$850 later, we now have a new electrical system in our house. It seems that the outside connection box was completely corroded on one side (moisture leakage) with the result that one of the two sockets was actually burned and melted, and the other side was probably a few hours from failing as well. Not only that, but someone who owned the house in years past obviously had a new breaker box put in but kept the old line, splicing it together very crudely, so it was just a matter of time before the whole thing blew. Of course, we also had a new breaker box installed in the basement.
However, it is nice not to have extension cords snaked all over the kitchen (refrigerator and microwave) and Emily's room (nightlight, fan, CD player), and I also particularly enjoy turning lights and appliances on and off and not having the house brown out.
And preschool is going well. Wednesday I couldn't stay; there was some crying on the way in and for about 10 minutes after class started, then the rest of the day was happy and fun, with her running out smiling, bouncing up and down and excited when school was out. We have a winner, thank God.
Of course, after getting the electrical problem fixed, and coming to the realization that the school problem was essentially fixed, I thought to myself earlier today, "God, I wonder what's next?" Sure enough, up pops the e-mail about Christopher Stacy.
So I wonder what's next after THAT? I don't think I can take much more.
But like I said, it's. always. something. ALways.
9.29.2005
I'm stunned
Not in the Sybermom sense, but in the gobsmacked/astonished/taken aback sense.
I've been communicating with a mediator, who specializes in what are called "restorative justice" conferences. Basically, the idea is that one of these days, we (or maybe just I) would sit down with Christopher Stacy, the young man who rear-ended us in the accident, and get a chance to talk face to face. As difficult as it would be, I want to do this because I need him to tell me, person to person, that he is sorry about what he did and for him to take complete responsibility for it. I also want to tell him a couple of things, in particular that I want him to remember this always and to honor Hannah's memory by not hiding this from anyone, by using his experience hopefully to educate others, perhaps including his own children, about what can happen when you drive recklessly or negligently.
Anyway, the mediator just e-mailed me. We've been trying to get something set up for this fall. It seems that Christopher's grandfather (who for the most part raised him) just died this week; that Christopher's father, a mechanic with Northwest Airlines, lost his job and they're on the verge of losing their home, and that Christopher and his girlfriend (I assume it's the same girlfriend he had two years ago) are going to have a baby next month. Oh, and that Christopher himself was laid off over a year ago and hasn't been able to find a permanent job since.
So the mediator has said that if I want to go ahead with the conference now, it's my decision and everyone will cooperate, but that under the circumstances, his concern is that Christopher will be unable to fully focus and participate on the issues at hand. He thinks we should wait six months to a year. He did make the point that after becoming a father and having the time to bond with his own child, Christopher might have a better understanding of the magnitude of our loss, and perhaps be better able to own what he did.
I am stunned. For some reason, the idea that he's going to have a child really hurts.
Why does he get to have one when ours was taken away? When he isn't capable of supporting the child or taking proper care of the child; when he hasn't even bothered to make the commitment of marriage to the child's mother; when he can't even get his own life in order? Why was our child, who was wanted, brought into an established and intact relationship, who was given every advantage and cared for with complete dedication and deliberation, not able to stay with us but he can just go pop out a kid with a girlfriend?
WHY????
It isn't fair. It just is not fucking fair at all. I don't even know if we will have another child. I want Hannah back, and I want Emily to have another sibling, but I'm still emotionally not ready to have a child right now; I'm getting older and it's getting riskier and more difficult even if I were ready; in fact I don't even know if it's possible because we still don't know if the vasectomy reversal was successful. We have everything in the world to give to a child, but we are too careful and too caring to just willy-nilly bring one into the world until we KNOW we can do it with our whole heart. There is every indication, in fact, that we won't have another child at all because we aren't going to do it if we can't do it properly.
Meanwhile, he has nothing going for him, and he just gets to start a family, just like that?
I am sorry that he lost his grandfather. I am also sorry about his and his father's employment woes. But he does NOT deserve to become a father right now. Jon is the one who should be the father of two alive and well daughters.
