Hey all (all who read this anyway). Hope everything is going well with you and yours. I'm going to make this brief as Daniel, my youngest, wants to cuddle. I just wanted to pop in for a brief moment to say I had a fabulous time in New Hampshire with my brother and his family, had a surprisingly good time out with my mother in spite of her financial woes, and am even prouder of my younger brother than before. He is a good man. I will tell you more about why later. Just know that I am growing in my admiration of him and hope that somehow he knows this.
Here are my five things that I am grateful for:
1.) I am grateful for the fact that Brady is back home. I missed my puppy. He has been very tired all day which shows that he had all the attention he needed and that makes me feel good.
2.) I am grateful that my husband is not a male chauvanist. He was a tremendous help as we cleaned our home up today.
3.) I am grateful that I found a sale and was able to buy my boys the winter jackets that they needed
4.) I am grateful for my children's desire to cuddle with me. I need and want their affection and want and need to give them affection.
5.) I am grateful that my nieces and nephews are doing well. I love them more dearly than they can know.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
And so this is Christmas...
We have not yet begun the after Christmas clean up. I am in, what I lovingly refer to as, recovery mode. My husband and I stayed up until 4:30am Christmas Day wrapping presents. Our children were gracious enough to allow us to sleep until 9:00 am. If it were me at their age that would not have been happening. I was up out of bed at 4am and the only reason I wasn't starting on the presents at that point was because my parents would have skinned me alive. We waited until 8 am to wake them up.
If memory serves though, we didn't get to actually open anything until around 2pm Christmas Day for many years. Mostly because of my Grandmother. She would call us every year and say she would be here around 11am. Eleven? For any kid on Christmas morning that was just cruel, as we couldn't open anything until she was there. But, yes, eleven I am saying to you. We did not like Grandma Davies. She didn't understand kids. Not only was eleven too long, but she never showed up then. She would show up around two in the afternoon. Yes, we would have to wait. We would have to wait for the grandparents. They would come with their ugly sweater gifts and we would have to wait for them. We would have to endure the lipsticky kisses, the pretense of caring about how we were (she hated children), and feeling intensely uncomfortable around her and grandpa.
I think about them rarely now. My Grandmother and Grandfather are gone. They died several years ago. My grandmother had brain cancer and my grandfather had emphysema and lung cancer. I hope they did not suffer. But I would be lying if I said that I missed them. I think that there is a part of me that is missing or just never learned to love. I did not love them and when they were gone it just meant that my mother was not tortured by them anymore. She told me of several things that they did to her while she was actively their daughter, and it made me hate them. I don't hate them anymore. I have come to terms with the idea that they were whoever they were because of the times they grew up in, who they had for parents, the experiences they had in life and the frustrations they experienced. They were who they were. Not perfect. No more so than I am. They were people who lived their lives the way they saw fit and that was that. They were not particularly giving people, but that was their right to choose to be that way. I don't have to understand it. They lived. They died. The end.
I just wish I could find it in my heart to say that I loved them. But I didn't. I would feel like a liar if I said it. I don't hate them. But I didn't love them either. They wanted very little to do with me. They got their wish. The only time it matters now is when my mom tries to talk about them to me. She doesn't do that often, but when she does, I feel bad as I don't see them in the rosey light that she does. It seems that their deaths have caused my mom to rework history a bit in her mind to paint them in a kinder, gentler light. I don't disabuse her of her notions, after all, who am I to do so? But I remember them. But they weren't my parents. My mom needs and deserves to feel loved by her parents. If casting them in a slightly more flattering light than reality would afford allows her to feel a little of the love that she never got from them while they lived, then more power to her.
I find the "Judge not, lest ye be judged," passage of the Bible difficult here. I don't want to be unloving or anything, but it is very hard not to pass judgement on my grandparents. They did some very mean things. They were selfish and unkind. They treated each other poorly. None of their children seemed to want anything to do with them as they grew up. It makes me sad. They could have had such happy lives. They could have had lives filled with family, fun, laughter and joy. They chose to be bitter and selfish. They chose to be unkind to each other and to teach their children that things matter more than people.
When I was young I remember being at their home and feeling so uncomfortable. I used to get very tense, sitting on the edge of their couch, feet on the plastic runner my grandmother had running through the house. She would continually be making sure that we children (her grandchildren) were not touching anything we were not supposed to. She had nice things all over her home but we were not to touch. Eventually thank goodness my mother stopped bringing us there for the holidays as she realized how impossible it was for us there. We were treated like second class citizens.
I often wonder now if I do that to my children? I want them to grow up with a healthy respect for the belongings of others. I want them to behave properly when we are at someone else's home, but I worry sometimes that they feel too constrained when we visit. Boy I hope not.
Why am I talking about this stuff? I should be talking about the joy of Christmas. I should be sharing all the happy moments that we had. We did have many happy moments. So why am I tramping down unhappy memory lane? Why am I dragging out stuff about my long-dead grandparents now?
Probably because I feel guilty and I do think about them. I wish I could muster some positive memories of them. I mean, it's not like they were drowning kitties when we were at their home. It's just that there are too many negative memories of them, and they clutter up the memory spaces so much that the good memories, if there are any, are shoved into a dim corner. I truly wish that I could think of one time that I enjoyed being with them. One good memory that might offset the bad stuff. But I really can't.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged," I think. Well, I guess in this case God will be judging me rather harshly as I cannot in all honesty think of one good memory. I cannot say one thing that will redeem my recall of them. All I can say is that to my knowledge they never killed anyone. So I guess there is that.
Why am I thinking about all this? Why can I not focus on the really good stuff? I don't really have an answer for you. I get depressed every year during the holidays, and I have never really understood why. Maybe this is part of my attempt to understand why. Maybe I get depressed because I look at the people who have been in my family and know that it could have been oh so different if they had been willing to extend themselves even a little bit. Or someone had taught me how to see how they extended themselves. Maybe that is what is needed. Maybe I need to borrow my mother's rose colored glasses every now and then and try to see good in people. Is that what she is doing when she talks so fondly of her parents? Is she trying to see the good in them? Or is she just being willfully blind?
I didn't start writing this post to slam my grandparents. Really. I was intending to write about Christmas for our family, which was indeed a fun, happy and positive time. We woke up, had our traditional Christmas breakfast (I usually make pancakes or waffles from scratch) and then we opened our gifts. After we exchanged gifts we got dressed and went to my in-laws to exchange gifts with them. They were their usual gracious and warm selves. I got to spend some time chatting with my sister-in-law which I don't get to do very often, and it was nice to have coffee and pie with my mother-in-law. My children got to give what they had picked out to their family and help with dinner as they were able.
I had to work Christmas night, so we left around eight o'clock. I fell asleep for the ride home and was deeply asleep for most of the ride. This would have been the case for the whole ride except we hit a humongous pot hole on the road and it kicked off our fuel pump. Our minivan stopped dead on the highway in the fast lane of traffic. The result was a ride in a state police cruiser to get my children to safety, after which we were able to drive our van home. The state trooper was very friendly and accommodating thank goodness.
