Waiting

It feels like I spend a great deal of my time waiting. Just waiting. Sitting in my room surfing the internet, not really getting any work done because at any moment Queen Teen will yell for me to come and help her with something. She can't find her book, or her little puppy figurine. She wants to play with her Groovy Girls but can't get the box down from the shelf by herself. She sneezed but can't find the tissue box. About every ten to fifteen minutes Queen Teen will call me and I will drop whatever I'm doing to see what she needs.

I've tried relaxing and just doing what I want, not worrying about the moment she calls me. Maybe I can sit down and read a text-book, or work on my novel, or fold ALL the laundry at one time. But what usually happens is that I get so frustrated with the constant interruptions that I give up on doing anything that requires too much concentration, like my homework. I do my homework in the morning, or when she's watching a DVD (thank goodness for Sponge Bob!). At night, I wait for her to go to sleep because if I try to go to bed before then she'll pull me out of bed with more needs: she can't get comfy, her pj's are twisted, she needs a drink of water, her hair is in her face.

As soon as she gets on the school bus, the clock is ticking. I rush around trying to get everything done before she comes home, which is impossible, but it makes me great at time management. I've had 14 years of practice. Right now I'm not working, but that will change when I finish school. How will I get anything done once I have a full time job?

By now, I thought she'd be doing more for herself like other children her age. Instead it feels like I still live with a toddler who needs constant supervision.

Do other moms feel like this? How do you balance the waiting with your own needs?

Stress causes hair loss? Who knew?

While my hairdresser was trimming my hair today, she paused and touched a few short hairs sticking straight up from the top of my head."You've been under a lot of stress lately."

"Yeah, a bit," I replied.

"And you had surgery recently too, right?"

"Yeah."

"I can tell." She ran the tiny, one inch hairs between her fingers. "You've had some hair loss."

"What?" Hair loss? Not something you want to hear from your hairdresser first thing in the morning. Or any time, really.

"It's okay. The hair is growing back. But these little hairs may stick up for a while. Just smooth them down with a tiny bit of wax and they should lie down."

More proof that this past year has been even more stressful than usual and my body is feeling the pressure.

I'm already paranoid about losing my hair because I was not gifted with thick, luxurious tresses. Instead I was born with thin, fine, perfectly straight hair, the kind of hair that would look better on a three year old boy than a 42 year old woman. I've pretty much accepted the fact that I'll be wearing wigs when I'm 60. But I really hate being reminded of how thin my hair is and how it no longer grows past my shoulders.

When I was a little girl I used to put tea-towels and baby blankets on my head to pretend it was my long, Princess hair. Although my hair was fine and baby soft, I insisted on growing it long. It was never thick and lovely, except that wonderful time when I was pregnant and my hair thickened and grew to my waist. Of course right after I gave birth it fell out by the hand-fulls, but the hair that remained stayed strong enough to keep long. And then when I got a divorce after Queen Teen turned one, I cut it off short because I felt I needed a change. It never grew back.

And now I'm 42 and my hair line slowly recedes up my temples, so I grew out my bangs to fill in the gap. Eventually that won't work, especially if it keeps falling out from stress.

Maybe I need to look into wigs sooner than I thought.

An Ode to my Mac Book Air

My mac book was making weird, grinding noises from the hard drive, so I sent it to the shop. It sat there for over a week and I went through major withdrawals. I love my Mac Book air. So light, so clean, so fast and portable. I couldn't get any serious writing done while it was in the shop, so I worked on collages and waited. And waited. And pined.

At last, my mac book was returned to me on Monday and I did a joyous dance in its honor. Then I sat down and wrote her this poem. Am I twisted to be in love with a lap top?

Ode to my Mac Book Air

Oh lovely machine that you are,
returned to me from afar,
humming strong and gleaming bright,
too long kept beyond my sight.

Who can resist your metallic gleam,
you light as air, fast, thin machine?
I write my worst (as you can see)
but your long battery life sets me free.

Am I insane to love you so?
You are such a joy to know,
but you are just my writing tool
and adoring you makes me a fool.

