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10/07/2009
Coal, goal, and a swab in the hole
It started with a high fever. Holding Ben was like clutching a sack of burning coal. An angry sack of coal, in fact, one that writhed and mewled and tried to escape from my arms. Okay, I'd say, and put the coal on the floor, since that's what he seemed to want. And then he'd slump onto the rug and start weeping, because running wild, unfettered, and free hadn't been as awesome as he'd imagined. Sad coal. Coal of desolation. And I'd sit there and think, Damn. Anthracite sucks.
We had a few nights like that, with Ben waking up every couple of hours needing only to be held, where "held" can be understood to mean held, then rocked, then caaaarefully carried over to the crib, then deposited as gently as if he were made of, I don't know, something fragile and dangerous like nitroglycerin or maybe plutonium or, wait! I know! my flagging maternal good humor, then picked up again as the howling commenced, ad infinitum, ad nauseam, ad hominem and beyond. During the day, Ben alternated between his usual sunny good cheer and what more neutral observers might call irritability.
Now, along with a high fever and the rash that blossomed all over Ben's torso a couple of days later, that irritability is one of the symptoms of roseola. I in my straightforward way am more inclined to call it asshole. -Ishness. -Ocity. -Ification. -A-ganza. See how I'm not quite calling my sweet small son an asshole? Rather, I am remarking in a detached and clinical way that he displayed many of the hallmarks of one. That's for the convenience of all the Googlers who are querying roseola symptoms. High fever torso rash diminshed appetite virus mild diarrhea "baby measles" puffy eyes lordy what an asshole. And that, my friends, is how you do search engine optimization.
And then the fever broke, and the rash came on, and with it the high-pitched keening that signals an ear infection. The only thing that seemed to comfort him was being holstered belly to belly in the Ergo carrier with his head tucked under my chin. And that was fine until he decided to unleash one of his periodic dog-whistle shrieks, mouth right next to my ear. It was unclear over the weekend whose eardrum would rupture first. I confess to a fantasy of hastening mine along by mechanical means, just to muffle the noise. Oh, like you've never considered defying the instructions on the package of Q-Tips, inserting one into your ear canal and working it like a butter churn.
But I managed somehow to refrain, and to make endless grim circuits around the house with the aural equivalent of an actuated smoke alarm strapped to my head, and to pick up and put down and pick up and put down and pick up and put down gently...every...time. None of that, of course, is more than a parent should do. But I surprised myself by how calm I stayed, how willing I stayed, in the face of it.
And now we are back to normal. I had forgotten over the last week exactly how delicious Ben is, how I get this curling feeling of full-body warmth when Charlie makes him laugh, how much it cracks me up to see him ask for things with a combination of the sign for milk — which he seems to think means gimme — and an imperious clap of his hands, like, Lady, who do I have to blow to get another handful of blueberries around here? I think I'd better not expect much in the way of a tip.
This isn't going to seem related, but hang on because I'm going to do that thing where I gather seemingly disparate threads into a single impenetrable knot, which is either a neat trick or a cheap one, I never really know. Yesterday I took Charlie to soccer practice.
Paul usually does this, but he and Ben were detained, so I did the necessary. Put on quasi-athletic shoes, chivvied Charlie into emerging from the cardboard box he has claimed as his hideout, painted my naked chest with the team colors, that kind of thing. And spent the next hour running back and forth, calling out approval and encouragement, turning Charlie's occasional frustrated frown up-the-fuck-side down with positive words, rambunctious hair-tousling, and snarled promises that we were gonna wipe the goddamn field with those clumsy loser children on the red team.
I was kind of excellent. And so was Charlie, who announced later at dinner that practice was great. "I love soccer," he gushed. Which I, alas, do not. I hate soccer, in fact. I feel that way about children's sports in general. I think it's important for a kid to be exposed to such things, and I'm committed to making it happen, but I would so much rather be reading a book to him, or doing a craft, or cooking, or pretending for the umpteenth time that he is Ponyo, I am Lisa, Paul is Sosuke, and Ben is a brine shrimp about to be filtered through the baleen plates of one of those freaky-ass giant fish, and we are all enjoying a hearty plank of ham in a cardboard box — even that — than getting all team spirited on the sidelines.
