Snow Day/Sick Day

Happy snow day! The Boy was impressed with the snow coming down yesterday.

 Until he got cold and wet, and then he was DONE. Over it. Then we played and watched from inside, which was fine by me. We were lucky not to have any of the traffic/day care/stranded motorist problems that many of our friends in Coldlanta had. It took some of our friends and family over 24 hours to get home. Yikes! 

A stranger came by to ask about my father-in-law's old truck that stays parked outside our house. He asked if he could walk around the back of the house to look at it. Sure. When he walked away The Boy looked at me disappointedly and said "why I didn't say 'nice to meet you'?" We flagged him down before he left. The Boy stuck out his hand and said "nice to meet you," proudly. The stranger tried to keep a straight face while shaking hands with The Boy. I think both were happy with the exchange. 

When The Husband got home he took The Boy out again. I promise you there is nothing sexier than watching your husband play with your child. Must be some primal survival mating instinct....Tricky biology. 

Toddler boot for reference. Drain stopper as hat. 

This morning The Husband had to go back to work, to my disproval. I cancelled my clients because of the weather. The Boy and I made a cake. We made brownies. We made snow ice cream.  I developed a bad headache mid-morning but The Boy and I were trapped at home in the snow and ice. I tried to talk him into just lying on the couch watching PBS all day, but that didn't last long. Boy wants to PLAY. Mama wants to rest. He pulled his bat cave over to the couch so I could reach it from my nest to play with him. We played. He napped. I napped. 

The Boy wanted a snack. I got him one and laid back down on the couch. He asked for milk. I fixed him some and laid back down. He wanted more bunny crackers. I fixed him some bad laid back down.  He wanted more milk. I got him a refill and laid back down. He asked for snow ice cream. I got him some and laid back down. He told me his nose was running, and I wiped it and laid back down. The Boy does not yet appreciate efficiency. He asked for more bunny crackers, and I responded "if you can reach them you can have them!" 

I got up to help him and still had a blanket around my shoulders. He laughed. "Mama you wook wike a murrrmaid!" Thanks. 

He played his drum for me. He played his xylophone. Then his elephant played. He put his toy box on his head and pretended to be a robot. I lied on the couch. 

He put stickers on my face and a bucket on my head. I just lied there. 

Lesson #1 of the day: being at home on a snow day is more work than going to work. Lesson #2: you can get away with anything when mommy has a headache. 

Lucky Dog

Tonight it was getting dark and I was cooking dinner, waiting on The Husband to get home. The Boy was in the kitchen, dancing in circles and talking. He's in a very chatty phase right now. We had his 2.5 year checkup today, and I had to fill out one of the developmental questionnaires. There was a question that said "does he talk about the same as his peers?" I resisted the urge to write in "I don't think he gives his peers a chance to talk." If he does, they are all probably talking at once.

So we're just doing our thing, when someone knocked on the door. The Boy said "Daddy's home!" excitedly, as I looked outside. "Not unless your dad is a 20 something male model wearing a 90s Mexican poncho" I thought. I scooped up The Boy and opened the door to Poncho Man, suspiciously. It was getting dark and I didn't know what he wanted.

Poncho Villa: Is this your dog?
Oh no! Prissy must've gotten out of the fence.
Me: Probably. Did she get out?
Poncho Villa (points toward the road): She just got hit.

A surge of emotion got stuck in my throat. Priss! I've had her for more than 8 years. The Husband gave her to me for my birthday my first year out of college, when I was working and living in an apartment a la Queen Latifah in Living Single. She's now tinged with grey, and walks slowly on the stairs. She's not the smartest, but she is the sweetest. She tolerates a lot from The Boy, and he loves her so. Poncho Villa explained that the car hadn't stopped, but that he'd seen it and stopped to let us know. I tried not to cry as I walked outside to survey the situation.

There was a woman outside, sobbing. It was still light out, but a full moon hung in the pink sky. Poncho Villa called out to her sternly, "Don't try to touch it! She already tried to bite me!" Oh no. Oh no. This sounded bad. I debated whether to take The Boy inside, but I didn't want to leave him alone. Though he's clearly my favorite, I couldn't leave either of my loves.

We rounded the corner to the front yard. I was preparing for heartache. There lie a little cocker spaniel, clearly in pain. You'll notice Prissy is a beagle. I'd be lying if I said I weren't a little relieved. It wasn't Priss! Now that I think of it, I did remember us putting her safely in her crate when she tried to eat The Boy's popcorn earlier. Thank God!

I breathed a sigh of relief. The Boy asked "what's wrong with dat dog?" I explained that he was hurt, and we weren't going to touch him. The dog wasn't using his back legs, he was dragging himself pitifully with his front legs, and clearly feeling threatened when approached. Bless him. I weighed the effects of The Boy witnessing all this and possibly being traumatized. The Sobbing Lady tried to get closer and the dog growled, barked, and snapped at her. Poncho Villa snapped at her too. She sobbed. I held The Boy tight and retreated into the garage.

