It's 11 o'clock. Do you know where your --

--wait a minute. That doesn't make sense.

It is 11 o'clock. 11:57 to be exact. And I would give just about anything to be asleep right now but that is not the case. So, I blog.

(When did "blog" become a verb? Odd.)

Every now and then I go back and re-read my blog entries. I don't know if that makes me weird or not. Sometimes I cringe, most times I wonder why anyone would bother reading them in the first place.

Tonight I read back through the first of the year, when Dad started to fail so quickly, and I can't believe that it's over. I remember feeling at the time that it would never be over, and experiencing the guilt that came along with knowing what the cost of "relief" would be. The work and the grief of those times was all-encompassing and seemed to stretch both forward and back in time, like that was how life always was and would be. I remember believing -- really, truly believing -- that there would never be an end, that life would reside in that hard, relentless place forever. It was awful.

So yes, the last three years really have been tremendously hard; I would wish them on no one. I'm (mostly) proud of what we did for my parents and while hindsight can allow me to wish that we would have done more, I'm really not sure that we could have. We did our best and we loved them, and there isn't much more to offer after that. There are still images of these times that are burned in my head and my heart that I wish would go away. I don't think they ever will. But it's getting so much easier to call up the pictures of them when they were younger and stronger and smiling, and I'm glad about that.

These days we seem so caught up in getting, well -- caught up. We're three years behind so there's a lot of catching up to do. It's tiring and while sometimes there are little victories it doesn't feel all that fulfilling. I don't want to look back in 10 years and not be able to remember what Sara was doing this summer because I was too busy cleaning out closets and painting bedrooms and trying to figure out how to have a life.

So, I guess that's the upside to the blog: it will do the remembering for me. Wonder what I'll be reading about then? I better get to work being more interesting. Now that would be an undertaking. It makes me tired just thinking about it.

12:16. Monday morning. Patients to see in just 8 hours. Then what? Guess I'll have to check back in 10 years and find out...

Success, redefined

Used to be I thought about success in terms of money or status or influence, things like that. My oh my how times have changed.

I would call today a successful day. Here's why:


I didn't run out of shampoo in the shower.

I got to sit at the table and enjoy my coffee for five minutes before I left for work.

I made it to work before the first patient arrived.

I completed three of seven items on my work to-do list.

I squeezed in an inconvenient errand on the way home from work.

I got home in time to have lunch before 2:00pm.

Sara and I went to the post office and she didn't try to grab an envelope, label, pen, stamp or package even once.

After that we made a super-brief stop (because success starts with reasonable expectations) at Cord and I only had to say "no" 6-8 times. Seriously -- that's big.

I decided to go for it and tagged a grocery trip on to the end of this little outing. Only one brief skirmish, with a major meltdown averted by introducing the fine art of paper ripping. Good times, Mama! Thank God for the grocery circular left in the cart.

Sara went for toddler-of-the-year and sat contentedly in her car seat while I unloaded the car. Thank God for Baby Einstein.

--Yes folks, you read it right: this was an entire afternoon of errands with no major fallout. HUGE!--

The Bear spent an hour or so entertaining herself in her room while I worked in the kitchen. No broken toys or bones. Thank God for Elmo.

I got to make dinner & start another meal for later this week without the customary weeping, wailing, and begging for attention that usually accompanies week-night meal prep. What?!?!

Ah, yes Sara was indeed completely naked when I went back to retrieve her. Every toy, book, item in the dirty clothes basket, her diaper, and small article of clothing she could pry out of the dresser was strewn throughout the room. Clean up was only marginally unpleasant. Thank God, it's a small room.

Also of note: No pee or poo on the floor. (Naked, remember?) Big girl, Sara B! Thank God she had already pooed today.

Dinner was served and Sara and I actually started & finished together. I even got to do the dishes, make a plate for Papa, and put the leftovers away while she waited patiently in her chair. Get out!!!

We breezed through bathtime and didn't scream through the diaper/pajama dance.

Lots of hugs before bed.

Minimal screwing around in bed.

