I have insomnia. But it's not really insomnia. Recently, and when I say recently I mean the past month or so, I have been waking up at 4 am and then I can't go back to sleep. At first it's an exciting canvas of free time with no husband or children to bother me. I get up, I drink my coffee, I read, I write, I make lunches and then by 5 am I'm back in my bed and when the alarm goes off at 6 am I feel slightly hung over.
When I'm in Atlanta visiting my dad I always wake up early so I can have coffee with him. His house is about 2 square feet so I can hear him puttering around (this is a very dad word...puttering or to putter...it means to do little stuff that on it's own is not of much consequence) so I steal the opportunity to have him one on one and we go and sit on his front porch and drink coffee and talk. Dad is not a big talker. He never has been. But at 4-5 am he is at his chattiest and we have our best conversations in the world before the sun rises. His house, though no where near a beach or water for that matter, sits up on stilts so when you are on the front porch among the trees it's like you are sitting in a tree fort having a secret meeting. Even when I'm not visiting, sometimes I'll wake up early and call him on the phone or send him a text and it feels almost like we are sitting in his tree fort drinking coffee. And days, weeks or a month can go by and I can call him up or send him a text and there is never any bitterness or resentment for the missed time. No apologies or explanations needed. It's like that in our little club.
Now things haven't always been roses or butterflies in our 43 years of acquaintance. He has never really gotten mad at me or if he has he doesn't show it. He just gets silent. That is the absolute worst. Silent judgement...only you don't know if it is judgement or indifference or castigation or agreement or what. It's maddening. When I was a teenager and pushing the boundaries in mostly pretty harmless ways, I could never get a reaction out of him which was quite frustrating and when you were a mildly borderline and narcissistic adolescent as I was you could read all sorts of stuff into his silence. He's not a turtle or an ostrich. He doesn't retreat into his shell or stick his head in the sand. He's like an old oak tree that just stands there rooted despite the storm that is raging around him. Before he and my mom got divorced they would "talk" in the kitchen with the door closed. The den was adjacent to the kitchen and while my brother (who was like 2 or 4 at the time and oblivious) and I watched TV I could hear all sorts of inflections and tones and volumes in my mom's voice but no sound ever came out of my dad. If I'm allowed to speculate, I'd say that his silence is part of the demise of their relationship (among many other things). My mom, who was 23 when she married him & still working out her own issues, couldn't handle the silence. It was like water-boarding and she was the water-boardee.
I can remember 2 times in my life where I got really mad at him. I believe pissed would be the correct term to use. The first time I was a junior in college and the second time was about 5 years ago. Both times it took about a year to get all the kinks worked out. The first time I raged at him via phone and letter and in my mind and then it was over. When you rage and someone doesn't rage back I guess the storm eventually dies. The second time, after I finally worked up the nerve to tell him I was angry, he actually came out with his boxing gloves. There was no TKO but he did spar and it ended in a draw and with greater understanding for the both of us. I lost about 9 months of good communication being resentful before I finally decided to air my grievance but I was kind of proud of him for putting up a defense.
He's always reserved his opinion. Even when you ask him for it directly often he won't give it. Growing up it seemed more elusive than the Loch Ness Monster. Now, if I ask him for his opinion he doesn't come right out with it. He mulls it over for days and days and then when you least expect a response it will come to you...normally by text or email. It always catches me off guard. Not because what he has to say is so shocking but because I mostly don't expect to get it (his opinion, I mean). So I'll be waiting in line at HEB or in the car pool lane or sitting strung out on the couch at the end of the day and I'll check my phone and there it is...the golden ticket...an email or text from dad with his thoughts. Usually by that time I'm 3 or 4 minor crises removed, but I will read it and about 98% of the time it makes good, solid sense. Probably it makes sense 100% of the time but the other 2% I disagree and so discard it as the shortcomings of an older generation.
Another favorite dad display of affection is when he sends me random articles or book suggestions. Sometimes these come by email, sometimes by phone and sometimes even by mail. We are both in the health care profession so I've gotten several esoteric medically related articles. Or sometimes he'll send me a short story out of Mother Jones or some left-leaning political piece (even though I'm more right leaning, I don't mind these articles and enjoy the difference in perspective). But what I really like is when he shares his reflections on his spiritual growth or the most recent Bible passage he has read or the most recent sermon topic he has heard.
The coffee is starting to wear off and I haven't even had time to talk about the simple, yet eloquent way that he walks the walk...there has never been a time that he hasn't been helping someone else, but it is almost always in an understated and quiet way. It might be putting a new roof on someone's house at the church or spending a Saturday doing a build for Habitat or flying across the world to volunteer but there isn't fanfare or self congratulations. If he's in Vietnam or Haiti there might be photos but most of them are of the people he's met or who he is helping. I used to wonder why we didn't get a lot of gifts, but the older I get the more I realize the real gift is the example and I don't think he's ever really meant to do that; be an example. He'll tell me about the new roof he is putting on a church ladies house (this is a 67 yo man climbing up onto someone's roof, shucking shingles in the hot sun or cold air) in the same sentence he's telling me about reorganizing his work room or the dog's most recent antics.
