statement . x two

"are you trying to make a statement?"

she asked, as I made my way down the hall

this morning with Bugsy on my arm.

She is sweet, and quick with a compliment.

Almost one a day for me,

and I have become used to responding to her with a smily "thank you"-

and then stopping for a chitty chat.

We still chitty chat, she and I, just like we used to do

when she had Bugsy in her kindergarten room.

Her room full of chickadees,... she is a sweet lady.

But this morning, more than a smily thank you was in order.

"Are you trying to make a statement" she had asked.

Huh.

A statement.

Huh.

I had to think about it.

Hmmm.

But only for a minute.

"YES"

"yes, I am. "

"I am trying to make a statement".

Isn't it obvious???

My sister loves me.

Pocket Notes

During the past few weeks getting out of the house has been a challenge in the morning.

Even though we have not started a new school and we did not have a nice long 2 month summer break from school, X has shown a major case of schooliosis.

The fits start when it is time to get dressed and don't end until I have calmed him down, pumped him up, and repeatedly reassured him in his classroom that I will return.

He started calling me "mama", and Bri "dada" again, and drop offs have been peppered with sobs and intermittent wails of, "don't LEAVE me MAMA". If any words could ever fracture a heart for real those would be it.

And then I start my day, already a little beaten down.

I sit in my car, in the driveway of my patient's house, stalling. I don't want to go in. I know the questions that are coming, they are the same ones she asked me two days, two weeks, and 2 months ago. And I know my replies are the same. I try to come up with different ways of answering, so she has no reason to ask again, but alas.

She lives alone, 91 years old, and is slowly dying. She refuses aides, showers, help with shopping and driving. She wants to know why she is tired. What can she do?

Finally this morning, after watching George, eating french toast on homemade white bread, laughing and joking while getting dressed, we were ready for school. I try to make the mornings relaxed, not a constant rush to get out the door. There had been no tears yet as we grabbed our bags. At the last moment I grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote I LOVE YOU in big letters. I told X what is said, folded it and put it in his pocket. On the way into school I asked what was in his pocket, and what it said. He remembered. As we walked into school a group of classmates commented on how cool it was that X had a batman shirt on, he let go of my hand, found his place on the carpet, and said "bye, bye, mama".

I walked out of the building like I was floating.

Once again I sit in the car. Once again, I know what awaits me. A lonely lady who seeks my advice, my wisdom, my expertise. I am frank. Again. You have X disease which has Y symptoms which need Z treatment.

Or you could sit here. And let yourself be tired. And wait to die.

In not quite those words, that is what I say. And she seems accepting.

And as I walk to the door once again, she asks me what I "have" for her.

Should she got to the store for some groceries?

And so I tell her something that sounds so easy.

Do whatever you CAN do, and ACCEPT the things that you can't.

And I am gone.

We will see what tomorrow brings. I am prepared for tears, tantrums, hugs and smiles. Whatever it brings, I will try to heed my own advice, keep it in my pocket for the day, and try not to forget it.

Opus.

Dearest Nonie,

On the eve of your third birthday I must say -

not a day goes by when I don't look at you, laugh with you, love you, and think...

you might just be my

Magnum Opus.

I think I know what it feels like to be complete.

You are my sweet, sweet girl. (Even when you pee in your bed 3 nights in a row).

Love,

Mommy

Overwhelming Responsibilities Realized. Hopefully not too late.

At 2:40 the bell rang. I thought I was in the clear.
And then there he was on the rug. Flopped on his back like an upside down turtle.
Refusing to put his jacket on (properly, mind you, which spurred this all) and leave the room. 

So close.

It took some coaxing to get him down the hall and under the watchful eye of his grandpa.

On days like that I feel relieved to go home to a childless house.

Later on, long after I was home and settling into my weekend, it hit me.
Just as the hard part of my day was ending, his was starting.

