A Change Is Going To Come

September 30, 2005 | Category: In My Life

We drove home in silence.

I watched the skies out the car window. My knees up to my chest and my feet on the dashboard as he maneuvered the van through the murk of Lower Wacker. Every few feet, a crash of rain on the roof as we would be exposed to the world above.

My son was asleep in his car seat behind me. Around his wrist, a bright yellow hospital bracelet. I looked back at him often, my heart swelling in gratitude at his peaceful expression, he feverless cheeks.

Down on the car floor, my phone lit up and I ignored it. Despite being on Emergency Leave, my phone had logged over 30 incoming calls. 13 messages. My deputy had been let go due to budget concerns and my manager was attempting to fill in. I had told him a dozen times that I was not in a sitaution where I could deal with work. He kept calling.

Twenty feet outside my window, the river danced with the rain. I watched the boats push against the wind and the people rushing with umbrellas over the bridges above. The flags lining Michigan Avenue flapped and pulled violently.

In the passenger seat, I thought about my son. I thought about how he was fine. I swallowed back the terror that something truly evil was unfurling inside him. I clenched my eyes shut and prayed.

"He's going to be all right," my husband announced softly, firmly.

I nodded, and gripped his hand.

It was like a kaleidoscope, in my mind... The day I came back to Chicago. Walking into my old apartment for the first time, the creak of the wood floors. The flash of light as I was slid into the torpedo tube for my MRI when I got sick. The chalky smell of books in the room where I got my job as a corporate trainer. The feel of slippery hotel comforters in dozens of towns. The touch of CD's hand brushing mine the night we met. The dry, earnest expression of the guy who interviewed me at Mega. The moment of disbelief as I waited before walking across the backyard to get married. The stink of chlorine as I pulled myself from another set of laps. The sound of my son, alive inside me after the doctors had sadly warned me that he was probably gone.

My phone flashed again at my feet. I looked away just as the road corkscrewed up from the underground. We exited the tunnel and he flipped on the wipers. Ahead of us, a bouquet of thousands of taillights on a congested highway.

I traced my finger into the fog on my window.

I thought about the advice I'd had lately. About how, if I quit my career, I would be bereft of it. About how I'd never get back to the kind of income again, which was probably true. About the sacrifices it would mean, the struggles. About how, now that he was in full-day school, the benefits of an at-home parent were not as high as when he was a baby. I thought about never getting another emailed "attaboy". About how my personality needed challenge.

I grabbed up the phone and called my boss back. The conversation quickly disintegrated. He told me I wasn't being a team player. He fashioned an inconvenience into an emergency. Exhausted, angry, I finally hung up on him.

I rubbed the heel of my hand against my eye. Tears of confusion and frustration. Of fear. Of relief.

For an hour, we rolled towards home. For a guy who grew up in a rural world of dirt roads, my husband is an extremely skillful city driver. He gently tacked across surface streets, finally bringing us into town the back way.

The driveway was shiny and wet. The cool air burst into the van as we hopped out, moving quickly to the back. The door slid open and in a practiced, synchronized motion, he wrapped our son in a blanket and carried him away as I reached in and gathered up all our things.

I paused on the stoop, looking up at the still-green leaves of our big tree dripping with rain. The air had changed. I shook the wet off my hair as I stepped into the house.

"The weather's turned," I called, closing the door firmly behind me.

He caught my eye and nodded. "I know."

Home again, Home again

September 28, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

We're home, all three of us.

It's not Strep. It's not Kowasaki. They don't what it is, just some virus. And all the doctors sing the same song (Doo-wop, Doo wop) that 6 days of 104-ish temperatures are not normal.

They pulled fluids, are running some tests. But the upshot is that they let us take Bear home. (If his fever climbs again, or if he's not better by Friday, or if he gets one of 2 freaky rashes, then it's back to Children's.)

