jerKs

So I'm putting my adorable, funny, amazing, dashingly handsome boy to bed when he announces the following: 

Mom, I want to be kewl like Spencwer*.  He's so kewl.

What do you mean, Ethan?!  You're totally cool!  Oh, and honey, put your tongue to your top teeth to make the l sound like your speech teacher says.

He just so kewl, mommy.  And he says I can't be kung fu master because I not a big boy who's five...I only four.  And I want to be kung fu master and I want to be kewl.

Despite the lack of context about the kung fu master game, or explicit details on how EJ's master ambitions were stymied by Spencer, I did what any hot-headed mama bear would do and flipped out immediately over this huge problem.  I shot up, mumbled something about needing to blow my nose, and left the room to cry for a good two minutes about how the cruel, cruel world had messed with my sweet, sweet boy.  Upon returning with mascara-smeared eyes, my sadness shifted to straight-up, claw brandishing anger over the blond little turd who had caused my boy to question his kewlness, err, coolness.  Where had I left my brass knuckles again?

Now let me remind you, I am a teacher.  An elementary school teacher.  Ish like this happens on the daily and I'd like to think I handle it with a certain panache. I consider myself a recess-problem dog whisperer, only with kids.  The pied piper, without the cliff.  I help, and problems seem to dwindle or dissipate.  Apparently, that's only teacher me.  Mom me was at a loss about what to do.

Back to EJ's room. I collected myself as different emotions pulsed and pulled, and my little boy stood starting at me expectantly.  I knew I had a captive audience for only a minute before his four-year-old-ness took over and made him fart or go grab one of the monster trucks strewn about on the floor.  I had to come up with something good.  And then it hit me.  This wasn't only about Spencer.  It was about all the jerks EJ will encounter in Kindergarten and beyond.

I think all you can really do to prepare your kid for jerks is to remind him or her that they are awesome and then give them options of what they can do in the trenches.  This is what I said:

Ethan J, you are an awesome, kind, funny, smart kid.  When Spencer tells you you can't be kung fu master, you can tell him that he's your friend, but he's not the boss of the game and you want a turn, you can go find another game you want to play, or you can run up to the teacher and tell on his ass (okay, I didn't say the last one like that).  No matter what you decide to do, you are already cool.

EJ paused for a moment, let out a huge burp, and smiled triumphantly, "That burp smelled! Okay mommy, now I want to go to bed."  So much for that.

A few days later, I checked in.  EJ was puzzled at first, but then seemed to recall the problem and our conversation.  "I like to play Lego master and not kung fu master now mommy, so I fine."  Maybe he did hear my advice after all. 

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of those involved.  Really, I just want EJ to still be invited to birthday parties so I can scope out mom friends.

Four More Years

No, not for that guy.

It's my son.  EJ.  He's four and it's dreamy.

 

My sister recently gave birth, and after FaceTiming with his baby cousin for the first time, my son asked what he was like when he was little...you know, because he's so old now.  Anyways, I, as a 21st century parent, whipped out my phone to document my narration with a bevy of photos.  And he, being a 21st century kid, grabbed the phone, swiped past the photos, and clicked on the videos. He really got a kick out of them, not fully connecting that he was the infant star of each short film.  For me, the videos drummed up feelings of nostalgia, but moreso, feelings of surprise.  It was the voice. My voice.  On most of the clips, it sounded disingenuous and hollow, even beyond when you know you're being filmed and inadvertently raise your voice an octave. I was acting.

I tried to place myself back in those days. Beyond the exhaustion and trepidation all new parents experience, I was also dealing with a divorce and coming to terms with the fact that "single" would precede my major titles in life. It was all a lot to deal with, but I realized that wasn't all of it. When I watched the videos again, I also acknowledged this: I didn't love when EJ was an infant.  There, I said it.  Infancy wasn't my jam.  I got through it, had some nice moments within it, but even now after it's long gone, my hindsight can't gloss over or rose-color the bad.  I will always remember that when EJ stopped looking like a boneless alien, he was super cuddly, soft, and smelled good (most of the time). But then right along with that, I feel the phantom aches in my arms, back, and wrists from all the holding, and remember how endless each day felt. 

But four is a different story.  For me, four rocks. EJ is this complete little person who makes jokes and shares deep thoughts about superheroes and the monsters that hide in his room at night.  He has a sharp sense of humor and strong opinions about colors, TV, what he wants to wear, how to build Lego ninja-super-laser-rocket-blaster-ships (are those a thing?), and when it's an appropriate time to pick his nose (anytime). The diapers are gone, but the cute neediness remains.  I love it. And now, I find myself savoring and trying to slow down time before the cretins of Kindergarten interfere with my boy's sense of self and how he fits into this world.

