Tag Archives: first time

Sleeping on a submarine

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I spent Friday night sleeping with 40 men and boys.

That sounds much more risqué than it was – it was a Cub Scout overnight in a WWII submarine. A couple dozen boys and their DADS… I was the only mom.

When Ethan learned I signed us up for this adventure, he said, “You’re going to hate this – I bet the sub will smell like MEN!” Observant boy…

I’m a bit particular. Some may even say high maintenance. I’m pretty picky about the hotels I’ll stay at and I knew a submarine wouldn’t live up to my usual overnighting standards. But this wasn’t about me. It was about Ethan, and I knew he really wanted to go. I didn’t make a big deal out of it.

It was a unique opportunity (and, of course, completely amenity-less). Some observations and learnings:

  • There’s a weird assortment of things missing from our move earlier this year. Things we can’t find: my favorite cocktail shaker, our sleeping bags (which we’ve previously used for “camp outs” in the back yard), my muffin tin, a small purple duffel bag. Strange things is, that this stuff was in different places in the old house, so how it all ended up missing is a mystery. So, Ethan and I had to buy new sleeping bags for this adventure. It’s probably not a bad thing to have Ethan in a “big boy” sleeping bag (instead of the “Cars” one that is now MIA).
  • The sleeping arrangements were surreal. Forty beds in a tiny room, smaller than my living room. Bunks three high. Single bunks on either wall, double bunks (like two twins) in the center. Ethan and I slept side-by-side on the top double bunk. I was terrified all night that he’d roll off and fall the six feet to the hard, steel floor. But the middle bunk didn’t have enough room to sit up and the bottom bunk did not allow enough room to even roll over. Plus, I got my hair stuck in the bed springs of the middle bunk when I was checking out the space. I had to scalp myself to break free. (Of course, I was hysterically laughing at my predicament, thinking that only *I* could get my hair stuck in the beds on a submarine…)
  • Speaking of the sleeping arrangements, I had one dad’s feet nearly touching my pillow (uncomfortable), and another dad (who’s like 6’10”) was sleeping on the bunk on the other side – he really tried hard to keep his legs and feet on his bed. He slept diagonally to keep his legs on his bed and not intrude on my space.
  • Dads apparently don’t “hear” kid noise. Imagine dozens of 7- and 8- year old boys running around, “playing” submarine at 10 p.m. The noise was ridiculous – and the dads were standing around talking to each other or looking at their smart phones. Ethan wasn’t even the loudest or most aggressive or craziest kid there (thank goodness!). The noise level would NOT have been tolerated (or probably even attempted) if moms were there.
  • Imagine the “lights out” call and three boys continuing to SCREAM for five minutes, then 10 minutes… I had ear plugs in – I could have slept through, but Ethan wasn’t going to go to sleep as long as something was going on, so I called it. “Boys! Lights out! Any questions about what that means? Shut it and go to sleep!” Several dads snickered, but none chimed in to encourage bedtime. Luckily, the boys obeyed.
  • Lights out at 11:30 p.m. is WAY too late for boys who are used to 8 p.m. bedtimes (as confirmed from conversations with moms). Boys were breaking down before the activities even started at 7:30. A handful of boys were reduced to tears for a variety to reasons including not understanding the fire drill instructions and lost stuffed animals.
  • It was crazy hot inside the sub. Outside was around 30 degrees, but inside (on the top bunk) was around 85 degrees. I was a hot, sweaty mess in the morning – and I never even got under the sleeping bag covers.
  • Ear plugs are crucial when sleeping around men and boys. Imagine the snoring and grunts and other weird nighttime noises coming from dozens of snoozing bodies.
  • Being the only mom on the trip meant that the women’s restroom was extremely clean, so that was an awesome positive.
  • TMI observation (you might want to skip to the next bullet. You’ve been warned): nothing made the night more uncomfortable than being on my period. Yep, an overnight trip with men and boys, and I was bleeding heavily, like I had been shot in the vagina. Just one more thing to think about all night (“Please don’t let me bleed all over myself, my yoga pants, my bedding and the pleather-esque mattress and have to explain to young boys why there’s blood everywhere!”) Luckily, everything was okay. Whew!
  • Finally, I have complete and total admiration for the men who served aboard subs. The space is incredibly tight and it’s hot and stuffy. Men would spend months on subs like these in the hot, steamy Pacific. I can’t imagine… but I am entirely thankful for their sacrifice.

