Spinning Yellow

I'm Done

The last day of NaBloPoMo!  Yay!  I am made it!  I was planning on doing a recap, or a what I learned this year, or a reader appreciation thing, but, guess what?  I'm tired.

There's the theme for this year's NaBloPoMo: I'm tired.

The latest?  Jane is sick.  She's been sick for awhile now but it got worse on Wednesday when she spiked a fever and lay around in her pajamas all day (and just for the record, I checked with Grammar Girl's lay/lie rules for the correct form to use and even though it doesn't sound right, "lay" is right in that sentence).  We've been giving her Motrin and nebulizer treatments since then.  Today she would not stop coughing so I took her to the on-call doctor.  

I was hoping to avoid a trip to the ER by taking her to the doctor during the daylight.  But she was fine at the doctor's and didn't get really bad until she was trying to go to sleep.  Calls to the doctor, multiple medicines, and a big fight about trying to have her sleep propped up on pillows later and she is finally sleeping.  This does not guarantee she will stay asleep.

Also?  Scott freaks out when Jane is sick or throwing a fit.  He keeps asking, "what's going on? will she be alright? am I going to get sick? are you going to the ER?"  Last spring, when Jane went through a horrible phase where she pitched a huge fit every night before going to sleep, Scott had a breakdown.  He curled up in a ball and rocked back and forth muttering, "please make her stop".  Yeah, that was helpful.  Now we had two out of control kids.

So, I am going to bed, in case I spend some time up with the little one.  Or the big one.

Thanks so much for reading along this year.  I truly appreciate anyone who stops by, reads, or comments here.  It means the world to me.

Happy Birthday, Honey!

Look, 40 isn't easy.  I know.  I'm almost 6 months older, remember?  You do remember, of course you do, you like to remind me that you are younger, if only by a few months.  But now we are both 40 years old.  It does take some time to get used to, I'll give you that.  So maybe you can't stay up as late, or drink as much, or ride your bike as far, but that's not all that important, really.

What matters is who you've become:  A wonderful father, a supportive husband, an accomplished professional.  I like how you've softened, not physically (although I know you think this is true, I don't agree) but in your demeanor.  It isn't all about rushing and stressing, getting something done.  You take the time to play with the kids, listen to my stories, share our lives.

It is freeing, really, being 40.  A true grown-up.  Perhaps not hip, but sophisticated, wise, comfortable.  You keep getting better, baby.  And here's another bit of advice:

Just remember, no matter how old you are, I'll always be older.

Love,

Your old lady

Behind the Scenes

The office where my laptop sits charging during the day also has a family computer.  My husband, the techy person in our marriage and also the primary photographer, has a series of photos that rotate as a screen saver on this computer.  Yesterday, he decided to put all the photos in the library into the mix. 

As I've walked by, or quickly stopped to check my e-mail or twitter, these pictures catch my eye.  Years of memories all jumbled up, freezing a moment, then quickly fading away to be replaced by another.  So many pictures.

I am drawn to the photo montage, remembering not just the exact second the camera was snapped, but all that was going on behind the scene.   I see Scott at our old house looking out from his crib and I think of how happy that house made me feel.  How it was the home I bought and then where Matt and I lived when we first got married and Scott was born.  I can smell the powdery scent of the nursery, hear myself singing as I rocked him to sleep.

Two years ago, Thanksgiving here, Scott is helping Matt stuff the turkey.  That was the year I had my 20th high school reunion.  I recall my friends coming over the next morning, I was exhausted, but because I lived here, I was the logical person to have the gathering.  I wanted to talk more coherently, be more present in the moment, but I was concerned about Scott getting along with the other kids.

Jane as a tiny baby, being held by my mother, reminds me of how awful I felt after she was born.  And how sad I was to be away from Scott and Matt and my dog.  How I didn't feel close to her at first.

A birthday party for one of Scott's playgroup friends.  The expression on Scott's face so clear to me now, in retrospect, that he was overwhelmed.  I am flooded with memories of him misbehaving, acting out, having to leave.

