i am tired

I'm having one of those weeks where I'm suffering from a low energy level and am just plain tired of everything. For instance,

I am tired of unloading the dishwasher
I am tired of telling the boys to stop jumping on the furniture
I am tired of sending the boys to their rooms
I am tired of doing laundry
I am tired of food
I am tired of trying to come up with ideas for the the next meal
I am tired of the month of August
I am tired of paying bills
I am tired of waiting until I can do what I want to do
I am tired of female hormonal fluctuations
I am tired of Islamic Extremists
I am tired of worrying about North Korea, Iran and the entire Middle East
I am tired of hearing about President Bush
I am tired of hearing about Hillary Clinton
I am tired of the same old routine
I am tired of being tired of the same old routine but unmotivated to change it
I am tired of being unable to leave the house without spending money
I am tired of already fretting over the upcoming holidays and associated costs
I am tired of my hair
I am tired of my curtains
I am just
plain
tired....

first grader!

At the end of last school year I'd heard about a great first grade teacher named Mrs. B and that I should try to request her for my son. Well of course the school doesn't take "requests" because every parent would be wanting their kid in the popular teacher's class and it would cause lots of problems. So at first I prayed, "Please oh please let him get Mrs. B next year...he really needs her after having such a horrific kindergarten experience." But then, I decided to change my prayer a little bit and ask for the best teacher for him, instead of who I thought that might be. From past experience I've found that usually works best because believe it or not, I'm don't always know everything.

So he didn't get Mrs. B, he got Mr. R. Hmmmm. A male first grade teacher? I didn't know what to expect. But after his first few days of first grade, I have to say he is the perfect fit for our son. He has been teaching first grade for 18 years and feels that it's the most important year for laying the groundwork of a child's education. He is calm, patient and approachable. He is just plain awesome and I know he's an answered prayer. I'd always heard about how teachers can really make a difference but after last year I had a bad attitude about them. What kind of school would assign a former Navy officer to teach kindergarten? Her aggressive nature scared even me. Thankfully she has gone on to another school so I don't have to worry about the middle boy getting her next year.

Anyway, it has been an exciting week. And I'm actually looking forward to this school year.

five days and counting

We have done it all. We have gone swimming, we have gone camping. We have gone to every local park and not-so-local park so many times they don't even want to go to the park anymore. We have done arts and craft and board games. We have had playgroups. We have gone to see movies (well, a movie: Cars. Two year-olds aren't much for sitting for two hours yet). We have gone hiking and biking. We have celebrated birthdays, Memorial Day, and bonded with our neighbors. We have had fun.

But dear God, will this summer ever end?

They are at each other's throats. I am at their throats. I am at my limit.

And somewhere in the back of my mind is the maternal guilt that stems from feeling like I have to enjoy every single minute with them and savor each moment or someday I'll be filled with regret. My pediatrician even unknowingly re-enforced the guilt for me at one of our last check-ups when I was telling her about how my older boy will be in 1st grade this year for a full day of school and my middle guy will be in pre-school three afternoons a week. She immediately said, "That's fantastic! You can spend some one-on-one time with your youngest!" And in my head I was thinking, "No, he'll be napping. That's exactly why I picked afternoon pre-school for the middle guy. So I could have some quiet time to say...recharge...express myself creatively...have a complete thought!" But of course I just smiled and nodded about all the fun my baby and I would be having.

Later, after thinking about it, I realized: Hey, she has two young children at home and she's a doctor for heaven's sake! While they are being cared for by someone else, she gets to use her brain every day. She gets to eat her lunch alone if she wants to and not have to get little people back-wash in her drink. And when she's done she doesn't have to clean up after anyone else or deal with naptimes. I'm not trying to bash moms who work outside of the home, but really, sometimes I think they have no clue what it's like to be home in the trenches day in and day out.

So I've decided to cut myself some slack. I'm giving myself permission to look forward to their return to school. I'm going to say it's okay to feel frazzled and irritable and generally annoyed. And I promise I won't regret being an anti-pollyanna mom some day in the future when they're grown and I'm looking back wondering if I made the most of every single minute with them. I'll remind myself that my front porch was covered in a flour-and-water-paste that took months to come up all because I wanted to let them pretend to make cakes. I'll remember how every time I broke out the paint they would immediately be covered from head to toe and it would take an hour to clean up three minutes worth of fun for them. And they probably won't even remember it! Someday they'll be in therapy bitching to their therapist about how they didn't get enough love and attention.

So screw it. Here's to the end of summer.

big questions from a little boy

On a visit to my husband's office last week the boys were making the rounds, visiting his fellow employees and trying to get as many goodies as possible from them. My oldest son, who has a recent fascination with how old people are (he knows the age of everyone on our block including their pets), was hanging out in one woman's cubicle and inquiring about the photos of her kids. I saw him ask her something and suddenly he made a bee-line toward me and had a strange look on his face. I heard her say, "Don't worry...that doesn't happen to many people..."

