Dress down

The Boy is full of personality. You may have noticed that before. He's funny and energetic and creative and dynamic. One might be worried that BeYoYo would get overshadowed by the largeness of his personality, and that would be a fair concern.

But hear ye, hear ye, BeYoYo shall not be underestimated. 

This child has just turned two, and the potential for his shenanigans is only starting to shine forth. Yesterday, at our house, was delivered one plus-size-stud-trimmed maxi dress. That BeYoYo ordered from Amazon. On my phone. On my work account. For $58. 

I realized the error the same day, and tried to cancel the order but it was too late, it was already on the way. It showed up today. I bet you're wondering how this happened. I found a really cool dress at a thrift store and I was looking it up on Amazon. It was the same brand as this "stud trim" number you see here, and he had the phone right after, so click click, here we are: 

You'll note the bag says "ready to ship"

I'm on a local buy/sell/trade group for parents, and I tried to list it there for resell before I have to pay for return shipping. 

So far, it's gotten plenty of likes but no one is interested in purchasing it. Can you believe? 

And the darn thing is SOLD OUT, meaning BeYoYo really has his finger on the pulse of women's fashion. They're flying off the shelves! So who needs a stud-trimmed dress? 

Maybe BeYoYo will help you find some accessories that match. 

To My Child's New Teacher, At The Beginning of the Year

We met you today, with your blonde hair and your bronzed skin and your cute dress. We saw the classroom that you painstakingly set up, the details you fretted over, the placement of each name tag you cut out and laminated, the art center with each bottle of paint lined up. We looked in the cubbies you labeled and read the calendar wall you created.

I want you to know I appreciate the time you spent and the effort you took to make everything special, but I don't care about any of that. All I care about is the fact that when The Boy was nervous and trying to hide behind me, you got down on his level and spoke to him to help him feel more comfortable. That when he felt small in a big new classroom and was giving you some serious side eye, you smiled at him and said "I promise I'm nice" and asked him what toys he was interested in, then listened as he showed you.

New teacher, you don't know us yet. Let me give you a head's up that we're that family. When we're signed up for snack helper, there's a 50/50 chance we'll either bring cool something related to that week's theme, or we'll forget completely. If that happens, I'll run up to the RaceTrac and get some stale doughnuts for the whole class, or maybe some of the emergency packs of melted fruit snacks I have in the back of my car for just such an occasion. You'll have to send us reminders about lunch money, because we might forget that too. When you open the door of my SUV in the car rider line, Ninja Turtles might fall out on the ground, and there's a good chance I'll be in my pajamas, with little brother crying in his car seat. I don't know when teacher appreciation week is, and I might accidentally turn left out of the car rider line like we're not supposed to do. Sometimes I will forget to check the send home folder and I won't see that note you sent me. Also, our take home folder is going to be bigger than everyone else's because I thought the list said a one-and-a-half-inch notebook, instead of one half-inch notebook. My kid might have some toothpaste on his shirt and some breakfast on his chin. And the breakfast might include some form of icing.  I'll lose the list of important dates for the year that I got today, so you'll need to tell me again when 50's Day is, and what time the spring recital starts. His hair will be sticking up on picture day. I will forget to let you know my kid needs to stay for after school and I will urgently email you during the day, when I know good and well you have no time to respond. I apologize in advance. For all of that.

But teacher, we are also that family. That family who trusts you with our child. Who appreciates all the hard work you put in. The family who won't get mad if our kid isn't the smartest or fastest or best behaved one in your class. The family who will listen if there's a problem, and ask what we can do to help. The family who won't blame you for our imperfect kid or our imperfect parenting. The family who will teach our child to treat you with respect, even if he disagrees with you. The family who will say a prayer of thanksgiving for you every night, and who will send you telepathic kudos every time our kids start to drive us crazy after just 10 minutes of togetherness. We will back you up, and recognize your authority in the classroom and in his life. Our kid is about to spend 7 hours a day with you, and that's more time than he'll spend with us most days. We know you'll take care of him and love on him and laugh at his jokes and listen to his stories (oh, the stories!), and that you'll comfort him when he is sad and take care of him when he is hurt. We know that you won't tell him to shut up when he goes on and on about something, even if you want to (that might be the greatest superpower that God gifted teachers). We know that even as you are loving and teaching and shaping our child, you're loving and teaching and shaping 21 others too. We're that family that knows that every year our child is in school is another chance to add more people to his village. And if you haven't noticed, we need a village.

