You! The one with my toilet! Get back here!!

Today was NOT a glass-is-half-full day. I thought it was going to be, but I let things get in the way. We drove to the city this morning to picke up a commode chair for my mom. The one that we got from her caregiver in the nursing home has a very strong smell of cigarette smoke, which isn't going away, and is now permeating the bathroom walls. With current finances what they are, I thought I'd try to find a replacement on Craig's List.

And I did! A new or next to new commode chair. The only hitch was the location, as it meant driving to SF. With our current road closures, it's no longer a quick trip. When we got there, someone was parked in the same general area we wanted to be. It looked like they were just finishing up something in the back of their SUV, so I drove around the block and just as we drove up, they drove off.

I parked the car and Chantí and I headed up the three flights of stairs. We were greeted at the door by a very pleasant woman, who said she'd walk downstairs with us and show us where she had put the commode. As we rounded the last section of stairs, she said something to the effect that it was gone. Immediately, I knew what had happened. The original ad also offered a shower chair. Those people in the SUV were picking up the shower chair - and my mother's new commode!

The very pleasant woman was mortified. She said "They didn't even come upstairs and let me know they were here. She is a physical therapist and said she only wanted the shower chair, she did NOT want the commode!" Well, I guess she changed her mind. I was a little taken aback that the woman didn't even go upstairs and introduce herself, since this equipment was practically new and was being given away.

What bothered me the most about this whole incident though was how it threw me! I could hardly blink back my tears when I realized that we had lost out on the commode. And then I was furious. I think what really got to me the most was that we'd most likely seen the commode culprits, and had I just parked behind them we would no longer have a smoke-smelling commode in my mom's bathroom.

I've been trying to convince myself all day that something good will come of this, but so far...I haven't found it.

Happy Birthday, Joshua

Fifteen years ago tomorrow, my son Joshua Lee was born. At that point my world changed. Six weeks later, it changed again when it took a sharp turn to the left when I learned that Joshua had ALS, also known as spinal muscular atrophy; the same disease that Lou Gherig had.

I was frightened, angry, and scared. My emotions ran the gamut. But from somewhere deep inside, a voice told me that I needed to be in control of myself in order to give this sweet baby a happy life as long as he was here. He was going to take his cues from me, and I needed to show him love and joy. We had seven months together. Joshua died the day before Thanksgiving, 1991.

Today I have the most wonderful little daughter imaginable. Yes, I'm really really proud of her. She has a heart that is just beyond comprehension. In March we were talking about her birthday, and she wanted to know when Joshua's birthday was. I told her May 2. She then wondered if her teacher, Miss Thea, would let her take cupcakes to school to celebrate his birthday.

Last night I thought about Joshua and the fact that his birthday was coming up. I didn't dwell upon it. In fact, this may sound like a betrayal, but if Josh had lived, I probably never would have met Chantí­, and I'm not sure that I ever loved Josh the way that I love Chantí­. Part of that is probably because we just never had the chance. We didn't get a lot of time together. Anyway, I thought of his birthday yesterday, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought.

Today, on the way home from school, Chantí­ clapped her hand over her mouth and said, "Oh! Tomorrow I have to tell Miss Thea that it is Joshua's birthday. My baby brother Joshua...well, really he's my big brother but he never got a chance to grow big. Mommy, can we go see Joshua tomorrow?" I can't even describe how it felt to have my sweet little Chantí­ remembering this very special day - particularly when I hadn't yet thought of it myself. I told her yes, we will go to the cemetery, and this time we will take something for him. (Chantí­ is actually responsible for more visits to the cemetery than I would probably make on my own. Almost every time we drive by, she asks if we can go see Joshua.)

We proceeded downtown and after stocking up at the feed store on yet more rabbit supplies (he ate his straw mat), we went across the street to the store that sells windsocks and pinwheels. We selected a large, triple decker pinwheel with rainbows of satin ribbons. I started to balk at the price - it was $14.95 - but then I reminded myself that for a dollar a year, it was well worth it.

Tomorrow after school, Chantí­, my mother, and Chantí­'s best friend who will be here for their standing Tuesday playdate will go to the cemetery to visit Joshua and take him his new pinwheel. Chantí­ will explain to her friend who Joshua was, although I've already heard her talking about him to her on previous playdates. And I will thank God once again for the gift that I have in Chantí­. Chantí­ is not the consolation prize. She is the grand prize.