Mama was in her jams and off duty by 8:00.

Success indeed.

But boy are we gonna be screwed tomorrow...

The face that launched a thousand JPEGs

I added a few more vacation pictures of my favorite 19-month-old over at her blog.

(Of course I did.)

Good times were had by all

We made a safe return home from one of the more enjoyable trips I've taken in a long, long time. Oregon? Well, it's beautiful. Rob and I are already talking about our next trip out there. Really a beautiful place, with deserts and mountains and coastline, not to mention plenty of roadside berry farmers selling their fabulous fruits. Lots of wineries, too, if you like that sort of thing (I wish we did but, alas, not so much). And friendly people to boot. We loved it.

Here are just a very few of the many many (many) pictures I took. Can't wait to go back.



The Pacific coast, near Cannon Beach in OR




Nana, Gramp, and the Bear. I think maybe they were having a good time.




Papa and the Bear conquer the Pacific. (It was the first visit for both of them.)




Happy girl, enjoying the rose garden in Portland's amazing Washington Park.




Sandy baby = good times were had by all.

what's new

so i have thought about posting a few times but never seemed to have anything to say. maybe this isn't all that interesting, but it's what's happening at 6249 these days:

• took a van load of hats, coats, and dresses to the vintage store. sold about 10% of it. oh, well. at this point the value to me is not in the money made but the space freed. let me tell you -- i am ALL about the liberation of space around here.

• bought a new minivan. no more pre-commute tire refills, grinding brakes, leaking washer fluid resevoirs, broken hatch levers... you name it, we battled it. now we just have to get rid of the thing.

• pulled up carpet in the dining room. good times. well, good times for rob -- i was outside with sara, playing in the sprinkler.

• wading through some changes at work. was approached about taking on some new responsibilities, which i'll be assuming at the end of the month. now i'm wondering if i want to consider taking it another step. lots of factors at play: money (duh), time lost to the job, time taken from home, the fallout (good and/or bad) for rob. i have more thinking to do and some proposals to make. we'll see. it could be good. it could be nothing. time will tell.

• been watching the garden go crazy. we had our first fruits last night: green beans. mmm-mmm-good! i'm hoping i don't miss the first tomatoes, but will get over it if i do. (but i really hope i don't.)

• the architect comes tomorrow. i am feeling both excitement and anxiety... the house is SUCH a disaster, i fear he's going to look at us and say "are you kidding me?" plus, it's a mess and i hate having people see our mess. but there's not much i can do about it at this point, right?

• will be leaving for the great northwest in a couple of days. i'm sure it will be fun and exhausting and stressful and relaxing. i've never been to this part of the country and expect it to be beautiful. (the four days at the resort/spa doesn't hurt, either.) i remember making our flight reservations one afternoon last winter, sitting with dad while he slept in his bed. it was during the big winter storm, i think. it seemed like a long time to wait back then, but now it seems like a blink.

life has changed a lot since then, no? good change and bad. wish we could have had the good without the bad, but things seldom work out that way.

man, do i miss them.

word geek

i run pretty hot & cold when it comes to pursuing photography. i've taken classes, done some reading, messed with photoshop. for whatever reason i get overwhelmed by the technical stuff -- apertures and fast lenses (a fast lens?) and choosing the right ISO and anticipating the need for exposure compensation and... well pretty soon, i just figure why bother. i mean if i'm going to do it i want to do it right -- no cheating by using the auto mode -- and if it's not all exactly right then you get crappy shots. and oh yes, oh yes: for me there have been crappy shots aplenty.

but i persevere. elaine and i are taking an online course on "available light photography." appealing to me for lots of reasons that are not all that exciting so i shan't elaborate. one of the requirements of the course is a light reflector but of course i go into overdrive. which one? how big? silver or gold? there must be a difference or they wouldn't make them in silver and gold so i have to pick the best one!

my googling took me to shutterbug.com. helpful site, actually. but what really got me going, convinced me that i just HAD to keep working at this photography thing, was one little word: chiaroscuro.

