Single Mom Superhero Nightmare

This week my very helpful husband has been out of the country on a mission trip with our church. I knew that it would be a challenge for me to keep up with our two boys all by myself. I am well aware how much work they actually require. I am equally aware of how much my husband chips in with these thousands of tasks every day - from endlessly supplying them food to fuel their seemingly unlimited cache of energy to brushing their 40 little teeth. Personally, I am always exhausted by their bedtime needs. I just want to tuck them in, say prayers, and say good-night. My mother says that is what I was like as a child, so I suppose it's carried over into my adulthood. Will is kind of like that. He is happy to get in his bed and satisfied with a prayer and maybe a short book. He might even want to look at the book by himself. This week, Will surprised me by saying, "Turn off light, please" as soon as he got in his bed. I found that quality endearing. Carter, on the other hand, is more labor intensive. He wants to read books and look at pictures and hug and cuddle and pray. But, a mother has to draw the line somewhere. One book, one prayer, one hug, and then lights out. Don't I sound so strong and in control?? Well, don't believe it. I really feel guilty for not giving Carter all the hugs and stories he wants.

Going in to this week, I was dreading it. It is the first time Nathan has left on a trip and I've had no help for most of the week. Usually, I finagle people to come over and help out for all but two nights. Grandparents, cousins, aunts, friends, anyone who will be kind enough to spend the night, eat a meal, or change a diaper received the pitiful plea. However, this time, I just didn't do it. My mother was not feeling well, and I surely didn't want her to travel up. My cousin was busy with work. Everyone was busy. Honestly, I wanted to try to go it alone; be a single mom for the week and test my mettle. I thought with Carter in school all day and Will having one day at school right in the middle was going to make this a successful foray into my stint as Wonder Woman. Still, I'm not insane, I did book my in-laws for the next to the last night, for Will to sleep over and then all of us for the last night. It was completely necessary for me to have care for Will on the last day because I had a check-up scheduled and Will really hates doctors.

I have to say this little experiment has taught me many things. For one, I was very organized. I planned the week's meals all in advance. I consulted the weather for the week and laid out Carter's clothes for the whole week. We all ate together at the table every night. We ate vegetables. We did homework. We played. I managed to get the house in order. The one thing I didn't do a lot of was sleep. I was so consumed by my many tasks I found that I couldn't sleep well at night. Of course, I had an abiding desire to go to bed early. Every night my eyes would barely stay open long enough to get the children in bed. It is likely this unrelenting urge that caused me to dread getting Carter all squared away. I just wanted it to be over so I could sleep.

By last night, I felt I was likely dancing with fate. Something dark loomed on my horizon. I couldn't quite make out what this ominous feeling meant, but it lingered in my mind. As we baked cookies for Carter's class Valentine party, my head irritated a bit, my eyes burned, and my back ached. As soon as possible, which was about 11 o'clock, I sank into my pillow lifeless and happy. Again, I didn't sleep well. I awoke repeatedly to check the time. I finally rose at 6:40 to get on with my last day of superhero work. Carter got off to school just fine. I went to my doctor's appointment and that is when it started. By it I mean my nervous breakdown. After the easy and uncomplicated visit, I broke down crying. I sat in my Van of Solitude and tried to get a grip. I kept wondering why I was so emotional. What was wrong? What is going on? I calmed down at last and got my lunch. Then, I walked up to Carter's Valentine party and helped out some. I was so tired on the way home, I could almost feel the coolness of the pillow on my cheek. I lay down, thinking I'd never be able to sleep because I do not nap easily during the day.

The next thing I knew my eyes opened and I looked at my watch. 3:28! WHAT?! I don't remember putting on my shoes or coat. The next thing I remember was that I was running and I was at the end of our block. I crossed in traffic - which I never do during school hours. I ran faster. I saw there were no parents cars on the street, no kids milling about by the side door. I checked my watch again. Was it really 3:30? Maybe it was just 2:30 and I really had 30 more minutes. No, 3:30 flashed in my face? Is it not 4:30 and I'm an hour late? There are no cars, no kids! My brain was still half asleep, I was confused, and I was so scared. I turned the corner of the back of the building and there were no cars in the usually eternal car line. I ran faster. How did it get so deserted in 15 minutes?? Where was everyone? As I came into view of the back door where I pick up Carter, there he stood, the only child left, between two teachers. He yelled "there she is!" ran to me. I apologized to the teachers and they smiled and waved it off. I explained in a word that I feel asleep. They just laughed. Then I really broke down. I just started crying and I couldn't stop. It was like a nightmare. The deserted school, the running, the tight feeling in my chest. I couldn't believe that it was real.

The boys have been so good all week long. They really haven't given me any trouble. Carter has been especially helpful and sweet. And here is where it really shown. He looked at me crying and said "It's okay mama. It's okay. I wasn't scared." He seemed no less worse for the wear. In fact, he was just as buoyant as ever. He chatted on as we walked and I tried to see between my tears. He's a tough kid. Seriously, though, can someone tell me how that school was cleared out in 15 minutes? FIFTEEN.

So, here's to single moms. How you can do it alone I will never know. My hat is off to you.

The 5 Year Old

There are few things in my life that has given me more joy than when Carter skips. I don't know how or exactly when he learned how to do it, but suddenly one day this fall he could skip. We were walking home from school and I asked, as I always do "did you have a good day of school?" He chirped "yep" and skipped out in front of me. I immediately felt a smile spread across my face. He was completely unaware and lacked any self-consciousness about it. It was contagious. I could feel myself wanting to join in and be a Kindergartner again myself.

