Private School Whoas!

We live in a part of town that basically necessitates private school for our kids. (Please note that I feel extremely guilty complaining of this given the state of the world today. But on the flip side I could be awfully angry that somewhere along the line our public school system sunk so low that it can't be an option. Anyway ...)

Sam will start school in two years so we recently began researching our options. Bryon went to a couple of private school previews, we've bought books, looked at Web sites and we hope to consult with a friend who used to work admissions at a local private school.

This Saturday, after the kids are in bed, we are going to sit down, go through our information, prioritize and make a short list. It should be fun. Maybe we can do our taxes, point out each other's body flaws and talk about former lovers, too.

One Year Later

This time last year I was in early labor with Jake. I remember it like it was yesterday - getting up at 2 a.m. and telling my mom it had started. Bryon leaving early to meet a colleague for breakfast. My nephew John Wyatt calling frequently to ask how I was.

I had a doctor's appointment at 2 and I was sure she'd admit me so Bryon and I went together with my little suitcase. She assured me I was progressing but I should go back home because it still might be a couple of days. Bryon and I decided to go see Garden State but it had already started so I got a raspberry tea from the bagel shop and we went home.

Within a few hours the contractions were stronger and closer together. I tried to nap. Bryon wrapped things up at work. We took pictures with Sam. In those photos my belly looks so red and stretched and tight and BIG. It's amazing to me to think that just right under that skin, barely an inch away was little Jake. And even though I'm smiling, minutes later I'd be doubled over again.

At 9 p.m. Bryon and I said goodbye to Sam and my mom and left. At 2 a.m. Jake was born. Just 24 hours earlier I'd been padding around our house. And I have to say I loved being in labor. Not the pain. Anyone who says they LIKE the pain is loopy. But the anticipation, the sense of purpose. Being there, delivering a baby, while the world around goes to work, sleeps, watches TV, drives home listening to the radio. It feels so extraordinary. Kind of like you're the only person who has ever done it.

And now, almost one year later, Jake. Goofy, lovey, stubborn, independent Jake.

I recently found out a friend is pregnant and I have to admit, I'm envious. I would love to do it one more time. But I know I will have to do some persuading to get Bryon to agree with me.

But as I've said before, what a difference a year can make, right?

Huh?

Snippet of conversation with Sam during this morning's commute:

Sam: "Tomorrow can I have an egg?"

Me: "Sure. What kind of egg?"

Sam: "A white egg."

Me: "A hard-boiled egg?"

Sam: "Yes, hard boiled."

Me: "Who do you know that eats hard-boiled eggs?"

Sam: "Elephants."

Your guess is as good as mine.

Curse You Batman!

Sam's aggravated with us because we don't know how to tie his shoes 'underneath.' He said someone in his class ties them that way. I told Bryon it is the first of many times Sam will think we are uncool because we don't know what he's talking about.

To make it even uncool-er (more uncool, less cool) I went online and found a Web site dedicated to shoelaces in an attempt to find out just what he means.

So, much later tonight, when Sam is asleep, I will be referring to the Web site print-out instructing me how to lace his Batman shoes 'underneath.'

Perhaps I will be one of those mothers who plows down other parents at Wal-mart to get to the last Cabbage Patch Doll, Teddy Ruxpin, Tickle Me Elmo ...

R.I.P.

This weekend we said goodbye to the Spiderman shoes because they are too small. They've been replaced by Batman shoes.

"At least they are black," was Bryon's only comment.

A Bee In My Bonnet

Sam and I got stung by bees on Saturday.

We were outside trying to enjoy the weather before Hurricane Rita hit us (it never did). Our neighbors were in their front yard watching bees come and go from a flower patch. I've never
been afraid of bugs or insects (unless they are spiders, especially Daddy Long Legs, which give me the willies because of their aptly named long legs) so Sam and I got close to watch and talk about bees and flowers and nectar.

Apparently one buzzed too close to Sam and it sent him running, flapping his arms and swatting at his head, all things I've heard you never do when a bee gets close. Too late, he'd been stung. Right on the earlobe. In the commotion another bee stung me on the top of my head.

I tried to focus on Sam because he was pretty upset, but sweet cracker sandwich, it hurt. Not only was the initial sting painful, but the vast amounts of 'venom' that are apparently in a bee sting soon filled the left side of my head and neck. I was afraid I was going to look like the Elephant Man.

