My co worker's wife died the afternoon before Christmas Eve. She leaves behind an enormous family, amazing husband, and two children, 10 and 14. It's not supposed to be this way. Ever. For me, grief is a very private thing. I know many people don't agree with me, or even bother to understand, but unless I know the person extremely well, I do not usually go to services. And after feeling the tears on my cheeks fall as I drove to the bank to unsuccessfully resolve an issue, I reconfirmed that I had no business being at the wake tonight. It is highly unlikely that I'd be able to keep it together for my friend, his children, and all the people who truly loved her, all over a woman I had never met. Which is puzzling to me because although I am extremely empathetic, I can usually compartmentalize and get through any situation in tact. But for some reason, her death magnifies my own mortality for me. In truth, the doctors still have no idea why I feel the way I do. There was hope that the surgery would ultimately fix the bulk of the issues, but now two months out, my hair is back to falling out in handfuls, my hands are going ice cold and painfully numb, and the sharp random pains throughout my abdomen still stop me in my tracks. In truth, they still have no idea what is wrong with me, and I'm afraid that when/if they do, it might be something unfixable.
When I sat down to write this, it was supposed to be my annual year in review post. I scrolled through the months and realized I hadn't written much. My year, for the most part has been a chronicle of my forty before 40 adventures which, while no where near forty, were pretty amazing.
In January I witnessed the best practical joke ever, and while I did not participate, I did snap a picture. In February, we got pelted with astronomical amounts of snow, delaying me in my quest to become the worst parent ever. Not swayed in my determination though, I did manage to allow them dangerously close to the world's largest hole in the ground.
March found digging ourselves out from under piles of snow sending us straight to April, when I sent myself and Youngest down the river, over class 4 rapids. I also left him in the woods while I went into town to enjoy a fantastic dinner of scallops and vegetables I had never heard of before, while drinking blueberry soda, in a small nondescript restaurant in the basement of a bookstore. There is no evidence of that though, since I ate it all. Then, later in the month, I decided to try and kill my husband by disguising another vacation with home renovations.
In May we participated in a walk for Parkinson's, and judging by the Italian pastries and pizza they served, we will likely be making this our newest found cause to walk for. Because while we truly want to see an end to this horrible disease, a little sugar to keep us going doesn't hurt either, I mean, come on... there's no pizza waiting for us at the end of a 5K. In June I put myself out there, and was rejected (for the first time ever) by an old friend on Facebook. (It's okay, I'm over it now.) I also made a second attempt at killing my husband by installing a walkway in the front, and attempted to give up sugar... again. July found me running all over town "sharing" random acts of kindness while August found me splurging for the good seats, and meeting the band. August found me trying to kill my husband (again) with a new patio out back, a road trip to Virginia, and a stay in a haunted house.
September found me scrambling to recover money that had been stolen from my bank account compliments of the Home Depot security breech, and as if that wasn't fun enough, I decided to take the kids kayaking. October was the big month in which I was supposed to finish off my forty list, but since all the money had been spent for my Mediterranean cruise, Bermuda was hit by a nasty hurricane making flying in for my birthday weekend impossible, and the pumpkin festival I have always wanted to go to in Keene NH was ransacked by rioters, it left me only one option... landing in the hospital for six days and having an organ removed. November left me home, healing, and resisting the urge to build with Legos.
And here we are now in December, still searching the bottom line of what ails me, wondering what the year ahead will bring. But if this year has taught me nothing, it's that everything can literally change in an instant. We can lose days, even weeks of our lives by dismissing that little voice inside ourselves as trivial. So while the world is making resolutions of things to do differently, I am resolving to not miss anything. To continue seizing opportunities that come our way, find alternate ways to heal, and to stop putting off things and people that I could do or see tomorrow.
I will never know how much time I have. I may live to be 99. But for now,
this is my forty,
and I intend to use each and every day of it.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Christmas Traditions...
When it comes to Christmas, everyone seems to have that one thing that they hold onto that becomes their tradition. For some it starts way back in the family, continuing on like a badge of honor though the generations. For others, those traditions have formed from necessity. For us, it's a little of both.
There was of course, much discussion regarding the whole idea of Santa when Oldest was born, and believe it or not, his father and I chose NOT to teach him about Santa Claus. We chose to teach the idea of Santa... that he was a man who lived long ago, and that now people continue his memory by becoming Santas themselves, spreading his good will and kindness. And we stuck to that... until my in-laws got all hyper-critical and taught them themselves, filling their heads with the "good and bad", "coal and toys" crap.
My ex's family tradition from WAY back was the shrimp on Christmas Eve. Second generation Italians, they celebrated on Christmas Eve and there was never a shortage of shrimp, cooked as you waited, sauteed in butter and garlic. Most Eves we went through 20 pounds of shrimp easily, friends coming and going between their obligated holiday stops, people stopping for the company and staying for the shrimp.
Then of course, we got divorced, and my kids learned the new tradition of having 7 Christmases, spanning over nearly a week. Which inevitably left them exhausted, inundated with gifts, and lacking in the true holiday spirit. We never had the money for matching pajamas or a live tree, and the kids never got very excited about decorating the tree anyway. Working all the time left me little energy for baking cookies and most holiday movies left me snoring on the couch. And that creepy Elf On The Shelf didn't start until 2005 so he never made an appearance at our house (thank Jesus!).
So, yeah. The traditions that most people have just never really happened for us.
I started thinking about this the other day. I felt like maybe it was time to bring back the shrimp that his grandparents used to do. I'm not even sure why, since the kids don't eat shrimp, but this Christmas just felt like we were missing something, you know? In the end I didn't make the shrimp. Instead we went to Tony's mom's house, like every Christmas Eve we've been together, as it has also been a long standing celebration in their home too. We gather with his brother's family, exchange gifts, and light the candles on my mother in-law's birthday cake. She blows out the candles, sighs, and rambles something in Portuguese about how she's made it through another year and how this may be her last. To which, we all roll our eyes and tell her she's being ridiculous. Except this year she didn't ramble. She just blew out her candles. A break in tradition that left me feeling oddly uneasy. As we wrapped up the night, we started talking about how when Tony and his brother were young they would open all their presents at midnight. That tradition carried on for years into adulthood, long after they moved to America and had their own families, only stopping about 20 years ago. I have heard the stories over and over and it never really hit me until tonight.
Midnight gifts meant that I can sleep in indefinitely.
If I clean the house tonight, it will still be a clean house Christmas morning.
And perhaps most important, no bed head in any of the pictures.
This may be the most brilliant idea ever. So here I am, at 11pm Christmas Eve typing away. The kids are listening to music, playing games, and building on Mine Craft. The house is clean, the gifts are wrapped, the stockings tucked neatly under the tree.
And Tony is snoring loud enough to wake the dead in the other room.
Seriously.
That man's been asleep since 9:30.
So as I throw the laundry in the dryer and think of hilarious ways in which I can wake him up for our midnight gift-o-palooza, I wonder if this tradition will be the one we keep. Or if we will reintroduce the shrimp and garlic. I wonder what we will do when his mom is no longer with us. Will we still get together, or will we all just celebrate with our immediate families?
One thing's for sure though, we're never going to get matching pajamas.
No one needs to see me in just boxers.
*shudders*
There was of course, much discussion regarding the whole idea of Santa when Oldest was born, and believe it or not, his father and I chose NOT to teach him about Santa Claus. We chose to teach the idea of Santa... that he was a man who lived long ago, and that now people continue his memory by becoming Santas themselves, spreading his good will and kindness. And we stuck to that... until my in-laws got all hyper-critical and taught them themselves, filling their heads with the "good and bad", "coal and toys" crap.
My ex's family tradition from WAY back was the shrimp on Christmas Eve. Second generation Italians, they celebrated on Christmas Eve and there was never a shortage of shrimp, cooked as you waited, sauteed in butter and garlic. Most Eves we went through 20 pounds of shrimp easily, friends coming and going between their obligated holiday stops, people stopping for the company and staying for the shrimp.
Then of course, we got divorced, and my kids learned the new tradition of having 7 Christmases, spanning over nearly a week. Which inevitably left them exhausted, inundated with gifts, and lacking in the true holiday spirit. We never had the money for matching pajamas or a live tree, and the kids never got very excited about decorating the tree anyway. Working all the time left me little energy for baking cookies and most holiday movies left me snoring on the couch. And that creepy Elf On The Shelf didn't start until 2005 so he never made an appearance at our house (thank Jesus!).
So, yeah. The traditions that most people have just never really happened for us.
I started thinking about this the other day. I felt like maybe it was time to bring back the shrimp that his grandparents used to do. I'm not even sure why, since the kids don't eat shrimp, but this Christmas just felt like we were missing something, you know? In the end I didn't make the shrimp. Instead we went to Tony's mom's house, like every Christmas Eve we've been together, as it has also been a long standing celebration in their home too. We gather with his brother's family, exchange gifts, and light the candles on my mother in-law's birthday cake. She blows out the candles, sighs, and rambles something in Portuguese about how she's made it through another year and how this may be her last. To which, we all roll our eyes and tell her she's being ridiculous. Except this year she didn't ramble. She just blew out her candles. A break in tradition that left me feeling oddly uneasy. As we wrapped up the night, we started talking about how when Tony and his brother were young they would open all their presents at midnight. That tradition carried on for years into adulthood, long after they moved to America and had their own families, only stopping about 20 years ago. I have heard the stories over and over and it never really hit me until tonight.
Midnight gifts meant that I can sleep in indefinitely.
If I clean the house tonight, it will still be a clean house Christmas morning.
And perhaps most important, no bed head in any of the pictures.
This may be the most brilliant idea ever. So here I am, at 11pm Christmas Eve typing away. The kids are listening to music, playing games, and building on Mine Craft. The house is clean, the gifts are wrapped, the stockings tucked neatly under the tree.
And Tony is snoring loud enough to wake the dead in the other room.
Seriously.
That man's been asleep since 9:30.
So as I throw the laundry in the dryer and think of hilarious ways in which I can wake him up for our midnight gift-o-palooza, I wonder if this tradition will be the one we keep. Or if we will reintroduce the shrimp and garlic. I wonder what we will do when his mom is no longer with us. Will we still get together, or will we all just celebrate with our immediate families?
One thing's for sure though, we're never going to get matching pajamas.
No one needs to see me in just boxers.
*shudders*
Monday, December 22, 2014
Dear Postal Customer....
Dear Postal Customer,
I realize that I am very late in offering my unsolicited advice, but for all of you who waited until the last minute, I am here for you.
It's not too late to mail out those holiday greeting cards. If you get them done tonight, and in the box tomorrow, local ones should arrive by Christmas Eve. Unless of course, you use silver envelopes and address them with pencil. No one can read that sh!t. Not even if I was 20 years old with perfect eyesight. Which I'm not. So knock it off.
It is too late to mail your gingerbread man across the country in an envelope parcel post. You can mail him overnight for $19, but if you want him there with dancing legs in tact, you'd better slip him in a box which will run ya more than $20. If you want to spread some serious holiday cheer, throw in some sugar plum fairies and some bulk candy, remember that that stuff is heavy.... you might want to go with a flat rate... but it's worth it. I mean, come on... can you really put a price on holiday memories?
