Whatever will I do with myself?

I'm on the cusp of change. It's dawning on me all of a sudden that my kids are getting older. Ben is almost 9. Paul is starting kindergarten next month! Soon I will have only one boy home with me full-time. And even though I still sometimes think of my baby, Gus, as an actual baby, clearly he's not. He'll be 3 in a few weeks.

As a newborn Gus was colicky. After he got over that, he spent a few months as a content baby before walking at 10 months and rushing right into becoming the little wild man I know so well. Since Gus has been challenging to me from the time he was a newborn, I've spent a lot of time wishing and praying that things would get easier. Improvement has seemed to come infinitesimally slowly overall, but I think we're actually getting there.

Summers with Big G are particularly challenging, and each year when the season has rolled around, I've hoped that this would the year things would get easier. His first mobile summer, Gus was newly walking and into everything. He climbed, he put anything and everything in his mouth. Last summer, he was fast, determined and reckless. He obeyed no boundaries and would dash into the street without a thought. It doesn't always feel this way, but I have to say this summer has gone more smoothly. Gus has a longer attention span. He can engage in imaginative play and keep himself entertained for a reasonable amount of time. And while he's still a wanderer outside and needs to remain under close supervision, I think he's finally beginning to learn to keep himself safe.

All of this has me wondering what lies ahead for me. I've spent the last nine years in a haze of nursing, diaper changes and potty training (though, no, Gus isn't trained yet). I was only 25 when I became a mom, and while I worked full time for more than five years before becoming a stay-at-home mom, it feels like I've been out of the work force forever. I genuinely wonder, who will I be without these things? Will I feel unmoored? After all, it won't be so long before all my boys will be in school. I know it's another two years (or three, depending on what we decide about the whole summer birthday issue), but I also know how quickly two or three years passes. Sniffle.

Time is a funny thing. When we're young, it can't move quickly enough. Even when I was raising babies, I felt that way. Yes, I often felt wistful, that time was slipping away too swiftly, that milestones were arriving too rapidly. However, at the same time, I think I prevailingly wished for progress: for my boys to sleep through the night, to become just a little bit more independent. Now is one of those times when I've stopped and realized how quickly the years have marched past. My God, I'm in my mid-30s. I have a 9-year-old?!?! My answer to my above question about who or what I'll be is I don't know, but I'm optimistic. I'm happy with where my life stands and excited and curious to learn what will come next.

Time for school yet?

It's funny. As I sat down to write this, I came across a forgotten blog I wrote last year right around this time. In it, I complain about the very same things that are bugging me today. It must be a theme with me, this summer exhaustion. It's not so much that I'm itching to get the kids out of my jurisdiction, it's just that they are on one another's nerves in a big way right now. I think it all comes down to that state dreaded by kids and parents alike: b-o-r-e-d-o-m.

My kids seem to wake up bored, and in this house, my boys' ennui (yes, I used the thesaurus to come up with that word!) leads to bickering. I'm embarrassed to detail the boys' fights here, because really, the worst of it is between Ben and Paul, and I feel that at 8 and 5, they should be getting beyond this. Usually it's a chorus of something like this: "Mom! Paul spit at me!" "Well, MOM, that's because Ben pinched me!" This happens every day. This morning, during another battle, I asked Mark if he now understood why I hang on to my sanity only by a thread. Yes indeed he did.

One of my aunts who has two sons said that when her boys were growing up, she simply refused to be dragged into their arguments. The fighting never stopped anyway, she reasoned, and the boys weren't happy with her resolutions. I can see a lot of wisdom in that, and I've tried and failed to adopt that strategy for myself. I don't know if it's my temperament or the fact that unlike my aunt and uncle, who lived on a farm and had lots of land and could put some distance between themselves and the malcontents, I must stay in close proximity to the boys. Whatever the case, I seem to have difficulty extricating myself from their fights. As a result, most days my patience is worn thin by roughly 8:30 a.m.

I remember very well what summer boredom felt like when I was a kid, and my brothers and I got ourselves into the very same situations that drive me nuts now (perhaps this is my comeuppance?). Though I can keenly recall the feeling, I can't understand it anymore. It's just another one of those disconnects between kids and adults. Like every other parent, all I can think now is, what I wouldn't give to have that much free time on my hands.

