Aah...

After a whirlwind morning that included cheering Jack on as Third Ant in his class play (he faux-fainted so well I felt certain he'd broken himself), I am ensconced in my quiet, albeit incredibly messy, home. A pumpkin cheesecake is cooling in the oven, door cracked to release the hot air slowly. The spiced pumpkin scent is intoxicating. Though I mean to be typing, I find myself stopping periodically to close my eyes and inhale deeply. This is kitchen comfort at its best, and I am grateful for it. We are heading to Philadelphia later, happy wedding spectating in our future tomorrow, and I haven't packed. Y'all might know how I feel about packing. It's right up there with ironing and annual exams with the lady doctor. Long story short, I'm procrastinating and am more than ok with that.

It is the worst to worry about your children. Even tougher is that such worry can take many forms, like a multiplying shape-shifter of the worst kind. If you child is so feverish you're certain he's aboil, you worry about his physical state: he's in pain, and I can't do enough. If your child is the object of taunt or ridicule, your stomach aches on behalf of his: you want to wring the neck of the child(ren) who would challenge your baby's sense of self and stasis. When your child does something for the first time, be it school or a drop-off birthday party, you can think of nothing other than what he's experiencing until he's in your sights again: is he happy? was it fun? did he share? did he interact with others?

And when you see in your child, a behavior or a struggle or a trait that you know will challenge him mightily in the immediate, and perhaps long-term, future, you hurt. This kind of worry can't be ameliorated by teaspoons of Motrin, by discussions of the fact that not everyone else is as nice as we'd wish them to be, by hearing from him how fabulously great school and the birthday party were. No, this kind of worry is like a shitty weed in your garden; no matter how much you till and tend, that bugger will keep growing back until one day you decide to just live with it or find the magic bullet that will finally eradicate its insidious roots from your flowerbed.

Now that my darling firstborn has left toddlerhood firmly in his past, I see even more clearly the incredible gifts and talents he possesses. Really, you should have seen him on stage this morning; his fainting was Oscar-worthy. Or at the party after the last baseball game where he grabbed a chocolate cookie from the snack mom and without even thinking about it, broke it in half and passed an equal share to Oliver. I almost thought I'd never be more proud.

But I also see aspects of his being that are going to trip him up. And though I wish I could be the padding that makes every fall nothing more than child's play, I can't. Not least because ultimately, that would be a disservice to him. How will he know what he's capable of without the growth that struggle offers (forces)?

All I can do is hold his hand, offer the advice I have, be a shoulder to cry on and an open-24-hours-ear to listen. I can seek resources and advice, I can make star charts til the cows come home. But I can't learn lessons for him, and that just sucks.

Waning crush on #2, turkey meatloaf, almost outta here

People, Oliver has used up a great deal of the goodwill he banked on Tuesday. He was all smiles in the carpool line today, but after our hug of greeting, he started wailing because "I had something to say but I cannot remember it now." Then he ran off to a huge bush in which many kids play while waiting for their siblings, and a split-second later I heard new wailing. Fortunately, the science instructor hauled over to inform the kids that it was time to vacate the bush. Oliver was so aggrieved he had a hard time leaving. I tried to channel my loving and patient self; indeed he seemed tired so I snuggled him and offered a cupcake date. Tears were wiped, snuffles muted, and I thought we might be in the clear. WRONG.

That kid was a hot mess for the rest of the afternoon. He asked to watch Word World, and both because I needed to make cornbread for the second grade post-play party tomorrow AND because I just couldn't tolerate more wah-wah, I agreed. Then the little bug asked me to fast-forward past a certain part of the show AND bring him a half an apple thank you very much. Good lord, people, what am I? Rosie from the Jetsons?

Then Jack got home from his comic book class, and he was sweetness and light. Loud but a honey. Whew. And then T came home early, and I was re.lieved.

I made a Turkish-style turkey meatloaf tonight, and it was fabulous. I neglected to take a pic, but I've made it before. You should definitely try it. I served it with a simple cucumber, roast potato and last-of-the-tomatoes salad and made an Old Fashioned for my hubs. We are heading to a wedding this weekend which means we are OFF-duty for 48 hours. Outstanding. Much needed. Thrilling. I think I'll sleep when I'm not dancing!

Crushing on #2, more wisdom

I have a mad crush on Oliver today. No tsk'ing people, y'all know I adore both my boys, but #2 is really stroking my heartstrings on this frigid, gray Tuesday. He's all little boy squish and big hugs and kisses and sweet nothings and just the right amount of mischievous eye-glint. Tuesday is the kids' early release from school, so I moseyed over there at 2 with the intention of whisking them off on a hot chocolate date at a nearby bakery. Jack, however, was spontaneously invited over to a friend's house for a playdate (the mother said "homework first of course" which was absolute music to my ears and is just another reason she's one of my favorite pals), so Ol and I headed off by our lonesome. He thought hot chocolate at the bookstore cafe sounded lovely "because then we can get that pwincess book we wed last time. You know, the one with the mice." I did not know but just went with it. On our way in, a homeless man I see on a regular basis asked if we could help him. I offered to buy him a bagel but he said he had food and simply needed money for a place to stay. Based on the countless admonitions I've received over the years, I'm well aware that he could have been pulling my chain. But you know what, maybe not. It's cold as get-out today, and he has such a nice face, and I was bursting with love anyway since #2 is bundles of light. I didn't have any change so said I'd go inside, get some and come back. It took us a while to get the hot chocolate and change, make our way back downstairs and so forth, but I told Ol that I didn't want to have lied to the man so we really needed to go see him before we got the mysterious mouse-princess book. He misunderstood me and said, "Mom, WHY would you want to lie to that man?"

"Oh, Ol, I would never lie to anyone, and do you know why?"

"Because you are a gwown-up."

"Well, more essentially because lying is not good, and we are good people, you and I, so we do not lie."

"Mom, can I give him the paper?"

Oliver is obsessed with paying people. He likes to hold money and watch it exchange hands. If I forget to wait for him and instead go ahead and pay a sitter, he asks her to remove the money from her pocket and give it to him so that he can then give it right back. So anyway, I said, "of course you can give him the paper, and wish him good luck, ok?"

Ol burst from the bookstore door, just as the man was heading away (probably cursing me and/or feeling despondent that too many people suck), and ran up to him, beamed beatifically and said, "GOOD LUCK." Y'all, that man's smile was worth a thousand papers, and as he walked away, a young woman approached us and said, "that was, quite possibly, the most precious thing I have seen ever. That little boy is a keeper."

Perhaps for good measure, Ol smiled beatifically at her too.

And then we went and bought a fabulous pwincess book. And like I said, I'm crushing on him like it's my job.

I saw today a Facebook post from Patricia Polacco (prolific children's book author) that said, "Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always."

Ain't that the damn truth?! It's like trying to really know someone else's marriage; you simply cannot. I don't know what that man was going to do with the small bit of money we shared, but what I do know is that in all likelihood, his life is harder than mine. Whether that cash goes towards a place to stay or a candy bar or a 40, I just hope it lifted his spirits a little bit. I hope he felt noticed, if only for a moment. And I hope that my kids always retain the generosity of spirit and the deep core of kindness they both have, that they remember to draw on those traits and act on them, because in my experiences, small acts often make the biggest differences. My spirits were raised, my soul was warmed, just being a peripheral part of the whole exchange.

Lucky me to be my boys' mom!

(Even though it's possible that yesterday I told Tom that both kids were complete d-bags all day. Such is the roller coaster life of moms, and the rarer mom-like dad. Again, no tsk'ing folks, you know what I mean!)