With all due respect to T.S. Eliot, I think he was wrong. January definitely is the cruelest month. Could this month feel any longer? It's true that after the, ahem, challenging holiday season we had, I was more than ready to bid it farewell and to welcome a new year. But now I'm feeling the winter doldrums in a major way. That all-too-familiar cooped-up feeling has taken over my days. It's cold. It's dark. My days and weeks seem to stretch on endlessly.
January has brought out my sourest moods. Everything seems worse than it is. January has made Gus's normal toddler highs and lows look to me like I have a little Jekyll/Hyde on my hands. Paul's whining feels like it's reaching epic proportions. I feel like I may scream if I have to break up one more fight between my eldest two boys. I've been a stay-at-home mom for four years now. I know this - January through March - is the most challenging time of the year. January makes me feel like I'm just slogging through life. Every little place we go takes extra time and planning - all that winter gear. Filthy, salt-covered cars wiping up against clean coats. Dry, chapped hands. Sickness, sickness, sickness. OK, I'm done.
Now, I know that this will pass. I look back on, say, last January, and it feels like it was just yesterday. I also know that these difficult times make the more pleasant times, like the first taste of spring, all the sweeter. So I will focus on that and try not to be such a grump.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Goodbye, Kate from Wisconsin
Charlotte, Natalie, Jillian, Maureen. These were just some of the names I considered for the daughter I would have some day. I love the name Kate. Maybe I would name my girl Kathryn Rose and call her Kate.
One day last spring, we were at Memorial Park in Appleton. I was playing with one of the boys when an adorable little girl about 4 years old approached. "Hello, my name is Kate, and I'm from Wisconsin," she said, adorably, of course. This little incident resonated with me. Briefly, irrationally, I thought maybe it was a sign that we should try one more time for a girl.
Yeah, at times I've been a little obsessed with the idea of having a daughter. I compulsively watch the gender patterns of other people's families. Maybe we could be like so-and-so - they had two boys and then a girl, I thought before Gus. Or maybe if we went for it again, we could be like my cousin and her husband - three boys and finally a girl, I'll think. Maybe.
Who knows what the fates would give us. I know that in reality, when it comes to a baby's sex, it's most likely a 50-50 shake, but that's not really the point. The point is what you do with what you get. I have three beautiful, healthy, creative, smart boys. I have been blessed richly. Yes, when I see someone else's little girl in her tights and Mary Janes, sometimes I still get jealous, and maybe that never will change. But when I think about, really think about, all I have, I am filled to the brim with a sense of well-being. I'm happy with where I am, with my trio of boys.
We saw Garrison Keillor last winter. He had this line that I thought was great. I won't be able to repeat it as eloquently as Mr. Keillor, but I'll try. He said in life you can wish and wish and wish for something and then suddenly one day you realize that what you want is exactly what you have. And so it is. Goodbye, Kate from Wisconsin.
One day last spring, we were at Memorial Park in Appleton. I was playing with one of the boys when an adorable little girl about 4 years old approached. "Hello, my name is Kate, and I'm from Wisconsin," she said, adorably, of course. This little incident resonated with me. Briefly, irrationally, I thought maybe it was a sign that we should try one more time for a girl.
Yeah, at times I've been a little obsessed with the idea of having a daughter. I compulsively watch the gender patterns of other people's families. Maybe we could be like so-and-so - they had two boys and then a girl, I thought before Gus. Or maybe if we went for it again, we could be like my cousin and her husband - three boys and finally a girl, I'll think. Maybe.
Who knows what the fates would give us. I know that in reality, when it comes to a baby's sex, it's most likely a 50-50 shake, but that's not really the point. The point is what you do with what you get. I have three beautiful, healthy, creative, smart boys. I have been blessed richly. Yes, when I see someone else's little girl in her tights and Mary Janes, sometimes I still get jealous, and maybe that never will change. But when I think about, really think about, all I have, I am filled to the brim with a sense of well-being. I'm happy with where I am, with my trio of boys.
