electric mist

their minds are so open, their brains have fallen out

One of the weird things about being a mom of older kids about the time a lot of other women my age are having kids or seeing theirs into grade school is to note the huge shifts in what the culture believes is "good" for the baby. In my mom's day, bottle feeding was the new big thing, and giving a kid solid food early was encouraged. When mine came along, breastfeeding was just starting to be back in "vogue" with the pediatricians (here) and my mom and dad were absolutely certain I was going to starve the boys to death if I didn't supplement their feedings with cereal or some baby food. (I was adamant and knew that I was obviously correct when the boys were healthy and fine. I found out years later that my mom and dad secretly began feeding the kids solid food as early as two months. Jake had jambalaya by three months. Spicey jambalaya. I would have freaked, but the kid had slept regularly, eaten regularly, and for the most part, was a healthy baby. Go figure.)

Every generation of babies comes with new books, new "musts," new things to heap upon brand new mom's heads to make them feel like they don't quite know what they're doing or may in some way damage their child beyond repair, and as a mom of older kids who not only survived, but thrived, in spite of the fact that I was utterly clueless, I'm here to say it's mostly bullshit. If something works for you, great. If it doesn't, then stop. There are a million different ways to raise a healthy child and as long as you're trying to learn about the important things like health risks / viruses or developmental issues if you suspect your child may have one, you're pretty much okay.

So, when I see something like this out there, it makes me roll my eyes so hard, my head hurts. This site believes that parents shouldn't diaper their babies (at all), and they believe their method of carting around something for the baby to pee "naturally" into (like a bowl cupped under their bottom) is, "a gentle, compassionate, and practical way to care for a baby's elimination needs from infancy."

I, personally, want to know what crack they're on, because man, they got a bad batch. They describe it as an ancient practice, but really... who wants to go backward? I like electricity, and grocery stores, and cars, and the internet. The notion that I really ought to be "in tune" with when my infant needs to pee in order to be a good / gentle / compassionate parent? Good grief. Their brains have fallen out and rolled into the abyss. Someone direct them to a cave so they can gently let their baby pee on anything it wants to and they can hose the place down when it's grown.

dreams: outside time and place

I think that in a thousand ways, I have never really lived in the here and now for long enough periods of time to feel rooted in it. Dreams -- desires -- aspirations -- have all pulled me out of time and place and I have lived in that "possible future" so often, it has overlain the real with a fine dusting so tangible, I sometimes have to remind myself that it is 'not yet' the real. Tamar and I were talking today about how so many writers will be entering the Nicholl screenwriting contest this year (deadline Saturday) and the Austin (deadline May 15)... and how that affects their lives. I know winners of these contests, so it's not a mythical thing; it can do wonders for someone's career, but it's also very sobering. Last year, there were a record number of entries to the Nicholl -- well over 6,000, and they anticipate more now. One of the first-round readers commented to a group of friends that she had seen the quality of the writing go up over the last few years, partly because of more books and degrees / classes available around the country, and partly because the internet has brought together people who would have normally been isolated so that they can form critique groups and learn faster from the experience.

How do creative people do it? Hit that wall year after year, determined to create, to find a door, to find a receptive audience? Maybe it's the Lotto mentality -- that one big win will change their lives forever. Maybe it's better planned than that, but whichever it is, they live on that dream, that place somewhere just an angel's breath outside of their grasp, yet so warm and inviting, they can't not try to reach for it.

Sometimes I wonder what I've taught my children. I've had bouts of success -- lots of non-fiction publication, edited a magazine (regional / pre-internet e-zines), won or placed in contests, but it's a wonder my children haven't thought to have me committed for thrusting myself against that wall day after day with nothing big and tangible to say: here's the proof I can do this. I simply dream that I can, and I cannot stop trying. It's hard to watch someone keep trying and wonder if they're just fooling themselves or is it simply a matter of time or timing. I know a lot of people who don't have dreams or ambitions to be something other, something meta, someone that somehow communicates with the world-at-large and the person-in-specific at the same time. They want to be the best mechanic they can be or the best accountant because that helps pay the bills or gets them the bigger car or the college tuition for their kids, and sure, they have hobbies they enjoy and in which they may even be terribly talented, but they don't dream to be other. Sometimes I think... no, I'm pretty sure I know... life would have been enormously easier had I just wanted to be a good construction manager, since that's the "paying" job I do every day. But a part of me thinks that maybe, just maybe, seeing me keep trying and being happy at the attempt -- being happy enjoying the journey -- well, maybe that has taught them to dream bigger possibilities and reach for them.

Ultimately, I think of the world as divided into two types of people: those who consume culture and history, and those who create it. And given the nature of creation -- that you can't know everything about it and what impact it will have until it's actually accomplished -- there are definitely no guarantees if you choose to be one of the latter. Maybe you'll succeed and create something with impact and maybe you'll just disappear into the mists. I would rather be the latter, though, and live outside the real, the now, the ordinary, at least in my dreams, than to feel like I had no shot at permanently shaping something in the world.

when you just haven't had enough cow

Because sometimes you do wake up thinking, "Blast, my fridge doesn't look like a cow."

MRI results

It's official -- the MRI results came back and yes, there are signs of a brain in there somewhere, a wholly intact one without tumors. Yay. I still have the weird dizziness, but a little less of the stuffy-cotton-headed-cloudy-thinking feeling, so there's improvement. And again, yay. I suspect that by the time I have to go to the follow-up next Tuesday, I'll be fine. (Ironically, I just noticed that in spite of teh fact that they gave me very specific instructions on how much of this prednisone to take each day -- 4 in the morning for the first four days, three in the morning for the next four days, then two for four, then one for four... they didn't give me enough tablets to actually do so. I'm short about six tablets. Oops.)

20/20 again -- the spin?

Daisy chased down this New York Post piece about the 20/20 "Win My Baby" episode where they are now saying, "Amid the fury, ABC has since yanked the promo and replaced it with a toned-down version that presents the program less as a reality show and more as a documentary," and, ""It is a thoughtful report on the process of open adoption that we think will be of interest to the American people. We simply wanted to make sure that people understood what we would be broadcasting."

