Life Continues

Yes, I am behind on posting my blog. I can’t say exactly why. It isn’t that I have honestly been any busier than normal, although some days it certainly seems so. Mostly, I suppose, there hasn’t been that much to blog about.

Ed, thankfully, is back to work!!!! The first week was a hard adjustment. The kids especially were used to simply having him around. Even more difficult, we went from the routine we had fallen into to a totally new one. Prior to the virus and the plant shutting down, Ed was to have started in a new section of the plant and on second shift. Which means he reports for work at 4:30 in the afternoon and gets off about one in morning (or more like three once production is back to full throttle and overtime kicks in again). So, I’m a single parent at night, followed by keeping the kids as quiet as I can in the mornings (at least it’s been nice enough to be out most days!), lunch is our family meal, and the kids were all quite confused by it all. Week two has been much better. They’ve accepted that Papa is back at work, even though the new schedule is still a bit odd. And I am grateful they’ve settled in better this week because battles at the end of the day when I am already exhausted…well, they’re no fun.

A few weeks ago, we bought Ethan a new bike. It’s a very early Christmas or birthday present, but as both are in the winter it is a better time to get one. Although I confess the drive behind it was his desire to ride Emry’s bike which was only starting to cause conflict. He is sooooo excited!!!!! It didn’t take him long to figure it out, he wants to dart out the door first thing in the morning to ride it, and he’s forever begging to go on bike rides around the neighborhood. Bike rides that constantly start and stop as he speeds along and then spots something he simply has to stop, climb off his bike and see. Not to mention the constant commentary as we ride along about things he sees, random thoughts that come to his three-year-old head, or greetings to everyone he passes. But at least he has fun!

Emry, meanwhile, had her first dance “recital”. While I am very grateful to the dance studio and all their instructors for going the extra mile during this time and having the final weeks of classes live on Zoom each week, the “recital” in our living room was probably more of a disappointment for me than for her. For I too missed my first dance recital when I was five. Not because of a pandemic but for the same reason I missed many things: we moved. She was awfully cute in her outfit, though:

 As for me, work has kept me busy as late. I have a lot of important certification renewals in June I am pushing to get done early. Unfortunately, to date, they are only 98% done thanks to PennDot and the ridiculous way they do everything. And I’m just waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Because this baby is still constant movement, I still live a portion of each day sick, and now the Braxton Hicks are just about to do me in. I did not have such frequent bouts of contractions prior to giving birth to either Emry or Ethan, but I’ve had several moments each day over the past week with them…and still no baby. Just a very exhausted, aching body.  Sigh.

Things I Don't Understand

There are many things in this world I don’t understand. Some of them I simply don’t care to. But, in light of our world “stepping out” of “stay-at-home/shelter-in-place” orders, it seems to have gotten even crazier. For instance:

How is herding everyone through what resembles cattle barriers into one entrance of a store remotely helping “social distancing”? Not only is it pushing people into a funnel (whereas just letting them use any old entrance allows for much more space), but blocking off other said entrances causes a serious fire hazard. And, personally, I am much more scared of dying in a fire than getting sick.

I just got an e-mail that our dental insurance provider is now providing virtual dental visits for things like chipped teeth, aching gums, etc.! Which I am still trying to figure out. Because when I get into the portal, do I stick my phone or laptop into my mouth so they can see said chip? What if my phone doesn’t fit? My laptop certainly doesn’t. And if they agree the tooth is chipped, how do they go about fixing it over the phone? Sometimes my imagination is just so limited…

Since I work with people who design and inspect parks, they’re on all kinds of park emails. Our park and recreation specialist forwarded one to us this week that was a link to the City of Pittsburgh’s Facebook page. The mayor (who, I’m afraid, I don’t even know words to describe let alone would be allowed to use them) has declared that no pools will be opened this summer. No summer sports leagues. No large events. No day camps. Playgrounds would eventually open. And maybe splash pads. Tennis and pickleball courts, but playing singles is suggested. Sports fields can be used if social distancing is followed. (And if I were a parent in Pittsburgh, I’d drop my kids off at his office every day to put up with them since they can’t go anywhere else.) Anyhow, a couple of days later, I was on the Port Authority website looking for something. The Port Authority runs all the mass transit in Pittsburgh, which (aside from a “T-line” that only runs from a few locations in the South Hills to the sports stadiums) is mainly buses. Lots, and lots, and lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of buses. More buses than I’ve ever seen in one city (which is actually the whole county) and they are alwaysfull. They were opening all routes that same week. Because, you know, cramming people into an enclosed capsule is WAY safer than allowing kids to splash in a pool.

