I won't walk away unscathed. I cannot remain untouched. I want to leave this Friday and just leave. Too many good bye parties and dinners and events. Today was no different. My baby girl did it again. For the second year in a row, she received the "Most Improved" swimmer award at the annual swim team banquet. Again, my heart was swollen with pride and my eyes brimming with tears.
But more emotional than the award ceremony was the part where we had to part our ways with friends we love so much. Women who are like sisters to me, who squeeze me and begin to cry, damn them. I have been so strong and unemotional. I have been a rock to my kids and myself, wanting to pretend this is so easy and such an amazing adventure. Only to Marc have I cried aloud and expressed my doubt and concerns. I have agonized over the decisions we are making and buried my face in his chest looking for reassurance. I wanted to think everything is going to be okay. Maybe it is and maybe it will be, but today my heart aches saying goodbye to swim team friends. Today, Marc's response came back for the first time as, "I don't know what else to say, Pea." That is his polite way of saying I need to embrace this idea already. But this feeling of dread and darkness of what lies ahead is so foreign to me.
But how will we ever replicate what we have here? We have a family, a support team, a loving, cheering, enthusiastic network of people who care for us. Why start over? Is any amount of money worth it to leave? Not when I look at my kids and how they thrive in this environment. No amount of money will fill the void when I think of all of our friends and family here we leave behind. My chest aches when I think about how I feel like I am standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to dive in, rather, be pushed in, into the uncertain waters below. I hear the water there is warmer. And sharky.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
And the Child Lead Me
Yesterday was a big and important day around here. My six year old daughter had to have a mole removed from her right arm. We debated the issue, but after two different pediatricians pointed the growing mole out to me, I decided to take her in to the pediatric derm. After some debate in the office and two different derms collaborating, we decided to move forward with the procedure and have it taken off.
So, for the last 3 weeks, my girl has agonized over the whole ordeal. Mostly, she was terrified of the shots they were to give her to numb the area. We had scheduled this surgery on July 2, so for 22 days she had been agonizing over the whole procedure. It was a pretty good size mole,especially on that little pencil of an arm, so they had to take a large elliptical area out and stitch it up. For weeks now I have been telling her how it is "no big deal" for the doctor who is brilliant and I have had several moles removed, etc, etc, etc. I even went as far as to bribe her with a shopping trip (and like a good little woman, she took me up on that offer) to choose a new little accessory or toy once out of the clinic.
We arrived at the office yesterday morning, and while the original plan was for Marc to be stay home with our four year old, he decided he wanted to come and just wait in the waiting room with the little guy. Owen and I get called back and she is dragging her feet with trepidation. We venture in the room and see the doc in her scrubs, and Owen begins to cry a little. She was really nervous, so the doc (who is so sweet and very maternal) calls in for another male nurse to assist (there was already one guy in there to start).
So, now there are 2 male nurses (or MAs, not sure of their credentials) and the female doc. The new one to join us is very easy going and easy on the eyes with a warm smile. He sees her tentativeness and tells her he has 2 daughters and they wear Crocs, too, etc, etc. I tell everyone how brave Owen is and how she is tough, has run 3 5Ks already, and this is no big deal for her. She is laying on the table with me at her left side, sitting on a stool next to her head. The doctor and the looker are at her other side, and the other nurse at her feet, handing off tools.
The doctor gets her numb, and while she winced a little bit and cried out, the three shots were over fast and then they were ready to get moving. I brought a Junie B. Jones chapter book to read to Owen during the procedure to distract her, and kept telling her not to look at her arm and what they were doing. So, I begin reading the book, about this little girl, Junie B. Jones, the first grader and how she lost her top tooth. In the book, as I am reading about the blood Junie B. spit out when her tooth came out, I start to feel a little dizzy. Then, suddenly, I feel hot and clammy. I tried to keep reading, but now I am distracted by the sound of the doc snipping the stitches and clipping the thread as it tightens around that stupid tool that clicks. I cannot get the words to come out of my mouth anymore.
