Spinning Yellow

Ten Before 10

Ten separate posts I should write:

1.  This blog, Spinning Yellow, is now officially one year old.  I wrote my first post on March 25th, 2007.  Yes, it has changed my life. 

2.  I've watched Autism: The Musical twice with tears streaming down my face.  I feel completely attached to all the people in the movie, kids and parents.  I can't stop thinking about it.

3.   I get e-mails from Runner's World with helpful links.  Today's was titled: Easter Candy = Crack.  I am so there.  In fact, I am right now going to throw the rest of it out.  Chocolate is my biggest weakness, hands down.  Also, there was a tid bit about people gaining weight while training for a marathon.  wtf?  How is this possible?  Well, they explain it, but I don't even want to know because that is just too depressing.  There is no way that running your ass off shouldn't correlate to literally running your ass off.

4.  Speaking of which, I ran 10 miles last weekend.  And Matt says that if I did 10, I can do 13.  I wish I believed him. 

5.  Scott is having an anxiety attack that started with his bus breaking down and is now spiraling into him not being able to sleep and following me around the house.  He is chewing his sleeve and hmmm- ing and jumping at every sound.  I am trying to be understanding without making too much of it.  Sure, you can wish me luck with that.

6.  I am in charge of our family NCAA basketball pool, as always.  A fun tradition that Scott is way too caught up in. 

7.  I failed to attend Oprah's on-line class for her book group selection, A New Earth, for the 4th week in a row.  I love Oprah and totally dig the premise of this book, but cannot, for the life of me, understand how millions of people are actually reading it.  Have you tried to read this?  Either I'm not as smart as I thought I was or a lot of people are lying.

8.  It is almost April.  Taxes and birthdays and yard work, oh my!

9.  This time last year, Jane broke her arm, I started this blog and I started running.  Scott finished up his listening program and cut back on his OT.  It seems like more than a year has passed because so much has happened.

10.  I desperately want to go to BlogHer08 in San Francisco in July, but cannot figure out how to justify the cost. 

10 pm - I made it on time.

'night.

A New Variety of Wine

Jane and I went on a few errands yesterday, including a trip to the liquor store.  In Pennsylvania, if you want to buy wine or other liquor you need to go to a special place called The State Store.  Beer is purchased somewhere else entirely.  It is a complete hassle.  One of the inconveniences of being a PA resident.

I usually don't go to the liquor store with my children because there is way too much opportunity for them to knock over a bottle of something.  But Jane is pretty good these days in stores and actually quite helpful.  I just wanted to pick up a few bottles of wine, so I headed in.

Jane pushed the cart with me and I searched for specials and known favorites.  I spotted a Chardonnay in a brand of wine we like, but I really needed the Pinot Noir (pronounced pee-no new-are, which is relevant, you'll see).

We continued to walk around and then went up to the checkout.  I held up the wine, with a very distinctive sun logo on it, and asked, "Do you have this in a Pinot Noir?"

We followed the store clerk to the back of the building where some of the red wines were hiding.  As we looked at the shelves, Jane recognized the logo and pointed, "Look Mommy, there's the penis wine you wanted!"

Pinot, penis, whatever.

Even funnier is that nobody seemed to understand what she said but me, who burst out laughing.  I wonder what they would have thought had they heard her!

 

My Last Post About Puke, I Promise

This morning while I was in our downstairs office on the computer, Jane came running in saying she didn't feel good.  A few minutes before she had been happily watching TV and seemed perfectly fine to me.  I glanced over, distracted, "oh? what's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"What?  Really?"

We rushed into the bathroom, she lifted the toilet seat, and proceeded to vomit several times.  I sat there incredulously.  She couldn't possibly be sick again.  It wasn't the violent retching of last week, but puke all the same.

When she was done, she stood up, smiled a little and said, "I am all done now.  I'm not sick anymore."

I stared at her.  What the hell was going on in my house?

I feel like I need to call in those Hazmat guys in the suits to detox the place.

Now, although we haven't had the throw up virus in our home until recently, Jane has, on occasion, been sick to her stomach.  Over the holidays, she threw up after our annual Hanukkah party.  We suspected that she ate too many chocolate coins which prompted her to say, "I'm sick from the guilt," when she really meant "gelt," but it was so funny and appropriate that we didn't correct her.

It hit me that perhaps Jane is a Puker.  You know the type.  I had a friend in college who would get super drunk, feel sick, throw-up in the bushes outside a fraternity, wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt, and grab a beer to wash down the taste.

My sister and her kids are also Pukers.  My sister used to get car sick when we were kids.  We'd pull over, she'd toss her cookies, and we'd get back on the road.  My nephew was so good at it, that by age 3, he barely needed a grown-up to help him (girls always need someone to hold their hair back).

Even Matt is a Puker.  Sometimes he gets sick from drinking or eating certain things.  The next day, it is as if it never happened.

I am not a Puker.  I am more like an anti-Puker.  The exact opposite of a Puker.  The last time I threw up was when Matt and I first started dating, 9 years ago.  I had mild food poisoning from some deli chicken salad.  I thought I might be dying.  Matt, non phased, still wanted to kiss me (after I brushed my teeth, of course).  I remember thinking, wow, he must really like me.

