Kindergarten Tears and Triumphs

Cesar Chavez. Jim Henson. John Lennon. Jane Goodall. Albert Einstein. Pablo Picasso. Mahatma Gandhi.

Those are the faces peppering the halls as you enter my son's school. An international studies magnet school (public! free!) in our homogeneous neck of the woods is a dream. Five foreign languages taught starting in kindergarten. My Bird's gonna learn French! Curriculum designed to cover a global perspective. Again, a dream, considering my children say the words for grandma and grandpa in three different languages. We are the UN of families, and we are not alone as soon as we walk through the brick corridors of my son's school. My. Son's. School.

I have no reason to feel such trepidation. No reason to be anxious. No need to be so scared. So sad.

Millions of parents do it every fall. Most live to tell about it. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

I couldn't.

Let me get one thing out in the open. I cried. More than tears welling up in my eyes with a dumpling stuck in my throat but less than Niagara Falls. I'm saving up my boo-hooing for Tuesday, when school officially starts full time. Five. Days. A. Week. Oh, and when I have Mac Daddy at my side to mop me up. I treated today as a test drive. Denial. They say admitting it is the first step to recovery.

Bird, my Baby Bird, started kindergarten today. A milestone indeed. I suppose this is the stuff that makes people hate and doubt "mommy bloggers." I say fuck you. This stuff is important and has an impact on the human spirit, certainly a mom's spirit. Sending your child to spend more hours with someone else than you is a giant step. We spend so much time wishing away the time that we often forget to enjoy the ride. "I can't wait for him to talk. I can't wait for him to walk. He's making me nuts. When will school start?" Well folks, school has started, and I miss my Baby Bird already. Day One.

I have arranged my work schedule to eat three squares a day with my boys. I also take them to school and pick them up everyday. Now Bird is sitting in some cafeteria eating a ham sandwich and edamame out of his Batman lunch box with rowdy 5 year olds talkin' smack about Star Wars and Bumble Bee. Oh, and some little bully's gonna tease him about eating edamame and other stuff like snap peas and hummus. Bird told me that he met a bully today, in fact. I guess the kid headbutted Bird in the belly. When I asked Bird what the kid's name is, he responded, "I didn't ask, Mommy. I don't care what his name is because I don't want to be his friend." Then he asked me if I thought the bully would beat him up for not being his friend. Gawd, I can't handle the social pressure at the tender age of 5 (technically 4 til Friday!).

Yes, that's right. Bird will be 5 in two days, making him the youngest kid in kindergarten. Yet he makes the cut off. And you know what, he's totally ready. I know he's ready. I know Mac Daddy and I made the right decision to send him to kindergarten. No waffling here. The simple truth is, I'm not ready. As one feels intimate with one's mortality after a tragedy, I feel time slipping away more briskly than I thought possible. I never understood the whole time flies speech from seasoned parents when my guys were newborns. Now I've been initiated into the club. I get it. Every second is palpable. I hear the sands' of time grainy count down. My heart beats to the tick tocking of the clock. I get it. Time is the elusive beast.

My Bird, in the end, fared exceptionally well today. He took a good 10 minutes to let go of my leg and squeeze past the book shelves in the library to join the throng of kids. He refused to sit at a table with other kids, choosing an empty table instead (totally unlike his gregarious personality). Bird and Deal (who was also stressed, sensing it from us, no doubt), proceeded to color and draw rocket ships, aliens, and such. When it was time to get in line, Bird grasped my legs again. I silently willed him to break away lest I cry. My tears would have exacerbated an already tender situation. Alas, I realized I left my keys by the bookcase and had a legitimate excuse to step away. Those wily teachers took that opportunity to whisk him away. I took an extra long time to gather my keys (and umbrella that I would have forgotten on this soggy day) so I could do some quick yoga breathing and put on a happy face for Deal.

Deal and I spent the day as we usually do: gym, Starbucks, Target (2 1/2 hours!). In fact, at Starbucks, Deal insisted I buy an extra Horizon vanilla milk for Bird to enjoy when he gets home from school. That's my sensitive boy. I'll be too much of a wreck to blog when my baby goes to kindergarten. Now I know what my mom means by the "baby of the family" mess she blabbers on about when she refers to me. Even pushing 40, I'm still a baby.

My poor Bird spent 30 minutes of his first day of school with his head under a desk because we had tornado warnings in our county. Apparently the teachers and staff operated with aplomb. Teaching is tough enough without Mother Nature stumbling in the path. And let's face it, all the other mothers are probably more challenging to deal with.

When I picked up Bird from school, he greeted me with a gigantic grin and an ecstatic, "Mommy, my day was awesome!" At dinner his thank you for the day was that he got to go to kindergarten.

