Three Little Words

I love school! - Zane, after his first day of kindergarten today

Leaving the house...

Zane and Papa...

Zane, Mama, and Eily (that's her leg on my hip) going into the school building...

It could not have gone better today. Zane was thrilled. We - the family left behind - survived, and we're all ready to do it again tomorrow.

Zane is Five

In the ensuing madness of raising two – ee gads! - children and dipping my toes back into the work pool, I neglected to do a post for Zane’s 5^th birthday. (Actually, I haven’t done a post for anything since getting a shiny new blog design…so much for that as a motivator.)

Anyway, I knew exactly the blog post I wanted to do, and it wasn’t one of those beautifully written love letters to my child. Please see his 3^rd birthday post for my attempt at that. No, I’m still in the land of the chronically sleep-deprived and hormonal, so any attempt to write such a letter ended in my blubbering while I frantically thesaurus-ed synonyms for “overwhelming love”.

It wasn’t pretty friends.

So, how to coherently express my love for the boy, give him a snapshot of “who” he is at 5 years old, and entertain blog readers – all at the same time? Why, a meme of course!

So here it is, Zane…a “Zane is Five” meme inspired by and about you – our wonderful five year old boy.

5 Things You Are Awesome At:
1. Making Train Layouts – Seriously. I can’t keep up anymore. I rarely even try to help with your mathematically precise layouts.

2. Unintentionally Mocking Others – Why is that person walking so funny? (re: someone strutting down the street) Did she smell something bad? (re: a person with a permanent sneer on their face) “Ooooh…lots of colors…” (re: a hideously tasteless shirt)

3. Playing for Stars – Since we put the “good behavior” chart on the wall, you have eaten more broccoli, picked up more toys, and listened harder than any kid on the planet– all with the intent of getting enough stars to earn a root beer. You loves some root beer.

4. Helping with Eily – You get diapers. You push the button on the butterfly to make it play music. You kiss her little feet in an effort to make her smile. You are totally awesome at this big brother thing.

5. Eating – Never has a skinnier kid eaten so much food. It leaves other children envious (where did he put that 10^th chicken finger?!) and adults in awe.

5 Things You Are…Um…Not-So-Awesome At:
1. Putting Your Pants on Straight – Really, kid. Your bottoms are consistently catawampus.

2. Listening – Especially to things you don’t want to hear. Sure, if I mention going to see trains, you’ll hear me 9 times out of 10. Mention going upstairs to bed, not so much.

3. Sitting Still – You are still the wiggliest worm in your preschool class. That’s okay. The other kids are apparently lazy.

4. Letting Others Play with Your Trains – You have a plan. We’d all do best to stick with it.

5. Eating Candy – You have been overheard saying, “I’m not a candy person,” which is a bit ridiculous since you refuse to even try it. So you are not not a candy person, my love. You are a weirdo kid who won’t try candy.

5 Songs You Love:
1. SexyBack – Justin Timberlake

2. Who Can it Be Now? - Men at Work

3. Underdog – Butthole Surfers

4. Be Happy – Wow, Wow, Wubbzy

5. Fancy – Reba McEntire

6. Don’t judge us.

5 Places You’ve Professed a Desire to Visit:
1. Chicago – lots of trains there

2. Phoenix – You had such a good time when we were there in April.

3. Maine – mostly because your Mimma keeps harping on it

4. Nova Scotia – I’ve been there. You want to go, too.

5. The beach – any beach on any coast.

5 Things You Like to Eat:
1. Chicken Fingers – “chickies” still rule your heart

2. Cracklin Oat Bran – looks like dog food, tastes like heaven

3. Orange Rice – nasty stuff that it is

4. Cap’n Crunch with bananas – aka stealer of the first tooth

5. Pumpkin Muffins – that’s it. No story there.

And finally, child, one last thing you should know: you make my heart sing. Every day. With all you do.

Happy Birthday, Zane.

Anatomically Incorrect

Perhaps the child has a point?

