- Night bears
- Little missy
- Just one more hug and kiss. No, three more, then I won't miss you.
- Attendix
- Do you need a consequences?
- Is your nickname Marjorie?
- You're a naked mole rat!
- Meaniac!
- attackuum cleaner
- I'm not a mukula, you're a mukula!
- I'm faster than a race car!
- We're just being hooligans, mom.
Monday, November 22, 2010
A list of inventive language
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Experiences I could live without
So... Friday night.
I'm still processing this, and it's going to be a train of thought narrative. Stop now if you don't like that form.
Movie night and sleepover with the kids. A daughter with no appetite, complaining of a stomach ache. Get a barf bucket, tuck her in. Tuck son in. Get both kids to sleep. Read for awhile. Go upstairs because daughter is so sad. Take temp - 99*. Give ibuprofen, and hugs. Go back downstairs and read some more. Hear random exclamations indicating restless sleep.
11:30, hear "Owie! Owie! Owie!" and sad crying. The pain in her stomach is worse, she can't sleep, and is clearly miserable. Realize that this falls into the category of "Not Good" and attempt to figure out the logistics of an ER trip with a daughter who is in pain while a son who is oblivious continues to sleep. Comfort daughter, decide to call her dad to either bring her to the ER, or stay with son. He stays with son.
ER: 12 am. Arrive, register, they take vitals, and try to get a urine sample. No luck. Wait.
Wait some more. Watch asthmatic pregnant woman get rushed ahead of us. Watch guy with smashed foot go ahead of us. Get pillow and blanket from nurse, and tuck daughter in on a couch. Watch daughter sleep. Wait. Wait. Doze. Wait.
2:00 am. Get brought to exam room. More vitals. Dr. comes in, does exam. Based on presentation of symptoms, lack of barf, and low grade temp, possibilities are a bladder infection or appendicitis. They need to do a blood draw to check for infection, still need a urine sample from a dehydrated kid, and will have to do an x-ray to check the appendix.
2:30 am - Nurse runs an IV line to draw blood and give fluids. My daughter does not move her arm. She is scared, she cries because the pinch feeling hurts, because she's so tired, because this freaks her out a little. (Me too, little darling, me too.) I sing her a song, and hold her face to look in my eyes so she won't see the needle.
3:00 am - stomach x-rays. She loves this part, of riding on the bed to the x-ray room, trailing along an IV post.
4:00 am - Watching Little Einsteins on playhouse Disney. Finally - pee happens.
4:45 am - test results come back, high bacteria count. My sense of relief at this news is overwhelming. Thank goodness it is this, because that means we can go home - not get admitted for surgery.
5:00 am - talk w/ Dr. about the meds daughter is allergic too, and which one works best in these instances.
5:15 - first dose of antibiotic.
5:45 - discharged from ER.
6 am - home to sleep, to tuck in daughter, give her kisses for being brave, to send her dad back to his house, to crash hard until son wakes up.
7:15 am - Wake up with son.
------
I can absolutely say I could live happily never having another night like that. Ever.
There's something terrifying about knowing your child has a hurt you can't fix, and can't identify. When she feels so terrible that on the way to the hospital, she says "Well, maybe this is when God wants me to live with him." How can you even sleep? You can't. You just hold her, and watch her, and soak in every moment, waiting and hoping that it's not as bad as your fears. Praying while you rub her back, and brush her hair away from her face. Being strong in the moment, because you must be. Because she needs you to be there for her, to tell her the truth about what's going to happen, and why it's happening, and what the doctors and nurses need to know and find out.
I'm sobbing while I type this, because it's the first time I've had a chance to let this out - the terrible fear, and the wondrous relief. *Just* a UTI -- which, sucks, yes. But it's so much easier to treat that than it would have been to call her dad and say "We're staying at the hospital, she needs her appendix out" and figure out logistics of work, and school, and child care and holiday travel while trying not to worry about some doctor cutting into my darling girl's little body.
I don't know how the parents of kids who require frequent hospital care do it, day in and day out. But I know for myself, that's an experience I could live without.
I'm still processing this, and it's going to be a train of thought narrative. Stop now if you don't like that form.
Movie night and sleepover with the kids. A daughter with no appetite, complaining of a stomach ache. Get a barf bucket, tuck her in. Tuck son in. Get both kids to sleep. Read for awhile. Go upstairs because daughter is so sad. Take temp - 99*. Give ibuprofen, and hugs. Go back downstairs and read some more. Hear random exclamations indicating restless sleep.