Little things for me, rationing water intake because I don't have a spare second until 11:30. Frantically getting papers from mailbox cubbies to folders to backpacks and out the door.
Big things for him, who will pick me up from school today. Will my dad be home when I wake up in the morning, or will he have decided to leave again.

I thought of the day just before, when he melted in the afternoon and I walked him down to the nurse for a nap. I asked him if he wanted me to sit with him for a minute while he closed his eyes.
He said yes, and grabbed my arms from his lying down position.
He looked at me like he was drowning and I a life vest being thrown to him.
The tiny smile you can muster up when you are so glad someone is there but it does not overtake the fear and sadness that is pulling you down. His eyes wide open, staring at me. Studying.
I sat on that bed until seconds before the tears would have come, from me, if I stayed there another second.
The sadness I had for his exhausted little body. For the confusion that starts when the school day is over. For the overwhelming feeling of responsibility that I know I have toward him, and the twenty-two others just like him in the other room. It hit me right on the plastic coated bed.

For some of these kids, this year, in years past and in years to come, maybe I am the only thing they've got. The only consistency they know. The only smile they get that day.

I realized, when I was back in my cozy house, that he might not have wanted to leave.
While I was looking at the clock, waiting for the bell,
maybe he was dreading it.
He wanted to stay here in this school, in this classroom. He knows where his desk is and his spot on the rug, right next to me.
"You know, everyone in this school likes me". He tells me at least once a day.
 What about at home?

That, that should be the way that I teach them.
From that completely selfish, overwhelmingly egocentric, unbelievably narcissistic piece of my heart that feels like I am the best thing they've got.

Some mantras that sit above my desk. 

I have a feeling there will be many more to come.

You'll know why.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKIl-v18mgo

catching my breath

did I tell you...
my baby went to second grade...

Actually, she goes every day...

this one is so good I had to share it twice.

A Hasselhoff Dive.

Yesterday his kayak squirreled away from under Dec's bottom. It drifted to the deep.

Without hesitating I peeled off clothes and did a Hasselhoff Dive into the not-so-warm lake to fetch it.

A few strokes of butterfly, a few fresstyle and I was there.

With no intention of swimming yesterday, I found myself in the crisp clear water splashing about like an otter. A September 11 Blue Sky smiled above. My freckle face boy was alongside.
My happy surfer girl was on the beach yards away. My mother was kayaking the perimeter of the lake while we played....and I felt so alive and lucky to be.

A Lady You Should Know.

There's a lady I have to tell you about.
But I don't know why.
Really I can't figure out what her purpose is to me.
Doesn't everyone in your life serve a purpose? Or is that some ideal...

She's my in-laws neighbor at camp. She lives alone and drives herself around. To town to get supplies for her meatloaf. To visit her great-grandchildren.
She turned 93 on Thursday.

My in-laws invited her over for cocktail hour and dinner. Her contributions were too heavy for her to carry, she said to everyone... or no one because not one of them offered to go get them.

"I'll go get them." I looked around. Up to her house and back down again with a box of wine and a salad. Extra onions.

She had her first glass outside. It started raining but no one seemed to do anything about it.

"Let's move inside, it's raining." I said.

We gobbled up our food and everyone was up from the table soon after that. She kept eating. I stayed at the table so she didn't have to eat alone.

She said she knows people must think it's weird that none of her children came to visit for the weekend. She understands, they're all very busy. She told me this 4 or 5 my times over the course of the night.
I don't think other people thought it was weird.
I'm pretty sure she did.

I sat with her for 15 minutes.

She's a fish, that old girl, and my heavy-handed father in law filled glass after glass for her. She usually gets Sunset Blush because there's less alcohol but they were out. White Zinfandel seemed to be her new favorite.

"I should go, I should go" She said after dessert. Everyone seemed to ignore her request so she sat and watched us play a board game, thoroughly confused by the references to celebrities and reality tv.
The next day there was a big picnic, "it sounds suspicious" she said to everyone. I prayed for her that they had thought to make it a birthday party. 
Finally, my hubby escorted her home.

