It's my 100th Post

I had big plans for this post. I really did. But those plans fizzled yesterday morning when bubs came up to me while I was sewing, rubbing his head, telling me 'my head is failed, mom'. 'What?', I said. 'It's failed, my head is failed', he said again, in a sad kind of way. So I figured he had a headache. The day before we went to the skankiest burger king I have ever been in. It was gee -ross. My friend Mary met us there, she carries bleach with her at all times, and even that wasn't enough to wipe away the skeeviness that surrounded us. So yeah, bubs' head failed due to the germ pit I exposed him to the day before. It was confirmed when my friend Mary called me up shortly after and told me her son requested that band aids be put on his ears. Our children are a very poetic bunch.
I get very anxious when my son gets sick. Un-naturally anxious. It kills me. I stress out about how he is feeling, what could be wrong, do you think it's strep, oh no not strep, I can't make him take those damn antibiotics, oh no... should I send him to school? Do I call the bus driver.... do you get the picture? I freak out.
So I kept bubs home today. He seemed to be ok, just a little congested, no fever, but not really cool as a cucumber either. He seemed to develop a 'head failing test' that he showed me. He happily shook his head back and forth, and smiled and said 'see, my head isn't failing anymore'. Who needs thermometers?
At any rate, I am going to have my 100th post celebration at another time. It will be a surprise.

Separation Anxiety

As much as I love my son, some days I look forward to him going to school. Especially after last week when he was home and cranky and my need for routine was compromised by bubs' need to boss me around all day. We often use the word 'persnickety' to describe bubs, in a totally loving way though. But every morning that he goes to school, this little bittersweet scenario takes place. It's pretty much the same each and every day. Once 'franklin' is over, bubs gets dressed. Then we go and wait for the bus to come. We usually sit on the steps and I really enjoy this time we have together. He asks if I see any bugs, and I usually say no and then he tells me what he sees. We talk about earwigs and potato bugs and what they like to eat.Every day this happens, I am so awed by the fact that not so long a time ago, I was really afraid I would never have a moment like this. This is when I start getting a mushy mix of gratitude and not wanting to ever let this moment go, swirling inside me- and I can almost imagine a musical soundtrack of sappy music in the background-kenny g anyone? It's usually at this time that the bus pulls up and bubs happily skips down the driveway. He gets on the bus and says "I'm here" and happily finds his seat, even managing to get a smile out of the grumpy bus driver and equally disgruntled aide. I always stand there watching him get settled, not sure what I am supposed to do. That's when the pangs start. It's a strange mixture of 'I'm so relieved he is happy to go off to school' and 'don't leave me, my little guy'. I watch the little silhouette of his head as he looks out the window, and examines whatever treasure he is bringing to school for that day. I take a mental snapshot and it's a picture I know I will always remember. I always feel like a maniac because my emotions are a profound combination of relief, joy, a little emptiness, and some sadness. I also think there is some guilt thrown in there for good measure. I look forward to my 'alone time' and I think that makes me feel a wee bit bad. But I also instantly miss him and wish I could chase that bus down for one last hug.