the magic kingdom part III

The theme for today's blog is handicapped access (in a theme park or a theme resort).
I explained to the travel agent that access was very much an issue for us. I was willing to pay (with money if need be for gosh sakes) for acessibility but by acessibility I meant distance (as opposed to wheelchair friendly). No problem. Everything at The Kingdom is accessible and they'd request a room near an elevator. For all I know the original room we were booked into at Coronado Springs may have been right next to the elevator. It was also on the other side of a lake. You could conveniently catch a bus to get back to the lobby. Even the first girl at the check in desk looked at our group and realized this was not a good idea. The next room was in building 5 and "near" a bus stop. Here we are on our way. About half way there I asked my son, "Will this work?" "Sure." says he. "Several times a day?" says I. "Not really," his honest reply. So back I go to the lobby (after a detour to find the bus stop and confirm that our "near" and a perky young woman's "near" were not so, well... near). The final room was what at this point did indeed seem like a short walk and was, by our new standards, "near" a bus stop -and on the first floor so we didn't have to walk down any halls. What a relief (sarcasm).
At the end of the day, on our way back to the room after a traitorous trip to Sea World, I joked with some random employee about the trek back to the room and they suggested one of the complimentary wheelchairs the resort had. A wheelchair we could take with us into the parks and use all week and not have to rent another (as we just had at Sea World). Now I fully understand why this idea didn't occur to us. For one thing we has no idea they had wheelchairs at the resort, for rent or otherwise. For the another thing, none of the nice people at the front desk when I was this side of tears (and keep in mind you don't actually know which side this is) trying to figure out how we would manage mentioned it. Do you suppose it's part of the strict "don't ask, don't tell" policy enforced at the parks? Ah, you don't know about the policy. And how could you since they won't ask or tell? So I will in my next blog. (If the suspense keeps you up at night don't say I didn't warn you)

the magic kingdom part II

Next time we go through airport security I'm gonna make him wear this hat (which obviously was a must-have-purchase). That way it will all make more sense.

First some scene setting. Me and 2 big kids and one not so big are trying to make a 7am flight. Given the airlines charging for checked bags we of course each had the maximum allowable carry ons. But one of us is walking with crutches and one of us is 6 years old. That leaves 2 of us with our hands very full. Well, that could be any 2 adults traveling with kids. Just like anyone else... until we get to security where being special kicks in. You see if you can't walk through the metal detector unassisted you have to be frisked. I'm thinking they don't frisk infants but I'm not sure. I don't know what's happened to those wands they used to use but apparently that is just not good enough for all the physically disabled population. I don't want to sound prejudiced so let me assure you that I believe the disabled are as big a national security threat as anyone else naturally. Then the TSA throws in a complimentary hand wipe to check for explosives residue. I was informed it would also pick up gunpowder so target practice with some men from church* might be fun before traveling next time.

On the way home we tried the wheelchair option since airports are almost as big as theme parks (and with the same lines!). It did get us a shorter line (the airline guy pushed the chair so no sympathy for losing another luggage carrier) but by the time they're done with the frisking and the swabbing and the scanning the crutches and figuring out where to put the wheelchair it didn't really feel all that special.

The good thing was that when I asked the TSA guy if there was anyway for someone like my son to avoid the personal touch every time they flew and he said no and then added, "We are doing it for your safety" I didn't take one of those crutches and... Let's not even think about it (and if the TSA is reading this - only kidding guys!) . (But if the TSA is reading this next time just say, "yeah it's stupid ma'm, but it's my job." and then we could still be friends).

Boarding the plane was not so bad since I chose seats as far forward as possible and this airline let us choose seats. Not like United who put us on the exit row a few years ago even though they knew we had a toddler and someone using a wheelchair. Then they boarded us last so after getting the crutches past everyone (and let's not forget the carseat) , they had to rearrange those same everyones since 2 of our party** couldn't legally sit where they put us. Finally there's the wear to put the crutches on the plane routine. Last in, first out -except we never are first out but it's a nice theory and we didn't actually hit anyone (on purpose) when the crutches came out this time.

This is why we drive alot.

*It seems to be what they do to bond. Don't ask me.

**I'm using the term "party" euphemistically of course.

the magic kingdom Part 1

I want to share here my most recent experience traveling with the otherly abled but first this word on the one I shared it with already -who unlike any possible readers here couldn't just say that's enough and navigate away.

OK, so this is not the best picture of these 3 of my 4. The oldest isn't really demented -he just likes to look that way for pictures and the yougest isn't really a fighter, -but he's just as camera friendly as the brother. On the other hand it does give you an idea of what the smiling (sweetly) one had to contend with on her "vacation". It started with my giving her the window seat on the plane only to find I'd picked the one row with NO WINDOW, and ended on the return flight when we got upgraded to business (they "needed our seats" according to the inscrutable airline reasoning -we were happy to oblige) and while getting our drinks on the runway unlike the peons in the back the stewardess poured my Coke slowly but steadily down my girl's arm. She was leaning over her to help the little one (his sister gave him the window seat) and didn't realize until I said "Excuse me" a 3rd time. My girl was worried about making the stewardess more embarassed so she didn't even mention the puddle on her seat as well.

In the parks she pushed the wheel chair or wrangled the 6 year old. She played tag with me at all the rest rooms since neither the little one nor the visually impaired one could be left to wander out alone. So if we needed a "rest" we had to tag team so as one of us could still be waiting outside the men's room. We waited outside men's rooms alot. (Out of context that sentence would sound kinda bad don't you think?)

If there was a ramp she'd take the wheelchair. If there was a scary ride she'd take the 6 year old. If there was any activity or ride where he (that 6 year old) had a choice of companions he chose her. She had to not win on the games to let him win (at least that's what he said). She wanted to spend at least some time at the pool relaxing but her mom got all I-spent-a-fortune-on-tickets-lets-get-every-dollars*-worth and we never made it back in time to swim. (And just between us she'd have had her hands full at the pool with mom napping.)

The thing is she's just the sister. I get sympathy. The occupant of the wheelchair gets sympathy. But siblings -not so much. The amazing thing about her is it never seems to occur to her she should get any. She doesn't seem to know it's not just her brother who's special**. If you're reading this my only girl... I'm flummoxed, I have no words for this that won't sound all over-the-top-mom-gushing-about-kid... but there'd have been no magic without you.

*I was going to say pennies' but I don't think there were any pennies in Disney World

**Which reminds me this is the same girl who at 10, after asking what "handicapped" meant asked me the following week, "Tell me again, which brother is handicapped?"

time fillers

With the baby in first grade, and Grandma with her eldest not her baby (that would be me), no class to teach and my eldest without any on going medical crisis I figured I would get so much done this fall. I made lists. I made plans. I wandered from room to room looking for my glasses so I could pick them up and put them down in the next room. I played spider solitaire (but I am really good at it). I read too much non-news because it was there and then I'd have to hit the Wikipedia link because I didn't actually know who or what they were talking about. I am now pretty well caught up on Lindsay and Ashton , although I still have trouble with the whole rapper scene and keeping the names straight.

