What the heck happened here?

It's been almost a week . . .

2012-01-27T11:23:00.000-07:00

. . . will I get misty and think of him on Fridays at lunchtime forever?

Kinda Cool.

2012-01-26T15:33:00.001-07:00

My first four words are "prey", "insecure", "pica" and "kind". I threw "pica" out since I definitely don't have any addiction to eating non-food items. I replaced it with a fifth word, "thoughtful". I'm not sure how I feel about this. I don't really love "prey". I'd take "pray" with an "ay", but the "ey" makes me picture a rabbit with my face running for it's life from a lion. I'm not all that fond of insecure either, but from time to time, it's probably right. It could just say "human."

This felt good . . .

2012-01-26T14:22:00.000-07:00

I started this morning with a bunch of things. One of the feel-good things for me was this:

This is my goodwill pile for the day. Man, it felt good to thin that stuff down & clear some CRAP out.

I also cleaned out the shoe bin. All the extras and not-fitters are gone. And that felt good. Here's what I'm down to, minus, of course the 12 shoes that are on people's feet and the bin in the garage, which mostly houses flip-flops & snow boots at this time of year . . . .

2012-01-26T08:01:00.003-07:00

Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid. In the past, whenever I had fallen short in almost any undertaking, it was seldom because I had tried and failed. It was because I had let fear of failure stop me from trying at all.

Arthur Gordon

I take it back . . . sort of . . . and much better . . . .

2012-01-25T21:24:00.001-07:00

Okay . . . . at least two things:

I take it back. Well, sort of. In one of the last couple of posts, I wrote about platitudes and said something to the effect that death makes everyone your best friend. I take it back. I probably was in a bad mood and over-reacted to something simple. It happens. Grief. Good grief. It was partially honest, though. I am somewhat troubled by platitudes that try to lessen the blow and force me to see the bright side of things. It hurts, plain and simple. And right now, Pop is still in refrigeration. The physical act of dying doesn't make it "over". Not by a long stretch. In fact, this week has been rough. Very rough. HOWEVER, Pop's passing has caused the resurfacing of a couple of old names, from as far back as high school days . . and I have found comfort in some of the cards, emails, wall posts and such that have come across. So, thank you. Thank you very much. I didn't mean to be such an insensitive bitch.

Much better. Today is Wednesday and I'm feeling much better. In no particular order, I'm beginning to reign in the chaos. Have you figured out that I'm a little bit of a control freak? Well, I've reigned in the disarray and the things left undone. I've caught up the laundry. I've been to the grocery store. I've planned a few meals. I bought Little a few pairs of pants on clearance at Target. My poor kid looked like he was waiting for a flood. I threw out the yucky veggies. I caught up my diet & exercise journal. I wrote, wrote, wrote. I set a date for a memorial service, talked to the reverend, have had several conversations with my Aunties, upgraded the urn, and finished the paperwork process. I ordered copies of death certificates. I took the volleyball jerseys in for screen printing. I organized hotel accommodations for this weekend, and potluck food stuff for Sunday's volleyball tournament. I bought a birthday present for Cora, a little girl that is having a birthday party this weekend. I scanned my pile and got my desk AND for floor surrounding it into much better shape. I'm feeling accomplished. Go me. I also booked a family vacation, rolled over points, and called all of our automatic payees to update credit card information. Did I complain or whine about our major card being tagged for fraud and having to close everything. Sheesh. See, when it rains, it pours. The week that dad was in hospice, I also had an ingrown toenail, a canker sore, my period and a fraud-tagged credit card. Awesome. I've run the vacuum, the steam mom and the broom a few times. I've filled up the gas tank and spent some much needed quality time with each of my tiny darlings.

So, much better. I'm keeping busy. I like busy.

2012-01-25T13:47:00.001-07:00

I've missed you.

2012-01-23T20:19:00.002-07:00

Blogger-world, I've missed you. I've been writing, so I don't feel like I'm fixin' to implode, but writing is my therapy and let's face it, the last few weeks have been a bit stressful. So, an update is in order, but I'm still too discombobulated to do much more than make half-baked lists or ramble. Fitting, then, for me to write a rambling list.

1. I'm behind. Tragically behind. In every area. Work, Thirty-One, bills, mail, school papers. There is still a pile of Christmas cards on my desk. The flex care thing is left undone, laundry is a heaping mound, the dishes are unfinished and I have to get some shirts down for screen printing for the volleyball team. That shouldn't surprise too many folks. Things like death of a loved one tend to throw your well oiled machine into stall mode. I need to sort through the pile on my desk. I need to sort through the heaping pile that fell off of the pile that was on my desk, and is now on the floor next to my desk. At some point, some person tried to be helpful, brought the mail in and put that pile in the chair. Then someone wanted to plant their ass in the chair, so they moved the pile to the floor. I have piles of crap, papers and stuff everywhere. I can hardly turn around in my office without getting a paper cut or sliding across slick sheets and advertisements. Incidentally, does anyone know how to unsubscribe to junk mail? Middle was super helpful in the office this weekend, but I've still got a long way to go.

2. Among the papers, obviously, is a stack dedicated to Pop. Holy Cow. There's a lot of paperwork associated with hospitals, hospice, dying, accounts, social security, funerals, memorials and the like. Yowza. Listen everyone, I've learned something really, really, really important. Go out and get yourself a pre-paid funeral plan. Morbid? Maybe. But I'm telling you . . . the last thing you want to leave your family with after the have watched you slip away is a six-figure bill for "associated costs." Go make your wishes clear and get it paid for up front. Your family has important work to do when you are gone. They are grieving and missing you. This is one of THE smartest things we did. When Pop when into nursing home care 12 years ago, we had to spend every last dime that was a traceable asset. He opted for a pre-paid plan, so we went in, made a memorial flyer, chose an urn, provided military paperwork and birth certificates and got all the necessary documentation done. And right now, boy am I glad. Boy. Am. I. Glad. On a side note, did you know that state law requires every living descendant to sign and notarize a consent to cremate. Interesting. I'm floored, again, by paperwork.

3. Platitudes. Thank you. Some amazing folks have sent well wishes and the nicest emails and texts. Thank you. Thank you so much. Incidentally, some of my most sincere wishes have come from blog followers who know me only through printed word. Thank you all for your very kind words. I haven't had time to respond to everyone. I probably won't be able to respond to everyone. Still, I'm very thankful. On the flip side, some very interesting texts have come across my phone, into my Facebook account and into my inbox. Shockers. Who sends a note that says, "Sorry, but, well, he IS 92." Guess what, guys? You're right. But, whether he was 56 or 80 or 98, he's my DAD! Some equally interesting messages from lots of folks who totally checked out of my life. It could have been 20 years ago or recently, but death makes everyone your best friend again. It brings to mind this gem that is hanging on my fridge:

4. Tae Kwon Do. During the hospitalization, illness and surrounding events, Little started Tae Kwon Do. The little guy is tearing it up. He's earned three stripes already on his white belt and is super excited about going to class. I love the "yes, ma'am" attitude. I also love the core of what they are teaching . . . more to come on that, with a brand new tag, I'm sure.

White belt, yellow stripe.

5. Friggin' flex care. That's all I have to say about that. Friggin' flex care. I'm still untangling a mess.

6. Stories . . . I have stories. I'll either blog them or publish my journal. Lots of stories.

7. Kids . . . . kids fall into stories I'll tell in the coming months. Suffice it to say that everyone deals with STUFF in their own way. Middle started out super emotional. Mimi, surprisingly, is very emotional, but it's also short lived. Big has a very firm grasp on the permanency of death. She did very well through the hospitalization process. She's struggling now. And I'm aching for her. Little, of course, part boy and part too-young does things like race through the kitchen shooting his nerf gun and simultaneously yelling, "mom are you said that your dad died? Bam-bam-bam-bam!!" Speaking of kids, Middle needs a tuck in, Big needs help studying for a social studies test tomorrow . . . and Castle is new at 9, so these paper piles will have to wait for 12 more hours . . . .

My therapeutic parting comment is from my Aunt Alyce. She is my dad's sister-in-law and she buried her husband, my dad's brother after a long illness that ended last summer. She said, in one of the hardest days, "Life is for the living." So, no matter how sad and empty and alone it sometimes feels, life is for the living . . . .

My Pop . . .

2012-01-21T21:04:00.000-07:00

In the most loving, warm, wonderful memory EVER . . . .

My dad, "Pop"

Born February 25, 1919 in Portland, Oregon

Died January 20, 2012 in Colorado Springs, Colorado

He used to say things like all that glitters is not gold, and you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Never trust a man a dog doesn’t like. Early bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Beggars can’t be choosers. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. A closed mouth catches no flies. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. The squeaky wheel gets the oil. An apple a day keeps the doctors away. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. A leopard cannot change its spots. The early bird gets the worm. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. A watched pot never boils. Good things come to those who wait. Never trust a skinny cook. A rolling stone gathers no moss. Waste not, want not. Cloudy mornings give way to clear evenings. Two heads are better than one. Make hay while the sun shines. Into every life, a little rain must fall. Finders keepers, losers weepers. It goes without saying, he was a good man.

And on the seventh day, He rested . . .

2012-01-20T15:56:00.000-07:00

Day Six

2012-01-20T08:20:00.000-07:00

Day Five

2012-01-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

Day Four

2012-01-17T17:19:00.000-07:00

Day Three

2012-01-16T19:34:00.002-07:00

Day Two

2012-01-16T14:03:00.003-07:00

Day One: What a view!!

2012-01-14T21:09:00.002-07:00

This is the view from my dad's new room at inpatient hospice. Clearly, meant for the audience and families . . . it did massage my soul. It was a beautiful day . . .

An Update . . .

2012-01-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure where to begin, so I'll just dive right into the middle. Or maybe begin at the end.

Dad's condition is not improving. He went through a brief stint last week and weekend where he was having longer bouts of wakefulness. He was able to speak well and the "stinker" in him came back.

But . . .

His belly function has remained the same. And by that, I mean. It's not. Not functioning, I mean. At all. He has a paralytic ileus. It's severe. It's permanent. With it, he can't eat. Nothing can go in if nothing can come out. He's got a few over-riding and additional medical conditions, but that's the life ending, terminal diagnosis. For the last two days, I've been having end of life conversations with his doctors. I've been making logistical arrangements to get him into hospice care NEAR me. I've been talking with discharge planners and care teams about what parameters he has to meet and what functions he must perform. I've been talking about where his placement could be. I've been figuring out if transportation is covered.

I've been busy.

Today, he had a PEG tube placed. For decompression, not feeding. Tomorrow, he will be transported to inpatient hospice care in my town.

It's a lot. But I'm okay. I haven't lived the last 12 years with blinders on. I knew this day was coming. I knew the decisions would be hard and that they would be mine. I'm okay, really, I am.

EXCEPT . . . . for these three little stumbling blocks:

a. Other people's grief. Oh MY God. Today during my visit, three of his best friends from the nursing home came in. One is a man named Max. On my visits to the nursing home, I had coffee and apple pie with Max. He's a touch forgetful, but a beautiful soul. He's my dad's best friend. Together, they figured out a way to subscribe to the Chieftain and the News, share them both and save money. They ate together and have been besties for the last ten years. Max sat at my dad's bedside today and said, openly, warmly, "Get better soon, Roy, I miss you so much. I just miss you so much." And I lost it. Seeing his forgetful self say that over and over while his blue and gold veteran cap tipped in grief was beyond what I could control. My heart is aching for Max. And for Richard and Floyd, who also visited. The four of them are the boys' basketball team "Fans Of The Year." They never miss a home game. Because of walkers and canes, they get to sit near the bench. I hurt for them. More than for me.

b. This little window of time where the current meds in his system will be working, but he'll begin to miss doses of medications due . . . . that window of possible lucidity where Pop might not understand where he is or where is going. That sliver of time has me concerned. He knows me, so I'll be there. Of course, he also asked me for cherries and said a veterinarian came to visit. Still, the point is . . there's a possibility that he will be disoriented and afraid. I don't want him to be disoriented, afraid or in pain. That's all.

c. Planning. I'm a super good planner, but having never done THIS planning before, I'm struck at it's uniqueness. I'm making decisions and trying to give him the best last days of his life. I'm planning for the short number of tomorrows that he has. I'm also planning for the definite and distinct phase where he is actively dying. What meds he will get, who will be there, where he will be, how long that will last. That's a phase that's impossible to plan for, but impossible to avoid. And I'm simultaneously planning for his care after death. I'm not certain there's another part of life where someone does this for you . . . . where they make decisions for three distinctly different parts of life, all at the same time. Homestead says, "Yes, there is. It's when you are enormously, uncomfortably pregnant, planning for labor and thinking, 'crap, I'm gonna have a newborn." She's right, of course. But, I was never enormously pregnant, so there's a strong possibility I missed that part.

And, because there are living people around me right now, I've just been invited to a tea party in the living room. I must put on a hat, don a boa and go, go, go.

2012-01-13T10:40:00.000-07:00

A definition . . .

2012-01-12T21:52:00.002-07:00

Hospice is a type of care and a philosophy of care that focuses on the palliation of a terminally ill patient's symptoms. These symptoms can be physical, emotional, spiritual or social in nature. The concept of hospice has been evolving since the 11th century. Then, and for centuries thereafter, hospices were places of hospitality for the sick, wounded, or dying, as well as those for travelers and pilgrims. The modern concept of hospice includes palliative care for the incurably ill given in such institutions as hospitals or nursing homes, but also care provided to those who would rather die in their own homes. It began to emerge in the 17th century, but many of the foundational principles by which modern hospice services operate were pioneered in the 1950s by Dame Cicely Saunders. Although the movement has met with some resistance, hospice has rapidly expanded through the United Kingdom, the United States and elsewhere.

