Days and Days
I haven't written in awhile, even though we've had a few whirlwind days. Grab a beverage, hunker down, this could take awhile.
Thursday, October 27
My mom (Becky) and my grandma (Mildred, Meams, Meaps or Meap) came for a visit. We chose this weekend because we were having a Halloween party, the kids would be trick or treating and we had decided to get Sam and Jake baptized. The baptism itself was simple and fast. Sam wore his only suit and was a willing participant. We'd tried to prep him a little for what would happen, and the only comment I heard from him during the ceremony was when the pastor said 'baptised' and Sam said loudly, "He said baptised!!" - a sort of recognition that this is what we'd been talking about all along. Jake didn't bat an eyelash, but he insisted on holding a jack-o-lantern Frisbee in one hand and a promotional squeezee ball in the other. Overall, fairly uneventful. Although I did miss the rest of the service because of a coughing fit that left me gagging in the church bathroom. Sam followed along and stood near me in the bathroom, holding his baptism certificate, asking "Oh Dear, are you going to 'fro' up?"
Later that Sunday I asked Sam what his favorite part of the day had been. It's something we do every night at dinner - talk about our own favorite part of the day - but this day, I thought, Sam had so much to choose from. Both grandmas in town, lots of attention, donuts. His response? Playing Legos. Ever the cynic I asked him "It wasn't the promise of eternal salvation from your Lord?" "No. Legos." he said.
Monday, October 31
I'm one of the those people who think it is sad that trick or treating as we used to know it is on the decline. Several churches in our neighborhood advertised "Trunk or Treating" this year where the congregation parks the cars, trunks open, in the parking lot and the kids trick or treat from trunk to trunk. Sorry, not the same.
It's not just about the candy. For me as an adult, it's nothing about the candy. It is looking out my front door and seeing the streets bustling with kids. It is actually hearing kids say 'trick or treat' from several houses away. It's the Normal Rockwell, Charlie Brown Halloween.
Some people I know think I'm kidding when I talk about trick or treating in my neighborhood, but I say with all honesty that we get hundreds of kids. This year I talked it up big to my mom. I was hoping someone else could see just how crazy it gets. So, at 5:30, with my 600 pieces of candy divided into bowls (Bryon thinks I'm nuts but I like the candy evenly divided by type and color) we opened the doors, turned on the porch lights and waited. Nothing. 6:00 came and went. Maybe it was the weather or the fact that it was a school night. Or, as I feared, finally the influence of all the naysayers who don't want kids trick or treating anymore. Everyone's at the mall or 'trunk or treating' or just sitting this one out. Was I wrong. By 7:30 I was out of my 600 pieces of candy. Not just out, but digging in my pantry to give away the half empty bag of Dum Dums we used to potty train Sam, individual sticks of gum, and the few sacred Snickers I'd held back for Bryon.
Tuesday, November 1
My mom and grandma left early Tuesday morning. If Jake hadn't been up at 5:30 they would've left before anyone was awake. When my mom is ready to go, she's ready to go, and she doesn't like long, soggy good-byes. I'm always in a funk after they go. Kind of that day-after-Christmas feeling. Something you'd looked forward to, and then poof, it's over, and you're back to the same old same old. I miss having the company and the help. Four extra hands makes a big difference. Especially considering the fun in store for the next few days ...
Tuesday night as we're driving home, Sam starts to complain of a 'headick.' Without much to-do, he vomits. We pick up Bryon and he brings crackers and water. Sam seems to improve and the night moves on. Everyone gets to bed, things look good. Until about 11:30. You know how a mother is sensitive to the sound of a crying baby (I swear I can even anticipate it ... I'll wake up to silence, then 2 minutes later, Jake will wake up.) Well, now that Sam is older, I'm also sensitive to the sound of him shuffling from his room to ours. And that is what first woke me up Tuesday night. My first thought was 'get him to the bathroom.' Luckily we made it, although throwing up for a kid Sam's age isn't easy. They just don't know how to do it. And you can't really explain how to vomit.
After a few partially successful attempts he was ready to go back to bed. But every hour or so, he'd shuffle back to our room or to the bathroom in the hall (bless his little heart), heave and spit a few times, and go back to bed. Finally around 4 he settled in.
At 4:30 Jake woke up. He's teething I suppose. They say it's an old wives' tale that babies get a fever and diarrhea when they teeth. Call me an old wife.
