Mother's Day 2008
I received a special silver bracelet
that has each of my yahoos' names
engraved upon little round silver charms:
there's one for David
one for Danielle
one for Dean
one for Diana
one for Dara
one for Joseph
and
one for Arianna.
I also have a silver bracelet
that has birthstone charms
for each of my yahoos,
it goes like this:
Peridot
Ruby
Peridot
Opal
Diamond
Citrine
and
Aquamarine.
Whenever I wear these bracelets,
usually to Church--
the yahoo that is sitting next to me,
doesn't matter which one--
carefully examines the charms,
sliding the bracelet around my wrist
until they get to theirs...
their name
or
their stone.
Then, they smile up at me.
Last Sunday,
Joseph sat next to me,
and as he turned the charms
one by one
around my wrist,
he whispered in my ear:
"You belong to us."
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Streakin'
Northglenn HS. Senior Year. 1978. Northglenn, CO.
I was in the Drama Class and we'd made a HUGE float out of chicken-wire and kleenex with the Comedy/Tragedy faces, and we all had to dress up too. I borrowed a big ol Southern Plantation antebellum dress, complete with a metal hoop, from my Mississippi-born friend Melanie.
We changed into our costumes before the parade of course, at the school in a restroom. I left my clothing there, thinking, stupidly, that noone would want my clothes. I did not wear designer-anything, most were bought on clearance, and so I left them there in the stall.
The Homecoming Parade was way fun. But the events following are what's really left in my memory roladex file.
After the parade, our flamboyant Drama teacher, Mr. Shedd (bless his heart), had the bright idea to take the float to a ditch out in the country and set it afire. Kind of a "homecoming bonfire" theme. Well, he neglected to take note that the ditch was full of old car tires.
Yep, our Kleenex-covered float exploded in flames and was out in about a minute flat...but the tires--no such luck. They burned and burned and burned...and the sound of fire engines came closer and closer and closer. Mr. Shedd started "coaching" us kids into his own "script" about who did what, and whose idea the whole thing was...he was trying to get one kid to take the fall for him--since the kid was not a legal age yet--get it?? Yeah. Idiot.
I don't know what happened, because once we were individually questioned on site and released, I got into Melanie's car and went to the school.
So Melanie's clothing was in a different part of the school than mine were--she actually changed in the Drama changing room. She was obviously smarter than me. So she walked with me to the restroom, located in Hall C. And then she left to go wait in the car for me. But before she left, I peeled off the over-sized dress and handed it to her thru the door.
"Sure, sure", I said, "go ahead I'll hurry and be right there." Nope. Not that easy. As I turned around in the stall, I realized someone had stolen my clothing. Not kidding.
My yells to Melanie were futile. Where were cell phones then???
We'd encountered noone in the hallways on our way in...I was alone, as far as I knew.
I opened the door, peeked down the Hall. Noone. Hmm. My brain was sorta freaking out on me. What should I do???
My locker was in Hall F...3 halls down. I had a coat in my locker.
In my bra and panties, I raced down to my locker, and sheer adrenaline opened my locker combo. I was half-panicked--laughing to myself at how funny this whole thing was, and scared to death that someone would come around the corner any second. Luck was on my side that day. There would be no witnesses to my "I-Love-Lucy" shenanagins that day.
You might think that was my most embarrassing moment, but sadly it was not since there were no witnesses.
What about you? Wanna share your most embarrassing High School moment? C'mon, you knew you'd laugh about it one day...
I was in the Drama Class and we'd made a HUGE float out of chicken-wire and kleenex with the Comedy/Tragedy faces, and we all had to dress up too. I borrowed a big ol Southern Plantation antebellum dress, complete with a metal hoop, from my Mississippi-born friend Melanie.
We changed into our costumes before the parade of course, at the school in a restroom. I left my clothing there, thinking, stupidly, that noone would want my clothes. I did not wear designer-anything, most were bought on clearance, and so I left them there in the stall.
The Homecoming Parade was way fun. But the events following are what's really left in my memory roladex file.
After the parade, our flamboyant Drama teacher, Mr. Shedd (bless his heart), had the bright idea to take the float to a ditch out in the country and set it afire. Kind of a "homecoming bonfire" theme. Well, he neglected to take note that the ditch was full of old car tires.
Yep, our Kleenex-covered float exploded in flames and was out in about a minute flat...but the tires--no such luck. They burned and burned and burned...and the sound of fire engines came closer and closer and closer. Mr. Shedd started "coaching" us kids into his own "script" about who did what, and whose idea the whole thing was...he was trying to get one kid to take the fall for him--since the kid was not a legal age yet--get it?? Yeah. Idiot.
I don't know what happened, because once we were individually questioned on site and released, I got into Melanie's car and went to the school.
So Melanie's clothing was in a different part of the school than mine were--she actually changed in the Drama changing room. She was obviously smarter than me. So she walked with me to the restroom, located in Hall C. And then she left to go wait in the car for me. But before she left, I peeled off the over-sized dress and handed it to her thru the door.
"Sure, sure", I said, "go ahead I'll hurry and be right there." Nope. Not that easy. As I turned around in the stall, I realized someone had stolen my clothing. Not kidding.
My yells to Melanie were futile. Where were cell phones then???
We'd encountered noone in the hallways on our way in...I was alone, as far as I knew.
I opened the door, peeked down the Hall. Noone. Hmm. My brain was sorta freaking out on me. What should I do???
My locker was in Hall F...3 halls down. I had a coat in my locker.
In my bra and panties, I raced down to my locker, and sheer adrenaline opened my locker combo. I was half-panicked--laughing to myself at how funny this whole thing was, and scared to death that someone would come around the corner any second. Luck was on my side that day. There would be no witnesses to my "I-Love-Lucy" shenanagins that day.
You might think that was my most embarrassing moment, but sadly it was not since there were no witnesses.
What about you? Wanna share your most embarrassing High School moment? C'mon, you knew you'd laugh about it one day...
Friday, April 20, 2012
Erma Bombeck's Embracing Words
In April of 1987,
I sat alone in a doctor's office
with my 7 month old blue eyed boy
in my arms,
while the Doctor explained to me
why my son wasn't rolling over,
holding his head up,
reaching for things,
wasn't
doing seven-month-old things.
Cerebral palsy claimed those abilities.
After the visit,
I went out to the parking lot at
Phoenix Children's Hospital
and cried my eyes out in the privacy of my car.
Holding my baby in my arms
I wept harder than I ever had in my life.
For reasons only those who've had a special needs child
can truly understand.
Sometime in the next few days,
the wife of the Chiropractor I worked for,
brought a poem into the office for me.
It was written by America's Housewife,
Erma Bombeck, entitled "Special Mother":
When it was handed to me,
I winced.
Emotions were still raw,
and this just rubbed me to the bone.
I didn't want to be this mother.
I accepted it with a smile,
and then took it home
where it floated about our little apartment--
I didn't want to keep it,
but couldn't throw it away.
After months and months of doctor's appointments--
neurologist,
OT
PT
Speech Therapy,
geneticists
and on and on
I came across the poem,
that by this time had been stuffed into the "junk drawer".
I pulled it out,
read it again
and felt peace.
I copied it again
then framed it
and hung it over Dean's crib
where I could see it
every
single
day.
I finally embraced who I was,
and found inspiration,
where Erma had pointed me to look.
Just last week,
I was thinking about that poem,
and for the life of me,
couldn't remember who wrote it--
then, as if on cue,
my good friend, Nannette,
brought it over to me--
it was in a community newspaper,
specifically written for anyone involved in the
special needs world.
Nan didn't know my history with this poem at all.
She just handed the paper to me
and said she thought I'd like it.
It wasn't until later in the day that I even picked up the paper
to read what it was--
around dinner time actually,
I glanced down to see what was there,
and the words sprung off the page--
n' wrapped their familiar love around me
like a very old friend
and squeezed my heart so tight,
my eyes welled up with tears
at the timely reunion.
Those familiar words about angels and mothers
and sweet spirits that need us so.
I soaked it in so quickly,
that I read it twice through,
and after dinner,
I asked Mr W if I could share this sacred little poem
with him--
because he wasn't there when I was a 23 year old mother
with a blue eyed baby in my arms.
