what's in you wednesday (the ficus edition)

It's been a while since I've written one of these "what's in you" posts ... but I'm trying to get in to a better habit of jotting down thoughts more often than I have been; and tonight when I was at the gym (Me, at the GYM! Miracle of miracles!), it struck me that it was Wednesday.

So I decided I'd blog about this, and leaning back - took a picture of my little workout partner, who was taking 214 steps a minute, next to me who was only taking 120 steps a minute, and then nearly toppled off the machine because holding on with one hand while snapping a picture with the other hand, as you're on a moving ellipse machine is really not a good idea.  



Point is!

The same week we moved to Texas, two months ago this week, I picked up a little cold.  It stuck with me for the entire drive south, and then knocked me flat a week later.  The week of our 21st wedding anniversary ... I developed an ear infection, which was so painful, it woke me up in the middle of the night in tears. After waking Charlie up and telling him that he was on alert to take me to the hospital, I guzzled Tylenol and tried to sleep while sitting upright with my head on a heating pad.

When the sun rose, I went to the ER and they told me, "Yep, you have an ear infection." They prescribed antibiotics and pain medication, and sent me home.  Three days later, it wasn't any better. So the ER doctor referred me to the ENT at the end of our street (so convenient!) and after a hearing test, they informed me that yes, I do have an infection, and also - I have at least 50% hearing loss in my right ear.

Say what?!

No, really. What did you say??

I was sure that the hearing loss was due to the ear infection, and if they could just get the fluid out of my inner ear, my hearing would return.  Perhaps they could put in tubes??

But my highly respected otolaryngologist, who ordered an MRI and multiple CT scans, didn't agree with my theory.  During my second or third visit, he held up one my scans and said, "This is a very unusual and complicated case. There's something happening here and here, and here, and see this shadowed area on your temporal bone? This is especially curious..." so I've been referred to a chief neurologist in Houston.

I've noticed a very strong similarity between me and a ficus tree. You know how every time you move one of those plants, they get so stressed out by their new environment - they lose their leaves?  That's me!!  While a somewhat different scenario this time, I'm just losing my leaves, again.

But soon the roots will be down and everything will grow back JUST FINE!

I'm confident that the "curious" issue will be demystified and my hearing is soon restored. Although if it isn't restored until AFTER the children get in to a good routine with their homework, and aren't so "vocal" about their displeasure of completing it ... I wouldn't mind.  (At least not terribly.)

Meanwhile, Charlie completely and totally threw his back out last weekend.  It was our last day on a beach weekend, and we were packing up to leave.  My husband was innocuously bending over to toss a box of Ziploc bags in to a crate, and his back seized up on him.  He let out a yelp, grabbed his lower back with both hands, fell to his knees, before going face first on the floor with a thud.

He told me later, it felt like he had been hit with a taser.

Thankfully, our good friend who was with us, has had a history of back problems, so never leaves home without a full supply of prescription grade anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers.  Charlie took two flexeril (we later learned that he should have only taken one), a handful of ibuprofen, and got in to the car before falling asleep for the next 24 hours.

Last week was a tough week; he could hardly move for four days.  Next week, the day after I see my neurologist, he'll be seeing an orthopedist about his back. Oh, and his foot. It seems he has a Morton's Neuroma that needs to be surgically removed, because after receiving steroid shots every six weeks for the past 18-months, it's been suggested that he get it resolved once and for all.

All this to say ... THIS IS LIFE! 

Everyone - at some stage - has health challenges.  As for us, we're getting older, and things break.  Although I look at my former boss, who has 15 years on me but still manages to work out every day, completes several triathlons a year, and is strong as an ox.

His Fountain of Youth is and always has been, Exercise. 

So in an effort to combat the effects of gravity and time - we recently joined the YMCA and have penciled in to our calendar that we will go - three times a week - come hell or high-water or fifth grade homework times three.   The goal is that we'll get stronger, and the kids will, too.



At a minimum, we'll hopefully be demonstrating that carving time out of your day to take care of yourself and keep your body strong, is one of the most important things you can do in your entire life.  (Making sure you always have extra strength pain medication on hand is a close second.)

cabot, cortez, and pedro menendez de aviles

My new strategy for setting a timer and letting the children do their homework on their own is not going so well. This is the scene at our kitchen table T+90:



We've got a great place to sit, excellent lighting, the assignment neatly laid out, and a nicely sharpened pencil. The only thing missing is the student who is vowing to never talk with me for at least the rest of the day, and possibly the whole week - if I don't stop what I'm doing and help them read the newspaper article about early explorers. And then, just help a little bit more with finishing the crossword puzzle.

Dinner?  Who needs dinner?! 

are you smarter than a 5th grader?

Does anyone remember the show, "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader" that was on several years ago?   Actually, in pulling the link for this blog, I see that it's still on the air.   Maybe the reason I don't know it's still on the air is because we never seem to have a spare moment to do things like watch television.

Which leads me to the purpose of this blog post.

Words nearly escape me as I try to convey the feeling of supervising homework with fifth grade triplets.  Maybe it's a function of moving from one school district to what feels like a much more challenging new one; or maybe it's the academic jump from fourth to fifth grade.  Or maybe it's the transition from elementary school to intermediate school, with increased responsibility and workload.

All I know is that the amount of homework has gone up significantly this year, and my odds of winning BIG TIME have gone up should I ever be on a show about fifth grade curriculum, that is still apparently on the air.



To manage this considerable spike, I've made every attempt to pull what "tools" I can from my "toolbox" to help our children on the home front.  In my professional career which spans more than 20 years, I've directed global teams of people working on multi-million dollar projects with a common end point.  We've successfully navigated obstacles with efficiency and ease because of what I consider to be my outstanding ability to be patient, organized, and focused.

