Four boys

You are not hearing from me much, because this baby will not let me put him down. As soon as I place him anywhere – a chair, my bed, his cot, in the car seat - no matter how asleep he is, he will cry within minutes. In someone’s arms, he is the happiest baby ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong advocate of baby holding/carrying, but sometimes I just need my hands, you know, to help the other boys, or go to the bathroom, and although the boys are always volunteering to sit and hold the baby, sometimes this defeats the purpose if I’m for example putting Max down so that I can help them with their school work.

Abraham has been a little more demanding than usual these past couple of weeks as well. He’s generally so independent that sometimes it’s easy to – almost – forget about him, but he obviously still needs me; not enough mommy-time is reflected in his behavior. As for the older boys – they’ve been the center of attention a bit lately since we’ve been trying to catch up on school and get them motivated to work among all the distractions. It’s difficult, I know – how can you work when a cuddly little cutie is yelling for you to hold and kiss him all day long? - but they’re getting better at it.

Out of this alive

I was actually starting to think that it would never happen, but by some miracle, over the past week and a half, we have managed to go from postnatal chaos to some form of routine again, entailing full school days and on time bedtime. I’m not sure how, to be honest, since nothing in particular has happened. We just... adjusted, I guess, and I regained some kind of control over our lives. Don’t get me wrong; there’s still chaos - it’s just not omnipotent, which means we get through most days in a – somewhat - similar fashion.

Mental note to self: after the birth of next baby, don’t worry about the chaos that follows birth. It will sort itself out.

Oh wait. There won’t be any more babies. Pheuw.

Day 4: Going home

Baby and I were discharged in the late morning with a long list of medications and instructions, the most complicated ones relating to my catheter care. I had feared before the surgery that I would have to leave the hospital with a catheter, but once I was on my way home, it didn’t seem to matter. I was alive, I was going home with a healthy baby, and I had a bladder that might need some time, but that would recover 100%.

The paperwork was not too difficult (actually, it might have been, but my husband took care of it), and campus security took us through campus in a car, all the way to our house.

Best thing about being home? 

My boys! Finally, all four of them united, and our family reunited, as it should be. 

Also; free access to our Nestle water cooler (in the hospital they kept filling up my water bottle from the water fountain in the hallway, and really, although it might be safe (at least I hope it is), it’s not very tasty water. 

Oh, and decent food. It’s true what they say. Hospital food is horrible!

Breaking a toe and catching the flu, all within one week

My nine-year old is not in the best of worlds right now. Beginning of last week he got up from the couch and stubbed his toe on the coffee table (not the one that went to the market, thank goodness, but the one that stayed home). It wasn’t your average general stubbing, but a very violent one, clear-cut, and after thorough examination by both me and Prof. Husband, we concluded it was most likely broken. William is by far the most active member of this family, tough and strong, but the pain that this toe injury caused – even with pain relief - brought tears to his eyes for days. Not only was he in pain, but he couldn’t go out and play soccer, tag, pig, whatever games they play outside every day, and he had a couple of really rough days.

Just when his toe started to feel much better, around Sunday evening, he started feeling bad. It was a general uncomfortable feeling with some chest pain and aches. As the mean mother I am, I dismissed it as a mild case of Dontfeellikeschoolititus. By Monday evening he didn’t seem like himself though, and when he said he felt dizzy I got out the thermometer: 103°F!

I left the house on Tuesday morning with a friend who so generously had offered to take me mega-shopping to prepare for baby’s arrival. We were going to three stores, and we had just entered the first one when my husband called, stressed (he was getting ready to go to work): William had just thrown up all over the carpets in the living room, and all my husband had time to do before he left was put William in the bath and the carpets on the balcony. My relaxed and organized extensive shopping trip turned into a “grab what you can” marathon through Spinney's, and I came home to a house of chaos that took me most of the rest of the day to sort out. By evening, our four-year old seemed to have caught the bug, and towards bedtime, both my husband and I felt bad as well.

