The whole Halloween thing is weird. I loved Halloween when I was a kiddo. I loved dressing up in a costume, and I loved eating candy. And yes, I still love both of those things.
Everybody I knew went trick or treating. We received admonitions to check our candy and make sure it was safe, but other than that Halloween really wasn't a big deal.
Nowadays it seems like everyone is lining up on one side of the holiday or the other. Or another. I'm pretty sure it's a polygon.
I have a Facebook friend who wrote that she can't understand why other people don't understand that she finds nothing to celebrate in Halloween. And then there was the article I saw that claimed demons climb into bags of Halloween candy at the grocery store.
Nancy loves Halloween because the next day means the start of the liturgical Christmas season. Some of my friends wish everybody a happy Reformation Day (that cracks me up -- I love that!).
Another Facebook acquaintance said that if someone dresses up for Halloween at their place of work, that says a lot about them. I inferred a negative opinion from that, which irked me slightly. Probably because I would TOTALLY dress up if I had a workplace that encouraged it. In fact, some days I feel like dressing up as an elf princess just for fun. (Haven't found the courage or the dress for that yet.)
Paul isn't a big fan of Halloween. He questions a holiday that has kids go door-to-door asking for candy from strangers. I definitely see his point there, both with strangers and with candy.
I don't like the macabre aspects of Halloween that some people celebrate. Definitely could do without haunted houses and ghoulish masks. Definitely would prefer to never see the cartoon version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow ever again.
But I do love candy. And I do love costumes.
Perhaps we could create a new holiday that has nothing to do with Samhain or All Saints' Day or witches or ghosties. Just a lovely day dedicated to the wearing of costumes and consumption of sugar. Who's with me?
11.05.2009
10.31.2009
Transitions
Closed is such a funny word. Closed. Closing. closed. If I type it enough it starts to look incorrect, like maybe it should be "clozed" or "cloased."
Today is the last day of ghia, my store. I'm going to concentrate on being a full-time mom for awhile. Actually, I already was a de facto full-time mom, and the store as getting short shrift. So I'm closing it.
I'm excited to close it. I'm excited for the extra brain space it will give me. I'm excited that I will no longer have to do paperwork and taxes. I'm hopeful that I will become less likely to define myself by what I do and more apt to define myself by who I am.
I'm sad, too. Sad that I will no longer go on fair trade shopping sprees to find products my customers will like. Sad that something I worked so hard to create will no longer exist.
But the hardest thing for me is the change. I liked where I was before, and I like where I am going, but the journey can be quite rocky and painful. Closing the store today involves me clicking a button, but the emotional toll feels like 12 hours of work. I want to be done and through the process and in the happy fields of freedom, not on the foggy plains of transition.
This time is reminding me of when we bought our house. As we were leaving our apartment for the last time, I got kinda teary and wondered if I was ready to leave apartment life, despite the awesomeness of the house that was waiting across town.Of course I was excited about home ownership, but the finality of leaving the apartment scared me.
Transition really seems to be the word around here. Ian is transitioning to his big-boy car seat and stroller right now, and he's also transitioning to somebody with teeth! That, too, is a bit stressful for me -- when do we install his new seat? When do I put him in a restaurant high chair for the first time? When can he eat a teething biscuit?
So the moral of the story, kids, is that I don't like change, even when it is good. But, as Relient K so eloquently puts it, "When the burden seems too much to bear, remember, the end will justify the pain it took to get us there."
Today is the last day of ghia, my store. I'm going to concentrate on being a full-time mom for awhile. Actually, I already was a de facto full-time mom, and the store as getting short shrift. So I'm closing it.
I'm excited to close it. I'm excited for the extra brain space it will give me. I'm excited that I will no longer have to do paperwork and taxes. I'm hopeful that I will become less likely to define myself by what I do and more apt to define myself by who I am.
I'm sad, too. Sad that I will no longer go on fair trade shopping sprees to find products my customers will like. Sad that something I worked so hard to create will no longer exist.
But the hardest thing for me is the change. I liked where I was before, and I like where I am going, but the journey can be quite rocky and painful. Closing the store today involves me clicking a button, but the emotional toll feels like 12 hours of work. I want to be done and through the process and in the happy fields of freedom, not on the foggy plains of transition.
This time is reminding me of when we bought our house. As we were leaving our apartment for the last time, I got kinda teary and wondered if I was ready to leave apartment life, despite the awesomeness of the house that was waiting across town.Of course I was excited about home ownership, but the finality of leaving the apartment scared me.
Transition really seems to be the word around here. Ian is transitioning to his big-boy car seat and stroller right now, and he's also transitioning to somebody with teeth! That, too, is a bit stressful for me -- when do we install his new seat? When do I put him in a restaurant high chair for the first time? When can he eat a teething biscuit?
So the moral of the story, kids, is that I don't like change, even when it is good. But, as Relient K so eloquently puts it, "When the burden seems too much to bear, remember, the end will justify the pain it took to get us there."
