This WAS the year....
....Tony and I started out 70 miles apart.
....that we shoveled lots of snow.
....that we finally saw Garth Brooks live, from the 20th row.
....that I had to shovel snow from the roof so it would not cave in.
...that Tony threw his back out (shoveling snow) and was out of work for a month.
...that Youngest started reading, but stopped eating.
....that I was diagnosed with diverticulitis.
...that Youngest turned 13.
...that we had to finally replaced the washing machine, dishwasher, and the roof.
...that I served on Jury duty, and drank my way through two paint nights.
...that Tony finally got his truck, and essentially lost his family.
....that planning a camp out on a private island, turned into being in charge of all things Boy Scouts.
...that this chubby chick biked over 200 miles in two months.
...that a pen pal became a real life friend.
...that Youngest finally started eating again and broke the 5 foot mark.
... that Oldest turned 15, went to homecoming, and made the basketball team.
...that Bonus Brother turned 21....and renewed his permit for the third time. *sigh*
...that "adulting" became a verb.
This WILL BE the year....
.....I focus on the people and things I love more.
.....I will spend less time on frivolous, social media and more time on quality, meaningful media.
....I will focus on simple and uncomplicated.
... I will be selective of who I allow in my personal space, but engage in celebrating everyday with everyone.
...I will forgive myself for my failures and know my limitations.
...I will take time to color.
...to breathe...
...to snuggle...
...to do my nails.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
One. More. Day.
If you are reading this on Christmas Eve, I will have worked 23 of the last 25 days. I gave up every one of my days off and volunteered my last Sunday to the office, making an eleven day work stretch for myself. The two days I did have off I spent hauling and selling Christmas trees for the Boy Scouts 9 hours and 6 hours, respectively. And while the money is certainly welcome (hello beautiful new roof and trim) I am tired.
And no matter how I prepared the kids for my incessant work schedule, the look of horror on Youngest's face last Sunday morning when he saw me leaving for work and realized he was yet again having cereal for dinner was shameful.
Quite simply, something had to give. That something was laundry... cooking dinner... paying bills... my sanity...
So here I sit, on the eve of Christmas Eve realizing that yet again another entire month of my life has passed by. This year has had so many changes, heart break, and twists that I can not remember it all. Of course, if I had made more time to write it all down that wouldn't have been an issue, but that's a conversation for next year. This year, when the urge to write has hit me either Youngest has been doing his homework on my computer or I have fallen asleep where I sat. Next year I might have a dedicated computer of my own that I can tote around with me for when the mood hits. Or not.
Our family is changing. With the passing of my mother in law, the dynamic between my husband and his brother has blindsided him and he's having trouble navigating a path. He is struggling and all I can do is watch. Years ago, when his father died I had given his mother a mahogany letter box to write to him when she was feeling sad, frustrated, happy, whatever. She tucked it away as she always did with anything she liked... it was too nice to use... and we found it a few days after she died... in the drawers with all the important papers. It was the only thing I wanted.... and now I write to her. I mail it off into the box, in the hopes that she will read it and be able to somehow change hearts, or at least know that there's another side. Or maybe it's nothing more than a way for me to make peace with some of it, to find solace in something I can not understand or change.
Christmas Eve is her birthday. Tony has asked to celebrate without us where they lay her ashes. So while the rest of his family gets together to celebrate and remembers her, he will be left to himself to remember the mother he had and to mourn the loss of what is essentially his entire family. We bought gifts for the nieces and nephews and were told not to bother with them. We have tried to send congratulatory cards for babies on the way and were left with no response. At some point, we will stop trying, because at the end of the day, people only do what works for them. And this... whatever this is... isn't working. But he's not there yet.
We have had many good things happen here as well. The roof finally went on, my new headboard for the bed is finally finished, the sun tube is getting installed in the bathroom, the boys are doing well in school, and Bonus Son is finally (maybe) going to get his license. My side of the family is doing well, trips are being planned, and the chaos of life is being managed accordingly. And work, as I've already mentioned, is a'plenty.
But there's a marked difference this year, similar to when I lost my grandmother and I started this blog. It's a time of change, a redefinition maybe, of our life, or family as we know it. A time to reconnect with myself, to pull some people closer and let go of others.
A time to start writing it all down again.
See you in January Pen Pals....
And no matter how I prepared the kids for my incessant work schedule, the look of horror on Youngest's face last Sunday morning when he saw me leaving for work and realized he was yet again having cereal for dinner was shameful.
Quite simply, something had to give. That something was laundry... cooking dinner... paying bills... my sanity...
So here I sit, on the eve of Christmas Eve realizing that yet again another entire month of my life has passed by. This year has had so many changes, heart break, and twists that I can not remember it all. Of course, if I had made more time to write it all down that wouldn't have been an issue, but that's a conversation for next year. This year, when the urge to write has hit me either Youngest has been doing his homework on my computer or I have fallen asleep where I sat. Next year I might have a dedicated computer of my own that I can tote around with me for when the mood hits. Or not.
Our family is changing. With the passing of my mother in law, the dynamic between my husband and his brother has blindsided him and he's having trouble navigating a path. He is struggling and all I can do is watch. Years ago, when his father died I had given his mother a mahogany letter box to write to him when she was feeling sad, frustrated, happy, whatever. She tucked it away as she always did with anything she liked... it was too nice to use... and we found it a few days after she died... in the drawers with all the important papers. It was the only thing I wanted.... and now I write to her. I mail it off into the box, in the hopes that she will read it and be able to somehow change hearts, or at least know that there's another side. Or maybe it's nothing more than a way for me to make peace with some of it, to find solace in something I can not understand or change.
Christmas Eve is her birthday. Tony has asked to celebrate without us where they lay her ashes. So while the rest of his family gets together to celebrate and remembers her, he will be left to himself to remember the mother he had and to mourn the loss of what is essentially his entire family. We bought gifts for the nieces and nephews and were told not to bother with them. We have tried to send congratulatory cards for babies on the way and were left with no response. At some point, we will stop trying, because at the end of the day, people only do what works for them. And this... whatever this is... isn't working. But he's not there yet.
We have had many good things happen here as well. The roof finally went on, my new headboard for the bed is finally finished, the sun tube is getting installed in the bathroom, the boys are doing well in school, and Bonus Son is finally (maybe) going to get his license. My side of the family is doing well, trips are being planned, and the chaos of life is being managed accordingly. And work, as I've already mentioned, is a'plenty.
But there's a marked difference this year, similar to when I lost my grandmother and I started this blog. It's a time of change, a redefinition maybe, of our life, or family as we know it. A time to reconnect with myself, to pull some people closer and let go of others.
A time to start writing it all down again.
See you in January Pen Pals....
Sunday, November 22, 2015
The Report Cards....
Two report cards hang on my fridge.
One white, pristine, with barely a wrinkle or crease on the corners. It's as if it was given out and safely tucked away within a protective folder until it made it's way home.
The other blue, folded into 16ths, then crumpled in a fist, tossed aside on the coffee table, most likely to be discarded later as a random piece of scrap paper.
Still, side by side, they both hang there on the fridge, tacked up by the "Yea Bacon" and "Yea Narwhals" magnets respectively. One a beautiful pristine, the other a beautiful mess. But, upon closer inspection they have nearly the exact same grades.
All A's and two B+s.
The same, and yet so different, not unlike the boys they belong to.
So many times I have secretly (and not so secretly) wished they'd be more like the other. I have wished Oldest to be more flexible, less black and white. I wished he'd understood sarcasm, be less worried about what other people thought, to be less detail oriented. I wished Youngest be more responsible, less unpredictable, more focused, and less of a handful. He's killing me slowly that one, I tell you.
Oldest cares about his appearance. Matches his clothes, styles his hair, matches his sneakers to his outfits. He strives to find a balance between what he likes and fitting in. He is a parallelogram trying to fit into a bunch of square holes. Sometimes he makes the edges fit, sometimes not.
Youngest throws on whatever is clean, or whatever he thinks is clean, and heads out the door. On mismatched day he wore a perfectly matched outfit, right down to his sneakers, just to be different. He could care less who likes him, wearing his weirdness like a badge of honor. He's like an octopus in the mesh bag of life... barely containable and full of surprises.
Oldest learns by order and rules. He's in honors French, Algebra, Science and History. He excels with facts and figures. He keeps score and needs things to be fair. And while the system doesn't always fit within his comprehension, he has figured out ways to make it work for him. Sitting in the back of the class so he can move around, picking his lab partners wisely, picking his friends brilliantly. He's manipulated the establishment to work for him, to keep him interested, and help him thrive.
Youngest learns by doing, by moving, and by interest. If it can become a competition it's even better. He's a bit of an enigma inside of a riddle. He loves the books, but most often hates the movies. He loves to read but hates to write. He's an incredible storyteller but can't expand a paragraph beyond facts on paper. He stays after twice a week to do his homework because he likes to work in a small group or on his own, but hates to work alone at home. He will ultimately fail with any chaos or noise around him, but is the perfect storm of chaos and havoc at home.
I can always depend on Oldest to get things done around the house, to understand when I have to disappoint him, and to pitch in when asked.
Youngest is often the reason things need to get done around the house, leaving his stuff everywhere, and having a schedule that requires two calendars and several reminder alarms. There is a very distinct butt groove in the couch from his lack of voluntarily pitching in.
But they both love their family. They mentor. They teach. We all learn together. Because of these differences we have all become better people, a better team, a better family.
So different in how they appear and function in life.
And yet, at the heart of the matter, exactly the same.
Not unlike the report cards.
One white, pristine, with barely a wrinkle or crease on the corners. It's as if it was given out and safely tucked away within a protective folder until it made it's way home.
The other blue, folded into 16ths, then crumpled in a fist, tossed aside on the coffee table, most likely to be discarded later as a random piece of scrap paper.
Still, side by side, they both hang there on the fridge, tacked up by the "Yea Bacon" and "Yea Narwhals" magnets respectively. One a beautiful pristine, the other a beautiful mess. But, upon closer inspection they have nearly the exact same grades.
All A's and two B+s.
The same, and yet so different, not unlike the boys they belong to.
So many times I have secretly (and not so secretly) wished they'd be more like the other. I have wished Oldest to be more flexible, less black and white. I wished he'd understood sarcasm, be less worried about what other people thought, to be less detail oriented. I wished Youngest be more responsible, less unpredictable, more focused, and less of a handful. He's killing me slowly that one, I tell you.
Oldest cares about his appearance. Matches his clothes, styles his hair, matches his sneakers to his outfits. He strives to find a balance between what he likes and fitting in. He is a parallelogram trying to fit into a bunch of square holes. Sometimes he makes the edges fit, sometimes not.
Youngest throws on whatever is clean, or whatever he thinks is clean, and heads out the door. On mismatched day he wore a perfectly matched outfit, right down to his sneakers, just to be different. He could care less who likes him, wearing his weirdness like a badge of honor. He's like an octopus in the mesh bag of life... barely containable and full of surprises.
Oldest learns by order and rules. He's in honors French, Algebra, Science and History. He excels with facts and figures. He keeps score and needs things to be fair. And while the system doesn't always fit within his comprehension, he has figured out ways to make it work for him. Sitting in the back of the class so he can move around, picking his lab partners wisely, picking his friends brilliantly. He's manipulated the establishment to work for him, to keep him interested, and help him thrive.
Youngest learns by doing, by moving, and by interest. If it can become a competition it's even better. He's a bit of an enigma inside of a riddle. He loves the books, but most often hates the movies. He loves to read but hates to write. He's an incredible storyteller but can't expand a paragraph beyond facts on paper. He stays after twice a week to do his homework because he likes to work in a small group or on his own, but hates to work alone at home. He will ultimately fail with any chaos or noise around him, but is the perfect storm of chaos and havoc at home.
I can always depend on Oldest to get things done around the house, to understand when I have to disappoint him, and to pitch in when asked.
Youngest is often the reason things need to get done around the house, leaving his stuff everywhere, and having a schedule that requires two calendars and several reminder alarms. There is a very distinct butt groove in the couch from his lack of voluntarily pitching in.
But they both love their family. They mentor. They teach. We all learn together. Because of these differences we have all become better people, a better team, a better family.
So different in how they appear and function in life.
And yet, at the heart of the matter, exactly the same.
Not unlike the report cards.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Adult-ing...
It's 8:45 and Youngest still hasn't finished (or started) his math homework.
Oldest is in his room having conversations with the imaginary people in his headset as he builds and destroys fictional worlds.
Tony is asleep, undoubtedly from malnutrition since he's been starving (eye roll) himself all day in preparation for his colonoscopy tomorrow. I will be driving him, which means I will be up at the butt crack of dawn attempting to get everything squared away so that the morning chaos goes smoothly.
Even as I type this I realize what a futile effort that is, but it's what I do.
While he is under, I have my list of errands to run while we are in the area of his doctor's office. All of them scout related.... phone calls for the Christmas Tree fundraiser delivery, checking on permits for our spring camp out, sending out emails for Youth Protection certificates so we can renew the charter. I will then spend a few hours after he is home training and processing advancements.
This is my day off people.
Boy Scouts and my husband's colon care management.
I can see how people burn out.
I have found myself on multiple occasions sitting outside in the car, listening to the radio, not wanting to stay outside, but yet not able to bring myself to go inside.
Oddly, I have the same issue at work. I have capped out on my salary level, which means until January I will be doing more work than the PO will pay me for, at a holiday volume level. Sure, it's nothing I haven't done year after year, but for the love of Newman... I'm tired.
For the first time in what seems like forever I don't have any of the Christmas shopping done. None. My mother and I usually knock it all out in October but since the addition of her new puppy our shopping dates are few and far between. And by that, I mean non existent.
The roofer still hasn't shown up. We called another, he came by yesterday to check it out and is seeing where he can fit us in. Fingers crossed he shows because the leak up there isn't getting any better.
The dishwasher is getting worse by the day. I may binge and just buy one tomorrow since my husband will likely be laid out on the couch and his truck will be up for grabs. But then I'd have to find the time to do that... between all the volunteer stuff, calling the doctor for the follow up with the neurologist (my hands), and attempting to make the house not resemble a frat house.
Some days, I really don't want to be an adult.
And if Canada wasn't so cold, I'd be heading for the border.
Oldest is in his room having conversations with the imaginary people in his headset as he builds and destroys fictional worlds.
Tony is asleep, undoubtedly from malnutrition since he's been starving (eye roll) himself all day in preparation for his colonoscopy tomorrow. I will be driving him, which means I will be up at the butt crack of dawn attempting to get everything squared away so that the morning chaos goes smoothly.
Even as I type this I realize what a futile effort that is, but it's what I do.
While he is under, I have my list of errands to run while we are in the area of his doctor's office. All of them scout related.... phone calls for the Christmas Tree fundraiser delivery, checking on permits for our spring camp out, sending out emails for Youth Protection certificates so we can renew the charter. I will then spend a few hours after he is home training and processing advancements.
This is my day off people.
Boy Scouts and my husband's colon care management.
I can see how people burn out.
