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.

Preschool is under way, and the outlook is good

This week, I worked in Gus's preschool classroom for the first time. His school is a co-op, so parents take a volunteer shift helping with the class once or twice a month.

Knowing Gus and reflecting on his, er, mixed performance at summer school a few months ago, I was both excited and nervous to see how he was doing firsthand. When we arrive at school most mornings, Gus is bubbling over with enthusiasm (read: sometimes he's a little hyper). I hadn't heard any negative reports from Gus's teacher, but I was curious to see how he settled in once it was time to get down to business.

Class begins with a few minutes of free play, and then the kids clean up and head to circle time. During circle time, the children learn the theme for the day. I was particularly concerned about the amount of quiet sitting and listening required of this portion of the day. Big G can have a hard time sitting still, and my presence would add a different element. I was pleasantly surprised to see that he did fine. Sure, he got a little antsy, but so did many. In short, he was nothing out of the ordinary.

The rest of the morning proceeded uneventfully. I was in charge of the toys and games area, so Gus started with me. We played Candy Land with another boy; he headed to the dramatic play area, where the kids can engage in imaginative play and use the little slide and seesaw; he painted a picture of a furry friend for art time.

At the end of the day, when we gathered for song time before snacks, I was seated across the circle from Gus, and I was struck all of a sudden by how grown-up he looked sitting there with his little legs crossed. I think because Gus is my youngest, sometimes I tend to think of him as younger than he actually is. For heaven's sake, he's 4, and I still carry him into school sometimes. That never would have happened, say, when Paul was in preschool and I was towing along a little Gus.

Don't get me wrong, Gus is still very much Gus. He has not magically transformed into an uber-polite and demure little man. (After all, this morning he was busted painting the bathroom  walls with toothpaste - for the second time.) Overall, though, I think he's learning and growing. On Friday, the teacher stopped me on my way out the door. She said Gus is really settling down and getting into the routine. My hope with preschool was that its structured setting would be good for him, would help prepare him for full-time school. It's looking like this experience is time well spent for him.

Home sale choice won't be easy

It all started about six weeks ago when our good friends told us the people across the street from them were looking to put their house on the market and were wondering if our friends knew anyone who would be interested. Mark and I have long had our sights on this neighborhood, loving its mature trees, established feel and proximity to the boys' school. We were cautiously excited, because honestly a house that is 30 to 40 years old could be anything from great to completely dated-looking.

The couple who was selling the home wasn't quite ready to show it yet, but knowing that we'd have a lot of work ahead of us before we could even think about putting our house on the market, we contacted a Realtor in hopes of getting a feel for what we could expect. She came to our house and was unsurprisingly effusive about our house and prospects of selling it. After all, isn't that their job? We've been in this house for eight years, and obviously the economy and housing market have both tanked since we bought this place. Fortunately, we were lucky to have purchased our home for a pretty reasonable price and would stand to make out OK if we were able to sell our house somewhere in the neighborhood of our asking price. I guess that's the best many sellers can hope for these days.

I've had house wanderlust from time to time for a couple years now. Oh, wouldn't it be nice if we could have more space, a bigger yard, live in that neighborhood? For the most part, though, we've been pretty content in this house and neighborhood. Though, we're not super-tight with most of our neighbors, we know everyone around us. The boys have friends across the street and down the road. It all lends a certain degree of comfort. Naturally, as soon as it looked as though we might move on from our abode, I started to feel very attached to it. This place is about as unremarkable as they come, but it's ours, the home we walked into returning from the hospital with babies Paul and Gus, the only home Ben has ever really known. Paul and Ben have heard us talking about the possibility of moving over the last couple weeks, and Paul emphatically says, "We're not moving!" Even though he'd be at the same school, that change is always hard for kids.

All of my nostalgia doesn't even take into consideration the logistics and headaches of selling a home. The last time we did it, Mark and I were both working full-time, and Ben was in child care. In a lot of ways, that made it much easier. Now with Gus and me at home, those showings and open houses undoubtedly would get a lot more complicated. And let's just say our house in its current state is not viewing-ready. Getting it to that point would require us to move mountains of clutter.

