Memorial Day is a blank

I am coming off a traumatic weekend during which B left me alone with all three boyz and no daycare while he went off to drink booze at a wedding or something.  Most of it is a blur because of the unrelenting awfulness, but still, let me try to recall notable events:

- Z hating N.
- Z hitting N.
- N hating Z.
- N hitting Z.

Of course, if I were my own student, I'd be all like, "These aren't details. Those are abstractions."

The part I'm remembering now is Ziv taunting me from under his bed, which is just wide enough that I can't reach under it to grab him.  He lay under there and kicked at the platform on which the mattress rests while N was trying to go to sleep.  For a while, I fantasized about dismantling the bed.  Then I screamed unhelpful comments like, "What is it you want me to do?" Then I went ahead and took off the mattress and part of the platform.  Ziv laughed hysterically, and still, even though I could now grab him and pull him out, I still had some semblance of rational thought left in me that was like "(a) So what are you going to do with him once you have him? (b) It's humiliating for a kid to be physically forced to do something in this way. (c) Is that fear in his eyes?"  I'm not sure what finally got him out from under his bed, but ultimately he got out and came and sat next to me while I rubbed Nadav's head, and then he was all like, "I hate you" and "I love you" at the same time, except the "I love you" part was silent.

The other highlight was when he and N fought over the big plastic loader that our old neighbors gave us way back when.  There must have been hitting, because I was like, "Z, get off the loader, now."  He refused. Then he refused some more.  By this time, because the morning had already been pretty awful, I had called in reinforcements in the shape of my father, who was glowering behind me to no effect.  Finally, I grabbed Z and pried his fingers off the loader's steering wheel and dragged him inside.  This was a low moment, but not as low as having to carry him upstairs and shut him in his room.  I shut myself in there too, and he proceeded to throw every loose pillow and stuffed animal he could get his hands on at me while I was like, "Go sit on your bed. Go sit on your bed."  Occasionally, he'd come up close especially so he could kick or hit me.  It looked like we were at an impossible standoff when finally I was like, "Want me to read you a story?"  Fifteen minutes later, B arrived back from the wedding, and I was like, "I'm going out to get cigarettes because I'm the worst mom in the history of the world."

The only nice time we had was when I took the two boyz to the pool, where I discovered that despite weekly swimming lessons and much boasting, Z doesn't seem any better at swimming than he was last summer.  In the meantime, N shivered so hard that I had to force him out of the water.  "Darn it," said Z.  "Oh, darn it.  Why can't you just be with me?"

N:  You're my mommy. And you're Shai's mommy.  But you're not Ziv's mommy or Daddy's mommy.
D: Well, I'm Ziv's mommy too.
N: No, you're not! You're not!  You're making me angry!  I won't snuggle with you anymore! I won't give you hugs!

Before B left, though, I had another conversation with N:

N: When I'm old, I'm going to get a gun. And then I'm going to shoot Daddy.

Okay, Oedipus. Whatever.

Why, oh why, must one of them be constantly freaking out?  Oh, also Z has discovered that he has hair on his legs.  And he is noticeably hairier than he used to be.  Can I blame his relentless hounding of both me and Nadav on some kind of burst of testosterone?

Spring

It's spring.  We have peonies.

We also have a baby.  He looks bald, but actually he's blond.

And he has a hat.

And his eyes are still blue.

Spring means that it's time to water.

Or maybe it's time to watch your older brothers watering.

Most people would water their lawn. Especially if they just got some very expensive sod, and that sod was turning yellow.  But not our boys.  They like to water wheelbarrows.

Or the wagon.  Using the wheelbarrow. Whatever.

Spring is also time for some tree climbing.

Logic dictates that the next photo should be of Z with a broken arm, but so far, he is resisting what seems to me to be a schmDueber propensity for broken bones.  And now I've jinxed him...

I am unable to sustain a thread, so more observations

1. A couple of days ago, when Ziv found out he would have to wear sunscreen, he was like, "God dammit!"

B and D: Ziv, that's not okay.
D: Do we say that?
B: Well, I do.

Later in the evening, Ziv got mad about something else.  "God dang--" he began to say, but then he looked straight at me and amended: "God dammit!"