Bear is curled up with his dad in front of Scooby Doo. Thank God for our blessings. And thank everyone for the good thoughts and prayers. I don't think we've ever been so scared in our lives, and I can't begin to describe what it means to know that people are so kind.... (oh, can't talk. I'm verklempt.)

Road Trip

| Category: Mother to the First Power

Well, we're off to the hospital.

Positively Zen

September 27, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

I'm begining to feel like a walking train wreck.

My new manager called to inform me (while on leave to take care of my son!) that he was temporarily demoting me. Only in title. It's hoped by those "on high" that this would calm the crazy customer who, despite my project being in Green Status and on time and budget, has asserted that he doesn't feel like I understand his priorities.

Internal customer, mind you. We all work for the same company. Oh, and same rank as me. But let's put a pin in that.

My Executive told him that people don't get changed around on her team because of feelings. She demanded that he provide some kind of paper trail showing that I was doing a poor job.

Of course, no such paper trail exists.

Then, out of the other side of her mouth, she told my manager to demote me. Keep my pay, responsibilities the same. Just get me out of the guy's sight.

So, back where we started. My manager called to inform me...

After a moment of disbelief, I got good and pissed. He told me that I should take some time to think about it, since I was tired and had "family distractions". I told him that if he attempted to demote me, in any way, that I would go to the mats. I would go to HR, I would go to my operational management, and I would go loudly. That he better be bulletproof, because no one was messing with my professional career and reputation.

Wow, he said. I admire your spunk.

Yes. He really said that.

Meanwhile, we took Bear off the meds to see if he'd turned the corner.

His temperature is 104.9.

The Heat Came Back, The Very Next Day...

| Category: Mother to the First Power

Bear's 103~104ish (f) degree fever has persisted now since begining on Friday.

I've learned more about childhood fevers in the last few days than I thought there was to know. Turns out that the fever itself is not a bad thing, and may be a tool Bear's body is using to fight whatever infection he has. And when he gets a drop in temperature (thank you, Tylenol), he becomes "himself" again - talking, joking, wanting to read stories.

But then the heat comes back. He fades away, before our very eyes. At the doctor's office, "New Doctor" (ND) heard a heart murmur that she says should go away once he is well. More than that, his hands shake, he gets a couple of red spots, he whimpers, he vomits.

The ND says this is OK - not dangerous. Yeah, but that shaking and whimpering looks scary to us. It rips our still-beating hearts from our body as we cling to the side of his bed, whispering to him that everything is going to be OK.

Then we slip him some more Tylenol and walk on eggshells until it kicks in.

The problem here is that we're on Day 5 without a known cause (other than a fair belief that it is not Meningitis) or an end in sight. If he doesn't turn the corner soon, then it's off to the hospital.

I got this from the Blue Cross site:

My child has a fever and no other symptoms. What's wrong?

When a child has a high fever that isn't accompanied by a runny nose, a cough, vomiting, or diarrhea, figuring out what's wrong can be difficult. Some viral infections, such as roseola, cause three days of very high fever followed by a rash of small red bumps. More serious infections, like meningitis, urinary tract infections, or bacteremia (bacteria in the bloodstream), also may trigger a high fever without other symptoms. But infections aren't the only triggers for fever; tumors, autoimmune diseases, and certain drug reactions can cause it. For these reasons, call your pediatrician if your child has a high fever but no other symptoms.

Yeah, we're all kinds of calm.

The Lost Weekend

September 26, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

I spoke too soon, about the bad week being over.

Friday afternoon, and as I pulled into the mall parking lot Bear started to complain about tingling poking feelings in his legs. Next thing we knew, we were hustling out of Lowes with a son with red cheeks and glassy eyes.

His fever has hit 104 several times and his only other symptom was sleepiness and a headache. We started grappling with the fear that something might really be wrong.

The on-call doctor said if his fever didn't break then we needed to bring him into the hospital - possibly for a spinal tap to rule out Meningitis. At the last minute, his skin grew slightly cooler. Within the hour, his temp had dropped a few degrees and he was looking like his old self.

Reprieve.