"Mom," Owen says, "Keep reading."
I feel faint, and cannot even read the words anymore as they dance around the page and now I know I am going to faint. I want to get up and leave the room, but I know I cannot leave her. I promised I would be with her.
I leaned my head between my legs and the doc stops working, looks at me and then to one of the assistants and says, "Get mom some water". The less congenial nurse dude asks if I need water and I said, "No, I need air.." not even recognizing the sound of the voice that spoke those words and really feeling like an idiot. Some cheerleader I turn out to be when Owen says, "Mom, what are you doing down there?" as my head is between my legs. I told her, as I am hyperventilating, "Oh,Sweetie, I am fixing my pants, they are wrinkled."
My mind is racing and I am thinking, "What the heck am I going to do??? I am going to hit the floor!" The nurse comes back in the room with a fan and starts to blow it directly on me, and not one minute too soon, since now I am drenched in sweat. I sit up and Owen says, "Mom, why do you have your head laying on the table?" I said, "Oh, Honey, I want to see you better." I still wanted to vomit, but I tried to smile at her reassuringly. The doctor is working faster now and saying, "We are almost done. You guys are doing so great," her eyes darting back and forth between me and my daughter's exposed arm. The other MA at the doctor's hand says to me, "Yeah, you guys are a great team." If only they were more convincing, because I could not wait to get out of that spinning room.
"Mom, keep reading." Owen begs. I try to read some more, but I am instantly taken back to the days of when I was a kid and would try to read in the car. I used to get so carsick with the scenery speeding past us when I was trying to focus on the words on the pages back then. This was no different. The room may as well have been a carousel and as I read a few more words on that page about how Junie B.'s tooth was pulled out and bloody, and I had to stop again. It was killing me.
At last, the feeling of nausea subsided when the doctor said, "Okay, all finished." It helped when I realized her little arm was no longer with a gaping hole in it. I began apologizing profusely. I was so mortified that my girl was so totally fine and I almost hit the deck. They told me it happens all the time (yeah)and that I was white as a sheet. The doctor then handed a lolly pop to Owen and one to me, and insisted on me eating it, regardless of the calories. She didn't let me out of the chair for a while, either.
So, Owen did great. I almost passed out. Marc later said to me when he learned of the incident, "Why didn't you let me go in there with her?" And really, I told him that I did not see that coming at all! The scary thing was how fast that cropped up and came out of nowhere!One minute I was fine and not even concerned about the procedure. The next, I was going to fall off the chair. Why? Is it because this decision, like so many other ones in our current situation, was elective? Was I stressed about us making the right choice for our baby girl? I think I am overwhelmed with the stress of the move and the changes in their world, that this was just one more hurdle to get over.
Today, we had to change the bandage after bath time. Owen and I saw the aftermath of her once peaceful little mole. Under the steri strips there are blue stitches, gaping out like a little picket fence along the jagged cut. Caked in dried blood, the wound looks red and angry. One can make out what the scar will eventually look like. Owen said to me, "Quick, Mom, clean it and cover it again. That is giving me the Hebe Gibbie's!"
All I could think to myself was, "Yeah, me, too. I just hope Florida doesn't leave the same scar in the end." After all, I have same fears and misgivings about going across the country as she did going into surgery. Will the move give me the Hebe Gibbies once we are there? I cringe to even think about it.
So, for the last 3 weeks, my girl has agonized over the whole ordeal. Mostly, she was terrified of the shots they were to give her to numb the area. We had scheduled this surgery on July 2, so for 22 days she had been agonizing over the whole procedure. It was a pretty good size mole,especially on that little pencil of an arm, so they had to take a large elliptical area out and stitch it up. For weeks now I have been telling her how it is "no big deal" for the doctor who is brilliant and I have had several moles removed, etc, etc, etc. I even went as far as to bribe her with a shopping trip (and like a good little woman, she took me up on that offer) to choose a new little accessory or toy once out of the clinic.
