Fuddy Duddy

I guess I'm becoming an old fuddy-duddy. Last night, my mom, my kids and I went to Silver Bells in the City, Lansing's annual Christmas tree lighting celebration. It was a great deal of fun with an electric light parade that lasted an hour, the main event - the tree lighting - and a spectacular fireworks display over the dome of the capitol building. There were also horse-drawn wagon rides, hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts on every corner, and musical performances in many downtown buildings.

And Cody Simpson.

For the past few years, Lansing has hosted up-and-coming pipsqueaks to perform on the capitol steps. Last year, it was Josh Golden. I looked him up on google, and he's pretty cute, but he's only 16. He looks way more grown up than a 16-year-old should. I haven't heard any more about him since then, but my girls were pretty psyched to be right next to the capitol steps so they could see him from the side. He came out and started singing, dancing and lunging toward the crowd, at which point I saw his boxers.

 Girls behind me were yelling, "I love you Josh!", and "I want to marry you, Josh".

After many years of yelling practice, I was able to shout above everyone, "Pull your pants up, Josh!"

Back to Cody Simpson. I looked him up online to see who he was - at least I'd heard of him before. He is a little kid, people. He probably still plays with legos and wears underoos. Doesn't he look like the kid next door who comes over to ask if your 7-year-old can come out and play?



And, you can disagree with me if you want to, but in this picture, he looks like a little kid who is dressing up in his Dad's Ray-Bans for a theme day at school.



Cody Simpson is indeed a good singer, but even the songs he sings are inappropriately "old" for a 14-year-old. I was just shocked at this little kid, traveling the globe, having girls scream at him for his awesome voice and his pre-pubescent body (which by the way was wearing purple jeggings that still hung loose on him). I thought about him from the perspective of his mother - how would I feel if that were my kid??? Proud, I'm sure, but a little weirded out, too, at the way little girls were acting about my little boy.

Yeah, this has fuddy-duddy written all over it.

'Tis the Season to Be Coughing *hack, hack*

Early in October, I got a flu shot.

Early in November, I got a cold. It's been too long since I've had influenza to remember how much worse it is, but I'm sure it's much worse, so I'm glad I got the flu shot. But I still feel crummy. Even though my fever is "not as high" as with the flu, and my cough is "more mild" than with the flu, I still feel rotten. I'm sure with the flu, I would feel as if I've been run over by a truck, whereas, with this cold, I feel like I've been run over by a lightweight mini-van. Whatever the differentiation is, I still don't feel as if I can carry on my daily duties, although This Website says that you can. OK, so maybe I *can* carry on my daily activities, as long as I carry around my wad of kleenex, my bag of cough drops, and my spittoon for the occasional junk that I hack up. Here, I would like to thank the makers of Mucinex for the vivid imagery of the globs of junk that are having a party in my lungs right now. On a positive note, Mucinex does seem to do the trick of "breaking up thick mucus in the lungs and trachea".

To learn more about Mucinex, please visit their website: Mucinex.com.

Sorry, I got carried away and felt as if I were doing a commercial for Mucinex. . . .So, the stuff works, maybe a little too well, and it also tastes like garbage - even the pills that you swallow leave the nasty residue on your tongue so that you gag and cack for the next 20 minutes, which does wonders for the coughing reflex.

It's most disturbing that this cold has led me to have to take a few days off of work, which would normally be a nice break, but it's too busy at work for me to get away peacefully. So instead of resting peacefully, I feel like a fugitive, escaping the demands of the work day only until I am well enough to return, at which point I will probably still not feel 100%, but I will have 3 times the work piled up and waiting for me.

Lord willing, this will be the only major virus that overtakes our family for a long time and we will have a peaceful holiday season. With any luck, I won't be writing a post entitled "Tis the season to be puking, *barf-barf-barf-barf baaarf, barf-barf, barf, barf".

What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

We had this conversation at the dinner table tonight. My in-laws were here and Nana asked each of the kids: What do you want to be when you grow up? Evan's response: a doctor. Joy couldn't decide between a doctor, an artist or an author. Hope indicated that she would like to be a meteorologist or an architect. Faith said (and I quote), "I don't know how much money they make, but I kind of want to be a teacher." Now, those all sound like the idealistic answers most kids would give, right? (Although, one of our kids initially answered "terrorist", so we're still investigating that one. . . .)

