Burning the Cake

 

Adriana D.

Flour. Sugar. Baking soda. Combine. I remember whisking my ingredients together that night. I peered through the kitchen to find that they were all still there, but K. was gone. She’s moping again, I thought. But then I heard the shower running. It was the third time in one day. Thinking nothing of it, I added eggs, vanilla, and the butter. Crack, drop, pour, mix. This is her third shower in a day, something isn’t right.

Last time I remember baking a cake, I was in the kitchen of my home whipping it up with the intentions of eating most of it, sharing only a little with my parents, my sister,  and my two younger brothers. K. is a year and a half younger than I am; but we look nothing alike. She is a lanky, skinny figure with large blue eyes taking over half her face. We had fought the night before, so her moping around for a while seemed par for the course.

In a household of six, there is hardly any quiet and chaos is a constant. The boys, 3 and 8 at the time, were constantly battling for each other's toys and K. was running around making everyone laugh. This particular day, though, I noticed that K. had slept the whole day, not saying a word to anyone. The only time she would leave her room was to shower and when my mom forced her to come up and eat dinner with us. I remember thinking that was odd. Why three showers?

We had been down this path so many times with K., that if we were accusing her of nothing, it would just cause her to go down hill. Accusing her of nothing could lead her to cutting her wrists with paper towel dispensers in the school bathroom, or her thighs, or taking pills, or all of the above. Again. But, I also knew that there isn’t one reason in the world that she needed three showers in one day. Leaving my vanilla batter dripping from my whisk, I pulled my mom into her bedroom to tell her.

“K. is in the shower,” I whispered while pointing my finger down the hall.

“Okay? Is that a bad thing?” Clearly she didn’t understand what I was getting at.

“Mom, this is the third one in a few hours. I know it’s a longshot, but you know how she is. She has been sleeping all day. Can you just go make sure?”

“Adriana, I am sure it’s fine. But I’ll go.”

The only way I knew how to block out the sound of my sister screaming in the downstairs bathroom when my parents found her was to turn All Dogs Go To Heaven up as high as I could. R. and J. were way too young to be exposed to everything that was going on. I began to tremble as I led them behind the pillars in the kitchen to distract them from the sound of my dad ripping the door off the hinges and K. screaming for them to “let her die.” R. had tears filling his eyes and stared at me as if I could help him feel less terrified. We were both paralyzed in the moment.  I knew it. I could help, I could calm her down or rationalize or something. But at that moment, I knew I couldn’t leave my brothers sitting on the kitchen floor, the youngest watching Paw Patrol on my phone to stay distracted.

In the midst of this, I had forgotten about the cake. The fire alarm began to sound. The strong, sweet scent of homemade pound cake had been replaced with the horrid smell of burnt chard. J., my littlest brother, began to cry from the sound. I legitimately don’t think he knew or cared what was going on. The fire alarm would startle any toddler, but he was oblivious to the rest. R. and I were fanning the alarm and we could hear my dad: “Why do you keep doing this? How many did you take? How much blood have you lost?” If R. hadn’t fully known what was going on before, which I don’t think he did, he did at that point.

My mom didn’t even notice the fire alarm. She came bolting to grab the home phone and dial 911. The alarm’s piercing shriek finally came to an end. Within minutes, I heard the all too familiar sound of bulky boots running back and forth out of the front door. I heard their conversations on the radio, “ We have a 13 year old girl, slit wrists and overdose at 1--- West 1st street, we are going to need a psych eval.” The lights of emergency vehicles flashing against our brick house, men running through the basement with medical gear, and cars stopping in the middle of the road to stare. This all gave it away to R. With shortness of breath, smoke still stinging my eyes, and my heart falling to my stomach, all I knew was I needed to try and help calm them.

“Hey guys, don’t worry, okay? They’re are here to help us.”

“Why would they need to help us? What’s wrong?” R. asks me.

Shit.

“Sometimes, K. feels sick. They just want to make her better.” I remember saying these words knowing that while J. would be completely distracted by his games, R. was starting to understand.

