Monday, July 30, 2007
Hellooooooo, Monday.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Are You There, God?
Are you there, God?? It's me, HDW.
You see, I've got this three-year-old boy ... we'll call him THE BUG ... and he's got to be potty-trained by the end of August. Why the end of August? Apparently, it's 'the rule' at his Preschool that he must be in charge of his own bowels.
And yes, I believe this is asking a lot.
In the last few weeks, we (myself and our daycare person) have been attempting to lure this child in the joys of Pottyhood, if you will. And he's not buying it one. bit.
In fact, I'm sure you, God, thought it was funny yesterday to hear the conversations in this house. But for those not privvy to said conversations, they went something like this:
"Honey, it's time to go sit on the potty!"
"NO!"
"Sweetie, you are in big boy underwear. We need to go sit on the toilet."
"NO!"
"Bug, Mommy knows you went potty for Nee-Nee at daycare. Please go on the potty for Mommy."
"NO!"
At one point, I -being SuperMom- wrangled him onto the toilet. And there we sat, discussing such topics as trains, teddy grahams and spiders. Anything to keep this child seated on the throne. Ten minutes go by.
After much thought, the Bug announced, "MOMMY! IT NO WORK!" and jumps off.
Not five minutes later, The Bug not only pees, but craps himself.
I realize we are just starting this (long and never-ending) process. But if you would be so kind, God, would you PLEASE help me potty-train this kid by, say, middle of August? I know you have bigger fish to fry - like war, famine and Lindsay Lohan (no really, what the hell were you thinking when you constructed that crazy thing?) - but if you could PLEASE offer me some help in this matter, it would be greatly appreciated.
Amen.
You see, I've got this three-year-old boy ... we'll call him THE BUG ... and he's got to be potty-trained by the end of August. Why the end of August? Apparently, it's 'the rule' at his Preschool that he must be in charge of his own bowels.
And yes, I believe this is asking a lot.
In the last few weeks, we (myself and our daycare person) have been attempting to lure this child in the joys of Pottyhood, if you will. And he's not buying it one. bit.
In fact, I'm sure you, God, thought it was funny yesterday to hear the conversations in this house. But for those not privvy to said conversations, they went something like this:
"Honey, it's time to go sit on the potty!"
"NO!"
"Sweetie, you are in big boy underwear. We need to go sit on the toilet."
"NO!"
"Bug, Mommy knows you went potty for Nee-Nee at daycare. Please go on the potty for Mommy."
"NO!"
At one point, I -being SuperMom- wrangled him onto the toilet. And there we sat, discussing such topics as trains, teddy grahams and spiders. Anything to keep this child seated on the throne. Ten minutes go by.
After much thought, the Bug announced, "MOMMY! IT NO WORK!" and jumps off.
Not five minutes later, The Bug not only pees, but craps himself.
I realize we are just starting this (long and never-ending) process. But if you would be so kind, God, would you PLEASE help me potty-train this kid by, say, middle of August? I know you have bigger fish to fry - like war, famine and Lindsay Lohan (no really, what the hell were you thinking when you constructed that crazy thing?) - but if you could PLEASE offer me some help in this matter, it would be greatly appreciated.
Amen.
Labels: joys of pottyhood, the bug and mommy
Friday, July 27, 2007
What Fresh Hell Is This?
Let's run down the last 72 hours, shall we?
My kid ended up with a tummy bug.
I've cleaned up numerous amounts of excessively disgusting, runny, liquid diarrhea from his little self. He has blistery, red diaper rashes that have left his skin bleeding. He's had it running down his pants. And in that case, I've had it all my arms and pants, and cleaning it up off the floor.
He threw up at daycare. He managed to urp right into his bowl. He got up, grabbed his blanket, and went to bed.
Today, more explosive diarrhea.
Also, after cutting up limes for my nightly vodka tonic, I started getting this odd feeling in my fingers. They began to itch like mad. And then, they started to burn like a motherfucker. And then, almost on cue, they swelled up.
Huh???
What the hell??
I called my husband. I took Benadryl. And it went away in an hour.
Yesterday just fucking sucked, for a variety of reasons.
I am glad it's over.
Labels: rant
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Love Thursday: Unsolicited Love
I have absolutely no memory growing up of feeling like I could just go up and hug my grandpa (my dad's dad). It's not that he didn't love us, but he just wasn't the overly emotional 'touchy feely' kinda guy. And that was fine. He said Prayer at our family dinners, discussed farming, then fell asleep in his chair in the living room after dinner.