I'm not sure if they can be believed, but I'm glad Daisy found that article -- at least they came to a sudden screeching halt on the reality-TV show-like promos, and mostly because of pressure swarming in furiously from the Internet. That feels empowering, a bit. It may be that the promo was simply a marketing ploy gone wrong and all out of synch with the tone of the show, but it's just as likely that the marketing ploy matched the tone and the show's been hastily re-edited to achieve a more documentary-like atmosphere. Either way, it was an incredibly stupid decision on someone's part over at ABC that promoting this in a circus-like "reality-TV" show atmosphere was good television and/or good "news." Finally, people are talking back about this. Maybe the message will get through to other networks.

(I think the show is set to air Friday, April 30, to answer Daisy's questions in the comments.)

used wedding gown / e-bay

Y'all have to go read the story this guy has put up to explain why he's selling a used wedding dress. Cracked me up. Get a good look at that price -- and the hits this thing has gotten. (Scroll down a bit to see the story.)

20/20's exploitation

Liz reminded me in this entry about the 20/20 show that Dawn posted about: 20/20 is going to air a show where five families "compete" to be the adoptive family of a new baby. This is so crass, so horrific -- it's treating a human infant as nothing more than a door prize, it's using the desperation of the parents (which they even use as their lead in the ad -- hey, drama! desperate parents!) as fodder for "reality" TV. I thought after Fox sank so low with the Swan show about having so many women having their bodies cut up and mutilated for public consumption that TV could not have fallen any lower, but my god, they have. And 20/20 wants to think of itself as a news show? What's next? "Hey, let's sell someone into slavery and see how they do and if they can escape?" or "Hey, let's put a bunch of untrained people on a dangerous job and see who loses a limb or their life first!" Why not? We've just made a baby a prize.

If there aren't social workers and agencies all over this, there should be.

Please do like Dawn and Liz suggest and write a letter to 20/20 by clicking here for the e-mail form and ask them to please not show this. It may not make a difference, but then again, if enough of us do it, it may. (I think Liz's letter is excellent; I used hers as a template for what I wanted to say.)

routine

Thanks for the comments and e-mails about the MRI -- as I said below in the comments section, it was pretty routine. I didn't expect the radiologist (I guess that's what he was) to make any comments, and he didn't. They did an IV for the dye, but that one collapsed when he started to put the dye in, so they had to use the other arm. He joked that it was a good thing I wasn't trying to shoot up anything because I had no veins. But it went smoothly, if not a little boring. I think I may even have napped, in spite of the weird lasery-clicky noises the machine makes.

I have to say I started to laugh right before because they have all of these questions to make sure that you in NO WAY POSSIBLE have anything metal in your body. And I know people forget things over the years, or forget that something actually was a metal item (like a wire mesh thing for a hernia), but really -- the near ferocity of the questions started making me paranoid that I secretly had pins in me that they knew about which were going to fly out of my body like Wolverine's (XMen).

Carl had more good news on the new business today -- it now seems extremely viable (this from the attorneys and someone who's at the very top of the place that had hired the Florida people... they're fed up with those people and want to phase them out, but didn't have a viable second option, so we may step right into all their work without real competition.) Even if that doesn't happen that simply, everyone seems to think it's viable. I'll probably not say much more about it until it's fully up and running. (I mean, really, you'll all kill me on the up and down ride of starting up a new business, right? Because it will take about two months to be fully operational, and I imagine some hiccups along the way.)

It's a gorgeous day - I'm going to go sit on the swing with my laptop and write. I know I have office work, but to hell with it. I need a mental break from the not-sleeping and imagining myself as a female Wolverine. (Now that, let me tell you, is a scary thought.)

see saw

The morning opened with Carl having an epiphany which would help make the new business venture even more competitive and appealing to the customers, which was, truly, a brilliant idea. Which would work. The middle of the day had the partner calling Carl asking him who Carl wanted to list as CEO of the new company, and they settled on me, giving me 1% more so it would be a woman-owned business. (My response? What crack were they smoking?) This afternoon brought Carl to a nervous stop because one person (who's sort of hard to describe here without using technical terms -- suffice it to say, he's one of the big national agencies that used to do this stuff and was supposed to be getting out of it)... well, he informed Carl that he had realized that they could be making the profit that this start-up in Florida is making, and so they are going to do it and make sure that no one else can supply their "clients" with another option. Except, I don't think they can legally tie their clients' hands like that without a contract, and when the clients find out the other thing Carl figured out we could provide (the epiphany I mentioned above), they're going to want that option. So the lawyers are looking at it all to determine if this guy was just trying to scare us off or whether he really could do what he said. (He's not he only big agency / business though -- there are several others, and they seem not to be so proprietary towards this thing. In fact, they seem to be welcoming the outside businesses like the guy in Florida.)

So Carl felt elated this morning, bummed beyond belief this evening. I'm in the middle. There's plenty we can do with this company; they have no way whatsoever to tie down all of the independents not associated with those big supplier agencies, which means there is a tremendous amount of business up for grabs. And we can grab it.

There were dozens of phone calls flying around here today. Still a lot of contacts to be made with people who have information for us -- info which will help us determine how viable this thing is. Because we are not going to let the partner spend that kind of money on any sort of false start (and everything's reversible so far.)

I really really really really really want this to work. I cannot tell you how much I want this to work. I'm scared that will jinx it, though. I'm so tired of construction, of being the go-to person for problem-solving, of dealing with dozens of vendors, etc., which I wouldn't have to do with this new business. I want to have that writing time.

Tomorrow morning's the MRI. Felt a shade better today, though not in top form... but that may be due as much to stress as anything else. Just want to feel great again. I so rarely get sick! I hate this not feeling up to par, not being able to cook on all burners, all of the time. I did exercise yesterday and today (and man, sore arms!), so that's an improvement.

strange and good

It's been a strange weekend, in the sense that I am not better physically, but such positive things are happening with the new business, it's definitely put me in a good mood. (I suspect that the medicine is working, but it's a 16 day thing and I'm only on day 5.)

