So it's been an interesting week. I sent my oldest daughter off to our church's annual "girls camp." It's for young women ages 12 to 18. I went three years in a row when I was that age. I remember it was hot and muggy and miserable, since I was in Mississippi and Alabama at that time. I was SO grateful when it rained two of those years! I was singing hallelujahs.
Needless to say, I had the obvious feelings of "gee, I can't believe my baby is this old..." yada, yada. I took her and a few other girls up to the camp on Tuesday and watched them get settled in and start getting to know each other. I could tell that she didn't need a big kiss and hug from the ol' mom once she was dressed in her cute new camp T-shirt and sitting at a a table eating lunch with all the other girls. So I just let Cami kiss her and I stood at a very short distance waving. But I'd already given her the hug and kiss when it was just the two of us, no other girls around. So yes, she IS that old, and yes, she is old enough to want a little distance from me among a bunch of other teens. Whoa.
Before I went through all those hackneyed feelings, I was laughing a bit inwardly at the picture of her being at camp. I myself was never much of a camper. I was glad when it rained and we didn't have to go outside a pavilion and do stuff. We could just sing silly songs. I hate the hot weather and all the grunginess. And I am quite sure Brianna's not much of the camper either. She hated the YMCA kids day camp a few years ago that she tried a couple of times because it was hot and there were "lots of ants." Not the outdoorsgirl. So I'm smirking a bit picturing her there. Well, I WAS. Now I just picture her having fun and enjoying herself and then coming home to tell me all about it. That'll be tomorrow.
So on to the second topic. Brianna has been gone for two and a half days, and I haven't had her help with the younger girls. I've kind of missed that. Marce has had other things going on, including going up to the camp this evening in his church duties to participate as a leader. So I've handled things all on my own without any backup/support from older people like my husband or my competent 12-year-old. But during one evening we had "open" without anything going on, duties, etc., Marce and I chose to use our glorious time bathing the cats.
Yeah. I thought it would only take 15 minutes or so. No biggie. They've both been flea-infested so it was time for a good soaking and scrubbing with flea shampoo. Mac, the strong manly-man who's only 2, put up a big fight and left Marce looking like a druggie who shoots up both arms. We scrubbed him, pulled off a few fleas, and let him go. We grabbed Cocoa Puff, my sweet little stray I had to rescue a few months ago (she was obviously a good house cat before because she's spayed and de-clawed in the front and was obviously spoiled on soft food, which she ain't gettin' here on a regular basis, I can tell ya that) and put her in the clawfoot. (Hmm. Appropriate we're bathing the cats in the CLAW-foot tub....) She is much smaller and a whole lot furrier, and as I mentioned, claw-less in the front. We discovered that was REALLY nice. She made a few attempts to bite a few times, but she didn't put up a big fight. Which was a good thing. Because once we got that long fur all wet, and we could actually see under to her skin, we found a whole circus of fleas. We spent a solid half-hour or more crouched over the bathtub, picking at least a hundred fleas off her. We'd find them clustered three and four at a time in different spots and then grab them and try to pull them out. It was hard work, I tell ya. And we'd rinse, keep searching, and find three or four more. And on and on it went. She let out a few plaintive "me-rows" and sat there putting up a fruitless struggle on occasion. I felt so bad for her. I mean, I have no idea how many fleas we got off of her.
So there my dear husband and I were: huddled over a tub, holding down a scrawny-looking cat with fur plastered to her skin, meowing on occasion, picking off a ridiculous infestation. We're sopping wet from splashing and from sweat. I looked at him and had to laugh on numerous occasions: nice way to spend an evening with my beloved.
Life sure is good.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Cool '70s vibe
OK, this is on a totally different note. But I got to go see a fun, fun performance of ABBA music on Saturday night. Here in Anniston we have a former fort that has been closed and turned into civilian use called McClellan. During the summer, they have been having a short series of orchestra performances out in a park there. On Saturday, this included the Alabama Symphony Orchestra performing with a group called Waterloo, a tribute band that does a really great imitation of ABBA. (If you want to see more about them, check out this link: http://www.abba-the-show.com/index.html)
They sounded fantastic. Really very close in sound, and their costumes and vibe were spot-on. The group is even Swedish, so they have that neat accent with all those soft, sibiliant "s's." The orchestra backing it up did a great job, and it had a really, deep, rich sound. On certain songs, the orchestra's presence was really spectacular. Most of the time, you wouldn't notice them obviously, but their backup gave real depth. My dad and I took Brianna to the performance, and we all just had a fun evening. I sang along with everything. Dad had gotten into ABBA back when I was about Brianna's age, and he started gathering up records, then CDs. So I grew up listening to them. Now their CDs are kind of my "traveling music." If I'm going on a trip, I throw those CDs in the car for sure.
I'd say, take a chance on the group if you ever have the opportunity!
