Be Careful What You Ask For

I am fortunate to have a flexible job that allows me to pick the boys up from school and work from home in the afternoons. This has been important to me for several reasons. First, I want to be able to pick them up from school, supervise their homework, spend some time with them in the afternoons, get a jump start on dinner and save some money. And frankly, Sam spent one day in afterschool care, and let's face it, they aren't reading Dickinson and playing chess. I thought I could provide a more nurturing and wholesome environment.

This worked well for two years when it was just Sam and me. But this year Jake was added to the mix and things are, well, a little more ... challenging. Most afternoons go something like this:

2:45-3:10: Pick up
3:10: Jake's first meltdown
3:11: Someone needs to urinate
3:12: Home
3:13: Sam and Jake run through the house, throwing off backpacks, shoes, socks, homework, grenades and rocks.
3:14: I plead with them to pick up their stuff.
3:16: I stop a fight.
3:17: Someone is hungry.
3:19: I fix the first of many mini-meals.
3:21: Jake's second meltdown
3:25: I stop a fight.
3:30: Sam starts homework.
3:32: I stop a fight.
3:45: Sam finishes homework.
3:45-6: Sam and Jake tear up the house, cry, fight, giggle, eat and change clothes ... often.
5: I start dinner.
5:13: I stop a fight.
6: I try to serve dinner.

Needless to say I feel I have aged tremendously in the past year. And not in a good way. Not like a good cheese or a fine wine or an expensive cigar. More like a felled tree that was weak to begin with but now is spongy where it should be sturdy and wooden where it should bend.

So this week I told Bryon and Jake I didn't think this arrangement was working out. I thought Sam was a bad influence on Jake and Jake was a bad influence on Sam and my need (want) to work and clean and fix dinner while supervising them didn't help. So maybe it would be a good idea for them to go to afterschool care instead. I meant this as a threat, mind you.

This is where Bryon is supposed to say, "I'm sorry. It will get better. It's great that you want to be with the kids and do a good job at work and I'm sure it's tough doing all at once."

And this is where Jake is supposed to say, "Mom. I will be good from now on. I don't want to go to afterschool, I want to be with you."

But that's not what happened.

Jake wanted to go. Pleaded. That's where his friends are. They play outside. They run in the gym. They play with scissors and fire and knives. For days he reminded me that it was ME who suggested he go to afterschool. Last night, after days of hemming and hawing, I tried to explain.

"Jake, I suggested afterschool because I thought you would really rather be here. That's my mistake. If you really want to go to afterschool, I will see what I can do, not because it's what I want, but because it's what you want. But you have to know, afterschool is not like the movies. You can't just buy a ticket and go. It's more like the city bus. If the bus pulls up to your house and it's full, you have to wait until there is a seat. I'm not sure when there will be a seat."

That really didn't placate him. At bedtime he was still mad at me. "I'll never get a seat on the bus," he told me.

Who knows. Maybe after Christmas we'll look into the afterschool program. Maybe he'll forget about it. But I know one thing. This isn't the last time Jake will surprise me. And it certainly isn't the last time he'll break my heart.