So why the talk about grandparents long dead and gone? I think its because the longer I am a parent and watch my husband's parents be grandparents, the more I see what grandparents should be. They love their grandchildren. They take care of them the best way they know how and they do right by them. Like Steve's parents do. I am so proud to call them my in-laws. I know that I can count on them. I know that if we are ever in trouble that they are there for us. I know that about Steve's brothers too. They are good, strong, men of character (they would make all kinds of blustery jokes about this if they read it, but its true). They were the first ones offering to help when we might be stranded Christmas night by the side of the highway. They let us know they would help us immediately if that were necessary. That kind of security and caring is priceless. I only wish I was as good a person as they are. I can only strive to be that good. Maybe my kids will learn from their example and not see my shortcomings. One can hope.
I will write more some other time, but for now I need to sign off. My husband is downstairs by himself. I should probably spend some time with him. I want to let him know how important he is and I doubt leaving him alone tells him anything about how important he is to me.
Here are my five things that I am grateful for today though:
1.) I am grateful that police officers take their charge to protect and serve seriously
2.) I am grateful that I have the brothers-in-law that I do
3.) I am grateful that my mother in law is a good cook
4.) I am grateful that we have loving caring family
5.) I am grateful for the kennel that is taking care of my dog Brady while I visit other family members. I will tell you about it some time soon.
If memory serves though, we didn't get to actually open anything until around 2pm Christmas Day for many years. Mostly because of my Grandmother. She would call us every year and say she would be here around 11am. Eleven? For any kid on Christmas morning that was just cruel, as we couldn't open anything until she was there. But, yes, eleven I am saying to you. We did not like Grandma Davies. She didn't understand kids. Not only was eleven too long, but she never showed up then. She would show up around two in the afternoon. Yes, we would have to wait. We would have to wait for the grandparents. They would come with their ugly sweater gifts and we would have to wait for them. We would have to endure the lipsticky kisses, the pretense of caring about how we were (she hated children), and feeling intensely uncomfortable around her and grandpa.
I think about them rarely now. My Grandmother and Grandfather are gone. They died several years ago. My grandmother had brain cancer and my grandfather had emphysema and lung cancer. I hope they did not suffer. But I would be lying if I said that I missed them. I think that there is a part of me that is missing or just never learned to love. I did not love them and when they were gone it just meant that my mother was not tortured by them anymore. She told me of several things that they did to her while she was actively their daughter, and it made me hate them. I don't hate them anymore. I have come to terms with the idea that they were whoever they were because of the times they grew up in, who they had for parents, the experiences they had in life and the frustrations they experienced. They were who they were. Not perfect. No more so than I am. They were people who lived their lives the way they saw fit and that was that. They were not particularly giving people, but that was their right to choose to be that way. I don't have to understand it. They lived. They died. The end.
I just wish I could find it in my heart to say that I loved them. But I didn't. I would feel like a liar if I said it. I don't hate them. But I didn't love them either. They wanted very little to do with me. They got their wish. The only time it matters now is when my mom tries to talk about them to me. She doesn't do that often, but when she does, I feel bad as I don't see them in the rosey light that she does. It seems that their deaths have caused my mom to rework history a bit in her mind to paint them in a kinder, gentler light. I don't disabuse her of her notions, after all, who am I to do so? But I remember them. But they weren't my parents. My mom needs and deserves to feel loved by her parents. If casting them in a slightly more flattering light than reality would afford allows her to feel a little of the love that she never got from them while they lived, then more power to her.
I find the "Judge not, lest ye be judged," passage of the Bible difficult here. I don't want to be unloving or anything, but it is very hard not to pass judgement on my grandparents. They did some very mean things. They were selfish and unkind. They treated each other poorly. None of their children seemed to want anything to do with them as they grew up. It makes me sad. They could have had such happy lives. They could have had lives filled with family, fun, laughter and joy. They chose to be bitter and selfish. They chose to be unkind to each other and to teach their children that things matter more than people.
When I was young I remember being at their home and feeling so uncomfortable. I used to get very tense, sitting on the edge of their couch, feet on the plastic runner my grandmother had running through the house. She would continually be making sure that we children (her grandchildren) were not touching anything we were not supposed to. She had nice things all over her home but we were not to touch. Eventually thank goodness my mother stopped bringing us there for the holidays as she realized how impossible it was for us there. We were treated like second class citizens.
I often wonder now if I do that to my children? I want them to grow up with a healthy respect for the belongings of others. I want them to behave properly when we are at someone else's home, but I worry sometimes that they feel too constrained when we visit. Boy I hope not.
Why am I talking about this stuff? I should be talking about the joy of Christmas. I should be sharing all the happy moments that we had. We did have many happy moments. So why am I tramping down unhappy memory lane? Why am I dragging out stuff about my long-dead grandparents now?
Probably because I feel guilty and I do think about them. I wish I could muster some positive memories of them. I mean, it's not like they were drowning kitties when we were at their home. It's just that there are too many negative memories of them, and they clutter up the memory spaces so much that the good memories, if there are any, are shoved into a dim corner. I truly wish that I could think of one time that I enjoyed being with them. One good memory that might offset the bad stuff. But I really can't.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged," I think. Well, I guess in this case God will be judging me rather harshly as I cannot in all honesty think of one good memory. I cannot say one thing that will redeem my recall of them. All I can say is that to my knowledge they never killed anyone. So I guess there is that.
Why am I thinking about all this? Why can I not focus on the really good stuff? I don't really have an answer for you. I get depressed every year during the holidays, and I have never really understood why. Maybe this is part of my attempt to understand why. Maybe I get depressed because I look at the people who have been in my family and know that it could have been oh so different if they had been willing to extend themselves even a little bit. Or someone had taught me how to see how they extended themselves. Maybe that is what is needed. Maybe I need to borrow my mother's rose colored glasses every now and then and try to see good in people. Is that what she is doing when she talks so fondly of her parents? Is she trying to see the good in them? Or is she just being willfully blind?
I didn't start writing this post to slam my grandparents. Really. I was intending to write about Christmas for our family, which was indeed a fun, happy and positive time. We woke up, had our traditional Christmas breakfast (I usually make pancakes or waffles from scratch) and then we opened our gifts. After we exchanged gifts we got dressed and went to my in-laws to exchange gifts with them. They were their usual gracious and warm selves. I got to spend some time chatting with my sister-in-law which I don't get to do very often, and it was nice to have coffee and pie with my mother-in-law. My children got to give what they had picked out to their family and help with dinner as they were able.
