I couldn't think of what to write tonight. It's not that there's nothing going on in my life. Quite the opposite, actually. I have three dozen midterm projects that are flooding my googledocs drive. I need to being working on my taxes. There are four books I'm in the middle of reading (My Life As An Experiment, Finding The Space To Lead, On The Road, and Travels With Charley). My tax return could really use a jump start. There are emails I should be answering. I'm sure there's something decent on television (or at least on my DVR).
But what's most on my mind is the next few months and how the heck I'm going to get through them with my sanity intact. My husband, Jeff, had arthroscopic shoulder surgery the other day to determine what kind of vicious infection is in the shoulder he had replaced a year ago. The looming knowledge that for the foreseeable future, I'm going to essentially be operating as a single parent while he recovers, is pushing pretty much everything else to the back of my mind.
We're looking at two more surgeries in the next few months (one to tear out the metal and plastic joint, replace it with some antibiotic-infused cement spacer for a month while he's also on an IV drip of antibiotics, and then a second surgery to put in a shiny new, clean, artificial joint to replace the one that has deteriorated to the point where he can't go more than an hour without a bag of ice on it because of the pain). I say "we" because when you've been together for almost two decades, and married for over seven years, you're in this thing together, and what affects one spouse affects the whole family.
We had to drive into New York City for the initial surgery (his sixth in the last decade) in a blizzard, the snow beating down on the car, as we watched a driver on the other side of the FDR do a 180 before calmly completing the full circle and continuing on his way. I had to walk five blocks in four degree weather, the wind literally burning my face with cold, to pick up Jeff's prescriptions while he was in the operating room. He was sedated, and cheerfully bantering with the nurses, while I loaded up our stuff on my back like a pack mule, braved the cold once again to liberate our car from a parking garage, and whisked him out of the hospital. I drove home going 10 miles an hour, curving through the streets of Harlem to avoid the accident riddled main highways out of Manhattan, while we talked about the upcoming insanity that will be our lives as he recovers.
I know what I'm looking at. Last year, I wrote a blog in the early days of Jeff's recovery, titled Superhero Entourage, about how lucky I was to have such a strong support system, and how that helped me get through the days. The day after I wrote that blog, I fell down the stairs carrying my 10 month old baby, and sprained my wrist while simultaneously breaking her leg. It was the single worst day of my parenting life. Knowing that you are the cause of pain to your child, knowing you're doing everything you can to hold it together, and simply not being able to is hard. It's even harder to admit when you are used to being Supergirl.
And I think that's where I am now. I'm realizing how difficult it is to do everything, be everything. At least I have a husband who consistently tells me he appreciates me, kids who give the best hugs in the world, and family and friends who are willing to come over to help (and help me get a much needed nap here and there) to get us all through.
That said, I kept a couple of lists going over the last week and a half, of what I do in an average day. I started getting tired just reading them. This is one- and it is one long paragraph, which I like from a Kerouac-ean, train of consciousness standpoint, even if it is a little dizziness inducing:
Wake up, eat instant oatmeal while driving to work, lead class discussion on Walt Whitman's "Song Of Myself", help students break down Emerson's essay on Education, discuss finer points of Walden with students, conference with students about improving their writing, answer emails during lunch, pick up daughter at preschool, run to Stop & Shop, make mac and cheese lunch for kids, grab yogurt for self, grab yogurt for children who now want Yoplait only, clean yogurt out of child's hair due to daughter trying to feed herself combined with a lack of proficiency with a spoon, situate children with Legos, begin grading final memoir stories from nonfiction creative writing class, read "Monster's Inc." book that suddenly must be read NOW, re-situate children with trains, answer emails for my company, create ice pack for husband, clean up ice dropped on floor, clean up remnants from children's lunch*
(*use dogs for part of this), change little daughter's diaper, go through mail, pay bills, help situate big daughter on the potty with dry erase marker and book on letters, clean kitchen, stop little daughter from climbing onto fish tank, help big daughter walk potty to toilet for flushing, stop dog from trying to lick what big daughter spilled while walking potty to the toilet for flushing, clean mess, wash hands, take marker from little daughter, figure out that Magic Eraser does indeed erase marker from walls, clean up ice that melted all over husband/couch, change little one's diaper again, get back to those emails, make orange juice sippy cup, replace orange juice with apple juice at request of offended drinker, saute vegetables, boil pasta, stick stuffed chicken breast in oven, make bread (thank higher power for bread machine invention), each handful of chocolate chips, post workshops for company while children climb husband like little King Kongs on the Empire State Building, eat dinner as a family, give children baths because of tomato sauce on hands, in hair/ears/noses (I have no idea...), regulate Shamu-like splashing, dress children in pajamas, wash dishes while children and husband have impromptu jam session on harmonicas and piano, build Lego house for Lego bunny, make another ice pack for husband (shoulder irritated while playing piano), play tag with children, rub boo boo on big daughter's head (from running into wall), climb through pop up VW bus tent, climb through castle tent, read book, read another book, find original lamby stuffed animal, read third book, tuck little daughter in bed and kiss her goodnight, put big daughter in night time pull ups, tuck big daughter into bed, turn on fish tank light, turn off fish tank light per her request, retrieve her cup of apple juice, turn fish light back on, also per her request, kiss big daughter goodnight, finish emails, check Facebook, get another ice pack for husband, read chapter in my book, turn on Daily Show, drift to sleep during Colbert Report.
See, I need that nap.
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