So it turns out I do miss my college kid

When we dropped off Annie at college nearly two months ago, I was excited for her. I knew she was ready for this next adventure and I was confident that she would do well. I will admit to having a good cry the night before she left. But when we dropped her off at school, I didn't shed any tears. Heck, I didn't even cry when two hours after we left she posted on Facebook that she'd gotten (and been hiding) a tattoo on her leg.

In the days and weeks surrounding Annie's college departure, plenty of people have said to me "How are you? " Or sometimes "How are you," as if sending my daughter off to college should have left me sobbing buckets of salty tears. I kind of felt like a bad mom when I answered honestly, "I'm fine." Maybe I shouldn't be fine. Maybe I should be feeling my heartstrings stretched to their capacity, crossing off the days until she comes up with big red Xes on the calendar in the kitchen.

My boss, whose youngest child is Annie's age and is off to college himself this year, assured me that I am not a bad mom. "You will miss her at the weirdest times," she said. And it turns out she was right.

The first time I really missed Annie was on the way home from visiting her for Family Weekend. We arrived on a Friday night and hung out in her dorm room with about 6 or 8 of her theatre buddies. We got FroYo and walked around the campus. The next day, we watched her hang lights in the theatre, went to hometown favorite burger place and drove out to a pumpkin patch, where I got some great pictures of Annie and the boys.

The next morning, we headed home. And on our way home is when I really started to miss her. It wasn't so much that Annie wasn't coming home with us. It was more that I didn't have her to myself anytime over the weekend. The family time was fun, but as we were headed back to Indianapolis, I found myself longing for some girl time with my girl.

So maybe, I'm not a bad mom after all.

The other time I find myself missing my college kid is at work. I work on a college campus and lately, I've had a lot of meetings that require me to crisscross the campus several times a week. As I walk past the students who are close to my daughter's age, I think to myself "Annie is probably walking to class right now." I look at the brick buildings and the changing leaves and the kids with their frappa-mocha-lattes, backpacks and school spirity sweatshirts and think about Annie doing the same things on her college campus. And I miss her. Not in a break-down-crying-need-to-talk-to-a-therapist way, but in a happy-for-her-but-wish-I-could-spend-time-with-her kind of way.

And guess what? She'll be home this weekend for fall break! She will be home to see Robbie's football game, eat dinner with us, cuddle with the dog, and go to church with us. And on Monday, she and I will have girl time getting our hair done and driving her back to school.

I can't wait.

When the school nurse calls

and tells you that your son said he hit his head on the floor in gym class and is now in the clinic, do you:

a.) Gush, "Oh my baby! I'll be right there."
b.) Ask rational questions about his current symptoms.
c.) Want to know if there were any witnesses to the alleged fall.

Does it make a difference if you are new to the school and the school nurse doesn't know you yet? So she doesn't know that you really are a good mom but that you are also wise to a kid who likes attention and dislikes school.

Does it make a difference that your child recently wrote a report on concussions and is reasonably well-versed in the symptoms of concussion?

To be fair, he did head straight for the couch when we got home and hasn't moved from that spot. The TV is not on and the iPod Touch is not within reach. We have an appointment at the doctor's office at 2pm. But I'm still a little skeptical.

Of course, I've been wrong before.

UPDATE: According to the pediatrician, the diagnosis is mild concussion. No gym or physical activity for one week. She said she didn't think that there was anything severe going on, but that he did get his bell rung pretty hard.

From munchies to frags

 

Eight days before Christmas seems like the perfect time to de-frag. Thanks to Mrs. 4444s for hosting Friday Fragments.

The thing most pressing on my mind right now is actually pressing on my esophagus. Holy acid reflux, Batman! I didn't take my Nexium -- make that generic omeprazole -- this morning and boy am I hurting now.

