Tag Archives: Health

Thank you

Thanks to everyone who expressed concerned about Big Boy. I understand some folks were quite alarmed, which was not my intention with the post. The doctor really did seem to think it was probably nothing.

But now you see my point. When you’ve gone down the rabbit hole of “probably nothing” turning into “something” turning into “Oh God, is our life over? (and I mean this in the absolute prayer sense)” with one child, it is hard to stay calm about things that might be issues with the others.

It seems like it should be the other way. Since we’ve dealt with these really big things, then anything else should seem small and manageable.

For me, however, it feels like we’ve dipped so often into the well of responding to challenges for James over the past few years that there is nothing left in that well if things go wrong with anyone else. I guess that’s something to work on.

So just to clarify, we really hope and think Big Boy is fine. So does his doctor. But we’re following up because it’s the right thing to do.


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“It’s probably nothing, but we should get it checked out.”

These are possibly my least favorite words in the English language. No, that’s wrong. Those are probably “moist,” “conversate” (not really in the English language but that isn’t stopping people), “douche,” and “hard-stop.”

Okay, so maybe it’s one of my least favorite sentences

I am fairly certain the only people ever charged with delivering this sentence are doctors. Doctors are not generally prone to hysterics and are good at staying calm in pressured situations, so listening to this sentence delivered with a calm demeanor doesn’t do much to comfort me. I don’t want to hear that something is probably nothing. I want to hear that it is definitely nothing. That is, I never wanted to know about it in the first place. 

This morning, Big Boy had a check-up and we left with a “It’s probably nothing, but we should get it checked out.” 

The last time someone said this to me, four hours later we were admitted to the children’s ER and my ten-day-old baby was getting a spinal tap, MMR, CT Scan, and intravenous anti-convulsant medication. So yeah. I don’t like hearing those words. 

I’m sure this is probably nothing. I really hope it’s probably nothing. And if it’s something, I dearly hope it’s a fixable something. 

Having a child with special needs makes me feel like I should have a free pass for my other children. It feels as if they should never become sick, never have a bad day, never have any challenges. As if the world should be offsetting James’ challenges by providing exceptional karma and luck to his sweet siblings. 

I’m pretty sure that’s not how things work, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping.

It’s probably nothing.


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Working Girl

Okay, cue the 80s career gal movie montage of flying money. (Baby Boom? Anyone?)

It’s time to talk about being a working mother mom who works outside the home.Image .  

There is so much to say here. Many more posts to come. Let’s just start with what happened last night. 

Big Boy goes to a Montessori school where they don’t really do a typical birthday party with cake. They do a ceremony where the child “goes around the sun” and the parents share photos while the child walks slowly around a lit candle. It’s all vaguely pagan. (This is a school where they celebrate the winter solstice, y’all). 

Because the parents are not supposed to bring cake (too messy and unhealthy), and because Big Boy’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t thought much about his ceremony this morning. Last night, however, he asked me what treat we were bringing for the class. And to be clear, by treat, his school usually means carob squares with spinach hidden inside, or some other similar “dessert.” 

At 8 pm last night, I made a quick survey of the pantry and realized that the cupboard was pretty bare. I offered to go to the store in the morning and get stuff to make brownies, but Big Boy told me they were “too messy” for his class. I offered to make cupcakes, but these were “too unhealthy.” Then I offered to make rice crispie treats, but these were “too sticky.” Basically, no normal baked goods are acceptable for this kind of celebration. 

Big Boy then sighed and said, “Mom, just go to Whole Foods.” Yep. He saw straight through my denial into my true self, which is apparently a mom that brings store-bought baked goods to school for her son’s birthday. 

I never thought I would be that kind of mom. One of my favorite books (and a middling movie starring the winsome Sarah Jessica Parker) is I Don’t Know How She Does It, by Allison Pearson. It features a great scene in which the titular “she”– a working mother– “distresses” store-bought baked goods in the middle of the night so she can take them to her children’s school the next day and everyone will think she made them. 

I used to work at a law firm. The entire time I worked there, I took great pride in baking ridiculous things from scratch. Organic, whole wheat carrot cake! You can smell the virtuous motherhood reeking from those words. 

But throw in a third kid? Forget it. I’m going to Whole Foods, and my kids know it. The bakery jig is up. 

Thus, I found myself purchasing $35 worth of chocolate chip cookie icing sandwiches this morning and brought them to school in a pleasing brown paper box. Husband took one look at them and said “I thought this was more of a bran muffin kind of thing.”

Guess what? If I’m going to be the store-bought booked goods mom, I’m at least going to be the delicious store-bought baked goods mom. Life is too short for bran muffins on your birthday. No, let’s try that again. Life is too short for bran muffins. 



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