"Mom, do you know any super, smart-smart people?"
"Um....other than me and D?"
(Don't judge me. I still get away with "Because I'm a mom and I know everything.")
"Moooooom, no! Someone super, super, SUPER smart!"
(Well, that answers that question. We're talking serious smart, here, not garden-variety parent smart.)
"I have some uncles who are pretty smart. Why?"
"Because I need someone who can build me a machine to transport me inside a video game."
Me, thinking: "Darn it, Tron."
D, piping up: "Why?"
"So I can be a Pokemon trainer."
It's several days later and the job is still open. He's still asking, too. Don't destroy my little boy's dreams now, people. There's GOT to be someone that smart around.
My slightly-insane life and times
9/24/10
Faux Pas
Email is a delightful thing to me. It avoids the need for personal contact, and allows me the ability to carefully compose my thoughts before presenting them to someone. Because I tend to say whatever disorganized things come to mind, and then I get flustered. Yes, I'm easily flustered. So I love email.
But I hate HATE HATE the "reply all" function. Yes, it can be useful. Once in a blue moon. Or more likely, NEVER.
Case in point: my son's 2nd grade teacher is a kind, sweet, quiet young lady (meaning she's probably my age) who has a tough, tough job. She has to spend 5 days a week wrestling a classroom of 20+ 7- and 8-year-olds into submission whilst attempting to teach them something so their parents (who should be spending more time teaching their kids themselves) don't get pissy and so she doesn't lose her underpaid, overworked, and all-around unenviable job.
So when she sends an email to her second grade class that goes like this:
Dear Parents,
We have earned our 100 marble celebration and we are having a “Moon Party!” The students can bring a pillow, stuffed animal and a flashlight only! Please DO NOT send them in pajamas and do NOT send blankets
Thank you so much!
I don't think too much of it other than "well, that's one more thing for me to remember in the morning." My kid gets excited because he gets a break from the endless rounds of teaching-to-the-test (disclaimer: she is a very creative teacher at a very good school and he loves it). The teacher gets a much-needed break where she just has to chivvy kids into behaving, as opposed to doing that while teaching them how to read. The event is curriculum-pertinent (their entire school is learning about the solar system). And I'm all about appropriate rewards for hardwork. Meaning I love my days at work where I do nothing but study and chat with my fellow residents.
So when some untypeable-expletive of a parent REPLIES TO ALL with this:
"Crowded classrooms and half-day sessions are a tragic waste of our greatest national resource - the minds of our children. "-Walt Disney
I got a little...irritated.
Hence my blog. I really wanted to reply to all with some choice swear words about people who reply to all. But that's just being facetious.
I felt really bad for his teacher, though. People are rude. If I had been that teacher, I probably would have cried.
Ok, let's be honest, I would have done exactly what I did - read: nothing - and turned the air blue with irritated comments and screeches. And then replied to all. Because that particular email function happens to be a tragic waste of my greatest resource.
My freaking time.
But I hate HATE HATE the "reply all" function. Yes, it can be useful. Once in a blue moon. Or more likely, NEVER.
Case in point: my son's 2nd grade teacher is a kind, sweet, quiet young lady (meaning she's probably my age) who has a tough, tough job. She has to spend 5 days a week wrestling a classroom of 20+ 7- and 8-year-olds into submission whilst attempting to teach them something so their parents (who should be spending more time teaching their kids themselves) don't get pissy and so she doesn't lose her underpaid, overworked, and all-around unenviable job.
So when she sends an email to her second grade class that goes like this:
Dear Parents,
We have earned our 100 marble celebration and we are having a “Moon Party!” The students can bring a pillow, stuffed animal and a flashlight only! Please DO NOT send them in pajamas and do NOT send blankets
Thank you so much!
I don't think too much of it other than "well, that's one more thing for me to remember in the morning." My kid gets excited because he gets a break from the endless rounds of teaching-to-the-test (disclaimer: she is a very creative teacher at a very good school and he loves it). The teacher gets a much-needed break where she just has to chivvy kids into behaving, as opposed to doing that while teaching them how to read. The event is curriculum-pertinent (their entire school is learning about the solar system). And I'm all about appropriate rewards for hardwork. Meaning I love my days at work where I do nothing but study and chat with my fellow residents.
So when some untypeable-expletive of a parent REPLIES TO ALL with this:
"Crowded classrooms and half-day sessions are a tragic waste of our greatest national resource - the minds of our children. "-Walt Disney
I got a little...irritated.
Hence my blog. I really wanted to reply to all with some choice swear words about people who reply to all. But that's just being facetious.
I felt really bad for his teacher, though. People are rude. If I had been that teacher, I probably would have cried.
Ok, let's be honest, I would have done exactly what I did - read: nothing - and turned the air blue with irritated comments and screeches. And then replied to all. Because that particular email function happens to be a tragic waste of my greatest resource.
My freaking time.
9/14/10
Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more...
E went to his cousin's 9th birthday party last weekend. She apparently wanted a hotel birthday party, so my lovely (and long-suffering) sister-in-law obliged, and subsequently my poor in-laws were subjected to 13 little girls and 3 little boys at a hotel sleepover. Luckily, I was working that night...
E's dad called that Friday, and because I had been in the ER when he called, I later forgot to have E call him back.
Thus, when E's BD called again, and asked E why he hadn't answered the phone earlier, E answered: "Probably because I was in a hotel room with 13 girls."
I don't make this stuff up, people.
E's dad called that Friday, and because I had been in the ER when he called, I later forgot to have E call him back.
Thus, when E's BD called again, and asked E why he hadn't answered the phone earlier, E answered: "Probably because I was in a hotel room with 13 girls."
I don't make this stuff up, people.
9/4/10
A response
The health care crisis CANNOT be blamed entirely on doctors. Sorry. Period. No way.
We do take the Hippocratic oath. We don't take the original form, true, but then that hasn't been standard for a century or so. And so we do harm people every day (kind of necessary for most things). However, as it's taught in every medical school in the US (and probably in the world...), non-malfeasance is the balance between risk and benefit of a particular medical decision. The problem is that not everyone may agree which risks outweigh which benefits, which is where the issue of communication between doctors and patients comes into play. And incidentally, most malpractice lawsuits come about when that communication breaks down.
