Close your eyes, and image ME, all 170 pounds of me, RUNNING through the forest. Wearing black leggings and pink running shorts, white T-shirt. It's pretty terrifying, isn't it. (PS, it's daytime)
I've started to run during lunch, to avoid actually running away from my current position. It's like I'm pretending to make my break for freedom...but really I am.
Today I started out slow but I immediately start to feel better when the path narrows, and I have to kind of duck down under the trees... That spot, that space is so perfectly ALIVE that it makes me feel alive again too. That's where I take off running. The first time, I ran like an old man with bilateral knee replacements, but the second time I loosened it up a little- longer strides, looser hips. That felt Great!
There is something about running a tiny trail that is so different from running on a track or a street or a park. Today I figured out why. When I run, I literally run through the thick of it. I'm actually running through it,in my mind and on the path-
About 5 minutes in, it all starts to come together. I can think. I can hear myself think. I can hear myself think.
And everything with the boss and the manager and the relationships that are working and the relationships that aren't working, they are all there moving with you. And somehow they all make more sense.The cards start to shuffle themselves. Lies and anger and fear and fatigue. Family and Friends and kids... At one point today, I was in the clearing, moving pretty quickly, but certainly not gracefully- I rolled my ankle, and threw my arms out to the side for balance. I continued to run this way, arms flapping in the breeze for a minute and I thought of all the little kids that run like that, specifically, our awesome friend Rook. Today I learned that if your ankles are weak, running with your arms out helps a lot. But more importantly, I remembered that it FEELS SO GOOD! So I kept on going, arms flailing like broken wings, running the path around the lake. This made me laugh, which then made me cry. I wish I had an image for you .
Then I came to the part where the lake meets the river, where I have to be very careful not to slip and fall and look like an idiot. While I was cautiously crossing, I recalled the story that Maria told at Jewish New Year Dinner the night before. She said that once a year they make amends. They take bread to the water, and let it go, releasing all the bad business so that you can go in to the new year at your very best.
I REALLY like the idea of LETTING IT GO. I don't know about bread as a vessel, but whatever.
I know I'm not really in with the big guy, but I like to think that-as with any strong- willed stubborn child there is also a great deal of charm in my resistance. Maybe he'll keep me around anyway.
So, I'm learning to let go. Everyday at lunchtime you can find me, flapping my arms like a child, laughing or crying- but please don't bother me, because this is really serious work. I'm not sure what I'm going to use, but I'm going to fill that lake with everything that I carry that I know I shouldn't carry. When I come out of the woods, I come out a little bit more of who I really am. I can't wait to see who wins.
I am grateful for my weak ankles and my arms that make great wings. I am Grateful for the Blue Heron that Screams at me everyday when I scare him away. I am grateful that our Buddy Rook has not abandoned what looks "normal" for what feels great and make you laugh so hard you fall over and cry.
I'm Grateful for Maria, and her Religion that is so different, but has brought me this one thing that I KNOW will help me so much in the next few months.I am Grateful to find out that I can change they way I feel by just being outside with all of the energy that's out there. I am not a runner. I'm a TRAIL runner.
You will see.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
And then she was Three
Tomorrow when I wake up, she will be three.
She loves Dora and "Dedago", rides her bike like a big girl, fears nothing, (except bugs.) Her hugs are as fierce as her dirtly looks, and her smile can bring me to my knees. She is the best cuddler that I have ever known. Her eyes melt my heart as much as her screams pierce my ears. She talks like there's no tomorrow, and if she runs out of material, she just starts making it up. Most of the time, she is singing.
She is sweet, beautiful, smart, funny, spoiled, imaginative. She can be shy and stubborn and sometimes mean. But most of the time, MOST of the time- she is still the perfect, tiny, innocent, beautiful 5lb 5oz baby girl that I brought home three years ago.
There are days when I can't help but wish that my kids were a little older and more able to take care of themselves. ( Most of the time I wish I was a little younger, and more able to keep up with their insanity.) But tonight I just wish I could stop it all, sit in the rocking chair with my baby girl, sing a little "She'll be coming around the mountain" with her and forget that she'll ever grow up at all...I can't believe she's three.
Because this blog is called "He said, She said", I feel like it's just no fun without a story, so here is the best story as of late, that I think sums up my little girl as she is TODAY.
A few days ago I woke up in the morning to her jumping (OK, maybe falling) on to my stomach. Of course yelling and ranting ensued, and we eventually all got out of bed. When I came downstairs, she wanted me to to pick her up. I was still a little sore (not in the literal sense) and I said
"I don't want to pick you up, you jumped on me!" Her reply was immediate, she said
"You still love me?"
