Dec 11 … it’s that time, again

Dec 9 – Well, the Christmas tree is up and the children are elated that they have something to decorate and the parents are elated that it isn’t the walls or floors for once. I spent about an hour setting it up over the weekend and the children (mainly Kate and Emma) spent an hour or so putting various decorations on it. They were not allowed to put any glass decorations on for fear of breaking them, so they were continuously running from tree to Kristin or me asking if this ornament or that ornament was glass. This went on mainly unsupervised, so when Kristin got in there to actually look at the tree she saw that, although they did a fairly good job of not clumping the ornaments together, they left a few too many close to ‘dog level.’ Kristin straightened out the low hanging ornaments and everyone was happy (except for the dogs who now have to settle for regular dog food). Since I could not find our small collection of Christmas music, I settled on the next best thing, the soundtrack to The Nightmare Before Christmas. The kids wanted to watch it so I put the movie in. Kate was alright with the whole thing, Emma did not want to watch the scary parts and wanted Kate to let her know when they were over so she could watch again. After it started Nathan just wanted to play Gamecube and kill the bad guys. Attention spans waned and soon the movie was playing by itself and one child was in the kitchen, one was in Nathan’s room, and Nathan was on to a different game on the game station. Heaven forbid I turn the movie off, though, as they were back in the den as soon as I touched the TV to let me know they were watching it – albeit from different rooms, obviously.

Dec 11 – Another round of The Nightmare Before Christmas and this time everyone was happy enough to watch it for a full 10 minutes, well, maybe 15 minutes. Kristin was already working on the computer and listening to music there, so to make things worse Nathan goes in and starts to play Gamecube. The girls decide to pull out some old soccer shin guards and put them on their feet to make skates out of. Now, with the movie in the background, the girls are running around the den in their makeshift skates going on and on (and on and on) about how much like real skates they sound. I tire of the movie not being watched again so I turn on the stereo and turn off the movie. Now, we have the cacophony of the computer dinging and playing rock music, the gamecube, children laughing and talking loudly, and a stereo blaring out oddities like Madonna and Edie Brickell. To make matters more… interesting, I get the dogs riled up, jumping around, and barking. Wine… we must now have wine. Since the dogs were brought into the picture, it is the perfect time to pick up the girls (one at a time, please) and swing them around the room, feet barely above the dogs heads, almost hitting furniture, laughing hysterically and asking to go again. Next time around I make a seat out of my arms and swing them up and down at dog face level. Thankfully the dogs are smart enough to not get close enough to get kicked, but dumb enough to run up and lick faces as soon as the swinging is over. Nathan runs in to tell me about a boss he killed, or a level he achieved, and then runs back to kill some more. Kristin comes in from time to time to tell me what Nathan is doing or to tell me about a song she is listening to. Dogs are running from couch to playroom to me and back, jumping on each other and barking the whole time.

Mean old Daddy realizes the time and starts taking the skates off the girls feet, tries to calm the dogs down, and tells Nathan to save his game… bed time is upon us. Girls have to take a bath, Mommy helps with their hair. Dogs have to go out to pee and chase imaginary bunnies one last time. Nathan has to save his progress upon penalty of me shutting off his game out from under him (he, as all gamers, hate that, trust me). Stereo is turned off, computer sound is turned off, and dogs are no longer inside to bark at me. Things are starting to get calm, finally. The girls get out of the bath and Mommy dries their hair. Nathan has finally turned off the Gamecube, checks his sugar, and goes to the bathroom one last time. Everyone goes to their rooms, I finish picking up after the girls’ skate party, let the dogs in, and then crash into the bed myself. Good night, one and all.

Oct 1 … Dream a little dream

“Your bed makes bad dreams go away.” How simple a statement that is, and so simply said it was almost profound. I woke up at about 4am this morning to let the dogs out. When I did I noticed a new lump in the bed next to me. Said lump turned out to be a soon to be 6-year old daughter. My schedule every morning is to let dogs out at 4am and sleep the rest of the night on the couch. Even with this little lady asleep next to me, I follow the schedule.

6am the alarm goes off and Kristin hollers (kind of hoarsely) from the bedroom to get up and get washed so she’ll have time to get in the shower. Normal routine kind of stuff follows. I wash, I wake the boy so he can wash, and then I rouse Kristin out of the bed so she can wash. In-between washings I’m making breakfast and preparing 3 mugs of coffee (me, Kristin, Nathan), as well as playing on the computer. While Kristin is in the shower I start waking the girls in their room, forgetting that Kate is already in my bed, and remind Nathan to put his pump back on when he puts his underwear on (simple enough request made 5 times before actually done). Emma thinks it would be fun to crawl into my bed and try to wake sissy.

When I walk through the kitchen to make sure Nathan has undies on (for the 3^rd time) I hear a little giggling. On investigation I see that Kate is still asleep and that Emma has just hidden under the covers of my bed. Needing to get the day going, and wanting it to be as light hearted as possible (bad starts end up with my gray hair on floor…), I lie on both the lumps left in my bed pretending to fall asleep. Emma thinks it is hilarious and gives an almost immediate bubbly laugh. Kate, not quite awake, is annoyed that something as big and heavy as me has fallen on her. Once she does roll over and sees me staring at her she gives a half-hearted hug (half a hug really, just one arm is fully awake). When I ask her why she is in my bed she says that she had bad dreams. Then she says, “Your bed makes bad dreams go away.”

Magic bed not having been totally ruled out, it is nice to know that my children can find peace and solace in the middle of the night snuggled next to me or Kristin when their demons come out to haunt them.