After my dad died, my grandpa became a lot more emotional. He had just retired (like DAYS before) and was putting the suitcases into the car to take a trip to visit family in Idaho when my mom called to tell him my dad had a heart attack. By the time they reached the hospital, my dad was gone.
My grandpa came out of that retirement to help continue running the farm and ranch he had helped my dad build. He'd talk about my dad and get choked up. He still didn't really offer much in the way of "I love you's" or what not, but still, we knew.
This past weekend at the reunion, I marveled at my son. He didn't know any of these unspoken rules we have on that side of the family. He walked right up to my grandpa, squeezed his legs and said, "I LOVE YOU!!" and walked off.
And he didn't stop there. He hugged every relative he could his hands on. He was full of love and had plenty to give.
I have another photo of my son hugging my grandpa, right after he'd finished hugging my grandmother. Because faces are involved, I'm not posting it ... but the absolute JOY on my grandparents face just makes me so very happy. They were beaming.
I love that unsolicited love so very much. It was a good reminder to me. And lately, my son's been a pretty good teacher.
"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."
Marcel Proust
After my dad died, my grandpa became a lot more emotional. He had just retired (like DAYS before) and was putting the suitcases into the car to take a trip to visit family in Idaho when my mom called to tell him my dad had a heart attack. By the time they reached the hospital, my dad was gone.
My grandpa came out of that retirement to help continue running the farm and ranch he had helped my dad build. He'd talk about my dad and get choked up. He still didn't really offer much in the way of "I love you's" or what not, but still, we knew.
This past weekend at the reunion, I marveled at my son. He didn't know any of these unspoken rules we have on that side of the family. He walked right up to my grandpa, squeezed his legs and said, "I LOVE YOU!!" and walked off.
And he didn't stop there. He hugged every relative he could his hands on. He was full of love and had plenty to give.
I have another photo of my son hugging my grandpa, right after he'd finished hugging my grandmother. Because faces are involved, I'm not posting it ... but the absolute JOY on my grandparents face just makes me so very happy. They were beaming.
I love that unsolicited love so very much. It was a good reminder to me. And lately, my son's been a pretty good teacher.
"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."
Marcel Proust
Labels: family reunion, love thursday, the bug
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Where The Green Grass Grows
First of all, thanks tons for taking the time to read the last, really lonnnng post and for sharing your stories via comments and email. I was touched and still am by the support and kindness from all of you. So, thanks.
I went to a reunion over the weekend for my dad's mom's side of the family. It's always in this little town where I first lived, population still around 100, I think. To borrow a line from Tim McGraw, it's a "map dot ... a stop sign on the blacktop". It could easily describe this little town (and of course, the next verse is "and I caught the first bus that I could hop from there" - and I did, but I digress):
After the usual kick-ass buffet at the Church Hall, we busted tradition this time and took a drive south of town to see some 'important sites' in our family history.
Man, who knew??
Here's a shot of the one-room schoolhouse my grandmother (now in her mid-80's) taught at:
It sits up on a hill, on a piece of property that friend's own. I have memories of driving past the schoolhouse, but never being able to go inside. This time, we got to. Probably the highlight of the tour for me.
A picture of my grandmother on the steps of this schoolhouse:
My Great Uncle, now 90, came into the schoolhouse with us and told us about having gone to school there, how the desks were set up, memories of coming to school from their homestead a few miles away in bad weather, etc. For many years after they'd stopped using the school, it had been used to store silo. The interior is wrecked, but the blackboard (probably just slate) is still attached:
On Sunday, we went to a concert. And the story in and of itself about the concert is crazy. Just silly. But the end result out of a total waste of money and a day in the hot fucking sun (and numerous applications of sunscreen, by the way), was this:
I'm nursing that this week and staying inside like a good white girl. Or pink, depending.
I went to a reunion over the weekend for my dad's mom's side of the family. It's always in this little town where I first lived, population still around 100, I think. To borrow a line from Tim McGraw, it's a "map dot ... a stop sign on the blacktop". It could easily describe this little town (and of course, the next verse is "and I caught the first bus that I could hop from there" - and I did, but I digress):
After the usual kick-ass buffet at the Church Hall, we busted tradition this time and took a drive south of town to see some 'important sites' in our family history.
Man, who knew??
Here's a shot of the one-room schoolhouse my grandmother (now in her mid-80's) taught at:
It sits up on a hill, on a piece of property that friend's own. I have memories of driving past the schoolhouse, but never being able to go inside. This time, we got to. Probably the highlight of the tour for me.
