Okay, I'm very sorry I haven't written much here lately. We still don't have internet at the house, so it's kind of difficult for me to get around to writing these days.
I've applied for unemployment, so hopefully that will come through in the next couple of weeks. Hell, hopefully I'll get a job. But I try not to dream too big.
If I'm going to be totally honest, I have to tell you that life has been hell this past couple of weeks. Really, life has been hell for this last couple of years. But hey, tomato, tomahto.
I can't go into too much, but I fear that we won't be seeing Kane and Jude for a while. It's really sad, because regardless of how much I miss them, miss seeing them and hearing how their lives are going, Jason misses the hell out of them, and I can't even tell you how frequently Reed asks where they are, when they're coming back, when he'll see them again. Right now we haven't seen them in about a month, and they haven't stayed at our house in about six weeks. I've written here on more than one occasion how much Reed loves them, how I worry, how much I love them.
I guess I should say again how much I really, really love them, have always loved them, have always tried my best to be there for them, take care of them, and provide them with a safe and happy place to call home.
This coming Monday is the third birthday of this blog. HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, VELVETEEN INDIAN. Maybe one day I'll be real.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
On an early grave.
Last night Reed and I were riding along in the car and I said, "Hey, guess who's coming tomorrow? Kane and Jude!"
He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."
I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.
In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.
I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.
Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.
But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."
Hey, I said sometimes.
He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."
I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.
In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.
I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.
Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.
But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."
Hey, I said sometimes.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Reedy.
So much has been happening lately that I haven't gotten to write much about Reed. Here is a list of Reedy thingies:
1. He is SO IN to Spiderman and Batman right now. We haven't had cable/satellite for some time, but we still have our DVR box. We still get some gems like the Home Shopping Network and the Hallmark Channel, and whenever Dish Network is doing free previews of channels, we get those. We got a free preview of one of the fifty bajillion Disney channels a few weeks ago and managed to record about 75 THOUSAND episodes of Batman and Spiderman cartoons. I have seen all of them a lot of times. I am now intimately schooled in the stories of the Black Cat and Two Face and Venom and the Green Goblin and the Hobgoblin and King Pin. I realize that these are Disney cartoons but Jason- a.k.a. Comic Book Blowhard- says that most of the plot lines follow the comic books surpringly closely.
2. Reed has both a Spiderman costume and a Batman costume. They are both pretty cool, and we have a lot of trouble getting him to wear anything else. We can't exactly send him to school in a superhero costume so once or twice he has worn just the Spiderman mask to school, walked into his classroom with it on, then taken it off and kept it in his pocket all day long.
3. As a result of the combination #1 and #2, Reed is constantly wobbling and flipping and trotting through the house in his costumes saying "I'm Spiderman!" or "I'm Batman!" and falling into things and slipping and spilling stuff and just generally keeping me on my toes. He climbs up onto things and dangles about. He carried a shoelace around with him which he'll fling at you at any moment and then start hissing "Pssssss! Pssssss!" while holding his hand, wrist upturned, at you like Spiderman. Last night he spent some time wriggling along the top/back of the futon in his Spiderman costume. The minds of children: who the fuck knows.
4. We're still working on potty training, and we've almost got it. He goes to school every day in big boy underwear with no pull-up and makes it through the whole day without having any accidents. Then he comes home and I say, "Do you need to potty? Do you need to peepee? Tell me if you need to potty. If you feel like you need to use the bathroom, go to the bathroom. Let's just go for fun. Let's go to the bathroom and give it a try. Don't you need to pee? Don't you want to potty? Go to the potty if you need to pee." He inevitably resists and tells me over and over again that he does NOT need to go. Five minutes later he wets his pants, and the futon along with them. So, you know. Shit.
5. He goes to bed like a champ most nights. We start warning him at about 8:30 that it's almost time for bed, you have to go to bed in a minute, just so he'll be prepared. Then at 9:00 I carry him to bed and I sit in a tiny chair by his bed for about a minute-and-a-half. Then I kiss his hand, then he kisses my hand, and we say night-night. If Jason and I try and have a conversation in the living room Reed says, "Mommeh! Can y'all stop talking, please? I'm trying to sleep." So we talk quietly.
6. He is still sleeping in a crib. I think I'm just lazy on this point; plus I don't think that it's ever occurred to Reed that he might one day sleep in a big boy bed, so he doesn't complain, so I'm like, shmeh. His bed converts into a toddler bed and the prospect of his being able to just get up out of bed and wander about the house SCARES THE DOODOO OUT OF ME. See also #7.
7. A few months ago Reed reached the point in his growth and development when he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. FUCK. So we bought chains to put on all our doors (we have a bunch, our house is weird). Reed has figured out how to use his light sabre, or "white saver", to slide the chain out. MOTHERFUCKER, I said. He is agile and accurate as hell when he does this; there's no "he can do it sometimes". He can do it EVERY time with one hand tied behind his back, wearing a blindfold and a straightjacket. HE CAN, WE'VE TRIED IT.
8. When we went to Costa Rica he stayed mostly with my mom, and a little with my dad. He stayed with her from Tuesday, March 10th, through Friday, March 20th. It was a very long, crazy trip and a very long time to go without seeing my baby. On our last full day in Costa Rica I called my mom to check in and she told me that Reed had not only said the night before, "I want to go home and sleep in my own bed" but that he also asked if we were coming back. My child had to ask if I was coming back. Jason and I clutched each other in the questionable bed in our hostel room and cried together. I will never take another trip away from my child for that long as long as I live.
1. He is SO IN to Spiderman and Batman right now. We haven't had cable/satellite for some time, but we still have our DVR box. We still get some gems like the Home Shopping Network and the Hallmark Channel, and whenever Dish Network is doing free previews of channels, we get those. We got a free preview of one of the fifty bajillion Disney channels a few weeks ago and managed to record about 75 THOUSAND episodes of Batman and Spiderman cartoons. I have seen all of them a lot of times. I am now intimately schooled in the stories of the Black Cat and Two Face and Venom and the Green Goblin and the Hobgoblin and King Pin. I realize that these are Disney cartoons but Jason- a.k.a. Comic Book Blowhard- says that most of the plot lines follow the comic books surpringly closely.
2. Reed has both a Spiderman costume and a Batman costume. They are both pretty cool, and we have a lot of trouble getting him to wear anything else. We can't exactly send him to school in a superhero costume so once or twice he has worn just the Spiderman mask to school, walked into his classroom with it on, then taken it off and kept it in his pocket all day long.
3. As a result of the combination #1 and #2, Reed is constantly wobbling and flipping and trotting through the house in his costumes saying "I'm Spiderman!" or "I'm Batman!" and falling into things and slipping and spilling stuff and just generally keeping me on my toes. He climbs up onto things and dangles about. He carried a shoelace around with him which he'll fling at you at any moment and then start hissing "Pssssss! Pssssss!" while holding his hand, wrist upturned, at you like Spiderman. Last night he spent some time wriggling along the top/back of the futon in his Spiderman costume. The minds of children: who the fuck knows.
4. We're still working on potty training, and we've almost got it. He goes to school every day in big boy underwear with no pull-up and makes it through the whole day without having any accidents. Then he comes home and I say, "Do you need to potty? Do you need to peepee? Tell me if you need to potty. If you feel like you need to use the bathroom, go to the bathroom. Let's just go for fun. Let's go to the bathroom and give it a try. Don't you need to pee? Don't you want to potty? Go to the potty if you need to pee." He inevitably resists and tells me over and over again that he does NOT need to go. Five minutes later he wets his pants, and the futon along with them. So, you know. Shit.
5. He goes to bed like a champ most nights. We start warning him at about 8:30 that it's almost time for bed, you have to go to bed in a minute, just so he'll be prepared. Then at 9:00 I carry him to bed and I sit in a tiny chair by his bed for about a minute-and-a-half. Then I kiss his hand, then he kisses my hand, and we say night-night. If Jason and I try and have a conversation in the living room Reed says, "Mommeh! Can y'all stop talking, please? I'm trying to sleep." So we talk quietly.
6. He is still sleeping in a crib. I think I'm just lazy on this point; plus I don't think that it's ever occurred to Reed that he might one day sleep in a big boy bed, so he doesn't complain, so I'm like, shmeh. His bed converts into a toddler bed and the prospect of his being able to just get up out of bed and wander about the house SCARES THE DOODOO OUT OF ME. See also #7.
7. A few months ago Reed reached the point in his growth and development when he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. FUCK. So we bought chains to put on all our doors (we have a bunch, our house is weird). Reed has figured out how to use his light sabre, or "white saver", to slide the chain out. MOTHERFUCKER, I said. He is agile and accurate as hell when he does this; there's no "he can do it sometimes". He can do it EVERY time with one hand tied behind his back, wearing a blindfold and a straightjacket. HE CAN, WE'VE TRIED IT.
8. When we went to Costa Rica he stayed mostly with my mom, and a little with my dad. He stayed with her from Tuesday, March 10th, through Friday, March 20th. It was a very long, crazy trip and a very long time to go without seeing my baby. On our last full day in Costa Rica I called my mom to check in and she told me that Reed had not only said the night before, "I want to go home and sleep in my own bed" but that he also asked if we were coming back. My child had to ask if I was coming back. Jason and I clutched each other in the questionable bed in our hostel room and cried together. I will never take another trip away from my child for that long as long as I live.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
YES.
From this post on this blog:
I love the heft of your warm body
your outflung hands
your curious glances
but seriously, kid.
Could you do me a solid
and hang on when I carry you?
Consider the
koala
or perhaps the
tree frog.
Both fine examples
of the methodology I would prefer
that you employ
instead of this business
that involves my left arm
falling
the
fuck
OFF.
It's like she lives inside my head, the head that resides somewhere above the stiff neck and sore shoulders of a person who is still carrying a three-and-a-half-year-old who likes to dangle like a potato sack.
I love the heft of your warm body
your outflung hands
your curious glances
but seriously, kid.
Could you do me a solid
and hang on when I carry you?
Consider the
koala
or perhaps the
tree frog.
Both fine examples
of the methodology I would prefer
that you employ
instead of this business
that involves my left arm
falling
the
fuck
OFF.
It's like she lives inside my head, the head that resides somewhere above the stiff neck and sore shoulders of a person who is still carrying a three-and-a-half-year-old who likes to dangle like a potato sack.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
AHA.
I want to talk for a moment about something that's on all our minds: vaccinations.
Okay, so it's not on anybody's minds. It hasn't been on my mind for some time as Reed has been caught up on his shots for some time; I think he was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 the last time he had to get any immunations. But it's on my mind now, and I have a few things that I'd like to say.
When I was pregnant I read a LOT of pregnancy and child-rearing books. I think by the time Reed was born I had read eight or ten of them. Any time I ran across an article or website on the subject I'd read that, too. I was pretty much terrified, and the more knowledge I soaked up about the process of pregnancy, labor, and raising a kid, the calmer I felt about all of it. You can never know everything, but in my opinion you can never know too much, either.