He's a good egg, dear ole dad. And then there are his chickens...but I've gotta go refuel and make pb & js. No going back to bed today.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Not So Snowy Day
The kids are home from school today. This is the second day in 2 weeks where school has been cancelled because of inclement weather. Because we are in the south our city isn't equipped to deal with the teeniest amount of ice, sleet or snow. Lucky for me, I don't have to go to work today (clinic was cancelled) so I get to enjoy the day with my kids.
Regardless of your political leanings to the appropriateness of canceling school because it is cold outside, your inner child has to be yahooing with delight. As a kid, it doesn't get much better than school being canceled for any reason. I grew up in Chamblee, Georgia and I remember vividly the wonder of snow days. The only difference is we did get some real snow accumulation. There was a particular hill in my neighborhood of Huntley Hills behind the houses on Plantation Lane...many kids would gather there with sleds or toboggans or anything that would go down a hill. There were no helmets and there were certainly no adults. We'd walk back home cold and dripping wet and make Totino's Pizza Rolls and watch the Price is Right. It was just my brother and me because my mom still had to go to work. I don't remember if we had to make up those days or not because on that one day, it was absolute freedom. For my kids, it's slightly different in Houston, Texas. In the 23 years I've lived here I think we've had snow stick to the ground only twice and it wasn't more than a light dusting. We did get 2 weeks off of school for a Hurricane, but that is a different story. And because it is flatter than a pre-teen girl's chest, there is zero opportunity for sledding even if there was snow. But, you still get to sleep late, watch bad TV, play video games for hours and run back and forth between your house and your friend's house depending on whose mother is the least irritable at the time. The other difference is that my kids aren't completely unsupervised (not mom's fault...the plight of the single parent).
I suppose 35 years ago, it wasn't as big of a deal not to have a parent around all the time. But, my mom didn't really have a choice and she did the best she could. It's only by the grace of God that a lot of bad stuff didn't happen and that my brother and I didn't end up in the prison system. She was meaner than a snake and I was scared to death of her. I guess it's kind of like animals in the wild, they develop defense mechanisms to ward off any one who might try to do them harm. My mom had this scary as hell exterior so we wouldn't f*ck with her and so we'd do what we were supposed to do. In the words of Sweet Brown she must have been thinking, "I ain't got time for that!"
A couple of times I managed to get away with stuff. One afternoon my friend Cathy and I decided we wanted to make French fries and we almost burned down my house in a grease fire. It took several years to get all the smoke stains off the cabinets. Another time, same friend - Cathy, decided to teach me a lesson and not leave her supervising my younger brother while I rode my bike over to another neighborhood to visit my boyfriend who'd just been in a car accident. I had no sooner arrived at his house than the phone rang and she told me I'd better get home quick b/c my 9 year old brother had just fallen out of a tree and broken his arm. I got on my bicycle and raced home to find him lying on the couch, moaning with his arm in a temporary sling. I burst into tears. I'd like to think it was out of concern for my brother, but it was because I knew my a$$ was toast as soon as my mom found out a)I'd left my little brother and b)I went to a boy's house unsupervised. I was weeping great tears of fear. Cathy and my little brother (and by this time my neighbor Mary Ann had joined in the fun) kept up the rouse for about 10 minutes while I tried to think up all sorts of lies to tell my mother. Finally Bill popped up off the couch and scampered off somewhere to play, arm intact, and Cathy laid into me about ditching her for a boy AND leaving her with my little brother.
I doubt my kids will get into that kind of trouble, but they'll manage their own brand of mischief. The boys are the best because they tell me most things and when they don't their friends do, even if it is unintentional. I've gotten more Intel from my sons' friends just by being a fly on the wall. And thankfully my daughter has a 31 year old neighbor to confide in and I trust her (the neighbor) unquestionably.
Gonna go drink my cup of coffee in peace and torment my oldest son's friends as they have already started bullet texting him at 8 am ("Go back to bed you fool"). I guess I am DOM, daughter of Martha...
Everyone have fun today in the not snow!
Regardless of your political leanings to the appropriateness of canceling school because it is cold outside, your inner child has to be yahooing with delight. As a kid, it doesn't get much better than school being canceled for any reason. I grew up in Chamblee, Georgia and I remember vividly the wonder of snow days. The only difference is we did get some real snow accumulation. There was a particular hill in my neighborhood of Huntley Hills behind the houses on Plantation Lane...many kids would gather there with sleds or toboggans or anything that would go down a hill. There were no helmets and there were certainly no adults. We'd walk back home cold and dripping wet and make Totino's Pizza Rolls and watch the Price is Right. It was just my brother and me because my mom still had to go to work. I don't remember if we had to make up those days or not because on that one day, it was absolute freedom. For my kids, it's slightly different in Houston, Texas. In the 23 years I've lived here I think we've had snow stick to the ground only twice and it wasn't more than a light dusting. We did get 2 weeks off of school for a Hurricane, but that is a different story. And because it is flatter than a pre-teen girl's chest, there is zero opportunity for sledding even if there was snow. But, you still get to sleep late, watch bad TV, play video games for hours and run back and forth between your house and your friend's house depending on whose mother is the least irritable at the time. The other difference is that my kids aren't completely unsupervised (not mom's fault...the plight of the single parent).
