He decided that no, he really did want to play, so I let him… but I stayed in bed and kept my eyes closed, dozing intermittently, listening for the distinct sound of oh no nobody’s coming to play so I must wake everyone up. He didn’t do that until 4:30, when I came in again, changed him, turned him on his side, and went back to bed. Again.

I tried, oh how I tried to doze back off. I only went to bed at 12:30am (because my brain was full of what’s below), so I knew I was toast if I didn’t sleep. At 5, I gave up, and cruised the internet and started this post.

He woke up again at 5:30.

Shit. Going to be a long day.

~~

What I was expecting yesterday was a call from my dad saying that my niece made a safe entry into the world, as last I’d heard, Brother #4’s wife was scheduled for a c-section. Instead, the call started with a statement that his niece, my cousin A, had called. Aunt E died yesterday morning.

On her 99^th birthday.

A few days after my previous post, Cousin A had called Dad to say that Aunt E had been in the hospital and was going to hospice. Two days later she was home. She did it again! She’d been sent to hospice a few years ago and bounced back. As another cousin said, the next thing we know we’ll get the news she’s walking on water. She’s always bounced back.

Dad has been itchy since then about going to the shithole on the state line to see his sister, but something has always come up. Boy’s therapies or clinic visits. I’m sick. DH is sick. Dad got a nasty cold. Boy has the sniffles. Yeah… you can’t go and visit someone who is extremely elderly who just got out of the hospital for a respiratory infection and pneumonia if you’re sick yourself.

I was literally on the verge of calling Aunt E’s house to a) wish her happy birthday and b) to ask if we could set up a visit, when Dad’s call came through.

Naturally, I’m sad and heartbroken. Aunt E has been part of the fabric of all my life, something many of my paternal cousins can say; she was the thread that bound that side of the family together. And in the last two years I had wanted to get to the inconvenient city she lives in (just outside of three hours away), not only for the pleasure of seeing her but to have the pleasure of her seeing my boy, and getting a picture of it.

Dad, understandably, is devastated; he is now the last of what had been a large family. He had promised his sister he’d visit, but wanted me to take him as she was always reticent with any of the boys around for some reason, but sang like a bird with me around. While I think he initially blamed me for failing to take him and therefore breaking his promise, I did point out that in the past three weeks there had not been opportunity or a gap when any of us were not sick. And there’s no way that we could have been around her with even a garden-variety cold. He knows this in his heart, but his mind I think is not accepting. There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’ll be sorry if he wants me to be sorry, but I’m not. That’s just life.

~~

My cousin M, the daughter of another paternal aunt (Aunt M), had been very close to Aunt E. M had lived with Auntie for several periods while growing up because of her mother’s difficulties. She just adored Auntie, who was really to her a second mother, a true mother. Oh, and never mind that M’s birthday is the day after Aunt E’s. So close, they talked all the time; they even shared this morbid fascination as to who would die first, E or M, as M has had several health problems for years… instead of being weird, it became a rather funny running joke.

So, when M’s husband asked M what she wanted for her birthday, she said she wanted to drive out to see Aunt E, an even longer drive than what I have. Yesterday, she called to not only wish Auntie a happy birthday, but also to check and see if Auntie could handle a visit. The granddaughter who had been living with Auntie (and was her caretaker) answered, and said sadly, “I’m sorry to have to say this, but she just passed away.”

“No, no, no…”

The first person I called after Dad called me yesterday was not any of my siblings, but Cousin M, knowing that she would be completely shattered by the news. She told me that Auntie had been sharp as a tack to the very end; on the last day of her life, she was just very tired, still not feeling well from the cold that had nearly killed her, and went to bed early. Around 7:30 yesterday morning, the granddaughter came in to check on her as she always did, and found that Auntie was gone – must have just died, in fact, because her hands were still warm.

So that is a blessing – Auntie died in her own bed, without pain, in her sleep, something everyone wants but not what everyone gets. She never got over losing her husband nigh on thirty years ago, and so now she’s reunited with him. God rest her soul.

~~

She lived exactly 99 years, January 26 to January 26. What a life! Born in 1913, one of five children, her early childhood was during the privations and stresses of World War I. She was about seven when her mother, my grandfather’s first wife, died of tuberculosis. Unlike her eldest sister Aunt P, who resented her stepmother/my grandmother from the day she married my grandfather, Aunt E embraced and adored her stepmother, eventually naming her second daughter after her; later, her eldest daughter would also name a daughter after her step-grandmother. All her life, Auntie kissed the ground her two baby brothers, the two children my grandparents had together – of whom my dad was one – walked on, despite the age difference.

Auntie’s late husband, who she married when she was seventeen, had been a dentist, so they were comfortable. That wasn’t satisfying to her; in a day and age where a woman was expected to stay home, she had her own paint store in Tucson instead, very much a trailblazer thirty-plus years before Women’s Lib was big.

She had a heart the size of Texas, too: at various points, she took in this niece or that nephew or this or that grandchild for extended periods of time. This too had its heartache: when Cousin M’s eldest brother “Buddy” was having severe behavioral problems, Aunt E took him in, loved him, and got him turned around – unfortunately, when his mother, Aunt M, decided to ‘play mother’ again, it wrought havoc in his life; it would be one of Aunt E’s great sorrows when Buddy, who was still living with Auntie at that point, went back to her house after a fight with his mother one day, went into his room, and put a gun in his mouth. It is a mark of strength that it didn’t break her. I don’t think I could have handled that.

It had to have been hard to watch those she loved go before her. While her three children are still alive – the eldest is 80! – she’s witnessed the loss of all of her siblings save one, her “baby” brother (she called Dad that in every single birthday card), all of her siblings-in-law save one (Uncle J’s wife, who is 88 and failing), and so many others beloved to her. It’s the curse of being elderly, something Dad is experiencing, too. Yet while she mourned, sometimes bitterly, her spirit was unbroken.

