Milestone
There comes a day in the life of every mother when she has to let her child down easy, to somehow burst her bubble without incurring life-long insecurities, to keep her from getting her hopes up only to be shot down.
I have had that day.
Today was Day 1 of acting camp, where the Girl and several other children up to the age of 11 would be getting together to put on the musical "The Lion King." Although she's been signed up for a few months, we didn't really start hyping it until a week or two ago. The Lion King is a good musical because there are potentially lots of characters and chorus members a kid could be. Of course, the first thing out of her mouth is: "I want to be Simba!" Ah, jeeeeez! How am I going to talk her down from this one?
"Errr. . . well, Honey, there are lots of good roles! Wouldn't it be fun to be Ed?" (Ed is the idiot hyena who does little more than laugh and roll his eyes around in his head.) "Or Zazu? Or Sarabi?" All the while I'm thinking, ". . . or Gazelle #4 in the background. . ." because, let's face it--she's a 5 1/2-year-old in a class with kids twice her age. Urgh.
Fortunately, she did decide that Ed or Sarabi would indeed be good roles, and my only hope was that there would be few enough kids that she would be able to have one of those roles. So today when I took her, about 10 other kids trooped in, many who already knew each other. Seriously? My worst nightmare. Had I been a kid there this morning, I would've hidden behind whatever would have covered me and not come out until my mom came to get me. Yep--PLENTY of kids to cover all the big roles and then some. Whee.
So I left her with a kiss and took of for work, the continuation of my intership in Cedar Park. It was wonderful to be back in the hospital, and to make it even better, I got kisses from a tiny puppy and lots of attention from the hospital cat, Mr. Kitty. On the downside, I managed to attempt to read a cytology slide with the wrong lens in the oil, and whacked an uncapped hypodermic needle from a colleague's hand as I was attempting to restrain a dog. I remain amazed, however, that I can still love it the way I do. I love being in rooms with a doctor who doesn't glower at me or require me to disappear into a non-entity in her presence. I love staining slides and walking out back with dogs and a ladle to catch their pee. I love asking the doctors questions and filling prescriptions. I love being able to answer client questions most of the time. I would probably die of bliss overload were they to pay me. Which they won't, so I will continue to be merely extra happy.
After work, stopped to see Mom at Christopher House, where I met with the chaplain, a social worker, and the doctor in charge. It really is a wonderful place, but it appears she'll be going back to the rest home tomorrow. She has stabilized enough that she's out of immediate danger, and the plan is to continue hospice services at the rest home. What this means is that there will be another layer of care in her life. The next time anything happens to her (and it will,) instead of sending her directly to the hospital, the home will call the hospice nurse, who will come out to evaluate her and do what is necessary to keep her out of the hospital. Because we have a DNR order on her, if she develops aspiration pneumonia again (and she likely will,) the nurse will know not to give her antibiotics, and instead, do everything possible to keep her comfortable as we let nature take its course. Having known Mom my whole life, I know this isn't the "life" she would have wanted, and will do everything in my power to ease her suffering. I figure it's the least I can do, given that she took care of me for far longer than she needed to. The same way I would, for the Girl, by the way. I told her once when she was scared of something and needed to hold my hand, that I would ALWAYS hold her hand, even when she was a grown up lady, I would hold her hand if she needed me to. I wish I'd figured out earlier how much my Mom loved me. It might have made me act differently. Or not, I don't know. It seems unfair that this knowledge is something you only get when it's too late to be the perfect kid, you know? Then again, even though I am constantly wearied by the Girl's propensity to growl and huff and tell me I'm mean when I tell her to do or not do something, I secretly love that her will is so strong and her ego is so solid and healthy. I love that she isn't afraid to let me know she's angry, although sometimes I do wish she'd just SAY that, instead of giving me all these theatrics.
And speaking of theatrics? She was cast as Simba.
So I say, "Congratulations to my Princess of the Stage, who, as the youngest kid in the second musical production she's ever been in, was awarded the lead role. You continue to amaze and delight me."
Yes, I have had that day, the day of letting her down easy. . . and it was unnecessary. She doesn't expect second best, and she rarely gets it. Who IS this Girl!? With 100% of my heart and brains, I believe she'll change the world.
