Finally I sent his teacher an e-mail.  AE’s father and I are concerned, I said.  Is this normal playground roughhousing, or is something more going on?  As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s hard to get the straight story out of a seven-year-old.

She responded almost immediately.  I was aware that this behavior had happened in the past.  I did not realize it was still going on.  I will speak to the boys right away.  I will make sure it stops.  Thank you so much for bringing it to my attention.

When I picked AE up from school that day, the first thing he did was tell me how his teacher had pulled him aside.  I’m supposed to tell her if Alex S. punches me in the privates again, he exclaimed.  Good, I said. Just remember that it’s not a matter of being a tattletale just to get him in trouble.  Punching you like that is not okay.

I know, Mom, he assured me.

A few weeks passed, in which AE’s reports of Alex S.-based harassment seemed less frequent.  He mentioned a few instances in which the kid had been sent to the principal or put in ISS (in-school suspension), but usually because of some other infraction.   But there were a few times where the punishment was a result of punching AE.  In the privates.  Again.

AE assured me that his teacher was on top of it.  She knows, she saw it happen, she sent him right to the principal.

So I let it go.

But yesterday afternoon at work, my phone rang.  It was an outside number that I didn’t recognize, but I figured it was a faculty member calling me from home.  I answered.

Hello, the voice said, this is AE’s teacher, Ms. B.  I wanted to let you know that there was another incident with the boys today.  During music class, Alex S. hit your AE in the privates yet again. I listened quietly as she continued.  I’m at my wit’s end.  I’ve done everything I can think of to get through to Alex S.  I’ve sent him to the principal, he’s been put in ISS.  I’ve told him to stay away from AE and I’ve discussed things with his mom.  As a mother myself, I know how frustrated you must be.  I just want you to know that I’m doing everything I can, but nothing seems to help.

I know you are, I said, and I appreciate it.  They won’t be in the same classroom again next year, will they?

Absolutely not, she said.  I’ve already turned in my recommendation.  AE is a good kid.  He’s not doing anything to provoke this behavior, Alex S. just seems to have fixated on him for some reason.  The other kids in the class were the ones to tell me today.  AE was just standing there minding his own business.

We talked for a few more minutes and she welcomed me to contact the principal, assuring me that he is aware of the entire situation.  Great, thank you for calling me, I said sincerely.  It was after I hung up that I realized: I have absolutely no idea how to deal with this.  These aren’t the things you think about when you’re pregnant and glowing and buying crib sheets.  These aren’t the things you think about confronting with when your toddler is throwing a fit about dinner options for the eleventy hojillionth time.  I’m not prepared for this.

So what do we do?  N and I discussed it, but really, what are our options?  One of my coworkers – whose children are grown – suggested calling the kid’s mother.  Whatever the school’s doing as punishment clearly isn’t making a difference.  You need to make sure his mother is aware there’s a problem. She’s got a point, but the very idea of calling his mom nearly makes me break out in hives.  I’ve met her before, and she was nice enough, but I can’t even fathom beginning THAT conversation.

Well, then tell AE to hit him back, this same coworker suggested.  Yeah, a few male coworkers chimed in.  He needs to hit Alex S. in the nuts.  That’ll teach him. Surprisingly, my mother – a 30-year teaching veteran – suggested the very same thing.

Okay.  While I do realize that often bullies only understand their own language – in this case, nut-punching – I just don’t think I’m ready to tell my kid that I condone such activities, no matter the situation.  It’s a fine line between standing up for oneself and merely stooping to the bully’s level.  On the other hand, I do think he is old enough to understand if we explained Look, normally we don’t allow such things.  And the school will have to punish you, because it is breaking the rules.  But maybe he’ll get it if he sees how much it hurts.  Maybe he’ll finally leave you alone.

But even if we gave the green light, I don’t think AE would be able to bring himself to do that.  He’s not programmed that way.  He’s not like Alex S.

I don’t know.  That’s what it all boils down to.  The school year is almost over, and with the assurance that the boys won’t be in the same classroom next year, I’m tempted to continue to let it go. It’s just this one kid with a fixation, it’s not like AE is constantly the target of bullying.

