The most relaxing moment I’ve had in a week was sitting in my periodontist’s chair the other day, as she poked at my rancid post-surgery gums. I’ve been there a lot this spring, so she knew about the little tumor that caused my back issues, and she knew I was having a hard time  working. She knew all about my illness last week, then I told her about Col’s broken leg and the challenge of keeping a very energetic 2 year old busy when he can’t walk or run, and his constant pleas for me to, “take it OFF, Mommy!” as he thumps his cast. Dex and Neve have been at each other all week because I can’t and won’t plan outings for them right now. I then told her I went out for a much-needed stroll at 5:30 that morning and I was attacked by a mama wild turkey–I went too close to her nest, I guess. As her wings beat at my back and head and she tried to peck at me, I was paralyzed, screeching like a banshee, “Not the the eyes! Not the eyes!” before I had enough sense to try and out sprint her.

After she stopped laughing, my doc said, “You feel like you’re being tested?”

“Every freaking day.” I pulled away from her tools in my face and said, “You’ve got kids. You’re married, you work a ton.”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel like having a family has strengthened you or weakened you?”

Her face fell, as did the volume of her voice. “Oh, brother.” She sighed and looked at the wall. “You are one for the questions.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, if you mean do I feel more competent doing surgery or dealing with my kids, there’s no contest.”

“I know what you mean.”

So, Colin broke his leg.
Yup.
His foot got caught on the playground slide, and after 6.5 hours at Children’s hospital, he is in cast up to his hip — and he and I are joined at the hip.
He is alternately very brave and daring, and utterly frustrated and angry. I cannot imagine 4 more weeks of this.
Wish me luck. I can’t see the humor in it yet, but I am hoping I will.

Last week as case in point: I find it just odd how quickly we all move from crisis to norm around here. One day I am lying on an ER wishing someone would just put me out of my misery, and 30 hours later I am standing in the checkout line at the market with an econo pack of toilet paper. No time to process anything–not that everything needs to be processed, but sometimes a little space or recovery or perspective is appropriate. One of my major complaints after my daughter died was how rushed I felt though the grieving process; what I needed to do and what other people needed me to do were very different, and we all know that when you are in pain it is easier to be “busy” than to face those emotions. I am not the first to say we are all so busy these days partly because it numbs the emptiness we fear we might feel if we had to actually deal with ourselves and our relationships. But I think there is truth to it. So, yes, I could have asked someone else to buy me toilet paper, but no: off I went on some meaningless, stoic mission when what I really wanted to do was curl up in bed and regain my strength. 

My cousin had me howling when I told her this. She told me I need to write a reality pilot called, “I Married a Martyr”, about couples that compete to see which spouse can suffer and deny themselves the most.

Write it? I said. Holy hannah, I LIVE  it.

Tom’s quote of the week: “I wonder what else can possibly go wrong?”

I whispered from the floor of the backseat of the car: “Lots.”

We were taking me to the hospital.

On Monday, a purportedly easy oral surgery on me turned into a nightmare –it was not as easy as I was told, and I had to drive for an hour and half afterwards to pick up Dex, with an ice pack to my face, bloody saliva dribbling down onto my blouse. I had held off on the pain meds until I woke up at 2 am in agony, so I took the pills and — BLAM — allergic reaction. Really bad news. 

Mind you, Tom was supposed to be heading off on a two day bike ride to raise money for disabled children. He called our superior babysitter, who said she would love to help, but she had strep. He called the day care; she was full up. He was really freaking out, between me puking my guts out and moaning and definitely getting worse every hour, and trying to solve everything from rides to meals to moving meetings. The cat escaped while my poor mother was trying to corral Colin into the house, and Dex and his friend chased that scoundrel all over the block. It was all hands on deck, as I end up in the ER and the kids were passed off on whoever would take them for a few hours. and he canceled his bike trip, poor soul. 

I lay in the hospital bed thinking one thing: no more drama, no more drama, I have had it with the drama. I want a boring, boring life.

The ER doc said to me, after he had heard Tom’s complex tale of woe, “You might want to get one of those med-alert bracelets, dear.”

I haven’t wanted to really think about it too much, but something has become more and more of an issue over the past months, and it is clear I have to stop avoiding it. it’s one of the things I wanted to meditate on while I was away, but I didn’t have to think very long. It is obvious.

Our little system here at home just isn’t working. Everyone’s schedules and commitments have changed and complicated so much over the year, I am really feeling strained. Beyond Strained. I’ve moved right into the orbit of Panic/No Sense of Humor.

Lots of mishaps this spring. Crucial items and events forgotten, children picked up or dropped off very late or not at all. I have called in so many favors, I cringe to think of it because we are all in the same situation, all trying to work and get our kids where they need to be. And I won’t lie, my work is really suffering. Dex and Neve are playing sports on teams that travel an hour or more to games, which, by the way, who schedules at 4:30 on a weekday? Tom and I pass Colin back and forth like a sack of potatoes from car to car. Dex and Neve’s schoolwork has suddenly gotten a  lot more demanding, and, like it or not, I am the one they want around when they have to study or write a paper. Most on my mind is my mother, whose health is really complicated, and as she heads into her 80th birthday,  I can see some real turns in the road ahead. 

What I am hedging at here is that I am beginning to realize I may have to take a significant break from my job. It really pains me to say that, especially after hanging in there all this time. But Colin has really broken my ability to multitask, and the older two have eaten away at my nights. Not to mention that I cannot stand the idea of grading papers rather than sitting with my mom and chatting when goodness knows what lies ahead for her. I feel this huge compulsion to be available to her, and to not be an exhausted crab for the rest of the family.

To be honest, by this point in my life, I really thought I’d be working from home all the time, writing. Hasn’t worked out that way, and so I am at another critical juncture. When I asked my mother to move in, I knew this day might come. And here I am, staring it full in the face.

The only answer here is the one that feels most right. And I know I will never regret making sure my mother is cared for properly. I’ll keep you all posted.

So now I know why I don’t go away by myself: as glorious as it was to sleep without the constant roar of snoring and eat meals uninterrupted and read as long as I wanted to, when I returned to my brood it was like normal insanity times ten. I got in at 2 am, and by 5:30 I had angry toddler yelling at me, and by 12, after the emotional revenge everyone exacted on me for abandoning them. I was utterly exhausted. All the benefits of the sleep, gone, the memory of my lazy days drifting away. By that night, my shoulders were back up around my ears. 

This is why moms don’t “take care of themselves”, as we are always urged to do. You let your guard down, you relax and then - wham, you get smacked broadside. It’s like a golden retriever rolling on it’s back for a nice belly rub and instead, getting kicked with steel toe boots. I feel like I have to keep the guard up, the adrenaline going, my ear to the ground and an eye on the computer and the TV just to survive this whole parenting gig intact.  The baby and toddler years are physically exhausting, then emotional problems come marching in, and last , well, forever, I guess. There is a tiny window around 8 when things are pretty calm, but then 4th grade just blows it all to pieces,

On my little trip, the person whose cottage I was using asked me, “Do you miss everyone? Are you anxious to get home?”

“Are you serious?” I asked. 

“Yeah, I bet you miss them like crazy.”

I coughed to cover my laugh. “You don’t have kids do you?”