electric boogaloo

I spend more time working on costumes for Nicolaus than I want to admit.

Where his obsessions used to last for weeks and weeks, now he cycles rapidly depending on his whims and/or how much time I just spent making his latest outfit. They are all history-related — he is so excited about history that it is not remotely considered school work. If anything, it’s a reward for doing school work.

So it’s very cool that he is so passionate about the olden days. And the costumes are a great way to learn more and absorb it all and etc etc. But. Tiny complaint okay? The costumes are exhausting. It’s not just the logistics of making them and keeping up with it all… it’s more that it’s a background energy drain. Once in a very long while we make him just be himself for the day. Because we’re mean and had kids just to be mean. And walking around with Plain Nicolaus, we realize what a relief it is to not have to remember where he is from and what time period it was, and what he would know and what he wouldn’t, and all of the backstory that explains why he is riding around with us in the backseat of a Scion XB.

And the faster it cycles, the harder it is to keep up. We’re constantly having to help him put this belt on and make a new hat and change the shape of this knife because Minoans didn’t have knives shaped like that… man. I now fully and totally understand why my sister in law made the rule: Decide at the beginning of the day which ones are cars and which ones are robots. I am only transforming each one of these little fuckers ONE TIME every day. It made sense then, but it makes even oh my god SO MUCH MORE sense now.

He was a person from India for almost two weeks, until finally I gave in and sewed my napkins together for him. While I sewed he flipped through his history book. As I put the last two stitches in place he changed his mind and decided that he really wanted to be oh gosh. Now I can’t remember the names of these guys, but they predated the Greeks and were basically the biggest assholes in the history of the world. Literally. Like Hitler would read about these guys and go, “Woah. They were mean.”

That lasted about two hours. Then he switched back to Roman. Then he was a prince for like fifteen minutes. Then he was from India again. Then Roman. Then a Minoan from the isle of Crete. That’s right, Crete. No? Yeah, me neither.

So we got the Minoan outfit all figured out and read all about those guys and oh wow yes mmmm very interesting… did I mention I got Cs in history? Then he went to his room to find his shoes and came back dressed as an American pioneer explorer.

That one lasted until it was time to go to the library. Then he changed shirts, to his native american shirt but left the rest of the explorer outfit in tact. Because he wanted to be an Indian who helped explorers. So we went to the library and he asked the librarian whether there was anyone like Sacagawea who was more of a - well, boy. Stumped her, haha.

She was really sweet and spent a good ten minutes helping us look for the answer before leaving us to our own in the Native American section. He wanted to sit on the floor and have me read them all, but we couldn’t stay long because Graham likes the library way too much. He! Shouts! Every! Word! LOOK MAMA! A BOOK ABOUT A BABY BEAR, MAMA. I CANNOT MODULATE THE SOUND OF MY VOICE, MAMA.

There are books about baby bears, and it’s just way too exciting.

We gathered a stack of books and headed toward the tables, and we were nearly there when Nicolaus spotted a book about Egypt and decided screw all this Native American crap.

Meanwhile Graham was running away from me and laughing, and when I said, “Come here, Graham.” he flopped down on the floor.

“GRAHAM. Come here.”

“I am, Mama!” He giggled, “I am going to ROLL to you.”

And he did. He rolled to me. In the library. See me? This is what tired looks like.

So tonight I made a vaguely Egyptian-looking skirt and head cover out of raw art canvas. And the shield — well, it might be the most half-assed thing I’ve made yet. It’s a giant bubble mailer with a slight curve cut at the top. There, kid. It looks like the picture. Can I please start dinner now?

There are about twelve more exciting things I want to post about but the day is finally over and I’m sorry internet. I love you. But I love sleep more.

I complain too much lately. It’s stress and tiredness and what? Oh, just habit maybe. Little kids are hard work and it’s easy to complain about that. They pee on themselves, they need help with everything, they argue, they needlessly compete with each other, they complain and they climb on you and talk too loud and generally act like the sales force at any decent-sized software company.

But the truth is that this is a sweet life. The train goes by our window every hour, and it would mark time passing through the day if the trains sounded different from each other in any way, or if it mattered very much what time it was.