Thanks for all your prayers/positive thoughts for Robbie's dental surgery yesterday. My sister and sister-in-law didn't realize he was having oral surgery until they saw it online. Guess that's because there's an element of "my kid's teeth are rotting and I'm an awful parent" that I just didn't feel like calling everyone to share.

All went very well. They didn't have the IV clotting factor he was supposed to get, so the hematologist ordered a nasal spray instead. Woohoo! Saved him from having the IV poke and infusion. The clotting factor makes him flushed in the face and kind of hyper. Mike and I were laughing at how wound up he was after the spray. When it was go time, he walked down the hall into the OR with the nurse like it was no big deal. Of course, he wasn't quite as happy 2 hours later -- 4 fillings, 3 extractions, 2 silver crowns. The only thing missing was a partridge in a pear tree. I kept him home from school today (Thursday), but he'll be good to go tomorrow.

I'm finding there is benefit to putting off Christmas shopping until late -- Amazon.com is having some BIG discounts. Some of what I'm finding will go into hiding for birthday gifts later.

We still have to go see Santa, which we'll do on Saturday. Our options are bowling with Santa, Christmas at the farm or the Indiana State Museum. Robbie would vote for bowling with Santa, but I'm thinking Christmas at the farm sounds so festive. Of course, I might feel differently when my bones are so cold from being outside that I can't actually feel anything.

I am absolutely thankful for my job, but I so wish I didn't have work next week. The kids are on Christmas break and will be home all day, every day next week...hmmm...on second thought, I'm so lucky I get to go to work next week!

'Tis the season for great movies in the theater. It's been a while since I've seen one -- The Social Network -- was the last one. Little Fockers is on my list. Not sure what else is coming out in the next few weeks. What do you plan to go see?

Off to do something about this heartburn...Have a great weekend!

Earning an F

The other day Chris wrote at Notes from the Trenches about little ways she fails her kids. This morning, I'm really feeling like I'm failing mine -- Charlie especially -- in big ways.

I got an e-mail from Charlie's teacher yesterday that he'd had missing assignments two days in a row. I wasn't aware there was homework he didn't do because I didn't check his assignment notebook. I asked him if he finished his homework. He said yes.

Now, I knew in my mind that I needed to double check. To have him show me the work. But I took him at his word because I was too tired (read: lazy) to check. When I looked at his assignment notebook this morning (yes, about 12 hours too late), I saw that he has two tests today. I asked if he studied for them at after care yesterday. I got a blank stare in return.

He didn't even bring his reading book home, so he's on his own for that test. We went over the spelling words several times. As we were doing so, I realized this was the first time that I've seen the list all week.

I reached into his backpack and came up with handfuls of old crumpled papers. His desk at school is the same way. And why wouldn't they be? That's the way I am. Every time a teacher writes in a report card that one of my children needs to be more organized, it's a personal conviction against my character because they are not learning organization at home.

I feel like I'm failing him because I haven't been able to make him see that school is his most important job, probably because by my inattention, I'm giving him the message that it's not.

It goes beyond school. He wanted a short-sleeve shirt to wear today, but I haven't washed them. He's gone for two weeks without his medication because I lost the Rx. (See above re: organization. Found the Rx last night.) He and Robbie are taking their lunches wrapped in enough foil to tune in the TV on the international space station because I'm out of Ziploc bags. And the contents of their lunch are lean because our pantry and fridge are void of most things beside condiments.

Oh, and to add insult to injury, I just realized that he is singing in the choir at church this morning -- Mass started 20 minutes ago -- and I'm not there. If I wasn't trying to keep this a rated PG blog, I'd spew a string of expletives right here.

This is definitely one of those mornings where I'm ready to move to a hillside in Kentucky.

The 12 blogs of Christmas: #7 - O Perfect Nite!

There hasn't been a night in several weeks that has been as perfect as tonight...