So I read it like I knew it by heart,
then he reached over and gave me a good squeeze,
like only he can.
Erma's legacy is the timeless good and wisdom she saw in this world,
and shared with anyone who wanted to partake.
I love her for that.
And Nan, you are a blessing in my life. Thank you.
I sat alone in a doctor's office
with my 7 month old blue eyed boy
in my arms,
while the Doctor explained to me
why my son wasn't rolling over,
holding his head up,
reaching for things,
wasn't
doing seven-month-old things.
Cerebral palsy claimed those abilities.
After the visit,
I went out to the parking lot at
Phoenix Children's Hospital
and cried my eyes out in the privacy of my car.
Holding my baby in my arms
I wept harder than I ever had in my life.
For reasons only those who've had a special needs child
can truly understand.
Sometime in the next few days,
the wife of the Chiropractor I worked for,
brought a poem into the office for me.
It was written by America's Housewife,
Erma Bombeck, entitled "Special Mother":
(Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit. This year nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how these mothers are chosen?) Somehow I visualize God hovering over earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As He observes, He instructs His angels to take notes in a giant ledger. "Armstrong, Beth-Son-Patron Saint, Matthew." "Rutledge, Carrie,-twins-Patron Saint...Give her Gerard, he's used to profanity."
Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles. " Give her a handicapped child."
The angel is curious. "Why this one God? She is so happy."
"Exactly, could I give a handicapped child a mother who doesn't know laughter? That would be cruel."
"But does she have patience?" asked the angel.
" I don't want her to have too much patience, or she will drown in a sea of self pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wear off, she will handle it. I watched her today. She has that sense of self, and independence so rare and so necessary in a mother.
You see, the child I'm going to give her has his own world. She has to make him live in her world, and that's not going to be easy."
"But Lord, I don't think she even believes in you!"
God smiles. "No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect, she has just enough selfishness."
The angel gasps. "Selfishness, is that a virtue?"
God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect.
She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a spoken word. She will never consider a step ordinary. When her child says "Momma" for the first time she will be witness to a miracle and know it. When she describes a tree or a sunset to her blind child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations. I will permit her to see clearly the things I see--ignorance, cruelty, prejudice-- and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing My work as surely as she is here by My side."
"And what of her Patron Saint?" asked the angel, his pen poised in midair.
God smiles. " A Mirror will suffice."
When it was handed to me,
I winced.
Emotions were still raw,
and this just rubbed me to the bone.
I didn't want to be this mother.
I accepted it with a smile,
and then took it home
where it floated about our little apartment--
I didn't want to keep it,
but couldn't throw it away.
After months and months of doctor's appointments--
neurologist,
OT
PT
Speech Therapy,
geneticists
and on and on
I came across the poem,
that by this time had been stuffed into the "junk drawer".
I pulled it out,
read it again
and felt peace.
I copied it again
then framed it
and hung it over Dean's crib
where I could see it
every
single
day.
I finally embraced who I was,
and found inspiration,
where Erma had pointed me to look.
Just last week,
I was thinking about that poem,
and for the life of me,
couldn't remember who wrote it--
then, as if on cue,
my good friend, Nannette,
brought it over to me--
it was in a community newspaper,
specifically written for anyone involved in the
special needs world.
Nan didn't know my history with this poem at all.
She just handed the paper to me
and said she thought I'd like it.
It wasn't until later in the day that I even picked up the paper
to read what it was--
around dinner time actually,
I glanced down to see what was there,
and the words sprung off the page--
n' wrapped their familiar love around me
like a very old friend
and squeezed my heart so tight,
my eyes welled up with tears
at the timely reunion.
Those familiar words about angels and mothers
and sweet spirits that need us so.
I soaked it in so quickly,
that I read it twice through,
and after dinner,
I asked Mr W if I could share this sacred little poem
with him--
because he wasn't there when I was a 23 year old mother
with a blue eyed baby in my arms.
So I read it like I knew it by heart,
then he reached over and gave me a good squeeze,
like only he can.
Erma's legacy is the timeless good and wisdom she saw in this world,
and shared with anyone who wanted to partake.
I love her for that.
And Nan, you are a blessing in my life. Thank you.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
The Day I Out-ran a Horse
When I was 12 years old, my folks bought some land in a tiny little town in Central Florida called "Croom-A-Coochee".
While we were clearing our own land, we lived in a home owned by one of my uncles'.
Okay, so the land next to our 7 acres, was owned by the Lamb family.
I
was friends with their daughters Kim and Charlene "Charlie" and they
had a horse named "Patches". Patches was a beautiful chestnut and white
"Painted" mare. But she was fiesty and sometimes cruel.
She had had a foal the previous year, unattended at birth, the foal died in the pasture. Patches, they said, went through a hard time because of it and the family worried if she would ever be ride-able again.
They were patient and tended to her as much as they could. The stallion involved was named Gator, and they eventually had to sell him b/c he was too much to handle--he was always jumping fences for other pastures and running away. It was actually very startling to see a huge horse jump over the barbwire fence that separated our property from the Lamb's--us kids were always on the look-out for Gator as we wanted to stay outta his way. He was a huge black horse, as I remember him and only Kim's father could actually saddle Gator up and ride "the mean-ness outta him."
Anyway, Kim was the Alpha rider for Patches. Kim was an itty -bitty girl but had a big attitude and was in no-way threatened by Patches' disposition. Once when we were saddling for a ride, Patches tried to squish Kim against the barn railings...Kim just balled up her fist and gave Patches a quick sock to the side. Patches moved over. Patches was not fun to ride next to either; we had to give her lotsa room when we rode other horses next to her, otherwise she'd kick them in the face or legs. Patches was a pretty, but tempermental (accent on the "mental") horse.
Okay so this was her deal: If she saw you in her pasture, she would bolt towards you and try to stomp you into the ground. No kidding.
One day I was headed to another kid's house that was about 5 acres over from our house, but a shortcut was through Kim's pasture. I looked over the barbed-wire fence, and could see that Patches was way way out there on the farthest side of the 10 acre pasture. I thought I could just quietly walk along the sides of the property fence, and then once I needed to part with that, I could hi-tail it to the other side, before Patches noticed me.
That was my idea. So it was okay until that part where I had to cut across a large corner, about two acre's worth, to make it a shortcut to my other friend's property. I was about 1/4 of the way across when I looked up and saw Patches barrelling towards me in a full-on gallop with her ears back and her nostrils flared! I started running like my butt was on fire! I could hear her huffing and her hooves hitting the dirt--she was pissed!
She had had a foal the previous year, unattended at birth, the foal died in the pasture. Patches, they said, went through a hard time because of it and the family worried if she would ever be ride-able again.
They were patient and tended to her as much as they could. The stallion involved was named Gator, and they eventually had to sell him b/c he was too much to handle--he was always jumping fences for other pastures and running away. It was actually very startling to see a huge horse jump over the barbwire fence that separated our property from the Lamb's--us kids were always on the look-out for Gator as we wanted to stay outta his way. He was a huge black horse, as I remember him and only Kim's father could actually saddle Gator up and ride "the mean-ness outta him."
Anyway, Kim was the Alpha rider for Patches. Kim was an itty -bitty girl but had a big attitude and was in no-way threatened by Patches' disposition. Once when we were saddling for a ride, Patches tried to squish Kim against the barn railings...Kim just balled up her fist and gave Patches a quick sock to the side. Patches moved over. Patches was not fun to ride next to either; we had to give her lotsa room when we rode other horses next to her, otherwise she'd kick them in the face or legs. Patches was a pretty, but tempermental (accent on the "mental") horse.
Okay so this was her deal: If she saw you in her pasture, she would bolt towards you and try to stomp you into the ground. No kidding.
One day I was headed to another kid's house that was about 5 acres over from our house, but a shortcut was through Kim's pasture. I looked over the barbed-wire fence, and could see that Patches was way way out there on the farthest side of the 10 acre pasture. I thought I could just quietly walk along the sides of the property fence, and then once I needed to part with that, I could hi-tail it to the other side, before Patches noticed me.
That was my idea. So it was okay until that part where I had to cut across a large corner, about two acre's worth, to make it a shortcut to my other friend's property. I was about 1/4 of the way across when I looked up and saw Patches barrelling towards me in a full-on gallop with her ears back and her nostrils flared! I started running like my butt was on fire! I could hear her huffing and her hooves hitting the dirt--she was pissed!