Aug 9 … Me casa es su casa

Home. Home is a place where you can be yourself. Home is a place where you feel safe, at peace with yourself, or at peace with the world at large. Home is where you can control what is happening in the world around you with the click of a button, flip of a switch, or even with a simple change of clothes. Home is where, at the worst of times, you can hold someone and have them remind you that life is not horrible. Home is where the heart is and, when least expected, found again and again in the tiniest of things. Home is the island in the storm that is life. The smallest of occurrences or coincidences can invoke the feelings of home, a whiff of perfume that reminds you of your mother, a glinting sunbeam off of some newly rained-on grass, some innocuous sound that sparks some distant and long forgotten memory. Long drives for vacation and then the smell of the car, the people in the car, the snacks for the road, and everything in the car becomes overwhelming, unnerving. One step outside the car and into ‘Home’ and everything is ok, everything is alright once again, the world turns a little more and you are happy, content. Home is different for different people. Home is different even for members of the same family. Home is home.

 

I know I’m close to home when I’m driving down the road, sun or rain, and I travel a particular stretch. This little quarter mile piece of road has thick strands of trees on both sides. Since it is a smaller country road the trees have grown over the road and you can not tell where the branches of one tree end and the branches from the opposite side start. I have always called it ‘my tree tunnel’ and slow down a bit to enjoy an otherwise eventless drive home. Interestingly enough, I’ve heard the children call it a tunnel from time to time as well. I’m lucky because I have a tree tunnel in just about every direction from my house, so I have a little respite whichever way I’m coming from. On the bright days these trees offer me shade and the interesting shadows on the hood of my car, on rainy days I have a little shelter from the rain. These tree tunnels also have smells about them: the decaying leaves, the animals that have made homes in the foliage and underbrush, little streams that almost always run near these spots. Since the tree tunnels are in the country there is a muted feeling about them, the intrusive city sounds are no longer present and the simplest thing is now heard, such as the rattle of leaves or the braying of cows from neighboring farm lands.

 

I also know I am home when I catch the smallest of hints of a particular perfume. My wife hardly ever leaves the house without having something scented splashed on her. The perfume is nice; I like it, nothing that would assault the otherwise defenseless nose, something that reminds me of her. But that smell always reminds me of something else, some other smell that no manufacturer in the world could reproduce, the smell of my wife. I can hug her close to me, put my face in the crook of her neck, and just breath her in. I smell it on her hair, hands, wrists, back, everywhere. Poets and romanticists talk about drinking in a woman, this is what it must be because I can see myself drowning in this. I can run my fingers through her hair and hold the back of her head like she likes. She may think I’m trying to seduce her, massage her scalp, or comfort her in some shape or form. In truth there is usually a more selfish reason, I just love to smell her. Taste the slightly sweet, sometimes bitter after taste of her lips, gaze into her eyes, and get lost in her scent. Something interesting I’ve found out in the past 8 years, these scents are inheritable. The children smell slightly of Kristin. I can hold the children to me and smell their scalps and there she is; the wife I love is in the hair of my children. The stinky little things that annoy me so much, cause me heart ache and grief, are a piece of her.

 

My home, my place of comfort, my palace of solitude for actual feelings, can be found by simply traveling a country road and then holding my wife close and, for lack of poetic ingenuity, drink her in. Home is comfortable, home is here, and home is now.

July 18 … how can we get there?

Two beady, burning eyes are peering out at me from the haphazardly strewn surroundings. Seeing how spread apart they are I know the beast is big. Sensing the mood in the air around me I know I am not welcome and the beast considers me a quick snack, or at least an annoying gnat that needs to be swatted. Following the only trail from the general area I turn my back on it. Even at a quick walk it seems forever for me to get to the first turn so I can run without being seen. Just as I make the turn I hear the beast move from its seclusion and start to follow. Running now, I pay attention to the trail ahead to make sure I don’t trip and fall prey to this still unseen prowler. I can feel the thing behind me, every time one of its paws hit the ground I feel it, every time it breaths I have warm gushes of air flow past my cheek. I know it is going to catch me, I know it will. I can hear it crashing through some low hanging obstacles I just passed, paying no heed to the pain they might cause. Do I dare look back? Do I dare take my eyes off the trail and trip on an exposed root? Or should I come full stop and turn in the same movement to face this beast head on? I feel its gnarly whiskers brushing the hairs on my neck and I know my doom is imminent. Each short breath is expressed when each paw hits the ground, vibrating and shuddering the same ground I’m running on. Why doesn’t it just pounce already? I am barely able to make it to a gate and close it, baring the beast from getting to me. Now, now that I am safe, now is the chance to steal a glimpse of this awful creature; this creature that has haunted me for the past few moments, this creature that would have spared me no saving grace had I fallen in our race to a safe hold. What awful creature is this that, even unseen, can make someone run in fear of their life? Now that I can see it clearly I know exactly what beast it is: a deadline.

 

We all have deadline in our lives. We all have times where we know there is a date in the near future that certain things have to be done or everything after that date will be screwed up and cause all the more work. Most of the time we give them cutsie names like personal goals or official names like project checkpoints; but they are all the same thing, a deadline. We know that the drop dead date for certain events are coming and we all jump up and run around crazy-like to make sure everything is set and ready for said penultimate event. When just the smallest thing is out of place, when a certain order is not followed, when the tiniest hint that something may not make the deadline; all hell breaks loose. Why? In a perfect world there has been planning out the wazoo for this event and everyone involved should know what to do and when to do it. Why, then, do we get all up in arms about it? Because we do not live in a perfect world, instead we get through these deadlines by the skin of our teeth. We procrastinate as long as we can, we play games instead of pulling together information that could help us, and we twiddle our thumbs instead of forcing ourselves to actually work. Then again, too much work and not enough play makes for a very boring day, doesn’t it? For the past few weeks I have been inundated with deadlines both personal and professional. I have not had time to sit back and enjoy otherwise innocuous events around me. This was a good day to reflect on my current life style and how I should take a breather for my self… recharge my soul, as it were.