One of the issues that started to stick out for me was childhood immunizations and their pros and cons. This has been a hot-button issue for several years, not least because some people claim that there is a link between these immunizations and the occurance of autism. The link seems to revolve around the use of thiomersal as a preservative in vaccines. Besides autism a lot of parents find that their kids have pretty severe adverse reactions to some immunizations like rashes and bad fevers and whatnot.
Listen, I am no expert, but I have read up on both sides of this debate and I have to tell you by the time Reed was born I was really worried about these vaccinations and what effect they were going to have on my tiny baby. Pregnancy is not a condition that is known for shoving one chock full o' logic and reason which is partly why I did so much reading: I wanted to be aware of what was realistic to be worried about and what wasn't.
My opinion by the time Reed got here was that it was realistic to be worried about it. Once he was here, once I knew him, the idea of something changing him (Jerkface get off my wording here, I know that "something" will eventually change my kid, but I think you get my point here) or of my making a choice that might alter his abilities horrified and terrified and paralyzed me. A lot of this was a result of some severe postpartum depression that I have only recently gotten a handle on. I mean, driving with Reed in the car I would think "What if I get in a wreck and he gets hurt?" and when he slept I would think "What if he chokes or stops breathing and I don't hear him?" OF COURSE after all that reading I was going to think "What if I get Reed all those immunizations and he stops making eye contact with me or stops saying a word that he says now?" PARALYZING.
After talking to Reed's pediatrician about it we decided- the doctor, Jason, and I- that Reed would get his immunizations but on a slower schedule than the schedule recommended by most pediatricians. The norm is to shoot your kid up with a LOT of vaccines in a short amount of time, sometimes four or five in one doctor's visit, and I didn't like that. Reed's doctor was understanding and kind and cooperative, and helped us work out a schedule that made me feel a lot better.
At some point a person who I was very close to judged me, openly ridiculed me for my concerns, and it hurt and embarrassed me and ultimately played a part in my total alienation from that person. That person had no children of her own and was very open about never wanting to have kids. She was also in the medical field which I'm sure is part of what made her so sure of herself in her judgements.
Again, I haven't really thought about it much in past year or so, but then I read this post on Dooce and reading what Heather has to say about it really made me feel good about all of it. I appreciate what she's saying about the real and extreme dangers involved in not immunizing your children. But what I really like in this post is her interest in other people's thoughts and her ability to welcome differences of opinion while still expressing her own.
Basically I am meandering around this point: Please, please, whether you have kids or don't have kids, want kids or don't want kids, know kids or don't know kids, allow your friends to grow and learn and work towards their own decisions without the added pressure of your impending gauntlet-throwing. It is always helpful to engage in discussion and debate on these kinds of topics, and if you're lucky everyone involved will learn something from them. But let's all take the time to either sympathise or empathise with how difficult, how mind-blowing, how crippling parenting can feel for some of us. Please know that when someone you love is trying to make any of the myriad important decisions associated with being a mom or a dad that that someone is probably trying really very hard to make the right decision when there is no right decision there. BE SUPPORTIVE, for fuck's sakes, and if you feel differently about something than your parent friend then talk to them about it. Make it a discussion, not a ruling.
Incidentally, Reed had what I'm pretty sure was an adverse reaction to one of his rounds of immunizations once. It scared the shit out of me. Of course the doctors at the emergency room didn't want to discuss whether or not it was related to the vaccine- they literally wouldn't say whether or not they thought the two things were related. But it made all of my fears and concerns and paranoia feel real, logical, tangible. I am a crazy bitch, but that doesn't mean that every thought I have is crazy.
It's kind of like how Taco Bell is really kind of a shithole, but not everything that they make there sucks. You know?
Okay, so it's not on anybody's minds. It hasn't been on my mind for some time as Reed has been caught up on his shots for some time; I think he was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 the last time he had to get any immunations. But it's on my mind now, and I have a few things that I'd like to say.
When I was pregnant I read a LOT of pregnancy and child-rearing books. I think by the time Reed was born I had read eight or ten of them. Any time I ran across an article or website on the subject I'd read that, too. I was pretty much terrified, and the more knowledge I soaked up about the process of pregnancy, labor, and raising a kid, the calmer I felt about all of it. You can never know everything, but in my opinion you can never know too much, either.
One of the issues that started to stick out for me was childhood immunizations and their pros and cons. This has been a hot-button issue for several years, not least because some people claim that there is a link between these immunizations and the occurance of autism. The link seems to revolve around the use of thiomersal as a preservative in vaccines. Besides autism a lot of parents find that their kids have pretty severe adverse reactions to some immunizations like rashes and bad fevers and whatnot.
Listen, I am no expert, but I have read up on both sides of this debate and I have to tell you by the time Reed was born I was really worried about these vaccinations and what effect they were going to have on my tiny baby. Pregnancy is not a condition that is known for shoving one chock full o' logic and reason which is partly why I did so much reading: I wanted to be aware of what was realistic to be worried about and what wasn't.
My opinion by the time Reed got here was that it was realistic to be worried about it. Once he was here, once I knew him, the idea of something changing him (Jerkface get off my wording here, I know that "something" will eventually change my kid, but I think you get my point here) or of my making a choice that might alter his abilities horrified and terrified and paralyzed me. A lot of this was a result of some severe postpartum depression that I have only recently gotten a handle on. I mean, driving with Reed in the car I would think "What if I get in a wreck and he gets hurt?" and when he slept I would think "What if he chokes or stops breathing and I don't hear him?" OF COURSE after all that reading I was going to think "What if I get Reed all those immunizations and he stops making eye contact with me or stops saying a word that he says now?" PARALYZING.
After talking to Reed's pediatrician about it we decided- the doctor, Jason, and I- that Reed would get his immunizations but on a slower schedule than the schedule recommended by most pediatricians. The norm is to shoot your kid up with a LOT of vaccines in a short amount of time, sometimes four or five in one doctor's visit, and I didn't like that. Reed's doctor was understanding and kind and cooperative, and helped us work out a schedule that made me feel a lot better.
At some point a person who I was very close to judged me, openly ridiculed me for my concerns, and it hurt and embarrassed me and ultimately played a part in my total alienation from that person. That person had no children of her own and was very open about never wanting to have kids. She was also in the medical field which I'm sure is part of what made her so sure of herself in her judgements.
Again, I haven't really thought about it much in past year or so, but then I read this post on Dooce and reading what Heather has to say about it really made me feel good about all of it. I appreciate what she's saying about the real and extreme dangers involved in not immunizing your children. But what I really like in this post is her interest in other people's thoughts and her ability to welcome differences of opinion while still expressing her own.
Basically I am meandering around this point: Please, please, whether you have kids or don't have kids, want kids or don't want kids, know kids or don't know kids, allow your friends to grow and learn and work towards their own decisions without the added pressure of your impending gauntlet-throwing. It is always helpful to engage in discussion and debate on these kinds of topics, and if you're lucky everyone involved will learn something from them. But let's all take the time to either sympathise or empathise with how difficult, how mind-blowing, how crippling parenting can feel for some of us. Please know that when someone you love is trying to make any of the myriad important decisions associated with being a mom or a dad that that someone is probably trying really very hard to make the right decision when there is no right decision there. BE SUPPORTIVE, for fuck's sakes, and if you feel differently about something than your parent friend then talk to them about it. Make it a discussion, not a ruling.
Incidentally, Reed had what I'm pretty sure was an adverse reaction to one of his rounds of immunizations once. It scared the shit out of me. Of course the doctors at the emergency room didn't want to discuss whether or not it was related to the vaccine- they literally wouldn't say whether or not they thought the two things were related. But it made all of my fears and concerns and paranoia feel real, logical, tangible. I am a crazy bitch, but that doesn't mean that every thought I have is crazy.
It's kind of like how Taco Bell is really kind of a shithole, but not everything that they make there sucks. You know?
Friday, March 06, 2009
25 Things.
John tagged me to do this one on Facebook, but I can only do Facebook on my phone, so I deemed it too annoying to work on except to do it here. There's your explanation.
1. I am afraid of the dark. I have always been afraid of the dark. I frequently think I see things or hear things when the lights are out. If Jason isn't in bed yet, I don't turn the light out.
2. I am terrified of ending up alone. I imagine that one day Jason will leave me, and all my friends will be gone by then because I'm so annoying/unfunny/needy/crazy/bitchy/Mexicanfoody/drinky.
3. I eat a lot of Mexican food. What's startling is that I crave Mexican food for pretty much every meal. I dream about cheese dip and a nice taco salad with jalapenos. Jason likes Mexican food okay, but he also has a sensitive stomach so Mexican can mean some interesting bathroom experiences for him for a couple of days afterwards. Still, he'll eat Mexican food with me almost any time I ask. Now we have a child that when I pick him up from daycare will BEG AND PLEAD, "Can't we PLEEEEEEEEEASE go to the messican restaurant?" The staff at the local place knows his name. They also know my voice when I call to order take-out.
4. I have too many clothes. Seriously, I have jeans that I'm too big for AND jeans that I'm too small for. I keep both just in case I gain OR lose weight. Doc Martens that I bought nine years ago? Got 'em. 30 pairs of flip flops, tons of flats, boots that my dad bought me when I was 21: yes, yes, yes. A few things that didn't even quite fit right when I bought them but were on such a good sale and were a style that I really liked but I've still never worn them because THEY NEVER QUITE FIT RIGHT: yes. New stuff on the way: fuck me, yes.
5. I really, really don't like some of the most popular funny movies in recent history, such as Space Balls, Home Alone, Caddyshack, and all those Naked Gun movies. I'm just not usually a big fan of slapstick, goofy stuff. I say this, and yet I LOVE 40 Year Old Virgin, Bring It On, and Wedding Crashers. I don't know.
6. At work, out of about ten bathroom stalls, there is one particular stall that I always choose to go to for number two. It is not the very first one or the very last one.
7. I think perhaps I am a mediocre mom. I don't like germs, I don't like going to the park, I don't like arguing with a midget, I don't like getting kicked in the boob. I hope that what I lack in squee-ness I make up for in super-coolness and intense, loving hugs. There's one thing: I will always let Reed sit in my lap, and I am always up for a snuggle.
8. I am totally obsessed with small electronic items. When Palm first popped up I wanted one, like REALLY wanted one, thought about it all the time. Then it was the Razr, then an iPhone, then a Blackberry. Laptops, stuff for the camera, iPods, these are a few of my favorite things.
9. My most feared illness is anything that makes my stomach feel bad or, PLEASE GOD NO, makes me throw up. I don't like getting any kind of illness (of course), but I can stand a cold, can tolerate diarrhea, can muddle through aches and pains. But if my stomach feels bad or if I'm throwing up, I am a mess, a big baby, a whiny pool of KILL ME NOW that stays in bed and lies very still and covers her eyes with a cool rag and wants complete silence.
