A few days ago, I sat by as all 3 pediatric endocrinologists bantered on about how fascinating it was to see a pancreas just disappear. Yeah flipping frig frog HIGH larious. I guess I'm a little less fascinated being the owner of the new 24 hour ops world of confusion regarding blood sugar, ketones and insulin due to aforementioned vanishing pancreas. It does however give me a fascinating appreciation for the human body and how it manages to keep running after all the torture we put it through. I had just about shut out the banter when one doc turns to me like a kid with a new toy- wanna see it? Um, yeah.
There it is. Now it's gone. See, here is the pancreas slightly post trauma- somewhere Mayish 2008- the doc points to the screen. I look at the MRCP(MRi with Contrast of the Pancreas) and am fascinated at the clear resolution of my son's pancreas. It looks just like all the artistic renderings in the books of knowledge I was trying to cram into my nugget. The only thing off is the pancreatic duct, which was still obviously dilated- or dilatated as the docs say- don't ask me why- probably some goof ball who likes to make up new words- I don't know anyone like that. To me the pancreas looks like a chicken tenderloin- a nice round head that tapers to a point. He pulls up the MRi from last week. It is gone. All you see is some vein and he points to a bit of the head that is still hanging on. It's creepy. I guess in some circles it is fascinating- it's too soon, too soon.
It occurs to me how different each of the endocrinologists is. The senior doc was the one who tended to Phillip on the ward as we were introduced to the finer elements of diabetic treatment. We talked for hours about how fascinating the case was- and by we, I mean he. In his mind, Phillip is a fascinating case study of why- but the treatment is still standard. Everytime I tried to ask a question or offer input, he switched topics or talked right over me. Although knowledgeable and friendly, I can't say I was disappointed to find his retirement was less than a month away. The other endocrinologist we have met a couple times and is very upbeat with a booming voice and comes highly reccommended by staff and patients. He is a bit more proactive with treatments. Our endocrinologist is soft spoken and knowledgeable. She is one of those docs that you wonder how exactly fits all of that information in her head. She has a good bedside manner and you definitely feel like she is taking her time and is thorough. As I get to learn more and more about the field of endocrinology, I realize what a special brand of doctor this is and what a complicated field it is. That and it deals with way too much chemistry and biochemistry for my liking. They deal with what we all intuitively know- hormones are some whacky shit.
I really like our endocrinologist. She takes her time to listen and process what I tell her and takes into consideration the emotional and non quantifiable issues I have with my kids' treatment. We met her 3 years ago because Phillip busted his pancreas, we came to know her through Lily's adrenal insufficiency and now we are going to get to see a lot more of her. This is the part where it becomes important that both my kids and I are comfortable with her. I know that it may take 10-20 minutes waiting in the waiting room for our appointment. I also know that she will stay with us until we feel comfortable with the visit. She commands her own schedule- which obviously drives the front desk staff nuts- but I like knowing she knows when and who she is seeing. Every visit, she takes the kids to get an accurate height and weight on her special scale majiggy. It didn't surprise me that the scale was located in a closet across from the exam room, it made sense. Especially since there is such a premium on square footage. There were tons of pharmaceutical and diabetes related care packages and piles and piles and piles of books. It did however surprise me when she kept referring to it as her office. At first I laughed at the joke- like when the kids have a questionable potty issue and I usher them into- my office. Or when I am sleeping and they have a bad dream- again, they get to enter- my office. I actually appreciated the dry sense of humor. Until about 6 visits in, when I realized that we were actually in -her office. On careful examination- the piles of books were not uniform- there were some on a chair, which was actually in front of a desk- also completely covered in books and files, next to a book case which was almost totally obscured. Some might run out of there in terror- not me. I liked her even more. She's human. And obviously reads, a lot. I like a good bedside manner, but I don't need her to hold my hand- I have a support system for that. I like that she takes my well being into account- a sane mommy is needed in the partnership , but I need her for her extensive knowledge on causes and treatments for the diseases my kids have. And I know for sure if I ask a question she can't answer( there's only been 1 so far) she definitely has the resources to find it. And she did- somewhere in her office.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
A new IDEA for school
A little over 6 months ago, I went through the rigamarole of trying to get Lily's life saving medications allowed at school. Since there is no precedent, no previous case of adrenal insufficiency- hydrocortisone is not on the formulary. It took weeks of phone calls, meetings, research and canoodling to get her meds in the health room. Even then it was strictly stipulated that although her shot could be kept there- legally there was no one there who could use it. yay.
A few months into it- I kept getting calls from a new health aide at school. She had Lily's number and wasn't afraid to use it. I would hop in and assess the crisis. By the 3rd call, I felt perfectly comfortable letting her give me assessments via phone of Lily's condition which could aptly be summed up as "attention seeking". She told me that she had daily visits with Lily, but unless she had the symptoms I told her to watch for, she usually sent her back to class. Finally, someone who knows what they are doing. For every door closed, there is a window- and Ms. Stacey lets the sunshine in to an otherwise crappy situation. Most of all it's nice to feel comfortable with the person who is the liaison between your child's health at school and the school. She knows the rules, she identifies that many of them lack common sense, and she always considers the childs needs. I like that. I call it common sense. There's an idea.
I am not the type of parent who gets all weepy on the first day of school. I love my kids. I miss them when they are gone, but school is a normal progression. I know parents get stressed about the what ifs and their children's welfare at school. And they have normal kids. without life threatening conditions. Even after I got Lily situated- I worried she would get sick, but I felt comfortable she would bring up any needs she had and demand to call me. This morning was so hectic, I had but a moment to pause and contemplate the irony that I packed 2 emergency care boxes- one for Phillip's classroom, one for the healthroom-and promply shoved them inside a Big Island candy bag to transport to school. I don't know- I guess I could have used the Baskin Robins bag. I was slightly surprised then today when I paused after a 20 minute brief with Phillip's teacher and another 20 minutes with Stacey and 10 minutes with his counselor- the sheer panic I felt walking to my car. The what ifs decended on my chest and started pecking away like a hoarde of hungry birds. So this is what it's like. I do not like this at all. I know it will get better. We have already settled into a routine.But this is pretty stifling.
I sit and marvel that I had all the information on Lily's condition- I felt comfortable and was ready to educate the school with a clear matrix of possibilities and solutions- and it took so long to get it all in place as a patch job to make sure I was comfortable with the school's accomodations. Phillip has been diagnosed for a week- I take him into school and because of an IDEA(Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)- every one does everything to accomodate us. This means that he should not be discriminated against because his pancreas doesn't look or work like other kids'. It means that his life saving medicines can be kept at school and have to be used. It means that enough kids and their parents have continuously butted their heads against the same walls I did with Lily- that legislation was proposed. I am grateful to not have to bang my head against the wall for this reason. The irony doesn't escape me. Too bad there's not a candy bag somewhere to shove that in. I might be able to find one if I had the time to look. But for now I have to wrap up- it's time to run back into school to check on blood sugars.
A few months into it- I kept getting calls from a new health aide at school. She had Lily's number and wasn't afraid to use it. I would hop in and assess the crisis. By the 3rd call, I felt perfectly comfortable letting her give me assessments via phone of Lily's condition which could aptly be summed up as "attention seeking". She told me that she had daily visits with Lily, but unless she had the symptoms I told her to watch for, she usually sent her back to class. Finally, someone who knows what they are doing. For every door closed, there is a window- and Ms. Stacey lets the sunshine in to an otherwise crappy situation. Most of all it's nice to feel comfortable with the person who is the liaison between your child's health at school and the school. She knows the rules, she identifies that many of them lack common sense, and she always considers the childs needs. I like that. I call it common sense. There's an idea.