When I was little, I wanted to be lots of different things when I grew up. I had a Barbie styling head which prompted my desire to be "beautician" (even the word sounds archaic, doesn't it? Don't even try to guess what year it was when I wanted to be a beautician.) I also wanted to be a teacher. I think at one point, I wanted to be a secretary, so maybe I am really do what I've always wanted to do! Ha!

When I was in high school, I wanted to be a marine biologist. But given the fact that I have a deathly phobia of dark, deep water, I probably would have been pretty limited in my research.

Also, in high school, we went on a field trip to a nearby community college. I don't remember anything about the trip except picking up some pamphlets about mental illness. I thought, "Huh, that might be interesting." So I declared psychology as my major in college. I took a small detour into elementary education, but then I veered back into psychology. That was about as much conviction as I had for choosing my career at age 18.

Here is my point: How many 18-year-olds know exactly what they want to do for the rest of their lives???

What I wish is that I had known what I had wanted to do with my life before I went to college. Eighteen years of age, at least for most people, is not old enough to make decisions that will define the rest of your life. I wanted to be a psychologist? Ha! I'm 41 and I haven't even figured myself out yet, let alone everyone else! I wanted to be a teacher or do day care? Hmm, that worked until I worked in day care for 9 years, and then birthed my own preschool and cared for them for 10 more years. Nineteen years of little kids pretty much burned me out. I'm currently employed as the secretary at my kids' school, a job for which I am well-suited, given my organizational skills and my matronly figure, but I don't know whether I still agree with my 8-year-old self, that is truly what I want to do when I grow up. (Shhh, don't tell my employer.)

I wonder if I'm having a mid-life crisis? I mean, I guess I have done some of the things on my "career" wish list: I've done day care, I've been a secretary, and I cut my own hair this past Saturday - does that qualify as a beautician stint? Maybe I'm thinking it's time to set some new goals and get down to what I really want to do.

Now, I'm thinking about my kids and the constant barrage of "You have to go to college". Don't misunderstand me: I am quite keen on all of my offspring going to college. However, I feel it's kind of irresponsible to push them into making lifelong decisions when they may not be ready to do so at age 18. Do we push every kid to get married at 25, or buy a house at age 28? "Well, son, it doesn't really matter that you don't know who to marry. If you don't do it now, you'll never have another chance." No, we want our kids to grow up with the wisdom to make good, solid decisions based on good timing and not to rush into anything just because they have to make a decision. However, most college-bound people end up going to college right after high school. Why don't we give them more time to get out in the world and discover what they really want to do? There is so much to be said for life experience, and yet our society places little value on it when forcing kids to make a decision that will affect their entire life.

Once again, I'm rambling. I'm also getting a little miffed that I didn't get a better first chance at education, and I hope that my kids will be better equipped to make the decision when the time comes.

And I hope I still have time to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

Expect the Unexpected

Life is full of "unexpecteds". I'm sure I've just stated the obvious for anyone out there who is a living, breathing human being.

My husband's stroke 9 months ago was definitely unexpected. There have been many unexpected situations since then; none quite as devastating as the stroke, and many have been pleasant and helpful unexpecteds.

Last Friday at about 7 AM, my neighbor knocked on the door and walked in with a rather large box full of goodies from Panera. She went out and returned with 2 garbage bags full of breads and bagels. Two other neighbors had gone to Panera the night before and asked for leftovers. Now, Panera leftovers have come to our neighborhood before, but they've all been split up between several families. This was the first time I was the sole recipient of the Panera loot. My freezer is stocked with bread and goodies for months to come.

That was a nice unexpected.

Today I went to the hospital to visit a friend who is on bed rest until her baby is born. She is 27 weeks and 5 days pregnant, and her water broke last week. Upon determining there was no infection, the doctors decided she should not have the baby yet, but stay in the hospital on complete bed rest until the little guy or girl makes his or her appearance. Kind of a scary situation, so if you could pray for my friend, I'm sure she would be ever so grateful. But she's in the best place possible for a complicated pregnancy, so I'm sure she's in great hands.

