clickmom

too many Wife sightings

I had several Stepford situations on Friday. It was weird.

First one was walking into spin class. I have to tell you that once the small group of normal folks found out I was exercising at the posh club I was often asked out the Stepford wives and how they were about me infiltrating their territory. I thought I was doing just fine since I wasn't attending too many of their classes, and I suspect that the true Stepford girl is more likely to go to hip hop aerobics than lift weights and maybe even spin. Spinning just seemed to collect a varied bunch of outsiders and I was good and safe in spin until Friday. I walked in to spin and my Stepford radar went completely wild. My eyes fell on two Wives who were whispering to each other.

As I tried to angle past one of them towards the back row of bikes she very familiarly and overly cheerfully said "Hi!" to me. I'm pretty sure I have never seen her before. So I gave her a polite (don't bite me) smile back and said a reserved (It is best not to excite a Wife) "Hello" and the Wife dismounted her bike and followed me to my bike and started to telling me how she met Matt at the (now ex-girlfriends Jew hating) country club and how Matt was so sweet to everyone there, and how he was engaging and charming and even found time to have chit chat with the mothers like her and some very nice stuff about Matt. I told her I was so happy to hear these things and thanked her and asked about the now ex-girlfriend whose mother sent her to (jail) an all girls boarding school where she doesn't even get to go home for weekends. The wife told me her name and asked me to tell Matt that she said "Hello."

But I know I had never met this overly familiar with me Wife before (but I did kind of know her whisper buddy) and I am sure they were either talking talking about me when I walked into the room or had merely whispered something along the lines of "That's the one we were talking about last night at Bunnie's botox party!" when I appeared and I am totally creeped out that the Wives have me on their radar. So I watched them (never turn our back on a Wife!) and their bad form and their inappropriate clothes (I mean, who wears a cami with a thin strapped underwire bra to the gym?) for the whole spin class.

Then on the way out of spin class, which happened to be a fairly vigorous class (at least for those of us commomers who did things like stand on our bikes when the instructor said stand and turn up the resistance when the instructor said turn it up) the Wife I had actually spoken to a time before was walking right behind me and she said "You did really great for your first spin class, you finished and everything."

Uh.

Ah.

thought in my head: FUCK YOU BITCH!!

words out of my mouth: "Oh, this was not my first spin class. I haven't been around since the spring because I was at my house on a lake all summer."

So, score two for the Wives, I left the gym totally creeped out knowing I had been their recent topic of discussion, and that tall skinny bitch managed a biting insult on the way out.

Then when I asked Matt about the Wife who had the kind of words about him he didn't know what I was talking about. Then (because I raised him right and he is the best!) he said "Wait, was she one of those overly tan bleached blonde women?" Thinking he remembered her and I could find out all the details of their encounter I said "Yes! That's her!" Matt looked at me and came back with "Mom, you know I can't tell those kind of ladies apart!"

Score one for my team.

Then Friday night I had an assignment to cover a party in the next town over, which just might have a more serious infestation of Wives than my current town of residence. Luckily a writer from our paper came to the party too, and she is not one of them, she is very normal. We walked into this party, and oh my lord, I have never seen so many Wives all drunk and all gathered in the same place at one time. I was scared people. I may or may not have had an allergic reaction to silicone while there because good lord, I have never even imagined so many undernourished skeletal ladies packing big DD's in one room before. It was ... shocking. And as an added twist these wives were predominately very very tan. And also pretty darned wrinkled. Hand me some sun screen please. Being around all those Wives was nerve racking simply because I was so outnumbered. I mean, what if they wanted me, and then they would lock me on a tanning bed and not feed me until I was all brown and skinny. shivers.

Then the Wife throwing party introduced me to her best friend, a scrawny yet magically busty older looking bleached blonde in a baby doll dress who has obviously spent the summer on a lounge chair at the beach (leather chair skin!). It was a terrifying sight.

But, true to form, I bumped into the best friend (okay I thought it was her) by the buffet table an hour later and said something which seemed to confuse the best friend, until the actual best friend came over and I realized that I couldn't tell overly tanned bleached blondes apart either!