Wednesday, November 2
I'd been at work less than an hour when Sam's school called. He had a fever. How soon could I come get him. Our school, like most others I suppose, has a strict fever policy. At or above a certain temperature and you go home. Even with no other symptoms. So home we went. Sam, Jake and me. Of course, I'm glad to have the time with them, but at this point, I hadn't been to work in a week and I had two meeting scheduled that day. Needless to say, we managed. That night Sam and I went to bed early. At about 9:30 I woke up when he started talking in his sleep. At first it was nonsensical. And then it started to sound familiar. "Trailers for sale or rent. Rooms to let 50 cents." Apparently he was channeling Roger Miller. He was singing "Kind of the Road" in his sleep.
Thursday, November 3
Although Jake was up early, Sam was still sleeping at 7:40 (we usually leave the house by 8). Considering the past few days, I let him sleep. He finally woke up about 8. Jake was already back in bed for his first nap. Sam and I cuddled and talked while Bryon showered. "My 'headick' and 'favorite' are gone," he said. (I assumed he meant fever.) He sat up in bed, smiled and tried to wink, then asked "Why is our house blue?"
Even with a late start we got to school at a reasonable hour. We dropped Jake off first, then walked down the hall to Sam's room. As I was leaving I walked past the front desk to check on Jake. That's when Miss Karen stopped me and said, "He can't be here today." What? Who? I'm clearly confused. "Did you take Sam to the doctor? Do you have doctor's note? If not, he can't come back for 24 hours." "But we've been gone since 11 a.m. yesterday, that's 22 hours," I try to tell her. "No, 24 business hours. He can't come back until Friday morning," she explains. I stammer something about going to work to get my computer and some papers and talk to my boss. She tells me they'll have to keep alone, quarantined, in the sick room until I get back.
I go to work, get my laptop, and sneak through the cubes until I find my boss. I try to explain, without crying, what is going on. Twenty minutes later Sam and I are on the way home. Jake is transitioning to a new classroom this week and between my days off and our unanticipated absences, he's had about four hours in the new room. Today, I decide, he'll stay.
So, despite everything else, Sam and I have an enjoyable day. We are having great weather so we go for a walk, have pizza on the porch, go on a lizard hunt, eat Halloween candy and play. At 3 we gear up to go get Jake. As we are walking out the door, the phone rings. I notice the call ID is the school. My first thought is they are calling to tell us we can't EVER come back. I don't know why, but I thought we were being expelled. "No regard for fever policy," they'd tell us.
"Ann, it's Sharon. I'm calling about Mr. Jacob. We had peanut butter sandwich snacks this afternoon and they didn't sit too well with him." I interrupt her to say he has never had peanut butter. "Well, he's not having any trouble breathing," she tells me, in the most inappropriately casual tone. "I should hope not," I find myself saying. "But he is covered in whelps, and we'd like you to come get him."
'Covered in whelps,' as awful as that sounds, isn't indicative of what he looked like. Remember the end of Rocky? Or the first time in Elephant Man you see the Elephant Man? That might be more appropriate. Swollen head, red, watery eyes, lumpy, puffy face. Hundreds of pin prick dots and rosettes spreading on his legs and belly. I'm so sick to my stomach that I can't even cry.
Sam, Jake and I stop at the emergency room for a steroid shot and Benadryl. Luckily he didn't have any swelling in his throat or mouth. The doctor tells me Jake needs to stay away from peanuts for the next 5 years, but based on his reaction it could be a lifelong allergy. Apparently the adrenaline rush wore him out because he was sound asleep by 6:30. Except for a few pock marks on his face and belly today, you would never know what he went threw yesterday. Me? I'm sure the bags under my eyes narrate every minute.
In closing ...
I want to apologize to Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem, et al. I don't want it all. If you want it all, good for you, there it is. Never been a better time. But if you don't want it all, all you want should be enough. I think that should be the credo of feminism.
I just think that when you (meaning me) try to give 100% to a job, and 100% to a family, you can't. Something's gotta give. Sometimes it's my job. Other times, much to my regret, it's my family. My takeaway is this: Years from now, I don't want the time I did (or didn't) spend with my family to be full of regrets. You hear it said all the time, but the cold, hard truth is you don't get that time back.
Enough indoctrination. I'll end with a little levity in the form of a philosophical question posed by Sam yesterday morning. "Do bears have buttocks?"
