When You Are the Mother of a Boy

Over the years, Molly has brought me many, many flowers from the playground. Glorious assortments of dandelions, clover, and even buttercups, lovingly plucked from the ground in the hopes of gaining my approval.

Yesterday, Brody emptied his pockets after a morning spent on the playground and presented me with these, a token of his love:

(At some point I am going to need to have a discussion about presenting a woman rocks as a gift. For any woman other than his mother, those rocks better come in a little velvet box and also double as an adornment.)

Officially Obsolete

I've already posted about my personal anxiety about Brody starting preschool, and to be perfectly honest, I've been just as scared for him.

To date, the longest Brody and I have ever been apart is 3 hours. Sad but true. So it comes as no surprise that I've been questioning how he's going to get along without me. How will he pull up his pants after using the potty? How will he open his yogurt container? Will his teacher use a calm voice with him since he is petrified of being yelled at? Will he follow directions? Can he walk in line??!! Will he remember that the spatula in the kitchen set is not a light saber and should not be used as a weapon??!!!??!!

We've been talking about how school is going to be and how I'm not allowed to come in and how he's going to have to do it "all by self." He assured me that he got it and he was going to be a big boy and not cry, but I wasn't entirely buying it.

This morning he was awake before I went in to get him up and happily got dressed and chatted away about going to school and playing on the playground. He told be he couldn't wait to eat lunch with all his "buddies" and he was excited to play with the kitchen set again. Even though he was clearly happy about heading to school, I still wasn't truly believing that there wasn't going to be a meltdown in our future.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I had mentally prepared myself for the worst.

Me: "Hey guys, I'm going to park the car and walk you both in."

Brody: "No walking in."

Me: "Brody, you have school today, we need to walk in."

Brody: "I don't want to walk in."

Great.

So I decided just to drop Molly off in the regular drop off line and then park and drag Brody kicking and screaming into the building.

I opened the door and Molly climbed out.

And so did Brody.

I was floored. And then it dawned on me. It wasn't that he didn't want to walk into school, he just didn't want to walk in with me!

I called to them as they walked away, "Wait for me at the door, I need to park the car!!!"

I parked quickly and raced to the building only to find that they were gone. Nowhere to be found. Then I spotted Molly all the way up the hall... without Brody. I called, "Where's your brother??!!"

"Oh," she said, "I dropped him off!"

I raced to Brody's classroom where his teacher was waiting by the door. She confirmed that Molly had indeed dropped him off and that he was happily in the room already playing.

In that moment I was completely torn... bust into the room to scoop him and give him a big hug goodbye or simply turn around and walk away.

I stood outside the door where he couldn't see me and poked my camera around the corner in order to take one last shot, confirming that he was indeed happily ensconced within. And without another word, I turned around and left my baby. No wave. No hug. No tears.

At pickup, I found him sitting happily talking with Molly and her friends.

This face says it all about how his first ever day of school went.

He is already talking about going back again tomorrow and I think he's going to be a little miffed when he finds out that he only gets to go twice a week. Hopefully each morning in our future will be just this easy and I will be able to continue my journey into complete obscurity.

Fashionista

I just realized I didn't post anything about Molly's first day of first grade and that is probably because it was just another day around here. No anxiety. No trepidation. Just joy about the prospect of a new fun school year. The most exciting part for Molly... the new clothes she gets to wear.

I wonder if there are "fashion design" courses in the elementary syllabus?

Bippy Vader

My Brody is officially a big boy.

Potty trained? Check.

Sleeps in a twin bed? Check.

Feeds himself? Check.

Goes to school? Check.

Sleeps without a pacifier?

CHECK!!!

Today Brody decided all on his own that he was ready to put his last bippy in a Build-a-Bear for all eternity. We couldn't be prouder of him... way to go Brody!

Changing of the Guard

It startled me the other day. The realization that a phase of my life is coming to an end.

For the past seven years I have been "on." All Mommy - All the Time. No vacation. Very little time to myself. The occasional Moms Night Outs or semiannual trips to the dentist aside, I have been a full time Mommy for about the past 60,000 hours of my life.

And now, starting next Wednesday, Brody is headed off to preschool and I am going to have 12 hours a week all to myself.

TWELVE HOURS. All. To. Myself.

I wish I knew how to feel. Part of me is giddy. Will I finally get that massage with the gift certificate that's been sitting in the kitchen for almost 4 years? Will I dawdle in the supermarket isles long enough to read the labels? Will I start some exciting home improvement project? Will I use the bathroom by myself?

And then, there's the other part. The part that can't stand the thought of being alone. For all these years, I've always had a hand to hold as I've walked the mall. There's always been someone to share my lunch with. I've never needed the sound of the TV to keep me company because there's always been plenty of chatter without it. I've never had to wonder what I was going to do each day, because the answer was always "Be Mommy."

And now, for 12 hours a week, I won't need to wear my mommy hat. I can take it off. I can just be Elaine for those few hours. And I'm actually a little scared that I don't quite remember who that girl is anymore. Maybe the old Elaine is gone forever and I'm going to need to figure out how to be a new Elaine.

And then there's the matter of friends. When you are a child, your friends are the kids who live in your neighborhood. And then they become the kids in your class. And by high school and college, you get to start choosing your friends and aren't as limited by whoever is close. Then you start working, and the people you labor with 8 hours a day become your friends. And then you become a stay-at-home mom and suddenly you become friends with these other women whom you have nothing in common with besides the fact that you are both covered in baby vomit and haven't showered in 6 days. And they are your lifeline. And you plan "playdates" with your 4 month olds that can only barely hold their heads up because YOU need to get out of the house before someone has a meltdown (and I'm not talking about the baby.)

And life is good. Very good.

Until everyone's kids grow up. They go to school. And they leave you alone for 12 hours a week with absolutely no excuse to have a playgroup anymore.

So if you see me wandering around, a little aimless, simultaneously smiling and crying, wearing a name tag that says "Hello My Name is Mommy Elaine" hopefully you'll understand. And maybe you'll invite me to a playdate.

Seventeen

Seventeen.

That's how many scars I have on my body. I never stopped to count them until the other day when Drew bet that he had more scars than I do.

I had seventeen. (He lost.)

Some are long and ugly. Some are small and barely noticeable. Some of them I've had for years. My most recent is only 5 months old. Some have great stories behind them. Some were gotten quite mundanely. I have scars from bringing life into the world and I have scars from the cancer that tried to take mine. There's a scar from where I was bitten by a dog and there are three scars from bailing off my bike - three separate times.

And to tell you the truth, I rarely even think about them. Sometimes I see them when I look in the mirror and I acknowledge that my canvas is flawed, but I really consider them to be more like badges I've earned from the life I've led. I know that I can be covered in scars and still be beautiful.

Which brings me to a website I came across yesterday called Operation Beautiful.

http://operationbeautiful.com/

Please take a few minutes of your day to read about their mission and what they do and how you can do it too with a simple post it note. The whole project started as a way for the writer to end her weight insecurities and help her end negative self talk about her body, but I think (as do many others) that it can be about so much more than weight. Everyone has something that bothers them about their appearance, and in a world so obsessed with how you look over who you are, the Operation Beautiful post-its are a wonderful little reminder to each of us that what really matters isn't on the outside.

I hung my very first (of hopefully many) Operation Beautiful post-it today. I'm not going to say where because that would ruin the fun. But if you are local and do happen to find it, know that what it says is true... YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!!!

We all are.

Just the way we are.

Scars and all.