Thanksgiving Eve

Tomorrow is my favorite holiday. What I love about it is the unanimity of spirit -- there's no politically correct way to wish someone a Happy Thanksgiving. Even those who are away from their closest relatives still gather with friends; even the homeless have a special meal; and even the lowliest among us is welcome to a greeting and can find something to be thankful for, at least for a small moment. I love that as I popped the pumpkin cake layers into the oven just now, millions of Americans were doing something similar, all over the country, and frankly, all over the world, anywhere expats still hold a piece of their homeland in their hearts.

Yes, I'm waxing maudlin, but who cares. There's so much to be cynical and frustrated about these days. It's a time to be grateful, and I'm doing my best.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow, when we'll wake up and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade while Matthew prepares his dish for dinner and I cook up some cranberry sauce from my grandmother's recipe, and ice the cake. Then we'll don our finest ironic clothing and head off to the races at the Fairgrounds. It's become a tradition, one I love. We're sure to see friends there, in addition to all the Foster family that will be there. Then we'll all go back to my Mom's for a traditional turkey dinner. My sister Jane is coming down from Baton Rouge. I'm hoping she'll get to hear Dean's first word -- he just clocked it yesterday, two days before his ten-month birthday. It's "hot." Unusual, yes, but oh so cute. He watches Matthew making supper on our gas stove and lately we've been pointing out the blue flames and saying, "Hot! Don't touch! Hot!" A few days ago, he started saying "Ha" when he saw the fire, but we weren't quite willing to grant that "first word" status. But then he added the "t", and there was no turning back. Now he says "Hot" whenever he can, reaching for our coffee cups, admiring the candles on the mantel this evening as we celebrated my Mom's 60th birthday with filet mignon, baked potatoes, cornbread muffins, and baby peas.

Good food, good health (barring the recent episode of what we think was swine flu that struck both me and Matthew last week), and good, sweet little boys. I love Thanksgiving.

Where is the Off Switch

I think my life may be giving my migraines.

This is not my favored theory; I'd like to think the fact that I've had near-daily migraines for going on five weeks now is because of temporary factors like hormonal imbalances due to breastfeeding, chemical changes due to weaning off Zoloft, or changes in the weather. But it has been my experience that when I can't find an obvious cause for chronic pain, it is usually due to some stress or emotional issue I am not dealing with.

This is especially frustrating given that I feel like mentally I can, and am, handling my life right now just fine. Yes, it's busy, and the juggling act is always difficult, but I feel like I am keeping on top of things. But I guess maybe that's the problem: it requires great effort to keep this ball of life moving forward instead of rolling backward and crushing us. Matthew does a lot -- A LOT -- in our partnership. He not only keeps his business afloat, but also takes Henry to and from school, watches Dean while I am at work, does the grocery shopping and the cooking, plus has to keep up with the demands of our ancient house. I handle my job, breastfeeding Dean, cleaning the house, making and taking the boys to doctor appointments, taking care of them when I get home from work so Matthew can put in a couple more hours on the computer, and keeping up with homework and teacher conferences and school applications. I'd say it's about equal in terms of time and effort. But the mental strain -- I'm not sure I handle my portion as well as he does his.

Part of it is Dean -- he remains as charming and adorable as ever, but he is in a very challenging stage. Like Henry at this age, he has not picked up crawling. But unlike Henry, he hates being in one place. This means we either carry him around the house or actually "walk" with him -- he is constantly reaching for our hands so we can help him walk wherever he wants to go. This weekend I co-organized a neighborhood toy swap, with entirely selfish motives: I was desperate for fresh toys for Dean. And I got them -- but he remains unimpressed by anything that doesn't involve him ambulating. Henry at this age was quite content to sit with a new toy or book for at least a few minutes at a time. Not Dean. If it is not moving or he's not moving toward it, he is not interested. He figures new toys out so quickly and then finds them completely boring. Books are slightly more interesting, but invariably he latches on to my hands and then screams until I start walking him around. My back is killing me! I am torn between establishing trust by communicating that I understand and will respond to his desires (he can signal "up" and "more" and is just so thrilled when we understand what he wants) and establishing discipline by communicating that sometimes he has to just sit and occupy himself while Mommy does one of the million things in the house she just can't do with a nine month old baby on her hip.

So, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, it is possible my baby is giving me migraines.

But there are other possible culprits. School applications are a big stress right now. We are pretty happy with Henry's montessori school and are actually going tomorrow to tour the elementary campus that he will transition to if he stays past kindergarten. But since he can't stay at that school past second or third grade and we suspect there might be a better fit for him even sooner, we've been applying to the other "good" public schools in New Orleans. There are basically three of them with the right balance of demographic diversity, curriculum, and arts exposure. Unfortunately, every other parent of a four-to-six year old is also trying to get their kid into those schools. There were four hundred parents at a recent open house for one of the top schools. After a two hour tour, during which we couldn't help but fall in love with the campus, teachers, and rainbow of happy, bright, well-behaved children, I asked how many applications they had for first grade last year. "About 70," was the reply. I then asked how many they accepted. The administrator thought for a moment. "Oh, I think one or two."

So I am basically killing myself filling out applications, writing essays (yes, essays), making testing appointments, and assembling birth certificates and other documentation, for...a 1 in 70 chance of him getting in? (The numbers are about the same for the other desirable schools). Argh. There are so many deadlines to keep up with -- each school has a different application deadline, plus you generally have to attend at least one open house ("to demonstrate parental commitment"), and some require testing, and almost all the applications have to be delivered in person. It's enough of a hassle for us to make these dates while juggling my work hours and Dean's nap schedule and Henry's school pickups and Matthew's appointments, I can only imagine how it must be for parents who both work outside the home, or -- I shudder to think -- for a single parent.