But I was, as I said, pretty excellent. I didn't let on, even a little bit. And sometimes I think — here comes that knot! — that my worth as a parent is better judged by how I handle the things I hate, soccer practice and having my sleep broken every 90 minutes by a scalding struggling bituminous lump of rage, than by the way I manage everyday affairs. Which I don't always do so well. But give me a sick baby and a breathless hour of "Good try! That was close," and I feel like I'm doing okay. Incredibly, I even feel like I'm lucky to have this luxury, the opportunity to do things I hate for people I love.
I can't be alone on this one. Tell me you don't like soccer, either. Or tell me what you hate but do with enthusiasm, anyway. Or tell me I'm an asshole — excuse me, an irratibility-ish-ness-ication — for calling my toddler coal. I'm listening, as soon as I dislodge the Q-Tip.
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I hate soccer too...and I agree with you entirely. I love being able to deal calmly and beautifully with the bullshit - teething fevers, the vomiting 3 year old, etc. perhaps the reason I like this quality in myself is that my husband totally loses his shit during the crisis moments and I not-so-secretly like feeling superior with my calm, patient mothering skills. Of course I won't elaborate on how close I come to losing my shit during my daily, normal routine of work-at-home/take-care-of-rambunctious-1 year old.
I think that's part of life...doing the things you hate so that you can enjoy those perfect moments that occur when you least expect them (like when your lump of coal turns into a smiling diamond).
Anthracite sucks.
Try bituminous next time. It burns hotter but shorter.
Sorry. Having played over 20 years and now coaching my daughter's team, I LOVE soccer. Sadly, I don't think she does. I see field hockey in her future, but I'm trying to convince myself that I'll love that, too.
At least it was clean coal, no?
Ah, just you wait. When they get older, and marginally better, you can join me and countless other parents as we travel to other cities for soccer tournaments (what's worse that a soccer game- three soccer games in one day with the first starting at 8 am!), huddled in my folding chair, under an umbrella and wrapped in a blanket. In August.
Good times.
Great post.
I don't so much hate the soccer (or other sport) as I hate the maternal culture surrounding the soccer/other sport. Bleah! If you start up a boys' 4-6 year old crafting league, I will happily sign up. (may have to drop the boy at soccer practice first, though!)
I think that for the most part, any and all kids activities are pretty sucky. Not so much your kid being in activites and such, but catty stupid other parents living vicariously through their kids. I really cannot stand dance moms, choir moms, gymnastic moms, playhouse moms, etc. I have always felt that my parenting skills are being sized up, and am basically getting the "My kids better then your kid" stare down.
As much as I hate it, I will very willingly do all of these activites to make my kiddos happy, to make them learn to be part of a team, to get some exercise, etc., all the while dreaming of sticking a pencil in a snotty mom's eyeball...
I hate soccer! Our daughter is almost three and doesn't play an organized sport yet (I know; we're so behind), but I'm steering her towards an indoor sport with a concession stand.
And I agree that being "on" when doing things you hate is a good feeling. I'm pretty good with illness and such; it's the "are you freaking kidding me? We go through this every day! You have to put on clothes to leave the house!" stuff that makes me nutty.
I'm so with you. I hate soccer and pretty much all organized team sports. I can barely make myself pay attention. I would much, much rather be curled up with a good book and the cat on my lap. But what was I doing this weekend? I was hunched under a golf umbrella in a raining-cats-and-dogs sort of downpour yelling encouraging words to my 7th grader on the lacrosse field. I had no idea lacrosse was so physical--I would much prefer that he liked crafts, but no.
Oh crap, you mean I'm supposed to pay attention at these soccer game thingies? I thought it was more of a bring a novel and look up now and then to make sure that it's not your kid screaming kind of thing?
Wait, you're not supposed to stick the q-tip in there?
ha ha ha ha! Just you wait...there's MORE: BAND PRACTICE
I coached kids soccer and it's a really thankless job. I like soccer well enough but OMG having a kid in it was a special kind of fresh hell.
