I went to a kid party over the weekend. I didn't really want to go because the hosting family lives down the street from us. They are your perfect family. Three boys. Slender, sexy mom. Good looking dad with the family dog to boot. They drive a mini-van and a SUV. And this was going to be a pool party at our neighborhood club house.
Now, I knew even though Passionfruit didn't that I would be required to get in the pool. I'm not obese, at least not in my mind, but I am overweight. I've seen this neighbor at the pool, and she wears bikinis. She looks good in them too. I'm a beached whale in comparison. So you can already see where my mind is taking me.
Well, we went. The kids had a great time. Sexy neighbor didn't wear a bathing suit and didn't get in the water. How gracious is that? Meow. However Sexy neighbor was wearing a cute pair of hip huggers, a green halter top, and these sexy little strappy sandals with just a touch of a heel. Her hair was all fluffed up and looked nice without being tedious. I'd say the chick is about 5 to 6 years older than me.
At one point one of my girls needed to go to the potty. We went and flushed the toilet. The water in the bowl kept rising and rising. I open the door in hopes of catching my darling's eye. No such luck. No, in fact the only person who noticed me was Sexy neighbor. Sexy neighbor comes in looks the situation over; grabs a plunger and plunges that toilet until it goes down. I'm standing there watching this woman in these impossibly cute, sexy sandals, a coke can in her hand plunging the hell out of the toilet, and I realize that I am not only matronly but inept.
I'm suddenly plunged back into the past. I'm a senior in high school and Eric Johnson is telling me that I'm the kinda of girl guys want to marry-- not date! I think it's really cool that this guy I've known since third grade is trying to console me and make me feel better. But really deep down does any woman really only want to be a matron? I remember my dad trying to console me, too. His line was every man wants a lady in the parlor and a whore in bed. Hmmmm. Makes ya think, doesn't it.
Well, one thing I know, I will never be able to make plunging a toilet look sexy. I guess I will continue to live my life as a matronly woman. I apparently was matronly even in high school. But inside I think I'll still be yearning to be just a tad bit sexy to the opposite sex.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Goose tape! No, No duck tape!
Recently a co-worker, who is a mother of two girls, told me about the public school programs that your children are expect to participate to the fullest level. These are the science fair projects and invention project. Apparently they alternate between the two events every year.
Well I thought the science fair sounded like a doable thing but I really bulked at the thought of forcing children to invent something. I remembered fifth grade where we were forced to write poetry. Seems stupid to me because not everyone is gifted in the language arts. I mean poetry is art. You need a muse! I think invention is along the same line. To invent one must be creative. Not everyone is creative.
Well, yesterday morning Storyteller made me rethink my hesitation about the invention event. We recently watched the movie, Mouse Hunt with Nathan Lane and Lee Evans. Storyteller asked me what we would do if our mouse traps were broken. This is Sunday morning. I don't do well on Sunday mornings. I'm getting all psyched about getting to church on time because our priest is a frustrated teacher. He demands that people be on time.
But I digress. So Storyteller then goes into this very involved idea she has for a mouse trap. It sounds a little messy at first. At first she wants to use glue to catch the mouse. Something about a lid with glue. I guess she thought it would walk through the glue to get to the bait and then get stuck. So when I called her on the messiness of her idea and that I didn't think a mouse would walk through a glue pond, she re-evaluated and re-worked her invention. Instead of glue it was going to be goose tape! Passionfruit looked at me. I looked at Passionfruit. Neither of us are very clear with what goose tape is. I can only imagine she meant duct tape. Storyteller sees the confusion running across our faces and bursts out with, "Not goose tape! Duck tape! Duck tape!"
Later that day Passionfruit and I were trying to remember what Storyteller had said that had sent us into a laughing fit. We couldn't remember for the life of us. Finally while driving past the Duck pond at the local university we saw a flock of geese and at the same time Passionfruit and I said, "Goose tape!" Which of course sent us into laughter again. We had a nice Sunday, which is pretty significant because normally they aren't too fun.
Well I thought the science fair sounded like a doable thing but I really bulked at the thought of forcing children to invent something. I remembered fifth grade where we were forced to write poetry. Seems stupid to me because not everyone is gifted in the language arts. I mean poetry is art. You need a muse! I think invention is along the same line. To invent one must be creative. Not everyone is creative.
Well, yesterday morning Storyteller made me rethink my hesitation about the invention event. We recently watched the movie, Mouse Hunt with Nathan Lane and Lee Evans. Storyteller asked me what we would do if our mouse traps were broken. This is Sunday morning. I don't do well on Sunday mornings. I'm getting all psyched about getting to church on time because our priest is a frustrated teacher. He demands that people be on time.
But I digress. So Storyteller then goes into this very involved idea she has for a mouse trap. It sounds a little messy at first. At first she wants to use glue to catch the mouse. Something about a lid with glue. I guess she thought it would walk through the glue to get to the bait and then get stuck. So when I called her on the messiness of her idea and that I didn't think a mouse would walk through a glue pond, she re-evaluated and re-worked her invention. Instead of glue it was going to be goose tape! Passionfruit looked at me. I looked at Passionfruit. Neither of us are very clear with what goose tape is. I can only imagine she meant duct tape. Storyteller sees the confusion running across our faces and bursts out with, "Not goose tape! Duck tape! Duck tape!"
Later that day Passionfruit and I were trying to remember what Storyteller had said that had sent us into a laughing fit. We couldn't remember for the life of us. Finally while driving past the Duck pond at the local university we saw a flock of geese and at the same time Passionfruit and I said, "Goose tape!" Which of course sent us into laughter again. We had a nice Sunday, which is pretty significant because normally they aren't too fun.
Under the rainbow
Remember when you learned that there really wasn't an end to the rainbow. Probably something you learned in elementary school. That it was just an illusion that the rainbow ended somewhere? Well, Friday evening, the rainbow ended in my backyard!
Passionfruit came home from work. I was getting dinner ready. He says, "I'm watering the yard." I look out and say, "Okay." What I saw was lots of wind blowing at the trees and water spraying everywhere. Passionfruit quickly realized that I didn't realize that it was raining. So he drew my attention to the backyard again. The sun was shining. Wind was blowing. It was raining pretty good. Then I looked up and saw the rainbow. I always follow the arc of the rainbow looking for the end. After years of looking I finally found the end! I was thrilled! I was excited! I was mystified! There was the end of the rainbow in my backyard. It sat on top of my grass just a few feet from my willow trees.
I found a very wordy explanation of rainbows. I don't have time to read all of it but I didn't find anything saying that the end of the rainbow is impossible. In fact one of the paragraphs led me to believe that the end is possible under certain conditions which don't often get met.
Then I did a little research looking for information on the end of the rainbow and discovered that at least 30 other people have seen the end of the rainbow, too. Most everyone who experienced this found great joy. Some even felt a spiritual connection-- like they were blessed.
Passionfruit came home from work. I was getting dinner ready. He says, "I'm watering the yard." I look out and say, "Okay." What I saw was lots of wind blowing at the trees and water spraying everywhere. Passionfruit quickly realized that I didn't realize that it was raining. So he drew my attention to the backyard again. The sun was shining. Wind was blowing. It was raining pretty good. Then I looked up and saw the rainbow. I always follow the arc of the rainbow looking for the end. After years of looking I finally found the end! I was thrilled! I was excited! I was mystified! There was the end of the rainbow in my backyard. It sat on top of my grass just a few feet from my willow trees.
I found a very wordy explanation of rainbows. I don't have time to read all of it but I didn't find anything saying that the end of the rainbow is impossible. In fact one of the paragraphs led me to believe that the end is possible under certain conditions which don't often get met.
Then I did a little research looking for information on the end of the rainbow and discovered that at least 30 other people have seen the end of the rainbow, too. Most everyone who experienced this found great joy. Some even felt a spiritual connection-- like they were blessed.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
A new year
Classes are back in session. We have a new crop of students. The vast majority of them seem so young. They all are so green like the grass that is finally coming back because we've had a few days of rain. The field I walk through no longer crunches under foot; nor does it look mostly yellow. And in an odd way the students are fresh and green, too.
Some of them walk through campus with a refreshing sense of hope and excitement. They are excited to be there and they are hoping that this moves them forward to a better future. The anticipation is palpable from these young people. I walk across the campus, and I can feel, actually feel this anticipation and excite. It's wonderful to feel this atmosphere. It reminds me of my first walk through a campus as a freshman. I was eager, excited and ready to learn.
All too soon these very same students will have experiences that define their time with us. Some of them will find their niche in this part of their life. They'll discover kindred spirits and learn that they weren't so odd after all. Others will find the process of learning a drudge. They'll think nothing has changed in their lives. Professors react to them the same way that high school teachers reacted to them. Classmates will react to them the same way as they did all through school. Never once will it occur to them that perhaps it is all in their perception and attitude that things remain the same. Still others will find that they are good students and can excel beyond their imagination. These are the folks that will go far in their lives because they know what it is like to work hard to get what you want. Hard work doesn't phase them. By Spring semester we just may get some of those brightly burning stars from the previous high school year that went to large universities. They got to these institutions with fantastic reputations only to learn that professors there don't hold their hands and stroke their egos. They discover that they are one of many fish and are no longer the big fish. They can't cope with the anonymity. They come to us seeking the caring hand of a compassionate professor. They'll usually find it. Eventually their immaturity passes, and they are able to cope without the ego massages.