If anyone's in Austin on July 3rd and 3 pm, join us for the show!
I have had that day.
Today was Day 1 of acting camp, where the Girl and several other children up to the age of 11 would be getting together to put on the musical "The Lion King." Although she's been signed up for a few months, we didn't really start hyping it until a week or two ago. The Lion King is a good musical because there are potentially lots of characters and chorus members a kid could be. Of course, the first thing out of her mouth is: "I want to be Simba!" Ah, jeeeeez! How am I going to talk her down from this one?
"Errr. . . well, Honey, there are lots of good roles! Wouldn't it be fun to be Ed?" (Ed is the idiot hyena who does little more than laugh and roll his eyes around in his head.) "Or Zazu? Or Sarabi?" All the while I'm thinking, ". . . or Gazelle #4 in the background. . ." because, let's face it--she's a 5 1/2-year-old in a class with kids twice her age. Urgh.
Fortunately, she did decide that Ed or Sarabi would indeed be good roles, and my only hope was that there would be few enough kids that she would be able to have one of those roles. So today when I took her, about 10 other kids trooped in, many who already knew each other. Seriously? My worst nightmare. Had I been a kid there this morning, I would've hidden behind whatever would have covered me and not come out until my mom came to get me. Yep--PLENTY of kids to cover all the big roles and then some. Whee.
So I left her with a kiss and took of for work, the continuation of my intership in Cedar Park. It was wonderful to be back in the hospital, and to make it even better, I got kisses from a tiny puppy and lots of attention from the hospital cat, Mr. Kitty. On the downside, I managed to attempt to read a cytology slide with the wrong lens in the oil, and whacked an uncapped hypodermic needle from a colleague's hand as I was attempting to restrain a dog. I remain amazed, however, that I can still love it the way I do. I love being in rooms with a doctor who doesn't glower at me or require me to disappear into a non-entity in her presence. I love staining slides and walking out back with dogs and a ladle to catch their pee. I love asking the doctors questions and filling prescriptions. I love being able to answer client questions most of the time. I would probably die of bliss overload were they to pay me. Which they won't, so I will continue to be merely extra happy.
After work, stopped to see Mom at Christopher House, where I met with the chaplain, a social worker, and the doctor in charge. It really is a wonderful place, but it appears she'll be going back to the rest home tomorrow. She has stabilized enough that she's out of immediate danger, and the plan is to continue hospice services at the rest home. What this means is that there will be another layer of care in her life. The next time anything happens to her (and it will,) instead of sending her directly to the hospital, the home will call the hospice nurse, who will come out to evaluate her and do what is necessary to keep her out of the hospital. Because we have a DNR order on her, if she develops aspiration pneumonia again (and she likely will,) the nurse will know not to give her antibiotics, and instead, do everything possible to keep her comfortable as we let nature take its course. Having known Mom my whole life, I know this isn't the "life" she would have wanted, and will do everything in my power to ease her suffering. I figure it's the least I can do, given that she took care of me for far longer than she needed to. The same way I would, for the Girl, by the way. I told her once when she was scared of something and needed to hold my hand, that I would ALWAYS hold her hand, even when she was a grown up lady, I would hold her hand if she needed me to. I wish I'd figured out earlier how much my Mom loved me. It might have made me act differently. Or not, I don't know. It seems unfair that this knowledge is something you only get when it's too late to be the perfect kid, you know? Then again, even though I am constantly wearied by the Girl's propensity to growl and huff and tell me I'm mean when I tell her to do or not do something, I secretly love that her will is so strong and her ego is so solid and healthy. I love that she isn't afraid to let me know she's angry, although sometimes I do wish she'd just SAY that, instead of giving me all these theatrics.
And speaking of theatrics? She was cast as Simba.
So I say, "Congratulations to my Princess of the Stage, who, as the youngest kid in the second musical production she's ever been in, was awarded the lead role. You continue to amaze and delight me."
Yes, I have had that day, the day of letting her down easy. . . and it was unnecessary. She doesn't expect second best, and she rarely gets it. Who IS this Girl!? With 100% of my heart and brains, I believe she'll change the world.
If anyone's in Austin on July 3rd and 3 pm, join us for the show!
posted by Stef | 6:47 PM
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