Boobileaks

Tonight was the school play. I had some trepidation going into the day, as last year it was a total debacle. A recap:

After a week of his teachers telling me to play down the event because he seemed anxious about it, Gus fell asleep in the car on the way to the school that evening. I let him sleep for a bit, and when he woke up his pants were wet. We changed them, and were, at this point, late, when he immediately wet them again. It was, at this point, in my sleep-deprived, exhausted state (Jack was just 7 or 8 months old), that I spiked my keys on the ground and started to cry. We did not make it to the school play last year. 

Fast forward to this year:

His teachers took a slightly different approach, asking me to first play up his role as a dragon, then, when he rejected that part, a wizard. Apparently he had told them, and me, and anyone who would listen, that he was not interested in being a dragon or a wizard, so he was going to start his OWN school, and his OWN play, which would be about the Incredible Hulk, and which would star him. (And his best friend Gigi as the She-Hulk). So while he was practicing his exercises he had learned in drama class (if you’ve ever been stuck in traffic while your four-year-old incessantly repeats “Unique, New York” in the back seat, a fist bump to you, my sister), I convinced him that the wizard role was cool because it was a bad guy, with which he is obsessed these days.

I tried to figure out the best plan of action for getting him to the school that evening. I had planned to feed the boys early, take them to the gym and drop them in childcare for bit, and sneak in a quick workout and a shower, OH A SHOWER before driving over with plenty of time built in for traffic, etc. We would be meeting B there, as he’s coming from work on his motorcycle. However, I found out as we arrived that the gym’s childcare was closing at 5 for carpet cleaning, which eliminated time for a workout (I did grab a quick shower instead) and meant that we had to go home and kill a little bit of time before our drive over to school. I brought snacks, including raisins, which we almost never allow Gus to have because he is so sugar-sensitive and they are like crack to him. 

Yes, we have become THOSE parents. You would be too, if you had one of THOSE KIDS. That is another post for another day.

Anyway, I figured the raisins were a more benign than candy, yet still effective way to keep him awake in the car if he seemed dozy. He had a decent amount of energy in the car, but we hit a patch of traffic just as it got dark, so I started tossing raisins back at him. I only gave him a few before he perked up. Then we got to school, and he seemed pumped. Ran downstairs, said hi to his friends, the music teacher, etc. 

Then the place started filling up with people. 

“Where’s my dad?” he said, as he stood in front of the room and watched people file in. 

“Oh, he’s on his way!” I assured him. “He’ll be here any minute. Let’s find a seat to save him, and then you can go sit up front with your friends and get ready for the play.”

Well, once we had the seats, there was no way he was leaving until his dad arrived. He kept asking me over and over where he was, and I kept saying “Any minute now!” I got a text from B that he was grabbing a slice and would be arriving closer to 7. I texted back that he needed to get over there ASAP, because his son was freaking out. Gus was refusing to participate until dad was there. Yikes!

About 2 minutes to showtime, after letting him eat the rest of the raisins, I convinced him to go sit down front with his friends and teachers. I thought all was cool and congratulated myself, but then I could see him up there clutching his face, starting to go down a rabbit hole of despair. I started to feel a bit panicky, as it would be kind of hard for me to make my way up front with Jack in tow and extract him, but I was monitoring him closely for an impending meltdown. So as soon as B came in, I hissed, “Get up there and let him know you’re here…he’s losing his shit.”

Once Gus saw his dad his whole demeanor changed. His face lit up. He became aware that he was surrounded by friends and beloved teachers, and that they were there to have fun. He sat up front during the first play (the youngest kids), and then bounded to the backstage area enthusiastically to get ready for his turn.

In an adorable wizard’s costume, he came out for his part, cast the evil spell, did his evil cackle (as his teacher prompted him, while leaving the stage), then retreated back to the edge of the stage with the rest of the kids. Then he came out at the end to sing the song. He mostly just pretended to eat his fake ice cream cone. I saw a yawn and not a whole lot of singing, but figured, hey, it’s past his bedtime. 

