Okay, not hell. It has just been a very strange week, most of it a direct result of my sometimes successful attempts to be a nice person. The most recent event was when I saw a car fishtail off an exit on my way to work in the rain. The man just drove right off the road, so I pulled over to see if he was okay. I leaned out of my car and said, "Hey, you ok? Can I call someone for you?" To which he said, "HUH?" Fine. I'm being lazy. I know it. I'll get out of the car and make sure he's ok. So I do.
I get right out into a bloody bog masquerading as solid ground right next to my car and am promptly to my knees in mud. I managed to get to his car but lost my shoe and was coated with goo that squished between my toes and splatted off my legs in blobs onto my car mat all the way home.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Day One
Rags started kindergarten at the "big" school today. It went better than I could have hoped. We got there, he carefully examined his cubby where he had to hang his backpack and, after he'd confirmed several times that, yes, it was his name on the cubby, he hung his backpack up, put up his lunchbag, walked in and started coloring with a little girl.
When I picked him up, he was energetic, happy and clearly enjoying himself. I'm sure that things will get harder when he actually has homework and "real" class begins, but this is much, much better than I thought it would be. I really didn't give the kid enough credit.
Hopefully I can let go of some of this guilt now. Having him in aftercare has been eating away at me - I don't like that his day is as long as mine is. But, I guess that's one reality we'll just have to deal with. And he seems to be dealing with it better than I am.
When I picked him up, he was energetic, happy and clearly enjoying himself. I'm sure that things will get harder when he actually has homework and "real" class begins, but this is much, much better than I thought it would be. I really didn't give the kid enough credit.
Hopefully I can let go of some of this guilt now. Having him in aftercare has been eating away at me - I don't like that his day is as long as mine is. But, I guess that's one reality we'll just have to deal with. And he seems to be dealing with it better than I am.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Testing
Today was Ragsy's screening for kindergarten readiness at Parkway. It went pretty well - he tested off the charts for math, but unfortunately his writing is behind. His problem is three-fold: (1) he is a perfectionist. I've seen him start letters 10 or more times, only to re-do them the moment he hits a stumbling block. (2) He doesn't like doing things he doesn't feel competent at. In fact, he hates it. So he avoids doing it, which means he avoids practice, which means it doesn't get better. Can't blame him there - I hate doing things I'm not good at, too. (3) He's left-handed. No one else in his class (teachers included) is left-handed. I'm not left-handed, and neither is anyone else in my family except my brother-in-law in Charlotte, NC. Unfortunately, he tries to copy people who are right-handed in the way they hold their paper and pencils, which makes him a little slower, more uncomfortable and less precise, which makes him frustrated, which makes him not want to do it.
Ah, well - there's always a give and take. We're practicing, I'm helping him learn to position the paper more comfortably and hold the pen in such a way that gives him a more precise, smoother result. Just a week and he's already begun to improve. I don't blame our preschool for the problem, but it would've been nice had they told us that there was one to begin with. They were telling me everything was hunky dory as recently as the beginning of May while our pediatrician and school administrators feel otherwise.
It sucks seeing your kid get frustrated about something other kids can do with little effort. Oh, well - with practice, it'll get better. And if that's the worst of my worries, I think we're doing pretty well.
Ah, well - there's always a give and take. We're practicing, I'm helping him learn to position the paper more comfortably and hold the pen in such a way that gives him a more precise, smoother result. Just a week and he's already begun to improve. I don't blame our preschool for the problem, but it would've been nice had they told us that there was one to begin with. They were telling me everything was hunky dory as recently as the beginning of May while our pediatrician and school administrators feel otherwise.
It sucks seeing your kid get frustrated about something other kids can do with little effort. Oh, well - with practice, it'll get better. And if that's the worst of my worries, I think we're doing pretty well.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Haz mat, anyone?
The past three weeks have been awful health-wise for my kids, Evelyn in particular. She had roseola on week, which involved temperatures of 105, a terrified mom and eventually a terrified daycare when she broke out in a purple rash about 48 hours after the fever had broken. Then last week another high fever for a few days. Now we're trying to figure out if she has pink eye or just allergies.
So far I have no idea what to believe. With Rags it was so easy to tell. With her...well, they're totally different. The goo gets really bad a half hour after coming inside, fades away overnight along with the swelling, only to return (but only a tiny bit) after going from the house to the car. I'm stumped.
