husband wrangling

I plan to wrangle mine into writing a post about the lab he did with REACH (gifted) kids from Grace's school. The first and second graders had their session today, which included two people bursting with pride: Craig (so, so proud of his girl) and Grace (super dooper proud of her dad). I actually overheard some second graders point to Grace and say, "Dr. Byron is her dad, wow!" There should be pictures too, so stay tuned (but don't check too regularly because this wrangling could still take another week).

On a totally unrelated tangent, I read a post on an advice blog asking readers to chime in on the question "what do you want to do when you grow up?" The question wasn't posed to kids; this came from and for an adult. I didn't add to the conversation (I'm a terrible commenter), but I remember very clearly asking that same question when my kids were younger, back when I still felt rather unworthy being a stay at home parent. Thankfully times have changed, and my answer to what do want to do when you grow up comes a lot more easily:

I am grown up. Whatever I'm doing right now is my job. I may do something different in the future, but it won't be because I've grown up. I've already done that.

What sweet, sweet relief to have finally reached that conclusion.

Freedom

Disclaimer: For those with children older than mine, please feel free to laugh, loudly I'm sure, at my expense as I unravel one of the most basic tenets of parenting. I'm only managing a C in Parenting 101.

Grace loves to hear stories about my youth. Craig's too, but she seems to have a particular fascination with my rural upbringing. "Tell me about the time you cut down the Christmas tree all by yourself"*, "Tell me about the time you went out on the ice when you were in 1st grade"**, "Tell me about the time you jumped off the roof of your house."*** There are many reasons she likes these stories: they're about me as a kid, they take place somewhere she's only imagined, they involve a bit of danger, and almost always there are no adults involved.

Last night, after another story, she asked me why she can't do any of the things I did. Fumbling, I told here that I had a lot of freedom when I was a kid, and that because we live in an urban neighborhood, she couldn't have that kind of freedom. "But why?" she wanted to know, and so I dug my hole a bit deeper:

"Well, a few blocks away, there are some people that do bad stuff, and I wouldn't want you to interact with them."

"Do they live next door?"

"No."

"Then why do you think I would be with them?"

"Well, I don't know, it just makes me nervous."

"Oh."

We moved on to other topics, but I felt unresolved. Why exactly didn't I want her playing in the yard alone? Because some characters in another section of the neighborhood (who I've never seen in our area) might come around? And do what exactly? The chances that Grace would have some sort of negative interaction with anyone in the neighborhood is very, very low, and yet I hover. I don't give her freedom, and by doing so I send the message, "I don't trust you." Now, how in the world can I expect her to be a trustworthy adult, and more importantly trust in herself, if I don't provide her with the same courtesy.

Oh, this hurts my poor parenting brain. I don't want to beat myself up. Mostly, I'm just learning. I've never had a six year old before. She was a baby (or at least a toddler) not that long ago, and she's not anymore. I need to adapt. Adjust. Accept. She's older. She deserves more trust and more responsibility. I need to make reasonable assessments about the real dangers in her life (driving in a car with me is the most dangerous thing she does, not because I'm a bad driver, but because according to the National Safety Commission car accidents are the number one cause of accidental death among kids one and older).

This whole gig is a work in progress (obviously). Grace has been chomping at the bit to walk herself to school (like the other kids in our neighborhood), and we'll work up to it. Dropping her off at the school steps as opposed to walking her to class seems to be a start.

*For the record, I asked permission first
**I got in trouble for this. Note that when I write the word "ice" I mean the stuff that froze over the bay.
***First of all, it wasn't that high, only the first story, and second, I got in trouble for this too.

Another day, another holler

The kids were off school for another day. The school district held a press conference (yes, you read that right, for a girl from a teeny tiny town and a teeny tiny school this seems, I don't know, over the top). The district just wanted to let us know that predicted freezing conditions in the morning made travel far too dangerous. On that, they're right. Small southern cities (large ones too) simply don't have the equipment to deal with any sort of freezing precipitation on the road. Unfortunately (at least in my neighborhood and Grace's school) the roads were wet, not frozen this morning. A prediction that actually could have helped me would be to tell me my kids would be little jerks all day. No prediction was necessary to tell me I would be a jerk too. Ah well. Back to school tomorrow. Back to being a reasonable mother/human being for me.