D: Ziv.
Z: God. Hell. God. Hell. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

2. When I signed Z up for the race, I signed N up too, but N refused to participate.  Regardless, he has a race T-shirt.  This morning, when he found it in his drawer, he began crying. "I don't want it!" he said in a choked voice. "I want to throw it outside!"

D: Okay, I'll take it out of your drawer.
N: No! I want to put it in the trash!!

3. N has two action figures he's playing with these days.  One is Robin, of Batman and Robin fame.  N will sing the Jingle Bells version where Batman smells, and then, when he gets to the line, "Robin laid an egg," he sings, "Robin laid some eggs," and Robin will pipe in, "That's me!"  They will do this over and over.  The other action figure is an Imaginext scuba diver, whom N calls Scuba Diving.  Robin drives a firetruck, I think, and Scuba Diving drives a fireship, although it might be the other way around.  They frequently talk to each other, and N always supplies dialogue tags, as in:

"Let's go," says Scuba Diving.
"Okay!" says Robin.

4. I am afraid of writing!

5. Attending soccer practice has become an onerous chore, mainly because Z refuses to participate.  "It's too hard!" he complained yesterday when everyone was working on drop kicks.  Note that he decided this before he even tried.  Then he sat down next to me. "I'm too tired!" Not too tired to climb a nearby pine tree, I noticed, but whatever.  We have the same exact argument about reading, but at least that's in the privacy of our own home with only the child psychologist next door around to overhear all the cursing.  But ugh. I hate it. Five is way more terrible than two.  Being a soccer mom stinks, and we don't even have a minivan.  Even worse: it's so tempting to be like, "If you don't learn to read, you will be illiterate like our schmGardner and you too will end up taking ten months to (mostly) complete a job and then asking your clients to pay you in cash because you owe the IRS an ungodly sum, and then your clients will use you as a cautionary tale for their own stubborn kids."

D: Reading is important. I can't let you not read.
Z: Mo-oommm!!!

6. The baby is so cheerful these days that the assistant director at the J was like, "He just lies on the floor and laughs, and nobody knows what's so funny." He is almost, almost crawling.

Running

Last weekend, Z and I ran a race.  I went first.

The boyz watched from my parents' front lawn.

Then it was Z's turn.

He got a bookmark for his troubles.

Endorsement

Mother's Day

At 6 a.m., Z woke up and came to stand on B's side of the bed. Seconds later, B woke up screaming.  "Jesus Christ! You scared me!" he hollered. Ziv retreated and spent the next undisclosed amount of time (20 minutes? More?) making ungodly banging noises with his Beyblade (which is a fancy name for a spinning top that is all the rage in his kindergarten classroom--collect all 70!).  Then the baby woke up.  B looked so enraged on his way back from making a bottle that I sent him back to bed.  "Really?" he said.  "Thank you."

Later, at 9 a.m. or so, a theoretically better-rested B woke up and was like, "Thanks for letting me sleep in!  What a great Father's Day gift!"

D: So, um, do we have any plans today?
B: No.  But I have a card to give you after N signs it.

As if she's psychic, Evil Nurse D emerged from her hiding place and began to snarl.

D: No plans?  Are you sure?
B: Uh... No.  I've made no Mother's Day plans. [Italics his. Because, you know, it's awkward to have a clueless wife.]

That pretty much sealed Evil Nurse D's fate.  Except, wait, there was more:

B: I just don't know what to do for you for holidays.  You always have such high expectations and I inevitably disappoint you.
Evil Nurse D: He's right, D.  You suck!  Look at you using Mother's Day as a test and being all disappointed!
Ziv: I'm not making a Mother's Day card for anybody!
Nadav: You are not giving Safta this water bottle you got her [Evil Nurse D: Yes, lame] because I want it, and I will cry and cry if you don't give it to me, and I don't care if we already have like thirty water bottles because I'm three and unimpressed by logic!

Later:

D's Mom:  Happy Mother's Day!  I'm at a brunch with friends! What did they do for you?
Evil Nurse D: D, you are less than not special.

Later, after going on a sucky run, one of us (either me or Evil Nurse D) took Ziv to a play date, and brought along Shai for good measure so that B would be able to pay exclusive attention to Nadav, who is wilting away from Middle Child Syndrome.