We arrived at the office yesterday morning, and while the original plan was for Marc to be stay home with our four year old, he decided he wanted to come and just wait in the waiting room with the little guy. Owen and I get called back and she is dragging her feet with trepidation. We venture in the room and see the doc in her scrubs, and Owen begins to cry a little. She was really nervous, so the doc (who is so sweet and very maternal) calls in for another male nurse to assist (there was already one guy in there to start).
So, now there are 2 male nurses (or MAs, not sure of their credentials) and the female doc. The new one to join us is very easy going and easy on the eyes with a warm smile. He sees her tentativeness and tells her he has 2 daughters and they wear Crocs, too, etc, etc. I tell everyone how brave Owen is and how she is tough, has run 3 5Ks already, and this is no big deal for her. She is laying on the table with me at her left side, sitting on a stool next to her head. The doctor and the looker are at her other side, and the other nurse at her feet, handing off tools.
The doctor gets her numb, and while she winced a little bit and cried out, the three shots were over fast and then they were ready to get moving. I brought a Junie B. Jones chapter book to read to Owen during the procedure to distract her, and kept telling her not to look at her arm and what they were doing. So, I begin reading the book, about this little girl, Junie B. Jones, the first grader and how she lost her top tooth. In the book, as I am reading about the blood Junie B. spit out when her tooth came out, I start to feel a little dizzy. Then, suddenly, I feel hot and clammy. I tried to keep reading, but now I am distracted by the sound of the doc snipping the stitches and clipping the thread as it tightens around that stupid tool that clicks. I cannot get the words to come out of my mouth anymore.
"Mom," Owen says, "Keep reading."
I feel faint, and cannot even read the words anymore as they dance around the page and now I know I am going to faint. I want to get up and leave the room, but I know I cannot leave her. I promised I would be with her.
I leaned my head between my legs and the doc stops working, looks at me and then to one of the assistants and says, "Get mom some water". The less congenial nurse dude asks if I need water and I said, "No, I need air.." not even recognizing the sound of the voice that spoke those words and really feeling like an idiot. Some cheerleader I turn out to be when Owen says, "Mom, what are you doing down there?" as my head is between my legs. I told her, as I am hyperventilating, "Oh,Sweetie, I am fixing my pants, they are wrinkled."
My mind is racing and I am thinking, "What the heck am I going to do??? I am going to hit the floor!" The nurse comes back in the room with a fan and starts to blow it directly on me, and not one minute too soon, since now I am drenched in sweat. I sit up and Owen says, "Mom, why do you have your head laying on the table?" I said, "Oh, Honey, I want to see you better." I still wanted to vomit, but I tried to smile at her reassuringly. The doctor is working faster now and saying, "We are almost done. You guys are doing so great," her eyes darting back and forth between me and my daughter's exposed arm. The other MA at the doctor's hand says to me, "Yeah, you guys are a great team." If only they were more convincing, because I could not wait to get out of that spinning room.
"Mom, keep reading." Owen begs. I try to read some more, but I am instantly taken back to the days of when I was a kid and would try to read in the car. I used to get so carsick with the scenery speeding past us when I was trying to focus on the words on the pages back then. This was no different. The room may as well have been a carousel and as I read a few more words on that page about how Junie B.'s tooth was pulled out and bloody, and I had to stop again. It was killing me.
At last, the feeling of nausea subsided when the doctor said, "Okay, all finished." It helped when I realized her little arm was no longer with a gaping hole in it. I began apologizing profusely. I was so mortified that my girl was so totally fine and I almost hit the deck. They told me it happens all the time (yeah)and that I was white as a sheet. The doctor then handed a lolly pop to Owen and one to me, and insisted on me eating it, regardless of the calories. She didn't let me out of the chair for a while, either.