Around 1 o'clock when people started gathering I watched for her to come out of her house.
"I hope she didn't die last night" by husband said.
"Why would you say that?" I asked him.
Horrified.
I had been thinking the same thing.

She was collected and came down with the remainder of her White Zinfandel.

She was found a seat next to my in-laws and promptly deserted. I saw her sitting on the porch, by herself. I looked around at everyone. No one seemed to notice, so I went up to sit next to her.

She was making a move to get up. "Oh I didn't know if anyone was coming back."
"It's just so strange, I'm so much older than everyone here."
"I don't really know these people."
I felt totally, completely, and solely responsible for her. Where was everyone? Why aren't they sitting with her? Where are the damn party hats?

I told my hubby this as we left the picnic to take Drake for a walk.
"I feel responsible for her. I think you're all just used to having your Grandma around and take it for granted that there is this really old person here. Everyone is ignoring her."
He shrugged.
I wanted to cry.

When we got back the party was still in full swing. She had not been abandoned, nor had her wine glass.
She saw an empty chair next to me and sat down. She asked me if I wanted some wine.
"I'll have one if you do" she said.
I poured her another glass.

Around 6 o'clock she said it was about time to go home.
Some ladies grabbed her elbows and she tried to protest. They stayed latched on.
She gave everyone a giant hug and kiss.
"I just love everyone" she said.
"And we love you."
"I know it may seem like I'm drunk but I'm not.
I really love everyone."

And with that they walked her home.

She didn't say goodbye to me.

You Know Your Exercise Regime Has Slipped A Bit...

When you decide it is time to Google "1/2 marathon training 3 weeks".

Yikes.

I may as well Google "running for dummies".

#runningoutofexcuses (oh wait, this isn't twitter?)

And also, this S-Ship is feeling a bit lonely. Where the heck is everyone?

And one more thing, I could take it no longer - I just paid for this book's replacement $3.99 though the librarians begged me not to do it.....there, you can sleep well tonight.

Am I Brave?

When I was in first grade, I had a best friend named Claire.

She and I put on a Frog & Toad skit about seeds growing.

I wore a green sweat suit. She wore her brownies uniform with brown paper warts taped to it.

Her big sister helped us rehearse after school one day, and though I

was shy, she really helped me memorize my lines. Also, Claire's warts fell off a lot.

To say the very least, the experience was memorable. And Claire is still my best friend.

This evening I picked up the Frog & Toad book she gave to Dec on his first birthday.

I read the inscription from her to him.

He sat clean and cozy in his bed tonight, the first night, of his first day - of first grade.

His baby sis sat up on his bed with him.

The story we read was about being brave in the face of dragons and in the shadows of giants.

I love the story because it begins with Frog and Toad wondering if they

are brave. "Are we brave?" They wonder. And it ends with the two saying to each other, "I am glad to know a brave person like you!" Then Frog hides in a closet and Toad hides under the bed. They stay there for a long time. Feeling very brave together.

Earlier today I combed Dec's hair, re-buttoned his shirt, watched him leap down the front path to the huge awaiting school bus...helped Nonie straighten her skirt, tightened her backpack straps and lifted her out of the car in the school parking lot... while my eyes overflowed with tears. I cried because the completion of each tiny morning task - from serving up their granola and yogurt to snapping their first day of school pics - meant I was one step closer to saying farewell to the ones who help me feel brave.

Too Good Not To Share.

A perfect hike with mom.

At the Res. and to the top of the top of the spot that Dec reached at Camp this Summer.
The spot he promised to show us. Before the summer ended.

We ate together - gourmet food of sorts from the new local shop down the road.
It was nearing sunset.

On the hike to and fro we laughed, slipped, marveled at buttercup's new "kneesocks", laughed,
listened, did some heavy breathing and loved. Each other.

At the top, mom handed over the pound cake she insists she "finished half of" during the storm.

I take it willingly. I know the recipe well, and recall that the word pound is not figurative.

Especially when it comes to the butter line item.

Yum.