The questions they asked K. downstairs were the same as the ones my dad asked a few minutes before they got here.  I knew that R. was listening, too. “Hey, you guys want a piece of this?” I joked as I pointed to the charred brick sitting on the counter that was once a spongy dough.

R. began to chuckle through the tears that were gathering in his charcoal eyes. “No thanks, but how did you screw that up so bad?” I laughed so ridiculously hard that for a split second, I didn’t even remember that my sister might be half dead downstairs and I had no way of helping or knowing. The television was still blaring some commercial about consulting a doctor before taking medication to help depression. Wonderful.

R. and I listen to them exit our home as they carry K. out. In a sense, it was calming to let him watch this so he could share the quiet fear jolting through my veins.  I wanted him to understand, but not be afraid. All I can remember is looking out the window as she was loaded up and watching R.’s eyes as they filled with tears and confusion.  After the ambulance drove off, I could hear some more people with deep voices talking to my parents at the bottom of the stairs about facility options to send my sister to.

R. peers over at me, “Is she going to come back?”

“Eventually. We have to let her get better before she can come here.” Saying this helped R. realize the extent of the situation, but it felt like my words came out of my mouth and slapped me right in the face. I didn’t know when I would see her next. I couldn’t believe that she was pouting all day and I didn’t even think that it could have something to do with-

“Hey! Do you think they’re talking about us?”

I look to the left of our driveway and see the neighbors recording our house, chattering, and being nosey. I couldn’t make out any words but by their gestures towards our house, I could tell it was just classic small-town drama to them.  For the love of God. There goes the boys’ shot at normalcy for the next few lifetimes. “Um, do you wanna try and make a new cake?”

“Maybe we can make brownies instead. You suck at baking cakes.” R. was still trying to joke through the pit in his stomach. I could see it myself. I knew this because I was doing the same.

“Yeah, I am sure I can whip up something. J., are you hungry?” I pondered as I walked the cake to the trash.

“No, sissy. Your cake looks gross.” This comment, while absolutely hilarious, reassured me that he had hardly listened to anything that had been going on for the past hour.

“I won’t make you eat the cake, we can make brownies!”

We stayed on the couch all alone for the rest of the night eating the whole pan of brownies.  The only comfort I could find in the world was indulging myself in sugar and knowing that my sister was getting whatever she needed. The warmth of the brownies was the only thing keeping me from panic mode. Needless to say, cake makes me want to barf.

 

 

 

Raising Womb Gremlins

 

 

Faith Cook

"Stay-at-home moms are too stupid and lazy for college or actual work. They just sit on their butts and watch TV all day long.” Excuse me?? When you decide to be a stay-at-home mom, you might picture days at the park, snuggles and smiles. There are certain things nobody tells you about. Being a stay-at-home mom comes with many dangers. Losing your sanity is high on that list, but I would like to talk about physical dangers such as blood, electrocution, vomit, and head injuries.   

Electricity is an obvious danger in houses. You buy those little plugs. Then you realize children can pull cords, so you try to keep all cords hidden or out of reach. Once when Bailey was approximately 8 months old, I left him in the living room by himself while I used the bathroom. On my way back to him I heard a screech like I had never heard before and pray to God that I never hear again. He had unplugged my breast pump from the pump itself and stuck it in his mouth while the other end was still plugged into the wall, thus giving himself an electrical shock. After that he never touched an electrical cord again until he was about 7 years old. Jade on the other hand, is far more stubborn and while she has never electrocuted herself, also has never feared cords and unplugged and plugged them back in repeatedly.  

Another possible danger is a child cutting themselves. You cannot be prepared to find their blood smeared all over the kitchen counter. One time I was cooking for a church gathering and left the kitchen to again, use the bathroom. When I came out of the bathroom, I discovered Bailey had climbed up on the foot stool I had been using and grabbed the kitchen knife. There was blood all over the counter and not a peep from him, not even a whimper. After getting him cleaned up I realized he cut his finger open.  

