On Your Son's Second Birthday

On your son’s second birthday you wake up when the alarm goes off, too early as always. Your head is still fighting for rapidly diminishing dreams, not enough rest absorbed. You remember being awake at midnight, with your book in your hand, waiting for the melatonin to kick in and knock you out. You hit snooze 1 or 4 times before forcing yourself out of bed, shuffling to the kitchen where you say a silent thank you to your husband for brewing coffee before he went to bed only an hour before.

You sit on the couch and sip, waiting for reality to set in, for your senses to catch up to your motions. Your daughter walks in, crawls onto your lap and falls back asleep. Your son, the birthday boy, soon follows, and by this time you are percolated enough to make breakfast for them and start sing-songy verses about birthdays and all sorts of wonderful things.

It’s time for clothes and makeup. Well, hell, just twist your hair up into a low bun because it really should have been washed this morning, but you didn’t get out of bed early enough, did you?

Off to work, the place you so lovingly named “Dysfunction Junction”. Your boss cries, you awkwardly try to continue doing your work. You light out of there two minutes early without guilt. Buy paper plates, a scented candle, and some lip gloss that turns out to be disappointingly orange.

Then off to see the concrete being poured for your driveway and some strange men as well as relatives working already several hours into hard labor. Look just long enough and then tuck your glossily most pointedly un-sweaty and orange-lipped self back into your vehicle and go to pick up your daughter from pre-school.

They tell you that she was flushed and warm earlier, keep an eye on her. Off to the supermarket because you just spoke to your mother-in-law who told you to pick up some ice cream and a prescription for your husband’s grandmother. Your daughter throws a fit over Oreos, sits down in the middle of the grocery store. Try to maintain proper balance of patience as well as discipline. Go home, wrap presents, change clothes, go next door where the future party waits.

Small talk, laughter, obligatory complaining about jobs-health problems-family members that are not present. Pizza arrives, chow down. Call husband, when will he be home? Wait. Wait. Wait. Son starts throwing self on ground, making highly unpleasant screeching sounds. Call husband, “when will you be here? Cake needs to be cut!”

Husband, weary, “Go ahead without me”.

So you go ahead, wishing your husband were here to see his son blow out the two candles on his birthday cake, to see the smile that can’t stay hidden when all the attention is on him, to see him tear open his presents and greet each one with unrestricted enthusiasm.

But it happens, and you smile, because you can’t restrain it, and everyone is laughing, and everyone is glad to be there on a Wednesday night, eating cake and celebrating life.

What Dreams are Made of

One of the things I find myself constantly repeating stupidly when talking about trailer life is “It’s not that bad,” which, when I think about it, is a really lame comment. Not that bad compared to what exactly? A third world prison? A mansion? The falling down house in town which seems to somehow magically hold an entire family? My point of reference for this comment is somewhat hazy, so it usually just slides by, but for some reason I feel the need to throw that out there. Yes, I am staying in this trailer on my husband’s land, yes it is temporary, yes it sucks, yes most of the doorknobs are plastic. But! It’s not THAT bad!

Well, truth be told, I must have some uppity snob somewhere inside of me because, yeah, sometimes it kind of is that bad. Thankfully, we’ve had a house to look forward to moving into despite the building process inching along. If we didn’t have a light at the end of the tunnel, I would probably be a lot more morose about this whole temporary tub of tin situation.

So that’s a reason I haven’t written too much lately because my mind is on two channels, one being HOUSE HOUSE HOUSE HOUSE and the other being WHY WON’T THE KIDS STOP TALKING/WHINING/FIGHTING FOR FIVE SECONDS SO I CAN READ A BOOK OR EAT A MEAL OR TAKE A SHOWER OR JUST STARE OFF INTO THE DISTANCE AND THINK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

It’s true. I’ve a one track mind lately. The house is so near to completion that I can almost taste the joy of living there, of bounding on my new carpet with bare feet, of being on a whole different floor than the kids, of opening a cabinet without a shower of Tupperware falling on my head.

And, in a completely shocking twist of feeling, I am going to miss this little pile of crap that is currently our home. I’ll miss being next door to my in-laws, of seeing cows and horses meandering up to our fence, of walking down to our garden when I want to make okra for dinner.

Ha! Who am I kidding? There is a mouse family under the cabinet in the kids bathroom and a strange and mysterious odor coming from the access door to the plumbing. I am DONE with this place!

On pins and needles waiting for the house, the house, the house . . .

Stuck

We bought this house in January. It was framed, had a roof on it, windows and two exterior doors and that was it. We bought it awful cheap, but we had to finish it. I thought we would be moved in by now.

Instead flooring is just going in this week. We still have to do grading in the yard, pour a driveway, add gutters, cabinets and countertops. The painting is finished, as my aching back can attest to, and it is starting to resemble something of a home.

And yet, we have run out of money. I hate being without money. I don’t even care to have LOTS of money, I just want SOME money. Right when I started making more at Workplace the kids both became enrolled at daycare and whoosh, all that extra money flew out the window at a startlingly fast speed.

