I am not a perfect parent by any account. I yell, I stomp my feet sometimes, and many nights my kids eat cereal for dinner. However, the balance is that I love my kids like crazy, do everything I can to keep them safe and happy and protected out in the world. They know at home, no matter what they do, that they are loved and cared for. That said, I am now going to go on a shortish rant about how angry I am at our school nurse.
When my oldest was in second grade, she was on a daily medication that unbeknownst to us was the cause of headaches, stomachaches, loss of appetite and full blown panic attacks. It took us several months of continuous trips to the doctor, specialists, eye doctors, a battery of blood tests, agonizing mornings before school, and yes, many many trips to the school nurse. She lost 5 pounds over the course of about 3 months, which doesn't seem like alot until you take into account that she only weighed about 55 pounds at the time. So she lost approximately 10% of her body weight from not eating. We had her tested for Lyme, mono, pneumonia, and even leukemia. We talked about taking her to a psychologist to see if there was something going on that she just wouldn't tell us. Finally, one morning up at school I was on the playground with Meghan after the bell had rung and she came outside to see me (totally against the rules and very out of character for her to break any rules at school) and I had to bring her in through the office because the doors automatically lock. After speaking to the vice principal about what had been going on for months she decided to have the school psychologist call us, since I had told her the extent of her panic attacks and anxiety. When my husband and I met with him he was taking general background info from us and we mentioned the medicine she was on. Mind you, her pediatrician never found this to be a red flag. He had a subtle but jarring reaction when we mentioned it, but didn't give much info except that the medicine could have some side effects that we might want to look into. We went home, and looked into the side effects, and she had 100% of the side effects from this particular medication. We took her off it immediately and saw a gradual but steady improvement in all of her symptoms and side effects.
Flash forward to yesterday. Three years later and this woman still holds some kind of weird grudge against my daughter, who when she was 7 went to her office... at her job... that she is PAID FOR... when she needed medical attention too frequently for her liking. I know some kids, when I was a teacher I called them nurslings, like to go to the nurse to get out of class, or for a little extra attention. But mostly the kids that are there too frequently are there because they need a little extra tlc. Maybe they have anxiety, maybe something bad is going on at home, or they are nervous kids, regardless, you are there to CARE FOR CHILDREN. I'm pretty sure it's in the job description. So anyway, she fell at recess yesterday and the on duty teacher sent her for an ice pack. "what is it now Erin?" is how she greets her now, any time she goes to the nurse. Like a few weeks ago when she had a sinus infection. And when she went back to return the ice pack.. a clipped "what Erin???" GFY lady. Stop being mean to my kid.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
5K
I'm not a runner, but I surprised myself this past weekend by running my first 5k faster than I would have ever expected. I normally run a 15 minute mile on the treadmill. At the race I did an 11.14 mile, and finished in under 35 minutes. It's not from hard work, or dedication; it was because of this kid....
My almost 10 year old ran this race like a pro. She beat me and she would have beaten me by a lot more if I hadn't been afraid of losing her in the crowd at the finish line and let her go sooner. She didn't train. Heck, she didn't even have running sneakers on. I literally thought I was going to throw up as I ran the last 50 yards. On the video that the marathon posted I'm one of the few people walking across the finish line. Erin just sailed on through like FloJo. And then played a soccer game that afternoon. And another one the next day.
I have had "run a 5K" on my bucket list for years but never had the motivation or inclination to actually do one. For some reason, watching these races makes me very emotional. It's so inspiring to see people running or walking for a cause, or because they have overcome something, or used running as a way to better themselves. I did it because Erin asked me to run it with her. I knew that if I promised her, I would do it. So we did. I'm so incredibly proud of her and I'm proud of myself for really pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Now that I know that I can do it, if I want to do another it won't be a big deal. This was a big deal.
