Friday, August 31, 2012

The Strong Woman Does Have a Breaking Point...

Once upon a time, in a land not so very far from here, but many years back, a young mother stood in the bright moonlight crying. You see her four year old son had thrown up in the back of the car on the way home from an extended family dinner out. As she was driving home on the freeway, she heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting. Her six year old daughter was grossed out but laughed at her sibling, because that's what siblings do.

The woman's husband was working swing shift, and thus was not with them. She continued to drive on home, even though home was about a half an hour away. She didn't know what else to do. She stopped at her sister's house, thankfully just a block or so from her own home. You see, this woman had no running water at her house because it was the middle of winter and her pipes had frozen then burst. She had no means to clean up her child, or her car. But once she got to her sister's house, she was able to pass her son over to his aunt and she stood outside with a hose, spraying icy water over vomit-covered clothing and little four year old's tennis shoes. There was a full moon that night---much like there is tonight. She stopped for a moment in her messy work, to stare up at the dark sky and the bright moon. With tears running down her face, she asked what else could go wrong.

The next day her husband lost his job.

She learned then and there to never ever under-pain-of-whatever-horrible-affliction-the-universe-can-think-up to say either out loud or simply to herself, "What else could go wrong?"

There were other things along the way for this mother during the next ten years or so. Another job loss, another baby born that came with extended hospital stays and that seemed the worst that could happen until the next baby came and this one had a stroke and landed on earth with cerebral palsy.

What else could go wrong?

It seemed that each new trial was more difficult than the one before. "Oh", her friends said to her, "Heavenly Father must love you very much to give you so many trials in life---He knows you can handle them". Sometimes late at night as she soaked her pillow with tears, she silently wished that she wasn't so beloved or thought to be so strong. But she was strong---and the hits kept coming. Heart-wrenching hits, multiple-hospital-stays-with-kids kind of hits. Life altering hits. Finally she defiantly shook her fist at the sky and asked, "is that the best you've got?"

Tonight in the bright light of a blue moon, she sat outside on the porch in the cool of the night and with tears streaming down her face, tried not to ask, "What else could go wrong?" It was a silly thing that put her over the edge tonight. Trivial in the grand scheme of things really. The washing machine, after filling halfway with water, simply stopped. Done. Fini. Dead.

The woman had spent the better part of two days at the best trauma hospital in the state by her husband's bedside. Seeing him in such pain, she didn't cry. She was strong. She gave him sips of water. She rubbed his neck. She tried to get him to eat. But she never cried. She was strong. Even though she knew that he would never be the same again and they would have to find a way to somehow survive on the paltry disability payments they were going to receive---she didn't cry.

She was strong. She would be strong for him.

But she could breakdown for the washing machine. She went outside and sat on the porch to cry---so her daughters wouldn't see her tears and worry.

She's so very weary now. No, she's not giving up. She would never do that. Much like a dam that needs to release the immense pressure building up behind it, this woman allowed some of the pressure built up in her to stream down her cheeks.

Then she got up, wiped her tears away and went inside to take care of her girls.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Republican National Convention and Isaac

I'm sure that will get the Internet Gods to load my page first on a search. :)

Or not.

I am actually watching the Convention. Ok, my back is to the screen, so technically I'm listening to the Convention. It's interesting. I plan on watching and/or listening to the DNC. See how fair and balanced I am? Yep. That's me.

Plus, it's amusing watching the talking heads try to spin things their way. Actually, it's not amusing at all. It's tiresome and annoying, but everyone has an agenda. Even me.

Not sure what mine is at the moment. First up, finish up this lovely Mexican meal I created, as I work on my blog. Second, keep shushing my dog as she continues to bark each time the neighbor dog barks. And that neighbor's dog barks a lot. All the time. A leaf falls, it barks. A cloud sails by, bark. The barometric pressure changes a degree.....BARK. Lance is in bed, resting and elevating his poor leg. I want him to sleep and if that dog doesn't hush, you might be reading about me in the paper tomorrow.

We, and when I say 'we', I mean Lance and I, made the terrible decision to google Achilles Tendon Repair images. Oy Vey. Bad idea. I'm still squirming in my seat as I type this, and we looked at them over an hour ago. He's having surgery at Harborview Medical Center. Tomorrow he goes in for all the pre-op stuff. Thursday they cut.

I'm so not looking forward to playing nurse to the horrors I saw when we googled. But I will do it. Somehow I'll find the backbone to do it.

Somehow.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Blackberry Pies and Achilles Tendons

I sit here..staring at my screen. Not sure what I should write about, there is so much going on. Overwhelming things. Underwhelming things. Some painful, some not.

It's blackberry season. We've already had two pies with vanilla ice cream. It's a serious event each August---on par with the pumpkin pies consumed at Thanksgiving.

Lance took a bad fall. A ladder was involved. Second story of our house in Puyallup, paint, pain, splash.....pain. He refused to go to the ER until the following day. He is, after all, a man. Men are invincible. So it hurts? Big deal. Watch this! I can STILL WORK!

Um, no. You can't, man-who-is-hobbling-around-like-Frankenstein. So off to the ER, where they know us by name. He was given lovely pain medications (I could have used some) and diagnosed with having fractured his talus bone and ruptured his achilles tendon.

Off to Harborview trauma center. An appointment that stretched 9 hours, ended with a cast on his left leg and an appointment for yet another visit to decide on treatment. The next appointment was only four hours in length. Progress people, progress.

His fractures will heal, but because he sliced his tendon in half, he will be undergoing surgery. Repair will not be easy---or short. He won't even be able to start physical therapy for 2 to 3 months. MONTHS PEOPLE. We're talking MONTHS. And then he can start therapy.

