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| semi-single mom |
| 06.29.04 (1:32 pm) [edit] |
My husband has been working (thank G-d!), but his hours are brutal. He has to commute from our place in the city to a suburb over an hour away; the commute takes even longer because there is *one* Pace bus that goes out there in the morning and one that comes back at night. So, for the kids' waking hours, I'm a single Mom.Allow me to share with you what things were like the last time my husband had to work ridiculously long hours, a few months back: I’m sure every parent has had a night like I did last Tuesday night -- one of those nights that both test and prove your reasons for having children. I got home from work with a splitting migraine. My kids attacked me as usual as I came in the door. My husband had to work late, so the boys and I decided to picnic in the living room, which was, as I was to learn, not a smart move. Jacob took one bite of pasta and coughed. I asked him if he needed a sip of water. In response, he threw up all over the rug and the sofa. Danny made a beeline for the mess while Jacob tried, in vain, to control himself. “Bathroom, bathroom,” I begged, steering him in that direction. I plopped Danny on my bed where I could see him from the bathroom, only to turn back to Jacob and discover that he had not opened the toilet seat before throwing up again. I ran into the bathroom to help Jacob, hearing Danny behind me making retching noises and giggling. Upset by the horrible mess and his imitating baby brother, Jacob began to wail. My right eye squinted shut from the shattering pain slamming through my head. Leaving Jacob to take small sips of water in the bathroom, I put Danny to bed (turned on the humidifier and both nightlights, closed the closet door, started the lullaby CD, kissed the cheek, tiptoed out). Back to the bathroom I shuffled to strip down Jacob and get him into a bath. I wrapped Jacob in a towel and put him on my bed just in time to hear Danny wake up screaming. Running to the nursery, I found him standing in his crib, gesturing to me with his stuffed bear and chattering incoherently. I held him and sung along with his lullaby CD for two songs before putting him down. Back in my bedroom, I got Jacob snuggled into clean pajamas and bundled him off to brush his teeth REALLY well. We were halfway through his bedtime story when Danny began screaming again. In the nursery, I found the humidifier now nearly empty. I filled the reservoir while making Danny another bottle and then lugged it back to the nursery. I snuggled both boys into my bed to read them a story. At 8:30, Jacob went willingly enough to bed (humidifier, nightlights, CD, kiss). Now it was an hour past Danny’s usual bedtime. I could tell he was exhausted, but he couldn’t seem to settle down. “What is it, Danny?” I pleaded. “Blah-blah,” he responded. ‘Yogurt,’ I thought and cowered through my migraine to the kitchen and back. “Ya-gah?” I asked Danny. “You want some yogurt?” He took one spoonful, and I began to relax. I held out a second spoonful, and he shook his head so vehemently it made me dizzy. “Okay, no yogurt. How about a diaper? Want Mommy to change you?” “Blah-blah,” he answered. That couldn’t hurt, I figured. I changed Danny from his nearly-dry diaper to a completely dry one. We tiptoed back into the nursery (nightlights, CD, kiss). Danny rubbed his eyes and went down peacefully. I had just enough time to take an aspirin before hearing it again; “Blah-blah, Blah-blah!” I sighed; I knew if my husband was home he would gently tell me that Danny needed to cry himself to sleep. I fell onto my bed, determined to be strong. Ninety seconds later, Danny was on my shoulder, shuddering with sobs and clutching the bear and the blue blanket. “Danny, what’s wrong?” I asked. All he would say was “Blah-blah,” very determinedly as I put him back on my bed. He showed me his bear and tossed it away; showed me his blue blanket and pushed that away, too. “I don’t know…” I trailed off. He dove for the pillows and, shoving them aside, wedged his little face between the edge of the mattress and the headboard. “Blah-blah!” ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,’ I thought, and knelt down next to him. I could see a lump on the floor behind the bed. Forcing my arm down, I felt around wildly and finally my hand closed on… Danny’s favorite blankie. The ivory Comfort Silkie was my son’s favorite thing to sleep with, hide behind and drag around the house like a tiny, diapered Linus. My son clutched it to him, exclaiming “Blah-blah!” He showed it to me. “Blah-blah!” He nuzzled it. My poor little baby had been trying to tell me for almost two hours that he wanted his favorite blanket! Imagine – a night filled with screaming, vomiting, cleaning the latter, rushing around like Inspector Clouseau – and I was happier than I’d been in days. When my husband came home from work at nearly 10 o’clock, he found me glued to the bed, a very happy mommy with a very happy baby (and Blah-blah) by my side. |