William hasn’t been able to keep anything down since Monday night, and has been more or less asleep for 36 hours now. It's the worst kind of flu; it includes bad body aches, high fever, a cold with a very sore throat, AND a stomach bug, all in one. I actually can’t remember ever seeing him this sick. My poor baby!

I just hope this virus is gone within the next few days (and that nobody else gets it as bad), as we’re counting down to baby’s arrival: T-8 days.

The things a four year old wonders...

Today Abraham came up to me while I was finishing up in the bathroom, and noticed one tiny, but very blue spider vein on my belly. 

“Why do you have a blue mark on your belly, mama?” 

I told him it was from carrying the baby in my tummy. He looked shocked and asked, 

“The baby drew that mark with a marker?!” 

which made me chuckle. I explained that the baby doesn’t have any markers on my belly. Then I told him that babies can’t really use markers for a while, even after they come out of the belly, since first, they can’t hold anything, and then second, once they can control their hands, they put everything in their mouths. I told him how William got a hold of one of daddy’s red ink pens once when he was 1, and how he put it in his mouth and walked around with red ink all over his face for days. Abraham though about this for a while, looked at me, and then suggested, 

“Maybe when the baby comes out of your tummy, there’s another baby inside the baby?”

…eh, OK…?

My sweet Valentine

I was brushing my hair out in the bathroom yesterday, getting ready to take Abraham to a Valentine’s Day party in the playground, when he came in, looked at me with a smile, and said, “Mama, you look FANTASTIC!” I almost teared up. He had just spent a good portion of the morning making a Valentine’s card for his little friend Isabella. When he was done, he admired his work, and commented, “I love making this Valentine’s card.”

He has been such a sweet boy lately, often verbalizing his feelings of happiness and love. He often hugs my belly and says, “I love my baby,” or “I love you, mama!” and then adds, “…and I love my boys and my daddy.” Every morning when he wakes up, he looks out the window and declares, “It’s a sunny day,” (even when it’s raining) and often he adds, “we are going to have a good day today, mama.”

He makes us all feel happy and loved, so today, when he asked if maybe we could go to the candy store and buy a candy necklace (he has been asking for this on and off for a week now), there was no turning him down.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Not a good fit

It’s Friday; thank goodness, just in time. I had a couple of rough days this week, where I found myself yelling, which is a sign that I’m a bit stressed. There was just a little too much this week of school, activities, chores, kids with attitudes, laundry piles, iPods, constant cooking and cleaning, puke, my husband's deadlines and classes, popcorn on the carpet, toys and taking care of everyone’s needs.

Last night at dinner when one of my family members refused to eat the mashed potatoes I had made because they had carrots in them, and pulled away his plate as I was putting a spoonful on it, resulting in a mess, I got very upset. You see, here’s the deal: 

1/ We’re at the end of our groceries supply, which means coming up with complete, healthy meals takes a bit of extra planning, time and effort. We didn’t even have enough potatoes to go with the frozen fish I found in the back of the freezer, so I thought I was being extra crafty, adding carrots to the mash. 

2/ I’ve done a lot of work this week, as in ‘work for money,’ on top of teaching and the work I do at home, and for lots of reasons it was really difficult this week to combine everything. 

3/ My body is constantly telling me to slow down or even stop, which makes me worried that it’s not going to last another six weeks, which in turn brings on all kinds of other worries about the baby, the birth, etc. I’m not usually a worrier, so the worry bothers me.

So, I yelled at everyone. I yelled about my efforts to provide everyone with clean clothes, an education, nutritious food, and a clean, safe place to live, and I yelled about how I am used to not receiving any appreciation, but how it takes me a LOT of extra effort to do all these things right now, and the I yelled that I would really like it, if everyone just stopped complaining and asking me for more.

I guess you can say I kind of threw a fit.

