Another day

I was itching before I even opened my eyes. It was still dark when I used my fingers to measure the old hives and discover the new ones. I hadn’t had this much stress in years. I really expected all of the drama to erupt in acne the size of a stop sign, or maybe release itself in clumps of hair. But hives? What torture! The itching, the distraction. It, along with the stiffness in the curve of my back, was the worst possible joke my body could tell me today. These women were wives and mothers, they would instantly read my guilt and worry, and by four o’clock the meeting wouldn’t even be necessary.


I woke up Erik from another evening of trying to sleep and took a deep breath. “This is it, “ I said, “The day they all find out.” He sighed and used his arms to sit up. I heard him reach for his cigarettes on the dresser and then saw his sleepy face glow in the flame of the lighter. “Are you ok?” he asked. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I just hope they will all be ok,” I wished out loud. “What can I do,” I heard him ask as he exhaled the smoke he had been holding. “Nothing,” I plainly say, “Just sit with me for a minute please.” He finished his cigarette and listened to me go over everyone’s story again, as if there were going to be a new ending. Then I got up and started getting the twin’s clothes together and when I returned his eyes were closed again and his head cradled in our pillow.

I dropped off my drowsy girls at my parent’s house and went ahead and washed the nicotine out of my hair, in hopes of no one noticing that I hadn’t showered. I don’t usually try to be the first one in there, and this day of course I was dreading it, but I felt it was important. I knew they were going to be talking, guessing, and worrying. I also knew there was nothing I could do, but I felt like I should be there….consoling them for a death that they didn’t know had happened yet.

When I got to work I found a safety pin stuck on my purse’s zipper with two little charms. I instantly remembered where they had come from. When my daughter had been hospitalized earlier that summer my Catholic mother-in-law and sister-in-law had brought them to her at the hospital in hopes that their faith would be the magic Livy needed to get better. I think it just wasn’t her time and that her life was probably plotted before she even arrived…..but in light of the day ahead I decided that a little magic might not be a bad thing and I pinned them to my ID badge. “Maybe,” I thought, “along with the two Zyrtec I swallowed down, it might at least calm me enough for the hives to back down!”

I used my I-pod to drown out the questions and theories the ladies were tossing around and went straight to work. My hands were fervently playing through the class ring order forms at a speed I was actually surprised with. I had been doing this same exact thing every day for nine years, so being surprised was really….well…..a surprise. My typing speed typically stays within 16,000 to 17,000 keystrokes per hour, but today I was on a roll striking numbers above 20,000. Almost to the apex of my symphony I was pleasantly distracted on the lower corner of my screen by an e-mail alert from an old friend. I asked him on a whim last week what music he was listening to and he had just gotten around to responding. Just around as in, just in time. He mentioned a bunch of bands with strange names that I’d never heard of, but that was exactly the answer I was looking for. I know the songs on the radio, I know the music on TV., I was seeking the kind of music that you only find through word of mouth. After promising I would look them up we continued to chat about nothing back and forth a bit. I filled him in on my dilemma and he instantly offered his support, as always. It’s funny how friends happen that way. You don’t hear from them in years, days, weeks, months and then God throws them in the middle of a never ending day. I took his words and put them in my pocket next to the charms rattling on my badge.

When I took my I-pod off to let my ears breathe I walked right into the middle of the conversation I had been expecting. They had, of course, been speculating all day. “Maybe we are moving to a different building, “one would wonder out loud. “I wonder if it is company wide, or just our department?” another would ask. I couldn’t answer them. I knew the “official” answer but I was told I wasn’t allowed to talk about it. So instead I sat working intently with my headphones blaring, Dave Matthews trying to distract me with his new album, addresses and strange names needing my concentration.

Finally it was four o’clock, everyone was there.

There he stood at the front of the room, nervously wringing the plain piece of paper between his two hands. “Go ahead,” one of the friendly mothers said, “have a seat.” “Nah, that’s ok,” he said, “I sit down all day long.” His explanation seemed false. I wondered quite frankly why he felt he even needed one. The only thing that could have been more awkward then the silence following his response would be the translucent lie that now took its place. He was nervous. I knew why he was standing, close to the door, away from the women. He was chatting and joking with the ladies in the front, pretending that it was just an ordinary day like any other. It wasn’t though. He was about to change lives. After a few minutes of nervous laughter and smiling he awkwardly cleared his throat and the room started to calm down. Clearly he was here for a reason, and everyone from both shifts was here because it was serious.