A mixed-up chronicle of events, family, friends, places we've visited, the people in our lives, holidays, the house we live in.  I see myself and I feel how my clothes fit.  I instantly remember whether I was uncomfortable, sad, tired, or happy, content.  A glimpse of my hair and I wonder if it looks better now or then.  People look younger, kids so tiny and round, the colors and details more vivid than in my mind.

I recall the minutes, hours, days before the picture was taken.  I think of what was said, the sounds of laughter, the smell of the ocean, the feel of cold, wet, snow.  

Every photo tells its own story.  Often times the moment seems so obvious.  People smiling, blowing out candles, holding a baby, riding in a boat, playing at the beach.  But behind every picture is an entire unknown background.  A history that can only be revealed by the person who experienced all that led up to that exact instance.

I can't help but think about how little we truly know about anyone else's life.  How they feel, what they experience.  How we only see what is revealed to us, what we are capable of knowing.  How one moment, one snapshot, one piece of information is only a tiny part of the whole picture.  We could never understand the context quite like they would.

I could look at these photos flashing by forever.  Reliving each one as only I can.

Thankful For a Full Belly ...

and an even fuller heart.  It was a ton of work, as always, but well worth it.  Great food, my wonderful family, healthy relatives, football outside, Wii inside,  and much wine.  All good.  Here's my favorite photo for the day:

That's my nephew and Scott eating the drumsticks.

And I will probably take the photo away in a day or two because it violates my "no photos of children or anyone who hasn't agreed to have their picture on this blog" rule.

I will leave you with this story from last Thanksgiving, which always makes me smile, and the list I did at the end of that post of things I am thankful for.  It is the same this year, except I think I should add Twitter.  Yes, I will add that I am thankful for Twitter, and chocolate, and my fuzzy crocs.

I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving!

Inside Edition

I was tagged for a meme by my new bloggy friend from In The Fast Lane.  The Mission:

If you are a blogger you now have a mission. As soon as you read this, drop everything, grab your camera and take pictures of where you blog from. NO CLEANING!!! THEN, tag some lucky ducks and spread the love.

This is a photo of where I was at the time:

It actually doesn't look nearly as bad as it is in this photo, but I am ashamed of how messy this space is.

I really blog from here: 

The kitchen table, after everyone goes to sleep.

And just for the record, I cleaned all day and now the office looks like this:

 

Which is at least presentable but no more organized.  Sigh.

*** I must also point out that Kyla from The Journey (who I owe another meme!) gets best post title award for this meme.

I know I am supposed to tag people, but I am so bad about following through with memes that I feel guilty putting anyone on the spot.  If you feel like doing this, I'd love to see your bloggy home. 

Story For the Day

At Lowes today, I attempted to buy a new towel ring and toilet paper holder for our plum bathroom.  I knew I needed a black matte kind of finish and I was hoping for the brilliant new toilet paper holder design I saw at my parent's house.  They have one that lifts up on one side to slide the roll off and on instead of the typical kind with an annoying spring inside the tube that always results in a spring and empty cardboard roll flying off.  I didn't see what I wanted right away, so I asked the first sales guy that I found if they had it.

"No, we don't have that, but I could order it for you."

"No, that won't work, I need it for Thursday, I am having company over for Thanksgiving."

"You should try Bed, Bath and Beyond."

I looked at him blankly.

"You know where it is, right?  Right down there." He gestured in one direction.

"Yes, I know, I just didn't think they had this stuff there."

"It is Bed, Bath and Beyond." I felt like he was holding back from adding, "you dumbshit"

"Well, you can't buy a toilet there, can you?" I countered, trying hard not to add, "smartass"

"No, but you can buy a toilet seat cover."

OK, fine, I'd heard enough.  I wasn't really interested in buying anything there anymore.

I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond, and, luckily I had some of those 20% off coupons with me, because, seriously, does anyone actually buy anything in that store without one?  I am convinced that they jacked their prices up by 20% a few years ago so that you feel like you are getting a deal when, in fact, you are not.  But it totally works because I go there and the sales lady confirmed that the coupons never expire so you can stock up on them and as soon as she said that, I thought, well, I'll be back to buy more stuff soon then.

