Like Sand Thru The Hour Glass

the p a i n

2005-10-15T00:23:00.000-07:00

I'm trapped. There's nowhere to run. I need to escape and I have nowhere to go. I'm numb and I feel paralyzed. My heart is broken but the tears won't come. My brain has thoughts that the voice won't carry. A smile hides all the pain - a joke or laugh makes everyone else comfortable but it doesn't erase. It doesn't erase what truly lies inside and that which I can't break free. The walls are tumbling down and there's no area that remains fully in piece. Work, family, marriage, friendships - so much uncertainty - so much distress - so much damage. I'm swallowed by it all. It wraps me and suffocates my soul. I lift my arms to HIM and he knows all that I am - all that I live and all that lies ahead. I try to remain faithful - I try to uplift - I try to live a purposeful and loving life but I'm lost and I feel I've lost. I can't escape and every day brings a tighter grasp. I question my purpose. I ask why me?

Red Bull Gives You Wings

2005-10-09T01:00:00.000-07:00

Just plopped in bed from an evening out and turn on the tv -- ad simply says..."Red Bull Gives You Wings"...damn, if Red Bull gives you wings can the 1/2 of one I had this evening please carry my ass somewhere... far, far away. Why, you ask? Let the list begin...

1. Archie has managed an "accident" every dialysis visit at just the right time to get him off the machine early and to make it so that I'm driving home with the heat blasted (Archie is always freezing -- if it's 98, he only needs a sweater) and the leather seat warmer is filling the air with old man hot poop that's so powerful that you must cling to the driver's side window in hopes that there is some coolness left in the glass to keep your body temperature down enough so that you make it home without vomiting which will only add to the stench in the air and so that the smells that are embedded in the grooves of the passenger seat won't also be in the carpet of your floorboard due to tossing your cookies.

2. Willy, our 3-year-old, is potty training but only manages to get 1 of 5 poos in the potty -- the rest in his drawers which he so helpfully tries to remove with his hands as he tells me, "it's okay mommy, it's ok". The intentions are good -- but enough with the shit already.

Sidebar...told a friend that I realize now where the expression "shit or get off the pot" came from -- a frustrated potty-training mother who sits and sits with their child on the floor of the bathroom as they say they need to go to get up 30 minutes later to nothing in the toilet and 5 minutes later -- something in the pants. Knowing my situation with Archie, she cleverly chimed in with a new expression -- "don't shit, or get on the pot" -- I love it.

Moving on...

3. Finding out 2-3 years later that one of my very good friends has had issues and continues to have issues with her husband over me -- am I the neighborhood Edi Britt? is our friendship a fraud? is she freaking nuts? arrggh...one day I may really post about this but it's too new and fresh and, frankly, at this time, I just can't go there. But will say, I don't have a relationship with her husband outside of cordial hellos when picking up mail or passing in the neighborhood outside of what the two our relationship brings (meaning me and my "friend")

4. Dick....well, once again, living up to his name's sake. Another evening out -- another evening of being made to feel ridiculous and foolish. I'm really beginning to question what my husband of nearly 11 years wants or gets from being with me. Every topic of conversation or word out of mouth was shut down by him tonight -- he even went as far to say -- "can we pretend like there is a glass cab window between us" (those of you who are saying "no, he did not..."....yes, he did) As well, he attentively listened to my friend share a similar story as #3 above and offered comments and suggestions...so, I said..."so...if that's what you suggest for her...what do you suggest for me" and he told me I was ridiculous -- he wasn't even going there -- more less went off -- and believe me, not because he's angry about the accusation made about me or the knock to my character. His reaction to my simple, innocent, really wanting to know question was unbelievable to the point that he even apologized to our friends on the way out the door -- which, as you can imagine, wasn't long after I asked because you could have cut the tension with a knife at that point. AND now I feel like I'm rambling...but my blog and my outlet so WTF -- I'm feeling something and I'm going to say it for the world to read....

5. Sometimes I feel like Dick purposefully tries to belittle me, things I say, things I do --- wants me to feel inferior. It's hard to explain (both in words and admitting it) but he's never wanted anything to be about me -- I'm not sure why. You could reason that he's just being a Dick or he's insecure and masks it by making sure I know that "I'm not all that" -- I have no idea and if I broached the topic I AGAIN would be the "ridiculous" one.

The list could continue...but you get the point -- meanwhile, I'll wait for the wings to carry me away (and supposedly I'm earning them by tolerating my situation -- if that's not the case, I'll gladly turn to Red Bull)

PS...I've added word verification to the comments to eliminate all the spam comments -- please don't let that keep you from commenting if you are legit - I just don't need all the extra crap.

Summer Dreams

2005-09-22T16:59:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in Outer Banks, NC in a beach house tastefully named Summer Dreams. Who would think on a vacation I would have time or desire to blog -- but, truth is, my heart aches for it -- as I need the ability to say the things and feel the things that I'm otherwised mocked for. We elected for a family vacation and took Timmy out of school for a week to get away - a change of scenery, a change of heart -- a breath of fresh air. I have to admit and I hate to admit -- the only breath of fresh air is that coming off the ocean breeze....everything else is just same 'ole shit, different location. Sure...I've had the opportunity to read a little for pleasure, bask in the sun, look for shells, walk on the beach feet being cooled by the ocean water -- that has all been nice and for the few moments that I'm lost in it - it has been refreshing -- a Summer Dream. Unfortunately, the moments are short-lived and the reality of the life I live is thrown into my face like a wave crashing on the sand...and like those waves - you can't even catch your breath and recover before being smacked with yet another. When I left home - I was departing for a Hurricane Ophelia hit area -- fortunately, didn't arrive to damage -- unless you count the damage to my soul. The stories from our 12-hour trek would be enough to have you laughing in hysterics or crying in pity -- the 'rhea virus 3-year-old, the explosive pooing 7-year-old (in public restroom when he only 'tooted'). We left behind my father who had been in the hospital for 2 weeks -- on the day of his surgery and the day prior to another. The cell rang continuously with questions from my back-up from home. Calls have come in that my mother needs to have surgery to open a blockage of her renal artery -- as her kidneys are steadily declining. It's 'no hurry' they say -- but are talking next week or the following. Seems rather 'hurried' to me. I'm told that I will return to company. Company who didn't ask just told others they were coming to MY house without my knowledge. Company who hasn't lifted a finger to help in my familial situation and who has avoided me out of anger for something SHE said about ME. Company who could have helped my other sister in caring for my parents while I'm on vacation but conveniently didn't but has managed to squeeze in a visit at MY home when I'm NOT there and when I will have to return to what I had hoped would be a peaceful return and quiet adjustment. Fat chance! (pun intended!) I feel guilty for not being able to enjoy the moment that I'm in -- somehow that is being squelched as well. It's hard to put it in words but my feelings are deeply hurt. I feel silly even mentioning -- but my youngest has hurt me and my hubby has hurt me. If you could scroll through the movies or the 3 disks of film (equivalent to about 150 pics) you'll see one thing missing -- MOMMA. Never in a picture, always made to feel silly if I ask to have one taken. I don't get it -- but it hurts. For example, we all dressed up to get some serious shots on the beach --- not one was taken of me. When I mentioned it I was mocked -- thanks. The fixed hair, the make-up, the nice outfit -- all for not. I guess I'm not part of the family -- just the hired help -- without pay. Well, the house is beginning to stir -- I'm sure my help is needed before we retire and start all over tomorrow. I guess vacation is just a Summer Dream.