(Me)"I ALWAYS love you."
(Riley)"So You forgive me?"
(Me)"Yes, I forgive you"
(Riley)"SO, pick me up!"
I picked her up....
She loves Dora and "Dedago", rides her bike like a big girl, fears nothing, (except bugs.) Her hugs are as fierce as her dirtly looks, and her smile can bring me to my knees. She is the best cuddler that I have ever known. Her eyes melt my heart as much as her screams pierce my ears. She talks like there's no tomorrow, and if she runs out of material, she just starts making it up. Most of the time, she is singing.
She is sweet, beautiful, smart, funny, spoiled, imaginative. She can be shy and stubborn and sometimes mean. But most of the time, MOST of the time- she is still the perfect, tiny, innocent, beautiful 5lb 5oz baby girl that I brought home three years ago.
There are days when I can't help but wish that my kids were a little older and more able to take care of themselves. ( Most of the time I wish I was a little younger, and more able to keep up with their insanity.) But tonight I just wish I could stop it all, sit in the rocking chair with my baby girl, sing a little "She'll be coming around the mountain" with her and forget that she'll ever grow up at all...I can't believe she's three.
Because this blog is called "He said, She said", I feel like it's just no fun without a story, so here is the best story as of late, that I think sums up my little girl as she is TODAY.
A few days ago I woke up in the morning to her jumping (OK, maybe falling) on to my stomach. Of course yelling and ranting ensued, and we eventually all got out of bed. When I came downstairs, she wanted me to to pick her up. I was still a little sore (not in the literal sense) and I said
"I don't want to pick you up, you jumped on me!" Her reply was immediate, she said
"You still love me?"
(Me)"I ALWAYS love you."
(Riley)"So You forgive me?"
(Me)"Yes, I forgive you"
(Riley)"SO, pick me up!"
I picked her up....
"What? Me?"
Happy Birthday Riley. You'll always be my baby girl!
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Tenacious Two
I will start this blog with chastising my audience. Yes, that means you. 1 follower! Really people? Does anyone know what this actually means, or how to set it up? I might need to add instructions here... There really should be a class for first time bloggers. But then there really should be classes for first time parents as well. (And they should be mandatory, and your parts should be turned off until you can pass all the tests with at least a 93%.) But that's just my opinion.
The "baby" has been cracking me up. And by that I mean making me laugh, and also making me insane. She is the most stubborn little thing since, well...me.
I can recall a time when I was a child, probably somewhere between 5 and 7. My parents were out in the back yard having drinks by the fire. I liked fire, I liked the company, and I wanted to play. My parents kept telling me to go back inside. I was hurt, I was angry, I was NOT GIVING UP. I stood inside the screen door, GLARING at them. With all the contempt and concentration of one of those bad guys from Star Wars who use the force for evil. I must have stood there giving them the stink eye for a half an hour. In the end, it was a failure. But did I give up? I DID NOT! I have been practicing the evil eye for most of my life. Apparently often enough that my daughter has picked it up YEARS ahead of schedule
I'm a little concerned. Before the weather turned, I took them for a photo shoot, and because I wouldn't let her carry the camera bag like a purse the whole time (cause those would great photos!) She scowled for all but three pictures. Two of them taken before the "incident". next time I'll leave the camera bag and tri-pod at home Maybe I'll try a fanny pack. I've heard they're making a HUGE comeback.
So. That's the crazy part. (Or a tiny tiny particle of it...) Lemme give you a cute bit.
I told her the other day it was time to go to bed she says "You lay by me?
I said "yes baby, I'll lay by you." So we began the ritual of brushing her 12 teeth, finding her blanket and nuk, making sure all 37 of her "friends" were in her bed, and we jumped in. Then she says "Story!"
I was already laying down, so I just made up this cute little story about a princess (named Riley) and a frog. It was cute, spur of the moment. Someone should really make it in to a book or a movie. So I get to the end which was something like ..."So Riley and her mommy were sitting down by pond, and a big frog hopped up and said "RIBBIT" (and here Riley yells "I LOB HIM) and the princess Riley kissed the frog and POOF! he turned in to Prince!"
She threw both of her hands up in the air and said "That's WEIRD!" I actually had to agree with her on that one..
She also gave me a good chuckle and an attitude check the other day when Ethan asked from the way back (my kids actually have to be separated to avoid physical altercations. Yeah, I know- I got this under control...) "Who wants to play tag when we get home?" and Riley Shouts with equal enthusiasm "NO ONE!"
Not 20 minutes later Sean says "Who wants to be my special helper when we get home?" From the back...
"NO ONE!"