~~

The last ten years have been hard on her, with the loss of independence – first it was the encroaching deafness, then the macular degeneration that slowly took her sight, and then in recent years her physical endurance failed, forcing her homebound. Her courage, however, never failed, no matter how hard the loss of her sacred independence was on her.

But I suspect something broke in her with this latest issue. Remember, she was signed over to hospice – and she had been at least twice in the last five years and came through to live a few more years – and she was well enough that when she insisted on going home, they released her. Yet I think this last time took some vital essence out of her, weakened her, and depleted her will to live.

Cousin M said that Auntie had said in the last six months, in her indirect way, that she was ready to go. Therefore, really, there’s no reason to cry – she was ready, and it was her time.

If they did an autopsy (which they won’t, but just saying), they’d probably find she’d just died of old age.

~~

She was a sister and a dear friend to my mother for the almost fifty years of my parents’ marriage; Mom’s death broke her heart, and she couldn’t speak of Mom without choking up for the longest time.

She had a horror of the though of outliving her baby brother, my dad. At least she doesn’t have to live through that.

~~

In many ways, to me she was the grandparent I never had (all of them died before I was born, the curse of being a late child of a late child), and a link to them outside of Dad. Cards for birthdays, checks sent for major life events despite a severely restricted income (somehow Uncle B didn’t leave Auntie with much in her old age), always an open phone line and a great correspondent. I think if her eyesight hadn’t failed her so badly in the last fifteen years, she might have enjoyed email as a fast way of communication.

While I am sad, it’s really no surprise. I shed tears, of course, but there’s no need to wail: she was 99, after all, and her death, while mourned, is hardly tragic. She had a full life, with all its highs and lows. And I don’t think she ever spoke ill of anyone in her life – oh, she had people she definitely liked and disliked, but she usually just smiled and moved on with the latter; I know that’s something I never mastered. She was a rare human being, and her like will never be seen again.

The next to last chapter of the seven siblings is done. It remains to be seen how the the last chapter, and the story, will end.

~~

As I alluded to in my previous post, now I have to watch my dad’s mental state. I spent most of the day with him yesterday, both to talk his grief out and to keep an eye on him. He’s stoic – you won’t see him weeping and wailing, a failing I have as well. However, I had a hard time keeping a lid on my sorrow so I didn’t upset him more than he already was.

Since it’s my understanding that Auntie wanted no funeral and no memorial, but just going to be cremated and interred in Tucson with Uncle B, it’s going to be hard to have closure in some ways. I think I might just hit up Cousin M, get together, and remember and toast an amazing woman and amazing life.

]]> http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/2012/01/27/a-light-has-gone-out/feed/ 2 Allie http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/depressing-reading-ahead/ http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/depressing-reading-ahead/#comments Thu, 12 Jan 2012 19:56:34 +0000 Allie http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/?p=814 ]]> (You’re warned… just sayin’)

I haven’t posted lately because it’s another round of Dad-not-doing-well mixed in with the usual nuttiness of Boy’s schedule; throw in a ninja cold that knocked all three of us on our asses, plus one funeral of a family friend, and right now I’m a candidate for a silent retreat at a monastery/nunnery/mountain retreat. It’s been so crazy my personal journal is stuck at around December 16 (now a month behind again, dammit) and I still have most of the Christmas stuff up… but the tree did come down this weekend before it went FOOM if we turned on the lights.

~~

It’s really disconcerting to see Dad deteriorate after a “routine” surgery, such as his stent surgery last month. He’s still disoriented, time-wise. He’s having short term memory issues (he asked me three times where the taco sauce was on Christmas night… three times in a row). And for someone who hated his wife’s shunning of all medical stuff, who himself was particular about getting in for his quarterly blood draws and all that stuff, almost has to be nagged if not dragged in to do it.

Very disconcerting.

Not helpful either is Brother #2, who means well, but in his inimitable style, fucks things up in the end. Take Dad’s meds for example – to help, he volunteered to load up Dad’s weekly medication tray. Wonderful! Great! Makes life easy for me, especially after I untangled that unholy mess that had been on the vanity last month. So I check the trays at his request on Monday, and not only are the pills across the week inconsistent, but there are pills that we had set aside when we weeded some out with the doctor. It’s obvious he’s just guessing.

What in the hell, dude? Does he not understand that we’re messing with blood thinners here? Too little of these meds, and the blood gets too thick, risking another heart attack and possibly stroke; too much, and Dad will bleed like the proverbial stuck pig doing something as simple as brushing his teeth. He said he understood that when that whole mess happened last month, but B2 has ever been a little dull in the brains department, and obviously something didn’t stick… making a bigger job for me.

I can’t be there to oversee Dad’s stuff and Boy’s, too – if Boy didn’t have his issues, then yeah. But he does and I can’t deal with two people heavily dependent on me in two different houses. I can’t run two houses right now – I can barely keep tabs on my own, even with help.

I’m almost at the point of pinging his doctor’s office about perhaps a nurse coming in weekly to check on these things. One thing I am doing when I have a minute to breathe is insisting on a pow-wow with the doc and airing the deep concerns that have arisen this past week.

~~

Yesterday was the funeral of a family friend. “Aunt P” was the wife of one of my dad’s two childhood friends from Tucson who all went to college, went in the military, married and moved to the area I grew up in, all around the same time. Aunt P and her husband, Uncle B, were the godparents of my third brother, but I wound up closer to them than he ever was, more because of time and place rather than anything else. Aunt P was a hoot (her ashes were in a brightly decorated, child’s cookie jar, for God’s sake!), but she was also the type to nag the pastor at church and tell him how to run things. She was a constant in our lives. My parents would run into her at the store, at restaurants, at wherever. She and Uncle B, along with Uncle J (the second childhood friend) and his wife Aunt J, who were my fourth brother’s godparents, were at the yearly Christmas party and major family events without fail.