But then last night the scary heat came back.

I won the coin toss, so I stayed home with him today. CD is at work, half asleep on his keyboard. I'm not much better, but the only one relying on me is Bear. Who has had a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and some Motrin and is actually playing right now in a (you guessed it) nest on my bed.

In a couple of hours, we're heading over to the doctor's. The NEW doctor.

Trial by fire.

The Letter

September 23, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

It's been a tough week - the low point being last Friday, when Bear's pediatrician called him 'obese'. For the record? She wasn't looking at him at the time, she was looking at something called a "BMI Chart". A tool she had not explained to us; with flaws she did not discuss. Which, on top of everything else, she used improperly.

First we dealt with the fallout to Bear (he was actually very reasonable in accepting that the doctor wanted to make sure he ate the right foods. He is pretty confident in his choices, but agreed that we could cut down the french fries.)

Then we dealt with our personal fallout. I can't speak for CD, but what kept me churning was that I had known she was wrong, but didn't do anything to stop her.

My regret is that I should have stopped her, you know? I should have interrupted her bad self and gotten my son out of there. I should have scrawled "Respect" on a sign and jumped up on the reception desk, holding it aloft.

I am ashamed of myself for not fighting back in the moment.

And?

I am ashamed of her.

Today I wrote a letter, explaining to her and to all the doctors in her practice why we will no longer be using their services. I mentioned that we were discussing it - me and the parents of the 22 other children at Bear's party - and discovered that lo! and behold! there were two other parents that had quit the same practice for similar reasons. And one other parent who was using the practice but got recommendations for another one based on our conversation.

I said that a doctor of children has a special responsibility to see children as individuals. To model and teach them respect for themselves, and pride in good health - which is not a number but a state of being.

I said that my son was not a pig at the fair to be weighed, measured and talked over. And that if a practice of doctors dedicated to children thought that was acceptable, then I would challenge each and every one of them to look deep in their hearts about their choice of profession.

Before they went bankrupt.

Or worse, did more damage to the patients in their care.

All that's left now, is to find a stamp.

One more for the road

September 22, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

Since his older friends are begining to lose their teeth, Bear has a lot of questions.

Today I dug up this old picture of me (and my brother) and showed him how even his mommy lost her baby teeth, once upon a time.

(See, Bear? Nothing to be afraid of. See how I have a lost tooth in the picture but look at my mouth now... it grew in!)

Bear looked at the picture.

Then at me.

Bear: Is this really you?

Me: Yes, Bear, of course.

Bear: Wow. You got WAY more older. I mean, way way way way way...

Roll The Dice

September 21, 2005 | Category: This Old House

It was on a day like this, 5 years ago, that we stood on the street before the big blue house and knew we had found home. (The peeling paint and upturned grocery cart in the yard notwithstanding)....

Continue reading "Roll The Dice"

This Moment

September 20, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

I remember the first time he tried CD's infamous ketchup spaghetti. I was sure Bear had more sophistication, even at 9 months old, than to like it.

I was terribly, terribly wrong.

Turns out, like his father, he thinks ketchup is a food group.

I never thought I would forget that day. When he grabbed chopped-up strands of pasta with two chubby, fumbling hands and shoved the food in the general direction of his mouth.

Oh! We exclaimed. The coordination! The concentration! Our boy, he is a genius!

See the way he gets almost some of it in that mouth?

And about the 3rd helping, we cut him off. Wondering what so much of a new food would do to his immature system. He tried screaming, shouting, and grabbing. And then he sadly realized that there would be no more.

Seems like yesterday.

It is going too fast, Bear's childhood.

Sunday was his first big-boy birthday party. He'd picked a local children's gym and invited everyone I would let him invite.

It was a great party.

A party attended by kids of all shapes, colors, genders, and sizes.

Differences that are, to Bear, nothing. Because my son doesn't know there is a world that says otherwise. (And idealistically, I wish he never does)

All he saw were friends.

My son is 5. And he is amazing.