I think it's safe to say that one of my New Year's Resolutions still needs a little work.

It was all great until it wasn't

Caring for the kids solo is so much easier than a couple of years ago. We actually had a lot of fun while Craig was gone. We did all of the stuff he doesn't really like to do (like eating popcorn for dinner on Friday night while we watched Snow White). I didn't feel overwhelmed or too tired or too irritated. Grace was a big help, and when Julia wasn't feeling her near-three-year-oldness, she was good too.

And then the wheels came off. Julia barely slept on Friday night (perhaps popcorn for dinner was a bad idea), and so I didn't get much sleep. Try as I might to shake my sleep-deprived grumpiness, I lost my temper easily all day. Negative equals more negative, so by the time we got to the grocery store late Saturday afternoon, we were all VERY CRANKY. The girls shrieked at each other in the parking lot and picked at each other as we made our way through the aisles. By the time we made it to check out, I was ready to check out. The bag girl asked me if I wanted some help, and I asked her if she would take my kids. There were laughs all around, but I was almost serious. We managed to get home from the store without any injury, struggled through dinner, and finally, finally made up over bedtime reading. By the time Craig walked in the door, all was quiet. Julia was in bed, and Grace was waiting patiently on the couch.

I'm almost always happy to see Craig. On Saturday night I was elated. It also helped that he came home bearing gifts. For the girls he brought Navajo dolls. Grace named hers Clarabelle (how Navajo), and Julia named hers, can you guess? Julia.

Meet Julia:



The girls slept VERY well on Saturday night (no surprise there), and woke in extremely happy moods on Sunday. We had a lazy morning.



When I remember this week--if I remember this week--I'll try to concentrate on the positives. My friend, Mandy, has reminded me more than once to forgive myself at least one parenting fail per day (maybe I should extend that to one whole day of parenting fails).

I'll remember painting:



Popcorn and Snow White:



And Grace's soccer game (where she scored her second goal of the season):



If that fails, which it won't, I'll remember that I'm going to Charleston with Sarah in two weeks, alone.

What happened to March?

Hello, Hello, Hellooooooo, is anybody out there?

Seems I forgot that I post to this thing here, this blog. What the heck happened? Well, for one, we traveled to Indiana, and for two, we got sick--all of us, at different times (some better, some worse; which is another story altogether), and to varying degrees of sickiness. I'm just past the last bout myself, and my throat is still scratchy. I have the super sexy voice of a pubescent thirteen year old boy. Whew, it's been fun.

The other reason for not blogging has been blog funk. No, not the kind where I whine to you about my relevance so that you can send me kind comments and beg me to continue blogging. No, it was the kind where I felt grossed out by the internet because people do disgusting things in cyberspace, say horrible things to and about people they may not know, and warp images of children. Then I remembered that I know almost every single person that frequents this blog, and I remembered that I don't post inappropriate images of my kids, and that the images I do post are linked to my flickr account, and unless someone wants to take a screen shot, they aren't likely to have any pics of my kids. Also, I don't exactly attract a lot of attention in my little corner of the world wide web, so I'm probably okay. Or not, but I'm going to keep posting anyway.

Finally, the last reason for not blogging was that MY CAMERA DIED (as you might remember). I boxed it up, and sent it off to Canon with the hopes it would be returned in working order prior to our trip to Indy. No dice. A camera finally did show up on Friday (as I snuffled on the couch, popping advil, unbathed and pajama-clad all day). I opened the box and read the invoice:

EQUIPMENT SHOWS VISIBLE SIGNS OF WATER OR MOISTURE. NO IMAGE ON LCD. CHECK ALL FUNCTIONS. REPAIR TO GOOD WORKING ORDER. FLAT RATE. REPAIR MODEL. PARTS AND LABOR INCLUDED IN PRICE.

Thank you for payment of $149.70

I thought to myself okay, it's been repaired, right? Then why is this a new camera box and um, ummm why is there a brand new camera inside the new camera box, and UMMMM why is this camera a brand new totally upgraded version of my old camera?

And then I read the small print at the bottom of the invoice:

We have examined the product according to your request and determined that it would be more economical to replace your unit than to repair it. For your convenience, we are replacing your original unit with a newer version.