He was really pale. Almost as pale as his long sleeved white button down shirt. Our job didn’t require dress codes like that so he looked even more uncomfortable surrounded by ladies in shorts and t-shirts….looking up at him with respect and trust. They were completely unaware of the objective of our unusual meeting. I pulled out a piece of scratch paper from my purse feigning the need to take notes. The paper already had details on it, from a phone conversation I had earlier that week with a nurse giving me instructions on Rebekah’s MRI. I grabbed the pink Sharpie out of my purse and began tracing the words I had written in black pen again. No eating after midnight. Be there at 6 am. I looked up and saw him unrolling the script he planned to read. “Don’t do it,” I thought, “Just turn around, no one will ever know what you are supposed to say.” I looked at him attentively but it was clear that my telepathy was failing. He had to, it was his job. I went back to tracing the instructions. I heard some of the same words that he had used two weeks earlier, but it was a much more informal environment then. He sat down with my boss, me, and the other lead operator. There was no script. He just told us what he knew. Today it was almost like he was at a press conference giving a statement. He had a script that sounded like it had to be approved by legal and signed off on by the higher ups. I heard, “due to technology,” and “department will be closed” and the date “11/25.” That perked my interest and I wrote that date down. He hadn’t given us a date before. Then there was nothing. I took a deep breath. It seemed as though it’d been the only breath I had taken that entire day.

When I looked up the woman at the desk next to me was giving me a dirty look. At first I felt as though I deserved her rage because I didn’t tell them everything I had known….consequences be damned. Then her gaze turned into a glare and I almost nervously chuckled. “Does she think I AGREED to this,” I thought, “that I voted to disassemble our careers in some secret meeting? Maybe even suggested it?!?!?!” I thought about challenging her invisible accusation with my own frigid stare, having a “stare off” of sorts to prove that I am not responsible. But the guilt of my secret got the better of me and I just tucked my upper lip under my teeth and looked away. Even though I didn’t cause where we were at, I couldn’t protect anyone from it….and that made me responsible.

“Oh Lord Oh Mighty, Please help us Lord,” broke the silence from the back of the room. I looked back to see one of my fellow employees lifting her sunglasses and dotting her eyes with Kleenex. The other lead operator quickly stood up and went to comfort her, but just as swiftly she stood up and announced, “Gina…..I feel sick. I’m going to have to go home.” Seconds after gaining everyone’s attention and sympathy she sat back down with a few questions. A couple inquiries were made about the employee stock or unemployment, some were retirement or insurance related, but none of them were questions that the poor man in the front of the room could answer. He obviously had done all that he was qualified to do, and, if it would be ok, he would just like to leave before all of their shock and anger found a clear target. So with that he stumbled through an awkward apology and excused himself, leaving both shifts of women….women who had dedicated their lives to his company, alone, together, to sort out their new lives.

starting kindergarten- part one

Today my youngest daughters, 5 year old twins Olivia and Rebekah started kindergarten. I am sure they will be just fine, but it was stressful nonetheless. I woke up with a nasty headache from grinding my teeth all night. Erik cried. He always cries though….he’s my sweetie  Here is a picture.
Rebekah (of course) is the TINY one (she has a form of dwarfism-spondelyephisyseal dysplasia) and Olivia is the way overly excited ginormous one (there is nothing technically wrong with Olivia, by the way, we just refer to her as “special” hehe). In terms of fear, excitement, nervousness and anticipation….I think that the twins starting school was very comparable to them being born!

It was a pretty normal day in a lot of ways, but it started much earlier. Rebekah went to bed very well last night, which is incredibly unusual. Olivia not as easily, but eventually, she settled down and closed her eyes. Not as much bickering between them and their brother.

This morning Olivia must have woken up EARLY. Really early actually, because my alarm went off at 5 am and I heard her moving around before that. She started the morning watching in tv in our bedroom. Eventually though she must have gone to the living room, because I could hear the delay echoing words and bad acting. I was expecting about that time to wake up and coerce Rebekah into consciousness but aha, she came running through my bedroom door with her top on and her pants waving from her hand. It reminded me of a runner crossing the finish line with their chest carrying across the tape, announcing their win.

