Working from home, seemingly a situation anyone would envy, does have its challenges. Nothing I could have forseen, but definately something I didn't think through.
Fortified and reasonably peppy on Friday morning by my recently curb-acquired leather desk chair, I looked forward to the day of paperwork ahead. My husband not in bed was not unusual, as he normally went for a run or to the gym in the morning. However, my normal morning routine seemed amiss, specifically the lack of coffee he so kindly brings me in the morning. Ambling in, disheveled and a bit green, he stated,
"I'm not going to work."
"Whats up?" I asked. Knowing my son had come home sick after vomiting a few days before.
"I feel nauseous, have been up all night".
I suspected the worst. I would have to get my own coffee.
After driving my son to school, I began delving into the paperwork sitting in my comfy new chair. Unfortunately, I didn't stay in one place very long, the phone rang and I had to go out to an account and straighten things out. Following several impromptu meetings, I made my way back home. Not hearing much from my husband was encouraging, seems he was sleeping the nasty virus off.
Again, the phone rang, My boss.
"How did it go today?" She asked
"Fine, I met with the one doctor and.." I trailed off, hearing loudly from two rooms away, "blllleeeeaaaack" My husband vomiting violently.
I ignored it. Maybe she didn't hear it.
"I think the next step will be" I continued
"BBBLLLEEEEEAAAACCCK" again. More vomiting. Did she hear?
"Ummm." she intervened. "Is that your husband.... Vomiting?" She asked.
Paralyzed with the uniqueness of the situation. Not sure how to handle this, because if I were in the office, my vomiting husband would certainly not be there with me. Not sure if I should go check on him, or continue with this conversation.
"Yeah, I think so. You can hear that? He is three rooms away." My best effort.
"EEEWWWWW, I think I am going to get sick."
Fabulous. We continued the conversation as my husband discontinued the vomiting.
Later that evening, sitting on the couch, feeling a little better, he said,
"I think I grossed your boss out. That was pretty bad."
'Yeah' I thought, 'it was".
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
That fine line
"There is, in fact, a fine line between having fun and being disciplined," I thought, sitting in the rather uncomfortable black metal chairs tucked against the periwinkle blue walls of the Karate studio.
We arrived at the conclusion that Karate would be a good sport for our five year old to teach discipline, patience and good character. Baseball,after all, didn't start until the spring.
Karate seemed like a good fit after an unfortunate trip to the principals office. We were called for a parent, principal, teacher meeting to discuss the pattern of behavior over last two weeks.
It was raining, it was November, and my husband and I were awaiting our scheduled meeting. 8:20, A time that made sense only in school systems and hospitals, that would "give us time to grab a cup of coffee after drop off." Apparently, other parents can eat at times such as this.
"In all my years of school, I NEVER went to the principals office." I yelled into the back seat of the car over the soundtrack of High School Musical 1.
My husband drove quietly toward the school.
I worried that he could get "kicked out" of Kindergarten. Was that even possible?
I thought back to the incidents stemmed from circumstances relating to that fine line.
"Why did you stand on top of the art table?" I had asked.
"To be funny, I was trying to be funny" he insisted. That was strike one.
Of course, he got the reaction from his peers, and the attention of the principal, whom he had a "chat with" and apparently enjoyed.
"Why did you push the girl in your class." I asked.
"She was in my way, and I got to go to the principals office." He answered candidly.
Hmmm. 'Got to go to the principals office' wasn't in my vocabulary at that age.
Strike three, well, I won't go into the details, but it involved a pencil and an arm that was apparently, 'in his way'.
It was 8:20 and we sunk into the armed chairs next to the glass-fronted beverage fridge stuffed with Red Bull.
"What is going on?" his teacher asked, seemingly as shocked at the radical behavior change as we were.
Back and forth, we discussed home life, school life, during which time the principal was quiet, weighing the situation.
"I think" he finally said, "his behavior is related to the attention he gets, positive or negative."
And we flipped it upside down. Attention for positive, not so much for negative, which worked.
I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair at Karate, where my son was randomly falling down and not getting into formation quickly enough. The teacher was joking with him, unknowingly goading him on. I tried to avoid the hostile stare of one woman whose much younger son had perfected attentiveness, intimating that my son was disrupting class.
He was.
I thought about that fine line between having fun, and needing to be disciplined. How do you discuss that with a five year old? Because frankly, like the rest of us, he is still finding his way.