My obgyn’s office was probably one of the last to go to everyone wearing face masks or calling from the parking lot to let them know you were there for your appointment (which I am very grateful for). My doctor hasn’t made a big deal of the virus, asking only once if I had any concerns. And there are certainly a few more rules in place when I actually give birth. (Sadly, they include no visitors and I am disappointed on behalf of Emry and Ethan that they cannot come to the hospital to meet their new little sibling.) But the last time I was there, the director of the facility and his assistant were in the lobby laying down tape six feet apart so patients can stand in their proper place while awaiting to get their temp checked before proceeding with the nurse to the room awaiting them for their check-up. But since thy don’t allow more than one or two patients into the building at a time (remember, we’re all in the parking lot waiting), I am at a loss to figure out why tape is needed on the floor for ten people to wait in line…

Farmer’s markets are opening again, which is good. I got an email in my work email from some Allegheny County organization with “helpful” rules from yet some other doctor who feels the need to add their two-cents to the subject. She began that farmer’s markets are essential to the good health and maintenance of our families (even though jobs are being taken away so we can’t afford to buy food, but I guess that’s beside the point). But, please, maintain “physical distancing”. (Not social because we’re social people and that, too, is essential to our wellbeing…although not encouraged.) Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how to shout six feet to the vegetable man that I would like that tomato not the other one. And if the jelly person tosses me a jar of preserves from six feet away but it falls short, crashing into a gazillion pieces on the concrete – do I still have to pay for it?

As Ed heads back to work, Subaru has put in place lots of safety precautions (like everyone else). But, rest assured, the smoking huts outside the entrances are still open. Just please maintain social distancing while smoking. And put your mask back on after your break. Because smoking and second-hand smoke isn’t remotely dangerous…but the virus is!

My Daughter

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. I find it to be the most irritating form of flattery. Perhaps because it isn’t always very flattering. Often, in reality, it’s a mirror. And I don’t know anyone who looks at themselves in a mirror and declares the image is perfect.

For the most part, Emry can be a pretty even-keeled child. She’s always been fairly easy to deal with, listens to direction or explanation, and plays well with others. Of course, she’s five. She’s human. She has her buttons (which Ethan has known how to push from the moment he was born). And when she’s tired and something upsets her…well, the world better watch out. A drama queen is born. 

With the days being nicer and my allowing her to play longer before going down for her rest, it seems the moments of drama are more frequent. And as I’m quite exhausted these days, my level of patience to deal with these breakdowns is shorter. That combination doesn’t work out well. On the other side of the coin, I often feel like I’m listening to myself 35 years ago. And wondering how my mother put up with it.

Emry can be very much like me. For her birthday, she received a “laptop”. Because all she wants to do is sit on her laptop and work like Mama. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad. Honestly, I’m not on my personal laptop much. But there are certainly days when I feel my work laptop is attached to my hip. When I have several projects on my desk, I can be a terrible work alcoholic. I know that often seeps into being a wife and mother. It’s something I don’t watch out for as much as I ought. And now I see it coming out in Emry who, if in a temper at bedtime, can cry as I put her to bed, “But, Mama, I just want to work on my laptop like you!”

It’s a terribly fine line. For I want my children to know the importance of work. I never want them to think they are entitled or that the government will gladly make up for their laziness. I want them to know that work comes first and play comes after. However, I truly don’t want them to think that work is everything, something to be done all hours of the day with nary a break. Something I can be guilty of at times. So, Emry’s cries are not very flattering.  

