My Purple Hayes Daze

I’m a parent.  And I totally get that I signed up for the job.  But, really, if I’m going to be expected to model commendable behavior, maybe I should just give up now–on the behavior, not the job.

In an attempt to teach Hayes a firm lesson in patience, I decided that we would plant lavender and sunflower seeds in flowerpots and watch them sprout and grow on an indoor windowsill until…well, until I figure out what to do with them next.  (Yes, I’m that kind of mom).

But, honestly, I wasn’t even sure the seeds would actually sprout, since I certainly was not born with a green thumb–and, well, it is wintertime, even indoors at times.  Although, I suppose it isn’t exactly important that they grow at all, since the whole point of a lesson in patience it to accept whatever the outcome may be without allowing frustration to overcome you (and by you, I mean me).

As it so happened, the sunflower seeds sprouted right away.  And, I must admit, it’s been pretty exciting watching the eight tiny buds grow stronger and taller each day.  But the lavender, on the other hand, is still just a pot of soil.  And, the other day, I actually caught myself complaining to Hayes about how the lavender is not growing.  Not exactly exemplary behavior here, I know.

I am fully aware of the lesson I am suppose to be teaching.  Afterall, I chose it.  And I also know the value of knowing how to be patient in life.  But here’s where I start to mess up and just don’t give a darn: I daydream about those fresh lavender petals swimming in my bath water.  And, for me, that day can’t come soon enough.

1.  I am thankful for the hour-and-a-half of totally interrupted rest I got this morning.  Because I could have gotten none at all.  And, really, it was very nice of Hayes to let me to stay in bed after seven thirty.  And I am equally grateful for my reliable friends Nick, Noggin and PBS who I can always count on to entertain my kid in the event that an occasional sleepy stupor overtakes me.

2.  I am thankful that I know how to cook my family a Thanksgiving dinner, and that the tofurky always comes out just right even though I can never fully commit to following the recipe.  And that we all go back for seconds and thirds.

3.  I am thankful that my kid actually managed to take a nap today–a sheer miracle considering that this is a very overstimulating holiday.

4.  I am thankful that I didn’t lose it on my ‘been bouncing off the walls since seven this morning kid today.  I simply and calmly prayed for a miracle.  And the gods heard my cry and made naptime happen.  Which is why I am also thankful that I am not pregnant again.

5.  Finally, I am thankful for my family, friends and the SpongeBob Squarepants Movie that made me laugh so hard that it might deserve to become a new tradition.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sometimes I think that it must be hard being the kid whose mother is teaching the class.  And that’s when I start to feel sorry for Hayes.  On the other hand, I think it’s kinda cool that Hayes gets to tag along with me to the children’s classes I teach.

Now I’ve been doing this long enough to know not to expect perfection from any child–not even my own.  But I still make an effort to talk to Hayes before each class only to remind him of my expectation that he listen to his teacher (that would be me).  And it somewhat works.  But usually–or I should say–eventually the message wears out, since he starts out behaving nicely but over time becomes a total maniac so that by the end of the class I’m giving him the look.

And in that regard, today was no different.  The only thing that was different was that today’s class took place in a public school with about twenty kids.  Kind of funny that I’m in the midst of a school search and I find myself with this opportunity to observe Hayes in a public school setting interacting in real time with a actual public school class.

I must admit, it was an eye-opening experience.  I was surprised by how much Hayes was drawn to the mischievous behavior being played out by the other kids in the class.  I mean, he was a total magnet who couldn’t help attaching himself to whatever disturbance was going on.  But with so many kids, I couldn’t single him out to reprimand him–much as I wanted to.  Although I tried to send as many telepathic messages as I could.  None of which he payed any attention to…at all.

It made me think about how difficult it can be to have as much fun as everyone else when your parent is the teacher.  But mostly I worry about what Hayes is going to be like when he’s in real school someday.  If today was any indication, he’ll be a small classroom, sheltered private school kid all his life.  And I might have to be OK with that.

In the three and a half years that I have been a parent, I must have heard it said at least a gazillion times that in New York City, getting your kid into a good school is like getting him into a good college–and it’s best to start the search early…as in, a few years early.

Apparently, in these parts, either you luck out by living in a stellar neighborhood and can take your pick of suitable public school options, or else you’re forced to shell out what people outside of NYC consider a mortgage payment to send your child to a private school.  Of course, there are those of us who desperately resort to the tactic of infiltrating schools outside of our neighborhoods, and then find keeping the secret that they’re not supposed to be there more stressful than all the effort it took to get there in the first place.

