Cross Your Heart

Last night Bryon offered to put Sam to bed. "I want Momma to do it," Sam said. Bryon acted disappointed and asked if Sam would let him put him to bed the next night. Sam agreed. "You promise?" Bryon asked. "Yes, I promise," Sam said.

To cement the promise, we improvised a less sadistic version of 'Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your eye' where we cross our heart, hold up two fingers, spit twice and pinky swear. Bryon, Sam and I repeated our 'promise' in unison several times. Bryon, thinking the issue closed, said "Good, it's a deal. I get to put you to bed tomorrow night."

Sam walked over to me, cocked his hand in front of his mouth and whispered, "Tomorrow night ... I'm picking you."

Spice of Life

My kids have a history of developing attachments to strange objects. If you are familiar with this blog, you've probably read about some of Sam's obsessions: a particular pullover, receipts, random Hot Wheels, Farmer Jed. Jake has always been attracted to round things, mostly balls, of any size. But lately, it's spice jars, especially the half-sized, I-only-need-a-teaspoon-of-cumin jars. Like little "Jake Was Here" signs you will find them littered throughout the house. Poultry seasoning in the bathroom cabinet. Garlic powder in Sam's art easel. I tried to make a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving but couldn't find any cinnamon. I know we have it because cinnamon sugar toast is a staple at our house. Luckily I found it in Jake's crib.

When I'm 64

Last night while I was brushing my teeth Sam climbed up on the toilet, 'frosted' his own toothbrush and joined me at the sink. For awhile I stood there with my eyes closed and wondered if five years from now, 10 years from now, we would brush our teeth together in this same bathroom. I kissed Sam on the forehead and told him I was proud of him. "When I'm big, will you miss me?" he asked. What I didn't tell him, what he probably would not have understood, is that I already did. The idea of him as a grown up, standing talling than me (hopefully) in our tiny bathroom as we both brush our teeth, makes me miss him terribly.

XOXO

Sam woke up at 4:20 this morning saying "I just want someone to take care of me!" I covered him up, tucked his Duck and Woo under his arm, and he was back asleep in minutes.

One of my most used sayings is "I'm dancing as fast as I can." Depending on the situation, this can mean 'I'm busy,' or 'Help me' or 'You're a jerk.' Or it can mean I want someone to take care of me. That doesn't mean I want to be served food in bed or waited on hand and foot. But maybe it means a hug.

Yesterday I saw the movie Shopgirl with my girlfriends. There is a passing scene in which the Claire Danes character is listening to a radio show and the host is talking about the importance of hugging. The host says there is an actual physical need for hugs. 'Comfort' pheromones are released. (The main character ultimately chooses the man who hugs her.)

I hug my kids all the time. But Bryon and I don't hug. I can't remember the last time I gave my mother an unsolicited hug. My friends are big huggers, and it took me awhile to get used to it. I think I reserved hugging for a big event, and to hug after a long lunch when I'd see them again in 24 hours or after a dinner out somehow seemed sentimental to me. But I'm seeing the error in my thinking. I know how good it feels to give or get a hug from my kids. I especially like the 'nuddles.' It's the combination nuzzle and cuddle you get when your child buries his head in your neck. Bryon was fortunate to be on the receiving end of a double nuddle this morning. One sleepy boy on each arm, buried in his neck, their sweet little rosy faces inches from each other.

Most morning when Jake gets up early, all he really wants is to sit in your lap and hug. He fits perfectly in the crook of my left arm. Sometimes we watch TV. Sometimes we stare into space. Every once in a while, he will turn his head and look up as if saying "I just wanted to be sure of you."

Like Priscilla said earlier this week, if you ever stop to think 'what is the least I can do,' you will probably find out that most people just want to be taken care of. Think about your kids, your grandmother, a widower. What if the homeless person you pass every day on the street corner held a sign that said "I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO TAKE CARE OF ME."

Santa For Hire

I have hired Santa to come to Sam's 4th birthday party. And I have to say I'm a little nervous. I'm afraid he'll look like the Santa from Trading Places or Bad Santa, his beard flecked with food and liquor, brandishing a .38 caliber pistol (it IS Texas, after all).

O Holy Night Before Christmas

I think I've confused Sam. This is the first Christmas he seems to really understand what is coming up. But between our threats that Santa is always watching and knows when he's been naughty and nice and our recent discussions about Jesus and God, Sam seems to have gotten his stories mixed up. First was last week's reference to God and Jack Frost shacking up. Last night it was a conversation about the birthday of Jesus. When I told him about the wisemen bringing gifts to the baby Jesus, he asked if Santa was there, too, and if he brought Hot Wheels.

