SUUSI, day 5.
Aug. 8th, 2008 07:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaThursday was supposed to be my gloriously activity-free day. I'd originally planned an all-day nature trip with Alex, and then cancelled it when the program description changed from registration to confirmation. I had also figured that I would need a day to rest and recuperate after two hiking days in a row. By Thursday at SUUSI, many - most? - people are dragging. All my muscles hurt from my insufficiently-trained-for hikes. I planned to update LJ, take a long hot shower, nap, and maybe hang out in the coffeeshop for a while.
Instead, Thursday started way too early, when Alex coughed herself awake around 6. She'd been coughing in the mornings for a few days, but this morning she also looked sick: pale, listless, clingy. I took her off to breakfast as soon as the dining hall opened at 6:30, hoping to revive her with some juice. Instead she coughed so hard that she spit up a little. But slowly, after the application of juice, eggs, and a doughnut, she began to perk up. By 8:30 or so, when her friends had surfaced, she was running around and acting like her normal self.
I asked her if she wanted to try the children's program, and she very definitely did. She wasn't running a fever, so I didn't think she posed an immediate danger to her fellow three- and four-year-olds. So I explained to her age-group leaders that we weren't sure how she was feeling and that they shouldn't hesitate to call me if she didn't do well, and left her at children's programming with her friends.
Came back to the dorm, updated LJ, lay down for a rest with I Capture the Castle. Then my phone beeped, indicating that I had a message. Maternal guilt flooded me when the message turned out to have been left half an hour before, by the head of children's programming. Alex didn't feel well. Did I want to come get her, or have her nap there? I left a return message and dashed from the dorm to go get her. Mercifully (given my sore muscles), I hadn't gone far when I saw a Star Car, one of the two golf carts SUUSI uses to ferry people with mobility impairments around campus. I flagged it down and asked the driver if he could please run me to children's programming to pick up my sick kid. Not only could he, but he volunteered to stick around outside and wait for me to come back out with her - a real relief, because I can't carry her long distances anymore and I don't think she would've been willing to walk back to the dorm.
Alex's age group leader assured me that she wasn't at death's door: "She just kept bursting into tears at the least little frustration, which is not like her personality. She says she wants to sleep until dinnertime." She clung to me, seeming sleepy but otherwise okay. The Star Car took us back to the dorm. There I gathered our picnic blanket, a big stack of picture books, and some juice I'd stolen from the dining hall, and brought her out to the quad to do our best to survive early childhood illness without TV.
Once she was with Mama, and away from the stress of having to interact smoothly with peers, Alex perked up. We read a bunch of books, and then she wandered about in the quad doing mysterious things with sticks and leaves and things. The day passed pretty slowly. Michael was off on a winery tour that lasted from 10am to 5:30pm. Our friends were all involved with their various activities. My father came by to sit with us for a while. I felt stuck outside with her, because a small dorm room occupied by three people is inevitably full of things that a three-year-old shouldn't mess with.
SUUSI magic did help. At one point, a man came out with one of those cloth loops that makes enormous soap bubbles - as in, some of them were bigger than Alex. He spent a long time practicing, trying to get his technique down. Alex spent a long time watching him. I could see her perfectly well, and he seemed perfectly willing to entertain her, so I relaxed and enjoyed having my little limpet 20 feet away from me and not asking me for things, for a while. And later in the afternoon, an older girl (maybe nine years old?) came by and politely asked if Alex wanted to come make fairy houses with her. And double-checked: "is it okay if I take her down there by that other dorm, where those people are sitting?" Alex was delighted. They played together for half an hour or so, until the older girl carefully led Alex back to me before running off. I still don't know what a fairy house is.
Late in the afternoon, other people started to assemble. More blankets and lawn chairs joined ours on the quad, and people started doing Community Time-type activities. A little girl came by with a fantastic stuffed snake wrapped around her head and rising up from there, and we admired her. Alex, who had been behaving pretty normally since I'd picked her up, started looking a little pale and tired again. I asked her if she wanted to go to the bookstore to see Mr. Alistair play his guitar. (this being Alistair Moock, one of the concert performers, who also played with the kids' program. Many of the musicians did informal bookstore sets at some point during the week.) Of course, Alex absolutely wanted to go hear Mr. Alistair play. So we walked over to the bookstore and found a place where we could sit on the floor in the back of the room.
This was my first opportunity to hear Moock play for any extended period - he'd done single songs as part of Ingathering and one of the morning Theme Talks, but I'd missed his concert. I really liked him. Alex sat quietly next to me, listening. After twenty minutes or so, I asked her if she wanted to go or stay. "Stay," she whispered. And a few minutes later, she slipped silently sideways and fell asleep on the hard bookstore floor. Seriously asleep. She didn't even stir when people applauded all around her.