He jumped, and balanced, and climbed with the rest of the kids. He was a copper-haired blur, laughing and stretching and running. He climbed up onto the edge of the ball pit, and dove in - fearless and giggling.

He radiated joy.

And I realized, in this moment, the world he knows is fair and just. People in trouble are helped. People in danger are protected. People hurt are all given the best healing available. And bad guys wear distinctive clothing so you know which ones they are.

In this moment, littering is a serious crime.

In this moment, my son loves everything about himself. His parts and his thoughts delight him. His own opinion of himself is strong and confident and happy. He shows and expects respect.

In this moment, my son has faith in Santa Claus and the Yule Elves. He is entranced by fireflies and rainbows and hermit crabs. He dances whenever there is music. He sings whenever he knows the words. His mistakes leave no scars only lessons.

And at one point he came running out of the gym to get himself some water. As he gulped, he leaned against me.

And I held firm in my spot, to support him.

He knew I would. He counted on me to.

Because I am Mommy.

And then he ran off again.

I guess i have been obsessing on what the doctor said last Friday, and that I have somehow put my son's health at risk. Because Dee walked up and wrapped her arm around me and whispered in my ear to look around. To register that Bear looked just like the rest of his friends. To accept, once and for all, that my mother's compass knows True North and it is OK to tell even an upscale doctor that they are full of it.

I nodded, and wiped away the tears.

"Elizabeth, look around," she urged. "See Bear? See him? See how healthy, and happy he is? See his world? See this moment?"

And as embaressed as I was to be weeping up at my son's big boy party... I understood.

Hello, I'm your pediatrician. You'll be firing me today. And maybe suing me.

September 17, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

Crappy week just took a nosedive. One of my favorite bloggers was in town, and I missed meeting him (argh!) because, you know, it was one thing and then another. And then it was Bear's 5-year checkup at the swanky, prestigious, downtown pediatricians' practice that we still use even though we moved out of the city 4 years ago.

Before I talk about what happened, I want to share my son with you. These are two pictures of him, taken in the last couple of months. One helping his dad, CD, push a lawnmower while wearing his special superhero helmet. Another pretending to be a jet plane in crazy game of tag with a bunch of friends at a park.


This gorgeous redhead? Is Bear.

So the pediatrician does all the normal things at first: height, weight, blood pressure, and a solid inventory of parts. She scolds us because Bear can not recite his full name, address, and phone number on demand - most of which he knows but he was acting a little frozen.

Then she sat down and began talking about food choices. We explained that Bear was a picky eater and, in fact, we supplement his meals with a vitamin drink as was recommended to us a couple of years ago. (Bear chimed in with his favorite foods - carrots, apples with peanut butter, watermelon, pasta, meatballs, french fries, lingonberry jam (yes, he's Scandavian), pancakes and sausage, and grapes).

She sighed, and, ignoring Bear's list, pushed us about how we feed Bear. She wanted to know about the fats we give him, the sugars, and the starches. She gave me a fake smile and asked about the amount of butter we used on Bear's bagel - and Bear explained he hated butter and ate bagels plain.

We could all tell something was wrong, and grew tense.

Then she started talking about how Bear had gained more weight last year than he had grown in height. I looked at her, confused. She looked me up and down. And then she told me that we needed to stop making irresponsible choices for Bear. That annual BMI (Body Mass Indicators) tracking is now recommended by American Academy of Pediatrics. And that it was showing scientifically the undisputed fact that Bear's BMI number is (I just had to double-check) 16.7, which is 80% and thus Bear is obese.

CD and I gave each other a confused look, and then CD took Bear out of the room.

I babbled that I didn't understand. That Bear is extremely active, wears normal sizes, and that except for a little pudge on his tummy that goes away at each growth burst and big chipmunk cheeks (which are a genetic trait in my family) - he is, (in my completely objective opinion) ... perfect.

She gave me a stern look.

I tried to rise above the dread like a rock chafing my guts.