Anyway, I did get the bathroom items, but not what I originally wanted.  I still have the old fashioned, ill-designed toilet paper holder.  But I feel better about my purchase.

** Yes, the real story for the day is the therapist appointment that Scott went to, but it is too much to write right now.  Oh, and Jane fell asleep in the tub.  She wasn't hurt or scared one bit, but me?  I'm thinking I need to review my list of promises already!

NaBlo..Po....Mo.....zzzzzzzz

Wow, this November seems endless.  Could it be partly due to my not getting enough sleep?  Yeah, I think so, too.  I feel like the election was months ago.  Today I was busy with the kids and rearranging my dining room to accommodate fifteen Thanksgiving Day guests.  I went to Scott's conference with his so-so teacher.  Then he freaked out when I told him we are seeing a therapist tomorrow for his anxiety issues.  Can this day be over?

Of course it can.

'Night.

I Promise

This is a follow-up to my Revoking Her Dr. License post.  Go read that first, if you haven't, or else this won't make any sense.

I had to sneak out of the house while Jane was watching TV in order to talk to Q's mom.  I didn't want to betray Jane's confidence in telling me about the situation.  Like I said before, I know Q's mom fairly well and I felt comfortable letting her know what Jane had told me.  Right away she said she believed Jane and was not really surprised about Q's behavior.  You see, she thinks Q is quite a handful herself and often is exasperated by both her and her older sister.  Of course she was also embarrassed and felt badly that Jane was upset.  She said she would talk with Q about being a good friend and also about private parts being private.  She understood the significance of the situation but also didn't overact.

I want to be clear that I do not think there is any kind of sexual molestation going on next door.

However, there are some issues, primarily with Q's older sister that could be part of the problem.  Without going into great detail, because they are my next door neighbors, people I see daily, where our children run between our houses, I have had concerns about Q's sister for a long time.  The bottom line is that she is a huge sensory seeker, extremely volatile, emotional, basically difficult.  She doesn't have any friends.  She talks at you and doesn't maintain proper personal space.  She becomes disengaged with other kids and will get fixated on a toy or the tv to the point where you cannot get her to respond to anyone. 

Q's mom and I have discussed the issues she has with Q's sister many times over the years.  Although she is aware of Scott's SPD diagnosis and really gets him, she doesn't exactly buy into the "disorder" part.  I think she feels her daughter is quirky and perhaps not the most popular, but unfortunately, hasn't ever considered that she might need outside help.

There are some other things going on too, like a history of mental illness in the family, but it is not my place to draw conclusions about another person's situation (although, obviously I have).  So, I can provide my perspective, really, and nothing more.  After that, it is up to me to worry about my own family.

We both think that the reason Q used the words "you have to promise" is because her older sister says it.  Scott says this too, as in "You promised me you'd read a story" or "You have to promise that I can play my Wii tomorrow."  It is their way of coercing someone into something and making them accountable.

I've been mulling over the word "promise" ever since this happened.  Children use this word a lot and feel it is the law.  As adults, we know that promises are broken all the time.  But we do try to teach our children to be true to their word and by example, we should also only promise what we can truly deliver.

I feel that this incident has been a wake up call for me to pay closer attention.  Because Scott didn't play well with other children, he wasn't really ever out of my direct supervision.  I realize now that I never had to worry about the same things I do with Jane.  As the second child she is, naturally, not watched as closely.  But she is also so much easier that I don't have to be as vigilant.  At least I didn't think so.

When I first found out that I was having a girl I had a bit of a panic attack.  There are a ton of things to be worried about as far as having a daughter is concerned.  I still don't feel like I am as good of a girl mom as I am a boy mom.  But I am getting better.  I can see how my relationship with Jane is evolving.  And I know how I want it to be as a mother-daughter ideal.

So I've decided to make a few promises to my dear, sweet, daughter in light of this recent event:

I promise to pay more attention.  To listen more closely.  To spend more time with you.

I promise to answer any questions you have about being a girl, even if it means I have to tell you things I wish I didn't know.

I promise to never be angry or punish you for telling me the truth.

I promise to teach you, as best I can, how to keep yourself safe, how to avoid trouble, how to get out of a bad situation.