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hospice

2012-01-11T21:51:00.000-07:00

The impossible decision arrived today . . . .

. . . with as complicated as living is, I never imagined the process of dying could be so difficult.

The Chess Piece Books . . .

2012-01-10T18:57:00.000-07:00

Catching up my book list before I get too far behind . . . . I'm down these three books so far in January. I'm 2/3 through the next one, The Bishop. Highly recommend. The hero is an FBI geoprofiler and some books are set in Denver. It's creepy and suspenseful and peppered with real family drama between hero and his stepdaughter, a dark and twisty, but moody and insightful teenager with self-inflicting tendencies. Overall, I like these books. Four and a half stars.

Also read this, a gift from MEL via kindle. Flippin' HILARIOUS! Loved every minute of it. I've even copied a few of the pictures done with (((*&&*^^ and sent them to Big. She cracks up every time. Four stars.

I'm also counting this one, because I finished in in 2012. I also highly recommend. I received a very thoughtful gift, my own copy, from a girlfriend at Christmas. Thank you, thank you, thank you. A good read . . . with good information and good recipes. Five stars.

Goals, Random Stuff and A String of Tangential Thoughts

2012-01-10T18:47:00.001-07:00

In no particular order . . .

1. Remember my last-week-of-the-year blogger rant about flex spending? Turns out I ended up spending my entire whopping $1722 at Drugstore.com on flex covered stuff. Want to know what that means? Well, it's nothing exciting. I have enough band aids to choke a horse. Mid-shopping spree, I got frustrated and tired and I just started putting three boxes of every kind in my shopping cart. As a result, I have three Princess, three Dora, three camo, three dolphin tattoo ones, three pixies, three hello kitty, three Cars . . . hells bells . . . three of everything. And six Star Wars. At 25 band aids per box, that puts me up in the hundreds. I ordered ear candles. And eye drops, heating pads, ice packs, survival kits, contact lens solution (curious . . nobody here wears contacts), also test strips for my diabetic mother and Polident for her teeth. I stocked us up on coban, athletic tape, steri-strips (I have glued a few kids back together with good steri-strips), PSI bands, saline mist and gel for noses, and non-latex gloves. Also mid-shopping spree, I clicked to put two boxes of non-latex gloves in my box. Whoops. It was two cases. I have TWO THOUSAND pink nitriles in my garage now. Random. It came, and is still coming in random boxes. Here's the point. I feel like a medical supply hoarder. And that feeling is totally stressing me out. I don't usually carry extra "stock" of anything in the house. Just one extra jar of spaghetti sauce is good in my book. One box of band aids is good. So, packed tightly and organized well, $1722 in medical supplies fits in one medium sized box and I have this overwhelming feeling of "oh, crap, if the house burns down, I'll lose all those band-aids." I'd be a terrible hoarder. And a terrible extreme coupon-er. You have to store ALL of that stuff. It actually makes me itch just thinking about it. My mother-load of medical supplies fits in this box:

2. Survivor. We watched Survivor last season. I know the finale is long done, but I'm so BUMMED! I'm not sure who I wanted to win, but I know it wasn't Sophie. Or Coach. Or Brandon. I'm really sad at what Survivor has become. What an ironic soapbox to stand on . . . to preach honor, integrity & shove righteousness down everyone's throat . . . in a game where it is an impossibility.

3. Along the lines of crappy television, over winter break, I was needing something mindless and mind-numbing to do after a long and terrible visit with my dad. I turned on The Bachelor. Shoot me now. I haven't watched The Bachelor since Jake Pavelka disappointed me completely by choosing Vienna over the very adorable Tenley (the name sake of my new favorite jeans . . . or not, but I warned you I was random and rambly.) I'm totally bothered by The Bachelor and the whole idea behind it. I don't think it's possible to find true love in that situation . . . one that breeds jealousy and mistrust. But that's me. I could not do that. No way. Still, now that I've watched one or two . . . I might continue watching this season. If nothing else, it will give me iRant material for "What the Heck Happened Here?"

4. A year in review. I might do something. But not now. I'm digging out from under the pile on my desk, so there's no reviewing right now.

5. Goals . . . I wrote them. At least, I wrote a draft of them. I'm not referencing them now, but I have made a conscious decision to incorporate my diet-lifestyle choices into "What the Heck . . .". Diet is part of who I am and who I have always been, but I've left it an un-bloggable topic for many, many years because either (a) I didn't want to preach or (b) I don't want to talk about it or (c) I'm totally annoyed by other peoples' constant posts in facebook and such that say, "NIKE treadmill just tracked me. I ran 4.8 miles and it felt great." I HATE those posts. Diet and exercise is one of those tricky areas where you either appear to be bragging and other people, and, especially females want to kick you in the teeth, OR, you appear to be bitching and other people, especially females, jump on to the bitch train and tip the scales. I don't want to brag or bitch. I just want to be honest. I have weight loss baggage. It will be therapeutic to write about it. It's for me. Not you. So don't think I'm bragging. Dont' kick my cyber-teeth in. And don't let me bitch. Ups and downs are part of it. I simply want to record, in the place where I record things . . the things that are working for me. Or the things that are not.

6. Organizing. I'm also planning to post more on that topic. It keeps me honest. I'm through a huge stack of scannables right now. I scan everything. I keep hardcopies of . . . well, nothing. Pretty much nothing.

7. Meals. Another bloggable topic for me. Writing it down makes it a plan. I stuck to the stir fry plan tonight. Big ate it. Middle will eat when she gets home. Little ate meat & rice. Mimi ate rice & spinach. I ate rice & veggies . . . zucchini, yellow squash, broccoli & rice. I lost my appetite to eat the chicken midway through the preparation stage. Full. Body. Shudder.

8. Have you read this?

Today, Mimi and I were hustling out the door to get to gymnastics on time after a minor disciplinary set-back. It's tough to be four. There's big stuff to learn. Anyhoo, I said, "hurry, hurry, go get dressed." No further instruction. She came out in a striped leotard, striped pants in navy, teal & hot pink, striped jacket in purple and soft pink, and two mismatched striped socks. And away we went. I can't expect fashion out of her when I am sporting my fashion handicapped placard, too. I know, I know. Children are a reflection of you. I used to be totally anal about that. But on the way to gymnastics, she told me, "These are my favorite pants. This sweater is soft on the inside and it's my favorite colors: pink and purple . . plus it zips so it won't pull my piggies out. Middle told me to wear mismatchy socks like her today so we could be twins." From where I stand, rationale and a working mind is more important than a matching outfit. She'll have plenty of days ahead where she'll have to match.

9. Credit cards. I went to Costco today. Realized my American Express is missing. Said a few choice words while I waited in line for a temporary shopping pass. Used my rewards certificate, which was LOVELY, as it brought my balance down to only $83 in groceries. Might last me until the end of the month, minus fresh produce. I got home to a message from Capital One that our card had been flagged for fraud. More choice words. Seriously, Universe!! Do I look like I have time for this crap?

10. Kitchen appliances . . . . I'd like to know what you have and what you use. Prepare a blog entry on it. Who has a panini maker? I want some sort of pressy-thing that will make quesadillas and paninis and grilled cheese and such . . . . NOT a George Foreskin. Because those ribbed things make me crazy to clean.

And that's that . . . .

Menu for This Week

2012-01-09T20:08:00.001-07:00

I've been off track. With hospital trips and kids home during the day, trying to fit some fun things in complicated by a husband lingering around the house . . I've just been off track. I bet every mother of school aged kids starts walking sideways, like they need a V8, close to the end of Christmas Break.

I spent about 6 hours in the kitchen yesterday doing prep work for this week's meals. I'm back on track. I think . . .

Sunday: I did Christmas dinner. The sides we never had over the break. Extra sides for dishes this week.
Monday: Shepherd's Pie with the leftover mashies from last night. Delish.
Tuesday: Teriyaki Chicken Stir Fry over rice
Wednesday: Stuffed Shells
Thursday: Pork Tenderloin, veggies from the freezer &
Friday: Fend for yourself night. Beauty & the Beast is being re-released and we have no volleyball on Friday night, so we girls are having a date. We will eat our body weight in popcorn. The boys, I'm sure, will have pizza.
Saturday: Team late lunch @ Jason's Deli. I'm not cooking. Coming home for snacks and/or munchies only during the Bronco game.
Sunday: Something marvelously crock pot-able. Probably that super duper French Dip recipe I shared a few months ago.

And, Homestead, here's the recipe I meant to share w/ you for Lime Chicken Soft Tacos. I got it from Mel, who does meals like WE do . . . well, sort of. She brought it to a Mexican pot luck that we did for the volleyball team. It was delish. Your kids will like it.

Jeans . . . .

2012-01-09T14:03:00.000-07:00

At long last!

Well, if you are new to 'What the heck happened here?', you might have missed some of my best posts on jeans, or rather, my long, extensive, decade-of-searching saga about the perfect pair of jeans.

Well . . . .

I found them. Yes, indeedie -- I found them. I'm so in love with this fabulous pair of jeans that I bought at The Buckle. Pricey, yes. But worth every penny. Every. Penny. I paid a zillion dollars LESS than the cumulative cost of years worth of searching. They wear well. They wash well. I get miles out of them. And, best of all, I bought them four sizes smaller than I projected. That's not the only reason I love them, but it rates at the top. I love the whiskering. I love the contrast stitching. I love that The Buckle will hem them for free.

Yeah!! The search is over!!

2012-01-08T13:59:00.000-07:00

Consumer Reports Says:

2012-01-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

Buy these. Tons of fun. Good for balance, good for coordination. Good inside. Better outside. Good for spinning, good for sliding, good for pulling. Actually, haven't found anything they aren't good for. Love, love, love. Money well spent. Five enthusiastic stars.

Don't buy this. Let me ask you. If the purpose of making new crayons would be to use up stubby old, too-short-to-color-with crayons then why in THE hell would Crayola make a crayon maker that puts out short, too-stubby-to-color-with crayons. Ridiculous. Colorful: yes. Pretty: yes. But this gizmo gets an overall 'no-star' rating from this mommy.

Buy this. I'm liking it a lot. I got a cheap trial from the folks that mail me Proactiv. $10 for a month of trial product and four extra things. Shine goo, a conditioning comb, some leave in conditioner stuff and something else that looks like a glue stick. The verdict: it's a little odd to not "shampoo" your hair, in the traditional sense. It feels funny in the same way that reading on a kindle did in the first week. I missed turning the pages. Likewise, I miss the lather. But, the overall result is pretty wow. It's very visable and quite noticeable in Mimi's hair, which is fine and long. It's always a tangled, matted mess and every morning, she wakes up looking like she had a WWF fight with the pillow. The pillow always wins. So get this.

Price wise, it's less than this treat:

And that's all I have to say about that. For now.

With school starting again . . . .

2012-01-06T14:00:00.002-07:00

. . . I thought this was an appropriate sentiment.

A Christmas Tradition that I didn't get to blog about . . .

2012-01-06T13:50:00.000-07:00

. . . but the picture has been sitting on my desktop for weeks.

Gritty. Bad picture, but great memories. Yes, I wrap these books every year. And they sit in a closet all wrapped up. Until December, when each night at bedtime one of the kids (or maybe two . . depends on how and who is fighting) get to open Christmas books for special stories at night. We have been collecting Christmas books for years. I love reading and opening the Christmas books.

Isn't this beautiful?

2012-01-06T13:42:00.000-07:00

Middle took this picture. She emailed it to me with a note. It was the most well timed and wonderful gift when I opened this image. I'm putting it here to save for all time and eternity. Gorgeous, right?

A Timeline. And Maybe Some Progress?

2012-01-05T19:18:00.000-07:00

Okay . . . so the whole timeline went like this:

Dad got sick on 12/15. The nursing home staff called. They thought he had a stomach bug. He presented with vomiting. That's it. The next day, he ate, slept and had a good day.

And then on the night of the 16th, he had more vomiting. And a fall. He went to the ER because he whacked his head.

And the next day, he ate and felt better and had a pretty good day, but felt weak.

So, on the 17th, he was admitted to the hospital for IV hydration. And observation.

And he had some tests. Where it was discovered that he had a partial small bowel obstruction. He stayed in the hospital for observation and fluid. The plan with small bowel obstruction is to wait, drag your feet and see if it clears. But it didn't.

So, on Tuesday, the 20th, he was transferred from the little rural hospital where he was to a bigger hospital for a higher level of care.

The official diagnosis came on the 22nd, when after several consults and much more testing, it was discovered that he had a chronic partial small bowel obstruction secondary to extensive scarring and adhesions from an appendectomy over 40 years ago. When presented with the options (which were (a) have surgery or (b) never eat a normal diet again), he openly consented to surgery, stating, "Well, I can't starve to death. That's no way to go."

Surgery was on the 23rd. It was long and complicated.

On the 24th, the kids saw him. He looked great and we all thought he would bounce right back. He was laughing and joking with the kids and MOTH.

Then something happened on the 25th. Mental vacation, I guess. He stopped talking. Started having a tough time swallowing. No evidence of a stroke.

