His Goodness 2

Read Part 1 here.

We waited... And patiently waited. We didn't want to seem greedy, so I never asked Gramps directly about it, though we talked about it often. Several months later, while visiting Gigi, Hubby decided to go visit Gramps on his own, and find out about the bike. 

He came back some time later looking like he had been gut-punched, or was about to be sick. "What happened?" I asked...

Gramps had sold the bike to his nephew. "No.... He wouldn't do that. He promised it to us!" I felt completely used. I'd been willing to let my husband spend all winter in the garage... and now that was all lost to us. Would my cousin (once removed) sell it to us if he knew the story? If he knew Hubby had done all the fixing up? Gramps' story to Hubby was that his nephew "made an offer I couldn't refuse" so we didn't have much hope of getting it, if that was the case. I made a long-distance call from Gigi's to my uncle, to tell him what Grandpa had done, and ask him what he thought we could do.

He had known of the sale, but had no idea we hadn't signed off on it. He thought we'd been consulted. He called his cousin to see what the status might be of the bike's salability, and we got further bad news.  Our cousin claimed to never really want it (he already had a motorcycle or three that he liked), so sold it shortly after buying it. The bike was long gone.

The only information we had was that he'd sold it to "Some Guy" in the Town near us, where I do my shopping and errands.

 To soften the blow, my uncle (who often buys and sells myriad motorcycles) offered to sell us at a good price (still 4 times the Goldwing, but we had saved up...) an '89 Kawasaki Police Special. It had a BIG cushy seat, though they'd removed the police radio, sirens and flashing lights (darnit). He rode it several hundred miles to deliver it to us, and Hubby had his road bike, if not the one he'd put his heart into. 

It was a NICE bike too (so I hear). Sturdy side and rear boxes for hauling things, a smooth ride, and EVERYONE always drove super-carefully when he was in the vicinity.. :) It wasn't the Goldwing, but it was a better bike in all ways but sentimentality. Grandpa's Goldwing was relegated to the halls of memory.

But God has access to those halls too...

To be continued...

His Goodness 1

All my good stories start out with "once upon a time..." This one is no different, I suppose. :) Once upon a time, before I was born, my grandpa bought a brand-new motorcycle. It was the original Honda Goldwing, which set the bar (defined a new genre?) for all forthcoming "touring" motorcycles. It was 1975, and it came in two colors: cherry and teal. He got the teal one.

He and Gigi toured all over the place. Roadtrips to visit relatives, scenic trips to the mountains or coast, camping or bunking with others... One night the fog was so thick they couldn't see any of the freeway except for the white line along the shoulder. They inadvertently took a rural exit, and didn't realize that until they were very lost! 

Fast forward to 2005/6ish. Grandpa had divorced Gigi more than 15 years before, and was living five blocks away from her. His subsequent wife had passed away, and that same Goldwing that he gave my brother and I rides on was rotting away in his backyard. It was leaning (lying?) over and a large shrub or small tree had grown up through the front forks. It hadn't run in ages, but Hubby laid eyes on it one afternoon when we were visiting, and he and Gramps made a deal.

Hubby would come back with his pickup one day and carry the bike 2 hours to our place where he would work on it over the winter and try to get it running again. Gramps would pay for the parts and supplies, and would then take one more ride on it, to say goodbye. When he was ready, he would sell it back to us for the total price of all the parts. He would win; getting a beautiful old bike roadworthy again, getting to take one last ride if his replaced hip held out, and we would win; getting a chance at a lovely motorcycle (which Hubby wanted so dearly), an 'heirloom' of sorts, and at a great price.

Well, that winter Hubby worked on it. I kept Gramps supplied with letters and updates, and he'd send $100 checks so we could pay for the next needed part. Hubby changed out fork seals and cleaned out the old gas and replaced wires and tubes and parts and things I don't understand at all. He added the horns that Gramps had never installed, and left the 'fog lamp' - what was actually an old aircraft landing light - where Gramps had put it on the fairing.

Spring came, and the bike was running. Hubby 'test drove' it to work and back several times, and soon Gramps - and my uncle and some others - came to retrieve it. We watched with bated breath while Gramps got on and rode out the driveway alongside my uncle. "Well, now we wait!" we thought. My uncle intimated that he'd be surprised if Gramps could ride it at all, let alone all the way home, and that we should expect to hear from him soon. We'd saved up some money...

To be continued...

Sparky

Gigi, I may have mentioned, is Catholic.  She's her own brand, though, being pro-choice and (very) pro-birth control. Her early plan was to become a nun, which didn't work out, but sometimes I wonder if she'd have been this kind:

It's hard to see (and I had to take about 23 photos to get it this good), but this nun toy spits fire.  Sparks, actually.  It's a wind-up toy with those weird robotic-style feet that walk it along, and every few steps she stops and something inside made of steel grinds against something inside made of flint, and sparks fly out of her mouth.

Or did, before my kids wore her nearly out.  Now you're lucky to witness a feeble flash as she marches along.

My mom went to Catholic school back when this kind of nun served as teacher.  I'm sure you know someone with the same stories she told... :)

War of the Worlds

This is one of those stories I need to write down for posterity.  You might know of the War of the Worlds movie with Tom Cruise.  I recall an earlier version, watching it on my mom's (well, my grandparents', but they moved out of their house so my mom, brother, and I could live there) old 8-foot-long tv.  The TV was set in the middle, and cloth-and-wood covered speakers were built-in at either side.  The green animated laser beams were just slightly less frightening than my mom's tale of people jumping to their deaths in fear that this story was real.

Gi-gi remembers this time.  It was 1938, according to Wikipedia.  The story was broadcast on radio, and there were those that didn't realize it was just a story.  I asked Gi-gi how that could be, and she said that there was always a lot of static, things weren't near as clear as they are nowadays, and when you only caught the gist, well, I guess it sounded pretty real.

Gi-gi was 11.  She had an older sister married, two older brothers at home, 2 younger brothers, the baby sister, plus mom and dad.  They lived along the river where they farmed a little, and her dad might've been in the state legislature at this time, or had already served a term or two.  I don't know if the family was gathered around the radio for the evening's entertainment, or if suddenly their ears were tuned to the broadcast, but  at whatever point, Grandma Great came to believe that martians were truly invading the earth.

This is where my modern sense starts to balk (seriously, you didn't know it was just a story??), but there is something to be learned here.

My great grandma Betty, who was 41, did not jump out a window.  Not that they had a window tall enough to jump to your death, but still.  She quietly gathered her six children and walked them out to the riverbank to await The End.  She was a Scotch Presbyterian and had great faith.  If this was it, then she was ready; she encouraged her children to be brave, and to meet the Lord with gladness.

I pause here with tears in my eyes.  My comfortable existence has a hard time imagining this.  Would I be as calm, as prepared, as willing to gather my children and gracefully meet our expected demise?  At the hands of invading aliens, no less?!?

I'm not sure how long they waited, or if it was daylight or nighttime, but at some point my great-grandfather said, "Betty, get back in this house! and bring the kids!" or something to that effect.  :)  I don't know if Grandma Great woke up the next day ashamed of her actions, or with a greater gratitude for her family and life, but the memory has stuck with her children at least.

What do you think YOU would do, at such a time?

Generations Cycle

I was looking over my long-neglected blog accessories (yes, do ignore all those pantry, to-do, and other lists.  I can't keep up with the real-life pantry or to-do list, let alone the virtual versions of same.), and saw that I had promised to write some of Gi-gi's history.  Since all my other blogposts are as-of-yet unfinished (yes, there are a couple), why not start a new one?  Heh.