I had to work Christmas night, so we left around eight o'clock. I fell asleep for the ride home and was deeply asleep for most of the ride. This would have been the case for the whole ride except we hit a humongous pot hole on the road and it kicked off our fuel pump. Our minivan stopped dead on the highway in the fast lane of traffic. The result was a ride in a state police cruiser to get my children to safety, after which we were able to drive our van home. The state trooper was very friendly and accommodating thank goodness.
So why the talk about grandparents long dead and gone? I think its because the longer I am a parent and watch my husband's parents be grandparents, the more I see what grandparents should be. They love their grandchildren. They take care of them the best way they know how and they do right by them. Like Steve's parents do. I am so proud to call them my in-laws. I know that I can count on them. I know that if we are ever in trouble that they are there for us. I know that about Steve's brothers too. They are good, strong, men of character (they would make all kinds of blustery jokes about this if they read it, but its true). They were the first ones offering to help when we might be stranded Christmas night by the side of the highway. They let us know they would help us immediately if that were necessary. That kind of security and caring is priceless. I only wish I was as good a person as they are. I can only strive to be that good. Maybe my kids will learn from their example and not see my shortcomings. One can hope.
I will write more some other time, but for now I need to sign off. My husband is downstairs by himself. I should probably spend some time with him. I want to let him know how important he is and I doubt leaving him alone tells him anything about how important he is to me.
Here are my five things that I am grateful for today though:
1.) I am grateful that police officers take their charge to protect and serve seriously
2.) I am grateful that I have the brothers-in-law that I do
3.) I am grateful that my mother in law is a good cook
4.) I am grateful that we have loving caring family
5.) I am grateful for the kennel that is taking care of my dog Brady while I visit other family members. I will tell you about it some time soon.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Well, here it is...my preChristmas post...
So Daniel is in the bath tub. I am here writing. The other two have been bathed and showered. All that needs to happen is that we need to finish up Daniel's bath and I have to take a shower. Then we are off to the mall to finish our Christmas shopping. Sounds so industrious right? Except it's 1:24pm two days before Christmas and I am sitting here at the computer in my bathrobe and socks.
My mom called me this morning. She woke me up. It's no big deal except that I am feeling wiped out from the monthly visit from the cardinal if you know what I mean. My aunt Flo is in town. You know, the one who visits me every 28 days or so. I feel crampy. Headachy. Grumpy. My kids were letting me sleep things off this morning bless their hearts, and I was enjoying the benefits of electric blankets when she called. Sigh. Yes Mom. You woke me up, but it's ok.
The funny thing? She called to tell me how she pissed off my older brother and his wife by waking them up. Go figure.
Well, I gotta sign off for now. My kid is in the bathtub. I gotta get him out so I can get in.
Five things:
1.) I am grateful for laughter
2.) I am grateful for electric blankets
3.) I am grateful for warm showers
4.) I am grateful that the cardinal only visits for a week
5.) I am grateful for my sister who makes me feel young.
My mom called me this morning. She woke me up. It's no big deal except that I am feeling wiped out from the monthly visit from the cardinal if you know what I mean. My aunt Flo is in town. You know, the one who visits me every 28 days or so. I feel crampy. Headachy. Grumpy. My kids were letting me sleep things off this morning bless their hearts, and I was enjoying the benefits of electric blankets when she called. Sigh. Yes Mom. You woke me up, but it's ok.
The funny thing? She called to tell me how she pissed off my older brother and his wife by waking them up. Go figure.
Well, I gotta sign off for now. My kid is in the bathtub. I gotta get him out so I can get in.
Five things:
1.) I am grateful for laughter
2.) I am grateful for electric blankets
3.) I am grateful for warm showers
4.) I am grateful that the cardinal only visits for a week
5.) I am grateful for my sister who makes me feel young.
I Will Post More Later...But for Now I Sleep...
Hey all. Just a quick note. I am not sure what the next few days will bring as pertains to blogging, but I will not worry as I am blogging for myself, right? You are all along for the ride. I will have more to say later, but I really must be brief as I must sleep. Tomorrow night promises to be late as we have wrapped NOTHING, that's right, NOTHING and it is two days before Christmas. Unbelieveable.
This will probably mean the usual all-night wrapping session that my husband and I partake of annually. We always promise that we will not do it yet again, but in the end, here we are.
So, forgive me, but I am going to love and leave you here. I will give you my five things that I am grateful for though.
1.) I am grateful for the reminder of what Christmas is all about as I read my friend Chris' blog. She wrote a very moving entry about her favorite Christmas hym, O Little Town of Bethlehem. I won't try to convey everything here, just go read it if you are interested. She is a fantastic writer and someone that lives her faith. I have referred to her blog in earlier posts, but if you are interested in what has moved me so, check out: http://www.amusings.net/clg/december2008/122108.htm . Trying to wrap and give gifts can sometimes push you close to forgetting what this season is supposed to be about. The wonderful gift that we received from God. Whether you are Christian or not, you have to admit that is very wrapped up (no pun intended) in what this season is supposed to be about.
2.) I am grateful for the warm bed I have. I have a nice bed, queen size, nice mattress and box spring from Jordan's Furniture, and a nice electric blanket.
3.) I have a wonderful husband who does what he can to take care of those he loves. I wish I took as good care of him.
4.) I am grateful for such wonderful children who can be so deeply kind and considerate at times. Even if they throw my freshly washed and folded laundry around.
5.) I am grateful for REALLY good neighbors. It matters. Really.
Well, in the interest of being bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow, I am signing off. This has been a rather rushed post and I haven't said all that I want to, but I am forcing myself to go while I still have a chance to get some decent sleep.
This will probably mean the usual all-night wrapping session that my husband and I partake of annually. We always promise that we will not do it yet again, but in the end, here we are.
So, forgive me, but I am going to love and leave you here. I will give you my five things that I am grateful for though.
1.) I am grateful for the reminder of what Christmas is all about as I read my friend Chris' blog. She wrote a very moving entry about her favorite Christmas hym, O Little Town of Bethlehem. I won't try to convey everything here, just go read it if you are interested. She is a fantastic writer and someone that lives her faith. I have referred to her blog in earlier posts, but if you are interested in what has moved me so, check out: http://www.amusings.net/clg/december2008/122108.htm . Trying to wrap and give gifts can sometimes push you close to forgetting what this season is supposed to be about. The wonderful gift that we received from God. Whether you are Christian or not, you have to admit that is very wrapped up (no pun intended) in what this season is supposed to be about.
2.) I am grateful for the warm bed I have. I have a nice bed, queen size, nice mattress and box spring from Jordan's Furniture, and a nice electric blanket.
3.) I have a wonderful husband who does what he can to take care of those he loves. I wish I took as good care of him.
4.) I am grateful for such wonderful children who can be so deeply kind and considerate at times. Even if they throw my freshly washed and folded laundry around.
5.) I am grateful for REALLY good neighbors. It matters. Really.