Messed Up

2005-09-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

This world is freaking messed up:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9319446/

Somebody Get a Hose...

2005-09-11T21:30:00.000-07:00

and put out this fire because I am HOT! I don't mean like a babe, I mean pissed off, steam blowing from my ears hot. I have to keep it short so realize that I'm leaving out a lot of details for time sake but...Dick sure has BALLS! It's not enough that my father is back in the hospital with a weakening heart and low blood count but I'm one week from a paid-in-full vacation to the Outer Banks -- the Ophelia heading Outer Banks and Willy's 3rd birthday is this week. So Dick wants to watch a little Sunday football -- I can give him that -- but I didn't realize that meant from morning through night. I spent the day running to and from the hospital, preparing invitations, running errands for goodie bags - it's been a full day...doing it all with kids in tow. But because of Dick's absent-mindedness or procrastination, he failed to put together a pamphlet that he needed by tonight. It wasn't designed and the 600 copies weren't made. I whipped together a design and we headed to Kinko's on the way to the hospital to pick up Edith. Kinko's couldn't guarantee the timeframe (i.e., didn't want to work) so guess who is printing and cutting 600 pamphlets tonight...Jane. Guess who is eating sherbet and watching Sunday Night Football...Dick. I'm invoicing his ass!

Mr. Scratch-A-Weenie

2005-09-05T21:00:00.000-07:00

I'll admit, I'm terrible with names. I've gone as far to forget colleagues names that I worked side-by-side for a complete year. If I want to give my friend at Pugsplace a motherly first and middle name scolding -- I often have to ask...what's your middle name? It's not that I don't care about people I simply lack the brain capacity to hold onto one more piece of information. Last night was no exception. Dick and I headed out for an evening of fireworks on the river. One of the country's largest firework displays which draws over 500 thousand people. Dick has a few connections so we were able to position ourselves for quite an evening of entertainment...VIP list, live band, free buffet and cocktails from multiple restaurants, access to several boats and yachts. It was one of those evenings where we knew we would be meeting a lot of new faces. I'm not being ugly but I'm at a point in my life that I'm very satisfied with the few friends I have and I, frankly, am not in the "meeting new people" mood. A couple red bulls and vodkas and that could easily change. I saw a few familiar faces from afar and kept them at that distance because I couldn't remember their names. The first new face I met was the captain of one of the boat's we were invited on -- I was introduced to him as "scratch-a-weenie". I think we can all agree -- this is not a name you could easily forget. Apparently his last name was something somewhat unique and sounded like "scratch-a-weenie". At the time of our introduction, I had only had a very bland iced tea -- so I didn't even have a caffeine boost and Mr. Scratch-a-Weenie had been on the river and in his cooler for most of the day. I giggled at the name, he cracked a joke, my female friend elaborated on the name and we made small talk and moved on. Feeling a little uncomfortable on Scratch-a-Weenie's boat - Dick and I decided to take a stroll along the dock and find a corner of our own (he was probably think I'd scratch his weenie!) to watch the fireworks. After the display we headed back to the boat to chat, freshen up and prepare to call it a night. With a couple drinks of choice under my belt, I lost the giggle and found the nerve (and yes, it takes nerve to call a man whom you've just met "scratch-a-weenie") to address the captain of the boat as "scratch-a-weenie". The name to which I'll never forget and to which I was introduced to him as we shook hands and he helped me aboard the boat just a few hours earlier. Apparently, the fireworks explosion blasted his sense of humor right off the freaking deck -- Scratch-A-Weenie was no longer amused by his name and Red Bull & Vodka'd up Jane was completely unaware. I made my way to the restroom and before I could barely unlock the door Dick was waiting and with very stern eyes and a low voice said, "don't say a fucking word". This was so out of character for Dick that I didn't dare breathe for fear that I had unintentionally started World War III. I walked up the stairs to the main deck -- all was quiet -- a few drunken voices were trying to WHISPER to me ... "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"...."I'm going home with you if you can have that much impact"...meanwhile, I'm clueless. I know that I can break out of a shell quickly with a few fave drinks but I was well aware of my surroundings and the conversations had. This was not good. Dick and I sat for a brief moment to be unassuming and then made our gracious exit. Talk about buzzkill -- Scratch-a-Weenie sure ended the night abruptly. Even if I did add in the rumored "itchy balls" is that a reason for Scratch-a-Weenie to turn into such a DICK!

This and That

2005-09-02T00:30:00.000-07:00

I'm heavy writing this post -- I've been long overdue for an entry and have had some faithful readers asking where I've been -- however, I want to make it clear that I full well understand that the situations I deal with pale in comparison to the horrific situation in New Orleans and surrounding regions. My heart and prayers go out to all those affected by such tragedy ... I can't imagine their pain.

As sad and as painful as it is -- life does still continue while within a short domestic flight or a long drive -- life has ended, figuratively and literally.

I continue with what's been going on in my life. Prior to Katrina, we all could laugh or cry at what bloggers deal with -- finding familiarities or shaking our heads in disbelief. Now it's so trivial. Read it and then know....I understand this is nothing -- I'm thankful to report these are the ONLY things that I am dealing with at the moment...

ARCHIE: Surprisingly, ol' Archie has been the least of my frustrations. Sure, he's maintaining a lot of my attention because he continues to challenge on a medical level -- low blood counts, needing a blood tranfusion, making doctor's appointments to determine cause, breathing issues resurfacing -- but the bright side is he's showing signs of wanting to live again and become slightly more independent. I'm happy to report he's even found his way to the bathroom on a few occasions!