A picture of my grandmother on the steps of this schoolhouse:
My Great Uncle, now 90, came into the schoolhouse with us and told us about having gone to school there, how the desks were set up, memories of coming to school from their homestead a few miles away in bad weather, etc. For many years after they'd stopped using the school, it had been used to store silo. The interior is wrecked, but the blackboard (probably just slate) is still attached:
On Sunday, we went to a concert. And the story in and of itself about the concert is crazy. Just silly. But the end result out of a total waste of money and a day in the hot fucking sun (and numerous applications of sunscreen, by the way), was this:
I'm nursing that this week and staying inside like a good white girl. Or pink, depending.
Labels: family reunion, memories, pictures, sunburn
Monday, July 23, 2007
It Was Already Too Close
“I crawled up in a flower when this one was being written. It was safe there, and I wasn't ready to let this one in too deep. It was already too close.” - Tori Amos [from Under the Pink songbook]
I always post about my dad. And if you've read this blog long enough - or even a few of my last Love Thursday posts - you'll know that in my eyes, he pretty much hung the moon and the stars.
When I checked my email the other day, I had one from a random visitor to my blog and the following question:
"Why don't you ever talk about your mom?"
Because! But that would be the easy answer, right?
I have avoided really talking about her at all on the blog because I can't find anything good to say about her. I suppose, if this is going to be the true definition of a "personal blog", I'd best open that vault and let forth The Story. The trouble is, I'm just not all the sure where to begin?
I can start by telling you that over the weekend, I attended a family reunion (my dad's side, mom was not there). And at this reunion, one of my father's cousins refused to speak to me. She is friends with my mom. It stung, I admit. But, as my husband said, "I would have said to her, 'If half of what my wife says is true, then she has every reason to have done what she's done'".
I'll get to that part later.
As many of you know, I'm adopted. My parents tried for seven years to conceive a child on their own, it didn't happen, so they started the adoption process at some point during that time. When my mother and father adopted me, they brought me back to a little farm miles from anywhere. It was just the three of us. I remember many good things about this time in my life - nothing bad, just being a kid and having a lot of fun.
(In fact, one of my fondest memories of this time is stumbling behind my mother in the vegetable garden. She had given me a bonnet like she had on, and given me an old ice cream bucket. She was picking the green beans ahead of me, and every now and then, I'd find a few on my own. Of course, she'd left them for me to find.)
My mom always said later on that the 'reason' she had such a hard time in later years was due to the 'constant needs' of my younger brother. We adopted him in 1980. He came into our home after we had moved from the homestead to the new home on the hill. He was later diagnosed with Sensory Integration Dysfunction. My brother required a lot of special needs schools, albeit maybe completely unnecessary in retrospect, but that post is for another time.
Regardless, the wheels came off the cart at some point, but I'm not privvy to that time. I do remember, though, an occasion more recent that will give you an example:
While I was sitting in the living room chair, nine-months-pregnant and unable to move, my mother was cleaning my kitchen. I remarked that my husband had been wondering why I didn't get 'the clean and organized gift' from her, and she said, "Cleaning like this is a sickness!! .... At least you can HAVE biological children, HDW".
My mom had a lot of trouble with anyone who was able to have a biological child. She was very resentful and angry of almost everyone she knew who could. I remember once saying, "But Mom - God DID give you children, just not through the traditional method!". She was disgusted that I'd say this, and I was horrified she still hadn't embraced us as her own (or it felt that way) years later.
There was a period of abuse - physical, verbal and emotional - that lasted for, roughly, fifteen years, give or take. And in the family I grew up in/with, this just wasn't talked about. No one would have believed the wife of the School Board President who sat on church boards and community boards would ever raise a hand to her child.
But she did. A lot.
When I was eight-years-old, my mother sucker punched me down the stairs, knocking me out. She told me she was upset I hadn't cleaned my room. When my dad got home, my mother told me that she told my dad I 'fell'. I didn't know this story until the night before my wedding. She chose to confess it then.
When I was seventeen, I borrowed a necklace from her that I shouldn't have borrowed. I was getting ready for work, she confronted me about the necklace, which I admitted taking and apologized for. She made me get into the car, drove me down our country road, had me stand barefoot in a patch of stickers, and punched me in the mouth. She split my lip wide open. And because I was dating someone from the proverbial "wrong side of the tracks", she let everyone believe it was him. And I was too scared to tell anyone differently.
My dad had died in February of 1995. She told me that I had killed my father. I had broken his heart, she said, my Senior Year in high school, and had caused his heart to give out and die on us. I believed her. And then she told the same line to my baby brother, and I got pissed.
