The past few weeks have been crazy around here. I suspect most people go through periods of frenetic activity every few months. I know mine are annual events that I should be ready for by now, but do I plan ahead? Not so much.
I finally realized this weekend that I don't have to let these events sneak up on me every year. Just like I have a set routine around the holidays, I can create a Recital Season routine and a Soccer Tryouts routine so I don't find myself after two weeks with a fridge bursting with furry produce and grease-laden takeout containers. I'm tired of emerging from Crazy Time to wade through two weeks' worth of clothing on the blaundry room* floor. I've been averting my eyes every time I pass my writing desk, which is buried beneath mounds of leotards, makeup bags, shoe boxes, and fiber-craft reference books. I know it's under there. I can see the corner and almost bumped into it last night, when I added a landscape design book and a stack of clean wool socks to the hodge-podge.
This afternoon, I'm cleaning it all up...again. I've banished the spoiled remains of the last meal I cooked, which was chicken paprikash. Or pulled pork. Or chicken and chickpea chili. It was vaguely orange with tan chunks. In the produce drawer, I found several bell peppers that had morphed into peaches (I think) and a zucchini that resembled Senator Kelly right before he melted all over Storm's shoes. At any rate, I have a freshly sterilized cadre of plastic containers back in the corner cabinet.
As soon as we're done with the last bit of schoolwork for the day, I'm going upstairs. I think I'll put on some music, something cathartic like Lisa Loeb. I'm considering opening the windows. Because tonight, after a normal, cooked-at-home dinner, I'm taking back my writing time. Chapter Five is getting nose-prints all over my laptop screen and the only way to clean them from this side is to get the words out of my head and onto the hard drive.
*blaundry room: the combination laundry and bath room found in many modern homes. I wanted one until I had one. Now I'm not sure what I want.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Friday, November 11, 2011
because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop
I know, this post is long overdue. Most of you already know, but Emma is okay. Penelope, Dan and I just hung on for the ride, because what else can you do, really?
We waved goodbye to her as she was wheeled off to surgery, and then we waited. Too tired to knit, I tried to read a little. We were fine, really; just waiting, waiting, waiting. It wasn't until Dr. Z, the cardiologist, came out to talk to us, insistent that we find a room, that we got nervous.
During the surgery, while Dr. W was scooping out enough surrounding tissue to ensure that the membrane would not grow back, he created a small hole between the aorta and the left ventricle. He stitched it up but the stitching didn't hold when they restarted Emma's heart; the hole reopened. Dr. W put her back on bypass was patching the hole with Teflon as we spoke. The thing that Dr. Z was actually concerned about, though, was Emma's rhythm -- her heart was beating too slowly, and Dr. Z was worried that the heart's electrical system had been damaged by the surgery (this is called "heart block"). There was nothing to do for this but wait and see, while keeping her hooked up to an external pacemaker
They gave it about seven days before they concluded that her heart was not returning to a normal rhythm, so now Emma has an internal pacemaker.
That's the quick version. The long one?
After Dr. Z left us, I emailed, then called my mom (she and my dad were here to take care of Penelope while Emma was in Boston). She answered the phone and I said, "How scared do we need to be?" My mom, my wonderful mom, Nurse Grandma, told me "Honestly, not very," and Dan and I both started breathing again. We filtered everything through her; she translated it for us, then we told Dan's parents and put it up on Facebook.
That first night, I stayed in the parent room down the hall, and checked in on her a few times; knowing they would come and get me if something was wrong didn't make it any easier to sleep; I wanted desperately to be with her, but there's just not room enough for the patient, the parent, and the respirator. Necessarily, it's the parent that gets kicked out. She was hooked up to the external pacemaker, so she had several wires just sticking out of her chest and belly in unexpected places; an IV line in her right hand, as well as one in her neck, both of which were in use; two chest tubes in her belly to drain fluid from her chest cavity; the catheter (everyone's favorite!); the pulse-ox monitor; and the nasal tube. Even though she was doped up, she wanted to sit up. Dr. D, the anesthesiologist, was amazed (pleased, really) at how many times she tried to sit up on her own, even on the morphine. (That's not to say that the doctors and nurses were pleased, but to Dr. D it was confirmation that Emma had tolerated the anesthesia well.)
The next morning (June 16), Emma was extubated about two hours ahead of schedule (another good thing); the gastric tube was removed early that afternoon, and she began with Jello and Popsicles, in spite of the fact that what she really wanted was potato chips. She also watched a video message from Penelope and recorded a short response.
That night, the nurse and I had to change Emma's dressings several times; one of the leads to the external pacemaker was acting as an extra chest tube. Although this was ultimately okay (better out than in!), the dressings were completely soaked every 60 minutes or so.
I got almost no sleep; each dressing change took about an hour, because Emma had to be cleaned up and the bedding and hospital johnny had to be changed in addition to the dressing. The whole time, Emma was incredibly patient, but by the time each change was done, Emma and I were both wide awake and it took quite a while for us to settle back down and fall asleep. By the time we were asleep, it was nearly time for the dressing to be changed again. As it was, the nurse let it go a little longer than she would have during the day, but it was still grueling.