EDITH: Where Archie has left off - Edith has picked up. She requires more of my mental energy than anyone in the house. Her subtle, passive-aggressive ways really take their toll on me. For instance, again, the topic of money comes up. Although we've never asked for contribution - she insists and it definitely comes with strings attached. She commented, "we certainly provide enough money to pretty much get any groceries we want, right?" Implying that Dick and Jane MUST be taking the money yet not providing them with groceries! It's true, I don't go to the grocery store EVERY day. Prior to my father becoming ill, I understand that he liked to go to the grocery store on a daily basis between the hours of 9-11 am -- however, I have just a tad bit more going on and it's not a good use of time. If we need it, that's okay -- if it can wait, even better. For the last 12 months we've been operating on a $400 or so per month grocery budget. A few nights ago when I was at the grocery store at MIDNIGHT doing our big shopping, my monthly spent total exceeded $900!!! I'm guessing that Edith and Archie must have plenty of things to eat and drink....seeing how it's $500+ more than what I typically spent before they moved in. My guess is if she didn't feel the need to hoard (having 2 boxes of something isn't suffice -- we need at least 4) our grocery bill wouldn't be nearly as high. Our utilities have gone up as well -- Edith, don't talk to me about money.

Timmy: Temperamental Timmy is back in school! YIPPEE! What a difference it has made in his behavior -- and I mean that in more ways than one. Timmy strives on routine and consistency and this has become much more apparent this year. Three weeks ago I would have traded him in -- school starts and I have a model child. Note to self: have a routine in place next summer! While his behavior has improved and he's back to the child that I once knew -- some other behaviors have been exhibited. Poor Timmy seems to be suffering from OCD tendencies. This has not been diagnosed by anyone other than a few expert mommies, including myself, but he's pretty textbook....the 3 showers a day, hand washing, obsessive cleaning after BMs, super neatnik papers and erasing and restarting pages to the tune of 15 times to make it perfect are pretty strong clues. I'm just observing and assisting along the way at this point and hoping that he can modify his behaviors to deal with something that I understand can be very paralyzing.

Timmy is such an old-soul -- so mature for his young age of 7. His mind and thoughts continue to amaze me. I'm sure he's not alone in his unique ways ... perhaps he has the ability to verbally express it so I'm just clued in to the way he thinks. For example, he described to me the way he approaches addition facts -- take 9+7 -- if you take one from 9 it's 8 and if you add one to 7 it's 8 and 8 doubles to 16. He processes that in his head and spits out the fact -- quickly. If he has a brain cramp -- he thinks it out instead of resorting to counting fingers and toes! He knows what it takes to be a teacher -- so he says -- and he guesses that I probably wasn't a good one when I used to teach, "I can't imagine being in your class" -- simply because I told him the capital "I" he wrote and rewrote 10 times looked great. I guess a "good" teacher would expect more from their students.

There's so much more to tell in regard to Timmy but this is become a novel instead of an entry!

WILLY: The child is a ball of energy -- he makes you rethink the age requirements for administering medication for hyperactivity! Seriously, if there are 12 kids playing -- you can guarantee that the only one NOT listening and train-wrecking thru the neighborhood is Willy. While he keeps momma on her toes and running (literally) he has managed to find ways to entertain himself...do not try these things at home. He fertilized my neighbors flowers by having his BM in her front lawn and it sliding down his boxers. (what is it with outside BMs with my kids?!?!). He decorated my lower level walls with green crayon. The one that takes the cake -- hold onto your stomach -- he stripped down, had a pee accident (not sure in what order) and tried to figure out if Bulls Eye balls (little metal balls) fit in his bung hole! Yes, folks, he did. Imagine explaining that one to a doctor! He's always entertaining and often is unintentionally funny -- hence, at a local dive Mexican restaurant, he looks in the mirror at himself and says...Hi, I'm Willy Cortez, nice to meet you.

These are just tips of the iceberg -- so much more -- and the days are filled -- I don't stop once my feet hit the floor and it's been 2-3 am mornings before I go to sleep. However, as I said, doesn't compare and what used to make me crazy (and still does) I'm thankful is nothing more.

Finally, do something for those in need -- make a monetary donation, collect clothes items, pray -- even the small things make a difference.

One Strong Pulse

2005-08-15T10:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a hard few months. Lots of emotions, lots of hardships. Lots of reasons to question where did it go wrong, why did it go wrong...will it ever be right? Last night it all seem to come to a head - in my heart. On completely different levels my two sons feel completely out of control and out of my touch. The oldest struggles are quite complex. I can't put my finger on the root of them and they are all so emotional and mind-challenging. The littlest is as wild as a buck. He appears to have control and boundary issues. He can't control himself and he doesn't respect the boundaries. All of these things came crashing on my heart last night as I laid in bed. As parents, we strive to lead by example and guide in a loving, wise manner. We put our heart and soul into raising our children...all the while feeling like they are sucking out our heart and soul..as was the case last night. I laid quietly as my mind swirled with what's wrong. My oldest in his room with a friend having a sleepover and my youngest squirming beside me in my bed. I turned my heart and hands over to God. I didn't need to tell him what my struggles were...he knew. I didn't need to tell him what my hopes were...he knew. He knows what lies in my heart, my soul...I just had to give them to him because, ultimately, these things are out of my hand and in his. Moments after I turned my hands over (instead of having them upward where I can still try to grab hold) the tears dried. I reached for my husband -- we clasped hands - both knowing what the other was feeling, neither wanting to voice it. Our youngest reached his hand out in the dark and found ours locked. He nuzzled his hands in ours and fell asleep -- and our hearts beat in unison. It was one strong pulse.

UnLUCKY Days

2005-08-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

You know the expression, if it weren't for bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all. Seems that is the case in our household these days. As if the ill fortune (pun intended) of sick, elderly parents hasn't been enough it seems we've be stricken with 2 very needy and naughty young boys. They are over the top and out of control. And as if that isn't enough -- how about, in 2 days time, nail in tire and bald tires=4 new tires for the Jeep, new garbage disposal...installed and leaks, broken toilet, and for toppers -- nice, long scrape down the Surburban! Of course, I should mention that not less than 2 weeks ago we had the Surburban fixed at the tune of $500 and they discovered $500 more in repairs ahead (friends, so don't worry - they aren't jacking us). I've heard a million times that God can't give you more than you can handle -- whoa, must be one strong gal!

The one very cute thing that happened - Willy finally decided to use the potty today to do his duty (or doodie!) and we were all so thrilled that we gave him applause. Bare-bottomed and in the restroom, he gave us all a bow. Thank goodness for those small, bright moments.

