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.