We saw Garrison Keillor last winter. He had this line that I thought was great. I won't be able to repeat it as eloquently as Mr. Keillor, but I'll try. He said in life you can wish and wish and wish for something and then suddenly one day you realize that what you want is exactly what you have. And so it is. Goodbye, Kate from Wisconsin.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Christmas curse
You would think that after three Christmases of Ben getting sick for the big day, I would have just expected it this year. Further, you might argue that when in the middle of church on Christmas Eve Ben decided that he needed to lie down on the pew and then, looking ashen, left with his Grandpa Ceman to get a drink of water, I really should have known something bad was about to happen. But no, I chose to be an optimist. Or willfully ignorant, one or the other. "Wait!" I should have screamed. "Skip the bubbler! Get him to a bathroom, quick!" But no, I just sat there. And needless to say, Ben puked in the hallway. At church. On Christmas Eve.
It hardly seemed real, the possibility that Ben could get sick yet again. When Ben, and then the rest of us, got H1N1 in the fall, I told myself, "OK, at least we're getting this over with now, so maybe we won't get sick at Christmas again." How naive. Awful as this bit of bad luck was, the illness passed quickly, and Ben was feeling quite a bit better by Christmas night. Things were looking good. No one else had fallen ill. Again, naive. Paul got sick two nights later, appearing in our room, not comprehending the situation, asking why Ben had thrown up in his bed. The next day, we had to make a call about bringing him to Mark's parents' for the Thiel family gathering the following day. We ended up deciding to bring him for a couple hours, which would prove to be a terrible decision. Nearly everyone there fell ill within a few days.
Soon it was time to make another decision. We were to leave for a three-day trip to Chicago. Mark, Gus and I had yet to get sick. We were feeling fine, and Paul was on the mend. Besides, we had an anniversary dinner planned for my parents' 40th, and we were loathe to cancel. Again, bad decision. Gus got sick our first evening there. The poor boy didn't know what was happening to him. He was terrified and scarcely slept that night. Worse, Mark soon got sick, and hours later it caught up to me. That night, I can say, was the most hellish of my life. Running through the possible worst-case scenarios in our minds, this one, somehow, had escaped us.
Yes, this Christmas was not the kind they sing about in idyllic carols. In fact, truth be told, it was heavy on stress and anxiety and a little light on merriment, at least for me. And yet, looking back, I feel lucky. When we needed help, our families were there to help us, gladly. The day Mark and I were recovering in Chicago, my dad held Gus all day while he and Mark and I caught up on sleep. My mom and Aunt Sue took Ben and Paul to the Museum of Science and Industry and spoiled them rotten. And, yes, nearly everyone with us in Chicago got sick eventually, too. They helped us knowing they probably would. Now that's a gift.
It hardly seemed real, the possibility that Ben could get sick yet again. When Ben, and then the rest of us, got H1N1 in the fall, I told myself, "OK, at least we're getting this over with now, so maybe we won't get sick at Christmas again." How naive. Awful as this bit of bad luck was, the illness passed quickly, and Ben was feeling quite a bit better by Christmas night. Things were looking good. No one else had fallen ill. Again, naive. Paul got sick two nights later, appearing in our room, not comprehending the situation, asking why Ben had thrown up in his bed. The next day, we had to make a call about bringing him to Mark's parents' for the Thiel family gathering the following day. We ended up deciding to bring him for a couple hours, which would prove to be a terrible decision. Nearly everyone there fell ill within a few days.
Soon it was time to make another decision. We were to leave for a three-day trip to Chicago. Mark, Gus and I had yet to get sick. We were feeling fine, and Paul was on the mend. Besides, we had an anniversary dinner planned for my parents' 40th, and we were loathe to cancel. Again, bad decision. Gus got sick our first evening there. The poor boy didn't know what was happening to him. He was terrified and scarcely slept that night. Worse, Mark soon got sick, and hours later it caught up to me. That night, I can say, was the most hellish of my life. Running through the possible worst-case scenarios in our minds, this one, somehow, had escaped us.
Yes, this Christmas was not the kind they sing about in idyllic carols. In fact, truth be told, it was heavy on stress and anxiety and a little light on merriment, at least for me. And yet, looking back, I feel lucky. When we needed help, our families were there to help us, gladly. The day Mark and I were recovering in Chicago, my dad held Gus all day while he and Mark and I caught up on sleep. My mom and Aunt Sue took Ben and Paul to the Museum of Science and Industry and spoiled them rotten. And, yes, nearly everyone with us in Chicago got sick eventually, too. They helped us knowing they probably would. Now that's a gift.
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