 So if you'll hand me that Ninja Turtle, we'll see you tomorrow.

To My Child's New Teacher, At The Beginning of the Year

We met you today, with your blonde hair and your bronzed skin and your cute dress. We saw the classroom that you painstakingly set up, the details you fretted over, the placement of each name tag you cut out and laminated, the art center with each bottle of paint lined up. We looked in the cubbies you labeled and read the calendar wall you created.

I want you to know I appreciate the time you spent and the effort you took to make everything special, but I don't care about any of that. All I care about is the fact that when The Boy was nervous and trying to hide behind me, you got down on his level and spoke to him to help him feel more comfortable. That when he felt small in a big new classroom and was giving you some serious side eye, you smiled at him and said "I promise I'm nice" and asked him what toys he was interested in, then listened as he showed you.

New teacher, you don't know us yet. Let me give you a head's up that we're that family. When we're signed up for snack helper, there's a 50/50 chance we'll either bring cool something related to that week's theme, or we'll forget completely. If that happens, I'll run up to the RaceTrac and get some stale doughnuts for the whole class, or maybe some of the emergency packs of melted fruit snacks I have in the back of my car for just such an occasion. You'll have to send us reminders about lunch money, because we might forget that too. When you open the door of my SUV in the car rider line, Ninja Turtles might fall out on the ground, and there's a good chance I'll be in my pajamas, with little brother crying in his car seat. I don't know when teacher appreciation week is, and I might accidentally turn left out of the car rider line like we're not supposed to do. Sometimes I will forget to check the send home folder and I won't see that note you sent me. Also, our take home folder is going to be bigger than everyone else's because I thought the list said a 1 1/2" notebook, instead of 1-1/2" notebook. My kid might have some toothpaste on his shirt and some breakfast on his chin. And the breakfast might include some form of icing.  I'll lose the list of important dates for the year that I got today, so you'll need to tell me again when 50's Day is, and what time the spring recital starts. His hair will be sticking up on picture day. I will forget to let you know my kid needs to stay for after school and I will urgently email you during the day, when I know good and well you have no time to respond. I apologize in advance. For all of that.

But teacher, we are also that family. That family who trusts you with our child. Who appreciates all the hard work you put in. The family who won't get mad if our kid isn't the smartest or fastest or best behaved one in your class. The family who will listen if there's a problem, and ask what we can do to help. The family who won't blame you for our imperfect kid or our imperfect parenting. The family who will teach our child to treat you with respect, even if he disagrees with you. The family who will say a prayer of thanksgiving for you every night, and who will send you telepathic kudos every time our kids start to drive us crazy after just 10 minutes of togetherness. We will back you up, and recognize your authority in the classroom and in his life. Our kid is about to spend 7 hours a day with you, and that's more time than he'll spend with us most days. We know you'll take care of him and love on him and laugh at his jokes and listen to his stories (oh, the stories!), and that you'll comfort him when he is sad and take care of him when he is hurt. We know that you won't tell him to shut up when he goes on and on about something, even if you want to (that might be the greatest superpower that God gifted teachers). We know that even as you are loving and teaching and shaping our child, you're loving and teaching and shaping 21 others too. We're that family that knows that every year our child is in school is another chance to add more people to his village. And if you haven't noticed, we need a village.

 So if you'll hand me that Ninja Turtle, we'll see you tomorrow.

7 Under 8: Our Family Vacation

It's been a few weeks since we got back from family vacation. Honestly, it's taken me this long to recover.  There were 8 adults and 7 kids, ages 7,7,5,5,3,2,1. When they are all together they’re like a wild tribe of savages that have never experienced civilization, and we adults are the western explorers looking at them with wonder. Family vacation is like our own Indiana Jones exploration, a week of observing this wild population known as The Cousins. Here are some notes from my log. 

