The past few weeks have been rather hectic. My campus is conducting two searches in two disciplines, and I'm on the search committee. This means reading through CVs and letters of recommendation to find at least 6 candidates per discipline. After we get approval, we bring 3 to campus. Each of those candidates comes on a different day to give a public presentation (a sample lecture), have a 1-hour interview with the committee (plus other interviews with the dean and the department chair), a campus tour, a community tour, and dinner with members of the committee.
Monday was the last of 5 interviews for the second discipline. The decision was to be made today at a meeting for which candidate we would offer the position. I was supposed to be there, but guess what? Nothing ever goes according to the gorram plan!
As I was enjoying my coffee, Thing Two (who was supposed to be watching Sesame Street with Thing One) went into the bathroom and got hold of a razor that had been sitting on the sink. I heard "Ow!" and he came in holding his thumb. Yep, sliced it open.
Not too deep, but he bled like a stuck pig. I had to wrestle him for control of his hand, leaving a trail of bloody kleenex down the hallway. Finally got a band-aid on him, and cleaned the blood off us both.
By that point, we were running late. Did I mention that 4" of wet snow fell overnight and the roads were frakking awful? No? How about the fact that I was so fried, I left my purse on the breezeway floor?
Barely got Thing One to her school before the bell rang. Got Thing Two to daycare, where he clung to me with the ferocity of a baby spider monkey. Pried him loose (feeling like crap for doing so--all I wanted to do was take him home) and left.
Campus. Office hour with a cup of tea and the last of my fruit + cereal bars, since I didn't have money to stop at the grocery store to replenish my office pantry.
10:29 am: Heading out the door to class, where we are finishing the second half of The Searchers. Cellphone rings. It's daycare.
"Hi. I'm calling because we can't get [Thing Two] to keep a band-aid on, and state law prohibits kids with open wounds at daycare."
"OK. I'll be right there to pick him up." [In case you're wondering about Hubby: At this point in the morning, he's already on his way to Illinois for the yearly sales meeting. Won't be back until Thursday evening.]
So much for the gorram plan for the day, which included discussion and prep for the midterm in one class, and peer review and discussion of Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food in the other.
Get the movie started, collect papers, apologize to my class for bagging out again (this makes 3 times this semester--weather for the first two). Run copies for the afternoon section of my composition class, send out an email begging someone to hand them out for me. Stuff the handouts in a folder and prop it up on my doorsill. Bolt for daycare.
He's crying and saying "Owie! Owie" when I get there, and resumes his baby spider monkey clinging.
We go to the elementary school to pick up Thing One, who is a bit annoyed that we've interrupted her day.
Come home, eat PB+J, take nap. Answer student emails. Which brings us to now.
The Things are watching Ponyo and I am about to get into our course management software to try to figure a few things out.
It hasn't been a completely terrible day, but once again I'm left wondering why these things happen when Hubby is out of town.
The Joys of Working Parenthood.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Trials and Tribulations of the Working Parent
I don't even know where to start this... I suppose that chronological order works best, so we'll start with Thing Two's starting at his new daycare last week.
Wednesday dropoff went well. He was interested in the toys, but did get a bit worried when I said I was leaving.
Thursday dropoff...not so good. He started to cry as soon as I said "I've got to go...You have a good day!"
Friday dropoff...total nightmare. As I carried him into the building, he started hyperventilating, and he wrapped his arms around my neck. I sat down in a rocking chair with him, and gave him some time to adjust. But when I said "Bye, buddy" he let out an almighty shriek and charged for the door. His teacher scooped him up and my last glimpse of him was of a screaming 20-month old baby crying "Mommy! Mommy!" I almost threw up in the hallway my stomach clenched so hard. When I picked him up that afternoon, he was hoarse.
Saturday was a trial of its own--I could not leave the room without a constant stream of "mommy mommy mommy" in a steadily rising pitch.
Sunday came with its own brand of fun. I laid him down at 3 but he didn't sleep--and by 4:30 when I went in to pick him up, he was hot to the touch. Fever of 102. Off to Urgent Care we went. The doctor said that a viral fever is making the rounds in this area, and the only thing we can do is give him ibuprofen to keep the fever under control. Argh. Daycare policy is that the fever has to be gone for 24 hours before they'll take the child for care. Double argh, but understandable.
The upshot of this was that I couldn't go to campus on Monday to finish my syllabi and get my copying done before the inevitable copier-malfunction/breakdown. I stayed home all day until it was time to take Thing One to her school for pictures and to drop off her supplies/meet the new teacher. Hubby met us at Culver's, and took Thing Two (whose appetite was way off) home.
At 6:50pm I get a cellphone call from Hubby just as Thing One and I are leaving the elementary school: he and Thing Two are at the ER because Thing Two's "meat and two veg" are red and swollen. The diagnosis (erroneous, it turns out) is a fungal infection, for which the only treatment is Nystatin 3 times a day. Oh goody. Thing Two doesn't like anyone touching him there, so it's a two-person job when he's in this much pain.
