I'm Tired

The past few weeks have kicked my butt. I have been putting in 11-12 hours almost everyday at work. We are understaffed and drowning in mountains of papers. And how does upper management reward good, hard working employees? They force them to resign when they request time off. One of my hardest working employees needed to take some time off for her family and upper management's answer to her request was "Work, Resign, or be terminated."

I told my boss that is not the way to treat good employees and she just looked at me and shrugged, turned around and made her phone call. The employee resigned.

So, now we are even more understaffed. Which means the remaining employees are going to be slave driven until the work is done. I'm not the type to sit in my office and do paper work. I get out on the floor with my employees and labor with them.

I had last Sunday off and I did nothing but sit around in my pajamas all day. I am so tired. I have this Monday scheduled off (I scheduled it 2 months ago) and I am so excited just by the thought of sleeping in. I have been getting up at 3am every morning and it's hard. I don't want to do anything when I get home from work. My family is feeling neglected. I can't blame them. We will only have to work this many hours for about 2-3 more weeks. As soon as this season is over, we all will be laid off and I am looking forward to it. I am thinking about volunteering to be one of the first ones to go. I'm just so tired, physically and mentally. I need rest.

Feeling Happy

I feel good today. I do not feel sad or anxious. I am not worried or lonely. I just feel good. When I reflect on the events of the past week, the stress that I have been under from work and home, it surprises me that I feel so well. A few days ago, I was very unhappy and I didn't care about anything. But, today . . . I feel serene, tranquil, and . . . I feel happy.

Yesterday, we joined thousands of people in trying out for a popular game show. I made Jerome do the audition. He is more charismatic than I am, so I figured he would have a better chance of making it on the show than I would. We waited in line for 7 hours. Jerome was in real bad shape when we got home. His whole body ached and his hands where swollen. But he did't complain, not even once.

My body hurt too. My shoulders and back were sore from holding Tommy for literally hours. Tommy was so good. I saw many young kids in line around us that were crying and throwing temper tantrums, but Tommy was extremely well behaved. He played most of the time and wanted me to hold him a lot, especially when he got tired. Some of the people in line scared him. He loved petting all of the dogs that were there.

He made me laugh with his comments on the other children's behavior. He just turned 3-years-old, so it seems odd that he would be able to make the observations that he does about people. One kid was crying about having to sit in a stroller. Tommy watched the boy for a few minutes and then said to me, "That boy is sad." Then he gave the boy a rubber ball that he had found in the parking lot. He said to the boy, "Don't cry. You're okay. See me? I'm not sad."

Another couple of children in the line were fighting and hitting each other. He watched them for at least half an hour. I noticed him watching the fighting kids and I was hoping that he wouldn't think that kind of behavior was acceptable. I shouldn't have worried. He turned to me and declared, "Those kids are naughty. Hitting's not nice. It hurts." He is so observant for his age.

Jerome passed his first interview and was sent home after the second. The judge told us that they would call if there was good news. I won't be surprised if we never hear from them.

When we got home, Jerome was tired and in pain, but upbeat. He didn't complain. We talked about some of the people we saw and met in line. As much as we need the money, we both know that there were a lot of people in that line that deserve to get on the show more than us. I really hope that some of them make it. All in all, it was a good experience.

We received bad news when we got home. I checked the mail and there was a letter from the Social Security Administration. I opened it, and my instinct about the letter had been correct. They rejected Jerome's claim again. There was no medical evidence to support Jerome's claim that he can't work. I knew that was what they were going to say. It has been over a year since Jerome's accident and his doctors tell him the same thing every visit. He goes to doctor at least once a month and sometimes more. The doctors examine him, look at this Xrays or MRI's or whatever and say, "You should be better by now. I don't understand why you are still in so much pain. I'm going to prescribe you (fill in the blank) medication and let's see you back in a few weeks."