The next morning, they took her off the morphine (which made her very nauseated) and started her on Toradol with Tylenol as needed; her appetite picked up and she had some real food (chicken salad) for dinner. We also got the okay (from the PICU's head nurse) for Penelope to visit the following day. Seeing her sister was an enormous boon to Emma's spirits! Before I arrived with Penelope and my parents, Emma was de-lined: the catheter and arterial lines were removed, as were both chest tubes. The seepage around the one pacemaker lead was slowing down a bit.
Penelope visited again on Father's Day. A nurse caught sight of Emma's smile as Pen entered the room and declared Penelope "the only one who can make Emma smile!"
Later in the day, Emma had a visit with A, a social worker from the ChildLife program; A and her coworker, L, would keep us informed about how Emma is handling everything emotionally. So far, she is right where they would expect her to be.
The doctors have decided that she's definitely getting a pacemaker; at this point, it's a matter of getting on the OR schedule. From this point, I'll let my Facebook posts take over.
June 19, 8:50 pm: There's my Emma's infectious giggle! Thank you, Disney Channel's So Random!
June 20, 7:43 pm: Emma's pacemaker will go in on Tuesday . . . no, Wednesday . . . no, Tuesday. Okay, Tuesday afternoon officially.
June 21, 2:36 pm: . . . and we're baaaaaaaaaack! To Wednesday! We're perfectly willing to be bumped, however. Heart-transplant trumps still-kinda-working-heart. Emma was just relieved to be able to eat.
June 22, 9:31 am: Dr W's just been sent home to sleep. Emma had a bowl of Cheerios at 6:30 and is now on No Food or Water. She'll go in for her pacemaker this afternoon.
June 22, 9:42 am: The echo team is in, now. Still haven't had rounds come our way yet today. Gnomeo and Juliet is on . . . again!!! ;-) Aunt Reeb wonders (via comment field) if Emma has memorized it, yet, and Emma responds "Basically, almost the whole thing!"
June 22, 10:06 am: Rounds have been by, now; surgery will likely start between 12 and 2 this afternoon.
June 22, 2:12 pm: Bumped AGAIN! It's Transplant Week! Tufts has a kidney transplant inserting itself into the midst of the logjam created by yesterday's (okay, last night's!) heart transplant. The PA says Emma will definitely go tomorrow; they don't want her wait another day.
June 22, 4:26 pm: Dr W. is hoping to get her in as first case on Thursday. He spent half the afternoon skulking around, trying to snag an OR today to no avail.
June 22, 7:30 pm: We're officially on the schedule for 7:30 am Thursday! NPO (Again!) from midnight, tonight. Third time lucky?
June 23, 8:01 am: Dan called at 7:40 & Emma is in surgery!
June 23, 12:03 pm: Emma ROCKS!!! She was out & awake by 10:30. She's currently back in the PICU, resting and watching her dance recital DVD.
June 23, 2:02 pm: Emma has had some strawberries & some applesauce, & is currently FaceTiming w/ Penelope. Earlier, Dr. D was in & laughed at the fact that Emma was already sitting up & playing games on Webkinz.
June 23, 6:14 pm: According to Nurse K, Emma is amazing. Nurse K says she's going to tell all her cardiac patients now to "Be strong; be an Emma!"
June 24, 12:14 pm: When I got off the elevator this morning, Emma and Dan were in the hallway, waiting for me! The girl kicking butt and taking names? That's my daughter!!
June 24, 6:06 pm: Took a walk all the way down to the 1st floor gift shop with Emma & bought a few small things. Then we wandered over to Au Bon Pain & she ordered a tuna salad sandwich, chips, lemonade, & a chocolate chip cookie for dinner.
June 25, 11:48 am: Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone who kept Emma and our whole family in their thoughts this past 10 days! Emma is home, the beagle has calmed down, and my twins are being normal, 8-year-old twins once again!
Yes, she has a medic-alert bracelet, now. The pacemaker is for life, and she's not allowed to do backbends or the Worm. Certain amusement-park rides are verboten, blows to the belly are cause for concern, and she will forever be the Pat-Down Princess in airports. I'm trying to help her find a response that she's comfortable using when strangers ask her about her scar (which is visible when she wears a v-neck shirt or a swimsuit). But she's been on her bike again since the beginning of August, and she's back in ballet/tap/jazz and Hip-Hop. She's thrown herself back into roller skating Fridays with gusto. We even had a Harry Potter Film Festival in July, because the girls wanted to see the movie in the theater with us! People who don't know what happened would never be able to guess.
We waved goodbye to her as she was wheeled off to surgery, and then we waited. Too tired to knit, I tried to read a little. We were fine, really; just waiting, waiting, waiting. It wasn't until Dr. Z, the cardiologist, came out to talk to us, insistent that we find a room, that we got nervous.
During the surgery, while Dr. W was scooping out enough surrounding tissue to ensure that the membrane would not grow back, he created a small hole between the aorta and the left ventricle. He stitched it up but the stitching didn't hold when they restarted Emma's heart; the hole reopened. Dr. W put her back on bypass was patching the hole with Teflon as we spoke. The thing that Dr. Z was actually concerned about, though, was Emma's rhythm -- her heart was beating too slowly, and Dr. Z was worried that the heart's electrical system had been damaged by the surgery (this is called "heart block"). There was nothing to do for this but wait and see, while keeping her hooked up to an external pacemaker
They gave it about seven days before they concluded that her heart was not returning to a normal rhythm, so now Emma has an internal pacemaker.