So Tuesday (yesterday) I was home again--Thing Two incredibly cranky and/or clingy due to pain. Fever finally broke late morning but pain remained. I missed the campus Opening Meeting. This is my tenure year, and I missed the Opening Meeting because I have no other option than to stay home with my sick child. Hubby does not have paid sick leave (he works for a private company that does hundreds of millions in sales and purports to be about "treating people right" but he doesn't have paid sick leave).
Which brings us to today, Wednesday September 1st. I had less than 4 hours to do the work I'd been planning to do on Monday and Tuesday in preparation for my first classes on 9/2. Why? Because the only well-baby appointment I could get this week was at 1:00 today. I dropped Thing One off for her first day of first grade (when she said as we pulled up, "You don't have to walk me in, Mom. I'm not afraid.") and drove Thing Two over to his daycare. He started to cry as we pulled into the parking lot, and did not stop as I handed him to his teacher and walked out. I am dying inside.
I know that this is something all working parents go through. I know that he will adjust and learn to enjoy it (at least I hope so, because I never did). Thing One was at the same place from birth all the way through 4K, and we only had a few episodes of crying. This is the third place Thing Two has been in since he was born, and though I want to think that he can't remember, I feel as though the familiarity of TinyTech would have made this easier. He's miserable. He cries when I drop him off, and he cries when I come to pick him up. His teacher says that he does play but he has bouts of crying. And thanks to my pediatrician, I think I know why.
At our well-baby visit, I described his symptoms to our pediatrician, who is wonderful and whom I adore. She listens, and she gives helpful homeopathic advice. She examined him, and said "He has hand-foot-and-mouth." The fever, and now the spots on his hands, feet, and lips and the inside of his mouth--DUH. The only treatment is a cocktail of Maalox and Benadryl to help ease the pain in his mouth. It's highly contagious, so no daycare until he stops drooling, which is probably going to be a few days from now.
Well shit. What do I do now? The first day of classes is tomorrow. I cannot cancel class on the first day. Hubby cannot take off work (we depend on his paycheck until I start getting paid--October 1st). Shit shit shit.
Hubby calls his mom. They can take him, but they're leaving for the cottage tomorrow. Shit. OK. I pack all of his gear to get us through Monday (we're leaving for the cottage on Friday afternoon). Hubby takes gear and Thing Two to the halfway point. Thing Two is now going to hang with Bopbop (Grandpa). Thank god for Bopbop. Thing One is pissed because she doesn't get to go hang with Bopbop because she has to go to school. Wheeeeee! What fun!
OK. Evening is falling. I hear the hallway door. Hubby is back. Time for a cosmopolitan.
And I did manage to get my copying done before the copier crapped out. Hooray!
Wednesday dropoff went well. He was interested in the toys, but did get a bit worried when I said I was leaving.
Thursday dropoff...not so good. He started to cry as soon as I said "I've got to go...You have a good day!"
Friday dropoff...total nightmare. As I carried him into the building, he started hyperventilating, and he wrapped his arms around my neck. I sat down in a rocking chair with him, and gave him some time to adjust. But when I said "Bye, buddy" he let out an almighty shriek and charged for the door. His teacher scooped him up and my last glimpse of him was of a screaming 20-month old baby crying "Mommy! Mommy!" I almost threw up in the hallway my stomach clenched so hard. When I picked him up that afternoon, he was hoarse.
Saturday was a trial of its own--I could not leave the room without a constant stream of "mommy mommy mommy" in a steadily rising pitch.
Sunday came with its own brand of fun. I laid him down at 3 but he didn't sleep--and by 4:30 when I went in to pick him up, he was hot to the touch. Fever of 102. Off to Urgent Care we went. The doctor said that a viral fever is making the rounds in this area, and the only thing we can do is give him ibuprofen to keep the fever under control. Argh. Daycare policy is that the fever has to be gone for 24 hours before they'll take the child for care. Double argh, but understandable.
The upshot of this was that I couldn't go to campus on Monday to finish my syllabi and get my copying done before the inevitable copier-malfunction/breakdown. I stayed home all day until it was time to take Thing One to her school for pictures and to drop off her supplies/meet the new teacher. Hubby met us at Culver's, and took Thing Two (whose appetite was way off) home.
At 6:50pm I get a cellphone call from Hubby just as Thing One and I are leaving the elementary school: he and Thing Two are at the ER because Thing Two's "meat and two veg" are red and swollen. The diagnosis (erroneous, it turns out) is a fungal infection, for which the only treatment is Nystatin 3 times a day. Oh goody. Thing Two doesn't like anyone touching him there, so it's a two-person job when he's in this much pain.
So Tuesday (yesterday) I was home again--Thing Two incredibly cranky and/or clingy due to pain. Fever finally broke late morning but pain remained. I missed the campus Opening Meeting. This is my tenure year, and I missed the Opening Meeting because I have no other option than to stay home with my sick child. Hubby does not have paid sick leave (he works for a private company that does hundreds of millions in sales and purports to be about "treating people right" but he doesn't have paid sick leave).
