Mama-Come-Lately

Two days before Halloween, the Boo (actual nickname) decided he no longer wanted to be Luke Skywalker.

This was the first year I had bought him a costume, and I had mixed feelings about that. Yes, it was easy and convenient, and that’s how I like to do most of my non-grocery shopping. Three or four clicks in my pajamas, and on to the next task. But it was cheap polyester garbage with built-in obsolescence and I already have visions of it ending up in a landfill. And yet, he loved it, or more accurately, he loved being Luke Skywalker, stepping into those brave Jedi shoes for a while and forgetting about spelling tests and riding the bus.

And then a few weekends ago we decided he was ready to watch the first Harry Potter movie. It scared him a bit, and he had questions, mostly about why the Dursleys are so mean to Harry and how Voldemort gets around. But he liked it enough that he wanted to watch it again, and start reading the book (which means me reading the book to him). And so, his fickle movie-based affections moved the Halloween needle to Harry Potter.

The Boo has dark, unruly hair. He wears glasses, and though they are not round, they are dark enough to pass as black. A kind work friend, hearing my last-minute tale of woe, offered to bring in the Griffindor cloak her kids had worn when they had been Harry Potter/Hermione Granger. I sent the Boo outside to find a straight stick, dug out the silver spray paint, and we made a wand. The kids are not allowed to apply makeup when they change into their costumes at school, so as we waited for the bus I drew a lightning-bolt scar on the Boo’s forehead. (Lucky I had a black pen in my purse!)

My husband took the Boo trick-or-treating this year, and reported that the teenage girls were agog at his costume. A mom friend texted me to say how cute he looked. My family cracked up at the video of his Halloween spell: “Expectium Candium Pleasium!”

All this to say, it’s the costume he was meant to wear all along.

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Ah, shit.

One of my biggest parenting challenges has been putting the lid on swearing when my kid is around. I was older than average when I had him, and pretty set in my ways, and not to blame my parents or anything but my dad was also fond of swearing. So maybe it’s hereditary. Or maybe I just don’t see what the big deal is.

See, to me, with a few exceptions for words that are overloaded with cultural nastiness, words are just words. Their job is to help us express ourselves. And swear words, curse words, cuss words, whatever you want to call them, are just nifty little options in our verbal paintbox.

I’ve always admired Will Smith for keeping his work “clean,” and I get why he does that, I think, but that is not my path in life. Which is not to say that I walk around dropping F-bombs constantly either. I’m somewhere in the middle, with a reasonable level of social sensitivity, though I have been known to say “crap” and “BS” at work.

One of my personal favorites (and what I say in front of my six-year-old every now and then, usually when I’m trying to get us out the door in the morning) is “shit.” Sometimes I substitute “sugar” if I’m in public, or the German “Scheisse,” although once I did that in the middle of Target and apparently the people with me in the cookie aisle understood German because HOLY SHIT did that mom give me a sour-ass look. Which just made me laugh really hard once they’d walked away.

See? Swear words are the gateway to fun!

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I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but it bears repeating: I sneak into my kid’s room every night after he falls asleep so I can look at him and maybe kiss his forehead. (I don’t usually pull the blankets up over him because he’s a hot sleeper and he gets sweaty enough without being cocooned.)

Non-parents may be scratching their heads at this point. Maybe some parents, too, are thinking, “Aren’t you just glad when he finally passes out and you can go relax? He’s six and a half! What’s the deal?”

Here’s the deal: I miss my infant. Not that I enjoyed the sleep deprivation, but I mourn the simplicity of those days. Feed, change, play, sleep. Or sometimes, change, feed, change, sleep, play. But you get the idea. Nothing involving negotiations, or spelling words, or saucy new expressions learned on the school bus. Visiting his room when he’s sleeping is a way of visiting that time when things were simpler.

On the other hand, infants don’t like to play checkers, or make up silly songs, or ask, “What’s Harry Potter’s owl called”? These are definite advantages to having a six-year-old.

One night not long ago, he half woke up when I came in, long after bedtime, and reached out to me. I took his hand and held it for a moment, and then he relaxed back into sleep. He didn’t remember in the morning, but it’s interesting to think about what part of his brain knew I was there but didn’t store that memory.

Does it detect my presence every night?