That's the quick version. The long one?
After Dr. Z left us, I emailed, then called my mom (she and my dad were here to take care of Penelope while Emma was in Boston). She answered the phone and I said, "How scared do we need to be?" My mom, my wonderful mom, Nurse Grandma, told me "Honestly, not very," and Dan and I both started breathing again. We filtered everything through her; she translated it for us, then we told Dan's parents and put it up on Facebook.
That first night, I stayed in the parent room down the hall, and checked in on her a few times; knowing they would come and get me if something was wrong didn't make it any easier to sleep; I wanted desperately to be with her, but there's just not room enough for the patient, the parent, and the respirator. Necessarily, it's the parent that gets kicked out. She was hooked up to the external pacemaker, so she had several wires just sticking out of her chest and belly in unexpected places; an IV line in her right hand, as well as one in her neck, both of which were in use; two chest tubes in her belly to drain fluid from her chest cavity; the catheter (everyone's favorite!); the pulse-ox monitor; and the nasal tube. Even though she was doped up, she wanted to sit up. Dr. D, the anesthesiologist, was amazed (pleased, really) at how many times she tried to sit up on her own, even on the morphine. (That's not to say that the doctors and nurses were pleased, but to Dr. D it was confirmation that Emma had tolerated the anesthesia well.)
The next morning (June 16), Emma was extubated about two hours ahead of schedule (another good thing); the gastric tube was removed early that afternoon, and she began with Jello and Popsicles, in spite of the fact that what she really wanted was potato chips. She also watched a video message from Penelope and recorded a short response.
That night, the nurse and I had to change Emma's dressings several times; one of the leads to the external pacemaker was acting as an extra chest tube. Although this was ultimately okay (better out than in!), the dressings were completely soaked every 60 minutes or so.
I got almost no sleep; each dressing change took about an hour, because Emma had to be cleaned up and the bedding and hospital johnny had to be changed in addition to the dressing. The whole time, Emma was incredibly patient, but by the time each change was done, Emma and I were both wide awake and it took quite a while for us to settle back down and fall asleep. By the time we were asleep, it was nearly time for the dressing to be changed again. As it was, the nurse let it go a little longer than she would have during the day, but it was still grueling.
The next morning, they took her off the morphine (which made her very nauseated) and started her on Toradol with Tylenol as needed; her appetite picked up and she had some real food (chicken salad) for dinner. We also got the okay (from the PICU's head nurse) for Penelope to visit the following day. Seeing her sister was an enormous boon to Emma's spirits! Before I arrived with Penelope and my parents, Emma was de-lined: the catheter and arterial lines were removed, as were both chest tubes. The seepage around the one pacemaker lead was slowing down a bit.
Penelope visited again on Father's Day. A nurse caught sight of Emma's smile as Pen entered the room and declared Penelope "the only one who can make Emma smile!"
Later in the day, Emma had a visit with A, a social worker from the ChildLife program; A and her coworker, L, would keep us informed about how Emma is handling everything emotionally. So far, she is right where they would expect her to be.
The doctors have decided that she's definitely getting a pacemaker; at this point, it's a matter of getting on the OR schedule. From this point, I'll let my Facebook posts take over.
June 19, 8:50 pm: There's my Emma's infectious giggle! Thank you, Disney Channel's So Random!
June 20, 7:43 pm: Emma's pacemaker will go in on Tuesday . . . no, Wednesday . . . no, Tuesday. Okay, Tuesday afternoon officially.
June 21, 2:36 pm: . . . and we're baaaaaaaaaack! To Wednesday! We're perfectly willing to be bumped, however. Heart-transplant trumps still-kinda-working-heart. Emma was just relieved to be able to eat.
June 22, 9:31 am: Dr W's just been sent home to sleep. Emma had a bowl of Cheerios at 6:30 and is now on No Food or Water. She'll go in for her pacemaker this afternoon.
June 22, 9:42 am: The echo team is in, now. Still haven't had rounds come our way yet today. Gnomeo and Juliet is on . . . again!!! ;-) Aunt Reeb wonders (via comment field) if Emma has memorized it, yet, and Emma responds "Basically, almost the whole thing!"
June 22, 10:06 am: Rounds have been by, now; surgery will likely start between 12 and 2 this afternoon.
June 22, 2:12 pm: Bumped AGAIN! It's Transplant Week! Tufts has a kidney transplant inserting itself into the midst of the logjam created by yesterday's (okay, last night's!) heart transplant. The PA says Emma will definitely go tomorrow; they don't want her wait another day.
June 22, 4:26 pm: Dr W. is hoping to get her in as first case on Thursday. He spent half the afternoon skulking around, trying to snag an OR today to no avail.
June 22, 7:30 pm: We're officially on the schedule for 7:30 am Thursday! NPO (Again!) from midnight, tonight. Third time lucky?
June 23, 8:01 am: Dan called at 7:40 & Emma is in surgery!
June 23, 12:03 pm: Emma ROCKS!!! She was out & awake by 10:30. She's currently back in the PICU, resting and watching her dance recital DVD.
