Absolutely Bananas: Seattle mom blog

Alarming

It used to be that whenever Jay would travel and leave CJ and I home alone, I didn’t sleep. I heard noises and thumps and bumps and I fretted and spent night after night in a half-wakened state of terrified delirium.

Until we bought the alarm.

It was expensive, the alarm, but no price was too high for my sleep and sanity. So I signed the contract, wrote a big check, put the stickers in the windows, and breathed a big sigh of relief. At last, our house is protected.

Which is why I am dead asleep when the sirens erupt in a cacophony of blaring noise. In the middle of the night. A night when CJ and I are all alone.

BLEEEEREREEEEEERE KITCHEN WINDOW CENTRAL ALERT BLEEEREREEEEEEREEEEREEE

I leap out of bed and gasp for air.  The room is pitch black except for the pulsing light coming from the hallway.

The alarm!

The alarm is going off!

That means…

That means someone is breaking in!

Through the kitchen window central!

My mind is muddled. It’s so dark. And the NOISE!

BLEEEEREREEEEEERE KITCHEN WINDOW CENTRAL ALERT BLEEEREREEEEEEREEEEREEE

It’s in this moment that I am jolted into the realization that my alarm is not, in fact, a force field. It doesn’t actually protect me. It’s just… an alarm.

And I have NO PLAN for what to do if… alarmed.

BLEEEEREREEEEEERE KITCHEN WINDOW CENTRAL ALERT BLEEEREREEEEEEREEEEREEE

must do something…

Desperately I stumble into the hallway, then stop.  I’m not wearing any pants. I can’t face a prowler without pants!

I fumble my way back to the bedroom and find myself caught in a moment of ridiculous indecision. Capris or pajamas? CAPRIS OR PAJAMAS?

MEANWHILE A SKULKING BURGLER IN A SKULL CAP AND GLOVES IS CREEPING THROUGH MY KITCHEN!

Or… well… or maybe not.

But it’s my job as the ADULT and DEFENDER OF THE PROPERTY to find out.

BLEEEEREREEEEEERE KITCHEN WINDOW CENTRAL ALERT BLEEEREREEEEEEREEEEREEE

so hard to think with all the NOISE…

I pull on my pajama pants and look around in desperation.

Aha!

I pick up my iPhone and carry it in front of me, like a club, as I tip-toe towards the kitchen.

BLEEEEREREEEEEERE KITCHEN WINDOW CENTRAL ALERT BLEEEREREEEEEEREEEEREEE

Do I turn the light on? Or leave it off? I stand in the doorway to the kitchen.  Even in the faint light of the moon I can see that Kitchen Window Central is firmly closed.

I flip the light on.

Slowly, I move towards the window, clutching my iPhone.

What am I going to do with this iPhone? Club the bad man over the head? Amaze him with its intuitive interface?

The window is definitely closed. There’s no broken glass. There’s no skull cap or masked man. Nothing skulking at all… except for Bella, who is positioned behind me, her tail between her legs.

fat lot of good you are!

BLEEEEREREEEEEERE KITCHEN WINDOW CENTRAL ALERT BLEEEREREEEEEEREEEEREEE

I stumble out of the kitchen and towards the hallway. The alarm has been going off for what seems like sixteen hours, and I just can’t think straight.

Maybe I should check the other windows.

I wander through the house, iPhone firmly clenched, checking windows.

All are closed. The night is peaceful. Well, except for the sirens.

I type in the code to shut off the alarm and return to my bedroom where CJ is huddled under a pile of blankets.

“I’m trying to sleep,” he mutters as I climb into bed.

right.

Impatience is my MIDDLE name

Meet my little sister.

My little sister who, it just so happens, is pregnant. (And totally, unreasonably, ridiculously cute. Isn’t it annoying?)

But back to the pregnant.  At this very moment, sis is very very VERY pregnant.

In fact, her baby was due LAST MONDAY.  (that’s over a week ago, FYI).

