hermitage

There were a couple things I wanted to do this fall. Take another class. Sign up for the Mondo Beyondo Dream Lab. Train for another 5K.

But alas, with the kids' school schedule this year, I'm not able to commit to much of anything. And then there's the money factor. The kindergarten option we chose for Shout is AMAZING and FABULOUS and THE BEST THING I COULD HAVE DONE (more on that soon), but it is not cheap. Money CAN buy happiness. At least in kindergarten. There's also a slew of medical bills rolling in and a dead tree in our front yard that must be taken down, so for the first time pretty much ever, we are living on a tight budget.

It's actually a good exercise for me and I'm not complaining (at least not right now). But I can't spend any tuition money on myself right now. I'll catch up later, but I'm a bit adrift this semester.

I loved challenging my brain last spring. Learning something new and forcing myself to think and evaluate, memorize and conclude. I really miss using my brain.

So I decided to pick up the book, Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues. I bought it awhile back and never got beyond the first few pages. (To much thinking.) I'm reading it now, a chapter a day, (if possible) and actually doing the exercises and suggestions. I'm not sure where it will take me, but I like doing it.

Last night, I was reading my chapter, and read this:

When our children are young, mothers naturally come together. We sit on a park bench or at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and swapping stories while we watch our toddlers play. As our children grow older and more independent, however, mothers become increasingly isolated.

...

As we disengage from the minute-to-minute watch of our children, many of us disconnect from other mothers as well, our relationships reduced to quick phone calls to arrange car pools and sleepovers. Sometimes we go for weeks without seeing another mother face-to-face.

I was struck by how much this defines my life right now. So many of my friends have either gone back to work or moved away. I'm not a playgroup mom anymore. I'm not part of the stroller walkers anymore. I can't hang out on the preschool plaground. There's always somewhere I need to be.

I do have friends. But they are doing the same thing I am. Supervising homework, driving carpools, washing sweaty sports uniforms, dashing from school to school. I saw two friends at the grocery store yesterday, but none of us had time to chat, we were in a mad dash to get the groceries before school let out.

In some ways, I feel like a hermit. Even more so than when my kids were little. Back then, if I needed some conversation, I just hauled everybody outside to the front yard. Eventually someone would walk by and talk to me.

But there's no time now. My kids can play outside alone. I am inside checking algebra homework, spraying Febreze on smelly hockey equipment, dictating spelling words, sending emails and trying to figure out what to make for dinner.

I feel like the universe has spun off without me in it.

So I was glad to read these words. It's not just me.

So the assignment for that chapter was to plan a Playdate. For me and my friends. Get out and talk to other adults and do something that nourishes my soul a little bit, even if for just an hour or two.

Funny that I had already done just that. Tomorrow, I break fajitas with friends. I'm jumping back in, universe! Even if just for a couple hours.

It's my homework.

you've come a long way, baby

This little thing, who was barely bigger than a squirrel when she was born.
And who slept all the time (I know! Can you believe it?) because she was hypoglycemic (whoops, who knew?)...


She could only sit up on her first birthday with her legs spread out and her back
hunched over for balance. Raising her head like this? Super hard.


We did physical therapy for an hour every day for months and months.
Here she has kinesio tape on her back to try and teach her muscles to coordinate sitting up...


All that therapy eventually came back to bite me in the butt.


Guess what she's doing now?


That's right! She's burning up the soccer field!


Or, at least running around with her tongue all twisted up in knots and looking really sporty.


I can hardly believe it. I honestly never thought this day would come.
And here we are. So proud!
(If you are one of her physicians who doesn't want her playing contact sports,
just look away. I promise. They're all kindergarteners.)

back to school night, reconsidered

Last week, I sat through my 8th Back to School Night. (Not counting preschool.) I was sort of paying attention and sort of checking Twitter. I hustled from class to class as the bells rang and picked up folders and schedules and grading rubrics. I wrote notes to my kids and tucked them in their desks. I even cleaned up Bounce's a little.

After eight Back to School Nights at the same school (even though, surprisingly, each kid has a teacher that is new to me), I suddenly felt like I'd heard it all. I've been there. I've done that. Not only do I have the t-shirt, I've already sent it to Value Village.