11:30, hear "Owie! Owie! Owie!" and sad crying. The pain in her stomach is worse, she can't sleep, and is clearly miserable. Realize that this falls into the category of "Not Good" and attempt to figure out the logistics of an ER trip with a daughter who is in pain while a son who is oblivious continues to sleep. Comfort daughter, decide to call her dad to either bring her to the ER, or stay with son. He stays with son.
ER: 12 am. Arrive, register, they take vitals, and try to get a urine sample. No luck. Wait.
Wait some more. Watch asthmatic pregnant woman get rushed ahead of us. Watch guy with smashed foot go ahead of us. Get pillow and blanket from nurse, and tuck daughter in on a couch. Watch daughter sleep. Wait. Wait. Doze. Wait.
2:00 am. Get brought to exam room. More vitals. Dr. comes in, does exam. Based on presentation of symptoms, lack of barf, and low grade temp, possibilities are a bladder infection or appendicitis. They need to do a blood draw to check for infection, still need a urine sample from a dehydrated kid, and will have to do an x-ray to check the appendix.
2:30 am - Nurse runs an IV line to draw blood and give fluids. My daughter does not move her arm. She is scared, she cries because the pinch feeling hurts, because she's so tired, because this freaks her out a little. (Me too, little darling, me too.) I sing her a song, and hold her face to look in my eyes so she won't see the needle.
3:00 am - stomach x-rays. She loves this part, of riding on the bed to the x-ray room, trailing along an IV post.
4:00 am - Watching Little Einsteins on playhouse Disney. Finally - pee happens.
4:45 am - test results come back, high bacteria count. My sense of relief at this news is overwhelming. Thank goodness it is this, because that means we can go home - not get admitted for surgery.
5:00 am - talk w/ Dr. about the meds daughter is allergic too, and which one works best in these instances.
5:15 - first dose of antibiotic.
5:45 - discharged from ER.
6 am - home to sleep, to tuck in daughter, give her kisses for being brave, to send her dad back to his house, to crash hard until son wakes up.
7:15 am - Wake up with son.
------
I can absolutely say I could live happily never having another night like that. Ever.
There's something terrifying about knowing your child has a hurt you can't fix, and can't identify. When she feels so terrible that on the way to the hospital, she says "Well, maybe this is when God wants me to live with him." How can you even sleep? You can't. You just hold her, and watch her, and soak in every moment, waiting and hoping that it's not as bad as your fears. Praying while you rub her back, and brush her hair away from her face. Being strong in the moment, because you must be. Because she needs you to be there for her, to tell her the truth about what's going to happen, and why it's happening, and what the doctors and nurses need to know and find out.
I'm sobbing while I type this, because it's the first time I've had a chance to let this out - the terrible fear, and the wondrous relief. *Just* a UTI -- which, sucks, yes. But it's so much easier to treat that than it would have been to call her dad and say "We're staying at the hospital, she needs her appendix out" and figure out logistics of work, and school, and child care and holiday travel while trying not to worry about some doctor cutting into my darling girl's little body.
I don't know how the parents of kids who require frequent hospital care do it, day in and day out. But I know for myself, that's an experience I could live without.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Not what they used to be
Date Nights....
I have vague memories of what Friday nights used to be like - giddy excitement about the weekend ahead, staying up late to watch a movie with friends, getting coffee at horrid times of night, wondering what to wear, or who to do something with. I don't think I miss that.
Actually, I know I don't miss that. I don't want to be that girl anymore. I am in love with my regular Friday dates. We stay up super late, way past bedtime. (8:00 pm instead of 7:30) We watch a movie. (Classic Disney, usually.) We have a sleepover, sometimes on the living room floor, sometimes all piled into the same bed (mine.) I never get enough sleep. I never get enough covers. I never want to change this.
But I know, inevitably, in fewer years than I would like, I will be sitting home on a Friday night, bemoaning the fact that Friday evenings just are not what they used to be, as I watch these same wonderful loves getting ready for their own Friday date nights. I will miss the softly whispered bedtime secrets. I will hope they will still be willing to give me just one more hug and kiss so I won't miss them. But even if they do agree... I will still miss them, even as I let them go.
Oh Friday... you are tinged with bittersweetness.