Getting locked out of the house is probably something most have feared in their teens, but nobody warns you that it could occur as a result of a toddler. When Jade was about 2, her and I had gone to town to go grocery shopping. When we got home, I carried her inside and answered the ringing telephone. With the phone to my ear, I headed out to the pickup to start carrying in bags of cold and frozen food first, so they didn’t go bad. When I got back to the front door, I discovered I had been locked out and she didn’t appear to know how to unlock it. She stood at the window smiling and giggling the whole time. I was worried I’d have to call my husband home to unlock the door as we didn’t have a hide-a-key. She did eventually unlock the deadbolt and we do now have a hide-a-key. She is also the reason our deadbolt got broken. I am not at all certain how she did it, but we discovered the knob for the dead bold on the floor and her sitting under it crying. In the past she had been witnessed to hanging from the knob and I am certain that is what happened. I never in my wildest dreams would’ve thought that something that is supposed to keep intruders out of the house could so easily be compromised by a toddler.

Medical dangers are something I never thought I’d have to learn about. The words “de-sat” and “brady” became every day words referring to heart rate and oxygen saturation. Rafe, who is forever a “28 week-er” was born 12 weeks premature and has been in the hospital and ER many times due to ‘abdominal breathing’. For an adult, this is common when we have exercised heavily or have been running and are now out of breath. For an infant, this is dangerous, seeing their skin sink in between each individual rib with each breath. You learn to notice the signs almost before the machine can even pick it up. The wide scared eyes, and gray-blue hue of their skin. 

Vomit is going to happen. One-time Bailey was walking and heard the dog, Timber, running up behind him. Instead of a ‘bob and weave’ they both weaved and the dog hit Bailey in the leg, sending him flying in the air and coming crashing down on his head at an odd angle. It took several minutes before Bailey could even stand up, then when he did, he couldn’t walk straight. He had to stand for several more minutes before he could walk. I was scared he had broken his neck or back. He did finally walk into the house and sat in the living room on the recliner. After about 30 minutes he said he was hungry and asked for a snack. We gave him some fruit snacks. 20 more minutes go bye and he said he was thirsty and asks for a drink. We gave him some milk. Within 5 minutes he vomited. We rushed Jade to bed and left her with Grandma and Grandpa while we rushed Bailey to the ER for fear of a concussion. No MRI was required that night and he was discharged.  

On a separate occasion, one-night Bailey vomited in his bed and came to wake me up. “Mommy, I threw up in my bed,” Bailey tells me. 

“Okay, go lay down and I’ll be right there.” 

It was about 2:30 in the morning and I asked him to go lay down so I could grab a robe and walk out of the bedroom. He assumed I meant in his bed. I assumed he would understand that I was telling him to lay down on the couch. That is when I learned it is important to make sure you always have AT LEAST one extra set of clean sheets for each bed. After we got the messy bedding in the washer, we cleaned up Bailey and put clean bedding on his bed for him. By this time, the washer was done, and we got the once soiled sheets in the dryer. Roughly and hour later he came back in and had puked all over his bed AGAIN. Sheets off the bed, into the washer. Clean child and laundry out of the dryer and back on the bed. Now time for sheets out of the washer and into the dryer. An hour later, it happened a third time. Now time for child to sleep on the couch. Did not vomit the rest of the night.  

Choking is a danger most people are aware of. Small children put things in their mouths and need to be watched for things like Legos and popcorn kernels. Nobody tells you that even a three-year-old can unscrew a bottle cap. Bailey once opened Jade’s gas drops and drank the whole bottle while I was in the bathroom. I called Colglazier Medical Clinic immediately after I discovered this. The clinic told they didn’t know what to advise other than to call the pharmacy where I purchased the gas drops. I called Adam’s Drug and spoke with the pharmacist, Jamie. He told me “He should be fine, just don’t let him take a nap today. He might not wake up.” WHAT??? 

I hope nobody blindly goes into being a stay-at-home mom. There are plenty of snuggles and giggles, teaching and learning with being a stay-at-home mom, but there are many physical dangers that you cannot be fully prepared for. Motherhood is the scariest ‘hood’ I have ever witnessed. Buy stock in Band-Aid, study CPR, make sure the child is ALWAYS contained when you have to pee, and know that there are many dangers. Ones I have gone through and ones I have not.