Home is not a Haven

2005-08-04T08:22:00.000-07:00

I've always loved my home. We didn't build our home but when we moved in we quickly made it an extension of us. We added our own touches and shaped it into a place that wrapped us with warmth and comfort. The old cliche of there's no place like home really held true. The painted walls of rich, warm colors are as inviting as a Sunday drive through the Kentucky hillside during the fall. The decor is tastefully done with a classic, yet somewhat modern style. Our carpets and flooring show consideration has been made when selecting the type and style...foyer stairway with its own unique colorful carpet, thick plush carpet in the living and dining room, tile in the kitchen. There are rooms for everything -- our Master suite with jacuzzi and timeless furniture, a bar with baseball memorabilia of our past, a scrapbook area that captures our children's past, theatre seating for thoughtless reality tv, exercise room to keep in top physical condition, a toy room for the children's creativity, a couple of guest rooms for family and friends, the kids room to come together at night -- a place for everything and everything in its place. Until a few months ago. It turns out that I'm sadly feeling that my home is no longer my haven. Everything has changed. What was once my comfort is now what makes me uncomfortable. Instead of wanting to come home - I feel like I want to leave. Something about every room is in disarray. Nothing feels complete and it all feels cluttered. Countertops that were once free of appliances are cluttered - windowsills filled with jewelry - toys that have a home are stacked in corners to appear out of the way - laundry baskets not in the laundry room but in respective rooms waiting to be put away - box after box of medical supplies stacked in the exercise room. Bedside toilets, urine bottles, scales, bloodpressure cuffs...new smells, BAD smells. Different style of cleaning with different smells of cleaning. Gone are smells of murphys oil soap -- now it's a combined stench of ammonia style cleaners and bodily fluids. What used to wrap me and allow me to sigh in relief makes me feel like I'm about to crumble. While I know I'm doing this all for a greater cause and something far more important - it doesn't make the hurt any less.

One of Those Days...

2005-08-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

One of those days...weeks...life. I'm having a moment where the urge to write - to dump and move on - is pressing on me. The problem is I can't narrow down an entry because I have so many thoughts beating me down. Instead of trying to hold off on everything until I have the time and until it makes an interesting story - I'm going to instead dump here and hope to move on. This is the miscellany shit that I deal with (a list which is NOT comprehensive)...

My parents, Edith & Archie, upon moving in a month ago, decided that they wanted to contribute financially to help cover increased utilities, groceries, etc. Although Dick and I didn't expect the contribution it has become obvious that there are, indeed, additional costs in 2 more adult bodies in the home, especially with Archie's medical equipment and non-stop tv. It's also become very obvious that Edith really isn't making the contribution out of the goodness of her heart and that, in fact, she making it begrudgingly and WITH strings attached. She barked at me today -- "go ahead and write that check for X amount but I don't want any remarks made about the little things that your daddy wants"...in other words..."here's your money bitch and when your dad wants you to stop at the store on a daily basis to purchase things that he'll only take a bite of and then offend you for not getting the right thing -- you do it!" Thanks Mommmy...dearest!

On the way to dialysis today Archie said two things -- man of many words -- 1)Your mother said you promised to take her....and you didn't 2)Do you think I'll ever get peaches again? Of course, it probably goes without saying that Archie's tone wasn't even remotely kind -- it was short and curt...and typical.

A very close friend of mine has informed me, not one, but probably 10 times that I would be the perfect candidate for a tummy tuck and liposuction. What...all size 4 of me?!?! I'm not saying that I don't have my problem areas and my midsection is that area, but, really, a perfect candidate?!?! Am I a freak show? Am I supposed to look like Barbie -- "Hi, I'm Augmented Barbie, I've had 2 children and loads of stress - I wear a size 4 and at 5-5 1/2 that's just TOO big..."

Ironically, Willy sleeps like a rock during his nap when I'm in the house working but if I walk across the street for a little chat time with a friend...he hasn't slept a wink (although left sleeping) and he's been so wild and hasn't done anything but cry and fuss since I've been gone. No matter if it's 5 minutes or 50. Is that the truth or Edith's version!??! Hmmmm....

With phone up to my ear Edith (70) and Willy (2) come marching into the office with Wiggles musical instruments going full force. It's no wonder my kids haven't learned to give me phone space -- my adult mother hasn't figured it out!

Dick's birthday is later this week -- my inlaws haven't figured out yet that Dick isn't that crazy about the whole idea of a big family get together - he'd much prefer to avoid them. They are calling and asking if I've made plans -- sure, in all my free time I've planned a grand celebration in the geriatric unit in my family room! Don't get me wrong, Dick's birthday is important about as important as mine!

I continue to type and I continue to have stories to add on...twice Willy has stuck his hands in his poopie diaper, a 7-year-old crying for no reason, a mother who shadows me whether I'm on the phone, walk at the door...even in the bathroom.

It's just too much!

Why Is It?

2005-07-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

This entry is geared more for those who are married or who have a significant other that has been significant for some time -- I'm throwing this out there to see if I'm all alone here or if you find the same to be true....

Let me provide some history.

Dick went away on business early in July to a pretty happening event. There was room for rubbing shoulders with lots of big-wigs and a few celebrities. As well, there was room for going out and partying. Dick managed to do it all -- well -- with little communication to the homestead. (before I go on I want to say now that I don't feel like Dick has infidelity issues; however, I'm not foolish enough to think that his eyes and mind don't wonder...and besides, I'm in on the secret.) Fun was to be had by all and I'm sure that Dick was the life of the party and if you don't believe me...just ask him...he'll be glad to tell you!

Last week Dick and I went out with a few friends to a pretty happening place. Great music, great drinks, great atmosphere. Guess what? Ole Dick wasn't quite in the "mood" to ham it up. He was even low on conversation -- offered a few grunts - body language turned away from the group -- clearly not wanting to be there. I can accept an off night but there were points in the evening that I felt like he was looking at me like I was 3-eyeballed monster with foreign objects growing from my body. I believe the evening ended with me telling him that his looks made me feel like a fool.

Tonight - boy's night out. One that I, in fact, initiated for him feeling as if he deserved a break from the Archie/Edith madness. He was going to hook up with his buddies after his game for a few drinks. Foolish of me to figure that he would keep it local and some place that, let's say, he and I would go after the game. Oh wait...we don't go anywhere after the game -- but I digress...that's another post, another day. To continue...several hours after I would have expected my courtesy call -- the phone rang. "Oh...I thought you would still be over at...." Sure, he did, it's nearly midnight and I always keep Timmy and Willy out that late. Puh-lease. So I question where they went -- big mistake -- it wasn't a local dive -- where guys would toss a few back, shoot the bull and maybe even a little pool -- no, it was a place, with a cover, on the river, where it's happening....silly of me...of course Dick was in the mood to party this weekend -- it was just an off week LAST week -- when WE were together.

So...WHY IS IT that it seems that men have the MOST fun when their significant other ISN'T around?

I'm feeling like there is a Girl's Night Out in the near future!