The weird thing is, mom and I are totally freaking out wIth a capital AAARRRGGGHHHH!!! while my strangely calm and cute kid sister says things like, “the baby will come when he’s ready,” or, “I’m not worried.”  She’s all zen while I run around like a chicken with its head cut off. 

It’s totally annoying.

And it makes me wonder… when did SHE get all grown up and mature?  

And how is it that I missed that boat?

And what’s with all the CUTENESS?  

It’s all I can do to keep from calling her every five minutes shouting IS THE BABY COMING YET? ARE YOU HAVING CONTRACTIONS AND DO YOU THINK TODAY IS THE DAY and can you show me how to do my makeup like that?

I have to sit on my hands and hide my phone but even these desperate measures don’t work so I call my mom and she shouts into the phone, IS SHE HAVING THE BABY AND ARE THERE CONTRACTIONS?!

Mom and I are cut from the same cloth, it would appear.

She calls me tonight and says — deadly serious– “I had to tell your father that he had better get himself ready to go.  Because I will NOT WAIT AROUND when that baby is coming.  He WILL get left behind.”

And I don’t know if HE knows but I know that she means it.

“I JUST WANT THE BABY TO BE HEEEEERE!” I howl at my sister, who is sitting serenely on the couch sipping tea.  ”I feel like calling you ALL THE TIME!”

“You can call me,” she says… then pauses and adds, “Just don’t ask if I’m in labor.”

Hmph.  Clearly she doesn’t understand the reason for my alleged calls.

And so I wait.

And wait.

And WAIT.

It’s killing me.

Seeing through spiderwebs is risky business

Yesterday I walked out the front door and got a spider web right in the eye.

ARRRGH!

Some nefarious little eight-legged creature has spun its web directly across the path that is typically taken by my head when I exit the house.  I have to believe it’s on purpose. That spider was eyeing my eyeball and thinking, mmm lunch.  Or maybe she planned to capture my WHOLE HEAD and eat for years.  Who can say what goes on in the inner minds of spiders.

As I stumble down the steps trying to pull the sticky thread from my eye I’m thinking that THIS MOMENT symbolizes my week so far.  

(I’m also wondering if the spider is now lodged in my hair.)

The transition to kindergarten is not going well.  

Except some days, when it seems to be going fine.

Monday, after class, CJ’s teacher stopped me in the hall.  ”CJ was feeling extremely rambunctious today,” she says.  Which, I happen to know, is teacher talk for YOUR LITTLE CRETEN RUINED MY DAY AND NOW I’M HOPPING MAD.

Oh dear.  It’s only the third week.

“Really?” I say, in my MOST concerned and responsible voice.

My heart hurts.  Already it’s been very difficult to get CJ to school.  

“I HAAAATE school,” he howls as we walk out the door. “Mommy, today I MEAN it.  I really, really REALLY don’t want to go to school.”

“But you have to,” I tell him, “it’s the law.”

But even the law isn’t enough for CJ.  Tuesday morning finds me dragging him out the door.  No amount of threats or bribes or LAW will compel him to want to go to school this day.  Somehow I get him there and in his desk.

“If you have a good day today,” I tell him, “we’ll go shopping for your Halloween costume after school.”

My mind is full of gloomy thoughts as I trudge home.

Maybe he isn’t READY for school after all.

Maybe public school isn’t going to work.  It’s what I feared… all the sitting and paying attention and listening… maybe it’s just too much for my spirited little boy.  

They’re going to suck away his spirit.

They’re going to drain the life right out of him.

WHAT DO I DO????

The spider web is stuck in my eye and I can’t see clearly.  All I know is that I don’t know what to do.

I find myself obsessing. It’s all I can think about… all I can talk about.

That afternoon when I pick up CJ his teacher informs me that he had a GREAT day.  The clouds lift, the sun shines through and HALLELUJAH we are saved.

