CSquaredPlus3

Blindside vs. Knowing... Both Hurt

Oldest Boy has type 1 diabetes.  He was diagnosed 03.03.03 in the ER of Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah, at the age of five.  It was devastating, but we're thankful he's healthy and managing the disease responsibly.

Because of Oldest Boy's diagnosis it's not uncommon for me to check the blood sugar of Middle Boy, Toddler Child, Chris, me, and any other friend or family member.  Usually... all is well.

Middle Boy gave us a scare almost three years ago with a blood sugar near 200.  Normal is 80 to 120, roughly.  I assumed type 1 had hit him, but it had not.  Per a recommendation from Oldest Boy's  endocrinologist, we discussed with Middle Boy participating in a clinical trial for relatives of people with type 1 diabetes.  Middle Boy agreed to participate in a TrialNet Study [with our guidance, support, and input] after discovering his body is producing two of three autoantibodies that predict the onset of type 1 diabetes.  We know the freight train is heading his way.  It blindsided us with Oldest Boy.  This time we see it coming.  We can't change it's course, but we can brace emotionally for the impact.

Through the TrialNet Study, we've been monitoring Middle Boy's pancreas for two and a half years.  He consents to biannual tests requiring an IV, fasting, and a few hours of mild discomfort to see how his pancreas is performing.  We typically leave the hospital reminded that his pancreas is sputtering, but he remains diabetes free.  Stressful?  Yes.  Does it provide valuable information to researchers, ultimately helping the diabetic community?  Yes.  Does Middle Boy choose to do this?  Yes.  He receives $50 each time he participates - from the Study.  He also loves his brother and believes what he's doing will help people with diabetes and their future children and grandchildren.  Not written as a prideful mother - it's the truth.

Wednesday was a test day.  The preliminary results were bad.  We've known for some time now that Middle Boy was standing in the path of the freight train.  It's always seemed abstract - far away.  It's getting closer.  Faster.  It's painful and sad.

He does not have type 1 diabetes... today, but his blood sugars indicate it's very close.  Doctors have been wrong in the past.  We hope and pray that Middle Boy will be the exception... the miracle.  He has an appointment - as does his brother - with an endocrinologist in a couple of weeks.  One of the benefits of watching the disease approach is Middle Boy might be able to get by on a small, daily, dose of insulin to give his healthy cells a break.  It's possible he can avoid taking insulin with food for a longer period of time.  We'll see.

 

The doctor who oversees the study reviewed Wednesday's results and explained the implications.  We shared everything with Middle Boy, and called Chris who was home with Toddler Child.  Middle Boy cried.  His father and I cried.  BUT, we all reminded ourselves that he does NOT have type 1 diabetes on THIS day.

Let's go out for lunch, buy some clothes at Old Navy, gawk at the Apple Store, hit Toys-R-Us so you can spend your $50, and let's get a milkshake at Ben and Jerry's.  TODAY we don't have needles or insulin.  This is good!

While eating lunch at his favorite Asian restaurant, Middle Boy broke several moments of silence saying, "Mom, I thought about some of the things you've said.  I think you're right.  [About simply enjoying today.]  It's like what Helen Keller says about appreciating your senses.  She says, *'Smell a flower today, like you might not smell it tomorrow'.  That's what I'm going to do."

I said, "You're a bright boy... "

*NOTE:  He remembered the gist of what Helen Keller wrote at the end of her essay Three Days to See.

I who am blind can give one hint to those who see - one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf to-morrow. Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense; glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.

Published in the Atlantic Monthly, January 1933.

The Crock-pot Returns and Some Other Stuff

The All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker - I am happy to report that it was returned this morning in it's original condition and is on the pantry shelf, in the special spot.  I had a dream last night that it was returned scratched, with baked-on clam chowder.  Thank goodness it was only a dream.  The slow cooker is clean, shiny and has been well cared for.  Crisis averted.