If she wakes from her nap with goo, we'll just go to the pediatric urgent care clinic - I don't want her to have to deal with it any longer than necessary, and I'm going out of town next Wednesday, which will make her miserable anyway. This is probably the worst thing about parenting (other than meting out discipline, a necessary evil, though I understand why some kids are spoiled).
Oh, well. Given my last year, if this is the worst of my problems, I'll take it. But I'm so tired of being covered with bodily fluids. I'm also done with feeling like I need a shower more often than not. Ick.
So far I have no idea what to believe. With Rags it was so easy to tell. With her...well, they're totally different. The goo gets really bad a half hour after coming inside, fades away overnight along with the swelling, only to return (but only a tiny bit) after going from the house to the car. I'm stumped.
If she wakes from her nap with goo, we'll just go to the pediatric urgent care clinic - I don't want her to have to deal with it any longer than necessary, and I'm going out of town next Wednesday, which will make her miserable anyway. This is probably the worst thing about parenting (other than meting out discipline, a necessary evil, though I understand why some kids are spoiled).
Oh, well. Given my last year, if this is the worst of my problems, I'll take it. But I'm so tired of being covered with bodily fluids. I'm also done with feeling like I need a shower more often than not. Ick.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Fight!
You may or may not know that I'm extremely insecure. Underneath the erotica-writing, legislation-reading, public-speaking exterior, I'm still the sniveling little girl on the playground running around asking, "Why don't you like me?" Which is why, every time I get into a "discussion" (code for argument) with my husband, we have this extraordinarily awkward period afterward where I have no idea whatsoever how to approach him.
I have this completely irrational fear that he'll stop liking me, stop loving me, wonder why on earth he married me in the first place. If I were to play armchair psychologist, I'd say it's because my dad ran off with his secretary when I was 2 and I'm terrified that my husband will leave me similarly. Perhaps that's it. But that doesn't matter.
He's never given me any indication that he'd do such a thing. I have absolutely no reason to think that he might. But that sniveling little coward in me still takes every single argument we have as a commentary on the strength of our relationship. It takes a lot of thinking to realize that the fact that we're still together, even after all those stupid little fights that come out of nowhere, is a better testament to our marriage than the fact that we have those arguments at all.
I have this completely irrational fear that he'll stop liking me, stop loving me, wonder why on earth he married me in the first place. If I were to play armchair psychologist, I'd say it's because my dad ran off with his secretary when I was 2 and I'm terrified that my husband will leave me similarly. Perhaps that's it. But that doesn't matter.
He's never given me any indication that he'd do such a thing. I have absolutely no reason to think that he might. But that sniveling little coward in me still takes every single argument we have as a commentary on the strength of our relationship. It takes a lot of thinking to realize that the fact that we're still together, even after all those stupid little fights that come out of nowhere, is a better testament to our marriage than the fact that we have those arguments at all.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Phases.
When Evelyn was born, my son became Baby Bear, of Three Little Bears fame. Mostly it was an exclusionary measure - she was only given the honorary title of Little Bear when she was 5 months old and it became clear she wasn't going away. It wasn't until three months after that that he stopped making us call him Baby Bear and stopped calling me Mama Bear. And it ended rather abruptly. We were visiting friends at their house and their son called his mother "mommy." I guess peer pressure is a powerful thing, because I was suddenly mommy again, too.
Now my son is apparently Superman. And his "home" voice is now a Western drawl. He sounds like a cross between Elvis Presley and a drunken John Wayne (he's still learning how to do accents well). I know I have a bit of an accent sometimes myself. But mine is pure southern Indiana hay seed. So I'm not sure where this one comes from, except perhaps me mimicking a Western accent once when reading him a Scooby Doo book.
Oh, well. Unless I speak drastically differently than I thought I did, I'm sure this is just another phase. Could be worse.
Now my son is apparently Superman. And his "home" voice is now a Western drawl. He sounds like a cross between Elvis Presley and a drunken John Wayne (he's still learning how to do accents well). I know I have a bit of an accent sometimes myself. But mine is pure southern Indiana hay seed. So I'm not sure where this one comes from, except perhaps me mimicking a Western accent once when reading him a Scooby Doo book.