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Warning: This will not be an in-depth book review, because A) my kid is going to wake up soon and B) this is not the New York Times Book Review. Just so you know.

I recently read George Orwell’s 1984 — or I should say re-read, because I’m sure I read it in high school, but have no memory of that whatsover. I’m sure it made some sort of impression on my teenaged brain, but many more important and interesting things are being stored there now. Like, I REALLY need to get to Target today to get candy/a witch’s hat/dish soap/toothpaste. God, what will I DO if they don’t have a witch’s hat? I really should have taken care of that last week.

So. I recently re-read 1984 for my book club, and I have to say, wow. Orwell had some BIG ideas. Huge. Crazy, even. The book was published in 1949, 1949 for crying out loud, and he dives deep into revisionist history, the mechanisms of war, thought control, secret police — a whole bunch of things that were way ahead of the times (or so I assume).

But here’s the thing that’s really staying with me: I believed the whole thing. I was there in the grimy, scary places with Winston, willing him to be cautious so he wouldn’t get caught by the Thought Police (oh well) and rejoicing in his relationship with Julia (as weird as that whole thing was). And that, to me, is the biggest achievement of the book.

Also: I really don’t understand if he’s dead at the very end, or a few pages before the end. I really should look into that before my next book club meeting.

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I am a writer, I tell people, and yet, outside of work, I haven’t been writing much. In all honesty I don’t always write much at work either but that’s another story for another day. Corporations, amirite?

Anyway. What with NaNoWriMo coming up, this seemed like a fine time to start one of those “I wrote a blog post every day for a month and you won’t believe what happened” things. And rather than wait for Thursday, when I will surely be suffering the mother of all candy hangovers, I am starting today. Shazam!

My only agenda is to write and publish something every day. No working ahead, except in my head. I make no promises about topics, quality, coherence or length. The point is to show up and do the work, push out first drafts, and see what happens. If I entertain you, fabulous. If I bore you, well, at least you’ve managed to stay off Twitter for 90 seconds. See? Silver lining. Every cloud.

This morning is a good morning to begin because my son, a/k/a The Boo, is at my mom’s house. He spends the night there every week or two and it is a huge treat for me in that I get to get up and do what I want/need to do all by myself. I love him to bits, but being six and a half he needs things fairly frequently, and lately he’s also been coming to find me at 5:45 a.m. Usually I’m up by then but last week my sleep was hacked to bits for various reasons, so getting woken out of a dead sleep when I still had 45 minutes left to sleep was not cool. Also, it made me crabby and had me weirdly craving simple carbs.

Yesterday afternoon, the Boo was dead set against staying at my mom’s for no rational reason he could or would explain. A tragic turn of events, from my point of view. Then I introduced the new Morning Policy: if he wakes up before 6:30 and sees that I am not up, he is to stay in his room. He asked if he had to go back to sleep and I said no, books are fine, but no waking up Mama.

And lo, in a delightful and unexpected turn of events, he decided he did want to spend the night at Grammy’s after all.

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It’s my birthday. I’ll do what I want.

That’s a statement. How would you make that into a question?

I’m sorry.

How do you spell “rock”?

There are kids who don’t have enough food to eat. Really.

I’m tired of reading Star Wars books.

I love you, even when you’re being obstreperous.

What is a number bond?

I’m not interested in arguing with you.

I love you.

There are parents who hit their kids. Really. Yes, on purpose.

I’ll be happy to answer all your questions when you’re done getting ready for school.

Brush your teeth, or get cavities. The choice is yours.

Less talking, more getting ready, please.

Just keep in mind, it rained so the street is really slippery.

Oh honey, looks like you have a few scrapes. Let’s get you fixed up.

Dirty clothes in the hamper please.

Socks in the hamper please.

Socks. Hamper. Please.

It’s fine, I have wine for later.

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We don’t need a hose repair kit, we can fix it with epoxy.

It’s been precisely calibrated.

I’m flying an X-wing. You’re in the Millennium Falcon. Is your rear gun charged?

What day is it?

How many days until the next holiday?

How many minutes until it’s 6?

Can I watch YouTube since you’re down here with me?

Have you seen the key for my tool box lock?

Mom! Mom! Mom!

I was reading about BB-8 on the bus.

First grade is EASY!