While on the play date, Ziv alternated between complaint A--
Ziv: They're ignoring me! I want to go home! Now!
--and complaint B--
Ziv: Moo-oom, you DF!  I will not do what you tell me because I'm five and you and Daddy are in my thrall, or whatever that phrase is!

B[on phone]: So what should we have for dinner?

That really got Evil Nurse D going.  But then, a miracle: Good Daughter D headed over to her own mother's house with two children in tow.  To her credit, my mom did her best to seem impressed with the water bottle.

D's Mom: Want to stay for dinner?
D: Let me call B.
B [on phone]: You sound kind of upset.  Don't you want to stay?
Evil Nurse D: That's not what I'm upset about.
D's Mom: So, what did they end up doing for you?
Evil Nurse D [internally]: Wah.
D: Um.
D's Mom: Did you see this "Born Loser" in today's comics?  Ha ha.  It sucks being a mom.  [I'm editorializing, and anyway, it sucked worse being my mom who then suddenly had to prepare dinner for six while her daughter sulked, and all my mom got out of it was a lousy water bottle and people yelling at their kids in her living room.]

Seattle Bro [on phone]: So, what special things did you do today?  Are you having a special dinner?
Evil Nurse D: Well, I let B sleep in, then I took on two of the children on a play date. Then we invited ourselves over to my parents' because we had no idea what to cook. Then I had to hang up on talking to my brother in order to yell at the kids. Then I went home and yelled at the kids.  Then B took to his bed with a headache while I folded four loads of laundry.

(BTW, that's the psychic part--how did Evil Nurse D know that B was going to take to his bed??  And think of all the time she saved by showing up early!)

But whatever. Evil Nurse D didn't say all of that to Seattle Bro.  This is because she recognize the truth behind B's reluctance to go all out, and anyway, it's not like you ever saw a post here about all the nice things he did for me for Valentine's Day.  Plus, to add insult to injury, did you know that the average U of M prof makes three times what I do?

D's Dad: Don't worry.  You've already benefited from U of M's high salaries.  You can't deny that.

And I can't, of course.  Nor can I deny that on any kind of scale, these are all issues of the Extremely Fortunate, even if we are downwardly mobile.  But try telling that to Evil Nurse D, who is right now busy plucking her mustache and side burns while cackling wickedly.  She won't listen to logic.  It must be all those tingling pores.  And the two loads of laundry that still await her.  Now where are those Angry Birds?

Ten observations

1. We went to the ENT today, where both the nurse practitioner and the doctor were convinced that our pediatrician is an idiot and too aggressive with antibiotics.  "Did your doctor see pus?" the NP kept asking while we gave Shai a bottle.  Like we know what they saw.  "Fluid," I said.  Later, the doctor scoffed: "Study out of Pittsburgh says that redness and fluid isn't the same as infection."  Then he tried to look down Shai's throat and Shai threw up on him.  "What's this? Did he eat?  Didn't anyone tell you he's not supposed to eat for two hours before the exam?" said the doctor.  "Um..." we said. "No."  And then we silently cursed the NP, who had, as noted above, just watched us give Shai a full six ounces mere moments earlier. Anyway, so we were sent away to allow Shai to digest.  I walked B back to his office, and then Shai cried all the way back to the hospital and all through his exam, which involved snaking a camera up his nose and down his throat.  Anyway, the verdict: all is normal; lay off the antibiotics; maybe try something for reflux.

2. Fast forward three hours:  Shai is running a temperature of 102+.  Really.  Said one of the ones who works with me and has noted my repeated absences during departmental meetings, whose every-other-week timing happened to mysteriously coincide with each of S's illnesses: "Have you not told him that the semester is over and there are no more department meetings?"  As for me, I'm wondering whether he was already running a fever during his two-hour crying jag that had me so dejected I had to go to Target and buy thank-you notes in case we ever, you know, actually write any.

3. 102+!  And no ear infection!

4. Two days ago, outside our house:

Yes, MNMa, Ziv is out there in his underwear.  But it was an emergency!  Time was of the essence!

5. Today there was a Mother's Day tea in N's classroom.  He told me not to come.  I would've ignored him and come anyway, except for the whole three-hour doctor extravaganza.  And then, to rub it in: "He was one of the few kids there without a mom," his teacher told me.

