it feels as if
a very small, very angry person
is making all the rules.
3/14/2012
3/13/2012
Puddle stomping
I decided to revisit walnut boats with the boys. Last time we made them, we were limited to a kitchen sink boat launch because of weather.
But yesterday evening, the warm spring air and the morning rains had given us perfect waterways in the rutted driveway of the vacant driveway next to ours.
The boys each made their own sail and Ethan helped me fill the walnuts with dripping hot wax.
They lined up the fleet at some sort of prearranged starting point.
After that, we were all a little unclear how these boats might "race" each other. The boys decided they would blow on them to get them going.
It was pretty intense.
Within seconds, boats were tipping and sinking and hopes were dashed.
Sadly, one unfortunate walnut was even stomped on in a fit of rage.
Then came the natural progression of chaos and splashing and mud in the eyes.
And, not much later, bath-time.
But yesterday evening, the warm spring air and the morning rains had given us perfect waterways in the rutted driveway of the vacant driveway next to ours.
The boys each made their own sail and Ethan helped me fill the walnuts with dripping hot wax.
They lined up the fleet at some sort of prearranged starting point.
After that, we were all a little unclear how these boats might "race" each other. The boys decided they would blow on them to get them going.
It was pretty intense.
Within seconds, boats were tipping and sinking and hopes were dashed.
Sadly, one unfortunate walnut was even stomped on in a fit of rage.
Then came the natural progression of chaos and splashing and mud in the eyes.
And, not much later, bath-time.
3/08/2012
Medical history
In my closet today I found a lined piece of paper folded up inside a book. Nothing profound, just some notes I had jotted down during my OT internship living in Providence. I was trying to keep a more personal record of my everyday interactions with patients. Something more human than the treatment plans I labored over every night.
I'm glad I found these. I remember each of these patients clearly.
January 21:
Portuguese, 91 years old--constructional apraxia. This morning he put his straw in his pancakes and leaned over to take a sip. I had to redirect him 2x. The confusion in his eyes made me want to cry for him. How hard to grow old. Later, we laughed together over the language barrier.
Walking down the hall with a patient we heard E, a little old African American woman, legally blind, twisted and shriveled in her chair singing, "Amazing Grace", her head tilted to the side. Beautiful voice. When she finished, everyone at the nurses station stood up and clapped.
January 22:
The therapist I was shadowing said he was her hardest patient yet. An Asian man who insisted on watching Good Morning America during ADL's and refused to sit while grooming or dressing. He kept referring to the differences between The East and The West as excuses for everything. I could barely stifle my laughter the whole time especially at his comment while dressing, "I'm too intellectual for this nonsense!"
And, on the back of the paper, a poem, which as weak and rough as it is, brings back a visceral anxiety, remembering those three months:
Every week I face my fears
and pick them up
and put them on. I wear them
like a sweater
all week long.
Til Friday comes
and gasping, I can
throw my fears aside.
They sit there in the corner
and watch me all weekend long.
I'm glad I found these. I remember each of these patients clearly.
January 21:
Portuguese, 91 years old--constructional apraxia. This morning he put his straw in his pancakes and leaned over to take a sip. I had to redirect him 2x. The confusion in his eyes made me want to cry for him. How hard to grow old. Later, we laughed together over the language barrier.
Walking down the hall with a patient we heard E, a little old African American woman, legally blind, twisted and shriveled in her chair singing, "Amazing Grace", her head tilted to the side. Beautiful voice. When she finished, everyone at the nurses station stood up and clapped.
January 22:
The therapist I was shadowing said he was her hardest patient yet. An Asian man who insisted on watching Good Morning America during ADL's and refused to sit while grooming or dressing. He kept referring to the differences between The East and The West as excuses for everything. I could barely stifle my laughter the whole time especially at his comment while dressing, "I'm too intellectual for this nonsense!"
And, on the back of the paper, a poem, which as weak and rough as it is, brings back a visceral anxiety, remembering those three months:
Every week I face my fears
and pick them up
and put them on. I wear them
like a sweater
all week long.
Til Friday comes
and gasping, I can
throw my fears aside.
They sit there in the corner
and watch me all weekend long.
