Silver Lining

Thursday, March 3 2005

It’s been a rough couple of months. Ruby has been caught in a wellness/illness wheel of fortune since January. When she is sick, everything falls apart: her sleep patterns, her eating patterns, and her temperament. This has led to the deterioration of our family’s general sanity. I had been so busy with school and organizing my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday party that Ruby’s illnesses and our lack of sleep pushed me past one breaking point after another. Every time I felt that I couldn’t be more stressed, something else popped up. She had a fever of 104 and higher for five days in a row. She’s had three ear infections. Ani and I have been sick with her over and over again, ever since she started daycare. We have missed work, which is difficult because daycare was costing us almost as much as our mortgage. We were all in agony. Because of the stress, I dropped one class at first, and then another, just hanging on to the idea that I was still in school and progressing slowly but surely towards my goal. I was going to have to take one class next semester anyways. I’d just have to take three or four classes then rather than now.

Ruby was beginning to get better when she cornered Kiko and pulled her ear hard. Kiko, in her sketchy feral fashion, snapped Ruby in the face, breaking the skin. It was one quick snarling motion that seized my heart. I handed Ruby off to Ani while I disciplined Kiko. Ani was suffering from the 103-degree fever that Ruby had given her, and she almost passed out from a delirious panic attack with her bleeding daughter in her arms. I finally was able to discern that there wasn’t any real damage done, just a little scratch on Ruby’s forehead. I called the urgent care nurse, and she told me to scrub the scratch for five minutes with soap and water. She told me that I was lucky it was a dog bite and not another kid. Human saliva contains much more bacteria than that of a dog. I didn’t sleep all night, wondering if I was going to have to kill my dog. Kiko is one of the best animals I’ve ever known, and I couldn’t bear to think about loosing her. Every thing is back to normal now. Kiko licks Ruby’s face whenever she can, and is getting better at avoiding Ruby’s pulling hands. We have decided to keep her outside as much as possible, and we are going to enroll her in an obedience class directed at just such an issue. I am cautiously optimistic about Kiko and Ruby’s future relationship now, but the day after it happened I was still very distraught. I put my head in my hands and asked myself what could possibly happen next. My advice to anyone who cares to listen: never ask yourself that question.

I took Ruby to daycare the next morning, and Ani stayed home from work yet again, trying to recuperate. At three in the afternoon, the phone rang: “Hello Greg? This is Melissa from Ruby’s daycare. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. We’re beginning to wonder if our facility is the right provider for Ruby’s needs. She cries the whole time she’s here, unless one of the caregivers can hold her. Perhaps she’d be better off with an at home caregiver, or with someone who has fewer children to look after. Some of the other parents have threatened to pull their children from our service if the constant crying continues. I’m not in the habit of kicking kids out of daycare, and we’re willing to work with you if needs be, but…”

Because Ruby was walking at nine months old, they put her in the toddler class, which is usually reserved for one to two year olds. I think that Ruby’s early ambulation led us to believe that she was more advanced in other areas than she really was. At first, she was doing very well at daycare and becoming more social and independent every day. Then the sicknesses set in, and the fact that she was only able to attend four weeks out of the last two and a half months has made it difficult to get her back into any routine. Besides, she has been so sick that I think it is normal for her to need some individual reassurance and attention. Unfortunately, that’s not something that a daycare can provide.

Ruby and I are together again during the day. I have had to drop out of school completely. I am very sad to miss out on these classes, and even more sad that I have to wait tables for another year. School will still be there next year, and I’ll find a way to eventually get through. It would be easy to despair. Thoreau said that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Thoreau’s men don’t live their dreams and instead plod along like drones. I used to relate deeply to this quote. As I grow older however, I think that one of the main causes of despair is that people don’t appreciate the lives that they happen to lead and instead dream about things like career, success, and adventure. When they look back, it is the simple things that they miss, things that were there to enjoy if they had been able to attend to their own lives. Those of us who enjoy adventure seek it out. I've had a few amazing times, and I will have many more. Career and success come to those to whom they are important enough to strive in that direction. It would be easy for me to go to work every night and resent the needs of my child and the situation in which I have found myself. But I love my days with Ruby, and I think that we are both much better off having her home with me rather than in the care of strangers.

I want to finish school and begin to teach for the sake of teaching, but one of the most important side benefits of that job is that I’ll have the same schedule as my daughter. That benefit won’t kick in for another five years, when she starts school. In the meantime, at least for now, my current job gives me more time with Ruby than most parents could hope for. I will never look back and think about how little setbacks like this delayed my career or threw a wrench in my life’s progress. Career has always been one of the least important parts of my existence. It is a means to an end. Many "successful" people look back and wonder how their family moved on so quickly and why they spent so much time apart from the ones that they loved. I will look back and think of Ruby napping in my arms or playing hide and seek behind the sofa, and that will mean more to me than anything else possibly could.