But all of those stellar people and project management skills that I so aptly possess in a professional setting, are gone with an audible - WHOOSH - the moment I try to help my 10-year old children with their homework.  The instantaneous feeling of being overwhelmed, outnumbered, and desperate surpasses even the days of my precious children's infancy.

(Insert a picture of me pulling my hair by its roots.)

The kids are trying to understand what they need to do, and we're trying to understand what they need to do.  We often resemble the blind leading the blind.   My theory that a child should only spend 10 minutes per grade on their homework, so in the case of our children = 50 minutes per night, is sufficient for their math and language arts.

But not also for their science and social studies. 

Tonight for example, we spent more than two hours on their social studies trying to access a website and complete two assignments, before we received an e-mail from their teacher saying in effect, "As a result of the numerous emails received tonight, I just wanted to clarify that all the children needed to do was log on and demonstrate that they could access the information."

Wha?! Who?? 

Most nights, we'll start working on home work by 5 PM, after the kids get off the bus at 4:15 ... and our homework marathon will span until 8 PM; sometimes it resumes at 6:30 in the morning before the kids leave for school at 7:45.  The roughly one hour of home work per night generally translates to one hour PER child, which means THREE HOURS for us.

It would be so much easier if I could just do their homework for them.  I'd get all three done in less than 30 minutes.  But NO.  Apparently, that's not OK and totally frowned upon, as evidenced by my children furiously erasing even the slightest marks that I make on their paper.

We need to teach them and teaching a fifth grader who is also your child, has to be the hardest thing in the world because as far as our children are considered, we just don't get it.   Yes Mom and Dad, we KNOW you went to school for more than 20 years each, but school has obviously CHANGED since you were a student.

And yet .... they still insist we help them!!



On those nights we have soccer, or try to do something crazy like make and eat dinner, we'll wrap up earlier and the kids will finish it, before bed time.  But when I say "finish it" they usually sit staring at their paper until Charlie and I will stand over their shoulder and work them through it.

I wonder, but am still not ready to let them completely sink (although it's coming soon), would they get anything done if we weren't there prodding them along?

Here's an excerpt from tonight, and yes - I honestly promise that all of these urgent questions came at me in the exact same moment and every one of them expected an immediate response:

"MOM!  How many times does seven go in to sixty three .... MOM! how do you spell "environment" ... MOM MOM MOM MOM what's my log-in password?"  

To the first child I handed an arabacus and said, "FIGURE IT OUT."  To the second I handed a dictionary and said, "STARTS WITH AN E". And to the third I said, "Your guess is as good as mine, ask your teacher tomorrow."

That was just one barrage of questions. More came and kept on coming.   Meanwhile, there's little Henry and I didn't even have the stamina to help him, so put his older sibling on the task.



For as much as I want to help our children succeed, three hours of homework a night for Charlie and I is NOT sustainable.  This is a loaded question, but doesn't it seem insane that 10-year olds are in school for nine hours a day and then spend another several hours at night doing MORE school work?

Where is the balance in life?!  

And more importantly, how do other people do this, especially those who have multiple after school events happening each week? Do you sleep??

And for other parents with similarly aged children, does it feel like 95% of the battle is getting them to take responsibility and sit down and DO the work?

At the risk of not working with our children to do their absolute best, I'm ready to set a timer and tell them they've got ONE HOUR to get their work done - on their own - and if they don't get it done, then oh well.  Pay better attention in class, and be more efficient at home.

If we have to repeat fifth grade so be it.   Although, it makes me wonder, is my temptation to keep helping them and sacrifice the rest of our lives, a function of my concern that they will not be successful in school and will fall behind, or am I worried that I'll be dubbed as a deadbeat parent who doesn't keep their child on the crest of the academic wave?

After some reflection on that thought, I know it's because I don't want them to fall behind and feel lost in school ... I've been there and it's awful.

Still. We've got to do something, and soon. 

Charlie and I are dying over here by decimals and fractions, which can be volumetrically measured in a graduated cylinder, and geographically positioned just west of the Prime Meridian and north of the equator.

one more reason to carpe diem

This one ... right here ... is so intellectual.



He's been reading a lot about earth science, astronomy, and after watching a program on the universe that aired on National Geographic, he's been very interested in The Big Bang Theory.  What is it, who came up with the idea, where's the proof, and while we're on this philosophical topic ... how exactly is the world going to end?   

Charlie and I have had a lot of fun talking with him about the concept and the various proofs that exist. While my geologist husband and I have had a good time theorizing with our son, he's not at ALL keen on the idea.  Instead of looking at it as a potentially wonderful scientific miracle, he thinks the whole concept is depressing. He's particularly bothered by the fact that the world which one day started, will one day come to an end.   Tonight after dinner, he said to me, "It's like that dumb song, 'All We Are Is Dust in The Wind.'"

When I said, "Well, we kind of are like dust in the wind..." he snapped, "We most certainly are NOT dust in the wind. WE ARE THE WIND.  We are the energy that moves through everything! And I'm going to do something - I don't know what yet, but something - about how this whole world is supposed to 'scientifically' end."

I love it ... and I can't wait to see the topic of his science fair project next spring. Something tells me he's going to come up with a plan to stop plate tectonics woven in with transcendental meditation.

tonsillectomy recovery time (aka: the seeming eternity)

It'll be two weeks on Tuesday that our children had their tonsils and adenoids removed; and I would be remiss to not capture what this experience has been like for us.

Interestingly enough, I'd had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was ten-years-old and had just started fifth grade, also.  I remember waking up from surgery and crying for my mother, and my mother - who was working at the time, was not there. But my Aunt Grace - who looks very much like my mother was there - and so the nurse put my Auntie in front of me and said, "Here she is, Dear."  

And I howled ... because as much as I love my Aunt Grace - I knew that she wasn't my mother. That is one of the few things I remember of the situation.  I also remember that I spent two or three nights in the hospital, because back in the "olden" days, tonsillectomies were in-patient.  

