The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

In a humorous, and somewhat predictable, bit of irony, God changed our Thanksgiving dreams quite rapidly. Originally we were going to fly up to Auburn (northern Cali) for a few days with Matt's family. Since our bank account didn't like that idea, we were going to go to my mom's in Yucaipa instead. We opted out of staying the night so that we could spend more time together as our little threesome. Also, we wanted to walk to the mall on Friday and snake some deals. Well, clearly God heard our plea for more time as a trio.

Ben has had a cold since, well, September. While his "daycare" is just him and two other little ones, since the other mom and I are teachers and Ben is a thumb-sucker, it's basically been one cold right after another for the poor guy. None have been very serious, thankfully. So he's had a runny nose for a couple of months, and it hasn't helped that he's been cutting molars for the last couple of weeks. Until a few days ago. The clear snot dripping down to his chin turned green. That's never a good sign. But as it cleared up within a day or two and he wasn't running any fever, I didn't think much of it. Until yesterday.

It was about 11:30, and I was finishing up Diptastic 2009. (hey, I was asked to do the hors d'oerves. go big or go home.) I looked down at my munchkin, who was on the floor playing with the mixing bowls and measuring cups; his face was covered in green goop. Awesome. His cheeks were also beet red, and when I touched it, on fire. Double awesome. So Matt grabbed the ear thermometer: 103.5. Crap. Besides being a mostly lame radio station, it was a fairly high fever, even for a toddler. I knew that when I called the doctor they'd want to know his rectal temp, so I reluctantly and apologetically grabbed THAT thermometer and some petroleum jelly. Two torturous minutes later: 104.6. Word worse than crap. I grabbed the phone and called the Kaiser nurse advice line, which told me I needed to take him in to Urgent Care as soon as possible. So while Matt changed his clothes I put the fresh and warm dips in the fridge, turned off the oven, and called my mom to apologetically cancel.

The nearest Kaiser urgent care is a wonderful two minutes away. It was mostly empty, which was nice. We didn't wait in the waiting room for very long, which was great, but as there were only two doctors on, we ended up waiting in the exam room for a while. Benjamin, who normally won't sit on my lap for any length of time as long is there is somewhere new to explore, was glued to me (with his thumb firmly glued to his mouth). So Elmo did a tour of the room, getting his tonsils checked, typing on the computer, doing dives off the supply cart, and sitting in the exam chair. Matt discovered buttons that made the chair move up and down. That got Ben out of my lap. He tried the buttons too, but to no avail, at least for a while. He finally managed to make the chair move, and he jumped halfway across the room. Suffice it to say, he reattached himself to me for the remainder of the time.



The doctor eventually came and looked at McSicky, who has a bacterial sinus infection. Twenty minutes, a box of baby motrin, and two bottles of amoxicillin later we were out the door.

At that point it was 1:30. We hadn't had lunch (we packed one and left it on the couch), and all we had in the cupboard to make for dinner was tuna helper. So we went back to Henry's, which was still open, and put together a little feast. For $25 we got a hunk of turkey, a carton of gravy, a bag of stuffing, a bag of frozen mashed potatoes, a bag of frozen corn, a ready-made pumpkin pie, and a bottle of wine. We grabbed fast food for lunch on the way home (not ideal, but we were starving and exhausted). Upon our return we tried to get the boy to eat, then put him down for his afternoon nap.


Side note: It appears Benjamin has finally hit a picky eater phase. He has been a human vacuum cleaner for the last 16 months. We have literally found nothing he won't eat. I keep hearing about picky toddler eater phases, and seeing things like "My one-year-old will hardly eat anything! Is that normal?" with a response like "Almost all toddlers go through that." The books and doctors say not to force any food on him, and if he shows signs of being done to stop feeding him, but we've never really seen it. Until the last week or so. Now he picks at his food and eats a few bites. Finally the eating machine has slowed down. And yet he's still in the 40th percentile. Go figure.

At any rate; back to Thanksgiving. After a long nap for Ben and some down time for us, Matt cooked our feast while I cuddled with Benjamin and watched Sesame Street. We then feasted and drank; it was most assuredly the feast I had been looking forward to for the last 364 days. The best part was at the end of the meal when I tried to give Ben his antibiotics. We basically had to pin him down and squirt the crap into his mouth while he writhed and screamed. Can I just tell you I am so very excited to do this twice a day for the next nine days?



