Potties & Pirates

On Thursday, I took Henry for a mini-interview at the Y for their Preschool Summer Camps. Kids are supposed to be at least 3 years old and potty-trained. When I told Henry on Monday he could go to Pirate Camp if he used the potty, he spent the next two days running around naked or in underwear rushing to the potty and proving all I had to do was dangle “Pirate Camp” in front of him to do away with diapers. Each time he went I gushed over him. When he’d catch me using the “big girl potty” he told me how proud he was of me. A week of no accidents and 1/4 the diapers was lovely, if not homebound.

At the Y, we interrupted play time. Henry ran in, saw what the kids were doing, then ran back to the door, took off his shoes (although every other kid was shoe-d) and hung up his jacket. Then he ran back to the trains and dug in. Because we came in the middle, there was only ten minutes left to play and when asked to clean up, Henry was not quite done with these new toys. He eventually got over it and helped put things away. The other children watched him with tilted heads and squinting eyes. “I’m Henry,” he’d tell them when he made eye contact.

We were invited to stay for snack time and Henry sat in between a little girl with curls, Molly C, and a hyper boy in a striped shirt, Gus. The kids talked as they ate their pretzel sticks, popcorn and watermelon. I helped insert straws into juice boxes. Henry tried to contribute to the conversation and, for the first time, I felt protective of his emotions.

“I watched a movie yesterday,” Henry added when they talked about watching Finding Nemo.

Molly C eyed him frowning and I thought, You think your shit don’t stink, Molly C?

“You weren’t here! I don’t know you!” Gus yelled. Back off, kid! He's trying to connect!!

A stuttering boy from the other table leaned back in his mini-seat offering, “I…I…I…I w-w-w-atch movies, t-t-too.”

I wanted to move Henry from the big table to next to this awkward boy, but I took two steps back fast-forwarding my brain through middle-school and high school imagining my child.

“Is he going to be the weird kid?” I asked Jared later as I recounted the story.

“He’ll be fine,” he reassured me.

It’s hard to picture your two and a half-year-old – a boy obsessed with saying “Poop” who runs around naked with his hand up his bum – a part of a school community, having friendships and being in a classroom. My heart already hurts a little for my big boy. The girl that might say “No” to him for prom. The elementary school boys who will make fun of him for ever watching (and loving) Sophia the First and Tangled. The team he won’t make or the part in the play he won’t get.

And the silence. The silence I’m sure I’ll get when all these things happen. I can’t imagine silence from him at this point. He tells me when he’s mad at me or nervous or thinks I’m being mean or when something is fun. He remembers everything and brings things up randomly. He is… always talking. Any quiet now is when he’s hiding behind the chair with the dry-erase board erasers making the carpet camouflaged with black smears. Or barricading himself with chairs under the kitchen table while he practices with scissors. But even then he’s snickering.

I’d thought of summer camp as a chance for him to get out of the house and for me to nap. Who knew I’d go Breakfast Club on the poor kid!?

Departures and Arrivals

Sunday, 15 of my girls graduated. By Monday afternoon, all 15 were moved out. That only leaves 25 girls and by this time next week, they’ll be gone, too. It was a crazy, chaotic weekend of tears, last-minute packing and flash flood warnings. The graduation ended up outside in 90% humidity. Out of the top ten students in the senior class, four of them were my girls.

There are some I will miss (already miss) and others who left bags of trash and drawers with hairballs in their rooms. There are so many things on the “Now We Know & Can Do Better Next Year” list and while I’ve accrued some tips (I’m now an expert at mailing large boxes at a very, small post office), me thinks the end of the year will always embody a certain amount of madness. The recycling of notebooks and returning of internet chords. Room keys and broken vacuums. Passports and bags & bags & bags (& bags) of discarded hangers. Wet towels left hanging on the backs of doors like shed skins. Empty, rickety shoe racks yawning into hallways. Oozing shampoo bottles hidden under sinks, the melted remainders of rushed mornings.