I have had "run a 5K" on my bucket list for years but never had the motivation or inclination to actually do one. For some reason, watching these races makes me very emotional. It's so inspiring to see people running or walking for a cause, or because they have overcome something, or used running as a way to better themselves. I did it because Erin asked me to run it with her. I knew that if I promised her, I would do it. So we did. I'm so incredibly proud of her and I'm proud of myself for really pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Now that I know that I can do it, if I want to do another it won't be a big deal. This was a big deal.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Max and Ruby
When I started writing this blog, I thought I would use it more frequently to chronicle funny little anecdotes that my kids say, that don't necessarily need to make it to Facebook. The other day I was letting Meghan (recently turned 6) choose an episode of Max and Ruby from OnDemand. She doesn't get the opportunity to pick a show, since her almost 10 year old sister monopolizes it with Food Network shows. But I'm glad that when given the chance, she picks from the little kids menu, Max and Ruby, The Fresh Beat Band, and just this summer asked to watch a few episodes of Sesame Street. So my sweet little innocent third born when given her choices of which title to choose, I think it was Rocket and Fairy Tale. She told me she wants a different one. Max and Ruby, Ruby gets a Boobie. And started cracking up at her own joke. And the beat goes on.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Room With a View
I don't have much to write about today, but this is the view from my desk, the hydrangeas are from my garden and the sunflowers are from the awesomely fabulous Trader Joe's.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
911
Below is my memory of September 11. But first I need to comment on something that has always stuck in the back of my mind and I never heard it explored in its obviousness on the news. In the US, our distress call, nationwide, is 911. Did they pick that day on purpose. Snickering behind their hands? Knowing the bedlam they would cause. The fact that they would obliterate an enormous demographic of our 911 responders? At the same time rendering our ability to dial 911 useless? It is too obvious to even seem ironic. I'm surprised that I haven't heard it discussed.
As a former New Yorker, accent on the former, I felt like a poseur when I was feeling what I was feeling on and after September 11. I felt like I needed to validate that it somehow hit me harder, because my father had been a FDNY firefighter, and only had just recently retired. I knew people that died. Only 2 I could call real friends but there were many others that I had known, worked with, been at parties with, went to college with. I felt like I somehow had to acknowledge that, without being a narcisstic drama queen, or having a clever anecdote in a conversation when the all too common conversations about the attacks came up. "Oh, you're from New York City... Did you know....." I was a peripheral player, who was feeling homesick and terrified and depressed and displaced and couldn't believe that I was bringing a baby into this world. I was obsessed with obituaries and the then limited internet, trying to piece together my purpose or place in the craziness that was our post-911 world.
I copied this from the Notes of my facebook page; my memories of September 11.
On September 11, I was at home in Scituate, Massachusetts; 8 months pregnant. I had opted not to start the school year since my baby was due in just a few weeks. I wasn't sleeping at night and had gotten into the habit of sleeping in. The phone rang shortly after the first plane hit. It was Tom in an incredibly calm voice asking me if I had the tv on. "You may want to turn it on. A plane just hit the World Trade Center." I immediately started to panic because, as a former Staten Islander the possibility of knowing several to hundreds of people that worked there was very real. Aunts and cousins that travelled in on express buses. Friends and family on the ferry and in the subways. Then the second plane hit. Like everyone else I was nauseated and appalled by people jumping out of buildings. Then the collapse. Now I was freaking out because, not just for the obvious reasons of all the death and devestation. My sister worked the 10 am shift at a midtown hotel, and would have been on a bus into the city at 9 am. I couldn't get calls through. Phones were completely out at my parents house. I deperately called my aunt (who's 2 boys were FDNY EMTs and were probably at a makeshift triage unit waiting for the injured who never came) and my parents' neighbors, just to see if everyone was safe. Just busy signals no answers for hours.
I was silently crying my eyes out. Riveted. Alone. In Massachusetts. I felt so removed and homesick, even though I hadn't lived in New York for 6 years at that point. My mother in law called me to distract me, but I didn't realize it at the time. She was rambling on about the movie Princess Diaries starring Anne Hathaway. I kept switching the topic to the Towers. She was trying to keep me from going into labor a month early by keeping me calm, but I couldn't see it then, I thought she'd lost her mind. I got off the phone and started going through my mental rolodex of all the people I had lost touch with who could possibly be there; firemen, police officers, finance and wall street people. I kept hearing about Cantor Fitzgerald. So familiar. I was wracking my brain. Billy Micciulli, a high school friend had given me his business card when I worked downtown. Holy crap. It had been a long time. Maybe he didn't work there anymore. Unfortunately he was the first of several names I would find out hadn't made it that day.
I finally got through to my parents, only to find that my sister hadn't gone into work that day, my aunt had missed a bus, my cousin was fine. But my retired firefighter father had grabbed his gear, hopped in the back of a pickup truck and joined countless other off duty and retired Bravest. Great.
I was obsessed with the television trying to watch and see if another of the few survivors would climb out of the rubble to the applause of the bucket brigade of so many hardworking people digging out rubble, bucket by bucket. There were so few. There were rumors as the hours passed of others, alive and trapped, everyone waiting. Names of the deceased started to trickle in, and I waited with baited breath for someone I knew. Amazingly, only a few friends were lost to me that day. Kevin Reilly, a smart, funny classmate of mine from Oneonta, lost his life in the line of duty that day as a firefighter. My father lost friends that day, but what was more difficult for him I think, were his friends' sons. A legacy lost.
