Where is this coming from?? (from 6-23-11)

Have you ever cried for no reason? Not just for very little reason at all... Most of us agree is seems a bit silly to cry at a sappy comercial, or a sad song, or to cry the ugly cry because of one of those sentimental chain e-mails. I have cried real tears at sad movies... Beaches, My Life, Philadelphia and Dying Young are just a few examples.


And I know I am not the only one who has been hormonal while pregnant - my husband still teases me about the day I burst into tears after dropping my french fries all over the food court. I think I scared the poor girl behind the fast food counter, but at least I was visibly ready to pop and my outburst could easily be explained as hormones.


I even know that I am more susceptible to sappy emails at certain times of the month.





But I recently found myself in a place where I could stop at a stop light, and be on the edge of tears for no apparent reason. I could not even explain to myself WHY it might be necessary to cry, I only knew that I was on the verge of tears and there seemed to be no provocation whatsoever. Any quiet moment could find me fighting to contain the moisture. A few seconds wait for a computer program to load, or the moment after locking the bathroom door.





The most frightening part about it was not being able to pinpoint a cause. These were all random moments throughout my daily routine. They had nothing in common except that extra moment of inattentive thought, and I began to suspect that I was losing my mind. As I became more aware of these moments, they seemed to be more frequent. Did this mean that I was always on the verge of crying and just not paying attention to it?





The feelings continued for at least a week before I became desperate to understand what was going on. I searched the internet and found information on depression, recommendations for drugs and therapy, meditation, too much information and most of it the wrong kind (what else is new?). I am already seeing a mental health professional, who is supposed to be helping with issues regarding my health condition and supporting succesful management of the disease.





I resolved to present him with this problem at the next visit (luckily scheduled early the following week). I began to visualize the session, what I would tell him, and how he would respond. I envisioned everything from a response that this was normal, to an insistence on psychiatric hospitalization. The 'aha' moment came when I pictured him taking me off work for a medical leave. I realized that this was very nearly what I WANTED to happen. I love my job, I do not want to quit, but suddenly I realized that I wanted - I NEEDED - less of this job that I love.





It was still not an easy decision. Circumstances at work are already difficult. I love my job, I love my coworkers, but there was already more work than the available staff could easily accomplish. I knew that if I cut back my hours it would be like dumping more of that impossible load on friends I didn't want to hurt. But in the end I had to admit that the workload was harming me, and the alternative to cutting back would be to quit completely, which would be even worse for my friends than the choice I was making.





This is now my second week of reduced hours (3 days per week instead of 5). I appreciate the extra time for ME, although all the extra hours often evaporate into appointments and phone calls and things that need doing. But it is a relief to be able to find time for things that need doing, and not feel so often that I am sacrificing something else...

What the hell am I doing?

Still around, still moving forward, one second at a time. There doesn't seem to be much of an alternative, although a particularly persistent form of tunnel-vision might make that alternative seem more attractive than it actually is.

I still often feel empty... pointless. I have so much of everything I ever wanted, but it just doesn't seem to make me happy anymore. And I feel guilty that I am not happy with everything I have been blessed with. And it is really hard to talk to anyone about this... even my husband, even my friends, even someone whose job is to listen to shit like this all the time.

It doesn't help that I am sick again. Just another cold - stuffy nose, scratchy throat, and tired because it interferes with my ability to sleep. But it is starting to feel like I am almost never feeling well, and that sucks too.

It's hard to search for answers, something that will bring meaning back into my life, when I can't find the energy to do much of anything. It's been months since I cleaned my bathroom, where the fuck am I going to find the energy to search out the answers to questions I'm not even sure I can ask?

Books and movies make it seem easy. In a well-crafted plot, this is the point where my months and years of ennui would be compressed into a few paragraphs or a beautifully-scored montage, and then something special would happen and the story would begin to flow again. If I sit here drifting aimlessly from website to website, do you think that will happen to me?

On Fairness.

