parenting

Febrile Seizures and Healthy Anxiety

Posted on by megdanielle

It’s Friday morning and the air is cool. The sun is out and the clouds are sparse. The kids are off to school and daycare for the first time in 5 weeks and my music is turned up. Thank you Walker Hayes Pandora station. I have a quarter cup of coffee left in my to-go mug; it’s still hot despite being poured over an hour ago. I don’t feel like I’m scraping myself off the floor today. It’s a good morning.

I mentioned it in my last post but I started anxiety meds at the end of May. It takes a while for the meds to get in your system but I can say without a doubt that medication combined with therapy has made a world of difference for me. I still struggle with anxiety but I’m getting better at recognizing healthy anxious thoughts vs. obsessive thoughts. I’m getting better at communicating those obsessive thoughts with my husband and he’s getting better at giving me grace when I can’t let go of something, snap at him, or need to step away.

Our son had a febrile seizure on Wednesday, his second since June. He’s been at daycare both times and both times I missed the call. I saw Fred’s text explaining what happened after I got out of a meeting and immediately left work. I called him on the way to daycare. I panicked. He panicked. I snapped. I didn’t get to daycare before the ambulance left the parking lot so I followed closely behind knowing that that they wouldn’t do anything but give him some acetaminophen and ibuprofen and a COVID test. I got turned around in the parking structure. Fred somehow made it to the ER before I did.

Febrile seizures are interesting because as long as they’re not occurring frequently during a single “illness” or longer than the completely frustrating range of somewhere between 5-15 minutes, medical professionals don’t really bat an eye. The first time it happened, the ER doctor told me to Google the answers to my questions about how often to expect seizures / whether or not they occur with every fever / if they’re caused by temperature alone or the rate at which the temperature elevates / the statistics of reoccurring vs. one time febrile seizures. Google. To a mom whose son had just had his first ever seizure that lasted 7 minutes followed by another one for 2 minutes.

Another interesting thing about febrile seizures is that the fever is often the first symptom of a virus. So you bring your kid to school and you temp them at the door and you send them on their way. They don’t have a stuffy / runny nose. They don’t have a cough at night. No sore throat. Not even a sneeze. Then they wake up from a nap with a temperature of 102 and they seize.

Little man didn’t need the ambulance ride but I’m shit in emergency situations and I couldn’t think straight. The director at daycare told me the EMTs had arrived and I couldn’t slow down my thoughts enough to ask the questions:

  • Does he have a temperature?
  • How long did the seizure last?
  • Is he lucid?

His COVID test was negative and I tested negative on Tuesday after a coworker was diagnosed. I waited the appropriate number of days before testing myself, we mask in meetings at work, and my other team members tested negative but I’m still obsessing. I could take another test but the first did nothing to curb my anxiety so I haven’t, telling myself that I can rely on the test results and that my anxious thoughts aren’t serving me.

Healthy: Taking the necessary precautions to prevent illness and testing for COVID after a possible exposure

Obsessive: Thinking that you have COVID and spread it to your child despite knowing you and your son tested negative

I’ve always been an anxious person. I know that about myself. I think back across relationships and I see the patterns. The way I obsessed. The way I let healthy anxiety roll into obsessive anxiety. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so rigid. I’m sorry that I held so tightly to control. I’m sorry if my anxiety made you doubt yourself. Recognizing healthy anxiety and letting the rest go is something I’ll probably always work on.

So I sent my son to daycare today. I’m slow-sipping coffee. I’m spending a moment in catharsis before I hit post and carry on with my day. And I’m trusting that God has this. That whatever caused Freddy’s seizure just is. If I could have prevented it, I would have; I can’t control what is.

Little Man

Febrile Seizure Fact Sheet

Mental Load

Posted on by megdanielle

My husband and I talk about mental load a lot. Mental load refers to the non-tangible tasks needed to run a household. It includes things like remembering what needs to go daycare each week and what needs to come home, knowing what assignments are due, what books need to be returned from the library, and what special themes you need to dress your kid in for school, who is due for their next doctor appointment or dental appointment and which kid sizes need to be changed out for the upcoming season change or growth spurt.

We talk about it as a couple so much because we’re at odds about how the mental load is distributed in our household. My husband feels we have a 50/50 split because he does a ton of the physical household tasks. But you just read that the mental load isn’t physical. You can probably see where this is going…

I feel the split leans a little heavier toward me. Or a lot heavier? (It’s a lot heavier.)

Case in point: I tried to delegate some of my mental load to him this past week regarding a schedule change with my daughter’s afterschool program.

Me: “You need to inform her teacher and the secretary if you change her afterschool schedule.”

Hubs: “Okay. Can you send me the secretary contact?”

Me: “It’s should be in an old e-mail I copied you on.”

