American Girl

She waits another week to fall apart...

If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace. ~ Thomas Paine

Wait a minute, I'm not quite done humiliating myself here, and I still have a bit of feeling sorry for myself left to do.  Pity party?  Table of one?

I'm clearing our house of unquestionables, because my mother in law, bless her heart, is coming to help us out.  At what point does your mother in law stop feeling like company?  She's a wonderful woman and I can't say enough good things about her, but I can't stop the background noise that says I'm just no longer necessary.  It's not just that, it's a lot of things.  I'm feeling like the father of the bride at a big wedding, just the guy who writes the checks but isn't really "needed" for anything else.  And I know I have some nerve feeling sorry for myself, which is why I just add it to all the uglies here.  In real life you can't be all "woe is me" about your husband's injury, because he's the one who deserves the sympathy, not you.  But when he just hides away and sleeps and doesn't show his face until he hears other voices in the house, you start to take it personally.  And then, your baby girl sees you coming to her side after she awakes from her nap, and she loudly proclaims "NO! Daddy!" it stings even more. And then, when you take your child to Gymboree and all the moms wonder where her daddy is, you can just feel their disappointment.  Like oh, you're just another mom.  That's no fun.  And what's worse?  The leader of the mommy pack doesn't even speak to me, she speaks to Hope.  "Hi Hope!  Where's your Daddy today?"  So you have to bite your lip to keep from crying when one of them calls out that she hopes he'll be back soon, and you have to remind yourself that it's a wish for his good health, not a statement about your worthiness as a parent or a woman or anything.

So let's see, someone else is coming to run my house, Hope prefers Daddy, the Mommy Pack - Oh I don't even want to discuss the Mommy Pack and what they want, but I'm feeling....replaced.  And absolutely wretched that I've managed to make this all about me, which it isn't, but it sure looks that way here in this safe place that is my blog.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:04 | link | comments (9) |

I'll take two of whatever Paula Abdul is taking. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:49 | link | comments (8) |

Well, Ryan is home.  We realized last night that we haven't been planning more than an hour at a time.   Now the future is looking a little dim.  At some point, I need to go back to acting like I have a job, and once again having to chose between it and my family.  Ryan will be home, but he can't very well take care of Hope every day if he can't change a diaper, button a button, handle the delicate intricacies of the sippy cup, etc...  He can't do things for himself, much less a one year old.  We could get a nurse, as was suggested, but I'm not big on having a stranger in my house all day and Ryan hates that idea anyway.  My sister in law has offered to step in, as has my mom, but it's too much.   So, we're thinking that today we're going to ask my mother in law to come and stay with us for a while.  There's a chance she'll say no, but I doubt it.  There's an excellent chance that she might not ever leave, and I think we're just going to have to be ok with that.  When you're pretty desperate, it's hard to go putting limitations on other people's generosity.

I'm the only parent in the world who hates the story "The Giving Tree".  That boy/man milks that tree for all it's got, till it's down to a decomposing pile of wood chips.  He even carves his initials into the bark - how rude!   "I'm sorry Boy, I have nothing left to give you." the tree says as the old man comes back for even more greed. "I'm just an old stump now..."  Can't you just feel the resentment?  Oh sure, they say the tree is all happy when the old man sits down on the stump, but you just know that it's not true.  No one likes to be used up till there's nothing left.  No one should do that to another human being.  Stupid boy/man.  They should have called it "The Lying Tree".

I'm hoping that if she accepts, it will be good for her.  She's very lonely and doesn't keep herself busy at all.  She misses her husband and still cries a lot.  As an added bonus, Ryan's youngest brother will have his own place to live for a while.  That about all the cheerful sunshine I've got.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:03 | link | comments (10) |

The sound of your world falling apart is a lot quieter than you would think.  It's not the big explosion that it's significance implies, but the subtle click of a dial tone, or the uncomfortable silence that comes right between someone giving you bad news and you catching your breath after you hear it.  There should be a word for that lack of sound.

When you get a call that your husband has been injured at work, so injured in fact that he's not calling you himself, as per your pre-arranged agreement, you go through the five stages at lightening speed.  Denial;  He's fine.  It's just a precaution.  That catch in the Chief's  voice was just a cough, or a bit of undigested hot dog.  They send someone to tell you in person when it's really bad.  Then anger;  Why weren't they more careful?  Why didn't his gear protect him?  I bet the fire was started by some stupid, careless move or worse, an arsonist.  And why does he have to have such a stupid job anyway?  By the time you're on the Belt Parkway heading for the burn center  you're ready to make a deal; Please, just let him be ok and I'll be a better wife.  I won't let a second go by without him knowing how much I love him and need him around.  I'll do anything it takes just to keep him here.  Let him escape this one, and he can quit that stupid job and stop playing with fire.  Depression kicks in just as you walk into the lobby and see the worried expressions buried underneath the fake, supportive, he's-going-to-be-just-fine faces on all the men he works with, still in their dirty gear.  You can tell from looking at them that they're looking at you and imagining their own wives in your shoes, and you hate them all for it and you hate yourself more because you wish it was those other wives and not you.  Then by the time you're finally allowed to see him, he looks exhausted and small and covered in way too many bandages and the soot hasn't even been washed off his face yet, but he smiles a crooked smile and whispers that it doesn't even hurt, and you accept.  He's still here, here's still whole, and while it may be career ending, it's not life ending and that's really all that matters.  Everything else is just gravy, as mom always says.

He burned his hands prying open a door, at the same time a window broke and the extra burst of oxygen  fed the flames and I'm sure it's more technical than saying it was just "one of those things" but it was.  You appreciate your health, your good fortune, your home, your family, but you really don't appreciate your hands until you lose them, I think.  We're appreciating his hands, and the little bit of skin transplanted from his shoulder that will hopefully keep them moving and feeling, more than you can even imagine.  They won't be the same.  Nothing will every be the same, but nothing every really does stay the same, does it?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 23:24 | link | comments (14) |

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