So the children had their tonsils out on Tuesday morning and we took them home on Tuesday afternoon.   The doctor told us that they'd likely miss one full week of school, and would need to have limited activities for two weeks.  (Note, our Virginia doctor told us that they'd need to miss TWO full weeks of school, so we were hopeful that perhaps they heal faster the closer you get to the equator.)  

The doctor also told us that they'll be very sore the first few days, and then seem to improve, until the scabs fall off around Day 7, and then they'll have a "dip" and seem to relapse.

But then they'll rebound and continue to improve.  

The day prior to their surgery,  I had filled their prescriptions for lidocaine lollipops, Tylenol with codeine, and Zofran (to offset any upset from the codeine).   We had an abundance of popsicles, ice cream, Jell-O, juices, and straws on hand.  I felt we were as prepared as we could possibly be.

The doctor told us Tuesday would be a mellow day; somewhat of a "honeymoon" because the kids would still have morphine in their system from the procedure.  Sure enough Tuesday afternoon, albeit groggy, they seemed fine; nibbling ice cream and contemplating the movies they'd watch during their recovery time.

Wednesday, was still pretty mellow.  No significant pain; although we stayed on our pain medication very religiously administering it every six hours, round the clock.

Thursday, was much the same as Wednesday.  I started to taper off the Tylenol with codeine, and introduce straight liquid Tylenol because I'd rather not give the children narcotics unless they ABSOLUTELY need them.  Responsible parenting; right here.  Also, I was sure the worst was behind us. What little did I know.

Friday, William started to complain of a headache, neck and jaw pain.  This continues to amplify throughout the day.  I'm still administering plain old liquid Tylenol every four hours.

Saturday, William continues to complain with increased intensity; Carolyn seems to be doing OK and Charlie and I wonder if it's because girls have a higher threshold for pain? The doctor calls and tells me that we have a window of opportunity to begin alternating Tylenol with Motrin until Sunday afternoon, because their scabs will not fall off until likely Monday - and so I won't be able to give them an anticoagulant within 24 hours of those scabs coming off, because of an increased risk of bleeding. BUT, by giving them Motrin - an anti-inflammatory - that could help with their neck pain.  Liquid Motrin is introduced every eight hours.  The only thing that makes him feel better is a bubble bath.



Sunday morning at 2 AM, William is awake screaming from the pain.  I get the Worst Mother of the Year Award because I had promised him that I would turn the baby monitor on that I just found during our move, so if he needed anything, I'd be there in a jiffy.  While I did turn the monitor on in HIS room, I neglected to turn it on in OUR room.  And so it is, he woke up and called for me - for several minutes to no avail - before climbing out of his bunk bed and navigating through the dark house to find me.  It was awful, awful, awful and I wound up sleeping with him on the couch.

Monday, William is miserable - all day.  Tylenol with codeine has been reinitiated every six hours.  Sometimes, we can't even make it the full six hours.  Carolyn is starting to go downhill fast, too.  She sleeps on the couch next to her brother.  We think this has to be the "dip" the doctor referred to, and the scabs must be coming off.  I'd like to look in their mouths, but their post-surgical breath is so outrageously bad, I'd pass out cold if they breathed on me.  I innocently ask Charlie to look and in doing so, also collect my Worst Wife of the Year Award.

There's no way they're returning to school on Tuesday. 

Tuesday, William continues to be miserable.  To the point that he will at random times, cry uncontrollably.  He's drinking more than 80 ounces a day, so is sufficiently hydrated - we're also religiously administering medicine, but it's awful.  He sits with an ice pack on his neck and sucks ice chips.  By Tuesday afternoon, Carolyn is a wreck.  Both kids sleep on the couch again.



Wednesday, both children are up in the middle of the night, crippled with pain.  I'm delirious from sleep deprivation, it feels like I have newborns again.   I'm beginning to question if this procedure was the right thing to do.  I'm beginning to question my own existence and which way is up.

Thursday, pain - pain - pain.  Lots of crying.  Both children are miserable. So am I. This isn't the relapse or "dip" I'd envisioned ... they've absolutely bottomed out.  

Friday, ever so slight improvement for William. He doesn't cry as much.  Carolyn is miserable and Charlie has called in for a refill of her lidocaine lollipop.  By Friday evening she is feeling slightly better, but now her ears are hurting.



Saturday, continued improvement for William; Carolyn maybe slight improvement, but still breaks down in to tears from the pain.  William is back on liquid Tylenol; Carolyn is still on Tylenol with codeine.

Sunday, William has finally turned a corner.  Carolyn is doing better, but still cries every so often from the pain of a sore throat and ears.  She is also back on liquid Tylenol.  Henry, the awesome little brother that he is, tries to lessen their pain by reading aloud. His book today was "Ben Hur."  The kids said it didn't help.  He got them popsicles, instead.



Tomorrow, William will be returning to school; I'm still not sure about Carolyn.

It's safe to say that TWO WEEKS is at base case, the recovery time needed for a tonsillectomy. Anything less than that, I'd suggest that you have super-human powers and are somewhat immune to pain.  Like the young boy in the hospital room next to me in 1981 when I had my tonsils removed ... he had a hankering for Cap'n Crunch following his procedure - and they actually brought it to him.

Yep, I remember that, too.

popsicle partners

Earlier this week, William and Carolyn both had their tonsils and adenoids removed.



Going in to the surgery, the kids had asked the doctor to let them know who had the biggest tonsils.  Because at 10-years old, every thing is a competition.  Including the size of your tonsils.