I have found myself on multiple occasions sitting outside in the car, listening to the radio, not wanting to stay outside, but yet not able to bring myself to go inside.
Oddly, I have the same issue at work. I have capped out on my salary level, which means until January I will be doing more work than the PO will pay me for, at a holiday volume level. Sure, it's nothing I haven't done year after year, but for the love of Newman... I'm tired.
For the first time in what seems like forever I don't have any of the Christmas shopping done. None. My mother and I usually knock it all out in October but since the addition of her new puppy our shopping dates are few and far between. And by that, I mean non existent.
The roofer still hasn't shown up. We called another, he came by yesterday to check it out and is seeing where he can fit us in. Fingers crossed he shows because the leak up there isn't getting any better.
The dishwasher is getting worse by the day. I may binge and just buy one tomorrow since my husband will likely be laid out on the couch and his truck will be up for grabs. But then I'd have to find the time to do that... between all the volunteer stuff, calling the doctor for the follow up with the neurologist (my hands), and attempting to make the house not resemble a frat house.
Some days, I really don't want to be an adult.
And if Canada wasn't so cold, I'd be heading for the border.
Sunday, October 25, 2015
Crossing Over...
"Good Bye. I love you. Have fun today. And don't end up in a freezer." ~Tony
I have written here for the better part of 5 years now. And while I'd admit that my writing lately has been lacking both in optimism and frequency, I do still want to be here, if not just for the therapeutic nature, but for the feeling that all in my craziness and insecurities, I am not alone. Which is of course, why despite losing my independent domain name, and drastically seeing comments drop off, I am still (admittedly all but barely) writing and reading. Even more shocking is that there are those few who will always check in, and when they see nothing on the pages they wonder.... and sometimes worry... because in a weird way, indescribable to the non-blogging population, we are friends.
My mother calls it a new age pen pal.
Which is probably the best way to describe it. It does propose and interesting dilemma though, when you quite literally throw you life out there for everyone to read, of who will stumble upon it. Will they be truthful about who they are? Will they judge me, or not understand my sarcasm? Will they understand that I have an underlying curse to hold little nuggets of information in my head about random things, so when I say "I tried that" or give a snippet of my life in a comment, I am not trying to know it all, but merely trying to relate. Will they understand that behind this screen is a real person, with a real life, and while it's as unexciting as everyone else's life 90% of the time, my words here are my way of making it entertaining and preserving it for the day I am gone?
Which of course leads to the next dilemma... I am as real of a person as you. the reader. And at some point, the two may meet. Forever ago, I met Stephanie. In Boston for work, we planned to meet, on the 10th anniversary of Sept. 11th no less. We met up, went to lunch, indulged in pastries, and had a very nice day together. One of her co-workers had seen us at Cheers and commented that "It looked like we were old friends." And in truth, it felt like it. We occasionally text back and forth, she checks on me when we get buried in snow, and I check on her when she's in a closet while the tornado sirens sound. We share an unhealthy love of Cadbury eggs. We have crossed that line... into reality... and I love that she is my friend from Texas.
Another blogger crossed over years ago, actually becoming employed where I work. And while admittedly it was odd that she knew more about me walking in the door than most have learned in years, she is also my friend. She respects the fact that while I am only a semi-private blog, I don't want the office knowing what I write here. And in return, I comment on her "paid for" posts, keeping her stats alive and depositing into her Paypal. She is my friend everyday, online, and standing in line at the grocery store.
So when another blogger told me that she was to be in New England for the week I didn't hesitate to agree to meet her. Which is kind of crazy when you think about it, because what are the odds that I would again have a good experience? One of my favorite comments ever was from Drake on this post, which read...
"So let me get this straight – you accepted tickets from an online blogger and instead of ending up in some fat guy’s freezer, you got a first class room with bedding that looks as if it can absorb entire bodies and take you to Narnia?
So. Jealous."
So. Jealous."
Which is why, as Tony kissed me good bye on Friday, he jokingly told me to not end up in a freezer. The plan was to meet about half way for both of us. I had taken the entire day off as a much needed sanity day and while I was a bit nervous, was excited to finally meet up. Our lives had been very similar over the years, and it would be nice to put an actual face to her profile, different than the creative one she had had for the last few years. She blogs anonymously, and I will respect that here as well.
We shopped, we ate, we talked. It was like I had known her for years. I didn't have to fill her in on the details, she already knew them. We talked about the kids, the ex husbands, the boyfriend, paying for college, and home renovations. Turns out we both needed this respite of goodness as both our lives have had more than our share of heartache lately. And as luck would have it, I also found the perfect wallet for myself at the Coach store, so win, win! The day wrapped up sooner than I had wanted (we only made it to 1/4 of the stores!) but she had a plane to catch and kids to get home to. The whole ride home I just kept thinking how lucky I was to have had met her, someone I never would have met without this little chronicle of mine. I now have another friend on the West Coast.
Which is completely awesome.
Even more awesome than not ending up in some fat guy's freezer.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Homecoming...
"I want black pants."
"I think lighter pants are better. Try them both."
"I want a button down shirt."
"Like those?" ( I point to the wall in the store.)
"Plaid"
"You'll look like you're wearing flannel."
"I'll look like Grampy."
"How about Stripes?"
"No."
"Purple?"
"Blue."
"Light or dark?"
"Dark"
"Tie?"
"Yes."
"Belt?"
"Yes."
"Shoes?"
"No."
2 days later...
"How much gel should I use in my hair?"
"A pea sized amount."
"I need more."
"Like a corn kernel more."
An hour later...
"I need shoes."
"Let's go we have two hours before the dance."
"Black or brown?"
"Black."
*sigh* $65 more dollars...
In the car...
"Now my belt doesn't match. Wait! It's reversible."
fidgets with belt, whips it off in the car... "Nope. Nope it's not."
He puts belt back on.
Home...
Fully dressed...
"Smell these colognes. Which one is good?"
"Tony doesn't like the tie."
The two fidget through Tony's ties looking for another match.
"No That looks like an old man postal tie."
"This is a good tie."
"No, no it is not, wear the one we bought. It's younger."
$200 later, Oldest was finally off to the homecoming dance.
His very first dance of High School.
*sigh*
He's the daughter I never had...
... in a stylin' tie.
"I think lighter pants are better. Try them both."
"I want a button down shirt."
"Like those?" ( I point to the wall in the store.)
"Plaid"
"You'll look like you're wearing flannel."
"I'll look like Grampy."
"How about Stripes?"
"No."
"Purple?"
"Blue."
"Light or dark?"
"Dark"
"Tie?"
"Yes."
"Belt?"
"Yes."
"Shoes?"
"No."
2 days later...
"How much gel should I use in my hair?"
"A pea sized amount."
"I need more."
"Like a corn kernel more."
An hour later...
"I need shoes."
"Let's go we have two hours before the dance."
"Black or brown?"
"Black."
*sigh* $65 more dollars...
In the car...
"Now my belt doesn't match. Wait! It's reversible."
fidgets with belt, whips it off in the car... "Nope. Nope it's not."
He puts belt back on.
Home...
Fully dressed...
"Smell these colognes. Which one is good?"
"Tony doesn't like the tie."
The two fidget through Tony's ties looking for another match.
"No That looks like an old man postal tie."
"This is a good tie."
"No, no it is not, wear the one we bought. It's younger."
$200 later, Oldest was finally off to the homecoming dance.
His very first dance of High School.
*sigh*
He's the daughter I never had...
... in a stylin' tie.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Family Ties....
In a rare moment this past weekend the husband and I unexpectedly found ourselves alone for a few hours. At one point during our On Demand Quantico catch up on the couch, he mentioned that this was exactly the way he wanted his days off to be, just spending time together. I asked him if that was enough, just me. Because sadly, the reality is that his "circle" is shrinking, and I wonder if that will be okay for him. I wonder if those of us that shake out in the end will be enough for him.
Family is a funny thing. It's fantastic when it comes together, this genetic comradery, creating best friends for life and dependable people who will always believe the best in you, even when you don't believe in yourself. But sometimes it just doesn't. Real life isn't like that. Sometimes life just takes over and you're left sitting at the Thanksgiving table wondering who the hell these people are and why you're sitting with them. Or, hiding from them out in the car with a bottle of wine.
I have been very lucky in that my family, for the most part, are my friends. My parents have been my safe place, and my siblings have played nearly every role in my story. I have numerous aunts and uncles, cousins, first, seconds and thirds, all which I have learned something from. But the biggest thing I've learned?
Family isn't determined by DNA.
My boys are very close to my parents. They also had their VoVo (Tony's mom), and their Grandma Do from Florida. Their paternal grandparents, Nana and Papa, who have little more to do with them than sending a check in a card when they remember, always accompanied by a note of how they'd love to see them, but mom couldn't make it happen. (And why couldn't I? Because they NEVER tell me they are in town... 20 minutes away... for 3 months.) Their Grandma Do is my friend from Florida who took on the mom role for me when my mom was 1200 miles away, and their VoVo was the woman they visited on Saturdays, who despite not understanding a word they said, loved them with every bit of her, proudly posting pictures of them on her fridge right along side her "real" grand kids. I don't have to tell you which ones they consider to be family.
They also have an aunt who lives 10 minutes away. I ran into her about a month ago. She was at a beach bar that I had wandered into looking for a friend of mine who had disappeared from our picnic a ways down on the beach. She looked right through me as she walked by, socialized with her friends, all caught up in the famous Hollywood company she had found herself in. And while she was posting selfies with her new found, Oscar winning best friend, the nephews that she claims to have loved so much, that she hasn't seen in 4 years, the only link left to her brother, were playing on the beach a few hundred yards away. But that nugget would never make it to Facebook, and the boys could have cared less that they missed seeing her. She may share their freckles, but is not their family.
Tony's ex wife's, ex-brother in law, is one of our favorite people. He visits him every week. We raise money for Parnkinson's research under his team. He cooks for us, Tony brings him beer, he was the only person not related to us at the wedding. And yet, he was there. Because he is just as much of a brother to Tony as his actual brother, and in some ways, is more.
Family is a choice.
And surrounding yourself with those people who have your back, ones who love you despite yourself, ones who make time for you in their busy lives, who make the hard choices when you can't, and who will loan you their sweatpants after they've made you laugh so hard you pee a little....
Those are the people you keep as family.
After my grandparents passing, my mother found she had 2 siblings left. And while it was a tough thing to accept, I think her life is fuller and healthier now that the rest have gone on to other things. I don't know what will happen in the upcoming months with what's left of Tony's family. I see glimmers of hope, but my gut sees a much sadder story unfolding. And I just hope that in the end, the family that he's left with, his chosen family, will be enough.
~~~~~~
Incidentally, as I wrote this Tony was sitting on the couch, asking why I question these things. (If he is happy with our life, with me, etc.) Then he laughed and said "See, this is why I think you must drink all the time."
*eye roll*
If only I did honey.... if only I did.
Family is a funny thing. It's fantastic when it comes together, this genetic comradery, creating best friends for life and dependable people who will always believe the best in you, even when you don't believe in yourself. But sometimes it just doesn't. Real life isn't like that. Sometimes life just takes over and you're left sitting at the Thanksgiving table wondering who the hell these people are and why you're sitting with them. Or, hiding from them out in the car with a bottle of wine.
I have been very lucky in that my family, for the most part, are my friends. My parents have been my safe place, and my siblings have played nearly every role in my story. I have numerous aunts and uncles, cousins, first, seconds and thirds, all which I have learned something from. But the biggest thing I've learned?
Family isn't determined by DNA.
My boys are very close to my parents. They also had their VoVo (Tony's mom), and their Grandma Do from Florida. Their paternal grandparents, Nana and Papa, who have little more to do with them than sending a check in a card when they remember, always accompanied by a note of how they'd love to see them, but mom couldn't make it happen. (And why couldn't I? Because they NEVER tell me they are in town... 20 minutes away... for 3 months.) Their Grandma Do is my friend from Florida who took on the mom role for me when my mom was 1200 miles away, and their VoVo was the woman they visited on Saturdays, who despite not understanding a word they said, loved them with every bit of her, proudly posting pictures of them on her fridge right along side her "real" grand kids. I don't have to tell you which ones they consider to be family.
They also have an aunt who lives 10 minutes away. I ran into her about a month ago. She was at a beach bar that I had wandered into looking for a friend of mine who had disappeared from our picnic a ways down on the beach. She looked right through me as she walked by, socialized with her friends, all caught up in the famous Hollywood company she had found herself in. And while she was posting selfies with her new found, Oscar winning best friend, the nephews that she claims to have loved so much, that she hasn't seen in 4 years, the only link left to her brother, were playing on the beach a few hundred yards away. But that nugget would never make it to Facebook, and the boys could have cared less that they missed seeing her. She may share their freckles, but is not their family.
Tony's ex wife's, ex-brother in law, is one of our favorite people. He visits him every week. We raise money for Parnkinson's research under his team. He cooks for us, Tony brings him beer, he was the only person not related to us at the wedding. And yet, he was there. Because he is just as much of a brother to Tony as his actual brother, and in some ways, is more.
Family is a choice.
And surrounding yourself with those people who have your back, ones who love you despite yourself, ones who make time for you in their busy lives, who make the hard choices when you can't, and who will loan you their sweatpants after they've made you laugh so hard you pee a little....
Those are the people you keep as family.
After my grandparents passing, my mother found she had 2 siblings left. And while it was a tough thing to accept, I think her life is fuller and healthier now that the rest have gone on to other things. I don't know what will happen in the upcoming months with what's left of Tony's family. I see glimmers of hope, but my gut sees a much sadder story unfolding. And I just hope that in the end, the family that he's left with, his chosen family, will be enough.
~~~~~~
Incidentally, as I wrote this Tony was sitting on the couch, asking why I question these things. (If he is happy with our life, with me, etc.) Then he laughed and said "See, this is why I think you must drink all the time."
*eye roll*
If only I did honey.... if only I did.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Making Grown Up Choices...
The high school has switched to a mostly paperless approach this year, which despite the enormous stack of paper that has landed in my recycling bin, means that the more important things, like progress reports, are available online. Except of course, for those in academic trouble, and then hard copies are mailed home.
So it goes without saying that every piece of mail from the high school, which ironically appears daily in the mailbox, sends a wave of panic though me. This last week's mailings have consisted of notification of the availability of online progress reports, a perfect attendance "award" for the month of September (WTH???) , and notification that PSATs will be on Thursday.
Wait. Whoa.
When did he get old enough for the PSATs?
*sigh*
Oldest turns 15 next month. And I'd love to kick and scream and say we're not ready, but in truth we are. He's a good kid. Honor roll student. Conscientious. Considerate. He holds doors and treats girls with respect. And, while he spends entirely too much time on the computer, he equally enjoys hanging out after school with his friends, annoying the crap out of his brother, and playing basketball.
Having always been an old soul, he's aware of the stress and financial "woes" of the house right now. So when I sat him down and asked what he wanted to do for his birthday this year, after great thought he decided that in lieu of a trip to Europe (eye roll) he'd like to go to a Patriots game with Tony, a request that in any other area of the country would be easy peasy. Except here where Patriots tickets have been sold out since 19 ninety frigging 4.