Scott Adams (the guy who writes the Dilbert comics) is a blogger I follow sporadically. I missed the original, later deleted Men's Rights post, but stumbled on this post today. I was not offended by it. I accept that there are certain un-changeable reasons why men and women are different. And I also accept that these differences logically lead to some occasions where it makes sense to treat men differently than women. It may not always seem fair to those who wish to be treated differently, but then again there is the common quote "Life isn't fair." I always assumed that accepting that fact would be part of growing up. Then I suddenly remembered how I discovered the real truth about my inability to create fairness, even when I devoutly wished to, and the power rested with me if it rested with anyone: Every child has uttered the cry "That's not fair!" and vowed to change the source of the unfairness if such power is ever granted to them. Obviously I was no exception, and growing up in a family of 7 children, I witnessed many perceived instances of unfairness, and vowed to right the wrongs in my own parenting later on. Child number one arrived, and fairness was easy. Child number two followed eventually, and suddenly I realized the error in my thinking. Child number one had my undivided attention for the first 3 years of his life. It was impossible by all laws of the universe to provide the same to child number two. Child 1 suddenly faced a much limited attention share, compared to child 2. Was this more fair to child 2 (who received a great deal more attention) or child 1 (who still overall received more than child 1 would ever attain)? Even in the simplest of tasks of fairness I was defeated. Buy the 2 children identical toys. Sooner or later, one was broken or lost. Now prove who really owns the undamaged toy. Or deprive the other child of the undamaged one, when he did nothing wrong?? Solve this by buying one red and one blue toy, otherwise the same. A basic law of the universe (I believe Murphy was the first to define it) states that both children will prefer the red one, and scorn the blue one. How to solve that 'fairly'?? I believe that the only way to 'win' (defined in the loosest sense) is to try and balance for each individual that the number of good (i.e. unfair in my favor) times with the number of bad (i.e. unfair in the other guy's favor). Of course, for me, that means I get to hear the cry of "It's not fair!!" an equal number of times for both children. Which probably balances karmically somehow with the number of times my own parents heard it from me.

When did it slip through my fingers???

I have been married now for very close to 15 years.
I still love my husband very much, but I have become slowly more aware that the marriage I have now is not the marriage I had then, and is not really the marriage that I want...

We are not as close as we once were. Some of this, I think, is normal. The insatiable hunger to be together, to touch, to commune, is somewhat satisfied over time. The relationship evolves, expands, and other things can take up time/space/attention - not neccessarily in a bad way, but kids and jobs and life can sort of get in the way.

But I realized something this morning that disturbed me a bit. I censor my conversations with him. I am afraid ... of offending him, of his reactions to some of my thoughts and feelings, of the possibly negative interactions that may follow if I say what I am thinking.

When did this happen??

I know there were times that I could not wait to tell him anything and everything that swirled through my brain. I know we had fights, but he also surprised me, reassured me, with how accepting he was of the private person I had never shared to that extent with anyone else before.

Now, all I can see is how touchy he has become. I compliment him daily, and thank him without reservation for all that he does and has done. He has done quite an amazing amount lately, taking up without complaint the lions share of the housekeeping, meal prep and childcare, as I have felt overall fairly crappy and incapable for several weeks. But it seems that if I only make a comment that may possibly be interpreted negatively he snaps at me and rants about constant criticism. I try not to take it personally, but it hurts, and it makes me less likely to say anything at all. If I am bothered or irritated by something he does, I am more likely to bottle it inside. I guess that is easier to bear than a giant argument over how critical I am??

And with that subtle barrier, I guess other barriers have grown. I no longer feel as comfortable, as open with him as I used to. I don't want to lay my burdens on him, if his own are growing larger. I don't want to bare my wounds to him, because I am no longer certain that he will offer salve instead of vinegar.

The two of us trudge along, side-by-side, each slowly crushed by the weight of our own baggage. It seems ironic that the loads may each be lightened by being shared, but instead we flinch away from the sharing.

Even recognizing the problem does not seem to do much to help it. I could reach out to him, ask about counselling, even just make the effort to talk to him frankly again. But I don't. If I know I am holding back, why don't I try harder to breach that wall and share? But it is so hard. And I don't know if I have the energy to deal with the consequences, good or bad, of that looming attempt.

A Purpose in Life.

I think I used to feel a purpose in life, but lately I have been floating... drifting... unsure anymore why I'm here, or what I want.
I am still a mom, a wife, an insurance sales associate, but I reject the idea that any of these are the whole of my existence, my only reason for being.
I used to dream of finding Mr. Right, getting married, having a family. I did not dream of selling insurance, but I did envision, in a foggy sort of way, having a job that I enjoyed and being successful at it. Now I have these things, to a greater or lesser degree, and I find that I am not ready to end here. To just be 'happily ever after'. But I look up from where I find myself, and suddenly the direction is not clear, I don't know where I'm going or what I should do to get there. There are so many directions I could look, but none of them really feel right.
I used to daydream about going into space, building rockets. I also loved (still love!) to read, and imagined I could write a novel. The attraction of those dreams is still present, but the obstacle of practicality has become suddenly more visible, more of a barrier. I do not feel that these are real goals anymore.
Searching for a goal without any real direction is a very listless, dreary place to be.
Hey anonymous internet, does anyone know what my purpose in life really is??