And it all leaves me vaguely depressed because I still don't get why Sideways was seen as anything other than a boring film about repulsive people. Or why comedians whose jokes are all just excuses to say (as many times as possible) what their mothers and their first grade teachers told them not to say are considered "edgy". Or for that matter why "edgy" is a good thing. Or why college football matters ot what it has to do with college. It's like I'm an alien. Or maybe everybody is just filling time. Waiting for the sun to blind them just a little and remind them what time is meant to be.

I had to force this one, pictured, to get off the computer and into the kayak. I made the "baby" go too and as that 6 year old said when he got out (really), "Mom, you have to make me do it. Don't give me a choice 'cause I think I won't like it but after I do it I do like it." Me too honey.

that time of year

Already November when I haven't accepted summer is over yet.

Seasonal decorations going up in the stores for a holiday that I still consider too distant to even be mentioned much less planned for.

Almost a year since I turned 50 which is absolutely absurd since I'm pretty sure I'm not much past, say 34 and definitely not enough time to be able to at least say I grew up at 50.

Only 4 full weeks left of not being my mother's "caregiver" again and her shower is still not regrouted and that is begininning to look like a silly goal (and what's a little trickle in the basement?).

We'll be gone that 4th week so only 3 weeks to grout in reality*.

No real time left before I should have way more done to prepare for teaching a new class next semester.

A few green tomatoes finally, but they never will see ripe red.

*an important modifier since most of my planning applies to an alternate time-insensitive universe.

trick or treat

This was the little guys first Halloween to dress up. Appropriately he was a prince. More appropriately he has been a pirate every year since (editor's correction: he was actually a knight the year after this photo to be historically accurate). He and the bro' are admiring themselves in Grandma's mirror (next to Grandma's t.v.). I can not recall if she was actually in residence that particular night. The t.v. was there so I know she was here quite often but it was another 2 years before I would telll people (or certainly her) she truly lived with us.

Now she is at my sister's for a few months (one month more) and the bro' has his own house but no heat and not always water so he finds himself here often enough. That would be often enough to never be exactly unexpected and I'm pretty sure not to need his own soap. Of course the eldest has no plans to be buying his own soap anytime either and the college girl likes to come home whenever possible. Then again she spent the summer with Grandma at Grandma's real home so when she is home she sleeps on the sofa since her room is a bit unsorted if you know what I mean.

I went to a lovely community event last night and ran into a number of people I only see now and then and they ask about the family and who is still at home. Can you see the difficulties? I've never been known for my brevity but if any one can come up with a short answer for this let me know. If I go for something to quick I get the sympathy clucking over either the empty nest or the not empty nest and the thing is I don't mind providing soap for my "guests" because they more than pay me back for it (naturally not in cash). Of course I don't actually mind the occasional empty house that allows full rein for my inner rock star.

Miracle (at the DMV) and other portents

This is a true story. Yesterday I finally took my eldest to the DMV. He will never have a driver's license but thanks to the TSA he now must* have a state issued photo i.d. to board even a domestic flight. We'd considered getting this i.d. previously but I kept putting it off. When did I have time to spend the day at the DMV? And in all likelihood two days since the first time around we were sure not to have the right documents.

So I spent several hours frantically searching for all the right stuff. His expired passport (so no good for the TSA) was issued before he was 16 so that was iffy. His SS card has gone missing. His SS statements don't have the full number on them anymore (the DMV site says these statements are aceptable but also that they must have the full number so...). Then I saw that the social security number was the one thing not required for the i.d. Then I planned to get there as early as possible.

We got there at lunch time. The worst DMV time. And there was no one in line for a number but the place was packed with people with numbers already. Then they called our number. Really. All documentation was in order and accepted and they took his picture and I paid $10 and left. In and out of the DMV in 15 minutes. There were about 10 people waiting just to get their numbers when we walked out. I tried not to look too happy because I was afraid of these people. I started the dancing on the way to the car. The cashier at BJs (which we now had time to go to) couldn't believe my story. She said if it was her she'd be telling everybody -which clearly I was already doing but oh well. It is an amzing story. And absolutely true.

When we got home the yard filled with birds. They were small and black and very loud and easily numbering in the thousands. After about 15 minutes they were gone.

Now even an earthquake in Virginia wouldn't surprise me.

*alright not technically "must" but without one he will be subject to "extra" screening, the airline could refuse him passage, and they are not obligated to accept even a birth certificate as proof of anything and seeing as how with the crutches they already not only pat him down but check al his carry ons for bomb residue since naturally people with CP are more likely to be terrorists I figured we'd miss any flight anywhere by the time we got out of security.

the digital age

Credit to my other half for this photo -and to the incredible advances in digital photography (and naturally also to the maker of the sunset). But my point is I have way too many photos. This is mostly the fault of my baby. He is so... cute and he makes the other kids look... kinda cute again and then I feel kinda guilty about all the pictures of him so I take pictures of them even without him in the actual picture. The end result being a need for more and more memory and since there is nothing I can do about mine I buy computers and flashdrives and portable hard drives and discs and ink and photo paper and late at night I wonder what the point is exactly and what did people do when they couldn't record every memory and every beatiful sunset and what if my computer crashes before it's all backed up?

I learned about taking pictures from my mom -she had a great eye and she took slides -Agfa only please as the Kodak colors were too bright. She included us if needed only for perspective. They were beautiful pictures and as a kid boring as heck to watch all evening until we'd finally get to one of me (vanity, vanity). Now they are discoloring under her bed in box after box and I dread the day my sister and I will have to decide what to do with them. Even in good condition (mine or the slides really) what will I do with pictures of the mountains in Northern Spain? Or another cathedral somewhere I can't quite identify in Europe?

So what I learned is to take pictures with famous places in them only to give perspective to my kids because there is a chance they may want the pictures of themselves. And to take pictures of whatever I please only for myself and some transient amusement. The rest of my memories will have to go with me when I go. The sunsets were never mine to keep.

Confidence crisis: My evaluations

I'm up the mast and not sure I can reach the spar -metaphorically speaking. Of course I'm not the one actually letting my other half haul them up on a bosun's chair. I don't have the confidence for that. I'm skittish and a fretter. And I just looked over the most recent anonymous student evaluations for the not so popular statistical-ish class I taught this summer.
Dreams and goals are important. I provide here the comments (slightly modified from the originals) I dream of :
"The professor was very knowledgable but frankly I'm just not bright enough to catch on."
"Grading was fair. I totally deserved a D."
"Grading was unfair. I totally deserved a D."
" I thought the slides had too much information, but the other student's didn't seem to have a problem so I guess it's just me."
"Considering how difficult the material and how little time I put into it I'm surprised I didn't find it more confusing."
"I only wish there had more theory and less examples so I'd really understand what I was doing and be able to apply the material to something (or anything) that differs from the examples."
"The professor obviously cares about the students as demonstrated by the fact that she didn't slap that guy who kept asking the same question over and over and over again. Way to go!"

or, just once, "Due to my elementary knowledge of this complex material I do not feel qualified to evaluate this professor on anything other than my perceptions and feelings about the class, and these obviously have little bearing on its educational value."

