Talking with Patrick is like conversing with an amiable but delusional eccentric, which I believe is typical for the age but boy howdy is it hard to know where to look sometimes.
Yesterday was the first day of preschool and it went beautifully. He is going to the same place he went last year (THREE DAYS, though, THREE)- same teacher, same rooms, same kids minus one plus five (as Patrick put it). He breezed in and promptly oiled over to the sensory table (bristle blocks) where he and one of the new boys built things together in harmony, albeit also in total silence. I did a little less well, discovering that I had: forgotten his backpack, forgotten two out of the three forms they needed, remembered that I needed to pay for the field trip but realized that I had left my checkbook at home, and learned that both Steve and I had written checks for September tuition but neither of us had remembered to buy our way out of volunteering for the Fall fund raiser (I don't want to stand in the cold at an art fair serving dubious chili to the masses- I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to. fortunately they accept cash in lieu of cooperation). And I forgot to sign Patrick into the classroom and then later I forgot to sign him out. I DID remember to tell them that both Steve and I will be happy to chaperon the first field trip, though, so come September 20th apple orchard ho!
After bumbling my way out of school I raced home and spent three blissful hours alone in my house. Well, alone including Steve, but that was only about fifteen minutes worth. Maybe twenty (spotting be damned, although no sign of any as this goes to press). Last year I cried after I dropped Patrick off, this year I sang a lusty whaling song (Farewellllllllllllllllll to Taaaaarwathie...). Either I am growing as a person or atrophying as a parent.
But back to my point about Patrick. Last year (all year) he was completely unforthcoming when asked to discuss his mornings. I would ask him what he did- nothing. Ate- nothing. Who he played with- nobody. Did he sit in the corner with a bag over his head- yes. Yesterday, in pleasant comparison, he was a veritable fount of information. It was just hard to figure out what the hell he was talking about, what with all the nonsense.
I asked him what he had for snack and he said, "Graham cracker sticks and yogs." What is a yog, I asked. "These colored round things. I got to choose between pink or purple and I chose purple." (quick note about Patrick. when presented with an array of multi-colored foods Patrick will ALWAYS eat things in rainbow order. all the red things first, then orange, etc. in the absence of the full rainbow he will start with the first of whatever is available and skip the missing colors. none of us have ever mentioned this and he doesn't freak about it or anything, he just does it. weird but not his weirdest habit I suppose).
Do yogs exist, do you know? I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume there is such a product. A yogurt ball snack food of some kind? However, he went on to tell me that they were given nothing to drink but it was ok because the graham crackers were the same as juice. And yogs, according to Patrick, are apparently bigger than Steve's head. Also they are just for cats.
Then he volunteered the information that at school there are bathroom rules.
"Oh yes?" I asked.
"Yes. No talking, no laughing and no showing our teeth."
Somehow I doubt this is true. Maybe rules about the need to wash your hands and stay away from other people's zippers, but teeth baring? Not bloody likely.
Oh! I did challenge one thing he said and promptly went down in flames. Last year he kept talking about some kid named Bogan (who needless to say did not exist, but was probably an amalgamation of Ben and Morgan who did). So this year he said there was a new kid named Odin and I said no there is not (ok. I know. we live in Minnesota. Valhalla is practically next door. I was not thinking) and he said yes there is and I said... anyway, yes, there is an Odin. And I am pretty sure that the younger brother of another new kid is named Attila, although can that even be possible?
Biiiiiiiiiiiig ultrasound tomorrow morning. I have no sense of whether there is still a heartbeat. None. No clue. No guess. Tuesday the morning sickness was gone and I moped while I ate a cheese steak because obviously the lack of nausea was grim. Yesterday I threw up a lot. This morning I started the day in the bathroom, then I felt great, now gross. If I was normal (excuse me, if STEVE was normal) I guess I would think this pregnancy is completely fine. The evidence of all the typical symptoms (breasts appetite nausea skin hair pants) would provide any reassurance I needed. But I have been disappointed so many times that it is impossible to not assume the worst. Not to mention the fact that assuming the worst helps. Being blindsided by a miscarriage is really really painful. Confirming one is much less so.
The wait for this ultrasound was easier than I expected it to be. I was afraid the days would drag and they did not. This last twenty hours, though... woof. I should go to the library and the bank and the good grocery store this afternoon but I do not feel quite well enough to drive. The alternative, however, is another afternoon of PBS Sprouts and Patrick and I are currently feuding over the Quicken Loans commercial they keep playing. Do you know it? Basically they offer to cut your mortgage payment by hundreds of dollars each month. They even have a little bar chart that shows your monthly payment with a typical 30 year loan compared to the much lower Quicken loan payment. Every time it comes on Patrick says, "Mommy! I need to call Quicken and cut my monthly mortgage payment!" And I keep telling him that it is a SCAM, an unethical SCAM, because what they are doing is simply having you pay the interest, with nothing towards the principal. Thus, comparing it to a thirty year loan is completely misleading. You can pay interest for three hundred years and never get any closer to owning your house. It is just like renting from the loan holder, with none of the advantages of either home ownership or renting. Hmmm, ok, unlike rent you can deduct that interest on your federal return. And paint the bathroom black if you like. But that's it! Patrick (some genius) refuses to see this and simply repeats his desire to start saving hundreds a month.
Maybe we'll just go take a walk, although fresh air and sunshine and late summer flowers make me nauseous. That's not a pregnancy thing. Nature hikes give me the heebie-jeebies.
I will, of course, let you know what happens tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed for me. I really want this.