Now, I know the holidays can be crazy and I understand that we're all busy. But the post office is not your personal holding station for your shopping spree. I have tripped over your packages for two weeks now, it's time to pick them up. And if you think you can sneak in, grab your mail from the box, and escape without picking them up so your husband doesn't see, it's not happening. I'll happily put them in your car for you, because they need to go.
I'm not completely heartless, I understand that things happen. People go away, they forget to put their mail on hold. But don't complain when your cards get bent after being shoved into a 4 X 4 box for two weeks, or that your grocery flyer (for a sale that's long past) is ripped. And, if you're a snowbird who's left already for the season, do not yell at me when I forward your packages because I had no idea you were back in town for two days. Mind reading is probably the only thing that's not in my job description.
I also know that people get sick and sometimes pass away and I am truly sorry for your loss. But if you want your inheritance check, you need to pick up your mail. I'll happily send her unpaid bills return to sender at your request, but when Mom's social security check comes, that too will go. Because if she was dead yesterday, she's still dead today, and she won't need that cash in heaven.
The holidays will inevitably bring long lines at the window, with all types of people. Be patient. Some people have no idea how to write a check. Some have no idea how to address an envelope. Some just like to lick the self adhesive stamps. That's okay. We help everyone sort out their postal needs and shipping options can be very confusing. But I warn you, if you come in with a take out cup of coffee and seriously ask to ship it across the country to your brother, genuinely believing that none of it will spill along the way AND that it will arrive piping hot, so that when he opens it up it will spill all over him and burn him, we're gonna think you're weird.
And kind of stupid.
And we'll likely talk about you.
For a long, long, time.
Happy Holidays!
I realize that I am very late in offering my unsolicited advice, but for all of you who waited until the last minute, I am here for you.
It's not too late to mail out those holiday greeting cards. If you get them done tonight, and in the box tomorrow, local ones should arrive by Christmas Eve. Unless of course, you use silver envelopes and address them with pencil. No one can read that sh!t. Not even if I was 20 years old with perfect eyesight. Which I'm not. So knock it off.
It is too late to mail your gingerbread man across the country in an envelope parcel post. You can mail him overnight for $19, but if you want him there with dancing legs in tact, you'd better slip him in a box which will run ya more than $20. If you want to spread some serious holiday cheer, throw in some sugar plum fairies and some bulk candy, remember that that stuff is heavy.... you might want to go with a flat rate... but it's worth it. I mean, come on... can you really put a price on holiday memories?
Now, I know the holidays can be crazy and I understand that we're all busy. But the post office is not your personal holding station for your shopping spree. I have tripped over your packages for two weeks now, it's time to pick them up. And if you think you can sneak in, grab your mail from the box, and escape without picking them up so your husband doesn't see, it's not happening. I'll happily put them in your car for you, because they need to go.
I'm not completely heartless, I understand that things happen. People go away, they forget to put their mail on hold. But don't complain when your cards get bent after being shoved into a 4 X 4 box for two weeks, or that your grocery flyer (for a sale that's long past) is ripped. And, if you're a snowbird who's left already for the season, do not yell at me when I forward your packages because I had no idea you were back in town for two days. Mind reading is probably the only thing that's not in my job description.
I also know that people get sick and sometimes pass away and I am truly sorry for your loss. But if you want your inheritance check, you need to pick up your mail. I'll happily send her unpaid bills return to sender at your request, but when Mom's social security check comes, that too will go. Because if she was dead yesterday, she's still dead today, and she won't need that cash in heaven.
The holidays will inevitably bring long lines at the window, with all types of people. Be patient. Some people have no idea how to write a check. Some have no idea how to address an envelope. Some just like to lick the self adhesive stamps. That's okay. We help everyone sort out their postal needs and shipping options can be very confusing. But I warn you, if you come in with a take out cup of coffee and seriously ask to ship it across the country to your brother, genuinely believing that none of it will spill along the way AND that it will arrive piping hot, so that when he opens it up it will spill all over him and burn him, we're gonna think you're weird.
And kind of stupid.
And we'll likely talk about you.
For a long, long, time.
Happy Holidays!
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Six Days & Counting....
I told my boss I needed an extra day off this week. He hemmed and hawed, but in the end caved, as he knows that one trip to the doctor's office can get me the rest of the season off. Then he offered to personally help me on Friday when I return if the workload is too much. Long story short, the consensus is that my aches and pains are most likely fatigue, but the nausea and ab pain when I eat could indicate a resurgence of the pancreatitus. So, I'm watching it... taking it easy... because if it is pancreatitus the remedy is checking back into the hospital for a few days, and I've already spent MY birthday in there, I'm not spending Jesus's birthday in there too.
So I am home. Hanging out in my pajamas. Eating crackers because they are about the only thing not making me nauseous at the moment. Good times, really.
I caved to the Christmas Cards. My friend gave me some software to try and it has become the biggest time suck of my day. I designed several different ones, but this may be my favorite...
I must say we're in pretty good shape here as far as getting it all done. I wrapped up some goodies for my two subs at work, made up a card for the mailman, finished wrapping the odds and ends. I have a bit of tweaking to do for Tony's gifts, and I think Tony may have bypassed wrapping all together by getting me TSO concert tickets... for this weekend. I am so excited!
Six more days, and still no sign of snow to hinder package delivery.
Now, that's a Christmas miracle.
(Here's the link if you're unfamiliar with Trans Siberian Orchestra)
So I am home. Hanging out in my pajamas. Eating crackers because they are about the only thing not making me nauseous at the moment. Good times, really.
I caved to the Christmas Cards. My friend gave me some software to try and it has become the biggest time suck of my day. I designed several different ones, but this may be my favorite...
I must say we're in pretty good shape here as far as getting it all done. I wrapped up some goodies for my two subs at work, made up a card for the mailman, finished wrapping the odds and ends. I have a bit of tweaking to do for Tony's gifts, and I think Tony may have bypassed wrapping all together by getting me TSO concert tickets... for this weekend. I am so excited!
Six more days, and still no sign of snow to hinder package delivery.
Now, that's a Christmas miracle.
(Here's the link if you're unfamiliar with Trans Siberian Orchestra)
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Politics With Youngest....
I get updates of Youngest's homework assignments daily. Yesterday, I saw that for his government class, he had to write a persuasive argument regarding his feelings on the Obama amnesty policy regarding illegal immigrants. Now, mind you, I am not well versed in this policy that Obama's trying to pass, but I do have my own opinions regarding illegal citizens, so I was curious as to his stand on the subject.
(***AND PLEASE do not take it upon yourself to try and educate me. That's not what this post's about.****)
Apparently, his 12 year old self is vehemently against it, but has little more than generic basics to back up his opinion. So I thought I'd suggest some personal points he could add to his argument.
Points like when Tony moved here (at 10) the family did so legally. That his mother felt so strongly about her sons not having to enlist in the Portuguese army at 18 for their 2 years of service, that she uprooted her whole life and moved thousands of miles away. They had to take the jobs that had been lined up for them and live where the family had chosen for them. They also had to be sponsored before coming, meaning that someone that lived here already (his grandmother) had to set everything up for them before coming. They had to LEARN THE LANGUAGE. It was not easy, but they worked hard. But, that challenge allowed them to become a functioning part of our society. Just like my great, great grandparents did when they came here legally, and his great (X3) grandparents when they came from Italy. Immigration is what this country is built on. A legal process, that's not supposed to be easy, but one that helps ensure those coming here truly want to be here for the right reasons. I then told him that when people come here illegally, they often take advantage of the social structure we have here, and when there is no accountability (staying employed, following the rules) it's easy to lose sight of what this country's foundation was built on.
He was listening... thinking... I could see the wheels turning....
Then I started thinking of my time spent in south Florida. I have told him many times about the protests that happened when Elian Gonzalez arrived in Miami from Cuba. I told him how people protested sending him home by protesting and even lying down on I95, stopping traffic. And while he was eventually sent back to Cuba, so many wash up immigrants were allowed to stay, and settled into migrant worker jobs. They did not pay taxes and worked for far less than US citizens making it hard for documented workers to get hired in the construction fields. In many cases they did not have permanent houses and lived in substandard conditions, so that when a natural disaster happened, similar to Hurricane Andrew that killed thousands, many of the migrant workers were buried in mass graves with no way of identifying them or notifying their families because of their illegal status.
This was good... his eyes weren't glossed over yet....
So I told him that it's not always that easy though. Not every immigrant comes here to steal jobs, escape their home land, or send all their money back to their home country. Some, like my friend's brother, came here from Canada on a student visa. When it was over, he just didn't go back. He worked as a bartender, lived in the same apartment (so no one even noticed he wasn't documented anymore) and had a nice life. He wasn't looking to cause trouble, he just didn't have a life back home. He had a life here, spent his money here, and supported his community here. Which didn't make it right that he stayed, but there wasn't really anything wrong with it either.... except that it wasn't legal.
And finally, he piped up "BUT THAT'S AGAINST THE LAW."
And of course, I agreed. But so is speeding, driving yourself to the DMV to renew your expired license, and posting a photo of someone on Facebook without asking them first. There are lots of things that are against the law, not all of them means you are a bad person. And here we were, the two of us, discussing the human side of government politics. Surely he had some new information that he could add to his argument to make it a bit more persuasive, more personal, more than just his opinion.
His argument is nearly finished. I asked him if he had thought about anything I had told him. He looked at me, and smiled. I asked if he added any personal points to his original essay.
Nope.
His entire argument?
"You can't become a citizen if you break the law. And being illegal is breaking the law."
*sigh*
(***AND PLEASE do not take it upon yourself to try and educate me. That's not what this post's about.****)
Apparently, his 12 year old self is vehemently against it, but has little more than generic basics to back up his opinion. So I thought I'd suggest some personal points he could add to his argument.
Points like when Tony moved here (at 10) the family did so legally. That his mother felt so strongly about her sons not having to enlist in the Portuguese army at 18 for their 2 years of service, that she uprooted her whole life and moved thousands of miles away. They had to take the jobs that had been lined up for them and live where the family had chosen for them. They also had to be sponsored before coming, meaning that someone that lived here already (his grandmother) had to set everything up for them before coming. They had to LEARN THE LANGUAGE. It was not easy, but they worked hard. But, that challenge allowed them to become a functioning part of our society. Just like my great, great grandparents did when they came here legally, and his great (X3) grandparents when they came from Italy. Immigration is what this country is built on. A legal process, that's not supposed to be easy, but one that helps ensure those coming here truly want to be here for the right reasons. I then told him that when people come here illegally, they often take advantage of the social structure we have here, and when there is no accountability (staying employed, following the rules) it's easy to lose sight of what this country's foundation was built on.
He was listening... thinking... I could see the wheels turning....
Then I started thinking of my time spent in south Florida. I have told him many times about the protests that happened when Elian Gonzalez arrived in Miami from Cuba. I told him how people protested sending him home by protesting and even lying down on I95, stopping traffic. And while he was eventually sent back to Cuba, so many wash up immigrants were allowed to stay, and settled into migrant worker jobs. They did not pay taxes and worked for far less than US citizens making it hard for documented workers to get hired in the construction fields. In many cases they did not have permanent houses and lived in substandard conditions, so that when a natural disaster happened, similar to Hurricane Andrew that killed thousands, many of the migrant workers were buried in mass graves with no way of identifying them or notifying their families because of their illegal status.