So let me get this straight? I paid 150 bucks to get my camera repaired, and I got a $500 camera in return? Delta, you could learn a few lessons. This is how you breed brand loyalty. Thank you, Canon. I think I love you.


Ollie working the camera. He thinks he looks gorgeous, and I must agree.

It's time to sleep

I'm entering that period when the time it takes to get Julia down for a nap exceeds the amount she sleeps. This frustrates me endlessly because I love having nap time to myself. I'm the worst parent to emulate when it comes to toddler naps. While Grace hasn't napped for three years, back in her toddlerhood she never went to sleep on her own, and neither does her sister. If I leave the room prior to shut eyes and rhythmic breathing, there will be no nap. There will be lots of chatter, followed by some laughter, and finally whining. My solution has been to admit defeat, for the sake of sleep, and sit in the room until Julia settles herself. I often read a book, stopping frequently to admonish her with "shhhh" and "it's time to sleep", until she finally gives in to slumber.

Today I got unreasonably frustrated and angry, so I yelled at her and stomped out of the room. It was obvious who the child was at that moment: me. Minutes later, head hung low, I returned to her room, crawled into her bed and hugged her. With dagger like words she whispered, "you hurt me." I know I did, and I'm sorry, and I wonder why I turned nap time into a fight. She stokes my hair. Anytime she feels upset or insecure, she goes for my hair, or anyone else's hair within reach, even her own, since she is finally getting some. Twirling my hair can prolong taking a nap better than chatting, so I roll to face her and we twine fingers together. Our heads incline, noses almost touching. I close my eyes. I'm no longer frustrated. Instead I feel grace--what marvelous fortune to have this little being lie next to me. Just as this thought appears in my mind, I feel her fall asleep. If I had to describe this sensation, how I know she's sleeping though my eyes are closed, it's as though her body has opened or released any tension and I feel that release.

I untwine our fingers and slip out of her bed. She's my last baby. Having her sleep near me will not last as long as I'd like. Hopefully I will remember that tomorrow when we begin our nap routine again.

A day in the life

Craig asked his class to chronicle how they spend their days. How much time in class? How much time on the phone, on the internet, walking, driving, sleeping? And it got me thinking about how I spend my time, which turned into the entry posted below. And then I deleted that post because who the hell cares how I spend my day. Google reader somehow picked up that entry up before I hit delete, so I had hits coming to the blog. Crap. Re-post.

There's nothing controversial about what I wrote. I hit delete because, my god, how boring. That's my life in paragraph form. I didn't actually keep track of the time I spent on my activities, which Craig's class is doing, and I'm sure I'd be more than a little horrified by how much time I spend on the internet. Truth: I often check my email before I do anything else in the morning. Why? Because my job, the work I'm paid to do, is never done by the time I go to bed, and I'm almost always in meetings by 9 am, for which I need to be prepared. Is that my excuse? Sigh.

The other thing missing from my log? Physical activity. Walking to and from meetings and Grace's school just doesn't cut it. I do not work out. I'm ashamed to admit this, but not quite enough to do anything about it. Apparently I would rather just complain about my muffin top and my aching back. What else did I leave out? Real time with my husband. It's just not happening at the moment. We try to talk to each other after dinner and sometimes at lunch, but it's almost always about work or the kids or to say how sorry we are that we aren't spending more time together. Sigh again.

There are other omissions: grocery shopping (twice a week, two gallons of milk, my girls are like teenage boys), other shopping (oh the guilt, even though I now have a paying job, I still can't shake the guilt over every single purchase I make), cleaning the house (never-ending, the kitchen floors alone need to be swept twice daily, but are only really swept every other day), and laundry (did I mention laundry, my god, I do A LOT of laundry). In the end, I still have tons of down time (and plenty of guilt about that too).

The question I posed at the end of my last entry remains: how do you, person whom I may or may not know, whom visits this site, spend your time? Think of answering that question as anonymous anecdotal evidence for Craig's class? I'm truly interested.

Gem of the day

"Ollie really pisses me off too."

"Umm, Julia, what did you just say?"

"Ollie really pisses me off too."

"Sweetie, that isn't a good word to say."

"Okay."

With a devilish grin from Craig, "Way to go, mommy."

Everyone's here, present and accounted for.

