Twinkled

I was tucking Isaac into bed when he turned to me and said, "Mom, I don't want you to die."

Me: "I don't want to die either, but it is a normal part of life. Besides, I don't think it will happen for a very, very long time."

Isaac: "I hope Jesus comes and twinkles us soon."

M: "Are you talking about the millenium?"

I: "Ya, I hope Jesus comes and twinkles us so you will be alive again and Grandma will be young again."

M: "Where did you learn about that?"

I: "In Primary."

M: "You learn a lot of things in primary, don't you."

I: "Ya, but only good stuff."

M: "Well, Isaac, I don't expect I will die until you are old and have children of your own. But if I do, you need to know that even though you can't see or hear me, there is part of me that will always be with you."

I: "You will be my guardian angel, right Mom."

M: "Right."

I: "Will you be Daddy and Ashton's guardian angel too?"

M: "Yes."

I: "I guess you can be Ashton's guardian angel as well, if you want to be."

Favorites

My family is sitting on the bench waiting for our airplane.

Isaac turns to me and says, "This is so cool, I am next to Daddy and Asthon is next to you, Mommy."

"Well would it still be cool if you were next to me and Ashton were next to Daddy?"

"Ya, I am starting to like you and Dad the same now."

"Oh really. Why is that?"

"Well, you used to be my favorite, but Daddy was gone for while, so now I like you and him the same."

Flying Home

There are two ways to fly into Salt Lake City.

The first is to fly North to Idaho and then fly South over the Wasatch Front. All you can see are mountains.

The second way is to come from the South and fly North, following the path of Highway 89. The stewardess had said she thought we were coming in over Idaho, so I was surprised when I saw a big, intrusive "Y" pasted to the side of the mountain.

This way is always a little strange to me because, in a literal and figurative way, you see your past from an aerial view: Brigham Young University, what I assume to be Mount Timpanogos (but I'm not quite sure because I have never been able to see the "woman" on top), the point of the mountain, the eerily well-organized Salt Lake City, the Capital Building, the Great Salt Lake, the oil refinery, the beautiful rose sunset colored by pollution from the oil refinery, the Bountiful Temple. It gives me a chance to reflect about where I was, where I am now, and if I am anywhere near where I expected to be.

It's a bit nostalgic and uncomfortable.

My New Favorite Blog

My husband recently came across a blog called 6yearmed. It is written by a clever and insightful 2nd year resident in pediatrics. Like a drug, I can’t stop reading it, even though it makes me cry.

I cry because the tales she tells are heart-wrenching and honest.

I cry because I’ve watched my own patients through similar journeys.

I cry because I am angry. Angry at her for having something that I am desperately afraid of loosing. This past year has been wonderful, but it has also been somewhat akin to breathing polluted air. The greater part of it keeps you alive, but there is a part of it that slowly poisons you, and I am frightened that I will some day turn around to find some fumigating lung cancer stealing my breath away.

There is something very painful about this journey. Sometimes it feels like the harder you try the harder things get. Because you are exhausted. And you say or do something that your peer misinterprets to mean that you are trying to screw him. Or a resident accuses you of being a bad parent and your husband is so tired and frustrated that you are convinced she must be right. Or you stay late with a patient only to be griped at the next morning for not spending more time because you slept in. Or you accidentally say something that makes a mother cry for 5 minutes and you cry for 5 days.

I cry because I am hate myself for being so human.

But most of all I cry because it offers hope. Hope that, even as this resident struggles with these same questions, there is a chance to retain one’s humanity amongst all the noise and bureaucracy that is medicine. And that maybe, if I don’t give up and if I turn to my patients, I can remember why I came to medical school and, with some luck, become the kind of doctor and person I want to be.

The Secret Behind the Curtain and other Tales

Aukai has one and only one rule regarding potty training: don't even try it until your boy is at least 3 years old. He adopted this rule from his mother who, after raising 13 children of her own, told him that training at 2 1/2 was too young. (After raising 11 boys, how can you argue with her.) So now that Ashton has finally turned three we have tried to kick up the potty training, checking out children's books on potty time, flaunting "big boy pants" as motivation, we've even offered gummy worms if he sits on the potty, but no bites yet.

The one thing all of this has done is heightened his awareness of his own bodily functions. A few nights ago he was taking a bath with the curtain half-closed. Suddenly, he got very quiet and peaked around the curtain. With somnolence, he pointed to the other side of the tub and whispered, "Mommy. There's Wee-wee's. Over there."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that if there was wee-wee's over there, it was everywhere.


= = = = = = = = = =

As my neighbors already know, bedtime in my house can be quite an ordeal.

A couple of nights ago, however, the fireworks were especially vivid. It started out with me putting Ashton's "wall-e" toothpaste on his toothbrush without prior authorization. You see, in our household, we can't just have 1 toothpaste. No, we have to have 4 different types collected from family gifts and dental visits, and even though Ashton consistantly prefers his "wall-e" it is necessary that we consult him each night to ensure that there has been no change in preference.