Careless Mother

2005-07-25T14:00:00.000-07:00

Careless Mother. Careless. Mother. That's what my 7-year-old wailed through the neighborhood the other evening. Over and over again. Careless. Mother. At first it was hard to make out exactly what he was saying because he was yelling with such intensity that I thought Lucifer had crawled inside him and taken his soul. In fact, I believe the neighbors thought the same thing - particularly one who managed her way outside her front door to see what was all the commotion. Timmy had torn through the yards of some neighbors, across the street and made a mad dash for our entry. I have to say the kid has some wheels when he's possessed by the devil. I really wanted to stand with others and shake my head and say "what an out-of-control brat" and pretend he wasn't mine -- the giveway was when he entered my home. My neighbor and girlfriend looked at me and said..."did he just say...." Yes, he did. Careless Mother. Now before you get your panties in a wad and wonder exactly what we expose our children to -- we don't condone many behaviors and are pretty strict on the vocabulary that is acceptable. We don't use the word hate, we encourage can instead of can't, it's not a butt - it's a bottom or a bucket, and in our home we boomer, toot or pass gas -- we don't fart. I was equally amazed at Timmy's outrage and unsure how to respond. Why was he yelling CARELESS MOTHER through the neighborhood at the top of his lungs?! What had him so upset to use those words? Turns out that he had tipped his bike over on his leg and was embarrassed - being a new bike rider any tumble or mishap is a sign of failure to him . And...Timmy wasn't yelling Careless Mother as in Careless MotherF-cker. I knew that immediately -- he was merely calling me a Care Less Mother (a mother who could care less) because I was chatting with a girlfriend when his bike fell on his leg. Now to get the others to believe.

Magnified 7 Times

2005-07-22T12:30:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had the privelege (or not) to peer into one of those facial mirrors that magnify 7 times and are surrounded by light. Every pore, line and crease are exposed. Signs of age, wear and tear all apparent. Despite the flaws you can still manage to find some sense of peace - the feeling that, even close up, you really aren't that bad...there is beauty. Does that same beauty lie within? If your inner self were magnified 7 times what would you see? Would the little white lie that you didn't think would hurt someone somehow seem monstrous? Would the snidy remark you made under your breath about someone you love come out as a scream? Would all the things that you think aren't visible become apparent. If your life were magnified 7 times - would you be and act differently?

Time Out

2005-07-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

Do you know what's worse than having your children go at it all day long -- having your ADULT children bickering at each other all day long!! Archie, Edith....shut the F... up or you are both going to Time Out! Geez Louise - it doesn't stop in this house. My dad is pathetic (sorry - he is) -- he's so choosing to lay in his bed like he hasn't a choice. The man CAN WALK. He orders up my mom -- "Edith...Edith...can you..." -- what, BREATHE for you. Give me a freaking break. Then passive aggressive Edith -- "yes Archie..."... "mumble, mumble, never get any breaks...mumble, mumble....not going to keep doing this"...."sure Archie". Come on lady -- give the guy some shit for a change. Edith, you might be the #1 reason I'm not very domestic - no way I was going to wait on a man for his entire life! The constant buzz of aggravation and go-at-it-ness is making me insane! Screw putting those two in the corner -- somebody please....send me to my room, a corner -- anything for a time out!

Random Thoughts

2005-07-19T23:00:00.000-07:00

I had lost my appetite for a couple of days...but I found it...at PF Chang's. Lettuce wraps and Honey Shrimp -- yum.

Permanent marker is really permanent (Dick's hat) but not so permanent on French Door windows (whew!)

Hip, hip, hooray -- Archie starts hemo dialysis on Friday! No more fluid changes (of the dialysis type) for Jane.

Why is it that it takes 6 months to get in shape and 6 days to lose it?

I really must start running in the morning so that the 11 PM hour doesn't hit me and I'm still saying..."I'm going to run on the treadmill tonight". Guess I'll start the morning runs tomorrow.

I love my iPod shuffle and despite thinking I wouldn't want it to shuffle -- there's something to be said for being surprised with the next song. It did; however, take me a time or two to realize that I needed to set it to shuffle. I was shocked that my "shuffle" kept playing the songs in the same order. Lightbulb!

Countdown to quiet isn't so quiet...what happened to the bedtime routine that worked beautifully 3 months ago?!?!

I do have a happy side -- it's just more therapeutic to blog about the unhappy. Hell, who needs therapeutic writing when everything is good. Why do you think shows like Jerry Springer, Sally Jesse and the like were (are?) so popular -- misery loves company and people want to know they aren't alone -- or better yet, there's somebody/something worse.

An older lady told me the other day..."it takes a good friend to have a good friend". That made me feel good because I have some really wonderful friends in my life which makes me think....well, I must have been a pretty good one. That's refreshing!

I Didn't Realize it was Your Birthday Too

2005-07-15T23:00:00.000-07:00

Forgive me Dick, I didn't realize we shared the same birthday...how silly of me to forget. Of course, on this day, it should be all about you. How about take off in the morning and don't let me know where you're going. Oh, heading out again this afternoon -- no problem. Sure, stop by the camp and chat with the other guys. No need to hurry home -- spend all evening at your parents. You definitely need some time to yourself -- you've only been gone for 7 days living as a bachelor at the MLB All-Star game/festivities and hanging with the likes of Desperate Housewives' plumber, Mike Delfino. No, it's not important to me that the boys get me a gift or card -- we wouldn't want them to learn about gift-giving or respecting their mother. I'm glad you thought I might want to go to dinner on your birthday at 7:45 pm - how thoughtful - heck, I wasn't even dressed and had to be back for dialysis by 10 so I knew we'd have a leisurely evening. Great idea. I don't mind waiting until the very last minute to do something special -- afterall, it's your day. Thanks for choosing one of your favorite places -- saratoga chips are easy to resist on a low-carb diet. The best part of the evening was when you added more weight to the load on my shoulders by trying to force me into a timeframe with my parents. It's great to know we are in this situation together and I can count on you to kick me when I'm down. I like added stress -- you know what they say, misery loves company. No, it wasn't the salmon that was making me dry-heave in the car on the way home -- I'm sure it was just the knot in my stomach...you know, from the bow on the ribbon from all the gifts you gave me.

[PS...all was not lost on my birthday! Thanks to the wonderful girls on our very own Wisteria Lane -- I was showered with great goodies and even better friendship over "coffee talk" this morning. I also purchased myself an iPod shuffle and accessories! Happy Birthday to me!]