My Glass is Half Full

It's hard to think that I'm going through what some would call "hard times" these days. I guess there are two ways of looking at my situation. On one hand, I'm unemployed, have my mother living with me, and I'm going through a divorce. Additionally, I'm a single parent struggling to make a huge mortgage payment every month. On the other hand, I'm a writer, have my mother living with me which is a huge help to both of us as she recovers from a lengthy hospitalization, and I'm a single parent who gets to do things like watch my little girl as she grows up.

Earlier this week, Chantí's best friend came over for a playdate. While playing dress-up, they placed a blue quilt on the floor and that was the ocean. They were mermaids. I watched as they sorted through their differences and mimicked those of us around them as one played the role of parent. I have to say - my daughter was a great parent! Their playdate ended up being an all-day affair, with the older sister of my daughter's friend coming over to "babysit" along with my mom that evening while their mom went to a meeting and I went to a jewelry-making class. Upon my return, I opened the the door to music blasting and they were hopping about, dancing in the living room with my mom and the babysitter cheering them on. They were dancing so hard that the bobble-head dogs on top of the entertainment center were bobbling. It's a privilege to get to see these things. Seriously. Not all mom's get to watch their daughter playing dress-up with their best friend. It's hard to slow down and realize what a gift it is to be able appreciate these times. My daughter's friend is another gift. The girls get along famously. One day I'd taken them to the movies. Chantí had the best time, and wanted to save their ticket stubs as a remembrance - but she accidentally left them in the theater. She was distraught, and I listened to her little friend trying to pull her out of her funk. She explained that when she goes to this particular theater with her dad, she sprinkles fairy dust on the car and that makes it go to the donut store, and "Lori, could you maybe stop at the donut shop? I think it would cheer Chantí up, wouldn't it Chantí?" So of COURSE we went to the dount shop even thought it was now well past 7 p.m. and thus far they'd had popcorn and gummy bears for dinner. AND it was a school night.

Today the sun FINALLY came out, after about what seems like months of never-ending rain. I picked Chantí­ up from school and we went straight to the beach closest to her school. Since we are lucky enough to live on the coast, the beach was four blocks away. It was a beautiful day, and we spent some time playing in the shallowest of the waves. Then we came home and got my mom and took her to a different beach near our home. This visit was monumental for me, because I never thought that I'd see my mom walking down to sit on this particular bench again. And she just marched down that little hill like she owned the place. While she sat on the bench, Chantí­ and I clambered on down to the beach and looked at tide pools.

My mom is probably healthier than I've seen her in years. She had extensive cardiac surgery in 2001, and she has never really come back from that. (This was her third heart surgery, the first being in 1957.) Now I'm seeing signs of recovery to the extent that I'm daring to think that she is really going to come out of this most recent surgery, a partial hip replacement, with flying colors! The deblitating swelling in her legs is just about gone, and she's staying on her regimen with her medications resulting in her doctor telling her that she looks great, and no she doesn't need to use a walker! It'd be nice to take credit for this, thinking that my mom is so healthy thanks to the great care that I'm giving her, but in reality, I think it can be attributed more to her stubborn disposition and not letting anything ever get her down than to anything else. I suspect being around Chantí and our ever-growing menagerie (one Shih Tzu, one Kliban Cat, a large blue-eyed white rabbit, and a hermit crab) must be having a positive effect. My mom loves animals, and my recently deceased step-father felt otherwise, so my mom has been without a pet for years.

As for work...well, I'm trying to write. But suddenly, now that I have the opportunity I seem to be having trouble knowing where to start. I figure that's due to one of two possibilities, the first being that I'm really THAT boring that there's nothing to say, and the second being that my brain is so cluttered that it's like cleaning house. I just don't know where to start. I figure if I write enough of these blurbs, something is bound to germinate!

Dreaming

This month's issue of Working Mother Magazine has an excellent guest editorial by Claire Cook. The title is "Dreams do come true: prepare to be inspired".

Claire Cook wrote her first novel sitting in her minivan waiting for her daughter during early morning swim practice sessions. To a frustrated writer, these are welcome words indeed. It seems that for every published writer who started early in life, there is also someone who started later in life.