The partner and Carl talked -- he's buying enough stuff to rig out two complete "units" for a start, because between what Carl already knows he can land as a client and what this guy knows he can land, it's more than enough work to make a nice profit. He's the kind of guy that has so often gone beyond the imagination when it comes to taking care of those friends he loves, that he's always more than fair, so ironically, I -- the uber worrier when it comes to money -- have not even sat down with him to discuss some of this. Instincts -- I know what he's offered to do so many times in the past, and he's the one putting up all of the money, so if he wants to do that, I figured he would want the split, after costs, to be somewhere around 70/30 or so, because hey -- he's putting up all the money. We are in no way obligated to pay him a penny if the whole thing goes belly up. Well, he called Carl today and told Carl he wanted to meet with the both of us because while he wants Carl happy, he definitely never wanted to "tangle" with me. (Which is just so funny, because this guy is shrewd -- and old enough to be my dad, easily.) So that was a nice thing, and then the next thing he said was that he wanted to split the profits and the company 50/50. With us still not owing him a penny if it flops. He's that convinced that this is a true money-making venture.

He's already invested (by ordering some equipment we need today) -- a half-a-million. I very nearly had a heart attack, but that's what the set-up costs and I know that's why there isn't any real competition out there -- there's just not a lot of people who know about this or who would put up that kind of money. And success is possible as much because of who we've built as a client base all of these year and our reputation with them.

He said he figures the business will operate at a loss for an entire year and if we wanted to completely stop the construction company, he'd pay us what our living expenses are out of the start-up capitol because he wanted to make sure we weren't in a bind while the company grew. Of course, we'll still be doing some of the construction work, but it will hit a point where we cannot do both and if that business isn't in the black yet, we would need that sort of cushion. (I keep saying "we" -- but seriously, while I may help with some client sale prep in the very beginning, it's something I wouldn't have to work for.)

Tomorrow, I'm going to talk to the national office person for our biggest client. The local district guy has already said we can certify all of his items (which is about 100), and we already have our little secondary client lined up with his items (he has about 30)... which means we have more than enough to just about break even on the first year before we start. But the national office has somewhere along the lines of 1000 items, and the local manager guy seemed to think they may want to do a national contract -- like a five-year thing.

I'm not going to keep boring y'all with all of the details in future entries until it's something concrete - particularly since I can't name the item because there aren't may google hits to be found with that search string and I don't want to pop up on it yet, but it's a reality that we're going to be giving this a shot.

It's clear to me that our life is about to radically change over the next few months. I don't know if this opportunity will work (for certain -- I think I'm sure, but you never know the guerilla warfare that can go on behind the scenes of a business until you're in the jungle)... but I think it's the first time in our lives we have a legitmate "big" opportunity. That so rarely comes along. And, we're not going to shut down the construction company until it's clear the other one has already taken off, so no worries there about losing both and then being screwed.

My dad, ever the devil's advocate, wondered what was in it for the partner, but when we sat down and looked through all the expenses, how it would be paid back and the time-frame, it's a no-brainer. He's going to make good money without actually working... he'll just finance it. And the work for Carl will be about a hundred times easier than what he's ever done.

Can it fail? Certainly. We could not land the biggest contract of all and have to scramble to pick up each client independently (which the competition is doing successfully now, and we can under-price / provide better service than they can)... I don't know. But I'm amazed at the opportunity.

Anyway, very odd weekend.

somebody slap me

Carl and I went out to eat tonight at one of my favorite restaurants, and talked a lot about the new business thing. The partner guy is so pumped, he's gearing up big time -- he has already found several of the items we need (big, expensive things) for waaaay below what we had expected to pay. He's just that good at this, has a million jillion business contacts and knows how to find things. (Like one item we need is normally very expensive -- $60,000! And he knew a chemical plant who had that item and didn't want it anymore -- it was in their way. So they sold it to him for something like $10,000. Mind boggling.)

So this is becoming very real, very fast, and in the course of the conversation, Carl said something I should have LOVED hearing... that he couldn't wait until this took off because then I could just spend all my time writing. We would phase out the construction company to just the one item that ties directly in with this second business (and if the second business goes big enough, phase it out completely). And that way, I wouldn't have to be tied down with all of the mounds and mounds of paperwork I've been buried under for so long and you know what the absolute first thing I did was?

Pouted.

Then felt left out. Like, what am I? Chopped liver? Why didn't he want my help with this company? I'd be very good at it.

And at the same time, I'm having an out-of-body experience, wondering just what sort of crack I was on, why couldn't I just be thrilled at the opportunity? There I was spouting all this, "You don't NEED me?" crap, thoroughly confusing my husband who just wanted to make me happy and let me write full time, and there I was claiming I really really wanted to be a part of the office, no no, RUN the office, and schmooze with the clients and build up the business and TAKE OVER THE WORLD and and RUN THE UNIVERSE and....

He gave me that look. That look you give people when you know them really well and they are spiraling into the abyss of denial and that evil look pierces through all the protests.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll just bet you want to be on the phone every day to five or ten clients, arranging everything, dispatching everyone."

Oh. The phone. Gaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkk.

(run run scream run run)

"So, what's this about, really?"

Normally, it would have taken me weeks to grok just exactly what it was about, but I'm trying harder to access what it is inside that I want. And trying to remember that want isn't a dirty word.

I thought for a minute, and realized, it was about fear. I've been pulled in so many directions for work for so long, that I haven't had much time to write and I squeeze it in between projects and phone calls and waiting up until Jake is home from a date (if I'm still able to string two words coherently together by that point, because I am usually just so tired)... that I've sort of had that busy-ness as an excuse for not having gone further, faster. And if I have all that time... with it will come expectations. From me. From (gulp) others.

Fear. (sigh)

I remember the first time I ever published something -- I got paid a whopping $75 for a feature article in the local newspaper, and I jumped up and down with more glee than anyone who's ever won a Putlizer could have imagined. And prior to writing it, I was scared lifeless and wouldn't have tried if someone (a former teacher) hadn't pushed me to try. And then I kept writing for them, and eventually was put on staff in two different divisions, and then moved on to freelancing magazine articles, and before I knew it, was Assistant Editor, then Editor, then sold to national magazines... then swtiched to screenplays... then started with the fear all over again. I hung out on screenplay boards, then met some really nice people who took me under their wing (hi Tamar) who then became great friends and pushed me and pushed me and then I landed an agent, and more stuff happened, and the whole time, fear. Fear slowed me down more than I can explain; there was so much more I could have done with so many of the opportunities in front of me, and I hesitated and didn't take advantage of them when I had the chance. And so, lost the chance to move onward, upward, too damned often.