I am the type of person who can be nauseous for days (weeks, when pregnant) but cannot get myself to vomit.  I am terrified of throwing up, actually.  I can literally count on one hand how many times I've thrown up in my lifetime, and that includes two times when I was so drunk I don't even remember them.

Sure enough, Jane was completely fine all day long.  Her usual silly, fun, self.  I've been trying to figure out what her sudden throw up incident was all about.  Was it what she ate for breakfast?  Did she stick something in her mouth and gag?  Matt told me to just get over it.  Clearly it is my issue, not theirs.

A little while ago I called my mom to see what she was up to for the weekend and to check if she might be able to watch the kids at all.

"hello?"  I heard on the other end of the line.

"Mom?  Is that you?  You sound terrible."

"I'm sick."  The pathetic voice barely managed to get out.

"Oh, that's too bad, do you need anything?"

"No.  I tried to eat something and I threw it up."

"Oh, okay, well, sorry again, get some rest."  Oh, the guilt!

No more, I said!  Now you are picking on Grammy?  That is just wrong!

How the hell am I going to get away from all these sick people, if my babysitter is ill?

 

There's a Big Silver Lining in All This

When I complained about how the puke virus finally invaded our home, I did not express how fortunate I feel that it didn't happen until now.  At a time when it seems we can, and did, handle it pretty well.   A few years ago, or even last year, I really can't imagine how Scott would have reacted to the choking sensation.  To the foul smell and yucky taste in his mouth.  To the gunk coming out of his nose.  Although he was scared and obviously didn't like it (nobody does, of course) he reacted in a way that you'd expect.

I keep coming back to this idea of how, well, normal, he has been lately.  I do not use the word lightly because I think normal is very subjective.  But I guess I am trying to say that Scott has been acting, in most ways, like a typical six year old.  More so now than he has ever behaved in the past.  Possibly it is a combination of how much we've adjusted, natural maturing, and self and specialist taught coping mechanisms. 

He even said that the throwing up wasn't the end of the world, mostly just scary.  Huh?  From a kid who can't even stand the smell of my newspaper?  Who hates the way liquid feels on his face?

Yes, my kid.  Who has come so far.  Who is realizing that life throws you punches and curve balls and you can make adjustments and move on.  Who actually let me wipe his face with a paper towel the other day.

I can see now that as he is getting older, he can control his environment more himself.  He can move the newspapers.  He can go wash his face off.  Just like how I always wear my sunglasses and only read when it is quiet.  I can make those choices because I understand myself and because I am capable.  I don't have to ask someone to help me.

A few weeks ago when he was all wound up before bed time, I yelled at him that he was driving me crazy.  "Settle down!"  I screamed.  About 10 minutes later, he very calmly said, "I watched a little tv, sat in the big chair and chewed on that yellow thing and now I feel much better."  He knows what to do.

And here is the big kicker:  Due to being sick, Scott hasn't been eating with his normal voracious appetite.  So his system has been off and he hasn't been pooping regularly.  I only skipped one day of Miralax because I am so afraid of him having any kind of constipation issues even though he did have some diarrhea (oh, yes, in the middle of the night, I forgot to add that to my highlights, it brought back such fond memories).

Anyway, he left for school yesterday without going to the bathroom for over 24 hours.  Usually, a huge cause for concern, but what could I do?  After he was home for a few hours, he casually said, "oh, yeah, mom, I forgot to tell you that I pooped at school today."  And then he just went back to doing whatever he had been.

I was shocked.  And once again I had to adjust how I view my son.  How much more capable he really is.  How I am the one who may be holding him back sometimes, trying to protect him, schedule things out so that there aren't any surprises.  Even plan his pooping.

As much as I dread the vomit virus, I will concede that it has shown me that we can handle more than I thought. 

Now, please, no more visits until at least next year. 

I finally finished all the laundry.

The Wrong Kind of Spring Fever

Like most people, I used to look forward to spring.  The opportunity to get outside, the longer days, warmer weather and the end of a school year in sight.  The problem was that I grew up and went to school where there never is much of a spring season.  Winter is still going strong into March with a few nice days, if you are lucky.  True warmer weather doesn't kick in until April and then, in the blink of an eye, or perhaps a few short weeks, it is blazing hot outside and everyone turns on their air conditioners.

When I lived in Washington DC, I fell in love with spring (don't worry Fall, you are still my first love ) and in particular, the once dreaded month of March.  In Pennsylvania and even more so in upstate New York where all my relatives live, March is the gloomiest month of the year.  By that time you are so desperate for spring's warm air and new growth but are met every day with a dull, gray sky.  Seriously, try March in Syracuse, NY, you'll know what I mean.

I used to wish March away, looking forward to when the clocks would change and April would finally arrive.  Even Easter didn't usually occur until after March.  But in DC, oh how lovely March was.  Cherry Blossoms and meals outside.  People biking and running on the paths by the water.  Festivals for St. Patrick's Day.  Clear blue skies and green things growing.  Flowers and birds.  All this lasted not for a short week or two, but for a full two months until the oppressive heat and humidity took hold through the summer.