Thinking through it, however, I think there are earlier stories that bear telling, and remembering.  This blog is also my second brain, see, like an external hard drive.  And Gi-gi's mother deserves some kilobytes.

Grandma Great is what we called her, but for purposes of this story (and any others), I'll refer to her as Betty.

Betty was born in Scotland in December of 1896.  Their family had a dairy farm, which, to this day is still held by relatives.  I am not certain if the farm was an uncle's, or how many people lived and worked there, but there were more people than opportunities.  There were also more daughters than sons (hm, wonder where I've seen that before?), and some of the daughters were "outdoor girls" and some "indoor."  That is, certain sisters had certain jobs, whether household or farmyard.  One of the "outdoor girls" was sick during haying season, and one of the "indoor girls" had to take her place.  Betty was one of the younger children at this time.  A local fellow helping with the chores in the neighborhood caught sight of this "indoor girl" and determined he would marry her (maybe that's why they kept her indoors?).  This man was among those short on opportunities and decided to go to America where he could make something of himself.  His girl's family was fairly well-to-do and he had nothing.  So to America he went.  In fact, he came not far from where I live now.  He built himself a livestock business, and wrote glowing reports to his girl and her family; the wonderful land, the weather, the opportunities.  Streets paved in gold, you know?  He wooed not only Betty's sister, but her parents as well, and before long they set out to follow their daughter's beau.  They came by ship, of course, and were NOT steerage passengers.  This was in 1903, I think, and Betty was six.

Mr. Opportunity met them at the dock in New York.  He had a minister ready and waiting at a hotel, and before the sun set that day, Betty had a brother-in-law.  **I do wish I could know the thoughts of the parents, indeed the bride, at such circumstances.  They must have been tired after such a voyage, and certainly could've enjoyed some time to take in their new world, and say goodbye to their daughter.**  The trip west was almost immediately thereafter, and Betty and her family followed her sister and husband to their new home.

I don't know the details of their overland journey, or of their 'arrival.'  They acquired some land - proclaimed by their now-son-in-law as flowing with milk and honey - and began their new life... hacking it out of the sagebrush and lava rock in dry, dusty, miserable conditions.  All's fair in love and war, they say...  But yikes.

I have a biography of Mr. Opportunity, published in the '80s.  He's in our state history books, to be sure, though our branch of the family tree doesn't remember him with the same accolades.  His business thrived, and he was truly a self-made man.  I don't know if he meant to deceive his future in-laws, or if the opportunities he saw truly upped his opinion, but I think they were surprised, to say the least.  Betty's parents made the best of things, however.  In fact, the freeway exit sign for the barren area that held (holds?) their homestead bears the same name as the Scottish dairy did, albeit spelled differently.  Betty's grandparents (my great-great-greats) also came to make their home in the area, and several generations are buried in Gi-gi's city. 

Six years after their arrival, when Betty was 12, her mother was bitten by an infected tick, developed spotted-fever, and died.

At this point, Betty was sent back to Scotland to live with a brother and attend 'finishing' school.

(To be continued...)

Better?

The mastitis is lessening. In large part due to my mother-in-law's help yesterday. I had called my husband and suggested (in a very mild way, really) that he must figure a way to help me. I didn't think he'd want to cut his trip short, and so he called his mom. I couldn't - couldn't! - bring myself to do that of my own accord, though I knew I needed the help. What is wrong with me, anyway? I can call my own mom, suggest that Dad speed up his airplane-buying a bit so he can fly her out for a weekend to help me bake a cake, but can't make any declarative statement to Hubby's mom about real needs. *sigh* I always feel like I don't want to 'mess up' others' lives or plans, OR make them feel guilty by requesting something they can't provide. Except my folks. :) In any case, she came about 1:00, fed the kids lunch, played with them a lot, washed dishes a lot, made BLTs for dinner (yum!), and probably didn't leave until 8:30 or so. What a blessing. The resting really did help a lot. So I had enough energy to nurse Baby while standing sentinel over The Crib until 10:00 p.m. And really, I can't stand nursing. I can sit nursing, I can even lie nursing, but standing? Yikes.

Gi-gi was released from the hospital yesterday, and got home around 3:30. She called me later to let me know, and I'm shocked at how old and tired she sounds. She's still dealing with her arm, obviously, and will need physical therapy to be able to bend and unbend her arm and fingers, I think. Two weeks ago she was doing laundry here, cleaning out messes, badgering me about recycling and dishing out grapes and cottage cheese to the kids. She's also dealing with some frustrating... gastrointestinal issues, which make recovery even tougher. And get this: She doesn't have the Medicare prescription stuff because she Doesn't Need Prescription Medication. Usually. They prescribed her 2 oral antibiotics to be taking. One is about $80-$100 to fill, and the other is seventeen hundred dollars. NO, I'm NOT kidding. Costco quoted her $1500, but their pharmacy was closing shortly until after the holiday. I don't know about you, but I've never even heard of drugs costing that much. Unless you were on 50 different ones for HIV or something. Or buying them in a syringe on a street corner. I hope they're necessary and do the job.

Hubby will be home this evening, and I'm so glad. Apparently I'm too lazy to take out the garbage, and his return will be none too soon. :)

Big Sister is 8 today! The celebration will wait, though, until I can prepare properly. And she brought me a tray this morning with a handful of cheerios, a sliced/diced apple, 3 plums, a piece of toast with peach jam and a bouquet of dead flowers (Little Artist has been 'picking' from the bouquet I got when Baby was born). Topped with a layer of bright pink tissue paper. :) Her disappointment with the delayed party has eased, thankfully, and she gets to look forward to her Green Tomato Cake and pinata for a longer time now.

Wondering how the garden and critters are doing? Me too...

Gi-gi Health Update, Etc.

Gi-gi is improving. We're so thankful.

Monday she was doing well enough that the doctor surmised that she might well go home Tuesday. Tuesday he checked her, and found a patch on her arm where the skin was peeling, almost like a burn. He added another antibiotic to the regimen and said he'd hold on to her for a day or two more. Since being off the pain medication, she's making sense and telling stories about the hallucinations she had on Vicodin. Hallucinations? I'm not sure if I wish I'd known that when she was here or not. Poor thing; we just left her alone to "recover" - a.k.a. "hallucinate" in the quiet of her room. Yikes!

Hubby is leaving this afternoon; nearly a day earlier than we'd planned. My uncle and he have planned a motorcycle-focused trip, and somehow, in my pregnancy fog, I decided it would be nice for him to be able to go away for 4 days. And leave me home. With a newborn. And other kids. During the fair. Until Big Sister's Birthday. *choke* What was I thinking? Apparently I wasn't, and he's unwilling to change those plans now. :) No elephant ears this year, and I *desperately hope* he gets back Sunday in time to celebrate with our oldest. I also *desperately hope* to be able to homeschool, clean, bake a cake, shop, care for Baby and stuff a pinata by myself by then. Oh, and peaches are ready to pick at the orchard tomorrow. And Hubby needs new pants. Today. Before he leaves.

Which means I better get to town...

MRSA It Ain't!

