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Musical Flashback: Silly Little Love Songs
Driving to Target today, the Paul McCartney / Wings song “Silly Little Love Songs” shuffled to the speakers from my iPhone.
It was the song Mike would sing after Lauren was born. I remember him singing it (accompanied by Ethan) to Lauren while I was giving her a bath. Night after night, for months.
They sang it dramatically. They sang it humorously. They sang it seriously. They sang it together to Lauren. It became a nightly ritual.
It was just about the time I realized Mike had a drinking problem. Still, it’s a happy memory because Mike seemed (somewhat) in control. He was still (somewhat) involved with the kids at that point.
The song would make Lauren smile and giggle. It made Ethan happy. It brought a sense of “things will be okay” to me.
Mike stopped singing the song around Christmas 2010. I don’t think I’ve heard it since.
I listened to it today, and it made me feel nostalgic. I didn’t cry but felt a sense of peace. Someday I will play the song for Ethan and ask if he remembers. Someday I will play it for Lauren and tell her that her daddy used to sing it to her when she was a baby. I hope they remember.
Sleeping on a submarine
I spent Friday night sleeping with 40 men and boys.
That sounds much more risqué than it was – it was a Cub Scout overnight in a WWII submarine. A couple dozen boys and their DADS… I was the only mom.
When Ethan learned I signed us up for this adventure, he said, “You’re going to hate this – I bet the sub will smell like MEN!” Observant boy…
I’m a bit particular. Some may even say high maintenance. I’m pretty picky about the hotels I’ll stay at and I knew a submarine wouldn’t live up to my usual overnighting standards. But this wasn’t about me. It was about Ethan, and I knew he really wanted to go. I didn’t make a big deal out of it.
It was a unique opportunity (and, of course, completely amenity-less). Some observations and learnings:
- There’s a weird assortment of things missing from our move earlier this year. Things we can’t find: my favorite cocktail shaker, our sleeping bags (which we’ve previously used for “camp outs” in the back yard), my muffin tin, a small purple duffel bag. Strange things is, that this stuff was in different places in the old house, so how it all ended up missing is a mystery. So, Ethan and I had to buy new sleeping bags for this adventure. It’s probably not a bad thing to have Ethan in a “big boy” sleeping bag (instead of the “Cars” one that is now MIA).
- The sleeping arrangements were surreal. Forty beds in a tiny room, smaller than my living room. Bunks three high. Single bunks on either wall, double bunks (like two twins) in the center. Ethan and I slept side-by-side on the top double bunk. I was terrified all night that he’d roll off and fall the six feet to the hard, steel floor. But the middle bunk didn’t have enough room to sit up and the bottom bunk did not allow enough room to even roll over. Plus, I got my hair stuck in the bed springs of the middle bunk when I was checking out the space. I had to scalp myself to break free. (Of course, I was hysterically laughing at my predicament, thinking that only *I* could get my hair stuck in the beds on a submarine…)
- Speaking of the sleeping arrangements, I had one dad’s feet nearly touching my pillow (uncomfortable), and another dad (who’s like 6’10”) was sleeping on the bunk on the other side – he really tried hard to keep his legs and feet on his bed. He slept diagonally to keep his legs on his bed and not intrude on my space.
- Dads apparently don’t “hear” kid noise. Imagine dozens of 7- and 8- year old boys running around, “playing” submarine at 10 p.m. The noise was ridiculous – and the dads were standing around talking to each other or looking at their smart phones. Ethan wasn’t even the loudest or most aggressive or craziest kid there (thank goodness!). The noise level would NOT have been tolerated (or probably even attempted) if moms were there.
- Imagine the “lights out” call and three boys continuing to SCREAM for five minutes, then 10 minutes… I had ear plugs in – I could have slept through, but Ethan wasn’t going to go to sleep as long as something was going on, so I called it. “Boys! Lights out! Any questions about what that means? Shut it and go to sleep!” Several dads snickered, but none chimed in to encourage bedtime. Luckily, the boys obeyed.
- Lights out at 11:30 p.m. is WAY too late for boys who are used to 8 p.m. bedtimes (as confirmed from conversations with moms). Boys were breaking down before the activities even started at 7:30. A handful of boys were reduced to tears for a variety to reasons including not understanding the fire drill instructions and lost stuffed animals.
- It was crazy hot inside the sub. Outside was around 30 degrees, but inside (on the top bunk) was around 85 degrees. I was a hot, sweaty mess in the morning – and I never even got under the sleeping bag covers.
- Ear plugs are crucial when sleeping around men and boys. Imagine the snoring and grunts and other weird nighttime noises coming from dozens of snoozing bodies.