The sad thing is though, it wasn’t even a very good fit. Usually I make sure my fits are impressive, to guarantee their effectiveness in bringing on change. A perfect fit does not involve feelings and the actual words used are not memorable: it brings on change. If I throw a good fit about towels on the floor after showers, everyone remembers the fit after their next shower and hangs up their towel. Yesterday’s fit however, was more like a tired, emotional rant and I don’t think it actually made a difference. It wasn’t specific enough. It was a general “Everything is too much” capitulation to exhaustion - my little crowd of men however, who I know WANT to help out and do better, need specifics: directions, detailed commands, itemized lists and assigned tasks. 

I will work on this over the weekend. Plus rest. Happy Friday!

Hurray! Our little Karl-Abraham is four!

Four years ago exactly, I went with my husband, August, William and my mother to the maternity hospital Al Nada on Al Manyal island in the center of Cairo to have a baby.

It was a pretty awful experience – a c-section where a lot of things went wrong – and I remember thinking that I could never, ever go through something like that again. Yeah. Ha, right?

But boy, was it worth it. Every single painful minute. Because we had a boy who has brought us all so much joy and love that words cannot describe it, and he makes the world a wonderful place.

Tragedy in America

In general, I am an impressionable person. I get wrapped up in other people’s stories and emotional state, and I cry more than other people – I think – about things that really shouldn’t concern me. I can even get choked up at the end of stories related to our school work, for example Anne Frank’s diary, that I read out loud to the boys.

When terrible, horrible things happen in the world, like yesterday, I have trouble keeping my eyes dry, and it’s much worse now that I am pregnant. But at least yesterday I wasn’t the only one crying – I saw President Obama on television wipe tears from his face as he addressed the nation, and I’m pretty sure he can’t blame it on pregnancy hormones either.

I think of these poor children, their families, friends and community, and as a parent I imagine what it must be like to go through something like this. It’s unfathomable. To come home and see your child’s toys, clothes, even wrapped Christmas presents hidden away in closets, and know that your boy or girl is gone forever. You will never speak to them, hug them or read to them again. Like President Obama put it, “They had their entire lives ahead of them — birthdays, graduations, weddings, kids of their own…” Gone.

When I got home last night, after I heard the news, I walked into my boys’ bedrooms and hugged and kissed them more than usual. I’m sure a lot of you did too. Kissed and hugged your own kids, that is. Did you cry too?

Gender equality

I grew up in emancipated Scandinavia. My mom was a 1960’s and 1970’s typical feminist, who went to women’s camps, and spent a lot of time and effort revolting against the male biased norms of our society. My dad and mom shared all house work equally, and there were years when he did more because my mom was involved in politics and spent several nights every week in long meetings. It’s thanks to people like her, that my brother today enjoys a long, paid paternity leave for example while his wife works, and that I can enjoy so many funny parenting blogs in Swedish, written by stay at home dads.

My husband comes from a more traditional home and society, the rural mid-west, and over the years I would say we have met somewhere in the middle. In theory we are on the same page, and obviously there’s a lot more to gender equality than housework, but I still think that practical application is important. My husband doesn’t run the household with me, but he (mostly) does his share when prompted, and he steps up when necessary. Obviously, compared to a lot of men here in the Middle East, he is a house wife saint personified.

How will our boys turn out? In general, they help out with housework more than I even remember my younger brother did when he was their age. They treat any female with respect and despite the common media culture, express a firm view on the relationship between the genders that I am proud of. I'm thinking there's hope.

Although there’s always room for improvement. All three boys for example, have at separate intervals explained to me that there are two types of toys/games/books/movies: there are toys/games/books/movies for BOYS, and then there are toys/games/books/movies for BOYS AND GIRLS, such as My Little Pony, Dora, and dolls.

Like I said, still a bit of work left there, but I’m hopeful.

Cheap, simple pleasures

Yesterday it rained, there was thunder and lightning, and the temperature went down to 23°C. The whole day was kind of dark and damp, which was fine, because all I had to do was go shopping and then work. It was even nice, since it has been kind of warm and damp lately, and the crisp breeze was refreshing. 