Why am I following???

At the moment, I am more of a blog reader than a blog writer (hence the sparse and widely-spaced posts.) I recently found a new blog, following from one of my favorites:

http://thebloggess.com/

through a link to a new blog:

http://www.rrsahm.com/

The old blog I followed because her quirky sense of humor delighted me, following threads into zany depths beyond any train-of-thought derailments I had ever dreamed. And sometimes she posts utterly serious things that resonate deeply, and make me want to applaud.

The new blog was linked in a post about mental illness, and described fleetingly the story of a mother with two young children whose husband recently had a psychotic break and killed himself.

I followed the link, and read the first few posts... I guess in an effort to try to understand the meaning of psychotic break, and find out what, why, how this had happened. I got some of that information, along with a lot of the authors raw, uncensored grief and pain.

And I followed deeper, and stayed, and linked, and now I follow the new blog.

But I keep asking myself .... Why do I follow? Is my interest, my fascination, a normal and healthy thing? Or is it sick and twisted to keep coming back, immersing myself in the horrible truths of her pain and suffering? Is this the same as the contemptible urge to gawk at a traffic accident? Am I accomplishing any good by continuing to follow this story? Is it possible I am causing any harm, to my own mental health or that of anyone else by exposing myself repeatedly to this kind of sadness, this deeply resonant mental anguish?

I want to reach out to her, to tell her how I admire her courage, and wish that there was anything I could do to help, to make things better. But there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of other followers, most of whom probably followed before and perhaps have a better right to be there, to know her and offer comfort. And I am thwarted by the fear that I do not know what to say, or how to offer anything to this virtual stranger.

But I cannot tell if it is good or bad, only that I want to keep following. So I will follow, and see where it leads, and pay attention to how it affects me. And hopefully if it turns out that it is for the wrong reasons I will see for certain and stop before it is too late.

...with visions of broomsticks, stuck in his head.

So it's almost Christmas, and the Christmas specials abound. The other day, 'Frosty the Snowman' was on TV.
My oldest turned to me and said "You know, Mom, I always thought the song was 'with a broomstick in his head'."
"Why on earth would you think the broomstick should be in his head?"
"I dunno. Maybe he was being chased by a lady who got creeped out by him when she was sweeping."
I couldn't help it. I giggled. Maybe this is just part of the mindset when raising boys?

And for the rest of the day, I could crack everyone up by singing absently "...with a broomstick in his head..."

Admit it, you know you've got the tune running through your head now. With visions of broomsticks.

Keep moving forward.... The alternative is to stop.

Well, haven't updated in a while.
I think I mentioned before that I never promised to, and since no one really reads this anyways, it shouldn't matter.

We are back from Disneyworld. Had a marvellous time, reduced the stress levels a bit, maybe, for a while, but I think I still get way too stressed way too easily.

Still working on the diabetes, have decided to ignore the other health issues. My doctor seems to think that since she's run some tests and ruled out some big stuff there's no reason to try and figure out what's going on. Her favorite theory seems to be that it's all in my head. I tend to disagree, but since arguing and fighting and chasing more inconclusive tests does not help my stress level, and raising the stress level does not seem helpful in any way, I am going to ignore the rest of it until it prevents me from carrying on with other aspects of my life.

Love my kids, they are both growing up way too fast, and deliberately each had an additional birthday in the past few months just to rub it in my face.

Updates.

I am still struggling with issues related to my health, while adding a few new wrinkles to the mix, but I don't fell like talking about that now.

Just wanted to brag that we are going to Disneyworld tomorrow, and staying for a whole week!! I might let you know about the trip after we get back, or I may go several more months without blogging and never mention it again. I'll decide later.

:raspberry:

Stress. Stress?? Maybe not.

There is a lot of talk about stress, de-stressing, effects on your mood, your health, your well-being.
What types of things stress you out?

For health and other reasons, I have been trying to evaluate the stresses in my life, but I seem to just get more confused.

Stress can be good, or bad. Too much stress is definitely a bad thing, but then probably too little stress is not good either.