Except.

N pointed out something that I hadn’t considered – Alex S. attended the school district’s all-day summer camp last year, just like AE.

So with that realization, now there’s another, louder part of me that’s tempted to e-mail the principal a warning.  Just so you know, I’ve given my child the go-ahead to punch Alex S. in the nuts.  Punish him if you want, but we’re taking him out for ice cream afterward.

He’ll remember.

He is old enough to have his feelings hurt when I yell for no good reason.  He is old enough to be disappointed if I can’t make it to his school program.  He is old enough to be embarrassed, but conversely, he’s certainly old enough to understand when he’s embarrassing his parents.

Kids embarrass their parents.  It’s just the way things are.  As an adult, I cringe when I recall a few specific incidents where my poor mother must have wanted the ground to swallow her whole.  As a kid, they were no big deal but to a parent they would be utterly mortifying.

AE has always been sensitive, for lack of a better all-encompassing term.  He’s cautious and careful and easily bothered by stuff that wouldn’t phase other kids.  It’s not really a problem.  Over the years we’ve learned to take it into account, usually by giving him extra time to acclimate.  And it’s lessening with age anyway – the older he gets, the more willing he is to try new things.  He’ll never be his sister, plunging headlong into every situation without a second thought – but let’s face it.  Using a little caution, taking that one extra minute to consider your next move, can be a really smart thing.

That being said, his tendency towards weepiness IS becoming an issue.  At almost 7.5 years of age, one of the oldest kids in his first grade class, AE’s knee-jerk reaction is to burst into tears whenever he’s upset.  And I’m not talking major upset either, like breaking a bone or losing a pet or failing an important test.  I’m talking about bursting into tears when I dare to suggest that maybe he might take a bit more time drying off after the bath because he’s still dripping wet.  I’m talking about crying when he can’t figure out how to advance to the next level in Indiana Jones Lego or because his sister took the last juice box.

In my opinion, he’s way too old to react like that.  Quite frankly, it can be really embarrassing.  There.  I said it.  It’s embarrassing to be the parent of the kid who bursts into uncontrollable, hysterical tears when he gets tapped by a rogue basketball during practice.  Struck so lightly as to not even leave a red mark.  (And as someone with an extremely high pain tolerance of their own, it’s doubly mortifying.)

But I’ve never parented a seven-year-old boy before.  Maybe this is normal.  Either way, I don’t know how to deal with it.

I still remember the name of the kid from my school who cried about everything.  GOD.  That kid cried about EVERYTHING.  And this was junior high!  Seventh, eighth grade!  He’d burst into tears if you looked at him funny.  Jesus H.  It was ridiculous.  We’re not at that point yet, but I don’t ever want to be, you know?  I don’t want MY kid to be the kid that his classmates think of twenty years down the line, when they’re dealing with similar issues with THEIR kids.  I don’t want them going, there was a kid in my elementary school, AE, who used to cry about everything and we used to make SO MUCH FUN of him.  Do you want to be like that kid?

Children are mean.  Everyone knows that.  I remember how cruel I was and it breaks my heart to think of other kids treating MY precious baby that way.  I’ll love him either way (OBV) but for his sake, I don’t want him to be That Kid.  And really, I don’t think he will be.  He seems well liked, his classmates go out of their way to tell him goodbye when we pick him up, he gets invited to parties.  He seems socially adjusted.  It could be that this is his crazy mother projecting ridiculous, unwarranted childhood fears onto her own offspring.

But still.  The crying.  How do we make it stop?  How do we explain that it isn’t acceptable to cry over a video game, but there are plenty of circumstances (i.e. death, serious injury, zombie attack) where it IS okay to cry?  Where’s that line?

GAH, parenting.  Sometimes it sucks balls.

First, a wine review!

This is a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo dry red wine, Monte Campo, Italy.  Interestingly (to me, anyway) it’s marked denominazione di origine controllata.  (Click on the link, maybe you’ll learn something new, like I did!  Wine drinking: it’s educational!)

