Throwback Thursday: She Is Definitely Tougher Than I Am

From November 5th, 2007.

I Think She's Tougher Than I Am

Not quite 3 year old Ironflower, approximately two weeks before I originally posted this.

My daughter is tough. From seeming to improve (from her bad cold) on Saturday, things grew horrible on Sunday. After a disastrous attempt to have dinner at my parents' house (like we do most Sundays), Mom (who is such a wonderful grammy and whom we appreciate so much) and I took Ironflower to the ER (Hot Guy was working). The Motrin (which is SO MUCH BETTER than Tylenol, BTW) wore off early and her fever shot up. Then she complained about an earache. She hadn't complained of any pain the whole time and I almost felt relieved. Surely an ear infection explained the fever?

But despite thinking that I at least had an explanation, Ironflower was worrying me (and her grammy). So we went to the ER while my Dad watched Lovebug (which I needlessly worried about, they had a great time and I am very grateful).

Ironflower just clung to me, not wanting to talk or hear stories or sing. The wait was not as long as I'd feared, though it still left me enough time to mentally insult all the people waiting ahead of us. None of them looked that sick, let me tell you.

Anyway, the condescending nurse (apparently I made a lot of wrong decisions concerning Ironflower's care, like dressing her too warmly even though she complained of cold and not giving her a dose of Motrin when the last one wore off, even though she was only supposed to take it every 8 hours and it had only been 7 hours, but it's not like I care what that nurse thinks) finally led us to her triage room. Ironflower, despite feeling like hell, cooperated and barely whimpered during the poking and prodding.

We were sent to treatment room. Ironflower was given what must have been a double dose of Motrin and a dose of antibiotics, which she responded to fairly quickly. But still, it's hard to get poked and prodded even when you're feeling 100% and Ironflower handled the doctor wonderfully. It's not that I would have been upset if she'd cried or protested or fought, it was what I expected. Hell, I cried when I got a spinal before Lovebug's c-section (okay, the doctor also had some issues inserting it, but that's another post). But Ironflower stuck her chin out and showed her will of Iron. She understood that everything was necessary so that she could feel better and so she handled it.

Color me impressed.

Throwback Thursday: Poor Lindsay Lohan

I wrote this in June, 2007. Nearly 5 years later, not much has changed in Lindsay's life. Except she works a lot less. Maybe this latest trip to rehab will help.  I don't feel as sorry for as I used to, what with all the things she's stolen and worse behaviors. I still think her problem goes way beyond alcohol, though. 

Shameless, Drunken Hussy

I feel sorry for Lindsay Lohan. I realize that she's young, rich, pretty and talented and that there are plenty of people in the world who deserve my sympathy than she does. But I have enough to go around and I think Lindsay needs it too.

She's back in rehab now, and I hope that helps. But to tell you the truth, I'm not sure if alcohol is really her problem. When I was 21 I went out six nights a week (ahh, how I miss college). No one thought I was weird or wild - I still went to class, volunteered with my theater group and baby-sat. But I also used my newfound independence to dress in a more revealing way, to see how many shots I could do in one sitting (11) and to try to figure out who the heck I really was. I am SO glad no one caught it on video.

I'm also glad that the tabloids missed the chance to use the headline, "Elementary School Teachers Perform 'Baby Got Back' While Standing on Local Bar". And no one ever reported, "Teacher Steps on Broken Glass, Keeps Dancing - Gets Seven Stitches and Antibiotics At ER Next Day". There were no flashbulbs popping the time an intoxicated gentleman I was dancing with dipped me - and dropped me, (Stockbroker Dumps Teacher in Public?) either. For which I am grateful.

If I had been a starlet, the tabloids would have LOVED me. But fortunately I am not famous and when I do something stupid I have only my friends and acquaintances to laugh at me. Except for when the stockbroker dropped me - my partner in crime at the time was outside kissing the stockbroker's friend. It was actually worse having no friends to laugh with me. Lindsay is just a kid with lousy parents, a big bank account and probably no one who actually laughs with her. I can only hope all those reporters and pundits making a living off of her have never tried drugs, caused a car accident, passed out from alcohol or partied a lot. Otherwise their hypocrisy would nauseate me.

Throwback Thursday: Motherhood

Still true. Still advice I would give to any new mother  - and still how I feel about people who claim every moment is a joy. 

On Motherhood

I love being a mother. I love my children more than I thought it was possible to love anything. Every day I get to see them and talk to them and hug them is a day that I am very lucky. When Ironflower says, "I love you, Mommy" or Lovebug gives me a hug I am filled with a happiness that I only thought possible with the benefit of prescription painkillers.

But when I hear a mother say something like, "Every moment is a joy," I want to smack her. Not only does that statement indicate that the doctor did a lobotomy during her c-section, it's a nasty thing to say around pre-mothers. You hear enough statements like that and you feel like there's something wrong with you when, as a new mother, you wind up crying at 3 am along with the inconsolable baby.

Every moment is worth it. Every moment means you are lucky. But some moments still suck. My children are real, fallible little human beings, not perfect little dolls dropped from heaven, and when they throw up on me I don't feel joy. (In fact, no children are actually dropped in from heaven, they all make mistakes and have flaws and it's better to accept it now then when the school is calling about your child's bratty, bullying behavior for the second time that day) I suspect that no mother actually feels joy when her child is sick because even if s/he is not actually throwing up on you, the kid is SICK. There's no joy when something is wrong and you can't fix it, let me tell you.

So, new and future mommies, take heart: not every moment will be a joy. And anyone who tells you otherwise is lying, or on prescription painkillers. No child is perfect, except in that s/he is a perfectly flawed, complex little creature. Sometimes you will wish you believed in spanking. Sometimes you will wish you could just have quiet for one minute. Sometimes you will fantasize about torturing Dora, Diego and that stupid monkey. But that's all NORMAL.

And stay away from the competitive Stepford Mommies. As they brag about 2 year old Aidan's excellence in French class, love of sushi and broccoli and talent in music class, know this: Aidan will probably burn out in middle school and spend most of his free time in therapy or in detention.