September 2011 – Page 5

The other day we had to take the boys to go get their PPD tests for school. Way back in ancient days when I was a kid, it used to be called a TB test and they used to prick your wrist with a little pronged poker thing. No big deal, right? Now the process involves an actual needle that the nurse sticks under your skin as she injects a little bubble of fluid.

Of all the things that I have had phobias about, surprisingly I have never had one of needles. I used to give blood in high school regularly (it was awesome getting out of class and getting free cookies in exchange for bodily fluids), have had a bazillion needle sticks and blood draws throughout my many pregnancies, and my favorite blood draw story involves a kid at the Army hospital the morning of the his first day who came at me with his hand shaking so badly that he was missing my arm as the guy standing behind him told him step by step how to insert the needle properly to collect the many vials of blood they always seemed to need. Smiling, I was able to tell him, “don’t worry, I’m good with needles” as he jabbed away at my arm. (BTW, a week later I had to get more blood drawn and he was swift and smooth as if he’d been doing it all his life. I was so proud.)

Anyway, this new PPD test is not a big deal. It’s like when you used to stick pins through the top layer of skin on your hands and walk around with them hanging off the ends of your fingers. Oh, you didn’t do that? We totally did. So the kids aren’t thrilled that they have to get a “shot,” even though this is nothing compared to the typhoid and rabies vaccines that they had most recently and Carter is particularly mad because he’s blaming this injustice on school. As in, if he didn’t have to go to school, he wouldn’t have to get a shot, therefore that’s one more strike against the school that he swears he’s not going to attend (this was last week, pre-registration).

At the Dr’s office the boys all agree that Calvin has to go first, then Carter, and finally Caleb. Well Carter and Caleb agreed, so that meant that Calvin was outvoted. Sometimes it’s tough being the oldest. Calvin is visibly nervous about getting positive reaction to the TB test, asking questions like “so what will happen if I do get a reaction to the test?” or “I have a cough, could I have TB?” which makes me laugh, but I totally understand where that paranoia comes from, poor kid. When the time comes he mans up and willingly holds out his arm.

Carter, upon seeing the needle enter Calvin’s arm adamantly proclaims, “I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.” A hissed argument between me and him ensues and he pushes Caleb ahead of him and says, “I’m not going to school anyway, so I’m not getting it.” My champ Caleb submitted to the needle without a fuss, while I gave Carter the “you better step up or I’m going to kill you with the lasers shooting out of my eyes” glare as I whispered at him, “I don’t care if I have to hold you down and sit on you, you are getting this test done, so either do it, or I’ll make you do it.” Thankfully I didn’t have to call for a 5150 as he decided it would be better to experience the pain of the shot rather than the pain of his mom sitting on him.

As we were leaving the pediatrics floor I saw a mom, nanny, and three little kids in the waiting room and the mom told the nanny to take the kids for the shots while she filled out paperwork. At first I thought, “How awful to have your nanny take care of the things that a mom should do (like kisses and comforting after shots),” but then I remembered the previous 20 minutes . . . hmm, I might have to consider that for next time.

Camille and Sleep are no longer mortal enemies . . .

and it only took 14 months. For the past 2 weeks or so, Camille has been sleeping like a normal human. She’s been going to bed at 8:30 or 9 and sleeping until 4am, then nursing and going back to sleep until 7ish. She’s also been napping twice a day for 2-3 hours total.

I didn’t do anything different — for 14 months she’s been taking 20 minute “naps” and only sleeping 2 hour stretches at night with lots of screaming involved, but overnight she started conforming to normal sleep patterns. It’s shocking. It’s a miracle.

(whispering) Hallelujah

registration day

We went and registered our scraggly looking bunch of boys for school today. Calvin got a major haircut, but his hair is still in his eyes, Carter wants long hair so he came home from his haircut with an almost invisible trim to his mop, and Caleb? No complaints about him.

I’ve been a little worried lately because Carter keeps saying that he’s not going to school. And not in the joking way either. I asked him if he wanted to take the bus or have me drive him on the first day and he replied, “I’ll be sleeping in cause I’m not going.” He said he would go to registration, but then not show up for the entire year. As we know from the time he attacked the elevator, when Carter gets nervous he expresses his fear via anger or defiance. I’ve been having visions of having to carry him into school with him resisting by grabbing and clinging to the doorway with all his might.

Meanwhile, this guy is so over the moon exited about going to school that he wore his uniform this morning even though he didn’t have to. He also dug out “real” shoes that he hasn’t worn since March when we left Monterey. This is out in front of the school.

Waiting to find out class assignments. This pretty much sums up their personalities/feelings about the day. Calvin is interested, but acting like he’s too cool for school, Caleb eagerly anticipating the news, and Carter, the unwilling participant.

Registration was easy since the boys had already been admitted and the US Government had already paid the ridiculously expensive tuition bill (I wish they were that timely on the piddly amount of money they owe us, but I’m glad they at least got the school paid on time). For the three of them to attend for the year it costs eighty-six thousand dollars. I know, I choked on my coffee when I heard that number too. For one year. Talk about extravagance.

And what do we get for that price? Amazing service and attention. Many of the staff members and teachers remembered us from when we met them on our school tour at the end of last year, the elementary school principal was helping to staff the table where they were handing out classroom assignments, making sure he met all the students personally, the middle school principal was handing out class schedules and teaching the kids how to use the daily planner and explaining the block schedule rotation. Calvin didn’t have a foreign language selected yet and the principal asked, “do you want to take Spanish, French, or Arabic?” When Calvin replied, “Spanish” the principal said off the top of his head, “OK. You’ll be with Mr ___ in room 207” and just penciled it in, he didn’t have to check a schedule, a roster, or a computer.