Just getting on the wait list for tickets is $100 per year, which is crazy. (Side note: at last release, there were currently 50,000 people on the wait list for tickets. If you do the math, that's 5 MILLION dollars per year to wait for the chance to buy tickets (for another $100-800 each) to sit in the freezing ass cold, way too tiny seats, and pay $10 for a hot dog. WTF? ) So this is when it is nice to know people... who know people... who know that a 15 year old and his step father (who will likely not imbibe in any of the bah-ghin priced 14 dollar brews) are not a risk for their long held season tickets, and sold them to us for just $25 over face value. Such a deal since the row behind them are currently selling for $399 each on Stub Hub. *cough* rip off *cough*
My parents will likely get him some sort of over priced paraphernalia in the form of a jersey or hoodie. His aunts and uncles will likely do something on the lines of cash for the evening, making it an entire day of football and guy time. If we had the cash I'd put his name on the marquee, but I already have a soft second mortgage on the house so that option is out. But at the end of the day, none of that matters.
He chose memories for his 15th birthday.
Which is kind of awesome.
Whose kid is this anyway?
So it goes without saying that every piece of mail from the high school, which ironically appears daily in the mailbox, sends a wave of panic though me. This last week's mailings have consisted of notification of the availability of online progress reports, a perfect attendance "award" for the month of September (WTH???) , and notification that PSATs will be on Thursday.
Wait. Whoa.
When did he get old enough for the PSATs?
*sigh*
Oldest turns 15 next month. And I'd love to kick and scream and say we're not ready, but in truth we are. He's a good kid. Honor roll student. Conscientious. Considerate. He holds doors and treats girls with respect. And, while he spends entirely too much time on the computer, he equally enjoys hanging out after school with his friends, annoying the crap out of his brother, and playing basketball.
Having always been an old soul, he's aware of the stress and financial "woes" of the house right now. So when I sat him down and asked what he wanted to do for his birthday this year, after great thought he decided that in lieu of a trip to Europe (eye roll) he'd like to go to a Patriots game with Tony, a request that in any other area of the country would be easy peasy. Except here where Patriots tickets have been sold out since 19 ninety frigging 4.
Just getting on the wait list for tickets is $100 per year, which is crazy. (Side note: at last release, there were currently 50,000 people on the wait list for tickets. If you do the math, that's 5 MILLION dollars per year to wait for the chance to buy tickets (for another $100-800 each) to sit in the freezing ass cold, way too tiny seats, and pay $10 for a hot dog. WTF? ) So this is when it is nice to know people... who know people... who know that a 15 year old and his step father (who will likely not imbibe in any of the bah-ghin priced 14 dollar brews) are not a risk for their long held season tickets, and sold them to us for just $25 over face value. Such a deal since the row behind them are currently selling for $399 each on Stub Hub. *cough* rip off *cough*
My parents will likely get him some sort of over priced paraphernalia in the form of a jersey or hoodie. His aunts and uncles will likely do something on the lines of cash for the evening, making it an entire day of football and guy time. If we had the cash I'd put his name on the marquee, but I already have a soft second mortgage on the house so that option is out. But at the end of the day, none of that matters.
He chose memories for his 15th birthday.
Which is kind of awesome.
Whose kid is this anyway?
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Restoring Balance....
The husband and I decided a few days ago to call a truce of sorts. I will only have to manage the household that we live in, and he will try and let go of his mother's estate, take a break for a bit so to speak, and revisit it in December to see if anything gets done. That truce, as you can imagine, lasted about 2 days, until the will could not be found and my husband had to go looking. He found it exactly where it was supposed to be, and then later got a phone call about it not being an original. His brother is still insisting that he take care of the estate. Let's just hope that his stubbornness doesn't cost him more than he's willing to lose.
*sigh*
I, on the other hand, feel a bit better about planning for our family, addressing worst case scenarios, and moving forward. It's my wheelhouse actually. I bought new glasses today. Something I have desperately needed to do. It was getting to the point when, while driving, I could't distinguish if I needed new wipers or new glasses. (Truthfully, I think it's both.) I even splurged for real big girl adult glasses instead of my normal little kid ones. (They fit my face better, and they are half the price... don't laugh.) They will be in in about a week because apparently they don't stock lenses for the legally blind.
I also priced out dishwasher today. Found a couple of options, well within our price range. Which is good, because stuffing towels under our existing one for the last two years is getting old.
I will be training a new employee tomorrow to replace my substitute carrier who will be getting his own route next month. It's been a long time since I trained someone from scratch, let's just hope he has half a brain and can follow direction. And if he doesn't work out, I'll be working overtime, which will of course, help pay for the dishwasher. On the upside, the entire office was flipped around last week and I think I may have found where everything went. I work a very mundane, routine driven job for a reason folks, and rearranging the entire office (that has been the same for the last 10 years) is taking some getting used to. Most of all, my being isolated in the corner.
Although the extra space and radio is nice.
We seem to have weathered the storms with minimal water in the basement and no real damage to the ceiling where we have the leaks in the roof. Hopefully I will be hearing from the roofer this week with a timeline for the work getting done and a cost. And... I was finally able to pay off all the other construction projects that have gone on around here over the last year. Which feels good.
So... all that to say that I am attempting to restore the balance in my Libra driven life. It is not often that I have nothing in my life that feels like solid ground, and that ends today. Tomorrow I will put one foot in front of the next, get through the day, and deal with whatever lands in front of me rather than look for things to put in my way.
Maybe, with a little luck, one of the things that lands in front of me, will be dipped in chocolate.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
The Queen Of Her Life...
A friend of mine posted this on Facebook the day after she took her mother off the ventilator. Just a few months had past since she said goodbye to her father, she and her siblings had to make the horrible decision to let her mother go as well. Her mother had gotten sick the week before Tony's and she too was was traveling two hours both ways to see her in ICU. I can't imagine how hard it is for her to lose them both in such a short time, but I can relate to the sentiment of her post because well, I am right there with her.
Eleven months ago, on the day of my 40th birthday, I got sick unexpectedly, and while I was fine, it resulted in a six day hospital stay and several weeks of recuperation.
A week or so later, my mother also went for surgery and started her months of recovery. She was and is still fine, but the recuperation is taking much longer than expected.
Nine months ago we got hit with the beginnings of the worst snow on record here. Tony threw his back within days of the first storm, resulting in his being on the couch for a month. A long needed MRI resulted in new bulging disks, spinal stenosis, and small hairline cracks in his vertebrae. He is up and mobile now, but every time he does some thing outside or active I worry, will this be the day it finally goes?
Seven months ago I learned that my son was starving himself to death by accident. He is healthy and growing again now, but for a while it was very scary. There was a lot of yelling about food, a lot of stubbornness, and I may have done a lot of crying in the shower.
Six months ago Tony's sister went to the doctor with back pain and found she had stage four cancer. Their relationship was strained and a lot had been left unsaid, and while he wrestled with what to do and how to handle her illness, she continued to get sicker.
Four months ago Tony's mother got really sick and landed in ICU. The toll her cancer and CHF had taken was inevitable and as the doctor's plainly said, she was lucky to still be with us. But was she really? We watched her get sicker and sicker. She struggled to even get out of the chair. Towards the end she would just sit and stare at her shows on TV, not really watching, just staring. There were glimpses of her humor, her wit, and her sarcasm, and for that I will be forever grateful, but the months preceding were hard to watch.
Two months ago his sister died.
Last month I discovered that my liver is not functioning the way it should after gall bladder surgery. Not the end of the world, but I am undergoing many, many tests to try and figure out the best method of attack so to speak. One that won't set off the diverticulitis, won't trigger the Celiac, and won't leave me with further damage down the line. It's a fine balance to find under stress.
About 3 weeks ago we noticed Mr. Chewey, our cat, was getting more and more anti social. He's losing his balance, sometimes having his back legs give out on him, and escaping out the back door, which he's never, ever, done before. I know that at 15 his life has been full, but it still, I am not looking forward to the moment it ends. As much of a pain in the ass as he is, he's been our family for the last 9 years.
Two weeks ago Tony's mother past away.
A week ago I found out my mom has osteoporosis and two hairline fractures in her spine. She is being treated, but like me, has to find the balance between fixing it and making something else worse.
Last week there was another cancer diagnosis. The prognosis is unsure as appointments are still to be made, but it is scary none the less and is prompting us both to look at our own health for genetic probability and how well we are providing for things after we are gone. Death does that. And while mine has been set up for quite a while and revisited since we got married, Tony's are antiquated and will leave me with virtually nothing is he were to go, which makes me nervous., sad... and scared. And despite our conversations, I still think nothing's been changed.
Our roof is still leaking two years later, the dishwasher leaks now daily and until we get an estimate on the roof I can not spend the money. I need new glasses, the propane needs to be filled for the winter heat, and we are slowly uncovering the estate finances that we thought were taken care of were not. Which in any other situation would be fine, except my husband owns the mortgage, and in doing so, has tied his credit to every aspect of the house... taxes, utilities, etc. Which means they will need to be caught up and paid.... somehow. And being a planner, my brain is running it's own circle of hell, attempting to keep it all together with a roofer that won't call back and will undoubtedly just show up when he's ready, an estate we have no control over but yet have to pay for, and keeping the household that needs to stay stress free and stable running despite all this.
It's like trying to carry around an octopus in a mesh bag, thinking I've got it all together until suddenly another leg falls out.
And all this is not to say that we have not had good in all of this. We have celebrated birthdays, biked hundreds of miles, enjoyed many dinners, and had adventures together that would never have happened had we not decided to stick close to home this year. Youngest and I have spent countless hours eating and biking together. Oldest has engaged with more friends this summer than ever, developed his social game, and started high school more focused than ever. Tony and I are stronger, learning to put things aside that we can not control and learning when we need to tag each other in for the next round.
The next year will undoubtedly find us caring for sick family, juggling finances, yelling, crying, cutting losses, and letting go. But it will also be full of the everyday moments that I will cling to... time to cook a real meal and maybe even sit down at the table, one or two more kayak trips before the weather turns to suck, leaves turning, cool nights, bike rides and camp outs with Youngest, basketball games for Oldest, a random visit from Bonus Son, and goofy moments watching TV with them, all while watching them grow into young men.
And in three weeks, my birthday...
...at which I will eat cake.
Lots and lots of cake.
Because while I do not need to be the queen, it is still MY life and the choices are mine.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
The Expected Unexpected....
She had started on a new medication and things were just out of balance.
When she fell, for the first time in her life, she did not argue about going to the Hospice center to get her medications tweaked.
She checked in around 11pm.
She was thrilled to have a nurse that spoke Portuguese.
She was restless so they gave her a bit of morphine so she could sleep.
They said their good byes and assured her they would be back in the morning.
They left, she fell asleep.
A half hour later the nurse came to check on her and she was gone.
The thing about death is that even when it's expected, it's not. So while no one expected it at that moment, it could not be argued. His brother will never have to worry that he slept through her last moments. His brother's girlfriend will not have to wonder if she had missed something, as she had been doing the bulk of her home health care. There was no commotion or craziness at the house to wake up her 10 year old grandson at 2:20 am. She felt no pain. No struggle. No sense of panic as her lungs filled and her heart gave out. She just fell asleep.
I think she was ready. I keep telling Tony that if she wasn't she'd be hanging out in the basement as all spirits tend to do here. He just rolls his eyes and thinks I'm crazier than usual. But she's not here, I can't sense her at all, even in her own home, which to me, means that she was happy with her life lived, and that she knew her boys would be okay.
And while her sons may have been prepared, her estate was definitely not ready. While there is a will, there are lots of loose ends to tie up. Things she could never have known are happening, complicating the process, slowing it all to a dead stop if it were not for my husband who must keep it moving forward. He has paid the mortgage faithfully for five years and now the house needs to go, not just for us financially, but for everyone's sanity. In uncovering financial details we have learned far more than we ever should have, details that can taint is relationship with the only family he has left, which would be the worst tragedy of all.
In the end it will happen the way it should.
Death magnifies everything. Good. Bad. Greed. Generosity. Control. Love. Family.
It's up to them which ones they will chose to look past, and which ones they will embrace. I just hope we can keep the process moving forward fast enough that they can't move past the ones they get stuck on.
When she fell, for the first time in her life, she did not argue about going to the Hospice center to get her medications tweaked.
She checked in around 11pm.
She was thrilled to have a nurse that spoke Portuguese.
She was restless so they gave her a bit of morphine so she could sleep.
They said their good byes and assured her they would be back in the morning.
They left, she fell asleep.
A half hour later the nurse came to check on her and she was gone.
The thing about death is that even when it's expected, it's not. So while no one expected it at that moment, it could not be argued. His brother will never have to worry that he slept through her last moments. His brother's girlfriend will not have to wonder if she had missed something, as she had been doing the bulk of her home health care. There was no commotion or craziness at the house to wake up her 10 year old grandson at 2:20 am. She felt no pain. No struggle. No sense of panic as her lungs filled and her heart gave out. She just fell asleep.
I think she was ready. I keep telling Tony that if she wasn't she'd be hanging out in the basement as all spirits tend to do here. He just rolls his eyes and thinks I'm crazier than usual. But she's not here, I can't sense her at all, even in her own home, which to me, means that she was happy with her life lived, and that she knew her boys would be okay.
And while her sons may have been prepared, her estate was definitely not ready. While there is a will, there are lots of loose ends to tie up. Things she could never have known are happening, complicating the process, slowing it all to a dead stop if it were not for my husband who must keep it moving forward. He has paid the mortgage faithfully for five years and now the house needs to go, not just for us financially, but for everyone's sanity. In uncovering financial details we have learned far more than we ever should have, details that can taint is relationship with the only family he has left, which would be the worst tragedy of all.
In the end it will happen the way it should.
Death magnifies everything. Good. Bad. Greed. Generosity. Control. Love. Family.
It's up to them which ones they will chose to look past, and which ones they will embrace. I just hope we can keep the process moving forward fast enough that they can't move past the ones they get stuck on.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Epic Parenting Fail Number 187-ish....
Dropping the F-bomb over getting homework done on only the second day of school.
I'd like to say that this was actually only my 187th parenting fail, but I'm sure it's nearing the thousands by now. I'd love to blame my frustration on the cold medicine I've been hoarding the last few days, but I can't. But the truth is nothing says "Back to school" at our house quite like a flailing teenager on the couch spending 45 minutes whining about how he can not possibly do his homework and my gradually rising voice about how the whole thing only taking him ten. Stinking. Minutes. TO. FINISH.
Oldest started high school on Tuesday. Someone asked me if I was sad and truthfully, I am not. I have watched him grow and learn, succeed and fail. I don't spend my time looking back missing those days. Sure, I have my moments of he-was-so-little, and reminisce of when he would climb into the car and ask for the "Rock and Roll" song and miraculously, it was always on, but I don't wish for that time back. I was there through it all. Ever present, through good and bad, warm and snuggly, sticky and oh-my-god-where-did-you-get-that? I do not want those days back. Instead, I want all the days to come. Watching him become more independent, learning, questioning, slamming his door and wanting my grilled cheese. Each year that passes is a new adventure with new mountains to move and I am confident and proud to see how he handles each and every day, head on, facing forward.
