"If I could just grab that curtain and swing my way out of here..."
27 March 2007
17 March 2007
Lag Time
Last night, Big A and a friend were quietly passing time in the playroom. This made me nervous, so I popped in to check on them.
ME: How's it going?
Big A and Friend: Good
ME: What are you guys doing? (They appeared to be working feverishly on some sort of project that involved yarn, stacks of cards and empty tubes of paper towels)
Big A and Friend: Playing/Nothing
ME: OK, well let me know if you need anything.
Before I left the room, I glanced at the sign that they had hanging on the wall by them. It read:
"Hamster Setup Experimentation"
I got about two steps down the hallway, when my thought processor finally warmed up and fired sparks to the "warning" portion of my brain. It sounded like this:
Wait. (I stopped dead in my tracks)
We have a hamster.
They wouldn't.
"Hamster experimentation"???
Go check.
No, ridiculous thought.
GO CHECK ANYWAY!!
ME: Um, what does that sign mean?
Big A: Nothing, we're playing
ME: Where exactly is our hamster?
Big A and Friend: Look at each other and pause a second too long
ME: Where is it?
Tube begins rolling suspiciously off desk.
ME: GIVE ME THE HAMSTER
Big A: We're playing experiment
A second glance at the desk does indeed indicate some elementary form of testing: the cards aren't stacked haphazardly, but in something reminiscent of an obstacle course. The tubes have sunflower seed and corn at the ends of them.
Defeatedly, the hamster is relinquished.
ME: (to furry creature in my hand) I'm sorry
Hamster: You're getting slow. You're lucky I have no capability whatsoever to contact PETA. Do you know how tiring it is to keep going back and forth in the same pattern, seeming to never please those you are scurrying for, wondering what the big picture is and when the exhaustion and running will end?
ME: You have no idea.
ME: How's it going?
Big A and Friend: Good
ME: What are you guys doing? (They appeared to be working feverishly on some sort of project that involved yarn, stacks of cards and empty tubes of paper towels)
Big A and Friend: Playing/Nothing
ME: OK, well let me know if you need anything.
Before I left the room, I glanced at the sign that they had hanging on the wall by them. It read:
"Hamster Setup Experimentation"
I got about two steps down the hallway, when my thought processor finally warmed up and fired sparks to the "warning" portion of my brain. It sounded like this:
Wait. (I stopped dead in my tracks)
We have a hamster.
They wouldn't.
"Hamster experimentation"???
Go check.
No, ridiculous thought.
GO CHECK ANYWAY!!
ME: Um, what does that sign mean?
Big A: Nothing, we're playing
ME: Where exactly is our hamster?
Big A and Friend: Look at each other and pause a second too long
ME: Where is it?
Tube begins rolling suspiciously off desk.
ME: GIVE ME THE HAMSTER
Big A: We're playing experiment
A second glance at the desk does indeed indicate some elementary form of testing: the cards aren't stacked haphazardly, but in something reminiscent of an obstacle course. The tubes have sunflower seed and corn at the ends of them.
Defeatedly, the hamster is relinquished.
ME: (to furry creature in my hand) I'm sorry
Hamster: You're getting slow. You're lucky I have no capability whatsoever to contact PETA. Do you know how tiring it is to keep going back and forth in the same pattern, seeming to never please those you are scurrying for, wondering what the big picture is and when the exhaustion and running will end?
ME: You have no idea.
06 March 2007
Of Doctors and Diapers
It's hard to post from the bottom end of a pile of tissues, cough syrup and anti-biotics. We were all sick (again) last week, and poor Little A ended up in the hospital, on top of getting some test results back that were less than favorable.
Since Little A's been born, I've dealt with more than my fair share of doctors and nurses, and the people that they employ. No matter how many interactions I have with them, I'm always surprised at the either lack of compassion or extreme kindness that they demonstrate, because the scale seems to tip to the exaggerated in that profession, and I'm still unsure why.