What if there really was a Fantasy Island? Could we sail there?

Blue Van: RIP

This old blue van has been across country 2 times, ridden the train to Florida and brought us back, moved any thing and everything we needed it to. What other "minivan" could fit a full sofa in the back? (Safety monitor alert: We did not drive with passengers on the sofa.) True to fit in that stuff one had to remove seats that wieghed ALOT . I did it myself at least once but that was before baby # four and I don't think I could've done it since. And true it had some minor electrical issues requiring that the battery be disconnected via the convenient toggle switch my husband installed in under the hood (picture a short woman, in the rain, holding up the hood and trying not to touch anything else reconnecting the battery), and netiher of the front doors opened from the exterior any longer, and the sliding door stuck regularly, and the side mirror had come off (but was just replaced!) and for months a cosmetic mirror from a Dollar General was duct taped on to the other side mirror to replace the one clipped by an RV on a mountain road, and the windshield had not been well seated and the door gasket was deteriorated so between the 2 the passenger had to hold towels up to catch the water flowing in, and you had to shout above the road noise and there was a tape permanently stuck in the tape player (cassette not 8-track, it's not like it was totally pitiful) and ... am I forgetting something? Well it's dead now and I am unaccountably grieved.
You see the eldest's crutches fit under the backseat and you really could fit anything in it. And (in it's own way) it was reliable and I hate change.

So we are looking at newer true minivans. No more GMs. No SUVs -we tried but the young man with the critches can't climb in them easily and into the Honda Pilot not at all -well maybe evetually but not in the time attepted and it was clearly not going to be pretty however he'd finally mange it. There was no step to use to haul yoursel the rest of the way and not enough spac behind the front seats to swing in his stiff legs -so yes maybe the front would work but that meanshe'd always get the front seat and I am just not that nice. Also you can't fit a wheelchair in the back of the any of the small SUVs. etc etc etc

Unprepossessing -I checked the spelling

Look closely and you will see there were a lot of boats out - more than we have ever seen at this particualr spot (in front of Grandma's, you see how sacrificing we are to take her back to her house whenever possible). Well we were out too and all the boats that went by us waved. OK. And they pointed, and took pictures, and hollered out questions.
You see I -no, we have always regretted our cheap honeymoon and the reception was pretty cheap too. But I had never thought to complain that the proposal had fallen short until this summer when friends told us various tales from their children of romantic (and highly planned) proposals. Silly younger generation says I. But no, the parents had their own story and I realize, after overlooking this for 28 years, I'd been gypped. So, while our jib was in their possesion to be mended my husband suggests they put in very large letters, "Will you marry me?" on it with bright blue painters tape. Which was very funny and sweet and adorable -when we were the only ones out on the river. On the other hand sailing with my grown children and having people shout, "What was the answer?" was a bit awkward. Although not, my husband tells me, as awkward as when he sailed with a friend the next day and all the boats were out again - a bald male friend. So I have to say -he doesn't owe me for the unprepossessing nature of the original proposal anymore.

Grandma is taking a long time to live

That's what the youngest said a few weeks ago. He meant well. In fact he meant just what he said - it takes a long time to live to be this old. And today my mom was weeping on the phone and said, "no one tells you what it will be like to be 93." No, they don't.

Now, I just read that Steve Jobs has died. For my age bracket that is ... I don't know. A bit of an earthquake. The ground shifts abit at least momentarily. I am just enough younger to have seen him as "older" but close enough in age to find it jarring. All my adult life he has been the "great innovator".

But he won't know what it is to be 93 and could offer no guidance there. I have no stock in Apple so it is really just interesting news (it took about 20 minutes for Google News to catch up with Yahoo News and move it to the lead story- that was interesting).

So life continues to be odd and not always (read: never) what I pictured when I was young. Also strollers have changed alot since Grandma was a baby.

pink ribbons etc

I saw my obgyn today (and if you are one of my male offspring that -if not the picture-should be your first clue to STOP reading NOW). It was for my "annual". Only they insisted I was last there in '08. Obviously they are sloppy record keepers since I was thinking I might have rushed this appointment and not be due back yet. Naturally they ordered a mammogram. Now on this one I had to concede it had been awhile. By which I mean, OK maybe a decade. But alot had happened in the last decade so it's understandable. Still I decided to not even wait to get home to call and make a date. This became involved. The imaging "center" wanted my old images and they weren't in their computer. I was not enjoying having to emphasize it was well maybe 10 years ago -could even be a little more.

You want I should cut to the punchline? The archivist found them in the soon to be purged shelf dated 1995. No computer record existed since they didn't even have computers back then (I am being funnny -of course they had computers -but they were hand crank models). Archival.

And why was I in a hurry to see the obgyn anyway? Because 1) I wanted replacement therapy -whatever it is I'm missing please replace. I'd looked over the newest flip flop and figured I had 10 more years to get benefits from estrogen and it's little helpers. There's a certain piquancy to age being the big new modifying factor since that was part of my dissetation theme. I could have told them. In fact pretty much any female could have told them that age changes everything. And 2) a public service annoucement about breast exams reminded me it probably was time. First I'd giggled when the very sincere sounding female voice said it was important to "feel your breasts often" -I'm very mature about these things. But they got me because she went on to say you should look for other signs like puckers, oragen peel rashes, etc and (I quote) slash your breast. I was so busy trying to protectively throw my arm across my chest (while driving so it wasn't easy) that it took a few moments for the next words, cancer risks, to sink in. Still it did remind me that it's slashing I want to avoid.

cloudy perspectives

Someone asked at a bible study the other day something about at what times "do you sense the presence of God?". That's easy. When the sun comes out. When the estrogen levels are good. "When do you not sense the presence of God?" Also easy. Invert previous answers. This is why I am wary of my senses. Gray rainy weather that lasts more than a day begins to make me question things and dwell on the worst possible answers to those questions.

Perhaps that's why I said something yesterday to my other and-always-sunny-on-the-inside half about the fact that knowing a person has a handicapped child changes how that person looks to others. In a word they look less sexy.

He took a moment to think about it. He said he doesn't think of himself as "the father of..." but I was probably right. Others do. I know I have watched those little clouds cross a face when someone (not every but some ones) learns I have a disabled son. If it is someone who has known me a while already it is just a momentary readjustment -but it is a readjustment all the same. It is, I think (caveat), why famous people suddenly become all "protecting-their-privacy" when a child has disabilities. The phot-ops are just so much less attractive. And suddenly they aren't someone you'd want to be because no one wants to join this club. As special as it is.

Seeing bugs

I took this picture almost 10 years ago. I didn't need reading glasses then. I was just really impressed that my new digital camera (a 41st birthday present) showed the little bugs I hadn't even realized were there. On reconsideration this should have been a clue. It wasn't cameras improving in this case. I suspect I wouldn't have been as impressed at the closeups in my 30s.

I was one who laughed (laughed!) at all those jokes about holding the menu farther away -that was just silly. And old women who thought some young man attractive -creepy. Groaning every time one got out of a chair -unnecessary! Ridiculous!