Hubs: “I can’t find it.”

Me: “You’ll need to look it up on the school website. That’s what I would do.”

Hubs: “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

Hubs: **Walks away from the conversation and immediately forgets my transfer of the mental load to him.**

SEVERAL HOURS LATER…

My phone, right after school ends: “RING! RING! RING!”

Me: “Hello?”

Secretary: “Hi, is this Meg? We have your daughter here. She’s saying there was a schedule change?”

Me: “Oh, yes. My husband should’ve contacted you and the teacher.”

Secretary: “We didn’t receive anything. We just want to make sure she’s where she needs to be.”

Me: “I’m really sorry about that and I appreciate you double checking! She’s okay to go ahead with the change.”

Secretary: “Okay, we’ll send her along.”

Me: “Thank you!”

Secretary, knowing I usually e-mail these changes ahead of time: “My pleasure. Do you mind you contacting us next time there’s a schedule change instead of having your husband contact us?”

Me: …

Secretary: …

Me: “Yep. Yes. I can do that.”

Quiet to Quiet

Posted on by megdanielle

I sit down to write with my family in the same room. My view is both of them and, just beyond them, our flag whipping wildly outside as it pulls away from the pole. It’s windy today. My son repeatedly sticks a guitar pick he shouldn’t have into his mouth, shouting gibberish between licks. He yells at my husband who stops strumming and singing now and again to pull the pick out of our son’s mouth but not out of his hand. My daughter sits quietly on the floor and puts Sharpie to paper. She draws me a picture she will later say she is too embarrassed to share; she will share it anyway. My dog pretends to sleep.

Even as a write, the picture changes and everyone but my dog and I add to the volume of the room. The chimes sound outside and the wind makes wave across the lake. Laughter mingles with cries of frustration as the kids pile onto my husband. If I were writing a story about the sacredness of life, I would tell you that these sounds make up the soundtrack of my life. I would tell you that the sound is sweet even as it is loud and that I wouldn’t change it for anything.

To write such poetry, I would need a level of reflective detachment that I don’t have in the moment. The beauty mingles too deeply with the chaos and my mind, which runs without reprieve, needs quiet to quiet.

Happy 8 Month, Frederick C III!

Posted on by megdanielle

Sweet boy, I am all sorts of behind on your blog posts but I did remember to make your 8 month board and take pictures; I feel like that counts for something (maybe backdating this entry will help…let’s all pretend it isn’t 11/21)! And while we’re on the subject, this 8 month madness felt familiar so…I looked back and confirmed: we went through the same thing with your sister!

This (last) month, you started picking up food with your two little fingers! Your movements are both clumsy and determined. You sprouted some top teeth too but you don’t like to show them nearly as much as your flash those bottom teeth. All the better to eat with, my dear!

You are on the move now, army crawling like you have somewhere to go. No one would believe you’ve had all these infections and fluid in your ears! It doesn’t slow you down during the day but it does keep you up at night. We’ve tried our best to stay on top of it and although I hate to give you yet another round of antibiotics, I am proud of you for taking your medicine well!

This past month was a whirlwind and although it came and went quickly, you did get to enjoy your buddy’s 1st birthday party and some quick weekend trips with family. You light up rooms wherever you go and make this chaos easier with your easy going demeanor.

Happy 8 Month, Frederick C III. You are a blessing to this family and a joy.

Account Balance: -$2.60

Posted on by megdanielle

We pack a lunch for my kindergarten daughter. There are a couple of reasons for this, the most important being: because we want to. Anyway, into the second week of school, she tells us that she’s been having 3 chocolate milks a day.

Image result for free images chocolate milk

We don’t pack those.

In fact, chocolate milk is rarely an option at our house because if the wind isn’t coming in from the east during a waning crescent moon, it’s not happening. You know what happens to werewolves on a full moon? We feel that. If you give my daughter chocolate milk when she hasn’t had a full night of sleep, no television, and a completely ordinary day, lock. the. doors. I’m serious; it’s about to get ugly.

3 chocolate milks a day.

How?

Apparently, there’s an option for chocolate milk before and after school. Why anyone would want to provide chocolate to brand new kindergartners (or anyone, for that matter) before sending them off to hang with their new teacher is beyond me but I didn’t get a vote in the matter; I wash my hands of it. But 1 + 1 = 2. So how do you get the third milk?

“I get it at lunch.”

Come again?

I freaking love my daughter, ya’ll. Her boldness and her innocence. She just takes a milk. Every. single. day. And it’s totally on us. She’s coming from a daycare where lunch was included. It didn’t even cross my mind to explain hot lunch to her!

So we sit her down and explain the whole process to her. Better late than never, right? And we explain the need to pay for things that aren’t included in day-to-day kindergarten. And accidental stealing. At this point, her eyes get big and she gets that adorable embarrassed, shy smile that kids get when they had no idea they did something bad and aren’t sure if they should be horrified or laugh about it.