Here's the unexpected part. I've sort of been dragging my feet about getting over to see her. As soon as I stepped into the hospital and was greeted by the all-too-familiar smells and sounds, I started to feel sick, kind of sad. I went to the reception desk, where I had to check in every. single. time. that I went to visit my husband. There was no frequent visitor pass. The same ladies were working at the reception desk. I was almost surprised that they didn't say, "HI! How ARE you? Haven't seen you in a while!" I stepped on the elevator and was joined by a woman in a wheelchair pushed by her young daughter, or niece, maybe. They were heading to 6th floor. I told her my husband lived on 6th floor for 6 weeks, and I was his wheelchair driver. Small talk, I guess. She probably didn't care. I got off at 3rd floor. That's the Labor and Delivery and Mother-Baby Center floor - the "fun" floor. It's always fun to go and visit someone on 3rd floor because it means they've welcomed a precious new baby into the world. And even though my friend hasn't delivered her baby yet, my mood was lightened by the thought of tiny newborns, swaddled in pink and blue hospital-issue blankets, with pacifiers stuffed in their mouths.

When I got to her room, we talked for a few minutes. Then I started crying and told her I had been hesitant to visit her because of the memories of Al being in the hospital.

The unexpected here was the fact that I was so emotional about being in the hospital again. I kept telling myself, "Al is OK. Al is home. Al is getting better every day. Al is alive." But I guess the severity of his situation is still emphasized by hospital memories. I managed to wipe the tears away pretty quickly and move on, but I'm still surprised by my reaction.

A final unexpected: I was behind my husband in line to receive Communion at Mass today. As I watched him make his way with his limp and his cane, I succumbed to a brief wave of anger. That happens once in a while. I just get so damn angry at the stroke for doing what it did to Al, and in turn what it has done to our family. It has stretched us all beyond what we thought we were capable of, and it has taxed us in many ways. But I hope and pray that in the end, it will bring us closer and make us stronger.

Even with the unexpected, God knows our needs and knows how to meet them. The one thing I can always expect is that He is faithful.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Before Al was released from inpatient therapy, I asked his physical therapist to cover a very important practical matter: how would I help Al get up if he fell down? So we practiced the scenario a few times, until we were comfortable with the process. The PT also made sure to teach me how to assess whether anything was broken or dislocated, other than the obvious bone poking through the skin. I felt confident that I was ready for the potential situation.

Strangely enough, Al has not had any major falls. He has stumbled and lost his balance a number of times. Early on, he rolled over in bed and fell halfway out. But he has never fallen. Until today.

Evan was having a technology crisis in the basement that only his father could solve. I've learned to do a lot of things since Al's stroke, and I've taken over a lot of his former responsibilities. But when it comes to computer networking, I'm still pretty much an ignoramus. So, I'm very blessed that Al still has his computer networking abilities.

Al was summoned to the basement by our son, who was having trouble getting his computer page to load. Al made his way down the stairs, an exercise for which he no longer needs help. He made it to the bottom of the stairs, only to get his cane caught up in the ladder that was lying by the basement wall. I heard a *clang* and then shouts from the kids, "Daddy, are you OK???"
I went down to find Al lying, face-down, on the basement floor.

The kids were more alarmed than I was. I just had to figure out how to help him get up. After maneuvering him into a sitting position, he was able to get up by himself with little effort. I didn't think about it until after he was standing, but I finally asked, "Does anything hurt?" He said nothing hurt except that he hit the floor with the left side of his face. I guess it's somewhat of a blessing that the left side of his face is still numb.

Al has been getting more adventurous since his brace was minimized. He has been doing stairs more confidently and more regularly. He has been driving (shhh, don't tell the Secretary of State). I'm glad to see him becoming more mobile, but I was also reminded today that he still needs to be cautious and careful. Most movement still isn't as easy for him as it is for you and I. It's not second nature yet.

Sometimes my heart cries out to God for Al, as the psalmists did:

¹ How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
² How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

³ Look on me and answer, LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
⁴ and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

⁵ But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
⁶ I will sing the LORD’s praise,
for he has been good to me. (Psalm 13)

Hibernation, Hi-i-berna-ay-tion, It's Making Me Fat!

In case you didn't start humming along, that was a play on Carly Simon's "Anticipation". Maybe you're too young to know who Carly Simon is. I'm technically too young to remember this song when it actually released - in the year 1971, I was a tender one year of age. However, I'm very good at remembering song lyrics, and this song was replayed many, many times throughout the 70's. To be honest, the reason I remember that song in particular is not because I was such a huge Carly Simon fan, it was because of a Heinz ketchup commercial released in 1979, where 2 little kids are waiting for Heinz to slide out of the bottle and grace their hamburgers. I was kind of a TV junkie, so I remember a lot of commercial jingles.