Recently I've been feeling quite introspective about my life. I'm experiencing a multitude of life changes all at the same time. Circumstances have dictated that I'm no longer gainfully employed, but instead I'm a stay at home "sandwich generation mom" taking care of my seven year old daughter and my seventy six year old mother. Additionally, I'm in the midst of a divorce. Since my mother sleeps a lot and my daughter spends six hours a day in school, this has given me six hours a day in which to contemplate my life - between naps. I still don't have any definitive answers about what I'd like to do when I finally grow up. Yes, I'd love to be a writer. Like the song Tim McGraw sings, "Do you want it? Can you feel it? Is is burning deep inside?" I think so. The writing has certainly been festering long enough. This is an ideal time to tackle a project - so why haven't I done so? Fear of failure coupled with laziness, compounded by feeling like I'm rather dull these days.

How the French Do It

Yesterday I took my mother, my daughter, and my daughter's friend shopping. Mom needs to brighten up her image and get some new clothes. She lost 45 pounds while she was in the hospital, and it doesn't appear that she's likely to find it anytime soon eating like a sparrow.

Chantí and her friend were chatting away in the back seat, and suddenly I realized that the topic was French Kissing. Mind you, we are talking about a six and a half year old and a barely seven year old! It seems that Chantí's little friend is friends with a third-grade girl who is somewhat "advanced", and the third grader explained French kissing - with a great deal of accuracy. The accuracy is likely because she apparently has already had practice in this area. When the explanation was complete, Chantí had just one question: "Are they French?"

OHHH! I thought.....

Not long ago, our cat Rosie escaped. Rosie is basically an indoor cat. She's allowed to go into our back yard because we know she can't get out. She's too fat. She can't climb well and she falls just trying to jump onto the sofa or the bed. This also means Rosie isn't really a "street savvy cat", so I was worried about her. I went out front and started calling her, with no response. As I turned to go inside I happened to look up in the tree. Sure enough, there was a very disgusted-looking Rosie. Just a couple of days earlier a huge branch had come out of the same tree during a big storm. More storms were on the way and it was cold a little windy. Rosie was not happy. I enlisted the help of a neighbor to hold a ladder while I retrieved Rosie, who I might add was very grateful. She didn't even try to resist or scratch me.

Rosie's behavior was most unlike that of a predecessor named Fred. I told my daughter how one night Fred got up on the roof, and he couldn't get down. I also didn't want him on the roof because it was a brand new house, a triplex, and the owner-builder lived next door. Anyway, I got a ladder and went up to get Fred, who was sitting on the edge. As I picked him up, Fred looked this way and then that way, and then chomped down on my hand. I explained to Chantí that cats have very germy mouths and you can get very sick from cat bites. In fact, I got so sick from Fred biting me that I missed a whole week of work. Then I told her a kind of gross story about going to the doctor to have my hand checked again, and as I pulled into our very long driveway, without any warning I got sick and threw up all over the steering wheel. Chantí­ stopped me. "Mommy, what color was it?"

What color?? "Clear," I said, wondering why she wanted to know what color it was.

Chantí said, "OHHHH. I thought maybe you had a furball."

Munching

About 10 days ago I was going through some intense guilt feelings. No, NOT about a diet, which you might be led to believe based upon the title of this particular blog. It was about our soon-to-be new member of the household, Munchie. Munchie is a two year old white bunny with blue eyes. The guilt feelings were directed towards our Shih Tzu Tai Chi and our very large Kliban cat, Rosie. (They are called Shih Tzu's because you are constantly saying, "You're a little shit, aren't' zu? to them.) Tai and Rosie have been the best of friends for five years now, and you know the saying, "two's company, three's a crowd," and frankly I was worried about a crowd!

Tai went through some feelings of rejection when our daughter came to live with us. Chantí was three at the time, and Tai was used to being the center of attention. With the arrival of Chantí­, Tai had to take a back seat whenever visitors came for a good year. As for Rosie, although she is the most patient, tolerant cat on the planet, I've seen her ire when another cat has ventured into her backyard. I wasn't really too confident about how Rosie was going to react to this interloper on her territory.