I tell her that she can’t take milk anymore unless we pay for it and that we’ll tell her if we put money on her account for hot lunch. She nods and we sort of sweep the whole thing under the rug because honestly, how many days has she done this? I have no idea! The more you ask a kid, the less they know.

Until last night.

Emma and I are going through her bedtime routine and we start looking through the school apps on my phone so she can point out who all of her classmates are in group photos. We talk about her friends and their different personalities and all the things she’s up to lately. And then I open her lunch app for the first time ever. We don’t use it, so there’s no point in looking at it, right? Wrong.

Account balance: -$2.60

Well I’ll be. Here we think she’s done this sneaky thing that we’ve swept neatly under the rug and her purchase history shows 1, 2, 3, 4 chocolate milks within the first 4 days of school with nothing after that.

So I ask more questions and this time she seems to remember a little more clearly.

“Well, I put it in a white bucket. Then I take it.”

I pry a little further and she elaborates.

“I put it in a white bucket. Then I give them a card and I take the milk.”

Ahahaha, I think my kid is stealing from school and all this time she had just put her milk on her house account. Phenomenal. I tell her we have to pay the balance and she asks what will happen it we don’t. I tell her they won’t let her graduate kindergarten if we don’t pay it but I assure her we will.

Then the clever little fox starts putting the pieces together in her head about the purchase and this card that tracks what she takes and this account balance that mom has access to and pays off.

“So…” she says, “Can I start getting chocolate milks again?”

No, love. You can’t.

Killing the School Mom Game

Posted on by megdanielle

I recently volunteered for a walkathon at my daughter’s school. I wasn’t responsible for anything in particular but was invited to join in on the 2-mile fundraiser for which I paid a competitive entry fee in the form of donation.

During the walk, I strolled alongside my daughter and also several blocks behind my daughter and has anyone seen my daughter? Why am I even here?

We reached the halfway point and I was very glad to see a table with water until I made a quick assessment and gathered that the water was probably for the 5 year-olds. Either way, I was pretty sure I was an athlete after that mile so I did what I think any decent parent volunteer would do and chugged as much of a bottle as I could before handing it off to my child. You’re welcome.

On a side note, have you ever been to an event where you don’t know 98% of the people there? You decide early on that you’re going to fake it until you make it and suddenly you’re the freaking Joanna Gaines of school events! Look at you introducing yourself and making small talk and getting to know new people. Dang, girl. You got this!

Then the 2% who knows you walks up and all you can think is “Be cool. Be cool. They don’t know me like you know me. Let’s pretend I’m 30% cooler and 85% less socially awkward than we both know I am.”

But you’re not sure that 2% is picking up on your vibe so now you don’t know which persona to go with or what to do with your hands.

Spoiler alert: You’re going to walk away from your web of lies calling your new acquaintance by the wrong name. See you later, Jane Doe!

Long story short, I finished that 2 mile walkathon and had to take two ibuprofen to sleep that evening. Everything hurts. My legs. My knees. My glutes. My ego. Everything.

What having a 5 year old is like: A short story

Posted on by megdanielle

This morning we take the tags off my daughter’s new winter jacket for her walk to the bus stop. Shortly thereafter, I look for her in the bathroom to make sure she’s brushing her teeth. She isn’t.

Me: “Emma? Emma!”

My husband: “Well, she’s not outside. She’s probably in her room.”

I walk back to her room but I don’t see her.

Me: “Emma?”

Up pops a coat-wearing Gollum, stuffing her pockets with treasure. She is facing her bookshelf but stops to look over her shoulder at me.

Me: “Are you filling your pockets?”

Gollum: “Yes,” she says with a book light half hanging out of the pocket on her sleeve.

Me: “You’re not bringing that.”

Gollum: “Yes I am.”

Me: “You’re not. You need to empty those pockets or I’ll have to take those things away.”

Gollum: “No!”

Me: “1… 2…”

I take a step forward and her face changes from defiance to fear.

Smeagol: “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

I watch as the book light is returned.

A pack of Chap-stick.

A squish toy.

A battery operated tea light.

A bracelet.

A small rubber duck.

Me:

Smeagol: “They’re like kangaroo pockets.”

Black History = American History

Posted on by megdanielle

My daughter and I have been talking about black history lately. She just started kindergarten and sometimes I worry that she’s too young to hear about so much pain. That thought is quickly followed by this one: “What a privilege. How nice to be able to protect her from that because she’s young – and white.” More importantly: “How misguided.”