I have vague memories of what Friday nights used to be like - giddy excitement about the weekend ahead, staying up late to watch a movie with friends, getting coffee at horrid times of night, wondering what to wear, or who to do something with. I don't think I miss that.
Actually, I know I don't miss that. I don't want to be that girl anymore. I am in love with my regular Friday dates. We stay up super late, way past bedtime. (8:00 pm instead of 7:30) We watch a movie. (Classic Disney, usually.) We have a sleepover, sometimes on the living room floor, sometimes all piled into the same bed (mine.) I never get enough sleep. I never get enough covers. I never want to change this.
But I know, inevitably, in fewer years than I would like, I will be sitting home on a Friday night, bemoaning the fact that Friday evenings just are not what they used to be, as I watch these same wonderful loves getting ready for their own Friday date nights. I will miss the softly whispered bedtime secrets. I will hope they will still be willing to give me just one more hug and kiss so I won't miss them. But even if they do agree... I will still miss them, even as I let them go.
Oh Friday... you are tinged with bittersweetness.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
something
Making myself practice a habit, and write.... something.
Take away for this post:
It's best to write when you have something in mind to write about, and more than 5 minutes to write.
The end.
Take away for this post:
It's best to write when you have something in mind to write about, and more than 5 minutes to write.
The end.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Since October....
Okay - that last post was very introspective - externally in my life:
Insulating an Attic:
Insulating an Attic:
- You will never look hot in the safety gear required to insulate an attic; safety goggles, dust mask, head scarf, long sleeve shirt, long pants, and thick shoes.
- You will however be hot.
- It is messy, and dusty, and immesely satisfying.
- I would never want this for my full time job.
- No one cried, balked, needed to pee after the second house, rode in a wagon this year.
- Everyone said "Trick or Treat" and "Happy Halloween" and "Thank You."
- Trick or treating with a train and an adorable scary witch was awesome.
- Tap dancing is ridiculously fun, even though I'm ridiculously bad still.
- Snow is over-rated.
- Binge reading is my worst vice. Really.
Compulsions
Thoughts I've encountered recently:
I get hung up on form sometimes. That has been my excuse lately. "I can't write a novel"
But there are thoughts in my head that need expressing. Maybe they will be letters. Maybe they will be essays. I hope some of them turn into the story about an imaginary elephant that my son has signed up for on his Christmas wish list.
What stops me? I say the demands of my job stop me. I say the need to parent my children stops me. I pick up books to read other voices and quiet the narrative in my own brain for awhile. But it comes down to this.... the raw honesty that I know is required to tell the stories in my heart and head scares the living daylights out of me. It would be compelling reading - I know I am good at funny, and poignant, and absurd.... but I don't feel brave enough yet to bring those things to light. I make excuses to not write - but what I really mean is - I'm afraid.
To say even that makes me think I am a wimp. But I have read powerful writers who tell the whole truth. To be so exposed, so open to interpretation, interrogation, and analysis is terrifying.
But it's just words. Words.... not me. Yes. And no. My words. My thoughts. My experience and choices.
Whew. In some ways, this blog is a test of myself, to see what I am capable of sharing, and what fear I can overcome. I am compelled to write, but I am not always brave enough to do so.
- All writers read, but not all readers write.
- Writers write because there isn't anything else to do.
- Sign me up for that book, Mom.
I get hung up on form sometimes. That has been my excuse lately. "I can't write a novel"
But there are thoughts in my head that need expressing. Maybe they will be letters. Maybe they will be essays. I hope some of them turn into the story about an imaginary elephant that my son has signed up for on his Christmas wish list.
What stops me? I say the demands of my job stop me. I say the need to parent my children stops me. I pick up books to read other voices and quiet the narrative in my own brain for awhile. But it comes down to this.... the raw honesty that I know is required to tell the stories in my heart and head scares the living daylights out of me. It would be compelling reading - I know I am good at funny, and poignant, and absurd.... but I don't feel brave enough yet to bring those things to light. I make excuses to not write - but what I really mean is - I'm afraid.
To say even that makes me think I am a wimp. But I have read powerful writers who tell the whole truth. To be so exposed, so open to interpretation, interrogation, and analysis is terrifying.
But it's just words. Words.... not me. Yes. And no. My words. My thoughts. My experience and choices.
Whew. In some ways, this blog is a test of myself, to see what I am capable of sharing, and what fear I can overcome. I am compelled to write, but I am not always brave enough to do so.
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