Tonight Zane was in champion “stalling for bedtime” form. He yelled messages down the stairs to us, read a book on the potty for a good 10 minutes, complained about imaginary injuries, and asked for extra good night kisses.

At one point, this is the conversation we had – yelled down the stairs because we wouldn’t let him come down to tell us.

Zane: What are you guys watching?

Me/SRH: Just a show on TV, buddy…

Zane: Are you guys watching one of my shows?

Me/SRH: No.

Zane: Are you watching Noggin?

Me/SRH: NO!

Zane: Well, what are you watching?

SRH: Just a show about volcanoes, Zaney. (This was brilliant because Zane is slightly fearful of volcanoes but they don’t throw him into paroxysms of terror like, say, sirens).

Zane: Volcanoes?

Me/SRH: Yep. You wouldn’t like it.

Zane: Do you know what else volcanoes can be called?

Me/SRH: What, buddy?

Zane: Vulvas.

Me/SRH: What?!

Zane: Volcanoes can also be called vulvas.

Me: (laughing hysterically)

SRH: No, no they can’t buddy. Volcanoes are not called vulvas.

Me: (to Scott) Well, they are now.

Zane: Yes, they are. They explode just like vulvas.

Okay, so back to the drawing board on the whole “using the correct terms” for body parts. Apparently, we’ve not been clear enough if our child believes that volcanoes and vulvas are interchangeable.

To Infinitive and Beyond!

There are many quirks that come with Zane’s sensory processing disorder that are quite charming. For example, he gives me directions to wherever we’re going (he always has a preference), I never have to wonder what to get him for a gift (trains), and he has an urgent need to have a blanket covering his pillow at night so he doesn’t “stick”.

You see the charm here, right? These idiosyncrasies are easy to accommodate, and they make him feel secure – we all win. So while I’ve appreciated all the help he’s gotten from occupational therapy, I’ve also secretly hoped that he doesn’t lose these loveable little foibles that make him uniquely him.

But as his auditory processing improves with occupational therapy, he’s talking more and more – which is actually giving us a whole new set of things to feel delighted by. Recently, it’s like we’ve had a little person who doesn’t speak English as his first language living with us. More to the point, the child is in love with infinitives.

My favorite so far:

Mama, I like this music. It makes me feel like to dance.

So dance, my sweet boy, dance. Whenever you feel like to dance, you go right ahead.

What Have We Done?

Zane turned four last week - and yes, I will write the requisite blog entry full of love and devotion to my little boy, but just not today. (Really, I will. Please see last year's love letter as proof of my commitment to waxing eloquent about the wonder that is my little boy.)

Anyway, Zane got lots of cool stuff for his special day, and one of his favorite gifts is a kid's digital camera. He's gone completely nuts for the thing. He'll take 60 pictures in 10 seconds flat, ask us to upload them onto the computer, and then take 60 more - all before breakfast!

So what's a family with 800 pictures taken by a four year old to do? Well, we make him his own photo blog, of course.

A sample of what you'll see if you mosey over to Zane's blog:

My Birthday Party

This is my mama - she truly is this goofy. Here's proof that I'm not making it up - the pictures show the real story.

This is my papa - he's particularly tall, so the view will often be of his stubbly chin.

Here's me. As you may have guessed, I didn't take this particular photo. Papa took it, but I think it beautifully captures the birthday goodness which was going on. Check out my hat.

So yeah, we totally created a photo blog for Zane. We couldn't help ourselves - the pictures are hilarious, and we are so enamored of our child that we thought we'd claim a corner of the blogosphere for him. In case you missed it, here's the link to Little Man's Got a Camera.

Enjoy!

Because Mothering is Glamourous

While at our local crossing gate watching trains go by, Zane hands me a very small, round, flat object. (think a piece of confetti)

Zane: Mama, is this pink?

Me: Yeah, it’s kind of pink, and it’s also kind of red.

Zane: It’s pink and red?

Me: Pink and red and a little bit brown, too, isn’t it?