 

The alarm goes off as it usually does, but I’m not in bed. I’m sacked out on the couch after letting the dogs out like I do every morning at 4a. Kristin yells for me to get up and get in the shower or we’ll be late. She surprises me and jumps in with me for a little bit. After showering, Kristin gets Nathan up and going for his shower and tries to get Kate and Emma up as well, while I make the ever needed manna called coffee. The girls have been slow getting up lately so that does not actually happen for another 15 minutes or so. Once each child survives the treacherous slumber filled hallways and is able to make it to the kitchen, we sit down to a simple breakfast of cereal or oatmeal or toast, what ever they so choose (and each child is certain to choose differently then the other). Amazingly there are no screams at the breakfast table about who is looking at who, and there are very few whimpers about being awake. I’m looking at something on the computer and getting something together for Nathan’s soccer camp that morning while Kristin is getting clothes for the girls to wear. All-in-all this is starting out to be a good, efficient morning.

 

I know I need to leave soon because of several upgrades I’m a part of still need to be tested. Before I am able to squeak out the door without a big to-do, though, Emma is on the floor in my way and on her knees looking up at me with her face poking out of the neck hole of her shirt. The way the shirt has bunched up around her face she looks like a lion to me. Once told this she immediately begins to roar like one in between laughing hysterically. Nathan is running around trying to see this lion (continuously under my feet) with a soccer jersey on, no pants to be found, and his soccer ball under his arm. Kate, poor thing, hasn’t quite finished her breakfast so she is not able to take part in the commotion. I tell Emma to go show momma the lion and fuss at Nathan for not having pants on yet. Kate has gotten up from the table to see everything just in time to be under foot as well. I take Nathan’s ball from him so he can find the pants a little faster and, for some reason I still don’t know why, give the ball to Kate. Not thinking about it I tell Kate to put her bowl in the sink. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, I suppose, Kate takes the ball into the kitchen and puts it in the refrigerator and everyone laughs even harder. One of the children even told Kristin that we were running low on soccer balls and that I needed to go to the grocery store to get some more for the fridge like it was a head of lettuce.

 

Once everything settled down (and Nathan found his pants) we were ready and we all walked out of the house. At work, I had barely enough time to sit down and start up my computer when Kristin calls me from the sitter’s house. The sitter’s car has broken down and she is not able to pick Nathan up from soccer camp, would I be able to. Well, I suppose so, but in the back of my mind I still have deadlines to meet for the upgrades coming up so I will have to cut some time off here or there to make it work. Since I was going to get to spend a little time with Nathan I went ahead and bought him lunch from the cafeteria and plan on eating a quick little picnic somewhere. When I get to the camp to pick him up I see that he is actually playing a fairly decent game of soccer. His team is wearing blue jerseys because they are playing a ‘world cup’ tournament and they are supposed to be Italy. When I got there they were playing Brazil and I don’t know if a bunch of their players on the Brazil team were red-carded or not, but they only had 5 players where as Italy had 9, something didn’t seem quite fair. The ref’s call time and the entire mass of players scatter; since some are half-day campers, like Nathan, they get to go home. Once in the car I decide quickly that it is too hot to picnic today and take him back to the hospital to eat lunch there. It was a good ride to the hospital; we talked about scores and which positions he liked better while he was playing soccer. We eat lunch and Nathan gets to meet a few co-workers and then I take him to the sitter’s house.

 

Nothing special happened when I got home. The children were bouncing on my bed watching a movie and Kristin was working on school work. Even so, the entire day just made me realize that I’m lucky. I am lucky because I have a family that will support me no matter what. I think this is because I have supported them for a while and they know I will be there for them if truly needed. My life has been crowded with deadlines lately and a little deviation from the plan is not a bad thing.Crazy lion-children and soccer ball filled refrigerators for breakfast and an otherwise stranded child for lunch make for an eventful day that was perfect even if some deadlines were missed and others are still charging down on me. Deadlines will always be there in one form or another. Our days are numbered, much like the little pieces of pottery that are collectible that some of us keep. When our numbers run out there will be no more we can do, and we don’t know what our number is. Best to have fun and love the ones you are with while the numbers are still racking up instead of worrying about them after the numbers are gone. Deadlines will be missed, it is inevitable, but missing a deadline will not be the end of the world (unless you ask Douglas Adams).

March 16 … shapes of love

Triangles mean different things to different people. When we first learn about them we are taught their shape and perhaps a basic color, like “Michael, please point to the red triangle… good, now point to the blue square” etc. Later we learn that triangles have been used throughout time, have various religious or engineering significance, or they are simply a geometric shape made of three points. A triangle can represent a state of mind (the downward pointing pink triangle) or it can represent a significant ideal (the holy trinity). For me, I have a far more personal triangle in mind; no it might not be the first image that pops into my head when the word is spoken (point to the red triangle…) but the triangle I think of the most is on the body. It can be found on the lower back with the base points about two or three inches on either side of the spine (near the kidneys) and the pentacle is on the spine itself. It is approximately where chi starts in a chi flow in Hindu and Buddhist beliefs. In a chi flow, chi starts at the base of the spine and then flows throughout the body passing through 13 “gates” before making a full circulation; rejuvenating the body, mind, and spirit.The most notable triangle I know is on my wife’s back. I know she is going to hate me for writing this, but I love to just look at it. Whether it is in bed, bath, the unexpected moment when her shirt rides up a little while bending down to scoop up a child, or whenever; it’s still perfect. Her triangle was really the first I noticed on a person’s body, and I was captivated from the start. I would trace edge to vertex to edge and back again, constantly annoying her because of the lightly brushing strokes that would tickle. Then I realized the great power this triangle had. While dancing I could hold her tightly to me and direct her movements by gently pressing the small of her back (the triangle) or I could give her encouragement in times of worry by placing a steady hand there, almost as if to say it’s alright to be scared because I’m here with you.