I’ve repeated many times that I’m not generally a fan of reds, but this one was a gift so I thought I’d give it a go.  (Full disclosure: it was gifted to N.  But he doesn’t drink wine, so all tasting and consumption responsibilities fall to me.  It’s a hard life.)  So taste it I did, as a last resort, when my wine fridge was empty of everything except the Francis Ford Coppola Bianco Pinot Grigio that I’m saving for a special occasion.  (N keeps asking me what this “special occasion” might be, exactly, because it has been in there for months already and that’s by far the longest a bottle of wine has ever survived in this house.  And I always tell him that I’m not sure, BUT I WILL KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENS.)

ANYWAY.  Out of white wine, yes.  So the red wine was on deck.  And guess what?  I liked it! I know!  Despite the fact that the label touts it as having a light cherry, berry and leather bouquet.  I read THAT and was all, leather, WTF, why would I want to drink anything that tastes/smells of leather.  But.  It was very smooth, and had a sweet undertone, and wasn’t as dry as I find most reds to be.  So in short, YUM.  And I bet it would be an excellent wine for cooking also.  I went to the liquor store today, hoping to buy another bottle, but they were out.  So I picked up another Montepulciano d’Abruzzo from a different winery, in the same price range, so I’ll compare.  It’ll be like a science experiment!  (But I will have to buy another bottle of the Monte Campo too.  For control purposes, of course.)

So there you have it:  Thing #1.  A red wine exists that I will not only drink, but actually enjoy.  Who knew?

And now for Thing #2.  I’ve been accepted into the graduate program at Arizona State University, to pursue a Master of Arts in Criminal Justice.  It’s a step toward my ultimate goal, my lifelong dream -  to go into federal law enforcement.  I had planned to wait until Miss T started kindergarten before trying to get into grad school, but I finally decided that since I’m not getting any younger it was time.  Most federal agencies have an age limit for new field agents, and I don’t even know if I have a realistic shot at becoming an agent, but if I don’t at least try I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

Maybe my goals will change as I move through the MACJ program, and I’ll discover something else that appeals to me.  It’s entirely possible.  But either way, I’ll be coming out of it with a Master’s degree, and that’s certainly not a bad thing.  The program is entirely online, so I’ll be able to keep working full-time and we won’t have to relocate or anything like that.

With a full-time job that’s demanding and often high-stress, and two kids and a husband, and extended family and housework and pets and everything else, it’s going to be hard.  I have no illusions otherwise.  (Not to mention the expense.)  But N is awesomely supportive, and my bosses are very understanding.  So somehow I’ll figure it out.  The courses all look fascinating to me, and I’m really excited at the prospect of going back to school, and I have no doubt that this is the right choice and the right time.  It’s adding one more ball to my sometimes-delicate juggling act, but I’ll make it happen.

Because anything worth having is worth working for, right?

The past year has flown by, and here we are again.   Today you’re two years old.  Today, we can’t even pretend that you’re still a baby.  You’ve made that transition to…well, a tiny person. Your personality is in full bloom and let me just say, WOW. You amaze me every day, but I can’t lie. Sometimes you frighten me as well.

You are fearless, baby girl. That’s an admirable quality, to be sure, but sometimes it can lead to disappointment. Some things are just too dangerous for a little one to do, and I know you don’t understand that. I’m sorry that you get mad at me for taking you away from the fun, but I’m just trying to keep you safe. Because clearly you are lacking the self-preservation gene.

These are uncharted waters for us, peanut. Your brother was (is)…passive, and this full-body tantruming thing that you do is not something your father and I know how to deal with. Normally we just ignore you, let you scream it out, and then you finally get up and walk away. Like, well, I guess it isn’t getting me anywhere so I’ll save my energy for jumping on the couch. Which is something else you do with reckless abandon.

You are hilarious.  You love to make people laugh, which is sometimes an issue for your father and me.  We have to be careful not to laugh too much when you loudly, repeatedly mispronounce “fork” every night at dinner.  But wow, is that ever hard, because it’s really funny.  And adorable.

