Shotgun

I have frequently been surprised at how hard it is to place people when you run into them in an unfamiliar setting. When I am rummaging through my mental Roladex, I am also trying to place a person in the right physical space: are you college, med school, residency, North Memorial, Meadowbrook, Breck, Surly, or the dreaded no-man's-land of "other"....? Given that I am not the best at remembering people to start with, taking someone out of their normal context can completely flummox me. A place for each person, and each person in their place.

Context and place have importance. I want to know which "me" do you know. Was I your doctor, your peer, your friend, your teacher, or the woman running your kid's play date? Not that I am a radically different person for these scenarios, but I can't say I'm completely the same either.

Last night, it became clear to me that place itself holds power. Up to this point in life, the passenger seat of my car has been occupied exclusively by adults. Those over 18 have ventured back to the Chex-Mix, water bottle and Big Nate strewn booster seats of my minivan, at their own peril, but the boys have never ventured forth. The front seat is, by definition, an adult space.

Until now.

Mr. Max, being a somewhat freakishly tall 11-year-old, is officially tall enough to take that long-yearned-for shotgun seat, morphing us from chauffeur position to buddy position. Road trip position. Long hours of chatting position. And I found it morphed not only our physical space, but our mental space as well. We talked differently. I wasn't lobbing questions to the bowels of the back over the din of pop radio and 4-boy chatter. Instead, we were just talking, not only about his day, but mine as well. Talking more fluidly and at ease. Talking equally.

When we hit the house, not surprisingly, it was back to business as usual. Back to the loud banter of our lives and our home. I was the one barking about the need for PJ's and tooth brushing, asking again if anyone was ever going to feed the fish, wondering how so many clothes could be on the floor in one 24-hour period. Back to being Mom. Max back to being Kid. Because that is what we do in that place. Those are our roles on that stage.

But it makes me want to drive a little slower and take the side roads next time he's in the car. Turn down the radio, and eventually roll down the windows. Though I yearn for him to stay a child, this window into the young man he is becoming is even more enticing. This new place, with it's different rules, is a place in which I look forward to many hours together. Road tripping, right here in town.

My time now

As may of you know, I left my job in June. I haven't really said much about it here, on twitter or on Facebook. I have kept a pretty low profile about the whole thing - despite it being an unavoidable topic of conversation - largely because of the decadence of it all. It's announcing to the whole world that I walked away not only from years of training but also a doctor's salary. Surly's success has allowed this reality, but it still feels weird to display something that is usually considered private in such a public way. Friends here in Mpls ask me "How's retirement?" and it feels very odd if not downright embarrassing. Who retires when they are 41? I'm not retired.

But I am also not going to work.

I'm writing. I'm cooking. I'm spending time with my parents. I'm seeing friends more. I'm getting kids on and off the bus. I'm trying to take care of my body. I'm sleeping like a normal person. I'm taking trips with my family on weekends. I'm helping with homework. I'm present.

Decadent indeed.

There are the many colleagues who were deeply worried about my identity. How could I wake up each morning knowing I wasn't heading to the hospital? Well, I am here to let all of the worriers know that my identity is doing just fine! In fact, I'm surprised by how little I miss my doctor life. Sure, I miss the great saves and the mystery illnesses whose diagnosis unfurls themselves with a little work. That's why I went into the job in the first place. But let's be honest. That was a pretty small percentage of what I did day in and day out. I do miss the comradery of my many lovely partners, but I find dinner and lunch dates make up for that quite well.

Most importantly, the time I have with the boys (though maddening at times) is, without question, the best gift I have ever received. Max was chosen to perform in front of the whole 5th grade last month, and I was there. I didn't have to explain to him why mom couldn't see him. I am reading to Spencer's class today, and still have a chance to write, exercise and meet friends for dinner.

Were things different, I would still report to the hospital for every shift, smile on my face, ready to ride that horse into the real retirement sunset. That is the life I happily signed up for. But, I am the incredibly lucky gal who gets to see what else life has in store for me. And I'm pretty excited to see where that horse takes me.

First Born

My eldest might be the most earnest person I have ever met. His genuine concern for the well-being of others, specifically his brothers (when he isn't telling them to kindly go away), goes beyond his years. I am pretty sure I don't care that much about people... actually, I'm quite certain of it. This is a quality that is deeply IN him, not learned. He once told me I wasn't greeting the dog in a kind enough tone.