June 23, 2:02 pm: Emma has had some strawberries & some applesauce, & is currently FaceTiming w/ Penelope. Earlier, Dr. D was in & laughed at the fact that Emma was already sitting up & playing games on Webkinz.
June 23, 6:14 pm: According to Nurse K, Emma is amazing. Nurse K says she's going to tell all her cardiac patients now to "Be strong; be an Emma!"
June 24, 12:14 pm: When I got off the elevator this morning, Emma and Dan were in the hallway, waiting for me! The girl kicking butt and taking names? That's my daughter!!
June 24, 6:06 pm: Took a walk all the way down to the 1st floor gift shop with Emma & bought a few small things. Then we wandered over to Au Bon Pain & she ordered a tuna salad sandwich, chips, lemonade, & a chocolate chip cookie for dinner.
June 25, 11:48 am: Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone who kept Emma and our whole family in their thoughts this past 10 days! Emma is home, the beagle has calmed down, and my twins are being normal, 8-year-old twins once again!
Yes, she has a medic-alert bracelet, now. The pacemaker is for life, and she's not allowed to do backbends or the Worm. Certain amusement-park rides are verboten, blows to the belly are cause for concern, and she will forever be the Pat-Down Princess in airports. I'm trying to help her find a response that she's comfortable using when strangers ask her about her scar (which is visible when she wears a v-neck shirt or a swimsuit). But she's been on her bike again since the beginning of August, and she's back in ballet/tap/jazz and Hip-Hop. She's thrown herself back into roller skating Fridays with gusto. We even had a Harry Potter Film Festival in July, because the girls wanted to see the movie in the theater with us! People who don't know what happened would never be able to guess.
Monday, November 8, 2010
this is what 1155 words looks like
"If I don't go to school, how will I learn?"
Oh, dear.
I hereby promise that I won't feel insulted if I catch flack or become the subject of side conversations for saying so, but questions like the one above leave me feeling sad.
My kids have never been to school, and they're learning quite a lot -- in spite of life's recent efforts to ensure otherwise. Since we've been dealing with my wrist, the past two months have seen a massive decrease in the frequency of formal lessons. There are days where we feel like we're living in the car. With the girls' speech therapy, my twice-weekly OT appointments, the girls' fortnightly Wednesday ruckusing-for-homeschoolers group, the dog's fortnightly Wednesday playgroup, soccer, karate, hip-hop, and ballet-tap-jazz each week, I'm glad we bought the audiobook version of our history text.
We're also reading several other books in audiobook form -- Meet Josephina (for next Wednesday) and the entire Unfortunate Events series. In science, we have unexpectedly focused on biology -- we're watching the Life series and the Becoming Human series; I think there's a show about Darwin somewhere on the queue, as well. Spelling has been hijacked by their speech lists and grammar has been shoved aside in favor of their NaNoWriMo stories. (For several days, now, the girls have heard me bemoaning the fact that none of my characters are cooperating. I started out writing a Young Adult novel, and now it's a mainstream mystery. Nothing in my novel is where I put it in October. Today, Penny met me at the door as I entered, bearing the sushi for our book club (we read Mr. Popper's Penguins); she was ecstatic because a new character for her story had appeared out of thin air. She hadn't planned for him, but there he was, and she wrote so much that she filled up 75% of an 8.5 x 11 sheet!)
We started this school year as eclectic school-at-homers, and I don't know what we are now -- except maybe seat-of-the-pantsers -- but the learning hasn't slowed down. They certainly don't need textbooks, an overworked teacher, and twenty other kids around them in order for learning to happen.
Humans are a driven species, and we can't easily be stopped. (Just think about the last time you really wanted your kid to fall asleep a little early. It didn't happen, did it?) We didn't need to go to school so we could learn how to walk or talk -- walking and talking were things that we learned naturally. Babies see a toddler walking, and they try to pull up on the edge of the table and make their feet do the right thing. Toddlers see a four-year-old running or jumping, and they mimic these motions, trying to run as fast or jump as high. Five-year-olds see their parents or older siblings writing, and they grab a crayon and paper, and try to write something that makes a word they know. Learning is a process that happens naturally, and it's something that we are intuitively drawn to; it is not something that's done to us, but something that we initiate and control as individuals.
Although I am weary at the things I hear from my non-homeschooling friends (It's okay for you, you were a teacher! I would never have the patience! My kids and I would probably strangle each other! How do you know what to teach them?), the last thing I expect from any of them is some sort of conversion. Admittedly, I would break into song if only a few of them realized that our decision to homeschool was simply a decision to do what was best for our kids -- just like seeking out various therapies were their decisions to do what was best for their kids. When a child needs something, a parent will do whatever she can to meet that need. The solutions Dan and I found just happened to include homeschooling, and that's the solution we liked best.
I have a very hard time believing that my non-homeschooling friends could even begin to think that learning is some mysterious thing that only happens in that town-owned building. They're all intelligent women and fantastic moms, and I know they love and respect their children as deeply as I do my children. I know they help their kids follow their passions and explore life with gusto. I've seen them in action, and they're lacking nothing.
