This week's Brentwood Home Page column

Find out why the best may be too good for me.

More crazies by the hour

I have now reached that magical time in my life when all three boys are in school "full-time." For years I've heard friends gush about how a mom's day goes so much better, compared to a preschool day, with an extra hour tacked on each end.
From what I've experienced, though, the best thing about Owen finally reaching kindergarten, besides no more $350 preschool tuition checks, is that I can get to Wal-Mart before 9 a.m.

This week's Brentwood Home Page column

Read all about how picking up your kids from school can be so unexpectedly stressful.

Alone time

Rain magnifies things.
On rainy days, when everyone is home and we have nothing to do that night, no prior commitments to force us out of our comfy house, the rain makes us all feel happier to be together and thankful for each other and for time.
Even tasks like homework and dishwashing aren't so offensive because, thank you Jesus, we don't have to rush around town and get wet and frustrated with each other when this one won't hurry up or that one won't stop saying "pineapples."
On rainy days when I'm here working by myself, though, the weather forces me outward, mentally. It makes me think about the ones who aren't here.
I walk from room to room and notice things I don't see when the boys are there. I'd never noticed how Henry rearranged his bulletin board, so I sit on his bed and take note of what's important to him. In Mason's room, I roll my eyes at the perpetually unmade bed and see the collection of Coke cans he's started on the bookshelf. Their desk areas look more lived in as they settle into becoming more serious students.
At the end of the hall, so close to my bedroom it could be called a closet, is Owen's door. Last week he taped a paper medal to it, one his kindergarten teacher gave him that reads "Super Star Student." It's so weird to me because I've never thought of my baby as a student. He's a little old man trapped inside a little kid body, but he's not a student yet.
His room probably looks a lot like whatever's going on inside his brain, a very busy amalgamation of all the themes he has loved in his six years of life: farmers and tractors, fire fighters, Davy Crockett, soldiers, Indiana Jones and Star Wars. There are a lot of weapons in that room and a lot of depictions of battles pinned to the walls, but they're all arranged with a tender love and reverence by a little kid who respects hard work and can't tolerate puppets.
At the other end of the house is the playroom, where the floor is littered with remnants of their favorite thing to play together, "city." On a good day, all three boys get together and build a sprawling pretend world using parts from all our buildings sets, including wood blocks, Legos and old Thomas the Tank Engine tracks. The older boys are lucky they have a baby brother because it lets them remain kids a little while longer. The baby brother is lucky because he has two older playmates who are much more energetic and creative than his mom. They will move a couch out of the way of an oncoming Thomas track or construct a football stadium for the city from a shoebox, almost always happily. At least until he starts yelling out, "Pineapples!" again.

Star Wars cake

Not too much technical detail, but fun to do. Plus, as Owen pointed out, the clone guys on top were like extra presents.

...And you smell like one too!

So it's FINALLY not Owen's birthday anymore. Next year, I must remember to plan his party as close to his actual birthday as possible.
This year Owen's birthday fell on a Wednesday. I scheduled his party for Sunday afternoon. Somehow Owen surmised that all the days between his actual birth date and his party counted as his birthday. All I know is that by Sunday, I was officially over this whole birthday thing.
I know, I know. I do this to myself. Birthdays are only as big a pain as I make them. But I wanted to make this birthday special for Owen because he has always been our "understanding" child. That really means we end up taking advantage of the fact that he is the third child, both agreeable and eager to please. The last two years we've had a family party for him. "It's just as fun as bouncing in some inflatable castle with your friends! Grandparents! And cousins! Cake! You'll love it!" We told him his present would be a family camping trip.
Somehow, between sports schedules, work demands and parental exhaustion, we did not make good on his birthday camping trip until this past July. Ten months later!
So I wanted this birthday to be like a "real" kid birthday. I let him pick the venue. He chose Glow Galaxy, mainly because he wanted to sit in the big throne in the party room and wear a crown. But the party wasn't until Sunday. To make up for his having to attend kindergarten all day on his birth date, I planned through the cafeteria manager to spring for ice cream for everyone in his class at lunchtime. They actually suggest this now as an alternative to sending in homemade treats, and I was glad to do it.
I prepaid for the ice cream and showed up to the cafeteria at lunchtime. I told everyone we ran into that day that it was Owen's birthday. He got to go to a middle school cross country meet to cheer on his big bro, and all the big kids told him happy birthday. So by Wednesday night, as my mom used to say, I had had too much birthday.
Then he woke up on Thursday with that famous quote, and I knew I was in for it.
He talked about the party all day, every day. It really did seem like it was his birthday 24/7. The mailbox seemed to overflow with cards containing cash. Neighbors bearing gift cards stopped by. I spent Saturday making a Star Wars-themed cake, which was for the better because it distracted me during the Tennessee football game.
Then Sunday finally showed up.
Glow Galaxy wasn't my first choice, but it also wasn't my birthday. His friends came, he got to wear a crown, and he sat on a throne. He also woke up the next morning with some random 102-degree fever and has missed the past two days of kindergarten.
Like my mom used to say, I guess he had too much birthday.

When did birthdays become birth weeks?

Owen turned 6 yesterday. He woke up this morning and said, "Day 2 of my birthday is off to a good start."