Happy Birthday, Little Bro!

Today is the Darkest Day of the Year, the Winter Solstice.  Also my brother Tom's birthday (AKA TommyMac71, I think, on Blogger).  Our relationship the first half of our lives was, well, typical sibling stuff....punching, pinching, yelling, tattling "He/she's looking at me!" )  I was the oldest, he was three and a half years younger, the first of my two younger brothers.  I was jealous of him, as he was very smart, seemingly with little effort.  He did better socially, he had 3 girlfriends in kindergarten, I had my first boyfriend junior year in high school.  He and my brother always had friends over, I hid in my room, usually studying.  He got to go away to school, and party, while I choose to live at home and commute to WestConn in Danbury.  I always felt he mocked me, as he should of, I was a control freak who made him run flashcards with me as I was failing A & P in freshman year of nursing.  We never talked much, I just figured we had nothing in common.  He was into current events and sports; I was (and still am) clueless about politics, and choose my baseball teams based on the cutest players (1980 Royals, hands down, with George Brett on third base, what a hottie!)  He always did more than I did.  He was the editor of the high school yearbook.  He was a DJ at his college radio  station (granted, only 3 listeners, but hey, he was on the air!) He was editor of his college paper ("The Ionian: The Paper With An Attitude!  And he can write, well. I always admired him, but felt he was less than enthusiastic about me, his goody-goody big sister.

I was wrong.  One day, I got an email chain letter.  You know the type, you're given a list of questions to answer honestly, and you mail it back to the sender, plus whoever was on the "list".  Back then, I worked evening shift, and would "unwind" by reading and responding to my email.  This email was sent to me and my brothers by a college friend of Tom's Jimmy O'Neil. (on whom I had a huge crush; but, when Jimmy came over, I'd be studying in my room, but I digress).   I can't remember the particular question, but the answer my brother Tom had given was "My sister is the bravest person I know".

Brave? Was he crazy?  I had recently moved back home with my nearly 2 year old in tow after my marriage fell apart.  I was a complete failure.  Brave?  I get scared watching  a roller coaster.  But, since that time, he has repeated this statement, always in writing.  He is more comfortable talking with his pen.  Those words got me through one of the worst periods of my life.  My attitude towards my brother changed the night I read his answers to that chain email.  I realized the journey I was on took a lot of guts.  I'm hoping, that as his life takes challenging professional and personal twists and turns, that he too has that Irish strength needed for the unknowns in our lives.  We are truly Gaels: Irish warriors.

Happy Birthday, Tom.  I hope you had a good day, and I'll have a GREAT dinner of Shepherd's Pie awaiting you after you "conquer" the stores with Erin tomorrow!

I love you.  You are the best!

Thank you, Mr. Velez (and Mr. Genovas

The two gentlemen mentioned were teachers I had at Immaculate High School in Danbury,CT.   I am grateful to them because they, in their creative educational styles, introduced me to the work of Jimmy Stewart..

Mr. Genovas  (or was it Genova?) was my Way Liberal Social Studies teacher.  Despite our polar opposite beliefs, he was a great teacher.  He made me understand the systems of government.  Where does Jimmy S. fit in here?  We viewed the classic film "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington".  Wow.  I was blown away by the character and what he stood for.  Plus, I learned all about filibusters, but in my old age forget how they work...gotta put Mr. Smith on my Netflix queue!

Mr. Velez, one of my English teachers, the week before Christmas showed us a movie I had never heard of.  It was about this man on the brink of suicide on Christmas Eve, because his not-so-swift Uncle misplaced $8000 of the family business's money, and the company was being visited by the Bank Examiner.  

No one in that class in 1985 (or maybe 1984. again the memory going) had heard of It's a Wonderful Life.  It was the start of the resurgence, the marathons on TBS, the God Awful Colorized bastardization, the period of time when the film was actually being discovered as a great film for the first time since its post-World War II release.  Again, I was taken in by this decent character, who's dreams never materialized, as life as we know it got in the way.  But George Bailey realized his life WAS a dream come true, beautiful wife, cute kids, a big old drafty house, family and friends who loved and appreciated him.

I was so excited about this movie.  At the dinner table, I told my parents and brothers about it.  They, too, had never heard of the movie.  We rented it, and we all fell in love with it.  (Well, not sure about my brother Tom, whose December 21st birthday caused him to hate all things related to Christmas.  Check out his blog).  Each year after that, the holiday season was not complete without a viewing of the picture.  In fact, in various moves the past few years, we tended to buy the video, then later the DVD, forgetting we had a copy WAY in the back of the video cabinet! 