I ran as fast as I could, adrenaline flooding
my body, fear giving me flight!
Just as I thought I was going to be trampled by this crazed horse, I reached the barbed-wire fence and DOVE through it! I crawled through the oak trees, shoulders hunched, and knees taking a beating through the briars while expecting any second for this horse to chomp chomp chomp my head off or a limb. I could feel her breath on my back, until I turned around and was flush against an oak tree trunk...trapped with Patches huffing and whinny-ing at me.
Oh yeah, and once I remembered how, I started YELLING at the top of my lungs for Help!--Kim came out and called Patches to her. Patches lifted her ears. turned towards Kim, then trotted off.
Just as I thought I was going to be trampled by this crazed horse, I reached the barbed-wire fence and DOVE through it! I crawled through the oak trees, shoulders hunched, and knees taking a beating through the briars while expecting any second for this horse to chomp chomp chomp my head off or a limb. I could feel her breath on my back, until I turned around and was flush against an oak tree trunk...trapped with Patches huffing and whinny-ing at me.
Oh yeah, and once I remembered how, I started YELLING at the top of my lungs for Help!--Kim came out and called Patches to her. Patches lifted her ears. turned towards Kim, then trotted off.
It's a wonder I didn't wet my pants.
But yeah, I out-ran a horse...pretty sure angels must've pushed me thru the fence.
What about you? Ever out-run somethin' that was breathin' down your neck? Do tell!
But yeah, I out-ran a horse...pretty sure angels must've pushed me thru the fence.
What about you? Ever out-run somethin' that was breathin' down your neck? Do tell!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Homemade Bikini Top? heck yeah!
So, I have another blog that I write basically for my family only.
It's about my memories--
some are from my wild childhood,
some memories are about my children, specifically,
that only they would find amusing, interesting,
or are too personal to share on this big ol www.com.
I decided to stuff my pride in an unmarked box
and share a couple stories.
I grew up in Florida,
mostly Miami, but for three years,
our family lived in Titusville, Florida.
The closest cousins lived in Merritt Island--
about a half-hours' drive from us.
My cousins, Shari and Coleen,
were a little older than me--
Shari being about 3 years older
and Coleen just a little over a year.
When I was about 9 years old,
I got the invitation to go stay at their house
for a whole week during the summer.
I was thrilled!
Here's the story:
Homemade Bikini Top
...The summer vacation I spent with my cousins, Coleen and Shari, left
me with an experience I have to smile about every time I think of it.
Growing up in Florida, we owned many swimsuits.
I don't think I owned more than 2 pairs of socks in my childhood,
Sunday socks, actually,
because we mostly ran around barefoot,
(except for sandals we wore to school)--
but swimsuits, I had many.
I wore them constantly, even under sundresses and shorts.
You just never knew when a chance to go swimming was going to come along.
So this summer in Merritt Island was no different,
we swam most days either in a pool or at the beach.
One morning, Shari got the bright idea of a 7th grader that
each of us could make our own swim tops--
two triangles and four strings
is all one really needed for
a fun top to wear
over a handmade lava lava
and our bikini bottoms.
So she got out the fabric & scissors
and needle and thread,
and we got to cuttin and sewin.
We were done in less than in hour.
Man, I wish someone had taken a picture of us,
cuz I am pretty sure we looked fabulous!
Now, I had no shape at 9 yrs old.
None.
My mom used to say
"Stick out your tongue so we can see you, Dawn."
I was a stick.
Anyway,
we put our creations on,
and headed out the door to go to a friend's house to show off our wares.
This is what I looked like:
Fabulous, right?
We'd scarcely left the house,
all 3 of us modeling our new handmade bikini tops and lava lavas,
when we saw two "mature" boys riding their 10-speeds toward us...
one especially was looking my way and SMILING big time.
In my little head, I was thinking:
"I must look pretty cute in my little bikini top. That
older boy seems to think so."
I nudged Coleen,"See that boy looking at me?"
I was smiling my BEST smile.
Then Coleen let out a yelp in my direction,
declaring loudly,
"Where is your TOP?"
My what?
It's it's it's ..wha??? Where'd it go?
It had fallen off my body and I did not even notice it was gone.
I covered what I could with my 9 year old hands,
which honestly, covered what needed to be covered,
and set about looking for my fly-away top.
We never found it.
It's about my memories--
some are from my wild childhood,
some memories are about my children, specifically,
that only they would find amusing, interesting,
or are too personal to share on this big ol www.com.
I decided to stuff my pride in an unmarked box
and share a couple stories.
I grew up in Florida,
mostly Miami, but for three years,
our family lived in Titusville, Florida.
The closest cousins lived in Merritt Island--
about a half-hours' drive from us.
My cousins, Shari and Coleen,
were a little older than me--
Shari being about 3 years older
and Coleen just a little over a year.
When I was about 9 years old,
I got the invitation to go stay at their house
for a whole week during the summer.
I was thrilled!
Here's the story:
Homemade Bikini Top
Growing up in Florida, we owned many swimsuits.
I don't think I owned more than 2 pairs of socks in my childhood,
Sunday socks, actually,
because we mostly ran around barefoot,
(except for sandals we wore to school)--
but swimsuits, I had many.
I wore them constantly, even under sundresses and shorts.
You just never knew when a chance to go swimming was going to come along.
So this summer in Merritt Island was no different,
we swam most days either in a pool or at the beach.
One morning, Shari got the bright idea of a 7th grader that
each of us could make our own swim tops--
two triangles and four strings
is all one really needed for
a fun top to wear
over a handmade lava lava
and our bikini bottoms.
So she got out the fabric & scissors
and needle and thread,
and we got to cuttin and sewin.
We were done in less than in hour.
Man, I wish someone had taken a picture of us,
cuz I am pretty sure we looked fabulous!
Now, I had no shape at 9 yrs old.
None.
My mom used to say
"Stick out your tongue so we can see you, Dawn."
I was a stick.
Anyway,
we put our creations on,
and headed out the door to go to a friend's house to show off our wares.
This is what I looked like:
But I thought I looked like this:
We'd scarcely left the house,
all 3 of us modeling our new handmade bikini tops and lava lavas,
when we saw two "mature" boys riding their 10-speeds toward us...
one especially was looking my way and SMILING big time.
In my little head, I was thinking:
I nudged Coleen,"See that boy looking at me?"
I was smiling my BEST smile.
Then Coleen let out a yelp in my direction,
declaring loudly,
"Where is your TOP?"
My what?
It's it's it's ..wha??? Where'd it go?
It had fallen off my body and I did not even notice it was gone.
I covered what I could with my 9 year old hands,
which honestly, covered what needed to be covered,
and set about looking for my fly-away top.
We never found it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Courage in my Pocket
I want an exciting and joyful life,
just like the one promised me in a special blessing
years ago.
Those were the exact words--
"exciting and joyful".
I was just 17 years old when I received that special blessing
and in my mind,
those words conjured up images of
traveling the world,
having special recognition in some field of study
living a very BIG life
that would just come my way,
some how,
some day.
Then Life got busy
and sometimes, many times,
I resembled more a tin can hanging on the bumper of Life
being dragged along a very bumpy dirt road
and not at all feeling like my life was
exciting
nor
joyful.
Babies are joyful.
But not in the same light as stamping a passport.
There is much excitement in changing dirty diapers,
spit-up on Sunday clothes or my favorite blouse,
and being bleary-eyed at 3am.
But that kind of "excitement" is more akin
to running around looking for a public bathroom at Disneyland
for a 3-year-old,
than having a passport stamped at Gatwick.
Clearly my original, naive translations of
"exciting and joyful" were not correct.
So I had to understand what the words
would come to mean to me--
"exciting" came to mean:
change, adapting to change,
finding courage in my back pocket,
and continuing on the journey that lay at my feet--
despite the bumpy roads I would travel.
Learning how to become the woman I wanted to become--
even when small children or teenagers challenged
my stance and stamina.
Learning how to be an active advocate for my children
and myself--something that was hard to learn, but necessary,
for the very shy young woman I used to be.
(I'm still shy, but not young.)