Zane: Pink and red and brown. (smiles with satisfaction)

Me: Yep. What is it, buddy? Where did you get it?

Zane: My nose.

Toys Will Be Toys

Not surprisingly, our family has been caught up in the "Thomas Recall" madness. We always knew that The Man would try to corrupt and impede Zane from reaching his full potential. Who knew The Man would do it by covering Zane’s favorite playthings with lead paint?

Here’s a photo of the Thomas toys that have been recalled:

Oh good. There for a minute I was worried. Zane only has 5 of the 23 toys that contain lead. I’m quite sure this means that he has only a 21.7% chance of having ill effects. Conversely, though, I’m canceling his OT appointment on Monday as I’m sure that any and all of his delays are Thomas-induced.

Geesh.

(Actually, all offending toys have been removed from the train table, and the little spoiled guy hasn’t even noticed.)

In other toy-related matters, Zane has rediscovered a gift he received from his last birthday.

FYI, the babies’ names are “Cabbage” and “Truck”, and he put them in their “Baby Box” so that I could take a picture.

While I find this very charming (as is his insistence that we call him “Whitey the Tomcat”), I am now slightly concerned it’s the lead talking.

OT Round 6

…in which I grudgingly give some props to Zane’s occupational therapist.

So last week, I was so frustrated by Zane’s OT appointment (and so overwhelmed by work) that I couldn’t post about it. I was on the verge of giving OT Lady – for whom I must designate some type of name - the old heave-ho. But I didn’t.

And today, I actually need to give her some credit for a job well done.

The good time (for me) began prior to his appointment - in the waiting room. There were several other moms there, and they were actually pretty cool. And don’t let me skew you, I’m sure that almost every time we’re there, most of the mothers are wonderful and friendly, but I am almost always uninterested.

It’s not that I dislike people. I just like whatever I’m reading better.
(I’ve mentioned that I’m struggling a bit with this OT thing, right?)

Ahem…but today the other moms were so doggone friendly, that I couldn’t not talk to them. And while some of the things they said scared me, like “we’ve implemented a face-washing program” and “he will have his IEP re-evaluated next month”, I felt that there was definitely some instant camaraderie in the room, and I felt myself losing some of the tension that typically characterizes my time there.

They said that Zane was cute. Zane and I agreed. Me with a “thank you”. Zane with an “I is.” They talked about how they wished they had gotten their kids into OT as early as Zane. I shrugged and said we hoped it would be helpful. They handled their kids gracefully, and I didn’t see any judgment toward each other when various kid-acting-out behavior occurred.

Then the OT Lady came to get Zane. And Zane cried, of course. He grabbed a hold of my neck and called for me when they took him down the hall. I was not heartbroken, just irritated. I was prepared for this. After all, Zane typically has no trouble leaving me at all, but I knew he was going to fight it this week.

Because last week, without giving us any warning, OT Lady told us that she would be seeing Zane alone from now on - which is completely fine. I understand that kids may act differently around their parents that it might be easier to get him to “work” if he doesn’t have an attentive mama-audience.

What is not okay is that she didn’t give Zane – or me – any warning. And let’s be clear, Zane needed warning. Hence, I needed a “heads up” that he was going to be doing therapy solo so that I could help him prepare for it. Zane does just fine with change – when he knows about it before hand. It’s not like he needs a lot of prep, but we do make it a habit to tell him what to expect at new places and situations.

Therefore, last week I knew that the “shock” of going with OT Lady on his own had left him pretty compliant, but I knew that this week would be a struggle.

And I’m just saying, OT Lady has referred several times to how “rigid” Zane is – he likes to do things in a certain order, for example – so I’d have thought she might have mentioned to him that things were going to change the next time she saw him. It seems like common sense that if you have a kid who is challenged by transition and change that you give him ample warning of changes to occur. But I didn’t say too much about it last week. I just knew that this week would be harder.

(My kid likes a routine. There’s nothing wrong with that. I myself am quite into predictability and routine. I’m the woman who thinks that lather, rinse, repeat is clear, concise, and helpful.)

