| Shot in the arm | | Date Created: Dec 07, 2006, 05:00 PM |
|
I don't know what's wrong with me today! I just sort of woke up out of sorts and never really got going. And no heavy drinking or boys up all night to blame. Tuesdays and Thursdays the boys don't have school, and so we really don't have a structured schedule. And I hate structure and schedules. But for the sake of my almost innocent children you'd think I could get us all dressed and doing something by 11. But not today. I was about to write something like, "I need a few days a week when I can sleep a little late, stay in my PJs a little longer, read the newspaper, and return emails before I really get going." But then I realized I don't really NEED those things. I'm just getting lazy! I WANT those things. Who doesn't? And yet 90 percent of the people I know manage to get their clothes on teeth brushed and butts off to work. What's wrong with me?
I'm so excited about Christmas, though. I love it. And Christmas music has saved me more than once the last few difficult weeks. That may mean listening to the same song over and over again, but I can deal with that. Since one of them is The "Muffets" singing 12 Days of Christmas, I actually have the whole song memorized! I never thought I'd get it in the right order but I've got it from partridge to drummers. When I'm listening to John cry because he can't carry all of his necessary accouterments--the plastic fireman axe, the plastic walkie-talkie, the plastic hammer, and the plastic thing that picks things up (he calls it his "snapper")--as I watch George take off out the door and probably to jump in the pond, I just think if I can make it to the car I can cut on the Christmas music and they'll forget it all. Today getting out the door, it was the plastic santa on the porch that sent John into a tailspin. Not only was it not okay that Santa was leaning against the house instead of standing straight, but it must have been Georgie who knocked it down. So all at once he was mad at me for letting this happen to Santa and mad at George for doing it (which George didn't). I just told myself make it to the car, make it to the car, and Kermit and John Denver will take over.
Speaking of John's tears, I had the misfortune yesterday of taking the boys to get their first flu shots. I hadn't told them ahead of time that they were getting shots because I didn't see any need in their dreading it and also didn't think they even remembered what a shot was. So I'd only told them that we were going to Dr. Davis' office, but just for a quick visit. "You mean just to say 'hi'?" James asked. Ouch. That broke my heart right there. I told him we may not even get to see Dr. Davis, just his nurse. But when we got there they had the flu shots set up in a different part of the office and a different nurse. This was probably good so the boys don't hold it against Dr. Davis or his nurse. Anyway, the room they put us in was dark and had no good pictures on the wall and no toys or books. The nurse was nice, but not overly so. She said, "You sure are brave to bring them in for this all by yourself." But her tone didn't say "brave" so much as maybe "stupid," "heartless," or "delusional." And, in fact, Will's mom had offered to come with us, but I figured the best thing was to keep it as low-key, undramatic, and ordinary as possible. Get in, get out, and get a milkshake. I still don't think having anyone with me could have made it any better. It wasn't going to be pretty with four of us or twelve of us. I told the boys they were going to get a shot and it was going to hurt but they didn't really get it and instead were taking turns sitting and spinning on the stool. "I'm Dr. John!" "I'm Dr. Georgie." "I'm Dr. James." Ouch.
"Who wants to go first?" I asked. "I do!" said John. Ouch.
I held him and he even helped get his arm out of the sleeve, still completely unaware, even though the nurse and I told him it was going to hurt a little bit. The nurse stuck his arm and big strong John gasped and jerked and the needle came out and the nurse had to stick him AGAIN because I hadn't held him tightly enough. He screamed in disbelief and looked at me. Huge teardrops fell all over him and me and when the nurse tried to put a band-aid on, he pushed her away and would have none of it. Then he ran from us to the other side of the room. I didn't expect them to love it, but I was taken aback by HOW shocked they were and how much it broke my heart. George was eager to go next. I guess he's so used to John having fits he didn't take his screams and tears as a warning. But as soon as George got on my lap John came over and looked up at the nurse and cried out, "Don't hurt George! PLEASE don't hurt my brother George! That's BAD! That's BAD!" I was moved by his huge concern for his brother and also by his use of "please". George looked at me in horror as the shot got him, and I put him down and grabbed James in an attempt to just get this thing over with! James was pretty brave, but cried, understandably. Three screaming boys in one room, and I the heartless mother who hadn't brought any extra arms for hugs. But we finally made our way out, got in the car, put on the Muppets, and got chocolate milkshakes and they were fine. I told them how brave they were and how proud I was and what good boys they'd been.