“Wait,” I said, “I want to get you both in the bathtub first, before you get dressed.” They were excited about that of course. Quickly I washed their hair and scrubbed them up. I dried them off and wrapped Bekah in a towel and flannel blanket on the couch to keep her warm and cozy while I helped Olivia get ready for her big day. She put on her new pink t-shirt with the embroidered hot pink daisies and the plaid green and hot pink skort. I squirted some silicone conditioner the consistancy of olive oil into the palm of my hand, rubbed my palms together, and then started rubbing my shiny hands through her course unruly mullet. After telling her at least 12 times to please go to Chelsea’s room and get me a brush, I was able to get her mane blowed dry and move on to Rebekah. Bekah was much easier of course. She had already redressed so a few minutes with the hair dryer and Viola, her Dorothy Hamel haircut was perfect. They were both smiles and satisfied with the job I had done.

There was a quick trip to Nana and Papa’s house to take medicines and pick up shoes, and the next thing you know, Erik and I were parking behind North Wayne Elementary…dropping them off for their first day.

There was a long wait in the hall of the kindergarten Cul-de-sac. We got there at about 7:45 am, and the last bell rings at 8:00 am, but the kindergarten teachers didn’t even get back to their areas until 8:15 am because they were waiting up front for all the bus riders to unload.

While we were waiting we showed each of the girls their names on the bulletin boards outside of their rooms. Rebekah was a star on her teacher’s board, Olivia was a spider.

That made them both excited. To see their names. To know they were welcome. In the long wait Bekah’s legs began to hurt so she asked me to pick her up. I told her, “None of the other kindergartener’s have parents carrying them….”so she instead asked, “if we could just sit down for a minute.” I sat down Indian style and she perched herself on my right knee, while Olivia clumsily made herself at home on the left one. Within seconds a girl named Aniyah was befriending Olivia of course. I took a picture of her and her mother to “mail to Aniyah’s grandparents” the mother divulged, “they will be so proud.” She too was proud. She just beamed her smile was so wide. The mother looked younger than me at first, but the more we smiled at the girls doing their performance, I started to see the streaks of grey that were hiding beneath her black hair. I didn’t talk to her much beyond that, so I don’t know if Aniyah was her only daughter, the oldest, or the youngest, but that day, that moment, she was most certainly the only. The two best friends quickly became robots (or “robocks” as Aniyah said it), moving their arms mechanically with their elbows bent and talking in monotone voices. Despite their loudness they didn’t draw much attention because of the noise and amount of people in the center circle. I looked around and noticed a few other scared five year olds looking from behind their mothers legs at the two silly girls, smiling. Even oozing with excitement Olivia and her new friend mustered up the best monotone voices they could find and “attacked” first the little girl’s fun mother in the blue scrubs and hair tightly pulled back in a ponytail. She clearly had played this game before, because precisely on cue she backed up against the wall and in a much exaggerated fashion protested and curled into a ball. Then Olivia’s own dad, Erik, became the target. A little more self conscious he smiled and put his hands on his hips as they marched toward him, and offered up a little protest as a token, but didn’t compete well with the more experienced mom. He tried to distract them by asking the little girl her name…..”ROBOCK” She said, never breaking character…“ My Name Is ROBOCK.” Bekah just watched them both. Checking things out. Smiling, but not letting her guard down.

About this time we see the waist high crowd begin to make its way back to the cul-de-sac. Everyone seeming to stop right in the middle as the teachers tried to sort out who went where. Bekah’s teacher, Mrs. Avance, was wearing a pretty white dress with black embroidery, which I think made both me and Bekah happy. A few weeks earlier she was talking to herself about school and I heard her say, “I don’t know WHAT my teacher will be wearing on her first day.” I quickly interrupted and informed her, “Bekah…it doesn’t matter if she shows up in legwarmers and a swimsuit! You keep your mouth SHUT!” Bekah is my diva, and choosing her clothes each morning is the most important part of her day. I just don’t know how she would have fit with a teacher who didn’t share that passion. I had showed her a picture of Ms. Avance from the night before when her dad and I went to Kindergarten information night, but when I saw her teacher confidently walk down the hall with her herd of kids I made sure to point her out again. “Look, Bekah….doesn’t your teacher have a BEAUTIFUL dress?” This seemed to bring her back for a second. She looked at me and smiled.