This morning Nicolaus ran into our room. Bad dream. “We were all at an aquarium and it was really cool until I looked at the floor and realized the floor was wet. Then pretty soon it was all flooded because a tank had a giant crack in it somehow, and there was this huge freaky fish. It was like an angler fish but much much bigger. And it attacked me and bit my shoulder. So papa and Daddy ran and grabbed their shotguns and started shooting the fish. But we knew that it would only die if it got shot six times and then another six times and then stabbed with a knife. So they used all of their bullets and it’s a lucky thing I always carry my knife so I could — you know — stab. But the weird thing? And the reason I’m so freaked out? Is after I woke up, now my shoulder really hurts. And the hurting is starting to spread, over to my arm and back here and my back and the painful part is spreading. It’s just like the Roman empire, you know? It’s trying to take over my whole entire body.

So can I sleep with you?”

But instead of going back to sleep, we got up. I went to soak in a nice hot bath while Nicolaus and Kevin sneaked into the kitchen and made breakfast for me.

I never get to bathe in peace but really, so what? Nicolaus came back and forth to complain cheerfully about his father. In fact it wasn’t complaining so much as reporting (cheerfully) on his shortcomings. As a father. Maybe he thinks Mother’s Day means a day to celebrate moms as opposed to dads? Not sure.

In any case the bath was nice, the whole morning was nice and really if I think about it? The whole week was nice. Yeah, we have our grumping hours but really overall things are good. My family is good, people are mostly good. My kid thinks he has the answer to the crisis in Burma and is teaching his bird about why the people of ancient Assyria revolted. My other kid is talking in such a high pitch that no one can hear him. But his mitten hand is moving and looks to be talking about something very exciting.

Anyway, my inlaws are here and I need to go outside and be sociable but just wanted to post quickly and say that even the hectic crazy oh my GOD are you seriously dumping rice on the floor for no reason days are nice.

Oh and Nicolaus wants to tell you all something about his mother because it’s mother’s day which is all about respecting mothers:

Tiffany had a yummy breakfast. (And Mama you seriously did have a yummy breakfast.) She is a great mama because everything she does is usually perfect. Like for example. If she makes me a costume with a belt? And I need a certain kind of belt for my costume? She does a perfect job.

Whether or not you are technically a mother, I hope your day today is perfect.

Graham has become really rude in the last few days. In all fairness to Disney movies, lots of kids manage to watch them without picking up the rudest possible phrases. It’s only MY two year old that called his brother an empty-headed female. Which made no sense, and we told him so, and he hasn’t said it since. But he quickly adapted the form of insult: [YOU + (rude adjective) + (non-rude noun said in an insulting tone)]. His favorite is “You wappy old NICOLISS.” or “You are a blabby-blobber!” or “Your bird is a YUCKYWOBBA.”

Nonsense for now, but I assume that like so many of his ancestors before him on my side of the family, Graham is running through all of the possible English syllable permutations looking for the word asshole. But even in its present nonsensical form, it produces spectacular results. Nicolaus, never to miss an opportunity to be hurt or offended, falls apart in the face of these completely unfair accusations. Depending on his mood, his response ranges from indignant to rudeness to simple quiet sobs.

Which, don’t feel too sorry for him. This week he has been tattling like crazy and in general has been so needlessly rude to Graham that when the little guy retaliates I feel like saying well? That’s what happens when you act like a wappyblobber.

In less gripey news, one of his school assignments last week was to study how donuts are made at Krispy Kreme. He came home and drew a huge diagram of the process while I ate leftover donuts. I think I’m going to really love homeschooling. Oh and! This week Nicolaus has decided to be a person from ancient India because he found a page in a history book that showed how incredibly fancy everything from India is. The weapons especially delighted him, and we’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time making replicas of fierce-looking weapons out of cardboard, yellow paper, and tinfoil. I drew the line at inlaying gold. We just don’t have the setup to really do it properly. He concluded that real India people (he won’t call them Indians, too confusing) must not have had a lot of enemies trying to get them right away because otherwise how would they have time to do all of that? See, we saw pictures of weapons from the dark ages once and they all kind of suck because, the text claims, there wasn’t time to make them very fancy before someone came along and killed you and took your sword away.