And I HATE snack time - why does every kid activity need snacks?
I hate trying to cajole my almost-three-year-old into eating vegetables, but recently I have girded my loins and stepped it up, since she is getting to the age where I can bribe her with marshmallows.
I hate, hate, hate with the light of a thousand suns sucking the snot out of an infant's nose, but I do it anyway.
I also hate team sports, but my older one seems much more inclined to dance than dribble, so I think we're going to be ok there.
For us, it was peewee hockey, and attending games was agony. Watching your sweet, girlie six-year-old daughter get body-checked and hooked by the foot-taller, seven-year-old boy on the other team, then watching her trying not to cry, then trying not to get out of your seat and throttle the boy (because, hey, that would be just plain wrong... wouldn't it?) was no fun. But she was trying to brave for her dad's sake, and I was trying to be brave for her sake. I was so glad at the end of the season when she announced that she was done with peewee hockey, and wanted tap dancing lessons instead.
I think the first two months of any baby's life is as you describe, though. That hellish existence where there is no sleep, no meal, no shower, no convenience of any kind taken, without the permission of an infant who rules you only because of the love that you feel for her.
Just being allowed to feel that kind of love -- having the chance to know that you can love another person that much -- is an honor for me.
~C~
Oh! I am so glad to have finished reading your archives and be up-to-date so I can leave comments! Hooray!
I agree that being there when you really don't want to be there is awesome. I like the break in monotony, honestly, and I also feel like I'm "really doing it" with this whole parenting thing. Sometimes I still feel like I'm just pretending...but when I'm active and present despite hatred of said activity, I feel like I'm doing a good job.
Great post. :)
I detest soccer, and most other team sports. Yet there I am every Saturday as I watch my child do great for practice and then tune out for the games. At the same time I'm also responsible for restraining a squirmy 18-month-old, since my husband is the assistant coach. I also don't like going to children's birthday parties.
You know what I hate? REALLY hate? Like claw-my-eyeballs-out-hate?
Knock-knock jokes.
I HATE them. They make me want to punch myself in the face. Maybe I can give myself enough brain damage that the interrupting cow joke will be funny the 56,994 time in a row.
Really? Irritability is one of the actual symptoms of roseola? That explains a LOT of our Labor Day weekend, where I actually took my daughter to the doctor, thinking she HAD to have an ear infection, or bladder infection, or sharks eating away at the lining of the stomach for how much she was SCREAMING (and she never, ever screams like that, Doctor.) Sure enough, the rash broke out two days later, and on the seventh day, God returned the Sun to the Earth and all was well again.
I used to hate laundry, but now I like it. I hate feeding the kids, mostly because I hate having to think about feeding myself a healthy, balanced meal with more than one food on the plate at a time. I think I would be okay with soccer practice.
The thing I do with cheerfulness when I'd really rather not: "Read, "Look Before You Bounce" again?? Why I'd love to!"
"...the opportunity to do things I hate for people I love." Beautifully said.
Soccer is in our near future, as soon as my 3-year-old can join the non-Mommy & Me class (there's no way I'm getting out there WITH her for 45 minutes!). If I can sit in my camp chair and yell from there, I'll be fine.
I've thought about amputating things to get out of going to soccer practice. I mean, not big things at first... maybe just a pinkie toe to start. But something.
I've (grimly, with a fake, fake smile plastered to my face) sat through dance, cheer leading, gymnastics, horseback riding, tennis, and soccer.. and out of all of those activities, i think that soccer is truly the one endorsed by Satan. But to be fair, dance was a close second... we weren't allowed to watch. Or leave. And there were never enough seats for all the parents. Or enough parking spaces.
Can't watching TV be considered an extracurricular? Please?
I'm a stepmother to a teenage boy, and I detest attending his cross-country meets. Oh sure, they're fun for the 2.3 minutes I can actually *see* him running and get to release my pent-up anger (cleverly disguised as "cheering him on"). But getting up ass-crack-of-dawn early on Saturday mornings, standing around for four hours, and smelling a stinky, post-pubescent boy on the long car ride home? Yeah, I could do without that.