I recently attended a fundraiser for Mel Trotter Ministries. It was a purchased luncheon in a packed ballroom with a magnificent keynote speaker. You may know the keynote speaker, Bryan Stevenson, for his law work, his book, perhaps his TED talk, for the Equal Justice Initiative he founded, or maybe from the upcoming movie about his life. (Aside: It stars Michael B. Jordan, it’s based on Stevenson’s book Just Mercy; it looks so good!).

In his speech, similar to his TED talk, Mr. Stevenson spoke about our history. He talked about mass incarceration, a conversation I have just recently started to unfold thanks to The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander. He talked about lingering hate and fear. And he made a point to mention Germany and Rwanda and how they talk about their history. You will not find a statue of Hitler in Germany; Germans want you to visit the Holocaust memorial. Rwandans want to talk to you about apartheid. But what about Americans? It would seem, based on our remaining statues and lack of memorials to the victims of racial violence, that we don’t really want to discuss our history.

Our history.

I consider myself to be a good person, albeit incredibly flawed. I’ve said terrible, hurtful things – sometimes on accident and sometimes on purpose. I’m judgmental and aggressive. I am a sinner to and from my very core. But I’m also an advocate for a change – in myself and in others and in our society and in the world. A believer in grace. I’m an avid learner, capable of being taught. So I’ve been reading books about black history and also about our present. I’m listening to Podcasts and skimming blogs and articles and social media content. I’m reflecting on where I’ve failed as a white ally and where I’m improving.

And I’m starting the dialogue with my young daughter about our heartbreaking history. Our American history. I believe that my job (in part) is to open my ears to the stories passed down. And in opening my ears and the ears of my children, I am opening my eyes to truth. A truth that I believe will reshape our future.

If you have a young child who is capable of grasping some big topics, I recommend picking up Henry’s Freedom Box by Ellen Levine. It’s a true story from the Underground Railroad about a man named Henry who lost his family and found freedom from a big wooden box. Based on recommendations, it’s geared to first graders and above but it generated some great conversation between my kindergartner and me!

For a little lighter read, I recommend The Other Side by Jacqueline Woodson. You’ll need to explain the backstory of the long fence that separates the town but it’s a beautiful story of friendship.

What are you reading? What books can we add to our list?

Happy 7 Month, Frederick C III!

Posted on by megdanielle

I missed your true 7 month mark so what better day to celebrate than on the first official day of Fall? I’m getting ahead of myself but I cannot wait to share my favorite season with you! I have a feeling you will love the crunching leaves the best! And in honor of that, I chose your outfit today! You look like you belong in a baby American Eagle ad. Where’s your football? Why it’s stitched onto your shirt, of course!

This past month you seem to have grown exponentially! At your last checkup, your doctor even warned us that you’d be out of your infant car seat in a matter of weeks. 29 inches long. Your sister was still occupying the next size up so we had to make a flurry of purchases to get everyone sized into their next seats. I’m not complaining. You’ve gotten the hang of this sitting up thing which makes you so much easier to hold!

You. love. food. Honestly, same. Just today your teacher told me that you’re her favorite to feed because you are always excited to eat and you’re so neat and tidy when you do. I agree. I think you realize that months of spitting up was getting old so you’re treating us to the cleanest meals I’ve ever seen out of a babe.

And you’re happy. Easy going. You bop your little legs while you sit in your chair and you look around to take in all that you can see. You belly laugh for your sister (See the bottom left picture? That’s when sissy came into the room) and you snuggle deep into daddy. And momma? Well, you and I have a habit of drawn out bedtimes with books and your heavy weight on my chest. It’s bliss.

Happy 7 Month, Frederick C III. You are a blessing to this family and a joy.

Happy 6 Month, Frederick C III!

Posted on by megdanielle

I’m behind again but your 6 month celebration fell at the beginning of an amazing time in the UP so it felt right to postpone this post! It was your very first family reunion (held every three years) and it was well worth the wait!

You were the perfect little traveler through car rides and tailgate feedings, pack and play sleeps and pass offs. You changed hands over and over with a smile on your face, and lots of chatter and laughs. And your cousins – oh how they love you! They could watch you all day, holding your hand, announcing your next spit up, and interpreting your baby babbles for me (“He said he wants me not you right now”)!

At reunion, you met new family and you tried a new food: Banana! You LOVE it. You were fine with avocado and peanut butter but bananas are your jam! We can tell you’re getting a hang of the mouth movement required to eat and our fingers are crossed that this is the start of less “happy spitting.”

Over the past month you’ve also been getting so much stronger. You can sit with just a little help of a Boppy behind you and you’re holding yourself upright when held, straining to see your sister and dad. The alligator rolls are getting faster and faster too. We can barely catch you these days! Along with the transition into some 9 month clothing, it’s another sign that time is flying by! We love you, big boy!

Happy 6 Month, Frederick C III. You are a blessing to this family and a joy.