Atticus-isms and December Recap

Yeah, I know February's almost over, but better late than never, right? December was a busy month. Atticus and I visited my sister Susan in Illinois for a week while her husband was on a business trip, and of course I forgot my camera. He had a great time with his cousins, even though he was a little sick. And he did great on the plane, except that he had to go to the bathroom 5 times on the way home. Our seatmate wasn't too excited about getting up all the time, but he was nice about it.

The fun part was getting to make "girl food" that our husbands aren't excited about, like tofu and quinoa and all those fun things. When Atticus and I got back to Salt Lake, it was after 10 p.m. by the time we were in the car. I was hungry, so I wanted to stop somewhere on the way home to eat. I asked Atticus what he wanted, and he said with enthusiasm, "bwown wice!" Mama victory! But also a failure because of course there aren't any drive-thrus with brown rice, so I said, "How about chicken nuggets?" *sigh*

Then about a week after we got back, we loaded up the car for our first road trip to visit James's family in Arizona for Christmas. I wasn't sure how Atticus would do for so long in the car, even though we were breaking up the drive by stopping in Vegas. I decided to take notes.

Friday, 10:40 a.m., driveway: "I want to stay home."

11:30 a.m., Orem: "I want to squirrel around like I'm not in my carseat!" (Blankie and pacifier calmed him down.)

11:40 a.m.: Atticus asleep.

3:15 p.m., Kanarraville: "Atticus, stop hitting yourself in the head with the dreidel."  "No, Mama, the dreidel is my friend and he keeps hitting me for something and he won't tell me what it is. Ow. Ow. Ow." (Dreidel got a time-out.)

5:01: "I feel like eating play-doh."

We finally made it to Circus Circus and settled in to our room. Atticus thought it was pretty cool. His favorite part was the lighted wardrobe: 

The next day we checked out all Las Vegas has to offer, which we concluded isn't much if you're not going to gamble, watch a show, or eat at fancy restaurants. Or shop in high-end stores. But we still had a good time. Here's Atticus on top of the "Eiffel Tower" at the Paris casino: 

Sunday we stopped at the temple before hitting the road again. The  notes resume:

Kingman rest stop: (Said rapid-fire to no one in particular as he got out of his seat) "My body's saying POOOOOP! POOOOOP! My body's selling poop to anyone who wants some. They're poop toys."

Finally we reached Nana and Grandpa's house. It was good to see the family and spend Christmas with them. Here are some of my favorite photos:

With the saguaro next to Nana's house (the red roof is theirs) 

Making our gingerbread house.

Public art in downtown Mesa

With cousins Brian and Thomas. It took us about 5 tries to get Thomas's "action shot." Atticus was really sad to leave their house. He had so much fun with them.

Heading home. This time we stopped overnight in St. George. 

The night before we left, Atticus said, "I never want to leave this place." He had it all worked out how we could move in with Nana and Grandpa. He even claimed his bedroom. He was sad to leave, but he was happy to see his own room and toys again. I was happy about the box of lemons Atticus helped me pick from Grandpa's tree. They were gorgeous and tasty. One medium box gave us 1 1/2 gallons of lemon juice, most of which is in our freezer. We've been drinking it in water, club soda, and lemonade. Yum!

It was a good month. Lots of family, lots of travel, lots of love. 

Progress?

Atticus made his bed this morning. He was very proud.

He decided he needed only one blanket because the others were "too tangled."

Small victories. :)

Ouch.

We're getting close to finalizing our insurance settlement from the accident, and I got a copy of this message from our lawyer to the insurance company:

"Given the medical expenses and limited insurance available, Heidi will not come close to being made whole."

That almost made me cry. I know what he meant: "After medical expenses, her cash settlement will not adequately compensate for her injury." But that line "Heidi will not come close to being made whole" just pierced me. My leg never will be whole again. I will function normally, but never as well as I would have otherwise.

And that hurts.

I was going to give this a positive spin, a life-affirming "it will all work out for the best" vibe, which I do believe, but I think right now I just want to feel that hurt and accept it.

