The lady at the cleaners loves The Boy.
Before he was born, my husband would drop off his shirts or pick them up, and he would tell me that she wasn't very nice. Yet, whenever I went to the cleaners, she was always very nice to me. "Maybe it's because I'm not Asian," my husband would say half jokingly.
Several months after The Boy was born and Chris established an afternoon routine with him, he would take The Boy, still in his carrier, into the cleaners to fetch his shirts. The lady at the cleaners would coo at him and tell Chris how cute the baby was. As he grew and began interacting with his surroundings, he began to interact with her. First it was a smile, then a wave, which no doubt tickled her to no end. Every now and then, if I left work early or was at home with The Boy, Chris would go to the cleaners by himself, and she would ask where the baby was. Chris says she's much nicer now than when we first moved to the neighborhood, but she's even nicer to him when The Boy accompanies him.
Yesterday, when I came home from work, Chris and The Boy had just sat down for dinner. Chris told me that they picked up his shirts from the cleaners before going to Publix, and that the lady at the cleaners gave The Boy a bag of Sun Chips. "She always tries to give him gum," he said, puzzled. I figured that she wanted to give The Boy something, and that gum was the only thing she had handy. But that day, she went to the back and presented The Boy with his very own snack-sized bag of Sun Chips.
The Boy was very proud of his chips, and very possessive. Chris said he clutched his little bag while they were in Publix, and only gave it to Chris when they got to the car after being promised that he could eat them with dinner.
I don't go to the cleaners very often anymore, so I don't get to see the lady at the cleaners. I wish I knew a little more about her, though, even her name, and thank her for the kindness she bestows on my little boy.
Maybe it's time to bring that coat in for drycleaning...
The Boy is starting to transition to the 2-year-old classroom today. Each day, he'll spend a little more time with the bigger kids so that, come Monday, he'll be comfortable going to the 2-year-old wing.
I need to prepare myself for meltdowns next week.
He's teething like crazy. Even after a half dose of Tylenol this morning, he was still holding his mouth when I left him at school. I don't think I need to express how relieved I will be when these molars come in. At least I know I'll have a slight reprieve before the next molars come in - and by then, he'll be able to better express himself verbally to let me know what he needs.
I bought him some Big Boy Underpants this weekend. He hasn't been asking for them or anything, but I know he'll see some kids in his new class wearing Big Kid underpants and want to have those handy as a potty training incentive. He's not showing a lot of interest in the potty. He knows what it is and that you sit on it; beyond that, he hasn't quite grasped the concept. Tommy Bear sits on the potty more than The Boy does. Meanwhile, Chris and I ask him every day if he wants to sit on it, and we're careful not to push it on him. After all, he'll get there one of these days. And if he's the only kid in his class still wearing diapers, so be it.
He'll pick up on that really quickly.
In fact, I'm not quite sure how I feel.
My father called me last night.
Let me begin by saying that my father has refused to talk to me, answer e-mails, or respond to text messages in a month. For an entire month, my father has shut me out.
And he called last night because my sister wasn't picking up her phone.
My niece, J, is having her First Communion next month. This is a very big deal in the Catholic faith, and my mother would have been so incredibly proud. I won't be in attendance, but I am still so very proud of her for choosing to take this very important step.
My father wanted to bring A, my late mother's best friend and the woman he had been seeing, to J's First Communion. He bought the ticket and everything and told my sister that he wanted to bring her. When my sister put her foot down and said that, no, she did not want A there because she and Dad needed to discuss some things first, he wasn't pleased. When she got off the phone with him, she called me and gave me a synopsis of the call. And I completely agreed with her - there's a lot our father needs to own up to without hiding behind anyone's skirt. Our mother did us - and him - a great disservice by keeping us sheltered from his inability to take ownership, for lack of a better phrase.