My workload on the job lately has been very erratic - lots of long, slow periods with nothing much to do, and then bursts of a bunch of things to do all at once. The slow times seemed nice at first, and after a real rush of busyness it helps to have a few moments to relax again. But when the slow periods go on for too long the day seems to drag by and take forever. A certain amount of workload (I guess I'm relating workload to stress, here) helps because I feel productive and valuable and challenged. But too much workload especially with deadlines added in obviously equates to negative stress. Failure to meet those deadlines, unhappy clients, not producing my best work because I'm rushed, - all of these negatively impact my mood, my self-image, and ultimately my health.

But so much of stress - at work, as well as outside of work - is related to mood, self image, all these mental processes that should be ultimately in my control.

As I have been trying to catalogue and quantify the stresses in my life, I find myself over and over thinking "that's not really that bad", "in the long run that's not going to matter much" , or "but this good thing and this good thing really outweigh the negative there".

I guess what I'm thinking is that things can only stress me out if I let them. There are definitely some that are harder than others to just let go of, or find the good in. But overall, I think the quality of my life would greatly improve if I made more of a conscious effort to direct my thoughts in positive directions.

Have a good night, and enjoy your weekend!!

I'm trying...

Last time, I posted about diabetes.
I tried to give you some idea of what kind of balancing act it is, and how sometimes it can be really, really shitty trying to hold that thin balance between 'really dangerous and you could die right now' and 'uncomfortable now and will still kill you someday.'

And sometimes you just get really, really tired of balancing. So you say 'Fuck it' and go lay down on the uncomfortable side, because it is so much bigger, and easier, and less work.

But unfortunately, once you have taken that break in the land of discomfort and future death, it gets even harder to return to the balancing act, and then the wobbles get bigger and more difficult to control.

I have spent long enough resting on this bed of rocks, they are really pointy and beginning to leave dents in my spine. But I have to re-learn the balance, and remember to forgive myself when it is not perfect, and not overcorrect when the wobbles come.

Wish me luck.

Diabetes - it sucks.

I know there are many diseases in the world that are worse. Since Banting and Best discovered insulin (Go Canada!!) it is not a death sentence, but it is still a life sentence, and anyone battling chronic illness knows it can be exhausting and frustrating even when things are going well. And when they are not going well, it seems really unfair how easily the rest of the world (or so we perceive it) has it in their unmedicated, uncomplicated lives.

I also know that compared to many others who share the same disease, I have had a relatively easy time of it. I have type I diabetes - what used to be called juvenile diabetes, because so many with this type are first diagnosed when they are children - which means my pancreas does not produce any insulin. The only way to control it is by taking injections of insulin several times a day. Unlike most, I was not diagnosed until I was 20 years old and able to understand and treat the disease myself, and I was gifted with a childhood free of shots and pain and complications.

I have had two healthy children, without any of the major complications that are so much more prevalent in diabetic pregnancies.

I have now lived almost 15 years with this disease, and so far I have avoided any of the major complications which the disease tends to bring.

But at this point in time, there are therapies and no cures. The complications - including such things as blindness, nerve damage, amputation, heart disease, stroke, kidney failure, etc. - are not to be avoided entirely, but merely postponed. And after 15 years, it feels like I am coming to the end of the carefree invincibility I felt at the beginning of this journey.

I am not entirely blameless, either. When I was first diagnosed, this disease was new, and scary. The doctors gave me the rules for how to manage the disease, and I followed them religiously - because in my mind, if I didn't, I would die. There was a strict schedule - eat this, at this time, and take these shots, at these times. And it worked really well.

But real life does not always allow for clock-regimented meals and shots, so I learned some flexibility - how to adapt if lunch was late, or how to compensate for a slice of birthday cake for a special meal. I needed to learn these things to avoid life-threatening episodes of low blood sugar when food was going to be late, and adjust for uncomfortable but less-dangerous* episodes of high blood sugar if I ate more than the specified amount.

*Notice I said less dangerous, not un-dangerous. High blood sugar will not kill you immediately, but high blood sugar is a cumulative threat that over time will bring about all of the most unpleasant complications of diabetes.

Diabetes is a constant balancing act. When the body does not produce insulin, it cannot break down the sugar you eat to provide the energy your cells need to function. Diabetics take injections of insulin, but it is a guessing game to get the right amount. Too much will mean all of the sugar is used up too quickly. Too little will leave excess sugar behind.