Thursday afternoon I came to a realization, more or less. I was losing some ground in my efforts to 'get back on my feet.' Whether it was the real, physical efforts both in the household and with Gi-gi, or the emotional stress of those (probably a combination), I decided to speak further with a friend who had suggested we work towards getting Gi-gi home. I was a little worried; I didn't want Gi-gi to feel like we were throwing her out, or anything like that. I had already offered a time or two to take her home if she would be more comfortable there, and to arrange people to help take her for her last IV treatments at her local hospital. She'd always refused, probably more concerned about the hassle to us.

When I told her that some friends of hers were working out the details of coming to get her, she was really grateful. And I was so glad she wasn't offended. Not that much offended her on hydrocodone; even the homeschooling comments and talk-radio bashing ceased completely!

Friday afternoon was the planned pickup, so we still had a morning appointment to keep at the hospital. The friends had been in touch with the doctor, and we were trying to get her care transferred. The doctor had already gotten back the test results, and MRSA it wasn't! It tested positive as "Group A Strep." Most of us baby-bearers are familiar with the late-term testing for "Group B Strep" before we deliver our babies, and I'm not sure if they're related, but for the record I tested negative for Group B Strep.

I helped Gi-gi get dressed and got everyone loaded up. In the dim light of her room it didn't look like the infection had gotten any further up her arm. In the bright light of the Outpatient IV room, it proved to have spread some, but not nearly-double as in previous nights. Because of the proof of diagnosis, the doctor changed the antibiotic order to something different, and told her she needed to be hospitalized, because the treatment necessary was IV penicillin (or similar) several times per day. She still didn't like that idea.

While she had her treatment, I hurried to the midwife to pick up more of my pregnancy tea. And the IV Lady told her she needed hospitalization. Probably at the doctor's behest. She warned that this infection could easily result in the loss of a limb, or if it got into her blood, could do serious damage to her heart. She told me of this over the phone as I was driving back to get Gi-gi, and said she thought she'd convinced her.

Between the friends, my uncle, and others, they arranged to take Gi-gi straight to the hospital in her city. It wasn't as smooth as I would have liked it to be, and in fact it has bothered me very much, but they had to admit through the ER, waiting several hours to see the doctor there. Gi-gi's ob/gyn who is her friend's daughter had "gotten the ball rolling" for her admission, or so I had thought, but perhaps I misunderstood. I sure wish I'd had her admitted at our local hospital, then transferred, or seen if the local doctor could've sent the orders to Gi-gi's hospital. *sigh* Apparently, though, it wasn't near as hard on the old lady on vicodin as it was on the dear friends who sat and waited with her.

I have't heard today how things are going. The ER doctor apparently suggested that she'd be "home by tomorrow" (which would be today), and while that seems a little scary to me, I do hope they're watching carefully and taking good care of her. I'm sure far better care than we managed here. :[

I was so surprised at how I felt after they had picked her up and everyone had gone. I suddenly was just so exhausted. I guess I'd been in "survival mode," just getting through each hour, each day up to that point. I washed dishes and started laundry and tried to get to know my house again. :)

Today I'm still tired - Organique kept climbing out of her crib until about 11 pm (she'd had a late nap), and disciplining her so much and so late was a challenge! I'd had to do the same with naptime, and eventually gave up and nursed Baby in the room with her, warning her to stay in, and laying Baby down and dealing with her each time she climbed out anyway. I figure we must win these small (big?) battles now, or else...! Baby let me sleep 1 1/2 hours at a time again, and Big Sister got sick in the night and threw up - OVER the rail of her bunk and right onto the carpet! That chore still awaits my attention. Hubby was going to bring up the shop vac, but got called out to a couple service calls. I'm washing everything Gi-gi used or slept on in hot water today, and will have ot use the hot dryer as well. At least today isn't into the 90's.

Thank you for your prayers for Gi-gi. I hope to hear and report good news and recovery soon!

Worse.

Well, the doc said to call and come in again today if Gi-gi wasn't "significantly improved." In fact, this morning she was "significantly worse." She's swollen from her knuckles to her bicep now, and based on the lack of response from the injected and oral antibiotics, I'm guessing MRSA is a reasonable diagnosis.

I called the doctor at 8:30, tied Gi-gi's shoes, buttoned her shirt (I didn't let her even change from her pajama pants - the doc said "come now!"), got the remaining children out of bed (didn't brush their hair), fed them a piece of cheese each, and got everyone in the van. So glad I have a van. *sigh*

The doctor was delayed, after some guy had a seizure in the waiting area (take note: if you ever want immediate attention at the doctor's office, try that), but he wasn't happy with what he saw, so told her to go stay at the hospital for a few days. She wouldn't, so they compromised with outpatient therapy. IV antibiotics once a day for 5 days. We went straight there, and I decided that carrying a newborn, pushing a stroller with a 2-year-old, and keeping the others out of traffic is a big job. Pushing a wheelchair in addition is TOO much. I'm thankful for the "transport" guys at the hospital.

Once we got Gi-gi settled, we slowly made our way back to the van and found them some breakfast (lunch). We went to my mother-in-law's house to eat and use the bathroom. The outpatient services called 20 minutes earlier than they had expected to, and we rushed out to get Gram. We stopped at the Kawasaki dealership to pick up an oil filter (priorities, right?) on the way home for Hubby.

Since Baby slept in 2-hour stints last night, I'm about as sensible as Gi-gi doped up on Vicodin, though my speech is a little clearer. Gi-gi is resting, and I might do the same if I can get Organique to settle down. What a week for her to learn how to escape her crib...

Nerves Times Two

Gi-gi was awake all night, dealing with increasing pain in her arm. She was still sure that the best thing for her would be to return home, but she finally came to realize that it was unlikely she could drive in her condition. After the girls helped her pack and load her stuff in her car. The swelling was farther up her arm, almost to her elbow. I called a local doc at 9, and they said to bring her in at ten. We did so, me doing her paperwork for treatment, then sitting in the van with the kids and nursing the baby, back and forth.

Two buttock injections of antibiotics, and prescriptions for another antibiotic and some hydrocodone later, they suspect MRSA. They're culturing for it, but it will take 48 hours, or maybe until Saturday to find out for sure.

She took one painkiller an hour ago, but it hasn't cut the pain very well yet.

UPDATE:

The pain has subsided, and she's able to sleep. Her hand and arm are quite swollen, but not hurting so badly.

When she was up before dinner, her speech was slower and somewhat slurred, like my mom's used to be (my mother had MS). That sound always scares me a bit. I don't know if it was from her tiredness, the painkiller, or what. She's sleeping again now, after finally eating a little.

I'm struggling with all this. I'm anxious for her, for my kids (and their quieting enough to let her recover)... And I feel like I'm losing ground in my whole "childbirth recovery" efforts. At least Gi-gi's forgotten how terrible it is that the kids aren't fenced in the backyard, and 'what a mess' everything is.

Well, I must gather the 'unfenced' children in. It's evening, and local mosquitoes have tested positive for West Nile, of course...

Nerves

It's continued to be interesting around here. Gi-gi remains, and so far I've done very well not to turn off the mellow university DJ playing classical music all day, OR (and I should get even more credit for this) her "they always give both sides" NPR. Not only do I not usually turn it off, I don't turn on Rush Limbaugh extra loudly like other members of this family. And it is not my fault if Gi-gi hollers to said member that she'd "rather eat dirt!" than listen to him. But at least Hubby was inspired to OFFER to take our eldest for a trip to the store after hearing her ask Gi-gi why she doesn't like the man on the radio. Well, his offer was after Gi-gi replied, "Because he's a liar and a bigot!" I think that's the "both sides" available on NPR...