I'm very conscious of how I phrase my questions these days. I refuse to be shot down by a two year old.
More recently, she has started to use the word "nervous" a lot, which when she says it is "nerbous". She has also told me I'm "hilarious", "ridiculous" and then she told me I had an attitude. Also, the dark is "stupid" and Ethan is often a "Wiener."
Seriously, I don't know where she gets it from.
Saturday she woke up, I asked her if she was ready to get up and go see Emme and Marlo, and she says to me (with great seriousness) "Maybe, I'm kinda tired."
You know who's tired?
ME!
The "baby" has been cracking me up. And by that I mean making me laugh, and also making me insane. She is the most stubborn little thing since, well...me.
I can recall a time when I was a child, probably somewhere between 5 and 7. My parents were out in the back yard having drinks by the fire. I liked fire, I liked the company, and I wanted to play. My parents kept telling me to go back inside. I was hurt, I was angry, I was NOT GIVING UP. I stood inside the screen door, GLARING at them. With all the contempt and concentration of one of those bad guys from Star Wars who use the force for evil. I must have stood there giving them the stink eye for a half an hour. In the end, it was a failure. But did I give up? I DID NOT! I have been practicing the evil eye for most of my life. Apparently often enough that my daughter has picked it up YEARS ahead of schedule
I'm a little concerned. Before the weather turned, I took them for a photo shoot, and because I wouldn't let her carry the camera bag like a purse the whole time (cause those would great photos!) She scowled for all but three pictures. Two of them taken before the "incident". next time I'll leave the camera bag and tri-pod at home Maybe I'll try a fanny pack. I've heard they're making a HUGE comeback.
So. That's the crazy part. (Or a tiny tiny particle of it...) Lemme give you a cute bit.
I told her the other day it was time to go to bed she says "You lay by me?
I said "yes baby, I'll lay by you." So we began the ritual of brushing her 12 teeth, finding her blanket and nuk, making sure all 37 of her "friends" were in her bed, and we jumped in. Then she says "Story!"
I was already laying down, so I just made up this cute little story about a princess (named Riley) and a frog. It was cute, spur of the moment. Someone should really make it in to a book or a movie. So I get to the end which was something like ..."So Riley and her mommy were sitting down by pond, and a big frog hopped up and said "RIBBIT" (and here Riley yells "I LOB HIM) and the princess Riley kissed the frog and POOF! he turned in to Prince!"
She threw both of her hands up in the air and said "That's WEIRD!" I actually had to agree with her on that one..
She also gave me a good chuckle and an attitude check the other day when Ethan asked from the way back (my kids actually have to be separated to avoid physical altercations. Yeah, I know- I got this under control...) "Who wants to play tag when we get home?" and Riley Shouts with equal enthusiasm "NO ONE!"
Not 20 minutes later Sean says "Who wants to be my special helper when we get home?" From the back...
"NO ONE!"
I'm very conscious of how I phrase my questions these days. I refuse to be shot down by a two year old.
More recently, she has started to use the word "nervous" a lot, which when she says it is "nerbous". She has also told me I'm "hilarious", "ridiculous" and then she told me I had an attitude. Also, the dark is "stupid" and Ethan is often a "Wiener."
Seriously, I don't know where she gets it from.
Saturday she woke up, I asked her if she was ready to get up and go see Emme and Marlo, and she says to me (with great seriousness) "Maybe, I'm kinda tired."
You know who's tired?
ME!
Monday, September 17, 2012
Slip Slidin' Away!
Well, it's time to say goodbye to another summer. I always do this with a tiny bit of excitement, and a ton of sadness. I do love the fall- it's what follows that I don't care for. I need to post a sign on the front window around November 1 that reads "Welcome seasonal depression!"
Since the kids, I feel like summer is the ultimate measure of time. Maybe because it's where the bulk of our real living occurs. Next summer I will have a three year old, and by the end of it, a 5 year old. How can it be? How can it be?
Along with summer, I feel like time it's self has started to slip. There are days that seem to last forever, (like while dieting, or when the kids are sick or crabby or refuse to go to bed.) and then I turn around, and the summer is gone. The kid that was running like a toddler a few months ago (picture E.T. here, hands up to sides, shuffling back and forth cautiously) is now running full steam with total confidence. The little boy that was afraid of the jungle jim is now jumping down from the top of it without thinking twice!
What happened to my babies? We are FRESH OUT of babies.
Now I know full well how to fix the issue- and oddly enough I get pressure not only from my husband, but my friends and co-workers alike. (Yes, co-workers.) It is a strange thing, to feel like you need another baby, and at the same time not want one. I can't image myself out shopping with a 5 year old, a 3 year old, and a newborn. It sound like absolute insanity. But then there is this issue of the baby shortage...