He came to find us after that, and we gave him hugs and told his how scary he was as the evil wizard. Then he was supposed to go sit with his classmates again for more singing and to watch the third and final play, but he refused. He said he wanted to go right then, but I reminded him that there were cookies to eat afterwards and another play to watch. That kept him sitting for a few more minutes, but soon he was again requesting that we leave, in a whiny voice, while parents all around us were trying to watch their kids. I again invoked the cookies, and all was quiet.

Well, he passed out on my lap during the play and then peed all over me. And stayed asleep through it all. (are we seeing a theme, with performance anxiety, fight or flight response resulting in stressing out, then falling asleep, then peeing his pants?) But, at least we made it to the play and he performed this year. And he left it all out on the stage, apparently. That’s how a true playa do! 

Every day, these kids amaze me. Jack, with his extreme sunniness, drunken-sailor gait, and wobbly knees, and Gus with his imagination and verbal horseplay and leaps of logic. 

I already told these stories on Facebook, but they bear repeating. 

So, we were driving into San Francisco for a birthday party yesterday, and I pointed out a billboard for the Muppet Movie and asked Gus if he’d like to go (it will be his first in a theater). He said yes, but didn’t sound terribly enthused. About a half second later, I saw a billboard ad that was simply a closeup of some woman’s cleavage, glistening, and said something about “OVERSIZED” and appeared to be an ad for wristwatches. I harumphed to myself about objectification of women and breaking them down into faceless body parts, just as Gus noticed the sign and shouted “MOM! I want to go see THAT MOVIE!”  Of course, this opened up a whole can of worms for me for the rest of the drive: Would I be as annoyed if a female child had said this? Was I more annoyed at his reaction to the soft-porn advert, the advert itself, or his lukewarm attitude towards the MUPPETS?

He has never been an Elmo fan, thank goodness, but maybe he would have made an exception for the whole Katy Perry debacle…

Then, today on the way to school, he broke a silence by shouting “LEOPARD SWEATSHIRT!” as we drove past a homeless person wearing one. I came to pick him up at school and found that he had decorated the sleeves of his sweatshirt with leopard-print duck tape…I inquired about it and his teacher said he had just brought it in randomly after finding it at home and Gus gravitated straight to it. I had to laugh to myself over his sartorial emulation of some of Berkeley’s more down-and-out residents.

More hilarity to follow later this week, I’m sure.

…so I’m looking at this picture of Marcello to cheer myself up. Hope it cheers you up, too.

Yes, I do believe I can get down with le cross stitch…

image courtesy of Bombastitch

Besides self-indulgent blogging, that is. I’ve never been a very crafty person, but now that I live in a fixer-upper, I need to cultivate more of a DIY sensibility. I am tempted by gardening, but worry that my time constraints with two little guys (who also love to rip sprouting things up by their roots) would mean I’d be missing the best days to plant, leaving projects half-finished. Which isn’t good when you’re talking about already-sinking equity. And I’ve noticed, while lustfully wandering the aisles of native perennials at our local gem of a nursery, that all of the other ladies leisurely strolling the aisles look like retirees. Makes sense.

Sewing or needlework seems like the best solution, since if I don’t finish something, or if I get interrupted, it wouldn’t be of any great consequence. So then, the sillier and less practical the project, the better. No sweaters that kids can outgrow before I finish them…no socks as Christmas gifts that I’ll only get half-completed. I think we’re honing in on cross-stitching.

There are a million things to do around this home sweet shitbox at any given moment, like replacing doorknobs, patching over holes in doors, installing baseboards, etc., but I think I need to do something during my downtime that has no pressure attached. Taking a tiny needle and thread to painstakingly, sloooooooowly make a picture come to life might be the zen activity I need to break me of my Dlisted habit. Maybe a nice Charley Harper tableau, for starters, then sew it onto a throw pillow. Yeah, now we’re talking.