Yes, it's a new academic year. It is so fresh. I love this time. A time of possibilities. A time of hope.
Some of them walk through campus with a refreshing sense of hope and excitement. They are excited to be there and they are hoping that this moves them forward to a better future. The anticipation is palpable from these young people. I walk across the campus, and I can feel, actually feel this anticipation and excite. It's wonderful to feel this atmosphere. It reminds me of my first walk through a campus as a freshman. I was eager, excited and ready to learn.
All too soon these very same students will have experiences that define their time with us. Some of them will find their niche in this part of their life. They'll discover kindred spirits and learn that they weren't so odd after all. Others will find the process of learning a drudge. They'll think nothing has changed in their lives. Professors react to them the same way that high school teachers reacted to them. Classmates will react to them the same way as they did all through school. Never once will it occur to them that perhaps it is all in their perception and attitude that things remain the same. Still others will find that they are good students and can excel beyond their imagination. These are the folks that will go far in their lives because they know what it is like to work hard to get what you want. Hard work doesn't phase them. By Spring semester we just may get some of those brightly burning stars from the previous high school year that went to large universities. They got to these institutions with fantastic reputations only to learn that professors there don't hold their hands and stroke their egos. They discover that they are one of many fish and are no longer the big fish. They can't cope with the anonymity. They come to us seeking the caring hand of a compassionate professor. They'll usually find it. Eventually their immaturity passes, and they are able to cope without the ego massages.
Yes, it's a new academic year. It is so fresh. I love this time. A time of possibilities. A time of hope.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
First day of school
Tuesday was the first day of school for Drama Queen and Storyteller. The night before we went to the "Back to school" night. This is where we meet the teachers and the kids get to scope out the school.
Well, Monday night was nothing but chaos. It wasn't even organized chaos. You walk through the doors of the school. No one greeted you. No one directed you to where classes rooms are. It was a free-for-all. Also that school is huge. There are tons of kids!
Finally, we fine the classes rooms for 1st grade. We fine Drama Queen's room. She has Mrs. Sims. Mrs. Sims looks like she must be in her early 50s. Her voice indicates that she must have smoked for a portion of her life. It's that raspy throat sound smokers develop. But she is delightful and tons of older kids are coming to greet her.
Then we go hunting for the Kindergarten rooms. After looking at all of the rooms we find Storyteller's room. Her teacher is in her early to mid-40s and is a mother of 3. She looks like the girl next-door. Straight, long, blond hair hangs down her back. Her name is Mrs. Trotter. She seems very pleasant.
On Tuesday morning we deliver our darlings to the school. Passionfruit decided to join us, too. We take Drama Queen to her class and give her a hug and a kiss good-bye. She runs to her desk and never looks back. Now we're off to Storyteller's room. She too goes without any hesitation. I leave the school feeling confident that all will go well.
Fast-forward to 3:00PM. I'm standing outside with a bunch of other parents. I don't realize that we can actually go in. It's now 3:20 kids are pouring out of the school. Soon the oldest kids in school are coming out. Drama Queen still hasn't appeared. I make my way in as I battle the traffic coming out. I feel like a Salmon swimming upstream battling a fierce current. I'm scanning all the little faces. As I get through the first set of doors I see Drama Queen standing by the second pair of doors bawling her eyes out! Now I'm terrified. Did some one hurt my baby? If so they better watch out! I race to DQ and scoop her up. I ask her what's wrong. It takes a while before DQ composes herself to tell me that she was afraid I wasn't going to come and get her.
Now I'm truly devastated. I caused her anguish! I'm the cause of the tears. I also suddenly realized that DQ was being a very, very good girl. I've always told the girls that they aren't to ever leave a building without me. DQ wasn't about to go out of the building without me! So I sit her down and apologize to her. I explained that there were tons of parents and grandparents outside. I thought we weren't allowed to go in. I explain to her that all of this is new to her and me. I told her we were both learning together and that it was going to take sometime to get a routine down.
By this time, I realize that the all day Kindergarten class still hasn't left the building. I take DQ to go find out what's happening with that class. Storyteller sees us and races out of the classroom. I told her she needed to go back and tell her teacher that I am here.
Then we head out of the building. Storyteller starts telling me that she is thirsty and hasn't had a drink all day. I find this hard to believe because they have a water fountain right there in the classroom. Anyway we have to go back to pick-up MI because she was still sleeping when I went to go get her earlier.
When we arrived at the lab Storyteller melts down big time. I try the hold out in the minivan. We're out there for 15, maybe 20 minutes. I'm getting hot and tired. I got worried that we all might end up sick if we stay out in the minivan even with the door open in 100+ weather. So I pick her up and cart her into the lab. She fights me tooth and nail. Again I put her in the hold and that lasts another 30 min. After along while Storyteller settles down. We move on to pick-up MI. Storyteller finds the water fountain and stays there the whole time I'm collecting MI. So I wonder whether the poor child actually got anything to drink.
By the time we are ready to leave the lab, I am so done in I can barely control my temper. I explain to the girls that they best do exactly what I ask them and do it immediately. Getting them back into the car is another lesson in frustration. I lost my temper. But I controlled it and only took it out on the minivan. It now has a large dent in the fender from where my fist struck.
Later that evening Storyteller told someone that she wanted to go back to Trinity. My poor baby. Storyteller is finding it hard to adjust to the huge school. There is a crush of kids and the building itself is huge.
Well, Monday night was nothing but chaos. It wasn't even organized chaos. You walk through the doors of the school. No one greeted you. No one directed you to where classes rooms are. It was a free-for-all. Also that school is huge. There are tons of kids!
Finally, we fine the classes rooms for 1st grade. We fine Drama Queen's room. She has Mrs. Sims. Mrs. Sims looks like she must be in her early 50s. Her voice indicates that she must have smoked for a portion of her life. It's that raspy throat sound smokers develop. But she is delightful and tons of older kids are coming to greet her.
Then we go hunting for the Kindergarten rooms. After looking at all of the rooms we find Storyteller's room. Her teacher is in her early to mid-40s and is a mother of 3. She looks like the girl next-door. Straight, long, blond hair hangs down her back. Her name is Mrs. Trotter. She seems very pleasant.
On Tuesday morning we deliver our darlings to the school. Passionfruit decided to join us, too. We take Drama Queen to her class and give her a hug and a kiss good-bye. She runs to her desk and never looks back. Now we're off to Storyteller's room. She too goes without any hesitation. I leave the school feeling confident that all will go well.
Fast-forward to 3:00PM. I'm standing outside with a bunch of other parents. I don't realize that we can actually go in. It's now 3:20 kids are pouring out of the school. Soon the oldest kids in school are coming out. Drama Queen still hasn't appeared. I make my way in as I battle the traffic coming out. I feel like a Salmon swimming upstream battling a fierce current. I'm scanning all the little faces. As I get through the first set of doors I see Drama Queen standing by the second pair of doors bawling her eyes out! Now I'm terrified. Did some one hurt my baby? If so they better watch out! I race to DQ and scoop her up. I ask her what's wrong. It takes a while before DQ composes herself to tell me that she was afraid I wasn't going to come and get her.
Now I'm truly devastated. I caused her anguish! I'm the cause of the tears. I also suddenly realized that DQ was being a very, very good girl. I've always told the girls that they aren't to ever leave a building without me. DQ wasn't about to go out of the building without me! So I sit her down and apologize to her. I explained that there were tons of parents and grandparents outside. I thought we weren't allowed to go in. I explain to her that all of this is new to her and me. I told her we were both learning together and that it was going to take sometime to get a routine down.
By this time, I realize that the all day Kindergarten class still hasn't left the building. I take DQ to go find out what's happening with that class. Storyteller sees us and races out of the classroom. I told her she needed to go back and tell her teacher that I am here.
Then we head out of the building. Storyteller starts telling me that she is thirsty and hasn't had a drink all day. I find this hard to believe because they have a water fountain right there in the classroom. Anyway we have to go back to pick-up MI because she was still sleeping when I went to go get her earlier.
When we arrived at the lab Storyteller melts down big time. I try the hold out in the minivan. We're out there for 15, maybe 20 minutes. I'm getting hot and tired. I got worried that we all might end up sick if we stay out in the minivan even with the door open in 100+ weather. So I pick her up and cart her into the lab. She fights me tooth and nail. Again I put her in the hold and that lasts another 30 min. After along while Storyteller settles down. We move on to pick-up MI. Storyteller finds the water fountain and stays there the whole time I'm collecting MI. So I wonder whether the poor child actually got anything to drink.
By the time we are ready to leave the lab, I am so done in I can barely control my temper. I explain to the girls that they best do exactly what I ask them and do it immediately. Getting them back into the car is another lesson in frustration. I lost my temper. But I controlled it and only took it out on the minivan. It now has a large dent in the fender from where my fist struck.
