The Last Frontier

Every aspect of my life has been invaded by my kids - my thoughts, dreams, bank account, potty time. Even my phone conversations are no longer private. Charlie asked me the other day why I wanted Yia Yia (my mom) to get special love from a Chinese person on her trip. It took me a minute to figure what he was talking about when I realized he had been eaves dropping on my conversation with her.

I was concerned as my mother, who has been suffering from sciatica, was embarking upon a 13 hour plane flight to China. My advice to her, should the sciatica flare up while abroad, embrace the practice of eastern medicines. I think my exact words were, 'Don't be afraid to ask a nice Chinese man to give that sciatic nerve some love by sticking needles in your butt.'

My last frontier of privacy seems to be the shower. I've never been a big fan of the bath; sitting in dirty bath water, ick. Even before kids, I got in, soaped and rinsed the necessary bits and pieces, and got out. But lately I have really begun to embrace the long shower. Not only do I appreciate that when the water is running I can't hear anything going on outside, but I can actually hear myself think inside because I'm alone (my kids hate the shower). It's like a little oasis of quiet.

It's just so peaceful and quiet in there - did I already mention that? It really has become the perfect refuge from my motherly duties. When one of the kids comes in to complain that his brother breathed on him 'so hard', that they need some water with no ice in a red cup with no top and no straw, or that they require me to fast forward through the commercials to get to the next episode of Tom & Jerry, there's no yelling or negotiating necessary. A) I can't do anything about it because I'm in the shower and B) I can't hear them! There's also C) That I really don't care, but that doesn't get me out of anything because my kids will just nag me to death until I comply with their demands.

My average shower time has increased from about 4 minutes up to 10 just in the last few months, and I may keep going. The Guinness Book of Records states that the longest shower was recorded at 101 hours, that's more than 4 days. Sounds like heaven to me. But here's the rub, or should I say scrub, that record was set by a group of 10 people, though 3 dropped out from exahustion. They each took turns, many of them sleeping standing up, and with no more than a 10 minute break per hour. Breaks? Sounds like cheating to me. A 17 year old boy was among the participants. What was his motivation? What does he have to hide from, the SAT's and teenage acne? Maybe he has bad parents who complain about him in a public forum.

I bet I could get a group of 10 mothers together - and none would drop out from exhaustion - tell them that there is only one rule, stay in the shower and no kids will bother you. Each mom would stay in for 1 day at a time, no breaks necessary, because obviously you can just pee in the shower, and of course, breaks are for sissies. And would you really want to take the chance that during that 10 minutes outside of the shower/safe haven, one of your kids would find you and whine for you to get them a snacksandwichdrinkcookiecheesestick, retrieve a piece of gum from their brother's hair, or wipe their butt. I guarantee those 10 women could keep that going for a month, easy. 101 hours, pah-lease.

Gregory the Girl

Well over a year ago I wrote about Charlie's propensity for calling his brother girl names. While Gregory is still a beautiful child, his girlish qualities are limited mostly to his long, lush eyelashes and his squealing. But that has not stopped Charlie from still referring to him as Mrs. Bentney. Stephanie is still around, too, along with a few new ones like Mary Garcia, Gloria, and one of the most inventive, Jessica Hairdryer.

Now that Gregory is 3 he actually understands that Charlie is teasing him. Much to Charlie's chagrin, his brother usually tries to ignore his initial attempts to get a rise out of him. In those cases Charlie goes for the jugular and flat out calls him Gregory the Girl. That elicits one of the following responses, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. WAAAAAAAAHHHHH." or "Mommy, Charrie called me a girr (we're having some trouble with our 'L's)."

Sigh. Greg, are you a girl?

Sniff, sniff, "No."

Then go tell Charlie that!

"Charrie! I am NOT A GIRR."

And it never just stops there, does it?

Even a solid argument based on the indisputable fact that Gregory is not a girl can deter him. Charlie the brilliant manipulator moves onto his next tactical advance. "Gregory, you can be Gregory, but you will not get any dessert tonight. Or you can be Gregory the Girl and you can have cake, ice cream, chocolate chips, anything you want really. Do you want dessert?"

Like leading a lamb to slaughter, Gregory falls for it. "Yes, I want dessert."

"Okay, then if you want dessert you have to be Gregory the Girl, because if you are just Gregory, then no dessert. So which one is it?"

"I am Gregory the girr."

"Ha ha ha, you are a girl. Gregory is a girl."

"Nooooo, Mommy, Charrie called me a girr."

Dana is another new persona that has been added to Charlie's repertoire of names. This morning the boys were playing Legos before school. Gregory was trying to build a dump truck but was frustrated because he couldn't find any wheels. He asked Charlie to help him search for some. Charlie said, "Well, is your name Dana?"

Gregory of course says, "No, it's Gregory Goldstein."

"If your name is Dana then I can help you find some wheels for your dump truck, but if your name is Gregory, I can't help you, sorry. So are you Dana or are you Gregory."

And with no argument, Gregory concedes, "I am Dana. Now will you get me the wheels?"

Like a lot of Charlie's verbal attacks on his brother, they are as random as they are senseless or non sensical to be exact. Just the other day in the car Charlie says, "Gregory is Jessica Hairdryer."

I kind of chuckled at that one, but Gregory didn't even bat an eye.

Again it comes, "Gregory, you are Jessica Hairdryer."

Every once in a while we get a glimpse that Gregory could be a contender in these mind mastery games of his brother's.

Gregory says, "No, I AM Hairdryer. YOU are Jessica, Charrie."

Quite satisfied with himself, he sits back and smiles.

Never to be outdone, Charlie retorts, "No Gregory, Jessica is the one who gets to play with the train table. Hairdryer is me, because Hairdryer is 5 and I'm 5, so you have to be Jessica. You want to play with the train table, right?"

The logic is mind numbing.

Gregory is like, OK, you had me at train table, I am Jessica.

It's not always easy pickings for Charlie. After numerous failed attempts to get under his skin and at least a half dozen female monikers slung his way, sometimes Greg won't take the bait and stomps off to his room to play by himself. But never fear, when preliminary attacks fail to illicit a response from his brother, Charlie brings out the big guns. Not only is my eldest an extremely smart, evil genius, but the kid can carry a tune to boot.

He'll follow Gregory into his room singing his insults to the tune of Air Supply's 'Lost in Love', with a few changes to the lyrics (the Greatest Hits of Air Supply has been Charlie's favorite CD for 3 months running now).

"Gregory is a girl and he don't know much/ He was thinking aloud when he fell out of touch/ Now he's back on his feet and eager to show he's a giiiiirrrrrl/ Gregory is a girrl/ Gregory is a girrl/ Gregory is a girrrrrr-herrrrr-herrr-erl."

I think that CD might be finding a new home very soon.