This was good... his eyes weren't glossed over yet....
So I told him that it's not always that easy though. Not every immigrant comes here to steal jobs, escape their home land, or send all their money back to their home country. Some, like my friend's brother, came here from Canada on a student visa. When it was over, he just didn't go back. He worked as a bartender, lived in the same apartment (so no one even noticed he wasn't documented anymore) and had a nice life. He wasn't looking to cause trouble, he just didn't have a life back home. He had a life here, spent his money here, and supported his community here. Which didn't make it right that he stayed, but there wasn't really anything wrong with it either.... except that it wasn't legal.
And finally, he piped up "BUT THAT'S AGAINST THE LAW."
And of course, I agreed. But so is speeding, driving yourself to the DMV to renew your expired license, and posting a photo of someone on Facebook without asking them first. There are lots of things that are against the law, not all of them means you are a bad person. And here we were, the two of us, discussing the human side of government politics. Surely he had some new information that he could add to his argument to make it a bit more persuasive, more personal, more than just his opinion.
His argument is nearly finished. I asked him if he had thought about anything I had told him. He looked at me, and smiled. I asked if he added any personal points to his original essay.
Nope.
His entire argument?
"You can't become a citizen if you break the law. And being illegal is breaking the law."
*sigh*
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Woman's Work...
I should be deep in sleep right now preparing for the sh!t storm of packages and catalogs that await me in the morning, but instead I sit here listening to the gurgle in my stomach that will undoubtedly disturb me as soon as I settle into bed and acquire the prefect heat seal. Lately my unsettled belly seems to be a combination of the lingering effects from surgery and trying to keep up with the natural speed of our everyday.
I have been back to work for just over a week and it's hard to say how things are going. On the one hand, the bombardment of my body with the vitamins D2 and D3 seem to have done wonders for my stamina and fatigue, but on the other hand, the workload of coming back to the Post Office smack in the middle of season, has not. Truth be told, I can't really say if I'm pushing myself too hard or if I'm just out of shape. Each morning I lay in bed and ask myself, what hurts today? If it's just my hands and feet, I go to work. If it's anything in my midsection, I will stay home. But truthfully, based on tonight's assessment, not going to work has proven more hazardous than my regular 9 hour shift.
I really hate when people say that someone "runs or throws like a girl" as if to imply that girls are somehow inferior to boys. While their bodies are clearly different, their capabilities and no less amazing and spectacular, and in some cases superior and more capable than a man's. This weekend I had finally had enough of the slow drain in the bathroom sink. After some quick consult with Youtube, I got behind the pedestal sink (note: beautiful to look at, a b!tch to fix.), dismantled most of the drain, cleaned it all out (gross), and put it all back together.
Why?
Because Tony physically can't get back there, let alone get his hands into the tight spaces. And while I did need his muscle to loosen the drain on the kitchen sink, (I got adventurous with my new found confidence) I am better suited for the tight space jobs.
Crawling around in the attic, ensuring the roof leak doesn't get into the insulation and ceiling? That's me too, since Tony's 6'2" frame doesn't fit into the 4 foot high peak. Re-running the insulation that was ripped out when we first discovered the leak? Me again, same reason. Installing the new GFI in the kitchen? I just fit better between the cabinets. And while Tony is happy to throw his muscle and brawn at every project in this joint, he knows which ones he's best suited for, like installing fences and digging out the septic for maintenance.
Except that too became more of a joint effort, with him starting the hole, and me continuing to dig and measure until I hit the lid. Then him digging the rest of the hole, and then us covering it with plywood for two weeks until it was actually pumped. Then me ordering the riser that needed to be installed before it was back filled, and him not feeling like putting it in. Which brought me to this morning, when I found myself trying to dig ... in the mud and rain... the rest of the hole so I could install the riser before the ground and all of the dirt froze solid. And of course, it didn't fit. So I had to bring the whole thing back to the septic company and inevitably request a refund (that I can't actually get until next Tuesday), leaving us with either A) trying to find our own solution this weekend if the weather holds out, or B) a giant hole in the lawn and pile of dirt in the driveway until the spring thaw.
Either way, that's how I started my day. And while the day was admittedly over scheduled, and stretched on until well after 9pm, the stomach churning started with the digging of the septic mess at 8am. And now here I sit with my stressed-out, gurgling belly, achy back, legs, and butt, I still don't believe that any job should be gender specific. But, when it comes to digging around for the septic and messing with risers and lids....
....it sure as hell shouldn't have been this woman's work.
I have been back to work for just over a week and it's hard to say how things are going. On the one hand, the bombardment of my body with the vitamins D2 and D3 seem to have done wonders for my stamina and fatigue, but on the other hand, the workload of coming back to the Post Office smack in the middle of season, has not. Truth be told, I can't really say if I'm pushing myself too hard or if I'm just out of shape. Each morning I lay in bed and ask myself, what hurts today? If it's just my hands and feet, I go to work. If it's anything in my midsection, I will stay home. But truthfully, based on tonight's assessment, not going to work has proven more hazardous than my regular 9 hour shift.
I really hate when people say that someone "runs or throws like a girl" as if to imply that girls are somehow inferior to boys. While their bodies are clearly different, their capabilities and no less amazing and spectacular, and in some cases superior and more capable than a man's. This weekend I had finally had enough of the slow drain in the bathroom sink. After some quick consult with Youtube, I got behind the pedestal sink (note: beautiful to look at, a b!tch to fix.), dismantled most of the drain, cleaned it all out (gross), and put it all back together.
Why?
Because Tony physically can't get back there, let alone get his hands into the tight spaces. And while I did need his muscle to loosen the drain on the kitchen sink, (I got adventurous with my new found confidence) I am better suited for the tight space jobs.
Crawling around in the attic, ensuring the roof leak doesn't get into the insulation and ceiling? That's me too, since Tony's 6'2" frame doesn't fit into the 4 foot high peak. Re-running the insulation that was ripped out when we first discovered the leak? Me again, same reason. Installing the new GFI in the kitchen? I just fit better between the cabinets. And while Tony is happy to throw his muscle and brawn at every project in this joint, he knows which ones he's best suited for, like installing fences and digging out the septic for maintenance.
Except that too became more of a joint effort, with him starting the hole, and me continuing to dig and measure until I hit the lid. Then him digging the rest of the hole, and then us covering it with plywood for two weeks until it was actually pumped. Then me ordering the riser that needed to be installed before it was back filled, and him not feeling like putting it in. Which brought me to this morning, when I found myself trying to dig ... in the mud and rain... the rest of the hole so I could install the riser before the ground and all of the dirt froze solid. And of course, it didn't fit. So I had to bring the whole thing back to the septic company and inevitably request a refund (that I can't actually get until next Tuesday), leaving us with either A) trying to find our own solution this weekend if the weather holds out, or B) a giant hole in the lawn and pile of dirt in the driveway until the spring thaw.
Either way, that's how I started my day. And while the day was admittedly over scheduled, and stretched on until well after 9pm, the stomach churning started with the digging of the septic mess at 8am. And now here I sit with my stressed-out, gurgling belly, achy back, legs, and butt, I still don't believe that any job should be gender specific. But, when it comes to digging around for the septic and messing with risers and lids....
....it sure as hell shouldn't have been this woman's work.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
He's A Thinker, That One...
"Being safe is just an illusion. So is control."- Youngest
Youngest has always been a deep thinker. But at nine thirty at night, after a very long day, I am not ashamed to say this epiphany was met with a "ah-huh" instead of deep discussion.
A girl's got to know her limits.
He's right though, we all fabricate our own world that's safe, when in reality anything could happen and we have no control over any of it. We can educate ourselves, be proactive, follow the rules, and look both ways, but it doesn't stop a poor choice, or an accident or illness from finding us and shattering our safe little haven.
Three years ago, three of my coworkers were diagnosed with cancer. One has passed, one has made (against the odds) a second remission, and the other, just this week, decided to spend her last Christmas chemo free, with her husband and two young kids. I can not even wrap my head around how this shattered their safety. She was given a good prognosis, until everything they were safely controlling didn't work. I still can not even think about it, or understand how, her husband continues to come to work each day, even for a half day, but maybe that's his way of reinstating control. Maybe it's his safe place.
I'm a bit of a control freak. and while it's not even remotely close to the same thing, when I got sick and took a week long hiatus from life, I thought about this a lot. Tony, while he is an amazing man, works best as a short term pitch hitter. Could he coordinate Scouts, basketball, IEPs, honors breakfasts, homework, Magic tournaments, doctors appointments, specialists, medications, run the house, and work if I wasn't here? Which then of course, leads to the question, what would have happened if I hadn't been okay?
I was raised with a very strong work ethic. I was to work, no matter what, and while I do love my vacations, they are rarely spent relaxing, But the last unscheduled sick day I took for myself was over a year ago when I had kidney stones. Before that? Easily 3 years ago with a double ear infection, flu, and pneumonia. That Friday morning before my birthday, I laid in bed and thought I should stay home. I didn't feel well, it would be fine. Yet still, I got up and went to work. I worked all day, and then went out with the kids until after 11 that night. I didn't feel good, but I couldn't just stop. And then the next day, when I could stay home, I ran errands with Tony. I even refused to go to the emergency room, still thinking I would be fine. Which was stupid. And if I'm being completely honest here, I'd venture to say that if Tony had not pushed, I'd likely not gone on Sunday either. It's quite possible that I wouldn't have gone until my gall bladder ruptured, or until my insides were so poisoned I wouldn't have been able to decline the ride in the ambulance, and then where would I be?
In the end, my stubbornness comes back to not wanting to shatter my safe haven. I can not get sick, because it will disrupt the cohesiveness of our family. I could not take a day off from work because it may jeopardize the job that allows me to keep our family comfortable. I needed to control it all, keep it safe, even if it was all a giant illusion.
This Thanksgiving, I was never more thankful than to be here, safe and sound, and (relatively) healthy with my family. I was thankful for my sons, who stepped up when asked, my parents who stepped in when I couldn't, and a husband who held my hand, and never faltered as glue that is me, could no longer hold it all together.
I am usually pretty honest about my life, captioning the "perfect" pictures with the real words of parenthood, which aren't always as happy as the picture appears. But safety and control are two of the illusions I have always held close, and this year I think it may be time to get rid of the smoke and mirrors, and just be.... human. Rest when needed. Call in sick when I am sick. Accept that I can't do everything, everyday. And embrace the idea that sometimes the best way to build something new, is to let all the pieces fall to the ground and start over.
That maybe the best life for us is one that's sometimes messy and unpredictable hodgepodge of what comes next, presenting opportunities that that strap you into the wildest ride you've never imagined.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
'Twas The Days Before December....
'Twas the days before December,
and all through our house,
not a sign of Christmas spirit,
not a bit, not an ounce.
I rearranged the furniture,
twice, around our living room,
I finally find the perfect spot,
and drag out the vacuum.
Next I headed to the attic,
and despite my noise and clatter,
not one person looked about,
to see what was the matter.
