Funk'd

Lately I find myself given to giant sighs and walking around with my shoulders so tensed up they rest just slightly below my ears. I have been in a funk. There has been too much going on, too many things to do, too many places to go. Just when I think things might be improving something else comes along to add to the confusion. Here is a short list of things that have been on my mind: my Dad's surgery and subsequent recovery; Rob's classes that are quickly coming to an end and what help I need to give him in order for him to pass; Phillip's birthday (today!) and party (this Friday night); the family Christmas Eve party (at our house this year, we can expect anywhere from 40 - 60 people to drop by during the evening - give or take); decorating the house for Christmas; trying to get the mudroom "finished" with wallpaper, etc. prior to the Christmas Eve party; Christmas shopping; my "room mutha" duties for Kylie's class - currently helping to plan a going away party for the student teacher, soon to be helping with the holiday party; trying to make time to go in to the office with limited childcare; Christmas cards (I really wanted to "create" my own this year using Adobe & some digiscrapping stuff!); and of course the normal, everyday business of raising three children, two dogs, two cats, and a husband...

I'm not sure if anyone knows I feel this way. I am by nature a happy and easy-going person and it really takes a lot to get me down. I'm pretty good at rolling with the punches, I don't complain, I don't whine, I just keep it all inside and eventually it gets better, usually. This time I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting, but "stuff" just seems to keep coming. I came home one day last week to find one of our dogs had diarrhea all over the new mudroom tile (and light grey grout - ack!) so that had to be cleaned up; Bella had a virus over the weekend and was just not herself, so of course I worried about her (fortunately she is now back to her incredibly happy, sunshiney self!); my Dad didn't feel up to coming to Thanksgiving dinner at my brother's house so that sucked; we weren't able to find a Christmas tree we liked to cut the day after Thanksgiving like we always do so we're looking again this Saturday; okay, enough!!!

Anyway, my point in writing this is not to throw myself a pity party, rather to proclaim that this morning on my way to work (Phillip is with his aunt Brenda who is no doubt spoiling him rotten, and Bella is with my parents who are no doubt doing the same!) I had an epiphany - nothing is going to change until I change! Instead of waiting for things to improve it is time for me to suck it up, put a smile on my face, and get on with life. This is Bella's first Christmas season and I refuse to ruin it by being in a funk. I am so blessed to have healthy children and be surrounded by a loving family, all of whom are in good health. We have a beautiful home, financially we're doing fine, I have no right to be in a funk! All of the things I have been "funking" over can be dealt with, some easier than others, but there is nothing life-threatening or catastrophic, nothing that can't be "handled". Once I determined that and gave myself a swift mental kick in the rear I felt better. I'm smiling again, and my shoulders haven't tensed up once this morning (not even when I talked to my boss who is returning from California and would really like me to try to come into the office for a few hours tomorrow morning - even if I have to bring the kids - even though I was hoping to use tomorrow and Friday to clean, cook, and prepare for Phillip's party - not even then!!). I'm back!!

Phillip at four

Tonka trucks and Matchbox cars,
Four short years and two small scars.
Hammers, nails, level, and square,
Twinkling blue eyes, curly blond hair.
Dump trucks, backhoes, dirty-faced kisses,
A mischievous grin, little boy wishes.
Giggles that lead to fits of delight,
Extra tight hugs and kisses goodnight.
Phillip is four and a joy to behold,
Although he doesn't always do as he's told.
Discovering the joys of being a guy,
Lately he likes to give burping a try.
"'Scuse me", he'll say, "but I just burped twice",
"Aren't you going to tell me my manners are nice?"
A little old man in the shape of a boy,
I'm blessed to count him as one of my joys.
Four years already, the days go too fast,
And like all good things I know this time won't last.
So for now I will treasure these little boy things,
Before they all slip away on time's golden wings.