But then, there are people like me who live in a newly gentrified, up-and-coming neighborhood surrounded by other newly-gentrified up-and-coming neighborhoods with, like, one or two stellar public school that we are not zoned for but could possibly enter their lottery and get into.  (More on the lottery concept later).  Of course I always have the option of paying the amount I pay in rent to send Hayes to a private school.  But then, I would have to hold down more jobs than I care to only to pay the teachers to do what I wouldn’t be around to do, since I’d be at work all day trying to pay his way through school.  And I’m not hating on the moms and dads who sneak their kids into school, but I hope to God I never have to threaten Hayes to keep quiet about our address just so he can get a good education.  Because he’s got a pretty slick mouth, and we’d be booted out for sure.

So, I took everyone’s advice, and last week I joined the masses of anxious parents on the school search.  Finally, the school tours that I have been dreading have begun.  I’ll be keeping a brief but detailed journal of my finding and feelings right here.

I’ll begin with PS 11.  (To Be Continued)…

So far, I’ve received good advice on how to handle the inevitably non-vegan International Thanksgiving feast that is being planned at Hayes’s school next week.  But since I had not yet settled on sending him to school with a bowl of sweet potatoes flavored with soy butter to share with his friends or not sending him at all, I decided to consult the food sign-up list for some direction.  I hadn’t even read half-way down the page when my mind was made up and my decision firm:  Hayes is most definitely not going to school next Wednesday.

Now this whole Thanksgiving-thing has me thinking:  Hayes is vegan.  The world is not.  How am I going to do this?  Unless I expect him to ditch every non-vegan social situation (which I don’t), I’m going to have to get strategic about how to raise him to be OK with being vegan no matter what situation arises.

Then, I remember a book my dear friend Carmen told me about.  It’s called Raising Vegan Children in a Non-Vegan World.  And it’s just the kind of thing I’m looking for.  So, I googled it and clicked on the Amazon link for a look.  When I read the subtitle, “A Complete Guide for Parents,” I knew I had hit the jackpot.  A manual is exactly what I need.

What’s cool about Amazon is that it gives you the option of searching inside the book, which I did.  The table of contents alone had me reeling with excitement.  And after I read a few introductory pages, I had decided this book was the key to me figuring out how to best raise Hayes to be OK with being vegan.  So, I perused the price list section.  Click here for what I saw next.

(Sigh).

I hope that Hayes grows up to be thankful for everyday things.  So, in an attempt to instill a sense of gratitude in him, each night before he goes to sleep, I ask him to tell me about his favorite part of the day.  It’s quite heartwarming to hear what sticks out in his mind, and what he finds important and exciting in an otherwise uneventful twenty-four hours.  Then, I always ask him to turn the best part of the day into a thank-you prayer.

Tonight, he prayed a particularly interesting prayer.  It went something like this (my thoughts included):

Dear God,

Thank you for me riding down the ramp on my scooter.  (Hmmm…I never would have thought to say thanks for something as simple as that.  But, hey, I’m learning a lot from this kid).  And for me sharing my scooter with Kimani.  (Umm…not entirely true, little one.  Actually, I had to force you to share your scooter.  You didn’t want Kimani anywhere near your scooter today, remember)? And that Kimani came to my house.  (Sweet).  And that I punched him in the face really hard.  (Wait a minute…What?  Where was I when that happened?  Omigod, is Kimani OK?  Should I call his mother)?

Well, I didn’t call Kimani’s mother.  And I didn’t question Hayes at all about the alleged incident.  Instead, I decided to give it the good belly laugh it deserved and sleep well tonight, knowing that my boy is on his way to becoming the appreciative man I had always hoped he would be.

I’ve been biting my tongue for way too long.  Normally, I don’t have much to say about reality shows because, by now, we all know they are far from real.  But let me tell you something about those Real Housewives. DeShawn, NeNe, Kim, Sheree and Lisa managed to, collectively, make women with children on TV look just as awful as women without children on TV do.