I gave Sam some Motrin and put Anbesol on his earlobe. (I figured if it worked on gums why wouldn't it work on skin ...). He soon calmed down even though his ear looked a little like a red cauliflower.

I figured he was over it when about 30 minutes later I asked to see his ear and he showed me the wrong one.

Hey Good Cookin'

Bryon and I are carpooling in an attempt to save gas and money. We all pile into his car together in the morning, drop off Bryon and then the boys and I head north. I admit I enjoy it. Leaving in the same car at the same time creates a sense of unified purpose in that our mornings are about a common goal -- getting everyone into the car so we can leave together in relatively good spirits. The best thing is it is a way I can assure Bryon will be home at a decent hour.

Most nights Sam asks if he can go into Daddy's office when we pick him up. Last night was one such night. I told him he could choose: Go into Daddy's office or go straight home and play with Delta, Sam's friend and neighbor. We hadn't seen her since before our vacation and the night before she'd called and left a sweet little serenade for Sam on our answering machine (Beeee my friend. My friend. Beeee my friend. Come and plaaaaaayyyy.)

He chose Delta. "You and me and Jakey and Delta can play trains, right Mom? Daddy will cook."

"Why can't I cook?" I asked him.

"You're not a good cooker," he said. "You're a good driver, but not a good cooker."

There's a Tear In My Beer

I have grown fond of a low-on-the-dial radio station that plays "Texas blues and country." (They also play two hours of Rat Pack on Saturdays so don't judge ...). Sometimes it is great stuff. Other times, the typical country song about beer, whiskey, blondes, regret and tears. When one such song came on last night while driving home I went to change the dial but Sam said, "I wanna hear the song about bears. Leave it on the song about the bears!"

The song was "When Drunks Go Bad" but with the requisite twang it sounded somewhat like "When Drunks Go BAY-RRRRS." There we are cruising southbound on the Dallas North Tollway with Sam singing "When Drunks Go BAY-RRRRS!"

Stop the World

If you were driving to work today and noticed a woman in work clothes - high heels, pantyhose, the works - carrying a 1-year-old, tidy little purse and car keys and chasing a hysterical, sock-footed 4-year-old down the street as he ran breakneck into oncoming traffic ... that was me.

Apparently Sam woke up on the wrong side of the bed. First five minutes of the day, fine. But all toddler hell broke loose when he couldn't get into the bathroom to 'tee-tee.' Then I cut one of his baby cakes (mini pancakes) in half. And then ... Bryon took my car to work. Sam saw him backing out the driveway and immediately fell to the floor, legs stiff, arms swinging, wrenching sobs. "I wanna go in the truck! I wanna follow Daddy! That's not fair! Give me the truck back and I'll be happy!"

Trying to make peace and nip this somewhat quickly in the bud I tried to reason with him. "OK, get your shoes on quick and we'll race Daddy!"

Apparently he thought I meant on foot.

He took off for the door and the street and the traffic. At this point I have to admit that a 4-year-old can outrun me. He was a good half block ahead of me. I emphasize that I was carrying Jake and running in heels but I soon realized there was a very good chance Sam was going to run right into the middle of a 4-way-stop at the end of our street.

Luckily a woman in her car at the intersection got out and stopped him. I thanked her profusely (did I mention it was already 90 degrees and I was sweating like .. well, like a mother chasing down her temporarily insane child as he plunged into danger.)

Danger averted, now I had to get him back up the street and he was not going easily. When he grows up he should organize those protests where you see policemen carrying out dragging resistors.

Two of my neighbors were now out on the street. "Everything OK?" "Things under control?" "Gonna be a good day, huh?"

Fifteen minutes later Sam and Jake are buckled in the car. Sam is still hysterical. I'm thankful Jake is perplexed enough by the outburst to be content.

Now the regret kicks in. For once I don't mean mine. Sam starts sobbing "My mommy's mad at me!" And this continues most of the 25-minute drive to work. It doesn't help that in the melee I left Grey Batman at home.

By some miracle, we arrive at school early. I tell Sam we'll drop off Jake first and Sam and I can spend some time together before I leave. Twenty minutes later I leave for work. We've apologized to each other, and my second work day begins.