Daddy's girl

Daddy was my first Prince Charming, first real hero, and first true love, all rolled into one. He was bear hugs and kisses, Saturday morning rides to the dump, learning how to swim, belly laughs, burps, farts, and tickles, tied up in a neat package with a couple of "y'alls" and a lingering southern drawl. There is something about seeing the person who helped to raise you, gave you bedtime hugs and kisses, and placed your hand in the hand of your future husband on your wedding day lying in a bed, hooked up to various machines and tubes, heart beating with the assistance of a special pump, that hits you square in the gut and makes you want to drop to your knees. My Dad was anything but the picture of health last night when we finally got to see him, complete with his new heart valve.

Today was a little better. He was awake and able to talk to us. He didn't think he was doing well, he felt weak. It's difficult to resist the urge to say "Dude, gimme a break, they had your chest cracked open yesterday and messed with your heart, congratulations, feeling weak is an accomplishment!", somehow I don't think he would find comfort in that. Instead we took turns holding his hand and telling him that by all accounts he was doing well, and would soon be feeling better.

Phillip explained to someone in the waiting room today that "Poppa had a broken heart. So they took out a piece and gave him a new one and now he's going to be all better". I don't think I could sum it up any better.

Things that go "thunk" in the night

I knew when I heard the "thunk" it couldn't be good. When I turned my head in the direction of the noise in time to see Phillip's head rebounding from the corner of the wall, I figured we would soon be on our way to the Emergency Room.

It had been a nice day. A quiet Saturday spent cleaning, doing laundry, moving furniture, and cooking. No racing around, no places to be, nothing that had to be done. Rob had spent the day at the house of our electrician friend, his first day paying back the labor that our friend so generously donated to help us light up our addition. I missed having him home, we tend to be joined at the hip on the weekends, but I knew it was payback time so I tried not to pout too much as he left that morning. The kids were good and helped me start moving things into Phillip's new bedroom. We had invited my parents over that evening to see the addition now that it was finished and carpeted. They arrived a few minutes before Robbie got home.

We enjoyed showing Mom and Dad the new construction with working lights, ceiling fans, tiled mudroom and bathroom, and pretty carpeting. They ooohed and aaahed at all the right spots, and after the tour we snacked on some goodies that I had made and had a drink. When they were done eating Rob and my Dad headed upstairs to take Phillip's bed apart and move it into his new room. I had already moved his mattress, boxspring, bureau and nightstand, but I ran out of time before I could take the bed apart and move it too.

Once the bed was set up in the new room they called us up to see it. The room looked beautiful, and after we admired it for a few minutes we started out. My Dad and Rob were planning to head out on the deck to have a cigar, and Mom and I were heading for the kitchen to have some brownies. Kylie and Phillip were playing around in the little family room adjacent to Phillip's new bedroom when he lost his balance and fell on his butt. All would have been well if he had stopped there, but apparently the momentum he had when he fell caused him to rock backwards on his bum, smacking his head on the metal-edged corner of the wall behind him. That was the "thunk".

Phillip immediately scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for me. I wrapped my arms around his sobbing little body while searching the back of his head for blood. Just as I began to exhale I saw the faintest line of blood begin to seep from under his blond locks. That little bit quickly became quite a bit as Robbie ran downstairs to get some ice and a washcloth. There was no question we would be headed for the hospital.

Phillip cried for a few minutes then settled down. We explained to him that he needed to go to the hospital so a doctor could look at his head, and that Bet and Poppa would stay home with Kylie and Bella. He talked non-stop all the way to the hospital, wondering aloud at least twenty times if maybe they would have a toy there that he could bring home? His constant chatter was reassuring, he was certainly acting like himself!

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet when we stepped through the doors of the ER. Only two other patients appeared to be waiting, which seemed unusual for a Saturday night. We stopped by to see the Triage Nurse, who surprised us by saying she really didn't think Phillip would need anything to close his wound, then we took our place in the waiting room. Once again Phillip reassured us that he was truly okay by threatening to unleash his wrath upon us if we refused to buy him a soda from the brightly lit machine in the waiting room. We did refuse, but fortunately there was a water cooler nearby so we were able to soothe the savage beast by giving him a cup and letting him dispense his own water.