Thursday, October 27
My mom (Becky) and my grandma (Mildred, Meams, Meaps or Meap) came for a visit. We chose this weekend because we were having a Halloween party, the kids would be trick or treating and we had decided to get Sam and Jake baptized. The baptism itself was simple and fast. Sam wore his only suit and was a willing participant. We'd tried to prep him a little for what would happen, and the only comment I heard from him during the ceremony was when the pastor said 'baptised' and Sam said loudly, "He said baptised!!" - a sort of recognition that this is what we'd been talking about all along. Jake didn't bat an eyelash, but he insisted on holding a jack-o-lantern Frisbee in one hand and a promotional squeezee ball in the other. Overall, fairly uneventful. Although I did miss the rest of the service because of a coughing fit that left me gagging in the church bathroom. Sam followed along and stood near me in the bathroom, holding his baptism certificate, asking "Oh Dear, are you going to 'fro' up?"
Later that Sunday I asked Sam what his favorite part of the day had been. It's something we do every night at dinner - talk about our own favorite part of the day - but this day, I thought, Sam had so much to choose from. Both grandmas in town, lots of attention, donuts. His response? Playing Legos. Ever the cynic I asked him "It wasn't the promise of eternal salvation from your Lord?" "No. Legos." he said.
Monday, October 31
I'm one of the those people who think it is sad that trick or treating as we used to know it is on the decline. Several churches in our neighborhood advertised "Trunk or Treating" this year where the congregation parks the cars, trunks open, in the parking lot and the kids trick or treat from trunk to trunk. Sorry, not the same.
It's not just about the candy. For me as an adult, it's nothing about the candy. It is looking out my front door and seeing the streets bustling with kids. It is actually hearing kids say 'trick or treat' from several houses away. It's the Normal Rockwell, Charlie Brown Halloween.
Some people I know think I'm kidding when I talk about trick or treating in my neighborhood, but I say with all honesty that we get hundreds of kids. This year I talked it up big to my mom. I was hoping someone else could see just how crazy it gets. So, at 5:30, with my 600 pieces of candy divided into bowls (Bryon thinks I'm nuts but I like the candy evenly divided by type and color) we opened the doors, turned on the porch lights and waited. Nothing. 6:00 came and went. Maybe it was the weather or the fact that it was a school night. Or, as I feared, finally the influence of all the naysayers who don't want kids trick or treating anymore. Everyone's at the mall or 'trunk or treating' or just sitting this one out. Was I wrong. By 7:30 I was out of my 600 pieces of candy. Not just out, but digging in my pantry to give away the half empty bag of Dum Dums we used to potty train Sam, individual sticks of gum, and the few sacred Snickers I'd held back for Bryon.
Tuesday, November 1
My mom and grandma left early Tuesday morning. If Jake hadn't been up at 5:30 they would've left before anyone was awake. When my mom is ready to go, she's ready to go, and she doesn't like long, soggy good-byes. I'm always in a funk after they go. Kind of that day-after-Christmas feeling. Something you'd looked forward to, and then poof, it's over, and you're back to the same old same old. I miss having the company and the help. Four extra hands makes a big difference. Especially considering the fun in store for the next few days ...
Tuesday night as we're driving home, Sam starts to complain of a 'headick.' Without much to-do, he vomits. We pick up Bryon and he brings crackers and water. Sam seems to improve and the night moves on. Everyone gets to bed, things look good. Until about 11:30. You know how a mother is sensitive to the sound of a crying baby (I swear I can even anticipate it ... I'll wake up to silence, then 2 minutes later, Jake will wake up.) Well, now that Sam is older, I'm also sensitive to the sound of him shuffling from his room to ours. And that is what first woke me up Tuesday night. My first thought was 'get him to the bathroom.' Luckily we made it, although throwing up for a kid Sam's age isn't easy. They just don't know how to do it. And you can't really explain how to vomit.
After a few partially successful attempts he was ready to go back to bed. But every hour or so, he'd shuffle back to our room or to the bathroom in the hall (bless his little heart), heave and spit a few times, and go back to bed. Finally around 4 he settled in.
At 4:30 Jake woke up. He's teething I suppose. They say it's an old wives' tale that babies get a fever and diarrhea when they teeth. Call me an old wife.
