| update |
[31 May 2005|09:25pm] |
So, my last entry described the little boy in my town who was recently diagnosed with cancer. I thought I'd post a brief update on his condition which seems to be better than initially expected. He's receiving chemo for the next couple of months and then have to undergo radiation. Brutal.
Last week, folks at the local American Legion chapter held a fund-raiser for the family, a $5 a plate spaghetti dinner. I wanted to go and show my support, so we packed up the kids and drove down to the American Legion to eat our plates of undoubtedly overcooked spaghetti. Anything for a good cause, right? As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, though, I sensed that our dinner plans may not go as expected. The line for the dinner was practically out the door. We decided to give it a shot and joined the long line. Then reality set in. The chances of J having a hypoglycemic meltdown while we waited in line was a distinct, and potentially embarrassing, possibility, so I worked my way up to the head of the line to make a small donation. I felt an odd sense of pride as I walked through the crowd. Here were all these people- old friends, casual acquaintances, strangers, even enemies, I'm sure- coming together to help this family. I'd like to think that kind of community spirit comes from living in a small town. A place where neighbors still look out for each other. And that pure altruism isn't possible in a big city where obsessive self-interests are a necessary survival skill. I know better, though. Yes, it was heart-warming and reassuring to see that my neighbors cared enough about each other to donate their hard-earned money to another family. But, it wasn't only pure selflessness. I think that most of the people at that dinner had the same guilty thoughts racing through their brains that I did. "If this horrific tragedy can happen to someone I know, then it can happen to me. If I help out now, maybe I'll build up my "good karma" (or whatever you want to call it) so that the same fate won't befall my family." It's a futile attempt to control something uncontrollable and random.
Wow. This entry took a turn I hadn't expected. I intended to talk about how uplifting the dinner was and how optimistic I feel about this little boy's chances of recovery and instead wrote a rather depressing entry about human nature. I guess that's what writers mean when they talk about their characters or story lines taking them places they didn't plan to go.
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| warning |
[30 Apr 2005|11:05am] |
You know the line from Spiderman (or is it Superman?) "with great power comes great responsibility"? There should be a similar line for parents: "with the bliss of parenthood comes great anxiety". As I'm writing that very phrase, I look over at my daughter who is eating paper. Good parenting. Paper is digestible, right?
The last couple of days have been emotionally challenging. R has been away on business since Sunday night and J left on Thursday to spend 5 days with my parents. So, it's just me and E at home until the two boys return Tuesday night. E seems to be loving the attention...okay, she's eating paper again. I'll be right back...What was I saying? Oh yeah. E is loving all the one-on-one attention she's getting from me. She woke up at 6 this morning and has been in a fantastic mood all morning. Right now she's holding on to my legs trying to pull out the power cord of my laptop with a huge grin on her face. So cute, yet kinda dangerous. It's wonderful spending so much time with just her, but I still miss J terribly.
My missing J has been particularly acute this visit to his grandparents because of some news I received on Thursday after he left. One of my colleagues told me about a tragedy brewing at his kids' daycare. A few days ago, one of the boys who went to the daycare before starting school was riding in the car with his father when he suddenly started screaming in pain. His father rushed him to the hospital where they discovered that a large tumor on his kidney had burst. After surgery a couple of days later, they determined that this 7-year-old boy had a stage 4 cancer and would face several months of chemo and radiation. Now, I don't know this little boy well, but he has played with my son at the library and playground a few times. He's a sweet kid. It's just heartbreaking to know how he's going to suffer during his treatment. But, I think I relate more to his parents. They are experiencing every parent's worst nightmare and I've been having a hard time shaking the thought that this could happen to me. I know it's highly unlikely, but, you know, I bet this little boy's parents were thinking the same thing a week ago. I've just wanted to give J a huge hug and never let go since Thursday, but I'll just have to wait until Tuesday. E's going to have to deal with twice as many hugs until then. I think she can handle it.
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| I suck |
[29 Apr 2005|07:18am] |
Dammit. This blog looks just like every other journal I've ever kept. I started out strong and then lost momentum quickly. I'll have to try harder to stick with this.
On a more positive note, my 9 1/2 month old daughter, E, has just discovered the Teletubbies and is currently mesmerized by Tinky Winky. I better change the channel quick.
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| sweet kid |
[24 Mar 2005|09:44pm] |
The kids' daycare was closed yesterday, so I spent the day with them since I'm still on Spring Break. Anna was having a rough day. Lots of crying unless Mommy was holding her. She might be teething, but I haven't felt anything yet. That first tooth must be coming soon, though. She is almost 9 months after all.
