My daughter, in her amazing ability to keep me on my toes, has decided to develop asthma.
She did this on purpose just to irritate me. Thirteen year old girls are known for testing their mother's love and mothers are known for loving their little girls no matter what. I just wish she had chosen a battle over wearing make up or long dangle earrings rather than causing the medical community to collectively shrug their shoulders.
The little girl has always had issues with her sinuses and ear infections. It took many years to get the doctors to agree to allergy shots. Then the diagnosis of asthma was conferred upon her within a year of being treated by the allergist. Her symptoms picked the absolute worst time to really flare up; mere weeks before she was scheduled to be on a bus, half a continent away, for her eighth grade class trip to Washington, DC.
On average, I was called to the school two or three days a week in the time leading up to that trip. I would take her directly to her allergist, she would receive treatment, and I would take her back to school and return back to work. One Saturday night we spent in the emergency room.
It started to become apparent that some of the asthma issue was anxiety. I said, "well of course!" She is upset that she can't catch her breath and she never knows when she is going to feel like she can't breathe. It can't be anything to do with me, right?
I was sure that it had nothing to do with every conversation with my daughter starting to be like this:
Me: How do you feel?
J: Fine.
Me: Are you sure? How do you feel in your chest? Is it tight? Are you breathing deep? When was the last time you had to use your rescue inhaler? Are you sure? Did you breathe it in deep enough?
J: (silent)
Me: Why don't you JUST RELAX AND BREATHE?
So, clearly we had a problem. I needed to take care of my baby. I needed to go "mama bear."
I signed us up for yoga.
Obviously, I was in full mommy melt down because I had convinced myself that yoga will teach her to breathe through an asthma attack.
Just like Lamaze helped me breathe through labor.
Yoga was and still is awesome. We really enjoy our mother-daughter time together. Just like when I asked her if I looked as silly as I thought I did doing some of the poses. She replied, "you look sillier."
That one took me a minute.
She made it through DC. Well, she made it until the last day. I did get that one phone call with the teacher on the other end in that tone of voice that is trying to stay calm but really is not at all calm. "Your daughter has been quite the trooper but now we have to decide if we should take her to the hospital or not."
Now I can't breathe. Even with all of my extensive yoga AND Lamaze classes; I still can't breathe.
Yes, if you think she needs to go to the hospital please take her to the hospital. I am in Florida. You are in Washington, DC. I can't see her. Is her response to your questioning a snort of derision? If she can still do that then she is fine. If she is slumped over on a bench and not participating with the group then maybe she needs something else.
The awesome teachers were able to get her breathing under control and she was absolutely fine and is absolutely fine. She didn't need hospitalization and I am so grateful to God that she was able to have a great trip until that last day. Even then her happy attitude didn't let her get upset. She is not one to dwell on the negative and she is usually able to find the bright side. Some days I think that I learn more from the kids then I can teach them! Both her and her brother are always able to find that bright spot, the good times, and be happy about those. They have a wonderful spirit that I am so blessed to have in my life.
I am truly honored and privileged to be their mom. I thank God that He is allowing me to be on this journey with these kids.
Inhale... exhale... inhale... exhale...
When I was a new mom; I thought all I had to do was get through the terrible twos and I now I know that raising these kids will not get any easier.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Pin THAT
I have noticed that, as my husband and I live
out our American Dream with our 2.5 children in our suburban cookie cutter
home, I do not have the time to keep said home as clean and organized as I
would like it to be. I often cannot find
what I need and I really hate that I feel like I am always cleaning something
and the place is still a wreck. When I am
on the “interwebs” (as the kids call it) I see that there are quite a few
articles on this exact subject and I believed myself to be in good company.
I became obsessed with the website known as “Pinterest.” This electronic corkboard of ideas on which a person can waste entire weekend became something on which I began to pin my hopes for a well-run home. I pinned every pin I could pin on my carefully crafted boards that held the promise of a clean and organized home.
And then I started to actually read what the
pins were telling me to do.
Remember, these ideas are being touted as
groundbreaking and revolutionary. The
brain trusts who have orchestrated this advice have orchestrated the phenomenal
photo shoots of the room and products which have caught my attention and have
made me want to pin this in the first place.
I want this room. I want
this organized linen closet with well-behaved fitted sheets. I want
this clean sink. Suddenly, I want to live in a tree house and an RV… at the same time. I want to have inspirational quotes stenciled
on the walls of my tree house and I will create partitions within my RV using
pallets that I “reclaimed” from the dumpsters behind Home Depot.