I don't know if the Radio Station Battle has anything to do with it, but Gi-gi is actually not doing so well. She nicked her forearm the other day - her top layer of skin tears easily and this happens frequently - she washed it with soap and water and put a band-aid on it, but it didn't get better. It got infected, and there is a patch at least 4 inches in length of red, swollen skin around the area. We've treated it with antibiotic ointment, and at the recommendation of my midwife, a poultice of plantain, but she's still not doing well. She's felt crummy, run-down, and has even had diarrhea, all since yesterday afternoon when it really came upon her. This is VERY unusual for Gi-gi. She had the Korean flu in 1950-something, and another bout of sickness in 2004ish, but she just doesn't do this. She's opposed to taking antibiotics or seeing doctors unless absolutely necessary, but in my mind we're pushing that line here. Lord knows if she falls unconscious, and I call an ambulance and she's hospitalized, that she'll never forgive me. She'll haunt me all my days, she's promised. :)

Also, my midwife recommended a hearing screening test for Baby. This is usually done at the hospital, but... So I called the little state hotline, who gave me a number for another outfit, who put me in touch with the speech/hearing pathologist. I couldn't remember whether I was dealing with the Health Department or the Department of Health and Welfare. As a backwoodsy, red-state, homeschooling-freak-of-nature that I am, you can be sure the latter would make me a bit nervous. I decided that it must've been the health department, because this wasn't about food stamps or medicaid or anything like that. In any case, the lady called me back yesterday and made an appointment for the test here at my home today at 2. My breath caught a little in my throat when I saw her nametag sporting the "State Department of Health and Welfare." I decided to be charming and engaging, and to say as little as possible about anything at all.

Which is when Gi-gi walked through and made reference to the sleeping toddler upstairs. Then, blind to both her nametag and my angst at having one of Them within My Home, went on to comment about how busy that 2-year-old is, and how she (Gi-gi) recommends we put her in a playpen with a net over it. Yes, she said this to that lady! And that I refused her recommendation because someone would 'turn me in and I'd be arrested' if I did that. And, it would be wrong! And hurtful! And wrong! I wanted to point out. *sigh* I'm sure the lady was red-flagging our file.

She did the screening test on Baby, who passed. Big Sister was close by, and wanted to hear the "echo" she had described when explaining how the test worked. The lady obliged, and did the test for Big Sister... Who, were she newborn or 2 years old, as most of their 'clients' are, would be referred to an audiologist. *sigh* She tells me (this is only a screening, by the way, not an official test) Big Sister isn't hearing all the tones in her left ear. I was hoping to visit a chiropractor soon, to straighten me out after having this baby, but after the doctor visit, the lab test, and the newborn doc visit, I was going to have to put that off. Now an Ear, Nose, Throat doc? We won't discuss how long it's been since the dentist referred us to an orthodontist...

She asked if we had insurance, and I said no. She said she didn't know what the pricetag was for such a visit, as most of their referrals are on Medicaid anyway. Of course; if someone else is paying, why care what it costs??? Argh.

THEN she asked Big Sister's age, and if she'd had this screening yet in school.

*gulp*

"I'm homeschooled," she declared. "All my schoolbooks are in there," she gestured toward the dining room.

I think she upgraded our file from red-flag to... I'm not sure what. A flashing beacon?

And why hasn't HSLDA sent me my new membership cards??

"Oh..." the lady said. "Yeah, they usually test for that much earlier..."

Little Artist made an appearance shortly thereafter and the lady asked her age as well. I was not liking this, though not because of anything suspicious on the lady's part. It's all me and my "don't tread on me" paradigm. I liked being under the radar, darnit! And here, in the space of a few minutes, The State now knows a). who we are, b). where we are c). that we homeschool (without benefit of hearing screenings!) and d). that we don't have babies where they do hearing screenings (i.e. the hospital) e). that we have four daughters, and their ages, and f). that my grandma advocates unapproved (disapproved!) "child restraint systems!" Ack!

Am I not supposed to still "be resting?" I don't rest well when there is an under-the-weather liberal hanging around who may or may not be up to leaving at the appointed time, and I CERTAINLY don't rest well when an Agent of The State is under my roof finding out my business.

We're off to find Gi-gi some Immodium and Colloidal Silver.

And the next newborn hearing screening is taking place on the porch.

Recovery

I can't believe it's been 9 days already!

Nine interesting days, for sure.

Her first night, Baby slept for 5 hours straight! I was very grateful, and not under the impression that it was something I should get used to.

The next night, she did 30-45 minute increments. I think we did sleep from 4-6 though. Ugh. My midwife came later that morning to check on us, and everything seemed great. My tear was healing better than she expected, Baby was doing well, and while my temperature was a bit high (100 degrees) she figured that was from milk production.

She left, and I lied down to rest. Shortly I decided I didn't feel all that well, and checked my temp at 101.7. I called her, and she instructed me to sleep, if possible, and to check my temp again in an hour (or when I awoke) and report back. In an hour it was 102.4. She had walked me through some checks: pain in the abdomen? No. Signs of mastitis? Nope. No signs of infection anywhere that we could pinpoint. She said she would call someone and would call me back. She did so, saying she'd made an appointment for me with a doctor some 40 minutes away that she knew. And to hurry, because the appointment was in 40 minutes. My temp was 103.4 at this point, I had to find something to wear, and where in the world was the infant carseat??? We got there, late, and my midwife met us there. The doctor saw us quickly, and I was so grateful to have my midwife there to answer questions.

"Are you on any medications?" Well, no, not exactly medications. Herbs, yes. As tea, as tincture, in capsule, in a bath, yes. Vitamins, yes. I don't like pharmaceuticals.

"Have you had any tylenol, or anything?" No. I don't like pharmaceuticals.

"You should just take some tylenol..." We'll see.

My temp had dropped a bit after drinking cool water much of the way there, but it was rising again, so after confirming that I had no signs of infection, they did a pee-test (no infection) and ordered a blood test to check for elevated white cells or viral things and whatnot. The lab called the doctor who called me - before we were even halfway home! Everything was clear. Which was great, but didn't tell us what was going on. Oh, and he recommended I take tylenol. My midwife recommended I do nothing but rest and nurse Baby - even have Hubby or someone care for her otherwise.

My temperature stayed in the neighborhood of 103/103.5 all night (it seems so silly to pop tylenol for a fever just after having a baby at home without painkiller, doesn't it?), and finally started to go down early morning. 101.5 is so much nicer than 103.5. It continued to drop that day (Tuesday) and I was very grateful for that!

My mom and her kids left Wednesday morning, and Gi-gi arrived shortly thereafter for "second shift." She is still here, and will leave this Wednesday morning. My in-laws came on Saturday and took Big Sister and Little Artist for most of the day. They loved it! Of course, what's not to love about eating out, seeing a movie in a theater, and playing at Grandma's? They haven't gotten to do that before. My mother-in-law enjoyed herself too, from all reports, and wishes she didn't work full time so she could do that more. I hope I get to be a "stay at home grandma" when the time comes.

Organique has been a handful. Especially with Gi-gi's involvement. Hubby is back to work today, but he took all last week off (he's been saving vacation for a year!), and while I was reluctant at first (I figured with my mom here, then Gi-gi, he could better use it later, when everyone had gone!), I am SO grateful he did that. He really took a more active role with Organique than usual; keeping her with him as he worked in the garage or fixed the porch or whatever he was doing. He put her for naps, readied her for bed, and even *gasp!* hosed her off in the tub when she had an "accident." (He does NOT generally do such a job.) In addition, he would refill my water, make my tea, bring me food, and kept his phone on himself at all times for when he might be needed. I'm a little scared about how we'll manage now!

