What Did One Casket Say to the Other?

...Is that you coffin?

 

            This morning the boys and ate breakfast while I worked on my “to do” list for Thursday. Thursday is my day off this week and therefore my day to get anything done without the kids. Then I checked the calendar and realized today was my day off. I was glad to discover that before trying to punch in at work.

            Unfortunately the first thing on my to do list was to get over to the lab to have my annual blood work done. I was already halfway through my oatmeal and the blood work requires fasting. Alas, the blood work would have to wait until my next day off. I’ve already put it off for a month so another week shouldn’t matter too much.

            So I got dressed, got the boys on the bus and set off to cross a few things off my to do list. I went to the post office, returned some sweatpants to Wal-Mart, called the heating company to schedule a boiler clean out and brought our books back to the library—all by 10:30. I was feeling very virtuous and planning my next move over a cup of coffee. Writing? Nah, feeling too restless. Housework? I wasn’t feeling that virtuous. I could color my hair. No, I decided. What if the school nurse calls? I didn’t want to be elbow-deep in toxic chemicals and needing to run out of the house. So I decided to head to the Sprint store to look into upgrading my phone. I’ve been coveting an IPhone and I’m thinking of passing my old phone along to my son. After that, I’d hit the grocery store. I had just enough time to conquer both tasks before I needed to get in the horrible car pick-up line at James’ school.

            And then the phone rang. Guess who it was. Yup. The school nurse. James has been battling a mysterious cough at school. He went through it last year in December and we finally were able to get it under control with antihistimines and the occasional inhaler. This year he’s on Zyrtec and Flonase every morning. When he has an episode at school he gets Albuterol. They try breathing exercises and sips of water and cough drops. Then they call me.

            Last week I left a training class on Wednesday to pick him up at school. I took him home and made him Ramen Noodles. He hardly coughed after that. I kept him home on Thursday. It was my day off. He didn’t cough. At all. I sent him to school on Friday. The nurse called. There were only two hours left in the day. We decided to send him back to class. He was lasted for the rest of the day.

            So today when she called, his class had just gone into lunch. We decided to send him into lunch. I skipped the Sprint store and picked up groceries. If she called, I’d have the more urgent errand done. She called just as I was bringing the groceries into the house. He finished lunch but didn’t stop coughing.

            During my phone call with the nurse, three people came into the nurse’s office to offer him water. “As if I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. Apparently the staff seem to think she and I are neglecting him. When I picked him up I could feel the eyes on me. There’s the mother who doesn’t drop everything to bring her sick kid home. Even the principal was in the office listening to him cough. He’s attracting a lot of attention. He likes attention. But he isn’t sick. He doesn’t have a virus. He doesn’t need antibiotics. He isn’t asthmatic. At home and outside he is completely cough-free. He spent the weekend playing soccer and running around the woods with Cub Scouts. He even helped me clean on Sunday—and I have a serious dust issue at my house. Something at that school is making him cough.

            Is it possible he’s faking? Maybe. If so, he’s an enormously dedicated and gifted actor. It has to be unpleasant coughing for hours—even if it’s fake. And this nurse is no rookie—I’m sure she can spot a kid who just wants to go home a mile away.

            And what if he is faking? What then? What does that mean? Why is he doing it? He swears it’s real and it certainly sounds real. He isn’t allowed to go to Cub Scouts or soccer practice if he doesn’t spend the day in school. I make him do his homework and then it’s reading or some other “quiet” activity. No video games, no computer, and very little television (sometimes I let him watch it just to preserve my sanity). If we don’t find a solution, I’m going to have him change schools. I hate to do it. He loves his school and his teacher is fantastic. His older brother goes to a different elementary school across town where his TAG program is housed. They also have traditional classrooms and I could send him there. The building is newer. Maybe their air-carrying system is better. I’ve mentioned this as a possible solution and he didn’t look happy. If he is faking, maybe this subtle threat will help. Maybe that makes me a horrible mother, but I’m getting desperate. Now I’m going to go color my hair. I think I earned a few more gray hairs silver highlights this week.

Tough Mama

            Monday I took my fourth trip to Children’s Hospital in Boston with my son James. It was time to take his cast off. He had surgery three weeks ago to repair some damage he did to his hand a few years ago. We’ve had a few challenging moments with his right hand in a cast but he has adapted remarkably well. He has learned to use his left hand to eat, write, and of course play video games. I can’t imagine an adult coping this well without his or her dominant hand for this long. He rarely complained about pain or itchiness and managed to do almost everything he would normally do. The biggest challenge was trying to keep him from going full-speed and damaging himself again. Or damaging someone else—that cast made a pretty effective weapon.

