183, gone in the blink of an eye

183 of my Saturdays with the tiny toddler are already gone. I have approximately 757 more Saturdays to go with him before he leaves the house for college, or work, or whatever path his life takes. And it's even worse for the big five year old- 313 of my Saturdays with him have been spent already. For good or bad, they are gone. Whether I was cleaning the house, working, or playing with my boys, it doesn't matter. Those Saturdays are only memories now.

Wondering where I am getting this emotional math problem? Ever since I read an article about how we only have 940 Saturdays between birth and leaving the nest to spend with our kids, it has been on my mind. You can read my previous thoughts about this here.   940 Saturdays. And as our kids get older we will have to compete with all the other noise in their lives- sports, band, friends, girlfriends, (oh my god!), school activities. Parents of older kids aren't kidding when they tell us to "enjoy them now." They know. It will be over before we can blink.

I already see it in my oldest son. He will turn 6 years old next month. He is starting to ask more thoughtful questions and read chapter books. He is bringing home books from the school library about race cars, football, and airplanes. He has relationships I know very little about with friends and teachers at school- he is out and about during the day, riding buses, keeping track of his milk money, doing his own thing. He is growing tall and strong. He still wants to spend every minute with his mommy, though, which is just fine with me. For now, he is still mine. The world doesn't get to have all of him just yet.

So I have spent about 79 Saturdays with the tiny toddler so far. Some of them have been wonderful days, full of laughter and joy. Many of them have been very difficult days, full of tears and tantrums. But I will miss them when they are gone. Last month my youngest son spent all day with his daddy at a football game and even though I welcomed the peace and quiet and calm that I found by being alone in our home for hours, I still missed him. Perhaps I have grown accustomed to the new normal that is our lives. Perhaps I now relish the noise, the laughter, the chasing and jumping boys. And every day, or most days, at least, they grow up a little more and life gets a little easier. A high school friend of mine who remembers taking her four year old to swim lessons while dragging her two year old twins along was telling me the other day that her now tween children can now be left alone in the pool while she works out in another part of the gym. "You day will come", she told me. And I know it will. All too soon my day will come. And a part of me is looking forward to that, I must admit. A part of me is looking forward to spending time with my boys without the diaper bag, snacks, toys, and tantrums. Although with the loss of the preschool "stuff" I carry everywhere comes increased independence for my boys, with more Saturdays taken up with their schedules than with me.

183 Saturdays done. 313 of my older son's, gone.

Today I made the decision to not take the quiet time for myself that I so enjoy while the big five year old is in China school. Today I made the decision to not lose one of the precious Saturdays and to instead bring the tiny toddler along. We only have 940 Saturdays, yes, but no one said they couldn't be spent in total chaos!

We played in the play room, making patterns out of soft blocks and playing peek a book behind the tree house. We sat at a table and shared a drink together. We watched music videos on my phone and did a little dancing. We spent the entire morning together, yet still somewhat apart. He's independent, my little man. He wanted to roll down the hallways of the church and play with the water fountain. He wanted to sit outside the door while the other little ones played in the play room. He wanted to watch his music on my phone while sitting two chairs away from me. Today is the 79th Saturday I have spent with my tiny toddler, and still much of it was spent watching him. Not really fully engaged, he still often prefers to do his own thing. He wants me near, he needs to know I am available, ready to offer a hug or a helping hand when he climbs to the top of the block tower he built and is dangerously close to falling. It is normal, I suppose, for a three old to begin to assert his independence in this way. It is harder for me, I think, because he has always been this way. And because I just don't know- is it normal growing up or is it attachment? Does he feel grounded and loved or does he still feel uncertain?

Stopping his play every twenty minutes or so so that we could find a quiet corner to "regroup" wasn't all that effective today. He still was unable to self regulate and his unseen stress eventually led him to bite me. We aren't there yet. Some days I think we are close, and other days I feel we are oh so very far from the finish line. His usual regulating techiques, all learned through trial and error, did not work today. But still, we spent this Saturday together.