I'm hoping to *really* be back on my feet soon. I feel like I've been turned inside-out and could really use a chiropractor! My midwife comes again tomorrow to see how we are, and then we're on our own after Gi-gi leaves! God is good, though, and He's enabled other mothers to manage thier homes and families, so I'm trusting in Him. I think...

For The Laundry's Sake...

...we are killed all the day long (Rom. 8:36, loosely translated). Ok, not killed. Merely persecuted.

Gi-gi arrived today, the first time in about a year. I couldn't hold her back any longer. :)

Many, many loads of laundry have been washed and hung out, even folded and put away (I did help a lot with this, just not the packing laundry in and out).

But it comes with a price.

Gi-gi: "Haven't you cut their hair yet? [to the girls:] I thought you were going to cut your hair."
Me: "I gave them a 3-day 'cooling-off' period and they decided against it."
Gi-gi: "Well, next time you come to visit I'll just take them and..."
"It would be so much easier to take care of..."
"It would help your Mama so much..."
"It would be so much cooler."
"They look like little waifs."
"Wait till they're 15 when they can french braid their own hair, then they can grow it out if they want."

Have I blogged yet about the permanent scars left on my psyche by unwanted trips to the hairdresser's as a young child? How I couldn't have braids or pony tails or cute barrettes like the other girls? No? I thought not. Those wounds are still deep.

I'm not going to force my kids to cut their hair. It's a complex I have.

Gi-gi: "How often do homeschoolers have to be assessed by the state?"
Me: "Thankfully, never."
Gi-gi: "What??!?"
Me: "Not all states are the same, but fortunately we enjoy a lot of freedom here."
Gi-gi: "Well, I don't know that I'd call it fortunate! There's a lot of parents completely unqualified to teach their children.."
Me: "Read the stats, Gram. Parents with high-school educations or less are still turning out homeschooled children who far exceed anything the public school system is doing."
Gi-gi: "A lot of people homeschool just because it's easier than getting up and walking their kids to the bus stop."
Me: nearly speechless.

Yes, she really said that.

Gi-gi, totally shifting her position: "Some people I know tried it out and decided there's no way they could hack it."
Me: "Really? Who?"
Gi-gi, scrambling a bit: "Uh... a mother I was talking to at a mother's group [I'm sure she frequents these gatherings], she tried it and decided 'no way!'"
Me: "Well, everyone has their own reasons for doing it or not."

Some people "can't hack" parenthood either, and for them there is public school and after-school activities and clubs and ipods and in-the-kids-room internet and video gaming and summer camp and daycare and family vacations where the kids have separate everything. So I somehow shouldn't expect to parent, either, because others can't hack it?

Gi-gi: "I was talking to [someone or other] and telling them that I have a granddaughter who homeschools and gets pregnant every other year and..."
Me: "I don't get pregnant every other year." [the first gaps are 2 yrs, 8 months, and 3 yrs, 4 months. This last one, notsomuch.]
Gi-gi: "I figure you're 31, and probably have 15 fertile years left, and by then you'll have 10 kids!"
Me, unable to resist: "You counted wrong, Gram. In 15 years at your rate, I could have at least SEVEN more, and that would make ELEVEN total."
Gi-gi: [diatribe on how many women in her parish had Down's babies after age 40].


*sigh*

So here I am, venting about the complications of my life these days on my "aspiring to simplicity" blog. Shame on me.

I have 6 days left until this baby is due. The laundry was in dire need, as are other areas. Gi-gi came to help, and help she certainly does. But at what price? And I don't mean the anecdotes above. I mean, I want to be an example of how this CAN be done. That I'm not some poor, overworked housewife who can't handle the tasks at her hand, and yet that's the very image I'm sure I portray. And the very image Gi-gi will portray to her friends and compatriots when she leaves on Tuesday. And I hate that I bear witness to that prevalent perception. That is costly.

I know it's not a sin to need. To need help, or to accept it. Once upon a time families and communities came together for people who "couldn't do it" for a while. And not with an attitude of pity or complaint, but to love and serve and hold each other up, joyfully (or so I imagine it). But now is not a time like that, and they'd be the first to point out that I shouldn't try to live that way when it's not like that anymore. But I want her (and those she talks to!) to know how truly blessed I am. That yes, this week I am overwhelmed. Organique was fevered for a couple days (and made more laundry with her throwing-up). One is still wetting the bed with some regularity, and without proper precautions (an absorbent, waterproof pad) might require an entire bed to be stripped and washed (and might not tell me about this until 10 pm the next night). I'm so slow, so ill-inclined to bend over any more to retrieve whatever has found it's way to the floor. Overwhelmed? For sure. Tired and sore, even. But does it matter that I am happy? That I see eternity when I look into three (almost four!) pairs of eyes in the morning (I see eternity when I look into the laundry area too, but of a different sort...). Some people never have this. And others decide one pair, or two, is enough for them. And they will never know what might have been waiting in the wings. Or maybe not. Maybe they felt Divine Certainty that They Were Done. Me, I haven't felt that yet.

And I'm tired of being the shining example of why people *should* feel that, and long before #4 is impending.

I want to be the shining example of glorious, thankful, blessed motherhood. I don't need a perfectly clean house, but comfortably clean would be nice. To be able to answer something positive, when someone asks me how I'm doing (and I'm 9 months pregnant and it's 100 degrees).

Maybe God has a higher purpose (I mean, other than teaching me patience and dealing with pride)? Maybe He wants everyone to see me at *this* point, so later, when He's gotten me all put together (please, God?), I will be that shining testimony?

Blessings Overflow

For years, Gi-gi has been talking about getting her piano to us so we could begin Big Sister in some type of musical education. It's been mostly talk, and the details of her brother's horse trailer or someone's U-haul never quite make it off the drawing board.

Truth be told, the piano is/was promised to my brother, but until he moves to the correct side of the Continental Divide, he's outta luck. In fact, the piano doesn't go far. Gi-gi bought it from an across-the-street neighbor back in 1950- or 60-something. It was a wreck, then, and she spent a summer refinishing it. It's the piano my mom and siblings learned on, the one my brother and I played, and after my mom died in 2000, it was moved a half-block away to Gi-gi's duplex, where it has been since.

Some months ago some cousins were desperate for more room in their small house, and offered us their Old Beast of a piano - missing several notes (and retaining some I *wish* it would lose), and we took it. Apparently no one wants a 6,000 lb antique piano - not charities, no one. We said sure, bring it on. Gi-gi was dragging her feet anyway.

Denting in some corners (of the house) and chipping paint off of other areas, we (by "we", I mean "they") wrangled it into the living room where it and we have enjoyed it's stay.

Then early last week, Gi-gi called and left a message, saying she'd been calling around and pricing piano movers, and she was sorry for the late notice but they were bringing the piano on Thursday (and we could send back her organ). Wednesday evening found Hubby and I (and 3 little sets of helping hands) trying to move the existing one out of it's spot. We discovered it had a broken caster after it tore through the metal strip along our carpet edging, and gouged a few chunks out of the vinyl. That thing is heavy.