Of course ours is the weird kid

Atticus participated in his first Primary program on Sunday. He had his line memorized and had practiced saying it slowly and clearly. He even knows some of the songs.

But once he got on the stand, it all disappeared. During the songs he didn't know (and even parts of some he did), he leaned on the railing with his chin in his hands, looking really bored. Or he danced around. One of our friends in the front row observed that it looks like Atticus always has a Star Wars battle scene in his head that he's trying to act out. That kid is never still.

Then came the moment: his line! He stood at the microphone and wilted. Even with prompting he curled up and refused to speak. They let him go and little Afton, who isn't even officially in Primary yet, marched up and said her line, pleased as punch.

Afterward I asked him why he didn't say his line, and he just said, Huh? I reminded him, "I follow Jesus' example when I go to church." And he got really upset: I want to say it! I missed it! What happened?! We let him say it at the pulpit (microphone off), and the Primary president said he could do it again in Primary next week.

I think Atticus just didn't get what was going on. He'd missed the forest for the trees, lost in his perpetual narrative.

Speaking of narrative, Atticus pulled his new socks up to his knees this morning and called himself Wonder Boy. I asked him if he wanted to wear his soccer socks, which are even longer, and he said, "No, Wonder Boy doesn't wear blue socks, just white socks." Good to know.

My goodness, I love that boy.

Ready or not, here comes Chrismas

(from last year)

Atticus has been talking about Christmas for the past month. For a couple weeks he was obsessed with nutcrackers, asking over and over again for a nutcracker that's NOT a Christmas decoration. I blame his friend Henry, who has fireman and soccer player nutcrackers. I wasn't about to shell out $20 for the not-really-a-toy nutcracker he begged for at Lowe's, but James made Atticus's week when he found a small one at the dollar store. It even had a working lever that makes the mouth move. Fan-TAS-tic.

Last week at preschool they had face painting, and Atticus asked for a Christmas tree. Everyone else was a butterfly or a tiger or Spiderman, but Atticus had a big green nose and a gold star between his eyes. He was thrilled. 

He's also been talking about what he wants to get, of course. I've been very upfront about how Daddy and I are Santa Claus (yes, I know, I'm a HORRIBLE person for attempting to deprive my child of Christmas fantasy), but my efforts have fallen on deaf ears. He asked how he could tell Santa what he wanted, and I said he could just tell me, because I'm Santa--I buy the presents. "I know, I know, but what about the REAL Santa? With the reindeer?" Ok, fine. I'm his helper. (I'm not going to insist he stop believing; I just don't want there to be disappointing surprises later.) 

Now when he tells me about something he wants, he asks if I've written it down. I only write down what he mentions repeatedly, and so far the list is a DreamLight and a Scooby-Doo Mona-Tiki-Tia play set. The problem is he wants a Curious George DreamLight, which they don't actually make, but he thinks maybe it can be found at another store or Santa can just make it. (And they're $30! Are you kidding me?) And though I've seen pictures of a Scooby-Doo figure with a tiki head, they don't make them anymore, and they certainly don't come in the exactly-like-the-episode detail in a foldable, portable play set that he has described. So I can pay top dollar for a collectible set, but it still won't be exactly what he wants. (See why I'm reluctant to perpetuate the fantasy of elves that can make anything??) We may have to settle for action figures of the full Scooby gang. A friend found Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy at a thrift store, but we're missing Fred and Scooby.

Then there are the things I want to get him, like a bike or scooter, and maybe some better shoes. I'm all for restraint in gifts (I really like the idea of three gifts like the gifts of the Three Kings--not counting gifts from extended family), but it's hard not to try to make all his dreams come true. 

I believe experiences are more important than things, so I'm going to focus my energies on memorable activities, which are often free. Sledding, lights, live Nativities, a trip to the mall to see Santa, gingerbread cookies, decorating the tree. That's what Christmas is made of. I hope. 

Another landmark

We drove past/through the accident site for the first time today. It was hard. The plan was to avoid that canyon entirely and just go to the Temple Quarry at the mouth of Little Cottonwood, but as we got closer, James felt like we should go. I agreed.