I suppose 35 years ago, it wasn't as big of a deal not to have a parent around all the time. But, my mom didn't really have a choice and she did the best she could. It's only by the grace of God that a lot of bad stuff didn't happen and that my brother and I didn't end up in the prison system. She was meaner than a snake and I was scared to death of her. I guess it's kind of like animals in the wild, they develop defense mechanisms to ward off any one who might try to do them harm. My mom had this scary as hell exterior so we wouldn't f*ck with her and so we'd do what we were supposed to do. In the words of Sweet Brown she must have been thinking, "I ain't got time for that!"
A couple of times I managed to get away with stuff. One afternoon my friend Cathy and I decided we wanted to make French fries and we almost burned down my house in a grease fire. It took several years to get all the smoke stains off the cabinets. Another time, same friend - Cathy, decided to teach me a lesson and not leave her supervising my younger brother while I rode my bike over to another neighborhood to visit my boyfriend who'd just been in a car accident. I had no sooner arrived at his house than the phone rang and she told me I'd better get home quick b/c my 9 year old brother had just fallen out of a tree and broken his arm. I got on my bicycle and raced home to find him lying on the couch, moaning with his arm in a temporary sling. I burst into tears. I'd like to think it was out of concern for my brother, but it was because I knew my a$$ was toast as soon as my mom found out a)I'd left my little brother and b)I went to a boy's house unsupervised. I was weeping great tears of fear. Cathy and my little brother (and by this time my neighbor Mary Ann had joined in the fun) kept up the rouse for about 10 minutes while I tried to think up all sorts of lies to tell my mother. Finally Bill popped up off the couch and scampered off somewhere to play, arm intact, and Cathy laid into me about ditching her for a boy AND leaving her with my little brother.
I doubt my kids will get into that kind of trouble, but they'll manage their own brand of mischief. The boys are the best because they tell me most things and when they don't their friends do, even if it is unintentional. I've gotten more Intel from my sons' friends just by being a fly on the wall. And thankfully my daughter has a 31 year old neighbor to confide in and I trust her (the neighbor) unquestionably.
Gonna go drink my cup of coffee in peace and torment my oldest son's friends as they have already started bullet texting him at 8 am ("Go back to bed you fool"). I guess I am DOM, daughter of Martha...
Everyone have fun today in the not snow!
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Arduousness
Four kids would be too many. I had 2 miscarriages and I think it was because God knew I'd be a terrible mother if I had more than 3 children. As it is, with 3 kids, I'm a marginal mother at best. You see, everyone has needs. And I am supposed to attend to these needs and I do. But then at 11:30 pm I start getting resentful of neediness and then I'm just plain angry and I honestly don't care how hungry or sad or confused or scared or constipated or febrile someone might be. I just want everyone to leave me the fuck alone. Truth.
Tonight I stayed up to watch a movie with my surrogate young adult child. Side Effects. I wouldn't really recommend that you watch it with your 9 yo daughter and maybe not your 12 yo son. Aside from the lesbian love scenes and graphic heterosexual sex, the movie was a bit creepy and kinda wigged me out, so now my daughter wants me to sleep in her room and my son is asleep in my room. The 20 yo is just fine though it has made her reconsider a career in psychiatry (it might help out her cousins who will need therapy bc their mother/her aunt let them watch developmentally inappropriate movies).
Summer has been incredibly busy for us. My solution to long, hot days is to be inside an air conditioned car as much as possible and this can only be accomplished by scheduling an exponential number of activities. I don't know if this is the solution to slothfulness but it sure as hell has the potential to cause exhaustion in the driver and irritability in the participants. So far kid 1 has 2 water polo teams, swim team, chess club, youth group and Boy Scouts. Kid 2 has lacrosse team, water polo team, swim team, chess club and Boy Scouts. Kid 3 has swim team and water polo and she did a week of basketball camp and she has a weekly reading class because I thought she might be a bit slow in the reading comprehension department (then I got her standardized test scores and I realized she's been fooling me). We still have another 3 weeks of water polo, Junior Olympic water polo, youth group trip, volleyball camp and sleep away camp for all 3. And I work, part time, but it's still work. WTF am I thinking? I hate TV and video games so much that I'm chasing my tale and spending close to $10,000 to torture my kids just to avoid it? Why didn't I just pull the plug?