Luckily, we got out of there alive. We were in shock. On the ride home the writer and I kept saying Oh My God over and over.

ouch and ouch

I haven't been posting lately because there is bad news.

Dad's prostate cancer, which he originally battled about 11 years ago, is back. We don't know much yet because dad hasn't sat down with the doctor to discuss test results. He did however get a look at the test results and from what he could tell the cancer spread to his spine and rib cage. On the day that they got the bad news mom was understandably beside herself. Dad is acting pretty confident and cavalier about the whole thing.

Mom left the room periodically to cry all by herself on that first night, and when I followed her to offer some comfort she told me that the only reason she even wanted to live and was suffering through the treatment for her own cancer is to be here for dad.

Knowing that this is the absolute truth I have once again, as is so common in my life, been reduced to the status of chopped liver bringing my kids, her grandkids, along with me (since apparently having half a dozen grandkids between me and lil sis does not give my mother inspiration to carry on) and I have to admit that hearing those words come out of her mouth, and knowing in my heart that it was very much her being honest and that it is her reality, has hurt me deeply.

And the woman, who happens to have given me life, who does not count me or my babies in as a reason to go on living is not only residing under my roof but I have been and still am fully prepared to do what ever it takes to do the right thing by her through this illness. Only now there is a little dead spot in my heart where the knife went in.

speechless

There are just somethings in the too much information category you never want to know about family members no matter what. Unfortunately, the scumcle didn’t recognize that bit of social grace when one day he casually mentioned to me that he believed that grandma didn’t put out for grandpa and that grandpa had to pay for that kind service elsewhere. See? You didn’t want to know that either did you?

I believe the scumcle might be correct in his assumptions because one day, back when grandma’s memory was still intact, grandma told me that when she and grandpa decided to try for kids she would only let him touch her once a month and then she would convince him to wait and see if they had been successful. Poor grandpa.

But this really doesn’t jive with the grandma I know. The grandma I know is very touchy and affectionate. As a matter of fact there are times when it is about all I do not to yell at grandma for caressing one particular spot on my arm until I suspect the skin will be worn right down to the bone. Grandma also likes to caress my thigh, a wee bit too high and too much on the inside for comfort, and lunge down for creepy unsuspected geezer kisses on the back of the kid’s necks. Also she has lately started grabbing people’s behinds and breasts. Except she doesn’t save this endearing behavior just for the family, no grandma is an equal opportunity grabber, and if you make eye contact with her pretty much you are a sitting duck for some kind of arthritic claw squeeze somewhere/anywhere on your person. At first the kind staff at the Old Folks Home fell prey to her lecherous ways, then as she became more comfortable there she started in on her peers. I heard that some of the geezers went to the staff feeling maybe (completely) a bit (molested) sexually harassed by grandma. Grandma needs to learn to respect other people’s spaces. I am afraid she might be the first geezer in the history of assisted living to be voted off the OFH.

In the mean time, grandma (with all that sex on her mind) manages to work sex into everything I say (well, at least what of it she hears) during our visits. Much of the time she works it into something that can be insulting towards my dad, who she is still all hung up about because he is much older than mom. (20 years to be exact) A while ago she joked that dad must have a little man part. (I know, I know) and the other day when I was out with grandma and mom and mom was worn out and needed to go home and I couldn’t mention mom’s illness to grandma because we haven’t told her (to protect her, it would kill her to know) I said we were taking mom home because dad was home alone. I said “You know those men, they don’t do well on their own.” To which grandma replied “Yeah, I know. It’s a lot 'funner' doing it on top of her than it is doing it on his own.”

buy a bago

Sneaking in a quickie while the folks are spellbound to prime-time television, now the television is ALWAYS on in this house, sob.