Aunt P, who was strong and stoic and pretty much had seen it all, came to my mother’s funeral drenched in tears – they’d been close for years, and Aunt P had helped and comforted my mother through a miscarriage in the early years of friendship which had sealed their connection, as Aunt P had gone through many miscarriages. By the time my mother died, the friendship had thrived almost fifty years. In the five years that had followed Mom’s death, Dad saw Aunt P here and there. It seemed she would probably outlive Dad, as she seemed eternal, despite being five years older (therefore 87 when she did die last week).

Her death ended a circle of Dad’s friends – my parents, Uncle B and Aunt P, Uncle J and Aunt J, and the later addition in the early 1950s of my godparents Aunt N and Uncle R - were inseparable despite miles and time. My godmother died of breast cancer in 1992, then, heartbroken and lonely, Uncle R drank himself to death four years later;  Aunt J died of cancer a few years later, then Uncle J of myriad health problems two years after that: Uncle B was the shocker – he had just gotten a clean bill of health and had gone up to his cabin to close it for the season, when on the way home on the highway he had a massive heart attack – he was dead by the time the car rolled to a stop at the side of the road… that was the fall before my mom died in 2006. Since then it’s been Aunt P and Dad left. Now, days after a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, Aunt P died.

Dad initially didn’t want to go; I offered to take him and he accepted. But by the time I got him home, he was upset. Not mad-upset, but emotionally upset and he basically grunted as he got out of my truck and into the house. It is upsetting. He’s the last, the only survivor. It’s ironic in that he was the one with the worst habits and smokes like a chimney, yet he survives all of them, even Mom.

It is the end of a family era.

~~

However, worse has crossed my mind, if my suspicions and fears have foundation after talking to the doc when he can spare 20 minutes: it might be quite the “race” to see who survives the last circle in his life, almost 83 year old Dad or his 97 year old sister who once said to him, “You can’t die and leave me alone! I can’t bear to be the last!”

~~

So yeah, I’m not a lot of fun. Sorry.

But the Boy is truly a joy and is working oh so hard to improve. Sweet little pie guy. Such a joy. I gotta go… I’ll write more later.

I played up the excitement of Santa on Christmas morning, and although Boy’s only 2 and lags developmentally, he seemed to ‘get it.’ He knew something good was in those wrapped boxes and colorful bags, and that they were for him. After tearing the paper a few times on the first box, he was off and running – he made a splendid mess. “Santa” held off on getting Boy all the stuff “Santa” wanted because “Santa” knew he was going to make out like a bandit later in the day (the grands and the auntie went nuts!). Nevertheless, Boy got lots of loot… and it was so much fun. He latched on to the little Clifford the Red Dog sent by DH’s aunt and to the Fisher-Price telephone (the one we ALL had as kids, just with big black Manga-type eyes instead of the blue rimmed ones in the classic version) that Santa brought – his big thing is telephones right now. It’s great. What fun!!

~~

BB picked up her blog again and has posted about her new blessing.

~~

Twice in the last week, DH has brought up the thought of a sibling for Boy: once at DH’s friends’ house as he was enthralled by their six year old son, and the other as Boy latched onto his cousin, my sister’s son. DH is getting to the point of saying “Yeah, it’s gotta be done.”

As I’ve posted before, I’ve been ready for the last several months to start the whole arduous paperchase all over again. I have to be patient. I think the time is about right, since (as it stands now) Boy will be starting preschool next fall a couple of times a week.

~~

Speaking of adoption, I came across this article tonight. Parts of the article bother me. – scratch that. The article bugs the shit out of me. I don’t care for the tone. It’s also the  in-your-face attitude of her having money to throw around (see: references to oysters, the cavalier “What price family?”/adopt at all costs attitude, etc.) which is completely irrelevant to the adoption scenario and the point she might be trying to make, and the fact that Rosa (can I call her Rosa?) lays out blatant misinformation in an article that is published for all the English speaking world to read.

She lays out her failed placement out as if that awful scamming scenario is rampant – oh, it’s definitely out there (sadly), but not all facilitators are lazy, complacent dumbshits who don’t do their homework and screw their clients over. The other issue is where does the blame lay here – the facilitator for being suckered, or Rosa for her implied desperation in blindly overnighting a check? Only further down does she say they “learned a facilitator is not a licensed adoption agency.” Whoops. Someone who worked so hard to give the impression she’s sophisticated and is even world traveled admitted she and her husband didn’t do her homework. That was an expensive mistake, eh, Rosa?

I think what bothers me most is that Rosa does not give a positive public image for potential adoptive parents – in fact, I think she comes across as the stereotype of the desperate infertile woman in the tone and verbiage… the exact type of person the anti-adoption faction complains about, and rightfully so.

She also gives a bad rap to any mother giving up her child – she devotes many lines to the crazy scammer, but nary a word of the woman who gave her the gift of Nina, other than stroking the mother’s hair during labor. She devoted not one single word of public gratitude.

The article is has the words ‘truth and lies’ in its headline, but I see not a lot of truth and several… well, if not lies, then misleading and uninformed statements.

According to Rosa: 1) Adoption is a long, harsh road. 2) It is also expensive. 3) The process to become certified is invasive and annoying. 4) It’s normal to just blindly send off a check for someone for two months’ rent and expenses. 5) Birth mothers are crazy and demanding. 6) There is no reparation for scam situations. 7) Adoption is an industry – possibly a evil, bad one. 8) All adoptive parents have a “heart rending, mind-bending story to tell.” 9) The world is defined by California law. 10) Legal proceedings are unofficial.

According to me:

1) Agree, it can be; I don’t think anyone would ever describe it as a cakewalk.

2) Not always, but you will get burned if you don’t do your homework… and yes, placements can fall through, sometimes causing the potential adoptive parents to forfeit a lot of money. And by the way, Rosa, private domestic adoption does NOT necessarily run $30-50K – in reality, private adoptions are generally much ‘cheaper’ (in quotes because adoption isn’t cheap in the least) than agencies.

3) Most who have been through it would agree; we were lucky that we had a classy case worker who did her best to keep it from being obnoxious as she could.

4) Not only no but hell no. This action reeked of desperation and bad judgment.