what is that, you ask? well, i didn't know either. and i didn't care. i found the word so appealing that i decided i had to learn what it meant and how to apply it. crappy shots be damned! but of course i wouldn't have crappy shots any more once i understood the mystery of chiaroscuro.

word geek. that's me.

oh, and for those who are equally charmed? here you go (courtesy of dictionary.com):

chi·a·ro·scu·ro /kiˌɑrəˈskyʊəroʊ/
–noun, plural -ros.
1. the distribution of light and shade in a picture.
2. Painting. the use of deep variations in and subtle gradations of light and shade, esp. to enhance the delineation of character and for general dramatic effect: Rembrandt is a master of chiaroscuro.

lovely, no?

The fruits of our labor

Hey! Look what we're doing!


Beans
Front patch

Pumpkins

Tomatoes * Sara, pointing out the zucchini

Magnificent women: Elaine #1

I love my aunt. She is funny, normal, nearly deaf, totally no-nonsense and a little kooky. She was probably the person my Mom was closest to on Dad's side of the family, and because they had daughters that were the same age (within two days!) who were best buddies all through childhood, they got to know each other pretty well. Aunt Elaine was there when Mom died, and a few minutes later whispered into my ear "you made her world." I carry that with me to this day, never really believing it's true but selfishly hoping I made her world a little happier.

And she was here, every weekend for I don't remember how long, to help us take care of Dad when things got bad. She sat with him for hours, and helped us watch Sara, and loaned us her car for a month, and always brought kindness and laughter and rest with her -- she somehow came and absorbed up some of the ickiness of life so we didn't have to manage it all by ourselves. She saw how hard it was and didn't judge or henpeck, or tell us what we ought to do; she just jumped in and did and never asked for or expected anything in return.

It's a lot to ask of one person, to fill the void that two have left behind. And though I'll never actually ask that of her I secretly hope for it, for her to remind me who my parents were, and what they would say or do or think about the things that matter in my life.

Lucky me, Aunt Elaine somehow manages to do just that. Not in the easy way that would sound preachy or artificial, but with ease and authenticity. She taught me that baby oil can help get that crusty junk off Sara's face when she has a cold, and treats her like her own grandchild rather than just her neice's daughter. She shows me the things that seasoned moms know but doesn't offer unsolicited advice or patronize me when I seem clueless. I think of her as Sara's Aunt Nonny, and have come so close to asking her if we can call her that but for some reason haven't brought myself to do it. I think it's because I'm afraid she'll think it's silly, or maybe it's because I'm afraid I'll cry. Beats me.

Elaine gets it just right, and she'll never know how much it means to me. Even if I tried to tell her, she would never really know.

Yep, she is definitely one of my favorites.

Mother/Child - Child/Mother

I have nothing new to offer about the many facets of motherhood. That being said, here's my latest "discovery."

I don't know why it is but I can't seem to shake the feeling I had when I was about 18 years old. You know -- feeling very grown up but at the same time being utterly clueless and hopelessly in need of parenting. Maybe that was just me but somehow I imagine it was true of many people to some degree or another.

The thing is, I'm 36 and feeling not nearly grown-up enough and I have no parents. (Maybe this is also true of many people to some degree or another.)

I learn more and more about myself every day that I spend with Sara. There are moments that feel so incredibly familiar and I realize that they evoke some kind of memory or connection that I shared with Mom. It's almost like she's there. Last night Sara threw her arms (those soft, squishy, skinny little toddler arms) around my neck and hugged me so tight and I felt so connected to my mother and my daughter at the same time that there were tears coming down my face that I couldn't have stopped had I wanted them to. But as wonderfully familiar as that moment felt, I'm convinced that I was actually feeling it as my Mom did. And it was... great.

Of course for every great moment there is the opposite. (Of course there is.) Tonight it came when I let both her and me get too tired, too cranky, too sickly-feeling and we both fell apart. She cried and screamed and squirmed (wet in the tub, natch) and I yelled and smacked her hand and immediately felt that nauseating remorse that reminds me that I'mjustthisclose to becoming one of Those People that you see on the 11 o'clock news with a horror story about shaken babies and deadbeat mothers who ought to rot in jail. And no amount of apologizing or consoling or asking her and God for forgiveness can unring that bell. It's icky.

