Sacramento Parent Magazine

My kids ages 3 and 18 months and I often make the 3 hour drive from Sac to Santa Cruz to visit grandparents.  Yes, I am a brave woman and a good daughter.  We’ve done this drive for many years and through all their fun stages and the best thing I have learned next to you must have a DVD player in the car is this:

There is a hierarchy to snacks…The first level is your basic healthy snacks:  pretzels, dried cranberries, goldfish, cut up fruit.

The second level is for advanced crankiness and increasing boredom:  health food store gummy bears, whole wheat cookies and maybe those awful, little pre-packaged cheese/cracker thingys.

The third (emergency/meltdown/hysterical screaming) level I reserve the right to deploy, because I am the mommy, thats why!  And my sanity matters too.  It contains: a ziploc baggy of pure CANDY!!!  CANDY bracelets, CANDY in little lunchboxes, CANDY!!!

“The sun comes up in the east,” Riley told me one day out of the blue. “You’re right!” I replied. “Where does the sun go at night?” I asked. “In the west and then the stars come out,” he answered. As my chest puffed up with pride and I thought Mensa Society, here we come! Riley got down, barked like a dog and ran into the wall.

Huh. Well, those gifted kids are always weird.

Has this happened to you yet?  In Hollywood they call her the frenemy (enemy posing as friend) I am pretty sure Paris Hilton either has one or is one.  It goes like this:

You get a party invitation from a friend you haven’t heard from in a while, or a new neighbor.  You think:  it would be nice to get out of the house and drink a little wine.  You search your laundry pile for a shirt without spit up stains, put on some lip gloss and giddily leave daddy in charge.  About two minutes into the “party” you realize…

It’s not a party at all, but a vehicle for selling you crap thinly disguised as a “party”…could be makeup, could be home decor, could be super overpriced clothing.  Could even be something called ‘pampered chef”…which is by the way a ludicrous and contradicting name.  The frenemy wants your money.  She did not really invite you over to get to know you better.  A true friend would tell you up front she is hosting one of these insane parties so that you could tell her:

“Sorry I have to clip my toenails, vacuum out the lint door in my dryer and re-pot all my houseplants”

Okay, technically did not forget. 

Had a mom-day off today as nice husband took the kids to grandparents.  Did do:  mascara application for once, haircut, shopping, sushi eating, web-surfing, sitting and thinking, reading other blogs and stood for a long time in Anthropologie starting at paperbacks that they made into a headboard while drinking an iced-coffee. 

But, did not vacuum.

If I thought my life was stressful before, I stand corrected. I have entered a new realm of tension. My husband has given up smoking and coffee at the same time. Yes, I agree this is a good, no wonderful, thing but I am suffering greatly. He is non-functioning at this point, to say the least. The anxiety expels from his aura in large smoky puffs. Riley and I run in the other direction gasping for air, hoping not to get crushed by angry Godzilla. I do tell myself, it’s okay, and you need to be the supportive wife. But what I really want to say, “Hey Buddy, I pushed out a human being that left a certain part of my body in shreds, had to come home and hobble around to take care of it and YOU, so buck up!”

As we all know as moms and wives, I won’t do this and all I can hope it we make it out the other side shell-shocked and tattered but alive and habit free!

