Something Not to Forget

JD is five. (Five and a half.) I took and registered him for kindergarten yesterday. He was (is) so jazzed. They got to tour a school bus and he sat in a seat with one of his besties and I couldn't see their little boy heads over the high seat backs, but I could hear him: "This is AWESOME!" We decided to play hooky from his pre-school and went to a bakery and ate chocolate cake together. It was just us two, for the first time since Matty came around. I love him, my firstie and my bestie. This morning I picked him up in a hug, and I held him tight and I said, "What am I going to do when you're too big for me to pick up like this?" He leaned back and tilted his head, and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to hug you then." *********** Matthew is two. (Two and a half.) I have so much to say, so much to remember, so much not to forget. I am sad for myself that I did not write it all down, becaused some of it is lost already. If he could ever know how I love him, he would understand. He is my sweetest, sweetest, kind and lovely, soft and funny, rough and crazy, tough as dirt, delicious as butter, mine. My baby and my bestie. I just can't seem to make the words come to describe him, or record him, or explain him. It's too personal. He is mine. He always has been. I tuck him in and I kiss him and hold him and lay my cheek down on his impossibly soft, deliciously sweet, adorably chubby, perfect little baby cheek, and we look into each other's eyes, and he puts his chubby little arms around my neck and I blow raspberries into his neck, and we laugh and he squeals, and he twirls his chubby little fingers in my hair and pats my face, and he says, "I lub you. You lub me. We lub each udder." And my heart dies of the love and I say, "Yes, my Matthew Moo-moo. We love each other."

Metaphorical Interpretations

Let's interpret this crazy dream I had last night.

JD was driving a car down a country-ish road. I was sitting in the backseat, enjoying the scenery, enjoying the ride, until it hit me like a ton of bricks, "Oh my fucking God, my not-yet four year old is driving this fucking *car*." I distinctly noticed that his feet couldn't even reach the brake pedal. I started to freak out. I started to frantically (and rather loudly) try to tell him what to do; as soon as he understood that I was freaking out, he started freaking out, and he started faltering. Then he had an accident. Luckily, it was only a little bump into the fender of the car ahead of us, nobody was hurt. But *then* I started freaking out bc--OMG, the ramifications of it all when it all comes out that I was letting my not-yet four year old DRIVE THE FREAKING CAR. So I quickly jumped into the front seat and literally sat on him, to try to hide him, like, before anyone saw him. I fooled nobody, but the guy he hit decided no harm, no foul, and we drove off without even exchanging information. I had the distinct impression that he felt kind of sorry for me, or didn't want to, like, cause me any unpleasantness or something, I don't quite know how to describe it. Like, your friend gets diagnosed with some crappy disease, so you don't ever again bring up the large sum of money try borrowed from you. Like that kind of feeling.

So. I've been deconstructing the dream throughout the day, and I've come up with two possible metaphorical interpretations. The first being, Duh, you let your not-yet four year old drive the car. He's running your LIFE, man.

That was the first thought i had upon waking up. But the dream kept coming back to me throughout the day, and the more i thought about it, the less obvious that "interpretation" seemed. You see, yeah, he was driving the car, but he was doing fine. He was doing fine until I freaked out and started trying to tell him how to do it. He was doing fine until I started trying to run his show, get up in his grill, micro-manage his business. He was doing fine when he was figuring it out for himself, and I was sitting there with him, keeping him company and enjoying the ride. He was doing fine.

And that's the best parenting advice my subconscious has ever given myself.