Then there's the stress of worrying about whether the house will sell, the agony of falling in love with another place only to have it snatched out from beneath you. The first day the Realtor walked through our house, she was very nice but said things like, "Now Jess, I know what it's like to have kids in the house, but if I were you I'd bleach the heck out of this tub." (I wash my tub every week, and darn if I can ever get it looking perfectly white!) I imagined what it would feel like to have all kinds of people walking through our home and sniping about what they dislike in this place we've created. All of this combined to make whole idea begin to look mighty unappealing. Plus, all of this was based on a house we had yet to set foot inside.

Finally, though, after weeks of waiting, the couple was ready to have us see the house. Mark and I had gone through a different house in the neighborhood two days before. The inside of it was staggeringly awful - wallpaper covering every wall, the decor unbelievably dated. It was like stepping into a time warp. Suddenly, I was very pessimistic about the place we were about to see. As we walked into the house, though, our fears evaporated. The house is lovely, immaculately maintained, with lots of renovations. The lot is full of trees and has a beautiful, shady backyard. It's not perfect, and it's not a whole lot bigger than what we have now, but it's the neighborhood we've always wanted. The kids could walk to school, our friends would would live across the street. In our house now, a busy street separates the boys from many of their friends. In this neighborhood, they could safely ride their bikes to many friends' houses.

Mark and I were really excited. I began to picture us making the house exactly what we wanted it to be. But me being me, I began to have worries and doubts. I was again feeling sad about the thought of leaving this house. On the other hand, though, I would be sad to see someone else get the other house as well. There's just no way this will be an easy decision.

As we wade through trying to make a choice, I'm trying to keep it all in perspective. After all, it's not so much about the house; it's more about us as a family: me and Mark and the boys. It makes me think of this song I love, "Home," by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes. "Ahh, home. Let me come home. Home is wherever I'm with you." So it is.

Forgotten video footage unearths memories and stirs emotions

In anticipation of Ben turning 10 next month (sniff, sniff), Mark and I have set out to create a video or slideshow chronicling the years of his life. A few years ago, we decided to trade up to a small, handheld video camera, so we sold our older, larger one on eBay. Discovering much footage with which we'd done nothing, Mark hastily downloaded it onto the computer, and there it sat, again untouched.

Last weekend, I delved into our videos to see what discoveries awaited me. I was familiar with some of what I found, for I did do a little viewing when Mark downloaded all the video. One of my favorites is Ben, age 3, the Christmas after Paul was born. He opens a gift, and it's an outfit for his Build-a-Bear monkey, Clarence. (How Ben conjured the name Clarence at the age of 3, I still have no idea.) Ben says in this adorable little voice, "It's cwothes! For Cwarence!" Ben and I watched it together when I stumbled upon it again, and we shared lots of giggles.

Much of what I found, though, was new to me. Lots of it rekindled memories long forgotten, like the one of Ben and his cousin Nora, both probably a few months shy of 2, playing ring around the rosie in our kitchen. Once inseparable at family gatherings, now that Ben and Nora are both nearing 10, they're sadly not as tight as they used to be. It made me wish for the good, old days a little bit.

What astounded me most in my walk down memory lane was how much I'd forgotten entirely. I watched video from a birthday party of Paul's. My aunt from Chicago was there, and I'd completely forgotten the visit. For the life of me, I cannot remember a thing from that day.

I viewed the forgotten footage with a mix of happiness and sorrow. I was delighted to be able to relive these moments, and I treasured being able to see the boys again as they were when they were tiny. But the experience also got me reflecting on how easy it is to forget days, weeks, months of time. Sometimes I let days go by between updating my daily journal - I try to keep a short record of the happenings of each day. When I try to go back and recall what we did, say, six days ago, it's a real struggle. Imagine all the little memories that get lost over the years.

OK, so this is getting a little depressing, but all of this made me want to redouble my efforts to preserve memories. Like many parents, our initial enthusiasm for getting out the video camera has waned. I want to make sure that we record more, especially the little mundane moments, like the one I found of Paul and Ben singing "On Top of Spaghetti" on an ordinary winter day. Much as I'd like to sometimes, there's no stopping time and no going back, but I'll take heart in the fact that at least we have ways to hold on to a little piece of those moments.