Well, in the interest of being bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow, I am signing off. This has been a rather rushed post and I haven't said all that I want to, but I am forcing myself to go while I still have a chance to get some decent sleep.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Pediatrician vs. Christopher
So. Here we are. I'm about to write in my blog...about...hmmmm...what should I write about? The fact that I haven't wrapped any of the Christmas gifts that I have picked up? I usually bring them to work to wrap, but for some reason, this year I haven't wanted to do that. It seems like too much hassle. Nah. Not really much to write about in that.
I know...how about my son Christopher? We got to go to the doctor AGAIN last week. He woke up with a bright red rash all over his body last week. As soon as I noticed it we were off to the doctor's. I was worried that it might be related to the Strep A that has been flying around our household this year. So we got to take another trip in to the pediatrician's office. Meh. What a pain in the butt. It's about an hour drive one way. A lot of people have asked me why I haven't found a pediatrician that is closer. Wouldn't it save me time and aggravation? My answer to them? No. A resounding no. My kids' pediatrician has known them since birth, and she really does know them. She treats them with respect, not just like pieces of furniture she must tend to. She asks them how they are doing. She talks to them about the things that she has to do in order to make sure that they are healthy, and she smiles and has a nice bedside manner. The nurses ini the office are kind too. Even when they are obviously swamped they are kind and courteous to both me and my children. We have never had to wait longer than ten or fifteen minutes in the waiting room.
My kids like their pediatrician too. I have never had to fight with them about going. They know her and are comfortable with her. That's important. That your kids are comfortable with their doctor. Some people don't think so, but I do. How will they feel free to discuss anything important with their doctor if they don't like them? My daughter Allison is starting to want privacy. She needs to be able to tell the doctor things even if she feels she cannot tell me. Thankfully we haven't hit any stage where she feels she cannot share things with me. I try to respect her need for privacy and to encourage her to talk about things with her doctor. I also try not to embarrass her by talking about her medical issues in front of friends and relatives. That's private.
My boys know that if they have to get shots it will be over quickly and that they really need the shots and the doctor wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt them. They both knew that anyway until this last visit anyway. Now I'm not so sure. Christopher has been quite sick this past fall. There has been a lot of Strep A in our family lately. Because he keeps coming up sick, the doctor has had to test often for Strep A. He has probably had to be tested for Strep at least four times in the last month. Do you know what the test for Strep A is? It's a cotton swab in the throat. The doctor must take a tongue depressor and hold your tongue down and then swab the back of your throat to get a culture for the lab to grow out and see if there is any Strep in it. It hurts.
So we were on our way to the doctor's office. Christopher asked if he would have to get a shot. I told him that I didn't think so but that I couldn't promise that he wouldn't. I don't ever want to lie to my children. I want them to know that they can trust me. So I won't play games with them about what will happen at the doctor's office. If some unpleasantness must occur, I won't trick them into thinking it won't. I won't wait until the last second either. I am straightforward with them about this stuff. I think the direct approach is best, otherwise you have a fight on your hands.
Christopher seemed to accept what I said about the shots just fine. Then he thought a moment and asked if he would have to get the thing stuffed into the back of his throat, "I don't like that Mommy, it hurts," he told me. I refused to lie about that either. I told Christopher that he may indeed have to get that test done. I wasn't sure, we would just have to wait to see what the doctor said. "I won't let her do it, Mommy," Christopher informed me. Oh oh. Prelude to what was coming. Just great.
"Sweetheart, the doctor doesn't like giving you the test any more than you like having it, but if she feels you must have the test please cooperate because she is only trying to make sure that you are healthy," I tried the logical approach.
"I'm fine Mommy. I don't need that test. I don't have Strep, I know," Christopher informed me.
"You don't know whether you have it or not, and if you do have it, we need to make sure you get the proper medicine," says Mommy, hopeful that this will be effective in driving off any dissent.
"I do too know," Christopher responds. "Remember I had it before? The thing in my throat hurts way more than Strep does. Even if I have Strep, it's ok," he assures me. Ahhh, the logic of a five year old. It almost makes sense. The thought of not having to fight him is alluring.
"Sweetheart, you don't know if you have Strep, and if you do and it doesn't get treated you could get very very sick. Remember how Mommy was in the hospital this summer because of her leg? That was Strep. And Grandpa's eye? That was Strep too." The gloves have come off. Now I am resorting to a combination of logic and fear to gain cooperation. Dirty trick.
"Well, I don't want the thing in my throat," Christopher says petulantly.
"Well, let's just get to the doctor and see what they have to say, okay?" I postpone this argument, reasonably assuming that it may be an unnecessary fight. Until we have more information, getting all worked up doesn't make a lot of sense.
Well, our doctor is not in on Wednesdays. It's Wednesday, so we will be seeing another pediatrician in the practice. Great. She is nice, but not our pediatrician. How will this go? I wait to see. The nurse meets us in the stairwell because they don't want children with rashes waiting in the waiting room with the other sick children. We are brought the back way to our exam room to wait, and to explain to the nurse what has been going on.
The doctor finally joins us while I am reading "Green Eggs and Ham" to the boys. She is a petite woman with an Italian or Greek look about her. She smiles and is very nice to the boys, chatting and getting them to chat about themselves. She takes Christopher's temperature, looks in his ears, eyes and throat, and takes a peek at the rash that is covering his body.
She tells me that she thinks he has Fifth's Disease, which is a fairly benign viral infection that will last about 6 weeks. I breathe a sigh of relief as this will mean that it's not Strep and he won't need "The Test."
Then she lowers the boom. "Just to be sure though, I think we should do a Strep test since the two rashes look very similar," she says. Right. Great. Try to act casual. Then it happens. The Question.
"Do I have to have the thing in the back of my throat?" Christopher asks. He is told, rather nicely, that yes, he does have to have the throat culture. "But why? I don't want to. It hurts."
The doctor does her best to explain to a five year old that it is important to make sure it isn't Strep. "If it is and we don't treat it, you could get VERY sick," she says, pulling out the specimen collection instruments (ie: the swabs and tongue depressor)
"But you said it wasn't Strep, didn't you?" Christopher tries to argue.
Our friendly doctor tries patiently to explain that Fifth's Disease and Strep look very similar and she needs to be sure. This test is the only way to be sure. Christopher asks to see pictures of both diseases so he can see for himself how similar they look.
The doctor sighs, takes off her gloves and says she will be right back with the pictures. She returns in a few moments with a medical diagnosis book with illustrations. She flips through, trying to find the appropriately similar pictures.
She needn't have bothered in my mind, as even if it was the same exact model in each of the pictures, and the rash was on the same exact spot on the body, Christopher would never agree that they looked the same. This was not about logic at this point. I sigh. I know what is coming.
While she needn't have bothered, I am touched that she did go the extra mile. She is trying to gain his cooperation and confidence and is not content to just do things to him without his consent.