I am not the type of parent who gets all weepy on the first day of school. I love my kids. I miss them when they are gone, but school is a normal progression. I know parents get stressed about the what ifs and their children's welfare at school. And they have normal kids. without life threatening conditions. Even after I got Lily situated- I worried she would get sick, but I felt comfortable she would bring up any needs she had and demand to call me. This morning was so hectic, I had but a moment to pause and contemplate the irony that I packed 2 emergency care boxes- one for Phillip's classroom, one for the healthroom-and promply shoved them inside a Big Island candy bag to transport to school. I don't know- I guess I could have used the Baskin Robins bag. I was slightly surprised then today when I paused after a 20 minute brief with Phillip's teacher and another 20 minutes with Stacey and 10 minutes with his counselor- the sheer panic I felt walking to my car. The what ifs decended on my chest and started pecking away like a hoarde of hungry birds. So this is what it's like. I do not like this at all. I know it will get better. We have already settled into a routine.But this is pretty stifling.
I sit and marvel that I had all the information on Lily's condition- I felt comfortable and was ready to educate the school with a clear matrix of possibilities and solutions- and it took so long to get it all in place as a patch job to make sure I was comfortable with the school's accomodations. Phillip has been diagnosed for a week- I take him into school and because of an IDEA(Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)- every one does everything to accomodate us. This means that he should not be discriminated against because his pancreas doesn't look or work like other kids'. It means that his life saving medicines can be kept at school and have to be used. It means that enough kids and their parents have continuously butted their heads against the same walls I did with Lily- that legislation was proposed. I am grateful to not have to bang my head against the wall for this reason. The irony doesn't escape me. Too bad there's not a candy bag somewhere to shove that in. I might be able to find one if I had the time to look. But for now I have to wrap up- it's time to run back into school to check on blood sugars.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Captain Pancreas, Position Open in Management
A friend suggested that we needed to update lil man's title- Pancreas boy is for sidekicks- Captain Pancreas would be more fitting for a hero. I have to agree. We just went from waiting for impending doom, to managing it- therefore I now knight thee Captain Pancreas. Another friend suggested a special cape, yet when I consulted our fashion designer- she adamantly declared "NO Capes!"
Somewhere in between planning Kiera's Birthday sleepover( which somehow always coincides with some medical crisis) and learning how to manage Phillip's diabetes and Phil's next TDY- starting Saturday- I try to find the time to feel overwhelmed. The only symptom that presents is a leakage of a clear liquid from my ocular cavities during all times of calm. There are only about 2 of those a day and they last less than 5 minutes each, so I guess I am doing ok.
Captain Pancreas and I will fly into the facility today for a routine systems check. I know it will get easier and more second nature- but right now it is akin to having a baby. Get up- check sugar- count carbs in meal- administer shot- wait 15 minutes- eat. 2 hour reprieve. check sugar. repeat for every meal/snack- and end the day with different shot. His sugar levels are still high, so we will be tweaking. In between I try to coordinate what needs to be done at school via talking with his teacher and a public health nurse and check on Captain Pancreas' mental health. His coping mechanism right now is video games. He was coping really well until a particular physician tried to be peppy and explain he could still do anything he ever wanted to do, except be in the military and fly commercial planes. That was the first time I saw the light flicker in Captain Pancreas. His alter ego planned to go into the Air Force as a cover and fly jets- like his dad. Times like these I begin to wonder exactly how many times ones heart can break before it goes numb- right now some numb would be welcomed- just for a little while.
I know everything happens for a reason. I know he has more gifts than we even realize. I have no doubt he will do great things and make a vast difference in many people's lives. He already has in ours. It hurts to see your child's dream crushed. And not in the- no you can't play in the playground or no we don't want you to play with us kind of way. We are talking dreams and ambitions and hopes for just blending in or taking flight. I know all of it will be rectified in time, but for this time- it breaks my heart.
So when a 350 lb chairbound man at the park tried to commiserate that he too has diabetes- I send my child off to play and tune out the drithering because you can't compare living a shitty lifestyle for 50 some years catching up to you -to a child's diagnosis. Phillip's diabetes won't reverse if he eats right and gets some exercise. It will be easier to manage and he might get to take less insulin- but he didn't get diabetes because he feasted on fried meats with a sugar sauce and 3 different sides of starches for 3 meals a day for 50 years. Yep, this is progress- I have moved on to the anger stage.
On the positive side- which is a bit cloudy and slightly obscured at the moment- for every closed door there is an open window. And sometimes to get out that window- the only way is to fly and I have no doubt at all that Captain Pancreas has the wings to do it.
Somewhere in between planning Kiera's Birthday sleepover( which somehow always coincides with some medical crisis) and learning how to manage Phillip's diabetes and Phil's next TDY- starting Saturday- I try to find the time to feel overwhelmed. The only symptom that presents is a leakage of a clear liquid from my ocular cavities during all times of calm. There are only about 2 of those a day and they last less than 5 minutes each, so I guess I am doing ok.
Captain Pancreas and I will fly into the facility today for a routine systems check. I know it will get easier and more second nature- but right now it is akin to having a baby. Get up- check sugar- count carbs in meal- administer shot- wait 15 minutes- eat. 2 hour reprieve. check sugar. repeat for every meal/snack- and end the day with different shot. His sugar levels are still high, so we will be tweaking. In between I try to coordinate what needs to be done at school via talking with his teacher and a public health nurse and check on Captain Pancreas' mental health. His coping mechanism right now is video games. He was coping really well until a particular physician tried to be peppy and explain he could still do anything he ever wanted to do, except be in the military and fly commercial planes. That was the first time I saw the light flicker in Captain Pancreas. His alter ego planned to go into the Air Force as a cover and fly jets- like his dad. Times like these I begin to wonder exactly how many times ones heart can break before it goes numb- right now some numb would be welcomed- just for a little while.
I know everything happens for a reason. I know he has more gifts than we even realize. I have no doubt he will do great things and make a vast difference in many people's lives. He already has in ours. It hurts to see your child's dream crushed. And not in the- no you can't play in the playground or no we don't want you to play with us kind of way. We are talking dreams and ambitions and hopes for just blending in or taking flight. I know all of it will be rectified in time, but for this time- it breaks my heart.
So when a 350 lb chairbound man at the park tried to commiserate that he too has diabetes- I send my child off to play and tune out the drithering because you can't compare living a shitty lifestyle for 50 some years catching up to you -to a child's diagnosis. Phillip's diabetes won't reverse if he eats right and gets some exercise. It will be easier to manage and he might get to take less insulin- but he didn't get diabetes because he feasted on fried meats with a sugar sauce and 3 different sides of starches for 3 meals a day for 50 years. Yep, this is progress- I have moved on to the anger stage.
On the positive side- which is a bit cloudy and slightly obscured at the moment- for every closed door there is an open window. And sometimes to get out that window- the only way is to fly and I have no doubt at all that Captain Pancreas has the wings to do it.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Pancreas Boy and the Case of the Vanishing Pancreas
Yesterday was a day of revolving door meetings with nurses and and doctors regarding the whosits and whatsits and howsits of diabetes.
The who: Pancreas Boy
The what: Type 1 Diabetes
The how: autoimmunity? trauma?
There are 2 main types of diabetes. Phillip's is the most common in children, yet the least common overall. The suspicion is that during the battle of skateboard v pancreas- the blow that the pancreas took started a chain reaction that ended up with Phillip's immune system targeting pancreas cells as damaged and starting to get rid of them. Now if we could just nail down these premises for targeted cancer therapy.....or hell I'm gonna go out on a limb and call for the actual cure of diseases.
The docs went back and reviewed his previous scans and saw the deterioration and that was why we were monitoring his sugars. The questions are why now? and what is the mechanism? We may not find the answers, but will get him into a couple more scans to see what's going on. None of this stuff affects the course of treatment- all that is standard for type 1 diabetes. Studies have shown that in cases where the pancreas has been pummelled- sometimes it results in diabetes, sometimes not. Since it is a pretty rare occurrence- again not a lot of data on that.
