I have, in my fridge, as we speak, a package of hot dogs that expire on July Second, 2009-- the very day of my highly UNanticipated return to the paid workforce-- and I use the word paid there because I am currently a member of a workforce-- staying at home is a job in and of itself. Anyways. That is what my maternity leave is now reduced to. The life expectancy of a package of wieners. I am absolutely horrified at this prospect.
And speaking of hot dogs- here is a list of words that are currently taboo in our house, vis a vis an eleven year old son who will snicker and giggle inappropriately.
Hot dog buns-- the origins of this, I must admit, I am not entirely sure about
The subway slogan "Five dollar foot long"
The Burger King slogan "You're way right away"
I think the list is fairly comprehensive, although there are always other things that come up. Like 'pens' for example. He'll be like "Mom, what would pens be if it had an 'i' in it". Groan. The mind of an eleven year old boy is very one tracked, let me tell you.
Anyways, as I was saying before my little sideline into slang terms for male anatomy, my mat leave is almost over and I am feeling saddened and chagrined. I know that it will only take a few days and all will be back to normal, but still the nine to five world seems so foreign to me right now. I'll look at the clock sometimes at ten thirty, and think 'if I were at work right now I would probably be in full on professional nurse swing' but instead I am at home, playing blocks with the baby on the floor, wearing my PJ's and watching TV, laid back, sipping on gin and juice.
OK, without the gin and juice. Not at ten thirty am. Maybe eleven. But ten thirty's pushing it. At least on a weekday.
Anyways, other than that, my life is going relatively well. Payton had a soccer tournament this weekend, which went well. She received a medal, not for any amount of skill or even half hearted participation on her part, but simply because every kid gets one. She likes soccer, but unfortunately, doesn't seem particularly inclined to it. The ball will literally roll right over top of her foot and she will still stand in place, twirling her hair and looking absently at the other players. Geoff and I joked that when Payton is on the field, it's like a power play for the other team. I yell my heart out "PAYTON the BALL!! GET THE BALL!! ITS RIGHT THERE!!!" I get disheartened sometimes, the other parents look at me with sympathetic smiles, shrug their shoulders, as if to say "what can you do?" But, oh, well. It's just a game. And she is, after all, only four years old. But I've been finding that with her in soccer and Gage in ball, it's a lot of hustle and bustle, dragging the kids to soccer fields and ball diamonds alike, trying to occupy Alex who's main concern seems to be picking sunflower seed shells off the grass and eating them. I get frustrated sometimes, trying to keep uniforms clean and cleats put away-- though it seems we're always looking for something anyways-- but when I was driving home the other day with my sleepy baby boy, who'd had too much sun and his plump cheeks were a cherry red color, and my soccer clad four year old, who talked excitedly all the way home, and my too cool eleven year old, who pointedly ignored me all the way home, with his MP3 player plugged staunchly and firmly in to his ears, that even as stressful as these days are sometimes, these are the very times I will someday yearn for. A line from a song- of all songs, Miley Cyrus "The Climb"- "I may not know it, but these are the moments, I'm gonna remember most" and I was suddenly struck with a vision of myself, older- much older, my children long gone with children of their own, looking fondly back on a time when my babies were just that- babies- like how the other day when I took the kids outside to the splash park and Alex discovered that he liked the water, and ice cream. I hefted him out of his car seat when I returned home, he smelled like Baby Faces sunscreen and the faint, sweet smell of ice cream. He was sleepy and his body went limp against mine, hot and sweaty and sweet. His hair was damp and curly, I kissed the top of his head, enjoying the moment in time. Or how Payton and Alex and I sat together on a blanket and watched the sun go down while Gage played center field, Payton blowing bubbles and Alex clapping his hands together in a cute, if clumsy, fashion. It's chaos sometimes, but in the chaos is the beauty. I just need to be able to see it, not get bogged down by the stresses of it. Like so what if Alex eats a few sunflower seed shells. It's not going to kill him, right??
OK, it might. Bad example.
Anyways, that being said, I am going to go now and enjoy the day with my children.