Travel: We left in the afternoon, two Cousins journeyed with us so that we may begin to acclimate to our week of research. They were smaller in stature than us, but looked similar. One talked non-stop, the other talked and sang with a mixture of their language and what we surmised to be gibberish. Then they both fell asleep. When they awoke, they demanded snacks and toys to entertain them, and we complied. We provided them with some toys we’d purchased at the Dollar Tree, and they were astonished, never having seen something as luxurious as a ninja that sticks to a window. 

Stopping for food was interesting. They seem to be unfamiliar with restaurants, or at least restaurant etiquette. They believe staying in one's seat is optional, as is eating. And when annoyed, they have no qualms about sharing that, as seen here: 

When we got to the hotel, two of our fellow researchers were there with two native Cousins of their own. The four Cousins embraced and screamed, running around the hotel room in what appeared to be delight in seeing each other. For ease and consistency we have decided to reference them by birth order, the eldest being #1, the next being #2, and so forth, ending with the youngest being #7. 

We decided to venture to the wading pool at our hotel. All the natives pushed all the buttons in the elevator, never having seen technology of this caliber. Number Seven said hello to everyone we saw. Upon entering the wading pool area, all four of them ran in different directions. Number 2 was an excellent swimmer, with the others ranging in skill and confidence. Numbers six and seven had more confidence than skill and would have drowned had we not intervened. Numbers Two and Four said "watch this" one hundred times. Number Seven asked my partner to hold him up in the air again and again, and he laughed in delight. What a strange request! Was this a customary ritual in his village? 

After a rousing swim session we agreed to retire upstairs. I laid down with Number 7 to demonstrate to him our way of sleeping. He was unaccustomed to sleeping in this manner, and preferred to lie perpendicular to me with his face on my back to sleep. Once he’d fallen asleep I moved to the other bed, but his brother joined me there. His brother’s preference of sleeping was to thrash about all night. Neither my partner or I awoke rested.  

Number Seven particularly enjoyed the hotel phone. 

The next morning we went downstairs to take breakfast. Though there was no waitstaff, the natives yelled out their food choices. We realized that they were expecting us to prepare breakfast for them! In our culture we would not request another to prepare our food, especially requesting so in this demanding nature, but we obliged since their customs were clearly different. Once we fixed their food and delivered it to them at the table, they each decided they actually wanted a different choice instead. We came back with another round of breakfast for each, so that they might sample all the Country Inn and Suites had to offer. After providing this lovely modern American experience, we started back on our journey. 

Day 1: We arrived at our destination in the afternoon. When all the Cousins saw each other, they participated in a great greeting and demonstration of strength by each taking turns picking each other up. Then they ran in circles screaming what must have been shouts of joy. They went to explore the pool. Some were more comfortable than others, and one yelled “I can’t swim!” in despair, before swimming across the pool on her own. We noted that male Cousins will urinate anywhere, while the females are more discreet. 

Day 2: The boys awoke early, despite being up late last night. Our senior researcher took Numbers Six and Seven out to the beach, where they proceeded to throw shells back into the ocean over and over. And over and over. They also greeted each dog they saw with a wave and a hug. 

Later the bigger Cousins came down to the beach and ran in the waves, then went back to the pool before going in for lunch. Not having an understanding of meteorology, there were tears and stomps when it started to rain. Perhaps they thought it would never stop? One of our team introduced a new board game and that tided them over until the rain stopped. Today we noticed that these people have boundless energy, though they need no protein, fruits, vegetables, or alcohol! When we offered them hot dogs at dinner, they put tiny flags in them, clearly not recognizing them as food items. 

Day 3: Cousins protest sunscreen vehemently. Does this tribe have some mutation in their DNA that renders their skin unburnable by the sun? The two brothers that were in our care were particularly fond of cheese crackers and cheese puffs, and were more impressed with these than the ocean. Though there was the entirety of the sea before them, they sat in the sand with a box of cheez-its, alternating putting their sandy, salty hands in the bag. 

Additionally, they are not conditioned to smile for a camera, preferring a more candid scowl. You'll see even one of our researchers began to take on this same look. 

This evening we set about trying to get some nice pictures to document the experience. While it went much better than last year's attempt, it was not perfect. Maybe Cousins do not have the technology for photography in their village.  Clearly the photos they value have tears or dance positions in them. 