Skiing/Boarding - Oldest Boy and Middle Boy had their final snowboard lesson on Saturday.  It was a beautiful day.  The sky was blue, the temperatures were pleasant and the snow was good.  The boys had a great time and I skied with several nice people and did not have a repeat of this day.  My Greek Moonshine supplier made good on his promise last week, so I was able to come home to a nip from the "NOT Water!" bottle.

Toddler Child - We haven't taken him to the mountains to ski or snowboard yet.  He's still in diapers [please don't judge] and we're not convinced that the money [which doesn't grow on trees at our house] and the stress involved are worth it.  He feels sad when he sees the "big boys" leave - regardless of the reason - and is thrilled when they return.

Toddler Child has an ear fetish.  He loves to touch ears.  He needs to touch ears.  Oldest Boy gets the award for offering his ear to Toddler Child the most.  Middle Boy finds it irritating and will do it occasionally if he can't take the persistent begging.  When we got home from the mountain on Saturday, Toddler Child was thrilled to see his brothers and have Oldest Boy's ear.

The Oscars - I didn't know they started at 6:30!  I know he's not popular with many people for many different reasons.  But, I dig Sean Penn.  I can't tell you precisely why.  He blows my skirt up in an unconventional way, kind of like Steve Martin, David Letterman, Owen Wilson, Liam Neeson and Daniel Craig.  Oh... Daniel Craig blows all of our skirts and kilts up in a conventional way.

The end.

The Crock-pot

I love to cook.  Mostly because I like to eat.  I'm a bit of a foodie, but have also been known to take a box of Wheat Thins and a bowl of green olives and wasabi, soy almonds to bed for dinner.  Followed by a handful of M&Ms.  Yes, there's wine in there somewhere.

I think slow cooking is under utilized today.  It's convenient and the recipes have improved since the days of a can of tomatoes, 1/2 cup of water, a sliced potato and onion thrown on top of a chuck roast.  Check out the book Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker for some great recipes.

I've been eyeing the Porsche of slow cookers for the past couple of years.  I've owned a few different brands and have been disappointed in all of them.  If I had just purchased the Porsche originally, I wouldn't have wasted time and money on the inferior slow cookers.  I convinced Chris that I would cook beautiful, nutritious meals EVERY night if I had the dream machine.

I finally bought it.  The All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker was difficult to carry to my car, but I managed.  I waddled like a rat who had found a food scrap half the size of his body, but there was no way the treasure would be dropped.  Impossible.  I loved it so much I left it in the box in our kitchen pantry for weeks, wanting it to remain unspoiled for a while.  When I unpacked it I found a safe, special spot for it so it wouldn't get damaged or fingerprinted by the boys foraging for pantry crap.

I used it for the first time recently.  I tested all it's functions, browned the meat on the stove, sauteed veggies, then tossed the remaining ingredients in and cooked on low for several hours.  No extra pans to clean!  The LOW setting was actually low, and not the same as HIGH like my prior slow cookers.  I carefully cleaned the All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker so it looked brand new, and placed it in it's safe, special spot.  It's remained fingerprint and scratch-free ever since.

My neighbor called this morning.

"Hi, Chris.  Sorry to call so early, but I need to borrow a crock-pot.  Do you have one?"

Oh no!  What do I do?  What do I say?  I'm crazy.  This is crazy.  It's just a slow cooker - a crock-pot - you have to loan it to her. But, wait... What if she's using it for a church function?  Those LDS ward gatherings are a zoo!  There are always a million kids and pudgy, careless dads who don't know that if they use the wrong serving utensil, they'll scratch the appliance.  But Mormons are so kind and giving.  She'd loan her new All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker to ANYONE.  She knows I'm not Mormon though - she'll expect less from me...

"I do have a crock-pot.  A new one, actually."

"Would you rather I not use it?"

"Well...  I hate to ask this, but is it for a church function?"

