Turn-Keys in Adoption: Family Dinner

 Ah, the family dinner.
A subject that greater minds and bigger hearts than mine have explored and pondered for many years. Indeed, it's  a fixation of modern shelter magazines and cable shows; how to cook and create a wonderland of fantasy meals. 

I'm not gonna attempt to lay down new paths or thoughts; that's above my pay grade.
This post is my ongoing consideration of dinner, supper, and what it means to the family, especially one built through the often messy process of adoption. 

In fact, I have come to believe that the seemingly simple concept of dinner is really, for us at least, a turn key in attachment.
Yep, this is another one of those posts.  I have a series of them, sporadically put up as I need to process things or I start stewing about stuff {go here:trust, touch, transitions, schedules, Christmas, prayer}.

I think that the whole idea of family dinner is one that is super easy to brush off.  We've heard it all before, from our own parents to the modern beta parents on tv: Oprah, Dr. Phil, Dr. Spock, Judge Judy...heck, everybody's got an opinion.  But this forum is mine and thus this blog post is about my meandering musings down the dinner table.

Now, I'd love to say that our family has beautiful Rockwell quality dinners.  That we all sit down in a calm and mannered fashion to an elegant and/or chic table every night and linger easily over interesting and savory local, foodie creative meals that nourish our bodies and souls.  Right.  But if I did, I'd be lying.

Ramare Bearden, Color Screenprint, 1993

 Our dinners are often a jumble; kids needing to be called to the table, fetched from outside,  hollered for repeatedly (yes, we/I holler, it's not my proudest moment).  Kids race to snag the primo chair; which designation will ever remain an unfathomable mystery to us parents.  {Sometimes it's a mystery to the racers too, but the race is on, nightly, nevertheless.}  This frequently leads to some sulking about not claiming said spot and  having to sit in the "stupid" spot.  Dinner is considered and often declared "gross" or "yuk" and the sulk extended.  We parental types try to regain calm by lighting a candle or two and then beginning with prayer, going around the table to nudge each kid to come up with something, anything, to be thankful for this day...all the while reminding the wild small boys to sit on their chair, hands off their legos, cars off the table, sshh, with significant looks and the not infrequent verbal cue.  After that, we try to have real conversation as we dine (ok, we eat).  This effort rarely succeeds; what with two teenage girls and two preteen girls, any variation thereof who can often be found nursing some level of mood. Occasionally, one of the girls might be working an angle to get some yet unknown advantage and thus launch a bright and superficially charming conversational gambit.  Those nights the repartee is especially exciting for the unknown results and volatility.  Otherwise the conversation can be rather stilted attempts at extracting details of the day at school (yes, much like pulling teeth, actually) and continuing to referee sulking players; all the while leaving us two over forty craving scintillating discussion of current events or politics or heck, number theory...anything at all to change it up. (I lied, I will never crave discussion of number theory, evah.)

 Jean Foss, "Family Dinner"

Often enough one or three kids will thank me for the cooking, signaling the end of the meal; a truly lovely and appreciated gesture (always Marta, sweet habit) and then bolt to the beyond of upstairs to escape the ensuing chaos that erupts after dinner.  Then the dishes are clattered to the counters and sinks, reminders of dish night assignments handed out, and the dinner comes to a close as I try to scoot/race the little boys up to the bedtime routine.

Thus we have three phases to our dinners: preparation, partaking, and cleanup.   All of them are key to our family dinner and to the foundation that is laid.  It is the whole of the process that makes the family dinner so important, and yes, a turn-key to adjustment.
I want to say that again: I think the whole of the process: the prep, the sitting/eating, and the aftermath, is important to the bonding and attachment found in the family dinner.

The importance of this meal, it's function as a key for us, is coming more and more clear to me; especially over these past few months of our adjustment to our newest daughter Marta.  She has a need for a very defined order to her days, she counts on it, it is her safety zone.  And the dinner routine, as close to 'no  matter what' we can get, is key to her sense of well being, and thus, attachment.
I daresay it is the same for our other children, young and old, bio or adopted. 

Family dinner counts.