He did OK . . . at first, and then the next thing I know, I'm prying him off the pantry shelves with a crowbar because he knows if he eats he will get to brush his teeth again.

And then the fireworks start (by this time, it is past 11), and he has shut himself into the linen closet because he doesn't want to go downstairs because it is too far away from me but doesn't want to have to look at me. It is a complicated thing being a three year old.

At that point, I sat by the linen closet and tried to coax him to calm down enough to be able to talk to me. Finally, in shallow breaths and broken words he sniffled that he wanted to pick his own toothpaste. "Can you ask nicely?" Of course not, at this point it is a matter of principle.

But principle or not, he was ready to come out of the closet and talk to me. I asked if I could have a kiss. Again, on matter of principle, the answer was no as he ran towards me with his arms outstretched. And as he sat in my arms, a little ball of sniffles, I whispered in his ear, "I love you." Bursting into tears, his resounding reply was a simple, "me too" as if we were two lovers making up from a bitter fight. And I guess we were.

Isaac figures out just how smart I am . . .

I just finished a research elective. This means that after 5 weeks of surgery and several weeks of medicine my kids are finally starting to believe that I really do live here and remember that they once knew me as their mother. It has been a great opportunity for me to get to know them again as well.

For example, left with only his father to fend for him, Ashton is now able to prepare his own breakfast in the morning, including climbing 6 feet to the top shelf of our cupboard to pick out his favorite cereal. Isaac, on the other hand, has turned to song writing. His latest debut, "Pick the Wild Morning Glory" (the volume of which is about to crack my computer screen) will soon be released for purchase.

One of Isaac's favorite puzzles is a puzzle of the 50 states. I walked in on him starting the puzzle this morning and, looking right at me, he yelled out, "Dad, can you please help me." I smiled and kindly offered to help him. He gave me a look, shrugged his shoulders and said, "OK, but it might be pretty hard for you."

As we put the pieces in, I began reading off the name of each of the states. When we got to RI, Vermont and Conneticut, he looked at me in amazement. "Wow, Mom . . . you're smarter than I thought you were!"

Needless to say, I am relieved to find my cognitive abilities have the approval of a 4-year-old.

Mischief of one kind or another . . .

(Brownie points to anyone who knows where the title came from.)

When I was in high school, a friend of mine had a bumper sticker that said “When Irish eyes are smilin’, ya’ know they're up to somethin’.” I always found it amusing, but Ashton has given it a whole new meaning. Maybe it is his mischievous smile, or maybe it is the fact that he inherited Grandpa Riordan’s Irish eyes, but Ashton’s eyes always seem to be smiling, and he is usually up to something.
Take last week for example. It all started out with changing him into his PJ’s. What is the natural 2-year-old reaction? Hit Mommy, of course. Then it was time for time out. I plopped Ashton in the sitting room and decided to keep the lights low to help him “settle down.” It wasn’t 30 seconds later that I noticed the light on and Ashton happily sitting on the couch. When asked about the lights, he stated proudly, “I, I turn them ooonnnn.” I looked at him sternly, and reminded him that he was supposed to stay in time out. I turned the lights back off and had not turned my back for a moment before the light was back on and Ashton was scurrying back to the couch.
Then came time for bed. I had put Ashton down for just a minute when I noticed the door was shut. “Strange,” I thought, and opened the door to see Ashton running back to his bed. A minute later I noticed that Ashton was nibbling on something. Fortunately for me, he has not perfected the fine art of lying (see footnote 1), and he cheerfully admitted that he had used his ESP (see footnote 2) to find the crumbled cookie in my bag. This was just after brushing his teeth, which is somewhat akin to trying to brush the teeth of a crocodile.
So after re-tackling his teeth, I finally put him down amidst a barrage of protests. That is, until he stopped to think for a second and then purposefully hit me. Before I could say, “Ashton, you don’t hit!” he sprang up, ran across the room, sat down in a chair and cheerfully stated, “I get time out now!” I suppose he was very proud of his logic, and I must admit it was a clever way to get out of going to bed. Perhaps I need to rethink my discipline strategy at bedtime.

Footnote 1: When I say Ashton has not perfected lying, I do not mean to imply that he is not practicing. His latest trick is to hit his brother and then start crying himself, claiming, “Isaac, he he hit me.”

Footnote 2: I mentioned Ashton’s ESP for sweets . . . I really think he may have special goody-finding radar. It doesn’t matter where we hide candy; he seems to know where it is. While I was still in Rochester, my Mom took the boys to church. Between meetings, she turned around to find Ashton missing. Panicked, she sifted through the halls looking for the boy. She finally found him in the kitchen where he had spotted some candy stored on the top shelf, pulled a chair in from a neighboring room and was climbing to reach the goods.