So the issue is not that there are thousands of doctors running around intentionally hurting people, leading to lawsuits, and thereby destroying the health care system (which is another topic entirely, and not fit for one blog post). The issue is that, despite patients thinking we should all be paragons of caring and intelligence, we're only humans who make mistakes all the time. And because most of us are fairly caring and fairly intelligent, we've ended up in this profession, instead of one where the mistakes we made wouldn't physically hurt people. Like the majority of the population. Yeah, if you're a bad teacher, you're gonna screw up my kid's education, but you don't see people getting sued for that (A. Because apparently we don't care about our children's education. B. Because teachers have no money. Unlike doctors. Because of A. It's a vicious cycle, you see.). When you make a mistake, someone's feelings get hurt, or someone gets mad because you charged them too much for their electric bill, or a dish breaks.
My life: you could hurt someone and they could die. But no pressure. Oh, and you're liable for the decisions you make starting in medical school. When you're $100,000 in debt. Which is, incidentally, why you won't get sued (Read: because lawyers don't want to sue you, you have no money, what would be the point?). But never fear, once you have something worth taking away, someone will try to take it. Whether or not you did anything wrong. It's okay, people don't mind going to doctors who've been sued. Your career (and the dozen or so years you worked so hard to get it) probably won't be in any danger. On second thought, maybe you should reconsider and become a plumber. Your life might be less...well, you can fill in the blank.
I'm not saying malpractice lawsuits are bad. They help ensure that the really bad doctors get taken out of circulation, as it were. But so many malpractice suits are just plain frivolous, just like a lot of lawsuits (with apologies to my sister, Student of Law). There are people leaving the medical profession everywhere. Men and women who were dedicated to their patients, who were committed to their paths. But who won't accept the bureaucratic busywork that you have to deal with just to take care of one darned patient. A few people out of many make really bad mistakes. The rest of us AND THE PATIENTS are having to pay. Literally. Hence = crisis.
I guess the solution is to have robot doctors, who follow a standard protocol with every single patient, regardless of individuality. They wouldn't be capable of mistakes. Let's try it, and see how happy that makes everyone. As long as mine looks like Wally, I won't complain too loudly.
We do take the Hippocratic oath. We don't take the original form, true, but then that hasn't been standard for a century or so. And so we do harm people every day (kind of necessary for most things). However, as it's taught in every medical school in the US (and probably in the world...), non-malfeasance is the balance between risk and benefit of a particular medical decision. The problem is that not everyone may agree which risks outweigh which benefits, which is where the issue of communication between doctors and patients comes into play. And incidentally, most malpractice lawsuits come about when that communication breaks down.
So the issue is not that there are thousands of doctors running around intentionally hurting people, leading to lawsuits, and thereby destroying the health care system (which is another topic entirely, and not fit for one blog post). The issue is that, despite patients thinking we should all be paragons of caring and intelligence, we're only humans who make mistakes all the time. And because most of us are fairly caring and fairly intelligent, we've ended up in this profession, instead of one where the mistakes we made wouldn't physically hurt people. Like the majority of the population. Yeah, if you're a bad teacher, you're gonna screw up my kid's education, but you don't see people getting sued for that (A. Because apparently we don't care about our children's education. B. Because teachers have no money. Unlike doctors. Because of A. It's a vicious cycle, you see.). When you make a mistake, someone's feelings get hurt, or someone gets mad because you charged them too much for their electric bill, or a dish breaks.
My life: you could hurt someone and they could die. But no pressure. Oh, and you're liable for the decisions you make starting in medical school. When you're $100,000 in debt. Which is, incidentally, why you won't get sued (Read: because lawyers don't want to sue you, you have no money, what would be the point?). But never fear, once you have something worth taking away, someone will try to take it. Whether or not you did anything wrong. It's okay, people don't mind going to doctors who've been sued. Your career (and the dozen or so years you worked so hard to get it) probably won't be in any danger. On second thought, maybe you should reconsider and become a plumber. Your life might be less...well, you can fill in the blank.
I'm not saying malpractice lawsuits are bad. They help ensure that the really bad doctors get taken out of circulation, as it were. But so many malpractice suits are just plain frivolous, just like a lot of lawsuits (with apologies to my sister, Student of Law). There are people leaving the medical profession everywhere. Men and women who were dedicated to their patients, who were committed to their paths. But who won't accept the bureaucratic busywork that you have to deal with just to take care of one darned patient. A few people out of many make really bad mistakes. The rest of us AND THE PATIENTS are having to pay. Literally. Hence = crisis.
I guess the solution is to have robot doctors, who follow a standard protocol with every single patient, regardless of individuality. They wouldn't be capable of mistakes. Let's try it, and see how happy that makes everyone. As long as mine looks like Wally, I won't complain too loudly.
8/21/10
Well, it's kind of true. Sorry, Mom. (Kidding! I'm kidding!)
The other evening, I was reading through an ACS chapter for my residency curriculum when E sidled up beside me (in an attempt to avoid going to bed, which is what he was supposed to be doing), and leaned on my shoulder to peruse the article.
"Is this for a test?" He asked after a few moments of glaring intently at the page.
"Kind of," I replied. "My teacher is going to be asking me questions about it and I need to know the answers."
"Is this teacher a he or a she?" He demanded.
"A who or a what?!"
"A he or a she! A boy or a girl!" He exclaimed.
"Um, there's one of each, I suppose. Does it matter?!" I cluelessly inquired.
He shot me a look that said "well, clearly, it matters or I wouldn't be asking. Now do you want my help or not?" I cowered beneath his disdain.
"Well, what is this about?" He returned to the topic at hand, having properly subdued me, and gestured to the paper.
"It's about old people who need surgery."
"Ah..." He nodded knowingly. "That sounds like a crusty job."
I don't know where he gets these words. Or his usage of them. But it keeps my life full of laughter so I don't really care.
"Is this for a test?" He asked after a few moments of glaring intently at the page.
"Kind of," I replied. "My teacher is going to be asking me questions about it and I need to know the answers."
"Is this teacher a he or a she?" He demanded.
"A who or a what?!"
"A he or a she! A boy or a girl!" He exclaimed.
"Um, there's one of each, I suppose. Does it matter?!" I cluelessly inquired.
He shot me a look that said "well, clearly, it matters or I wouldn't be asking. Now do you want my help or not?" I cowered beneath his disdain.
"Well, what is this about?" He returned to the topic at hand, having properly subdued me, and gestured to the paper.
"It's about old people who need surgery."
"Ah..." He nodded knowingly. "That sounds like a crusty job."