Happy Trails

We are just returning from a week-long vacation in the Ozarks in Missouri. I suppose it is our first family vacation. And although we didn't get a lot of sleep and spent way too much time in the car (more to come later), we really enjoyed ourselves. Pretty country, a beautiful log cabin, the cookie lady everyday, lots of fresh air and downtime with family.

Jake spent most of his time hanging back - this was Sam's vacation. Swimming twice a day, miniature golf, paddleboats, fishing, 4-wheeling and ... horseback riding. Here he is on his buddy Chester.

Thankfully we made it back home safely (with several hotel towels I might add) and have today to recuperate and refocus.

At one point during the week I asked Sam if he was enjoying his vacation. Not one to mince words, he said, "A little bit, but not really."

Musical Beds (aka Feet of Fury)

Just when we get Jake sleeping through the night, Sam's nights get all whopperjawed.

Two nights ago he had a nightmare ('dogs, monsters and peanuts' he said) and wanted to sleep downstairs. So Bryon slept on the couch and Sam slept on the ottoman next to him. (I would've been stiff for a week. He woke up limber and refreshed.) Last night he shuffled into our room about 1 a.m. and didn't want to sleep alone. I pulled him into bed between Bryon and me.

Now, I don't really understand how someone so little can wreak so much havoc, but after about 10 minutes of swift kicks to the head, groin and kidneys, Bryon headed for the couch. After about 3 hours, I headed for Sam's bed (thankful Bryon didn't think of that).

So there we are, Sam sprawled like a starfish alone in the big bed, me in his twin bed, and Bryon on the couch.

Little Man

The older Sam and I get the more I recognize the very powerful influence a parent has. The more I believe in 'nurture' just as much as 'nature.'

With that I fully acknowledge that I am trying to mold Sam into a particular type of man. I want him to be funny, sarcastic, spontaneous, clever, romantic, resourceful and ... fashionable. I will admit I sometimes use bubblegum to bribe him into wearing a certain pair of shoes (Jesus sandals, we call them) because they look so much better than the silver and red, zip up the front, Spiderman shoes he loves. I was more than disheartened this weekend when he asked for a blue, black and silver sports jersey from Old Navy. Shiny, net sleeves, big 'ol angry tiger logo on the front.

Over the weekend, though, I did manage to get him in one of my favorite outfits for Audrey's birthday party. I even persuaded him to bring her a bouquet of daisies. Now if I could just get rid of those Spiderman shoes.

My Cup Overflows

Now more than ever I am thankful for all my blessings. I am nothing but blessed. So, it is with that realization that I re-tell yesterday's events. In the 12 hours since, they have taken on a comical bent. But do know that while they were happening I was fairly sure my brains were being puréed and would begin oozing at my ears at any time.

With that, we turn to yesterday's drive home. As I am leaving work I feel a headache coming on. The kind where you can only see out of one eye. The kind where looking one direction or turning your head is excruciating ... That kind. I pick up the kids and we are managing a fairly quiet drive home. Minutes from Bryon's office Sam begins to complain his stomach hurts. Those of you who know us know of Sam's pre-blog bowel problems, so I calmly tell him we will stop at Daddy's office and Daddy will take him to the potty. We stop at Bryon's office. All is well. By the time I get out of the car and open Sam's door, he is vomiting.

A physics or engineering class needs to study this because there was vomit in impossible places: on me, even though I was outside the car, down Sam's back, inside my purse in the front seat. You get the picture.

I get Sam out of the car (Jake sleeps through the whole thing ...) and strip him down to his Batman underwear. The pavement is hot so I stand him on two paper towels. I have ONE baby wipe in the car. It does not go far ...

By this time Bryon has arrived with wet and dry towels and we manage to get Sam cleaned up. His dirty clothes and Woo go in a plastic bag in the trunk. Things are shaping up. I hand Sam another plastic bag and tell him if the 'bad water' comes up again, he should spit it in the bag.

We head home. I ask Bryon to stop for toilet paper (we have NONE at home) and 7-up. Within minutes Sam starts with 'my tummy hurts.' At the same time Bryon and I say 'go straight home.'

At home we put both kids in the bath, start a load of laundry and peace starts to re-emerge. Bryon is cooking dinner, the kids are enjoying their bath, my headache is subsiding. I'm sitting next to the tub watching the kids, happy.

Outside the bathroom I hear our cat Nash. She is vomiting.