O Christmas Tree

I love Christmas. Not necessarily for the presents (although I must say I am looking forward to my mother's gift to me this year - Korean spa day here I come!), but for everything that comes with it. Of all the traditions of this holiday, my favorite has to be a Christmas tree.

Dan has reluctantly yielded over the years to my love of a Christmas tree (he is just not a fan of Christmas - but now with kids, he is trying to enjoy it more). I am not talking about any old Christmas tree either. I am talking about a floor to ceiling tree and it has to be a Noble Fir. In my opinion, the Noble Fir is the most fragrant and beautiful. No other tree will do. Sadly, they tend to be the most expensive tree - much to Dan's chagrin.

We decorated our tree the other night with the kids. I have boxes of ornaments - some old and some new. Some that I grew up with and some I have collected over the years. Our tree is reminiscent of my childhood trees - not just because I have some of the old ornaments - but because it is decorated with everything. Well, everything except tinsel - tinsel is never okay. My mother has always hated it and steered us away from its use when we were younger - I guess the preference stuck. To me it is almost like gum chewing - better when not seen.

I like to take each ornament from its box and thoughtfully examine it - pondering its story. There is the Jeanne ornament - that is part of a set, although my sister Caroline has her ornament and the one of our childhood cat. Lauren fell immediately in love with this one and grabbed it from the tree the second it was hung. Unfortunately - for her - this is an ornament I would miss greatly if lost so I had to pry from her hands only to place higher up on the tree. Needless to say - tree trimming is lost on Lauren. To her it is just a toy rack.

I also have ornaments (I use the term loosely here, because they hardly resemble that anymore) that I place solely on the tree for sentimental value. There is a blue construction paper angel with gold and red glitter - I made in Sunday school as a child - that has been decapitated. It does not hang anymore - I just lay it on a branch (the head next to its body). There is also a snowflake (?) that my sister, Caroline, made that makes an annual appearance as well. It's half the size of its original state, but I cannot seem to decorate the tree without it.

I can hardly wait for the kids to make special items for our tree. For me, it just makes the tree. The tree becomes an alter for family stories and memories.

This year however, tree decorating was exciting for Kelan, traumatic for Lauren, existent for Dan and rushed for me. I just hold out hope that the ornaments will stay on the tree and pray that Kelan and Lauren do not realize there is a bucket of water under it.

Is it Me? Part 2 Cont.

My prescription still has not been filled. Seriously. My doctor's nurse called me around 2:30pm to say that she was faxing back the approval and that I could go and pick up my prescription today. Thank god. I had an appointment to see my chiropractor at 5pm, so I thought I would swing by my pharmacy on the way to the appointment.

I load the kids in the car and drive to Walgreens. I have to go inside (although they do have a drive through) because - adding insult to injury - that time of the month started today and I am out of tampons. Lovely. I am walking - at a 45 degree angle at this point - to the back of the pharmacy, wrangling two kids that just want to run and grab everything. I squat on the floor (because it hurts to stand) waiting for our turn at the counter. Kelan and Lauren have decided to rearrange the over the counter medicine display - I let them. Soon Kelan notices that I am holding a box of tampons. The conversation goes like this: Are those tampons? Yes. We need more tampons? Yes. We have no tampons at home? Yes. We need more tampons at home? Yes. I am now hysterically laughing and crying because not only is this funny in itself, there are about 5 people behind me in line (women and men) who can hear - and are laughing. In fact, the woman behind me said that her day was now not so bad.

I get to the front of the line only to hear that they are still waiting for approval from my doctor. You have GOT to be kidding me. I leave the store - sans tampons - and struggle to put both kids back into the car. A wasted trip on my poor back. I call Dan, tears streaming down my face, just to hear that he will be home soon and will take care of me.

The chiropractor helps, but I still am in pain. I come home and start dinner (I would have gone to McDonald's for Happy Meals, but I did that yesterday...). Dan comes home and is ready to go to Walgreens - I call to make sure that my beloved vicodin is ready. It is not. It is 6:30pm. I have had it. It has been two full days. I call the on call doctor. She realizes that the approval was faxed to the wrong pharmacy. She apologizes and says she will fix the problem. Unbelievable. Is it me?

Is it Me? Part 2

It's happened again. My doctor's office staff has proven that they are inept (see Is it Me?). Basic requests seemed to get lost in translation. Follow through has no meaning. No wonder people today have less and less patience - inadequate customer service happens everywhere.

My back went out on Sunday morning so I went into my own personal crisis mode (please note that my doctor is fully aware of my crisis plan). This entails an ibuprofen and vicodin drug therapy. Massage and chiropractic work (sometimes a rolfer is added to the payroll depending on the severity of the "outage" and on personal finances - rolfers are not cheap and insurance does not cover visits). Hot Epsom salt baths, icing and stretching. LOTS of stretching.

I realized that I only had several vicodin pills left so I proactively contacted my pharmacy on Sunday so they could fax a refill request to my doctor's office where it would be waiting on Monday morning. I figured I had enough to get me through the next 24 hours and by then, my doctor's office would have gone through their prescription requests and given the okay for the refill. This was not to be.