I could do without a lot of things that involve him, actually, so I guess "stepmothering" falls into the category of doing things you hate for the people you love. Que sera.
With you on the soccer hate. Hub desperately wanted to put the 4 year old in soccer last spring, so I agreed with the condition he did all the practices and I could use the baby as an excuse to get out of any games I didn't want to attend. But I went. And I cheered. Even though my boy was the kid picking dandelions in the backfield and didn't have a clue as to what was going on. He's not playing again (and part of me is secretly pleased, though he won't hear it from me) until he asks to play again. I'm selfishly giddy to escape the dreaded label Soccer Mom for awhile.
Oh sweet jeebus I hate soccer and I hate the whole 'soccer mom' experience. I hate everything about it. (Except that my daughter is actually GOOD at it, and likes doing it, and I am glad she has something she is good at, but, wow...I really hate it.) Is it rude to read a book on the sidelines?
Oh Julie, I sympathize. I too was up with a crazy irritable very feverish son (burning hot baked potato is what he felt like) for nights on end last week. Damn that Roseola! Why the heck doesn't it come with a warning label? Why must you only know what it is AFTER the god forsaken fever is over and your kid breaks out in an ugly, but not itchy or contagious rash?? Why? We were told he had H1N1 (not! test for all flu was negative) and maybe a really severe reaction to an immunization (like that is something that bodes even moderately well for him and us, but also false it seems).
I wish the descriptions of it included the damn irritability. And the vomitting (or dry heaving at our house followed by lots of tears). Man was our kid sick. And miserable. And not eating.
But like you, I am inordinately proud of myself for handling it without breaking down. Even two trips to the ER in one day did not break me. Maybe I'm an okay mama after all.
And you get the prize -- I dread my son getting involved with soccer. I just don't think i have it in me to do what you did and run up and down and be cheerful about it. I imagine I will do like my mother did -- sit in the stands and knit and not watch at all. :(
I'd stick the Q-tips in my ear, except I lost so many of them up my vadge trying to poke Dr. H. Schulman in the eye. I think I heard him scream!
Soccer isn't so bad I can say having done years of it with stepkids before and have no one playing it now. It was a good source of laundry, and I ROCK at laundry. It's sanctioned and semi-organized mudplay here in the northwest. All kids do it. Let one of the dads run 'em around in the muck. Shared misery amongst the moms is what holds a community together.
For now, aside from preschool, all we are signed up for is Circus Class. I love Circus Class, and in two more years, we can take a parent AND kid class, Together, we will carry on the freak tradition that is what I have to contribute to my only boy.
In our house we call it "Communist Kickball." Our now 8-year old wanted to try it when he was 5 or so and we gave it a go, parental prejudice be damned! But here's the thing, our son is not so very different from his parents, in that he doesn't particularly like to run for long periods of time. So he'd be out there as the kids and the ball are running back and forth up the field and he'd be trying to keep up with them. At some point in every game he's stop, look up at us and give us a look that said, "What's the point? I'll just wait here. They'll be along with the ball in a second or two." Needless to say his soccer career was short.
Burning lump of irritable coal sounds about right...my son has a fever now and nothing makes him happy...im sure he'll be over it soon...but your post definitely gave me a laugh!
No, I don't *hate* soccer, or baseball, or hockey, or (god, now it's...) football (sheesh that boy's in a lot of sports...).
But I would rather be reading a book. Or doing a craft. Inside. On a chair. Where it's warm. And soft. And no bugs. And not raining on me.
I hate hockey but my kid loves it so I do it. After 7 years, I still have no ideas what the rules are. Same for---every other organized sport on earth. Hate hate hate, also summer camp. Too early in the morning, too perky, and too much labelling and hard work prepping for it.
Much prefer everyone just running around parks and backyards and relaxing and flopping when they are done. But my kid hates it, so we do it.
Fish sticks. I haaaattteee fish sticks (or anything that involves the fish part, most sticks I'm okay with.) Every time I eat one in front of my kids, while smiling and saying, "Yummmy!" I feel like I am the best dang mom in the world...not when I'm helping with homework, not when we visit nursing homes - when I force down fish sticks with a smile.