Why oh why didn't anyone tell me that I would still feel like a 13 year old even when I had gray hair? That I would still get annoyed with my mom for being critical and think my older sister was... well, my big sister? That grown children could be as exasperating as toddlers -that is if one can ever really consider them grown? Why did none of those older women tell me this? I tell all the younger women. And then I remember, vaguely, like the little bugs I didn't notice when I took the picture, that someone probably did mention something along these lines. There was some buzzing in the background but you know how silly old ladies can be.

scary world

... but a brother makes it less scary. How can you argue with a 18 year age difference now?

I was going to talk about what a mess the world is. And how depressed I get reading about what people find entertaining these days. Or how my mom complained that the other day when she said she was bored I turned the TV on to a cartoon for her to watch. That got a laugh -as she intended. Only she didn't add that I'd searched and searched for anything that wouldn't be offensive to some one born in 1918 -regardless of how open minded they had considered themselves (and I stayed with her to watch Kung Fu Panda and we both laughed at it -she skipped that too).

Also the van died and we don't exactly need another vehicle that seats 8 (even if only theorretically since we never really wanted to put 8 in that space not to mention we'd 'lost' one seatbelt years ago) but on the other hand crutches and walkers don't fit so well into anything else. And the sun has not been shining much and as the older brother in this picture used to say, "blah, blah, blah."

Then I looked for a picture from (just) yesterday to post and I saw some hope for the future again.

invisibility

There was a recent article in the WSJ on "invisible" disabilities. These are disabilities that you can't see. Sometimes I've heard them called "hidden"- same thing, slightly less dramatic. They are very terrible because no one can tell without you explaining... that it is very terrible. I knew all about them before the WSJ article about how these types of disabilities are costing schools more and more money. I knew because people think that 1) I'm much nicer than I am and 2) that my other half and I will sympathize even if we can't know how extra awful it is to have to explain to people that your child (or you) is disabled (but the hopeful sympathizee tries to explain that to me). Other than my height I have no real explanation for the first mistake but as for the second: let me take a whack at it.

Apparently some people think that with a visible disability the world is kinder and more understanding. Did these people not see the Hunchback of Notre Dame? Do they live some place where all the kids want to be best friends with the guy drooling in the wheelchair? Or even sit next to the kid with a stutter and a limp? If it was an option (and you know it is) would they have the word "disabled" helpfully tatooed on their child's (or their own) forehead?

And as for their additional burden of having to explain everything let me explain that seeing the CP doesn't explain anything. We still have to explain (and explain) everything all the time... no he's not as smart as Stephen Hawkin, no he couldn't walk witout the crutches if he really tried, yes he can hear you, -ask him yourself! Plus we don't just explain when we want people to know he has a disability and help would be nice (or not (which we also have to explain)). We have to explain to any random person who asks and to small children who point and stare and to sympathetic strangers. Or at least I have to if I want them to think I am much nicer than I am.

The picture goes with the rant because I took it on August 27th to show the flowers I had picked in preparation for Hurricane Irene -her rain is on the window. Or at least I think it goes with the rant but I'm not going to explain.

pet peeves

...no, actually I find this kinda endearing. When he did this when we were in our 20's and said, "take my picture." I just didn't get it (guyness was more of a mystery then) but when he still keeps doing it almost 30 years later how can I not at least try harder to look impressed? Clearly from his fashion sense it's not a vanity thing.

No, today's pet peeve is more of a statistics and probability thing. First there was the hurricane forecasts where they kept saying things like we were "overdue" for a big one. And now there is this plague-y movie saying basically the same thing for a really scary epidemic. Please understand that I am not saying the big plague, or the big hurricane aren't about to hit. But, unless we are talking earthquakes where no activity means a build up of pressure, in the land of probability a lack of events mean the missing events (probably) aren't that likely. As my advisor once said if the no. 22 (for example, I'm not picking on the number 22) ping pong ball isn't selected for a long run a true statistician doesn't think it has to come up next he* thinks someone swiped the no. 22.
The mechanisms for the next big plague sound plausible enough and many people much smarter and probably tenured think it's coming but what I still don't get is why they don't pay any attention to the fact it hasn't happened yet. I'm sure it's not because that doesn't sound nearly as important to fund and would make a movie even duller than today's blog.
Which reminds me seizures seem to be more like earthquakes than ping pong balls in lottery baskets and Caleb is about due. Shunt failures are somewhere in between ( a long spel of working means...it's working (see what I mean, no plot) but an even longer period could mean some wear and tear. I'm thinking we are in a sweet spot right now and it would be a good time to make travel plans.
If you read through this... thanks.

*the girl statisticians aren't playing the lottery

Earthquakes and Lightning

... and never do dream I will fall. Thank you Emmy Lou for understanding.

I really want to feel very sorry for myself. Very. First there was our romantic plans for just the two of us in CA -after that turned into nothinng but a streppy throat (medical term) I downgraded the anniversary plans. Besides this is one of those numbers that can't be true because I'm not even that old so how could my marriage be? We decided for a simple afternoon excursion on the sailboat, just us, our dear friends and Irene.

Poor me. Poor poor me. Does it really count that in between (that's when the summer comes for us) that we sailed and swam and beached and hiked and kayaked? No. And even if it did who knows if any of the necessary accouterments (spelling restrictions have been lifted due to the weather so no need to check that) will survive the weekend.

So I want to feel very sorry for myself since there really were earthquakes and lightning too. It's not at all fair that self pity is just so ruined by everybody else having pretty much the same week. Not fair at all.

hatched, 20 years apart

You'll have to trust me that they are brothers. Also trust me that they were having fun. The elder had refused to go out with us on a sail boat for some time but the kayaking (I'm guessing) has made him more open so this time when I asked him to come along he simply said yes. The idea of standing on the "V berth" in the bow was a trick the younger one had been perfecting and we'd discovered gave the fun of being on the bow without the necessity of holding on to him. And it worked for the eldest too -this was the first time he enjoyed sailing. Naturally on this outing the jib caught on a spar and tore making that giant sucking sound. Swoosh there goes the bank account into the hole in the water (i.e. the boat).

And can I complain? No. It is an embarassment of riches. I know it. Every day I know it.

bipolar life continues

Are these 50 year old toes? Now really? And do the business gray pants go with the LL Bean flip flops?

Today the case of wine we ordered when visiting a winery outside Livermore CA arrived. Naturally the 6 year old immediately found his scissors and was trying to open the box. If he could get it opened I figured the first thing he'd do was shake the champagne. We'd tasted it after a friend's daughter's wedding. Three of the bride's mother's bridesmaids were there -between us all we have something like 16 children (something like...). Now, two weeks later I could only hope the safety scissors couldn't make it through the packing because I was busy holding onto the 6 year old's brother while another grand mal seizure tortured his muscles and try to calmly distract the younger one from both the box and his brother's grimacing face. Fortunately the safety scissors really are safe (and useless, but that's the point isn't it?). So, hey, just another day in almost paradise. The wine is safe, the 6 year old is about to be tucked in, the post ictal (I checked the spelling by the way) headache chased away with a nap and pepperoni pizza, my toes are still blue ... and I'm still 50. It's only almost afterall.