It's My Party

2005-07-14T22:15:00.000-07:00

and I can cry if I want to! Okay, so it's my birthday tomorrow. Every year I share a celebration with my BIL who is born a day earlier than me. Inevitably, his wife (Dick's sister) plans an evening out to dinner with the family. It's nice that she wants to include me -- it's not nice that she doesn't consider the kids when making the plans. It's not enjoyable to spend the one evening out for your birthday with crazy kids -- especially your own crazy kids which you can't ignore and pawn off on someone else. Every year it feels like hell -- I regret the amount of money we give away and leave thinking, "did I eat? I'm still hungry". I'll admit that I also leave feeling a little down. The sort of drain you feel the day after Christmas -- the anti-climatic feeling. The build-up is in the preparation and anticipation of....not the event itself....particularly as it relates to gifts. I'm going to sound real unappreciative here but I'm going to speak for the million of others who want to say this -- "just who the hell did you think you were shopping for when you bought this gift?" I'm a thoughtful gift-giver (if I can say so myself) -- I really keep my recepient in mind when purchasing -- doing my best to find the perfect gift or gifts. When it comes to the inlaws, I swear, one is doing her best to see how much she can get on sale for a total of $10 and the other -- well, I can't even pinpoint the thought process -- but it's not about me. I think I'm easy to shop for -- I'm a girlie girl - I like clothes (prefer in-season), shoes, earrings, scrapbook stuff, would even enjoy a few tabloid subscriptions and you can't go wrong with a gift card (Thank you my dear friend -- you know who you are!). I feel like it's about quality not quantity. Please, really, don't scour the racks to find me 5 $2 shirts two sizes too small just so I have 5 things to open! On the flipside, don't spend $100 on an evening dress when you know I'm doomed to a life of body fluids and ass-wiping. Yep, that's what happened -- my MIL gave me a beautiful evening dress -- black, mid-to-lower calf length, crocheted with lining and beads -- beautiful dress, no doubt. I can't decide -- should I wear it for the 10:00 manual exchange for dialysis or save it for the next BM in the bedside toilet?

Notes to Edith

2005-07-14T11:23:00.000-07:00

I know you are having a rough time adjusting to the changes in your life but please understand that you aren't the only one -- besides giving up my life at 36 - my husband and 2 children are also making huge sacrifices -- be aware of that.

I'm sorry that your husband is choosing to lay in bed -- but I ask you, how is this much different from what you lived at your previous address.

I'm sorry that you haven't had a lot of social activities in your life. I prefer a different lifestyle and don't want to be made to feel guilty for chatting with a neighbor, going to dinner with my family and the like.

I'm sorry you don't feel like you have any "rights" here. I've given up one of the most peaceful rooms in my home to serve as a hospital and I've also said the bedroom downstairs is yours to do what you want -- you are choosing not to sleep in it, not my fault. Are you saying that if I came home to live with you I would have "rights"? What the HELL are rights, anyway?!?!

The laundry that you do on a daily basis was getting done on my timing prior to you living here. I didn't ask you to do it and I've gone as far as tell you not to do it -- it's your choice. If the piles annoy you, don't go in my room and turn your head. If you choose to do it -- don't hang it over my head.

My children, my house, my rules. You raised your children one way. I raise mine another. I recognize what a wonderful grandmother you are but I ask that you do not overstep the boundaries and go behind me and overturn what guidelines I've placed. There are enough changes in the home -- they need some consistency.

I'm sorry you can't get up and go when you want. You haven't been able to for years -- when you quit driving. This isn't something new since you've lived here. I'm sure you finally recognize others do go out and do things and I wish you had more ability to do the same but I can't change that you don't.

I'm sorry if you feel like I expect you to jump in and help with the kids. It's hard to keep an eye on them while I'm emptying and filling bags of Archie's fluids through dialysis with a mask on my face and when I'm dealing with sterile items. I also have a job that I need to keep so I can afford to live in the home that has enough room for you and Archie to live in comfortably. Did I mention that Dick has 3 jobs? It's hard to get a sitter to come in and watch the children when grandparents are also here.

I'm sorry you feel like you've lost a companion -- I've lost 2 parents and gained 2 children and am fearful I'm losing my birth children and husband. Don't talk to me about losses. The one thing I haven't lost is weight -- b/c the STRESS is keeping that on me.

I'm sorry if you feel like you don't have a break from this. I don't either. Imagine having to be responsible for the dialysis, the medication, the needles, the homecare that comes in and out, every trip to the pharmacy and grocery store, the bills (yours and mine), the trips to the doctor -- only to be reminded of the things you haven't had a chance to do and not having anyone respect that these are the things I merely do for my parents and doesn't include the things I do for myself, my husband and my kids.

Pissed Off

2005-07-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

Bodily functions are my life. After a week of grueling nights of peritoneal dialysis and alarms with Archie and losing sleep, we decided to transition him back to hemodialysis where he'll go out of the house 3 times a week. Until then, however, I have to do manual exchanges on him 4 times a day. It's something I can live with short-term in order to get sleep in the long run. The first night after making this decision I snuggled into my comforter (with Willy and Timmy b/c Dick is out of town) and settled into a long winter's nap. I woke up feeling like a Mack truck had hit me because one night of good sleep doesn't erase multiple weeks of lost sleep. Too damn bad because I've been losing it since -- and not because of dialysis fluid but urine.

Little Willy (no pun intended as the child appears blessed) has managed to wet the bed 4 nights in a row. Even worse is that he has wet it multiple times through the night through diapers. I change him and several hours later I feel something wet on my back. He's soaked. Every time. I changed him 3 times last night and even layered diapers on him the last time to no avail.

I'm destined to lose sleep and deal with fluids...they say it's better to be pissed off than pissed on. I'm both.

Empty Promises

2005-07-10T08:42:00.000-07:00

I'm one of five children. The other siblings live a few hours away in another state. My parents are here. I'm responsible for their care and everything in between. They claim to come help but their help ends up being more work and I still don't get any breaks.

Let's look back at Father's Day weekend (although I said I wouldn't look back - fuck it, my blog, my rules) -- Friday night I had dinner plans with my husband that were squelched, Saturday night the same so on Sunday my mother promised that she would watch the kids so Dick and I could go out because the following weekend Archie would be coming home and a night out would be far and few between. My oldest brother came in town that day with his wife. They are in their early 50's - kids grown - free to come and go and do as they please. "Let us know anything we can do - we're here to help you". The first thing they did to help was to help SCREW up Dick's Father Day and my date with my husband by going out to dinner themselves and taking Edith! Edith called and verified that the latest she could be home was 7:30 so we could leave -- do you know they didn't walk into the door until after 9:00 and offered NO apologies. So our plans, again, were squelched. Great help they were!