The other recent lamentation from Emry has been, “But, Mama, I just want to be big! I’m the big sister!” Perhaps some of this is stemming from the eminent arrival of #3, but being a firstborn myself, most of it was born in her and is just now coming out. The need to grow up and be responsible before one’s time. The desire (and so often demanding) to be respected by the younger siblings. The idea that being the firstborn comes with certain duties that must be performed. I have been there. I am still there. And all of it has caused more harm than necessary. I don’t want her to grow up before her time. I want her to enjoy being a kid, something I was forever fighting. I want her to have good, friendly relationships with her younger siblings instead of seeming aloof and uninterested in their lives as I often still am. And while I am guilty of relying on her much more than Ethan, I don’t want her to think it’s because I have certain expectations of her versus of Ethan. (When the reality is it’s simply because I know she’ll fulfill the duty while I’m not even sure Ethan heard me.) Again, her cries are not flattering. They’re a terrible reminder of my failings.

The truth is I don’t want her to imitate me: I want her to be better than me. But, boy, do I need wisdom to help her! And lots of it.

Life Before

Do you remember life before 9-11? I was 21 when our world was turned upside down on September 11, 2001. It was the Pearl Harbor or JFK assassination of my generation. A day I’ll never forget. A day my world unknowingly changed.

Do you remember life before the anthrax scare? That “little hiccup” wasn’t long after 9-11. If it had anything to do with those events, or someone took advantage of those events, or it just happened to coincide…who knows. But I do remember it and the fears people suddenly had of opening their mail. A ridiculous fear for 99% of us who get nothing but bills in the mail anyway.

I note these two occurrences because stemming from them are a couple of things that have become so a part of our lives that we don’t think anything of them. The first is TSA check in when you fly. I’m not talking about the removing of shoes, long lines, or body scans. I’m talking about the questions you get asked when you check in for your flight. You know the big one: has anyone you don’t know given you a package to place in your luggage since you packed it? I have always felt that was one of the most ridiculous questions ever.

For one, why would I be stupid enough to take a package from a complete stranger and put it in my luggage? I was taught at a very young age not to take anything from a stranger, let alone put the unknown object in my luggage. Besides, if some stranger had requested that of me and I had done so, why would I tell anyone that? Obviously the reason for doing so is nefarious. It would get me in more trouble than I could possibly imagine. And if I had done all of that already, I wouldn’t think twice about lying to cover it up. It’s a stupid question.

The other question is one you’ve heard every time you go to the post office to have something mailed. They put it on the scale, ramble it off to you while you read it on the little credit card machine in front of you, automatically answer “no” and go on with your life. It’s that question about your box or envelope containing something liquid, perishable or potentially hazardous. Prior to the anthrax scare, the post office didn’t particularly care what you mailed. Now they ask you that question as if it prevents people from mailing things like anthrax. Because, honestly, if I was a terrorist out to blow up somebody so I put a bomb in a box to mail it I would not say when the postal clerk asked, “Oh, yeah, there is something potentially hazardous in that box. A bomb. You don’t mind, do you?” Lying is the least of sins to a terrorist. A simple question is not going to stop his wicked plot to take down whomever.

One thing coronavirus has already changed is the questions you get asked at the doctor’s office. I’m not a regular visitor of doctor’s offices. As a whole, I avoid them. Personally, I’ve always thought you’re more likely to get sick visiting one than anywhere else. But, currently, I’m pregnant and have no choice. Although I am grateful to my doctor’s office for trying to keep things as normal as possible for as long as possible, the list of questions started early on. At first, it was just shortness of breath, traveling out of the country, been in contact with anyone who has it. The list these poor people have to rattle off now is longer than the riot act. Before it’s all over it will probably be as exhaustive as the Gettysburg Address, but whatever. So, last week I sat in my car (having called in to check in and then wait in my car until they called me back to say the nurse, room, and doctor were ready – please come in to have your temp taken and wear a mask) and listened to the long list of questions she must have had a prompt card in front of her. Honestly, I think they’re all crazy because I could easily lie about any of it so how asking these things stops the spread of the virus I don’t know. But one of the last symptoms on the list I almost laughed out loud at. 

“Are you having abdominal pains?” she asked. 

I wanted to say, “Lady, I am 35 weeks pregnant. I have a four or five pound baby kicking every inch of my ‘abdominals’ nearly every hour of the day. Not to mention the Braxton Hicks. So, yes, I have ‘abdominal pains’.” 