But I digress…when I went back to see what Zane had done – after he fell into my arms with relief- Zane showed me a train picture he had colored, a train track he had cut, and some pieces of track that he had glued together.

Right on, OT Lady. If anything will motivate my son to perform, it’s playing with trains in any form – coloring, gluing, or cutting. Well done.

It was also just very thrilling for me. Zane has always been very resistant to coloring at home, although he likes to watch SRH and I color. (He bosses us around and tells us where to put which color. It’s charming.) But we have noticed in the past two weeks that he has been playing with his markers much more.

He also was able to hold the scissors much better today than he was even last week, and he was very proud of himself for it. He glued some pieces of track together while I was talking to OT Lady, and it all just felt really nice.

I can actually see a difference in his fine motor skills in this short period of time – which is really great!

Then she gave me several tips for things we can work on at home which were practical and easy to implement. Oh geez, lady, be careful. I might actually be impressed with this whole OT process.

Just as I was warming up a bit to the process, you know acknowledging that this might be helpful for Zane; I had to tell her that Zane wouldn’t be attending their preschool this summer. Our insurance won’t pay for any group therapy.

So she says, “Well, that’s really too bad. I mean, he has such difficulty separating from you. It would be good practice for him to spend some time with other kids on his own. It might help him from being so dependent on you.”

Oh no she didn’t…

Papa's in the Barrel

So, it’s a Monday post so you’re probably expecting that I will either a) drop a major health bombshell or b) complain about Zane’s OT appointment today.

But you’re in for disappointment, dear reader, for I am not going to talk about either of those things. Nope, I will not tell funny tales of casually dropping the “Hey, I have a tumor” bomb onto unsuspecting friends and family. (Although, as you might imagine, much hilarity has ensued.)

I will also NOT discuss my irritation with the ongoing OT assessment process. (Nor will I describe the ire I’m feeling at the therapist who promised to send me an email today describing her findings and recommendations for Zane’s parent-teacher conference tomorrow – even though I still haven’t gotten it.)

Nope, I’ve got other things to talk about. Positive things. Fun things. Things I can’t wait to tell you about.

Um…

There’s the…uhh…

Wait…It’s going to come to me.

Oh yes, I was going to tell you about how mama’s off the hook these days.

I’m not sure how I finagled it, but Zane is all about his papa these days. All. About. Papa.

It’s delightful. Who does Zane want to wash his hands after he potties? Papa. Who does he want to give him his bath? Papa. Who does he want to make a new train layout? Papa. Who makes the best chickie fingers in the whole wide world? Papa, papa, papa.

Who does he want to do anything and everything? Papa, that’s who.

I’ll tell you, it’s a nice little break. Because, you know, he still willing to do fun stuff with me – we had a delightful walk down to the neighborhood grocery store this evening, but he wants to do all the mundane stuff with papa.

And yes, if SRH is not around, he’s happy to have me doing those routine things. We get through our day just fine when SRH is at work. But I am effectively “off the clock” the minute SRH walks through the door.

And I’m just not the kind of mama that gets stirred up (or hurt) about these kinds of things. The pendulum will swing back. I’ll be in the barrel again. For now, I’m just determined to enjoy this small break while I have it.

And lest, I start to feel unappreciated, Zane will come out with something like he said at the park this weekend:

Hey, where’s my friend mama?

I’m right here, love. Getting some much-needed rest.

One - of Many - Good Things

No matter how stressed, frustrated, grumpy, or hungry I get, there is always one thing that reminds me that life is good:

Zane – yesterday at a fantastic birthday party.

Ready? Okay!

At times, my attempts to put Zane in an “outfit” versus a shirt and pants go horribly awry.

Today was one such day.

Does it remind you of anything?

Ready? O- Kay!

My Name is Zane! (clap)

I play with Trains! (clap)

If you don’t like it – (clap)

Then you’re insane! (clap, clap)

(Zane exits stage left and mumbles something about going to get ready for the "ultimate cheer".)