  I watch it at least once during the holidays, occasionally during the summer on a real humid day to feel good (and a bit cooler).  Wonderful Life trivia:  filming took place during a very HOT summer...all those actors in heavy coats in August!  Yea, gads!   It has come in handy, I have had 3 Ghoul Pool hits from the cast ( Sheldon Leonard (Nick the Bartender), Ellen Corby (Grandma Walton/ Building and Loan customer seeking 17.50 to tide her over until the banks re-opened), and, my proudest G.P. hit ever, little Bobbie Anderson, little George Bailey, a steal from my sister-in-law.

But, seriously.  It makes me focus on what is important, family and friends.  Each year, I see how much more I really have in life.  If you haven;t watched it lately (or never have), rent it today.

Thanks again, Mr. Velez.

 BTW:  The photo above was last Christmas, 4 weeks after Elizabeth was born, and Neil's and my first Christmas as husband and wife. That was a day I felt truly blessed in spending the day with my growing family.

A Sad First Birthday

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, was Elizabeth's First Birthday.  We were on our way to spend the day with my brother-in-law Vic and his family.  We turned onto route 17 from our road, when Neil let out a sound I just could not describe here.  I said; "What???" and he whispered: "Scooter".

Scooter, our beloved kitty, had not come home since Monday night.  Scooter was a hunter, and very occasionally would stay out at night despite our calling for him. We pulled over, and our faithful friend was on the side of the road, broken, hit by a car. I worried, briefly, through the week, with a day of non-stop rain, followed by the cold.  Scooter loved the outdoors, but he knew he could come in the house, warm up, have some milk, and go back out. 

Scooter loved milk.  We now buy whole milk for Lizzie, so Scooter was in heaven!  I had some hope for his return, as I had placed a half gallon of milk on the back deck, as it was cold enough to keep it out there, and Monday afternoon, I noticed the container on its side, with some spillage.  I just figured it fell over, so I placed it in the upright position against the back door. The next day, I saw the cap off, the container again on its side, but completely empty!  I peered at the cap and top of the plastic bottle, and saw teethmarks.  Scooter was fine!  He had gotten to the milk, and was sleeping it off in a neighbor's barn. Thought, "He'll be back for more milk!"  We called out for him each night, but just figured, "He's a survivor, he'll be back".

Scooter was a hunter, but also was a lover.  He loved stratchies, sleeping on the bed, jumping off early in the morning when Neil and I got up for breakfast.  He'd be waiting for us on the stool in the kitchen, like a trained lion, waiting patiently for his milk.  He was great with the baby.  He tolerated her babbling at him, patting him (not always so gently!)  He'd even investigate if he heard her crying downstairs; he'd come down, sit at my feet to make sure we were okay.

Scooter came into Neil and Leo's lives one day when they got home from the Durham Fair.  Their other cats were in the garage, hissing at something.  Turns out, they were hissing at a little black ball of fluff, not even the length of Neil's hand.  He started giving the little creature milk, and each night, the little guy would be waiting for Neil to give him some milk.  After a month or so, Neil and Leo gave him the name Scooter, because he "scooted" across the garage with lightening speed.

When Neil moved in here, he brought Scooter with him.  We had a kitten, Angel, who was confined to the house, as we had lost other cats in the past.  But Scooter was clearly an outdoor cat.  We tried to keep him in during a few weeks to adjust, but he clawed a neat little hole in a screen one warm evening to escape.  During vacation, my poor friend Lisa was cat sitting. On the third day, Scooter did not appear when Lisa came to fill their water and food dishes.  He had clawed a thin hole into the vinyl "accordion" panels of an air conditioner!  This was a true outdoor animal!

In the past few months, with Lizzie being so mobile, the vacuuming has increased around here about one hundred fold.  Scooter had a thick, luxurious coat, that at times resulted in heavy shedding on the carpet, and the bedspreads. He always shed AFTER Mommy had just vacuumed!  He "took over" our bed (but, in his generosity, would start in Erin's bed, warm it up for her, then sack out in the master bedroom!).  We always had to carefully adjust to give Scooter room, to warm our feet at night.  We'd fall asleep to his steady, content purring.  Life was good.  