I don't know where he gets these words. Or his usage of them. But it keeps my life full of laughter so I don't really care.
8/20/10
Extraneous
He's not a baby. He hasn't been for a long time. My little boy who I didn't think would ever learn to walk because I never wanted to put him down strode away into the big world of second grade today. No tears, no backward glances, no fear, no second thoughts.
Last night, as almost an aside, he said "I'm scared about school, Mom. I'm scared because all those kids have known each other for a long time, and I haven't." But then he walked away before I could deliver my comforting speech that I had been preparing all evening, just waiting for the moment when he would ask for it, just knowing that eventually he would express his terror, and I'd be there for him. And he didn't need me. Or at least not in the way I thought he would. He didn't want my advice, or my hugs, he just wanted me to know what was on his mind. That he had something to overcome, but that he could handle it without me.
It's been a long time coming. He doesn't ask to sit on my lap anymore, he stopped asking me to carry him a long time ago, he insists on having his opinion and voice heard at every opportunity, even when he knows it's not going to get him what he wants.
He's not even a teenager yet. He's only 7 and I'm already bemoaning his transition into big-kidhood. But if/when you have your own kids, you'll understand. How your heart can break and yet rejoice with every passing day. Because while you're so excited to meet the people they're becoming, you're mourning the loss of the baby they knew so well. Sure, babies are needy, exhausting, and freaking hard. But it's a heady feeling, knowing you're the center, the pillar of someone's existence. And although sometimes you feel like they're controlling your life, the fact is, you control theirs. It's actually kind of nice. And when they're not babies any more, you lose that control, and they grow up with or without your permission. You lose your minion...
So here's to you, Mom & Dad, for letting me go. For letting me be who I am, despite the fact that nothing I've done with my life turned out the way you thought it would (yes, they advised against med school...). Despite the fact that having me meant the loss of that baby girl who relied on you so heavily. I hope it's been semi-worth it. I'll always need you. Like my son still needs me. Just maybe not as much as I/he did.
And that's okay.
Last night, as almost an aside, he said "I'm scared about school, Mom. I'm scared because all those kids have known each other for a long time, and I haven't." But then he walked away before I could deliver my comforting speech that I had been preparing all evening, just waiting for the moment when he would ask for it, just knowing that eventually he would express his terror, and I'd be there for him. And he didn't need me. Or at least not in the way I thought he would. He didn't want my advice, or my hugs, he just wanted me to know what was on his mind. That he had something to overcome, but that he could handle it without me.
It's been a long time coming. He doesn't ask to sit on my lap anymore, he stopped asking me to carry him a long time ago, he insists on having his opinion and voice heard at every opportunity, even when he knows it's not going to get him what he wants.
He's not even a teenager yet. He's only 7 and I'm already bemoaning his transition into big-kidhood. But if/when you have your own kids, you'll understand. How your heart can break and yet rejoice with every passing day. Because while you're so excited to meet the people they're becoming, you're mourning the loss of the baby they knew so well. Sure, babies are needy, exhausting, and freaking hard. But it's a heady feeling, knowing you're the center, the pillar of someone's existence. And although sometimes you feel like they're controlling your life, the fact is, you control theirs. It's actually kind of nice. And when they're not babies any more, you lose that control, and they grow up with or without your permission. You lose your minion...
So here's to you, Mom & Dad, for letting me go. For letting me be who I am, despite the fact that nothing I've done with my life turned out the way you thought it would (yes, they advised against med school...). Despite the fact that having me meant the loss of that baby girl who relied on you so heavily. I hope it's been semi-worth it. I'll always need you. Like my son still needs me. Just maybe not as much as I/he did.
And that's okay.
8/12/10
Oh yes, you are...
My favorite little sister is in town at the moment, so my family and I have been spending more time than usual at my parentals' abode. Which is not really saying much, considering that we spend...most...of our time with my parents. Hey, what can I say, that's what happens when one of us can't plan a dinner without consultation (sorry, honey, it's true), and one of us is both too busy at work to provide that consultation, and then too tired to cook when she gets home. Not that that's giving away who is who in this scenario. But regardless, my mom cooks. So we eat with her.
Incidentally, we've gotten into the habit of going home to the in-laws' farm every other weekend for homecooked meals there as well. It's a good life...
So we're all at my parents' house the other night, eating something delicious, and afterwards, we were all sitting around the table chatting. Which my less-gabby husband will tell you we are wont to do. Frequently. Much to his chagrin. But while the adults were talking, E had wandered off to jump on the couch cushions (one of the benefits of it being Nanay's house, instead of Mom's...), so I asked him to start clearing the table.
Now, to be fair, we used to be really good about making sure he was involved in chores around mealtimes. But recently, because our sit-down family-style mealtimes are sporadic and too-short (yes, he'll probably end up in jail because I don't make a balanced meal for him every evening. So judge me.), D and I have gotten out of the habit. More often than not, we let him escape for some playtime while we clear the table and do the dishes and have some precious discuss-the-day time.
Hence, his reluctance to participate at dinner the other night. He obeyed, but grudgingly. After he'd removed a few plates from the table, he thought to escape again, but I called him back and handed him some more things to clear. At this point, his lower lip was quivering like an alcoholic with the shakes, and his eyes were beginning to fill with huge crocodile tears. But I ignored him, until after putting the dishes in the sink, he stomped past me and screeched "I'm not your minion!!!"
I think I may have burst some veins in my eyes trying not to laugh.
Incidentally, we've gotten into the habit of going home to the in-laws' farm every other weekend for homecooked meals there as well. It's a good life...
So we're all at my parents' house the other night, eating something delicious, and afterwards, we were all sitting around the table chatting. Which my less-gabby husband will tell you we are wont to do. Frequently. Much to his chagrin. But while the adults were talking, E had wandered off to jump on the couch cushions (one of the benefits of it being Nanay's house, instead of Mom's...), so I asked him to start clearing the table.
Now, to be fair, we used to be really good about making sure he was involved in chores around mealtimes. But recently, because our sit-down family-style mealtimes are sporadic and too-short (yes, he'll probably end up in jail because I don't make a balanced meal for him every evening. So judge me.), D and I have gotten out of the habit. More often than not, we let him escape for some playtime while we clear the table and do the dishes and have some precious discuss-the-day time.
