• The sound of trouble

    I think paternal instinct is underrated. Mothers are given credit for “the bond” and knowing instinctually when their kids are in trouble, while fathers are relegated to second class parenthood.

    I know, I know. Fathers miss out on gestation and the birthing experience, but I’d put my ear for trouble up against any mother’s.

    Now Cheryl might say the ear is only effective when the brain maintains an active connection – but I’d rather ignore this inconvenient observation for the moment.

    I won’t try to tell you I’m an expert in child behavior but I know my kids. Their cries generally fall into a few common types. (Most of these aged into a fine whine as they got older.)

    There’s the exaggerated play cry, the cry for sympathy/attention, the tired cry, the bored cry, the hungry cry, the scared cry, the hurt cry, and the grand-daddy of them all – the panicked, terrified, I’m really hurt bad and I need someone right now cry.

    Thankfully, I’ve only heard that last one a handful of times in my life, but last night was one of them. I was enjoying a lazy Sunday evening at home after a busy week, spending a little quality time with my MacBook. I heard a crash. It didn’t raise immediate alarms. I’d need a lot more medication if the sound of stuff colliding/falling/breaking in the house raised my heart rate.

    It’s early yet, but I think my kids might be headed towards a career in demolition.

    There was a pause, a moment of quiet, that got my attention – not alarmed so much as curious. “I wonder what that was? It did sound kinda big. Is someone trying to conjure a benign explanation?”

    Maybe my instincts aren’t so good after all.

    That’s when I heard it. It was a rapid fire, panic filled, pained shriek for help… and that’s when my heart stopped. I ran into Adam’s room and found him on the floor, pinned under his dresser, crying out words faster than his breath could sustain. I threw the dresser back, tossed aside the drawers that had spilled out… and Adam popped up into my arms.

    My heart started again.

    After a good squeeze, a thorough once over, and a trip across the house for some reassurance from mommy that his skin wouldn’t fall off, everyone was ok again.

    Except… how did I miss the dresser? When Beth was born it seemed like we bolted everything to the floor, the wall, or both. Now I figure out twelve years later we missed something.

    One thing is funny – well sort of. Despite all of the evidence, Adam still won’t admit to climbing on his dresser. He explained what happened to me last night (after everyone had settled down) – and it was like something out of the Warren Commission. Should I be worried the first adjective that came to mind was cagey – and he’s still only four?

  • Discharged

    I’m not sure how I feel about it, but the hospital is making tentative plans to discharge my mother. This should be good news, right? The thing is, she’s not being released to go home – she’s not well enough. Instead, they’re making arrangements for her to be placed in an assisted living facility.

    If my life had a soundtrack, something foreboding would be playing right now.

    You may recall (or not, she’s not your mother) it was an incident at an ALF that precipitated her extended stay at the state hospital. My fear is this fits the national trend. We run out of places for the mentally ill, so we dump them in nursing homes, or something similar – places ill suited to care for them. The end result is something like what happened to my mother already – or worse, someone gets hurt – and the cycle starts over.

    I’ll be happy to have her nearby, but not at the cost of her safety.

    Maybe she has improved. Maybe an ALF really is appropriate now. I understand there are ALFs with some kind of certification to treat the mentally ill. I’m a little worried though. In this case, I don’t think it’s just me.

    I want to be hopeful. I haven’t seen her in months, but others say she seems a little better – in some ways. Being closer will fix one of my problems (self inflicted though it may be) – the guilt I carry for not visiting enough.

  • Windows again

    I set out to talk computers, causing dozens of people to reach frantically for “the next feed.”

    I didn’t learn anything from defiling my iMac with Windows Vista. I did it again with my MacBook. I wanted to try out Google’s new web browser: Chrome, so I got out my install disks and went at it.

    I forgot there were so many warning messages in Vista. I must have repressed the memory.

    Honestly, it was more than just Chrome. I did it for work too.

    It was a disappointing. The single text field for searching and entering URLs was the only feature I found interesting. Otherwise it was another basic browser – with some apparent integration with their apps (though I didn’t find it terribly compelling).

    Pray tell dear readers… will I ever learn?

    I will say this. Vista with service pack 2 is an improvement, in my experience. Not a big one mind you, but an improvement. It’s a bit snappier on my MacBook (running under Parallels version 4), particularly at start up and shutdown.