Later that evening Storyteller told someone that she wanted to go back to Trinity. My poor baby. Storyteller is finding it hard to adjust to the huge school. There is a crush of kids and the building itself is huge.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Storyteller
Yesterday we went to the local children's museum. I happen to love this museum. I think I enjoy it more than the kids. With three little ones, each with different tastes, we are soon seperated but occasionally we would reconnect with one or the other.
While Miss Independence and I were playing at the firestation exhibit, she calls out to Storyteller to come over. Storyteller sees the fire truck and races over. They climb on the truck for awhile and then head up the stairs to get to the pole but that is locked up. They slid down the slide. Storyteller leaps up from the mat and races to the pole. She proceeds to climb that pole from the ground up. Storyteller climbs and climbs. She makes it all the way up to the locked gate. I AM FLABBERGASTED!
When I was in junior high we were expected to climb a rope and ring a bell hung from the ceiling. Most of the guys were able to do this. They would race each other. We had two ropes. As far as us girls, several girls could climb 1/4 to 1/2 way up the rope. Maybe we had one or two girls that were able to climb all the way to the ceiling. I on the other hand had absolutely no skill, strength or desire to climb that rope. I tried a few times and could never make it a foot off the ground. Finally our coach got so frustrated he let me climb the rope using his hands. He'd put his hands around the rope and I would put my feet on his hands and pull myself up. I got as far as he could reach over his head. I don't remember how I got down. I probably just fell. Although, that sounds a little scary, maybe I just slid down and gave myself rope burn.
Now I've witnessed my child climb like a pro. I was so proud of her as she ascended. I don't know why that should surprise me for Storyteller often pick-ups close to her weight. She loves to pick-up her 30 pound baby sister. Storyteller is only 40 to 45 pounds herself. She'll even pick-up Drama Queen. DQ is 40 pounds.
Like I've said before Storyteller isn't fat-- she's dense. It's mostly all muscle.
While Miss Independence and I were playing at the firestation exhibit, she calls out to Storyteller to come over. Storyteller sees the fire truck and races over. They climb on the truck for awhile and then head up the stairs to get to the pole but that is locked up. They slid down the slide. Storyteller leaps up from the mat and races to the pole. She proceeds to climb that pole from the ground up. Storyteller climbs and climbs. She makes it all the way up to the locked gate. I AM FLABBERGASTED!
When I was in junior high we were expected to climb a rope and ring a bell hung from the ceiling. Most of the guys were able to do this. They would race each other. We had two ropes. As far as us girls, several girls could climb 1/4 to 1/2 way up the rope. Maybe we had one or two girls that were able to climb all the way to the ceiling. I on the other hand had absolutely no skill, strength or desire to climb that rope. I tried a few times and could never make it a foot off the ground. Finally our coach got so frustrated he let me climb the rope using his hands. He'd put his hands around the rope and I would put my feet on his hands and pull myself up. I got as far as he could reach over his head. I don't remember how I got down. I probably just fell. Although, that sounds a little scary, maybe I just slid down and gave myself rope burn.
Now I've witnessed my child climb like a pro. I was so proud of her as she ascended. I don't know why that should surprise me for Storyteller often pick-ups close to her weight. She loves to pick-up her 30 pound baby sister. Storyteller is only 40 to 45 pounds herself. She'll even pick-up Drama Queen. DQ is 40 pounds.
Like I've said before Storyteller isn't fat-- she's dense. It's mostly all muscle.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Making memories
Last night we took the girls on a long walk. We walked from our house to the local frozen custard parlor. Passionfruit guesstimated that it was one mile and one half. We started out a little after 7:00PM. We walked through our neighborhood. We took a short cut through the blocked off construction entrance for the housing addition. Most of our neighbors used this entrance as the primary entrance. I found this ironic since we live in a gated community. What's the point of the gates if your not going to use that entrance? I personally hate the gates but I didn't drive through that entrance. Passionfruit would from time to time and end up with flat tires frequently.
Well the walk to Rustie's was great. Storyteller froliced like a puppy. Unfortunately she paid the price for such abandon. A scraped knee. Drama Queen complained once about being too hot. That ended when I said we could go home and forget the custard. Miss Independence was a little trooper. She marched along holding my hand. Nary a whimper or complaint.
When we got to Rustie's the place was quiet, only one other couple was there and they already had the goods. As we ordered things started jumping. Passionfruit has a difficult time making his mind up. We sat down to await our treats. The line continued to build. Soon it was going out the door. Passionfruit looked at me and said we made it just in time.
Soon we realize that one concrete would have been enough for the three girls. I took the girls to the restroom for a bathroom break and a clean up. Passionfruit gathered up the cups, and was waiting for us. I looked at him and told him that if he wanted to carry them that was fine but expect no help from me.
Our walk took us past my high school. The marching band was there practicing. We made a detour to watch. There was this loud clicking sound. Passionfruit wanted to know what that was. I looked at him and said, "It sounds like a giant metronome to me." He gave me the look. This look is one I get when I tell him about my high school experience. I went to a large suburbian high school that was fairly wealthy. Passionfruit went to a rural high school that was small. His whole school population was less than my graduating class. My class was the first class in several years that was under 1000. We only had 976. While we're holding this conversation the girls keep creeping closer and closer to the parking lot where the band is practicing. The girls are enchanted.
When I call for them. Storyteller comes back with a gleem in her eyes. "I want to do that!" So perhaps I'll end up being a Band Booster afterall. Around here that consumes the whole family. You live, eat and breath band. Fundraisers, costume decisions, competitions, games, more fundraisers. I've watched my friends as they do this thing. I have no idea what to call the phenomenon-- other than mass mind control. My friend's son is not in band this year but she is still involved. She's on the sewing comittee. I have no talents like that. Perhaps, I will be viewed as non-valuable and only expected to help suds cars up at the bi-annual car wash.
As we start back to the house Passionfruit is freaking out about the time. I mean he's getting rather tense and grumpy. I walk up to him and I said, "Honey, you're looking at it wrong. We are making memories here. Hopefully, they'll be happy ones." Passionfruit looked at me and he said that he never even thought of that. It was exactly what he needed. He started calmming down.
Now at some point Miss Independence starts complaining that her legs hurt. She suffers so from charlie horses. I remember how painful they were. Unlike my mother I do tend to these pains. Usually I give her one children's Motrin. So I pick her up and carry her on my back the rest of the way home. Then she becomes aware of the stars. I don't know if she's ever seen stars before. She certainly seemed entranced by them. Storyteller when she sees Miss Independence on my back wants me to carry her. OH MY GOSH! That child is packed. She isn't fat but she is heavy. I mean I think she's all muscle. Drama Queen weighs as much as Storyteller but she's taller than Storyteller. So I denied her a ride.
All in all it was a good experience. The girls thought it was a long walk. But they enjoyed eating the custard. I just hope they remember this in a good way. What it taught me was we needed to walk more as a family. At one point Drama Queen told her daddy that she was a fast walker. He smiled and told her, "You ain't nothing like your Mommy. If she were alone she would already be to Rusties." Years back in 1998 and 1999 I got into walking. I walked every morning during the Spring and Summer and part of the Fall. We lived in a neighborhood at the time that had a 1 1/2 mile loop. I walked that loop twice in the mornings. It only took me 30 minutes to finish. I lost a lot of weight and that might be the reason why I got pregnant with Storyteller. Won't it be great if I got the girls into the walking thing? Although, they really don't need to loose weight I do.
Well the walk to Rustie's was great. Storyteller froliced like a puppy. Unfortunately she paid the price for such abandon. A scraped knee. Drama Queen complained once about being too hot. That ended when I said we could go home and forget the custard. Miss Independence was a little trooper. She marched along holding my hand. Nary a whimper or complaint.
When we got to Rustie's the place was quiet, only one other couple was there and they already had the goods. As we ordered things started jumping. Passionfruit has a difficult time making his mind up. We sat down to await our treats. The line continued to build. Soon it was going out the door. Passionfruit looked at me and said we made it just in time.
Soon we realize that one concrete would have been enough for the three girls. I took the girls to the restroom for a bathroom break and a clean up. Passionfruit gathered up the cups, and was waiting for us. I looked at him and told him that if he wanted to carry them that was fine but expect no help from me.
Our walk took us past my high school. The marching band was there practicing. We made a detour to watch. There was this loud clicking sound. Passionfruit wanted to know what that was. I looked at him and said, "It sounds like a giant metronome to me." He gave me the look. This look is one I get when I tell him about my high school experience. I went to a large suburbian high school that was fairly wealthy. Passionfruit went to a rural high school that was small. His whole school population was less than my graduating class. My class was the first class in several years that was under 1000. We only had 976. While we're holding this conversation the girls keep creeping closer and closer to the parking lot where the band is practicing. The girls are enchanted.
When I call for them. Storyteller comes back with a gleem in her eyes. "I want to do that!" So perhaps I'll end up being a Band Booster afterall. Around here that consumes the whole family. You live, eat and breath band. Fundraisers, costume decisions, competitions, games, more fundraisers. I've watched my friends as they do this thing. I have no idea what to call the phenomenon-- other than mass mind control. My friend's son is not in band this year but she is still involved. She's on the sewing comittee. I have no talents like that. Perhaps, I will be viewed as non-valuable and only expected to help suds cars up at the bi-annual car wash.