Craig is in Dallas, where, according to Julia, he is buying Dallas crackers. We don't really know what Dallas crackers are or why he would need to buy them, but we're just happy he isn't trying out to be a Cowboy's cheerleader. He has great legs, but I don't think the outfit would work. He tells me he's meeting with collaborators on a multi-institution NSF grant, likely story.

In any case, we're a house of estrogen at the moment, which is never a good thing, but we're managing. Grace keeps instructing Julia that "we need to help mommy because she is all alone for two whole days!" Entirely cute, but I wasn't aware that I was quite so helpless as a single parent. Grace has been a huge help, getting breakfast for herself and Julia, feeding the cats, and even cleaning up her toys! Who knew children could be so industrious. Perhaps this whole child rearing thing has some benefits.

Speaking of child rearing, I just learned that another cousin is expecting her first baby. Hooray for her, and hooray for me that I am not expecting another child. Just a year ago, I blogged that I was having baby cravings. I wrote that post as I was weaning Julia, and I'm sure the loss of our nursing relationship influenced me. A year later, and I don't have baby urges at all. Yeah, if circumstances arose where we found ourselves pregnant again (circumstances? I guess I have a hard time spelling s-e-x), we would love that child, yada, yada, yada, but I've found that I don't want another one. When I look around the table at dinner, I feel like we're all here. It doesn't hurt that at some point during the meal one or both of my children break down in tears about 1) being touched by her sibling; 2) having food particles on her hand; or 3) unhappiness about the food on her plate. Sounds fun, doesn't it? Don't you want to come to my house for dinner?

Rewind and fast forward

Jumping back a month ago, here's for the Halloween that wasn't:



And now let's fast forward to two weeks after Halloween, and you see Grace with her new electronic dog, Beanie. He barks. He wags his tail, but he does not poop on the floor. Grace slaved to earn this dog by behaving herself for THIRTY DAYS, and yes, this was all about bribery. Her teacher wanted us to encourage Grace to follow directions. Can you imagine it? Grace not following directions, no, not my Grace.



Moving forward again to Thanksgiving. We had a quiet but enjoyable evening with Aunt Betsy and her friend Aga who has never celebrated the holiday (being from Poland and all). In this photo Craig manfully poses with the turkey. Other Thanksgiving photos here.



Finally we have arrive at last night, and here is Julia on the potty. She's been spending a lot of time there, with spotty results. I have a video to upload of her exploits soon. In the meantime, here are some stinking cute pictures (no pun intended).

Let's whine. Part II

1. We've moved on from a cold to an ear infection (thanks everyone for clarifying the differences between a cold and flu).

1. Grace came down with Julia's cold on Saturday. She's now moved on from a cold to an ear infection in both ears. And a raging fever. And body aches "ALL OVER, MOMMY."

2. Two weeks ago I paid to have Julia go to school for an extra three days a week, which, at this point, means I've paid some crazy amount for the TWO extra days that she actually made it to school.

2. Two and half weeks ago I started a new job. Since starting that job both of my kids have been sick. Both of my kids have been absent from school. I do not have childcare outside of my spouse. You figure it out.

3. I have PMS, and I don't need to explain why that's a whine.

3. I'm having my period. Need I say more.

4. After yesterday's work meeting, I have A LOT of stuff to do. And this is a whine because of Number 1.

4. I have meetings every day this week. This would be complicated with well kids. This is a disaster with sick kids. The only thing keeping me afloat is Craig, and the only way he's doing it is by canceling office hours and ditching his job. This is not a long term solution. I have yet to find a babysitter who will care for sick kids. Do they exist?

5. Grace's Kindergarten teacher sent a note home saying Grace needs to do a better job coloring in the lines. Is she serious? It took a lot of restraint to not write back, "this is effing riciculous". Yes, that's PMS talking. I wish I could show Mrs. S the hundreds of coloring pages we have laying around the house where the detail in Grace's coloring blows my mind. Grace doesn't color in the lines on her work sheets because it's boring. When she's bored she rushes through things. How do I know this? She's EXACTLY like her dad. He does the same thing.