10. I really, really like sleeping, resting, and hanging around in bed. There are days in which, if I had a nanny for Reed and no job to go to, I could stay in bed all day long. What time I go to bed at night makes no difference; I can go to sleep at 9pm and still want to stay in bed until 12 or 1 the next afternoon.
11. I really love my friends. The love that I feel for my friends is exactly the same love that I feel for my family. I once had a boyfriend who got mad at me because I spent so much time with my friends, and I explained to him that the intensity and commitment that he felt about going to band practice (several times a week) was the same intensity and commitment I felt about spending time with my best friends. He claimed he understood, but I'm pretty sure that that situation played a large part in our relationship's undoing.
12. I love reading blogs. I read Dooce and Sarah and Antonia on a regular basis. I also read my friend Lindsey's pop culture blog, and my friend Paul just started a really interesting one, and my cousin and my mom. There's my friend Birdie, and then I just discovered this girl yesterday and I discovered this girl last week. I like blogs, and I like reading blogs, and I like writing blogs.
13. Just about the only thing that I know of that I don't like to eat is olives. I'm not a big fan of sushi, but I can eat it. I probably don't like anchovies- I've never tried them. For the most part I like everything else IN THE WORLD there is to eat. I know you guys can come up with some weird stuff that I've never had- pickled pigs' feet and chitterlings and whatnot. But for the most part, I like pretty much anything. For example, I like fried chicken livers. Yep, I said it. When I was a kid I ate an entire jar of sliced dill pickles, which I promptly threw up. I also have always loved A-1 sauce. LOVE IT. When I was young I would pour myself some A-1and THEN try and find something to dip into it.
14. My parents divorced when I was 14 and I was SO RELIEVED because they fought all the time and it was awful and tense and I knew things would get better once they didn't try to be married people any more. Then after my dad moved out, we suddenly spent more time together. He took me out to eat almost every weekend. We still weren't best friends, but it was certainly more time than we ever spent together before. Then my mom and dad remarried each other when I was about 21, and I got really excited because I thought we would be like a regular family, that we'd all be able to spend time with each other and eat dinner together and that kind of thing. Alas, it didn't happen; they were unhappy and re divorced about a year later. Now I never see my dad. He doesn't call and invite me to do anything and I don't call and invite him to do anything.
15. My sister India is really my half-sister; we have different fathers. But when I was born and all through growing up she lived with us and we always just thought of each other as sisters, still do. We just can't seem to see eye-to-eye on things, so we don't get along very well now. But we were pretty close up until about 14 or 15 years ago.
16. My mom is one of my best friends. She irritates the living shit out of me sometimes, but I figure that's probably payback for how much I irritated her when I was growing up. One time I stood next to her and said, "Can I? Can I? Can I?" over and over until she stood up and thrashed me with a newspaper. I think she's entitled to irritate me a little bit. In spite of our mutual irritation we still are best friends, I think. When I am mad or sad or happy, she's one of the first people I call to tell about it.
17. Jason is impossibly cool and so nice and is the best man I've ever known. That's why I'm so sure he'll leave me eventually: there is no possible way that I am cool enough to hold onto this guy. I am dorky and crazy and crotchety and irritable and obsessive about cleanliness. Jason, on the other hand, is laid back and well-meaning and smart and knows tons about music and movies and history and deserving of a nice lady. Unfortunately I'm not sure that I'm a nice lady. I'm nicer than his ex is though, so I guess he's moving closer to the mark. I hope maybe something has happened to his brain that causes him to think that I'm that right one for him, because I don't ever want to be without him.
18. I cannot stand when people mispronounce words. "Nucular" is the worst one, which started when Josh pointed out that Steve said it the wrong way, and then we got a president who said it the wrong way and it's all I could hear, every time he spoke. IT IS NOT "NUCULAR", IT IS "NUCLEAR". It is not "real-IH-tor", it is "real-tor"- no "ih", it is a 2-syllable word, not 3. I could go on for days. When people say "pitcher" for "picture", I throw up in my mouth a little bit.
19. I am terrible at talking to people. With my friends or family I'm usually fine, but at work or in restaurants or stores or on the phone I am TERRIBLE. I lose my train of thought, I get sweaty and nervous, I misunderstand the other person, I can't think of what to say, I make stuff up to try and get out of the situation faster, and I almost always come away from it loathing myself and feeling like I'm going to puke.
20. I believe very deeply in God and Jesus, but I don't go to church hardly ever and I don't quote the Bible. I feel strongly that Jesus loves us and he WANTS to love us and that people make mistakes and that if everyone who said "fuck" or smoked a cigarette went to hell, then hell must be like the Galleria at Christmas (crowded as fuck). I think that Jesus just wants us to try to be good people and that the effort alone means something and God is by definition smarter than us and He doesn't expect us to be as smart as he is, because that wouldn't really be fair, would it? To me the whole point is that Jesus loves me and will forgive me and just wants good things for me and wants me to strive towards those good things to make them happen for myself because you can't just dick around and wait for somebody else to make good things happen for you, and that folks should spread joy around as much as they can because not everyone can find joy by themselves.
21. I love to laugh and I love to make people laugh and I love to laugh with other people, at myself and/or all by myself. That's why I love to read Dooce and Sarah and McSweeney's: their stuff makes me laugh out loud. If this doesn't make you laugh, you are a robot (Chris, you don't count).
22. Reed likes the Vandals, the B-52s, Empire Records, the Office, and Mexican food. My work here is done.
23. 25 things is a fucking lot of things. It took me two days to write this.
24. I have never been good at standing up for myself, at letting people know when they're hurting my feelings or making me mad or sad or taking advantage of me. It is something that I'm working on this year and I am already managing to open my mouth more frequently.
25. Jason started uttering the phrase "That's what she said" several months ago at the appropriate (inappropriate) moments ("I can't fit this into the box." "That's what she said."). As a result, I now say it in my head any time anybody says anything remotely deserving of "That's what she said." My boss said, "No, I don't like nuts in my stuff" last week. FOR FUCK'SAKES. That's what she said.
1. I am afraid of the dark. I have always been afraid of the dark. I frequently think I see things or hear things when the lights are out. If Jason isn't in bed yet, I don't turn the light out.
2. I am terrified of ending up alone. I imagine that one day Jason will leave me, and all my friends will be gone by then because I'm so annoying/unfunny/needy/crazy/bitchy/Mexicanfoody/drinky.
3. I eat a lot of Mexican food. What's startling is that I crave Mexican food for pretty much every meal. I dream about cheese dip and a nice taco salad with jalapenos. Jason likes Mexican food okay, but he also has a sensitive stomach so Mexican can mean some interesting bathroom experiences for him for a couple of days afterwards. Still, he'll eat Mexican food with me almost any time I ask. Now we have a child that when I pick him up from daycare will BEG AND PLEAD, "Can't we PLEEEEEEEEEASE go to the messican restaurant?" The staff at the local place knows his name. They also know my voice when I call to order take-out.
4. I have too many clothes. Seriously, I have jeans that I'm too big for AND jeans that I'm too small for. I keep both just in case I gain OR lose weight. Doc Martens that I bought nine years ago? Got 'em. 30 pairs of flip flops, tons of flats, boots that my dad bought me when I was 21: yes, yes, yes. A few things that didn't even quite fit right when I bought them but were on such a good sale and were a style that I really liked but I've still never worn them because THEY NEVER QUITE FIT RIGHT: yes. New stuff on the way: fuck me, yes.
5. I really, really don't like some of the most popular funny movies in recent history, such as Space Balls, Home Alone, Caddyshack, and all those Naked Gun movies. I'm just not usually a big fan of slapstick, goofy stuff. I say this, and yet I LOVE 40 Year Old Virgin, Bring It On, and Wedding Crashers. I don't know.
6. At work, out of about ten bathroom stalls, there is one particular stall that I always choose to go to for number two. It is not the very first one or the very last one.
7. I think perhaps I am a mediocre mom. I don't like germs, I don't like going to the park, I don't like arguing with a midget, I don't like getting kicked in the boob. I hope that what I lack in squee-ness I make up for in super-coolness and intense, loving hugs. There's one thing: I will always let Reed sit in my lap, and I am always up for a snuggle.
8. I am totally obsessed with small electronic items. When Palm first popped up I wanted one, like REALLY wanted one, thought about it all the time. Then it was the Razr, then an iPhone, then a Blackberry. Laptops, stuff for the camera, iPods, these are a few of my favorite things.
9. My most feared illness is anything that makes my stomach feel bad or, PLEASE GOD NO, makes me throw up. I don't like getting any kind of illness (of course), but I can stand a cold, can tolerate diarrhea, can muddle through aches and pains. But if my stomach feels bad or if I'm throwing up, I am a mess, a big baby, a whiny pool of KILL ME NOW that stays in bed and lies very still and covers her eyes with a cool rag and wants complete silence.
10. I really, really like sleeping, resting, and hanging around in bed. There are days in which, if I had a nanny for Reed and no job to go to, I could stay in bed all day long. What time I go to bed at night makes no difference; I can go to sleep at 9pm and still want to stay in bed until 12 or 1 the next afternoon.
11. I really love my friends. The love that I feel for my friends is exactly the same love that I feel for my family. I once had a boyfriend who got mad at me because I spent so much time with my friends, and I explained to him that the intensity and commitment that he felt about going to band practice (several times a week) was the same intensity and commitment I felt about spending time with my best friends. He claimed he understood, but I'm pretty sure that that situation played a large part in our relationship's undoing.
12. I love reading blogs. I read Dooce and Sarah and Antonia on a regular basis. I also read my friend Lindsey's pop culture blog, and my friend Paul just started a really interesting one, and my cousin and my mom. There's my friend Birdie, and then I just discovered this girl yesterday and I discovered this girl last week. I like blogs, and I like reading blogs, and I like writing blogs.
13. Just about the only thing that I know of that I don't like to eat is olives. I'm not a big fan of sushi, but I can eat it. I probably don't like anchovies- I've never tried them. For the most part I like everything else IN THE WORLD there is to eat. I know you guys can come up with some weird stuff that I've never had- pickled pigs' feet and chitterlings and whatnot. But for the most part, I like pretty much anything. For example, I like fried chicken livers. Yep, I said it. When I was a kid I ate an entire jar of sliced dill pickles, which I promptly threw up. I also have always loved A-1 sauce. LOVE IT. When I was young I would pour myself some A-1and THEN try and find something to dip into it.
14. My parents divorced when I was 14 and I was SO RELIEVED because they fought all the time and it was awful and tense and I knew things would get better once they didn't try to be married people any more. Then after my dad moved out, we suddenly spent more time together. He took me out to eat almost every weekend. We still weren't best friends, but it was certainly more time than we ever spent together before. Then my mom and dad remarried each other when I was about 21, and I got really excited because I thought we would be like a regular family, that we'd all be able to spend time with each other and eat dinner together and that kind of thing. Alas, it didn't happen; they were unhappy and re divorced about a year later. Now I never see my dad. He doesn't call and invite me to do anything and I don't call and invite him to do anything.