Now that I am stopping to think about it, I guess I do have a lot of stress in my life right now. I hope it's temporary and the migraines will dissipate once Dean learns to crawl or walk and all these apps are in and we find out where Henry will be next year...I hope. I don't like feeling like I can't handle my life, especially when I don't seem to have anywhere to cut the stress-inducers. I already have a husband who does more than his share and a job where I can work part-time and two healthy boys -- if I can't handle such a seemingly charmed life...is it possible there's something wrong with me?

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Ah, Fall, you've finally arrived. The title of this post thus has two references -- one, to the changing of the clocks (a.k.a. Daylight Screw-with-Parents-of-Small-Children Time), and two, to the fact that I am now in my third week of weaning off Zoloft. Emotionally, I am doing just fine, and I am enjoying experiencing the full range of my emotional choir again. Physically, it has really been a drag. Beyond the typical withdrawal symptoms of tingling hands, dizziness, mild nausea, and insomnia, I have had an almost-daily migraine since I lowered the dosage two and half weeks ago. I am following the doctor's instructions so that the whole weaning off takes a month, but I had not counted on the headaches. I don't know for sure that they are caused by the change in chemical levels, but it seems like a good culprit. I am just hopeful that this is a temporary situation as my body adjusts. If it turns out that I need an SSRI long-term in order to avoid these constant migraines, I suppose it is a small price to pay, but the fact is that I haven't felt like myself since I became pregnant and I've been very much looking forward to feeling normal again. I am very grateful that the Zoloft was available to lift me out of my post-partum depression, but I missed the highs and lows of my emotions without mood elevators. Yes, I get more irritable and sometimes even more melancholy without the medication, but I like the intensity and rawness of my sadness without medication, the sanguinity of my happiness in its unmediated state.

In other news, we had a fantastic Halloween. Last weekend was the neighborhood Halloween Party at Delcazal Park. I presciently volunteered to man the "big kids" inflatable, since it turned out that's where Henry spent all of his time. Then I went home and watched the Saints rise like phoenix to topple the Giants. We had a pretty quiet week (a good thing, given the migraines), but did squeeze in an open house at one of the three schools we are applying to for first grade. One is a Montessori; one is foreign language immersion; and one is full-time gifted. All are public, which means that every parent in Orleans Parish who gives half a care about their child's education is applying and admission is by lottery. We'd be happy with any; we're just hoping he gets into at least one.

Friday night I took the boys to Tout de Suite for a Halloween shadow puppet show. "Miss" Jill made candy-corn colored pizza slices for all the kids, and it seemed like every kid we know in the neighborhood was there. When we all took our seats, the weather outside was unpleasantly warm, but during the brief performance, fall arrived, raining and chilly. Luckily, the kids were all in costume and baring skin is generally not the costume norm in the under-10 set, so they were plenty warm on the walk/ride home.

Yesterday I took Dean to the thrift store and bought warm jammies for both kids. Then we carved our jack o'lanterns (Matthew's had swine flu and was barfing its guts all over the front steps; I carved fire and traditional triangle eyes into Henry's, and mine was a happy little feline-face). We met up with Max and Chloe for trick-or-treating. Dean was all bundled up in a little bear costume we got from a friend -- it was a little small on him so I had to cut the "head" off and attach it to a hat, but he was cute as a button touring the neighborhood in the Bjorn strapped to Matthew's chest. Henry had a blast. Did we ever seriously worry about this kid's shyness? It has evaporated, along with every trace of his baby fat. At the puppet show, he was right up front yelling at the puppets during audience participation time. Last night he put on his mask at every house and showed off his "Spiderman moves" to anyone who would watch (it's a very fine line between web-flinging and giving the sign of the horns, but no one seemed to take offense). At the end of the night, as we gave out the last of our candy to some weary trick-or-treaters (Henry invited them to "Help yourself, take whatever you want, we have tons"), Henry announced it had been not just the best Halloween ever, but the best DAY ever. At age five, I envy him the lovely experience of having reality match the expectation that things just get better and better. Not that I don't also expect life to continually improve, but I sort of look at it like long term investing in the stock market; Henry looks at life like a day trader, and he always manages to buy low and sell high.

Dean is doing well. He just got his first tooth, a shy little sliver of white on his lower right gum. I will miss his gummy smile, like I miss every day of his babyhood that passes. We have a bit of a mutual adoration society going on right now. I just can't get enough of his bright eyes and wet grins, the way he understands almost everything these days, the way he reaches for me when he's in anyone else's arms, the way he smiles up at me in the morning after he's finished nursing next to me in bed. The only thing I could possibly complain about is his yelling as a form of communication, but I really see that as motivation to work on new baby signs and keep giving him new experiences. We recently switched from three naps and five breastfeeding sessions a day to two naps and four feedings. Spending three hours straight cooped up in the house is a recipe for frustration, for both of us. On my days as primary caregiver, I try to work in a midday errand. Today we all went to breakfast at Jill's, something we haven't done in months, and it really ate up some time before that first morning nap (plus, Dean loves to stand at the play table and watch Henry build legos). Between the mornign and afternoon naps, I took the boys to one of my favorite stores, Brad and Dellwyn's Flag Shop, on Magazine. I can't think of anything more visually stimulating for a baby than being in the store, with flags festooning every inch of ceiling, wall, and floor, plus all the wind chimes and rainbow catchers. We picked out a "Who Dat!" flag, just in time for tomorrow's Monday night football game. Can't wait to eat some dirty bird.