Since then, he continues to break out in spontaneous skipping. And every time, it makes my heart and my spirits lighter. I wish he could pull off skipping in such an innocent and boyish way for the rest of his life, but I recognize there is limited window that skipping is allowed for a boy. I mean, if Nathan took off skipping I'd laugh in hysterics and for reasons that aren't so kind. This is such a magical moment for me with Carter. I find myself in anguish that Kindergarten is half over. He's grown so tall and knows so much. I have seen the first graders and maybe they still skip when they are feeling joyful, but it's hard to say. I'm willing to bet second grade boys have nothing to do with it.

I suppose I should try to keep a more balanced view, you know, throw in a few thoughts of when he's being stubborn or whiny, or repeating the same phrase hundreds of times in a row, but I can't always. The cold, hard truth is that he is basically, a sweet, thoughtful, and loving boy. He is always ready with a hug and kiss, he is usually happy to help out with his little brother, and he loves having responsibility. I suppose someday he'll be a teenager and all of this skipping euphoria will have dissipated in a gray cloud of mumbling disrespect. Alas.

The 2 Year Old

Two year olds are irresistible. Unfortunately, they make you want to have another little 2 year old. See, I used to have a 2 year old. Now that 2 year old is 5 and a half and we have another 2 year old. This cute sweetness is just another part of God's elaborate and complicated plan to fill the earth. Of course, unless you can adopt a child at 2 years old, you can't just get a two year old. No, they come out tiny, helpless, and needy. But when faced with the abundant joy a two year old brings you, it's easy to fast forward your memory past those first early days. Allow me to provide some peronal examples.

Will runs everywhere he goes. And it is a cute bouncy toddler jog. If I say, "Will, let's go put the laundry in the dryer," he jumps up and runs in there, ricocheting between door frames and walls. Getting to any destination is pure delight for him. He runs and jumps here and there all day long. His hair floats in the breeze he is creating and he giggles the whole way.

Will is appreciative of my cooking. Most meals, I serve his food to him and he starts to dig in immediately, unable to control his desire to eat. Almost every time, after that first bite, he doesn't even look up out of his plate but we hear "Mm. Good." It's does wonders for a mother's ego to have the 2 year old endorse her efforts. And this one is so subtle that it must be heartfelt.

Will loves to hug and knows how to. When the 2 year old hugs you, you know he's doing it. There is no doubt. Carter was the same way. Those small, strong arms wrapped around my neck - which by the way allows whiffs of berry shampooed hair to waft into your olfactory radar thereby creating a double whammy intoxicant. Whatever he's done to aggravate me, I can't remember it when he hugs my neck and smells so sweet.

Even when he's angry, it's so cute I have to bite my lips not to smile. Will knows what he wants and has no trouble telling me all about it. When he is thwarted in his attempts, he frowns, his nose flares out then sucked back in with heavy, defiant breathing, and then the clincher: he wraps his arms around himself. An adult just crosses their arms in front of them, but a 2 year old basically gives himself a hug.

I'll give one final example: 2 year olds can talk. And when they do, it's amazing! Babies go through two years of communicating with crying, gestures, facial expressions, grunts, and a word or two here and there. Then suddenly they experience the "language explosion." Carter did not talk until he was 2 and a half, but when he did, it was in full sentences and non-stop. Will began speaking sooner than that and it has been a fun journey. These 2 year olds pick up every little thing they hear from you, the tv, or a song. My goal for this month is to get Will singing "Jingle Bells." That right there is enough to break down this hardened mother into wanting another 2 year old. Will knows how to use his voice to show he's joking and how to use it to show he's angery. When he's doesn't want to do exaclty what he's told, he'll yell in a husky voice "Ott, uhn talking 'bout?!" But, sometimes his manners show up, all by themselves. "Tank ooo mama! Tank ooo. Tank ooo." He insists "Ohm Papa's boy." Until I start hugging Carter and then suddenly, "nooo! Nooo! Mama's boy! Ohm Mama's boy!" He calls himself "daddy." Points to Nathan and says "Mama" and laughs. Then when I finally asked "who am I?" He smiled and said "uhmmmm. Teapot!" A teapot? How does he even know what a teapot is? But what is the most fun is when Will tells knock knock jokes. They are always the same, but they make me laugh every time. "Knock. Knock, mama." "Who's there?" "TV (or anything he sees or hears)" "TV who?" "TV nobody." He can barely get that last part out for laughing at his own hilarity.

Most people refer to 2 as "the Terrible Twos" and there are a lot of behaviors to justify that. Two year olds have lots of opinions, and they believe them to not be just opinions but facts. Will will ask me what a word is and I'll say "be." He will look at me in a very serious manner and corrects me "BY." I say no Will, this word is BE. He will then slowly enunciate "BY" for his poor, uneducated, slow mother. No matter how much I insist that it's BE, he corrects me because he's 2 and I'm not, and he knows. They refuse to wear appropriate footwear to correspond with the season or weather. And a 2 year old never, ever understands common sense when it comes in between them and their goals.

But, none of that matters. God knows that when you have a two year old, you will forget that first year of sporatic sleep, lots of paraphernalia for even the smallest trip, and trying to figure out if the baby is crying because he's hungry, wet, angry, or trying to drive you crazy. You won't remember the second year of saving their lives a hundred times a day; pulling their fingers away from light sockets, finger sweeping the coins out of their mouths, and frantic calls to the doctor after they have fallen down the stairs or off the bed. All of that is forgotten because two year olds can feed themselves, help dress themselves, sit in the bathtub unassisted, tell you what's wrong and what's wonderful. But best of all is when he can say, in that sweet voice, "I wuv ooo, mama."

Or, when he sticks his head right down in the toilet bowl and yells "BYE BYE POO POO" as he waves so long to his latest accomplishment. That's good, too.