Tonight, like most every night, I held her back as she fell asleep. Most notably, I placed my hand at the top of the triangle and just held it there. I could feel every breath she took, and I could feel the tension ease from her day at work and then coming home to deal with me, 3 children, 2 dogs, 1 cat, and I think we may even have a partridge in a pear tree somewhere around here. Her breathing slowed and I was “willing” her to fall asleep peacefully, for a moment I almost felt like I was making her do exactly that. Almost as soon as I lifted my hand from her back she rolled over and kissed me on the cheek, the connection had been broken. She asked, in a sleepy dreamy voice, what was going on, where was I going? I just kissed the top of her head and told her to go back to sleep, I had something to write about for the first time in ages and I was still awake enough to actually write it, so I knew that I had to get in here and put it down before I forgot it. She mumbled something else and then sort of went back to sleep complaining about being woken up later.

I know we have our fights and I know we have our fun times, but one thing is constant with us, we are there to support each other. We may annoy each other (yes, I can be annoying, who’d a thunk it?) but I’ll always be a steady hand to hold her Muladhara Chakra, the chi found in the small of her back, the triangle I know and love. I’ll help her cultivate it, grow it, expand it, and spread it; just as she helps me even if she does not realize it.

April 16 … ants in my pants

Starting out things were semi-normal: a hectic day at work, late getting home, running half-naked children when I walk in the door… the usual. Nathan wasn’t feeling well, so he was in bed asleep. Our yard looks like a miniature rainforest and, since Kristin has been cooped up with the children all day and was about to rip her hair out, we decided she should take some time away from them and cut the grass. While she was cutting the yard I started making dinner, a wonderful meal consisting of hamburger helper-ish beef stroganoff, corn and delicately aged lemonade (in other words, made 10 minutes prior). Oh, I also made some brownies for dessert, how could I forget that? Kristin hates me when I make them, yet she never complains about eating them… I think she really likes them and wants to play coy.

Since we have a large yard, dinner (and brownies) was finished cooking before Kristin was done cutting the weeds… I mean grass. Nathan was still asleep and seeming to run a fever, so I let him sleep it off and didn’t wake him for dinner. Kate and Emma tore into their corn but side-stepped the dangerous looking stroganoff. After attempting a taste of the noodle mush they announce to the world that they are done and, before I could stop them, offered the plates to the dog who immediately lapped it up. Since they did eat the corn and some of the stroganoff I let them have 1 brownie each, which was the whole point of dinner anyway, right?

Next thing I know, one of the chocolate covered faces have opened the door and let the dog run free. Free! Free! The dog announces his joy at being free by running throughout the yard, the neighbor’s yard, the road, a little forest trail behind the house; and he made use of the facilities in each place. All the while Kristin is swerving the lawnmower so as to not turn the brain-damaged dog to mulch. I run out to catch the dog, the girls run out for fun and start playing on their toys, and poor Nathan is still in bed oblivious to everything. My Father-in-Law catches the dog and I corral the children and dog back into the house. Now, since the dog is out of harm‘s way, Kristin runs out of gas. I put shoes on, grab a gas can, and run to the gas station to get a refill for the mower, and Kristin goes inside to have dinner.

When I get back from the gas station I notice the lawnmower is not in my yard anymore. Since we’ve had a string of lawnmower thefts in the area I immediately start panicking thinking that someone had stolen my in-laws’ new mower. Right when I start the heavy breathing exercises so as to not faint, my Father-in-Law appears at the top of my driveway telling me that he found a little bit of gas so that he could get it back to their yard without pushing it the whole way. Now that this crisis is over, I go inside and make sure everyone is ok. Kristin is eating a plate of the *wonderful* dinner I made, the girls are watching TV, and Nathan had been woken up. Nathan, not feeling well, was complaining about life in general, he didn’t even eat but a bite of brownie (which I must mention were still warm gooey goodness from the oven). I let Kristin know that I’ve been asked to look at something computer related at her mother’s. Kristin elects to stay behind as opposed to waking and dressing Nathan.

At my in-laws I look at their computer, their printer, and their digital camera. I don’t see anything in particular that is wrong, so I sit back and watch the last of an episode of CSI. I go back home and don’t see the children. Nathan, as I correctly guessed, is still in bed, but the girls were missing and I heard the faint trickling of running water. I go to the bathroom and see them, one dressed and one not, standing in the middle of a half full bathtub, surrounded by every single plate, bowl, and cup we own that they can reach. Not only that, but they’ve got a couple dog toys, clothes hangers, hair bows, Nathan’s toys, their toys, and a few bits of metal I still don’t know where they came from.The girls were blissfully using the hangers to scoop water into the bowls and plates, then serving them to the various toys as dinner. If I hadn’t been dumbfounded as to why they would take *ever* *single* dish from the cabinets and used them, I think I might have thought it funny and gotten a camera. As it was I had them help me gather the dishes together then swatted a few butts before forcing the heads attached to those butts onto their assigned pillows. After their sniffing and sniveling is over with, they fall asleep.

Everything is peaceful, until 2 or 3 in the morning. I’m woken by the wonderful sound of gagging and then some crying, which is followed by some more gagging. Nathan has declared he is sick and is going to let the bathroom floor know it! I jump up to help steer him through the obstacle course which is our house, into the bathroom so I don’t have to clean anything out of the carpet. He lets a few phlegm-y spits gurgle out of his mouth, but is more concerned about getting a paper towel to clean everything up with.After changing him out of the clothes he’s soiled, I ask him if he wants to sleep in my bed just in case he gets sick again. Of course he says yes, but spends the next 10 minutes making sure all the lights are out and doors locked and messes cleaned up. He also has to check on the dog, which only wakes the dog up and, to make a long story short, I’m now sleeping with a woman, a boy, and a dog. (two of the three sleep fitfully, I’ll let you pick). About 6 in the morning I’m woken again because Emma, making the daily transition from her bed to mine, is surprised and upset to find brother already in her spot. To cut down on the yelling, I get up and intend to sleep the rest of the morning on the couch. This seems to please the quarrelling children as I get to slid back into slumber. Not but about 30 minutes later, the dog has me up and walking him. I go ahead and make coffee to start the day.