After the torture session we played with a newly energized Benjamin. Who knew that four bites of mashed potatoes could provide enough calories for a second wind?


Around 6:45 he laid down on a pillow, thus signaling the end of the day. We bathed him and put him to bed, then settled down to watch a movie. Around 8:30 we heard crying, so we went into his room to finding him sobbing and crying "Emmo (Elmo)" (his Elmo doll had hidden beneath a blanket). Once Elmo was found and the singing seahorse started back up, he curled up in the corner and fell back asleep. He slept soundly until 7:30 this morning.


All irony and sarcasm aside, while it was certainly not either of the Thanksgivings we had planned, it was an adventure and a bonding experience. In the midst of the concern and the crying, I found peace and gratitude; peace in the knowledge that God was with us and kept us at home (can you imagine doing all of this away from home?), and gratitude for a God who provides and takes good care of us. I was sad to have missed out on family and those delicious homemade mashed potatoes and tasty gravy. But I learned a lot in the process. As I sat in the exam room holding my sick baby and watching my husband entertain us with an Elmo show, I felt joy and comfort. I am a good mother. Matthew is an incredible father. Benjamin is a precious gift. God is an extraordinary God. Also, there is very little that a glass of wine can't mitigate.

Grateful.

Today is Thanksgiving. I have some ambiguity towards this holiday (in addition to the dark and twisty feelings it currently conjures up...see previous post). I love the idea of a day devoted to gratitude, family, and celebration. I love that at least one day out of 365 is at least superficially a departure from our individualistic, instant gratification, entitlement culture. Of course, our festivities are not a complete departure from the capitalism and selfishness that defines our society. Grocery stores compete for our business, and many have giving programs in which you purchase a bag of groceries for a family in need. (Although I have a hard time believing that it is about the families and not a "look how generous we are; don't you want to spend your money on a store that is so philanthropic and humanitarian?" marketing campaign. But I suppose if families are helped, it is a good thing, all motives aside.) It is a holiday that is necessarily exclusionary (as are most American traditions). I was looking online for recipes to make Thanksgiving dinner for my students, and I saw something on a cooking website for "How to make Thanksgiving dinner for eight for only $80!" Only $80? I certainly don't have $80 lying around, and by global standards I'm fairly wealthy. I'm pretty certain that the day laborers that were standing on Harbor and MacArthur this morning do not have only $80 to make a feast for their family. When we went to Henry's this morning to get a few items to make appetizers for our family's festivities, I half wished it would be closed. Selfishly, of course, I wanted it to be open because I'm pretty sure my family would not be impressed with cheerios and spaghetti as a starter. But a big part of me wanted to believe that Henry's, and all the other stores out there, would forgo their profits for the day so that their employees could spend the day with their families. It was open.

Part of my ambiguity about this holiday stems from its origins. "Thank you, Native Americans, for bringing us food, keeping us from starving, and teaching us to farm and not die. In return, here is small pox, cholera, and the syph. Those of you left standing after that we will simply chase out or kill within the next year. After all, you don't believe in God and are therefore not really people. Love, the Pilgrims." I have a hard time celebrating The First Thanksgiving. Becoming a history teacher and studying until my brains turned into cheerios and spaghetti did not help my patriotism.

Still, I like Thanksgiving. I am blessed and grateful that I now have a job wherein I can take a break, relax, and spend time with my family. I am blessed and grateful that while I had to dip into my savings account in order to contribute to the festivities, at least I have a savings account. I am blessed and grateful that I have a family to celebrate with. In fact, I seem to have an abundance of families to celebrate with. As stressful as it can be, I am blessed that we have so many friends and family members that love us so much and want to be with us. We both have jobs, and we have recently been able to move into a much better home, even if it isn't ideal. Our little triumvirate is happy and healthy. We have so much to be grateful for.

Now I must don my chili pepper apron and whip up something delicious and fairly nutritious to share with my nutty family. If I don't, it's cheerios all around, and I'm pretty sure that will not make it on their "what I'm thankful for" lists.