Through the ups, downs, and diarrhea-y, I've never wanted to get off this parental rollercoaster I'm on, and heaven-willing,  I'll ride this piece for a long, long time.  If the past four years have taught me anything, it's to keep your eyes open and be thankful for the ride, but don't be afraid to keep it real when it's nausea-inducing and scream things like, Go the F&@# to sleep!, or Guess what, today sucks!, or, My boobs are closed, you guzzling miscreant!, or Did you really not see that table you just walked into, fool!?, or Why are you acting like the spawn of Satan!? (okay, maybe whisper that last one).  

Blahg

That's how I've been feeling about writing this blog-blah, blech, meh. I've lost my purpose. I don't fit into any blogger niche-this is certainly not a lifestyle publication that helps you dress better, create beachy hair waves, or make your living room nicer, nor is it a mommy blog focused on either kevetching our helping people parent more effectively.  I'm most definitely not a guru of existential wisdom handing out profound advice. My life isn't entirely exciting or difficult either, so I don't offer you an opportunity of escapism, reflection, or comparison. What is this then, and more importantly, why is this?

I don't know, but for some reason, I can't let it go.  I still check on my readership after months of idleness and am thrilled when so much as one person stumbles upon my work.  A solid dozen found me last week.  It made me smile and guffaw out loud. That has to mean something...my gut saying yay as my head says nay. 

It's a new year. I think I'll go gut and blog on.

Overthinking usually leads to under-performing.  Fears and doubts drastically slow, if not cripple us.  If we are not talking about life or death stuff, what's so bad about shutting off our minds and just going for it?  What's really the worst that can happen if we listen to our guts? Why don't we entrust our intuition rather than our analytics with daily decisions?

Truth bomb. I am a faux, wannabe writer.  A teacher with a dusty journalism degree who wants to be heard outside of my head for either narcissistic or altruistic reasons; I'm not sure which.  I don't have a thematic, polished blog, and there's essentially no use or purpose for it. However, that doesn't mean there's no value. Some things can't be articulated or quantified.  It feels good pretending to write to the masses.  I like coming up with a clever line or quip.  I like re-living and narrating funny or poignant events from my life.  And maybe you like reading and can connect to them.  That has to be enough.  It's a new year.  Guts and glory.

Getting Off

Aaack...still sounds porny!

Being a divorced parent gives me some scheduled free time on a regular basis.  During my off time, aside from catching up on monotonous tasks, I try to venture out in the world and do stuff.  The stuff usually includes me having wine but varies in location and context.

My off days are precious and strange.  It is precious to have alone time and be able to complete mundane errands like food shopping without having to frantically offer my son snacks or crappy toys in order to prevent a tantrum.  I swore I'd never be one of those parents who gave into unruly children at the supermarket, but when you need milk, you need milk, and leaving the store mid-shop because your kid wants a $1.09 matchbox car does not get you the milk. Buy the damn car.

Off days are also times for me to move my arse in workout gear (notice I can't even really call them workouts 'cause they ain't), read, get my hair or nails did, or sigh, go to my amazing massage place for a cheap hour-long massage.  Judging by the incredibly high-end cars that are always in the parking lot, there's a very good chance I frequent a happy-ending massage establishment, but I don't ask questions.  And, best of all, my few off days allow the boyfriend and I to do some of the couple things that we missed out on at the end of our marriages to other people: romantic trips, dinners, concerts, walking around holding hands, etc.  Please don't gag...we went through the ringer to get here.

What's odd about my off days is the abrupt shutoff of my parental duties.  One day I'm mom, and the next, I'm just me.  No silly voices, pretending, morning snuggles, helping pull on little socks and dinosaur boxer briefs, or if I'm being real, whining, demanding candy at all hours of the day, accidentally pooping on the floor, and so forth.  It's a real mixed bag, the whole parenting thing.

I'm not going to lie, the first few off hours are nice.  Really nice.  Quiet.  Calm.  However, as the peace, or fun, or whatever of the day continues, a gnawing sensation of offness builds inside of me.  Because, no matter the extent of niceness of my day, my special little person is absent, busy playing his role in a whole other world of which I know very little about.   He's got an entire life outside of mommy's realm before his school years have even started.