Jeff and I were talking today about it, and we were reaching into the financially dim recesses of our brains, fishing for change, wondering where we could scrounge enough money together to finish the house. When we both were at a loss for words I suggested that we just go ahead and do what felt natural. “Let’s panic!”

I’m really not quite there yet. I don’t see the point in worrying over things that won’t get better by just focusing negative energy on it. At the same time, I do NOT want to turn thirty in this tin box! I know, pride and vanity and all that, but really . . . is that too much to ask for?

Besides working on the house, we’ve been battling the plague, some nasty head cold mess that infected our entire family and didn’t go away until the past couple of days. Vacation is now behind us and I’m in that mode of wanting something to look forward to, maybe a camping trip or a new haircut, or maybe, just maybe, a moving day.

Beachbound

As of this moment we were supposed to have three whole minutes before we started the car and pulled down the long driveway to begin our journey to the beach. Instead, I am sitting her at the computer in my soft blue bathrobe, finishing up bills and uploading some baby photos onto Google's server. Just in case our place catches fire while we're gone. I have fears like that. More and more often.

The kids are still asleep, Jeff is crankily changing oil in the cars somewhere, next door at my in-laws' I think. He was the one chanting the “we leave at 8:00!” mantra, I was more like, eh, we leave when we leave. It is the beginning of a RELAXING vacation, right? RIGHT?

I packed up the kids clothes, and haven't even began on ours yet. I am hesitant about what to pack, Jeff's sister and cousin are tiny, petite, and in the summer time always bikini-clad with such a nonchalant attitude that it surpasses confidence. I, however, am the one who cares more about my cover-up than my swim suit since that's what I'll have on all the time. I worry about being compared to others, even though every one else thinks that is just so silly and foolish. My silly and foolish mind gets concerned though, imagining sitting beside Jeff's cousin and chatting and laughing and then picturing us: her small, blond, tan, sitting at ease in her bikini, and me, pale, awkward, cellulite-clad, uncomfortable. Hopefully I will get over that mess and just BE, be there, in the moment, in the sunshine, playing with the kids without a care to the world.

So, shortly, we'll be off, headed to the Gulf of Mexico for a week of massive family fun, sun-soaking, sand-coated, and hopefully, blissfully unaware of the outside world.

Adventures In Daycare

Friday morning started off badly, with Faith writhing and going all limp bodied as I tried to get her dressed, to her slowly leaking big tears out of bright and pleading eyes on the way to school. I stopped and got her a big cookie to eat on the way, hoping that bribery and chocolate would take the sting out of me forcing her to go to school, but no, once we pulled up she started crying and begging me not to leave her. I had one of those moments standing outside of the car when I was half-expecting a REAL adult to walk up and take over the situation, instructing me gently how to handle life and other things. In the end I had to pry her from the car and carry her inside, handing her off to her teacher who was sweetly consoling her and promising her big fun and I had to rush quickly out the door before anyone could see me do my crumple cry face. I saved that for the ride to work, fanning myself before walking in and swallowing the big lump of failure, disappointment, and reality before settling into the day.

The real treat of the day, however, came when I went to pick her up at the end of the day. She was in somewhat high spirits and her teacher started telling me what she had done all day and we were making small talk when in bursts a young woman from the playground hollering about who was driving the Honda. “I am,” I started, staring at her, when she then told me that it was rolling away. I turned towards the door and the teacher had to tell me to, you know, put my daughter down before I went running outside, so down I put her and hauled out the front door, alarming all the teachers in the main area, and I saw the white Honda slowly crossing the large field next door to the daycare, almost to the cross road. I ran harder than I have, oh, lets see, EVER, simultaneously praying that the car would stop before it got to the road or that I would get there first, thanking myself for choosing to wear flats that day, hearing a car honk and sure it is that girl I work with watching me race across a field after a runaway car, and wondering if I really did have to walk back inside after this or could I just call Jeff and have him go get Faith now, and always in the future.

I walked back inside, sheepishly but trying to laugh at myself, like oh isn't it so funny? I let my car roll away! In a parking lot of the day care at the end of the day when kids are walking outside! I cried this morning and then caused a big scene in the afternoon! In the end I just mustered as much dignity as one can and gathered up my daughter and paid the administrator for the week and walked out, both of us wishing we didn't ever have to go back.

Summer School

Tomorrow, for the first time ever, Faith is going to daycare. This is a Big Deal. I'm not quite sure why, since I know she has been begging to go to school, with the playground, and the kids, and the little chairs and the little tables and the story times, and the sing along songs, and everything she has ever heard about it has enchanted her. So she is thrilled.

I, on the other hand, am not so much. It is the whole stranger taking care of my child thing. It is the whole no one can love her like I do thing. It is the whole what if there are too many kids to watch and she gets hurt thing. It's the worry and the loss of control and the fear that maybe she'll just blend in too much and no one will fall absolutely head over heels in love with her, like she deserves.

I wish things were different and I could stay with her every day, but they are not and I'm not going to dwell too much, but yes, my little girl is going to “school” as she says and I just hope that some child will run up and grab her hand and want to play and be best friends forever.