Well, I sat there across from Carl and that look he was giving me, and I thought about it and realized, I don't have time for fear anymore. I'm damned if I'm going to let it slow me down again. Maybe it's having a doctor say they want to run a test for a brain tumor that makes you wake up to how much time you really have... and not that I think I have one (I really do not), but just hearing the words out loud? Well, suddenly, I skipped a whole lot of stalling and denial and looked Carl in the eye and said, "You're right, I don't want to be on the phone. Ever. Again. I don't want to do that paperwork. I'm sure [partner] has a fabulous CPA and as long as I can watch the books to feel secure that everything's being done right? I don't need to be doing it. Because I am a writer, and that's what I want to do. Full time. Write."

He grinned, and said, "It's about damned time."

slow

Not feeling any better, but not feeling any worse. I think the medicine may be working, but it makes me feel cotton-headed and not terribly articulate, which is extremely frustrating.

A sort of amazingly neat thing happened in the business end of things over the last couple of days. We have a niche type of construction business -- we specialize in a type of construction item that not many companies do, which has kept us busy even when other companies were scrambling for work. It's not a high-margin profit type of thing, but it is fairly steady. As a result, Carl has gotten to know this particular business extremely well, and he learned over the last few days that there is an angle (certifiying the item once it's built) which used to be done by a huge agency and that agency is getting out of the business. They don't want to do it anymore, for some kinda strange reasons (even though it was profitable for them). Another company in Florida figured this out and jumped on it, and they're making extremely good money right now (fast)... but the neat thing is, Carl has much better contacts than they do. And, he's got a friend who's just an amazing whiz at business (read: everything he touches turns to gold) who heard the idea from Carl and wants to finance it. There isn't another guy out there I'd trust like this one -- he's tried to do good things for Carl repeatedly when there was no payoff for him because a long time ago, before Carl had a clue he had any money / business acumen, Carl helped him out with some things and just treated him as one of the family. That's just Carl's way, and the guy realized it and has, ever since, tried to take Carl under his wing and help us grow.

Well, this thing? Could easily be national. We'll start with our own state, but three of our contacts are national, and if we get even one of their contracts, it would be a big deal. It's not something that would go fast -- it may take a year to set up, but the guy who's helping us has already scouted and found what we need to buy (and saved thousands of dollars because of his contacts) and he's already buying them.

So, while I'm not getting my hopes up for anything fast, I feel very good about this potential here, especially with this other guy's help.

tilt-a-whirl

So, Sunday morning, feeling fine. Enjoying the beautiful day. Blah blah suddenly dizzy blah. I thought I was well and over it, and I tilted my head to look at something and the whole room spun out of control. The rest of the afternoon was more of the same. I got much worse on Monday.

Made a doctor's appointment for Tuesday afternoon. She did several tests (hearing test, neurological tests), and had me lie down in an exam chair, which made the room spin again. Sitting up did the same.

It's not an infection, like I assumed, or fluid in the inner ear; she thinks it may be that the nerve from the inner ear to the brain is inflamed, and she's given me prednisone to take. However, I had some "atypical" hearing loss, and that, coupled with the dizziness made her want to do an MRI to rule out the possibility of a brain tumor; apparently there's a type of tumor which wraps itself around that same nerve which can cause these symptoms.

I'm pretty sure it's not going to be anything more than just an inflamed nerve and probably by Tuesday (when the MRI is scheduled), I'll be fine. It did freak Carl out a bit when I got home to tell him; he's going to take off work to go with me Tuesday. To me, since it's not really a possibility that it's anything more than inflamation, it's kinda funny... and I started teasing him last night... (hey, can you bring me the chocolate ice cream? I have a brain tumor.) (yes, I am evil, but I made him laugh.)

pins & needles & milestones

Sometimes I look around, and I wonder how on earth I got here... a woman with two grown sons. I'm too young for that. (No, really. I started at two.) (Well, okay. Twenty. I had Luke when I was twenty, and to this day, I am amazed they let me take an actual living, breathing child home with me, as clueless as I was. Utterly, totally, clueless.)

I read things like Lizbeth's entry about how difficult parenting can be sometimes and how reading other blogs helps, or how dooce talks about fighting off depression amidst the joy of having a child, of constantly worrying if you're doing things right, or doing enough, and trying so hard not to lose yourself in process... and I am comforted. I wish women like these, and Tamar and so many others had been online when my kids were little. Hell, I wish there had even been an online. Amazing how ancient that feels, when it was really only a few years ago.

What I remember most is the isolation: it seemed almost complete as soon as I had Luke. I was a very young mother, and we moved away from the small town I had grown up in and into the city, in a neighborhood of middle-aged people with grown kids, and lots of older people and only a handful of young parents sprinkled throughout... and most of those were way more corporate than I could be (or wanted to be, I so rebelled against the corporate structure). I was so constantly alone with the kids, and trying to work from home (both doing the books / answering the phone for our fledgeling construction business and trying to write... both solo types of tasks), I sometimes felt like I had gone for days and days without any real interaction with other moms. Mostly, I just felt scared -- scared that I was going to screw up, scared that I wasn't going to do a good job as a mom, scared that in some way I wouldn't know what to do when it was critical.

It's every mother's nightmare, I suppose, and I remember the morning it hit home with the force of a nuclear explosion. Jake (4) and Luke (8) had eaten with Carl's parents the night before, and my mother-in-law noticed that Jake was cranky and his left eyelid looked "heavy." Not swollen, or anything obvious -- she was worried that maybe in one of their battles (and at that age, the boys had taken to a lot of battling), Luke may have bopped Jake in the eye. We looked at it, decided that it was nothing, and they went home. Carl was out of town, and there I was with two cranky, grumpy boys, trying to convince them to get to bed early without knocking each other senseless (they shared a room). It took a while (baths, battle, bed, battle, begging for snacks and milk, finally bed)... and I collapsed in exhaustion.

The screaming woke me up.