The boys went out and played in the rain. Ever since we lived in Egypt, they ask to go out and play every time it pours, and I’m fine with that, as long as I don’t have to go with them! Abraham’s rain boots from last year didn’t fit – his feet have grown almost 2 inches! – so he wore crocs. The boys splashed around in the puddles in the playground for quite a while, while I made hot cocoa and when they came back in, I threw their clothes in the washer. Their cheeks were red and rosy and they smelled like rain. What a treat!

Attachment Parenting is for lazy parents

Although we never sat down and marked off techniques on a sheet of paper, our natural parenting instincts often overlap with the much loved and hated Attachment Parenting approach. To be honest, our motivation is not just driven by research showing that breastfeeding is good for baby, but there’s also a fair amount of convenience involved. I just can’t imagine myself getting up several times at night, sit in a rocking chair nursing my baby, put him back down in a crib and then go back to sleep in a different room. I’m more of a reach over in bed, nurse baby half asleep and then doze off again kind of person. I don’t think I could sleep properly if I couldn’t hear my baby breath. I breastfeed because really, it’s the easiest way to feed baby anywhere anytime. And it’s cheap! When they’re older it’s still the quickest way to put them to sleep, and really, would I want to struggle with weaning and all that it entails (engorgement, upset child, sleepless nights, etc.) when it can just happen by itself eventually? Ha, ha, ha. I wear my baby because it’s the most convenient way to transport him and keep him happy, and I just don’t like hearing a baby cry, so I respond immediately if I hear it and do whatever needed to make it stop.

Yes, you’re right. Maybe ours is more appropriately called the Lazy Parenting method, actually.

Anyways. How has all this worked out for us? We have three healthy, independent boys that never really cried at all, weaned themselves without any drama involved, go to sleep by themselves and sleep in their own beds all night without ever coming back into ours. The biggest challenge I’ve had is resisting the urge to pick them up and bring them back into my bed when I go to sleep. Happy kids, happy parents.

Of course we never tried anything else. Maybe there are easier systems, more efficient, or short cuts to a secure, happy, independent child. And all children and families are different of course, so maybe all this doesn’t always work. I’m glad it has for us though, since we’re …you know, lazy parents.

It's a...!

While writing this, our cleaning lady who comes once/week (God bless her and the fact that we can afford it!) is beating the dust out of our couch pillows in the living room as if her life depended on it, I’m helping my fourth grader with his paper on Charlemagne, and my 3-year old is playing some kind of loud music game on the iPad right next to me on the other side. So; if there’s something in this blog post that doesn’t quite make sense – now you know why.

I went for one of my regular prenatal check-ups this morning. When I was pregnant in Belgium, I went to see a midwife for my regular check-ups, and she would measure my uterus to make sure it was growing, check my blood pressure and then we’d listen to the baby’s heart beat with a Doppler. In Egypt I barely had any check-ups, and the ones I had were similar to my Belgian experience. In both countries, I only had a couple of ultrasounds and they were performed in a special ultrasound center/hospital. Here in Lebanon, I see an OB-GYN over at the hospital. He has an ultrasound machine in his office, and uses it for every check-up. It’s great to get to see the baby every time I go. Today he examined the baby’s private parts and was able to determine the sex of this baby. And guess what? You may now officially call me and my husband the mighty boy-makers! That’s right. The boys were a little disappointed at first when I told them, “Because,” they said, “we really needed a girl on our team.” Whatever that means. But they’re already over it. I know my mom will be very disappointed too – sorry mom! – but what can you do? I’m happy. Boys are great! And no, we didn’t have this baby so that we could try for a girl. A lot of people ask me that question. I find it a very strange idea, but maybe some people keep having babies for such a purpose.