| 3 Comments |
| my glamorous life |
| 06.17.04 (9:42 am) [edit] |
|
Yesterday was the eighth anniversary of my husband's and my marriage. He had offered to take me out on the night of our anniversary, but I declined since it was a school night. So instead, we put the kids to bed early (with no residual whining or crying), relaxed over a candlelit dinner and bottle of champagne, and then snuggled in bed to watch a movie before making love for hours and sleeping in each other's arms. Okay, stop gagging. Here's what really happened yesterday: 6:30 am: DH leaves for work 7:30 am: I drop off Jake at preschool, having to practically drag Danny away from the school (he loves it there) 8:30 am: I drop Danny off at our friend Sally's house (Sally uses our nanny on Wednesdays, and our youngest kids play together there.) 8:55 am: I get to work. After logging in, I text-message DH to let him know I still haven't found a babysitter for Saturday night (our scheduled date for the anniversary) but will keep trying. 9:05 am: DH messages me back: [i]Not enough $$ on hand for our dinner out. Sorry. Happy anniversary, though![/i] 9:10 am: I find out that one of my friends will babysit after all, and message DH back: [i]How about a movie? We've got passes & coupons...[/i] 10:30 am: Nanny calls from Sally's. Danny has thrown up everywhere and has a fever. I let her know I have an 11:00 meeting I can't miss, but will leave after that to pick him up. 11:50 am: Meeting over, I call the nanny. Danny is now playing peacefully; she thinks he's okay. I continue working. 1:30 pm: I call the nanny. Danny has now fallen asleep. He does feel warm, though. She thinks I should let him nap there and then pick him up. I continue working. 2:00 pm: I return to my desk from a water break to find the nanny has called. Danny woke up almost immediately and he still feels feverish, even though she gave him Tylenol. I let my boss know the baby is sick and leave to pick him up. 3:15 pm: I leave Sally's with a cheerful, if sleepy, Danny in tow. We stop at Dominicks to get a few groceries. 3:45 pm: Shortly after walking into the store with Danny sitting in the shopping cart, he looks up and pukes everywhere. His favorite big blankie is with him and puddled with yuck. I am speechless and paralyzed. 3:48 pm: Nice produce manager sees what has happened and brings me a huge roll of paper towels and a box for garbage. Then he comes back again with a new pack of baby wipes, which he opens and holds while I mop up Danny. 3:55 pm: Danny's shoes are knotted into a plastic bag, and his blankie in another. He is very calm, probably shell-shocked. The manager is incredibly nice and brushes off my embarrassment: "I've got two kids, and they throw up all the time. In fact, they're probably both doing it right now at home." 4:45 pm: I get to Jakey's school. Knowing I've got some clean clothes of his there, I strip Danny down to his diaper and carry him into the school. We head to a changing table, mop him up and change his diaper, and then bundle him into his brother's t-shirt, with a pair of his brother's Jockey shorts over his diaper so he won't take it off. 4:55 pm: I scrub my hands and face with scalding water at the two-foot-high sink. 5:00 pm: Jacob announces he won't leave school until he's done playing. Exhausted, I require him to ask nicely if he can stay for five minutes, then sit down and chat with a teacher while my kids play. 5:25 pm: Jacob admonishes me for not bringing him a snack, despite the fact that Sally usually picks him up from school, not me. He wants a treat. I'm worn down completely, so I whisper to him that, if he'll keep it a secret, I'll get him McDonalds. The second condition is that he can't eat it until Danny goes to sleep. 6:00 pm: I get the kids, the groceries, my backpack, Jacob's artwork, letters from school, water bottles, McDonald's, and stinky bags of puke-drenched clothes inside. 6:10 pm: Danny is in his crib. Jacob is at his little table in the living room, watching The Simpsons. I place his Mighty Kids Meal in front of him, check the mail, and collapse on the sofa with a McChicken. 6:28 pm: I ask Jacob to go brush his teeth. 6:30 pm: I ask Jacob to go brush his teeth. 6:35 pm: I insist that Jacob go brush his teeth, and lead him into the bathroom. 