So, why does the question above make me feel sad? It's a damn cute thing for a five-year-old to say. This little boy loves school, and can't wait to get there, because learning is important to him. He's a sponge, and that's something to crow about.
I feel sad because for me, that question is also a boundary. I don't know if it's okay for me to joke that my kids have never been to school, but they've learned quite a lot. As a left-leaning, attachment-parenting, homeschooling freak in a sea (no! in a school! hahahaha!) of normal individuals, I often wish I could see a few buoys or even a lighthouse in the distance. I really don't want to run aground.
When I'm part of a conversation about one friend's frustrations at dealing with thoughtless individuals, lip service, and a Shelob's Lair of red tape just to get her child the help he needs, I don't know what sort of reaction is palatable from me. If I just commiserate, and hope things get better, am I being callous? If I try to reassure her that homeschooling isn't as hard as it sounds (knowing that she has often thought, "Oh, I should just teach him myself!"), am I pressuring her to do something that she's not sure is best? If I encourage her to keep fighting and share what little information I know from my own time as a high-school teacher, am I brushing her off and sending the message that I think she'd suck at homeschooling her son? (She'd totally rock, btw.)
I want to support my friends, not push a homeschooling agenda. Other times, I want to be the goofball that I am, not insinuate that Homeschooling Is Better. But sometimes I do want to say something that could provide some food for thought -- especially if that friend seems frustrated with the solutions she has already been offered.
I suppose my wariness and frequent censorship in such situations is really no different from the tendency of my non-homeschooling friends to inadvertently cause me to wince as one of them says, for the twelfth time, that she would never have the patience to homeschool her kids. Both reactions stem from the desires to connect, to disregard unimportant differences, and to enjoy and celebrate our friendships, knowing that we're with people whose struggles are similar enough to our own that they've drawn us together.
Shit. I just learned something!
Oh, dear.
I hereby promise that I won't feel insulted if I catch flack or become the subject of side conversations for saying so, but questions like the one above leave me feeling sad.
My kids have never been to school, and they're learning quite a lot -- in spite of life's recent efforts to ensure otherwise. Since we've been dealing with my wrist, the past two months have seen a massive decrease in the frequency of formal lessons. There are days where we feel like we're living in the car. With the girls' speech therapy, my twice-weekly OT appointments, the girls' fortnightly Wednesday ruckusing-for-homeschoolers group, the dog's fortnightly Wednesday playgroup, soccer, karate, hip-hop, and ballet-tap-jazz each week, I'm glad we bought the audiobook version of our history text.
We're also reading several other books in audiobook form -- Meet Josephina (for next Wednesday) and the entire Unfortunate Events series. In science, we have unexpectedly focused on biology -- we're watching the Life series and the Becoming Human series; I think there's a show about Darwin somewhere on the queue, as well. Spelling has been hijacked by their speech lists and grammar has been shoved aside in favor of their NaNoWriMo stories. (For several days, now, the girls have heard me bemoaning the fact that none of my characters are cooperating. I started out writing a Young Adult novel, and now it's a mainstream mystery. Nothing in my novel is where I put it in October. Today, Penny met me at the door as I entered, bearing the sushi for our book club (we read Mr. Popper's Penguins); she was ecstatic because a new character for her story had appeared out of thin air. She hadn't planned for him, but there he was, and she wrote so much that she filled up 75% of an 8.5 x 11 sheet!)
We started this school year as eclectic school-at-homers, and I don't know what we are now -- except maybe seat-of-the-pantsers -- but the learning hasn't slowed down. They certainly don't need textbooks, an overworked teacher, and twenty other kids around them in order for learning to happen.
Humans are a driven species, and we can't easily be stopped. (Just think about the last time you really wanted your kid to fall asleep a little early. It didn't happen, did it?) We didn't need to go to school so we could learn how to walk or talk -- walking and talking were things that we learned naturally. Babies see a toddler walking, and they try to pull up on the edge of the table and make their feet do the right thing. Toddlers see a four-year-old running or jumping, and they mimic these motions, trying to run as fast or jump as high. Five-year-olds see their parents or older siblings writing, and they grab a crayon and paper, and try to write something that makes a word they know. Learning is a process that happens naturally, and it's something that we are intuitively drawn to; it is not something that's done to us, but something that we initiate and control as individuals.
Although I am weary at the things I hear from my non-homeschooling friends (It's okay for you, you were a teacher! I would never have the patience! My kids and I would probably strangle each other! How do you know what to teach them?), the last thing I expect from any of them is some sort of conversion. Admittedly, I would break into song if only a few of them realized that our decision to homeschool was simply a decision to do what was best for our kids -- just like seeking out various therapies were their decisions to do what was best for their kids. When a child needs something, a parent will do whatever she can to meet that need. The solutions Dan and I found just happened to include homeschooling, and that's the solution we liked best.
I have a very hard time believing that my non-homeschooling friends could even begin to think that learning is some mysterious thing that only happens in that town-owned building. They're all intelligent women and fantastic moms, and I know they love and respect their children as deeply as I do my children. I know they help their kids follow their passions and explore life with gusto. I've seen them in action, and they're lacking nothing.
So, why does the question above make me feel sad? It's a damn cute thing for a five-year-old to say. This little boy loves school, and can't wait to get there, because learning is important to him. He's a sponge, and that's something to crow about.
