Limping to the finish

I remember this day, sitting in Ben's piano teacher's duplex. She lives alone with her two cats. I thought, "I could handle this."

And I'm not a cat person. At all. I suppose that says something about my state of mind on that particular day. Other days, I'll see a retired person and think longingly that I could really dig having all that freedom.

There are certain times when I just long for alone time. I guess when I start to wish I could trade places with a single person or sacrifice a couple decades of my life to join the over-60 set, it's time to take a little breather.

I had to do just that yesterday. Do you ever have one of those days when your kids just embarrass you?

When we were kids, we regularly visited my mom's side of the family in Chicago. My mom recalls the well-dressed women of Chicago and the twinge of embarrassment she felt encountering them on an elevator, my mom and dad with their motley crew of four disheveled children.

We went to church and then out to breakfast with Mark's parents, and I felt just like mom used to feel. Paul and Gus are badly in need of haircuts. Ben had bedhead, and he was wearing the frown that he seems to wear perpetually these days. All of the boys' pants are too short because it's the end of the season, but I'm too stubborn to buy new ones. They'll be in shorts soon, right? Right?!?!

The boys were okay at church, or as okay as we ever are. At breakfast, Gus was a little noisy and restless, but not too bad, not too far out of the norm. But back at Mark's parents', things took a turn for the worse.

The boys were loud and obnoxious. They had a clear case of spring fever. "Go play downstairs," I urged them, so the adults could visit for a little bit.

"Nah, we want to stay up here," they said.

I thought things had improved when they all started to play a game together, but that quickly devolved into them throwing the pieces at one another. And then that quickly devolved into my least favorite activity: grab-ass. That's when the boys just can't keep their hands off one another. This session of grab-ass ended with my boys just lying on top of one another. We cut the visit there. Time to go.

In the car, I was furious, embarrassed, and annoyed. It didn't feel like too much to ask. Just occupy yourselves for a little while.

At home, I was having a hard time shaking off my irritation. I wanted to take advantage of the warmer weather, go for an afternoon run. But it was hard to even make myself do that. I looked out the window as the wind blew. Awfully windy for a run, I whined to myself.

I decided to go anyway, I pounded the pavement for a few miles, no music, just trying to get some endorphins going, clear my thoughts and improve my mood. It worked. I felt better by the time I got home.

January through March is by far my least favorite time of year. It's fitting that my lousy day went down on a day late in March. I'm in the last mile of long race.

This has been a long, hard season. We've had setbacks big and small. The weather's been abysmal. Heck, we had zero-degree wind chills less than a week ago.

I know that when the calendar flips to April tomorrow, everything will just magically improve, a Wizard of Oz-like transformation.

Until then, though, I'll have to tough it out for one more day. This morning Paul, woke up at 4:30 and vomited, and despite his malaise, he and Gus are bickering. Here we go again. Is it tomorrow yet?

Thank God it's Wednesday

When I received a mailing about Gus's 4K schedule last spring, I immediately noticed that every other Wednesday, concurrent with the district late start days, Gus would have a day off of school. I rolled my eyes – that seems excessive.

Little did I know. I have come to love every other Wednesday off. For me, it's a nice break from rushing to get Gus to school (amazing how it's always a rush) and leaving the house early to get a parking space when I pick him up. For him, it's just a nice break – a whole day to play freely. We could hit the gymnastics center or the library or simply spend a day together at home.

More than any of that, though, I see this extra time with Gus as a gift. I'm feeling acutely how the year, our last year at home together (sob), is flying past. This may feel like the winter that never ends, but it's the end of March. Just two full months remain in the school year. And then it's just a quick slide to the big K.

It took four years or so of Gus's life to get to the sweet spot. The first four were work, just really hard work. The past year and a half, though, my boy has blossomed into someone I genuinely enjoy having around. 

Gus has developed so many interests that we can share. We may choose to challenge ourselves with a 150-piece puzzle, build Angry Birds towers for each other to destroy, take up some markers and draw, or play a game of Zingo. 

When I began staying home with my kids, it felt like the time would just stretch on indefinitely. Amazing how almost nine years can just vanish. Here I sit at the almost-end of the line. Everything is about to change.

This morning I saw a job posting, one that looked like a great fit for me. Part of me wanted to pounce on it, but in the end, I decided I'm not quite ready. 

For now I'll savor my mornings and my every other Wednesdays with my sweet Gus. The boys and I will have a blast together this summer. After that, your guess is as good as mine. What I wouldn't give to know what I'll be doing next year at this time. But now, now it's time to play.

Closer I am to fine

"How are you doing?" my neighbor in yoga class asked a couple weeks ago. 

"Fine!" I chirped. "Doing well!"

I wasn't fine. I've been down-dogging next to this friendly acquaintance for a couple years now, but still I didn't feel comfortable telling her how I was really doing.

"Well, my son had a seizure a couple days ago, and the truth is, I'm kind of a mess."

I felt wildly disingenuous uttering my false words of cheer. Yet I wasn't comfortable going the other way. Unburdening myself with my tales of woe did not seem like the best lead-in to a yoga class partly intended to clear the mind.

It struck me as funny afterward how often we ask one another how we're doing and how infrequently we answer with the truth. It's like some kind of verbal tic. We ask and answer and unthinkingly.

Nearly three weeks have passed since the morning of Paul's seizure. That first week, I was tense with worry, part of me always on the lookout for another seizure. Our schedule was a little out of whack due to Paul's midweek sleep deprivation EEG. I was weary and snapping at everyone - even more than usual. And I can be pretty snappy.

I felt a little better after Paul's test had passed, so sure was I that it would show nothing. When we got the results back the following Monday, my worry returned full force. We received word that the EEG had come back abnormal with a note that the doctor wanted Paul to see a pediatric neurologist ASAP. We were able to learn little else that day. I tried to set up an appointment with the neurologist but was stymied there as well.

It wasn't until the next day, when Mark obtained a copy of the EEG report, that a little relief came. Based on the EEG, the report states that Paul may have a condition called Benign Rolandic Epilepsy. It's often characterized by seizures that occur during sleep. The good news is that most kids outgrow the condition by their teen years.

I began to feel a little better again, but still I wanted that appointment scheduled, wanted our questions answered. That process would drag on a bit, I would learn, when at the end of last week we were informed that the neurologist would review Paul's case and call us to schedule an appointment in a week or two. Not the news I wanted.

Even after a huge challenge has been dropped on you, life doesn't stop throwing hurdles your way. In the wake of Paul's seizure Ben was out of sorts with a combination of worry for his brother and jealousy of all the special treatment Paul was receiving. Add to that a report here and there of a difficult day at school for Gus. I think I've developed at least three new knots in my back these past few weeks.

I have to say, though, in spite of it all, I'm amazed that we're holding it together relatively well. I've been anxious my whole life, imagining scenarios, telling myself I could never handle it if something terrible happened. Then something pretty terrible did happen, and we're okay. Perhaps I'm stronger than I knew.

Things are beginning to look up. Paul continues to do well. We finally got that appointment scheduled for early April. It's not as soon as I would like, but then again, it could have been late April rather than early.

With each passing day, I get closer to fine. I think one day soon, I just may be able to tell my yoga mat neighbor that we're doing well. And mean it.