After pictures the Cousins enjoyed a game of eating mystery jellybeans. Some were regular flavors we're accustomed to, like strawberry and coconut. Others were unusual flavors like grass clippings, booger, and baby wipes. We are accustomed to different cultures enjoying different delicacies, but what we found unusual was that the Cousins didn't like the flavors we found unusual, yet they still ate them. They gagged and spat them into the sand, and then went back for more. It was a custom that they all found disgusting, yet they all voluntarily participated in. (Perhaps that's how other cultures would describe our Black Friday?) 

Day 4: Someone must be crying at all times. Cousins seem to have a sixth sense about them that notes when one stops crying and prompts another to begin. Reasons for these outbursts vary, but may include it's raining, it's about to rain, it's hot, it's cold, someone has a toy they want, they don't know what they want for lunch, we stopped having fun for 5 minutes, someone asked if they need to pee, or it stopped raining. When anyone says something that Number Seven doesn't like, he pretends to fall asleep. Even if he's in the pool. 

Day 5: We took Numbers 2, 4, 6, and 7 into town. We visited such attractions as a Pirate Museum and Ripley's Believe It Or Not, and saw several places of historical significance. But their favorite was eating pizza at lunch and shopping in the pirate museum gift shop. Number 7 particularly enjoyed the trolley that took us around town, and he waved and yelled "I riding!" then promptly faked falling asleep when anyone looked or waved at him. He is a small, strange creature. 

Day 6: Cousins also have some eating rituals that are unusual. At a restaurant, they will ask for a specific food. Insist upon it. Beg for it. Promise they will like it. Then, once it is presented to them they will take one bite and declare they no longer like it. It is these times that they've been served the largest portion in the history of time. 

Number 7 prefers to wear an oven mitt while he eats at home, but does not take it out with him to restaurants. He will also try to fit every piece of cereal that's in a cereal box into his mouth at once.

They eat with such wild abandon and passion that they care not where food may land! They care not where food trash lands either. Perhaps they have servants who clean up after them? Certainly no one lives among such trash.

They also have unusual methods for sitting in chairs. Here you will see Cousins 4, 5, and 7, none of them seated on their hind quarters.  You'll note that Number 5, on the left, is royalty. 

Day 7: Cousins played in the sand. No one wanted to get buried and everyone wanted to dig, then everyone wanted to get buried and no one wanted to dig. 

Cousins consider accessories to be clothing, and clothing to be accessory.  

For sport, they enjoy arguing, running, screeching, and full contact wrestling. 

Here we captured a short video of their customary inside ritual that they participate in nightly: 

Once they warmed up to the idea of taking pictures, they also enjoyed experimenting with perspective. 

Numbers One (front) and Two 

Numbers 3 (front) and 4

Tomorrow we shall leave for home. We are exhausted, but we have observed much about this culture and are grateful for the chance to learn more about them. Until next year....

Taking Kids To The Grocery Store

On Monday I took both boys to the grocery store for our weekly shopping. I should have just driven my car into the glass doors and through all the aisles, that would've been cheaper and less messy.

The Boy had made a paper polar bear at school that he was super excited about. Sometimes I don't let him take a toy into a store, explaining that if they sell that same thing there they might think we didn't pay for it. As we pulled up at Publix he said "Do they sell art at Puglix?" When I asked him what he meant, he said he wanted to take his polar bear in to play with in the cart. I assured him they didn't sell polar bear art (but how sweet is that?) and he could take it in if he kept up with it.

The Boy started asking for a cookie as soon as we walked in. Hearing that, BeYoYo started asking for a "kiki" too. "Kiki! Kiki!" he repeated. I told them they'd have to behave for two aisles to get their kikis. Kikis ain't free, boys. Not understanding that, BeYoYo threw his sippy cup on the floor in anger. Then we passed the BOGO section, which had the little packages of cut up cantaloupe. The Boy asked for some, and I put two packages in the cart. Before I knew it, he'd torn into one of them and was eating cantaloupe in the cart. Seeing this, BeYoYo starting screaming "BIE! BIE!" (bite bite), and The Boy started passing cantaloupe pieces up to his brother in the front of the cart. I surveyed the situation and surmised that this could buy me some time, and I started maneuvering quickly around the produce section. "Do you want navel oranges or cuties?" I asked The Boy. My voice said leisurely and patient, but my hands and feet moved quickly. A stranger told me BeYoYo was only wearing one shoe. I assured her I had the other in the diaper bag. Who has time to put a shoe on a kid in a cart when you're rushing to finish before someone melts down? The Boy played with his polar bear.

