How'd I manage that?

In the sibling repertoire, somewhere along the line, someone uses the following arguments:

"Mom likes me best." 

"I was perfect, so they decided to have another kid, and they got you, so they stopped." 

"You were first, so they tried again, I was perfect, so they stopped." 

"You look like the mailman."

"Someone left you on our doorstep." 

I used to tell my little brother that he was adopted.  I almost had him convinced, too, then Mom overheard me and spoiled my fun.

"You were dropped on your head." 

"Mom almost drove off without you."

I wonder how long it'll take before the boys use that last one on Audrey.

Yesterday afternoon, I was shooing them all into the van.  I came inside to get something, and lock the back door.  I was a little frazzled, because we were running late (like that never happens). 

And I snapped when I spied a pair of socks, that I knew were recently removed from sweaty feet, on the dinner table.  What, am I raising savages?  I look around, socks on the couch, I go to turn out the light left on in Ryan's room, shoes all over the floor...so by the time I get into the van, I'm off.  Ranting about how just because their father isn't here to get on them about this doesn't mean I'm the maid; that if I trip over Nolan's giant clarinet case one more time, he's gonna be walking home with it;  backpacks <screech, screech>; that if I find anymore socks in the living room, I'm putting them under their pillows....wait.

Why is it so quiet?  Hmm, maybe she nodded off already (no nap yet).  I'm backing out, slowly, like I always do, and reaching up to tilt the rearview mirror down to check on her, still ranting.  I pause, because, it's so quiet, and simultaneously hear Ben say "Hey look!  There's Audrey!" 

What?  What do you mean, there's Audrey, she's right behind me in her carseat, <flash of Snow White yellow in my peripheral vision> oh, look, there's Audrey. 

Sitting on a large rock, under the Palo Verde tree by the side of the driveway, chatting up the little neighbor boy, waving at us.  (I was almost all the way backed out of the driveway when the kids spotted her.  The rock is behind my car, and so the car blocked the view until I was almost out onto the street.)

Nothing can take the wind out of a good rant like getting called on your Mom-capabilities like that.  I could see Nolan cataloguing the moment in his brain, for future reference. 

I was speechless.  Mortified.  And doubling over with laughter.

I got out, took her hand, thanked my little neighbor, and buckled her in her carseat.  I resisted the urge to duct tape her in place, and away we went, all of us laughing.

It was only a little further down the road, that my overactive imagination kicked in, and the blood drained from my face as I realized how lucky I was.   That she didn't panic that I was leaving, and come running up to the van, getting run over.  OY!  That I didn't drive away, only to discover her missing upon my arrival.  Double OY! 

Just thinking about it gave me a stomachache.

Then I thought, how is it, with three other kids in the van, NO one noticed she was missing?  Not one of them thought to say "Hey, Mom, don't forget Audrey?"  They all claim they didn't notice.  Ben even went so far as to say: "You were yelling at us, Mom, I was paying attention to you." 

Yeah, bud, and when you buckled your own seatbelt, you failed to notice the seat next to yours was empty???

Ultimately, I am the Mom, and I didn't check her seat.  I just figured she'd climbed in, as she's been doing so much recently, buckling herself in; and since her brothers were all there ready to go, I assumed she was there, too.

You know, humble pie chokes you on the way down and tastes like crap.

(It's a good thing Jane brought me that margarita later to wash it down with.)

One...

...more day.

Oh, I was fine, just fine, damn it.  Then I called him yesterday, after dropping off Audrey at preschool, and that wasn't a good idea.  Sigh.

I hesitated to call, because I wasn't sure if it was his lunchtime or not, but then a block of his favorite music came on the radio, and there's nothing like the wailing of Steve Perry to remind me of Mr W.

Crap, am I ever weak.  Pathetic! 

So I called, and luckily, it was lunchtime.

We chatted, I let him know how well she did (she didn't even notice me leave, ungrateful brat) and it became apparent to me by the sound of his voice he misses me, too.

Okay.  <eyeroll> 

This doesn't mean I didn't sass him last night when he called the kids.  I do have an image to uphold, you see.

On another note, the getting-them-up-for-school thing is not going well.  Lots of drama, "five more minutes" and "can I stay home todays" every morning.  Nolan even went so far as to pull the "I just want to spend time with you" speech.  Yah, that works.  I patted him on the butt and said, "Oh, that's sweet, honey, but you're going anyway."  Smack! 

Besides, I've dangled the "maybe I'll not send you on Friday, when your Dad will be back" carrot in front of them.

Dangled, not promised.

I'm nothing if not a good motivator.

Which is why I'm sitting here, and not out running errands, one of which includes my attempt to figure out why my van made such a funny noise this morning.  A noise so bizarre that as Ryan exited the vehicle, he made a face at me/the van and ran away. 