I heaved the boxes down,
pushed the tree down through the hatch,
dragged it to the living room,
and unpacked our crazy stash.
I looked about in anticipation,
of all the help I would receive,
but Tony just said frankly,
"I didn't even want a tree."
I started with the lighting,
a confused look upon my face,
weird shaped plugs and twisted wires,
spare bulbs all over the place.
I hopefully plug them together,
but my mind there'd be no doubt,
I would absolutely need that string,
that makes the rest go out.
Switching bulbs and colors,
snipping all the wires,
twisting and re-taping,
so as not to start a fire.
Three hours later,
the lights are on the tree,
the garland's strung to fill it out,
and still no one's helping me.
I vacuum once again,
Cussing loudly in my head,
Tony's wrapped up in the game,
and Oldest's still in bed.
What happened to this tradition,
I loved so much as a teen?
Mom always made us cocoa,
as we donned the evergreen.
Friends would come from all around,
Dad always strung the lights,
the tree was far from perfect,
but it was still the perfect night.
I sift through the ornaments,
collected throughout the years,
and what comes from behind me,
but music to my ears.
Youngest, still in his boxers,
has risen from his room,
has come to help with our tree,
and not a minute too soon.
He sorts them with me,
remembering where and when they're from,
a trip, a moment, Santa's lap,
a special moment with his Mom.
Moments from when were were just,
a family of just three and then five,
Memories of all the moments,
we have had since he's been alive.
And while we decorated for mere minutes,
before he headed back down to read,
he always seems to know,
exactly what I need.
Now the tree stand pretty,
taking up tons of precious space,
Tony's team has won the game,
and now he's in my face.
And while it's completion may not bring me,
ample amounts Christmas cheer,
I can cross it off the list as done,
at least until New Year's.
and all through our house,
not a sign of Christmas spirit,
not a bit, not an ounce.
I rearranged the furniture,
twice, around our living room,
I finally find the perfect spot,
and drag out the vacuum.
Next I headed to the attic,
and despite my noise and clatter,
not one person looked about,
to see what was the matter.
I heaved the boxes down,
pushed the tree down through the hatch,
dragged it to the living room,
and unpacked our crazy stash.
I looked about in anticipation,
of all the help I would receive,
but Tony just said frankly,
"I didn't even want a tree."
I started with the lighting,
a confused look upon my face,
weird shaped plugs and twisted wires,
spare bulbs all over the place.
I hopefully plug them together,
but my mind there'd be no doubt,
I would absolutely need that string,
that makes the rest go out.
Switching bulbs and colors,
snipping all the wires,
twisting and re-taping,
so as not to start a fire.
Three hours later,
the lights are on the tree,
the garland's strung to fill it out,
and still no one's helping me.
I vacuum once again,
Cussing loudly in my head,
Tony's wrapped up in the game,
and Oldest's still in bed.
What happened to this tradition,
I loved so much as a teen?
Mom always made us cocoa,
as we donned the evergreen.
Friends would come from all around,
Dad always strung the lights,
the tree was far from perfect,
but it was still the perfect night.
I sift through the ornaments,
collected throughout the years,
and what comes from behind me,
but music to my ears.
Youngest, still in his boxers,
has risen from his room,
has come to help with our tree,
and not a minute too soon.
He sorts them with me,
remembering where and when they're from,
a trip, a moment, Santa's lap,
a special moment with his Mom.
Moments from when were were just,
a family of just three and then five,
Memories of all the moments,
we have had since he's been alive.
And while we decorated for mere minutes,
before he headed back down to read,
he always seems to know,
exactly what I need.
Now the tree stand pretty,
taking up tons of precious space,
Tony's team has won the game,
and now he's in my face.
And while it's completion may not bring me,
ample amounts Christmas cheer,
I can cross it off the list as done,
at least until New Year's.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Brick By Brick...
My husband Tony is a bit of a sports fanatic. He's not much of a commercial watcher either. So it stands to reason, that whenever a commercial comes on, he'll flip to a sports channel. And he'll watch, basketball, football, soccer, poker, curling, competitive tiddly winks, whatever, as if he had money on the game. (Which he may have, I have no idea, that's not the point.) The point is, when it is his team, that block of time is shot. Outings need to be planned, meals rearranged, and laundry is done on TV time outs and half time.
So when I proposed that Sunday would be 60 degrees and a great day to head into Boston to see an exhibit I was interested in, I immediately recognized the deep sigh and double wrinkled forehead head tilt he responded with. Patriots and the Revs kick off at 1pm. Clearly I would be on my own.
Not to be discouraged, I forwent the half price tickets on Groupon, and decided that even if my Mom didn't what to go, I would head in alone. So imagine my surprise when he decided at 8 in the morning that he'd miss kick off so we could go. (What can I say ladies? I married well. Or he wants something. Again, not the point.)
So, off we went to Faneuil Hall. We arrived just in time to see the restored lion and unicorn (with time capsules) be unveiled and re-secured atop of the old State House. Confetti from the tree lighting Saturday night still blew through the streets. Tony couldn't help himself and resulted in several pictures of him trowing it in the air, none of which I can post here as he recruited Youngest into all the shenanigans. Mainly though, we were there to see "The Art Of The Brick" exhibit by Nathan Sawaya. He creates his masterpieces entirely from Legos, and his use of them is nothing short of amazing.
His use of three dimension to otherwise flat (and often recognizable) canvases is astonishing, and in some cases boggles the mind...
The Easter Island Head used approximately 70,000 gray Legos while the T-rex used just over 80,000. Youngest was most impressed...
But my favorite were the random ones, created from his own experiences, or even himself...
His "Self Portrait" stands over 4 feet high.
Others offered whimsy...
And evoked thought....
He often has large exhibits outside that he constructs from the signed Legos of those who have come to his exhibits. These over-sized "Tree Huggers" were on display in Central Park over the Spring. He will be creating an exhibit for Boston as well, and our signed bricks will be part of his "Fenway" exhibit.
Tony's favorite was a toss up between "Crowd" in which the people look as if they are just a crowd on the street, but when seen at eye level, they meld into a giant eye staring back at you, and this "stained glass" piece, made entirely of clear Lego bricks...
My favorite was suspended mid air, as if he is ascending into heaven or giving in to a greater power. Not sure why I loved it, I just did....
After the exhibit we ate our way through the marketplace, stopping at Cheers for lunch, Quincy Adams Candy shop and an attempt at Sprinkles Ice Cream, where the wait was simply way to long. We perused the shops and Tony insisted we come back for date night, which I suspect had more to do with visiting the Ice Bar than having an actual date.
On the way out we spied the Christmas tree...
which stands easily 25 feet tall.
But the highlight of the trip for the boys would have been Al... a busker from Sydney, Australia, who juggled a chainsaw, 3 machetes, and a spinning wheel of doom, atop a 10 foot pole. He could also fit his entire body through a tennis racket.
Which sadly I have no pictures of.
In the end, it was a great day out. Tony made it home for half time, and I promptly fell asleep next to him on the couch for the next two hours. The boys finished up their weekend homework and rounded out their weekend with a fend-for-yourself dinner.
And now I really want to dig the Legos out of the attic...
So when I proposed that Sunday would be 60 degrees and a great day to head into Boston to see an exhibit I was interested in, I immediately recognized the deep sigh and double wrinkled forehead head tilt he responded with. Patriots and the Revs kick off at 1pm. Clearly I would be on my own.
Not to be discouraged, I forwent the half price tickets on Groupon, and decided that even if my Mom didn't what to go, I would head in alone. So imagine my surprise when he decided at 8 in the morning that he'd miss kick off so we could go. (What can I say ladies? I married well. Or he wants something. Again, not the point.)
But my favorite were the random ones, created from his own experiences, or even himself...
Others offered whimsy...
Tony's favorite was a toss up between "Crowd" in which the people look as if they are just a crowd on the street, but when seen at eye level, they meld into a giant eye staring back at you, and this "stained glass" piece, made entirely of clear Lego bricks...
On the way out we spied the Christmas tree...
But the highlight of the trip for the boys would have been Al... a busker from Sydney, Australia, who juggled a chainsaw, 3 machetes, and a spinning wheel of doom, atop a 10 foot pole. He could also fit his entire body through a tennis racket.
Which sadly I have no pictures of.
In the end, it was a great day out. Tony made it home for half time, and I promptly fell asleep next to him on the couch for the next two hours. The boys finished up their weekend homework and rounded out their weekend with a fend-for-yourself dinner.
And now I really want to dig the Legos out of the attic...
Monday, November 17, 2014
Hello!
I sent this image as a text to my mother...
Me: "I don't totally hate it."
Mom: "I like it. But you father wants to know why you're digging fence post holes."
*sigh*
Will the worrying never stop? In truth, Tony wouldn't even let me move the wood. All I did was hold the level and mark the lines. Eventually the wood will age to the same color, except those orange-ish pieces... we have no idea what will happen with those. Bottom line, it hides the semi-vacant house behind us, gives us a great place to dump our leaves, and ensures Youngest won't take out the windows of said house when he gets his bow and arrow set for Christmas.
Tomorrow marks 30 days since my adventure started. I have seen my doctor and the surgeon, both of whom concur that I'm healing up just fine and that I can resume "normal" activities provided I don't push myself. I can go back to work on the first of December and if for some reason I feel I need more time I can call them and they will extend the date. I doubt I will extend it out as I am feeling pretty well, with the exception of the pancreas stuff which is still a work in progress.
In the mean time, the Christmas shopping is done, the house is relatively clean, and the cat has no idea what to do with my company all day. And while I am not venturing on the roof to play with a vat of tar, I have reorganized the closet, done some light yard work, and helped Tony put up the fence in the back. Before all this I would often think that it would be great being out of work for six weeks. (Think of how much I could get done!) But in actuality it's been difficult for me, having the first week completely lost to the hospital and the subsequent 3 just getting through the day, even if that day was of 18 hours of sleeping. Tony endured many, "I'm bored" phone calls, regardless of if I had things I could do, simply because my get up and go had gotten up and went, coupled with crazy weather, dropping temperatures and snow, it really made for a miserable time. I am now fairly certain that "gusto" is contained in your gall bladder, because now that mine is gone, so is my gusto to get things done. Pair that with not having to work and knowing everything can get done tomorrow, it's making for an very unproductive month. I didn't even really cook dinner, because cooking dinner involved going to the grocery store and, well, being awake at dinner time. Which more often than not, didn't happen.
Any-hoo-dle, thank you to everyone who checked in on me. I had some technical difficulties with my computer mouse making it virtually impossible to type. But I did read and tried to keep up with everyone. I have a daily dates with Drew Carey and Wayne Brady, have caught up on old episodes of Gilmore Girls and Reba, and Tony and I finished our binge watching of Breaking Bad this weekend. (What happens to Jesse??? Anyone? Anyone? I would totally love a spin off where he gets his sh!t together and becomes a HS Chemistry teacher with has Brock in his class. Oh come on! You know you want him to have a happy ending. Maybe he becomes a celebrity chef!) Honestly, it's not my type of show at all, but I got so sucked in by the genius of it. I mean, seriously? How did they come up with some of this stuff? I've also had a few Red box days, caught up on some of Janie's suggested movies. Y'all have made it nice to be home, even if I couldn't write to you while I was here.