Around July of 1995, I was outside in the front yard messing around with my younger brother. It was a hot afternoon. He was finally talking again (he had been at the house the night my dad died, had attempted CPR, and after dad died, he clammed up) and I was finally finding something funny again.
That afternoon, I was putting the stickers on my car for the new registration, and my brother and I were laughing hysterically about something. My mom came blasting out of the house, yelling that I wasn't putting the stickers on fast enough. She grabbed the green garden hose and began whipping my back. My little (bigger than us) brother grabbed her by the wrist, threw her up against a brick wall and told her 'never touch my sissy again'.
And she didn't touch me again.
She tried hitting my brother, years later, while he was holding his infant son. He grabbed her hand, squeezed, and broke the littlest bone in her pinky finger. Of course, my mother told everyone my brother had abused her. And because they knew no differently, they believed her - and it mattered not what I said or he said.
We knew the truth.
We knew the truth.
I hated what she said more than what she did with her fist, and those are the things that have stuck with me for much longer. When someone hurts you with words, they sting, they stick, they stay. These things get filed away and not forgotten. It is very hard to forgive someone who lashes out at you with their tongue. Emotional abuse is a rotten cycle, and it has to be stopped. It breaks a person's spirit, and if you love someone, shouldn't that be a driving force not to?
When we were set to deliver our son, my husband invited my mother into the birthing room. I was not at all happy about that. There wasn't a person I could have been less close to than her. When I was engaged, she wasn't the first person I wanted to call. When my heart was broken, I wouldn't think of calling her first to talk. The nights I missed my dad, I picked up the phone to call my best friend in eastern Colorado. But as usual, she swooped in, acted, and did everything right while I had my son. Promising endlessly how she'd really help us out and be there for us in the months and years to come.
My husband believed her. I didn't believe her anymore. I almost felt bad for him. He would tell me I was exaggerating my stories about her and she couldn't be 'that bad'. I started to wonder if I was losing my mind, if I'd really misunderstood her actions all these years after all.
A few months into my son's life, there were going to be two days where my husband would be operating for 8-10 hours each day, and wouldn't be able to help me at night. I broke down, and I called my mother to see if she could come up and stay with me. The deal was that she would stay up with him during the day, and I would sleep. That way, during night time shifts, I'd be much more present in mind to assist my child at, say, two a.m. I needed her for two days, this was all.
My mother said she would. I was beginning to think the ship was turning around, and there was hope for my relationship with my mother after all. Maybe my husband was right! I started thinking of my friends who had this type of relationship with their mom, something I'd always envied, and maybe after all, it would be me, too.
The morning of, she called and said she'd forgotten she had a Bible study meeting and a personal trainer appointment. She'd have to cancel.
And I lost my shit. I screamed at her. I told her how selfish she was. She called me names. I told her to stay out of my life forever. I told her I could forgive her someday, but not anytime very soon. And I hung up.
Forgive her for what? For that. And for throwing a hot bowl of chili at me in a restaurant because I disagreed with her, and making me walk miles back to her house in a part of the city I didn't know. For calling me a whore. For telling me I was really jealous of her because she was asked to sing at a wedding and I wasn't (when instead, I was upset she had belittled me in front of my aunt). And consequently, for hitting me repeatedly on the head with a wooden hair brush because she was yelling and I couldn't stop crying. For making my baby brother go to military school when he should have stayed home and been loved by his family. For insisting that I was "finally fatter than her" and "how nice that feels" when I was pregnant. And about a million other completely inappropriate things.
I have talked to her on the phone once since ending my relationship with her three years ago. It was to tell her that a family friend had killed himself. We (our friend's daughter) didn't want her to find out by way of the answering machine when she got home.
I have not felt badly at all about my decision to not include her in my life. I don't miss her. I don't really have any anger left towards her. It's pure disappointment and pity now. And sadness, a lot of that. I have also had a remarkable amount of support from my family, as well. Most agree that I made the right decision. One aunt has stopped talking to her, as well. She made that decision long before I did.
One therapist said, "You will grow tired one day of throwing your bucket in that well and expecting to get water. You'll learn, with her, you're only going to get dust every time and you'll eventually quit". And she was right. I quit because I had to take care of myself. I had to protect myself and more importantly my child.
I work every day at being the better parent. I have a hard time when my husband swats my son on the rump for doing something wrong. I cringe. When anyone raises their voice at me, I'm dissolved into tears. It's amazing what behavior patterns are repeated through the years, but it's also more important to note they don't have to be repeated at all.
Just because your parent acted one way doesn't mean that's your role in life, too. I learned that when you yell and tell someone you think they're fat, you get your way. But those words would never leave my mouth. I can't imagine treating anyone else that way. I don't fight dirty, but to a fault, I don't like to right at all.