Following the surgery, we were informed that Carolyn "won" and had the larger of the two tonsils and adenoids.  Not just in our family, but in all of 2015.  Our good doctor was very impressed at the size of her adenoid tissue, and said it was some of the largest he had ever seen.  Upon hearing that, whatever questions or concerns I'd had about subjecting our children to this procedure, were immediately eradicated.  I so love it when we make good parenting choices!

The doctor told us, "Your children are going to be totally different kids; they can now breathe and will feel so, so much better!"  He also told us that if we had any questions or concerns, we could call his office ... or just walk over and knock on his door.

(Because he only lives two houses away from us.)



A few things I want to remember about the day include Carolyn, feeling so concerned and breaking down in to tears when we began to get her ready for the surgery ... which made me break down in tears.  The nurse started her IV and administered something I cannot even recall (I'm sure one of my pharmacist sisters would know), to take the edge off.

Within mere seconds, my daughter had a dreamy look in her eyes, and slowly lifting her bandaged IV hand, gently whispered, "Little hand, I'm so very sorry they did that to you.  You are a good little handy hand and I love you."  Then she kissed her hand.

The nurse standing near her chuckled and asked, "Carolyn, what is your hand's name?" And my daughter looked at her as if she grew two heads and said, "HAAAAAND."



Then she gave her a smirk and said, "Silly nurse!"  Then she stared at her for a long moment and asked, "Why do you have two heads?" 

Other things to remember about this event, include the sequence of them coming out of surgery, Carolyn first, followed shortly thereafter by William.  Carolyn insisted on seeing her brother, and wanted the recovery room curtain open so she could have him in her sights.

There were notes, traded between my two groggy children in the recovery room.







The car ride home, with William asleep on his sister's arm.



The domestic recovery room (aka: family room), with the two of them snuggled next to each other with note pads for communication, and glasses full of ice chips and water.  Note Charlie asleep on the couch, too.  Major surgery (on others!) totally takes it out of my Guy.



Popsicles.



Jello and Ice cream.  Thankfully, Blue Bell is back on the shelves this very week.  Kismet!

Tender loving care from their siblings.

The key to the game right now is pain management, so I'm ensuring that we've got our clocks set and am administering the appropriate medication every six hours, on the dot. 

The only hiccup has been the movies that they're watching. William is 100% Marvel superheroes - all day, every day.  Whereas, Carolyn enjoys a good strong feminine heroine movie now and again.

William is not too keen on watching Pride and Prejudice, but he'd totally do it for his sister.

twofer tonsil tuesday

I'm not sure I mentioned that one of the reasons we delayed our move from Virginia to Texas is because Carolyn needed to have her tonsils and adenoids removed.  Her adenoids, primarily, because they are completely preventing her from breathing through her nose, and we think it may be contributing to sleep apnea, and attention deficit, and a host of other issues.

Not to mention, her orthodontist pointed out that mouth breathing may have a significant impact on the shape of her pallet, that we just spent a year and a half correcting. And since we had strep throat a whopping 17 times in 2014 across the five of us (kids had it 4X, I had it 1X) ... we figured while we were in there, we may as well take out the tonsils, too.

But then Carolyn was sick and unable to pass her pre-op so her surgery was scheduled from last week of April until first week of May.  And then my Dad passed away and surgery was postponed indefinitely.  And then it was the end of school, and I didn't want her to miss any state required testing, or saying goodbye to friends.  And then she was sick again in late June and early July, and unable to pass her pre-op and eventually, I decided WE NEED TO JUST GO.   Surely there will be Ear Nose and Throat doctors in Texas that are fully capable of removing tonsils and adenoids.

So we moved to Texas and on the day that we were driving in to our new neighborhood for the first time, I happened to notice that there was an ENT office 1/2 mile from our house.

"Well, would you look at that! That's very convenient!" I said to my family.

And the next day, when I was taking my first walk around the neighborhood with Louie, I met a lovely woman who lives a few houses down the street, who was also out walking her dog.  And this woman, the absolute very first person that we met while in Texas, said to me, "If you need anything, please let me know.  I've lived in this area for decades, and my husband is an ENT."

Her husband is an ENT.

It's kismet!

So it is, that exact same husband, a highly respected ENT in the area, will be doing a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy on both Carolyn and William, today; at approximately 10 AM and 11 AM, CST, respectively.



William was added to the mix because it recently dawned on us that he sounds like Darth Vader when he breathes. On a whim, I took him to the ENT along with Carolyn, and the doctor confirmed that his adenoids are just as blocked as Carolyn's and his tonsils are huge.

My poor children can hardly breathe.

We're very hopeful that this procedure - which I have seriously considered the benefits for the past several months - will help them both feel signficantly better.   I'm also hopeful that I don't gain five pounds in the next week, sympathy eating ice cream alongside my two sweet patients.

now ... with pictures!!! >> first day of school ... first day of school!

It's been a while since I've had a chance to sit down and update my blog ... a lot has happened since my last post.  We moved from Virginia to Texas, unpacked hundreds of boxes, unloaded five truck loads to Goodwill and the dump (and I thought I had purged well before we moved), found the local grocery store, registered the children for school, scheduled two to have their tonsils and adenoids removed (next week!), and have been trying to "set up camp" at our new digs.

At some point I hope to have some time to sit down and write about each of those things in a bit more detail, because there is an incredible story for the memory banks within each situation.

Alas, the older our children grow, the less hours there are in the day. I'm not sure how it's possible, but it's true.  Consider....  ZOOM, today was the first day of fifth grade, and second grade.





(Pinch me.)

Henry is at a different school than his siblings, and his bus picked him up this morning at 7:15 AM.   Which is approximately 45 minutes earlier than when the bus picked him up in Virginia ... or to be technical, 55 minutes earlier than how long our bus driver would sit and wait for us at the top of the hill.   God Bless that Mr. Yani. 