15. My sister India is really my half-sister; we have different fathers. But when I was born and all through growing up she lived with us and we always just thought of each other as sisters, still do. We just can't seem to see eye-to-eye on things, so we don't get along very well now. But we were pretty close up until about 14 or 15 years ago.
16. My mom is one of my best friends. She irritates the living shit out of me sometimes, but I figure that's probably payback for how much I irritated her when I was growing up. One time I stood next to her and said, "Can I? Can I? Can I?" over and over until she stood up and thrashed me with a newspaper. I think she's entitled to irritate me a little bit. In spite of our mutual irritation we still are best friends, I think. When I am mad or sad or happy, she's one of the first people I call to tell about it.
17. Jason is impossibly cool and so nice and is the best man I've ever known. That's why I'm so sure he'll leave me eventually: there is no possible way that I am cool enough to hold onto this guy. I am dorky and crazy and crotchety and irritable and obsessive about cleanliness. Jason, on the other hand, is laid back and well-meaning and smart and knows tons about music and movies and history and deserving of a nice lady. Unfortunately I'm not sure that I'm a nice lady. I'm nicer than his ex is though, so I guess he's moving closer to the mark. I hope maybe something has happened to his brain that causes him to think that I'm that right one for him, because I don't ever want to be without him.
18. I cannot stand when people mispronounce words. "Nucular" is the worst one, which started when Josh pointed out that Steve said it the wrong way, and then we got a president who said it the wrong way and it's all I could hear, every time he spoke. IT IS NOT "NUCULAR", IT IS "NUCLEAR". It is not "real-IH-tor", it is "real-tor"- no "ih", it is a 2-syllable word, not 3. I could go on for days. When people say "pitcher" for "picture", I throw up in my mouth a little bit.
19. I am terrible at talking to people. With my friends or family I'm usually fine, but at work or in restaurants or stores or on the phone I am TERRIBLE. I lose my train of thought, I get sweaty and nervous, I misunderstand the other person, I can't think of what to say, I make stuff up to try and get out of the situation faster, and I almost always come away from it loathing myself and feeling like I'm going to puke.
20. I believe very deeply in God and Jesus, but I don't go to church hardly ever and I don't quote the Bible. I feel strongly that Jesus loves us and he WANTS to love us and that people make mistakes and that if everyone who said "fuck" or smoked a cigarette went to hell, then hell must be like the Galleria at Christmas (crowded as fuck). I think that Jesus just wants us to try to be good people and that the effort alone means something and God is by definition smarter than us and He doesn't expect us to be as smart as he is, because that wouldn't really be fair, would it? To me the whole point is that Jesus loves me and will forgive me and just wants good things for me and wants me to strive towards those good things to make them happen for myself because you can't just dick around and wait for somebody else to make good things happen for you, and that folks should spread joy around as much as they can because not everyone can find joy by themselves.
21. I love to laugh and I love to make people laugh and I love to laugh with other people, at myself and/or all by myself. That's why I love to read Dooce and Sarah and McSweeney's: their stuff makes me laugh out loud. If this doesn't make you laugh, you are a robot (Chris, you don't count).
22. Reed likes the Vandals, the B-52s, Empire Records, the Office, and Mexican food. My work here is done.
23. 25 things is a fucking lot of things. It took me two days to write this.
24. I have never been good at standing up for myself, at letting people know when they're hurting my feelings or making me mad or sad or taking advantage of me. It is something that I'm working on this year and I am already managing to open my mouth more frequently.
25. Jason started uttering the phrase "That's what she said" several months ago at the appropriate (inappropriate) moments ("I can't fit this into the box." "That's what she said."). As a result, I now say it in my head any time anybody says anything remotely deserving of "That's what she said." My boss said, "No, I don't like nuts in my stuff" last week. FOR FUCK'SAKES. That's what she said.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
He named his pirate Captain America.
So we are only a few weeks away from Jason's birthday, our anniversary, and Reed's birthday. Oh, plus Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve. It's my busy season.
I'm feeling slightly more optimistic because at least I'll be able to buy people some presents, however small.
Reed is experiencing his last throws of toddlerhood, I can tell, because the fits have gotten few and far between but also about 782 times more intense, sudden, and unpredictable.
He actually threw himself onto the floor in Target, plenty of people looking on, because I "wouldn't" let him "pay" for his pirate ship. What ACTUALLY happened was he threw himself into the floor, I stood there cheerfully saying, "Now hop up so you can pay for your shippit!" and he screamed and writhed, totally ignoring me. (He was calling his pirate ship his "shippit". I don't know.) I looked at the cashier, smiled, and stepped over my child who was rolling on the floor of a public place, wiping his face on the floor because he knew that I'd have nightmares about it for weeks- he's a smart little dude, after all. Then my mom and I drug him out into the parking lot, forced him into the car, and sat and let him shriek and cry for about five minutes.
After a few minutes of that, he suddenly and without warning smiled, asked me politely to take his shippit out of the box, and after I handed it to him he giggled and played quietly with it until we got to Cracker Barrel.
This life is so bizarre, so crazy, that sometimes I totally skip writing about some of it because I know that it sounds made up.
I'm feeling slightly more optimistic because at least I'll be able to buy people some presents, however small.
Reed is experiencing his last throws of toddlerhood, I can tell, because the fits have gotten few and far between but also about 782 times more intense, sudden, and unpredictable.
He actually threw himself onto the floor in Target, plenty of people looking on, because I "wouldn't" let him "pay" for his pirate ship. What ACTUALLY happened was he threw himself into the floor, I stood there cheerfully saying, "Now hop up so you can pay for your shippit!" and he screamed and writhed, totally ignoring me. (He was calling his pirate ship his "shippit". I don't know.) I looked at the cashier, smiled, and stepped over my child who was rolling on the floor of a public place, wiping his face on the floor because he knew that I'd have nightmares about it for weeks- he's a smart little dude, after all. Then my mom and I drug him out into the parking lot, forced him into the car, and sat and let him shriek and cry for about five minutes.
After a few minutes of that, he suddenly and without warning smiled, asked me politely to take his shippit out of the box, and after I handed it to him he giggled and played quietly with it until we got to Cracker Barrel.
This life is so bizarre, so crazy, that sometimes I totally skip writing about some of it because I know that it sounds made up.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
From a boy to man. A man with a purse.
Reed is really and truly an amazing human being. He's learning all these new words and phrases, and it's like having an alien riding around in the car or following me around the house.
First, the phone is officially the "mong-EE". When it rings, he starts saying "Mong-EE! Mong-EEE!!". He's very emphatic about it. It really cracks me up because I honestly can't see where this pronunciation came from.
Also, he is really very interested in purses. He loves my purse and his grandmommy's purse (grandmommy is now known as "maw", which just goes to show you we really ARE from Leeds), but he would also like to have his own purse. He found a VERY sparkly bedazzled purse at Cracker Barrel the other day and fell in love with it, and I have to tell you it was a battle to get it away from him and get out of the building. I finally found a little one that I bought a while back but never used and gave it to Reed. Whenever it's time to go anywhere, he says "Poose! Poose!" Once he finds his "poose", he hikes it over his shoulder and he's ready to go. I mean, really, once you have your poose and your mong-EE, you're set for the day.
He's also just started saying "I not know!" with so much inflection and sincerity. We ask him where is purse is, and he shrugs his shoulders and says, "I not know!" I sent a video of this to Lindsey and Kristi this morning, seeing as how they often not know either, so I figure they could relate.
First, the phone is officially the "mong-EE". When it rings, he starts saying "Mong-EE! Mong-EEE!!". He's very emphatic about it. It really cracks me up because I honestly can't see where this pronunciation came from.
Also, he is really very interested in purses. He loves my purse and his grandmommy's purse (grandmommy is now known as "maw", which just goes to show you we really ARE from Leeds), but he would also like to have his own purse. He found a VERY sparkly bedazzled purse at Cracker Barrel the other day and fell in love with it, and I have to tell you it was a battle to get it away from him and get out of the building. I finally found a little one that I bought a while back but never used and gave it to Reed. Whenever it's time to go anywhere, he says "Poose! Poose!" Once he finds his "poose", he hikes it over his shoulder and he's ready to go. I mean, really, once you have your poose and your mong-EE, you're set for the day.
He's also just started saying "I not know!" with so much inflection and sincerity. We ask him where is purse is, and he shrugs his shoulders and says, "I not know!" I sent a video of this to Lindsey and Kristi this morning, seeing as how they often not know either, so I figure they could relate.
Friday, May 18, 2007
You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
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Monday, April 02, 2007
Getting puked on is SO rock and roll.
So now Reed has the stomach virus. There is nothing better than reaching out to stroke your lovely baby's face, and pulling it back covered in purple vomit. NOTHING.
He puked half the night Saturday and half the morning Sunday, then he was fine all afternoon yesterday. This morning I noticed that he seemed a little warm, but I thought that it was my imagination. After my shower I noticed that he just looked puny, so I took his temperature with the fancy ear thermometer that we bought last time he was sick (you know, 47 minutes ago). It said 101.4 in one ear, and 103.5 in the other- that thing was SO worth the $35 we spent on it. Then while I was drying my hair he puked blueberry-colored vomit all over our bed, as he had a blueberry cereal bar for breakfast. Most of the puke went on Jason's pillow, so it's okay. He's not the one who gargles Clorox at the mention of a sour stomach, right?
So now I'm just hoping that it's passed, and that tomorrow he'll be well. The nurse at his doctor's office said "Oh there's no reason to bring him in!" I'm pretty sure that she's been lobotomized and nailed to a stool where she sits and answers the phone and just says, "Oh there's no reason to bring him in!" over and over all day long. It's a wonder those people ever have patients in the office.
He puked half the night Saturday and half the morning Sunday, then he was fine all afternoon yesterday. This morning I noticed that he seemed a little warm, but I thought that it was my imagination. After my shower I noticed that he just looked puny, so I took his temperature with the fancy ear thermometer that we bought last time he was sick (you know, 47 minutes ago). It said 101.4 in one ear, and 103.5 in the other- that thing was SO worth the $35 we spent on it. Then while I was drying my hair he puked blueberry-colored vomit all over our bed, as he had a blueberry cereal bar for breakfast. Most of the puke went on Jason's pillow, so it's okay. He's not the one who gargles Clorox at the mention of a sour stomach, right?
So now I'm just hoping that it's passed, and that tomorrow he'll be well. The nurse at his doctor's office said "Oh there's no reason to bring him in!" I'm pretty sure that she's been lobotomized and nailed to a stool where she sits and answers the phone and just says, "Oh there's no reason to bring him in!" over and over all day long. It's a wonder those people ever have patients in the office.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
On reasons to get a Sam's card already.
