Share with Her... Baby Brother?

Ellie had a brand new funny today.  We were in the chiropractor's waiting room.  Dr. Whitfield has a lovely bottled water dispenser, which Ellie loves (and we do our best to keep her away from).  She had already drank two little cups when she decided to play with her third.  She held the bottom lip of the cup in her teeth and tilted her head back, getting her face and shirt all wet while looking like a baby bird with a stubby beak.  I told her that was that, no more water, she wasn't drinking it now, she was just playing in it.  Marty was politely sipping his cup.  Ellie tried to reach out and take his cup from him, but he shifted out of reach.  Ellie made an odd sort of thoughtful face, then said, "Share with her... baby brother?"!!!  Of course Marty instantly melted and gave her his cup.  This was a totally new sentence, totally new words!  She's never called him "baby brother" before, or asked to share!  Yay, Ellie!

Ellie Stats

My 10-year-old daughter is 4'8" and 121 lbs.

Results of Today's Parent -Teacher Conference

Results of today's Parent -Teacher Conference: my son is the most brilliant student his teacher has ever taught, he's the most popular kid in class, and he's obviously in love with Ashlyn (and it's mutual).

This Fallen World

It seems like cancer has been very invasive in my little world of late. Family, friends, mentors - so many people I love being affected by this horrid beast. Many of us think of cancer as an affliction of old age, striking in the sunset of life well after the ripeness of a person's prime. This, unfortunately, is a lie we tell ourselves for our own comfort. Cancer can strike at any stage, any age, and I think the most tragic victims are the children.

I've often questioned how a loving God can allow this vile illness to affect the most innocent among us. So far He hasn't answered.

There was a teen in my juvenile prison who developed leukemia after being with us for almost three years (due to his own continued negative behavior). He deserved it, and I hoped he would die from it. He was evil. Truly evil. I didn't believe in demonic possession until I met this teen, and if I'd been one hair more religious I'd have considered myself obligated to remove the threat from the world. If I told you the things he had done, you wouldn't sleep tonight. I'm serious. Horror movie torture type stuff here, folks. Things you wouldn't think one human could truly do to another human. Evil.

When he developed the leukemia, he was discharged to his mother. That's probably the only way he was going to get out. I think we all expected him to die. He didn't. He recovered. In fact, he recovered well enough to hurt someone else and go to prison.

I asked God why he would let this walking nightmare live, but would take from the world these sweet, good, loved and loving children. Why would he tear these precious darling from the arms of their devoted families, families also devoted to Him?

On Saturday He answered me: "Because this is a fallen world."

This fallen world is the Devil's playground, hunting ground, his kingdom. Demons belong here. That's why the evil teen recovered.

These innocent lambs, the children of the faithful, still young enough for perfect faith, are being rescued from the horrors of this world. God is preserving them. Every parent wants their child to be healthy, safe, and happy. God is answering prayers in His way, which might not be exactly what we were hoping for. His Perfect Will is not always in line with our Free Will.

Every day I pray for God's Perfect Will, the wisdom to recognize it, and the strength to accept it.

Governor Mommy

That's it. I'm running for Governor. Here's my platform: legalize marijuana, no more jail time for possession of substances, no more criminalizing cold pills, legal drinking age lowered to 18 (no more ruining college kids' futures for being college kids), revamp the sex & violent offender registry, raise the age of accountability from 7 to 12 (in Japan it's 13), legalize gay marriage (it's not the government's business), flat tax rate, & a few other things but Marty is done with his bath.

My Brain Before CP

Once upon a time, this was me. Always.

Marty & The Walking Dead

Marty is currently watching The Walking Dead Season 2 Marathon. Yes, I know he's not quite 7, but he's a reasonably well-adjusted child with more maturity than other kids his age. It's also a better option to let him watch it with me than have him sneak and watch it in his room, creep out and try to watch from behind me, or try and read the comics (WAY more graphic than the show). Geoff agreed that Marty can handle this one.

"Remember me for the good things."

Tonight Ellie found (and ran off with) a very small picture of Poppy, my grandfather, which he gave me the day I was born. Behind the picture is a $1 bill from 1974, and a second picture. The second photo is my father's senior picture from June 1967, which he gave to my mother who is three years younger.

We used to call Poppy "Pappa Turtle" when I was little. I'm not sure why that was his nickname. Now he's "Poppy" because the great-grandkids call their grandfathers "Pappaw".

Poppy has always called me "Fooley" because he swore I'd be born on April Fool's Day - Mom won that battle and managed to hold out until the next day. Mom had promised him that he'd be a grandfather before he was 40 or she was going to stop trying (she and Dad had been married five years when I was born). She pushed it down to the wire! Poppy's birthday is 26 days after mine.

Poppy wrote on the back of his picture:

"To Fooley, my first grand-child. April 2 1974 the good lord smiled on this family. 39 years 339 days earlier he laughed out loud at your world. Remember me for the good things. Pappa Turtle"

Poppy has been declining for the past two years, maybe more. It's hard to say when it began, or when it will end. I really thought he would pass a year ago. He was so weak he couldn't roll over by himself. He was at a point where his doctor discontinued medication. Grammy rallied him somehow. He recovered enough to need his medication again and is up walking around daily.