Honestly, I don't think it was this hard for our parents. All they had to do was yell at us for talking on the phone for too long. They didn't have to contend with social media, assassinating video games, online Minecraft weirdos, electronic envy (my 9 yo has 2 friends with an iPhone 5 and she's outraged that she can't have one). Do I lock them in a closet? Give in? Or keep hemorrhaging cash and keep them so busy that they collapse in bed every night? Do they resent me? And, if it keeps them out of rehab or jail, do I care?
I realize that none of this is funny and I'm only bitching, but tough shit. And these are all rich, white girl problems. Yesterday at the dry cleaner, the kid who took my clothes was 14 yo and he and his 2 younger sisters are spending their summer in the dry cleaner's shop because their mother works there and she has no where else for them to go. Maybe that's the kind of camp in which I need to sign up my kids?
Alright, I'm exhausted now and I've been typing when I should have been cleaning the kitchen or sleeping. My poor husband is still working and he's so tired he could use tooth picks to keep his eyes open. I guess this is how it's gonna be unless we go to year round school...Australia anyone?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tonight I stayed up to watch a movie with my surrogate young adult child. Side Effects. I wouldn't really recommend that you watch it with your 9 yo daughter and maybe not your 12 yo son. Aside from the lesbian love scenes and graphic heterosexual sex, the movie was a bit creepy and kinda wigged me out, so now my daughter wants me to sleep in her room and my son is asleep in my room. The 20 yo is just fine though it has made her reconsider a career in psychiatry (it might help out her cousins who will need therapy bc their mother/her aunt let them watch developmentally inappropriate movies).
Summer has been incredibly busy for us. My solution to long, hot days is to be inside an air conditioned car as much as possible and this can only be accomplished by scheduling an exponential number of activities. I don't know if this is the solution to slothfulness but it sure as hell has the potential to cause exhaustion in the driver and irritability in the participants. So far kid 1 has 2 water polo teams, swim team, chess club, youth group and Boy Scouts. Kid 2 has lacrosse team, water polo team, swim team, chess club and Boy Scouts. Kid 3 has swim team and water polo and she did a week of basketball camp and she has a weekly reading class because I thought she might be a bit slow in the reading comprehension department (then I got her standardized test scores and I realized she's been fooling me). We still have another 3 weeks of water polo, Junior Olympic water polo, youth group trip, volleyball camp and sleep away camp for all 3. And I work, part time, but it's still work. WTF am I thinking? I hate TV and video games so much that I'm chasing my tale and spending close to $10,000 to torture my kids just to avoid it? Why didn't I just pull the plug?
Honestly, I don't think it was this hard for our parents. All they had to do was yell at us for talking on the phone for too long. They didn't have to contend with social media, assassinating video games, online Minecraft weirdos, electronic envy (my 9 yo has 2 friends with an iPhone 5 and she's outraged that she can't have one). Do I lock them in a closet? Give in? Or keep hemorrhaging cash and keep them so busy that they collapse in bed every night? Do they resent me? And, if it keeps them out of rehab or jail, do I care?
I realize that none of this is funny and I'm only bitching, but tough shit. And these are all rich, white girl problems. Yesterday at the dry cleaner, the kid who took my clothes was 14 yo and he and his 2 younger sisters are spending their summer in the dry cleaner's shop because their mother works there and she has no where else for them to go. Maybe that's the kind of camp in which I need to sign up my kids?
Alright, I'm exhausted now and I've been typing when I should have been cleaning the kitchen or sleeping. My poor husband is still working and he's so tired he could use tooth picks to keep his eyes open. I guess this is how it's gonna be unless we go to year round school...Australia anyone?
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Location:My messy home
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Summer
It's 90 degrees at 10:30 in the morning, but with the humidity it feels like 98 degrees (according to The Weather Channel app). We are barely into the third week of summer and already I sense mutiny is on the horizon. I don't think there are any correct answers on how best to occupy your kids throughout the months of June - August. If you ask my kids, who are in the throes of/approaching adolescence, they'd tell you this is their ideal schedule:
A) stay up till 12-1 am every night
B) wake up at noon everyday
C) spend the 12 hours in between either playing Black Ops, Minecraft or watching movies on Amazon. (9 yo sister would request play dates with a different friend everyday and want you to do things like, take her ice skating)
I have a problem with their schedule. Maybe it's my mom's fault because she didn't tolerate slothfulness and now I'm conditioned to be the same or more likely, I'm just mean.
I don't mind being mean, because I figure that my popularity as a parent is inversely proportional to my effectiveness. But it can be exhausting, especially since everyone has an opinion now. I had no idea how easy I had it 5 years ago when they did what they were told, more or less.
I see myself as drill sergeant and they are in my boot camp. The really terrifying thing is I have morphed into my parents: "as long as you live under my roof...."
Yesterday as my almost 13 year old was complaining about some injustice, I told him not to worry because he only had to suffer through his father and my rules for 6 more years and then he could make up his own. He was surprised at the relatively little time he has left living with us and suddenly he was little again, "Mom, don't some kids still live with their parents after college?"