Grief group

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Tonight was our first peer grief group meeting. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Or how Ethan would react. It tried talking it “up” with Ethan for days, but you just never know…

It was FANTASTIC.

We arrived, as requested, 30 minutes early. Ethan was whisked off immediately by one of the counselors for a private tour. I took a seat in the dining room by the director. Small talk ensued. She was super easy to talk to and everyone was very nice.

Ethan came back just as some of the other families were arriving. After designing his name tag, dinner was served. Ethan wanted to get his dinner himself, so I let him. I followed, not too close behind, with his milk. I fully expected him to sit next to me in the dining room, but he turned into the sun room, where the other boys (ages 7-14) were sitting.

I dropped off his milk, waved, and walked back to my seat. I kept an ear toward the other room, in case Ethan needed me.

Within 15 minutes, the kitchen helper called out, “Jackie, Ethan has TOTALLY adjusted already! He’s doing great with the other boys!” She had a direct view of the activities in the sun room.

Soon it was time to break off into the sessions. The kids went upstairs where they would work on crafts and talk in age-appropriate settings. The parents went into the living room, where counselors facilitated our discussion.

Of course, details of all discussions are confidential, but there was SO much I could relate to. So many similarities to our situation and Ethan’s difficulties. I found myself in tears before I said anything.

It was refreshing to hear that others are experiencing many of the same things, that Ethan isn’t alone in what he’s feeling and doing. But it was sad, too. We were all there for a reason – someone close to us died. Insert tears.

The hour went by so fast, and soon the kids were coming downstairs. Ethan was smiling, carrying a picture he drew of Mike and another art project he made.

But he was ready to go home. (After all, it was bedtime.)

The drive home was good – he talked about his experience in a very positive way, but he wasn’t overly hyper about it (a good thing).

He did, however, have a massive stomach ache. Turns out, he and some of the older boys were sneaking extra cookies before the break out session.

As I was tucking him tonight, Ethan said, “I learned my lesson. Cookies and tortilla soup don’t mix.”

Words of wisdom.

Parent in-take

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Like Wednesday morning, Thursday started with tears, too.

I found a local organization that helps kids deal with the grieving process. It’s not counseling and it’s not therapy. The organization is structured with regular peer gatherings in which kids can share their feelings and talk about what’s going on their lives and how they are coping with the death of a loved one. Every kid there has lost someone – a grandparent, a sibling, a cousin, a parent.

I talked to the director by phone earlier this week. Today was “parent intake day.”

The organization doesn’t take everyone. Space is limited. And there’s a process to matching the kid (and parent) to the right group. That’s why the director meets with every parent first.

I knew I would have to talk about how my dad’s and Mike’s death have affected Ethan, so the tears started before I was even in the shower this morning. I can usually stay strong – until I have to talk about the effect on my kids.

The organization is a good 35 minute drive from my house, and it’s in a part of town I’ve never been.  I allowed plenty of time to find the place, but when I got there, I just couldn’t pull into the parking lot.

I passed it, on purpose.

I drove down the street, did some banking, stopped for a Coke, checked out the window display at some of the cute little shops. Now, I was officially late.

I’m never late. Being on time is late to me. If something starts at 9 a.m. and I’m there at 9 a.m., I’m late. I would prefer 10 minutes early, at least. I can sit and observe. I can collect my thoughts. I can mentally prepare. But this morning, I was late. On purpose. Being late ALMOST never happens – on purpose, NEVER.

I turned around and s-l-o-w-l-y drove back. I was now about 10 minutes late and having thoughts of wanting to blow off the appointment entirely. “It’s for Ethan,” I thought to myself and pulled into the parking lot.