They sounded fantastic. Really very close in sound, and their costumes and vibe were spot-on. The group is even Swedish, so they have that neat accent with all those soft, sibiliant "s's." The orchestra backing it up did a great job, and it had a really, deep, rich sound. On certain songs, the orchestra's presence was really spectacular. Most of the time, you wouldn't notice them obviously, but their backup gave real depth. My dad and I took Brianna to the performance, and we all just had a fun evening. I sang along with everything. Dad had gotten into ABBA back when I was about Brianna's age, and he started gathering up records, then CDs. So I grew up listening to them. Now their CDs are kind of my "traveling music." If I'm going on a trip, I throw those CDs in the car for sure.
I'd say, take a chance on the group if you ever have the opportunity!
Self-Flagellation
I'm starting to wonder (well, frankly, it's not the first time I've wondered this, but...) if I'm a masochist. I must enjoy rejection. That's why I became a writer.
Well, more specifically, I'm a writer who wants to be published. If I were just a writer doing it for my own pleasure, then I'd be fine. But, sadly, I'm one of those sorts who wants to publish and get my work out there for lots of other people to see. (Perhaps that's why I blog... Yikes. Well, no, really, I write this blog as a lazy way of keeping my friends up to date. Really. )
So I wrote a book about my experience as a mother and spent a good five years of my life writing, editing, and trying to get it published. I collected a lot of books about how to get published, as well as a file folder stuffed full of rejection letters from agents and publishers alike. I learned that it's nigh-near impossible to get a nonfiction book published unless you're some sort of expert, or have a really pitiful life story to share in the form of memoir. (Yeah, neither of my parents is an alcoholic, and I didn't grow up poor.) It sounds crass, but it's largely the truth in the publishing world. So I realized, hey, I'm going to have to self-publish. So I did. And I learned a lot more about publishing, as a result, and it was valuable information. I hope I've been able to put it to good use as I've tried to help some friends find publishers/agents. I can say I have helped a friend find an agent, which is more than I've been able to do for myself, so I suppose so far it's a success. Now we're waiting for his book to find a publisher. So, as I said, I at least can say my experience has been valuable in some way.
Now through the things I've learned, I thought that my best bet would be to work on children's books. I had an idea both for a picture book and for a middle-readers book. So I wrote one chapter on the latter about a year ago and have simply chewed over it in my mind ever since. I also sat down about a month and a half ago, I guess, and just wrote down the children's picture-book story. It took me three tries to get it right, to get into the right style and tone, but I did it to my great satisfaction. Then I edited it a bit more and felt very pleased with the result. I think it's a delightful, fun, silly little tale. So here comes the self-flagellation part: I decided to SEND OUT QUERY LETTERS to agents. I've sent out maybe 15 letters and emails, and I've gotten maybe 6 or 7 rejections so far. I started a new file folder. It's filling up with my little rejection letters. As much as it's to be expected that I won't get a positive response right away, it still kills me a little inside each and every time I open up an envelope with a standard rejection form in it. As if I don't have enough stuff to bother me as it is. Like possibly moving. Or all the other usual stuff. But I'm piling it on.
Even so, I feel inside that I'm on the right track. I am quite sure that writing books for young readers is where I'm supposed to go. So exactly how long will it take until I really get a "bite?" If I count my previous attempts at publication, I've been doing this for about 10 years, without any real encouragement. If I count this new situation, I suppose I'm at the very beginning of perhaps another 10-year run. I truly hope that this run will be more positive than the last. I mean, yeah, it's nice to learn things, and find valuable experience, etc etc. and to be able to help other people. But I'd REALLY like to find some success of my own. I always hope that I'm not one of those completely untalented types who is convinced they're talented. I'd hate to be one of the kinds of people who auditions for American Idol or some such thing, sure they're the next big star, but they can't even hit a note on-key. That's what bugs me the most, I think. Am I completely fooling myself? How many people ask themselves that question on a regular basis? Am I normal that way? Or am I abnormal in that I continue to cling doggedly to a goal that's truly pie in the sky?
I am a good editor and a passable writer when it comes to writing for the newspaper or magazines. I mean, on my first try, I got a story accepted for publication for The Friend, the Church magazine for kids. I saw that as a really good sign that I am meant to write for kids. But I would just love to have another little sign that at least I'm on the right track. Somebody throw me a bone!
Well, I'm just whining now. I should turn my pain into some good writing, rather than a blog rant. So, here I am, pulling out another rope to beat myself up with.
Well, more specifically, I'm a writer who wants to be published. If I were just a writer doing it for my own pleasure, then I'd be fine. But, sadly, I'm one of those sorts who wants to publish and get my work out there for lots of other people to see. (Perhaps that's why I blog... Yikes. Well, no, really, I write this blog as a lazy way of keeping my friends up to date. Really. )
So I wrote a book about my experience as a mother and spent a good five years of my life writing, editing, and trying to get it published. I collected a lot of books about how to get published, as well as a file folder stuffed full of rejection letters from agents and publishers alike. I learned that it's nigh-near impossible to get a nonfiction book published unless you're some sort of expert, or have a really pitiful life story to share in the form of memoir. (Yeah, neither of my parents is an alcoholic, and I didn't grow up poor.) It sounds crass, but it's largely the truth in the publishing world. So I realized, hey, I'm going to have to self-publish. So I did. And I learned a lot more about publishing, as a result, and it was valuable information. I hope I've been able to put it to good use as I've tried to help some friends find publishers/agents. I can say I have helped a friend find an agent, which is more than I've been able to do for myself, so I suppose so far it's a success. Now we're waiting for his book to find a publisher. So, as I said, I at least can say my experience has been valuable in some way.