So far, raising you has been very different than raising your brother.  But honestly, it’s hard for me to tell how much of that is because you’re the second child, how much of it is because you’re a girl, and how much of it is because you’re, well, YOU.  You two are like night and day, much like your father and me.  And that’s how I know you’ll be best friends.  He adores you, that brother of yours, and he looks out for you and comforts you when you cry.  I hope you know how lucky you are to have that.  I think you do.  You love him too, making sure he comes to the table when it’s time for lunch (yelling “Dooo!  Doooooo!” since I always call him Dude), and randomly plopping in his lap whenever he sits still for more than a minute.

You are so sweet and tender with your baby dolls, giving them kisses and carefully feeding them and putting them to bed.  It keeps you entertained for ages, although you’ve started chattering loudly and adamantly while you do it, and I can’t quite figure out what you’re saying.  I’m pretty sure it’s keeping your poor babies from getting any restful sleep, though.

The cat is your new best friend, I think, and she puts up with it whenever you try to put her to bed too.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.  The cat lays there on the floor, allowing you to cover her with a blanket and pat the living hell out of her.  I honestly think she likes it.  You two have forged quite a bond.  That stupid cat looks for you every morning, and fusses loudly until you agree to pet her.  “No, no, kitty,” you sometimes say.  “Shut up.”  That’s my girl.

You are a wonder, kid.  I am so lucky to be your mom, and I love you more than you’ll ever, ever know.  Well, until you have babies of your own one day.  And when you do, I can only hope that they run and hide when you try to put on their shoes, too.  It’s only fair.

Love, Mommy

Dear AE:

You turn seven today.  And in all honesty, that just boggles my mind.  There’s nothing about you that’s little anymore.  Your long legs, loose teeth and occasional smart mouth all tell me that my baby boy is a thing of the past.  I mean, you’ll always by my baby, of course, but you are by no means a baby to the world at large.  Not anymore.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  You amaze me.  Each and every day, you shock me by knowing something you shouldn’t, or making a leap of logic that doesn’t seem possible for someone your age.

Did you know that all this time, you’ve been teaching me?  You’re a phenomenal teacher, kid.  You truly are.  It’s because of you that I know how to do all sorts of things, like trim a squirming toddler’s fingernails or cut the hair of a screaming, crying bucking bronco.  Seriously, though.  We’re reaching that point where parenting is becoming more of a mental challenge than a physical one.  The Big Questions are coming, I can tell, and I’m not sure I’ll know how to answer them.  I was uncomfortable enough when you asked me for to define “worship” a couple of weeks ago.  I didn’t really know what to say.  I’m not religious, but I do believe in God, and I want to at least give you the tools you need to make your own informed decision.  Your Nonna fusses at me for not taking you to church.  She says you’ll start to resist if I put it off for too much longer.  She might be right, but I don’t know.  You’re still pretty laid-back and agreeable, two of your most endearing traits.

That said, I don’t ever want to force you into anything, kiddo.  You’re too smart, and it is unbelievably important to me that you get to forge your own path.  I want to guide you and answer your questions but the decisions are yours to make.  I do, however, reserve the right to say “I told you so.”  It’s a perk of motherhood, check the handbook.

I really appreciate your willingness to roll with the punches, dude.  You may have noticed by now, I’m not the most patient mom in the world.  My fuse is short and unfortunately, you tend to be on the receiving end of my temper a lot of the time.  I need to relax and remember that your cheerful boundless energy is not generally intended as an irritant.  You’re happy, and that’s a good thing.  To your credit, when I lose it and snap at you, five minutes later you’re giving me a hug and telling me you love me.  Thank you for that.  I hope you’re always so willing to forgive.

Of course, it’s not all rainbows and sunshine.  You don’t cop an attitude with your dad and me too often, which I do appreciate.  No, our issue with you is a little something I like to call Space Cadet Syndrome.  Holy freaking crap, kid.  I did not know it was possible to be that oblivious to one’s own surroundings.  Yet somehow you manage, staring slack-jawed at me when I ask you yet again to perform a routine task.  Like putting on your shoes.  Or flushing the toilet.  Can we get a handle on that, please?  Having to repeat myself eleventy-thousand times a day makes my brain start to liquefy in my skull after a while.