The time to prepare it shows our newest daughter, without words, that this time is important to us as family.  She sees me, as do all  my kids, thinking about it in advance, shopping, preparing it, prepping the table for it.  If it wasn't important I wouldn't bother.  They all know it.
If I can get it together during the day, I try to have the table set and dinner planned and begun to prep as she/they arrive home from school....yes, it's very Donna Reed, but it's very very comforting and secure.  All of my kids, each and every one, ask me, every day within minutes of seeing me after school: "What's for dinner?"  Each one of them need that answer, sometimes I say "I don't know!" But, if I name a meal,  it's an almost visible sigh out of them to hear the answer - even if it's not their favorite.  Because it signifies that I am on it and life is secure.  Now, they won't say it that way, but I see it that way now...because of my newest daughter.  Her life was not secure and dinner wasn't a guarantee or even always an option.  So, yeah, this is important stuff...for all of them, but absolutely critical for her. 
It is a turnkey on so many levels: food, primal sustenance, comfort, family, routine.

Peter Blume, Vegetable Dinner, 1927

The sitting down together is a coming together, a pause in the day to nourish our bodies and us as a group together, to nourish our sense of family.  The kids can't see that, sometimes it's just a chore...for me too.  (I can easily, if I were to choose, skip the eating of dinner, most any day.....)
But beyond that obligation and duty lies great unspoken meaning: family, it's important and this is ours.
And happily enough, that meaning is not reliant on the context of perfection or glossy fantasies of "should be" or "looks like."
I will go out on a cyber limb and even say that the very chaotic mess of our dinners, and it's own particular kind of standard chaos, defines our own family culture and is a feature of this key to attaching into our family. 

The cleanup, well, its not nearly the pretty part.  Not that any part of our dinners every really are so much...but cleanup is a mess and a job.  But by having the kids all take part (they rotate dish duty) and their dad usually giving them a boost of help...they learn that they too are contributors to the family. They don't only take...they too give to each other and the family.  Giving back is part of the key to attachment.  Unless you are invested in something or someone, by serving them in some form (time, attention, effort), it's very hard to have a two way attachment. Now, that's just my opinion...but I hold it close.  I think you love by doing.  I think the best way to help a child learn that they are an integral part of the family is to  have them pitch in and help that family, just the same as the other kids (or to their ability).  

So, who'da thunk it?
Family dinner, be it vichyssoise or burgers, means ever so much more than the calorie count.  And really, it's not even about the actual food or the quality of it; be it fancy french or sub sandwiches.
It's about the whole process of the dinner, as a family.
I think it's one of the better keys in your tool belt as a parent.  
I think that so much of what we do, we feel we have to follow the perfect script or recipe or rules or recommendations.  But the beauty in the messy chaos and routine of the family dinner is that it allows for our unique seasonings and tweaks and settings.  It is our own. 
It is in the very making and prepping and sitting and tastings of it, we find our own selves and each other. 
This is a turn key to attachment for each of us, adopted or not, for healing and blending together as a family.  It is a key that is not a hard metal bit to be clanged about...rather this one is as a red ripe tomato, bursting with goodness, begging to be savored.

Jos van Riswick, Tomato 15x15

Gems

Ok, so the blog's been all solemn lately, with serious posts.
Just so you all don't think I need an intervention or something, here's something to brighten the mood for today.




Saw this at the great site, Love that Max, and well, this video says it all and makes me smile.
And yeah, it's cheery and STILL apt for this season of lent.
Yup, lent isn't only about the tough bits, it's a season of cheer in a weird way...because we can see and smell the rain, Easter, just around the bend.
Enjoy.

Turn-Keys: Prayer

I've written a number of posts on turn-keys in adoption. {Enough of them that if you want to go back and check them out (and please do!)  it's probably easiest to do a search on the phrase "turn key." }
Here is another one that I've been thinking about for awhile but have hesitated to post because many of you will scoff or immediately click away.  It's not out of character for me and for this little blog but it's not always a popular subject.  But, regardless, it's integral to me, this blog, and this post.

So, here goes:
This turn-key is about prayer.
If you are parenting a kid from hard places, or an older child new-ish to your family, or yes of course, any of your kids.....prayer is simply key.  A turn-key.  Perhaps THE turn-key.
But it's not nearly so pat or simple as you might presume.