Caleb Kayaks!!!!

And I'm naming names for once. Not just the"eldest".
And it took me 2 weeks to finally put this in here because I couldn't think of words for it. I still can't. I can't even think of any way to make it funny. Disasters can be funny. Tragedy, hilarious. Stupidity entertaining (guiltily) -but ... How can I even begin to convey what it feels like after 26 years and one brilliant idea after another (but the failures were comical) to finally find one that works? No one is holding that kayak, or guiding it. There are no strings attached. You can not tell from the picture what a miracle of normal this is. That amazingness of just like everyone else is only apparent to those who have seen all the not so normal. There are no crutches here. Even to me it feels vaguely insensitive to rejoice that he doesn't look handicapped here. Too bad. Of course it isn't wrong to be handicapped- but by golly it sucks. This didn't. Not at all. He stayed out for an hour. As soon as we can we'll be out there again.

Weird sky

Remember what I said about being a bad mother and a bad daughter all at once? Well this last week MY daughter was left to deal with ALL the consequences of poorly adhered pouches (not bags) -let me say, no let me not say it. There is no delicate way to put this but the blood (once she had consulted with the on call nurse) was the least of her troubles. Meanwhile I was punished by 90+ degree days in a house with no AC (in case you were wondering why the heat wave the end of May). And the sky was scary looking (or possibly risque depending on your imagination). And I probably am a BAD daughter too -but I have very GOOD daughter. She is the wind beneath my wings -ok, not really, but she is pretty cool right now. And cool is good.

cool

How lovely and cool this caterpillar looks to me. Eating fennel must make you feel cooler too. Something must. We have no AC, no central air, no air con-ditioning, no tolerance for whiny children. I can only be glad the grandmother is at her house with the granddaughter. Only window units there but they have smaller rooms and I imagine a breeze from the river. So it's not so bad right?

It doesn't actually make me any cooler imagining the breeze off the river. But then again I am not fetching coffee, or helping with pouches (not "bags" I'm told by the certified colostomy nurse and surely she knows) (also "pouches" is more friendly). Nothing but sweating. Then the guilt sets in that mother and daughter are both there (as in not here) together. In case you can't figure it out that makes me a bad, bad daughter and a bad, bad mother. And sweaty.

They say we'll have storms tonight and I keep waiting for the wind.

It's the little things

Here's another view of my garden -and taken yesterday . There are little red wild strawberries all over the place. They look really big next to the 2 inch gnomes.

The strawberries are ripe, my college girl is home for the summer, my mom is back at her house with the college girl, exams are graded, and a new class started...

And just about anything wil make me cry in between the moments when I feel life is overwhelmingly sweet and good because it is all so sad and difficult. That pretty much sums it up.
Oh, and the nice trauma surgeon says at the end of the summer my mom could have the colostomy reversed. Let me just pencil that in.

Mother's Day

It started with the 6 year old's awakening shout of, "Happy Mother's Day" followed by his giving me a small stuffed fox and then deciding, no, he wanted it and crying when I wouldn't trade for the killer whale he had. It ended with me cleaning up my mom because things are still... well awkward. She keeps telling me I'm wonderful. If I am it's not at all by choice.
Really I remind myself that if I keep in mind where we were a week ago, and the week before that we are doing better and better. But then I think about a week before that and -no, really this is not an improvement.
That many weeks ago I knew more than I wanted to know on any number of topics but absolutely nothing about stomas. If you don't know what this is be happy. I can only say my mother is tired of the nurses telling her it (hers inparticular) is beautiful. Nurses are funny people...
Meanwhile I have graded the final exam and posted grades and am now waiting to hear from that one student who always wants to know how I came up with their grade (by doing exactly what the syllabus said I'd do...). Truthfully it has been a good bunch this semester and a number are certainly smarter than I am. I only say that to sound humble -who really thinks this at the end of the semester? Mostly I think, how, when I said everything so clearly, could they still seem so confused? Irrationally I write a question to be challenging and then am annoyed with the ones who are too obviously challenged by it. It really hasn't been long enough since I was a student to be changing sides so easily. Still, in us vs. them, it's so comforting to know who us is - in the classroom at least. I've no idea which side I'm on anywhere else.
I think the non-picture taker in the family took this picture today because he knew I needed reminding. I couldn't be a mom without him.

It's just p**p

Well it is. But then again I can't even bring myself to type it out in the title of this entry. It was my mother who raised me thus. We could talk openly about a lot but bathroom humor just wasn't humorous. I didn't get the finger pulling joke was about until I was in my 30s -and I was completely revolted when I learned what it was all about. I was in high school before I knew the "f-word" wasn't the 4 letter word that ended in t. Thus there has been little to laugh about here.
Besides the pain and life-threatening part, my mom is simply repulsed by the reality of the colostomy. I pretend not to be but I am too. She turns away and cries and I try to sound cheerful and nonchalant and then I go and cry -or yell at my husband -or forget what red lights are there for -or have my husband yell back at me because we are both too exhausted and too overwhelmed and ...
When the home-health nurse said we had to take her to the ER Saturday night due to unusually severe pains and swollen ankles, instead of acting like the veterans of such things we are, we acted like the traumatized wrecks that we are (also). If a friend hadn't stopped by and reminded us of basics like shoes and keys we wouldn't have made it there. The surgeon said, "I'll meet you at the ER" which sounds so as if he'll be waiting by the door -at least if you're delusional it does. So eventually when we'd gone through triage and we'd recounted everything to everyone the surgeon came and said (again I quote), "you just had a big p**py." We stopped at Burger King for fries on the way home and deliriously -even my mom, repeated his words over and over again.
...because while it is true my mom has never appreciated bathroom humor - it was her subversive sense of humor that inspired my choice of garden planters.

A full house

I don't know the name of this azalea -I got it in front of a small grocery store near where my mom lived. She said a retired pastor was the grower and we found many unusual varieties there. This one has a pink sheen to the buds (the picture is good) and it is simply my favorite. The scent is that defnite but slight fragrance only azaleas have-if they have any.

My mom came home. Her parting shot to the nurses as they said good bye and told her to take care of herself was, "You better take care of yourselves. There may be more like me coming." I doubt that. Really I do.

She was told at breakfast time she'd be discharged but it took to 3pm for all the i's to dotted and t's crossed. This should not have surprised me but some how it did a little. She made it up the porch steps pretty much on her own -my second biggest concern.

So now we are on our own (sort of) with the colostomy "system" -except for some home health visits the next few weeks (that's the sort of). They will help us figure out what "system" works the best (I am tempted to put the quotes on that last word too). You have no idea of the options.

I'd like to go to bed now but first I must help her with emptying my first biggest concern. Don't forget I am still open to pity. Also sleeping.

By the way - On the natural disaster front: I believe an actual tornado would be over the top even for our level of drama so somebody tell the Weather Channel to call off the Watch because if it goes to Warning getting into the basement in a hurry will not be pretty...