So, this morning, he asks if we can talk, "alone." This is also part of his earnestness. Someone, someday, will love having found a boy that actually likes the phrase "We need to talk." It turns out he is pretty worried about Leo. Apparently, in a story Max was reading to said 5-year-old yesterday, somehow someone asserted one of the silly characters was drunk. (No, I don't know what children's book they were reading, but I clearly should find out). Leo, always happy to jump into whatever his brothers are doing or saying, comprehending or not, then said "They are all drunk!" I am sure this was followed by him looking from brother to brother to see if he had made them chuckle.

Max is very worried about this. He feels it isn't appropriate that a 5-year-old is making jokes about such a serious matter. It should be said, with our family's unavoidable steeping in the beer culture, I have tried to be very straight forward about the goods and bads of alcohol - the moderation vs excess concept. In doing so, I have somehow mistakenly given Max the impression that drunk people are to be deeply feared and avoided. I think any mother would argue this isn't a terrible misunderstanding, one that could actually work in our favor, but it is a little over the top.

I tried to explain to Max that Leo really has no idea what he is talking about. He was saying a joke thinking it would make his brothers laugh. He wasn't buying it. He said he's concerned that Leo is going to grow up faster than he should, being the youngest, and that he and the twins are to blame.

I mean, really? What 11-year-old says such things? I assuaged him as best I could, but he went to school still concerned.

I guess I should cross "Buy Leo cigarettes" off of my To Do list...

Taking turns

It seems, of late, that the children have a well orchestrated schedule worked out. They fake not knowing the time, the date or the flow of a day because the clearly know how to tag-team pushing me to my limits these days with swiss-watch-like precision.

It goes from whining to not finishing homework, to starting eating without sitting down, to standing up during every meal, to leaving a needed book at school, to forgetting the math on the table, to interrupting every word that comes out of my mouth, to glad-handling your brother's body because he won't give you some worthless piece of plastic that you've had NO interest in for the past 4 years, to refusing to take the time to poop properly, to peppering me with the never ending Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom, to leaving the door open (again), to leaving your new game where the dog chomps it to bits, to not drinking your milk (again), to leaving clothes all over the damn place, to having no idea where your sports gear is, to leaving that sports gear all over the greater Minneapolis area, to intentionally bugging your brother, to leaving your dishes at the table (again), and for the curtain call, acting like a victim of child abuse when I get upset about ANY of the above.

It's been a bit of a rough week.

Answers

Much to my husbands frequent chagrin, there are very few questions posed by my kids that I will not answer. I figure it's better they get the straight dope from me that some awkward 8-11year old version elsewhere.

While single-parenting last night, the kids asked if I would read them from "The Book of Lists," their new favorite way to pass time. This book has a wide variety of lists, from Top Ten Unsolved Murders to Top Ten Unusual Uses for Beer, and everything in between. They chose Top Ten Frivolous Lawsuits as our first list last night.

One of the lawsuits involved a woman suing Victoria's Secret (explain what that is) for injury to her eye when the thong she was trying on snapped. This, of course, required explaining what a thong is. Now, if Omar was in this situation, he would simply say it's a pair of underwear. 'Nuf said. But, we all know, that's not really answering their question.

The looks on their faces when I described the construction and positioning of a thong was completely worth the effort I put into it. Horror and frank disbelief. "Why would anyone do that???" This inevitably led to a discussion of what a panty line is. Again, horror, embarrassment and copious giggling.

They are now pretty sure Victoria's Secret is a purveyor of disgusting, bizarre, undesirable items.

Mission accomplished.

A 5 year history of Sept 9th!

BIRTHDAY

One year old

2 years old

Learning the business at 3

4 years

Yesterday, rockin the hat

 It is hard to belief 5 years has passed since this little monkey joined our crew. Omar was pretty sure our family was complete with the 3 we had (all under the age of 4) when I convinced him otherwise. And now, we can't imagine our world without you, my little Leo man. You are the giggles, smiles, smirks and silliness that helps keep this ship afloat. We love you so much and are so glad you completed this family with a POW!

Happy Birthday, my small fry.

Down to One

It has been 8 years since I have been the mother to only one child. But as of this morning, I am again only caring for one for the entire week. Max has been gone already a week to Y camp, and Cal & Spence just got on the bus for their first one week camp experience this morning.

It feels super weird.

The quiet alone is disruptive. I am not being pulled in 4 different directions by 4 different pitches of "Mom, Mom, Mom..." Leo is at a play date right now, and Omar is out of town, which means I HAVE NOTHING TO DO. Now, of course, there is always something to do, but I have the freedom to browse through that list at a leisurely brunch-style-menu fashion. I think I will go for a run. This will be followed by a long hot shower.

I could then tend to the laundry, but you know what. I ain't gonna. Not gonna do it. I think I will, instead, either read or go to a coffeehouse and write.

And I'll miss by boys a little bit...