            I love Children’s Hospital. Fear and sadness could so easily take over a hospital for children—there are so many kids with really serious conditions. But every kid is treated like a regular kid. No one stares at the little girl who has obviously lost her hair to chemo. No one makes a fuss over the boy with visible scars on his face. Everything is normal there. Maybe the definition of normal becomes much broader when you’re dealing with sick kids.

When adults at Children’s engaged James in a conversation they would ask him about his age, his grade, whether he liked Sponge Bob or if he liked sports. Everywhere else we go people ask him about his cast. The closest anyone at Children’s came was when they asked if blue was his favorite color—since his cast, his shirt, and his stuffed monkey are all blue. I’m not faulting folks for asking. They’re curious and concerned about seeing a little boy in a cast and James doesn’t seem to mind. But I would imagine that someone whose child had some visible long-term condition would get really tired of explaining it to strangers.

            Yesterday afternoon I was helping James do exercises the occupational therapist prescribed for him. It’s painful and slow. But if he wants to regain full motion in his finger it has to be done. He catches his breath as he bends each joint and holds it down for ten seconds. He gets a little teary eyed. “Don’t hold your breath Buddy,” I tell him, remembering the things I know from years of yoga. “Take a deep breath when we bend your finger.” We move through the three joints twice. “Do you want to just do two more and take a break?” I ask him.

“How many do we have to do?”

            “Ten.”

            “No. Let’s just do it.”

            It hurts but he keeps going. He knows there are times he can play me with his sad eyes and pouty lips. This time he knows I can’t let him stop. Giving him a break is all I can offer. Without the exercises his finger won’t be any better than it was before the surgery. James knows I can’t give in. He gets it and he’s willing to work through the discomfort to get better. I am so impressed with his determination.

            A part of me wants to let him stop. That part of me that nursed him countless times at 3am, the part that crawls into his bed when he has a bad dream, the part that has read Good-night Moon hundreds of times, the part that has sung “Sweet Baby James” thousands of times. That part of me wants to tell him it’s okay to stop and make him a cup of hot chocolate instead. The Tough Mama inside me has to tell that part of me to go sit in a corner while I do my job. The tough Mama (or Papa) is the part of our parenting brain that makes our kids get vaccinated, eat his vegetables and take nasty tasting medicine. It is the same part that makes him do his homework when he’s had a tough day or takes away privileges when he’s done something wrong. I hate being Tough Mama. But I know I have to be her sometimes.

            James hurt his fingers six years ago. Just his fingers. They’re going to get better but it’s going to take some work. When I helped him with his therapy I was thinking about all the parents of patients at Children’s Hospital—the parents whose kids are dealing with problems much larger than a couple of fingers. The Tough Mama part of them must be huge. I don’t know how they do it. I know the short answer is, “What choice do I have?”  But still, you do it. You tell the sweet-nurturing part of yourself to go find something else to do while you do what you have to do to make your baby well. I tip my hat to you Tough Mamas and Papas out there. You have my eternal respect and nightly prayers.

The Good Stuff

            Most mornings, my alarm goes off before my kids wake up and I grab my journal and write whatever is on my mind. Sometimes, it’s dreams or story ideas and other times I write down thoughts that kept me from sleeping or a to do list. Often times I just write, “I’m so tired. This bed is so warm and cozy. I don’t wanna go to work. I wish a magic genie would appear with coffee.”

This morning I only got a few sentences into the journal when I heard the unmistakably wail of a child about to vomit. Again. It’s been an absurd year for germs in my house. In the past two weeks there was only one day both of my kids spent the entire day in school. Every virus that has floated through their school has landed in the intestines, stomach, throat or nasal passages of my children.

            But this is NOT a blog post whining about my sick kids—or the weather (since I’m convinced the constant damp is allowing these germs to breed out of control). After looking at the pictures out of Joplin, Missouri this morning, having a family come down with a few extra bugs just doesn’t seem that bad. So this is a blog about the good stuff. As Monty Python would say, “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition” “Always look on the bright side of life”. So here are the good things I’m trying to focus on right now.