PItiful me

This is, according to me mother (aka Grandma knows everything), a Stewartonia azalea. All I know is that it is so red digital cameras can't quite handle it. And I am glad it should still be glorious tomorrow when (the doctor says let's plan on) she'll be discharged. How can I feel pitiful when it's there?

But I do. And I don't mind if you pity me. It will give us something in common. Really I have never minded pity. Condescension, ignorance, stupidity, those things annoy me. Pity, however, especially the variety that comes with casseroles, I welcome.

Today's pitiful factor: I practiced taking care of the colostomy -not as bad as one might imagine -or much worse, depending on what you imagined. Then I went in the hall and cried. My mom on the other hand just tried not to look -not the best approach for reaching a goal of being able to manage it herself. We have to practice so tomorrow she can come home. They do give you a very attractive bag (no, not that bag) for your colostomy bag accessories. Also we can get free samples. That was exciting news.

On the way home I stopped and bought ... more plants. Some of them even survived the sudden stopping necessary when I realized what the red lights strung across the road were meant to indicate. I then asked me neighbor to pick up my kindergartner and her first grader from school today even though it was my turn. I think that was a wise choice.

Also, for the record I wasn't on the phone when I noticed the new light (it's been there 4 years but not the 15 before so it is kind of new) -I was listening to news reports about a face transplant, which, also for the record, is one medical procedure no one in the family has had yet. But if I do and end up with worse skin (as I was wondering about while driving), I will welcome any pity.

Raised Up

A very green day -like wheat that springeth green.
I even got a chance to get all 4 kids plus dad in one shot. Wide angle of course. And all standing unassisted. No, on closer inspection the dad is leaning on the railing.
We are both ready to lean on whatever is handy as it happens. I leaned on my friends yesterday and 3 of them came and cleaned my house, even unto the refridgerator. Blesed be they.

The very Grand mom is still in the hospital (I don't know what the case manager was smoking who gave us a heads up (not to mention a panic attack) she might be discharged Saturday (as in yesterday)). Her progress is good but slow -up to puddings yesterday, tomatoe soup today. Two percosets at a time though.

I haven't looked at the "wound" or attachments since Friday but it is all functioning and I keep supposing we will all get used to it.
If we can adjust to shunts and seizures and stammers and crutches and walkers and too much Serenity (oh what a pity they have changed the name to Tena, but it is still the brand next to Depends), we can...

Uh oh. My also exhausted husband says the little one is in bed and we'll try watching The King's Speech now or he'll collapse. I'll let you know if a movie about someone with a speech impediment is a good distraction.

My still bipolar life...

I "took off" Thursday afternoon so the airplane pilot here could have a few friends over and try for abike parade without the threat of snow.

Then the father of the pilot worked an hour over what I'd expected and I was frantic about having left my mom alone that long. She was fine when I arrived but did decide to tease me that she'd been thinking we had forgotten her. Not funny mom.

This morning as I was still lying in bed the ex-airline pilot (with only one front tooth) came in and said he "was thinking he should cuddle me" -so climbed in and put his arms around me and told me he loved me most.

This afternoon I learned about care and maintenance of a colostomy. In between I got mad at my better half again, madder still at the nurse who mis interpreted the message that I was running an errand but would return and didn't want to miss the wound care nurse to be I wanted the wound care nurse to come immediately and therfore called me just as I loaded up my cart at Target to irritatedly tell me I was going to miss the wound care nurse since I'd left. I rushed through the store and still don't know how the Easter candy came to 139 dollars but I know I bought an $8 kitchen towel that has a magnet init to hang on the refridgerator and I think a muffin pan to make butterfly shaped muffins -but I am afraid to look. It should surprise no one that when I got back to the hospital the wound care nurse arrived 3 hours later.

All I will say at this time is that it really isn't that bad -if I can get tover the part about things that belong on the insides being on the outside. My mom decided it was up to me to remember the details. I beleive she could but this is one of the perks of being 93 -she has pretty much decided it's not her job to pay attention to medical trivia. On the other hand she did get out of bed 3 times today, manage the trek to her door and back (with walker of course), and generally complain far less than I would have with a 10 inch incision across my belly.

She told the pastor yesterday (he asked) that her advice for along life was one should "never argue with your betters". She said today that she never does -but she certainly argues with us!

Looking forward to sharing more details on colostomys...

(colostomies?)

I'd still rather be sailing

Grandma update: Better. Not like a drunk person or one of those kids on the You-tube videos after their dentist appointment this morning ( i.e. was like a drunk person or one of those kids on the You-tube videos after their dentist appointment last night). So the anaethesia is probably almost all out of her system. So now it will start to really hurt...

And I confess I told the case manager I want her home soon -but not actually on Easter Sunday (minus 1 caring points). Discharge and transfers are all day affairs -we know from experience. Still, I assured them, we do want her home and not in a "rehab" facility (plus one caring point for me). I don't think Sunday is likely in any case with all she is still attached to but you never know and in theory it's a good idea to communicate one's expectations/needs with the staff. In theory more than practice since in practice one is simply repeating it all to various people who will not be on the duty when the times comes anyways.

Talking back

Don't you think moss is peaceful? Sometimes people suggest we lime our yard to make it less habitable for the moss but moss doesn't need mowing. Low maintenance is the name of the game.

... since life is not. I went in last night so ready to yell at people but my mom was resting well and she only woke occasionally to squeeze my hand and she'd go back to lightly snoring. That sounds a little more idyllic than I meant -she startled occasionally to jerk awake and grimace, clutch at my hand and then sink back -that's more accurate. Still I left at midnight hoping she'd be alright. My sister returned at 6am to find her frantic with pain and no nurses in sight. She spent 45minutes trying to call one. You know how in all the tv shows the hospital halls always have a steady stream of personell? Hah. You have a better chance of finding a salesperson at Walmart. And like Walmart if you go to the section with all the electronics you have the best chance.

Apparently narcotics tend to give the elderly all the side effects and little of the main effects so she has been in a fog most of the day. To look at her you would think she is far gone. She never even opened her eyes when the surgeon came in but when I asked (suspiciously), "Did you follow all that mom?" She managed a. "yup". Mainly I think she just doesn't think it's worth the effort to be too present -and as I recall from my own surgical adventures that's how it feels. I had to head out for work (explaining the odds ratios again, really) the staff was going to "help" her clean up and get her sitting up -in other words, medically sanctioned torture.

My torture was the night before when I began to question if we should have listened to the surgeon. Hadn't the GI guy said let's wait and watch? Was the surgeon just trolling the halls for work? Wasn't the OR (not odds ratio this time [biostatistics humor]) unexpectedly available at a momen't's notice. Did they decide to go drum up business. Did I influence my mom in accepting an un-necessary procedure and cause her to go from relatively (very) comfortable and alert to this drugged and beaten state? My better half told me to stop it. He's probably right again.

This afternoon she sipped tea and something like (but it couldn't have been I think) ice cream according to my sister. I will review for the final exam (and hope no one asks any complicated questions) and stop by the hospital again tonight. It's spring.

another day another...