As we start back to the house Passionfruit is freaking out about the time. I mean he's getting rather tense and grumpy. I walk up to him and I said, "Honey, you're looking at it wrong. We are making memories here. Hopefully, they'll be happy ones." Passionfruit looked at me and he said that he never even thought of that. It was exactly what he needed. He started calmming down.
Now at some point Miss Independence starts complaining that her legs hurt. She suffers so from charlie horses. I remember how painful they were. Unlike my mother I do tend to these pains. Usually I give her one children's Motrin. So I pick her up and carry her on my back the rest of the way home. Then she becomes aware of the stars. I don't know if she's ever seen stars before. She certainly seemed entranced by them. Storyteller when she sees Miss Independence on my back wants me to carry her. OH MY GOSH! That child is packed. She isn't fat but she is heavy. I mean I think she's all muscle. Drama Queen weighs as much as Storyteller but she's taller than Storyteller. So I denied her a ride.
All in all it was a good experience. The girls thought it was a long walk. But they enjoyed eating the custard. I just hope they remember this in a good way. What it taught me was we needed to walk more as a family. At one point Drama Queen told her daddy that she was a fast walker. He smiled and told her, "You ain't nothing like your Mommy. If she were alone she would already be to Rusties." Years back in 1998 and 1999 I got into walking. I walked every morning during the Spring and Summer and part of the Fall. We lived in a neighborhood at the time that had a 1 1/2 mile loop. I walked that loop twice in the mornings. It only took me 30 minutes to finish. I lost a lot of weight and that might be the reason why I got pregnant with Storyteller. Won't it be great if I got the girls into the walking thing? Although, they really don't need to loose weight I do.
Friday, August 11, 2006
One year
Well, tomorrow it will be a year since my best friend died. How can I describe this year. It passed like any other year. I had good days and bad days. Happy days and sad days. But I have to say that there were many days that I would think of Alan Wormser. I've been so amazed how many times I would be struck by his death in this year.
Some situations just seem to bring on the tears and the memories. Several times this year I've had to drive to meetings and workshops. On the open interstate with nothing to do but drive and think. More times than not I would start thinking about Alan. Think about how I had a crush on him when I was a young teenager. Think about how we continued to be friends after he moved away. I remember Alan introducing me to the woman who would be his wife. I really liked Kerynn. She was really sweet. I remember that I was so glad Alan found someone that would be so good for him. Someone that didn't have a strange background.
Then I would be sent to the depths of remorse. Regret that somehow we lost contact with each other. Five years went by without contact. In that time he moved to the East coast. Kerynn passed away and then he passed away.
Death is so final. Not just for the individual it happens to but to the friends and family. In this year I learned and understand why people of the past spent a year in mourning. It's taken about a year to be able to think of Alan without breaking down and sobbing or hitting a blue funk.
So, Alan, my friend, I wish you well in the here after. I think of you once in a while. It doesn't hurt so much. I just hope you are at peace. God bless you.
Some situations just seem to bring on the tears and the memories. Several times this year I've had to drive to meetings and workshops. On the open interstate with nothing to do but drive and think. More times than not I would start thinking about Alan. Think about how I had a crush on him when I was a young teenager. Think about how we continued to be friends after he moved away. I remember Alan introducing me to the woman who would be his wife. I really liked Kerynn. She was really sweet. I remember that I was so glad Alan found someone that would be so good for him. Someone that didn't have a strange background.
Then I would be sent to the depths of remorse. Regret that somehow we lost contact with each other. Five years went by without contact. In that time he moved to the East coast. Kerynn passed away and then he passed away.
Death is so final. Not just for the individual it happens to but to the friends and family. In this year I learned and understand why people of the past spent a year in mourning. It's taken about a year to be able to think of Alan without breaking down and sobbing or hitting a blue funk.
So, Alan, my friend, I wish you well in the here after. I think of you once in a while. It doesn't hurt so much. I just hope you are at peace. God bless you.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Green vs Yellow, faint green and brown
When my mother-in-law visited the state that I've lived in for over 20 years, almost 30, she really had nothing good to say about it. She didn't like the lack of trees. She thought it was all very boring. Esther had lived in New Jersey most of her life. She liked the tall trees and the green grass. Esther liked gardening, too.
Well, I must confess that I don't like gardening. I despise house plants, and I like living in this semi-arid state. My parents come from back East and we would make these yearly trips to go visit grandparents. Once we crossed the Mississippi river the land would start getting lush. Even as we approached the Mississippi the land was getting lush. Looking out the windows all you could see was green. Green trees. Green grass. Green plants. Green. Green. Green. All that green was oppressive. As we travelled further East things closed in around us. We went through forests and the trees made canopies over our heads.
Then we got into Pittsburgh. Hills after hills sprouted up all around us. On the hills were buildings and houses perched on the edges. Everywhere you wanted to go was UP. To get to my grandfather's house you had to go up the hill. A very steep hill that my mother remembers riding sleighs down in the winter. My grandmother's house was right at the end of one hill. We went down that hill to get to the house. We only came from one direction only because the other direction the hill is so steep that our cars could never make it up the incline, and I can't imagine what the down hill ride might have been like. My father said that in the winter they would ride their sleighs down that hill and would have enough momentum to go half way up the next hill. They would ride the sleigh like a pendulum until the initial force had subsided.
Now this all sounds like great fun but we're talking about winter. We were always there in the summer. No matter when we went-- early Spring, early Summer, middle of Summer; late Summer-- there was always something green. No, wait, I mean everything was green. There was no variation to peoples yards. Here where I live things start changing in July. We always are in drought situations in the summer. We can always count on the grass to fade to a yellowish green. True there are those folks who spit on the waterring banns and their yards are that "beautiful green color". But I look at those yards and think how foolish and wasteful they are.
Today while I walked across campus to pick up Miss Independence I noticed the nice crunching noise under my feet. I started looking at the grass/weeds very closely. It was amazing. Some areas were a very pale yellow color; other places the grass was plain yellow, and as you got closer to the streets and sidewalks the grass got a little green around the edges. So much variation. So very interesting.
Oh, I do want to refute one impression my mother-in-law had of my state. We do have trees. Okay, they don't soar up to the sky; although, some cottonwood trees do. I think it's pretty amazing that we have trees at all. They may be small but they survive through two drought periods a year and high winds most the year. Amazing.
Well, I must confess that I don't like gardening. I despise house plants, and I like living in this semi-arid state. My parents come from back East and we would make these yearly trips to go visit grandparents. Once we crossed the Mississippi river the land would start getting lush. Even as we approached the Mississippi the land was getting lush. Looking out the windows all you could see was green. Green trees. Green grass. Green plants. Green. Green. Green. All that green was oppressive. As we travelled further East things closed in around us. We went through forests and the trees made canopies over our heads.
Then we got into Pittsburgh. Hills after hills sprouted up all around us. On the hills were buildings and houses perched on the edges. Everywhere you wanted to go was UP. To get to my grandfather's house you had to go up the hill. A very steep hill that my mother remembers riding sleighs down in the winter. My grandmother's house was right at the end of one hill. We went down that hill to get to the house. We only came from one direction only because the other direction the hill is so steep that our cars could never make it up the incline, and I can't imagine what the down hill ride might have been like. My father said that in the winter they would ride their sleighs down that hill and would have enough momentum to go half way up the next hill. They would ride the sleigh like a pendulum until the initial force had subsided.
Now this all sounds like great fun but we're talking about winter. We were always there in the summer. No matter when we went-- early Spring, early Summer, middle of Summer; late Summer-- there was always something green. No, wait, I mean everything was green. There was no variation to peoples yards. Here where I live things start changing in July. We always are in drought situations in the summer. We can always count on the grass to fade to a yellowish green. True there are those folks who spit on the waterring banns and their yards are that "beautiful green color". But I look at those yards and think how foolish and wasteful they are.
Today while I walked across campus to pick up Miss Independence I noticed the nice crunching noise under my feet. I started looking at the grass/weeds very closely. It was amazing. Some areas were a very pale yellow color; other places the grass was plain yellow, and as you got closer to the streets and sidewalks the grass got a little green around the edges. So much variation. So very interesting.
Oh, I do want to refute one impression my mother-in-law had of my state. We do have trees. Okay, they don't soar up to the sky; although, some cottonwood trees do. I think it's pretty amazing that we have trees at all. They may be small but they survive through two drought periods a year and high winds most the year. Amazing.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Married in red, wish you were dead
I heard "Married in red, wish you were dead" so often from my grandmother. Anytime my grandmother visited us or we visited her we would hear her say this phrase and tell the story of her wedding. It wasn't until I was a teenager that more of the story came out for me to ponder.
All my life I knew my grandmother had married in a burgundy colored suit. She married my grandfather in the 1920s. Even though they were called the roaring twenties things were tight for my grandmother and her family.
When it came time to marry, my grandmother chose to wear her newest suit. That suit just so happened to be a shade of red. A dark shade of red but never the less red. Her mother was appalled by this. Apparently my great grandmother was a Gibson girl. We have a photo of her and she looks exactly like Charles Dana Gibson drawings. She loved to be dressed well. She was a beautiful woman, too. Being mightily offend by the choice, my great grandmother apparently recited part of a Victorian saying about the colors one would wear to be married. Perhaps she said it over and over again. But my grandmother was a stubborn woman and would not back down.