Wednesday, November 2
I'd been at work less than an hour when Sam's school called. He had a fever. How soon could I come get him. Our school, like most others I suppose, has a strict fever policy. At or above a certain temperature and you go home. Even with no other symptoms. So home we went. Sam, Jake and me. Of course, I'm glad to have the time with them, but at this point, I hadn't been to work in a week and I had two meeting scheduled that day. Needless to say, we managed. That night Sam and I went to bed early. At about 9:30 I woke up when he started talking in his sleep. At first it was nonsensical. And then it started to sound familiar. "Trailers for sale or rent. Rooms to let 50 cents." Apparently he was channeling Roger Miller. He was singing "Kind of the Road" in his sleep.
Thursday, November 3
Although Jake was up early, Sam was still sleeping at 7:40 (we usually leave the house by 8). Considering the past few days, I let him sleep. He finally woke up about 8. Jake was already back in bed for his first nap. Sam and I cuddled and talked while Bryon showered. "My 'headick' and 'favorite' are gone," he said. (I assumed he meant fever.) He sat up in bed, smiled and tried to wink, then asked "Why is our house blue?"
Even with a late start we got to school at a reasonable hour. We dropped Jake off first, then walked down the hall to Sam's room. As I was leaving I walked past the front desk to check on Jake. That's when Miss Karen stopped me and said, "He can't be here today." What? Who? I'm clearly confused. "Did you take Sam to the doctor? Do you have doctor's note? If not, he can't come back for 24 hours." "But we've been gone since 11 a.m. yesterday, that's 22 hours," I try to tell her. "No, 24 business hours. He can't come back until Friday morning," she explains. I stammer something about going to work to get my computer and some papers and talk to my boss. She tells me they'll have to keep alone, quarantined, in the sick room until I get back.
I go to work, get my laptop, and sneak through the cubes until I find my boss. I try to explain, without crying, what is going on. Twenty minutes later Sam and I are on the way home. Jake is transitioning to a new classroom this week and between my days off and our unanticipated absences, he's had about four hours in the new room. Today, I decide, he'll stay.
So, despite everything else, Sam and I have an enjoyable day. We are having great weather so we go for a walk, have pizza on the porch, go on a lizard hunt, eat Halloween candy and play. At 3 we gear up to go get Jake. As we are walking out the door, the phone rings. I notice the call ID is the school. My first thought is they are calling to tell us we can't EVER come back. I don't know why, but I thought we were being expelled. "No regard for fever policy," they'd tell us.
"Ann, it's Sharon. I'm calling about Mr. Jacob. We had peanut butter sandwich snacks this afternoon and they didn't sit too well with him." I interrupt her to say he has never had peanut butter. "Well, he's not having any trouble breathing," she tells me, in the most inappropriately casual tone. "I should hope not," I find myself saying. "But he is covered in whelps, and we'd like you to come get him."
'Covered in whelps,' as awful as that sounds, isn't indicative of what he looked like. Remember the end of Rocky? Or the first time in Elephant Man you see the Elephant Man? That might be more appropriate. Swollen head, red, watery eyes, lumpy, puffy face. Hundreds of pin prick dots and rosettes spreading on his legs and belly. I'm so sick to my stomach that I can't even cry.
Sam, Jake and I stop at the emergency room for a steroid shot and Benadryl. Luckily he didn't have any swelling in his throat or mouth. The doctor tells me Jake needs to stay away from peanuts for the next 5 years, but based on his reaction it could be a lifelong allergy. Apparently the adrenaline rush wore him out because he was sound asleep by 6:30. Except for a few pock marks on his face and belly today, you would never know what he went threw yesterday. Me? I'm sure the bags under my eyes narrate every minute.
In closing ...
I want to apologize to Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem, et al. I don't want it all. If you want it all, good for you, there it is. Never been a better time. But if you don't want it all, all you want should be enough. I think that should be the credo of feminism.
I just think that when you (meaning me) try to give 100% to a job, and 100% to a family, you can't. Something's gotta give. Sometimes it's my job. Other times, much to my regret, it's my family. My takeaway is this: Years from now, I don't want the time I did (or didn't) spend with my family to be full of regrets. You hear it said all the time, but the cold, hard truth is you don't get that time back.
Enough indoctrination. I'll end with a little levity in the form of a philosophical question posed by Sam yesterday morning. "Do bears have buttocks?"
posted by Romine Family at 12:54 PM
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