These thoughts fly into the forefront in my mind when I'm out and spot other moms and dads with their toddlers.  I smile and nod knowingly at the various family scenarios I witness, only to then realize I look like a creepy staring lady.  "Oh no, no, noooo, I have a toddler too, that's why I'm grinning as your little boy sticks his straw up his nose!" I want to say.  But, I just quickly look away. To them, I'm a parental outsider....a fresh-looking, twenty-something (ha!) sauntering around sans a wedding ring and kid in tow.  I can't possible know what their life is like.  And I quite honestly, I don't.  I don't know what their family life is like because it's my off day and my child is at his other parent's house.

So, my off days force me to pull a Beyonce and make lemonade out of having to give my little boy up.  I realize that if I didn't have those off days, I'd be a wife, sad at home singing about my cheating husband and his proverbial Becky with the stringy hair.  And that's no way to live.  Alas, I savor the time off and allow it to recharge me and miss my little boy.  Come to think of it, I am always a little peppier, funnier, and more limber after a weekend off, and EJ certainly reaps the benefits of that.  As for ogling other families when I'm out solo, I can still stop to appreciate them, but then marvel at being able to leave a restaurant quickly and without having to negotiate my way through a peace summit about walking out the door.  Imagine that.

My next off weekend is in two weeks.  I have already planned to go for a run, finish the book I started last month, clean the bathroom, have some wine, and return something to the mall. All thrilling, I know.  Maybe if I'm feeling really crazy, I'll get a massage too. However, my happy ending will be hugging my little boy on Sunday night and instantly becoming mom again.

Three Men and a Lady

Oops, this sounds dirty.  I promise it's not-I'm simply using a play on words to describe what's happening between me, my son, boyfriend, and ex-husband. I am constantly tangled up between the three and it can get rough.  Yikes, still sounds bad.

Let me clear it up with metaphors that are less porn and more stars.

My life now revolves around three entities who orbit one another on varying axes.  My son is the sun-the day to my night and seasons to my year. My boyfriend is the moon-the ebb and flow of the tides exists because of our gravity.  I guess then my former husband is Pluto-controversially declassified as a planet and now a dwarf in the universe.

I'll start with the sun, err, my son.  EJ is a sweet, adorably adorable, sometimes annoying boy.  I definitely like him best when he's unobstructed by the clouds of toddlerhood...which is namely wanting what you want, when you want it, all of the time.  Mostly cookies and TV.  But regardless of rain or shine, he's there every day, giving me the warmth and sustenance I need to survive. He is the center of it all.

My sweet, sweet boyfriend is a lovely, constant, consistent, bright spot in my life, and I go to sleep each night knowing that I am loved and cared for.  Plus, he sparkles even more in the dark....when we don't have our children....and there is wine.  Plus, I appreciate his full moon.  Sorry...had to do it.

My ex-husband, once again newly divorced, is a strange, alien creature whom I will never (and never care to) fully understand.  Despite being downgraded in my celestial world, he will forever exist in it as EJ's dad. Luckily, it's been easy to find peace with him for the betterment of our son because as Star Wars has taught us, intergalactic wars are loud, riddled with casualties, and expensive.

So, my life is on a constant rotation with these three beings.  Parenting EJ, co-parenting with the ex, and introductory step-parenting with the beau. EJ and I FaceTime with his dad while my boyfriend and his son are in the other room. I sometimes send the wrong texts during dueling conversations-smooch emojiis to the ex and detailed poop updates to the boyfriend.  I listen to EJ identify the members of the Leptraceratops family in his favorite dinosaur book as himself, mommy, daddy, my boyfriend, my boyfriend's son, and his two half-sisters from his father's second marriage.  This ain't no Brady Bunch, folks.  It's a whole other world, but I guess it's working out just fine.  Come to think of it, the stars do look prettier when spread out chaotically and not perfectly aligned.

Free

EJ turned free in August.  Oh geez, I mean three...there I go again, speaking toddler.

He walks around saying "I'm free!....or me free....or I FaREE."  Whatever way you say it, the boy's free and proud of it.

That got me thinking about being free.  EJ really is free at three--free of burdens, free of deep sadness, free of stress, free of pressures, and free of all the small weights, constraints, tragedies, and hardships that growing up and the modern world inevitably place on you. I've heard that all changes when you turn four, but at least the poor guy still has some free time left.  I certainly hope he cherishes every minute of his oblivion.

I Know What You Did Last Summer

...probably more than me (no, I don't think you and Jennifer Love Hewitt ran someone over and fled the scene).