Speaking of which, we have the pleasure of my 20 yo niece living with us this summer. She's finished her first 2 years of college and a decade worth of teen years and she is not that much closer to maturity than my 12 year old. Don't get me wrong, she is absolutely lovely, and a joy to have in our home and I can only hope that my kids will be as successful, academically, but adolescence seems to extend into the mid 20s. The next 15 years look bleak for us.
I think I understand why parents want to live long enough to see their own kids struggle through parenthood. There is no price tag on vindication.
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A) stay up till 12-1 am every night
B) wake up at noon everyday
C) spend the 12 hours in between either playing Black Ops, Minecraft or watching movies on Amazon. (9 yo sister would request play dates with a different friend everyday and want you to do things like, take her ice skating)
I have a problem with their schedule. Maybe it's my mom's fault because she didn't tolerate slothfulness and now I'm conditioned to be the same or more likely, I'm just mean.
I don't mind being mean, because I figure that my popularity as a parent is inversely proportional to my effectiveness. But it can be exhausting, especially since everyone has an opinion now. I had no idea how easy I had it 5 years ago when they did what they were told, more or less.
I see myself as drill sergeant and they are in my boot camp. The really terrifying thing is I have morphed into my parents: "as long as you live under my roof...."
Yesterday as my almost 13 year old was complaining about some injustice, I told him not to worry because he only had to suffer through his father and my rules for 6 more years and then he could make up his own. He was surprised at the relatively little time he has left living with us and suddenly he was little again, "Mom, don't some kids still live with their parents after college?"
Speaking of which, we have the pleasure of my 20 yo niece living with us this summer. She's finished her first 2 years of college and a decade worth of teen years and she is not that much closer to maturity than my 12 year old. Don't get me wrong, she is absolutely lovely, and a joy to have in our home and I can only hope that my kids will be as successful, academically, but adolescence seems to extend into the mid 20s. The next 15 years look bleak for us.
I think I understand why parents want to live long enough to see their own kids struggle through parenthood. There is no price tag on vindication.
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Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Squalor
I'm sitting in my car bawling my eyes out while my daughter is in her guitar lesson. It's raining outside and I have guinea pig fur all over my black leggings and t-shirt.
I've been sick the past couple of days and I think I should have just stayed in bed today. I probably wouldn't be weeping like a toddler, sucking back snot, with guinea pig fur all over my clothes sitting in my car in the rain outside the guitar teacher's house.
I've had 4 large plastic tubs lined up in our hallway for about 4 weeks waiting for my husband to put them in the attic. He's not lazy, just busy. Because of the 4 large tubs there is a very narrow path by which you can get up and down the hallway. And there is a bookcase in the hallway too. That's mine. I moved it out of my daughter's bedroom about 3 months ago with intentions of finding it a permanent home. But it's sat in the hallway instead. My husband put the turd infested guinea pig cage into the hallway on top of the plastic tubs about 4 days ago. He said it smelled too bad for it to stay in our daughter's room. So his good idea was to really reinforce the concept of squalor. I swear to you if you walked into our house you'd think you were on the set of an episode of Hoarders.
Probably because I'm sick and not thinking rationally, I chose today as the day to clean out the guinea pig's cage. There were more turds than bedding in the bottom of the cage. Those things are just poop factories. Because it smelled so bad in her room, I decided the thing needs to go in a common room-more open space to disperse the odor. The problem is the current arrangement of the furniture doesn't allow for guinea pig cage placement. So I decided to start rearranging major pieces of furniture and thus the tears. Now I no longer have just a nasty guinea pig cage to deal with but I have chairs huddled together in the TV room and a piano in the dining room and tumble weeds of dog hair that have been unearthed and suddenly I feel like my home is not fit for humans and I'm just an imposter...a slob and CPS and the SPCA are gonna come remove my kids and animals and I'm gonna become part of the homeless community living under 610 fighting over discarded cigarette butts.
I probably need to go back to bed (if I can find it) and start again tomorrow.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I've been sick the past couple of days and I think I should have just stayed in bed today. I probably wouldn't be weeping like a toddler, sucking back snot, with guinea pig fur all over my clothes sitting in my car in the rain outside the guitar teacher's house.
I've had 4 large plastic tubs lined up in our hallway for about 4 weeks waiting for my husband to put them in the attic. He's not lazy, just busy. Because of the 4 large tubs there is a very narrow path by which you can get up and down the hallway. And there is a bookcase in the hallway too. That's mine. I moved it out of my daughter's bedroom about 3 months ago with intentions of finding it a permanent home. But it's sat in the hallway instead. My husband put the turd infested guinea pig cage into the hallway on top of the plastic tubs about 4 days ago. He said it smelled too bad for it to stay in our daughter's room. So his good idea was to really reinforce the concept of squalor. I swear to you if you walked into our house you'd think you were on the set of an episode of Hoarders.
