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On Wishing True Today: July 3 Wish List
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Category Archives: Big Piece of Cake
Scream of Consiousness
This may be a bit of a ramble since I’m killing time in a waiting room…so bear with me.
A couple of hours ago, I posted this picture to Twitter making a joke about how boring waiting for (well ANYTHING, but in this case) surgery can be; and how kids now have iPads, where my generation had to rely on paper entertainment like Mad Libs.
A couple of reactions I got from friends made me realize that I haven’t actually mentioned Oliver’s surgery today. Ooops! But there are two very good reasons for the omission. The first is that I’ve been kind of preoccupied with life (including this surgery thing) and haven’t had it in me to do any “real” writing. This would account for the heavier focus on my Wishing True page – if you were wondering about that. I’m sure Stephanie was confused when she rushed over to my blog from Twitter to find a post about…jewelry. Sorry Stephanie.
The second reason is that this “surgery” is nothing serious. Oliver has two teeth that need to come out for reasons that are too complicated/snore-inducing to get into here. Something about adult teeth coming in at an angle and crowding or something…honestly, I’m a little hazy on the details due to the complicated/snore-inducing situation. Anyway – since my first born insists on being a complicated boy in almost every way, he has to have this done in a hospital instead of the dentist office. I could tell you all about that part, but I’ll keep it brief: he MAY have a condition that would make certain types of anesthesia extremely dangerous (possibly lethal) – so the gas version of general anesthesia isn’t possible for him.
Enter the IV.
Which sounds like a super fun time for pretty much any kid. Right?
Knowing that he wouldn’t be into the idea of having a needle shoved into the top of his hand, the anesthesiologist and I had an elaborate plan that involved doping him up with some cherry flavored syrup first. As explained to me, this would make him kind of loopy and happy, and generally un-phased by things that would typically induce a grand mal seizure. So of course my response to this suggestion was, “can I have some too?”
Sadly – it was going to be a table for one as far as the drugs were concerned. But that’s probably for the best since I then had the herculean task of keeping him from trying to get up and walk around – or worse, trying to rip off the numbing patch that was placed on the top of his hand. Considering the fact that he shredded his hospital bracelet within minutes of having it snapped onto his wrist, I practially had to sit on him for the twenty minutes required for the numbing agent to take effect.
Here is what I discovered about Oliver. When he is doped up on cherry flavored happy syrup, he wants to wrestle! While his delays already make him seem a lot younger than his seven years, THIS version of Oliver brought me back to the toddler years when he needed to be physically restrained from whatever madness he had in mind. Now that he is a 75 lb (SEVENTY FIVE POUND!) boy, trying to keep him from his mission of getting up and removing that annoying patch was more like trying to getting a drunk friend to sit down while you call them a cab. It was a very “gimme my keys, man – I want my keys!” moment.
FINALLY the nurse arrived to insert the IV. But drugs aside, the iPad was the biggest help in distracting Oliver from his hand piercing. We got it from a really sweet twelve year old who told me her job was to help distract children who were waiting for surgery. Okay – so it was a more official title and job description than that…and she was at LEAST fourteen if she was a day…but either way, she was fab.
After that, I spent about 45 minutes making sure Oliver didn’t pick at the IV (because OF COURSE he had to do that) and wondering when exactly our 10:00 a.m. surgery would actually begin. By 11:00, I was starting to loose steam, and Oliver’s happy drugs were wearing off.
When our surgeon did appear with the expected apologies for her previous surgery running over time, I was happy to get off Oliver’s hospital bed to sign some forms. And like a dummy I decided that this would be the perfect time to take a break from my IV vigil and check e-mail/Twitter. Starting with Twitter, I noticed that a couple of people expressed concern for Oliver (see above). So I started to type a quick reply that all was well – nothing serious going on.
This would be the moment that Oliver chose to rip out his IV.
After I spent an hour of hanging off the side of his hosptial bed, watching his every movement, lest he do something to his IV, he actually removed the whole damn thing. I saw the spurt of blood and immediately felt like a little girl who just watched her ice cream scoop slide off the cone and onto the pavement.