So we're still in the process of getting back to normal over here. My mom took Reed to the doctor Friday, where they finally FOR THE LOVE OF GOD gave him some antibiotics and a prescription decongestant and expectorant for his nasty cough and snotty nose that he's had for at least a couple of weeks now. He really hasn't ever completely stopped being sick since he got the roseola. It's been a rough few weeks, especially with starting daycare right in the midst of all of it.
Daycare is going fairly well. Some days Reed starts crying when I head for the door in the morning once he realizes where we're going. Those days are very hard. It's indescribably difficult to drag my child, convulsing and screaming, out the door, force him into his car seat, drag him in to the daycare, attempt to pass off his limp, angry body to his teacher, and then just leave him. Kids really know how to work it, too. He reaches his little hands out towards me and cries and cries, and says "Mama!" frantically over and over. I rip myself away, run to the car, and take four or five qualudes to take the edge off. Some days I use water to swallow them, and some days I use gin. It varies. One day last week it was bad enough that, on my lunch break from work, I literally sat in Moe's with Jason and cried. I sat in the middle of the lunch rush at MOE'S, people, and cried in front of everyone through the entire meal, unable to taste my food. When something fucks with my ability to enjoy Moe's, IT IS VERY FUCKING SERIOUS.
On the upside, Reed has inherited his father's ability to sit down and eat an entire bag of tortilla chips. This is annoying to no end because I'm the kind of person who buys things in the grocery store thinking, "Hey, these will be good!" Then I don't necessarily eat them the moment I get home. I'll buy the tortilla chips, for example, and then within 47 seconds of getting them home, Reed and Jason will consume the whole bag, knawing off some of their own fingers in the process. Then two days later I'll think, "I'm going to make myself some tasty nachos!" I'll be doing my happy food dance, excited about the Mexican goodness, when I'll discover the empty, sad little bag in the garbage, and I curse the gods of Fine Sexy Redheads and Genius Perfect Almost Intolerable Smart-Assed Babies for sending those two to my care.
Daycare is going fairly well. Some days Reed starts crying when I head for the door in the morning once he realizes where we're going. Those days are very hard. It's indescribably difficult to drag my child, convulsing and screaming, out the door, force him into his car seat, drag him in to the daycare, attempt to pass off his limp, angry body to his teacher, and then just leave him. Kids really know how to work it, too. He reaches his little hands out towards me and cries and cries, and says "Mama!" frantically over and over. I rip myself away, run to the car, and take four or five qualudes to take the edge off. Some days I use water to swallow them, and some days I use gin. It varies. One day last week it was bad enough that, on my lunch break from work, I literally sat in Moe's with Jason and cried. I sat in the middle of the lunch rush at MOE'S, people, and cried in front of everyone through the entire meal, unable to taste my food. When something fucks with my ability to enjoy Moe's, IT IS VERY FUCKING SERIOUS.
On the upside, Reed has inherited his father's ability to sit down and eat an entire bag of tortilla chips. This is annoying to no end because I'm the kind of person who buys things in the grocery store thinking, "Hey, these will be good!" Then I don't necessarily eat them the moment I get home. I'll buy the tortilla chips, for example, and then within 47 seconds of getting them home, Reed and Jason will consume the whole bag, knawing off some of their own fingers in the process. Then two days later I'll think, "I'm going to make myself some tasty nachos!" I'll be doing my happy food dance, excited about the Mexican goodness, when I'll discover the empty, sad little bag in the garbage, and I curse the gods of Fine Sexy Redheads and Genius Perfect Almost Intolerable Smart-Assed Babies for sending those two to my care.
Friday, March 16, 2007
More pissed.
Well, Reed and I are both still grossly sick. And he's learning to aim those snot rockets, so watch out!
When we went to the emergency room, they gave him 6 mL of Motrin to bring down the fever. We had been giving him Tylenol, but the dosage we were giving him was 1.6 mL, so I figured that it was some kind of emergency get-that-fever-down dose. Later I mentioned to the nurse how the "mega-dose" of Motrin they gave him knocked the fever down pretty quickly. She replied, "That's the regular dose. That's the dose you ought to be giving him." So I said, "Wow, we've only been giving him 1.6 mL." She said, "Oh, maybe that's why his fever wouldn't go down, because you weren't giving him enough of it."
The doctor at the emergency room later confirmed that we could give him 6 mL of Tylenol and 6 mL of Motrin in rotating shifts every 4 hours. I kept saying, "Wow, that's just so much. We had been giving him 1.6 mL." As we were leaving the nurse said, "Did they tell you? You can give it to him every 2 hours."
When I took him to his regular doctor, I asked again if 6 mL was really what we should have been giving him. He said yes, that we could give him that much every 3 hours, not 4 or 2. I was starting to feel dizzy at that point, so I got him to tell me "6 mL" one more time. I commented that we had only been giving him 1.6 mL because that's what we thought his correct dosage was. (This story is going somewhere, I promise.)
So yesterday I called the doctor again to say that the fever was still pretty high (staying in the 103 range), and that now he had a wet, hacking cough, and he just didn't seem to be getting any better. The nurse called me back and said, of course, "It's a viral infection. You really just have to wait it out." We were just about to get off the phone when I said, "And we're supposed to be giving him 6 mL of the Tylenol or Motrin, right?" At this point I had been giving him 6 mL doses since Tuesday, so for about 48 hours.
She sat there for a second, and said, "Uh, no, 1.6 mL. He's 15 months, right? And he weighs about 26 pounds? 1.6 mL."
It was about that time that I started weeping and hyperventilating. And yelling.
"Then WHY did DR. NAMEREMOVEDBECAUSEHE'SACOCKSUCKERANYWAY tell me 6 mL? And WHY did they tell me that at the emergency room?"
I could tell that the nurse was getting flustered. There were a lot of "um"s and "uh"s coming from her end of the line. Then she said, "Are you giving him Childrens' Motrin or Infants' Motrin?" I told her Infants' Motrin. She said, "Okay, yeah, the infant stuff is concentrated, so he's only supposed to have 1.6 mL."
So I sobbingly sputtered out, "SO WHAT YOU'RE TELLING ME IS THAT I'VE BEEN POISONING MY CHILD FOR THE PAST TWO DAYS." She said, "He'll be okay. Don't worry; it'll be okay." I replied, "NONONO, I'M ANGRY." Her reply was, "Oh. Hm."
I eventually demanded to speak to the doctor, and of course the doctor wasn't there. So then I hung up on her, which I realize isn't necessarily the BEST reaction, but I was gasping for air by that point and I just couldn't make any more words come except for "FUCK" and "BITCHES" and "AX" and "MOTHERBASTARD".
So later we talked to poison control and they said that the amount he took isn't toxic, so he'll be fine. Which is great, and that's the bottom line.
BUT THE NEXT LINE UP FROM THAT BOTTOM ONE IS THIS ONE WHERE I AM ON FIRE INSIDE, so mad that I can hardly comprehend it, so mad that I can barely form sentences about it (my Crazy Speak interpreter Juan is typing this right now, say hello Juan- Hola!). I cannot be the only person in America who didn't realize that there was a difference between Infants' and Childrens' Motrin, and I know the whole time that I was saying "Motrin" and "Tylenol", NO ONE ever said, "Now that's CHILDRENS' Motrin, not INFANTS'." And shouldn't someone make that distinction? Really? Especially when I kept saying "We've only been giving him 1.6 mL." Shouldn't that have rung a bell in someone's air-filled head?
I am Reed's mother, and believe me when I say that I take some responsibility here. I have felt more guilt over the past twelve hours than I thought possible. I have pictured, over and over, forcing Reed to take all that medicine, nearly FOUR TIMES what he should have been given, and wept because I know now that my initial instincts- that it was too much medicine- were right. I think, I could have killed him. I could have killed him myself. I could have ruined his liver entirely, and he deserves the opportunity to do that himself with beer and painkillers in his college years AND I ALMOST TOOK THAT AWAY FROM HIM.
But I also feel like those people, those people who go through years of schooling to learn how to take care of my child, and who I now pay large sums of money to take care of my child AND to tell me how to take care of him when I don't know, they have some responsibility here, too. I questioned that dosage over and over again, and I told them how much we had been giving him. It would have taken one breath and three seconds to tell me that I needed to be using Children's Motrin instead of Infant's Motrin.
So, here we are, alive but barely. I don't know what's going to happen from here. The nurses supposedly left word for the doctor to call me today, but I'm not sure what I might say. I KNOW that we're finding another pediatrician, because there have just been too many problems over the past week that could have been avoided.
Thank the good lord that MY doctor believes in Medication, and I have a nice bottle of codeine to get through this, because I would be setting buildings on fire by now if I didn't.
When we went to the emergency room, they gave him 6 mL of Motrin to bring down the fever. We had been giving him Tylenol, but the dosage we were giving him was 1.6 mL, so I figured that it was some kind of emergency get-that-fever-down dose. Later I mentioned to the nurse how the "mega-dose" of Motrin they gave him knocked the fever down pretty quickly. She replied, "That's the regular dose. That's the dose you ought to be giving him." So I said, "Wow, we've only been giving him 1.6 mL." She said, "Oh, maybe that's why his fever wouldn't go down, because you weren't giving him enough of it."
The doctor at the emergency room later confirmed that we could give him 6 mL of Tylenol and 6 mL of Motrin in rotating shifts every 4 hours. I kept saying, "Wow, that's just so much. We had been giving him 1.6 mL." As we were leaving the nurse said, "Did they tell you? You can give it to him every 2 hours."
When I took him to his regular doctor, I asked again if 6 mL was really what we should have been giving him. He said yes, that we could give him that much every 3 hours, not 4 or 2. I was starting to feel dizzy at that point, so I got him to tell me "6 mL" one more time. I commented that we had only been giving him 1.6 mL because that's what we thought his correct dosage was. (This story is going somewhere, I promise.)
So yesterday I called the doctor again to say that the fever was still pretty high (staying in the 103 range), and that now he had a wet, hacking cough, and he just didn't seem to be getting any better. The nurse called me back and said, of course, "It's a viral infection. You really just have to wait it out." We were just about to get off the phone when I said, "And we're supposed to be giving him 6 mL of the Tylenol or Motrin, right?" At this point I had been giving him 6 mL doses since Tuesday, so for about 48 hours.
She sat there for a second, and said, "Uh, no, 1.6 mL. He's 15 months, right? And he weighs about 26 pounds? 1.6 mL."
It was about that time that I started weeping and hyperventilating. And yelling.
"Then WHY did DR. NAMEREMOVEDBECAUSEHE'SACOCKSUCKERANYWAY tell me 6 mL? And WHY did they tell me that at the emergency room?"
I could tell that the nurse was getting flustered. There were a lot of "um"s and "uh"s coming from her end of the line. Then she said, "Are you giving him Childrens' Motrin or Infants' Motrin?" I told her Infants' Motrin. She said, "Okay, yeah, the infant stuff is concentrated, so he's only supposed to have 1.6 mL."