I have to admit that I did, when I first found out I was pregnant, walk through the little girls’ section at H&M one day while shopping there, just to have a look. There were so many cute items, none of which had pictures of Angry Birds, zombies or boys on surf boards/tractors/motorcycles on them. I looked and I thought, “Oh wow, I wouldn’t even know where to start! Everything is SO cute!” Sigh. Oh well, oh well. Think of all the money we’re saving, right?

Our boys' night terrors

Our two older boys have always suffered from night terrors. Both started around the age of five or six years old, and I would say both of them have started to grow out of it over the past couple of years.

In the beginning it was very frightful of course, and we didn’t know what to make of it. We did some research and understood theoretically what it was and that it wasn’t anything directly harmful to our children or a sign of a bigger problem, but still it is so forceful and scary that it’s difficult not to react to it.

Also, although there is some research and theories, we soon realized that there’s more to our children’s night terror than the literature holds, and/or these theories are incomplete and the entire problem requires further research. This means that we’ve had to discover a lot of things on our own, figuring them out as we go. Scientists say for example that a child that is sleep-walking or having night terrors should not be communicative, however, we have sat down with our boys during a night terror, got them to calm down and answer questions (correctly, such as history questions or math problems, or “What’s my name? What day is it?” etc.), eyes wide open - they’re still completely asleep, and remember nothing the next day. Also, the boys will do logical things, like try to open the front door (which we know to lock carefully) and when they can’t, knock, all the while obviously playing out some kind of scary dream; talking, screaming, gesticulating. That’s another thing; researchers claim that children cannot experience a nightmare AND night terror at the same time, and say that children in a night terror state are not dreaming. Obviously though, ours do.

All this is freaky, however not disturbing – what bothers me is when I can’t calm them down as they scream in terror about someone pushing them down the slide, taking their Ninjagos, or some kind of creature chasing them.

Now, after years, however, we’ve got used to it and having tried preventing it in all the recommended ways without much luck (solid bedtime routine, calm sleeping environment, etc.) we know it’s something that just happens. So, when Abraham, almost four years old, had a few nights of terror recently, we knew to handle it with ease. Try to calm him down, get him back in bed, and wait it out.

Left alone with a boring mama

The Professor left for a conference in Scotland on Saturday night. He messaged me when he got there, “I made it. It’s SO cold!” Summer in Scotland is colder than winter in Beirut, I guess, because he is wearing his winter clothes; long sleeved dress shirt, a knitted vest and dress pants, and he was still freezing. Poor husband. Or not. He’s staying at a conference center in beautiful Scotland, home of the single malts, doing what he loves the most – engage in philosophical discussions with interesting colleagues from all over the world.

Last night the two older boys went with a friend to his family’s summer house in the mountains north of Beirut. It’s their first sleep-over away from home for as long as I can remember. Because of their sleep-walking. talking and night fright issues, we usually turn down sleep-over invitations, but this is a family that we trust, and we thought it was time to give it a shot. The boys are after all older now and they can look after each other. I haven’t heard anything yet, so I’m assuming all has gone well.

As a result, I found myself completely alone with our three-year old for a day and a night, realizing that’s probably a first, ever. Of course I take him out, just the two of us, sometimes, and we spend alone-time together at home, but it’s the first time ever that we were alone in the house for more than a couple of hours. I took him for a long walk around town, we went for ice-cream, spent a fair amount of time reading, had sushi take-out, and then hung out while I tried to work (unfortunately, I have a deadline).

This morning when he woke up, he walked around the house, and then came back to bed with me. (He always spends the morning with the boys.) While we cuddled I asked, “Is it nice to have mama all to yourself?”which he answered with the question, “When are my boys coming home, mama?” Got it. I’m boring and you can’t wait until your brothers get back.

So now we are waiting for their arrival, while I try to work.

