Another Great Day, Just Like the Last

Welcome back to Groundhog Day. I’ll be playing the part of Bill Murray, except for the part where I’m famous and rich and everyone wants to be me. Or at least close to me.

Where were we? Well, I’m taking my meds again. Started back up today. Only felt sick for about 15 or 20 minutes after taking them, and I’m hoping one of the side effects will be sleep, glorious sleep. Of course, it’s now quarter to midnight and I’m still going. So it may take a few days. Or not.

And on a positive note, all four wheels of my Miata held air all day long. I know, that’s a pretty random thought, but it’s a problem that’s plagued me for a few weeks now, and even when I bought new tires last Saturday the problem persisted through the holiday weekend (it being New Years and all). I guess the monkeys at the local tire shop aren’t fully trained. They do fling poo, though.

Getting back to the liver thing (more or less), I hope most of you noticed and took note that there was a float in the Rose Parade this year dedicated to organ donation and transplantation. It was almost as cool as the Honda Ridgeline that turned into a spaceship…kinda. No, come to think of it, that float was pretty lame. The organ donation one was better. If would have been more memorable if it had stopped in front of the judges’ booth and sprayed blood like I did in the E.R. a couple of years ago, but I think the portion of the population not hip to the wacky sense of humor those of us on “the inside” have might have found that in bad taste. I would have laughed until milk came out of my nose. And I don’t drink milk.

And I noticed, in looking at my blog (such that it is) that I had last left you, gentle readers, with a tale of betrayal, disappointment, and bitterness. Odd that I’d revisit this on the day of the Iowa caucus, but the Lord moves in mysterious ways.

ANYWAY, to put a bright pink ribbon on the package of that story, as near as I can tell our first nanny is in the midst of getting her comeuppance, and we hired another person who started in the middle of December. The new gal—I’ll call her ChicaDee for no other reason than it probably would annoy her—is a REAL PERSON. She’s not a caricature or a shell wherein various personalities dwell, but a real flesh and blood young woman who has been nothing but open, honest, and forthcoming about herself. Refreshing!

Of course, she arrived in Los Angeles from the Pacific Northwest-ish (I don’t want to say exactly where she’s from, but it involves tubers) just in time for our family to stop our regular routines for the craziness of the holidays, and she’ll have been here a month before she starts to really see how life is at Casa de Fear. But she has been here long enough to stop talking about when she’s returning home to finish college and to start talking about finishing her degree (or degrees!) here in Southern California. Ha! We’ve trapped another one!

So basically her honeymoon phase may be coming to an end, and as school and work resume (and the boys’ foolishness gets going again) she’ll have plenty of reasons to hate life. Unless she’s really good at what she does…and then she’ll only hate me. Or at least my liver.

Wacky sense of humor!

Happy #@%n New Year

I’m back and I’m pissed. Or maybe just tired. I’ll let you know for sure when I’ve had some sleep.

I’m not tired because of my boys, or because of my liver condition (as far as I know). I’ll admit I’ve been off my medications for several weeks now, as they tend to slow me down and I’ve needed to be at full strength (meaning 75%, of course). To be honest, things are getting back to the point where I can comfortably go back on my meds and believe that everything’s going to be all right, at least in terms of the boys’ safety and upbringing. More on that in upcoming days.

So am I worried about money? No, not any more so than at any other time. We’re in a “float downstream and watch out for rapids” period at the Casa de Fear, and if you have any clue what that metaphor really means you get a gold star and the chance to explain it to the rest of us. I don’t think even I have a clue what I’m talking about.

Mainly I’ve just let life and my household get away from me, and everywhere I turn I’m constantly reminded of all the things I need to get done, or all the things I haven’t done, or all the things that keep slipping between the cracks of the twenty-four hours a day there potentially are available to get them done in.

At the end of the day, or the end of the week, or the end of some vast business that marks my time on this planet, I’d love to just sit. I’ve watched with envy those who have been able to watch the Bowl Games that have been broadcast recently, and I’m not really a football fan. I just can’t currently imagine having two, three, or four hours to just sit and be a spectator. I have to be busy getting things done, because if I don’t, they simply won’t get done, which adds to the problem.

I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Every day I awake with another chance to clear off that counter, move (and empty) those boxes in my office or garage, straighten up that mess. Then I collapse at the end of the day, finally too exhausted to do anything else, and by the next morning (or certainly, by noon) it’s as though the previous day never happened—I’m back to the same place I was, getting one more chance to do it the right way this time.

Oh well. At least my liver hasn’t exploded.

The Deepest Cut

So I keep disappearing for a month at a time. Weird, huh? Especially when my life is supposed to be getting easier and easier.

Huh.