"Shots cut, Momoe!" John said. "Do zebras get shots?" George asked. "Yes," I said. "All animals get shots from the vet so they don't get sick." So we went down the list of animals who get shots. And I don't know why but when it got to alligators and sharks, the boys insisted they didn't get shots because they had sharp teeth. I have no idea where this idea originated. Maybe if the boys had had sharp teeth they could have bitten the nurse and me and avoided the shot? Or maybe the vets are too scared to give a shot to an animal with sharp teeth? Or sharp-teethed animals are too scary to get sick? Anyway, I was moved by John's caring and sad about their shock and horror and even more dismayed by the fact that they have to go back in a month for a booster shot! Ugh! All in all, I think it went as well as could be expected and in hindsight I wouldn't have done anything different other than held John tighter. The milkshakes worked for the most part, and worked on me, too. Food as reward: so healthy!
Before the shots ruined his outlook on healthcare, John had been saying he wanted to be a doctor. He told Will the other night that he wanted to be a doctor, "So I can help you." How can our most frustrating hard-headed fussy boy be the sweetest most caring at times? The other day John and George and I were reading Peter and the Wolf. The book has a CD with it and as I went to pull the CD out of the clear envelope that holds it to the cover John said, "There's a wolf! Be careful!" And sure enough under the clear envelope on the cover was a picture of the wolf. Another day this week I fell down the steps while it was just me and the boys at home. James and George just stared as I brushed myself off. John was clearly unsure what to do and then hastily pushed a pirate ship toward me. "This make you feel better," he said.
[okay, I don't remember what interrupted me, but everything above was written Thursday afternoon and now it's Friday! I'll try to pick up where I left off.]
The boys have been pretty good today, but still just at the brink of too much to handle. Normally I can just about make it through the day. Adding potty training and Christmas preparations to normal is stretching it. When we got home after school today it took me FOREVER to get them all pottied and lunch made and fannies on chairs and food touched. Just when I thought I had the cups fixed and ready to put on the table, John has a poop. Of course he'd already been on the potty. Poops typically take place about 10 minutes after they get off of the potty. I may even start putting them on, taking them off, and then putting them on again 10 minutes later. Finally we got to the table and nobody was touching their food. My usual theory is if they aren't hungry don't force them to eat, but lately they've been passing on meals and eating tons at snack time. Anyway, in typical Friday afternoon desperation I came up with a wacky idea. George wanted to sing a song, so we started playing a game (yippee what fun.) where the boys would take turns picking a song or nursery rhyme and then after we sang each one they'd have to take a certain number of bites. The promise of them being tucked away for naptime spurred my cheer and I grinned and sang like an idiot and praised them and clapped and then shuffled them off to their rooms as quickly as possible. Ahhhh.
Yesterday I was feeling really glum, but today I feel a lot better. Last night Will and I went to bed early, turned off the TV, and just talked for a couple of hours. Sounds so simple and yet it so rarely happens. We decided we need to do that more often and then I laughed and said our separate rituals of reading or watching TV or playing on the computer aren't all bad. Spending the day feeding and caring for the animals and then fighting on through the most stressful period of supper, bathtime, and tuck-in requires brainless decompression afterwards. Communication skills are the first thing to go when I'm pushed to my limit. Weeknights I sometimes feel like George did the other night when he covered up his face with his hands and said, "I'm going into my little home." I wonder if when the boys get back I will regain my vocabulary and my ability to have a good conversation. Right now I feel sapped of all energy and cohesive ideas. When I talk with friends and they ask me how I'm doing I either spew out way too much information about what socks John will and will not wear or either I am incapable of verbalizing what's going on in my life and my brain or else I cannot put forth the emotional effort to have a conversation of any depth at all and I come off seeming like a housewife in the headlights. The only way I comfort myself about my ailing friendship skills is that one day many of my friends will have children and other intensely stressful lifestyles and by then maybe I will have regained some of mine and can shoulder the burden. It's a wonder I still have friends. So thank you, friends, who still ask me how I am doing!