Now, our lives are a little more empty without that big black kitty, greeting us in the driveway, looking for stratchies, waiting patiently for his milk, or other handout.  No more stepping around the big black panther, as he soaked in the sunbeams through the living room window.  As I vacuumed downstairs today, I remembered how annoyed I was when I saw big tufts of black fur on the carpet after Scooter and Angel would tussle.  What I would give to see a big clump of that soft fur on my carpet again....

Rest in Peace, Scooter.  You were a great kitty and a cherished family member.  We will love you always.

More Than Thanksgiving This Year

November 27th isn't just Thanksgiving this year, it is also Elizabeth's First Birthday. Time flies when you're raising children!  Exactly a year ago today, I dropped off our annual Christmas cards in the mail.  Talk about nesting! I had no idea what the next day would bring, I wasn't due until December 11th.

A year later, Lizzie continues to keep us on our toes.  She is especially fond of wires and outlets, as well as toilets and toilet paper.  She can find the one item in a freshly vacuumed room that does not belong in her mouth before I can blink an eye. I am continually saying to her: "Your sister wasn't like this!" But then again, I was 10 years younger, and back to work after 3 months. I'm thinking God gives parents amnesia of certain things in order to keep populating the world.  What normal person would do this more than once?

I'm glad to be a victim of God's cunning ways. This past year has been so gratifying. Even with all the sleep I have lost, the pain in my back, and the continual worry of choking my little one has given me, she has given Neil and I an immeasurable amount of joy and laughter. Her first smile in the morning (yes, STILL toothless!), the way she laughs at Erin, and the smiles we see on Leo's face when he is around her are just so priceless.

I'm frustrated by my lack of employment.  But this Thanksgiving, I am so grateful to have this time with Elizabeth that I didn't get with Erin.  As we head toward Christmas, I will try to cherish the times spent baking and decorating with my children, and not focus on the negatives and stresses of the holidays. We are so blessed in what we have. I am thankful my husband has a job, we are all healthy, we have a warm house and food, and we have each other. 

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth! Thank you, God, for this sweet little angel!

Not to toot my own horn...

Hello, out there!

I am copying and pasting a "blog" from a guest blogger, my daughter Erin.  Her writing assignment for school was to write about the person she most admired.  To my surprise, the subject was dear old Mom.  I have left it as is, some of it is a bit embellished.  I don't always have a book in my hand, although I wish I could read more!  What a compliment as a parent to have your child write about you (in a positive light!).

Here it is:  Couldn't paste it into the blog, so it's a comment!

The results are in....

The most exciting election in my lifetime is over.

It was a Democratic sweep.  I'm not overjoyed at this, but am overjoyed that 90 percent of my state turned out at the polls.  Usually, it's under 30 percent.  So, the people DID speak.  I support our President Elect.  He will be in my prayers, along with all our lawmakers, new and seasoned (notice I didn't say old!)

Our country made history Tuesday.  So many children now realize ANY American can be elected President.  One of my fellow ghoul poolers said it best: "He's AMERICAN!!! If one more person refers to him as African-American, I will scream!"

Amen, Jen.  The tide is turning.  My hope is all these newly elected officials  promising working together, not as Republicans and Democrats, but as fellow AMERICANS, do so.   I am filled with hope.  This is so exciting, watching the transition starting. I look forward to  watching two adorable little girls grow into poised young ladies in our White House.  Hopefully, they will be given the privacy they deserve by the media who had a huge hand in getting them to their exciting new address. This country needs to focus on what's important: the growth and well-being of this new, AMERICAN First Family.  And for us to focus on our families, and act responsibly to prevent the burden of our past mistakes to be passed on to our children.

75 days until the swearing-in of President Obama.  But my brother Sean and his wife Jami could have told you that, thanks to their favorite gift last Christmas from yours truly: the Countdown Calendar to W's Last Day!  It was my pleasure to give this American family a little hope!

God Bless America

I'm writing this as one of the most important processes we have is unfolding: electing a new president.  I was so proud of our American citizens, as I watched the news at 6 am to see lines of 50 plus people assembled ready to cast their ballot.  In fact, Neil called at 6:15 to say the line snaked around Korn School, he had to return to vote after work.