Youngest, if given his choice, would live his life from under the covers of his bed. No matter what year of school he's in, the previous year was always his favorite. Even if it was a disaster, he'll want to go back. None the less, he started eight grade this year. He hates his teachers. He hates his homework. He hates the bus, but he's willing to take it, so I'm calling that a win. Every year is the same struggle and every summer I look back and check that grade off the list. His high school graduation will be such an accomplishment, let me tell you, I may request a diploma for myself.
Face book has this feature that shows you a "memory" from previous years posts. Today there was a picture of Youngest standing on Tony's shoulders next to his sunflower "Sunny" that he grew from a seed, on a napkin, in a ziploc bag, into a 7 foot 5 inch sunflower. You can see the look of pride in his face... his little, round, chubby-cheeked face. His smile, missing only one of his baby teeth, beamed with pride. You'd think that I'd miss that face, those moments of starting sunflower seeds on the window, of him being small enough to put on Tony's shoulders. But no. Not even an inkling of regret passed through me. Not one thought of doing more, or of missing out.
And I refuse to feel guilty for that. I may not be the best parent, but I am the most effective parent they could ever have. If I can not give them what they need I find someone that can, because I am not the only influence they will need in life. And in being there, either next to them or waaaaayyy in the back, peeking from behind the curtains, I have not missed, and will not miss a moment of it. Every good, stinky, pimply-faced, brokenhearted, proud, life changing minute of it.
Incidentally, I after checking the other "memory moments" from September 3rd, I found the post from 8 hours later that said, "Had to leave work early today to pick my son up from the principal's office. It's the THIRD day of school. That's got to be some kind of record."
Yup.
No. Regrets. At. All.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
The Wheels On The Bike....
I am standing in the bike section of Dick's Sporting Goods with an incredibly knowledgeable salesman discussing gears. Tony has wandered off to the golf section, and the boys have lost all interest and are now racing each other on neighboring treadmills before Youngest throws something at Oldest and then... game on. I soon finished up my conversation and headed off to retrieve my hooligans from the various departments that they have chased each other though.
Me: "I can't believe that you didn't want to listen to that man. He was explaining all the gears and how they work."
Youngest: "What gears?"
Me: "The gears on the handlebars that make it easier to go up hills."
Youngest: "Oh! That's what those are for!!"
But what can I expect, really? When I was a kid, a good bike had two fully inflated tires and a chain that stayed on. Sure, I eventually moved up to the ten speed, but I had no idea how to actually use those gears. To get up the hill we just lifted our butt off the seat and powered through.
And I had to teach this kid how to ride a bike.
pftfffttt.
Anyhoo, the boy needs to earn his cycling badge for Boy Scouts because he's refusing to take swimming. (eye roll) This Eagle required badge involves bike maintenance, safety, and 5 rides. Two ten milers, two 25 milers, two 15 milers, and one 50 mile ride. And being the supportive mum that I am, I have decided that I will do them with him. I am even planning the logistics for the 50 mile trip for the troop in April.
So we've been riding our bikes a lot. Like, 15 and 10 miles 2-3 times a week. Tony bought a bike for himself this weekend, and Youngest will be upgrading his bike tomorrow. Because I can't expect him to do a 50 mile ride if he's never ridden in traffic. Or even a distance of more than 2 miles constantly.
And also because I signed us up for a Parkinson's bike ride that is 30 miles long.
In. Three. Weeks.
Let's hope he can figure out those gears soon.
Me: "I can't believe that you didn't want to listen to that man. He was explaining all the gears and how they work."
Youngest: "What gears?"
Me: "The gears on the handlebars that make it easier to go up hills."
Youngest: "Oh! That's what those are for!!"
But what can I expect, really? When I was a kid, a good bike had two fully inflated tires and a chain that stayed on. Sure, I eventually moved up to the ten speed, but I had no idea how to actually use those gears. To get up the hill we just lifted our butt off the seat and powered through.
And I had to teach this kid how to ride a bike.
pftfffttt.
Anyhoo, the boy needs to earn his cycling badge for Boy Scouts because he's refusing to take swimming. (eye roll) This Eagle required badge involves bike maintenance, safety, and 5 rides. Two ten milers, two 25 milers, two 15 milers, and one 50 mile ride. And being the supportive mum that I am, I have decided that I will do them with him. I am even planning the logistics for the 50 mile trip for the troop in April.
So we've been riding our bikes a lot. Like, 15 and 10 miles 2-3 times a week. Tony bought a bike for himself this weekend, and Youngest will be upgrading his bike tomorrow. Because I can't expect him to do a 50 mile ride if he's never ridden in traffic. Or even a distance of more than 2 miles constantly.
And also because I signed us up for a Parkinson's bike ride that is 30 miles long.
In. Three. Weeks.
Let's hope he can figure out those gears soon.
Friday, July 31, 2015
And The Next Five Days...
The timing of Tony's sister's passing was the same day as Youngest's departure to summer camp. Which was fine, as this was not my first rodeo and I had obligations to the Troop that I needed to settle up while I was there.
So while he went to be with his mother when the news was delivered, I set forth into the forest where I'd be dropping my son for the next 6 days. And when I tell you how fortunate we are that this excursion for him is local I truly mean it, even though trekking him there takes a half a tank of gas. Three hours later, I have secured the camp sites for next year, checked him through Medical, and met with the chef regarding his gluten free meals for the week. I left without looking back, as this was not his first rodeo either, and even though the temperatures would be in the low 90's all week, I knew he was in good hands.
Until 730 pm Monday night when the good hands I left him in called to tell me he needed to come home.
Apparently, he had not been eating and was sick. So off I went... over the river, through the woods... to get him and bring him home. On the ride home, I asked Tony to cook him up a quick burger, which he inhaled as he walked through the door. After a quick shower he was off to bed, and after seeing his color return to his face, I was confident he was fine, just a bit dehydrated and hungry.
By 655 am, I was back in the car, heading back to the forest where I dropped him off, fingers crossed for better days. I then headed to another camp where Oldest is a Counselor in Training three days a week, dropped him off, and then back on the highway to work. By the time I got there I was already done for the day. But instead, I drove around in the EZ bake oven truck, desperately trying to stave off the heat induced migraine that had been forming all week. No such luck. As soon as I was out of work, I was back to get Oldest and drop him at the High School for summer conditioning, run some more errands, and then back home for dinner.
Wednesday was my day off, and while I could have spent the day relaxing in the AC, I spent the day running errands with Oldest, and waiting for emails to be returned. *sigh* Why no one else understands my sense of urgency is beyond me, but whatever. Needless to say, the day was spent spinning wheels until it was too late to do any of the things in the emails, so I dropped Oldest at conditioning and then headed BACK to the forest for family night, where I hiked all over the 300 acre camp looking for my Scout, only to find him completely engrossed in a game of Magic with some other Scouts. Turns out, he was kicking everyone's butt.... and he was skipping merit badge classes to play. *sigh*
Sweat pouring down my face, we met up with my parents, and hung out at the camp site for a bit before heading back to the mess hall for dinner. Tony met us there about 15 minutes before he then had to leave and go back to pick up Oldest from conditioning. Before I left for what I hoped would be my last trip to the forest, I ran though the "No more skipping classes, 3 meals a day, hydrate or die!" speech, and said I was all set with seeing him until Saturday after work.
I haven't heard a peep from camp.
I assume he's still alive.
Thursday was the wake for his sister. Tony made his own peace with his loss, and he had already had plans to be out of town for the night, so I wanted to go down and stay with his Mom while the rest of the family attended. Traffic, while not horrendous, still sucked and it took me 30 minutes longer to get there than I had anticipated, leaving no one home when I got there.
This is key folks, because my mother in law has an attack dog. Sure, he looks all small and nice when the family is there, but when they are not home, he will growl and nip at anyone who tries to come in. The dog gets locked in the basement when they know we are coming, so when I saw him in the basement window, I just opened the front door.
And he FLEW up the stairs, barking up a storm, growling as if he was the most ferocious beast ever.
Good times.
So we danced, one step at a time, him growling, me telling him to knock it off. He jumped on my mother in law, trying to get in between us, she yelled at him... blah blah... he settled in between us.
And the I moved my foot. Growl. SNAP. (twice) I tried to get up and get something for her, he jumped, scratched my legs, and snapped at my hands.
Even better times.
So here I am, here to help her, and I can't move off the couch. The doorbell rings. The dog's down at the door growling. I go to the top of the stairs, he runs up and growls. the doorbell rings again... he's back growling at the door. Seriously. This was the longest, most comical 3 minutes I had even seen, the dog running up and down the stairs, growling, barking. My mother in law is cracking up in her chair, likely the most excitement she's seen all day. Luckily my nephew showed up, meeting the pizza delivery person at the door, because I had no idea how we were going to get it in the house. And as soon as he walked in, the dog was fine.
No barking. No snapping. Nothing.
Weirdo, psycho, hobo dog.
When the rest of the family arrived I got the low-down on the wake. Quiet. Small. Non-dramatic. I picked up ice cream on the way home. As I was leaving the grocery store the sky opened up and POURED. *sigh* Oldest and I made the biggest ice cream sundaes and sat and watched game shows for the rest of the night. Because I mean, come on, what else would we have done?
So now it's Friday night. Tony's returned. We took Oldest to dinner, met up with my parents, priced out new washing machines for my mother in law's if the old one can't be fixed. Youngest will return home tomorrow, Tony will be off to investigate the status of the washing machine, and I will be de-crusting camping gear. Rest assured, by Sunday I will be floating around on a pond somewhere, far away from accountability.
This has to have been the longest week ever.
So while he went to be with his mother when the news was delivered, I set forth into the forest where I'd be dropping my son for the next 6 days. And when I tell you how fortunate we are that this excursion for him is local I truly mean it, even though trekking him there takes a half a tank of gas. Three hours later, I have secured the camp sites for next year, checked him through Medical, and met with the chef regarding his gluten free meals for the week. I left without looking back, as this was not his first rodeo either, and even though the temperatures would be in the low 90's all week, I knew he was in good hands.
Until 730 pm Monday night when the good hands I left him in called to tell me he needed to come home.
Apparently, he had not been eating and was sick. So off I went... over the river, through the woods... to get him and bring him home. On the ride home, I asked Tony to cook him up a quick burger, which he inhaled as he walked through the door. After a quick shower he was off to bed, and after seeing his color return to his face, I was confident he was fine, just a bit dehydrated and hungry.
By 655 am, I was back in the car, heading back to the forest where I dropped him off, fingers crossed for better days. I then headed to another camp where Oldest is a Counselor in Training three days a week, dropped him off, and then back on the highway to work. By the time I got there I was already done for the day. But instead, I drove around in the EZ bake oven truck, desperately trying to stave off the heat induced migraine that had been forming all week. No such luck. As soon as I was out of work, I was back to get Oldest and drop him at the High School for summer conditioning, run some more errands, and then back home for dinner.
Wednesday was my day off, and while I could have spent the day relaxing in the AC, I spent the day running errands with Oldest, and waiting for emails to be returned. *sigh* Why no one else understands my sense of urgency is beyond me, but whatever. Needless to say, the day was spent spinning wheels until it was too late to do any of the things in the emails, so I dropped Oldest at conditioning and then headed BACK to the forest for family night, where I hiked all over the 300 acre camp looking for my Scout, only to find him completely engrossed in a game of Magic with some other Scouts. Turns out, he was kicking everyone's butt.... and he was skipping merit badge classes to play. *sigh*
Sweat pouring down my face, we met up with my parents, and hung out at the camp site for a bit before heading back to the mess hall for dinner. Tony met us there about 15 minutes before he then had to leave and go back to pick up Oldest from conditioning. Before I left for what I hoped would be my last trip to the forest, I ran though the "No more skipping classes, 3 meals a day, hydrate or die!" speech, and said I was all set with seeing him until Saturday after work.
I haven't heard a peep from camp.
I assume he's still alive.
Thursday was the wake for his sister. Tony made his own peace with his loss, and he had already had plans to be out of town for the night, so I wanted to go down and stay with his Mom while the rest of the family attended. Traffic, while not horrendous, still sucked and it took me 30 minutes longer to get there than I had anticipated, leaving no one home when I got there.
This is key folks, because my mother in law has an attack dog. Sure, he looks all small and nice when the family is there, but when they are not home, he will growl and nip at anyone who tries to come in. The dog gets locked in the basement when they know we are coming, so when I saw him in the basement window, I just opened the front door.
And he FLEW up the stairs, barking up a storm, growling as if he was the most ferocious beast ever.
Good times.
So we danced, one step at a time, him growling, me telling him to knock it off. He jumped on my mother in law, trying to get in between us, she yelled at him... blah blah... he settled in between us.
And the I moved my foot. Growl. SNAP. (twice) I tried to get up and get something for her, he jumped, scratched my legs, and snapped at my hands.
Even better times.
So here I am, here to help her, and I can't move off the couch. The doorbell rings. The dog's down at the door growling. I go to the top of the stairs, he runs up and growls. the doorbell rings again... he's back growling at the door. Seriously. This was the longest, most comical 3 minutes I had even seen, the dog running up and down the stairs, growling, barking. My mother in law is cracking up in her chair, likely the most excitement she's seen all day. Luckily my nephew showed up, meeting the pizza delivery person at the door, because I had no idea how we were going to get it in the house. And as soon as he walked in, the dog was fine.
No barking. No snapping. Nothing.
Weirdo, psycho, hobo dog.
When the rest of the family arrived I got the low-down on the wake. Quiet. Small. Non-dramatic. I picked up ice cream on the way home. As I was leaving the grocery store the sky opened up and POURED. *sigh* Oldest and I made the biggest ice cream sundaes and sat and watched game shows for the rest of the night. Because I mean, come on, what else would we have done?
So now it's Friday night. Tony's returned. We took Oldest to dinner, met up with my parents, priced out new washing machines for my mother in law's if the old one can't be fixed. Youngest will return home tomorrow, Tony will be off to investigate the status of the washing machine, and I will be de-crusting camping gear. Rest assured, by Sunday I will be floating around on a pond somewhere, far away from accountability.
This has to have been the longest week ever.
Monday, July 27, 2015
The Last Four Days....
I pulled into the driveway on Thursday night after another hectic day of running around, and he was out watering. We exchanged hellos, and he asked if I wanted to take the kayaks out.
Convinced I would fall asleep on the water, we tentatively planned out the week.
Friday?
"Can't."
Saturday?
"I think my sister is going to die on Saturday."
"Did your brother say something changed with her?"
"No. Just gut feeling."
He finished up his watering, I went inside. Friday came. I worked and picked up Youngest from day camp. He started packing for his overnight camp on Sunday, made the list, and we all headed to Walmart. We bought the necessary evils... extra shirts, a lantern, socks, a three pound bag of Swedish fish. You've got to have all the essentials for Scout camp, ya know.