"Um... no.   I'm having my parents over and wanted to keep some pre-prepared soup warm in it.  But I don't want to borrow it if..."  [Thank God, she's not actually preparing food in it.  That's better.]

"No-no-no.  Please, let me explain."  Then I babbled about the new slow cooker, how it was the Porsche of all brands and I'd wanted it forever but felt guilty spending that much money on it, and how I had just given my old crock-pots to Supermodel [a neighbor, friend and one of my workout partners] because she wanted them for church functions, like funerals, etc..., and I'm sure she would loan them - just for future reference.

"I'm happy to loan it to you!"  I lied.

My neighbor is coming over shortly to pick up the All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker.  The one that I've dreamed of and is clean, fingerprint and scratch-free.  I'm a wreck.  I need to call my therapist, or a friend, or not answer the door when she knocks...

Daughters

Mothering our boys comes naturally to me.  They're fun, sweet, energetic and so far they think Chris and I are pretty neat.  I always knew I'd be a parent.  I assumed I'd have at least one boy and one girl, with a bonus kid or two.

Growing up, I projected my own feelings on a future daughter.  I had a difficult time understanding that my parents and grandparents didn't think about me while they were young... before I existed.  One of the reason's I kept journals was so that my daughter could someday read them and know I understood exactly how she was feeling.  I kept special dresses from my childhood and teenage years.  I saw pictures of my mom and grandmothers in their pretty dresses as young girls and was saddened that they didn't save them for me.  How could they get rid of such gorgeous gowns that I would have LOVED to wear while playing "dress-up"?  I saved dresses for the daughter I assumed I'd have.  So she would feel understood, and know she was thought of prior to her arrival.  I saved dolls and stuffed animals too.  I still have everything. The journals, the dresses, and the dolls.

I wrote in one of my journals, "When I grow up, I'm going to let my daughter watch Battle of the Network Stars, even if it's a school night, because I know she'll really want to, and she'll still be able to get up in the morning for school.  Mom and Dad are so mean."

It was important for me to prepare for... her.

As I've connected with friends on Facebook, one of the best parts is seeing photographs of everyone's families.  We all put our best, most attractive, smiling faces on display - Look at me!  Look at my wonderful marriage!  Look at my cool single life!  Look at my beautiful kids! - recognizing the reality is that we all have ups and downs, bumps in the road, and a few unattractive days.  There's not usually a camera documenting those times.  So, we see the happy and the fun.  And... the BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GIRLS that EVERYONE has!

I adore our sons.  Our family is complete and I love the novelty of being the only female in our house.  Makes me feel special.  I won't have a daughter.  It's okay.  I'm able to talk with girlfriends about their relationships with their daughters, and befriend many, many young girls.

Yesterday a package arrived while I was reflecting on the photos of friends' beautiful daughters on Facebook, and the lack of estrogen in our home.  The package was from Cheri at Blog This Mom.  She had already shipped me a Snuggie after reading about my fascination with them.  Cheri's daughter, Laura, shares the same fascination and received one for her 9th birthday.

I couldn't imagine what was in the new package.  It was an American Girl DVD!  [Thank you Cheri!  For everything.]  After reading my "February 1978" post, Cheri sent me Chrissa Stands Strong. 

"Meet Chrissa Maxwell.  She and her family have just moved, and Chrissa has to start at a new school mid-year.  Will she fit in?  Can she find new friends?..."

I haven't watched it yet, but I intend to.  With the boys.  Cheri said so.  Which means, our family will be watching An American Girl: Chrissa Stands Strong one evening this week.

In the meantime, I thought Mary would enjoy reading one of my childhood journals.  Here she is, comfortably wrapped in the Snuggie, moved by the fact that I documented feelings 35 years ago on her behalf, and excited to watch our new chick flick.

My girl...

