Lucas enjoyed having six friends over on April 29th to celebrate his fifth birthday. The party was three hours long. We played on the new play structure, organized an impromptu game of “baseball,” beat up a pinata, ate cake and icecream, and generally behaved as silly as possible. The mommies and daddies of Lucas’s school buddies trusted us with their kids and split. It was loads of fun after tons of work. The healthy carrot cake I made from scratch out of the Waldorf-friendly Birthday book pretty much sucked, but it was pretty and the kids didn’t seem to notice. Lucas was sufficiently impressed by the decorations, which included a hotwheel race car and a trophy, that he later bragged about his birthday cake.


Left to right: Maximillian, Andrew, Arwen, Samuel, Devin, Lucas, and Charlie, with Daddy in the back.

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.

“Mmmmm. Carrots,” says Arwen.

Devin’s usual antics.

Sweet Andrew.

Playing baseball.

Charlie wacks the pinata.

Lucas’s usual antics.

Maxi.

Mommy and Asher.

Charlie playing.

Present time!

Andrew again.

Arwen peeks through.

Samuel up high.

Lucas LOVES baseball now.

“The museums in children’s minds, I think, automatically empty themselves in times of utmost horror, to protect the children from eternal grief.”

–Kurt Vonnegut, in the prologue of Slapstick, which I read and enjoyed yesterday.

Actually, Lucas was completely fine yesterday. But Mrs. Klocek told me to keep him home, so I did. A child with a fever is supposed to be given a “day of rest” before he goes back to school.

It was a hard pill for me to swallow. I was so disappointed to not be in his RRK class with Ian; I’ve been looking forward to it all year long. He, however, was happy as a clam to be home.

“Mommy, am I really 5 now?”
“Yes, starting today and for a whole year!”
“I’m catching up with Natasha!”

Lucas must have asked me if he was “really 5 now” at least a half-dozen times yesterday.

I realize I was in a funk because his birthday didn’t go the way I wanted it to go, and because I didn’t get to do the things I had planned. I was mad, but not at Lucas. And I spent a fair amount of time inwardly trying to adjust my attitude. It was, after all, his birthday. And it’s no fun to have your mommy pissed off at you on your birthday, especially when you didn’t do anything wrong.

He spent part of the morning outside hitting balls off his new T. I resented that he was outside having fun instead of being “sick.”

Gradually, though, I came to see the fever he had the day before as a manifestation of the birthday. Lots of excitement, lots of anxiety, lots of pressure. Truly, he was most comfortable spending his birthday at home, in his own space, with me and Asher. I asked him if he was sad to be missing school and his friends. He said, “No. But I do miss my dad.” Perhaps his body coped with the pressure by running a fever, effectively engineering the perfect birthday: one that was low-key, quiet, and safe. Perhaps he needed some time to make the transition from 4 to 5, to let the knowledge that he’s “really 5 now” sink in.

We made banana muffins together from a mix and added in dried fruit. Then we made frosting and frosted them and added all the sprinkles we could find in the cupboard–stars, green sugar, and multicolored balls. It was fun. He stuck with the project from start to finish and even helped me clean up. We dipped strawberries and bananas in the leftover melted chocolate too.

He also worked happily and quietly in his new “homework” book (a preschool skills book we gave him for his birthday). He played outside on the new play structure. We ate leftover shrimp tostadas for lunch. He was perfectly well behaved the whole day.

When Ian got home, we went out to dinner at the Spaghetti Factory and finally got to eat in the dining train car! They serve ice cream there, ya know.

It’s the day before Lucas’s fifth birthday and he’s currently zonked out with a fever of 101 degrees, down from 103 when he got home from school today. In fact, both Asher and Lucas are asleep in my bed, as I cannot very well leave either of them alone. I’m just hoping that Lucas recovers quickly enough to have his birthday celebration in the kindergarten tomorrow (both Ian and I are planning to spend the morning in his classroom), and that Asher doesn’t get sick too. We will probably have to reschedule the celebration. I wonder if perhaps the excitement of the party we had yesterday and tomorrow’s planned events was just too much.

They’re both so beautiful, lying side by side, faces turned toward the window through which the fresh breeze and sunlight that’s filtered through our birch trees comes. Both of my children have perfect rosy cheeks, dark blue eyes, and the longest eyelashes. Lucas’s skin is kissed with an early summer tan. His hair is wild and too long. It crashes around his face in light brown waves; right now it’s curly with sweat. Asher’s little chin quivers as he makes sucking motions in his sleep. Periodically, they sigh.

I watch them sleeping and marvel that I’ve been entrusted with their care. I’m honored and sometimes overwhelmed by the greatness of that responsibility.

For friends who have an online Waldorf toy store, Asher modeled some fancy German rattles and things. Here are some pics.

Well, Lucas will be 5 years old next Tuesday, May 1. He’s been excited about this birthday for about three months now, probably because he goes to school with children who are already 5 or even 6 years old. We are having a party with six of his school chums on Sunday. Ian is working diligently (even as I write at 10:40 p.m.) to complete the “shed” in time for the children to play on it on Sunday, and I must say, it’s looking wonderful! (I fervently hope it’s completed in time because entertaining a bunch of kids with party games is not really my thing. We want to turn them loose on this play structure and call it good.)

Other party preparations have begun as well. Honestly–getting Lucas to pick the guests was really tough. Every time we discussed it, the list of names changed. So, eventually, taking his variable list of all second-year Red Rosers and my desire to have some first-year kindergartners there, we compromised and came up with five boys and one girl.

Choosing a theme was equally frustrating. Again, he kept changing his mind. Eventually, I bought napkins with race cars on them. There. Decision made.