The challenges 1, Jennifer 1

Nope, I haven’t been able to post all that frequently. Almost all my computer time these days involves work exclusively (yes, with a glance at Facebook here and there). We have been planning our summer vacation – our upcoming trip to Italy – and seeing the budget that we will have to have available is a great incentive, let me tell you, to make some extra money. So I work as much as I can. Sometimes it’s exciting – I just read about something in the news that I had translated the presentation for – and sometimes it’s a little less stimulating and very technical (heavy machinery equipment maintenance manuals, anyone?) but it’s really a great job - it is! - because I can work when and where I want. Also, my new laptop is being quite cooperative, which makes everything a lot easier.

Well. Other things happen in our lives too, of course.

Prof. Husband went to Turkey for a conference for a week. Now he’s giving exams and writing a paper that is due around the time we get back from Italy (which means he has to finish it before we leave). This means he has been and will be pretty much OOO these weeks. Sigh.

The boys (and I with them) are working hard to finish up this academic year’s school work; finalizing projects, filling out gaps, reviewing. We’re of course also going over the history of Italy –covering all areas, including art and music - extra carefully, in anticipation of our trip.

Abraham has gone through a few weeks of some kind of Terrible Threes Project, where he spends a lot of time trying to make a mess, as big as possible, and then when you start cleaning it up, he takes off and makes an ever bigger mess, somewhere else. We’re not talking little spills of milk in the kitchen here, but more exciting endeavors such as soaking an entire clean and folded but not yet put away batch of laundry in the sink, or pouring out a big tub of wooden blocks and then running through them, kicking them and spreading them all over the house in under 10 seconds. Another favorite is opening as many packages of pasta as possible before mama finds out, or getting a juicebox out only to pour its entire content over the couch. I’ve therefore spent a lot of my time lately cleaning up messes and trying to entice Abraham with more appropriate activities, like painting, play-doh, duplos, peg art, or I sit with him and his toys, and show him how to play nicely, by example, and put things away afterwards. The boys are also teaching him the first pumsae, which I think is good for his body-mind connection and coordination. In all, I don’t think it’s an attention-thing (he gets a lot of attention from all of us), and I don’t think he’s bored. I think he has just been exploring his independence and testing borders, a bit, to figure out what he can get away with, what is appropriate, and what will put him in the much-dreaded time-out. Whatever it is, I hope it passes soon, because I’m getting tired out… 

My ten-year-old was finally subjected to the cover of TIME magazine

August looks at a picture of the controversial cover of TIME magazine. We have not yet discussed this picture or the debate that surrounds it. He looks a bit shocked and says,

“Mama, that’s a little weird.”

I freeze, and wonder; after all these years of our family practicing extended breast feeding, baby wearing and co-sleeping, has my oldest son - who himself resisted weaning so late I’m embarrassed to admit how old he was - fallen for society’s ignorant misconceptions about breastfeeding?

“How is it weird, August?”

“The boy is STANDING up… AND he’s wearing shoes! Nobody nurses standing up like that. And are those ARMY pants?”

Ah. I should have seen that one coming. Of course. I told him that some people think it’s weird for a child to nurse past the age of one. He didn’t seem very shocked about this, which makes me think that he must have heard some discussion about this somewhere. He suggested that weaning is like potty training, something you do when the child is ready, and added,

“Why do other people think they can decide when a baby should stop having num-num? And in a magazine?! Now that is weird.”

Yeah... Goodness. Such natural ideas, or...?. Either I raised a freak, or August just called TIME magazine on their annoying attempt to to scandalize nature attract readers.

Then followed a discussion about why I'm so opposed to the boys wearing army clothes. Sigh. I'm just not mom enough for that.

Happy birthday!

On a lighter note, our now nine year old boy (read his fairly uneventful birth story here) got this for his birthday, and was absolutely ecstatic!