I was nice, though, and simply answered “no” since she wasn’t referring to the obvious and was simply doing her job. But, really, that is a dumb question to ask any pregnant woman in her third trimester.

I know tragic events like 9-11 or our current coronavirus are nothing to laugh off. People do die. Families do grieve. And life as we know it changes. But there are often times when I wish the “powers to be” would stop and think through some of the rules and regulations they put in place. And then find them as ridiculous as they really are.

Mothers

Many weeks ago (I know I’m not the only one loosing track of time as we all “shelter in place” as if waiting for a nuclear bomb to hit us) as this whole thing started, I saw an article written by a woman who, in gist, declared that prior to all this she had little to no respect for SAHMs. Now being forced to stay home from work with her two school-aged kids she suddenly realized that SAHMs have the toughest job in the world…and she respected them greatly.

For those of you who are like me – technically a millennial but never up to date with the newest acronyms – a SAHM is a “Stay-At-Home-Mom”. In essence, it is what most of our mothers were, 90% of our grandmothers were, and 100% of what our great-grandmothers were. Today, of course, a stay-at-home-mom is about as extinct as a dinosaur. It’s not an acceptable lifestyle, considered prehistoric and certainly not a respectable “occupation”. In fact, you tell someone you’re a stay-at-home-mom and they look at you like you have two heads…or shuffle six feet away lest the “disease” is contagious and they might end up having to stay at home with their own kids. Which would be, like, hell on earth. And makes you wonder why they have kids anyway.

Part of the reason, I think, people tend to look down on those of us who choose to stay home with our kids is that they think we don’t do anything all day long. That our kids play sweetly together in the sandbox while we sip our morning coffee and read our favorite novel. Or, if they are school aged, we send them off to class and go play bridge and get a manicure. The latter, perhaps, could be true if you do send your kids to school. But the mothers I know that choose to send their kids to school usually have other children at home or go get a job during school hours. And the mothers who choose to homeschool…well, we certainly don’t have hours to spare between flash cards, reading aloud, tests, making assignments, following up on making sure our kids come out with a decent education…and usually said mothers are doing that for several kids in several grades! Not to mention potty training, fights against naptime, breaking up fights, general playtime, fixing meals, doing laundry, taking kids to this practice or that… And maybe by the end of the day, we’ll catch a few winks of sleep. Maybe.

The truth is, SAHMs should be the most respected people on earth. After all, they fill every moment of a 24-hour day for...well, nothing. There is no pay for this job. In fact, if being a SAHM was a business, it’s run entirely in the red as you feed, clothe, teach, and take care of the kids. There are no benefits: no paid vacation (or unpaid for that matter), no health benefits, no sick leave (in fact, usually “sick time” means taking care of everyone else while trying to eliminate your own symptoms) and no retirement plan – not that that matters anyhow since there is no such thing as “retirement”. And the hours are 24/7. No one in their right mind would apply for a job like that. And yet generations of woman have done it. And survived.

Many things are going to come out of this whole “pandemic”. Most will be bad, but – hopefully – some will be good. Unfortunately, I have a serious doubts that it will turn working mothers into SAHMs. Most of them will be more than happy to send the kids back to school and return to work. However, maybe it will earn those who choose and then make the sacrifices to be a SAHM a little more respect. Because now everyone should have a bit more understanding of what it means to be at home nearly every hour of the day, pouring precious moments into kids instead of much-needed sleep.  So, this Mother’s Day, take a moment to consider the world you have been forced to live in light of the world your mother chose. And then thank her. Profusely. Because she has earned it – more than you will ever know.

The Final Countdown...for the Third Time

Thirty-six days. Until June 13. The actual due date. I’m hoping to cut that short by quite a few days. Maybe have a May baby instead of a June baby. Anything to call the pregnancy that never ends over! Because I have never been so tired of being pregnant.

I was looking back at the blogs I posted as I started the “final countdown” with Emry and Ethan. With Emry, who was born eleven days before her due date, I had posted pictures of the few things I had done to decorate her room. I had everything in place: clothes, diapers, car seat secured, etc. I have a feeling I was probably even packed for the hospital. As much as I was able, I was ready for her to come.

