Monday, February 28, 2011

8 Days

It's been 8 entire days since I've blogged.

Boo! Hiss!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like you even checked to see if there was a new blog post. Don't give me that face--I know you didn't.

But it's ok. I have some exciting news to make my two readers jump for joy--or at least whisper a slight Hurrah. Actually I have two pieces of good news.

1. Today was the very first day since December 8th when the world gave way beneath me, that I didn't use some sort of instrument to aid me while walking. That's right----NO MORE CANE!!!. I'll give you a moment

I know, right?

2. I have started back at the gym. Friday night we descended on the gym en masse. And when I say en masse, I mean Lance, Stephanie, Allison, Ashley and I. Chris was working, so he couldn't join in the sweaty fun. Today I went to the pool and when I was done I threw my bathing suit in the garbage there. Trust me, it should have been tossed long ago. Now I just need to find a new one.

I feel a bad emotional experience coming on.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Here's the REAL reason I married him...

If you know my husband, you can't help but know how wonderful he is. He's sweet and he's kind and he's helpful to the point where I have to remind him to stop helping and please sit down and let someone else do some of the heavy lifting in life.

He's just that way.

If I had a dime for every time someone asked me if he had a brother just like him, I'd have.... Well, I'd have quite a few dimes.

I'd like to say I had a part in his wonderfulness, but alas, he came that way. His mom is amazing and I'm thankful each and every day for the son she raised.

When we were dating is when I learned the depths of his compassion and caring for others.

My older sister Cheri is disabled. She lives in a residential rehabilitation center, uses a wheelchair and has the mental capacity of perhaps a 4 or 5 year old. She's fairly non-verbal but does communicate with us. She can say no, mama, and baby. Cheri loves music. She especially loves the music of The Statler Brothers. She has one of the workers call here at night and she makes me sing Statler Brother's songs to her. You should see her rock out in her chair.

But back to our dating. The Statler Brothers were touring and were coming to Seattle. Lance found out. He said we should take Cheri to see them.

That may seem like a small thing but to me--it was huge. I was in love with him before but now I knew what kind of man he truly was.

We took her to that concert so many, many years ago.

Last night we had some time before we had to pick the girls up from the Fireside at the Bishop's house, so we stopped in to visit Cheri. We put on the Statler Brothers CD I'd made for her and sang as she rocked back and forth in her wheelchair. If you know Cheri, you know she loves to have her fingernails painted. She'll hold up her good hand with a look of pain on her face and give a kind of whine until you ask her if she wants them painted. She'll shake her head yes.

So I painted the nails on her good hand last night. A shockingly hot pink. Then she pulled her crippled hand up and tried to move the fingers out to show me she wanted them painted as well. We noticed that no one had clipped the nails on her bad hand, probably because her fingers are always curled into her fist. We pulled her fingers gently out and my amazingly wonderful husband, clipped them while I held her hand in place. Then I painted those nails too.

She was quite pleased. I sure love that girl....and I adore my husband for loving Cheri as much as I do.

Sorry girls, he's taken.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Things I Have Learned This Week

I think I shall write a once-a-week blog post on what nuggets of wisdom I've sopped up with my middle aged brain during the know, week. Perhaps then when I'm nearing my dottage (hush up, Ken)I'll have a plethora of useful facts to read in order to jog my memory.

Or not.

1. It's possible to cram 12 adolescent females into a suburban legally licensed to carry 7 passengers. Please do not ask me how I know this fact.

2. Adolescent females can apparently go vegan at the drop of a sad animal video. And then switch right back to being an omnivore the second you've loaded your fridge with tofu, bean sprouts, vegan cookbooks and vegan refried beans in order to support their desire to eschew all things meaty. You may ask me how I know this, but expect a lengthy diatribe and bring tissues.

3. I am walking kind of, sort of ok until I am brutalized by my physical therapist Ken. Then I cannot walk worth beans for two days afterward. Speaking of beans, anyone want some? I have lots.

4. The probability that a disaster involving something at my job increases exponentially by the number of miles I've driven from my office, causing me to return and rescue someone.

5. I have learned that the only way to get my skinniest daughter to stop asking me if she's fat is to reply, "You are hideously obese. How can you walk through that door, much less hold your head up? Please don't step outside for you will frighten the neighborhood children and any small animals about."