So, Owen did great. I almost passed out. Marc later said to me when he learned of the incident, "Why didn't you let me go in there with her?" And really, I told him that I did not see that coming at all! The scary thing was how fast that cropped up and came out of nowhere!One minute I was fine and not even concerned about the procedure. The next, I was going to fall off the chair. Why? Is it because this decision, like so many other ones in our current situation, was elective? Was I stressed about us making the right choice for our baby girl? I think I am overwhelmed with the stress of the move and the changes in their world, that this was just one more hurdle to get over.
Today, we had to change the bandage after bath time. Owen and I saw the aftermath of her once peaceful little mole. Under the steri strips there are blue stitches, gaping out like a little picket fence along the jagged cut. Caked in dried blood, the wound looks red and angry. One can make out what the scar will eventually look like. Owen said to me, "Quick, Mom, clean it and cover it again. That is giving me the Hebe Gibbie's!"
All I could think to myself was, "Yeah, me, too. I just hope Florida doesn't leave the same scar in the end." After all, I have same fears and misgivings about going across the country as she did going into surgery. Will the move give me the Hebe Gibbies once we are there? I cringe to even think about it.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Out Of The Mouth of Babes
Our six year old is fascinated with all things death and destruction as of late. She loves the story of the Titanic and wants me to read and re-read the part about the iceberg. She loves the sheer terror of it all.
"But why are they running for the lifeboats, Mommy?"
I once read that children at this age are just learning to get a handle on things permanent and things not so lasting. They have come to a place of understanding that death transcends life and that people pass away and things pass on. That is, she is now trying to reconcile things that fade in this world.
Today on the way home from her swim workout she began asking questions about cremation. Questions such as "How is it done, Mommy?" or "What exactly are the ashes, Mommy?" and "What do people do with dead people ashes, Mommy?" and then, "Do the ashes just blow away?"
All of this questions were tolerable until the question came, "Mommy, when you die, do you want to be buried or cremated?"
"Cremated. Can we change the subject please?"
"Mommy, where do you want your ashes to go?"
"Honey, I haven't really thought about it. Some people choose the ocean, some people want to be left atop a mountain..."
"But YOU, Mommy, where do YOU want to be left?"
Not getting the point that I was trying to defer specific questions as a result of my lack of preparation and discomfort over this issue, I again tried to evade it by making it more general. She was having none of this.
"Oh, Dolly, most people simply choose somewhere they really loved in life, a romantic spot where others might think of them in coming years..."
Again because I hesitated, she blurted out, "OH! I KNOW! Mommy! Maybe your ashes should be put in a STORE! Like where you LOVE to shop!"
As comical as this was at the time, I tried to dispel the laughter I was choking down by explaining that it is totally inappropriate to scatter ashes at the mall and that it should really be somewhere out in nature and creation, etc. I told her that our bodies really mean nothing once we die, that it is our spirit that lives on and that I won't need this body once I am dead, that it will be irrelevant.
This seemed to satisfy her for a moment until I could pull in the driveway, pull the kids from the car, and shuffle them up to showers. But, her questions stirred something in me. Something I am still not really sure I understand how I feel. This idea of permanency versus gone. It really is the idea of the evolution of change in our lives and how we handle it.
I sort of feel now that our family is standing in the threshold of this place in our lives. We have been waiting so long to make a move in our future. Do we move to Florida, or not. Okay, we are going, but what now with the house? Okay, the house sold, now what? Which city? Which schools? What to pack? What about the cat? The cars? The questions are endless and the answers are just as long.
How can the days be flying by when I keep wishing away the time to find the answers to more questions as they arise? How are there just not enough hours in each passing day, but the days on the calendar are slow to move forward while we look to what our new lives will look like? We keep waiting, watching the clock, wishing the time away to get settled into a new city. I can't help but wonder, is this what life is?
