Just to let you all know that I felt much, much better this morning. Out of an abundance of caution I went nowhere where I could’ve infected anyone, but we did end up going on maybe a 4 mile hike (up and down and up and down — we hadn’t planned on that being so long but we got lost). Then we had ice cream. Then I made an awesome dinner.
It was a good day.
I have a flu. I’m running a temperature of 99.2, slept until 3 pm and generally feel like a dishrag. I don’t think there’s anything dangerous going on, I just feel crappy. I’m really not up to any parenting at all. My husband has felt better in his life too. It’s a gorgeous day and we’re really in no position to enjoy it.
Based on zero evidence, I don’t think this is swine flu. I’m pretty sure it’s not a dangerous flu — it certainly doesn’t feel like the worst one I’ve ever had.
Did I mention I feel crappy? Thane seems a little under the weather too. Grey is cranky because no one will pay attention to him.
Fun!
Grey is still very much processing his grandfather’s death. There’s a certain spot on our commute home that must remind him of Michael, because he often talks about him as we pass it. This was last night’s conversation:
Grey: Mommy, is Papa STILL dead? (Sounding aggrieved that Papa hasn’t gotten over this “dead” thing yet.)
Mommy: Yes Grey, Papa is still dead.
Grey: When he going to stop being dead?
Mommy: Not in this world as we know it, Grey. (Note: I know too much about theology. The less confusing answer is that he isn’t, but I believe in the resurrection and the life everlasting, so I go with confusing.)
Grey: Why he dead?
Mommy: Well, he had lived his life. He was a baby, then he was a boy, then he was a young man, then he was a grownup, then he was an old man. Then he got sick and he died. (Subtext: don’t worry, kiddo. Neither you nor we are going anywhere soon, God willing.)
** pause for thinking **
Grey: I have an idea! (He holds up his finger to show that yes! An idea!)
Grey: We could make a ROBOT Papa!
Mommy: **nearly drives off the road giggling**
If only we could make a Robot Papa, son. You’ll just have to make do with your memories.
Usually at lunch I head across the bridge to daycare. It’s maybe a mile and a half. Four stoplights. It takes longer than you think it should, but I get to daycare in under 10 minutes, spend 15 minutes with the boys and head back. It’s a nice interlude in my day.
On Monday, they closed the bridge for repairs. I can’t really argue. It needed it. The bridge was built in the 1800s and is made out of a metal mesh. You can see under your tires to water — by design. It wobbles when you cross it. It’s hardly confidence-inspiring. It will probably be closed for a month. Right now I have a great view of the construction and there is a very large hole in the approach to the bridge. Your stimulus dollars at work.
This is all well and good, but it makes that trip to daycare longer. This is compounded by the fact that the NEXT bridge up the river is ALSO under construction and has been for ages. This I consider to be bad planning. Finish one first THEN move on to the next bridge.
So what do I do at lunch?
My options are:
1) Walk to daycare. Tempting in the nice weather. Will take longer than the budgeted amount of time.
2) Drive to daycare. I’m trying various alternate routes to see which one is least obnoxious.
3) Use lunch to go check out preschools. This is probably what I should do instead of hanging out with my three year old peeps.
I keep deciding to do one. Then changing my mind. Then changing it again. I have half an hour until it’s time to go, and I still have no idea which one I’m going to do!
I’m working on this query that has so far taken 25 minutes and isn’t done yet. (Which would be why I’m working on it.) I wonder if it will be done before it’s time to go! Working on performance always takes forever because every time you test it, by definition it takes a long time!
UPDATE:
I walked. It was lovely. It’s about 15 minutes each way. (You can still cross the bridge on foot.)
And the query took 38 minutes and 33 seconds. While it was running I rewrote it. It now takes less than three seconds. I could probably file it down further if I spent some time on it.
Thane’s six month doctor’s appointment isn’t until next week, but no one has informed him that he should continue acting like a 5 month old until then. Thane has changed vastly last month to this month. He’s certainly started to move. He’s still trying to put together all the pieces for crawling. I kept encouraging him yesterday, informing him of the 6 month press deadline, but he hasn’t quite gotten to the first crawling stage. Watch this space, though, because it’s not far off. What he is doing is moving by way of rolling, waving his body, and going around and around like the hands of some chubby, cute clock. And oh does he WANT to move.