The trio's bus didn't arrive until 8:20 AM, but they were up, dressed, fed, and waiting with their wittle brother to wave him goodbye.  William then spent 30 minutes doing P90X because he had some nervous energy to work out.  I'd like to think he gets that from me, but no... my nervous energy is usually resolved with a nap.  Usually after I vacuum the couch cushions.



When the kids arrived home this afternoon, we met all the neighborhood children at the bus stop with a wagon full of lemonade and banana muffins.  Greeting the kids on the first day of school with lemonade and a treat, was just one of the many fun traditions that we picked up while living in Virginia that we've decided to bring, here.



While we were a little ambivalent about moving, we are so excited to be here, now. This next chapter of our lives will be filled with amazing adventure and learning.   Like just today, my children taught me the Pledge to the Texas flag.  I'd had no idea Texas had their very own pledge.

(Apparently, 16 other states do, too.)

PS: It seems I don't remember how to share photos from Flickr to my blog anymore.  Why must people change things?  I'm hardly able to keep up anymore.  Hopefully, one of my more technically savvy children will be able to give me a tutorial next time I'm on line.

and so it is, another chapter concludes

Last Friday, we closed on our new house in Texas.  This week, our Virginia home has been swarmed by packers who are loading up everything and preparing for the move south this Friday.  In this time and space between moving from one place to another, we've been saying goodbye to so many wonderful friends that we've been blessed to know in our nearly five years in this area.

Like the amazing people we knew in San Diego, our northern Virginia friends will be sorely missed. So rather than dwell on the sadness of moving away from these incredible people, we are trying very hard to revel in the gratitude of having the opportunity to know them, at all.  Even still, I'm sure there will be tears because we really adore our friends.



As I've told the children, life is a book comprised of chapters. Each chapter teaches us something different, and with each chapter, there comes an eventual end.   So while we're in that chapter - it's important to learn what we can, and do our best to enjoy it to the utmost.  Almost daily, I imagine the chapter coming to an end ... and so it is, I've become pretty good at cherishing moments.

Our moments today were epic.  

We spent a sun-drenched afternoon and starry evening, with some of our best friends, at our neighborhood pool.  What I want to sear in to my memory, is the way that we all felt so comfortable with each other, and how we laughed until our cheeks hurt.   I want to remember our beloved friends.  Tomorrow, our last full day in town, we'll be back at the pool with more dear friends who are carving time out of their busy lives, to come spend moments with us, and say "see you later."

Because we absolutely will see them later ... of that I'm sure.



What I also want to sear in to my memory, is the 14-year old son of our good friends, who is an extremely accomplished swimmer, that has been on a year-round swim team for the past five years. Those early morning practices are surely what has contributed to him becoming one of the top swimmers in his club, and the region.  A swimming scholarship for college is likely in his future if he stays on the current trajectory.

Today when we were in the pool, I asked him what was his best stroke, and he responded, "Fly."  As in, butterfly.  Because I absolutely love to talk smack with the kids, I asked him if he thought he could beat me in a race across the pool, and without hesitation he politely said, "Yes, M'am."

So I said, "Really? You really think you can beat ME?" Then I added, "Did you know that I swam a bit when I was in high school?" and his cheeks flushed as he replied, "Um. No, I didn't know that you swam a bit in high school. But yes, I'm pretty sure I could beat you in a race across the pool."  And so I said, "BRING IT."  And he said, "What?"

And I said, "YOU HEARD ME. LET'S GO."

So this young man, on the verge of earning his Eagle Scout rank, made his way to one lane, and I made my way to another lane, right near the edge of the pool. Charlie made his way to the middle of the pool, where with his hands above his head, he shouted, "Swimmers! Take your mark!"  Nearly all the eyes in the pool were directed at me, the mother of four, perched next to the 14-year old ranked regional swimmer, as Charlie yelled, "GO!" and threw down his hands.

The young whipper snapper bolted off the wall so fast, he was an instant blur.  As he did this, I flung myself out of the pool as fast as I could and SPRINTED down the deck of the pool hoping that: 1) the lifeguards wouldn't blow the whistle and publicly chastise me for running; and 2) I wouldn't slip and break a hip. Even running at nearly breakneck speed, I could barely keep up with him in the water.  I made it to the end of the pool, did a shallow dive and free-styled it the last two meters to the wall.

Miracle of miracles,  I hit the wall just an instant before he did, but it was unquestionable - I was there first, smiling at him when he surfaced.  People around us burst out laughing.

The look of absolute astonishment on this young man's face was priceless. PRICELESS.  He stammered, "Wow. Did you say you swam competitively in college? How did you do that? How are you so fast?!" And I replied, "That was nothing ... like a brisk stroll in the park."

He was stunned in to silence, but you could tell he was extremely impressed.

And humbled.  

Because so many of the kids had been swimming behind him, seeing if they could keep up, they were not even aware that I'd run the distance.  All the kids that is, with the exception of my son, William.  He was aghast and said, "MOM, oh my gosh, MOM! You so totally che...." But he didn't  get to finish that sentence because I put my hand on top of his cute little head and playfully pushed him underwater to silence the chap.  Then I pinched his bottom which is my code for, "ZIP IT."



Eventually my conscience got the better of me, and I came clean and told the young man how I'd won.  As I did, I added, "Just so you know, it wasn't really 'cheating', because I challenged you to a race across the pool. But never once did I say I'd SWIM it. Ah, ha! That's what you call a loophole!"

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have told him.

It'd be fun to end this chapter, as the middle-aged mom who whooped a state-ranked swimmer.

the no mercy rules

I had to host a fairly large conference call this afternoon, and since I've been working from home and my office is essentially the kitchen counter - Charlie took the kids out for the day.  Elizabeth had to get fitted with her new retainer, because her braces were removed yesterday ... and Henry had to have a plantar's wart removed from his hand, because ... well.

He had a wart that required removal.  

