Monday, February 17, 2014

A New Corner

So, Henry's tonsil and adenoid surgery was a much bigger deal than Eric and I expected. And I don't say that to try to compare his struggles to anyone else's--I see it for what it was, exactly, which is an elective surgery. But man. It sucked. Homeboy was in serious pain. All of the conversations I had with people beforehand involved knowing smiles and a little teasing about ice cream and popsicles, and usually proclamations like "it's a good thing kids heal so much faster than adults." But honestly? That's some BS. I think kids just put up with whatever we ask them to because they don't have a choice. His recovery was really difficult, and involved almost two weeks of waking up multiple times a night in frantic, crying pain. It was like having a baby again, only he was an 8 year old, yelling, hitting baby. He's better now and I'm still glad he had it done because he will sleep better over his lifetime. But it was rough. I'm not sure if we collectively think that tonsillectomies are an easier deal than they are because kids used to stay in the hospital for a few days before coming home, or if it's just easy to forget what happens when you're 8. But Hanko had a crappy few weeks, and I wasn't quite sure how to deal with that information while it was happening. Or write about it, without sounding hysterical.

Yes. Things are better now with Henry, though he's lost some weight and his voice is higher. A little more nasal, maybe? All normal, I hear. We're trying to breathe a little in the February calm before spring sports hit and we spend the next four months driving to kid and husband games, pretending Mommy has the fortitude to sit through sporting events and/or speak to other humans in bleachers.

So I haven't written anything here, but I've been productive as hell. That's something. I've been working hard at my (teaching) job, and making book reviews my other job (or, like, faking until making). I had my first book review published by LARB the other day, and I was so happy I cried when it went up. I cried over a book review, you guys. What a turd. It's just one review and I'm like, the smallest fish in the pond, but it feels like the first day I spent training as an apprentice to a professional ballet company. There's something thrilling about even being the worst one in the room. Just getting to that room is a big deal.

This is working out to be kind of an update post, so here are some updates:

I bought a paper calendar for just my writing. Old school. I'm taking it waaaay back, kids. Normally I use Google Calendar synced with my phone for everything--and I mean everything--but it was time to put my writing jobs and tasks in one place that wasn't mixed up with dentist appointments and dinners I want to cook and miles I wanted to run. I needed to write some things in pencil so I could feel the satisfaction of crossin' them out. Check.

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I made a corner of my own. I moved some furniture today in my bedroom and shoved a card table into the corner as a placeholder for a desk. Kind of like when I was working on my thesis, only slightly more permanent. We've been talking about buying something to put there so I can write at home, so this is still a temporary fix. I tried it out today and it was uncomfortable, but I didn't have to leave. And the view wasn't bad. I like my outside.

Speaking of outside, I'm weirdly obsessed with sitting in my car lately at work. Maybe this is not the kind of thing a healthy person shares. On second thought, maybe this is not the kind of thing a healthy person does, especially not multiple separate times per day. But an odd combination of factors including the fact that I have a student teacher mean that I have all these breaks in the middle of my work day and I need to be working on things in a silent place. And I don't like working where I can't see the sky. And almost none of the buildings in my school have windows. So I've made it a habit to work in my car during these breaks. Lots of windows. Lots of silence. Freedom from interruption. Boom, office. What's not to like, right?

I just finished the best book, Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch. I'll probably write about it soon because I'm bursting with thoughts and feelings, but I couldn't bear to hold on to this one thought any longer: please read it. And then see art. Lots of art.

My passport came, and I feel like the whole world (pun intended) is my oyster.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go buy some price change stamps. Because I think I'm the only person in the world who bought priced stamps instead of Forever stamps (they were so pretty!) and now I need some 3¢-ers. I know, I know. What a turd.

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