And not only that. I realized that I have NINE more Back to School Nights to go at THAT SAME SCHOOL. I'm not even halfway finished. Oh good GOD, really??

I started wondering if maybe I could actually start skipping Back to School Night. Would I REALLY miss critical information?

On the way home, I took the long way, because, honestly, I was hoping to miss bedtime. (No such luck.) And as I did, I drove past the turn to go to my friend's house. The one who was killed in July when a tree fell on her car in a storm.

I see her 4-year old daughter every day and it takes everything I have in me not to scoop her up and squeeze her and burst into tears. I don't, but I want to.

And I realized, her mom will never get to see her or her little sister off to kindergarten. She never got to go to Back to School Night. Her two daughters have their ENTIRE school years ahead of them, and their mom will not be there for a single Back to School Night.

After waiting so long and working so hard to become a mother, it seems so very, very cruel.

Who am I to sit in the back of the room wondering if I can skip Back to School Night next year?

I am DAMN LUCKY to be there.

I won't be missing a single one.

snake oil

I've been reading and reading about the blood and all its components and everything that affects clotting. And, internet... while normally I love this stuff, I do not understand the blood.

There are factors and platelets and enzymes and signals and proteins and it's like middle school in there. Some of them are BFFs and can't go to the bathroom without each other and then there's the anticoagulants and inhibitors. They are the toxic kids who like to create chaos. And then there's the frenemies. They act all happy and friendly until suddenly they turn on you and stab you in the back. (And by "back" I mean "platelet.")

Since I never figured out the social dynamics of middle school, I can pretty much assure you that if I ever get to the hematology part of nursing school, I will be in big trouble because it's too damn confusing. Even the testing is crazy. For example the one that uses viper venom and something to do with horseradish. What IS horseradish anyway?

I've read so much about clotting, it has forever ruined my fond memories of Irish scones and clotted cream. Clots. Ew.



So, remember that fancy test, on the fancy machine that Shout was scheduled for? It finally brought us an answer. She has a defect in the way her platelets function. (It's like when your BFF doesn't come to school one day and you skip P.E. because you just can't face it without her. Except instead of "BFF" insert "enzyme" and instead of "PE" insert "clotting.")

Although you'll never guess what... her results don't line up with any of the platelet defects they know of.

Even when she gets a diagnosis, she's a mystery.

The doctors do think there's a possibility that the melatonin we give her to go to sleep at night may be be obscuring the results and preventing a more specific diagnosis.

So they gently broached the idea of stopping the melatonin for awhile to run the test again.

And I curled up in fetal position and sobbed.

"How long is awhile?" I wailed.

A MONTH.

A whole month of a kid who cannot settle down and fall asleep like a normal person. Who is still awake and lively at midnight. And as it gets later and later, more hyper and cranky and teary and unreasonable.

I asked if I could give her a martini at dinner.

Apparently no.

So we decided that it's not worth the pain right now. It would mean so little sleep for our whole family. And although she falls asleep well with melatonin, she still doesn't STAY asleep most nights. So I already get way less sleep than I'd like.

But of course, I couldn't control that nagging voice in my head. The one that spoke to me way back when we decided to start her on melatonin to begin with.

The one that says that if I could just find that perfect bedtime routine... soothing, calming and relaxing... that she could sleep without melatonin. That really, this is all my fault, because I'm NOT smart enough or patient enough to figure that out.

I hear that voice despite all the evidence that kids with a variety of special needs DO need to use melatonin to fall asleep. Kids with autism and ADHD and yes, Turner Syndrome.

So I decided to just try going without.

We have just completed night 3 of our experiment. It has taken her over 2 hours to fall asleep each night. Even with yoga, massage, soothing music and (Laundry Dad's idea) arithmatic problems. (Lord knows that nothing puts me to sleep like math.) Two of the nights, she ended up being hysterical from exhaustion. Last night, she was calm, but still singing to herself well after 11pm.

I've shushed that inner voice, for now. And I have in my wallet the name of a medication she has to take if she ever REALLY cuts herself, or gets in an accident, or needs novocaine at the dentist, or has to have surgery.

And I feel a little bit like it's a ticking timebomb in there.

urban suburban

I came home from picking up my kids at school yesterday and there were 4 police cars in front of my house.