I think prayer works as a super skeleton turn-key in that it unlocks that attachment in both directions.  Read that again.  Prayer helps the bonding and attachment and healing, in both, or all directions.
No surprise that, eh?

I prayed novenas to bring our Marta home.
I prayed novenas after Marta was home to help us grow through those difficult first months.
I prayed the rosary, every day, for over a year, to help bring Marta home - to help her heal from her TB, to help us have the faith and courage to go get her.
I prayed the rosary most days, but not all, after she got home; and am back at it now, more diligently again.
Others, friends and family, have and do pray the rosary then and now, on behalf of our girl, and me.
I don't of this praying of mine to say I'm all that. Because I'm so not, if anything it reflects how low I can go, and how great my need is. Ever.
But I put this out there to say that ALL of these prayers, and the intentional action of doing them, have carried us to this Now.
I can't even begin to imagine trying to undertake this without all that prayer, those rosaries, those novenas, the Mass.
{I should also insert my a declaration of my endless bottomless gratitude for all of you who have prayed on our behalf, you know who you are, and oh, my, thank you and please don't stop!} 

But another important angle in all this is Marta's part in those prayers.
We have had to teach Marta how to pray, these prayers.
Well, we haven't had to teach her, but she wanted to be taught.
Even before she had/has the language sufficient to say the prayers in full, still, she understood immediately that this was prayer that she could do with us.  It was similar enough to some of her Ethiopian Orthodox prayers that she could feel a bit of familiarity.
The Mass worked the same way for her.
Marta, from the first day we met her in Addis, has asked us to go to church, to Mass, to pray.

She asks to pray rosaries with me, with us, even though she still doesn't have all the words down yet.  She asks to go to Mass, every chance she can get (Which is really every day, Mass is a daily event in the Catholic Church, thanks be to God).   She doesn't get to go EVERY day, but she goes every day we can get her there, of her own volition.
Because she sees that we value this, she can hold onto one of the deep values from her life before us.  She can even grow it into deeper faith and understanding, of faith, of family, of what it means to love....and that's just pure gift to us all.

More, when  you pray for someone for a year, or every single day...you cannot help but attach to them, to some degree.  The point of prayer is not that WE transform God's mind, rather it's that the praying transforms our hearts.

 Prayer, praying, and especially praying together, however rudimentary, transforms each of us little by little into a closer image of God.  And as God is love, that is precisely what we need in this hard road of older child adoption and attaching and healing from hard places.
I need to transform my stony heart into God's heart, big enough to love someone, all ones, who cannot love me back, not really.
She needs to learn to open her heart to love and trust this new family, letting God himself in more and more by love.

Praying brings us to common ground.
It's no longer our big old established family and her small tiny new hurting self; it's each of us, opening our heart's to love.
Prayer is the key to that door.
It's a familiar, well worn key....but it's a golden turn-key.
Because that familiarity, that common ground of praying as a family, WITH her, FOR her but with her, has been a huge, gigantic, encompassing tool for her to find her way to us and us to her.

As prayer should, when it's at it's very best, it brings us home.

The Race Card

She did it.
My daughter, she played the race card.
I guess I knew it was coming.
And it's not like we haven't had all the usual discussions over the years, comparing skin tones, talking about history and social aspects of racism historically and now, current events etc...
So I was kinda hoping, in my heart of hearts, to get a "bie," a pass, on this particular, barbed, targeted lob.
Oh foolish me.
Because this is part of, a huge part of, transracial adoption.
Some will argue that it shouldn't be, that we should be 'colorblind.'
To which I say, "Baloney."
You can't be colorblind if you have a multiracial family.
You shouldn't be colorblind any way; but you sure better not be if you are raising a family of many hues.
Because if you are a white mom and are raising kids who have skin color that is different: brown, nutmeg, mahogany, ebony, dark, light, pink….whatever…..then you have to deal.