Part of me wishes he hadn't recovered. Poppy's body is here, frail and thin, so changed that it doesn't even seem to be HIS body, but MY grandfather has been gone for a long time. Alzheimer's. Dementia. They're scary words, but just some vague future threat - until someone you love is stricken.

When he first started to get confused, and knew he was, I made him promise. It was at least four years ago now. We were sitting at the table together. I took both of his hands in both of mine and we made very direct eye contact. I said, "Pappa, promise me, PROMISE me, that you will never forget me or my kids." He squeezed my hands as tight as he could in his, stiff and knobby with arthritis, and he said with his whole heart in his voice, "Fooley, I promise you. I could never forget you, honey, or my Marty and Ellie. I promise I will never forget you. Don't you even worry about that."

And he has never forgotten me or my kids. No one believes me, but I'm sure it's because of The Promise. I think that moment forged some powerful link in his brain, a bridge that will hold strong so that he can always cross it. He always knows me and my kids when we visit, even though the kids are growing and changing. He and Grammy have 20 great-grandkids, and sometimes a name or a face slips away from him - but not mine. He always knows me and mine.

I worry, but only a little, because last week he forgot my real name. He knew Fooley and kids had come for a visit, but he couldn't remember my real name until someone else said it. It's not really surprising because I'm 38 years old and I have never in my life heard him say, "Laura" - only "Fooley". He hasn't forgotten his Fooley - The Promise is intact.

It's very hard to visit Poppy because he isn't really Poppy anymore. Gone are his big, deep voice, the strength of his large hands that could somehow turn out the finest and most delicate creations, his barrel chest, his sense of adventure, his knowledge, his sharp mind, so much that made him Pappa. He was always larger than life, the center of attention, he seemed so much bigger than he really was - ten feet tall and bulletproof!

Nothing could beat Pappa. Nothing could challenge him. He always won, always conquered, he could do anything, anything at all. And did. He could make anything from wood or metal. Art, tools, furniture, you name it and he could, and did, make it. He lived such a wild and full life that I could start to write the Great American Novel about his experiences and end up with a trilogy.

And now he spends 95% of his time laying in a hospital bed. He thinks he's in the hospital and just does not recognize that he is in his own home, despite being told repeatedly. He forgets again within minutes of being told. He asks for the doctor or a nurse over and over throughout his waking moments. He sleeps most of the time. When awake he rambles, or decides he's going to leave the hospital and insists on help getting up, or maybe thinks he needs to go to work at the factory he retired from almost 20 years ago. He managed to get outside once and they had a very difficult time getting him back home.

There is no nurse, no respite care, no one but my 78 year old Grammy and her 72 year old sister who lives next door. Aunt Rosie still has her work, and other pursuits, but Grammy's life revolves around Poppy. I worry every day that caring for him might run her and Aunt Rosie into the ground. It scares me to death!

Poppy was not always a nice man. If he still had his wits about him he would still be an alcoholic. Now he doesn't even realize that he hasn't had a drink in over a year. He thinks he still drinks. He was a mean drunk.

"Remember me for the good things," he wrote to me on the day I was born. Prophetic now. Weak, helpless as he is, it's harder to remember the bad things, how that sharp wit and the strength of his body could mean trouble.

I remember how he took me up in his plane when I was a toddler. I remember climbing into his lap beside a campfire and both of us falling asleep. I remember him taking me fishing on a boat when I was four, and I caught a fish almost as big as I was. I remember him making horns out of the stem of a plant (I think it was a zucchini plant), smelting lead bullets and teaching me, taking me deer hunting in the snow, taking me to rendezvous and sleeping in the covered wagon (actually, he and I slept under it and the younger cousins slept in it), playing the banjo and guitar. He bought me my first guitar for my 13th birthday. He made my first tomahawk himself and taught me to use it - and I was pretty dang good at throwing that thing. I out-threw grown men when I was in single digits. He taught me to shoot, both modern firearms and black powder muzzle-loaders.

I remember so many "good things." I am so grateful that my children were born soon enough to know him. I wish they had had more time with the real him, though. I wish he could have enriched their lives the way he did mine, giving them the knowledge and wildly varied experiences he did me. That all goes with him, all that skill and knowledge, lost.

I wish he could have been ten feet tall and bulletproof for my kids. I wish they didn't have to see him this way, frail and failing. I don't want them to remember him like this. I want them to remember MY Pappa Turtle! Marty told me he couldn't remember Poppy's "big voice." I had to hide and cry.

Better that there had been an accident, or a sudden illness, than this laborious descent into dementia. If Poppy knew, actually had a moment of clarity and realized his situation, I have no doubt that he would kill himself. Before he lost himself, if he had known, he would have ended his own life rather than end up in this state.