On the 26th, 27th, 28th, 29th, 30th, 31st, January 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th, he didn't speak. He was exhausted. He developed pneumonia. He couldn't swallow. Couldn't drink liquids. Couldn't keep his eyes open. He has been on IV nutrition. Once in there, he slid markedly backward, began vomiting again and aspirated which made the pneumonia worse. He began showing signs of renal complications (I hesitate to use the word failure). He started looking yellow. His liver enlarged. His belly distended.

I'll be honest, I thought he would meet Jesus.

And today, I called his nurse to check on him and she said, "He's sitting up in the chair and eating lunch."

"Huh?", I said. I repeated the name and room number thinking surely I forgot to mention that my dad was the one knocking on death's door.

Instead, I heard her say, "Roy, it's your daughter on the phone . . . do you want to talk to her?" And the most amazing thing of all, after no speech since the 24th of December, I heard him say, "Hello?" He heard me on the phone, talked to me, answered a question or two. I hung up absolutely stunned. I had to pinch myself. I still can't quite believe it.

Now, it looks like things might be better. Not out of the woods, but better. He's speaking and he's more "with it". He's tolerating a liquid diet. Hmm. Curious.

And I have this medical marvel to blog about. If ever you have questioned the critical role of hormones in your life, let me tell you this: My dad has been hypothyroid for many years. He has been taking Synthroid for years. Literally, as long as I can remember. He's always been hypothyroid. I did a case study on him once in nursing school. I analyzed all of his meds and wrote about potential interaction. Anyhoo . . . . round about the 30th or so, when the massive backward slide occurred, I spoke with a doctor and begged and said, THIS IS NOT HIM!! Something has to be missing. Hours later, she scoured his chart and discovered that his Synthroid had not been given since admission on the 20th. So, for all of those days, his already slow functioning thyroid received no compensation. Okay, medically minded folks, think of it this way. Bowel surgery requires the bowel to be put to sleep. In men who are 92, it's slow to wake up under normal circumstances. Normal. Add a severely hypothyroid state to that, and that explains the ileus. It explains a secondary obstruction. People who are hypothyroid sleep all the time. They feel exhausted and overwhelmed and are difficult to rouse.

I'm not saying it was JUST that one thing . . . . but I'm saying his case is a case study in "I guess he really does need that med."

So, to summarize . . . . a better day. Not out of the woods, but a better day.

What an emotional roller coaster these last three weeks have been. Lawd.

2012-01-03T10:25:00.000-07:00

Status . . .

2012-01-02T18:30:00.000-07:00

Status quo today . . .
Not improving . . .
Not declining . . .

Dear Heather,

2012-01-02T11:57:00.002-07:00

I can't find this 'thing' . . . .

You blogged about it.
I stole it and blogged about it.

It's about planting a tree with cremains . . . .

Even when I google it, I can't find the actual site I was looking at before . . . .

Do you remember? Do you have a link to it?

Thanks a zillion --

Elle

2012-01-01T18:48:00.000-07:00

2011-12-31T17:39:00.001-07:00

Deteriorating . . .

2011-12-30T22:23:00.000-07:00

Dad's condition is deteriorating.

It's amazing how quickly it can happen. He had surgery on the 23rd. I was with him after surgery, when he woke up and spent some time with him on the 24th, last Saturday, too. All the kids saw him. He was awake and alert. Talkative. Joking. He wasn't hurting. He looked great. G.R.E.A.T. When we were getting ready to leave, he said to Big, "Bye-bye, Sweetie . . . " as he waved from the bed. Then to Middle, "Bye-bye, Sweetie . . . " as he waved again from the bed. MOTH stepped in and joked with him, "don't you call me Sweetie." And they shook hands and dad said, "Bye-bye, Sweetie . . . " to MOTH. Everyone laughed and we left on a real high note.

And on Monday, something happened.

And whatever that something was continued on Tuesday.

And Wednesday.

And Thursday.

Today, he can hardly lift his head and is struggling to keep his eyes open. It was an overwhelming victory today that he opened his eyes and said my name. I fed him lunch. No more than a 1/4 cup of chicken broth and a couple of cubes of orange jello. He choked a few times. He struggled to drink through a straw. And was so weak. His face is drawn, cheeks sunken, eyes sagging. He is in and out, back and forth between parallel worlds. When he's out, he's gone . . . far, far away. He can't be roused. When he's here, he's barely here . . . holding on by a thread that is sputtered with coughing, heaving breathing and is punctuated with high blood pressure and intermittent pain.

I did nursing care today, because that's my niche. It's where I feel comfortable. So, I fed him. And I washed his hands. I took his old band aids off. I combed his hair. It parts on the left. It always has, but the pillow had it smunched up and going crazy ape right. I fixed that. I shaved his face for him. He hasn't had a scruffy face, lip or neck in the 38 years I've known him or the 30 years I've taken notice. So I shaved his face, and washed it. And then I sat. We sat. We sat for a long time today.

Dear Disney Redhead,

2011-12-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

So I've got about 19 windows open looking at "stuff" related to Disney . . . WDW not DisneyLand . . . when I have this "ah-hah" moment that goes like this: "Oh my God. I have a resource, here."

What can you tell me? Are you a WDW or DL girl? Can you give me a top ten do's or don't list?

xoxo,
Elle

Your Attention Please.

2011-12-28T17:25:00.000-07:00

I feel the need to bitch.

Flex care: a blessing and a curse. Right now, I'm totally pissed off about this IRS health care reform act that prevents hard working, pre-planning folks from being able to utilize pre-tax money for over-the-counter medications.

I'm hacked off that flex care spending and planning for medical, dental, orthodontic expenses this year backfired and shot me in the foot.

Big needs braces. We have known that she would need braces for a year or two now. So, this year, I set aside money, flex money, to pay for her braces. Well, it's December 28th. She has two baby teeth left, and won't be getting those braces this calendar year. So . . . . I have $1722 of flex money to spend in the next 72 hours.

And, the real kicker is . . . . I can't spend it on anything that I REALLY need without going through a huge pain in the ass, doctor's appointment rig-a-ra-roll line of complete bullshit to obtain prescriptions to use such wonderfully hum-drum things as neosporin, medicated bandaids, saline or motrin.

I just loaded a shopping cart right to the brim with over $800 in band-aids, athletic tape, first aid kits and gauze. Damned if I'm letting that money go to WASTE! Gasp.

On a side note. I had no idea that condoms and pregnancy tests qualified for flex care reimbursement. Did you? Also, there is some irony in this: An 8-pack of Trojans is $9.49. I can't remember the real cost but I do remember using Trojans, Durex or Lifestyles to teach sex ed. So, those must have been the brands that were affordable enough to have teenagers open rubbers in mixed company and put them on bananas. Whatever. There's a new brand out called HUGE. Maybe not new, but new to ME. It's been a long time since I've been in the market for condoms. A 36 pack of them is $11.99. Curious to me. Why so cheap?

Like decaf coffee is more expensive than regular. Why? It's missing the main ingredient. Why would extra large, super duper condoms be so dirt cheap? I bet there is dust on the tops of all the boxes.

Anyhoo . . . . I'm in the bitter barn with flex money right now. It's an odd situation for me to have money to blow and find NOTHING great to buy with it. Whoop-whoop. A new heating pad. And some ear candles. Enough for a party. Rock on. But what I really need is children's motrin by the case. And I can't get that. How stupid is this "no-over-the-counter-health-products-act." Lame, lame, lame.

2012: A Preliminary List of Goals

2011-12-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

I. Money: Isn't money on everyone's list?
A. Make ends meet.
B. Put $$ in each kids' savings account.
C. Pay off the Lodge.
D. Maintain only logical debt (car & house). Keep zero balances on the credit card.
E. Do a better job submitting and maintaining flex money. What a thorn in my side. Sheesh.
F. Save, save, save. Is anyone else out there preparing for a rainy day? I find great comfort in a slush fund.

II. Read. I already read. A lot. Still, I want to keep a book list of just books I've read in 2012.

III. Family: Be supportive of MOTH. Be supportive of Big. Be supportive of Middle. Be supportive of Little. Be supportive of Mimi. Be supportive of me.

IV. I'd like new carpet on the stairs and upstairs. There's a big rip on the stairs that I've been sewing back together with yarn. It's time to replace it before somebody busts their butt coming down the stairs. Once that's in the works, I'd like a different flooring in the bathroom. Who puts CARPET in the bathroom? It's right up next to the tub and I've always disliked it. So, on the home improvement front, I'd like (1) new carpet and flooring in the master bath and then (2) a working closet system in the master closet. It's also on my list to revamp part of the office. Though I love the built in, it needs better storage and to be at a workable height.

V. Work. I'm gonna try not to bitch. I do an absolute bang-up job doing my job. I'm self motivated and super efficient. I get the job done. I do it right. I do it right on the first time. I'm the best employee ever. Except that I'm the boss. Well, one of them. This year, I'm going to try to uproot the bitter work seed. I'll either find work that fulfills me or I'll stop complaining about work that doesn't. That's a hefty goal, folks. That might be enough. I mean, really, there's only 52 weeks to do this and that little root is a sizable tree at this point.

VI. Going away. I'll go away this year. As our family changes and grows, I find comfort -- lots of comfort -- in travel. I need to leave this city. I can breathe and let my hair down right outside the city limits, so I plan to go there more frequently. As often as I can. I'm spending some time in Breck. And I'm planning a trip to Montana this year. Because, that's why. I'm looking for a great family vacation, but am struggling with the timing. I've gotta get me away from work, MOTH away from work and I feel best about leaving if Middle is free from gym time and Big has no commitments to miss. I hate to pay for sports and then be missing. I hear money tearing & the sound of toilets flushing.

VII. God. I'm working on my relationship with the Big Guy. Enough said. But, ooh, ooh . . . I didn't blog (but I did have a hearty personal celebration) that MOTH actually attended a Christmas program with me & the kids. In a church. Cautiously excited.

VIII. Little things. Little things don't always belong in a spot like this, but I'm thinking. I'm going to finally put pictures in the frame in the office. It came with a nice looking family and I put the frame up so it wouldn't get broken. The nice looking family has been in there for, um, at least a year. Scanning, organizing, donating, giving . . . . I'm gonna find a better way to do that. I think I'll go back to blogging my organizational triumphs and tragedies, maybe a room at a time . . . . one per month. It helps to be accountable. I'll start with Christmas storage in January.

And, because I've been saving a whole bunch of photos on my desktop, a photo for your viewing pleasure:

Udon Noodle Veggie Soup

2011-12-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

This is the most delicious soup . . . . a warm and welcome, full-tummy memory from my childhood. I made it for my kids last night explaining it like "great big ramen" with yummy broth. It was delicious!!

Store fresh udon noodles in the refrigerator or in the freezer. If you don't have fresh udon noodles, you can substitute with dry pasta or dried noodles of your choice. The vegetables are up to you - keep the vegetables thinly sliced so that they cook quickly. Sliced zucchini, small broccoli florets, cabbage and even frozen corn/peas are great. I've used shimeji mushrooms from Hokto Kinoko, but you can use fresh shitake or just regular white button mushrooms.

If you are using a different kind of miso other than shiro miso (white miso) lessen the amount by a couple teaspoons. Shiro miso is the least salty and intense of all miso.

ingredients:

One 12-ounce package fresh udon noodles (or substitute with dry pasta/noodles)4 cups chicken or vegetable stock1/2 cup thinly sliced carrots1/2 cup snow peas, sliced on the diagonal1/2 cup fresh mushrooms2 tablespoons white miso (shiro miso)1/2 cup green onions

directions:

1. Cook the udon noodles according to the package directions, drain and set aside.

2. In a large saucepan, bring the stock to a boil. Lower the heat to medium and add the carrots and cook until the carrots are crisp-tender, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the snow peas and cook until slightly tender but still bright green, about 1 minute. Add the mushrooms, cook for 30 seconds and remove from the heat.

3. Spoon the miso in a medium bowl and add a ladleful of hot broth. Whisk until the miso is completely dissolved, then pour the entire miso mixture into the pot with the soup. Do not boil the soup with the miso, as the miso will become gritty. Stir in the noodles and the green onions.

2011-12-27T17:15:00.002-07:00

The sun never says to the earth, “You owe me.” Look what happens with a love like that. It lights up the whole sky. — Hafez

Skirting Around What I Really Want to Talk About . . . .

2011-12-26T17:31:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts from my very cluttered brain right now, about to spew forth. Also, numbered, though in no particular order.

Thought number 1. My husband is remarkably talented at the art of compartmentalizing. By that, I mean, when something gets under his skin, he lets it . . . then he has this amazing talent for kind of putting it in a box, shoving that box up high on a closet shelf and carrying on. The other areas of his life barely seem impacted at all. He carries on with game face on. In fact, he seems to feel better once the shoe boxes are packed full and aligned on closet shelves in the back of his mind. I'm not so good at this. Actually, I'm down-right bad at this. Let me put it to you this way. If holiday stress is apples and my dad is a banana; if the kids are oranges and my period is a kiwi; if Christmas is a jar of maraschino cherries and maintaining the house is strawberries . . . . I'm a fruit salad. I don't keep my apples apart from my oranges. I don't compartmentalize things in my life and put them up, up and away. Anyway, I don't do it well. Stuff mixes up in my world. I'm a fruit salad. Stuff seeps over and gets mixed so that when one thing is bothering me, everything is bothering me. I need to either work on that or learn to let it work with me.