These last two blogs have been even more rambling as usual and I blame the boys for that. Any more tidbits of news...John got to school this morning and wanted to take his sweatshirt off but refused to take it off in the classroom and insisted on taking it off in the lobby. This boy better have his own planet one day where everything is the way he wants it. His latest thing is that he not only wants to wear only Buzz pull-ups, but the Buzz ones where Buzz is standing up. NOT the ones in which Buzz is featured only waist-up. I refuse to give into this, but don't think I don't hear about it. He also calls out to Will and me in the middle of the night now. His pile of books he keeps on his bed has shifted and must be put back in the exactly right spot. We've started ignoring his rants at night--or I should say not responding to him. To ignore John's voice is to ignore a freight train. With a bullhorn.
The boys continue to be absorbed in knights and pirates and Georgie also in animals. George likes to line up all of his plastic animals and then let them have turns riding in and on the fire truck. The other day John said, "I am the knight and I protect the castle!" And James said, "I am the King and I am at the top of the castle!" And George said in his tiny voice, "I am the Queen and I am at the bottom of the castle!" George doesn't need any labels to affirm his masculinity. Two mothers of girls today at school mentioned George. One of the little girls named a stuffed animal George. And the other one sang to her mother a song they sing in class using each child's name: "George, George, we adore you, George, George, yes we do!" And he sees right through James and John's machismo. The other day when we were at Chick-fil-A I told John and James to take one more sip of lemonade before we went to the playground. "Down the hatch, me ladies!" George said.
And down the hatch we go into another weekend. We have a tree. We've had it for days. But it has yet to make it from the garage to the inside! So tonight maybe. The other night I got out my Christmas decorations. I was so excited to share them with the boys and had visions of listening to Christmas music, enjoying the scent of Christmas candles, and decorating this small shiny foil tree I've had since I had my own apartment. The boys were delighted with the tree. It's just their size. I put it on the coffee table and showed them the tiny ornaments I'd bought that first year. I remembered the time when I bought the ornaments and how I knew I was spending to much money on them. I looked at the box and it said $4.35. Not that we're rolling in dough now, but how much has my life changed in the last 10 years. Anyway, the boys were enamored by the ornaments which are tiny balls and tiny fruits. But the fireside dream quickly dissolved. I was okay with the fact that George likes to hang all of the ornaments on the bottom branches only. And I was okay that John likes to put all the red ones next to red ones and gold ones next to gold ones. I could deal with that. They are only three years old. But what do you know, and it was nobody's fault, once we had all of the ornaments on the tree it somehow tipped over and fell to the ground. Then crunch. John stepped on an ornament. "I'm being careful, Momoe!" he said as he lifted his foot. And it disintegrated further from there. James had lost interest way before that point anyway. I don't know why, but for some reason I was really disappointed. Looking back, I think, what was my problem? They're three year old BOYS. What do you expect? Too much probably. And as Will was so astute and comforting to remind me, this goes back to my childhood when at Christmastime especially I would concoct visions of fantastic Broadway productions starring myself and my two unwilling little sisters. I wrote the scripts, I made programs, and boy did I direct. My dismay at my sisters', cousins' and dog's lack of enthusiasm for their roles or lack of participation altogether was crushing. If the set I had planned or the song I had written didn't come off suitable for Radio City Music Hall I was devastated. And here I was the other night envisioning some scheme with the boys playing their perfect little parts. It was probably a good lesson to learn. And after I've suffered the disappointment of life not living up to my fantastic expectations, I always have a rough come down back to earth. And so I then pouted about how much I hated all of my Christmas decorations and didn't even want to put them out. And how I didn't have the money to replace them. (Such a fine example of the Christmas spirit) But wait, a bright lightbulb in the darkness of tacky Christmas decor! At the rate we were going, all of my decorations should be destroyed by the guys by Christmas 2009. By which point I can then replace them with whatever I want!
I'm so glad I could spread some Christmas cheer for you. John has been calling MAMAMAMAMAMMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA the whole time I've been writing this from his UNquiet time and I'm afraid it's colored my attitude a bit... I promise I'll be sweeter next time. Santa's watching!
|
|
|
