Week 24 Day 5: The waking life

Apparently Gavin has decided that the best way to spend his last day with me as a stay-at-home mom is to sleep through it. Dude slept in until past 7 a.m. this morning, which I must admit was quite wonderful. But I put him to sleep for his morning nap around 9 a.m. and he didn't wake up until noon. NOON! I actually went into his room to check on him, make sure he was still alive. It's like he has mono or something. Or suddenly turned into a teenager. Especially since he turned right around and went down at 2:30 for his afternoon nap and continued to sleep until 4. Maybe he just couldn't bear the thought of this being our last official day together as a crime fighting duo.

It is kind of sad, really. I mean, it's not like we're not glad to have Stacy off for the summer and home. Gavin, in fact, still prefers her when he has the choice between the two of us. I suppose this should hurt my feelings, like, "Dude, I can't believe that after all of our bonding time together you're throwing me under the bus" (a dumb, overused expression and quite a horrible thing if you think about it, especially since a friend of mine literally saw a woman get thrown under a bus in Detroit last week. Besides, Gavin can't even pick me up let alone throw me. So I'm safe for now. Give him a few years, though, and I have no doubt that he could scale the Empire State Building with me tucked in his armpit à la King Kong or some shit. Thankfully he is a bear, not a gorilla so I'm safe on that front). Honestly I don't blame him. Stacy's got the hoots. It's like, hey, driving an ice cream truck might be fun, but if you've got the choice between an empty truck or a truck filled with ice cream, the choice is pretty clear. Provided the freezers were working and stuff. Otherwise you'd have all of this melting ice cream and you'd either have to give it away or eat it as fast as you could and then you'd probably feel sick, plus the floor of the truck would be all sticky and yellow jackets would be dive bombing that shit and the whole thing would no doubt be really stressful and not fun at all it turns out. But Stacy's freezers are working, so we're cool. Let's not get carried away here.

By the way, we call the ice cream truck the "music truck," a trick we picked up from our friend Rosemary whose four-year-old daughter has yet to catch on. We plan to keep this up for as long as possible. And why wouldn't a truck just drive around neighborhoods playing music for people? Totally normal, kid. Totally normal life.

Stacy actually ended up coming home a little bit early today since it was her last day and all. She said she waited as long as she could because she didn't want to crash our party, not realizing that it was, to Gavin anyway, a slumber party in the most literal sense.

We took Gavin to the library because Stacy had yet to see him in action there and it was just too hot to play outside. At the library a child, perhaps 7-years-old, jumped on top of me, using my back as a springboard to escape the clutches of a slightly older girl as I sat on one of the little couches watching Gavin play on the floor with the Duplo blocks he so badly wanted to put in his mouth. His mother, who was sitting on the other couch, looked up briefly from the library newsletter she was studying intently to say, "Sorry." She then yelled at her son regarding the girl, "Stop smothering her." Sound parental advice for a 7-year-old. Maybe he calls her too much and hates it when she spends time with her friends. It's something that he should really learn to control now before he grows up and Destiny's Child writes a song about him. Watch and learn, Gavin. Watch and learn.

So. What now? My life as a full-time mom has come to an end. Stacy's home for the summer, then we both start work again in the fall. I'll be with Gavin Tuesdays and Thursdays, but on MWF he'll be in daycare learning how to be a juvenile delinquent I'm sure. His chances of being bitten in the face by another child will also rise exponentially, which is how it should be. It's a scary world out there and he's gotta learn that eventually. I'm kidding. Note to his future daycare cohort: "Please don't bite my son. Seriously. Grow up." Of course, there's always the chance that my son could be the biter, which will inevitably be blamed on the fact that he has no father and is being raised by a couple of sex perverts (not the term Stacy and I use for ourselves, mind you. But there certainly are people out there who feel that way).

I actually can't believe it all went by so fast. Gavin's practically in college now. Full ride scholarship, of course. We're very proud of him.

As for the blog, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. Just not necessarily five days a week, Monday through Friday. Whatever you do, don't cry. Because, seriously, why would you? I just said I'm not going anywhere. And even if I were, you need to pull it together. I've got a child to raise here. I don't have time to coddle you.