has work commitments.  I tend to think he’s intentionally trying to put a wrench in any plans that Skills and I might have.  I don’t know this, so maybe it’s not a fair assumption.  Considering the source, along with previous behaviors, though, it’s not an invalid assumption.

Skills’ ex (ex-wife, and mother of his daughter, as opposed to scorned STD-drama ex-girlfriend), has asked that he take his daughter next weekend, because she had such a good time last weekend, and it would be great for her to spend more time with her dad.  That’s great!  Really, it IS.  He’s a bit put off by the timing, because he wanted to do something special for me.  Birthday weekend and all.  You know, a holy day.  [His words, and I think it’s sweet.]

I say we make the most of it, and do something fun with all of our children.  It will be sweet.  It will be great.  (Just let me have some cake, okay?)

A birthday spent with people I love.  What could be better than that?

The travail comes from not knowing if the ex has got something up her sleeve, not knowing if she’s going to yank the rug out from under his feet and not let him see his girl for who knows how long.  She’s done it before, so he’s concerned she’ll do it again.  It puts him in a difficult place. Because it’s manipulation.  Just like Gadget.   They’re both trying to manipulate us in their own respective ways.

I say, make the most of it.  We don’t know what the others will do, what agendas they may have, what tricks they might pull.  We should just maximize the time that we do have, make the most of it, throw our arms about our kids, squeeze them tight, say I love you, and have some fun.  Live fully the moments that we have.

Besides that, when these people see that their games and manipulations don’t affect us, that we go on living joyfully and embracing whatever comes our way, they are the ones confounded in the end.

Take that.

(And God bless the children and help us, who are trying to be good parents, have the wisdom, patience, and presence of mind to give them all that they need, and to shield them from the conflict.)

Thoughts whir about in my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning.  Sometimes fragments get caught for a moment, and I can get a glimpse of what they might be.  Mostly, they spin.  I’ve been collecting these fragmented pieces, bit by bit, and generally find myself thinking two things.

One.  He could have kept this boat afloat with only the tiniest of investments.  I could have kept the life pattern we had on steady hold for quite some time.  Years, or even decades. It wouldn’t have taken much, on his part.

Two.  Why did he not love me?

Ultimately, I’m glad, even relieved, that he didn’t try to invest that tiny bit of himself in us, because the outcome would have been only a half-lived life.  I don’t want a half-lived life.  I want to live fully.  To joy, and rejoice.  To howl with laughter so rich that it hurts.  To love and be loved.  So we’re all better off this way.  Truly.

But I think that I am also angry.  Angry that he didn’t love me.  He was free enough with those words, but not the substance that supports them.  Without that substance, how could those words carry any weight?  So yes, I’m angry, because what’s not to love?

The pragmatic part of me reasons that people are people and we’re all unique.  Different.  Sometimes we don’t mix well.  It’s just the way it is.

He’s angry too.  He wants nothing to do with me.  He’s angry that I rejected him, but he doesn’t seem to get that I (r)ejected him because he rejected me.

~*~*~*~

BB wanted to see him this weekend.  He kept asking about his dad.  We called and left messages.  We thought he might perhaps come by, but he didn’t call and he didn’t come by.  Sunday evening he did call, and BB was at the dining table playing with his Transformers.  “I don’t want to talk to him,” he said, and kept concentrating on his Transformers.

My heart wrenched, tied up and twisted inside of me.  It nearly took my breath away, and I tried not to let my expression change or show what I felt.  It’s hard to describe the thoughts and concerns those seven words produced.  I looked at my child, and wondered if he was just being five, or if there was a deeper hurt in there.  And I’ve been watching him ever since.  Gazing at him intently, but not so that he notices me.  Watching the way he plays, the way he acts.  He seems fine.  And yet.  Today when I picked him up from daycare, he looked melancholy and said  he didn’t feel well.  My aching heart.  I was cheerful and teased him and he snapped out of it within minutes, but it’s all new, this forlorn look.  Of course he knows to try to play me for whatever he can, be it getting out of picking up after himself, helping him finish his dinner, trying to stay up later or watch more TV.  But this time it was different.  Or else he’s learned a new trick.

I need to remain vigilant and be prepared to make countermeasures to any emotional distress he may be feeling.  I want to chase those demons away.  Be gone!  Leave my boy alone!

~*~*~*~

Today I saw a counselor, for the first time in my life.  Overall, I feel a bit frustrated by the experience.  We talked about several things, but the suggestions she gave me were nothing new.  More like strategies to address the symptoms, but nothing to seek to expose and address the root cause.  I know exactly what sorts of things I should be doing to make myself feel better and more whole.  Eat sensibly.  Exercise regularly.  Get enough sleep.  And so on and so forth.  I know these things.  Doing, that is the problem.  I want or need help bridging the chasm between knowing and doing.  Sure, I could eat sensibly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Sure, I could exercise regularly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Yes, there’s a pattern.  Sure, I could get more sleep, as long as I didn’t have a toddler who kicks his blankets off and gets cold and wakes up unhappy, with just enough consciousness to see me tucking him back in, after which he wails if I leave the room, so I’m left with the choice of letting him cry himself to sleep, holding him until he nods off again, or taking him to bed with me, and hoping he settles back to sleep.  I’m too blessed exhausted to do anything but the latter.  And how can I let him cry?  What could he be thinking, other than that he wants his mama to snuggle him until he doesn’t feel alone anymore, and why is she walking away and leaving him all by himself?  Some say they are just manipulating you, because they can get what they want when they cry, and to an extent I agree, but I can understand wanting someone to hold me until I don’t feel alone any more, so why is that not a valid interpretation of those tears he cries?