Balloons. Cake. Gifts and wrapping. Oh — food. We have to feed them, too. Take & bake pizza should work. Games? Ick. How about “obstacle course”? Bubble machine. Decorations. Goodie bags for guests.

Our family will get together on the 6th to celebrate. I just can’t hack two parties in one weekend.

Asher had a poo storm today. Well, since he can’t actually clean himself, let’s say “we had a poo storm today.” I didn’t want to open with that “we” lest you think my health and hygiene to be failing again.

poo storm. n. Chaos resulting when the baby poo leaks, bursts, squirts, or otherwise explosively escapes the confinement of a diaper of any description via leg hole or top rear. Poo rapidly spreads and stains anything that it comes into contact with, particularly legs, socks, feet, clothes, back, and hair. This event usually happens when there is no spare outfit and only 1 or 2 wipes left in the diaper bag.

A Word About Color for the Uninitiated
When shopping for baby clothes, buy yellow, even if you know the child’s gender to be blue or pink. Baby poo stains, as I mentioned, and is usually a bold, vibrant yellow–the goldenrod of your Crayolas, the gold of a gourmet artisanal mustard, the burnt yellow of Tuscan hills and Starbucks walls. If the outfit you purchase is yellow, it stands a reasonably good chance that it will be worn twice.

Anyway, back to our story. We were at Target doing some shopping. Asher was reclining in his baby bucket/stroller. Naturally, he was wearing a white designer outfit that was a gift from an upscale baby boutique, not the hand-me-downs I usually dress him in. Needless to say, the poo went everywhere. What made it even more humorous was the fact that I was trying on white skirts at the time.

This is exactly the type of thing that would have me in tears when Lucas was a baby: Oh the mess! The embarrassment! Why oh why didn’t I anticipate that this would happen? Why oh why did I have him dressed in a fancy outfit? Why or why don’t I have a spare?

After I cleaned Asher up the best I could, I admitted our poo disaster to the Target lady. She had a disinfectant spray to wipe up the bench.

The Poo Storm Cloud
1. The baby bucket and boutique outfit are stained

The Silver Lining
1. We were in the disabled dressing room–plenty of space to spread out
2. A convenient laminate bench served as a staging area for damage control
3. We did not ruin any Target merchandise
4. This time, I had plenty of wipes and a spare T-shirt in the diaper bag
5. I had two plastic bags in the diaper bag for icky, pooy garbage and icky, pooy clothes
6. The Target lady won’t remember me
7. Best of all, I laughed about it instead of being embarrassed

Asher is 11 weeks old now! He’s a very animated little guy, always looking around, always moving. In fact, his body is only still when he’s in a deep sleep. I often think that his twitching limbs prevent him from sleeping when he’s tired. Holding and cuddling a baby to sleep is a matter of immobilizing him so he can drift off! — come to think of it, the same is true of almost 5-year-olds!

Asher is losing his hair all around his head, just like Lucas did. He still has thick, straight hair at his neckline and a tuft on top that is a reddish brown. The new hair that’s coming in is blond.

His eyelashes are now incredibly long and his eyes are still a dark blue. They follow me around the room. His face lights up when I approach him to pick him up. I carry him in the sling a lot. (But not as much as I’d like to. It makes my back sore sometimes.) We bought Ian a sling of his own, so now he uses it to sling Asher too.

In the evenings, the sling is often the only thing that will keep Asher calm. The other night, he was crying so hard and so long, Ian took him for a ride in the car. (I cannot work or even think when he’s screaming like he’s in pain.) We try like hell to help Asher sleep through those evening hours of 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. Lucas doesn’t like the screaming, but he also doesn’t like being told to be quiet all the time. Poor guy. We had a picnic dinner in the living room the other night because I was rocking a sleeping Asher in the rocking chair and I didn’t dare disturb him for fear he’d go off again.

He is starting to discover his hands. In certain positions he can bring them together and explore his own fingers. This is very cool! The next major skill will be developing binocular vision, so that grasping at objects can follow.

I’m holding in my hand bills for the medical treatment I received in Feb and March.

$105.06 pelvic ultrasound (there will be another one of these)
$482.34 CT scan abdomen
$108.56 Mercy ER
$3725.48 Mercy inpatient
$500.00 hospital admission
$?? perscriptions

Yikes.

The total hospitalization fee billed to my insurance was $98,000. I have to pay $3725.48 + $500.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we have medical insurance. Without it, Mercy would own much of my house.

I’ve had it with chick lit. Not that I’ve read all that much of it, but what I’ve read has been plenty. I just read Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella, and the truth is, I can’t tell you why I read it. I remember my mom loaned/gave me the paperback. I remember finishing a novel and stumbling out into my dark living room one night at about 10 p.m. looking for a new book to read. I guess I grabbed it cuz the cover was bright pink and visible in the dark.

I read it in two days but I don’t know why I read the whole thing. I hated the protagonist (the aforementioned shopaholic). She was fluffy, deceitful, pathetic, selfish beyond words, and shallow. She was neurotic, childish, and her priorities were wacked. She was in debt up to her eyeballs. She was a train wreck. Designer names were littered throughout the entire book. Yucky. Yuck.

She was basically a thief. And in the end, she wins. She is rewarded for her despicable behavior with a sensational new job, money to pay off her debts, all the clothes and shit she’s irresponsibly bought throughout the book, love and respect from her family, and a boyfriend who’s a multimillionaire. YUCK!

I can’t believe that this author has written seven shopaholic books!

P.S. I didn’t like Bridget Jones of Bridget Jones’ Diary either.