In fact, I don't have any stand-out memories from last summer, and that's a damn shame.  As a teacher, I've made peace with the fact I will never be a millionaire, but I will have summers off, and I'm okay with that trade-off. And, if any of you even thinks or murmurs that teachers have it so easy and blah, blah, blah....check yo' self immediately, and I promise I won't make erroneous sweeping generalizations about your job or life either.

Okay, we're friends again.

Back to business.  Thankfully, fortunately, and amazingly enough, this has been a wonderful summer, and I can't remember the last time I've said that in the recent past. And, get this: I've had a great summer as a lady person AND as a mom.  Thanks to day camp, my ex-husband's weekends with our son, and my lovely mother, I was able to separate these two roles several times in July and August, and let me tell you, going on trips and to the beach without lugging a ton of CRAP, being able to SIT, READ, and SIP COCKTAILS (rather than chug them in between trying to stream Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at restaurants with crappy wireless connections) is just divine.

On the other hand, I also have many fantastic mom memories from these past two months.  EJ just turned three and is now a big little boy.  He is hilarious, snuggly, and fun, and we've had many special summer moments, ones that I was smart enough to stop and savor because I know the mommy-is-my-world phase doesn't last forever.

Here is a rundown of what I will remember that I did next summer:

Lady person memories:
Trips and dates with the beau: Nothing super exotic--Mexico, a hipster concert at Yale, NYC, and the Jersey Shore a few times (I swear it's nice, non-New Jerseyians!)--but they were fantastic just the same. Sunny days, lovely bed and breakfast establishments that weren't dripping in doilies, the beach, bike rides, walks, good food, cocktails, lounging around...I truly had a break from the minutia of my daily life and had me some fun.  I even wore crop tops a few times and threw up in a parking lot just to keep the misguided youth part of me alive.

Girlfriend time: I had some nice jurl time here and there with lots of laughs and good conversation, be it sipping prosecco or mom power-walking through town with big sunglasses and arms at a ninety-degree angle.  One of my favorite jurl nights was in Atlantic City at the Borgata and ended with me cleaning up at the $5 blackjack table.  Winning that $70 was some pretty exciting gambling.

Alone time: I took hikes (I'm using that term loosely, think graveled paths through the woods at a zero elevation), enjoyed some silence, read books, blogs, and magazines (does Pinterest count too?), and I went through and then threw out, donated, and sold a lot of my stuff (thank you, The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up!).  For what it's worth, these simple little things that I did by and for myself made me feel lighter and happier.

Mom memories:
Amusement parks: As a parent in the summer, you know it's all about the theme parks, which are crazy expensive, oppressively hot, and awesome venues for some unique people watching (or rather, watching unique people).  EJ and I were lucky to enough to visit Hershey Park and Disneyland and had a fantastic time at both.  My favorite moment was snapping selfies on the race car ride as EJ steered and I had the pedal to the medal, hitting an extreme 7 mph.  Good stuff.   I'm also not too proud to admit that I almost yacked after the teacup ride. Is it me, or have those things gotten A LOT faster?

LA la la la la: We took a trip to visit my sister and brother-in-law in California for a few days.  They live in Hollywood, and man, is that a chance for some extreme people watching (or rather, watching extreme people). Luckily,  EJ was back to his old magic on the airplane, sitting quietly and sleeping, so the traveling part was super smooth.  He also slept great, was well-behaved and fun, and gleefully soaked up the adoration from his aunt and uncle.  Sure, he only ate shelled peanuts for dinner every night, but protein is good, right?

Pool and lake days: I live at the top of New Jersey, so unlike where I grew up on Long Island, the beaches are a bit of a trek. Therefore, it's all about the pools and lakes up here.  EJ loved the water this summer and I made him wear ridiculous hats and swimming apparatus that he will mock me for later on in life. And lord help me, the one day I did take him to the beach....an hour-plus drive each way...he cried in horror every time a wave crashed or a lifeguard blew a whistle.  Eesh.  That was our one and only mother/son 2015 beach trip.

I think I've used six or seven variations of the word fantastic throughout this post, so I'm going to end now before I throw up in my mouth. I sound obnoxious. OF COURSE I had some sad or ho-hum days and things that I didn't do this summer. I guess I'm so mushy and gushy because three years ago at this time, I had a one-week old, a husband who lived three thousand miles away with his pregnant girlfriend (still feels weird/trashy to even type!), and an intense fear that my smiles would never be genuine again or that things were never going to get better.  I'm thankful that they have and that I'm learning to enjoy and cherish the small stuff in life.  I hope you made some fantastic memories this summer too.