The underclassmen observed the panic and, in some cases, were left to deal with the abandoned fridges or hole-punched confetti left under desks. I told them to make it easy on themselves. To pack a box every day this week and take out trash bags as they make them, using the seniors as a cautionary tale. And they nodded. But we shall see come next Monday and Tuesday if they learned anything from the past weekend.

And we shall next year if I’ve learned anything from the past year. Next year, over half the dorm will be new girls. Already we’ve started planning for the ESL program, which, in its second year, they’ve asked me to direct. Already we’re discussing the changes to our dorm structure for next year and discussing how the dorm program will look. Oh yeah, and I guess I should start preparing for Front Loader Gilbert McCannell. Although if Henry taught me anything, it’s that “preparation” isn’t applicable and any attempt at such is fairly futile.

Today, the most important thing of the summer was taken care of: the air conditioning was installed.

Anniversary

Four years ago, Jared and I met at work. Before he started, I’d heard all about him from a couple coworkers. As anyone who knows me knows, out of shear stubbornness, I don’t like things that are overhyped. I’ve never seen the movie A Beautiful Mind or read Harry Potter. I know my ridiculousness is only hurting myself, but I continue. With this in mind, I was prepared to dislike Jared.

He scheduled meetings with each staff person to learn what they did with the organization. During our meeting, he stared at me. With clasped hands. Like Von Trapp family singers clasped. I couldn’t figure him out. Then he saw a card from my mom on my bulletin board. It had a deli sandwich on it. He told me a story about an impromptu road trip with his German friend Joerg and how after too many hours of driving they’d formed the Sandwich gang. Part of the story he spoke in a German accent. I like stories and accents. I was warming up to him.

My office was by the kitchen and his was by the printer. Over the next couple of weeks, he drank even more coffee than normal and I killed an unnecessary amount of trees. Several times I made him eat lunch with me. We started leaving at the same time. On one trip to the cars, he asked when my last day was (I’d put in my notice a couple months early). I took this as he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. He was asking because he thought it was poor form to date coworkers. We both attended a coworkers birthday outside of work because we knew the other one was going to be there and talked for several hours across a narrow bar table. I found out he’d been married before, too. Because of this, it felt like he understood a language that few other people I knew spoke.

 
He invented a party and invited me. He worried no one would show up to his last-minute-want-to-invite-a-girl-to-do-something-outside-of-the-office party. I came “fashionably late” (which meant ten minutes late, for me) and his friends all showed up fashionably late (meaning the actual definition). Jared made Spanish tapas, his go-to impress-a-girl food. I’m the opposite of gourmet. But I ate them and complimented them and when he walked me to my car, he kissed me.

The next night we went to go see The Hangover. Later that week, he went to a movie with my parents and some other family. Weeks after that, I met his family in from out of town. Six months after our first date, a couple days before we moved in together, he asked me to marry him. I said yes because I’d already seen how hard he would work on our relationship. I think effortless relationships are like fairies or unicorns. Of course there should be more good than bad, but it takes work. This is not a secret I’ve discovered. This is what any long term couple knows. I’d met a person who’d fit more than 95% of my List of Things I Would Want I a Partner (speaks another language, likes to travel, probably not from San Diego, etc.) AND he was willing to work with me.

Three weeks after we got engaged, we found out I was pregnant with Henry. The month after that Jared got a new job. The month after that two of my closest family members died. Two months later, I got a job running a nonprofit. The next month we moved again. Two months later, Henry arrived via emergency C-section. I don’t really remember the next couple of months. When Henry was six months old, we moved again. Then Jared lost his job unexpectedly. Three months after that, my parents moved to Alaska and we moved again, into their house. For almost a year, we worked part-time jobs while our dog progressed through a nervous breakdown, culminating in him jumping through a glass window. We started looking at jobs around the country, landing two in Maine. Days after accepting the positions, we got married and celebrated with Mexican food. Then we moved across the country with our almost 2-year-old and manic dog. Then, because it looked like things were settling down waaay too much (what with healthcare for all of us and stable income), we decided Henry needs a sibling. Baby #2 (aka, Front Loader or Gilbert, both suggestions from Henry) is almost 28 weeks along and here we are at our first wedding anniversary.