“I will stay here with Bekah,” Erik said. He went to Olivia’s class the night before, and I think, quite honestly, he was more worried about Rebekah. I could see him so much in her. So scared, and vulnerable. I think that in a matter of minutes he too was once again that five year old boy who was so excited to be there, but as an adult he knew the next chapter. He knew that in the hours, or days, or months to come it wouldn’t be all fun and smiles. Children would taunt her. Tease her. Break her spirit. Break her heart. Make her feel like she didn’t belong, or fit. He wanted to walk her to her desk and protect her, protect her like he wished someone could have protected him. Unbeknownst to him all of the parents escorting their kid’s that day were all sharing that same fear. About that time Mrs. Avance announced, “Say goodbye to your parents, kids!” I was with Olivia so I missed this part, but Erik said that it was symbolic, yet uneventful. He showed her to her seat, she blew him a kiss, crossed her arms over her chest and threw him a hug, and that was it. He was done. She was ready. He went to the office to deposit money in their lunch accounts, while Olivia and I waited for her day to begin.

While Rebekah was getting comfortable I was still in the center of the circular hallway where all of the classrooms came together, with Olivia. Mrs. Rushmore was handing out namecards with their names printed on them, laminated, and strung end to end with a fuzzy piece of red yarn. As she asked everyone their names, she gave them their tag and told them to get in line. Occasionally she would come across a child she didn’t know, or a language she didn’t recognize and she would pause for a second to finish that task. But then she would always return, asking once again, “Is there anyone in my class without a nametag?” Olivia was a little nervous I think. Excited of course, but nervous too. She, unlike Rebekah, was probably the tallest five year old in the hallway, but she was clueless to any of those differences. “I don’t have a nametag,” Olivia said clearly. “What is your name honey?” the teacher bent down and asked. “Olivia,” Livy stated. “Olivia,” she repeated as she sorted through her handful of laminated cards. The strings were all getting tangled, but she thread her fingers through them and pulled Olivia’s out, handing it to her, as she got in line. This made Olivia happy. Now she instantly had something in common with all of these strangers that surrounded her. They all had different clothes, and shoes, and backpacks, and parents, but in their nametags they were united. We continued to stand in the hallway, in no rush to be in the front of the line, when her teacher, Mrs. Rushmore, gave her first instructions. “Children, say goodbye to your parents and go in the room to look for your seat. There will be a nametag in front of it that matches the one you are wearing. If you aren’t sure, look at the nametag you are wearing please.” She addressed the children of course, but it was pretty clear that this plea was really to the parents. “Let them go” was honestly the only thing I got from those three sentences. The obedient line filed inside the classroom. Mrs. Rushmore knew better than to shut the door immediately of course. I stood out there with three or four other mothers, obviously peering in to make sure our children found their chairs before we felt safe enough to leave. We couldn’t leave yet! Our jobs wouldn’t be done when they got to the doors. Only when they were all sitting, attentive and ready to learn could we release the breath we had been holding since daybreak.

After that we were done. Erik and I walked to the car. Exchanged our thoughts and our first impressions. I lamented on how big they’d become, he shed a couple tears, scared about what was next. It honestly reminded me of the last OB/GYN appointment we’d shared. We were so excited, and nervous, but scared. We both knew that this was a huge moment. A dividing line that separates their lives, and ours. There was no going back. They had started the road that eventually would end without us. We would no longer be their only influence. Neither they nor we would be “perfect.” Consequences could no longer be negotiated. Personalities and meltdowns wouldn’t be accepted and justified. All of those things that we had taught them and shielded them from would be expired. Now they would be subjected to everyone else’s standards, and expectations, and uncaring criticism instead of closely guarded by ours. What a scary day!

because I said so....

