Do You Even Like Sandwiches?

Wood and I finally had sex outside of the bathroom. I'm not mad anymore. But I do feel like hell.

I've been sick. Wood started it, actually, with a sore throat the Friday before last. He sat around the house all weekend watching TV as I did my best to stick with my regular activities like shopping for groceries, taking a pot of homemade Kale and White Bean soup to a friend who's sick and whose live-in Mother In Law is home from the hospital on Hospice, and trying to get the boy some needed friend/skateboard park time. Basically, staying away from home and my Mother In Law as much as possible.

By Monday my throat didn't feel right and I couldn't go to work. I didn't want to infect anyone with my germs as lots has been floating around there lately and despite the fact that taking time off that I don't have will only add to the multitude of things at my office that are, in many ways, much harder than things at home, Wood stayed home too - and if he's staying home from work it's a serious germ we're fighting - and we both needed the rest.

Except for the fact that I forgot to call and reserve Grandma's bus for her ride to and from her day program, and Twig's school is on break for Parent/Teacher Conferences and the Thankgsgiving holiday so he needed to be dropped off at a different location than usual...

By mid morning on Tuesday I had a fever of 102.2 that had no intention of doing anything but rising. So, I promptly picked up the phone and made the next available appointment with my doctor. 

Strep. Damned 1st Graders with their germy little hands that never get washed properly, touch everything with no regard for what has just been touched, and then put their hands in their mouths! Good news is that during my doctor's visit, Wood's symptoms were addressed and we both got antibiotics. And, we discussed with the doctor a little scrape on Twigs face that had turned into something else entirely. Given Strep in the house, we took Twig to his doctor that afternoon and got his scrape that had become infected plus Strep and/or Staph treated, too.

All of these Wednesday doctor visits meant no Thanksgiving with friends as we had planned. Which is sad. We don't have any fun anymore.

Our evenings are spent catching up from the day. We get home at about 6pm and rush to get dinner ready (Twig is having behavioral issues because he's low blood sugar and Grandma is staring or wiggling her foot anxiously because the time says 6pm and that's when she wants to eat dinner) and the dishes done (if we're lucky), bath (if we're lucky), reading, bed at a reasonable hour. 

Typically, we both collapse at about 8 from sheer exhaustion from the day. Wood in Twigs bed after reading Harry Potter, me on the couch. Sometimes Wood makes it to our bed. If he does, I'm usually beckoned to Twigs bed. Or too exhausted to move from the couch. (I'm so becoming my mother)

Mornings are spent cooking breakfast and lunch, cleaning up from dinner, trying to talk about the day (if anybody wants to say more than "fine" or "okay" about it), and attempting to get out of the house so that the kid gets to school on time and at least one adult makes it, by public transportation, to their paying job on time.

Weekends are spent taking care of the regular household activities that all full-time working families with young children and no live-in nanny/maid service have to take care of - grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, yard work, considering the future. Then there's our second child - Grandma - fill the med containers, order more meds, ensure she's taken her shower, bills, Medicare, doctor appointments, grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, get her to church, reserve bus rides.

Two big fat slices of bread is what they are. Wood and I are sandwiched between everything THEM. There's no lettuce, tomato, onion, or special sauce on this sandwich. Heck, it's not even high end bread these days.  

Twig has been getting lost in the shuffle. It's not new that his needs don't always get taken care of. In some respects, that's the life of a child, right? I mean the life of a child whose parents are working-class (even if it is white collar working class) and have lots of responsibility. We aren't doctors, we don't have nannies, maids, enough money to buy everything we or our kid wants - we can get what we need like good food, a nice place to live, two old and paid for cars and a couple of dinners out a month. We can't take Disneyland vacations (any vacations, it seems). I mean, we can't just throw money at it. We spent money we didn't have to protect what little we had and now we're in a hole of debt. I can't help think that if money weren't a thing that we had to consider, our lives would be easier and we would be happier. I'd pay for stuff to be done for me and I'd have the time and space to enjoy life a bit. Well, that's what it seems like when I look at the family I just described and their world looks hunky-fucking-dory. Like they're actually enjoying their kids and spouse - their lives. 

But back to Twig. He's acting out the feelings of his self-absorbed, exhausted, overworked, unhappy parents. 

He overreacts when he doesn't get his way. He yells and screams when he should talk. He ignores when he should attentively listen. He jumps to conclusions instead of hearing the intent of the message. He slams the door or his fist for effect, to send a signal. He checks out of a discussion because it's too hard. He's the victim instead of an active participant. He gets hot and can't cool himself down. He has good days and then really, really bad days.

It's all my fault. Twenty minutes after the pregnancy test came back positive I asked "Who do you think you are that you can have a child? That you can do this and do this well? What makes you think you have what it takes?" The voice in my head now tells me I also made the wrong decisions about my husband, my job, my career, my friends, my family. 

I don't like my husband when he's constantly on Twig's case about insignificant things, say spilling a glass of milk, that can easily be fixed. When he overreacts. I really can't stand it when he tries to tease me and make light of a situation and it feels like a personal attack. That I hear everything that comes out of his mouth as a discounting of what, in particular, Twig feels about something. I hate having a job that is so intense it zaps all of my energy and dries me up before 5pm, knowing that we can't get by without my full-time income and that I'm priced out of the market to get a comparable paying job elsewhere. What was I thinking getting a degree in Social Work? - money is important! I wish I had more time to invest in my relationships outside my immediate family, that I wasn't convinced my child hates me (or that he has good reason); that I felt smart enough or skilled enough to be able to do anything well, much less enjoy life these days. 

I'm assuming that because we live with an old woman and a young child that are equally dependent on us for survival that the stress is getting to me. Seems reasonable, right? Yeah. Whatever.

As I re-read this post, I get it more than ever - my part, Wood's part, grandma's part and Twig's part. We just haven't slowed down enough to look at it, to give it the time and attention in needs. I've been up at 2am every night this week not because I've been sick. Oh, I've had Strep throat and Insomnia for sure - but I've been awake also because I've needed the time to think through the things that my husband and I need to address in our personal, married, and family lives - right now - Twig's screaming at at both of us:

THIS STINKS!

Yes baby, I hear you loud and clear. 

THE SANDWICH IS STARTING TO SPOIL!

Yeah, kiddo, we don't want to eat it - bad food makes us sick. 

Mommy's on it. And Daddy will be on it too.