Flu Shot

This morning, I went to school with a sore arm from getting my flu shot. Since a large part of our school's  literacy program involves teaching reading and writing at the same time, we teachers do a lot of modeling to demonstrate writing skills while the students read along. I decided to use my flu shot for a teachable moment, and began my writing demonstration by explaining why my arm was sore.  I explained the reason people get flu shots, and helped the children say the word "in-flu-en-za". At the end of the lesson, before the kids went to their tables with their draft books in hand, I overheard one little boy re-tell my story to his friend, explaining "She had to get a shot so she doesn't get godzilla."

Twelve Years Ago...

It happens every year at this time in October. The feelings hit me at strange times, like when I'm writing or reading the date, or when I see Halloween decorations. I'm not sure why I'm still surprised when I go through this little blue period.

Twelve years ago this week, Sam was a newborn. We had been dismissed from the hospital after a normal c-section birth when he was showing signs that something was very wrong.

Sam was admitted to the NICU at Blank Children's Hospital where we spent 10 days trying to diagnosis his problem. He had Hirschsprungs Disease, which is a like a bowel obstruction because a section of his intestine formed without any nerve cells.

Instead of coaxing him to eat, like I had at home, we were forced to keep him NPO. Our days were spent holding him and rocking him as he cried himself into exhaustion from hunger. I remember wondering how a baby was supposed to bond with his mother when the very essence of mother-child bonding time involved feeding and meeting their most basic comfort needs. I remember wishing I could wake up from the nightmare of seeing my new baby poked regularly with needles, and taken from me for procedures that no infant should have to experience. The panic and worry about what his future held literally made me feel like I was choking at times. The days were a blur, with eternal waits for the next doctor visit, the next round of tests and results.

The only way I could keep track of time was with my regular trips to the "pump room". I remember how marking the tiny 2 ounce bottles of milk with the date kept me connected to reality in a small strange way. 

I refused to leave the hospital, so Perry and my mom took turns caring for the two older boys at home, who were missing me and wondering how they went from having a new baby brother to not even having their mommy around. I felt like my heart was being torn in two when I thought about them needing me at home, but the idea of leaving Sam alone was unbearable for me. So I stayed. I preferred not to even leave the unit because there I could focus on what needed to be done for him. Walking to the cafeteria and back was an emotional drain because looking at the words "Neonatal Intensive Care Unit" on the door and knowing I belonged in there felt like a punch in the gut to me. It was painful to rejoin the outside world and see signs of other people's normal routines. Hearing small talk and laughter sounded like a foreign language to my ears.

One night a supper tray arrived with a small halloween goodie bag on it. I read the enclosed note, which explained that a child on the pediatric cancer floor had made these treats for parents of the "sick babies". I bawled over that sweet gesture from a child who herself was seriously ill. I bawled because it was halloween and I didn't understand how everybody in the world could be thinking of ridiculous things like pumpkins and costumes when my baby was sick! I bawled because my older sons needed me to come home and be with them on Halloween and I didn't know if I could do it. 

On the morning of October 31st, my mother arrived to take over with Sam. She had persuaded me that she was more than capable of rocking and loving him while I spent this much needed time with Joey and Ben. I drove to the boys' school and stood with the other parents holding cameras and looking to see which Power Ranger was their son. The difference was, I was the only mother sobbing through the entire parade. I spent the rest of the day with my big boys, taking them trick or treating, and trying to pretend that I wasn't grief stricken, exhausted and hormonal.

Every year since then, Sam has grown bigger and healthier. That traumatic time in the hospital is long past us. By the time he was a year old, our visits to Blank were much less frequent. October became a time to celebrate Sam's birthday, and a time to prepare for the costumes and silly celebrations that Halloween brings. When Sam was little, the memories were raw and painful, sometimes even waking me up in the night. After several more years, the mix of halloween/hospital memories have mellowed.

This year Sam insisted that we needed more Halloween decorations in the house. He took it upon himself to (properly) decorate the front hall of our house with dangling spiders, bat banners on the windows and a smiling pumpkin on the table. I smile to myself at this big healthy boy and remember how far he has come. It's nice to dust off those old memories and allow myself to remember back, but even nicer to "put them back on the shelf" and take a little swing at the rubber bat that hangs over my head as I walk by.