I feel sad because for me, that question is also a boundary. I don't know if it's okay for me to joke that my kids have never been to school, but they've learned quite a lot. As a left-leaning, attachment-parenting, homeschooling freak in a sea (no! in a school! hahahaha!) of normal individuals, I often wish I could see a few buoys or even a lighthouse in the distance. I really don't want to run aground.
When I'm part of a conversation about one friend's frustrations at dealing with thoughtless individuals, lip service, and a Shelob's Lair of red tape just to get her child the help he needs, I don't know what sort of reaction is palatable from me. If I just commiserate, and hope things get better, am I being callous? If I try to reassure her that homeschooling isn't as hard as it sounds (knowing that she has often thought, "Oh, I should just teach him myself!"), am I pressuring her to do something that she's not sure is best? If I encourage her to keep fighting and share what little information I know from my own time as a high-school teacher, am I brushing her off and sending the message that I think she'd suck at homeschooling her son? (She'd totally rock, btw.)
I want to support my friends, not push a homeschooling agenda. Other times, I want to be the goofball that I am, not insinuate that Homeschooling Is Better. But sometimes I do want to say something that could provide some food for thought -- especially if that friend seems frustrated with the solutions she has already been offered.
I suppose my wariness and frequent censorship in such situations is really no different from the tendency of my non-homeschooling friends to inadvertently cause me to wince as one of them says, for the twelfth time, that she would never have the patience to homeschool her kids. Both reactions stem from the desires to connect, to disregard unimportant differences, and to enjoy and celebrate our friendships, knowing that we're with people whose struggles are similar enough to our own that they've drawn us together.
Shit. I just learned something!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
So the girls had their first campout ever on Thursday night. They didn't just survive -- they had a blast! I guess we've officially entered the Land of Sleepovers. They've also made it clear that next summer, they want to go to more than one week of Girl Scout camp. They are full of all sorts of camp songs -- one or two of which I even remember from my own Girl Scout camp days. Hermy the Worm, however, is a new one. "Hermy, baby! WHAT HAPPENED!?""I ate my Mom."
Yesterday was pretty crazy-busy. Dan & I did a few more drive-bys (the real estate kind, people!), then zipped over to pick up the girls, get Emma changed into her hip-hop costume, and rushed over to the Chemlsford town common. She did her performance, we hung around for dinner, and then rushed off to Bear Hill Farm. At least, since we were 10 minutes late, we caught Anne in the fields, picking snap peas. Penny & Emma were thrilled to see her! Then off to do a few more drive-bys, while the girls ate ice cream (oh, the torture!). We did two more drive-bys today, and have one more tomorrow; then Monday we start looking. So much for 5-year plans, huh?
Yesterday was pretty crazy-busy. Dan & I did a few more drive-bys (the real estate kind, people!), then zipped over to pick up the girls, get Emma changed into her hip-hop costume, and rushed over to the Chemlsford town common. She did her performance, we hung around for dinner, and then rushed off to Bear Hill Farm. At least, since we were 10 minutes late, we caught Anne in the fields, picking snap peas. Penny & Emma were thrilled to see her! Then off to do a few more drive-bys, while the girls ate ice cream (oh, the torture!). We did two more drive-bys today, and have one more tomorrow; then Monday we start looking. So much for 5-year plans, huh?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
camp rocks
Well, Monday's been an eventful day. But I'm not discussing that. Instead, I'll talk about my kids.
Being the unsocalized homeschoolers that we are, this morning we packed the girls' new backpacks, fed them a proper breakfast, stocked their lunch bags, filled their sport bottles and thermoses, and sent them off to their first day of Girl Scout Camp. It's an all-day camp, and they even got to ride a school bus (so cool). In spite of the on-again, off-again rain, they had a blast, and when I met the bus at 5 o'clock they emerged almost triumphantly, awash in smiles and information. There is stuff to buy (of course!) and they got t-shirts today, and there is a sleepover night on Thursday, and and and . . . They're very geeked about the sleepover night, so since the camp director said I can pick Emma up for her hip-hop rehearsal then bring her back for the campout, we're going to sign them up. Oh. My. God. This means slumber parties are looming in my near future. Nooooooooooooooo!
Being the unsocalized homeschoolers that we are, this morning we packed the girls' new backpacks, fed them a proper breakfast, stocked their lunch bags, filled their sport bottles and thermoses, and sent them off to their first day of Girl Scout Camp. It's an all-day camp, and they even got to ride a school bus (so cool). In spite of the on-again, off-again rain, they had a blast, and when I met the bus at 5 o'clock they emerged almost triumphantly, awash in smiles and information. There is stuff to buy (of course!) and they got t-shirts today, and there is a sleepover night on Thursday, and and and . . . They're very geeked about the sleepover night, so since the camp director said I can pick Emma up for her hip-hop rehearsal then bring her back for the campout, we're going to sign them up. Oh. My. God. This means slumber parties are looming in my near future. Nooooooooooooooo!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Pocket full of posies . . .
Sigh. Many Mothers of Multiples (or MOMs, as we call ourselves) cringe at the comments we receive -- "Better you than me!" "Uh-oh! Double Trouble!" "Which one is the bad one?" "Which one is older?" "Are you sure they aren't (are) identical?" And let's not forget the big offender, "Are they Natural?" (No, they're synthetic! Bwahahahahaha!)