Munchie was described as "a confident bunny" and that pretty much sums him up. No timid lapin here! By his second day, Munchie was letting me hold him on my lap for extended periods. On his third day we set up a play area in the laundry room and back hall for him to give him an opportunity to exercise his large muscles. My father, who grew up on farms, of course thought that was utterly ridiculous. Munchie doesn't seem to care a whole lot one way or the other. He has a "Cottontail Cottage" that the woman at the House Rabbit Society gave us when we got Munchie. It's a cardboard box about 18" by 24", divided into three levels with cardboard ramps. All of Munchie's paperwork says that he loves sitting on the roof. It must've been a different Munchie though, because so far OUR Munchie has only made it as far as the second floor. Chantí generously donated her Playhut caterpillar tunnel and we also got a 17" wicker "tent" for him along with a wicker basket that is just his size for "sleeping". That's in addition to the large and small wicker balls and the plastic ball with the bell inside. Anyway, during Munchie's exercise period, which generally lasts between six and eight hours, he mostly just sits in the tunnel. Every now and then he hippity hops about and we all (my daughter, my mother, and I) exclaim at how cute he is. Chantí­ will periodically go into the play area to play with Munchie. They toss the small wicker ball back forth a few times and then Munchie lies down in his basket with his head on Chantí­'s lap and soaks up the love.

Today I went grocery shopping - we needed more greens. If I could learn to like greens as much as Munchie, I wouldn't need to diet ever again. When I was bringing things into the garage, I heard Tai Chi barking incessantly. He does that whenever the garage door is up - he's afraid he's going to miss out on something. I yelled "Hush!" and the barking stopped. About five minutes later I came in and found Tai Chi in the tunnel with Munchie. They were just hanging out together. Tai is very curious about Munchie. I think Tai may have some species identification issues himself....he becomes quite amorous towards Rosie at times. After Chantí­ got him out of the tunnel, we sat in Munchie's play area with Tai Chi and Munchie. We held Tai Chi, but didn't really need to. He now wanted to be on the other side of the fence. Literally. Meanwhile, Munchie the Confident Bunny felt at ease enough with Tai to check things out. Mind you from a distance of maybe two feet, but nevertheless, for a bunny who had just had a dog bounding through his tunnel, he did remarkably well.

So the intense feelings of guilt are gone. Chantí­ is going to make a schedule out of who plays with which animal when, since there are three of us and three of them. (She's very organized, that Chantí!) Everyone seems to be working things out on their own terms. The hardest part is keeping Chantí from rushing them, but she is showing great restraint. In the meantime...I started a diet. But I still don't like greens as much as Munchie.

It's been awhile

It's been quite awhile since I've posted anything here. The life changes started in August, when I left my husband. In September, my mother fell, breaking her pelvis. She spent two weeks in a skilled nursing facility (SNF) and then was released. Two weeks later, she got her cane tangled up in her walker and fell again, this time breaking her hip. After having her hip replaced, she nearly died, and spent two weeks in ICU. After Ernie, her husband, signed DNR paperwork they booted her out of the ICU. Of course then she immediately started getting better. Ernie on the other hand was another story. He collapsed the day after my mom was taken out of ICU and I found him in the house. He'd been lying on the floor semi-conscious all day. He spent two weeks in ICU. While he was there, my mother went back to the SNF. Then Ernie went into an adjacent SNF, where he stayed until the Friday before Thanksgiving when he took a swing at his nurse, so they took him back to the hospital to see what was going on. He was released the following Tuesday, and this time went to the same SNF that my mom was in, but he was in the Alzheimer's locked unit because it was the only bed available. Then he died they day after Thanksgiving! We were all pretty shocked, thinking he had been malingering more than anything else. My mom remained in the SNF until early February, when she moved in with me. In the meanwhile, my six year old daughter became quite ill with a stomach virus in mid-December. Her doctor's office said to bring her in if she got worse. Well, she didn't get worse but she wasn't getting better either, so I took her to the doctor on December 23, and she was immediately admitted to the hospital for dehydration. She stayed until the following Wednesday, spending Christmas in the hospital. I went back to work on Thursday, and got fired on Friday for missing so much work. Well JEEZ! Thanks for the compassion. The company was difficult to work for anyway, with a tyrant for a CEO. (He also founded and still owned most of the company.) I figure there's a story in there somewhere. I refuse to look at one of those stress test things because I'm sure I'd be off the chart!