Oh, well. Unless I speak drastically differently than I thought I did, I'm sure this is just another phase. Could be worse.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sleep!
I used to complain that neither of my children sleep (and sometimes still do). But now I'm irritated with myself. I don't sleep when I should. I get up at 5:30 or 6 a.m., work all day, come home and manage the house, work out, clean, prep for tomorrow and fall into bed somewhere between midnight and 2 a.m. I should probably get to bed closer to 9 or 10, but I can't seem to make myself. It's so aggravating.
Now I'm wiped out from too many days this week of not sleeping enough, but it's already almost 11 and, guess what? I'm not asleep! Grrr.
Now I'm wiped out from too many days this week of not sleeping enough, but it's already almost 11 and, guess what? I'm not asleep! Grrr.
Monday, January 31, 2011
We lost a baby on Friday. I hadn't even known I was pregnant until Tuesday. It wasn't something we were trying for at all. I was on the pill, for God's sake. But even I know that the pill can fail and that PMS doesn't last for three weeks, so I took the test. And it was positive. And I was terrified. After Evelyn, we had decided that we were done having kids. Still, my husband laughed, pounded his chest and we were both settling into the idea by Thursday when I started bleeding.
I went to the doctor to get checked out and had a blood test. Then the bleeding got a little worse. I woke up to more pain Friday. When the nurse called me at work, she said I was six weeks along and congratulated me. She was in a hurry to go until I told her that I was bleeding and having cramps and had been for a couple of days, only it was getting worse. I was worried I was having a miscarriage. So they told me to come in for an ultrasound that day. They looked for the baby and they found nothing. Except for that cyst in my fallopian tube that they suspected was the pregnancy, about to rupture. That was at 2:30 p.m.
They didn't let me go home. They had someone escort me to the hospital, then from admitting to a private room where I was scheduled for surgery at 9. I spent most of the evening by myself - I wanted to make everything as normal as possible for the kids, so after my husband came by with some underwear and my toothbrush, I sent him to get the kids and put them to bed. My friend (who deserves anything from me she could ever ask) came over and helped get everyone fed and into bed, then stayed while my husband came to wait through my surgery.
The room where they performed the surgery was freezing. I was so cold I was shaking on the table. The hot blankets they piled on top of me were as close to heaven as I could get in that place. An hour and a half later, I woke minus the baby and a fallopian tube. The tube had started bleeding while I was in surgery and wouldn't stop, so they had to take the entire thing out. Anyway, I woke up next to a guy who'd had surgery on his arm. It was 12:33 a.m. He grinned and called out, "Hey, recovery buddy!" I couldn't talk because my throat was so sore from the breathing tube they'd put down my throat.
My husband stayed with me in my room until I kicked him out around 1, then went home to sleep. I know the nurses checked on me a few times throughout the night and finally helped me to the bathroom, where I checked out my incisions - one in my navel, one a few inches to the left of my right hip and another larger one just above my uterus where the baby and my tube were taken out.
Anyway, I'm tired. I didn't realize I was actually looking forward to the baby until it was gone. I'm not as upset as I might be had it been something we'd been planning for, that had been known for longer. But I'm still sad. And sore. I wish things could have been different. But they weren't, and there you go. I'm glad I took the test early. I wanted to wait until this week. By that time I would've been bleeding and would've assumed it was my period. I wouldn't have done anything, possibly until the internal bleeding was more severe. So for that, I'm grateful. I'm glad my kids haven't been too disrupted. Unfortunately, Evelyn had to wean unexpectedly - percocet in your bloodstream and a nursing toddler does not a good combination make.
I went to the doctor to get checked out and had a blood test. Then the bleeding got a little worse. I woke up to more pain Friday. When the nurse called me at work, she said I was six weeks along and congratulated me. She was in a hurry to go until I told her that I was bleeding and having cramps and had been for a couple of days, only it was getting worse. I was worried I was having a miscarriage. So they told me to come in for an ultrasound that day. They looked for the baby and they found nothing. Except for that cyst in my fallopian tube that they suspected was the pregnancy, about to rupture. That was at 2:30 p.m.