Thought number 2. A wildly successful Christmas. I hit a home-run on all gift fronts. Santa did, too, but I managed to put a smile on every kid's face with something thoughtful and well planned. And I feel successful on that front. Spooner boards rock. Mimi is quite good at it. I was contemplating how many years have gone by . . . how many Christmas days when some child is riding something through the house. I can remember "rock-a-piller", bikes, scooters, pogo sticks, ripstix and now spooner boards. The carpets are still pulled back. Ride-on toys rock. And to answer my question, the rock-a-piller Christmas was when Big was 2, so I guess that's a decade of things to swerve, ram, ride & otherwise chip paint & bump moldings. But, oh, the joy . . . .

Thought number 3. My dad. As you may well suspect, he's weighing heavily on my mind right now. Post surgery day one was pretty good. I think I blogged it. Today . . . not so good. He looks better from a hemodynamic standpoint, but he has received three units of blood & a unit of plasma/platelets. He should look better. There are just a whole host of hurdles in the future. He's distended again today . . . . very large & uncomfortable. His blood pressure is up. He's got a deep, hacking cough. Still, I'm in awe of the tenderness he has shown the last several visits/months/weeks. Even when I did my BEST things as a kid and knew that I made him the most proud, he would throw a rough arm around my shoulder, deliver a half-ass, side body squeeze with a "good job, Blue Light Special". (Yes, he did have most of the town convinced that they got me at a Blue Light Special. Oh gee, did I just date myself? Does anyone even remember K-Mart? Does anyone even know what a Blue Light Special IS?!?) He wasn't a full on body hugger. He didn't go on and on and spout his pride or vent his emotion. So, considering the non-emotional man I knew growing up, he's become a bit softer. He's a hand-holder now and I find that very endearing. His hands are warm like little ovens and as soft as a baby's back-side.

Thought number 4. My house makes me *&^% nutty right after Christmas. I'm anally organized and the trash, packaging, snacks, goodies, wrappers, leftovers make me stark raving MAD. It's only 24 hours after Toys-R-Us exploded in our front room and I'm ready to drive a skid-loader through and empty this place out. If Christmas were in the summer, I'd have one hell of a garage sale before AND after.

Thought number 5. Why are there not toy drive or donation boxes after Christmas? Is seems so logical to me.

Thought number 6 has just occurred to me now. I'm starving. I'm taking a break to find nourishment.

Thought number 7. Norad tracking Santa has changed they way we spend Christmas Eve. Also, Dear Norad-Tracks-Santa. Please slow down. If Google Earth shows that Santa has been here, but we are still a full hour short of a completely assembled foosball table, there's double trouble in walla-walla. MOTH and I set a new record. We were up until 1:30. But, damn, I really like that foosball table. On a side note, my kids sleepwalk. And they don't remember a damn thing. Little caught me red-handed with my hand stuffing stockings, smiled at me and said, "hey, mom", but the next morning, he had NO recollection. Middle walked out and snagged us screwing legs onto the foosball table, but the next morning, couldn't even remember that she had been up to pee.

Thought number 8. Pictures coming.

Thought number 9. Goals, ambitions and such for the new year. Are you thinking about it yet?

Thought number 10. With stomach growling, refer to thought number 6.

Home.

2011-12-24T07:57:00.000-07:00

This email came to me from Carey Casey at The National Center on Fathering. I like him. Are you confused. I know, I'm not a father, but I am the organizing woman behind a fatherhood organization at the elementary school. As such, I get his emails. I like this one. A lot.

Over the years, my wife and I have occasionally brought up the idea of moving to a different house. Ours suits our needs, but it's nothing spectacular. Some would say it's humble. Every holiday season, we have our entire family in our house for a celebration—my four kids, three spouses, and a sleigh full of grandkids. It’s a tight fit into our main living room.

But my older kids cherish coming home. And they are the ones who say, "No, don't you sell this house, Dad. We have memories here."

Since they're married now, they have to sleep in small rooms with two single beds, and their babies sack out in cribs or in sleeping bags on the floor.

And they love it ...

Bigger is not always better. Nicer is not always what your children want.

So, I guess we'll bring in a few extra chairs when we all open up our new pajamas on Christmas Eve—that's one of our traditions.

And the next morning, when we walk down the stairs—oldest to youngest so that the adults get to see the kids’ face as they walk in and see the trees and gifts and whole family waiting ...

Well, we’ll feel a little packed.

But it’ll all be just right. We’ll be home.

Even as I say that, though, I'm pretty sure my kids would tell you the best part of being "home" for the holidays is not the house itself. It's more about who is there and what we do.

My kids razz each other. Fireworks explode across the grandkids’ faces as they see their presents... which delights the adults even more than the kids.

I count my blessings to have them with me.

In today's world, family situations are complicated. Maybe some of your kids can’t be home with you. Or maybe you’ll meet in a central location that isn’t “home” to anyone.

A few weeks ago, I told you about a 65-year-old mom who reads The Night Before Christmas over the phone to her kids every Christmas Eve. They have families of their own, and they are scattered across the country...

But every year, Mom and her two daughters make sure they find a way to enjoy their tradition together.

Your family doesn’t have to be at home to be home. Your family doesn’t even have to be together to be together.

Creating a “home” is about creating traditions and bonds that tie the family together, wherever they are.

So I encourage you to do whatever you can to keep your family traditions going, or to create new ones if your family has changed.

The idea is to be flexible in where, when and how you celebrate. Being together—if only in spirit—is how to really bring Christmas home.

2011-12-23T22:12:00.001-07:00

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love. — Sophocles

From groceries to motrin with sugar cookies in between

2011-12-23T22:05:00.000-07:00

The time was 9:48 am. I was in the peanut butter row at King Soopers. I was blazing through the grocery list, thinking of Christmas cookies and pretzel stuffing. I was in grocery zone. The phone rang. Dad's doctor. What a roller coaster. Another turn for the worse. We talked. The decision is for surgery. Doctor thought late today or maybe tomorrow. He promised to call me back with a time frame so that I could plan appropriately.

At 9:53, I called MOTH with a report. I did the next two rows with a faster spring in my step.

At 9:57, dad's doctor called. This phrase will stop you in your tracks and make a four pack of yogurt hover in mid-air. "Actually, we're clear from the anesthesiologist and we're gonna take him to the OR within the next 30 minutes."

It is now 9:56 pm. Really? It's only been 12 hours? Because the list of things I have done in the last twelve hours is massive. It starts with groceries and saving $112 in coupons and saver cards. In the middle is a commute to the hospital, a couple hours of waiting, a Christmas movie on ABC family, and a really bad cup of coffee. There was a report from the doctor that went like this, "Wow. That was one of THE worst bowel obstructions I have seen in my career." He ended up in surgery for almost 3 1/2 hours. What started as a laprascopic surgery ended with an open gut. When the surgeon finally closed, it was without 70-some-odd centimeters of small bowel, which he reported was "in too terrible of condition to be useful. It was riddled with holes and stuck to itself, twisted and knotted . . just in terrible shape."

Exhale. Big, long, hearty exhale.

My 92-year-old dad is one of the toughest old geezers I know. He held my hand for a few minutes as he dozed in and out. He made it though a massive surgery today. He actually looks better than yesterday, and I'm thankful that the road to recovery starts today.

Once home, I had dinner with my kids, made a poster for Grandpa's room and prepped dough for sugar cookies and pumpkin pie crust. After all, the show must go on. Santa comes in only "one more sleep", says Mimi.

But, Lawd, what a day. What a long, long, long day. I'm taking motrin and a heating pad to bed with me. Right. Now.

2011-12-23T10:47:00.000-07:00

2011-12-23T10:38:00.000-07:00

Holy To-Do List, Batman.

2011-12-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

I haven't been to the grocery store since before our weekend escape to the mountains on the 16th. That's approximating a week of no-fresh-food (well, limited). Couple that with poor planning due to circumstances beyond my control. That equals . . . child care for two afternoons and one evening while I've been at the hospital (read: ramen, plain pasta and a hunt-for-your-own-sandwich afternoon. Yes, peanut butter and frosting makes a good sandwich. Add marshmallows & chocolate chips.) And a Dominos night. Thank heavens for delivery drivers.

So . . . .
1. Grocery store . . . nobody in this house wants turkey. Nobody wants ham. Middle says, "can't we just have all sides?" Um, I'm thinking of a winning-mommy-moment to refute that. Something about need for protein, when MOTH pipes in and says, "yea, can't we just have all sides, extra carbs? It's Christmas, after all!" So, we're having my world famous pretzel stuffing, mashies and homemade rolls. The grocery list is getting shorter. That means: pretzels, link sausage, wild rice, mushroom, onion, broth. Wait, we probably have that.
2. Spaghetti on Christmas Eve. Or maybe we will flip flop that. It depends on when I need to be at the hospital and if there is anyone home to cook or if we need a crock pot to do the heavy work. That means: italian sausage and sauce. I'll make bread. We have noodles. Oh, that was too easy.
3. Eggrolls. Because we love them. I'm jumping to New Year's Eve. Whatever. It's still on the shopping list, because I don't wanna go back twice. That means: wrappers, some kind of meat, cabbage, carrot, ginger, soy, sprouts . . . whatever else is on sale.
4. Middle wants mini pancakes. With strawberries.
5. I want Udon Miso soup. That means: udon, miso, a bunch of fresh veggies.
6. I'll never get the knots out of Mimi's hair without new hair squirtee. What is that called anyway? Un-tangle-ator.
7. I need to mail our Christmas cards. They are done and on the counter, but have to be dropped in the box today.
8. Dad needs a bathrobe. The staff transported him without his slippers and robe. He won't walk past the nurses station with his back end exposed, he says "hell no." I promised him a robe. And he's been hunting for his slippers for two days. He's insistent that I go get the ones from the cabinet in his room. No deal, but I'll bring some new ones. On the sick-dad-update, yesterday was better. It started with a report from a general surgeon. He has a chronic bowel obstruction secondary to extensive scar tissue and adhesions that resulted from an appendectomy over 40 years ago. The obstruction is not complete . . . some stuff is getting through (thus the ambulation), but still problematic. The plan is to watch and wait. He had a PICC line placed yesterday and TPN started so that if surgery is an option in a couple of days, his nutritional status will support the best recovery possible. He's lucid. He consented to surgery yesterday, saying, "I can't starve to death, that's not the way to go. When can I have a ham sandwich?"
9. Picture frames. Need them. I blew up pictures of my gymnast daughter to poster size and need to frame them before someone spills milk on my enlargements. I positively despise half-complete projects.
10. Oh, Middle wants pumpkin pie. MOTH wants bran muffins. Little wants a chocolate chip cookie, a BIG one, for his birthday. No frosting. Vanilla frozen yogurt on top please. The dessert factor with a Christmas birthday is problematic, but I shall persevere.
11. Christmas. I think I'm ready. If I'm not, nobody is gonna die or be disappointed to tears. Anything past what's already under the tree or stowed for Santa is pure gluttony and should be returned anyway. From Santa, Big's getting a spooner board and a digital camera. Middle is getting a spooner board and a ripstix. Little is getting a spooner board and legos. Mimi is getting a spooner board, whirl-n-wear & connectagons. MOTH and I always deliver something fab. This year, Big is getting a jewelry armoire with sparkles inside & a new mattress topper. Middle is getting space chips, a kindle with accessories and a contraption lab. She's gonna totally dig it. Little is getting an authentic Harry Potter wand in a hand-carved Olivander's box, snap circuits & a wooden trebuchet and catapult. He'll go ape. Mimi is getting a barrel of pop beads and a hex bug habitat. Seems short and simple when it's in paragraph form. Everyone has something under the tree from the person that drew their name. That worked like a charm this year . . . . I really loved seeing them make thoughtful decisions. Mimi's purchase for me actually brought me to tears. She emptied a whole pocket full of coins on the counter at Brighton, where the cashier passed Big a knowing look and Big slipped cash around the side of the register to help make her purchase. It was adorable, thoughtful. It was what Christmas really IS. Everyone also has something in their "boring box". It's the box that is for necessities that get wrapped, but are not really "presents", like Little' new shoes, which he desperately needs since his big toe is poking out the end of his current runners and their is a huge hole in the left sole of one. And PJ's. Everyone also has their Christmas Eve PJ's, new and thoughtful and perfectly suited for each person. Well, except me. I'm still looking.
12. I'm still looking for a goat for Middle's stocking. We had a long conversation about animals this summer. Middle said she would ask Santa for a goat. Big, a llama. Mimi, a monkey. Little, a snake. I told them all that Santa doesn't deliver live animals because they poop in his sleigh. So every kid is getting their wish animal, in the form of a stuffie, in their stocking (even though I DESPISE stuffed animals). It's this years' "proof in the pudding" gift . . . ie: "Mom hates stuffed animals . . . she can't be Santa because she would NEVER buy another stuffed animal."

Okay . . . I'm organized. I have a list. I'm taking Mimi to school & then going to the grocery store. TTFN.

Blondie Brownies

2011-12-23T07:15:00.000-07:00

Blondie Brownies

Oh, I've been hunting for a recipe forever for these. Mostly, I put these here so I wouldn't lose another piece of paper in my office!

2011-12-22T17:34:00.002-07:00

One of my friends from college had this as her facebook status yesterday. I kinda like it. They have a special needs son are are faced with one heck of a ton of judgement. I'm amazed at the strength of their marriage and how having this "obstacle" in their life has brought them closer together instead of driving a wedge between them . . .

"Go ahead perfect people! Sit in your glass houses and throw stones, but know that you will be sitting alone. Some scars never heal and trust may never be regained when you unexpectedly cut someone deep enough."

