No one ever tells you before you have kids what a great source of entertainment they’ll be. They focus on the really terrifying and awful stuff and never really spend time detailing the amount of full blown belly laughs you’ll have, compliments of your children, and how truly hysterical the innocence of childhood is. Well, this is when they’re not being assholes.
Sawyer’s favorite teacher is a gal named Miss Lauryn. I am guessing she is the favorite by the way he responds to her, loves being around her, and talks about her after school. That’s the thing with Sawyer. There are only three people he wants to talk about outside of his brother Sultan, and those people are his male best friend Garrison, his three year old girlfriend Addison and Miss Lauryn. Every day it’s the same.
How was school, Sawyer? Did you have fun today?
Garrison, Addison, Lauryn! Garrison, Addison, Lauryn! We play. Toys. Noodles. Trucks.
You saw Garrison, Addison and Lauryn? Wow. Great!
And then he ignores me and stares out the window silently until he decides he doesn’t like which way I’m taking home and then instructs me, NO MOMMY, NO NO NO! THAT WAY! and the ridiculous part about it is that he fucking knows how to get home and he actually has an opinion about which way he prefers. I apparently had no idea what two years old was.
One thing Sawyer HAS NOT mastered yet in life, though, is anything having to do with race, ethnicity or culture. It was ok until now, but now all he does is talk, and so I asked Miss Lauryn the other day,
Hey, when do you think we can start some sort of race relations lesson going in the classroom?
She looked at me like what happened now and laughed and said, Well, they are reading books about slavery down the hall. What happened now?
We probably don’t need to talk about slavery quite yet, but I continued with my story to make a point.
So you know how I told you a few weeks ago that he thinks every black women around the world is Miss Lauryn?
This is a true story. Everywhere we go, doesn’t matter the country or city, if there is a black women in eye sight, Sawyer starts pointing, then shouting, then shrieking, MISS LAURYN! HELLLOOOOO! MISS LAURYN! MISS LAURYN! And if we’re close to this poor, unsuspecting person, he actually tries to break free to go run and see “Miss Lauryn” which results in my dragging him away by the arm giving some sort of life lesson sit down like,
No, Soy, remember we said not everyone that looks like Miss Lauryn IS Miss Lauryn, remember?
And no, he doesn’t quite understand and so every black woman remains Miss Lauryn, which is actually probably flattering. Or not. It’s probably the start of terrible racism later in life. I don’t know but somehow I feel like I’m failing at this shit. I continue with my story.
“So we have a new twist to the story. So I’m pulling up to daycare and I have both boys alone so I have Sawyer waiting on the sidewalk while I try to get Sully out of his side and all of a sudden I hear Sawyer shouting,
“LAURYN’S DADDY! LAURYN’S DADDY! HIIIIIII. LAURYN’S DADDY!”
and I look up and am horrified because we all know I’ve never met the daycare worker’s Daddy and it’s actually some guy I work with in my office, and he’s trying to get his daughter out of the car and take her to school. So now I’m like JESUS STOP WITH THE YOU CAN’T TELL THEM APART SHIT SAWYER because seriously, he can’t really be that white kid that is running around acting like this and I have no idea what to do and so I walk really fast over to Soy and grab his hand and wave to the guy and smile, knowing he probably wasn’t listening anyway, and said,
“Soy, we’ve never met Lauryn’s Daddy. That’s that little girl’s Daddy.” And then it occurred to me that he meant Daddy as in like, he’s my Daddy, in the he gives it to me, sense, not that Sawyer would think of it that way because that’s perverted, but I suppose I refer to HIS Daddy like, hey Daddy, want to come watch TV or hey Daddy, can you grab me a drink, instead of Hey Chris, so then I’m like OHMYGOD he thinks that man is Lauryn’s boyfriend and he has chosen Daddy to be the way he refers to boyfriends or husbands which is an issue itself and fuck, I have no idea how I’m going to fix all this.
I finish the story to Lauryn with, “So I think he thinks now every black man is your husband. I’m just guessing.” She shakes her head, says GOOD LORD, and picks him up and takes him to the breakfast table. He waves. At least he’s cute.
So because not much else is going on in my life this week, I tell my friends, who find this funny. I tell Chris, who is horrified and tells me to stop telling people this stupid shit because we don’t need people thinking we are raising a racist child. Anyway, I obviously ignored him because I continued telling the story for the whole week.
Yesterday, the guy Sawyer mistook to be the lover of his favorite teacher happened to be at his desk when I walked by and so I stopped and said to him, and no, I don’t know his real name so I just kind of jumped in with the details and kept talking.
“Hey. So you know how we drop off our kids around the same time at daycare?” He just looks at me and says yea and like, why are you talking to me for the first time in a year for no reason? I just carry on.
“Well, here’s a somewhat inappropriate but kind of funny story for you.”
The six guys that sit behind him, who love a good story, perk up, stop typing and push their chairs back away from their desk.
“So the other day? Did you hear my son shouting at you? You know which one he is, right? Sawyer, the blonde one?”
“No, I didn’t hear him but I know who he is.” His daughter is in Sawyer’s class so I was hoping this story would be received well.
“Well, so, Sawyer may or may not think all black women in the world are Miss Lauryn.” All of the guys looked at me with big eyes and humored.
“I mean, he’s not racist or anything, he’s only two, but apparently he thinks every black women is Lauryn from school and whenever he sees someone, he yells and waves and causes a goddamned scene and the worst part is that when they don’t respond, he is actually fucking defeated and I can’t really fix that because I have to spend a few minutes talking to him about how that woman is actually nothing like Miss Lauryn but he’s more upset that she didn’t say hi back and so the whole thing is sad and weird and awkward. “ I pause to take a breathe and the guys are laughing, including the one I’m about to get to in my story personally, so I’m assuming everyone agrees that this is a nice afternoon story to tell.