I'll be back with better stories soon. It seems that the bulk of my fodder comes from the insanity of work, which apparently now happens 7 days a week.
And yet still, that last Christmas package hasn't arrived.
They must have sent it UPS...
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Returning To Normal...
Oldest: "Mom, can we celebrate my birthday on Saturday instead of Sunday?"
Me: "Maybe, why?"
Oldest: "I just want to celebrate early."
Me: "No, you just want your present early. It's nice you are getting so excited about socks."
Oldest: "But I really wanted an iPod."
Me: "Dude... I'm out of work... besides, they are really cool app inspired socks. They tell your vitals, blood pressure, heart rate, AND they measure the bacteria level between your toes!"
Oldest (face palm) "Why would I want those?"
Me: "So you'd know if you were getting athlete's foot."
*eye roll*
Me: "It's so nice you're excited about socks... they are so cool."
As you may imagine, we are well on our way to being back to normal here. Recovery was going well until last Friday when the night sweats and fatigue started. On Sunday I went back to the doctors (in the midst of a snow storm thankyouverymuch). Three hours later I was sent back to the hospital for testing, drinking five cups of radioactive banana flavored barium, and having it injected into my veins for a 20 minute whirl of photos. It revealed that my gall bladder was missing (shocker) and that I may have a small infection starting. Fast forward four much milder, beautiful Fall days, some HEAVY duty antibiotics, and I am feeling much better. I have a follow up with my actual doctor (a story that I'll spare you all) today, and the surgeon next week. If all goes well, I should be back to work should be back to work shortly after Thanksgiving. All things considered the surgery went fine, it's the pancreas they are concerned with, as my numbers still have not returned to normal.
All that to say that I am getting around well and at first glance, look fine. Youngest's memory span being what it is, forgets. So while I am still not at work (I have a 10 lb weight restriction) he thinks I should be able to lift things and take care of everything myself. This has inspired our new game, ten pounds or not. Seriously. He's taking to weighing things. Laundry basket? 25 lbs. Laundry detergent? 9lbs. If it's under 10, I move it. Over 10, he does. Honestly, it's taking a lot of the arguing out of getting stuff done. I'm waiting to see how long it takes for him to realize that he sometimes pushes down on the scale while he's weighing.
Oldest on the other hand, has been surprisingly, amazing. (And no I don't think it's because he's got a birthday coming). I have not seen one eye roll, heard one "No", or "Can I do it later." He just gets up and does it. He will even start the laundry when I ask him to just bring the basket down, or put the trash out when I've just asked him to pull it out for me.
When he was little we battled a lot about his need to be the man of the house. His father grilled it into his head that since we were divorced, it was now Oldest's job to "take care of things". It drove me crazy, and it's a battle we have had for years. It's not his job to be the grown up. It is his job to be a kid... a teenager... in charge of no one but himself.
And now, while he's never had t be the "man" of the house, with the whole experience I am soon realizing that I am loving the man he is becoming. And of all the things to come from this not so fun experience, THAT is my favorite.
Me: "Maybe, why?"
Oldest: "I just want to celebrate early."
Me: "No, you just want your present early. It's nice you are getting so excited about socks."
Oldest: "But I really wanted an iPod."
Me: "Dude... I'm out of work... besides, they are really cool app inspired socks. They tell your vitals, blood pressure, heart rate, AND they measure the bacteria level between your toes!"
Oldest (face palm) "Why would I want those?"
Me: "So you'd know if you were getting athlete's foot."
*eye roll*
Me: "It's so nice you're excited about socks... they are so cool."
As you may imagine, we are well on our way to being back to normal here. Recovery was going well until last Friday when the night sweats and fatigue started. On Sunday I went back to the doctors (in the midst of a snow storm thankyouverymuch). Three hours later I was sent back to the hospital for testing, drinking five cups of radioactive banana flavored barium, and having it injected into my veins for a 20 minute whirl of photos. It revealed that my gall bladder was missing (shocker) and that I may have a small infection starting. Fast forward four much milder, beautiful Fall days, some HEAVY duty antibiotics, and I am feeling much better. I have a follow up with my actual doctor (a story that I'll spare you all) today, and the surgeon next week. If all goes well, I should be back to work should be back to work shortly after Thanksgiving. All things considered the surgery went fine, it's the pancreas they are concerned with, as my numbers still have not returned to normal.
All that to say that I am getting around well and at first glance, look fine. Youngest's memory span being what it is, forgets. So while I am still not at work (I have a 10 lb weight restriction) he thinks I should be able to lift things and take care of everything myself. This has inspired our new game, ten pounds or not. Seriously. He's taking to weighing things. Laundry basket? 25 lbs. Laundry detergent? 9lbs. If it's under 10, I move it. Over 10, he does. Honestly, it's taking a lot of the arguing out of getting stuff done. I'm waiting to see how long it takes for him to realize that he sometimes pushes down on the scale while he's weighing.
Oldest on the other hand, has been surprisingly, amazing. (And no I don't think it's because he's got a birthday coming). I have not seen one eye roll, heard one "No", or "Can I do it later." He just gets up and does it. He will even start the laundry when I ask him to just bring the basket down, or put the trash out when I've just asked him to pull it out for me.
When he was little we battled a lot about his need to be the man of the house. His father grilled it into his head that since we were divorced, it was now Oldest's job to "take care of things". It drove me crazy, and it's a battle we have had for years. It's not his job to be the grown up. It is his job to be a kid... a teenager... in charge of no one but himself.
And now, while he's never had t be the "man" of the house, with the whole experience I am soon realizing that I am loving the man he is becoming. And of all the things to come from this not so fun experience, THAT is my favorite.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Part 2...
It's not that hard to go 6 days without eating when you're on an IV. The IV, for the most part, takes care of the hunger pain most of us are familiar with. It's the other stuff, that you have no idea is related to food, that is hard to deal with. Your skin drys out, your nose bleeds, and your mouth develops sores from lack of saliva. Your veins do not plump up like normal, so regardless of how easy it may have been to stick an IV or draw blood, it now becomes excessively difficult. Your blood sugar drops off, even with the help of special fluids, which causes headaches. Your stomach, now sitting empty, contains nothing but stomach acid, which at any given point sneaks it's way out of your stomach causing nausea. Or worse, if you are laying down, re-flux. There is intravenous medication that can be given for this, but it too has it's limits, and it's side effects.
For those who may be as uneducated as myself, apparently your gallbladder, pancreas, and liver all share the same drain into the small intestine. (Note: This is how it was all explained to me, and while I didn't fact check any of it, it seemed to make sense so I'm going with it.) Apparently, when contorted my body during Thursday's Yoga, I knocked a large stone loose, which my gallbladder then clamped down on causing the extreme pain and a strain on my heart, thus resulting in the wonky (technical term) EKG. Once it released, the immediate pain was gone, but it then fully blocked the drainage to the small intestine over the next 3 days causing all the enzymes and toxins in the liver to get backed up. This is what caused the constant (uncomfortable, but bearable) pressure throughout my entire midsection. Your panaceas also generates enzymes every time you eat/drink something, even water, and therefore all of these enzymes backed up and caused my pancreas to swell like an inflated balloon.
The aforementioned ultra sound did show two stones finally moving, but it wasn't until the MRI was it concluded that they had indeed been free of the drain, and that things would start settling down soon. Still, food and liquid were off the table in the hopes that the toxins and swelling would come down enough to do surgery. Compound this with not being excessively mobile, and it was a wonder that I maintained any bit of my perky demeanor.
Tony, Gawd love him, did his best to keep me comfortable. He packed me a bag from home complete with my bathrobe, jammies, bacon and egg motif slippers, and memory foam pillow. He packed my Kindle, brought me an Amazon gift card to reload with new books, picked up magazines, and even a yellow rose from the gift shop. But perhaps the best part, he brought my shampoo, conditioners, soaps, and toothbrush from home. Something about the coconut conditioners made me instantly feel better, and had all the nurses commenting on how good the hall way smelled after my shower. Showers were few and far between, conveniently timed in between IV changes and excessive down time, but they were treasured moments of simplicity among hours of the mundane.
Sure, I could walk around accompanied by my newest best friend, IV(y), but without being able to leave the floor or section of the hospital I was in, it left a lot to be desired. I spent a lot of time in my room with my roommate, a feisty woman, 18 in leap years, who had landed herself there after trying to skip the line at the airport, falling and cracking a hip. Which, in itself would have been bad enough, but she flew to her destination before arriving at that airport, learning there was no way she could attend her cruise, and having to fly back home alone, to the few family members that didn't attend the vacation.
I had quite a few visitors, my nephew (2) who sat on the end of my bed trying to figure out why the TV was in front of him and the sound came from behind him, my sister and parents, my aunt who came with her own infuriating puzzle that, hours later I still can not solve, and of course, the kids. Wednesday night brought another NASTY nor'easter storm, the lightning from which lit up the room several times over, and setting off the fire alarms at 1 am. I heard the alarm, and being on my two thousandth bag of fluids I got up to go the bathroom. Heading out to investigate, I was told not to worry, that it had been tripped by the storm, and even when the Code Red was issued for the first floor, I was sent back to bed. Just in case, I devised a plan to carry my roommate down the stairs. She's a tiny thing, and I was thinking jostling her hip to save us both would be worth it. I told her my plans in the morning, she just laughed at me... as she had slept right through it all.
Thursday morning the surgical team came in, verified my blood work, and assured me I was finally on the docket for surgery. Tony headed up around 9am and the waiting began. I was told to expect surgery sometime in the late afternoon, possibly around 5pm. Still, we were hopeful that it would all go smoothly and I'd be in and out before 7pm. And of course, I was not wheeled out of my room until 6:15. I said my good byes to my room mate, saying I'd likely see her in the morning because at this rate, she'd be long asleep when I got back.
Sporting a Johnny three sizes to big, I headed out on the stretcher down the hall to the OR prep, where a team of nurses, anesthesiologists, and others got all my information. Each one said they'd be in the room with me, then the next one would say the same, and then the next one, which made us wonder if anyone would be actually in surgery with me. Which in the end, didn't matter, since I remember getting some Dilaudid, blowing Tony a kiss, and asking why the surgical room's ceiling was white. I told the nurse I thought it should be more of a blue with clouds....
I woke up shaking all over, unable to speak and sore... really sore. The breathing tube had scratched against the cysts on my thyroid making it painful to swallow, and the oxygen mask made it impossible to talk. Tony came in, having been briefed by the doctors, and held my hand for a bit before heading home. Shortly afterwards I was whisked back to my room (about 11pm) where my roommate had waited up for me to return (Gawd love her!)
Around 3 am they gave me some applesauce and water to check my gag reflex which was fine. By morning I was cleared for solid food and was in pretty good shape. Tony headed back in about noon, where he found me receiving the last of my fluids, magnesium for my heart, which is incredibly hard on the veins and actually busted my existing IV, so another one needed to be put in and started to finish the last half of the bag. I said my goodbyes to my roommate who was also being sent to rehab that day, and headed home to pick up the kids from school.