Blame the iPad

I could totally write a novel. I've been writing one in my head all day since I read on some other dumb blog that it's NaPoNoMo Write A Novel month or something. Shit, I was a literature major. A Spanish Lit major, granted. My novel would totally be some stream of consciousness crap, with the narration switching between first and and third person randomly (but as a purposeful literary device, full of symbolism and hyperbole and such, claro). I'd even throw in some second person, much like that novel by that Mexican guy, I'm going to say Carlos Fuentes for now and maybe google it later, the one where the mean guy was dying, good LORD but I used to know this shit, I used to enjoy this shit, I used to use my brain so as it wasn't an atrophied piece of flubber (And oh by the way, fuck this stupid iPad and it's stupid autocorrect crap, which is totally wrecking my novel-writing stream of consciousness mojo by autocorrecting shit that I don't want autocorrected, and also, bc/ it doesn't have a right-click equivalent, how the hell can I edit when I can't right-click?) Right? Anyway, she sat back and she thought about herself, she thought of the person she was once, the person she used to be, the person she still could be if her life were just a little bit different, just a little more... (and she steps back and thinks of the effect that that would have had if she were writing in Spanish, the conjugated verbs, there would even have been some subjunctive just now, and was that the pluscaperfecto or what)... But she knew, she knows, that it couldn't be anything else, and she believes that it shouldn't be anything else, because she knows that everyone has that one moment, and if that's all she has or all she'll ever have, that moment is enough, and she believes that, and believes in that, and believes in her moment. You stand up and walk across the room, and you are starting to realize that it's harder than you might have thought to write a novel, you realize that you have to kind of organize your thoughts, and you probably should have a theme or a message or some action or something, and the freaking autocorrect is way too distracting anyway. You are annoyed at the iPad, since you are sure that it would be a lot easier to write a damn novel if it weren't for the damn not-a-PC iPad. You blame the ipad. Blame the iPad. That's totally what I would name my novel.

Both Children Were Present for this Sterling Display of Human Nature At Its Best

A lot has been written in the Metro section of my preferred newspaper about the Incomprehensible Enormity of Suckitude at the Maryland State MVA recently. Harsh words, but granted, it's not a particularly fun place to be.

Alas, yesterday, it fell unto me to pack up my kids (in the middle of a literal monsoon, nonetheless) and brave The Lines. I prepped JD by likening the MVA to "The Waiting Place", as described by Dr. Suess in "Oh The Places You'll Go!". He understood. He understood perhaps a bit too well.

Because we were Waiting in the first line for well under ten minutes, as people all around us marveled at how "empty" the place was and congratulated themselves and each other for their foresight and brilliance at coming out in said monsoon while everyone else (SUCKAHS!!!) stayed dry at home... we were waiting, and the line was moving, and things honestly weren't so bad. But I do think I may have gone overboard in my "Waiting" pre-game pep-talks. Because he started whining. About the Waiting, you know.

He wasn't obnoxious or anything, but he was Wondering, Out Loud For All To Hear, How Much More Waiting? When It Was Going To Be Our Turn?

In a fit of "Good Mom!" brilliance, I made it into a Game! A Teachable Moment! Let's Count the People in Front of Us! Then it will be Our Turn! (::ahemSHOWOFFahem::) I preened while JD counted and performed other mathematical feats of brilliance, such as adding and subtracting on his fingers. I imagined all moms in the universe looking to me in awe -- I had turned whining into Motherfucking College Prep!-- as I waved and blew double-handed kisses to the masses.

Anyway... I was so lost in my fantasies and self-adulation that I didn't notice a woman, six people ahead of us in line, (and only three people away from being called) whispering to all the people behind her. I was shocked when she tapped my arm and said, "Excuse me? I spoke to all these people, and we would all like for you guys to go ahead of us. We've all been there with the little ones, and we know how hard it is. Go ahead."

I tried to refuse, but they insisted. I ducked under the lane line, fumbling with words, with gratitude at their kindness.

But the best part of the story is, a moment later, a gentleman came up from somewhere farther back in the line. He tapped the lady's arm and said, "Excuse me? I saw what you did for that lady, I saw your act of kindness, and I just wanted to give you this Target gift card, you know, to pay it forward, and to thank you for your act of kindness."

And everybody around smiled and murmured and nodded their heads. It was a truly Great Moment. At the Maryland State MVA.

Brudder, where's your brudder?

When Matty wakes up in the morning, he holds his arms up and greets me with the smile of the sun. He snuggles in for a moment, so we can hold each other and feel the love. Then he flings himself forward off my lap and hits the ground running.

Down the hall, as fast as one who does not yet bend his knees when he walks can go, to JD's door. Damn if that little smarty pants doesn't know how to pull down on the door knob to open the door. (Damn those fancypants lever-style knobs, really. Thirty bucks a pop, and so much for my plan to babyproof by keeping the doors closed. It worked so well w/ JD.)

