Notes from Vacation

Bump's family decided that we should all go to Florida for Spring Break. Something about Bump's mom not spending winters there for much longer, everyone's Spring Break falling on the same week, blah blah blah something something something that I just ignored because I was at work all the damn time.

Somewhere in the back of my head "Spring Break" and "Florida" filtered through and I shrugged and thought that sounded pretty good - completely forgetting that I have children now and tequila shots and beer bongs would be replaced by character breakfasts and a diaper bag.

Then a couple of weeks ago I realized that while I wasn't paying attention my family had planned to DRIVE to ORLANDO and go to WALT DISNEY WORLD during the same week the entire eastern seaboard was going to be there. Then I went back to work - because it was nearly 2pm on a Sunday and I had to get my ass back into the office, what was I, some sort of slacker? - muttering something about how these people were fucking crazy.

Then I forgot my PIN number.

Anyhoo, that pretty much catches you up on absolutely nothing. But I'm sitting here in my "office" - a hotel bathroom anteroom - while everyone else naps. Laugh if you will, but the door closes and I have:
1) a beer,
2) not one but two Sarah and the Goon Squad bottle openers,
3) a sad little crochet project that passes as relaxation these days,
4) a laptop that will get internet radio when the hotel wifi signal cooperates, and
5) a question for you.

How do you avoid getting sunburn on your part? Hair part. No, no, no, not your hairy parts. Your head - the spot on your head where you part your hair.

I'm relatively new to this whole sunscreen business. Remember, I come from the Land of Pasty Dutchmen, where our UV alert took the form of our lobster-red peers. By the time Cousin Bryan - the "dark" one - looked a little pink, Cousin Dawn was magenta and Cousin Alissa nearly had blisters, so we came in out of the sun while my brother and I were a dark taupe. "You kids are brown as Indians," my mother would cluck at my brother and me, which was funny because my brother is Indian, and my mother was not being ironic. Anyway, while I'm trying to be religious about sunscreen now, I don't know what to do about the tender pink line on my scalp that resulted from a few hours on an airboat. Wait, is this why you white people always wear hats?

Bright Side

Shitty Thing The First: I am not happy about the election results and I was up way too late watching dismal returns.

Shitty Thing The Second: Lumpyhead forgot his backpack this morning.

More accurately, his parents forgot his backpack. I am grumpy. Bump is tired. Lumpyhead didn't have school on Monday or yesterday, so our morning routine is in disarray. It was the first time we forgot it, but I'm sure it won't be the last. We are, after all, us.

Lumpyhead was distraught at dropoff. As I was pulling away, I saw him shuffling dejectedly to the school door. He was so hangdog that an adult stopped to ask him what was wrong.

Lumpyhead was thrilled to see me - and the damn backpack - when I returned to school a few minutes later. Almost as pleased was his teacher. "Oh the backpack," she remarked flatly, clearly relieved. I'm certain Lumpyhead complained nonstop about that damn backpack the entire time he was bereft.

On Friday I made my second appearance in Lumpyhead's classroom, and wow, nothing compares to the affection of kindergarteners. There were hugs and nonsense stories and more five-year-old awesome than I can describe. Three little girls drew pictures of me. One kid told me he loved me.

So when I showed up with Lumpyhead's backpack this morning, I was treated as a Recognized Celebrity. It is impossible to be cranky when you're greeted with wildly enthusiastic waving and excited squeals.

Man, I love kindergarten.

More Halloween

Dragon costume - complete with wings and surly baby brother. We couldn't get the fire-breathing part to work.

First person to point out that it's a little short gets cut with a snapped-off depleted glow stick, I swear to god.

Bump respectfully submits that he wins Halloween.

But even his mad carving skills and Vike-o-lanterns couldn't help my embattled team.