Tell me what you need so I can tell you what you need.  This counseling relationship is off to a rocky start.  Yes, I need to balance my life and take better care of myself.  Yes, I even know how to do those things.  But what I don’t know is why I don’t.  Other than, because I don’t feel like it.

Five is a great age!  So much personality shines through.  So much is said.  For instance.  Chatter chatter  chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter [pause for a breath] do-you-not-know-what-I-mean?  My other favorite is, “Is today tomorrow?”

I took a vacation day, pulled him out of daycare, and took him to the movies.  We were alone in the theee-AY-doe, which was good, since he wouldn’t sit still.  We started in the middle, moved to the very back, then the very front.  I think he had a good time.

He requested a cake with strawberries in the shape of a face.  It was a very creepy looking cake, but he was happy.

What better to mark the momentous occasion of one’s fifth birthday than losing one’s very first tooth!  The new one is practically already in.  It was very, VERY exciting to put the tooth under the pillow, and wait for the tooth fairy to come. Good thing his little brother woke up at 3 a.m., else that tooth fairy might not have lived up to expectations.

~*~*~*~

His birthday was last week, and I haven’t had any time to post.  Since then, he’s lost the second tooth!  He is very excited about his sudden wealth, and sad for me that I don’t have any teeth to lose, so the tooth fairy won’t be coming to visit me.

Oh, how my moods are wearisome.  Bang, bang, as in up, down, slam, slam, no neutral ground.  Polar oppositional.  I wish I would hurry up and cultivate that side of me that takes a moment to take things in, rather than reacts in a knee jerk trigger, resulting in bedlam and emotional mayhem.

The other day I was cheerful, bright and hopeful, on the verge of elation.  I’d received a letter from the court with instructions for the hearing.  It also meant that if Gadget were going to pull any last minute funny business, he’d have had to have served me or otherwise notified me by yesterday.  And he didn’t.  Which means all systems go.  Things are lined up for a smooth and uneventful closure, come Monday.

So why would I be agitated today and yesterday?  The kids push me to my limits and I find myself yelling, mostly at BB.  He wiped his nose on the drapes, and I exploded.  I hate to hear myself like that.  I hear myself screaming and like an out of body experience, I observe and shake my head and wonder, who IS that shrieking harpy, and can’t she see he’s only nearly 5, and of course he doesn’t think about much besides himself.  At what age do children learn consideration for their fellow life forms?  Eventually he cries because I’ve hurt his feelings for shrieking at him.  Ace.  Such a good mother.

After things cool down, I snuggle with him and we talk about it, and I ask him if he understands why I was mad, and what it was he did that made me upset.  He usually does a pretty good recap.  We forgive each other and all is well.

Meanwhile, LB is an imp.  The pediatrician said the most important thing is NOT TO REACT when he does something he shouldn’t do, because that teaches him that there is a response to an action, and that’s kind of fun.  I’ve completely botched this on many occasions.  He stands up in his high chair, and I give him a stern look and tell him to get down, so he sits down, and I say, ‘Good boy!’.  So he does it again.  It’s a game.  I have to be vigilant and remember to strap him in at all times, lest he try this while I’m not sitting directly in front of him.  When he’s decided he’s had enough food, he spits out the bite if the decision comes when there is a bite in his mouth, else he just starts throwing food on the floor or across the room.  Granted, I can see how this is fun, but Lordy, I’m getting tired of the mess.  The thing that frazzles my nerves, however, is the game in which he hurls himself at the fireplace.  We have a gas insert and a brick surround with a brick hearth and a brick mantle.  So much rock for him to smash his head into, and so many angles and opportunities.  I’ve tried putting rugs on the hearth to soften the edges, but that leaves the fireplace and the vertical edges exposed.  I’ve tried large cushions and pillows to make a deep and wide barrier, but he climbs on them and it’s all that much more fun to charge and fling himself at the pile of cushions.  Currently I’ve got a narrow table directly in front of the fireplace, and a big speaker in a speaker stand flanking each side.  This consumes the hearth, and provides a more vertical barrier and a less inviting space to hurl and fling oneself towards.  I don’t like having a table in front of the fireplace, though, and the whole visual effect is less than inspiring.  I need a better solution.

Thank God he knows how to navigate the stairs.

There’s an opportunity to take them to see Walking With Dinosaurs in the spring.  BB loves dinosaurs, and might love the show, but at the same time, might be a little freaked out by it.  Or a lot.  He doesn’t do well with loud noises and vibrations.  A boat ride on choppy water this summer traumatized him, poor little guy.  BB, my gentle giant.  The question is whether or not LB could handle it.  He takes to danger and excitement much more than BB, so he might actually be fine.  He’ll be about 20 months old, when the show takes place.  To go, or not to go.

