It happened... Twice.

Several years ago a really good friend of mine gave me a book called Let Me Hold You Longer by Karen Kingsbury. This was back when the boy-os were smallish-- say 3 and 1, and it made me cry each time I read it. Trust me, if you haven't had a good cry lately, check it out. No kidding, this one will invoke some quality emotional connecting. The gist of the book is about all of the lasts that we inevitably face as mothers-- the last time they slip their sticky hands into ours, the last time the run and give us a big kiss, the last time... well, you see where this is going, don't you?

Yes, I think it happened to me. I experienced a last time, but the thing with these last times is you don't realize it when it's happening. We remember all of the firsts, dutifully enter them into the baby book, but the lasts are a bit more poignant, a bit more monumental, and they usually pass us by, until one day we look up and our baby who used to call applesauce p-sa, p-sa is driving off to college. Okay, so it's not that bad. Yet. But so far, I think second grade is equally heartwrenching.

Today was the first day of school and a little more important than usual because both boy-os were in new schools. So I was slightly overprotective and hovering with Pacey when I dropped him off at morning care in the elementary school gym today. I knew he wouldn't know anyone, and I had the classic mom nightmares of teasing, loneliness, and tears. I started nagging (which are really just loving reminders) full force: "Do you remember your room number? 14, right? And where are you meeting me after school? At the crosswalk, right? You're not going to start walking home today. Remember?" I noticed I got a little sideways glance and a mumbled, "I know!" but I brushed it off because I was actually starting to annoy myself with that line of questioning. Hesitantly, I started to walk to the door and tried to give him a hug, and it happened. He gave me that half-squeeze, shoulder nudge hug. But I blew it off and chalked it up to his nervousness. Because surely, this sweet thing who would give me hugs when I would come and have lunch with him just last year would never give me a shoulder nudge hug today.

Except it gets worse. When I picked him up around the crosswalk today (okay, I admit-- I couldn't just wait at the crosswalk I had walk down the sidewalk towards the school), I put my arm around him as we walked and he pushed it off (gently, but still). Still! It was then, when we walked in the rain to the car, that it really hit me. It happened. Twice. Sometime last year, at lunch, I got the last elementary school PDA from my oldest boy-o. Somewhere I swear I hear a sad version of Taps sounding at such a loss.

I used to cry at the idea of all of those last times back when I first received my copy of Let Me Hold You Longer. Now as the reality of those last times is beginning to take shape, I cry for what has begun to fade away. I know there are still many lasts still to come, but I think this first last time was one for the baby books.

Compromise and Craziness

I was skimming through my RSS feeds the other day, and I found this article about divorce, marriage, and health. It reports on the findings of a study that attempts to correlate poor health with divorce and/or unhappy marriages. While it doesn't seem that much a surprise to me-- duh, when you are miserable or going through stress, your health suffers? Shocking!-- it got me thinking about all of the phases in my life, especially after just battling (and winning, which is unusual) the boy-os dad for a school change for them and even more so since it was four years ago this month that the boys and I made new lives for ourselves in the little yellow house by the beach. (Picture above, Spring 2006.)

I have always tried to look at this as a journey with no regrets, and when I look at who I was ten years ago when I was first married to the boy-os father, and I compare it to who I am now, I see that the differences are amazing. Sometimes I wonder if I would ever exchange the growth and learning for a lack of the struggle and strife that were a part of the last four years? While I like to laugh about how many times we went back and forth from being together to being separated, it makes me sad, too. Because I know that was out of a fierce desire to create something out of nothing, no matter the cost. It wasn't until I honestly felt like I was dying, until the day I found myself walking in the cold rain at the beach alone that I had to make the choice for me and the boys.

And now, four years later, I know without question it was the best decision I ever made. Even though while I was a single mom, I was often frustrated by the state of my life. By not living the dream of a family I always wanted. By being alone and doing it on my own. But all of that was needed, was an integral part in all of our journeys to become who we are today. And because of it, I know I value my life in the Rock House so much more than I could have otherwise.

I have had to learn to share, and while there are days that I wish their dad would "disappear," I know we are lucky to have him want to be involved so much. The boys will benefit from that in some way, even though his modes and methods may be questionable sometimes. It forces me to compromise, to communicate, and to understand. Whether we can do that between the two of us or in mediation, is another story. Sometimes I rage and hate that I have to share, that I can't just call the shots and that I can't have my kids all the time. It frustrates me that they are only here half of the time. That on Tuesdays and Thursdays and every other weekend, their beds are empty and the house is quiet. That I have had to learn to not feel guilty because I sometimes enjoy myself and the quiet house. That I had to go to mediation to make a change that is really in the boys' best interest. But in quieter moments, I can accept that this is the way life is and be grateful for all that we are learning because of it. And it is in these quiet moments, that I can understand Shirley Maclaine's line from the movie Rumor Has It: "If the marriage implodes, divorce. You haven't lived till you've been through one of those."