Hospitals and My Sick Dad . . . Being That Person; Part 1

2011-12-22T07:57:00.000-07:00

Well, my dad is sick. He's in the hospital and I fully intend to medicate my tired mind with a brain-clearning ramble. I'm clicking away at the keyboard to purge some thoughts, emotions and ease some of the tired tension that has my shoulders in knots and my forehead knit into a deep furrow. So, in no particular order, these are the things on my mind this morning.

I can't sleep. Mimi went right back to bed after potty-time this morning, but once my eyes were open, I starting thinking about medical histories, previous surgeries, medical complications and conditions. Is it because I was helping the graveyard RN complete his intake just before midnight last night. Maybe. Usually I wake up thinking about my to-do list for the day, what needs done and what's low on the list. This morning, I'm thinking about hospitals, hospital staff, the process, lab tests, surgical consults . . . the list could go on forever.

I'm his person. Who is yours? Likely, it's your husband. Or wife. Mine is. My "person" is my husband. This is the person that is supposed to know about you. They are supposed to be able to help complete a medical intake at midnight. They stay tethered to their phone, for you, when your need arises. They provide emotional support and strength when you need it. They hold your hand. If you want it. Or they go away. When you need it. So, I am my dad's person. I'm super-duper with the paperwork. Although, last night, I didn't have his social security number with me. I'll fix that this morning and slip a copy in my wallet. I'm super-duper with the hand holding and emotional support. I do, after all, love the guy. But . . . everyone's expectation of their "person's" job is a little different. And right now, I'm not there. My physical body is not slumped over in a chair in his room waiting for him to wake up. He's alone, and this morning, my most heart-felt prayer is that in his heart-of-hearts, that's okay. It's hard not to project MY feelings onto HIM. I wouldn't want to be alone. I would want to wake up to a familiar sight, smell, sound. But my dad has always been a loner. He's always been content to spend hours all by himself in a homemade ice-shack, dangling a fishin' pole into a frozen hole. He's always been content to golf in a party of one, ride a tractor with room for only one butt or take long car trips where AM1240 was his only companion. This morning, I'm praying that he wakes up without pain, in a warm bed, with a smile on his face. I hope he rested well.

Illness progression. Everyone wants to know what happened. I called his family yesterday and started the "I just wanted to let you know" conversation. The question they all ask is, "what happened." The answer is: I have no idea. Second, they say, "how bad is it?" The answer is: I don't know. How's that for vague and un-feeling. Dear family, know that I don't intent to string you along. I really don't know. The illness progression has been like this:

Last Friday morning, the nursing home staff called me to report that he had been sick in the night. What kind of sick? Vomiting sick. My mind went straight to stomach flu. He ate breakfast and was napping when I called back to talk with him. Later that day, we spoke and he said his stomach hurt a little, but he was ok. The rest of the day was unremarkable.

Saturday morning, the same thing happened. Vomiting in the night. And a fall. I gave consent for treatment and a bed alarm. But he ate breakfast. He had an appetite. Curious. We spoke on Saturday afternoon. He said he was real tired. He was lucid and playful. He asked about the kids. And Christmas. We had a decent conversation, considering my weak cell connection, their weak portable phone connection, me shouting outside a restaurant and him being hard of hearing. All things considered, if you manage to shout more than two words and be understood, that's a successful phone conversation.

By Sunday, he was looking more ill, having discomfort and was being admitted to the hospital. Testing, testing, testing. Something abdominal happening. Maybe an obstruction, but not definite. Reports have to be sent out to be read, so it takes a while. Like a whole day. I'm not used to that kind of lag in care, but it's a small, rural hospital, and I do understand the country. So . . . let the waiting games begin.

Fast forward to Tuesday when things were looking better. Nasogastric tube is out, well, mostly because he said 'the hell with this' and yanked it out. Ouch. He's not combative, he just wants to eat. His diet advanced. He drank broth and ate jello. It was looking like we were coming out the bright side of the woods.

Then his doctor called me yesterday morning. And folks, let me tell you, when a doctor calls you personally, don't mistake that for kind bedside manner. They aren't being nice. It's a bad sign. Doctors, even the ones in small-time, country bumpkin hospitals, have scuts and grunts to do stuff like that for them. So when his doctor called me and requested for me to call back on her cell phone, I knew we were in for turbid waters ahead. Yesterday was a flurry of lab work, abdominal CTs, pelvic CTs, an ambulance ride, and ER intake, transport to a higher level facility, an evaluation by the ER doctor, a visit by a hospitalist. There was an EKG, a couple of full assessments, some painful exams and lots of personal questions, which he evades like a champion. There was a blown IV and three more sticks to get a new line and blood drawn. By bedtime last night, everyone was shaking their head and saying, "it's something abdominal". I don't mean to be a smart ass here. I'm not a general surgeon or even a med-surg nurse, but my 10 year old daughter could probably look at his distended, hard, hot, drum of a belly and obtain these two pieces of information (belly pain & vomiting) and say "it's something abdominal." Duh. Of course it's something abdominal.

The WHAT is what we don't know. Today will tell. I hope. A general surgeon is coming in to consult today. It could be a small bowel obstruction. It could be a recurring small bowel obstruction. It could be a mass. It could be a handful of things . . .

It snowed last night. One mother of a storm came blazing though, and complicated my drive home last night. There's 6 inches on the ground. Stuff is closed all over town and all along the front range. It's gonna be a white Christmas, but a rough drive down to the hospital today . . .

Ba Humbug.

2011-12-21T08:19:00.000-07:00

We've encountered several ba-humbug moments of late. Holiday shoppers are getting cranky. We got about 5 inches of snow and people drive like stinkin' maniacs. So traffic is a mess, the roads are slushy in mid-afternoon and skating rink icy in the morning. Here's a good example of the ba-humbug spirit. Big plays in a volleyball league. This is taken from the "rules" for the host gym, which is run by Ebenezer Scrooge himself. He paces around yelling at kids for the entire time girls are playing.

Parking will be tight each night - please arrive near your warm-up start time, and leave once you are done playing; so the following wave can park. The gym will be utilized for lessons up until 5pm and entry will be denied.
We are now a no gum facility - please spread the word - and deposit your gum in the trash can, or prior to coming at all -
this is a friendly league - poor parent conduct will not be tolerated, and you can be asked to leave
unattended children - this is not a rec center for your younger children - keep them with you at all times - or you/they will be asked to leave. we have had numerous things broken and messes from un-watched children
The girls will only be in the gym for two hours max - no need to bring a bunch of food and snacks

2011-12-18T22:41:00.000-07:00

“That kind of act leaves a mark … [that] cannot be seen. It lives in your very skin.” “What is it?” “Love.” — Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

Home again, home again, jiggity jig . . .

2011-12-18T22:40:00.000-07:00

Well, it was fast. We took a ski weekend. We wedged it between other essential activities, but managed to get one in. The original plan was to leave Friday at noon and have a nice, slow, easy arrival. Scratch that. We had a volleyball game at 5:30 and couldn't take off until 7:30. Ish. PM. But, the girls won their first game . . . played their first game EVER on "the winner's court" and showed more enthusiasm than EVER before. It was epic.

Departing at 8 is late. Less than ideal. However, in the name of getting away, breathing fresh, cool mountain air and taking a couple of days to re-group and re-connect, we opted to press the "yes" button. We arrived late. Our reservation was wrong. We toted sleeping kids and an overflowing luggage cart around the hotel waiting for a room change to happen. We had to wait for extra linens. The housekeeping staff must have been drunk when they did our room. There were dirty linens on the pull out and it was full of peanuts and sunflower seeds. The toilet was slow to work. I was too tired to put of much of a bitch, especially given the grief the front desk crew was catching from some Texan who wanted a better view. Seriously. It was almost friggin' midnight. I'm not sure what he wanted to look at. I complained sweetly enough to get the room difference comp'ed, sled rentals and the "yes ma'am" treatment for the rest of the stay. I'm okay with that. We fell into bed exhausted. The girls opted not to ski the next day. The boys couldn't keep themselves off the mountain. Girls went sledding while the boys skied.

Big had a nasty run in with a pole. She plowed through the safety fence. Thank goodness that she's a 12 year old girl with enough weight behind her to snap the plastic pole into bits. Had Mimi been the one to run headlong into that pole, I'm pretty sure our day would have ended there and been topped off with stitches and or prescription mediation. Thank God for small favors.

We played at a playground. For a long time. So long that we started getting hypoglycemic and grumpy. I am, indeed, the tether ball champion of the world. And I give a great spinny-twisty tire swing ride.

We ate out. I love not cooking. We did a little bit of shopping. I found this awesome shop where the owner does custom metal work jewelry. I love it because my kids' names are spelled funny. She made me custom pendants for each kid for the low, low, rock bottom price of only $5. I couldn't believe it. I love them. So much, in fact, that I ordered a few for my niece, girlfriend gifts for Big and a few random other things. Love them. Cute owl jewelry, Winter. I thought of you.

Sunday we met friends on the mountain. Well, some of us did. Middle, Little and MOTH skied. Big had a sore throat, so she stayed home to take a bath in the jetted tub. Mimi and I played eighty-nine rounds of parcheesi and made pancakes. Good times. It was good skiing and perfect weather, which almost makes up for the lack of snow. Snow conditions are . . . . as I overheard a tourist say, "like really good conditions in Pennsylvania." For Colorado, that's crap . . but, says me, there's no such thing as a bad day in the mountains . . . .

Now we're home. We're bracing for the week ahead, singing 'happy birthday eve' to Middle, putting her new desk together, wrapping gifts for the volleyball party tomorrow night, and planning a visit to go see my dad, who is sick right now. He was admitted to the hospital last night, so prayers are much appreciated . . . . .

I see a new Blogger Challenge out there on a couple of blogs I follow. I'm in. I love those, but will start later. For now, Cheerio . . . .

A list.

2011-12-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

Like everyone, I'm feeling a touch overwhelmed, but nothing clears my mind and precipitates focus like a rambly blog post. I realize these are not the sort that most readers like to read. They aren't devoured for content. But then again, I'm not teaching. I'm not preaching. This IS all about me. Right.

Dive in.

Only a few hours left of school. Middle's birthday treats. Check. Little's birthday treats. Check. Little is star of the week. So . . . . estimation jar. Check. Show and tell. Check. Well, almost. I'm supposed to be at school with "da burd" at 12:30 today. Socks for sock exchange. Check. Homemade something-cheap for secret Santa. Check. Lunches. Check. Teacher gifts. Check. Well, I fell a few short, but seriously . . . I'm in to value and giving from the heart and I wasn't feeling it for a few folks, so . . . . . check enough. Big has an ethnic foods celebration. T-minus 40 minutes on that. The rice is almost done and a package of forks is in my purse. No, I won't forget them, honey. I don't know how I could. You just texted me yet another minder about the utensil situation. I love you, too.

Ikea. I've been IKEA-ing. Mostly because I've been on about a four-year long hunt for a good, cost effective desk for Middle. She's a kid that needs a desk. She spends time at it. Crafting, drawing, coloring, doing random stuff. It's her birthday present. A most awesome desk. From IKEA. And the drawer unit that goes along-side. I'm happy. She'll be thrilled. MOTH will curse no less than a dozen times in the course of assembly. Assembly as the word ASS in it for a reason. As in . . pain in the ASSembly.

Lovely, right?

I've been quoting busted halo. Like. Thanks, Winter, for the recommendation. I love quotes. I'd like to find a few specific ones. Later. I'm too busy right now. It's that kind of busy where I'm not sure if I've found a rope or lost my horse.

Facebook. Seriously.

Consequences. I've done a few volunteer days at school lately. I like it, in general. I like to be involved with the kids' lives. It's my most important job right now. So, I spent the morning at centers in 2nd grade, I'll be back and forth between three schools for parts of holiday parties for the rest of today. After I'm at school, I'm always left with a profound feeling of "wow, these teachers do so much." There was a time I thought I had missed my career calling and I was meant to be a teacher. Not so much anymore. I have an overwhelming respect and appreciation for the ladies and gentlemen that spend their days instilling edu-ma-ka-shuh into my children. But, really, it only takes one little shit to tip my scales the other way. I know, I know . . . . that was harsh. But the fact remains. I'm a big fan of firm boundaries of real consequences. Real. Consequences. Like when you CHOOSE a specific path then you also choose the stuff that goes along with it. If you choose the dark and twisty road, then you'd better be prepared for some lonely nights and the thorns and overgrown brambles that come along with your choice. Enough said. Point is: yea for teachers. I love you guys. And . . . two of my favorites . . . "get glad in the same pants you got mad in" and "you made your bed . . . lie in it."

Skiing/gym/working out. I hurt my back. Again. WTF? Not sure, but the week after Thanksgiving, I was a wreck and since then, it's not been terrible, but it's also not been hunky-dory. I think I have a tear in my energy field. Life's crap seeps in through a hole in my aura around my lumbar spine. Maybe I've been watching too much "A Gifted Man" (which, by the way, you should ALL be watching.) I'm not sure if I'm brave enough to ski this weekend or if I'll be sledding with Mimi and piddling about town. Oh, did I forget to mention we are OUTTA here?? Right after Big's volleyball game tonight, the mountains are calling me home. I can't wait. I'm looking so forward to being able to EXHALE. I should be packing and picking up the rest of the house, but instead, the random things in my brain must first be purged.

