the plague

So... on Friday Oona rebounded from her stomach bug in the way only rambunctious, highly spirited children can. I tried to put her down for a nap around one, because surely she must have been tired with her frenetic morning of running all over the place. But within minutes of putting her down I hear slamming her door. I spent a good forty minutes running back and forth to her room to tell her to get in her bed and that she can't get out. I took her stuffed animals away, took a sizable piggy bank out of her pudgy hands, which she had climbed up her dresser to retrieve. I finally caved and set up a port a crib in our bedroom and put her in it thinking that would finally get her to sleep. I was upstairs working on the computer, Oona's cries had stopped after a couple minutes and I assumed she had drifted off to sleep, until I heard her saying she couldn't get the door open while she was playing with the doorknob. I ran downstairs and opened my bedroom to walk into a fog of baby powder. Oona resembled a toddler version of Rip Van Winkle, her hair white with powder. She emptied a full bottle throughout the room, it was on my quilt, in the port a crib, baby powder snow blanketed the alarm clock and everything else on my nightstand. I was so mad at first but quickly saw how funny it was, yet I couldn't laugh in front of her because, knowing Oona, she'd then start dousing stuff in baby powder regularly.

My Friday was exhausting. I took Owen and his friend to karate, Toby usually brings them but I needed a break from Oona for an hour. Although the stresses of watching Owen in karate did little to relax me. The class had broken into groups and this one boy could not stop moving, sticking his tongue out or making faces, grabbing the other kids in the group and trying to talk with them. I try not to be an crazed sports Mom, if Owen's acting up I wait until I catch his eye and then put a finger to my mouth to tell him to quiet down or point at the teacher in order to get him to focus on what's going on but it took all of Owen's concentration not to talk to this boy who's leaning over to stick his face in Owen's. I'm looking around, incredulous, wondering where the parent is, when I realized maybe the boy has autism or some other disorder and he can't control himself, then I felt awful for getting so riled up about it.

When we got home Toby told me that Oona had crawled onto his lap and fallen asleep, I guess all the activity of the day finally wore her out. She was in bed by 7:15.

In other news... my father's biopsy was inconclusive. He's scheduled for another bronchoscopy tomorrow and another lung biopsy in a few weeks. If those tests still come back inconclusive they'll need to do a more invasive surgery to open him up and determine just what the spot on his lung is. Given his lifestyle and recent weight loss it would be pretty remarkable if it wasn't cancer. The more difficult thing, which I've been loathe to write about because it's been so upsetting, is that my father is basically homeless once he's done with his course of antibiotics at the nursing center he's currently at. His sister doesn't want him to move back in with her, which I understand. I was hoping I might be able to get him on disability or social security but that doesn't seem likely. I feel very bad and guilty that I won't let him stay at our house but I can't, if I do I fear he'd be here for years and given his issues I just can't have him live with us. I'm willing to do whatever I can to get him set up in a transitional living program here, if I can find something like that where he can have a place to live and they can try and find a job for him. The hard thing is my Dad doesn't look like a homeless person and doesn't act like one either; he seems incredibly put together until you realize his financial situation and that he doesn't have a place to live. I'm also concerned he'll act elitist about going to a shelter or halfway house since he is a snob. This has been one of the most difficult months for me. I worry what my father's indigent status says about me and my family. I feel it reflects so horribly on who I am as a person and daughter.