18 posts tagged “life”

In my attempts to regain a semblance of the pre-Mommy me, I spoke to my friend Gena about the possibility of having her train me. As she is still working on getting certified as a personal trainer, she agreed but refuses to accept any money from me. She would, essentially, have me do exercises that target key areas, assign "homework" on the days I don't see her, etc. I, in turn, would be her guinea pig and do whatever she asks.

Gena's work schedule right now is such that she is working her regular job Tuesdays through Thursdays, which means we have Mondays and Fridays to get together during my lunch break. We began our sessions last Friday, during which she had me work on my arms to tone the muscle there. Because I'm occassionally lifting and carrying a little man of 30 pounds (fully clothed with shoes), I discovered I had more upper body strength than I initially believed. But I was certainly feeling it over the weekend!

On Monday, we focused on abs and legs. On Tuesday, feeling sore but functional, I played the part of hamster at lunchtime and walked/ran two miles on a treadmill while a coworker used the elliptical at our office gym. Yesterday, still sore but in different ways, I chose to go to Target for a few necessities and walked two laps around my neighborhood last night. And today, I visited a friend's very ill mother during my lunch hour with every intention of doing laps around the neighborhood again tonight.

Only, the skies opened and poured (much needed) rain upon my house. And it's still going. So I'm not doing laps.

I'm a slacker, I know.

The Boy is officially in the 2-year-old classroom now. Dropping him off was absolutely awful this morning.

A big part of the problem is that I still haven't met the teachers, and it doesn't help that the classroom where I drop him off in the mornings isn't the one where he will spend most of his time. So, his cubby isn't in that room, his artwork (once he makes some) isn't in that room, and his teachers aren't in that room. And it didn't help this morning that he doesn't know any of the kids, either.

After I signed him in, I briefly looked around the room and pointed out all the cool things in the classroom that aren't in the Toddler room. They have bathroom stalls - short enough for me to peer into, but tall enough to give kids privacy when they use the facilities. There's a little sink where he can wash his hands without needing to use a step stool. The tables and chairs are a little taller than the ones in the Toddler room (though still shorter than the set at home), and there are Legos and art supplies and all kinds of fun toys that we have at home but weren't in the Toddler room. After all, he's a big(ger) kid now!

I did my best to talk about everything excitedly, to get him to take me on a tour of the classroom, but he would have none of it. He begged in earnest between sobs for me to take him outside ("Out! Mama! Peas! Mama! Out! Peas! Peas!"), and he clung to my leg for dear life as I wrote on the sign-in sheet. Finally, the teacher there (still don't know her name) took him from me so that I could escape. As soon as the door shut behind me, I ran to his old Toddler classroom and sobbed.

As if that weren't enough, I still needed to run diapers to his new classroom (not the temporary one). I wrote his name on the package in the Toddler room, steeled my nerves, then ran (literally) past the room where I left him and down the hall to his classroom. Once I was there, I looked around a bit, just to see where my little boy would be spending most of his days for the next year. It's an adorable facility, really - perfectly sized for him, and I can totally see him fostering more independence in the coming year. I carefully made my way back once I heard one of the Directors being paged to the classroom where I left him and saw him standing by the door, tears streaming down his little cheeks, wringing his hands and stomping his feet as he cried, "Mamaaa! Mamaaaaaa! Mamaaaaaaaaaa!"

It absolutely broke my heart. Thankfully, he was looking the other way and didn't see me through the window (I would have died if he did), but it was horrible. I felt terrible!

I'm sure he will give Chris a full report this afternoon when Chris picks him up. And I know he's fine and is probably enjoying himself as I write.

It doesn't ease the Mommy Guilt, though.

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.

Those are the words that have propelled me out of bed in the mornings lately. He repeats himself, a little louder each time, and isn't above yanking the covers off my previously sleeping body. Some mornings, he even finds my glasses and thrusts them into my hands.

"Mama! This! On!" he commands.

Though I often wish he would let me be and find his own breakfast, I have to remind myself how precious are these moments - how fleeting is this stage of his. I drag my tired body out of bed and follow him out of my bedroom, pausing only long enough for him to turn off the television.

"S'dark!" he announces as he makes his way to the kitchen. "Mama! S'dark!"

"Yes, Baby," I reply, reaching for the light switch. "And do you know why it's dark? It's dark because the rest of the world is still sleeping."

He scowls at me, then walks in his special Toddler Waddle/Walk to his table. "Poon!" he shouts. I help him climb into the chair, then quickly fetch his spoon. His eyes light up, and he licks his lips eagerly with anticipation. I get something from the refrigerator and bring it to him. "Go-yer!" he exclaims happily, almost shrieking. I barely have a chance to remove the lid before he thrusts his spoon into the yogurt.

It really is a joy to watch him eat. He grips the spoon forcefully in his right hand, carefully cradling the yogurt cup with his left. He inserts the spoon, pulls it out, puts it into his mouth, and continues to eat. Sometimes it drips on him ("Uh-oh! Mama! Uh-oh!"), which requires my immediate attention, and he has difficulty scraping out the last bits of yogurt. But, inevitably, he will point to the empty cup and ask, quite pointedly, "More?"

He knows there is more. He knows where to find more. Sometimes he's content with my explanation that he is only allowed to eat one yogurt for breakfast. Other times, he jumps down from his chair and runs to the refrigerator himself, struggling in vain to open the heavy doors.

When he wants to eat cereal, he'll bring you the box, but beware: you can't provide him with enough. When he wants to eat fruit, he'll tell you ("Each!" "Ban!" "Pum!" "Air!"), and a meltdown may ensue because the fruit isn't large enough to appease his appetite.

And yet, I can't imagine another way to start my day. With a few simple commands, he's able to get me (or my husband) up and moving about - and any thoughts of returning to my warm bed after breakfast are immediately banished, no matter the time.

As I trudge through work each day, thankful for my own job, a sense of nervous curiosity sweeps over me as the numbers on the corner of my computer screen slowly creep to 5:30. I jump when I hear my e-mail ding, I nervously scour my friends' Facebook statuses, and the last person I want to see calling my cell phone is my husband.

You know that scene in Gone With the Wind where the entire city of Atlanta is waiting for news on the killed and wounded of Gettysburg, and Scarlett rips the listing from Uncle Peter's hands to search for Ashley's name? And when Rhett comes by and asks her who is among the listed, she says that someone from all the families in her county were affected.

That's what it's like waiting to hear about the latest round of Disney cuts. Everyone in this town knows someone who's affected by them.