I don't care! I love you, Mac Air.
No other lap top can compare.
I let the words come pouring out.
Although my Muse has begun to shout

STOP IT!

(yes, it's true. I am not a poet)

Sometimes, whether you have a good day or not depends on how you look at it.

Yesterday, I drove Queen Teen back to Stanford Audiology in Palo Alto. Neither of us was pleased about this. What fun! Sit in the car for three hours, sit in a doctor's office for two, then sit in a car again for another three hours, if we're lucky, because if we hit traffic between Novato and Windsor that will add another hour to the commute. Can't frickin wait.

I woke up at 6 am and rushed around to get myself ready while guzzling enough decaf to shake the cobwebs out of my brain. (Yes, I know it's easier with caffeinated coffee but caffeine makes me more agro than I normally am.) Then I woke up Queen Teen and spent the next hour and a half dragging her from bed to kitchen table to bathroom to bedroom to car. She decided she didn't want to go, and didn't know what she wanted to wear, and didn't want just one pony-tale in her hair, she wanted two, and her socks felt funny and her sunglasses were dirty and she needed books to read in the car but she couldn't decided which books to bring and why did we have to go to Stanford anyway?

It was a very good thing I didn't have caffeine because it was 8:30 before we got on the road and I was so annoyed with being stuck in the car with grumpy teen I probably would have run over the first squirrel who decided it would be fun to play chicken with my car wheel. As I filled up the gas tank (another joy inducing venture), I took a deep breath. This has to stop, I thought. It's going to be a very long day with a lot of driving and if you're this unhappy before leaving town it will be an unbearable day. As I drove the van onto the freeway heading south, I took another deep breath and decided to make the best of it. We can have a good day or a bad day. It's really up to me.

I decided to have a good day.

After a few minutes I felt calmer, not exactly pleased to go to Stanford, but not dreading it as much. And Queen Teen seemed to pick up on my improving mood as well because she started to chatter about how sunny it was and weren't the trees "pretty." We listened to Laurie Berkner and sang along to our favorite songs, although Queen Teen decided that I needed more practice singing. We arrived in Palo Alto with enough time to have lunch at the Stanford mall and then take a stroll. The shops are starting to put up there decorations and there was already a Santa display with Santa Clause greeting children. Queen Teen decided not to say hello, but she grinned when she saw Santa.

The appointment was quick. The doctor checked her ear molds and cast new ones, then checked the settings on the hearing aids themselves. She also fixed the battery door which kept popping open, and worked on the FM system. A lot done in only an hour and half. Queen Teen was relieved there were no long, BORING hearing tests this time. We'll do that when we go back next month to pick up her new ear molds.

We did hit rush hour traffic past Novato, but it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. I stopped at Borders Books in Santa Rosa for a break and so Queen Teen could pick out a few books to replace the ones she's thrown out. After another hour of driving, during which Queen Teen sang Christmas carols, we were home at 6:30, weary and hungry, but not miserable.

As I kissed Queen Teen goodnight, she said, "I had fun with you today. Except for the boring car ride. But it was okay."

"Me too, sweetie," I said.

Do you know the way to teen-aged land?

I keep finding toys in the hallway: stuffed animals and baby doll clothes, Berenstain Bear books, Rugrats figurines, a Cinderella Barbie and Baby Cinderella in a matching blue dress, Matchbox cars, bouncy balls, a little plastic Fairy Godmother. Queen Teen tosses out three to four things every day, declaring the item as "boring," and throwing it into the hall. Yes, I try to tell her throwing things into the hallway is not okay, but it seems like this is her way of rebelling against childhood. I will not play with this toy anymore and I will throw them into the hall! So there!

I have several piles of old books and toys in my bedroom now which are in my way, but I'm making sure she's really done with them before I send them to Goodwill. Are you SURE you're tired of playing with the mini-van that goes to your doll house? Tired of reading all the Baby Honey books? Over the years she's declared herself "DONE" with a toy, only to have a melt-down when I told her I gave it away. "But I wanted that!" she'd cry. "You told me you didn't want it anymore." "No I didn't!" I've learned my lesson, so now I wait. But for how long?