Most people don't realize how obnoxious they are being with these questions, especially the last one. Never mind that my twins were conceived all on their own; what business is it to a total stranger how my children were conceived? All the business in the world, apparently. You see, journalist and Massachusetts mom of twins Julie Suratt is bothered by what she terms the epidemic of twins -- in particular, those twins conceived with assistance (hers were not). Even worse than the news that medical intervention is Not Fair is the news that having twins is as personally devastating as contracting the bubonic plague. Yep, that's right -- having twins is akin to the Black Death.
Needless to say, several of the local Moms of Multiples clubs are a little riled up, including my own. Now, Suratt is completely within her rights to write a negatively slanted article regarding twins and triplets -- but, in all honesty, I don't understand why she would want to, nor do I care to, if it involves such a downward emotional spiral. Doesn't she know that it takes more energy, and is more emotionally draining, to behave negatively? Did she think that most other MOMs felt the same way? I guess we run in vastly different circles, because most of the MOMs I get together with -- while recognizing the unique challenges that multiples do often present -- do not feel that having multiples has cramped their style. In fact there's only one woman in our group of eighty-plus members who, though she hasn't admitted it (probably not even to herself), doesn't seem to have wanted motherhood. Sadly, I see a similar attitude in Suratt, who is upset that she had to "give up" her cute walk-up, or believes that if she had only one baby, her life would go back to the way it was.
Once you become a mom, life will never go back to the way it was. That's a fairy tale, just like the knight in shining armor. Parenthood, like marriage and everything else involving love, is a choice and a commitment -- one that you make over and over again. While I was pregnant with my twins, I lived happily under the delusion that, once they were six months old, I would be able to de-wallpaper, prime, and paint the walls of the guest bedroom during the girls' naptime. My mom, who had three kids but no twins, just smiled and nodded. Four years later, my sister, while pregnant with her son, lived happily under the delusion that she would be able to gut and renovate the second-floor bathroom during her infant son's naptime. My mother -- and I -- just smiled and nodded. It's a part of the rite-of-passage, I guess. No matter what anyone tried to tell me while I was pregnant, I just couldn't understand how all-encompassing parenthood is. As a fiercely independent Gen-Xer, I had planned to go back to work as a teacher by the time my kids were five. Instead, I've decided to stay home indefinitely and homeschool them. Having kids changes you, changes your priorities. If you can't meet that challenge, then I guess you spend the rest of your years whining and bemoaning how "needy" your children are, or how nobody understands how tough you have it.
Suratt would have readers believe that having twins opens mothers and babies up to a host of issues that other families do not have to deal with. In reality, she raised only a single parenting issue that truly only affects twins. Asthma? Not twin-related. Reflux? Not twin-related. Pneumonia? Not twin-related. Bedrest? Food allergies? Premature delivery? Lengthy NICU stays? Emergency C-section? PPD? Developmental delays? Breastfeeding difficulties? Wrangling more than one child while shopping? Balancing career and home responsibilities? Nope, none of these are twin-related. Mothers from all demographics -- in all geographical areas, of all ages, sizes, races, financial situations and marital statuses can and do find themselves dealing with these issues. The one genuine twin-related issue she mentions? Trying to decide whether or not to wake both babies up at the same time to keep them on the same schedule for feedings. Oh, the humanity!
Most people don't realize how obnoxious they are being with these questions, especially the last one. Never mind that my twins were conceived all on their own; what business is it to a total stranger how my children were conceived? All the business in the world, apparently. You see, journalist and Massachusetts mom of twins Julie Suratt is bothered by what she terms the epidemic of twins -- in particular, those twins conceived with assistance (hers were not). Even worse than the news that medical intervention is Not Fair is the news that having twins is as personally devastating as contracting the bubonic plague. Yep, that's right -- having twins is akin to the Black Death.
Needless to say, several of the local Moms of Multiples clubs are a little riled up, including my own. Now, Suratt is completely within her rights to write a negatively slanted article regarding twins and triplets -- but, in all honesty, I don't understand why she would want to, nor do I care to, if it involves such a downward emotional spiral. Doesn't she know that it takes more energy, and is more emotionally draining, to behave negatively? Did she think that most other MOMs felt the same way? I guess we run in vastly different circles, because most of the MOMs I get together with -- while recognizing the unique challenges that multiples do often present -- do not feel that having multiples has cramped their style. In fact there's only one woman in our group of eighty-plus members who, though she hasn't admitted it (probably not even to herself), doesn't seem to have wanted motherhood. Sadly, I see a similar attitude in Suratt, who is upset that she had to "give up" her cute walk-up, or believes that if she had only one baby, her life would go back to the way it was.