Saturday came.
I worked, he painted the window casings and sills so I could install the new shades. He washed the cars. We took the kayaks for a spin around the perimeter of "our" 62 acre pond, around to the half way point, and then made a bee line back to shore. The water was only a bit choppy, the sky overcast, the shoreline quiet. It was nice, floating around, just me and him. Peaceful. Relaxing.
Back home, we grabbed Youngest since we wouldn't be seeing him for the next 7 nights, and headed out for dinner. Saturday night was quite busy downtown and had us bouncing from place to place for a table, checking out the local architecture, reading the history plaques adorning the 300 year old homes. We ended up at our usual place on the waterfront, about a mile from where we parked. The night was unusually cool, about 60 degrees, breezy, but quiet. Youngest had the gluten free pizza, Tony a burger, and myself, chicken santorini. Somehow my inability to pronounce it never inhibits it's deliciousness. The walk home was quiet, dimly lit, and peaceful.
"This turned out to be a pretty good day." he says.
"Yes it did." I say.
"And my sister didn't die." he says.
Saturday's extra curricular activities, left us sleeping in late Sunday morning. I rolled over and kissed his face all over like I used to, way back when we were dating, not unlike a mother kisses the faces of her children embarrassing them in front of all their friends. He got out of bed shortly after and checked his phone in the kitchen.
His sister past away at 7am.
And just like that, she was gone. He would never know why she had chosen not to speak to him or their mother for the last 8 years. He would never know why she did not want to see them the week before She took with her the family's infamous stubbornness and anger despite how easy it would have been to let it go. The extended family is already swarming, and talking behind each other's backs. Posts have shown up all over face book preaching the ultimate in hypocrisy. Her obituary mentions everyone but her own mother, which I pray was a careless oversight, but still hurtful nonetheless.
He left on Sunday morning to meet his brother to tell his mother who is home on hospice. She has not taken it well and I wonder if this will mark a tremendous back slide for her. The wake is Thursday. He is unsure of if he will attend. Most likely, he will not.
The woman in the coffin is not his sister, fragile and sick.
His sister took him to yard sales.
His sister drove around in her car back in the day, listening to music.
His sister spoke her mind.
That woman is not his sister. Just as the people who will descend upon the funeral home, for the most part, are not his family. The chaos and dysfunction they bring with them will not effect him as it is not his to endure. That well is full of tainted water, and he learned long ago not to drink from it.
Today, he needs time.
Time to get used to knowing he will not run into her on the street.
Time to mourn the sister he had, and accept the stranger she became.
Time to appreciate the time he had, and the time he still has with the chosen family he has left.
Convinced I would fall asleep on the water, we tentatively planned out the week.
Friday?
"Can't."
Saturday?
"I think my sister is going to die on Saturday."
"Did your brother say something changed with her?"
"No. Just gut feeling."
He finished up his watering, I went inside. Friday came. I worked and picked up Youngest from day camp. He started packing for his overnight camp on Sunday, made the list, and we all headed to Walmart. We bought the necessary evils... extra shirts, a lantern, socks, a three pound bag of Swedish fish. You've got to have all the essentials for Scout camp, ya know.
Saturday came.
I worked, he painted the window casings and sills so I could install the new shades. He washed the cars. We took the kayaks for a spin around the perimeter of "our" 62 acre pond, around to the half way point, and then made a bee line back to shore. The water was only a bit choppy, the sky overcast, the shoreline quiet. It was nice, floating around, just me and him. Peaceful. Relaxing.
Back home, we grabbed Youngest since we wouldn't be seeing him for the next 7 nights, and headed out for dinner. Saturday night was quite busy downtown and had us bouncing from place to place for a table, checking out the local architecture, reading the history plaques adorning the 300 year old homes. We ended up at our usual place on the waterfront, about a mile from where we parked. The night was unusually cool, about 60 degrees, breezy, but quiet. Youngest had the gluten free pizza, Tony a burger, and myself, chicken santorini. Somehow my inability to pronounce it never inhibits it's deliciousness. The walk home was quiet, dimly lit, and peaceful.
"This turned out to be a pretty good day." he says.
"Yes it did." I say.
"And my sister didn't die." he says.
Saturday's extra curricular activities, left us sleeping in late Sunday morning. I rolled over and kissed his face all over like I used to, way back when we were dating, not unlike a mother kisses the faces of her children embarrassing them in front of all their friends. He got out of bed shortly after and checked his phone in the kitchen.
His sister past away at 7am.
And just like that, she was gone. He would never know why she had chosen not to speak to him or their mother for the last 8 years. He would never know why she did not want to see them the week before She took with her the family's infamous stubbornness and anger despite how easy it would have been to let it go. The extended family is already swarming, and talking behind each other's backs. Posts have shown up all over face book preaching the ultimate in hypocrisy. Her obituary mentions everyone but her own mother, which I pray was a careless oversight, but still hurtful nonetheless.
He left on Sunday morning to meet his brother to tell his mother who is home on hospice. She has not taken it well and I wonder if this will mark a tremendous back slide for her. The wake is Thursday. He is unsure of if he will attend. Most likely, he will not.
The woman in the coffin is not his sister, fragile and sick.
His sister took him to yard sales.
His sister drove around in her car back in the day, listening to music.
His sister spoke her mind.
That woman is not his sister. Just as the people who will descend upon the funeral home, for the most part, are not his family. The chaos and dysfunction they bring with them will not effect him as it is not his to endure. That well is full of tainted water, and he learned long ago not to drink from it.
Today, he needs time.
Time to get used to knowing he will not run into her on the street.
Time to mourn the sister he had, and accept the stranger she became.
Time to appreciate the time he had, and the time he still has with the chosen family he has left.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Their Own Private Island....
I think the planning started in December.
Someone mentioned to the committee chair of our scout troop that there was "this island", and of course my ears perked up. Because "the island" they were talking about was the same one I had mentioned 2 years ago, when they were in cub scouts.
So of course, this became my new project.
Phone calls were made. Emails were sent. More phone calls, and more emails, and then eventually a personal visit. When it became apparent that I was not going away, the town finally gave in and produced a 3 page list of requirements that most people would have glanced at and said, "No, thanks. I'm good."
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I pitched it to the Troop.
I made tentative plans.
I applied for fire permits.
I produced maps and site plans.
I developed a BSA and Town approved "What if?" disaster plan.
I arranged an off site parking plan, recruited a BSA approved lifeguard, and solicited for kayaks.
I took 3 safety courses through the scouts, so I could be a back up leader.
I encouraged and aided a scout patrol leader to take over the finer details.
I purchased a portable toilet.
I explained why we needed a portable toilet, over and over and OVER again.
I hunted down people for money and permission slips.
I had to start a wait list for what was supposed to be our teeny tiny summer camp out.
We borrowed kayaks...
The town finally approved our island camp out 6 weeks ago. As it turns out, the town owns the island in the center of one of our larger ponds and they allow overnight camp outs only for the Boy Scouts. Except they don't want the island spoiled or over used, so they don't advertise it or release any information about it. The only ones who are allowed permits are the ones that persist.
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Last weekend, 14 scouts and 4 leaders set sail into the sunset for their island adventure carrying everything they would need for 3 days with them on their kayaks (and one inflatable raft), including tents, sleeping bags, food, fire wood....
.....and a portable toilet.
It took two hours to get every boy and leader launched. And I mean that in the most literal sense. We were utilizing a private dock and once the boys were loaded up my husband literally launched them off the edge. Amazingly, not one person capsized and all the gear made it over nice and dry. I'd love to say that I planned the weather to be perfect, but that would be a lie. It just worked out that way. Beautiful, sunny days 85 degrees, with minimal humidity.
On Saturday I opted to head out on my own to see how the guys were holding up. I loaded the spare kayak with some special survival gear for the men...
Perfectly loaded, I carefully stepped off the dock into the vessel, popped my butt in the seat, steadied myself and grabbed the paddle.
Then completely capsized in hip deep water.
So that my friends, is where the photos end. I managed to save the coffee, the cup of ice, cream, and some extra yummy goodies I was bringing over for Youngest. The sugar, camera, and phone, not so much. When I arrived on the island I quickly un-assembled everything and dried it all out using one of Youngest's spare socks. On my return trip I wrapped everything in plastic, twice. The phone did survive, but I am now in the market for a new camera.
The boys had a fantastic time. They spent the days kayaking, fishing, checking out wildlife, and exploring the island. Each scout pitched their tent on a different site on the island. Some high, some low, some with a nice water view. Others skipped pitching tents all together and strung a hammock between trees. Two camp fires dotted the center of the isle, both burning just enough to rekindle for lunch and again for dinner and ghost stories. At least one Sasquatch sighing was reported. Apparently, he loves s'mores.
It was the perfect weekend and a camp out they'll likely want to do every year. And now that all the leg work has been done it should be easier to pull off in the years to come. We've actually purchased our own kayaks, and as long as no one speaks of the portable toilet. ever, I may invest in a waterproof camera for next year.
Someone mentioned to the committee chair of our scout troop that there was "this island", and of course my ears perked up. Because "the island" they were talking about was the same one I had mentioned 2 years ago, when they were in cub scouts.
So of course, this became my new project.
Phone calls were made. Emails were sent. More phone calls, and more emails, and then eventually a personal visit. When it became apparent that I was not going away, the town finally gave in and produced a 3 page list of requirements that most people would have glanced at and said, "No, thanks. I'm good."
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I pitched it to the Troop.
I made tentative plans.
I applied for fire permits.
I produced maps and site plans.
I developed a BSA and Town approved "What if?" disaster plan.
I arranged an off site parking plan, recruited a BSA approved lifeguard, and solicited for kayaks.
I took 3 safety courses through the scouts, so I could be a back up leader.
I encouraged and aided a scout patrol leader to take over the finer details.
I purchased a portable toilet.
I explained why we needed a portable toilet, over and over and OVER again.
I hunted down people for money and permission slips.
I had to start a wait list for what was supposed to be our teeny tiny summer camp out.
We borrowed kayaks...
The town finally approved our island camp out 6 weeks ago. As it turns out, the town owns the island in the center of one of our larger ponds and they allow overnight camp outs only for the Boy Scouts. Except they don't want the island spoiled or over used, so they don't advertise it or release any information about it. The only ones who are allowed permits are the ones that persist.
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Last weekend, 14 scouts and 4 leaders set sail into the sunset for their island adventure carrying everything they would need for 3 days with them on their kayaks (and one inflatable raft), including tents, sleeping bags, food, fire wood....
.....and a portable toilet.
It took two hours to get every boy and leader launched. And I mean that in the most literal sense. We were utilizing a private dock and once the boys were loaded up my husband literally launched them off the edge. Amazingly, not one person capsized and all the gear made it over nice and dry. I'd love to say that I planned the weather to be perfect, but that would be a lie. It just worked out that way. Beautiful, sunny days 85 degrees, with minimal humidity.
On Saturday I opted to head out on my own to see how the guys were holding up. I loaded the spare kayak with some special survival gear for the men...
Perfectly loaded, I carefully stepped off the dock into the vessel, popped my butt in the seat, steadied myself and grabbed the paddle.
Then completely capsized in hip deep water.
So that my friends, is where the photos end. I managed to save the coffee, the cup of ice, cream, and some extra yummy goodies I was bringing over for Youngest. The sugar, camera, and phone, not so much. When I arrived on the island I quickly un-assembled everything and dried it all out using one of Youngest's spare socks. On my return trip I wrapped everything in plastic, twice. The phone did survive, but I am now in the market for a new camera.
The boys had a fantastic time. They spent the days kayaking, fishing, checking out wildlife, and exploring the island. Each scout pitched their tent on a different site on the island. Some high, some low, some with a nice water view. Others skipped pitching tents all together and strung a hammock between trees. Two camp fires dotted the center of the isle, both burning just enough to rekindle for lunch and again for dinner and ghost stories. At least one Sasquatch sighing was reported. Apparently, he loves s'mores.
It was the perfect weekend and a camp out they'll likely want to do every year. And now that all the leg work has been done it should be easier to pull off in the years to come. We've actually purchased our own kayaks, and as long as no one speaks of the portable toilet. ever, I may invest in a waterproof camera for next year.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Present And Accounted For...
I assure you, as I sit here typing away, I am alive and well.
The house is finally quiet, and I am in the midst of a rare moment of awake-ness, which I am sure won't last much longer than it takes for me to type this up and hit post. Mr. Chewey is off hunting rogue moths that have flown in and everyone else is asleep, which you'd think would lend the perfect scenario in which I could get my thoughts together, but it doesn't. Truth is my head is swimming with thoughts of everything I forgot to do today and things I can't control. I am not unlike ninety percent of the rest of the planet in that respect.
I'm not sure why I haven't posted in over a month. It's not as if nothing has gone on. My mother in law is home on Level 1 hospice, but one of her drainage tubes as been removed, and otherwise she is status quo. Tony had a birthday, the last of his 40's, and we spent it with her and some of his family. Perhaps the last one he'll see with his mom and sadly not one photo was taken. His sister has stopped all her chemo treatments. In the 2 months since she has received her diagnosis, it's unlikely she'll see Christmas. What's sadder is the unspoken words between her and her mother that will likely fall away to the Portuguese stubbornness that they are all known for. The hypocrisy between the nephews, aunts, and cousins will likely never be resolved and will only fuel the division in the family. All things Portuguese, the language, those left back in Portugal, will likely die with her.
Death tends to magnify everything. Anger. Resentment. Guilt.
And yet, somehow it can make good things sweeter. Slower. More enjoyable. Among the countless guilts I have as a mother is that the boys don't get a real summer. Sure, they get a break from classrooms and homework, but they go to camp 3 days a week. Oldest is a counselor in training, so in reality he's like an intern. Youngest still gets to play soccer and basketball along side arts and crafts, but is still stuck in the routine of a program. Which is why, for the first time ever on Wednesdays, when I'm off from work, and no one has to get out of bed, and the phone rings, I don't answer it. I want them to have a summer day. A do nothing, lay around the house in your underwear day. Or, a cartoon marathon and eat ice cream for breakfast day. Whatever.
And we have. Two weeks in and we have watched more TV and eaten more ice cream than I care to admit. We have grilled burgers, picked peas from the garden, planted flowers and watched them bloom. We've watched fireworks downtown with the masses, readied the fishing poles, and borrowed kayaks for boy sized adventures that took months to plan but will hopefully last in their memory for a lifetime.
We've done house projects. I'm in the middle of another bedroom makeover that no one will ever notice but me. (Seriously, I spent 3.5 hours making a tailored bed skirt. Tony saw the sewing machine, noticed the fabric was gone, commented on the mess of threads on the floor, and still didn't notice the bed skirt.) We've got the last of the windows going in, and a roof scheduled to go on. A 75 pound hand crafted wooden flag now hangs proudly 13 feet up on our garage, a team effort of dangerous (and yet semi comical) proportions.
