Hopefully Thursday

Yay! Chase will probably get to come home on Thursday. That's a few days earlier than I anticipated. He has all his nurses and respiratory managers wrapped around his little finger. He doesn't get that kind of treatment at home. Pat and I have had to leave him at the hospital on his own since we both work. We've never done that before. One or the other was always there. But Chase is older now too. Last night was the first night he spent without one of us there, and guess what, he was just fine.

I like that my kids are independent. I've never been the type to hover, well, at least not that they'd know. On the third day of kindergarten after I knew that Tate knew his way to class, I pulled the navigator to the side of the curb, and while the other mothers dutifully walked their children into the school, hands held tightly, I grinned at Tate. "Do you want me to walk you in or are you ready to go alone?" I watched his face transform even as he tried not to look so pleased with himself. "I can go without any moms," he said. So I remained in my car and watched him walk with giant, confident strides on little legs until he disappeared inside the school. And so what if I stayed there for a few minutes afterward, you know, just in case.

It can always get worse

There was blood in Chase's stools. I made him show me. I used the cardboard part of a hanger to fish it out of the toilet, plop it on a paper plate and stab through it to make sure, hoping it really wasn't, though I already knew it was. Why this? Why now? Could things get any worse, but I fear even letting that thought linger in my head because I know that they can. I believe in God, but where is he?

I took Chase to the emergency room by myself. I prefer it that way. I recite the details very calmly to the check in administrator. I have to state it calmly, oh so matter of factly, or I'll lose it. Then the nurse, then another nurse, then the doctor on duty, as well as Chase's regular specialists as I get them on the phone and tell them where we are and what has happened. Each time I feel my throat closing just a little tighter and I'm not certain my voice will work, or tears won't gush. I can't cry, not one drop or else I can't stop and I'm not the kind of person who can be understood when I get going. Plus Chase is there, worried about himself, and I can't lose it now.

Then I start doing something odd and completely out of character, but it works. It works divinely. In my mind, I start swearing, the most foul, ghastly utterances that I can come up with, many starting with M and F and M and F again. Things that in my worse stressed out shouted swearing moments wouldn't even slip out. It's so ridiculous. But the complete absurdity of it works. My throat loosens and I'm able to stay calm, my voice is steady. Yes, he is on this medication. (&%#$$***&&&n$$$$$) I have my insurance card right here. (&&&**$###**$$%) I first noticed the blood this morning. (&&^**%%%$$%%%).

During the EGD, I was completely alone in the surgery waiting room. My choice. I have friends and family that would have come in a heartbeat if I had even let them know. But I prefer to deal with it alone. If anyone gives me sympathy or says a kind word while I am trying to cope, I will lose it all the way and become a blubbering puddle on the floor. This is the only way I can survive it, alone, without having to speak or explain anything over and over to sympathetic faces. I can't be strong when other people are trying to be strong for me. There will be time for that later, but not right now.


I'm not sure I could describe how tired I am. I drag out of bed at 4:30 am to make sure my lovely not-a-morning-person-either daughter has gotten up so she'll have plenty of time to make herself look fabulous. I get my more self-sufficient son out the door to football practice at 5:45, not looking so fabulous, but very cute in his pads and gear, then I blast my next son's nebulizer treatments in his face while he is still slumbering sweetly until it is time to drive now fabulous looking daughter to seminary at 5:55. When I get home, I either crash on the couch for an hour (I know-a waste of perfect exercise time, but please, this is me) or if I have a morning appointment, I'll get in the shower, then get myself looking fabulous (or not so much) for the day and start all over with the next batch of kids. Get son 2 and son 3 eating breakfast and testing blood sugars, taking pills, getting dressed and brushing teeth and combing hair and all those little things that 8 and 10 year old boys really can't be bothered with. Didn't you wear that shirt yesterday? Turn around and go change, buddy. No, don't just turn it inside out. Well, where did you put your shoes last night? Then while I drive son 3 to school at 8:15 (compliments of my school district who decided that my little neighborhood didn't need bus service even though we are out of the two mile radius)while son 2 walks across the street at 8:30 to the intermediate school. I get back home and have a few hours to run errands, try to make a dent in the vast laundry pile, clean the house that never gets clean and will be a wreck anyway when I come in for work at night, mess around on the computer, and time an extra fifteen minutes to either bribe or talk son 4 into the joys of kindergarten, then off I drive him at 12:15 (again compliments of the school district who used to let us have bus service right on my curb last year- the sweet memory of it all). So did you notice that with all five kids, they all start school at a different time. Then I have 2 1/2 blissful hours to myself, which goes oh so fast. I've been using most of it for errands and groceries and filling out the enormous pile of paperwork that all four schools need in the first weeks, having appointments with school nurses to go over health care plans for CF son and all that kind of stuff. I'm hoping that I'll get organized enough to use a little of that time for writing, yes my lovely indulgence. Of course that is always when my dear heart comes home and finds me on the computer and gives me that look of is-that-what-you've-been-doing-all-day?

Then at 3pm I sit in front of sons 3 & 4 school with tons of other early parents so I can be one of the first in line to get the boys at 3:30 (you know the tune- compliments of my school district who should let the bus drop them off at my home and give me back my half an hour) so I can drive them home, change into my lovely work clothes then haul my flat pale butt to work by 4pm where I will stay until 10pm, midnight on weekends, then drag home, chat with dear heart for a bit, watch some recorded tivo shows to relax until my eyes droop and I pause mid-show then climb into bed.

Yeah, that's pretty much the routine of my average day. I have today and tomorrow off though. I'm so excited. Maybe I can catch up on some rest and helping the kids with their homework. And write! After I get another submission sent off to the last major publisher I'm gonna try. After that, small press baby! And good luck to me!

Rejected again

I must be more hopeful than I have any right to be. I keep sending my manuscript to the big gun agents and publishers, and they keep pleasantly rejecting me. I really had my hopes soaring for this last one because she actually requested to see more from my query e-mail. That was exciting. I did the happy dance and everything. But today I got the e-mail that it is not for them and good luck.

Well, there is one more really big gun I want to try, yet at the same time I think I will go the route of smaller presses. I have a really cool looking one in mind that seems good. They check out on predators and editors and such, so off I go.

I'll try not to be too disappointed with the rejection today, or rather I will try and just put it out of mind. There is always that niggling little doubt that creeps in saying, "you're just not a good enough writer".

Then again, it was exciting to get a request for more. Maybe next time I can stick the landing.