So, Wheel of Fortune was on, (which is a whole 'nother story in itself..) loud enough to hear in any corner of our rambling domicile, naturally, and today the grand prize winner won the grand prize of a Winnebago. Woo Hoo. (Secretly I would totally, in a heart beat, throw my kids into a Winnebago and do a history of our country/beautiful landscapes tour in a heart beat, but don't tell the family that I have these trailer trash urges, OK?) So, being real snotty Stepford types (I was faking it tonight! All an act!) we snickered a bit at the prize and I said I thought there was always a cash option you could take. Josh, always ready to both agree with my opinion and come to my defense (I love him so much!) but not always quite getting what is going on enthusiastically declared "Yeah! They should just give her the money and then she could use it to buy a Bago!"

fun things to do with your geezer

1. Take them shopping for body appropriate halloween costumes.

2. Play treasure hunt in their bathrooms and find their hidden candy stash.

3. Practice your STUPIFY spell on sleeping grandparents.

4. Turn that walker around and have hallway races!

lyrics

El3m3ntary School G@ngst@
Yo, I'm a ten year old
my teeth are pure gold
girls have cooties, or so I'm told
I never brush my teeth, my toothbrush has mold

I get straight D's, but it don't really matter
'cause my lunch is handed to me on a silver platter
I'm king of the playground, so now you see,
how great it is to be
ten year old me!

(CHORUS)
El3m3ntary school g@ngst@
El3m3ntary school g@ngst@
El3m3ntary school g@ngst@
El3m3ntary school g@ngst@

I get my lunch for free, the lunch aids respect me
school bullies (are) just a little speck to me
I'll punch 'em so hard they gather trajectory

CHORUS

I got a gold plated pop-gun
I'll shoot you if the cartoons are on reruns

CHORUS

my momma tried to ground me, I had her whacked
Now at every turn she'll be attacked (this is part I have issues with)

CHORUS 2X

Mom is out of the hospital

And I am too tired to write, but I wanted to share the good news. Didn't realize what a gigantic relief it would be. I'm not hyperventilating anymore.

Okay, that's worng, I realized it would be a gigantic relief what I didn't realize was that I hadn't actually inhaled for the entire week she was in there. See I am too tired to write.

off my shoulders

I had a melt down this morning. I guess it was about time.

I have been avoiding talking too much about my mom in public because I don't have the energy to cry in public. It would attract too much attention, and I just don't want to have to talk about this every time I turn around. Then this morning, I was on the phone with mom (who might get out of the hospital today) and mom mentioned that she had not spoken to her best friend (you know the kind they refer to as "aunt" when you are little and it gets you confused you know that you aren't actually related) for a whole week and the friend didn't even know that mom was in the hospital. I volunteered to give the friend a call and fill her in.

Well, the second mom's friend said "Hello" I started to bawl. I could barely even get my name out so she could know who was sobbing on the other end of the line. I managed to choke the story out and got off of the phone. Then, believing I was alone in the house, I broke down and sobbed some kind of primal cry that I didn't even know was in me. I ended up slumped over on the kitchen floor, with the devil dog licking my face, just crying, screaming, yelling my eyes out. Then it occurred to me that it was only 9;30 in the morning and dad was still in bed. But he most likely didn't have his hearing aids in and I wasn't sure how much if any he had already caught. I grabbed some paper towels and muffled my despair into the towels until I stopped. Then I pulled myself back up towards the kitchen counter and finished frying the onions for tonight's dinner, which seemed like such a mundane thing to do. I mean, I ask myself "Do I really need to make dinner when my mom has cancer?" and I wonder how much of what is ordinary I should hold on to and where I should slide.

I thought maybe should sit on the couch and watch some television, but I don't actually like television much, especially during the day and OMG those women on view are gushing over Gloria Estefan and now I am thinking that I do need to keep doing everything I would normally do just so I don't feel like I am required to relax in front of the television. As far as I am concerned day time television might lead to the down fall of western society. Tomorrow I am forcing myself to go back into the gym, and just so I can't bag it at the last second I emailed Bubbles and arranged to meet her there. I wonder if there is anything in me to use at the gym, but I figure at least I can walk on a treadmill or something. If I am moving at least I am not at home eating, which I have been doing a lot of lately. And that is another behavior I just do not understand, just how does it make sense for me to dive into a pint of ice cream when my mom isn't well. I don't feel good after, mom doesn't want to see me explode, and I get nothing from eating the sweets except a stomach ache. So, why do I go back to the sweets every single time? It isn't working for me, I should get that into my head.