We carried on for several minutes, them entertained by cantaloupe dripping down their chins, and me speedily tossing things in the cart where they would fit. Y'all, before I had kids there was a grocery list. There was a rough meal plan for the week, and there was a coupon notebook. I strolled down the aisles at a leisurely pace, referencing my list that included sale items and which coupons corresponded to them. I checked to make sure that my coupon for granola bars was indeed for the 12 pack I had in my hand before putting it in my cart, which might have been organized by package type. Now it's a mad dash like the middle of a horror movie, moving as fast as I can and tossing in any items that are on sale. Or that are close by. Or that look healthy. I might as well call Publix and ask for one of everything.

We made it through 2 aisles before they got restless. Ah, it's time for a cookie! I announced. We headed back over to the bakery to get a cookie, then back to where we left off. This process is not efficient to say the least. They inhaled their cookies in about 7 seconds, before we even finished that aisle. Mysteriously the cookies contributed to mass amounts of shirt crumbs but they bought me exactly 0 minutes of shopping. If Stephen Hawking wanted to discover black holes of time, he should have researched giving a kid a cookie at the grocery store.

The Boy chatted endlessly about his paper polar bear. "Look mom! He's doing a flip! Wheee!" BeYoYo continually threw anything he could get his hands on out of the cart and into the floor. He'd sign milk, then when I'd give it to him he'd throw his cup on the floor and laugh. Then when he'd sign it and I refused to give it to him he'd shriek. Another stranger let me know that BeYoYo only had on one shoe. I smiled, thanked her, and told her I had the other one. "It takes a village!" I said, as we sped away.

We saw at least 4 people that we knew, not to mention the ones that might have seen us but walked the other way before we made eye contact. A friend from church, one of my clients, The Husband's former coworker, and one of The Boy's friends all stopped and spoke. Hello, small town. Mothers that we didn't know gave me the sympathetic eyes that said they knew the struggle. As I apologized for being in one woman's way, she said "No, no. I have two that aren't with me today. I'm going as slow as I can because this feels like vacation."

Three fourths of the way in BeYoYo started signing all done. That's the cue for "pick me up. Now." When I told him we weren't all done, he signed please. Pitiful of all pitifulness. Then the shrieking started. That's his new trick when he's not getting what he wants. So I opened a box of cereal and gave them each some. "Mo! Mo!" BeYoYo said, for more. I charged The Boy with doling out more for him, as we moved on to the frozen food section, but BeYoYo cried because he wanted to do it himself. The Boy whined that his polar bear wasn't able to get any cereal because his brother was hogging it all. So I facilitated that between putting waffles in the cart and checking the expiration date of the milk. "Mo! Mo!" followed by "mo" shrieking.

Then The Boy said he had to go to the bathroom. "Sorry" he said, after I sighed. I bent down to his level and told him he did not do anything wrong. Could we toss a little guilt in the cart, too? So I picked up BeYoYo, who was happy to be out of the cart, then I held The Boy's hand to help him get out. He stepped on a frozen pizza as he was climbing out, and I tried not to wince. We went to the bathroom, where BeYoYo insisted on washing his hands too (good call, kid).

How long do marathons take? 5 hours? Because that's how long we were at the grocery store. At this point in the grocery trip people should start passing out little cups of water and cheering you on to the finish line. Maybe offer half a banana for sustenance. Maybe someone could hold up a "almost there" poster, would that be too much to ask?

