snow

is expected.

a lot of it.

with wind.

The thing is that I really have a LOT to do at work. If I don’t go in, I’ll have to reschedule 12 appointments. We don’t close.

I can probably make it to work fine, if I’m choosy about which route I take.

But getting to S’s school and back? not likely.

What to do–bring her with me and try to entertain her? Stay home and try to reschedule all those folks (plus try to entertain her)?

Yikes.

I guess I wait and see how much we actually get.

Yes, I do think about other things

So today we had denominational gathering.We do this, oh, four or five times a year. I missed September, as it was the day I took off for ET. I missed November, as I was on maternity leave. So I went today.

I used to love to go to denominational gathering. I used to come home feeling inspired (seriously) by how thoughtful and fair our polity was. I came home jazzed up about our theology, or psyched about some new hymn.I left this honeymoon (which lasted about 10 years) and have become more cynical–mostly about perceived inequities in the ordination process.

Today, I feel depleted. There is a wonderful guy in my denominational geographic region. He is the head of our state’s AIDS and HIV resource and advocacy group. He adopted as a single parent, and his now teenage daughter is the epitome of poise and graciousness. He is a pastor. He is married, and he is gay.

This is not earth shattering news. It hasn’t been a secret in quite some time.

A group of pastors have recently decided to make it their task to engage in a witch hunt. My friend is their witch.  They have combed pro-gay mags to find things to incriminate him.  They have chased down his marriage license from the state. They have found a tiny irregularity that means that his nomination to a specific committee was invalidated. They said hateful, horrible letters to everyone they can find. It will be a trial soon, I know it.

Today, we had to elect a new member of that committee. We were informed of the “big meeting” coming up to discuss this “situation.” And we also heard his daughter give a poignant witness to a recent mission trip.  And heard him read the scripture with conviction.

I don’t understand witch hunts. I don’t understand mean-spiritedness. I don’t understand doing either of these things in the name of the church.

And I fear we will soon lose a minister who has spent the last 30+ years working with those living with HIV/AIDS. Because, of course, in the eyes of a few, Jesus would choose the witch hunters over the guy in the trenches, who has been hopeful, resurrection  witness to those living with all manner of suffering and prejudice.

sweet

dreams.

Well, she’s been asleep for 15 minutes. I’m still holding my breath.  I’ve basically tortured the child. First, I made her wake up at 5: 30 (normal time), and then I told day care to cut her nap to one hour. They didn’t want to, and she was apparently grouchy about it. So she was exhausted.6 hours of sleep last night (oh yeah, she woke up again at 11 pm. and was up until midnight) and one today. So seven hours instead of a normal 3 year old’s 10? She was tired.

It still took 45 minutes.

I will give her persistent.

It would be so sweet if she were to sleep through the night, but I predict midnight.

a new low

in our battle with sleep. I had her take a bath right after dinner, so that her hair would be dry for bed.  I took her in at 7:30.  We did our routine. I rocked her for about a half hour. Then I tried lying down with her for another half hour. Then I got a book and sat in the blue chair–in the room but not engaging the whining and screaming. At one point, I gave up and turned on the lights and told her to go play.  That really confused her.  She has now finally fallen asleep. 10:30 p.m.

I cannot do this anymore.

I cannot spend 7:30 to 10:30 trying to get her to sleep. And then wake up again the next morning to a crabby child.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I don’t know what else to do.

Eh wood eh shallo

Today, S told me that she loved me about 10 times.

She hasn’t told me that in months. I think at first she said it because she thought she was supposed to.  I don’t know why she is saying it today.

(but it sure feels good.)

campy

so I sent in an application to the camp in the south. This is the one where I volunteered for 10 years–5 summers and 5 off-season years. I still haven’t heard, but apparently I shouldn’t hold my breath, being out of state and all. I just wish they’d respond.

BUT, today I faxed in an application to go to our localish camp for a family weekend in April. It’s a mixed diagnosis weekend–not disease specific. And they were so excited to get our application that they called us!  We’re not in yet, but it’s nice to know we’re wanted.

The two camps are related to each other. I’ve been at the local one longer–13 years (10 summers).  I like them both, though. I really prefer the family weekends at Southern camp–they REALLY know how to do a family weekend. It’s like you arrive and inhale and then just laugh until Sunday when you finally exhale again. The localish camp is a little more scattered on weekends. Things aren’t very organized, but it’s still fun.