And regarding forgiveness, I have forgiven her. But I believe forgiveness doesn't mean you allow that behavior to continue in your life. It doesn't mean you allow to continue being hurt. And after all of this time, I don't think I deserved anymore.
And I haven't allowed the behavior to continue.
It doesn't mean I shut everyone out who upsets me, contrary to popular belief. But it means there are limits to what a person can take, and I've taken enough.
And now, I hope you understand why I don't speak of my mother, and why I will never speak of her again.
Labels: captain bringdown story
Friday, July 20, 2007
Happy Weekend and all that!
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Conversation Before Bed
Bug: Hey Mommy?
Me: Yeah?
Bug: You my best fwend.
Me: Aw, I love you, Bug.
Bug: Mommy, you're my BEST BOY.
Me: How 'bout best GIRL?
Bug: (thinking) You be a HAPPY girl.
Me: Works for me.
Me: Yeah?
Bug: You my best fwend.
Me: Aw, I love you, Bug.
Bug: Mommy, you're my BEST BOY.
Me: How 'bout best GIRL?
Bug: (thinking) You be a HAPPY girl.
Me: Works for me.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Weekend In Photos
Of course, first must show you the super cool shirt I bought:
Driving up to the concert at Red Rocks (and HDHusband cracking me up about something):
On Friday night, Lyle Lovett/KD Lang concert at Red Rocks:
Somewhere on Saturday morning, HDH, The Bug and myself headed up to the mountains for a Bat Mitzvah. I had pictures of the event, but because I was a dumbass later on Saturday and erased the entire memory card by accident, you don't get to see those.
Met up at ClizBiz's Casa on Saturday night. Here is a picture of her beautiful, shaved pussy, Simone (who loves Doritos, who knew):
And then to the Empty House Party (they are razing it soon to build a super cool condo).
Directions on the door:
From the Sexual Confession Room:
and ...
Aaaaaaand, Sunday sucked.
But all in all, a pretty decent weekend.
Driving up to the concert at Red Rocks (and HDHusband cracking me up about something):
On Friday night, Lyle Lovett/KD Lang concert at Red Rocks:
Somewhere on Saturday morning, HDH, The Bug and myself headed up to the mountains for a Bat Mitzvah. I had pictures of the event, but because I was a dumbass later on Saturday and erased the entire memory card by accident, you don't get to see those.
Met up at ClizBiz's Casa on Saturday night. Here is a picture of her beautiful, shaved pussy, Simone (who loves Doritos, who knew):
And then to the Empty House Party (they are razing it soon to build a super cool condo).
Directions on the door:
From the Sexual Confession Room:
and ...
Aaaaaaand, Sunday sucked.
But all in all, a pretty decent weekend.
Labels: outdoor concert, recap with photos, weekend in review
Sunday, July 15, 2007
The Spinning Silhouette Illusion
I can't take credit for finding this, but really, give a looksee ... quite cool:
The Spinning Silhouette Illusion
(I see this being totally up Howard and Sangediver's alley!)
Will post more details on the weekend later ... and it was a doozy!
PS And post a comment if you can get it to work ... I'm too freaking tired right now to make it so.
The Spinning Silhouette Illusion
(I see this being totally up Howard and Sangediver's alley!)
Will post more details on the weekend later ... and it was a doozy!
PS And post a comment if you can get it to work ... I'm too freaking tired right now to make it so.
Labels: random link, spinning girl
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Love Thursday: Butterflies and Bugs
While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.
~Angela Schwindt
The Bug and I went to the Butterfly Pavilions earlier this week. We happened to go when a summer camp full of First Grade kids were there. My son held my hand when I asked (and when I didn't), waited his turn, said 'excuse me' (or 'scmoo me!') if he wanted a turn, and appropriately told a woman who tried to open the butterfly's wings (pictured above) that, "NO! DON'T TOUCH!" - after I'd reminded him not to as well.
I have marveled this week at my child. He's been absolutely a stitch to be around. He's obedient and funny and sweet and kind. He really has such a great personality, and in the last few weeks, it's coming through. I am really quite proud of who he is becoming.
I was sick with a headache on Monday night. I was lying on the couch, with my head propped up by a towel. Bug came by and yanked out the towel. I started to get really upset with him, and he patted my head, put HIS treasured blankie down over my head, gave my arm a kiss, and said, "There, Mommy. You ALL better now!". (He also reminded me to 'go see the doctor' and 'drink water'!)