And so it goes. Once again my children are the ones teaching me a life lesson: Children are way more flexible and resilient than we give them credit for. Moms are another story. At least this mom is. I'm torn between tears of sorrow and tears of pride.

Disneyland Stream of Consciousness: What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Up at 5:30 AM. Wake the kids (seriously, waking sleeping kids is a crime.). Get dressed. Shoes on. Teeth brushed. Backpacks loaded. Still half alseep. Final check of the lights, locks, blinds. Double check the dishwasher cycle is over. Lock the door. Jam into the car. Count headlights. Park the car. Jot down the parking space lest I forget. Pay a fortune for curbside check in (2 suitcases and 2 carseat bags...gone are the days of traveling light). Airline indsutry BLOWS. Chow down on breakfast. Spill yogurt on clean shirts. Potty once. Then again. Board the plane. Chew gum to ease the ears. Deal tells us gum is on his back. We freak out that it's all over him. Actually he swallowed it. No more gum for Deal. Make Bird spit it out. 1 hour in the air. Jimmy Neutron on the laptop. Kids napping. Medical emergency. Pilot calls for all medical professionals on board to help. Wish I went to med school. Emergency landing in Kansas City. (Does it count as a state I've been to now?) Paramedics rush on board. Firetrucks line the plane. Kids awake. Damn. 2 hours later, still on the ground awaiting paperwork. Take off. Salt water taffy instead of gum. Fantastic Four cartoon on laptop. Battery dies. 3 hours to kill. Playdoh. Coloring books. Legos. Leapster. Chex Mix. Mixed nuts. Fruit snacks. Rice Krispie bars. Hot Wheels. Finally land. Install carseats. Drive in hellacious LA traffic. Amex fucked up hotel reservation. 2 hours later still without a room. Screw it and take a more expensive room for the sake of the kids. Approaching meltdown stage. Dinner at Wolfgang Pucks. Serve Bird undercooked chicken. Return it and tell waiter not to bring more. Recooks what we returned and brings it back to the table...with one bite taken from earlier! Pretty sure that's against the healthy code. Make note to write letter to Wolfgang himself. Kids fall asleep at the table. Carry those heavy boys home. Strip them and brush teeth while they are sleeping. They're up at 6:00 AM. 3 hour time difference is already killing us. Smoked salmon and huevos rancheros for breakfast. Off to Disneyland and California Adventure. Kids nap (thank god for small favors). Meet the mouse. Can't figure out what Goofy is. Pay too much for sunblock that mom forgot to pack. Have a blast on Toy Story and Soaring. Ride more rides at Disney. Watch tiki chow. Eat. Eat. Eat. More rides. Bird loved Star Wars. Pirates of the Caribbean rocked (Seriously, I thought the pirates were real people when I rode that ride 20 years ago so I expected them to be real today. Guess I was fooled.) Captain Jack Sparrow now looks like Johnny Depp. Commercialization abounds. Met a pirate. A real one. Really. Saw Indiana Jones wrestle a politically incorrect brown guy in a turban. Carousel. Dumbo. Pinocchio. Requisite photos in front of Cinderella's castle. Parade. Dark out. Too tired for fireworks. 8 1/2 hours at Disney. Hotel. Carry in two sleeping boys. One beer and Biden news before bed.

Up at 6:30 AM. Peterson Automotive Museum. Photo taken with Grease Lightning and Speed Racer. The Grove. Farmers Market. Playground. See an old friend. Chill out. Trying to keep boys awake until 10:30 flight. Boys asleep before the red eye takes off. Everyone sleeps but me. Two heads on my lap. Glad I didn't have to pee. Arrive in NC at 5:30 AM. Wake the boys. Breakfast. Fantastic Four. 3 hour layover. Sleep on the plane for 30 minute flight. Home. Mac Daddy lost Deal's teddy bear. Boys and I take monster 3 hour nap. Mac Daddy drives back to airport to retrace steps to find Beary. What a guy! Turns out Beary was in the car.

Not one shred of groceries in the house. Dinner out. Everyone in the family asleep at 7:30. Woke up at 8:30 the next day. 13 hours of sleep does a body good. A new day. Must scold American Express for screwing up our trip. Another letter to write.

And today, kindergarten test drive. One full day. I'm pretending it's just for play, not for keeps. Can you spell D-E-N-I-A-L?

We'll always have Disney.

My Life in 6 Words

Mommy Pie has tagged me. That might explain the four pieces of pie consumed by my family last night (strawberry, lemon meringue, coconut cream, and coconut custard in case you were wondering). And yeah, I had a taste or two or five of each.