So many brave men and women were taken that day, and I have so much respect and appreciation for the men and women who stepped up after that day to take their places, whether they had been waiting for a spot to open up at the academies or that went out after that day to take a stand. Thank you.
As a former New Yorker, accent on the former, I felt like a poseur when I was feeling what I was feeling on and after September 11. I felt like I needed to validate that it somehow hit me harder, because my father had been a FDNY firefighter, and only had just recently retired. I knew people that died. Only 2 I could call real friends but there were many others that I had known, worked with, been at parties with, went to college with. I felt like I somehow had to acknowledge that, without being a narcisstic drama queen, or having a clever anecdote in a conversation when the all too common conversations about the attacks came up. "Oh, you're from New York City... Did you know....." I was a peripheral player, who was feeling homesick and terrified and depressed and displaced and couldn't believe that I was bringing a baby into this world. I was obsessed with obituaries and the then limited internet, trying to piece together my purpose or place in the craziness that was our post-911 world.
I copied this from the Notes of my facebook page; my memories of September 11.
On September 11, I was at home in Scituate, Massachusetts; 8 months pregnant. I had opted not to start the school year since my baby was due in just a few weeks. I wasn't sleeping at night and had gotten into the habit of sleeping in. The phone rang shortly after the first plane hit. It was Tom in an incredibly calm voice asking me if I had the tv on. "You may want to turn it on. A plane just hit the World Trade Center." I immediately started to panic because, as a former Staten Islander the possibility of knowing several to hundreds of people that worked there was very real. Aunts and cousins that travelled in on express buses. Friends and family on the ferry and in the subways. Then the second plane hit. Like everyone else I was nauseated and appalled by people jumping out of buildings. Then the collapse. Now I was freaking out because, not just for the obvious reasons of all the death and devestation. My sister worked the 10 am shift at a midtown hotel, and would have been on a bus into the city at 9 am. I couldn't get calls through. Phones were completely out at my parents house. I deperately called my aunt (who's 2 boys were FDNY EMTs and were probably at a makeshift triage unit waiting for the injured who never came) and my parents' neighbors, just to see if everyone was safe. Just busy signals no answers for hours.
I was silently crying my eyes out. Riveted. Alone. In Massachusetts. I felt so removed and homesick, even though I hadn't lived in New York for 6 years at that point. My mother in law called me to distract me, but I didn't realize it at the time. She was rambling on about the movie Princess Diaries starring Anne Hathaway. I kept switching the topic to the Towers. She was trying to keep me from going into labor a month early by keeping me calm, but I couldn't see it then, I thought she'd lost her mind. I got off the phone and started going through my mental rolodex of all the people I had lost touch with who could possibly be there; firemen, police officers, finance and wall street people. I kept hearing about Cantor Fitzgerald. So familiar. I was wracking my brain. Billy Micciulli, a high school friend had given me his business card when I worked downtown. Holy crap. It had been a long time. Maybe he didn't work there anymore. Unfortunately he was the first of several names I would find out hadn't made it that day.
I finally got through to my parents, only to find that my sister hadn't gone into work that day, my aunt had missed a bus, my cousin was fine. But my retired firefighter father had grabbed his gear, hopped in the back of a pickup truck and joined countless other off duty and retired Bravest. Great.
I was obsessed with the television trying to watch and see if another of the few survivors would climb out of the rubble to the applause of the bucket brigade of so many hardworking people digging out rubble, bucket by bucket. There were so few. There were rumors as the hours passed of others, alive and trapped, everyone waiting. Names of the deceased started to trickle in, and I waited with baited breath for someone I knew. Amazingly, only a few friends were lost to me that day. Kevin Reilly, a smart, funny classmate of mine from Oneonta, lost his life in the line of duty that day as a firefighter. My father lost friends that day, but what was more difficult for him I think, were his friends' sons. A legacy lost.
