As the 11 o-clock hour approached, I resisted the urge to tell them to get to bed. I remembered that six years earlier, I spent hours telling the kids to settle down. Every 15 minutes I would reprimand them for any voice above a whisper. Finally they fell asleep, but it wasn’t until one o’clock in the morning!
This time, I let the kids burn off their ice cream sundae energy at full volume, and didn’t insist they lie down until past midnight. Then one by one, their voices disappeared into the night. Finally there was total quiet. I looked at the clock. It was 1:00AM.
In the morning I marveled at how much easier this party had been compared to the previous one. Maybe because the kids were a little younger and still interested in playing together instead of talking about boys, laughing about boys, making crank calls to boys. Or maybe because I relaxed and enjoyed watching my child have fun with her friends.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I foolishly remarked to Samantha who got more sleep than anyone else in the house.
“No, of course. You know, Mom, I never got to have a slumber party,” she said, with arms crossed.
“Are you sure? But aren’t you too old to have one now?” She shook her head no.
Ah, really?
End of Week Four
Tomorrow is the Fourth of July and I am stressed because we are having Ted and Andrea over and I still need to shop and clean.
My sister and her family decided to do a bbq at my mom’s and invited us over. I said we couldn’t come because the kids wanted to watch the Rose Bowl fireworks from our house. It’s not true though. I didn’t even ask my kids. I don’t know why I said no.
Maybe I’m avoiding my mom still. I don’t mean to do it, but then I do it, and then I feel horrible about it.
I don’t know if she never really recovered from the encephalitis or if it’s the dozens of medications she’s on, but she doesn’t engage in conversation anymore. There’s almost no back and forth. Also, she never says judgmental things anymore either. You’d think that would be a good thing, but it’s not.
I want her to question my parenting when I tell her Chloe is driving herself home from work late at night, or express shock at the money we’re spending on another weekend devoted to Peyton’s softball. Something that shows she’s still in there, fighting and alive, somewhere.
Talking to my mom reminds me of how it is with Chloe now. She still lives at home, but mentally she’s left the building. She’s so obviously counting the days until she can leave for college, that I would not be surprised if I found a collection of countdown tally marks scratched by her fingernails on her bedroom wall like in a prisoner’s cell.
When she’s home, which isn’t very often, she barely talks.
There’s almost no back and forth.
That’s why she reminds me of how it is with my mom. Neither is gone, but they’re not really here anymore either.
Since I’m not going to my sister’s bbq I’ll force myself to go see my mom on Sunday. Peyton will come with me. She likes to come with me to my mom’s. She says it’s because of the unlimited access to ice cream and cookies, but I think she also likes seeing her grandma. Even though my mom doesn’t say much to her and has never been very “hands on” with her grandkids, I think Peyton understands that she doesn’t have a lot of choices left in the grandparent department.
I rarely have my husband come with me. He’d go if I asked him, but sometimes I feel guilty that I’m still able to visit a parent when he can’t. The whole thing is still hard to believe. My mom was always the one with the most medical problems while his parents were the active ones who used to get down on the floor to play with the kids. So when the three of them went into the hospital that June and my mom was the only one to came out, it was a shock. I mean, if there was a “Survivor: Hospital Island” edition nobody would have voted for my mom. The odds were stacked against her.
Sundays are definitely the worst, because Sundays were when my husband would always call his dad. That first summer, Sundays were especially hard. Really, everything seemed hard.
Sometimes we’d marvel at how surreal it was to lose them both, and so suddenly. Other times we’d beat ourselves up, wondering if we made the right decisions. The doctors said my mother-in-law would never talk or recover and was already essentially gone, but we had our doubts. Because there was one day, her only good day, that she suddenly spoke. She said, “Tell Warren.” That was it. Nothing more.
There was something we were supposed to tell my brother-in-law Warren, but what? Was it something simple like wash their stinky dog? Or something more profound, like, “Tell Warren to get on with his life.” We joked that maybe it was like in a soap opera, “Tell Warren that his real father is not who he thinks it is.”