So I sobbingly sputtered out, "SO WHAT YOU'RE TELLING ME IS THAT I'VE BEEN POISONING MY CHILD FOR THE PAST TWO DAYS." She said, "He'll be okay. Don't worry; it'll be okay." I replied, "NONONO, I'M ANGRY." Her reply was, "Oh. Hm."
I eventually demanded to speak to the doctor, and of course the doctor wasn't there. So then I hung up on her, which I realize isn't necessarily the BEST reaction, but I was gasping for air by that point and I just couldn't make any more words come except for "FUCK" and "BITCHES" and "AX" and "MOTHERBASTARD".
So later we talked to poison control and they said that the amount he took isn't toxic, so he'll be fine. Which is great, and that's the bottom line.
BUT THE NEXT LINE UP FROM THAT BOTTOM ONE IS THIS ONE WHERE I AM ON FIRE INSIDE, so mad that I can hardly comprehend it, so mad that I can barely form sentences about it (my Crazy Speak interpreter Juan is typing this right now, say hello Juan- Hola!). I cannot be the only person in America who didn't realize that there was a difference between Infants' and Childrens' Motrin, and I know the whole time that I was saying "Motrin" and "Tylenol", NO ONE ever said, "Now that's CHILDRENS' Motrin, not INFANTS'." And shouldn't someone make that distinction? Really? Especially when I kept saying "We've only been giving him 1.6 mL." Shouldn't that have rung a bell in someone's air-filled head?
I am Reed's mother, and believe me when I say that I take some responsibility here. I have felt more guilt over the past twelve hours than I thought possible. I have pictured, over and over, forcing Reed to take all that medicine, nearly FOUR TIMES what he should have been given, and wept because I know now that my initial instincts- that it was too much medicine- were right. I think, I could have killed him. I could have killed him myself. I could have ruined his liver entirely, and he deserves the opportunity to do that himself with beer and painkillers in his college years AND I ALMOST TOOK THAT AWAY FROM HIM.
But I also feel like those people, those people who go through years of schooling to learn how to take care of my child, and who I now pay large sums of money to take care of my child AND to tell me how to take care of him when I don't know, they have some responsibility here, too. I questioned that dosage over and over again, and I told them how much we had been giving him. It would have taken one breath and three seconds to tell me that I needed to be using Children's Motrin instead of Infant's Motrin.
So, here we are, alive but barely. I don't know what's going to happen from here. The nurses supposedly left word for the doctor to call me today, but I'm not sure what I might say. I KNOW that we're finding another pediatrician, because there have just been too many problems over the past week that could have been avoided.
Thank the good lord that MY doctor believes in Medication, and I have a nice bottle of codeine to get through this, because I would be setting buildings on fire by now if I didn't.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
I haven't ever thought to, you know, BREATHE AIR before.
Kane really digs origami. I've given him a couple of books and packs of paper over the years to help him in his pursuits, and we usually all get into it at some point.
Over the last few days, Jude has taken a great interest in origami, but he's hit a few speed bumps along the way. Jason has tried to show him a few times how to make a couple of things. He said the other night that he spent quite a while trying to show Jude how to make a swan using the instruction book, and Jude just kept saying, "No, I want you to show me how to DO origami." Jason kept saying, "I'm TRYING to show you how to DO origami." They never really reached a point of understanding with each other, and they both gave up after a while.
Tonight Jude came in while I was dressing Reed and said, "You know, I really like origami. But I just can't seem to really GET IT." So I said, "Well, it's pretty hard, but you just have to read the instructions and fold where they say to fold."
He replied, "OH. Hm. That's interesting. I haven't ever thought to READ the book before."
Can anybody see how I might want to SPOON my eyeballs right out of my head and then throw them out the window?
Over the last few days, Jude has taken a great interest in origami, but he's hit a few speed bumps along the way. Jason has tried to show him a few times how to make a couple of things. He said the other night that he spent quite a while trying to show Jude how to make a swan using the instruction book, and Jude just kept saying, "No, I want you to show me how to DO origami." Jason kept saying, "I'm TRYING to show you how to DO origami." They never really reached a point of understanding with each other, and they both gave up after a while.
Tonight Jude came in while I was dressing Reed and said, "You know, I really like origami. But I just can't seem to really GET IT." So I said, "Well, it's pretty hard, but you just have to read the instructions and fold where they say to fold."
He replied, "OH. Hm. That's interesting. I haven't ever thought to READ the book before."
Can anybody see how I might want to SPOON my eyeballs right out of my head and then throw them out the window?
It's yo' thang; do what you wanna do.
So today was Reed's very first day at daycare. TODAY WAS THE DAY I LEFT MY SON WITH PEOPLE I HAD SPENT ABOUT THIRTY MINUTES IN MY WHOLE LIFE WITH. Needless to say, I was a little high-strung.
When we took him in, the other kids were eating breakfast. His teacher put Reed in a highchair to let him have some; when she gave him the bowl of waffles and sausage, he looked at her like she was crazy and pushed the bowl away. Then he looked at us like, "Um, NO." We started saying "bye-bye" and waving at him and he totally didn't cry. He just looked at me like, "You are abandoning me now, you heartless wench, and I will never forgive you." I heard it in my head, so it's pointless to try and convince me that he didn't say it to me in my head.
When we picked him up his teacher said that he cried some after we left once he realized that we were gone, which made me feel like I might throw up right there on the spot. She showed us the cloud he made out of blue construction paper and cotton balls, and I felt a little better.
All in all, it's the only choice we have, so we're going with it, but THIS MIGHT BE THE THING THAT FINALLY DOES ME IN. The women's rights movement gave us so many choices that we wouldn't have had without it, but because the cost of living has risen so drastically in comparison with average wages a lot of us have one fewer choice than our parents and our parents' parents had.
I'll get over it eventually, but not too soon so really don't go expecting me to be all NORMAL any time in the near future. Normal is just not my thing.
When we took him in, the other kids were eating breakfast. His teacher put Reed in a highchair to let him have some; when she gave him the bowl of waffles and sausage, he looked at her like she was crazy and pushed the bowl away. Then he looked at us like, "Um, NO." We started saying "bye-bye" and waving at him and he totally didn't cry. He just looked at me like, "You are abandoning me now, you heartless wench, and I will never forgive you." I heard it in my head, so it's pointless to try and convince me that he didn't say it to me in my head.
When we picked him up his teacher said that he cried some after we left once he realized that we were gone, which made me feel like I might throw up right there on the spot. She showed us the cloud he made out of blue construction paper and cotton balls, and I felt a little better.
All in all, it's the only choice we have, so we're going with it, but THIS MIGHT BE THE THING THAT FINALLY DOES ME IN. The women's rights movement gave us so many choices that we wouldn't have had without it, but because the cost of living has risen so drastically in comparison with average wages a lot of us have one fewer choice than our parents and our parents' parents had.
I'll get over it eventually, but not too soon so really don't go expecting me to be all NORMAL any time in the near future. Normal is just not my thing.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Baby step to the elevator. Baby step to the elevator. Baby step, get on the elevator.
So today I had Reed in our bedroom with me while I dried my hair. He is absolutely fascinated with the blow drier, so he's actually pretty easy to deal with when I fix my 'do. Today, for some reason, he wanted to spend the entire time with his head buried in my ass. I kept stopping and saying, "Dude, what are you doing? Come around here." But every time I flipped my head over to start drying again, I would see his little face peering up at me as he planted his head firmly against the back of my ass. I don't know why- that's just where he wanted to be. Kids are weird, I tell you.
Then we went and TOURED A DAYCARE. Baby steps, people. It's close to where my mom works, and the price is reasonable, and all the teachers and kids were nice, so I'm pretty sure that we're going for it. The thing that cracks me up about it is that Reed will be, literally, the only white kid there. Actually I'm pretty sure he'll be the only white PERSON there, period. Jason and I are both pretty excited about it. I know when Jason was little he went to a GHETTO daycare in a predominantly black neighborhood, and he seems to look back on it fondly. And don't anybody try to get on my case- Jason showed me the daycare he went to, and it is in the ghetto. That's what I mean when I say that he went to a ghetto daycare.
A couple of people have expressed, to me and to my family, concerns about Reed going to a daycare with all "black kids" and "inner city" kids, and frankly I'm a little appalled. Look, I realize that racism exists, but it's just so odd when it pops up right in front of you. At least to me it is. I just find it surprising when a person who seems intelligent and genial enough is suddenly pale and tight-lipped in my presence because I've decided to send my son to daycare with black kids. For me, that doesn't make any sense, and it bothers me quite a bit. But you know, they'll get over it. Either that or I'll have to go all crazy on them, like I do on Jason when I haven't had a beer in a while. THAT is scary, and he can tell you that the only way to calm me down at that point is to wave a burrito in my face until it gets the better of me and I sit down and order some cheese dip. And why would a racist person be carrying a MEXICAN food item in his pocket?
Then we went and TOURED A DAYCARE. Baby steps, people. It's close to where my mom works, and the price is reasonable, and all the teachers and kids were nice, so I'm pretty sure that we're going for it. The thing that cracks me up about it is that Reed will be, literally, the only white kid there. Actually I'm pretty sure he'll be the only white PERSON there, period. Jason and I are both pretty excited about it. I know when Jason was little he went to a GHETTO daycare in a predominantly black neighborhood, and he seems to look back on it fondly. And don't anybody try to get on my case- Jason showed me the daycare he went to, and it is in the ghetto. That's what I mean when I say that he went to a ghetto daycare.
A couple of people have expressed, to me and to my family, concerns about Reed going to a daycare with all "black kids" and "inner city" kids, and frankly I'm a little appalled. Look, I realize that racism exists, but it's just so odd when it pops up right in front of you. At least to me it is. I just find it surprising when a person who seems intelligent and genial enough is suddenly pale and tight-lipped in my presence because I've decided to send my son to daycare with black kids. For me, that doesn't make any sense, and it bothers me quite a bit. But you know, they'll get over it. Either that or I'll have to go all crazy on them, like I do on Jason when I haven't had a beer in a while. THAT is scary, and he can tell you that the only way to calm me down at that point is to wave a burrito in my face until it gets the better of me and I sit down and order some cheese dip. And why would a racist person be carrying a MEXICAN food item in his pocket?
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Somebody, just knock me out. Please, get it over with.
OH, SWEET MOSES, ROSEOLA. It is not as rosy as it appears to be on the surface.
My child has tested every single limit that exists in this world over the past week, and I am glad that it's over. He has tested the limits of my love for constant screaming, my love for being hit in the face repeatedly, my love for being thrown up on, and my limits for hitting myself in the head with a mallet until things don't seem so bad. There is an eventual point when you have to hit yourself in the head with a mallet a whole lot of fucking times before a fifteen-month-old with roseola doesn't seem so bad.