5) No, not all. I’d even venture to say it’s likely the opposite.

6) A comment following the article dispels this assertion, but it has to be done in a timely manner.

7) If you’re going through an agency, I’d likely agree with you, which is why I heartily support private adoptions. Agencies can be a monstrous ripoff.

8) While we did have a borderline-traumatic placement with Boy, I’d say that for every one grueling placement, I’ve come across 8 to 10 that are so heartening that it restores my faith in mankind… and that’s saying a lot for an old cynic like me.

9) Huh. My state is smart – a facilitator as Rosa described cannot make a placement (they’re actually illegal here); a licensed agency, a social worker representing a licensed agency like ours, or an attorney has to.*  I’d certainly agree that facilitators are a potentially expensive pain in the ass, and God help you if you get a bad one.

10) I only came across this discrepancy/false assertion/lack of attention to detail the sixth time I re-read the article as I wrote this. The term I think she meant was ‘formality.’ Without the legal proceedings, you can’t have baby, not yours…  it’s OFFICIAL at that point. That’s a dangerous mistake to make in an article and in a world where people are already amazingly ignorant about adoption and its processes.

Rosa comes across as selfish, whiny, a little ignorant, entitled and snobby.  The constant descriptions of her expensive lifestyle was irrelevant to the story, taking away from whatever valid point she was trying to make.

The editors at MSN would do better to find a better writer for the face of adoption in their lifestyle page.

~~

I know that We Three will have a lovely time up here in snow land, and I hope all of you have a joyous celebration of the new year. Laterz!

_________________________________________

*NB: I used the term/title “facilitator” in Boy’s story for the person who ‘managed’ our placement, but she was not one in the sense described in the article. It was just the best term at the time to describe her services

Boy is coming along quite well. As usual, no AH-HA! moments, still no independent sitting or mobility, doesn’t feed himself well and all, but still, as it has been since he was diagnosed and the start of therapy, it’s slow but steady. I can have him with his butt on his heels and his arms locked (hands in fists, still, though) and he’ll stay there for a good minute or so, and not hyperextend out of it; instead, he’ll cautiously drop down – usually to his weak side – and roll out of it. Better than the flinch-inducing faceplants he used to do.

He’s on baclofen – likely will be for the rest of his life – but we learned a whole pill does him no good. It made him dopey and sleepy and lethargic (things his neuro warned us about), and the therapists and the swim instructor immediately saw the difference. Seriously, he pretty much had huge Samsonite suitcases under his eyes from the time he woke up to bedtime. So, back to 3/4 of a pill he went, and he’s been good since. That’s fine with us - the smaller the dose the better anyway.

He’s in AFOs Version 2.0 but they pinch him, so I have to set up an appointment to get them adjusted. That, and the shoes that came with them just don’t fit. That has to be corrected; I’m not fighting them for five whole minutes each shoe a day .

He’s finally taken to the gait trainer, but as soon as the AFOs go on, he acts like he has no legs and will just sit there, forlorn. Sigh.

Boy is way too funny – and in several ways just like every other envelope-pushing two year old. If I say “no,” he just smiles and keeps going along. If I say ‘no’ to something he really wants (Blue’s or Sesame Street, French fries, bacon, a toy, etc), the lip gets pushed out, he pouts and, depending on how badly he wants something, he’ll either do the tears with the puppy dog eyes or flat out bawl. If he wants attention, he sticks his finger up his nose; I finally learned that when that hand wanders into that direction to look away and not give the action any weight.

Silly kid, he prefers the sludge in a jar to any lovely fresh vegetables. On the other hand, he’s a champ with most fruits – he doesn’t care for apples but adores pineapple; snarfs strawberries, blueberries, bananas, and just the other day ate an entire orange. He only started liking rice of any kind in the last few months, is iffy on potatoes (though that’s changing little by little) and he still hates pasta. He was, and still is, a complete carnivore (I must get that tee when the Rudy’s opens that says “Carnivore in Training”). I made the mistake one day of giving him tiny bits of bacon and now every time he sees it – maybe once every week or two? - he goes crazy. LOVES it, but I don’t really want him to have much of it. Otherwise, it’s chicken, turkey, beef, pork, lamb – bring it all on.

I’m grateful he’s a really great water drinker. I did start doing juices about a year ago but he started drinking them to excess, so I stopped that and turned to giving him the actual fruit. It’s better for him, anyway. Strangely, he actually dislikes orange juice although he loves oranges, loves applesauce and apple juice but won’t eat apples themselves. Silly boy.

~~

I finally broke down, paid the usurious monthly fees, and signed Boy up for the indoor swim school. He needs the fun and the outlet, and it’s an entirely voluntary, unofficial therapy wrapped in warm water. I don’t want to go another five months without any swimming. The instructor, Coach M, is awesome. He’s got the perfect personality for it and he can’t help but take a shine to Boy, who seeks him out and blasts him with his zillion megawatt smile – who can resist that?

Coach M and I had a nice talk this past week, where he inquired a little deeper about Boy’s issues. After I responded, he told me his nephew has megalencephaly, with horrible seizure activity (that necessitated major neurosurgery) and other side effects, and we wound up comparing notes. I told him, after saying we’re deeply grateful that Boy has not yet exhibited seizure activity, that I know how lucky we are in the bullets we have dodged thus far, and the hopeful outlook that seems to be cautiously emerging. He smiled at Boy and said, “I think he’s going to do quite well.”

~~

PT and OT are slowly moving along, the building blocks are steadily stacking. DSI is seeing him put pieces of the other two therapies together, and putting his slowly improving fine motor to good use.

Speech is ok but no big breakthroughs there either – no more clear words have tumbled out, although this past Monday as I took Dad to his follow-ups, Boy saw his grandfather through the window of the car and screeched “Aya ghi-ghi!!” (so spelled to indicate the hard ‘G’) – “aya” (EYE-ya) is what we’ve been coaching him to say on the phone, and something he’ll greet people he knows with… but ghi-ghi? Was he trying to call his grandfather? We’ll know if it happens again. I told the therapist about it and this, plus the past stuff, plus his activities with her during therapy, led her to tell me that he will talk – it will be late, but he will talk. That statement made my day in so many ways this past Thursday.