Now my husband is spending his Saturday with the boys. I can hear them downstairs, laughing, running, cleaning up their toys and getting ready to head out to buy a guinea pig. That's a story for another day. We have such little time. I see it when we head back to Cleveland. I see it in the aging faces of nieces and nephews and in my mother-in-law's eyes as she looks at my husband. Such little time.

My husband wants to go out to dinner tonight, something that does not normally go so well. One boy at a time, OK. Both boys together somehow throws the tiny toddler out of whack and winds him up past the point of no return. The fact that he rarely eats prevents us from making sure he is truly hungry when we hit the restaurant, a trick that works with the big five year old. Today though, I am willing to risk it. let the other diners wonder why we don't have our little man under control. Let them think he is spoiled. Let them stare and wonder about our parenting skills. Heck, if I am really lucky, let them dodge a matchbox car or a flying french fry. I know the truth. I know that my tiny toddler is still finding his way. I know that he has special needs that others cannot see. I know we will be "that family". But I also know that my Saturdays are dwindling, and so I will take every one I can get!

holiday lights and happy tears

 Saturday night we strapped the kiddos into the car and drove them to Alum Creek State Park to see the Festival of Lights. Oh. My. God. Breath taking. It was a wonderful night. It was more wonderful than I could have imagined and I was totally filled with the holiday spirit. And knowing how that night have could have gone oh so badly makes the memories even better.

Maybe we take too many trips back home to Cleveland. My husband has a large family- two sisters with seven kids between them. With holidays, birthdays, football games, baseball games, extended family in town - there are times that it seems we are constantly driving up and down Route 71. And so maybe, just maybe, this is why my big four and a half year old distrusts us when we say we won't be in the car very long, this time. He is tall and solid for an almost five year old but he is very slim and let's face it, he's a little bony. And so he is probably not exaggerating when he tells me his "bum bum" hurts. So maybe this was why he didn't want to take a drive to see holiday lights. He started complaining about it the moment I mentioned it and didn't stop for an entire week. His whining drove me to this statement:
"You WILL NOT ruin this for me. I will see Christmas lights with or without you, and if you come and whine the entire time you will not watch TV until you are 10!"

I know. Crazy. Totally over the top. But seriously. This kid was driving me crazy. Who doesn't enjoy Christmas lights? He LOVES them at home. Our battle raged all week. And then, the night arrived. As we sat at the breakfast table talking about the day ahead he cheered when I reminded him he would be going to China School later that morning. He clapped when I mentioned that China School also meant martial arts class. He smiled when I talked about how he and I would need to make the home made hot cocoa mix for his teachers. And he folded his little arms across his chest, stomped his foot, and stated. "I DO NOT want to go look at Christmas junk!", when I mentioned our planned drive that evening. Sigh.

I fed everyone an early dinner and shoved little feet into little shoes and little heads into hats. I pushed the big four and half year old into the bathroom to "try before we go", even though he was positive he didn't have to. He did. I changed the tiny toddler's diaper. I dug out the entrance money to the park. We strapped everyone in and programmed Bernice, our GPS. And the "when will we get there" questions started before Bernice even got to step "four". And let's face it- we all know how to get out of our own neighborhood, which takes about four steps. So my big four and a half year old was subscribing to the "complain early and often" theory. Sigh.

We get close to the park, which is not too far from where my husband used to work, and my husband, God bless him, refuses to follow Bernice's directions. She has access to satellites full of up to the minute information, but he was stubborn convinced he was right. He didn't know where the park was, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew it was not the way we were being led. Sigh.

In our house we measure time by Special Agent Oso. Special Agent Oso is a strange little yellow panda bear who, frankly, is just a mess. How this bear manages to even get his special agent vest on every morning, let alone solve problems like how to eat with chopsticks or how to brush your teeth is beyond me. But Oso comes on in fifteen minute segments, so we tell time in fifteen minute segments too. "We will be there in less than two Oso's.", is often heard in our car. And we were less than one Oso away from fulfilling one of my holiday traditions, seeing the lights.