Which brings us to milestone two: having very strong opinions. One of the milestones in “What to Worry About: The First Year” is objecting when a toy is taken away. Babies don’t notice when they lose a toy. Proto-toddlers do. (The most hilarious/frustrating stage is when they want a toy, you give it to them, they throw it, and then they cry because jeez! They want that toy! Thane’s not there yet, but very close.) As I was taking these pictures I was attempting to coax Thane into sitting unsupported long enough to get some good pictures of it. (He was doing that before I got the camera!) While doing that, he accidentally pushed away his toy and then burst into heartrending wails of despair because his toy! Was gone! WOE!!!!! So chalk that milestone up as accomplished.
Sitting is not quite there yet. If I prop him up, he can sit for a while. He USUALLY is smart enough to fall to the side, into a comfy crawling position, instead of thumping backwards onto the hard floor. He doesn’t seem to really like sitting unsupported much, and will only do so for as long as he has a neat toy in his lap. I think this is 50/50 ability/desire at this point.
Thane has gotten extremely grabby. I thought he was before but now he REALLY is. Anything within the surprisingly large radius is liable to be pulled towards him. Favorites include the cats, his brother’s hair (both brother and cats are very long-suffering), any noses, earrings, and spoons full of peas and/or prunes. The spoon thing is SO FRUSTRATING. The child will be hungry and piteously wailing about how much he’d please like some yummy sweet potatoes, meanwhile his two waving hands are more effective than anti-aircraft artillery about knocking away incoming sweet-potato-projectiles.
We’re still sort of in flux with food. For a while there we cut way back on solids. They went in fantastically. They came out with less ease. Then he got an ear infection, which prompted a nursing strike which threw my production for a loop. Then he got antibiotics which gave him diarrhea (two rs! That’s it!) which meant we could give him solids. Then he recovered from the ear infection and antibiotics and got REALLY HUNGRY and my production isn’t keeping up and I’m not in the habit of giving him that many solids. Also, he would like you to know that he may be hungry, but he isn’t hungry enough to eat peas, thankyouverymuch.
It’s been very interesting to watch my sweet, smily, sunny child develop opinions. Instead of a default of happy, he now sometimes decides he doesn’t like something. Most of the time, what he doesn’t like is sitting still. We still get the 100 watt gummy smiles (no teeth yet!) but he is also showing more frustration.
Happily, one of the things that makes Thane very happy indeed is Big Brother Grey. The love and affection that already passes between the two of them makes my heart gooey. Grey patiently puts up with having his hair pulled. He distracts a fussy Thane with funny faces, goofy voices or silly games, often without my asking. He restores lost toys with cheer. He talks about all the things Thane will do when Thane is a big boy like Grey. He often wants to play family, where there’s a mommy, a daddy, a Grey and a Thane. His animal babies are all named Thane and all treated with tender lovingcare. For his part, Thane rarely looks anywhere else when he can see his brother. (Less than optimal when one is nursing.) Even between tears, Thane will grin at his big brother. You can see the adoration in his deep blue baby eyes for the hero of the nursery. It warms my heart to see it.
I can tell that the next month will bring big changes. There will be sitting and crawling. Perhaps there will be pulling up to standing. There will be throwing and exploring. He may start encountering foods he can serve himself. My baby is turning into a boy. Oh! I will miss the baby! But I will also enjoy the boy.
I called daycare this morning, and the other kid is fine. He got back from Mexico Saturday. So they didn’t bring Swine Flu back. The boys are at daycare and I am at work. I still can’t figure out whether I was totally justified or completely paranoid. I suspect that when this is all said and done it will look like one or the other, but we don’t know yet.
As the economic crisis grows, I’m getting increasingly concerned about hunger — in America and across the world. I can only imagine how devastating it might be to swallow your pride (the only meal of the day) and ask for food help, only to be told there is none.