I would have cried if I could have.
I am so geuinely proud of him and who he is becoming. I know he'll grow up faster than I'd like. I am his best buddy right now. When he had lunch together at the Diner, he wanted to sit next to me. We shared a coke, had french fries, and colored. It was a perfect date.
And I'm sure I'll be left wondering how it went so fast, and remembering what it was like 'back then' - and I hope when I do think back, I remember these moments. And my god, how I hope he stays sweet.
Every day is asks me, "Mommy, do you love The Bug?" and I say, "Of course! I love you and will forever and forever".
And then I hug him, and kiss him, and hope my love carries him forever.
"Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see." ~John W. Whitehead, The Stealing of America, 1983
Labels: love thursday, the bug and mommy
Monday, July 09, 2007
Saturday, July 07, 2007
I'd like to title this post "Flashback" ... blogger isn't allowing me to, for whatever reason.
Regardless ...
My girlfriend called this afternoon. She's an ER nurse. They've just moved back into town. Her son (not quite two), fell and hit his head at their new local pool. When he woke up from a nap, he was vomiting and not focusing well with his eyes.
She called me as she was driving him to the hospital. She had left her husband (a doctor) at home with their daughter, who is almost five (I also used to nanny her when she was just a little baby). Because they have the one car, he was stuck at the house.
After finding out at the hospital they'd be doing a CT Scan, he asked if I'd come and get him, take him to the hospital to meet up with his wife and son, and take his daughter.
But of course.
I drove over to their house, about a ten minute drive, and gave him the keys. He drove us over to the hospital, ran a few red lights and I might've learned some new curse words in Cuban. After dropping them off and taking their daughter back to my house, I had some time to pause and think.
And I thought of my baby brother.
When he was three, we were at our local pool. There were two pools side by side. One for the 'big kids' (damn elusive deep end!) and the other had more shallow end, and a slide attached. I remember being in that pool, but on the wall farthest from the slide. I have a vague memory of my mom in the pool, at the bottom of the slide. And I have a vague memory of my baby brother (who was so physical for his age) climbing up the ladder of the swimming pool slide.
Except, my brother missed the top rung and fell all. the. way. down. He landed flat on his back, and cracked his head. My mom has said that getting out of the water was the slowest thing she's ever had to do. And someone yanked me out of the water from behind and turned me away. I remember screaming for my brother.
In a flurry of activity, the local amublance came by, whisked my mom and brother away, and I was stuck in a car with a woman I didn't really know.
And so in my backseat was sitting this little girl who I knew so very well, but didn't really remember me at all. And I needed to make her okay, remembering everything I'd felt when I was just about her age.
My brother couldn't be stablized, so they were never able to take him Flight For Life to Denver. He went into a coma and stayed that way for three days. When I was finally able to see him, I gave him his treasured beat-up brown teddy bear that played "Twinkle, Twinkle". When he saw me, he said my name (well, his butchered up version of it anyway) and I remember breaking down. God.
My girlfriend called to tell me the CT Scan looks alright, but he has a small skull fracture.
Any or all good wishes you have to send would be good. And prayers. Whatever it is you offer, offer it up.
And how is my brother? He's still here. He had some trouble following the accident. He couldn't see things just right. Had trouble reading. The words would go up and to the right. I'm hoping against hope this isn't the same. It can't be the same.
Good thoughts, people.
Regardless ...
My girlfriend called this afternoon. She's an ER nurse. They've just moved back into town. Her son (not quite two), fell and hit his head at their new local pool. When he woke up from a nap, he was vomiting and not focusing well with his eyes.
She called me as she was driving him to the hospital. She had left her husband (a doctor) at home with their daughter, who is almost five (I also used to nanny her when she was just a little baby). Because they have the one car, he was stuck at the house.
After finding out at the hospital they'd be doing a CT Scan, he asked if I'd come and get him, take him to the hospital to meet up with his wife and son, and take his daughter.
But of course.
I drove over to their house, about a ten minute drive, and gave him the keys. He drove us over to the hospital, ran a few red lights and I might've learned some new curse words in Cuban. After dropping them off and taking their daughter back to my house, I had some time to pause and think.
And I thought of my baby brother.
When he was three, we were at our local pool. There were two pools side by side. One for the 'big kids' (damn elusive deep end!) and the other had more shallow end, and a slide attached. I remember being in that pool, but on the wall farthest from the slide. I have a vague memory of my mom in the pool, at the bottom of the slide. And I have a vague memory of my baby brother (who was so physical for his age) climbing up the ladder of the swimming pool slide.