These people were kind. I told them I didn't know who the beautiful dog belonged to. Poncho Villa asked if I could call animal control, and then he walked off toward the neighbor's house. The Sobbing Lady stood in the yard and sobbed. I called, but no one answered since it was after 5:00. By the time I got outside, Poncho Villa had made it door-to-door down the street.

He and a man in a flannel shirt who looked like his name was Dwight were walking back to our house. It was Dwight's dog. I came in to get a leash. Dwight tried to get close to the dog, but he was retreating into our bushes. Poncho Villa told me he didn't think a leash would help, because the dog couldn't walk. I explained to The Boy that we were trying to be good helpers. I went to fetch some old towels, and delivered them. Poncho Villa shook his head sadly and told me he didn't think the dog would make it. Dwight managed to get the dog wrapped up in the towels and was walking with him home. A crowd of family members waited in the front yard for Dwight and the dog to return. Poncho Villa and The Sobbing Lady stayed until they were gone, we thanked each other, and they left.

After the chaos was over and all my dependents safe and accounted for, I turned my attention to The Boy to make sure he wasn't traumatized. The thought of that happening to Prissy made me tear up.

"Why you crying mama?"
I'm just feeling sad for that little dog who got hurt. It's okay to feel sad, and it's okay to cry. Everyone feels sad sometimes.
Have I mentioned I'm a therapist? 
"That dog better now, mama?"
I don't know, buddy. It was really hurt.
"That dog scared, mama. He sad and he hurt. We don't touch scared dogs."
Right, buddy. When dogs are scared they might bite.
"But when dogs not scared they don't bite!" he said, happily.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
"When I pet Prissy she's not scared and she doesn't bite me!"
Right.
"Dogs are soft."
Yes, buddy.
"And cats are soft."
Yes.
"And horses are soft."
Yes.
"But moo cows are not soft. We don't pet moo cows."
Right....
"Are lions soft, mama?"
I guess so.
"Lions not bite me!"
Well, we don't touch lions.
"Why?"
There aren't any lions near here. They're far away.
"Why lions far away mama?"
I don't know.
"If I go far away and I see a lion I pet it and it will be soft and it won't bite me."
Okay.

So much for having a moment for grieving the dying dog. We are long gone on an African safari petting soft lions. I laughed. At least The Boy wasn't traumatized.

About 30 minutes later there was another knock at the door. I scooped The Boy up and went to the door, suspiciously again. There stood Dwight and a teenager. I said hello.
Dwight said "Hey. It's me. From earlier. With the dog." I told him I remembered him. He came by to tell me thank you, and that the dog was fine. Fine? Yes, ma'am, he's just fine. He was only in shock. I was speechless. I told Dwight the dog was beautiful, and he was on his way.

A few minutes later The Husband got home. I prompted The Boy to "tell daddy what happened tonight." The Boy looked at me and said "What??"

Really? An injured dog, strangers in ponchos, strangers crying, in and out with a leash and towels, a dog on the verge of death who made an alleged recovery in half an hour...... and he's wondering what I'm referring to?

I asked him "Why did those people come to our house?"

His response: "Da dog got hurt, it got hit by a car in de road. Mama feeling a wittle bit sad about it."

The End. Definitely not traumatized.

A year in Quotes, 2013

Hello, 2014! Goodbye, 2013. You were good to us, '13. The Boy loved Christmas. We accidentally rented our house. We tried unsuccessfully to buy two other houses and then moved into The Husband's grandmother's old house. We hung out with family, we hung out with friends. We got some new family, we got some new friends. I reached 20,000 hits on the blog (WHOA!). The Boy dressed in costumes continually. All pleasant, really. 

Here he is on the bathroom counter as a "Captain American" aka Native American.

Today I was looking for a note on my phone, and I came across another note. In 2013 I started writing down bizarre things that came out of my mouth. Words that I never thought I'd say before I had kids. Things you don't even think you need to make rules about. Sometimes it was things The Husband said. Every time it was removed from its context, written down, forgotten about and later added to.  This is my life now, people. I bring you....

2013 in Quotes

Get your penis off the table

Don't do yoga on the dog please

Don't give daddy's phone a zerbert. 

You can't pet a fish. 

I don't think ducks like spitting. 

Sit up here on the counter to eat your breakfast so the dog doesn't get it. 

Yes, the moth likes your shirt. 

Oops, you pooped on the vent. That's okay. 

Sure you can sleep in your shoes. 

I don't think dogs like mangos. 

Show superman your poopoo. 

Yes, God loves your shoes. 

Girls don't like it when you put flags down their shirts. 

Don't put your finger up my nose please. 

I don't know what giraffes say. 