Sometimes I don’t know who is more rotten or difficult….Erik or Chelsea! I am sure he would kill me for saying that (but just between you and I) it’s right as rain. They are never just “happy,” there has to be something to bitch about. Yesterday, I made Erik breakfast in bed (which in my house meant going to the grocery, chopping & measuring ingredients, cleaning the dishes, beating the kids back from the stove)…..He responded unenthusiastically with ”this bacon is a little too crispy” And you know what, it was…..BUT, had the situation been reversed, I would NEVER have said that out loud. I would have eaten it anyway, or said I was stuffed…but criticism, that wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have the nerve, after someone went out of their way, to brush it off like it was no big deal and critique their efforts. And Chelsea has made it her mission to fight with me three times a day about every single meal. I could tell her that for dinner we are having Taco Bell Cheese Quesadillas and Cheesecake for dessert…..and she would complain…..”You know I don’t like to eat Taco Bell on MONDAYS! UMPH! *stomp off into her room and slam shut her door* It is ridiculous. And, the worst part about it, is that the others are starting to follow suit as well.

The horrible thing about all the negativity is that it’s starting to ruin my mood…..and my outlook. This morning I woke up and just didn’t even want to bother getting dressed. I don’t even want to be a part of it. I’ve just had all the wind sucked out of me, you know? I don’t have the energy or the patience to cater to everyone, and I am tired of being optimistic and expecting anything to change, you know?

erik, chelsea, happy

What have you done for ME lately?

Oh my goodness, I haven’t typed in this journal for a long long time! Almost a year. That’s really sad because that means that there is a year of memories missing. Actually, not quite a year. I think I have added an entry or two to my online journal, I will just have to paste them over.

Here is an e-mail I received this morning from my husband:

Good morning my love!

You said that you like having e-mails waiting on you in the morning, so I thought I'd drop you a little note to tell you how beautiful you are!!

Thanks for putting up with me.

Love,
Me

Yesterday our electricity got shut off and he had a panic attack. I borrowed 236.19 from Mom (to be paid back on Friday) and it’s all back to normal now, no one even knows any different. But he takes things like that very personally. It messes with his pride. I don’t think of situations like those as “big deals.” When the problem is clearly identified, and we know specifically how to fix it. That’s no reason to panic. Now if the electricity was off, we didn’t know why, had no idea who to call, or how much it was going to end up costing….that would make me nervous. But Indianapolis Power and Light? I knew what they wanted and how to reach them—no problem there. I just made a couple of calls and, “Vióla, problem solved.” All of that being said, I DO need to make a budget. Erik takes all of this on himself and it’s not fair. We need to be working together. He takes all of this pressure onto himself because, by not stepping up and assuming responsibility for things, I am leaving him with the impression that I expect him to take care of it. Which isn’t true of course, I don’t expect him to “take care of it,” just to let me know what he needs….which is, to him, equal to walking around the neighborhood in a woman’s brassiere and thong unfortunately.

Ryan is taking electric guitar lessons. He has had 3 lessons so far. He’s going to a guy named Phil Pierle at “All About Music” (or something like that) on the corner of Emerson and Thompson. It’s kind of pricy…it runs about $18/per lesson. He is having his 30 minute lessons on Tuesday evenings at 7:30 p.m. He got an electric guitar for Christmas (a black Fender) and has been begging for lessons ever since, and, I have to say, he seems like a natural to me.
I have been to as many lessons as him of course (being his driver and all) but I just don’t get it. Phil just has to say “G” or “F” and Ryan is strumming like he knows exactly what he’s asking for. He doesn’t even have to say it any more, he just points to the paper and Ryan READS what to do. It’s insane. He knows that this note on this line means you have to put these fingers here and strum across these specific strings. CRAZY. He’s even learning how long it says to hold that note. Although he tends to rush through the counting though. I’ve listened to everything his teacher has said and it doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s almost like my brain just rejects that information. It’s like trying to walk through a closed door. I am right with you……and then…….BOOM. Closed door. I no longer have any idea what you are saying.

I should probably comment here on Easter this year. It was on Sunday, April 12th this year (2009). It was really sketchy for a minute. Grandma Cook fell and scratched herself up really bad a month or 6 weeks before so she wasn’t quite sure if she could host Easter this year, which left all of us in a panic thinking about what back up plans we should have in place for the inevitable day when she isn’t well enough to host it (she is in her 80’s now). But she is ok now.