My cousin who has older kids once told me how she loves the summer, the fact that it's carefree and unscheduled. I'm simply not there yet. Somehow, for my kids carefree and unscheduled ends up being a recipe for disaster. I'll take heart in what she said, though, and hope that someday summer will like that for me. Until then, I might casually note that there are 38 more days until school starts.

I'll have to settle for third best

Look at these two in the picture. That's me with Paul one of the many days I worked in his cooperative preschool last year - that's right, I volunteered many hours at his school and in fact chose this very school because I knew it would help him through his separation anxiety. I'll pause so you can admire my selflessness.

You would think my middle son would hold me in pretty high regard, right? Not according to him. Apparently, in his eyes, I'm only third best. This all came to light the other day at the playground. Paul and Gus and I were playing at Clovis Park while Ben was doing his weekly park & rec game time class. I noticed Paul watching Ben, and I said, "Ben's your favorite person in the world, huh?"

Paul said, "Yeah, and dad's my second favorite, you're my third favorite, and Gus is my fourth favorite."

What!?!? My first reaction was slightly amused surprise. I tried not to take it too seriously. These were, after all, the musings of a 5-year-old, but next, I felt the tiniest bit wounded. Third favorite? Hello, I'm Mom. That should be good for an automatic second favorite, if you ask me. I pressed him: "What do you mean"?

"Well," he said, "Dad does more sports and plays with us more, but I like you better for snuggling."

I guess if those are his criteria for parental ranking, he's got a point. I am what I am, and sporty is not it. I do wish that I could take more time to just have fun with the boys, but that seems pretty hard to do at this point. When Mark's at work, and it's just me and the boys, I tend to spend a disproportionate amount of time keeping Paul's maniacal 2-year-old brother in check. It doesn't leave me a lot of time for playing baseball or tossing around a football.

I suppose I will have to just accept my role as long-suffering, under-appreciated matron of the house. "Mother - that was the bank where we deposited all our hurts and worries," wrote T. DeWitt Talmage (I have no idea who that is, but I like it). That's me: repository of hurt and worries, snuggler, cooker of nutritious meals, doer of laundry, settler of arguments. If that's only good enough for third best, so be it. Sigh. I think I just may work on my sportiness, though. You know I'm vying to take over second place.

Gotta stay off those comments sections

Though they never fail to make me feel sad and hopeless, I'm irresistibly drawn to comments sections. You know what I'm talking about - those areas after news stories et al on the web where readers can leave their feedback. They often are filled with personal attacks on other commenters and outrageous arguments. I peruse with sorrow that people are so divided and can't seem to find a way to even hear what others have to say.

Last week, I wandered onto a doozy of one. I have been somewhat following this NPR series about mothers about to give birth. This one featured a blog a woman had written detailing the way she and her husband had decided they would not choose circumcision for their soon-to-be-born son. The blog itself was fine: the woman offered a reasoned, rational explanation of how she and her husband had arrived at their decision. What followed in the comments section, however, was what I can only describe as (excuse my language) a sh*tstorm of controversy. In the end, nearly 2,000 people sounded off.

I had heard a little about the issue of circumcision, but I had no idea people felt so passionately about it. I have to admit at first I was a little puzzled. After all, circumcision is optional. Seemingly, and I say this without judgment, opponents are not satisfied with that. From what I gather, they think the procedure should be outlawed. The anti-circumcision crowd threw around phrases like barbaric, mutilation, child abuse, human rights violation. And that's where they lost me. You may not agree with circumcision, but how can you call it child abuse when there's plenty of the real thing going on?

Here's a sampling of some of the more outrageous statements:

• Many, many people compared the issue of male circumcision to female genital mutilation. This is preposterous and insulting to women who have suffered that atrocity.

• One woman stated that people who circumcise are just like people who don't breastfeed: too lazy to take care of their children. (Aside: as someone who breastfed and thinks breastfeeding is important, I hope that this woman doesn't argue for the cause of breastfeeding. Ever.)