Except, my brother missed the top rung and fell all. the. way. down. He landed flat on his back, and cracked his head. My mom has said that getting out of the water was the slowest thing she's ever had to do. And someone yanked me out of the water from behind and turned me away. I remember screaming for my brother.
In a flurry of activity, the local amublance came by, whisked my mom and brother away, and I was stuck in a car with a woman I didn't really know.
And so in my backseat was sitting this little girl who I knew so very well, but didn't really remember me at all. And I needed to make her okay, remembering everything I'd felt when I was just about her age.
My brother couldn't be stablized, so they were never able to take him Flight For Life to Denver. He went into a coma and stayed that way for three days. When I was finally able to see him, I gave him his treasured beat-up brown teddy bear that played "Twinkle, Twinkle". When he saw me, he said my name (well, his butchered up version of it anyway) and I remember breaking down. God.
My girlfriend called to tell me the CT Scan looks alright, but he has a small skull fracture.
Any or all good wishes you have to send would be good. And prayers. Whatever it is you offer, offer it up.
And how is my brother? He's still here. He had some trouble following the accident. He couldn't see things just right. Had trouble reading. The words would go up and to the right. I'm hoping against hope this isn't the same. It can't be the same.
Good thoughts, people.
Labels: baby brother, flashback, news
Thursday, July 05, 2007
One Good Turn Deserves Another
As a lot of you know, I've had a houseguest since Monday night: Kath. We met last year through the Denver blogosphere, if you will, and became fast friends.
Kath had a girlie kinda operation scheduled for this past Tuesday, and it worked out that she could stay in our guest room and recover. Aside from taking her to the hospital on Tuesday morning at 5:00 a.m. and picking her up at 11:00 that same MORNING (damn, they worked fast!), I've done nothing but refill her water and hand over a few Pepsi's when the mood struck. She's a trooper, getting this thing without any hitches whatsoever.
And this 'helping a friend' thing reminded me of a time in '95 when I had my tonsils out. I was 19. And ohmygod, I remember wishing I could just have a headectomy - my entire body hurt, but my throat was beyond repair. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't talk. I couldn't think straight. I just HURT.
And to boot, my dad had literally JUST died, so I was a walking mess. The wife of my (former) superintendant offered to have me over for lunch the day before my surgery. And I was feeling kind of bad, because I knew I wasn't going to be able to eat anything she'd made.
I showed up to her house, and she'd made US a lunch I could eat. We had JELLO for an appetizer, soup for a main course, and pudding and ice cream for dessert. We had hot tea to drink. She ate it right along with me. We called it "the last supper". I was being taken care of, and it felt great.
So, of course, I'd be here to help "Kaf" as my son calls her. Life is about paying it forward. Someone helped me, and I'm helping someone else. And if ever I need anything again, I know I've got a bunch of people ready to help me if they could.
It's all good.
Edit: And Kath is home now. The Bug was telling me just now to 'be quiet' because 'Kaf is sweeeeeeping!'. I haven't the heart yet to tell him she's not sweeeeeeping here.
Kath had a girlie kinda operation scheduled for this past Tuesday, and it worked out that she could stay in our guest room and recover. Aside from taking her to the hospital on Tuesday morning at 5:00 a.m. and picking her up at 11:00 that same MORNING (damn, they worked fast!), I've done nothing but refill her water and hand over a few Pepsi's when the mood struck. She's a trooper, getting this thing without any hitches whatsoever.
And this 'helping a friend' thing reminded me of a time in '95 when I had my tonsils out. I was 19. And ohmygod, I remember wishing I could just have a headectomy - my entire body hurt, but my throat was beyond repair. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't talk. I couldn't think straight. I just HURT.
And to boot, my dad had literally JUST died, so I was a walking mess. The wife of my (former) superintendant offered to have me over for lunch the day before my surgery. And I was feeling kind of bad, because I knew I wasn't going to be able to eat anything she'd made.
I showed up to her house, and she'd made US a lunch I could eat. We had JELLO for an appetizer, soup for a main course, and pudding and ice cream for dessert. We had hot tea to drink. She ate it right along with me. We called it "the last supper". I was being taken care of, and it felt great.
So, of course, I'd be here to help "Kaf" as my son calls her. Life is about paying it forward. Someone helped me, and I'm helping someone else. And if ever I need anything again, I know I've got a bunch of people ready to help me if they could.
It's all good.
Edit: And Kath is home now. The Bug was telling me just now to 'be quiet' because 'Kaf is sweeeeeeping!'. I haven't the heart yet to tell him she's not sweeeeeeping here.