The actual reason for today's post, is not to quip about my ticking clock, it is for my not so tiny Riley bug. I feel terrible that the "She Said" portion of this blog has been totally neglected. When I began- (what 7 months ago?) she wasn't really speaking volumes. Then I got caught up in all the drama, and well, I haven't posted anything that she said. And she says A LOT.
I will give you my absolute favorite right now. Riley is a little girl- and I can tell you there is a HUGE difference in the boys and the girls- Recently we went for a walk. On the walk we passed a man (about a block from the house). Riley says "What that man doing?"
I reply "I don't know."
She says to the man "What you doing, neighbor?" then she looks at me and says "Oh, dat neighbor, I lobb him!"
She "lobbs" everything, and everyone. It is the single sweetest thing in the world. She loves me, she loves the neighbors (and it seems that EVERYONE is a neighbor over here.) All dogs, puppies and stuffed animals- pretty much anything with eyes and a heartbeat. And all food.
Now that we've covered the sweetest part about the baby girl, let me just add that she entered age two with a fierce and fiery independence. I have heard enough "ME DO IT's" to last me a life time. Me do it is just great, except when it's cleaning up after a trip to the potty and includes the good old number two.This one is even better when Sean is in the shower, and doesn't know that this has occurred!) Me do it is just fine when it's not coloring off the paper on to the walls in my office at work.
And this girl has a look, that I have personally witnessed her practicing- brows furrowed, lips out- full on scowl. She has mastered it. I have yet to capture it on film, but I will! This look is often accompanied by her most frequent saying, which is "HECK NO!" (I guess a simple "No", just will
not suffice.)
She also really would prefer not to get dressed in the morning. Ever. She likes to yell No pants! And you no do it, eider!" For a few weeks EVERY sentence ended in "Eider". Like "hey mom (yeah- MOM) We go to the park? And NO ETAN CAN GO EIDER!" or "I watch Elmo on hiPad? AND NO ETAN CAN SEE EIDER!"
And so begins the saga of sibling rivalry at our house. I will be amazed if, at any point in their lives they like each other (or even pretend to.) It is no-holds barred over here! I have witnessed these children do things to one another that are border line unspeakable! (Which is why I will tell you all about them in due time!) I really should check our co-pay for ER visits...
So on we head toward fall- Toward pumpkins, and Pirate Parties, scarecrows and Halloween. Another set of Holidays that while exciting and fun, will, when it's over- leave us freezing in January with not much more a bunch of pictures and another fallen year.
My job now, is to try to slow it down when it isn't slowed down for me. To try to hold on to every moment that makes me laugh or smile or cry. To try to forget that I'm losing my babies, and remember that I'm gaining happy, incredibly bright, independent children (that sometimes use foul language in public and lay down in the middle of the sidewalk because they want to be carried constantly).
Well, it looks good on paper (screen) but maybe what Riley really needs is another baby to play with. After all, she really "lobbs" them!
Since the kids, I feel like summer is the ultimate measure of time. Maybe because it's where the bulk of our real living occurs. Next summer I will have a three year old, and by the end of it, a 5 year old. How can it be? How can it be?
Along with summer, I feel like time it's self has started to slip. There are days that seem to last forever, (like while dieting, or when the kids are sick or crabby or refuse to go to bed.) and then I turn around, and the summer is gone. The kid that was running like a toddler a few months ago (picture E.T. here, hands up to sides, shuffling back and forth cautiously) is now running full steam with total confidence. The little boy that was afraid of the jungle jim is now jumping down from the top of it without thinking twice!
What happened to my babies? We are FRESH OUT of babies.
Now I know full well how to fix the issue- and oddly enough I get pressure not only from my husband, but my friends and co-workers alike. (Yes, co-workers.) It is a strange thing, to feel like you need another baby, and at the same time not want one. I can't image myself out shopping with a 5 year old, a 3 year old, and a newborn. It sound like absolute insanity. But then there is this issue of the baby shortage...
The actual reason for today's post, is not to quip about my ticking clock, it is for my not so tiny Riley bug. I feel terrible that the "She Said" portion of this blog has been totally neglected. When I began- (what 7 months ago?) she wasn't really speaking volumes. Then I got caught up in all the drama, and well, I haven't posted anything that she said. And she says A LOT.
I will give you my absolute favorite right now. Riley is a little girl- and I can tell you there is a HUGE difference in the boys and the girls- Recently we went for a walk. On the walk we passed a man (about a block from the house). Riley says "What that man doing?"
I reply "I don't know."
