Trampoline Incontinence

Yes, you read that right: TRAMP-O-LINE IN-CON-TIN-ENCE! It's just one of the many maladies that I suffer as I begin to age. My children like to jump on the neighbor's trampoline, but I need to be there to supervise them. And who can stand by a trampoline with giggling, squealing children flying through the air and not want to participate? So, on rare occasion, I hop on for some good old-fashioned airborne fun. But much to my chagrin, with every jump, there's a *leak*, *dribble*, *squirt*. I could have just emptied my bladder with every available muscle, and still some tags along for the ride.

It's sad enough that I can't jump on a trampoline without wearing a women's hygiene item, but now the problem has leaked into other areas of my life (ha ha, get it? Leaked!), such as:

Carrying the laundry up the stairs

Carrying the laundry down the stairs

Picking up a child

Sneezing and coughing

Grocery shopping

Watching TV

Thinking

Sitting at the computer, writing on my blog. . . .oops - gotta go!

An Open Letter

To the person who first uttered the phrase: "A woman's work is never done".

I hate you.

Why would I harbor such venom toward someone I've never met? Because your stupid saying reverberates through my mind every time I walk through my house and behold the chaos. It renders me hopeless that my work will indeed ever be done and is often verified by the fact that I have literally just finished laundering the entire family's wardrobe, and yet there are piles of dirty laundry growing like mold in every hidden corner. I can never see where it comes from, it just appears.

I hate you because you are right. And I wish you weren't. But the truth remains: for every day I spend scrubbing the house until it is spotless, there will be 3 more days worth of grocery list-writing, appointment-making, and cookie-baking. For every hour I use for a quick tidy of the bathroom, the rest of the house will have been used as a substitute and will require many more hours to disinfect and deodorize. For every moment I simply sit down and rest, alas, it is not only a moment's worth of dirt that accumulates. Somehow, there's a hidden force responsible for the constant dirtying of my environment that has nothing whatsoever to do with my children's actions, since they are never messy and they always pick up their things.

Dear sayer of the clever quotation above: I still hate you.

Annabelle and Payton

Be forewarned: You may find this post boring if you are not an animal lover.

I have written about my birth children a number of times before. But I haven't really written about my 2 adopted feline children. I got to thinking about them the other day. Our family had cats when I was growing up, but I don't think I was nearly as attached to them as I am to these kitties. I didn't have the kind of mother-love that I have for Payton and Annabelle.

This is Annabelle. She was our first cat. Before that, we had only owned 3 fish and an African dwarf frog, all of whom suffered an untimely demise. Annabelle was a gift for Faith's 5th birthday. Faith had a fear of cats and dogs, so we got her a cat - isn't that nice of us??? We figured if we got a kitten for her, she would not be afraid and grow to love the cat over time. I mean, who couldn't love a cuddly little thing like this:

It turned out that Faith couldn't! Well, at least not for the first week. Faith finally warmed up to her new kitty after several days of being carried around, hopping from one piece of furniture to another so the kitten wouldn't "get" her, and asking if we could take Annabelle back to the pet shop. Sounds pretty traumatic for a 5th birthday present, huh? Well, she finally grew to love Annabelle, after the phobia had worn off.

The first night Annabelle spent with us - as a teeny, tiny kitten - she went into Evan's room and he started screaming, "Get her out of here!" Imagine! Children being terrorized by a miniature creature. But we thought it best not to make him suffer through it, so we shut her out of the kids' rooms. So, Annabelle struggled up the side of our bed (she could barely make it) and planted herself firmly between mine and Al's pillows, and there she slept all night long.

Here's Annabelle now - she grew into quite a tank!

Eventually we felt that Annabelle needed a playmate. So Hope asked for a kitten for her birthday this past spring. We went to a few pet shops in search of a kitten, and all we found were 2 $600 Persians. That wasn't gonna happen! So, we went to Petco and they had some cats from the local animal shelter up for adoption. Well, to be exact, they had one cat left up for adoption - Payton. Hope ran to her and begged, "This is the one I want!" Payton was a 2-year-old, mangy stray. She had all her shots, etc. but still. . . she wasn't a cute, cuddly kitten. But Hope insisted, so we adopted Payton. As soon as we got her home, she ran under our bed and didn't come out for the rest of the day. Poor thing was probably terrified. My husband had to coax her out with cat treats.

The first night she was with us, she began exploring the house. I got up to use the bathroom and stopped to pet her in the hallway. She flopped over on her side and tried to grab my hands, but her muscles were so atrophied that she couldn't even play. And her hair was so coarse and would fall out in clumps. She could be sitting entirely still, and you would see tufts of hair wafting through the air.