I promise to respect your decisions even if I don't agree with them.

I promise to be honest with you about the challenges you will face simply because you are a girl.

I promise not to perpetuate the myth that a man will make you happy, solve your problems and take care of you; instead, I will teach you that you can and will do all those things for yourself.

I promise to pick you up, no questions asked, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need me.

I promise to be sensitive to your feelings, to encourage your dreams, to do my best to like your boyfriends.

I promise to always be there for you, no matter what.

And of course, above all else, I promise to love you, more than my heart can hold. 

Weekend Edition

Well, here we are.  We meet again, after 10pm, you and me and my little MacBook.  Everyone else is asleep. Here's what I am thinking about:

I just watched last week's Entourage.  I wish I liked the show as much as I used to.  Is it me or the show?

My house is a mess and we are hosting Thanksgiving dinner.  I have a ton of things to do over the next few days, cleaning, food shopping, post writing, all with kids in tow.

Scott's conference is on Monday afternoon.  His report card was great.  How do I reconcile that with the stressed out, anxious child that lives with us?

I never sent out last year's Holiday cards.  For an entire year the cards have been lying on the floor in the downstairs office.  This makes me upset every single day.  I want to write up a card/letter and enclose the photo from last year with one from this year (which I already have printed off).  And I want it all to be done and out the door by the end of the month.

The appointment with the therapist for Scott is scheduled for Tuesday.  I haven't told him yet.  He will not be happy about this.  How come he seems so normal now, just as this date is approaching.  Like when your hair looks great the day you have a cut scheduled?

I have no idea what to get for anyone for holiday presents this year.

I took Jane to a horseback riding birthday party today for a girl who turned 5.  That's right, a five year old pony party.  Jane chose not to participate.  I think she just went for the goody bag.  I don't even care because I felt like I smelled like barn afterward and am glad that I will not have to pay for high-priced horsey lessons for my kid.

And on that note, November is birthday season around here, with five family birthdays to celebrate and numerous friends.  I don't want to spend my weekend going to children's birthday parties.  I am looking forward to the day when I won't have to.

Included in the birthdays is my husband's.  He is trying to pretend it is not his birthday.  I never know whether to make a fuss because I should or if I am supposed to downplay it because that is what he seems to want.

I found out Friday that one of my neighbors is pregnant with her third child.  I felt instantly jealous.  I don't want to feel that way.  I want to feel happy for her and relieved that it is not me.  I want to feel done.

It's almost time to start making ornaments and candies and cookies.  To decorating and listening to holiday music.  We are going to New York City as a family to see the Rockettes.  I am totally excited about this.

I should put some links in this post, but am too tired and/or lazy.

I Read It Too, What Does That Mean?

I've had another busy and exhausting day.  I am beginning to wonder, did I really do this NaBloPoMo thing last year?  I get stuck sometimes because I know I have to follow up on something, in this case the incident with my neighbor, and I need to give it proper attention, but I am already sort of past it and want to write about another thing.  And I tell myself that I am not allowed to do other things until I write that post.  Which includes going through the posts in my Google Reader and commenting.  Or responding to e-mails.  And all that does is put me further and further behind.

Today, I received my copy of Time magazine in the mail.  I am still not used to the fact that it comes on Fridays even though it has been now for, what, more than a year?  I don't want it at the end of the week when I get my big, fat weekend newspapers.  I want it on Monday or Tuesday so that I can read the whole thing before the end of the week.  I used to get Time at the beginning of the week and read it while commuting.  I miss that.

Anyway, I've been a subscriber to Time since I was a teenager.  It is the one media constant in my life for nearly 30 years.  So when it does arrive, I have to glance through it even if I am busy.  Today was no exception. 

I found this article that spoke to me, especially right now while I am trying to figure out how to write and read and fit it all in.

I loved how Michael Kinsley ended his essay, lamenting about finding something interesting that then he'd have to find the time to read.  I feel the same way. 

So, would all of you stop writing such eloquent, insightful, poignant, timely, fascinating stuff, please.  I can't keep up.  And that goes for the funny tweets, too.

You know who you are.