Pancreas Boy faces each and every challenge and keeps us in stitches- fortunately not literally. Yesterday his IV was sore and creating difficulty for him. That is to say that when he bent his arm to play video games - the darn machine kept beeping. We discussed with the nurse either moving it or getting rid of it altogether and she put in the call to the doc for approval. We then transitioned the conversation to taking blood glucose levels and that Phillip could do it himself and even give himself the insulin shot. Phillip apparently reached an intense moment in Angry Birds Rio and missed the transition. He hardly paid attention as the nurse removed his IV. SO when she asked him if he was ready to poke himself he dropped the game and looked to me in utter panic- I don't want to do it. Phil gives him a confused look and asks why not- he did it earlier. Phillip shakes his head and says- no the guy in the ER did it. At which point we all realize he thinks we want him to start a new IV on himself. Phil doesn't miss a beat and says well- if you're not ready- you're not- how about taking your glucose level? Yeah I can do that- that's easy. I even gave myself a shot already.
The who: Pancreas Boy
The what: Type 1 Diabetes
The how: autoimmunity? trauma?
There are 2 main types of diabetes. Phillip's is the most common in children, yet the least common overall. The suspicion is that during the battle of skateboard v pancreas- the blow that the pancreas took started a chain reaction that ended up with Phillip's immune system targeting pancreas cells as damaged and starting to get rid of them. Now if we could just nail down these premises for targeted cancer therapy.....or hell I'm gonna go out on a limb and call for the actual cure of diseases.
The docs went back and reviewed his previous scans and saw the deterioration and that was why we were monitoring his sugars. The questions are why now? and what is the mechanism? We may not find the answers, but will get him into a couple more scans to see what's going on. None of this stuff affects the course of treatment- all that is standard for type 1 diabetes. Studies have shown that in cases where the pancreas has been pummelled- sometimes it results in diabetes, sometimes not. Since it is a pretty rare occurrence- again not a lot of data on that.
Pancreas Boy faces each and every challenge and keeps us in stitches- fortunately not literally. Yesterday his IV was sore and creating difficulty for him. That is to say that when he bent his arm to play video games - the darn machine kept beeping. We discussed with the nurse either moving it or getting rid of it altogether and she put in the call to the doc for approval. We then transitioned the conversation to taking blood glucose levels and that Phillip could do it himself and even give himself the insulin shot. Phillip apparently reached an intense moment in Angry Birds Rio and missed the transition. He hardly paid attention as the nurse removed his IV. SO when she asked him if he was ready to poke himself he dropped the game and looked to me in utter panic- I don't want to do it. Phil gives him a confused look and asks why not- he did it earlier. Phillip shakes his head and says- no the guy in the ER did it. At which point we all realize he thinks we want him to start a new IV on himself. Phil doesn't miss a beat and says well- if you're not ready- you're not- how about taking your glucose level? Yeah I can do that- that's easy. I even gave myself a shot already.
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Return of Pancreas Boy and the Diabetic Disaster
Of all the things I had to do this weekend- I hadn't ruled out the possibility of ending up at Tripler. To be perfectly honest- it's always a real possibility- especially when you have 6 sports games lined up and a birthday party involving pony rides. I just didn't see us going in for diabetes.
3 years ago this week, I was returning some borrowed items to my mother in law's house. Phillip and his friend were outside playing around with the neighbor's longboard skateboard. In trying to perform some death defying feat, he fell and jabbed himself in the stomach with the board. We called them in for pizza and Phillip looked like he was going to be sick. He took one bite of pizza and refused the rest. On the way home he got all clammy and started throwing up- he look awful so I took him in. He bruised his pancreas, spent 10 days in the hospital with a feeding tube and from there on out became pancreas boy.
He has routine appointments with the endocrinologist- which is to say, I usually drag him along for Lily's appointments and she squeezes him in. I check his blood sugar sporadically, which is to say when I think of it. As of the last time, I found all my test strips expired last year. A quick internet search revealed I could trick the machine by telling it that it is 2009 so it will read the strips. Brilliant. At his last appointment the endocrinologist was optimistic because all of his tests still look good, which is to say she wasn't expecting that.
For every symptom he had, there was an explanation. He's moody- he's 11 they are all just learning to deal with hormones crazy little maniacs- right? He's tired- but pre-teens sleep like the dead don't they? He's been thirsty- but he's reffing soccer in 80 degree weather, playing flag football and growing- he needs lots of fluids. Going to the bathroom- well he's old enough I don't have a good record of this- although he did pee behind a lot of bushes in Volcanoes National Park if I stop to think about it. But in my second job as a camel- I was pushing liquids on the little hikers like you read about. The one symptom that got me is the weight loss.
My kids chunk out and then grow. When they were babies- it fascinated me to watch it- one day they were all pudgy roly poly and they would wake up the next morning lean and wirey. It happens now that they are older- I just had the discussion with Phillip because a month ago he was rounding out a little and I knew he was getting ready for a big growth spurt. So it didn't surprise me when he started looking skinnier- I assumed he grew. Then about a week ago he was walking around without his shirt and I noticed he looked thin. We are active every day, but he played 4 seasons of basketball and never looked this trim. I made a mental note to check his sugars next chance I got. Thin isn't in my repertoire. Call it big boneded, call it whatever you want- my kids come from sturdy stock. I come from generations of food=love and eat the stress away. Skinny is saved for sickness and chemo- I have many times tried to retrain my thoughts. We have been eating healthy since Phil joined the Crossfit Cult, I mean lifestyle. Eating right and exercising is actually part of our lifestyle- but when Phillip started looking gaunt, I knew something wasn't right.
I wanted to take his fasting blood sugar Saturday, but he ended up wandering over to my neighbor's house for waffles while I was in the shower. I left for a birthday party with Lily and Bell and it got put off for another day. Sunday he rolls out of bed and looks haggard. Haggard enough for Phil to ask him if he's ok. I grab the glucometer, reset the date to 2009 and we give it a whirl. 238. That can't be right. I scrub another finger with alcohol, and the lancet and we try again. 278. No that's not good. "Try me." says my husband sticking out his finger. I laugh, but it's not a bad idea- he's 98. Kiera lines up, she wants a turn- weirdo. I check mine- a little over 100. I try Phillip again- 278. I call my neighbor, who is also one of my few links to sanity. She has a diabetic dog and hence a glucometer that has strips from this year. Can we run a glucose test on him over there- I tell her our problem. He and Phil go over since I still am not dressed. It's 288. My neighbor tells him to take Phillip directly to the ER- she has a diabetic sister and niece- she knows more than your average bear. We decide that Schofield is a better(faster) option, the boys set out. She tells us we are crazy- he's gonna get a fast pass. Define "fast"?
Hours later, Phillip is formally diagnosed with diabetes and has a bunch of labs drawn. He gets to ride in the ambulance to tripler- and makes Phil take pictures of him. Phil lets me know when they get admitted so I can bring them overnight bags. And tell Monica she was right. It's a long running battle between the two of them. He tells her she's not right, she pretty much knows she is- he tells her she's not the boss, she rescues us when we need it. My neighbor shakes her head as she herds my non diabetic children over to her house- he didn't even pack a bag. Look- we know cancer- this is new territory for us. And while we are at it- I'm not happy he's got diabetes- but I am glad it's not a rare disease that nobody knows anything about- it's something, well, manageable. I have a feeling I will be seeing more of our endocrinologist than my husband in the next few months. yaaaaaaay.