No tears though. Just defeated, annoyance for the very nice staff who had no control over the fact that we waited SO LONG for this damn surgery because if they started even just 30 or 45 minutes late, he probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull out his IV and I wouldn’t be feeling like I lost my ice cream cone to gravity…. SO frustrating. It made me want to scream. Instead I silently seethed. And visibly sulked.
I just wanted to make this as easy on Oliver as possible. And my efforts ended up being a big waste of time. I hate that. Even though this kind of describes life in general much of the time… It still makes me crazy.
So I watched them wheel IV-less Oliver and his iPad into the OR where they would just hold my terrified son down to re-insert the spike and try to pump anesthesia into him as quickly as possible. I could only hope that the twelve year old was able to distract him with puppets or something.
Seriously – I’m sure it was fine. Oliver is a trooper. But two hours later in the waiting room, I’m still a little pissed about it.
Also – the phone reception here is terrible! Thank god I was able to find a sketchy internet connection.
Still waiting, I decided to go get a coffee and find a restroom. The former being exceedingly less confusing than the latter. The restroom for this “family waiting area” is a one at a time kid of deal and the two people ahead of me both took approximately five hour-long turns. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what they were doing in there. Even the second guy who was holding a toddler, would have to change at least 5 diapers to justify the length of his stay. In the end, I had to go to another floor. This was a blessing in disguise since I discovered en route, that my texts to Chris finally went through.
I also got to stretch my legs and do some people watching. Hospitals provide great people watching opportunities, you know.
The noise in the cafeteria was overwhelming so I just strolled the hallways for a bit. I talked to a woman pushing a cart with not one, but two zithers. Now THAT is something you don’t see every day. Just to make sure, I asked her if they were in fact, zithers. She said yes and that was the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone who wasn’t in scrubs since 7:00 a.m.
*****
We are now in recovery!
Oliver is still out of it but his procedures went well. Teeth are extracted, spacers are inserted, and various small cavities (cringe) are filled. I’m just waiting for him to wake up.
In the meantime, I learned a few things.
First, it wasn’t two bottom molars they removed, but two top molars. I could have sworn she said bottom teeth…mother of the year!
Also – not eating anything in the morning before your child’s surgery out of solidarity (or fear that they’ll see you eating and demand food) and then not eating at the cafeteria because it’s crowded and smells funny will make you feel like a complete idiot when you are sitting in recovery at 3:00 p.m. thinking you might pass out from hunger.
Finally – the twelve year old who gave Oliver the iPad is a “Child Life Specialist.” And she’s not really twelve. But I already knew that. I’m just 40 and think anyone under the age of 25 looks like they should be selling girl scout cookies.
Oh – cookies… Hopefully we’ll get out of here soon. I’m starving.
More than anything I am grateful that my babies are all healthy. Seeing other children waiting for their own surgeries, hearing their cries as they come out of their anesthesia sleep… I don’t know how many of these kids are here for serious reasons or routine procedures like Oliver. But my heart goes out to the babies here who are suffering and the mothers and fathers who suffer with them. It’s a scary job, this parenting thing.
Oliver is waking up now. Much love to you and yours.
Jewelry is Easy – Writing is Hard
At least right now… I’m experiencing a little writer’s block. And the few post ideas that I could have banged out a week or two ago are just sitting in my brain feeling confused about how they got there and why they are holding a Barbie doll (okay that’s more like what happens to me when I find myself in the bathroom – holding a Barbie doll – with no memory of what I’m doing there).
ANYWAY! I can still peruse pretty stuff on the Internet so visit me at Wishing True today to hear more about this:
Hopefully the words will stop hiding from me soon!
On Wishing True Today: June 18 Wish List
Details HERE!
You Still Have Me
The other day, my friend confirmed a recent suspicion of mine: the fireflies I remember so vividly from my childhood are gone.
I close my eyes and think back to summer nights that started after 8:00 p.m. The flashes would begin at dusk – just intermittent winks of light. I’d catch the tail end of one in my peripheral vision and then begin to search in earnest. By full dark, trees and bushes would glow with the seemingly never-ending sparks.
At what time of night did the light displays end? Do you remember? I was always tucked into bed long before that discovery was possible. But not too early to miss catching several in my own cupped hands. They would tickle my palms as I peeked through finger cracks, eagerly waiting for the glow.