Pacey Perfect

I awoke this morning, listening to the rain, and trying not to think about the very limited time I have left with the boy-os this summer, but finding that rather difficult. I am lucky to have an entire month off, but it just seems too short, and with a surgery coming next week, I really only have a few days left to spend the whole day with them. After that, it is back to work and all too soon, back to school for them. Back to the grind and craziness that stalls and quietly lingers on the side of the road during the summer months.

As I was thinking about this, I heard the soft padding of little boy feet sleepily track down the hardwood hallway, and peeked a Pacey face at the doorway. I pulled back the covers and invited him in for some morning snuggles, something he and I have always done. The sleepy little Linus always looks the same, save for some variations in pajama and height. The only constant variable: balled up in his skinny arms is his blue blanket, which he long ago dubbed "Kee-kee." He and Kee-kee tumble into bed and neither of us say anything for quite some time. He curls in, and for a brief moment, I believe it is several years ago, when he was much smaller, and would tote his beloved, much younger blanket, and reach to be lifted into bed, smelling faintly of a morning diaper, his round head of curly baby hair, slightly sweaty. Even then, we would always spend a few quiet moments before either of us would break the silence and the magic of the early morning.

I revel in this vivid and strong memory, almost smelling the diaper and feeling the curly, sweaty hair brush my face when Pacey shifts, and I am transported back to the present and see the boy he has become. His arms and legs lanky, his face narrowed, and his head no longer filled with soft, baby boy curls. I pull him into a tight bear hug, knowing that one day, perhaps soon, he will be too big for this quiet time in the morning with his mommy. The snuggles will be fewer and farther between, and while I will have these memories, I will always miss the Pacey Perfect mornings.

Simplicity

Fabulous find #49291-- the local aquarium has a 35 minute Creek Cruise for $7 a person departing hourly starting at noon. I stumbled upon this hidden treasure while sitting at the doctor's office, and snapped a picture of the smallish ad in the free parenting magazine with my iPhone. I was certain with a ridiculous level of giddiness and pride that no one else was privy to such a great find. I failed to realize:

1. It's tourist season, and
   
2. It's a free parenting magazine in a doctor's office. Label this post "Duh."
   

Feeling like I held a sacred revelation, I waited the perfect amount of time to disclose my find to the boy-os-- enough to allow them to anticipate the adventure, but not so much that they nagged me about it unendingly. We eagerly approached the ticket counter at 1:30, only to find they only had tickets left for the 5:00 cruise. This would have been nice to know when I called at noon and asked if the cruises typically sold out and if we got there 30 minutes before would that be good and was assured it was all good. Luckily, we were there with a friend who has a membership, so we quickly changed plans to spend some time exploring the museum, and I was proud of the boy-os, who had gotten pretty excited about a 35 minute cruise around the marsh, when they were just as excited to be around all of the fish on the other side of the glass.

In an attempt to completely tire them out, we decided to do the nature walk to the other building, which takes 10 minutes, one way. We found a room on the way to the nature walk, where there were stuffed animals, a chalkboard wall, a magnetic fishing game, hopscotch, books, and a mini-aquarium. It was pretty basic by design, not grandly decorated or overly emphatic in an attempt to be a cool room at the aquarium. In short, it was simple. Understated.

Simply perfect for a 5 year old, so Gage, of course, was fascinated by this room. Those of us who know Gage are not surprised. He is often in what we call "parallel world," a space he enters that has him playing happily on his own alongside, not with, other kids or adults. Don't mistake this for the idea that he isn't social. Oh no. He will talk to anyone, even the guy in the car next to us when we both had our windows down. "Yes, he's friendly," I often find myself saying. And let's not forget about the time he attached himself to another soccer mom's leg during a game when he was two. I felt the need to profusely proclaim, "Really, we love him and show him affection, I swear!" He is just so comfortable in his own skin, and totally into the really simple things-- like this room.

I sat back and watched him find puppets and stuffed animals to engage in a great battle, tote his favorite "squib" (see Gagey-isms post for translation) to the book area, complete several games of "ho-scosh," and wrangle several buckets of magnetic fish. I felt like I was looking at one of those Family Circus cartoons that show the tracks little Billy takes all over the yard. He came over to me every so often to show me a puppet or talk about what he saw, but mostly he was completely absorbed in this free play-- even on our second visit after the nature walk and otters and snakes, which he was also excited about.

Watching this moment of pure abandon on the part of my 5 year old, struck me quite powerfully. I often feel like we inundate them-- with TV, with toys, with activities, with stuff. It took a simple room with simple toys to completely enthrall and engage a young mind that is already full of wonder. I know these were new items and new is always better than the same old toys you play with every day, but it did not take new and flashy toys to catch his eye. It took new and simple-- basic playthings that allowed him to make the rules and create his own "new parallel world."

Before we go getting way too serious (this post is not meant to invoke tears), let me just say I don't want this to end for him. I want to jump into his parallel world-- invited, of course, and live like he does... Minus running into the glass window like he did at the gym today. That would probably be something I could live without.