Good Sports

A week ago, Sam turned twelve and he wanted a big roller skating party at the rink in Ogden. Our oldest son, Joe, decided to come home for a visit that weekend. Besides his little brother's birthday, he'd been wanting to get home to see Ben play football and to have poker night with his dad and some friends. He even brought his girlfriend, Lindsey, and good friend Stephen home for the weekend.

Joe doesn't come home very often, so when he does, it's a big deal to us. The perfectionist side of me wants to have home-cooked food for him, and the laundry caught up so I can wash the laundry he brings home. Having extra guests in the house causes an additional tug at my Type-A tendencies. Working full time and keeping up with the crazy fall schedule, plus getting food and groceries ready for the birthday party meant that the dirty laundry was piled high and the sink was loaded with dishes when Joe and his friends arrived. I have often said that my life as a parent has been one long series of lowering my standards. I felt them drop an extra notch when everyone walked up  to the house and I realized that I hadn't given much thought to where they would sleep and if I had clean blankets for everyone.

Instead of sitting down to a home-cooked meal, we all piled into the van and headed south to Grimes for the football game. I thought about what good sports Stephen and Lindsey were to ride all this way, then go to a high school game where they didn't know anyone. Steven was an especially good sport when the woman at the ticket booth assumed he was a high school student and Joe teased him unmercifully.

Saturday was spent getting ready for the afternoon skating party, evening poker party, and the family dinner the next day. Lindsey helped me bake an enormous batch of monster cookies for Sam's party, and Stephen provided tech support, getting the basement tv working in time for the Iowa game. That afternoon, all three college kids joined us at at the skating rink, which made Sam's party even more fun! 

On Sunday, Perry enlisted Joe's help cutting a branch off our tree in the front yard. I was only a little surprised when I looked out the door to see that it was actually Stephen that ended up cutting down the branch, since he was the tallest person around and had the best reach.

I shook my head, thinking about all the ways Lindsey and Stephen could have chosen to spend a weekend, yet they came to Boone and pitched in like part of the family. What good sports they were!  I promise that next time they come to visit, they won't have to work like slaves and I will even cook for them!

Many Sides of Ben

Last week was homecoming, which was a crazy-busy week of fun activities for the high school kids. I wanted my students at school to understand what homecoming was all about, so when we watched the parade on Friday, they could share in the excitement. I asked Ben and a couple of his classmates to come to school and speak to the kids. I was thankful that he agreed, especially since he had been sick at home the previous two days. For his part, he brought his football gear and told the students what all the equipment was for. Later, he even went out on the playground to play catch with some of the kids. 

The coronation assembly was Friday, and I can only imagine how nervous and uncomfortable he must have felt, walking across the gym floor while his bio was read. He stood and posed for pictures with the rest of the homecoming court before, during and after the ceremony, and I marveled to myself...remembering the little toddler that used to cover his eyes if someone spoke to him that he didn't know. 

Last night was the final part of homecoming, the Powderpuff football game when the girls from the junior and senior classes play against each other. The boys provide the comic relief because they serve as cheerleaders. We laughed as we watched (hopefully our last chance to see) our son dressed in drag, prancing around the field with a bunch of the other guys. This is the same boy who as a young child, scowled from his seat in the shopping cart and exclaimed, "Don't WOOK at me!" if some nice lady greeted  him at the grocery store.

If you would have told me 14 years ago that I'd be watching my son do all these things, I never would have believed it.

The Brother's Weekend

Joey doesn't call home or email very often from college, but he scored big points with me when he invited his little brother to come spend the weekend with him in Iowa City. It was homecoming, and he was able to get an extra ticket for the game, so he invited Sam to stay with him at his apartment for the weekend.

He got to join Joey and his friends with lots of their homecoming activities from a concert on the Pentacrest to bowling, and of course, tailgating and the game. I know Sam will never forget the time he spent there!

I remember when I was Sam's age and I got to spend the night with my cousin Pam at her Iowa State dorm. I was fascinated by everything from the bunk beds to the elevators and I felt so special and grown up to be hanging out with college students. That created such an impression for me, so I'm grateful that Joe decided to do the same thing for his littlest brother.

