From irksome to truly dismal
Irksome update on obnoxious health problems: (I feel mostly better, ok, not so much, but for the purposes of our virtual interaction, no one wants to hear me continue to whine).
Phone rings. University number. No no one that I want to call will be calling from this number. Must be the clinic.
"Hello, Ilana? This is Dr. X."
Surprised pause. "Hello."
"I'm calling to see how you are doing, are you better?"
"Mostly, well, no but the stomach thing seems under control."
"Oh, good, well I just wanted to check in with you."
"I was under the impression that my labs had been sent to the county. No results?"
Of course she hadn't checked, but she didn't say this either.
"Oh, well, that's really not a concern, if you had had outcome 3 we often don't even treat that, and really it is only important if there is an outbreak. In any case, whatever it was it should have been knocked out by the antibiotics. If you're still feeling bad in two weeks you can call and come in."
"Thanks."
WTF???? It isn't important to whom? Not to mention that she didn't think to suggest probiotics to combat that medicinal time-bomb that was lobbed my way, good that I'm a grown up and know how to take care of myself.
And a potpourri of things that make me a little sad (or at least perplexed)
I. had her very first homework assignment this weekend. I was under the impression that it was due on Monday, and it was quite a few pages long. Sunday night I. is getting sleepy, but I remind her that it is important to finish her homework. She tries but leaves a few pages for the morning. "It's ok baby, there won't be time in the morning, but I am sure we can finish it once you get to school. Next week we'll start earlier."
She sleeps in her blanket bed, the only way to even dream of distancing her clutching hands from my undesirous (not undesireable) cleavage, and as she is a sleepwalker/sleeptalker she sits up as we are watching a movie and cries, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't finish my homework." She mutters a few more unintelligible words as she settles back into her pillow.
The following morning as I coax her to do the rest of her work as we wait for the morning bell, her little amiguita Damaris runs up. "¡Ay! ¿estás haciendo tarea?"
I smile at her, she is sweet and it is good for I. to get excited about speaking Spanish with her friends (although almost all of her friends also speak Spanish at home, but not among eachother) "¿Hiciste tu tarea?"
"¡Ni la hice ni la traje!" she replies, proud of her lack of interest, she goes on to tell me about the reasons that she couldn't do her work, Mamá came home from school, then Papá had to go to work, then we ate then we all had to go to bed. etc.
I felt suddenly conflicted. There is definitely a socio-economic component to the resistance to homework, especially, I fear among little girls, but then is it any better that I. is totally traumatized, having anxiety dreams about homework in this her third week of kindergarten? Agh! And it turns out that her homework wasn't due until Thursday and there I was sermonizing about the importance of completing our academic responsibilities in a timely manner. I am a horrible parent! Help!
But I was most saddened by her this morning. She couldn't play on the jungle gym because her mom had been ironing on the bed and she kicked the blankets off and burned her foot. (The legally obligated reporter bell in me goes off, even though I am no longer a public school teacher, and this really wasn't what seemed to be an abuse issue.) She ran a few steps and then limped. "Sweetie, if it hurts, it's ok to tell the teacher and have the school nurse take care of you." "Oh, no, no. I can't do that!"
There is such a mistrust (and rightfully so) of the government institutions that this little girl is trained to prefer suffering through a totally treatable injury rather than exposing the interiority of her family to any sort of questioning. I feel sad and thoroughly useless.
Phone rings. University number. No no one that I want to call will be calling from this number. Must be the clinic.
"Hello, Ilana? This is Dr. X."
Surprised pause. "Hello."
"I'm calling to see how you are doing, are you better?"
"Mostly, well, no but the stomach thing seems under control."
"Oh, good, well I just wanted to check in with you."
"I was under the impression that my labs had been sent to the county. No results?"
Of course she hadn't checked, but she didn't say this either.
"Oh, well, that's really not a concern, if you had had outcome 3 we often don't even treat that, and really it is only important if there is an outbreak. In any case, whatever it was it should have been knocked out by the antibiotics. If you're still feeling bad in two weeks you can call and come in."
"Thanks."
WTF???? It isn't important to whom? Not to mention that she didn't think to suggest probiotics to combat that medicinal time-bomb that was lobbed my way, good that I'm a grown up and know how to take care of myself.
And a potpourri of things that make me a little sad (or at least perplexed)
I. had her very first homework assignment this weekend. I was under the impression that it was due on Monday, and it was quite a few pages long. Sunday night I. is getting sleepy, but I remind her that it is important to finish her homework. She tries but leaves a few pages for the morning. "It's ok baby, there won't be time in the morning, but I am sure we can finish it once you get to school. Next week we'll start earlier."