            1.) The eggs in the nest of cardinals outside my living room window have hatched. We have a constant biology lesson happening on the other side of the glass. The baby birds are tiny balls of fluff with giant mouths. Mama and Papa cardinal are constantly bringing them grubs. Cute doesn’t begin to describe the scene. Watch for pictures on Wordless Wednesday.

            2.) The sun shone brightly on Saturday for my boys Cub Scout Chuck Wagon Derby. The kids were able to spend all day in the fresh air doing activities that included archery and b b gun shooting. My no-guns-in-my-house-bleeding-heart was confused but proud to discover that Owen is an amazing shot. First time with a rifle in his hand and he hit the bull’s-eye three times. 

One sharp shooter and one kid who tries really hard.

            3.) When we returned from the Chuck Wagon on Saturday, Dan and I got to have a date! My friend Claire babysat for free and we went to see “Pirates of the Caribbean 4”. It was wicked fun. I’ll admit it, I love movies with period costumes and swordplay. I have no interest in heavy drama—there’s enough drama in real life. Make me laugh and entertain me, that’s what I want in a movie.

            4.) My son just brought me a picture he drew for me because he’s adorable. Those are Lego Ninjago figures (for those of you who don’t have 8-year-old boys). 

Lego Ninjago: the latest obsession in our house.

5.) I got the very last pair of rain boots in my size at Target last week. You can’t stop the rain, you might as well jump in some puddles.

Bonus: They match the kitchen floor & the kitty likes them.

            6.) I just finished reading Kristin Chenoweth’s memoir A Little Bit Wicked and it is hysterical and makes me want to hang out with her. I think we’d be best buds—us short girsl need to stick together (we’re both 4’11”).

            7.) Since the kids have been home from school so much and I’ve missed so much work, I’ve had time to sort though and throw out tons of stuff. There is something really satisfying about getting rid of stuff. My workroom is cleaner than it’s been in months.

            8.) I started tweeting on Twitter. Follow me and maybe I’ll say something funny or poignant or maybe I’ll just bitch about the weather.

            9.) One of the days James was home sick, he and I had fun doing math together. Math. Me. Fun. Weird.

            10.) Having lots of sick and rainy days has meant lots of snuggling under blankets watching movies. As much as I regret the fact that I’ve run out of paid sick time, cuddling with my boys is priceless.

            What are some things that give you joy on an otherwise bad day?

And the Oscar Goes to...

            About ten years ago I ran into a former dance teacher while I was at my cousin’s wedding. I LOVED her dance class. It was called “Creative Movement” and it was a part of the after school program at my elementary school. It was very low-key and had none of the discipline and barre work of a ballet class--which was probably why it appealed to me. I loved to dance as a child, but wasn’t a big fan of hard work.

At the year-end recital we had the opportunity to perform a solo dance we choreographed ourselves. Choreography may be too strong a word—I’m pretty sure that term suggests doing the same movements each time you perform the dance. The only thing that was consistent in my number was the sweeping-down-on-one-knee-dying-swan move that ended the song every time I danced to it. Yup, that move pretty much summed me up as a seven-year-old.

            The dance teacher was my aunt’s neighbor in those days. So when my cousin was married, she was on the guest list.

“Vickie?” she asked me.

“Yes?”

“You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mrs. J. I used to live next door to your Aunt D. and taught…”

“Creative movement!” I said excitedly.

“You do remember! I have to ask you something. Do you still perform?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m singing in the wedding.”

“I knew it! I could tell by the look on your face when you were in second grade that you would always be a performer.”

            As the saying goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I see it in my son James. He hasn’t expressed any desire to be on stage yet, but that boy is an ACTOR down to his bones. Right now, he’s sitting on the couch playing his Nintendo DS instead of sitting in a classroom because I can’t decide if he’s faking it or not. Yesterday he was definitely sick. He was running to the bathroom all day. This morning, I can’t quite tell. He’s been complaining of stomach pains, but I haven’t seen any “evidence” so far.

            I should be able to tell. I’m an actor myself, I’m a director and I’ve been a mom for almost nine years. But this kid has talent. He’s even stumped the school nurse on occasion—and there is no one tougher to fool than a seasoned school nurse. She and I have had a lot of conversations this year.