Regardless of her extra efforts, Christopher still will not consent to the test. I offer to hold him in my lap and he agrees at first, but will not allow the doctor to obtain the necessary sample. She asks me to hold on to his arms and head so he cannot resist. I do as she asks and the fight ensues. He bites down on the tongue depressor and will not allow her to get the swabs into his mouth.
"Christopher, I need you to cooperate or I will have to get the nurse," the doctor warns. "I don't want to have to do that, do you want me to?" she asks. Christopher of course does not want the nurse to come in as that implies force and he really does not want that. He says that he will cooperate, but I know that this is not earnest. We try it his way a few more times anyway, as I want to give him as much latitude to cooperate as possible, but in the end, he bites through two tongue depressors and just will not allow the test to be done.
The doctor summons the nurse. She instructs me to hold Christopher's feet down and the nurse is going to hold Christopher's hands over his head and they are going to pry his mouth open. Oh my gosh! I have never had to do this with any of my children. This feels awful. He needs this test, and that is the only reason I am doing this, but it feels so wrong.
He cries. I cry. He struggles against me. He says I am hurting him. He says if we will let go he will cooperate. I hold on. He struggles harder. The doctor says she has to get yet another depressor as he has bitten through a third and a fourth one. He sobs. I cry. The doctor finally pries his mouth open and gets the culture she needs. I can let go. Thank goodness. I let go and Christopher shoots me a look of such betrayal. We are both sweaty and he is angry with me. How could I let the doctor do this to him? I try to go to him and he tells me, "No. Leave me alone!" Those words were like arrows in my heart. I understand why he says them. He has a right to be angry. I give him his space. I try to turn so he doesn't see my tears.
The doctor tells me that she got what she needed to get. Good. Somehow that doesn't comfort me. I feel like I helped her to rape my son. I know, that sounds melodramatic. It probably is a bit over the top, but that is how I feel. I don't know if I should feel good about what I just did. Is he going to be scarred by what just happened? Is this going to be one of the random memories he carries with him for always? Is this going to form his impression of me in his mind? Is he going to be afraid of the doctor the next time we go? Will he be more inclined to cooperate or less?
What about Daniel, who witnessed the whole thing? What will he take away from this experience? Is this going to damage his impression of the doctor, or me? Will he be afraid to go now? I suppose only time will tell.
So once we left the doctor's office, it was off to the golden arches. Yeah. I know. Food as a reward is not such a good idea. But the doctor said he would probably need a cold drink to soothe his throat as sometimes abrasions resulted from encounters such as what he had. I thought a chocolate shake might feel good on that throat. It might assauge my guilt too. Perhaps a Happy Meal toy would get his mind off the fact that I was a vile betrayer.
As Christopher and Daniel drank their shakes and played with their Bionicle men (the toy that came with the Happy Meal), I found myself thinking about what the doctor said as I left with the boys. She made a point to tell me that she had never found any five year old that could fight as hard or be as strong as my Christopher. I wasn't sure why she was telling me this. She said it to me as if she thought it might comfort me somehow. I don't know why either, but it did comfort me. To know that my son had not only the physical ability to fight, but the will to fight off what in his view was an injust assault did make me feel good. It meant that his sense of self as important was intact. That he cared about himself enough to struggle against what he viewed as evil forces. It makes me proud, even if I am the evil force he is struggling against.
So...as I wrap this up for tonight, I am mindful that I have not told you my five things that I am grateful for. So, here they are:
1.) I am grateful for doctors that are well educated about childhood illness
2.) I am grateful that I do not have to drive more than an hour to get to a good doctor
3.) I am grateful that I do not have to be put on a waiting list to see a doctor
4.) I am grateful that my children have a good relationship with their doctor most of the time
5.) I am grateful that my children have a strong enough sense of self to speak up for themselves to their doctor.
Take care of yourselves, and remember, I welcome input. Just be nice, I bruise easily.
I know...how about my son Christopher? We got to go to the doctor AGAIN last week. He woke up with a bright red rash all over his body last week. As soon as I noticed it we were off to the doctor's. I was worried that it might be related to the Strep A that has been flying around our household this year. So we got to take another trip in to the pediatrician's office. Meh. What a pain in the butt. It's about an hour drive one way. A lot of people have asked me why I haven't found a pediatrician that is closer. Wouldn't it save me time and aggravation? My answer to them? No. A resounding no. My kids' pediatrician has known them since birth, and she really does know them. She treats them with respect, not just like pieces of furniture she must tend to. She asks them how they are doing. She talks to them about the things that she has to do in order to make sure that they are healthy, and she smiles and has a nice bedside manner. The nurses ini the office are kind too. Even when they are obviously swamped they are kind and courteous to both me and my children. We have never had to wait longer than ten or fifteen minutes in the waiting room.
My kids like their pediatrician too. I have never had to fight with them about going. They know her and are comfortable with her. That's important. That your kids are comfortable with their doctor. Some people don't think so, but I do. How will they feel free to discuss anything important with their doctor if they don't like them? My daughter Allison is starting to want privacy. She needs to be able to tell the doctor things even if she feels she cannot tell me. Thankfully we haven't hit any stage where she feels she cannot share things with me. I try to respect her need for privacy and to encourage her to talk about things with her doctor. I also try not to embarrass her by talking about her medical issues in front of friends and relatives. That's private.
My boys know that if they have to get shots it will be over quickly and that they really need the shots and the doctor wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt them. They both knew that anyway until this last visit anyway. Now I'm not so sure. Christopher has been quite sick this past fall. There has been a lot of Strep A in our family lately. Because he keeps coming up sick, the doctor has had to test often for Strep A. He has probably had to be tested for Strep at least four times in the last month. Do you know what the test for Strep A is? It's a cotton swab in the throat. The doctor must take a tongue depressor and hold your tongue down and then swab the back of your throat to get a culture for the lab to grow out and see if there is any Strep in it. It hurts.
So we were on our way to the doctor's office. Christopher asked if he would have to get a shot. I told him that I didn't think so but that I couldn't promise that he wouldn't. I don't ever want to lie to my children. I want them to know that they can trust me. So I won't play games with them about what will happen at the doctor's office. If some unpleasantness must occur, I won't trick them into thinking it won't. I won't wait until the last second either. I am straightforward with them about this stuff. I think the direct approach is best, otherwise you have a fight on your hands.
Christopher seemed to accept what I said about the shots just fine. Then he thought a moment and asked if he would have to get the thing stuffed into the back of his throat, "I don't like that Mommy, it hurts," he told me. I refused to lie about that either. I told Christopher that he may indeed have to get that test done. I wasn't sure, we would just have to wait to see what the doctor said. "I won't let her do it, Mommy," Christopher informed me. Oh oh. Prelude to what was coming. Just great.
"Sweetheart, the doctor doesn't like giving you the test any more than you like having it, but if she feels you must have the test please cooperate because she is only trying to make sure that you are healthy," I tried the logical approach.
"I'm fine Mommy. I don't need that test. I don't have Strep, I know," Christopher informed me.