Anyway, if you’ve seen us around town (at Krispy Kreme doing research, most likely) and you were wondering why my son has Cost Plus World Market cotton kitchen towels pinned together around himself like a sari, well now you know.

Meanwhile Graham requested and got a major haircut, my parents are being so nice to me that it’s starting to weird me out a little, and my brother is going to have BABIES!! No. Not my brother. But you know what I mean.

I am a little conflicted. Help me out here.

1. I used to work in the soft-edged world of B2B marketing where the efforts were often so inept and the sales tactics so mellow that the work we produced was pretty harmless. It didn’t contribute anything nice to the world, but it didn’t make anyone feel bad either. It was a wash, though my logical brain always longed to work with marketers who cared about data and results and a bigger picture. We were using rubber swords, and it felt silly.

But now after working for a solid year in the world of direct marketing — where they use real swords that are also guns and you put bees in the guns and when you fire them they shoot BEES — I have to agree with the ancient philosopher who said that everyone who works in marketing should all kill themselves. It’s a seriously an entire industry made out of bad and wrong. Basically it is an agency’s job to convince businesses to hire them to hassle innocent people and stress them out until they buy things that they don’t need. Marketers do this by pasting images all over your life that say: If you don’t read this you are ruining your life! And reading it makes you feel bad about not having or doing or wanting all these things that hey! Guess what! Are available for the low, low price of whatever is the maximum amount that we have calculated you’ll be willing to pay.

It’s gross. The guys I worked with are great at what they do, and I hardly ever think or say bad things about them. Still, it’s clear that I don’t have the stomach for direct marketing, and I’m glad they are not renewing my contract.

2. But! What am I going to do next? Well, my goal for the next year is to take over the world of nerdy/science art. I want to sell my artwork to everyone. I want to get my work into catalogs and retail stores and college bookstores and boutiques. In fact, I think it’s only fair to let you know that if you don’t buy nerd art from me, you are COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY FUCKING UP YOUR LIFE.

So you see? I’m conflicted. The word for what I am right now is arguably “hypocritical”, but conflicted makes me sound like I have more of a soul. You know? I just want to use my marketing skills for good rather than evil but at the same time I’d like to make and sell science-related artwork because it is super dang fun, and because we have horrifying amounts of debt to pay off somehow.

BUT. Isn’t it wrong to be pushing hilariously pretentious nursery decor onto people who don’t need it, when they would be better off bringing a nice bottle of wine to that baby shower with a cute card that says “Here. You are really going to need this in a few months”? Aren’t I just contributing to the problem here?

THEN AGAIN. People are going to buy gifts and cute things anyway. It makes them happy to find something nerdy and cute. It’s not bad to make people happy, right?

But then AGAIN, that’s same “in the business of making people happy” is Disney’s pretense for all of the ridiculous bullshit they pour down kids’ throats every day. All we want to do is make people happy! Please deposit cash for happiness, and also identify for us which target demographic you currently fit into.

Speaking of Disney, I keep meaning to make a list of things to thank Disney for teaching my kids. Let’s see…

* Men are stupid and can’t tell one girl from another (The Little Mermaid)

* Moms die, leaving young children alone and helpless. Dad may or may not be around and/or worth a shit at parenting so good luck with that. (Fox and the Hound, Bambi, Finding Nemo, and multiple others I can’t think of right now)

* Other times, mom just isn’t around or worth mentioning. Which is okay because in general, male role models are the only ones worth having. (The Jungle Book, Pinnochio, etc)

* Parent’s rules are a bunch of bullshit. You are probably right to ignore them.

* “I hate you.”

* “You MORON.”

* “Idiot.”

* The dentist is a terrifying, bumbling oaf who hurts people way more than you ever imagined.

* Keeping animals as pets is mean. And if you want to set an animal free, flush it down the toilet. All drains lead to the ocean!

* Talking to strangers is exactly what you should do in most situations.

