Tidbits

The recent bankruptcy and closing of a toy store chain has lead to a surplus of wee little dye-cast toy cars in our household. Because we needed more miniature sharp objects to step on at 3am--the wheels causing us to completely lose our footing is just a bonus. We're masochistic that way.


At one point I, as I was pulling one of the offending cars out of my foot, I noticed that both Matchbox and Hot Wheels are sold under the same toy brand. So what made them different? I went googling (Fascinating, isn't it? How "To Google" is now a verb?). Wikipedia (I also wikied) informed me that a die cast toy maker by the name of Jack Odell designed the first cars to fit inside a matchbox--for his daughter. How sweet is that? She could take toys to school as long as they were small enough to fit into a matchbox. And now these little toy cars are The Preferred Toy of my own daughter--she makes little vrooming sounds. Things like that just make my heart smile.

Housekeeping...

It's been a very long day--back to the doctor with Kyleigh...this time with a viral eye thing. Poor kid can't catch a break! And can someone please--please--explain to me how I'm supposed to get drops in her eyes when the instant I lay her back she morphs into a Tasmanian Devil?! Nooooo, doctor couldn't offer any advice on that one, could she!

Anyway...figured since my brain is all mushy (and all I want to do is go to bed) I'd take care of a little light housekeeping--blog style.

I have a plethora of drafts in my edit box. Thought I'd dig one out, polish it up a little and go ahead and share. I started this post way back in September, though, oddly enough, the mild weather the past couple of days has me feeling like this all over again...

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The weather has turned cooler. Days on end with the windows open and the air conditioner off. Days like these are the ones I long for through out the rest of the year. That moment between pleasantly cool and Don't-talk-to-me-I'm-staying-indoors-contemplating-moving-to-Tahiti-wake-me-up-in-March cold.

Shocked? That me, who spent most of my life around the equator enjoys the cool autumn days above all else? Know why? It reminds me of home. What? That's not what you'd expect? But everywhere we lived--with one exception--was fairly high altitude. Cool misty mornings, warm afternoons and cool breezes blowing at night. Our house in Olitokitok--the Kenyan border town half way up Mt. Kilimanjaro--even had a couple of fireplaces that saw regular use. My heated water bed was the place to be when we ran out of firewood!

But this is where my heart will always be.

This is one of my most favorite views in the world--and I've seen a lot of the world to be able to come to that conclusion. Lake Victoria as seen from the patio of our house in Mwanza, Tanzania. My bedroom window looked out over the lake as well. If I managed to wake up in time (rarely) I could watch the fishing dhows head out to gather the day's catch. I learned to sail (sort of) on that lake. I'll dig out those pictures another day.

My grandfather helped build this house. One of my uncles lives there now. He actually helped in construction all those years ago. They basically cut out part of the hill, used the broken up rocks to build retaining walls and built a house. I had an entire hillside of rocks to climb up and over and mango trees to hide out in. And there is no more peaceful, All Is Right With The World sound than an African rain falling on a babati (corrugated aluminum) roof.

When you say nothing at all...

So how are you with the new job and the dog?

There's a loaded question if I ever heard one. I met the Husband's new lieutenant the other morning--he was over for a routine inspection of Helix T. Bomb Dog's kennel. Following the preliminary niceties of "Hi, how are you? Nice to meet you. You too," he asked that one.

In a spit second, I found myself struggling for a reply.

Did he really want the long answer? Does anyone really want the long answer? Even when they say, no really--I want to know? They don't want to know, do they?

Do I reveal to my husband's new boss that up until two months ago things were falling apart? Fraying at the edges? That hardly a day went by without one of us contemplated collecting our walking papers? That it had simply just gotten too damn hard to continue being nice to each other--let alone loving? Did he really want to know that in the past six years of living opposite schedules our relationship was possibly strained beyond what it could bounce back from? We weren't speaking. When we did it was with the least number of words possible. Then we would regroup, talk it out, determine something was broken but both clueless to how to fix it. Our three-year-old son was having uncontrollable meltdowns almost daily due to the lack of continuity in his tiny little world. Our one-year-old was waking up at night screaming--possibly for the same reasons? I was consistently being pushed beyond my own breaking point--rapidly heading for a breakdown. I would spend Sunday mornings weeping in the back row of church because there I was safe--I wouldn't have to explain why Mommy was crying. And we were both exhausted. Exhausted beyond belief.

Sean went on medical leave at the beginning of December. You may remember the infamous surgery story? He's been home just about every night since then. A few days before Christmas he was transfered to full time EOD--a weekday day job. Just in these few short weeks the change has been remarkable--flippin' remarkable.

It hasn't been perfect--but I never desired perfection. However, we discovered something. We actually like each other, he and I. Still. Our shared awake time is no longer filled with the frantic rush to get everything done in so few hours--everyone fighting for their share of time. Neither of us feeling as though we are low on the priority list of the other--merely getting what was left. We all have time now. Time to sit. Time to be. We're still tired--we do have two small children, after all! And Sean is still on the meds that kick his booty. But I actually get to sleep with my husband.

