I get the impression that my daughter has developed an aversion to closing her dresser drawers. Don’t ask me how I know this. I just do.
Forget your troubles; come read about mine
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EmailI work at my children’s school as a second grade teacher’s aide. I took the job to earn a little money, but another benefit is being near my six year old son. He is in kindergarten and could function without me there, but there are still things I help him with because the school allows it.
My son gets sick a lot, sometimes with weird bacterial infections and one of those was antibiotic resistant. It seems it takes longer courses of more potent drugs to make his illnesses go away, so in order to keep him as healthy as possible we take some precautions.
He is the only one in his class who keeps hand sanitizer in his cubby, he takes a bottle of water to school instead of using the drinking fountain, and I help him when he has to go to the bathroom.
My son is the size of a three year old, which means that when he has to use the facilities it entails climbing and clambering all over said facilities. Being that elementary school children aren’t the most hygienic, it’s much better for me to hoist him on the toilet in the nurse’s office and make sure he gets a proper hand washing because he can barely reach the sink.
Yesterday, I was leading a group of students downstairs when we ran into my boy in the hallway where he announced to the whole lot of us, “I need to go poop!”
I said, “Well I can’t take you right now, because I can’t leave these students. You’ll have to go by yourself.”
Just then, I looked up and saw the school nurse and asked her if she would help him, which she was happy to do.
After school, we were driving home and I asked him, “Hey, did Mrs. C help you in the bathroom?”
He said, “Yes.”
Knowing he had pooped, I wondered if he had been bold enough to ask her to wipe him, so I further questioned, “Did she just help you wash your hands? What did you ask her to do?”
But instead I found he was bold in a totally guy kind of way when he replied, “I asked her to get me a book.”
Here is the winner of the Photofiddle.com giveaway. Ladies, please don’t be intimidated by a) my manicure or b) my raspy voice. Nails don’t stay pretty when you work with second graders and wash your hands 50 times a day, and the voice is the result of a sinus infection and lungs full of mucus. See how much the hand washing helps?
I asked my son to show you his Elvis impersonation and you will note he stays in character throughout the clip. Well, at least his upper lip does. He is a consummate professional.
Congratulations, Chuck!
If all goes as planned, tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM my husband and I will be arriving at the hospital with our six year old son for surgery.
This is not major surgery. It is as minor as minor can be. The ENT could probably do this tube surgery with his hands tied behind his back.
But, there is enough risk to my son that they changed the location from an outpatient surgery center, to a main hospital. Plus, it requires general anesthesia and that always makes me nervous. But, more than anything…there’s The Mask.
My boy has developed an extreme dislike for The Mask they use to put him to sleep. He’s terrified of it, because he knows it all too well. This will be his ninth time on an operating table, and sixth time under general anesthesia.
Two years ago, when he was in preschool, a group of firefighters visited his class and when one of them demonstrated a breathing apparatus, my son had a complete meltdown just hearing him breathe through it. He’s that scared.
He doesn’t comprehend the fact that this surgery is no big deal. He’s certainly been through worse. He doesn’t remember having a catheter inserted into his thigh that traveled all the way up to his tiny heart. He doesn’t realize that he stopped breathing in recovery after his tonsils were removed. Or, that he had to stay in the ICU for that surgery because, for him, it was a risky operation. He doesn’t know there were times we didn’t know if he was going to live.
His only concern is The Mask.
Personally, I’m looking forward to this surgery. His hearing loss is so bad that it’s like we’ve been living with a 90 year old. Everyone walks around yelling all the time, and even with our voices raised he still says, “What?” about 50 times a day. We can even see that he’s starting to read our lips, as if to say, “I’m done trying to listen to you people. I’ll just watch you talk.”
With the exception of the moment when they wheel my son down the hall to the operating room, tomorrow will be a good day. He’ll have a lot less pressure in his ears and his hearing should be better instantly.
Unfortunately for my son, the anesthesiologist won’t let me drive him around in a car until he falls asleep in the back seat, or rock him into a deep slumber. The Mask is unavoidable. And that stupid, little piece of rubber? Well, it breaks this Mommy’s heart.
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