So later, apparently my grandmother started to believe this. When I was a teenager my grandmother told me she wished she had listened to her mother. My grandmother truly began to believe that her life was messed up because of not wearing the proper color. I couldn't believe this because I had spent most of my life thinking that my grandmother found it amusing. When she spoke of that phrase in the past she was never mournful or bitter. Grandma just would tell us that that is what her mother thought of her choice.
I know that my grandmother had a hard life. She had five children. Her sister didn't have any. One time her sister asked my grandmother for my father since my grandmother had so many. I know that that caused a bit of a break in their relationship for awhile. Also my grandmother ended up having to support the family.
Back before anyone really knew anything about Alzheimer's my grandfather most likely had it. It started with him not bringing home his paychecks. Then after awhile he would not come home. Finally things climaxed to the point that my grandfather was admited to the state hospital. You know the state hospital, the insane assylum. My grandfather died at the age of 54. He couldn't remember his children and rarely remembered his wife. This devasted the family. I also know that my grandmother was sickly. I don't know exactly what ailed her but I know she was considered fragile. So these are the difficulties she dealt with throughout her life.
The woman I knew was admirable. She became a LPN at the age of 50. She learned to drive a car at an older age than most. I think it was around 50 or 60 years of age. After she retired from nursing she volunteered at the hospital. She made afghans, booties, hats and sweaters for patients. She made Rosaries for the missions. Most fascinating was her praying. My grandmother prayed at Noon every day of her life until she was taken down by the ravages of the very same disease her husband died of. No one and I mean no one ever interrupted her. The Infant of Prague was dear to her heart. She had a statue of him. And true to traditions she would change his vestments with the seasons. She was truly a dynamic person.
Perhaps the sorrow and bitterness I witnessed in my late teens and early twenties was the result of the Alzheimer's. Alzheimer's research suggests that people with the disease start displaying much earlier than we realize. Little things like the use of simpler grammar and syntax these are the things we don't notice at first. I know that the disease robbed our family of a very delightful woman. As the disease advanced my grandmother got mean. We all were so surprised. We couldn't believe that this sour, dour individual was the woman we all knew and loved.
After I got married I took Passionfruit to visit my grandmother. While we were visiting her, she looked at my husband and smiled her sweetest smile and asked him whether he had done is good deed for the day. Passionfruit was rather surprised by this and wasn't sure how to answer. I told him to go ahead and ask her what she wanted. What I failed to mention is my grandmother at this point couldn't recognize anyone and pretty much sat in her wheelchair doing nothing. I mean nothing. No interaction just sitting there. So when she asked that I was so happy because that was a common phrase my grandmother used throughout her life. Of course what she wanted was the boots to be removed from her feet. They were there to keep her from getting bedsores. Watching her like this was one of the saddest things in my life. We never went back and visited.
In 1998 my grandmother finally passed away. She was 97 years. My grandmother had out lived most of her friends and her generation. Her funeral was small-- only the next two generations were there. The third generation couldn't find the time to show up to their great grandmother's funeral. Sad.
All my life I knew my grandmother had married in a burgundy colored suit. She married my grandfather in the 1920s. Even though they were called the roaring twenties things were tight for my grandmother and her family.
When it came time to marry, my grandmother chose to wear her newest suit. That suit just so happened to be a shade of red. A dark shade of red but never the less red. Her mother was appalled by this. Apparently my great grandmother was a Gibson girl. We have a photo of her and she looks exactly like Charles Dana Gibson drawings. She loved to be dressed well. She was a beautiful woman, too. Being mightily offend by the choice, my great grandmother apparently recited part of a Victorian saying about the colors one would wear to be married. Perhaps she said it over and over again. But my grandmother was a stubborn woman and would not back down.
So later, apparently my grandmother started to believe this. When I was a teenager my grandmother told me she wished she had listened to her mother. My grandmother truly began to believe that her life was messed up because of not wearing the proper color. I couldn't believe this because I had spent most of my life thinking that my grandmother found it amusing. When she spoke of that phrase in the past she was never mournful or bitter. Grandma just would tell us that that is what her mother thought of her choice.
I know that my grandmother had a hard life. She had five children. Her sister didn't have any. One time her sister asked my grandmother for my father since my grandmother had so many. I know that that caused a bit of a break in their relationship for awhile. Also my grandmother ended up having to support the family.
Back before anyone really knew anything about Alzheimer's my grandfather most likely had it. It started with him not bringing home his paychecks. Then after awhile he would not come home. Finally things climaxed to the point that my grandfather was admited to the state hospital. You know the state hospital, the insane assylum. My grandfather died at the age of 54. He couldn't remember his children and rarely remembered his wife. This devasted the family. I also know that my grandmother was sickly. I don't know exactly what ailed her but I know she was considered fragile. So these are the difficulties she dealt with throughout her life.
The woman I knew was admirable. She became a LPN at the age of 50. She learned to drive a car at an older age than most. I think it was around 50 or 60 years of age. After she retired from nursing she volunteered at the hospital. She made afghans, booties, hats and sweaters for patients. She made Rosaries for the missions. Most fascinating was her praying. My grandmother prayed at Noon every day of her life until she was taken down by the ravages of the very same disease her husband died of. No one and I mean no one ever interrupted her. The Infant of Prague was dear to her heart. She had a statue of him. And true to traditions she would change his vestments with the seasons. She was truly a dynamic person.
Perhaps the sorrow and bitterness I witnessed in my late teens and early twenties was the result of the Alzheimer's. Alzheimer's research suggests that people with the disease start displaying much earlier than we realize. Little things like the use of simpler grammar and syntax these are the things we don't notice at first. I know that the disease robbed our family of a very delightful woman. As the disease advanced my grandmother got mean. We all were so surprised. We couldn't believe that this sour, dour individual was the woman we all knew and loved.
After I got married I took Passionfruit to visit my grandmother. While we were visiting her, she looked at my husband and smiled her sweetest smile and asked him whether he had done is good deed for the day. Passionfruit was rather surprised by this and wasn't sure how to answer. I told him to go ahead and ask her what she wanted. What I failed to mention is my grandmother at this point couldn't recognize anyone and pretty much sat in her wheelchair doing nothing. I mean nothing. No interaction just sitting there. So when she asked that I was so happy because that was a common phrase my grandmother used throughout her life. Of course what she wanted was the boots to be removed from her feet. They were there to keep her from getting bedsores. Watching her like this was one of the saddest things in my life. We never went back and visited.
In 1998 my grandmother finally passed away. She was 97 years. My grandmother had out lived most of her friends and her generation. Her funeral was small-- only the next two generations were there. The third generation couldn't find the time to show up to their great grandmother's funeral. Sad.
Monday, August 07, 2006
"The deed is done. The game is up..."
To quote my favorite line from Mary Martin's Peter Pan-- "The deed is done. The game is up." I went and had my biopsy today... sort of. Sort of you wonder? How can it be sort of?
Well let me tell you that I may just become part of a textbook. See the calcifications they found are in the skin!!! Which means that they aren't cancerous! The problem is they don't look like normal skin calcifications. I spent close to two hours on the table today while they attempted to locate the little suckers. The first time they positioned me-- the tech. called in the radiologist to perform the biopsy. Radiologist makes the first incision. I don't feel the bee sting that they told me I would feel. I don't feel anything. Then she goes in deeper. I feel the pressure but it isn't bad.
Then the radiologist stops and tells the tech to verify the coordinates. The radiologist says that isn't right. They muck around a bit. Then they come to me and tell me they have to go for a different angle. Now the tech spends alot of time zapping my breast. They can't find them from this angle!
Then the radiologist comes up to me and tells me they are pretty sure that the calcifications are in the skin. She tells me the good news is these are never cancerous. I already knew that from my research. She goes on to tell me she wants to be absolutely certain. So they are going to put a bee bee on me breast to prove it.
Now I'm sat up and the nurse puts on steri-strips. A bee bee glued to a piece of tape is taped on the steri-strips. I'm moved to a regular mammogram machine. More time is taken to find the stupid, elusive things. More consultations with other techs. Finally, they get a pic of them. The radiologist comes back and I ask if I can see the film. Which it isn't film but a digital pic in the computer. The radiologist tells me that I'm an anomally because skin calcifications usually look like donuts. My calcifications look like little rods and dots. Because of this oddity I will be going back for a check up mammogram on February 6, 2007.
Now to report on the radiologist. She is cool. I really liked her. Our taste in music is similar and she is down to earth. Female but not froo-frooie. She took time to explain what I was looking at and how the procedure was going to go. She didn't talk to me like I was stupid. When she told me that skin calcifications are not cancerous I told her that I knew that. "How did you know that?" I researched all of this stuff. I know you used a 14 gauge needle for the biopsy. Although I have to admit she did a better job of explaining how the biopsy would take tissue out of me than anything I read. She looked at me again and I explained that I am a librarian. After all my motto is knowledge is power; study hard be evil.