I've been communicating with a mediator, who specializes in what are called "restorative justice" conferences. Basically, the idea is that one of these days, we (or maybe just I) would sit down with Christopher Stacy, the young man who rear-ended us in the accident, and get a chance to talk face to face. As difficult as it would be, I want to do this because I need him to tell me, person to person, that he is sorry about what he did and for him to take complete responsibility for it. I also want to tell him a couple of things, in particular that I want him to remember this always and to honor Hannah's memory by not hiding this from anyone, by using his experience hopefully to educate others, perhaps including his own children, about what can happen when you drive recklessly or negligently.
Anyway, the mediator just e-mailed me. We've been trying to get something set up for this fall. It seems that Christopher's grandfather (who for the most part raised him) just died this week; that Christopher's father, a mechanic with Northwest Airlines, lost his job and they're on the verge of losing their home, and that Christopher and his girlfriend (I assume it's the same girlfriend he had two years ago) are going to have a baby next month. Oh, and that Christopher himself was laid off over a year ago and hasn't been able to find a permanent job since.
So the mediator has said that if I want to go ahead with the conference now, it's my decision and everyone will cooperate, but that under the circumstances, his concern is that Christopher will be unable to fully focus and participate on the issues at hand. He thinks we should wait six months to a year. He did make the point that after becoming a father and having the time to bond with his own child, Christopher might have a better understanding of the magnitude of our loss, and perhaps be better able to own what he did.
I am stunned. For some reason, the idea that he's going to have a child really hurts.
Why does he get to have one when ours was taken away? When he isn't capable of supporting the child or taking proper care of the child; when he hasn't even bothered to make the commitment of marriage to the child's mother; when he can't even get his own life in order? Why was our child, who was wanted, brought into an established and intact relationship, who was given every advantage and cared for with complete dedication and deliberation, not able to stay with us but he can just go pop out a kid with a girlfriend?
WHY????
It isn't fair. It just is not fucking fair at all. I don't even know if we will have another child. I want Hannah back, and I want Emily to have another sibling, but I'm still emotionally not ready to have a child right now; I'm getting older and it's getting riskier and more difficult even if I were ready; in fact I don't even know if it's possible because we still don't know if the vasectomy reversal was successful. We have everything in the world to give to a child, but we are too careful and too caring to just willy-nilly bring one into the world until we KNOW we can do it with our whole heart. There is every indication, in fact, that we won't have another child at all because we aren't going to do it if we can't do it properly.
Meanwhile, he has nothing going for him, and he just gets to start a family, just like that?
I am sorry that he lost his grandfather. I am also sorry about his and his father's employment woes. But he does NOT deserve to become a father right now. Jon is the one who should be the father of two alive and well daughters.
9.27.2005
Cautiously optimistic
It seems my plan to put her into a more laid-back, play-based preschool might just work. Emily is now in a different preschool -- the more traditional kind, with classes grouped by age (3's, 4's), only 2x/week for 3's, more play-based, much smaller class size, more group/directed activity. Her first day was Monday. Despite the teacher not really wanting me to stay (I like this teacher and I do feel that she respects my point of view, but she insists that in her 20 years of experience as a teacher, it is better for the parent NOT to stay), I got the opportunity because the mom who was going to be there and help with the baking project had to bail, so of course I very sweetly offered to pitch in instead. She needed the help, so she had to let me stay. Emily did great for the hour I spent there -- she didn't cling to me at all, but jumped right in, participated, interacted with the teacher, like she'd been going to school all her life.
The teacher sent me to wash up the baking stuff and suggested I use that as my exit. This was one hour into the class. Of course, the second I walked out, she started crying and screaming. I went and quickly washed up all the stuff, then parked myself in the hall (out of sight/sound) and waited. It took about 20 minutes for the full-on crying to stop and another 10 for the intermittent crying to stop, and then for the next hour she had a *blast* again. Totally participating, laughing with the other kids, joining in conversations. When class ended she came running out, with a huge smile and jumping up and down. She was so proud of herself! I made a big deal out of it too, and took her to the mall to have pizza with her friend (Gretchen's son Andrew), and also surprised her with a (dollar store) toy as a surprise treat for doing well at school. This morning she asked to go back to school -- in fact she didn't really want to leave yesterday -- and was glad when I told her that we would go again tomorrow.