I get frustrated at people who bitch and moan about our elected officials, when they themselves have not taken the time out of their busy first Tuesday in November to do what our forefathers  fought for as do our current women and men in uniform fight for. Cast a ballot to decide who governs this country.  This was the first Election Day I actually felt REALLY proud.  It was refreshing to see droves of people participate in the process.

I'm afraid the election will not turn out the way I'd like.  But, we are soooo lucky to have the right to vote.  I sometimes think of how different my life would have been if I were born in Iraq, or some other country that did not always (or never will) embrace democracy.  My candidate might not be the winner, but if it weren't for his sacrifice and that of millions of others in the past 200 plus years, where would we be?

I'm not viable!

I had a job interview Monday.

I am interviewing for a position in labor and delivery/postpartum/nursery.  I have 5 years experience in these areas, but my last job in that speciality was 4 years ago.  As a single mom, I left this area, as Erin was in school all day, and I felt a day job would be better.  As a result, I tried on different hats: nursing director working with troubled adolescents, intake nurse at a VNA, teaching, office work.  I discovered I wanted to go back to moms and babies.  I learned a lot in these experiences, but I am now able to work nights and weekends, as I have  a supportive partner home with the kids.

I wasn't totally cast aside in my interview.  The director of the department put it this way: "I want to give the search another six weeks, as I really want someone with recent (labor and delivery) experience on the night shift.  So, at the end of those six weeks, if there is no interest from those potential candidates, you will be a viable candidate at that time.  So, don't be too discouraged."  

Wow.  I'm not viable at this time.  This is why I decided not to continue to be a manager, to escape telling someone they are not viable for a position they were seeking from me.   So, I nodded, agreed (although, seething inside), and came home and wrote her a thank you note, expressing my gratitude for her time.  Just play the Game. So, I'll focus on being a mom.

I'm a bit angry at myself, for not disagreeing openly with her.  Not pointing out that it is rude to tell someone who has been a nurse for 18 years that she is not qualified at this time for a job she is passionate about, but, she might get sloppy seconds in a month and a half.  

I really hate the games we must play in life.  But, I need to accept things as they happen.  Hey, I know I AM a great nurse.  But, God is telling me that, at this time, my baby and family  need me, more than those moms and babes at the hospital.  So, I will keep busy, strive to be a Domestic Goddess, and when I achieve that, when I least expect it, that call will come from the hospital.  At least, I hope so!

My Grandma Kirby

I told you I could fill twenty blogs with my extended family.  I'll start with my Grandma.

Agnes Kirby will be 93 on October 19th.  She is still living in her house in Sag Harbor, NY, where she lived with her husband of 63 years.  Grandpa passed away after a fall resulting in a broken hip in October of 2003.  His death was a blow, because I never thought he or Grandma would ever die.  He was 91, and was active in his community and church until very close to the end.  He had only stopped driving a year or so before his death.

Grandma and Grandpa were devout Catholics.  Although I had long ago walked away from the Mother Church, I admired their undying faith, and their service to others.  They were driving folks to doctor's appointments who were half their age!  Grandpa was funny,  a hugger, and always eager and willing to play with us kids.  He had 7 children, and nearly 20 grandchildren.  He would wrestle with us in the grass, play Motorboat at the beach,  make the lamp light up when one of us blew on a playing card!  He was tall, well over 6 feet, and was always bigger than life to us.  I adored him, and miss him terribly.  He always made me feel special.

Grandma, on the other hand, was different.  She was the strict one. Everyone was at the breakfast table at 8 am. Nothing was ever messy, dishes were promptly washed, dried, and put away, along with the placemats and cloth napkins.  Unlike at the home of Grandma McFeeley, we did not partake of delicious food.   Agnes was strictly potatoes and chicken. She kept Grandpa and herself on a low salt, low fat diet.  She was famous for her sandwiches: one piece of meat, on bread on which a thin layer of margarine was spread.  There were cookies, Chips Ahoy and Deluxe Grahams that were rationed out.  When we brought lunch to the beach, we had to wait 30 minutes after eating before going in the water.  She also had a habit of letting me know I really shouldn't have sweets, and one time, when I was a teenager, gave me an Air Force calisthenics instruction book. At times I would hide in the pink room (the guest room I usually shared with my mom), and shed tears over the actions and words of my grandmother.  I did not have the warm feelings towards Grandma that I did towards Grandpa.  I felt she and I were miles apart, had nothing in common.  She hardly ate, and was thin, I loved to eat and struggled with my weight. She had the perfect marriage.  I failed at mine.  She was a mother of seven.  I was only able to be married long even to have one child.  Her house was always so neat and clean, mine was a disaster.  She was religious, and said grace before every meal.  I was frequently angry at God, and alienated from the Church.  We were worlds apart.

