Games People Play

I recognize that summer has come and gone and my updates have been sparse, if non existent.
I'm happy to report that the boys are still crazy as ever. Though we've begun to reap the benefits of Charlie being 4; he occasionally plays with Gregory in a nonviolent or sadistic manner.

Of course, constant supervision is a must - there's always a hitch, right? You cannot be asleep at the wheel for 1 second without pure chaos erupting. So discovered my father in law this past weekend. He decided to innocently use the bathroom while the boys were in the midst of arts and crafts. Mere moments later upon his return, he discovered the windows, door frames, and grandsons completely covered with stickers and green marker - washable thank goodness.

You don't have time to take a piss in this household, let alone luxuriate in the glow of your computer screen. Many apologies for my slack-assed-ness this summer. I promise never to stay away so long.

Next to torturing his brother, one of Charlie's favorite activities is making up games. It's really cool to witness his creativity (or insanity) and his desire to include Gregory in these games. Everyday there seems to be a new one invented.

One of Charlie's oldest games on record is 'Fita'. It involves him and Gregory running around our living room, yelling 'Fita!', while listening to Justin Timberlake. Not sure why JT, or why it's called Fita for that matter? I just know the 2 of them can play it for 30 minutes without tiring or fighting.

Then there is 'Model Train', same idea as Fita, just a different location and no music is played. You run around the dining room table, yelling, you guessed it, 'Model Train!'. This game gets tricky when Charlie announces that the train is backing up to turn around. Many collisions happen during the playing of Model Train as Gregory is not too adept at on the fly directional change. I personally prefer Fita, could be the low injury stats, or Justin.

The newest game added to the repertoire is 'Tabor'. Like most of the games, it is not at all complicated. Charlie sits or fully stands on the arm of the couch and then either falls forward onto his Pottery Barn Kids chair or backwards onto the couch. And of course there is the obligatory yelling of 'Tabor' by the players. I did have to shut down a game of Tabor this morning when Charlie decided to change the rules while it was Gregory's turn and pushed him off the back of the couch.





Finally there is 'Tod-o-nai'. Not sure on the spelling, but it definitely has a Hebrew derivation; which makes sense since Charlie attends preschool at the JCC. You can hear Gregory in the background of this video trying to get involved by yelling 'Tod-o-nai', but he can't make it up onto the bed to actually get a turn. Too bad for him as this game was a one hit wonder. Since capturing it on video, it has never been seen again.

Charlie is the sole master mind behind each game, Gregory is simply along for the ride. You could say Gregory is Tatoo to Charlie's Mr. Rourke; his participation definitely adds humor, but he will never be the leading man in the show. Capturing the videos of Tabor and Tod-o-nai gives you a ringside seat to the crazy and how contagious it is, or genetic.

I Feel Pretty

Charlie has always been a cute kid. From the moment he was born, he looked perfect and well formed, never awkward or squishy and red. Are we biased? Definitely. But pictures don't lie, in his entire 4 years of life, there has not been one bad photo.

Gregory entered the world as blessed as his brother; color me biased again. Though his cuteness seems to be evolving into downright prettiness. At least once a week, people mistake him for a girl. Even dressed in camouflage pants, skull and crossbones t-shirt, baseball hat and black high top Chucks - an outfit that screams testosterone - someone will remark, "What a beautiful little girl. How old is she?" Maybe it's the eyelashes that touch his forehead, or those huge blue eyes, but I honestly don't get it.

Clearly there must be something there. The past week or so, Charlie has begun calling Gregory, 'Mrs. Bentney'. As with all things Charlie, we have no idea where this came from. But I'll be damned if Gregory doesn't come running like a servant when Charlie beckons, "Mrs. Bentney. Mrs. Bentney? MRS. BENTNEY! Come here this instant."