Now through the things I've learned, I thought that my best bet would be to work on children's books. I had an idea both for a picture book and for a middle-readers book. So I wrote one chapter on the latter about a year ago and have simply chewed over it in my mind ever since. I also sat down about a month and a half ago, I guess, and just wrote down the children's picture-book story. It took me three tries to get it right, to get into the right style and tone, but I did it to my great satisfaction. Then I edited it a bit more and felt very pleased with the result. I think it's a delightful, fun, silly little tale. So here comes the self-flagellation part: I decided to SEND OUT QUERY LETTERS to agents. I've sent out maybe 15 letters and emails, and I've gotten maybe 6 or 7 rejections so far. I started a new file folder. It's filling up with my little rejection letters. As much as it's to be expected that I won't get a positive response right away, it still kills me a little inside each and every time I open up an envelope with a standard rejection form in it. As if I don't have enough stuff to bother me as it is. Like possibly moving. Or all the other usual stuff. But I'm piling it on.
Even so, I feel inside that I'm on the right track. I am quite sure that writing books for young readers is where I'm supposed to go. So exactly how long will it take until I really get a "bite?" If I count my previous attempts at publication, I've been doing this for about 10 years, without any real encouragement. If I count this new situation, I suppose I'm at the very beginning of perhaps another 10-year run. I truly hope that this run will be more positive than the last. I mean, yeah, it's nice to learn things, and find valuable experience, etc etc. and to be able to help other people. But I'd REALLY like to find some success of my own. I always hope that I'm not one of those completely untalented types who is convinced they're talented. I'd hate to be one of the kinds of people who auditions for American Idol or some such thing, sure they're the next big star, but they can't even hit a note on-key. That's what bugs me the most, I think. Am I completely fooling myself? How many people ask themselves that question on a regular basis? Am I normal that way? Or am I abnormal in that I continue to cling doggedly to a goal that's truly pie in the sky?
I am a good editor and a passable writer when it comes to writing for the newspaper or magazines. I mean, on my first try, I got a story accepted for publication for The Friend, the Church magazine for kids. I saw that as a really good sign that I am meant to write for kids. But I would just love to have another little sign that at least I'm on the right track. Somebody throw me a bone!
Well, I'm just whining now. I should turn my pain into some good writing, rather than a blog rant. So, here I am, pulling out another rope to beat myself up with.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Summer Cleaning, aka Battling Entropy
All you women who have ever been pregnant will probably know what I'm referring to when I say the phrase "nesting." It's that energy to clean up and organize that you get when it's almost time to have the baby. Gotta "feather the nest" for the new little chick.
Well, I can probably say I've been un-nesting. I've already got four little chicks, and they've done a whole hecka lotta feathering themselves over the years. And we've lived in the same town for exactly 10 years now. Although we moved houses two years ago, it was only a distance of 1 mile away. And it was a mess because all we did was throw junk in the car over and over again and move junk to a different location. I did not clear out as much junk as I would had I truly been "moving."
Well, I'm trying to un-feather our big nest just in case we actually DO move. And this time it won't be a mile away -- it'll be 3000 miles or so. And you just don't move junk that kind of distance. At least, I don't care to.
(For those who read "In Limbo," I mentioned we're waiting to move. We're still waiting, but at least we have found out that someone has given notice, so there will be an opening at the hospital Marce wants to work at. It's just now more waiting to see what the official position will be and when he'll get out for an interview.)
I thought of myself as a bit of a packrat when I was young. But since I've been an adult, I have thought of myself as a "thrower." I have packed up enough boxes over the years that I can't bear to have to pack any more than is absolutely necessary. And I am a bit of a neat freak and probably a touch OCD in the sense that clutter around me just heightens the clutter that is often my mind. It makes me a little "itchy" psychologically.
So this past week, I've used the time Charlotte has been at her "preschool" for a few hours at a time to clean out stuff while she's not underfoot. I told the girls I was going to clean out their room and they would help me decide what to give away. Even though on Tuesday, I filled a huge bag full of paper products for recycling, and a small bag for trash, pulled everything off shelves and from under beds, organized, and vacuumed up a few litters' worth of dust bunnies, Marce couldn't tell a difference when he walked in Cami and Marissa's room. So on Thursday, I went in there and worked some more to find dolls and stuffed animals to give away. We ended up with two paper bags full of them, which we took across the street to a place that helps children who have been abused. I am quite sure Marce still couldn't see a difference in their room, because the stuff primarily came from boxes under their bunk bed. I also organized their book shelf. Of course, I didn't give away a single book.
Even though my dear husband didn't see a difference in the girls' room, he did see a major difference in the kitchen. I spent a couple more hours on Tuesday in there. I threw away junk and cleaned and organized. A couple of trash bags went out to the garbage bin. And we could see our countertops! I went to the store and brought home a big watermelon and two cantaloupes and laid them on the counter, with plenty of room to spare.