Excess sugar hangs out in the blood, and gets in the way of a lot of important functions. It will slowly destroy small blood vessels, killing off nerves one by one, destroying sensation and in the eyes, sight. It helps out the plaque buildup that leads to heart disease and stroke. And it gets in the way of immune function, making you more susceptible to any germ you come in contact with. Unless it gets very, very high, high blood sugar has very few immediate effects other than increased thirst and urination as your kidneys try to filter and flush out the extra sugar - which, by the way, eventually causes kidney disease, too. If you bring the blood sugar back down, these symptoms disappear. But the effects of high blood sugar add up over time. So a few hours of high blood sugar won't do much. But a few hours day after day, year after year, will eventually add up to irreversible damage to a lot of important body parts.

But if there is too much insulin, then you get immediate bad consequences. Once the sugar has all been used up, there is nothing to power important cells that need constant energy - like your brain. You get shaky, and weak, and then stupid, then quickly lose consciousness and go into a coma. If no one is around, you can die right there. If you are very lucky, someone around you will figure things out and feed you sugar before you lose consciousness, or medical personnel will be available to get you IV sugar, hopefully before the coma is irreversible.

I have had a few episodes get to the stupid stage (not enough brain power left to feed myself sugar) and only a couple got far enough to require medical intervention. It is not an experience I want to repeat (for myself, or the people around me that I scared spitless!), so it should be pretty obvious why I make a lot of effort to stay away from that extreme.

But like I said it is a balancing act. Picture it as a road, with a very narrow but windy path - say, barely as wide as the width of your foot. On one side is a cliff that falls millions of stories to certain death. On the other are some really sharp, nasty rocks covered with dirt and germs and crap. Now walk this blindfolded. Obviously, you want to stay on the path, but if you have to step off, even if the rocks are gonna hurt, it's gotta be better than certain death.

If it was a straight road, it would be easier right? But that's the other fun (hear my sarcasm here) part about diabetes. Besides the fact that it can be very difficult to calculate the amount of sugar (carbohydrates) a given food contains, it's not just a direct relationship between the food you eat and the insulin you need. There are a million other factors that can bump it one way or another, and they are all invisible. More exercise usually lowers the amount of insulin needed. But then occasionally vigorous exercise can cause the body to excrete extra sugar it had stored in the liver. Alcohol? Can make the insulin work better than normal, or might just boost blood sugar because of the extra carbs it usually contains. Stress? Can cause sugar to either raise or lower. Illness? Can also cause problems, but you guessed it - may push the sugars either direction. Hormones? Insulin will work better or worse depending on a woman's time of the month.

It's complicated, and occasionally frustrating, depressing and infuriating. But I have no choice, so I have to keep playing even if the game is rigged.

That's enough of a lesson today class. I've probably bored to tears anyone who stumbled across this post. Anyway, thanks for reading.

Long time... no see.

Well, so I'm not such a comitted blogger, am I? Never promised to be, though.

Updates. Of the original fish, we still have the algae eater. He's (She's?) grown hella big, and seems to be thriving. Currently his (her?) only tankmate is a moonlight gourami, who apparently nibbled to death the bigger angelfish who had become the sole survivor of our previous fish... who I don't think was actually one of the original occupants of the tank, anyways. But I am proud to say that the average lifespan of a fish in that tank has to average at least 3 months. So take that fish nazi!!!

My son with the ADHD is still working to get the correct dosage of medication, but I am happy to report that he has responded extremely well to it, and does not appear to be zombified in any way, shape or form. He does seem to be very responsive to the medication, and we are cutting back to the lowest dose we can manage to try to avoid some minor sleep disruptions that have appeared. I think the lastest dose has worked very, very well, and hopefully will become permanent the next time we see his pediatrician in a couple of weeks.

My hubby still smokes. I am working very hard not to let that bother me, as I think I have to accept that I cannot control him, I can only control me. And I am the first to admit that I have issues of my own that I should work on. I have started mentally scripting a post several times about the fact that I am diabetic, but it keeps getting longer and more involved, and never quite makes it into print. But I am struggling for better control of my disease and my own health, and have taken some steps toward that goal. Hopefully I will post more about it later.

I know no one actually reads this, but just in case you found me, thanks for checking in.

Is that what that song really said?

I had an odd mental flash the other day, listening to the radio in the car.