But are we?

Really?

Is that the end?  Will it be smooth sailing from here on out?

Still in the back of my mind are those tormenting thoughts.  Am I doing the right thing?

This point in time feels so momentous.  Like if I get it wrong it will plague him for the rest of his life.  Like I’m standing at a crossroads.  One direction leads to a happy, healthy, well-adjusted CJ.  The other?  Juvenile delinquency and unhappiness. Only the signs aren’t clear and I can’t tell which way we’re headed.  

It’s enough to drive even the most sane woman mad.

And you and I both know I wasn’t all that sane to begin with.

One of the other moms tells me that she read that the transition to kindergarten is one of the HARDEST transitions ever.  Aside from maybe college.  For the PARENTS.

Which helps a little.  Maybe I’m not completely crazy.

I need to channel this energy, I tell myself, I have to stop obsessing and give it time.

I have a tendency to obsess.  I know this about myself.

Which reminds me… 

Does anyone have a suggestion for getting rid of spiders?

(unless you’re against killing spiders, in which case I am TOTALLY joking)

I’m not joking.  I am sick of spiders.

(unless you’re with PETA, in which case I totally don’t mean it and I love the fuzzy little eight-legged peanuts)

Honestly I hate them.  With a passion.  I gave them a chance and LOOK at how they repay me.

(unless you are a fan of spiders, in which case I really am kidding.  Can’t you take a joke?  Seriously.)

seriously.  need killing suggestions now.

(kidding)

am I?

The wake-up call

We’re five minutes from the ferry when my throat clenches and starts to close up.

I cannot breathe. 

I clutch at the armrest and gasp, “Jay! Something is wrong.  Something is very wrong.”

Jay can tell from the urgency in my voice that I am not kidding, and he pulls the car off the road.  “What’s up, Jen?” he asks, his face full of concern.  “What’s going on?”

I clutch at my neck.  “I can’t breathe.  I honestly CANNOT BREATHE.”

Jay watches me for a moment.  Then he says, carefully, “but Jen, you’re breathing.”

“I know,” I tell him, “but I CAN’T.  Breathe.”

He holds my hand as we sit in the car.  From the backseat CJ asks, “Mommy?  You can’t breathe?”

I don’t respond.  I’m busy trying to survive.

We sit in the car in a parking lot for half an hour because I am terrified to get on the ferry. Petrified of finding myself on a boat on the water without immediate access to emergency rooms and life support.  Because I just know that at any moment I will stop breathing and have to be rushed to the hospital.

But after sitting in the parking lot for thirty minutes I realize that maybe I will survive after all.  Even though I feel like I won’t.

It is the beginning of what will be many… too many… of these sessions.

Sessions where, in an instant, my life plummets from fine to a complete and total nightmare.   It begins with a quickening of my pulse followed by tightness at the back of my throat and suddenly I know that this is it; this is the end… I am dying and there’s nothing anyone can do.  My heart races.  My pulse quickens.  My breath becomes short and erratic.  I feel tingling in my face and hands. 

Strangely, at the end, I find that I am still alive.

These panic attacks rules my world for four weeks.  The longest four weeks of my life.

Until, finally, I am at the absolute end of my rope, and I call my doctor.

“I’m sorry,” says the very UN-sorry voice on the other end of the phone, “but your doctor has left the practice.”

“LEFT THE PRACTICE?”  I can feel hysteria rising up in my chest, “But I’ve only seen her once.  My OTHER doctor left the practice.  What am I supposed to DO?”

“Oh don’t worry,” says the woman, “Dr. Smith is taking her patients.”

“Whatever,” I say, “I just need to see a doctor.  I don’t care who it is.”

Then the woman on the other end of the phone asks the question that I’ve been dreading for four weeks.  “What is this about?”

What INDEED is this about?

If only I knew.

***

WHY do I always tear up when I am talking to a doctor?