Likewise, "Joyful" was no longer about
special recognitions or accolades--
I found joy in much much smaller things
that sometimes could only be found in
very small ways:
-a baby's smile
-listening to a child pray for the first time
-holding my breath for Dean, the very first time
he ever sat up by himself at Phoenix Children's Hospital
after two years of PT--
that was a wonderfully joyful moment for me!
-Witnessing my children's successes.
-Gathering around a temple altar where my adult children
make sacred vows to their new spouses.
-Holding my daughter's hands as she delivered her first child.
Joy, I came to find out,
is usually a result of work and courage to try new things.
And the blessing of an "exciting and joyful life"
is a direct result of my efforts to make it so.
I do not have mulitiple homes anywhere.
I have not done anything remarkable
where my accomplishment is carved in stone somewhere.
In fact,
my life is pretty small.
I have actually travelled a little bit--
I've walked through Westminster Abbey,
sat on a bench at Edinburgh Castle overlooking the Firth of Fourth,
walked on the rolling greens meadows of Betsycowed, Wales
with ivory-colored sheep and my children in tow.
Those are great memories to be sure,
and added "exciting and joyful" moments to my life.
But counting all those days up together amounts to little more
than two months out of my whole life.
Vacations are wonderful respites from daily life,
and provide lovely memories at a distance--
but I have found that if there is to be joy and excitement
in my day,
it's up to me to look for it.
I love trying new things,
and look for new things to try.
Just this week,
I am sewing some window treatments,
that I have never sewn before,
without a pattern,
for a friend.
I was freaked out at the idea at first
but the more I looked at the project,
took measurements--
not once, not twice, but at least 6 times--
and read the instructions from the book
this pattern has come from,
well,
I said a little prayer and got busy.
Half of my interest in doing this at all
is because it was a new challenge.
And my seam ripper is a valuable tool in this process.
Another thing I am preparing to do is teach a class
on Home Staging in our ward next week.
At first,
I wondered how I could decline the invitation--
I haven't done this before.
But, with some thought and planning,
I'm looking forward to it.
I like sharing what I know--
doing so brings me joy.
And next up is going to College next Fall.
I'm 50 years old
and I've never gone to college.
I've taken just two college classes before--
American Sign Language (for Dean).
I've taken career-specific courses--
Banking classes,
Dental chairside assistant training,
Chiropractic Assistant training,
Doula training,
and Home Staging courses.
But never real college classes.
I worked alongside a husband while he attended college
to get his Doctor of Chiropractic degree.
That was 6 1/2 years.
I've been the cheerleader for my oldest children to go to college.
But it's never been my turn
until now.
I am a nervous Nelly about going to college--
it reminds me of those butterflies I used to get
when I climbed up the ladder to the high dive
at the local swimming pool as a kid.
Now, my life gets to become more interesting
joyful and exciting...
because I have been given all I need
in order to make it so.
That's the key to happiness, I think.
Using whatever it is you've been given,
to create the life you can
and learn to live happily.
What makes your life exciting and joyful?
just like the one promised me in a special blessing
years ago.
Those were the exact words--
"exciting and joyful".
I was just 17 years old when I received that special blessing
and in my mind,
those words conjured up images of
traveling the world,
having special recognition in some field of study
living a very BIG life
that would just come my way,
some how,
some day.
Then Life got busy
and sometimes, many times,
I resembled more a tin can hanging on the bumper of Life
being dragged along a very bumpy dirt road
and not at all feeling like my life was
exciting
nor
joyful.
Babies are joyful.
But not in the same light as stamping a passport.
There is much excitement in changing dirty diapers,
spit-up on Sunday clothes or my favorite blouse,
and being bleary-eyed at 3am.
But that kind of "excitement" is more akin
to running around looking for a public bathroom at Disneyland
for a 3-year-old,
than having a passport stamped at Gatwick.
Clearly my original, naive translations of
"exciting and joyful" were not correct.
So I had to understand what the words
would come to mean to me--
"exciting" came to mean:
change, adapting to change,
finding courage in my back pocket,
and continuing on the journey that lay at my feet--
despite the bumpy roads I would travel.
Learning how to become the woman I wanted to become--
even when small children or teenagers challenged
my stance and stamina.
Learning how to be an active advocate for my children
and myself--something that was hard to learn, but necessary,
for the very shy young woman I used to be.
(I'm still shy, but not young.)
Likewise, "Joyful" was no longer about
special recognitions or accolades--
I found joy in much much smaller things
that sometimes could only be found in
very small ways:
-a baby's smile
-listening to a child pray for the first time
-holding my breath for Dean, the very first time
he ever sat up by himself at Phoenix Children's Hospital
after two years of PT--
that was a wonderfully joyful moment for me!
-Witnessing my children's successes.
-Gathering around a temple altar where my adult children
make sacred vows to their new spouses.
-Holding my daughter's hands as she delivered her first child.
Joy, I came to find out,
is usually a result of work and courage to try new things.
And the blessing of an "exciting and joyful life"
is a direct result of my efforts to make it so.
I do not have mulitiple homes anywhere.
I have not done anything remarkable
where my accomplishment is carved in stone somewhere.
In fact,
my life is pretty small.
I have actually travelled a little bit--
I've walked through Westminster Abbey,
sat on a bench at Edinburgh Castle overlooking the Firth of Fourth,
walked on the rolling greens meadows of Betsycowed, Wales
with ivory-colored sheep and my children in tow.
Those are great memories to be sure,
and added "exciting and joyful" moments to my life.
But counting all those days up together amounts to little more
than two months out of my whole life.
Vacations are wonderful respites from daily life,
and provide lovely memories at a distance--
but I have found that if there is to be joy and excitement
in my day,
it's up to me to look for it.
I love trying new things,
and look for new things to try.
Just this week,
I am sewing some window treatments,
that I have never sewn before,
without a pattern,
for a friend.
I was freaked out at the idea at first
but the more I looked at the project,
took measurements--
not once, not twice, but at least 6 times--
and read the instructions from the book
this pattern has come from,
well,
I said a little prayer and got busy.
Half of my interest in doing this at all
is because it was a new challenge.
And my seam ripper is a valuable tool in this process.
Another thing I am preparing to do is teach a class
on Home Staging in our ward next week.
At first,
I wondered how I could decline the invitation--
I haven't done this before.
But, with some thought and planning,
I'm looking forward to it.
I like sharing what I know--
doing so brings me joy.
And next up is going to College next Fall.
I'm 50 years old
and I've never gone to college.
I've taken just two college classes before--
American Sign Language (for Dean).
I've taken career-specific courses--
Banking classes,
Dental chairside assistant training,
Chiropractic Assistant training,
Doula training,
and Home Staging courses.
But never real college classes.
I worked alongside a husband while he attended college
to get his Doctor of Chiropractic degree.
That was 6 1/2 years.
I've been the cheerleader for my oldest children to go to college.
But it's never been my turn
until now.
I am a nervous Nelly about going to college--
it reminds me of those butterflies I used to get
when I climbed up the ladder to the high dive
at the local swimming pool as a kid.
Now, my life gets to become more interesting
joyful and exciting...
because I have been given all I need
in order to make it so.
That's the key to happiness, I think.
Using whatever it is you've been given,
to create the life you can
and learn to live happily.
What makes your life exciting and joyful?
Friday, April 13, 2012
Thank-You Notes to My Children
Dear David Scott:
Thank you for being so kind to your family. We so enjoyed your visit last month. Thank you for choosing the best girl in the world to be part of our family. We love your wife, Tisha. She is good and gracious, loving and kind. We are blessed to have her in our lives.
Thank you for being so willing to teach us how to cook your newest favorite recipes: tamales and spring rolls. And for fixing our old computers; by doing so, we have kept them going longer than normal, I am sure. Thank you for being available to any of us when we call you for whatever reasons. Thank you for being the oldest son and brother that we can lean on and feel loved. We love your sense of humor and ease of laughter.
Your presence in our daily lives was so stinkin' fun while you guys were here. Come back soon!
Dear Danielle:
Thank you for being so kind to me. Thank you for showing up on Easter Sunday with baskets and boxes of deliciousness. Thank you for looking inside my heart and knowing that I'd enjoy having the lace tablecloth and white plates on the table for dinner before I said a word. Thank you for the beautiful flowers in the center of the table. Every day I look at them and smile.