I need to wrap a few gifts. I have the jammie tradition yet to wrap. I need to make a few things package presentable. I need to put together a few small gifts for the volleyball party and gift exchange on Monday night. My Christmas cards aren't done. I haven't finished the letter. I've come across a stumbling block that I can't write about, at least not to my liking. So, like all winners, I quit. Temporarily. Know when to walk away, right Kenny? Middle wants to put together some sort of something for the girls on her team for birthday-slash-Christmas. We'll have to tackle that next week. They gym is closed. Not. They still have practice. But really, that's okay. Middle is a mess without the gym.

I need to set up a payment for MOTH's new car. Oh, did I forget to mention that, too. Right, new car.

I need to blog about green smoothies. I love them. I did that thing that MOTH does that makes me nuts . . . hinted and hemmed and hawed about this gift I wanted . . . did the research, did a bunch of vacillating back and forth. Got to the point where he said, "shut it", I'll go get it for you. Then I bought my second choice (for myself) at a really good price. It's a blender. I bought a Ninja. I'm pretty sure I could blend wood in that thing. My GAWD. Does it make a smoothie. Green for me. Big also drinks green. Little will drink them. So does Mimi. Middle prefers a traditional protein shake. More later, but know it's just salad a la blender. Nothing added. Just salad that has absolutely been pulverized by a two horse power blending with four chopping blades. Amazing.

Okay . . . more still banging about, but I need to pack the rice. See, thank goodness the forks are already in my purse.

2011-12-16T09:08:00.000-07:00

2011-12-14T08:53:00.002-07:00

The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. — Dolly Parton

2011-12-13T22:47:00.001-07:00

Once you choose hope, anything’s possible. — Christopher Reeve

Our Little State Champion . . .

2011-12-13T21:11:00.000-07:00

State gymnastics was last weekend. We went. Of course. We actually went up the night before and spent the night to avoid Bronco home game traffic and to have a nice, relaxing day of it. MOTH had a training, too, but that's a whole 'nother story.

So . . . . state gymnastics is a learning curve, for sure. USA Gymnastics is a learning curve. Fo' sho'. Gyms are divided by size. Girls are divided by age. But those ages aren't necessarily how they've been divided all season. Girls are placed into sessions based on qualifying scores. There's just SO much that we didn't know and didn't learn before we were actually AT the meet! The learning continues. Life is a learning journey, right? Right.

So, our girls, the whole team qualified for the A session. That's great. Feather in the gym's cap.

Our girl shook it out like this: She's USAG Level 5, Small Gym, Junior Division, A Session.

And she finished . . . .

2nd on bars
2nd All-Around with a whopper of a score . . . 37.95
4th on floor
6th on vault

And how about this, sports fans . . . . with a story to go with it . . . .

If you're not new to What The Heck Happened Here?, you'll know that she's been struggling on beam. She's a good beamer, but had a series of falls and a season low score at the last meet. More than anything, that series of falls broke her spirit and confidence and gave enough wiggle room for the seeds of doubt and the 'yea, maybe this IS scary" thoughts to plant themselves in the tiny cracks in her otherwise tough exterior. So, going into state, MOTH and I held an impromptu parental prayer session that went like this, "God, I just hope she stays on the beam. A nice, clean routine with no falls . . . . "

After warm-ups but before her routine, she was dorking around. She was being distracted by one of her coaches. She was doing butt-balances in the time when her teammates are going, but she wasn't allowed to look. Her coaches are tough about "don't look at scores . . it doesn't matter . . . . it's just a number."

And then it was her turn. There is that moment of waiting. When I was a gymnast, it seemed like an eternity. Now, as the mother of a gymnast, it's so, so, so much longer. I don't think MOTH breathes for long minutes while she is waiting to salute or actually doing her routine. So, she's on. Looking good. Clean. Crisp. Sharp.

It was so good. Not a wobble. No bobbles. Just good. Right to the very end when she stuck her dismount and grinned at those judges.

We, MOTH and I, of course, had a complete parental meltdown. Tears were welling up in my eyes before the final salute. I'm a tattle tale, but when I turned and looked at him, his eyes looked a little misty. She nailed it. Absolutely, positively, 100% rocked that routine. Though she's been trained to not look at scores, we parents must occupy our minds with something in the gallery, so I was sure she'd get a great score. But I didn't think it would be this great . . .

And then, there was just joy. And happiness. For her. With that one routine, I could see the cracks in her confidence sealing up. I'm certain I'm not imagining that she was, indeed, walking a little taller when they rotated to the next event. And pride. For me. It surged through me like a current. It still is.

Here she is . . . . the balance beam state champion. But before that, before anything, she's my daughter. And I'm so, very proud of her!!

2011-12-12T22:36:00.000-07:00

I really do have a lot to say . . . .

2011-12-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

. . . but for tonight, need to sit and do some editing first. So . . . .

we got home late last night from STATE gymnastics, where (drumroll, please) our tiny gymnast had the best meet of her level 5 career. Yeah. More detailed post and pictures coming. Suffice the teaser to say that I'm the proud parent of a state champion. There should be a bumper sticker.

We rolled in just before midnight. Little was the only one that made it to school on time. I let the girls sleep for a while. It was well deserved and a self-imposed two hour delay for mental health is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.

I did a bunch of running around today. I picked up the last 13 charity gifts for the community giving tree at school. Side note: it kinda hacks me off when people take a tag and say they'll do it and then just go spontaneously Alzheimer's and don't return their stuff. Still, it's hard to remain pissy in the face of need. Real need. So, I did the gifts. A bunch of folks pitched in and I went shopping. Fun for me. Old Navy let me double up coupons, so I was able to get new hoodies and warm jackets for everyone on my list . . . . seven folks total. With my birthday coupons, rewards money, and a coupon doubler . . . I ended up spending $50 for all of it. Well, $30 actually, since I bough myself a sweater. There's my deal of the day.

New windows arrived and were installed today. This is a big hole in my house.

Well, not ALL new windows . . but a start on the newest home improvement. The sliding glass door plus four windows. I do love them. They are clean. I feel like a fish in a bowl . . . clean windows and no window treatments :)

And that's all . . . until further editing occurs.

By the way, are these last two weeks of the semester HELL on every mother? Carmel popcorn for this one, concert on this night, granola bars by Wednesday, party on Friday, take ethnic food to fourth hour on Thursday, birthday treats on some day this week . . . . sheesh! The list goes on and on . . .

Things I have said lately . . .

2011-12-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

"Could you kindly come up here and be manly? There is a hunk of dead animal in the middle of our bedroom. Nasty."

"For the love of ALL that is good and holy, DAWG, put down the sprinkler tubing!"

"My word . . . the choices in the feminine hygiene row are astronomical. This place was built for a advertising junkie like me. I love the colors on this box. Let's just pick a color theme and run with it. K . . not red."

"That shirt is beyond parakeet. Put it back before you start asking for crackers and crapping on the floor."

"Ball schucking. Schucking is a word, isn't it? I'm a mother. Apparently, I'm a schucker. I guess I'm a mother schucker. We should have shirts made."

"How many? We don't have that many acquaintances . . . OR friends. Do those come in four-packs?"

A chuckle for today . . .

2011-12-09T15:42:00.000-07:00

Good heavens, I love this little girl. It's a short video, considering that she 'ice skated' for about 25 minutes today. Pure joy, I say. Pure joy.

Happy Birthday, Moose

2011-12-09T15:36:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Big Guy!!

Here's to a three year old DAWG that has stolen our hearts. It's been two years since our adoption and he has changed as much as he has changed us . . . .

Reminds me of . . . .

Not that he eats things that aren't his . . . but that he takes up the whole couch & sprawls out like he's master of the cushions. If someone's already on the couch, he just tiptoes in and takes the spot nearest the top.

I love how he tries to be small, but just ends up overflowing . . .

I also love his family dog mentality. He is happy just to be alive, have a roof over his head and food in his bowl. Having a kid to cuddle with is a huge bonus. He likes to lay on the couch and read books.

Yes, happy birthday, Giant Dog. We love you :)

On a side note, Middle's class at school is doing a special assignment on charities. The assignment was for every kid to write an essay about their favorite charity. The kids had to present their charity to the class. Then, the class voted on their favorites. Middle wrote her essay about Rocky Mountain Great Dane Rescue. She wrote a beautiful essay about their mission and how the find forever homes for dogs who wouldn't otherwise have families. It made me cry. Sometime in the presentation phase, Middle, who is generally silent in class, struck a deal with her teacher to bring in a visual aid. Well, guess who went to school today!! He was a perfect gentleman and was very, very well behaved. He did his momma proud. And, best news of all, apparently, he provided just the uumph necessary to swing the class vote toward RMGDR. Middle's charity won. Next, they are discussion fundraising and they are going to do a fundraising drive, with the proceeds going to the winning charity. I have to holler from the rooftops, "AWESOME! That's education in action! That's LEARNING and applying!"

GOLD WRAPPING PAPER

2011-12-07T22:10:00.000-07:00

Here's my edited version of this forwarded email that I received this week. Normally, I delete these without even reading, but the lady I received this from NEVER forwards email, so it caught my eye. I deleted all of the "you have a decision to make" and guilt about forwarding . . .

_________________

The story goes that some time ago a mother punished her five year old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and she became even more upset when the child used the gold paper to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her mother the next morning and then said, "This is for you, Momma."

The mother was embarrassed by her earlier over reaction, but her anger flared again when she opened the box and found it was empty. She spoke to her daughter in a harsh manner.

"Don't you know, young lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?"

She had tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, Momma, it's not empty! I blew kisses into it until it was full."

The mother was crushed. She fell on her knees and put her arms around her little girl, and she begged her forgiveness for her thoughtless anger.

An accident took the life of the child only a short time later, and it is told that the mother kept that gold box by her bed for all the years of her life.

Whenever she was discouraged or faced difficult problems she would open the box and take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us, as human beings, have been given a Golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family and friends. There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

Random and rambly . . .

2011-12-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

I'm random today. And rambly.

I like this:

So just when our holiday family budget was looking nice, holiday house came along at school. It's true that all of the stuff isn't great quality. I have the Mom trophy. And the necklace. And some earrings. And a nice turtle paperweight. MOTH has quite a variety of ships in bottles, frames, trophies, tool sets and the like. So just when I was about to say, "no, guys, we drew names . . . we're doing it this way," this plaque popped into my mind. The "give more than you receive" kept resonating off the walls of the inside of my skull like cries of a gull echoing in a canyon. "Give more than you receive." It's two bucks. Well, times six and then times FOUR, because I'm nothing if not fair. I went soft. I let the elementary kids shop holiday house.

A while ago, I was on this big kitchen challenge. I set out to try one new thing; one different thing each week. Different for US, as a family. For the kids, (and me) I gave the green light to like it. Or not. Eat it. Or not. The only rule is that everyone has to try. We did brussels sprouts. Purple cauliflower. I blogged that. Some hot stuff, some funky flavors, all kinds of random STUFF. Well, I've kept it up and I've found a new family favorite, at least for fifty percent of the gang. Here it is: quinoa and pomegranate arils. Do you know quinoa. It's kind of new to me. Say "KEEN-wah". All together now. It's good. It's easy. It goes with everything from a warm side dish to cold and on top of my famous garbage salad. This is Middle's new favorite lunch: a tupperware container full of quinoa & pommie-buttons.

Elf with me. This is Gracie, pictured below. The kids are having a gay-old time hiding her and hunting for her every day. Such a cute holiday tradition.

This picture just kinda touched my heart. I've said Mimi is the champion color-er. Do you know how GOOD it feels to sit down and just color? It's therapeutic, I tell you. And I am touched to see MOTH sit down and color princess headbands with his little girl.

It's been colder than, well, cold, here lately. REALLY friggin' cold. I can hear my dad saying, "colder than a witches tit in a brass bra." Yea, "face down in a snowbank", my mom would say. That's the sort of holy-cow-it's-too-cold-for-me-to-describe-COLD it has been. Yesterday morning, it was -7 when I woke up at 6:10. With wind chill, it was -24. Twelve was the high. Today, it warmed up all the way to freezing. It felt positively tropical. So as not to be one that just complains (that's no fun, right?) . . . I must say . . . I like cold. I like cold alot. I really like cold with mountains of snow. But JUST-PLAIN-COLD or COLD with no snow but lots of WIND. Not my favorite. It's icky.

We love Pollies, yes we do.
We love Pollies, how about you?
I think these are one of the best toy inventions. EVER.

Mimi's pre-school fall pictures are back. Well, a proof. So. Cute. Suck your breath in and say "awwww" cute. Love this tiny little perfect piece of four year old!!

And speaking of cute, as I've been blogging, we've been talking A LOT about what we are thankful for. Drumroll, please. I'm sure this made some eyebrows go up at pre-school.

And that concludes today's random and rambly post . . . .
Cheers!

Today . . .

2011-12-06T20:37:00.000-07:00

I chopped off eight inches of hair.

Damn, it's cold.

2011-12-05T20:02:00.001-07:00

It's 2 below. Tomorrow, it's supposed to WARM up to 12 degrees. Dang.

