Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
September 27 2010
Whatever my kids were passing around the last few weeks, I caught this past weekend. I spent Saturday trying in vain to ward off a sore throat, coming down with chills by the time I ventured to bed. When Sunday rolled around, I was depleted. My throat hurt something fierce and, barely able to sleep the night previous, I was truly exhausted.
It’s very seldom I take naps during the day. Someone has to be up to watch the kids, obviously, and there’s too much to do. But on weekends, when the husband is home, I tend to pass on the opportunity because it doesn’t achieve a lot of satisfaction. Kids are screaming at me from outside the door and there’s too much noise, along with my mind running a mile a minute with a laundry list of items I still need to finish. If I do manage a couple minutes of shut-eye, I only feel worse after. It’s not worth it.
Except it was worth it yesterday, when I was just so tired I could barely stay awake at 2 in the afternoon. Making it to bedtime without a brief repose would be impossible.
Finding a quiet moment to lie down, I nestled my head against the pillow, relishing in the comfort. I was so close to sleep when I heard him run in the room.
“Mommy… Mommy!… MOMMY!”, progressively louder.
I opened my eyes to find Jedi standing at the foot of the bed. “What?”, I muttered.
“I have to go potty!”
Ah, the sweet sounds my dreams are made of.
September 21 2010
In my previous life as a domestic goddess (sarcasm intended), I was a clean freak. I received a high from an organized drawer and spotless floor. Vacuuming was like a fun sport and I played at least once a week. Sweeping, dusting, fixing, picking up and putting away. All how a good portion of my day was spent. It’s difficult to do meticulous with children, but it was as close as I could get.
This was before Abby came into our life. Because now, I’m lucky if the dishes get washed before the stuck-on food starts to mold. Meticulous is for suckers. Or paid by the hour housekeepers.
The floors that I used to vacuum every other day haven’t been touched in weeks. There are crumbs hiding in every corner and it’s not out of the question to hear a crunch when I step. Dust bunnies are taking over, reproducing at an alarming rate as bunnies are prone to do, on the prowl for total territorial domination.
So much so, that even my kids are noticing.
“Hey Abby, this is where the dust bunnies live. Look!”, Jedi says to Abby, sweeping giant fluffs of dust with the tip of his finger along the sides of the hallway floor. “Let’s sweep them around, like this”, he instructed as she followed along. They made a game out of it. Until I was afraid the hares were going to hop away or gear up for attack.
The domestic goddess part of me doesn’t know what the heck happened. Except I can’t hear that part of me, because she’s been swallowed by giant dust bunnies.
September 17 2010
My son locked me out of the house yesterday.
If you’ve heard stories about Buzz before, you know this might not have ended well. It wasn’t the main door that I could have had a key for, but the glass door in front of it. Granted, I didn’t have my keys on me anyway, but what I’m saying is the main door would have been a lot easier to get open, if needed.
We had just walked Jedi to the bus stop that early morning. I ushered the other kids inside and retreated to the stoop to fold in Abby’s stroller. As soon as I reached the top step Buzz was there, making a move for the lock. There’s nothing quite so discouraging than being at the mercy of a 4 year old. The world began to spin in slow motion.
Click.
“Buzz, open the door.” Nothing, aside from a devious smirk. “Open the door, Buzz.” I was trying not to yell, I didn’t want to alarm our neighbors. But oh, heavenly crackers, my hellion child is loose inside a house equipped with natural gas and all kinds of breakables. Do you have any idea what he is capable of?
That’s when Abby toddled over to see what the fuss was about. She looked at me for a moment through the glass before taking a few steps back. Completely uninterested in saving the day.
“Buzz, please unlock the door.” I urgently tried again.
And that’s how our house burned down.
I’m kidding. After a bit of panic, he eventually tired of that game and let me in. Though it could have happened. I wouldn’t put it past him.
September 08 2010
I didn’t realize how intense Jedi’s diabetes diagnosis would be until a few days into it. There is just so much information. It’s one of those times when you just have to be thrown into the pool and learn to swim, though.
Except I don’t know how to swim, so that’s a really bad metaphor.
There are so many questions and worries and second-guessing.
Did I give him the right dosage?
What if I gave him the wrong kind of insulin?
Did I inject it all?
I’ve seen what happens if it gets high, but what if his blood sugar gets too low?
What if he crashes?
Is he acting okay, like himself?
What if something happens at school?
How do we manage ______ (fill in the blank/ex: restaurants)?
What if… ?
Yesterday was Jedi’s first day back to school since the diagnosis. It was a day of wondering and worry, on my end. His school nurse called after lunch to inform me he his number was high. Not over the target range, but only a couple points short. I stressed the remainder of the day. When he came home, and I tested again, he was fine. In fact, he was all smiles and happy, having had a great day.
I know it gets easier in time, but right now this is what our days revolve around. It’s a numbers game. Don’t let it get too low, keep an eye on it if it gets too high. 3 meals a day, regular snacks, carbs, 15g, 30g, glucose readings, injections, balance, schedule schedule schedule.
It’s a lot. It really is. But he’s worth it. He really is.
September 07 2010
A few days back, Abby and I had plans to go shopping with my parents. The boys would stay home while we enjoyed a few hours of relative serenity, eating breakfast out and scouring sales racks.
This is right up our alley. Abby adores clothes. In fact, at a little over 2 years of age, she has very strong opinions on fashion. She’s like a pint-sized Anna Wintour, but twice as temperamental.
I was getting us ready for the excursion, rifling through her overstuffed and crumpled drawer for an outfit suitable to wear. She was right there along with me, and just so happened to be nixing every choice I offered.
At first, I asked if she’d like to wear a lilac and blue striped dress. I know the answer to this question, but I still try because dresses are easy. It doesn’t matter how much I plead, though, she responds with a firm no.
I handed her pink pants, purple pants, a jean skort. She turned her nose at them all, brushed aside as if to say you’re kidding me here, right. Then, out of desperation, I suggested a full sea mist green skirt, accentuated with a petite bow on it’s side. “Yes!”, she agreed brightly.
That was just the start of it, however, because we still had to settle on a top.
All the while, J is eavesdropping and laughing at our conversation. When he finally speaks up to say, “I can’t believe you’re arguing with a 2 year old over what to wear.”
I can’t believe she already has a better sense of style than I do.
