I have a lot to marvel at... over a few glasses of wine... in the midst of the midnight hour...

Monday, February 22, 2010

The Week of the Wounded

Riley walked in the door last Monday carrying his front tooth in his hand. During Martial Arts his teeth collided with Nick’s head sending his front tooth literally flying.


Three times he has lost this tooth now. A sidewalk curb, a parked car and now a friends head…this third time was the charm… with orthodontic work complete and old enough to now to get a crown we decided it was high time for a more permanent fix. A lengthy dental visit commenced that attested to Riley’s stamina for extreme pain.

While I no longer wince when Riley walks in the door with a tooth in hand, nor do I conjure up unrealistic scenarios where Riley’s childhood is doomed as he endures years of teasing and torture any longer, but I do wonder how many more times this affliction will nuisance him and I have always dreaded the pain that would surely ensue from crowning a front tooth at such a young age - when nerves are so easily exposed in
adolescence.

But Riley was a trooper – even after countless injections couldn’t numb the pain. I think the idea of stronger remedy fueled his endurance to just get through the procedure one final time. With a temporary crown in place we now patiently await the (hopefully) final visit to the dentist to repair this impairment that has become the bane of Riley’s childhood.

My goal now is to keep the crown securely in place well into Riley’s adult life.

Just when I had become accustomed to the news of a lost permanent tooth and found myself taking pride in my ability to put inevitable childhood mishaps into realistic perspectives – keeping my fear in check, focusing on the actuality of each situation, recognizing the reality and not assuming the improbable worst - I encountered another childhood collision that humbled me.

I’m not actually that tough Mom that takes all her children’s bumps, bruises and breaks in stride after all. Despite our past stitches, head wounds and broken teeth I failed to remain calm, cool and collected when Nico tripped getting in to bed and planted his face directly into the bed rail on Thursday night. My knees buckled, my hands shook ferociously and my heart raced violently as I imagined the worst – unable to see the damage through pouring blood I was certain Nico’s nose had either been completely severed or was certainly smashed into his skull.

I panicked… I cried… I prayed desperately…

We were all in the room preparing to give our nightly “kisses from everyone” when Nico fell. The sound of the impact sent chills through my spine and I held my breath as Roger picked up our crying babe to assess the damage. Roger is much more relaxed in emergencies so when I saw him panic I nearly lost it. I had to make that split second decision – crumble into a ball of fear or fight through my terror, comfort my babe and get him to the hospital without falling apart.

We bundled him up and applied pressure to his bloody nose as we made our way to the hospital. The amount of blood was alarming but by the time we reached the emergency room Nico was sitting up wondering what all the fuss was about. He was put out to stitch up the wound on his nose and apply suture glue to his cheek. He awoke a bit grumpy still perplexed by the monitors and begging to go home.

After a mere 5 hours of sleep Nico awoke Friday morning no worse for the wear, oblivious to the wounds on his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror later that morning and did a double take inching closer to get a good look at his bruised and battered face. “What’s that on my nose? Get it off!” he naively announced. He bounded through the house all day bumping into everything despite my attempts to steer him clear of any impact to his wounds. Obviously he recovered quite quickly – his physical wounds went unnoticed by this innocent babe but my psyche remains forever scarred.

I couldn’t bear to look at his bed, reliving the fall, my knees buckling and hands going weak each time it replayed in my mind. The bed frame was packed up and immediately put on Craig’s list – a mattress on the floor now deemed to be the safest place for my clumsy child to sleep.

Seven stitches later, a bit of suture glue, some good hallucinogen drugs and a minor scar to remind Nico of this incident that he will unlikely ever remember – but a memory that I will always replay in my mind and forever feel responsible for. Nico was our little trooper – me not so much! I will never be the brave one in emergencies that involve my children.


But I am thankful for my little (and big) troopers and I am looking forward to a new week and anxiously hoping to keep our future wounds to minor scrapes and bruises.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Bitter Resentment Bit Me in the Butt

I was stewing one recent evening while preparing dinner… I was simmering up a hefty dose of self pity and this unhealthy concoction of perceived misfortune was reaching its boiling point.

I don’t like to cook. I want to like it but I really just prefer to eat the food, not prepare it.

While my chicken burned I opened the fridge to find my broccoli was no longer in a state to be considered a healthy vegetable side dish. Left with a meal my family would surely snub their noses at, my distaste for cooking became a raging battle of sympathy for my relentless recent efforts to have a suitable meal on the table when the family came through the door with their ravenous appetites.

I will readily admit that the desire to cook and the skills to produce any sort of delectable varieties for family dinners is entirely missing from my inherent composition. But my worthy efforts remain commonly unrecognized by my dinner critiques.