6:38 pm: I collapse on my bed, only to hear Danny wailing from his crib. 6:40 pm: I carry Danny into my room. I'm afraid to give him a bottle assuming (probably correctly) that he'll just throw it up all over us. He is sobbing piteously and clutching me. I rock him back and forth, then side to side. I try standing but his foot is digging into my side where my incisions are, so I sit back down. 6:50 pm: Jacob comes in and wonders why Danny is crying. He wonders if he can draw pictures. He wonders where Daddy is. He wonders what day it is. He wonders if toothpaste has sugar in it. He wonders if McDonald's is good for him. I wonder if he can put his Pull-Up on (he can). 6:55 pm: I begin sobbing along with Danny. 7:05 pm: DH rolls in (he blades from the bus stop a few miles away). He is carrying his laptop backpack and a giant bouquet of roses (from a florist, not Costco). 7:06 pm: I'm crying as hard as Danny now. DH tries to take him to settle him, but he won't leave my shoulder. Jacob tries to take the roses, but DH won't let him. He tells them they're a special present for Mommy, and rolls into the kitchen to put them down. 7:15 pm: Danny is in the bathtub and finally calm. Jacob is bouncing around like Tigger, talking a mile a minute. I'm bleary-eyed and dumb with fatigue; I can't respond to anything. I put the roses in water and insist that Jacob and I go read a bedtime story, even though he wants Daddy to do it. 7:35 pm: Both the kids are PJ'd and want a drink. I bring bottles of water to both kids, and settle next to Danny. DH reads Danny's favorite book, but Danny still won't leave my side. He clutches me and sips his water. 7:45 pm: I try to put Danny to bed and he sobs, then kicks me accidentally in the side. I put him down for a second and he races out of the nursery and into our bedroom again. 7:55 pm: Jacob is on DH's shoulders and Danny is in his arms, and both kids lean over to give me kisses. DH carries them off to bed. 8:05 pm: DH comes back to the bedroom, triumphant, damp and exhausted. I'm slack-jawed, staring unseeing at the cover of my book. I'm pulled out of my stupor by a few bites of Ben & Jerry's low-fat. 9:50 pm: I fall asleep. 12:30 am: Danny's crying wakes me. DH goes to get him and bring him to me. He's begging for a bottle. I give him a watered-down bottle of Ovaltine and wrap us both in a big towel. He drinks for a minute, then coughs, sputters, and spits it back up. 1:00 am: Danny's fussy and miserable. DH awakens every 15 minutes or so and murmurs something comforting to Danny, then falls back asleep. 3:15 am: Danny has finally passed out cold on my bed. Terrified to wake him, I slip out of bed and hit the sofa. 3:30 am: I'm wide awake. Cursing my fate, I grab a book. 6:00 am: DH wakes me as he's getting ready for work. My face is glued to the open book by my own drool. I drag myself off the sofa and into the shower. 7:30 am: I'm on my way to work, opening my eyes extra wide to keep them from drooping. 8:45 am: I finally get to work and start the day with a Diet Coke. 11:30 am: I call home. The nanny tells me Danny is begging to eat but has already thrown up three times. I call the pediatrician's office and leave a message. 12:00 pm: I check my cell phone, wondering if the nurse has called there instead of my desk. No messages. 12:30 pm: I grab some diced chicken and fruit from the cafeteria's salad bar and head back to my desk. 12:45 pm: I check my messages and find one from one of the nurses; she says to call back and press the extension for "urgent" calls. 12:46 pm: I call and press the appropriate button, and am reprimanded for using it by another nurse. Finally, I get the original nurse on the phone, only to be told Danny must go to the hospital. 1:02 pm: I call home and advise the nanny I'll be picking up Danny in an hour or so, and ask could she please stay with Jake until my husband or I return? 1:05 pm: I jump into my trusty Corolla and barrel onto 94 eastbound. 2:00 pm: I screech to a stop in front of my building and double-park, too wretched to worry about backing into a parking spot. I run inside and the nanny has dressed Danny in something comfy, and packed two diapers, baby wipes, a book and another outfit. I grab an extra handful of diapers, a couple of receiving blankets, a few toys, and a bottle. The nanny comes outside to help me get Danny, the stroller, and the bag full of stuff into the car. 2:40: I am idling in back of a long line of cars at Children's Memorial Hospital, awaiting a valet parking attendant. I'm sweating and my heart feels fluttery. Danny is quiet, almost lethargic, in his little rocket seat behind me. Finally, I jump out of the car and run to the front of the cars, only to discover most of them are empty. I let a valet attendant know I have to get my son into the ER, and he hands me the slip and takes my keys. 2:50 pm: I am given an ER pass and told to head around the corner and down the hall. 2:55 pm: I am re-directed to the proper place. 