It's easy to deal with when they are little and adorable and just so darn cute.
But, what's so easy to ignore is the looming fact that kids grow up, into the people they are meant to be, and if you have a brown skinned baby, that person is going to be a brown skinned teen and adult.
As they should and will.  
And then you are going to, not might, not could, but you WILL get to deal with a teen that looks different than you.
Overstated, you think?
Think again.
It might seem like nothing, when that teen is still a baby or toddler and looks different than  you.
It might thrillingly radical or like you are making a stand for something, that we are all God's children and such.  Well, yah…….
And might not seem like a big deal since you loooong ago, as a wee one, knit this now teen into your heart and soul and very fiber of your being and she's just your kid who has a messy room and hates math but makes you laugh with the way she shuffles in to say goodnight.
But this teen is gonna be a teen with teen attitudes and fussing and pushing boundaries and all the usual teen standard issue, expected, and even on some levels necessary, drama.
But this teen, she's got a little extra ammunition.
And if you don't know it yet, you will soon enough…but teens, they like to stockpile what they can -ammunition - to lob at you when they are irritated or angry or feel like they are being unjustly asked to do, oh, anything.  Like dishes or homework or chores or ________ (insert request here).

Our kids are savvy.
By which I mean, kids these days, are very savvy and tuned in to the culture at large.
I swear they have a usb port somewhere on their person that is a direct connection to the www.worldOteendom……that feeds them a constant stream of teen and/or early adult content somehow.
This is to say that, no matter how limited and guarded you think you are about keeping your kids sheltered from the pervasive cultural attitudes that float about, from the net, from tv maybe, from MTV, whatever….some of it does drift in, more than you realize.

This teen, she's actually a PREteen.
But she knows enough to know she could play the race card, she could give it a try if she's angry.
So she did.
I asked her to fold her laundry.
I know!
Horrible.
She was so angry that she stomped and shouted at me, "Just because I am black doesn't make me your slave."
"What?" I said.
"You heard me," she said, arms crossed glaring.
"Nice try," I said. And I should'a then just probably repeated, "So, fold your laundry please now," and walked away.
But I"m not that good.
So, I said, instead, "Come with me."
And we went to talk to the cool headed Dad, who never really gets his buttons pushed by the girls (the boys did that, not so much the girls…you can see the fun we have ahead with four teen girls at home now, but I digress).  

I made her repeat her declaration; mumbled this time.
He gazed at her and said, "Nice try."
Then he said, calmly and well, "You are our daughter. Ever. Period. You are the daughter I walked the floors with when you were swaddled.   You are the daughter we have kissed and fed and tickled and hauled to sports and schools and kissed your booboos and wiped your tears.  You are the daughter who is part of the team of this family and who has responsibilities because you are old enough to have them, along with the privileges that go along with that too.  You have brown skin and I have white skin and God gave you to us as our daughter, and us to you as parents."
Now, please go fold your laundry."

And so she did.
The race card.
Prepare for it.
It's gonna happen.
This won't be the last time, I'm quite sure.
Maybe it shouldn't even be, maybe I shouldn't wish for it to be the last time.
I write this post not to show that we did any good job with this fired lob.
I'm sure we could'a should'a handled it better and/or differently.
I write this post because so many families now have adopted transracially, and so many of those families still have only smalls.
It's easy to forget or dismiss the reality that you are charged with raising every child to adulthood, not just into kindergarden and we are charged with teaching them how to navigate this world as a person of color.
And it's not a nothing.
The world is not colorblind.
Not only should we as parents not be so, but we need to remember, always, that our kids are not either.

Imitating Life....

So, maybe I don't snarl at the kids...ok, at least not on a good day {and we just don't talk about those bad days do we?}...but still.  Made me laugh out loud, needed today, so thank you Booboo! So goes the Christmas vacation...
**disclaimer: I have never watched this show and probably won't. So this is not an endorsement of it. But this clip makes me laugh, it's my house.  Mom mom mom mom gabe gabey gabe gabe me me me me......**

Behind the curtain....

Yeah you moms know what I'm talking about...
It's really really great to act like and try to make the world, or at least your own little family unit, think that you are the "great and powerful Oz."  Right? Right.
And much of the time we can fake it.  Or we can fool ourselves into thinking that we are making or faking it. And when we are really "on" we make it look effortless.  {Insert maniacal laugh here.} 
Sometimes we'll even have other folks say to us, "Oh but  you are so pulled together!" Yeah.  That's it.
But then, now and then, you run into those times when everyone gets to see behind the curtain. And the truth is revealed. Not only are you not the "great and all powerful Oz Mom" but you are pedaling and pushing the levers as fast as you can, sweating even!