Hence, his reluctance to participate at dinner the other night. He obeyed, but grudgingly. After he'd removed a few plates from the table, he thought to escape again, but I called him back and handed him some more things to clear. At this point, his lower lip was quivering like an alcoholic with the shakes, and his eyes were beginning to fill with huge crocodile tears. But I ignored him, until after putting the dishes in the sink, he stomped past me and screeched "I'm not your minion!!!"
I think I may have burst some veins in my eyes trying not to laugh.
8/1/10
He's really not old enough for the screaming fans. Yet...
Yesterday, we went bowling with most of the surgery residents in my program and their families. Hence, I felt the need to dress my boys up. It's more difficult with one of them than the other. I'll let you figure out which is which.
Regardless, when E had gotten dressed, he looked down at himself rather critically and stated "I look like a Jonas Brother in this."
Which is fair, since he was wearing distressed jeans, a white tee that had a guitar and the word "Rebel" on it, a striped black vest, and sneakers.
I laughed at him, and said "That's not terrible!"
He shrugged and replied "I know. I'm just sayin'." And walked off without another word.
I'd like to note that the adolescent girls who were attendees at the bowling event thought he was the bees' knees. So I suppose he was right...
Regardless, when E had gotten dressed, he looked down at himself rather critically and stated "I look like a Jonas Brother in this."
Which is fair, since he was wearing distressed jeans, a white tee that had a guitar and the word "Rebel" on it, a striped black vest, and sneakers.
I laughed at him, and said "That's not terrible!"
He shrugged and replied "I know. I'm just sayin'." And walked off without another word.
I'd like to note that the adolescent girls who were attendees at the bowling event thought he was the bees' knees. So I suppose he was right...
7/21/10
Oh, you're my favorite awkward statement...
"You look too young to have a 7-year-old!"
Yeah, people, I am...
Yeah, people, I am...
7/3/10
I Just Called to Say "I Love You"
So I'm back to working ridiculously early and long hours (and so far it's been awesome, so don't think I'm complaining...), but I was a bit worried about E, since in the last year he's been very vocal about how much he hates it when I leave the house before he's woken up in the morning. But another new intern (who happens to have much younger children than mine, and I'm sure they all have a much harder time than E and I do) mentioned to me that she had a bought a voice recorder for her sons, and that she leaves a message for them every morning before she goes.
So I did just that, and even though it's only been two days since I've been back to work (as it is...), my son treasures those two 15-second messages that I've left. Today, I came upon him playing them back to himself, cradling the recorder against his chest like a cherished possession. It's worth every penny to me, for him to wake up in the morning and know that I'm thinking about him.
So thank you, Intern Friend, for your priceless suggestion. My son and I are grateful.
So I did just that, and even though it's only been two days since I've been back to work (as it is...), my son treasures those two 15-second messages that I've left. Today, I came upon him playing them back to himself, cradling the recorder against his chest like a cherished possession. It's worth every penny to me, for him to wake up in the morning and know that I'm thinking about him.
So thank you, Intern Friend, for your priceless suggestion. My son and I are grateful.
6/29/10
Teach Your Sons to Respect Women...
Yesterday, my son was recounting a conversation he'd had with his stepmother (we'll call her SM for the sake of brevity, because the single initials that are capable of being used as identifiers are running short) when he had guessed her age. She had given him a hint (how old his father was) and then he was supposed to guess how old she was based on that. And he was quite proud of the fact that he had guessed correctly, despite the fact that she had expected him to guess younger (so he said).
I started laughing and teasingly said "You'd better be careful when guessing ladies' ages!" Naturally, being a normal 7-year-old, he asked why, and I replied "Well, if you guess older than a lady actually is, she won't be too pleased." He let it lie and I thought the matter was settled.
Well, today at dinner, apropos of nothing, E suddenly exclaimed, "So if I had said she was 50, she wouldn't have been very happy?" I felt it safe to agree with that and again thought we had exhausted that particular line of reasoning.
However, after dinner, on the way home from my parents' house, he again piped up from the backseat, "Why aren't we supposed to ask ladies' ages, again?"
I suppose it doesn't hurt to start this young, right? Especially when he's really catching onto the concept.
PS I still remember the look on my mom's face when my brother (who must have been E's age at the time) told my mom she had gotten so old that she was back to zero, and therefore young again. His logic was flawless...
I started laughing and teasingly said "You'd better be careful when guessing ladies' ages!" Naturally, being a normal 7-year-old, he asked why, and I replied "Well, if you guess older than a lady actually is, she won't be too pleased." He let it lie and I thought the matter was settled.
Well, today at dinner, apropos of nothing, E suddenly exclaimed, "So if I had said she was 50, she wouldn't have been very happy?" I felt it safe to agree with that and again thought we had exhausted that particular line of reasoning.
However, after dinner, on the way home from my parents' house, he again piped up from the backseat, "Why aren't we supposed to ask ladies' ages, again?"
I suppose it doesn't hurt to start this young, right? Especially when he's really catching onto the concept.
PS I still remember the look on my mom's face when my brother (who must have been E's age at the time) told my mom she had gotten so old that she was back to zero, and therefore young again. His logic was flawless...
6/27/10
The Guardian of the Storms
D doesn't have to go out in the field for his job as often as he used to (which was every week...), but he still leaves occasionally, and this time he had to leave when E was already gone at his dad's. So when E got back, he was not pleased to learn that he was the man of the house. And when I informed him that he would hold the title till Wednesday or so, he exclaimed: "WEDNESDAY?! But what if it STORMS!?!? I can't survive with a storm and without D!!!" (Except he said his actual name, obviously.)
I'm not sure how my son thinks he lived through the 5 years of storms BEFORE he had a stepfather, but I guess I'm just a weakling woman to him, completely incapable of handling natural disasters...
I'm not sure how my son thinks he lived through the 5 years of storms BEFORE he had a stepfather, but I guess I'm just a weakling woman to him, completely incapable of handling natural disasters...
6/25/10
To me, you are praiseworthy
At about 7 PM today, I was headed home from dinner with the huz after a hectic day of residency orientation, when I exited from the highway, turned the corner, and came upon the scene of a car accident. An SUV had somehow managed to roll over onto the side of the road and was lying in the grass on its hood. A cluster of people were crowded around someone on the ground, several cars were stopped with their drivers rushing to and fro across the road, and a few men were helping to direct traffic through the labyrinth of vehicles and pedestrians.
Obviously the accident had happened relatively recently, so I asked one of the men if they needed any medical help (hell, I had just spent 2 days taking ATLS and recertified in both BLS and ACLS in the past month, so if I couldn't help a trauma victim at that moment, I'll never be able to...), but he said they already had a doctor helping out. So I moved on.
