Shrinking Sleeves

We got Tommy and Andy's spring school pictures back two weeks ago.  Of course, nobody would know that seeing that I have yet to cut them apart and hand them out, just like Mike's spring pictures, this year's Christmas pictures, everyone's fall pictures, last year's baseball, spring, and fall pictures.  Oh, so I guess that makes two years worth. I say if you really want to see the boys, then come over.  


Looking closely at the pics, I notice two things:  Tommy's long, full-length sleeves might as well be 3/4 sleeves and Andy's shoes could probably fit one of his older brothers.  I suppose that's what I get for remembering at midnight, the night before pictures, trying to ransack their dressers for something clean that matches.  As I folded up and put away laundry, it dawned on me that a lot of Tommy's clothes don't fit anymore.  He might as well be wearing little girl skinny jeans and capri's.  He has more freckles on his cheeks and his teeth are definitely beginning to look like dollar signs to any orthodontist.  This year, he graduated to another stripe on the bottom of his socks.  


Fact is, Tommy's sleeves shrink a little everyday and I don't even notice.  It makes me wonder how many of us have dressed our lives in such a way that the seams pull and twist the fabric out of shape.  How we do, in deed, continue to costume ourselves and our lives in outfits that quite simply don't fit.  


Well, Tommy...don't shrink those sleeves too fast.  Your bigger brother needs to hit another growth spurt before you can be the new owner of a pre-enjoyed wardrobe.  Someday, we'll find something that fits you and maybe you can show me what I should be wearing. 

Packing Your Bags

Five and a half years ago I read a list. It was a list of the things I "needed" to take to the hospital to give birth and welcome you to the world. I packed a bag for me. I packed a bag for you. For me, I packed magazines, clothes, pillows, snacks, some massage ball that has since been lost to the hallway closet, some suckers, and "It's a boy" chocolate cigars. For you, I packed your coming home outfit, little newborn onesies, a pacifier, and receiving blankets. It turns out the only thing I really needed to give birth was a birth canal and the only thing you really needed was a car seat. As we drove you home in our little Ford Focus, we both thought it was so strange to have this little person riding along with us and I made it, exhausted, through a bumpy ride home.

And now, tonight, here I find myself reading a list and packing a bag. A box of Crayola crayons, glue sticks, and colored pencils. A bottle of sanitizer and a box of tissues. A pencil box and a bookbag. Another bag to pack. All the while, I am thinking about that coming home outfit, onesies, your "bink" and of course your "Mick" that is nothing short of a rag now. When did those chubby thighs turn into knobby knees and those baby toes become gross big boy feet? Was my head turned when your gummy grin become a set of teeth that will no doubt, only become a pre-cursor to braces? Was I not listening when your vocabulary expanded beyond the word "woof?" Did I blink when your soft little baby hair became a crooked and sticking up little boy mess?

It's been five and a half years and we have the Transformers bag to show for it. You will go off tomorrow to your new school wearing your new clothes and make new friends. And I, well, I will think it will be so strange to be riding in our much bigger minvan, missing that little person riding on that bumpy road along with me.

Summer Cleaning

I'm a teacher. Every summer, before the beginning of the new school year, I feel this incessant, uncontrollable urge to clean before school starts. It's obsessive. To satisfy today's need to clean, I started in on the hardest room to keep up in our house - the bathroom I share with my three sons.

Now, let me say this. I have three sons. They are 5,3,and1. Boys, by nature, are messy. They dig, they play in mud and with bugs. They run around dripping in sweat. They don't notice when there is half of dinner on their faces or hands. And when it comes to the bathroom, their aim is far from what I consider on target.

So when my three year old came to me this morning, needing help and crying after a potty break and said he didn't want me to get mad I couldn't tell what he was so upset about. Everything looked in order. No mess that we couldn't clean up. No big deal. Sent him on his way.

This afternoon, I had the mirror sparkling, the sink shining, I could see my reflection in the faucet handles. I'm feeling good about life. I look at the 1 year old baby who is just learning to walk and shared a smile of pride. He was hanging out with Mom today.

I moved onto my next target, the toilet. The one year old scooted out into the family room to play cars. I'm still feeling good. Scrubbin' that thing down and I'm thinking, "What in the hell do they do to this thing? Is their aim that bad? How could I never have notice this putrid smell before?" And then it happened. I moved the shower curtain and saw IT. Son of a bitch. How in the hell does anyone put IT there?

Then I noticed a size 5 toddler footprint in IT. And proceeded to follow that print into the family room, laundry room, and back door. IT was all over the damn place.

Moral: Always remember that while you are feeling good about cleaning up all the IT in your life and thinking you have made progress there is someone else tracking IT around you all over again.