When asked why he calls Gregory Mrs. Bentney, his response, "I only call him that when I need help opening the door." I thought this would blow over, that Mrs. Bentney's novelty, and ineptness (the boy can't even turn a door knob), would wear off and he/she could go back to being just Gregory. But it seems Mrs. Bentney's responsibilities have only been added to. Last night when I was making dinner, Charlie came running in, breathless, holding a bunch of buckets, "Hey Mommy, do you need a bucket?"
No thanks, Charlie. I'm all set.
"Well, if you do, Mrs. Bentney's selling them out back and can get you one."

This morning I was even more confused when Charlie referred to Gregory as Stephanie. I thought the early hour had effected my hearing, until, "Stephanie, I need you to come and help me fill up this dump truck."
Though I hadn't an ounce of caffeine in me, I ventured down that road, So who's Stephanie?
"Gregory is Stephanie."
Where is Mrs. Bentney?
"No, Stephanie is Mrs. Bentney."
Then Gregory is Mrs. Stephanie Bentney?
"No, he's Mrs. Bentney Stephanie."
When do you call him Stephanie versus Mrs. Bentney?
"When I want to." His response was so matter of fact, like I had just asked Little Lord Fauntleroy when he would like his tea. He turns on his heel, heading into the the kitchen, casually calling over his shoulder, "Stephanie, it's time for breakfast. NOW!"

I do take comfort in that the relationship seems to have taken on a less formal tone. And at least he's feeding the help.

I Hate You, I Hate You, I Just Don't Like You

You know those mornings where you wake up and you hate your job? No matter how many trips to Starbuck's you take, personal calls you make, or want ads you search, you just can't move past it. In my former life in sales, I would have called it a day at lunch and gone to the gym or shopping; start fresh tomorrow. But I'm at a loss on how to handle this situation in my current role.

When my kids keep me up till the wee hours of the night, then rise before the sun, I wake up hating them and my job, which are one and the same. I spend most of my day locked and loaded, ready to aim my passive aggressive rage at anyone who gets in my way - like my kids or the condescending librarian who glares at me as both of the boys run screaming down the aisles of the adult non-fiction section yelling, 'poopie, poopie, poop.' What's a Mom to do when she's trapped at 'the office', having bad day, and her old bag of tricks just isn't cutting it in this new position?

In the past, commiserating with co-workers made me feel better. But in our office of 3, complaining to Charlie and Gregory about how they've ruined my day by only allowing me 4 non-consecutive hours of sleep doesn't quite have the same therapeutic effect. Charlie's response, 'Mommy, if you want, you can take a nap and I will watch Gregory because I'm the adult.' As he tries to assure me he can handle the situation, his hands begin to form a noose like grip around his brother's neck while slowly dragging him toward the bathroom.

Other times I could rely on my sense of humor to get me through the day and just laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. But there is nothing amusing about being stuck in the house with my kids when all I want to do is sleep and all they want to do is find new ways to remind me that escape on this rat wheel is futile.
"Mommy, can I have something to eat?"
Charlie, I don't care what you do.
"But can you get me something?"
What do you want?
"I want you to get me something, but make it a surprise."
No, I'm not playing that game. Just tell me what you want.
"I want a surprise."
Charlie, I am tired, you know what we have to eat. When you figure it out, tell me.
"But I want a surprise. How about from the fridge?"
Ugh. Yogurt, cheese, apple, or grapes?
"Surprise."
Just choose.
"No, you."
I yell as I throw yogurt down in front of him. Charlie, I've lost my patience. Take the stupid yogurt and do not say another word to me.
"Mmm, stupid yogurt. I love stupid yogurt. It's just what I wanted, stupid yogurt."
Then Gregory chimes in, "Tupit, tupit, tupit."

I do not even have the energy to go there as I storm out of the kitchen. I know if I attempt to make a run to Starbuck's they will follow me. If I try to use my computer to search for employment opportunities outside of the home, my efforts will be high jacked in order to watch singing cats, flying penguins, and rocket launches on You Tube.

