When my daughter was born, the nurse in the hospital nursery told me she had a boy and then a girl, same as me, and then she had “a bonus.” That always stuck with me, it was such a great way to think about number three. Then when I was pregnant with the little guy, people would ask if I knew what I was having or if I would find out – I told them the story, and that I too, was having “a bonus.”
After the little guy came along, I was volunteering at the bigs’ school one day and had the baby in the Baby Bjorn. Another mother, whom I’d just met, told me she had 3 kids too, with the same age span I had. She said they called number 3 “the straw.” I was perplexed and asked why – the answer was because he was the one that broke the camel’s back! I couldn’t imagine it at the time – but gradually I began to understand it.
Every day that third one is the bonus, but sometimes he can also be the straw!
My 13 year old son became a father today. A father to a 5 pound bag of sugar! As a project for his health class, he has to care for this sugar baby for 48 hours and record his feelings about it. Guess how he’s feeling? Pissed off! Know why? Because he can’t leave the sugar baby unattended, and I won’t babysit.
Initially, he thought this project would be “cool” – he’d borrow the old Baby Bjorn and carry his sugar all around. Until I said that he couldn’t use my Baby Bjorn. And the baby back pack? Nope, not that either. And I told him I wouldn’t be babysitting. Know why? Because it would SUCK to have a baby in high school. This project isn’t supposed to be “fun” or “cool” it’s supposed to scare the youknowwhat out of these kids, and I’m sure as heck going to make sure my kid is scared.
Don’t get me wrong, if he ever did find himself in such a situation I would be supportive. But, in the meantime, I’m going to make this as difficult as possible!
I hope this lesson sticks with him, not just through high school, but until he is fully ready to become a parent. When we went to the market to buy his sugar baby, as we stood in line to pay he told me his stomach hurt already. I asked if it was from holding the 5lbs of sugar. “No”, he replied, “from worrying about it.”
I think he’s already learning.
My oldest turns 13 this weekend. He’s my first, the one who made me a mommy. Thirteen! I just can’t believe it. It makes me so emotional. We are so blessed to have him. He had a rocky start in this world, but now he’s strong, healthy and turning 13!
He’s my guy, my pal. I love to be with him. And, he’s a great kid. He works hard in school, is good to his brother and sister and totally idolizes his dad. Sure, he’s starting to have that moody teenager way about him, and he grumbles about doing anything that’s not of interest to him, but he’s still mine.
There’s just something about your first, don’t you think? Maybe because they are the ones who made us mommies. Maybe because they’re the first to go through everything. Or that we go through everything with them first! Whatever it is, my guy is pretty special. And now, he’s going to be a teenager! Yikes!
Last night as I sat at my computer in the dining room, I heard a “snap!”, then kind of a clang and then silence. It was coming from the kitchen, and no one was in there. I knew right away what it was. Then I heard the clanging noise again. A frantic clanging noise. I was frozen in my chair. Couldn’t move. My son was watching the game in the other room. I called out to him and told him to call his dad at work. He had to come home. My son knew immediately. It was an emergency… It was a mouse! A mouse in the house!
I have a fear of mice. Of all rodents, really. And I live in a house built in the late 1800’s. Not a good mix. The day we closed on this house, my husband and I camped out on sleeping bags in the dining room. The next day when we were ripping the walls down in the dining room, baby mice came scurrying out from the baseboard! Here’s where the phobia comes in. The truth, the reality, is that some baby mice scurried out. In my brain though, the memory goes more like this: HUNDREDS OF MICE CAME FLOODING FROM THE WALLS INVADING THE ROOM!
I’m not sure how I became so afraid, so unrealistic about them. I remember seeing a couple as a child, and being frightened both times, but not frozen-in-place frightened. Not call-my-husband-home-from-work frightened. I once called my husband, while “trapped” on the kitchen island, and asked him to come home from CALIFORNIA because there was a mouse in the laundry room! I’ve left the house if I’ve seen one, to return only once my husband deemed it “all clear.”
Then, when my little guy was a baby, I hit the breaking point. The point at which we had to call in the professionals. It came down to them or me. I had the baby in high chair that clamped onto the kitchen island. He was having a small snack before bed and I went into the dining room to check some emails. I could see him, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw something fall from the cupboard above him, onto the table. It didn’t make a sound. But I figured it was something I didn’t want the baby to get. As I entered the kitchen, it fell again, to the floor. I bent down to get it and discovered it was a baby mouse! It was barely alive. And tiny. Yet it scared the living daylights out of me. I quickly unbuckled the baby and called my husband to come home. He was at a meeting, forty minutes away and couldn’t come. And I couldn’t leave. The bigs were asleep in their beds. So I called a friend’s husband. He came and took the baby mouse outside. After my husband came home I disinfected the area and he searched for more. He gave me the “all clear.”
