Measuring Sick with Football Metaphors

Yesterday Harp was sickly - not sick, not feverish, not pukey, just sickly. She's had a cold for the past two weeks, spent a day on the couch over the weekend, but has generally felt sickly for the better part of three months. Our viral gnomes are paying their wiley games on my sanity again.

When the moment comes in the morning to make the call to school, I'm feel like a coach; it's 3rd and long, last play of the game - I've got the guys upstairs shouting in my fancy headphones, my list of plays on my colorfully laminated sheet and a four-foot quarterback looking at me for my next call. And as many times as I've been in the position, I still feel like it's the first time. So many things to weigh - happiness, education, health, attendance record. Who the hell knows the right thing to do. Is school really that important at this age? Will missing circle time affect her appreciation of Steinbeck or Hemingway. Are these my issues - wanting her to be present, to excel in school? Not to have others think that we suffer from perennially weak constitutions - that we're patient zero for every frickin' virus that rolls though the school?

And am I too easy, soft ? Turning her into a wimp, who stays home at the slightest sniffle, takes her temperature constantly - is too pampered - unprepared for the harsh realities of the work world in twenty years? No clue. But I've been dealing with these game sick-day decisions more than I care to admit and they're weighing on my mind. Weighing heavily.

But somehow, some way, I have to get past this issue because we're sick a lot and these last minute calls are driving me to drink before five. So I'm trying to formulate my own fancy play call sheet for game sick-days. Hell, I might even laminate it. Here goes:


NO BRAINER
Vomiting
Fever
Stomach cramps
Snot requiring a whole box of tissue
Green Complexion
ACTION: Keep 'er home, keep her warm, get some bubbly water and check ibuprofen supply. Cancel all extra-curricular activities. Screw homework. Watch TV all day without compunction.

TOUGHER CALL
Fever the night before
Coming and Going Stomach issues
Snot - half box of tissue
Green-ish Complexion
ACTION: Keep 'er home, wait until noon to make a call on extra-curriculars, try to get some homework done. Breathe and run errands without worrying about people seeing her away from school. Watch a movie.

3rd and LONG
Sickly but not faking it
Cries about Breakfast and Clothing Choices
A Little Green
Limited Tissue Use
ACTION
Wait until 7:30 for game sick-day decision. See if you can get 'er up and moving. Change the subject. Talk about how many things she'll miss if she stays home. If she still doesn't care about her BFF's birthday cupcakes before recess, keep 'er home. Watch a few cartoons on PBS.


Hopefully this will work and I can start letting go - because sick days are increasing my frown lines and we can't have that. Hopefully by the time Rose goes to school, I'll have this down and she won't have to look up at me with questioning eyes, wondering if I have the moral authority to make such important decisions about her education and her life. But then again, Rose doesn't seem to care what I think - love the second kid thing.

Repeat Offender

Pheeeew, long break - just didn't have much to say. Onward....

At two and a quarter, Rosie is really starting to make some sense. I can understand a fair bit of every conversation. And she has a lot to say - most of it charming and delightful. Yesterday, she put her baby in her high chair, tipped her head slightly, clasped her hands and asked solicitously, "Are you hungry, sweet girl?" The baby was promptly served some hairy carpet carrots and limp cheerios. Sweet.

But not all verbal offerings are cute and pleasant. In fact, if I had to be honest the last three days of conversing with Rose has been a massive exercise in tolerance. Really more like nails on a chalkboard. It's like waking up next to a lover after the honeymoon phase and realizing that the way he talks, walks and chews are more irritating and apelike than you can tolerate. And so begins the end of the relationship. Except, mine's two and I can't kick her out. A week ago, I'd barely registered the fact that Rose repeats every phrase and question, circling endlessly in a toddler Rain Man impression from hell. Cloistered in the house with her most of the day, listening to her little phrases over and over and over again is driving me mad. She's a repeat offender, uttering the same thing over and over again. Case in point, as I'm writing this, she tried to cut my jeans with safety scissors. I tell her," We only cut paper Rosie." And then she says, as she walks away:

Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper
Only cut paper

Until I respond or chime in, "That's right, only cut paper." And she says, "yeah." I've let this manic little repeater go on and on just to see how far she'll go - like a little CD, stuck on a few bars. How many times can she say the same phrase? Twenty-seven. And that's only because I couldn't stand it anymore. Who knows how long she would go on without interference. It would make sense to me if I never answered a question or demand or statement, if I was always preoccupied with phone calls, Facebook or Oprah, and honestly, sometimes I'm not that quick on the draw. But, more or less, I'm here. I'm present. And I hear everything she says when she says it. I just can't seem to answer her fast enough. And then sometimes, even when she gets the answer or acknowledgment, my response provides only the briefest respite until the next loop, sometimes on the same topic. Aaaaaaaaaah!

The funny thing is that I'm fairly certain that I've actually created this two-foot verbal monster. Maybe if I'd been less attentive, if Chris and I had ignored her, she wouldn't look for so much acknowledgment. Doubt it, but one wonders. I've talked to her her whole life, so it's quite natural that once she really got into language she would talk to me all the time. All the time. Harp is a big talker too, but her word choice varies so our conversations tend to leave me less cross-eyed and much more appreciative of her six-year-old self. For now, I'll just have to wait for Rose to grow into more words, to realize the richness of the language and that so much more can be uttered than:

Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
Baby got a shirt on
and so on......

Until that day:

Mama needs some wine now
Mama needs some wine now
Mama needs some wine now
Mama needs some wine now
and so on.......