February 1978

My family moved from the small town of Winchester, Indiana to Fort Wayne, Indiana the middle of my sixth grade year.  I said good-bye to kids I'd gone to school with since kindergarten and known for even longer.  Kids who had joined me in playing house, office, doctor, hide-and-seek, Monopoly and 45 rpm records.  Kids I fought with, had crushes on, dared to do things and who's dares I often accepted.  It's where my dreams of becoming a stripper took root.  I walked the same path to and from school for nearly seven years in that little town.  It was all I knew.

Dad had received a job promotion that resulted in a transfer.  He and Mom both acknowledged the fear and uncertainty involved in a move while giving my brother and me positive things to hold.  The new school is great!  We'll have a larger home!  The neighborhood is nice and there are lots of kids your age!  We'll visit Winchester, and you can be pen-pals with your old friends...

We made the move during our school's two-week Christmas break.  I returned to a new sixth grade classroom in a new town after the holidays.

My teacher was wonderful.  He was a man.  I'd only had one man teacher prior. [Except for a man music teacher, but that one didn't really count.]  My new man teacher had been raised by deaf parents so he made it a point to teach all of his students sign language.  I still remember quite a bit of it.  My maiden name is Hautem [sounds like scrotum, not autumn], and he called me Hauty [ho-dee].  I melted.  Thought it was the coolest thing to have a nickname from a smart, funny man teacher.

Valentine's Eve 1978
I covered my shoebox in foil, carefully glued cut-out pink and red hearts to paper doilies and taped them to my Valentine box, which had my name in large, purple letters above the slot in the lid.  As the new girl, kids were still calling me ChrisTy instead of Chrisy.  I always politely corrected them.  "No, there's no "t".  My name's Chris-ee, not Chris-T."  In my mind they were two very different names, and the kids might as well have called me Sue, if they called me Christy.

The Valentines I'd selected and addressed for my new classmates were ready to go.  I'd chosen each one purposefully for the recipient.  Studying the graphic and little saying to make sure I didn't convey the wrong message to anyone.  I decided the over-sized, special Valentine [there used to be one in every commercial box] would go to a taller than average, blond-haired boy named Ryan. One day he looked at my face for a long time, then he said, "Your eyes sparkle," and walked away.  [More like skipped away.  He turned out to be gay and wear lip gloss and flowing scarves around his neck every day in high school.]

Valentines Day 1978
It was time for the party.  Cupcakes, cookies, punch, conversation hearts, atypical noise in the classroom.  There was nothing like the feeling of a party at school.  Teachers were happy, and sometimes I could overhear them talk about real things with each other, and laugh.  "We were playing Bridge last Saturday with the Jamison's, and you wouldn't believe Richard's opening bid..."

I distributed my Valentines, timing the delivery of Ryan's when he was very far from his desk.  I had two close friends in class, so the three of us giggled and chatted while eating treats.  The end of the school day was approaching, and the buzz of the party was calming.  I returned to my desk.

A few kids were still delivering their Valentines.  I didn't want to appear too anxious, so I discreetly lifted the lid of my foil-covered box and quickly peeked inside.  There were only two Valentines.  My heart started to pound.

I understood exactly why it happened.  I was old enough to follow the logic.  My name wasn't on the new class list.  It was an innocent oversight by 11-year-old kids, maybe even teachers and parents.  I was still mortified and didn't want anyone to know and feel sorry for me.  It was a giant feat to not cry, or sweat, or have my voice waiver.  I worked hard to manipulate every conversation and social interaction away from my Valentine box.

Ten minutes prior to dismissal backpacks were ready, coats and hats were on, and most of the class had dumped their Valentines on their desks and were rifling through them.  My man teacher walked around and told everyone to put their "love notes" back in their boxes and get ready for the bell to ring.  He saw me sitting there with my tidy desk and nervous smile... waiting.

"You didn't open your box, Hauty?"

"I'm going to wait 'till I get home."

He knew.