6. Never EVER click on a video from a Latin American country where the title is ,'La Vida no vale nada' You will be spiritually and emotionally bruised for the remainder of the day. They do not have the same requirement to warn viewers beforehand about disturbing and graphic content. Trust me on this. You cannot unsee something once you've seen it.

7. If you want to make a menopausal woman happy, buy her a small personal battery operated fan so she can carry it with her every second of every minute of every day. It will become her new best friend---next to you of course.

8. Just because Cheetos are orange does not mean you can claim they are a vegetable because carrots are the same color. By that reasoning, I can pay you your allowance with actual lettuce instead of dollar bills because they are both green.

9. I may very well be the cause of Global Warming. Someone alert Al Gore

This last one might be the most important thing I've learned this week.

10. "Be still and know that I am God..." Psalms 46:10.

Weren't expecting that last one, were you?

Monday, February 14, 2011

Never EVER ask this question..

especially when you've just experienced a string of rather unsettling events.

What else could go wrong?

This is a HUGE NO NO. It's like talking about extra money you just came into while driving your car. IT CAN HEAR YOU! No, it really can and it will immediately develop something that requires you spend your extra money (down to the penny) on it. We never talk money in the car. Never ever.

I once made the mistake of saying out loud how amazing it was that we had been Children's ER Free for over a month. BAM! Not more than three hours later we were sitting in a tiny hot room with one of our girls laying on the hospital bed.

Today, after a rather painful night in which one of the kids had to sleep with me and my husband had to sleep elsewhere, we ended up at the pediatrician and then would have been admitted into the hospital (but weren't, that's another story entirely), our basement flooded and then the suburban become possessed.

No, it did. There was no swiveling head and spitting out green pea soup but still. When I turned it off and took the key out, everything started blinking. The lights, the radio station lights, the...everything! I even opened the door to see if that would stop it. Nope.

Blinkity Blink Blink Blink.

I called my husband, who was home and recounted my horror at our possessed vehicle.

He heaved a rather large sigh and said, "What else could go wrong today?"

I shudder to think.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Heaven is Real

But first.....let's talk about this life for a few minutes.

I've had three, physical therapy visits this month. I won't go into the gory details on how much fun they aren't. I think I've mentioned my first one and I don't care to revisit that horror.

However, on my second visit I was told I was walking wrong. Did you know you can walk wrong? Apparently you can. And I am. Was. Let me explain.

When you injure your leg and/or knee, your body doesn't want to hurt any more. Smart body. In order to not hurt when you walk, your body automatically makes changes in how you walk in order to avoid pain. Avoiding pain is good. I like avoiding pain. In fact my body likes avoiding pain to the point that it's made me walk wrong.

This means I have to learn to walk the RIGHT way again. You might think this would be an easy task. I mean, I've been walking correctly for the better part of half a century. I should know how to do this.


My left leg has been turning out in order to avoid pain when walking. Now I have to train it to walk straight. I thought I was. I wasn't. See how this works? Yeah, me neither.

Now when I walk, it feels like my left foot is turned in at a 90 degree angle. That's what it feels like. What it looks like, is, um, straight. Each step I take is a conscious act. My brain says I'm turning my foot in at such an angle that I must be walking with my left toes pointing directly at my right foot. Not so. They are simply pointing straight forward, as they should be.

My leg is not happy about this turn (ha, see what I did there?) of events. Not happy at all. It hurts. It hurts a lot and I walk like a zombie. Not like an Egyptian, which would be a lot more fun, but like a zombie. Stomp, lurch, repeat. The cane helps me stay upright but I think I lose zombie cred for using it.

Now, about heaven being real. I think I set a new land speed record for purchasing a book on my Kindle and reading it. I saw a news article about this little boy in Nebraska who says he visited heaven when he was gravely ill. His name is Colton. I saw the video on him, grabbed my Kindle, bought the book and read it in a couple of hours.

I've always known heaven was real, and this little guy's experience reinforces that faith I have in what the future holds. If you get the chance, you should read his story. Life is good, but I'm sure that heaven is a whole lot gooder.

It is too a real word!

Saturday, February 05, 2011

After I pulled into the driveway and came to a stop, my son reached for the door handle to get out.

