Bye Bye Bonsai
When Mr. BBM got me a small bonsai tree for Mother's Day a couple years ago, I had mixed feelings about it. Although a thoughtful gift for a martial artist and Karate Kid fan, I couldn't help but feel like I had one more thing I had to take care of. Taking care of everyone and everything all the time is exhausting.
I read the two pages of instructions, gave strict orders that no one touch it except for me and the bonsai and I became friends. Before long, it was thriving and I had to do some pruning. I did it with butterflies in my stomach, so afraid to hurt the thing, but it did fine and survived. I figured I had overestimated how sensitive it was, but I found out that I was wrong.
My bonsai has gone from being a thriving little plant to a nightmare. Leaves started falling off, first one by one, and then non-stop. I accused Mr. BBM of watering it, but he swore he didn't touch it. The bonsai only gets watered once a week. Last week, when it felt hopeless, I scoured the web for advice on bringing it back to its former grandeur.
So I went to work, carefully prying the plant from its pot so I could examine the roots. I cut back the ones that were no longer white, sat the soil on paper towels to let it soak up any excess moisture and then returned it to its pot with hopes that it would recover.
Today it dropped another grouping of leaves and it's looking more hopeless than ever.
I've lost plants before. Although I've definitely become more of a green thumb over the years, by self-teaching myself how to not blow all our landscaping investment, I know that I've had problems with indoor plants in the past. I even thought that maybe the bonsai didn't like my new little basil plant so I moved it away from the bonsai to give it some space.
Still, nothing has worked.
I've had no trouble tossing out plants in the past, but this one bothers me. Maybe it's because I'm seeing a parallel between it and me and my knee.
Despite surgery and careful care afterwards, my knee has been awful lately. It's bruised again and sore and I've been avoiding karate because my brace hurts where the bruising is and kneeling is next to impossible for me. Despite "surgery" and careful care of my plant, it's not thriving. It doesn't look nice or exotic anymore. It just looks sad, kind of like my knee.
I want my bonsai to survive and I want my knee to be completely healed, but wanting something and reality are often quite different. I'm frustrated with my bonsai tree, and I'm frustrated with my knee.
Right now, both are on a downward spiral that I'm not quite sure how to fix. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's not having control over things that I want.
Flu, Pneumonia, Allergic Reactions and More Fun
I usually turn my cell phone off when I'm on campus. Either that, or if I forget and it rings, I hit ignore and continue teaching. This morning, my phone rang between my classes and my gut told me to answer it.
Last night, at a doctor's appointment for Big I, I noticed that Lil C felt warm again. After running a fever for three days and then not having one, I asked the doctor to check her and when I told her that Lil C's primary complaint was that her back hurt, she looked concerned.
Immediately, she slid her stool across the room and listened to Lil C's chest. I knew there was something wrong when she continued to listen and listen without saying anything.
The diagnosis: pneumonia, a complication of H1N1. Allergic to so many drugs, the doctor prescribed a strong one that she hadn't had before. She told me that if this didn't work, if she got worse, or if she still had a fever in 48 hours, that she'd have to go to the hospital for IV antibiotics.
This is not what you would expect to hear when you think your kid just has a cough that you thought was getting better. I was so relieved that I had made the appointment for Big I (who has the ear infection that won't quit and is now on a second round of antibiotics), and even more glad that I spoke up and asked the doctor to look at Lil C.
It took three pharmacies before we found Lil C's antibiotic. I was a nervous wreck last night, listening to her cough, so much so that I moved her into my bed so I could keep a close eye on her. I barely slept the entire night.
This morning, I was expecting her to be better. She was sleeping when I left for work, but my Mom who happens to be a nurse and Mr. BBM were here to keep an eye on her.
I answered my phone as my students started taking their seats and it was Mr. BBM. He told me he was rushing Lil C to the doctor because she was having an allergic reaction to her antibiotic. She was getting huge hives on her body, one was about three inches by three inches on her leg. I told him I was canceling my class and that I'd be there soon.
When I turned around to tell my students, instead of being happy that class was over for the day before it even started, they looked concerned. As I gathered my stuff and ran out of the room, they yelled well wishes at me and told me they hoped things would be ok. Many of my students were staying to work on their group speeches even though I was leaving. They are such a great group of kids.
One of my adult students, an ER nurse at the local hospital, followed me out and gave me her cell phone number. She told me to call if we had to go to the hospital so she could streamline us and get us right in. She has two daughters too, one who was in the ER for the very same reason just two weeks ago.