Some might say that I should be grateful he is still here, that at least I can see him, touch him, hear his voice, and love him. I would be grateful if it were still him. His shrunken body is still here, but big, strong Poppy is gone. He is so frail that touching him causes him pain, and he bruises very easily. He speaks, but it is painful to hear him ramble nonsensically in his hoarse whisper - all that is left of his deep, booming voice. I will love him forever, here or across the threshold.

Seeing him hurts my heart so badly. I feel like I should see him as much as I can, cherish these last times and his ramblings. But, on the other side, it's not HIM, he won't even remember that I was there once I'm out of sight, and it hurts so very badly. I want to see him, but then again I don't want to see him because it hurts. It's a situation rife with guilt and sorrow.

"Remember me for the good things."

I will, Poppy. I promise.

"Bye, Obi!" "Hug?"

Tonight we did some Fall clothes shopping for Ellie and Marty. As we left the house, Obi was sitting in the window watching us. Ellie saw her and said, "Bye, Obi". ELLIE NOTICED THE CAT IN THE WINDOW AND SAID "BYE, OBI"!!! She even used the cat's name!!!

Tonight she also asked twice to use the bathroom! And did! She even picked out her own clothes at the store, voicing her opinion on colors and patterns! She tried to drive the scooter, too, which was as amusing as a bull in a China shop.

AND she asked Marty for a hug!!! Marty kissed her cheek while she was sitting on the scooter, and she looked at him and said, "Hug?" Which he gladly gave, I might add! SHE ASKED MARTY FOR A HUG!!!

AWESOME ELLIE!!!

Homesick

The first time I set foot in England was just over 18 years ago, and I left a part of myself behind. Sometimes my heart aches to go "home". When I look at pictures or videos, I yearn to go back.

I think I miss Edinburgh, Scotland the most. Edinburgh is pure beauty. No matter where you are, the castle is visible above you. There are pipers everywhere, most in traditional dress. I watched the sunset from Calton Hill, then laid on my back in the grass and looked at the stars.

Someday I'll go home. I've promised my kids that I will show them the places I've been, and then we'll see more together. Someday.

Nothing to No One

I have a brilliant nephew, Sean, who will be 5 years old next week, and a beautiful niece, Sophia, who is 2 and a half. I was so crazy-excited to be an aunt, to be something to someone. I'm an Only. I'll never have an extended family like my husband or my cousins. My kids will never have cousins from my side. I wasn't sure I'd ever be an aunt to anyone. I was overjoyed when Sean and Sophia were born, and I thought I became a real aunt! I don't feel like a REAL aunt, though - I'm an aunt by marriage.

Sophia is 2 and I've never held her. I've never hugged her. I've seen Sean four times in his 5 years. My niece and nephew don't know me from Adam. My kids don't know their cousins. My kids do recognize pictures of their aunt, uncle, and cousins, because I want them to know their family on the rare occasions that we see each other.

I thought I was closer to my own cousins than they apparently actually are to me. I really don't matter to them. I really am alone. I really am an Only.

You know what? I'd really like to be included sometime. I'd love to be asked if I'd like to bring my kids over to play with their kids, or to take the kids to the park, or to babysit, or come over and watch a movie, or just shoot the breeze! Anything so I didn't feel so alone and forgotten!

I know I shouldn't complain. I'm vital to my kids, usually somewhat important to my husband, irreplaceable to my parents, and precious to my grandparents. That should be enough, right? I should stop whining. Sorry.

Month of the Cat

Thus begins "Month of the Cat." A few years ago my beloved in-laws got Ellie an absolutely obnoxious singing orange cat. This thing plays 70s style music, sings several verses of "Spooky Little Cat Like Me," & its lips move with the music. Ellie adores the funky cat with its pimp hat, mask, & cape. She will play it over & over, daily, until the rest of us want to scream & hide it. She'll carry it around & sleep with it. She gets crazy-excited every year when she sees the Halloween totes & will actually dig through them until she finds the cat. I have to steal it while she's sleeping to put it away every year (believe me, we couldn't stand more than a month of this thing, it MUST be put away). Annoying as it is, it makes her happy & we love her enough to sacrifice our sanity for the duration of October. I hold out for one beacon of hope: someday it will break!

Ellie First!

Tonight was a rough night. Ellie was in trouble from the moment she came home. She stole my drink and poured half of it on my bed. She took the paper star her brother earned at school and tore it in half, making him cry. She swiped a whole loaf of bread and tore it up all over her room.

I made her sit down and apologize to Marty for taking and tearing his star (with much discussion on other people's feelings). Shortly afterward she came into the room I was in and literally attacked me. Screaming, pinching, smacking, threatening to bite - I've never seen anything like it! I finally pushed her off of me and walked away.

About an hour later, she came to me really hesitant, and said, "Love... me?" (Love ME!!! And it was a question! This is HUGE!!!) I held out my arms and said, "Of course I love you, I always love you, no matter what." She just folded into my arms and I loved her until she'd had enough.

She asked a question! She referred to herself as "me"! It was worth the battering I took just to hear those two tiny words.