Not that there haven't been similar incidents since, I'll cut to this weekend. My oldest sister came in town with her daughter to help. To give me a break. To just do whatever that I needed done and allow me some down time. So far, no go....unless you count taking the kids to the pool a break. I say a break would be going to the pool without kids -- like she gets to do just about every evening and every weekend. I thought that perhaps I could sneak in a little me time today -- but, honestly, was fearful to ask. I guess when you are scolded by Edith when you walk across the street to say hello - it's hard to ask mommy if you can have a couple of hours away - which I'm sure would be spent doing errands -- not getting the "break" that has been offered but never given. I sit down at the table and Edith says, "I thought maybe Sally and I would go to Walmart -- I know she'd like to get out and go there". Sure, mom, what the fuck -- she doesn't have young children, she's not caring for elderly parents under her roof and she never can do anything she wants since she's NOT married -- of course they should go to Walmart! I walk away. Edith finds me downstairs and questions me and I let her know "hell yes I'm upset" -- I proceeded to explain that Sally came to give me a break and, once again, Edith is wanting to entertain her "guests" and dump on the one who has already been dumped on and I can't even walk across the street to say hello to a neighbor without a search warrant being sent out for me. She thought she'd be giving me a break -- taking Timmy with her and leaving me here alone with Archie (my inlaws are picking up Willy today -- thank God!). Since when is being alone with Archie a break?!?!

"I'm coming in to help"..."Plan some days for yourself"...Ha. It's all a big joke. There will be no help and there will be no time for myself and until I resign myself to that I will only be setting myself up to be disappointed by hanging onto empty promises.

Shit Happens

2005-07-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

It seems that lots of popular bloggers cover the topic of poop -- constipation, IBS, and the like. This isn't written to fall in line with the rest -- in fact, if writing about shit makes you a popular blogger - I'll gladly keep to one reader. However, it's my life and well, shit happens.

Take Willy for instance. Nearing 3-years-old Willy shows no interest in potty training. He'd much rather waller in his poo and get an occasional handful than be troubled with the thought of a potty. Willy is a bright child but when it comes to toileting he pulls the dumb act. Thing is if Willy decided to use the potty, he'd save himself some displeasure. Willy seems to have an allergic reaction of sorts to his poop. If he's having an extremely busy day downstairs you can guarantee that his bottom is red and often bubbly. The poor guy gets blisters on his butt from his own poop. Ouch! Shit happens.

Then there's Timmy. Timmy has always had issues with bowel movements. He passes boulders. I've often looked in amazement of the size of the poop that can come out of that child's bucket. As big and hard as it looks -- it seems like it's been growing a lifetime not a day or two. Timmy has also always had issues with what we call "sucking it up". He'd much rather avoid doing his business and just suck it up....literally. He's got some powerful sphincter muscles. The proof is in....his pants. Sing it with me (to the tune of 80s "our house, in the middle of the street") - "skid marks, in the middle of his jeans". And as if he didn't know that he has skid marks -- he has to give his bottom the 'ole stinker test -- swipe hand quickly along seam of pants, sniff, determine. It's sick, but true. There are time folks when sucking it up just can't stop mother nature. I'll set the scene -- sitting in my office which is in the front of the house, 2 windows looking outside...I see him moseying back from a friend's house...in no hurry. I assume he's coming in from playing as it was about the time of day that everyone heads in for dinner. He walks into the foyer...stops..."mom, don't be mad" --- continues, "I pooped down my leg onto the driveway"...."don't worry - the neighbors will think it's dog poop". I see no signs of evidence on his shorts, legs or in the foyer. He proceeds up the stairs and I just have to take a look at the driveway for myself. Sure enough, a little kimmy (as Edith calls little turd balls) was on the drive and did, indeed, look like a small dog doo. I sit back down -- I can't even touch the topic and he calls for me from his bathroom. "Mom, you've got to see this -- call dad" In one day, the child poops in the drive (it must have been the cork that held it all in) and then delivers the largest turd I have ever seen in my life...ever...and I have a big husband with volumuous poos. It was the length of a ruler and almost the width of a subway sandwich...no kidding. There are many more of similar stories...but you catch my drift. Shit happens.

AND as if we didn't have enough in the toileting department....we have Archie. Archie has gone back and forth with poo issues. Too loose...not loose enough. Guess what they've been as of late and try last night at 3 AM -- LOOSE, VERY LOOSE. I'm not being insensitive here but please somebody get some thread and sew this man's crack closed. They say crack kills...holy SHIT...poop kills. I thought I had reached my limit last night and what didn't take me in toxic fumes I was going to finish off by drowning myself in sorrow. An alarm had gone off on his dialysis machine which shook the house and woke me up. I quickly made my way downstairs, booger-eyed and cranky, took care of the alarm (by talking on the phone with the manufacturer of the machine) and as I was leaving, caught a whiff of something rather foul...."dad, did you pass gas?"...."Uhhhh....I might have passed gas or maybe I did the other". Okay Einstein, there's no fooling me -- if you didn't KNOW you did the other how would you know to offer it up. If you REALLY didn't know you just laid one out you would assume that it was simply gas - the answer would have been, "no....I just " not "uhhh....." You follow me here. Believe me, I don't mind helping someone who really has issues -- but something tells me that with a little self-control this stinky situation could have been easily avoided especially with a bedside toilet an arm's reach away.

Shit happens.

Life's a Bitch...

2005-07-04T20:50:00.000-07:00

and then you wish you'd die. Judge me if you will but there are some days when the alternative to living isn't looking so bad - today is one of them.

3rd day of taking care of Archie's dialysis at home and 3rd of running into significant problems that are even stumping the nurses; therefore, landing myself on the phone hours on end in attempt to solve

spending the weekend with 4 extra people in the house from dusk til dawn -- messing, eating, messing some more -- on top of caring for Archie so they could visit with Archie and Archie not even giving a shit enough about his family to turn over and acknowledge them

go to lunch with Dick in attempt to get a break from the hell I'm living only to be forced to tears with some very harsh words regarding the situation at home and to add insult to injury -- have Dick tell me, "I don't feel like you would ever even take care of me this way" - he meant it to come across the way it did and he offered no apologies....lovely, fucking lovely.

Archie treating me like shit for everything I ask him to do in attempt to help him LIVE. I guess I shouldn't ask him to turn over so the catheter can drain, pull up so he's in a seated position -- how about take a sip from his cup to swallow his medicine -- heavens, I should be doing those things for him, too. It's HIS world I'm only living in it!

Have Edith tell me that Archie told her that he wasn't sure he was going to stay here any longer because of how I talk to him -- I guess, "Dad can you push your feet against my arms and pull yourself up" should have been "Dad-deeee, can you please try with all your might to push your cute little footsies against my arm to give your sweet little self a boost in this bed --- ookie, ookie, ooo"

To have the nurses tell you that you need to be more stern with Archie and have Archie yell at you -- "what do you expect of me" -- I simply said, "to take part in your medical care" -- again, WAY too much of someone to ask.