I am so glad that I live in a world where when people see a car accident, they forget their dinner plans or that their favorite TV program is starting, and they offer their skills and time to help someone in trouble. And sure, you can say that most people would do the same. It's true that helping people in distress is not some special virtue that only a few people are able to dredge up out of the muck of their souls on a very good day. Maybe it is just human nature.
But isn't that beautiful?
Obviously the accident had happened relatively recently, so I asked one of the men if they needed any medical help (hell, I had just spent 2 days taking ATLS and recertified in both BLS and ACLS in the past month, so if I couldn't help a trauma victim at that moment, I'll never be able to...), but he said they already had a doctor helping out. So I moved on.
I am so glad that I live in a world where when people see a car accident, they forget their dinner plans or that their favorite TV program is starting, and they offer their skills and time to help someone in trouble. And sure, you can say that most people would do the same. It's true that helping people in distress is not some special virtue that only a few people are able to dredge up out of the muck of their souls on a very good day. Maybe it is just human nature.
But isn't that beautiful?
6/23/10
The Horrors of Camp
My son's first summer camp experience started this Monday. When faced with the prospect of my poor parents (who are finally living the spoiled lives of empty-nesters) having to watch E from 7:30 in the morning till after 5 in the evening, we had to come up with a better solution. And luckily, this fair city in which we live is blessed with a plethora of working parents who need summertime care for their kids, so I had many places from which to choose.
I really wanted to avoid anything which smacked of daycare. I HATED daycare when I was E's age and my mom was working (and she rarely worked AND I had siblings with me). And we attended a very good daycare that my mother carefully chose. I think it was the aimless playing for hours that I disliked. I don't remember it very clearly, but regardless, the experience left a distaste for daycares in my mouth.
And luckily, I've never had to utilize one. My parents were ready and willing to help watch E while I went to school when he was younger, and through a series of fortuitous circumstances (aka my guardian angel smacked some events around for me), E was first in a great preschool, then pre-K and then all-day kindergarten.
So when looking around for something for E to do this summer, I had a pretty long list. I needed someplace with drop-off before 8 (still too late for me, as I have to be at work by 5, but D can drop him off then and still make it on time) and with pick-up after 5. And if it's not daycare, those hours alone are pretty hard to find in a day camp. It had to have a large number of kids, so the likelihood of him being stuck in a group of 10 year olds was lessened. It had to be close to my parents' house, in case they were picking him up. And I think that's it.
We settled on a place about midway between our house and my parents' home, a place that during the normal school year serves as a kids' gymnasium for the purposes of gymnastics, dance and karate lessons. However, they also have a POOL. So during the summer, they turn themselves gleefully over to weekly day camps. They average 60 kids per camp, and have the option for morning care starting at 7:30 AM and evening care till 5:30.
My son was not thrilled when informed that he was going to receive the privilege of going to summer camp. He desperately ran through the list of every adult who's ever taken care of him, asking why he couldn't just stay with them during the day. And finally, when I informed him that it was either camp or daycare, he reluctantly admitted he'd rather go to camp (which is kind of strange, since he has no reason to think ill of either camp or daycare...). I was sort of puzzled by his reluctance to attend, since I had assured him that he'd get to swim and play with kids and get gymnastics lessons, etc, but I didn't question it too much, assuming that he was just thinking he'd rather stay in his grandparents' pool all summer.
I took E to see the facility prior to signing him up. At sight of the pool, my son the fish finally started displaying some enthusiasm for the whole idea. The lovely front desk lady took us on a tour and outlined the camp schedule and was wonderful with E. And after we were through, I asked him if he wanted to attend and he said yes without hesitation.
I was patting myself on the back as we left, and casually said to E, "See, I told you that you'd like it." And he replied, "I thought I'd have to be gone overnight and that's why I didn't want to go."
Tragic, right? My heart broke right then and there. No wonder he was so desperate to avoid camp, since he thought it meant he'd have to be away from home all summer. And he was so good about it too! After his initial flat-out refusal, he calmly accepted his fate. If I had decided he needed to be shipped off to boarding school, off he would go. I felt super bad.
Luckily, E has thoroughly enjoyed the last three days, coming home full of chatter about his new friends and the things he has learned both in the pool and in the gym, and giving physical demonstrations of the "ocstable" [sic] courses he's traversed. He even joyfully agreed to signing up for another week.
And he hasn't had to stay the night there even once. So we're all happy.
If you're friends with a certain friend of mine who's going into Radiology and he tells you to watch a certain B-horror flick entitled "Sleepaway Camp," whatever you do, don't do it.
I really wanted to avoid anything which smacked of daycare. I HATED daycare when I was E's age and my mom was working (and she rarely worked AND I had siblings with me). And we attended a very good daycare that my mother carefully chose. I think it was the aimless playing for hours that I disliked. I don't remember it very clearly, but regardless, the experience left a distaste for daycares in my mouth.
And luckily, I've never had to utilize one. My parents were ready and willing to help watch E while I went to school when he was younger, and through a series of fortuitous circumstances (aka my guardian angel smacked some events around for me), E was first in a great preschool, then pre-K and then all-day kindergarten.
So when looking around for something for E to do this summer, I had a pretty long list. I needed someplace with drop-off before 8 (still too late for me, as I have to be at work by 5, but D can drop him off then and still make it on time) and with pick-up after 5. And if it's not daycare, those hours alone are pretty hard to find in a day camp. It had to have a large number of kids, so the likelihood of him being stuck in a group of 10 year olds was lessened. It had to be close to my parents' house, in case they were picking him up. And I think that's it.
We settled on a place about midway between our house and my parents' home, a place that during the normal school year serves as a kids' gymnasium for the purposes of gymnastics, dance and karate lessons. However, they also have a POOL. So during the summer, they turn themselves gleefully over to weekly day camps. They average 60 kids per camp, and have the option for morning care starting at 7:30 AM and evening care till 5:30.
My son was not thrilled when informed that he was going to receive the privilege of going to summer camp. He desperately ran through the list of every adult who's ever taken care of him, asking why he couldn't just stay with them during the day. And finally, when I informed him that it was either camp or daycare, he reluctantly admitted he'd rather go to camp (which is kind of strange, since he has no reason to think ill of either camp or daycare...). I was sort of puzzled by his reluctance to attend, since I had assured him that he'd get to swim and play with kids and get gymnastics lessons, etc, but I didn't question it too much, assuming that he was just thinking he'd rather stay in his grandparents' pool all summer.
