Home Again

Whew! Just beginning to recover from the exhaustion that ensued this weekend, settling over me like dust on my neglected laptop. In this case, exhaustion is a positive thing, for it means I spent a weekend running around L.A. with my oldest friend, bonding with her two daughters, visiting her husband in the hospital and sharing some quality time with my sister and friends I love dearly.

On my first day in town, I visited Allan in the ICU and was overwhelmed by what I saw. I'd been "briefed" on his condition, but seeing him before my own eyes (and seeing what Michele had been dealing with all these weeks) bowled me over completely. Seeing someone you love in such a helpless state has to be the most humbling feeling on Earth. It just made me more awed by Michele's strength and the grace with which she's handled this ordeal.

During my short stay in town, Allan made some remarkable progress:
- He was taken off the ventilator and now breathes on his own
- He was moved from ICU to a private room
- His daughters were finally allowed to visit

Of course, little girls are highly susceptible to both harboring and transmitting bacteria, which means they were required to don gowns, gloves and masks for their visit with Daddy. We brought the gear home from the hospital the night before their visit so the girls could practice. Everything was enormous; there are no kid-sized protective gowns (which Michele tailored with scissors) or masks (which swallowed up entire kid faces). Regardless, four-year-old Sara was excited by the prospect of wearing "important" gear and two-year-old Emma is excited by pretty much whatever excites her big sister. (This works in reverse, as well. Were Sara to have poo-pooed the idea of suiting up, Emma would likely have stuck her tongue out in a show of solidaritous protest.)

I absolutely adored spending so much time with the bright and lovely Sara and her comedic counterpart, Emma. One morning, as Michele prepared breakfast for Sara downstairs, Emma wandered into Michele and Allan's bedroom, where I was getting dressed.

"Barney," she demanded, pointing at the TV. I leapt to my feet (as one is wont to do when ordered into action by a two-year-old who may or may not SCREAM BLOODY MURDER if one does not do her bidding) and started up the VCR.

Something I learned years earlier from watching with my young cousin, Jason: Barney is MESMERIZING. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, completely spellbound by the purple girly-beast. Once dressed, I took my place beside her and joined in her enthralled state. Emma eventually got up and waddled out of the room to locate her "didder" (toddler-speak for "sister").

So what did I do? I remained right where I was, eyes affixed to the TV as if it were perpetrating some Clockwork Orange mindfuck via the plum-colored behemoth. When the tape ended, I marched down to the living room, where I announced the apparent end of my sane years, proclaiming, "I have just watched a full 15 minutes of Barney WITHOUT A CHILD IN THE ROOM."

Please visit me at the Home for Thirtysomething Non-Moms Unprepared and Unequipped to Stave Off the Frightening Lure of the Barney.

Posted by ayelet at January 19, 2005 12:28 PM | TrackBack