I went overboard on the baskets AGAIN this year. Picking up little stuff here and there since Valentine’s Day, and then, I go to put it all together, and it’s chaos. Movies, candy, yo-yo’s, bubbles, paper grass (because plastic grass is the spoils of lucipher), balls, magnifying glasses, gift cards—and yet I still feel guilty for not getting kites, sunglasses, and sidewalk chalk. Isn’t that funny? I wonder if we had a lot of stuff in our Easter baskets when we were little. I bet everything was more expensive and harder to find!

Snow Day

Today, in light of being stuck at home due to horrendous snow....my husband, Erik, and I are making a list of the top 50 things we plan to do to our children when they become adults....

1. Hide all of the spoons and cups in their house.
2. Download tons of programs full of viruses on their pc's and change their homepage.
3. Color and write gibberish on their walls.
4. Put ink fingerprints all over their toilet seats (courtesy of Bekah).
5. Eat all their ice cream and drink all their pop.
6. Cry loudly til they go to burger king...then not eat anything and complain/break
the toy.
7. Break all Christmas gifts before New Year's Day.
8. Get their mail, and not give it to them.
9. Leave toys, chips and cereal all over their floor.
10. Spread hamster food all over their bedroom, and then, after they clean it up, do it immediately again.
11. Throw a fit until they allow us to wear clothes that do not fit (or match) out in public and to family gatherings.
12. Steal money out of every hiding place and spend it at the crane machines in the grocery stores.
13. Rent porn.
14. Say profanity randomly in front of people they respect and admire, just to see their reactions.
15. Walk around the house in only our underwear.
16. Always wear our shoes on the wrong feet (courtesy of Olivia).
17. Cut all of the collars off of Chelsea's clothes and steal her bras and underwear.
18. Leave Chelsea's shoes and socks in a pile under her computer desk.
19. Drop our coats and bags in the foyer, blocking the front door.
20. Break their doorbell, and when they replace it, break it again.
21. Break all the glass in their picture frames.
22. Change clothes 20 times a day so they can never catch up with their laundry.
23. Ask them to change the channel on the tv every 10 minutes, and come into their room to update them on what each character says.
24. Stand in front of the t.v.
25. Jump on their beds.
26. Play with feet...all the time....everywhere, even at church.
27. Spraypaint Chelsea's bedroom wall.
28. Scream and slam doors.
29. Throw things at them....all the time.
30. Break all of their window screens.
31. Lick the inside of their car windows and draw pictures in the spit.
32. Suck on candy and gum, and stick it in the carpet (both in the house and in the car)
33. Hide cups and food under the seats of the car and not tell them for months.
34. Steal 4 of their favorite blankets and, along with a dozen or so stuffed animals, make them bring them everywhere we go.
35. When the take us out to an expensive dinner, eat nothing but the condiments (catsup and butter).
36. Hide all of their phones until the batteries die.
37. Steal their cameras and load it up with pictures of ourselves doing gang signs (for our myspace page, of course).
38. Demand a hug and kiss whenever they leave the house...even if it means chasing their car down the street in our underwear.
39. Break all their chairs and lawn furniture.
40. Pull their cushions off of their couches in a big pile in the living room, and then, after they put them back.....do it again.
41. Spill blue gatorade on their carpet.
42. Mess with their theromstats.
43. Break their toilets so they run all the time-and only use their private bathroom in the bedroom, not the one for company.
44. Pee in their beds.
45. Call them fat and that them we hate them.
46. Start screaming randomly whenever they answer the telephone.
47. Insist that we talk to whoever calls, whether we know them or not.
48. Stand in front of them and beg whenever they get a plate food, even if we have the same plate of said food.
49. Call them over and over and over again on their cell phones whenever they go out....or at work.
50. Cry and scream outside of their bedroom doors whenever they try to have sex.
51. Scratch all their favorite dvd's
52. Never go to bed....EVER! Until they threaten lives...well, a couple of hours after that....
53. Cut our own hair.
54. Insist on watching movies that do not exist.
55. Make up different names for songs and movies we enjoy, and do not tell anyone the "secret code" Just keep asking, screaming, and crying repeatedly until they guess the right thng.
56. Change the names for all the icon's on their pc's.