We are outside soaking in sunshine. Tony is running. I am walking fast and running the length of someone's front lawn, with all the grace of an under accessorized Mrs. Potato Head, but I am out there along side him. Oldest is doing the summer conditioning program at the High School.... everyday... for 2 hours. Youngest is reading but hiding less and less. He's also eating everything in sight, and if my math is right, has gained 15 pounds in 3 months. He's talking to me. They both are.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm engaged as a parent. I am here. Not on the computer. Not running into work to pick up overtime. Not lost in my phone. Not planning some crazy vacation, or working the budget.
I. Am. Here.
Napping on the couch with our now 15 year old Mr. Chewey Cat. Making grilled cheese for dinner. Sneaking 3 Musketeers into their lunchboxes. Teaching Youngest how to cast a line, while insisting he applies his poison ivy cream. Ensuring sure Oldest has his CIT shirt clean for camp the next day. Changing the battery in the smoke detector that starts chirping at 10:16 PM.
So while I may not be here, typing, or figuring out how to get the pictures of all the aforementioned fun times downloaded off my new phone so I can make this post pretty for y'all, rest assured....
I am here.
The house is finally quiet, and I am in the midst of a rare moment of awake-ness, which I am sure won't last much longer than it takes for me to type this up and hit post. Mr. Chewey is off hunting rogue moths that have flown in and everyone else is asleep, which you'd think would lend the perfect scenario in which I could get my thoughts together, but it doesn't. Truth is my head is swimming with thoughts of everything I forgot to do today and things I can't control. I am not unlike ninety percent of the rest of the planet in that respect.
I'm not sure why I haven't posted in over a month. It's not as if nothing has gone on. My mother in law is home on Level 1 hospice, but one of her drainage tubes as been removed, and otherwise she is status quo. Tony had a birthday, the last of his 40's, and we spent it with her and some of his family. Perhaps the last one he'll see with his mom and sadly not one photo was taken. His sister has stopped all her chemo treatments. In the 2 months since she has received her diagnosis, it's unlikely she'll see Christmas. What's sadder is the unspoken words between her and her mother that will likely fall away to the Portuguese stubbornness that they are all known for. The hypocrisy between the nephews, aunts, and cousins will likely never be resolved and will only fuel the division in the family. All things Portuguese, the language, those left back in Portugal, will likely die with her.
Death tends to magnify everything. Anger. Resentment. Guilt.
And yet, somehow it can make good things sweeter. Slower. More enjoyable. Among the countless guilts I have as a mother is that the boys don't get a real summer. Sure, they get a break from classrooms and homework, but they go to camp 3 days a week. Oldest is a counselor in training, so in reality he's like an intern. Youngest still gets to play soccer and basketball along side arts and crafts, but is still stuck in the routine of a program. Which is why, for the first time ever on Wednesdays, when I'm off from work, and no one has to get out of bed, and the phone rings, I don't answer it. I want them to have a summer day. A do nothing, lay around the house in your underwear day. Or, a cartoon marathon and eat ice cream for breakfast day. Whatever.
And we have. Two weeks in and we have watched more TV and eaten more ice cream than I care to admit. We have grilled burgers, picked peas from the garden, planted flowers and watched them bloom. We've watched fireworks downtown with the masses, readied the fishing poles, and borrowed kayaks for boy sized adventures that took months to plan but will hopefully last in their memory for a lifetime.
We've done house projects. I'm in the middle of another bedroom makeover that no one will ever notice but me. (Seriously, I spent 3.5 hours making a tailored bed skirt. Tony saw the sewing machine, noticed the fabric was gone, commented on the mess of threads on the floor, and still didn't notice the bed skirt.) We've got the last of the windows going in, and a roof scheduled to go on. A 75 pound hand crafted wooden flag now hangs proudly 13 feet up on our garage, a team effort of dangerous (and yet semi comical) proportions.
We are outside soaking in sunshine. Tony is running. I am walking fast and running the length of someone's front lawn, with all the grace of an under accessorized Mrs. Potato Head, but I am out there along side him. Oldest is doing the summer conditioning program at the High School.... everyday... for 2 hours. Youngest is reading but hiding less and less. He's also eating everything in sight, and if my math is right, has gained 15 pounds in 3 months. He's talking to me. They both are.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm engaged as a parent. I am here. Not on the computer. Not running into work to pick up overtime. Not lost in my phone. Not planning some crazy vacation, or working the budget.
I. Am. Here.
Napping on the couch with our now 15 year old Mr. Chewey Cat. Making grilled cheese for dinner. Sneaking 3 Musketeers into their lunchboxes. Teaching Youngest how to cast a line, while insisting he applies his poison ivy cream. Ensuring sure Oldest has his CIT shirt clean for camp the next day. Changing the battery in the smoke detector that starts chirping at 10:16 PM.
So while I may not be here, typing, or figuring out how to get the pictures of all the aforementioned fun times downloaded off my new phone so I can make this post pretty for y'all, rest assured....
I am here.
Friday, June 5, 2015
It's In The Moments....
Lately I have noticed that I cling to the moments. Good, bad, funny, doesn't matter. It's easier that way, to compartmentalize the weeks, the days, the hours. I find that by powering through the structure of my to-do lists I can avoid a breakdown into the unavoidable, unpredictable ugly crying. Or, hysterical laughter over nothing, both of which indicate extreme stress and not enough sleep.
Wait, where was I?
Moments.
Like that moment at the hair dresser when Oldest turned to me and asked how he usually gets his hair cut. I told him, and moments later I heard him recite the same thing to the stylist with confidence. What really made that a moment though wasn't the foresight he had and his desire to take responsibility, it was that his brother sat quietly reading next to him, seemingly unaware of what was going on, also went in the stylist's chair and said the exact same thing, and when he was done he looked at the girl and said, "She could probably explain it better." But in fact, I couldn't. I also couldn't articulate how awesome it was to know he was actually listening even when I thought he wasn't.
That moment in Walmart when Youngest picked up the hatchet and we made a deal that if he made honor roll this term he could have it for scouts. Or more accurately, the moment his teacher emailed me to say "That plan was genius! He's done everything I've been trying to get him to do over the last 2 weeks in one hour." He's currently 3.8% away from his B- in Science, up all the way from a D.
The moment when Oldest and I were having a deep conversation in the car on the way home at the end of which he turned to me and said "I get it Mom. I'm picking up what you're putting down."
The moments Tony and I have spent traveling to see his mother, and then sneaking out for dinner on the way home. Just the two of us, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.
The moment when Youngest smiled yesterday and I instantly saw his step brother all those years ago sporting his braces for the first time, and that I was able to take the day off to spend with him as his teeth ached, exploring the multitude of options he had in soft food. (Read: ice cream)
The moment my mother in law ate the steak and mushrooms I snuck into the nursing home for her like it was the tastiest meal she'd ever eaten.
The moment they all said "thanks" for cooking dinner.
And perhaps the most bitter sweet moment thus far, when my fun-sized, concentrated awesome, shorter stature son made himself available for just one hug and I found he has finally grown enough that he no longer face plants into my boobs. He's eating folks, he's growing, and no more awkward hugs. Win, win.
Wait, where was I?
Moments.
Like that moment at the hair dresser when Oldest turned to me and asked how he usually gets his hair cut. I told him, and moments later I heard him recite the same thing to the stylist with confidence. What really made that a moment though wasn't the foresight he had and his desire to take responsibility, it was that his brother sat quietly reading next to him, seemingly unaware of what was going on, also went in the stylist's chair and said the exact same thing, and when he was done he looked at the girl and said, "She could probably explain it better." But in fact, I couldn't. I also couldn't articulate how awesome it was to know he was actually listening even when I thought he wasn't.
That moment in Walmart when Youngest picked up the hatchet and we made a deal that if he made honor roll this term he could have it for scouts. Or more accurately, the moment his teacher emailed me to say "That plan was genius! He's done everything I've been trying to get him to do over the last 2 weeks in one hour." He's currently 3.8% away from his B- in Science, up all the way from a D.
The moment when Oldest and I were having a deep conversation in the car on the way home at the end of which he turned to me and said "I get it Mom. I'm picking up what you're putting down."
The moments Tony and I have spent traveling to see his mother, and then sneaking out for dinner on the way home. Just the two of us, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.
The moment when Youngest smiled yesterday and I instantly saw his step brother all those years ago sporting his braces for the first time, and that I was able to take the day off to spend with him as his teeth ached, exploring the multitude of options he had in soft food. (Read: ice cream)
The moment my mother in law ate the steak and mushrooms I snuck into the nursing home for her like it was the tastiest meal she'd ever eaten.
The moment they all said "thanks" for cooking dinner.
And perhaps the most bitter sweet moment thus far, when my fun-sized, concentrated awesome, shorter stature son made himself available for just one hug and I found he has finally grown enough that he no longer face plants into my boobs. He's eating folks, he's growing, and no more awkward hugs. Win, win.
Monday, May 25, 2015
A Mamma Bear On A Mission...
We've all been abnormally tired lately. Could be the pollen tsunami, could be the craziness that May and June bring with it, or it could be the stress of my mother in law's health, but regardless, we're exhausted. Maintaining balance is especially tricky and not snapping at the end of the day can be damn near impossible. The other day I went to bed and just laid there waiting for sleep to take over, when I heard a scuffle in the living room. As the laughter started and I knew Tony was trying to lift Youngest off the couch in an effort to get him to go to bed.
As he lifted him, laughing he said,"Geez! What do you have, bricks in your ass???" My son, without skipping a beat, regained his footing and said "Why? Did you lose some from your head?"
Sense of humor is important folks. It's the most effective glue that we have in our family, and one that we've utilized more and more lately in holding it all together.
My mother in law is still in the nursing home, discussing options of coming home, which would be wonderful if any of us had the ability to care for her, which currently we do not. With the influx of summer tourists, travel to see her can sometimes make the normal 1.5 hour ride 3 hours. And on days like today, when traffic is backed up 14 miles or more, it is quite simply not an option. She is doing better, her chest tubes draining less fluid each day. Her CHF has leveled off again and we are unsure of where she stands on resuming her cancer treatments. Without any additional information, it seems as though she will go back to her status quo. It's the not knowing that's eating Tony, the uncertainty of her condition and the lack of answers. He normally puts off stressful things, shoves worry aside and pushes through, but the uncertainty of it is a stress he can not shake. He's exhausted beyond words, struggling to do things he loves. For lack of better words, he's depressed.
His car is older and the costs of repairing it have started outweighing not having a payment. We knew the day was coming and he's been looking at trucks. Which, as we soon found out, everyone on the planet also seems to be looking at. The pool of trucks that fit our needs within our price range looks like more of a puddle. Yet, on Saturday we found one that the finance guy assured us he could get within his preferred payment range. A test drive and half a day of working numbers, running the carfax, and pulling reviews later, they could not. Which depressed him even further.
Then, this morning his computer stopped working.
*sigh*
So I did what any wife would do. I got up and made his favorite omelet. I took a shower and asked Oldest to fix his computer. I told him I was taking his car to NTB to see if we could fix some of the issues it had, and then to Walmart. And when NTB said it would be another $1200 to fix the brakes, I headed to yet another dealership. I sat for 2 hours, worked the numbers, had his car appraised, and tomorrow he comes home with his new truck, with a payment he can afford. Then, I bought him lunch. And while it was a hefty (and necessary) price to pay, he's smiling again, and for the first time in a long time I can see hope in his eyes.
Was it the best time to do this? Who knows. Was I right to lie about where I was going and take all the "fun" out of car shopping and negotiating away from him? Depends on who you ask. Was it hard to tell Bonus Brother he will not be getting Tony's old car? Yes, but it was the safer thing to do. The one thing I do know is that sometimes you have to look disappointment in the face and tell it "Not today." Sometimes you just have to hand it all over to the mamma bear...
... and get the hell out of her way.
As he lifted him, laughing he said,"Geez! What do you have, bricks in your ass???" My son, without skipping a beat, regained his footing and said "Why? Did you lose some from your head?"
Sense of humor is important folks. It's the most effective glue that we have in our family, and one that we've utilized more and more lately in holding it all together.
My mother in law is still in the nursing home, discussing options of coming home, which would be wonderful if any of us had the ability to care for her, which currently we do not. With the influx of summer tourists, travel to see her can sometimes make the normal 1.5 hour ride 3 hours. And on days like today, when traffic is backed up 14 miles or more, it is quite simply not an option. She is doing better, her chest tubes draining less fluid each day. Her CHF has leveled off again and we are unsure of where she stands on resuming her cancer treatments. Without any additional information, it seems as though she will go back to her status quo. It's the not knowing that's eating Tony, the uncertainty of her condition and the lack of answers. He normally puts off stressful things, shoves worry aside and pushes through, but the uncertainty of it is a stress he can not shake. He's exhausted beyond words, struggling to do things he loves. For lack of better words, he's depressed.
His car is older and the costs of repairing it have started outweighing not having a payment. We knew the day was coming and he's been looking at trucks. Which, as we soon found out, everyone on the planet also seems to be looking at. The pool of trucks that fit our needs within our price range looks like more of a puddle. Yet, on Saturday we found one that the finance guy assured us he could get within his preferred payment range. A test drive and half a day of working numbers, running the carfax, and pulling reviews later, they could not. Which depressed him even further.
Then, this morning his computer stopped working.
*sigh*
So I did what any wife would do. I got up and made his favorite omelet. I took a shower and asked Oldest to fix his computer. I told him I was taking his car to NTB to see if we could fix some of the issues it had, and then to Walmart. And when NTB said it would be another $1200 to fix the brakes, I headed to yet another dealership. I sat for 2 hours, worked the numbers, had his car appraised, and tomorrow he comes home with his new truck, with a payment he can afford. Then, I bought him lunch. And while it was a hefty (and necessary) price to pay, he's smiling again, and for the first time in a long time I can see hope in his eyes.
Was it the best time to do this? Who knows. Was I right to lie about where I was going and take all the "fun" out of car shopping and negotiating away from him? Depends on who you ask. Was it hard to tell Bonus Brother he will not be getting Tony's old car? Yes, but it was the safer thing to do. The one thing I do know is that sometimes you have to look disappointment in the face and tell it "Not today." Sometimes you just have to hand it all over to the mamma bear...
... and get the hell out of her way.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
She Sees Dead People...
...and the living. And the imaginary. Ones she knew long ago, ones she wishes would resolve their anger and come to see her, and some she's likely never met.
My mother in law has just a few health problems. She has battled breast cancer, twice. She had a valve replacement on her heart something like twenty years ago, and it needs to be replaced again. She has T2 diabetes. She has been on a chemo regimen for the better part of the last year or so, one week on... one week off. It kicks her ass. So much so that last month my brother in law called the doctor and told them they were going to skip a dose.
And then the sleeping all the time but not sleeping started along with the swelling of her legs and feet. Her left arm swelled to the size of my thigh (which is big, trust me on this) and her hand was unrecognizable. It wasn't until the hallucinations started that the doctors thought she might need to be seen. There was a man in a suit behind the shed. Her daughter (that hasn't spoken to her in 6 years) sleeping beside her in the bed. Her son, crying in the chair, then headless lying on the floor, but with no blood. Incoherent phone calls, speaking words that made no sense even to my husband, fluent in Portuguese.