Labels: kath b, life, rest and recovery
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Love Thursday: Fourth of July
Growing up, Fourth of July wasn't really a holiday for my family. Wheat harvest was one of our major sources of income (also corn and cattle, among a few other things). When late June/early July rolled in, other people were having BBQ's at the lake, and we were packing up lunches and dinners for our dad and the hired help, taking it out to the field.
When we were younger, we'd go for rides on the combine with dad or grandpa, and maybe take a truck ride full of grain to be weighed at the CO-OP with our uncle. I'd watch my baby brother try and 'be big' like the 'big guys' and step over the wheat stubble in his little boots. His hat seed hat on, chewing the grain to make 'wheat gum', pretending his liked it because the 'big guys' did. Sometimes on the Fourth, if we stayed out late enough, we could see the fireworks off in the distance.
As the size of our farming operation grew, so did our need to have custom cutters. We maintained a relationship with one family out of Kansas for more than thirty years. They'd come into town with beautiful pieces of equipment, and big black trucks, pickups, and grain carts. They'd stagger themselves in line in the field, go around in pattern of the field. Truly, it was a beautiful sight. I have many memory sitting on the back of a pickup truck, eating my dinner, watching them go against the sunset. (We are still in touch with this family; they are like family to us)
You know, you think those times will go on forever. You think that eventually, you'll be taking your little boy to the field and helping him climb up to a combine into the waiting arms of your dad. You think he'll get a chance to sit behind the steering wheel of a combine and watch the wheat fold and buckle underneath, and tossed into the back. You just don't think those times will ever stop. And sometimes, I just wanna say, "Damn the world for stopping and making me get off that ride; it was too much fun". If anything, it makes me really savor the moments now. They are too fleeting when you get right down to it all.
This is a picture of me in the wheat field with my dad. And it is my all-time favorite photo of me with my dad, and I know I've posted it before. I love seeing the storm rolling in, seeing him look and dressed just the way I remember him. I can close my eyes and be right in this moment and that makes me so happy.
"I am a miser of my memories of you
And will not spend them."
~Witter Bynner, "Coins"
When we were younger, we'd go for rides on the combine with dad or grandpa, and maybe take a truck ride full of grain to be weighed at the CO-OP with our uncle. I'd watch my baby brother try and 'be big' like the 'big guys' and step over the wheat stubble in his little boots. His hat seed hat on, chewing the grain to make 'wheat gum', pretending his liked it because the 'big guys' did. Sometimes on the Fourth, if we stayed out late enough, we could see the fireworks off in the distance.
As the size of our farming operation grew, so did our need to have custom cutters. We maintained a relationship with one family out of Kansas for more than thirty years. They'd come into town with beautiful pieces of equipment, and big black trucks, pickups, and grain carts. They'd stagger themselves in line in the field, go around in pattern of the field. Truly, it was a beautiful sight. I have many memory sitting on the back of a pickup truck, eating my dinner, watching them go against the sunset. (We are still in touch with this family; they are like family to us)
You know, you think those times will go on forever. You think that eventually, you'll be taking your little boy to the field and helping him climb up to a combine into the waiting arms of your dad. You think he'll get a chance to sit behind the steering wheel of a combine and watch the wheat fold and buckle underneath, and tossed into the back. You just don't think those times will ever stop. And sometimes, I just wanna say, "Damn the world for stopping and making me get off that ride; it was too much fun". If anything, it makes me really savor the moments now. They are too fleeting when you get right down to it all.
This is a picture of me in the wheat field with my dad. And it is my all-time favorite photo of me with my dad, and I know I've posted it before. I love seeing the storm rolling in, seeing him look and dressed just the way I remember him. I can close my eyes and be right in this moment and that makes me so happy.
"I am a miser of my memories of you
And will not spend them."
~Witter Bynner, "Coins"
Labels: daddy, fourth of july, love thursday a day early, wheat harvest
Name: Hot Dr's Wife!
Location: The Rockies
I am the wife of a surgeon, a mother of a three-year-old son, a sister to a redneck brother, the daughter of a dad I miss daily. Colorado native, raised on a ranch, been on a cattle drive and driven many combines. I am always barefoot, I love my friends, and I insist Happy Hour start at 5:00 pm and not a minute later.
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Location: The Rockies
I am the wife of a surgeon, a mother of a three-year-old son, a sister to a redneck brother, the daughter of a dad I miss daily. Colorado native, raised on a ranch, been on a cattle drive and driven many combines. I am always barefoot, I love my friends, and I insist Happy Hour start at 5:00 pm and not a minute later.
Delve deeper...
Click here for more!
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