3/06/2012
Every day is yours to win
On his birthday or Christmas, Andrew would often request a mix CD. Sometimes he would give me a list of specific songs. For the most part we shared a love for the same kind of music. I could usually predict what he would like.
Andrew also introduced me to some obscure bands and singers. He was always up on the latest thing and knew what kind of sound I would like. Whenever these bands come out with new albums, I listen with him in mind.
A few days before he died, Andrew stopped by our house and I remember discussing a particular new song with him. I asked him if he'd seen the video and he hadn't but he liked what he'd heard.
In the days after his death, I worked on a presentation of pictures and videos from his life. We decided to use his brand new laptop to set up and run the slideshow. I opened up his media player to get started, and there was the last song he had listened to. The one we'd discussed together.
Yesterday I fell in love with a song from R.E.M.'s farewell album. Just a sad, sweet, somewhat vacuous song about making the most of life.
Listening to it today, as I drove to meet a friend, it struck me why. I knew Andrew would love it too. Exactly his type of song. No one else would quite understand why I turned up the volume, pressing play over and over, the bittersweet breaking my heart.
Andrew also introduced me to some obscure bands and singers. He was always up on the latest thing and knew what kind of sound I would like. Whenever these bands come out with new albums, I listen with him in mind.
A few days before he died, Andrew stopped by our house and I remember discussing a particular new song with him. I asked him if he'd seen the video and he hadn't but he liked what he'd heard.
In the days after his death, I worked on a presentation of pictures and videos from his life. We decided to use his brand new laptop to set up and run the slideshow. I opened up his media player to get started, and there was the last song he had listened to. The one we'd discussed together.
Yesterday I fell in love with a song from R.E.M.'s farewell album. Just a sad, sweet, somewhat vacuous song about making the most of life.
Listening to it today, as I drove to meet a friend, it struck me why. I knew Andrew would love it too. Exactly his type of song. No one else would quite understand why I turned up the volume, pressing play over and over, the bittersweet breaking my heart.
2/20/2012
Out with my hobos
The boys have a couple days off from school for mid-winter break. With the sun shining and snow gone, I managed to convince Ethan and Drew to get out and explore with me.
I've really wanted to try the town trails in the winter sometime. A real winter. With real snow. Instead, we maneuvered around a little mud and leaves. Still, nice to get outside.
It was fun to be out with just the older boys. No need for bathroom breaks or snacks. They were constantly making me laugh.
We saw two or three suspicious looking characters in the woods and they would shout out, "Hobo with a gun!"
We found a little pond, if you can call it that, in the Dinosaur Hill section of the trail.
It took the boys a little while to get used to the ice.
Every time it cracked a little, they would shout at me to get off saying, "But you're the heaviest!"
Ethan had grand schemes of ice-hockey. Which lasted until he stepped through a thin spot in the ice.
We headed home, had a few impromptu races on the trail. Not gonna say who lost every single one. Still fun.
I've really wanted to try the town trails in the winter sometime. A real winter. With real snow. Instead, we maneuvered around a little mud and leaves. Still, nice to get outside.
It was fun to be out with just the older boys. No need for bathroom breaks or snacks. They were constantly making me laugh.
We saw two or three suspicious looking characters in the woods and they would shout out, "Hobo with a gun!"
We found a little pond, if you can call it that, in the Dinosaur Hill section of the trail.
It took the boys a little while to get used to the ice.
Every time it cracked a little, they would shout at me to get off saying, "But you're the heaviest!"
Ethan had grand schemes of ice-hockey. Which lasted until he stepped through a thin spot in the ice.
We headed home, had a few impromptu races on the trail. Not gonna say who lost every single one. Still fun.
1/31/2012
With the needles
Pattern: Capucine
Yarn: Malabrigo worsted merino, Deja Vu, a little more than one skein
Left off the tassel in the back.
Loved the pattern, love the yarn. Not sure if I can actually pull off wearing it. Maybe I'll get brave.
In the meantime I had to pay Ethan to model it for me:
He was thrilled.
Yarn: Malabrigo worsted merino, Deja Vu, a little more than one skein
Left off the tassel in the back.
Loved the pattern, love the yarn. Not sure if I can actually pull off wearing it. Maybe I'll get brave.
In the meantime I had to pay Ethan to model it for me:
He was thrilled.