And one more day time television thing... FRUITY CHEERIOS????? It's official, it's over, we're all brain dead any moment now.

Also, OJ. I just cannot tell you how disgusted I am to see that killer's face on my television. His poor kids. tsk tsk tsk.

hospital tales

My mom had a heavily accented english as a second language kind of nurse today and I listened (with a big smirk on my face) as my mother (who has such a bizarre way of saying somethings I just don't know where she is from sometimes) tried to tell the nurse the name of one of her doctors. My mom said "Robitt" and the nurse shook her head in confusion and leaned in for a better hear. My mom repeated slower and louder "R o b i t t" and the nurse looked up at me. I was smiling with all the evil satisfaction a girl can muster after her mom has been in the hospital for 5 days. The nurse leaned even closer as mom said even louder and slower "R O B I T T". The nurse looked at me and asked "Robert?" I nodded and managed to suppress a laugh.

Then mom told me all about the anteebeeotics they have been giving her.

my babies made a video

life and death are both not fair

Mom had her chemo on Wednesday. She felt like crap on Thursday. She kept to together for a while because I brought grandma home for dinner, but mom couldn't bear to sit with the food so she went to bed. I heard the alarm bells. We ate efficiently and I quickly brought grandma back to the OFH. I came back and checked on mom. She didn't look so good. I was concerned. So I kept checking on her.

By 9 o'clock she was violently puking up bile and beginning to get short of breath. We tried to take her blood pressure and it was so high that the machine was error-ing it and wouldn't give a reading. Mom took her high blood pressure medication. Dad claimed the machine was broken. We took the blood pressure of everyone in the family. The machine was fine. I wanted to phone the doctor. Dad argued that these were all typical side effects of the chemo. I wanted to hear it from the doctor. Dad thought I was being ridiculous. I could tell it was worse than mom was letting on. She is my mom, she is cool under pressure. Dad and I argued again. I took dad's phone book, called the doctor and had mom speak to the service. When the doctor didn't call back fast enough I decided to make the trek to the ER. Dad and I argued about this too. I told mom we were going and asked her if she wanted to go in her clothes or her bathrobe. She got right up and went for her clothes and I knew she thought she should go too because she didn't hesitate.

I helped mom into the front seat of my truck, dad got into the back and I drove off into the night. There was no one on the road and I had turned off the radio so I could hear my mom's labored breathing as we made our way to the ER. There was nothing to hear except the hum of the car and mom. It was a freaky scary feeling. I went through about 4 red lights just hoping a cop would see so he could speed us to the hospital faster. They are never there when you really need them.

When we escorted mom into the ER dad told the guard that mom had had chemo and that her blood pressure was through the roof. Mom said she couldn't breathe and they took her into triage right away. The triage nurse put the cuff on mom and got her name into the computer before mom's blood pressure registered. The nurse took one look at mom's pressure (239/67) and called for a wheelchair. Less than a minute later mom was being hooked up to oxygen in the ER and they were setting up the IV. They got her all monitored took a few vials of blood and disappeared. The only thing was they left mom lying on her back and as the minutes ticked on her heart rate slowly increased and her oxygen levels started going down. I kept calling the nurse and she would just increase the amount of oxygen and tell us not to worry. Mom couldn't stop panting. Mom got worse and worse and finally, just as I was about to run screaming in the halls doing my best impression of Shirley Maclaine trying to get pain meds for Debra WInger mom asked me to help her sit up. I helped her up and because I didn't know how to sit the bed up I had my hand firmly pressing against her back when I felt a big wet gurgling shift in her back. I looked at where I was touching her and thought "lungs. pneumonia. shit. " Then the doctor came in and asked something about congestive heart failure. They took an x-ray which showed fluid in mom's lungs. Which could be from the chemo. Or maybe something else. And they started giving her all kinds of medications to get rid of the fluids. Sitting up seemed to be enough help and mom's heart rate gradually returned to normal.