Jared continues to be an excellent cook and to make me laugh. We bond over taking scenic back roads of Maine to keep up our gas mileage. We still agree the Toyota Yaris (hatchback) is the best car ever. We still appreciate the gamut of movies together (and are celebrating our anniversary tonight with a viewing of The Hangover III, even though Hangover II  made me wish I didn’t have eyes). Right now he’s cuddling with Henry on the couch while translating the Secret of Nimh into Spanish and still, seeing the two of them together feels like I just ate a still-warm, doughy chocolate chip cookie.

And with all that good stuff, the regular attraction stuff, he still works hard at us. We will yell or ignore or do the things people do when they are angry and want to be stubborn, but then we talk. Facing each other in bed with Henry snoring on the other side of the wall. While I’m not eager to repeat the family deaths, gazillion moves, variety of jobs, traumatic births and cross-country relocations – all of it showed me even more that we’d made the right choice.

Happy Anniversary, Jared.

Senioritis

For the last month or so, seniors have been working on Senior Projects. This is a tradition at MCI of each senior choosing something interesting to them to devote at least 40 hours to and be able to give a final presentation on. People have built rocket launchers, collected shoes for children in Africa, composed music, designed a clothing line and decades more. They each have advisors and “specialists” who are to assist with their project, but not do it for them. In theory, senior projects are great. Some kids are really excited about theirs and spend lots of time on it. However, because this is a big chunk of their humanities grade, they get out of their English and History classes to work on them more. Some even get out of study hall periods. During these free periods, students aren’t monitored. They can go home, they can go get Chinese food, they can make out in their garages while getting high (I haven’t heard of someone doing this, but c’mon, we know it happens).

This is where I come in. In order for residential seniors to be in the dorms during this time, I have to be in the dorm. All day. Every day. 7:45am to 5pm. I know, I know those are the hours most people work. And all I have to do is let them in the front door when they call? What am I complaining about?

It’s Spring time in Maine. Despite my dear Californian friends claiming the weather has changed in San Diego, it has not. You did not go from stick-figure barren trees to tulips sprouting up like jelly beans nestled in neon green Easter grass. You didn’t forget what your toes look like because they’ve been in wool socks since November. You didn’t get sun poisoning on your arms after spending an afternoon outside because your skin forgot what the sun was. It’s gorgeous. It’s lush. And I have a two and a half  year-old.

“Let’s go for a hike, Mommy.”

“Can we go to the park?”

“What about the bouncey house?”

“No, honey. Mommy has to stay inside so she can let girls in to take naps and fart around on the internet.”

Oh, and I don’t think I’ve mentioned my internet was been down during the day for two weeks. And my wireless printer down with it. This little mini-crisis certainly illuminated my unhealthy attachment to email, Facebook and Words With Friends. So, while this new time constriction hasn’t added a whole lot of extra work to my plate, it’s the confinement that’s driving me nutso. Usually, we’ll trek to the cafeteria for dinner and maybe I’ll hang out with a coworker watching Jeopardy at night. But since the start of senior projects, as soon as 5pm hits, I want nothing to do with MCI. Nothing to do with coworkers and nothing to do with the girls. This is not a good feeling. I do actually like my job. What I may have liked most about it without realizing, is the flexibility that used to exist for my position. With it almost gone, I feel a growing bitterness. And this isn’t the way I want to end the year.

I’ve tried to make the best of it. So far, I’ve sewed three aprons (not that I ever really cook). The house is generally cleaner. I’ve kept up my vacation reading. And, after fixing my internet issue late last week, this is my second blog. If only I could nap. Hey, I’m pregnant, that’s not an unreasonable request.

Adios, Blue.