...no one has to go to a practice (except Christmas choir, which we are skipping b/c of the weather)

...there is no homework to be done (except Annie's extra credit report, but she's a 6th grader, she can handle that)

...the teacher gifts are wrapped (no exceptions there), as are most of the other Christmas gifts

This is THE perfect night for playing "Mommy's legs are broken and she can't get off the couch."

Yes, there is laundry to be folded (about 3 loads). There are dishes to be done. There are Christmas cards to be addressed. But not tonight. The only effort I intend to exert tonight is scrolling, clicking and typing. Oh, and breathing. This is my Christmas season gift to myself.

And so here I am. Favorite red-checked fleece blanket tucked around my legs, pillow behind me, laptop resting on my, well duh...lap. We're watching a Muppet Christmas movie and I am NOT going to move.

I just sent the boys upstairs to get their jammies on -- by themselves. Without me. And if they come back downstairs wearing dinosaur bottoms and penguin tops, so be it. Because I am not getting off the couch.

In fact, since school's only in session until about 11am tomorrow, I'm going to let Robbie watch the movie until he falls asleep in the chair. And when Mike returns home, I'll have him carry the boy up to bed. Because I am not getting of the couch.

Maybe I'll even sleep here tonight, cuddled up in my cocoon safe away from snoring husbands (ok, he might argue that I'm the real auditory offender) and wandering children.

O Perfect Nite for being a snuggled in, warmed up, logged on Mommy who is not getting off the couch.

Why Charlie will get the biggest inheritance

I love my children. All 3 of them -- equally, well, as averaged out over time because, you know, they each have their moments. But I think I'm going to have to leave Charlie the biggest inheritance.

It's not because he's my favorite -- seriously, I don't have a favorite. No, I'm going to have to leave Charlie the biggest piece of whatever is left of my estate (which won't be much anyway if Wall Street keeps it up) because I owe it to him. Poor Charlie...forget the college fund, this kid is gonna need a prepaid therapy account.

What I am about to describe to you is, to borrow a phrase from modern literature, a series of unfortunate events. All unrelated, all un-premeditated, but all which could paint a picture of me as a rotten mother.

* When Charlie was just a baby, about 4 or 5 months old, I accidentally put Icy Hot on his diaper rash. Twice. Let me just say in my own defense that the two tubes looked remarkably similar from behind to a woman averaging 4 hours of sleep a night.

* When he was about 2 years old, he hurt his arm, so I took him to the ER to be checked out. Only we didn't quite make it to the ER in an expeditious manner because I locked him in the minivan...with the keys inside...with the van running...with Charlie still buckled into his car seat.

* When he was 3 years old, I decided to try the "let him run around naked" potty training method. It had worked well with Annie --only she didn't have eczema. The first time Charlie peed down his legs, it stung so bad I had to put him immediately in the bathtub. That was the end of that training method.

* When he was 4 years old, he hurt his arm at preschool. I DID take him to the doctor that time. She looked him over and said she didn't think it was serious and I didn't press any further. Over the next few days, he played as usual, though by the end of the night, would baby that arm a bit. About a week went by and he fell while we were at the Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio. It was quite obvious by his reaction that something was wrong with his arm. So I took him to the ER, where x-rays revealed a "wrinkle" fracture in his wrist, likely from his first accident at preschool.

* When he was 5 years old, I accidentally closed the sliding door of the minivan on his hand. He was ok, but I felt guilty for a good while.

Fortunately, years 6 through 8 were pretty good. Then of course, there was the Eating Crow incident this fall. (He got his cast off on Friday and is wearing a splint for added protection for a couple of weeks.)

And now tonight. I had just put fresh sheets on his bed and had just covered his eczema-ridden legs with ointment. It was time for prayers, so I turned off the light and plopped down on the bed next to him -- or so I thought.

I'm not sure what registered first, his voice crying out or the lump that was his bad arm under my body. After I stayed a bit to a.) comfort him and b.) make sure I hadn't done damage to the arm, I headed to my room and wrote myself a note.

"Increase Charlie's inheritance. Again."