This play date has jumped the rails

Oh, structured days, how quickly I've taken ye for granted. The boys have the afternoon off today, for the second time in two weeks. (They'll also be home Thursday and Friday and another day two weeks from tomorrow - our school district is really testing my mettle.) I've always kind of looked forward to having them around on these days off,  but today I was reminded just how good it is for everyone's sake to have the boys at school.

I picked up Ben, Paul, and Paul's BFF, Jonathon. On the walk toward school, I carried Gus, who carried the umbrella, and he kept dropping it on my head. Things only got worse when we walked in the door. Jonathon's mom had dropped off his toys last night, and I knew right away this would prove problematic. Just how bad, though, I had not anticipated.

Jonathon immediately asked for his box of Skylanders. If you're not familiar with Skylanders, they're little figures that link to a video game. I hate them because they're expensive and cheap at the same time, if you catch my drift. You can expect to pay anywhere from $9 to $15 for one, but they break really easily. Paul loves them, so of course, Gus fell hard for them, too.

I knew as soon as I laid the box in Jonathon's hands, Gus would go ballistic. We, of course, have our own box filled with Skylanders, but that would be nothing next to the forbidden fruit of Jonathon's stuff. I was right in my prediction, natch. Paul and Jonathon preemptively and vociferously warned Gus to keep his hands off Jonathon's stuff. It immediately escalated into a screaming match. Gus was apoplectic, screeching, "Just let me see!" Jonathon yelled back, "I can't trust you! You're going to break them!" Fair enough. Because of the aforementioned cheap construction, and because I think it's fair for Jonathon not to want Paul's brother touching his stuff, I was not keen on Gus getting his hands on them, either. I understand Paul and Jonathon, I really do. Gus can be super-annoying and persistent. And yet, it's got to be hard to be the youngest.

Ben jumped to Gus's defense, which was kind of sweet, but in reality, it only made matters worse. Now everyone was yelling at one another - Ben arguing like a champion debater, Jonathon now telling Ben to be quiet, Gus having a full-on temper tantrum. Over the shouting, I tried to explain to Paul and Jonathon that sometimes with little kids, it's better to just indulge them for a little bit to get the desire out of their system. You know, let him look at a few, hold them for a couple minutes. Gus never stays on one track for too long, after all. It didn't work - can you imagine? All the while, I was trying to get their lunch on the table. I was ready to start doing some yelling of my own.

I got the meal served, and things calmed down a bit after that. After eating his chips and orange,  Jonathon declared that he had no room for the sandwich I'd made him. This happened a few weeks ago when Jonathon slept over, too. We were eating pizza for supper, and he said, "Jess, I ate supper before I came, so I'm not really hungry." He'd arrived at 2:30. Side note: I'm not one who's ever cared how kids address me - whatever their parents' preference for addressing adults is fine with me. Somehow the informality of this 6-year-old calling me "Jess" always throws me for a loop and makes me giggle a bit.

This play date has been under way for two hours now, and things are going fairly smoothly at the moment. For my sanity, though, I think the forecast for get-togethers at our house on Thursday and Friday looks poor. And next time Jonathon comes to play, I hope to God he leaves that *%$@ box at home.

First slumber party proves, er, enlightening ...

Saturday night, while it was all still fun and games.

Ben, in the throes of the world's worst slumber party hangover.

Over the weekend, we embarked on another first: hosting a slumber party. As is characteristic (as a result of me more than Mark), we probably overdid it a bit. Ben invited six boys for a trip to Badger Sports Park and then dinner and a sleepover. We figured it would be nice to do something special for our eldest son's 10th birthday. And just because we invited six kids didn't mean they'd all be able to come, right? But they were, and did I mention that Sunday afternoon we'd also hold our first open house?

Our trip to Badger went smoothly despite the extra-lousy weather, which brought extra-large crowds to the indoor attraction. The boys played a round of laser tag and quickly blew through the gaming cards we'd purchased for each child. Mark and I entertained Paul and Gus while the big boys played. (Aside: there are few tasks more loathsome than guiding a child through the process of choosing crappy prizes at the arcade ticket counter, am I right?)