Soon we were shown into a room and visited by a doctor who spelled out to us that s-t-a-p-l-e-s were the closure of choice in cases like this. He offered to let us hold a numbing agent on Phillip's head, but cautioned that in order to be effective it needed to be held firmly on the wound for twenty minutes, and it would burn. We decided that would most likely make things worse, and opted for him to just do a quick "distraction and bam-bam", as he described it. While he stepped out of the room to gather the necessary items we were visited by a nurse. Phillip showed her a small binder clip he had found on the window sill and asked if he could keep it. She told him he certainly could, and as she left the room remarked "that's not the only office supply you'll be leaving here with tonight!", Rob and I got a chuckle out of that...laughter is good medicine.

Finally the doctor returned and Phillip was placed on Robbie's lap, facing him. He rested his head on his Daddy's shoulder, and with me beside him the doctor quickly placed two staples in his little blond head. He cried briefly and that was it, we were free to go. On the way home we stopped by Wal-Mart to see if we could find a little something for our brave boy. After countless circuits of the toy department riding in the basket of the shopping cart, our little staplehead settled on something and we headed for home. Once there he placed his sweet blond head, complete with two shiny staples, on his pillow and peacefully spent his first night in his new bedroom.

Thirty days

The phone call came amidst the giggles of Tigger and Scooby Doo, the coos of Piglet, the ringing of the doorbell as trick or treaters came in search of candy. I could tell from the tone of my Mom's voice, from the look on her face, the news was not good. It was Mrs. D, my parent's neighbor, calling to say that she had asked the hospice nurse that day how much longer she thought Mr. D had. Her answer was thirty days.

Mr. & Mrs. D have lived behind my parents for as long as I can remember. They are roughly the same age as my Mom and Dad, and I have known them my whole life. Mr. D retired from the Navy many years ago and went on to work as a hospital administrator. Mrs. D works informally in the communications sector. She has always been the person in town who knows everything about everybody and been happy to share it.

The D's are nice people. They have a nice home in a nice neighborhood with a nice pool out back. It is obvious to look at their house that it is owned by people who take great pride in caring for it, in making it a home. Over their garage is an apartment where Robbie and I lived after he got out of the Navy. It was a cute little place and we spent a very happy year there. That little apartment is where we started our family, by bringing home first Merlin, then Mookie, our two Maine Coon Cats. We could look out the little "porthole" style window that was at the top of the stairs leading to the apartment, right outside our door, and see my parent's house. In the year that we lived there it was not uncommon to flip on the light at the bottom of the stairs, walk up the stairs to our door, look out the window and see my Mother flipping the light on their back deck on and off to greet us. Robbie was convinced she spent that year sitting at their deck door watching for us to come home.

Despite being nice people, Mr. and Mrs. D's lives have been invaded by a nasty disease. Mr. D has bone cancer. He is not doing well and is in terrible pain. It has been difficult for Mr. D to accept that he can no longer do many of the things that need to be done around the house. I would imagine it must be difficult for anyone who has spent a lifetime being self sufficient to suddenly find themselves in a place where they must rely upon the kindness of others. It has been equally difficult for Mrs. D to watch the man she loves in constant pain, both physically and emotionally.

Thirty days. After seventy some years of living and fifty or so years of marriage, Mr. D now has, at least in the estimation of one healthcare professional, thirty days. I'm not exactly sure what one does with information like that. How do you look at someone you have spent a lifetime loving, knowing that in all likelihood they will be dead before the calendar turns to December. I resisted the urge to write "gone", instead of "dead". He isn't "going", he is dying. Gone makes it seem less final, less scary. But it is final, and regardless of your spiritual beliefs, it is scary. Thirty days from now we will have just celebrated Phillip's fourth birthday and we will be looking ahead to the holidays. I don't know what the next thirty days hold in store for Mr. and Mrs. D, but I'm praying for a miracle.