By 10 am, I have screamed to the point of being hoarse, bribed the boys with everything from cookies to playing in the toilet. Finally, I admit defeat. For Charlie, I put on a video. Gregory gets 20 Matchbox cars thrown into a huge soup pot with the lid on. My hope is that he'll make enough racket to drown out Charlie's movie and any potential crying that ensues from the 2 of them being left unattended.

I lock myself in the laundry room to eat chocolate chips sprinkled in a jar of peanut butter. Ahh, silence - at least with door closed and the din of crunching chocolate chips in my mouth. This works. I'll have to add this to my new bag of tricks.

Family Trip

On the eve of our summer family trip, I am feeling exhausted, apprehensive, and uninspired.
Trying to pack for a 2 1/2 week trip is next to impossible while refereeing a constant wrestling match between 2 young boys. It requires a tremendous amount of patience, energy, and an anal retentive husband. As we take every single item we use on a daily basis and attempt to pack it into one suitcase, I am bitter knowing it will cost me an additional $25 on top of my ticket price. And if all of our stuff doesn't weigh under 70 lbs, add another $50 on top of that. My toiletry bag weighs 70 lbs.

To get to the family trip destination, it requires a lengthy car ride, an even longer plane ride, or sometimes both. Oddly enough, it's not my almost 4 year old who is causing me to lose sleep about this journey. These days my 18 month old sits in one place about as long as a puppy on crystal meth. Have you ever sat next to someone in a shoe box size seat for 6 hours, who is tweaking the entire time, and doesn't have any discernable words beyond 'mama', 'stop it', and 'play-doh'?

So here I am, unispired, wondering what I have left to give as we are t-minus 12 hours from the start of the family trip. Please note my use of the term 'family trip' and the very deliberate ommission of the word 'vacation'. Merriam-Webster's On-line Dictionary defines 'vacation' as, a scheduled period during which activity is suspended; a period of exemption from work granted to an employee. Hmm, vacation, doesn't really feel right as I ready myself and my kids for 10 humidity filled days in Florida visting my in laws, followed by 6 days in Minneapolis with my brother and his family.

I think I'm going to write to the lexicographers at Merriam-Webster. If words as serious as 'dirty bomb' and 'subprime', and as silly as 'wingnut' and 'fanboy', can be added to their dictionary in 2008, then I do believe 2009 is the year for 'family trip'. Simply placed next to the word vacation, it will say, 'see family trip'.

family trip noun (2009): a vacation taken with children, not really a vacation at all; a trip where you do everything exactly as you do at home, but in a different place.

Luxury Redefined

A fellow mom from Charlie's preschool takes the same 6 am workout class that I do. Post sweat, as we headed towards the locker room, she asked if I was going straight home or showering there. I said I was hurrying home because Brian had to take off early for work.

She was staying to shower and commented, "It's just so luxurious to shower here." To avoid any confusion, my gym is nice, but it's not nice enough where someone would ever mistake it for being luxurious. I thought it was an interesting adjective to use, but understood. My friend was simply stating that the ability to shower alone, without having someone banging on the shower door, or crying through the wall, is a true treat that she bestowed upon herself.

We both agreed, if the roles were reversed, neither of our husbands would think twice about the extra 15 minutes it takes to shower at the gym. They would just do it. But as Mom's, we feel guilty being away from our kids for more than 5 minutes. And G_d forbid if those 5 minutes are for something as frivolous as a shower. Our IGC's would probably switch to tase mode and shock us into submission from within our own bodies. (IGC is an intrauterine guilt chip and one of my many conspiracy theories - see IGC post from 1/7/09 for full definition) .

During our life time, the idea of luxury changes drastically. Growing up in a family of 5, living on one teacher's salary, I don't really think the word ever entered my mind. In hindsight, ordering dessert with my Happy Meal instead of eating Oreos at home or shopping something other than the clearance rack at Marshall's would count. In my 20's, it was free beer at my favorite bar and a burger after last call. And my 30's, a spa day followed by a nice dinner (and dessert) and good wine. I guess one could argue my sense of luxury has been evolving.