We came home and fed the boys, and wow can they eat! I figured that some fifth-grade boys have morphed into big eaters, while others, like Ben, haven't yet reached that point. Deciding on the quantity of food was stressful for me, but we seemed to do OK.

A little before 9:00, the boys asked if they could go outside to play night games, a request we welcomed after all the time they'd spent playing with various electronic devices. We gave them a gentle reminder to keep down the volume and sent them on their way. They played ghosts in the graveyard and kick the can while Mark and I watched TV in the living room. By 9:20 they were back in the house.

About 10 minutes after the boys had finished, we saw a police car pull up near our house. Mark and I watched with curiosity, as the officers seemed focused on our house. Sure enough, moments later, they emerged and were walking around our backyard with flashlights. Mark went outside to investigate. Turns out a neighbor had seen the boys running around and was concerned.

Officer Nick asked us to summon the boys upstairs for a couple questions. "Men," he said after we'd gathered the puzzled and probably a little freaked-out boys, "Were you just playing some night games?" "Ah, yes," they replied. "OK, well, carry on then." Lame. I guess our neighbors were nice to try to watch out for us, but calling the cops probably was overkill. They could've just stopped over and talked to us. As it was, we got the privilege of having to explain to each boy's parents why their sons might be retelling the story of the cops showing up at our house.

After that little bit of drama, I was ready for bed. Mark decided he'd stay up a little later to keep an eye on the boys and try to steer them toward winding down by midnight or so. When I sleepily opened my eyes the next morning, Mark informed me that three of the boys, including Ben, hadn't slept all night. I honestly had not expected this. We've had kids sleep over before, albeit just one at a time, and they may go to bed late, but they do sleep. I thought maybe at worst they'd stay up until 1 or 2 a.m. but still get in at least five or six hours of sleep.

Sunday morning, Ben was nodding off before the last boy even left the house. Mark and I knew we'd be in for a lot of crabbiness, especially since we didn't want Ben to snooze all day, as we figured that would only further mess up his sleep schedule. We decided we'd let Ben nap while we cleaned for the open house and then try to make him stay up until at least after supper.

Awakening Ben after his little nap proved no easy task. When we tried to rouse him to get changed and ready to go to my parents' before the open house, he was surly and disoriented. A sampling of the dialog between Mark and Ben. Ben, crying in frustration: "What is this? I don't even know what this is!" Mark: "It's underwear." Ben, more crying: "I don't know what to do with it!"

I can only describe what ensued over the next few hours as a slumber party hangover, a direct result of an underconsumption of sleep with a simultaneous overconsumption of sugar, soda and Cheetos. There were lots of frustrated tears: "Why can't I just go to sleep?" Ben tried to lie down and sleep at every opportunity. It was a full-time job trying to keep him awake, though we did give in and let him sleep for small chunks.

In the end, we all survived the day. We held the open house, Ben went to bed early and slept a good 12 hours. Ben's always been a bit of a night owl. I hope maybe this experience has taught him something about the value of sleep. Yeah, I don't think so either. I can tell you one thing, though, it's going to be a long time before we decide to host another slumber party. Oh, and one more thing, we host one hell of a slumber party.

Ben turns double digits; Mom celebrates with a meltdown

I didn't plan to start this day, the day of my oldest boy's 10th birthday this way - with me yelling, I mean really yelling, at the boys on the way to school. I looked in the rear-view and took in the sight of Ben looking stricken at my outburst. Immediately I felt completely low, truly awful.

It started the way most mom tantrums do for me. I took on too much, and it all rained down on me at once. I'm an emergency parent for Gus's preschool, and someone called me yesterday to ask if I could take her shift In the classroom - her kids were sick. Sure, I said, adding to yesterday's to-do list making a batch of muffins to bring as a snack for Gus's class.

