The universe amazes me and leaves me awe-struck at times. The plethora of right turns life had to take for me to see a single day lily growing at the edge of the woods behind me? Breathtakingly fascinating.
And then there is the uncanny knack my life has for encountering monkey wrenches the size of Toledo when I try to make some positive headway.
No, this isn't a rant about the "unfairness" of life. Actually, this has more potential run the other direction.
As I was preparing the second post for this revived blog, I met with my psychiatrist. It seems he felt, with my depression worsening, that we should increase my mood stabilizer dosage. The only issue with that, and believe me, I did my best to stress this point - Lamictal has never helped to mitigate or curtail my swings. All it has ever done, with 100% effectiveness, is make me bone tired. So, with the Lyrica in my system now for fibro, guess who went back to sleeping 16 hours a day? That should sound like an awesome vacation for a mom of a young child. Believe me, it wasn't.
I mean, I was belligerent without meaning to be, and I think I could have started several world wars had I been placed in the right (or maybe wrong) place during those days. Because as anyone should know - tired people can be cranky. Exhausted people can be downright vicious. And when I'm that exhausted, I'm not snappish and abrasive because I don't care about you. I'm that way because I'm trying to hold back how strongly I feel the urge to just ream people out over things like not transporting dishes the 3.5ft necessary to go from the sink to the dishwasher.
Still, I was determined to come out of the depressive cycle relatively unscathed, so I tried to immerse myself in keeping up with my Gratitude Adjustment and Positive Projections every day. It didn't work so much as I'd hoped. I kept forgetting to write things down, which meant I would berate myself for forgetting, which ultimately made me feel worse.
Right on the heels of the fatigue from the Lamictal came another blow: the hard drive in my laptop apparently died. Now, I say "apparently" because it appears I may be able to revive it, but we'll get to that later. At the time the BSOD appeared, I almost passed out. The laptop in question was the only device in the entire house with ye olde telephony modem. (The house is in the middle of the land economic and technological development forgot, no LOS for a satellite provider, and no reliable cellular data.) Being wiped out from the meds, it took me almost four weeks to develop a workaround.
At that point, after a long night fiddling with drivers and settings, I had restored modem access and was at the library with my son, getting things together for the upcoming school year, when my mom called and said she was having chest pain and had been throwing up.
"Fuck," I thought. I knew she was having a heart attack, and I told her to call an ambulance, but she insisted on waiting for me to drive her to the hospital. That meant at least 15 minutes to get home, get her in the car, and then at least 20 minutes to the hospital to drop her off at the ER so I could pick up DH from work and come back. It occurred to me halfway to get DH that I realized I hadn't eaten yet that day. Bright spot that day - I discovered Sheetz's fried macaroni and cheese bites.
In the ER, the doctor treating my mom tells me, quite calmly mind, that my mother is having a heart attack and there is no cardiologist at that hospital, so she will need to be treated to Mon General in WV for treatment. Which, I suppose, is better than calling the janitor with a plumber's helper, but still . . . No cardiologist? How about they change the sign out front to "Kinda-Sorta Urgent Room: If this is a life-threatening emergency, go anywhere else"?
It is an hour drive, roughly, into WV, so the doctor made the mistake of mentioning that airlift could have been an option in front of my mother. Oh, she was going in a medevac. It didn't matter that the weather was threatening an impromptu trip to OZ. It didn't matter that the little voice in my head screamed, "$$$!!!!" And mind you, it is very strange to have your internal monologue scream symbols at you. She told the doctor she wanted to go via air transport because she's a pilot, and that was that. She made it to WV just after dinner time.
DH, DS, and I didn't make it there until after 9:30 at night. Our initial route to the hospital took us in a complete circle, so we decided to go home, take care of all the animals, and then head out again. We walked into her room in the cardiac unit, where my mother had the audacity to be the outward picture of health. "Just give my cell phone, and you guys can head home. I don't want it to get too late for you." It had just taken me the better part of 3 hours, all side-trips and shenanigans included, to get to the hospital. I parked my ass in the recliner and stubbornly partook of the free guest wifi. Dammit if I wasn't going to get something out of the experience other than clogged arteries from fried cheese. The mac and cheese bites were good,though.
And that was the shitty part. Hard on its heels came a flurry of happy surprises - rockstar parking everywhere I went, paychecks higher than I had anticipated, my mother only had a very mild heart attack and stroke, found money in various forms. And yet, it was hard to enjoy them because I know that the rhythm of my life meant there would be hell to pay after our good run was over.