“So back to you. So the other day, when he was yelling at you, he was shouting LAURYN’S DADDY! LAURYN’S DADDY! LAURYN’S DADDY! and I was horrified like OHMYGODSTOP because now apparently all black men are dating Lauryn because I think he means it like Baby Daddy, not like Father Daddy, I mean, I’m just guessing because sometimes I call his father Daddy instead of Chris and his grandfather is Poppy or Papa so if he thought you were her actual Daddy, he would have shouted Papa so the point of this is really that you, because black, are now Lauryn’s boyfriend and so if this continues, let’s just ignore it and have a good laugh and I’m sorry.”
He laughed and the rest of the office laughed and then I had a good laugh and was like phew, good. We’re all laughing at the tiny racist. I start to walk away and the guy stops me.
“Hey Heather.” I stopped.
“Yeah?” I turned back.
“My daughter is Lauren.” I looked annoyed and like, har har, shut up and when he kept staring at me with raised eyebrows like ? and then I was confused and just shrugged my shoulders.
“Lauren, my daughter? The one in Sawyer’s class? Her name is Lauren. I AM Lauren’s Daddy.”
And so again, the moral of this story is that I am the fucking idiot.
My kids. I survived another week with children who behave just like me. This week, though, was a fucking train wreck.
First of all, I blame home. It all started with one kid sick, who got another kid sick, who got a third kid sick. They all got me sick and between that and jet lag, fuck trips across the pond. That shit is not happening again until 2017. Yes, that means the double baptism is cancelled, let’s all keep our fingers crossed that my kids don’t go to hell.
Now. They’re back, they still don’t sleep and Sawyer has been a gem all week. In fairness, he was outrageously sick. In my head at the end of a 9 hour day being bossed around by him, he’s a been a needy dick with a super attitude problem and control issues. Like he can’t fucking control himself to not launch a glass of nicely poured juice on my lap while he looks me in the eye, or to behave like a sane person when I tell him no shoes on the bed, under my covers, on my side, and instead decides to use stomach to practice kicking on, all while screaming for his father. Begging for his father like I’ve done something other than take off that stupid pair of sneakers that he insists on wearing 24 hours a day.
Oh, your father can come home and take you to a place where I can’t hear your ungrateful cries, you, child who painted my couch with yogurt and then ran and hid when I asked you if you thought it was funny. Hid and laughed extra loud, which made me want to sit in a corner and try acid.
The day he vomited on himself like an adult three times, I felt terrible for him, even though he refused to be picked up and wanted to sit in the awful smelling pile of sour milk smelling bile. I didn’t even get mad at him when he stopped sobbing long enough to shout, Go Mommy Go!, something he usually shouts while I vacuum in a condescending tone, but this time while I dry heaved on my rug at the smell of the insides of his foul stomach. I forgave him, though, and we both got naked and sat in the tub, playing with his ducks until he poked my nipple, smiled and said, nice boobie, Mommy. I was proud, then slightly uncomfortable and then decided maybe only naked bath time with Daddy from here on out.
The worst of the days, though, was the second day I was stuck home with the sick kids, when both were home, because the tiny one can crawl now and he is also usually hangry and while tending to the big sicko, #2 spent most of his time trying to eat something that would cause him to choke to death. Seriously, I went to the bathroom for 4 seconds, half peeing down my leg in an attempt to pull my pants up so fast, and STILL came out to hear him choking. Jamming my finger and sweeping his throat I pulled out a banana sticker. No idea when the last time I bought bananas, but sure as fuck, a sticker found its way in the choke zone of Big Red.
That’s it, I sighed, everyone is getting a diaper change and then Elmo is babysitting for the rest of the day. I put Sully on the couch and asked Saywer to kindly hand me the wipes as he stood next to me. I could smell a poo and upon opening the diaper, I saw what resembled bouncy balls and deer pellets of assorted sizes and colors. Real food was making this child shit like a man. I turned my head to find his new outfit, then back to Sully, who has a passion for grabbing himself aggressively each diaper change. “Sully, PLEASE stop yanking your walnut like that.” He giggled as I removed his super strong fingers from his walnut. I was considering how much earlier Sully took an interest in his bits than his brother when i heard Sawyer shriek, “I got it. I got it. I got the egg.”
“You already ate. We are not having eggs,” I stated firmly. Sawyer loves eggs like I love ice. It’s a sickness and I hate eggs. I will not make eggs.
“Here, mommy. Sultan’s egg.” He calls Sully that, and it is sometimes cute and sometimes annoying. I looked at him. “Sully does not…”
He had shit in his hand. He had a medium sized ball of shit in his hand proudly and I could tell he was one second away from squeezing it out of excitement.
“Oh! Nice,” the fucking fake games we play. “Give mommy the egg!” I was smiling so big my fucking face was going to break and I stuck out my hand flatly to receive the egg.
It’s our fault he thinks to call it an egg. From a year on, we’d change his diaper proudly and squeal, who laid a dinosaur egg? And now I was fucking paying for it.
I wanted to toss him out on the porch and hose him down with hospital grade bleach. Instead, I used an entire bottle of baby wash on his upper body, washed all the laundry in the living room, put them down for bed and ate an entire pint of pistachio B&Js because I am a grown ass woman who emotionally eats in sweatpants and doesn’t feel an ounce guilty about it.
And today? Today, tonight actually, the bloodshot eye that the doctor told me is due to dehydration two days ago looks suspiciously like that anthrax pink eye and I swear to God if his eye is crusted over tomorrow morning, we are bleaching him, the house, lighting the place on fire and starting over by living in a tent.
Otherwise, though, it was a pretty standard week.