I hope we get to go. I am not a super-secret person, but I have not felt like I could get a babysitter yet.  I feel like a babysitter would need to know her status, and so far I haven’t met any students that I’ve felt like inviting into my private life that way. So camp would be a great chance to a) breathe, and b) let her try going off with another adult (and not me) in a safe environment.

Crossing fingers and toes.

Seriously?

Why does she pull these no-sleepers?  It’s 10 p.m. and she is still wide awake. She’s “resting” on the naughty chair because she threw a fit when I gave up (2 hours at that point) in her room and told her I had to get up to clean up the kitchen and pay the bills. In the past, the naughty chair (it’s really a padded pew, not a chair) sleeping thing has done the trick. She is bored but comforted by my presence, but drops off. Tonight, nothing. I’m obviously done paying bills but not going to engage her. Gonna be a rough morning tomorrow.

I know I need to teach her to fall asleep by herself.  I’m not sure how or when. Normally this is an hour process, which is way too long.

Utter mama fail.

girlfriend

’s viral load just dropped. from 13,000 to 7,000. YAY!

Her CD4 also dropped (boo) from 30% to 27% but still happily over the 25% line.

3 little letters

So it’s happened twice now.

S looks at me with a very worried face and says, “S HIV, mommy.” My response is the same each time. I suspect this may become a ritual for us. “Yes, S HIV. S is pretty. S is smart. S is funny. S is nice. S has brown hair. S has brown eyes. S is a curly girl. S is Etiopian. S lives in America. S lives on Tree Street…..”

Somewhere in ET, she learned that those 3 little letters mean something very bad. I know that there are some really hard days ahead of us, days when she learns that the three little letters mean she has the disease that took her biological mother, days when she learns that these letters mean some people will be afraid of her blood, might not want to be in love with her, might discriminate against her.  Hopefully, since those days are far enough off, stigma will be reduced and treatments will be easier.

But for now, she only knows that it is something to worry about. I can only assume she got it in Ethiopia.  I never use those letters in front of her–on purpose.  I refer to her as “positive” when talking with medical professionals in her presence. I don’t want those three letters to take on a life of their own until S has enough English (and age) to puzzle it out with me.  I don’t know if she will choose to tell others about it or not.  Right now, my philosophy is to not do anything with her status that can’t be undone.  I tell friends, if it comes up. The family knows. I don’t tell day care. When school time comes, I’ll tell the school health service (from the hospital), but not the teacher. …until she decides what she wants to do.  As much as I’d like to be a vocal advocate, and use my role in the denomination and university to raise awareness, but I can’t do that now. That would involve disclosing her life and her story and her name, and that’s not something I can undo. I don’t want her to google her name when she’s 12, and come up with private health information in a speech. I was recently asked if I would write something for a denominational AIDS organization. I’m thinking of doing it under a pen name. What do you think I should call myself?

Right now, S is HIV is watching Elmo in Grouchland for the 999th time.

and it’s still hilarious.

7,8,9

When S came home, the 6.5 shoes fit her best, but the 7s were good, too. When we got her new sneakers a few weeks back, I tried to measure her feet (it was an outlet and they weren’t into helping). I came up with 7.5, and bought those and they seem to fit great. Her blue shoes (my favorite) were deemed too small last week (6.5). I contemplated ordering a replacement pair online. I measured her feet with a ruler and got 7.5-8.

Today,she began complaining about her Sunday School shoes. She said they hurt her toes (size 7). So I went to Patmore and asked them to measure her. They came up with 9.5!  We tried on 9.5s and they were laughably huge. Then we tried on 9s; still too big. I bought her 8.5s but I feel they are still too big. When we came home, we tried on some rainboots we’d bought in the fall that were too big back then. They are 8s. They fit perfectly. No complaints about her snow boots that are 7s.

So what size is the child? (And in answer to “how many shoes does a 3 year old need? I say 4 pairs: sneakers, not sneakers (sturdy shoes to play in that aren’t sneakers), Sunday School shoes (which she calls shiny shoes) and boots. I guess in the summer one could substitute sandals for one of the above.

She also has very distinctive ideas about what she likes, shoes-wise. Not so much with clothes, but with shoes, it’s a very serious “yes” or “no way.”