Some kids liked to imprison their prey in jars. Glass cells where the poor things inevitably perished if not set free after bedtime by thoughtful parents. But I preferred to slowly unclasp fingers and then track the progress of my firefly’s escape back into the night – counting flashes until they blended with the rest.
For me, it was better than wishing on stars. More tangible. Of this earth – this world that was mine to roam until called inside.
But at some point between then and now, I stopped looking for the fireflies. And in my absence, they disappeared.
Apparently pesticides have slowly killed them off over the years. Where there were once hundreds – maybe thousands – there are now just a handful. The few pin pricks of light in the dark are a mere echo of their once brilliant past. And this makes me sad.
I loved fireflies.
It was my children who instigated this realization. I wanted them to see fireflies and catch them on summer evenings with me. Years passed, and I assumed that we just went inside too early or that I got busy and forgot to look. I guess not.
Happy childhood memories have always evoked feelings of security for me. I assume for all of us, really. And I think that this is what I find most disturbing about the loss of firefly nights. It’s such a clear reflection of how insecure I feel in the world right now.
I’m not saying that life was perfect when I was little. In fact, there were some very dark and scary times that I’m lucky enough to not quite remember. But the world can be as beautiful as it is terrible, and children are adept at finding light in the darkness. For them, the future is full of potential and hope is a given.
Then we leave childhood behind. And the arduous process of growing up is all consuming. Moments of wonder are lost in the shuffle of expected achievement and increasing responsibility. At least, this is what happened to me.
But now I’m old enough to slow down a bit. And here I am, remembering childhood through my own children. Looking for lost fireflies.
What I’ve discovered is that the future doesn’t stretch are far as it used to. And beauty is more easily made than found. And when you’re surrounded by soul crushing sadness and disappointment, it’s hard to find the motivation for beauty-making.
The truth is, as fortunate as I am to have wonderful people in my life – people I can call both friends and family – so many of them are suffering. Horrible, unthinkable things are happening to these people I love. Addiction, mental illness, unemployment, infirmity, financial ruin, death… And there is nothing I can do to help them.
I don’t have money or connections. I don’t have power or influence. I’m not even that much of a hugger. My heart bleeds for all that I cannot give.
And I’m not exempt. Who is? We all harbor our share of worries and heartbreak. I have of yet to meet anyone who leads a life untouched by shadows. Dusk comes earlier for some than others, but it’s impossible to live an entire life without some very dark nights.
Someone I love is suffering more than I can possibly imagine. I’ve known her my whole life and shared terrible secrets with her. We considered ourselves to be survivors, and at one time thought acknowledging the ugly past would earn us a better future.
This has not proved true for her. She has to face several of the awful problems listed above. And she deserves none of it. I’ve never known anyone work harder to make life better – to do the right thing. And I am reeling from the injustice of her current reality.
The worst of it for me is the helplessness I feel. I literally cannot help. I can’t cure addiction or mental illness. I can’t heal people. I have no money to pay for…anything. I have nothing to offer.
Except maybe one thing. I have an unparalleled talent for dissociation. I can actually ignore the worst that this terrible-beautiful world throws at me. I look through it. Past it. I don’t accept it.
I have hope.
I know. That sounds like complete crap in the face of an impossible situation. But I also know that this irrational assumption that things will get better – that things have to get better – is what has carried me through some of the worst times of my life.
I was born in late April, and I am true to my birth sign. I am a child of the earth. I may not burn bright; but I am sure and steadfast. I don’t fly free; but I dig in my heels and I hold my ground. I don’t flow effortlessly into emotional relationships; but once planted, I am not easily uprooted.
You can count on me. I stay put. And if necessary, I can will good things to happen. At the very least, I’ll try.
I still believe in that. Call it faith, call it the power of positive thinking or call it magic – but I will do it. I will make this world better for the people I love, even if all I can give them is myself.
And maybe that can be enough. Maybe it just has to be.
I brought children into this life, and I’d be damned if I let it fail them. They deserve better than hard work for no pay. They deserve delusions of invincibility and gentle reality checks. They deserve frivolity and irreverence. They deserve long summer nights full of twinkling insect magic. And I will do everything in my power to give this to them.
I will give them firefly nights.