            I considered being a tough guy this morning and sending James to school. But I have a feeling he’ll end up getting caught short running for the bathroom or throwing up in the cafeteria. At least I had today off—I had to leave work early on Monday (because Owen was sick) and called in sick on Tuesday (because I was sick) and Wednesday (for James). I am in desperate need of a sunny, warm, germ-free day.

An Open Letter to a Deliquent Season

Dear Spring,

            Here in the Northeast, we miss you terribly. Some people tell me that you’re already here. Yes, I have noticed all of the signs that suggest your presence: the date on the calendar, the bright green leaves on all the maple trees, the gaggle of goslings produced by the Canada geese down the street, and the cardinals who have built a nest and laid eggs in my rhododendron. But, my friend Spring, the thermostat suggests March, rather than May. The temperature has only flirted with the 60’s since the Vernal Equinox.

You know the old saying, “April showers bring May flowers”? Well, Spring, it’s May 16^th and May showers bring nothing but mud and standing water. You know what that brings? Mosquitoes. Which begets Eastern Equine Encephalitis and West Nile Virus. Is that what you want your legacy to be?

            I know, I know, after this winter I swore I wasn’t going to complain about the weather as long as it doesn’t snow. What can I say? I’m weak. My kids have had more viruses this year than I can count. I’m beginning to believe the school bus has turned into a giant Petri dish.

            James’ T-ball game was cancelled tonight because of the rain. Do you know what my children are doing instead of playing outside in the fresh air? They are watching Veggie-Tales. Sad. Pathetic really. If you don’t show up soon, Summer is going to steam roller right over you and you’ll miss your opportunity to shine.

            Do come back soon Spring. I promise to take long walks and runs in your sunshine. We’ll take the training wheels off the boys’ bikes and go for a ride. I’ll even weed the garden!

            Missing you dreadfully,

                        Victoria

Back in the Saddle

            Friday was both warm and sunny—a double blessing after a very snowy and sickness prone winter. So after I walked my boys to the bus stop I took a jog—the first outdoor run since before Thanksgiving. I don’t wear headphones when I run outdoors. I use them on a treadmill because it SO boring and the music makes me feel a little less like a hamster in a wheel. This is primarily for safety—so I can hear cars and possible assailants (unpleasant but realistic). When my only accompaniment is the sound of my landing feet and the world around me I focus on my thoughts and sort through them. It’s like a sweaty appointment with a therapist.

            If you’ve been reading this blog for a while you might remember that back in January I made the foolhardy announcement that I going on a diet. I figured making that announcement public would keep me honest. I knew making a resolution was silly. I believe that January is the worst possible time to make drastic changes in your life. Especially this January. Like a lot of the country we had record snowfalls and on top of that my kids managed to catch every bug that hopped onto the school bus. I spent more time talking on the phone with the school nurse than my mother this winter. 

            With the snow piled high and the kids constantly sick the idea of eating healthy or limiting portion size was a pipedream. When they were home on February break they wanted nothing but toast or chicken broth with pasta. So that’s what we ate—all of us. Even when I wasn’t sick (because even though Mom can’t get sick, this time around, Mom did) I was drinking tea and eating toast. Salads? Fresh steamed veggies? Lean protein? Fruit? Nope. Tea and toast.

            So when the weather man said that it was going to be sunny on my day off, I promised myself to lace up my Sauconys and hit the road. I started with a long brisk walk. I needed to warm up after being so sedentary for months. Then I told myself to jog to the end of the street. When I made it that far I set another goal and then another. When it was done I rewarded myself with a long slow stretch. I felt great. My body felt the way it was supposed to, not like the achy elderly feeling woman I was morphing into.

            I’ve packed on a winter layer this year and it’s time to bid it goodbye. My plan this time isn’t to drastically alter my life, and make unrealistic resolutions. This time I’m going to set one simple realistic goal at a time.

It's Not that Far Away... Really!

            My son has the insidious on-again-off-again stomach virus that seems to visit this house every year. After mentioning it on Facebook, my sister remarked that I must be looking forward to spring. I hadn’t really thought about it much—but yes! Now that she mentioned it I keep fantasizing about all the joyful things warm weather can bring. I can’t wait for winter to melt into a brief New England spring and then blaze into summer. So instead of a rant about how I’m so tired of the smell of Lysol and making sure I have Saltines, Jell-o, and bananas in the house, this post is about the things I’m looking forward to when the weather warms.