When I took Little A in at 3:00 in the morning, the ER was deserted. There wasn't anyone at the registration desks, so I wandered back to where I heard laughing voices. The person that "greeted" me, said, "Can I help you" I told her that I needed to register in the ER. She then asked, "Does someone need to be seen?" I looked at her for about three seconds, then just said, "yes". What I was really thinking was:
"Let's briefly review the facts. You are employed in an emergency room. I don't believe that appointments are typically scheduled. It's 3 in the morning. My child is screaming. I'm standing in your hallway, saying I need to register. Do you really need help deducing if someone needs to be seen"?
Fortunately, the doctor that saw Little A was wonderful. He was very concerned, thoroughly explained the tests that needed to be done, and even stayed after his shift to make sure that he personally spoke to the physician taking over. He was such a rarity in the medical field, I wanted to kiss him and beg him to stay with us, but instead I penned him a note and sent it in the mail to thank him for his kindness. In my past experience, men shy away from women that look like they might not have showered for a day or so, lack make-up and have stains on their sweater that could very possibly be vomit, no matter their pleadings or affections.
My friend S was the first to arrive and sit with us. Lucky for her, she got first-hand experience in the stupid question/statement saga. Here are some samplings:
"Is she waking up"? Asked by a nurse, while Little A was coming out from under a sedative and screaming so loud we could barely hear anything over the noise. (Note: Little A's eyes were open)
"Does she have a substance abuse problem"? I didn't even answer that question, I just stared at her.
"Abuse alcohol"? Again, blank stare.
"So that would be her sister"? When I told her that Little A lived with myself and her sibling, Big A. I actually used the word sibling, which apparently isn't indicative of "sister".
"Is your partner back"? Question posed to S as she held Little A while I went home to pack bags and shower.
"You're fine, quit fussing". Nurse talking to Little A. She wasn't "fussing". She was screaming and her fever was 106. She'd been catheterized, poked, had barium put into her body via an enema, strapped to x-ray tables, temperature monitored rectally, vomited, and was ripping out her hair and grasping her stomach. I'm sure that a jury of 6 or more mothers would have acquitted me.
Ultimately, after yet another hospital stay, we finally went home and all was well again in the kingdom. I choose to focus on that rather than the disaster that is my castle. (When do I get servants?)
Since Little A's been born, I've dealt with more than my fair share of doctors and nurses, and the people that they employ. No matter how many interactions I have with them, I'm always surprised at the either lack of compassion or extreme kindness that they demonstrate, because the scale seems to tip to the exaggerated in that profession, and I'm still unsure why.
When I took Little A in at 3:00 in the morning, the ER was deserted. There wasn't anyone at the registration desks, so I wandered back to where I heard laughing voices. The person that "greeted" me, said, "Can I help you" I told her that I needed to register in the ER. She then asked, "Does someone need to be seen?" I looked at her for about three seconds, then just said, "yes". What I was really thinking was:
"Let's briefly review the facts. You are employed in an emergency room. I don't believe that appointments are typically scheduled. It's 3 in the morning. My child is screaming. I'm standing in your hallway, saying I need to register. Do you really need help deducing if someone needs to be seen"?
Fortunately, the doctor that saw Little A was wonderful. He was very concerned, thoroughly explained the tests that needed to be done, and even stayed after his shift to make sure that he personally spoke to the physician taking over. He was such a rarity in the medical field, I wanted to kiss him and beg him to stay with us, but instead I penned him a note and sent it in the mail to thank him for his kindness. In my past experience, men shy away from women that look like they might not have showered for a day or so, lack make-up and have stains on their sweater that could very possibly be vomit, no matter their pleadings or affections.
My friend S was the first to arrive and sit with us. Lucky for her, she got first-hand experience in the stupid question/statement saga. Here are some samplings:
"Is she waking up"? Asked by a nurse, while Little A was coming out from under a sedative and screaming so loud we could barely hear anything over the noise. (Note: Little A's eyes were open)
"Does she have a substance abuse problem"? I didn't even answer that question, I just stared at her.
"Abuse alcohol"? Again, blank stare.
"So that would be her sister"? When I told her that Little A lived with myself and her sibling, Big A. I actually used the word sibling, which apparently isn't indicative of "sister".