Even though the pneumonia came and essentially made the decision for us, still there was doubt. Were they wrong? Was she in there, somewhere?
We named that awful time the “Summer of Suck” and got each other through it one day at a time. Then we got through those first holidays without them. And then, perhaps as God’s way of snapping us out of our mournful fog, Samantha got sick. The Mono Days of Spring were followed by a summertime pneumonia, and then the Celiac Chronicles began.
So, exactly one year after the Summer of Suck, we booked an airplane vacation to Grand Cayman Island for our second only family airplane vacation ever, because we felt like we had been through enough and damn well deserved it.
But a week before we were set to leave, Chopper, my in-laws’ dog, got an eye infection in his one remaining eye. Besides needing medication three times a day, he was listless and seemed like he might be near the end. The kids were upset about leaving him when he was so sick, and I worried that we’d have to cancel our trip.
Wait, cancel our trip? Seriously? That was not going to happen.
I looked at that little mutt, and then I looked up at the sky, and I said, “You have got to be kidding me! This dog is going to get better now because we are going on that vacation.”
And then, somehow he did.
Chopper Lives . . .
And lives . . And lives
I made no secret of the fact that I was not a fan of my in-laws 250-year-old terrier mix, Chopper, and was not eager to have him live with us. I didn’t mean to be insensitive to his plight, but we already had a dog and a cat, and between freelance work and three kids, I didn’t need more on my plate.
But I couldn’t turn him away either, and as my husband pointed out, Chopper was likely on his swan song so realistically, his stay with us would be short. In fact, my father-in-law had often joked that Chopper and he were in a race to the finish line.
When he arrived at our home, Chopper was in such bad shape that he couldn’t lift his body over our 4-inch tall entry step. He needed help standing after his naps, and, because of his eye deficiency he accidentally fell in our pool, prompting us to put back up the fence we had when our children were young. Also, whenever someone touched his side he would turn to nip – clearly he was not a happy dog.
Oh, and did I mention the shaking and panting? His legs shook so much that I thought for sure they’d buckle under his weight, and with each exhale he would spread a toxic odor throughout the room. Even our resident dog, Buddy, could not tolerate it. “If you want me, I’ll be in the front room,” Buddy seemed to say each evening, as he left the den in disgust.
I Googled excessive panting. The results were bleak: Anxiety, Canine Cognitive Dysfunction, and Congestive Heart Failure could all be to blame. It didn’t look good for the little guy. Not good at all.
But we resisted rushing him to our vet. Because, my in- laws, besides regularly giving him table-scraps, fed that dog much like a cat, refilling his bowl throughout the day. Consequently, Chopper was horribly overweight. My husband joked that Chopper looked like an ottoman with teeth. We knew that if our vet saw him like this we’d only receive a lecture, and an order to return later. Instead I put Chopper on a proper doggie diet and planned to take him to see the doc once
he lost a few pounds.
Well, a funny thing happened. After a month or so of eating the amount of food that he was supposed to eat, Chopper started to change. First, he was suddenly able to scale our front steps with ease. Then he was able to get off the floor unassisted. At mealtime he started jumping up and down and even ran to his bowl like a puppy.
My husband and I looked at one another. Good Lord, what had we done?
After a few months we were confident that Chopper’s weight was on target, yet the stink and the panting persisted. His arthritis was doing better, but sometimes he still winced when touched. It was time to see the doctor.
My daughters asked if they could come with me, but fearing the doctor might deliver unsettling news, I declined. Before the appointment I located the file folder my in-laws had simply marked “Dog” to find the records of his ailments and shots. I discovered something I had never seen before - the form that his original owners completed when they gave him up for adoption. Under reason owner cannot keep dog: “Domestic Violence/moving to a shelter” was written in. How sad.