My resentment for this dinner chore (spurred from a disastrous meal and vocal complaints from the dinner patrons) became evident to all as I complained about all the food I had prepared lately, blaming Roger for sloughing off dinner duties that inevitably fell on my (incapable) hands.

Roger begged to differ and insisted we base my grievances on facts. He concocted a dinner chart and promptly rushed home from work each evening to have dinner on the table and ceremoniously place a tally under his name on the dinner chart.

You would think I would be happy – I’m no longer cooking dinner (although I still adamantly believe that throwing a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner does NOT constitute a tally on the dinner chart).

Over the weekend we found ourselves mischievously microwaving prepared meals for the children ensuring one more tally on the dinner chart.

As Roger prematurely celebrated in his perceived win in this battle my resentment over dinner duties began to take some focus. I knew Roger’s efforts were in jest. We both knew he could not keep up his masquerade of family chef forever. And I realized that I didn’t actually need him to share the dinner burden equally. I simply wanted to be appreciated for my persistent efforts despite the often dreadful outcome.

Resentment clouded my true feelings, spawned debilitating anger and fueled my reaction to blame, spinning others into actions that produced undesired results. Bitter resentment bit me in the butt as I watched Roger’s dinner tallies significantly outnumber my marks.

But with the dinner battle behind us and a dinner chart concocted out of jesting rivalry we can now laugh at my foolishness and focus on appreciating those efforts by all that bring us together at the dinner table each night to dine on an arguably tolerable meal.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

For the Love of Laundry

I have a ridiculously large mountain of laundry that I have strategically placed in my main hallway. I am admittedly embarrassed by this filth. My intentions were worthy. The way I figure it is I will walk by the ever growing pile of dirty clothes about 80 times tonight and that alone will be enough motivation to start the 20 or so plus cycles that will leave us with empty laundry baskets for at least 10 minutes.

But I am an inherent procrastinator (a god-given gene from my father) so I decided to blog instead. However, because procrastination runs thick through my soul and leaves me deferring every last detail until the very last minute, despite my desperate claims to alter this dawdling behavior, I found myself daydreaming about the impending weekend instead.

My thoughts drifted into my fantasy land. My babysitter is visiting tomorrow, after a nearly three week hiatus, to relinquish us from the daily demands of three determined (determined to drive us crazy, that is) children, allowing us to actually escape into this fantasy land where delectable food will delight our palates, fine wine will quench our thirst and alter our moods making us believe we actually live in this fantasy land all the time, conversations will drift into taking vacations abroad, plans will be set in motion to make our dream of moving into a suitable house a reality and we will reminisce on all the joy our children bring us – consciously focusing on only the positive side of parenting to ensure we remain firmly suited within our fantasy land.

All this daydreaming was brusquely interrupted by the nagging mountain of laundry in my hall. The reality of slipping into this fantasy land with Roger tomorrow night requires me to wash, dry, fold and put away every last basket of laundry prior to Carrie’s arrival to avoid being dubbed as a lousy housekeeper.

(Perhaps I have more immediate concerns to address than procrastinating – should I first focus on my obsession with how I am perceived by others?)

Maybe I could find a large closet to stuff all this dirty laundry into, to where it could wait, unseen, until we are forced to wear dirty underwear – which is typically my cue to stop delaying the inevitable. Our current abode lacks any significant storage which is probably for the best or my propensity to procrastinate would surely result in this latter alternative.

And just when I thought the mountain of laundry could not reproduce on it’s own I found animal vomit on my bedding resulting in at least 4 more loads.

Laundry is my evil nemesis. Someday when I am relinquished from inordinate daycare costs I think I will outsource this task. Roger believes we have a laundry fairy. I am going to become a believer too.

Just on a side note this post was going to be less about laundry and contain more pertinent, memorable events that occur in the Gronke household but Riley donned his “I love you Mommy” charm and sent me to the store in search of Gatorade.

I obviously have more personal issues to add to my list of faults right along side procrastination and perception: Riley’s ability to manipulate me into a midnight Gatorade. And I didn’t just buy Gatorade. I bought 5 Gatorades, a Sprite, Jelly Bellys and a Snickers bar.

I am a sucker… who hates laundry… and worries too much about keeping my house clean for guests…

But tomorrow night these worries will all become distant memories of my former life as a peasant women when I assume the role of Queen in my fantasy land, dining at lavish restaurants, ordering only the finest wine, hiring a capable caretaker to oversee my princess and princes’ well being, all while I make future plans to perfect my kingdom.