Now that I am back in the land of little springtime, you'd think I would eagerly look forward to what few days we have.  But no, now I have a new issue with spring:  The end of April marks not just one child's birthday, but both.  Sure, you can combine somethings and it does cut down on jealousy between them.  But holy busy hell has the month of April become.  As I wrote last year, it is second only to the month of December for our family.

For the record, I am not a crazy, huge birthday party, invite everyone and get a pony in the backyard kind of person.  It is just that even small gatherings include planning and organizing.  And the bottom line is that two at the same time is a lot.  And as soon as it is done, May brings many more family birthdays, holidays, and then you are already into summer.

So now March means a prelude to all that.  Where I once couldn't wait for the month to be over, I now feel it flying by too quickly.  Wait.  Stop.  I haven't finished putting away the Christmas decorations.  I don't know what we will plant in the garden.  I need to set up summer camps and classes.  The clocks were changed so early, it is light well past dinner.  I am not ready yet. 

And what are we going to do for those birthdays this year?  Jane has friends from preschool and wants all girly stuff and Scott wants sports.  Who will they invite?  Where should we have it?  I am already having an anxiety attack.

But even before I get all worked up about that, what happened to January and February anyway?  I know I wasn't asleep because I did do stuff, but I was in some sort of fog.  I couldn't figure out if I was depressed or just aimless.  I felt tired all the time, but I thought that was because of the running which really wears me out.  I kept playing my time game and felt very introspective.  And the kids were in this nice, stable, easy place.  Things seemed, dare I say it, manageable, for the first time, really, since Scott was born.

I knew I wasn't taking advantage of the lull.  But I also felt exhausted from all the stress of last fall and from the years of constant issues.  One thing after another, never finding our footing long enough for the dust to settle.  I wanted to rest.  To enjoy the fruit of my labor for a bit.  Perhaps I floundered too long to no real purpose.

A few weeks ago, Matt and I went out to dinner and I was complaining about not knowing what I wanted to do next.  Should I pursue a teaching degree or maybe another career path?  I told him that one thing that really bothered me was that I wanted to write more but couldn't justify the time and effort required.  We agreed that I needed to carve out time for it and that I would start getting up early, like I used to, but for whatever reason (lazy? depressed? exhaustion?) couldn't seem to do lately.

Just as that was agreed upon, the sleepless nights started.  Jane with asthma.  The dog up during thunder storms.  The dog sick.  And then my nightmare:  The puke sickness invaded our home.  NO!!  I do not throw up, you hear me?  And I can handle poop much better than vomit.  We have been soooo lucky.  I knew it was bound to happen, but I thought I kind of had a deal with Karma about the puke thing.  I must have pissed her off.  I was too smug about how Scott never gets sick.  I told people about how we always wash our hands and the kids eat well and get enough sleep.  I even (cringe) blabbed about how easy things had been around here with an almost 7 year old and and an almost 4 year old.

Well, I can't go back now and undo any of that, as if it would change the last two weeks of sleepless hell anyway.  A few highlights:

Jane threw up over and over while sleeping.  I stared at her and repeated, pleases stop, please stop, this must be the last time, while I jumped up to help her throw up without choking. 

Matt put her in our bed, just for a bit, so we could clean her bed, because we are such novices at this kind of parenting and clearly anyone else would have known that she'd then puke all over our bed, also.

I did laundry non-stop for days and almost tossed out a few towels because I just couldn't pick off all the vomit chunks anymore.

Matt had to travel 3 hours each way, two days in a row for meetings on hardly any sleep and then spent his weekend also crouched in front of the toilet.

Scott had a half day on Friday (one of only 4 for the whole year) and within 10 minutes of getting off the bus, he threw up all over my bed (yes, again, my room, because I am a slow learner and I really didn't think he would get sick because he hadn't ever before).

Scott cried and wanted me to hold his hand while sitting in the bathroom because he was terrified.  He thought he was dying, or perhaps choking, and would stand up and try to stop himself from getting sick and thus effectively got vomit all over himself time and time again.

I cried too, for him, because I think throwing up is worse than anything.  Really.  I think I'd rather break a limb than have to endure the violent retching that my poor family had to go through.

My hands are completely raw and chaffed from repeated hand washing.

Matt and I tried to go running on Saturday morning even though we were both tired (I was supposed to run 9 miles).  We got caught in a downpour and had to come home drenched.  I took a shower and then got back into bed (at 11am) and hardly ate anything until tonight, 3 days later (I am the only one who did not throw up).

Fun times here.  I am wildly behind in absolutely everything.  Totally stressed about my race that is coming up in less than 7 weeks.  Easter decorations aren't up, nor are basket items procured.  I am off schedule now with my running training.  Our dog seems to be sicker more often (my baby!).  March is already one third over.

And I have birthday parties to plan.

I do think I've stop floundering about, though.  Nothing like a little kick in the pants, or vomit in the house, to get you back on your game.

I so should have seen this coming.