I took E to see the facility prior to signing him up. At sight of the pool, my son the fish finally started displaying some enthusiasm for the whole idea. The lovely front desk lady took us on a tour and outlined the camp schedule and was wonderful with E. And after we were through, I asked him if he wanted to attend and he said yes without hesitation.
I was patting myself on the back as we left, and casually said to E, "See, I told you that you'd like it." And he replied, "I thought I'd have to be gone overnight and that's why I didn't want to go."
Tragic, right? My heart broke right then and there. No wonder he was so desperate to avoid camp, since he thought it meant he'd have to be away from home all summer. And he was so good about it too! After his initial flat-out refusal, he calmly accepted his fate. If I had decided he needed to be shipped off to boarding school, off he would go. I felt super bad.
Luckily, E has thoroughly enjoyed the last three days, coming home full of chatter about his new friends and the things he has learned both in the pool and in the gym, and giving physical demonstrations of the "ocstable" [sic] courses he's traversed. He even joyfully agreed to signing up for another week.
And he hasn't had to stay the night there even once. So we're all happy.
If you're friends with a certain friend of mine who's going into Radiology and he tells you to watch a certain B-horror flick entitled "Sleepaway Camp," whatever you do, don't do it.
6/21/10
A Composition
In honor of Fathers' Day 2010, I submit to you a song I wrote for my father the day after I turned 24. If someone steals this, I'm gonna be pissed. And my sister's a lawyer, so don't. When I become more technologically energetic and I have more time (yes, I know, that'll never happen), I'll upload the actual song. So you can actually hear it. But here goes for now...
Daddy's baby can't recount the evenings when his strong arms were terror's only ban
Constellations and his imagination were all that healed the nightmares of a child
Now when she goes to sleep at night she hears him singing: "a tiny turned-up nose"
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
'Cause when she falls, she's never far to go
And to her, he's always right and she'll never change in his eyes
So she's not afraid of standing on her own
Because you're never really alone when you're a daddy's girl
Years turned into numbers, he turned around when time and she were on a swift collision course
Worry marked him and adolescence hurt when she barely ever said her love out loud
But she tried to make him proud when she was singing "Michael, row your boat ashore."
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
'Cause she knows forgiveness waits for her mistakes
And she may not think he's right but she'll never change in his eyes
'Cause his love for her is something she can't break
And he'll never forsake her because she's Daddy's girl
Oh it never really changes, it never really changes
She'll always be his, always be his baby
She remembers echoes from her childhood where canyon waters cleaved through furrowed seams
And she can hear their music in the darkness where safety was a velvet-colored voice
And the tears ran down her face to hear him singing "The night they drove Old Dixie down"
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
She knows his love is always waiting there
And to her, he's always right and she'll never change in his eyes
And she's not afraid of being on her own
'Cause she can hear him singing, she can hear him singing
She can hear him singing and she's Daddy's girl.
For my father. The best one I've ever had.
Daddy's baby can't recount the evenings when his strong arms were terror's only ban
Constellations and his imagination were all that healed the nightmares of a child
Now when she goes to sleep at night she hears him singing: "a tiny turned-up nose"
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
'Cause when she falls, she's never far to go
And to her, he's always right and she'll never change in his eyes
So she's not afraid of standing on her own
Because you're never really alone when you're a daddy's girl
Years turned into numbers, he turned around when time and she were on a swift collision course
Worry marked him and adolescence hurt when she barely ever said her love out loud
But she tried to make him proud when she was singing "Michael, row your boat ashore."
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
'Cause she knows forgiveness waits for her mistakes
And she may not think he's right but she'll never change in his eyes
'Cause his love for her is something she can't break
And he'll never forsake her because she's Daddy's girl
Oh it never really changes, it never really changes
She'll always be his, always be his baby
She remembers echoes from her childhood where canyon waters cleaved through furrowed seams
And she can hear their music in the darkness where safety was a velvet-colored voice
And the tears ran down her face to hear him singing "The night they drove Old Dixie down"
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
She knows his love is always waiting there
And to her, he's always right and she'll never change in his eyes
And she's not afraid of being on her own
'Cause she can hear him singing, she can hear him singing
She can hear him singing and she's Daddy's girl.
For my father. The best one I've ever had.
6/20/10
Colossians 3:23
So, seeing as how I just graduated less than a month ago, I haven't had many opportunities to enjoy my new status. I almost passed out the first time someone addressed me as "Dr mylastname" without sarcasm. (I was making my husband and child call me doctor. Exclusively. But as they accompanied it with much eye-rolling, it just doesn't count.)
But today, someone asked me what I do. And, to test it out, I said "I'm a doctor." The guy congratulated me on being very accomplished (after he asked me, with shock in his voice, how old I am...as usual). And that was fine. We talked about residency and what I wanted to do after residency. But then he turned to a coworker and started teasing him, saying "You wanna feel good about yourself? This young lady is only *my age* and she's already a doctor." And then I felt terrible.
Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of where I am in my life. But I don't want to feel good at someone else's expense. I hate that my life could be used to make somebody else feel bad about themselves. I feel that there is pride in any kind of work. Whether you graduated from high school or not. Whether you control corporations or clean toilets. Mom was always quoting her father (who was himself quoting the Bible) as saying "whatever you do, do it well." Or something to that effect. Which I feel is a good way to live your life. If you take pride in what you do, and you make the effort to do it well, you make it a worthwhile occupation.
The coworker responded by saying "I love what I do!" And that was perfect. He should love what he does. He has a great job, and he was reading a Mark Twain biography almost the entire time I was in his presence. You won't see me getting to do that in my job, that's for sure. I'd be tempted, but I'd get fired...
But today, someone asked me what I do. And, to test it out, I said "I'm a doctor." The guy congratulated me on being very accomplished (after he asked me, with shock in his voice, how old I am...as usual). And that was fine. We talked about residency and what I wanted to do after residency. But then he turned to a coworker and started teasing him, saying "You wanna feel good about yourself? This young lady is only *my age* and she's already a doctor." And then I felt terrible.
Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of where I am in my life. But I don't want to feel good at someone else's expense. I hate that my life could be used to make somebody else feel bad about themselves. I feel that there is pride in any kind of work. Whether you graduated from high school or not. Whether you control corporations or clean toilets. Mom was always quoting her father (who was himself quoting the Bible) as saying "whatever you do, do it well." Or something to that effect. Which I feel is a good way to live your life. If you take pride in what you do, and you make the effort to do it well, you make it a worthwhile occupation.
The coworker responded by saying "I love what I do!" And that was perfect. He should love what he does. He has a great job, and he was reading a Mark Twain biography almost the entire time I was in his presence. You won't see me getting to do that in my job, that's for sure. I'd be tempted, but I'd get fired...
6/16/10
Old Wives' Tales
One of the worst things about Facebook has been the questionable privilege of watching my various acquaintances ask for and dispense medical and/or parenting advice to each other via FB statuses. Most of the time, they don't get/give bad advice or terribly erroneous information. Sometimes, to be sure, I shudder a little at the explanations people give and wonder what they've been reading, but for the most part it's all fun and games.
Recently, however, a new mom (no excuse, her mother's a nurse) asked her personal Facebook community to tell her in what position she should let her 2-month-old sleep. Follow 20-something comments varying from the "SIDS is scary - BACK TO SLEEP" variety to "I was always afraid my baby would choke if he spit up, so I put him to sleep on his belly." Several of them stated that their doctors told them back-only, but that their babies "just wouldn't do it." A couple of scientific types even said "well, doctors seem to change their minds on the best position every few years, so whatever is more comfortable for your baby is the best." Give me a break, people. Seat belts aren't too comfy either, but it's a crime if you don't buckle Junior in. You know why? Because evidence shows that your kid is less likely to DIE if you do.
*At this point, a disclaimer. I must admit to some amount of bias here, because I know that several of the people mentioned go to my own doctor madre for their medical care. But it's not like she's been advising anything radical. Case in point: The Amer. Acad of Peds recommended putting babies to sleep on their backs to prevent SIDS starting in 1992. And the hugely successful (as in, less babies dying) "Back to Sleep" initiative started in 1994. I checked. Almost 20 years of an opinion does not "changing their minds every few years" make. And sure, if in a few years, the evidence points in the opposite direction, we'll feel awfully sheepish, but that's the nature of science. We can only make decisions based on the information we have at any given point in time.
At this particular time, doctors are saying put your babies on their backs to sleep to prevent them DYING. I seriously doubt any doctors are recommending that you put babies on their bellies to prevent them choking if they should spit up in their sleep. And in fact, I just googled that very question and there are a billion resources right at my fingertips to tell me that my baby is much more likely to die of SIDS than of choking. At least while they're in bed, anyway.
It's ironic that I can find such information on the web when these people are relying on an internet forum of personal opinion to direct their parenting choices. So we've established that you have internet access! So at least go research your question first before dumping it in the laps of a bunch of proverbial elderly spousal units! Go read scientific journals, go read medical professional websites, go read hospital info. (But please, DON'T go to some "my baby slept on his back and it gave him leukemia" website. The zebras are out there, yes, but so are the freaking crazy or just plain misguided hyenas.)
I'm not saying doctors are always right (I know too many of them to believe that...). And I'm not saying I don't believe you if you claim your baby absolutely WILL NOT go to sleep on his/her back (I don't blame 'em, being in the waterbed/womb is a far cry from being supine on a rock-hard (ahem, also purposeful) baby mattress). And if you are a new mom, your body aches everywhere, you've been on the verge of tears at least 12 times today, you wish your mother would go home, you're desperately afraid she will, you hate that your husband can't calm the baby down like you can, and you put Baby Betty on her tummy to sleep because you know she'll nod off immediately and you just need 5 minutes to find a Kleenex and a sitz bath...I can't blame you, and neither should anyone else.
But for God's sake, if you're making some parenting choices that you're feeling guilty about because you ALREADY ASKED BUT YOU'RE IGNORING THE BEST-INFORMED ANSWER, don't ask for validation from Facebook. Ask your sister or your mother or your best friend. In private. They'll validate you and love you and treasure you. And then you won't have blog rants written about you.
If tomorrow I see a Facebook post about a cat sucking the breath out of some kid, my head may explode.
Recently, however, a new mom (no excuse, her mother's a nurse) asked her personal Facebook community to tell her in what position she should let her 2-month-old sleep. Follow 20-something comments varying from the "SIDS is scary - BACK TO SLEEP" variety to "I was always afraid my baby would choke if he spit up, so I put him to sleep on his belly." Several of them stated that their doctors told them back-only, but that their babies "just wouldn't do it." A couple of scientific types even said "well, doctors seem to change their minds on the best position every few years, so whatever is more comfortable for your baby is the best." Give me a break, people. Seat belts aren't too comfy either, but it's a crime if you don't buckle Junior in. You know why? Because evidence shows that your kid is less likely to DIE if you do.
*At this point, a disclaimer. I must admit to some amount of bias here, because I know that several of the people mentioned go to my own doctor madre for their medical care. But it's not like she's been advising anything radical. Case in point: The Amer. Acad of Peds recommended putting babies to sleep on their backs to prevent SIDS starting in 1992. And the hugely successful (as in, less babies dying) "Back to Sleep" initiative started in 1994. I checked. Almost 20 years of an opinion does not "changing their minds every few years" make. And sure, if in a few years, the evidence points in the opposite direction, we'll feel awfully sheepish, but that's the nature of science. We can only make decisions based on the information we have at any given point in time.
At this particular time, doctors are saying put your babies on their backs to sleep to prevent them DYING. I seriously doubt any doctors are recommending that you put babies on their bellies to prevent them choking if they should spit up in their sleep. And in fact, I just googled that very question and there are a billion resources right at my fingertips to tell me that my baby is much more likely to die of SIDS than of choking. At least while they're in bed, anyway.
It's ironic that I can find such information on the web when these people are relying on an internet forum of personal opinion to direct their parenting choices. So we've established that you have internet access! So at least go research your question first before dumping it in the laps of a bunch of proverbial elderly spousal units! Go read scientific journals, go read medical professional websites, go read hospital info. (But please, DON'T go to some "my baby slept on his back and it gave him leukemia" website. The zebras are out there, yes, but so are the freaking crazy or just plain misguided hyenas.)