Maybe its my age, but there is a certain beauty in knowing how that rhythm works now. Yes, I do expect the shit to hit the fan when I'm on a run of good luck. Despite what people used to say in high school, I'm a pragmatist, not a pessimist. I know that there will be good day and bad days. In my life, the better the good day, the worse the shit that follows. Or, maybe it's that I have to go through the shitty days first to reach the great days. Either way, I know that good and bad won't last forever. Now that I'm on to you, Life, let's see who wants off the roller coaster first.
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Friday, August 10, 2012
Temper, Temper
I took my mother and son out on a shopping jaunt yesterday. Nothing dramatic, just a quick trip through the grocery store for some staple items. However, we made the mistake of taking my son out directly after his nap.
About five minutes into the store, my son started to fuss, and the fussing progressed into a full-blown, teary tantrum. Ordinarily, I would have my husband take my son to calm down while I finished, but with my mother in tow, and just a few things on my list, I pushed on despite the theatrics. My son wanted to run around the store, and, as any parent knows who has been in a busy store, particularly one on re-stock day, it wasn't about to happen.
As I've mentioned before, my mom and I differ in parenting styles. My mother is much more indulgent. Case in point: I told her to watch my son for a second while I grabbed a piece of ham from the meat section, and I turn around to see her taking my son over to a rack of toys. I motored my way over as fast as I could before she could even touch one of those toys.
"If you give him the toy now, he'll think that throwing a tantrum will get him rewarded in some way," I calmly stated, turning the cart, and my wailing child, back toward the household items. I wanted to shout, "Oh my God, you flipping saboteur! Have you lost what little mind you have left in the graying meat-case you call a head?", but I didn't. Probably a good thing. Probably.
"I told him that he could have it," she replied. I walked on, but re-stated that we needed to send my son the message that throwing a tantrum doesn't yield whatever he wants. After he settled down, we gave him his afternoon snack, and that seemed to restore his sense of balance.
We were on our way out of the store when there was a piercing shriek from outside. A woman, somewhere between my age and my mother's, was struggling with a girl who was probably about six or seven. It turned out that the girl wanted to ride in a cab on the way home, and her mother said "no". The girl was shrieking as loud as she could, not because she was in any danger, but because she wanted to attract attention. Every time she let loose, she would glance around to see who was staring. It was a power play with even odds on who would win.
I felt for the woman. I think most people did, really. She kept saying she didn't have the money for the cab (something I can well understand given the rising cost of food), and her daughter kept screaming louder with every refusal. She was still screaming by the time we had finished loading the car and were getting in to leave.
I looked over the car to my mother and, pointing to the shenanigans, said, "And that's what happens when a child gets their way from a screaming match."
About five minutes into the store, my son started to fuss, and the fussing progressed into a full-blown, teary tantrum. Ordinarily, I would have my husband take my son to calm down while I finished, but with my mother in tow, and just a few things on my list, I pushed on despite the theatrics. My son wanted to run around the store, and, as any parent knows who has been in a busy store, particularly one on re-stock day, it wasn't about to happen.
As I've mentioned before, my mom and I differ in parenting styles. My mother is much more indulgent. Case in point: I told her to watch my son for a second while I grabbed a piece of ham from the meat section, and I turn around to see her taking my son over to a rack of toys. I motored my way over as fast as I could before she could even touch one of those toys.
"If you give him the toy now, he'll think that throwing a tantrum will get him rewarded in some way," I calmly stated, turning the cart, and my wailing child, back toward the household items. I wanted to shout, "Oh my God, you flipping saboteur! Have you lost what little mind you have left in the graying meat-case you call a head?", but I didn't. Probably a good thing. Probably.
"I told him that he could have it," she replied. I walked on, but re-stated that we needed to send my son the message that throwing a tantrum doesn't yield whatever he wants. After he settled down, we gave him his afternoon snack, and that seemed to restore his sense of balance.
We were on our way out of the store when there was a piercing shriek from outside. A woman, somewhere between my age and my mother's, was struggling with a girl who was probably about six or seven. It turned out that the girl wanted to ride in a cab on the way home, and her mother said "no". The girl was shrieking as loud as she could, not because she was in any danger, but because she wanted to attract attention. Every time she let loose, she would glance around to see who was staring. It was a power play with even odds on who would win.
I felt for the woman. I think most people did, really. She kept saying she didn't have the money for the cab (something I can well understand given the rising cost of food), and her daughter kept screaming louder with every refusal. She was still screaming by the time we had finished loading the car and were getting in to leave.
I looked over the car to my mother and, pointing to the shenanigans, said, "And that's what happens when a child gets their way from a screaming match."