We went on to the break room to eat lunch and finally he blurted out what was on his mind. My husband's co-worker had a son who had died of cancer at the age of ten. Of course, that was shocking to a six year-old and he had lots of questions.

"Why did he die?"
"Where is he now?"
"Will that happen to me?"

I tried to appear as if the whole idea of a child dying didn't make me want to run. Like I wasn't terrified just speaking about it, feeling that even acknowledging it might invite such a tragedy to visit our doorstep.

We talked about heaven and God and I assured him that the boy had something much worse than the flu. I said that I knew his mom and dad missed him terribly but they would be together again someday in heaven.

He seemed a little calmer but I felt a little unsettled. I thought of the boy's mother. Every time I'd met her she was smiling and exuded a sense of warmth and joy. I knew she was a Christian and obviously her faith saw her through. I wondered if I could be as peaceful and content as she appeared, even after the loss of a child. To be able to trust whole-heartedly that it happened for reasons only known to God.

As a Christian, it's easy to spout rhetoric, but walking the walk is a little different. Could I handle something like that with grace? Or would my faith be shaken to the core? And as Christian, since I can rest assured that there is life after death for me and my family, why does the thought of it strike fear in my heart?

The next day I was browsing in a gift shop and saw a sign with a quote I'd never heard before:

"Just when the caterpillar thought the world had ended, he turned into a butterfly."

I'm a big fan of good quotes and the timing of that one was impeccable. It seemed like God was reading my mind and had sent a message just for me.

It comforted me to be reminded that there is a spiritual metamorphosis through physical death. The caterpillar is a living metaphor for our heavy, earthly body that will be transformed into the light, free spirit of a butterfly someday. The darkness of the cocoon is like the mystery of death. But thankfully, it's a mystery with promise.

belated thank you note

Dear Mom & Dad,

Since I've become a parent, there have been many times I've thought, "Wow. I know my parents did these same things and sadly I don't even remember it..." And I often look forward to when the boys grow up and have their own kids so they might become enlightened and more appreciative of all we did for them. A big thank you note is long overdue. Here are some of the things I'm thankful for that you may have already forgotten you did.

Thank you for going through a difficult pregnancy and delivery.

Thank you for all the diaper changes, late night feedings, and for keeping me warm and dry.

Thanks for singing songs to me in the bath tub.

Thank you for getting me to school on time and making sure I did my homework.

Thank you for spending three hours per grocery trip picking out all the food, standing in line for an hour, unloading it all at home and trying to put it away while we climbed all over it, dug through the bags and complained about what you did or didn't remember to get. Also, thanks for making us breakfast, lunch and dinner every day for almost two decades.

Thank you for keeping us clothed and for doing untold amounts of laundry. Mind-numbing amounts.

Thank you for saying no. Thank you for saying yes.

Thanks for not killing me.

Thank you for helping me cultivate friendships and for carpooling when necessary.

Thank you for running a home day-care with a bunch of unruly children so you could be available to me when I got home from school.

Thank you for making doctor appointments, dentist appointments and paying for braces.

Thanks for being my personal chauffeur and getting me to all the pre-dawn school functions before I could drive myself.

Thank you for the VW Bug and the RX-7.

Thank you for financing my education.

Thank you for putting us first.

Thank you for staying married.

Thank you for teaching me the importance of gratitude and writing thank you notes.

Thank you for instilling a love of God and nature in me. Thanks for dragging me to church. Believe it or not, I did listen to most of it.

Thank you for letting me have a pet frog.

Thank you for teaching me how to fly a kite, ride a bike, tie my shoes and drive a car.

Thank you for the family vacations and camping trips. I now know first-hand how much preparation and work goes into those. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thanks for planning all the birthday parties, Halloween costumes, Easter baskets, Christmas gifts, and everything else in-between. It is expensive!!!!

Thank you for a beautiful wedding.

Thank you for letting me go. I have many friends whose parents still try to manipulate their lives and marriages. You have never done that.

Thanks for supporting our efforts at raising good kids and not giving unsolicited advice. And thanks for being awesome grandparents.


But most of all, thank you for deciding to have me in the first place. After delivering your first baby breech on a helicopter in Germany, I can see how you might have decided that one was enough. I could also see how Dad might not have wanted to bring children into a world like this after what he went through in Vietnam. But I'm glad you both were hopeful enough to decide it was worth it. For us, conceiving a child a month after September 11th was an act of faith, courage and optimism. I guess it runs in the family.


Love,

Nicole