I cleaned out the bathrooms a bit. While I've done this in the fairly recent past, this time was primarily for the purpose of getting all the blankets and towels off the large wire shelf so we could put tile on the floor. The bulk of our bathroom redo was done before Charlotte arrived last year, but we have been walking on a yucky, un-matching floor all this time. We picked out backerboard and ceramic tile a few months ago. Now that it's 90 degrees outside, it's the perfect time to finally hunker down and put down the tile, especially since there is no AC in the upstairs bathroom (there was no central air upstairs in the house when we bought it, so we bought very nice individual "Mr. Slim" units for each bedroom. They have great energy efficiency and are very comfortable, and they were almost entirely non-invasive on our old house. But they were quite pricey for each unit, and it wasn' t worth putting just in the bathroom. So we have no air in there but a fan.)
So here we are trying to get the floor somehow level (Marce is working on that right as I write), and put the backerboard down. And then we can figure out the ideal time to lay the tile. That will mean a day to dry, a day to put in grout, etc., making the tub inaccessible for a few days, and the toilet as well (since we are going to put a new one in finally). Not sure how we'll swing that. We do have a full bathroom downstairs, but the clawfoot is just a tub and not a shower. And as it is, Marissa hates having to go downstairs to use the toilet when the upstairs one is ocupado. She'll stand there and fuss for a few minutes when she could have just gone down the stairs in that time.
So we're not luxuriating in summer relaxation. I'm playing host to a house full of children freshly out of school, and cleaning like CRAZY and all the usual stuff. But the house is looking pretty good. It's not nearly as cluttered, although I think it will still have to be photographed very strategically in each room to make it look really stylish for any real-estate listings.
I'm just pleased that at least I've hauled out a lot more lately than I've hauled in. It's a start in fighting the uphill battle that is the encroachment of entropy.
Well, I can probably say I've been un-nesting. I've already got four little chicks, and they've done a whole hecka lotta feathering themselves over the years. And we've lived in the same town for exactly 10 years now. Although we moved houses two years ago, it was only a distance of 1 mile away. And it was a mess because all we did was throw junk in the car over and over again and move junk to a different location. I did not clear out as much junk as I would had I truly been "moving."
Well, I'm trying to un-feather our big nest just in case we actually DO move. And this time it won't be a mile away -- it'll be 3000 miles or so. And you just don't move junk that kind of distance. At least, I don't care to.
(For those who read "In Limbo," I mentioned we're waiting to move. We're still waiting, but at least we have found out that someone has given notice, so there will be an opening at the hospital Marce wants to work at. It's just now more waiting to see what the official position will be and when he'll get out for an interview.)
I thought of myself as a bit of a packrat when I was young. But since I've been an adult, I have thought of myself as a "thrower." I have packed up enough boxes over the years that I can't bear to have to pack any more than is absolutely necessary. And I am a bit of a neat freak and probably a touch OCD in the sense that clutter around me just heightens the clutter that is often my mind. It makes me a little "itchy" psychologically.
So this past week, I've used the time Charlotte has been at her "preschool" for a few hours at a time to clean out stuff while she's not underfoot. I told the girls I was going to clean out their room and they would help me decide what to give away. Even though on Tuesday, I filled a huge bag full of paper products for recycling, and a small bag for trash, pulled everything off shelves and from under beds, organized, and vacuumed up a few litters' worth of dust bunnies, Marce couldn't tell a difference when he walked in Cami and Marissa's room. So on Thursday, I went in there and worked some more to find dolls and stuffed animals to give away. We ended up with two paper bags full of them, which we took across the street to a place that helps children who have been abused. I am quite sure Marce still couldn't see a difference in their room, because the stuff primarily came from boxes under their bunk bed. I also organized their book shelf. Of course, I didn't give away a single book.
Even though my dear husband didn't see a difference in the girls' room, he did see a major difference in the kitchen. I spent a couple more hours on Tuesday in there. I threw away junk and cleaned and organized. A couple of trash bags went out to the garbage bin. And we could see our countertops! I went to the store and brought home a big watermelon and two cantaloupes and laid them on the counter, with plenty of room to spare.
I cleaned out the bathrooms a bit. While I've done this in the fairly recent past, this time was primarily for the purpose of getting all the blankets and towels off the large wire shelf so we could put tile on the floor. The bulk of our bathroom redo was done before Charlotte arrived last year, but we have been walking on a yucky, un-matching floor all this time. We picked out backerboard and ceramic tile a few months ago. Now that it's 90 degrees outside, it's the perfect time to finally hunker down and put down the tile, especially since there is no AC in the upstairs bathroom (there was no central air upstairs in the house when we bought it, so we bought very nice individual "Mr. Slim" units for each bedroom. They have great energy efficiency and are very comfortable, and they were almost entirely non-invasive on our old house. But they were quite pricey for each unit, and it wasn' t worth putting just in the bathroom. So we have no air in there but a fan.)