The piano movers arrived, bringing Gi-gi's piano, and they got it into position without a hitch. I asked them if the piano store refurbished old pianos, blah blah blah, and they backed away with their hands extended, repeating, "no, no, no..." Hm. They were very smug in their knowlege that they and they alone posessed the handy piano dolly which leaves no gouges in vinyl.

So now we have a piano in the living room, and another one nearby in the dining room - as well as a gigantic picnic table Gi-gi has also wanted us to have (I think it's younger than the piano). "Hey, with that big truck, toss this in too, wouldya?" I suggested that the picnic table would be great in the dining room as well, but Hubby nixed the idea. *He* doesn't have to constantly push chairs back into the vicinity of their table all day long...

So now the mystery of what to do with the "extra" piano. The givers of it suggested that if Gi-gi ever came through, or we decided we didn't want it, to toss it out on the lawn and have a bonfire. I could never do that, of course! That thing can't be "tossed" at all. ;) It is perfectly positioned to go out the sliding glass door, but from there I'm a bit worried. It might crush the small porch outside, but even if it didn't, the "stairs" from there to the grass are not-quite-carefully placed, somewhat-flat-ish, cemented-in boulders. I'm sure they'd tolerate the weight, but they don't seem very conducive to piano moving. And then there would be the problem of a great expanse of lawn between there and anywhere else...

Crib Quandry

I have decided we're in a unique situation.

Yeah, I know that's not much of a surprise, but hear me out...

We're a couple months away from expecting our fourth child. FOURTH. That is still so wild to me. In any case, we find ourselves wondering what to do with this baby after a few months, in regards to it's sleeping situation.

With our first baby, Gi-gi contacted her millionaire-niece who was enjoying an old crib in her "collection." I'm not sure if it was 'on display' or not, but let's just say she was sad to see it go (Gi-gi had loaned it to the niece's daughter for her babies). The crib is actually great; it's an old hospital-nursery crib that the hospital got rid of in 1950 when Gi-gi and gramps had their first baby. I don't know how old it was at that point, but it's tall, both sides drop down, it's got great wheels, was made of steel and had a nice thick coat of white lead paint, which Gi-gi's children and grandchildren (my brother and I) practiced our teething on. Of course, being a hospital nursery crib, it's not your regular full-size by any means. But it's perfect for when they're still little. And it (barely) fits through doorways.

Much to my relative's chagrin, Gi-gi and I had it sandblasted and repainted yellow (non-lead-based, I presume). Goodbye antique value! At about 4 months of age, Big Sister moved into this crib, and at about a year or so, needed a "real" crib. Gi-gi came to the rescue again, bringing us an old wooden contraption with a fanciful animal painted on one end. Also "antique" and not likely up-to-crib-code. It was also somewhat rickety, so Hubby screwed a piece of 1x2 in the center of the rear panel, from the top rail to the bottom (again, "goodbye" value...). It had a dropping side, but the mechanism was partly ruined, so that was hit-and-miss.

We used this pair of cribs for Little Artist as well, but was offered a fairly new (had housed 2 children thus far) crib when expecting Organique. We took it, figuring it had to be in better shape than the old rickety heirloom.

Of course, I looked at all the stickers and labels I could find and googled for information on it. It had a recall issued due to a badly-engineered drop-side mechanism, but I could contact Graco, I think, for some hardware to fix the problem. So I did. Of course, this "fix" resulted in a side that was safe, but also NOT drop-able. Further research revealed some other issues (nothing terrible, just things to watch for), and the discovery that the actual manufacturer had gone completely out of business. And by completely, I mean that their email was returned and calls to their 1-800 # were met with phone-company recordings that the number was no longer in service.

So, when putting the thing together, finally, I had to bust out the baling wire and duct tape (just kidding. No duct tape, and the wire was actually electric-fencing wire), but got the thing to hold together. Yeah, I'm a safety freak. One end was missing the casters, so a book and a chunk of wood leveled it. More or less.

And this is what Organique slept in for the past year or less, until last weekend when she slept in a homemade toddler bed at Gi-gi's. It was a transition, but when Gi-gi offered to let us take it, we did, loving how our new van has stowaway seats and others that tumble forward and such. It fit; barely. Of course, Hubby nearly tore it apart removing it from the van and maneuvering it upstairs, but we were happy to be rid of the death-trap crib and replace it with the bed. Of course, getting Organique to sleep at nap- or bedtime is a ritual in law enforcement, since she can escape quite easily from this bed.

Last weekend I also learned something else... The rickety wooden crib was not originally in our family, but the family of the crazy next-door-neighbors Gi-gi had from the time she and Gramps bought their house in 1949 or so. I should say, the parents were crazy, and harassed my brother and I in the same way they'd harassed my mother many years before. The daughter of this couple is *not* crazy, apparently, and she or her son had actually asked Gi-gi about this crib (perhaps Gi-gi had it from way back?) a few years ago, when we were using it. At this point I feel quite obligated to get it back to that family (with apologies for the 1x2 screwed into it?). About as obligated as I feel not to reassemble the Total Recall crib for this upcoming baby. Of course, I still have some time before Baby #4 will be in need of such a crib, but it's on my mind.

So really: How many families expecting their fourth child within a reasonable time frame, who haven't moved cross-country or had their house burn down or anything else otherwise notable, find themselves in want of a decent, regular crib? That seems odd to me.

Too, I feel a little handicapped. First-time mothers searching for such are often overwhelmed with offers from friends and family who will 'pitch-in' to buy such a thing, or spend Saturdays garage-saling with their mother or mother-in-law. Me? Notsomuch. Garage-saling with the girls would be less than thrilling for their mother, and just the thought of so many stops for what would likely be a wild-goose-chase makes my pelvis ache.

I think they've finally got a craigslist going in our area, though, so I might try that, or perhaps make calls to area thrift stores. Any other ideas?

In the meantime, though, I look at the carcass of the last crib, and all those vertical rails just make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside... Why, I could trellis beans on that! Homemade baby-gate? Oooo, maybe hang fabric or quilts on that part! How about hem-in the turkeys? Wow, we could suspend that from the ceiling and add a few S-hooks to make a hanging pot rack!

You Can Take The Girl Outta Redneck Paradise...

But after that, you're on your own...

We spent a few days this past weekend at Gi-gi's. Gi-gi lives in her duplex, in what is now the expensive, old-school end of town. When *I* was growing up a half-block away, it was full of families and kids, lots of old people who'd raised their families there, and the like. Now it's gay couples and yuppies and others with *lots* of time to keep their landscaping and architectural-additions historically accurate. The hills behind her house are peppered with condos and apartments-with-views.

She has this neighbor, a corporate-lawyer type, who had a baby girl a couple weeks before I had Little Artist. Said girl is now also 5. She got rid of the husband a few years ago, and apparently hasn't said, "no" to her daughter since then.

Their backyard consists of:
2-3 large dogs penned into a small kennel area
3-4 cats running loose
2 chickens loose
2 pygmy goats, tethered to a pivot
2 rabbits, escaped*

Escaped apparently means, "we built them a ramp up to their hutch and propped the door open."

These 2 rabbits have spent all spring in and out of Gi-gi's small yard, eating and destroying every bit of garden produce they could manage. Peas, beans, her priest's cabbages, eggplant, tomato, rosebushes, cucumber, etc. She tried catching one once, and it tore the skin from the back of her right hand. Of course, she went and knocked on the lawyer's door bleeding like a stuck pig. You'd think a lawyer would be familiar with "liability" and would try to deal with these "escaped" neighborhood menaces.