I approached the discrete, old, brick building with a little bit of mixed emotions. “It sucks that there has to be places like this,” I thought and I walked through the front door.

The director greeted me and handed me some paperwork. Name, address, occupation, employer… Fine.  Child’s name, school… OK. Then I got to the section about the deceased. Cue the tears.

I kept it brief and matter of fact. Then I turned the page.

Half of the page was dedicated to how I was dealing with the death, the other half to how Ethan was coping. Rate on a scale from 1-5 each of these statements. Cue more tears.

I finished the paperwork, grabbed a Kleenex and the director entered the room. We talked for more than an hour about the loss of my dad and the death of Mike. How both impacted me, the kids, and my mom.  More tears.

Ever cried so much that the Kleenex was wringing wet? Yeah, that was my morning.

The director gave me a tour of the house and explained the program. We talked about Ethan’s needs and what was going on with him at school.

His problems? All textbook kids-who-are-grieving. I felt a sense of relief knowing that during meetings, all the kids are hyper and squirrely. That the kids have to state their name and age before a meeting, but don’t have to participate if they don’t want to. That art and other ways of expression are big components to the meetings. That the parents get together and meet during this time, too.

It seems like a solid program. One that can help us through this. I’m hopeful. And a hot mess (must not forget to reapply makeup before my class this afternoon).

I just hope that Friday is tear-free – or I’ll need to buy more mascara.

Two-for-one: sick kids

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Ethan came into my room yesterday morning, complaining about a sore throat. One look inside and I knew it was strep – this is the fourth time in 2012 for him so I’m somewhat of a strep-diagnosis expert these days.

But that wasn’t the worst part of the morning.

When Lauren woke up a few minutes later, things seemed normal. I picked her up from her crib and cuddled her. “Stairs,” she said pointing, indicating that she wanted to go down to see her brother and grandma.

I set her on her feet and she fell over. She stood up, took a few steps, then ran into the dresser. Back up, few steps, fell down.

“Maybe her foot is asleep,” I thought.

“Let’s go to mommy’s room for a minute, Lauren,” I said, holding out my hand to help her down the hall.

It was a weird walk, down the hall from her room to mine. She was pulling to the right quite a bit and was very unsteady. She wasn’t upset or fazed by it, just wobbly.

I carried her down the stairs and called my mom into the room. We watched as Lauren stood up and fell. Stood up, took a few steps, and ran into the wall. Then she threw up. “Ear infection?” I said, looking at my mom. She nodded, “Probably.”

Since I had to take Ethan to the doc anyway for strep, I made an appointment for Lauren. In the couple of hours we had to wait before we left the house, Lauren seemed to get a little better. She wanted breakfast, wanted to drink something. And she seemed to get a little more steady on her feet – she still had to be watched closely, but it was a little better.

The doc appointment was LONG. Yes, Ethan had strep, but the doc couldn’t figure out what was going on with Lauren. Her ears were clear and there wasn’t a fever or any other obvious symptoms. By now, Lauren could walk the length of the hall without help, but she would have to hold out her arm like she was walking a tightrope every few steps. Or she would have to slow down when she was moving to the right uncontrollably. Still, MUCH improvement from the morning.

The doc (not our usual pediatrician, but another in the practice) consulted with the others in the office. A neurologist from the local children’s hospital was called. No one could figure it out. Since she was showing signs of significant improvement, the docs didn’t think there was an immediate, urgent problem (anymore). Thoughts for what could have been wrong included: a virus that was messing with her inner ears, baby vertigo (rare but not without possibility), a seizure, or a form of migraine. (SIDENOTE: I was diagnosed with migraine auras about 20 years ago. I don’t get the pain of a migraine, but I get weird symptoms that last for up to a few hours: numbness in one side of my body, loss of speech, dizziness. It’s scary and almost stroke-like to anyone watching me, but it goes away, leaving me tired but functioning.)