Family Math

2011-12-05T19:47:00.000-07:00

April 2008:

November 2009:

December 2011:

On pictures: I don't get in too much of a twist about pictures. The worst pictures are the ones where someone insists on everyone matching or wearing some frilly, uncomfortable get-up. I let Mimi take her picture with her paci, because that's very authentically HER at that time of her life. I let her babies be in the picture last weekend. Why? Because the go everywhere with us anyway. It's authentically how we roll. She really wears that Care Bear hat. Middle really wears those brown boots. Sometimes her jeans are only half-tucked. The pig hat is Big's favorite right now. That's my favorite hot pink Patagonia. In the shot from 2009, Mimi's "beezer" is across Middle's lap. She still carries that around. It's important to her. The door to our house is gaping open. (I hear my mom, "hey, born in a barn, shut the door!) But, it's how we are. I think the real goal of family pictures is to capture a family as they are. As they really are. This is us.

The Crew . . . .

2011-12-05T19:34:00.000-07:00

One of this weekend's accomplishments: family snapshots.

I'm not too serious about this. Not serious enough to spend money on a real photographer. MOTH is a royal pain in the ass when it comes to family pictures. Of the 200 ++ that we took, he managed to not screw up about a dozen. Here's the result show:

I'm not crazy about this shot, but it is the best of the worst, so it's the Christmas card winner. The scale is off and MOTH's head looks a fraction the size of my breast, but . . . everyone IS looking the right direction. Nobody's blinking or looking drunk. Middle's legs are closed. It's the winner.

Another decent one . . . I didn't correct anything on this one. We all look Asian.

First runner up. This is authentically us. MOTH looks angry. This is the smile Middle wears when she salutes a panel of judges at gymnastics meets. Mimi's in the middle and flexing. So. Very. Mimi. Little has a cheesy grin on his face almost always. Big looks JUST like that. All the time. She always pulls her hair around one shoulder. And most days, she's within reach of me. The dogs. Well, they are dogs. Salt and pepper. What I like best is the stockings. These are my new holiday splurge this year. New stockings. That coordinate but aren't the same . . . like us.

MOTH about crapped when I wanted to go outside. Some of our best family photos are in hats. Worth trying, says me.

Well, there's history with this picture. I'll find the others. I have a giant framed shot of this in our front room. Every so often, I update it with the same theme. Because I love it, that's why. I'll find the others and you'll see how we have evolved.

2011-12-04T10:46:00.000-07:00

2011-12-03T10:33:00.001-07:00

2011-12-01T18:47:00.000-07:00

2011-12-01T13:40:00.000-07:00

Another good one . . .
This one left me aching inside for a while . . .
I think I need to take a break from Jodi for a while. I think I need to pick something up that is light.

In parts of this book, I swear, it was actually written about me . . .

A letter from Mimi

2011-11-30T19:46:00.003-07:00

Dear Santa,

Merry Christmas. This Christmas I would really like a Whirl n’ Wear. I would also like butterfly connectagons. Thank you so much.

Sincerely,

Mimi

A letter from Little

2011-11-30T19:45:00.001-07:00

Dear Santa,

If I ask for a lot this year, Santa, you don't have to bring me everything. So let me get started. The first thing I would like is the Lego Harry Potter castle, please. Second, the train. Third, I'm really digging the Lego Hero Factory guys. Stormer, Bulk and Stringer are my favorites. The fourth thing I would like is two mechatars. And fifth, a soulskate.

Sincerely,
Little

A letter from Middle

2011-11-30T19:42:00.001-07:00

Dear Santa,

Every year I ask you a whole bunch of questions and this year I was planning to do the same except then I thought that you might not like questions. So this year my first question is . . . do you like questions? Second of all, my sister and I would like to know if you have an email address. It would make sending you our letters one hundred times easier. Okay now it's time to get to the point. I really don't have much to ask for this year. That Dairy Queen blizzard maker looks awesome, but my mom thinks it doesnt' work. You decide and I will see what you think on Christmas morning :) The other ting that really popped out was a Lego Volkswagen old time slug bug bus that I saw online. The only other thing I can think of is a mini-ripstik. Last summer I was at my friend's house and we went outside. Her youngest brother had a mini one and it worked much better for me. I guess my point is pretty much that i would rather have a mini rip-stick than a regular sized one. I don't know why but your reindeer always puzzle me. I can't seem to figure out their mystery. You on the hand have to know them all. Do you nickname them? Do any of them have six points on their antlers? Maybe this year I will figure a few things out.

Sincerely,
Middle

P.S. Chocolate chip is still your favorite, right?

Middle's letter is BEAUTIFULLY decorated with a border of holly & swirls, Christmas trees and a whole line of flying reindeer across the top of the page.

A letter from Big . . .

2011-11-30T19:33:00.001-07:00

Dear Santa,

I trust your judgement.
I hope you have a safe Christmas and a happy new year.

Love,
Big

November 30th

2011-11-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

Thankful for the birthday eve celebration. It's one of our family traditions that's JUST ours. No pressure, no company, no guests, no guessing. It's a stable. It's a staple. We love the birthday eve.

Today is my birthday eve.
Today is also Mimi's birthday eve.

We're gonna rock this town tomorrow, my tiny little perfect piece of almost-four-year old. We have a lunch date . . and it's going to be AMAZING!!

Good news and a testament of my love for him

2011-11-29T14:44:00.000-07:00

Well, I can see that this is going to require some explanation. And here's the short version:

As a kid, my family ate at buffets. The Royal Fork was one of my dad's favorites. I can still hear him saying that they named the place after him. R.F. are his initials, and the sign, (do you remember it) was a big blue shield with RF inside it.

He also liked Furr's Cafeteria (where makin' up your mind . . is half the fun! Do you remember the jingles? I've a self-admitted jingle junkie!) I remember those thick pleather seats with the giant padded buttons and how there was only one way in. People lined up like cattle at a trough.

Anyway, I could go on and on and on. It wasn't just The Royal Fork or Furr's. It was Country Buffet, Ponderosa Steakhouse, any hotel with a breakfast buffet. Buffets are something that I recall from my childhood. We would gather as a family of four, go through the line, serve ourselves, sit down and eat. My dad's plate would be piled three times as high as anyone else's with a sampling of everything from the buffet bowls. He would eat and eat and eat . . . like the guys on Food Network. Sometimes, he would go back for more. A second trip. Sometimes a third, of just something he really liked. And then there was dessert. My brother usually brought a book. I colored in the time between when we (read: the rest of the family) had finished our meals and when my dad kept on eating and eating and eating.

Sometime in my young teen years, when I became painfully aware of my body, I remember beginning to feel troubled about buffets. I still am. Let's just cut to the chase: I despise buffets. I hate, hate, hate buffet dining. I don't like the choices. I don't like how it's all mixed. I don't like how things look sad and wilted and like they have had so many better days. I don't like that so many people pick things up and put them back. The food seems sad in buffets. It's not bright. Or beautiful. I don't like the struggle to control portions. I don't like the gluttony. Insert disclaimer here: I understand that it's good on the pocketbook, especially for large families. I understand that the same things that I detest are actually what draw people to buffets . . . but this isn't about them, this is about me.

There are exceptions. Sort of. I love a good salad bar. I really enjoy Jason's Deli salad bar. And I also love Souper Salad. But I stay away from all the extras and stick to the green stuff. Wait, I'm having an internal epiphany. Perhaps it's the word "buffet" that's my trigger. Shoot, it's a good thing Jason's doesn't have a "salad buffet"; they would likely lose a customer.

Good news: Today was my dad's post-treatment for bladder cancer follow-up appointment. I met him at his urologist's office (this is the guy who is the biggest pompous ass on the planet). Envision monkeys doing cartwheels and tossing confetti here: HE'S CANCER FREE!!!! It's a big relief & I'm sure he feels great. He understood the clear diagnosis well enough to exclaim, "Let's eat at the Asian Buffet."

Oh God, my stomach started to roll. Cause if there's anything worse than regular old American food on a buffet . . . . fries mixed with greens mixed with chicken fried steak and gravy in all sorts, (and how about that guy that stands at the end armed with medieval hardware who points the jabber at you and says "beef or ham?") then it has to be seeing the tiny tentacles of a baby squid floating in some sort of oily muck at an ASIAN buffet.

But, as a testament of my love for him, I went to the Asian buffet. Not only did I go to the Asian buffet, I actually paid, good money, to EAT at the Asian buffet. I paid for myself, my dad, and the driver from resident transport that was with him. Two senior citizens. And me.

My dad . . . well, he felt good enough and was excited enough about the buffet to leave his wheelchair in the transport van. He shuffled in with just his cane. A good sign? I guess. He piled a plate high with all kinds of unidentifiables. Fried rice, some sort of noodle, at least one kind of chicken thing, some sort of beef thing. I took it back to the table for him. While holding on to the buffet bar for support, he spied oysters. And some sort of seafood medley. And the soups. I found some salad. Not that great at an Asian buffet but I'm okay with that. We sat. He ate. And ate. And ate. I munched tiny lines into a big honkin' hunk of honeydew while he slurped oysters and chased them with egg drop soup. He asked me, as he laughed at the same time & offered me an oyster, "did you go vegetarian? He wanted more. I took him up. He gave me orders. "Get a plate." "One peach." "One pear." "One pineapple." And we returned to the table. And he ate. And ate. And ate. And when he was done, he said, "you didn't see any watermelon, did you? I have a taste for watermelon." That made me kind-of chuckle. Sometimes when my dad holds his head just right, I can see my brother. And sometimes, when he's giving me this ONE kind of look, I swear I see a glimpse of Middle.

He asked a lot about Middle. He's following her season. He watched her You Tube video on my phone. He looked at pictures of Mimi's maiden skiing mission. He asks about all of them. He knows and loves them all. And this I know for certain: his appetite has not diminished. If his appetite is the gauge to his overall health, then I do declare, "he's just fine!"

And, because I'm in the habit of taking a snapshot of dad every time I see him . . . . . kind of a cool picture . . . can you see me, reflected in his eyes?

November 29th

2011-11-29T14:07:00.001-07:00

Thankful for salad.

November 28th

2011-11-28T17:33:00.001-07:00

Thankful for Cyber Monday.

iRant . . this hacks me off . . .

2011-11-28T12:27:00.001-07:00

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to pee. When I got up, that old familiar electric pain shot up my right flank . . . and here I am . . . hobbling about in a medication induced stupor this morning.

Except that . . . I was going back to the gym this morning. Nearly 10 days of vacation, no food diary, not a lick of tracking, and I'm two pounds lighter. Go me. But the gym is not on my radar this morning. I hurt.

And I was going to the grocery store. I'm busy keeping my spine in stiff alignment. No bending. Squatting only. No lifting heavy things. Groceries are hell with this kind of back pain. I could have used a 10 pound bag of sugar. Five will have to do. No dog food for the four-legged friends today. It will have to wait. I can't lift it. Not onto the bottom of the cart, and certainly not from the cart to the back of my truckster. Damn.

I'm off track.

Back to what hacks me off. Okay, I realize this might be trivial. I may be a pain in the ass right now, but it's me. It's authentically me.

I came home with 26 bags from the grocery today. Twenty-flippin-six bags. Some of them were damn heavy. Because I got the worst bagger/checker in the whole world. See this one? Super light. Why? Because it has five things in it. All light things. Hmm. Why not just put ALL the bathroom stuff in this bag? See, I also have one with Dora band-aids (stocking stuffers), a card of mini-jaw clips, and two tubes of hand lotion. 'Tis the season for chapped knuckles, it is. This morning, I bought Carmex hand cream. Yes, it's new. Yes, I like it. Go get some. I also bought Blistex hand cream for Big's stocking.

I'm off topic again.

What's the cheese doing in there? Hmm?

See, when I unload my buggy, I do kind of organize it on the belt . . . boxes with boxes, meat with meat, bags with bags, cleaning stuff with cleaning stuff. And then I get these bags home, where tampons are in the same bag with pepperoni sticks, butter & lysol and I can't help but shake my head.

Crappy sackers hack me off.

November 27th

2011-11-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

Thankful for Sunday.

I've already been thankful for a husband that tempers his bitching with troubled, brow-furrowed looks when I ask for movement of furniture. I thought he was gonna kill me, but it appears to be okay. Still thankful for the same thing, only more, since today's move involved two GIANT pieces of furniture.

Thankful for athletics. Thankful for the movement. Thankful for the high.

Thankful for friends. Those that I hold dear. There are a blessed few, and as I have proven again, I can't handle friendships. They are too complicated and convoluted. One person, see I use the term friend so, so loosely . . . told me that I don't know how to have girlfriends, because I wasn't raised with sisters. I don't know how to talk to women. I don't know how to take their criticisms of me. I think she's right on the money. I don't know shit about female friendships. Except, of course, that I suck at them, and that I am indeed building a gigantic brick wall around myself in efforts to protect myself from more heartache. I swear I'll learn my lesson this time. I swear I will.

November 26th

2011-11-28T12:12:00.000-07:00

Thankful for the hotel experience. I love hotels. Love spending a night somewhere else. Love the perfect presentation. Love the little triangle folded on the end of the toilet paper. Love the extras. Love the towel origami.

And, on that note, I think I might like this book . . .

November 25th

2011-11-25T21:49:00.000-07:00

Thankful for safe travels home. Thankful for the family truckster. Oh my gosh. All of that gear and stuff would never have fit in the Saturn.

Thankful for a successful return to skiing . . .

I got back on skis for the first time in, um, about 10 years. It was awesome. It took me half of the first day to get comfortable. It took me a run or two on the second day to re-learn to trust myself. In the end, I skied three days with the family. Mimi had her first experience. She did a full day of ski-school AND skied with us one day. The snow wasn't that great, but it's pre-season. The time away more than made up for it.

Big, Middle and Yours Truly . . . after our first day on the mountain. I look like I have a mustache.