Tradition

This has always been my favorite time of year. I love fall weather (well, I did when there was actually fall weather, not this 80 degree crap), Thanksgiving, Christmas, and days off from school. I'm crazy about blankets, hot chocolate, evening movies, and golden leaves. Holidays have, of course, changed over the the years. Some of that change has been good, some I have had some difficulty in adjusting to.


When I was young we always went to my Nana and Papa's (my mom's parents) for Thanksgiving. We went for the whole four day weekend. It was delicious. Not just the dinner, but the whole weekend. I LOVED their house. It was big, had a really cool staircase, a pool (which I obviously couldn't go in during Thanksgiving, but I loved that it was there), and an amazing real-life secret garden. Okay, it wasn't exactly secret because everyone knew it was there; but it was walled in and had pathways and a bench swing. I could spend hours in there. There were also several rooms in which I could let my imagination go nuts and play pretend until I dropped from exhaustion. I loved spending the time with my grandparents, and I loved seeing my uncles and Granny, whom I rarely saw outside of Thanksgiving. It was magic.


We spent the Saturday before Christmas at my Grandpa and Grandma's (my dad's parents). They live in Hemet, and as much of my dad's family was able to come (he's the second of six, a few of whom are spread out around the country) and all of my cousins would squeeze into their mobile home. We always had ham, and because I had four uncles and an aunt, there were many kids, and thus many presents. Most of my cousins are about my age, so we'd have a great time, especially since we didn't see each other often. I remember my grandparents had toys stashed under the steps, and we would play with those all day while our parents sat outside and talked.



On Christmas morning it was just my family. We'd wake up early and tip-toe downstairs, where there would be presents under the tree, stockings stuffed to the brim, and often snow outside. My brother and I would act like we weren't that into the presents, so we'd saunter nonchalantly into the kitchen and say good morning, keeping our peripheral vision on the loot. We'd make hot chocolate and curl up by the tree wrapped in blankets, still in our jammies. Every year we'd trade who was Santa. Santa handed out all the presents, then we'd open them one person at a time, the youngest first. My bother would open all of his first, then I'd open mine, then my mom, then my dad. Then my dad would make a big breakfast (he's really good at breakfast). Afterwords the day was ours. My dad would clean then go in the garage, my mom would cross-stitch and watch old movies, and my brother and I would play with our new things. One year, when we were in high school, all my brother wanted for Christmas was money to buy climbing shoes. So my mom asked me to wrap the money creatively because she wanted him to have something to open. She had no idea what she was starting. I put the money in a picture frame, wrapped it in tissue paper, grabbed the biggest gift bag I could find, put a brick in the bottom, put the frame on top, and stuffed the whole thing with tissue paper. My mom watched with eyebrows raised, as I'm sure she probably wasn't thinking a brick would be involved. But we all had a big laugh when he opened it, and a new tradition had begun. Every year since then (and it's been a good 15 years) I have made my brother work for his present. I've sent him on scavenger hunts, made him play deal or no deal, wrapped a roll of film in 20 boxes, burried it in mac and cheese...after 15 years, I will be honest, it's getting difficult to come up with ideas. Last year I did a scavenger hunt with photo clues of Ben in the spot of the next clue. A couple of years ago my brother started in on it. He drew a map, tea stained and burned it so it looked distressed, and wrote clues on it like "take five paces to the left" and little rhymes. I was so excited I almost peed.

But a few things have changed. Nearly all of my uncles, grandparents, aunt, and parents have gotten divorced. Many have moved out of state. The cousins all grew up and moved away. A few family members have passed away. My Papa died, so we didn't do Thanksgiving weekend with him anymore. My parents got divorced and moved off the mountain, so we didn't have Christmas morning hot chocolate and snow anymore. I worked for a time at a restaurant, so I was lucky if I got a day off for the holidays. The same happened with my brother. Life happened. Again, some good, some slow adjustments.


When Matt and I got married, the holidays changed again. With two sets of divorced parents, I had gone from one Thanksgiving and one Christmas to four of each. Instead of the peaceful division of Thanksgiving with the Booths and Christmas with the Cobbs we became a rope in everyone's game of tug-of-war. It didn't feel like the holidays I remembered loving; the holidays were now the four most stressful weeks of the year. While attempting to make everyone happy, our own comfort and happiness has frequently gotten lost in the shuffle. If we had our way all of our twenty families would all live nearby and we would get to spend the holidays with everyone, together. But as that is not likely to ever happen, we adjust. So for the last five years, we've alternated Thanksgiving and Christmas between the two sets of families.