- Being the only mom on the trip meant that the women’s restroom was extremely clean, so that was an awesome positive.
- TMI observation (you might want to skip to the next bullet. You’ve been warned): nothing made the night more uncomfortable than being on my period. Yep, an overnight trip with men and boys, and I was bleeding heavily, like I had been shot in the vagina. Just one more thing to think about all night (“Please don’t let me bleed all over myself, my yoga pants, my bedding and the pleather-esque mattress and have to explain to young boys why there’s blood everywhere!”) Luckily, everything was okay. Whew!
- Finally, I have complete and total admiration for the men who served aboard subs. The space is incredibly tight and it’s hot and stuffy. Men would spend months on subs like these in the hot, steamy Pacific. I can’t imagine… but I am entirely thankful for their sacrifice.
Grief group
Tonight was our first peer grief group meeting. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Or how Ethan would react. It tried talking it “up” with Ethan for days, but you just never know…
It was FANTASTIC.
We arrived, as requested, 30 minutes early. Ethan was whisked off immediately by one of the counselors for a private tour. I took a seat in the dining room by the director. Small talk ensued. She was super easy to talk to and everyone was very nice.
Ethan came back just as some of the other families were arriving. After designing his name tag, dinner was served. Ethan wanted to get his dinner himself, so I let him. I followed, not too close behind, with his milk. I fully expected him to sit next to me in the dining room, but he turned into the sun room, where the other boys (ages 7-14) were sitting.
I dropped off his milk, waved, and walked back to my seat. I kept an ear toward the other room, in case Ethan needed me.
Within 15 minutes, the kitchen helper called out, “Jackie, Ethan has TOTALLY adjusted already! He’s doing great with the other boys!” She had a direct view of the activities in the sun room.
Soon it was time to break off into the sessions. The kids went upstairs where they would work on crafts and talk in age-appropriate settings. The parents went into the living room, where counselors facilitated our discussion.
Of course, details of all discussions are confidential, but there was SO much I could relate to. So many similarities to our situation and Ethan’s difficulties. I found myself in tears before I said anything.
It was refreshing to hear that others are experiencing many of the same things, that Ethan isn’t alone in what he’s feeling and doing. But it was sad, too. We were all there for a reason – someone close to us died. Insert tears.
The hour went by so fast, and soon the kids were coming downstairs. Ethan was smiling, carrying a picture he drew of Mike and another art project he made.
But he was ready to go home. (After all, it was bedtime.)
The drive home was good – he talked about his experience in a very positive way, but he wasn’t overly hyper about it (a good thing).
He did, however, have a massive stomach ache. Turns out, he and some of the older boys were sneaking extra cookies before the break out session.
As I was tucking him tonight, Ethan said, “I learned my lesson. Cookies and tortilla soup don’t mix.”
Words of wisdom.
Unintended Offense
Last week, there was a meeting for all second grade parents for us to learn about some of the activities this school year. I was sitting next in a group of my mom friends, and one of them asked how things were going.
Usually I gloss over questions like these, but recently I’ve decided that I need to be more honest when people ask. It isn’t that I’ve been lying to people. I just haven’t been forthcoming about Ethan’s struggles.
My decision to be more open comes from HOPING parents will be more understanding. It’s like when Ethan tells me stories about this new kid in his class. This kid is really having a rough time, getting into arguments and fights, having difficulty making friends. When Ethan tells me these stories, I instruct him to remember what it was like earlier this year when he was the new kid. That we need to give this kid a little understanding, more love, because he’s adjusting and that’s hard. Now, whether or not other parents are trying to teach these kind of lessons, well, I don’t know.
Back to the mom friend who asked how things were going. I was honest: that Ethan was really struggling this year and having some troubles. I believe, I told her, that it comes from the grief he’s trying to deal with but that we’re working on it, through tae kwon do and the peer group and therapy.
Her face squished up a bit and she said (and I’m not paraphrasing at all), “Really? He’s still dealing with that? I would have thought, well it hasn’t been a year yet, but it’s been a long time.”
“It was the end of January,” I said. “Kids process in an entirely different way than adults do.”
Then I turned and faced the front of the room.
Really? Do people really think Ethan should be over the death of his dad? Do people REALLY think it’s THAT easy? And, given that all my mom friends know the basics of my relationship with Mike and the circumstances of his death, do people think nine months is enough time for Ethan to be fully healed and functioning like nothing is wrong?
A few days later, I had the chance to have the same conversation with a different mom friend. She reacted in an entirely different way, very sympathetically, and even with some suggestions for resources in the area.
I guess every reaction will be different, and some will be offensive. It’s true that no one knows your child better than you do. And, I guess I won’t be having any more Ethan-is-struggling conversations with THAT one mom.
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