I have never been behind such slow, stupid drivers in my life. I'm not sure exactly how I got to the doctor's office. All I know is that it took entirely too long.
When I got to the office, my Mom was waiting outside for me. She said Lil C had already been taken back. The receptionist took me to the room as they were coming out. I was sure we were heading to the hospital. Instead, they're trying a different oral antibiotic in a super dose and a breathing medication because today, they heard some wheezing as well as the crackling from last night.
This is the third time this child has had an allergic reaction to an antibiotic. Clearly, she thinks I need some gray hair or something. Although she already seems a little better, I am keeping a very close eye on her. If at any moment, I think she's getting worse, I am taking her to the hospital. I am just praying we don't get to that point. I hope you'll join me.
Of Skeletons and Creative Thinking
A couple weeks ago, I bought adorable Halloween pajamas for Lil C. They are pink and when worn in the dark, you can see a glow in the dark skeleton, complete with a sparkly pink heart. They're adorable and more importantly, the kid really needed some new pajamas.
I brought them home and was so excited to show them to her, but my excitement quickly faded. She hated them. She said, "I'm NOT wearing bones."
Awesome.
So, I kept trying for two weeks. Finally, two nights ago, after being super fried from being alone with the girls all week while Mr. BBM is away, I refused to get off the floor and go find her another pair of pajamas. So, I flipped them around so she couldn't see the skeletons and asked her if she wanted to wear her new pretty pink jammies.
"Yes," she exclaimed with excitement. She asked me when I bought her new jammies, but I ignored her and helped her put them on. . . backwards, careful not to show her the bones.
It was when I put the shirt on her that she noticed something was up. The baggy butt area in the backwards pants didn't clue her in prior to this. She saw a white something on the backs of the arms as I was straightening them out and asked me what they were.
"Oh those? Those are pretty white bows. Isn't that cool that you have pretty white bows all down your jammies?" She said yes, grinned ear to ear and went happily to sleep.
The next morning, I asked her how she liked sleeping in her pink jammies. She said, "I love them." It was then that I took her into the dark powder room and showed her the glowing skeleton on the back of her pants and shirt.
"What?" she yelled, and then she looked right at me, cracked up laughing and said, "Mommy, you tricked me!"
I asked her if she was going to wear them again and she said, "Yes, I like my geleton jammies now." This morning, I went to work and my Mom was here when Lil C woke up in her backwards skeleton jammies. She doesn't mind that they have skeletons on them now, but she's still going to wear them backwards.
Sometimes you just have to think out of the box. Backwards is clearly the way to go.
Foreshadowing Different
Last week, we had a play date at our house. One of the Mom's saw a fleece blanket that was passed down to Lil C from Big I and she held it up and started telling me about the story the blanket is based on. Apparently, there's a book out there and the whole theme is that it's ok to be different. The Mom started saying some of the lines from the book. "It's ok to have crazy hair." "It's ok to wear glasses." etc. Big I received the blanket as a gift from her grandfather years ago, but I just thought it was a random blanket. I had no idea about the story behind it. I had no idea it was about to foreshadow our weekend.
Flash forward to this past weekend.
We had a birthday party to go to for a 5-year old on the street. She loves fashion so she had a fashion themed birthday party. The Mom went all out and created a dressing room and a run-way. There were two fashion shows during the course of the party. It was a lot of fun.
Both of my girls brought two outfits to change into and of course, they were both princess or fairy costumes. They were having a fantastic time.
It was after the second fashion show though, that I noticed that Big I was not being herself. I took her back in the dressing area to help her change and she was obviously upset about something. She didn't want to tell me, but I kind of forced it out of her. Apparently, she was being made fun of by a couple other girls who are around her age. She saw them pointing at her and laughing from the corner as she danced on the runway with another 5-year old friend of hers. She also heard them saying how "babyish" she was for dancing with the little kids and for wearing a Jasmine costume. This taunting continued throughout the party. Another kid told her she dances weird, but that didn't stop her from continuing to dance with her friends. She tried to shake it off and most people would not have known anything was wrong, but when we got home, she was clearly bothered.
The reason she was being picked on is the exact reason why Moms on this street love Big I. Although a 3rd grader, she can instantly transform herself into the perfect play date, no matter what. One day she'll be building an airplane out of tunnels, tubes and a play globe. The next day, she's a pirate on a play set ship. What's so cool about her is that she can get everyone involved in her different scenarios and everyone seems to have a good time. She plays with kids on our street that range in age from a couple months old to a 7th grader; and she gets along with all of them equally well. She is a neat kid, and I'm not just saying that because I brought her into this world. Ask anyone who knows her; they'll tell you the same.