I feel the familiar knot in my stomach as I drive to the pink palace on the hill. Braddah IZ is singing away about somewhere over the rainbow- I look for my sign but either the storm just passed or it hasn't hit yet- hard to say. The boys are sitting outside on a bench and I notice Phillip is just drowning in the hospital gown. I should have tested him sooner. Phil tells me the ER tech said most onset diabetics come in a coma- he wanted to know how we knew to bring him in? Did you tell him Monica made us? She's not the boss of me, he says- even if she was right, this time. He told the tech that we have monitored him after he busted his pancreas. He was thirsty, losing weight and tired . So the tech asks- why didn't you bring him in sooner? Ah I love medical professionals. I'm pretty sure Phil didn't regale him with tales of tournaments and daily life with 4 kids- I'm sure he just said we brought him in as soon as we tested him. I guess we could have waited for the coma, but that seems a little silly. They will be doing round the clock labs and monitoring all kinds of things. Once he gets the sugars managed and we get our medical degree in diabetic home management, we will be allowed to bring him home. We hope for Tuesday. Phil hopes they have insulin blow darts.
3 years ago this week, I was returning some borrowed items to my mother in law's house. Phillip and his friend were outside playing around with the neighbor's longboard skateboard. In trying to perform some death defying feat, he fell and jabbed himself in the stomach with the board. We called them in for pizza and Phillip looked like he was going to be sick. He took one bite of pizza and refused the rest. On the way home he got all clammy and started throwing up- he look awful so I took him in. He bruised his pancreas, spent 10 days in the hospital with a feeding tube and from there on out became pancreas boy.
He has routine appointments with the endocrinologist- which is to say, I usually drag him along for Lily's appointments and she squeezes him in. I check his blood sugar sporadically, which is to say when I think of it. As of the last time, I found all my test strips expired last year. A quick internet search revealed I could trick the machine by telling it that it is 2009 so it will read the strips. Brilliant. At his last appointment the endocrinologist was optimistic because all of his tests still look good, which is to say she wasn't expecting that.
For every symptom he had, there was an explanation. He's moody- he's 11 they are all just learning to deal with hormones crazy little maniacs- right? He's tired- but pre-teens sleep like the dead don't they? He's been thirsty- but he's reffing soccer in 80 degree weather, playing flag football and growing- he needs lots of fluids. Going to the bathroom- well he's old enough I don't have a good record of this- although he did pee behind a lot of bushes in Volcanoes National Park if I stop to think about it. But in my second job as a camel- I was pushing liquids on the little hikers like you read about. The one symptom that got me is the weight loss.
My kids chunk out and then grow. When they were babies- it fascinated me to watch it- one day they were all pudgy roly poly and they would wake up the next morning lean and wirey. It happens now that they are older- I just had the discussion with Phillip because a month ago he was rounding out a little and I knew he was getting ready for a big growth spurt. So it didn't surprise me when he started looking skinnier- I assumed he grew. Then about a week ago he was walking around without his shirt and I noticed he looked thin. We are active every day, but he played 4 seasons of basketball and never looked this trim. I made a mental note to check his sugars next chance I got. Thin isn't in my repertoire. Call it big boneded, call it whatever you want- my kids come from sturdy stock. I come from generations of food=love and eat the stress away. Skinny is saved for sickness and chemo- I have many times tried to retrain my thoughts. We have been eating healthy since Phil joined the Crossfit Cult, I mean lifestyle. Eating right and exercising is actually part of our lifestyle- but when Phillip started looking gaunt, I knew something wasn't right.
I wanted to take his fasting blood sugar Saturday, but he ended up wandering over to my neighbor's house for waffles while I was in the shower. I left for a birthday party with Lily and Bell and it got put off for another day. Sunday he rolls out of bed and looks haggard. Haggard enough for Phil to ask him if he's ok. I grab the glucometer, reset the date to 2009 and we give it a whirl. 238. That can't be right. I scrub another finger with alcohol, and the lancet and we try again. 278. No that's not good. "Try me." says my husband sticking out his finger. I laugh, but it's not a bad idea- he's 98. Kiera lines up, she wants a turn- weirdo. I check mine- a little over 100. I try Phillip again- 278. I call my neighbor, who is also one of my few links to sanity. She has a diabetic dog and hence a glucometer that has strips from this year. Can we run a glucose test on him over there- I tell her our problem. He and Phil go over since I still am not dressed. It's 288. My neighbor tells him to take Phillip directly to the ER- she has a diabetic sister and niece- she knows more than your average bear. We decide that Schofield is a better(faster) option, the boys set out. She tells us we are crazy- he's gonna get a fast pass. Define "fast"?
Hours later, Phillip is formally diagnosed with diabetes and has a bunch of labs drawn. He gets to ride in the ambulance to tripler- and makes Phil take pictures of him. Phil lets me know when they get admitted so I can bring them overnight bags. And tell Monica she was right. It's a long running battle between the two of them. He tells her she's not right, she pretty much knows she is- he tells her she's not the boss, she rescues us when we need it. My neighbor shakes her head as she herds my non diabetic children over to her house- he didn't even pack a bag. Look- we know cancer- this is new territory for us. And while we are at it- I'm not happy he's got diabetes- but I am glad it's not a rare disease that nobody knows anything about- it's something, well, manageable. I have a feeling I will be seeing more of our endocrinologist than my husband in the next few months. yaaaaaaay.
I feel the familiar knot in my stomach as I drive to the pink palace on the hill. Braddah IZ is singing away about somewhere over the rainbow- I look for my sign but either the storm just passed or it hasn't hit yet- hard to say. The boys are sitting outside on a bench and I notice Phillip is just drowning in the hospital gown. I should have tested him sooner. Phil tells me the ER tech said most onset diabetics come in a coma- he wanted to know how we knew to bring him in? Did you tell him Monica made us? She's not the boss of me, he says- even if she was right, this time. He told the tech that we have monitored him after he busted his pancreas. He was thirsty, losing weight and tired . So the tech asks- why didn't you bring him in sooner? Ah I love medical professionals. I'm pretty sure Phil didn't regale him with tales of tournaments and daily life with 4 kids- I'm sure he just said we brought him in as soon as we tested him. I guess we could have waited for the coma, but that seems a little silly. They will be doing round the clock labs and monitoring all kinds of things. Once he gets the sugars managed and we get our medical degree in diabetic home management, we will be allowed to bring him home. We hope for Tuesday. Phil hopes they have insulin blow darts.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Kalo n Kiera
I had the chance to go to the Kalo(taro) Patch with Kiera's Class. In 4th grade, they learn all about Hawaiian History and Culture. A trip to the Taro patch enlightens the children to the importance of playing in mud. I learned quite a bit. For instance, I still do not like poi which is the famous Hawaiian glue, I mean root. Actually, Taro is the root and is very much like a potato and is great in breads, or baked with a little seasoning- but when it is ground into Poi- it looks like purple snot. After learning that 4th grade classes from all over the island swim around where it is planted, I question my need to eat it at all. I know 4th graders, they are not clean. I also learned that mother of a classmate is a poopologist. Her son informed me that she can identify animals by the way their poop smells. Does she dissect it? Sometimes, was the answer- if she's looking for something. I don't think he was joking. I wonder what Kiera tells the kids I do.....
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Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Parenting Crossroads and the Yes Man
I am not a single parent, but I have been playing one for quite awhile now. I can say that there are benefits to both sides of the parenting fence. I will also say that a single parent can parent as effectively as a couple, because as in all things life- you are only as strong as your weakest link. Yet it is always nice to have a partner. Playing good cop- bad cop just looks silly if there's only one actor. I have learned some amazing things about parenting by watching my husband interact with our children. When he is debriefing behavior, he covers the finer elements of a standard flight defrief. Since there are rarely films to evaluate- the replay is more of a constructive questionning with a fair amount of detective work. This detective reasoning leads to the reconstruction of events and well as an opportunity to guide the children into the problem solving Woulda Coulda Shouldas. Once these have been established, they once again reflect on the positive and negative aspects and compare them to other times we have seen or not seen such behaviors. Once the child has effectively reflected, the true redirection (aka parenting- lecturing- mentoring- guiding- brainwashing-etc) begins. Once the debrief is concluded he usually asks them a trivial question. They usually respond, "Yes, sir"- and he knows they understand where everyone stands. Except Bella, she always responds "Yes Man" because the other ones used to say "Yes Ma'am" and he would then have to say "Your mom is a Ma'am. I am a Sir." I have yet to hear him correct Bella and neither one of us can resist snickering.