This year we had to make a difficult decision. We are not in a situation where we can fly for the next few months, so we won't be able to make it up north for either holiday. We are deeply sad about this. We miss Matt's family very much, and we know they miss us. We want Ben to be able to spend time with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, and we want to spend time with them too. But it's just not a possibility right now. So we adjust.

While we will be having Thanksgiving dinner with my mom, the rest of the weekend we will spend together, just the three of us. And for Christmas we will do the family gatherings, but the remainder of the season we will spend together, just the three of us. This year we will not be spending the next month trying to make everyone happy with us and happy in general. We will do what we can, but we need to find our own little family's traditions. We will slow down, rest, and celebrate gratitude and salvation together. Last year we weren't at home Christmas morning. We were blessed to stay in our brother's home. But it wasn't our home, and there wasn't a tree. We also had to pack and travel with any gifts we gave each other and Ben. While it worked, and it will have to work every other year for forever, this year we will spend our first Christmas with Ben in our own home. We will wake up Christmas morning and open presents in our pajamas and drink hot chocolate. We will have a big breakfast and play with our new toys. And we will find our own traditions. Maybe it's a Christmas movie, maybe it's several. Maybe it's reading the Christmas story together, or opening one present on Christmas Eve. I don't know. But that annual routine was wonderful to me, and I want Ben to have it. It's so easy to get caught up in all of the chaos and the obligations during the holidays, and this year we're not going to play. This year it's Ben's turn; it's our turn.

Last year for Thanksgiving we had two dinners; we went to my dad's in Hemet then my mom's in Yucaipa. It was busy, but do-able. This year we will have one dinner. Last year we walked to the mall for Black Friday. We got all the deals and didn't have to park. Plus we got a lot of great exercise. This year we will do that again. So maybe that's a new tradition. As long as we live a mile from the mall and we're at home, we'll walk and shop on Black Friday. Then we'll come home and decorate for Christmas. I like that tradition for Thanksgiving weekend.

Matt and I are really figuring out who we are as a family. We're working through being working parents, and we're working on maintaining a healthy relationship as a couple while still being parents. We're working on keeping a balance of time as a whole family, time alone with Ben, time alone with each other, and time alone by ourselves. We're trying to stay afloat financially and mentally, and we're learning to love our lives as they are. So this is the year we figure out what that means during the holidays.

So while I don't have snow and secret gardens and games under the steps anymore, I have a beautiful and wonderful family. And that, after all, is what the holidays are about. That and Jesus. But that's a different blog, which started here and will hopefully be worked through during our Selfish Holiday Season 2009.

How to Deal

I'm not going to lie; this was a tough week. The first couple of days I missed my little peanut to pieces. The few days after that he made it much easier to go to work by not taking his afternoon naps. He has taken two solid 1 1/2 to 2 hours naps a day for quite some time. You could set your watch to this kid's nap patterns. But for some reason for the last few days he decided that predictability (and sleep, and a happy mama) was for suckers. On Wednesday his babysitter texted me around 3:00 to tell me that he had been sitting in the crib for the last hour babbling on and on to Elmo. I went to pick him up and he was as happy as could be, making snacks for everyone in the play kitchen and organizing the toys. Molly marveled at how sweet and happy he is, even when he doesn't nap. I laughed a little. Sure...right now. Swing by my place around 5:30 and let's have this conversation. Sure enough, around 4:30 the whining began. He whined because when he dumped his Little People from one bucket into another one didn't make it. He whined because he pushed his car to the back of the couch then couldn't get it. He whined because I wouln't let him empty the fridge. You get the idea. Around 5:15 the whining progressed to full-on tantrums. Happily for me, it was Shannon night, which meant that he was Matt's problem. So Matt took him to the mall, which is all decked out in Christmas decorations and has a train and a carousel. So that worked wonders. Meanwhile, I sat on the couch wasting my precious one hour a week of free time on Facebook.