Thank you for the morning phone calls and for texting your other siblings to take care of me when you're not around after my little surgery. Thank you for bringing your babies down to see us and letting us love on them, spoil them, laugh with them, and enjoy your little family. We are going to sorely miss you all when you move to Houston this summer, but we'll pretend we're so happy that your family is off on a new adventure!
Thank you for your example of virtue. I love you so.
Dear Dean:
You'll not read this here, but I know you know it--I am forever changed by being your mother. Your special needs taught me lessons, and continues to teach me things that I would've never learned any other way. Our bond is etched in our DNA, you and I. My debt to you is eternal. A debt that blesses my soul. Thank you for coming to this earth to my arms and my heart.
Dear Diana:
Thank you for stepping up when I need you to...for being the chauffeur to the kids and their friends whenever you can. Thank you for quick runs to the grocery store. Thanks for painting my toenails that bright coral-ly color. Thank you for being a kind sister to your siblings in the many ways you are...they love you and miss you when you're not here. Thank you for trying hard to reach your goals and inviting us along with you. Thanks for being and doing and trying to be your best. This is the year.
Dear Daisie:
Thank you for your strength of character and faith. Thank you for being true to the standards of the gospel and having a charitable heart. Thank you for washing the dogs without complaint. For fixing Ari's hair on Sundays and for being the "muscle" in the house when I need help moving heavy things or packing
away stuff. Thank you for sharing whatever you have with everyone. You're so good at that and it is so needed in a large family like ours.
Dear Joseph:
Thank you for being a loving son and brother. Please don't ever stop giving hugs to me in the morning before school and telling me you love me every day. I love that so much. Thank you for doing the extra things I ask you to do around the house. Thank you for choosing to be a sweet Deacon who smiles at me when you pass the sacrament. Thank you for being Dad's "right-hand-man" and for taking good care of him when you guys go camping in the snow, or at the shooting range, or on the Santa Fe trail bike riding--or really wherever or whatever you two do together. I appreciate knowing you will always take good care of him when the two of you are out and about. Thank you for going with Ari to her play both nights this week. It was comforting to know she had you there in case she needed you. You're a good big brother. Thank you for being a good Uncle to Garre-berto and Isaac...they will love you forever.
Dear Arianna:
Thank you for being a sweet, kind, nutball. You are the life of the party around here and we love you so. Thank you for trying to control your "hot headed-ness" and apologizing when you don't. Thank you for trying hard in school this last quarter to bring up your math grade! You did it and I'm so happy for you! You did really well in "A Midsummer's Night Dream" as Hypoleta. You only forgot one line and that's really good for a Shakespeare play! Thank you for loving Isaac and Garrett so good! You're a super duper Aunt Bee and they love you like the rest of us do. You really are the coolest 11 year old on the planet, like Brad says.
Families Can Be Together Forever. And while it's not always easy to be in a big family, I am grateful for everyone of us and watch with gratitude the way you each take the time to show your love and loyalty to one another. Especially when there are differences, your true colors show as you continue to extend your hands and hearts to one another. As your mother, I could not be more proud of you all and grateful for your examples to me. Thank you for loving me so very very well.
Thank you for being so kind to your family. We so enjoyed your visit last month. Thank you for choosing the best girl in the world to be part of our family. We love your wife, Tisha. She is good and gracious, loving and kind. We are blessed to have her in our lives.
Thank you for being so willing to teach us how to cook your newest favorite recipes: tamales and spring rolls. And for fixing our old computers; by doing so, we have kept them going longer than normal, I am sure. Thank you for being available to any of us when we call you for whatever reasons. Thank you for being the oldest son and brother that we can lean on and feel loved. We love your sense of humor and ease of laughter.
Your presence in our daily lives was so stinkin' fun while you guys were here. Come back soon!
Dear Danielle:
Thank you for being so kind to me. Thank you for showing up on Easter Sunday with baskets and boxes of deliciousness. Thank you for looking inside my heart and knowing that I'd enjoy having the lace tablecloth and white plates on the table for dinner before I said a word. Thank you for the beautiful flowers in the center of the table. Every day I look at them and smile.
Thank you for the morning phone calls and for texting your other siblings to take care of me when you're not around after my little surgery. Thank you for bringing your babies down to see us and letting us love on them, spoil them, laugh with them, and enjoy your little family. We are going to sorely miss you all when you move to Houston this summer, but we'll pretend we're so happy that your family is off on a new adventure!
Thank you for your example of virtue. I love you so.
Dear Dean:
You'll not read this here, but I know you know it--I am forever changed by being your mother. Your special needs taught me lessons, and continues to teach me things that I would've never learned any other way. Our bond is etched in our DNA, you and I. My debt to you is eternal. A debt that blesses my soul. Thank you for coming to this earth to my arms and my heart.
Dear Diana:
Thank you for stepping up when I need you to...for being the chauffeur to the kids and their friends whenever you can. Thank you for quick runs to the grocery store. Thanks for painting my toenails that bright coral-ly color. Thank you for being a kind sister to your siblings in the many ways you are...they love you and miss you when you're not here. Thank you for trying hard to reach your goals and inviting us along with you. Thanks for being and doing and trying to be your best. This is the year.
Dear Daisie:
Thank you for your strength of character and faith. Thank you for being true to the standards of the gospel and having a charitable heart. Thank you for washing the dogs without complaint. For fixing Ari's hair on Sundays and for being the "muscle" in the house when I need help moving heavy things or packing
away stuff. Thank you for sharing whatever you have with everyone. You're so good at that and it is so needed in a large family like ours.
Dear Joseph:
Thank you for being a loving son and brother. Please don't ever stop giving hugs to me in the morning before school and telling me you love me every day. I love that so much. Thank you for doing the extra things I ask you to do around the house. Thank you for choosing to be a sweet Deacon who smiles at me when you pass the sacrament. Thank you for being Dad's "right-hand-man" and for taking good care of him when you guys go camping in the snow, or at the shooting range, or on the Santa Fe trail bike riding--or really wherever or whatever you two do together. I appreciate knowing you will always take good care of him when the two of you are out and about. Thank you for going with Ari to her play both nights this week. It was comforting to know she had you there in case she needed you. You're a good big brother. Thank you for being a good Uncle to Garre-berto and Isaac...they will love you forever.
Dear Arianna:
Thank you for being a sweet, kind, nutball. You are the life of the party around here and we love you so. Thank you for trying to control your "hot headed-ness" and apologizing when you don't. Thank you for trying hard in school this last quarter to bring up your math grade! You did it and I'm so happy for you! You did really well in "A Midsummer's Night Dream" as Hypoleta. You only forgot one line and that's really good for a Shakespeare play! Thank you for loving Isaac and Garrett so good! You're a super duper Aunt Bee and they love you like the rest of us do. You really are the coolest 11 year old on the planet, like Brad says.
Families Can Be Together Forever. And while it's not always easy to be in a big family, I am grateful for everyone of us and watch with gratitude the way you each take the time to show your love and loyalty to one another. Especially when there are differences, your true colors show as you continue to extend your hands and hearts to one another. As your mother, I could not be more proud of you all and grateful for your examples to me. Thank you for loving me so very very well.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Greetings from a Bum
It's been 7 days since my surgery.
Seven.
I was expecting to be zipping around town,
throwing caution to the wind,
running around like a headless chicken
by
Day 7.
I have had my fill of television...
and just a fyi here,
I don't like TV to start with,
so it wasn't a huge leap for me to get to the point
where I don't even want it ON.
Do you realize how many Stupid people are on national television?
Seriously.
From dull, over-processed "reporters" ( I use that term loosely, as it seems there is a discrepancy as to what a bonafide "Reporter" really is)--
and I think I'm in the minority when I don't consider E-news, The Insider, MTV,
and even some of the spots on CNN as true journalism.
With Mike Wallace's passing, I think we're down to 3 or 4 legit Journalists left on the planet, as I know it.
So from crummy news shows to
the "reality" shows...that aren't.
Even the titles of the shows are offensive to my senses:
Leading me to this conclusion:
TV makes you stupid.
I also have had at my bed, a laptop computer.
I have facebook-stalked every. single. one. of my friends. And their friends. And their friends of friends. Pretty sure.