"You don't know whether you have it or not, and if you do have it, we need to make sure you get the proper medicine," says Mommy, hopeful that this will be effective in driving off any dissent.
"I do too know," Christopher responds. "Remember I had it before? The thing in my throat hurts way more than Strep does. Even if I have Strep, it's ok," he assures me. Ahhh, the logic of a five year old. It almost makes sense. The thought of not having to fight him is alluring.
"Sweetheart, you don't know if you have Strep, and if you do and it doesn't get treated you could get very very sick. Remember how Mommy was in the hospital this summer because of her leg? That was Strep. And Grandpa's eye? That was Strep too." The gloves have come off. Now I am resorting to a combination of logic and fear to gain cooperation. Dirty trick.
"Well, I don't want the thing in my throat," Christopher says petulantly.
"Well, let's just get to the doctor and see what they have to say, okay?" I postpone this argument, reasonably assuming that it may be an unnecessary fight. Until we have more information, getting all worked up doesn't make a lot of sense.
Well, our doctor is not in on Wednesdays. It's Wednesday, so we will be seeing another pediatrician in the practice. Great. She is nice, but not our pediatrician. How will this go? I wait to see. The nurse meets us in the stairwell because they don't want children with rashes waiting in the waiting room with the other sick children. We are brought the back way to our exam room to wait, and to explain to the nurse what has been going on.
The doctor finally joins us while I am reading "Green Eggs and Ham" to the boys. She is a petite woman with an Italian or Greek look about her. She smiles and is very nice to the boys, chatting and getting them to chat about themselves. She takes Christopher's temperature, looks in his ears, eyes and throat, and takes a peek at the rash that is covering his body.
She tells me that she thinks he has Fifth's Disease, which is a fairly benign viral infection that will last about 6 weeks. I breathe a sigh of relief as this will mean that it's not Strep and he won't need "The Test."
Then she lowers the boom. "Just to be sure though, I think we should do a Strep test since the two rashes look very similar," she says. Right. Great. Try to act casual. Then it happens. The Question.
"Do I have to have the thing in the back of my throat?" Christopher asks. He is told, rather nicely, that yes, he does have to have the throat culture. "But why? I don't want to. It hurts."
The doctor does her best to explain to a five year old that it is important to make sure it isn't Strep. "If it is and we don't treat it, you could get VERY sick," she says, pulling out the specimen collection instruments (ie: the swabs and tongue depressor)
"But you said it wasn't Strep, didn't you?" Christopher tries to argue.
Our friendly doctor tries patiently to explain that Fifth's Disease and Strep look very similar and she needs to be sure. This test is the only way to be sure. Christopher asks to see pictures of both diseases so he can see for himself how similar they look.
The doctor sighs, takes off her gloves and says she will be right back with the pictures. She returns in a few moments with a medical diagnosis book with illustrations. She flips through, trying to find the appropriately similar pictures.
She needn't have bothered in my mind, as even if it was the same exact model in each of the pictures, and the rash was on the same exact spot on the body, Christopher would never agree that they looked the same. This was not about logic at this point. I sigh. I know what is coming.
While she needn't have bothered, I am touched that she did go the extra mile. She is trying to gain his cooperation and confidence and is not content to just do things to him without his consent.
Regardless of her extra efforts, Christopher still will not consent to the test. I offer to hold him in my lap and he agrees at first, but will not allow the doctor to obtain the necessary sample. She asks me to hold on to his arms and head so he cannot resist. I do as she asks and the fight ensues. He bites down on the tongue depressor and will not allow her to get the swabs into his mouth.
"Christopher, I need you to cooperate or I will have to get the nurse," the doctor warns. "I don't want to have to do that, do you want me to?" she asks. Christopher of course does not want the nurse to come in as that implies force and he really does not want that. He says that he will cooperate, but I know that this is not earnest. We try it his way a few more times anyway, as I want to give him as much latitude to cooperate as possible, but in the end, he bites through two tongue depressors and just will not allow the test to be done.
The doctor summons the nurse. She instructs me to hold Christopher's feet down and the nurse is going to hold Christopher's hands over his head and they are going to pry his mouth open. Oh my gosh! I have never had to do this with any of my children. This feels awful. He needs this test, and that is the only reason I am doing this, but it feels so wrong.
He cries. I cry. He struggles against me. He says I am hurting him. He says if we will let go he will cooperate. I hold on. He struggles harder. The doctor says she has to get yet another depressor as he has bitten through a third and a fourth one. He sobs. I cry. The doctor finally pries his mouth open and gets the culture she needs. I can let go. Thank goodness. I let go and Christopher shoots me a look of such betrayal. We are both sweaty and he is angry with me. How could I let the doctor do this to him? I try to go to him and he tells me, "No. Leave me alone!" Those words were like arrows in my heart. I understand why he says them. He has a right to be angry. I give him his space. I try to turn so he doesn't see my tears.
The doctor tells me that she got what she needed to get. Good. Somehow that doesn't comfort me. I feel like I helped her to rape my son. I know, that sounds melodramatic. It probably is a bit over the top, but that is how I feel. I don't know if I should feel good about what I just did. Is he going to be scarred by what just happened? Is this going to be one of the random memories he carries with him for always? Is this going to form his impression of me in his mind? Is he going to be afraid of the doctor the next time we go? Will he be more inclined to cooperate or less?
What about Daniel, who witnessed the whole thing? What will he take away from this experience? Is this going to damage his impression of the doctor, or me? Will he be afraid to go now? I suppose only time will tell.
So once we left the doctor's office, it was off to the golden arches. Yeah. I know. Food as a reward is not such a good idea. But the doctor said he would probably need a cold drink to soothe his throat as sometimes abrasions resulted from encounters such as what he had. I thought a chocolate shake might feel good on that throat. It might assauge my guilt too. Perhaps a Happy Meal toy would get his mind off the fact that I was a vile betrayer.
As Christopher and Daniel drank their shakes and played with their Bionicle men (the toy that came with the Happy Meal), I found myself thinking about what the doctor said as I left with the boys. She made a point to tell me that she had never found any five year old that could fight as hard or be as strong as my Christopher. I wasn't sure why she was telling me this. She said it to me as if she thought it might comfort me somehow. I don't know why either, but it did comfort me. To know that my son had not only the physical ability to fight, but the will to fight off what in his view was an injust assault did make me feel good. It meant that his sense of self as important was intact. That he cared about himself enough to struggle against what he viewed as evil forces. It makes me proud, even if I am the evil force he is struggling against.
So...as I wrap this up for tonight, I am mindful that I have not told you my five things that I am grateful for. So, here they are:
1.) I am grateful for doctors that are well educated about childhood illness
2.) I am grateful that I do not have to drive more than an hour to get to a good doctor
3.) I am grateful that I do not have to be put on a waiting list to see a doctor
4.) I am grateful that my children have a good relationship with their doctor most of the time
5.) I am grateful that my children have a strong enough sense of self to speak up for themselves to their doctor.
