Ty

"I can't find my DO NUTS!" the maniac screams as he runs wild around the house, looking under things, between things, around things as he searches for his powdered treasures. He starts to scream and cry and jump up and down. He's having a conniption fit and I'm desperately trying to hold it together as I pack lunches, make coffee and shove random bits of paper into designated backpacks. Those fucking green cards... "I'll find them baby" I say, even though I have no intention of looking for them. And besides, those donuts were from the day before? Why is he looking for them right now I wonder. I finish the lunches, inhale half a cup of coffee as a kitten whizzes by, causing me to trip and curse the entire feline species. I run out to the front door and start the car and Ty flies out of the house after me. I turn to him, the 3 year old and I yell, "Go get your brothers." He gives me a look that says, "Yeah okay mom," but he runs inside and stops at the bottom of the stairs and screams, "Thake (trouble with the J sound"), Nick, skooo" and amidst the mumbling and slamming doors and the muffled voices, "Where's my other shoe" and what not, I run inside to grab my coffee cup. No sense wasting perfectly good caffeine. I run back outside only to see Ty bent over, looking at the car and pointing. I'm watching him and I hear him say, "Moke mom, moke." I look over and sure enough, the car is smoking, tufts of black smoke. At this opportune moment, Nick and Jake come flying down the stairs, shoving each other, yelling. They almost run into me as I kind of freeze for a second and then, regaining some semblance of being the person in charge, I bolt over to the driver's side and turn off the car. Jake yells, "Hey mom, there's smoke coming out of the tailpipe!" Duh I think to myself. I walk to the tailpipe, bend down and then I stand up and look over, "Go get me the tongs" I tell Nick who still doesn't have a clue what the hell is going on, "The tongs, Nick, kitchen, go and get them" I start speaking like I'm talking to a deaf person and he gets it. A minute later he comes out with the scissors and I roll my eyes. "Jake?" and then it's Jake's turn to run inside. Meanwhile Ty is bent over, trying to stare at the origin of the black tufts. Jake comes bounding out, "Here" and he jabs me with the tongs. I grab them and mutter, "Thanks" as I walk over to the car. I bend down and wave the smoke away as I insert the metal calipers into the "hole." With three eager, curious boys behind me, I feel something and I slowly withdraw the object. I set it down on the ground and quirk one eyebrow as the 3 year old puts his arms around my neck and says, "Tanks Mommy, you found my Do Nuts!" I hang my head and sigh as the other two bust up laughing. And so, another day begins.

Today was Ty's second day of preschool and as I walked down the hall while the director of the preschool held him down inside of the classroom to keep him from running away, I could hear his voice. Everyone could hear his voice, "You can't leave me here!" amidst the screams and cries and, I kept walking... And, I felt badly. I did. For about an hour after that I felt badly. One of my friends gave me a pep talk and I felt better, but there was something inherently heartbreaking about your kid looking you in the face and begging you not to "Leave me here." I've read the books, listened to the psychologists and, for crying out loud, I have two other kids who've gone through this stage already. I should be a pro... WRONG! The other two just went. They weren't exactly happy about it, but they didn't scream and cry and throw a tantrum. There's always one in every class, but now, it's me and I'm the one feeling like I'm abandoning my kid with total strangers who I really don't know from Adam and I'm reassuring him that it's going to be okay and that I'll be back.

See, I think it's perfectly okay for a parent to feel like crap for leaving their kid and for however "normal" it is to just leave which every school and every teacher and every psychologist will tell you is the "best" thing that you can do because ultimately it's the best thing for your child; the best way to adjust; still, a huge part of me still thinks that unless you know yourself and your child, you shouldn't be commenting on anyone else's situation. And the logical part of my brain, the reasonable part, the common sense part tells me that they are all right and that he's fine once I leave, but the emotional part, the psychological part, the part that makes me want to curl up in the backseat and suck my thumb, crying real tears until it's time to pick him up, well, that part of me says fuck the Psych 101, that preschool is just like pacifiers, unneccessary and pointless. I mean, children have always stayed with their parents, well, in early times; they were schooled and taught by relatives and friends and neighbors and even now, for those of us who don't have to work full time or at all, why aren't we doing the schooling ourselves? The truth? It's easier on us, it's better for us, it makes us better parents. But, You know what? Children would survive just fine without the massively expensive system known as preschool... Society makes me feel obligated to pay almost 400 bucks a month to send my kid for a structured playdate with a snack...

So, why do you do it then? You ask and I answer, peer pressure... I, like every other parent in the world want my children to have the best opportunities and, if I can provide it, I want them to have every chance to "get ahead" and to be prepared for the messed up system that is public schools in California. Maybe the truth is, I secretly like the preschool, which I do and I like knowing that Ty is with people who are qualified to teach and care for my precious little monster. Not everyone has the makeup to do that, hell, I don't, that's for sure so, I will trust that the books and the teachers and the advice are right and, I walk away...
"He had a fantastic day today" his teacher said as I waited with the other parents at the end of the day, I smiled and then I laughed as Ty came flying, body and soul, crashing into me as I picked him up, "Hi Buddy" "Mommy, you came" he said. And, that pretty much says it all.