Yup.  Mom fail.  It happens, to the best of us.
Some of us however have more opportunities to fail...yeah,  you moms, you still know what I'm talking about.  I believe that the number of kids you have is a direct correlation to the number of fail opportunities that will present.  Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.  So, follow me here: if you think about it....with my eight kids (and I get extra chance points for having some with particular needs...) I have, um, let's see...approximately 11,000 chances per week.

And, today I got another.  I got the Christmas version, oh boy oh boy.
You see, most of my kids got out of school last Friday on the 17th.  One of my daughters is at a different school and had a few days left in class this week.  Three.  Or so I thought.  So she said.  So I thought the website said.  And don't get all snippy and ask why I didn't get the schedule handouts.  Because I didn't get the schedule handouts. I don't even know if they had schedule handouts.  Because this daughter doesn't let me get to her backpack and go through her papers often, it becomes a battle and therefore I choose not to.  But I digress.  Anyhow, so even this morning, she traipsed off to school and as she got on the bus she I said, "2:30 pickup?" and she said, "Yup."

Off she went.  Back in the house I went.  Then I went off to the market and flipped the laundry and checked in with the other kids and so on.  As soon as I made it in to start wrapping her teacher gifts, my cell rang. It was her school. It was her principle.  Uh oh?  So, I picked it up and her very nice principle, we'll call her Ms. Principle, said, "Is anyone coming to get Sarah today?"  "Wha??," was my eloquent reply,  "Aren't they done at 2:30?" Genius, right?  "No," says kind and long suffering Ms. Principle, "they are out at 10:30 this  morning." "Is today the last day of school," I say in my flash of numbingly stupid insight, "I thought it was tomorrow! Oh no! I have her teacher gifts right here.  Ok, Ok, I'm on my way."  "Are you far?" asks Ms. Principle because now it's after 11 and she wants to go home.  "No, at home, on my way now!"
Sigh.
And I threw the yummy teacher treats in gift bags and taped their cards to the front so fast it was like a cartoon.  And I grabbed my purse and coat and box of gift bags and keys and went outside to find that my son had taken my car.  And I went back inside to dig through the drawers to find the truck key. And I found it and raced up to the street and threw the box and purse and self in and took off to school.  Clock ticking, I knew the principle and maybe one teacher was waiting patiently as my sweet daughter sat in the office, last kid at school, waiting for her slacker mom to come pick her up.
I screeched to a stop in front of the school in the almost empty parking lot, grabbed my keys and box of gift bags and raced inside the now empty school building.  Two of the teachers were still there, plus Sarah's and the principle.  They were all ready to go.  Oh dear.  Bad mom.  I crashed into the office, and smiled crookedly at Sarah, and said, "I am SO sorry!  This is why God gives babies to YOUNG women (line stolen from best friend's dear mom, thank you Jean!) !"  Now they were all sweet and kind and made nice polite small talk, so as not to embarrass me further.  
But, they knew.  
Mom fail.
Christmas edition.
Bah.....

See that mom behind the curtain??? She's working those pedals and levers and buttons as fast as she can....but sometimes the whole contraption clanks to a heap.
Maybe I need me some ruby slippers....

Hey Booboo! It's your Birthday!

 It's my Jon's Birthday today!!!!

He is 19!

See that cute little guy standing with me in the London underground, above?  That sweet little boy is now a big strapping college boy, standing well over me in height and strength and size.
Because he's 19 now.
Wow. I could say "wow" nineteen times, and I'd still not be done saying it.
But that he is: 19.
My Booboo. 

Gone are the days of the goofy skateboard cakes and homemade rockets (well, mostly, anyhow...).

 Now we have the days of college classes and games and girlfriend; visits home and dreams of future.

It's his first birthday away from home, which is making me miss him quite a lot.  But today, on his 19th bday, I want to point out some things about my Booboo.  Because, it's his bday and I wish he was here and it's what I do, to make him smile and squirm a little bit too, just like old times!

