I'm just like Sia. You will not break me.

That thing where you read the email from the kid’s kindergarten teacher that you have to turn in “family box” items TODAY, 7 minutes before your kid leaves the house. And you, swearing and cursing your lot in life, start maniacally culling pics from your instagram and sending them to the printer, only the printer jams, because of course, and you are shouting at your oldest to bring you a lego piece, ANY LEGO PIECE, to stick in the bag, only he brings you a special piece so you send him back to find a shitty piece, one that no one cares about, something his baby brother can glue to a box that represents his family. And then you’re thinking while running up the stairs with scissors in your hand to retrieve the precious printed photos, that the kids like sparklers, and there are some on the back table, and is it illegal to send your child to school with a sparkler? I mean, it’s not like he can light it with his mind or anything. Is that my period? Am I starting my period right now? That seems early. Make note to go to bathroom once kids are safely in car with precious family items that reflect our love and values. And as you crest the stairs you realize the fucking printer is jammed because PC LOAD LETTER it’s Wednesday! And girl you are going to get through this. SO you shout to your youngest, who is still not eating his breakfast, to find some art supplies, any art supplies, the ones in that bowl in the thing that we were using the other day, because that shows that our family likes to do art, and you have to go, and it’s family box day, so please for the love of everything that is holy learn to put your socks and shoes on by yourself right now, and I swear to god I will volunteer at a soup kitchen for thanksgiving. The whole family will! We’ll all do it! Because that’s the kind of family we are. Can I send him with one of those union rescue mission flyers? Have those started filling my mail box yet? He won’t know what it is, but he’s five. He’ll just glue it on there and his teacher will be like “awwww, being of service is a thing in their family!”. Fucking paper jam. It’s ok, you’ve got pictures of him at the beach with his bestie and him in an elephant costume with his brother, he doesn’t need a picture with his parents. Maybe she’ll think he’s like one of those tv kids who lives in a penthouse with a bunch of other kids and a nanny (because the picture of the babysitter printed because of course) and no parents. Fine. We’ll remain a mystery. Maybe it’s better that way. 

Ziplock bag Contents (minus unfinished lego set with instructions that you had to dump on bed because we don’t have any empty ziplock bags because why would we have anything useful at all in this house?!)

6 pictures of child with friends, babysitter, and giant bear

one red lego square

one disneyland button that says “I’m celebrating” with Goofy’s face on it. 

17 assorted googly eyes, assorted gems, sequins, and one ironman cutout (this probably banned from school property because violence on tv)

1 glitter star

1 untracked glow stick, size skinny

1 curious george reading a book image cut out from his (and previously older brother’s) crib sheet used for preschool naps. This contains the tears of youngest that it was cut out even as you explain that there is a lot more sheet and you were planning to cut it up to make a quilt anyway and please stop crying and I love you and have a great day and bye daddy, sorry.  

I'm already 2 hours removed from the event and I've tricked myself into believing that it wasn't really that bad. But I'm going to watch this video on loop today just to remember. 

Oh to have your problems

At every stage of my life I have looked back at my younger days and thought "oh to have those struggles, what a fool". I was thinking this kind of thing when I was nine. I actually remember thinking wistfully about "baby problems" somewhere around 6th grade. 

I worry about Jack. He's like me in so many ways. He has WAY too much angst for a 5 year old. Actually he has way too much angst for a human, much less a 5 year old human. The list of things he worries about it endless, and unpredictable. I find myself trying to plan, and explain things for him so thoroughly, and inevitably I fail to mention some tiny thing, or fail to imagine, that some aspect of an activity will cause him CRIPPLING anxiety. Then I fantasize about how I used to be able to take drugs when life got crazy or unmanageable. Then I snap back to reality, and try to talk him off the ledge because, really he is going to be FINE if Miss Alison (the apple of his eye), or ANYONE ELSE ON EARTH walks him, the 72 feet from his classroom to his after school taekwondo class, that he loves. Instead of mommy or daddy coming in the middle of the day, for the 32 second walk from his classroom, to his taekwondo class, THAT HE LOVES.

This of course does not happen in one sitting. Or even one afternoon. This tragedy unfolds over days and weeks of us talking around and around, trying to get to the nut of what is happening. Until finally after 3 weeks of asking every 3.27 minutes, "how many days until taekwondo?" And "what is the plan for taekowndo?" And "who is going to walk me to taekwondo?" Which we establish over and over, HE LOVES! We finally get to the bottom of it. "I don't like to listen to the other kid's names being called, and knowing their parents are outside, and they are going home with their mommy and daddy, and I am going to taekwondo" (WHICH YOU LOOOOOVE!!!), he finally croaks out in between sobs, one afternoon at the kitchen table. OHHHHHHH! I get it. Poor bubs.

How bad is your life when your biggest problem is that you love your mom and dad so much, that you hate to think of other kids getting to be with theirs, instead of going to learn how to kick ass Korean style.

I ask him if there is something he can occupy himself with while the kid's names are being called, if there is any way to maybe solve this problem ourselves. "I could read a really long book!" he exclaims. I want to eat his face. "Yes! I think that's a great idea! We'll tell Miss Alison our plan tomorrow! Right before pickup, you grab a long book, and start reading. Do you feel better? Good. I love you"  And I do. But, god, I want to rough him up a little. How on earth is he going to get through dating, and braces, and libertarians?!

The next day, I see his teacher in the morning, and I begin to explain our problem, and proposed solution. She cuts me off at the pass. "Actually I have a plan, because he's not the only one who is struggling with that. I have decided that I will personally walk them all over to taekwondo BEFORE parents get here for pickup." Done. So...he is not alone. I am not alone.

I am always isolating myself like some uninitiated teenager, when I have a hard time with something. I stupidly believe I am the only human being to ever struggle with say, mom fatigue, actor self loathing, or, "oh my silly husband doesn't seem to understand that stockings don't go in my pants drawer just because they go on my legs-itis" (yes, this IS the most passive aggressive way I could think to tell him). Yup, I'm the only one who ever felt like they were failing miserably at work/mom/marriage balance. Apparently I've never heard of Oprah.

And frankly, Jack is my easy child (for now). This morning, I discovered, that no person in the history of humankind has ever experienced as much despair as Charlie Tru when you try to put a pair of socks on him. Socks! Soft, cozy bamboo socks. I mean, you would think I was trying to saw off his leg with my teeth. Good thing we don't live in an actual cold climate, because it looks like he will be spending the winter in crocs with no socks. Heh, baby problems.