My church has always had a fantastic team participating in the Walk for Hunger this Sunday. We’ve never done it, but inspired by examples of other young families participating, I thought the Flynns would give it a shot. (The great sacrifice will be just how early it starts in the morning!) Given that one of the participants can’t even crawl, and one of them is three years old and highly distractable, it’s likely to be more of a saunter (we probably won’t make it all 20 — and by probably I mean certainly. I think 2 miles would be an accomplishment). And really, I’m sauntering AGAINST hunger, not for it.
So please support the Flynns Saunter Against Hunger by going to this site and making your pledge:
http://www.projectbread.org/goto/flynnfamily
This period in my life has been full of contradictions. Privately, this has been a wonderful period for my family. My sons are both great. Grey is entering that fun conversational stage, where he starts being useful and asking interesting questions. Thane has, for his short life, been a ray of sunshine. My husband and I are both healthy and employed. We are surrounded by a network of people and have opportunities to do fun and interesting things. (For example, due to surprise babysitting this weekend we got to go see “A Winter’s Tale” on Friday!) Last night we spent at our neighbors house watching our kids play together and sampling the takeout from the new restaurant in town. Frankly, our life is about as good as it could be within the parameters of how things are set up.
But outside the walls of our house and family it is a scary — terrifying — world. For months people have been losing their jobs. I’ve come to dread Fridays as the days when I hear from my friends that they have had layoffs in their company, pay cuts, hours cut, or they have lost their jobs. The drumbeat of climate change hasn’t disappeared. The financial stability of the world is undergoing convulsions. It feels like we’re in the middle of an earthquake and none of us know when the shaking will stop or what the topography will be when it’s done. We also aren’t sure if or when we’ll get knocked in the noggin by falling bricks. Not only that, but this was a very bad weekend for people I love. My brother-in-law shattered his femur (not easy to do) taking roller skating lessons. As in titanium pin, in surgery for hours, will be in rehab for months shattered. Then I heard that a dear and beloved friend from college’s daughter was born this week … and it isn’t all ok. He used the word “life support”. She is in respiratory distress and that sounds terrifying and up in the air and all I can do is pray for them.
And then this Swine Flu thing pops up. I have to admit, flu pandemics are one of my personal nightmares. Everything I’ve learned about the 1916 pandemic scares the skivvies off me. It was worse than WWI, in terms of fatalities. It mostly affected people my age. You could go from fine to dead in like 12 hours. Usually I talk myself out of panic attacks using reason and preparation. Reason isn’t helping me here, and preparation would pretty much require that I hunker down at home with my family and bathe in hand sanitizer.
So today I pulled my boys out of daycare and took them home because of the flu thing. Seriously. For real. I’m writing this during naptime at home.
As I walked in the door at daycare with my boys, I heard Pablito’s voice. As I drove in to work, I thought “Wait a minute. Didn’t Pablito spend last week (Spring Break week) in Mexico on vacation?” I got to work and read about 8 articles on the flu. I finally buckled and explained the situation to my manager and LEFT. I got to daycare and attempted to explain in Spanish that I was having a panic attack over the flu issue and the fact that they’d just flown home from Mexico and I was taking my boys for today and probably tomorrow and to please call me if she heard that anyone was sick. I wiped Grey’s hands and toys with an alcohol swipe. I stopped by Target on my way home and bought baby food, bread, milk and hand sanitizer. I stopped at Starbucks to make sure we had an adequate supply of true necessities. (One pound Sumatra, ground for a flat bottom drip.)
I think this might qualify me as a bona fide loony. But if I hadn’t done that I’d be sitting at work feeling sick to my stomach about whether my sons were contracting fatal diseases while I added a “run now” button.
But then I look out my window and it’s like 70 degrees and gorgeous. Tomorrow is supposed to be 90, and you can’t catch the flu by getting out the inflatable pool and sitting in the back yard drinking Mike’s. It’s a beautiful world and I have a beautiful family and Ellsbury stole home last night and I continue to enjoy myself.
What a strange time in the world!
Yesterday was Patriot’s Day. For those of you not blessed enough to live in the Hub of the Universe (as Boston sees itself), that’s a holiday that is dedicated to Patriots. Most notably, those Patriotic boys in Red playing at Fenway, and the Patriotic masochists who run the Boston marathon. Patriots Day is a state holiday, and oftentimes school break week is designed to fall on Patriots Day. Due to the dyed-in-the-wool Red Sox fandom of my organization, Patriot’s Day is also a holiday for us. (Not President’s Day, not MLK day, not Columbus Day, but Patriot’s Day.)