Take care of yourselves, and remember, I welcome input. Just be nice, I bruise easily.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Not As Good As I Once Was...
Hey. You know what's weird? I'm not really a country music fan, but lately I have been stuck on Toby Keith. Personally, I know nothing about him really except I heard he and the Dixie Chicks hate each other. Oh well. The publicity machine at work is what I figure.
I like musicians, actors, comedians, and the like that do not take themselves too seriously. I think that is why I like Toby Keith. His "Wanna Talk About Me" video is a riot. I get a kick out of "I'm Not As Good As I Once Was" and "Beer for My Horses" makes me laugh too. I mean, Willie Nelson singing about bringing evil forces to justice? This guy has avoided paying his taxes for aeons from what I understand...and he has quite a drug business going on the side with the whacky weed. I suppose I don't really know those things as a fact. This is just what I have heard in the news. And we ALL know how truthful the news media is, right? (for those of you who may have missed it, that was sarcasm).
The "Not As Good As I Once Was" video I think is something I can sort of relate to...I mean, bars were never my scene, so I won't say that I got in barroom brawls or tried picking up twins or anything, but I'm almost forty. I am finding some things are starting to slide. I'm not as flexible as I once was. My memory kind of sucks, especially since my hospitalization last summer. My eyes are definitely a lot worse than they used to be. So, I guess I'm "Not As Good As I Once Was."
My how the years pass. I was never exactly "hell on wheels," but I could pull a mean all nighter in college with or without coffee. Now if I don't have that extra shot of espresso in my Dunkin Donuts latte, I'm out for the night around one thirty...or I make it through the night (a more likely scenario) only to not be able to function in the morning.
As I approach forty, I am surprised at how much it bothers me. I truly didn't think it would. I was never exactly the party type anyway. But it DOES bother me. I don't think I will try to hide my forty-ness though. I don't think as the greys come in that I will color them. I don't think I will try the various cremes and lotions designed to get rid of or hide the age spots, wrinkles and crows' feet. Maybe I am full of crap. Maybe at some point it will bother me enough to do it, but right now I feel like doing all that stuff is just trying to live in the past. The past, where I was unblemished (yeah right), beautiful (puh-leeze), and carefree (wait a minute, I need to wipe the tears from my eyes and stop laughing long enough to breathe).
As much as I didn't really like the change, I think I understand Mike Gorman. For those of you who don't know who Mike Gorman is, he is a sportscaster for the Boston Celtics. He often calls games with Tommy Heinsohn. Until a few years ago Mike had a gorgeous head of dark brown hair. He was actually kind of cute. All of a sudden one day he was on the broadcast completely gray. I was horrified. He looked like a death's head to me. His face was drawn and his hair was cropped short. I asked my husband, who keeps up on all things Celtics, if he knew why Mike had done this. He said that he had read somewhere that Mike had decided to stop coloring his hair. I made a comment to the effect that I thought this was a bad decision. Hubby just shrugged his shoulders and went back to watching the game.
Superficial of me, I know. Who really cares if Mike Gorman colors his hair? Well buster, I do. I think when I think back on it I probably care more than I should because, deep breath here, it makes ME feel older too. Remember, I told you I am a narcisist. All things relate back to me. How exactly does Mike failing to color his hair relate to me you ask? Because I have to look at him and be reminded that time marches on. Mike looked young for so long. Now he looks old. Which means that I definitely don't look the same as when I started watching Mike with Steve as a "fan-by-marriage" back in 1994. How dare Mike make me feel old by not coloring his hair? He did not submit the proper forms in triplicate to get clearance to point out that I am indeed aging. Now I have to think about my own age. I don't want to Mike, and you can't make me. But he has. His refusal to pray at the fountain of youth known as hair dye forces me to think about it. Thank goodness he didn't choose to wear a toupee.
The other reason I just can't bring myself to color my hair is that I am lazy. I just do not want to spend that much time preening. I don't want to have to do root touch ups. I get a haircut about once every 3-6 months. Not as often as I would like, and definitely not enough to hide any color line that would be created by my roots growing out. Every time I think of it I think of a comment my daughter made when she was about three. We were visiting my sister-in-law (since then she has divorced my brother and moved on) and Allison said, "Mommy, how does Colleen get her hair to look so pretty?" I asked her what she meant specifically since I wanted to answer specifically. She said, "You know, how does she get that pretty dark hair near her head when the rest of her hair is blonde?" Colleen shot me an ugly look, as you were not supposed to notice such things. I told my daughter that while she was admiring Colleen's hair, she should probably not mention to Aunt Colleen her dark hair as she wouldn't appreciate it.
My how the years pass. I haven't seen Colleen in about fifteen years. I have a niece that is in high school that I haven't seen since she was Christened. Isn't that terrible? I am a terrible aunt. My brother split up with her and that was that. I didn't have much of a relationship with her and now I have none. This was not how I thought it would be. I thought I would be a good aunt. But quite honestly, I suck. I don't keep up with the nieces and nephews as I should. I think of myself as "Scary Aunt Sheri," when it comes to them. I love them, but I am just not the fun type. If you need to see an example of what I mean, I'll give you one. A comparison is what I will show you. If you read an earlier post of mine about my brother Rob, you will see what I mean. Uncle Rob is cool. He is loved. He is fun. Aunt Sheri (Scary Aunt Sheri) is responsible. She takes care of meals. And she makes sure you follow the rules - if you call someone a butthead be sure that she will come down on you. That's just how it is.
Back in my prime I used to laugh at the word butthead. Nevermind disciplining you for saying it. Now I have to police my children's language. I am the purveyor of time outs, the sultan of sitting in the corner, the hander-outter of chores. I am the enforcer. I make sure to follow through. I insist that you finish your homework before you play videogames with your friends. I insure that your pull up is free from debris before you go out to the yard to play. I am the proverbial wet blanket. That's my life. And I won't color my hair to show how much more fun I am.
Before I sign off, I thought I would give you my five things that I am grateful for. So here they are in no particular order:
1.) My mother arrived in New England safely. She flew from Florida to visit for the holidays and is currently with her friend Linda in Maine.
2.) School was cancelled today. I got to play Scrabble with my kids and not feel quite like the drill sargeant I usually do.
3.) I got to work safely. I left two hours before I needed to be there and arrived an hour early. The snow was pretty intense, but nothing too terrible.
4.) I do NOT have diabetes. I finally took the blood test and the nurse reading the test results to me over the phone said that I am "well within the range of normal," for my blood sugar. Phew.
5.) My husband is working for a secure company and is not likely to be laid off. I won't say that he definitely won't be, you never know, but it seems unlikely. That means we can pay our mortgage so all is well. Another BIG phew!
Goodnight. Hope you found something interesting to read here tonight. Something that made you smile or at least something that you identified with. If not, sorry, but ultimately, this blog is for me.