– The Next day –

I, thinking that Kristin doesn’t have to go to work until 11:30, don’t even consider waking her until 10:30. When I do, I find out that she’s suppose to be at work at 11 and out of the house already, not to mention showered, dressed, and fed. After she’s out of the house (with help from all family members including the dog, but he didn’t actually *help*) it’s a basic lazy day. We watch a little TV, run around outside, go to Wal-Mart, nothing too exciting. The dog is let out twice, but is recovered both times, and I squirt the children with the hose. Still being relatively cool outside, the water from the hose is shockingly cold to the sun-warmed backs of the children. Needless to say, I was chastised in the harshest language they know. I was yelled at as being a meanie-head, poopie-head, and the plain old “big meanie,” just to name a few of their choicer words.

I get them calmed down and in the house so they can take a bath to wash the mud and random grass cutting off. While we were in the bathroom, the dog comes up to drink out of the tub the children are washing in. He looks…different, almost like he’s making a face at me. On closer inspection I see that his lips are swollen. Thinking back, I remember seeing him digging at the base of a tree I know has an ant hill. The dog has dug up an ant hill, tried to eat the ants, and durnit! wouldn’t you it, the ants bit him back.Now I don’t know if the dog is having an allergic reaction to just a few ant bites or if he was that dumb to keep trying to eat them and just had that many ants bite him. I mean, the poor dog can hardly keep the water in his mouth because his lips have swollen in an open state. I call Kristin, at work, and ask her opinion. She doesn’t know what to do either, but a co-worker says that if the swelling doesn’t go down after a couple hours, or gets significantly worse, to call the vet. As of right now, it’s gone down and he can drink normally.

For dinner I let everyone know I’m making chili and cornbread. Kate jumps up and starts shouting she’s going to have “Chili ’on bed!” I try to get her to say it correctly, but now she’s running around the house going, “chili ‘onbed, chili ‘onbed, yay!” After dinner everyone is put to bed and I go into the playroom to type this. I hear a rattling, then some pots being clanked together in the kitchen. I jump up to find that Kate and Emma (neither will blame the other so I don’t know who actually did it) have taken the largest mixing bowl we own and put one raw egg into it so the dog can eat it. What does a dog need with a raw egg?!? More swatted butts and some threats of continued spankings if they don’t go back to bed, NOW! All in a days’ work…

Aug 24 … we be pumpin!

As some of you know, my son Nathan was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 20 mths old. We’ve had to fight with him to get finger sticks and shots daily since then.We’ve changed his insulin formula at least 4 times that I can remember right off hand. All this time his HbA1c (a test that basically tells if his sugars have been decent for 3 mths) has been high, usually in the low teens when a normal person’s is below 7. We’ve never had a good control, no matter what we did, over his sugar levels. One minute it seemed that he was sky high (the monitor only goes to 600 and he’s gone over that) and then the next he’s in his 30’s. For those who don’t know, a sugar level is supposed to be in the low 100’s. We’ve done this for about 3 and a half years now, very trying on him and everyone he’s in contact with.

Enough history… About 3 months ago we started talking with his Endocrinologist about the possibility of a pump since we’ve heard that smaller children are going on them.When he was originally diagnosed we were told he was too small, yet here were smaller children doing just that. The doctor agreed that since his sugars were all over the chart that he would be a good candidate and started the paperwork. About 6 weeks ago we were told Nathan was approved to get a pump and we had to go to a few pump related classes before we could actually start him. 2 weeks ago we went to our first class and actually got to take the pump home, albeit not attached to Nathan. Our next class is a week later and we get to see how to attach the pump. The nurse asked for volunteers to try the infusion set sans insulin. Out of a class with 5 future pumpers and their parents (12 people) only 4 wanted to try it, including me and Nathan. To tell you the truth, the waiting for the set to be inserted is a lot worse then the actual insertion. About 10 minutes after the insertion I forgot about the line going into my side. When we got home I could actually pull on the line and only feel the tugging of skin, no pain, no stinging, nothing.

Yesterday we had to get to the doctor’s office first thing. We drop our daughters at my mother-in-law’s house and run up to the office as soon as we can. We sit through about 20-30 more minutes of instruction on how to prime the pump and fill the reservoir and everything. Then, the moment comes. We’ve set everything up on the pump and have the line primed and ready to go. Nathan holds his shirt up and closes his eyes, ready for the expected pain. I gently hold his arms and shirt from behind and put my mouth next to his ear, all the while whispering words of encouragement. Kristin asked if he is ready and if he wants her to count it out or just do it. He responds that he wants her to just do it, don’t tell him. He takes after his mother in that respect, when giving blood she always tells the nurse to just do it, not tell her when she’s going to do the stick. Nathan grits his teeth and prepares for the worst. Kristin clicks the insertion device and pulls away and it is all over. Nathan is still standing there with his shirt up, looking down at his stomach in disbelief that it’s over already. He gives a little laugh and then goes over to draw in a coloring book he found in the classroom.

As a treat for being so good while in the classroom for the last couple of weeks we took Nathan to the mall and let him pick out a couple of toys. We walked around the mall a little bit and just enjoyed the time out. On the way home he fell asleep, we immediately thought his sugar had dropped to below normal, so on the highway Kristin turned around and checked him. He was fine, must have been the excitement of the new toy action figures and getting up early, but it still scared us. Kristin and I stayed out of work yesterday and Nathan stayed out of school so we could watch him incase his base-line rate was too much or too little and that he had no adverse reactions. We did notice that his sugars were running a little higher then we expected, but we were told that was normal and that we were going to have to prepare and adjust for it in the next few weeks.We are going to have to stay in constant contact with the doctor’s office faxing sugars, calling and working on basal (base line) insulin rates, working on bolus rates, and just general check ups. Also, for the next few weeks we will have to check his sugar at midnight and 3AM, doctor’s orders. This is in case he starts dropping in the middle of the night while we are working on getting his basal rate smoothed out.