So here we are trying to get the floor somehow level (Marce is working on that right as I write), and put the backerboard down. And then we can figure out the ideal time to lay the tile. That will mean a day to dry, a day to put in grout, etc., making the tub inaccessible for a few days, and the toilet as well (since we are going to put a new one in finally). Not sure how we'll swing that. We do have a full bathroom downstairs, but the clawfoot is just a tub and not a shower. And as it is, Marissa hates having to go downstairs to use the toilet when the upstairs one is ocupado. She'll stand there and fuss for a few minutes when she could have just gone down the stairs in that time.
So we're not luxuriating in summer relaxation. I'm playing host to a house full of children freshly out of school, and cleaning like CRAZY and all the usual stuff. But the house is looking pretty good. It's not nearly as cluttered, although I think it will still have to be photographed very strategically in each room to make it look really stylish for any real-estate listings.
I'm just pleased that at least I've hauled out a lot more lately than I've hauled in. It's a start in fighting the uphill battle that is the encroachment of entropy.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
In Limbo
Well, we've been hoping to move to California. That's it in a nutshell. I got the idea back in January, while visiting SF, that it would be really great for the girls especially if we could move to Visalia, where Marce's brother and his wife and their six kids live. The girls could grow up now near their cousins, the schools would invariably be better than what we have here, and the church would be a little bigger. Right now, the Primary is pretty small, and there aren't a lot of kids at church for our girls to hang out with. I'd really love it if they had a few more options.
So, the hospital out there would love for Marce to come work for them. But we've been waiting for a position to open up. Isn't anyone there quitting??
Truth be told, I haven't been wanting anyone to quit too soon, anyway. We have a lot to do around here to prepare to move, and school has still been in, etc. So we feel pretty determined to move, but all we have right now are plans. And plans are SO subject to change. In the meantime, we're quite busy living life (as noted in my other posts) and going about our business. But we've got in the back of our heads (and often in the FRONTS) that we're going to be moving. We're trying to fix up what needs to be fixed up in the house; I'm trying to box up junk we don't use often or throw it away or give it away. Trying to get an idea of what finances will be like. All that kind of fun stuff.
Of course, if we stay, we still have to deal with the big issue of the schools. The public school system here in the city of Anniston is the pits. It may be slowly back on the rise, but it will be a very long, slow process. In the meantime, it's become untenable for us and for our girls. Brianna has been in a private Catholic school this past year, and it has been great for her. We thought the elementary school closest to us would be fine for Cami and Marissa, which it has been mostly, and mainly academically, but it has just not been good in terms of the other students. Everyone who could has left the system, either moving away to other areas or paying for private school. So everyone who's left has no money or doesn't care. (I'm talking families, now, of course.) So what we feel remains is a lot of kids from families who largely don't seem to care about the kids and their lives and their discipline. It makes for a pretty crazy environment for our girls. The principal over at the school spends quite a bit of her time paddling kids who are acting up. I could go on and on. But as much as I've wanted to help the school and the whole system, and to keep my kids in it to try to help, I'm way beyond my depth at this point. It's sad and frustrating. I want to be part of the solution, but at the same time, I simply can't sacrifice my children on that altar. They seem to have been acting up more and I just feel it has a lot to do with the kids who surround them every day.
SO. Either we move, to California, or to outlying areas of town, or we send them all to the private school. If we don't move this year, that's what I will do. But even that isn't a permanent solution. The private school won't have the resources or the mandate to provide Marissa with the extra help she needs. That's the big issue.
In the meantime, we stay busy, we clean, we throw away, we fix up, we live our lives. And we have faith that it will work out the way it should. And it will. Just not exactly sure what to prepare for. And that's kind of the hardest part of being in Limbo.
So, the hospital out there would love for Marce to come work for them. But we've been waiting for a position to open up. Isn't anyone there quitting??
Truth be told, I haven't been wanting anyone to quit too soon, anyway. We have a lot to do around here to prepare to move, and school has still been in, etc. So we feel pretty determined to move, but all we have right now are plans. And plans are SO subject to change. In the meantime, we're quite busy living life (as noted in my other posts) and going about our business. But we've got in the back of our heads (and often in the FRONTS) that we're going to be moving. We're trying to fix up what needs to be fixed up in the house; I'm trying to box up junk we don't use often or throw it away or give it away. Trying to get an idea of what finances will be like. All that kind of fun stuff.
Of course, if we stay, we still have to deal with the big issue of the schools. The public school system here in the city of Anniston is the pits. It may be slowly back on the rise, but it will be a very long, slow process. In the meantime, it's become untenable for us and for our girls. Brianna has been in a private Catholic school this past year, and it has been great for her. We thought the elementary school closest to us would be fine for Cami and Marissa, which it has been mostly, and mainly academically, but it has just not been good in terms of the other students. Everyone who could has left the system, either moving away to other areas or paying for private school. So everyone who's left has no money or doesn't care. (I'm talking families, now, of course.) So what we feel remains is a lot of kids from families who largely don't seem to care about the kids and their lives and their discipline. It makes for a pretty crazy environment for our girls. The principal over at the school spends quite a bit of her time paddling kids who are acting up. I could go on and on. But as much as I've wanted to help the school and the whole system, and to keep my kids in it to try to help, I'm way beyond my depth at this point. It's sad and frustrating. I want to be part of the solution, but at the same time, I simply can't sacrifice my children on that altar. They seem to have been acting up more and I just feel it has a lot to do with the kids who surround them every day.