For the rest of Moock's set, this was actually kind of nice. I got to listen to the music in peace, with no responsibilities other than making sure no one stepped on my sleeping kid. But as it got closer to six o'clock, I started to fret a little. I was supposed to help my father negotiate the dining hall for dinner, and I wanted to get to the worship service that night - so far I had missed every single one. And Alex showed no signs of waking up. My dad showed up to give me a hand, and eventually I took advantage of a lull in the next performer's set to wake Alex up and carry her out of there. She was miserable. Poor sleepy kid. She clung to me and cried a little and was utterly, utterly pathetic. Michael came over to help wrangle her. We decided to go to dinner and see if food and juice would help her recover. Slowly, very slowly, it did. So we packed up a bunch of little plastic animals and a coloring book and tried to go to worship.
The best part came right at the beginning, when as a congregation we sang the old gospel song and O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack favorite "I'll Fly Away." I love that song, and I had a lot of fun harmonizing with Michael. But shortly afterward, it became clear that Alex was fully recovered and on the move. I spent most of the sermon out in the hallway, straining to catch a phrase or two here and there. Eventually Michael came out and took Alex back to our dorm, so I at least got to enjoy the music at the end of the service. But it was not much of a worship experience.
Worship ended. I came back to the dorm. In my fantasy, Michael had gotten Alex washed up and into her pajamas so that she'd be ready to start the bedtime routine. In reality, they were hanging around outside while she ran and played with the other kids. I had a little emotional freakout, and we wound up in a short but intense discussion about how come when she started crying at 6am he just stayed in bed and assumed I would deal with it, and why was I doing all the parental heavy lifting?
I think we wound up agreeing that he'd get her to sleep last night, but my memory is hazy on that because I feel like I remember exactly how hard it was to get her to sleep after a nap that ended at 6:15pm. But I think he took the lead. And I know that as soon as possible, I escaped and went off to play Warewolves and Warewolves and more Warewolves. My greatest triumph came the first (and only) time I was ever a warewolf, when I managed to get myself elected sheriff and the other warewolf (a sweet, wholesome, apple-cheeked young woman) and I both survived, utterly unsuspected, until we'd killed off so many townspeople that we couldn't be lynched.
That was Thursday.
Instead, Thursday started way too early, when Alex coughed herself awake around 6. She'd been coughing in the mornings for a few days, but this morning she also looked sick: pale, listless, clingy. I took her off to breakfast as soon as the dining hall opened at 6:30, hoping to revive her with some juice. Instead she coughed so hard that she spit up a little. But slowly, after the application of juice, eggs, and a doughnut, she began to perk up. By 8:30 or so, when her friends had surfaced, she was running around and acting like her normal self.
I asked her if she wanted to try the children's program, and she very definitely did. She wasn't running a fever, so I didn't think she posed an immediate danger to her fellow three- and four-year-olds. So I explained to her age-group leaders that we weren't sure how she was feeling and that they shouldn't hesitate to call me if she didn't do well, and left her at children's programming with her friends.
Came back to the dorm, updated LJ, lay down for a rest with I Capture the Castle. Then my phone beeped, indicating that I had a message. Maternal guilt flooded me when the message turned out to have been left half an hour before, by the head of children's programming. Alex didn't feel well. Did I want to come get her, or have her nap there? I left a return message and dashed from the dorm to go get her. Mercifully (given my sore muscles), I hadn't gone far when I saw a Star Car, one of the two golf carts SUUSI uses to ferry people with mobility impairments around campus. I flagged it down and asked the driver if he could please run me to children's programming to pick up my sick kid. Not only could he, but he volunteered to stick around outside and wait for me to come back out with her - a real relief, because I can't carry her long distances anymore and I don't think she would've been willing to walk back to the dorm.
Alex's age group leader assured me that she wasn't at death's door: "She just kept bursting into tears at the least little frustration, which is not like her personality. She says she wants to sleep until dinnertime." She clung to me, seeming sleepy but otherwise okay. The Star Car took us back to the dorm. There I gathered our picnic blanket, a big stack of picture books, and some juice I'd stolen from the dining hall, and brought her out to the quad to do our best to survive early childhood illness without TV.
Once she was with Mama, and away from the stress of having to interact smoothly with peers, Alex perked up. We read a bunch of books, and then she wandered about in the quad doing mysterious things with sticks and leaves and things. The day passed pretty slowly. Michael was off on a winery tour that lasted from 10am to 5:30pm. Our friends were all involved with their various activities. My father came by to sit with us for a while. I felt stuck outside with her, because a small dorm room occupied by three people is inevitably full of things that a three-year-old shouldn't mess with.