I got off the phone with my sister because it was time for my nieces to get bathed and get ready for bed. Daddy tried to call several times, then, presumably, gave up and called me instead. He began the conversation quite jovially, as if we talked all the time. He asked about The Boy's birthday party and his birthday (never once apologizing for not calling or e-mailing or texting on his birthday), and I responded warmly. Despite everything, he is, after all, my father and The Boy's grandfather, and if he shows enthusiastic interest, I'm willing to respond with the same enthusiasm.
Then the small talk waned. The real reason for his call was that he wanted to bring A to J's First Communion and my sister was being inflexible and didn't want her there. He told me that my sister said she didn't have a problem with A, but that she had a problem with him, and that she felt they needed to build on their relationship before anything else. I listened, having already heard this from my sister, then told him that I agree with my sister.
"Dad," I said to him, "I haven't really talked to you in seven months. We've exchanged words but not a real conversation. And my son doesn't even know you."
To which he responded, "I know, I know. But...", rambling on about how much a victim he was and how unfair my sister was being. For an entire month, he pretends I don't exist, but then he expects me to be his ally when it comes to communicating with my sister? What?
And then he dropped this delightful bombshell:
"Maybe it's an inappropriate time, but I wanted to tell both of you in person that A and I were married on March 21."
Great. So more than three weeks after the fact he finally felt compelled to tell us.
I told him that we live on the other side of the country, that with my nieces in school and me at work, it would be near impossible to get us both together for a single chat. (And, though I didn't say it but desperately wanted to, if I'm going to take time off and see my sister, I'd like it to be a pleasant visit without drama from him.) A phone call would have sufficed. An e-mail or text before the fact would have been preferable to three weeks after the fact.
Once he realized I wasn't going to chide him for his decision but rather was upset that he didn't feel it necessary to inform us ahead of time and reiterated several times that I hadn't really spoken to him in seven months, his focus returned to my sister, how she's not picking up the phone, how he ought to try calling her again. "Call her around 9," I suggested. "Give her a chance to get the kids to bed." Then we hung up.
I called my sister this morning. Dad called her again around 8:30 (right after we hung up - shows how much he listened to me), and she asked if she could call him back. When she returned his call, he said he was on his way out and would call her later. He never did.
I told her about the conversation I had with our father last night. I told her about my husband's response to the news ("not thrilled" would be a major understatement; "angry" would still be pretty far from reality), and we both laughed about it.
He's a grown man. He can do what he wants. And if he thinks this will make him happy, so be it.
I just can't help feeling like my mother took my father's sense of reason with her. Maybe he never had any and she just hid it really well. But with Mom gone, it seems like my dad's gone, too.
Overheard tonight from The Boy's bedroom:
"No, don't take Tommy Bear's shirt off.... Socks? Tommy Bear needs socks? Okay, let's find some socks for him.... There. Now he has socks.... What?... Tommy Bear has socks.... Oh, Cow needs socks? Okay..."
This continued on for a while. It ended with my husband telling him that he had no more socks, that Mommy needed to wash them.
And then I was summoned.
"Mo more sock!" he informed me.
I went into the closet and found socks he had since outgrown, then dutifully put them on his Yo Gabba Gabba! friends. Once he was certain everyone's feet would be sufficiently warm, he decided that his footed sleeper wasn't adequate and wanted, not just socks, but entirely different pajamas to wear to bed.
Then Tommy Bear needed a new shirt. He can't have a new shirt? Well, then he needs shoes. He can't wear shoes? Well, then can I wear shoes? If I can't wear shoes, then Mama has to hold me.
I'm not certan how I managed it, but I finally got him to lie down in his crib. I tucked him in, whispered my "good nights", and hurriedly left the room, leaving the door open (because God forbid we should close the door and do anything without him). He called out for me once more (I did not respond), then was silent. He's now been asleep fr about 20 minutes.
In the meantime, he does have clean socks, just removed from the dryer before I sat down to write. But if we're now going to clothe all of his toys, I may need to stock up on more.