Grandma and Grandpa were so devoted to each other.  We always felt a little sorry for Grandpa; Agnes was so much in charge of everything.  If she heard Grandpa utter a dreadful word (" damnation!"), she'd look at him disapproving, and reprimand him with her trademark; "Oh, Bill!"  She made sure they had healthy diet, and always went for their 2 mile walk along Long Beach (aka "Grandma's Beach") .  One of my last visits before Grandpa's death, we were having breakfast (8am), and Grandpa asked me to pass the butter.  I did so: the regular butter, not the little tub of margarine.  When Grandma saw him struggle to spread the cold, hard butter on his toast, she exclaimed: "Oh, Bill, you're not using  your butter! (translation: the light margarine).  I tried to lighten things up by saying, "Hey, Grandma, let him live it up, just this once!"  To which Grandpa gleefully replied: "Listen to her! She's on my side!"  We all got a good laugh, one of many around that table.  Even Grandma smiled, and enjoyed a light hearted moment.

These habits of hers bothered me for a long time.  Then, after Grandpa died, I felt bad that I hadn't been out to see them more.  I tried to get out to see Grandma on a regular basis, more than the usual once a year.  We were amazed with her first year without her beloved Bill; she actually did well.  We figured they were together so long, she would not be able to function alone.  But, after that first year, she got weaker, and the family had to hire live in help.  At first, it was mostly cooking, cleaning, assisting with errands, occasional assistance with a shower.  Grandma was still in control, insisting on doing most everything on her own.  I would visit, and at first be put off by her stubbornness: not just letting me make dinner, but insisting on looking under every pot lid.  Then, I just let it go, and tried a different approach: enjoy her company! We would look at old photos, and let her tell the story behind them.  I discovered a different side to my grandmother.  She wasn't an old woman, she was a mother, like me.  She told me about the time she was alone raising her oldest (my mom) while Grandpa was in the service during World War II.  She, like me, was a single mom at one time!  Then she said, after a pass home , she was pregnant, by herself.  But, Grandpa made it home when my Aunt Anne was born.  I was touched when I actually heard her emotions in telling her story. I also learned about my great grandmother who travelled for the first time, ever,  to Hawaii in her 50s!     Wow!  I was descended from some independent women!  

 I also discovered a secret.  We were having the Chips Ahoy after lunch one day, when, to my utter shock and surprise, Grandma had 4 or 5 cookies!  I said; "Grandma!  I thought Grandpa was the Chips Ahoy fan!"  She smiled sheepishly, and said: "You weren't watching me closely enough!"  Grandma, like me, liked sweets! Later on, during that visit, I was drying the dishes, cleaning the countertops, and she said to me: "I like having you here.  You know my routine!"  That was an honor to hear.

Grandma's health declined, especially after a bad fall 2 years ago.  About every 6 months or so, she has a setback, but pulls through.  She is on Hospice care, but has been this past year.  She is bedbound, speaks very little, and doesn't get out anymore.  After a setback or two,  usually at the urging of one of my aunts, I've gone out to see her, thinking "This is the last time."   I go in, expecting to find her at death's door, mute, and unresponsive.  Instead, I see a slight white haired woman, who lights up at the sight of me and my children, who, says: "Hello there!"   That is usually the most conversation she's capable of, but I savor it.  We all joke around that she'll live forever, but we all know she will be forever gone soon. 

 

I'm grateful my last few visits have had those moments of her face lighting up in recognizing her oldest grandchild.  I also find a peace and a calm, as I  clean that kitchen, and fold up those cloth red and white plaid napkins that have graced that table for 20 years.  I understood why she was so anal in everything she did.  These things were important to her.   She would look around her kitchen before retiring for the night, and know she had accomplished everything she needed to in caring for her home and her family.  I find myself not leaving the dishes to soak overnight, but to be able to walk into my tiny, clean  kitchen every morning, knowing it's a new day, and there are no leftover regrets waiting for me in the sink.  I am doing a good job caring for my family, just as my Grandma knew that she was doing the same.

Girls' Night Out

It's not what you think.