Image courtesy of Modernfolk

Lately, certain things in the news (certain GOP Presidential candidates with the initials H.C., for example) have been rekindling my feminist fire. It’s bringing up a lot of memories. 

Back in college, I was used to being harassed a bit when I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, that much is true. But then I was sexually harassed at my first two desk jobs out of college. The first incident resulted in me quitting, the second resulted in the man quitting. After that, I was relieved to move to San Francisco, where my first couple of bosses were gay men.

I think that raising feminists means something very different from banning princess stuff and the color pink. I’m still figuring out exactly what it means for me, but it’s very important to me that my sons understand that their SAHM mom is actually somewhat of a rarity, that most women work, and that so did I (and will again some day). I work to keep language pretty gender-neutral, and I encourage them to be interested in activities ranging from sewing (hello, future Zac Posen!) to football.

Then, I had a moment of contemplation over my workout music. A mash-up extravaganza, including Lil’ Jon, Wacka Flacka Flame, Lil’ Wayne, and more. Songs that if I caught my sons listening to, we’d be having a serious talk about the content of the lyrics and the disrespectful words used to describe women and their bodies. And it reminded me of this NSFW clip.

Of course, this doesn’t mean I’ll be swapping it out for Ani diFranco anytime soon. This music isn’t played in our car, it’s only on my headphones, for my ears only. But still, what does it say about me, that I’m able to say, “He ain’t talking ‘bout me?”

p.s. Today, the huge old dude with the crew cut who is ALWAYS hanging out at the gym, took his friendly morning greeting to a level that just made me feel like that 22 all over again: “If you get any prettier, you’re going to get into trouble.” Ugh. Just, ugh. So glad my boys weren’t with me to hear that. What do you say, “What kind of trouble?” in a challenging voice? He’s a retiree who hangs out at a gym all day. What do I care? Just that my sons don’t see me being treated that way by men, that’s all.

Well, this may seem like it’s turning into a blog about vomit, but it’s really not. I just wanted to share my thoughts on Halloween candy…YUCK!

We have had our eldest on a no sugar diet for a few weeks now. This includes artifical colors /flavors. We haven’t gone 100% Feingold Diet (there are still hot dogs now and then, and cake at a birthday party). We did it for behavioral reasons, and have noticed some good results. 

So we had planned to limit the candy intake. We allowed a mini box of Nerds after dinner, while he was handing out candy. (This was his favorite part of the night, by the way. He was standing at the window, jumping up and down, shouting, “Hey! Do you want some candy!?” and I thought he would explode every time there was a knock on the door. He would grab the candy bucket from me and say, “OK! Now, hold out your bags…” I don’t even think he noticed their costumes.)

Then we went out trick or treating and hit a dozen houses or so. That was all that was needed, he had his fill of fun, and wanted to get home and hand out more candy. So we let him have a tiny lollipop while that was happening. We dumped most of his candy back into our giveaway bowl, to make it last longer. After an hour of that and the end of our candy supply, he pretty much passed out. So we put him to bed and a few minutes later heard the sounds of him upchucking all over his bed. First time ever for the poor kid, and he was so confused.  

So, in short, the few remaining pieces went right into the trash, and we are back to where we were before the event. No matter to him, he’s already forgotten all about the candy (I reminded him the day after, when he asked about it, how it made him throw up, and he never asked again).  

I wish there were fewer sweet treats at school for the kids’ birthdays. It’s not an everyday thing, but with 40 kids enrolled, that means there are plenty of days during the year where I pick up a kid who is in the throes of either a full-fledged sugar high or crash. I know he’s one of the minority of unlucky, sugar-sensitive kids, but it’s something we are careful about, so I hope his teachers and grandparents, and other caregivers will be as well. And it’s something to stay aware of as he gets older, as kids with sugar sensitivities are more prone to depression, obesity, diabetes, alcoholism, and other addiction problems.