Right now, we’ve been told to wait-and-see if it happens again. The neurologist suggested that we go ahead and do an MRI, MRA and EEG on Lauren, just to have a baseline. Orders for these tests have been placed and we can do them anytime in the next few weeks. I’m a little concerned about the MRI/MRA since she will have to be sedated for the procedures.

This morning, Lauren was fine. Totally back to herself, no indication of difficulty walking. She stayed home from “baby school” so my mom could keep an eye on her, but she seems like nothing happened.

Here’s hoping this never happens again…

Anniversary, part four (The End)

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If you’re just joining the story, you might want to start with parts one, two, and three.

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“Come on,” I said to Mike’s parents as the ambulance drove away. “You can follow me to the hospital.”

His parents looked shell-shocked. Mike’s dad just kept repeating that they couldn’t care for Mike when he was discharged from the hospital and couldn’t he come live at the house? “But where will he go after the hospital?” his dad kept asking, to no one in particular.

I drove to the hospital and walked into the emergency room. “My husband was just delivered here by ambulance,” I told the check in person in the waiting room.

“He’s probably getting checked now, it’ll be a while before you can go back,” she replied.

“Oh, I’m not going back there. Just wanted to get his parents here,” I gestured to Mike’s parents standing behind me. “And to make sure you have our insurance information.”

I handed over the insurance card. I didn’t want to get saddled with medical bills later, so wanted to make sure the hospital had what they needed. Then I walked out and drove home. In a strange way, I felt relieved, almost peaceful.

I called the hospital later that night and talked to Mike’s nurse. His blood alcohol level was five times the legal limit. (SIDENOTE: I will wonder, for the rest of my life, what in the hell Mike’s parents were DOING when they were at my house. They claim they never saw him drink, yet his BAL was FIVE TIMES the legal limit and alcohol bottles were thrown around the basement.)

Mike would spend a week in the hospital, shuffling from a rehab unit to the cardiology unit (his heart was showing signs of distress – even then). Over the course of the week, his parents came by the house a few times to get Mike’s belongings, but they never expressed interest in seeing the kids or having a conversation. And they would always come when the kids were in bed.

________________

When I picked Ethan up from school that day, I didn’t know what to say. His dad was gone and so were his grandparents (opting to stay in a hotel as opposed to staying at the house).

Of everything that’s happened over the last year, it’s how I handled it with my son that I regret. I should have thought that through better, but how could I have anticipated the ambulance, going to the hospital or getting the court order so quickly? I was prepared to tell Ethan about the separation, but now it was so complicated.

I told Ethan that his dad was sick. “It’s the alcohol, isn’t it?” he asked. He was way too wise for his own good – and he had seen and heard too much in his young years.

“Yeah,” was all I could say.

I stayed on the dad-is-sick message for weeks. When he told his therapist that he was worried his dad was going to die, I knew I had to be more forthcoming. Originally, I thought Mike and I could co-present the separation to him. Display a united front to show that we had Ethan’s and Lauren’s best interests in mind. I believed that we could act as adults and have a productive, loving co-parenting relationship.

That wasn’t going to happen. I was on my own. I shouldn’t have waited as long as I did, but I can’t change time. I was as honest as possible with Ethan, telling him that daddy was dealing with his drinking and that he was going to live with his parents in Indiana, but that Ethan and Lauren would have two houses someday. “So, two Christmases?” he asked. I guess that is all that matters to a six-year-old.

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When Mike was discharged, his parents took him back to Indiana. The kids and I saw him in-person only two more times between when he was taken by ambulance and when he died.

After the second court date a few weeks after the first (in which a second judge upheld the court order), he Skyped with the kids on occasion, and, at first, called every night to talk to Ethan. In November, the calls became fewer and fewer with more and more time in between. Skyping became even more rare.

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That’s the story of this anniversary. I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but, well, as you know now, it’s a long story. It’s been a bittersweet time (man, using that word a lot lately) and it seemed the right time to get these thoughts out since I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

There’s more to write, but not today. Today, I’m going to wrap up some work stuff and go play with the kids.