As it turns out, the actual police people were across the street at a neighbor's. Eventually one of them came over to "canvass" me. Apparently, someone got into the house, rummaged around, couldn't find ANYTHING DECENT to steal and then left. Which is, I think, EXACTLY what would happen if someone broke in here.

(Although, I will note that one of the kids who lives in that house HAS broken into my house before. Actually, he taught Tide, who was locked out, how to do it. He also broke OUT of my house when someone locked him in a storage room. (I have no idea where I was when all this was going down.) I do know that I caught him by comparing his shoe treads to a muddy footprint on my white linen tablecloth that was sitting by the window desperately waiting for someone to iron it. Just call me, Laundry Mom, P.I.)

Two houses on my block have been broken into recently. Both times I was home all day. (So much for Laundry Mom, P.I.)

Both houses also have dogs. So there goes ANY hope that my kids had of ever getting a dog.

Instead, I bought an alarm company sign on eBay and stuck it in the front yard. (Shhh... internet. Don't tell the bad guys.)

Update: I just got word that things actually WERE stolen. Which totally sucks.

a tale of two cities

I try to keep this blog to my own stories. Because I don't feel like it's my place to tell the stories of others. (Unless they are utterly hilarious and then perhaps I adopt them as my own.) But this is the fableized story of someone else... I tell it because it needs to be told.

Suppose you live in a Wonderful Neighborhood... very close to a Big City to which you have an Awesome Commute. Wonderful Neighborhood is filled with families, the Best Neighbors on Earth and a school your kids can walk to...

And then suppose that one of your kids has some issues. Not big, giant issues, but issues that affect how he performs at school. Some related to the way he learns. Some related to how his body works.



Because we live in a Civilized Society and the Powers that Be recognize that not all kids have the same abilities and that affects their schooling... and because the Civilized Society understands that the better educated ALL children are, the better off the Civilized Society will be as a whole, it becomes A Law:

That public school is for everyone. And that whatever school your kid goes to must meet the needs of your kid. Because it's better for your kid. And better for everyone.



But then suppose your kid goes to the school he can walk to, in the Wonderful Neighborhood (with the Best Neighbors on Earth) and that doesn't happen. The needs of your kid are NOT met.

So you become an expert in what your kid needs from the education system and how to get the system to provide it. And that works. Sorta. For awhile.

And then, when that doesn't work any more, you hire an expert. And then you hire another expert. And soon enough, you are bankrolling a hefty dose of muscle to get the public school in the Wonderful Neighborhood to do what they are OBLIGATED BY LAW TO DO as part of the Civilized Society.



But as your child gets older, you are spending more of your time and money and your child continues to miss more and more of the public schooling he is entitled to.

So you consider your options.

You can spend a WHOLE LOT MORE money on a lawyer to sue the school system. It's a slam dunk because they are clearly not providing what they are obligated to provide.



But you are pouring money into a broken system. For then, you have a court order telling the school to do what Congress ALREADY TOLD THEM TO DO, and they haven't done it. They don't HAVE the staff. They don't HAVE the knowledge. They don't have the money or the time and they honestly don't seem to care.

And because YOUR child is in school RIGHT NOW, you can't wait for the problem to be fixed through education and hiring and elections and the budget process.

It's too late for all that.

Or, you could take that money and buy a house in... let's call it, the County of Milk and Honey. It's only 16 miles away, but you get a bigger house. A bigger yard. Lower taxes. And a different school system. You leave the Wonderful Neighborhood and the Awesome Commute and the (now weeping) Best Neighbors on Earth, but it's a gamble you have to take.



And when you get to the County of Milk and Honey, you meet the administrators of the new school. And they WELCOME you and your children with open arms. They have READ everything you've sent them. They have IDEAS. And SUGGESTIONS. And STRATEGIES. And STAFF MEMBERS.



And they call you. Out of the blue. Just pick up the phone to touch base. Or ask if they can try something else. And you didn't even have to pay someone to threaten them. They just OFFERED to help. And, you know, DO THEIR JOB.