Probably because I'm sick and not thinking rationally, I chose today as the day to clean out the guinea pig's cage. There were more turds than bedding in the bottom of the cage. Those things are just poop factories. Because it smelled so bad in her room, I decided the thing needs to go in a common room-more open space to disperse the odor. The problem is the current arrangement of the furniture doesn't allow for guinea pig cage placement. So I decided to start rearranging major pieces of furniture and thus the tears. Now I no longer have just a nasty guinea pig cage to deal with but I have chairs huddled together in the TV room and a piano in the dining room and tumble weeds of dog hair that have been unearthed and suddenly I feel like my home is not fit for humans and I'm just an imposter...a slob and CPS and the SPCA are gonna come remove my kids and animals and I'm gonna become part of the homeless community living under 610 fighting over discarded cigarette butts.
I probably need to go back to bed (if I can find it) and start again tomorrow.
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Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Cousins
An old one I never posted. A text to my dad.
Last night...
Have cousins here. They spent the night last night. The girls are still asleep in my bed. Last night we watched "Throw Mama from the Train" after eating at a little hole in the wall by their house, Jolly Cup. The cousins directed the dining and cinema choices and everyone really enjoyed themselves. You'll have to get the cousins to take you to Jolly Cup when you come. They have great Vietnamese sandwiches (banh mi) and shakes with tapioca balls. We were trying to find a cheap place where I could feed all 5 of them and they both were very much in favor of this place. At first oldest son tried to stage a hunger strike (he had been out-voted 4 to 1 against his choice, Chipotle) but the Big Dawg knows good food when he smells it and eventually his sense of taste and smell won out over the his principles (must always have my way?). Jolly Cup was a good way to let the searing pain and humiliation from my 322nd back up into another car (can anyone say back up camera on the next car?) dissipate. Niece forgot her handmade gift to Uncle Lee so I decided that reversing down the cul-de-sac at night with a van full of kids would be the most expedient method of retrieval. Only we didn't get very far because our backward progress was impeded by a white Toyota Camry, which lucky for me, sustained no damage. We managed a quick get away without the gift and with only one explicative said aloud (which daughter was quick to spin for me in a moment of crisis. "You mean frick, mom, right? Because you hit the car? That's what she means 6 year old girl cousin"). Regardless, Vietnamese sandwiches in a dodgy strip mall in a restaurant filled with patrons who mostly spoke either Spanish or Vietnamese (except for the very loud 5 children who were alternately demonstrating Jane Fonda-esque aerobic maneuvers as can be done with your bar stool-niece with daughter as her star pupil or an 11 year old executive-nephew-handing out food orders whilst simultaneously looking very grand with a functionless blue tooth poking out on his right ear). Niece was generous enough to share her copy of Auto Trader magazine with me when she was done reading it and nephew was quick to explain the virtues of a giant bottle of communal Great Value Ranch Dressing vs bastardized barbecue sauce in a Siriracha bottle on your hot wings to his 10 year old cousin. Thankfully C-Span was playing on the 65" screen TV for all of us to enjoy.
On the car ride home I learned that Isaac likes niece as evidenced by his demonstration of love in kindergarten with a kiss to her forehead. The admiration is not reciprocal because niece has pledged her affections to Conner.
The girls started on a puzzle which generated a conversation about nerdiness; is it good or bad and what constitutes a nerd? The general consensus was, though they may like to study a lot, it was good to be a nerd although no one present was willing to be categorized as one.
The girls, very sweetly, laid in bed and read with me last night. Niece with her stack of Berenstain Bears books, daughter with her chapter books and me with my People magazine. And their they remain with books all over the bed. The boys all bunked in middle kid's room and nephew had emerged for a brief moment but went back to sleep when he learned he couldn't start playing video games at 7 am.
It's so comforting to be in their presence witnessing the creation of memories as a fly on the wall-just a facilitator. They all have their own unique and special role in the family dynamic and that sweet new baby niece better rest up now because she's gonna have to be ready to rumble soon enough!
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Last night...
Have cousins here. They spent the night last night. The girls are still asleep in my bed. Last night we watched "Throw Mama from the Train" after eating at a little hole in the wall by their house, Jolly Cup. The cousins directed the dining and cinema choices and everyone really enjoyed themselves. You'll have to get the cousins to take you to Jolly Cup when you come. They have great Vietnamese sandwiches (banh mi) and shakes with tapioca balls. We were trying to find a cheap place where I could feed all 5 of them and they both were very much in favor of this place. At first oldest son tried to stage a hunger strike (he had been out-voted 4 to 1 against his choice, Chipotle) but the Big Dawg knows good food when he smells it and eventually his sense of taste and smell won out over the his principles (must always have my way?). Jolly Cup was a good way to let the searing pain and humiliation from my 322nd back up into another car (can anyone say back up camera on the next car?) dissipate. Niece forgot her handmade gift to Uncle Lee so I decided that reversing down the cul-de-sac at night with a van full of kids would be the most expedient method of retrieval. Only we didn't get very far because our backward progress was impeded by a white Toyota Camry, which lucky for me, sustained no damage. We managed a quick get away without the gift and with only one explicative said aloud (which daughter was quick to spin for me in a moment of crisis. "You mean frick, mom, right? Because you hit the car? That's what she means 6 year old girl cousin"). Regardless, Vietnamese sandwiches in a dodgy strip mall in a restaurant filled with patrons who mostly spoke either Spanish or Vietnamese (except for the very loud 5 children who were alternately demonstrating Jane Fonda-esque aerobic maneuvers as can be done with your bar stool-niece with daughter as her star pupil or an 11 year old executive-nephew-handing out food orders whilst simultaneously looking very grand with a functionless blue tooth poking out on his right ear). Niece was generous enough to share her copy of Auto Trader magazine with me when she was done reading it and nephew was quick to explain the virtues of a giant bottle of communal Great Value Ranch Dressing vs bastardized barbecue sauce in a Siriracha bottle on your hot wings to his 10 year old cousin. Thankfully C-Span was playing on the 65" screen TV for all of us to enjoy.