On Monday mid day I contacted my pharmacy to check the status of my refill. They had not heard back from my doctor's office. I decided to give them a little more time to get through their refill requests so I waited a couple of more hours. By now I had run out of vicodin and my back was feeling worse than it did on Sunday (it had moved into full spasm from the initial injury).

I contacted my pharmacy again and they suggested I contact my doctor's office to make sure they received the faxed refill request (they would also fax another one). I did as they suggested and spoke with a very nice woman who took down my message to give to my doctor/nurse). I thought we were now headed in the right direction. Sadly I was mistaken. I never got my prescription refilled on Monday. That night I toughed it out with ibuprofen and Tylenol. For those of you who have never had your back go out, you may not understand the level of pain and may think I am being over dramatic - it is not like I did not have the ibuprofen and Tylenol... But I would like you to consider what it would feel like to be hit by a Mack truck and be given a vitamin to help ease the pain. You with me now?

I called my pharmacy again this morning. Nothing. However I did receive a message from my doctor's nurse. She said that I need to contact my pharmacy so they could fax over a refill request. That the procedure for prescription refills was to contact your pharmacy - not the doctor. Excuse me? That is what I fucking did fucking yesterday that apparently was fucking ignored. Maybe the nice woman who took down my message got it wrong - but I had explained that my pharmacy had indeed faxed over a request. Maybe the nurse did not understand the message or did not read the whole thing (man they need to get voicemail over there)? Or maybe my pharmacy did not actually fax over the refill request (twice) like they said.

It must be said that I have actually maintained self control. I have not lost my temper (thank goodness) with the pharmacy or doctor's office (although I am silently cursing their existence). Most importantly, I have maintained my composure with Kelan and Lauren - no sick days for mom (note that Dan did come home an hour early yesterday so I could go and get a massage, and is contemplating cancelling his business trip so he can take care of me and the kids - I have the best husband!).

I put in another call to the pharmacy to have them fax over a third request. Additionally I called my doctor's office - again - to let them know that I do understand the prescription refill procedure, and that I had only left a message alerting them to the fax because the pharmacy had not heard back from them. Is it me?

Thanksgiving Boogie

What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate

My children do not hear me. I am joking - sort of. In addition to loving my children unconditionally, my tasks as a parent in raising them center around teaching them how to be/function in this world and to keep them safe. My job would be a lot easier (hell, I would settle for somewhat challenging) if my children would listen to me. But I guess that is not their job. I have deduced that at times I must sound like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon because my words have no meaning.

Today we went to the Starbucks just above the Children's Museum at Seattle Center (I needed a coffee - I could feel a challenge about to start) and Kelan took off to see the giant train set up in the food court for the holiday. He ran away so fast when we got inside that I did not even have time to explain the rules of the outing. So now I am calling for Kelan (who is in sight and totally fine - although I am making a mental note to make an appointment to check his hearing which is clearly the problem - he is totally deaf). All while I am juggling the double stroller, Lauren, the diaper bag, and my coffee order. In hindsight I could have started this outing a different way, but that does not help me now.

I sometimes think I look like one of those crazed mothers who cannot control their children in public (come to think of it, I am one of those crazed mothers who cannot control their children in public). But in my defense, it is not for a lack of discipline. Kelan and Lauren are not allowed to run completely wild, but I have been forced to adapt to who my children are what they need (and how they learn). As a parent (and the adult in the relationship) this is my job. I often stare in disbelief at parents whose children stand right next to them and hang on their every word. It is safe to say I do not know what that is like.

When Kelan makes up his mind to do something and/or does not want to pay attention, he will not hear you. My sister, Caroline, mentioned to me that she had heard some young children get so caught up in what they are doing, that they physically cannot hear you. If that is true - I have a textbook case.

At my monthly parent education class (part of my committment for Kelan's Co Op preschool) each parent got to talk about one thing that your child does at school that drives you crazy. I spoke about Kelan not listening. How, at times, I have to get on my knees and gently (but firmly) hold his face in my hands, ask for his eyes and listening ears before he will hear me. Sometimes he does, other times I feel like I am trying to get the attention of a Stevie Wonder impersonater. Kelan's teacher nodded her head knowingly while I shared my troubles. She then explained that one of her sons was the same way. It is just who they are. A teacher with sympathy - wonderful. No quick fix - discouraging.

I need to find a better way to communicate with Kelan and Lauren when they are distracted (awake) because I want them to be safe and to learn how to be good people. Because both require a certain amount of instruction from me that must be heard.

We Forgot Lauren

Last night as I am walking out of the restaurant I see Dan and Kelan playing around the car in the parking lot. Dan gives me a weird look and asks, "where's Lauren?" Huh? "I thought you had her?" He swears he does not and I am thinking this is an awful joke and why is he not laughing yet. I come closer and oh my god, he is STILL not laughing which means - we forgot Lauren.

I run back into Bombay Palace (great Indian food - but this is really not important at this point) and I hear the hostess say, "she is right here" and motions to the main dining room of the restaurant. I sigh with such relief that I swear everyone can hear. I am so embarrassed. Every patron is laughing (Lauren is obviously okay and enjoying herself immensely with her new found freedom of running in between all the tables). The owner comes up to me and says that she will make a great hostess someday because she has been greeting every table. How does this happen? I will tell you: mass chaos.