We arrived at the conclusion that Karate would be a good sport for our five year old to teach discipline, patience and good character. Baseball,after all, didn't start until the spring.
Karate seemed like a good fit after an unfortunate trip to the principals office. We were called for a parent, principal, teacher meeting to discuss the pattern of behavior over last two weeks.
It was raining, it was November, and my husband and I were awaiting our scheduled meeting. 8:20, A time that made sense only in school systems and hospitals, that would "give us time to grab a cup of coffee after drop off." Apparently, other parents can eat at times such as this.
"In all my years of school, I NEVER went to the principals office." I yelled into the back seat of the car over the soundtrack of High School Musical 1.
My husband drove quietly toward the school.
I worried that he could get "kicked out" of Kindergarten. Was that even possible?
I thought back to the incidents stemmed from circumstances relating to that fine line.
"Why did you stand on top of the art table?" I had asked.
"To be funny, I was trying to be funny" he insisted. That was strike one.
Of course, he got the reaction from his peers, and the attention of the principal, whom he had a "chat with" and apparently enjoyed.
"Why did you push the girl in your class." I asked.
"She was in my way, and I got to go to the principals office." He answered candidly.
Hmmm. 'Got to go to the principals office' wasn't in my vocabulary at that age.
Strike three, well, I won't go into the details, but it involved a pencil and an arm that was apparently, 'in his way'.
It was 8:20 and we sunk into the armed chairs next to the glass-fronted beverage fridge stuffed with Red Bull.
"What is going on?" his teacher asked, seemingly as shocked at the radical behavior change as we were.
Back and forth, we discussed home life, school life, during which time the principal was quiet, weighing the situation.
"I think" he finally said, "his behavior is related to the attention he gets, positive or negative."
And we flipped it upside down. Attention for positive, not so much for negative, which worked.
I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair at Karate, where my son was randomly falling down and not getting into formation quickly enough. The teacher was joking with him, unknowingly goading him on. I tried to avoid the hostile stare of one woman whose much younger son had perfected attentiveness, intimating that my son was disrupting class.
He was.
I thought about that fine line between having fun, and needing to be disciplined. How do you discuss that with a five year old? Because frankly, like the rest of us, he is still finding his way.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Could You?
"Could you ever go without sugar?" my patient asked me intently, "For the rest of your life?"
Reflecting on my disappointment that my poptart for breakfast was without frosting, and thinking about the tropical fruit skittles in my drawer, I wasn't sure how to answer. After all, the session was about her, not me.
Waiting through an awkward silence that didn't seem to go away, I finally answered.
"I guess not."
She sat back, happy with herself that she elicited the answer and it wasn't so far from her own truth.
Squirming uncomfortably in my chair, I glanced nervously at the diet coke. I hoped she wouldn't notice.
Reflecting on my disappointment that my poptart for breakfast was without frosting, and thinking about the tropical fruit skittles in my drawer, I wasn't sure how to answer. After all, the session was about her, not me.
Waiting through an awkward silence that didn't seem to go away, I finally answered.
"I guess not."
She sat back, happy with herself that she elicited the answer and it wasn't so far from her own truth.
Squirming uncomfortably in my chair, I glanced nervously at the diet coke. I hoped she wouldn't notice.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Transition
Transitioning from Daycare to Kindergarten for parents is like walking the tightrope without a net. Daycare was always there, except for the random staff development day typically associated with a three day weekend, normally easily planned. Many mistake the emotional lability with the reality that your child is growing up. My take on it, however, is that I am emotionally labile, tearful in fact, because I now have to navigate things like 'early release' and a "full day" that begins at 8:15 and ends at 2:20. Hardly enough time for me to practically "get" to work. On top of all these, we now must deal with things like voting days, oddly celebrated holidays, and vacations when it is so freakin cold going anywhere is essentially insane. For stay at home moms, I would love to believe the tears are actually those of joy, as I did stay home for a bit and enjoyed my personal time. Kindergarten starts tommorrow, but my transition week can be marked by a few related events.
Social skills development:
Going to the same beach over the last few years has afforded us the opportunity to meet some new friends. Oddly enough, one that is in my son's kindergarten class. He greeted his new friend, Lizzie, by spitting out his grape juice and acting like a complete goofball. Though he didnt impress Lizzie, her two year old sister was dually impressed. We didn't see much of the family after that encounter.