We never hung lights on our little home in Kent when I was a kid. We had a tree and stockings and we hung the cards we received on the stairs, but we reserved our front yard for our "bag people". I loved our bag people. I wouldn't be caught dead with a large plastic baby Jesus in my front yard now, but as a kid, I loved them. I called them bag people because when they weren't gracing our front yard they were living in bags, stored in the rafters in the garage. I always have a flood of warm holiday memories sneak up on me when I see my beloved bag people in some one's front yard.

And along with the bag people we also took drives to see the lights around town. We visited the store fronts in downtown Akron, checking out the annual Christmas displays. We drove around town looking at individual homes lit up like Christmas trees. We drove my grandparents into Cleveland to see the large power company lighting display. And we often drove to Oglebay Park  to drive through their light show. My dad loved his Christmas light drives. And I love them too. And no one, especially no child of mine, was going to ruin that for me. We were less than one Oso away!

The questions continued. "Why are those guys standing in the middle of the road, Mommy?" (They were collecting entrance fees.) "Where are the lights? I don't see any lights." (Be patient!) "Alex doesn't want to be here either, Mommy. Why is he crying?" "When are we going home?" (Oh. My. God.) The questions continued to be lobbed at my ears like little missiles, broken only by the occasional complaint about bums and the quiet whimpers from the tiny toddler. Whimpers that threated to escalate into full blown screaming at any moment. And then we turned the corner and our entire front windshield exploded into light. The entire car went silent as though enveloped in a warm, magical blanket. And then one word floated breathlessly from the backseat. "Wow."

And then the backseat erupted into cheers and applause. Score!

My big four and a half year old did not stop cheering and chattering excitedly the entire drive through that park. He pointed to every display, asking me what words the lights were spelling and pointing out out the ones he thought his little brother would enjoy the most. "Look Alex, look over there, a school bus!" "Alex! A train! No, Alex, not over there- look over here, Alex, a train!"

one of my favorite displays- a snowman band!

As my husband concentrated on driving through the muddy campground with the headlights off I sank down in my seat, tears in my eyes from the joyfulness of my kids. I had really wanted this. But I had wanted it for me. I wanted to see the lights. I didn't think I really cared if my boys enjoyed it or not. They had plenty of other holiday fun going on- this drive to see lights was for me. Or so I thought. But as I squinted to see the lights through my tears I understood. I know how my husband felt when he took our big four and half year, then about three years old, to his first Cleveland Browns football game. My husband loves the Browns. And seeing his son start to feed his growing love of all things football had to have been a very special moment for him. I understood. My favorite holiday tradition, one that reminds me of great times with my own dad, was being thoroughly enjoyed by my own boys. And I learned that seeing Christmas lights through happy tears makes them look even more beautiful. 

again with the "got dead" theme

My big four and a half year old came home from preschool yesterday with red dots and blue lines drawn, in marker, on his hand. He proudly pointed to his art work and explained that he drew the flag for "America and all the people who got dead". Again. Again with the "got dead" theme. This obsession of his has been with us since September 11th and it doesn't look like it is going away anytime soon.

We sat him down and explained, in truly preschool terms, what happened on that fateful day ten years ago. He was planning to go to the Cleveland Browns football game on the anniversary of the tragic events and we knew that the NFL would surely be putting on some sort of remembrance. We thought it best to mention it to our son before he heard it from someone else, so to speak. I don't think we even said that anyone died. But kids are intuitive. And they overhear a lot more than we think they do. So who knows where he heard the rest of the story - from us, mommy and daddy? From the day care teachers? From the news playing in the background of his life in the living room or the car?

So each day he comes home from school with a new picture he colored. Like the picture he drew of the monster trucks painted red white and blue. And the page full of butterflies - a yellow one for mommy, a purple one for love, a green one for gravedigger and a red one for the people who got dead. sigh. (don;t know who gravedigger is? concerned I am opening my child's sponge like brain to terrible things? click here.) he is bordering on obsession. And it is freaking me out.