Wait.
Didn’t I just want some tips on how to bring order to my already
existing, boring, land level, no-wheel-having, sheet rock walled house?
I dive in.
Clicking on a gorgeous shot of a shiny kitchen
sink and counter, which promises to end clutter, I read that I should run the
dishwasher at night and then unload it the following morning while I “wait for
my coffee to perk.”
Ummm.
Other than my mom, who is a double platinum
level homemaker, does anyone wait for their dishwasher to stop running at night
to unload it that night? Also, when did dirty dishes become
“clutter?” Dirty dishes are dirty
dishes. They are to be dealt with by the
2.5 children who live with us.
P.S. My husband makes a cup of coffee for me
every morning in my Keurig and brings it to me before I can even THINK about
getting out of bed. There is no perk
before perking let alone doing
anything while waiting for coffee to perk.
I click on another gorgeous shot of a shiny
kitchen counter, this one has beautiful flowers in a vase and some artfully
arranged doo-dads (this is NOT to be confused with clutter) next to a roll of crisp
white paper towels. This pin suggests
that I keep paper towels “readily available” so that, as spills happen, they
are wiped up immediately and not left until they become sticky and/or a stain. Again, not a double platinum level homemaker,
however, if I spill something I will usually wipe it up. As a matter of fact, even my husband will sometimes wipe it up.
Who is walking away from a spill on a counter
so it can become a sticky mess? Ok. Other than the 2.5 children in my house; who
spills something and then actually has the conversation in their head that releases them from all responsibility and allows
them to go on with their day without so much as another thought as to the
drying, staining, and sticky blob that is becoming one with the counter?
This is not to say that I have never walked
away from a mess. I have walked away
from many a mess. I have walked away
from a mess when I had already cleaned up the same mess four times in the same afternoon. I have walked away from a mess when I had
already very carefully explained to one or all of our 2.5 children exactly how
it needed to be handled.
I have walked away from a mess when I was too
sick to deal with it. I have slumped
away from a mess when my joints ached and my mystery illness that the doctors
don’t know how to handle has beaten me down.
I have glared at that mess while it chuckled back at me. I make the effort to clean the toilets. Call me old fashioned, but I believe that the
bathroom my kids use should be a little cleaner than the gas station at the
corner.
I don’t need a pin of another chore chart,
either. The 2.5 kids do chores. That’s the chart. Maybe it isn’t fair but that is a great
primer for the Real World. I have yet to
find a responsibility chart anywhere that I have worked where everything is
doled out evenly. Gold stars aren’t
handed out, either. I know because I
have asked.
When something needs to be done I look around and grab a kid. If a kid isn’t within arm’s reach, I start calling out names. In the beginning my husband and I tried to be “fair” and keep to a “schedule” but that became tedious and ridiculous in a hurry, especially when you are nurturing little teamsters.
Sample Conversation during the time period
known as Being Fair:
Me: It is your turn to do dishes and your
brother needs to sweep the floor.
J: Did I not do the dishes this
morning?
A: When you say, “sweep the floor,” do
you mean the kitchen floor as well? When
I did dishes last week you made me sweep the floor in the kitchen and said that
was part of cleaning the kitchen. I
should not have to sweep the kitchen.
J: I am not doing the dishes since I
did them this morning. You can have fun
sweeping the floor in the kitchen after you do those dishes.
Me: Hello?
Am I not the parent? When did I
lose control of this situation?
When did we lose control? We lost control when it appeared to the
children that this was open for negotiations when really all we had done was
attempt to make the situation appear “fair” and outline the expected
outcome.
Sample Conversation during the time period known as Now:
Me: You
there. Did you eat a meal just now?
One of the 2.5: Yes.
Me: Excellent,
clean up the kitchen.
Me: Other one
over there. Have you been walking all over
these floors?
Another one of the 2.5: Yes.
Me: Fantastic,
here is a broom.
Pin THAT!
Why do I keep looking at Pinterest? I love it.
I collect decorating ideas. I
collect humorous pictures and inspirational quotes. I collect all of the wondrous and amazing
things that baking soda and vinegar are reported to do. I even still collect ideas for organizing and
cleaning my cookie cutter suburban home.
You never know when you could just stumble on
the perfect pin.
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