They didn't let me go home. They had someone escort me to the hospital, then from admitting to a private room where I was scheduled for surgery at 9. I spent most of the evening by myself - I wanted to make everything as normal as possible for the kids, so after my husband came by with some underwear and my toothbrush, I sent him to get the kids and put them to bed. My friend (who deserves anything from me she could ever ask) came over and helped get everyone fed and into bed, then stayed while my husband came to wait through my surgery.
The room where they performed the surgery was freezing. I was so cold I was shaking on the table. The hot blankets they piled on top of me were as close to heaven as I could get in that place. An hour and a half later, I woke minus the baby and a fallopian tube. The tube had started bleeding while I was in surgery and wouldn't stop, so they had to take the entire thing out. Anyway, I woke up next to a guy who'd had surgery on his arm. It was 12:33 a.m. He grinned and called out, "Hey, recovery buddy!" I couldn't talk because my throat was so sore from the breathing tube they'd put down my throat.
My husband stayed with me in my room until I kicked him out around 1, then went home to sleep. I know the nurses checked on me a few times throughout the night and finally helped me to the bathroom, where I checked out my incisions - one in my navel, one a few inches to the left of my right hip and another larger one just above my uterus where the baby and my tube were taken out.
Anyway, I'm tired. I didn't realize I was actually looking forward to the baby until it was gone. I'm not as upset as I might be had it been something we'd been planning for, that had been known for longer. But I'm still sad. And sore. I wish things could have been different. But they weren't, and there you go. I'm glad I took the test early. I wanted to wait until this week. By that time I would've been bleeding and would've assumed it was my period. I wouldn't have done anything, possibly until the internal bleeding was more severe. So for that, I'm grateful. I'm glad my kids haven't been too disrupted. Unfortunately, Evelyn had to wean unexpectedly - percocet in your bloodstream and a nursing toddler does not a good combination make.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Food Matters?
So my husband and I watched the documentary Food Matters last night. It was...disorganized. I really wouldn't recommend it, though it had some valuable ideas in it. My primary issue was that it used a very broad brush to set up pharmaceuticals - any pharmaceuticals - as bad, bad, bad and nutritious food as the magic bullet to cure all ills.
At first, I was a little confused, but on board. The film opened with a discussion about how few doctors (under 6 percent) have any training whatsoever in nutrition and that nutrition is not a requirement to become a physician. Then it moved on to discuss how we under-nourish our soil, and therefore the plants grown on large, industrial farms may be lacking in some nutrients. Okay, so far so good. I think all doctors should be required to be able to answer basic questions about nutrition and that buying local is best when possible.
Then the movie went on to discuss that organic is best. Okay, still on board, but this assumes a lot about the viewer - mainly, that you can afford organics all the time, then moved on to discuss the "superfoods." Right...I know there are "superfoods," which are supposed to be excellent sources of nutrients. But at the same time, if your focus is on buying local organic food and the superfoods don't grow in your region, then what?
So the film continued to food as a cure-all for all illnesses, including cancer, heart disease, diabetes, even brain damage. Okay, I can buy that healthy eating would help prevent and even in some cases counteract the effects of heart disease and diabetes. And evidence shows that it can prevent cancer, too. But brain damage? Epilepsy? Most, if not all, disease as the movie claimed? If that were true, and we've moved away from the healthy eating we did before as the movie claimed, then why do we die? Why do we live longer? After all, the movie eventually states explicitly - "your food is killing you," and "your body will always repair itself if you ingest the right nutrients." Riiiight.
Sounds too easy. My take: the movie brings up some good points. You should eat healthy to avoid chronic, preventable illnesses. However, I think it's irresponsible to set up an us and them mentality with the medical profession. Sure, they're there to make money. But I don't think most physicians have it as part of their annual plan to make X amount of patients sick so they can make more money off them. Our health system is clearly flawed, as is the way we eat. But I don't think that everything can be fixed by healthy eating, just like I don't think that everything can be fixed with a pill.
At first, I was a little confused, but on board. The film opened with a discussion about how few doctors (under 6 percent) have any training whatsoever in nutrition and that nutrition is not a requirement to become a physician. Then it moved on to discuss how we under-nourish our soil, and therefore the plants grown on large, industrial farms may be lacking in some nutrients. Okay, so far so good. I think all doctors should be required to be able to answer basic questions about nutrition and that buying local is best when possible.
