Monday, November 7, 2011

Normal

This morning: What time is it? 8:00? 7:00? 12:30 (who set that one)? Let's go ... where are your pants!? No, it is 40 degrees out you cannot wear shorts ... underwear is not optional ... I don't care what Britney Spears thinks ...OK, in the car, late to school ... E brushed, breakfast'ed, dressed, and scrubbed ... me: pajama bottoms, flip-flops, coffee spilled on lap, unbrushed teeth ... Hopefully we won't run in to other moms ... "HEY! OTHER MOMS!" ... "Oh, HEY Headmaster of School ... HAHA! I know, I am NOT dressed ... I gave up real clothes for Lent!" ... 5 missed phone calls by the time I get back in car ... 3 from doctors (they KNOW I am violating bed rest!) ... in other words, things are getting back to normal around here.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Alive, Not Dead


In what will eventually become Chapter 34: I Hate IVs and Ambulances in my New York Times best-selling memoir, I am happy to report that I cheated death this weekend, yet again. Ernst & Young conservative accounting reports indicate that I am on my seventh life, give or take.
The short version: A working hypothesis is that it appears that perhaps neuro drugs do not play well with other organs, specifically hearts, but we will need more testing to figure out what the hell actually happened. Because doctors seem to have very little clue when it comes to actually knowing the answers to such things when they happen to me. The definitive diagnosis is, "I have no real clue. Huh." It is like I am that footnote in the medical school textbook, on the page they skimmed because they been out at The Wharf Rat the night before for 50 cent Purple Hooter shooters and $1 day-old oysters, and besides, it probably would not be on the final anyhow. (A personal apology to all the doctor friends that I know and love, but that has been my experience as an Extreme Health patient. McDreamy, don't give me that look; so judge-y with your judgement eyes.)
The long version: 911, 4 am ambulance ride, lots of nitroglycerin and other heart stuff, loss of consciousness, more IVs than I could count. "CLEAR!!!" and paddles and George Clooney running down the hall in scrubs, with Dr. McDreamy behind him, who told me he would have to do an awake craniotomy, but it would be fine because when it was over, he would buy me a unicorn named "Sparkles" and then there was tea and Divinity candy with my Nana on a cloud of pink sugar ... OK, so maybe that last part had a little to do with the morphine?
But the first part really happened.
PS Home now, recovering. Slowly. Bed rest. Am not supposed to exert myself or get stressed. Um-kay, have we met?

Friday, October 21, 2011

Day of the Dead or Halloween ?

From the New Yorker ... enjoy!

Dear Mountain Room Parents

by October 24, 2011

Hi, everyone!

The Mountain Room is gearing up for its Day of the Dead celebration on Friday. Please send in photos of loved ones for our altar. All parents are welcome to come by on Wednesday afternoon to help us make candles and decorate skulls.

Thanks!

Emily

Hi again.

Because I’ve gotten some questions about my last e-mail, there is nothing “wrong” with Halloween. The Day of the Dead is the Mexican version, a time of remembrance. Many of you chose Little Learners because of our emphasis on global awareness. Our celebration on Friday is an example of that. The skulls we’re decorating are sugar skulls. I should have made that more clear.

Emily

Parents:

Some of you have expressed concern about your children celebrating a holiday with the word “dead” in it. I asked Eleanor’s mom, who’s a pediatrician, and here’s what she said: “Preschoolers tend to see death as temporary and reversible. Therefore, I see nothing traumatic about the Day of the Dead.” I hope this helps.

Emily

Dear Parents:

In response to the e-mail we all received from Maddie’s parents, in which they shared their decision to raise their daughter dogma-free, yes, there will be an altar, but please be assured that the Day of the Dead is a pagan celebration of life and has nothing to do with God. Keep those photos coming!

Emily

Hello.

Perhaps “pagan” was a poor word choice. I feel like we’re veering a bit off track, so here’s what I’ll do. I’ll start setting up our altar now, so that today at pickup you can see for yourselves how colorful and harmless the Day of the Dead truly is.

Emily

Parents:

The photos should be of loved ones who have passed. Max’s grandma was understandably shaken when she came in and saw a photo of herself on our altar. But the candles and skulls were cute, right?

Emily

Mountain Room Parents:

It’s late and I can’t possibly respond to each and every e-mail. (Not that it comes up a lot in conversation, but I have children, too.) As the skulls have clearly become a distraction, I decided to throw them away. They’re in the compost. I’m looking at them now. You can, too, tomorrow at drop-off. I just placed a “NO BASURA” card on the bin to make sure it doesn’t get emptied. Finally, to those parents who are offended by our Day of the Dead celebration, I’d like to point out that there are parents who are offended that you are offended.

Emily

Dear Parents:

Thanks to their group e-mail, we now know that the families of Millie and Jaden M. recognize Jesus Christ as their Saviour. There still seems to be some confusion about why, if we want to celebrate life, we’re actually celebrating death. To better explain this “bewildering detour,” I’ve asked Adela, who works in the office and makes waffles for us on Wednesdays, and who was born in Mexico, to write you directly.


Emily

Hola a los Padres:

El Día de los Muertos begins with a parade through the zócalo, where we toss oranges into decorated coffins. The skeletons drive us in the bus to the cemetery and we molest the spirits from under the ground with candy and traditional Mexican music. We write poems called calaveras, which laugh at the living. In Mexico, it is a rejoicing time of ofrendas, picnics, and dancing on graves.

Adela

Parents:

I sincerely apologize for Adela’s e-mail. I would have looked it over, but I was at my daughter’s piano recital. (Three kids, in case you’re wondering, one who’s allergic to everything, even wind.) For now, let’s agree that e-mail has reached its limits. How about we process our feelings face to face? 9 A.M. tomorrow?

Emily

Dear Parents:

Some of you chose to engage in our dialogue. Some chose to form a human chain. Others had jobs (!) to go to. So we’re all up to speed, let me recap this morning’s discussion:

—Satan isn’t driving our bus. Little Learners does not have a bus. If we did, I wouldn’t still need parent drivers for the field trip to the cider mill. Anyone? I didn’t think so.

—Ofrenda means “offering.” It’s just a thing we put on the altar. Any random thing. A bottle of Fanta. Unopened, not poisoned. Just a bottle of Fanta.

—We’re moving past the word “altar” and calling it what it really is: a Seahawks blanket draped over some cinder blocks.

—Adela will not be preparing food anymore and Waffle Wednesdays will be suspended. (That didn’t make us any new friends in the Rainbow and Sunshine Rooms!)

—On Friday morning, I will divide the Mountain Room into three groups: those who wish to celebrate the Day of the Dead; those who wish to celebrate Halloween; and Maddie, who will make nondenominational potato prints in the corner.

Dear Mountain Room Parents:

Today I learned not to have open flames in the same room as a costume parade. I learned that a five-dollar belly-dancer outfit purchased at a pop-up costume store can easily catch fire, but, really, I knew that just by looking at it. I learned that Fanta is effective in putting out fires. I learned that a child’s emerging completely unscathed from a burning costume isn’t a good enough outcome for some parents. I learned that I will be unemployed on Monday. For me, the Day of the Dead will always be a time of remembrance.

Happy Halloween!

Emily