That is, are we just spinning our wheels here, waiting for a change, wanting something new and adventurous? How can we savor the days more while we have them? Life is so fleeting. Why am I so anxious to step over the threshold and into the next thing? Why, I beg the question over and over and over again, WHY leave San Diego when our lives have been so happy and good here? We have friends, and family and a wonderful routine. Why venture out? Why? I guess the only answer I can come to is the inertia of change. We are being swept into it, resisting it little, this change. And, I kind of feel like we will have to be Reborn to survive. We will have to reinvent ourselves in Florida in order to live again. Certainly we cannot replicate what we have here in Cali, so we will have to look for some romantic place to leave our memories behind here as we travel into the unknown. Let's just hope in this process we don't get swept away by a hurricane. I feel like I need a lifeboat right about now.
"But why are they running for the lifeboats, Mommy?"
I once read that children at this age are just learning to get a handle on things permanent and things not so lasting. They have come to a place of understanding that death transcends life and that people pass away and things pass on. That is, she is now trying to reconcile things that fade in this world.
Today on the way home from her swim workout she began asking questions about cremation. Questions such as "How is it done, Mommy?" or "What exactly are the ashes, Mommy?" and "What do people do with dead people ashes, Mommy?" and then, "Do the ashes just blow away?"
All of this questions were tolerable until the question came, "Mommy, when you die, do you want to be buried or cremated?"
"Cremated. Can we change the subject please?"
"Mommy, where do you want your ashes to go?"
"Honey, I haven't really thought about it. Some people choose the ocean, some people want to be left atop a mountain..."
"But YOU, Mommy, where do YOU want to be left?"
Not getting the point that I was trying to defer specific questions as a result of my lack of preparation and discomfort over this issue, I again tried to evade it by making it more general. She was having none of this.
"Oh, Dolly, most people simply choose somewhere they really loved in life, a romantic spot where others might think of them in coming years..."
Again because I hesitated, she blurted out, "OH! I KNOW! Mommy! Maybe your ashes should be put in a STORE! Like where you LOVE to shop!"
As comical as this was at the time, I tried to dispel the laughter I was choking down by explaining that it is totally inappropriate to scatter ashes at the mall and that it should really be somewhere out in nature and creation, etc. I told her that our bodies really mean nothing once we die, that it is our spirit that lives on and that I won't need this body once I am dead, that it will be irrelevant.
This seemed to satisfy her for a moment until I could pull in the driveway, pull the kids from the car, and shuffle them up to showers. But, her questions stirred something in me. Something I am still not really sure I understand how I feel. This idea of permanency versus gone. It really is the idea of the evolution of change in our lives and how we handle it.
I sort of feel now that our family is standing in the threshold of this place in our lives. We have been waiting so long to make a move in our future. Do we move to Florida, or not. Okay, we are going, but what now with the house? Okay, the house sold, now what? Which city? Which schools? What to pack? What about the cat? The cars? The questions are endless and the answers are just as long.
How can the days be flying by when I keep wishing away the time to find the answers to more questions as they arise? How are there just not enough hours in each passing day, but the days on the calendar are slow to move forward while we look to what our new lives will look like? We keep waiting, watching the clock, wishing the time away to get settled into a new city. I can't help but wonder, is this what life is?
That is, are we just spinning our wheels here, waiting for a change, wanting something new and adventurous? How can we savor the days more while we have them? Life is so fleeting. Why am I so anxious to step over the threshold and into the next thing? Why, I beg the question over and over and over again, WHY leave San Diego when our lives have been so happy and good here? We have friends, and family and a wonderful routine. Why venture out? Why? I guess the only answer I can come to is the inertia of change. We are being swept into it, resisting it little, this change. And, I kind of feel like we will have to be Reborn to survive. We will have to reinvent ourselves in Florida in order to live again. Certainly we cannot replicate what we have here in Cali, so we will have to look for some romantic place to leave our memories behind here as we travel into the unknown. Let's just hope in this process we don't get swept away by a hurricane. I feel like I need a lifeboat right about now.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Fourth of Joy July
Today was our family annual tradition. I am really going to miss traditions like these: The Coronado 15K and 5K race. I love that in the 10 years I have lived in San Diego, I have made it to 9 of these. I even ran it one year 8 weeks post C Section (against the advice of my OB) and loved every minute of it. Not sure if I love the race or the festivities that follow it more, but every year it is pure joy.
