DadaMama

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved

Last Wednesday I arrived home late in the evening, around bedtime, fresh from the job fair for teachers whose contracts have not been renewed. I was happy with myself and feeling content after picking up dinner at Chic-Fil-A (health food!). My chances of getting a job, I thought, are good.

But Dashing Husband greeted me with sad news--his paternal grandfather had suffered a heart attack and was dying. We have to go, he said. We have to go tonight. I packed while he carted the dogs off to a friend's house (thank you, Lorena!) and the children gorged themselves on Spongebob. Dashing Husband was worried and drawn. It was late; we were all tired.

We arrived in town at midnight.  The children were asleep, despite the novelty of going for a car ride after dark in their pajamas. We'd be staying with Dashing Husband's parents; the kids call them Nanny and Grand-daddy. We unloaded the car and put the kids to bed. For once they did not argue.

Dashing Husband shared his fears with me over cold slices of pizza at his mom's kitchen table. Grandpa hasn't been doing well this past year, he said. Maybe it's his time. I wanted to be supportive, but always feel helpless in the face of my husband's tears. I'm sorry, I said. Over and over, hoping to smooth the kinks in his heart, the lines on his face. Wishing I could make it all go away.

The next morning I stayed with the kids. Dashing Husband went to the hospital. Grandpa was not going to make it. He's old and frail, said Dashing Husband. It's his time. Knowing this did not make it any easier to let go of this man he'd known his whole life. I'm sorry, I said. And Dashing Husband replied, It's not your fault. Not that it was anyone's.

Last night we went to the beach at sunset. The children ran off into the surf, giggling, and it struck me that in the midst of a life that was ending, many others were only beginning. How? I thought. How does the sun continue to rise? The tide to come in and go out again? There is something healing about the sea, something big and constant, but full of tiny miracles.

These are long thoughts to have in the presence of small children--one cannot sustain them long around such wild abandon. They were splashing, running, shrieking. Then my niece found a tiny starfish, all burnt sienna and curling arms in the palm of her hand. Then she found another. And another.

Tiny miracles.

Grandpa died last night. I don't know what time it happened, only that the previous day he'd been disconnected from his ventilator and finally slipped away. Peacefully. We're grateful for that, and grateful that he is no longer the prisoner of a body that's failing him. He will be missed. I didn't know him well, but my husband's grief is mine as well. It hurts to see him hurt.

In Which She Jumps, Even Though There Isn't a Net

It turns out I don't have a job to go back to next year. The principal of the high school I was employed at called this morning (incidentally, right after I got back from a walk that left me feeling great about everything) and informed me that due to state budget cuts, he was letting 19--NINETEEN--teachers go, and I happen to be one of them. Nothing personal, of course, it's just that I teach ESE and I'm not tenured.

This is the part of the story where I thank my home state of Florida for the staggering budget cuts made to education, and for the big middle finger F-U this state gives ESE teachers and students in general.

My new plan for next fall is to find a new job at another school, if at all possible. Of course, this brings up the possibility that no new job may be available. Interestingly, this thought does not give me ulcers.

Anyone want to hire a teacher? 

Another Day, Another Fever

Last night, Dashing Husband and I saw The Mythbusters LIVE. I love those guys. A highlight of the evening was watching unreleased footage of Adam, lighting his farts on fire. For research. Why Discovery didn't
want to air it I will never know.

This afternoon the school called me to come get Will, because of his 102 degree fever. The child has been healthy for ONE WEEK. It's one of two things: asthma or foot-and-mouth. I hope it's not the latter, though it's possible because some other kid at the school has had the virus recently. Our house is really just a giant petri dish, after all.

I had to peel Gus off of me at the preschool field trip this morning. Apparently he has abandonment issues. That, or the school is secretly a medieval dungeon. Either way, I guess I should start saving for therapy. One of us is bound to need it.

Cheers!