Now she is a very full, soft, furry and playful cat. Very healthy and still very kitten-like, despite the fact that she's about 2 1/2. I think maybe she's a little "slow". But it doesn't matter, we love her the way she is. She's the one who will now climb in our beds in the early morning and nibble on our fingers and toes, if they're exposed. She loves to play and chase anything that moves. She has been known to pick up small toys in her mouth, toss them around, and chase after them!

You may wonder how Payton and Annabelle got along. Well, there was a bit of hissing and growling at first. But they've grown accustomed to each other and now play quite well together. They have even become cohorts in crime as you will see in this video. Annabelle figured out that her treats were kept in this cupboard, and then she figured out how to open it. Time to find a new hiding place!

And those are my two feline babies. Hope you liked meeting them!

Why Should Kids Have All The Fun?

It occurred to me while accompanying my squealing children on their Halloween quest for candy: Kids have all the fun! They get to dress up and beg for thousands of pounds of candy from complete strangers once a year. (What's up with that anyway? We're always telling them not to take candy from strangers, and then once a year, we buy them cute costumes, bring them to strangers' houses and encourage our children to take candy from them!) They also get to go to birthday parties and play silly games and gorge themselves on cake & ice cream. They get to pretend that an old, fat man in a red suit comes down their chimney and brings them scads of toys, while us parents get thrilling gifts like socks and toasters. Then at Easter, a big fat bunny (Here, I think Santa is actually moonlighting - I mean, who on this planet works only once a year???) brings them another installation of candy, enough to last them until the 4th of July. And of course, on the 4th, they have candy thrown at them (from more strangers, I might add) during the parade. They get their faces painted, play games and win prizes (more candy!) You get the picture.

So, here's my idea: I'm going to invent a new holiday. On this day, moms will go door to door, carrying large decorative wicker baskets. At each home that participates (which will be signified by the burning of scented candles on the porch), we will ring the doorbell and politely ask, "Please pamper me." Then the hostess will drop goodies into our basket. We will squeal with delight as we receive bubble bath, coffee shop gift cards, potpourri, and free passes day spas. And of course, being well-mannered women, our hostesses will invite us in and we'll indulge in chocolate, fine wine, and intelligent conversation. Yes, this will be a holiday that all women will savor. I haven't exactly worked out the fine details yet. I mean, I guess we'll have to figure out a rotation of who plays the hostess and who goes door to door. Maybe we'll take turns according to age or alphabetical order or something like that. (I would involve the men to do the pampering, but they really haven't got a clue, do they? No, no, no. We women have to stick together for things like this. And I, for one, would enjoy being the hostess as much as being the guest.)

And what will the men and children do while we have this special day of pampering? I don't really care! They can get together and eat leftover tuna casserole and play endless games of Chutes and Ladders for all I care.

I am not entirely cold-hearted. I guess we could invent a men's holiday too. They could show up at each other's houses with power tools, a 6-pack, and a working television, and it wouldn't really matter what happened after that. They would have the making for a great day.

Back to the issue at hand: All in favor of a women's pampering holiday, say "I".

Observing the World Around Me

As I was driving to pick up my children from school, it suddenly occurred to me that I don't pay enough attention to the world around me. I typically keep my eyes glued on the road while I'm driving - I really should look up and notice other important things like traffic lights, pedestrians, etc. But that kind of alertness only comes with about 11 cups of coffee.

What got me thinking was a chopper flying overhead. I don't know why, but we regularly have military choppers buzz our house, even though there isn't a military base anywhere nearby. I usually ignore them, but once in a while, I give in to the very realistic fear that World War III has actually started here in the strategic location of Lansing, Michigan. (Don't laugh - Lansing happens to be very important city. Just drive through it and you will see the Capitol building. Well, I guess that's about all there is, but I'm fairly certain we're due for a terrorist strike sometime soon because no one would ever suspect it would happen here. They've got the element of surprise on their side.)

Back to my story. I happened to notice this particular helicopter was traveling the same route as I was, due East on Michigan Avenue. Then it dawned on me that it was a medical helicopter, headed for Sparrow Hospital, which is the other big thing to see in Lansing. I believe it is bigger than the capitol building and I also believe it houses hundreds more competent employees than the capitol building. This is true, even of the valets at the Sparrow Professional Building, across the street, who are very Johnny-on-the-spot. Especially when you don't want to pay for Sparrow's parking garage, so you have the valets across the street park your car and you just take the skywalk over to the hospital. (Just kidding, I don't do that. . . .but, hey it's a good idea, right?)