It was Nickelback - and I love Nickelback - playing the song "Rockstar". The radio station did that thing where they fuzz out the lyrics when it gets to profanity. Words like f**k, s**t, and a** are muted, so you can't really hear them. Kind of dumb, really, because everyone still knows what the word is, and often it is the rhyme at the end of the line, so why bother?
But anyways, they blurred out all the words I expected, but I was singing along anyways. And then they got to the line "Hire eight bodyguards who love to beat up..." and I swear, up until that moment, I always sang the word "vassals" and thought that was it. But they blurred the word out, and it dawned on me like a bolt of lightning... lightbulb moment. They really sing "who like to beat up a**holes." And it makes so much more sense. Why didn't I think of that before? I felt really kind of stupid, but immediately began to make up this long involved explanation, because it was perfectly reasonable for me to assume the word was "vassals". Wasn't it?
Luckily, by the time I got to work, I realized that no one would really care, and it is kind of counter-productive to draw attention to my mistake if no one knew in the first place, and I already felt kind of stupid about it. But I still have this really strong urge to share the experience... which is why this is the perfect place to get it out. Because nobody reads this anyways.

moustache waxing and all that.

So Chris Rock had (still has? I never watched much, but I don't think it's on anymore) a show called "Everybody Hates Chris". It's apparently now in syndication, and YTV, one of the channels aimed at kids, has apparently decided that it will be entertaining for younger viewers and decided to air it. A similar decision to when they picked up "Malcolm in the Middle" a few years ago. I will not comment on the reasoning behind this decision. My kids are not the only members of the demographic this channel is aimed at. But they do watch it often enough that it annoys the crap out of me when they air things I find inappropriate.
*Shrug* but Teletoon plays "Futurama" and then "The Simpsons" are everywhere, not to mention "Family Guy" and other shows I have a hairy cow about when my 8yo and 5yo kids watch them.
Back to my original comment. YTV has commercials throughout the day advertising their new run of "Everybody Hates Chris". It's a fairly standard montage of people in his life telling Chris what to do... "Chris.." do this. "Chris.." do that. Then a lady (I think it's the mom?) comes up and hollers "Chris! Look after the kids! I need to get my moustache waxed!"
I think the whole format of the commercial appeals to my kids - they find it funny enough to repeat it incessantly, anyways. But I have now been asked no less than 5 times to explain the concept of moustache waxing to my kids. I still don't think they get it, but I am getting just a little bit creeped out at trying to find new ways to explain what that is, and why they do it, and I'm really, really tired of being asked about whether I do it, need to do it, or have ever done it. (For the record, I don't, I don't need to, and I haven't).
God help me if they ever notice the douching commercials. AAAAaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!

Things I am thankful for.

Just a few things recently got me to thinking: Even though I find many things to complain about, I am actually incredibly lucky in so many ways.

I am thankful for:

My husband.

Two beautiful, healthy boys.

Enough. Enough food, enough money, enough time, enough laughter.

A nice house.

A good job.

My family and friends.

The fish (at least some!) are still alive and growing! (We currently have 4. Lost two, but the others have now been in our tank for 6 weeks (2 angelfish) and 10 weeks (algae eater and yellow one with black spot by tail) respectively.)

Vehicles that run.

A camper we just bought last month. Have been camping 3 times already.

Summer weather. But also for air conditioning.

The things I have, but friends and acquaintances are struggling with. I care for them, and hurt for them, and sympathize with them, but it also makes me thankful that their burdens are not things that I must struggle with for myself at this time.

The power of electricity

So I had a bit of excitement this weekend.

My children, they discovered the power of electricity.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

In short, while I was busy talking to my sister-in-law on the phone my boys were busy getting into mischief. The 8-year-old at some point handed the 5-year-old the brass fastener (see exhibit A) and watched him insert it into exhibit B. Causing exhbit C. There was no blood-curdling scream, no cry of pain. The lights didn't flicker. (Apparently, we are lucky it was brass. It melted through so quickly that it didn't even trip the breaker.)

They skittered past me and into the bathroom to attempt to nurse their own hurts before the oldest came to tell me "He stuck a pin in the outlet." My slow brain still took what in hindsight seemed forever to fully grasp the situation. I hung up the phone with a breezy, "Gotta go. We have an emergency," thinking I would kiss the boo-boo and give a disciplinary talking to.

Instead, I witnessed the youngest's finger and just as I was realizing this was not just a slight blister, the older one said "It's still in the outlet."