Queen Teen is trying very hard to grow up, which is exciting to watch, but also frustrating. Neither of us knows how to do this. She doesn't have any teen-age role models to emulate, and I have to say I'm actually happy she isn't copying the 8th graders at her school. She still thinks boys are "ucky," and cell phones are mysterious. She likes clothes and shopping, but there's only so much we can buy. She spends a lot of time looking at her bracelet collection and necklaces, trying them on, admiring herself in the mirror, taking them off, then yelling for me to help her untangle them. She hates makeup.

Her room is getting emptier and we still haven't found anything to replace all the items she's tossing. What will she do with her time when she no longer wants to play with toys?

Deaf-blind children do not learn incidentally. They need to be SHOWN what is going on around them. They need to be taught how to be social, what to wear, what to say, how to interact with people. She isn't picking up on the subtle clues that other kids do that show them what growing up is like. All she knows is that her old toys and books don't interest her any more, but she has no idea how to take the next step.

I need ideas, people. How do I show my 14 year old daughter how to be a teenager?

Queen Teen reaches burn out. Now what?

A few days ago, Queen Teen walked into my room and announced, "I don't wear my glasses anymore."

I'm used to these types of proclamations, I mean, "Queen Teen" is more than just a nickname. It's a way of life.

"You don't?" I said.

"Nope. They don't help me so I don't know why I gotta wear them."

"Because your teacher asked you to. She says they seem to help when you're working on your computer."

"Well, they don't. So I'm not gonna wear them anymore." Before I could formulate a response that would, A-encourage her to wear them, and B- remind her that she needs to do what her teacher tells her, she moved on to a new topic. "And my hearing aids don't do nothing either, so I don't know why I gotta wear them."

Pick your battles, I thought. At this stage in the game, the hearing aids are more important. "You're hearing aids do help. You seem able to hear me better with them on."

"No they don't. They just bug me."

"I'm sorry about that, sweetie. We'll go to the audiologist again and she can fix them for you."

Queen Teen shrugged. "It don't matter. I don't need to wear them. And I don't know why no body can do nothing about my ataxia. I hate my ataxia, and nobody can fix me."

"I know. It's really frustrating."

"Yeah." She leaned forward and shouted, "I wish somebody could make my ataxia just go away!"

I gave her a big hug and said, "Me too, baby."

"It's what I wish for. But I guess some wishes are too big and can never come true."

Biting my lip, I forced myself not to cry. What the hell can I say? Everything she's saying is true. Her glasses only help a little, her hearing aids barely help at all, and her ataxia is worse the older she gets. She used to be able to walk without using a walker but now she has to use the walker constantly, even in the house. She used to do her exercises religiously, but now has given up on the idea that strength training will make her better. I encourage and bribe her to keep going, but she gives it a half hearted attempt, lazily doing sit-ups and quitting before she's really taxed.

Queen Teen is burned out, worn out, frustrated and depressed. Nothing has made anything better, not the surgery, the knee braces, the exercises or the therapy. Not the glasses or the hearing aids, not the amino-acids or the walker. She's lost that stubborn gleam in her eye that embraced each new challenge with excitement. Of course I'll get stronger, she used to believe, as she did 20 sit ups. Now she doesn't care.

What can I do to help her? Even an adult would feel this despondent, so how is a 14 year old child supposed to cope? When you realize that all your efforts won't change anything, that things are exactly what they are and you must live with them, how do you keep moving forward? I hit that place a couple of years ago and spent months in a depression so deep I was afraid I might not drag myself out. Eventually I did, because Queen Teen needed me to. What will help Queen Teen learn to live with herself and bring that wonderful fire back into her eyes?

111 Posts!

I was cruising some of my favorite blogs and saw that Corrie over at "Just because my pickle talks" was celebrating her 100th post. Gee, I wonder how many posts I've written for Gravity Check? Must be almost 100.

Actually, I've written 111. This will make 112.

So today I'm celebrating my 112th post, since I spaced on the 100 mark. Thank you all for your encouragement to keep writing. I love blogging.