They say it's your birthday...

It's my birthday too, yeah.

Okay, not really. My birthday's on Halloween.

But, alas, Halloween is all about the kiddos. Little Guy is going to be Buzz Lightyear (complete with cheesy store bought blow up wings, oh yeah, it's like that). Girlie is going to be a vampire (with silver sparkly spray on hair, probably the only time she'll be happy to have gray hair).

For a few weeks, the kids have both been off the hook about Halloween. We'll carve pumpkins and gather at the neighbors to eat pizza, and then head out for trick or treating. Sure, there will be a cake for me amid the festivities. Fun, but not the adult kind.

So I'm celebrating early (and late) starting with a date with Hubs tonight. We're gonna have a good time...

The countdown: rinse & repeat style...

No. Today isn't Halloween.

Nope. Not tomorrow either.

Uh uh. A few more days.

What? No, I said a few more days.

How many?

Three.

Three more days. Count them on your fingers. Like this see- 1 -2 - 3.

No you can't put on your costume.

Because.

I just told you today isn't halloween.

No, tomorrow isn't Halloween.

No, we can't open the candy today.

Because it's not Halloween yet!!

What? No, not tomorrow either.

What am I going to be?

An annoyed Mommy.

I said an annoyed Mommy.

Nevermind.

Fiction class

Arrange for the sitter, get dinner ready, make sure Girlie's homework is done, pre-pack lunches for the next day, make sure Little Guy has clean PJs, walk the dog, have some cash on hand, read and thoughtfully comment on the pieces. I feel like a conductor, warming up each section, hoping it will all come together. The concert starts Tuesdays at 5:30 sharp.

It is all worth it as soon as my foot hits the sidewalk. I walk to the train. On the subway, I pretend to read while I eavesdrop on conversations. The classes are held across from the Public Gardens, just down the street from Emerson College. The streets are filled with people rushing to the trains after work and college students who move in slow packs, because they're in no hurry. I tuck into the crowd, anonymous, on my own path. I walk quickly and my footsteps are surprisingly light without the children in tow. I enter the building, ride up the ancient elevator (there's a sign that says to make sure the emergency switch is fully up, or the elevator won't operate), and find my place at the table, usually in the same seat, but not always. I listen and read aloud and share my opinion. People listen to me. At the end of it, I come home, walk through dark streets to my house.

And then I sit wide awake, like tonight, not able to sleep from the excitement of it.

Dude, pull up your pants...

So Little Guy is finally potty trained, knows when he has to go, rarely has accidents, etc. It didn't take as long as I thought it would. In the end, an enormous (and expensive) talking Buzz Lightyear sealed the deal. My youngest is out of diapers, now that's something. Of course, it can never be too easy.

He strips from the waist down every time, so I always have to completely re-dress him. But that isn't the worst of it, because whenever he's outside and has to pee, he seems to think it makes perfect sense to just drop his pants and go. Anytime, anywhere, rain or shine. Not too embarrassing in the backyard, but at the park or when we're walking the dog or taking out the trash...

yeah.

Easy

So I zipped in to pick Little Guy up from preschool yesterday after spending the better part of the day at Grubstreet. As I mentioned previously, I attended the screening of a documentary followed by a discussion, all around women and the sacrifices required to pursue artistic careers. The film was inspiring, but also as my friend Paige put it, a little depressing. On a side note, there is always some completely crazy person at these writing events. Not crazy, like wow I'm a busy Mom, but crazy, like sedate me and lock me up in the looney bin. I'm not going to think too hard about why some nutjob always shows up in these groups. Really. I'm not.

Anyway, Little Guy loves his school. During pick up and drop off, he's all smiles. It was tough for me to decide to send him two full days (as opposed to several half days). Its expensive and he definitely doesn't nap as well there. But he seems really happy (happy enough, that I'd love to send him three days, but it's a little out of the budget, universe are you listening). I've been getting a ton more writing done on the days he is gone and, like yesterday, attending some events that I hope will help me belong to a writing community.

When I got there, he ran across the room screaming "Moooooommmyy!" and hugged me really tight. He planted a huge kiss on my cheek. Dropping him a full day has been better than fine, good even.

This motherhood thing is so complicated. Or maybe I am making it that way.

Because, sometimes, it just isn't.