Which brings us to today, Wednesday September 1st. I had less than 4 hours to do the work I'd been planning to do on Monday and Tuesday in preparation for my first classes on 9/2. Why? Because the only well-baby appointment I could get this week was at 1:00 today. I dropped Thing One off for her first day of first grade (when she said as we pulled up, "You don't have to walk me in, Mom. I'm not afraid.") and drove Thing Two over to his daycare. He started to cry as we pulled into the parking lot, and did not stop as I handed him to his teacher and walked out. I am dying inside.
I know that this is something all working parents go through. I know that he will adjust and learn to enjoy it (at least I hope so, because I never did). Thing One was at the same place from birth all the way through 4K, and we only had a few episodes of crying. This is the third place Thing Two has been in since he was born, and though I want to think that he can't remember, I feel as though the familiarity of TinyTech would have made this easier. He's miserable. He cries when I drop him off, and he cries when I come to pick him up. His teacher says that he does play but he has bouts of crying. And thanks to my pediatrician, I think I know why.
At our well-baby visit, I described his symptoms to our pediatrician, who is wonderful and whom I adore. She listens, and she gives helpful homeopathic advice. She examined him, and said "He has hand-foot-and-mouth." The fever, and now the spots on his hands, feet, and lips and the inside of his mouth--DUH. The only treatment is a cocktail of Maalox and Benadryl to help ease the pain in his mouth. It's highly contagious, so no daycare until he stops drooling, which is probably going to be a few days from now.
Well shit. What do I do now? The first day of classes is tomorrow. I cannot cancel class on the first day. Hubby cannot take off work (we depend on his paycheck until I start getting paid--October 1st). Shit shit shit.
Hubby calls his mom. They can take him, but they're leaving for the cottage tomorrow. Shit. OK. I pack all of his gear to get us through Monday (we're leaving for the cottage on Friday afternoon). Hubby takes gear and Thing Two to the halfway point. Thing Two is now going to hang with Bopbop (Grandpa). Thank god for Bopbop. Thing One is pissed because she doesn't get to go hang with Bopbop because she has to go to school. Wheeeeee! What fun!
OK. Evening is falling. I hear the hallway door. Hubby is back. Time for a cosmopolitan.
And I did manage to get my copying done before the copier crapped out. Hooray!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Motivation, or Lack Thereof
Today was pretty much a bust in the doing-things department. It was overcast/intermittently raining (after 2.2" yesterday) and humid and 75 degrees at 6:45 this morning, so that wasn't the best start to the day. Hubby only left me one lousy cup of coffee when he left for work, and I was too lazy/unmotivated to make more.
Got one load of laundry (Thing Two's) done. Well, washed, anyway. It'll make it into the dryer before it has a chance to mold, if only because he's completely out of shorts.
His mama's out of sorts.
I'm so tired of dealing with Thing One's 6 going-on-15 attitude. I don't enjoy being home, and it kills me to admit it. I'm supposed to be happy to be at home--lots of parents (moms and dads alike) would love to have the summer to spend at home, but not me. Nooooo. If I could afford it, I'd send her to summer camp, which she would probably like better than being with me anyway. Thing Two is a mama's boy, so no problem there, except that he's learning from his sister. Her attitude is, to quote Garth from Wayne's World, "sucking my will to live."
I'm starting to wonder if she has ODD, because she argues with me about E V E R Y T H I N G. Literally. Not joking. We had lunch today with one of my former students, and at one point she turned to me and said "Wow, she has an answer for everything, doesn't she?"
It's exhausting. I finally let her watch The Princess and the Frog while her brother and I took a nap this afternoon, and when we got up, it started all over again. I can't be out of the room for more than 10 seconds when Thing Two starts yelling "No, no!" She won't leave him alone and she argues the finer points of what she's done, and argues about how long she'll have to be in Time Out.
I used to joke that I was raising the next U.S. Attorney General, but it's starting to not be funny anymore.
Got one load of laundry (Thing Two's) done. Well, washed, anyway. It'll make it into the dryer before it has a chance to mold, if only because he's completely out of shorts.
His mama's out of sorts.
I'm so tired of dealing with Thing One's 6 going-on-15 attitude. I don't enjoy being home, and it kills me to admit it. I'm supposed to be happy to be at home--lots of parents (moms and dads alike) would love to have the summer to spend at home, but not me. Nooooo. If I could afford it, I'd send her to summer camp, which she would probably like better than being with me anyway. Thing Two is a mama's boy, so no problem there, except that he's learning from his sister. Her attitude is, to quote Garth from Wayne's World, "sucking my will to live."
I'm starting to wonder if she has ODD, because she argues with me about E V E R Y T H I N G. Literally. Not joking. We had lunch today with one of my former students, and at one point she turned to me and said "Wow, she has an answer for everything, doesn't she?"
It's exhausting. I finally let her watch The Princess and the Frog while her brother and I took a nap this afternoon, and when we got up, it started all over again. I can't be out of the room for more than 10 seconds when Thing Two starts yelling "No, no!" She won't leave him alone and she argues the finer points of what she's done, and argues about how long she'll have to be in Time Out.
I used to joke that I was raising the next U.S. Attorney General, but it's starting to not be funny anymore.
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