So remember how I thought the pediatrician just thought I was angry and maybe a little crazy? And she was brushing me off? I take it back. The next day she called to say she'd personally gotten us in with the ENT. When? Oh, immediately! Could I just go over there NOW? (I was wearing my pajamas when she called. Also, Monkey was at school. But we made it, somehow.) The ENT said many interesting things, making noises with his mouth-hole that sounded like "here are the things that are clearly wrong which I can see even before we start testing further" and also "chronic infection that has...
Thursday 6:00 am: I wake Monkey up for school. 6:20 am: He still hasn't come downstairs, so I go looking for him. He is standing in the bathroom looking confused. He says, "I think my head hurts." I take his temperature; 102! Back to bed! The rest of the day: He sleeps on and off and generally lolls around. 6:00 pm: Monkey puts himself to bed. Friday 6:00 am: Monkey wakes up and announces he is all done sleeping and feels much better now! I take his temperature; 101! Not quite, bucko! 8:00 am: I call the pediatrician for an appointment. 8:15 am: I call the pediatric neurologist to remind...
Love doesn't want him to know how scared I've been. Love doesn't want him to feel like he's wrong or bad or a burden, ever. Love doesn't want her to feel like she's being lost in the shuffle, like the only way to get my attention is to act out. Love doesn't want her to feel invisible or less than, ever. So instead, love does. Love kisses his hot forehead, smooths back his hair, pours juice, brings medicine, turns on the television, assures him it's okay to rest, snuggles up just like when he was small and helps him fall into a feverish sleep. Love bakes cookies for her club meeting, spends...
The God's honest truth about Monkey's bizarre probably-a-seizure is that it was really scary and knocked us for a loop, but it's not the scariest part. If he had just had THAT, just that one incident which is already fading in our memories ("Do you remember exactly what he said?" Otto and I will ask each other, replaying the scene over and over again, grasping to remember exactly how it happened), which has not been repeated, we would be feeling better now because it hasn't happened again. And also because everyone is content to point at the Incident Where He Clearly Wasn't Himself and say...
[First: Before you ask, yes, the party was a success, I think. Otto had a grand time, his brothers enjoyed meeting all of the folks Otto is always talking about, the crock of spinach artichoke dip was all but licked clean (it's the jalapenos! brilliant!!), and I'm equal parts glad we pulled it off and glad I hopefully won't have to do this again for another 10 years.] If there's one thing I've learned in my dozen years of parenthood, it's the golden mantra of "Don't engage." Okay, that sounds bad. I don't mean never engage with the kids, of course, I just mean to not engage when it's only...
I spoke too soon about the idyllic vacation week and uneventful return to school. Truthfully, my breath was held waiting to hear that Monkey celebrated his first day back by shattering into a million angry little pieces, but his day was perfectly fine. No, I answered the phone yesterday afternoon when the caller ID said it was the school system (all the schools come up the same), steeling myself for a Tale Of Monkey Woe, but instead a little voice said, "Hi. I'm miserable." "Chickadee? What's wrong??" "My throat hurts. And my head hurts. And I am miserable." In case you missed it, she was...
Monkey is doing a Big Project on the Holocaust for school. He's been "working on it in class" which means, of course, that this weekend we've discovered he's done... next to nothing. Monkey is many fine and wonderful things, but one of his dubious "talents" is the ability to appear extremely productive when, in fact, he is simply working on spitball origami or dreaming up the five hundred latest characters in the pseudo-Pokemon world of his own creation. Needless to say, we've been a bit busy with other concerns about Monkey, so I'll be the first to admit we haven't been as on top of his...
Today I am grateful for the resilience of my youngest child; my baby, my heart, my sweet, sweet boy with the misfiring brain. I'm grateful he endured this without too much complaint: And then---because that wasn't enough excitement---we followed it up with an MRI. Just for kicks. The reality, of course, is that you have these scary tests and then you sit back to hurry up and wait. It was nice of them to get us in so quickly for testing, but now everyone is off with their families enjoying the holiday and completely unconcerned about the fact that it feels like we haven't dared to breathe for...
Thanksgiving is one week from today, and we are hosting dinner, and I've bought nothing. My desk looks like a cyclone hit it, I'm behind on work, and right now there is a big scary drama going on behind the curtain which I am tired of thinking about every single waking moment. So. One week of gratefulness from me. Starting with this, for day one: I am grateful for my goofy gazelle of a girl-woman daughter, springing from childhood to young adulthood and back again faster than I can keep track. I am grateful for her never-failing ability to make me laugh, whether with a well-timed comic...