Redbud, also known as Judas Tree, neither of which names seems at all accurate.

Grandma at the hospital, saga continues...

I went in after breakfast, but before the gift shop opened at the hospital. So when the gift shop did open I ran down to buy a flowering plant (any excuse) and told my mom that since I was leavnig the room someone would come by with important news. I returned to catch the end of a surgeon telling her things were not likely to improve on their own and he wanted to take out the bad stuff and then leave a "bag". See what I mean? If I had sat with her and waited all day no one would have shown up and nothing would have happened. As it was within 20 minutes he had convinced himself -and us -that the sooner the better was the best course. And since no one was prepared for this naturally I have never seen things move so fast at the hospital (ask me about my 2nd appendectomy sometime). My better half made it there about 2 minutes before she was wheeled into surgery. Then we went out for barbecue.

Three hours (and a little) later we (now my sister had joined us) saw her in her room. They said she'd done well. She seemed mostly asleep but when I repeated she had "done well" she was following enough to try and make some comment -definitely a sarcastic one. But any movement pulled her out of that safe place one goes after surgery -far away from the pain -back to the pain. Followed by us arguing with the nurse that she needed the morphine pump next to her and... let me just say this. Hospitals talk about pain management, congress talks about people too much pain medicine so one would think this should be an area that's covered. It's not. Don't get me started. I'm off to my shift now as a patient advocate and I'm not feeling very kindly towards low dosing. I'll let you knowhow that goes....

The exciting world of medicine

[this was a few weeks ago, see 87 years

my mother and my son is not so much]

...by 2pm (at the latest) we knew my mom would be admitted. The cause of the bleeding was still inkown but a few things (good and bad) had been elimanated. At approximately 9pm she was moved to a room. At 9:30pm I hit the nurse call button. The tech had transported her and left. Really I just wanted to know how to turn the overhead light off (it took them 3 tries at different switches so I didn't feel so bad). Also to mention a few small details regarding her mobility (i.e. the lack there of) and well, things one would like mobility for. Fortunately there was a team of doctors already running all her lab work and on their way out to our house to check through her things for possible toxins and running scans in an exhaustive pursuit of the a medical diagnosis and... oops sorry. That was the dream sequence. In real life a scan had shown that an artery is not getting enough blood to part of the bowel but they can't say why (clot or constriction) but it will "probably" heal itself given that she "rests her bowels" (how delightful!)for a few days. If not various bad things can happen and various doctors might be consulted -probably.

Everyone is exhausted and grumpy and it was all pretty boring most of the day. ERs are in fact the most boring places I know. The occasional lack of boredom one personally experiences is not so fun and when exciting stuff is obviously happening to your neighbors you have to pretend not to notice. I did see alot more people in handcuffs than usual but it seemed tacky to actually go into the hall and check it out.

Pre-emptive

We are on our way to the hospital ER to meet my sister and my mom. For her (my mom's not my sister's) 93rd birthday my sister took her (my mom and herself actually) to the mountains. Where of course my mom got sick in the hotel becasue as she taught us , it pays to be good but it doesn't pay much. And now there is some unexplained bleeding so we'll all rendezvous at the ER. I was feeling distraught and I told the next to eldest as he prepared to take the little one (naturally no school today) and I prepared to wait for his dad (naturally one car in the shop and a business trip today) that we might "lose Grandma one day' (or something silly) and he said, "I've always thought pre-emptive suffereing was a poor tactical choice." I love my sons -and clearly he has come to this conclusion from years of seeing me try to pre-empt all possible catastrophes. This is an N. poeticus. My mother taught me it's beauty and it's name. She has always been a good tactician.

snakes and flowers

This is an Eastern earth worm snake -actually I may be adding the word worm to the name and that's just what they eat. They are very cute and will wrap all your around your fingers. I always find them under rocks and logs when weeding and find them preferable to the equally common (in my yard) Black Widow spiders -it was the baby Wido spiders that converted me to gardening with gloves.

It was such a lovely day I decided not to exercise at the Y but to work in the yard. For some reason I've gone to the Y the last several Thursdays but I couldn't quite think why today. Was it because I drive the kids (mine + neighbor) to kindergarten Thursday mornings? Why had picked Thursday? Who knows. Between pruning and clipping and trying to write up an explanation of how to interpret an odds ratio without saying anything rude (you'd be surprised the opportunities for rudeness in statistics) it was time to go back for the kindergarten Spring party. The kids in mine's class know me now and a small group rushed me when I got in and one girl squealed I was late and then they all said my guy was hiding in the woods with the bears and the dinosaurs -until he came through and hugged me, and then there were several more hugs and I was feeling quite smug. I told the teacher that's why I came -since none of my students rush to hug me when I arrive. It was my ego boost. Which clearly God heard because 5 minutes later another child came up to me and said, "You look like a Grandma." He knew I wasn't -he just wanted to point out the resemblance. No amount of highlights, or skin care products was going to deceive this kid. And since I had noticed several parents in the room who clearly I could have given birth to myself... well until he said this I thought the problem was they looked too young. Mine of course doesn't think I look anything like a Grandma -since his Grandma is 93 in 2 days his standards are clearly in my favor.

On the other hand he has been telling me how beautiful his teacher's forehead (that's right, he's a forehead man) is because it is so "smooth and shiny". You've got to feel sorry for a little guy this surrounded by wrinkles.

...And failing memories. I have been worried about my mom's lately. SHe has a terrible time keeping straight what day it is and what our schedules are. And tonight I was looking at my calendar. Turns out the eldest's swim lessons are Thursday mornings -at the Y of course.

I don't remember this flower's name, but it's lovely don't you think?

Am I bipolar or is my life?

[note: slippers were a Christmas present, from my husband, when I'd asked for lingere, 20 years ago. And I keep them -in case he ever forgets.]

Is it still manic depressive when this isn't that untypical a day? Wake up early and get in hot tub with husband. Argue over how best to handle ridiculous traffic charge against eldest driving son (really. they charged him with driving with no insurance because the card in the car was old -which is not an offense and in every state but ours the police can electronically check insurance status -and he had committed no traffic violation) and generally yell at each other over minor scheduling conflicts -because we can I guess. Pack lunch, find ice cream money, explain (again) there is no time to play on his brother's PS3 before school. Strip beds where in the occupants didn't quite make it through the night. Do more laundry (more than I ever imagined at this point in life). Push the pain meds. Answer email. Try to renew the SAS software, spending 1 and 1/2 hours on the phone with the IT guy before discovering I was using the renewal file for the wrong version. Get my hair highlighted -maybe that will help. Try really hard not to cry at the hairdressers since I had to cut my mom off from explaining how she had made all the wrong choices in life and nothing she'd fought for, believed in worked out -or something since the country was clearly going down the tubes, and no, don't try to figure it out. Go to the kindergarten and watch my husband entertain kindergartners by way of showing them the "jobs" different instruments do (this is how desperate our kindergartener's teacher was for a "community helper" volunteer for "community helper" day). Go home and finish trying to run a logistic regression (sounds impressive) to email the non significant p values to a dissappointed researcher, fold laundry, do more laundry. Have a snack of melted brie and walnuts with crackers with my mom while we watch some weird old musical. Make tacos, mistakenly give my mom impression they were done. Have to tell her not yet and then she turns almost in tears from the back pain to go back to bed. The 6 year old follows her and somehow gets his feelings hurt (did she snap at him? I don't know as neither are very clear, both being upset). Think teachable moment and patiently explain about Grandma being in pain but still loving him and he pulls in the tears, marches into her room (with me following to witness touching moment) and he chides her, "Grandma you made me feel bad." I do not blow up but I do whisk him out and put him in "time out" -and then he has a complete melt down and the taco shells burn. Daddy gets home. He explains it's not the little one's job to scold the big ones -and I admit he did a much better job than I did. Besides at this point I'm having a melt down. Dinner was pleasant -maybe because the little one (not scolding of course) did insist everyone pray. Then we had a great game of "The Cat in the Hat Can Do That" (if you're my age you will not have heard of this) and then we folded laundry ( in my mom's room to keep her company) and the second round of pain medicine had kicked in so we were showered with love and kudos as we did. (I should perhaps make it clear that the "we" here does not include any of my children over the age of 6, in case it should sound unrealistically idyllic). For brevity I skipped some parts.

