Our couch was a housewarming present from Gretta (Grandma Loretta) and Papa Jim. The fabric that we chose was out of stock for some time and I had to wrangle lots of customer service reps. I had to pull out the whole "We tried to support a local business! We were lured in by your great reputation for customer service, but no one returns my calls!" Finally I showed up at their showroom (where they have all their floor models upholstered in white cotton duck) with my three kids, all of whom had just been fed a large amount of chocolate. I finally got a real answer from someone who knew what they were talking about.
The Goose and I picked up Arlo, bounced on the couch and had lunch (nowhere near the couch). We picked up Oscar B, went home for a bit of homework, and then took of for Yoga.
Last week I decided that although I signed up both Oscar and Arlo for Yoga, hoping that they would both become thoughtful and mellow, they really just distract each other. Even though I get reports from the moms that hang out during the class that Oscar misses his brother, I've decided to let Oscar have the yoga to himself and let that hour be a Lucy/Arlo playground time. As it turns out, one of the kids from Arlo's class has a big brother in an art class at the same time, so they are happy to play together. The moms at yoga have reported to me that Oscar did "Great!" today. Thanks, ladies.
But lets go back to the playground.
Lately, since I don't have anyone to talk to, I've brought a book to the playground and kept half an eye on while I'm watching out for the kids.
Today I sat on the bench and watched two moms set their Lucy-aged-daughters off into the playground, visibly relax, and then chat with each other. These moms were easily 10-15 years younger than me, were fashionably dressed, and their kids had friends.
DUDE. THAT WAS ME SEVEN YEARS AGO.
Okay, I was never that skinny, or that fashionable. I was never that young either. (As I've said, the parents out here tend to start pushin' them out in their twenties, not in their thirties.)
But.
Ow. OUCH.
Looking at those two moms made me so profoundly sad.
Every single day in SOMA (South Orange/Maplewood, for those of you that are late) I picked up the kids from their nap, or their preschool, or their school, and we went to a playground. More often than not, we had arranged to meet some friends there, but if not, we always ran into someone we knew and liked. When I quit my job in 2005, barely pregnant with Arlo and overwhelmed with the thought of taking care of 2-year-old Oscar full time, I was SPECTACULARLY lucky enough to hone in on a group of moms that all had kids Oscar's age-ish, and some of them even were about to have their seconds. These women ended up being my village, my lifeline, my emergency contacts, my heroes, the moms to the kids I fell in love with. We set up a Cookbook Club and socialized without our kids. We scheduled dentist appointments with abandon, knowing we could depend on someone to take or pick up our kids. Some of them even became my daughter's godmothers. I miss them desperately every day.
Today, I looked at those two ladies, and I was so jealous of all that they had before them. And I was so grateful for what all my playground girlfriends have done for me.
I have two goals: to make my kids play together, and cleave together as a family, reminding them that they only have each other. This has been fantastically successful. The little bits and pieces from this campaign -- Arlo pushing Lucy on the swing, after spending a good sweaty five minutes getting her up there, -- all three playacting Pokemon and tearing all over the playground -- all three playing Pirate Family and recruiting other kids in their narrative --have warmed my heart and made me think that Evan and I are actually doing something right.
The other goal is me actually getting a little bit of time to read. The playgrounds here are centrally designed so that I can sit on a bench and keep half an eye on my book and half an eye on my kids. Since the move, the kids all seem to keep an eye on each other. The playgrounds out here have bathrooms, and God forbid I take Arlo into one. So the house rule is that Oscar and Arlo go in the boys' room together, and they are tasked with not leaving without the other. It's worked out well. Arlo actually brought The Goose into the boys' room the other day when the ladies' was out of service. Let's back track a moment: I sent my 5 (almost 6) -year-old in the bathroom in charge of my 3 (almost 4) -year-old, and they both emerged safe and sound, pee-free and happy. And trusting in each other. I am 41 years old and not as close to my older (and only) brother than I would like to be, but this I know: he has my back. I feel safe sending my kids into a public bathroom together and tasking them to take care of each other. (Of course, I am always right outside, sweating bullets and keeping an ear to the door.) Here's the rub: even though most of the time, they are bickering and fighting and pounding each other over stupid things, they have each other's back.
I miss my friends. My kids miss their friends. But we have learned great lessons from those friends, and every day I look at these grand human beings that are my children, and I am so grateful to those kids and parents that made my kids who they are.
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