my computer is broken and in need of some overhaulin'
Thus, I will be without for a little while -
please don't forget me while I am away.
The upside? I have a good back-up this time!
6.27.2007
6.13.2007
mending
There is nothing more satisfying to a Mom at home all the time
then feeling needed by a grateful family.
I now recommend, if you feel your husband is getting soft
and your children are beginning to leave their shoes on the table
and living like they have skipped straight to some university frat house,
go away for a few weeks.
Just pack up and trust that husband will be able to find emergency
childcare and rustle up food from the freezer... or from every restaurant in town.
Go away for a few weeks.
Mine seemed to be just fine when I arrived home. Clean clothes and house, no one
was starving or particularly dirty. Nails were trimmed - but I knew they must be
longing for their mother on the inside. I figured they didn't want to hurt their father's
feelings that he was not quite good enough.
A few days went by and they still seemed unable to admit that
things were much better when I was around.
To soften them all up, (maybe a touch of domestic wiles)
I began baking blueberry pies.
It was after a few bites that son and even husband declared with a smile,
"We are very glad that Mom is back, aren't we?"
Victory!
P.S. On a more serious note, as I dressed my wound this morning Alice considered it carefully
and declared it to look like a giraffe. I would describe it more simply: a hole. A hole where there should not be one unless one has just been caught in the path of a bullet.
then feeling needed by a grateful family.
I now recommend, if you feel your husband is getting soft
and your children are beginning to leave their shoes on the table
and living like they have skipped straight to some university frat house,
go away for a few weeks.
Just pack up and trust that husband will be able to find emergency
childcare and rustle up food from the freezer... or from every restaurant in town.
Go away for a few weeks.
Mine seemed to be just fine when I arrived home. Clean clothes and house, no one
was starving or particularly dirty. Nails were trimmed - but I knew they must be
longing for their mother on the inside. I figured they didn't want to hurt their father's
feelings that he was not quite good enough.
A few days went by and they still seemed unable to admit that
things were much better when I was around.
To soften them all up, (maybe a touch of domestic wiles)
I began baking blueberry pies.
It was after a few bites that son and even husband declared with a smile,
"We are very glad that Mom is back, aren't we?"
Victory!
P.S. On a more serious note, as I dressed my wound this morning Alice considered it carefully
and declared it to look like a giraffe. I would describe it more simply: a hole. A hole where there should not be one unless one has just been caught in the path of a bullet.
6.11.2007
Clean Cut
The tears kept tumbling down, wetting my hair and the paper cover on the pillow under my head. I felt stupid, silly, weak lying there in my doctor's small office "procedure" room. A small operating table covered in pine green vinyl and that useless white paper that turns to shreds the minute you shift around at all, fluorescent lights slightly flickering, the searing pain right below my left collarbone. The pain that came with me on the long plane ride Friday night, that distracted every attempt on Saturday to enjoy the reunion with my family. The pain that by Sunday was all I could see, hear, feel, touch - overwhelming any other sensation, dragging down my mind.
And so, Monday morning, I have the phone in my hand 5 minutes before office hours begin. My 3 year old daughter, who has only been able to cry or talk about how much she missed me in the two days since my return, reacts like she has been slapped when I tell her she is going to have to spend the morning with her aunt and cousin. "But Momma I already miss-ED you so much, I want to come to the doctors with you!" She is nearly inconsolable and I have to promise to spend every moment after her nap with her later on in the day.
The nurse barely glances at my sad, infected skin. Perhaps I was fighting off infection all along and the stress, heat, heavy bags of last week finally exacted their price. She clucks sympathetically, hands me a gown, instructs me to lie down on the table, and leaves me alone with my thoughts and the unflattering lighting. In the 20 minutes I wait, I fight back tears over the pain, not wanting shots, not wanting to be cut open on a Monday morning, and possibly tears over all of last week.
My doctor is a very gentle man. He has a kind voice and kind eyes and can see my misery - in my eyes and as he assesses my abscess. He asks if I've had a fever. I tell him that I haven't noticed. It is 100.3 and he starts shaking his head slowly. "You have been walking around like this for three days, oh, tsk tsk- Jessica!" It is a complete mix of scolding and sympathy. In that moment I realize that he only means my obvious problem; I feel the correction too deeply for it to be simply about my physical condition. Not for long. He draws out the needle and as he numbs my pain, and it vanishes into my memory I start crying in earnest. The relief of the pain is part of it, but the relief of crying all the contained stress and worry and exhaustion. He looks startled, "It isn't hurting, is it?" "No," I say. "It's been a really long week. Please, just fix it."
And then, a clean cut, some pressure, and careful bandaging later I am free.
I thank him on the way out - of course he nods automatically - but I have never felt more
healed.
And so, Monday morning, I have the phone in my hand 5 minutes before office hours begin. My 3 year old daughter, who has only been able to cry or talk about how much she missed me in the two days since my return, reacts like she has been slapped when I tell her she is going to have to spend the morning with her aunt and cousin. "But Momma I already miss-ED you so much, I want to come to the doctors with you!" She is nearly inconsolable and I have to promise to spend every moment after her nap with her later on in the day.
The nurse barely glances at my sad, infected skin. Perhaps I was fighting off infection all along and the stress, heat, heavy bags of last week finally exacted their price. She clucks sympathetically, hands me a gown, instructs me to lie down on the table, and leaves me alone with my thoughts and the unflattering lighting. In the 20 minutes I wait, I fight back tears over the pain, not wanting shots, not wanting to be cut open on a Monday morning, and possibly tears over all of last week.
My doctor is a very gentle man. He has a kind voice and kind eyes and can see my misery - in my eyes and as he assesses my abscess. He asks if I've had a fever. I tell him that I haven't noticed. It is 100.3 and he starts shaking his head slowly. "You have been walking around like this for three days, oh, tsk tsk- Jessica!" It is a complete mix of scolding and sympathy. In that moment I realize that he only means my obvious problem; I feel the correction too deeply for it to be simply about my physical condition. Not for long. He draws out the needle and as he numbs my pain, and it vanishes into my memory I start crying in earnest. The relief of the pain is part of it, but the relief of crying all the contained stress and worry and exhaustion. He looks startled, "It isn't hurting, is it?" "No," I say. "It's been a really long week. Please, just fix it."
And then, a clean cut, some pressure, and careful bandaging later I am free.
I thank him on the way out - of course he nods automatically - but I have never felt more
healed.
6.09.2007
Where in the world?
More detailed posts about my travels to follow,
but since I have been silent so long, I figured I'd update.
I let my husband and kids for the last nearly two weeks
to be with my sister and husband in Philadelphia.
My flights were timed very nicely, I made it for the birth -
and subsequent trials of the first week.
Now, however, it's his life story - and his blog to read:
The Life, so far, of Sullivan
Coming soon: Transportation Possessed
but since I have been silent so long, I figured I'd update.
I let my husband and kids for the last nearly two weeks
to be with my sister and husband in Philadelphia.
My flights were timed very nicely, I made it for the birth -
and subsequent trials of the first week.
Now, however, it's his life story - and his blog to read:
The Life, so far, of Sullivan
Coming soon: Transportation Possessed
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