Our typical Sunday morning paper routine involves removing the ads from the news, then putting the news in the recycling bin and combing through the ads. Normally, The Boy has very little interest in any portion of the Sunday paper, but there was a Toys 'R' Us ad this past Sunday.
Several times on Sunday, I caught him intently studying the ad. He'd hone in on one item, then stare at it, analyzing every part of it. Of course, the ad was full of things he loves: a 7-piece drum set (out of our price range right now), several backyard sets (no room on our lot), various Thomas the Tank Engine toys... Each item was carefully scrutinized, and it was as though he weighed all the choices on the page before calling out, "Mama! Da-ee! Dis!" and pointing to his item of choice.
Yesterday morning, he spread open the ad on the couch, then stood before it, staring at each of the pictures. He propped one arm on the ottoman and leaned into it, adjusting his stance from time to time. I watched him from the kitchen as I dried and put away dishes, careful not to disturb him with my presence. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity (but was really only about five minutes), he looked up, caught my eye, and beamed. "Mama! Mama! Mama!" he said, running to me, the ad flapping beside him, clutched in his tiny fist.
He threw his arms around my leg, then motioned for me to sit down. "Down!" he commanded. When I obliged, he turned around and backed into my lap, spreading open the ad for me to see. "There!" he said excitedly, pointing to the Thomas the Tank Engine table (currently on sale but both out of our price range and too big to store anywhere in our house).
"Yes, I see! That's a very nice table!"
"Thomas," he said, correcting me. "Mama! Thomas!"
I wouldn't dare ask him if he wanted it. I know full well what the answer would be. Instead, I smiled, nodded, and said, "Yes, Baby, that's a very nice table where Thomas can play!"
He seemed content enough with that response. He handed me the ad, jumped out of my lap, and turned his attention to his Yo Gabba Gabba! friends.
I caught him looking at the ad again this morning. Thankfully, it was a different page, but it was with the same intense concentration.
This behavior is eerily similar to mine in the weeks leading up to Christmas or my birthday. And with The Boy's second birthday only days away, it's almost like he knows!
Perhaps it's because I've spent the last two weeks on tenter hooks waiting for information on the job statuses of all my friends - and my husband - who work for Disney.
Perhaps it's because I refuse to volunteer my husband or friends for "assignments", especially those that technically go against their company's policies.
Perhaps it's because I don't like to be used and don't want people to "use" my husband or friends.
Perhaps it's because I like to keep my work family at arm's length.
Or, perhaps deep down inside, it's because I'm really just a selfish person.
My work family knows my husband works for Disney. In this town, everyone knows someone employed by The Mouse. When a single company is home to roughly 60,000 employees, you can't help but know someone on the inside.
My husband's parents get requests for Chris to help them book vacations. I've heard him on the phone with people countless times, offering assistance but in no way giving anything more. It's a nuisance, really, because while there are certain perks that come with his employment with Disney, misuse can be viewed as grounds for termination. In better days, I would never ask him to defy company policies. Why in the world would anyone think I would do so now?
One of my coworkers asked me today about acquiring theme park passes for her family. My knee jerk reaction was an immediate, "No, absolutely not!" She went on to explain that she would be willing to pay up to half the gate price for them, and my head immediately began throbbing.
"Maybe some of your friends who are out of work could use the extra money?" she suggested.
I about lost it. My friends had been laid off - their sources of income eliminated - and she saw it instead as an opportunity to fleece them? But I took a deep breath and explained, in no uncertain terms, that I was not about to ask my friends - who have never volunteered any passes - to do a favor for someone they don't know, someone I barely know on a personal level myself. I suggested she ask someone else in the department.
Another coworker whose spouse works for The Mouse agreed to help, so in the end, everything worked out for all the involved parties.
But I can't help but be incredibly miffed at the whole thing.
I have a headache. I think I'm going to go home.