She says to the man "What you doing, neighbor?" then she looks at me and says "Oh, dat neighbor, I lobb him!"
She "lobbs" everything, and everyone. It is the single sweetest thing in the world. She loves me, she loves the neighbors (and it seems that EVERYONE is a neighbor over here.) All dogs, puppies and stuffed animals- pretty much anything with eyes and a heartbeat. And all food.
Now that we've covered the sweetest part about the baby girl, let me just add that she entered age two with a fierce and fiery independence. I have heard enough "ME DO IT's" to last me a life time. Me do it is just great, except when it's cleaning up after a trip to the potty and includes the good old number two.This one is even better when Sean is in the shower, and doesn't know that this has occurred!) Me do it is just fine when it's not coloring off the paper on to the walls in my office at work.
And this girl has a look, that I have personally witnessed her practicing- brows furrowed, lips out- full on scowl. She has mastered it. I have yet to capture it on film, but I will! This look is often accompanied by her most frequent saying, which is "HECK NO!" (I guess a simple "No", just will
not suffice.)
She also really would prefer not to get dressed in the morning. Ever. She likes to yell No pants! And you no do it, eider!" For a few weeks EVERY sentence ended in "Eider". Like "hey mom (yeah- MOM) We go to the park? And NO ETAN CAN GO EIDER!" or "I watch Elmo on hiPad? AND NO ETAN CAN SEE EIDER!"
And so begins the saga of sibling rivalry at our house. I will be amazed if, at any point in their lives they like each other (or even pretend to.) It is no-holds barred over here! I have witnessed these children do things to one another that are border line unspeakable! (Which is why I will tell you all about them in due time!) I really should check our co-pay for ER visits...
So on we head toward fall- Toward pumpkins, and Pirate Parties, scarecrows and Halloween. Another set of Holidays that while exciting and fun, will, when it's over- leave us freezing in January with not much more a bunch of pictures and another fallen year.
My job now, is to try to slow it down when it isn't slowed down for me. To try to hold on to every moment that makes me laugh or smile or cry. To try to forget that I'm losing my babies, and remember that I'm gaining happy, incredibly bright, independent children (that sometimes use foul language in public and lay down in the middle of the sidewalk because they want to be carried constantly).
Well, it looks good on paper (screen) but maybe what Riley really needs is another baby to play with. After all, she really "lobbs" them!
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Chunky Monkey
Today I lost a great friend. I should be telling you I lost my "best friend", but we've had a bit of a rough time of it since my kids came along.
He was a better friend to me than I was to him. He forgave numerous shortcomings on my part- never faltering in his affection for me. He put up with everything I ever asked him to, and then some.
I wish I was as good of a human as he was a dog.
In the beginning, when there was only Chunk- he slept with me in my bed. On cold mornings, I would wake up in the middle of a Julie sandwich, with my husband on one side, and the 100lb lab on the other. Other mornings I would wake up spooning him, my arm thrown over his side. He loved to swim, he loved to play- He loved me.
He waited anxiously when I went to the hospital to have Ethan, checking the bedrooms one by one to see if I had returned. Then circling back to the first floor to wait. He was so upset by my absence that by the third day he had stopped eating.
When I came in the house with the baby, he was so excited that he nearly knocked me down. He sniffed that baby like he was trying to suck him in.
That was the day our relationship changed. This poor beast who had become accustomed to getting everything he needed and wanted, right when he needed it or wanted it-became a second class citizen overnight. He waited to go out in the morning, waited to be fed, waited (and waited and waited) to go for a walk.
I think people know that life changes when you have kids- I'm certain now that dogs do not- but like I said, he was a very forgiving friend.
There are pictures (thank God!). Pictures of Ethan riding on his back, pulling on his ears. Pictures of Riley laying across his side. Pictures of all of them playing in the sprinkler together.I hope one day these pictures will make me laugh, make me think that he was still having fun despite no longer being the center of my world.
His decline was so rapid. Playing in the yard on Tuesday, Gone on Saturday morning. I knew it was bad when I woke up in the morning and he wasn't laying at the foot of my bed. I knew it was dire when I had to carry him down the stairs.
Part of me thinks that I should have fought more for him. Payed all the money in the world to have him hospitalized, poked and prodded, fluid drained and tested. Chemo-radiation, whatever- But the part of me that remembers spooning with him, playing fetch with him, swimming with him, holding him during thuderstorms.. knows that he was suffering, and that there would have been so much more fear and suffering just in trying to find a diagnosis. He was a sissy. He would not have wanted that.
To see him laying on the floor there, struggling so much to breath that he couldn't even hide from the vet- I knew.