So many brave men and women were taken that day, and I have so much respect and appreciation for the men and women who stepped up after that day to take their places, whether they had been waiting for a spot to open up at the academies or that went out after that day to take a stand. Thank you.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Fireman's Daughter
Every year as 9/11 draws close, I'm reminded of a story from about seven years ago. It was a hot July day and Tom had just left for Boston to do his 2 weeks Reserve Duty. I decided to take the kids, then ages almost 3 and almost 1 down to my parents house for a few days. We had one cell phone at the time, and luckily I had it with me. It was broiling hot and we were stuck in traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway heading for the George Washington Bridge when my car started to overheat. Not just overheat, but there was a "pop" and then steam starting pouring out from under the hood. I slowly got over into the right lane and threw my hazards on. "ohshitohshitohshitohshit" I was trying not to panic, and realizing that I could not call Tom, I decided to call my dad, down in Staten Island, on the other end of summer rush hour and Jersey shore traffic. He told me to call 911 and in the meantime I should try to get the vehicle off the highway.
I called 911, explained that I had 2 small children with me and they said they would send someone out to help. At least 45 minutes went by in dead locked traffic and I finally see a police car go by on the opposite side of traffic. Eventually I flagged down a police car that was not aware of my situation, and they parked their car behind mine . Finally, I asked them if they would follow me to a police station so I could wait safely (I was in the Bronx) until my dad could come and get us. They kind of rolled their eyes at this damsel in distress and gave me directions to the precinct a few blocks from the highway. At this point it had been several hours and I had split Christopher's milk bottle between the 2 of them so they wouldn't dehydrate. I went into the police station, and they were too busy to help someone without a real problem. I looked around and the place was crawling with young moms with toddlers in tow, in there for reasons unknown to me. For all I know, they were making pests of themselves just to beat the heat and enjoy some free ac. Who knows.
Somehow, I realized thru my bleary eyed panic and desperation that the precinct was attached to a fire house. Well lordy lordy. Didn't my former firefighter father tell me when I first got my drivers license, "If you're ever lost or in trouble, go to a firehouse. Tell them your dad's a fireman and they will take care of you." I left the precinct in a huff and knocked on the door to the firehouse. I told my sob story to the guy who answered the door, including that my dad had told me seek refuge in a firehouse, and he welcomed us right in. He brought us into the huge kitchen, and gave my kids water and apples. Found some Dunkin Donuts from that morning's breakfast and gave the kids each a donut with directions to help themselves if they wanted more. In the meantime, 2 of the guys asked for my keys, physically pushed my car up the street and into the station and began tinkering around under the hood!!!!!!! Some of the other guys brought us into the lounge, which was rows of old sofas all pushed together and encouraged the kids to jump on the couches and put PBS on the giant screen tv.
By the time my mom and dad arrived, they had jerry rigged the car so that it would run, and my dad drove it while the rest of us followed in my parents' car. I thanked them profusely and swore to myself that I would do something nice for them, in fact, hey, maybe I'll even contact a newspaper to share my story. But, I. Never. Did. Anything. I usually avoid the CrossBronx when I drive these days, I always feel like a heel that I never even sent them a thank you note. I didn't know the name of the Company, and then life got in the way. But I never forgot their kindness and the way that it was no big deal to them to help people out. People in need. That's part of the job description, but it seems to go deeper. I'm thankful.
This is my dad and one of his best friends the morning of 9/11, a couple of retired firemen, who went into their basements, grabbed their old gear and got the hell over to downtown Manhattan, to do what they could to help.
I called 911, explained that I had 2 small children with me and they said they would send someone out to help. At least 45 minutes went by in dead locked traffic and I finally see a police car go by on the opposite side of traffic. Eventually I flagged down a police car that was not aware of my situation, and they parked their car behind mine . Finally, I asked them if they would follow me to a police station so I could wait safely (I was in the Bronx) until my dad could come and get us. They kind of rolled their eyes at this damsel in distress and gave me directions to the precinct a few blocks from the highway. At this point it had been several hours and I had split Christopher's milk bottle between the 2 of them so they wouldn't dehydrate. I went into the police station, and they were too busy to help someone without a real problem. I looked around and the place was crawling with young moms with toddlers in tow, in there for reasons unknown to me. For all I know, they were making pests of themselves just to beat the heat and enjoy some free ac. Who knows.
Somehow, I realized thru my bleary eyed panic and desperation that the precinct was attached to a fire house. Well lordy lordy. Didn't my former firefighter father tell me when I first got my drivers license, "If you're ever lost or in trouble, go to a firehouse. Tell them your dad's a fireman and they will take care of you." I left the precinct in a huff and knocked on the door to the firehouse. I told my sob story to the guy who answered the door, including that my dad had told me seek refuge in a firehouse, and he welcomed us right in. He brought us into the huge kitchen, and gave my kids water and apples. Found some Dunkin Donuts from that morning's breakfast and gave the kids each a donut with directions to help themselves if they wanted more. In the meantime, 2 of the guys asked for my keys, physically pushed my car up the street and into the station and began tinkering around under the hood!!!!!!! Some of the other guys brought us into the lounge, which was rows of old sofas all pushed together and encouraged the kids to jump on the couches and put PBS on the giant screen tv.
