How to be happy

Go to the National Botanical Garden in DC. First on a random day with your 6 year old and your husband. Then on Valentine's day with just your husband. Then during your college daughter's spring break and dress in cute little print dresses so although you know that no one thinks you are her sister you can pretend they do. Go there at least 3 times in 2 months. And take lots of pictures to stare at when you are tired... because flowers don't ask for alot of understanding. Even Solomon never dressed this well after all.

Of course that's not the whole secret to happiness - but if I gave it all away now I'd have nothing left to blog about.

My compass

Almost 7. But not there yet. He explained to my mom that even though she is "spoiled" we still do things for her because she "is old" and when I am old he and his wife will take care of me because that is what God wants us to do and he can not wait until he and his wife take care of me. I told him to make sure to tell the girl of his choice (a certain red head as a matter of fact) this plan as soon as they start dating. A win win for me.
As for my direction, it seems much clearer when I take the time to talk to those involved and not to imagine myself on some heading out to sea. Especially when I haven't left the shore yet. You'd think I'd learn this by now.
At 6 every direction is new. I'd shout out, "North North East" and he'd find it and run that way until he came to some obstacle and then start again. "Tell me another Mom." Every time an adventure -and of course he is right.

O, Oh my

A week ago this was my view so let me tell you my view point this evening. First some background, after 2 calls to the rescue squad which I may expound on at some later date, my mother is on a steady dose of benadryl. Also she was up most of the night in the ER. So she's a little shall we say vague? She rolls (walker wise) to the table and the little guy points out, "Grandma, you have a bandaid on your arm still." She does but she can't see it and says no it's gone. He starts talking about bandages falling off and she thinks he is saying "bag" falling off and so she checks. Sure enough there is no bag - I check too and there is nothing where it is supposed to be. Upsy daisy, let's roll back to the bathroom.

Now for some more background. When I was growing up my mother did not believe in any bathroom talk. I wouldn't have even said potty. She wouldn't say "pee" and instead she said "o" (because it was the letter next to p and that struck her as funny -and it still does). One simply didn't discuss what happened in a bathroom. I still can't say the "f" word, I mean the other "f" word. Seriously, I did not know the word for diarhea at the same age she'd taught me how to identify Amanitas and Boletus and the delicious Ink Caps. It does seem a little strange to me now.
But that God, He has such a sense of humor because now I am in the bathroom with that same woman and she sits on the toilet so I can confirm that not only is the pouch not on but neither is anything else (colostomies are complicated let me tell you that) and as she sits I hear... shall we say running water? - and I say, "Mom, did you also forget to put your underwear back on?" and she says, "Sounds like it." And then we both start laughing and I can't stop giggling the entire time I'm putting her gear (hey, that's a new one the colostomy supply ads could use) back on.
The point is, her hearing is still good.

Don't pity me -I have that covered.

This frog is sideways. I don't know why but I re-uploaded it 3 times and every time it gets turned sideways. But that seems appropriate, Today, after (minimal details) 24 hours of some sort of icky (technical term) virus, I checked email and there was the Summer and Fall schedule of classes and I am not there. I had small hopes for the Summer but I had expected a Fall class. I didn't teach last Fall but I'd been hoping that was a fluke. I'd even tried to ask at the time if this was a sign of a new pattern and was told probably not. Or something admittedly vague but to which I could still pin some hope.
And here's the thing. I am 51. I do not look impressive as an academic on paper. Or is that as a paper academic? All of this doing things late in life sounds very cool but now instead of a biological clock ticking in my ear it is an academic clock. When will I get something published? Will I ever be more than limited-part-time-adjunct-we'll-call-you-if-we-need-you-not-quite-faculty-technically-professorial-lecturer? And I am so over working for nothing with the idea that someday it will pay off because my somedays are shrinking.
And then when I am still a bit dizzy I have to check my mom's bag (I mean pouch) because she's worried the wafer against her skin needs changing. I decided it didn't. And I was deeply, deeply grateful that it did not. It was like a little miracle that I could just say not today.
And I could go back to obsessing over my lack of academic future and trying to figure out what I should do now. If you are reading this blog and you need an old but new epidemiologist please call. Of course because of the 1st grader (hanging on my arm at this very moment) and the various crutches and canes all over my house I'd prefer to work from home (do not ask me why). Just call.
Also I do frog rescue. This one was chirping for several nights in the bottom of a planter in my mom's room. I put it out near our little tadpole filled garden pond. I hope it is happy now and not sideways.

Early spring

I guess she is all over the pneumonia now. I can hear her in the next room discussing politics with my other half. We took her back to her house (at great personal sacrifice) over the weekend and she was so happy to be able to sit out in the sun and look at the river that she asked me to take her picture. In almost 94 years I'm pretty sure that is the first time she asked someone to take her picture. There are pictures of her in her wedding gown but they aren't from her wedding day -they were done as a gift from a friend at the commercial photographer she'd worked for. I can't imagine her handing someone a camera and saying, "Get one of me standing next to..." She didn't even put me or my sister in pictures unless it added scale to the composition. Or when we looked very funny from say the mumps (that one of me she also got her favorite azalea into).

Was everyone of her generation like that? Sort of the opposite of the Facebook era?

testing the new router

OK, I'm back . I can upload photos again. Grandma is home from the hospital. I've used up all my stress. And it takes a picture to remind me why having kids with 18 years between them is pretty cool. Even if they all have energy to burn when I don't. And they know how to take advantage of the very little snow we had. Also I love my digital camera. (well, cameras...) I had been worrying about leaving my offspring all these thousands of thousands of pictures. What would they do with them all? I realized I was trying to sort everything in my house because I was trying so hard to sympathize with my mom's life ending. Silly. Besides even if my end is around the corner they'll just have to sort it out for themselves. I'll have to for my mom. It's not so bad. The trick is to run through the snowflakes.