On the car ride home I learned that Isaac likes niece as evidenced by his demonstration of love in kindergarten with a kiss to her forehead. The admiration is not reciprocal because niece has pledged her affections to Conner.
The girls started on a puzzle which generated a conversation about nerdiness; is it good or bad and what constitutes a nerd? The general consensus was, though they may like to study a lot, it was good to be a nerd although no one present was willing to be categorized as one.
The girls, very sweetly, laid in bed and read with me last night. Niece with her stack of Berenstain Bears books, daughter with her chapter books and me with my People magazine. And their they remain with books all over the bed. The boys all bunked in middle kid's room and nephew had emerged for a brief moment but went back to sleep when he learned he couldn't start playing video games at 7 am.
It's so comforting to be in their presence witnessing the creation of memories as a fly on the wall-just a facilitator. They all have their own unique and special role in the family dynamic and that sweet new baby niece better rest up now because she's gonna have to be ready to rumble soon enough!
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Monday, March 11, 2013
Giving Bad News
Giving bad news never gets easier. And the older I get the more difficult it becomes. I suppose it's because I now have more life experience and when I was a younger doctor I could easily separate patients' lives from my own. Recently, I had to tell a woman that she has metastatic cancer. I had suspected as much but, like her, I was holding out unrealistic hope.
The past week or so I've been having paroxysms of sharp pain in my right temple and in my back, over my ribs on the right. The pain doesn't last long, seconds, but the rib pain, especially, catches my breath.
Normally, I'm prone to ruminating over whatever ache or pain I may be experiencing. Let me clarify, I don't ruminate frequently, but when I do have a pain, my mind immediately conjures the worst case scenario with me dead within weeks to months.
The mind and body have such a powerful connection. I'm not particularly new-agey but things in your subconscious can manifest themselves in many different ways, both bizarre and simple. Over time, doctors develop coping mechanisms to deal with unpleasant and uncomfortable feelings. Humor and repression are two popular and convenient ways to handle them. My husband is on a committee that deals with professionalism and medical students. Many of the committee members are not clinicians, meaning they have no patient contact. To them, some of the things that are spoken during rounds or in clinic would be incredulous. What they don't understand is that clinicians, on the whole, aren't cold and insensitive; we're simply trying to stay sane. In his brilliance, my husband has developed something called "the box of unprofessionalism". It's kind of like a confessional booth in that while you are standing in the box of unprofessionalism (which is far away from patient care areas and behind closed doors) you can say whatever you like without reprimand. It's not that he embraces insensitivity or crassness, rather he understands the importance of decompressing during incredibly stressful situations. (Maybe this is why he wins so many teaching awards).
For several days I've been repressing my grief over my patient's diagnosis. I had to tell someone, speak aloud, the words no one wants to hear. Every year Lee and I, along with one of our colleague's, give a lecture to the medical students about being a doctor and having an illness. We all discuss how your life changes the day you (or a loved one) receive the unwelcome news. All of the sudden you have to alter the landscape of your life. As a doctor, I don't think I can discount or underestimate the significance of giving another person equally life-altering news. What's the correct way to process? There is no course in medical school or residency that tells you how you are supposed to act, feel, behave. And for how long afterwards should you feel like shit? What's that patient thinking right now? Is she scared? Resolved? Indignant? Angry? I'll tell you how I feel, overwhelmingly sad and if I'm really honest with myself, guilty. Why her and not me? Why do I have the burden and responsibility of reminding someone of their own mortality and why is her number up and not mine?
I think that if I could get alone for a bit I'd probably have a good cry and I think I need a good cry. Not just for myself, but for that lady. Maybe the lump in my throat would go away and the pain in my head and the ache in my back.