The little ones are still adjusting--Kyleigh still pulls Jacob off of Daddy's lap in jealousy (Sean suggested that we might as well go ahead and get her fitted for a tiara now) and Jacob still asks to spend some 'pecial alone time with him. But how much of that is normal sibling rivalry stuff? They are both sleeping peacefully at night now. Jacob is still having meltdowns--but nowhere near the caliber or frequency they had been. Now it's more out of frustration because his brain goes so much faster than his body. He's no longer fighting bedtime. Though Daddy does have to be the one to tuck him in. Mommy just won't do. And this past Saturday morning Sean got up with Kyleigh at 6 am and let me sleep. That right there proved that this man--who is and has always been the man of my dreams and love of my life--is still in love with me.

So, how am I with the new job and the dog?

I'm good.

And I recall saying it with a big, goofy smile on my face.

Babies don't keep...

I found this lullaby a while back. Thought I'd share.

Over the past several months we have dealt with various health issues with Kyleigh. None of them very serious, but all building on top of each other begetting sleeplessness and crankiness. One morning last week--following a rather terrifying incident--as I was rocking with her, holding her, getting ready to lay her down for a nap I found this song running through my head again.

I made another doctor's appointment for her that day. And after all of these medical appointments--wastes of co-pays--that have ended with the doctor calmly explaining that she'd "grow out of it" and me in tears, we managed to see a doctor who actually listened to me. She listened as I explained how up until a few months ago this miserable, crying child was one of the happiest, most laid back babies I had ever met. She looked back over the records and reviewed what we had already been told and what treatments were prescribed and she listened as I explained that none of it made a difference. Kyleigh wasn't growing out of it. There was actually something physically wrong with my child. I was not being paranoid or over-reacting. Well, okay--I usually am both of those things, but I knew something just wasn't right. And the doctor listened. And she looked at Kyleigh. Really looked at her and examined her. And she diagnosed her and gave me an answer. One. Simple. Little. Answer. And a plan. A plan that consists of short term and long term goals--without medication. I left in tears again--but for the complete opposite reason.

Kyleigh is already perkier. Sleeping and playing again. So, hush you. You who say I'm a fretful mom. Shush, you. You who say I spoil my babies because I hold them so much. The only things in this house that are spoiled are lingering in the dark depths of the refrigerator.

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullaby, rockabye, lullaby loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullaby, rockaby lullaby loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Stop me if you've heard this one...

The shiny side of funerals? They're like little mini reunions. Everyone asking, "So. How are you? You know, aside from the really crappy week and all, how've you been?"

Took a moment before driving home to chat with a friend who had moved away this summer. He was there with his "This Isn't My Girlfriend" girlfriend. As we were talking one of the funeral directors stopped and talked to us. He meant well--best of intentions, I'm sure. He shared a cute little--totally and completely theologically unsound--tale...

On the next clear night...winter nights are the clearest...look up at the stars. The bright, twinkling ones are God's newest angels. Andrew will be the brightest.

So an Agnostic, an Atheist and a Christian walk into a bar...er, um, wait...all turn and stare at him. Smile and nod. And turn back to each other. And all roll our eyes. Comic relief is important in times of grief. The laugh did us all good.

Happy trails, my friend.

I have sat down to write this post a number of times yesterday and today. I get a sentence down only to be interrupted somehow--either by a little one desperately seeking attention right then and there or by my own emotions. Pendulum like emotions swinging from Anger to Sorrow and back to Anger again. I want to be mad--to lash out at Management. But then I think of all of the lives that have been touched and made better, brighter, over the past several years and I can't be angry. But I can be sad. Sad because I just lost a friend. Sad because there's a young woman who is now a widow. Sad because the world now has a hole in it.

Thursday night a friend of mine lost his long battle with cancer. It never fought fair, but then again, neither did Andrew.

Last night a circle of us gathered around and simply reminisced, shared our "Andrew" stories and took solace in our shared grief. It was a beautiful thing. We celebrated his life. His triumphs. His amazing inspiration to others. In a room full of people whose lives had all been touched, and made better for it, by this one individual we all found a measure of comfort.


Almost four years ago Andrew Stevens was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. He was told to put his affairs in order and given only months. Obviously, Andrew had no intention of going quietly into the night. He fought back and he fought dirty. He hung on to life like some tenacious bulldog and refused to back down. He approached his sickness with a complete and total irreverence--never shy to pull out the "Cancer Card" to win an argument or get his own way. But we always knew the disease would win in the end. He only had so many body parts to remove.

I remember the day I found out he was sick. It rocked our little community of friends. He was young. Athletic. He had big--huge--plans for his future. The first time I met Andrew I didn't like him. I thought he was arrogant, cocky and far too full of himself for his own good. Then I found out that I could say stuff like that to him and he'd laugh about it. Anyone who can laugh at themselves and throw it right back is Okay by me. We started out as co-workers. Then we became friends. When the realization hit him that he wasn't going to be around for too much longer his focus shifted. It shifted off of himself and his grandiose dreams and schemes and onto the rest of humanity. He set out to make a difference. He was going to leave a mark.

Andrew organized multiple fund raisers for the Colon Cancer Alliance. His most successful--and most fulfilling for himself--was Cancer Takes A Hike. One of the outcomes from our gathering last night was the dedication to take Andrew's cause and make it an annual hike.

We're burying our friend on Tuesday. But his footprint on our lives was deep. His cause, his goals, his dreams live on.

I forgot I was supposed to share...

I mentioned it last night and realized that I was just a tease. So here's a trailer from the movie Coraline...