Instead, she and her daughter went on vacation a couple weeks ago, leaving someone to come once each evening to feed their menagerie. Until Gi-gi met her one evening, the woman wasn't even aware there *were* rabbits there.

After months of these tales, I offered to bring the pellet pistol and deal with the issue, as I was coming to town anyway.

Gi-gi declined, with some nonsense about the rabbits' emotional reunion after she'd kept one of them penned in the backyard of the empty rental next door (the other next door).

Pshaw. She's come a long way from the farm, in many ways. *sigh*

I didn't bring the pistol, but I kept making comments about how I wouldn't expect anyone to tolerate a "pet" being such a nuisance. I have higher tolerance when it's someone's "livelihood," but even with that there's a line. Hubby and I completely understand that if our dog were to get into someone else's "livelihood" (whether their livestock, or even, yes, their garden), they'd be justified to shoot her if we didn't deal with the problem (and make restitution) immediately.

Well, my chicken-capturing experts went to work and did catch the larger of the two rabbits. Which I promptly took by the scruff of the neck, stuck in a bucket, covered with a milk crate (sound familiar?) and marched into the vacationing-neighbors backyard to replace the cretin in it's hutch. Which is much nicer than Hubby would have been. :) This is where I discovered the means of their "escape." We unclipped the door from it's permanent open-position, and locked it in.

The other rabbit wasn't so easy. It was smaller, and more skittish, perhaps. The girls chased it all over the yard(s), the alleyway, and everywhere after a heavy rainstorm, drenching themselves in the process. They finally gave up. As I was readying for bed that night, I looked out the window into the narrow passage between the wall and the obnoxious neighbor's fence, and saw the rabbit still at large. I hollered at it, and told Gi-gi to give me her bb gun, though I didn't expect her to do it.

She did, though, and as I waddled myself through the house and out the garage, I pumped up the ancient air-powered weapon. I stepped out of the garage door, barefoot, pregnant, and in my pajamas. I stepped gingerly in the water puddles, carefully peering around one corner, then another, in my hunt for the destructive rodent. It had disappeared, though, and I was left hoping that no one in the lofty apartments above had a telephoto lens trained on me. I'm sure if they did, that my image is on some blog somewhere garnering much laughter for the 'fancy' neighborhood that still occasionally sports some "breeder" wielding (what would likely look to them like) a rifle as she hunts some varmint for dinner.

The next morning as I was loading up the van for our return home, the creature reappeared near the short garden fence Gi-gi put up, and the bb gun was handy. It's not very powerful though, and while I aimed and hit with accuracy, the rabbit didn't do much more than jump and scurry in a circle before pausing and receiving a second sting. After that, it hid across the alley in another backyard, and I haven't yet heard from Gi-gi if it's shown it's face near her garden again.

The question remains whether *I* will be showing *my* face in that neighborhood anytime soon...

Riddle Solved

Kudos to our fine sleuths, Rachel, Annie, and Benny!  You are all terribly good guessers (and/or I'm  terribly poor at subtlety)!

Yes, we are expecting our fourth baby.  *gasp* That's almost hard to type!  We're thrilled, of course, and it has been fun 'revealing' it to the family (I'll explain in a moment).

Did you find all the clues?  First, of course, there has been the sporadic and poor posting these last couple months.  Many times I sat down and typed out a long rant of one kind or another, and it just tangled itself within itself and went nowhere, really, and I never published it.

Oh, you want specific clues?  Let's see if I can remember them...

I mentioned *most* (4 of 5) of Granny's grandkids were expecting here.  That surprised me, as my 2 distant-er (geographically) cousins never completely struck me as the 'make a family' type.  The graduate-degreed, majored-in-liberalism, live sometimes in communist countries, yes, but not so much the motherly/fatherly types. :)

I mentioned "looming expenses" a time or two  as well as lowering my gardening expectations for the year (which Sariah caught on to).

Then of course there was the 'different vehicle' reference, and then the post on the different vehicle.

And the childbirth articles, of course.

So, this little tidbit of news has been slow in it's reveal, not just to all you dear ones.  In fact, *I* knew about it around the first of December or so, but determined that it might be construed as obnoxious to announce it to the family while my brother and his wife awaited their first baby's arrival.  So I decided to hold off until sometime in January after their little girl was born.  Within a couple weeks I learned that my young sister-in-law was expecting her first baby.  Considering that her original due date was one day after mine, I thought it probably wouldn't work to keep mine a secret long enough for her baby to arrive.  So, through the holidays I enjoyed (immensely) everyone's joy over her exciting news, happy to keep my own news hidden for the time.

Eventually, of course, my brother's baby was born in mid-January, and I think I told him right away (he was pondering how close Mackenzie might be in age to any cousins).  However, that was a week-and-a-half before a scheduled weekend at Gi-gi's.  Now, I have kind of determined to avoid negativity regarding this blessing, and while I'm sure she *means well*, Gi-gi's first words when I told her I was expecting Organique were, "Oooooh honey.  Well, I hope you have the good sense to get your tubes tied after this.  And congratulations."  Of course, my kids are probably close to the top of her 'favorite people' list, but of course, until birth, they mustn't be 'actual persons' or something.  In any case, I didn't want to inform her before having to see her right away, so I kept it secret a while longer.  I did call my folks  just prior to that, and then went to Gi-gi's.  When I returned home, I had a couple small items to ship back to her, so I included a letter informing her, and assuring her that we were thrilled, though gun-shy to tell her about it because of the concerns she has about affordability, and the state of this world, etc. etc. etc.  And included "I think you know all my rebuttals to these things, but if not, just ask. :) "  Then I ended up leaving town suddenly (and conveniently, don't you think?), and later got a voicemail assuring me that she "wouldn't chew me out, except maybe for having another summertime baby."  I told her later that I must have a subconscious effort to be a lazy gardener (I have 2 kids born in September, one in May).  My husband told his parents around that time, and it was tough keeping the news (which everyone in my folks' neighborhood had heard by then) from our kids, whom we wanted to tell together, but hadn't had the chance.  FINALLY, sometime in February, we told our kids.  The rest of the world has just heard via the grapevine, I think. :)  But now it's your turn.  Now you know.

And s/he's due August 8th.

Granny Trip Details

I don't think I've ever been gone from home and/or Hubby so long, nor missed my bed so badly. :)

The travel was a challenge, for sure.  On the way over, I hit a stretch of curvy, canyon road that was suffering from blowing snow, in a very bad way.  There were periods in which I could not even see the tall orange markers they attach to the roadside reflectors for the snowplows.  It scared me to death.  Like driving in that white realm in The Matrix.  Only there were unseen vehicles before and behind me (mostly 18-wheelers).  *shudder*  Shortly thereafter was the first mountain range to cross, which seemed a breeze after what had already transpired.  All trucks were required to use chains, and that kept the snow (that was not blowing) chewed-up and treadable.  And I could see.  My folks had mercy on me around that time, and set out in our direction in their Audi.  We met before I had to cross the second, larger, mountains, and I gratefully moved myself and 3 carseats into their car and let my mom chauffer us, whilst my dad took charge of Mary Jane (our Camry).  By that point I was aching and tired and drained and completely worn out.  When we flew by an overturned pickup in the dark, I was glad all over again to be a passenger for the last 4 hours (mostly -- when my fingernails weren't being bitten or sunk into the dash).