3:30 pm, Danny and I are now ensconced in an ER room the size of a walk-in closet. There is a scrub sink, a many-drawered cabinet on wheels, a narrow hospital bed, a bunch of medical hookups, and a small TV hanging in a corner. 3:45 pm: A nurse and doctor have come in to take a look at Danny. His vitals are okay, but his temp is low and his eyes are all sunken in. His eyelids are very red, but his cheeks very pale. My poor baby. The doctor wants to get him on an IV, and potentially have his abdomen X-rayed to rule out an obstruction. I tell her we'll do whatever they think is necessary. 4:00 pm: A second doc has vetoed the first. She seems to think Danny is fine, and says he should drink something first (I think she wants me to prove he's vomited 10 times in two days). They bring apple juice and a popsicle, which Danny vehemently refuses. He takes two sips of apple juice, starts to cough, and from then on, won't let anything pass his lips. 5:00 pm: A new doc sends the IV technician in. Danny has now not had a wet diaper in 12 hours. The IV tech is amazing; he's an EMT who moonlights there in the ER. The nurse assisting, though, has the personality of sugarless pudding. Ed, the EMT, swaddles Danny in a sheet, leaving just one arm loose. Danny begins to panic and sob. The nurse is holding Danny's arm at the shoulder, and I'm lying across the bottom of the bed, holding his feet and lower legs so he doesn't kick Ed's hand away. 5:25 pm: Danny now has his IV in. It's taped to his hand, which is then splinted, and then braced in a velcro sleeve, and then taped shut. He's beyond outraged, and absolutely miserable. I'm still crying along with him, and I hold him on my lap so the unsympathetic nurse can check his vitals. 5:30 pm: I murmur to Danny that maybe we can take a walk with his IV down to the gift shop and get him a little toy or book to take his mind off the pain. 5:31 pm: The nurse says "Oh, are you spoiled, Daniel?" 5:32 pm: I restrain myself by grinding my teeth together and pressing my feet into the floor. Mentally, I slap the little bitch with Danny's IV machine. Out loud, I say, "I think babies who barf up water and have total strangers poking needles into them are allowed to have a treat. Can we please take a walk with his IV?" 5:45 pm: I head down the hall. I'm pushing Danny in his stroller with my right hand and navigating the IV machine with my left. Danny finally begins to settle down. 6:00 pm: We go back into Danny's room. He didn't show interest in anything at the gift shop; not even balloons. That's how you know my kid is sick. Back in the room, I settle him into my lap to watch Shrek. This is the 2nd time through for us so far today. 6:35 pm: Another doctor comes in and stops the IV machine from beeping. Danny has had 260 mls so far. She wants to see if he'll pee; she thinks perhaps this is a urinary tract infection. She says they can catheterize him, and I beg her not to. Instead, a nurse brings in a sterile packet that turns out to hold a plastic baggie attached to a foam ring. Danny is not pleased when he's put back on the bed and made to lie still. The foam ring sits at the base of his penis, and the bag stays inside his diaper. I'm told to let them know when he pees. 7:00 pm: Shrek count: 2 1/2. I step into the hall to try to find the nurse, and am rudely told that we have to wait for him to pee, otherwise they'll catheterize him, and they thought I didn't want that? I simply explain I thought he might have peed by now, and didn't know how long we should wait. 7:30 pm: Shrek count: 3, Finding Nemo begins. The doctor checks in on us and discovers from me that Danny has still not peed. She starts up another round of the IV. 8:30 pm: Shrek count: 3 going on 4 (Danny didn't want to stick with Nemo). My little baby is getting exhausted now. The doctor comes in to shut off the IV again; he now has a half-liter of fluids rushing through his veins. He begs for a bottle, but won't drink. 8:40 pm: I check his diaper, and miraculously the little baggie has something in it! The news is proclaimed throughout the kingdom, and a nurse comes to remove the evidence. 9:00 pm: I sneak sips from a bottle of Coke while rocking Danny in the stroller. He won't sit on the bed, even in my lap, and he is so exhausted. 9:15 pm: The doctor comes back and says there is no sign of infection from his urine sample. She says she would normally keep him overnight for observation, but it's pretty clear he won't sleep there. 9:40 pm: We are dismissed from the ER with instructions to return if Danny begins vomiting again. I'm starved, but so exhausted and weak I can't even fathom driving through McDonald's. 10:05 pm: We're home. Danny is relieved and relaxes for the first time in what seems like days. I put him to bed and sink into my own, only to be told by DH: "The cat is sick. He had diarrhea all over my office." |