I've looked at all the photos, the notes, the walls, the links, the blogs, the statuses, and even looked at some FB advertisements!
All in the name of "entertainment". I am so stinkin' pathetic.
I looked n' looked until I could look no more.
I tried to get a breath of fresh air last Saturday.
I went on an outing that was supposed to be an hour and a half at max,
but ended up being closer to three hours.
Oh, I paid for that one.
So now I'm on what resembles "house arrest".
This Vacation From Life looked alot more fun
from the other side, ya know?
On the plus side,
I haven't had to make a single meal in 7 days.
Love. That.
I've taken naps nearly every day.
Diana painted my toe nails an awesome coral color
and then top-coated it with glitter, even.
I have been able to rest.
That, I realize is a blessing alone.
I don't have little children to care for or entertain.
My Mr W and my yahoos have been extra helpful and kind.
Having unaccounted-for time
has been healing in many ways,
and I have learned that I need to take more time
for my own thoughts and care of my person
than I have in the past.
Being a Bum has taught me a few things
that I hope I don't forget.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I think "Say Yes To The Dress" is on in five minutes.
Seven.
I was expecting to be zipping around town,
throwing caution to the wind,
running around like a headless chicken
by
Day 7.
I have had my fill of television...
and just a fyi here,
I don't like TV to start with,
so it wasn't a huge leap for me to get to the point
where I don't even want it ON.
Do you realize how many Stupid people are on national television?
Seriously.
From dull, over-processed "reporters" ( I use that term loosely, as it seems there is a discrepancy as to what a bonafide "Reporter" really is)--
and I think I'm in the minority when I don't consider E-news, The Insider, MTV,
and even some of the spots on CNN as true journalism.
With Mike Wallace's passing, I think we're down to 3 or 4 legit Journalists left on the planet, as I know it.
So from crummy news shows to
the "reality" shows...that aren't.
Even the titles of the shows are offensive to my senses:
- "Mean Girls"--where do the producers find the most uncivilized women in the world for this show to behave so ugly and get paid to do so?
- "Toddlers and Tiaras"--am I the only one who noticed that the momma's of those girls are not attractive?--they fit the stereo-types to a "t". And those little girls look like coming attractions for future "Mean Girls".
- "Swamp People"-- OK, OK, I may in fact, be related to some of them, so that's a more believable show than most.
- That one show about the Duck people? You know, the hillbillies who run a duck call business outta their garage. I had to watch just once though--like looking at a train wreck--you just can't drive by without looking for lost limbs and such...then you try to shake off the images seared into your mind for all eternity. I wonder if all these people are related? For the most part, they're all Southern. Just sayin'.
Leading me to this conclusion:
TV makes you stupid.
I also have had at my bed, a laptop computer.
I have facebook-stalked every. single. one. of my friends. And their friends. And their friends of friends. Pretty sure.
I've looked at all the photos, the notes, the walls, the links, the blogs, the statuses, and even looked at some FB advertisements!
All in the name of "entertainment". I am so stinkin' pathetic.
I looked n' looked until I could look no more.
I tried to get a breath of fresh air last Saturday.
I went on an outing that was supposed to be an hour and a half at max,
but ended up being closer to three hours.
Oh, I paid for that one.
So now I'm on what resembles "house arrest".
This Vacation From Life looked alot more fun
from the other side, ya know?
On the plus side,
I haven't had to make a single meal in 7 days.
Love. That.
I've taken naps nearly every day.
Diana painted my toe nails an awesome coral color
and then top-coated it with glitter, even.
I have been able to rest.
That, I realize is a blessing alone.
I don't have little children to care for or entertain.
My Mr W and my yahoos have been extra helpful and kind.
Having unaccounted-for time
has been healing in many ways,
and I have learned that I need to take more time
for my own thoughts and care of my person
than I have in the past.
Being a Bum has taught me a few things
that I hope I don't forget.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I think "Say Yes To The Dress" is on in five minutes.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Hawaii, Disney World or Surgery?
YOu say potahto
I say potato.
I've been reading about all the fun Spring Break trips
everyone I know has been taking--
even my good friends took off
one for California, Vegas and Phoenix
the other to her time share in Pagosa Springs,CO.
Still, others have taken off for the shores of Hawaii,
the lines of Disney World,
the beaches of the Caribbean and other exotic places.
Me?
Well, I decided it was a good time to schedule a medical procedure.
You know, kick back and let others wait on me hand n' foot.
None of that waiting in line stuff,
or packing the car or a suitcase with a weeks' worth of stuff.
Pfft.
That is not how I roll, peeps.
No, I wanted to have complete rest
and at this moment,
while I am propped up in bed,
with toast, juice, an granny smith apple,
and drugs at my bedside
the most I have to lift today is
the remote control for the TV.
Plus, I get to hog the laptop.
Win-Win here.
Room service is great,
but bed service rocks in its own way too.
So, what did I have done?
Nothing fancy.
And while it was a personal issue,
I am astounded at how many women I know
who've either had the procedure themselves
or know someone who has--
it's called (wait lemme get my hospital papers to make sure)--
Nonresectoscopic Endometrial Ablation.
It's basically a Barbecue inside your uterus,
and it's supposed to be better than a hysterectomy
for the issues my body's been having.
I had the procedure done at St. Francis Medical Center
in Colorado Springs
and I have to say the staff there were excellent.
I would recommend it to anyone.
I've attended births there as a doula,
but never been there as a patient.
It didn't have a lap pool,
but I'd still give 5 stars.
The surgery was done as out-patient.
I checked in at 10:28am
and was home by 2:30pm.
The actual procedure, I'm told is less than five minutes long.
But you go under a general anethesia--
(if it were proper to claim the anesthesiologist as my new BFF, I totally would.)
and that was simple.
I laid down on the operating table,
calmly talking to my doctor,
and she says,
"Are you ready?"
I said yes
and then said something like,
"things are getting dizzy."
I didn't hear her response.
Then before I knew it,
it was an hour later
and I was under lovely warm blankets in recovery
with my attending nurse, Jen.
I opened my eyes and looked at the clock,
then closed them for what I thought was just a second,
but was actually 40 minutes later.
There was some cramping, which I was told to expect,
but that's the great thing about hospitals,
they have all kinds of drugs to make your pain go away
lickety-split.
The nurse gave me a "sniff"(her words, I didn't actually sniff anything.)--of fentanyl (sp?),
which was enough to take my pain down to a 0.
Mr. Wonderful came in at some point,
I don't remember when,
but he was all mushy and sweet.
I told him beforehand that if I died in surgery for any reason,
that I have a pact with Nan and Kelly
and they should be allowed into the house before anyone else in the Relief Society,
so my reputation would be saved,
and they'd make sure my underwear drawer was straightened up,
as well as my closet
and there'd be no dishes in the sink.
Also, when Ari asked me what might happen if I died,
(my yahoos are a little dramatic like their momza),
I told her not to worry about it,
because they could have all the candy they wanted at the funeral,
and don't worry about me,
because I'd be on my way to Italy and then Hawaii
like I've always wanted to go.
There is something so wrong about that.
Anyway,
I didn't get to go on a free vacation to Hawaii,
but I did get to take a little vay-cay to the local hospital
and have trained professionals ask me how I was doing
about every 10 minutes--
they put leg compression things on me
so I felt like I was getting a massage,
they fed me ice water from a straw--
heck, I didn't even have to hold the cup!
I got free graham crackers at the end.
Oh and some fuzzy little socks as a party favor.
I even got a free ride in a wheelchair out to the car!
I'm livin' life large, I tell ya.
N' right now, the house is empty,
and here I sit.
All alone with absolutely no plans at all today.
None.
I am not expected to do a dang thing.
A vacation if there ever was one.
Before Diana left for work,
she brought up a banana and two clementines--
"just in case" the toast, juice and apple doesn't cut it.
Can't get that kinda service anywhere else I tell ya.
I just remembered something from the recovery room--
the nurse Jen, had stepped away for a moment
and all of a sudden I got emotional--
little tears fell down my cheeks--
when she came back in and asked how I was,
I told her I felt
"emotional" and asked if that was normal.
She answered "yes--that's a normal response to the anesthesia."