What it all comes down to is this: I'm basically the same poseur I was 16 years ago. I like to play grown-up but the fact of the matter is I still need my Mom. Thing is, I've got this sweet little girl who needs me to be the Mom and I really don't want to blow it.

Time to grow up for real, eh? Yipes. How the heck am I supposed to do that?

Ha-PEEE

Everybody has that thing inside of them that makes them... I don't know. Happy. Or ha-PEEE, as Sara would say. (I think her word is more authentic if you want to know the truth.)

Singing is what makes me happy. I don't do it enough and I miss it. It's that thing that connects with me somehow, that takes words and makes them alive -- not just spoken once and lost forever but living and breathing and moving forever. And it doesn't matter what I'm singing as long as it resonates for me. There is the same joy in a 500-year-old sacred motet as there is in a Dixie Chicks hit from 1998. I love that.

What makes me even happier is that Sara seems to love singing, or at least music, too. If the TV is on she can toddle around for hours paying no attention at all but as soon as there is music she stops dead in her tracks. Rob insists that there there is a music video on CMT (yes people, that is indeed Country Music Television) that mesmerizes her. And lately I have ressurected our tradition of listening to music and singing before she goes to bed at night.

It's the sweetest thing. She can be a terrible crank but as soon as I start the music she settles. Whenever there is a pause between songs she stops and listens, then says in this quiet little voice "moh." Sure enough another song starts and she begins to clap, saying "ha-PEEE, ha-PEEE.'

Oh, Bear. You make your Mama so ha-PEEE too.

My dirty little secret

I passed a mother and her daughter in our waiting room this morning. The child has a syndrome of one sort or another, leaving her distorted and limp and broken in so many ways.

And here's the icky part: As I passed them, I thought to myself "I'm so glad I don't have a child like that."

I hate that. I am ashamed of it. Because I know that as much as I love my daughter, who is bright and strong and beautiful, that mother loves her daughter -- and maybe even more, although I can't imagine how. Then I remember that two of my dearest friends had, and sadly lost, a child who might have been equally "broken," and I cringe to think that I would have felt the same way about her. I don't think I would have. I pray that I wouldn't have. (I hate that I might have.)

My only redemption, small and pitiful as it is, is remembering that when I see these children face-to-face, and I talk with their families and come to understand their lives just a little bit better, that feeling goes away and is fully replaced with compassion. Too many times I have to explain to a mother why yet another piece of her child is broken beyond repair, and that's when I wish I had elected to be a house painter or grocery bagger or any other job that isn't capable of hurting somebody. But then sometimes, when I'm lucky, I get to make a child's life just a little bit better or just a little more hopeful. And that's what makes everything else worth it.

I don't know what I would do if I had a child who was so physically and mentally impaired. I guess in the long run, I would love it and the rest would take care of itself. Still, I hope I never have to find out. God forgive me for not being a stronger person than that.

One mystery solved

Among the vast unknowns about my child, this much is clear:

She twists the top off the Oreo, eats the middle, then asks for "moh!.......... peece."

Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow

So our small but mighty community ("Church of the Living Room," as my brother calls it) came over today to plant the garden. All but the Beans, who were missed, pitched in to rake and dig and plant and water and pray. It was a lovely morning -- cool, sunny, relaxed -- just right all the way around I'd say.

Yes, it was nice not to have to face those 365 square feet on our own, and it was freeing to realize that it wouldn't be perfect (and that's OK). Yes, it was a joy to see the kids eager to help. Yes, it will be a long summer with lots of sweat and work and disappointments and surprises. And yes, it will all be worth it.

It would be easy to lose the lessons in the both the excitement and the trudgery. Now I'm not saying that there's deep meaning in everything we're doing (sometimes a weed is just a weed) but I think if we let it, this is something concrete that we can all latch onto as a starting point for the messier business of God, faith, doubt, learning, growing, trusting, accountability... Not just for the kids, either -- there's opportunity here for all of us to take something out of the experience.