Two proud and exhausted hikers sat in the back of my car as we made our way for home after the hike. They quietly munched on Granny's Cake and passed the luke warm water bottle back and forth between each other.

The open tub of pound cake sat next to me in the passenger seat the whole ride home.
Tempting? But of course.

During the drive home, we all used the same word to describe the evening, the stroll in the woods, the walk with Granny....

Perfect.

It wasn't until we rounded our last turn to home that we slowed.

Flashing lights and large cherry picker trucks were blocking our road.

I took a bite of the pound cake calling my name to the right of me. Darn, that is good stuff.

Then I turned my attention to the traffic delay.

My first thought: I can't believe they are still out here working at dusk - a full one week after IRENE hit

They seemed to be moving on from this post.

Three trucks went roaring past our idling car.

WISCONSIN DEC AND NONIE! DID YOU SEE THAT PLATE?! THEY ARE FROM WISCONSIN.

Without much thought I found myself frantically waving my flabby white arm out my car window just in time to catch the fourth truck.....

WHAT AM I DOING? I KIND OF THOUGHT. Then, my next thought was: I BET HE THINKS I'M GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT SOMETHING. Since everyone has been grumpy without power.


The ginormous truck slowed and then grinded to a halt, just in time for our windows to line up perfectly.

I took a glance at the driver.

HE'S YOUNG - A KID! (I THOUGHT).

And this darling young thing with a crew cut and midwestern accent lowered his window as I offered up some pound cake.

DO YOU CARE FOR SOME POUND CAKE (I SHOUTED - OVER THE ROAR OF THE ENGINE)?

Gee, sure I'd love some. THANK YOU! Said the young kid (couldn't have been older than 19) and he grabbed a slice and roared away.

Then came the next, fifth and final, truck.

I put my flabby white arm to work.

MY MOM MADE THIS POUND CAKE. WOULD YOU LIKE A SLICE?

And he said

WOW! SURE! THANKS!!! and he grabbed the tupperware and was off.

(Gran, sorry - but the electrician from Wisonsin has your tupperware. However, I think it was my container anyway. I recognize the lid, which is all I'm left with as I type this post up.)

In every way imaginable....this evening, buttercup's mud stockings, eating really close to a copperhead snakeskin, Gran's pound cake, and offering up all I had at the time (WHICH IS A LESSON MOM HAS ALWAYS TAUGHT ME) the whole day really -

was too good not to share.

My husband doesn't believe in.

My husband doesn't believe in units that wind-up hoses for you, he insists that we are capable of doing this ourselves. For years I've enviously looked at those rolling hose thing-a-ma-jiggers that our neighbors all have.

My husband doesn't believe in training wheels or ski harnesses for the children. He calls these gadgets "crutches".

Come to think of it, he didn't believe in using pacifiers for the children when they were babes.

My husband doesn't believe in pre-boarding for families, and often leaves the airport gate to fetch a cup of coffee or go pee while the plane fills up.

My husband doesn't believe in calling professionals to fix things - unless it has to do with electricity. Shockingly, he takes a back seat for all things electrical.

My husband doesn't believe in parking cars in direct sunlight if there is shade available nearby. Yes, this means grass is preferable to driveway if it means parking in the shade.

My husband doesn't believe in wasting product - as an example, when the toothpaste's end is near, he cuts the long strip off the end and swipes his toothbrush into the tube to eek out every last drop.

My husband doesn't believe in leaving an extra big tip for the waiter who was really nice/cute.

My husband doesn't believe in eating the ends of the bread. Even when I turn the end side in and smear peanut butter on it to disguise it - he catches on and turns up his nose.

My husband doesn't believe in dessert - or cheering for the Yankees or Giants - and those are quirky things about him that really perplex me. He also doesn't believe in cleaning up after his breakfast or shutting his closet door. But I think those are observations for a different post.

To summarize: my husband doesn't believe in some things that I believe in.

And this makes me believe in him even more.

*balanced rocks - the hub's creation on the shores of the Irish sea -