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James is not going to daycare and I'm not sure what to think anymore about childcare situations. Just go with the flow, I suppose. It's times like this when I think “what am I, absolutely NUTS for even thinking for a second that I could possibly want another child? What would I DO with it????”

Work is . . .well, work. I know that the eleventh commandment is thou shalt not write about work on thy blog, so I'll try to refrain but oh how I would love to. What with the awkward situations and the sometimes pleasant conversations and the vast difference between a career and a job. Yes, think about that for a moment and then guess on which side I fall. Blah blah economy blah blah poor blah take what you can get blah come home and forget about it.

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On a much happier note, this is by far and away the best summer of my adult life. I am not pregnant or nursing or have an infant that can't walk. I can put floaties on both kids and we can all swim. They can play outside for hours, we can all absorb the sun and then all daze around in a blissful sleepiness. There are impromptu cookouts, late night parties, entire days spent floating down the Chattahoochee, and warm days that slowly fade into hazy twilight evenings dotted with fireflies. The kids can both enjoy every moment of the day, from sunup to sundown. I love this summer so much that it makes me sad that July is almost over and want to do a Zack Morris and freeze time.

June

One of the many things that I should have written about in this space is the fact that my sister-in-law gave birth to a tiny and adorable girl last week. I managed to show up at the hospital in that magical window where modesty is gone and acceptance has taken over so I was able to stay in the room during the birth. Despite all the scandal that an unplanned pregnancy to an unmarried woman not yet 21 caused, I cried when I saw my little sister-in-law choke up with those joyous sobs as she held her baby to her chest for the first time. It doesn't matter when it happens, whether the timing is right or not, it is powerful, that moment when your old life dies and your new one starts.

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My sister lost her house, one of my best friends has lost her job of 10 years, my mother-in-law very well could lose her job tomorrow, and Jeff and I have been in a blur of constant moving, relocating all of our possessions again and again. We continue to work on our house, now onto the painting stage, just so thankful that we have something to look forward to when so many around us have lost so much.

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Even though the lives of everyone around us seems to have flipped upside down and inside out, our little foursome keep on going on just fine. Work, and the house finishing process, the madness that is taking care of small children, the things we would like to do versus the things that need to be done . . . it's all an often frustrating but comfortably happy storm. I end up staying up late, like tonight, just to listen to music or catch glimpses of shows that I remember liking to watch when I didn't hear shrieking in the background. Or reading – books, YOUR blog, and yours too, and a million others as well. I keep telling myself “Write, Jenny, write now while the babies are asleep, write before that long list of things to write about in your head starts getting faded and lost forever, write” but then I look at the clock and midnight is so close and I have to get up for work in the morning. And slowly, but surely, all the things I want to write about are drifting away into never never land.

So -
Faith, my sweetheart, is at turns wonderfully good and deliberately bad. She tells me that she wants to ask me a question, then asks how an elephant goes through walls, like walls of glass. I am flummoxed, of course, because how DO they? But she has the answer. They just lift up their trunks and knock out a hole of glass and walk through it. Then she runs back off into the other room until she has another question that she already has the answer for. She still likes holding my hand when she falls asleep and still wants to cuddle on my lap and still wants me to “hold her forever” and I don't ever want that to end. She is so proud of herself at the pool, wanting me to watch her jump off the stairs, she is energetically giddy when she's around other kids or when we act like kids by dancing foolishly or running around in circles outside. She reads with me and then tries to repeat all the words that I've just said while cutting her eyes at me, watching to see my reaction to her somewhat flawed reading. I, of course, am enthusiastic, which she adores.

She and James are fighting more now, over toys, over food, over my attention or lap space. He is talking, if you can really call it talking, although I can mostly translate. He's picking up new words every day, finally, but he still has an appointment this week for a consultation on the tongue clipping that he's bound to receive. I could go back and slap, or at least foot stomp, the pediatrician that he had at birth who didn't think that being tongue-tied would bother him and “let's hold off on clipping it until we see if it affects his speech”. Which his pediatrician now, whom I adore, says that it certainly does. He is all boy, reckless and fearless, jumping off of the couch, climbing atop anything he can get a grip on. He is covered in bruises and scrapes and has dirt under his short fingernails and is always pulling off his pants and then his diaper and running laughing through the house and occasionally doing things that should only happen in a diaper then running to me, concerned, and talking his strange James babble. He's got the sweetest smile I've ever seen, the cutest pout, and a surprisingly strong arm when he gets mad and hits.

They both walk into our room at night and climb into bed with us and fall back asleep. They are both doing new things every day, things I want to remember, some I don't, and I am really enjoying them this summer. It is the first time in years when I haven't had an infant or been pregnant, and it's such a simple joy to go next door to the pool and be able to put on their floaties and us all just . . . be. And swim. And soak up the sun. As adorable as my newborn niece is, this is what I've been looking forward to when I wanted to become a mother. To have this, our family, all able to enjoy the same thing at the same time, with each other.