Once you become a mom, life will never go back to the way it was. That's a fairy tale, just like the knight in shining armor. Parenthood, like marriage and everything else involving love, is a choice and a commitment -- one that you make over and over again. While I was pregnant with my twins, I lived happily under the delusion that, once they were six months old, I would be able to de-wallpaper, prime, and paint the walls of the guest bedroom during the girls' naptime. My mom, who had three kids but no twins, just smiled and nodded. Four years later, my sister, while pregnant with her son, lived happily under the delusion that she would be able to gut and renovate the second-floor bathroom during her infant son's naptime. My mother -- and I -- just smiled and nodded. It's a part of the rite-of-passage, I guess. No matter what anyone tried to tell me while I was pregnant, I just couldn't understand how all-encompassing parenthood is. As a fiercely independent Gen-Xer, I had planned to go back to work as a teacher by the time my kids were five. Instead, I've decided to stay home indefinitely and homeschool them. Having kids changes you, changes your priorities. If you can't meet that challenge, then I guess you spend the rest of your years whining and bemoaning how "needy" your children are, or how nobody understands how tough you have it.
Suratt would have readers believe that having twins opens mothers and babies up to a host of issues that other families do not have to deal with. In reality, she raised only a single parenting issue that truly only affects twins. Asthma? Not twin-related. Reflux? Not twin-related. Pneumonia? Not twin-related. Bedrest? Food allergies? Premature delivery? Lengthy NICU stays? Emergency C-section? PPD? Developmental delays? Breastfeeding difficulties? Wrangling more than one child while shopping? Balancing career and home responsibilities? Nope, none of these are twin-related. Mothers from all demographics -- in all geographical areas, of all ages, sizes, races, financial situations and marital statuses can and do find themselves dealing with these issues. The one genuine twin-related issue she mentions? Trying to decide whether or not to wake both babies up at the same time to keep them on the same schedule for feedings. Oh, the humanity!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
moving forward
You know what's cool? It's cool, it's totally sweet, when your traditionally-minded husband quotes John Holt during a conversation on possessions and children. See, today I received this Daily Groove through my inbox, and it resonated with me because I happened to be halfway there on my own. My old laptop, Snow White, suddenly went kerplooey right before Dan's last trip out of town. It was the second time Snow White had had a heat failure; the first happened while she was under warranty. This time, we decided the best course of action was a new computer. So, off to the Apple store we dashed, and the girls were so excited when I asked them for help naming the new computer. They decided on Chewbone, since it was also a white computer, and roughly the color of a rawhide chewbone. (Chewbone, welcome to the family. Now, get to work.)
Well, the girls have recently been clamoring to visit Build-A-Bear. Emma wants about a dozen different stuffed animals. They want these foamy water-gun things for using in the pool. Penny wants us to upgrade to a paid Pirates account. They both want more Captain Underpants books, and more Magic Treehouse books. And books about Pirates. And books about Rabbits. Emma wants to build another -- a better -- kite, one that will actually fly. (You get the idea.)
So, because of Chewbone, we had to have one of those mostly one-way discussions today -- I tried desperately to get across the idea that we have to cut back on the Wanty-spending for a while. As I began to explain that Mommy Got A New Computer, a few things occurred to me. (1) I was essentially telling them that I was allowed to have this very expensive thing and that as a result they were not allowed to have any of the little, less expensive things that they wanted for a few months (which of course can seem like forever to a 5-year-old). (2) It really wasn't my computer, anyway -- both the computers in this house are shared by us all, and although I am the primary adult who uses Chewbone, both girls know they are allowed to use it pretty much whenever they want. So, I shifted my perception right there -- it wasn't MY computer, it was OUR computer. Mommy didn't get a new computer -- We did.
And so, the girls both accepted that other Wanty spending would have to cut back, but that they would still get some Wants. Just not Everything they Want. So, the girls wandered off to get ready for bed; Dan read them a few more chapters from Captain Underpants. They chatted for a while, until they were too tired to stay awake. I sat down to check my email, saw the Daily Groove, and shared it with Dan. Who chimed in with John Holt.
And I thought he hadn't been paying attention.
Well, the girls have recently been clamoring to visit Build-A-Bear. Emma wants about a dozen different stuffed animals. They want these foamy water-gun things for using in the pool. Penny wants us to upgrade to a paid Pirates account. They both want more Captain Underpants books, and more Magic Treehouse books. And books about Pirates. And books about Rabbits. Emma wants to build another -- a better -- kite, one that will actually fly. (You get the idea.)
So, because of Chewbone, we had to have one of those mostly one-way discussions today -- I tried desperately to get across the idea that we have to cut back on the Wanty-spending for a while. As I began to explain that Mommy Got A New Computer, a few things occurred to me. (1) I was essentially telling them that I was allowed to have this very expensive thing and that as a result they were not allowed to have any of the little, less expensive things that they wanted for a few months (which of course can seem like forever to a 5-year-old). (2) It really wasn't my computer, anyway -- both the computers in this house are shared by us all, and although I am the primary adult who uses Chewbone, both girls know they are allowed to use it pretty much whenever they want. So, I shifted my perception right there -- it wasn't MY computer, it was OUR computer. Mommy didn't get a new computer -- We did.
And so, the girls both accepted that other Wanty spending would have to cut back, but that they would still get some Wants. Just not Everything they Want. So, the girls wandered off to get ready for bed; Dan read them a few more chapters from Captain Underpants. They chatted for a while, until they were too tired to stay awake. I sat down to check my email, saw the Daily Groove, and shared it with Dan. Who chimed in with John Holt.
And I thought he hadn't been paying attention.
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