I'm not saying doctors are always right (I know too many of them to believe that...). And I'm not saying I don't believe you if you claim your baby absolutely WILL NOT go to sleep on his/her back (I don't blame 'em, being in the waterbed/womb is a far cry from being supine on a rock-hard (ahem, also purposeful) baby mattress). And if you are a new mom, your body aches everywhere, you've been on the verge of tears at least 12 times today, you wish your mother would go home, you're desperately afraid she will, you hate that your husband can't calm the baby down like you can, and you put Baby Betty on her tummy to sleep because you know she'll nod off immediately and you just need 5 minutes to find a Kleenex and a sitz bath...I can't blame you, and neither should anyone else.
But for God's sake, if you're making some parenting choices that you're feeling guilty about because you ALREADY ASKED BUT YOU'RE IGNORING THE BEST-INFORMED ANSWER, don't ask for validation from Facebook. Ask your sister or your mother or your best friend. In private. They'll validate you and love you and treasure you. And then you won't have blog rants written about you.
If tomorrow I see a Facebook post about a cat sucking the breath out of some kid, my head may explode.
6/15/10
I've Created a Monster
My mother had specific rules for tidying up our house when I was little. The house had to be tidy AT LEAST on two occasions: 1) when we were expecting visitors and 2) when we were leaving for any longer than a day, so she could return to a clean house. She clung to these above all else under the onslaught of three horribly messy growing children and a husband with his mind on less earthly things than housework ;-).
Among the multiple wise, wonderful things I picked up from my delightful little mommy (you can send me a check, Mother...), I latched on to these rules with the same mindset. And then took it one crazy, nutso step further, to where a large portion of my free time is spent pottering around various areas of the house, with the aim of constant tidiness. After all, with only a slightly untidy spouse and one small child, the cleanliness of my house is one of the things I can control almost 24/7. The boys are rarely able to get ahead of me.
I was thinking this yesterday as I was obsessively scrubbing something inane (I don't even remember now what it was, which shows you how important it must have been...). And thinking that should the day ever arise when more children grace my life, my housecleaning impulses are going to have to go down the drain rapidly, especially with this doctoring thing that I've got my heart set on. Yeah, you can hire a housekeeper, I suppose. But I clearly remember the abortive attempts of housekeepers to relieve some of my mother's cleaning burdens when I was young. They would leave the house, and she would start cleaning, because they never did things the way she wanted them. I have no illusions: I'm just like my mother. So basically, my tidy house days are numbered.
However, I may have given myself a little boost into the saddle with Mi Hijo Numero Uno.
Case in point: he came home yesterday from a 2-week vacay with his dad, and walked into his room expecting it to still be in the stellar condition in which he left it. However, I had belatedly realized that I needed to wash away some allergens and had therefore completely stripped his bed of the 5 pillows, 2 bolsters, 3 quilts, 1 baby blanket, 1 large tiger, 1 large pig and about 30 stuffed animals which regularly occupy it. Seeing the carnage littering his bedroom floor, he promptly burst into tears, and berated me, saying "but it's so much work to build my nest!!" Which is a fact I discovered for myself, when, an hour later, his sheets were done and he requested my help to put his bed back together. Having restored his zoo to its proper location, I left him to the final touches.
When I walked in a little later, he was busily picking up the (maybe three) toys that were on his floor and he said "I need to clean my room, mom, will you help me?"
"Um, sure," I said, "but why does your room need cleaning?" I repeat, there were all of three toys on the floor.
"Mom! What if someone comes in here, what would they think of me?!"
"What?! Who is going to come in here?!"
"Visitors!! Or a new friend!!"
Yes, that's my child. Freaking Martha Stewart in the body of a 7-year-old boy.
But at least maybe I'll have someone waging war on my side in the ongoing saga of Woman vs House.
Among the multiple wise, wonderful things I picked up from my delightful little mommy (you can send me a check, Mother...), I latched on to these rules with the same mindset. And then took it one crazy, nutso step further, to where a large portion of my free time is spent pottering around various areas of the house, with the aim of constant tidiness. After all, with only a slightly untidy spouse and one small child, the cleanliness of my house is one of the things I can control almost 24/7. The boys are rarely able to get ahead of me.
I was thinking this yesterday as I was obsessively scrubbing something inane (I don't even remember now what it was, which shows you how important it must have been...). And thinking that should the day ever arise when more children grace my life, my housecleaning impulses are going to have to go down the drain rapidly, especially with this doctoring thing that I've got my heart set on. Yeah, you can hire a housekeeper, I suppose. But I clearly remember the abortive attempts of housekeepers to relieve some of my mother's cleaning burdens when I was young. They would leave the house, and she would start cleaning, because they never did things the way she wanted them. I have no illusions: I'm just like my mother. So basically, my tidy house days are numbered.
However, I may have given myself a little boost into the saddle with Mi Hijo Numero Uno.
Case in point: he came home yesterday from a 2-week vacay with his dad, and walked into his room expecting it to still be in the stellar condition in which he left it. However, I had belatedly realized that I needed to wash away some allergens and had therefore completely stripped his bed of the 5 pillows, 2 bolsters, 3 quilts, 1 baby blanket, 1 large tiger, 1 large pig and about 30 stuffed animals which regularly occupy it. Seeing the carnage littering his bedroom floor, he promptly burst into tears, and berated me, saying "but it's so much work to build my nest!!" Which is a fact I discovered for myself, when, an hour later, his sheets were done and he requested my help to put his bed back together. Having restored his zoo to its proper location, I left him to the final touches.
When I walked in a little later, he was busily picking up the (maybe three) toys that were on his floor and he said "I need to clean my room, mom, will you help me?"
"Um, sure," I said, "but why does your room need cleaning?" I repeat, there were all of three toys on the floor.
"Mom! What if someone comes in here, what would they think of me?!"
"What?! Who is going to come in here?!"
"Visitors!! Or a new friend!!"
Yes, that's my child. Freaking Martha Stewart in the body of a 7-year-old boy.
But at least maybe I'll have someone waging war on my side in the ongoing saga of Woman vs House.
6/14/10
Humility
My son asked me if he'd been good all day today. And in general, he had. And I told him so.
He said "Good. Because I've been trying to be on my best behavior all day."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I don't want to misbehave and have you get mad at me at the end of the day. I really don't like that."
If I were less human, I'd never be mad at him again. But I can only strive toward being a better mom.
Good thing he's here to help me along.
He said "Good. Because I've been trying to be on my best behavior all day."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I don't want to misbehave and have you get mad at me at the end of the day. I really don't like that."
If I were less human, I'd never be mad at him again. But I can only strive toward being a better mom.
Good thing he's here to help me along.
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