So I sat with him while they gave him the sedative, I tried to put his head in my lap, but I could tell that it made it harder for him to breath. He was relaxed when they started the IV. I petted him, I told him that I was sorry, that I loved him. I told him he was a good dog. He wagged his tail once, and then he stopped breathing. His tail slowly relaxed, and uncurled.
The doctor left me there with him, and I had an overwhelming urge lay on the floor and spoon him, just one more time.
He was a better friend to me than I was to him. He forgave numerous shortcomings on my part- never faltering in his affection for me. He put up with everything I ever asked him to, and then some.
I wish I was as good of a human as he was a dog.
In the beginning, when there was only Chunk- he slept with me in my bed. On cold mornings, I would wake up in the middle of a Julie sandwich, with my husband on one side, and the 100lb lab on the other. Other mornings I would wake up spooning him, my arm thrown over his side. He loved to swim, he loved to play- He loved me.
He waited anxiously when I went to the hospital to have Ethan, checking the bedrooms one by one to see if I had returned. Then circling back to the first floor to wait. He was so upset by my absence that by the third day he had stopped eating.
When I came in the house with the baby, he was so excited that he nearly knocked me down. He sniffed that baby like he was trying to suck him in.
That was the day our relationship changed. This poor beast who had become accustomed to getting everything he needed and wanted, right when he needed it or wanted it-became a second class citizen overnight. He waited to go out in the morning, waited to be fed, waited (and waited and waited) to go for a walk.
I think people know that life changes when you have kids- I'm certain now that dogs do not- but like I said, he was a very forgiving friend.
There are pictures (thank God!). Pictures of Ethan riding on his back, pulling on his ears. Pictures of Riley laying across his side. Pictures of all of them playing in the sprinkler together.I hope one day these pictures will make me laugh, make me think that he was still having fun despite no longer being the center of my world.
His decline was so rapid. Playing in the yard on Tuesday, Gone on Saturday morning. I knew it was bad when I woke up in the morning and he wasn't laying at the foot of my bed. I knew it was dire when I had to carry him down the stairs.
Part of me thinks that I should have fought more for him. Payed all the money in the world to have him hospitalized, poked and prodded, fluid drained and tested. Chemo-radiation, whatever- But the part of me that remembers spooning with him, playing fetch with him, swimming with him, holding him during thuderstorms.. knows that he was suffering, and that there would have been so much more fear and suffering just in trying to find a diagnosis. He was a sissy. He would not have wanted that.
To see him laying on the floor there, struggling so much to breath that he couldn't even hide from the vet- I knew.
So I sat with him while they gave him the sedative, I tried to put his head in my lap, but I could tell that it made it harder for him to breath. He was relaxed when they started the IV. I petted him, I told him that I was sorry, that I loved him. I told him he was a good dog. He wagged his tail once, and then he stopped breathing. His tail slowly relaxed, and uncurled.
The doctor left me there with him, and I had an overwhelming urge lay on the floor and spoon him, just one more time.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Putting Papa John to rest
Look out, it's another serious one.
Last Friday we lost Papa John. He was 92 years old, and really did have a pretty good run. My children adored him, and were lucky to spend as much time with him as they did.
As his health began to decline, we started to try to introduce Ethan to the concept of death.
We talked about it, we cried about it- he laughed about it- We started over again.
I was astonished by a few things he said the first night. We read a book that I would recommend highly if you find your self in a position where you have to try to explain death to 3 and half year old boy. (Particularly if you feel that the boy may just be a re-incarnate still in possession of snippets of memories from his past life.) The book is called The Fall of Freddy the Leaf. It is about a bunch of leafs on a tree, that go through the major seasons together, and then of course "die" when winter comes. It's a natural course of action, and it's a very natural, non-denominational book.
The first time we read it, we both cried. He immediately asked about Papa John "Is Papa John going to die?"
"Yes baby, he is" (cry)
"Well I don't want you to die!" (lots of crying)
"Baby, you don't have to worry about that until your a grown man, probably married with your own babies" (trying hard not to cry)
"Well, Grandma Rose will be lonely!"
"We will keep Grandma Rose company, we're her family, that's what families do."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
So we dealt with the questions as the came- he seemed to be getting it, but it didn't seem to be weighing on him.
We got the news on Friday night- and Ethan saw his Daddy cry for the first time. That changed things for Ethan a little, and he seemed to kind of go in to protective mode. He told Sean "Don't worry, he'll be back in Summer time." He was very supportive, and a little bit nervous.
We spent the next two days explaining that we were going to go to the funeral.
"What's a funeral"
"We are going to celebrate Papa Johns life, and we are going to put him to rest."