I walked home, had a good cry in my room that afternoon, with a solid understanding that it wasn't personal, yet unable to deny the pitiful scene I'd just played the leading role in.

February 15, 1978
I returned to school, grateful to have Valentine's Day behind me.  Ryan skipped around the classroom and I tried to make eye contact with him so he could see my "sparkly" eyes.  My beloved man teacher called upon me for every task that required a lovely assistant.  I wrote things on the chalkboard.  I erased things.  I distributed worksheets, and collected them when students were finished.  I walked important papers to the Principal's office, and was selected to help the girl who broke her pelvis sledding, get her hot lunch from the cafeteria. [I didn't know her very well, and the body cast intimidated all of us.  She only came to school three days a week.]

He knew.  And I felt better.

Have a Happy Valentine's Day.

We like to call it a naive charm.

Exhibit A
Oldest Boy (11) and Middle Boy (9) were laughing hysterically at something they'd seen on America's Funniest Home Videos.  I asked what was so funny.

Finishing each other's sentences, like an old married couple, the boys told me about a video with a man and a woman who were being filmed for some telethon.  The boys thought it was at a church.  The man and woman were cheerfully soliciting money for a cause.  Apparently, the man said, "I'll be your host this evening...", and the woman followed with, "I'll be your whore this evening too..." and continued talking, not realizing what she'd said.

Oldest Boy, laughing heartily said, "And Mom, they were at CHURCH!"  Middle Boy howled.  This was a real knee-slapper.

"Do you guys know what whore means?"

Again, finishing each other's sentences and clearly of the same mindset, "Yeah.  You know, like scary or creepy.  She horrified them.  Get it?  She's a horror."

Exhibit B - Part 1
All three boys shower and bathe in our bathroom, more for efficiency than anything else.  Oldest Boy typically showers but occasionally likes to take a bath.  Chris was keeping everyone on task.  Middle Boy had moved from the wash to the dry cycle, Toddler Child was being coaxed out of the tub, and Oldest Boy was still washing in the same tub.  I was in Chris' and my closet tidying things, and I heard the following...

[Loud blowing of nose sound.]

Chris:  Hey.  Don't do that, Buddy.

Oldest Boy:  Mom said it's good to get your nose clean with warm water.

Chris:  She meant in the shower.  Now all that junk's gonna float around in there.

Oldest Boy:  Ohhh.

Chris:  I'll get the bucket.

Exhibit B - Part 2
I walked in to help Toddler Child out of the bathtub.  I lifted him, placed him on the mat and started the hurried, sometimes too rough, towel dry.  "Do you want to go potty in the toilet before we put on your pajamas?"

"No.  I peed in the tub." [quick smile to punctuate]

Chris and I find comfort in the fact that, although they might someday be President and Vice President of the Chess Club, or graduates of the Pond's Institute, the boys know how to have a good time...

[They're drinking root beer and sparkling cider on New Year's Eve in our basement.  They begged to stay up until midnight (a big deal at Ross Inc.).  Toddler Child and I were sleeping, which is why they were partying in the basement - so as not to wake us.  They'll be considerate hell-raisers.  We're so proud.]

If you really loved me, you would.

Oldest Boy asked if we could rent West Side Story.  His dance and music teachers at school have been playing clips from the movie in class.  He convinced Middle boy that it was about gangs and he'd really, really, really like it.  I love old movies, especially musicals, so I was thrilled.  We found a copy at Blockbuster and grabbed Karate Kid II as well.

We watched the first half of West Side Story last week, on a school night.  On our way home from skiing Saturday afternoon, assuming they had forgotten about the Jets and the Sharks, I reminded the boys we could watch Karate Kid II.  Oldest Boy said, "Can we watch the rest of West Side Story first?"  I was so pleased.  Middle Boy was not.

We showered, got in pajamas, made our popcorn and cocktails, and finished West Side Story.