She was also being fussy about napping. She woke up early from her midday nap and screamed for half an hour. Straight. At the top of her lungs. The kid has some serious stamina. So, she needed another nap later in the day. Again, she woke up early and started crying in her crib. I heard her on the monitor, but didn't run upstairs right away. I want her to learn to calm herself. It's not going well. After a couple of minutes, I hear a sweet voice singing to Anna. Her brother is trying to calm her down and succeeds in less than a minute. I listen for a couple of minutes as Finley, in his little sing-song voice, tells her that everything will be okay. There's such concern and caring in his voice that I actually get choked up. It was a beautiful moment. How did I get so lucky?
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| clarification |
[18 Mar 2005|11:36pm] |
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So, my husband tells me I was unfair in my previous post. It seems I insinuated that he was asking me to write the thank you note for the free dinner for him. He was right in suggesting that I write the note because the free dinner came from an acquaintance of mine. My complaints about the supposed feminine responsibility for thank you note writing was directed at the Christmas and kids' gift notes. It was just that the new thank you note was added on to the pile of thank you notes that could just as easily be written by my husband. Why do I have to write the notes?? Something tells me my husband's not going to be really happy with this "exoneration".
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| guilt |
[16 Mar 2005|02:44pm] |
When I was a graduate student, I read somewhere that graduate students come to accept that guilt is an inherent part of relaxation. Truer words were never written. If only the guilt went away once I finished grad school. I feel like I always have some unfinished task or neglected responsibility hanging over my head. The guilt is like a tag-along friend that I can never ditch, no matter how mercilessly I taunt her. Whenever I tackle one of my guilt obstacles, another one pops up.
Let's take the stack of half-finished thank you notes sitting on my desk. There are the written notes from my son's birthday party two months ago. All they need are the addresses and stamps. Yet they still sit on my desk. Maybe I'll get to them this week. Then there are the thank you notes for Christmas gifts. I've written one of the three I need to send out. It'll take me all of fifteen minutes to knock them out. Yet they still sit on my desk. Finally, there are the thank you notes for the several folks who sent presents when my daughter was born EIGHT MONTHS AGO. Several of those are also written and sealed, awaiting an address and a stamp. I've also taken the time to print out about 30 pictures of my daughter at the drugstore's digital photo printer. A significant allocation of time and money, yet I haven't been able to follow through and send the damn things out. It's not that I'm not appreciative of gifts I receive. I'm sometimes overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of my friends and my parents' friends. I just can't seem to express it in a little note and actually send it through the mail. Do I resent the traditional stereotyping that says wives are supposed to handle the thank you notes? Am I trying to buck convention? Make a statement about the confines of the traditional feminine role? If so, I'm doing a pretty crappy job at it. I think I'm only successful in insulting people who care about me and my family.
So, I'm sitting here internally flogging myself about those damned thank you notes (I'm on spring break right now and have PLENTY of time to finish them), when my husband comes upstairs and asks me to write a thank you note to the guy who comped us an expensive dinner a couple of weeks ago. ANOTHER god-damned thank you note. Here's my dilemma. Do I put this new thank you note at the top of the stack or the bottom of the stack? If it's at the top, am I saying that this relative stranger is more important to thank than my mom's oldest friend? He definitely is not, so I should put his thank you note at the bottom of the pile. But, if I put him at the bottom, it will be months before it's written and I'll have offended a man who doesn't know me at all and isn't aware of my thank-you note disability. So, I should put his thank you note at the top. But, he's not important to me...I feel like Vizzini in The Princess Bride. Somebody stop me before I drink the iocane powder.
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| first entry |
[12 Mar 2005|12:51pm] |
I'm terrible at keeping a journal. I have a collection of diaries and journals dating back to my childhood that have a handful of entries in them. I'm able to keep it up for a few days, weeks, or even a few months. But then there will be a long gap of at least a few months and another entry that invariably begins with "I've really been neglecting this journal...". I guess I lack discipline (and, apparently, creativity).
I also suffer from an "Anne Frank complex". Ever since I read The Diary of Anne Frank, I can never shake that nagging thought in the back of my head-- "somebody might find this journal someday and publish it and make lots and lots of money off my profound ramblings". So, I put pressure on myself to write something deep and powerful and end up with something corny and stupid. Maybe the pressure to write something great is why I throw in the towel every time. We'll see if this journal is any different...
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applehead71's journal