Just add "mechanic" to my list of talents.  :p

It fits nicely right next to my list of emergency phone numbers.

I've been waiting for this day

Today's the big day.

Audrey starts preschool.  From noon til 2, T/Th.

So cute that Mr W was disappointed when I reminded him it would happen while he was away.  "You're gonna be pining for her, upset that you are all alone."

"No, I'm not,"  I said firmly. 

"Yes, you will."

I wanted to retort "you have no idea" but really, he does.  He knows it's a bittersweet pill I take the day this all begins. 

The day I signed her up, I thought to myself, she's ready, as I smugly signed my check.

She can do all kinds of things her brothers couldn't at this age.   She's social.  She likes to learn new things.  She wants to "go to preschool like a big girl."

So why does she look so small to me today?

Yeah, I talked the big talk to Mr W, about all the trouble I'd get into without small fry in tow. 

Where to go, what to do today?  Hmmmm.

I think I will be in the library, close by if she needs me, trying to not sob quietly in the stacks.

Then again, I may lay down a trail of rubber in the parking lot as I speed away.

I guess I'll take my cue from her. 

Something tells me she will trot off, "bye Mom" like Ryan did.  Actually his words were "why aren't you leaving?"

I'm not leaving because just yesterday, the stick turned pink.  I'm not leaving because you still reach for me in the night.  I'm not leaving because that little kid in the corner has an evil glint in his eye and he's looking at you.  I'm not leaving because I'm not sure that I'm ready.  I'm not leaving because you are my baby.  These are the thoughts that flash across my heart, along with a million others.

But I said to him: "Okay, sweetie," as I turned to leave.  And he was just fine.

I'll have to keep that in mind when I drop her off today.  I know stifling my over-Momness will be the best thing.

Even if it's not the easiest one.

I'm one of....THEM

Earlier today, I called my best friend, Jenny. 

My friend, who just ran some crazy, altitude-challenged race in Colorado.  She just completed the Imogene Pass Run, a fun-filled, 17.1 miles from Ouray to Telluride, with the altitude starting at 7810 ft, peaking out at 13,120 ft and ending at 8820 ft. on a charming 4x4 type trail. 

Yeah.

I told her I'd take up smoking if I wanted to challenge my breathing capacity that way.

I'm proud of her (really), though, considering that when we were kids, this is the girl who couldn't dribble a ball and run at the same time without causing one of us bodily harm.  And considering that she's in better shape than all of the people who ever teased her about that, she is certainly capable of having the last laugh--well, after that race, I think it was probably a gasp.  It doesn't matter, her fitness voodoo is better than my fitness voodoo at any rate. 

But I could always pull that childbirth-is-hell card, if need be. 

And she could remind me that she biked across Iowa in July.

Somehow, I don't think pregnancy-is-hell can top that.

I digress.

I called her, and I said:  "Remember, when we used to work in urgent care, and we'd look down our noses at the Moms going into Peds with the little kids dressed in whatever hodgepodge of a costume they could piece together?  That "who's the parent" snootiness as we'd chuckle at them?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, start laughing now."

"What is she wearing?"

"I am going to  PetsMart..........with Snow White."

Oh, she got a good hearty one out of that.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I let the girl out of the house in full-on Snow White regalia.  (I've reflected on this, and have come to peace with it, afterall, Snow White is a nice change from Power Rangers and Batman.)

Yesterday, my Dad bought her a set at Costco, that had shoes, a tiara, a little purse, and a scepter, all adorned with pictures of Snow White, in SW's colors, of course. 

We already possessed a Snow White top and skirt that her cousin had bequeathed her in a bag of costume/dress-up play outfits.  She put on the outfit, and accessorized.  It should be a proud moment for me.

It is, but it just makes me cringe inwardly at my former narrow mindset.  I mean, once they reach a certain age, and sometimes before that, when they are willful toddlers, kids wear what they want.  They don't care if it's screaming-mimi orange and pink striped top with a chartreuse bottom.  They don't care what you may have pulled out for them a cute, clean outfit, if their favorite shirt is only a little wrinkled and their pants fit.  There I was, pre-kid, blaming the Mom for not putting her foot down, and not appreciating that she really didn't have a choice.  Get Jr to his appt on time, or fight about his choice of footwear, hmmm?  The joke's on me.

I have found that somewhere in between giggling at other parents and picking my battles, I've gone over to the other side...I'm one of them.  <gasp, shriek>  The people who let their kids out in mismatched shoes, or clothes, with "oh, that'll do" hair and a few stains on their shirt.  I even will admit (and this one is so, so painful) that I will, I have, cleaned the mark off their face in the time-honored Mom fashion--lick the thumb, wipe off the face.

I swore I'd never do that.  The first time I did it, I recoiled in horror...and stocked my car, my purse, my pockets with wipes, vowing to never,ever, do it again.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't do it just this afternoon and two or three times this past weekend. 