Now, I started a post about hibernation, but I actually want to stick with the 1970's song theme for a bit longer. As I was researching what year "Anticipation" was released, I came across this little factoid: She wrote the song about anticipating a date with Cat Stevens. Now I really do like Cat Stevens' music, even though the bulk of his music was released during my early childhood as well. And oddly enough, I love James Taylor, too, and Carly Simon was married to him. Makes me wonder if my parents were playing the music of these 3 greats during my toddlerhood.

Anyway, on to my current topic: Hibernation. If you have been reading my blog for more than a year, you probably know that I write an annual post on this topic. And that is because I get extremely frustrated with life and our society at this time of year. Since I am a mammal, I have the natural instinct to hibernate. Yes, I know that not every mammal hibernates in the winter, but this one does. Right around the end of September, I start to notice myself slowing down, getting more tired, and battling insatiable cravings for everything in the carb food group. When the weather gets colder, I want to turn up the heat in my den house. And I want to curl up in a blanket all day long. And did I mention that I want to eat. all. the. time? The early settlers would work hard all summer, harvest their produce in the fall, and then snug in for the winter. Even the work they did in winter, they did during daylight hours, which, depending on how far north you live, can be as little as 6 hours of daylight per day. Where I live in Michigan, the "shortest" days are around 8 hours long. But yet, I'm still working 16 hour days between a full-time job and being a full-time mom.

But do I get to hibernate? Noooooo! after toiling all summer in the blazing hot sun, I do not get to slow down. I have to work harder as the school year starts and life moves into an even busier season. And don't even get me started on the holidays that are just around the corner. . . .

So, this is my annual rant on the lack of hibernation opportunities for human beings. We all have lovely caves in which to ride out the coldest of seasons, but we still find it necessary to be outside of them, going grocery shopping, working at jobs to pay for our caves, etc. Silly, if you ask me, but I guess that's the way life is.

I love this little idea that some incredibly brilliant woman decided to put into words:

In this life I'm a woman. In my next life, I'd like to come back as a bear. When you're a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that. Before you hibernate, you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that too. When you're a girl bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you're sleeping and wake up to partially grown, cute, cuddly cubs. I could definitely deal with that. If you're a mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat away anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that. If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat. YUP, GONNA BE A BEAR

Happy Fall Everyone!

Happy Birthday to Me???

Today is my 41st birthday.

And my husband is in the hospital. He had a stroke on Wednesday, January 5. I've been meaning to blog about our experience, but it's been a little bit crazy around here, as you might expect.

Suffice it to say for now that my husband's stroke affected minor blood vessels in his brain, it was a "dry" stroke (a blockage, not a bleed), and it has caused lack of mobility on his left side. He still has some sensation, but as he describes, it feels like his arm and leg are always asleep. Once the stroke was complete (the first thing I learned about stroke was that a stroke isn't necessarily an instantaneous event, but it can progress over 3-5 days - in Al's case, it progressed over 1-2 days), he began the long, grueling work of rehab. The prognosis now is that he should regain enough of his normal functioning to return home in about 4 weeks. As of today, he still cannot stand or walk unassisted, so he has his work cut out for him.

Last night, after visiting my husband in the hospital and learning that he still had 4 weeks to go before coming home (as opposed to the originally projected 2-3 weeks), I couldn't hold back the tears. I went home and cried to my mom (who is here to help me and offer moral support), "Tomorrow is going to be my worst birthday ever!"

However, I believe that God was determined to prove me wrong. Today was a day filled with much grace and joy, despite the less-than-favorable circumstances. I chose to let the kids - and myself - sleep in and get up to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before rushing off to school. My mom made waffles. And I took a very nice bubble bath. I went in to work at around 10:30, and was treated to many birthday greetings throughout the day, including a table of kindergarteners, and 2 classes who sang "Happy Birthday" to me. My co-worker gave me a nice gift complete with dark chocolate and a Coke Zero, my perfect little pick-me-ups. My mom made pizza and birthday cake for me. We took some pizza and ice cream and went to visit my tired hubby in the hospital - the hours of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy take a lot out of him.

I can't explain it, but it wasn't just the niceties of the day that made me happy - I had a true sense of peace and joy that I'm fairly convinced was God's birthday gift to me.

(PS: I will write in more detail about Al's stroke and all that God is doing in our life. . . .hopefully very soon!)