But since having kids, what I consider to be luxurious today is downright offensive to all of my former selves. I came up with a list of things I would like to experience in the near future; my expectations are so low I didn't even put a time line to them.
Quite possibly the saddest 'luxury' list ever compiled.

1). Going to the bathroom alone.
a). Going to the bathroom without having the toilet flushed several times prior to me getting off of it.

2). Finishing an entire meal without popping up every time someone utters 'Mommy, I want/need...'
a). Eating alone.

3). Drinking out of a water bottle that has not been back-washed with Cheerio or Goldfish remnants.

4). Wearing an outfit that is free of dried snots, diaper cream or mystery milk stains.

5). Leaving the house knowing that yesterday's mascara has been properly removed from under my eyes.

6). Needing to set an alarm (nope, don't need one for that 6 am work out class).

This could have easily gone all the way up to 100. The damn IGC must have been tripped, weakening all muscles, forcing me to stop typing my selfish list and get back to caring for my husband and kids. I know, I know, poor me and my sad list. I recognize that this is the rant of the privileged and that there are people living in a 3rd world countries where clean water and indoor plumbing would be in a fight for number 1. To those of you who judge, first, I bet in those 3rd world countries, the kids don't follow the mom into the poop shack nor do they pre-flush on them. Second, my blog, my bitch - I'm not out to save the world, just my sanity.

Stepping Up

Where things with Charlie are starting to calm down a bit, Gregory is picking up the slack, attempting to find his place in the family hierarchy. We're not sure if his role will be one of more comic relief, or following in his brother's footsteps of devil's spawn.

Charlie was sitting on the couch watching TV and all Gregory wanted was his big brother's attention. Most days a goofy face and his sumo wrestler dance works, Charlie looks at him, smiles, and says, "Silly Gregory, are you riding on the crazy train again?"

But his usual tactics weren't working. Gregory tried piling all of his trucks onto the couch leaving Charlie barely an inch of room to move. Then he took the trucks, one at a time, and hit Charlie with each to gauge it's effectiveness as a weapon. Charlie was really good and just kept saying, "Ow, Gregory, stop it." Then would go back into his Caillou induced trance.

Being further ignored by his brother only forced Gregory to step up his game. We have only one doll in our entire house. We bought it for Charlie when we found out I was pregnant. It's a nameless, genderless baby that is basically ignored unless we have a little girl visiting, then my boys fight over it like it poops M&M's and is the last damn toy on earth.

Gregory took the baby in his mouth similar to a mother cat with her kitten, then shook it back and forth like it was his prey. Brian and I were in hysterics, but no reaction from Charlie. Gregory grabbed the doll by it's foot and started whacking it onto the keys of his toy piano, the noise was so loud you could no longer hear the TV. Still, not even a side glance from Charlie. Next unisex baby had it's head slammed into the window, after each hit, Gregory would throw the doll over his shoulder, caveman style, and walk over to the couch to see if Charlie was looking yet. No reaction equaled more banging. If it had not been a toy, there would have been baby brains splattered everywhere.

Things were getting out of control as Gregory looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much. I finally had to rescue the poor doll from the hands of it's torturer. Gregory sat there, panting from the all of the energy he exerted, smiling, like Jack Nicholson in the Shining - 'Heeeeere's Johnny.'

We're not sure if his actions were simply to get his brother's attention or if he was trying to send us a message - Have a 3rd kid and I'll make Jekyll and Hyde on the couch over there look like the Dalai Lama. He certainly got our attention.

What Happens in Vegas...

Charlie's sphere of influence is limited to home, school, the park or play dates. With the exception of school, he's always with me or Brian. At 3 1/2, his world is already starting to expand, he's having new experiences and meeting new friends. I need to come to grips with the fact that the older he gets, the less control I'll have over him and these experiences and friends.

Last weekend Charlie had his first unsupervised play date at the next door neighbor's house. The son is 5 and Charlie looks up to him like a big brother. He actually listens when he says, "Charlie, please don't hit me in the face with your dump truck." Charlie must have hung on every syllable this boy uttered, because we've had some new phrases pop up in our household. 'I'm going to kill you, Gregory', 'You're dead, Mommy', or my personal favorite, 'Your eyes are going to pop out, then your brain will fall to the floor and you'll be dead, Daddy.'