Thursday Benjamin took a 40 minute afternoon nap. Again, happily, it was date night for Matt and Shannon, so Crabbypants was Brandi's problem.

Friday was the icing on an already delicious cake. When I arrived at work half the lights were off at the school. As of 8:15ish (school starts at 8:30), Edison was on their way and the administration was confident that all would be fixed within two hours. At 8:30, after the bell rang, the principal came on the loudspeaker and said that a squirrel had sacrificed himself on the power lines, that all electricity in the entire school would be off within ten minutes, and it would come back on around 4:30 (school ends at 2:51). Needless to say, five-hundred middle schoolers and no power the last day of school before a nine day break makes for a super day. When the bell rang at the end of the day I collapsed in an exhausted heap in my desk chair, so glad to be done for nine days. Two minutes later I got a text from Molly: Ben skipped his afternoon nap altogether once again.

Now before you say, "Shannon, clearly he is ready to go to one nap a day," allow me to paint you a picture of Mr. Naps Are for Suckers. Around 4:45 he tripped and dropped his cup of water. Then he screamed bloody murder for 45 minutes. He screamed while I changed his clothes (and he kept trying to take them off), and he screamed the entire drive to dinner with our friends. 45 minutes. I suppose two months of colic prepared me for just that moment. Fortunately the restaurant had balloons and food, Ben's two most favorite things, so we were spared having to ditch our friends to spend the evening at home with a screaming toddler who clearly knows best when it comes to naps. It is abundantly clear that he is most assuredly not ready for one nap. Also, in the midst of the screaming, I was able to catch a glimpse inside his little mouth, where I found a pearly white molar just poking through. Apparently he's skipping the middle teeth and going straight for the back ones.

But the week wasn't a total wash. I have my coping mechanisms.

• Every morning on the way to work I play my "Pump it Up" mix. It starts off with "When You Were Young" by The Killers, winds through some Bruce, some Otis, some Death Cab, some Coldplay, some U2, some Snow Patrol, some Fray. It's not a long drive, but I skim through to whatever I need for the duration.
• When I get to my classroom I have a different "Pump it Up" mix to which I rock out.
  
• During the course of the day I sometimes stop, sit on my desk, and tell a random story.
  
• Sometimes I punish behavior problems by making them dance in front of the class.
• To teach grammar and the parts of speech I make up sentences and stories about my students and their love for each other, Twilight, and Taylor Swift.
• After work I pick Ben up, rock out to more "Pump it Up" tunes on the way home, then set him up with some toys while I play on Facebook. And I don't feel bad about it.
• Sometimes on Wednesdays Ben and I snuggle on the couch and watch Tuesday night's episode of So You Think You Can Dance. Then we dance.
• I ponder the simple pleasures of my life.

And what are those simple pleasures, you ask?

• Teaching Ben funny tricks like fake falling and blowing raspberries.
• Playing with Ben's blocks; sometimes with him, sometimes not.
• Thursday nights on NBC. Honestly, I'm not a huge TV person, but Community, Parks and Recreation, The Office, and 30 Rock easily comprise the funniest damn two hours on television.
• Glee. I may or may not have a pretty serious crush on Dr. Shuester. Also, two of my friends and I watch it at the same time at our own homes and comment on it on Facebook while we watch. It's fun.
  
• Reading. It doesn't happen very often anymore, but when I have time, it is a delicious treat.
• Watching Ben play.
• Looking at photos.
• Snuggling up with my Soul Mate to talk and/or watch lame-o television.
• Date nights.
• Taking pictures.
• Spending time with my two best boys.
• Thinking about things I'm looking forward to.

And what, you ask, am I currently looking forward to?

• Spending this next week with my funny little family.
• Milking our new Disneyland passes. Man did I miss having that.
  
• Thanksgiving. Mmmmmmmmm.............mashed potatoes and gravy.................
• The Feast with my 5th period class. But that's another blog entirely.
• Our first Christmas in our own home with Benjamin. I can't wait.
• Reading A Christmas Carol with my English class.

So that's how I get through weeks like this one; I cling tenaciously to the big and little blessings, I pray constantly, I snuggle a lot with my husband and son, I listen to a lot of music, and I sing and dance. And it is thusly that even on days when the power goes out, the adolescents get crazy, and the toddler screams all night long, it is well with my soul.