But overall, I’m not complaining.  If abject cluelessness is the worst we have to deal with right now, then I think you’re doing just fine.  Better than that.  Terrific, even, and I’ll take it.

Seven years old.  More than halfway to being a teenager.  You’ll be all grown up before too long.  I look forward to the rest of the journey with you, baby.

Love, Mom

This morning I was at the sink in the break room at work, when one of our managers came in.  Apropos of nothing, she asked me if I used to be a dancer.  Maybe it was the way I was standing, I’m not sure.  I immediately responded, “I did,” and that was the end of that.  But it made me realize that her operative words were used to.  And it’s true.  I used to dance, I don’t anymore.  Not at the level I once did, anyway.

There’s a lot of things I don’t do anymore.  And that’s normal.  It’s part of life.  You grow up, you move on.  Things change, and that’s how it should be.  Life would be boring if it stayed the same forever.

But it isn’t always easy to deal with the changes, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been in denial, although not consciously so.  Maybe I’ve been going through a midlife crisis of sorts (my husband says he hopes it is a phase).  I’m not sure how else to explain this sudden compulsion to get a tattoo, re-pierce my ear cartilage and dye my hair.  I mean, these are certainly things I’ve always wanted to do, thought about doing, but never actually pulled the trigger (well, except for the ear.  And I’ve also had my bellybutton pierced two different times).

Hey, wait a minute.  I know what it is.  How does that saying go?  With age comes…balls?  Yes, that must be it.  I’m not having a crisis, I just finally have the guts to do the things I’ve always wanted.  Heh.

In all seriousness, though, I’m very, very happy with who I have become.  I feel completely comfortable in my own skin, more than I have in my entire life.  I feel like I’ve gotten more attractive with age – I’m not that awkward, gawky teen with a bad haircut and over-plucked eyebrows.  (At least I don’t think so.)  I’m still gangly, to be sure, but not much to be done about that.  It is what it is.

I’m rambling a little, but my point (wait for it, I HAVE A POINT) is that maybe growing old isn’t quite as bad as I was afraid it would be.  No, I’m not a teenager anymore, but look what I have to show for it:  a husband I adore, two beautiful children, a nice house, and a job that I love.

But I still want to get another tattoo.

Goodbye house

Goodbye mailbox that was always bashed in

Goodbye randomly located palm tree that matched nothing else

Goodbye Mimi Mimosa

Since Dad raised you from a twig, we always referred to you as if you were human

Goodbye extra den

You were always much hotter than the rest of the house and your low-hanging fan always hit my cousin in the head

Goodbye living room

You were a cozy cave for watching TV

Goodbye kitchen

Mom never fully appreciated all your cabinet space

Goodbye dining room

We never used you for your purpose when I was a kid

Goodbye study

You were filled with Dad’s books

Goodbye old bedroom

I still love that ivy border

Goodbye master bathroom

I didn’t realize you were so striped

Goodbye obnoxious children who won’t look at the camera…oh wait

Goodbye house

It makes me sad that I’ll never set foot in you again

But then, something happened tonight that went a long way in bolstering my confidence and recharging my parenting batteries.  While AE was getting ready for bed, he was telling me how they learned about Martin Luther King, Jr. at school today.  I pressed for details about what they learned, and he said that Dr. King wanted things to be fair for women.  And what else? I prompted.  Black people.  He wanted things to be fair for black people, just like for everyone, AE concluded.  And do you know why that is important? I asked.  Because, AE replied, it doesn’t matter what color you are.  We are all human.

And my heart just about burst with pride.

You are something else, baby girl.  You never cease to amaze me with your boundless energy and cheerful nature.  Your inquisitive “bah?” with a finger point shows me how much you want to learn about the world around you.  Your laugh is infectious, and quite honestly I think that if someone can listen to you giggle without joining in, they may be a little bit dead inside.

And you are so busy!  SO busy.  Never one to sit down and take a break, you far prefer to move move move all the time.  It is a little exhausting for your dad and me, but we love to watch you play and learn.