So in this little meme I'm supposed to define my life in six words. I'm a chatty one so keeping this to six words is a doozie of a challenge. Here goes:

1) MILF (surely acronyms count)
2) anal
3) tired
4) Obamaholic
5) writer
6) chef

Now here's my tag:
Cubicle Monkey
High Heels and Highchairs
A Crafty Mom
Apathy Lounge
Slacker Moms

The Incredible Edible Egg

San Diego Momma has doled out the most eggsellent writing idea for today's PROMPTuesday. I have 10 minutes and 250 words to write about an....drumroll, please, egg. An egg. So what comes to mind? Fertility? Chickens? Omelets?

Here's what came to my mind:

At 20, they were plentiful. At 30, their legions were slimming. At 40, worthless. From enviable to inviable in 20 years.

And yet, the swimmers came. Somewhere between 32 and 42, there was a love connection. Puzzle pieces adjoined. Penetration yielded penetration. One egg is all it took. And from that egg was borne the son who starts kindergarten tomorrow.

5:00 Fridays

While you, dear readers, are reading today's post from the comfort of your own office, home, iPhone, I am on a cross country flight with a 3 and 5 year old. We're going to Disneyland! And to think, I didn't even run away from home, crash my car, rob a grocery store, or flip off president George.

wink wink to those get the Dada allusion.

Today's drink is in honor of a famous martini served in the lounges of the Magic Kingdom. Who knew there was liquor at Disney? I just might like this place.

Cue the Wonderful World of Disney theme music...

Blue Glow-tini

1 ounce Skyy Citrus Vodka (I prefer Absolut for a mixing vodka, but the recipe calls for Skyy.)
half ounce Bols Blue Curacao
half ounce Bols Peach Schnapps
1 ounce Sweet & Sour mix
half ounce pineapple juice (Why is it always sold in a damn can?!)

At Disney they toss in a Blue Glow Cube to make the thing light up. My mom has a set of these fun party tricks, but the kids messed with them long enough to make the things die, leaving a plastic cube floating in the glass. Not as festive as one that actually works.

Toss it all into the silver martini shaker that I know you've run out and purchased, with ice, shake, strain, and pour into a large martini glass with a sugared rim. Add the glow cube.

If you don't have a glow cube, it's just as festive to add some Mickey Mouse shaped ice cubes for fun.

Now sit back and bask in the wonder, glow, magic, and dreaminess of it the buzz that will befall you. Sprinkle liberally with pixie dust and fairy potion if you have some stashed in the pantry.

Cheers!

Oh, and if you hear screaming from up above, it's the pilot kicking us out of the plane without a parachute.

The Church Quandary

I've been reluctant to post about religion because it is such a volatile subject matter. My friend Morningside Mom inspired me to take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and put my fingers to the keyboard and just write. Take a look here at what she wrote on the topic. She's way more eloquent than I.

Deep breath. Exhale. Blow it out now. Lather, rinse, repeat. Crunch of the knuckles. Ready to roll.

I wrote about my disdain for Sundays once before. Sunday is church day, only not for us. Since moving to North Carolina, I can't count how many people have asked if we've found our church family yet. WTF? I can barely stand dealing with the family I have so why do I need another one? Especially another one that has a gold medal in the guilt relay. And why is religion wracked with guilt in the first place?

I'm not going to wax on about various religions and pass judgment here. Well, I might pass judgment, but it's my prerogative. (Cue tune here. Tell me you don't think Bobby Brown any time you hear the word prerogative.). I'm no theologist, though I did take a whole mess of religion classes in college. Perhaps my searching started there.

My family is Hindu. I don't even know what that really means. I've read some of the stories and took some classes but I wasn't raised going to temple or anything. My mom had a little worship station in our house with little idols and stuff made out of ivory and marble. I used to cup those miniature deities in my hand and marvel at the smoothness of the stone when I was a kid. I waited patiently for her to say her prayers and make her offerings just so I could eat the sugar cube when she was done. That sugar was some sort of offering. Maybe I am indeed Hindu if the gods have such a sweet tooth.

I grew up going to mass with my friend Jenny's family after Saturday night sleepovers. I didn't really get much from it except for a headache from all that incense and a sore back from the constant kneeling and standing. I remember feeling so lost because I didn't understand the rituals and feeling a bit creeped out because the cacophony of all those voices saying prayers in unison sounded rote and lifeless. Plus, my kind of god isn't going to make me don nylons and heels just to worship. As I recall, her parents bitched a lot about changing out of comfy pajamas into a suit and tight high waisted skirt just for the one hour of mass. I'm pretty sure the god I believe in is at least a casual Friday kind of guy...or gal. And he (she?) is cool with me bringing in a cup of java to warm my body while the minister warms my soul.

Let me clear here. I do believe in god. The miracle of feeling those babies swim in my belly is testament to a power far higher than anything I can comprehend. And yes, I also believe in science. I get the whole sperm/egg thing that made those babies in the first place, but there must be something greater than that to have created the system in the first place, don't you think? Come on, god created babies as a result of sex! It could have just easily been from a high five, but god gave us mortals something really awesome instead. Rock on, god! Oh, and I realize I am not capitalizing "god" here. I believe in the concept of a god, just not a definitive one and only God. And is god Christian? Hindu? Neither? I dunno. I don't think I really care how god is categorized. Therein lies the problem.