At the veterinarian’s waiting room Chopper’s arrival was greeted with giggles from both the staff and pet owners. Something about his diminutive size, wobbly gait, lack of eye, and incongruous name seems to tickle people apparently.
The vet was equally amused. When I told her that he had lost about 8 to 10 pounds she was shocked. “He must have looked like an ottoman,” she said.
Then I told her about the pains, the panting and the repulsive smell – the smell like something was dying inside, and
explained, “Listen, we haven’t had this dog for very long and I’m not emotionally attached. So if there’s anything you need to tell me, don’t beat around the bush, give it to me straight.”
She understood.
Moments later, after a quick exam and a few shots, she returned.
“Well, I looked him over. The arthritis in his legs is pretty bad, but if he’s jumping and running like you said, he’s not in horrible pain. The odor - it’s from his teeth. We can sedate him and clean them up for $500 or I can give you some antibiotics, that might help, for $20 bucks.”
“I’ll take the meds,” I quickly said.
“As for the rest of him, well, his heart is strong, and his lungs are clear. So what I would recommend . . .”
I steeled myself for the news to come.
“. . . is that you become emotionally attached.”
“Oh . . . well that is indeed . . . great news,” I said.
Middle of Week Five
“I want to get a classy tramp stamp, like a daisy.”
This was my 18-year-old daughter talking to her younger sisters this morning. I think my kids purposely says things like this to see if they can get a rise out of me. Even the youngest one does it. When I told her to take a shower she told me, “Showering is for chumps.” And another time when I was telling her how important it is to do well in school so she can have a good career, she said, “I don’t want a career. I’m going to marry a rich husband.” The other two agreed. They said they didn’t care about having a career either. Did they really hold such old- fashioned views? If so, I’ve completely failed.
But I’m not going to let it bother me today. I’m in too good a mood. When I visited my mom, she was way more “with it” again. Her friend Joan had recently been there for a visit and that somehow perked her up. Probably the fact that Joan’s memory was even worse than my mom’s, made her feel pretty good about things.
After telling her that I had skinned my knee earlier in the day by tripping over my own flip flops, she went into this lengthy lecture about how I shouldn’t wear such inappropriate footwear. “Well, it’s no wonder you tripped. You can’t wear shoes like that anymore at your age. You need something with more support.”
I was so happy to hear her lecture me again, that I laughed it off. Then she lectured me about how I shouldn’t let Peyton wear flip flops either because one day she’ll be stricken with fallen arches, and I won’t be laughing then, will I?
I was happy that she was feeling feisty enough to question my parenting skills. Who knows, maybe she’s right? Perhaps I have become rather lazy in my parenting.
I should step it up a notch, maybe two.
Parenting Tips The Experts Won’t Tell You
I’m not a psychologist, pediatrician, or child-development expert, but I do have three kids, one of whom is technically an adult. Over the years I’ve read a ton of parenting books, often desperate for insight or answers. But what I found is that most parenting advice is trite hooey. I mean, if we could all magically nod off and “sleep when our baby sleeps” or “find ways to make time for ourselves,” then we wouldn’t be seeking advice in the first place.
I’ve made my own discoveries along the way. Here are a few practical pieces of advice, things experts won’t tell you:
1) You don’t need to videotape every second.
Sometimes it’s nice to simply enjoy a school performance, soccer game, or birthday party without the burden of videotaping. Besides, it’s better to videotape every-day moments like your kids playing dress-up, building a fort, or having a conversation with their grandparents. Those times will mean a lot more to you in 20 years than some barely watchable clip of your kid standing behind 100 other kids singing, “Wacky Weather.” Oh, and don’t bother getting cutaways and insert shots thinking you’re going to edit the video later. Trust me, it ain’t gonna happen.
2) Don’t volunteer during hectic months.