To watch Edith tell Archie, "oh Archie (ookie, ookie, ooo) look how good you ate your dinner" -- never mind that he freakin' laid on his side in the bed and scraped it into his mouth. Honestly, he didn't even sit up in the bed to eat...he laid on his left side. Un-fucking-believable.

To lose sleep every night because the alarms on the dialysis machine keep going off and how dare I expect Archie to shift his body so the fluid can drain out -- certainly I can find a way to crawl into his stomach and suck the fluid out with a straw!

Did I mention that Archie can walk, move, roll over, use the toilet in the restroom, close blinds, drink without a straw, put a blanket over himself, dress, wipe, change the tv channel....he's choosing not to.

I'm telling you people, it fucking sucks to be doing everything in your power to try to do the right thing, help in every way you can, give everything you've got and to never feel like it's enough because those around you remind you of that in some way just about every 30 minutes. In the end, what will I have to show for it -- in 10 years both parents will be dead, I'll be 30 lbs heavier, gray hair, my sons will be teenagers, my husband may or may not care for me --- all to try to do the right thing and everybody find fault.

Life's a bitch...and then you wish you'd die.

Going Forward...

2005-07-02T06:49:00.000-07:00

Please remember that this is about my everyday life and this blog is my outlet -- I can write the things my head is screaming! I won't go backwards (although there are some very entertaining stories) because I dare relive the pain. Going forward only...which starts today.

Like Grandma, Like Son.

So there's a yard sale on my street and just like Edith - Timmy believes in supporting our neighbors. 8:00 on the dot he's at my bedside asking if he can go to the yard sale. We don't have enough toys, you see. A toy room, a bedroom with toys, a closet with extra toys....oh, and the garage with bigger toys. I just want to sleep - first chance in a couple of weeks that I've had the luxury. He hits Edith! Of course Edith wants to go to the yard sale -- where else can you waste, I mean spend, the money that is burning a hole in your pocket?!? They take off -- dollars in hand. Edith just moved from her home into mine and had a moving sale to get rid of all the things she's collected over the years. As well, I just had a yard sale to make room for her things -- just exactly where will she put her new treasures? They come back loaded -- in less than 15 minutes I think they may have wiped out the yard sale -- the neighbors can close shop and know that their goods are a few doors down! Timmy thought of his brother and brought home SEVEN Power Ranger toys (to add to the 3 storage containers we already have). Edith came home with some baskets, a cane and a walker. "Look here," she says, "this walker only cost $4". I agree, it's a deal....for someone who didn't just pay $110 for one less than a week earlier! Even Archie who's laying in bed not feeling so fantastic just shakes his head. The walker will fall into the "handiest thing in the world if you ever need it" category and since we already have a brand-spankin' new one -- I'm not sure when we'll need it. To have an extra in the car sounds great but he has to USE the walker to get to the car. Actually, the more I think about this...having the 2nd walker may not be a bad idea -- Edith will probably need it soon as she continues to do her study on cigarette smoking NOT being a cause of cardiovascular disease.

Meet the Family...

2005-07-01T18:54:00.000-07:00

Before I dive into the highs and the lows of my daily life, it's fair to introduce the famdamly.

Me: JANE
Husband: DICK
7-yr-old son: TIMMY
2-yr-old son: WILLY
Elderly mother: EDITH
Elderly father: ARCHIE
the cat: GARFIELD

Get to know us and know that you won't soon forget us....although you'll probably wish you could!

DICK has spent his life playing a game...of some sort or another. He's definitely a PLAYER! However, not the kind you are thinking -- he played baseball professionally for years - 13 in fact. Spent a few of those years in the Big Leagues but most of them in the Minor Leagues. He continues to have his hands in the game in lots of ways (website, magazine, coach, owns a training facility) -- he's busy and he's gone...a lot. A great father.

TIMMY is my oldest son at 7-years-old and will be entering the 2nd grade this upcoming fall. He's an extremely bright and intuitive child and is also very temperamental. So much to tell about this little guy (who is actually NOT a little guy -- nearly stands my height and wears a size 6 men's shoe!) but I'll let the telling come with the stories. He's my light-hair and blue-eyed miracle.

WILLY is my youngest son at 2-years-old. He's a busy body -- honestly, we're scared! It's that busy and that bad! He's polar opposite from Timmy -- he's the reason people say..."If he had been my first there wouldn't be a second". He's not all boy -- he's part boy, part monkey but cute as the dickens. He's my dark-hair and so brown they are black-eyed miracle.

EDITH is my mother. She's a very sweet lady who would do just about anything for anybody (while mumbling under her breath about doing it). CLASSIC Passive Aggressive. She's lived the 50's housewife life since she was a very young girl -- first taking care of siblings and then marrying at 18. She's a country bumpkin and can be very scatterbrained -- but has a heart of gold (minus the small white lies and the mumbling). She's not a particularly healthy woman and is the textbook example for cardiovascular disease....and she's going to live to prove that cigarettes have NOTHING to do with the various heart attacks and subsequent surgeries she has had. Her family doctor (who is a family friend) described her as a "ticking timebomb" - lovely, huh?

ARCHIE is my father. Ten years older than my mother - he found him a little hot tamale who could cook and clean and took her home to wait on him. He's been demanding it ever since (she obliges -- whatever!) and it's been over 50 years. Archie has 2 personalities -- the one for the outsiders and the one for his close family....guess which is Mr. Nice Guy?!? You got it, he saves his BS for others and gives us shit the rest of the time. He's a great example (as an adult child) of "at least he behaves while he's out"! He's lived an interesting life and has fooled a lot of people (not in a bad way) over the years -- Mr. Outgoing really prefers to be a hermit so his recent bout with critical illness which has landed him in bed has really NOT been that much of an inconvenience...for him. He's currently on oxygen and is getting dialysis at home.

GARFIELD is the cat. This 2-ton-tessy is the biggest cat I've ever seen...hands down. He's 13-years-old and is still going strong...that is if we can continue to keep him. He plays into the story because apparently cats, catboxes, claws, teeth and dialysis tubes do not mix. We've been advised to find Garfield a new home -- seriously, unless you are a serious cat lover - who wants a 13-year-old cat that weighs 2 tons, has claws and sheds! You understand my concern, right?

You've met the family...let the stories begin.

My Life...Not the Soap Opera

2005-07-01T13:24:00.000-07:00

This is a story about my life. It's not glamorous, glitzy or, at this moment, even remotely enjoyable -- but it's true. A life about a 30+ woman with a husband, 2 small children and now 2 elderly sick parents and a cat...all under one roof. It's about life changes, illness, desperation. It's about me and what I deal with on a daily basis. I'm writing it to cope. To wonder. To not offend. To be true to me. I hope you'll read to understand. Comment. Not judge. Learn.

Come walk in my shoes...