The nanny we hired, the person we invited into our home to make our lives somewhat easier and keep watch over the boys, it turned out she wasn’t who we thought she was. I won’t go into too many details, except to say that she was at least two different people while she was living here in Southern California. To our family, she was a live-in nanny, someone trying to become part of our family (and having trouble putting in the time and effort to do that, we found), whereas with her friends she was living with relatives until the next semester of college got started, when she’d be a full-time student.

The Monday before Thanksgiving, we had a disagreement that ended in a blow-up, and she just packed up and left that night. We had started to get bits and pieces of all these stories she had been floating around here, and all the weird little things we had been mostly ignoring really started to make sense.

Then it got weird.

Once all the dust had settled (over the next week), we found she was wanted in her home state and a neighboring state on forgery charges, and had done enough in our lives to warrant more charges in California.

And that’s the cut: this person we hired, gave a place to live in our home, gave ultimate trust with the care of our two young boys, and gave the benefit of the doubt to nearly every time something questionable came up, she took all these things and, in the end, cut us to the bone.

Our initial reaction was that we’d never put ourselves in this position again. But it only took about two days of me being back on full-time “boy duty” to realize that, despite all our trepidation, we still need help.

Luckily, I had stayed in contact with a crop of young women who were still interested in the job, but couldn’t start until December or January. After a week of licking our wounds, I started a new search, and almost immediately identified two people to seriously interview, as well as a few more to consider and follow up with.

We’ve changed how we’re approaching this next person, promising ourselves we’ll be more thorough, we’ll heed each and every red flag that pops up, and we’ll dole out our trust much more slowly—although we recognize the first day of the job she will start out entrusted with the two most valuable pieces of our lives, our boys.

I remind myself that our first experience was a one in a thousand (or more, I hope!) chance, and we really won the lottery of bad luck there. God’s purpose in bringing her into our lives will probably remain murky for many years (or I may never understand it) but perhaps the only solice I’ve found is that He did intend some purpose for this. Once again, I remind myself that God won’t give us more than we can handle…but I swear He’s got a much greater confidence in us than we really see.

ANYWAY, happy December. See you in January…or hopefully sooner!!

More fun than a barrel of…

It’s Friday. I just finished my first Fall term of grad school. I think I got all As. Maybe a B. Time to celebrate! Kick back on the couch, catch up on some light reading, maybe take a slow morning to map out next week, a.k.a. my “week off.”

EXCEPT.

My one year old got a nice hacking cough about two weeks ago. Doctor said it was just a cold then. One week of hacking, crying, and not sleeping later, it was a sinus infection (Kyle’s first sickness…and he’s almost one year old! Pretty good!). In the meantime, Jacob gets the hack as well. Both are prescribed antibiotics. I get the sense that things are coming on strong for myself, and start in on antibiotics. Leanne maintains her health, such that it is, but has been more run down than lately so she’s especially cautious of all of us for fear of getting a full-blown sinus infection herself.

And what of MC Nanny? The girl from Minnesota who NEVER gets sick? Miss “I’ll be ok, I’m just a little tired today…”? Yesterday she gets hit with sinus and migraine pain of nuclear proportion, such that we managed (somehow) to get her through last night so we could shlep her to the doctor first thing this morning. Two hours (and a trip to the pharmacy) later and she’s on the road to recovery, poor thing.

Yeah. Welcome to Southern California!

=======
So I’ve been relegated to dad, mom, chauffeur, cook, nanny, grand pooh bah, and court whipping boy all over again. No day off for me. But I must say, even with all the craziness of the day (and I’m sure throughout the weekend), just knowing that this is a short-term return to my former life makes it SOOOOOO much easier to swallow.

I’m not sure she ever reads my blog, but if you do, thanks MC Sicky. Just your presence with us has made a huge difference.

My Life is Returned to Me

Once again it’s seemed like I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. I’ve returned!

First step: tonight I finished my latest term in grad school. All chapters read, all projects in. And a week off before starting the next term!

Second (and more important) step: about a month ago, we finally hired a live-in nanny to help us with the boys and the house. What a phenomenal difference…mostly because we held out (interviewed for 3 months!!) and hired a phenomenal young lady. I’ll call her MC Chill, as she’s from Minnesota. Well, there’s other reasons I’ll call her that, but that’s neither here nor there.

Sufficed to say she is not cold or frosty; on the contrary, she is about the happiest, perkiest, most bubbly person this area of Southern California has seen. Very Minnesotan—although she begs to differ. She doesn’t hear her own accent, which I find endearing. But the most important thing is that she loves the boys, and they adore her.