            Vegetables from our garden. I never know what that patch of dirt is going to yield. Some years it’s nothing but zucchini, but last year we had pounds of cherry tomatoes and green peppers until October. Not to mention sugar snap peas that were so sweet they never made it from the yard into the kitchen before they were consumed. 

Zucchini: full of vitamins and fiber. Plus they make great weapons!

            Warm showers. Warm when you get out that is. I can’t wait until I can take a hot quick shower without trying to time it for when the radiators kick in.

Grilling. I love the winter comfort foods—chili, chicken pie, lasagna, beef barley soup with crusty bread. But I can’t wait until dinner is just a matter of grilling some marinated chicken and tossing a salad. With crusty bread of course—that's perfect in any season.

            Bare feet, sandals, no wool socks. The number one thing on my Christmas wish list this year was wool socks. Really. That’s how glamorous I am. I hate it when my feet are cold. Right now I’m wearing wool socks AND fleece slippers. A few months from now I’ll be barefoot in the house and wearing Tevas or flip-flops outside.

            Walking. I used to sneer at people who drove their kids a block or two to the bus stop. Encouraging childhood obesity and bad for the environment—what kind of parents do that? Parents like me. I don’t mind walking to and from the bus stop. It’s the standing around waiting in 10º degree temperatures that I mind. Not to mention the fact that the sun setting at four o’clock really brings me down. I can’t wait to take my afternoon stroll to meet my little guys and hear about their day while we look at the ducks and turtles at the pond on our way home.

            Wearing fewer clothes. Get your mind out of the gutter. I just mean fewer layers. Trading in my long johns, jeans, turtle necks, sweaters, jackets, boots, hats, gloves, and scarves (did I mention wool socks?) for  a pair of shorts, a tee shirt and my sandals. The only other layer I’ll need is sunscreen.

            Open windows. My house doesn’t smell like sickness exactly. But it does smell like Lysol and Resolve carpet cleaner plus a layer of Yankee Candles “Fresh Linen”. It doesn’t smell bad. It just smells like I’m trying to hide something. I can’t wait for a nice warm day to just air this place out!

Is it summer yet???

              

            The beach. Now we’re talking about the good stuff. Load up the minivan with towels, snacks, sunscreen, buckets and shovels. Swing by Dunkin’ Donuts for an Iced Coffee and meet the cousins at the beach. Explore tidal marshes and catch minnows and crabs. Build sandcastles and knock them down. Watch the kids chase each other around with seaweed. And the bonus prize? Children who are exhausted and ready for sleep.

            What are you looking forward to when the “livin’ is easy”?

Surprises: The Good, the Bad and The Ugly

            I work about four days a week for a giant home furnishings store. We are having a sale right now. We only have two sales a year so sale time is insanely busy for us. It isn’t unusual for us to do over a half-million dollars in sales each day on the weekend during a sale. Sunday and even Monday were very busy and stressful days. Customers have been particularly demanding and easily disappointed lately. I was really looking forward to my day off on Tuesday.

            Tuesday unfortunately, I was greeted shortly before 6 am with a frantic, half-naked, eight-year-old in my face yelling, “Mom! James is throwing up.” Needless to say, it wasn’t quite the day off I had planned. Fortunately, my little guy is not a particularly demanding patient and his bug was pretty short-lived. Unfortunately my well-thought out “to do” list was left out in the cold.

            Wednesday I was feeling the effects of not getting myself as pulled together as I had planned on Tuesday. I’m pretty sure that the medication I’m on is really messing with my hormones. I was stressed and full of self-doubt. I wasn’t prepared for my day (and I need to be prepared—it’s my safety net). I over-reacted completely and yelled at the kids for something that just wasn’t that big a deal. I was anticipating a horrific day at work—and it lived up to the anticipation. Fortunately I knew I had Thursday off, so that got me through the day.

            My husband (God bless him!) was a very calming influence on me Wednesday night. He encouraged me to order pizza for dinner so I didn’t have to cook and he checked the boys’ homework. When I’m feeling that frazzled, 3^rd grade arithmetic might as well be advanced calculus. We got through our Cub Scout Den meeting and after the boys were in bed we had some quiet time and a couple of drinks. I had a great night’s sleep Wednesday night, which I desperately needed.

I woke early on Thursday and managed to get some writing done. The boys were ready for school early. I was calm and peaceful. There was no yelling. About 20 minutes before we needed to walk to the bus stop, I went upstairs to prioritize my “to do” list and throw on some work out clothes—I had planned on hitting the gym after I got them off to school. I took one look at the calendar and realized that I didn’t have the day off. I had Friday off.