| 2 Comments |
| could this even be possible? |
| 06.17.04 (9:13 am) [edit] |
|
I found [url=http://www.gawker.com/topic/d...]this[/url] link at Flea's blog, One Good Thing. Check her out [url=http://buggydoo.blogspot.com/...]here[/url] . Apparently, some shmuck [i]billed [/i]his blind date for half the cost of their dinner, since she apparently didn't call him after the date. I bet she has her lawyer call him now... Hoo boy, what a catch! Anyone else have good blind date stories to share? |
| 0 Comments |
| questionnaire from Victoriasmom04 |
| 06.08.04 (1:08 pm) [edit] |
|
I found this on Victoriasmom04's blog and figured I'd poach it, although I snipped a few questions that weren't very interesting. Now you all can know everything my shrink does! [b]Are you named after anyone?[/b] Not my first name. However, my middle name, Elizabeth, was for my great-grandmother Ethel. [b]Would you drop your last name if you became famous? [/b] Blech, no. [b][i][u]Basics [/u][/i][/b] [b]Birthdate:[/b] May 25th [b]Your age:[/b] Oh sure, I tell you, you tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and so on, and so on.... [b]Age you act:[/b] Like a combination of a spoiled 6-year-old and a fussy old lady. [b]Your living arrangement?[/b] I live in a vintage apartment, with my husband, our two small boys and two cats. [b]What's your job?[/b] I'm a QA analyst (basically, a software tester). [b]Do you speak another language?[/b] I used to be close to fluent in Spanish but I'm a little out of practice. I'm going to sign off on this because it's a really long questionnaire. I can post more of it another time. |
| 3 Comments |
| de-crying babies |
| 06.08.04 (11:30 am) [edit] |
|
[b]From The Chicago Tribune, May 27th, "SM" wrote:[/b] [i]"Dear Amy: Please inform mothers who take their babies into stores when the babies are crying non-stop to please be considerate of other shoppers and either pick them up, feed them or take them home. "I asked a young mother if she would please take her baby outside until he had quieted down. She was quite offended. "Another customer thanked me and said she wished she had the guts to speak up to these mothers." [/i] Amy Dickinson responded: [i]Dear S.M.: While I appreciate your point of view, asking the mother of a crying baby to take him outside seems a bit much. Let's see what other readers think."[/i] [b]So, here's what I think.[/b] Dear Amy, I read with interest the letter in your May 27th column in which the author requested you ask mothers with crying babies to take them out of the store. While you're at it, could you please make another few requests of parents? Moms & Dads, please... 1. ... feed your babies Chee-Tos instead of graham crackers. 2. ... ditto Cokes & candy bars. 3. ... teach your children not to soil their diapers in public, so as not to affend the delicate sensibilities of the rest of the world. 4. ... advise your teething babies not to drool. 5. ... stay home at all times with your children, so you can keep them on a rigid schedule that is NEVER disturbed. Conversely, make sure your children are adequately socialized so they exhibit good manners before they can even speak. 7. ... if you do leave the house, put your small children on a "leash" like a dog, so they don't grab my blouse with grubby fingers and beg me to help them find Mommy. 8. ... yell at your children and slap them in public. We all like to see what a strict disciplinarian you are, especially when your kids are exhausted, hungry and/or sick. 9. ... send your kids to the playground oozing with sniffles and riddled with coughs. Sharing germs is still sharing! 10. ... take your small children to the movies way before they're able to sit still quietly and enjoy the (age-appropriate) show. So what if you can't get a sitter for that Porky's revival? Just bring the rugrats along! I promise I'm kidding. I'm a mom of two young sons and, if solicited for advice, I tell other moms to listen to their kids and their own good sense. I have, in the past, worked in a retail store that is family-friendly but doesn't have children's merchandise. I heard so many crying, bored, hungry and tired kids being dragged around by cranky parents that I began to stock kid-friendly items in my desk, including stickers, crayons, and Cheerios. If I heard the escalation of whining outside my office near the sales floor, I'd sneak over to the family in question and ask the parents if their kids could have stickers, draw a picture, or would like a snack. This was far more effective than telling another parent how to do their job. [LINE] |
| 0 Comments |
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