My husband thinks he’s cornered the market on stress. Okay, he’s got a very demanding job; he works a lot of hours, he’s on call 24/7 and he does carry a lot of stress on his shoulders. But the other day I mentioned that I had more stress than usual and you’d have thought I’d said I got abducted by aliens.
“Stress?” he said. “What are YOU stressed about?” Seriously, that’s the way he said it.
I don’t know how two people who live in the same house, eat dinner together and sleep in the same bed can be so far apart in their understanding. I began to explain. read more
My five-year-old daughter can’t handle anything medical. She won’t even let me look at cuts and scrapes — forget it if she has a splinter! Unimpressed by tales of Tooth Fairy riches, she’ll wait until her loose teeth, hanging by a thread, fall out on their own. I don’t know why this is, but given her unwillingness to let me even comb her hair, I’ve theorized that she has an unusually low threshold of pain.
At no time is this more apparent as when she needs an immunization. She needed two shots in order to start school this year and what an appointment we had!
“Do I have to get a shot?” she said on the way to the doctor.
“I don’t know,” I stalled, not wanting to alarm her but not wanting to lie, either. Okay, it was a lie. I did know. read more
After my dad’s funeral, we spent a week working on financial matters and loose ends. After that, we dropped the kids off with their Yiaya in order to start the epic and nightmarish task of cleaning out my father’s house.
My husband took the basement and garage and I took the upstairs. In the garage, my dad had strung a board from the wall at ground level that groaned from the weight of all the crap he’d stored behind it. My husband found tools, pipes, brooms and every wooden handle to every shovel or rake my dad had ever owned. In addition to that, he found three lawnmowers and a nook with charcoal stored next to gas, next to brake fluid, next to matches, oil, cans of compressed gas, cleaning solvents, and old rags. “I can’t believe this place didn’t go up in flames,” he told me. I wished we were that lucky. read more
We snuck off to New York last month. We didn’t tell my father. We visited my birth family and best friend, but we did not visit my dad. I wasn’t trying to punish him. He did it to himself. I told him that my birth mother wanted to buy us plane tickets to visit and he said, “Don’t go taking money from her. You’re getting too involved. She wants to mother you. She has a mother complex.” read more
There are lots of parenting moments that I’d love to forget, like the time my daughter was 18 months old and refused to take a nap. Tired, frustrated and counting on that nap, I yelled, yanked the pacifier out of her mouth and slammed her bedroom door. “You are the adult,” a friend said when I confessed. Well, I wasn’t that day. read more