• Another poster stated that her son was born perfect, and she wasn't going to change that. Implicit message: those of us who choose circumcision believe otherwise about our sons.

• Then there was the guy who said people who circumcise should be imprisoned. I can only hope he was being ironic, but somehow I doubt it.

Don't get me wrong, people on the pro-circ side made their share of rude, flippant comments as well. This is my whole problem. Every website I've ever seen warns readers to keep it civil and refrain from making personal attacks, but please. People in these situations take advantage of their anonymity to write things they would, I hope, never have the nerve to say to someone face-to-face.

When people descend to the level of attacking others and making hyperbolic statements, they really are hurting their own cause. If I were a first-time parent considering the issue of circumcision, and someone used phrases like barbaric and child abuse, I would label that person as a fanatic and stop listening. If, however, that same person simply would state his or her beliefs calmly, I would listen.

Reading people's comments bothered me. A lot. It's not easy to hear a choice that I've made characterized using those strong, ugly words. For the record, as you probably can guess, and I hope this isn't a TMI moment, we chose circumcision for our boys. When we thought about it, we decided that we wanted the boys to enjoy the health and hygiene benefits (I know opponents would argue that this is a non-issue with a little bit of care and teaching), and we wanted them not to suffer teasing when they got older in those locker room situations. If I had it to do over again, I would do more research, and I'm not sure how we would decide. As it is, we made the decision that made sense at the time, and I'm comfortable with that.

Later last week, I was listening to a program on WPR about the need for people to listen to one another and try to understand opposing views. The guest stated that if we keep holding tightly to our own beliefs and shutting everything else out, nothing will ever change for us. It struck me as a virtuous, if challenging, goal. Though I hold my beliefs strongly, I feel that I'm willing to listen to opposing views. The understanding part can be harder, but I certainly can aspire to that. I'm stilling trying to apply this bit of wisdom to the comments section brawl I witnessed. This one could take some time ...

A day at the beach

If you've read my blog, you know that I've established the fact that my pre-kids, idyllic vision of parenting has not panned out for me. Resignedly, I operate with much-reduced expectations and am much more content. That's why when I saw that Friday would be a hot day, I didn't just come up with a plan willy-nilly and expect it to turn out great. Get the boys into their suits, pack them into the car, head to the pool - that simply would not work. No, I had to plan for all contingencies.

You see, pools, with all their slippery surfaces are not a good choice for my little wild man. At a beach, it would be virtually impossible for Gus to run away from me and crack his head open, so the beach it was. After I tackled gathered the boys for the torture that is sunscreen application, I began to assemble what we would need. Our needs included kick boards for Ben and Paul that I soon would learn they would not be allowed to use at the beach and toys I knew Gus would refuse to play with as soon as he saw some other child's better toys. Notice that I still brought the toys, the better to facilitate my futilely waving the toys in front of Gus while frantically exclaiming, "Don't you want to play with your truck, Gus?" Anyhoo, I picked up my mom, because, please, like I'd attempt this on my own, and we were off to Sunset Beach in Kimberly.

Armed with my realistic expectations, nothing much about the trip surprised me. Gus, fearlessly wading into the water up to his neck? Saw that coming. Gus glomming on to someone else's far-superior Cookie Monster and Big Bird scoopers? Check. At one point, Gus set his sights on two boys' Tonka trucks. That was fine when they weren't around, but when they saw him playing with their stuff, they were not happy. "He can't play with our trucks. Do you know why? Because he's not 5!" they said indignantly. Soon, they were bored of playing with their trucks and went off to the concession stand, but not before threatening me, "Guard our trucks - don't let him touch them!" I took the 5-year-olds seriously. After all, here was my opportunity to wave futilely and exclaim frantically.

I kid, but all in all the trip was pretty successful. Ben and Paul have reached that glorious stage in which they can be fairly independent, and they played really well together and had a marvelous time. And aside from trying to filch other kids' goods, Gus did pretty well, too. I spent the bulk of my time following him as we went down the slide roughly 150 times. It went so well, in fact, that I might even do it again. Just don't expect to catch me at the pool.