Oops

Remember when I said that I totally have this single parenting thing in the bag? I may have spoken out of turn, as it appears I inadvertently fed the children moldy cheese for dinner. Yay me! What makes this okay? Gus and I are saving the moldy cheese heel so we can watch it decay further. Yay science!

Gus and Will are (still) sick, so it's back to the pediatrician for us tomorrow. The creeping green slime will not leave us, no matter how many chickens we sacrifice or saints we bury in the yard. I was supposed to chaperone the preschool field trip to see Beauty and the Beast at the performing arts center tomorrow, but this is sadly not to be. I'm out $7 for the privilege, too.

This is the part in this rambling blog post where I send a shout out and a big thank you to Aunt Jacqui for giving Gus E. coli this weekend. He's tucked it safely into bed in the place of honor (between Gus and White Blanket), along with Mad Cow Disease and The Common Cold. What? E. coli was a birthday present. Don't all five-year-olds want a cuddly little bacteria to keep them warm at night?

Also, this is what Gus said to me when I tucked him in this evening: "Mom, no matter what feelings I have, if I'm mad or sad or bad or happy, I always love you the best, and I always love Dad the best."

I'm beginning to think that little boys are magical.

How Long Can I Blame Superbaby For This?

For the lack of posting? Because it's totally his fault.

Okay, not really. I do spend a disproportionate amount of time gnawing on his delicious cheeks, but in all fairness, he's a good baby. A perfect baby. A genius baby, obviously, seeing as how he's only four weeks old and already smiling at me. Also? He smells like apricots. I wish I had Smell-o-Vision so you could smell him, too.

We could blame my oldest child. He turns five next week. For real. Let's get past the fact that I can hardly believe he'll be five, and instead engage in a little navel gazing.

What the hell is wrong with him?!

Over the last couple of weeks, he's decided that kicking people and dogs is an awesome way to get some attention. I thought we'd entered a period of relatively good and normal behavior, but now I'm not so sure. He's the only child of mine I wish I had instructions for. I think I've bought, like, 12 parenting books this year, in the hopes of working out some plan, some system, that will help him be the boy I know he is. There is no other child like him on earth. Surely we are starting anew with this one.

If I had more brains, I could offer you more details. That, however, is not looking good in the near future (the re-getting of the brains that I have misplaced). Dashing Husband is off on a business trip this week as well, so I'm doing the solo-parent gig until next Friday. I'm kind a of a rock star, though, and totally have this in the bag. I'll just pretend that my oldest child doesn't often reduce me to tears with his confounding behavior.

Happy Friday!

Updates!

Will has ... pneumonia. Which means another round of antibiotics, and even more albuterol. Oh, and a recheck at the doctor's office tomorrow. I must say that he was terribly brave during the x-ray process, and didn't cry even though he was clearly terrified. His mother (who is a sucker) rewarded him with a shiny new Lightning McQueen for his efforts.

                                                                                               ***

But the really big news is this: Superbaby will be joining us early on Wednesday morning. The OB took pity on my constant cramping and sciatic nerve pain and suggested that moving the c-section up a few days would be ok. It has yet to sink in that in less than 48 hours I will be the mother of three boys. I'll get back to you on that.

Sigh

This morning I'm taking Will to get a chest x-ray. It seems five days of steroids and antibiotics, plus at least seven days of albuterol (every four hours) is doing precisely ... nothing.

My Children, They're Trying to Kill Me

Why else would they both have green slime oozing from their noses? Why else would the oldest one run a fever and also persist with the hacking cough? But most of all, why else would they get me out of bed at 5:30 this morning?

It's that last one that's really killing me. Want to hear something funny? Newborns wake up every couple of hours. There's one coming to my house in a couple of weeks. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ... ahem.

Excuse me, I have to go look for my eyeballs. They just fell out of my head.

"Today is a new day," said Chicken Little.