They did tests all night long, and yesterday too, and this is what the cardiologist told me today. Mom had heart failure. Heart failure makes your lungs fill with fluid. There was already bacteria in there brewing the pneumonia, and the fluid gave the bacteria an easy way to flourish. Mom had all the heart work ups and her heart is in even worse shape than I had thought. Also, the cardiologist couldn't believe mom is taking one of the chemos that she is taking. I mentioned this to dad and got the impression that they made the decision to go ahead with the chemo knowing all the dangers. It's dangerous.

Also, mom is still heaving. They put lunch in front of her today and she turned green. Then she heaved again. They think she has some kind of complication from the surgery in July that has caused a blockage somewhere on her digestive tract. They sent her for a full range of abdominal x-rays today. Her lower left region is swollen and I wonder of that is where your appendix goes. She still has an appendix. Or maybe it is a hundred things that I haven't even heard of.

I spoke to mom just now and she said that another doctor, one she hadn't seen previously, came in and said they didn't know anything for sure. They didn't know if it was pneumonia for sure, if it was heart failure for sure or even if they would ever know what is going on with her. Then the guy left as fast he came. I am imagining the Mad Hatter running around the hospital.

I just don't know anything for sure either right now. Will mom make it past this hurdle? I don't know. Am I going to have a mom? I don't know. Are my kids going to have a grandmother? I don't know. Will dad have a wife? I don't know.

What should I do? I don't know.

don't ask

Let me tell you how the last week has been. I need to do this so you won't ask me how my new found freedom (with three kids in school for the first time ever) is going. If you ask, I will cry. On Thursday (the first day of school) I ended up with grandma for four of the six hours of freedom. Grandma does not equal freedom. On Friday (the best day yet) I did have coffee with wildmom and lunch with the rest of my babes. So Friday did not disappoint.

On Monday we awoke to the sound of devil dog trying to break out of her crate to discover much to the offense our noses and our own personal horror that she had been sick from both ends and was covered in the forementioned sickness. So, I have no choice but to first do the school drop offs followed by a vet run. I am riddled with guilt having given the devil a particularly large bone. The devil is clearly in some sort of abdominal distress, the vet claims that the devil is nauseaus because she licks her lips when her abdomen is touched. I go along with it. I am not a vet. They take the devil for an x-ray. Twenty minutes later the vet comes back and announces that in true Monday fashion the x-ray machine is not working and asks if I can leave the excrement covered dog with her for observation while they wait for the x-ray machine repairman. I say YES to that and swing by the pet store for diet dog food, dog shampoo, and that magical stuff that gets the smell out.

Once home I am greeted by my folks who tend to roll out of bed between 10:30 and noon each day. I can not start the laundry because they are about to shower. I manage to waste a couple of hours doing nothing at all productive. I call the vet, x-rays have just been completed, so I dash back over with my fingers crossed that the devil does not need surgery to remove the veal bone I tossed her the night before. I have my fingers crossed that she is merely sick from all the people food I saw grandma slipping under the table.

As luck would have it the devil is just plain old sick. I have to give her pepsid ac (???) and some prescription for a few days. Yahoo . I have just enough time to race home, drag the devil into my stall shower and clean her up before gettting the kids. She loved that, NOT. This is how I spent the free part of my day.

Tuesday I thought I would do a bit of theraputic shopping. Then I wondered where on the world I had left my purse. Then it occurred to me where I had last seen it. It was in the back of the husband's car right where I left it when I used his car to drop Matt off at school in the wee hours of the morning before I can remember to do stuff like take my purse out of a car that is about to be driven into the city. But there was hope for shopping still. I have a credit card that use for Internet ordering. I was delayed almost an hour by my mom, who thought she might like to join me. Then dad thought that shopping sounded like a good idea, which ... ummm .... wasn't. But then mom, in an angel of mercy act told me she'd go out with dad and I should go on my own. I grabbed the extra card and whatever dollars I found lying around and headed for the mall. What sweet victory I found there! I shopped like I gave never shopped before. It was empowering and envigorating. Walking out of the mall I felt like my luck had turned. If I could shop like I had just shopped, well, then I could do anything. I felt great. So I stopped by whole foods on my home, which was the usual WF delight until I tried to pay with the credit card and it had been blocked. Aaarrrgh! The manager ( who sees me there every other day) said he could hold the food so I went home, borrowed cash from my folks, picked up Josh and Ev, dropped Josh back at the house with Matt, hauled Evan over to WF got the food for dinner, stopped by the bucks so I'd make it through tip dinner, dashed over to religious school and after feeling so proud that we were early (it would most likely be the one and only time we would be earl) and was informed that religious school starts next week. I went home and had about 15 minutes to "relax" before preparing the previously unpaid for but retrieved an hour and half later with actual cash food.