Things I didn't picture: part 1 of 2,000,013

Obviously I don't have a picture for this. But picture if you will my son in the pool, struggling to get over his fear of putting his face in the water and one of the instructor's asks how much he's in pools. Not much recently I explain (guiltily of course) because he's so sensitive to the water temparture (something the instructor has already acknowledged to be an issue at outdoor pools) and then he says, "He's a bit spoiled isn't he?" At which point I spluttered more than my baby in the pool. My bearded 26 year old baby. Who's CP makes his muscles spasm in any thing below about 83 degrees but which the experts telling us to get him swimming lessons forgot to mention (doesn't everybody know that?) until after I'd forced him to try again and again to swim in our chilly neighborhood pool years ago. Who we make clean the kitchen and take Grandma lunch and manage his own meds and babysit his little brother and generally try to make get moving on with life and...(still spluttering). And this same man is within seconds telling me we should try to get him exercising more (telling me... not my son) and suggesting he work on bending his ankles independently (like multple physiatrists, therapists, orthopeds, and God knows us too, didn't try for 20 some years) and asking me (really) if he used to walk without the crutches (yeah, but we forgot to keep up with his exercise and pretty much just spoiled him with the crutches). Oh, and when I mentioned the physiatrist (an MD specialist in physical medicine) thought I said podiatrist and tried to point out a podiatrist wouldn't be much help. So here's the part I didn't picture. That 26 years after having my first baby I would still be feeling as defensive as any new mother and total stragers would feel as free with the advice as they did when I actually had a baby. I mean I know alot of moms whose 26 year olds, frankly, may be or have been or at least acted a little spoiled -and as far as I know nobody tells them so. Somehow I thought when I mentioned the young man in question has his Associates degree it would be clear the mommy talk should end but no... I'm going to get a card printed that says, "Talk to him, I'm just the driver." I'll think I'll try it for the 6 year old too. I'll let you know how that works at soccer.

Fear not...like that's gonna happen

I was obsessing aloud to a friend over my change in status in the fall, and trying to locate the cause of my discomfort. Maybe it is because if I think if they can do this what else will be changed? So she said, "Oh, you're being afraid of things that haven't happened." Error located... I am the queen mother of being afraid of stuff that hasn't happened yet. First though I have to think it all up and that is where my vivid imagination comes in handy. And if that's not enough there are weather forecasters...and birthday parties. But last year somehow we had the best party idea -a bike parade. The kids loved it, it was simple, it was different, activities (decorating the bike, riding the bike) were built in. Pefect. So we decide to repeat. This is where the forecasters come in. Sunday afternoon was the target, so 1st they predict rain. I can handle that. Then rain and snow... then 90% chance of snow, staring early and going through the party time. OK. The roads are supposed to be clear. We can switch to indoor games, sure indoor games for 10 active 5-6 year olds. The kindergarten teacher, the sweet young thing, turns out to have an evil laugh -I heard it when I told her who was coming. And then I wake up to the above pictured back yard, and the snow is still falling heavily. OK, we'll do snowball fights. Does this sound like I was handling things well? Good, because I tried to make it look that way -I was really trying to think of ways to leave home and let my better half handle it. And this is what my backyard looked like by party time. Perfect bike parade weather - if I hadn't told everyone to leave the bikes home. So what's a queen mother to do? 3 hours after they all go home I remember I forgot to tell the moms that there was a glow bracelet in the gift bag -NOT a honey stick (that's what my child thought it might be). So I left repeated and frantic and totally crazed messages on cell phones and home phones and emails. Of course no one tried to eat it after all... and the one over-twisted bracelet explosion only made a few stuffed toys and some small spots on the wall glow all night. The lesson here is that it's not just the birthday party hosts who should be afraid. And tonight is my last time with my baby when we are 5 and 50. Tomorrow we're 6 (allusion to famous AA Milne book, not that I've forgotten I'll still be 50). I was being a bit weepy over this. My baby said it would be alright because "soon you will be like Grandma with all your family taking care of you." Except for the soon part that doesn't sound too scary.

Change of Season

We were visiting a friend who is a tenured professor of a far more technical field than mine, she can still where a 2 piece bathing suit without shame, her children are brilliant and this is where she took us snow-shoeing since I was too wimpy to ski. And she is a year (or so) younger than I am so there's no hope of catching up.

But catching up is not where my "career" (and even with quotes I use that term loosely) is going right now. It's not a punishment (I'm told) but I will only be advising, not teaching, in the fall. New (actual) faculty (as opposed to limited part time adjunct me) will get my (mine mine mine) class. In the spring I will be teaching an undergraduate class. This is actually all perfectly reasonable and fair. In fact, it's more than fair all things considered. And it isn't my class anyway. These are just feelings. Limited part time feelings. Do other professors go home and cry? Or at least cry on the way home?

Or would they if their day started out like mine with their mothers telling them they (the mothers) should move back home so the 5 year old won't see them "this way", and then crying... and then telling the (probably tenured) professor they were completely out of Serenity pads (the name has actually changed but notice I hate change) and the 5 year olds must now be dropped off early with a neighbor to allow for enough time to get these necessities and Milk Way bars to prove that they (the professors) do still love their mothers even though they huffed a little over trying to fit this in and still make it to a meeting and when they ran in the house with these purchases their mother was asleep so they had to just give instructions to the son who had had a seizure the night before last to take care of his grandmother and check with some other neighbors to be sure someone would be home since their spouse was out of town and they wouldn't be able to answer the phone and advise and lecture and all that before getting home very late? Would they? Do I sound pitiful enough? Do I?

But the truth is this change (my job, not the name of the pads) is probably good (and not even permanent) . Still, I avoid change on principle -not to mention on the simple basis of fear -only to be surprised as I was with the snow shoeing at the amazing views and wonder of it all and the sure knowledge that on my own I'd be lost and freezing to death.