Fashion forward (or backward):
Preparing for the first impression at the new school(for me, not him!) was at the forefront of my mind. So much so, I carefully coordinated my red and white T shirt, Red Crocs and white shorts. Looking in the mirror to dry my hair I noticed my shoulder looked slighly odd. Looking more closely I realized that I had my shirt on inside out. Luckily, I had on "invisible" deoderant.
The frustration of Information gathering:
We entered school for Kindergarten testing, I was ushered to a small table and chairs, provided with a large folder of paperwork, and confronted by Miss Abby who would be testing my son. I rapidly explained his hearing loss in one of his ears, but didnt have time to relate his udder confusion between a "skip" and a "gallop". I proceeded to fill out the same card with the same information three times, and provided the same information on other sheets of paper. Another mother, entering in after me, remarked to the teacher, "there was less paperwork for graduate school!"
Trying to remember who my third back up emergency contact was, as well as our dentists phone number, I paused and skeptically thought, "I get it,you went to grad school."
The awkwardness of Good Bye
He missed the last day of school because a high fever and cold, which he has since generously shared with all of the family. We did promise he could return to daycare and say goodbye,thinking closure would be good for him, but I didn't think of how I would react. We entered daycare, and he hugged his teachers, went right to the play yard and blended in with his friends, holding court on the top of the slide. The director asked him if he would work there as a teenager, and after careful debate as to whether it would affect his budding career as a chemist, he accepted the position. I stood against the wall, hugging his teachers, saying thanks, and blubbering like a baby. After all, I was never good at goodbye, better at just walking away and not dealing. I attempted to put on my sun glasses but tears sneaked out from under. I amused myself watching Jasmine pour a bucket of sand over Charlie, and Theo manically grabbing the fence and crying, and 'the girls' near the fence ostracize or criticize another girl for trying to climb the fence, apparently a pre school faux pas. When it was time to go, he tried to blend into the line for lunch and I lured him with (of all things) a Dunkin Donut's personal pizza.
We turned around and walked out, as he happily waved good bye.
Label everything
I sit here looking at a back pack, picked out months ago, packed and ready for tommorrow. It's stuffed with items like clorox wipes, tissues, an art smock, and a shoe box with colored markers and pencils. We spent most of the night labeling it carefully. I am sure this is the last I will see of them, and come vacation, I will be back at Target scouring the racks for replacements. As hard as we try not to, we give everything a label from the beginning.
I just pray that tommorrow, he will be that well behaved kid I see, and the principal won't need that yellow card for his speed dial.
Social skills development:
Going to the same beach over the last few years has afforded us the opportunity to meet some new friends. Oddly enough, one that is in my son's kindergarten class. He greeted his new friend, Lizzie, by spitting out his grape juice and acting like a complete goofball. Though he didnt impress Lizzie, her two year old sister was dually impressed. We didn't see much of the family after that encounter.
Fashion forward (or backward):
Preparing for the first impression at the new school(for me, not him!) was at the forefront of my mind. So much so, I carefully coordinated my red and white T shirt, Red Crocs and white shorts. Looking in the mirror to dry my hair I noticed my shoulder looked slighly odd. Looking more closely I realized that I had my shirt on inside out. Luckily, I had on "invisible" deoderant.
The frustration of Information gathering:
We entered school for Kindergarten testing, I was ushered to a small table and chairs, provided with a large folder of paperwork, and confronted by Miss Abby who would be testing my son. I rapidly explained his hearing loss in one of his ears, but didnt have time to relate his udder confusion between a "skip" and a "gallop". I proceeded to fill out the same card with the same information three times, and provided the same information on other sheets of paper. Another mother, entering in after me, remarked to the teacher, "there was less paperwork for graduate school!"
Trying to remember who my third back up emergency contact was, as well as our dentists phone number, I paused and skeptically thought, "I get it,you went to grad school."
