There was a boy whom I cried over yesterday.  Kept my cool while arranging for his clinic appointment, kept my cool while giving mom directions to the hospital, kept my cool when I brought the nurse the fax with copies from the CAT scan showing a HUGE tumor eating up one half of his brain.

When I smiled at the parents, I saw torture in their eyes.  Panic.  Terror.  They were doing the best they could to hold it together.  Their son is five.  They took him to the doctor when his onset of speech impediment turned to involuntary movements, drooling, and right-sided paralysis.

We’re praying it’s the better kind of tumor.  The one that hasn’t yet metastasized to his spinal cord.  If it’s the wrong kind of tumor… well the prognosis is… how do I say it?

I lost it on the way back from the clinic.  In this child I saw my own step-son.

Empathy in my job is important.  It’s what drives me to go above and beyond for every family.  My instincts and experience are what push me in the direction of urgency or accommodation depending on the circumstances.  My empathy is what will make me a great doctor one day.

Sometimes, though, my empathy drives me to tears.

In every single instance, however, it drives me to my knees, thanking the Universe for the minutest blessings we have in every moment.

The kids will not leave me alone.

They keep talking to me. And asking me questions.

And they keep saying, “Ash?” and then when I respond, “What?”

They pause and say, “Um.”

And they forget what they were going to say.

*sigh*

Crawling on me, tapping me, pestering me.

“Ash?”

“Ash?”

“Ash?”

“Aaaaaaash?”

Everything that they do is accompanied with their talking noises.  They say out loud EVERYTHING that they think. They talk just to hear themselves talk.  This is a cardinal difference between them and me in my childhood; perhaps that’s because I was raised as an only child.

My inner monologue was perfected very early in life.

“Ash?”

I just want to wake up slowly, in quiet. The kids, the 200 pound dogs barreling through the house, the trash strewn all over the floor because the dogs got into the trash…

“Ash?”

*grin*

Where’s my coffee?

Frankly, I’m pleased I made it through the semester.

I’m not completely over yet, but I’m close.  Finish two papers, and I’ll be golden.

I have to figure out how to pay for school next Fall.  Apparently one CAN run out of financial aid.  It’s right at the $43,000 mark.  Hmph.  Apparently that’s how much financial aid debt I have.  Well, that was easy to spend.  Now I’m going to have to find scholarships.   I cannot take any time (other than the summer) off from school, because if I fall below six credit hours, I will be required to pay back that 43K in monthly payments to the tune of $500.  So, pay for two classes and the books for those classes: $2000 for the entire semester or pay monthly $500 until I’m able to afford school again… fabulous!

And it’s been four weeks without my guy.  Five more, and that’ll be done; he’ll be home and life will be on its path.

I’m home by myself at this point.  Well, sort of by myself.  I have the kids with me.  I am thankful.  My head feels a bit quieter.

This weekend will be good.  Hopefully I’ll get the bulk of my two papers completed.  I won’t have the kids after tomorrow– and will get them back on Tuesday.  That’s a good amount of time to get focused.

Monday is my Pappa Luke’s funeral.  That will be good for closure.   I believe I’ve come to terms with his death.  I believe it was a good thing.  Perhaps it’s all death that I need to come to terms with.  Amazingly, I have had considerably less panic lately.  And no more shaking before bed.  Or if I’m experiencing it, I’m more comfortable with the idea that I’m neither dying nor crazy.

It’s nine o’clock.  The kids’ lunches are made.  Tyler’s homework is complete and in his backpack.  The coffee pot is ready for me to flip the red switch.  Their oatmeal is in a bowl, waiting for boiling water.  The kids’ clothes are washed, and ready to go back to their mom’s.  The dogs are fed, the kids are in bed, and I am done with my classes for this semester.  *exhale*

I will be dropping the kids off at school early tomorrow.  Just figured out I don’t have the key card to get them in the school.  Hope I don’t have to stand outside long…

One foot in front of the other, one hour at a time, one day at a time.

I don’t believe that teenagers have the capacity to understand the magnitude of much of their experience.

Every day, I see young teens and pre-teens riding the public bus with me, presumably to school. Some days I notice that the kids get off on stops different from where they’re supposed to. Many days I feel embarrassed for these kids… they behave like they’re on a school bus, but they’re not. They’re traveling the RTD, with business people making their way to work, with homeless people who are riding to stay warm on a freezing cold day, with meth-heads, crack dealers, prostitutes, and foul-mouthed ignorants.

These kids talk provocatively, grind their hips into their seats while listening to their iPods, and discuss their dramas and business that the rest of the world doesn’t need to know. They are insecure little girls who hide behind their mouths, and fearful young men who present a facade of a pimp to protect themselves.

At eighteen, I was a fairly aware young lady. However, I still did not grasp the consequences of my behavior.

Every day, I see kids whose behaviors confirm that they don’t get it, either.

I had many of the same fears and insecurities. I am similar to these kids in that I had far more responsibility than I should have had at that age. Responsibility doesn’t equate understanding, though.

In the news, I read about teens who murder their families, who rape their friends, who sell narcotics. I know that it is not that we are raising murderous, hateful children, but rather we are not giving them the perspective and guidance they need in order to be protected from themselves.

I don’t think that a young child can quite understand why there is right from wrong… they have heard that some things are okay– if you don’t get caught. While I’m sure they learn much of this from their parents or from television, I don’t believe they’ve got enough experience, yet, to know the moral ethics behind why they do or do not do the things they think of doing.

Instead of being taught that television is filled with actors and special effects, they use it as an example of what Normal Is. I find this to be very sad, indeed.

Many adults are not fulfilling their responsibilities to these children. Perhaps it is because many adults had these children too young, and therefore the adults never really learned the difference between being a grown up and being a teenager.

Is there a solution to this problem? I haven’t really thought that far ahead. In identifying the problem, though, I think those of us adults who are aware of what the problem is have the responsibility to put our heads together and come up with a solution.

That being said, what are YOUR thoughts?

Having kids is like babysitting. For a LONG time. And no one ever pays you; in fact, you have to spend a lot of your own money. And the parents never come home to relieve you from your duties.

Welcome to my new life! I’ve recently fallen (tripped?) into the role of step-parenting, and I’m totally clueless. I’m learning a bunch as I go along, and I have this suspicion that I’ll never know all the answers, and I’ll probably be wrong a bunch, but I’m hell bent on doing it better than my parents did (how’s that for a new cliche of our time?)!

So, here are a couple of my observations and opinions. Since I’m a professional and all. *wink*

(more…)

Kids are a trip! 

They’re little people, still learning the same things we continue to learn throughout our entire lives.  They just don’t have nearly as many experiences to learn from nor have they yet attained the ability to think things through, understanding consequences and causes for their experiences.  Hell, some adults never learn this… but I digress.

Children don’t have a strong understanding of truth from their imagination.  This is why kids can sit in one spot playing pretend, never leaving the comfort of their own cross-legged placement.

When asked to recall something from the morning, four-year-old Kora will repeat to me a story, a combination of what really happened, what she should have done (according to adult standards), and what she dreamt happened.  This recollection of what happened is a prime example why children are not reliable witnesses in court…  And adults, exasperated by the childrens’ “lies” do not realize that these kids aren’t intentionally being dishonest, only unable to decipher truth from their imagination.

It’s really pretty amazing to watch these little people learn and grow.  It can be frustrating, but it’s also very beautiful.  Practice makes perfect for these young kids.  Eventually they grow up to being cognitive and aware of their behavior.

In the mean time, we just have to watch and teach… and try not to kill them because their behavior makes us crazy!