The Power of Speech

Interlude One

Yesterday, I had one of those parenting moments where you stand outside your body a little bit and think, Really? This is what my life is? Wow, I wouldn’t have called that ten years ago.

It happened right around 8:25am and, of course, it happened around the potty. Zane was throwing the perfect 3 year old tantrum at the perfect time – 5 minutes before we had to leave for preschool. These were the words that defused the situation:

It’s okay, Zaney. The potty won’t hurt you. I promise. Mama won’t let the potty hurt you. (less sniffles)

Do you want to potty like papa? (small nod) Okay buddy, go ahead and stand up. Mama will help point your pee-pee.

Tantrum over.

(Is the offer to hold a penis a universal way to stop a tantrum in the male of our species?)

Interlude Two
I have mentioned before that I have, at times, not been taken seriously at work by colleagues outside of my immediate office. I attribute it to a number of things: I look young. I’m pretty short, and I’m a woman of color. I know - who would take anyone of that particular combination seriously? I mean, really.

But in an effort to publicly support me, my boss will occasionally ask me to do some high profile speeches. I hate it when this happens. Hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.

So I pretty much hated yesterday.

To be fair, I only had to do an introduction, not a full speech. But it was in front of hundreds of people, including the top two women at the university. And my boss. And several colleagues that I highly respect.

So I did it – and it went okay. And as I was making my way back to my seat, I said under my breath,

Well, at least I didn’t puke.

And while my boss didn’t hear me, the Very Important Person sitting to my right did. And while she was WAY too dignified to fall out of her chair, she did get quite a chuckle at my expense.

Interlude Three
Zane’s talking, and talking, and talking does have some benefits. He has recently starting responding to terms of endearment and asking for kisses. So sweet.

But today, he stunned me when he said – completely unsolicited -

I love you, mama.

This may be the highlight of my life.

I Really Do Like My Child

There are times I am just on a collision course with my child. Times when no matter what I do, Zane and I are destined to work each other’s last nerve. Those times usually come when we have just spent a long period of time together without a break, one of us is sick, and an outside stressor is present.

Well, check, check, and check. Zane and I just spent almost 12 days straight together with little interference from the outside world - i.e. we didn’t leave the house much. We were both sick for the majority of the time, and I got a phone call today from the folks who provide his childcare that Oops, they won’t return to town until Thursday, so we’ll have to find back up childcare tomorrow and Wednesday. Great.

Our current conflict – although Zane apparently has no idea that we’re engaged in a full-scale battle – involves talking. Zane’s incessant talking to be exact. His complete inability to be quiet for even one second of the day. His unwillingness to give his poor mother one moment of peace without asking questions or narrating every, single, thing happening around him.

Oh sure, I’m the same mama who has been concerned about her boy’s speech and who has (in the past) described him as a “late talker.” But preschool changed all that. Dramatically. Possibly irrevocably.

And I know that many, many parents are annoyed by the constant chatter of their 3 year olds, but – being me – I can’t let it rest at that. You know, the philosophy that it’s completely normal for a parent to want to gag their child after being cooped up with them in one space for almost two weeks with illnesses raging and ceaseless rambling by said child.

I don’t buy that. It must be something more. So I went exploring – what would explain this fundamental incompatibility between me and my child?

Astrological Signs
Zane is a Leo. I am a Taurus. Apparently, this could be the cause of the unrest at our house. Completely taken out of context, here are two quotes that describe how our astrological signs may interact:

Relationships between Taurus girls and Leo boys rarely work out in the long run.

Leo can be very loud and melodramatic at times, which upsets Taurus who wants, above all else, peace and serenity at home.

So, there’s one explanation. Zane’s big mouth upsets my desire for harmony.

Doshic Types
According to this ancient Indian medicinal system, I am a Pitta-Vata. All signs indicate that Zane is a Vata-Pitta. (If you want to know what you are, here’s a fun test and here’s a more tedious one).