We both about soiled ourselves when we saw a full-size pickup in the opposite lane, even though it was clearly on its side of the line and nowhere near the crash site. We both recognized the spot when we reached it, and it gave me chills. We both laughed; it felt like whistling past a graveyard. But we made it. I'm really glad no one was coming around the corner the same time we did. It might have been too much. Atticus was playing with his Scooby Doo toys and didn't even notice.

Going back down was rough. Not through the crash site, though it was interesting to see the site from the other driver's perspective. But there's a small, blind s-curve (not the big one--this one's narrower), and there was a long line of cars coming the other direction, one car after another that could cross that line at any moment.

I've thought about what has been the worst part of the whole experience. It isn't the injury or the pain at all. One strong contender is the withdrawals from the pain meds. I'd tried to be careful, but I still went through about 10 horrible days feeling all the physical symptoms of anxiety and creepy-crawly skin (not to mention the gastrointestinal effects), wanting to take something--anything--to feel normal again. I had Xanax but was afraid to use it in case that became habit-forming, too. (I couldn't get the image out of my mind of a woman on "celebrity rehab" freaking out because her doctor took away her Xanax. Don't ask why I was watching celebrity rehab....) I did take Valium, but only at night. Eventually it passed.

But even as bad as that was, it wasn't the worst part. The worst part was seeing that truck coming toward us, knowing that we were totally helpless to avoid the crash. And I couldn't get away from it. I couldn't get out of the car, so I spent the whole time staring at the truck's grill through our broken windshield. That feeling of helplessness and vulnerability hasn't gone away, even outside the canyons. Every intersection, every time we hit the freeway, every time Atticus gets in someone else's car, I know it could happen again. James says the feeling makes him both more cautious and more reckless: you don't want another accident, but you're pretty sure you'll be ok if it happens. I haven't gotten there yet.

I don't hold any hard feelings against the other driver. I can't imagine how it would feel to be the cause of someone else's injury. He was distracted for a second, just like I am all the time. And I can't say I'm sorry I got to spend a good chunk of summer in bed, watching tv and letting other people bring me jello and snacks. Sure, I was uncomfortable, but  it wasn't all bad. I had no responsibilities other than healing, and it was a nice break. And I get handicap parking for the rest of the year. I'll be sad when that expires. And a new car, which I think I like better than our last one.

If I had a choice, of course I'd rather we didn't have the accident. It's changed us forever. But we survived, and we're doing ok.

The evolution of a foot.

July 23

7 August

Mutant foot from outer space. 

7 August

Nasty, fibrous super-scab. I had to gradually cut that off for the wound to heal properly. Yeah, I mean with scissors.

28 August

Das boot. Hot, nasty thing.

28 August

This was probably in the morning, since there's not a huge difference between the two.

7 September

Aaaaaaand this is in the evening. 

First and last time I've worn those shoes since the accident. (Man, they really need a polish.)

When I wear tennis shoes I have "muffin top" ankle. 

I had the big screws taken out a week and a half ago, which immediately decreased my joint pain. The incision still hurts, and the stitches don't come out for another couple weeks. They were supposed to come out next week, but my doctor is out of the office. I'd be tempted to take them out myself if I didn't need to ask the doctor some questions.

I've been going to physical therapy, and I have much more flexibility in my ankle. My therapist says I'll get 90% recovery within about six months. The last 10% takes another six months. And I'll probably have arthritis in this ankle from now on, but staying active will reduce the symptoms. My insurance covers only 20 PT visits per calendar year, and I've had 12. So we're going down to one visit per week, and I get to go back to the gym for the rest. I've been using a seated stationary bike at home, but I need to work on my hips and legs more specifically. Rowing machine, here I come.

Overall I feel like life is coming back together. I still have no desire to cook, but our house is back to normal and I'm back at work a couple days a week. Atticus is back at his old preschool. We love his teacher. James is back at Hunter High. So we're getting back to normal. Just don't ask me to walk very fast.