The house was spotless. Laundry had been done, dishes were put away. Tony had done an amazing job keeping it all together while I missed an entire week of my life. The kids survived with a lot of help from my parents and an understanding faculty. The girl next door still hitched a ride to school every day because some things, regardless of circumstance, never change. I have since talked to my roommate, who is doing well in rehab, but hates being with the "old people" and the lack of TV in her room. Tony and the kids have been sleeping late, no doubt subconsciously letting go of the stress from the week, and we are slowing getting back to routine.
I am sore, but good. My abdomen is still oddly swollen, and my stomach bandages resemble a sideways big dipper. I can drive and do small things around the house, but no lifting and I get really tired fast. I'm taking it easy (honest) and counting the blessings I did get for my birthday...
....good friends, great kids, a family that can be counted on for anything, and a husband who loves me when I am at my most unlovable.
Now if I could just get an appointment to follow up with my actual doctor.
But that's an infuriating story for another day.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
It's Not Every Day....
...that a girl gets a fire pit, jewelry, AND a six day hospital stay for her 40th birthday.
As you may have guessed, my the culmination of my fortieth birthday plans did not end as planned. But to truly tell the story best, we have to start on the Thursday before....
Aside from the nastiest of nasty Nor'easters rolling in, the day had been quite uneventful. I went to work, picked up the kids, came home, made tacos for dinner, and headed out shorty after for a bit of Yoga. About 15 minutes into the class, somewhere between the cat pose and kneeling mountain, I felt a tightness in my chest. Nothing I thought, so I continued through the pose, returning to standing when it became clear I needed to leave. Making a bee line for the bathroom, my chest got tighter and my head started spinning. The nausea came shortly after, followed by shortness of breath and sweating profusely. Not since my severe allergic reaction from Amoxicillin had I ever felt like this, and I began to think I was having a heart attack.
And of course, as soon as the thought entered my head, I dismissed it. It must have been the tacos. It's bad heart burn that's all. I left, headed out into the rain, and slowly made my way home where I popped some Tums and prayed it would settle down in time for bed. Which it did, until it didn't. Now 1:30 in the morning, a few more Tums and few hours later it settled, and I slept about an hour before I went to work, and on with my day, all the while still feeling pain from my lower rib cage to my hips. When I got home, having eaten virtually nothing through the day, I had a tiny amount of fettuccine Alfredo and once again, all the abdominal pain was back. By 11:30, Tony and I were driving around looking for an open place to get Pepto to coat the pain so I could sleep.
Saturday morning found me better, but with a constant pain in my lower back and pelvic area. At this point Tony said he would not be spending my birthday in the Emergency Room so I was to make an appointment with the doctor that day. After running errands, I headed up to see the on call around three. She ran the usual tests, took some blood, and concurred that it was more likely to have been just bad heart burn. Then the EKG came back. Apparently there is a "line". Above the line is a heart attack, below is not. My EKG revealed that (3 days later) I was still ON the line. She conferred with 3 other doctors, one of whom thought it was cardiac, and the other two saying it was questionable. The consensus was that I would try the heart burn route and then follow up with checking on my heart. Armed with a prescription strength antacid, I was sent on my way, arrived at home and delivered the news.
And then the phone rang. My liver numbers were high. She insisted I check in to the ER tonight. Um, no... not on a Saturday night, no thanks. Our compromise was to head back in to the clinic in the morning, get rechecked and do an ultrasound. So, we cancelled my birthday plans for brunch and headed in at 9 am and after a standard "we'll bill you the co-pay", we were escorted from the waiting room and told to go to the ER.
Happy Birthday To Me....
My plans ruined, we checked in at my preferred hospital. Having eaten nothing but white rice since 5pm the night prior, they hooked me up to an IV, took some blood, and ordered an ultrasound. The medical center had phoned ahead, which, while it did make us appear more urgent, in no way shape or form got us any more attention. Sunday morning in the ER found us with two patients waiting for psych beds who could not stay in their rooms and insisted on chatting with everyone, a voluntary detox, and a return patient with a migraine. Apparently he had been here the night before, had ripped his own IV out, and needed to be escorted out via security. But here he was again this morning, with his horrible 9 day migraine, talking about it the whole time, eyes wide open under the florescent lights, claiming he was nauseous, but later asking his father to pick him up an Italian sub. I know you'll all be shocked to find there was in fact nothing medically wrong with him and he was callously sent home with no prescription narcotics.
Meanwhile I laid there half hung over the side just trying to find a comfortable position. In an effort to keep me comfortable during the wait they allowed me ice chips, which triggered agony. The ultrasound shook everything around, and while gallstones were clearly visible, I was returned to the ER staging area until the doctors could get a good read on me. The pain was excruciating. I was unable to cry, talk, and it hurt to breathe. I sat there curled up, holding Tony's hand, my face in his belly, his hand rubbing my back. Finally the doctor order some Morphine which did nothing for the pain and made me as violently sick as someone with stomach acid and dry heaves could be. It was then that they started me with the first of what would end up being 16 bags of antibiotics. We were about 4 hours into this when the doctors came out and delivered the news, a gall bladder than needed to come out, along with a largely inflamed pancreas, and liver levels 14 times the normal limits.
I was moved to a holding area for the emergency department, which is where I stayed until Monday night. Once in the private room they decided I needed something different for the pain. I remember sitting up, Tony rubbing my back while I once again purged the little I had into the blue bag from hell, and hearing from the side "Are you seriously falling asleep in the puke bag?"
Yes. Yes I was. Good stuff that pain killer was... I slept instantly, and felt no pain from there on out. The nurses were wonderful, tending to needs I didn't even know I had. One even sang me Happy Birthday in Chinese. The kids came in, my parents visited, and I think I saw half the medical staff of the hospital over the next day or so, the full duration of which was being now estimated at 7-10 days. Finally, the orders came down, already admitted, I was to be moved to Center 4, another holding area of the hospital, until a room was available.
Center 4 was good. Quiet but full. Full of surgical patients, waiting for their turns, something that the staff was not used to. And while they did their best, they were overwhelmed. My IV went disconnected for over a hour, which being my only source of nutrition for the last 3 days, significantly dropped my hydration and sugar levels and when it was reconnected, caused a leak. I was told that they did not want to change it (regardless of the fact that it was 3 days old and needed to be changed) and about an hour later I was transported to the 3rd floor where they promptly whipped it out and ordered me a new one. Which, due to my dehydration, was virtually impossible to do. 6 hours later, arms bruised like a heroin addict, they finally got one into my hand. And here it was that I stayed for another 3 days, virtually pain free, and bored out of my skull.....
.....To be continued....
As you may have guessed, my the culmination of my fortieth birthday plans did not end as planned. But to truly tell the story best, we have to start on the Thursday before....
Aside from the nastiest of nasty Nor'easters rolling in, the day had been quite uneventful. I went to work, picked up the kids, came home, made tacos for dinner, and headed out shorty after for a bit of Yoga. About 15 minutes into the class, somewhere between the cat pose and kneeling mountain, I felt a tightness in my chest. Nothing I thought, so I continued through the pose, returning to standing when it became clear I needed to leave. Making a bee line for the bathroom, my chest got tighter and my head started spinning. The nausea came shortly after, followed by shortness of breath and sweating profusely. Not since my severe allergic reaction from Amoxicillin had I ever felt like this, and I began to think I was having a heart attack.
And of course, as soon as the thought entered my head, I dismissed it. It must have been the tacos. It's bad heart burn that's all. I left, headed out into the rain, and slowly made my way home where I popped some Tums and prayed it would settle down in time for bed. Which it did, until it didn't. Now 1:30 in the morning, a few more Tums and few hours later it settled, and I slept about an hour before I went to work, and on with my day, all the while still feeling pain from my lower rib cage to my hips. When I got home, having eaten virtually nothing through the day, I had a tiny amount of fettuccine Alfredo and once again, all the abdominal pain was back. By 11:30, Tony and I were driving around looking for an open place to get Pepto to coat the pain so I could sleep.
Saturday morning found me better, but with a constant pain in my lower back and pelvic area. At this point Tony said he would not be spending my birthday in the Emergency Room so I was to make an appointment with the doctor that day. After running errands, I headed up to see the on call around three. She ran the usual tests, took some blood, and concurred that it was more likely to have been just bad heart burn. Then the EKG came back. Apparently there is a "line". Above the line is a heart attack, below is not. My EKG revealed that (3 days later) I was still ON the line. She conferred with 3 other doctors, one of whom thought it was cardiac, and the other two saying it was questionable. The consensus was that I would try the heart burn route and then follow up with checking on my heart. Armed with a prescription strength antacid, I was sent on my way, arrived at home and delivered the news.
And then the phone rang. My liver numbers were high. She insisted I check in to the ER tonight. Um, no... not on a Saturday night, no thanks. Our compromise was to head back in to the clinic in the morning, get rechecked and do an ultrasound. So, we cancelled my birthday plans for brunch and headed in at 9 am and after a standard "we'll bill you the co-pay", we were escorted from the waiting room and told to go to the ER.
Happy Birthday To Me....
My plans ruined, we checked in at my preferred hospital. Having eaten nothing but white rice since 5pm the night prior, they hooked me up to an IV, took some blood, and ordered an ultrasound. The medical center had phoned ahead, which, while it did make us appear more urgent, in no way shape or form got us any more attention. Sunday morning in the ER found us with two patients waiting for psych beds who could not stay in their rooms and insisted on chatting with everyone, a voluntary detox, and a return patient with a migraine. Apparently he had been here the night before, had ripped his own IV out, and needed to be escorted out via security. But here he was again this morning, with his horrible 9 day migraine, talking about it the whole time, eyes wide open under the florescent lights, claiming he was nauseous, but later asking his father to pick him up an Italian sub. I know you'll all be shocked to find there was in fact nothing medically wrong with him and he was callously sent home with no prescription narcotics.
Meanwhile I laid there half hung over the side just trying to find a comfortable position. In an effort to keep me comfortable during the wait they allowed me ice chips, which triggered agony. The ultrasound shook everything around, and while gallstones were clearly visible, I was returned to the ER staging area until the doctors could get a good read on me. The pain was excruciating. I was unable to cry, talk, and it hurt to breathe. I sat there curled up, holding Tony's hand, my face in his belly, his hand rubbing my back. Finally the doctor order some Morphine which did nothing for the pain and made me as violently sick as someone with stomach acid and dry heaves could be. It was then that they started me with the first of what would end up being 16 bags of antibiotics. We were about 4 hours into this when the doctors came out and delivered the news, a gall bladder than needed to come out, along with a largely inflamed pancreas, and liver levels 14 times the normal limits.
I was moved to a holding area for the emergency department, which is where I stayed until Monday night. Once in the private room they decided I needed something different for the pain. I remember sitting up, Tony rubbing my back while I once again purged the little I had into the blue bag from hell, and hearing from the side "Are you seriously falling asleep in the puke bag?"
Yes. Yes I was. Good stuff that pain killer was... I slept instantly, and felt no pain from there on out. The nurses were wonderful, tending to needs I didn't even know I had. One even sang me Happy Birthday in Chinese. The kids came in, my parents visited, and I think I saw half the medical staff of the hospital over the next day or so, the full duration of which was being now estimated at 7-10 days. Finally, the orders came down, already admitted, I was to be moved to Center 4, another holding area of the hospital, until a room was available.