I can't believe how great I feel about this.
So anyway, Gretchen and I hung out the rest of the afternoon while the kids played, and celebrated in our usual way -- eating popcorn, reading trashy mags (People, Us, and In Touch), drinking pop, and vegetating in total silence. This is also how we mourn or express rage and frustration with life. It seems to work well for all occasions. Anyway, I had worked my way through all three magazines and was sitting, burping contentedly on the couch, and chose that moment to remark to Gretchen how perfect life was at that moment: we were free to vegetate and read trash and ingest empty carbs at will, the kids were playing, entertained, safe and occupied, and life was great.
Two minutes later Emily and Andrew came up from the basement. Emily has, in her hand, a sippy cup which at first appears to be filled with some kind of dark chocolaty milk substance, but upon further examination, it was probably EXTREMELY fermented old soymilk. I'm talking probably close to a year old, reeking of ammonia, disgusting. We asked her if she'd had a sip and she said that she had. So we immediately called Poison Control and described it. They said if she'd had a large sip of it she likely would have vomited immediately and certainly been distressed, and she wasn't, so we're guessing that she probably only had a drop, if that, and immediately stopped.
If I had a way to put in a .wav file of the Curb Your Enthusiasm theme song, I'd insert it here.
It was still a great day, though.
Now, if only the power to half of our house's electrical circuits would stop intermittently cutting itself off. Two electricians later, we still haven't figured out what's wrong.
It's. Always. Something.
The teacher sent me to wash up the baking stuff and suggested I use that as my exit. This was one hour into the class. Of course, the second I walked out, she started crying and screaming. I went and quickly washed up all the stuff, then parked myself in the hall (out of sight/sound) and waited. It took about 20 minutes for the full-on crying to stop and another 10 for the intermittent crying to stop, and then for the next hour she had a *blast* again. Totally participating, laughing with the other kids, joining in conversations. When class ended she came running out, with a huge smile and jumping up and down. She was so proud of herself! I made a big deal out of it too, and took her to the mall to have pizza with her friend (Gretchen's son Andrew), and also surprised her with a (dollar store) toy as a surprise treat for doing well at school. This morning she asked to go back to school -- in fact she didn't really want to leave yesterday -- and was glad when I told her that we would go again tomorrow.
I can't believe how great I feel about this.
So anyway, Gretchen and I hung out the rest of the afternoon while the kids played, and celebrated in our usual way -- eating popcorn, reading trashy mags (People, Us, and In Touch), drinking pop, and vegetating in total silence. This is also how we mourn or express rage and frustration with life. It seems to work well for all occasions. Anyway, I had worked my way through all three magazines and was sitting, burping contentedly on the couch, and chose that moment to remark to Gretchen how perfect life was at that moment: we were free to vegetate and read trash and ingest empty carbs at will, the kids were playing, entertained, safe and occupied, and life was great.
Two minutes later Emily and Andrew came up from the basement. Emily has, in her hand, a sippy cup which at first appears to be filled with some kind of dark chocolaty milk substance, but upon further examination, it was probably EXTREMELY fermented old soymilk. I'm talking probably close to a year old, reeking of ammonia, disgusting. We asked her if she'd had a sip and she said that she had. So we immediately called Poison Control and described it. They said if she'd had a large sip of it she likely would have vomited immediately and certainly been distressed, and she wasn't, so we're guessing that she probably only had a drop, if that, and immediately stopped.
If I had a way to put in a .wav file of the Curb Your Enthusiasm theme song, I'd insert it here.
It was still a great day, though.
Now, if only the power to half of our house's electrical circuits would stop intermittently cutting itself off. Two electricians later, we still haven't figured out what's wrong.
It's. Always. Something.
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