The next day, the same freakin’ thing happened. This time it was during the day and my husband was at work, alone, and could not leave. And my friend’s husband was at work too. What could I do? The baby was a crawler. He was going to go after it. He might touch it! The dog was a puppy and she was going to go after it. She might throw it around and play with it!
I had to be strong. I had to be brave. I donned my dishwashing gloves, grabbed the fireplace tools and the cordless phone. My husband talked me through the whole thing. I was shaking from head to toe. I scooped the half-dead baby mouse onto the fireplace shovel and carried it, as far away from my body as possible, without looking at it, outside, across the entire back yard and dropped it over the fence. Then I cried and called my mother! I was a shaking, nervous-breakdown-about-to-happen, wreck. My mother came. My friend came with some “pills” to make me feel better. I met her at the door and told her “They are falling from the SKY!” She looked at me with pity and said she knew it seemed that way. It didn’t seem that way! They were! They were falling from the sky! Next to my baby!
Obviously, I was close to losing it. Totally losing it. So, my husband called an exterminator friend who came that day. And I met him for the first time a little doped up. I think my mother did all the talking while I mumbled about mice falling from the sky.
Since then, we’ve had a pretty good mouse eradication plan in action. Some still get in the basement, but the traps get them and I never see them. Since the mice falling from the sky incident, we’ve had a trap on top of that cupboard, just in case. Well, last night, that’s what I heard. I obviously have some PTSD from the mouse falling from the sky incident and that’s why I couldn’t move. Luckily, my almost 13 year old is a kind, brave guy. He climbed on top of the kitchen island to check the trap. Yup it was a mouse. And he was “pretty sure” it was dead. Pretty sure isn’t good enough. So I sat right here at my computer and waited for my husband to get home. I needed him to get rid of it and give me the all clear. I needed a drink too. But, I didn’t want him to stop at the packy and delay the all clear. So I just waited.
He came home, cleaned it up, reset it and gave me the all clear. Then I searched the liquor cabinet for something, anything, to calm my nerves. I had the fixings for a gin & tonic. So I made myself one. One strong G&T and headed upstairs while my guys watched the game. As I headed up my son told me I handled the mouse attack really well. I smiled – I love that kid. Then my husband said, “Attack? Nah, it’s more like an invasion!” Then I remembered, there really is no such thing as one mouse…
(no mice were harmed in the making of this video…I don’t think.)
Every morning I drive my oldest to school. Every morning we chat the whole way about this and that. And EVERY morning she kisses me and says, “I love you, Mom,” gets out of the car, runs up to the door, and turns around to wave goodbye.
She is going to Middle School in the fall and I know she has been thinking about it and talking to her friends about it too. I have been thinking about it too. I can’t believe my baby is growing up so fast… is my usual thought. But I really enjoy our chats, and I try to live in the moment so to speak. Middle School seems so big to me. She seems so little to me…
But she isn’t.
Yesterday, I drove her to school as usual. We chatted the whole way as usual. She kissed me and said I love you as usual. But this time she saw a friend at the door and ran right to her and right into the school. No turn. No wave goodbye.
And just like that she was big.
It hit me like a ton of bricks and I cried all the way home. Did I just lose her to the teenage years made up of friends I don’t even know? I hope not. Maybe tomorrow she’ll go back to the wave. I am not ready to wave goodbye to my baby girl….at least not yet.
And besides all that we need more time to save for college!
The forms came home in the backpack. It was inevitable, kindergarten registration time is here. In the packet is a list to help determine if my guy is “ready” for kindergarten.
My friends all say,
“He’ll do great!”
“It’s going to be wonderful!”
“He’ll love it!”
Who cares about him – what about me? What about my readiness? How am I going to do? I’ll tell you how – not well. Not well at all.
We’re talking about Kindergarten. For. The Whole. Day. From 8 something in the morning until 3 something in the afternoon. My baby’s going to be gone ALL DAY. Doing godknowswhat. Well, I have some idea of what he’ll be doing. But I won’t know EVERYTHING. Kids withhold information, they give you the bare minimum of details about their day. And, most of his day will be spent away from me.
He’s my last one. The baby. I wanted him home longer. With me.
The big kids have lives of their own, lives that involve friends, afterschool activities and sports. But the little guy, he’s still all mine. Once he goes to school, that’ll be that. He’ll be a big boy. And I’ll be…what? Home alone, all day? Don’t get me wrong, I like a little free time here & there. Preschool is just fine for me, a little over 2 hour break in the morning. But the whole day?
I’m just not ready.