SO. Either we move, to California, or to outlying areas of town, or we send them all to the private school. If we don't move this year, that's what I will do. But even that isn't a permanent solution. The private school won't have the resources or the mandate to provide Marissa with the extra help she needs. That's the big issue.
In the meantime, we stay busy, we clean, we throw away, we fix up, we live our lives. And we have faith that it will work out the way it should. And it will. Just not exactly sure what to prepare for. And that's kind of the hardest part of being in Limbo.
Birthdays galore
May is a very busy month at our house. It contains a plethora of birthdays: mine on the 14th, Brianna's on the 16th, and Cami's on the 31st. It also contains Mother's Day, which is very close to my birthday, if not actually the same day some years. Charlotte was due to be born on May 12th but graciously arrived on April 30, so she's not actually a May birthday as well. So while she gets to say she was born in April and have a diamond birthstone (I would prefer that neutral "color" to the green of the emerald that is MY birthstone, but hey, what can I do about that? I was due to be born in April and I chose to stay inside my cocoon for way longer), she still kind of piggybacks on the May train. She is now the start of birthday season for the Lims.
So Charlotte turned 1. Brianna has turned 12. Cami's about to turn 6. I'm astonished at how big they are. Charlotte is a solid 24 pounds, and getting heavy for any of us to carry around. Brianna, to contrast, was just over 15 pounds at a year old. She walked right at a year. Charlotte still hasn't gotten that far. I'm thinking she has a lot more to lug around. But she does crawl with amazing speed and agility. I put her down on the floor of Circuit City the other day so I could pick something else up, and she was GONE in a split second. I had to run around a couple of different aisles till I found her! It's like she just teleported. (Note to self: will find a cart there next time, no matter what.)
Brianna is 12 now, and officially a young woman. She really is, at least in our church lingo. Kids from age 18 months to 3 get to go to Nursery at church on Sundays; kids from 3 to 11 go to Primary for their lessons and singing time, etc.; and the girls go to Young Women at age 12, until they hit 18. This means she gets to go to classes now with teen girls instead of little kids. It means she gets to go to the yearly Girls' Camp, which here is being held in just a couple of weeks. And it means that she gets to go to do some work at the temple, which is really neat. I can't believe that she's 12 now. Brianna is still a very gracious, sensitive and kind, and delightful girl. She rarely makes me frustrated with her and she is very helpful around the house. She has a fun sense of humor and is just sweet and enjoyable to be around. I am so proud of her, if you hadn't guessed it yet!
Cami lost her first tooth, finally, just a couple of weeks ago, and was able to get a visit from the tooth fairy. The other tooth was fully grown in, and luckily it moved right into place pretty quickly. Now her other tooth next to it is doing the same thing: growing in, tooth in front barely loose. That means Marce will harp on her every day to WIGGLE IT, ALREADY! Or I'LL YANK IT OUT MYSELF! A fun bit of entertainment.
For Charlotte's birthday, we had a little party and invited a few people (would have loved to invite more, but I was trying to keep it under some control) to witness the cake-eating, etc. Charlotte turned out to LOVE the cake. She hesitantly took a bite, reaching out with her hand to pluck off a bit of frosting from the top, and then looked very pleased at the result. She took a few more little nibbles, and then her hands started moving much faster. Grab cake, stuff in mouth, other hand follow. It was a great show. I believe it was the most entertaining of any of the girls' cake-eating experiences to date. Pictures are on my Smugmug site.
Brianna will have her party on Friday night. Details to follow if I survive.
My birthday, you ask? I took a day off. I drove to Atlanta and spent the night the night before my big day and then spent Wednesday shopping for clothes. I hung out with a friend and talked like crazy late into the night and watched a movie on her big-screen TV. It was a very nice day for me. I got to eat a nice, healthy lunch at a very pleasant restaurant, and that night I came home to have a TCBY ice cream pie. And then ... I went to a meeting at church. But hey, all in all it was very nice. It was most enjoyable after the previous week of hospital "fun."
So Charlotte turned 1. Brianna has turned 12. Cami's about to turn 6. I'm astonished at how big they are. Charlotte is a solid 24 pounds, and getting heavy for any of us to carry around. Brianna, to contrast, was just over 15 pounds at a year old. She walked right at a year. Charlotte still hasn't gotten that far. I'm thinking she has a lot more to lug around. But she does crawl with amazing speed and agility. I put her down on the floor of Circuit City the other day so I could pick something else up, and she was GONE in a split second. I had to run around a couple of different aisles till I found her! It's like she just teleported. (Note to self: will find a cart there next time, no matter what.)