Now I'm feeling rather drained. I have a headache. My chest hurts. I probably over did it. After the ordeal I went to lunch with Passionfruit. Then I did school supply shopping. Shopping by the way was on the do not do list but I was feeling good and wanted to get it done. So supplies are bought except for the package of white construction paper. No one in town had white construction paper. So I'll look for this another time.
Right now I'm waiting on the pizza I ordered. I just didn't have it in me to do any cooking or reheating. That was the pizza guy just now. So I better go.
Well let me tell you that I may just become part of a textbook. See the calcifications they found are in the skin!!! Which means that they aren't cancerous! The problem is they don't look like normal skin calcifications. I spent close to two hours on the table today while they attempted to locate the little suckers. The first time they positioned me-- the tech. called in the radiologist to perform the biopsy. Radiologist makes the first incision. I don't feel the bee sting that they told me I would feel. I don't feel anything. Then she goes in deeper. I feel the pressure but it isn't bad.
Then the radiologist stops and tells the tech to verify the coordinates. The radiologist says that isn't right. They muck around a bit. Then they come to me and tell me they have to go for a different angle. Now the tech spends alot of time zapping my breast. They can't find them from this angle!
Then the radiologist comes up to me and tells me they are pretty sure that the calcifications are in the skin. She tells me the good news is these are never cancerous. I already knew that from my research. She goes on to tell me she wants to be absolutely certain. So they are going to put a bee bee on me breast to prove it.
Now I'm sat up and the nurse puts on steri-strips. A bee bee glued to a piece of tape is taped on the steri-strips. I'm moved to a regular mammogram machine. More time is taken to find the stupid, elusive things. More consultations with other techs. Finally, they get a pic of them. The radiologist comes back and I ask if I can see the film. Which it isn't film but a digital pic in the computer. The radiologist tells me that I'm an anomally because skin calcifications usually look like donuts. My calcifications look like little rods and dots. Because of this oddity I will be going back for a check up mammogram on February 6, 2007.
Now to report on the radiologist. She is cool. I really liked her. Our taste in music is similar and she is down to earth. Female but not froo-frooie. She took time to explain what I was looking at and how the procedure was going to go. She didn't talk to me like I was stupid. When she told me that skin calcifications are not cancerous I told her that I knew that. "How did you know that?" I researched all of this stuff. I know you used a 14 gauge needle for the biopsy. Although I have to admit she did a better job of explaining how the biopsy would take tissue out of me than anything I read. She looked at me again and I explained that I am a librarian. After all my motto is knowledge is power; study hard be evil.
Now I'm feeling rather drained. I have a headache. My chest hurts. I probably over did it. After the ordeal I went to lunch with Passionfruit. Then I did school supply shopping. Shopping by the way was on the do not do list but I was feeling good and wanted to get it done. So supplies are bought except for the package of white construction paper. No one in town had white construction paper. So I'll look for this another time.
Right now I'm waiting on the pizza I ordered. I just didn't have it in me to do any cooking or reheating. That was the pizza guy just now. So I better go.
Waiting
Have you noticed that life is mainly composed of waiting? When you are a child you are waiting to grow up. Didn't we all say at one point or another in childhood, "I can't wait to grow up and do what I want to do!"?
Then we all moved in to the teen years. This time we were waiting for the keys to the family car. Or some of the lucky kids were hoping for keys of their own car. I was probably more dweeby than most I was looking forward to voting. In fact the day I turned 18 I went and registered to vote.
Now we are adults and we spend time waiting. Waiting on the boss to make a decision. Waiting in doctor's offices. Waiting for children to pull their backpacks together.
What ever happened to growing up and doing what we wanted to do? Now as a parent when I hear my children say those very words I smile a knowing smile. Looking back I realize I had a lot more freedom as a child than I do as an adult.
As an adult I have a family; a couple of jobs; a husband; an extended family; my children's school activities; financial responsibilities; and society in general that place demands, expectations, and limits on my actvities. As children we preceived our parents attempts to protect and care for us as limitations. Looking back as an adult I see that my real freedom was in childhood.
When I really consider the best times in my life I would have to say that those were the colleges years. I was still a child but had the independence of adulthood. Man those years ROCKED! I loved college. I had friends with the same interests as me for the first time in my life. I pretty much came and went as I pleased.
At that time my sister, I don't get mad; I get even, lived in Dallas. I would decide I wanted to go visit her and I did. I would just tell Mom and Dad; hop in my car and go! Near the end of my college experience I took up Contra dancing. Dallas had a great Contra scene. Their dances were the first and third Saturdays with an extra one on those months with a fifth. They had so many dancers that danced well that it was heaven to be there. To me dancing was a prayer. I loved to twirl and swing around and around. I danced every set. If a guy wasn't available I would dance as the guy. I was good. I had women that preferred me over some dudes.
While I was in graduate school I couldn't wait for the weekends so I could dance. Because I danced every weekend in a month. Twice at home and two or three times in Dallas. I couldn't wait for the exhilaration I would find in the Contras. I loved to feel the sweat pouring off my body. Really if I didn't work up a sweat I felt dissappointed. I know people find sweat offensive but I wore it like a badge.
Now I am a mother of three small children. I find myself waiting for the time when I can return to the dance floor. Waiting for the sweat to pour off my body. Waiting for the music to swell and carry me to another world where I am gifted and talented.
I'm also waiting as I write this blog. Waiting for a procedure that will help to give more information. Next I'll be waiting for the results of the pathology. Waiting on results that will tell me whether life will go on as I know it, or whether my life will change in a fundamental way. Again I am strangely calm but pensive.
Then we all moved in to the teen years. This time we were waiting for the keys to the family car. Or some of the lucky kids were hoping for keys of their own car. I was probably more dweeby than most I was looking forward to voting. In fact the day I turned 18 I went and registered to vote.
Now we are adults and we spend time waiting. Waiting on the boss to make a decision. Waiting in doctor's offices. Waiting for children to pull their backpacks together.
What ever happened to growing up and doing what we wanted to do? Now as a parent when I hear my children say those very words I smile a knowing smile. Looking back I realize I had a lot more freedom as a child than I do as an adult.
As an adult I have a family; a couple of jobs; a husband; an extended family; my children's school activities; financial responsibilities; and society in general that place demands, expectations, and limits on my actvities. As children we preceived our parents attempts to protect and care for us as limitations. Looking back as an adult I see that my real freedom was in childhood.
When I really consider the best times in my life I would have to say that those were the colleges years. I was still a child but had the independence of adulthood. Man those years ROCKED! I loved college. I had friends with the same interests as me for the first time in my life. I pretty much came and went as I pleased.
At that time my sister, I don't get mad; I get even, lived in Dallas. I would decide I wanted to go visit her and I did. I would just tell Mom and Dad; hop in my car and go! Near the end of my college experience I took up Contra dancing. Dallas had a great Contra scene. Their dances were the first and third Saturdays with an extra one on those months with a fifth. They had so many dancers that danced well that it was heaven to be there. To me dancing was a prayer. I loved to twirl and swing around and around. I danced every set. If a guy wasn't available I would dance as the guy. I was good. I had women that preferred me over some dudes.
While I was in graduate school I couldn't wait for the weekends so I could dance. Because I danced every weekend in a month. Twice at home and two or three times in Dallas. I couldn't wait for the exhilaration I would find in the Contras. I loved to feel the sweat pouring off my body. Really if I didn't work up a sweat I felt dissappointed. I know people find sweat offensive but I wore it like a badge.
Now I am a mother of three small children. I find myself waiting for the time when I can return to the dance floor. Waiting for the sweat to pour off my body. Waiting for the music to swell and carry me to another world where I am gifted and talented.
I'm also waiting as I write this blog. Waiting for a procedure that will help to give more information. Next I'll be waiting for the results of the pathology. Waiting on results that will tell me whether life will go on as I know it, or whether my life will change in a fundamental way. Again I am strangely calm but pensive.
Friday, August 04, 2006
AHHHHHH! They're soo cute!
Mornings really aren't so good in my family. I am constantly having to keep the kids on track. Things like: No you can't watch TV; No you can't play; Have you brushed your teeth?; Have you washed your face?; Will you please get dressed!
Every morning I say the above things like a thousand times to each of my children. Most mornings one of them melts down. It seems like they take turns. Do they agree with one another at some point? Do they get together on Mondays and say, "Okay, I'll take Monday, you can have Tuesday and Miss Independence you can choose Wednesday or Thursday."?
Anyway, the amazing thing this morning is no one melted down! We had a relatively nice morning. Sure I still said all those things to the kids but no one melted down. No one screamed or cried (this includes me).
I did want to share one thing that happened which had Passionfruit and me in stitches. Drama Queen came out to the kitchen while Passionfruit and I were inhaling our breakfast. I asked her whether she had brushed her teeth. DQ replied that she not only brushed her teeth but she did the bubbly thing. Passionfruit and I looked at each other with questions in our eyes. Both hoping the other had more information. Realizing that we were clueless as to this bubbly thing, we caught DQ with another question, "What's the bubbly thing?"
DQ, sighs, and exclaims, "You know! I brushed my teeth, and then I put water in my mouth." At this point she puffs out her cheeks bends a bit at the waist and swishes her little bottom back and forth. I know, I know, I'm her mother but this really is the cutest little display. It was one of those moments that Passionfruit and I wish we could have caught on video tape.