LOVE the lifts. It's my favorite part. Well, one of them.

And, thankful for family together time. One day, we didn't ski . . . we dorked around in town, spent a long time at the pool, played a go-fish tournament. We just spent the day together. While we were in town, we fiddled around in a hat shop. We tried on about a hundred hats and laughed at all of them. To steal a phrase, I laughed until the tears ran down my legs. Here's what I'm talking about:

This is my husband. MOTH, as you know him. And if you've seen a posted picture or nine, he's bald. By choice. He actually has a luxurious head of thick, curly hair. But in September of 2000, he asked me to shave it off. It's been like that since. It's how we know our daddy. He's the bald guy. So when Middle convinced him to put on this wig-hat, we all cut-it up! It's my new contact tag and I laugh every time he calls me!! It's BLUE and BLACK!! And long . . he looked like a cross between a wanna be rocker & a skater . . . So funny!! I guess right about now I should be thankful I was behind the camera instead of in front of it. Nobody caught proof of ME in any of the crazy hats I tried on!!

November 24th

2011-11-25T21:37:00.000-07:00

Thankful that I'm not cooking.
Thankful that I'm not eating turkey.
Thankful that I'm not stuck in a hot kitchen making a meal that nobody likes and feeling stressed out about the friggin' table linens.

It's a great Thanksgiving. We're eating at Eric's, our favorite pizza joint, where the special treat is root beer in bottles.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

November 23rd

2011-11-25T21:35:00.000-07:00

Thankful for a brave girl and a patient daddy . . .

Okay.

I'm behind. There was a crappy signal and I don't really love blogging from my phone. The titles are screwed up, posts don't always make it and I feel compelled to go back and fix things. So, I decided mid-vacation to just stop. Now, I'm backtracking.

So . . . Wednesday, November 23rd. Thanks be to a patient daddy and a very brave little girl. Mimi's first day of skiing (she says "key-ing") went really well. We put her on a leash and the whole family made massive efforts to put the FUN in her first venture on sticks. She took five runs and was a total rock star. I expected far more complaining. From gear to heat to boots and just getting stinkin' tired . . . . but she didn't fuss. It took her one long run to figure out how to stand up. She didn't get the idea of snowplowing and stopping. It takes time. Her young muscles have no memory for that. But she did have a blast! She laughed like a goon when she fell and she came cruising down the hill with the biggest, cheesiest grin on her face EVER!!

There is something unbelievably cute about an itty peanut like Mimi on skis. From the Dora helmet to the tiny little boots . . . the whole picture is just CUTE.

So, the second part . . . .

It's not an easy task for a skiier like MOTH (read, REALLY good) to take a day out of really rippin' it down the double black diamonds to spend an entire day doing short lifts and green slopes while he snowplows behind a beginner. So, cheers to the spousal unit, who was very selfless today and did an absolute bang-up job of being uber-patient. You go, daddy-o.

November 22nd

2011-11-22T21:58:00.002-07:00

Thankful to have known a great lady. Thankful to have been a very tiny sliver in her life. Thankful that her passing was fast and painless. Here is a moment of silence of MOTH's grandma . . .

November 20th

2011-11-22T21:55:00.000-07:00

Thankful for Onstar. Honest to goodness, I genuinely believe that Onstar is one of the best electronic thing-a-ma-jigs that I have ever had the pleasure of using. I would buy another GM vehicle just because of onstar.

November 19th

2011-11-22T21:52:00.000-07:00

I wonder why this didn't post. Ironic. I posted that I was thankful for being able to blog from the road. Ha. And thankful for safe travels. Also, thankful and in awe of the champion's attitude in my daughter today. She fell off of the beam not once, but twice today. She fought tears and scored a season low score of 7.6. Then, she rocked the house on the rest of her events, scoring over 9.1 on everything. She came back from the worst beam routine of the season for a 6th place all-around finish. I am so proud of my tiny gymnast!!

November 21st

2011-11-22T13:54:00.002-07:00

Thankful for good long underwear that keep me toasty warm on the slopes.

November18th

2011-11-18T20:39:00.000-07:00

Thankful for . . . my jobs . . .

Being a nurse defines me, in many ways. It's a constant that I like.

I took a part-time, second-job, I'm-the-most-unlikely-consultant-in-the-world sort of job just over a year ago with Thirty-One Gifts. It's been just that . . . Thirty-One Gifts. Gifts for my family, gifts for me, the gift of extra cash, the gift of a fabulous social outlet.

Today, I'm thankful for my work.

November 17th

2011-11-17T21:21:00.000-07:00

Thankful . . .

Thankful for Thursdays. This year, Thursdays in our house are the "mommy day." Every night at bedtime, Mimi says, "Do I have school tomorrow? Do I have 'nastics tomorrow?" On Wednesday nights, I love to say, "Nope, no school . . . no 'nastics . . . tomorrow's a MOMMY DAY!" She always throws her hands in the air and then pulls that left elbow in while she says, "YES! I love mommy day."

It melts me. Her genuine reaction to getting to spend one-on-one time with me is awesome. It's a powerful thing to be loved like that, and it makes me want to love her and squeeze and take her home and call her George, to steal a phrase. We don't always do anything exciting, but we do everything together. Today, we went to Bed, Bath & Beyond. We smelled candles. We looked at stuff. We touched pillows and compared their loft and softness. We looked at the Christmas decorations. We pushed buttons on blenders. We went to lunch. She ordered fries and she smiled a grin as wide as the sky when I wrote her name on her plate in ketchup (or check-up, as she calls it). We went Christmas shopping at a little boutique named Gatherings. It's like a home-interior-slash-home-made shop. I went on the hunt for cool stocking stuffers for Big and Middle. I ended up with an awesome few . . . and the happiest customer of the day. Mimi loves jingle bells. Loves. Jingle. Bells. She found a whole bin of those aged, tea-dipped, bells. A whole section was the itty-teeniest little jingle bells I've ever seen. She fell in love with them. So I let her pick out ten. I gave her fifty-cents and let her pay by herself. The lady was so nice & gave her a receipt and her own itty-tiny fabric bag for her jingle bells. Not the biggest purchase of the day at Gatherings, but certainly the happiest customer. It was adorable.

We came home & wrapped presents. And played with stickers. And sorted socks. We picked up dog poop and rounded up trash. Nothing exciting, but time together. Just time together.

So . . . . I'm super thankful today for a beautiful day with my tiny little perfect piece of three-year old. She truly, absolutely, for-sure is the peanut butter to my jelly.

November 16th

2011-11-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

Thankful for credit cards.

That's all.

Thankful for rewards, air miles & perks from everyday purchases.

2011-11-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

November 15th

2011-11-15T19:21:00.000-07:00

Thankful for conversation.

I'm thankful for communication. There are times when there's a gap for a while in productive conversation, but today, I'm truly, absolutely, 100% thankful for productive, problem solving, here's-how-I-feel-now-you-tell-me-what-we-can-do-to-fix-this-together kind of conversation. Conversation and communication are things (well, along with opposable thumbs) that separate us from the apes, so I'm very, very thankful today to be able to speak my mind to someone that pretends to care. I'm thankful for a someone who doesn't threaten to walk away. I'm thankful for a someone that is a rock and that is, at least from time-to-time, helpful. I'm thankful for someone that is learning to speak my love language . . . . I'm thankful that I'm figuring out what that is. (Read the book, you'll understand . . it's a couples-counseling thing that was recommended by one of everyone's favorite TV shrinks.)

I'm thankful for the gift of speech. And the even bigger gift of free speech. I'm so, so, so thankful for the gift of speech through the keyboard & expressing myself through written language. I do believe there are many days that I would simply implode if I didn't have the simple outlet of writing on blogs.

2011-11-15T18:50:00.000-07:00

2011-11-15T18:45:00.001-07:00

Good and Bad . . .

2011-11-14T20:25:00.000-07:00

Well, the good thing about a challenge is that it keeps the blog posts coming in steadily. It makes you ponder things. Like what you are thankful, or a variety of other things (as in the last challenge I did). The bad thing is that it kinda pulls you (okay, not YOU . . but ME) away from thinking and typing about things that are still rattling around in the brain . . . maybe more valuable or deeper than a daily shot of generic, "I'm thankful".

Well . . . not that any of this is more important that what I'm thankful for . . . but . . . I'm still gonna write an alphabet of things I haven't mentioned . . .

a. My brother visited last weekend. I do believe it's good to see family. He flew in on Friday, spent Saturday with our dad and flew out on Sunday. He spent some good one-on-one time with mom. He spent some good one-on-one time with dad. Dad was thrilled to have him visit. He thought dad looked and acted as healthy and well as a 92-year old man can.
b. I did an annual open house as a bag-lady dealer on Saturday. Bad planning with family in town, but I didn't know the dates at the time.
c. Middle won an honorable mention in an art contest sponsored by PTA at her school. She's advancing to the Council level with her painting.
d. Big has taken to this line, "Mom, will you quiz me on ____________". She likes it. I'm reviewing basic chemistry. She frequently has this math homework called study island. It's computer generated quizzes. It's like studying -- on an island -- with no one to help you. I'd like to take a parental moment to sing the praises for The Khan Academy (khanacademy.org) Wow. Thank you so much, Khan Academy, for helping me to help her.
e. Remember a few weeks ago when I made the painstaking decision to pull Middle out of the Gifted & Talented Program at school? Well, come to find out, she still has this semester long project that is a requirement, so says the teacher, of being "identified" as gifted. Huh? I'm totally confused. Sounds like another time eating project. Sounds like she's "getting a grade" in a class that she's not even IN . . . which translates into being punished for having been identified as gifted. Hmm. You can bet your sweet red cherry tomato that I've contacted the GT director of the district with a few questions.
g. Christmas budget. I'm on task. And on time. Go me.
h. Team Mom. I'm Team Mom for Big's volleyball team.
i. One more meet for Middle until state.
j. We're going skiing. Gone over Thanksgiving. I'm so excited to go play in the snow.
k. Family pictures . . . do you do this? How? When?
l. Christmas cards . . . do you do this? Who makes the cut? I think I must blog about this every year.
m. I reconnected with an old friend. It's left me feeling nostalgic and appreciating the kind of relationships that pick right up where they left off . . . even though our last communication was in February.
n. I sent some pretty hilarious pictures to Homestead today and I laughed right out loud, in the middle of an important meeting when I got her responses. Does anyone need some pink elephant gifts for the holidays? Or is it white elephant? Pink or white . . . whatever. I've got it.
o. Holiday charity . . . . thinking, thinking, thinking.
p. Flex care. Shall I voice my frustrations? That stupid law passed and no grandfathering is allowed. I've gotta spend a sailboat full of cash in the next 45 days, and prove it to be a legitimate medical expense. Or lose it. Damnit.
q. Dependent care. Shall I voice my frustrations? I'm a moron. I underestimated. Remind me to re-check my math at open enrollment this year.
r. Paperclip chains. Curses. Which child is doing this to my paperclips? Argh!!
s. Guess what I did today?
t. Hint:

u. I'm hungry.
v. Castle is on at 9. What's your TV lineup? Have I blogged recently about how much I love TV? I just do.
w. Ooh, I'm super proud of myself for busting out the sewing kit and fixing two things. One was Big's favorite light pink ruffly cardigan sweater. The hook was coming undone. Go super mommy. I fixed it after it hung on the doorknob of my room for only, um, like six weeks. And second, the throw that lives in the front room. It's had a hole in it that runs almost the entire length. It's been there for about two years. I fixed it today while Big was at piano. I'm so impressed with myself.
x. How fun are these? Mimi and I washed our hands twice just so we could use this awesome new Dyson air-blade technology. It was so fun!

y. I'm just curious . . . . what do you sell? What do you give? What do you gift? What's a charitable donation? Do you Goodwill? ARC? Contribute to Healing Minds? The Battered Women's Shelter? Do you sell stuff? Lots of clothes on ebay? Books? I just want a gauge of how other people deal with their stuff.
z. Still going. I must go pack ski stuff and write a note to Big's math teacher. I need jammie pants. And a mug of this wonderful hot chocolate that boasts 15 grams of protein. It's practically guilt free. I love it.

November 14th

2011-11-14T19:48:00.000-07:00

Thankful . . . .

I'm thankful for lots of things today-slash-tonight. Even with my fingers poised above the keyboard, I can't really decided which one to clink-on about tonight. I'll jot some stickies for later posts, spin the dial . . . . and . . . land . . . on . . . . the beautiful world of internet shopping.

Hallelujah. I've been Christmas shopping. And it's not that I don't LIKE to go out and GO to stores, mill about, ponder the person I'm shopping for and pick out a lovely trinket that speaks to their heart, from my soul. I do love, LOVE, LOVE to give a good gift. I also love, love, love to RECEIVE a good gift. I do, however, in times like these, when my time is a hot commodity and is oh, so valuable, really appreciate being about to check out Costco-dot-com, see that the digital camera I'm eye-balling for Big's big Santa gift is out of stock, think to myself, "oh, thank goodness, I just saved myself time and money", open a new tab, hop over to Best Buy, see that they do have it in stock, but for more money, print the Costco price, call the nearest Best Buy store, put a purple one on hold for price match, where I'll pick it up by Thursday at 11. Ahh, getting things done. I like the rich, satisfying feeling of being able to check off all of the Santa wish list in less than an hour of internet shopping. Whirl-n-Wear. Check. Legos. Check. Kindle. Check.

So, today, I'm celebrating an amazing little thing called the internet. Gawd, I love it.