A few weeks will go by, Jerome symptoms get worse, and it's time for a re-run of the last 20 or so doctors visit. I keep telling the doctor that there is something else wrong with him, but they just want to look at his spine injury and blame all of his health problems on that. Jerome is fatigued all of the time, can't remember anything, unless I write it down for him, has severe pain and cramping in his leg muscles, back, and shoulders, his joints ache constantly, his hands get severely cramped from something as simple as holding an empty water bottle for half an hour, he sweats profusely at night and doesn't sleep well, he can't concentrate, he has diarreah 7-8 times a day every day, without fail, and the list of symptoms just keep going.

But the doctors just keep thinking that it is all related to his back surgery or they try to treat him for depression. He is now taking 5 different meds and none of them are working. It makes me feel so helpless to watch him rapidly turning from an energetic, healthy, intelligent young man (he is only 30) into an old man before his time. It really pains me.

All of that aside, I feel happy today. Despite not making the show, despite Jerome being rejected for Social Security again, and despite knowing that I have to go into work at 4am tomorrow, I truly feel good. It's a nice feeling. Maybe, it's because of the wonderful compliment that I got yesterday. It was probably one of the best compliments I have ever recieved. I'll write about it tomorrow. I already wrote more today than I had planned to write.

Unbalanced

Unbalanced is how I feel most of the time. Walking the tight wire with no safety nets.

I find it difficult to balance my time between work and family. As much as I love my family, I am very dedicated to my job. I have an internal tug-of-war going on between the two: career, family, career, family, career. Unfortunately, my career will win in the end, because it is what supports my family. Without it we would be bankrupt and hungry. It is difficult to support all 5 of us on less than $25K a year.

Bills are a constant battle that I can't win. Before Jerome became disabled, we were doing great. We both worked. We had built our dream home, owned beautiful furniture, a nice car, and savings for both our retirement and for the kids college. I had our budget planned so that all of our debt (except for the mortgage) would have been paid off in less than a year.

It all ended in less than a second. Jerome slipped on ice and that was the end of our happy story. The ruptured disc in his back crushed the nerve on his left side so severely that after his surgery, he was left with permanent nerve damage. We now have nothing except for never ending debt. And each other. We will always have each other. But, sometimes, I wonder if that is enough. When I am exhausted from working a 10-12 hour day and I come home to a cluttered house, dinner not even started, my beat-up car barely running, I can't help but feeling like throwing in the towel. Giving up. I can't win. I see no light at the end of this tunnel.

I try to stay balanced on life's tight wire, leaning this way and that. I used to worry about what might happen if I fall off. On day's like today, not only do I not care if I fall, but I almost hope for it.

Dirty Sock

Several days ago, Tommy was climbing all over the bed like he usually does, but this time he slipped off. He scrapped the back of his ankle on the end of the bed and landed on my head as I was laying on the floor. His wound was superficial, but it did hurt him. I held him as he tried not to cry and I wiped his tears away for him. He was okay until he saw his ankle. It was red because the top layer of skin had been scraped off. That was when he really started to cry. He asked for a bandaid. I humored him and put a bandaid on his ankle.

After 5 minutes he decided to check his foot. He sat down, peeled the bandaid back and . . . more tears, the ankle was still red. The bandaid went back on. He stopped crying, waited a few more minutes and repeated the process. After the third or fourth time, the bandaid wouldn't stick anymore. When I told him no more bandaids, he really turned on the water works.

It was past bedtime and he hadn't napped that day, so I knew that this problem had only one solution. Out of sight, out of mind. He wasn't crying because he was in pain, it was because he could see the wound. So I got a pair of socks out of his drawer and convinced him that if he put them on it would fix his foot. I was hoping that if he couldn't see it, then he would forget about it. I should have known better. Tommy rarely forgets anything.

When we woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was peel down his sock a little, saw his ankle was still red and started to cry. I thought to myself, "Maybe it really does hurt him." So I sat him on the couch with his blanket (yep, he's a blanket boy) and put an ice pack on his foot. That seemed to help. Tommy ran around and played like he normally does for the rest of the day.

Until bedtime. I took off one sock and then started to take off the other. He pulled his foot away and insisted I leave it on. I explained that the sock was dirty. No good. I let him keep the sock and we went to bed.