I spend so much time, so much wasted time, regretting, worrying, second guessing things that I said or did or how my actions have fucked up my kids even more than before the incident happened and then, magically, they hug me or smile at me or look me in the eyes and say, "Mommy you came" and everything is okay again; at least in that moment. I wonder if all of the time that parents spent second guessing themselves was instead directed toward just accepting the simple fact that sometimes we screw up and we do so royally. We joke that those little buggers don't come with an instruction manual and they don't, but what they do come with is an innate resilience that allows us to fall asleep and know that we, like them, can try again tomorrow. Yes, they're going to hate us, they're going to want to sever all ties with us at some point, but I wanted the same thing when I was growing up. I wanted my parents to leave me alone, but, they didn't because, yes, you guessed it, they're parents. Some people don't take a hint well and they don't know when to back off. I think this is more common than we realize and I see it a lot in youth sports. In fact, I've been guilty of it in coaching my sons. But the more I watch and the more I listen, I accept that sometimes I am NOT what's best for my kids and in certain situations, I have to have the strength and self confidence to allow others to participate in the rearing of my children. I accept that they will not always like me nor will they seek my advice first. At the rate I'm going, I will be closer to the bottom of the list than the top, but, at least my children know that I am here; to find the donuts, to help them do their homework, to be in their corner and they know that regardless of what anyone says to them or thinks about them, that they are good human beings and that they are very much loved. And really, isn't that all anyone can say about being a parent? You will fuck up, guaranteed, but, they will still love you, guaranteed...

Ty has been in preschool for two weeks now and yesterday, he hugged me goodbye and handed me my keys and said, "Okay, bye Mom" and then he went to the open arms of his teacher who hugged him and smiled and he never looked back. And as I walked down the hall, I felt a little heartbroken and a lot content at the same time. Because I love him, it's about him. He will turn 4 next week and for just a second, I am reminded of how quickly time is passing. Well, I think about it for more than just a second, but the realization hits me that I have just experienced the last time that I will have to introduce a child to school, well, preschool and just like all of the firsts that I've gotten to enjoy, I now begin to enjoy the lasts...

Lu

You know, little girls and teenagers talk about their "BFF's" and they have little necklaces and friendship bracelets and they text each other all the time and they get mad when someone else comes along and tries to steal their "BFF"; this kind of nonsense cracks me up. It's silly in its own right, but I suppose it does have a place, somewhere.

I just got done chatting with my BFF via Facebook. Impersonal sometimes, but highly practical given that we both have three children and part time jobs and issues that pervade our forty something year old lives that we didn't have 10 years ago; some that make us laugh and many that make us sigh and wish we were just a little bit younger. I wanted to give her something back by grasping her hand and taking her for a stroll down friendship lane with me. So Lu, this one is for you.

She met my husband before I did; she introduced us actually, but that begs the question, "Why didn't she date him first?" Still wondering about that one. She took care of me when I blacked out from doing too many shots of Tequila, after I vomited in the cab on the way home from the club, kindly paying the cab driver when he asked for money to "clean up his cab." She made a Karaoke tape with me of that infamous song "Lean on Me" which I still have and which is so horrible that I cannot even stand listening to it except when I need to laugh hysterically, but I hold on to it, mainly for future blackmail purposes. She held me back and didn't let me get into the van with the bartender who I would have ended up flat on my back with (damn it!) and she assured me that it would be okay when I did something stupid or dumb which, incidentally, I did often. She went on vacation with me and she laughed when I drove through a puddle with the window open and the water splashed the entire left side of my face. She took me dancing and she was in the limo on the way to the senior prom. She taught me humility and dignity and she always made sure that I was okay even if I didn't want to be and she is my biggest cheerleader...
She puts up with my mood swings and she lets me stay at her house. She eats pie with me, even when we haven't first eaten anything else and she always, always, encouraged me to do whatever the hell it is I wanted. She taught me to see the world with bigger eyes and to listen to my heart rather than to my defined upbringing that clouded my vision and she has always shown a "blindness" to the race, sex, creed, politics or to any other "label" that people use to deny acceptance of one human being from another and I admire her for that; I respect her for that.

I don't have a lot of friends and I'm okay with that. Like I've said, not everyone gets me nor do they want to and that's fine. But the few friends that I do have, the ones who I care about, are some of the finest human beings that you could ever know. And, I could hold up any one of these people, faults and all and they'd still be 1000 times better on their worst day than I am on my best day.

What I think is the most fascinating thing about our 25+ year friendship is that we don't see eye to eye on many things. But she makes we want to understand the other point of view and I never could see that before. She makes me want to challenge myself and to ask the questions that I don't want to ask and she forces me to look my beliefs in the mirror and evaluate their worth. I like that about her. I like that she doesn't give in easily and I love that she'll tell you off to your face, but in such a way that sometimes you don't even realize that it's happening. She's diplomatic and stubborn, intelligent and educated, she's serious and fun. And she understands me. Not an easy thing to do. I can't actually remember the first time that I met her, but I know it was in junior high because we all used to play little league softball at the same place and we all kind of "knew" each other then, but it was in high school when we really got the chance to know each other and to share those moments that are both worth sharing and some that you'd like to forget. Many you'd like to forget...

Where we used to talk about clothes and vacations and boys, our conversation just ended with how we should be eating pie and the use of Viagra, along with a side helping of MRI's and arthritis. But that's what a good friendship is; a buffet. You start with all you can eat and then you work your way through the unnecessary time wasting stuff and you finish with the luscious, the frivolous. And no matter what we discuss or what is going on in our lives, we always laugh; the dessert of the relationship. She is the whipped cream and I am definitely the nuts...

Lu knows me better than anyone else, better than my husband, my kids, even my parents and yet, she still talks to me. Surprising, at least to me, but then again, maybe I fulfill some kind of "helping the less fortunate" quota where she's concerned and, if not, I'll just count my blessings that I have someone in my life who is a grounded part of my past and who helps me live in the present and who will always be a part of my future. Blondie!

I love you Lu...