Just after six a.m., screams pierced my consciousness, and I slammed out of bed on a dead run before I had even opened my eyes. A second later, I was standing over Jake, trying to grasp what I was seeing, and for a long moment, my brain just wouldn't accept the image or allow it to form into any sort of comprehension. And then suddenly, I saw: Jake's left eye was completely swollen shut; it was purple and black and he was burning up with fever. I took his temperature -- not easy with a screaming four-year-old -- and the temp was 104. Freaked does not begin to explain the surreal feeling of absolute shock that tightens every muscle, shutting down the lungs until your brain screams at you to get moving, get something done.

I frantically called the doctor; Patti had been my friend through high school and we'd grown up in the same neighborhood. I'd been in her wedding, and when she went into medicine and announced it would be pediatrics, I knew I'd bring my kids to her as soon as she opened her doors. She is the type of person who flat does not accept second best as a possibility, and knowing that about her made me feel safe with her guarding my kids. Of course, at six a.m., I got the answering service, who transferred me to a nurse... who told me I was being over-anxious. That 104 isn't that horrible for a kid, and I just needed to give him some children's Tylenol. The earliest appointment she could give me was for 11:00 -- and she was going to have to "work me in" even at that time (translation: I would sit in the office until 12:30 when Patti had finished with everyone who'd had appointments.) I didn't think 11:00 was early enough, but she assured me it was probably just a bug bite, that "you young mothers" all just worry over nothing.

I hung up feeling like a moron, and feeling... insulted. I was young, yes, but Jake was my second child and I wasn't the total novice she thought. So I seethed... but I followed her instructions and gave him the children's Tylenol. His fever kept going up. I called Carl, who was freaked out himself but trying to be calm to help me not panic. He reminded me about putting Jake in a cool bath to bring it down, which worked -- temporarily. And the fever started spiking up again. I gave him alcohol rubs, and it would cool him off a bit, but the fever would climb. By 7:30, I noticed he was getting unresponsive, which scared the absolute hell out of me.

I called the nurse back, and she was more than a little annoyed. I insisted that he wasn't doing well, and she just as forcefully insisted that I come in at 11:00 and they would check him over.

I hung up, took his temperature again, realized it was still going up in spite of everything and decided, fuck the nurse, I was bringing Jake in.

He passed out on our way over there. Luke was in the back seat, quietly freaking out because he thought Jake was dying, and I was trying to drive in morning rush hour traffic to get Jake to Patti's office. When I walked in with him limp in my arms, the same nurse greeted me -- and on hearing my name, was pissed that I had come in at 8:00 instead of 11:00 as she had instructed me. She told me to have a seat and she would let Patti know I was there.

I kicked the door open to the doctor's area and started shouting for Patti. Patti came out of a room and took one look at us across the vast nurse's area... and ran.

Patti never runs. She's got a degenerative spinal disease, and running is horrible for her. But she ran, and scooped him out of my arms and starting hammering me with questions -- but she froze a moment when she saw the eye.

I explained when I had first called... and what the nurse had said. The nurse was standing there apologizing... to Patti -- for "letting a patient interrupt her"... (I heard Patti fire her later when I was leaving).

Patti suspected meningitis, and she was worried that we had waited too long to come in. Apparently, one of the warning signs of a child having meningitis can be a swollen and/or discolored eyelid, and as she told the nurse, "it's one of the true pediatric emergencies" and that the nurse should have known that.

She ran with Jake back to an examining room and after checking him, pulled me into another room.

I used to make mud pies with Patti in our back yard when we were kids. We were perhaps five (me) and seven (her) and we would make these elaborate pies and try to figure out a way to con the boys into buying one. Never in my life could I have imagined that one day I would be sitting across from her as she explained to me that she was going to have to do a spinal tap on my child, and that there was the possibility that she could hurt him -- and that the possibility meant she had to explain to me that she could cause him to be paralyzed or have brain damage or any number of things. Or even die. She didn't believe it would happen, but she felt sure that the meningitis was too far along and she needed that spinal tap now -- there wasn't enough time for them to order it at the emergency room.

The world lost focus while she talked. Everything went hazy, and the sound traveled for miles and miles before it reached my brain. My baby. My baby was screaming in the other room and I had to give permission to my friend to put a big needle into his back, draw spinal fluid, and possibly hurt him permanently. How was I supposed to think in a moment like that?

I couldn't. I called Carl to tell him what was going on, and he was out of his mind with fear -- because he didn't know Patti the way I did, and he didn't have that same level of trust, and he was out of town and could hear Jake's screams from the other room over my phone.

They wouldn't let me in the examination room when they did the spinal tap. When I was anywhere near him, he would wrench away from everyone with such force trying to get to me, it took four of them to hold him, and Patti needed him absolutely still.

I died out in that hallway, hearing him scream with such force.

Patti came out, handed me the spinal tap container and said, "You have to go to the pediatric emergency entrance at the Lake. It's on the second floor -- DO NOT stop to go to admitting or anywhere else, and don't let anyone slow you down. Look, Toni, run red lights -- just get there as soon as you can. We don't have time to get an ambulence here to get you and bring you. Do you understand?"

I nodded. I carried Jake, who was sobbing and still burning with fever. Eight-year-old Luke -- in shock, I am sure -- carried the spinal tap container with the full appreciation of how careful he had to be.

I ran red lights. I had my flashers on, and someone had handed me a white handkerchief on my way out of the doctor's office, and I would wave that and honk the horn and people would get out of my way. I made it there in stunning record time and we ran to the pediatric emergency entrance.

Patti had called ahead, and they were waiting for us. They grabbed Jake, they grabbed the spinal tap container from Luke and ran. One of the doctors there ran out to me and said, "Look -- we're pretty sure it's meningitis -- the question is only if it crossed the blood/brain barrier and if so, by how much. We'll know how brain damaged he's going to be when we get that report back. Meanwhile, we've got to start an IV in him -- we're going to give him the strongest antibiotic there is in a drip to stop it wherever it is. Do you understand?"

how brain damanged... floated around me, spinning, spinning, and I nodded. how brain damaged...

I had called my parents when I had left the house for Patti's... and Carl called them back to tell them about the spinal tap and me having to hurry to the emergency room. My dad had left work right then and gotten there just a second or two after the doctor explained the need for the IV, and the nurse came out to tell me they couldn't get an IV in Jake -- that he was screaming so hard and wrenching himself away from them so much, they had decided that if I was there, holding him down, maybe that would work. Dad came to the back with me (and I think poor Luke was back there, too, because I had nowhere to leave him) and I honestly think if Dad hadn't been there, we wouldn't have gotten that IV in. Dad -- 6'2" and extremely strong -- had to take all of his strength to hold Jake down and calm him, as I was trying to do.