I'm Pretty Sure I Win Halloween

Lumpyhead decided he wanted to be a dragon for Halloween, a gold dragon, so I stayed up all night last Friday sewing a costume. I produced one that was waaaayy too small. A few alterations made it wearable - a little lame, but wearable - and once Bump figures out the portable minifan/flashlight/fire-breathing part of the costume, Lumpyhead will be ready for Trick or Treating.

He has a Fall Festival in school today - it's like a Halloween Party, except that they can't call it a party - for which his teacher invited him to dress as his favorite book character. A dragon is not his favorite book character. Plus it has a tail* and I don't think he can get in and out of it independently, so he needed another costume for today.

After some complaining over my insistence that Diego and Mario were not book characters ("just because you have a book with them in it does not make them book characters"), he chose Owen from the Kevin Henkes book.

So I spent last night sewing pajamas and a yellow blanket.

Lula decided she wanted to be Milli from Team Umizoomi, which was by far the easiest of the costumes.

Her hood turned out a little goofy - and it's a bit too tight - but it works.

I planned for Nathan Jr to wear Lumpyhead's DJ Lance costume, patting myself on the back for finally, truly, finding a no-(additional-)effort costume. After locating the costume (a feat in itself), I discovered a piece of paper folded into it that held Lumpyhead's measurements. Then I took Nathan Jr's measurements.

There was no way I was fitting that ginormous baby into that costume.

I decided Nathan Jr should be Sir Topham Hatt. Because if you're too portly to wear your brother's hand-me-downs, you might as well go all the way and Embrace the Fat.

Now, I know you guys are all "Phhht, whatever, I make a toddler-sized cutaway tailcoat every morning between the crossword puzzle and breakfast," but I kind of suck at sewing. I enjoy it, but I do stuff like sew dragon costumes that are six inches too short in the torso. I started with the grey pants, and had to make them three times because I couldn't figure out that the pattern said "sew front to back" and not "front to front." Because sewing front to front does not give you pants. It gives you . . . I don't know, the thing I had.

I consulted the internet and designed a pattern** and made Nathan Jr a morning coat. Then I created a vest and even a tie.

He looks really disheveled in about 10 seconds; the coat sleeves slip off his shoulders, his shirt comes untucked, he gets really sweaty under the hat. But I always assumed The Fat Controller was a bit of a drunk, so I think it works.

*The tail. Oh, the tail. Turns out I wasn't supposed to stuff it until the very end. But I didn't get that (A-plus for reading comprehension), and spent most of the night trying to sew with a stuffed tail poking me in the gut - which starts to feel a little obscene after awhile.

**So, turns out nobody makes a pattern for a toddler-sized morning coat. Maybe I'll tell you about The Making Of the Coat later, because, damn.

I Think That Makes Me Mr. Magee

When Nathan Jr protests - and oh, does he protest - he uses the phrase "No can like that."

Not "I don't like that" or even "No like that," but "NO CAN LIKE THAT."

It's not that he doesn't like it. He can't.

As if he's thought it over, and while he really wanted to be on board with this whole "going to bed right now" thing, after careful consideration, he's voting against it.

Or, after extensive lobbying by special interests, he's been bought and paid for by Big Broccoli, so is unable to support the eating of asparagus at this time.

It's like Drunk Hulk goes to Washington.

Those Can't Be Real

I know he's still growing, so they could be developing naturally, but somehow I doubt it.

You know how it is. Once celebrities start with the enhancements, they can't stop.

Reports from Kindergarten

On the first day, Lumpyhead said he had math and reading. He reported what he ate for lunch, but his answer at 7pm was different from his answer at 4pm. So he either had two lunches, or is an unreliable dietary witness.

When pressed about math, he said he "did skipping," which I assume means counting by twos, or fives, or tens or something. Because he also claimed he did it well, and if he tried to do that thing where you big hop, little hop on one leg and then a big hop, little hop on the alternate leg - instead of writing about Lumpyhead's first day of school I would be posting a photo of my son with a big floor burn on his face.

