I
can feel actual stress coursing through my veins.
I
was lying in bed last night, my head filled up, practically
throbbing from an abundance of whirling thought.... most of
which is work related.
Mark
fell asleep before I did. He was doing the leg-jimmy thing.
That's pretty much what my brain was doing.
When
I'm stressed I feel like a tight knot. And then I develop
a mild eye twitch. However, I am not sure how visible it is.
As
an added bonus, one of our alarm clocks went off three times
during the night and wee hours of the morning. I assume the
girls had been playing with it earlier.
Every
time it went off, Mark just hit the snooze button instead
of shutting it off. And every time I woke up I found it that
much harder to get back to sleep again.
I
feel like a wreck today. And my week is not going to improve.
a.
<saturday
may 3, 2003 - 7:10 p.m.>
Despite
the fact that this blog is most unbloglike, I've decided to
reinstate the comment link at the bottom of each posting.
Use them if you like. I am just finding my own one-way transmissions
rather dry.
This
story is a little dated now, but I keep forgetting to tell
it.
I
was picking Emma and Sarah up from daycare on the Thursday
before Easter. Normally both Mark and I get the girls at the
end of the day, but he'd been working nights all week long
so I was alone.
Emma
was misbehaving. I can't remember what she was doing, but
in desperation I pulled out a threat.
"If
you don't behave I'm calling the Easter Bunny and telling
him not to come to our house."
I
continued getting the girls dressed. On the way out I picked
up the phone to call Mark. Emma tugged at my coat. I looked
at her.
Her
eyes were wide, big and watery. Her crying fit had subsided.
She looked at me anxiously, "are you calling the Easter
bunny?"
Emma
likes to make up words. Sometimes these made up words actually
make sense in a nonsensical way. Sometimes these words make
their way into songs.
Everyone
knows "The Wheels on the Bus," right? Well, this
was Emma's version the other day:
The
wheels on the bus go round and round,
round and round, round and round.
The wheels on the bus go round and round,
all the way to... hor-land.
[Emphasis
on the first syllable, and a slightly different spelling =
a lawless land where woman go to sell their bodies.]
I
couldn't help but laugh. "Hor-land, wow Emma, I hope
that place is far away."
Yesterday
we went go out for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant -
Ho Ho's. We went there the other day and it was very child-friendly.
We decided to return with our friends Jeff and Leah and their
daughter Devon.
Dinner
was very good, and went off without a hitch. The only small
disappointment - all the kids got balloon animals and Sarah's
giraffe popped even before we made it out the door. Oh well.
We
came back to our place for frozen treats. Mark took the order
and went to the corner store with Jeff. Leah and I sat in
the backyard and watched the girls play.
What
was unfolding was a lovely domestic scene, children playing,
friends visiting on a warm spring night... so relaxing.
It's funny how things can turn on a dime.
Suddenly,
I turned around to see Emma fall. Her face met the rounded
corner of a small, toddler-sized plastic play structure. Her
upper lip split open - a small cut that crossed her lip-line.
A clean cut. I picked her up. Blood was now covering her chin
and filling her mouth.
I
held the cut with a paper towel. It stopped bleeding very
quickly. I cleaned her up a bit and we went back outside.
I
think I was pretty calm about it, but these kind of accidents
do freak me out a little bit. Emma has done crazier things
and never sustained major injury. She has fallen down several
flights of stairs, including landings of hardwood floor and
patio stone. She has bonked her head on sharp corners. She
has been in situations where accidents are most likely to
happen but haven't - feeding goats, riding ponies, running
near open water, goofing around in the bathtub etc etc. Fortunately
she's never been hurt seriously enough to warrant a trip to
the hospital.
It
makes me want to cover every hard surface in foam, although
I know that's crazy and impossible.
So
we inspected the cut. Should we take her to the doctor? Are
stitches required? Yes? No? I wasn't thrilled about taking
her to a hospital, any hospital. Although there have not been
any reports of SARS in Ottawa the thought still made me uneasy.
Honestly,
I didn't know what to do. It wasn't bleeding, yet it looked
like the kind of a slice that would benefit from being held
together.
After
some indecision Mark took her to a clinic. Because it was
a facial cut they recommended stitches. Mark took her to the
children's hospital.
According
to his report she did very well. She was a real trooper, and
although she was nervous she didn't fuss or cry. Not even
during the stitching.
They
got home at 11:00 p.m. The only evidence of the mishap was
a small Band-Aid on her lip. The stitch (there was only one
needed) will dissolve within seven days.
Two
other things happened today, both of which provide some interesting
insight into Emma..
1)
I was lying in bed this morning, trying to get up the energy
to haul my butt out from underneath warm covers. Mark was
downstairs and the girls were playing in Emma's room. Suddenly,
a loud crash, Sarah crying, Emma screaming her head off.
I
ran into the room to find Sarah lying underneath a small dresser.
Which, fortunately, isn't filled with anything heavy, just
socks and pajamas and some sheets. I guess she tried to climb
it, or reach something on the top. She pulled it over on top
of her.
Emma
was hysterical. I pulled the dresser off Sarah and picked
her up. By this time she had stopped crying. She wasn't hurt.
I
told Emma to calm down, that her sister was ok. My god, I
thought, yesterday's spilt lip has really affected her! But
she wasn't screaming out of fear for her sister's life, she
was screaming because the contents of the dresser were now
scattered all across the bedroom floor.
Angry,
I told her to collect herself and show a little compassion.
2)
I was putting Emma down for a nap this afternoon. She'd been
misbehaving, and not listening to Mark for a good part of
the afternoon. I was lying down with her, she was crying.
She pointed to the Band-Aid on her lip.
"I
want this off Mummy," she explained tearfully.
"The Band-Aid is protecting the wound." I explained.
"It has to stay on for a couple of days."
"But Mummy," she sniffed. "I want my face to
be like everyone else's."
What
a day. 