We were almost ready to check out, but I grabbed a 4 pack of wine in a can because I needed it, and because I didn't trust us with a glass bottle. I had BeYoYo in my arms and The Boy trailing alongside. BeYoYo wanted to get down, but I knew he'd run away, so I was holding him in one arm horizontally. We pulled up to the check out, and an angel from Heaven (or Publix) appeared and started unloading our cart for me. Hallelujah. But then he held up the empty cantaloupe container and asked suspiciously "what was in this?" I told him it was cantaloupe. He said "did you eat it?" as though I'm in the habit of just purchasing empty containers. "Yes", I told him. "They ate it, and I'm going to pay for it." He seemed confused as he put it on the conveyor belt. Next he got to the open box of cereal. "Did you open this also?" MY GOD HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A CHILD HERE BEFORE? "Yes" I tried to smile at him, while BeYoYo squealed to get down, and I turned around to see that The Boy had his mouth on the nearby hand rail. I asked him to stop, and told BeYoYo he could not get down. He shrieked.

The bagger who had never seen a human child in a grocery store then grabbed from the cart the little wax paper pieces that the bakery had given us the cookies on, and in one swift motion also grabbed the paper polar bear and wadded it up with the wax papers headed for the trash. Time stood still as I shouted "That's his art! That's his art!" His stood and stared at me. "That's his art in your hand! That paper isn't trash, it's art!" I looked at The Boy to see if he'd noticed, and his eyes were big with worry. The bagger saw the crumpled art in his hand, uncrumpled it, and handed it back to me. "Sorry" he said. "I didn't know." I assured him it was okay, then I showed The Boy that it could be fixed. He was fine, and later he said that maybe I had turned into a polar bear for a minute.

By this point the groceries had made it on the conveyor belt, no thanks to me.  I made it up to the cashier, who looked at me and said "Do you have your hands full?" Just because you yell at ONE bagger that he was trying to throw away your kid's precious artwork, and just because you have ONE wriggling, squealing toddler in your arms and another kid mesmerized nearby people start to think you have your hands full. I smiled and nodded. "One day you'll look back on this and appreciate it." she said, which is useless, and implies that I don't appreciate it already.  You don't tell someone standing in the middle of a tornado how beautiful the weather is. I smiled a big southern smile and said "I already do appreciate it. Some days more than others." Now give me my groceries and my polar bear, and we'll be on our way.

When we got home it was almost dinner time. The Husband came out to help me unload groceries, because he is great at that. But I handed him children instead, and told him I'd get the groceries. "Were they bad?" he asked. "No, but they're little and there are so many of them." I answered. They were covered in cantaloupe juice, cookie crumbs, and little pieces of cereal. Seeing my exhausted expression The Husband opened me a can of wine as I unloaded. "Did you get anything for dinner?" he asked, with baited breath. In all seriousness I replied "I have no idea."

Plotting

Sometimes I think my kids have secret meetings where they plot how to mess with me, and prevent me from getting anything done. It's like they're the writers for MTV's Jackass, and it's their job to come up with bizarre stunts that might end in laughter or injury. I can imagine them saying things like "You pull all the knives out of the dishwasher and chase the dog, and when mom gets the knives from you, I'll run as fast as I can into the kitchen and crash/fling myself pelvis-first into the table. That will hurt, so I will cry. When she bends down to check on me, you shriek and babble and fall on top of all of us."

When we're out to eat at a Mexican restaurant, it's "You order a side of rice and a tortilla, beg and beg for your food to hurry up, and then gag when they bring it out and say that you don't like rice or tortillas anymore. I'll throw all my food on the floor, eat dad's food, and when mom takes me to the bathroom to change my diaper I'll secretly bring a serving spoon with me. Then later we can both splash in the trendy water feature. Don't forget to smile and wave at the other diners!"

They execute their plans, too. The other night when I was trying to cook dinner it was "I'll play that game where I see how close I can get between mom and the stove. When she moves, I'll go between her legs and laugh. You dance and chant P-I-Z-Z-A, even though that's not what we're having. Also, score us some pickles while we wait."

Let's just hope they can make a living at this one day. Johnny Knoxville's worth $75 million.