With Ethan, who was exactly one week early, I was also rather prepared. I certainly wasn’t packed for the hospital yet, but the crib was up and ready. Clothes were accessible. The car seat was in place because Emry was in her new one. All the notes for the person who would watch Emry while we were at the hospital were spread across my dining room table. I did have a going-home-from-the-hospital-outfit that was uniquely his. And while most of my thoughts seemed to have circled on preparing Emry for the shift from only-child to firstborn as much as I was able, that meant things were ready for Ethan. Which was good since it happened rather fast.

But this one? Well, the car seat is in the garage. If we have a boy, the clothes are at our house. If we have a girl, she’s out of luck until Aunt Jenny finds the bin at her house. I don’t have a going-home outfit, even though I want to go to the store and get one (now that restrictions have been lifted). It dawned on me as I was making my shopping list for the week that buying diapers would probably be a good idea. The crib, swing and other accessories are in the pieces in the garage. Am I packed for the hospital? Yeah…maybe when I start having regular contractions.

But I am more than ready to have this little dancer. I truly don’t think Emry or Ethan moved as much as this one. I’m often so sore even I can’t rub my own belly. Although my sickness seemed to finallygo away when I hit the third trimester, that didn’t last long because it’s back every day, especially at night. (Which is not uncommon for me as I approach giving birth, but this one is certainly worse.) I am really tired of always feeling sick, really tired of aching all over, really tired of not sleeping well, and really tired of feeling like a whale. 

This afternoon I had a doctor’s appointment. Given everything we’re living through these days, what should be “regular” visits are anything but. However, I really don’t have any questions arising from coronavirus as my anxieties during the last weeks concern other things and I don’t need any more worries on top of those. So, I was weighed, measured, listened to the baby’s heart beat and was on my way in a matter of minutes for everything is fine. Which is comforting to know. Even if it does mean I still have weeks to go…

Happy 4^th Birthday, Curtis! 

 He’s the one in the ski helmet – better safe than sorry on a bike ride!

Stupidity

I don’t know about you, but since this whole Covid-19, social distancing, stay-at-home, I’m-going-to-need-therapy-over-Zoom-meetings thing started my e-mail is full of everybody’s newest virus help. From different hours at stores to this-is-how-we’re-saving-the-world pats on the back, the truth is I usually just delete the e-mail and go on with my life. But one I got in my work e-mail recently, I scanned and then stopped. Were they kidding? Really? Are we going to die of this virus or our own stupidity? I’m starting to think it will be latter.

First was the run on toilet paper. Because toilet paper, of course, has magical properties and if you stock your garage full of it you will not ever get sick again. Flour disappears from the shelves as well. It would appear that even people who don’t bake have serious need of it. Who knows. Maybe they’re doing lots of paper mache. Bread disappears, too. And meat. That one is probably going to get worse with all the hype there will be shortages, so better stock up. Buy a freezer. Or two. You’ll just have to move the toilet paper out of the way. 

Then there is the hand sanitizer. That started disappearing even before offices were closed. It hasn’t gotten any better. At my nephew’s daycare they wash his hands with it so often, his skin is peeling off.  Which I’m not sure is any safer than the constant washing. Six weeks later, the shortage continues. But, according to the poison control center and the e-mail I received, it may not be because people are using it to wash their hands. Because calls for hand sanitizer poisoning are up 63%. I mean, drinking it and cleansing your digestive system is perfectly logical – right? Keeps you from catching all kinds of things, even if you may have to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped. At least you won’t catch something while you’re at the hospital.

Honestly, how stupid can people be?

But if anything, this virus has showed us just how stupid we are. And I’m not talking about defying stay-at-home orders or not wearing a mask. One lady celebrating the lifting of restrictions went on a hike, stood at the edge of a cliff to take a selfie and fell to her death. President Trump sarcastically suggests injecting disinfectant and suddenly people who never give him the time of day end up sick in the attempt. Yeah, that’s smart. 

Someday coronavirus may be a footnote in history, but I’m not sure people will every stop being stupid. Unfortunately, the CDC does not record those deaths. For it would be terribly embarrassing to admit that more people die from their own foolishness than from Covid.