In the midst of these appointments, which were spaced nearly three hours apart, Charlie took the kids to the park with a bucket full of baseballs, a bat, three bases, and a couple gloves.

Once they arrived at the park, Henry recognized that one of his good friends from 1st grade was there. So while the kids all ran off to play, Charlie struck up a conversation with the boy's mother.  In the course of small talk, she indicated that she was a fire fighter and was telling my husband about all of the training and conditioning that she needs to go through.  My husband told her that he was afraid of heights and our 74-year old neighbor, a retired fire fighter himself, recently came over and cleared out our gutters because he totally froze after reaching the eighth rung.

According to Charlie, they laughed about this. And I laughed upon hearing the story, because I love his honesty and no-shame policy.   He owns his fear and it's awesome!

At one point, they looked down to the field, and upon noticing that the children had recruited more children - and had divided in to teams for a baseball game - they commented how nice it was that the children are at an age where they can keep themselves entertained.

Shortly thereafter, Charlie said he saw that Henry was loudly crying as the third baseman. Even from far away, Charlie could see their pitcher had tears on his face.  Suspecting that something was amiss, he questioned how the team's had been divided?

Could the mother of Henry's friend see how they had split up the teams?

She could not. So Charlie walked down to investigate.  And what he discovered is that William and Elizabeth and several other athletically inclined kids aged 10 and up, were on one team.  And Carolyn and Henry and several other not as athletically inclined kids who were aged 8 and under, were on the other team.  According to a nonchalant William, "Mercy Rules" were in play so the first team to reach 10 won.   At that point, William's team was up 8 to 0.

So Charlie, being the awesome Charlie that he is, said to Henry, "Hey little man, can I be on your team?"  Henry tearfully nodded yes, and Charlie ran out to the outfield, where he caught the next three pop ups to quickly end the inning and get his team up at bat.

He then coached the kids so that at each bat, they advanced to a base. By the time he got up, with no outs - the bases were loaded. That's when my husband knocked the ball out of the park, and in to the lot next door.  A few minutes later, he did it again, and the game was tied much to the dismay of William's team who were complaining, "Hey, it's not fair...!"

Not fair?  

According to Charlie, since the kids seemed to know all about "mercy rules" he felt it was his duty to teach them about "no mercy" rules. Those are the kind that precipitate when you unfairly gang up on someone else.  So as Henry's little friend was running home for the 10th run, effectively winning the game, my husband yelled out, "You are burning up this game little dude, your hooves are on FIRE!" 

The little kids were laughing deliriously, the bigs kids were sulking, and the mother firefighter said next time she comes to the park, she'll drive her water tanker.  William and Elizabeth politely told her that wouldn't be necessary.

Oh, I love when a good life lesson is learned in the course of outdoor fun!

my two new mottos

I've been talking with my sister, Beth, every single day for the past month.  The average length of those conversations are about an hour.  But we talked for 6.5 hours on Thursday night and in to Friday morning, and I was amazed that:

1. We didn't run out of things to talk about, and

2. My cordless battery held up as well as it did.

Miracles never cease to exist!

During our ritualistic phone call last night, Beth asked me why I've been so negligent about updating my blog, lately.  Of course she said this tongue and cheek, because holy mackerel. 



We're in escrow on one house that following the inspection, had questionable stucco integrity (read: potential of devastating mold), and we're getting another house ready for sale.  That sale was delayed only slightly by a tree that almost fell on top of the house.

FYI:  Under normal circumstances, that huge red oak in the backyard isn't leaning at a 60-degree angle over our house.   Although a new roof (and two new vehicles) would be nice, that's not something I was planning. Especially since we just finished our kitchen and master bath remodel; both are which are on the IMMINENT COLLAPSE TREE side of the house.



And last week, as said tree was being removed to the tune of $4,700 ... we discovered that we need a new septic because it failed the inspection (located beneath the fence sections because the inspector wouldn't even cover the tanks up again.  Leaving a 2-foot deep hole in the middle of the yard, didn't bode too well for me and my safety-oriented mind since a tree was partially removed and I had contractors still walking around with chainsaws).  Ruh-Roh!



The list of our house in Virginia has been pushed back two weeks, the close on the Texas house is scheduled for next week, and the moving truck is scheduled for the week after that.  I'm still not sure how we'll host an open house with four children who have been attempting to undermine our move by destroying things, and have an insane infatuation with Legos that they leave all over the house; two guinea pigs that seem to be pooping a lot more in the past month than they ever have in their entire lives, and one dog who keeps running away.    What's insane is that these situations are absolutely eclipsed by a much larger situation, that has had me talking to my sister Beth every night for the past month. But I can't write about it.  Which really pains me, you know.

In the midst of this:  There have been a lot of tea parties.



Muscle-man competitions with best friends.



Swimming.



And our littlest one turned eight.



The only thing I do know is that life is never boring.  And I'm feeling so blessed, because just about every obstacle that we're dealing with right now, are what I consider "First World Problems."  My new motto has become, "Can you solve the issue with money?"  If so, it really isn't an issue at all.

Until you run out of money. 

So for any one who tells me they've been praying for us ... I'd like to know, who exactly are you praying to? And also, are you maybe holding a Voo-Doo doll during those prayers and jabbing it in the pocket book?  

That was supposed to be a joke. I think it's hilarious.  Which leads me to my other motto of, "Always laugh."  Despite the most seemingly grim circumstances, there's bound to be a glint of humor in there, somewhere.   Do your best to mine that glint and light up the world with it.

... on the upside*

While I'm in Texas this week house-hunting ... Charlie is in Virginia with the children, trying to get things buttoned up so we can list our house in the next two weeks.  His list of items still to-do, which was approximately two feet long, had been reduced to just a few items. Until, this afternoon, when a tornado touched down in our back yard.



Now he just needs to figure out which box he packed his saw.