***

I was warned when Lumpyhead started kindergarten that he would come home exhausted. A full day of learning, plus no mandated rest/down time, creates a five-year-old who is wiped out by pickup.

On Day 1 he was running laps and doing that super-fast run-in-place dance move when I came home. He was so energetic that Nathan Jr - who was happily riding an apple juice buzz - regarded his brother with suspicion and an unmistakable "Dude, CHILL OUT, you are seriously harshing my mellow right now" gaze. Nathan Jr joined him in the dance for about three seconds before needing to lie down (I suspect room-spins from the apple juice buzz).

Wiped-out kid, my ass, Kindergarten. WHERE IS MY ZOMBIE, Universe? Huh? I WAS PROMISED A ZOMBIE.

The Horrific Milestone of Kindergarten, Week 2

I'm getting better at this Abandon Your Firstborn Son thing.

First, I moved his booster seat to the other side of the car - the curbside - so he can more easily exit the vehicle as the PTA Ladies circle, hungry for the tears of an anguished mother.

Second, interspersed between the preying PTA Harpies are little children, probably there for a softening effect, most assuredly forced into their duties by their PTA-cult-leader mothers. Poor Dears. (Or, you know, responsible fifth-graders who volunteer for Safety Patrol.) They stand at the Kiss-and-Ride, with their reflective belts and shoulder harnesses, cheerfully opening car doors and greeting arriving children.

This morning I got a Child Minion. He helped Lumpyhead out of the car and into his backpack, then shut the car door. I watched him take Lumpyhead's hand and lead him onto the sidewalk.

And then my corpse piloted my car to work, for I died from the cuteness.

(Oh, and I have visual confirmation that the Evil PTA includes males. A father-type stood there at the Kiss-and-Ride, his bloody fangs bared, as I drove away. Or perhaps he too was smiling at the outrageous cuteness happening aside my right rear quarter panel, IT'S HARD TO SAY.)

PTA Ladies Took My Son

It's true what they say. Once the video stops rolling and the cameras turn off, the world is a cruel place. Just ask Lindsay. Or Lumpyhead. Away from the glare of the digital flash, Lumpyhead experienced kindergarten this morning – the non-sanitized version.

I'd been warned that Day 2 was worse than Day 1. On Day 1, the PTA Ladies who lined the parking lots and directed traffic were a friendly presence. On Day 2 they were a menacing horde with one goal: Rip My Boy from His Mother's Loving Arms.

Oh, don't bother to respond, PTA Lady. You with your sympathetic "I've been there" eyes and your gentle "It will be okay" smile. You cruelly forced me to get back in my car after a quick hug – maybe two – oh, and a little kiss – and send my five-year-old to walk that fifteen feet to the school door ALL BY HIMSELF.

Don't think I missed that fleeting expression of doubt on my son's face. I saw it. I'm his mother, and I notice these things. That momentary uncertainty was the last thing I witnessed before I pulled away.

Rest assured, PTA Lady, that if I could have identified you through my veil of suppressed gaspy sobs, you would be SWIFTLY AND SOUNDLY SHUNNED the next time we meet. You have escaped my wrath, for now, and must earn my future condemnation through direct insults or misdeeds (on at least two occasions, because that first time I'll probably chalk it up to you having a bad day). But if that happens, you will SUFFER MY MALEVOLENT RAGE, most likely in the form of a carefully worded and subtly sarcastic email, in which my righteous anger and indignation will be apparent only to me.

Oh, I will have my revenge, PTA Lady. You and your kind are hereby put on notice. How dare you?

-Lumpyhead's Mom

P.S. I do not want to join your group. But I probably will.

Would Prefer "Garten" to be Preceded by "Beer." Or "Ina"

Lumpyhead starts kindergarten tomorrow. His backpack is loaded, school supplies have been delivered, and his lunch account is funded. He met his teacher last week, visited the school, and tested the playground. We've been working on the pep talk all summer, and he's excited. He's ready.

I'm not sure I am.