~~

Someone points at all the Santas everywhere.

This same someone LOVES Christmas trees and lights.

Oh man, he’d be a total whirling dervish if he were ambulatory – inquisitive little hands and eyes are inquisitive. I put a plastic train around the tree this year because I don’t feel like dealing with setting up the Lionels and its cranky old transformer, and he’s nutso about it. He’s always pulling on and checking out the stockings, playing with the garland on the stairs, rolling ever towards the tree and its trimmings. He senses that it’s a special season.

I’m totally going to play up Christmas morning. I can’t wait.

~~

If I don’t get around to posting before Christmas, please have a wonderful, joyous, beautiful and memorable day with family and friends and furpersons. XOXO

~~

PS – It’s a special Christmas season and birthday for BB at  Miraculously My Own – her family has welcomed their second child. I’ll leave the details to her if/when she picks her blog back up.

My respiratory thing isn’t going away. I’m hesitant to say I’m really “sick,” though, because the snot and all are clear and white and not any particular color. It’s likely my allergies (other than a little bit of rain here and there this last week it’s been dry dry dry). I just don’t know. In some places it seems to crop up worse and I’m hacking a lung, and then for hours I’m generally fine. I don’t know.

However, I don’t know what in the hell hit me Monday at 3am, but all of a sudden I was at the toilet, praying to the porcelain god. And not too much later (trying to avoid TMI) it was literally both ends at the same time, which has never happened to me before in my life. Because I didn’t feel particularly awful prior to it other than my lingering respiratory crap and just being exhausted (the reasons for which I’ll elaborate on below), I’m inclined to think it was food poisoning. Usually when both ends are… busy… it’s the body trying hard to get something out. That’s the theory I’m betting on. I was still gagging at 9:30am, but the feeling lessened although I didn’t dare eat or drink anything all day until Dad and I went to Claim Jumper for an early dinner and I had water and pretzel sticks. I got really dehydrated, so once I saw that I could have water and have it not come back up, I loaded up on that. Then, when DH got home from work, I had a few sips of chicken noodle and crawled into bed at 8pm. I couldn’t move after that, I was so exhausted.

This morning, I feel better. No anything, just a faint lingering nausea and just generally feeling unwell. Weird.

~~

As for potential culprits if it isn’t food poisoning…

I spent four days popping in and out of the hospital, a culprit for any nasty virus going around.

At about noon last Wednesday, my dad (now 82) had dropped the ads and crap into the recycle bin on the side of the house and was coming back through the carport when his shoe caught on the bricks in the apron, and he fell hard. At least he fell well, in that he hit with hands and elbows and knees and not his head. However, he couldn’t get his feet under him, so he crawled from the carport, through the front door, through the living room and finally into the kitchen. Dad was trying to get to the phone but couldn’t get to his feet.

That’s where Brother 2 (“B2″) found him at about four-thirty in the afternoon after following the trail of blood, about five hours later, fully awake and cognizant, but sitting on the kitchen floor. He called me after the paramedics arrived, and then I met them at the hospital at about six, after DH got home to take care of Boy. Fortunately, Dad was just banged up from the fall, but they found an anomaly: tachycardia, even though he has a pacemaker. They admitted him - back to the cardiac tower, dammit – and to make a long story short, they found a blockage in one of his coronary arteries and put a stent in. Quick surgery – amazing, really.

Boy and I were there for hours at a time (hence the possible virus culprit) - Boy was SO good – and I got really frustrated. The nurses didn’t speak decent English and I saw a doctor for about five minutes over the course of three and a half days, so the communication is crappy. It’s impossible to make decisions without information.

~~

As is usual, I asked Dad’s preference in terms of passing along info to the sibs – of course, Sis knows all, no problem there, but Dad wanted the info watered down for the boys, as he did for the pacemaker last year. He doesn’t like the habit one of them has in coming over and sitting like a vulture, waiting for him to die. Fine. No pushback from any of them yet, but that’s okay. I like silence.

~~

As you can see, it’s been a week of hell for me, and it’s happened in a part of the year where I need all the energy I can muster. I’m beat, and also behind (after even having my Christmas cards out early!), but that’s life. I’ll figure it out. I guess I’d rather be sick now than two weeks from now. Sigh.

The salad course was sautéed diced pumpkin in some sort of cheese sauce that didn’t have any flavor – it was better than some of her odder offerings in years past and so it was eaten. Her turkey was perfect (and I scored enough leftover meat to make turkey tostadas the next day). Rolls out of a can, which jars from her pseudo-culinary thing. FIL made “martini potatoes,” which were barely reheated potatoes dumped into a martini glass, topped with chives and cold bacon. The vegetable was sautéed or steamed chard with a too-healthy dose of pepper flakes – I took one bite and my tongue was sparking for the next hour.

I drank a lot of Rosé of Malbec just to make it through.

SIL insisted I bring a certain cake for dessert, which I did, along with two small pumpkin pies… and nobody finished. Whatever. I hacked a goodly chunk off of it the next day and dropped it off at my dad’s (who pouted when I told him I was making it), and I’ve been nibbling on the rest since.

I’ll take this over last year’s utter disaster at my sister’s house.

~~

During dessert MIL – who I think had been itching to say or control something all night -  insisted that Boy not eat the cake. DH said, no, I know what’s in it since Allie made it, and he can have it. She was trying to insist on it and I chimed in with the same refrain – it’s homemade, for God’s sake, he can eat it.  It has apples, cinnamon, cocoa, allspice, chocolate chips, etc., all of which he’s allowed to have in appropriate amounts. DH just kept obliging Boy as long as he signed for more, ignoring her. This is the same woman who tried to force him to eat those nasty Starbucks Cake Pops not all that long ago… go figure.