We got the IV in, they started the antibiotic drip, and we had to wait for the report to come back. We were moved to a room, and it seems like I had been there for a lifetime, watching the too-still body of my exhausted, sick child swallowed in this huge hospital bed, when the doctor finally came in.

It was definitely meningitis. And of the two bacterial types, it was the worst one -- the most aggressive. Had he been younger, the doctor said, he probably wouldn't have made it through the night. But at four, his body's immune system was stronger, and that was the only thing that had given him a fighting chance with this particular bacteria. It hadn't crossed the blood/brain barrier at the back of the eye. It was right at the barrier -- and he showed me some MRI scan they had done apparently when we first arrived, pointing out the infection and where it was and where the barrier was, and my god, it was not hardly a splinter of an inch away from permanent damage.

"It's lucky you came in when you did," he said. "Another few minutes, and it would have crossed over and there's no telling what kind of damage it would have done."

I suddnely thought of how intimidated I had been by that nurse, and how I had almost waited. I shook. I shook so hard, I couldn't even speak clearly to Carl on the phone -- I think Dad had to take the phone and explain it to him. We were in the hospital for four days, and not until late into the third did Jake start perking up and acting like a normal boy again.

It's amazing, really, when you make it through these things and you wonder how on earth you did. I write this tonight while Jake is out at his senior prom. He told me before he left that they weren't meeting up with one particular friend since he'd been bragging all week about how drunk he was going to get, and Jake didn't want to be anywhere around it. His girlfriend's cell phone accidentally dialed here a little while ago, and I couldn't figure out who it was or what was going on, until I heard them all laughing -- they seemed like they were having a good time (and sounded sober, yay). What can you do? As a mom, sometimes nothing. Sometimes, run like hell to beat the odds. Most of the time, it's somewhere in the middle with no real map. But it's very very nice to have others on this same path writing into the night, sending out their stories into the electric mist. It reminds me I am not alone.

Jake and Elise, taken in our backyard just before their prom.

exactly

Allison makes a point here about how most people who are "for" Kerry seem to be mostly about being against Bush. Which, I suppose, is as legitimate a stance as anything, but I wish someone could make a list of what Kerry has done with the opportunities he's had in Congress that would make me believe in him or think he had introduced legislature of a significant value to -- if not us all -- at least his constituents. And so far, I haven't really seen that. (I have seen campaign promises... I'm really talking more about actual actions, stances the man has taken.)

alive (well, sort of)

Just in case you ever think you might possibly be coming down with something, but you're not sure, I've made a handy little checklist for you:

If it's 72 degrees outside, and you dig out the little space heater and prop it to where it's on full blast from one foot away, you might be a little sick.

If it feels like someone stuffed a piece of cotton the size of Texas into your brain with another Alaskan-sized section up your nose? It's possible you're coming down with something.

If someone asks you your name and you have to think about it a moment, you might really not be feeling so well.

If you can't remember how to pronounce it, maybe you should lie down.

If you're lying down and you get up to go to the bathroom and "up" starts spinning and you wonder who put the rollercoaser in your bedroom? Probably, you're not doing so great.

If you make it to the bathroom and then forget which room you're in and why, or how to get back to your bed? You're pretty much toast.

If you do all the above and still get up and sit at the computer to do your taxes? You're officially brain dead and should just be put out of your misery.

It's been an interesting week. What I remember of it. I still have some sort of inner ear infection. If I sit still and don't move too much, nothing spins or tilts out of control. The antibiotics are working, I think, because the spinning is less. I did manage to finish the tax return (and on time). Only, I discovered I entered one thing wrong (I reversed two numbers). I have always had a bit of dyslexia with numbers, and I typically double and triple check everything, and I still missed this. I'm trying not to freak out about it (I had already mailed the return), but I am secretly freaking out, because I should have paid a little more in taxes. It's not a huge difference, but I'm in the middle of finishing an audit with the IRS, and I definitely don't want to repeat the process for another year. I'm going to my CPA tomorrow and asking her if I need to amend this return (a sure-fire way to trigger and audit, though, is to amend the return.)

oh, the joy

Fever. Chills. Taxes. Can anyone have any more fun in one day? I think not.

I have photos from the crawfish boil we had this weekend out at my parent's fishing camp on the lake. Gorgeous day, much fun. Will put them up sometime later this evening.

just exactly who thinks this is a good thing?

So Cheney is travelling to China to encourage them to buy nuclear reactors from the US... so we can create a bunch of jobs, while giving the Chinese a better way to generate electricity rather than polluting with coal burning plants.

One official says he's concrened, because:

Citing recent Chinese plans to help Pakistan build two large reactors that are capable of producing plutonium, he [Henry Sokolski, executive director of the Nonproliferation Policy Education Center] said it is not the time for China to be rewarded with new reactor technology.

Ya think? I'm sure this is part of Bush's ultra special job creation program: teach a huge country everything they need to know to blow us up completely. We'll have tons of jobs and no need to worry about those pesky retirement benefits. So he'll create jobs and solve the budget crisis in one big, er, bang.

And then there's the US official response:

U.S. officials said the Chinese have given adequate assurances that such sales will not pose a proliferation risk.

Right. Because gosh, since we're all on the honor code here and no one ever breaks the honor code, there's really nothing to worry about.

I'm sure Cheney will make them pinky swear and spit just to be extra careful.

hmmm.

Should I be concerned if I'm thinking about a character, thoroughly certain that X is what's going on with her when I hear her distinct voice / diction in my head informing me that no way in hell that that's what's going on, it's this other way, and could I please pay attention?

Yeah. I thought so.

the (ahem) "mommy" club

When I read Lizbeth's "oops" entry, I remembered all too well doing the same sort of thing. And the daylights savings times were always a royal pain in the ass, but there were other times that I probably should have been nominated "bad mommy" or something.