I feel like a hysterical emotional woman… you know, the kind you don’t want to be.  And yet I can’t seem to stop the tears.

The doctor’s face is sympathetic as I describe my symptoms.

“It sounds to me like you’re experiencing some pretty severe panic attacks,” he tells me.  “It’s good you came in.”

He writes me out two prescriptions… one that I’m supposed to take long term and another to ease the symptoms temporarily.  He assures me that it’s going to be ok.

I want to believe him.

***

I sit on the patio on a warm summer evening while Jay puts CJ to bed… alone with my thoughts.

How did I get to this place?

I thought I was doing GOOD.

What is WRONG with me?

Why is this happening?  Where will it end?

***

Six weeks later I am starting to feel sane. 

I tried and stopped the medicines that my doctor prescribed, which gave me symptoms worse than the panic attacks.

I read articles about panic disorder.  I talked to people.  I started to look differently at my life and my choices and how they might be impacting me.

I started going to bed earlier, watching my diet, drinking less coffee, taking more vitamins.  I started making my needs and wants a priority, cutting out the things that stressed me out.  I got massages.  I played the piano. I found a new doctor. I learned to focus my mind when I felt a panic attack coming on; to talk myself through it. 

These things seem to help.

But this experience was a wake-up call for me.  A realization that I MUST make my own needs and health a priority.  Anything less is a disservice to my family.  My family who, turns out, need me to be healthy.

As a mother, as a wife, as a woman… it’s so easy to postpone taking care of myself.  To perpetually push out my dentist appointment, to ignore my annual physical, to choose sleep in lieu of exercise and cleaning instead of pleasure.

It’s easy to put ourselves last.  And then, in a shallow attempt at taking care of ourselves, to give in to unhealthy compulsions that temporary soothe the underlying imbalance.

A piece of cake, a glass of wine, a soap opera, a new pair of shoes, a manicure…

While these things are certainly not bad and actually quite fun, they also do not qualify as TAKING CARE OF OURSELVES.  These are the luxuries that go on top of a healthy life.  The frosting.   

The frosting does not a balanced meal make.

I have to do the work.   Physically, mentally, emotionally, creatively… I need to take care of my WHOLE self.

And I vow that I will do it.

Because I’m worth it.

And my family is worth it.

And the consequences of NOT doing it are unbearable. 

On the first day

I look across the sea of people at the freshly scrubbed faces, carefully combed hair, brand-new shirts and backpacks and saucer-wide eyes.  I can feel the air buzzing with nervous excitement.

“When do you think the bell will ring?” Jay asks me.

I look at my watch.  “Any minute.”

“Mommy!” CJ tugs at my sleeve, “Mommy when will kindergarten start?”

“Any minute,” I tell him.

Any minute.

And then the bell rings and CJ’s eyes widen with what just might be panic.  He grabs my hand and we join the crowd jostling its way inside.

***

If I had to put money on who is more nervous- the parents or the kids- I’d put money on the parents.  Standing around the room, huddled by the cubbies, crouching beside desks…

The room is unusually quiet for 27 five year olds and assorted adults, charged with energy. All eyes are on Mrs. H. 

It’s clear that to everyone in the room from five years old to fifty, this woman with the kind eyes and stern voice and long steel-grey hair, this woman who is the TEACHER is also unequivocably the boss.

“You can go now,” she tells the parents.  And quietly, we file out.

***

Twisting emotions tug at me as I walk away from the school, and I feel tears welling up.

I’ve looked forward to this day for so long.  Now that it’s here, I feel strangely sad.

I walk into a very empty house and sit down on the couch.  The aquarium bubbles, but otherwise the house is silent.

What will I do?  Six hours stretch out before me, frightening with possibility.

There are SO MANY things that I was planning to do.  But now, in this moment, I find myself reticent to take the first step, choosing instead to sit and stare at nothing.

Tomorrow I’ll be more productive, I tell myself.

Today I just need to absorb.