Brianna is 12 now, and officially a young woman. She really is, at least in our church lingo. Kids from age 18 months to 3 get to go to Nursery at church on Sundays; kids from 3 to 11 go to Primary for their lessons and singing time, etc.; and the girls go to Young Women at age 12, until they hit 18. This means she gets to go to classes now with teen girls instead of little kids. It means she gets to go to the yearly Girls' Camp, which here is being held in just a couple of weeks. And it means that she gets to go to do some work at the temple, which is really neat. I can't believe that she's 12 now. Brianna is still a very gracious, sensitive and kind, and delightful girl. She rarely makes me frustrated with her and she is very helpful around the house. She has a fun sense of humor and is just sweet and enjoyable to be around. I am so proud of her, if you hadn't guessed it yet!
Cami lost her first tooth, finally, just a couple of weeks ago, and was able to get a visit from the tooth fairy. The other tooth was fully grown in, and luckily it moved right into place pretty quickly. Now her other tooth next to it is doing the same thing: growing in, tooth in front barely loose. That means Marce will harp on her every day to WIGGLE IT, ALREADY! Or I'LL YANK IT OUT MYSELF! A fun bit of entertainment.
For Charlotte's birthday, we had a little party and invited a few people (would have loved to invite more, but I was trying to keep it under some control) to witness the cake-eating, etc. Charlotte turned out to LOVE the cake. She hesitantly took a bite, reaching out with her hand to pluck off a bit of frosting from the top, and then looked very pleased at the result. She took a few more little nibbles, and then her hands started moving much faster. Grab cake, stuff in mouth, other hand follow. It was a great show. I believe it was the most entertaining of any of the girls' cake-eating experiences to date. Pictures are on my Smugmug site.
Brianna will have her party on Friday night. Details to follow if I survive.
My birthday, you ask? I took a day off. I drove to Atlanta and spent the night the night before my big day and then spent Wednesday shopping for clothes. I hung out with a friend and talked like crazy late into the night and watched a movie on her big-screen TV. It was a very nice day for me. I got to eat a nice, healthy lunch at a very pleasant restaurant, and that night I came home to have a TCBY ice cream pie. And then ... I went to a meeting at church. But hey, all in all it was very nice. It was most enjoyable after the previous week of hospital "fun."
An onslaught of posts
OK, here's what I'm gonna do. I planned to write numerous posts this month on numerous useful and pertinent, even poignant, topics. Now here it is May 20, and I've had friends/family wondering where the posts are. So rather than write one HUGE post, I'm going to introduce the topics by first explaining why in the world I didn't write earlier. I really, really did want to post earlier. But I got sidetracked.
One main sidetracking: Charlotte. She got some kind of infection and was hospitalized. Yeah, in the hospital. With four children and their illnesses and accidents under our belts, so to say, we have not yet had a child admitted to the hospital. Sure, we've visited the ER a few times (mainly for Marissa and whatever little hijinks she managed to pull, like chewing a whole bottle of Cami's Singulair medication or getting her thumb squished in a door by a very active little boy), but haven't had to STAY in the hospital for more than a few hours. Charlotte's a first in many ways now (possibly see another related entry). She spiked a fever, not a really high one, but a fever. Then she had a dr checkup, and he was afraid that her eye looked like it had cellulitis. He had blood work done. Came back, and her white blood cell count was 28,000. A tad high. So he tossed it around. He sent me to another pediatrician who works with Stringfellow (Marce's hospital... our pediatrician doesn't sent kids there but to the other local hospital) so we could get the visit covered without paying an exorbitant sum out of pocket. That dr decided to admit her. That was Monday the 5th. I spent 5 hours in the doctors' offices that day before we even went to the hospital.
SO, I let Marce take Charlotte into the hospital to get her admitted at 6 p.m., and I ran home to pack up our stuff. I was hoping that he would be present for the insertion of the IV. I had already witnessed her stuck about four times that day, and it was not a pretty sight. She started to scream just when a medical person approached her. So I got to come home, field phone calls, do stuff, feed the children, etc., before I ran back to the hospital for what would surely be a "way fun" time. Needless to say, I was a bit perturbed when I arrived two hours later and found Marce lounging on the hospital bed with Charlotte cuddled next to him, watching ESPN. No IV, nothing. In two hours, NOTHING HAD HAPPENED.
I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Medical stuff does not happen quickly unless gallons of blood are spurting out of a detached limb. But I did allow my hopes to rise only to be dashed. It wasn't the first time hopes would be dashed in the following days.
The nurses finally got the IV in Charlotte around 10 p.m., after four tries in different spots. Then we were able to settle in and sleep. She was exhausted from the whole ordeal and I was ready to get some sleep myself. And it was a decent night.
Tuesday was fine; Charlotte was a bit tired and listless but was managing. The listlessness part worked for me. I could rest a bit, read, etc. I got a couple of hours away when Marce relieved me for a bit later in the day. I spent another night there. It wasn't as fun. The IV pump beeped off and on for half the night and I didn't sleep so soundly.
On Wednesday morning I was really thinking we'd get to go. But the dr came by and said that while he was happy that the IV antibiotics had already helped her blood cell count to go down to 13,000 the day before, he was wanting to make sure her fever had been gone for a while before he sent us home. (Pop! Sounds of bursting bubbles.)