"Hey, stay for a sec", I said, reaching out to him.
He had the door open and half his body out of the suburban already.
"Mom... I know what you're gonna say"
He pulled himself back entirely onto the passenger seat and reached over to hug me.
"I like spending time with you too Mom."

I held on to him. We'd just spent a few hours together, unintentionally and unplanned. Those are the best kinds of impromptu times, right?

I was planning on going to the Temple today and he had to go over to Factoria about a job he was starting. Misty weather made for wet slippery roads and since I didn't want him to take his motorcycle, I offered him a ride. I was going in the same direction anyway.

Dropping him off at the Thai place, I decided to stay there for a minute or two and talk to my bank about my poor memory regarding my pin number on my debit card. Surprise, surprise, I was put on hold forEVER. When I finally got through to an overly perky voice, I was informed that even though they knew I was who I said I was, they wouldn't be giving me my PIN over the phone. They'd mail it to me.

That wasn't helpful.

However, I stayed there in the parking lot long enough for my boy to come bounding back up to the suburban to declare that he was done and now what?

Now what indeed? I told him I wasn't going home--I was going to the Temple so I couldn't take him home just yet. He'd be welcome to wait in the car for me though. He thought that was a better choice than trying to bus it home.

Instead of sitting in the suburban, he decided to play piano at the Stake Center behind the Temple. He's teaching himself this very cool song and he's doing it quite well. I always knew he had a gift for piano but it's like so much in life--something that takes a great deal of effort and time is often pushed aside for the easier and less beneficial activities.

I was happy to see him pick up playing again. Very happy.

He doesn't know he was the focus of my Temple visit. He doesn't know my prayers were for him, my heart pouring out for him. My tears...for him. Promises have been made and I intend to work with every thing I am to be worthy to collect on those promises.

So before I let my boy out of the suburban, I held him and kissed his sweet smelling neck. When he was a baby I loved to bury my face in his soft neck, breathe in his sweet baby scent and have that ahhhhhh feeling of love and contentment wash over me.

Now pressing my face to his neck I can smell the musky scent of his body splash, the fragrant hair gel he uses. It's not that sweet baby smell anymore. It's the scent of a nearly-twenty-year-old-young-man trying to find his way.

I'm here to love, support, guide and pray for him. And to remember that the little sweet smelling baby boy I once cradled in my arms may have lost his way for a bit but I have faith he'll remember who he is and where he's going.

I'll always stand where he can see me and the light I'm holding high to help bring him home.

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

At least he didn't use a cattle prod...

He hit me with a hard rubber end of a hammer-like thing and smiled. I jumped. It hurt. Was it supposed to hurt? Why would he hit me like that unless he wanted to hurt me? And why was smiling like that? What sadistic person is this that has come into my life?

Sadly, that was just the beginning of the pain I endured at Kyle's hands today. He poked at me, he twisted me around, he forced me up some stairs...down some stairs and when he was done with that pansy easy stuff, he HOOKED ME UP TO SOME ELECTRIC CURRENT AND COVERED MY LEG IN AN ICE WATER FILLED PLASTIC CUFF AND MADE ME LAY THERE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES WHILE THE ELECTRIC CURRENT ZAPPED ME!

Yes, I began physical therapy today. It is not for the weak. It's not even for the strong. It's just for us damaged folk who haven't been able to walk right in two months.

Kyle is a nice--albeit bossy--physical therapist. I suppose he's got to be the pushy type in order to make recalcitrant patients like myself do things that aren't exactly comfortable and are in fact down right difficult. I was, in fact, quite amenable to all he asked me to do.

I know, go figure. Me being cooperative. You should all pause here for a minute, bow your heads and take a deep breath. A moment of silence wouldn't be too much to ask for this monumental milestone in my life. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Done? Good.

While I didn't understand everything Kyle, he of the bulging muscles and tight t-shirt said to me, I did get this: right leg is 130% of something something something and the damaged left leg can only go to 70% of something something something.

Hey, I warned you that I didn't understand all of it, ok? Ok. All I know is we have a lot of work ahead of us, and by 'us' I mean me. The one laying on a table and sweating while I try to make my leg do things it would rather not do.

My leg would rather be on a warm beach somewhere, with it's toes tickling the toasty surf and being pampered but nooooooooooo. It gets to be semi-electrocuted twice a week for at least six weeks.

Don't be jealous. It's unbecoming. Seriously.