I know it's early but I've started listening to Christmas carols. One particularly spirited morning I thought we'd listen to the Elvis Christmas CD on the way to school. But Sam wasn't having it. With every song I played, he'd yell from the backseat, "No, not that one! I want to hear the one about Jesus AND Santa."

Rise Up and Reach Down

I was fortunate to get to hear Anna Quindlen speak last night at SMU here in Dallas. I thought I was going to miss it; as we were driving home the car started to knock and smoke. I almost made it to Bryon's office but the car died about four blocks short. It's amazing how many people a) don't understand what hazards mean, and b) don't even roll down their window to inquire whether a woman in a smoking car with two kids in the backseat might need some help. Another day, another entry.

Anyway, Bryon and two coworkers pushed the car to his office, and then offered to take all of us home (Thank you, Brad).

All that to say that I thought I was going to miss the lecture. It started at 8. We got home at 7. But Bryon got dinner going, the kids settled in, and I left.

In hindsight I wish Bryon would've gone with me. I'm not sure she would've made the same impact on him but I would've like for him to hear some of the things she said. Kind of my way of poking him and saying "See! It's not just me. She thinks these things too!" I intended to take notes but after the first few minutes I realized what I really needed was a transcript of her speech; everything was noteworthy.

She was comforting, validating, optimistic, accurate, compassionate and realistic. She was able to put into words many of the thoughts I have rumbling in my head from day to day. Thoughts about working mothers, communities, day care, corporations, public schools and children. Now if someone asks me why I choose to live in urban Dallas, I have an eloquent answer.

She believes, as I do, that it takes a village to raise a family. That kids shouldn't be isolated and that by raising them in a community and teaching them the value of community service, we will create a generation that is tolerant, respectful, generous and conscientious.

After leaving I felt I really was on the right track. A little bit of relief and optimism.

Now, if we can just get the car fixed.

Red Alert

Since most of my friends and neighbors are enlightened and empathetic people, I tend to forget I live in a red state. Not that I like to be reminded. But reminded I was yesterday when we voted on several state and citywide propositions.

Again because of my typical daily surroundings I actually thought Proposition 2, the state's ban on gay marriage, might not pass. Everyone I know was voting against the ban. Every yard sign in my neighborhood said "Defend! Don't Amend." So I was actually surprised to see on the front page of this morning's paper "Gay-Marriage Ban Coasts."

In this sickening article state Republican Party Chairwoman Tina Benkiser says, "Let there be no doubt that Texans, not liberal activist judges, will decide how best to keep our families and state strong."

If she believes that allowing only heterosexuals to marry keeps 'our' state and families strong, she hasn't been paying attention. Divorce rates for heterosexual marriages are nearing 50%. As a group, the 'traditional, heterosexual' marrieds have nothing to boast about. We certainly shouldn't be holding ourselves up as an example. That is, unless you are as sanctimonious as Ms. Benkiser.

Conservative activist Kelly Shackelford, who helped write the amendment and led the campaign, acknowledged that most younger voters probably opposed the amendment, but added, "That's just a part of being young and immature." He believes that as young people "gain life experience," they'll "realize the importance" of traditional, heterosexual marriage.

I don't follow this argument. As I've gained life experience I've recognized the importance of love and compassion and empathy, in any form. If a child gets that from two dads, two moms, a single mom, whatever.

Rep. Warren Chisum, the Republican who authored the amendment, said Texans are "very family-oriented, and given the opportunity, they'll vote conservative. They still have a lot of moral values."

Apparently they lack compassion, empathy and sensitivity.

Alert the Media

Maybe it is his recent baptism, but in the past couple of weeks, Sam has started asking a lot of questions about God.

One day last week he and I were home eating pizza on the front porch when a UPS truck pulled up. I frequently yell at cars that drive too fast down our street (I would throw things if I thought it would do any good and I could be assured I wouldn't get my skinny butt kicked in) so I wasn't surprised when Sam yelled at the UPS driver. "Bring us some presents!"

I told him his birthday and Christmas were coming up and if he continued to be a good boy, he would get presents on those days. "You know your birthday is in December and Jesus' birthday is in December," I told him. "Jesus is God's son. Do you know who God is?"

"God helps us get things we want," he answered. I was slightly impressed. "And He can fly," he added. "But Jesus is sad because God moved."

"Really?" I asked. "God doesn't live in heaven anymore?"

"No," Sam said. "He moved out of heaven to live with Jack Frost."

The Ladies Man

I was taking a nap this afternoon when I heard Sam coming up the stairs. I didn't know how long I'd been asleep but figured Bryon had sent him upstairs to get me up. I tried to get in a few more minutes by telling Sam to go ahead downstairs without me because I needed to go to the bathroom. "Can I go with you?" he asked. "No, people need privacy when they go to the bathroom," I told him. "If you let me, I'll give you my glove," he offered.