"Is your partner back"? Question posed to S as she held Little A while I went home to pack bags and shower.
"You're fine, quit fussing". Nurse talking to Little A. She wasn't "fussing". She was screaming and her fever was 106. She'd been catheterized, poked, had barium put into her body via an enema, strapped to x-ray tables, temperature monitored rectally, vomited, and was ripping out her hair and grasping her stomach. I'm sure that a jury of 6 or more mothers would have acquitted me.
Ultimately, after yet another hospital stay, we finally went home and all was well again in the kingdom. I choose to focus on that rather than the disaster that is my castle. (When do I get servants?)
22 February 2007
What Nobody Wrote
When I was pregnant with Big A, I went to the bookstore and purchased the staples for mother's-to-be...if you've had a child, you know what I'm talking about. When I was having Little A, I brushed those books off as a sort of refresher course, but I found myself laughing at nearly each turn of the page and wondering about all the things that I didn't read about; the things that no one wrote, the things that I wish I'd known:
--In a single moment, your entire world twists and turns and never looks the same. It's brighter and darker in an instant.
--Every news story about a child is about your child. You've not known fear until the moment that for one second, your child slips out of your sight. The thoughts that can race through your head within a matter of a heartbeat is astounding.
--The amount that you can love someone and at the same time want to be free of that someone for just one moment will never make sense to you. The guilt from feeling that way will keep you awake at night, you'll tiptoe in thier night-light lit room and look at them while they are sleeping and pray for a new day to not take for granted. The next day, you'll take it for granted.
--Goldfish crackers are resiliant. They will remain intact in your car far longer than most of the parts on the automobile.
--You no longer think that you'll never be "that" mom--you know the one: pushing a screaming child through a store in her sweats, desperation and exhaustion the only make-up on her face, the mom that lets chicken nuggets count as protien intake because it's all your child wants to eat, the mom that lets her life go to let her child's life take flight. The sight of that mother staring back at you from the reflection within the freezer door or store window will astound you more than once.
--No one can tell you in a book what will happen to you, because the truth is that it's unknown. No matter the advice that you follow, nutrients that you count, precautions that you take, the reality is that much of it is out of our hands. That is the exact reason why we go to the bookstore in the first place: for the reassurance that there is some universal truth to being the perfect parent. If that actually existed, the parenting section in your local book purveyor would contain one selection, and you'd know it already because your parents had read it. The real book is in your hands, and the pages are blank--you are the author, the editor, and the publisher.
What will you write on your pages?
--In a single moment, your entire world twists and turns and never looks the same. It's brighter and darker in an instant.
--Every news story about a child is about your child. You've not known fear until the moment that for one second, your child slips out of your sight. The thoughts that can race through your head within a matter of a heartbeat is astounding.
--The amount that you can love someone and at the same time want to be free of that someone for just one moment will never make sense to you. The guilt from feeling that way will keep you awake at night, you'll tiptoe in thier night-light lit room and look at them while they are sleeping and pray for a new day to not take for granted. The next day, you'll take it for granted.
--Goldfish crackers are resiliant. They will remain intact in your car far longer than most of the parts on the automobile.
--You no longer think that you'll never be "that" mom--you know the one: pushing a screaming child through a store in her sweats, desperation and exhaustion the only make-up on her face, the mom that lets chicken nuggets count as protien intake because it's all your child wants to eat, the mom that lets her life go to let her child's life take flight. The sight of that mother staring back at you from the reflection within the freezer door or store window will astound you more than once.
--No one can tell you in a book what will happen to you, because the truth is that it's unknown. No matter the advice that you follow, nutrients that you count, precautions that you take, the reality is that much of it is out of our hands. That is the exact reason why we go to the bookstore in the first place: for the reassurance that there is some universal truth to being the perfect parent. If that actually existed, the parenting section in your local book purveyor would contain one selection, and you'd know it already because your parents had read it. The real book is in your hands, and the pages are blank--you are the author, the editor, and the publisher.
What will you write on your pages?
18 February 2007
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