Center 4 was good. Quiet but full. Full of surgical patients, waiting for their turns, something that the staff was not used to. And while they did their best, they were overwhelmed. My IV went disconnected for over a hour, which being my only source of nutrition for the last 3 days, significantly dropped my hydration and sugar levels and when it was reconnected, caused a leak. I was told that they did not want to change it (regardless of the fact that it was 3 days old and needed to be changed) and about an hour later I was transported to the 3rd floor where they promptly whipped it out and ordered me a new one. Which, due to my dehydration, was virtually impossible to do. 6 hours later, arms bruised like a heroin addict, they finally got one into my hand. And here it was that I stayed for another 3 days, virtually pain free, and bored out of my skull.....
.....To be continued....
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
This Girl's Logic....
One of my oldest friends is coming into town today. Last night, at 830pm, I felt compelled to color my hair. It could have waited, but I just had to get it done. Ten minutes ago, I finished cleaning the house from top to bottom. I vacuumed. I dusted. I ran the comforter to the laundry mat. I windex-ed the mirrors, picture frames, and glass coffee table. I the shower curtain is in the washer as we speak. I even scrubbed the shower curtain rings and that nasty stuff from the top of the shower rod. How does that get so dirty anyway? And as I sit here waiting to get Oldest from school for his annual physical today, I wonder why I felt so compelled to do it all toady, this morning, when I could have just enjoyed this beautiful day.
It's not like she hasn't seen me through every awkward, blackmail worthy, stage of my life. She's seen this house look and smell far worse, having stayed during the potty training years. She's even seen this house pre-Tony's muscle and elbow grease. She may not even recognize the outside since last year with the tree being gone and the re-landscaping. Besides, she could care less what my house looks like, how messy it is, or how many gray hairs I have. She'll likely notice the new windows and completely disregard the missing window frames that still need to be done. Once Mr. Chewey falls asleep on her lap, the myth of our fur-free home will be forever debunked. And she has nephews... she knows what a teenage boy's bedroom smells like.
Yet still, here I was cleaning, primping, getting it all done. For who? Truthfully, it's for me. I have this incessant need to get it all done, everyday. I feel as if I don't, I can't sit down and relax and just visit. Or worse, when we go to dinner tonight instead of being lost in old gossip, my mind will be lost to packing tomorrow's lunches and the cell phone contract I haven't updated. Inevitably, after I finish Oldest's appointment, retrieve Youngest from school and bring him to his poorly planned doctor's appointment, I will then cook dinner for Tony and the boys before we head out for a girl's night, the location of which still to be determined. Do I have to cook? Nope. Truth is Tony is completely capable of feeding himself, the boys, and a small army. He'll likely think I'm crazy for even thinking about everyone else's dinner and tell me to go out instead. But if I do that, forgo everyone else and just think of me, I'll feel bad.
So the question really is, why do I do that to myself?
My sense of worth is not solely tied into being a wife and mother. I was never one who only wanted to stay home and cook and clean. It's not some deep seated thing from my childhood where I couldn't go out to play until I finished my chores. Gawd knows Tony could care less if the shower rings are clean, and he'd be happy as can be ordering pizza for dinner. And truthfully, the kids would welcome the break from my incessant nagging. So why do I make myself crazy cleaning, running errands, cooking, etc. when it's my day off and I could just take a nap and then head out for some much needed girl time?
*sigh*
And the irony of it all isn't that my friend doesn't care, or that Tony and the boys are happy as can be without all my fussing. It's that in the end, I will go out once it's all done, and likely come home to dishes that need to be washed, homework papers strewn across the living room, and if Youngest gets his way, ice cream dripped on the counter top.
And in reality, I'm really okay with that.
Which is the least logical part of it all.
It's not like she hasn't seen me through every awkward, blackmail worthy, stage of my life. She's seen this house look and smell far worse, having stayed during the potty training years. She's even seen this house pre-Tony's muscle and elbow grease. She may not even recognize the outside since last year with the tree being gone and the re-landscaping. Besides, she could care less what my house looks like, how messy it is, or how many gray hairs I have. She'll likely notice the new windows and completely disregard the missing window frames that still need to be done. Once Mr. Chewey falls asleep on her lap, the myth of our fur-free home will be forever debunked. And she has nephews... she knows what a teenage boy's bedroom smells like.
Yet still, here I was cleaning, primping, getting it all done. For who? Truthfully, it's for me. I have this incessant need to get it all done, everyday. I feel as if I don't, I can't sit down and relax and just visit. Or worse, when we go to dinner tonight instead of being lost in old gossip, my mind will be lost to packing tomorrow's lunches and the cell phone contract I haven't updated. Inevitably, after I finish Oldest's appointment, retrieve Youngest from school and bring him to his poorly planned doctor's appointment, I will then cook dinner for Tony and the boys before we head out for a girl's night, the location of which still to be determined. Do I have to cook? Nope. Truth is Tony is completely capable of feeding himself, the boys, and a small army. He'll likely think I'm crazy for even thinking about everyone else's dinner and tell me to go out instead. But if I do that, forgo everyone else and just think of me, I'll feel bad.
So the question really is, why do I do that to myself?
My sense of worth is not solely tied into being a wife and mother. I was never one who only wanted to stay home and cook and clean. It's not some deep seated thing from my childhood where I couldn't go out to play until I finished my chores. Gawd knows Tony could care less if the shower rings are clean, and he'd be happy as can be ordering pizza for dinner. And truthfully, the kids would welcome the break from my incessant nagging. So why do I make myself crazy cleaning, running errands, cooking, etc. when it's my day off and I could just take a nap and then head out for some much needed girl time?
*sigh*
And the irony of it all isn't that my friend doesn't care, or that Tony and the boys are happy as can be without all my fussing. It's that in the end, I will go out once it's all done, and likely come home to dishes that need to be washed, homework papers strewn across the living room, and if Youngest gets his way, ice cream dripped on the counter top.
And in reality, I'm really okay with that.
Which is the least logical part of it all.
Monday, October 13, 2014
No Pressure Or Anything....
So the union debate continues. Let's be clear here, it's not that Tony doesn't like unions, it's that he doesn't like OUR unions. And I'll be honest, I am also not a fan. But from the day we start we are bombarded (and basically bullied) into believing that we need protection from management and the union is the only way to do that. We are told that even if something is not our fault, an accident, customer issue, etc., we can be fired instantly and the union is the only way to ensure our job safety.
And I won't disagree with that. After all, in nearly 12 years I have seen MANY people get their jobs back after they have been blatantly unsafe and left their posts abandoned simply because they wanted Christmas week off, only to come back and say they were treated unfairly. Which says nothing for the people they left cleaning up their mess or that could have been hurt in their haste. But, I am not that person.
I have worked for 28 years and have never been fired. I show up when I'm supposed to, rarely call in sick, and most of the time, I am a team player. I do not take short cuts that sacrifice safety. I look out for my fellow employees so that they won't make simple mistakes that costs them time. I will even work with the (few) employees I really do like to help ensure that they can have a smooth day. So the question that continues to beg at the back of my mind is "Why stay in the union?".
The answers from coworkers have been vague and indecisive. Each example that someone brought up was easily debated. So much so that one co worker actually found herself questioning why she is part of the union as well. The bottom line is that every scenario we threw out, management would still need to go through due process and follow the contracts before firing us. Even then, as a general rule, as good long term employees, we'd likely not get fired. And while there have been a few examples of how the union has helped on a National level (COLA increases, no lay off clauses, retro pay for suspended COLAS) not one person could find an example of how they have helped us on a regional or office level. Tony's stance was that people stay in, simply because it's too hard to get out. So I did some research and found that with some digging, it's quite simple, but can only be done during a individually specific 10 day window per year.
So, I downloaded the paperwork, and looked at all the specifics. Overall, our fees are less than 1/2 a percent of my pay, so as far as "insurance" policies go, it's very cheap. Still, I could be putting that towards the retirement that I have horribly neglected over the last decade. I talked to Tony. We hashed it all out back and forth. He feels that while I don't need it, I benefit from the feeling of having a safety net. And while he's right, I'm still not so sure I want to continue continue contributing since I have never needed the union to resolve anything for me. After carefully reading everything over I thought I would have a while before I needed to make that final decision. After all, the window is very specific and is determined by when I joined 11 years ago, so the pressure would be off until that window came.
Except my window starts tomorrow.
*sigh*
No pressure or anything...
And I won't disagree with that. After all, in nearly 12 years I have seen MANY people get their jobs back after they have been blatantly unsafe and left their posts abandoned simply because they wanted Christmas week off, only to come back and say they were treated unfairly. Which says nothing for the people they left cleaning up their mess or that could have been hurt in their haste. But, I am not that person.
I have worked for 28 years and have never been fired. I show up when I'm supposed to, rarely call in sick, and most of the time, I am a team player. I do not take short cuts that sacrifice safety. I look out for my fellow employees so that they won't make simple mistakes that costs them time. I will even work with the (few) employees I really do like to help ensure that they can have a smooth day. So the question that continues to beg at the back of my mind is "Why stay in the union?".
The answers from coworkers have been vague and indecisive. Each example that someone brought up was easily debated. So much so that one co worker actually found herself questioning why she is part of the union as well. The bottom line is that every scenario we threw out, management would still need to go through due process and follow the contracts before firing us. Even then, as a general rule, as good long term employees, we'd likely not get fired. And while there have been a few examples of how the union has helped on a National level (COLA increases, no lay off clauses, retro pay for suspended COLAS) not one person could find an example of how they have helped us on a regional or office level. Tony's stance was that people stay in, simply because it's too hard to get out. So I did some research and found that with some digging, it's quite simple, but can only be done during a individually specific 10 day window per year.
So, I downloaded the paperwork, and looked at all the specifics. Overall, our fees are less than 1/2 a percent of my pay, so as far as "insurance" policies go, it's very cheap. Still, I could be putting that towards the retirement that I have horribly neglected over the last decade. I talked to Tony. We hashed it all out back and forth. He feels that while I don't need it, I benefit from the feeling of having a safety net. And while he's right, I'm still not so sure I want to continue continue contributing since I have never needed the union to resolve anything for me. After carefully reading everything over I thought I would have a while before I needed to make that final decision. After all, the window is very specific and is determined by when I joined 11 years ago, so the pressure would be off until that window came.
Except my window starts tomorrow.
*sigh*
No pressure or anything...
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
A Bit Of This, A Bit Of That....
I finally finished altering that wedding dress I mentioned before, but not before I removed the last row of lace and found, as every single bead, sequin, and pearl hit my kitchen floor, that the lace was beaded after it was sewn on. Five hours later, I replaced them all, and it fit like a glove. And of course, the bridesmaid dresses came in earlier than expected so I ended up altering three of the five as well. And, while it did all work out in the end, for all you non-sewers out there, trust me when I tell you, it's never "just a hem". Now if only I could get paid....
I have recently discovered Pillsbury now makes a gluten free pie crust, cookie dough, and pizza dough. Why is this exciting? Because it's not a mix. It's a refrigerated dough that I can just pull out and use when I feel like it. No mess, no fuss. The cookie dough is fantastic, just scoop and bake. And while we are not big fans of the pizza dough, the pie crust is REALLY good. I made chicken pot pie with it, and well, the kids had to eat cereal for dinner because there was none left for them. Yup... another A+ parenting moment there...