We have gotten a little tired of our Friday night spot (Tacos Guaymas - Mexican food) so we have been trying out new spots with the kids. The new restaurant (and the fact that Dan just got back into town from a three day business trip) excited the kids. Sadly our dinner was keeping the kids in their seats, preventing water spills, controlling/quieting outside voices, and lastly, enjoying the amazing food. Dan and I inhaled the last bites on our plates and started gearing up to leave. This means: find the server/check and wrestle coats/hats on children. We needed to get the kids outside - fast. Dan said, "I'll take them out to the car." This is the turning point. I heard Dan say them. In reality he said Kelan (sounds the same - sort of). In my defense, the dining experience alone could have caused my brain to malfunction, but coupling that with the three days I have been on my own with the kids - I heard THEM.

I wait by myself at the table for the check. I speak to the couple seated next to ours and apologize if we have interrupted their meal too much - no, we have not. I thank our server, I leave a big tip (I cannot begin to describe the amount of rice under the table) and head towards the door - soon to realize my mistake.

During the car ride home, Dan and I retrace our steps (and imagine poor Lauren's). The best we can come up with is that she followed Dan and Kelan out of the dining room and went into the bar instead of going outside. We guess that when I left the restaurant she doubled back and started talking to the guests - which is where I found her when I came racing back into the restaurant. Kelan contributed to our conversation by continuously saying, "we forgot Lauren!" all the way home. Lovely.

We can laugh about it now because she is fine. Yes, we forgot Lauren, but only for a couple of minutes. I am sure we would not have driven off without her. All's well that end's well. You can say that again.

Some Days Are Harder Than Others

Today was one of those hard days. It started at 6:30am (I was awake earlier when Kelan crawled into bed with me and Dan, but since my husband gets up before me - and is a saint - he took Kelan with him when he got up). I drift back to sleep. Lauren wakes up which wakes me up. Dan goes upstairs to get her and brings her to me in bed - it is almost time for him to leave. Kelan gets in bed too. Dan heads off to work. My day has begun and I am not even out of bed, much less, my eyes are not even open.

We head to the kitchen for Lauren's milk (and my milk - uh, coffee). Within (what felt like) seconds, Lauren has climbed up on a stool and tipped over my coffee (it was luke warm at best - she is fine). Lauren is soaked. The counter and floor are covered with coffee. Coffee that would have been better in me than on her. Kelan is whining that he is hungry. They both start to cry. It has been 15 minutes since I got out of bed. This is NOT a good start. I am tired and cranky. I have a sinus infection. I am PMSing. I have not had my coffee. I lose it. I banished the kids from the kitchen and tell them that Mommy is in a time out. They cry harder. It takes me about 10 minutes to clean up all the coffee and get Lauren's milk. All the while Kelan and Lauren are crying - loudly - at the kitchen gate. I run the many coffee saturated towels downstairs to the washing machine and start a load of laundry, and then I hear Kelan yelling that Lauren is throwing papers. Huh? Mommy, Lauren is throwing papers! Shit, the only papers I know of are on the dinning room table. Which means - shit - she's on top of the dinning room table. I race upstairs. Kelan is right. Lauren is throwing papers off the dinning room table. She sees me and makes a run for it down to the other end (this is her new favorite activity - running around on the table). I cannot take it anymore and rather than being a crazy lunatic posing as a mom, I decide that Sesame Street may be better for my children than me. I have failed them so early in the morning.

This afternoon was not much better. I was already in a frazzled (and fragile) state after - what felt like - a long morning working in Kelan's Co Op preschool (it was field trip day). I also had to force Lauren to take her nap since she fell asleep in her playgroup this morning (I do NOT fault her playgroup sitters....they are amazing. Lauren is just having some difficulty with daylight savings. Damn that stupid time change!). After nap time, I asked Kelan to go potty. I was in the kitchen when he came running out saying he used all of the toilet paper. Is it on the floor? Yes he says. I have this vision that an entire roll is unraveled all over the floor. This is what my children do when left to their own devices in the bathroom. Damn it! I angrily scold Kelan for wasting toliet paper and tell him he is NOT supposed to do this. He looks at me with a confused/hurt look on his face and we walk into the bathroom. I see an empty roll, but there is not the expected pile of tissue on the floor, just some end scraps (which was what he was talking about when I asked if it was on the floor). I completely deflate and realize that Kelan came to tell me he used the last of the toilet paper. I have failed again. I burst into tears. Kelan sees me crying and then starts to cry too. I profusely apologize for getting mad at him. I explain that Mommy is the one in trouble - not him. I tell him I thought he wasted a bunch of toilet paper. I praise him for coming to tell me that we need to replace the roll. I am still weeping. I hold him tight.

Each night when I sing to Kelan just before he goes to bed I tell him he is a good kid. That I am happy. That I love him. Sadly, I know I will have more days like this. But my promise to my kids is that I will try to do better, and that we will always end each day with positive and loving goodnight moments.