They finally tricked her into going to the hospital. What would have been a simple infection curable by an extra dose of Lasix, was now full on pneumonia, along with a host of other issues. She responded well to the high concentrate Oxygen and we thought she was on the mend by later the next night. My husband left town as planned, and I popped by to see her every day he was gone. She appeared to be getting better and looked as though she was as well. They stuck a needle in her lungs to drain the excess fluid, and sure enough her breathing improved. I wanted to cry as she told me her story in what little broken English she could muster, about how all the pressure hurt so much.
On Saturday I picked up Bonus Brother and headed over to see her. She laughed at the boys, commented about how each one looked like their respective parents. Except Bonus Brother, he would look more like his father if he got a hair cut, because right now with all his long hair he looked like his mother. *snicker* Before we left she started talking low, almost whispering about this nurse and that nurse, pointed fingers and made solemn faces. I knew something was not right, but knowing no Portuguese, I was completely in the dark about what she was saying, but I knew the tone was off. I called my husband, he said that was just her, not too worry.
Apparently no one else knew she was talking crazy either until she got up in the middle of her night and started ripping out her IVs. She was leaving and there was no one stopping her. They did, of course, and then upped her sleeping medicine along with a dose of Seraquil to take the edge off the hallucinations. I can't help but think if I had learned even a little bit of Portuguese maybe I could have given the nurses a heads up. Maybe I could have done something.
Fast forward past Mother's Day, my husband's return to town, and another 5 days and you'll find her in the nursing home she once worked in. She's on regular oxygen and has drains in her lungs so they can be emptied daily. The doctor's have confirmed that the valve is barely working and that essentially, she's drowning herself. The once important test result for lung cancer has all but been forgotten along with the results of the culture they were growing to see what type of infection she has. Every day they drain at least a liter from her lungs. The first day they drained 3. Her hands are so calloused they can barely get the lancet to pierce her skin for her blood sugar reading. "A side effect of the chemo", I tell the nurse, to which she replies "She's on chemo? When was her last dose?" Not a comforting thought knowing her current condition. Even less of a comforting thought was the 275 she threw on the blood sugar meter, knowing full well the staff had given her orange juice at lunch. When Tony saw her today it seemed as though the nurse was too busy to drain her lungs, saying "It'll get done today.", which is like seeing someone flailing in a pool and saying "throw them a preserver in an hour or so." To be clear, this is a good nursing home, and four of the nurses remember her from working there, but the reality is they are just not staffed to give each patient the care they really need, and if no one is there to advocate for her, she may not be able to communicate that she needs help if something's left too long.
My husband and his brother have started making plans. Organizing finances, talking to her about what type of service she wants, and what the ones left behind might need for their closure. There is still no talk about her wishes for DNR, which is horrifying to me, considering. The grand kids have all been by to chat, the dog's been in to see her. She makes special requests of food, only to be told it's too high in sodium. Then she asks again, but just "water it down". It's hard to see her, even when her face lights up upon our arrival. She looks so.... healthy. She has color to her face, She is coherent in her speech. She's drooling over the food on the food network, and cracking jokes I can't understand, about the crazy people in the room across the hall and the funny hat her roommate was wearing for luau day. It feels as if she'll be with us for years.
But she won't.
And I just don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to be close without over stepping. How to feel like I belong there, in this very private moment, when I can't even offer words of compassion. I can't make her her favorite foods lower in sodium because I don't talk to the doctors. I can't fill in the gaps of what the doctor says and what I've asked, because we are not her health care proxy. I just can't do anything but be there.
In the corner of the room, pretending that I belong.
My mother in law has just a few health problems. She has battled breast cancer, twice. She had a valve replacement on her heart something like twenty years ago, and it needs to be replaced again. She has T2 diabetes. She has been on a chemo regimen for the better part of the last year or so, one week on... one week off. It kicks her ass. So much so that last month my brother in law called the doctor and told them they were going to skip a dose.
And then the sleeping all the time but not sleeping started along with the swelling of her legs and feet. Her left arm swelled to the size of my thigh (which is big, trust me on this) and her hand was unrecognizable. It wasn't until the hallucinations started that the doctors thought she might need to be seen. There was a man in a suit behind the shed. Her daughter (that hasn't spoken to her in 6 years) sleeping beside her in the bed. Her son, crying in the chair, then headless lying on the floor, but with no blood. Incoherent phone calls, speaking words that made no sense even to my husband, fluent in Portuguese.
They finally tricked her into going to the hospital. What would have been a simple infection curable by an extra dose of Lasix, was now full on pneumonia, along with a host of other issues. She responded well to the high concentrate Oxygen and we thought she was on the mend by later the next night. My husband left town as planned, and I popped by to see her every day he was gone. She appeared to be getting better and looked as though she was as well. They stuck a needle in her lungs to drain the excess fluid, and sure enough her breathing improved. I wanted to cry as she told me her story in what little broken English she could muster, about how all the pressure hurt so much.
On Saturday I picked up Bonus Brother and headed over to see her. She laughed at the boys, commented about how each one looked like their respective parents. Except Bonus Brother, he would look more like his father if he got a hair cut, because right now with all his long hair he looked like his mother. *snicker* Before we left she started talking low, almost whispering about this nurse and that nurse, pointed fingers and made solemn faces. I knew something was not right, but knowing no Portuguese, I was completely in the dark about what she was saying, but I knew the tone was off. I called my husband, he said that was just her, not too worry.
Apparently no one else knew she was talking crazy either until she got up in the middle of her night and started ripping out her IVs. She was leaving and there was no one stopping her. They did, of course, and then upped her sleeping medicine along with a dose of Seraquil to take the edge off the hallucinations. I can't help but think if I had learned even a little bit of Portuguese maybe I could have given the nurses a heads up. Maybe I could have done something.
Fast forward past Mother's Day, my husband's return to town, and another 5 days and you'll find her in the nursing home she once worked in. She's on regular oxygen and has drains in her lungs so they can be emptied daily. The doctor's have confirmed that the valve is barely working and that essentially, she's drowning herself. The once important test result for lung cancer has all but been forgotten along with the results of the culture they were growing to see what type of infection she has. Every day they drain at least a liter from her lungs. The first day they drained 3. Her hands are so calloused they can barely get the lancet to pierce her skin for her blood sugar reading. "A side effect of the chemo", I tell the nurse, to which she replies "She's on chemo? When was her last dose?" Not a comforting thought knowing her current condition. Even less of a comforting thought was the 275 she threw on the blood sugar meter, knowing full well the staff had given her orange juice at lunch. When Tony saw her today it seemed as though the nurse was too busy to drain her lungs, saying "It'll get done today.", which is like seeing someone flailing in a pool and saying "throw them a preserver in an hour or so." To be clear, this is a good nursing home, and four of the nurses remember her from working there, but the reality is they are just not staffed to give each patient the care they really need, and if no one is there to advocate for her, she may not be able to communicate that she needs help if something's left too long.
My husband and his brother have started making plans. Organizing finances, talking to her about what type of service she wants, and what the ones left behind might need for their closure. There is still no talk about her wishes for DNR, which is horrifying to me, considering. The grand kids have all been by to chat, the dog's been in to see her. She makes special requests of food, only to be told it's too high in sodium. Then she asks again, but just "water it down". It's hard to see her, even when her face lights up upon our arrival. She looks so.... healthy. She has color to her face, She is coherent in her speech. She's drooling over the food on the food network, and cracking jokes I can't understand, about the crazy people in the room across the hall and the funny hat her roommate was wearing for luau day. It feels as if she'll be with us for years.
But she won't.
And I just don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to be close without over stepping. How to feel like I belong there, in this very private moment, when I can't even offer words of compassion. I can't make her her favorite foods lower in sodium because I don't talk to the doctors. I can't fill in the gaps of what the doctor says and what I've asked, because we are not her health care proxy. I just can't do anything but be there.
In the corner of the room, pretending that I belong.
Friday, May 1, 2015
The Ball Of Strings...
Imagine if you will that everything in your day to day is a piece of string varying in size and thickness depending on it's impact to your life.
For instance, walking into work one day to find extra work left for you and being denied payment for said extra work. A small nuisance for sure, made larger by the fact that you now have to grieve said payment through the union, and your bosses make your days particularly difficult because you're standing up for yourself. Thus creating more work for everyone involved, costs the company 6 times over what it would have if they had just paid you for the stinking 53 minutes in the first place, which they inevitably now have to since it has been settled by an outside arbitrator as a Level 4 grievance. (medium string) All while your boss acts like even more of a dink. (small string)
Or, going to the doctor to check your son's height/weight and finding he is now officially in danger of the "failure to thrive" zone, which, since his self proclaimed hunger strike of all things unfair pertaining to being a teenager, has screwed up his metabolism so badly you can see virtually every bone in his 85 pound, four foot 10 inch frame. So now, you are left counting his calories every minute of the day, threatening to take away his books, iPod, and anything else that may work until he eats. Every. Stinking. Hour. Of. The. Day. (big string)
Or, finding out that your husband's sister has stage four cancer and that they've moved to a pain management protocol vs. chemo to keep her comfortable about a month after her initial cancer diagnosis. (little string) And because your husband doesn't really have contact with his sister the effect on you is minimal, but the dynamic within the family is strained and difficult, wrought with thoughts of how to cope, how much to initiate, and who to support. (medium string) And then finding out that all the health issues his mother is having with her chemo and CHF, are in fact heart issues, (even though the doctor said for months that it wasn't, and you said it was.) and that somehow by pulling back on the chemo and upping the heart medications, it has left her sleeping all day, hallucinating, and incoherent when she speaks. (big, BIG string)
Or, being in charge of several community service projects at the same time, because somewhere in your psyche doing good = positive karma. (little string) And having bags and bags of clothing to donate to raise money for the school's PTA is blocking access to your washer and dryer for the last three weeks making it difficult for your (now starving) son to not look homeless as well, (little string) or having bags and bags of trash accumulated already for the town's clean up (that you've volunteered for the scouts) filling up your garage until Saturday are constantly in the way of taking out your own trash and making finding anything nearly impossible. (little string)
And then there's the fact that the test results from the biopsies nearly two weeks ago have not come through (small string), that your husband is flying to Baltimore in the near future, (medium string) that you had to put four new tires on the car and have the brakes done this month for a measly $1300, (medium string), or that Youngest's camp fee is due in two weeks ($360) and his braces are going on next month for $6K (BIG string).
To be honest, these strings just aren't my life, they are everyone's life. And everyone's strings are different depending on what they can handle. And while this is just the way my life is in a normal month and easy enough to manage, on occasion these strings rebel, and wrap themselves into an annoying ball that plants itself snugly into the left side of my neck. Which also happens to be conveniently where the nodule is on my thyroid that the endoscope aggravated, swelling my throat, causing discomfort into my jaw and ears.
Then I slept on it funny, pulling all the muscles in the left side of my neck to my shoulder.
Then I went to work and aggravated it some more on Monday and Tuesday.
Then, while at work on Tuesday, a lovely young gentleman decided it would be just great to end his high speed chase with the police about 400 feet in front of where I was working. And while we were completely safe in the building, seeing the car do a complete 360 in the air, land back on it's tires miraculously not killing anyone on the wide open green, having several cruisers and cops surround the vehicle with guns drawn, while the driver popped out and made a run for it, well, that was just one too many strings for this girl.
By the time I got home Tuesday night I could not move my head. Tony had to cook dinner. Turns out, the jig is up and he CAN cook more than just scrambled eggs. Wednesday landed me at the doctors obtaining scripts for prednizone that makes my vision blurry, and muscle relaxers that knock me on my butt, so here is where I sit.
I am out of work until Monday, using up precious vacation time, but honestly I really don't care. Yesterday I managed to get through my obligated errands and appointments via the heating pad and stick on patches, but once home for the night, I fell victim to the muscle relaxers and the glory that is painless sleep. Today I am much better, able to move my head, drive, and focus on the computer for more than 5 minutes. My jaw and throat still hurt, but it is manageable.
Not sure why I'm sharing all this. Maybe it's to remind myself that even while my life is good, I need to take break. Maybe it's to remind me that my husband CAN cook more than take out, that I don't have to lift things that are heavy, unload the dishwasher every time, or stretch myself way too thin for far too long.
Or, maybe it's to remind myself to schedule that massage, so the ball of strings doesn't get that big again.
For instance, walking into work one day to find extra work left for you and being denied payment for said extra work. A small nuisance for sure, made larger by the fact that you now have to grieve said payment through the union, and your bosses make your days particularly difficult because you're standing up for yourself. Thus creating more work for everyone involved, costs the company 6 times over what it would have if they had just paid you for the stinking 53 minutes in the first place, which they inevitably now have to since it has been settled by an outside arbitrator as a Level 4 grievance. (medium string) All while your boss acts like even more of a dink. (small string)
Or, going to the doctor to check your son's height/weight and finding he is now officially in danger of the "failure to thrive" zone, which, since his self proclaimed hunger strike of all things unfair pertaining to being a teenager, has screwed up his metabolism so badly you can see virtually every bone in his 85 pound, four foot 10 inch frame. So now, you are left counting his calories every minute of the day, threatening to take away his books, iPod, and anything else that may work until he eats. Every. Stinking. Hour. Of. The. Day. (big string)
Or, finding out that your husband's sister has stage four cancer and that they've moved to a pain management protocol vs. chemo to keep her comfortable about a month after her initial cancer diagnosis. (little string) And because your husband doesn't really have contact with his sister the effect on you is minimal, but the dynamic within the family is strained and difficult, wrought with thoughts of how to cope, how much to initiate, and who to support. (medium string) And then finding out that all the health issues his mother is having with her chemo and CHF, are in fact heart issues, (even though the doctor said for months that it wasn't, and you said it was.) and that somehow by pulling back on the chemo and upping the heart medications, it has left her sleeping all day, hallucinating, and incoherent when she speaks. (big, BIG string)
Or, being in charge of several community service projects at the same time, because somewhere in your psyche doing good = positive karma. (little string) And having bags and bags of clothing to donate to raise money for the school's PTA is blocking access to your washer and dryer for the last three weeks making it difficult for your (now starving) son to not look homeless as well, (little string) or having bags and bags of trash accumulated already for the town's clean up (that you've volunteered for the scouts) filling up your garage until Saturday are constantly in the way of taking out your own trash and making finding anything nearly impossible. (little string)
And then there's the fact that the test results from the biopsies nearly two weeks ago have not come through (small string), that your husband is flying to Baltimore in the near future, (medium string) that you had to put four new tires on the car and have the brakes done this month for a measly $1300, (medium string), or that Youngest's camp fee is due in two weeks ($360) and his braces are going on next month for $6K (BIG string).
To be honest, these strings just aren't my life, they are everyone's life. And everyone's strings are different depending on what they can handle. And while this is just the way my life is in a normal month and easy enough to manage, on occasion these strings rebel, and wrap themselves into an annoying ball that plants itself snugly into the left side of my neck. Which also happens to be conveniently where the nodule is on my thyroid that the endoscope aggravated, swelling my throat, causing discomfort into my jaw and ears.