"Where?" (Good one Ethan!)
"In the ground."
"How will he get out?"
"He won't get out Ethan, he's dead. He's gone. It's just his body that's left."
"oh."
You have to admit that the part where we bury people in the ground is a little strange. It is certainly difficult to explain to a child.
He wanted to run around like a crazy at the wake, and for a little while I thought he was oblivious and that we were really crazy to think that a three year old could process any of this. He went up to the casket several times. He said goodbye to Poppa John, helped his father put a white sox cap in the casket. Then he touched Poppa Johns hand. I think that did it. He came to me and said "touch Papa's hand."
I said "Did you touch Papa John's hand?" He nodded. So I reached out to put my hand on his. As I put my hand over his, Ethan whispered "It's just his body".
Mass, now that's a certain type of torture at lunch time with two crazy kids who both need naps. Ethan was split from his father because Sean was a Pall Bearer. I think that he felt he needed to be near him, in case Sean needed his help. He had a very hard time deciding where to sit. He went back and forth 3 or 4 times before we yanked him.
Little Riley fell in love with the Organ as soon as she heard it. First I got a "what that noise?" I pointed to he the man playing the organ, and she was transfixed. Until he stopped. Then she started yelling "ON" "ON"- which is nice in a quiet group of grieving people...She wanted up, she wanted down, she wanted to use the potty 5 times in 30 minutes. It was bad. We made it through, but we spent the last 10 minutes of the service at the back of the church.
The burial was hard for everyone. I think it always is. It's just so FINAL. The Navy was there to present the flag and "play" taps, which to my surprise came from a round i-pad speaker inside the horn. That lady didn't play ONE note! No one seemed to notice...Except me....
They hardest part was also the sweetest part, and that was when things were wrapping up, and all the Pall bearer set their gloves on the top of the casket. Ethan was with Sean, and he asked "Why did you put your gloves in there?" Sean choked out "Because I don't need them anymore." Ethan could hear that he was crying, so he hugged his daddy and said "It's ok Sean, he's ok now. It's going to be ok now." Probably the sweetest thing I've ever heard in my life.
Rest now Papa John, I know it was a long and difficult road....
Last Friday we lost Papa John. He was 92 years old, and really did have a pretty good run. My children adored him, and were lucky to spend as much time with him as they did.
As his health began to decline, we started to try to introduce Ethan to the concept of death.
We talked about it, we cried about it- he laughed about it- We started over again.
I was astonished by a few things he said the first night. We read a book that I would recommend highly if you find your self in a position where you have to try to explain death to 3 and half year old boy. (Particularly if you feel that the boy may just be a re-incarnate still in possession of snippets of memories from his past life.) The book is called The Fall of Freddy the Leaf. It is about a bunch of leafs on a tree, that go through the major seasons together, and then of course "die" when winter comes. It's a natural course of action, and it's a very natural, non-denominational book.
The first time we read it, we both cried. He immediately asked about Papa John "Is Papa John going to die?"
"Yes baby, he is" (cry)
"Well I don't want you to die!" (lots of crying)
"Baby, you don't have to worry about that until your a grown man, probably married with your own babies" (trying hard not to cry)
"Well, Grandma Rose will be lonely!"
"We will keep Grandma Rose company, we're her family, that's what families do."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
So we dealt with the questions as the came- he seemed to be getting it, but it didn't seem to be weighing on him.
We got the news on Friday night- and Ethan saw his Daddy cry for the first time. That changed things for Ethan a little, and he seemed to kind of go in to protective mode. He told Sean "Don't worry, he'll be back in Summer time." He was very supportive, and a little bit nervous.
We spent the next two days explaining that we were going to go to the funeral.
"What's a funeral"
"We are going to celebrate Papa Johns life, and we are going to put him to rest."
"Where?" (Good one Ethan!)
"In the ground."
"How will he get out?"
"He won't get out Ethan, he's dead. He's gone. It's just his body that's left."
"oh."
You have to admit that the part where we bury people in the ground is a little strange. It is certainly difficult to explain to a child.
He wanted to run around like a crazy at the wake, and for a little while I thought he was oblivious and that we were really crazy to think that a three year old could process any of this. He went up to the casket several times. He said goodbye to Poppa John, helped his father put a white sox cap in the casket. Then he touched Poppa Johns hand. I think that did it. He came to me and said "touch Papa's hand."
I said "Did you touch Papa John's hand?" He nodded. So I reached out to put my hand on his. As I put my hand over his, Ethan whispered "It's just his body".