Amazing to us, she arrived on a Saturday night, and by early that following week she had made friends and was going out to the movies and such. After a month, she’s got a whole clique (or is it a crew? I’m so out of touch…), a best friend she hangs out with constantly (in person and on the phone), and her own life. I lived in Norway for a year and hardly knew anyone. Therein lies one difference.

But it is weird to have a nineteen year old young woman in the house. She’s not our daughter (although she could be…just barely) but some of the issues we’ve come upon are almost as if she is. She’s already secured the interest of the guys in the area, although she seems pretty aloof about that.

Well, it should be an interesting year.

=======
Speaking of interesting, the Foo Fighters snuck out another album under the radar. Awesome stuff. The first song to bring tears to my eyes is called “Come Alive,” and I’m still trying to discover its hold over me. A few lyrics:

Seems like only yesterday life belonged to runaways
Nothing here to see, no looking back
Every sound a monotone, every color monochrome
Life begin to fade into the black...
Desperate, meaningless, all filled up with emptiness
Felt like everything was said and done

I lay there in the dark, I close my eyes
You saved me the day you came alive
The reason you left me to survive
You saved me the day you came alive

I am not a Mom

As a brief recap (for those who didn’t get a program at the front gate), my wife isn’t doing too well physically, and for the last few months I’ve been raising two boys: a three and a half year old and a (nearly) eight month old.

I hear all the stories of “regular” dads who rarely change diapers, and/or are home only long enough to either dole out fuzzy “quality time” love or discipline. And I see the videos of the dads gagging on the diaper smell or cluelessly getting run down by his charges when mom leaves him for a couple of hours.

All this is to say that I’m not one of those dads. I’m changing the diapers, cooking, feeding, bathing, driving, scheduling, etc. etc. etc. I know, you moms are saying “boo hoo for you…deal with it,” and the dads are saying “what are you doing, man?” And the folks with no kids have already clicked over to something else. Can’t say as I blame them.

However, as a parent, even though I’m doing a lot of the traditionally “mom” functions, I’m still a dad. I have a hard time just being at home. There’s a pull to take the boys SOMEWHERE, anywhere, but just get out of the house. The park, the mall, the beach, the harbor, the auto salvage yard, ANYWHERE. If I leave, I can focus on the boys (as much as a dad can), but if I stay home, I’m pulled between the boys, my school homework, cleaning the house, various projects that need to be done around the house (painting, organizing, building, fixing, lawns, phone calls), and all the other things organizationally that have to do with running a household. Because there’s so many things, I get none of them done because I end up just spinning in place. I’m a guy. That’s what we do.

Moms can plan meals. Dads realize it’s 4:30 (or later) and then start to rummage through the cupboards, fridge, and freezer for ideas (will this chicken thaw in 20 minutes?!?). Moms know that there’s an appointment tomorrow and three more the next day and make plans accordingly. Dads get a phone call from the doctor’s office (or the school, better yet!) where the voice on the other side says, “Kyle is due here in 30 minutes,” and then pack everything and everyone up in a mad rush, forgetting the checkbook, wallet, and/or formula for the baby, who starts crying 10 minutes later because he’s starving.

I don’t know how single moms do it all, but I know (anecdotally speaking) that they do. And single dads? It has to be the grace of God, because we sure ain’t smart enough to do it on our own.

Calm, cool, and collected

Well, I’m back to my slightly-more-placid self today. Still waiting on…well, still waiting. Let’s leave it at that.

I mentioned briefly in the last post or so that I’m back in school. Seventeen years after getting my BA in fine arts and graphic design, I’ve decided to take my work experience to the high school classroom as an art teacher. And since I’ve got to get a credential, might as well get a Master’s Degree as well. Apparently I’ve got no limit to the fun I’m willing to put myself through.

The funny thing about education (and life in general): no matter what level I’m at, I always think this is the toughest experience. In high school, it was busy work but I was always busy (stupid college prep classes). In college, it was juggling classes, deadlines, finances, social schedules, etc (not necessarily in that order), and in true college student fashion I’d leave big projects to the last minute and then be up two or three nights doing a semester’s worth of work. In each successive job I’ve had, same story. Seems like we all say, “I wish I could go back to [fill in the blank], back when I had it so much easier.”

So here I am, in classes two nights a week and struggling to get papers and projects done while still raising two young boys, manage a household, figure out how to keep us afloat financially in Southern California, and squeeze in three or four hours of sleep a night. If only we didn’t have the boys…if only we had been smarter with our money (back when we were actually making money!)…if only I were healthier…if only my wife were healthier. Blah blah blah.

I guess the only real option is to keep on keeping on. That mainly involves taking one day at a time (rather than doing much planning ahead, which I prefer), but it is what it is. For now.