Last year, I would drop Andy off at preschool, haul Alex home in his baby carrier, and deposit him in the living room. He would be fast asleep, and I would take this me time to indulge in such activities as: Cleaning the bathroom. Playing Bejeweled. Watching an hour of daytime television. Facebook stalking old friends. Making eggs, because damn I love a good egg.
Things were different last year when it was just me and Al Pal. I might as well have been alone! He'd nap in the carrier and I'd either take him home or stick his carrier on a shopping cart at Target and basically go about my business. I knew the days of having adorable luggage were fleeting, though, and now this school year, after I drop Andy off at preschool Tuesdays and Thursdays (and currently Mondays for his session of a class aptly and honestly named "Mom's Time Out" as opposed to some other title that might suggest actual childhood enrichment), I am still on the clock in my self-given role of Camp Counselor. The Camp is Camp Berger, and the two campers involved sometimes act like they're a few logs short of a fire, if you know what I mean. And the counselor has just the tiniest bit of a white wine hangover.
Anyway, these days, I kiss my eldest good-bye (my eldest who is still only three, I sometimes have to remind myself), and then I turn my attention to entertaining my littlest lunatic. Having just Alex is in some ways more trying than having both of them. If it's the three of us, I can pick any number of activities for a curious preschooler and just have Alex toddle along after us. But if it's just me and Alex, suddenly the list of things that we can reasonably do is dwindled down to a few little things, and there's only so much Target shopping the two of us can take.
On Mondays, I drop Andy off at "Mom's Time Out" and carry an envious Alex back out to the car. We drive across the street (I could probably walk this distance in the stroller, but screw it, at least I recycle) and spend ninety minutes at the library. Ninety minutes at the library! This is a long time to spend at the library with a seventeen month old, but we do it every week. Some weeks, I meet a new friend and her son there. This new friend, I would see her all the time at various places but never actually KNEW her. She was one of those moms that did the same things I did and yet I had to remind myself, constantly, that she was still basically a stranger to me. Until one day we ran into each other at a fair and she said, "You know, we should exchange numbers. Oh, and names." And so we did, end story. Anyway, I will go to the library and avoid the watchful eyes of the librarian who stares at me chasing Alex from the children's section to the elevator and then back to the water fountain. The librarians will smile politely as I dart behind their little librarian counter (security breach!) to retrieve my little wanderer. I will drag Alex off of the quiet study table that he has climbed atop. I will retrieve slick checkers from his mouth from the library checker set. I will unwrap other children's hair from his fist. I will clumsily reshelve all of the DVDs and books he has pulled down from the shelves. And then we will have our library snack, and if anybody ever asks if I knew that there was a strict no food policy in the library, I will totally play dumb and shrug politely.
We check out our books (which is seriously no less than thirty books per week, as we are voracious readers who take full advantage), get back in the car, and pick up Andy from his Mom's Time Out class, and instantly I feel like I need a Time Out. A real one.
On Tuesdays, we drop Andy off at preschool, maybe run an errand or two, and then Alex and I hit the little kid's museum located conveniently in the same park district building as Andy's preschool. I splurged for the membership this year, and that may have been one of the smartest purchases I've made aside from that tube of Pronamel toothpaste, which really seems to be making a difference! Alex and I have literally gone to the museum every week since September- sometimes TWICE a week! Oh, yeah, fools, I know how to squeeze my worth out of that membership card. Many days, our new friend and her son will be there too, which is nice. Alex will drive the little cars, grocery shop for peanut butter in the grocery store (the pretend grocery store has no less than six different fake jars of peanut butter, and yet I've only ever found one single lone slice of fake bread- how are these young kids ever going to understand basic sandwich principles?), and, lately, make a break for the gym, which is connected to the museum. He will push open the heavy door and run out into the gym shouting "Ball! Ball! Ball!" and I will swoop him up, scold him, carry him back into the museum, and then repeat for a bit.
The reason Alex runs into the gym is because he KNOWS the gym. On Thursdays, sometimes, I will take him to the parent-tot gym class they have there. Alex loves gym time. I mean, it is truly his favorite thing in the world. He loves the balls, the toys, the gym mats, the toddler slide and tunnels, and he loves the other kids (including our new friend and her son! I told you we are always at the same places.). He loves the bleachers. He loves the soccer net. He loves kicking and running and throwing. Which is unfortunate, because I'm really not interested in any of that kind of stuff. But if Alex likes sports? Well, crap. So shall Mommy.
Two weeks ago, Alex and I were having a blast in the gym when in strolled a familiar looking teacher followed by a bunch of familiar looking three year olds. It was Andy's class! Oh shit! Afraid Andy would see me and Alex basically having the time of our lives amidst all of those balls and toys and other kids and mommies, I hit the ground as if there were bombs falling from airplanes. I did not want Andy to see me. Alex, oblivious to my intentions, starting babbling, "Anda! Anda!" but thankfully Andy, while gazing intently over in our general direction, did not seem to notice his weirdo little brother and even goofier mother, who had her face buried in a kinda stinky gym mat. Later, when Andy's class traipsed back through the gym to get back to their class, I was more prepared, cowering in the bleachers while Andy walked out, rhythmically shaking his little butt to the "Wheels on the Bus" song that blared from the gym teacher's CD player.
After Alex and I are done with the museum (Tuesdays) or the gym (Thursdays), we pick up Andy, who has at times expressed a distrustful interest in what Alex and I have done without him. A couple of Mondays ago, he spied the bloated library bag in the front seat and suspiciously howled, "Did you go to the library without me??" I replied, "Of course not, Andy!" and then offered him a poo poo M&M. Although, since he hadn't gone poo poo, I suppose it was just a regular M&M. A bribery, let's-think-about-something-else M&M.
And so, I do not have a break when Andy is gone, as Alex is now old enough to warrant activities with or without his brother. And sometimes, it's rough and kind of exhausting and I find myself missing the days when he could stay in his carrier for two hours. But, other times, it's- well, I'll admit it. It's totally awesome.
But don't tell Andy.
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