One last thing, especially since I'm typing this on my phone while my family is on a road trip and my kids are about to mutiny because they want lunch (and maybe that's why I can finally think about this. I'm not helping someone with homework, or finishing a yearbook, or paying a bill. I'm on vacation); it's a story from medical school. When I was a second year student on my general surgery rotation, my friend and I were given the task of sewing closed a young man's chest cavity after he had died. I can't remember the mechanism of his accident, either a gun shot wound or a car accident, but he had been brought into the emergency room as a shock, meaning he was being artificially resuscitated. Well, chest compressions alone weren't reviving him, so the surgeons cracked his chest and performed cardiac massage. After what seemed like an eternity, they called the code realizing nothing was going bring the guy back to life. What had moments before been a shock room full of frenzied activity was now silent, with me, my friend and the dead man. The nurses and surgeons had gone to talk to the family and left us to "close him up" so he would be presentable to his family and so we could "practice our suturing skills." So Carie and I stood there, silently, each carefully sewing up one side of his thorax. Sometimes we still talk about that night an how ill-equipped we were to be given such a responsibility and how, afterwards, no one but us thought it was a big deal. When the surgeon came back in he said, "Good job, but make sure to take the tube out of his mouth because it's upsetting to the family." And that was it.
In the 22 years since I started medical school, they have advanced a lot in terms of sensitivity training and all of that 21st century PC stuff (no such beast as a professionalism committee in the early 90s), but personally, it never gets any easier and I hope it never does.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
The past week or so I've been having paroxysms of sharp pain in my right temple and in my back, over my ribs on the right. The pain doesn't last long, seconds, but the rib pain, especially, catches my breath.
Normally, I'm prone to ruminating over whatever ache or pain I may be experiencing. Let me clarify, I don't ruminate frequently, but when I do have a pain, my mind immediately conjures the worst case scenario with me dead within weeks to months.
The mind and body have such a powerful connection. I'm not particularly new-agey but things in your subconscious can manifest themselves in many different ways, both bizarre and simple. Over time, doctors develop coping mechanisms to deal with unpleasant and uncomfortable feelings. Humor and repression are two popular and convenient ways to handle them. My husband is on a committee that deals with professionalism and medical students. Many of the committee members are not clinicians, meaning they have no patient contact. To them, some of the things that are spoken during rounds or in clinic would be incredulous. What they don't understand is that clinicians, on the whole, aren't cold and insensitive; we're simply trying to stay sane. In his brilliance, my husband has developed something called "the box of unprofessionalism". It's kind of like a confessional booth in that while you are standing in the box of unprofessionalism (which is far away from patient care areas and behind closed doors) you can say whatever you like without reprimand. It's not that he embraces insensitivity or crassness, rather he understands the importance of decompressing during incredibly stressful situations. (Maybe this is why he wins so many teaching awards).
For several days I've been repressing my grief over my patient's diagnosis. I had to tell someone, speak aloud, the words no one wants to hear. Every year Lee and I, along with one of our colleague's, give a lecture to the medical students about being a doctor and having an illness. We all discuss how your life changes the day you (or a loved one) receive the unwelcome news. All of the sudden you have to alter the landscape of your life. As a doctor, I don't think I can discount or underestimate the significance of giving another person equally life-altering news. What's the correct way to process? There is no course in medical school or residency that tells you how you are supposed to act, feel, behave. And for how long afterwards should you feel like shit? What's that patient thinking right now? Is she scared? Resolved? Indignant? Angry? I'll tell you how I feel, overwhelmingly sad and if I'm really honest with myself, guilty. Why her and not me? Why do I have the burden and responsibility of reminding someone of their own mortality and why is her number up and not mine?
I think that if I could get alone for a bit I'd probably have a good cry and I think I need a good cry. Not just for myself, but for that lady. Maybe the lump in my throat would go away and the pain in my head and the ache in my back.
One last thing, especially since I'm typing this on my phone while my family is on a road trip and my kids are about to mutiny because they want lunch (and maybe that's why I can finally think about this. I'm not helping someone with homework, or finishing a yearbook, or paying a bill. I'm on vacation); it's a story from medical school. When I was a second year student on my general surgery rotation, my friend and I were given the task of sewing closed a young man's chest cavity after he had died. I can't remember the mechanism of his accident, either a gun shot wound or a car accident, but he had been brought into the emergency room as a shock, meaning he was being artificially resuscitated. Well, chest compressions alone weren't reviving him, so the surgeons cracked his chest and performed cardiac massage. After what seemed like an eternity, they called the code realizing nothing was going bring the guy back to life. What had moments before been a shock room full of frenzied activity was now silent, with me, my friend and the dead man. The nurses and surgeons had gone to talk to the family and left us to "close him up" so he would be presentable to his family and so we could "practice our suturing skills." So Carie and I stood there, silently, each carefully sewing up one side of his thorax. Sometimes we still talk about that night an how ill-equipped we were to be given such a responsibility and how, afterwards, no one but us thought it was a big deal. When the surgeon came back in he said, "Good job, but make sure to take the tube out of his mouth because it's upsetting to the family." And that was it.
In the 22 years since I started medical school, they have advanced a lot in terms of sensitivity training and all of that 21st century PC stuff (no such beast as a professionalism committee in the early 90s), but personally, it never gets any easier and I hope it never does.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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