So, here's what I know about my dear Jon:

He is a loyal steadfast son, brother, friend, first, foremost always.
I love that about him.

He has a huge generous kind heart; only rarely (now that he's 19) enclosed or limited by modern teen pastimes.
Though he still will leap at any chance to jam with music buddies and play late into the night...
...or to try out a big adventure or thrill seeking opportunity.
He is athletic and, again, a daredevil, which used to make this mom a little nervous and by this time, now has me mostly resigned to it.
Despite his love for snowboarding, he kinda hates the cold.

He loves home but also loves to travel the world, unless it's cold, and  has done a fair bit of it, more than me!

He always has, and probably always will, have plans to do big things, make his way, on his own.
To say he is independent is an understatement.

 That is one of this strengths, even when it makes us all crazy.
I am absolutely certain that he will reach his goals, no matter how big...

because he has the drive, determination, work ethic, faith and ability to do it.
No matter what.

Despite that determination, he can be melancholy and philosophical.
Which is also a strength,
and one which will have staying power over the long run.
Because his heart is big, and that very melancholy is a yearning that will call him to great things.
He just doesn't know it yet....
But I see it.
I know it.

He is a dreamer.
He is an eater.
Especially of sandwiches.
Of those, he is a connoisseur!
They are, perhaps, his favorite thing to eat of all.
Unless possibly it is my homemade bread...but it's a close close race.

He is enjoying the freedom of college to try out new things:
facial hair,
no uniform restrictions,
or haircut or laundry guidelines.
Even so, he still cleans up nicely when he puts his mind to it,
which is a great relief  always a lovely thing!

 He is a sleeper, extraordinaire!
My best sleeper of all the kids, as a matter of fact.
He won that crown when he slept through the night at four weeks old.
He is still sleeping every chance he gets.
This ability might be put to good use, depending on  his career path.
But let's just say, he gets this from his father.

 He is funny.
Laugh out loud funny.
He can make me laugh so hard I cry; he does this on purpose.
I miss his quick dry humor when he's at school.
He is a joker though too.

 He and his father together, dreaming up ideas, is maybe not the best of combo's...
they get a little wild eyed and start grinning and then you know..
uh-oh...watch out...crazy ideas ahead.
But oh, they have fun.

He is a loyal friend, long lasting.
His friends are not made in an instant, but they are well chosen.

 They mean the world to him.
As does, I believe, his family...
even his sibs...

because he believes in the value of family...
even when it makes him nuts.
And we do.

He is talented:
creative, as a problem solver, a tinkerer, as well as with music.
He writes and produces music that can make me cry,
or make me wonder where does that come from?

 He is thinking of paths:
Medicine?
Business?
Music?
Somehow, all three?
It's anyone's guess....
But...
He is able.
He is one that is able to get along, get there, make it work, work it out.
Those may sound like vague and odd things to mark...
but as a mom, they are key.
They provide me with comfort, knowing he can be ok.
Better, knowing he can thrive.

Even so, no matter how able..
he lives mostly at college now.

 And I miss him.
We miss him.
I am sending him his requested cake.
I will make him another for a post-finals bday party at home.
Where we will finally celebrate this boy's bday properly, this young man's bday..
he is 19 now.
A young man.
And one of the finest I know.

Happy Happy Bday Booboo.

No matter how old, I reserve the right to call you that.

No one else  has it. 

But I do.

We are so proud of you on this, your 19th bday.

We love you so.

The Boys are Back in Town!

 Well, almost...

Tonight, if all goes as planned.
Read that again, my boys are coming  home from college tonight!
I'm so excited.  I am, I am just pleased as punch that they are coming home tonight (No, that phrasing doesn't date me at all....jeepers!).

They are driving home together after classes tonight, hopefully the weather will clear and they will get in safe and sound.  Most of the kids will be asleep I think.  I might be too.  But I will wake up, and hustle downstairs and hug them tight, grinning and maybe blinking back a tear or two.  How do I know? Because just typing that they are coming home makes me blink back a tear or two (It's been a tough week or so, I'm just so pleased to get all my kiddos, my big guys, back in the house altogether). 