My neighbor does the eye roll-shoulder shrug apology. You know the one that communicates wordlessly, 'I feel bad. But what can I do? I only have so much energy in a day to fight this monster.' It's the very same apology I used last week during arts and crafts hour at the library. Charlie started chanting 'PENIS BUTT!' at the top of his lungs and about half of the children at the table joined in, much to the chagrin of the librarian and other parents.

So I tried not make a big deal about the 'kill' and 'die' language, every age has their thing. Besides, if I had a 5 year old, with my track record he'd be aiming his toy Glock 19 with laser scope at the neighbor's head while playing David Koresh and the Branch Davidians.

Things could always be worse. But I was left wondering, what kind of 'chanting' did Charlie do while next door and out of my care? How much worse than 'penis butt' could it get? And did I really want to know?

When they venture out from under our wing, we can only hope that our children take the good lessons we have tried to instill. Unfortunately, I learned they take a lot more than good values on this journey, they bring your dirty laundry with them as well. I never discovered any specifics about what my son shared with our neighbors, but I have a pretty good idea.

The other week as I was leaving school, I heard Charlie announce to his teacher, 'Claire, did you know my Daddy has the stinkiest poops ever? They're really super stinky.' Claire is a consummate professional, she smiled and said, "Oh, really Charlie?" I chuckled and did the eye roll-shoulder shrug thing, remembering a similar comment I had made that morning. Brian was mortified as there was an event at school the following day which would mark his first introduction to Claire. "No, really Mr. Goldstein, we don't need to shake hands. 'Nice to meet you' is sufficient."

The same week, on one of our not so good days, Charlie pushed Gregory backwards off the couch, hitting his head squarely on the coffee table. It was so bad that I thought he had a concussion. I 100% panicked. Recognizing the appearance of out of control Mommy, Charlie ran into his room. When I got there, he acted like he was reading and not a brother beater on the lam. I grabbed the book and threw it against the wall. He smiled at me. My flip flop came off next. I threw that against the wall, too. He just kept smiling and told me that Gregory fell all by himself. I screamed some threats, a few mild profanities, then slammed the door as I left the room.

The next day at Barnes & Noble, while buying some baby gifts, Charlie said to the saleswoman, 'You know what? Yesterday my Mom got so mad that she threw a book at the wall, but it wasn't a book like this, it was WAY bigger. Then you know what? She threw her flip flop, too. She was really mad because I hurt my brother.' The eye roll-shoulder shrug didn't seem as appropriate as the heads down-don't look anyone in the eye dash to the door. I have yet to return to the children's section.

Parents are the same, deep down we feel that our children's actions (especially the bad stuff) are a direct reflection of our parenting. Thus we try to control everything - eliminate the bad or at least try to hide it, over emphasize the good, and show everyone we are raising the smartest, most talented, and well mannered child the world has ever seen.

We fear the judgment of others - most specifically other mothers - especially when our kids are young and act really bad and we don't have any outside influences to blame. 'What kind of child are they raising? How else would he learn those kinds of words except at home? They must let him watch PG movies and eat red dye #40.' The fact that the child has a mind of his own does not enter anyone's thoughts during these moments of insecurity. We've all been there. We place the blame as quickly as we take it, and think 'there has got to be some way to change or fix that child's behavior'. But sometimes there is not a damn thing you can do but just grin and bear it (or roll and shrug) and wait for the next phase.

Brian and I have made a conscious effort to watch what we say in front of Charlie and to calm ourselves. The boy is like a video recorder that plays back an endless reel of our 'worst of' footage. If he's going out into the world- unaccompanied- representing our family, we need to control our part of the equation. We'll do the best we can, try not to judge ourselves or others too harshly, and the rest is up to Charlie. What a frightening thought.