Then I thought of the blog. I decided to enter these cute things here to record their cuteness.
A couple of years ago Storyteller was stark naked crouching on the kitchen floor sucking her thumb. She and her sippy cup of milk next to her. It was a quiet morning moment. Just hanging out minding her own business.
Then she passed gas. She looks up at me and says in a matter of fact tone, "That was my bottom burping." How quaint is that?
I know that Miss Independence has said some funny things but I can't think of them right now. One time she wanted more milk so she violently slide her sippy cup at me. I returned it to her and told her to try again. Next thing I know she repeats her action. She did exactly what I told her to do. It really was quite funny. It also taught me a lesson that Miss Independence is very literal.
Every morning I say the above things like a thousand times to each of my children. Most mornings one of them melts down. It seems like they take turns. Do they agree with one another at some point? Do they get together on Mondays and say, "Okay, I'll take Monday, you can have Tuesday and Miss Independence you can choose Wednesday or Thursday."?
Anyway, the amazing thing this morning is no one melted down! We had a relatively nice morning. Sure I still said all those things to the kids but no one melted down. No one screamed or cried (this includes me).
I did want to share one thing that happened which had Passionfruit and me in stitches. Drama Queen came out to the kitchen while Passionfruit and I were inhaling our breakfast. I asked her whether she had brushed her teeth. DQ replied that she not only brushed her teeth but she did the bubbly thing. Passionfruit and I looked at each other with questions in our eyes. Both hoping the other had more information. Realizing that we were clueless as to this bubbly thing, we caught DQ with another question, "What's the bubbly thing?"
DQ, sighs, and exclaims, "You know! I brushed my teeth, and then I put water in my mouth." At this point she puffs out her cheeks bends a bit at the waist and swishes her little bottom back and forth. I know, I know, I'm her mother but this really is the cutest little display. It was one of those moments that Passionfruit and I wish we could have caught on video tape.
Then I thought of the blog. I decided to enter these cute things here to record their cuteness.
A couple of years ago Storyteller was stark naked crouching on the kitchen floor sucking her thumb. She and her sippy cup of milk next to her. It was a quiet morning moment. Just hanging out minding her own business.
Then she passed gas. She looks up at me and says in a matter of fact tone, "That was my bottom burping." How quaint is that?
I know that Miss Independence has said some funny things but I can't think of them right now. One time she wanted more milk so she violently slide her sippy cup at me. I returned it to her and told her to try again. Next thing I know she repeats her action. She did exactly what I told her to do. It really was quite funny. It also taught me a lesson that Miss Independence is very literal.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
My baby sister
I always wished for a younger sibling. I remember I used to harass my mother for one. I told my mother that I wanted a friend to play with that was my age.
[See all of my siblings were much older than me. Try on 16 years older, 13 years older, 8 years older and 6 or 7 years older.]
I really expected my Mom to produce one. She always told me that that was in God's hands. Of course I didn't understand that my mother was an old mom. I mean she was my Mom. Now I want one so she/he would babysit for me.
Why do I write now about this subject? Well Adjective Queen finally put up a new post. I thought I was going to have to hunt her down and take her out. Anyway, Adjective Queen just got her sons back after a long vacaction with some of her siblings. Now she's plotting for next summer calling for volunteers to take on these two young men. They're like 12 and 7 years old.
When I started my post today I was actually complaining about the lack of babysitters in general and the fact my siblings frequently cop out with "I'm to old and tired to babysit." Already, right now my two sisters are in pain and really can't take on my monster but there've been other times when they've weaseled out of this torture. Okay, I'm feeling magnanamous here-- to be honest they've also taken the kids. But really, none of them really go out and enjoy themselves. Not like Passionfruit and I use to do. We use to go go go. We would dance ourselves silly. We would go to concerts. We went to big people parties.
Now we're just a couple of sticks in the mud. We rarely get out on dates. I've read where couples should go out once a month to keep the home fires burning, so to speak. We are lucky if we get out 2 or 3 times a year without the kids.
Enough complaining! I'm sorry, but not sorry that I've complained. It feels good just to get it off my chest. Maybe in the future I won't have quite as big chest as I do now. ;-) Maybe then I won't carry around such a big chip.
PS: If you wonder why I don't hire a babysitter here's the explanation on that. First if you have more than the expected 1.5 children babysitters will not call you back. Second there is a facility around here where you can dump your kids for a little while. I've investigated. For a 5 hour night out from say 6 to 11 PM the cost for 3 rug rats is $60. Right now we don't have that kind of money to throw around. So I guess we are just stuck with the kids for the next say 10 years. That's okay they are good kids.
[See all of my siblings were much older than me. Try on 16 years older, 13 years older, 8 years older and 6 or 7 years older.]
I really expected my Mom to produce one. She always told me that that was in God's hands. Of course I didn't understand that my mother was an old mom. I mean she was my Mom. Now I want one so she/he would babysit for me.
Why do I write now about this subject? Well Adjective Queen finally put up a new post. I thought I was going to have to hunt her down and take her out. Anyway, Adjective Queen just got her sons back after a long vacaction with some of her siblings. Now she's plotting for next summer calling for volunteers to take on these two young men. They're like 12 and 7 years old.
When I started my post today I was actually complaining about the lack of babysitters in general and the fact my siblings frequently cop out with "I'm to old and tired to babysit." Already, right now my two sisters are in pain and really can't take on my monster but there've been other times when they've weaseled out of this torture. Okay, I'm feeling magnanamous here-- to be honest they've also taken the kids. But really, none of them really go out and enjoy themselves. Not like Passionfruit and I use to do. We use to go go go. We would dance ourselves silly. We would go to concerts. We went to big people parties.
Now we're just a couple of sticks in the mud. We rarely get out on dates. I've read where couples should go out once a month to keep the home fires burning, so to speak. We are lucky if we get out 2 or 3 times a year without the kids.
Enough complaining! I'm sorry, but not sorry that I've complained. It feels good just to get it off my chest. Maybe in the future I won't have quite as big chest as I do now. ;-) Maybe then I won't carry around such a big chip.
PS: If you wonder why I don't hire a babysitter here's the explanation on that. First if you have more than the expected 1.5 children babysitters will not call you back. Second there is a facility around here where you can dump your kids for a little while. I've investigated. For a 5 hour night out from say 6 to 11 PM the cost for 3 rug rats is $60. Right now we don't have that kind of money to throw around. So I guess we are just stuck with the kids for the next say 10 years. That's okay they are good kids.
Being positive is difficult
Being positive is difficult when you are naturally pessimistic. I mean it, when I say my motto is to expect the worse. I developed this philosophy back in Iran.
We lived two years in Iran. I was a very young girl. Only seven and eight years old. While living there I can't tell you how many times I had my heart broken.
My parents would plan these outings to various places. Then something would happen that would put off those plans. I remember learning in a vague way about the 24 hour clock. We were going to go up to the mountains for a picnic. I was so excited. Then my mom came down with a migraine. I remember telling my dad that we could just go when it was 12 o'clock again. I remember my dad's smile. He told me that that wasn't 12 o'clock again but midnight.
There were other times when we had plans to do something but couldn't because there was unrest out there. I don't think I completely grasped the idea that the unrest was directed at us, Americans. I just knew we didn't get to go where ever it was we had plans to go.
When I tell people about living in Iran many people couldn't believe the tales. There I was a seven year old girl witnessing a woman being stoned to death. Or looking out the window and watching the camels passing by on their way into the city. I remember how mean the boys were. They use to push me down, and they would say mean things to me. The girls weren't necessarily better. They were older than me. They would come to play with my toys but not with me. I had Barbies, real Barbies and they loved them. Imagine being pushed away from your toys; unable to play with them. Not an easy thing to deal with for a child.
The most bazaar things that happened to me were perpetrated by our land-lady. She got mad one time; I'm not even sure who or why she was mad but I became her victim. I was playing in the cellar. She threw my favorite riding toy, a yellow bunny rabbit with the pink ears, down the stairs. It smashed into pieces, and then she locked me in the cellar in the dark. I still have nightmares of being locked in a place that is dark.
So, I learned at a small age that things do not work out all the time. So why get your hopes up? Expect the worse and sometimes you are pleasantly surprised.
We lived two years in Iran. I was a very young girl. Only seven and eight years old. While living there I can't tell you how many times I had my heart broken.
My parents would plan these outings to various places. Then something would happen that would put off those plans. I remember learning in a vague way about the 24 hour clock. We were going to go up to the mountains for a picnic. I was so excited. Then my mom came down with a migraine. I remember telling my dad that we could just go when it was 12 o'clock again. I remember my dad's smile. He told me that that wasn't 12 o'clock again but midnight.
There were other times when we had plans to do something but couldn't because there was unrest out there. I don't think I completely grasped the idea that the unrest was directed at us, Americans. I just knew we didn't get to go where ever it was we had plans to go.
When I tell people about living in Iran many people couldn't believe the tales. There I was a seven year old girl witnessing a woman being stoned to death. Or looking out the window and watching the camels passing by on their way into the city. I remember how mean the boys were. They use to push me down, and they would say mean things to me. The girls weren't necessarily better. They were older than me. They would come to play with my toys but not with me. I had Barbies, real Barbies and they loved them. Imagine being pushed away from your toys; unable to play with them. Not an easy thing to deal with for a child.