His talks are always one of the highlights of my job. He doesn't talk down to the kids, nor does he lecture over their heads. He is relateable yet authoritative. I often have to leave the room in a fit of giggles because when you watch an adult debriefing a toddler on the finer points of appropriate behavior choices- it is inherently funny. The one thing you will not see him do is negotiate with them. Some call it stubborn, but I think it is an element of parenting that is often overlooked these days. If children were equipped to handle all of the choices society has to throw at them- they would not be kept under the parenting umbrella until they are 18- oh wait- maybe it's 21-or is it 23 now? Oh yeah- some policies allow you to extend coverage to your "child" who is up to 26 years of age. It wasn't so many years ago that a 26 year old was considered an old maid and destined to live a life of solitude. Time to take off the kid gloves people.
As I said, I've been tackling some parenting hurdles solo. I have found that yelling only works to get their attention- but doesn't accomplish much else. I'm sure my neighbors appreciate my extensive research on the subject. Ignoring doesn't work either. Telling the children to work it out- plain old ridiculous- if they could work it out on their own- really would there be a conflict- um no. What does work? Consistency. For the same reasons children go haywire as soon as you get on the phone, talk to a neighbor, or are out in public- those are precisely the times you need to enforce appropriate behavior. Especially if it is uncomfortable. You will save yourself lots of discomfort in the long run. Lately- my kids like to approach me after 8 pm. I go off duty at 8. Off duty in my world means I'll deal with you- but in an adult fashion. It occurred to me that I was completely enabling their behavior because I was tired and it was quicker to just sign their homework logs after hours than deal with the fallout. Every night I was dealing with the logs. I finally said I wouldn't do it. If it wasn't done by dinner- it wasn't signed. The result was Phillip sneaking his on the counter in the morning. I would sign it without thinking. And then I didn't and I refused to. It took 2 days and he finally figured it out. Children have to face the consequences. I didn't want him to go to school and have his planner not signed and have the teacher think I wasn't doing my job. And then it occurred to me- my JOB is to teach him to be responsible. That's the whole point of consequences. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks- if I am doing what needs to be done.
I don't like public humiliation. I don't like to humiliate my children in public and I sure as heck don't like being humiliated. Yet at some point, children subconsciously recognize this and use it to their advantage. Like yesterday morning. Bella chose to ride her scooter to school. Once we drop the kids at school, she decides she is done riding the scooter. The rule is- you choose it- you have to get it home. I remind her of the rules and listen to her complaining for a block. We get to the corner of death( a main intersection with only a 4 way stop and people who would rather have your blood on their car than take the time to obey the rules of the road- like stopping). I usually carry her scooter across and hold her hand so if necessary, I can slingshot her to safety and take the full impact of a hit and run. Bella refuses to hold my hand and stomps her feet. I grab her hand and threaten punishment in the form of my hand hitting her butt if she doesn't hold my hand and walk across the street, she pulls it away. At certain ages- immediate reward and punishment are needed. And then for good measure- booster shots of reinforcement need to be given as kids get older. She then does the wet noodle act and throws herself on the ground. I now have to spank her because I threatened it. In public. So I do. I can tell you this because I already had about 25 witnesses to it- it's not a secret. She still refuses. At some point this is not working and reinforcement has the potential to become child abuse. That point is now. It is not a battle of the wills- it is me making a point and getting a child across the street safely. I pick her up grab the scooter and dash across the street. Before I even get to the sidewalk- I hurl her scooter into a grassy patch and park her butt on a nearby step. I get down on her level- because that's what Supernanny says to do- it's less intimidating. I then wonder if I should stand back up- because she just publicly disobeyed me and threw a fit- if this doesn't call for a little intimidation- I don't know what does. And as a sidebar- I don't watch supernanny- I've seen it twice and both times it was the exact same. I only watched it those 2 times so I could feel like my children weren't Satan's spawn- and it worked. I stay at eye level and explain to her that when we get home, since she is sooooo tired of walking she will sit in time out until she is no longer tired. At that time she will clean the backyard and if she gets tired she can go back to timeout. Do you understand? Her response "Yes Man."
The good news is I can say "I am not a MAN I am a MA'AM" without sounding utterly ridiculous. But I don't because I have to walk away so she can't see me snickering.
His talks are always one of the highlights of my job. He doesn't talk down to the kids, nor does he lecture over their heads. He is relateable yet authoritative. I often have to leave the room in a fit of giggles because when you watch an adult debriefing a toddler on the finer points of appropriate behavior choices- it is inherently funny. The one thing you will not see him do is negotiate with them. Some call it stubborn, but I think it is an element of parenting that is often overlooked these days. If children were equipped to handle all of the choices society has to throw at them- they would not be kept under the parenting umbrella until they are 18- oh wait- maybe it's 21-or is it 23 now? Oh yeah- some policies allow you to extend coverage to your "child" who is up to 26 years of age. It wasn't so many years ago that a 26 year old was considered an old maid and destined to live a life of solitude. Time to take off the kid gloves people.
As I said, I've been tackling some parenting hurdles solo. I have found that yelling only works to get their attention- but doesn't accomplish much else. I'm sure my neighbors appreciate my extensive research on the subject. Ignoring doesn't work either. Telling the children to work it out- plain old ridiculous- if they could work it out on their own- really would there be a conflict- um no. What does work? Consistency. For the same reasons children go haywire as soon as you get on the phone, talk to a neighbor, or are out in public- those are precisely the times you need to enforce appropriate behavior. Especially if it is uncomfortable. You will save yourself lots of discomfort in the long run. Lately- my kids like to approach me after 8 pm. I go off duty at 8. Off duty in my world means I'll deal with you- but in an adult fashion. It occurred to me that I was completely enabling their behavior because I was tired and it was quicker to just sign their homework logs after hours than deal with the fallout. Every night I was dealing with the logs. I finally said I wouldn't do it. If it wasn't done by dinner- it wasn't signed. The result was Phillip sneaking his on the counter in the morning. I would sign it without thinking. And then I didn't and I refused to. It took 2 days and he finally figured it out. Children have to face the consequences. I didn't want him to go to school and have his planner not signed and have the teacher think I wasn't doing my job. And then it occurred to me- my JOB is to teach him to be responsible. That's the whole point of consequences. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks- if I am doing what needs to be done.