And that's as far as I've gotten.

Not enough to teach my children about spirituality. By the way, being spiritual is possible without being religious. I'm not a fan of organized religion. Mac Daddy and I actually joined the Unitarian Church in town and really enjoyed the services for a while. The minister was a fabulous raconteuse who was inspirational, funny, and honest. Her candor about her shortcomings made her so damn human. I felt like I was learning something and getting a sense of peace each week; I never felt preached to. I left feeling centered and happy, not confused and guilty. Then she moved away, and the subsequent ministers sucked. A bad minister can kill a service just like a great teacher can make math exciting (Thanks, Mrs. Kovatch!).

Mac Daddy and I left the church soon after we had kids. Contrary to common practice, I know. We've been on sort of a hunt ever since. Well, not really an active hunt. It's been more a passing conversation when all our friends are at church and can't go bike riding with us on Sunday mornings. We would like to equip our boys with a sense of spirituality and teach them about both Hindu and Christian principles. The thing is, we're not really into teaching about Jesus and the Bible. Well, unless it's thumbs up Jesus. That Jesus from Dogma was way cool.

There, I said it. Commence the stone throwing now.

Oh, and let me go ahead and offer full disclosure. We do go to church (Unitarian) at Christmas. I just love the tradition of Christmas and the peacefulness and giving that goes along with it. Yeah, I know it's all about Jesus. But hey, even in India, the birthplace of Buddhism, Christmas is celebrated, embraced even. But baking a birthday cake for Jesus? That's too far for me, even if I did bake.

My kids go to chapel at their preschool, and it's been a wonderful experience. They are learning about universal principles that transcend religion. I hate to break it to you, but Christianity does not own the principles of honesty, patience, honor, and virtue. Am I a heathen because I believe in ending this disastrous, shameful war, because I want to preserve the earth, because I believe in equal rights regardless of gender, race, religious, or sexuality? I think not. The ten commandments are pretty good rules to live by, Christian or otherwise. Likewise for karma. Does the saying "what comes around goes around" sound familiar? One more thing, Republicans don't own religion. Being progressive and being spiritual are not mutually exclusive, my friends. Since when did liberalism = paganism. Just because I'm a Democrat doesn't mean I need to be saved. Just save me from the Bible beaters who lurk in my neck of the woods! Separation of church and state, people!

So, Bird and Deal are starting to ask questions about God. At the beach the boys asked me who made the ocean. I confidently answered, "Nature. Nature invented the ocean." "Oh, you mean God?" remarked Bird. I was stumped and pointed out the baby seagulls pecking at the scattered Kix cereal on the beach as a distraction. Let it be known that Bird still thinks Jesus' name is Cheesus. He says he has a lot in common with Cheesus because he loves cheese too (chalk that up to his Wisconsinite father). Mac Daddy and I roar with laughter at this but are a tish embarrassed when he says this stuff in the hallways of school around the other church going parents. Lighten up, I say! Is it just me or do the church going ilk often have their panties in a tizzy?

We do, however, owe it to our children to teach them about religion and equip them to find their own path. In a way I am envious of people who blindly and unequivocally Believe. It's like Polar Express except with Jesus standing in as Santa. A whole different ball of wax that I'm not about delve into. Mac Daddy and I want Bird and Deal to have a spiritual upbringing. The question is how to do so without bringing Jesus into the picture? Can't we just teach the parables from multiple religions? My hunch is that there are more similar moral standards and shared stories than dogma that separate us all. Is it possible to teach spiritual religion without a deity to worship? We thought the Unitarian route was the answer so maybe we'll give it a go again.

In the mean time, I'm considering home churching.

Come on, if people can take the entire curricula of K-12 and teach it from home with total acceptance and accredidation, why can't I do Sunday school from home? I'll start with the lesson of love thy mother. Do I have any takers?

Life's a Beach.

I'm off to the beach this morning with Bird and Deal. We'll see how it goes on our first adventure without Mac Daddy. On the surface it might seem that I'm the one getting a vacation, but really folks, dig a little deeper and you'll see that Mac Daddy is the one who'll have the whole house to himself for a few days. A whole quiet house.

No screaming, wrestling boys, no crumbs to sweep up after every meal, no beds to make (He'll make our bed the day we're coming home. I'm on to him.), no Lego wars to mediate, no chicken to cut up. Now that's a vacay. I've already heard him on the phone making happy hour plans.

Oh, but payback will come. We're all headed to LA and Disneyland the day after we get home from the beach. I'm thinking Mac Daddy might be sitting between the two boys on the plane while I sit five rows back with my new book.