6. From N's portfolio of anecdotes:

Feb 24, 2012, lunchtime / small group table. As the group is eating lunch Nadav says to Sophie, "Sophie, you and I are going to get married when we get bigger." Sophie says, "No we're not." Nadav says, "Well, when we get bigger."  Sophie says, "No, Nadav. Not when we get bigger. Not ever."

7. I put the parking ticket from today in my back pocket, and then I went to pee.  Yes, it fell in.  I stared at the floating ticket for a while, contemplating whether I was going to just suck it up and pay the lost-ticket fine or fish it out.  I fished it out and patted it dry, then wrapped it with toilet paper so I could have an illusion of sanitariness., stuck it back in my pocket, and washed my hands thoroughly.

D: So, I dropped this in the toilet. You probably don't want to touch it.
Parking attendant: Just give it here.

And after all that, the magnetic strip still worked.

8. Also from N's portfolio:

April 5, 2012, small group time / small group table.  Nadav becomes angry when I make his morning plan for him. He tells me, "you're mean and I'm mad at you and I'm never coming back here again."

9. Not from N's portfolio:

We started giving the kids an allowance: a dollar each.  This has satisfied Z, at least temporarily, but not Nadav, who wanted more dollars.  The solution: he tore each of his dollars in half.  Are you listening, Federal Reserve?

10. We have grass in our back yard.

A story

Translation:  When my baby was born he slept a lot but now he's very playful and he is really good at grabbing.

Soccer boy

We signed Z up for soccer because, you know, it's an important social skill.  Then we took some photos that make it look as if he knows what he's doing.

The truth is, his team loses every game with scores like 13-0.

But whatever.  Social skills. Social skills.

N, for his part, attended just one game, and decided that soccer is a wet, boring sport and he refuses to ever go again.

Pizza is evil

Yesterday I escorted Z to the birthday party of a classmate at schmLeslie Science and Nature Center. It was my first kindergarten birthday party, and we were late, and so when I saw that there were a bunch of parents sitting around, I figured I had to sit around too. Anyway, so here's what I learned:

1) Kindergarten boys are mean. While one girl was struggling to tell a story about her pet rat that was eaten by some other pet, or something, a group of boys started snoring. Snoring!

2) Kindergarten boys love poop. "Is that rat going to poop on you?" and "Oh my God! That bunny is sniffing your private parts!" After a while of this, the very patient party organizer person finally had it: "Friends," she said, "if you can't say anything nice about the animals, please don't say anything at all." They didn't listen to her.

Ziv laughed appreciatively at the Rowdy Boys' jokes but mostly stayed out of things, instead contenting himself with playing host since he's attended camp at this location several times.

Organizer: Now we're going to go on a hike!
Ziv [rolling eyes]: I know that already because I've been here before.
Organizer: Now we're going to see the birds!
Ziv [rolling eyes and speaking loudly]: Oh my God! I know! I've been here!

Then he supervised the Rowdy Boys as they poked their fingers into the bald eagle's cage. "Fingers out!" he yelled. "I told you!" Later, he guided one boy to the potty, his arm hanging protectively around the boy's shoulders.

So maybe he wasn't a Rowdy Boy, but he was a Know-It-All. I was glad I was the one there, because B's head would have exploded. He hates Know-It-Alls, at least the ones that aren't him. Ha. Although, in defense of B, I very nearly lost it in front of the other parents, one of whom would never buy her kid a pizza from Little Caeser's because she can cobble together something healthier than that, when Z apparently made another boy cry and then refused to get in the car and go home, preferring instead to jump over this bucket thing after the Rowdy Boys were asked to stop doing so.

"I hate you," he told me. And I said, "Good." Then I was so angry that I ended up yelling at him in the car about having to tell him four times that we were going to get gas.

"Mom, I don't believe you!" he yelled back.

So, to sum up, he wasn't the worst kid there, but he was the only one who seemed to be fighting with his parents, who then took him out for pizza, although not from Little Caeser's. So, as you can see, I'm a bad parent on multiple levels.

Not that you should get the wrong idea: I actually like the anti-fast-food mom, who also believes in long, languorous summer vacations. I do too, in theory, which is why Ziv will be attending camp full time. Bad D! Bad D!