I have always been curious about where the landing pad at Sparrow is, so I tried to slow down enough to see where the helicopter went down. Alas, traffic was too fast, and I didn't want to risk becoming the next Sparrow Hospital client, so I missed the final descent. It was kind of cool for about 30 seconds until it dawned on me that there was probably a very critical patient in that helicopter. Still cool because it may have saved someone's life.

Wow, so I spent a lot of time on that one thing that I noticed. I can't really remember the rest since I just used all my alert brain cells retrieving the previous information.

This just in: yes, Sparrow Hospital is indeed far bigger than the State Capitol building -exactly 10 times larger, in fact. Sparrow Hospital is 1.2 million square feet, whereas the Capitol building is 120,000 square feet. I just included those little factoids in case any of you locals want an opportunity to dazzle someone with that piece of trivia. And also, I didn't want you to think I was a total moron, because it's obvious to anyone who has seen both that Sparrow Hospital is indeed much larger than the Capitol building.

Oh, my. I think I have too much time on my hands.

Here it comes again

OK, so any of you who follow this blog because you're interested in knowing more about depression, you are welcome to watch me throughout the next few months. I've probably struggled with chemical depression my whole life (which would explain the manic-depressive mood swings I experienced as a teenager). That is fairly well under control with the help of 2 anti-depressants. Thank God for mind-altering drugs! (Oops, did I say that out loud???) BUT, to compound my symptoms, the stinkin' sun has to play hide & seek for about 6 months out of the year. And it affects me greatly, even while taking my happy pills.

One good thing about all of this is that I finally know what's happening to me. I used to think I was just a failure, a loser, or not trying hard enough. As a Christian, I thought I just wasn't praying enough. These are mild signs, by the way, in case you suspect that you or someone you know might be depressed. I would think it's not necessarily normal for people to think they're losers, but I called myself that on a daily basis, many times out loud, in front of my kids. (And I wonder why they have issues. . . .) I finally have learned that what is happening to me is not my fault. I don't like it, and I can't just muster up enough happiness to get out of it, but it does allow me to change the way I think about myself. Instead of thinking, "I'm a loser because I'm always so tired that I can't get anything done. I must really be a lazy, good-for-nothing. . . .", I now choose to think, "Here's this dumb-ass SAD again! Why can't it just leave me alone???" (FYI, SAD stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder). So, my tone in speaking to myself isn't much more positive, but now I can blame something else instead of myself!

But it also presents before me the task of doing everything I can possibly do to keep the blues at bay:

1. PRAY! Worship, rejoice, and give thanks because gratitude increases my joy

2. Take my meds (duh!)

3. Get enough sleep, which I can finally do, hallelujah! This is because of the wonderfully wise decision my husband initiated to send our kids out to school. They are tired enough at the end of the day to sleep all night AND I can catch up on lost sleep while they're at school, if need be.

4. Eat right and exercise. (Yeah, this makes me laugh, too, but I'm working on it.)

5. Take supplements: Optivite, a power-packed women's vitamin, Vitamin D, and Flax Seed or Fish Oil capsules.

So, there you have it. Too bad you didn't catch me at my worst, a few years back. Then you would have really had a case study in depression. I'm expecting to fare better these days, but I can definitely sense the change in my mood and energy now that the sunny days are fewer and farther between. But, to be honest, when I am in the deepest throes of depression, I probably wouldn't post anyway. So, if you notice that I go missing for a few weeks, feel free to give me a nudge.

I Guess Mommies ALWAYS Spoil Their Babies

My mom has been here for the past week, visiting from the wilds of Northern Michigan. And while she was here, she spoiled me rotten. (It could be that she was in such a good mood from staying in a house with central heating and indoor plumbing.)

We went shopping almost every day. Teensy weensy little problem: We ain't got no money! Never fear - super mommy was here! Actually, I did manage to squeeze a little bit out of our tighter-than-a-fat-guy-wearing-spandex-shorts budget to find some really good bargains at 2nd hand stores (like a winter coat for $1.25 for one daughter who seems to outgrow her clothing weekly). Other than that, my mommy treated me to breakfasts, lunches, and bras. Yup, you read that right - BRAS!

Mom knows money is pretty tight because my hubby is employed in the auto industry ('nuff said). So, I guess she felt the urge to spoil me. It's hard not to feel like a mooch, but I really am very grateful, especially for the new bras. I think she got the idea to treat me to some new undergarments when she was helping me fold laundry and came across my old bras, which had no remaining elasticity whatsoever, and strangely made me think of The Saggy Baggy Elephant every time I put them onh.

Mommy also spoiled my kids with treats and cold hard cash, the way all grandmas do.

I love being the spoiled kid once in a while.