Monday night I had to stay over in New Orleans for work, and while I missed my little family unit terribly, and the TV remote did not work in my hotel room, I enjoyed my night alone. After my meetings were done on Monday afternoon I got to go visit the Mayor and his team/my friends in City Hall, which is always a treat. And a heartwrenching experience. Then I got to eat at one of my favorite New Orleans restaurants (Byblos on Magazine) with one of my favorite New Orleanians (Sarah), and three hours of Greek food and wine and laughter passed before we knew it, and we had to adjourn ourselves to be grown girls, getting in bed at a decent hour to go to work the next day.
This meant that Corey had to, for the first time in YEARS, do some single-parenting. The agenda included checking two boys out of school early to take them for a scheduled appointment with their psychologist which lasts two hours, go to the grocery store to get lunch supplies and snacks, go to the pet store to get Murphy some food, feed them, get their homework done, finish a cloud project for science with Jake and get them to bed at eight. There also ended up being some light laundry involved, because Corey gave Murphy cake icing on Sunday night and on Monday, Murphy ralphed in my white club chair. Corey said everything went great, but when Landen got in the car yesterday, he told me that Murphy cried for me all morning. And by the way, he missed me too. Then he called me "Mom" twice yesterday.
The psychologist says the boys are doing great, that Corey and I are doing everything perfectly (the only time in life anyone will probably ever say that to us) and we just need to keep on keepin' on, because the improvements are steady. We're going to take a hit when we tell Jake he's not going back to St. Theresa next year. That will earn me at least two weeks of animosity and unpredictable behavior, but he's entitled to it, I say, and so barring any disrespect to adults or violent behavior, he gets the room he needs to get those feelings out.
This weekend, Jake the Snake turns ten years old. He's having his first ever slumber party sleepover on Friday night. I'm told that I'm not supposed to call it a slumber party because that's what girls do. I got excited yesterday thinking about teaching the boys to play "light as a feather, stiff as a board," which was one of our slumber party sleepover favorites, but Corey says I'm not allowed to make them play games with me. So I told him HE could teach them how to play the game, and he said neither parent gets to participate in fourth-grade slumber party sleepover fun. This would make Jake look like a loser to his friends. Downtrodden and indignant, I asked Jake if that was true, thinking OF COURSE it couldn't be, but he said "kinda." Which means "yes, but Dad gets mad at me when I hurt your feelings." He also told me I am not allowed to tell him I love him or call him any of his pet names while his friends are here. He did grant me permission to take pictures of various events of interest during the slumber party sleepover.
What is happening here, people? How can this outgrow me? It's just not possible. I do not accept this.
Landen is being kicked out of him room for the night, but he does get to choose anywhere else in the house he wants to sleep: the guest bed, our bed, the pull-out in the living room or the couch in the sunroom. I'm wondering if Landen is going to have separation anxiety with Jake being so close to him, but having to stay away from him to give him space with his friends. We have seen a reduction in the smartassitis, for now, although there was a split second last night I though he may not make it to nine. He likes to sneak up and startle people. It almost never works because children by definition cannot be quiet, but last night he crept up behind me while I was sitting on the sofa and yelled "BOO!" Part of this surprise was apparently tapping my head, but he did it so fast that he actually HIT me in the back of the head with both hands. I yelled "DAMMIT" in surprise and pain. Corey was sitting in a chair facing me, and the LOOK on his face when Landen whacked me in the head was frightening even for me. There was miraculously no yelling (except mine.) He glued his ass and his arms to the chair the entire time he delivered a come-to-Jesus to Landen about how the days of sneaking up and scaring people are over in our house for eternity. Then there was wiping of tears and kissing of heads and we all rode off into the sunset, bound for the dinner buffet.
As I write this post I keep thinking of that poem (I am not a poetry person) buy that whiney poet (aren't they all?) who died three hundred years ago. I've just described all of them. Robert Harrick wrote "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying. And this same flower that smiles to-day to-morrow will be dying." Which says to me that my days of my oldest looking forward to seeing movies with his parents are numbered, as is Landen's interest in anything and everything we're doing that he could participate in (he's "helping" Corey hang curtains in the picture above) as long as we're together. Soon they'll think we're the stupidest people on the planet. That having to spend time as a family unit is a strain on their mental resources and a sacrifice to their social calendar. And it'll be ten years before we'll get them back over to our side.
We'll have to produce another one to validate and entertain us in the meantime.
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