The best part was how the description of roseola in my Dr. Spock book, right after it says "Live long and prosper, losers", says that it starts with three to four days of high fever with no other symptoms before the rash shows up, and how we took him to the doctor after four days of high fever and the doctor never mentioned there could be some roseola coming. If I, Mrs. Undergraduate Philosophy herself, can read a book and say "Now I bet that's what it is", then the doctor with all that schooling and those HIGHEST BILLS THEY HAVE ought to be able to say, "Hm, it could be roseola." Instead he just kept saying that he didn't know what it was. The next morning Reed woke up covered in spots, which is really unfortunate because dots are so out this season. I had a panic attack right before Jason, in all his husband slash potsmoker glory, said, "Eh, he's fine." Then I talked to a nurse who was not at all reassuring who said if there was no high fever she didn't know what it was and there wasn't any reason to bring him in. (She did, however, make me laugh when she said, "It could be fifth's disease, like 'one, two, three, four, fifths'", because it makes me think of Dave Chappelle.)
WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? They must not be parents, or else they must not be paranoid and crazy, one or the other, because they are all very nonchalant about not knowing what the fuck is going on with that hole in their asses, or is that the ground? WHO KNOWS?
My child has tested every single limit that exists in this world over the past week, and I am glad that it's over. He has tested the limits of my love for constant screaming, my love for being hit in the face repeatedly, my love for being thrown up on, and my limits for hitting myself in the head with a mallet until things don't seem so bad. There is an eventual point when you have to hit yourself in the head with a mallet a whole lot of fucking times before a fifteen-month-old with roseola doesn't seem so bad.
The best part was how the description of roseola in my Dr. Spock book, right after it says "Live long and prosper, losers", says that it starts with three to four days of high fever with no other symptoms before the rash shows up, and how we took him to the doctor after four days of high fever and the doctor never mentioned there could be some roseola coming. If I, Mrs. Undergraduate Philosophy herself, can read a book and say "Now I bet that's what it is", then the doctor with all that schooling and those HIGHEST BILLS THEY HAVE ought to be able to say, "Hm, it could be roseola." Instead he just kept saying that he didn't know what it was. The next morning Reed woke up covered in spots, which is really unfortunate because dots are so out this season. I had a panic attack right before Jason, in all his husband slash potsmoker glory, said, "Eh, he's fine." Then I talked to a nurse who was not at all reassuring who said if there was no high fever she didn't know what it was and there wasn't any reason to bring him in. (She did, however, make me laugh when she said, "It could be fifth's disease, like 'one, two, three, four, fifths'", because it makes me think of Dave Chappelle.)
WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? They must not be parents, or else they must not be paranoid and crazy, one or the other, because they are all very nonchalant about not knowing what the fuck is going on with that hole in their asses, or is that the ground? WHO KNOWS?
Monday, February 19, 2007
Baby Tylenol and a dry martini.
We officially have a sick baby. I'm not really even sure what's wrong with him; he had a fever today, but nothing else appears to be wrong with him. He was enjoying biting on his blanket earlier, so I figure it could be teething. He's had a bit of a runny nose, but it doesn't seem like enough to be a cold. But, never fear. He's been totally fussy and pissy and irreconcilably angry just the same. He did spend about an hour today in my lap, rocking in the rocking chair, just snuggling with me, and it felt really wonderful. It was nice to have that closeness for a little while. He snuggled his head against my chest and rested, and I nuzzled my nose into his hair (what little there is).
Jason and I have been considering some amazing and not entirely realistic plans for our financial/career futures. I'm not going to go into it until I'm totally sure what we're doing, but once we figure it out you guys will be the first to know. I mean, right after we tell my mom. And my dad. And Jason's parents and brothers. And our friends. You guys will be FIRST after them.
We have been enjoying the HELL out of the D80. It is a beautiful piece of photographic genius, and we treat it well. It sleeps in Reed's crib. We figured Reed was ready to move to the attic anyway.
Jason and I have been considering some amazing and not entirely realistic plans for our financial/career futures. I'm not going to go into it until I'm totally sure what we're doing, but once we figure it out you guys will be the first to know. I mean, right after we tell my mom. And my dad. And Jason's parents and brothers. And our friends. You guys will be FIRST after them.
We have been enjoying the HELL out of the D80. It is a beautiful piece of photographic genius, and we treat it well. It sleeps in Reed's crib. We figured Reed was ready to move to the attic anyway.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Failing at giving it a shot.
We are currently on a wild hunt for a daycare for Reed, and it's giving me the constipation a little bit. I just CLENCH UP, you know? On February 19 Jason will start a new job where he works until noon, which means that from eight until noon, Reed is going to have to find some place to go because I'm not going to put up with him messing up the house while I'm not there. So we're looking into daycare because the dog track said he's too young to bet, and too little to race, plus he doesn't like wearing those numbers they have to wear.
This daycare thing raises a couple of problems which, to some, may seem not so big, but in my head they've turned gigantic, tyrranosaurus rex, bloated McDonald's-eating sized, so this process is really fun for Jason.
First, we literally don't have any spare money at the moment. We just don't. It's difficult to pay the bills we have, so I'm just not sure that adding another bill is the way to go. I realize that there may not be any other option, but if the one option is to spend money that we don't have, I'm just not sure that it's an option at all.
Second, I am profoundly uncomfortable with sending Reed to daycare. It's a lot of stuff, really. I don't like the idea of someone else raising my kid, even someone who's nice and sweet and all that. The idea of Reed doing things or saying things or behaving in ways that I or someone very close to me didn't teach him makes my skin crawl right off of my body. Plus, right now while he's too young to talk and explain and TATTLE I will never be sure that he's being treated well, that someone isn't doing things to him that would make me show up with a shovel saying, "Okay, just put your head right here on this table and don't move it." And I'm not even talking about the really awful stuff that I'm not going to bother detailing here so that I can avoid ripping my fingernails right off my hand. I'm talking about stuff like grabbing his arm and jerking him around, or calling him names that I don't like, or getting up in his face to yell at him, or using a "technique" that the person thinks she saw on Supernanny a couple of weeks ago. And I'm not just coming up with this stuff; these are things that I've seen in daycares, GOOD daycares that I've worked in. And I just don't like it.
And then Jason says stuff like, "Well, I just definitely DON'T want to send him to this place, because So-and-So's sister's cousin had a kid that went there and they did BAD things to him." And the next thing I know I'm hyperventilating and throwing up in a bag in the corner yelling, "Wait for me, Jesus! Wait for me, I'm comin'!" Because it is EXACTLY THIS, this fact that bad things happen and it's difficult to predict them or prevent them, that makes me ill. Add to that the fact that we don't have the money to get the best daycare possible, to pick and choose, and I just don't know if I can do it.
I KNOW that lots and lots of kids have great experiences in daycares, that they learn how to play with other kids and they learn songs and do fun activities, and have teachers who they love and remember for the rest of their lives. I know that plenty of people send their kids to daycare and feel safe and secure in their choices. And that's fine. I'm not saying that daycare is bad or that it's a bad choice. I'm saying that it is not the choice for me, that it is not what I want to do.
When Reed was a tiny baby, Jason and I were talking about it, and I was telling Jason all this stuff, and Jason said, "Well I went to daycare and I turned out okay!" And I said, "But Reed is a tiny baby! Were you tiny baby when your mom sent you to daycare?" "Yes." "Oh. How old were you?" "I was three."
THREE, he says. Reed wasn't three then, and he's not three now. When Reed is three, he'll be able to tell me what he did that day, and whether or not he likes his teacher and friends. But he can't do that right now. Besides that, Kane and Jude never went to daycare either. So it just feels so unfair that I have to send my kid to daycare even though I am violently, pukingly against it.
So I guess we'll have to go to Mexico. Reed and I will love the food, plus they have good drugs there. AND maybe the dog tracks aren't so strict.
This daycare thing raises a couple of problems which, to some, may seem not so big, but in my head they've turned gigantic, tyrranosaurus rex, bloated McDonald's-eating sized, so this process is really fun for Jason.
First, we literally don't have any spare money at the moment. We just don't. It's difficult to pay the bills we have, so I'm just not sure that adding another bill is the way to go. I realize that there may not be any other option, but if the one option is to spend money that we don't have, I'm just not sure that it's an option at all.
Second, I am profoundly uncomfortable with sending Reed to daycare. It's a lot of stuff, really. I don't like the idea of someone else raising my kid, even someone who's nice and sweet and all that. The idea of Reed doing things or saying things or behaving in ways that I or someone very close to me didn't teach him makes my skin crawl right off of my body. Plus, right now while he's too young to talk and explain and TATTLE I will never be sure that he's being treated well, that someone isn't doing things to him that would make me show up with a shovel saying, "Okay, just put your head right here on this table and don't move it." And I'm not even talking about the really awful stuff that I'm not going to bother detailing here so that I can avoid ripping my fingernails right off my hand. I'm talking about stuff like grabbing his arm and jerking him around, or calling him names that I don't like, or getting up in his face to yell at him, or using a "technique" that the person thinks she saw on Supernanny a couple of weeks ago. And I'm not just coming up with this stuff; these are things that I've seen in daycares, GOOD daycares that I've worked in. And I just don't like it.
And then Jason says stuff like, "Well, I just definitely DON'T want to send him to this place, because So-and-So's sister's cousin had a kid that went there and they did BAD things to him." And the next thing I know I'm hyperventilating and throwing up in a bag in the corner yelling, "Wait for me, Jesus! Wait for me, I'm comin'!" Because it is EXACTLY THIS, this fact that bad things happen and it's difficult to predict them or prevent them, that makes me ill. Add to that the fact that we don't have the money to get the best daycare possible, to pick and choose, and I just don't know if I can do it.
I KNOW that lots and lots of kids have great experiences in daycares, that they learn how to play with other kids and they learn songs and do fun activities, and have teachers who they love and remember for the rest of their lives. I know that plenty of people send their kids to daycare and feel safe and secure in their choices. And that's fine. I'm not saying that daycare is bad or that it's a bad choice. I'm saying that it is not the choice for me, that it is not what I want to do.
When Reed was a tiny baby, Jason and I were talking about it, and I was telling Jason all this stuff, and Jason said, "Well I went to daycare and I turned out okay!" And I said, "But Reed is a tiny baby! Were you tiny baby when your mom sent you to daycare?" "Yes." "Oh. How old were you?" "I was three."
THREE, he says. Reed wasn't three then, and he's not three now. When Reed is three, he'll be able to tell me what he did that day, and whether or not he likes his teacher and friends. But he can't do that right now. Besides that, Kane and Jude never went to daycare either. So it just feels so unfair that I have to send my kid to daycare even though I am violently, pukingly against it.
So I guess we'll have to go to Mexico. Reed and I will love the food, plus they have good drugs there. AND maybe the dog tracks aren't so strict.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
"It's a big world, it's a big big world."
Okay. OKAY, seriously. Children's programming is bizarro.