After the initial headaches of getting everything set and ready on the pump, this will be a life changing event. No longer will Nathan be tied to a specific time to eat. No longer will he have to take shots (except in extreme cases). No longer will we have to worry if the shot was big enough or too big as the pump has a wizard that automatically calculates how much he should get. No longer will we have to worry about his sugars bouncing around (if we stay on top of what he eats). Our life will be easier, he can spend the night with family and friends if he so chooses, he can sleep late and not be tied to eating a meal at certain times. Thank goodness for technology.

June 01 … some stars are just brighter

The girls were fairly easy to get in bed, little to no fighting, more of a resigned fussing. I had to hop from bed to bed to quiet each one in turn. Once I was sure they were asleep I went back to the den to sit and watch cartoons with Nathan (with cable cartoons can be on 24 hours a day). He asked where his sisters were so I told him in bed, asleep, and not to make much noise because I didn’t want them getting back up. Almost immediately he jumped up and ran to his room. A few minutes later he came back to the den dragging his big moon and star covered comforter behind him. He asked if we could go out and look at the stars. Being a nice night tonight we did just that. He half carried, half dragged his comforter out the door and laid it in the middle of the driveway so we could lie down comfortably.

Once outside and on the ground he started picking out stars and planes and asking if they were UFO’s or rocket ships. Then he said he saw the little spoon in the sky. It took me a minute to realize it was the Little Dipper he was talking about, and he was correct, I think. At least it was one of the Dipper’s he was pointing at, although I think it was the big one, never been an astronomer myself. We spent some time looking at the moon because it was almost full. It was due to be full on the fourth (the day Harry Potter is scheduled to be released in the theaters and Nathan’s life will culminate). We lay there watching it rise through the trees talking about how the earth rotates and what the moon was made of. Oddly enough, Nathan was kind enough to inform me that the moon was made of pure gravity and the earth was made of rubber and cement. As soon as I heard that I tried correcting it as best I could. Then I grabbed a piece of sidewalk chalk and drew a few illustrations to show how the Solar System rotates and the position of the planets.

While I was drawing Kristin started turning the lights off in the house. When she didn’t see me in Nathan’s bed reading him a story (Harry Potter… what else is there to read?) she searched the house. When she didn’t see either of us in the house she stuck her head out the door and found us on the ground talking. She asked what we were doing; I told her we were contemplating the universe. Shaking her head she seemed to like that answer, warned us not to stay out too late because she almost locked us out of the house, and told us goodnight.

We stayed on the ground for a good 30 minutes more discussing light speed and how big the universe is. Nathan informed me that it was “this big” while holding his hands about shoulder width apart and shaking them a little bit to exaggerate the size. He also told me that he could control light and make it start going around the earth by turning on his flashlight. When we were done with the physics stuff (Nathan was happy to tell me everything he knew and some he didn’t) we lay back on the comforter so we could look at the stars again. Since the moon had traveled above the trees we tracked it some more, guessing where it would end up before the sun made it disappear. The wind was blowing through the trees and the crickets were chirping, a few night birds were singing their songs. We could hear a neighborhood dog barking and cars speeding along on a road in the distance. His warm little body snuggled up to me, fidgeting now and again, breathing softly. This was the most peaceful I’ve been in what seems like an eternity. We reluctantly got up and went in the house. Since it was late I read a short story to him about a Gorilla, kissed his forehead, and told him goodnight. This was a good night.

May 20 … the parent’s revenge

When I was about five or six years old I decided that my little sister (four or five at the time) needed a hair cut. So, in the early morning before anyone else was awake, I took a pair of scissors out of the kitchen, had her stand on a chair (because that’s what is done in the barber shop) and started clipping some of her curls. Well, her hair needed to be symmetrical and, as I had only gotten one side, I started to hack at the other. Now the left side was shorter then her right side, so I had to go back to the right and even it up. Before long her hair had gone from just past the middle of her back to just above her earlobes. After destroying her hair I decided that, since I still had the scissors and some hair was getting on her pajamas, I would cut the hair that was on the pajamas off. I mean, naturally, what would you have done? Soon her superman pajamas were in shreds and it was my turn to stand on the chair and let her cut my hair. She had not gotten far when a parent (I can’t remember which one) walked in the room and started yelling about how we weren’t suppose to be using scissors and all that. They were still too late, the damage had been done, the pajamas were thrown away and we were both ushered to the barber shop to have our hair fixed as best they could. My hair wasn’t too bad, but I remember my sister’s had to be trimmed to about her ear level. Looked like some pictures I’ve seen of school girls from back in the 40’s and 50’s.

The Parent’s Revenge has struck again.

I’m at work and I’m nonchalantly doing my thing when I get a phone call. It’s almost quitting time so I hesitate in answering the phone, not wanting extra work at the end of the day. When I do pick it up all I hear is a mixed, incoherent, hysterical babbling coming from the other end. I recognize it as Kristin’s voice and she’s so upset that all she can do is laugh. It was not a comforting laugh either. I asked her to calm down and tell me what’s happened, as I’m getting a little scared now thinking that someone’s been hurt. After a few more, “Oh my god oh my god’s” she said, in a shaky voice, “The girls have cut their hair.” At that point I just laugh a little, not believing, and ask her to repeat that, just to make sure I understand. “The girls got a pair of scissors and have cut each other’s hair. Kate is almost bald and Emma has a mullet.” Preparing for the worst, I close-up shop and go home, all the while picturing Kate with literally no hair, basically clean shaven.

When I get home Nathan is outside walking toward the car while Kristin is in the doorway hollering for him to stay in sight and trying to find two pairs of shoes, one for each girl. It seems all either of us are ever able to find are left shoes of one kind and right shoes of another, it seems like a small miracle when we walk into a room and find a complete set for each child. When Kristin sees me drive up she yells for me to change clothes (from work clothes to regular) and help get the girls out the door. Since Kristin is in the doorway I haven’t seen the girls or their heads and hair (or lack there of) yet. As soon as I get out of the car I see this cute little boy walk around the corner of the house… then I realize it isn’t a cute little boy at all, it’s Emma. “Emma was the one that was suppose to have a little hair left,” I thought to myself, “what in the world is Kate going to look like?” I soon found out, and luckily it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had thought. Seems like they each decided to get rid of their bangs, so they cut each others bangs down to the scalp. Next, they went for those “annoying” curls that had grown down between their shoulder blades. Then, finally, they got those “pesky” little wisps of hair that normally would be tucked behind their ears.