Later she insisted on stripping his shirt off and replacing it with the sweater he’d shed when we came in with a jacket she bought on top. When she heard we took it off to put him in the car seat (it won’t latch with it on – no big conspiracy there), she apparently lost it, and let DH know during a phone call the next morning. She also claimed that we don’t feed Boy enough, as the family on “19 Kids and Counting” stuffs little Josie’s face, so we have to as well. Um, no. She went off on a complete rampage according to what DH told me later. FIL tried to suggest that DH bring Boy up to their house and he and DH go out from there (an obvious move to try and placate MIL), but DH replied firmly, “I’m not dealing with Mom today. No.” MIL apparently got so worked up and nutty that FIL came back down the hill and went to a movie with DH.

DH is starting to see that there’s a problem that’s getting bigger and bigger, but neither he nor his sister are willing to address it. I told him that he’d better get her under some sort of control, since his dad won’t, because she’s going to bait me one day and I’m going to let her have it, “and you really don’t want me to have to do that.”

~~

I spent “Black Friday,” aka “Greedy Bastards Day,” relaxing and reading at Starbucks, or mulling over what I was  going to do with the Christmas decorations (which are still in mid-disaster all over the house after taking them out of the boxes), or really not doing a hell of a lot. You will never find me standing in a half-mile line, or pounding down doors, or spraying people with mace, or fighting my way through the electronics department, or any of that crazy stuff.

I was talking to the lady at the checkout at Wally Sunday morning for an extremely rare WW run for me – and I asked with a gleam in my eye, “How was Friday?” Her pleasant face turned grim: “It was the most disorganized thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve worked here twenty years… the people in line wouldn’t let the employees through because they thought they were trying to cut in line. I’m glad I work in the garden department. I missed most of the drama.” As I relayed this to DH, we both shook our heads.

None of those things – and that’s what they are, things – are worth my already screwed up sleep cycle or our hard-earned money.

~~

Ah, Christmas…

~~

I just received an email this morning from my SIL with my now-21 year old niece’s (Princess Entitlement’s) Christmas list. First on the list is “Getting into law school,” which isn’t going to be a problem for her in general if she had her sights set like most mortals; the problem will be getting into where she wants to go, just as it was four years ago when she applied to 20 top tier/Ivy League undergrad colleges (which is insanely expensive given application fees and such) and didn’t get into a single one. But she’s going to try and force her way into Duke or Columbia or Harvard or such places. Good luck to her, I say – nothing wrong with aiming high, even if it does get absurd sometimes.

But everything else on her list smacks of her entitlement attitude: Kate Spade, Chanel, Tiffany and such labels pepper the list.

As if we can afford such things.

~~

I’m really very placid mentally (compared to last year), and actually looking forward to Christmas this year. I actually had all but two Christmas Cards addressed before Thanksgiving, ready to go out this coming Friday – something I’ve never done before. It’s great.

~~

Two days before Thanksgiving I dressed Boy snazzier than usual and headed to the mall on a lark. I had decided that if there was no line that I’d do his Santa picture… and I timed it perfectly. I warned the dingbats at the camera to put away their ringers and clappers and the other obnoxious attention getters since they freaked him out so badly last year – they were a little miffed, but I said, “Just let him check Santa out for a minute… you’ll see. Watch.”

This mall has the nicest Santas, and this day’s Santa was just a real nice man. He understood me letting Boy look at him, and took his time talking to Boy to the point where I could put Boy on his lap. There was a brief brilliant smile that I’d hoped they caught, and when I looked, they  had – between one picture of his forehead scrunched and the other of Serious Boy (Serious Boy is serious, you know). BAM! Perfect. $22 later, I skipped off to Macy’s to poke around.

I cropped it and made copies and that night put them into the addressed but not sealed Christmas cards on the dining room table.

I RULE.

~~

I know what I’m doing for Christmas dinner and how I’m going to approach it, and I know what I’m going to do to twist my regular decor, This past weekend, I started getting Christmas stuff up in the house. I’ll probably do outdoor lights tonight – at least the majority of them – and hopefully get the leaf in the table, too, so I can start playing with the tablescape.

Hell, I even have a tiny tree all ready to go on my mother’s grave.

I think I might just like this organized/prepared thing. I could really get used to this. I mean, last year I was all stressed out and this year I’m all “meh, it’ll all be done by the 15^th.”  :)

]]> http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/2011/11/28/holiday-non-hustle/feed/ 1 Allie http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/2011/11/11/boy/ http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/2011/11/11/boy/#comments Sat, 12 Nov 2011 04:41:53 +0000 Allie http://beggarsridinghorses.wordpress.com/?p=783 ]]> What to say about my precious small friend? I’m still warm and fuzzy from the show of affection at breakfast this morning. It was very sweet and heart-melting and I really needed it.

Things overall are status quo: not walking, sitting, or talking. Still making progress, however. Healthy as a horse. Signing with limited signs, pointing at freaking everything (which I love). He now has a pincer grasp with his left hand and therefore feeding himself is getting better, although he struggles mightily with utensils since his wrists don’t flex normally. He’s getting the hang of the gait trainer. He waves hi and bye now, completely appropriately. His hands, generally, have gotten much better in the last six months and everyone’s noticing it. He’s no longer holding his hands in fists so much, but opening them and even his right hand is coming to the fore a little bit.

At his two-year well check, he’s still consistently in the 10^th percentile, something the danged ped is STILL obsessed with (and got the standard answer of “I’ve got bigger problems, doctor”) from me. The GOOD thing is that he’s growing consistently, and that’s what matters; it’s when the curve goes wonky you have to start worrying. I dunno, everyone seems to think he’s a big boy for two, but that’s probably because he is built like a linebacker.

In related news, as his Physical Therapist (PT) was making measurements for a modular activity chair, I learned that the ratio between his height and weight is dead on 50%, which is muy muy bueno. That’s the kind of information I need to hear, not “OMG he’s smaller than most kids!” So what? He’s growing normally, which is good when there can be concerns with kids with  schizencephaly since entire portions of the brain is missing. Apparently Boy’s pituitary gland is working just fine.