Reed really likes It's a Big Big World, and I have to say that I like it too. That sloth is pretty likeable, and SO calm and happy. I wish I had some of whatever he takes every day to stay that stable and balanced. Acid? Prozac? GIVE IT.
Reed also loves the Teletubbies. I don't mind them either, since I know firsthand how awesome it is to giggle violently at nothing at all.
I get the feeling that Reed will like Sesame Street eventually; he's vaguely interested in it now, but there's just too much going on to hold his interest. I was totally amused last week when I saw a short cartoon in which a guy sang in the style of Bob Dylan, "Hooooow many sheeeeep must jump ooooover my bed befooooore I faaaaaaa-all asleeeeep?" The answer, my friend, was nine. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, NINE!
This one, this one right here, I have outlawed in our house. I had to watch hours and hours of it when I worked in daycare, and I shall not even speak his name for it makes my hair stand on end. Then I found out that Jason broke my trust, he violated everything he's every promised me because he one day said "You know, Reed really likes [this large purple idiot who should be extinct with the rest of his brethren, but instead continues to polute the air with his hideous stink]." But I at least don't allow it in my presence. I allow the olive-eating; THIS is too much.
This one I've never seen, never even heard of, until it was brought to my attention this morning. So far I haven't been able to check it out with headphones, but I'm already getting the hives so I think I'll have to stay away from it. My first reaction was to say, "It's like Jem but instead of being WILDLY hip and cool, it looks lame and kind of scary. Okay, VERY scary." And it appears somewhat reminiscent of The Wiggles, and those guys make me convulse and foam at the mouth, so I think we'll be side-stepping the Doodlebops as well.
Reed really likes It's a Big Big World, and I have to say that I like it too. That sloth is pretty likeable, and SO calm and happy. I wish I had some of whatever he takes every day to stay that stable and balanced. Acid? Prozac? GIVE IT.
Reed also loves the Teletubbies. I don't mind them either, since I know firsthand how awesome it is to giggle violently at nothing at all.
I get the feeling that Reed will like Sesame Street eventually; he's vaguely interested in it now, but there's just too much going on to hold his interest. I was totally amused last week when I saw a short cartoon in which a guy sang in the style of Bob Dylan, "Hooooow many sheeeeep must jump ooooover my bed befooooore I faaaaaaa-all asleeeeep?" The answer, my friend, was nine. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, NINE!
This one, this one right here, I have outlawed in our house. I had to watch hours and hours of it when I worked in daycare, and I shall not even speak his name for it makes my hair stand on end. Then I found out that Jason broke my trust, he violated everything he's every promised me because he one day said "You know, Reed really likes [this large purple idiot who should be extinct with the rest of his brethren, but instead continues to polute the air with his hideous stink]." But I at least don't allow it in my presence. I allow the olive-eating; THIS is too much.
This one I've never seen, never even heard of, until it was brought to my attention this morning. So far I haven't been able to check it out with headphones, but I'm already getting the hives so I think I'll have to stay away from it. My first reaction was to say, "It's like Jem but instead of being WILDLY hip and cool, it looks lame and kind of scary. Okay, VERY scary." And it appears somewhat reminiscent of The Wiggles, and those guys make me convulse and foam at the mouth, so I think we'll be side-stepping the Doodlebops as well.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
I am thankful that I'm not using a tub of water and a scrub board.
So laundry is a constant chore at our house. Those of you who live in a house with more than one person know what I'm talking about. With five people in one house, the laundry is NEVER done. There is always something that needs to be washed- between underwear, t-shirts, work clothes, coats, bath mats and rugs, towels, and sheets, there is ALWAYS something that needs washing. If I make the mistake of going three or four days without doing any laundry at all, it means an entire day of laundry. I've had days where I've done fourteen loads of laundry in one day. It's a lot of laundry we make. If there was a contest for making the most dirty laundry in one household, I'm pretty sure that we'd KICK YOUR ASS, SUCKERS. Then, if there was a contest for doing the most laundry, and I'm talking wash, dry, fold, and put away, in one day, well I'd just have to BEAT YOUR ASS AND WIPE THE FLOOR WITH IT, that's how good at doing the laundry I am. I am fast, focused, and efficient.
So last night I decided I ought to go ahead and do Kane and Jude's laundry, since it tends to REALLY pile up during the week. It should have been about three days worth of laundry, so I figured it would be a full basket. It was, in fact, a full basket, so full that that it could have filled two baskets had I not shoved it into one. I started sorting it and found that Jude had shoved FIVE COATS, five winter coats that weren't dirty and had no business being in the dirty laundry basket into the dirty laundry basket.
I'd like to add here that Jude and putting things where they belong don't mix. Seriously. I have been instructing him on how to put his dirty socks in the hamper for four years now, and I don't exaggerate on that one. I realize that he's only seven, but "Put those in the basket." is not out of his league. The kid can WOOP YOUR ASS on the Playstation, he can ride a bike and skateboard, he can give you a look that practically says out loud, "You eat shit and you die." He can put his dirty socks in the hamper. He just doesn't. It's a choice that he makes, see?
ANYWAY, putting his coats in the closet is just another one of those ongoing battles that we have. I have mentioned here before how Jude is a fashion connoisseur, someone who changes his clothes several times a day to make sure that he always looks hip and stylish. He has been known to put on a shirt, go to the bathroom and splash water all over it, come out and say, "I got water all over this shirt so I'm going to have to change." (This comes from my having freaked out on him for a couple of years about how I can't possibly do all the laundry he produces when he puts on a damn fashion show every day, that's how many times he'll change clothes. He knows that he can't just change shirts. But he also knows that when he gets crap all over himself, Jason and I both balk and immediately tell him to put on something clean already. SEE? He is smart enough to manipulate us, and he's smart enough to put his dirty socks in the hamper.)
He's also been known to drop jelly on the kitchen counter and wipe it up with the shirt he's wearing, but that's a different story.
ANYWAY, if left to his own devices, he'll wear a coat to school, which no matter how cold it is outside comes home in his backpack. When he does his homework, he'll pull that coat out and throw it on the living room floor. Once he's done, he'll put on another coat to go jump on the trampoline. Then he'll come in to get a snack, and throw that coat under the kitchen table. Then he'll want to go ride his bike, so he'll put on another coat. Then he'll come in to play Wii, and that coat will be tossed into the floor of the computer room. Then he'll go outside to jump some more, so he'll put on ANOTHER DAMN COAT. So then, before dinner, I'll say "JUDE I'M GOING TO KILL YOU AND BURY YOU IN THE BACK YARD IF YOU DON'T PICK UP ALL THESE DAMN COATS." So he'll pick them up and throw them all into his bedroom floor.
So, what eventually happens (I will never get to the point) is I walk by his room, see 847 coats in the floor, and ask him to hang them in the closet. And I'm SPECIFIC, people; I've learned not to be general about anything. I've also learned to at least start out talking sweetly and not making a big deal. So I will sweetly, calmly, and quietly ask him to hang his coats up in his closet.
Apparently this week he decided to stuff them into the hamper when I asked him to hang them up. So the next thing I know, I'm shaking coats at him and having a meltdown. I was all, "I can't do this, Jude! It's too hard! It's too much work! I CANNOT DO ALL THIS LAUNDRY!" I'm pretty sure that I freaked him right on out. I told him that he gets to wear one set of clean clothes a day, and that unless there is something on the coat like jelly or whatever else he decides to clean up with his own clothing it gets hung up in the closet. He was like, "Okay."
Then I found the packet of reading homework that he didn't tell us about. But that's another story.
So last night I decided I ought to go ahead and do Kane and Jude's laundry, since it tends to REALLY pile up during the week. It should have been about three days worth of laundry, so I figured it would be a full basket. It was, in fact, a full basket, so full that that it could have filled two baskets had I not shoved it into one. I started sorting it and found that Jude had shoved FIVE COATS, five winter coats that weren't dirty and had no business being in the dirty laundry basket into the dirty laundry basket.
I'd like to add here that Jude and putting things where they belong don't mix. Seriously. I have been instructing him on how to put his dirty socks in the hamper for four years now, and I don't exaggerate on that one. I realize that he's only seven, but "Put those in the basket." is not out of his league. The kid can WOOP YOUR ASS on the Playstation, he can ride a bike and skateboard, he can give you a look that practically says out loud, "You eat shit and you die." He can put his dirty socks in the hamper. He just doesn't. It's a choice that he makes, see?
ANYWAY, putting his coats in the closet is just another one of those ongoing battles that we have. I have mentioned here before how Jude is a fashion connoisseur, someone who changes his clothes several times a day to make sure that he always looks hip and stylish. He has been known to put on a shirt, go to the bathroom and splash water all over it, come out and say, "I got water all over this shirt so I'm going to have to change." (This comes from my having freaked out on him for a couple of years about how I can't possibly do all the laundry he produces when he puts on a damn fashion show every day, that's how many times he'll change clothes. He knows that he can't just change shirts. But he also knows that when he gets crap all over himself, Jason and I both balk and immediately tell him to put on something clean already. SEE? He is smart enough to manipulate us, and he's smart enough to put his dirty socks in the hamper.)
He's also been known to drop jelly on the kitchen counter and wipe it up with the shirt he's wearing, but that's a different story.
ANYWAY, if left to his own devices, he'll wear a coat to school, which no matter how cold it is outside comes home in his backpack. When he does his homework, he'll pull that coat out and throw it on the living room floor. Once he's done, he'll put on another coat to go jump on the trampoline. Then he'll come in to get a snack, and throw that coat under the kitchen table. Then he'll want to go ride his bike, so he'll put on another coat. Then he'll come in to play Wii, and that coat will be tossed into the floor of the computer room. Then he'll go outside to jump some more, so he'll put on ANOTHER DAMN COAT. So then, before dinner, I'll say "JUDE I'M GOING TO KILL YOU AND BURY YOU IN THE BACK YARD IF YOU DON'T PICK UP ALL THESE DAMN COATS." So he'll pick them up and throw them all into his bedroom floor.
So, what eventually happens (I will never get to the point) is I walk by his room, see 847 coats in the floor, and ask him to hang them in the closet. And I'm SPECIFIC, people; I've learned not to be general about anything. I've also learned to at least start out talking sweetly and not making a big deal. So I will sweetly, calmly, and quietly ask him to hang his coats up in his closet.
Apparently this week he decided to stuff them into the hamper when I asked him to hang them up. So the next thing I know, I'm shaking coats at him and having a meltdown. I was all, "I can't do this, Jude! It's too hard! It's too much work! I CANNOT DO ALL THIS LAUNDRY!" I'm pretty sure that I freaked him right on out. I told him that he gets to wear one set of clean clothes a day, and that unless there is something on the coat like jelly or whatever else he decides to clean up with his own clothing it gets hung up in the closet. He was like, "Okay."
Then I found the packet of reading homework that he didn't tell us about. But that's another story.
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