I swear, I would try to be a good mom. Really. But with two small kids and helping to run a company and going back to school full-time, I had precious little time to get any actual writing done, and given that's what the degree program was for, it was sort of essential. Besides, I lived to write, so carving out a few hours here or there was as necessary as breathing. When Jake was about two, I found a "mommy's day out" program not far from where we lived, and it was bliss -- I had five hours, two days a week to write. I loved having the kids, loved being able to work from home with the construction company stuff and the writing so I could do more with them... but I think I was always the very first person in line to drop Jake off in the morning, and the very last mommy to show up in the afternoon.

The writing kept me sane. (Sort of. Are any writers really sane?) I would get to the story and while it might take me a while to get revved up, to really get back into the zone, once I was there, I would lose all track of the real world. It was amazing, how productive those hours were, how in the zone I was. One day, I had been at if for a while, and the phone rang. First of all, I almost never hear the phone when it rings when I'm writing unless there happens to be a phone in the scene I'm working on, because I am that focused. Even if the phone is near my ear, I won't usually notice it, but I happened to be wrapping up a scene and when it rang for probably the fourth or fifth time, I sort of "came out of" the writing-coma-zone I had been in and answered it... I wasn't entirely "out" of the zone, because I said, "Hullo?" and a woman who seemed to know who I was started speaking, and said, "Toni? Are you still writing?"

Wow, a total stranger knew I was a writer, and while this should have tipped me off that something wasn't quite gelling in my head, I was still staring at the screen, already half-way immersed in the next scene. I think I mumbled a "yes" and then she asked, "Well, we were just wondering when you were going to come pick up Jake?"

I swear to God, my first reaction was to look at the scene and scan all the characters' names and think, "there's no Jake in here," and I said, "Jake who?"

There was a moment of silence. She said, "Um... Jake... you know... your son?"

I said,"Oh," still looking at the screen, and then it hit me... OH! Shit!

I looked at the time... they were supposed to have closed three hours ago and had tried to call a couple of times. She said they figured I was writing and they were enjoying him (he was such a fun kid), but they really had to go home now, so could I come get him.

I. Was. Mortified. It wasn't bad enough that I had forgotten him, but they heard me say, "Jake who?" Geez.

Yeah, I should be getting that mommy of the year award soon.

When Jake was in pre-K and then the next year in Kindergarten, he was a rather stubborn creature. It was incredibly hard sometimes to get him to do something he didn't want to do unless he could see a real reason for it, and there are just so many times you want to bang your head against a wall... and sure, technically, kids are supposed to do what the parent says just because they say so (does that actually ever work?)... but this kid? Nope. And rewards or punishment made no difference.

However... he was highly motivated by empathy and if he thought he might be hurting someone else, then he would do whatever it was you asked.

Okay, I am evil. I will admit it. I was having a particularly difficult time getting Jake to do something necessary that he flat didn't want to do, and I was exhausted and just needed to get him finished, and without really thinking about the psychological ramifications, right there on the spot, I made up the "mommy" club. And (here's the evil part), told him that if he didn't do that thing, I would be kicked out of the mommy club because "they" would think I was a bad mommy.

Poor little guy's eyes got as round as volleyballs, and he very meekly went and did whatever it was that I wanted, and I was just so freaking relieved to not have a battle on my hands for the one millionth time, I didn't think much about it.

Every once-in-a-while, though, we'd hit another stubborn streak and then he would say, "but I don't want you to get kicked out of the mommy club" in a little sweet voice, like a matyr going to the flames, and he'd go do whatever it was that was frustrating me.

When he was seven, he was over at his best friend's house. Thomas' mom and I had become extremely good friends, and she knew my abberant character pretty well... but when Thomas did something wrong and Jake said, "Oh, you can't do that! Your mom will get kicked out of the mommy club!" she said, "The what?" When he explained, she thought he was joking, and she exclaimed, "There's no such thing as the mommy club!"

Talk about having a good thing completely torpedoed.

He came home, looked me squarely in the eye, his little hands on his hips and said, "Mommy. There is NOT a mommy club."

And did I cop to it and apologize like a good mom?

Of course not. I said, "Miss Lisa just doesn't know about it, Jake, because only the really good mommies get in."

So, yes, I am definitely going to hell.

He's seventeen now, and no apparent scaring. Although he didn't keep buying that mommy club thing for much longer... but man, it was so nice when he did.

end-of-the-world

Y'all, the world is going to be coming to an abrupt end pretty soon. I just thought you should know in case you need to wrap up anything you're busy with right now. I'm helpful that way.

How do I know this, you might ask? Well, two things have happened recently which have never, ever happened before and as such, are signs of the impending apocalypse. Seriously.

First, Luke got registered for the next semester of college... early. Now this may not sound like that big of a deal to any of you, but this child has made it an art form to scoot into registration at the last possible second with big puppy-dog eyes, hammering away at the computer, trying to beat the clock before the registration shuts down, barely getting four classes (12 hours) lined up. And it's never the right four classes because of course, all of the things he needs are already full, so he knows he's going to have to spend a week dropping and adding classes like a frantic little squirrel storing nuts for winter when there's already a blizzard blowing around.

All of this effort is usually for NOTHING because without fail, he will next be purged from the computer system. For. No. Apparent. Reason. First semester, purged. Fought all week long with the registrar's office, who finally concluded that he was "accidentally" purged and they added him back. Second semester, purged. I think because he has green eyes. That made about as much sense as what they ended up telling him. Next semester after that, he actually registered before the very last minute, and checked with the registrar's office, made sure that there was absolutely nothing he needed to do, no reason whatsoever that he was going to be purged.

He was purged. Next semester, he bought lucky shorts, found a four leaf clover, lit candles. Purged. Semester after that? Voodoo, something with a chicken I don't even want to describe. Purged. Next semester, he thought he'd fool the whole system by changing universities. Brand spanking new place. New computer system, totally unrelated to the other one. Purged. I stopped him from sacrificing small children, since it wasn't going to help. But this time? He registered early. And wasn't purged. (So far.) The world is ending.

The second event was so unpredictable, I was rendered speechless. Speechless, people. Me. Doesn't ever happen.