When I wasn't researching home-care details, or visiting Granny, I was chasing kids, of course.  It is always busy at my folks' home - my stepbrother and his two kids still live there, they run a business from their home and various people who work for the business are always dropping by for this or that, friends stop in, my cousin works in their office some mornings (and socializes there other times), and there is always a table full for dinner (at least, when we're there).  WOW, I miss that... Sometimes.  We cooked for upwards of 12 at times.  I made a great lasagna for my stepbrother's birthday dinner, and after my brother arrived, we got in touch with another cousin (from my real mom's/Gi-gi's side of the family - just happens to live in the same small area - let's call him Cousin E) and enjoyed hanging out with him as well.  Considering the 'general opinion' Gi-gi holds of my dad, I've totally enjoyed seeing this Cousin E meet and get to know my dad these past couple visits.  Certainly without that exposure, he'd have nothing more to go on than Gi-gi's claims (well, and my brother's and my rebuttals).  They get along fantastically, and Cousin E even brought over an arsenal to target-shoot with when my dad talked about shooting his black-powder pistol the next afternoon.  They, and my brother, enjoyed that. :)

The older girls spent one day - last Sunday - sick and in their PJs all day.  Now all of us have a cold, which seems to get worse if we don't sleep well, etc.  It's not terrible, just annoying.

Our trip home was a bit easier...  I broke it into two days, took a different (farther) route, and stayed a night with a dear friend whom I haven't seen in nearly 8 years (at her wedding, where I was 6 months pregnant with Big Sister).  She has a little boy 10 days older than Organique, and she and her husband were fantastic hosts to this travel-weary mama.  They even moved their little guy into their room and let us use their crib!  I really wish we might've stayed longer, but hopefully we can meet up again before another 8 years is up.

We took a 2-hour pit stop at Gi-gi's, ate dinner, bathed the girls and put them in pajamas, and washed a load of laundry.  Gi-gi had thought we were staying overnight, but there was no dissuading me from getting back to my home and hearth once I was so close!  We got in about 9:30 Friday night, and even with the many evidences of a man-alone-at-home-for-2-weeks, home looked pretty good. :)  

Insecurity

We are getting ready to head out tomorrow to see Gi-gi, wear plaid, tap our feet to some mean bag-pipin', and eat some haggis.  I know you're jealous of that.  Mmmm...

Since it's been 2 years or more since I actually paid another pair of hands (than mine) to trim my hair, I thought I'd try to get that done while in the City.  I emailed a friend (who, while she grew up my neighbor, has spent the past several years in Romania as a missionary, until a couple months ago) for any references or recommendations, of which she had none.  I hung up the idea, but mistakenly mentioned my abandoned plans to Gi-gi.

"Hey, I tell you what.  I just fired my old hairdresser; she kept cutting my hair to show too much of my ears [Gi-gi hates this.  As old-lady fashions evolve, she refuses.].  So I took a picture I had done when I was a school nurse 30 years ago and went up [a few blocks away] and they did a great job.  I could set you up an appointment."

Now, not only do I NOT have Gi-gi's straight, thin hair, I also do not have or want her hairstyle.  I wasn't entirely convinced, but she persisted.

"You haven't had your hair cut in HOW long?  ANYTHING has to be better than you trying to trim it yourself, I'm sure he'll do fine."

He?  I'm not terribly used to "he" hairdressers (not that I'm used to any hairdressers, obviously), but was intrigued.  I proceeded, out of curiosity, to inquire about, um, the degree of limp-wristedness 'he' perchance suffers from.

Gi-gi refused to answer of course, giving instead a liberal rant about homophobia and how gay** people are nicer and better and more committed than the rest of us anyway, blah blah blah.

Which TOTALLY missed the boat.  I'm not insecure around people of differing sexuality:  I'm insecure around MEN who have nicer eyebrows, cleaner fingernails, and smother skin than I!  Call me weak.  I am.  I did agree to let her try and book an appointment for me, however (see, at least I'm willing to face my insecurities).

She called back later to say "Amber" would take me.  I suppose trying to book an appointment for your "intolerant, judgmental, Bible-thumping, homophobic granddaughter" is rather difficult.

I hope Amber doesn't give me a buzz cut in retribution.

**It should be noted that I have no information by which to judge "his" tendencies.  It's possible he's a big, burly, straight construction worker who has taken a second job in this economy to support his wife and seven children.

Housekeeping Exposure

Yesterday, when my little challenger 'switched the laundry' for me, it got me to thinking... Actually, it's something I've been thinking on for a while, so thought I'd try to put some of those thoughts here.

My girls are 4 and 7. Their room is a disaster. Our house is a disaster; it's been a challenging season. But they know how to change the garbage bags in the bathrooms. They obviously know how to switch the laundry, and even fold their own clothes (sometimes quite creatively) and can put them away properly. They know where to put sheets, towels, blankets, and dishes. My eldest can fry an egg and make toast, Little Artist likes to stir oatmeal, or dinner. They would like to scrub toilets, but I'm not quite ready to go there yet.

I'm not saying any of this to brag; God knows there is SO much we're behind on, in training and otherwise.

But I think back to my own childhood...

I had finished first grade when I was Big Sister's age. Until then, and even beyond, I never even saw the bathroom cleaned. My aunt (who died this past summer) lived with us at the time, and I believe she was the bathroom-cleaner - I recall a handwritten note affixed to the bathroom wall in her handwriting encouraging my mom's boyfriend to "aim to please." In any case, I never witnessed the toilet be cleaned, or the bathtub scrubbed, or the mirror polished. I certainly was never taught how to do these things. My dirty laundry disappeared from my room and reappeared, clean and folded, in my drawers. I was encouraged to wash dishes occasionally, but never with much consistency. I made my bed when the mood struck; usually Thanksgiving, Easter, my birthday... Presumably all the housekeeping was done while I was out of the way - at school. My mother didn't do a lot of it (she was handicapped), and Gi-gi took care of the laundry, I think. Gi-gi is multi-capable, amazingly productive, and has managed to pass that ability on to absolutely no one.

[I was involved with grocery shopping, however. Mom wasn't much of a cook, so convenience foods (canned, boxed foods) were staples - and we were on food stamps! We ate very fancily! In fact, by the time I was 10/11 or so, my mom would drive to the grocery store, hand me a check that had her signature (a signature-stamp, eventually), and I would do the shopping, checking out and wheeling the cart (perhaps we had bag-boys to help with that) back to the car, where she waited.]

At least my girls are gaining early exposure, understanding the processes that I didn't even notice were going on. That has to count for something, right? They won't have the shock to their system that I had, when I was nearly 13 and moved to live with my dad and step-mother. She knew how to teach. I learned to clean a toilet, the tub, sink, mirror. To shake out rugs, change garbages (burn garbage, even!). My daily chore was to vacuum the living room, dust it frequently, nightly wash dishes (or clear table, counters, and put away leftovers), help prepare dinner, and do my own laundry -- and God help me if I didn't do my laundry on my specified day! I either waited a week, or surreptitiously tossed a load in when my folks were gone... Once or twice she loaded up my brother and I (and we with our laundry) to the laundromat, where we could spend our own money to launder our clothes, when we didn't stick to our prescribed day.

It's true that learning this stuff is "better late than never," but far better than that is to learn it early. I thank God that I did suffer (and oh, there were times I suffered) through a change in expectations and habits, and I praise Him that my girls will be better equipped. I pray that I become more of a teacher-alongside than an accomplishing-lone-ranger. The difference means so much.