I explained that we had carefully avoided making food a battle ground, that we let him not only have input into his meals but also a responsibility in helping prepare them. That we severely limit convenience foods except on rare occasions. That we still use a small salad plate for him, so his portions are the right size. That he looks the same now, in proportions, as he has since he was 2 - and the same as most of the kids in his class.

I was babbling, and finally she interrupted me.

It was clear she felt that I had nothing valuable to say - I am overweight and I would, OBVIOUSLY, make my child overweight unless she stepped in and managed the situation. (And while we're making me the demonic pusher of fat, let's also ignore my tall, healthy husband and his influence completely).

The doctor then explained that she was prescribing a low-carb diet for Bear (for a 5 year old!) and wanted him back in her office in 3 months to make sure he had either stopped gaining or was losing weight.

On the way home, I wondered if I was just upset because I didn't like what the doctor had to say to the point that I might be rejecting a very important diagnosis. So in the car home, I called two family doctors and a noted child psychologist - all of whom know Bear.

They each consoled me that my son is in perfect health. That BMI's on children - especially as young as 5 years old - are flawed at best and that a respected panel had said so just a few months ago.

They pointed out that Bear is active, strong, healthy, has a stable body type, good eating habits, and emphatically re-iterated to me that he is NOT obese.

That there IS an alarming trend of overweight children in America who forge poor habits at a young age and then have to struggle with lifelong issues. But that Bear is FINE - in fact, the rosy picture that pediatricians should be striving for - no issues one way or another.

(Me? I was a perfectly active, healthy, and small kid. Got my bad habits the old-fashioned way. In college.)

I heard what they were saying, and it echoed what both CD and I feel in our gut. But it didn't stop me from crying, and hanging on to CD, and asking him if I'd been a bad mother for not pushing more steamed fish on Bear.

That pediatrician is SO fired. How could someone say these things? How? WHat gave her the right to be.... like that???? I mean, isn't my child supposed to be more individual than the current hysterical trend????

Excuse me, I am still so upset I want to scream.

The envelope, please....

September 15, 2005 | Category:

Confession time.

I feel so DUMB at getting upset. OK, so someone said I acted superior. No big, right?

But I can't begin to tell you, it's just been - you know - a crappy week. And the truth is, that sometimes? I do feel like an ogre. A big, horrible, ogre who snaps at her son when he dawdles and who loses patience with the insanity of some of my team. Like I AM the scary woman who people avoid.

I catch a glimpse of myself in a window and remember being pretty and young and sweet and now, well, sometimes I see... old reflected back at me. Old but not wise. Just cold and unattractive and unlikable.

Which is probably why I am so overwhelmed, in a Sally Field way, that you've been so kind to me and said nice things. Like maybe they were left at the wrong blog, because really....

Uh, I have to change the subject or something, before I end up crying under the covers.....

SO. Um. Anyway.

About that poll! Where I asked the people of the internet, the kooky wonderful people who read HERE of all things, to vote where our family should move? And people got into the fun of it (yay for people!) and really voted. Which was actually pretty cool for CD and me, because we are at the crossroads with a blank slate and looking for a sign...

And the people said, (no contest!); PARIS. (The good kind. Not the skinny self-promoting, carrying a dog in my purse kind. Wait. Uh. You know what I mean.)

So, off we are going. Yes, to Paris. For my birthday, for 5 days in November.

And in second place? The people said, again loudly; DENVER OR THE TWIN CITIES.

And so, we are looking Denver and the Twin Cities. We figure it will take some time - a couple of years, about - to settle somewhere new. Scouting trips. And CD has to finish cross-training in a specialization of his IT career (find a way to let me be a SAHM!) - training his current company is sponsoring.

Meanwhile, though, we need an interim solution. Because I just can't stay in this house much longer. A place we can live for a year (ish)... and we've come up with two options (because there are two good Montessori schools)....