Monday, August 6, 2012
Loss of Independent Sleeping
Our family is preparing for a big change. In approximately four weeks, I will be leaving the work force. At the same time, we will be moving from our current home into my family's home in horse country.
My mother is beginning to struggle to care for my grandmother. If they're both honest, they have always gotten on each others' nerves, but with my grandmother's failing hearing, my mother is more on edge than before.
In addition to trying to combine two households into one, we're also preparing my son for the move. Right now, we all have our own bedrooms. When we first move in, we will share a bedroom until I can re-convert my old bedroom from a library. There appears to be little peer reviewed literature on the subject of sharing a room, but not a bed. Co-sleeping is one of those issues with strong support for every side of the decision whether or not to share a bed with your baby or young child. Personally, I don't want to open that can of worms. There has been much said already, and it isn't the issue at hand.
As an infant, I slept either in the cradle in my parents' room (it was a big-butt cradle) or in the crib in the nursery. After my father left and I had outgrown my crib, I had to share a bed with my mother for a while until the bedrooms in the attic could be updated. It never struck me as odd that I didn't have my own room, even when I went to friends' homes and played in their (typically) well-appointed bedrooms.
I don't worry so much about the effect sharing a room will have on my son's sense of independence as I do about the effect my snoring will have on his quality of sleep. That's right - I have smaller than normal nasal passages, so I'm a noisy sleeper. In fact, with my current sinus infection, my husband describes me as sounding like a diesel truck. (Have I mentioned how much I love him?)
Beyond that, I worry about what effect sharing a room will have on the dynamic between myself and my husband. We do most of our talking in bed before going to sleep. We unwind in bed with our laptops, even though we know experts (ahh, those darn experts) say that the bedroom should be used for sleep only. Well, sleep and a limited number of extracurricular activities. If my son continues to go to bed at 7:30, though, I think the list of activities in the bedroom will be quite limited.
My mother is beginning to struggle to care for my grandmother. If they're both honest, they have always gotten on each others' nerves, but with my grandmother's failing hearing, my mother is more on edge than before.
In addition to trying to combine two households into one, we're also preparing my son for the move. Right now, we all have our own bedrooms. When we first move in, we will share a bedroom until I can re-convert my old bedroom from a library. There appears to be little peer reviewed literature on the subject of sharing a room, but not a bed. Co-sleeping is one of those issues with strong support for every side of the decision whether or not to share a bed with your baby or young child. Personally, I don't want to open that can of worms. There has been much said already, and it isn't the issue at hand.
As an infant, I slept either in the cradle in my parents' room (it was a big-butt cradle) or in the crib in the nursery. After my father left and I had outgrown my crib, I had to share a bed with my mother for a while until the bedrooms in the attic could be updated. It never struck me as odd that I didn't have my own room, even when I went to friends' homes and played in their (typically) well-appointed bedrooms.
I don't worry so much about the effect sharing a room will have on my son's sense of independence as I do about the effect my snoring will have on his quality of sleep. That's right - I have smaller than normal nasal passages, so I'm a noisy sleeper. In fact, with my current sinus infection, my husband describes me as sounding like a diesel truck. (Have I mentioned how much I love him?)
Beyond that, I worry about what effect sharing a room will have on the dynamic between myself and my husband. We do most of our talking in bed before going to sleep. We unwind in bed with our laptops, even though we know experts (ahh, those darn experts) say that the bedroom should be used for sleep only. Well, sleep and a limited number of extracurricular activities. If my son continues to go to bed at 7:30, though, I think the list of activities in the bedroom will be quite limited.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Turn off that TV
I know, I know - not another post about watching less TV. Well, yes and no.
Yes - I am an advocate of limited TV time. My grandmother watched me as a child, and her method of babysitting involved popcorn and whatever children's programming happened to be on at the time. Children's programming for her ran the gamut from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood to Santa Barbara (an old soap opera, for those who missed it). Somewhere in the mix I developed a love of educational programming, not just shows like Sesame Street, but Nova and National Geographic, as well. Thanks to those programs, I earned many an "A" on my science exams. Ok, so having an aerospace engineer for a grandfather didn't hurt, either.
On the other hand, I spent so much time solo that I'm a little awkward around people,still. But, as I'm finding out, even educational programming can be of little use to a child with expressive language delay. The AAP recommends unstructured play and family interaction for those with speech or language delay. I support this wholeheartedly. My mother is another story. She doesn't want to plop my son in front of the TV the way her mother did, but she does believe it's O.K. for him to have the TV constantly on as "background noise". Since the official assessment two weeks ago, I've had more leverage to try cutting out TV completely in the afternoons after my son wakes up from his nap. Mornings are a little more tricky, because I wake up late most days, which means that my mom is on her own. Well, let's not forget Sportacus and Super Why are there every morning, as well.