It's not a "Sex In The City" Cosmo-fest.  It is a tradition my Mom came up with when I was about 11 or so.  I was An Only Girl.  So, to escape my 2 younger brothers,Mom and I would go out.  It might have been out to a movie, ice cream, a burger and fries.  It usually happened after some major disappointment.  The two nights I remember were when I lost out on a part in the school play in sixth grade, and then several years later in college when one of my best friends died of cancer.  Yes, the latter was the bigger blow, but at age 11, minor mishaps equals crisis.  Girls' Night Out made me feel special, loved and cared for.

Erin and I used to do Girls Night Out a lot.  It was the 2 of us for many years.  I left my husband just before she turned 2; divorced just before her 3rd birthday.  She was my Only Girl.  She was The Shining Star, the Only Star in my constellation.    Girls' Night Out (and Girls Night In...movies and pedicures!) usually were not the result of disappointments, just the desire to spend time with my daughter.  Most of the disappointments were mine, not Erin's.  Erin,  unlike myself at her age, is very comfortable with herself.  She is well liked, has many interests and talents, and she DID get the lead in the School Play this year.  So our outings are celebratory, not an excuse to eat to comfort a hurt or depression.

Now, there are quite a few more stars in the Big Mary Cool Universe.  Erin is no longer The Only Girl, but The Big Sister.  Erin actually took me out, to escape Lizzie, Neil, and Leo, bringing me to The Lion King this spring.  She wanted to see Wicked, but changed the tickets, knowing I really wanted to see the majesty of The Lion King.  As the show opened, I was in total awe, of the scenery, the music, and the beautiful young woman next to me.  I had to do a Double Take...is this my little Erin?

Our fabulous trip to the Great White Way was our last Girls' Outing.  As we scurry around, running from activity to activity, Erin and I need to get back to our "dates" together, so she can feel as special as I did with my Mom.  She may not be the Only Girl anymore, but she is The First Girl, and that is a person I am so proud and privileged to call My Daughter.

I'm Officially An Old Lady

It has happened.

My workout choice for yesterday?  Laps in the Therapeutic Pool.  AKA the Old Lady Pool.  What pool is this, you say?  It is the smaller, warmer, shallower pool at the YMCA, reserved for baby swim classes (which Lizzie and I take every Friday morning), and for those folks benefiting from the warmer temperature to ease the aches and pains of arthritis, muscle strain and fatigue. Translation: the Old Lady Pool.

When I was in my 20s, working out daily at the brand spanking new facility that was the Brookfield YMCA, one of the novelties it boasted was The Therapeutic Pool.  Not being a swimmer, I didn't pay much attention to this "little pool".  I just thought, "Why would anyone want to swim in 3 - 5 feet of water?"  I observed most consumers of this chlorinated puddle used walkers, and canes, and moved very slowly.  Now the whirlpool, that I liked.  I never thought that I would ever choose to use it.

Fast forward to fall of 2007.  I was enjoying my last trimester of pregnancy.  I had just gotten married, we had 3 beautiful days for the Durham Fair, life was good.  My doctor adored me because I only gained 10 or 15 pounds. However, I did feel more back discomfort.  So, I would just Neil and the kids at the YMCA to go swimming.  WOW!  It was AWESOME!  We were in the big pool, which was about 75 degrees.  I didn't think much of the water temperature, I just was marvelled that at 200 pounds, I felt WEIGHTLESS!   

Then, Neil suggested I go in The Little Pool.  At first, I dismissed it, saying: "That's for old ladies!"  But, I tried it.  I was hooked.  We went swimming EVERY weekend.  Of course, I was bummed when a little kid's birthday party was booked.  Hey, that's MY pool!  But, at that point, it was a nice treat, no big deal.  I could miss a Saturday here and there.  So, it became the Old Lady/Pregnant Lady's Pool.

In November, I had a significant increase in my back pain.  I could not walk for more than 5 minutes.  I was put on disability November 13, 2007.  I was bummed, not working (I wasn't due until December 11), so I ordered our Christmas cards, wrote our Christmas/Holiday letter, did some on-line shopping, as I was determined to not have any holiday related tasks to complete after I delivered.  I soon became happily planted on the couch, watching DVDs and the Today Show (it wasn't too bad back then, all the talk was about holiday entertaining, shopping, the election was FAR off the horizon).  Being  immobile was the only time I wasn't in pain. 