Get the carrot off your penis. 

Do NOT light saber the alligator AGAIN!

I don't have an elevator in the car. 

Go tell daddy that you laid in syrup

We don't draw on giraffes.

You can't be so rough when you take my head off. 

Just eat it off the floor. 

Do not light saber the dog. 

Pizza doesn't have seeds. That's cheese. Just eat it. 

Kwanza, not conga

There are no monsters in your room. I sprayed them all away. 

Stop that. Who bought you a light saber anyway??!

Leave Priss alone, she needs some "me time". 

Stop spinning please. We don't have time to go the ER tonight. 

Who pooped in these underwear?

The light saber is in time out. 

I don't think there are any doughnut characters in veggie tales. 

No, fish don't take baths. 

Harry Potter doesn't hit.....and if he does, he goes to time out too. 

The Worst Best Thanksgiving Ever

I like Thanksgiving. I love the idea of family togetherness, warm drinks by a fire, cuddles watching the parade, and waiting for family to arrive for a big meal. Slice of American life.

Except that's never been Thanksgiving for us. We have lots of family, many of which are close by. Thanksgiving for us is always about rushing from one family to the next, watching the clock, packing the car, saying goodbye, eating again. I usually get stressed and irritable, worried I've forgotten an integral dish or that we didn't have enough time here, or we'll be late there, or we need to make sure The Boy can nap in the car. For us, Thanksgiving has never been about time. It's never been about relaxing or savoring the moment. We love to see our family, but there's never enough time with any of them. There's a feeling that if we didn't do as much we could enjoy what we do a little more, but telling any of them no risks hurting their feelings, picking sides, or not getting to see them. It's always go-be really thankful-go-be really thankful-go-be thankful again-crash.

You know I have the flu. It's not awesome. The Husband and The Boy are likely carriers too. We didn't get to go to Thanksgiving. Any of them. We missed 4 family meals, 2 photography sessions, a shopping tradition with my mom, and a partridge in a pear tree. And I was bummed.

And it was wonderful.

Wha? Huh? Y'all, I've never been so thankful. I am mostly still quarantined in our bedroom. The Husband and The Boy were here, but I could not hang out with them. I heard their sweet voices. I mean, I really heard them in a way that you don't hear when you're with someone all the time, or rushing trying to do something else. I heard how tender they were to each other, and it made me love them so. I heard them playing and singing, and I longed to be with them. I promise you if we had been in the car, running from place to place all day I would not long to be with them.

When I was in bed, The Boy stood out in the hall and called to me. He asked "mama, you sick?" and made fake gagging sounds at the door, and I laughed. He spontaneously sprinkled me with "I wuv you, mom"s and "you okay?"s.  I called to The Husband and asked him to please put The Boy's turkey shirt on. "What's the point?" he asked. "It's Thanksgiving!" I said. So The Boy wore his turkey shirt. Around the house. With just his underwear.

We watched the parade. Me, from the bed, and them from the living room. I would call out "tell him it's the Native Americans! Like he learned about at school!" And The Husband would tell him. For a few minutes I snuck into the hall and watched from an acceptable distance, pointing out things, and The Boy danced. It was delightful. We did not rush. We did not fight. We just drank it in.

Last night I overheard this:
Boy: NOOOO!
Husband: Don't tell me no.
Boy: why?
Husband: because you're the child. (The Husband had been flying solo for awhile now)
Boy: I not a child...........I Bebe's wittle angel!

Is that not enough to melt you?

My mother-in-law was kind enough to bring over some dinner. I ate it in the bed with a side of delsym and disinfectant. It was delicious, but I'd be lying if I didn't feel a little self-pity. I knew everyone was at The Husband's grandmother's house eating and enjoying each other. I knew kids were running and babies were being passed around. In that moment I appreciated them SO much. Much more than I would have if I'd been there. I loved that big family (I bet there were 40 people there last night), and I was thankful for how many family Thanksgivings we have get to go to. I was thankful for my dad's bad jokes, and even for the two hour trip we take to see my mom's family. I was so appreciative because I knew this lonely meal in my room was atypical for us. I was thankful that we have this bustling, chaotic life, and a bustling, chaotic Thanksgiving to go along with it.

I thought of people who spend Thanksgiving alone every year, with no one to rush to. I thought of elderly people in nursing homes with no one to visit. I thought of families of incarcerated men and women who miss their parents, children in foster homes longing for families, people in hospitals and hospices, people who suffer because of poverty and hunger. And I'd been feeling bad because I was eating alone, this one day? Sick, this one day? Suddenly complaining about having too many people that love us, and too much food to eat and too many warm houses to eat in seemed a little....pathetic. Luxurious. Not thankful.

Y'all, the flu ain't so bad. In fact, it might have been just what I needed. It's what made this the worst best thanksgiving ever. Maybe our Thanksgiving is more like this than I knew.