And tonight I did. We walked home from a friend’s house and found a stretch of grass where several sparks lit the darkening shadows. It may not have been the hundreds or thousands of fairy lights from my own childhood, but three new, shiny souls exclaimed in wonder and giggled and capered. They chased and captured and marveled. They held a glow between their palms and set it free.
It was nothing like what I remember, but it was enough. And where I might lament the diminished brilliance, they will only remember the intoxicating magic.
I miss the innocence of youth. The expectation of better things to come in the future. The belief that anything is possible. I miss summer nights when sparkling constellations of firefly lights challenged the stars in the sky.
But I understand that this happens to everyone. It’s part of growing up – growing old. We have to let go of the past and embrace the future. We have to accept that life isn’t fair. We have to be there for the people we love and offer whatever we have to give, no matter how meager.
All we can do is remember the brilliant past and let it inspire us to hope.
Each one of us has our share of demons to battle. And we all have loved ones to champion. We fight the good fight, and we fight to win. There is beauty in that. And I, for one am honored to do my part for the people I love. For my own children. For myself.
So that is what I have to offer. It can never be enough, but it will have to be enough – simply because it is all I have to give.
The fireflies may be harder to find these days, but I’m still here.
I will always be right here.
No matter what you have lost. You still have me.
On Wishing True Today: June 11 Wish List
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Today on Wishing True: Cuff Bracelets That Sparkle
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Having a Dog is like Having a Baby!
NO – I am not comparing my dog to your baby. I’ve had three of my own babies and I’m not even a “dog person” (or much of an animal lover, truth be told). So you will never hear me chiming in on your potty training complaints with stories about my dog’s recent regression and the resulting carpet cleaning bills.
Please.
I’m just saying is that this whole puppy thing seems all too familiar for someone who hasn’t owned a dog since the ’80s. Every day brings a new moment of déjà vu. Because there are so many parallels to my not so distant past with babies and toddlers.
So of course I made a list:
Things That New Dog Owners Can Expect to Have in Common With New Parents
- You will get inordinately excited about your puppy’s poop and pee being deposited in the appropriate places. Rewards will be involved.
- You will actually have serious conversations about your puppy’s poop and pee. Often.
- You won’t be able to take your puppy for a walk without being stopped by at least one stranger who wants to talk to you about about your puppy.
- You will get a wealth of unsolicited advice from these strangers (some helpful – some not) about the best way to raise your puppy. This covers discipline, schedules, co-sleeping, breastfeeding…
*OHMYGOD I’m totally kidding about the breastfeeding. And while we’re at it, I would like to invite all new dog owners to join me in a moment of silent gratitude for the fact that this is ONE issue we do not have in common with new parents. - You will find yourself feeling shamefully smug about how much cuter and/or more well behaved your puppy is than other puppies you see.
- You will find yourself feeling horribly embarrassed by how much more poorly behaved your puppy is than other puppies you see.
- You will ALWAYS think your puppy is cuter than the other puppies (of course!)
- You will have a difficult time finding people who are willing and/or able to watch your puppy so you can go on vacation.
- You will no longer be able to afford vacations (puppies are expensive!)
- You will have a hard time remembering what life was like without your puppy.
And I have a bonus #11 for the stay at home moms out there who have a puppy because their working partner desperately wanted a dog and agreed to be 100% in charge of all things dog-related when not at work: YOU will still be the one to get up early on weekend mornings to walk the puppy and YOU will be in charge of figuring out how to best dispose of the rancid little poo bags that your puppy produces.
Enjoy!
But seriously – puppies are super. Most of the time. At least 50%…
The (Real) Return of Wishing True!
I know… You probably have no idea what I’m talking about.
A few years ago, I started a blog called Wishing True where I posted “pretty things.” Last spring, I lost momentum and took a break from it…then decided to add it as a page to The Big Piece of Cake. THEN I attempted to start posting again at the end of 2011. Then the holidays happened. Then Listen to Your Mother… But I think I’m finally ready to put it back in the weekly rotation.
Every day I see something that I want (and usually cannot have). Don’t you? Mine are generally of the bright shiny object variety, and you can find my “finds” on Wishing True. Here is what’s on offer today:
You’ll have to visit me there, to see full details on the shops/artists.