Tony got on a roll this weekend and started replacing all of the trim and rake boards on one side of the house with the plastic "wood" trim. Never needs to be painted, and it will never rot, although it's pricey, it's totally worth it to know we don't have to do anything to it for the rest of the time we live here. It's also nice to know there will be no furry woodland creatures settling in for the winter in the soffit that was exposed from the rotted wood, and that we didn't accidentally trap one in the attic while we fixed it....
My pay cut became effective this week, and while it will likely take me a year or so to earn back the time/money I lost, I have to admit the extra free time is nice. Losing a hundred or so customers allows me to focus on the 680 or so I still do have and gives me a bit more time for customer service. The office is still a giant circus, and while I still do still make calls to the union for some of the staff, simply because I have a good relationship with the state union rep. and it's easier for me to address everyone at once, I no longer get involved with the 3 ring that ensues afterwards. The hard part is, Tony hates unions and hates my involvement at all, even when it's for myself. Which starts a stupid fight, which inevitably ends with walking away, because it's pointless to fight about it. It's funny though, because while he's yelling that I'm not listening to him, he's not understanding that taking care of things is what I do. Two years ago, I would have taken the whole scenario, made it my own and been engulfed in the crazy 100%. But because I have listened to him, I now just get the info and pass it along. It's the way I stay true to who I am, (nice, a team player, generally easy to work with) without getting screwed over by management. Because at the end of day, it's not my circus, not my monkeys folks....
And while we're on the subject of work, I had an interesting customer day today. In this particular complex there are several people on disability for various reasons. It's also low income, so there are many single mothers, starting out couples, etc. I enjoy most of the customers there. They look out for each other and are very friendly. There are a few however that completely justify why we don't randomly go to the doors with certified mailings.
So today I'm standing by the boxes delivering as normal and a man with no respect for the personal space bubble, got right in my face, and asks how his ex girlfriend got her mail if he had all the keys and didn't live there anymore. I explained that she had met me there yesterday and I gave her her mail only, and that his mail was in the box. He said he had no mail in the box, but hadn't been down to the boxes in 3 days. I told him to check his box, because there was mail in it yesterday. He proceeded to tell me that he thought she had stolen it out of the boxes when I wasn't looking. Um, no.... she asked me for her mail and I gave it to her. Again, he insists he has no mail. So I lock the section I am in and move on to his section, where he does in fact have mail in his box. He then proceeds to tell me that she called him to tell him that she got her mail, and I suggested that the next time he talks to her he should tell her to put in a forward. He then tells me he has no way to contact her and asks if I think he should send up a smoke signal or something. I suggested that he talk to the friend she's living with (in the building 50 feet away) and have her give her the message. After I lock up the boxes he then asks if he can get his mail. I tell him yes, he opens his box, pulls out the mail, looks in his now empty box, turns to me and says....
"Why don't I have any mail?"
*sigh*
You can't make this stuff up folks...
I closed his box, gave him his key, and told him to go home and have a good day.
Maybe this "having more time for customer service" isn't such a good thing after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have recently discovered Pillsbury now makes a gluten free pie crust, cookie dough, and pizza dough. Why is this exciting? Because it's not a mix. It's a refrigerated dough that I can just pull out and use when I feel like it. No mess, no fuss. The cookie dough is fantastic, just scoop and bake. And while we are not big fans of the pizza dough, the pie crust is REALLY good. I made chicken pot pie with it, and well, the kids had to eat cereal for dinner because there was none left for them. Yup... another A+ parenting moment there...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tony got on a roll this weekend and started replacing all of the trim and rake boards on one side of the house with the plastic "wood" trim. Never needs to be painted, and it will never rot, although it's pricey, it's totally worth it to know we don't have to do anything to it for the rest of the time we live here. It's also nice to know there will be no furry woodland creatures settling in for the winter in the soffit that was exposed from the rotted wood, and that we didn't accidentally trap one in the attic while we fixed it....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My pay cut became effective this week, and while it will likely take me a year or so to earn back the time/money I lost, I have to admit the extra free time is nice. Losing a hundred or so customers allows me to focus on the 680 or so I still do have and gives me a bit more time for customer service. The office is still a giant circus, and while I still do still make calls to the union for some of the staff, simply because I have a good relationship with the state union rep. and it's easier for me to address everyone at once, I no longer get involved with the 3 ring that ensues afterwards. The hard part is, Tony hates unions and hates my involvement at all, even when it's for myself. Which starts a stupid fight, which inevitably ends with walking away, because it's pointless to fight about it. It's funny though, because while he's yelling that I'm not listening to him, he's not understanding that taking care of things is what I do. Two years ago, I would have taken the whole scenario, made it my own and been engulfed in the crazy 100%. But because I have listened to him, I now just get the info and pass it along. It's the way I stay true to who I am, (nice, a team player, generally easy to work with) without getting screwed over by management. Because at the end of day, it's not my circus, not my monkeys folks....
And while we're on the subject of work, I had an interesting customer day today. In this particular complex there are several people on disability for various reasons. It's also low income, so there are many single mothers, starting out couples, etc. I enjoy most of the customers there. They look out for each other and are very friendly. There are a few however that completely justify why we don't randomly go to the doors with certified mailings.
So today I'm standing by the boxes delivering as normal and a man with no respect for the personal space bubble, got right in my face, and asks how his ex girlfriend got her mail if he had all the keys and didn't live there anymore. I explained that she had met me there yesterday and I gave her her mail only, and that his mail was in the box. He said he had no mail in the box, but hadn't been down to the boxes in 3 days. I told him to check his box, because there was mail in it yesterday. He proceeded to tell me that he thought she had stolen it out of the boxes when I wasn't looking. Um, no.... she asked me for her mail and I gave it to her. Again, he insists he has no mail. So I lock the section I am in and move on to his section, where he does in fact have mail in his box. He then proceeds to tell me that she called him to tell him that she got her mail, and I suggested that the next time he talks to her he should tell her to put in a forward. He then tells me he has no way to contact her and asks if I think he should send up a smoke signal or something. I suggested that he talk to the friend she's living with (in the building 50 feet away) and have her give her the message. After I lock up the boxes he then asks if he can get his mail. I tell him yes, he opens his box, pulls out the mail, looks in his now empty box, turns to me and says....
"Why don't I have any mail?"
*sigh*
You can't make this stuff up folks...
I closed his box, gave him his key, and told him to go home and have a good day.
Maybe this "having more time for customer service" isn't such a good thing after all.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
My Very Own Public Service Announcement...
So right before Christmas, Target had a security breech with it's customer's information. I was lucky, although I had shopped during the time frame, I was not one of those effected. However, one of my friend's was, and his entire account was wiped clean on payday. In truth, he said if it had to happen to someone, he was glad it happened to him, as it was his supplemental income, his mortgage was paid, and he had no mouths to feed. He would have rather had it happen to him than any of the single moms he worked with at Target. In the end, it all worked out, his money was returned and all was well.
Fast forward a few months to September and the largest security breech so far, encompassing Canada and the entire US, through Home Depot's customers. A different friend was effected, but he is a contractor and is in and out of HD nearly everyday for business and his own home. So when he announced his accounts had been breached, I was sorry, but not surprised as the odds were not in his favor. After that, I honestly didn't think much about it. More specifically, I thought it wouldn't happen to me, as I had not been in Home Depot since July.
Except the breach happened as far back as April.
Three days ago I got a notice that my account was in overdraft. I knew my balance was low as this Friday is payday, but I thought I had managed it fine. Frustrated, because I thought I had been so careful, I wondered what I had forgotten to enter. So Tuesday night I checked online to calculate what I would need to put in for the rest of the week and I saw a weird processing free of $5. Still, I didn't think much of it, and on Wednesday morning I headed into the bank and put my cash in via the ATM. When I got home, I went over my account with a fine tooth comb to see what had gone wrong.
Scrolling through I found a transaction for $183.33 that had a strange tag line beneath it. Having shopped at a different grocery store that week, spending about $180, I dismissed it as the grocery store purchase. As I continued though I noticed the REAL grocery store purchase for $187.
Ding, Ding, DINGGGGGGGG!!!!!!
Needless to say, after 45 minutes on the phone with Citizens, they've issued me a new card and are now investigating the charges that originated from a foreign ATM. I sent it out on Facebook and told friends to check their accounts. The most interesting part to me is that of the many people I thought really had their finger on their finances, some confessed they would have had no idea if their account was breached or even what to look for (Small charges at first, then larger ones). The other scary part is that they pulled out just enough to get my account down to $2 on a FRIDAY. I can't help but think how bad it could have been had it been a pay week.
So, today's PSA is...
CHECK YOUR BANK/CREDIT ACCOUNTS!
Look for any small purchases, charges, or processing fees. Investigate tag lines you don't recognize. Look at your credit card statements, check the charges. And lastly PULL YOUR CREDIT REPORT. It's easy and FREE.
Because if it can happen to this broke Mamma, imagine how bad it could be for someone who actually has money.
Fast forward a few months to September and the largest security breech so far, encompassing Canada and the entire US, through Home Depot's customers. A different friend was effected, but he is a contractor and is in and out of HD nearly everyday for business and his own home. So when he announced his accounts had been breached, I was sorry, but not surprised as the odds were not in his favor. After that, I honestly didn't think much about it. More specifically, I thought it wouldn't happen to me, as I had not been in Home Depot since July.
Except the breach happened as far back as April.
Three days ago I got a notice that my account was in overdraft. I knew my balance was low as this Friday is payday, but I thought I had managed it fine. Frustrated, because I thought I had been so careful, I wondered what I had forgotten to enter. So Tuesday night I checked online to calculate what I would need to put in for the rest of the week and I saw a weird processing free of $5. Still, I didn't think much of it, and on Wednesday morning I headed into the bank and put my cash in via the ATM. When I got home, I went over my account with a fine tooth comb to see what had gone wrong.
Scrolling through I found a transaction for $183.33 that had a strange tag line beneath it. Having shopped at a different grocery store that week, spending about $180, I dismissed it as the grocery store purchase. As I continued though I noticed the REAL grocery store purchase for $187.
Ding, Ding, DINGGGGGGGG!!!!!!
Needless to say, after 45 minutes on the phone with Citizens, they've issued me a new card and are now investigating the charges that originated from a foreign ATM. I sent it out on Facebook and told friends to check their accounts. The most interesting part to me is that of the many people I thought really had their finger on their finances, some confessed they would have had no idea if their account was breached or even what to look for (Small charges at first, then larger ones). The other scary part is that they pulled out just enough to get my account down to $2 on a FRIDAY. I can't help but think how bad it could have been had it been a pay week.
So, today's PSA is...
CHECK YOUR BANK/CREDIT ACCOUNTS!
Look for any small purchases, charges, or processing fees. Investigate tag lines you don't recognize. Look at your credit card statements, check the charges. And lastly PULL YOUR CREDIT REPORT. It's easy and FREE.
Because if it can happen to this broke Mamma, imagine how bad it could be for someone who actually has money.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)