            Thanks to my lovely and restful evening. I just took it in stride. I told the boys that I was going to need a little extra cooperation to get us all to school and work. They came through like champs. The “to do” list would have to wait another day. Yes, I was looking forward to working out and going to Trader Joe’s. And yes, I really do need to sort through the ever-increasing pile of papers in the dining room. But I realized the world would not come crashing down if those things waited another day.

            I realized (as always—much too late) that anticipating a rough time and stressing about it always makes matters seem worse. Yes, my son was sick—but he wasn’t that sick and he wasn’t sick for long. No, I didn’t get to the gym when I wanted to—but I hardly went at all during the months of November and December and I managed to survive. Yes, customers were mean and nasty to me about things I couldn’t control—but when I go home my kids fling themselves into my arms so hard their affection nearly knocks me over.

            Because I had let go of all of my little annoyances and allowed the love and affection of my family to heal my anxieties, I could handle it. If I had been in that place of stress and frustration I found myself earlier in the week, I wouldn’t have made it through on Thursday. Instead I looked at the calendar, took a deep breath and got ready for work. Instead of being overly irritated by my mistake, I was just grateful that I had a uniform that was clean and ironed. And having a Friday off is way better than having a Thursday off anyway.

Sick?

            I think my son is allergic to school. If you’re a regular reader, you may recall a warm and fuzzy post a about me playing hooky with my son last week. He was coughing up a storm at school, but his symptoms mysteriously got better by the time I picked him up. I really enjoyed spending time alone with him and truthfully I didn’t feel like being at work any more than he wanted to be in school.

            The next day was Wednesday and he seemed perfectly healthy so I packed him off to school. I was feeling less warm and fuzzy when I got another call from the school nurse. He was coughing uncontrollably again. It sounds like he’s faking doesn’t it? That’s what I thought too. But then the nurse told me that he had begged her not to call me. He figured I wouldn’t let him go to the Cub Scout holiday party that night. And normally I wouldn’t—but he seemed so perfectly fine a few hours later that I let him go.

            Thursday morning he woke up bright and early. He certainly didn’t look like a kid who was too sick to go to school. He looked like he was ready to take on the world and eagerly got his jacket and backpack when it was time to go. Guess what happened? I love the nurse at the boys’ school, but I do not like seeing her number come up on my cell phone. When I picked him up, she told me to have him seen by his pediatrician.

            So as soon as my older son got off the bus, we headed across town to see the doctor. She thought he seemed pretty healthy too and said that maybe it was an allergy. We left with a prescription for Zyrtec nasal spray and tablets. She told me it might take a few days to take effect.

            I shouldn’t have bothered sending him to school on Friday. I should have just let him hang out with me while the Zyrtec worked it’s magic. But I just couldn’t bring myself to keep this perfectly healthy kid home from school. My bad. I picked him up at 1:00. The nurse and I agreed that maybe the medicine just needed a little time to work. Once again, I took him home.

            We had a great weekend. His grandmother is in town and we went to Edaville USA with the Cub Scouts. Even spending Friday night outside in the bitter cold, he had no more than an occasional sniffle or cough—nothing like the uncontrollable spasms he had at school. 

Look Mom! No symptoms!

            So I packed him up and sent him on his merry way Monday morning. At 10am I was out Christmas shopping with my mother-in-law. Guess whose number came up on my cell phone? I offered to come over to the school and just get him outside into the fresh air for a while and bring him back in. She thought that was a good idea and said she’d do it. Then she thought perhaps she could try sending him to a different classroom—maybe there is something about the particular room that’s aggravating him. She called back about 15 minutes later—fresh air, a cough drop, and a bottle of water did nothing to help him. I picked him up around 10:30. His school days are getting shorter.

            He’s finished all of the schoolwork he brought home and was sitting at the computer playing on the PBS website by noon. He hasn’t coughed all day, hasn’t needed to blow his nose, and doesn’t have a fever.

            I left a message with the adjustment counselor at school. Maybe there is something going on that’s bothering him. I’m getting paranoid that I’m going to have to home school this boy. I wouldn’t mind, but then I’d have to home school his brother—that would be ugly. I love him without end and he is one of the smartest, most ethical people I’ve ever known—adult or child. But he’s wired so differently that I get a little crazy just helping him with his homework. As usual, I’m over thinking things and getting ahead of myself. I really wish the adjustment counselor would call me back. James may not be going crazy, but I’m pretty sure I am.