5. I'm coming down with their cold. I need my mom.

.......
7:46pm

And my grandma is dying, so you really don't need to read all of the bs I listed above. I can't quite come up with words for this now, which is okay because my limited vocabulary won't allow me to adequately describe this essential woman. A woman for whom I owe a great debt of love and gratitude.

Happy Halloween

Our planned halloween activities? Sit home, watch movies, and eat popcorn. Grace is sick, and Julia still hasn't recovered. If these kids aren't well by Monday, I'm screwed.

Let's whine.

1. We've moved on from a cold to an ear infection (thanks everyone for clarifying the differences between a cold and flu).

2. Two weeks ago I paid to have Julia go to school for an extra three days a week, which, at this point, means I've paid some crazy amount for the TWO extra days that she actually made it to school.

3. I have PMS, and I don't need to explain why that's a whine.

4. After yesterday's work meeting, I have A LOT of stuff to do. And this is a whine because of Number 1.

5. Grace's Kindergarten teacher sent a note home saying Grace needs to do a better job coloring in the lines. Is she serious? It took a lot of restraint to not write back, "this is effing riciculous". Yes, that's PMS talking. I wish I could show Mrs. S the hundreds of coloring pages we have laying around the house where the detail in Grace's coloring blows my mind. Grace doesn't color in the lines on her work sheets because it's boring. When she's bored she rushes through things. How do I know this? She's EXACTLY like her dad. He does the same thing.

Whine over. Drs. appointment next.

THE GRAND MIDWEST TOUR!

I'm sitting on the couch, still in my pajamas, still feeling a bit under the weather, wondering when are we going to plan THE GRAND MIDWEST TOUR! For months we've known we would go to Indiana and Michigan in July, but despite this understanding we have yet to actually pin down our dates (and it's July 2 already). Craig and I give different answers to the same question: when are you leaving? For me, we depart July 6; for Craig, it's July 9.

I've been apathetic about planning, which always makes me wonder if I have some other issues at play. So in no particular order, here they are:

1) I have a TERRIBLE haircut, and I don't want to be seen by anyone! Seriously, you would think I would learn that wearing short hair in the south is HAIR DEATH! Women just don't do it. The woman who cut my hair kept pausing to say "Are you sure about this?", which I should have taken as a sign that my hair would be TERRIBLE! Wearing short hair in the South also creates confusion; how can I have short hair and yet I'm not a lesbian. The worst day for my hair was last Sunday when my elderly african american neighbor told me, "Your hair looks bad, I don't like it. Did the woman who cuts Craig's hair cut yours?"

Sigh.

2) Grace starts Kindergarten on August 6, and I'm freaked. I've worked myself into such a frenzy over it that I've actually considered homeschooling (egads!). When my best friend was here last weekend, she hit the nail on the head:

Me: This is going to be such a big change for Grace, and I'm really nervous for her.

Q: That's true, but this is also going to be an ENORMOUS change for you.

Cue the tears. I've been giving myself pep talks (she's going to love it; she's ready; just because she'll be around kids who are older and exposed to more mature subjects, I'm not feeding her to the wolves; and finally BE CONFIDENT IN YOUR PARENTING, it doesn't end with Kindergarten).

She's going. I'm not homeschooling, but I will cry a lot (in private, so I don't freak her out).

3) Craig just finished his summer teaching (for which I should be thrilled), but I haven't transitioned out of my spouse is working insane hours and I feel like a single parent mode. I keep waiting for him to announce that he has to work. I don't know how to keep a schedule when he's home. It throws everything off. I know, I'm such a whiner!

4) My high school reunion is at the end of the month, and we can't decide whether or not we will stay long enough to attend (see number 2). My mom wondered if I might be anxious about attending the reunion, and with the exception of number 1, I'm not anxious in the least. I have a good life (even if I complain about number 3). However, my indecision about the reunion makes determining a departure date that much more difficult. We don't want to be gone for too long, and yet we want to see a lot of people.

Sigh again.

Regardless of these issues we will be heading north shortly. Perhaps instead of THE GRAND MIDWEST TOUR! I should refer to our trip as INDECISION SUMMER 09!

intermission

Having the best summer ever isn't supposed to involve projectile vomiting, but that's where we are. It's entirely cruel of me, I know, but I had to stifle a giggle when I saw that Grace's spew had landed on Craig's cheek. He took one for the team.

Feel sorry for me

Really.