North, is pretty lake country near Wisconsin. Where we can get a house for less than we could sell this one for. In a tiny one-intersection town with a New England-like church steeple and antique shops. It would be a good house, with room enough and a kitchen that works, but it won't resell for much more than we buy it. Then again, the backyard would be a pond with ducks.

West, is prairie and a small (but booming fast) town with a water park and apple orchards and acres of corn dotted by red barns. It is an "executive" house to be built in a brand new development, that will stretch us to buy in the near term but will sell quickly once we figure out where we are going from here. And for a healthy profit.

We have to decide in the next 2 weeks because after that, the prices for all models in that development will be taking a jump... up, up, and out of our comfort zone.

Oh - and a story. The Catholic Church, some years ago, rented a bunch of billboards that said "If you are looking for a sign from God - this is IT. Consider the Priesthood." So I called a priest I used to work with and told him about the stir these things were causing.

He asked me what the billboards said, so I repeated the slogan. "You realize, of course," he laughed, "that they don't mean YOU."

I know it is petty, and everyone of course has the right to their own opinion, BUT...

| Category: Well, That Was Random

... This made me feel bad. I mean - it was SUCH a nice mention, and I was all "wow, how incredibly nice!" and then, wham! Comment. And now I'm all doubting myself. So, please, tell me the truth; do I really undermine people's self-confidence? Really?

:(

Guilt

September 14, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

Bear got sad today, telling me how much he would miss the our "Big Blue House". He's listed the things he doesn't want to leave, and it's been just gutting me.

On the one hand, he is eager to go.

On the other, he clings to it all - because it is all he is ever known.

So tonight found me, sitting on the kitchen floor crying. I was frustrated, unable to find the cheese shredder. Because I have the worst kitchen in Illinois. The thing only has two cabinets, with narrow openings, and I can never lay my hands on anything without pulling out a pile of stuff. And it's just been a day, you know? A day. And I cheered myself up thinking about a new kitchen and being able to cook - really cook. And not race out to a restaurant at the least possible provocation.

Then I looked at my sad, forlorn son. Telling me how much he was going to miss the tree in our yard.

And now guilt is flowing through my veins.

I see you

| Category: Family, It's a Trip

We're curled up together. Let's guess who has most of the pillows.

He pokes his head through. "I see you!" he giggles.

"I see you, too," I giggle back. And then cough. Yesterday, I took down all the mismatched hardware in the dining room and spray painted it all copper - the curtain rods, the metal parts of the chandelier... One of the 68 bagazillion jobs we need to do before listing the house. And? I forgot to wear a mask so I breathed in too much of the paint and my nose and throat are sore.

Dummy me.

He sticks his head back up. Blue eyes concerned. "Are you ok, mommy?"

Cough. Cough. Coughcough. "Yes, fine."

He burrows again for a moment. "Is it mrf mrf?"

"Huh?"

Back comes the red head from the pile of pillows. "Is it Friday yet?"

"Nope, Wednesday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Sigh. "I wanted it to be my big boy birthday day party."

"That's Sunday."

"How many days is that?"

"Four days."

"Four days! That's a lot. I thought you said two days."

"No, two days until Friday."

"Is that when we're going to look at more houses with Uncle Joe?"

"No. That's Saturday."

"And how many days is that."

"Three days."

"Three days! That's too many!"

Cough. Cough. Coughcoughcough. (Get up. Blow my nose. Gross myself out. Crawl back into bed.)

"Are you all right, Mommy?"

"Yes, Bear. It's almost time for you to get up and go to school."

"Will I have a new school soon?"

"No, honey. Remember? You are going to finish the whole school year at Happy Montessori."

"The whole year?"

"Yep."

"That's my whole life! I want to move to my new room right now."

"It does sound exciting, huh?"

(No response as he burrows.)

I sigh. Think about the day ahead of me. What needs doing at work. What needs doing in my house. Freak myself out. I sigh some more and stare at the wall.