The most bazaar things that happened to me were perpetrated by our land-lady. She got mad one time; I'm not even sure who or why she was mad but I became her victim. I was playing in the cellar. She threw my favorite riding toy, a yellow bunny rabbit with the pink ears, down the stairs. It smashed into pieces, and then she locked me in the cellar in the dark. I still have nightmares of being locked in a place that is dark.
So, I learned at a small age that things do not work out all the time. So why get your hopes up? Expect the worse and sometimes you are pleasantly surprised.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
My yesterday
Well I failed to blog yesterday but if I had to sum up yesterday I would have to use the cliche that it was A MONDAY! Storyteller kept melting down and not co-operating.
As if that wasn't enough when I called the surgeon's office they asked me what type of biopsy I was suppose to have. Well needless to say this did not inspire confidence. I told the woman that no one's told me anything very much; nor, has anyone answered any of my questions. I told her before anything happened to me I wanted to meet the surgeon. The woman told me that she would call for my films and have a nurse call me to tell me how it is done. Well that struck me as a big blow off and kinda arrogant to boot.
Now I'm upset. I call my OB only to find out that she is unavailable until the middle of this month. Not good enough. I then call the Radiologist office. I complain that my questions have not been answered. They asked, "Didn't you talk to your doctor office?" DUH! YES, I did and they could not answer my questions. I explain the main question and the woman said, "Well, that information was on the bottom left-hand side." I told her that apparently the individual did not know how to read the report because she told me that that information wasn't on the report.
So, I'm thinking, "NO BODY IS TOUCHING ME UNTIL I AM CONFIDENT THAT YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. AND I GET MY QUESTIONS ANSWERED."
Around 2:00 PM a nurse calls from the surgeon's office. She tells me she's been told that I am scared and anxious. I told her that she would be too if she had called trying to make an appointment only to be asked questions about the procedure you were to have and no one had given you that information. On top of the fact that no one appeared willing or able to give you answers to your questions. I told her that this doesn't instill confidence.
Well she asks me what my questions are. She is able to answer them. My BI-RAD category is a category 4. The calcifications are located in the 12 o'clock to 1 o'clock position near my sternum. When I asked her what kind of calcifications these were-- she explained that they were indeterminate. She said that there were couple of kinds of calcifications and that was why it was called indeterminate. She also explained that there are two types of findings that are possible with these types of calcifications. First is atypical cells. The second are non-invasive cancer cells. She goes on to explain that this means that the cancer is restricted to the milk ducts and has not broken through to surrounding tissue. This answer actually answers one of my other questions about whether they are in the skin or elsewhere. Obviously not in the skin.
Now are you wondering how I'm feeling? I'm feeling just fine. I have no more information to go on so there is no reason to fear anything. Friday is my biopsy. The woman I spoke to told me that I will receive a call on Saturday with the results. I promise to get on here on Saturday to tell everyone what the findings are. It's funny; I am oddly calm about all of this. I have to admit I wasn't so calm last month about the ovary thing. But I feel strangely serene. Like, I know it's out of my control so there is no point in getting all worked up over the situation.
I need to tell you that I am going in for a stereotactic guided core needle biopsy. The link here has a pretty good description of what is going to happen. Basically I lay on a table that has a hole in it. Underneath is a miniature mammography machine. I have to lay still for an hour and I go home with a sore arm. She did tell me that they don't compress quite so much as in a regular mammogram. Don't know if I should be grateful for this or not. I'll let you know on Friday. I don't think I'll go back to work. I think I'm going to play it by ear. If I feel fine I'll go because I am already behind where I want to be at work as far as hours go.
As if that wasn't enough when I called the surgeon's office they asked me what type of biopsy I was suppose to have. Well needless to say this did not inspire confidence. I told the woman that no one's told me anything very much; nor, has anyone answered any of my questions. I told her before anything happened to me I wanted to meet the surgeon. The woman told me that she would call for my films and have a nurse call me to tell me how it is done. Well that struck me as a big blow off and kinda arrogant to boot.
Now I'm upset. I call my OB only to find out that she is unavailable until the middle of this month. Not good enough. I then call the Radiologist office. I complain that my questions have not been answered. They asked, "Didn't you talk to your doctor office?" DUH! YES, I did and they could not answer my questions. I explain the main question and the woman said, "Well, that information was on the bottom left-hand side." I told her that apparently the individual did not know how to read the report because she told me that that information wasn't on the report.
So, I'm thinking, "NO BODY IS TOUCHING ME UNTIL I AM CONFIDENT THAT YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. AND I GET MY QUESTIONS ANSWERED."
Around 2:00 PM a nurse calls from the surgeon's office. She tells me she's been told that I am scared and anxious. I told her that she would be too if she had called trying to make an appointment only to be asked questions about the procedure you were to have and no one had given you that information. On top of the fact that no one appeared willing or able to give you answers to your questions. I told her that this doesn't instill confidence.
Well she asks me what my questions are. She is able to answer them. My BI-RAD category is a category 4. The calcifications are located in the 12 o'clock to 1 o'clock position near my sternum. When I asked her what kind of calcifications these were-- she explained that they were indeterminate. She said that there were couple of kinds of calcifications and that was why it was called indeterminate. She also explained that there are two types of findings that are possible with these types of calcifications. First is atypical cells. The second are non-invasive cancer cells. She goes on to explain that this means that the cancer is restricted to the milk ducts and has not broken through to surrounding tissue. This answer actually answers one of my other questions about whether they are in the skin or elsewhere. Obviously not in the skin.
Now are you wondering how I'm feeling? I'm feeling just fine. I have no more information to go on so there is no reason to fear anything. Friday is my biopsy. The woman I spoke to told me that I will receive a call on Saturday with the results. I promise to get on here on Saturday to tell everyone what the findings are. It's funny; I am oddly calm about all of this. I have to admit I wasn't so calm last month about the ovary thing. But I feel strangely serene. Like, I know it's out of my control so there is no point in getting all worked up over the situation.
I need to tell you that I am going in for a stereotactic guided core needle biopsy. The link here has a pretty good description of what is going to happen. Basically I lay on a table that has a hole in it. Underneath is a miniature mammography machine. I have to lay still for an hour and I go home with a sore arm. She did tell me that they don't compress quite so much as in a regular mammogram. Don't know if I should be grateful for this or not. I'll let you know on Friday. I don't think I'll go back to work. I think I'm going to play it by ear. If I feel fine I'll go because I am already behind where I want to be at work as far as hours go.
I'm a voyeur
I watch my children play. I watch them when they have no idea that I am watching. This weekend I watched Storyteller dance. I had turned on some Jazz. My kinda music.
Then I sat down to read a book while waiting on my laundry to cycle through the washer. I looked up from my book and saw Storyteller dancing. She was imagining an audience. Storyteller would dance all through a song. She danced with inhibitions thrown to the wind. At the end of a song she would curtsy. Then she would turn her back and wait for the next track. As soon as the first notes sounded Storyteller would whirl around and begin dancing again. She brought me such joy. I loved watching her but at one point I was struck with the thought that I was intruding on her privacy. Did that make me a voyeur?
Of course not in the strict sense of the word. But observing my daughter dancing while she was unaware did that make me an intruder? Was I somehow breaking some sort of social rule?
After awhile I really didn't care. I loved watching my child dance. Storyteller really was enjoying herself. Which in turn meant I enjoyed watching her. It even brought back memories for me. I remember doing the same exact thing. Only I would have died with mortification if my parents had ever watched. I always thought I was unobserved. Now I wonder whether my parents ever watched while I danced uninhibitedly. Of course now I wouldn't die of embarassment because out of all the people in the world I would rather my parents watch the wild dances I would create than anyone else. I hope Storyteller doesn't mind that I snuck a peek at her private dance. I hope she knows that that is a cherished memory if she ever finds out.
Then I sat down to read a book while waiting on my laundry to cycle through the washer. I looked up from my book and saw Storyteller dancing. She was imagining an audience. Storyteller would dance all through a song. She danced with inhibitions thrown to the wind. At the end of a song she would curtsy. Then she would turn her back and wait for the next track. As soon as the first notes sounded Storyteller would whirl around and begin dancing again. She brought me such joy. I loved watching her but at one point I was struck with the thought that I was intruding on her privacy. Did that make me a voyeur?
Of course not in the strict sense of the word. But observing my daughter dancing while she was unaware did that make me an intruder? Was I somehow breaking some sort of social rule?
After awhile I really didn't care. I loved watching my child dance. Storyteller really was enjoying herself. Which in turn meant I enjoyed watching her. It even brought back memories for me. I remember doing the same exact thing. Only I would have died with mortification if my parents had ever watched. I always thought I was unobserved. Now I wonder whether my parents ever watched while I danced uninhibitedly. Of course now I wouldn't die of embarassment because out of all the people in the world I would rather my parents watch the wild dances I would create than anyone else. I hope Storyteller doesn't mind that I snuck a peek at her private dance. I hope she knows that that is a cherished memory if she ever finds out.
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