Arrive early at back-to-school night so you can have your choice of party signups. Pick the lesser holiday parties, like Valentines Day, Columbus Day, or even Arbor Day. Don’t be stupid and sign up for the “Winter Holiday” party, because when December 18th rolls around and you haven’t started your
“Winter Holiday” shopping, and your older daughter has a “Winter Holiday” choral performance that night, and your son needs help studying for his semester finals, the last thing you need is to suddenly remember that you signed up to bake 25 cupcakes for the 4th grade “Winter Holiday” party.
3) Beware the power of the precedent.
Any rule, expense, or gift that you bestow upon your eldest will have to be duplicated for your younger children. Thinking about footing the bill for Jake’s expensive 5th grade class trip to Valley Forge? Just remember that when Jake’s younger brother is in 5th grade, he’ll want the same. Luckily, sometimes this can work in your favor like, “Your sister didn’t get her pierced ears/ cell phone/private jet until the 7th grade and that’s the family rule.”
4) They will survive without you.
It’s okay to miss an occasional softball game or school barbecue. Parents who work have to miss things all the time and their kids turn out fine. In fact it’s good for kids to realize they can function without you, and you’ll probably both learn a lot from the time they spend with their friend’s families. “Mom, Mrs. O’Brien yells at other drivers from her car like you do, and also she called Obama a Commie!” Really, is that so?
5) Don’t waste money on expensive outings they’ll never remember.
Like that Sesame Street live performance my eldest daughter has no recollection of attending, the one I dragged her to even though she had a raging ear infection because I had already paid for the tickets, damn it. Kids rarely remember anything from their early years so why waste the money? I’m not saying that you should never go somewhere special like Disneyland, but perhaps go only once in the early years and bring a few costume changes. You can do amazing things with Photoshop.
6) Make friends with your kid’s friends’ parents.
You can socialize while the kids entertain one another, saving the cost of a sitter, and what’s also nice is that when the kids are teens you’ll have a valuable ally: “Did Maddy really sleep at your house last night, and were you really home?”
6A) But don’t make them your only friends.
It can be awkward when childhood friends mature at dif
ferent rates and grow apart, yet the parents are still best friends. Sure you can have your family gatherings, but it’s hard to enjoy them when the former BFFs are now busily ignoring each other - one still playing Polly Pockets while the other texting her friends about a rave party later that night.
7) Don’t make promises.
It’s much safer to wait until you’re 100% sure you can deliver before you announce you’re going to do something fun. Kids don’t handle disappointment very well so even if you have a great reason to cancel, “I know I said we’d go to the beach this weekend, but there’s a hurricane,” all your child hears is “blah blah blah, we’re not going to the beach, blah blah blah.”
8) But don’t make every wish come true either.
Kids need to experience some amount of disappointment. Let’s face it, you’d rather chew on thumbtacks than play Candyland again, so it’s okay to say no. Try this: “Mommy is going to relax for a bit while you play on your own.” I know it’s hard, but if you always put their needs first, then you’re setting them up for a lifetime of disappointment because the rest of the world will not cater to their every whim. It’s good for kids to learn early that there is give and take in any relationship. One day, they will be a better friend, boyfriend, or spouse because of it.
9) Make a list of adorable things they say.
Keep a notebook or start a file on the computer. Really, do it now! Otherwise, here’s what happens: “What was that cute thing Sophie said about hookers? You know, when she was dressing the Barbie and she couldn’t get the hook and eye to work on the dress?” See, you can’t remember. The way Sophie worded it was flippin’ hysterical, but you didn’t write it down. Don’t you wish you had? Seriously, go start that file.
10) Judge not, lest thee be judged.
Okay, so I stole that from the Bible. Really, it’s easy to cast a disparaging eye at other parents. “Well, maybe if they’d disciplined Camille a little more, she wouldn’t have gotten caught making out with boys in the 6th grade!” But keep in mind, your day might come. Precious Drew might do something so mortifying you’ll wish you had been a little less judgmental, and hope that other parents have the compassion to say, “I’m sure it’s been rough watching Drew get busted for selling Mollys, but you have to applaud his entrepreneurial spirit! A businessman in the making, that one is.”
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