The awkwardness of Good Bye
He missed the last day of school because a high fever and cold, which he has since generously shared with all of the family. We did promise he could return to daycare and say goodbye,thinking closure would be good for him, but I didn't think of how I would react. We entered daycare, and he hugged his teachers, went right to the play yard and blended in with his friends, holding court on the top of the slide. The director asked him if he would work there as a teenager, and after careful debate as to whether it would affect his budding career as a chemist, he accepted the position. I stood against the wall, hugging his teachers, saying thanks, and blubbering like a baby. After all, I was never good at goodbye, better at just walking away and not dealing. I attempted to put on my sun glasses but tears sneaked out from under. I amused myself watching Jasmine pour a bucket of sand over Charlie, and Theo manically grabbing the fence and crying, and 'the girls' near the fence ostracize or criticize another girl for trying to climb the fence, apparently a pre school faux pas. When it was time to go, he tried to blend into the line for lunch and I lured him with (of all things) a Dunkin Donut's personal pizza.
We turned around and walked out, as he happily waved good bye.
Label everything
I sit here looking at a back pack, picked out months ago, packed and ready for tommorrow. It's stuffed with items like clorox wipes, tissues, an art smock, and a shoe box with colored markers and pencils. We spent most of the night labeling it carefully. I am sure this is the last I will see of them, and come vacation, I will be back at Target scouring the racks for replacements. As hard as we try not to, we give everything a label from the beginning.
I just pray that tommorrow, he will be that well behaved kid I see, and the principal won't need that yellow card for his speed dial.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Car Porn
Driving around is a major part of my job, one that I have wrestled with from time to time. Sitting behind the wheel feels a bit different than sitting in the cube on the computer or answering phones. To combat the sometimes long drives and the tedious shorter drives, I have begun listening to books on tape. My new multi-tasking has enabled me to drive, listen to something intelligent, all while being able to still see the sights along the way.
I recently noticed a curious sight, mainly on pick-up trucks, sometimes SUVs. I noticed that these vehicles now have testicles hanging off the back of the trailer hitch. At first, I thought it might be some sort of apparatus that helped hook up a boat or trailer. After seeing several variations, I realized I was viewing down and dirty car porn. The mid-life crisis has evolved from a sports car to the mascularization of the pick-up truck.
I thought about it for a moment and contemplated a push-up bra for my head lights. I think it has already been done.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Email addresses for kids
Knowing that kids are normally pretty absorbant sponges, it should have dawned on us that the time we spend on email has not gone unnoticed. Driving home from school the other day, my husband got the penultimate question.
"Dad, what is email?" Our son asked from the back seat.
"Well," he explained. "Email is how you can communicate with people by typing them letters on the computer. Mom and Dad have an email address and maybe some day you can have one."
"What is our email address?" he curiously asked.
After telling him our email, which includes our last name and a random number assigned by the email gods from comcast (or verizon or msn-it was 10 years ago!~)he said, "Maybe someday you will have your own email address, it could be your name at comcast.net"
Thoughtfully he answered. "I know what I want my email to be" he said. "I want it to be hotlove at comcast.net"
Hot love? Not sure where that came from. He answered.
"Now, that would be pretty irresponsible of me"
"Dad, what is email?" Our son asked from the back seat.
"Well," he explained. "Email is how you can communicate with people by typing them letters on the computer. Mom and Dad have an email address and maybe some day you can have one."
"What is our email address?" he curiously asked.
After telling him our email, which includes our last name and a random number assigned by the email gods from comcast (or verizon or msn-it was 10 years ago!~)he said, "Maybe someday you will have your own email address, it could be your name at comcast.net"
Thoughtfully he answered. "I know what I want my email to be" he said. "I want it to be hotlove at comcast.net"
Hot love? Not sure where that came from. He answered.
"Now, that would be pretty irresponsible of me"
Monday, June 30, 2008
You know you are married almost 10 years when...
Sunday morning brought on a few challenges. The evening before,we had put the first coat of linen onto the walls of ugly green in the dining room. The initial transformation was spectacular, but the trim, still being a celery green, just didnt look right to me. I thought about it, I even slept on it, but it wasn't working and I knew it would bother me. I decided to get dressed early and head off to Home Depot for a new color for the trim.
I got up and started getting dressed, the TV behind me.
I caught my husband looking at me.
"Hey, whats up?" convinced I was looking hot despite the linen white paint in my hair.
"Umm, can you move, you are in the way of the TV and it looks like the sox had a no hitter last night' He answered.
That is how I know I have been married almost 10 years!
I got up and started getting dressed, the TV behind me.
I caught my husband looking at me.
"Hey, whats up?" convinced I was looking hot despite the linen white paint in my hair.
"Umm, can you move, you are in the way of the TV and it looks like the sox had a no hitter last night' He answered.
That is how I know I have been married almost 10 years!
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