The weekend after I went on disability, the kids and Neil are going to the Y to swim.  Neil urged me to go.  I refused, as the thought of ANY walking made me shudder; the pain was that bad. Reluctantly, I went.   I was in agony walking the short distance from the front door of the Y (of course, my wonderful husband provided me with door to door service!), to the locker room, then to the pool area. Then, I got into that Little Pool.  Nirvana!  Then I turned on my back, did some backstroke (poorly, I must add), and I had no back pain.  I think I started crying, I was so relieved.  I think the lifeguard was about to call the guys in the white coats when I asked, "Can I just stay here until my baby is born in 3 weeks?"  Well, little Elizabeth came a week and a half later.  Those dips in the little pool were my only times of painlessness in those last weeks.

In January, I hit the treadmill HARD.  Then one day, my back protested.  So, I grounded myself as far as exercise went.  I had a physical in March, when my family doctor recommended physical therapy for the back.  The therapist had me do modified Pilates, and my back slowly strengthened up.  I started walking with Lizzie in the stroller as the weather warmed.  We just the Wallingford YMCA over the summer, as I wanted to really bring my intensity up, with my back feeling good.  I lost some weight, but my cholesterol remained high.  Dr. Wilkinson gave me 6 months to bring it down on my own, as I had done in the past with diet and exercise. So, it was time for DRASTIC measures.  I joined JIllian Michaels' website.

You know Jillian.  The Tough Love trainer on the Biggest Loser.  Wow, he workouts are really intense.  I couldn't get through them the first day, but it got easier. Then, the Durham Fair came.  I walked all day through mud and rain, then at 5pm, my back screamed at me to stop!  So, the rest of the weekend, I sat as much as possible.  I lost a pound over Fair weekend.  I took Monday off my exercise routine to rest, and then started back on Miss Jillian's torture regimen.  My back bothered me at rest, but NOT during the workouts!  So I pushed it. 

Then, this past Monday, I was hurting.  Took another day off from my workouts.  Yesterday (Tuesday), I was in tears.  So, between loads of laundry, baking, and cooking, (and, oh, yeah, lifting  a 16 pound baby) I planted it on the couch.  Erin had swim team clinic at the Y yesterday afternoon.  Usually, I workout in that 45 minute period, but the thought of doing any weights and/or cardio machines was out of the question.  So, I thought: "The therapeutic pool."  Wow, I was now one of those old ladies.  At age 40.  But, 15 minutes of laps (slow laps) was something, right?  I mean, pregnancy started all this, right?  Years of working as a nurse contributed, right?  So, maybe I'm not really and old lady, just a rusty middle aged one?  

Now, what to do about the stress incontinence...again, brought about by the youthful act of Childbirth!  (I can spin this.....)

      

Weasel Girl strikes Again....

Elizabeth has been dubbed "Weasel Girl".  Why?  She cons Mommy into getting up at night, give her a drink, then, puts BOTH of them to sleep!  It started when Weasel Girl was breastfeeding, Mommy would fall into a blissful sleep lying on the couch with Weasel Girl suckling, then, wake hours later, as Weasel Girl woke, ready for the next feed, and start the cycle again.  Then Weasel Girl weaned off the Mommy, sleeping through the night.  But, occasionally, she pulls the con again.  Like last night:

12:45 am: standing in crib, screaming bloody murder.  Since Big Sister Erin in NYC, Mommy settled in with W.G. (sorry, getting lazy, W.G. = Weasel Girl), pacifier in place, snuggled in Erin's bed.  W.G. passes out.  Mommy places her back in crib, within 5 seconds, W.G. on her feet.  We go downstairs, have a BaBa (translation=bottle).  W.G. passes out, Mommy able to place in crib at 1:30 or so (it's a blur).

5:30am: See 12:45.  Mommy goes straight the BaBa route.  W.G. passes out in 10 minutes.  Placed back in crib, screaming bloody murder in 10 seconds.  Mommy and W.G. retire to Erin's bed.  Mommy dozes, W.G. sleeps solidly until 6:50am.  Then we are up for the day.

How do I get suckered?  I'm a fool for a sweet little blonde head, nestling into my chest, the clean scent of her baby shampoo from last night' bath (as Frank Barrone said: "The Fountain of Youth! I'm suckin' in that youth!")  The serenity that only a baby can bring in a world of failing economies, war, family strife.  That's how Weasel Girl suckers me, a sleep jumkie.  The unconditional comfort of a child's love and warmth. I'm a junkie for that special time at night.