By the time my mom and dad arrived, they had jerry rigged the car so that it would run, and my dad drove it while the rest of us followed in my parents' car. I thanked them profusely and swore to myself that I would do something nice for them, in fact, hey, maybe I'll even contact a newspaper to share my story. But, I. Never. Did. Anything. I usually avoid the CrossBronx when I drive these days, I always feel like a heel that I never even sent them a thank you note. I didn't know the name of the Company, and then life got in the way. But I never forgot their kindness and the way that it was no big deal to them to help people out. People in need. That's part of the job description, but it seems to go deeper. I'm thankful.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Trying to keep writing to find my groove again...
It's been a busy week for us around here. Last Wednesday we defied the odds and pulled off 2 consecutive birthday parties in one day. Rented a bounce house and decided to get our money's worth, checked my sanity at the door. We celebrated Meghan's 6th birthday and Christopher's 8th. It's so weird to me that my youngest is now 6. She's still totally the baby around here. I also would have thought that we would have had a 4th, a surprise, if you will, at this point. But the older they get, the farther away from babyhood, the less realistic it seems. I went shopping for my cousin's baby shower yesterday too. Bought the baby girl 2 of the most insanely adorable fancy yet comfy BabyGap dresses. I wish I had dressed my girls up more when they were babies. They were fall babies, so they spent a good amount of time in cozy footie jammies. That and, we never really had to go anywhere, so why bother dressing up?
School started last Thursday. The 2 older kids went off and into school as expected, and as expected my little one clung and cried like she'd never see me again. Her very capable first grade teacher handed her the class sign to distract her and sent her in to lead the rest of her class. A few more tears on day 2. Today, she went in like a champ. Fingers are crossed for another good day. I have a Squinky for her as a prize for being big, and more in a bag for additional bribery as the week goes on.
Sunday was Meg and Christopher's actual birthday. It was also the Constitution State Feis. Erin took 4 medals in the Light Jig, Reel, Slip Jig and HornPipe. Very exciting stuff. Especially since she got 2 gold medals, (her first time for that). The feis was held at an amusement park so we spent the rest of the day enjoying some good old fashioned family fun. Topped the day off with a traditional Carvel ice cream cake.
Yesterday, Labor Day, Tom took Chris to a Yankee game and the girls and I went to the mall. The mall is a big deal for my kids because I never ever take them there. The highlight of the trip was a visit to the Pretzel Time kiosk for pretzel nuggets and fake cheese dip. Delish. We went to Claires, where unfortunately there were no "red-line" sales items, so we ended up paying full price for a pair of soccer ball earrings (too heavy for Erin's earlobes) and another disgusting, probably made in China and pthalate filled makeup kit. Yuck. It was a nice visit though, and I forced myself not to rush them, or snap at them, and just relax and enjoy them.
School started last Thursday. The 2 older kids went off and into school as expected, and as expected my little one clung and cried like she'd never see me again. Her very capable first grade teacher handed her the class sign to distract her and sent her in to lead the rest of her class. A few more tears on day 2. Today, she went in like a champ. Fingers are crossed for another good day. I have a Squinky for her as a prize for being big, and more in a bag for additional bribery as the week goes on.
Sunday was Meg and Christopher's actual birthday. It was also the Constitution State Feis. Erin took 4 medals in the Light Jig, Reel, Slip Jig and HornPipe. Very exciting stuff. Especially since she got 2 gold medals, (her first time for that). The feis was held at an amusement park so we spent the rest of the day enjoying some good old fashioned family fun. Topped the day off with a traditional Carvel ice cream cake.
Yesterday, Labor Day, Tom took Chris to a Yankee game and the girls and I went to the mall. The mall is a big deal for my kids because I never ever take them there. The highlight of the trip was a visit to the Pretzel Time kiosk for pretzel nuggets and fake cheese dip. Delish. We went to Claires, where unfortunately there were no "red-line" sales items, so we ended up paying full price for a pair of soccer ball earrings (too heavy for Erin's earlobes) and another disgusting, probably made in China and pthalate filled makeup kit. Yuck. It was a nice visit though, and I forced myself not to rush them, or snap at them, and just relax and enjoy them.
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