(*The good news is that the tree didn't slice the house in completely half. Although it will need to be entirely removed and Charlie's fort that he had worked so hard to build, has been reduced to debris.  More good news ... because I'm trying really hard to stay focused on the positive ... our house isn't supposed to list until the end of the month so we have time to clear up the hardwood carnage. Then again, at the rate the Universe keeps throwing us curveballs, I'm afraid to commit to which month that is exactly - but we'll just aim for June.)

duo

on being wonder woman

Henry, who is going through a particularly big super hero phase at the moment, came home from school on Friday and told me that during "Show and Tell", he informed his 1st grade class that his mother is actually "Wonder Woman."  That he feels that way about me, despite my less than stellar maternal moments the past few weeks, is encouraging.

I love that little boy. He is my medicine.

This past month has been a whirlwind.  Between major home renovations, a pending list and sale of our current home, a future selection and purchase of a new home, a relocation that was slated for four weeks from now, mentally preparing for a new community - office - schools - church - grocery store, Carolyn's surgery (which has been scheduled and canceled twice), William's heel (he injured his Achilles'), and my father's passing ... it's no wonder I've been a bundle of cranky nerves.

My dear friend is a clinical psychologist, and when during one of our walks I was talking about recent and forthcoming events, she asked, "Do you realize you are going through about three of the five most stressful situations in life ... all at once?"  

When I went to see my doctor this week for bronchitis I haven't been able to shake for the past month, and recounted for him just some of the things that we have happening (there are so many other things that are causing stress, which I'll maybe write about later); he just shook his head and gave me the advice to slow down and take some time for me.   

But, but.  Doctor!  How can I possibly slow down when I have so ... much ...  to ... do?

People are counting on me!

Contractors, realtors, supervisors, teachers!

On Friday, I had lunch with a co-worker, who was telling me that several young women we work with, who recently had babies, were anxious to return to work before their newborns were even two-months old.  I was aghast that they were pushing themselves so hard ... these new mothers are granted more time off from our employer, so why aren't they taking it?  Someone needs to tell them that the world will not stop spinning if they take some additional time for themselves, and their families.

As the words were leaving my mouth, I recognized the irony in my statement.

Why are we so resistant to nurturing ourselves?  Why are we so keen to keeping up appearances that we are more than capable of doing everything, and more, on some compressed schedule?  Perhaps it's not even intentional that we impose requirements upon ourselves and expect that we can sustain them - over time?  Why do we work so hard and furiously fast??

I sat in the parking lot of a the restaurant for a few minutes, thinking hard about what I really needed to have happen in order to get that weight of an elephant off my chest.  And then I sent my boss an honest e-mail that indicated I will not be ready to fly to Texas this week and buy a new house, nor will I be ready to list our house next week.  The moving truck that was scheduled for June 29th will need to be postponed until sometime in July. Or maybe even August.

I'll admit that I was nervous to tell my boss these things, so it helped that a doctor, someone from the medical industry, a trained professional (!), had told me something I already knew: my first priority is my health, and the health of my daughter.  It also helps that I am in a situation where I might be offered some latitude. I cannot comprehend how people that have no choice continue to function.

First, I need to get healthy because the last time I was under a lot of stress, I nearly died. Some stress = Good Motivator.  Too much stress =  Not Good.  It can be a fuzzy line, but when it feels like your heart and/or head are going to pop (and you find yourself swearing a lot), you've likely migrated in to the Not Good zone.  Once I'm well, Carolyn needs to have her tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy surgery.  And once she is recovered - which will take approximately two weeks, we will list our house.  It would be less than ideal to show our house while someone is recovering from major surgery.  So ... we won't do it. 

My boss immediately wrote me back and said, "Agreed. We'll see you when you get here."

I am so, so fortunate to have such a good boss, since my last one was so ... awful.  

The rest of the stuff, the buying a new house, the selling of our current house, the move - the acclimation to an entirely new environment ... those things will all happen, and fall in to place - just as they are meant to be.

But not today, so today I don't need to worry about them.  Today, I am just grateful for the beauty outside my window.

Amazing. The world is spinning on it's axis and I'm not even helping it.

in memoriam - 2015

Taking a break from a basketball game (the kids) and cleaning out the garage (Charlie and I), to put up our American flag …



And remember those who gave all for our country.

Dad's celebration of life

My family nominated me to write and deliver my father's eulogy last week, and I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to find the right words, or say the right things. I was also so afraid that I'd be an absolute basket case, unable to talk. Instead, the day before Dad's funeral, the words miraculously came to me in less than an hour time; and I was able to deliver them almost tearlessly.  I'd asked for clarity and composure, and my father in heaven responded.  

Both of them!

Here's the eulogy I delivered, and some of the photos that I took during the service. The weather was perfect, a beautiful blue-sky day with nary a cloud in sight. The skies and seas were calm; both literally and figuratively. The only thing that could have made it better, is if my mother was physically with us - but because she could not leave Jim - she was most definitely with us in spirit. Mom, I know you and Dad were so proud of us.  I was, too.

*******

Good morning everyone, thank you for being here today.  We’re gathered here not to grieve, but to celebrate the life of my father, Walter Francis Foley.  You may know him as Walter or Walt, the tireless pharmacist who worked the bench at Snow’s Pharmacy and served the town of Concord for more than 30 years.  For his seven children, he was Dad.  For his 20 grandchildren, and five great grandchildren, he was Grampy.  For all of us, he was a good and kind man, a quiet man, who worked so hard, loved a good joke or story, and spent his life serving others.

A lot of people work hard. But to put it in perspective, my mother and father had six children in seven years.  Their sixth son, Walter Junior, was born a few months after Snow’s Pharmacy opened.  Remember: this was 50 years ago, back in the days before all-night drive through pharmacies, or places where you can fill your prescription while you shop for groceries.   In the 1960’s if you needed medication, you got it from the drugstore, when it was open.  Snow’s was always open for those in need.  