The Art of The Play Date

This week we had a play date at our friend Sarah's house. It's not Say-rah, like my grandmama would say, or Serah, like I would say. It's Sahrah, all airy. She's Brittish and she married a Merican friend of a friend, and they just moved back here from London. Her son and The Boy are a few weeks apart, and she has a daughter a little older than BeYoYo. What could go wrong, right?

admiring a caterpillar 

I realized when we got there BeYoYo only had one shoe. The Boy and The Boy Brit haven't seen each other in over a year. (Last year The Boy told me that The Boy Brit "talks like Harry Potter!") When we pulled up they greeted each other, and then stared at each other kind of like the way dogs smell each other's butts to investigate. After they okayed each other, we all went inside where they explored the myriad of toys that kids have. The Boy thoroughly enjoyed his friend's toys. And also his friend. For awhile The Boy played inside and The Boy Brit played outside. Because they are four and this is how playdates sometimes work. The babies tottled around, generally getting into things and looking precious. The Baby Brit held a toy car and said "cah", and it was the cutest thing in the history of "eva".

It was a long string of herding BeYoYo back in one room or out of another,  putting my hand up to block him from hitting someone with a toy, and making him get down from standing on a table. We'd let the older kids work out their differences, then intervene when it was getting too heated or help to fix a Batman. In the midst of all of this Sahrah and I tried to catch up with each other. "He took a new job....... no, stay in here......as a project manager......oh, look at this.......and he's liking it, as far as I can tell......help me understand what you need.....yes, that is a cah...... Have you been out lately?.....I really like the way you're sharing....." This is a social dance that only parents appreciate.

When the boys starting getting a little irritated with each other Sahrah intervened and said "would you all like a snack? We have some fig bahs if you'd like" and they nearly peed themselves with excitement. The Boy had no idea what a fig bar was, but he couldn't wait. Then when Sahrah produced them The Boy took one, looked at it, and then said to her "these are called fig newtons." I reminded him that The Boy Brit and his family were from London and that we say some things differently. Sahrah told us that The Boy Brit had picked up the term "super awesome" since they'd moved back. I didn't even know that was an American term. It reminded me of one New Year's Eve years ago when I was over served and kept telling Sahrah "say some more words!" Then she'd say loo or lift, and I would bask in her Brittishness.

BeYoYo went to the edge of the play room and made poop face, and soon we could smell the results. So I excused us and changed the foulness. We returned and resumed the social dance of kid, baby, adult talk.

After we'd been there awhile there was some altercation about a train and ALL of the hell broke loose. The Boy lost it. I'm talking screaming, running to another room, thrashing about like a banshee. The Boy Brit just looked at him. The babies continued their babying. I excused myself and went to The Boy and talked to him in THE CALM FIRM VOICE, which was useless. He was so lost in the flood of emotion about the injustice of not getting a train at the exact moment he wanted it that he could not even hear my words. The Boy Brit kindly and calmly tried to offer him a train, but of course that was all wrong, because how dare he offer The Boy exactly what he'd asked for, because four year olds are crazy. I told The Boy that if he did not stop with his fit we would have to leave. And he did not stop with his fit, so we had to leave.

I scooped him up and carried him right out to the car. Over my shoulder I told Sahrah I'd be right back for BeYoYo. I put The Boy in the car, and he was now even madder about our abrupt exit. He screamed "Noooooo! I don't wike you! You're not my mommy anymore!" I told him calmly it was not my job to make him like me.

I went back in and got BeYoYo and his one shoe, and feigned cleaning up a few toys. I apologized to Sahrah about The Boy's behavior and our leaving. Because she is lovely, she said "Oh, don't be sill-aye. This was us just last week." (Really I'm only interested in being friends with people like this, and if you are right now reading this in shock and/or disgust, please do not invite us over for a play date. Because even if my kids are angels chances are you and I may not hit it off). The Boy Brit came outside with us to tell The Boy goodbye, but who can be bothered with the frivolity of salutations when all the injustices of the world have been heaped upon you?

After we left The Boy began to calm down, and when we got home The Husband was cooking dinner. The Boy had to go straight to time out, and seemed generally disappointed in the events of the afternoon. When he came out of time out he asked for me to cut him some cantaloupe. "I'd love to" I said, "but I can't, because I'm not your mommy anymore." This was also my response when he asked for milk and asked for me to put him to bed. PS- Though it may remind him not to say that again, it does nothing to de-escalate a situation. The Husband took over for the night and I went to take a bath. There I texted Sahrah and said "I'm exhausted. He was asleep before 7pm. How do you feel about being in a blog?"

We should get together for a playdate again sometime soon. Except next time let's leave the kids at home. It'll be super awesome.