Middle Boy disappeared towards the end of the movie, but he watched longer than I thought he would.  We heard the hum of an electric pencil sharpener coming from his room. [He loves to draw with colored pencils.]

I was sitting with Chris.

Me:  Let's pretend you're Tony and I'm Maria.

Chris:  Sure! [wheels turning]

Me:  Tony has nice hair and a full mouth.  Would you consider a little filler in your lips?

Chris:  No. [buzzkill]

Me:  would you consider hair extensions?

Chris:  No. [double buzzkill]

Me:  Will you at least sing "Maria" to me?

Chris:  I can't sing.

Me:  Yes you can.  Come on.  Do it.  Please...

Chris:  No.

Me:  What about "Somewhere"?  That's so romantic.

Chris:  No.

Me:  Fine.  I'll sing my parts and your parts. [clearing throat]

Oldest Boy:  Dad, sing "Cool" or the "Jet Song".  Those are good!

Chris:  This isn't going how I thought it would.

Me:  My mother almost named me Maria you know...

Eddie Haskell lives here now.

Middle Boy got in trouble last night.  The issue was attitude and I addressed it with him before Chris got home.  That makes it sound like I had a, "Now son..." conversation.  It was more like I was dying to get my hands on him, but knew I shouldn't touch him, because I might touch him too hard.  So I spoke loudly, my face very close to his face.  You know, so he could read my lips if he wasn't hearing me clearly.

I punctuated the conversation with the humiliating Mom-Chest-Poke move.  Before sending him to his room to think about what we'd discussed, I said, "DO [poke] YOU [poke] UNDERSTAND [poke] ME [poke]?!  [Poke, poke, poke - just because.]  He did.

Chris got home, talked to him again and didn't poke him.  We both hugged him and helped him lick his wounds a bit without removing the new expectation.  He was sorry for what had happened and was smiling and in good spirits before dinner.

Eddie Haskell Appearance #1

Middle Boy:  Can I help you Mom?

Me:  Sure.  Would you like to set the table?

Middle Boy:  Yes, please!

Me:  You don't have to answer "Yes, please," Honey.

Middle Boy:  Sorry.

Me:  You don't have to be sorry.

Middle Boy:  Okay. [smiling]

I had cooked a roast in the Crock-Pot.  I threw in a few diced onions, carrots, roasted garlic, a few other spices, and two cups of red wine.  It simmered all day and tasted good, but wine was definitely flavoring the meat.

Chris complimented the meal and asked how I had prepared it.  I told him.  Middle Boy looked concerned.  I explained that it didn't taste exactly like wine and the heat burns off the alcohol.  Try it, I said, you'll like it.  [He'd only eaten his potatoes up to this point.]

He took a bite.  His eyes watered a little and his nostrils flared.

Eddie Haskell Appearance #2

Me:  What do you think?

Middle Boy:  Well [smiling and blinking], the bad taste is 80% gone.

Me:  So it only tastes 20% bad?

Middle Boy:  Yes.

Me:  Would you like a hot dog?

Middle Boy:  Yes, please. [smiling]

As we were clearing the table, I noticed the boys need haircuts.  I cut their hair typically before a shower or bath.  They hate it.  Not having short hair, but the process, whether I do it or someone else does.  It's like flossing to them, or putting gas in the car for me.  Needs to be done, but how about later?  I understand.

Eddie Haskell Appearance #3

Me:  You guys need a haircut.  Want to get it over with tonight?

Oldest Boy: [silent]

Middle Boy:  [smiling and blinking] If you don't mind, I'd rather not.  I was unsuspected.

Me:  Oh.  Okay.  I'll give you more of a head's-up in the future.

Middle Boy: [cheerfully] Thank you, Mom!  I'll go take a bath now.  Toddler Child, would you like to join me?

Three Good Things

Chris and I were talking this morning about how heavy things feel, for all of us.  None of us [or very few of us] are completely insulated from what's happening with the economy.  It's a difficult, stressful time and not knowing what the next several months will bring, compounds the heaviness.