So I had to endure another day. Friends came by and helped out a bit, relieved me for a little while, talked, brought chocolate milkshakes... After my near-breakdown of not being able to handle the strain of the experience (by this point, Charlotte was feeling pretty good and was wanting to be mobile but couldn't be because of the IV in her foot. Not fun.) anymore, Marce volunteered to stay the night that night. So I got to sleep at home in my comfy bed. Thursday, I resumed my post in the hospital, expecting the dr to let us go anytime. I was not at all pleased when by 7 p.m. he still hadn't shown up. The nurse made phone calls to his beeper, cell phone, etc. which he didn't answer. Then the other pediatrician on call graciously let us go, before I caused any damage....
I got home and changed into workout clothes and enjoyed a 90-minute workout, during which I did my usual elliptical workout and then ran on the treadmill, increasing the speed up to 7.5 mph before I started feeling a real burn that could allow me to release all my pent-up frustrations. It felt great.
Charlotte is doing just fine. Still has a bit of a cold and some ear infection, but the big infection part is gone. She is her usual funny, get-into-stuff girl.
And I hope that we don't have to enter a hospital again for a very, very long time.
One main sidetracking: Charlotte. She got some kind of infection and was hospitalized. Yeah, in the hospital. With four children and their illnesses and accidents under our belts, so to say, we have not yet had a child admitted to the hospital. Sure, we've visited the ER a few times (mainly for Marissa and whatever little hijinks she managed to pull, like chewing a whole bottle of Cami's Singulair medication or getting her thumb squished in a door by a very active little boy), but haven't had to STAY in the hospital for more than a few hours. Charlotte's a first in many ways now (possibly see another related entry). She spiked a fever, not a really high one, but a fever. Then she had a dr checkup, and he was afraid that her eye looked like it had cellulitis. He had blood work done. Came back, and her white blood cell count was 28,000. A tad high. So he tossed it around. He sent me to another pediatrician who works with Stringfellow (Marce's hospital... our pediatrician doesn't sent kids there but to the other local hospital) so we could get the visit covered without paying an exorbitant sum out of pocket. That dr decided to admit her. That was Monday the 5th. I spent 5 hours in the doctors' offices that day before we even went to the hospital.
SO, I let Marce take Charlotte into the hospital to get her admitted at 6 p.m., and I ran home to pack up our stuff. I was hoping that he would be present for the insertion of the IV. I had already witnessed her stuck about four times that day, and it was not a pretty sight. She started to scream just when a medical person approached her. So I got to come home, field phone calls, do stuff, feed the children, etc., before I ran back to the hospital for what would surely be a "way fun" time. Needless to say, I was a bit perturbed when I arrived two hours later and found Marce lounging on the hospital bed with Charlotte cuddled next to him, watching ESPN. No IV, nothing. In two hours, NOTHING HAD HAPPENED.
I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Medical stuff does not happen quickly unless gallons of blood are spurting out of a detached limb. But I did allow my hopes to rise only to be dashed. It wasn't the first time hopes would be dashed in the following days.
The nurses finally got the IV in Charlotte around 10 p.m., after four tries in different spots. Then we were able to settle in and sleep. She was exhausted from the whole ordeal and I was ready to get some sleep myself. And it was a decent night.
Tuesday was fine; Charlotte was a bit tired and listless but was managing. The listlessness part worked for me. I could rest a bit, read, etc. I got a couple of hours away when Marce relieved me for a bit later in the day. I spent another night there. It wasn't as fun. The IV pump beeped off and on for half the night and I didn't sleep so soundly.
On Wednesday morning I was really thinking we'd get to go. But the dr came by and said that while he was happy that the IV antibiotics had already helped her blood cell count to go down to 13,000 the day before, he was wanting to make sure her fever had been gone for a while before he sent us home. (Pop! Sounds of bursting bubbles.)
So I had to endure another day. Friends came by and helped out a bit, relieved me for a little while, talked, brought chocolate milkshakes... After my near-breakdown of not being able to handle the strain of the experience (by this point, Charlotte was feeling pretty good and was wanting to be mobile but couldn't be because of the IV in her foot. Not fun.) anymore, Marce volunteered to stay the night that night. So I got to sleep at home in my comfy bed. Thursday, I resumed my post in the hospital, expecting the dr to let us go anytime. I was not at all pleased when by 7 p.m. he still hadn't shown up. The nurse made phone calls to his beeper, cell phone, etc. which he didn't answer. Then the other pediatrician on call graciously let us go, before I caused any damage....
I got home and changed into workout clothes and enjoyed a 90-minute workout, during which I did my usual elliptical workout and then ran on the treadmill, increasing the speed up to 7.5 mph before I started feeling a real burn that could allow me to release all my pent-up frustrations. It felt great.
Charlotte is doing just fine. Still has a bit of a cold and some ear infection, but the big infection part is gone. She is her usual funny, get-into-stuff girl.
And I hope that we don't have to enter a hospital again for a very, very long time.
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