Working at the Swim Meet

Staff members at my school district can earn their activity pass for the year by working at athletic events. Some involve supervising, which I shy away from, as I supervise all week long in my classroom. I don't need any more opportunities for confrontation in the off-hours. The other duties involve being timers, scorekeepers, and record keepers at the various games and meets. 

This year, my first duty was timing at a girls' swim meet. I'd never done it before, but everyone I talked to assured me it was easy. I was looking forward to watching the diving portion of the meet and seeing my friend Darci as she coached the girls. When I reported for duty, I was relieved to see another first grade teacher there. She was an experienced timer and had daughters on the swim team. We were given their stopwatches and we took our places at the end of each lane. I felt awkward and conspicuous. Wasn't there a more out-of-the-way place I could stand?

My mind raced back to high school, when my first cheerleading experience was for the girls' swim team. We wore short sleeved polyester outfits instead of the traditonal cheerleading sweater, and I remember how the humidity of the pool area played havoc with my carefully styled hair (think: big and puffy) The red and white saddle shoes that we wore were slippery on the wet tile. Doing jumps as we cheered was out of the question.  I remembered standing at the opposite end of the pool and getting a face full of water as the girls did their flip turns. Thinking back I tried to remember the chants for any swimming cheer. What did we yell? ..."S...W...I...M...??"

Would that year of experience help me remember the various swimming events and how many lengths of the pool each race went? How long was that pool anyway? I fought the urge to hand my timer to the next passerby and declare myself confused and unprepared. The meet was beginning and I would just do the best I could.

When the alarm sounded for each race I had the important job of clicking the timer for the swimmer in lane 6. During the race things got even more complicated because I had to keep track of which lap of the race she was on. Counting should be a cinch for a first grade teacher, right? I fought the panic each time I was sure I'd lost count and the race would end before I realized she was on her last lap. My experienced friend Julie helped me count from her lane, so I didn't miss any swimmers on their final approach. The big moment came at the end of each race. As my swimmer completed her final lap, I had to carefully work my way through her cheering team-mates, lean down, and reach the cord for the button-thingy that stops the touch pad. Leaning down near the edge of a pool while high school girls are jumping and bumping around next to me made me scared. I was sure I would get jostled at the wrong second and be first timer in Boone High history to get knocked into the pool.

As it turned out, the swim meet ended without any major problems or controversy. I'm fairly sure none the girls' Olympic trials were resting on their times from this meet. I was a bit wet from the flip turns and taking-off splashes, but I reminded myself that at least I wasn't wearing a hot polyester cheerleading outfit.

Boys Will Be Boys

We've had a bit of a problem with wasps in the backyard. There was a nest as big as a basketball hanging from the garage overhang. Over the past few weeks I worried as it grew in size and lovingly reminded my dear husband the we (he) needed to take care of that before someone got stung. Well, one day last week, our son Sam was jumping on the trampoline and got stung. Perry felt so bad and went to the hardware store bright and early the next morning. The resident wasp expert talked him out of spraying because that same evening we would be hosting the weekly football team dinner. Apparently, spraying toxins at their nest causes wasps to become cranky.

That night was rainy, so we used the basement and garage for the dinner. It was a success because no one got stung. The behemoth in the backyard was the subject of conversation for the dads, and as the evening went on, these overgrown boys brainstormed many creative ways to destroy the nest. You know what little boys do when they have a large stick in their hands, right? Well, you can imagine what one grown man did with a golf-ball-retriever-pole. After poking a hole in the nest, he barreled around the corner of the garage without getting stung. This only encouraged the rest of the group.

Another dad threw a football at it, and got stung. Later, after more strategic planning, the "offense" march back to the yard with my husband as the official quarterback. A few seconds later, there were cheers as the pass was complete and the nest was hit squarely, breaking it and releasing hundreds of angry wasps. The guys ran for all corners of the neighborhood before breathlessly coming back to declare the mission a success.

A few days later, with the help of a large can of poison spray and some colder temperatures, the wasps appear to be nearly gone. Sam can go back to the trampoline and the dogs won't be afraid to go outside anymore.