"Show me!" I demanded, and grabbed a potholder on the way past. It practically fell out of the socket when I nudged it with said potholder - there wasn't even smoke, but I had a nervous few moments picturing a still-sparking, smoldering, or perhaps flaming sight.

By then, the youngest one is beginning to feel the pain of his electrical burn, and I began to wonder if it would be safe to try and treat it myself, as it was more than just a small blister. The fastener had actually burned a groove down through the end of his finger. I think it was at least 1/8 of an inch deep. So we trooped off to emergency to have him looked at, and they had some burn cream that numbs it and a sterile dressing to put on it. Which stayed on almost until bedtime, and then I put bandaids on it while he slept, and when he woke up and the bandaids came off almost immediately I put more bandaids on, and when those came off, my paranoia had mostly worn off so I said to hell with it and left it uncovered.

Oldest boy got a few tiny blisters trying to remove the fastener from the outlet while it was still hot, but I let him suffer, despite his theatrics - it's callous and cruel, I know they hurt, but they really weren't much compared to the trench in the other one's finger.

I just hope to God they both have learned their lesson. Dammit I thought they were old enough to know better!

Parenting is never easy......

And I may not know for years if I am making the right decision, or the wrong decision.

My oldest son has always been an energetic, enthusiastic, imaginative child. When he began having difficulties in school, I assumed it was "Boys will be boys". Or it was a phase - maybe he would grow out of it? As the difficulties continued, it became more apparent that he continued to struggle, where most of the others had no difficulties. I worked with his teacher on behavioural strategies. We tried rewards, and we tried punishments, but it became more obvious that there was a problem.
We were resistant to the idea of drugs, even though no one pushed them. But as his problems continued, we began to wonder what might happen. We heard stories from parents who had tried them and did not like the results, but we also heard stories of parents who appreciated what it had done, and even more thought-provoking, the parents who did not use them, but wondered if they should have. Even one mother who raised her son without them to be a successful adult, who went on to college, and then he decided for himself that he needed the drugs to help him succeed in college.
I had one mother compare it to putting glasses on a near-sighted kid. And while we still felt that we are in control, I began to wonder if refusing drugs was doing my son a disservice. If maybe they might help him, make it easier for him, make him more confident and let him show the world the brilliance I know he has. When I broached the subject with him, to try and gauge his reaction, he was almost pathetically eager to try it. He wants so badly to succeed.
So tomorrow I am taking him to speak to a doctor, to find out if we can do a trial, and see if there may be a drug that will let him focus, and concentrate, and understand better in school. He is eager, and I am praying that I am doing the right thing.

I really love those twerps.

My two sons, that is.

Even when they seem to spend nearly the entire weekend fighting (aside from the time they spent making weird noises and giggling hysterically) and even when I am in the middle of PMS so bad that when my cat snuggles past my legs or jumps to my lap to be petted I want to pitch it against the wall (so you can guess how well the juvenile hijinx went over with me).

Still, they are both adorable, and loveable and sweet.

Putting my youngest to bed tonight, he demanded a "monkey hug" where he wraps arms and legs around me and hangs, a feeling that cannot be surpassed. Putting my oldest to bed, he became alarmed at a bruise I have on my arm from a blood test - looks nasty, but never did hurt. I explained where it came from, and why it's nothing to worry about, but he is pretty squeamish about things like that, and I could tell it was bothering him. So I tried to turn his attention to something more cheerful -- I didn't want him to have disturbing dreams. The twerp refused to be diverted, turning my best ideas into humdrum and annoyance. Then I simply told him to think of something fun, and make sure he had good dreams. His face was instantly transformed with a smile that still makes me mushy to think of it.

Then I made the mistake of asking what he was going to dream of. "I want to lead a bunch of soldiers and be a hero in Age of Empires'," (a nintendo DS game he borrowed from his dad). Okay, so it's not puppies and kittens. It's still worth it to see that smile.

"Mom, What did you do with our tower?"

A question from my 5-year-old son.

"What tower?"

"The one we were making with the dishes in the sink."

Oh, that one. "I washed them. We need clean dishes to eat off of."

I am not the neatest person in the world, and I know this. I flatter myself that less than 24 hours of frantic effort can actually make my house presentable for guests. I actually have a bit of a hang-up over how much of a neat-freak I'm not.

But I actually do wash the dishes on a fairly regular basis. Even when it destroys the latest creation of a budding architect.