Carl went to the dermatologist and had to wait a while, and had several magazines to choose from -- something about mechanics, golf, business... and Redbook. He picked up the Redbook. (I swear, if we had earthquakes here, half of Louisiana would have fallen into the Gulf.) He explained to me later at dinner how Redbook used to be so conservative, but now on every magazine cover, they were advertising articles on sex... particularly they have a feature running which claims to explain a new sexual position every month. (He wasn't impressed with what they'd had so far.) There were quizzes in there -- he took them. There were articles on bras and their proper fit, people, and he read them. This is a man who will rubberneck a backhoe and nearly cause a wreck but is totally oblivious to a pretty woman walking by (which I've seen happen when he didn't know I was around)... this is a man who has whole tool catalogs memorized, who looks like a little kid with the Sears Christmas Book every time a new, updated tool catalog comes in, who has more tools than God, and he read the whole magazine. And liked it. And then suggested we should get a subscription.

I think my head flew off my shoulders right then.

So just providing a community service here... wrap up your work, hug someone you love, because I'm pretty sure the entire planet's going to explode by tomorrow.

strawberry festival

Oops, that "pictures will be up in a few minutes" turned into a day.

Every year in April, a tiny little town east of Baton Rouge hosts the Louisiana Strawberry Festival. Now, Louisiana will have a festival at the drop of a hat. In fact, I think there is a hat-dropping festival somewhere. Give us any excuse to party, to goof off, to drink? We are there. The little town of Ponchatoula revived itself a decade or so ago by creating an "antique" district -- where turn-of-the-century buildings on the main street have everything you may want. (An aside -- here's my collection of antique French drip enamel coffee pots... some are from family, but many were found in Ponchatoula. And that antique washing machine was also a find there.)

What Ponchatoula and nearby Hammond (a larger city) are well-known for are their gorgeous strawberries:

Biting into one of these is heaven, pure and juicy. Our grocery stores import California strawberries during the off season, but there just isn't anything like home-grown. My grandfather used to be one of the strawberry growers, and some of my happiest memories are going out to his farm, picking strawberries and eating them sliced (with a sprinkle of sugar) until my hands were stained red and I could barely move from the satisfaction. My mom would bring home several flats and spend an evening stemming, slicing and then freezing them so we would have them year 'round. Whenever I would get sick, I'd eat the frozen strawberries straight -- still frozen, like a popsicle and it would always make me feel better.

I had forgotten how incredibly crowded festivals can be -- everywhere you looked, people. Hundreds of thousands according to the official website, which I would have said was a complete exaggeration, had I not been there. (See the photos on that link above for some of the crowd scenes.) I think the thing which surprised me most were the hundreds of Harley motorcycles. I don't know if it was some huge club which traveled together or just a gorgeous day for a ride, but there was a veritable sea of motorcycles near downtown. I forgot to grab the camera for that sight, but this one cracked me up -- this guy had obviously already had enough, and we were only half-way through the day:

We mostly went to hear our oldest son, Luke, play (drums). He has a three-man band / group, which was short one man (the singer) who, for reasons no one is really clear on, never came home from a date the night before, even though he was the guy who set up the gig. The guitar player had dragged himself in at six that morning, and was still a little buzzed by noon when they were playing, but even with two strikes against them, they acquitted themselves nicely and the crowd seemed to enjoy them -- many people stopped to listen and cheer.

and

We had a lot of fun and on the way home, stopped by a couple of places to pick up more plants for the front yard... so I'll be planting soon.

the not-fern

Just to show you I am not completely crazy (hush), here's a photo of the fern-that-isn't:

This is what a baby Golden Rain tree looks like. I pulled all of these little monsters out of my front beds yesterday and lost count after 200.

We spent the day at the strawberry festival (I'll post those photos next entry) -- we went mostly to listen to Luke play (drums); they were the opening act. On the way home, we stopped at a couple of gardening centers to get some things we needed -- hoses, bedding plants, etc. I'm still planning on getting more of the althea ferns, hostas and grasses from the nursery (out-of-town) because I can get that wholesale (contractor's license allows for that); I'm hoping to send Luke there next week.

More photos up in a few minutes.

weeding

There's something immensely satisfying about weeding. (If my dad saw that sentence, he would have a stroke, since as a kid, I could not have told you where the back yard was, much less how to weed anything.) Of course, lest I sound like earth mother or something, that sort of satisfaction is one of those things that, for me, a little goes a long way.

I woke up this morning at 5 with a headache-from-hell. To the point where I was apparently writhing in agony and woke Carl up. He tried to help (massaging a couple of pressure points in my neck usually helps, but not much this morning), and so I simply could not face the computer today.

Instead, I weeded the front beds, enjoying my new yellow tea rose bushes (I'll take photos tomorrow) and the daffodils still blooming. I had all of these new little baby fern looking things sprouting up, which surprised me since I hadn't planted anything like that... I intended to buy a few althea ferns (like wood ferns), but was thinking, "ooh, cool... I don't have to buy any since all of these are growing now."

Which begged the question, where did they come from? My first thought was that they had been seeds mixed in the soil we'd just brought in to build the beds. Then my neighbor drove up and I tagged him to come over -- he speaks "master gardener" and I pointed to the "ferns' and said, "Um, David, this is probably a dumb question, but are these ferns?"

He laughed.

Turns out they are the seedlings from a golden rain tree he has in his yard -- which has a fern-like leaf. I had carefully weeded all around all of those "ferns" today, because I was so pleased to have ferns. And now I am going to have to go out there tomorrow and pull all of those damn baby trees, because there are like, one billion of them in my beds. Grrr.

So, now it's back to plan A, buying the ferns I want to fill in between the shrubs. I wants ferns, some hostas, and some various grasses -- wide-bladed and reedy-bladed, for variation in the beds. Then I'll finish it with bedding plants and take photos. And next, on to the back yard, which looks horrid right now.

On a side note, I am about finished with the tax audit information I had to prepare (which I haven't discussed yet on this site -- that's a horror story for another day)... and next week, will do the actual taxes and bring that to the CPA. At that point, I think I will get my actual life back -- my writing life. I have been writing in bits and pieces around all of the other work, but I cannot function like that for long -- I am used to having set projects and getting them finished in a set frame of time... not dribbling them out over months and months. Must get back to writing or go nuts, you know? Well, if you're a writer or an artist, you know.

random

Okay, I like to snack on cheese crackers. Am up with the Goldfish love. But just had the Cheese Nips four cheese cracker. This stuff is crack. I could eat the whole box.