SUUSI magic did help. At one point, a man came out with one of those cloth loops that makes enormous soap bubbles - as in, some of them were bigger than Alex. He spent a long time practicing, trying to get his technique down. Alex spent a long time watching him. I could see her perfectly well, and he seemed perfectly willing to entertain her, so I relaxed and enjoyed having my little limpet 20 feet away from me and not asking me for things, for a while. And later in the afternoon, an older girl (maybe nine years old?) came by and politely asked if Alex wanted to come make fairy houses with her. And double-checked: "is it okay if I take her down there by that other dorm, where those people are sitting?" Alex was delighted. They played together for half an hour or so, until the older girl carefully led Alex back to me before running off. I still don't know what a fairy house is.
Late in the afternoon, other people started to assemble. More blankets and lawn chairs joined ours on the quad, and people started doing Community Time-type activities. A little girl came by with a fantastic stuffed snake wrapped around her head and rising up from there, and we admired her. Alex, who had been behaving pretty normally since I'd picked her up, started looking a little pale and tired again. I asked her if she wanted to go to the bookstore to see Mr. Alistair play his guitar. (this being Alistair Moock, one of the concert performers, who also played with the kids' program. Many of the musicians did informal bookstore sets at some point during the week.) Of course, Alex absolutely wanted to go hear Mr. Alistair play. So we walked over to the bookstore and found a place where we could sit on the floor in the back of the room.
This was my first opportunity to hear Moock play for any extended period - he'd done single songs as part of Ingathering and one of the morning Theme Talks, but I'd missed his concert. I really liked him. Alex sat quietly next to me, listening. After twenty minutes or so, I asked her if she wanted to go or stay. "Stay," she whispered. And a few minutes later, she slipped silently sideways and fell asleep on the hard bookstore floor. Seriously asleep. She didn't even stir when people applauded all around her.
For the rest of Moock's set, this was actually kind of nice. I got to listen to the music in peace, with no responsibilities other than making sure no one stepped on my sleeping kid. But as it got closer to six o'clock, I started to fret a little. I was supposed to help my father negotiate the dining hall for dinner, and I wanted to get to the worship service that night - so far I had missed every single one. And Alex showed no signs of waking up. My dad showed up to give me a hand, and eventually I took advantage of a lull in the next performer's set to wake Alex up and carry her out of there. She was miserable. Poor sleepy kid. She clung to me and cried a little and was utterly, utterly pathetic. Michael came over to help wrangle her. We decided to go to dinner and see if food and juice would help her recover. Slowly, very slowly, it did. So we packed up a bunch of little plastic animals and a coloring book and tried to go to worship.
The best part came right at the beginning, when as a congregation we sang the old gospel song and O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack favorite "I'll Fly Away." I love that song, and I had a lot of fun harmonizing with Michael. But shortly afterward, it became clear that Alex was fully recovered and on the move. I spent most of the sermon out in the hallway, straining to catch a phrase or two here and there. Eventually Michael came out and took Alex back to our dorm, so I at least got to enjoy the music at the end of the service. But it was not much of a worship experience.
Worship ended. I came back to the dorm. In my fantasy, Michael had gotten Alex washed up and into her pajamas so that she'd be ready to start the bedtime routine. In reality, they were hanging around outside while she ran and played with the other kids. I had a little emotional freakout, and we wound up in a short but intense discussion about how come when she started crying at 6am he just stayed in bed and assumed I would deal with it, and why was I doing all the parental heavy lifting?
I think we wound up agreeing that he'd get her to sleep last night, but my memory is hazy on that because I feel like I remember exactly how hard it was to get her to sleep after a nap that ended at 6:15pm. But I think he took the lead. And I know that as soon as possible, I escaped and went off to play Warewolves and Warewolves and more Warewolves. My greatest triumph came the first (and only) time I was ever a warewolf, when I managed to get myself elected sheriff and the other warewolf (a sweet, wholesome, apple-cheeked young woman) and I both survived, utterly unsuspected, until we'd killed off so many townspeople that we couldn't be lynched.
That was Thursday.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 12:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 01:39 pm (UTC)However, I did buy three sets of the game - two as gifts and one for ourselves. The boys wanted to play, but we didn't let 'em
no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 02:12 pm (UTC)*laughs knowingly*
no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 02:54 pm (UTC)"Using tree stumps, mosses, twigs, acorns and other natural materials, children (and adults, too) fashion little dwellings, hoping the fairies will appreciate and use their gift to them." (http://www.squidoo.com/fairyhouses)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-09 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-09 02:45 am (UTC)We took K to Madison last week to see a local musician do an outdoor all ages concert at the University, and it was hugely crowded and she was great up until she hit a wall around 10, and I was so annoyed with people sitting near us that I finally tried carrying 43 lbs of Kailey through a standing throng of college-kids-and-hangers-on. She slept through most of the body press, balancing against abandoned chairs, and almost up to the Union itself, but when she stirred I immediately got her walking again :(
We stayed in the main hallway of the Union watching the aquarium near the information desk waiting for Daddy and friends. YAY FISHIES!
She slept the whole way home, and until like 10 a.m.