A little hand sneaks out and tickles my foot. "Jack Jack Attack!" He yells from behind the safety of a pile of king-size pillows. He repeats it as a chant; "Jack Jack Attack! Jack Jack Attack! Jack Jack Attack! Jack Jack Attack! Jack Jack Attack! Jack Jack Attack!"

"Stop!" I beg.

Immediate silence.

"Bear?" (I poke the pile.)

Giggling erupts from the pillows, and squirming. Little face slowly emerges. "I see you!"

Sequencing

September 13, 2005 | Category: Family, It's a Trip

Since my favorite Blue Sloth asked... a little ditty about how our days are going...

CD is working 7AM-3PM (ish) at his job in the suburbs and I am working now from around 7AM to 5:30 or 6PM here at home for Mega - my work equals around 8 or 9 hours, since I also get Bear up, run him to Montessori, pick him up, have lunch with him...

Elia is here M-Th from either 12 or 1-4PM. (Instead of 12-6PM before) She watches Bear, takes him up to the park, lets him doze in front of the TV (Arthur! Lives!) and then moves him into bed for his nap (yes, my 5 year old still naps). As she goes along, she usually does a load of dishes, straightens up, rotates laundry, folds Bear's clothes and puts them away... we've always had a rule that it is Bear first, everything else second, but since she fell in love she seems to be parking Bear in front of the TV more often and going down to the cellar to slowly fold laundry.

The truth is that I think she's burned out on taking care of Bear, although I know she loves him deeply. She wants to spend time with her boyfriend - at her house or at her brother's restaurant. I understand that, although Bear is upset because he can feel that he is no longer the only apple in Elia's eye...

Sometime between 3:30 and 4PM (depending on traffic), CD gets home and takes over being chief Bear wrangler and tickler of feet.

Bear and CD do manly things like mow the lawn, spackle the back room, play Rescue Heroes and 'Knights' (complete with their plastic swords and shields), run to Home Depot, wash the car, read Jack and Annie books, ride bikes, and cuddle with popcorn in front of KimPossible.

Ssomewhere between 5 and 6PM, I exit my office like a groundhog in February, blink a few times, and start dinner. By then Elia has left - she has really gone from being almost a full-time babysitter to being more of an afternoon mother's helper (or father's). So that means we are all doing more household stuff now, which is actually working out all right (I say with a wince).

I think they call it sequencing, this approach to child care, but all I know is that it is taking a lot of patience and flexibility. We'll see if the benefits are what we expect....

Revisiting the nest...

September 12, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

We made the decision recently to cut back the hours of Elia, our longtime babysitter.

CD changed his work schedule to 7AM-3PM, which means that I am now doing both drop-off (8:20AM) and pick-up (11:30AM) at Bear's Montessori (as well as picking up Elia on the way home).

That will reduce Elia's daily appearance from 6+ hours to 4 hours a day. Writing it down makes it seem like a lot of work for a little payback, but in addition to the monetary savings (about $350 a month) there is the flexibility for Bear's schedule (Elia doesn't drive, which means those afternoon playdates with his classmates were rarely something I could agree to) as well as the overall goal of lessening Bear's dependance on "MyElia", as he calls her.

Between her other job at her brother's restaurant and her new boyfriend, Elia readily agreed to the reduction of hours and offered to stay flexible if we needed it. So this morning began the new schedule...

At 6:30AM, CD carried Bear from his bed into our bed and set the alarm for 7:30AM. He kissed us both and headed out the door.

For the next hour, I found myself snuggled, climbed on, patted, and tickled as Bear enjoyed being in the "big bed" in the morning. (So much for sleep). At one point, I got up and visited the bathroom. As I stepped back into my bedroom, I saw that Bear had confiscated all the pillows, except one left for me. He'd built a fort for himself, his blue eyes peeking above the top.

I collapsed in laughter.

It has been a while since the Bear built a nest....

Continue reading "Revisiting the nest..."

Je m'appelle Elizabeth

September 09, 2005 | Category: In My Life

That choice on the poll was more a hint than a joke....we're going to Paris!

(No. Not forever. Alas.)