So, I am prepping the house for thanksgiving.  I'm giving myself permission to kick Martha Stewart and her looming pressure ghost of insane perfectionism right OUT of my house and instead focusing on making this a calm happy peaceful thanksgiving, big family style.  The first part of that is a little quiet time this morning to set up the dining room and the boys room, maybe make a little something good for them to eat when they arrive.

Because my boys are coming home!
And I am counting my  blessings.

New Monday: Pre-K

  So.
My Gabey went to Pre-K today.
I can hardly believe it.
No, really....
I hadn't planned, last summer, to send him yet.
And I've never been a huge "gotta go" kinda gal with pre-k programs.
And last August, when school began, he wasn't ready for anything other than time home, with me.
So that is what we did.
It was great.

But lately, that time has morphed into a strange "at loose ends" time with him.
Not for me. I rarely have time with loose ends....or, more precisely, I'm busy sweeping up and tying up those loose ends all day every day.
No, what I'm talking about is my Gabey.  He ended up....at loose ends.
He went from being content with me, following me around, helping me, hanging out with me, learning colors with me...to spending the bulk of his day wishing for something he couldn't get.  Asking for it.
As soon as we dropped off the kids at school, he began: "Can I watch tv?" No. "Is it lunch?" No. "Can I have a cookie?" No. and, the most frequent question of all...asked countless times a day, "Is it time to go pick up the kids?"  Um, no, sorry honey.

Now before I get flamed, I did all the enrichment stuff. We worked on colors and shapes and went for walks and talked about birds and looked at acorns and read books.
I can do the mom thing, I can.  I did.
But my other "mom thing" also means dragging him along on many many doc appointments for the other six kiddos who are still at home {dentist, orthodontist, therapists, dermos....and so on, just do the count, it adds up and keeps me driving...}.  Not exactly enriching stuff.  So - he's been restless.  My gut told me, it's time.  That and his electric radar for any other kids around when we are out and about on errands; his racing them in the vet's waiting room, waving at every kid in the market, striking up kiddie convo's at the orthodontist.  It started to be clear that he was ready for a wider social life than me.

So, last week we visited our school's pre-k program.  It's excellent; the best in our county, with an wonderful teacher I've long admired.  (No, she doesn't read the blog, I can't score points here, shame on you...however, she IS the best pre-k teacher in our area, hands down, fantastic! No way is that a shameless plug....really...).
He was a little nervous to start his visit day.  It helped that his big brother and best friend on the planet was across the hall (like...close: you could shoot a rubber band over if you were inclined...not that my boys would think of that, ahem, because that would get a yellow card...).

 He was paired with a nice little boy buddy to show him the pre-k ropes for that visit day.  I was nervous. I hung out in the library, being mostly useless during the quiet morning of book fair.  After his day was done, he pitched a huge out-of-character fit in the office.  I was sure he was tired, overwhelmed.  But as we got in the car to head home, I learned otherwise: he was bent, just ticked off.  He wanted to stay.  He wanted to stay in school and not go home yet.  Oh!  He calmed and told me again and again about the class, the kids, the rug, the reading, the parade (lining up), the tools (toy tools), the girl (curly hair, quite the talker).  He asked to go tomorrow.  That has been his new question, usurping the others: "Am I going to school now?" Meaning, whenever we get in the car, regardless of time of day.  He asked me, relentlessly, "Can I go to school" after his visit.

So, yes, my Gabey, you can go to school.

And so today he did.
And, yes, I had to blink back the tears when I kissed him goodbye and told him I'd be back later.

It's my first time in the house, alone on a school day, for over eight years.  Read that again: eight years...gosh maybe longer, I'd have to really sit down and chart it out to know precisely.  I hardly know what to do with myself.  So, I'm procrastinating a bit.  I'm gonna start by cleaning.....And, on a make me smile and breath easy note, the school JUST called and said "He is having an awesome day and smiling and happy." I love this school.  For just this reason, they call the kinda nervous moms to let them know their littles are doing great.  Nice.

Eight years, and it's a new Monday.
It's good. It's weird.  But it's good.