I was totally looking forward to today. Today was going to be MY day! I thought and schemed for all the things I'd be able to do that I can't really do when mom and dad are around. Mom had her chemo scheduled and I was going to have the house all to myself. The thought gives me goose bumps. There were so many domestic cleaning opportunities for me here, and also, a chance to run around naked, and even watch a show of my choosing at a volume that does not make the windows vibrate! Then last night dad began doing everything that the devil did on the morning of her vet visit, except he wasn't in a cage and can get himself to the bathroom. (thank dog for the little things) There was no way dad was going to be able to take mom in for her chemo appt, and there is no way mom is capable of driving in on her own. She is on way too many painkillers to get behind the wheel. I am not sure I'd let her operate a stapler right now. So, I brought her in. I had to. The woman needs her chemo. And as it seems to happen for my mom, one department didn't know what the other department was doing despite the fact that we got there at 8:30 this morning we didn't drag our tired asses out of the hospital until 5:30 this evening. Luckily for me I made a few (absolutely panicked) hectic phone calls and managed to get in touch with B who picked up my little ones from school, delivered them safely home to Matt and my sick dad (I totally owe you one B), and a neighbor who drove Josh to his first ever piano lesson that he was totally stoked for and I would have cried if he missed it.

This all adds to up 5 days of potential "freedom" (the first in 14 1/2 years here!) down the toilet with the brief exception of my babes lunch last Friday. So don't ask.

why?

My dear friend, Bob, was walking down the street in Long Beach California chatting on his cell phone when someone or maybe even two someone's (he never saw him/them) pushed him to the ground from behind. He remembers putting his hands out to catch his fall and being hit more than once on the back of the head. That is all he remembers.

Now he has a fractured nose, a concussion, a scraped up face, which according to Bob looks like a rug burn all over his face, especially brutal on his lip. They suspect he has a punctured ear drum, he'll know for sure this afternoon after he is seen by an ENT doctor. When Bob came to his clothes were all cut to shreds. He never even saw his attacker(s) before losing consciousness.

Police suspect it was a hate crime. Bob is gay.

Sometimes I don't want to be a part of a world where this happens. I just don't understand why.

page turner

In my life I have read two separate "folk tale" type books, one native american and one jewish, where the home owner goes to the village wise man and asks what to do about his large family and their small home/crowded living conditions. In both books the village elder tells the home owner to invite animals into his home. The home owner goes back a few times and the village elder instructs him to take in another living creature. This happens again and again until the family is completely overwhelmed. They are surrounded by huge messy animals and can barely function. Then finally the wise elder tells the homeowner to get rid of all his animal guests and even though the homeowner still has a large family and his home is still on the small side he feels like he has all the space in the world.

I am now channelling that good end of the book feeling. Every time I can't post because someone is breathing down my neck, every time I load or unload the dishwasher from my parent's multiple glass meals, every time I pray for temporary hearing loss because the room is shaking from the tv volume, every time I look at my dining room, which used to be where Josh and I would go to spread out his legos and now my dad has turned it into his office, complete with our first ever home fax and copy machine, and every time I feel like I can't go upstairs and (hide) be alone because my two parents are attempting to leave permanent butt imprints in my den couches and I don't want to be rude to them, I just think how quite and easy it is going to be here when they go home. Everyday I find a moment (usually the only time I am alone: when I am on the can) to close my eyes and remember how peaceful it becomes when the company goes home.

