Reasons Like Seasons

After reading my previous post several times, I was tempted to delete it, as I was embarrassed once I realized that if one of the women I most trust with the health of my children reads it, she would likely find it neither amusing nor flattering. However, in the journey that is publicly spilling my figurative guts (get the doctor joke?) on the Internet in the never-ending quest for positive feedback, I thought it would be better to clean up my discomfort than to simply delete it away. So, here it goes. I highly respect my children's doctor and the care she provides for my boys. I also appreciate her kindness towards them (and me) and the ways she takes time to soothe and comfort them (and me!). She manages all of this tending with grace, humility, and timeliness, which is far more than I can say for many members of the medical profession. In times of stress, it is easy for one to feel petty, and yesterday was one of those days for me. I feel helpless in the face of Boy Two's ...

Another trip to Walgreen's for the cream And application as the doctor said Then off to have my weekend as designed To have some peace: my un relinquished dream. Sunday and Monday come, and then, they go. Then Tuesday and we all go back to work But after school, Boy Two is doing worse. His skin is his irreverent, constant foe. His dad agrees to take him the next day To see the doctor yet another time If I can call and make an appointment And I promise to call without delay. At work, 6th period was soon to start When my cell phone began to ring and ring. I answer, and my husband's voice I hear I interrupt his greeting: "I forgot." So, here I think a side-note is in store, Where I lament the trials of my fate: To love, to tend, to work, to earn, to be, The challenges I hope I’m cut out for. Each time I try to call someone at school, I always get distracted by my job, I love my work, and phone calls slip my mind ...

The text from Boy One's teacher read, "Hi...hope you are feeling better...just wanted to let you know that [boy one] smacked [another little boy in his class] in the stomach as [he] was leaving the table at pick up for no reason that I could tell and neither [Boy One] nor [the other kid] could tell me why...." Clearly, I have completely failed as a parent. My son will never learn how to read, and he'll be arrested for assault before he hits third grade. Life has officially ended. In response, I set forth to remind Boy One that never, under any circumstances, do we use our bodies to express our anger. Everyone gets mad sometimes, but no one gets to punch people in the stomach, even if they really, REALLY, want to. Ray: Why did you hit him? B1: Because he said, "Ha, ha. You're the worst person on the planet." Ray: Why do you think he said that? B1: I don't know. Ray: Did you do something mean to him first? B1: No. Ray: Are you sure? B1: Yes, ...