He doesn't seem bothered by it. I ask him if he is sad about what happened, or if he is worried that it might happen again. And he says no. So maybe I just have a very compassionate little guy on my hands. And I know he is getting to that age where all the obsessions start. He can already name every monster truck. He can tell you the mascot for every NFL football team. He can quote lines from both "Cars" movies. This boy is not a newbie to obsessions. But because this newest one centers around people "getting dead" it worries me a little.

It's funny, really. I am no different than anyone else in America who wasn't touched personally by the events of September 11. I followed the news. I felt horrible - just terrible for the families who lost loved ones. I worried about the future and didn't like the thought of being in a large crowd, for fear of another attack. But eventually I turned the TV off and went back to my life. And when the 10th anniversary rolled around I registered it, I thought about where I was when I heard the news and how I was still living in my apartment in Akron where Brad and I eventually had to turn off the TV just to stop the constant barrage of coverage. Yes, I registered it. And I moved on. Life is here, in the moment. I have two small boys, one of whom is learning English and requires lots of extra patience to deal with his moods and frustrations.  I have a household to run and the mom taxi to drive. I have meals to shop for and prepare and a husband to keep track of. Oh, and I have a thousand verses of We Are the Dinosaurs to sing. That alone takes up most of my day.

But my big four and a half year old seems to have plenty of time to think about America. My big four and a half year old who is not even American by birth is currently being a better patriot than his mommy. And his desire to wave the flag, and draw the flag, and talk about the flag- he didn't get that from me. My travels around the world have made me totally appreciate my life here in this country, that much is true. But I am not over the top patriotic. So a part of me is proud of my little guy. So so proud. And maybe I shouldn't worry about this obsession with the people who "got dead". Maybe next month I'll be looking back at this obsession fondly, as I live through his next one. I have a feeling it is just beginning...

bring on the busy

Today is day # 4 of  100 Days to Christmas. So far I have added my calendar pages to my 100 Days to Christmas Binder. I had the "wish list" discussion with my family and jotted down what we plan to get the boys. Today's task is to set the budget, which is especially important this year with me not currently working. Since my husband and I have been talking about this already I know this task will not be difficult to complete. The remainder of the tasks for this week include making my gift recipient list and starting to think about gifts for every special person on my list, including any home made gifts I might choose to give. later in the week the tasks turn from thoughts of Christmas back to the current season, when I will be asked to finish decorating my home for Fall. Christmas made easy and relaxing, in just a few minutes a day!

I am also happy to report that we had a very busy weekend- busy for us, at least. Between the board meeting I participate in and the two classes my big four and a half year old takes my entire family spent the entire morning Saturday at China school. We left the house at 8:00am and didn't return until nearly 1:00. We then raced around getting the boys fed and getting ourselves ready for our anniversary date. When the sitter arrived, less than an hour after we got home from China school, we were ready and I was not doing my usual running around like a crazy person getting the house ready so as not to be judged by this person taking care of my children. It was awesome!

Between Friday night's tee ball game and Saturday's activities I still found time to stay on track with my daily cleaning and organizing and so was able to enjoy not just a great night out Saturday but a relaxing Sunday which included a family football game in the backyard, (my team lost. that tiny toddler just won't man up...) I also went to the baseball fields with the boys, something my husband would have done alone in the past because I would have felt like there was too much to do at home to go and run around the bases with my kids. I was able to relax at our dinner out because I wasn't mentally freaking out about all the household stuff waiting for me at home. Oh, and because we tried Alex in a booster seat for the first time and settled him in next to Daddy, who then spent the entire meal pushing him back down into his seat, pulling him off the table, taking silverware away from him.... When my older son was little he wouldn't sit anywhere but right by my side, so I was totally enjoying watching my husband be tortured for a change!

So another great weekend, more amazing memories, brought to you by strong organization. Bring on the busy!