Today began with an extra early wake-up for my early riser, Gus. He wanted to start the day at 5:30 a.m. He was lying in bed with me and Mark (yeah, he sneaks in every night). We'd laid down the law, told him, no, he wasn't getting up yet. Moments later, Paul, who had also snuck in for an early-morning snuggle, mumbled, "Mom, I wet ..." I stretched sleepily and felt the large wet spot on our mattress. Fantastic.

Well, needless to say, I wasn't going to sneak in any extra sleep today. We were up. I should've been golden. I had plenty of time to do a Pilates video to make up for the Y class I would miss in taking the shift at Gus's school. I could eat a somewhat leisurely breakfast and still have ample time to shower. I managed to do the video, and perhaps I ate just a little too leisurely. Suddenly I was scrambling. I made it into the shower and managed to get my hair done. I thought I'd throw on some makeup after I got the boys to school.

I rushed out to the kitchen to quickly cut the bars I'd made for Ben's birthday treat. The bars were not cutting easily, and it was taking way longer than it should've. In the meantime, Gus tried to get himself some water but managed to spill all over himself. His clothes were soaked. Paul came in and started crying about the fact that I'd made a treat for Ben's class, and there were no extras for him. "It's not fair!" he screamed. Frantically trying to finish the cutting, Paul came in and asked for help putting on his socks. "Find a pair you can get on yourself!" I shot back.

The bars were finally cut, but by this time, we should've left a good five minutes ago. I remembered how cold it would be today and frantically searched for warm coats for Ben and Paul. Gus was standing there in his underwear - the wet cloths, not at all ready for a car ride. I pulled the toys out of Gus's hands, deposited him into a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt, and carried him, crying, to his car seat.

I grabbed the spare key (too frazzled to find my set) and got in the van barefoot. Paul didn't have his jacket on and was fighting me about the one I'd chosen for him. "Put it on!" I yelled. More protest. "Put. It. On!" I screamed. And we've come full circle to those stricken looks.

Why, this long story is quite a divergence in an entry ostensibly meant to celebrate your beloved oldest son's double-digit birthday, you may be thinking. I think it pretty perfectly sums up my imperfect career as a mom, however. Things rarely turn out as I'd expect.

Ben arrived eight days late. My water broke at 3:30 in the morning. My doctor - we used our GP instead of an OB-GYN the first time around - was out of town, and the doctor we got instead seemed a little out of his element when it came time to push and the baby was failing to emerge. He didn't make the call to do an episiotomy until I'd been pushing for two hours. By then, the damage was done. "It's a boy!" Mark announced. My precious boy was laid on my chest, and I shed some happy tears.

I did not anticipate what came next, however - two hours of stitching and the loss of a very large amount of blood. This wasn't the scene I'd pictured. I was in rough shape when it was time to go home, and our expectations were completely unrealistic. Ben had slept great at the hospital! Surely we'd be fine! Forgive me if I've already written about this next bit, because I tell this story a lot. It will never stop being funny to me. We set Ben in his bassinet and set the alarm for four hours, so I could wake up and feed him. Yeah, he woke up 30 seconds later. That was our initiation to real baby sleep habits.

For the first month or so, I was in a tailspin. I was feeling the way the addition of a baby had changed my relationship with Mark, and most of all I was hormonal and oh so tired. Let's just say I spent a lot of minutes crying in the shower those first weeks.

Eventually, things calmed down, we got into a routine. On Ben's first birthday, my sister-in-law caught me looking emotional. "It's a big day for you, too," she noted. She had that right. I don't need to go on about how 10 years have evaporated before my eyes. (They have, they really have!) You all know how that goes, right?

I just want to say, Ben, you have changed my life in the best possible ways. You have helped teach me to be a mom. On this day, your 10th birthday,  my 10th momiversary (?), I want to tell you that you are amazing, bright, beautiful. We treasure you. I'll wing a little prayer that you'll forgive (and forget - please, please, please) my transgressions and that in the end you'll grow into a wonderful person more because of me than in spite of me.