* Stepmothers are bitches at best.

* “You empty-headed FEMALE!”

* It’s okay to fire a loaded gun at someone if you are mad at them. (Fox and the Hound)

* When a new baby comes, your parents are unlikely to pay attention to you anymore. (Lady and the Tramp)

* Boy puppies look like the daddy and girl puppies look like the mommy. (Lady and the Tramp)

* Did I mention that you shouldn’t get attached to your mom?

* From Beauty and the Beast: Looks don’t matter when it comes to True Love. In fact, you can even be kind of an abusive ass. (Note: only applies to men. Chicks should always be hot and nice if they want to get anywhere.)

* From Cars: It’s a crying shame that people are such shallow money-driven consumerists. Our society has really lost its way. THANK YOU DISNEY for lecturing us about the evils of consumerism. I had wondered why there weren’t any Cars-themed q-tips, and now that I’ve seen the movie I know why. Clearly Disney felt the need to exercise restraint in the licensing arena, lest our society lose touch with what’s really important in life.

Which brings me neatly back to my own internal conflict: How can I market and sell products like crazy without being a bad person on the inside, where it counts?

Their sleep schedules derailed so gradually we didn’t even notice. 8:30… 9:00… 10:00 eh, no big deal. Except that now 11:00 is the earliest they go to sleep. This is not college you guys! And even if it was college you are not here to party. GO TO BED. Before you both lose your damned scholarships.

So here’s how it goes. No matter what time we put the boys to bed, Graham poops ten minutes later.

He comes out and says, “I pooped Mama. I am really poopie and nasty. And a little bit wet.”

He’s not lying. I change him. After that he’s like well, since I’m up I might as well build something with blocks. I shuffle him back to his bed, and he cries and says awful things that I can barely understand on account of all the crying. YOU SAID I CANNOT BUILD WITH BLOCKS ANYMORE AND I LOVE MY BLOCKS AND (unintelligible) YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME MY (unintelligible). I really need my (unintelligible).

And so on.

Meanwhile, Nicolaus is awake and listening and considering his options. Will he: A) Choose this moment to request something from me? B) Tell me he can’t sleep no matter what he does or C) Rightly point out that Graham is being really loud or D) Ask me a question about gladiators.

Eventually I figure out what Graham is asking for, and it’s usually something totally reasonable like a pillow. I give it to him and he flops down and sighs. There.

I float out of the room and think wow, I am such a great mother at this. If this were American Parenting Idol, I would NOT be voted off tonight because my children will be asleep soon and because I have tremendous energy and stage presence.

Which is just stupid, I’m stupid, they are not going to sleep right now or maybe ever. Graham is going to lay there in the dark singing and talking to his feet and pretending to read — not kidding — a little block of Post-it notes for a minimum of two hours, until he either falls asleep (good) or notices that he is technically free to move about the room and goes into his closet and pulls out every single toy and book (bad).

Meanwhile Nicolaus will look at books and bookmark many pages because he wants to ask me what this guy is doing, and I won’t answer questions until morning. What kind of weapon is that, and did these people wear a toga with a purple stripe and not gold? Gold is really much fancier. And why do these guys have so much armor except on their chest and stomach? That seems really not very smart.

This goes on until he either runs out of bookmarks and/or I make him put the books away, so he can begin his two hours of alternately talking to himself and complaining that he can’t fall asleep no matter what he tries.

Which, I make it sound awful but really this is not hard work, and it’s no different than their usual bedtime routine. If one of them will go to sleep, the other will eventually give up and go to sleep too or at the very least will be quiet and still so that I can go to sleep which is the actual goal in all of this.

But! The difference right now is that usually the whole mess is over by 9:00, leaving us plenty of time to do important mommy and daddy alone time things like watch Netflix instant download movies and complain about work and say nice things about Barack Obama and surf the internet and eat the Kit Kats and ice cream that our children don’t know about. When little children won’t go to bed, it’s a problem for parents because we don’t want to share our ice cream and because at this late hour after a long day, although we love our children very much, we seriously do not want to watch The motherfucking Swan Princess movie.