We began the tradition with Marc and I running the 15K. Then came the birth of a baby girl and she ran along with Marc in the jogger. Baby number 2 brought us to buy the double jogger so he could participate, too. Now, our baby girl runs the 5K with dad and 4 year old boy rides in the single. Funny how life evolves.
That baby girl ran 44 minutes today, 2 minutes slower than a 5K just 6 weeks ago. She did awesome. I ran 1:07 and change, 2 minutes faster than last year. This just goes to show that my training for RNR Marathon last year was a complete disaster, knowing that I had such a poor race there in '06 and then ran the 15 K on legs that were still tired, apparently. This year, RNR was so much better and I felt fresh in Coronado, as well.
Susan and Steve came out for the run, with their 2 beautiful boys and nephew. Susan got 7th in her age group, which rocks, knowing how long she has been on run hiatus. She is tough as nails, that chick. I saw her at the turn around and was amazed at her determination and strength. Biker chick maniac, winning her races on 2 wheels and crossing over to crank in running shoes. What a woman.
For me, the first mile was 6:52 pace, followed by a few 7 minute miles, as I tried to settle in. We got on the amph base and at the turn around I still felt surprisingly good, but I backed off the pace to try to hold on, knowing I still had 4 plus miles to go. Came off base, hit mile 6 still smiling. Mile 7 was not so happy as I was running out of gas. Mile 8 I ran to catch Tattoo Man who I had been chasing most of the way, and ran on his heels to the finish. Passed some spectator who told me I was 17th woman overall, but in the results, it seems I bettered that a bit, taking 13th? Too bad my age group is so tough and I only got 7th, to be robbed of the podium finish. I'll take what it was. A great day with friends and family, emotional thinking of all the hereos who have died to make this country what it is, and then a feast in front of the parade. Love it.
We began the tradition with Marc and I running the 15K. Then came the birth of a baby girl and she ran along with Marc in the jogger. Baby number 2 brought us to buy the double jogger so he could participate, too. Now, our baby girl runs the 5K with dad and 4 year old boy rides in the single. Funny how life evolves.
That baby girl ran 44 minutes today, 2 minutes slower than a 5K just 6 weeks ago. She did awesome. I ran 1:07 and change, 2 minutes faster than last year. This just goes to show that my training for RNR Marathon last year was a complete disaster, knowing that I had such a poor race there in '06 and then ran the 15 K on legs that were still tired, apparently. This year, RNR was so much better and I felt fresh in Coronado, as well.
Susan and Steve came out for the run, with their 2 beautiful boys and nephew. Susan got 7th in her age group, which rocks, knowing how long she has been on run hiatus. She is tough as nails, that chick. I saw her at the turn around and was amazed at her determination and strength. Biker chick maniac, winning her races on 2 wheels and crossing over to crank in running shoes. What a woman.
For me, the first mile was 6:52 pace, followed by a few 7 minute miles, as I tried to settle in. We got on the amph base and at the turn around I still felt surprisingly good, but I backed off the pace to try to hold on, knowing I still had 4 plus miles to go. Came off base, hit mile 6 still smiling. Mile 7 was not so happy as I was running out of gas. Mile 8 I ran to catch Tattoo Man who I had been chasing most of the way, and ran on his heels to the finish. Passed some spectator who told me I was 17th woman overall, but in the results, it seems I bettered that a bit, taking 13th? Too bad my age group is so tough and I only got 7th, to be robbed of the podium finish. I'll take what it was. A great day with friends and family, emotional thinking of all the hereos who have died to make this country what it is, and then a feast in front of the parade. Love it.
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