And after you recover from the shock, you sit in your big house and look out over your big yard and wave out the window to your new neighbors who (although they do not meet the criteria of The Best Neighbors on Earth) are actually very nice and friendly and wonder:

Why does sixteen miles makes such a GIANT DIFFERENCE?

Wherein lies the difference between the two school systems? Is it money? Is it people? Is it how much parents are willing to put up with?

And you also wonder how many more kids with issues are lost in that system? Who aren't getting what they need? What they are entitled to?

Whose parents don't have the time, or the money, or the education to chase down every last hope and then finally make the hard decision that this is a broken system. One they cannot wait to be fixed.

What about the families that CAN'T move to the County of Milk and Honey? Because they can't afford it. Or because they don't even know what they are missing.

What ends up happening to those kids? How much have they lost? And how much has The Civilized Society lost as a whole?

Because they aren't always going to be kids. Those kids are our future.



I post this today because my friend and fellow DC Mom, Aimee Olivo is running for our local Board of Education. It is a tremendous challenge and one that I know she is up for. I'm amazingly proud of her and wish her luck on primary day today. (And I'm sad I can't vote for her because I live in a different district.)

i may have named herman prematurely

Remember my post the other day about my new sidekick, Herman the Ulcer? I think I may have misused my internet medical degree to prematurely diagnose myself. (I know, right?) Because while it started out like a fire in my belly... it moved on down to a fire... um... somewhere else.

I mean, I always have sort of a grouchy stomach, but this was something else entirely.

Then I was looking on Facebook and saw Janel's picture (hope it's ok that I stole it) and remembered that I ate lunch at a local fair here... just a few hours before I REALLY started feeling bad.



I thought it was a simple mispelling, but clearly it was not.
Also? What kind of a blogger am I that I didn't take a picture of this?

Other things that happened at the fair:

Cheer disappeared for 3 hours. (Ok, it was really 20 minutes, but it FELT like 3 hours.)

Bounce failed to show up at our final meeting spot when it was time to leave and a search party had to be launched. (Not surprising or worrisome, just annoying.)

Shout didn't want to leave the fair (despite being there for FIVE HOURS... I KNOW! Five hours? Kill me now.) so she ran off into the crowd and we lost HER for 15 hours. (Ok, it was 15 minutes.)

And then, once we found her, she proceeded to flip out and scream as she was dragged to the car (which was literally about a mile away) and for the whole ride home.

The only person who DIDN'T disappear is Tide. He's the one kid who actually has a cell phone so I can track him down.

Which leads me to the conclusion that maybe being older and responsible is actually NOT a good reason to get a cell phone. It's the younger, irresponsible kids who need the phones.




So I'm going on Day 5 of not feeling constitutionally quite right. That sicky rice is really sticking with me.

not only is laundry annoying... it can kill you

*Just a note to my male readers, especially any who might be related to me... you might want to stop reading now.*

I was carrying a basket of dirty laundry through the house at 2AM the other night. (What? You don't do laundry at 2AM?) (True confession: I was up late watching a replay of the Real Housewives of New Jersey finale (part 47) because I can't watch that crap when my kids are awake. Also? OMG, Danielle? REALLY??)


Ewww... seriously? I wanted to take a shower. So creepy.
Anyway. Most of the lights were off and I was in my jammies. I was running the basket of dirty laundry down to the washer on a commercial break when I had to shift the basket to my hip and one hand to reach for a lightswitch.

But the basket slid off my hip. (Shocking, I know. You could park an SUV there with no problem.) So the super hard edge of the basket slid down my chest and decapitated one of my boobs! (Denipitated?)

I dropped the basket and looked down, expecting to see 1/2 my boob fall on the floor. (And there are a lot of body parts I wouldn't mind reducing, but my boobs are on the short list of ones where I really can't spare anything.)

There was a growing spot of blood on my shirt, but no falling boob parts. But OMG the pain!!

I was afraid to look underneath.

I thought about lying down on the floor right there in the kitchen in case I went into shock and fainted from blood loss.

But, I figured it would be at least 5 hours before anyone found me. Also? The towels really needed to get into the wash.

Also? The commercial break was almost over and I really didn't want to die before finding out what Caroline and Teresa had to say about Danielle and Jacqueline's so. very. fake. hug it out session. (Ok, Caroline more than Teresa, because I really can't understand most of what comes out of Teresa's mouth.)