Now that I’ve taken some time to write it out, it doesn’t seem so bad.  BB is playing his Wolverine spelling game next to me, and LB said ‘Nigh Nigh’ and let me put him to bed.  I’m so proud of him!  No fight.  He was tired and wanted to go!

I have my lovely little daybook that I’m planning to write in every day.  It’s more do-able than committing to a blog post.  I think if I took a few moments to organize my thoughts and make a plan, I might not feel so agitated and frazzled.

No resolutions.  Just plans.

It’s only hair.  It grows back.

He wanted the Stegosaurus, but it’s more like a cockatoo.  Or one of those little yapper dogs.  I forget what they’re called.  And his little brother, well, it was all I could do to just trim the sides, so he gets the fauxhawk as well, intentional or not.  I practically had to hold him in a headlock.  Apparently he no longer likes the sound of the clippers.

Even so, my GOODNESS, my kids are gorgeous!!!  (Totally biased, I know.)

No worries, they look mostly normal without hair gel.  Aren’t the matching skull and crossbones bathrobes something?  All they need now is a heart tattoo with the word MOM emblazoned on their upper arms.  I actually have some temporary biker tattoos around here somewhere.  That would be fun, to give the grandmothers a fright.

This one gave his mother quite a scare.  Toddling is such a dangerous pastime, but he wasn’t even toddling when this mishap took place.  No, he was flat on the floor, whining and fussing, and jerked his head to show me he was mad and wanted more attention than I was giving him.  Only there was a bookcase in the way, and he smacked it hard.  I scooped him up instantly and the red line popped out instantly, and the goose egg burst forth instantly and this poor mother shed more tears than her injured babe.

It was alarming to see such a swell grow so quickly on his beautiful little head.  I soothed him and kept an eye on him for pupils dilating strangely and any other signs, and called the doctor.  Of course this happened on a Sunday, as all emergencies seem to take place outside of normal business hours.  By the time the on call doctor returned my call, he was calmed down and behaving normally, as evidenced by the photo above, and the doctor let me know the signs to look for over the next 24 hours, but that from the sounds of everything, he was fine.

And so he is.

I made him wear a helmet for the rest of the day, though.

(Until he figured out how to remove it.)

I love this age of conversation and reason.  He is nearly five, and he has so much to say.  He conveniently listens only when it suits him, but that may be what any normal child does.

I love to tease him!  Recently he’s shown a sensitivity to boy-girl teases.  In Monsters vs Aliens, there is a scene where Susan smooches Derek.  Now, if I say, “My name is Suuuuuuusan, and I’m going to smoochie smoochie you,” he runs and shrieks and covers his face and blushes, “NOOOOOOOOOO, Don’t DO that Mommy!”

He also thinks it’s funny that my name IS Susan.  He makes sure he tells every passerby, “My Mommy’s name is Suuuuuusan.”  And when asked what HIS name is, he responds without missing a beat, “Gallaxhar.”   Only it sounds like “Gow-ax-ove,” so I have to translate and explain, because, well, not everyone has seen Monsters vs Aliens.  Fifty. Thousand.  Times.

He memorizes full scenes.  “Derek, you are a selfish jerk.”  All the way to “Lime green jello with fourteen pieces of pineapple.”

All I have to say is a few obscure words from the movie and it will send him into giggles.  I love that!  I especially love his reaction when I say, “What the flagnar!”  –He gets very animated and tells me, “Don’t SAY that!”   It’s swearing, after all.   We’re working on his vocabulary of approved expressions.  “Oh shoot.”  “Holy Cheezits.”  “Darn-it.”  “Goodness gracious.”   I get severely reprimanded if I say “Dammit,” even when justified after severely stubbing my toe on something.

what the flagnar!

I wonder if I should be concerned that he usually wants to be the villain.  Darth Vader.  Megatron.  Gallaxhar.  Maybe it’s just a male leadership testosterone thing, and not the makings of a future sociopath.

He’s very much into make-believe right now.  I hear him talking to Susan and Gallaxhar, or about them to an imaginary somebody.  He integrates bits of reality.  Recently, he was telling an imaginary someone that Susan and Gallaxhar were dead because they got in a car crash from a drunk driver.

Sometimes he gets things spot on.  “Daddy is being a selfish jerk.”

I don’t want the grown ups’ differences to wrench at the kids, and I want to keep them shielded from my personal emotional unrest with their dad, which is at times very difficult to hide.  So I tell him, “Daddy is just going through a hard time right now and he’s angry, and sometimes when people are angry, they act like that.  Hopefully Daddy will feel better soon.”

And I mean that.

It’s a rough ride for him, being forced to grow up and move into the world on his own, my forty two year old teenager.  Life is much different when you have to concern yourself with accountability and responsibility, when you have to make your own way, pay your own bills.  Anger is probably much easier to work with than fear, uncertainty, and despair.  So anger he manifests, but I can see the frightened boy, and my heart breaks for him, but I have to let  him go.  I have to stay this course.

It’s so very hard, and there’s no easy way through.