Therapy will be long. He will never again be the same. And he won't be able to work for a very long time---which poses another problem. That pesky old green stuff. We're already paying a mortgage and a rental. Now this. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sitting in a pool of tears, sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth. I'm actually fine. One part of my brain just keeps wondering what we're going to do.

Sadly, I have no answer right now. I wish I did.

Then there are other issues....nagging, worrying, head-shaking, stressful. Not life threatening, just peace threatening. Calm threatening. I wish we had the time and the money for some beach therapy right about now. I could use it.

It was his birthday yesterday.
Neither one of his the older children (and I do believe they are very much children) called, or messaged or anything. They were not raised this way and I've just about reached my limit the amount of angst they bring to our hearts.

At any rate---surgery is scheduled for Thursday. He might get to come home that very day.

Onward and upward people.

Thursday, August 09, 2012

Writers Block

I gots it. Big time.

Le sigh

I've been working on a book---well, two books if you must know, and I assume you must as you're still reading, right? Right. I've had time aplenty to write, but cannot. I have had a few lovely days sans offspring due to it being summer camp time here in our area. This is when children are taken from their homes in the cities and forced to embrace things like dirt, bugs, more bugs, out door sleeping and learning silly songs around a campfire.

Scratch the campfire. There's a burn ban on because everything over on that side of the mountains is tinder dry. So they sing silly camp songs, put on skits and allow their parents (That would be me) time alone to ponder how quiet the house is and how their grocery bill for the week has suddenly plummeted. Kids are expensive little hobbies, but I'm expecting a HUGE return on my investment. If I live long enough. Which I won't.

But that's another post entirely.

During my several attempts to write, I've been distracted by things and not just things in my head. This online world is shiny and pretty and OH LOOK A PUPPY! My brain functions along the following lines:


So you see the problem. Plus, curse you Pinterst! Any other writers out there have tricks to keep them on task and NOT ON PINTERST AND FACEBOOK??

Please to help and thank you very mucho. Oh, before I forget. I had lunch with my father and nephew today. Dad went with me to have my iPhone looked at because it began buzzing this morning and three hours later, still buzzing and no worky. So the genius guys at the Genius Bar did their geniusy thing and fixed it right up. Then we picked up my nephew and took my father to a place called Senor Moose

Hi-Larry-ous. Seriously. It was so amusing that my nephew Chad set his phone to video and taped my father. This place serves comida tipica, which means it's NOT Taco Bell. It's what real Latinos eat, not what our Americanized restaurant chains have brain washed us into believing is REAL Mexican food. Uh uh. No way Jose. This stuff was the real thing. MMMMMMMM. However, my 80 year old father was not amused OR happy. Here's my Dad and my nephew Chad.


This was taken before the food arrived. Mine was to die for! Black beans, platanos, cotija. Oh so good. Chad had something that was so spicy I swear it could take paint off a car. Dad's was chicken with corn cakes, cotija, black beans, some sour cream I think and he HATED IT. First he said it smelled like dirty socks and then he informed us it tasted like dirty socks.

Poop. This post was supposed to be about writers block and how to fix it. Instead I write about lunch.

See my problem?

Saturday, August 04, 2012

The Twitchy Report

I've decided that working for the school district is a wonderful, wonderful job. I get the summer off (mostly) with my kids and hubby. We've done some thrilling things lately. We took a cruise up to Alaska with the kids, saw amazing whales and other wildlife. We were the life of the party EVERY night and hardly slept. Despite eating every thing on every buffet, not a pound was gained and we even lost some weight. Then we took a back packing tour through Europe, climbed the Swiss Alps, had some Swiss Miss Hot chocolate, made friends with not one but TWO Yetis and then we flew over to Egypt to see the pyramids and talk to the world leaders about how to create a lasting peace in the Middle East. They seemed to like our ideas and they LOVED the blueberry scones I served.

And then the drugs wore off.

The summer reality is that we have been to the Beach cabin twice, Over to Eastern Washington a couple of times, spent time caring for Ashley after surgery, and been cleaning and worrying over our house in Puyallup and how to get it fixed and rented soon.

Sadly, I never met a Yeti.

We do have one amazing story about a cat that was left behind in Puyallup when we moved four years ago. His name is Twitchy, and he ran off before we were moved and though we saw him once in a while, we could never catch him. His name is Twitchy for a reason. He's the product of Uncle Daddy and Auntie Mommy. So while we've been out there, he showed up, meowing and talking to me. So I talked back. He came closer and closer the more we 'chatted' until finally I could pet him. When I tried to pick him up, he bolted.

The following week, my father brought his kitty carrier and some canned food. There he was again. Short story, he went into the carrier for food and my dad slammed the door shut. Twitchy was unhappy, but I was thrilled!!

You'd think he would have had trouble fitting in and coming to terms with us again. Nope. He loves, loves, LOVES me. Curls up with me when I'm on the couch, sleeps on top of me at night and talks to me constantly. He's a talker, this one. I love him and am so thankful we were able to get him again. He was rail thin, but now he's packing on a few pounds. Here he is....

Never mind. Blogger is being witchy and won't let me show you Twitchy. Ha. Perhaps I am a poet. Or not.

And with one month left of summer, we are looking forward to more time at the cabin, more time cleaning and prepping the house to be rented and I hear we're even going to have some warmish weather here in Seattle. For the record? I loath warmish weather here in Seattle. If there were no humidity, I'd be a happy camper. But there is humidity and therefore I am not. A happy camper.

Ok, now blogger has deigned to allow posting of my baby Twitch. Here he is. Isn't he adorable? No? Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

And with that, I'm off to finish baking a birthday cake for a cousin and then attend a funeral for a dear man who passed away and left two young boys. Count your blessings, people. Count'em twice.