At least I sure hope it works that way.

I'm really proud of us. This is probably the most demanding thing we've asked of ourselves and that's good. We need to demand more of ourselves and this should be a good exercise in discipline and stick-to-itiveness. A good thing for the kids to witness and to be a part of, too.

Rob just came in and said "Church made me so happy today."

Yep, I'd say that about sums it up.

Today has reminded me...

... why Advil is such a wonderful thing.

... why I tell myself every morning to go to bed earlier that night.

... that birth control really does have it's merits.

... that the to-do list is not ever really conquerable.

... to count to ten and pray to Jesus in the midst the latest intolerable kicking/screeching/i-won't-take-a-nap-and-you-can't-make-me tantrum.

... that even though my husband's driving really pisses me off, I love him anyway.

... that it's OK to have breakfast for dinner. Toaster waffles, anyone?

... why sometimes, I could really go for a nice cocktail. Or two.

The P word

"Productivity" is sort of a dirty word among us clinicians at work. I bristle whenever I hear it, mostly because it makes me feel devalued as a real-live person whose skills and talents are worth more than the numbers on the page might reveal. (I have to say I felt a little justified in this opinion when I attended a training course on our then-new computer system and learned that I, as a therapist, was lumped in with room space and equipment under the "resource" category. Very nice, eh?) And for the record, my productivity is more often than not at or above what is expected of me, so I'm not just whining about something I don't achieve.

But then I thought about how good it feels to be productive at home -- to get things done, to work on projects I enjoy, to feel a sense of accomplishment. It's relaxing, really.

I wonder if there is a way to bridge that disconnect. I doubt it. Unless they create a new category in the system for invaluable, insightful, compassionate, best-care, best-practice, highly-trained, committed "professional."

I'm not holding my breath.

Do you ever get that feeling?

Know how kids, at least kids of a certain age, seem to experience everything at full tilt? They have never been happier/sadder/more scared/more tired/angrier/in love with you than they are at that minute. Sometimes I love it. Other times (you can figure out which ones), I don't.

Do you ever still feel that way? I do.

I felt that way at church last Sunday, when I looked around at this room full of kids and adults and families and friends and felt so incredibly happy to be there. So enveloped. It was the best place to be right at that very minute. Everything was right.

And it's happened at work, when I have been overwhelmed by the kindness and goodness and generosity of the women that I work with. I believe we would do almost anything to help each other.

Sometimes it's utter helplessness. My cousin's family has been dealt three completely unrelated and equally unnerving medical blows over the course of the last few weeks. Two seemingly strong, healthy people are now looking at very scary situations. I sit by and know that there is nothing I can do to help, to make it better, to releive their fears. And I would do anything, if I just knew what.

Occasionally I feel invinicible. I went to the pool again today. Tried out my new Zoomers that I got for my birthday and I almost feel like I could go back again for more. I am convinced at this very minute that I can overcome everything -- even exercise.

And of course there are times when I feel overwhelmingly saddened by loss. It comes from nowhere and surrounds me. It takes my breath away. But what's odd is, even this is OK sometimes. I think the feeling of loss comes after a split second of feeling their presence -- like I could turn around and see them there. And that time is sweet, let me tell you.

I like these feelings. Maybe not the bad ones so much, but even those make me feel more human. I think I turned it all off for awhile because nothing felt very good and there didn't seem to be any promise that it would ever change. Now... Hey, I know life's not a free ride. It will get rough again. I hope I can remember to feel it though. It's just better somehow if you feel it.

Splish Splash

So, as anyone who reads this knows, I hate exercise. Hate it, loathe it, despise it, whatever. I even told this to a trainer once who then eyed me with a combination of such disbelief and disdain that I nearly knocked his block off. I guess it makes sense that he would react that way, but I was sort of surprised... my only real goal was for us to have a common understanding of the facts at hand, but it didn't work out that way. We didn't exactly "make friends."