Post-Vacation Burn Out

So after a great, great almost week in Key West, the husband and I finally came home sweet home following a spontaneous (I'm maintaining the positivity I had throughout the whole experience), spur of the moment detour in Cincinnati. And who knew that the Cincinnati Airport Holiday Inn is really in Kentucky? Erlanger, Kentucky to be exact. So, not only did we get to extend our honeymoon one day longer, I also get to check Kentucky off on my list of states to visit. Hey, it may have only been the Holiday Inn, but my tired, Key West feet were on Kentuckian soil, so it counts.

We were greeted in the airport by the two crazy boy-os holding handmade signs. A fabulous surprise to say the least. Not much beats the sight of this:

We had some good moments after that unbeatable high with a puppet/costume character show, a few rounds of slapjack, and some computer games. But their excitement at being home and my pure exhaustion from a week of 100+ temps and walking around and relaxing (which is exhausting) was not a good mix. So we'll start again tomorrow.

What I've been thinking about today is this post-vacation burn out that is hitting pretty quickly. Does anyone else get a little over-idealistic when they are on vacation? I don't mean looking at the idyllic scenery and dreaming about a time when this is a daily vista. No, I'm talking about getting a superhero syndrome from O magazine. Or Real Simple magazine. I blame them both.

I have never really looked at Oprah's magazine before, but it was pretty inspiring. Either that or there is some sort of mind-altering drug infused in the paper. I left Key West truly believing that I was going to start eating organic, shop at the farmer's market and buy seasonal fruits and veggies year round and plan my meals accordingly, eliminate processed food from all of our diets completely, add to our recycling plan to include Capri Sun pouches and involve Pacey by starting a blog for him to track how many we save, so he can become a total 21st century kid who does good and then blogs about it (do I need to continue?). It seemed like such a good plan. Until.

Until I got home today and realized that, though the intent was good, the dream may not unfold quite as seamlessly. In my O magazine, Key West haze I saw all of this falling into place nicely and neatly, and probably in the next two weeks I have off before I return to work.

Um, ya, not so much I realized as I tried to help Pacey put together the ship in the bottle kit we found, which seemed like the perfect gift at the time. This must have been another instance of the O magazine, Key West superhero syndrome. If you find yourself picking up a miniature ship in a bottle kit, thinking it's a good idea for your seven-year-old, please, save yourself and put it down. I will take one for the team there, thanks.

So as the night wore on, I did a pretty good job of staying the fab mom whom I know is under all the sunblock residue, making sure I reminded the boy-os that Mommy is a little tired, so let's try to behave the best way we know how. (It worked a little-- once I was almost reduced to tears by the ship in the bottle, and I did get a little stressed by Pacey's jumping and bounding). And I realized, quite humbly, that those are some lofty goals to which to aspire, and the post-vacation burn out is at least teaching me to pace myself. I am going to add some of that to my 101 in 1001, (mine coming soon to a blog near you) and hope that within the next two years, I see those happen from time to time. And I'll still keep my O magazine and Real Simple close by for inspiration.

I know I can be slow...

but really, how could I have not figured this out before? Why has it taken seven, yes count them, seven years to grasp this whole parenting, being a mother thing? Yes, I know that I have been pretty successful at keeping them safe, not allowing them to jump from their windows, etc. I have also been pretty successful at the nurturing them and making them feel loved thing, too. But why oh why, did it take this long to figure out how not to pull out my hair each day and how not to dread any extended time at home with them by myself? I feel so empowered by this new skill I have gained-- like I can conquer the mom world with a single blow of play-doh and coloring books. Right now, both boy-os are sitting quietly and intently coloring; Gage in his trademark monochromatic style (color of choice today is blue) and Pacey making Littlefoot a rainbow of colors, down to his summer-ready toenail polish. And all of this easily completed in a few steps:

1. Gathering and organizing all of the craft and art supplies in one place. And if they ever claim to be bored, I have a whole arsenal of supplies ready to go-- it's ridiculous how much there was scattered between their two bedrooms!
2. The simple suggestion that they go get a coloring book from the coloring book box (there is one of these now!) and sit at the dining room table and color.

Okay, now I know that this seems so simple, and I have definitely suggested things like this before, but it's actually working now. I think because I am doing a little less of expecting them just to play on their own all the time and more of suggesting , directing, and engaging them in activities. I know, this is sad coming from a teacher. When would we leave our classrooms up to the kids to decide what to do all day long? I still want them to learn to entertain themselves, too, but the balance of entertaining themselves and also being directed is important. (I know, duh.)

Countdown to Kindergarten

Here is Gage with his countdown calendar. When preschool was over at the end of May, he thought kindergarten would immediately follow, and he also didn't understand the concept of 3 months. I tried to tell him about 90 days, but that was just too abstract for him to grasp. So I printed out monthly calendars for the summer, so we could cross of each day and keep a countdown to the first day of school. So far, it has been a big hit.

Each night, he loves crossing off the day, and then every few nights, we count how many days are left and write it on the day we just crossed out. He's learning a little about the concept of time passing, but we are also practicing counting past twenty and writing our numbers, which as you can see (maybe), he sometimes writes backwards. I think writing on the wall is messing with his head!