Why, do you ask?  Because even if the outfit is horrid, if their face is clean, I can deal with it.

Usually, the kids are totally presentable.  It's those times when one sneaks by me, that we're all in the van, ready to go, now, and out trots one of the boys in a testament to kid-dom. 

Red on mismatched red.  Torn butt.  Torn knee, almost all the way around the leg.  A white shirt so worn it is now...gray.  (Ben once wore a pair of shoes, that I hated, that were so sketchy you could've punched out the sides and made sandals out of them.)  I always notice when it's too late.  You know, like when we are already at our destination, miles away from "go inside and change."

Yup, those times, when I just have to shake my head and soldier on, and hope people notice their manners and not the fact that Ryan is accidentally wearing Ben's shirt (hanging off his shoulder); Ben has on Nolan's shorts (um, did the fact that two of you could fit in there not clue you in, bud?); that Nolan has on something he should have handed down months ago, but refuses to give up; that my sweet little miss was not aiming for "tart" when she dressed herself that morning.

The reminders to me that I need to go through their drawers, and reassign things.

Snow White and I made it to the school after PetsMart, where she was a hit with all the people who saw her.  She was awfully cute, and I figure, if you can't get away with something like that when you are three, then when can you?

I'm just glad she didn't ask me to match.

Although, I'm kinda looking twice at that tiara....

Because sometimes, I'm the two year old

Mr W called me from work a couple of months ago.  "We are being sent to a class in September.  Out of state, so I'll be gone for a few days."

"Okay."  Rah-rah, you go honey!  I'll be fiiine!  Holding down the fort!  Super!!!  I can do it!

He left yesterday.

No kid breakdowns yet.

But I had one.

I called him yesterday afternoon, just to see how things were going.  "Where are you?"

"Oh, we just crossed the Golden Gate Bridge."

Let me just say that San Francisco is one of my favorite places.  Love it.  I've only been there once, and I had such a good time, that I think about going there again, all the time.  I've suggested it, too, only to be met with resistance.  So to say I was irritated is an understatement.  Sure, it's juvenile, he's actually in San Jose for work, and I knew they were getting in early and certainly didn't expect him to sit in his hotel room and pine away for me, but did he have to go there?  I mean, really, while I'm here playing Mommy, he's in Ghirardelli Square, eating my chocolate?  He doesn't even really like chocolate!   Hmmphf.  (a fictitious example...if he'd said they were headed there, well, I think that would justify a spa week)

"Don't come back.  Seriously, I'm not talking to you.  You suck.  Must go.  Have to go make and feed all your kids dinner."

I was at my folks' house, and my father did not understand my irritation.  As I ranted blah, blah, "I never get to go anywhere," blah, blah "he never has to worry about anything, because I'm always here" blah, blah "he gets to do (tick off on fingers, you name it, I said it)" blah, blah "it's so totally not fair" blah, blah....he cuts me off.  And begins to say that Fisherman's Wharf,Fisherman's Wharf, for the love of God, is overrated, I cut him off:  "It is not. I've been there.  You are missing my point."  "Well, why don't you book yourself a trip somewhere, and leave him with the kids,"  <SNORT loudly from me> "Oh, so you want to go with him alone..." <more obnoxious noise from me>  I could feel my head about to spin so I just huffed and grabbed the keys.  "You said you wanted to go to the store.  Let's go."

I know I'm being unreasonable.  This is work, and he didn't choose the locale.  But wow, it grates me so; and who says I always have to be super! great! go ahead!  all the time?  I hope his class is mind-numbingly, yawn-a-minute, boring.

When he called me, later last night, I did talk to him.  I can't not talk to him, that's just an empty threat, he knows it, I know it.  He told me he was telling M, his coworker that is with him for this jaunt, that I was mad, and M didn't believe him.    "It wasn't my idea," Mr W adds, "but we had all this time to kill, and M suggested it..." "Tell M I think he sucks too," I responded. "And you need to stop trying those excuses right now.  It's no good, buddy.  Forget the iPod, and the puppy, you are back to square one."  He's laughing at me now, so I'm trying not to laugh, too. 

"So is your hotel right across the street from the place where you're training, like the description said?"  "Yeah, and it's nice, but not that nice."  "Are you making your bed?  Are you cleaning up after yourself and washing dishes?  No.  So I don't want to hear, "it's nice, but not that nice."  Dude, the last time I was alone someplace, with someone else changing my bed and bringing me dinner, I was in the hospital recovering from surgery.  You have clean towels, a made bed, and aren't having to do anything but order for dinner, so it's nice enough."

I'm sure I'll be missing him badly, and gushy by Wednesday night.  Maybe.

All I know is on Thursday evening, when we pick him up, there better be a present somewhere for me.

And I'm not talking about the "hon, come over here" kind.