Matt had an awesome fourth grade teacher-I just sent her this email

Dear Mrs. awesome fourth grade teacher,

It feels like yesterday that I was calling you on Matt's first day of fourth grade and explaining to you what a difficult and traumatic time he had during third grade. I was sending you a wounded and depressed little boy and I needed you to know that there was a sweet charming little boy behind the pain. I'll never forget you cutting to the chase after listening to me sob through the long version of the whole story and asking me exactly what the worst part of third grade was for Matt. I told you that he felt like the teacher had picked on him so much the kids had turned against him too. You said "Give me a month, he'll be the most popular kid in school." I told you I wasn't asking for that, and you told me I should trust you and we agreed to speak again soon. You were true to your word, and soon after our conversation it became obvious that Matt was indeed being well regarded by his peers, so much so that they were singing his artistic praises at home. Parents were approaching me and sharing stories of Matt's talent they had heard from their children.

One of the highlights of fourth grade for Matt were his Jameson Days. (Jameson, a high school senior, came to Matt's classroom once a week and they stayed in during the lunch recess to draw together) You found a kindred spirit for Matt in Jameson. Once a week you would give up your own lunch time to allow Matt and Jameson some quiet time in your classroom to draw together. On his Jameson Days, Matt would pop out of bed in the morning, he'd be all smiles and happiness, and ready to go to school way before we needed to leave the house. He couldn't wait to jump into his Jameson Days.

Matt still talks about the drawing lessons you encouraged him to conduct with the class. Those lessons made him feel so good about himself and his abilities. I can still close my eyes and see the photos you sent home of a beaming Matt standing in front of the overhead projector demonstrating how to draw a bear.

Matt flourished that year in your class. He felt safe again. Matt knew that you had his back and that is exactly what he needed from his teacher. The Matt that walked out of your class in June was a healing Matt, a Matt that barely resembled the Matt that entered your room 10 months before.

I'd think you'd want to know that today, on Matt's first day of high school, five years after my hurt little kid entered your class, he took it upon himself to find his guidance counselor. He walked into her office and after reassuring her that he did not have a problem, he explained to her about his Jameson Days as a fourth grader in your class and then he offered up his lunch hour to be a Jameson for someone else.

Thank you Mrs. awesome fourth grade teacher.

sipping pride all day long

I know mom must be feeling better, maybe it's that mega doses of morphine they put her on, because the snippy biting comments have begun. There was a day, I am sure, when mom vowed not to do this, and be just like her mother, and I am hoping that this family tradition of finding something wrong with everything around you can be stopped with me. I am wondering if maybe this isn't a good time for my parents to have a nice long extended visit with little sis. She would put a nasty commenter right in her place.

I am at that stage of life (we as young people never think we are headed towards because we are way too cool to ever be here) where a reliable hard working appliance gets me all excited. One of the appliances in my house that does it for me is my dishwasher. I can put food and grease covered plates in and they come out squeaky clean. It gets me hot every time. Maybe it because I grew up in a time that dishwashers weren't so great, or maybe it because we lived in an apartment building and whenever our dishwasher had a problem the building would give us one of the used ones that they had replaced from a vacated apartment and they never worked so great either, forcing us to wash our dishes sparkling clean and then run them through the washer for "sterilizing", as my mom used to say. But in any case, I love my current dishwasher, it suits me to a T.

In the mean time every time I come home I am astounded my the excessive use of drinkware that happens when my parents are around. At breakfast they have tea and juice. At dinner time they have a before dinner drink, a beverage with dinner and then tea after. That's three drinking vessels per person for one meal! As I am loading the washer last night my mother criticizes my dishwasher and remarks "You know what your dishwasher needs? Another shelf for glassware." And she said it as if she and dad didn't use 8 or more glasses per day each. She said it as if I owned a defective dishwasher. I felt like she was putting me in the position of having to defend my dishwasher! I had to swallow it and not tell them what glass pigs they are.