He outgrew his orthotics so fast we have to get him recasted; I won’t put them on him and leave those red-purple welts after only 20 minutes.

His PT has been bumped to 2x/week. He was definitely ready for it and his progress has been steady. A good way to put it: steady but not spectacular. No OMFG LOOKIT moments, but he’s just consistently building on the blocks that are already there. That’s okay, though, because when progress stops (however slow), that’s when you start to worry.

Occupational Therapy is still 1x (I think we might revisit that in the spring, and go to 2x for that too), as is speech and DSI (early intervention education).  I need to contact the indoor swimming facility by the river and see how their special needs swim lessons are; Boy despised SwimKids so we won’t be going there, and I’m really not enthused with his instructor’s move 40 miles away from us (not doing that every Saturday). The weeks are starting to fill up so much my head is starting to spin.

I’ve been doing some Christmas decoration shopping and oh my goodness Boy is going to be a lot of fun this year. I’m not sure how I’m going to keep him from tearing things up, but that’s the fun! At Hobby Lobby especially he’s pointing and squeaking, his lovely dark and liquid eyes taking it all in; it cracks me up. He is going to be so fun this Christmas.

Tonight ended with him fighting bedtime. The third time, I went in, filled the humidifier, found THE BLANKET (it’s slowly dawning on me that he’s finally showing preferences for things like this), found the hippo lovey, popped the heavy-crocheted blanket my ex-SIL made for him, and found Monkey (the long-limbed one with velcroed hands you see at BRU and BBB). I always have Monkey kiss him goodnight… and tonight, he hugged Monkey and gave him a kiss back.

Oh, man, the emergence of normal relationship behaviors such as showing affection make my heart sing. There’s still a long row to hoe, but holy cow, things are looking up.

We see his neuro on Wednesday. I expect the status quo, and likely a small bump in the dose of baclofen. I’ll address the weakening of his middle back (above his lumbar) and see what can be done about that as he continues to struggle with trunk strength and control. Also his insanely tight hamstrings that seem to not improve, causing issues with sitting since he can’t sit forward even in a hurdler stretch stance.

I’m heading to bed; hopefully now that he has Monkey he’ll be out for the rest of the night. Niters!

~~

We were in Sedona last weekend for less than 24 hours. Sedona is special to us because that’s where DH proposed to me back in December of 2000. I busted my tail on the house for two straight days just to be there less than a day… sigh. But Sedona, however briefly one’s there, is always worth it. Always. The scenery as we came through Oak Creek on the 179, just before Sedona proper, was sublime; Sedona was just gorgeous. Too bad we missed the fall colors by about a week… but better things were in the making, as I’ll tell you about the next morning here in a minute.

~~

That evening, as planned, I brought up the idea of Kidlet 2.0. We’d said we’d talk about it after Boy’s 2^nd birthday, and so there we were. I was very casual about it.

He got defensive, accusing me of pressuring him (which is silly because I’ve been keeping my own counsel for several months due to his stress at work) and “what’s the big hurry?” – accusations and behaviors really weird for him. He also denied bringing it up himself earlier. I said “[DH], I remember you have in the last several months because I about fall off of whatever I’m sitting or standing on when you do bring it up, as it’s usually a complete surprise and a wild tangent.”

Part of his weirdness is understandable – our experience the first time around is enough to make most people swear off adoption the second time around. I know the thought of starting all over again makes him quail a little. I suspect his mother has brought it up, too, though I can’t prove it.

He’s “not opposed,” he said in the end after he settled down, but he’s just not ready in light of Boy’s issues and current challenges and goals. “I want to get him going first, I want him walking.”

He got flustered for a minute when I replied, “what if he never does?”

~~

The next morning, I remembered that he was the same way – jittery, defensive, etc –  about six months before we started the process of getting certified the first time. So by May or June of next year, I’ll put it on the table again, and I suspect that we’ll begin the process then.

Patterns are so interesting.

I’m content.

~~

I slept terribly that night, not because of the conversation but because of the damned vent that blew directly on the bed; at one point, the air coming through was ice cold – the rest of the time I felt like I was in a dessication chamber. Plus, it rained SO HARD that it pounded on the ceiling (we were on the second floor), and while it’s a sound I love, it kept waking me up when I did doze off.

At one point I woke up looking for Boy – I’m so used to him being in the bed with us when we travel my brain freaked out. Of course he wasn’t there, he was at home with his grandparents. I guess I was really tired. So yeah, a totally sucky night of minimal sleep (I fell asleep in the car on the way home, from Cottonwood to I-17 at Northern).

The compensation for all the weather’s noise, however, was mind-blowing: I opened the curtains to the balcony at 7:30am and there was a sweet confection of snow dusting the red Sedona rocks, complete with dramatic clouds sheathing the crest of them. It was more than enough to compensate for the crappy night’s sleep.

~~

On Sunday, after a ‘meh’ breakfast at Oaxaca, camping at Starbucks for a bit, and cruising the tourist shops, we headed up for the helicopter ride. I love helicopters – a holdover from my Forest Service days – and I had a blast, and am glad DH was in the front seat for his first ride. With the snow just lightly frosting everything, the views were breathtaking.

A+++ WILL FLY AGAIN

~~

And, much to my chagrin, the eight weeks of holidays are already here. Thanksgiving’s easy – my SIL’s hosting that and I’m bringing chocolate chip apple cake. Yummers.

Then, I’m already pretty much set for the Christmas menu and the décor I want. So different from last year where I was really stressed out. Of course, doing what I call a “Southwestern Christmas” in public and “Mama’s Christmas Eve Dinner on Christmas Night” to myself is something I can do in my sleep. So much of it can be made ahead and I’m really looking forward to it this year. I think I’m going to alternate formal (like last years gorgeous tenderloin dinner) with informal.