With that he pulled a leather glove from his underpants. Apparently he is getting a head start on impressing the ladies.

Sign of the Times

On the drive in today a Roadrunner Freight Systems semi turned the corner ahead of us. "Why is there a chicken on that truck?" Sam asked.

"If you'd have grown up when I did you would know that is a roadrunner," I tell him, bemoaning the lessening cultural impact of Looney Tunes.

Days and Days

I haven't written in awhile, even though we've had a few whirlwind days. Grab a beverage, hunker down, this could take awhile.

Thursday, October 27
My mom (Becky) and my grandma (Mildred, Meams, Meaps or Meap) came for a visit. We chose this weekend because we were having a Halloween party, the kids would be trick or treating and we had decided to get Sam and Jake baptized. The baptism itself was simple and fast. Sam wore his only suit and was a willing participant. We'd tried to prep him a little for what would happen, and the only comment I heard from him during the ceremony was when the pastor said 'baptised' and Sam said loudly, "He said baptised!!" - a sort of recognition that this is what we'd been talking about all along. Jake didn't bat an eyelash, but he insisted on holding a jack-o-lantern Frisbee in one hand and a promotional squeezee ball in the other. Overall, fairly uneventful. Although I did miss the rest of the service because of a coughing fit that left me gagging in the church bathroom. Sam followed along and stood near me in the bathroom, holding his baptism certificate, asking "Oh Dear, are you going to 'fro' up?"

Later that Sunday I asked Sam what his favorite part of the day had been. It's something we do every night at dinner - talk about our own favorite part of the day - but this day, I thought, Sam had so much to choose from. Both grandmas in town, lots of attention, donuts. His response? Playing Legos. Ever the cynic I asked him "It wasn't the promise of eternal salvation from your Lord?" "No. Legos." he said.

Monday, October 31
I'm one of the those people who think it is sad that trick or treating as we used to know it is on the decline. Several churches in our neighborhood advertised "Trunk or Treating" this year where the congregation parks the cars, trunks open, in the parking lot and the kids trick or treat from trunk to trunk. Sorry, not the same.

It's not just about the candy. For me as an adult, it's nothing about the candy. It is looking out my front door and seeing the streets bustling with kids. It is actually hearing kids say 'trick or treat' from several houses away. It's the Normal Rockwell, Charlie Brown Halloween.

Some people I know think I'm kidding when I talk about trick or treating in my neighborhood, but I say with all honesty that we get hundreds of kids. This year I talked it up big to my mom. I was hoping someone else could see just how crazy it gets. So, at 5:30, with my 600 pieces of candy divided into bowls (Bryon thinks I'm nuts but I like the candy evenly divided by type and color) we opened the doors, turned on the porch lights and waited. Nothing. 6:00 came and went. Maybe it was the weather or the fact that it was a school night. Or, as I feared, finally the influence of all the naysayers who don't want kids trick or treating anymore. Everyone's at the mall or 'trunk or treating' or just sitting this one out. Was I wrong. By 7:30 I was out of my 600 pieces of candy. Not just out, but digging in my pantry to give away the half empty bag of Dum Dums we used to potty train Sam, individual sticks of gum, and the few sacred Snickers I'd held back for Bryon.

Tuesday, November 1
My mom and grandma left early Tuesday morning. If Jake hadn't been up at 5:30 they would've left before anyone was awake. When my mom is ready to go, she's ready to go, and she doesn't like long, soggy good-byes. I'm always in a funk after they go. Kind of that day-after-Christmas feeling. Something you'd looked forward to, and then poof, it's over, and you're back to the same old same old. I miss having the company and the help. Four extra hands makes a big difference. Especially considering the fun in store for the next few days ...

Tuesday night as we're driving home, Sam starts to complain of a 'headick.' Without much to-do, he vomits. We pick up Bryon and he brings crackers and water. Sam seems to improve and the night moves on. Everyone gets to bed, things look good. Until about 11:30. You know how a mother is sensitive to the sound of a crying baby (I swear I can even anticipate it ... I'll wake up to silence, then 2 minutes later, Jake will wake up.) Well, now that Sam is older, I'm also sensitive to the sound of him shuffling from his room to ours. And that is what first woke me up Tuesday night. My first thought was 'get him to the bathroom.' Luckily we made it, although throwing up for a kid Sam's age isn't easy. They just don't know how to do it. And you can't really explain how to vomit.