Okay, my take on this is that we are too much alike and this causes conflict. Could be.

Chinese Zodiac
I was born in the year of the Tiger. Zane was born in the year of the Goat. Interestingly enough, many sources say that this is an inadvisable pairing.

According to this source, Zane and I make a “poor combination”.

And according to this one, “It would be better for both if they spent more personal time away from each other.”

Wow. I...um…I guess I’ve felt a little annoyed, but this feels like it’s overstating it a bit.

Western Self-Help Philosophy
I have mentioned before that I am a highly sensitive person. In fact, when I take the Highly Sensitive Person Test, I manage to answer “yes” to a whopping 21 out of 26 questions. So I thought I’d take the children’s test on behalf of Zane to see if perhaps we were just two overly-sensitive souls who happen to have had a hard week and are (within normal limits) causing each other some moments of irritation.

No such luck. Zane was only a “yes” on 7 out of 23 questions – and that was stretching it a bit. So that theory doesn’t explain it.

An unclear conclusion…

So I’m not sure what this all means. It seems clear that there is no single explanation for the recent discord between Zane and me. Unless the explanation is that unceasing chatter by a little boy will drive any mama crazy after a while.

I’m sure it will be better tomorrow. After all, the preschool teachers will be his audience!

(Editors Note: I’m sure there is no need to say this, but this post is entirely facetious. I adore my son – and his rambling, incessant chatter. It is the delight of - most of - my days.)

Sick Day Time Line

I’m beginning to believe that this Fall may go down in our family annals as The Autumn that Zany Mama Caught Every Virus, Bug, and/or Infection that was present in Central Ohio. Seriously, I have been sick more in the past six weeks than in the past three years combined.

Case in point, I was really sick - and Zane was mildly sick – yesterday. Having little other blog fodder, I thought it might be sort of fun to give an overview of the ridiculous day we spent together. (Disclaimer: This post was conceptualized in my fevered brain yesterday and may contain many tangents, irrelevancies, and outright lies.)

7:03am
Zane wakes me up by hovering over my face and saying “Good morning, Mama!” with his freshest morning breath. It’s at this moment that I realize we have a problem. My sore throat from the night before has progressed to a screaming pain throughout my nose, throat, and ears and it was accompanied by body aches that have even my toes hurting.

I convince Zane to go back to sleep in my arms for a while so that I can get a few more minutes of sleep.

7:32am
Sleeping party is over. Zane wants to get up for the day NOW, NOW, NOW. I unhappily oblige.

On top of the soreness, my throat feels like it’s coated in peanut butter and jelly – a goober if you will. Although it’s highly unlikely that anything resembling peanut butter and jelly has been in my gullet for the past three years because 1) Zane is violently allergic to peanuts, so we don’t have any peanut products in the house and 2) I haven’t been able to find a good jelly in forever.

(I am, unsurprisingly, quite picky when it comes to jellies. I only really like cherry jelly or jam – I’m not a big fan of preserves or marmalades – and it’s hard to find one that isn’t overly sweet. The moment I find one that is satisfactory, the company stops making it. My attention is the death knell for all good cherry jellies everywhere).

8:05am
My brilliant partner, SRH, finds a stash of Hall’s Cough Drops for me.

8:45am
The aforementioned brilliant partner leaves for work. I have a moment of panic as I realize that my barely conscious self is responsible for the care of a sick preschooler for the rest of the day.

(This is not unlike the panic I felt when we brought Zane home from the hospital. I just couldn’t believe that they thought we were nearly responsible enough to have the care and upkeep of an obviously vulnerable young child. Today, however, I feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of keeping us both alive. Have I mentioned that I felt like dying at this point?)

8:47am
Zane realizes that he has misplaced the “coal” that goes in one of the freight cars on his train. I look for it everywhere amidst cries of, Where coal? Where coal? He’s crying, and I’m about to cry as I drag my poor body all over the house looking for a 1x3 inch piece of black plastic. (After looking off and on all day, I never do find it.)