10.25.2009
Calling Control -- Come In, Control
For much of his short, little life, Ian has been on medicine for acid reflux. Originally I hated the thought of giving my baby medicine, but it provided him such relief that I learned to be grateful for the option.
The medicine is supposed to be given four times a day before a feeding. Sounds easy enough, but those four doses often could be challenging for Mommy and Daddy to remember. Once Ian was down to a solid 6 meals a day, we developed a good system wherein we gave him his dose at all of his "inside" meals: i.e., not the first nor the last meal of the day.
Of course, once we went down to 5 meals, we lost our groove (is it possible to have a medicine groove?).
A couple of weeks ago, I gave Ian his medicine and his bottle and then put him to sleep for the night. A few minutes after he fell asleep, I realized that I had given him an extra dose of meds that day.
At first I figured, hey, no big deal. He started on this dosage when he was several pounds lighter, so logically he can handle more of the medicine now. But then my mind starting churning. What if it DID make a difference? I mean, this is MY CHILD, it's not like put too much baking powder in cookies.
I think about calling poison control, and my mind develops two scenarios -- one involving them sending a racing ambulance with paramedics who laugh at me for worrying two much, and the other involving me trying to give Ian ipecac to get him to throw up the extra medicine. Ummmmmm, no thanks.
Where to turn? The pediatrician's office is closed, and they don't have a nurse line. I could call my pediatrician at home, but I hate to disturb him if this is no big deal. Hey! My husband's company has a nurseline; I'll call them! Hmmm......looooooong wait..............waiting.......waiting.........DON'T THEY KNOW MY BABY COULD BE DYING?!!!!!?!?!
Okay, the pharmacy, they would know. Argh! They closed 5 minutes ago!
At this point, feeling rather sheepish but determined to keep Ian safe, I call a 24-hour pharmacy.
"Hello?"
"Hi, um, I don't have a prescription there but I'm hoping you can help me with the question anyway????" ("Yes, I said it as a question.)
"What can I help you with?"
"I gave my baby an extra dose of cimetidine, and I need to know if that's okay."
"Well, let me get you the number for poison control...."
So it comes down to it. Looks like I'm calling poison control anyway.
"Hello -- poison control."
"Hi! I gave my baby an extra dose of cimetidine, and I need to know if he'll be okay."
"How much does your baby weigh and what was the dose? Oh, yes, ma'am, he'll be just fine."
That was it. No ambulance, no ipecac. Just a very intelligent, very helpful staffer who probably had a handy dandy computer program to look things up for panicked callers.
I had no idea that calling poison control would be such a positive experience. They're, like, my best friends now. Maybe I'll call them again this week.
Actually, I hope I never call them again. But I'm glad they're there.
The medicine is supposed to be given four times a day before a feeding. Sounds easy enough, but those four doses often could be challenging for Mommy and Daddy to remember. Once Ian was down to a solid 6 meals a day, we developed a good system wherein we gave him his dose at all of his "inside" meals: i.e., not the first nor the last meal of the day.
Of course, once we went down to 5 meals, we lost our groove (is it possible to have a medicine groove?).
A couple of weeks ago, I gave Ian his medicine and his bottle and then put him to sleep for the night. A few minutes after he fell asleep, I realized that I had given him an extra dose of meds that day.
At first I figured, hey, no big deal. He started on this dosage when he was several pounds lighter, so logically he can handle more of the medicine now. But then my mind starting churning. What if it DID make a difference? I mean, this is MY CHILD, it's not like put too much baking powder in cookies.
I think about calling poison control, and my mind develops two scenarios -- one involving them sending a racing ambulance with paramedics who laugh at me for worrying two much, and the other involving me trying to give Ian ipecac to get him to throw up the extra medicine. Ummmmmm, no thanks.
Where to turn? The pediatrician's office is closed, and they don't have a nurse line. I could call my pediatrician at home, but I hate to disturb him if this is no big deal. Hey! My husband's company has a nurseline; I'll call them! Hmmm......looooooong wait..............waiting.......waiting.........DON'T THEY KNOW MY BABY COULD BE DYING?!!!!!?!?!
Okay, the pharmacy, they would know. Argh! They closed 5 minutes ago!
At this point, feeling rather sheepish but determined to keep Ian safe, I call a 24-hour pharmacy.
"Hello?"
"Hi, um, I don't have a prescription there but I'm hoping you can help me with the question anyway????" ("Yes, I said it as a question.)
"What can I help you with?"
"I gave my baby an extra dose of cimetidine, and I need to know if that's okay."
"Well, let me get you the number for poison control...."
So it comes down to it. Looks like I'm calling poison control anyway.
"Hello -- poison control."
"Hi! I gave my baby an extra dose of cimetidine, and I need to know if he'll be okay."
"How much does your baby weigh and what was the dose? Oh, yes, ma'am, he'll be just fine."
That was it. No ambulance, no ipecac. Just a very intelligent, very helpful staffer who probably had a handy dandy computer program to look things up for panicked callers.
I had no idea that calling poison control would be such a positive experience. They're, like, my best friends now. Maybe I'll call them again this week.
Actually, I hope I never call them again. But I'm glad they're there.
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