While I’m still working out how often I’ll be posting at Wishing True, I’m committing to a “Wish List” every Monday (I know – a weekly FEATURE no less! Crazy…) Help me stay strong – oh the structure…I already feel the walls closing in…
And feel free to send me links to some of your own wish list items. I’d love to see them!
So I have this idea…
…and it’s totally ridiculous. Okay – maybe just 60% ridiculous. For me. For someone else it would only be 30% ridiculous. BUT for others it could be like 99% ridiculous (I can’t damn someone to 100% ridiculous – I mean I’m not DEAD inside). So I’m not too far gone for this semi-ridiculous idea.
I want to reinvent myself.
Of course, I’ve been talking about this long enough that it’s not exactly news. Or maybe I’ve just been talking to the voices in my head (who incidentally, are super negative sometimes and totally gave me a 90% ridiculous…they better start paying rent soon, or I may have to evict them for good!)
Either way – I know I’ve at least mentioned that I feel like I took several wrong turns when it comes to career and finding my true calling. And that’s okay. I can’t have any serious regrets since I am a VERY lucky girl right now. I have a wonderful family (including a new dog who is only 30% annoying and 25% gross – but she IS a dog for goodness sake) and exceptional friends. And I live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood and have found fantastic services and teachers for my special needs son (who is 100% miraculous). So if I’m a little late to the party career-wise, I think I’ll survive.
But the fact remains that I’m no longer young and cute. No one is going to discover me. Any redefining that happens in my life will require hard work. 100% of which will be for me alone. Bottom line, I’m not exactly ingenue material here.
Seriously. I’m 40.
Newly-so in fact. My birthday was April 27th.
Don’t bother scrolling down. There was no “it’s my birthday!” post. I was one week out from Listen to Your Mother DC and so busy updating that website every day, that I never made it over here to put on my birthday girl hat. The confetti packages remain unopened. The party horns silent. I had a lovely day with friends and family, but I didn’t get around to even a quick mention HERE on my personal website (which may actually be blog sacrilege or something…)
So yeah. I’m 40.
Now, I’m not going to make a big deal about how old 40 is. I know it’s not. But it’s different.
Definitely different from turning 30. At 30, I was working and didn’t have kids yet. My life was still all about me. And let’s face it – as much as the twenty-somethings cower in the face of their own fast-approaching decade change, 30 isn’t quite the same as FORTY.
Like I said, the birthday itself was great – as all birthdays should be. Your own little VIP holiday. Pick up some wine at the grocery store and you’re an instant celebrity! “May I see your ID? Well – hey now – HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Loved ones check in to wish you well. Your FaceBook wall posts runneth over. You may even get a present or two. I don’t care about getting older on my birthday. Birthdays are fab.
But then it’s the day after your birthday…
You know that old joke that newly married women make: “Yesterday I was a bride! Now I’m just a wife…” Oh – that shift from YOURBIGSPECIALDAY to every day life. A month ago, it was my fortieth birthday! Now I’m just 40.
And it’s fine. No different from any other age really. Except for the cougar jokes, maybe… They make my head explode. I mean, a “cougar” is an older woman actively seeking the attentions of much younger men. NOT a woman who is 40+ years old. Think about it. Is your mom a cougar? I didn’t think so (and if she is…I’m sorry OR Good for her! or whatever the appropriate response would be).
But cougars aside, my only true aversion to this birthday is that I’m officially in the age group that I always assumed had its shit together. When I think of 40 year old women, I picture established careers whether they are outside of the home or family focused. Forty year old women are supposed to be honing skills and expanding knowledge that they already have.
I’m just starting to wonder what I’m going to be when I grow up.
I have some ideas of what I’d like to be. But how do you start at 40?
I guess I’ll figure it out. I’m feeling pretty confident at the moment. The odds aren’t THAT bad (and will definitely improve when all three of my children are in full time elementary school this fall).
But it will be hard. And I have always preferred easy… Oh well.
I’m not really going anywhere with this. Just felt like putting it out there in black and white. Almost like a dare to myself. Okay old lady. Time to get serious. DO something already – or do MORE.
I really think I can. Reinvent myself, I mean.
And after this self pep talk, I’m feeling like it’s a little less ridiculous. Maybe just 40%.