Playing Hooky

            This morning as my six-year-old son James was getting his coat on he announced that he wasn’t feeling well. He had been awake for almost two hours exhibiting only the slightest sign of having the sniffles. Being a concerned parent, I naturally responded with sympathy. I believe my exact words were, “Get your coat on.”

            James somewhere, somehow acquired a penchant for drama. So I’m not quick to believe that he’s sick—even when he’s putting on a pretty good show. This morning he wasn’t even putting on his normal Oscar worthy song and dance. I figured he’d be distracted once he got to school and forget about being “sick”.

            A couple of hours later (while lying on the copy-room floor attempting to extract a sliver of paper from the inner workings of the copy machine) my cell phone rang. It was the school nurse. He didn’t seem that sick to her either. But there he was in the nurses office coughing—but only when the nurse said, “You don’t seem to be coughing.” 

            Back in the spring, I wrote the following piece for a writing class. It is written from the point of view of myself as a five-year-old and is based upon a day I remember spending with my dad. Thinking about days like this are probably the reason I left work and picked James up instead of sending him back to class. It's called “The Best Day Ever”.

It’s still dark outside when my mother wakes me up. I want to stay under my green and white gingham bedspread. She lets me hide a little longer while she works on getting my brothers out of bed. I can hear my sister in the shower. Kindergarten starts later than everyone else’s school and they are too busy in the morning to try to get me out of bed early. I love my bed—it is a river raft, and a stage, and a parade float, and a trampoline.

            Eventually my dad comes in to wake me up. They had something called lay-offs where he works so he gets to spend more time with me. He goes to school now too—just like me.

            “Come on My Little Chickadee,” he says. “Time to get up.”

            “I don’t feel good.” I tell him.

            “Why don’t you come downstairs? Maybe some orange juice will make you feel better.”

            “Okay. But I don’t think it will work,” I say with a sigh.

            He gets me an English muffin and a glass of orange juice. It does make me feel better but I still don’t want to go to school.

            “What’s the matter Sweetie? I thought you loved kindergarten.”

            I do love kindergarten. I love learning my letters and numbers. I love snack time—sometimes we get saltines with peanut butter! I love the monkey bars at recess. I even like naptime. I just don’t like the bus. Lisa will make fun of me. She is tall and wears pretty dresses.  She has shiny blond hair like Nellie on “Little House on the Prairie”.  My hair is brown. Lisa makes fun of my sweater—it is navy blue. Hers is pink. She says my sweater is black and looks like a boy’s sweater. I have begged my mother for a pink sweater. But she says my navy blue sweater is very practical—it goes with everything and doesn’t get dirty as quickly. I don’t want to tell Daddy about Lisa.

            “I do like kindergarten Daddy.” I tell him. “I just don’t feel like going today.”

             “Well I wasn’t going to get any yard work done today anyway,” He says looking out the window at the rain. I suppose one day off won’t kill you. Okay. But you have to help me around the house this morning and let me get some homework done.”

            I giggle when he says that. I think it’s funny that Daddy has homework like my sister and brothers. He is studying to be a teacher like Mommy.

            Daddy vacuumed and I dusted. I got to watch “Sesame Street” and “Mister Rogers” while Daddy did his homework. He bought a small bag of potato chips to have with our lunch. Mommy doesn’t buy junk food so it was a big treat. The best part was playing checkers—I won three times.

            I tried to get Daddy to let me stay home again the next day. But he said if I was well enough to beat him in checkers three times, I was well enough to go to school. At least it isn’t going to rain tomorrow. We’ll be able to play on the monkey bars at recess. Lisa may have a prettier sweater than I do, but she misses all the fun trying to keep it clean.

            So today, instead of telling the school nurse to send James back to class, I said, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes or so”. He definitely has a little cold—the inconsequential kind most of us work through and try to ignore. We had chicken noodle soup and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. James helped me clean a little and he watched a little TV. When it was time to pick up his big brother at the bus stop, James declared, “I feel better Mom!” Maybe it was knowing he’d miss tomorrow’s Cub Scout Christmas party if he missed another day of school. But I like to think having a little one-on-one time with Mom made him feel better. Hanging out with him certainly made my day a little better.