Then the movie went on to discuss that organic is best. Okay, still on board, but this assumes a lot about the viewer - mainly, that you can afford organics all the time, then moved on to discuss the "superfoods." Right...I know there are "superfoods," which are supposed to be excellent sources of nutrients. But at the same time, if your focus is on buying local organic food and the superfoods don't grow in your region, then what?
So the film continued to food as a cure-all for all illnesses, including cancer, heart disease, diabetes, even brain damage. Okay, I can buy that healthy eating would help prevent and even in some cases counteract the effects of heart disease and diabetes. And evidence shows that it can prevent cancer, too. But brain damage? Epilepsy? Most, if not all, disease as the movie claimed? If that were true, and we've moved away from the healthy eating we did before as the movie claimed, then why do we die? Why do we live longer? After all, the movie eventually states explicitly - "your food is killing you," and "your body will always repair itself if you ingest the right nutrients." Riiiight.
Sounds too easy. My take: the movie brings up some good points. You should eat healthy to avoid chronic, preventable illnesses. However, I think it's irresponsible to set up an us and them mentality with the medical profession. Sure, they're there to make money. But I don't think most physicians have it as part of their annual plan to make X amount of patients sick so they can make more money off them. Our health system is clearly flawed, as is the way we eat. But I don't think that everything can be fixed by healthy eating, just like I don't think that everything can be fixed with a pill.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Today's the day I get everything done.
A very good friend of mine was diagnosed last summer with breast cancer. She had surgery, was in remission. It came back - in her bones, her thigh, her liver and her brain. So now she's having a combination of radiation therapy and chemo.
I saw her today. I don't think I've ever been so afraid for someone in my entire life. I know it's normal when you're undergoing chemo, but she's lost most of her hair and is now using a walker. If she puts too much weight on her legs she might break one because the bone is so thin. She had taken an anti-nausea pill, but it didn't work, so she had to leave early because she couldn't stop vomiting (I'm never going to be able to go to a Bread Company now without thinking of vomit when I smell asiago bagels). Once we had cleaned her up as much as we could, we helped her to her car, but she started throwing up again, so we called her husband, who came to drive her home.
Anyway, I didn't like her at first because she was so nice. It's not that I don't like nice people, but I couldn't figure out what her angle was. It took me months to realize that she didn't have one. She was always the person you could go to for really good advice, who knew everything about the company we worked for and had done everything. She was so energetic, and I still remember her saying to me almost everyday, "Okay, Adrienne. I'm gonna do it. Today is the day I get everything done."
She said it again today. Right after she whispered (her meds have screwed up her hearing, so she often whispers because she's worried she'll shout), "Goddamn it, Adrienne. I am so pissed. This whole goddamn cancer thing has me so pissed."
I had typed earlier that I hope everything will be okay. But I don't think it will. I don't blame her for being pissed. Of all the parties affected by this, I'm probably impacted the least, but I'm pissed, too.
I saw her today. I don't think I've ever been so afraid for someone in my entire life. I know it's normal when you're undergoing chemo, but she's lost most of her hair and is now using a walker. If she puts too much weight on her legs she might break one because the bone is so thin. She had taken an anti-nausea pill, but it didn't work, so she had to leave early because she couldn't stop vomiting (I'm never going to be able to go to a Bread Company now without thinking of vomit when I smell asiago bagels). Once we had cleaned her up as much as we could, we helped her to her car, but she started throwing up again, so we called her husband, who came to drive her home.
Anyway, I didn't like her at first because she was so nice. It's not that I don't like nice people, but I couldn't figure out what her angle was. It took me months to realize that she didn't have one. She was always the person you could go to for really good advice, who knew everything about the company we worked for and had done everything. She was so energetic, and I still remember her saying to me almost everyday, "Okay, Adrienne. I'm gonna do it. Today is the day I get everything done."
She said it again today. Right after she whispered (her meds have screwed up her hearing, so she often whispers because she's worried she'll shout), "Goddamn it, Adrienne. I am so pissed. This whole goddamn cancer thing has me so pissed."
I had typed earlier that I hope everything will be okay. But I don't think it will. I don't blame her for being pissed. Of all the parties affected by this, I'm probably impacted the least, but I'm pissed, too.
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