To be fair, a lot can be said about reality TV production.  I mean, the original Orange County crew was depicted as the cute and cool Cali girls they are supposed to be.  And the NYC women were as straight-talking and snooty as everyone thinks New Yorkers are.  But this season’s Atlanta bunch took typecasting to a whole new level.  And Bravo managed to highlight all the southern stereotypes and pump them full of steroids.  For example, after a paternity test, NeNe still doesn’t know who her biological father is.  (Was that episode supposed to remind us of a Jerry Springer show or what)? Sheree actually threw a fashion show without showing a single fashion.  (Um…Duh). When asked how to spell cat, Kim responded K-A-T and kept on talking as though she had spelled it correctly.  Oh…and she also has a really bad hair weave that might actually be a wig.  (Gasp)! DeShawn said that growing up, she always knew she would be somebody.  (What does that mean)? And Lisa actually admitted that she doesn’t do anything that doesn’t make her money.  (Who says that)?

I swear, I’m not making any of this up.  If you haven’t seen the ladies in action, there’s one more mud-slinging episode left.  The reunion is airing soon.  (Warning: Make sure the kids are in bed first).

Today, like every day, I woke up bleary-eyed and walked directly into the kitchen.  I made breakfast for Hayes.  I set the table for Hayes.  I filled a tea cup for Hayes.  And pulled out his chair.  I prepared his lunch.  I spread toothpaste on his toothbrush.  Set his toothbrush by the sink, and his lunch bag by the door.  After picking out his clothes and laying them out, I was free to do me.

Then, like every day, Hayes sat up out of his sleep.  He rubbed his eyes, got out of bed, and walked into the kitchen.  He sat down in front of his freshly-made spread and perfectly-made tea.  Then he looked at me and said good morning.

The only thing different about today was that he decided to ask me if it was time for me to eat now.  Indeed it was.  And how did we know?  Well, because Hayes’s breakfast was on the table and his lunch was by the door.  His toothbrush was by the sink and his clothes were ready to put on.

It was a string of happenings I did not even realize had become a habit until it was pointed out.  And I stood there buttering my bagel with un-brushed teeth, an un-washed face, a disheveled mess thinking about how I had not considered myself first from the time I woke up.

Wow!  Motherhood does change a girl.  And I sure have come a long way.

About a week ago, Hayes came down with a fever.  That’s the freaky thing about kids; one minute they’re perfectly fine, laughing and playing and being cute.  Then the next thing you know, they’re miserable and fussy and clingy with a full-blown sickness from a bug you never saw coming.  It only proves that kids are such troopers.  It really takes a lot to get them down.

Well, Hayes’s sudden fever was followed up by a few days of coughing and a runny nose.  It turned out to be just a nasty cold.  And, of course, between the nose blowing and wiping sneeze particles off of my face, I caught the bug too–even though I attempted to medically boost my defenses.  Alas, such is the viscious cycle of the cold virus.

I knew even as I cooled Hayes’s hot body with a damp face towel that I would, more than likely, be next.  And I knew as he slept beside me moaning from discomfort that it would soon be me laying there in misery.  But the crazy/beautiful thing about being a mom is that none of that stops me from holding Hayes’s snotty tissue in my hand until I can find a trash can, or drying his tearing eye with my bare hand when a tissue cannot be found.  We moms endure all the spit-sprayed coughs and sneezes that our children have inside of them with little more than a firm reminder to “dude, cover your mouth!…please.”

Yes, we’ll do anything for the children we love and love to take care of.  Even if it makes us sick.

First it was Halloween and talk about costumes and trick-or-treating that threw a wrench in my plans to keep Hayes in the dark about Halloween for just one more year–until he’s knowledgeable enough to make the time, effort and expense worth it for me.  Now it’s Thanksgiving and a circulating international dinner sign up sheet is really cramping my style.  But I figured out it’s not the holidays that are driving me crazy.  Actually, it’s Hayes’s school that’s about to make me loose it.  The expectation is that Hayes and his classmates bring a traditional dish to school for a holiday feast in observance of Thanksgiving.

No doubt, I understand how this is relevant and fun for a bunch of preschoolers.  But Hayes is vegan.  And no matter how it turns out, it won’t be a fun feast for him.  Either he will accept everything his friends offer him (i.e., turkey and things made with butter and milk) and I’ll be up nursing his aching belly all night.  Or he’ll be the only kid eating the vegan mac ‘n cheese getting colder and more stale by the minute.  Perhaps we’ll avoid it altogether and make a plan to spend the afternoon watching Spongebob and Avatar rather than attend the international feast at school.

I can only hope I’m not scarring my child for life.  (Who’s kidding who.  Of course I am.  How could this not)?