What to write about...

An attempt to Blog....

My brother, TommyMac, has inspired me to try this.  I, like my talented sibling, am unemployed, by choice.  I was unhappy in my job at a long term care facility. I am an RN, and I left my true love, labor and delivery 4 years ago to find a day position, as I was a single mom, trying to live a normal life for me and my then 7 year old daughter.  Now, I am re-married, with a ten month old daughter, my 11 year old, and a 12 year old stepson, looking to get back to moms and babes.

I've looking for a job for a  month now.  I did have a phone interview scheduled, they did not call at the agreed time.  We've been e-mailing back and forth, playing telephone tag.  I think I've been blown off.  For the first time in my life, I'm worried about not being hired.  I'm now 40.  Maybe being a nurse for 18 years is not a help, but a handicap, when new grads can be hired for a lot less.  What is in the cards for me?

Until I find my new job, I'm enjoying my Full time jobs of wife, mother, and stepmother.  Being a mother is fun, easier the first time around, but just as satisfying 10 years later.  Elizabeth ("Lizzie") is much more active then her older sister was at ten months, or, maybe, God gives us amnesia in order to make us go through childbirth, babyproofing, toddling, and toilet training all over again!  Lizzie can find any foreign object within hundreds of carpet fibers, despite daily vacuuming and sweeping.  Then, said foreign object is in the mouth in milliseconds, and depending on the object (usually paper, her preferred pica object), my sweet daughter promptly vomits the object and the previous meal on the freshly cleansed floor.  And then she smiles, a sweet toothless grin that makes me laugh and forget the bodily fluids I need to clean up, before she eats it!  Trouble, trouble , trouble, that's her name!

Then there's Erin.  My 11 year old, who, I know adores me, but these days, she doesn't say it daily, and quite frankly, thinks I'm every bit as weird as I was convinced my Mom was when I was 11.  Erin is beautiful, funny, smart, and, unlike me, very popular and always  receiving phone calls from her friends within minutes of getting off the bus.   She adores her sister (she christened her Lizzie; my choice of Libby was "too old lady" her Miss Erin), and thank god for me Erin took the Red Cross Babysitting course!  Now I know ALL the wrong things I do with the baby (funny, I let Erin sleep on  her Boppy pillow until age 4, yet she did not die of SIDS!)  She may be going through the rocky changes of adolescence, but I am proud of the person she is. She volunteers at her Dad's food pantry twice a month, always looks to help the less fortunate.  She is one of my favorite people.

My favorite person, is my Neil.  We married a year ago; yes, a Shot Gun Wedding!)  Neil and I met while he was still married, to someone who treated him like dirt.  The past year has been a whirlwind, and every day, I am grateful for my husband and the life we now have together.  I also have my stepson Leo, age 12.  Leo has had a difficult life, and he continues to have conflict and unhappiness.  His mom is not happy with Leo's being part of a new family, and she is trying to limit our time with him.  I am hoping that his being in a family with a mom and dad who work together, and not against each other will give him even a little bit of stability and security.  Our struggles with Leo's conflict of loyalities would take up pages and pages.  Some other day, not today.

Back to Neil.  Neil cooks, fixes cars, is actually handy (he's an electrical engineer; I call him "Sparky"), nurses orchids back to health, treats me like a queen.  He proposed the day after Valentine's Day, just to see how pissed I would be NOT to get a ring after cooking Penne ala Vodka on the Feast Day of St. Hallmark.  That Febuary 15th ended a sad two weeks when I suffered a miscarriage.  Then, a few weeks later, Elizabeth was conceived!  A greater gift than any aquamarine engagement ring could be (did I mention, he REMEMBERED my moths of saying "no diamond, I want my birthstone!")  He has turned me into a Kitchen Aid addict. 

 He treats Erin like his own, even when her father is unable to do so himself.  He is amused by her, sometimes to her horror.  He is a provider, a support when any of us are sick or hurt, and a great guy.  As much as I dislike his ex, I am grateful she is how she is, otherwise, I would have missed out on this gem!

Okay, that's me and my family.  Immediate family.  My extended family could fill twenty blogs!  But, alas, it is past my bedtime.  I will try this again tomorrow, or the next day, we'll see!