The librarian said I need to practice reading on my own since I’m in first grade.

I don’t! Need! A shower!

I didn’t do it! I promise! I’m honest!

I don’t want any of that. How about Cheerios?

It isn’t fair!

You’re the WORST!

I love you.

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You are six years old.

You have lost two teeth, and three more are loose.

You believe in the tooth fairy, but are a little uneasy about her coming into your room while you’re sleeping.

You are not sure if you believe in Santa, because “flying reindeer just don’t make sense.”

You know about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., segregation, and miscegenation.

You are super into your Ninja class, and get really excited when you watch American Ninja Warrior clips.

You love playing Uno and Uno Attack; you often ask to play with Mama before school. And before bedtime. And before and after supper.

You want to play with just one or two school friends. That doesn’t surprise Mama, as she was the same way. And still is, pretty much.

You’re a great reader, though you prefer to have Mama and Daddy read to you at home. Writing has been a challenge, but is going better since your teacher asked you to write about Ninja class. You love math.

You recently decided to ride the school bus, much to Mama’s surprise and delight. You get on with a neighbor buddy and say that the number of stops is “not too bad.”

You enjoy watching “Moana,” “Sing” and “Frozen,” and sing the songs from the movies, usually while doing something else.

You refuse to try fish sticks, chicken nuggets, cheese pizza, mac & cheese or hot dogs.

You think you are still too young to watch “Star Wars.”

You have learned how to make yourself burp. You swear you’re not doing it on purpose.

You have become interested in WWII because of a documentary about what’s hidden under London that you’ve watched three times because “it’s SO good.”

You LOVE ice skating but don’t want to take lessons.

You still react badly to unexpected changes in plan.

You yell at Mama if she tries to help with your math homework.

You celebrated your birthday with the usual assortment of family plus a few preschool friends. You helped pick out the decorations (red-and-white check) and plates and flatware. You insisted on making your cookie cake from scratch.

You enjoyed opening presents so much that you kept asking for more presents.

You had a half day of school on your birthday, so after Mama helped your celebrate at school, you decided what to do with your afternoon. You wanted to see the babies that were born on your birthday, so we went to the hospital where you were born (we only saw a few babies; they must all stay with their moms now). You also wanted to see the NICU (where you spent 12 hours as a precaution), and the office where Mama went for her checkups. We visited your old preschool, and got to see your teachers and check out recent changes to the space. We also went to Mama and Daddy’s office, where you met some of our work buddies, saw our workspaces, and drew on Daddy’s whiteboard.

You are six, and every day, you live up to what we say about you: “he’s five going on 50.” Though now it’s six going on 60.

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You started kindergarten. 

You enjoyed the poem and magic sleep confetti the teacher sent home the day before school started, but asked if it would really help you sleep or it was “just silly.” (You put a few pieces under your pillow anyway.) Mama said we’d have to see in the morning, and then put some under her pillow too. She woke up at 3. You slept like a champ. 

You said you were nervous when Mama asked how you were feeling at breakfast. When she asked what you were nervous about, you expressed concern about how soon you would get to visit the playground. Mama told you to ask your teacher. 

You also said, a bit later, that you were worried you would miss Mama and would cry. Mama told you it’s fine to miss her, and fine to cry. Then she said she would miss you too, and even if it was a tough day, she knew you could do it. 

You were distressed that Daddy couldn’t walk in with us (he had to park the car super far away). But Mama convinced you to go in without him by promising that he would catch up with us. 

You put your lunch in your cubby, found your name tag on one of the tables, put it on, and sat down. 

You were so involved in chatting with a classmate that you didn’t notice daddy come in. 

You were happy to do the special kindergarten goodbye with Mama, (three hugs, three double high fives, “Let’s do this!” and “I love you! Bye!”) You did not get upset when she walked out. 

You said you had a “medium-ish good” day at pickup time. This was due to some kind of misunderstanding about washing your hands at lunchtime. Later you upgraded the day to “great.”

You said everyone was really nice, and that you made a best friend. 

You wanted to play on the big kids playground after school, so we did that, and then you ate voraciously in the car on the way home. 

You were pretty goofy between suppertime and bedtime, but nothing out of the ordinary. 

You started kindergarten, and we are very proud of you. 

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