Julia decided to start her day at 2:30 this morning. She didn't wake from a bad dream. She just wanted to be up. For the first hour and a half we tried to get her back to sleep in our bed. No dice. We spent that time alternately being kicked and caressed--she loves to stroke her dad's hair. Then we tried her bed and she screamed so loudly I feared she would wake Grace. Our next attempt involved leaving her alone in her room with the lights on. She had books and toys--enough stuff to keep her entertained. Or so we thought. In her mind entertainment includes singing at the top of her lungs. Cute at four in the afternoon, not-so-much at four in the morning. At 4:50 am Craig got up with her for good. He's a good husband.

Grace got up at her normal wake-up time, 7:15, and we passed Craig and Julia on their way up the stairs as Craig made a final attempt to get her to sleep. He won that time. She's sleeping now--who knows for how long.

prelude

I went to Nashville over the weekend and left Craig to care for the girls alone. I received daily reports on their antics (and temper tantrums--Julia is almost two after all). Craig related one interaction in particular that will remain in memory for a very long time:

Craig explains (at length) to Grace why she shouldn't do something.

Grace: exaggerated sigh "Daddy, what you're saying is making my brain boring."

Add ten, no, seven years to her age, and we're in for some fun!

Monday Edition

The cavalry arrived Friday afternoon.

My sister has saved our butts too many times to count. When she called on Wednesday to say she would be here in two days, I cried. I was exhausted. Grace wasn't sleeping much. I was sleeping even less. Warm showers in the middle of the night were the only thing bringing her relief at the time.

At one particularly low point, in hopes of providing some distraction from the pain, I asked Grace if she wanted Betsy to bring anything special.

"Herself", Grace replied. "I just need my Betsy."

Don't we all need a Betsy sometimes. I know I do.

Of course Bets didn't arrive empty handed. She brought the girls sprinkle and chocolate covered marshmallow kebabs. Only in Savannah can you find such things.



Grace immediately demolished hers.



Julia, on the other hand, was a bit confused at how to approach such a delicacy.



With the girls in safe hands, I was finally able to get out of the house for the first time since Grace became sick. Craig and I even snuck away Saturday night to watch Slumdog Millionaire. My sister is great. She's very good to us, and I know it.

Grace has steadily improved since Friday. She tires easily, and muscle and joint pain make walking difficult at times. I'm not complaining though. Any current issues pale in comparison to what we faced just a week ago. She's done so well that I sent her back to school this morning, and she lasted for an hour and 10 minutes before they called me to pick her up. Baby steps. One of the many doctors we saw regarding her allergy told us it may take up to a month before she fully recovers.

Last night, with the girls in bed, I walked into the living room to watch a little TV. This is what I found:



I used to tell people that Ollie was big boned. I was lying. This cat is fat.

Happy Monday.

The facts

We are 36 hours into Grace's allergic reaction to amoxicillin. 

For the first 12 we didn't know what was causing welts to erupt all over her body. 

It took two separate trips to the after hours clinic before we got the diagnosis and a prescription for prednisone. 

Since Friday night we have been living on a six hour schedule: the amount of time between doses of benadryl. 

Like clockwork, at hour five Grace starts to scratch more ferociously. She starts to writhe in pain and cry, as the eruptions migrate to different parts of her body. 

The overall amount of inflammation remains unchanged. 

The pediatrician told us to expect new eruptions for at least a week. 

There is very little Craig and I can do to comfort her. We rub her body with calamine, and we hold her. We let her scream at us in anger, knowing she is in pain and incredibly overtired. 

We haven't slept very much.

Knowing we can't resolve this quickly is killing me. 

I would give just about anything to have known she was allergic to penicillin and it's derivatives. 

...

I thought of using the title "Mrs. Dad, Day One" but that felt silly, so no title. Craig's in Chicago. He left popping advil in hopes that "the sick" wouldn't bring him down too. I've spent the day in a fog--foggy head that is. My body aches too. We've both come down with the girls' illness, and truth is that I'll probably have the easier time of it. While I may have Grace and Julia with which to contend, at least I won't have to spend 10 hours a day running experiments in a lab.

According to my clock, it's 8:09 pm. I plan to be in bed by 8:15. Hopelessly lame and I don't care.