Atomictumor

Nine years ago, when October was born at U.T. Hospital, things were really different. I hadn’t even begun to see this different life that I’m only now beginning to understand how to love and appreciate. You know, be thankful for.

The Missus called me from the obgyn’s office and said it’s TIME. It’s time, I thought, TIME. I’ve got to go!

Back then I had a champagne colored Toyota Cressida that the Missus’s step-father had sold me for $500. That was every penny of the money I got from an insurance settlement due to a fire that melted a Millenium Falcon, an AT,TT (one of the dinosaur looking walkers), an X-Wing and sundry action figures. $500 was good money for this very played with collection, let me tell you. That was some bolt of lightning that struck Mom & Dad’s storage shed. So here I go in the $500 Champagne bottle of Cressida straight out of the 4th and Gill neighborhood headed for the hospital and some kind of experience Obi Wan never talked about in Star Wars.

Evidently the Missus’s amniotic fluids were gone, so she had to deliver right then. I remember the nurses sent me out when the anesthesiologist came to numb her up. I went down and smoked a cigarette. When I came back up the Missus looked like she could shoot lasers out of her eyeballs. The epidural had only numbed half of her. I think she couldn’t feel her left leg, but the right was froggy as ever. I went and smoked another cigarette.

Obviously all went well. The Missus ate roast beef afterwards and eventually we drove home in the $500 Cressida. The biggest understatement of the year would be to say we weren’t prepared for the coming days. Our lives moved quicker than a Harry Potter action scene and maybe I’ll tell you about that some other day.

Right now all the kids are waking up and I want to wish a Happy Birthday to my October.

I love you, October.

Man, having 14 people over at the Cemestos Gardens is a party! Kids everywhere watching movies, having light saber battles, babies crying. Moms and Dads sitting, talking, pushing kids out of the way. And tacos, lots of tacos. The Missus makes a mean taco and fried rice. Then there were the donuts. We can’t forget the donuts.

Jenwright, Dusty, it was good seeing you guys and your crew. What a beautiful baby you all have.

Think I’m going to go have another taco, or maybe just a donut. Yeah.

There are only two left which just can’t be fairly split between three kids (Wing doesn’t eat donuts yet, come on.). I’m doing us all a favor. Can you imagine the fight we would have here over a couple donuts.

Oh, and they have milk in them too. The chocolate icing has milk in it for sure. The Missus shouldn’t be eating them. Poor Wing would break out all over in a rash if she went and had too much donut.

I’d better eat them both.

Donuts…

We met October’s fourth grade teacher tonight at the Willow Brook orientation. We met spotz’ first grade teacher this past Tuesday evening. I haven’t met Lug’s teacher at the Oak Ridge Preschool yet, but the Missus has. I think it’s going to be a good year the bunch of us. Things are getting off to a good start. Honestly I find it hard to believe that October is beginning her last year at the Elementary school, but not to worry. We’ll be going to that school for a long time, what with four kids.

I was talking to the Missus the other day about what October reads. I was saying that I don’t see her read very much unless it’s Harry Potter. I was slightly concerned because she read and enjoyed that series so much, but I wasn’t seeing it carry over to other books. I’ve brought home several books for the girl, but she’s the proverbial horse led to water and didn’t really read them. I work in a library where I make many different reading suggestions, so I don’t care if people take or leave my advice. That’s not the point. I just want to see her reading something. The Missus assured me that she reads a great deal at school.

I was prowling through her desk tonight at the orientation when I found a copy of a Laura Ingalls Wilder book she’d checked out from the school library. Turns out the Missus was right and I’ve realized how much October has a life of her own that I don’t know about. Sure I “knew” that before, but seeing is believing and I’m typically a doubting Thomas. Which is really another post for another day.

Tonight, October and I will stay up past our bedtimes in the pursuit of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. We’re both planning on dressing up; October as Hermione and I as Professor McGonagall. I was hoping to go as Luna Lovegood, but can’t locate a long blond wig at this late hour.

Bos first brought home Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in fall of 1999, when October was barely a year old. Bos and I read it, and then read all the ones that followed. And last year, seven years after Harry Potter came to our house, October began reading them for herself.

I am grateful that we have this final tale to experience together.

***

Update:  Had a great time last night - ended up bringing Spotz along for the ride as well.  He makes for a very convincing Malfoy.  October had a last minute wardrobe change and was the best looking Ginny Weasley there.  Photos can be found here.  We’re trying to read (at least) the first few chapters as a family, so we’re only on Chapter 3 right now.  I’m afraid to look at the internet or leave my home…

Last night, I was watching Gimme Shelter about the Altamont concert, the bookend on the left side of that whole hippie movement, with its scenes of fear, ugliness, and brutality.  A buncha people my age, drunk, drugged up, wanting to listen to some Jefferson Airship and Rolling Stones, while Hells Angels and other thugs beat the hell out of people with pool sticks and chains, and ultimately stab a guy to death for pulling out a pistol.

Ugly scene, man.  After my time at Bonnaroo, I can relate to the fear that those people’d have if a crowd like that went sideways.  Pressed in, no way out, trying to have eyes on all sides just to make sure some crazy, speedfreak drunk doesn’t jump you and kick all your teeth out.  The only security are the people doing the kicking, and all the bands can do is say things like “Lets just all be cool, people, lets be cool and we’ll play some more music.”

Bad juju.

Its probably not what I needed on my psyche last night, after the week I’ve had, lemme tell you…

I’m stressing about the boy, folks, with worse case scenarios rolling around in my head, drilling a hole through my stomach.  I spent the last few weeks, month even, in a happier state than I’ve been in in a long, long time, but one credible risk to one of my kids, and man, its back down to ‘charlie in the trees’ kinda stress.

He’s feeling fine, had no physiological symptoms to his reaction other than the contact dermititis where the ink was on him and some slight swelling, which the doc said was normal for an allergic reaction, but I’m willing to bet that the allergist I’m trying to get a referral to is going to say that he has a PPD allergy, which will be a lifetime sensitivity riding around his neck like a rabid albatross.  All because I agreed with him and Pigpen that it’d be cool to get a big tattoo.  And it did look cool too people, lemme tell you.

The stress is getting to me, tho, and I’m having a hard time shaking it off.  I’m snapping at people for minor transgressions, both real and imaginary, my shoulders are tense, and no matter how much I stretch, or meditate, or use those techniques I’ve honed to settle my ass down, the knot is still there in my stomach, and my shoulders ache.

After I see the allergist, I’m telling myself I’ll feel better.  Maybe get the kids spending the night at the in-laws (who I completely forgot to inform of this until last night, something that adds another level of guilt to my situation) this weekend, and I can silently freak out for a while and get it out of my system.  Or drink heavily.  One or the other.

I’m telling myself that MastaG feels fine, and that I’m overthinking the issue.  That even if it is an allergy to PPD, it’ll just mean that there will be a finite list of things, hair dye (if his hair ends up as black as mine, hair dye won’t really be an issue), nail polish (no emo kids in my house), some black dyes on t-shirts and such (I already wash shirts before anybody wears em).

I’m telling myself that its just a small matter, an allergic reaction that might never come back.  But I keep remembering how BJ and I agreed that she had the flu, and even when we took her to the ER that Thursday, we were just going to get some fluids in her, maybe some medicine, and she’d be home.

Then I think of the next day, the Friday when I first heard “life-threatening”, and I realize that there won’t be a time in my life when my loved ones are sick that I’ll take easily.

So, uh, how did you guys spend your fourth?