Then we went to meet the teachers. They had several returning students acting as guides so we told them which classrooms the boys were in and they showed us the way. When Caleb walked in the door of his class, his teacher said, “I remember when you visited my class last year. When you said you were going to be in second grade I was hoping you’d be in my class this year. I’m so happy that I get to be your teacher.” Caleb was beaming. We’ve heard great things about his teacher from many of the other parents and combined with Caleb’s excitement and enthusiasm, I think it will be a winning combination.

Next for the wild card: Carter and his teacher. We were hoping for a particular teacher, but Carter was assigned to a new teacher. She’s from Scotland, early thirties (or maybe younger — the older I get, the worse I get at this age guessing thing) and a blend of warm, gentle, enthusiastic, and flexible. She looks to be a perfect match for my reluctant student. After we left her class Carter visibly perked up and started leading the way around the halls instead of dragging along behind. In the car on the way home he said, “I feel . . . I don’t know how I feel. Just better.” So it looks like I won’t have to drag him to school in his pjs after all.

Then Calvin took his schedule and found his locker (the middle school and high school are upstairs) and wandered around and found each of his classes. He saw some girls he was friends with from Kid Games (church camp) and he took off with them for a while. They took ID card pictures and we bought PE uniforms for everyone. Altogether it was a very successful day. Can’t wait for Saturday!

Lucy update

Ah, the joy of enjoying a clean house that was cleaned by someone else who is coming back tomorrow to clean it again . . . Lucy, how we’ve missed you!

Lucy came back to work today after flying in from India early Friday morning. I was worried about her because she looks really tired, but after hearing about her time in India I think cleaning for us will be like a vacation in comparison.

She has stories of having to go to the hospital three times a day to bring pumped milk to the baby, but sometimes not being able to get a cab because the water from torrential rains was chest deep in some places. Other times she would spend the entire day watching over the baby in the hospital only to come home and do the cooking and cleaning at night. She said the laundry was awful because of all the rains and the mud (and I don’t know if she even had a washing machine. I’m sure she doesn’t have a dryer).

Her grandson, Lachlan Ulysses, has been home from the hospital for one week and weighs 2 kilos now (4 1/2 lbs). She said once he came home she didn’t sleep at all because she had to watch over him all night to make sure he kept breathing and didn’t pull the tubes out of his nose. She showed us pictures of him and he is beautiful and alert – just miniature in size. She told Josh his head is only the size of an apple, but she is so thankful that he’s doing well enough to start getting his vaccinations soon. It’s an interesting comparison how they need him to hurry up and grow so he can get shots (because disease is so prevalent there), whereas in America we have the luxury of delaying shots or even opting out of certain ones based on a statistical improbability that it might cause harm to our child.

In spite of the hard time she had these past two months, she is praising God for his provision, even pointing out that having to go home for her father’s funeral meant she was there to make the crucial decisions that probably saved her grandson’s life. Her faith is astounding. I know it was a financial hardship because she had to pay 1500 OR to the hospital ($4000) which is about 8 months salary for her (no, I don’t know how she was able to pay it. I know she is working to save for her younger daughter’s wedding, so maybe she took it from that savings?), but she keeps going. It makes my Western faith look fat and out of shape in comparison. I’m praying that my kid stops throwing up so I can go shopping at the mall while she’s praying that her grandbaby survives and that she has enough money to pay the hospital bill.

Right now we’re off having a $30 lunch and typing on $1000 worth of electronics while she’s at home mopping our floors and cleaning the kitchen. I love having Lucy around, but it often makes me feel guilty at how unfair life is. Don’t worry, I don’t need to be told that I shouldn’t feel bad or that we’re helping her by employing her. Sometimes I need to recognize what a privileged life I was born into and feel that queasiness in my stomach that comes from seeing other people who don’t have enough. Like the 750 thousand people in Somalia that they expect to die of starvation over the next four months. How gross is it that I eat such an excess of food that I have to exercise to keep from getting fat? So. Unfair.

crack o’ dawn

Today is the first day of our training program to conform to the schedule of the institution known as school. One of my favorite things about homeschooling and what kept me going even when other parts were tedious was the luxury of sleeping in. None of this getting up while it was still dark to get ready for the bus – I would smile sleepily from under the covers as I heard the slapping of sneakers on pavement as kids ran past our house to beat the 8am bell.

Until now. A week from this moment my three will have their happy behinds in real chairs at real desks (or maybe they’ll be at lunch on an actual playground) and I will be wondering what to do with all this extra time that life has handed me for the next few months. I’m sure I’ll be rubbing my bleary eyes wondering why the day feels so long when it’s only 11 am and debating whether it counts as napping if I go back to sleep after the bus leaves.

Since we’re easing into things we got up at 7am. Except I really need to ease into the easing into part too, so I woke up at 7, but didn’t open my eyes until 7:20. Then I pulled my netbook into bed and checked my email/facebook/bank account/entertainment news. You know, all the important stuff. Finally, I got up and staggered into the shower and then sat around in a fog for the next two hours, wondering how normal people do this before 10am every day.

I briefly considered having Lucy be the “morning mom” and embracing the role of “nighttime mom,” but that would certainly add years to the amount of therapy they’re already going to need, so I’ll probably end up being the morning figurehead while Lucy does the heavy lifting. Just call me the Queen of England, backed by a Parliament of one.

After we were all up and dressed and fed (I made breakfast the night before – baked French Toast with caramel made from scratch. See? All my best work happens at night) we sat around yawning at each other with nothing to do and no motivation to do it. Good thing we have six more days to practice.