The last weekend in June we traveled back up the North Coast for my younger sister’s much anticipated wedding. At the rehearsal dinner Riley complained of a stomach ache and we had to leave early. I was a bit annoyed at having to cut out of a dinner for my sister when I was the maid of honor, but what was I to do? Or course he comes first. The next day at the wedding I stuffed myself into a very tight bridesmaid dress-with lots of chiffon-while Riley danced and played. I was so proud of him overcoming his shyness to practice his two year old break dancing moves. He made a friend and presented her with a flower, then ran away when she wanted to dance with him. All in all it was a fun, champagne-filled affair. The next day we went to the beach before heading out. That is the last carefree moment I remember, sitting perched on a rock, the cool ocean breeze blowing against my face as Riley made a sand castle. When we left Riley fell asleep in the car and I woke him to eat lunch with my parents who were in town as well. At the restaurant he wouldn’t leave my lap and that is when I saw the jerk. It was a quick spasm almost unnoticeable, of his left leg. I turned to my husband and said, “Did you see that?” “Do you have the Motrin?” he replied. In the car, I told him. As he ran out to the car, I prepared myself for what might be coming. Surely he doesn’t have a fever, I thought, he was fine yesterday. My husband returned frantic saying he couldn’t find it. I was shocked. I never leave the house without Motrin. We packed up quickly and went to the nearest grocery store. I ran in and was feeling better because when we brought Riley out of the restaurant he perked up and asked to drive, his favorite thing to do. My husband and I looked at each other and he said, “Boy does he know how to work us.” I bought the Motrin and went back outside to the car. As I exited through the automatic door, I saw my husband on the side of the car. He was yelling, “He’s doing it!” I raced over to the car and opened the door to see my baby choking in his car seat. His body was rigid from the seizure so my husband was unable to get him out before the fluid in his mouth starting down his airway. His eyes were bulging out and he was seizing. We got him free and I looked around frantically for a place to put him on his side. Our car was packed to the gills with travel gear. I tried sitting and holding him when I realized we were surpassing the usual minute. It was going on way too long. I yelled at my husband to drive us to the hospital. We then broke the law as I laid him across me in the backseat as we sped to the nearest hospital which was thankfully less than 2 minutes away.
When we arrived, I ran in carrying my limp 2 year old. A team of nurses and doctors took him right away, grilling me on how long the seizure had been going on. “3 or 4 minutes?” I sobbed out. He appeared to have stopped but when the doctor turned over his arm it was still pulsating which could be lingering seizure activity. They gave him Valium to stop it and did a cat scan. Riley slept through three IVs and a cat scan. He didn’t wake up for 4 hours.
The doctor came in after the cat scan to tell us it looked good. I cried in relief and the doctor (who I might add appeared to resemble Vin Diesel) rubbed my back and asked if I was going to be okay. “I am just waiting for someone to come back in and say it’s a brain tumor,” I told him. He nodded gravely as I said, “That is what you are looking for right?” “Or bleeding on the brain,” he replied.
My parents, husband and I sat by his side taking turns crying as we waited the long 4 hours for him to wake up. He did have a fever, 101.8 which is his usual point for seizures. We didn’t even know he was sick. The doctor didn’t advise us to travel being that the nearest hospital was 2 and ½ hours away once we started the journey back. I stayed up there for 4 more days before I made the harrowing trip home, not stopping until I was in a major city with a hospital. Riley ended up having a virus that 3 other kids have come down with, none having the outcome Riley had.
We are currently re-thinking his preschool. He should be at home, less exposure would be better, being this was the 11th seizure, but we really can’t afford for me to stay home plus no one would insure us with his history and my husband is self employed. I can think back to when I was gleefully pregnant and determined to be a working mom. My career was the bread winner and I was okay with that. Now I have cut back my hours and it’s still not enough to care for Riley. I can’t focus at work because my attention is and always is on him.
I am now on the quest to figure out how to make life easier for my favorite tow head. I am determined to find a solution that enables him not to get so many illnesses and still keep a roof over our heads.

Before we had kids, Marc and I were pretty smart people with very sensible ideas on parenting.  Among them:

Kids sleeping in parent’s bed:  “That’s not good for your marriage” -Marc   “Will never happen” -Me   

Pacifiers:  “Unnecessary” -Marc  “Maybe only for a few months” -Me

Demand Feeding:  “We will set the schedule” -Marc   “Who’s in control?  Ferberize them.” -Me

Princess Stuff:  “Not my daughter, she will build things, play with Rubic’s Cube and master chess”  “Right, no sparkly tutu’s or tiara’s in our house.”  -Me

DVD players in cars:  “What is this world coming to?” -Marc  “Makes me sad to see kids watching TV everywhere” -Me

Fast Food:  “I don’t see why you can’t cook every single meal every day?” -Marc  “Right, no french fries will ever touch my babes lips, especially after reading Fast Food Nation!”  -Me

Toddler having loud tantrum in Target:  “Good Lord!” -Marc  “That’s just bad parenting”  -Me

Typing this is so painful.  Ironic, don’t you think?