My back still hurts. It's weird to stand up and attempt to straighten your spine but not succeed. I now feel as if I'm walking with my chest and stomach thrust forward as ballast for my butt, which I cannot tuck in as usual.

I will ask the doctor for better drugs this afternoon. Superbaby will have to deal.

Other things on my mind today:

1. Instead of going on with life as usual, Heath Ledger is on the autopsy table. He never struck me as one of the celebrities we'd hear about overdosing on anything. Of course, it's not like I knew him. We forget, in this country, that a few movies and some arbitrary interviews do not a relationship make. I am sad for his little daughter, who has lost her father at the tender age of two.

2. I am beginning to feel more and more like a bloated, exhausted whale. I'm entering the hibernation phase of this pregnancy, and God help me, all I want to do is sleep. Sleep, and drink Ruby Red grapefruit juice and Sonic watermelon slushes. I have my 33-week appointment today, which means we're 5.5 weeks from A BABY.

Holy crap, someone is going to hand me a baby when this is all over.

3. My hair looks fabulous. I'm enjoying it while it lasts, because I know as soon as Superbaby is born, it's going to start falling out in handfuls and I'll have to cut it all off again.

4. In 30 minutes, my little sister will know if her baby is a boy or a girl. I am pretty excited about this. Mind you, if she finds out it's a boy, that means we'll have 5 boys between the two of us. Let's not dwell on the implications of that now.

5. I can't wait until it's time to stop coming to work, because it means I can wear my yoga pants every day. I love my yoga pants. They don't squeeze Superbaby.

Anyway, lunch is over. Time to make the donuts.

Back to Work, Ho Hum ...

Wow, coming back to work after eighteen days off feels like a really cruel joke. The good news? I'm down to my last four weeks before maternity leave begins. Superbaby is scheduled to be born on March 3rd, and I have a lot to do before then if the kid has any hope of sleeping in his own bedroom. For those of you keeping score at home, March 3rd is a mere 8 weeks away. I know from experience that this is going to fly by.

What's weird is that I keep forgetting we're having another baby. There is so much else going on in my life these days that I haven't had much time to think about the ramifications of bringing home another boy child. But then I try to roll over or bend down to tie my shoes and I remember why I keep getting jabbed in the ribcage. I am hopelessly exhausted at all times.

Here is the list of things that must be accomplished before Superbaby comes:

1. Rent a steam cleaner and clean the carpets.

2. Buy the paint I picked out and paint the baby's room.

3. Stain the rocking chair that is going in the baby's room. Purchase a footstool that I can stain to match.

4. Pick out and purchase a stroller.

5. Somehow wedge a third carseat into the back seat of the Prius.

6. Baby laundry!

7. Remodel baby's room closet so that it actually holds stuff.

8. Find and paint a dresser for baby's room.

9. Assemble the crib.

10. Order the decals that will decorate the walls in the baby's room.

11. Buy rug, lamp, and toy storage for baby's room.

12. Attempt to assemble some frozen meals for after the baby is born.

13. Spend some quality time with my existing children.

14. Go see Sweeney Todd with the husband. Possibly go out to dinner.

15. Make valiant attempt to organize things at work for a long absence.

16. Decide what to give older children for "Big Brother" presents.

17. Take older children shopping so they can pick out presents for Superbaby.

18. Buy nursing bras.

19. Sleep as much as possible.

20. Beat that one level on Super Mario Galaxy that I have been unable to get past.

Wish me luck! This week is going to be busy. I have to take each child to a different doctor (Gus to the  psychologist, Will to the pediatrician) and get the cat to the vet. Fat Leo has somehow managed to injure his eye, and because cats have, like, fourteen eyelids, there is no hope of me figuring out what he's done to it. Hopefully he gets to keep both eyes and we won't have to make pirate jokes at his expense.

Friday night I have plans, and Saturday morning I have to take another certification exam. So I'll get to that to-do list as soon as real life steps out of the way. Right.