About a month ago, Henry’s pacifier bit the dust. Or, I guess more accurately, he bit it. We’d been telling him since we got this one that it was his last one and when it broke, no more pacifiers. Wouldn’t you know that this one lasted through a cross-country move AND most of a school year after that! Alas, “Blue” as Henry called it, is no more. And any sort of sleep schedule/routine we had going, is also no more. Henry has decided to not go gentle into that good night. He’s even created a new cry for the occasion. It involves his whole body and the only good thing about it is it does seem to tire him out. He rejects any part of the bedtime routine that once seemed to work well. Bath. Blue. Books. Bed. With one gone, the rest of these now warrant the cry.

 “Did we take it away too soon? Too suddenly?” Jared asked me after experiencing an especially excruciating evening. The doctor and dentist have been telling us to take it away since he was six months old. Clearly, we had an attachment to the magic Blue as well.

“Whether we did or not, we can’t go back now,” I said, “or I can just picture Henry’s high school graduation photos with buck teeth and Blue.”

One of the byproducts of Blue’s departure is Henry decided without Blue there is no need to stay in his crib. So he climbed out. Several times. Back in September, after an especially scary nightmare involving an orange T-Rex, Henry jumped shipped. We worried, back then, our crib days were over. But, he made no more escape attempts. Until now. Less than a week after Blue’s demise, Jared put Henry in his crib after reading to him and came out to the living room. It had already been a long day. I think I was on duty. We sat there trying not to fall asleep and we heard Henry’s door knob squeal. My first thought was How did someone get into Henry’s room??? Then he emerged saying, “I wake up.” After two more exoduses and a requested demonstration (quite talented gymnastically actually, including the arms up finale pose) of how he did it, we converted his bed to the toddler phase. While safety has been restored, removing a wall does not help in keeping the anti-sleep kid in his bed.

 

 

Luckily (and unluckily, depending), he saves the crazy for us. The first day my mom (Nona, to Henry) was here for naptime, she read him two books in the guest bed and told him, “Show me how you get in your big boy bed.” Henry comes running through the living room, makes the tight corner to his room and hops in his bed. “Goodnight,” I hear her say. “Goodnight, Nona,” came his tiny voice. The door was closed and not a peep. Relief, but also are you kidding me?!?! came from inside me. The same for Grammie (Jared’s mom). Whereas I will spend thirty minutes rocking him while he hiccups after twenty minutes of the cry and it’s like those Neverending Story statues as I put him in his bed. Will the eyes open and zap me or not? Deep breaths. Good thing for grandmas.

Preggers Update

I can only see the tips of my toes if I bend forward a tad.  

I’m 24 weeks.

I’ve gained 3lbs.

I've eaten a fair amount of chocolate pudding.

Cat Scratch Fever

Setting: common lounge, Sunday night/the day everyone has returned from April break. Girl in story has been home since noon. It is now 9pm.

Girl: Ms. McCannell, I’m very worried. Last night my friend’s cat bit me. It just jumped on the bed while I was on my laptop and it scratched me. I think I have rabies.

Me: Did you wash the cut when it happened?

Girl: No, because it didn’t bleed. I didn’t think it was too bad, but now look.

She holds her hand up to me and I search for the cut. After ten seconds, she points it out to me. This picture looks like a fatal wound compared to what her hand looked like.

 

Me: Girl, I’m sure you are completely fine. To be safe, you should go see the nurse first thing tomorrow morning and she can look at it.

Girl: I think I need to go to the doctor. I need to get that shot.

Me: The nurse can make you an appointment.

Girl: How long will it take to get one? I could die before then.

Me: They have morning walk-in times every day. You will not die. I promise you.

Girl: I’m very worried. I don't want rabies.

Me: I can tell. Girl, I know you will be okay. We will get you taken care. Nurse. First thing. (I nod my head for emphasis) Are you feeling okay otherwise? Any other symptoms?

Girl: I’ve been sneezing a lot.

Me: I’m sure it’s unrelated.