And asked, "You just feel like sobbing buckets-full? That's completely normal. Are you in pain?"
I thought for a moment and said,
"No, not in pain. Not buckets full. I feel grateful."
I do. I am.
I have much to be grateful for, ya know?
p.s. typos will not be corrected today beyond what I've already done. Hey, I'm on vacation.
I say potato.
I've been reading about all the fun Spring Break trips
everyone I know has been taking--
even my good friends took off
one for California, Vegas and Phoenix
the other to her time share in Pagosa Springs,CO.
Still, others have taken off for the shores of Hawaii,
the lines of Disney World,
the beaches of the Caribbean and other exotic places.
Me?
Well, I decided it was a good time to schedule a medical procedure.
You know, kick back and let others wait on me hand n' foot.
None of that waiting in line stuff,
or packing the car or a suitcase with a weeks' worth of stuff.
Pfft.
That is not how I roll, peeps.
No, I wanted to have complete rest
and at this moment,
while I am propped up in bed,
with toast, juice, an granny smith apple,
and drugs at my bedside
the most I have to lift today is
the remote control for the TV.
Plus, I get to hog the laptop.
Win-Win here.
Room service is great,
but bed service rocks in its own way too.
So, what did I have done?
Nothing fancy.
And while it was a personal issue,
I am astounded at how many women I know
who've either had the procedure themselves
or know someone who has--
it's called (wait lemme get my hospital papers to make sure)--
Nonresectoscopic Endometrial Ablation.
It's basically a Barbecue inside your uterus,
and it's supposed to be better than a hysterectomy
for the issues my body's been having.
I had the procedure done at St. Francis Medical Center
in Colorado Springs
and I have to say the staff there were excellent.
I would recommend it to anyone.
I've attended births there as a doula,
but never been there as a patient.
It didn't have a lap pool,
but I'd still give 5 stars.
The surgery was done as out-patient.
I checked in at 10:28am
and was home by 2:30pm.
The actual procedure, I'm told is less than five minutes long.
But you go under a general anethesia--
(if it were proper to claim the anesthesiologist as my new BFF, I totally would.)
and that was simple.
I laid down on the operating table,
calmly talking to my doctor,
and she says,
"Are you ready?"
I said yes
and then said something like,
"things are getting dizzy."
I didn't hear her response.
Then before I knew it,
it was an hour later
and I was under lovely warm blankets in recovery
with my attending nurse, Jen.
I opened my eyes and looked at the clock,
then closed them for what I thought was just a second,
but was actually 40 minutes later.
There was some cramping, which I was told to expect,
but that's the great thing about hospitals,
they have all kinds of drugs to make your pain go away
lickety-split.
The nurse gave me a "sniff"(her words, I didn't actually sniff anything.)--of fentanyl (sp?),
which was enough to take my pain down to a 0.
Mr. Wonderful came in at some point,
I don't remember when,
but he was all mushy and sweet.
I told him beforehand that if I died in surgery for any reason,
that I have a pact with Nan and Kelly
and they should be allowed into the house before anyone else in the Relief Society,
so my reputation would be saved,
and they'd make sure my underwear drawer was straightened up,
as well as my closet
and there'd be no dishes in the sink.
Also, when Ari asked me what might happen if I died,
(my yahoos are a little dramatic like their momza),
I told her not to worry about it,
because they could have all the candy they wanted at the funeral,
and don't worry about me,
because I'd be on my way to Italy and then Hawaii
like I've always wanted to go.
There is something so wrong about that.
Anyway,
I didn't get to go on a free vacation to Hawaii,
but I did get to take a little vay-cay to the local hospital
and have trained professionals ask me how I was doing
about every 10 minutes--
they put leg compression things on me
so I felt like I was getting a massage,
they fed me ice water from a straw--
heck, I didn't even have to hold the cup!
I got free graham crackers at the end.
Oh and some fuzzy little socks as a party favor.
I even got a free ride in a wheelchair out to the car!
I'm livin' life large, I tell ya.
N' right now, the house is empty,
and here I sit.
All alone with absolutely no plans at all today.
None.
I am not expected to do a dang thing.
A vacation if there ever was one.
Before Diana left for work,
she brought up a banana and two clementines--
"just in case" the toast, juice and apple doesn't cut it.
Can't get that kinda service anywhere else I tell ya.
I just remembered something from the recovery room--
the nurse Jen, had stepped away for a moment
and all of a sudden I got emotional--
little tears fell down my cheeks--
when she came back in and asked how I was,
I told her I felt
"emotional" and asked if that was normal.
She answered "yes--that's a normal response to the anesthesia."
And asked, "You just feel like sobbing buckets-full? That's completely normal. Are you in pain?"
I thought for a moment and said,
"No, not in pain. Not buckets full. I feel grateful."
I do. I am.
I have much to be grateful for, ya know?
p.s. typos will not be corrected today beyond what I've already done. Hey, I'm on vacation.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
My #@$%! 5th Grade Science Fair Project
Last night at ten p.m.,
after declaring 3 months ago,
that I
would
absolutely
positively
and in no freakin' way
do it on the night before it was due
I finished my 5th grader's Science project.
I dread Science Fair projects.
It is really more a contest for the parents of 5th graders,
than for the actual students.
And I know this,
because having lived in this school district for a decade,
and watching what the other kids bring in on the day of the
Big Reveal--
there is no stinkin' way that a kid can do what their parents
try to pass off as a "student-led" project.
Not in this military/engineering town.
When the teacher sends home the packets in the Fall,
I cringe. I nearly cry.
"When am I going to have time to do this?" I wonder.
Then, I lay down the law to the 5th grader:
You have 12 weeks to do this.
after declaring 3 months ago,
that I
would
absolutely
positively
and in no freakin' way
do it on the night before it was due
I finished my 5th grader's Science project.
I dread Science Fair projects.
It is really more a contest for the parents of 5th graders,
than for the actual students.
And I know this,
because having lived in this school district for a decade,
and watching what the other kids bring in on the day of the
Big Reveal--
there is no stinkin' way that a kid can do what their parents
try to pass off as a "student-led" project.
Not in this military/engineering town.
When the teacher sends home the packets in the Fall,
I cringe. I nearly cry.
"When am I going to have time to do this?" I wonder.
Then, I lay down the law to the 5th grader:
You have 12 weeks to do this.
I. Am. NOT. Doing. It. For. You.
Do you understand me?
Nod your head if you understand me.
Good.
This will be YOUR project.
I don't care what you choose,
it can be anything at all--
but I am not, do you hear me--
NOT staying up late the night before it's due to finish it!
Capisce?
So for the next 12 weeks,
I have a dark ominous cloud over my shoulder,
a haunting whisper, if you will--
"science fair...don't forget the science fair..."
I try to be upbeat at first--
"So what do you think you'll want to do?" I ask the 5th grader.
"Let's find something fun."
and by Week two it's turned into:
"You need to pick something!"
By Week three:
"Pick something, dang it!"
Finally, the experiment is chosen,
A list of needed items is presented--
again
and
again
and
again--
until I finally remember them
on my next trip to Wally World.
I get Dad involved,
because his "engineering skills can help the charting go smoother."
My husband loves making charts on Excell...it makes him happy.
And me happy, because I'm the
Designer of the Display,
not the Data Organizer.
And the 5th grader happy because, hey, the faster we get this done,
the quicker she can go play, right?
All thru Spring Break,
the dark whisperer was there:
"Don't forget about Science Fair...it's due soon."
I corner the 5th grader in the kitchen a few times
and say,
"How's your Science Fair project coming?"
"Good. I'm almost done. Just have to get the poster board and make the poster!"
I am relieved.
Stupidly, ignorantly, relieved.
Duhhh. If the poster isn't finished, it's because I haven't finished it.
Yesterday was the first day back to school after Spring Break--
as we pulled up to the school,
we notice lots of poster boards and accessories being lugged around by kids
and their hard-working parents.
GASP!
It's due today?!
Seriously?!
I give Ari my best hairy-eyeball-look:
"Guess what we're doing afterschool today?"
Only, it was a Birthday night for Daisie,
so we had to wait until that was over,
before we could begin assembling the Display.
We pull out the markers, the stickers,
the pens and rulers.