Sad Mama Day

I'm having one of those weeks again. Well, to be fair, every week is, at least in part, one of those weeks. But this week that familiar aching is rearing its fugly head. Yesterday morning when I picked the monkey up out of his crib, all cozy in his dinosaur jammies, he laid his head on my shoulder, wrapped his arms around my neck, sucked his thumb, and played with my hair. I collapsed into a nearby chair and the tears just fell.

There is a part of me that wishes my co-worker was right when she said that I would be glad to have a job and not be spending 24/7 with my little booger. When I have these days where my heart just shatters dropping my sweet monkey off in the morning, she tells me that I only say I want to stay home with him because I don't have to do it, and if I did, I would be begging for a job. And maybe that's true for some people, but I really don't think it's true for me. Perhaps the grass is always greener; but I've seen both kinds, and while the two are certainly different shades of green, I would really prefer to graze at home. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. And lately I've been scoring some wins there, which means a lot as a teacher. But I miss my little boy. I don't want to be one of those moms who have no self apart from their child. I don't want to spend every waking moment with him, because that's not healthy. But what I do want is to spend more than a couple of hours a day with him.

Other bonuses to staying at home (at least from where I'm standing):

I could maybe clean the house during the day instead of at night after I've already worked all day, made dinner, and taken care of my husband and child.

I could actually make a decent meal.

I could take a run or go to the gym without feeling guilty and sad over losing a precious hour with my son and husband that I don't see enough.

I could have a teensy bit of free time

And before you SAHMs tell me that those things don't necessarily come with staying at home, I can assure you that after having done both, they are certainly easier to come by than when you work out of the home. Because everything that needs to be done (laundry, cleaning, cooking, etc.) all day when you work at home, the same things need to happen when you work out of it. You just have about eight fewer hours to do them in.

And so I feel a little run-down. I'm tired. I'm sad because I want to spend more time with my kid. I'm sad because I need more time to myself. I'm frustrated because those "20 minute dinners for the nights you don't have time" are every night, and the baseboards will never be clean. I'm frustrated because I never have time to read, and I miss it. And I'm sad because I miss my monkey.

Sigh. Hi ho hi ho, it's off to work I go.

"Coffee"

Benjamin loves drinking out of a straw. He also loves to do everything that Mommy and Daddy do. This means that whatever I'm eating, he wants to eat (even if it's the same as what he's got right in front of him--he wants MINE); whatever I drink, he wants to drink. So when I have a cup, he just opens his mouth big and wide and leans in. And when I have something in my cup that I don't want to have, like soda or coffee or booze, and I don't let him drink it, he pitches a fit. The last time we stopped at Starbucks and I got a banana chocolate smoothie, I had to walk behind Matt, who was pushing the stroller, and drink it, because if Ben saw me drinking a smoothie I knew he would want some (I made the mistake of letting him have a sip once). Now, a banana chocolate smoothie would not hurt Ben; it's actually quite healthy. But in that case, I didn't want to share. So I taught him a very important lesson: hiding it. I digress...

Because I'm brilliant, I decided that this time when we went to Starbucks in Barnes and Noble I would get him his own special drink: milk in a coffee cup. Everyone wins. I will get to have my soy peppermint mocha, he will have his milk, we will both drink out of straws: no sharing, no fights over straws, no tantrums in public. It worked...in the sense that he allowed me to drink his drink and he enjoyed his. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he would NOT let go. He wandered around the bookstore with his "coffee," sipping from it periodically and turning it upside down to see what happened. And when I tried to take it he grasped it with his vulcan death grip and cried out in horror. When it was time to get in the stroller and go, he allowed me to put it in his cupholder. But then he kept leaning forward and trying to get the straw in his mouth without using his hands. Then he would cry when it didn't work. He screamed all the way home in the car because I was not about to let him have a non-spill proof cup without me being able to grab it before it hit the floor. When we got home I gave it back to him and he once again held it like he would die without it. He held it while I undressed him, and he took it with him into the tub, where he finally plopped it down to see what happened, and I scooped it up before his bath became a milk bath.

At least I didn't have to share my soy peppermint mocha.

Why little boys have a daddy

To do things like this: