Birthday Girl

The second guess chorus

I tend to agonize over decisions. The red shirt or the black shirt? Spearmint or wintergreen? Crest or Colgate? Then after a decision has been made, I second guess myself.

A sampling of the second guess chorus that is on constant loop in my head:

Maybe I should have kept my hair long.

Maybe we should have gone with a station wagon.

Maybe law school would have been better.

Maybe the red shirt would have looked better.

I already torture myself with most decisions, but when it comes to decisions that will impact my children's lives, watch out. The volume of the second guess chorus increases until all I can hear is doubt.

On Thursday, I received a call from the director of the preschool that Little E starts this week. I had already agonized over the decision to change schools* and had just made my peace that I was doing the right thing to move her. So when the director called me to offer a choice of whether to place E in the two-year-old class or in the three-year-old class, I got brain freeze.

The preschool uses the public school calendar to determine class assignments. In our district, September 1 is the cutoff date. Children born on or before that date go into one grade level and children born after that date go into the next. Because Little E's birthday is in September after the deadline, she was slated to start with the two-year-old class despite being nearly three. I was somewhat worried about this because, when I asked, the two-year-olds teacher let me know that Little E would be the oldest by about four and a half months and that most of the children in that class are younger than her by at least six months. Now, I don't think she is a genius or anything, but she is bright and inquisitive and occasionally lets loose a sentence like this one from yesterday, "Mama, the condensation on my sippy cup is very frustrating." (Of course, she was racing around the house tonight waving a pool noodle in the air while shrieking, "Squirt the little tango! Squirt the little tango!" Huh?)

The center director called after a spot came available in the three-year-old class. Normally, she said, the center won't move children up. However, they were willing to do so in our case because the two-year-olds teacher also had concerns about the social and developmental gap between Little E and the younger twos.** Of course, moving her up to the threes wouldn't be without issues. For the threes, she would be the youngest by two months. Also, because of the public school policy, we would likely have to hold her back at some point.

So, I had a decision. Leave her with the twos or move her to the threes.

Ultimately, I decided that I would rather not have her regress by being with a younger cohort. I want her challenged intellectually, and I want her social skills to continue to develop. So tomorrow at 8:30 a.m., she starts the three-year-old class. And at 8:31 a.m., the second guess chorus will start its crescendo in my head.

I hope I've made the right decision.

*Pros: NAEYC accreditation, affiliated with School of Education, on campus near my office, healthy snacks, teachers with masters in early childhood ed
Cons: Tearing her from the teachers and friends she loves, having the girls at different centers, out of the way for J which leave me in charge of all transportation.

**She had assessed all the children slated to start her class, so I'll have to take her word for it.

Juggling

Can my year long break from the classroom be ending? Can my baby be two days from her first birthday? Can little E be starting preschool? Already? Really? That went too fast. I wish I could slow time down just a little and linger. Of course, slowing down and lingering would just make me feel a little sadder/ more nostalgic than I already do so maybe that isn't a good idea.

It occurred to me tonight, as I was baking cupcakes, that the last time I was teaching, I had a nanny.* When we had a nanny, I didn't have to worry about corralling children, dressing children or dropping off children; didn't have to worry about tidying up after breakfast (the nanny did some light housework); and often didn't have to cook because the nanny, a culinary school graduate, loved to cook during E's naps. I was spoiled. Broke, but spoiled.

I am hoping to fall into a routine that works for all of us, but I am guessing that keeping the balls in the air is going to get intense. My working plan is to do as much in advance as is practical and to be as organized as possible. Toward these ends, I've baked and frozen the cupcakes for M's nursery party three days early, I've created a menu and done the weekly grocery shopping, I've laid out outfits for the girls and me, and I've assembled M's school bag a few days in advance. I am sure there is more I could be doing for preparation, but at least it is something.

On the bright side, I've made a good bit of progress on my list. Of course, I'll still be scrambling this week.

• Decide on schedule for practicum
• Determine grading scheme for practicum
• Put practicum readings together in WebCT
• Put practicum project handout together
• Test software in lab
• Write lab exercises that utilize software
• Write first week of lectures for practicum I have these planned, but not written
• Put finishing touches on social issues syllabus
• Determine grading scale for social issues
• Investigate pedagogical implications of requiring student blogs in social issues
• Find a peanut-free food that E will be able to carry for lunch at new school
• Get E’s hair trimmed S
• Get my hair trimmed and brows waxed Have made appointment for hair
• Meet grad student about our neglected project
• Get pedicure Perhaps this will be a treat after surviving the first week of classes
• Call electrician about the short in living room overhead light
• Lose five pounds Working on it! Less chocolate and more exercise!
• Try on my professional clothes to determine what will fit until I lose five pounds
• Keep trying to wean
• Determine guest list for joint birthday party
• Order invitations
• Order cake
• Start running
• Keep running
  
• Update college web page to reflect office hours
• Find out when my faculty committees/ department meetings are scheduled
• Bake something to take to Baby M’s nursery the day of her actual birthday
• Throw away student tests that are more than three years old (we are required to keep work for three years)
• Put together WebCT pages for social issues
• Find shoes for Baby M
  
• Find out if I am already president of state association (the fact that I don’t know if my term has begun is embarrassing)
• Get email list for April 2008 conference I am organizing; talk to last year’s organizer
• Set up state association web site
• Get E's immunization records

*I've been on maternity leave or sabbatical leave since last May. E started daycare last June. The transition to daycare was eased by my flexibility during maternity and sabbatical leaves.

Finally! A good hair day

Way back in the fall, when Baby M was just a few months old, and when I was very tired and very pressed for time*, I decided to cut my shoulder length hair short. Very, very short. Just so you know, I didn't go into this blindly; I've had very cute cropped hair before and I assumed that this would be equally cute and easy and fast. Unfortunately, my stylist botched it, and it has been the source of much grief since.

I was feeling too guilty to leave her (she had a baby in June and I know she was worried about finances) so I kept going to her and I kept getting bad cuts. I was so loyal that I even went to someone in her salon when she was on maternity leave (he was also pretty bad). Two weeks ago, I received a call informing me that she was back from maternity leave. I dutifully called to make an appointment and was told that her first available slot was August 23, a day after I start classes. That, my friends, was the proverbial straw. Not to be able to get a cut, even a bad one, before classes? No way. So I finally let the guilt go and looked for another stylist.

May I sing the praises of Kate, a master stylist at a top salon in this city? I had the choice to go with a "master" stylist or an "apprentice" and decided to spend the bucks on the shear genius. Why haven't I done this before? It is the best money I have spent in a long time. I'm serious. My hair looks fabulous. It is still short, but cute. Super cute. But still professional. And it should be easy to style. I also had my brows waxed and they look awesome.

So there. Call me shallow, but I am ridiculously happy that I am looking better.

*OK, I'm still tired and pressed for time, but I hadn't found my groove yet then.

A Good Day

Clearly there are things on my list that I will not complete by next week. That website for the state association? It will have to wait. Writing all my labs in advance? Not going to happen. However, I feel like I can get everything done that MUST be done by Wednesday. The rest will happen when they happen, and no one but me will notice.

I was feeling so confident and in control that this morning I decided to keep Baby M home from daycare so we could run errands and hang out. I often feel guilty that Baby M doesn't get enough attention from me. This is somewhat ironic because when I was pregnant with her, I spent a fair amount of energy worrying that big sister, E, would get lost in the shuffle. As it turns out, E is quite good at staying at or near the center of attention. Whether she is eating fluoridated toothpaste straight from the tube, or commanding me to sing Itsy Bitsy Spider yet again, or begging me to let her help cook, she is impossible to ignore for both positive and negative reasons. Plus, she is awake more and longer than her baby sister* so we get alone time in the evening.

Baby M, on the other hand, is non-verbal and easily dominated by her big sister. Because Baby M can't yet express her desires, the wishes of her sister-- from which Signing Time video to watch to which tub to bathe in tonight--are generally granted. Baby M doesn't seem too grumpy about it--she usually seems quite content to be a part of her big sister's general orbit-- but I worry. This is probably just an expression of guilt for not being able to give her my undivided attention, but it is there, a steady undercurrent.

All this is to say that I was excited to be able to take a day off with Baby M. We went to my office for a while, but mostly we just hung out at home and cuddled and nursed** and practiced taking steps and worked on signs and took long naps and flipped through books (can't really call it reading) and ate yogurt and laughed at the dogs and waved to the garbage collector and tried to crawl into the washing machine (her, not me) and took apart the diaper bag and cuddled some more.

So, it was a good day. It occurs to me that I had a lot more days like this with E, but I didn't realize how important and good they were. I wish now that I had understood just how quickly this stage goes by and had let myself enjoy it a bit more.

On Monday, I'll have E alone for the day. She will have to accompany me to a department meeting because I can't find childcare, but otherwise the day will be ours. I can't wait.



*Actually Baby M is awake far more often at 4 a.m., but that isn't what I consider quality time.

**Yes, yes. I am supposed to be weaning, but it makes her happy. I'll get more serious about it when classes start next week.

Progress

Thank you, Nico, for the technical help!

I'm making slow progress on this list. I was feeling less panicked until I realized that I don't have any childcare for Little E Monday through Wednesday next week because there is a gap between her last day at her daycare and her first day at her new preschool. J is going to take off on Wednesday because that is my first class day, but she'll have to come to work with me Monday and Tuesday. Joy!

Here is my updated list.

• Decide on schedule for practicum
• Determine grading scheme for practicum
• Put practicum readings together in WebCT
• Put practicum project handout together
• Test software in lab
• Write lab exercises that utilize software
• Write first week of lectures for practicum I have these planned, but not written
• Put finishing touches on social issues syllabus
• Determine grading scale for social issues
• Investigate pedagogical implications of requiring student blogs in social issues
• Find a peanut-free food that E will be able to carry for lunch at new school
• Get E’s hair trimmed Scheduled
• Get my hair trimmed and brows waxed Have made appointment for hair
• Meet grad student about our neglected project scheduled
• Get pedicure Perhaps this will be a treat after surviving the first week of classes
  Call electrician about the short in living room overhead light
• Lose five pounds Working on it! Less chocolate and more exercise!
• Try on my professional clothes to determine what will fit until I lose five pounds
• Keep trying to wean
• Determine guest list for joint birthday party
• Order invitations
• Order cake
• Start running
• Keep running Three days in a row!
• Update college web page to reflect office hours
• Find out when my faculty committees/ department meetings are scheduled
• Bake something to take to Baby M’s nursery the day of her actual birthday
• Throw away student tests that are more than three years old (we are required to keep work for three years)
• Put together WebCT pages for social issues
• Find shoes for Baby M who, while not walking on her own, likes to hold onto my fingers and walk
• Find out if I am already president of state association (the fact that I don’t know if my term has begun is embarrassing)
• Get email list for April 2008 conference I am organizing; talk to last year’s organizer
• Set up state association web site
• Get E's immunization records Should be able to pick these up tomorrow

A Technical Question

It would be very helpful for me to be able to strikethrough my depressingly long to-do list. However, when I try to cut and paste from Word, Blogger loses my formatting. I do not see a strikethrough button on the Blogger editing menu. Can anyone tell me how to get strikethrough formatting? I know I've seen others bloggers using it.

Nine days and a list from hell

My classes start on August 22, I am not entirely prepared. Actually, I am not at all prepared, and I’m starting to panic. Sure, I’ve had months to do all this. Many months. Yet here I am, Dr. Procrastinator. It happens that Baby M’s birthday is also on the 22nd. I would be more panicked about that except that we plan to hold a joint party with her sister in September giving me a few more weeks to procrastinate.

This semester I'm teaching two sections of a research practicum and one section of a social issues course. I'm not at all worried about the latter as it is fun and relatively easy to teach.* However, this is my first time teaching the subject matter in this particular practicum, and I find myself struggling with it a bit. I am also on two college-wide committees that are fairly work intensive and I am in the middle of two reserach projects. Things are about to get busy.

In the interest of attempting to organize myself, here is my get-ready for-school list in no particular order:

• Decide on schedule for practicum
• Determine grading scheme for practicum
• Put practicum readings together in WebCT
• Put practicum project handout together
• Test software in lab
• Write lab exercises that utilize software
• Write first week of lectures for practicum
• Put finishing touches on social issues syllabus
• Determine grading scale for social issues
• Investigate pedagogical implications of requiring student blogs in social issues
• Find a peanut-free food that E will be able to carry for lunch at new school
• Get E’s hair trimmed
• Get my hair trimmed and brows waxed
• Meet grad student about our neglected project
• Get pedicure
• Call electrician about the short in living room overhead light
• Lose five pounds
• Try on my professional clothes to determine what will fit until I lose five pounds
• Keep trying to wean**
• Determine guest list for joint birthday party
• Order invitations
• Order cake
• Start running
• Update college web page to reflect office hours
• Find out when my faculty committees/ department meetings are scheduled
• Bake something to take to Baby M’s nursery the day of her actual birthday
• Throw away student tests that are more than three years old (we are required to keep work for three years)
• Put together WebCT pages for social issues
• Find shoes for Baby M who, while not walking on her own, likes to hold onto my fingers and walk
• Find out if I am already president of state association (the fact that I don’t know if my term has begun is embarrassing)
• Get email list for April 2008 conference I am organizing; talk to last year’s organizer
• Set up state association web site

Oh my! This is a big list and I know there is more that I am blocking. I guess it is good that I tend to do best working to deadlines (except for in the case of that dreadful text).

*I have taught it often enough that I think I could do it note-free for the entire semester. Still, it needs to be updated lest it feel stale.
**Despite taking bottles at daycare, she throws bottles and sippy cups at me when I try to give her milk (even breastmilk) in them. Then I break down and give her a boob. Help!

Melting

It is 10:30 p.m. and 85 degrees (F) outside. It is 81.9 degrees inside. Today when temperatures climbed into the high 90s and the heat index hit 117, it was 84 degrees inside. Oh yes, our air conditioner sucks (hot) wind. As a result I am cranky, sweaty, and unable to think.

When J left dirty dishes out, I almost exploded. So commenced a short personal journey toward a better understanding of the positive correlation between temperature and homicide rates.

So, anyone know how to sabotage an air conditioner? Ours is covered under our home warranty. However, each time I have called it in, the repairmen have come out and declared it in good working order, just a little low in freon. They charge it and go. It works better for a few days and then we are back to slow baking. The unit is undersized for the house which explains a lot, but still. It must die (and look natural). I can't afford to replace it without help from the warranty company.

Ooh. The CNN man is broadcasting live from downtown. CNN came here to talk about the heat. We are so screwed.

She's having none of it

Do you like milk in cups?

I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.
I do not like milk in cups.

Would you like it here or there?

I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you like it in a house?
Would you like it with a mouse?

I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you try it in a box?
Would you try it with a fox?

Not in a box.
Not with a fox.
Not in a house.
Not with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you try it in a cup of blue?
Would you try it if I try some too?

Not in a cup of blue.
Not if you try some too.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you try some from your daddy?
Would you try some in a paddy?

Not from daddy.
Not in a paddy.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you? Could you?
Try some disguised in milk that I’ve expressed
From that place that you like best?

I would not, could not try some disguised in milk that’s been expressed
From the place that I like best.


You may like it.
You will see.
You may like it, my darling pea!

I would not, could not.
In milk that’s been expressed.
Not from daddy.
Not in a paddy.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

A straw! A straw!
A straw! A straw!
Could you, would you, with a straw?

Not with a straw.
Not in milk that’s been expressed.
You are making me depressed!
Not from daddy.
Not in a paddy.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

You do not like milk in cups?

I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

You do not like it.
So you say.
Try it! Try it!
And you may.
Try it and you may, I say.

Mom! If you will let me be, I will try it.
You will see.
Say!
You were wrong and I was right.
This milk in a cup tastes just like tripe.

She loved it

The batteries on the camera died as we were trying to get shots of Little E in front of Thomas. You'll have to use your imagination. Here are a couple of shots from our ride (which came complete with Deliverance-style mountain folk waving from rickety homemade platforms overlooking the Tuckasegee River).

On vacation

We are on vacation. With children!

What were we thinking?

J and I decided it was time for a short get away. We live on the coast, but by this time of year the heat, the tourists, and the incessant hurricane talk (Are YOU prepared for another Hugo? Do YOU have enough insurance? Have YOU stocked your hurricane survival kit yet?*) get to us, and we feel the desire for a short escape. So what do we do? We head to the mountains for our turn playing tourists.

We left last night. I had a brilliant plan. Leave after dinner and baths so that the girls would sleep the five hours. It was a great idea in theory, but it didn't work out quite so well in reality.

First, I never should have told Little E where we were going. Especially not the part about seeing Thomas the Train. Looking back, that was a bad idea. Very bad. You see, children two and three quarters years old do not have a well-developed sense of time. So by saying, "We'll ride on Thomas on Friday," I may as well have told her "All aboard!" This meant that she didn't dare close her eyes on the trip up (until the last 20 minutes). If she had been happy to be strapped to her carseat that would have been one thing, but after the first two hours, she was pissed about the whole thing, once telling J, "J, turn this car around NOW. I want to go home." Yes, she called him by his first name. That went over well.

Second, if one child is up throwing wild tantrums, the other child is hard pressed to sleep well. This means that Baby M was awake and not happy for the last two hours of the trip. We had stereo wailing in the back seat.

Finally, the girls were wired after we finally checked into our hotel. So wired that they were both up until 1:30 a.m. No amount of nursing, walking or singing was going to help Baby M go to sleep. Little E stayed up in solidarity.

This morning we went shopping for a fan to produce white noise (I can't sleep without it-how we left mine, I don't know) and a sit and stand stroller.** Why we have waited until 11 months for a sit and stand, I don't know, but Little M can't walk as far here so a double stroller was definitely in order. Coming from the Lowcountry, she is unaccustomed to hills and we have lots of walking planned. After their nap, we are going up into the mountains to see the house my in-laws are building. I have mixed feelings about their vacation home (a place in the mountains-cool! more time with the in-laws- Ugh!).

Tomorrow is Thomas Day. I'll post pics.



*Our answers are no, no and no.
**And a big bottle of wine. For the whining.

Weaning

M will be 11 months next week. My breastfeeding goal was to make it to a year, and I do believe we will do this (no thanks to lazy lefty). I am planning to commence with day weaning after we take a family vacation to the N.C. mountains at the end of this month. Thanks to my frozen stash, M should be able to get breast milk during the day right up until the one year mark when I will switch her to whole milk and start night weaning. The photo at left doesn't do my stash justice: the entire bottom shelf of a stand-up freezer is full and there is more in the house. How did that happen?

Why I look forward to weaning

• I am tired of being hooked to the pump three times a day. My inner heifer is rebelling, I suppose.
• When I go to my office, I look like a bag lady.
• Nursing bras aren't sexy, cute, or even sporty.
• I dress for nursing and pumping access, not for fashion.
• I'm still hanging onto eight extra pounds, and I blame nursing.
• I smell like maple syrup from fenugreek consumption.
• My DD girls need their own zip code.
• Eight razor sharp baby teeth and more where they came from.

Why the thought of weaning makes me sad

• After a disastrous nursing experience with E, I feel a certain sense of accomplishment this time.
• Some days it feels like the only quality one-on-one time I get with M is while we are nursing.
• M doesn't seem ready. She is very much a boob baby, crawling at breakneck speed to find me when she wants to nurse. The cadence of hands and feet on hardwood signals her intent. When I lift her to me, she buries her head in my chest and starts protesting at the clothes that are in her way. How am I going to say no to that?
• I'm not quite sure how to go about weaning. Drop one feeding a week? Every few days? Switch to a cup or stick with the bottle? Nurse for comfort? Find another comfort object?
• Because, despite all my anxiety about not being able to meet her needs, I did it, I enjoyed it, and I found it life affirming.
• I know that she is probably my last child and weaning closes a chapter of my life.

Priorities in order

Is it pathetic that, given a choice of long weekends to take a quick mountain vacation, I said no to the weekend that the last Harry Potter book will delivered to my door?

Recipe Swap

Nico is hosting a recipe swap for quick and easy recipes that are good as leftovers and/or easy to prepare. Here is one of my favorite summer recipes that is easy and doesn't involve heating up the kitchen. This can be served as a side dish, but I think that it is hearty enough to be a main course if served with a whole grain roll.

Marinated Black Bean Salad
3 cans of black beans, drained
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 Tbs grainy dijon mustard
salt/pepper to taste
1 medium red onion, chopped
2 medium tomatoes, diced (use one can of diced if you don't have fresh tomatoes)
1 red onion sliced for garnish (optional)

Mix tomatoes, black beans, onion.
Mix oil, vinegar, salt/pepper, mustard and drizzle over bean mixture. I don't usually use the entire vinaigrette.
Place sliced onions on top.
Chill overnight. Serve cool.

Back to the office

For the better part of a year, I have avoided my campus office like the plague. I cleared out last June and did my level best to stay away through family leave and then a sabbatical. I can't point to any one thing fueling my desire to stay away and to work from home. The baby was a huge part of it, course, but there were other reasons.

Rats, for instance.

My office is located in the attic of a building on the historic register (or so I'm told). It is old and dusty. In the recent past it was infested with rats the size of small house cats. Oh yes, office vermin! Such an authentic link to the past! We should put it on the campus tour. I was so afraid of my rodent invaders that I would knock on my door before entering the office so they could scamper back to their hiding places in the walls. Getting rid of them was a comedy in three acts. First, the maintenance guys brought traps over and baited these with peanut butter. In the mornings before I would enter, I would send someone else into the office to check the traps. There were never any bodies to dispose of. Instead, all the peanut butter had been licked off and there were often little peanut butter rat tracks back to the bank of cabinets lining my office. One maintenance guy was so certain that the traps were malfunctioning that he tested one. With his finger. The traps were in perfect condition. His finger, alas, was not. This incident confirmed my fear that the rats were, in fact, smarter than people. When it became apparent that traps wouldn't work, the college contracted with an outside exterminator who baited the office with rat poison. The rats ate the rat poison, but it did not kill them. I suspect this is because they were super rats for whom rat poison was the equivalent of Popeye's spinach. What finally worked was putting a new roof on the building. Apparently there were holes under the slate of the old roof which provided an on-ramp for the rat super highway that ran through my office.

All this is to say that a healthy and sustained fear of rats is one reason I stayed away. You never know when they'll be back.

A Terrible Method for Putting Things in Perspective, Part II

Most evenings after feeding the family, bathing the children and getting M to bed, I leave J and E to read stories, and I take a walk. Most of the time, I walk to a nearby river to watch the dolphins feeding and to take in the setting sun. On Monday, I departed from this ritual and opted instead to walk an urban trail that runs between my neighborhood and one of the main thoroughfares in my city.

I set out around 6:45 and walked for about half an hour before turning around. The trail was fairly busy with kids on mountain bikes, runners, and couples getting in their evening exercise. When I was about half a mile out, I noticed a sickening chemical smell and wondered if someone had burned some household trash. It was unpleasant, and it burned my eyes, but the smell only lasted a few hundred feet and then was gone. I put it out of my mind.

When I turned around after a half hour to head home, I immediately noticed a thick plume of black, black smoke rising in the air in the distance. The meaning of the chemical smell became apparent; it was obviously a structural fire. With sirens—fire, ambulance, police-- wailing in the distance, I walked back toward the source of the smoke. The closer I got, the clearer it became that this was a massive fire.

I exited the trail and started walking toward the sirens and bright lights. I was not alone. As if led by the Pied Piper, a line of us walked toward the commotion and the heat. Motorists rolled down their windows to ask what was happening. Kids on bikes excitedly raced past.

I was awestruck by the fire. A warehouse was aflame and it was the most intense thing I have ever seen. Flames were shooting into the air. It sounded like that cereal that snaps, crackles and pops. It smelled hot. Waves of heat enveloped the crowd that had gathered. Firefighters on ladder trucks aimed water over the top of the structure. I felt self-conscious taking pictures with my cell phone camera until I noticed that others were doing the same. The impromptu gathering took on a carnival atmosphere; I think those of us in the crowd shared the assumption that all firefighting efforts were taking place from a safe distance outside the building.

Imagine then, my horror upon learning later that evening that maybe two to three fire fighters were missing. Imagine then, the horror upon learning the next morning that nine firefighters had lost their lives in the inferno.

To get out of my neighborhood, I have to pass the store and warehouse that burned. It has become a shrine of sorts. In front of the police tape and ATF trailers, someone has placed nine white crosses. There are flowers. Teddy bears. Notes. People stop and cry. Their grief is captured by the national press which is out in force. It is surreal. It is sad. I didn't know any of the men killed Monday, but I still feel a deep sense of loss.

Update

Thanks for the kind comments on my previous post. We all survived the week.

My mother's cancer had not spread and she will require no treatment beyond the surgery. The growth the surgeon removed form her liver was just a cyst and the enlarged ovary was the result of a benign condition. She'll have an annual colonoscopy to monitor for recurrence, but she is considered cured at this point. She is still hospitalized, but she should be out by Monday or Tuesday.

Here are some highlights from the week:

Thursday morning, the first morning after the surgery, I was the child on duty to visit my mother first. I left M with my sister-in-law and borrowed a car from my sister-in-laws' father which I almost wrecked on the way to the hospital by stalling during a left-hand turn. In my defense, I have never driven a car with a clutch that tight despite a great deal of experience with manual transitions including my current car. After I arrived at the hospital, I could not figure out how to get the key out of the ignition. Then I couldn't find the owner of the car or anyone who knew how to remove it. They had to page my brother out of a meeting so he could tell me the trick (a latch that you slide as you turn the key). All I can say is damn you, Ford. No wonder you are losing market share.

I have seen the future and it isn't pretty. My mother's whining and complaining do not bode well for how she will handle aging. She already complains bitterly about everything, but the surgery just exaggerated these tendencies. I guess it would be different if she complained in a nice way, but that didn't happen. I witnessed her harassing two nurses when they couldn't find her veins: "I'm going to write the hospital a letter telling them that there ARE better ways to do this."*


Speaking of which, I'm not cut out for nursing parents. I fed my mom ice chips, brushed her teeth, brushed her hair and tried to help her out of bed, but I felt anxious the whole time especially when I realized she was going commando-- I thought I might need intensive talk therapy, if not drugs after that. How do people care for their parents for extended periods of time? Does it get easier? Do my parents have the finances in place for long term care?

Baby M and I stayed with my brother. He and his wife are on the fence as to whether to have another child** so they keep a crib in the spare bedroom, but not a bed. I learned that I am too old to sleep on air mattresses. By morning, enough air had leaked that parts of me had sunk to the ground and other parts were buoyed by air pockets. I will bring a sleeping bag next time and just sleep on the floor. It will be better. Despite a somewhat uncomfortable night, it was nice to stay with my brother's family.

E came home (she and J stayed with my in-laws) and promptly developed another mystery fever that has lasted two days thus far. This makes three in the past 8 weeks. I'm starting to get concerned. Except for the high fever, she has no other symptoms. Strange.

M is about to cut a new tooth and has been cranky. I can see the tooth, her third, under the gum so I think that the misery will end soon. Of course, there are many more to come. Sigh.

I've decided to move back to my campus office (I've been on maternity leave and sabbatical since August and have been mostly home-based.). I'm looking forward to more of a separation between home and work. More on that later next week as I move my base of operations.


*I have the same skinny, temperamental veins, so while I understand that being stuck four times for one blood draw or IV is not optimal, I have never harassed a nurse about it. Especially not one who is responsible for providing my pain meds and emptying my bladder.

**I'm guessing they will have another and that I'll experience a certain amount of baby envy before giving over to total delight to being an aunt again.

Just shoot me

Quick! Someone find me a therapist (and not that bitch from the Sopranos). I have mother issues.

My mother has been diagnosed with cancer and is about to have surgery and I am feeling. . .

[Drumroll]

Resentment. When I reach deep and try to identify the dominant emotion that is gripping me these days, it isn’t fear or sadness or anxiety that rises to the top of the stew. No, it is resentment. My hospital-phobic brother called me this afternoon to complain about my mother's complaining and stream of orders. It seems that he is feeling resentful too.

Nearly a week after her diagnosis, my fears have come true. My mother is in full-blown crisis mode. She is panicked, mournful, bossy, controlling, and eager for attention. Her energy to complain and whine and complain some more seems limitless. She is a force of nature.

So far she has:

• called everyone she can think of to share her “very sad news.” I guess she doesn’t trust her social network to get the word out. I asked if I could tell a mutual acquaintance here (we live in a city a few hours from her). She informed that she had already called and had a "very nice chat" with the acquaintance.
• asked a church acquaintance who is battling Stage 4 colon cancer to accompany her to her appointments. As if she needs to spend what's left of her time in more hospitals and doctors' offices. The woman had the good sense to demur.
• asked a friend to spend the night in the hospital with her despite my brother and my offers of hiring a night nurse.
• called to tell me that the CT technician hurt her hand with the IV used in her scan. So she cried (literally) and demanded a supervisor take over.
• arranged for her prayer group to be at the hospital during her surgery.
• demanded that my brothers and I are at the hospital during her procedure. I was planning to do this, but my especially hospital-phobic brother is none-too-pleased.
• told me she expects me to hold hands and sing Kumbaya or whatever with her preacher and prayer group. She knows I am an avowed agnostic and perhaps an atheist, but she doesn’t care. When I told her that I would be respectful of the group, but would not be holding hands and praying aloud, she started crying. Oh yeah. Maybe guilt will help me find God.
• demanded that I bring the children and stay with her when she is released from the hospital. I'm not doing this for reasons I'll have to write about later.
• told me over and over that she is feeling sorry for herself, but that it is natural to feel sorry for herself because this is just so tragic.

As you are reading this, perhaps you are thinking that we are jerks. Ungrateful children. Selfish. And maybe we are.

However, our response to our mother’s emotional outbursts, machinations, and directives is conditioned upon a lifetime of trying to manage her emotional outbursts, machinations, and directives. I guess a cancer diagnosis isn’t enough to overcome this.

Rain!

Tropical Depression Barry, I love you.