I know how it feels to be picked on. What girl doesn't know this feeling at some point in their lives? And girls, they can be brutal. So I knew we had to talk about it.
I sat Big I on the sofa with me last night and put my arms around her. I told her about how much other kids love her, and how their parents do too. I told her not to get caught up in what other people think about her. I told her that the only thing that matters is what kind of person she is and how she feels about herself. I asked her if she had a good time, and she did. I asked her if she thought it would be more fun to dance with the little kids or sit in the corner and make fun of people. She picked dancing. I asked her if she thought it would be more fun to dance (even if you do dance a little weird) or sit in the corner and make fun of other people dancing. She chose dancing. I told her she has her whole life to grow up and act grown-up and that if she likes dressing up and playing with the little kids, she should do that for as long as possible. I gave her a hug that I hoped would squash all those yucky feelings and told her to think about what a good time she had with her little friends. Personally, I am thrilled that my daughter acts her young age of eight. Kids grow up entirely too fast these days.
This morning, I sent her off to school wearing a witch hat because it's crazy hat day. There wasn't a single other kid wearing a hat at the bus stop, but she walked up there with her two foot high hat on with a smile on her face. She loves spirit week.
When I came back inside, I found a little sign she had made last night. She took foam fish and dolphins and other sea creatures and made them look different. She drew hair on the one fish and lines on the one dolphin. She then wrote on it, "Different is Good!"
She is so very right. Different is good.
Eleven Years: Then and Now
It's 6:05 p.m. on my 11th wedding anniversary. Eleven years ago, I was just arriving at my reception. The weather had been in the 70's all day long and it had been an amazing day.
Today, I've just emerged from the shower. Instead of getting dressed to go to a nice restaurant for a quiet dinner, I put my pajamas back on, along with the robe with the two drops of coffee stain on it too, from when I almost spit out my entire mouthful this morning after reading a horrendous student paper and thesis statement that made no sense. It has rained all day long and tonight, we might get snow.
Eleven years ago, I spent hours getting my hair done and doing my make-up, getting in my dress and having hundreds of pictures taken. I was excited and nervous all at the same time.
Today, I spent hours grading papers and chasing after a little girl with a very runny nose and pleading with her to please put her dirty tissues in the trash and to please just sit down and rest. I've been nervous today too, but it's a completely different feeling when it involves your daughters.
Eleven years ago, I was getting ready to have a nice dinner. . . chicken marsala, one of my favorites.
Today, Mr. BBM ordered sandwiches from the local pizza shop. They'll probably arrive while he's retrieving diet coke from the store so I'll have to answer the door wearing my stained robe, flannel pants and slippers with wet hair and no make-up.
Eleven years ago, I was gearing up for a fun night of dancing with friends and family. And man was it fun!
Tonight, I'll curl up on the sofa and probably watch Food Network while I continuously check on the girls while they sleep and pray that their fevers don't come back. Mr. BBM will probably fall asleep on the loveseat. He'll also probably snore.
Eleven years ago, Mr. BBM and I were dressed to kill.
Today, I wear pajamas and Mr. BBM wears homemade "man-pri's" or what I call "pirate pants," which are cut off mens sweatpants that I used to wear post-ACL surgery because they were the only comfortable piece of clothing that I could fit over my obligatory knee brace. They were too short for him when I was done with them, so he cut the bottoms off and wears them despite the fact that I make fun of him each time he does.
Eleven years ago, Mr. BBM gave me beautiful diamond and pearl earrings and a necklace to wear for our wedding.
Last night, Mr. BBM and I exchanged anniversary gifts. I bought him a Steelers sweatshirt that he has to exchange because it is too small and the Polamalu Steelers jersey that I bought him hasn't even arrived in the mail yet. I just didn't have time to order it this week with all the grading and sickness happening. He bought me an outfit from Ann Taylor Loft, the store that seems to forget that they used to make shirts and sweaters with long enough sleeves for me and pants that didn't look like I was preparing for a flood. What happened Loft?
And more importantly, what happened to us?
Oh yeah, it's called a marriage, a marriage with kids. It's not your typical Cinderella story, but for now it's our story.
I'll just pretend my cheese steak tonight is filet; and Mr. BBM can pretend I spent more than three seconds combing my hair today.
Ah, marital bliss.
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