"Brudder, where's your brudder?" I ask Matty. His face lights up. "Brudder!" JD cries out. "Matty! My baby brudder!"

"Brudder, where's your brudder?" I ask JD. Matty flings himself towards JD. JD is there to catch him.



Today we peeked in on JD's soccer "practice", just as the coach called out, "Good job, JD!" Matty burst into a grin and started to clap. I do not make this up, I do not hyperbolize. I almost melted of The Love.



Matty's laughter sounds like hiccups, like a puppy playing with his favorite squeaky toy. JD's giggles kind of take him by surprise, and then lights up his whole face. Hearing them in harmony brings me to tears.

No Children Were Present for this Sterling Display of Pure Class

So there I am at the crowded Giant, doing my shopping, patiently stopping and waiting for a clear passage in the crowded aisles before smiling and saying "Excuse me" as I pushed my cart by. Every Blessed Time. Even though my politeness and patience were costing me time, and even though I was in a damn hurry.

So there I am by the ground turkey. It was the last thing I needed, and I was done. There were a few people milling about in front of the case, right, so I left my cart behind and slipped up to grab my goddamn ground turkey. I said, "Excuse me" as I slipped in gracefully, swooped it up, and slid back out, .02 seconds max, bumping nobody, avoiding all toes, not even so much as an arm brush.

I about dropped in shock when a man started YELLING at me, fucking Angry as All Hell, "That was rude!!! That was rude!!! RUDE!!"

I snapped right straight back, "I said, 'Excuse me"! I said, 'Excuse me!", nasty as a wasp myself.

I hate to feel like that.

I saw him as I was checking out, and in a (unfortunate) moment of "Let Me Make Things Right", I approached him and said, "Excuse me, sir, I just wanted to let you know that I really did say 'Excuse Me'; I'm sorry if you didn't hear me, and I just wanted to apologize..."

But he cut me off there and started berating me about how rude I was to "push in" like that. RUDE! RUDE! RUDE! My dander prickled but I continued "...I wasn't thinking, my baby isn't feeling well and I was just in a hurry to grab my last item on my list and I wasn't paying attention, I should have..."

But he cut me off THERE and started yelling now about how I was so RUDE and now I was "just making excuses" and RUDE! RUDE! RUDE! I sucked in a deep breath and explained that actually, I was just trying to apologize...

But he cut me off THERE, again, and REALLY YELLED at me, "NO! YOU'RE STILL BEING RUDE!"

So I stepped back, looked him dead on, and said, "No, NOW I'm being rude." And I gave him the motherfucking middle finger, in the middle of the motherfucking Giant, and I said, "Fuck you, you fucking asshole."

He kept yelling at me as I walked away.

I have never cursed a person out like that before.

But I'm pretty sure it wasn't a first for him.

And also,

Oh My GOD, Matty, how did you come to be almost one year old?? You are the single most delightful thing in my life, and every day my heart breaks with how wonderful you are, how purely and dizzyingly I love you. I can't remember a time before you, and I can't imagine a time without you. LOVE.

Lo, But I Had Forgotten

I'd totally forgotten (or maybe just repressed?) how much damage a one-ish year old can wreak, in what a short amount of time.

And how quickly they can move, even when they still can't walk.

And how determined they are to follow their own emerging agendas. Which are comprised strictly of opening, dumping, scattering, banging, and throwing.

And how often their agendas do not match those of one's own.

And how loudly they can scream when they feel they've been crossed.

And how much noise they can make with, say, the FiOS remote and the coffee table. Or maybe with a serving spoon and the dog's food bowl. Or even with a sippy cup and a linoleum floor. And let's not even talk about the room full of plastic-crap-toys that sing and whistle and toot and flash and ding and whirl and induce epeleptic seizures in those over the age of five.

In summary, one-ish year olds are BARBARIANS. Fast, loud, diaper-wearing, teething, bundles of single-tracked dervish, tearing through your home, tearing it apart. Luckily, they are also soft, warm, chubby, creamy, delicious little rolls of heart-wrenching soft delicious chubbiness, that is soft and warm and snuggly and creamy when you scoop it up and hold it tight. Also, they smell very good. It helps.