Then we were all out running errands (this is always so cozy and tender feeling, especially when Evan and Josh make a big whining deal about having to sit in the third row) and I promised Matt he could run into the music store and get a CD. Everyone else waited in the car. As Matt and I climbed back into the car, and Dad exhaled in my direction, I personally thought quietly and privately in my own head how truly vile my Dad's breath is these days. He smells a person who has rotted out his insides drinking all that whiskey every night before dinner. But my Mom cracked her window and not at all subtly motioned to me that she thought Matt smelled. Which he admittedly does these days, like a teenaged boy, no matter how much he showers. It wasn't anything arm pittish she detected, which I know because no one smells with more sensitivity than I do, it was boy musk. And I can't and he can't do anything about that. So I swallowed it again. But then later when Matt announced he was going up stairs for his shower, and I told him to do a good job, mom chimed right in with her own washing advice and I was very close to punching her in the mouth. But I swallowed it.

Also, on the topic of smell, when we entered the house through the mud room (which I admit is the biggest chaos messed disaster in the house) mom wrinkled her nose, declared that the room smelled and suggested I get rid of some of the shoes. I swallowed it again.

But I am psyching myself up, because today when she does it again (because I have a feeling she is on a serious roll here) I am going to call her "grandma" and I am going to do it with attitude even though I know Mom will say that her nit picking is somehow different (and therefore valid).

home again, home again, jiggety jig

Hello internet.

I am back home from utopia.

I thought I was keeping it all together, but on my out of the utopian driveway I couldn't find the phone charger (which had innocently slid down the crevice beside my seat) and I burst into tears crying and sobbing and shouting "It's not fair! I can't deal with this!". Luckily, I was alone (without kids) at the time, and the devil dog isn't at all phased my nervous tension/PMS/generally psycho outbursts. I tell you about this mini episode because it speaks to my overall state of mind, which can best be described with terms like "fragile" "on the edge" or maybe even "gone to the other side".

Speaking of which, I truly appreciate your past supportive comments. Being the approval/comment whore I have previously confessed to being, I do get a lot of strength and comfort from complete strangers sending good thoughts and concern my way. So, thanks.

Being home is weird because I feel misplaced here ... at "home". My folks, who have been here since early July, are still here, which doesn't help. They watch a lot of tv. The tv is in my primary living area. It is always on, it is always too loud (I know I have mentioned that before) nothing me or the kids would choose, the folks are always nearby. The fridge is full of their stuff. It's stuff I'd never buy for my kids. Coloring and chemicals and crap like that. I thought my mom might be affected by her cancer and come over to my natural eating side, but I was wrong. They insisted on doing the dishes last night. In my kitchen. As in, in my ("my" being the word which exudes the "control freak" undertones) kitchen, where I like things just so, and I have my own special way of organizing the dishwasher. Also, I wanted to veg out last night with some not child friendly or elderly parent friendly television, and Dad decided to stay up as long as I was up and keep me company. So he watched last week's episode of Weeds with me. And there is nothing like watching something with lots of graphic sex, violence and drug undertones while sitting beside Daddy. Also, the show has made me nostalgic for my pot smoking college days and it's even more upsetting to think things like "What I wouldn't give to get high, pig out, and go wander the aisles of the five and dime with Pal right now." (yeah, those were the days) while sitting right beside daddy.

My plans for the day include walking Devil dog, who is surely as depressed as I am about being "home" since if she has even the smallest of pea brain, she should realize that we have just returned to the place where she is pretty much ignored all the time and never gets to go anywhere. I figured I'd ease her into neglect and walk her around the block this morning. Then after a shower and some breakfast it is off to the OFH where I plan on doing battle with the new nurse who (I think I hate) spent the summer being overly attentive to grandma in what I assume is a move to either get her out of there and into a nursing home or make us get her a personal aide to keep grandma from wandering away. And then the most important chore of the day will be replacing Josh's summer sneakers. I let him wear them sockless all summer and now they are not allowed in the house or in any confined areas for that matter. It is a matter of dire importance.

I suppose I'll motion myself through a labor day bbq tonight, and I might even tell the story of one of my own personal labors, because hey, a delivery labor is worth at least a few years of wussy career related laboring. Boops and her kids have been invited over, and I'll phone and invite a friend of Josh's in a little while when it becomes a more respectable time to call someone.

And thus, another summer is over, and another fall begins. The kids go back to school on Thursday. I am hoping they can wear their shorts for another few weeks at least as there has been no back to school shopping for this family yet.