I'm curious how other multigenerational families handle similar disputes. Ultimately, I am Mom, so hear me roar in our home. The problem with that approach is the sore throat that inevitably arises. There are very few multigenerational families in our community, and those with whom I've spoken automatically defer to the eldest member, regardless of whether their input is "correct". I know I shouldn't say there is a "correct" and "incorrect" when it comes to this issue, but I think leaving a child in front of the TV, all day, with no parent stimulation (and you'll note I'm stressing NO parent involvement), is on the incorrect side of things.My mother's approach, while in the gray area, does something I feel is incorrect - it countermands my in front of my child. I don't like the mixed messages that are sent to a child who is already struggling with viewing me as an authority figure.
Yes - I am an advocate of limited TV time. My grandmother watched me as a child, and her method of babysitting involved popcorn and whatever children's programming happened to be on at the time. Children's programming for her ran the gamut from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood to Santa Barbara (an old soap opera, for those who missed it). Somewhere in the mix I developed a love of educational programming, not just shows like Sesame Street, but Nova and National Geographic, as well. Thanks to those programs, I earned many an "A" on my science exams. Ok, so having an aerospace engineer for a grandfather didn't hurt, either.
On the other hand, I spent so much time solo that I'm a little awkward around people,still. But, as I'm finding out, even educational programming can be of little use to a child with expressive language delay. The AAP recommends unstructured play and family interaction for those with speech or language delay. I support this wholeheartedly. My mother is another story. She doesn't want to plop my son in front of the TV the way her mother did, but she does believe it's O.K. for him to have the TV constantly on as "background noise". Since the official assessment two weeks ago, I've had more leverage to try cutting out TV completely in the afternoons after my son wakes up from his nap. Mornings are a little more tricky, because I wake up late most days, which means that my mom is on her own. Well, let's not forget Sportacus and Super Why are there every morning, as well.
I'm curious how other multigenerational families handle similar disputes. Ultimately, I am Mom, so hear me roar in our home. The problem with that approach is the sore throat that inevitably arises. There are very few multigenerational families in our community, and those with whom I've spoken automatically defer to the eldest member, regardless of whether their input is "correct". I know I shouldn't say there is a "correct" and "incorrect" when it comes to this issue, but I think leaving a child in front of the TV, all day, with no parent stimulation (and you'll note I'm stressing NO parent involvement), is on the incorrect side of things.My mother's approach, while in the gray area, does something I feel is incorrect - it countermands my in front of my child. I don't like the mixed messages that are sent to a child who is already struggling with viewing me as an authority figure.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
The Storm is Brewing
Soon, I will have to turn in my resignation to The Powers That Be. I have decided that five years, just a measly five years, in tech support has sufficiently soured me on life that I need to spend some time looking for the good in people again.
I also decided that I need to focus more time on son. He was recently diagnosed with a speech delay, and while children all over with speech delay improve with moms who work outside the home, I feel that I need to be home to work on our relationship. There is a closeness between my son and my husband, and between my son and my mother, that we don't share. When things go wrong, or if something upsets him, my son will go to my husband or my mother before coming to me. He doesn't respect my authority as a parent, either, which scares me when I need to take him somewhere alone.
I know this invites criticism of my skills as a parent, and I'd be the first person to say that I need some help in that area. Hence the desire to become a SAHM. I freely admit that I put the majority of my time and energy into so many things outside the home that I have become the person who realizes it came at the sacrifice of their home life. I guess you could say that it is fortunate that I have come to this realization early enough in my son's life that any permanent damage can be mitigated.
I also decided that I need to focus more time on son. He was recently diagnosed with a speech delay, and while children all over with speech delay improve with moms who work outside the home, I feel that I need to be home to work on our relationship. There is a closeness between my son and my husband, and between my son and my mother, that we don't share. When things go wrong, or if something upsets him, my son will go to my husband or my mother before coming to me. He doesn't respect my authority as a parent, either, which scares me when I need to take him somewhere alone.
I know this invites criticism of my skills as a parent, and I'd be the first person to say that I need some help in that area. Hence the desire to become a SAHM. I freely admit that I put the majority of my time and energy into so many things outside the home that I have become the person who realizes it came at the sacrifice of their home life. I guess you could say that it is fortunate that I have come to this realization early enough in my son's life that any permanent damage can be mitigated.
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