But just me and him, our first time away from Bear for more than 48 hours. Yes. We're going. For my birthday.

He says it is so, and I believe him. I need to.

For so long, we've teetered on the edge of falling apart. As my therapist said (the good one, not the pill guy I just fired) a relationship can not be so much for the benefit of only one person and remain whole.

It's not that I have martyred myself. I am not a victim. But I have made some bad choices. I put everything I had in a communal bucket, but it was taken out in unequal measures. And I allowed that. I allowed him to take, and I just kept giving.

And finally, it was enough. We were all sick with the unfairness and unhappiness that brought. So I drew the line some time back. It's been a battle for us to change our ways, but now, maybe, he's begun to see...

So we're going to Paris. And I will have new underwear.

On The Day Your Were Born

September 06, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

Soon enough, I will talk about how we went househunting and crunched numbers this weekend. How we celebrated the end of the summer. How a room finally got walls, and how fragile a trust can be. How we continued to wait on pins and needles. But now? Now is for something more important....

Because today is the anniversary of a miracle.

This is the story we tell every year on this day. You may remember it from last year. But of course, the telling changes a little as the years go by....

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On Pins and Needles

September 02, 2005 | Category: This Old House

We are related to a bank. You know, on my husband's side - his sister's brother-in-law's cousin, 3 times removed? The one who always wears green awning and it does NOTHING to hide her hips? No? Oh, OK.

But, actually, through his new job. You know? And strange as this may sound, yes, we get an employee discount.

And we need it.

We refinanced around two years ago, in the Dark Times. I was slipping into panic, and left the nest of our bank and went through a broker. And all I have to say is - Be Ye Not So Stupid.

While we did maintain a 20% equity position, we paid WAY WAY WAY more than we should have in closing costs and percentage. Yes, thousands more. And our mortgage, which has been sold on average of every 6 months since, has become a source of shame to us. A reminder that we did it wrong.

So once CD got to his work anniversary, and eligible for this benefit - we pounced.

We have so many 'wants' - pay off the last of the debt, pull enough money out to rehab the kitchen and replace the roof, and lower the interest rate, and maintain at least a 30% equity position on the house which has, miraculously, continued to grow in value despite our broken lawnmower.

I want, so bad, for the last of the Dark Times to be gone, you know? This current mortgage, this Bad Deal, makes me nuts every month.

So I spent a lot of time repeating all this to CD, eleventybillion times, in a squeaky little high-strung voice. How he had to negotiate in whatever leeway they gave him. How he had to stand firm, and get in there and fight! fight! fight! for every possibly quarter-point and fee.

So off CD went to work, the precious paperwork under his arm, and walked it over to the guy who is in charge of employee mortgages. According to his faithful account, this is how the fiercely negotiated conversation went:

CD (handing over the paperwork): Dude.

Loan Guy (Looking the forms over and nodding): Dude.

CD (noting our current interest rate): Dude.

Loan Guy (pointing at the currently available interest rate): Dude.

CD (smiling, extending his hand): DUDE.

Loan Guy (shaking his hand): Duuuuude.

Well, we got a call yesterday. The Loan Guy says it looks good. We might get what we wanted.

The interest rate he's talking is about quarter-point higher than our fantasy interest rate (everyone has fantasy interest rates, right?) and the amount of money that will be available for rehab is a little less than we'd thought - mostly because we made a dufus error in calculating which I am too embarrassed to admit to.

We will probably find out today if the go is for-real.

And then it looks like Paris. And after that, Colorado. And may I just say that I am surprised at the poor showing of the Minnesotans? I mean, for all that talk - about the Lakes! the Diversity! Well, I'll keep voting open until Tuesday and see what happens....

We Will Not Be Sitting Idly By

September 01, 2005 | Category: Not The Nightly News

I'm going to interrupt this home hunt for a moment. Between the looting, raping, and shooting in the wake of Katrina and the anniversary of Beslan, I have found myself in near-tears much of the day.

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