Another one of the snowballs

I have a friend who is also a mother of a boy that my boys play with after school and during weekends. During a social event recently, her behavior towards me made me think that perhaps I had done something wrong (she moved away when I came to sit next to her to chat). I was a bit puzzled but oblivious and too busy to dig deeper. Then, through a different mom, I heard that there might be an issue with the boys. My boys had been singled out by my friend as bullying in the playground, and being mean, physically and verbally towards her son. I was quite shocked (this really does not sound like my boys, who always make sure to include everyone), a bit puzzled, and upset about her not coming to talk to me immediately, so I asked her as soon as I saw her the next day. She told me that, “Yes,” she had been avoiding me because of how my boys treat her son, who hasn’t been wanting to go to the playground lately because of them (this conversation is taking place WHILE my boys are playing very happily with her son). I was so baffled, all I could say was, “Why in the world would you not have talked to ME about this, and sooner?!” She was obviously very upset, and since bullying is a serious matter, I told her I would talk to the boys immediately, and find out what has been going on.

That evening we had a big talk - speeches, questions, discussions – and according to both my boys, it’s this boy that is trouble.

“His mom says you guys keep running away from him when he wants to play.”

“Yes, we run away from him because he is poking us continuously, jumping on us, and is being very annoying.”

“His mom says you guys call him names.”

The boys could not remember ever calling him any names. There turned out to be some other accusations that seemed unfounded – the boys could recall a few other instances, but it always turned out that the other boy was the trouble, and not my boys (we had them tell us separately - the information we got was the same). I told the boys to talk to the boy and straighten things out. Ask him exactly what names you called him and how he is hurt.

That evening I talked to the mom again, who seemed mainly bothered that I would keep bringing it up. She was obviously uncomfortable talking about it. I felt worse than ever.

When I came home, the boys told me about their conversation with her son. He could not remember that they had called him names, and when the boys told him they really had never meant for him to feel upset, but if they had, then they were sorry, he had just replied, “Sure, no problem.” The next day they were all playing again, nicely.

So, at least all the kids are fine, which is more than I can say for my friendship. I was just starting to make some friends here in Lebanon, but with this and add the birthday party flop, I think I might be back at square one.

Still here, juggling snowballs...

I didn’t forget about blogging entirely, no. I do feel like I lost my mind though. May is always such a very busy month, and you’d think I’d know that by now and be prepared, however this year some things happened that kind of threw me off. Some of them were foreseeable, some self-inflicted, and together with everything else, they’ve affected my mind and my ability to deal. Not only that, but some of them caused a snowball effect, which lead to further headaches.

So, what’s up? Let’s start with

William’s birthday party (Yay! My baby turned nine! :) )

# it turns out that one or two of his friends never got an invitation (I left the distribution of invitations up to William and never followed up) so I have some sad-ish kids and not so happy moms on my back – moms that I am supposed to be friends with, or at least was. I should have followed up, but work, home schooling, and everything else I've got going on got the better of me: when William told me the number of kids that had said they were coming, I guess I assumed there couldn't be any more kids out there that had not got their invitations. My main thought was, "Goodness! That's a lot of kids! How am I going to pull that off?"

# in the middle of the party, two of the invited kids left with their mom, without explanation and without goodbyes. Or actually, one of them told me he was bored (all the kids were playing “Capture the flag,” and he told me he “just wanted to play video games”). William was - kind of – offended, but more puzzled and a little sad.

# after the party, a few of the older kids decided to go off to Bliss Street and get milkshakes without asking their parents first. The parents of the new-ish kid started wondering where he was, and called around. They eventually asked William, who told the parents the truth. The parents went to find the older kids, who got in big trouble. Now the older kids are mad at William and mean to him, because he “told on them.” He understands that he did the right thing: What if something had happened to them and their parents didn’t know where they were? However his friends are not happy with him and William feels bad.

William seemed very happy with his birthday, however objectively, it was probably the worst we’ve had so far, and I’m still not sure how to deal with all of it. I still have to face the moms involved, and I don’t know how to help William, except to tell him that he did the right thing, using words like “integrity,” and “ character” to instill in him the important points here.

A friend told me, "Be happy you don't have any girls. Then you would have to deal with these kinds of issues ALL THE TIME." Well, I don't have any girls, so please help me out here!