I don't like public humiliation. I don't like to humiliate my children in public and I sure as heck don't like being humiliated. Yet at some point, children subconsciously recognize this and use it to their advantage. Like yesterday morning. Bella chose to ride her scooter to school. Once we drop the kids at school, she decides she is done riding the scooter. The rule is- you choose it- you have to get it home. I remind her of the rules and listen to her complaining for a block. We get to the corner of death( a main intersection with only a 4 way stop and people who would rather have your blood on their car than take the time to obey the rules of the road- like stopping). I usually carry her scooter across and hold her hand so if necessary, I can slingshot her to safety and take the full impact of a hit and run. Bella refuses to hold my hand and stomps her feet. I grab her hand and threaten punishment in the form of my hand hitting her butt if she doesn't hold my hand and walk across the street, she pulls it away. At certain ages- immediate reward and punishment are needed. And then for good measure- booster shots of reinforcement need to be given as kids get older. She then does the wet noodle act and throws herself on the ground. I now have to spank her because I threatened it. In public. So I do. I can tell you this because I already had about 25 witnesses to it- it's not a secret. She still refuses. At some point this is not working and reinforcement has the potential to become child abuse. That point is now. It is not a battle of the wills- it is me making a point and getting a child across the street safely. I pick her up grab the scooter and dash across the street. Before I even get to the sidewalk- I hurl her scooter into a grassy patch and park her butt on a nearby step. I get down on her level- because that's what Supernanny says to do- it's less intimidating. I then wonder if I should stand back up- because she just publicly disobeyed me and threw a fit- if this doesn't call for a little intimidation- I don't know what does. And as a sidebar- I don't watch supernanny- I've seen it twice and both times it was the exact same. I only watched it those 2 times so I could feel like my children weren't Satan's spawn- and it worked. I stay at eye level and explain to her that when we get home, since she is sooooo tired of walking she will sit in time out until she is no longer tired. At that time she will clean the backyard and if she gets tired she can go back to timeout. Do you understand? Her response "Yes Man."
The good news is I can say "I am not a MAN I am a MA'AM" without sounding utterly ridiculous. But I don't because I have to walk away so she can't see me snickering.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Liar Liar Pants on Fire
I really don't know where I could have gone so wrong. Well that's not entirely true, if I really wanted to be honest about the whole thing- I could sit down and pinpoint a few moments between my daughter and I that define our relationship, her personality, and where I went terribly wrong. I know you are thinking this is a passing phase, that she and I will work it out. I will hope you are right.
All I know is that at 10am this morning, I was confident that I was ready to handle the next 3 weeks as a single parent again and that by 3 pm, I questioned my existence as a parent and worried that I wouldn't see my child again. It's a terrible feeling, sitting there having no clue as to the whereabouts of your child- hoping for the best- pushing terrible thoughts from your mind. And then you see them, safe and your first thoughts are just short of murderous.
It went down like this. I have a child who is a compulsive liar. She can't help it. Even when there is no reason for it- her first response is to lie. My husband and I have exhausted our reservoirs of ideas and coping mechanisms to handle it. We know that her currency is her social life and her prized possessions and have multiple times removed them from her grasp. She is aware of the steps she must take to regain them and when prevailed upon, will go to no ends to saitisfy those requirements. We have a zero tolerance policy. It's exhausting. I am either constantly playing detective or enforcer. I have been grateful for the past 3 weeks my husband has been home, so that I can play good cop for short bits.
So today at 9:43am, we dropped Phil at the airport for a 3 week TDY to Japan. We were all feeling a bit melancholy, but also know that 3 weeks isn't that long. Of course in the grand scheme of things- it's a lifetime of possibilities for things to go wrong. I mean weird things could happen, someone could bust a pancreas or something. It's possible- and in the Mallory household- it is quite probable. As I pushed the melancholy from my mind I decided to harness the power of positive thinking. Not only would I be fine this TDY- I would be productive. My first task- getting Lily to her soccer game on time. Her game- 10:00, current time: 9:47- ETA to destination 17 minutes. Not good odds so far. The traffic was not cooperating and at 10:03 we were still 5 minutes away when I got the call form the soccer team mom. I apologize profusely, take a deep breath and realize- it's a 5 year old's soccer game- not the world cup- it's gonna be fine. We get there halfway into the 1st quarter and no harm, no foul. Halfway into 2nd quarter the soccer ball gets beamed off of Lily's face. I got it all under control. I convince Lily that she is not going to die, that she can in fact return to the game. She does and we are midway into the 4th quarter when she nearly gets beamed again- she throws me a crazy shaka and tells me later that she could feel the ball in her hair. It occurs to me that I never gave her her morning meds- I am off to a great start. 1 hour down- 503 to go. I tell the kids if they can manage to behave in the car, I will take them out to lunch. I haven't even fastened my seatbelt before Thing 1 and Thing 2 decide to go silent ops WWF on me. For the love of GOD, if I didn't have eyes in the back of my I head- I surely would have seen their shenanigans in the rear view mirror. Honestly. Needless to say we went straight home.
Kiera immediately requests permission to abandon ship. Permission will be granted when room is in tip top shape and the galley has been tidied. She concedes and abandons ship. After a reasonable amount of time, I journey on over to my neighbor's house. It's much easier to ignore the stacks of to-do items looking at you when you are looking at someone else's house. Kiera and her bud request to go for a run. Their footwear is questionable and I don't see the need to take a purse for a jog. I point this out. Both are acting shady. I inquire as to their intended destination and required time to complete it. Neither can give any indication of either. Request to run declined until proper details can be itemized. Children glare at parents and openly declare hatred of disciplinary action and parents. See most parents would be thrilled their kids were asking to go out for a run and open the door for them. But Kiera falls into fits of itchiness the second her skin starts to glisten. I find it hard to believe that she is opting for a run at 3 in the afternoon, with a purse and inappropriate footwear. But that's just a gut feeling.
After about a half an hour passes, and I get that gut feeling again. I call down Bella, My little informer. Whatcha doin? Playing Barbies. With the girls? No, just Lily. What are the girls doing? I don't know, they left. They left? Yep. Ohh no. I look to my friend, the mother of the other half of the dynamic duo. We yell their names, nothing. We check the house, the yard, my house, their friends' houses. No one has seen them . I send Phillip out on his bike to scan the neighborhood. My friend hops on her bike and I stay at her house in case they return to the scene of the crime. I take to pacing in the front yard. Kiera's friend's sister drills me on exactly how much trouble they are going to be in. Are we talking like two weeks grounding? Try at least 2 months. Zero tolerance. Wow- that's harsh. Insert parental tirade on safety and kids wandering around unsupervised. Hmmm she says. We are now going on an hour. My friend and I are trying to figure where they could have gone. I remember the purse Kiera was going to take on the "run"- it's still on the ledge by the door. I open it- there is a ziploc of shells inside. They mentioned "exploring" while on their "run." shells. Oh no. They wouldn't. I look to my friend- they wouldn't go to the BEACH would they? She calls her husband who is driving around- they both take separate cars to the beach. She returns about 10 minutes later, no girls. I get the call from her husband. He is watching them walk down the beach. He will bring them home.
I am alternately relieved and enraged. I want to find a neighbor with a van- have them throw the girls in the back and scare the living daylights out of them. They have no idea what they have done. My neighbor brings them home. Both girls are covered in sand. They are informed that all priveledges have been revoked. Both girls swear they only went because we never let them do anything. Apparently in the 10 year old mind, this makes sense. I keep my hands tucked in my pockets so that they won't wring her little neck. After the Miranda rights were issued, I marched my child home. While she showered I got the largest hamper I could find and 2 huge rubbermaid bins. I asked her if she knew what happens to people's stuff after they die. She shook her head. I told her their loved ones have to go through it, bit by bit, each piece more painful than the last. And then you have to decide what to keep and what to give away, all the while you just would give anything to have that loved one back. She left without telling me. I had no idea where she was or where to even look for her. If something would have happened to her- I would have not been able to help her. If someone would have taken her and chopped her into little bits, I would have to go through her things. So she was going to do it, to save me the heartache- I had been through enough today worrying about her. After she got dressed, we emptied the contents of her closet and drawers into the hamper. All toys and electronics went into the bins. I removed them from her room. I had her pick up the carpet, by hand. Then vaccuum. I had her wipe down the shelves and the walls. When I got Mcdonald's for dinner- she had to make herself dinner. And then do the dishes. She quietly took out the trash and asked if anything else needed to be done before she went off to bed.