9:03am
I settle onto a heating pad to combat the chills and body aches. Soft, defeated cries of Where Coal continue in the background for the next 54 minutes.

It occurs to me that perhaps the extreme pain in my joints is akin to having been tortured on the rack. I mean, I really don’t know having never uttered such heresies as the earth revolves around the sun or other such nonsense in the presence of English clerics, but I think the pain might be similar.

9:44am
Second breakfast: Zane sits on my tummy and eats cold Wendy’s chili.

10:15am
I call my mother to beg for relief. I believe I actually said on her machine, I think I’m dying. That is, if a sore throat and body aches can kill you. Because if it can, I’m definitely dying. Can you come over for lunch please?

10:48am
Mom calls me back and says that she’ll be over at lunch to help me out.

(As I was very sick as a young child – with a condition which was remedied by surgery when I was 3- my mother is a bit over-the-top when I’m even slightly ill. I can hear the anxiety in her voice and I retract my comments about being on death’s door. It’s cool to be dramatic, but you don’t want to worry your mother unnecessarily.)

Mom promises to be at the house with lunch for Zane at 11:30. I start counting the minutes until she gets here.

11:42am
Mom shows up – apparently, she’s not as worried about me as I’d hoped…um…I mean…thought.

11:44am
I take a shower in water at the hottest level I can tolerate. It does help the body aches and chills, but I keep bumping up against the shower curtain which feels like cold pitchforks against my skin in my fevered state.

(At this point, I’m wishing that I’d thought to bring a stool in with me so that I can sit down for a while. This, of course, reminds me of when I came home after Zane was born and I couldn’t walk – yes, I know that old story again. But what I was really referring to was how SRH would turn over a bucket and put a towel on it so that I could sit down in the shower so that he wouldn’t have to go in with me and hold me up. A few weeks later we graduated to a Rubbermaid stool – which was ever so much more dignified.)

12pm
I’m done. Mom watches Zane as I head to bed for a nap.

1:04pm
Zane joins me for a nap as my mom heads back to work.

2:07pm
Zane wakes up. I longingly remember the 2-3 hour naps of days gone by. I beg, plead, and cajole, but Zane’s not interested in watching a video in bed so that I can sleep some more, so we head downstairs.

2:23pm
Zane is interested in watching a video now. I can’t take back my offer, and truthfully, I’m inordinately grateful to the TV for taking the heat off me for a few minutes. (Shameful, I know. But what is a blog, if not a place for unabashed self-confession?)

3:37pm
I’m strangely disappointed when Zane decides to turn off Stuart Little 2 before the big airplane finale. Cue up more train videos.

3:42pm
I call SRH and try to keep the desperation out of my voice as I request that he be home as close to 5pm as possible.

4:15pm
Hey, what do you know? I can actually sit up now for 5 minutes at a time without horrific pain in my hips and back. I begin to believe that I might actually make it out to the other side of this illness.

4:42pm
SRH gets home – what a dear, dear man.

5:12pm
I go to take another blazing hot shower. This time, I am not proud. I ask SRH to bring me the stool – which has inexplicably disappeared from our bathroom. He can’t find it either, so he pinch hits with this:

I’m a little uneasy because I seem to remember that there is a weight limit of 90 pounds for this particular chair. And while I’m not a big person, I don’t think I’ve been that weight since the 6^th grade. But hey, I haven’t eaten anything all day – which means I’m closer to 90 pounds than I was yesterday – plus my judgment is clearly clouded by fatigue and discomfort, so I go ahead and sit down.

Thankfully, no drama results.

6:09pm
I head to bed for the night.

(I do manage to get up for about an hour around 9:30pm – you know, to make sure things are set for the next day and to check my blog and stuff. I have priorities.)

So there it is – my thrilling sick day. More information about someone else's day of illness than you ever wanted to know.

For the record, I’m feeling much better today. but Zane seems to be feeling a little worse – probably due to the abject neglect he experienced yesterday.