First day of Kindergarten: Hopes and Dreams

During orientation today, the principal at Jake's school encouraged us to "get to know" her and share with her our "hopes and dreams for his kindergarten year."  Kate and I sat side by side in a humid basement that they call the "gym/auditorium" and even though I was closer to bursting into a puddle of sweat vs. tears, that line did make me shrug away an emotional shudder.  Maybe I hadn't realized I did have hopes and dreams for him at this early stage in the game, maybe i was shocked in these first few seconds of contemplation how basic they were.

Perhaps to a fault, I don't give a shit where he is with his reading or math.  The kid is smart and a "pleaser" with two academic-minded moms, he will excel in school and be reading like a champ in no time...

I hope he has fun and learns to love those put in charge of his learning.
I dream that what happens this year sets him up to trust the people we call "teachers" and to feel safe in the buildings we call "schools".

I hope he makes friends and learns how to be good and generous to other kids.
I dream he has the experience of acceptance and friendship without learning to crave and chase the "high" of feeling popular.

I hope he somehow learns to appreciate the special qualities of others without feeling jealous.
I dream he learns to appreciate the special qualities in himself without feeling superior.

***************
In the middle of the first 1/2 hour in his class room, Jake pulled at my pocket and said, "I have to go potty."  His teacher showed him the room and he was in there for several minutes before the motion sensor light went out.  Over the din of the classroom, I heard quiet yelling, "Anyone... Hey, Anyone... Anyone out there..." it was soft at first and grew louder.  I realized what must have happened and the lights flew on as I opened the door and rushed in.

He shrugged at me, "Hey," he said, not quite embarrassed.
"Hey, buddy!" I said laughing in a way that I'd hoped would reassure him.  "If that ever happens again, you just have to wave your arms around to get the lights back on again."  I offered several more sentences in the way of explanation.  And then I noticed his red face and watering eyes...
He was about to cry, and I didn't want that to happen...  All these emotions rushed to me: he is way more nervous than we realized... He's afraid.  And he was literally left in the dark, oh no...

And then I heard the splash as he dropped (what I later realized was the third) rather large turd in the tiny "to scale" toilet. Misty eyes, cleared and the normal color replaced the red in his cheeks.

Here's my kid!  First thing he does at kindergarten is take a huge dump!!  When I told the story to Katy later, she mocked me with her mind-reading skills: "Oh MY GOD... it's like when you go into a book store and the info overload sends you running to the public restroom!!!"

It's funny because it's true.

I couldn't help it. I reached down and planted a kiss on the top of that kid's head.  "I love you so much, Jakey."

"Yeah," he said absentmindedly contemplating the status of his bowels.  The absurdity of the situation hit a peak as he obviously bared down one last time.  He relaxed his abdomen, shifted on the seat, took a short breath in and out, and I easily identified the cues- he had completed his business.

Looking up at me, he shrugged: "Can you believe I'm in kindergarten?!?" He asked excitedly.

Brief, awkward silence.

"Yes, baby.  I'm so proud of you," was the only thing I could think to say.

I've admitted it before, and I'll say it again, this kid is weird.  His moms are fine with it.  In fact his brand of quirky, honest sweetness is probably less weird than we are.  I'll sometimes tell him he's weird so he recognizes that word doesn't have to hurt: everybody is weird in some way(s).  I dread the day when someone makes him feel bad or insecure about the amazing things inside of him.

I hope that doesn't happen to him in Kindergarten.
I dream for him that when that does happen he has a good friend near him to reassure him that he doesn't need to make apologies for who he is.

Jake has a bunch of friends that he's gone to day care with for several years.  Today, KK shouted to him in the parking lot, "Thank you, Jacob!"

"You're welcome," he spouted over his shoulder as we all walked away from the bus.  When I asked him what he did that she was thanking him for he looked at me as if to say, "What the fuck are you talking about?"  It became crystal clear in that moment that this is just the beginning of me asking what I think is a perfectly legitimate question and him acting like I'm blind, deaf, and dumb.

Colin is Jake's BFF since he was 6 months old.  It's because of Jake and Colin that we are friends with Col's parents.  Now those kids are stuck with each other at least through high school, because Katy and I have really grown to love those dirtbags (Private joke).  When Jake asked us what a "kindred spirit" was recently (after the term came up in Puss in Boots) hearing the definition prompted him to report to us that Colin was his kindred spirit.  Sometimes the two boys greet each other with this term of endearment (sigh).

Life can be hard, even for kindergarteners.
I hope that he hits some bumps (even at this tender age) so he can start to grow confident in his ability to overcome challenges and obstables
I dream he'll have some good little peeps by his side reassuring him and giving him sound toddler advice.