But I digress.

In some twisted turn of fate, about the only form of exercise that I can tolerate [dare I say enjoy?] is swimming. I know, I know -- the mental picture has burned it's way into your brain and for that I am sorry. But the fact remains that swimming is the only thing that works for me. After Rob and I moved in with Dad we joined the Y (where I experienced the episode detailed above) and I eventually found my way to the pool where I actually grew into a routine of sorts. As Dad declined the routine went away and brownies and popcorn and country breakfasts crept in. Ah, the double whammy of death and weight gain. Doesn't seem fair, does it?

I've been ramping myself up to restart.... anything. Exercise, drinking water, eating better, taking my Glucophage, anything. I finally opted for exercise as it seems the most pro-active and is concrete enough to not totally overwhelm me. I went to the Lands End site and got a new suit and decided once it arrived I'd hit the pool, gawkers be damned.

D-Day was today.

I coached myself all morning: You've GOT to do this. The alternative is abysmal. It's not an option to skip (and my college friends can attest to my skipping prowess). It doesn't matter how you look or what other people think, this is what you need to do for yourself and Rob and Sara and any future kids you might want. JUST GO AND DO IT ALREADY.

So, I did. We did -- Rob, Sara and I all landed at the Y and I was ready to go. Bring on the pool! Screw the looks of disgust! Never mind that this is just a drop in the bucket! I'm ready!!!

And that's when I noticed the TV cameras.

No joke. F*&%#$^ TV cameras! And they've remodeled, so the pool area is now open to the sign-in desk, the lobby area, and the Wellness Center, so my ginormous sorry ass is displayed for the whole world to see. Well, at least to everyone at the Y. There was no dodging it, none at all.

But I trudged on. I put on the suit, grabbed my goggles, donned my flip-flops, and took that long dreaded walk to the display case known as the Indoor Pool. I did my laps, made a dash for my towel, and got the H out of there.

God love me, I did it.

Next time though, if I see TV cameras? I'm outta there.

Waves

They say it comes over you in waves, and They're right.



(Some day I think I would like to meet They. Or maybe not.)



It comes over me when I see Sara riding the rocking horse that Dad gave her. He never got to see her play on it. It comes over me as I go through the stacks and stacks of Medicare envelopes, the ones he never bothered to open because they always said "This Is Not A Bill." It comes over me when I find the little bag of Oreos we kept in his room, in case he wanted one. The last thing he ever ate was an Oreo. It comes over me when I say prayers with Sara at night and see over the top of her head the picture of him and me dancing at my wedding, my favorite picture of him in the world. It comes over me when we pray to Dahd to please tell Bamma and Bampa that we still love them and miss them. It comes over me when out of nowhere I imagine the two of them lying there side by side, forever in that small silent darkness.



It came over me when I saw this picture, the last one he ever took, one of only two from Christmas Day.














Yep, waves.

Civics lesson

I just sent a letter to my senator - no, not kidding - asking him to denouce the mindless, mean-spirited, and generally asinine comments made by Ann Coulter eariler this month.

What a moron. I was embarrassed as a woman and as a conservative and as a person in general.

Icky. Icky, icky, icky.

Sara-Speak

I thought I was too old to learn a new language but what do you know...


Pete = Pete (and any other cute, furry, four-legged creature)
Kitty = Pete (and any other cute, furry, four-legged creature)
Gahk = Sock. And sometimes "shoe."
Dahd = God.
Uhnkuh = Uncle C.J.
Eeyah = Sara
Ansee = Aunt Nancy
Peece = Please
Open = Do whatever it is that you do to this thing that I can't do by myself yet.
Moh = More
Kakah = Cracker
Kookey = Cookie
Neenah = Banana
Ahhhdaaahhhhhnnnnuh = All done
Hiya = Hi
Aymeh = Amen
Beebeebeebeebeebeebeeb = I'm really tired
Up, Eat, Mama, and Papa = um... Up, Eat, Mama, and Papa


So OK, maybe it's not rocket science. But it's music to this Mama's ears.