For the next six years, my father with the unwavering support of his devoted wife, Mary, worked seven days a week, often heading down to “The Shop” in the middle of the night to prepare medicine for people who needed it, urgently.  Dad (and later all of the kids) also delivered prescriptions, free of charge. 

(17 of my father's 20 grandchildren served as his pallbearers)

“Running deliveries” meant driving all around town, and bringing medication and supplies to those who could not leave their homes. This was really sacred work for Dad, because he knew that sometimes, he might be the only person that his customers had seen all day, or all week.  So not only would he bring them their medication, he would sit and talk with them. People knew that he cared.  And he did. My father did not take a single vacation until the summer of 1970.  And, so it is, I was born nine months later, in the Spring of 1971, just three days before my father’s 40th birthday. Happy Birthday Dad!

But you know, my father didn’t ever call it “work.”  It wasn’t work to him, it was his life-long passion and God-given calling to help other people.  Whether it be the thousands of customers that he served through the years in his beloved Shop; or the strangers whose roads he would plow with his Ford Truck after a big snowstorm.  Or the patients at Emerson Hospital he so gently transported by wheelchair and gurney for a few years, following his third and final retirement from Snow’s.  My mother and father, together, instilled in each of their seven children a work ethic and sense of compassion, that is stronger than welded steel. 

(My brother, Wally, reading Ecclesiastes.)

Because my mother was so devoted to raising our family, my father was able to devote his attention to his profession. And he was the inspiration for two of his children, his daughters Marylou and Beth, to also choose pharmacy as their careers.   What a tribute!

(Wally's children bringing forth the communion gifts.)

Earlier in his life, Dad served as a radio operator in the Navy.  And the flags are at half-mast, today, in Concord Center because of Dad’s service to our country.  His time in the Navy sparked a love of the ocean, and some of my best memories of my father are those spent on the boat with him, sitting up on the fly bridge, Dad’s got a can of Budweiser in his hand, I’m on his knee, and he’s singing, “Bell Bottom Trousers and Coats of Navy Blue!” Some of my most frightening memories were on the boat, too, because as my siblings can all attest, there were a few times, we had trouble at sea. On the upside, Dad gave us a wonderful opportunity to get on a first name basis with the Coast Guard.  There’s always that silver lining!

The past few years have been difficult sailing for my father, but he navigated the rocky waters of Parkinson’s with grace.  And I have been blinded by the love and devotion that my family has shown to my father during this time. As we heard in Wally's reading of Ecclesiastes, there is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.  And as we heard in Janet's reading of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, “These three remain: Hope, Faith and Love. But the greatest of these is LOVE.” The family tree really is the strongest tree and I am so amazed and proud of how beautifully our family has demonstrated that.  

To my mother, who has been a role model of what it means to forgive and love.  To my Aunt Peggy, who drove in from Boston to visit my father so frequently, always equipped with chocolate desserts for his sweet tooth. 

To my sister Marylou, who would fly up to visit Dad, and slept many a night on the pull-out couch at Robbin’s Brook. To my sister Janet, who never showed up to visit Dad without her manicure kit in hand and would spend hours, restoring Dad to his handsome glory. 

To my sister, Eileen, who nurtured Dad’s spirit with inspirational scripture and verse. To my brother, Wally, who never ceased – not even in Dad’s final hours - nurturing his heart with laughter.  My father’s final words were spoken in response to Wally, when my brother asked him if he’d like a Budweiser beer.  His reply? YES!

But most importantly, to my brother, Frank and my sister, Beth.  

God Bless You, both. 

To Frank – for visiting Dad nearly every single day, for bringing him to your home, for letting him in to your heart, and for doing everything you could do to carry out his wishes. I know it hasn’t always been easy, but we are thankful to you.  

To Beth - for being Dad’s Number One wingman, not only on the pharmacy bench, but in life.  You have devoted yourself to Dad, and at least for me, I never would have had the relationship that I was so blessed to have with Dad, if not for your unwavering and selfless efforts.   

In the words of another great Concord man – Ralph Waldo Emerson:

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

By this definition, my father was a wildly successful man.  He loved, and he was loved. And so many lives breathed easier because of him.  Dad made the world better, just by being in it.  But Dad wasn’t only successful; he was incredibly lucky to have a family that adored him. The last time I talked with Dad, was when we wished each other a Happy Birthday - just two weeks ago. He was with me when I took my first breath at Emerson; and I had the privilege of being with him when he took his last breath - in the same hospital.  

This past Sunday night, and early in to Monday morning, he was at various times, flocked by his children, several grandchildren, and his sister – who held his hands and feet, sang him his favorite songs including a more risqué version of “Bell Bottom Trousers”, and recounted some of our best family memories. 


(Father Gomes, also a former Navy pharmacist!)

Dad did not leave this world alone; he was surrounded in laughter and love, and it was magnificent.

So thank you again to our dear friends and family for being a part of our father’s successful life. Maybe you came to my father for medicine, but the truth is, each and every one of you were HIS medicine.  Your kindness, your friendship, your stories, your lives … is what made his life so happy and full.  



Science has taught us that energy is neither created nor destroyed, so it is our most heartfelt prayer that you always feel our father’s loving energy surround you. He is now part of the thousand winds that blow – the diamond glints on the snow; the sunlight on ripened grain; the gentle falling autumn rain.  



Dad will forever live in in the hearts of those who loved him.  And he will forever be remembered every time we pick up a broom, because Dad so loved to sweep.  

To our Aunt Ann, thank you again for being here; my father would be so honored that you sang at his Celebration of Life ... you always were his favorite singer.  


(Our amazing family cantor singing, "The Prayer of St. Francis.")