I like musicians, actors, comedians, and the like that do not take themselves too seriously. I think that is why I like Toby Keith. His "Wanna Talk About Me" video is a riot. I get a kick out of "I'm Not As Good As I Once Was" and "Beer for My Horses" makes me laugh too. I mean, Willie Nelson singing about bringing evil forces to justice? This guy has avoided paying his taxes for aeons from what I understand...and he has quite a drug business going on the side with the whacky weed. I suppose I don't really know those things as a fact. This is just what I have heard in the news. And we ALL know how truthful the news media is, right? (for those of you who may have missed it, that was sarcasm).
The "Not As Good As I Once Was" video I think is something I can sort of relate to...I mean, bars were never my scene, so I won't say that I got in barroom brawls or tried picking up twins or anything, but I'm almost forty. I am finding some things are starting to slide. I'm not as flexible as I once was. My memory kind of sucks, especially since my hospitalization last summer. My eyes are definitely a lot worse than they used to be. So, I guess I'm "Not As Good As I Once Was."
My how the years pass. I was never exactly "hell on wheels," but I could pull a mean all nighter in college with or without coffee. Now if I don't have that extra shot of espresso in my Dunkin Donuts latte, I'm out for the night around one thirty...or I make it through the night (a more likely scenario) only to not be able to function in the morning.
As I approach forty, I am surprised at how much it bothers me. I truly didn't think it would. I was never exactly the party type anyway. But it DOES bother me. I don't think I will try to hide my forty-ness though. I don't think as the greys come in that I will color them. I don't think I will try the various cremes and lotions designed to get rid of or hide the age spots, wrinkles and crows' feet. Maybe I am full of crap. Maybe at some point it will bother me enough to do it, but right now I feel like doing all that stuff is just trying to live in the past. The past, where I was unblemished (yeah right), beautiful (puh-leeze), and carefree (wait a minute, I need to wipe the tears from my eyes and stop laughing long enough to breathe).
As much as I didn't really like the change, I think I understand Mike Gorman. For those of you who don't know who Mike Gorman is, he is a sportscaster for the Boston Celtics. He often calls games with Tommy Heinsohn. Until a few years ago Mike had a gorgeous head of dark brown hair. He was actually kind of cute. All of a sudden one day he was on the broadcast completely gray. I was horrified. He looked like a death's head to me. His face was drawn and his hair was cropped short. I asked my husband, who keeps up on all things Celtics, if he knew why Mike had done this. He said that he had read somewhere that Mike had decided to stop coloring his hair. I made a comment to the effect that I thought this was a bad decision. Hubby just shrugged his shoulders and went back to watching the game.
Superficial of me, I know. Who really cares if Mike Gorman colors his hair? Well buster, I do. I think when I think back on it I probably care more than I should because, deep breath here, it makes ME feel older too. Remember, I told you I am a narcisist. All things relate back to me. How exactly does Mike failing to color his hair relate to me you ask? Because I have to look at him and be reminded that time marches on. Mike looked young for so long. Now he looks old. Which means that I definitely don't look the same as when I started watching Mike with Steve as a "fan-by-marriage" back in 1994. How dare Mike make me feel old by not coloring his hair? He did not submit the proper forms in triplicate to get clearance to point out that I am indeed aging. Now I have to think about my own age. I don't want to Mike, and you can't make me. But he has. His refusal to pray at the fountain of youth known as hair dye forces me to think about it. Thank goodness he didn't choose to wear a toupee.
The other reason I just can't bring myself to color my hair is that I am lazy. I just do not want to spend that much time preening. I don't want to have to do root touch ups. I get a haircut about once every 3-6 months. Not as often as I would like, and definitely not enough to hide any color line that would be created by my roots growing out. Every time I think of it I think of a comment my daughter made when she was about three. We were visiting my sister-in-law (since then she has divorced my brother and moved on) and Allison said, "Mommy, how does Colleen get her hair to look so pretty?" I asked her what she meant specifically since I wanted to answer specifically. She said, "You know, how does she get that pretty dark hair near her head when the rest of her hair is blonde?" Colleen shot me an ugly look, as you were not supposed to notice such things. I told my daughter that while she was admiring Colleen's hair, she should probably not mention to Aunt Colleen her dark hair as she wouldn't appreciate it.
My how the years pass. I haven't seen Colleen in about fifteen years. I have a niece that is in high school that I haven't seen since she was Christened. Isn't that terrible? I am a terrible aunt. My brother split up with her and that was that. I didn't have much of a relationship with her and now I have none. This was not how I thought it would be. I thought I would be a good aunt. But quite honestly, I suck. I don't keep up with the nieces and nephews as I should. I think of myself as "Scary Aunt Sheri," when it comes to them. I love them, but I am just not the fun type. If you need to see an example of what I mean, I'll give you one. A comparison is what I will show you. If you read an earlier post of mine about my brother Rob, you will see what I mean. Uncle Rob is cool. He is loved. He is fun. Aunt Sheri (Scary Aunt Sheri) is responsible. She takes care of meals. And she makes sure you follow the rules - if you call someone a butthead be sure that she will come down on you. That's just how it is.
Back in my prime I used to laugh at the word butthead. Nevermind disciplining you for saying it. Now I have to police my children's language. I am the purveyor of time outs, the sultan of sitting in the corner, the hander-outter of chores. I am the enforcer. I make sure to follow through. I insist that you finish your homework before you play videogames with your friends. I insure that your pull up is free from debris before you go out to the yard to play. I am the proverbial wet blanket. That's my life. And I won't color my hair to show how much more fun I am.
Before I sign off, I thought I would give you my five things that I am grateful for. So here they are in no particular order:
1.) My mother arrived in New England safely. She flew from Florida to visit for the holidays and is currently with her friend Linda in Maine.
2.) School was cancelled today. I got to play Scrabble with my kids and not feel quite like the drill sargeant I usually do.
3.) I got to work safely. I left two hours before I needed to be there and arrived an hour early. The snow was pretty intense, but nothing too terrible.
4.) I do NOT have diabetes. I finally took the blood test and the nurse reading the test results to me over the phone said that I am "well within the range of normal," for my blood sugar. Phew.
5.) My husband is working for a secure company and is not likely to be laid off. I won't say that he definitely won't be, you never know, but it seems unlikely. That means we can pay our mortgage so all is well. Another BIG phew!
Goodnight. Hope you found something interesting to read here tonight. Something that made you smile or at least something that you identified with. If not, sorry, but ultimately, this blog is for me.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
My five things to be grateful for today
1.) I am grateful that I can think.
2.) I am grateful that there is good music
3.) I am grateful that kids are resiliant
4.) I am grateful for good friends, both near and far
5.) I am grateful for coffee
2.) I am grateful that there is good music
3.) I am grateful that kids are resiliant
4.) I am grateful for good friends, both near and far
5.) I am grateful for coffee
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