The big decision is where we’re going so DH can get in some skiiing. Northern Arizona is so fickle, and since the weather’s been so freaking weird this year we know we can’t depend on Snowbowl opening. We’re thinking of Colorado, though DH cringes at the thought of three plane tickets, the two hour flight with Boy, and the SUV rental. I told him that, alternatively, we can fly to Ontario (CA) and drive up to Big Bear to ski. He hates SoCal – not that I blame him, I do too – but it’s a more reasonable alternative price-wise and they’re pretty much open every year. So we’ll see.

~~

I’ll do an all-Boy post coming up. He’s doing really well.

Dear Prudie,
My youngest sister, a junior in college, is pregnant. She is friendly with the baby’s father but is not in a relationship with him, nor does she wish to have one. My sister and the baby’s father decided to give their child up for adoption and quickly found a couple. [Everything is fine up to this point] I am having trouble accepting my sister’s decision. [1] I understand being 21 and finding yourself pregnant is not ideal, but our parents are well-off and are paying for her education. [2] I said to her that as a mother myself, I did not understand how she could give her child away. [3] I told her I would be happy to watch her baby while she is taking courses, since my kids are in school. [4] I know our parents would help with the finances. [5] I simply cannot understand why she is choosing adoption when she has support, both financial and otherwise [6]. I think she is being a bit entitled. [7] After all, she got herself into this mess, and it doesn’t seem fair that she just gets to put the child up for adoption and resume her life [8]. How can I impress upon her that she can, and should, take more responsibility for her actions? [9] —Willing To Help

Before posting Prudie’s pithy answer, I have problems with this writer on so many levels.

1.  Whatever the decision is, it’s not yours to accept. I’m assuming the sister is an adult and in command of her faculties. Your job is to ensure she’s making an informed decision in placing her child for adoption, and making sure she’s doing it legally; and if she is, accept and support that decision. She’ll need your support in all the days after she signs that consent form, though with your shitty attitude, I doubt she’ll get it.

2. What does this have to do with anything? Just because they’re well off, the child should not be placed for adoption? WTH? Stereotypes, much?

3. I don’t see you offering to adopt the child yourself. Interesting.

4. Oh, I see, your baby days are done – you only want to be the happy fun time auntie.

5. But would they actually help raise the child while she stays in school? I wonder what their position in the matter is. If they were truly supportive and all was really hunky-dory, your sister would likely keep the child. I sense an incomplete story here.

6. I’m reading a lot about the parents’ alleged offer of financial support thrown around in the letter. I wonder if there’s some emotional issues going around where your sister said ‘hell no’?

7. Entitled? WTH? Entitled to what, exactly? I doubt a girl/woman who finds herself placing her child for an adoption would use the word “entitled” when it comes to the situation or the action. What a bizarre thing to say.

8. So resentful… why? Your sister will pay for this “mess” one way or another for all her life, whether this is a closed, open or semi-open adoption. Besides, life has never been fair.

9. Your sister is taking responsibility. You should be happy – she’s not dumping the child on you. And if her ex (or whatever the relationship status is) agrees and signs off on it, it’s happening.

Holy crap. I think if I had this arrogant, meddling, critical beeyotch for a sister, I’d place my child up for adoption, too. Wow.

I sense that if the letter writer has the time to offer to take care of the baby during the day, she doesn’t work, or work much. Whatever the situation, the letter writer has far too much time on her hands and thinks too much.

Cheer up, letter writer!! Your sister may change her mind! Then you’ll be writing to complain that you’re stuck with your sister’s child while she finishes school.

Now, Prudie’s reply:

Dear Willing,
You sister is making one of the most difficult, and generous, decisions a young woman can make. After what must have been many agonizing nights of wondering how to proceed once she found herself pregnant, she realized that being a single college student meant she could not provide the life she would want for her child. So she decided that out of her pain would come something good, and a grateful couple will get to be parents. The real issue raised in your letter is what kind of person you are, since your attitude toward your sister is both contemptuous and baffling. Your opinion is irrelevant, so it doesn’t matter that you can’t accept your sister’s decision. You say that as a mother you cannot understand how your sister could “give her child away.” (I was once rightly rebuked by an adoptive mother who explained that children aren’t “given up” or “given away” but are “placed” for adoption—an important distinction that puts the act in better context.) Yet you view the pregnancy as a “mess,” one that your sister should not be able to just walk away from. Apparently you think she should be forced to raise her child as a fit punishment for what you see as her sense of entitlement. Perhaps the thought of handing her child over to you every day, and getting one of your superior little lectures, helped your sister make up her mind. No woman who places a child for adoption, no matter how right the decision, simply resumes her life unchanged. But her choice does leave me thinking that when the time comes and she is ready, she will be a wonderful mother.  —Prudie

I especially liked the statement “No woman who places a child for adoption, no matter how right the decision, simply resumes her life unchanged.”

Prudie can be a dipshit sometimes, but she’s dead on with this one.

I was out for a little bit tonight and DH calls me: “Babe, Boy is burning up, do we have Tylenol in the house for him?” Shit! This is an already nutty week (it’s only Tuesday!) and I don’t need this. And the poor baby is burning up – he clocked in at 102 degrees at 7:15pm. Goodness knows where this came from. I told DH to put Boy in a cool bath and give him the last of the Advil in his cabinet – and that I would be home shortly, and I was, after picking up both Advil and Tylenol.

Of course, crazy MIL harped that I didn’t dress him warm enough for Sunday’s dinner when DH talked to her before I got back; lady, it was 100 degrees outside!!! (yes, still) – I’m not putting sleeves and pants on him quite yet. She’s insistent that the a/c vent we sat under is the cause. Dingbat.

~~

In better news, I was feeding him the other day at lunch, and I leaned over and put my elbows on his tray as I usually do for some face-to-face goofiness. He reached out and touched my nose, then touched his. Surprised and pleased, I said, “YES! That is your nose. Where is your mouth?” After a moment of consideration, he touched his own mouth. I about cried.

He did it again today.

Praise God!

~~

Gotta soothe a boy, but just want to let you know I’m still alive.