Oh, I *so* hate soccer (t-ball, basketball.) But what I love? The note from the coach that said, in essence "be supportive. the end. If you feel you have oh-so-much more to offer than that, please call me, I'm looking for an assistant." So I sit in my lawn chair and sip my coffee, I knit and chat with the other supportive moms. We cheer at the right times, we look appropriately, but encouragingly sad at the right times, and at the end of the hour and a half, we go home.
I understand the coal, completely.
My youngest(16 months) just got over roseola about a week ago...and also three weeks before that. Apparently, the little buggers can get it more than once. Thankfully, my six year old didn't catch it, otherwise I would have moved to the north pole. Thankfully, the fever didn't affect the baby's sleep (though, I'm not sure how - that piece of coal was HOT), but the demands to eat, get down, whatever were all met with the SOBBING whenever we offered a solution. Aren't you glad it's over? Hopefully, he only gets it once.
I hate soccer too, though my six year old has been playing for the last year or so - he's actually really bad at it, but he says he has fun so we keep going. We'll keep doing it too, until the fun stops.
Deep, profound commiseration on the roseola. Both my kids had it as babies, and the transformation to Spotted Dick was complete.
New poster here...but love this blog like crazy!
I just had to chime in about hating something but faking my way through it. Cub Scouts. I admit, I dread Wednesdays because of Scouts. The other kids are out of control and I have a real issue with the whole religious bent it has going on. But my son loves scouts, so I go, and I smile and I make nice.
Thanks for letting me have my piece.
(sotto voce, with my chin ducked)
breastfeed, again, for the fifthe time that night.
I hate talking to other parents at playgroups. I want to play with my boy!
I love this post! There are so very many things that I do for and with my kids that I really don't enjoy. I used to think it meant I was a *bad* mom because all the other moms *seemed* to like everything they were doing. Then I just learned that we are all good fakers for our kids sakes!!! I think of it this way...I am 35 and my kids are all 7 and under and thus they have the interests of kids 7 and under. If I TRULY enjoyed every single thing I did with them, wouldn't THAT be a little worrisome??? It's the moms that LOVE the 18th game of Go-Fish (in a row I might add) that scare me, not the ones that don't!!!
I HATE soccer, and I have begged God aloud many times to let my 2- and 4-year olds become interested in anything BUT soccer when the time comes...but everyone within earshot keeps telling me that once it's my own little pumpkin out there on the field I will grow to love it. They are wrong, so I keep praying.
Poor Ben!
After 30+ years of hearing my dad bitch about how he enrolled me in soccer, only to have me sit in the field and braid the foreward's hair as the game ball rolled by , I am rather surprised with his current grandfather frevor when he insists I put my own kids in the game.
Only the mad gleam of come-uppance in his eye when he does so suggests he is still holding a grudge about all those hours spent on the sidelines.
Sometimes I wonder if I am a good mom when I cannot and will not buy a minivan to cart them around town. Soccer, sick, etc. I can do. But that fucking minivan, no thanks.
Soccer is but one thing on a loooooong list of kid stuff I detest. But I never felt like I could admit such a thing...
Hey, let's see, what else can I confess to hating? Making cookies with cookie cutters! Sitting on the damn preschool board of directors! Class trips to the zoo! Actually, ANY trip to the zoo! Whew, this is fun. Oh, but there's one I can't say out loud...
I hate children's books. I know. That's the one that'll send me to hell.
"...painted my naked chest with the team colors..." Julie, I have read enough about your chest over the years to be. very. afraid.
Um, yeah. Reading the same book again and again. Drawing a cherry picker again and again. And in general, I'm with Kelly(Houston) on the age-appropriate thing; adults who love doing everything kids love doing in the way kids love doing them? Make me a little nervous.
I just checked, and DS won't be old enough to be enrolled in soccer for almost another whole year, so at least there's that in my favor.
My mother spent many, many, many weekends up at 4 a.m. to drive me to horseshows in the freezing cold, rain, etc., so, um, I owe, I owe ... to the next generation I mean (though also to my mom, but not in a bad way).