Mass, now that's a certain type of torture at lunch time with two crazy kids who both need naps. Ethan was split from his father because Sean was a Pall Bearer. I think that he felt he needed to be near him, in case Sean needed his help. He had a very hard time deciding where to sit. He went back and forth 3 or 4 times before we yanked him.
Little Riley fell in love with the Organ as soon as she heard it. First I got a "what that noise?" I pointed to he the man playing the organ, and she was transfixed. Until he stopped. Then she started yelling "ON" "ON"- which is nice in a quiet group of grieving people...She wanted up, she wanted down, she wanted to use the potty 5 times in 30 minutes. It was bad. We made it through, but we spent the last 10 minutes of the service at the back of the church.
The burial was hard for everyone. I think it always is. It's just so FINAL. The Navy was there to present the flag and "play" taps, which to my surprise came from a round i-pad speaker inside the horn. That lady didn't play ONE note! No one seemed to notice...Except me....
They hardest part was also the sweetest part, and that was when things were wrapping up, and all the Pall bearer set their gloves on the top of the casket. Ethan was with Sean, and he asked "Why did you put your gloves in there?" Sean choked out "Because I don't need them anymore." Ethan could hear that he was crying, so he hugged his daddy and said "It's ok Sean, he's ok now. It's going to be ok now." Probably the sweetest thing I've ever heard in my life.
Rest now Papa John, I know it was a long and difficult road....
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Mental Mom
I spend a ridiculous amount of time wondering how normal people parent children and live happy lives.
There are days when I firmly believe that such a thing is not possible, and that the world just perpetuates the lie in an attempt to make me feel inadequate.
I mean, are there really women in the world that enjoy getting up in the morning, taking care of the babies, sending them off or dropping them off, going to work for 8+ hours to do the devils bidding, getting home from work at the time that dinner should be ON the table, only to have to MAKE dinner, then serve dinner right around bedtime, bathe the kids (who in my house may or may not poop the tub), chase the nakids around the house for 20 minutes trying to get them in to pajamas, rock the little one for like 30 seconds until the big one BUSTS in and starts yelling, get the big one to bed only to have him come out of his room at least 16 times to tell you a very important secret, or to get some water, or to pee 13 times because he's had so much water. Then finally you have 30 minutes to yourself only to look around and realize that the house is DESTROYED. So you pick up some stuff real quick and then try to get the dishes done...and then you just say SCREW IT. And go to bed for 5 stinking hours.
And then it's Tuesday...And we are SO LUCKY, that we get to do it all over again.
After a few years of this, I have really started to ask myself WHY. PLEASE tell me. WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS MADNESS? This is not living. This is just barely surviving. I am exhausted, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I am ready to cry.
And then these tiny sinewy arms find their way around my neck, and I forget about it all...
They make me crazy. I think I have actually GONE crazy. And I know that someday I will wish that they were driving me crazy, when they won't even give me the time of day...I know that day is closer than I can possibly imagine.
Happy Mothers day to all the ladies who know exactly what I'm talking about, and especially to my mother-who not only dealt with her own four kids, but who gives up her sanity on a daily basis to help me with mine.
There are days when I firmly believe that such a thing is not possible, and that the world just perpetuates the lie in an attempt to make me feel inadequate.
I mean, are there really women in the world that enjoy getting up in the morning, taking care of the babies, sending them off or dropping them off, going to work for 8+ hours to do the devils bidding, getting home from work at the time that dinner should be ON the table, only to have to MAKE dinner, then serve dinner right around bedtime, bathe the kids (who in my house may or may not poop the tub), chase the nakids around the house for 20 minutes trying to get them in to pajamas, rock the little one for like 30 seconds until the big one BUSTS in and starts yelling, get the big one to bed only to have him come out of his room at least 16 times to tell you a very important secret, or to get some water, or to pee 13 times because he's had so much water. Then finally you have 30 minutes to yourself only to look around and realize that the house is DESTROYED. So you pick up some stuff real quick and then try to get the dishes done...and then you just say SCREW IT. And go to bed for 5 stinking hours.
And then it's Tuesday...And we are SO LUCKY, that we get to do it all over again.
After a few years of this, I have really started to ask myself WHY. PLEASE tell me. WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS MADNESS? This is not living. This is just barely surviving. I am exhausted, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I am ready to cry.
And then these tiny sinewy arms find their way around my neck, and I forget about it all...
They make me crazy. I think I have actually GONE crazy. And I know that someday I will wish that they were driving me crazy, when they won't even give me the time of day...I know that day is closer than I can possibly imagine.
Happy Mothers day to all the ladies who know exactly what I'm talking about, and especially to my mother-who not only dealt with her own four kids, but who gives up her sanity on a daily basis to help me with mine.
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