We decide to go easy and just get all the writing parts done
on the computer,
print them out,
and after looking for a stinkin' glue stick for 10 minutes,
go with Elmer's glue that has to be coaxed out of it's sticky bottle
using the force of Zeus aka "Momza's determined might to get this done!".
Everything is finished,
except one more thing.
We'd taken pictures of Ari's experiment--
training our stubborn black labrador retriever to do things
she should've already been taught as a puppy,
but hasn't--
and when I go to print them out,
our printer's lights start blinking,
because, hey, we're outta colored ink!
Nice.
So, next bright idea comes--
I'll just send them to Walmart's photo shop, and pick them up within the hour--
I look at the clock--7:58pm.
Still got time.
Okay, let's do that.
Uploaded the pictures, Clicked the button to "ORDER"
and get a message back saying the Photo Shop is closed for the night
n' I can pick 'em up at 10am TOMORROW.
That. ugh. is not. what. I. need, Wally World.
New plan.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Okay--here's the plan:
If I leave the house by 6:45am to run Daisie to school,
I can run straight over to Walmart by 7:15,
get back in time to run Ari to school early by 8am (for play practice),
and then come home,
adhere the pics to the display poster, and then run the poster to school
before it begins at 8:50am and still make it to my doctor's appointment by 9am.
Get it?
Got it?
Good.
CLAP!
BREAK!
Exhale, peeps.
We've got this.
[grumble, grumble]
I hate science fair projects.
I hate them so much,
I wouldn't mind having that engraved on my headstone.
"Here Lies Our Dear Mother.
She hated Science Fair Projects.
God Rest Her Soul."
We cleaned up the mess,
and I pulled in my LAST 5th grader n'
kissed her noggin.
Dad followed her into her room for bedtime prayers
and I glanced at the clock--
9:58 pm.
I realized that this was my last late night Science Fair project
and I beat my former time by two minutes.
The dark whisper returned,
"Well done, Momza. Well done."
Finally.
I hope I get an "A".
I went to bed anticipating a crazy morning--
hit the ground running was my plan.
Then, I woke up, looked outside at the weather,
opened my email to find a notification from the school district--
Closed for Snow.
So for the next 12 weeks,
I have a dark ominous cloud over my shoulder,
a haunting whisper, if you will--
"science fair...don't forget the science fair..."
I try to be upbeat at first--
"So what do you think you'll want to do?" I ask the 5th grader.
"Let's find something fun."
and by Week two it's turned into:
"You need to pick something!"
By Week three:
"Pick something, dang it!"
Finally, the experiment is chosen,
A list of needed items is presented--
again
and
again
and
again--
until I finally remember them
on my next trip to Wally World.
I get Dad involved,
because his "engineering skills can help the charting go smoother."
My husband loves making charts on Excell...it makes him happy.
And me happy, because I'm the
Designer of the Display,
not the Data Organizer.
And the 5th grader happy because, hey, the faster we get this done,
the quicker she can go play, right?
All thru Spring Break,
the dark whisperer was there:
"Don't forget about Science Fair...it's due soon."
I corner the 5th grader in the kitchen a few times
and say,
"How's your Science Fair project coming?"
"Good. I'm almost done. Just have to get the poster board and make the poster!"
I am relieved.
Stupidly, ignorantly, relieved.
Duhhh. If the poster isn't finished, it's because I haven't finished it.
Yesterday was the first day back to school after Spring Break--
as we pulled up to the school,
we notice lots of poster boards and accessories being lugged around by kids
and their hard-working parents.
GASP!
It's due today?!
Seriously?!
I give Ari my best hairy-eyeball-look:
"Guess what we're doing afterschool today?"
Only, it was a Birthday night for Daisie,
so we had to wait until that was over,
before we could begin assembling the Display.
We pull out the markers, the stickers,
the pens and rulers.
We decide to go easy and just get all the writing parts done
on the computer,
print them out,
and after looking for a stinkin' glue stick for 10 minutes,
go with Elmer's glue that has to be coaxed out of it's sticky bottle
using the force of Zeus aka "Momza's determined might to get this done!".
Everything is finished,
except one more thing.
*here's the poster w/o the pics
We'd taken pictures of Ari's experiment--
training our stubborn black labrador retriever to do things
she should've already been taught as a puppy,
but hasn't--
and when I go to print them out,
our printer's lights start blinking,
because, hey, we're outta colored ink!
Nice.
So, next bright idea comes--
I'll just send them to Walmart's photo shop, and pick them up within the hour--
I look at the clock--7:58pm.
Still got time.
Okay, let's do that.
Uploaded the pictures, Clicked the button to "ORDER"
and get a message back saying the Photo Shop is closed for the night
n' I can pick 'em up at 10am TOMORROW.
That. ugh. is not. what. I. need, Wally World.
New plan.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Okay--here's the plan:
If I leave the house by 6:45am to run Daisie to school,
I can run straight over to Walmart by 7:15,
get back in time to run Ari to school early by 8am (for play practice),
and then come home,
adhere the pics to the display poster, and then run the poster to school
before it begins at 8:50am and still make it to my doctor's appointment by 9am.
Get it?
Got it?
Good.
CLAP!
BREAK!
Exhale, peeps.
We've got this.
[grumble, grumble]
I hate science fair projects.
I hate them so much,
I wouldn't mind having that engraved on my headstone.
"Here Lies Our Dear Mother.
She hated Science Fair Projects.
God Rest Her Soul."
We cleaned up the mess,
and I pulled in my LAST 5th grader n'
kissed her noggin.
Dad followed her into her room for bedtime prayers
and I glanced at the clock--
9:58 pm.
I realized that this was my last late night Science Fair project
and I beat my former time by two minutes.
The dark whisper returned,
"Well done, Momza. Well done."
Finally.
I hope I get an "A".
I went to bed anticipating a crazy morning--
hit the ground running was my plan.
Then, I woke up, looked outside at the weather,
opened my email to find a notification from the school district--
Closed for Snow.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Spring Break 2012 HI-LO
High Points:
*David & Tisha came down from Meridian, Idaho for the week.
*David Scott taught us how to make:
*Spring Rolls (forgot to take pics, but I will be posting the recipe SO easy!)
*Homemade Tamales:
Add a ball of dough onto husk, flatten with fingers
Add meat. ( I slow-cooked a Large pork roast shoulder for 14 hours with two cans of green chilis, 1 TB of red chili powder, 1 TB cumin, 1 TB garlic powder, some salt and pepper. Then, let it cool for a few hours, and it truly fell off the bone. Separated it from the fat/other piglet parts and drained, then stirred up.)
* Cinnamon Kettle corn (this guy can cook!)
*Saw Hunger Games with la familia
* really liked that.
*Danielle and her boys came down for a few days too
*The kids took the tours at
*The Air Force Academy
* The US Olympic Training Center
*Outlet Shopping with all the kids
*The house was jam packed with friends and family on Thursday night
*French toast (I made) with strawberries, bacon(RM Garrison made), eggs (Cooked by Macy),
Fresh fruit. Kait and Ben just provided awesome coaching and entertainment.
* The guests did the dishes! (Thanks, guys!)
*There were 15 of us--that's 36 eggs, two lbs of bacon, two loaves of Texas toast, 5 lbs of grapes, 2 jugs of orange juice and 1 gallon of milk.
*Dara got braces--finally!
*Trip up to Golden Gate Canyon State Park
Snow is still in the mountains...
We couldn't nail Garrett down to take a decent picture.
Papa playin' with Isaac...
*Late night talks and games (favorites)
"Betrayal At The House On The Hill" game
*Touring old town Monument with the best daughter-in-love and Arianna.
* General Conference Saturday and Sunday was a perfect way to end the week. Got to see Elder David Archuleta sing with the MTC choir (Missionary Training Center--he's headed to Chile for 2 years! Love that boy!) And I got to see and listen to our beloved Prophet and Apostles. I must confess, I have a small crush on D. Todd Christofferson. It could be his sense of humor, his smile, his twinkly eyes, or the whole "man of God" glow he wears...but he is pretty awesome to me.
Low Points:
*Not enough sleep! lol
*The week went by too stinkin' fast!
Family is what's important. The best investment you will ever make, the great joy you will ever partake of, the sweetest memories come from TIME SPENT WITH FAMILY!!!
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