***************
A few weeks ago, katy and I both picked Jake up from day care.  When the kids saw us come in together, it set off a sewing circle of banter among 4 four-year old girls.  They were working on some craft at a low-to-the-ground, circular table and the image in my peripheral vision was oddly similar to a group of old ladies gossiping while shucking peas- heads bent together, hands busy, absentminded familiarity with one another.  While I tried to get Jake to gather his things, I started to catch the content of their conversation:

Girl 1: Yeah, that's how it is.
Girl 2: He has two moms...
Girl 3: No dads...
Girl 1: No, he didn't come with one.
Girl 4: Not a dad in sight.
Girl 2: Nope, just only moms

Jake was oblivious and I realized that the arrival of the two moms simultaneously (when we usually took turns picking up our boys) likely prompted some solidification of the concepts that these little girls have been well aware of for a long time.

They weren't questioning the legitimacy of our family structure.  They weren't trash-talking.  Just hammering the points home to each other in a way that old friends might discuss the inevitability of an impending summer shower:

"Looks like rain"
"yessir, there's no way we're getting out of this one..."
"I guess we better bring the laundry in"
"These rains come and go"
"The sky is sure dark"
"It's been dry- we could really use the rain."

I hope that it will be sometime before Jake is exposed to a conversation where he realizes there are people in the world that have a problem with his family.
I hope if someone indicates there is something wrong with his family structure, there is a teacher (or one of those pea shuckers) right there on hand to immediately correct that lie
I dream we have a few years of solidifying his confidence before he gets a wiff of this part of the world from anywhere.


I didn't cry today. If it hasn't happened yet, I've probably avoided it.  But I wouldn't be surprised if it hit me later in the week or month.  Putting this kid out into the world,  further out of the sphere of our protective capabilities is humbling.  It makes me feel the intense weight of human vulnerability.    It makes me want to grab the break and slow down time a bit.  It makes me want to pray more.

Okay... there.  A few tears dripped down...
Is everyone happy now?

On birthdays

Birthdays are strange creatures.

For many years I was perpetually disappointed by my birthday.  There was so much hype about the day, likely created in my own mind, that it could never live up to my expectations.  The presents were never quite right.  The person I wanted to call didn't.  The day got swept away by some other more pressing need.  I understood my birthday to be the one day when it was okay to embrace the conceit of wanting others to celebrate me.  Pre-social media, it was more difficult to navigate that celebration.  Walk around announcing the day?  Hope others would somehow just know?

I've had a very contemplative last month, touched off by the 5 year anniversary of the murder of my colleague's family.  I had stashed that grief away in self preservation, stuffing the suitcase full and taking off at a moment's notice.  This summer, it decided to unpack itself and land on me like a tidal wave.  It was a long time coming, but it felt like I'd been sucker punched.  There are some things in life that are beyond explanation, that challenge my scientific-leaning understanding of the world.  Trying to make sense of it is about as fruitful as a dog chasing its tail.  Normally organized into predictable and controlled parcels, I was suddenly scattered.  It was as if someone grasped the string at the end of a knot I thought was impenetrable, and suddenly there were marbles all over the floor.  It was dizzying.  Tucked in that insistent wall of tears, though, was an opportunity to gather my wits and dig back in to life.

I spent the first several hours of this birthday holding a screaming child as he seemed to have night terrors (but what turned out to be a full bladder).  It made me laugh, because somewhere in those hours 35 years ago I was causing a similar ruckus.  It seemed to solidify for me that parenthood is at least one part payback.  Tracy and I spent almost an hour on iChat last night with some of our closest friends, Kate and Adam, who are exactly 2 years behind us in the parenthood game.  Between us we have a 5 year old, two 3 year olds, and a newborn.  We spent a good deal of time acknowledging the strangeness of feeling overwhelming love and crushing frustration all in the same moment, over and over and over.  Before we had Jake, people used to try and explain to us things about parenthood: how tired we'd be, how happy he'd make us, how much we'd worry, how much small children vomit, how hard it would be once he was mobile.  You can't warn would-be parents.  There are chemicals that prevent people attempting pregnancy or who are pregnant from hearing any of it.  It doesn't register.  It blows past them like a wisp of hot air barely noticed.  It's a good thing, too, because no one would choose this kind of insanity without those blinders.  I left the conversation overwhelmingly thankful for our friends.  There is a comfort in knowing you're not the only one who can't stand their own kid some of the time.  There is also a simple elegance in being able to share in that sweet love for the heart that walks around outside of your body.  This morning, the aforementioned screaming child came down the stairs, stood on his tippy toes, gave me a two-handed kiss, and said "Happy Birthday to you, Mama".  Turns out parenthood is also at least one part sweetness.