So here I sit- 493 hours to go. Day 1 reaches it close and all children are present and accounted for. I guess technically alls well that ends well, yet tomorrow is another day where I will try to impress upon my daughter the importance of honesty and integrity and to be independent yet accountable. I don't need her to understand today why I make these decisions, I make these decisions so that someday she will be old enough to understand. And that makes it worth it. I think. But I could be wrong. I'll have to let you know someday.
All I know is that at 10am this morning, I was confident that I was ready to handle the next 3 weeks as a single parent again and that by 3 pm, I questioned my existence as a parent and worried that I wouldn't see my child again. It's a terrible feeling, sitting there having no clue as to the whereabouts of your child- hoping for the best- pushing terrible thoughts from your mind. And then you see them, safe and your first thoughts are just short of murderous.
It went down like this. I have a child who is a compulsive liar. She can't help it. Even when there is no reason for it- her first response is to lie. My husband and I have exhausted our reservoirs of ideas and coping mechanisms to handle it. We know that her currency is her social life and her prized possessions and have multiple times removed them from her grasp. She is aware of the steps she must take to regain them and when prevailed upon, will go to no ends to saitisfy those requirements. We have a zero tolerance policy. It's exhausting. I am either constantly playing detective or enforcer. I have been grateful for the past 3 weeks my husband has been home, so that I can play good cop for short bits.
So today at 9:43am, we dropped Phil at the airport for a 3 week TDY to Japan. We were all feeling a bit melancholy, but also know that 3 weeks isn't that long. Of course in the grand scheme of things- it's a lifetime of possibilities for things to go wrong. I mean weird things could happen, someone could bust a pancreas or something. It's possible- and in the Mallory household- it is quite probable. As I pushed the melancholy from my mind I decided to harness the power of positive thinking. Not only would I be fine this TDY- I would be productive. My first task- getting Lily to her soccer game on time. Her game- 10:00, current time: 9:47- ETA to destination 17 minutes. Not good odds so far. The traffic was not cooperating and at 10:03 we were still 5 minutes away when I got the call form the soccer team mom. I apologize profusely, take a deep breath and realize- it's a 5 year old's soccer game- not the world cup- it's gonna be fine. We get there halfway into the 1st quarter and no harm, no foul. Halfway into 2nd quarter the soccer ball gets beamed off of Lily's face. I got it all under control. I convince Lily that she is not going to die, that she can in fact return to the game. She does and we are midway into the 4th quarter when she nearly gets beamed again- she throws me a crazy shaka and tells me later that she could feel the ball in her hair. It occurs to me that I never gave her her morning meds- I am off to a great start. 1 hour down- 503 to go. I tell the kids if they can manage to behave in the car, I will take them out to lunch. I haven't even fastened my seatbelt before Thing 1 and Thing 2 decide to go silent ops WWF on me. For the love of GOD, if I didn't have eyes in the back of my I head- I surely would have seen their shenanigans in the rear view mirror. Honestly. Needless to say we went straight home.
Kiera immediately requests permission to abandon ship. Permission will be granted when room is in tip top shape and the galley has been tidied. She concedes and abandons ship. After a reasonable amount of time, I journey on over to my neighbor's house. It's much easier to ignore the stacks of to-do items looking at you when you are looking at someone else's house. Kiera and her bud request to go for a run. Their footwear is questionable and I don't see the need to take a purse for a jog. I point this out. Both are acting shady. I inquire as to their intended destination and required time to complete it. Neither can give any indication of either. Request to run declined until proper details can be itemized. Children glare at parents and openly declare hatred of disciplinary action and parents. See most parents would be thrilled their kids were asking to go out for a run and open the door for them. But Kiera falls into fits of itchiness the second her skin starts to glisten. I find it hard to believe that she is opting for a run at 3 in the afternoon, with a purse and inappropriate footwear. But that's just a gut feeling.
After about a half an hour passes, and I get that gut feeling again. I call down Bella, My little informer. Whatcha doin? Playing Barbies. With the girls? No, just Lily. What are the girls doing? I don't know, they left. They left? Yep. Ohh no. I look to my friend, the mother of the other half of the dynamic duo. We yell their names, nothing. We check the house, the yard, my house, their friends' houses. No one has seen them . I send Phillip out on his bike to scan the neighborhood. My friend hops on her bike and I stay at her house in case they return to the scene of the crime. I take to pacing in the front yard. Kiera's friend's sister drills me on exactly how much trouble they are going to be in. Are we talking like two weeks grounding? Try at least 2 months. Zero tolerance. Wow- that's harsh. Insert parental tirade on safety and kids wandering around unsupervised. Hmmm she says. We are now going on an hour. My friend and I are trying to figure where they could have gone. I remember the purse Kiera was going to take on the "run"- it's still on the ledge by the door. I open it- there is a ziploc of shells inside. They mentioned "exploring" while on their "run." shells. Oh no. They wouldn't. I look to my friend- they wouldn't go to the BEACH would they? She calls her husband who is driving around- they both take separate cars to the beach. She returns about 10 minutes later, no girls. I get the call from her husband. He is watching them walk down the beach. He will bring them home.
I am alternately relieved and enraged. I want to find a neighbor with a van- have them throw the girls in the back and scare the living daylights out of them. They have no idea what they have done. My neighbor brings them home. Both girls are covered in sand. They are informed that all priveledges have been revoked. Both girls swear they only went because we never let them do anything. Apparently in the 10 year old mind, this makes sense. I keep my hands tucked in my pockets so that they won't wring her little neck. After the Miranda rights were issued, I marched my child home. While she showered I got the largest hamper I could find and 2 huge rubbermaid bins. I asked her if she knew what happens to people's stuff after they die. She shook her head. I told her their loved ones have to go through it, bit by bit, each piece more painful than the last. And then you have to decide what to keep and what to give away, all the while you just would give anything to have that loved one back. She left without telling me. I had no idea where she was or where to even look for her. If something would have happened to her- I would have not been able to help her. If someone would have taken her and chopped her into little bits, I would have to go through her things. So she was going to do it, to save me the heartache- I had been through enough today worrying about her. After she got dressed, we emptied the contents of her closet and drawers into the hamper. All toys and electronics went into the bins. I removed them from her room. I had her pick up the carpet, by hand. Then vaccuum. I had her wipe down the shelves and the walls. When I got Mcdonald's for dinner- she had to make herself dinner. And then do the dishes. She quietly took out the trash and asked if anything else needed to be done before she went off to bed.
So here I sit- 493 hours to go. Day 1 reaches it close and all children are present and accounted for. I guess technically alls well that ends well, yet tomorrow is another day where I will try to impress upon my daughter the importance of honesty and integrity and to be independent yet accountable. I don't need her to understand today why I make these decisions, I make these decisions so that someday she will be old enough to understand. And that makes it worth it. I think. But I could be wrong. I'll have to let you know someday.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Swim wares
I know I have been terribly remiss in blogging. We are all alive and well. Phil returned from a funfilled Crossfit adventure Training Session in Florida where he also learned to fly the F-22 Raptor. Oh I love long TDY's- he loses 30 pounds and looks so fabulous I can barely keep my eyes (or hands) off of him which is problematic because we have 4 kids and other obligations. Like life. I on the other hand do what I can to maintain my glorious physique- which in and of itself would be a daytime job. But I currently have 1 fulltime day Job(Bella) and 3 partime afternoon jobs followed by my housekeeping service, laundry service, driving service, professional cheerleader and tutor, on call medical consultation and handy person jobs- so there is very little room to work in fitness. And when I get tired of tending to those responsibilites, I moonlight as a volunteer in no less than 3 arenas and from time to time make appearances on online support groups for various conditions that have become part of our daily lives.