After a few partially successful attempts he was ready to go back to bed. But every hour or so, he'd shuffle back to our room or to the bathroom in the hall (bless his little heart), heave and spit a few times, and go back to bed. Finally around 4 he settled in.

At 4:30 Jake woke up. He's teething I suppose. They say it's an old wives' tale that babies get a fever and diarrhea when they teeth. Call me an old wife.

Wednesday, November 2
I'd been at work less than an hour when Sam's school called. He had a fever. How soon could I come get him. Our school, like most others I suppose, has a strict fever policy. At or above a certain temperature and you go home. Even with no other symptoms. So home we went. Sam, Jake and me. Of course, I'm glad to have the time with them, but at this point, I hadn't been to work in a week and I had two meeting scheduled that day. Needless to say, we managed. That night Sam and I went to bed early. At about 9:30 I woke up when he started talking in his sleep. At first it was nonsensical. And then it started to sound familiar. "Trailers for sale or rent. Rooms to let 50 cents." Apparently he was channeling Roger Miller. He was singing "Kind of the Road" in his sleep.

Thursday, November 3
Although Jake was up early, Sam was still sleeping at 7:40 (we usually leave the house by 8). Considering the past few days, I let him sleep. He finally woke up about 8. Jake was already back in bed for his first nap. Sam and I cuddled and talked while Bryon showered. "My 'headick' and 'favorite' are gone," he said. (I assumed he meant fever.) He sat up in bed, smiled and tried to wink, then asked "Why is our house blue?"

Even with a late start we got to school at a reasonable hour. We dropped Jake off first, then walked down the hall to Sam's room. As I was leaving I walked past the front desk to check on Jake. That's when Miss Karen stopped me and said, "He can't be here today." What? Who? I'm clearly confused. "Did you take Sam to the doctor? Do you have doctor's note? If not, he can't come back for 24 hours." "But we've been gone since 11 a.m. yesterday, that's 22 hours," I try to tell her. "No, 24 business hours. He can't come back until Friday morning," she explains. I stammer something about going to work to get my computer and some papers and talk to my boss. She tells me they'll have to keep alone, quarantined, in the sick room until I get back.

I go to work, get my laptop, and sneak through the cubes until I find my boss. I try to explain, without crying, what is going on. Twenty minutes later Sam and I are on the way home. Jake is transitioning to a new classroom this week and between my days off and our unanticipated absences, he's had about four hours in the new room. Today, I decide, he'll stay.

So, despite everything else, Sam and I have an enjoyable day. We are having great weather so we go for a walk, have pizza on the porch, go on a lizard hunt, eat Halloween candy and play. At 3 we gear up to go get Jake. As we are walking out the door, the phone rings. I notice the call ID is the school. My first thought is they are calling to tell us we can't EVER come back. I don't know why, but I thought we were being expelled. "No regard for fever policy," they'd tell us.

"Ann, it's Sharon. I'm calling about Mr. Jacob. We had peanut butter sandwich snacks this afternoon and they didn't sit too well with him." I interrupt her to say he has never had peanut butter. "Well, he's not having any trouble breathing," she tells me, in the most inappropriately casual tone. "I should hope not," I find myself saying. "But he is covered in whelps, and we'd like you to come get him."

'Covered in whelps,' as awful as that sounds, isn't indicative of what he looked like. Remember the end of Rocky? Or the first time in Elephant Man you see the Elephant Man? That might be more appropriate. Swollen head, red, watery eyes, lumpy, puffy face. Hundreds of pin prick dots and rosettes spreading on his legs and belly. I'm so sick to my stomach that I can't even cry.

Sam, Jake and I stop at the emergency room for a steroid shot and Benadryl. Luckily he didn't have any swelling in his throat or mouth. The doctor tells me Jake needs to stay away from peanuts for the next 5 years, but based on his reaction it could be a lifelong allergy. Apparently the adrenaline rush wore him out because he was sound asleep by 6:30. Except for a few pock marks on his face and belly today, you would never know what he went threw yesterday. Me? I'm sure the bags under my eyes narrate every minute.

In closing ...
I want to apologize to Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem, et al. I don't want it all. If you want it all, good for you, there it is. Never been a better time. But if you don't want it all, all you want should be enough. I think that should be the credo of feminism.

I just think that when you (meaning me) try to give 100% to a job, and 100% to a family, you can't. Something's gotta give. Sometimes it's my job. Other times, much to my regret, it's my family. My takeaway is this: Years from now, I don't want the time I did (or didn't) spend with my family to be full of regrets. You hear it said all the time, but the cold, hard truth is you don't get that time back.

Enough indoctrination. I'll end with a little levity in the form of a philosophical question posed by Sam yesterday morning. "Do bears have buttocks?"