As soon as I got dressed we all pile in the car and were off toward the barbershop. Kelly (Kristin’s best friend who happened to walk in on the tumultuous scene) called ahead to a friend who is a hair stylist and warned her that we would be dropping by in a minute with a hair emergency. When we make our grand entrance to the barbershop everyone just stopped what he or she was doing (it almost seemed they were in mid-clip of their scissors) to look at us. The conversation lulled and then suddenly seemed to center on our hairless children or similar situations the speakers’ family members had been in. After Teddy (the stylist) had laughed herself silly and done the best she could do for the girls (which had been just evening things out) she cut Nathan and Kristin’s hair as well. When that was done we were off to the mall to get the girls ears pierced so the casual observer could tell that these were girls with awful haircuts, not boys wearing pink, flowered shirts and pastel blue jelly sandals.

When we got to the mall Nathan didn’t want to stand around with the women while they did their ear thing, so he and I went walking around the jewelry stores looking at opals (which are my favorite precious stone) for mommy, or camera stores, or any store in general to waste time. Nathan told me he wanted “bellies” meaning Jelly Belly Jellybeans, so our next stop was the candy store. Not being in the mall for the past two years I didn’t know where the candy store had moved. Nathan and I walked from one end of the mall to the other and still didn’t find it. We go back to where the girls are having their procedure done and find out that all that is left is Kate’s left ear everyone else was already done. When we get close to the piercing booth Nathan runs off to be with Kelly and I get to see Kate finishing up. Kate amazed everyone, even the lady running the booth, because she didn’t whimper, cry, or fuss. She just sat there, got her ears pierced, and got a sucker.

We spent the next 30-40 minutes trying to decide where to go for dinner. We ended up going to IHOP. While at IHOP it was the usual diner chaos. The children were going from seat to seat, not wanting to be still. Once they agreed to sit (after the drinks came and they could lay claim to something) they fought over the menus. When the waitress finally came back to take our order we all got something different and substituted every other item for something else, just to make it “exciting” for her. In the middle of ordering the girls had to show off their new “pretty-pretties” in their ears. As soon as the nice, and now abused, waitress left the table Kate proceeded to spill Emma’s drink without Emma noticing. The next time we saw the waitress was when we got a refill with our food, we probably scared the poor woman sterile. Nathan eats all the fruit off the top of his pancake and now tells every in the general vicinity that he is done. When asked if he was going to eat the pancake he grabs the closest jar of syrup and starts to glaze it. The girls are now fighting over how many eggs they have and who ate their pancakes, not to mention that Emma just noticed her drink is empty. Next thing we know, Nathan has filled his plate to the brim with several kinds of syrup and is sloshing his pancake around trying to build a dam to keep a “lake” of syrup from mixing with the rest. Everyone at the table is sticky (even the adults) in places where syrup should never be and we are now making group trips to the bathroom to have a quick shower from the sink and pat-down with paper towels.

Thank goodness, the children fell asleep on the way home from the restaurant. They are fairly easy to put in their beds this time. Once they are down Kristin and I have nothing left to do but laugh at the situation. Sure, everyone has a story about children with scissors; either they’ve done it themselves as children (or in my case as an adult) or their children have done it or a friend’s aunt’s roommate’s daughter did it, but it’s still a little crazy to come home and be greeted by children after they’ve played barbershop with their own hair. I have three children, all with the same amount of hair, that look just alike; the only visible differences between Nathan and the girls, now, are the earrings and the fact that the girls are a bit shorter. Like my mother said, “Don’t worry, in time it will be alright, the hair will grow back.” So, no worries, it will all turn out ok, given some time.

May 11 … how to swim

Swimming: Wading into any body of water you should do so with a style and grace that all around you have to watch in case they dare to venture into the water with you. You dip your big toe to get a general gauge of the water temperature. If that was satisfactory you then get both feet wet by sitting on the side of the pool or walking in up to your ankles. Again, if this is meets your need (be it cold enough or warm enough) it is customary to slowly wade in until your belly button is directly above the crest of the highest wave. Once accustomed to the temperature you are then allowed (by the social mores and norms that is) to do a squat and get everything but your head wet, you are not allowed, under any circumstances, to go into the deep waters yet. Still in shallow waters you may then dunk your head. If all this has come about without incident you are finally allowed to swim to deeper waters.

The above is a step-by-step guide to getting into a swimming pool or the ocean (written by me of course) that should all be thrown away when kids are brought into the picture. Children don’t understand that you are not supposed to do a full body immersion. It’s just wrong! You need to get into a pool slowly to let your body get use to the sudden change of atmosphere and temperature.

This past weekend my In-Laws opened their pool. It didn’t come with a big fan-fare so that the whole neighborhood would know about it, it was just a little gathering of the family and if anyone dared they may get in the cold cold water. Well, children being what they are, mine were the first to announce they wanted to get in the water. My In-Laws had swimmy diapers for the girls and Nathan just jumped on in with underwear and jean shorts. They all had inflatable tubes since they don’t officially know how to swim on their own yet.

That first day in the pool Nathan was swimming from edge to edge having a blast splashing the walls and everyone who got near him. Kate was too, but to a lesser extent and slower. Emma got in up to her knees but that was as far as she cared to go. Every time you got her near the water she would start fussing and eventually screaming. Not wanting to scar her for life I decided not to force it. I, being fully clothed, did not want to get in the water but, after persistence from family members, I finally put my feet in. Kate thought it would be fun to splash the water up my legs and Nathan thought it would be even more fun to get my pants wet; well… at least they enjoyed it. Meanwhile Emma was walking around picking up various leaves, twigs, or dead bugs and trying to throw them into the water. I say try because the wind was blowing against her and my Father-In-Law was standing near by picking up everything that did eventually make it to the water.