Ha--Yeah, I get it.
1)Well, my boys are only 8mos old, so they don't play sports yet, but I hate the IDEA of soccer and the stigma that goes along with "soccer-mom." I like baseball well enough, maybe my boys will want to do that instead. I agree that playing a team sport is good for them, and I'll encourage it and be there on the sidelines cheering, while little Nathan and little Gavin wander off and pick their noses, but I can't say Im looking forward to those games.
2)We had a week like yours here, but not with roseola. Both boys had a nasty cold and both got some fun secondary infections! One had an ear infection, the other had conjunctivitis. (see no evil, hear no evil?) And the one with the creeping jungle disease (conjunctivitis) is still coughing, because he's probably asthmatic and we are certainly medicating him as such.
I hate, hate, hate getting up in the wee hours to deal with sad babies. It is even worse now, because the babies generally sleep through the night and Im getting used to a normal night's sleep again. BUT...like you, I went through a lot to have these boys and they are so precious to me. I will get up with them, use that gross snot sucker, torture them with nebulizers, and watch them play soccer because that's what parents do.
I coach two soccer teams, my daughter's and my son's and I love love love coaching. I hate...watching someone else coach them in something. Nails on a chalkboard, corn stuck in my teeth, the Hills on TV, cats rutting in my backyard, all of them could be happening at once and my annoyance would not equal trying to stay out of some other coaches' way and let them do their job.
But yeah, soccer's not for everyone, and if my son tells me tomorrow that he's done with soccer, I'm fine with that.
McKenna will never say that because she's already told us that soccer is her life and she will always do it for the rest of forever thank you very much the end, happily ever after.
I spent the evening taking my almost 2 year-old twins to their weekly soccer class. Absolute hell on earth. Times two. Yet, like you, I felt good about doing it afterwards.
This is not exactly what you asked about.. but for the ear infection - if Ben gets another, I highly recommend that you try dropping in two drops of xylitol containing nasal spray (Xlear is the brand I use). My 1 year old has had a couple that I did not feel were cleared up by the antibiotics, I used the Xlear and he was better almost immediately. I think the principle it works on is that the bacteria bind to the xylitol instead of the sugars in the ear canal and are flushed out.
On a totally and completely unrelated note, I wonder if you could help get the word out on something I just found out / researched. Extra vitamin D may be able to prevent H1N1... if you google, you'll find a case study from a Dr. Glick in Wisconsin at a facility where all the patients receive extra vitamin D. The staff do not. 103/800 staff members got H1N1, vs. only 2 of two hundred some patients, a statistically significant difference. Gets one thinking... vitamin D also is not toxic except in extremely high amounts, so I'm thinking that is well worth doing and also worth passing along. My blog only has teeny readership, so I thought maybe you, if you thought it worthwhile also, could help get the word out.
I too hate soccer practice. And 3rd grade band concerts (uhg). I don't "do" homework, I don't check backpacks, I don't bake for the PTA. I don't carpool, offer rides, coordinate Campbell's soup label drives. I don't bring the cookie-dough sale fundraiser sheet to work. I don't get them ready for school; I get up 10 minutes before the bus comes and watch them wait at the end of the driveway so, you know, in case someone tries to steal them I'll SEE.
I don't gush over babies. I don't really like kids, except my own. I call mine "small people". Takes the edge off.
I balance all that with crazy fun stuff, permission to do lots of stuff their friends don't do (nothing dangerous or non-age appropriate), grown-up talks and vacations when school is in session (gasp) and they're perfectly fine. So I'm not the soccer mom of sitcoms; who cares? I think they're way more independent and cool than those other banana-followers. Teenage mothers, UNITE! (PS, I wasn't a teenage mother; they're 11 & 13, and I'm normal, i SWEAR!)
I hate children's activities. That's why husbands were invented.
Ummmm, y'all? Roseola? What's that? I'm afraid to google. I have a 3 month old little boy and honestly, I just can't even think about the day he gets sick for the first time because really, how can I actually get any more exhausted. But I love reading all the horrifying things I have to look forward to.