I celebrated by bringing the boys to daycare. I planned on relaxing. As I told a friend, my intention was to turn into a pile of gelatinous goo.
But first, I wanted to do a little work on the attic.
I managed to get the attic storage space completely cleaned out, vacuumed, identified the bat-entry-zone, laid down old carpets, organized the stuff that belonged in the space appropriately, labeled where stuff went and sanitized the things that were appropriate for Thane either now or soon.
Then I had lunch and watched the Sox wallop on the poor Orioles.
Then I organized the guest room, found new homes for most of the extraneous items, cleared out storage space and checked out the crawl space. I made plans for the modifications we’ll make to the room to make it more hospitable to our guests.
Then I got my hair cut. (An entirely forgettable but acceptable bob.)
Then I refinanced the mortgage. It looks like we’ll save $200 a month. Yay!
Then I left to pick the boys up from daycare again.
The crazy thing was how pleasantly relaxing I found the day. When small children are in the house, you’re always on alert as to whether they need you. The minute you put them down for a nap you hear the tick-tick-tick of grownup time whirring away. Last night as I went over the mortgage stuff with my husband, Grey apparently got out of bed. Not finding us downstairs or in the basement (we were in the attic) he was weeping bitter tears about having lost his parents when we finally heard him on Thane’s baby monitor. That moment did break my heart, but it also points out how a parent is always on-call when their children are around.
I am almost never at home when my children are not. I found it incredibly relaxing! And now the attic is all sparkly clean!
I’m 30 years old.
I’ve been married 8.5 years and working professionally (not coincidentally) for about the same time. I’ve been a member of my church for 8 years. My husband and I are solely responsible for the health and welfare of two small children.
Some days it feels like I will be crushed under the weight of my responsibilities.
I have this image of what it’s like. I imagine the world sitting on top of these generational rollers, moving along. Gradually, the world rolls off one generation and on to the next, until for a few moments (years, decades) one generation carries the brunt of the load, with some small portion of the weight being borne by the coming and going generations. After a long lead in, my generation is beginning to feel the full weight of that world which will ride on our shoulders for the next two or three decades.
Our society is set up around the idea that there are “the proper authorities”. The first aid flipsheet on my ‘fridge says “then call 911” after nearly every entry. We’re supposed to talk to our doctors before doing exercise or trying a new diet. We’re supposed to talk to our financial advisors before we decide where to invest. We’re supposed to report downed wires and suspected child abuse to proper authorities. At work we’re supposed to notify our managers if someone is harrassing us. For nearly any difficult, sticky or dangerous task for our entire life we’ve been told to tell the proper authorities.
We might be forgiven for thinking there is some super race, set apart, of proper authorities. Clearly, this isn’t the case. At some point, the buck stops and there isn’t anyone up the chain of ability or command to call. Recently, I’ve come to realize that in some areas, I am the proper authorities. I’m the ones my sons should come to when something is difficult. At work, I may make binding decisions for the company. (Ok, ok so those decisions largely revolve around whether to order the Intense Dark Roast or the French Roast this time, but still….) At church, I sit on the board which truly is “Them” as in “They should do something about the website” or “They need to make sure that all the teachers have background checks” or “They should put in a defibrillator”. I would also be the “They” in “They should’ve known” or “Why didn’t they plan for that” or “What were they thinking?”
No one but a nonagenarian would argue that 30 is exceedingly young. President Obama is older than I am still, but the president is no longer of a different, older generation. His girls are only a few years older than my boys. He may have some gray in his hair but frankly? So do I. (THAT is a whole other post!) We cannot argue inexperience, or youth. There isn’t some vast group of wise grownups who is checking our work and making sure we don’t make mistakes that mess everything up.
There is a story about a boy who lifted a baby ox every day from the day it was born. In this way, he became incredibly strong and could easily still lift the ox when it grew to it’s full size. (As the mother of fast-growing children let me opine: HA!) It feels to me today as though my responsibilities have recently undergone a growth spurt and my muscles are slow to strengthen in response.
My Truant Pen 