She sleeps in her blanket bed, the only way to even dream of distancing her clutching hands from my undesirous (not undesireable) cleavage, and as she is a sleepwalker/sleeptalker she sits up as we are watching a movie and cries, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't finish my homework." She mutters a few more unintelligible words as she settles back into her pillow.
The following morning as I coax her to do the rest of her work as we wait for the morning bell, her little amiguita Damaris runs up. "¡Ay! ¿estás haciendo tarea?"
I smile at her, she is sweet and it is good for I. to get excited about speaking Spanish with her friends (although almost all of her friends also speak Spanish at home, but not among eachother) "¿Hiciste tu tarea?"
"¡Ni la hice ni la traje!" she replies, proud of her lack of interest, she goes on to tell me about the reasons that she couldn't do her work, Mamá came home from school, then Papá had to go to work, then we ate then we all had to go to bed. etc.
I felt suddenly conflicted. There is definitely a socio-economic component to the resistance to homework, especially, I fear among little girls, but then is it any better that I. is totally traumatized, having anxiety dreams about homework in this her third week of kindergarten? Agh! And it turns out that her homework wasn't due until Thursday and there I was sermonizing about the importance of completing our academic responsibilities in a timely manner. I am a horrible parent! Help!
But I was most saddened by her this morning. She couldn't play on the jungle gym because her mom had been ironing on the bed and she kicked the blankets off and burned her foot. (The legally obligated reporter bell in me goes off, even though I am no longer a public school teacher, and this really wasn't what seemed to be an abuse issue.) She ran a few steps and then limped. "Sweetie, if it hurts, it's ok to tell the teacher and have the school nurse take care of you." "Oh, no, no. I can't do that!"
There is such a mistrust (and rightfully so) of the government institutions that this little girl is trained to prefer suffering through a totally treatable injury rather than exposing the interiority of her family to any sort of questioning. I feel sad and thoroughly useless.
posted by ilana at 8:54 p.m.
6 Comments:
Ilana: Yo no creo que seas mala mamá por poner a I a hacer la tarea con suficiente anticipación. Eso le da un sentido de responsabilidad y de no dejar las cosas para último minuto (en mi hunilde opinión). A mí me ponían a hacer tareas desde el día que me las dejaban y si bien eso no ha vencido mi tendencia a la procastinación, si me dio un sentido de responsabilidad y la capacidad de funcionar bajo stress.
Con respecto a la otra enanan, te entiendo el sentimiento de ver a un pequeñín lastimado y saber que no hay nada que hacer. Algunas personas should be banned from having children...
sí... creo lo mismo. Y tengo una carga de responsabilidad tremenda... sin embargo, sigo sintiéndome totalmente inútil.
Today I feel like maybe I am one of those people... I am not functioning even under minimal stress, or at least not quite and all I want to do is run up to my bedroom, curl up in a ball, and have someone take care of me for a change.
I suppose if you're curling up in a ball this is the wrong time to give this advice, but it may be worthwhile to talk to Damaris's mom and tell her about the homework. It could be that Damaris never told her mom about it, or... Or saying something could mean that you'll be responsible for helping another child through her homework on a regular basis. I dunno. Tough call. I think I'd let Isabella be stressed about the homework, and try to keep in contact with her teacher. It scares me when children are indifferent to learning early....
No, the ball was alluded to but avoided for all intents and purposes. Nothing like a hot shower to change one's perspective on life:)
You know the saddest part is that even though I have brought I. to school every day and picked her up for the first two weeks, I have NO IDEA who her mother is, I don't think she comes in:(
BTW all homework is bilingual and comes in a large manila folder that needs to be signed and returned every Monday. sigh.
También puedes ir a ese sitio en la red donde te hacen la tarea por un dólar. Imprimes unas doscientas copias y te vuelves millonaria vendiéndoselas a los estudiantes vaguitos. Si los acostumbras desde el jardín de infantes esos niños serán tus clientes hasta que saquen su PhD y quizá hasta te dediquen alguna que otra tesis. La vagancia ajena puede ser tremendamente provechosa. // Estoy seguro, a pesar de conocerte poco, que si hubieras sido mi mamá el éxito coronaría mi vida. La relación que llevas con I. es encomiable. (Imagino que yo, por lo menos, en lugar de estar borracho picoteando el teclado como un pollo intoxicado con vino barato, estaría en el mismo sitio, pero bebiendo vinito de calidades superiores y con un sentido de responsabilidad e inteligencia tan grandes que no dejaría este comentario inconclus...)
Ja ja. siempre sabés arrancarme una sonrisa a pesar de mi mal humor. Es un don el tuyo.//
problema número 1: soy una vaga irremediable. (aunque sé aparentar ser un individuo productivo dentro de la sociedad)//
al menos no serías un pollo intoxicado de café exotérmico:)
Publicar un comentario
<< Home