The next day, he played all day in his one sock. When it was time for bath, he was excited. He grabbed his favorite toys and headed for the bathroom. I undressed him and that is when he realized that the sock would have to come off. Tears started to flow. I thought if I just got the sock off and distracted him, then he would realize that his foot was fine. I got the sock off and put him in the bath. He seemed okay. I got him out, dried him off, dressed him and he just sat where he was, with a sad face.
Me - What's wrong, bud?
Tommy - I want socks.
Me - You don't need socks.
Tommy - I want socks.
Me - Your foot is all better, bud.
Tommy - I want socks. (sob)
Me - Will socks make you feel better?
Tommy - (slight smile) Yeah, I want socks.
Me - Alright.
Tommy - YEAH! Socks! (wipes eyes)
Jerome(Tommy's dad) - Why are you giving in to him?
Me - It's just socks. I'm actually glad he wants to wear them. The floor is cold.
Jerome - You're giving in to him.
Me - I'm comforting him.
Jerome - Giving in.
Tommy - I want socks.
I gave in.

For several days, Tommy wore his socks. Jerome would take off his socks and wrap his foot in a blanket or his pants or what ever was on the floor. This only served to trap Tommy. He would sit in the same spot for hours, with his foot wrapped, not moving because if he did his foot would come unwrapped. I would come home from work and find Tommy sitting in the middle of the floor with his foot wrapped and get him some socks. Jerome would give me the "your-giving-in" look and I would return it with a "It's-just-socks" look.

In the bath, Tommy would wrap his own foot with his wash cloth. His sock would get so dirty by the end of each day. I couldn't even remove the sock while he was sleeping. He would wake up as soon as he felt me tug at it.

I decided to try reasoning with him.
Me - Let's take off your sock, bud.
Tommy - Noooo.
Me - Yeah, bud, it's dirty.
Tommy - Noooo.
Me - Why? What will happen if you take off your sock?
Tommy - My foot will fall off.
Me - Your foot is not going to fall off, Tommy. (trying not to laugh)
Tommy - Yep. Foot fall off.
Me - Let's try it and see. If your foot falls off, I will put your foot and your sock back on.
Tommy - No. My sock is okay.
Me - Let's put on a clean sock.
Tommy - No. It's okay.
Jerome - Take off your sock, Tommy.
Tommy - (pouty lip, sob) No, please Dad, no.
Jerome - Nope. I'm taking it off and we are going to bed.

The sock came off. We went to bed. Tommy cried himself to sleep. With his blanket wrapped around his foot, of course.

Today, I came home from work and no sock! I'm not going to ask him about it.

My Little Man

Tommy, my youngest child seemed to grow from a baby to a little man over night. He is 3-years-old now, but doesn't act like a toddler. I get compliments from strangers on how well behaved he is all the time.

He started talking early and was always careful to pronounce words correctly. He never called his bottle "ba-ba". It was always "bot-tle". He said it in 2 parts so that he could enunciate the word properly. From his first words, I taught him to always say please and thank you. Now those words are second nature for him. He never asks for something without saying please and he always says thank you. His new thing to say is "Nice to meet you." I didn't teach him that one. I'm not sure where he learned it, but it tickles me to hear him say it.

He loves his sisters so much. Even at his young age, he defends them and stands up for them. I took Anna to the doctor a few days ago. She started to cry while she was having blood drawn. Tommy pulled up his sleeve, offered his arm up and bravely said to the nurse, "I'll take a shot for Anna. I'm not scared." When the nurse told him that she was almost done, he reassured Anna by holding her hand and telling her, "You're okay, Anna." He gave her the lollipop that the receptionist had given to him for behaving so well in the waiting room. I watched this scene transpire in front of me with a smile on my face, pride in my heart and a giggle in my soul. It is deeply satisfying to know that Tommy will grow up to be a good man.

As I sit and write this blog, I can hear him running around and laughing, his Dad calling after him to get him underwear back on. He thinks it is so funny to run around naked after using the potty. I turn to look and, sure enough, there he is, nothing but his birthday suit and one dirty sock on his right foot. The events leading up to this one dirty sock is a story that I will write about next time. Right now, I have to go convince him that his foot will not fall off as I hurry to change his sock.