Motherhood Uncensored

The lover, the dreamer, and me

The kindergarten enrollment for my daughter's current school is on Friday. The last time I checked it was still February, which means it's a solid six months before school actually starts. Again. Hell, I didn't even have my college application in by February for classes starting that Fall.

It is Kindergarten though. The very important year where children learn to sit nicely, raise their hand, stand in long lines, and my favorite, color things "correctly." You know, where they make friends with kids that we don't really see after school anyway and if she did she probably wouldn't see them since they don't get out of school until 2:45pm.

What the fuck?

That's not the only reason why we're considering taking her out. Of course, I have no idea what I'm going to do with her (or we, since there is some co-parenting going on), but I'm just not keen on her getting lost in a class of 20 some odd other kids cackling away about Bratz, Barbies, and God knows what other bullshit.

Why should I pay money for her to take an afternoon "nap" and use the restroom by first name alphabetical order?

But most of all, Quinlan is good. She does her work in about two minutes flat and she follows directions like a pro. She is the consummate rule follower. And in a room full of kids, she disappears into the background as the two boys wrestle, the one girl throws a five-minute long tantrum because the timer rang, and another boy won't stop asking the teacher about Spiderman.

There's my daughter drawing pictures of her family with Margot in a freaking sling.

In fact, I'm pretty sure Quinlan could have walked out of the room and the teacher wouldn't have noticed. And there are only 7 kids in her class right now.

To complicate matters, ever since she started school she's been obsessing about Kindergarten. They go to the K-room often, and she's always talking about the "big kids." Turns out she loves it because they have Barbies there.

Fucking Barbies.

So, I asked her whether she'd miss school and her friends if she didn't go back to school next year.

"No," she said. "I'll remember them. Now can you turn my song back on."

Um, okay. Sure.

We haven't decided what we're going to do with her and whether this huge life altering experience of not putting her into Kindergarten is the right choice. I'd honestly be more inclined and probably sold if it was a half day. And she's enjoyed her year thus far, and loves going. She's learned her phone number, her numbers (well sort of), and how to use the word "butthead" correctly.

Thank you private Catholic school education.

And I'm not sure if I can handle it.

But the last time I visited, I saw a bulletin board with pictures of what the kids wanted to be when they grew up. Chef, Veternarian, Fireman...

And then there was Quinlan's

[Mermaid - a highly respectable profession]

I'm not sure I'm ready to let that dream disappear into the land of "appropriateness."

I wouldn't have it any other way

With my book finished and more nights than not spent up way past all my Bravo reruns are over, I've found myself walking around in a thick fog of hormones, loneliness and resentment. 

Too many hours of the day spent holding a baby, begrudging my husband as he half-heartedly left for drill weekend.

I put the kids to bed and stare at the glasses of wine or vodka tonics I pour for myself and subsequently dump down the sink, the prospect of the pre-bed buzz I'd get not even worth bothering.

So when she woke me on Saturday morning at exactly 6:23am with her wretchedly pink tutu in her hands, I practically growled at her.

"It's still night time, don't you see it's dark out?" I bellowed, waking up the baby I had just shushed her to keep asleep only a minute earlier.

She crept away, wimpering softly.

Later we were reconstructing her magnet calendar, single handedly destroyed by her little brother. She was having a hard time filling in the numbers on her own.

"So what does 10 look like?" I asked her as she stared blankly at a pile of tiny magnets.

"Um, I don't know!" she replied frantically, as if her life depended on it.

I was cycling up. Like a tornado.

What was this school teaching her and why doesn't she know what a fucking number 10 looks like was really why the fuck am I always alone with all the kids? Why won't the baby sleep in the swing or bouncy seat or something? Why do I still not feel like myself?

"DO IT AGAIN" I told her, scrambling up the numbers. "HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW YOUR NUMBERS?" I screamed.

I tossed a few magnets at the wall. I threw Drew's vest near where she was working at the table.

And I cried.

So did she. Her face and mine - our dry skin streaked from the salty tears, no words capable of making up for my shame, for scaring my own children.

"It's hard being one person taking care of three kids, isn't it Mommy?" she said, later that afternoon, after we had reconciled over balloons, bubbles, and ABBA.

"The hardest" I replied. I grabbed her face.

"But I wouldn't have it any other way."

And I meant it.

4 Months

You'll always be my baby

It only took my son just under 4 months to figure out that in order to get my attention, he should act like a baby.

I shouldn't really be that surprised, since every excuse I give him always has to do with Margot.

"I can't pick you up right now. I've got the baby." or "The baby is crying. I have to go get her."

I guess I should be a little disappointed that he didn't pick up on it sooner. What a slacker. A second born, obviously. (ha!)

But then, he figured it out.

"Feed ME milk, Mommy" he said, his little pointing finger precariously close to my nipple. It wasn't the first time he asked for a nibble.

"Well, that milk is only for babies, honey," I replied.

He paused for a few seconds.

And then he fake cried.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!"

Smart ass.

At first I thought it was sort of cute, mainly because he's yet to actually pretend to be anything, except a annoyingly loud dog and a really bratty, defiant toddler. Well, that's what I tell myself when I'm chasing him to change his poop or when he's trying to take a chunk out of Quinlan's arm - "He's just pretending to be naughty. What a smart and creative boy."

Right.

But surprise! Since I thought it was sooooo cute, he does it all the time - "Wah, I'm a baby, mommy. Carry me. Hold me. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Part of me can't blame him since he really is still sort of a baby, and has had to share the latter part of toddlerdom with a baby sister. But most of me knows it's not the greatest way for him to get attention.

So I remind him that babies can't play with trucks or eat ice cream. And I try to reinforce his "big boy" behavior in an appropriate way.

Lord knows we don't need another dude getting what he wants by acting like a big old baby, right?