The next day my Mother-In-Law called me over because one of our friends brought his daughter over to swim. I got all the children in their swimsuits and herded them on over. Nathan jumped in as soon as he was able to wrench out of my grasp and get a float. The girls took a little more persuading and maneuvering to finish getting into their suits and then into a float. Once they were in their floats, which look like fish (and they call all fish and anything water-related “Nemo’s”), they both jumped in. This time it was almost the exact opposite. Emma was the one that was slowly, but surely, going from side to side, and Kate was the one who didn’t really want to get in the pool. After getting in myself (much to the chagrin of my skin as well as other anatomies since the water was again cold) I was able to convince her that the water wasn’t all that bad. I had to go directly to step three (the belly button one) and had no real desire to go any further. That is, until Nathan took it upon himself to swim behind me and splash water in the small of my back. Since Kate was grasping both my hands in a death grip I couldn’t turn around as quickly as need be and Nathan kept on splashing me, thinking it hilarious. With his laughter being as infectious as it is (worse then the common Cold) I couldn’t get upset with him, but I didn’t want the nasty, almost electric shock of the water hitting my nice warm back. Instead of fighting it I decided to do a full body immersion. Since I was in under my head I decided to play with everyone’s feet under the water, much to their enjoyment.

We spent the next hour and a half just swimming from shallow-to-deep and from side-to-side. I’d go underwater and tickle feet, jump up and splash everyone, or just swim under them and let them stand on my back like a surfboard. Kate and Emma were just floating around flailing their arms and kicking their feet, not really swimming, but just enjoying being outdoors and in the sunlight. Every now and then I would look around and see Kate, or Emma, lay her head on the fish-float’s tail. I would keep looking at her, without her noticing me, and see her smooth the hair out of her face and back over her ears. Emma in particular would do this and get frustrated that the hair, being wet, wouldn’t move as easily as it should. I caught my Mother-In-Law looking at her too and we both thought “Glamour Girl” at the same time. It was just the way she was trying to throw her hair over her shoulder, I don’t know, it was just glamorous. It was almost like she was 20-something and was on a beach trying to get a tan and get the guy’s attentions.

Next on the list of things to do was to start getting out of the pool and jumping in. First Kate climbed up the steps and then walked over to the side closest to me. Once there she asked for my hands. As soon as she got my hands she did a little hop-skip thing and landed in the water in her float laughing hysterically. Emma, seeing sissy do this, immediately climbed the steps and asked to do the same thing. Kate grew tired of this after about the 7th or 8th jump, but Emma kept on. Not only did she keep on jumping in, but she grew more daring. She started going towards the deep end and then she did her last 5 or 6 jumps from the very middle of the deep end, I could hardly touch the bottom. Every time either of them jumped in they laughed and laughed until they got back to the steps and had to concentrate on climbing them again.

Nathan, meanwhile, was still swimming around splashing anything that wouldn’t move fast enough for him. About 30 minutes before I made everyone get out of the pool (yes, I’m an evil dictator and eventually made them get out) he took the initiative to take his tube off and go around the whole pool just by holding on to the side and going hand-over-hand. Grinning widely when he finally made it around he asked if I’d seen what he had done. I did, commended him for it, and asked for him now to go in the other direction, which he gladly did. When he was about 75% of the way around Emma was holding onto the side and in his way. Being stubborn like me, neither of them would get out of each other’s way, nor would they falter in their direction. After a brief shouting match I picked Nathan’s hand and, since he’s got longer arms, showed him how he could go through his sister’s hands and on to the other side. Once that crisis was over and everyone had made their laps was when I started getting everyone out.

While we were getting out, Kate raised her hands straight up into the air. That’s fine and good, except she wasn’t on the steps; she was still a little ways off. When she raised her hands she started to slip out from under her float and into the water. I can still see her face going under: her eyes wide, mouth closed, bubbles coming out of her nose and trapped behind her ears, hair floating around in little swirls. Nathan was on the steps and Emma was already out and complaining about it, so I had to quickly fall to my knees on the cement and plunge my hands into the water to pull her out. When I got her out she didn’t seem to be upset, she didn’t even cry. She gave me a smile and a little wet cough and started complaining about wanting to go back in the water with her brother and sister.

That one second of time when she went under the water will stay in my mind for a long long time. I’m glad she wasn’t harmed and I’m glad she isn’t scared of the water; she actually got in another pool the next day at my Mother’s house. I can’t imagine going through life with just one daughter. I can’t imagine how Emma would feel knowing her sister and then have her taken from her like that. That one second made my heart turn colder then the water ever was and then made it jump up in my throat, then turn around and do a belly-flop in my stomach. As soon as I got her out I hugged her to me, even though she was pushing me away trying to get back to the water. I kissed her wet head and patted her back to make sure she coughed up all the water I had imagined she inhaled. The only thing she seemed worried about, though, was her “Nemo” float.

Everything is as it should be: Kate is running around with no lasting effects, fighting with sister, getting into brother’s things, asking for snacks when she knows she can’t have them, and squashing cats to show them how much she loves them; Emma is running around hitting sister, playing with toys, climbing to the top of brother’s bunk bed, and carrying cats around the house; Nathan is jumping on all the furniture, hitting everyone with various toys (unhappy parents included), asking for snacks every few minutes (I hear this gets worse in the teenage years), and wanting to watch Cartoon Network. It’s funny how when you are little it’s the physical things that you want the most: the biggest bike, the coolest action figure, and the brightest stickers. Now all I want is a little more time: a little more time to play with the children, a little more time to sleep, a little more time to myself, or a little more time to just sit and watch life pass me by while Kristin and the children play in the yard.