Despite my determined efforts, there are things I cannot control or change.  Timing that cannot be reset to fit my own version of daylight savings.  Events that cannot be prevented, and a similar number that cannot be forced into existence.  I feel a physical discomfort in the severity of that understanding.  I get it, but I don't like it.  And sitting with those two realities is a constant battle.  I continue on the learning curve roller coaster, though, sometimes eyes open, sometimes hands up.

In recent years I have had a much more Zen approach to my birthday.  Turns out, when you stop plotting out every minute, every minute starts feeling like a gift rather than a disappointment.  Say what you will about Facebook, but the near constant stream of "Happy Birthday!"s feels like points of light carrying me through the day.  Messages flow in from people who I may never see in person again, and from friends who will sing to me later today, and from people I only know because I kicked their ass in Fantasy Football, and people who know me as Katy, KT, or (smile) Tierney.  At worst, someone steals my identity.  At best, on my worst day I'll be able to see that light shining a path in front of me.

Birthdays are, indeed, beautifully strange creatures.


Poem list:
cruel, cruel summer (D.A. Powell)
Difference (Mark Doty)
Sublunary (AE Stallings)

Playlist:
Exile Vilify (The National)
All This and Heaven Too (Florence and the Machine)
To Just Grow Away (The Tallest Man On Earth)
Lorraine (Lori McKenna)
Helplessness Blues (Fleet Foxes)
Sticks and Stones (The Wheels)
Kiss It Away (Kris Delmhorst)
Gentle Hands (Thieving Irons)

Crazy talk and non-sensical rage

Milo's language skills have exploded.
Finally the kid can practically get his point across.  He has so many thoughts and ideas but they are generally not recognizable by English speakers.  Lately though, he is spilling over with impressive vocab and compound sentences.  Today at a red light he told me:

"Red means 'stop' and yellow means 'slow' and green means 'go'."
He has known this for a long time, but could only get out a word at a time. 
"YELLOW!" He'd scream as I blew through an intersection.

At some point in July, the kid was in the back seat of the car and he was stammering and stuttering trying to tell me something very important (perhaps that a tow truck had passed us) and finally he slapped his hands on his knees and shouted, "I'm tryin' TALK-TELL YOU SOMETHING-CAN'T!!!" I felt so bad and fed him a few lines to repeat: "Say, 'There's a red truck.'" He repeated it perfectly. "Say, 'There's a blue car'."  Again, flawless. He nodded at me in what I perceived to be a "Thank you" and calmed down.
 
As I've mentioned, he is somewhat strong-headed and wickedly intelligent, but he can be lazy with pronunciation.  He tends to eliminate "s"s completely.  So when he's asking for one of his favorite songs "Stuck like glue" and he insistently implores, "I WANT UCKLIKEGLUE!!!" I spend the next 45 seconds making him repeat, 'cause I still have nofah king idea what he's saying. 

When i finally figure it out, I"m like, "Milo,  stay 'SSSSssssssstuck'..."
"SSSSssssstuck."
So okay, he can say it.  He just frequently opts out.

Last week he asked Katy, "Did you get that out of the cabinet?" As clear as can be- like that was the most normal thing in the world for a 2 year old to say. 

She looked at me and asked, "Did he just say 'cabinet'?"
"Yes.  Yes he did."

In addition to improving his speech, Milo's been teething for what seems like forever, and drooling and sticking fingers and whatever he can find into his mouth.  "Get your fingers out of your mouth," is my most frequently uttered directive.  In our house (despite two Master's prepared nurses running the show) there is astounding ignorance related to germ theory.  No matter how many times I explain about all of the various nastiness that can be on the bottom of our shoes, I can count on both of my boys to absent-mindedly scan their digits over every square milometer of their sneakers and Crocs, just to pass the time.  Then everyone acts shocked when I'm screaming "GET YER DISGUSTINGLY DIRTY FINGERS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!"

Today, I guess Milo was a little sick of my badgering, but he showed me- just skipped the middleman entirely and went right to the source:

Mommy: (unsuccessfully trying to hide her disgust) GET YOUR SHOE OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!
Milo: NOOOOOOooooooo!!!
Mommy: RIGHT NOW!
Milo: (growling) I'm gonna bite you in the baby room!
Mommy: WHAT?!?
Milo: (mumbling) I'm gonna bite you in the baby room...
Mommy: (softer and in a more serious tone) Milo, we don't threaten to bite people when we are angry...
Milo: YOU ARE DANGEROUS!
Mommy: You have no idea...

The kid is nuts.  But there is nothing I don't love about him.






Comparing how these two watch TV says a lot...