WUT?

So I took a peek.

Everything was still attached.

Whew.

So I was being MELODRAMATIC. There actually was no denipification.

But there was blood. And damage. (I won't describe. You're welcome.) And of course, after having breast pads in my underwear drawer for nearly THIRTEEN years, I had rooted out the last lingering ones just a few days before and thrown them out.

Totally would have come in handy.

As would the 5 tubes of Lansinoh I tossed out a few months ago.

I McGuyvered myself a bandage with a running bra, some toilet paper and vasoline. It did the trick.

Thank GOD I was not a Real Housewife of New Jersey because I'm too fragile to hug anything out for at least a week.

And I'm thinking of giving up the laundry altogether.

(Edited because I had to add this picture in a post about boobs.)


What the HELL is going on there, Danielle?

may I introduce herman?

Oh, so sad. Tide can't even keep his eyes open, it's so early.

Wow. It's been more than a week.

Here's where I've been:

School started last Tuesday and the chorus of angels sang.

Also on Tuesday, Shout had a one hour class meet-up on the playground, so not The Official First Day of Kindergarten Take One. But she met the ONE other girl in her class and within minutes they were holding hands and playing some sort of fairy princess game.

That was excellent.

The next day was her First Official Day. The day I was going to make a big freaking deal about.

Yeah. I missed that day.



Here she is, waving goodbye to Laundry Dad.
No clinging on to anyone's leg and sobbing for the fourth child.
It's more like, "I've been WAITING for ALL THESE YEARS to go to kindergarten, NOW GO ALREADY."
(Also? Clearly I did not do her hair.)

Instead of being there, I went and kidnapped my 81-year old uncle and took him on a road trip to my aunt's funeral, to the ire of almost everyone else who is related to me.

As it turns out, he made a great Thelma to my Louise.

My aunt was a humble woman who lived a life that saw more than its share of tragedy. But she had a heart made of 24-carat gold (tempered with the most sarcastic wit I've ever known). She had a beautiful funeral fit for royalty. I think everyone who ever met her (who is still alive and ambulatory... and I'm defining ambulatory pretty loosely in this case) was in that church. Which is pretty impressive for someone in her 80s.

It was also sad, and once again, I am not dealing with that part of things. We went to three funerals this summer. One for a young mother who died tragically. Another for a middle-aged wife who died of a rapidly killing neurological disorder. And finally, my aunt. She was 84 (almost) and lived a long and full life, but it still makes me sad. And brings my mortality (and that of my parents generation) ever more to the front of my mind.

I have enough anxiety as it is.

So instead of dealing with Mortality right now, I'm creating An Ulcer. Which is coming in handy because now I can meet all stressors head on with rising levels of digestive acids. (And I can even use it as an excuse to get out of things. Like PTA meetings. And laundry. I'm going to name my ulcer. Herman maybe.)

Speaking of stress, I got ANOTHER call from Dr. Blood.

Not surprisingly, the pieces of the puzzle named Shout are still not fitting together. So on Wednesday, she has an appointment for a fancier test on a fancier machine. At this point, I'm so confused, I'm not even sure WHAT they are testing for. I just know we are going to be at the hospital all day.

Of course, I just realized that my big kids have a 1/2 day of school on Wednesday, which means I won't be there to pick them up on time. (At least I noticed before I forgot to pick them up this time, right?)

Seriously? Do we need a half day during the SECOND WEEK of school? Which isn't even a full week because Monday is a holiday. And last Monday was a day off. And Tuesday and Wednesday were half days.

In summary, I have spent more time driving them to and from school than they have actually BEEN IN SCHOOL. And that will go on for at least one more week.

So that's where I've been. Illegally transporting an elder across state lines for religious and cultural purposes. Being excommunicated by the other elders in my family. (There is a long story here that I am relegating to Herman. Because I couldn't possibly bore you all with the details of the levels of insanity in my family. Ya'll got your own insanity, I'm sure.) Driving back and forth to schools, nearly constantly. Googling every component of the human bloodstream and everything that could go wrong with each one. And proving myself, once again, to be an overachiever, now appearing in the stomach-acid producing category.