Why Extroverts Hate The Flu

I guess everyone hates the flu, really. Except maybe people with Hypochondria or Munchausen By Proxy. For the rest of us it's a drag. And I've never been an introvert, but I would guess that it's harder for us extroverts. 

Thank God for my mom keeping The Boy today. He's on steroids for wheezing, and he is hyped up like a spider monkey. She has the patience of Job. I went to the doctor, got the flu stick shoved up to my brain, got my meds, cancelled my clients, and came home and crashed. I have been coughing constantly, my throat is raw, I have congestion off the chain, and my muscles hurt. But it wasn't until the "flu" word came out that I really felt bad. Validation or power of suggestion?

Exaggeration. I don't actually look this good when I have the flu. 

Now I can't go to Thanksgiving tomorrow, and you'll remember from last year we cram a lot into our holidays.  Mostly I'm disappointed to miss sweet potato souffle. And peanut butter balls. And pie. Oh, and family. Of course.

Back to today. I came home and took a nap. Then I was awake. And alone. And it was nice to just lie there with no responsibility and no pressure. For about 5 minutes. Then I was bored. I caught up on The Daily Show. And then I called The Husband, who was kindly leaving work early. Hooray! I anxiously awaited for his arrival, knowing he could fix me some lunch and a drink and provide me some company. So sweet. He came home, came to the door to my room, and asked how I was feeling. I told him I was okay. Before I could even ask for lunch, he shut the door and yelled to me from the hall "you're quarantined!"

Oh, I forgot to tell you The Husband is a nut about germs. I wouldn't be surprised if he was out there in the hall with a can of Lysol in his hands. "Please!" I begged through the door "could you fix me a scrap to eat?"

He did, but held it at arm's distance and placed it at the foot of the bed. It was clear that I wasn't going to get any company. "Hang out with me?" I called to him. "I'm disinfecting" he said. He went to the store to get me some flu supplies and went to get The Boy. I don't know how single parents do it. 

He came back, and came to the door. "Hon", he said to me gently, "we're going to go stay at my mom's tonight....So you can get some rest." 

He brought The Boy to the door. 

"You sick mama?"

"Yes, buddy. Did you have a good day?"

"Yep. I have fun at Pammie's house."

He waved goodbye to me and was happy to go to his Bebe's to play with 'inja turtles. The Husband offered to fix me some dinner. They left. 

I was alone. With no prospect of seeing people for a while. I don't mind being alone, if I get to choose it and I get to choose when it ends. Plus, this was bor-ing. And I was restless. It's not that I'm afraid to be with my thoughts (although I do feel like I have a surplus sometimes), but I need people to recharge. I need to interact with others and say things out loud and hear people laugh. I need to connect. If I were an introvert, this alone time might be just what I needed to feel better, to recharge. I am no introvert. Do they really enjoy this? I needed to be preparing food for a ton of people this weekend. I needed to be chatting with my husband about if The Boy on steroids will sit still long enough to eat tomorrow. 

And now my family is gone, and no one can visit because I'm contagious. I'm in a weird flu purgatory of feeling bad and being contagious but being alert enough to be bored and want some interaction. 

So I watched some tv. I looked at pinterest all the way to the end. That's right, I finished every pin on pinterest. I checked out facebook. I made it to the bathroom and took a steam bath. I checked out the Momastery blog. I love Glennon's blog (I don't actually know her, I just feel like we're on a first name basis) and feel like it's really positive. Usually I wish I had more time to myself to just read blogs. Today all I had was time, and I wanted people. I texted my mom, who is an introvert. She was with my sister, an extrovert. 

My sister is an extrovert like me. We're also talkers. I'd dare say she even talks more than me. When we get together and get on a roll we feed off each other and CANNOT stop laughing. She gets me. 

She was referring to this. These are silly, but there are frustrating things about being an extrovert. Like when you're quarantined. Back to that. 

The minutes ticked by. Would I make it? I tossed and turned. I missed people. I missed my family. I could never make it in solitary confinement. I'd be more likely to start a therapeutic group in prison, where we all process our feelings. If I'm ever kidnapped, I'll probably confess anything I know just to get to have a conversation. I started thinking about my great grandmother Maggie who fell ill when my granddaddy was young and had to stay in a TB sanitarium for 3 months. Her family was only able to visit once a month. How did she do it? I'd go crazy. I tried to channel her strength. Maybe I was going crazy. It was already setting in. My brain was turning on itself. 

My family had been gone an hour.  It's going to be a long night. 

So, needing to reach out, I turned to you, my friends. To tell you how I need people. Thank you for being my people. May you have a happy Thanksgiving. Tomorrow I will reflect on just how thankful I am for the people in my life, for the connections and conversations that keep me going. 

And, if none of this makes sense, please know I am heavily medicated.