Every time I talk to friends or family- which is a fairly rare occurrence and cherished when possible- I am constantly told that they don't know how I do it. This causes me to laugh. DO what? Keep my children from becoming cretins- the jury is still out on that. Clean house- not if you've seen it lately. Ask the ants. Stop by and you will see the baskets of laundry which are my version of practical, functional living room art. This last TDY I thought I would get to some scrapbooking, or some photo editing- yet the only time I ventured to open the roll top desk where I "play" it was merely to shove more stuff under the lid and slam it closed quick before something slid out. Every now and then something slithers out and I have to decide if it's worth shoving back in or if it needs to go. It's funny how clutter accumulates and it can seem overwhelming- yet if a piece slides out from time to time- it's pretty easy to handle. That's life.
I take small steps. I make a point to walk every day. Of course most days it ends up just being from the bedroom to the kitchen to the car to the kitchen, but I try . I don't stress about the number on the scale. Other than the fact that it's larger than when I was 9 months pregnant with my first child. I live by how I feel and if how much chocolate I consume to numb the pain is any indication of how I am doing- you will have your answer. So today I managed a walk with Bella which was cut short because she managed to fall off the ledge at the golf course into the prickly bushes. Twice. The first time was funny. She laughed, I laughed, we decided to not do that again, yet she did. It was not so funny when a prickly gets dangerously close to areas that don't like to be pricked. SO we pack up and move on back home. I stop by the mailbox and the powers that be mock me with the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Oh for the love of all that is good. Wasn't I tortured adequately with Vicky's swimsuit Issue a week ago with suits that are complete knock offs of my teenage years?
So I sit down an peruse the wares. It is very disheartening. The only girls wearing swimsuits are the amateurs and the athletes. And by athletes I mean women who play athletics who generally get no more mention than a blurb. I wouldn't say the swimsuit models were modeling as much as creatively displaying the product. I still am really unsure as to what the product is. In some cases the product was merely a necklace and a couple of bracelets. Unfortunately my daughter overhears me grumble- that's not a swimsuit, that's 3 shells strategically placed over her hoo hoos. I can hope that she will gain from the statement an understanding of the word "strategic" but I am pretty sure she will only remember hoo hoos. I thought about being offended, outraged at the nudity. But in all honesty, it's about as real as looking at the Sunday comics. Between the plastic inserts and photoshop- I am positive the finished product is far different from the real thing- and then I find out that there is another swimsuit edition out there, from a less likely source. National Geographic. Somehow the irony is so thick. The mag that is notorious for printing nudey pictures under the guise of culture is doing a swimwear spread and the mag that is notorious for printing swimwear pictures is doing a nudey spread under the guise of athletics. Outstanding.
I will not blame SI for negatively promoting/destructing female body image. That is up to girls and their parents. We need to take charge of our own perceptions. I don't hide the issue from my kids. I make it clear that I disagree with the lack of taste- not the human form. I also let them know there is a certain amount of movie magic that occurs behind the scenes. The fact is that sex sells and so does shock value. It sells because we buy it. I personally was more disappointed than shocked by the lack of swimwear. I think the body painting section they started a few years back was a genius circumvention of the porn I mean swimwear norms. I'll admit it, we spent more than a little time trying to spot the inconsistencies, if you will. That's the fun- the mystery- the what if. That is sexy. Remember the old saying- why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free? Exactly. Milk has been free for quite awhile at SI Swimsuit edition. If SI is now what Playboy was then , I don't even want to know what crazy stuff they are doing over at Penthouse.
As for my personal body issues- they are mine. I know enough women sporting silicone tatas because their bodies were ravaged by cancer to know that despite that we are more than our breasts- they are part of who we are. I have also run across enough boobs in my day to know that people place far too much value on physical appearance and not enough on the appearance of propriety. As for my daughters- I try not to show them my issues. For all they know I love my body, that doesn't mean I wouldn't change a thing here or there. But I hope to also impress on them that when it is all said and done- your body withers, but your legacy will not. I for one sincerely hope that my legacy in completely unrelated to swimwear.
Every time I talk to friends or family- which is a fairly rare occurrence and cherished when possible- I am constantly told that they don't know how I do it. This causes me to laugh. DO what? Keep my children from becoming cretins- the jury is still out on that. Clean house- not if you've seen it lately. Ask the ants. Stop by and you will see the baskets of laundry which are my version of practical, functional living room art. This last TDY I thought I would get to some scrapbooking, or some photo editing- yet the only time I ventured to open the roll top desk where I "play" it was merely to shove more stuff under the lid and slam it closed quick before something slid out. Every now and then something slithers out and I have to decide if it's worth shoving back in or if it needs to go. It's funny how clutter accumulates and it can seem overwhelming- yet if a piece slides out from time to time- it's pretty easy to handle. That's life.
I take small steps. I make a point to walk every day. Of course most days it ends up just being from the bedroom to the kitchen to the car to the kitchen, but I try . I don't stress about the number on the scale. Other than the fact that it's larger than when I was 9 months pregnant with my first child. I live by how I feel and if how much chocolate I consume to numb the pain is any indication of how I am doing- you will have your answer. So today I managed a walk with Bella which was cut short because she managed to fall off the ledge at the golf course into the prickly bushes. Twice. The first time was funny. She laughed, I laughed, we decided to not do that again, yet she did. It was not so funny when a prickly gets dangerously close to areas that don't like to be pricked. SO we pack up and move on back home. I stop by the mailbox and the powers that be mock me with the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Oh for the love of all that is good. Wasn't I tortured adequately with Vicky's swimsuit Issue a week ago with suits that are complete knock offs of my teenage years?
So I sit down an peruse the wares. It is very disheartening. The only girls wearing swimsuits are the amateurs and the athletes. And by athletes I mean women who play athletics who generally get no more mention than a blurb. I wouldn't say the swimsuit models were modeling as much as creatively displaying the product. I still am really unsure as to what the product is. In some cases the product was merely a necklace and a couple of bracelets. Unfortunately my daughter overhears me grumble- that's not a swimsuit, that's 3 shells strategically placed over her hoo hoos. I can hope that she will gain from the statement an understanding of the word "strategic" but I am pretty sure she will only remember hoo hoos. I thought about being offended, outraged at the nudity. But in all honesty, it's about as real as looking at the Sunday comics. Between the plastic inserts and photoshop- I am positive the finished product is far different from the real thing- and then I find out that there is another swimsuit edition out there, from a less likely source. National Geographic. Somehow the irony is so thick. The mag that is notorious for printing nudey pictures under the guise of culture is doing a swimwear spread and the mag that is notorious for printing swimwear pictures is doing a nudey spread under the guise of athletics. Outstanding.
I will not blame SI for negatively promoting/destructing female body image. That is up to girls and their parents. We need to take charge of our own perceptions. I don't hide the issue from my kids. I make it clear that I disagree with the lack of taste- not the human form. I also let them know there is a certain amount of movie magic that occurs behind the scenes. The fact is that sex sells and so does shock value. It sells because we buy it. I personally was more disappointed than shocked by the lack of swimwear. I think the body painting section they started a few years back was a genius circumvention of the porn I mean swimwear norms. I'll admit it, we spent more than a little time trying to spot the inconsistencies, if you will. That's the fun- the mystery- the what if. That is sexy. Remember the old saying- why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free? Exactly. Milk has been free for quite awhile at SI Swimsuit edition. If SI is now what Playboy was then , I don't even want to know what crazy stuff they are doing over at Penthouse.
As for my personal body issues- they are mine. I know enough women sporting silicone tatas because their bodies were ravaged by cancer to know that despite that we are more than our breasts- they are part of who we are. I have also run across enough boobs in my day to know that people place far too much value on physical appearance and not enough on the appearance of propriety. As for my daughters- I try not to show them my issues. For all they know I love my body, that doesn't mean I wouldn't change a thing here or there. But I hope to also impress on them that when it is all said and done- your body withers, but your legacy will not. I for one sincerely hope that my legacy in completely unrelated to swimwear.
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