You’re a spunky, fiesty little thing too.  Recently you have started to clearly express your extreme displeasure at being taken away from what you deem a fun activity.  But I’m sorry kiddo, it just isn’t okay for you to place calls with my cell phone.  Or eat rocks off the ground outside.

I love you more than you’ll ever know.  From the moment I first knew of your existence I adored you, and that love increased a thousandfold the instant I held you in my arms.  I was immediately taken with your tiny, perfect star-shaped baby hands and your pouty little lips.  I didn’t know of your sweet, loving nature then, but now I do.  I’m just blown away every time I see you sweetly rock your baby doll or stuffed dog to sleep, or gently pat your brother on the back when he doesn’t feel well.  You are the “little mommy” of your daycare class, I’m told, helping give bottles and pacifiers to the younger babies.

You’re a mess, little bit, and I love you more with each passing day.  I can’t wait to see what the next year holds, to see how your personality develops and what you have to say.

One last thing, sweet baby.  It would really be terrific if you would start sleeping through the night already.  This is getting freaking ridiculous.

Dear AE:

I simply can’t believe it.  You, my precious baby boy, my firstborn child, are now six years old.  In some ways that six years has passed in a heartbeat, in other ways it seems almost like forever.  I can hardly remember our lives before you.  Your father and I were barely adults ourselves when we found out you were coming, as I was just 22 and your father 23.  You may not have been expected so soon but you were the greatest surprise we could have ever received in our newly minted marriage.

You’ve been through it all with us, kid – a move back to Texas from your home state of Colorado, then another big move to be closer to family.  You were with us in the three-level townhome, the tiny podunk apartment, the spacious fancy-dan apartment, and now our current home (that you helped choose with your adamant opinions on the bathroom and garage).  You’ve been through the lows with us, like that thankfully brief period when we were so broke we didn’t know how we were going to buy groceries; and the highs, like the vacations, holidays, promotions, and the birth of your little sister (well, you weren’t in the room or anything but you were there right afterwards).

You were a laid-back baby (so much so that when I would take plane trips with you people assumed you had been sedated), and continue to be a low-maintenance, easygoing child.  Sometimes you talk a lot, but that’s okay because so do I.  You are, and always have been, a complete delight.  You’re brilliant, and clever, and funny.  Each and every day you amaze me by knowing something no one your age should know.  You read everything you encounter with ease, and if you don’t recognize a word you are a master at sounding it out phonetically.  (Of course, this has led to more than a few arguments about the quirks of your native language.  For example, only recently have you stopped insisting that The Home Depot is actually pronounced The Home De-pote.) 

Your logic and reasoning skills surpass those of many adults.  This will soon become a problem, as you are beginning to figure out that you are smarter than your father and (especially) me.  I’ve always said that we’re all in trouble the minute you start using your smarts for evil instead of good.  Try and hang onto that oblivious innocence for a while longer.  For Mom, okay?

You may not be as enamored of your little sister as I had dreamed you would be, but I know you love her by the way you often stop what you’re doing to pat her on the head.  And you are always so excited when she learns a new skill, like rolling over or clapping her hands.  (When she finally learns to walk, you may not be as thrilled since it is almost impossible for you to get away from her even now.)  I know she completely adores you, and I know that once she’s a little more interesting you will be the most involved big brother ever.  You’ll be her pal, her protector, her teammate.  

I am so proud of you, Goo (and I may or may not stop calling you that someday).  I know you will excel at everything you put your mind to, and hopefully your dad and I can give you opportunities to discover what you want to do in life.  That’s what I want for you, you know.  For you to be whatever you want to be when you grow up, for you to follow your biggest dreams.  And I know you can do it, because you already know more than I do about a wide variety of things.  You can label all 50 states on a blank map, name the U.S. presidents in chronological order, use a protractor correctly and perhaps most frighteningly, you can surf the internet for free golf games all by yourself.  You’re a wonder, dude, and I just don’t know how you got to be so smart.

Happy Birthday, kiddo.  I love you.  Enjoy your Wii.

Love, Mom