There are always things for which we are thankful.  We know this.  And after we have discussions where we review the worst case scenarios, we take a breath and remind ourselves of the good things.

Mom and Dad lived for a few years in Caracas, Venezuela right after Chris and I were married.  As a Christmas gift one year, Dad flew Chris, my brother Mallory Joe and me to South America for a couple of weeks.  I think it was a gift for Mom and Dad too.

On the surface, everything appeared wonderful.  Mom had spent much of her childhood in the Philippines so she spoke Spanish well and had experience living as an expat.  Mom and Dad lived in a beautiful penthouse apartment overlooking the new U.S. Embassy, had a full-time driver, maid and memberships to a prestigious country club.  Two months prior to the move Dad had been diagnosed with kidney cancer, had surgery to remove a kidney and was sent to Venezuela with a clean bill of health.  Life is good!  Right?  Well...

Mom's birthday is three days before Christmas and she was turning 50 that year.  She missed her friends, understandably.  Navigating life in a foreign country where only 3% of the people spoke English [statistic per Mother, at the time], required her to rely on the Spanish she hadn't used for years and it exhausted her.  We were out for lunch one day and she was trying to order sandwiches for all of us.  She became frustrated, looked at me and said, "I can't remember how the hell to say mustard in Spanish.  Can we lose the mustard?"

One afternoon, Dad was at work, Chris and my brother Mallory Joe were playing ping-pong, drinking Venezuelan beer [Polar tasted good.  Chris and Mallory Joe consumed it daily while playing ping-pong.] and Mom and I were sneaking a smoke on her veranda.

Mom said, "I don't know what to do.  This has just been so difficult."

We discussed various solutions, all involving travel and being away from Dad longer than she felt was reasonable.  She recognized she was tired and in a funk due to the many life stressors she'd just endured.  A major move, culture shock, a husband with a cancer diagnosis, finding homes for three animals she loved dearly prior to the move, turning 50, and missing her family and friends.  She knew she simply needed to keep moving forward.

She vented about the difficulties of living in Caracas.  There were many - all legitimate.

I said, "But Mom, there are some neat things about living here.  Can you think of just three good things?"

She thought...

"The birds are beautiful.  I love seeing parrots and macaws flying.  Free."

"And the orchids.  I can grow orchids on my veranda.  I've never been able to grow orchids like this.  Aren't they beautiful?"  [Mom has always loved gardening, so this was important and valued.]

She was looking a little perkier as she lit another cigarette.  We sat quietly while she thought.

Finally she said, "And when your father and I go out to eat, and I order a drink... anywhere... they bring you the whole bottle, even if it's Grey Goose, and set it right. On. The. Table."

There's airborne, and then there's Airborne.

The two older boys didn't have school on Friday due to Parent Teacher Conferences, so even though Oldest Boy and Toddler Child were "sick" with colds, they rallied to go sledding.  Funny how that happens.

The sky was blue, the air was clean and we headed to a park with a hill big enough for the older boys to enjoy but small enough for Toddler Child to manage.  There's nothing worse than a 40-pound toddler asking to be carried up a hill, when it's hard enough getting your own, old butt to the top.  This hill was every man for himself, and my selection strategy saved my back.  When the older boys needed more excitement, they built a jump.  Which hurt their backs.  Even Toddler Child's.

I refused to go over the little jump which disappointed the boys.  It's not my first rodeo, Kids.

Friday night we went to bed and I woke up at 1:38 a.m.  Oldest Boy's and Toddler Child's cold was now mine.  Frustrating to go to bed feeling perfectly healthy, then be hit with illness, recognizing the exact moment it infiltrates the body.  I'm sick.

As Chris and the older boys left for snowboarding on Saturday morning, and Toddler Child seemed exorcised of his cold, I thought to myself, maybe I should have taken the jump...