Then I slept on it funny, pulling all the muscles in the left side of my neck to my shoulder.
Then I went to work and aggravated it some more on Monday and Tuesday.
Then, while at work on Tuesday, a lovely young gentleman decided it would be just great to end his high speed chase with the police about 400 feet in front of where I was working. And while we were completely safe in the building, seeing the car do a complete 360 in the air, land back on it's tires miraculously not killing anyone on the wide open green, having several cruisers and cops surround the vehicle with guns drawn, while the driver popped out and made a run for it, well, that was just one too many strings for this girl.
By the time I got home Tuesday night I could not move my head. Tony had to cook dinner. Turns out, the jig is up and he CAN cook more than just scrambled eggs. Wednesday landed me at the doctors obtaining scripts for prednizone that makes my vision blurry, and muscle relaxers that knock me on my butt, so here is where I sit.
I am out of work until Monday, using up precious vacation time, but honestly I really don't care. Yesterday I managed to get through my obligated errands and appointments via the heating pad and stick on patches, but once home for the night, I fell victim to the muscle relaxers and the glory that is painless sleep. Today I am much better, able to move my head, drive, and focus on the computer for more than 5 minutes. My jaw and throat still hurt, but it is manageable.
Not sure why I'm sharing all this. Maybe it's to remind myself that even while my life is good, I need to take break. Maybe it's to remind me that my husband CAN cook more than take out, that I don't have to lift things that are heavy, unload the dishwasher every time, or stretch myself way too thin for far too long.
Or, maybe it's to remind myself to schedule that massage, so the ball of strings doesn't get that big again.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
This Is Forty... Getting Old Is Not For Wussies.
I sit here trying to distract myself from preparing for my colonoscopy.
I know, good times right? While most of the general population escapes this nugget of fun-ness until age 50 or so, I have the good fortune of this life experience 10 years early. It seems that having two bad bouts of diverticulitis, Ceiliac, esophageal issues that started from infancy, and a family history of colon cancer, lands me smack in the dead center of the radar.
And let's be honest, I'll be knocked out for the majority of the show, so while they video my guts from top (they are also doing an endoscopy) to bottom (no pun intended) and it's unlikely they'll be selling it for profit on Youtube, so it's really no big deal. Except for the prep. That, my friends, is a literal pain in the bum.
If you haven't had to join in the festivities yourself, there's a great article by Dave Barry about the entire procedure, you can read it here. Really, it's quite insightful. When I read this article, I laughed and laughed, and remembered thinking, "Thank God I still have 17 years before I have to do that.". My dad tried to warn me of the dreaded colon prep, and like the faithful, loving daughter that I am, I stuck my fingers in my ears as if to say la la la I can't hear you. Actually, I may not have done that, I think my eyes just glazed over. I am so sorry dad. I had no idea. Because if the actual prep wasn't bad enough, I have the attention span of a gnat lately. Which means I have read, and re-read the paperwork from the doctor at least three times a day for the last two weeks, and somehow still have screwed it up.
It started three weeks ago when the nice secretary called to remind me of my appointment. She suggested that I review the paperwork as there were medications I would need to stop taking 10 days ahead of time. Check. Got it. I read the papers. One week prior I was to go to CVS and get something called magnesium citrate in lemon or lime, but no cherry. Red dye was a huge no no. No red dye, got it.
And then I forgot all about it until Friday, when I spotted some in Target. Lemon only, which is fine, I like lemon. I mindlessly got into line, generally glancing at the cashier, noticing he was a former boss who had retired. Quickly, I grabbed my glass bottles and moved aside, because there's just some people that shouldn't see you purchasing embarrassingly large quantities of liquid laxative. Once I returned home I thought it might be a good idea to check the paperwork again, and sure enough I was to avoid popcorn, corn, seeds, and nuts.
Thankfully, my workplace stash of peanut M&Ms had just run out, but unfortunately I had drank a wild berry smoothie that morning. Oops. Strike one. I needed to pay more attention, particularly on Sunday, when I could not eat any food all day.
I can do this, I thought. Saturday night I figured I would get myself a nice salad for dinner, minus the tomatoes (seeds) and cucumbers (seeds again) and sesame and sunflower seeds. So I basically had shredded lettuce with tuna. Not exactly what I would call a last meal. Still good, I can do this.
This morning I woke to the sound of cracking eggs for Sunday breakfast. Apparently my husband had forgotten all about the no solid food thing, bless his heart. So I set about doing things to distract myself from eating. We recycled the oil and old washing machine at the dump. We did a neighborhood clean up for two hours. We shopped for trucks. I made risers for the bed. I did laundry. And all I could think about is how frecking hungry I was. I read the list, and drank what I could to stop my stomach turning. We stopped at the grocery store and I picked up my favorite hospital stay beverage, cranberry juice, got home, poured myself a nice glass, took one sip, and noticed the ingredients on the bottle.
Red coloring.
What. The. Feck. Can't I get any part of this right? Down the drain it went, along with my hopes of having this not be so bad. I revisited the paperwork at 6pm. Apparently I was supposed to start drinking the magnesium at 4. *gah!* So, I sucked one down.
And promptly wanted to throw up. It was like eating lemons folks. Actual. Whole. Lemons. With a hint of vomit. I attempted to wash the rest down with sugar sweetened herbal tea. A quick search on Google regarding taking the solution two hours late also revealed that sugar interferes with the process of the magnesium. And lord knows I can't have anything interfering with the process. So down the drain the tea went.
And then the fun started. I won't indulge you with the details, but let's just say this stuff does what it says, and quickly. Shall I take this moment to remind y'all that we only have one bathroom. One. Suffice to say, there has been a lot of yelling through the door.
At 8pm, knowing what I do, I now needed to drink another 10 oz bottle of this stuff. Sweet baby Jesus. All the sites say to avoid nausea try drinking it with a straw. Do you think I could find any one of the 500 straws in this house at that moment? Hell no. I did find a juice box straw, which was like sucking my way to a slow death, until I stopped to breathe and it fell into the bottle. Never was I so happy as to throw that bottle in the recycle bin. 2 down... one to go.
So here I sit, waiting for my husband to get out of the fecking bathroom....again, thinking maybe I should just set up shop in the bathroom tonight.
*sigh*
That 6 am bottle is not going to be fun.
*sigh*
Getting old is not for wussies.
I know, good times right? While most of the general population escapes this nugget of fun-ness until age 50 or so, I have the good fortune of this life experience 10 years early. It seems that having two bad bouts of diverticulitis, Ceiliac, esophageal issues that started from infancy, and a family history of colon cancer, lands me smack in the dead center of the radar.
And let's be honest, I'll be knocked out for the majority of the show, so while they video my guts from top (they are also doing an endoscopy) to bottom (no pun intended) and it's unlikely they'll be selling it for profit on Youtube, so it's really no big deal. Except for the prep. That, my friends, is a literal pain in the bum.
If you haven't had to join in the festivities yourself, there's a great article by Dave Barry about the entire procedure, you can read it here. Really, it's quite insightful. When I read this article, I laughed and laughed, and remembered thinking, "Thank God I still have 17 years before I have to do that.". My dad tried to warn me of the dreaded colon prep, and like the faithful, loving daughter that I am, I stuck my fingers in my ears as if to say la la la I can't hear you. Actually, I may not have done that, I think my eyes just glazed over. I am so sorry dad. I had no idea. Because if the actual prep wasn't bad enough, I have the attention span of a gnat lately. Which means I have read, and re-read the paperwork from the doctor at least three times a day for the last two weeks, and somehow still have screwed it up.
It started three weeks ago when the nice secretary called to remind me of my appointment. She suggested that I review the paperwork as there were medications I would need to stop taking 10 days ahead of time. Check. Got it. I read the papers. One week prior I was to go to CVS and get something called magnesium citrate in lemon or lime, but no cherry. Red dye was a huge no no. No red dye, got it.
And then I forgot all about it until Friday, when I spotted some in Target. Lemon only, which is fine, I like lemon. I mindlessly got into line, generally glancing at the cashier, noticing he was a former boss who had retired. Quickly, I grabbed my glass bottles and moved aside, because there's just some people that shouldn't see you purchasing embarrassingly large quantities of liquid laxative. Once I returned home I thought it might be a good idea to check the paperwork again, and sure enough I was to avoid popcorn, corn, seeds, and nuts.
Thankfully, my workplace stash of peanut M&Ms had just run out, but unfortunately I had drank a wild berry smoothie that morning. Oops. Strike one. I needed to pay more attention, particularly on Sunday, when I could not eat any food all day.
I can do this, I thought. Saturday night I figured I would get myself a nice salad for dinner, minus the tomatoes (seeds) and cucumbers (seeds again) and sesame and sunflower seeds. So I basically had shredded lettuce with tuna. Not exactly what I would call a last meal. Still good, I can do this.
This morning I woke to the sound of cracking eggs for Sunday breakfast. Apparently my husband had forgotten all about the no solid food thing, bless his heart. So I set about doing things to distract myself from eating. We recycled the oil and old washing machine at the dump. We did a neighborhood clean up for two hours. We shopped for trucks. I made risers for the bed. I did laundry. And all I could think about is how frecking hungry I was. I read the list, and drank what I could to stop my stomach turning. We stopped at the grocery store and I picked up my favorite hospital stay beverage, cranberry juice, got home, poured myself a nice glass, took one sip, and noticed the ingredients on the bottle.
Red coloring.
What. The. Feck. Can't I get any part of this right? Down the drain it went, along with my hopes of having this not be so bad. I revisited the paperwork at 6pm. Apparently I was supposed to start drinking the magnesium at 4. *gah!* So, I sucked one down.
And promptly wanted to throw up. It was like eating lemons folks. Actual. Whole. Lemons. With a hint of vomit. I attempted to wash the rest down with sugar sweetened herbal tea. A quick search on Google regarding taking the solution two hours late also revealed that sugar interferes with the process of the magnesium. And lord knows I can't have anything interfering with the process. So down the drain the tea went.
And then the fun started. I won't indulge you with the details, but let's just say this stuff does what it says, and quickly. Shall I take this moment to remind y'all that we only have one bathroom. One. Suffice to say, there has been a lot of yelling through the door.
At 8pm, knowing what I do, I now needed to drink another 10 oz bottle of this stuff. Sweet baby Jesus. All the sites say to avoid nausea try drinking it with a straw. Do you think I could find any one of the 500 straws in this house at that moment? Hell no. I did find a juice box straw, which was like sucking my way to a slow death, until I stopped to breathe and it fell into the bottle. Never was I so happy as to throw that bottle in the recycle bin. 2 down... one to go.
So here I sit, waiting for my husband to get out of the fecking bathroom....again, thinking maybe I should just set up shop in the bathroom tonight.
*sigh*
That 6 am bottle is not going to be fun.
*sigh*
Getting old is not for wussies.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
The day started out early.
Really early.
Got the kids off to school, headed to the mechanic for a preliminary review of what I will need for a sticker next month. It's gonna take some high finance to pull off that maintenance, my friends, or a magical financial genie.
I stopped for breakfast with my Mom and caught up on all things family gossip. (There isn't any, but I had a damn good omelet.)
I scoured the book store for Youngest's newest series obsession with no luck. Then attempted to get Oldest the cleanser he needed to clear up his cursed teenage skin, again with no luck.
Brought my husband coffee at work. Harassed him in front of his boss. Good times... Then proceeded to leave him with the masses of people who waited until the very last minute to mail their taxes.
Went to the town hall, secured a recycle sticker to get rid of my old washer and 10 gallons of old heating oil. Then I called the DPW to ensure I could bring the heating oil to the recycle center. I even remembered to write down the girl's name who said it was okay, so when I get there on Sunday I can throw her under the bus, and finally be rid of it.
I picked up 20 purple trash bags for town clean up day. Shot an email off to the boy scout troop to enlist help for said clean up. My money's on it being just Youngest, Tony and I, but hey, thinking of the bonding time we'll have. *sigh*
Went to the recreation center to ask about borrowing buoys for the island camp out this summer. It's looking like we're using a pool noodle and rope, because no one seems to have any to spare, and I'm not buying them for one camp out.
Went to the fire department to get camp fire permits for said camp out. Typed letter to the guy in charge to be mailed off tomorrow. Fingers crossed. You can't have a camp out with out marshmallows and burnt hot dogs.
Completed 3 safety training courses online ALSO for said camp out. Reminded myself while sitting there for an hour and a half that Youngest totally doesn't appreciate me enough.
Picked up 432 American flags for next month so the Troop can change out all the flags at our local cemetery in time for Memorial Day.
Pinned a recipe off Pinterest, went to the grocery store to obtain ingredients, and actually made it for dinner.
Picked up the kids and attended a 2 hour adult leadership meeting for Boy Scouts, so now I am officially in charge of all the aforementioned stuff. (*yeah*)
Being awesome is exhausting.
So why am I wide awake?
Really early.
Got the kids off to school, headed to the mechanic for a preliminary review of what I will need for a sticker next month. It's gonna take some high finance to pull off that maintenance, my friends, or a magical financial genie.
I stopped for breakfast with my Mom and caught up on all things family gossip. (There isn't any, but I had a damn good omelet.)
I scoured the book store for Youngest's newest series obsession with no luck. Then attempted to get Oldest the cleanser he needed to clear up his cursed teenage skin, again with no luck.
Brought my husband coffee at work. Harassed him in front of his boss. Good times... Then proceeded to leave him with the masses of people who waited until the very last minute to mail their taxes.
Went to the town hall, secured a recycle sticker to get rid of my old washer and 10 gallons of old heating oil. Then I called the DPW to ensure I could bring the heating oil to the recycle center. I even remembered to write down the girl's name who said it was okay, so when I get there on Sunday I can throw her under the bus, and finally be rid of it.
I picked up 20 purple trash bags for town clean up day. Shot an email off to the boy scout troop to enlist help for said clean up. My money's on it being just Youngest, Tony and I, but hey, thinking of the bonding time we'll have. *sigh*
Went to the recreation center to ask about borrowing buoys for the island camp out this summer. It's looking like we're using a pool noodle and rope, because no one seems to have any to spare, and I'm not buying them for one camp out.
Went to the fire department to get camp fire permits for said camp out. Typed letter to the guy in charge to be mailed off tomorrow. Fingers crossed. You can't have a camp out with out marshmallows and burnt hot dogs.
Completed 3 safety training courses online ALSO for said camp out. Reminded myself while sitting there for an hour and a half that Youngest totally doesn't appreciate me enough.
Picked up 432 American flags for next month so the Troop can change out all the flags at our local cemetery in time for Memorial Day.
Pinned a recipe off Pinterest, went to the grocery store to obtain ingredients, and actually made it for dinner.
Picked up the kids and attended a 2 hour adult leadership meeting for Boy Scouts, so now I am officially in charge of all the aforementioned stuff. (*yeah*)
Being awesome is exhausting.
So why am I wide awake?
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