H-A-R-R-Y

Harrison is six today. It has been a year of growth. He is finishing Kindergarten and is a beginning reader. He can play board games without throwing the pieces everywhere. He has learned to play catch and has really shown an interest in baseball. He is making friends and starting to ask for play dates. He occasionally uses his manners without being prompted. He can create ships and robots out of a pile of loose Legos. He can follow a treasure map. His drawing skills have expanded dramatically, as well as his writing abilities. He is about to lose his second tooth. He likes to be called "Harry" because it's easier to write.

My little preschooler is definitely becoming an elementary student. It's hard to believe.







He decorated this cake all by himself.


He loves the movie "Sandlot" which is about a bunch of boys playing baseball. We got him a brand new baseball in the wrapper in honor of the movie. Ella got him an airplane that is harder to fly than we thought. Dad had to give Harrison some advice.


Chris had a hard time following his own advice. It ended up in the neighbor's tree.

I ran to remember

Running three miles isn’t terribly hard for me. I’ve been running for about 16 years and with my extra half-marathon training lately, three miles has become an “easy” day for me. So why was I wide awake at 4 AM last Saturday wondering if I would be able to run an entire 5K? Probably because it has become a habit – this waking up in the middle of the night thing - but I was worried because I have performance anxiety when it comes to running. If it is organized in any way (group run, race, etc) I get really nervous.

I got up about 5:00 and waited for the sun to rise enough so that I could go outside. I ran three miles, so that I would get more mileage in, and came home to get the kids up and ready. They were so confused. We don’t have school? Then how come we have to get up? They headed to the neighbors so that we could get down to the Race for the Cure site in time. Last year I was late starting the race, waiting in line at the Porta Potty!!, and I vowed not to be late this year.

The weather was perfect. The cool air was not too cold for shorts, but just enough for a light weight long sleeved top. Chris and I parked at his office and walked the four blocks to the start. Each corner brought more and more people. Some people wore their race T-shirts. Some had their numbers already pinned on. Many had some form of light pink on. The anxiety rose into my throat as I chit chatted with one of Chris’ co-workers whom we ran into in his parking lot. As the crowds thickened, I became more and more withdrawn. Chris and I stood by the sign appropriate for our anticipated finish time. We didn’t have a lot to say. The scene that formed around us was enough to keep us entertained. Every once in awhile Chris would point out a sign on someone’s back, “Hey, look at that – she has survived twice!” “Yeah,” I would glumly respond, “that’s amazing.” We waited about twenty minutes and as each minute passed, I became more and more upset. I had a hard time pin-pointing what it was that was upsetting me. It wasn’t even a conscious feeling. It was actually pretty subtle. I accepted that I was probably feeling sad, but down deep I knew it was more than that.

I heard someone behind me say that he saw the smoke from the starting gun. Even though we were pretty far from the starting line, the crowd moved quickly. As we got near the line, there were people on the side cheering and there was a song blaring so loudly that it became distorted as we ran by the speakers. It was Melissa Etheridge singing “This Is Not Goodbye”. My eyes immediately teared up and I began to try and get around the people in front of me. I wanted to run faster. To get away, but I couldn’t. The crowd was too thick. It was at this point that Chris said, “I find this so inspirational!” and I responded, “This makes me so angry!” Right or wrong, that was how I was feeling. I couldn’t find inspiration in the bright pink back signs entitled “In Celebration Of…” I only could see the many “In Memory Of…” back signs dabbled amongst the masses. The song’s lyrics were ripping through me: “I run for hope, I run to feel, I run for the truth and all that is real, I run for your mother, your sister, your wife, I run for you and me, my friend... I run for life.”

Chris ran ahead for awhile and I became pretty discouraged. My legs felt like rubber. I had run out of gas. At about mile 2, Chris rejoined me and I told him that I thought I might need to walk. I felt so stupid and weak. I didn’t know what was wrong. It was at this point that I started to cry. Sob. I instinctively covered my face, but found it pretty difficult to run with my hand over my face. Chris started to talk about my mom. He told me that he was thinking of my mom and all she went through these past eight years struggling with her cancer. He equated whatever “pain” I was in as “nothing” in comparison to all the chemo and fatigue she felt through the years. A woman on the side of the road yelled to me, “You can do it!” That embarrassed me pretty badly and got me through it. I even laughed. “She thinks I can’t run 3 miles!”

As I ran through the narrow street to the finish, I was so glad to be done. I did feel that I had accomplished something, but it was not a physical feat – it was something else. Chris put his arm around me and asked me if I felt better. I did. I finally accepted that maybe, just maybe, he had a much clearer understanding of the heartache I have been going through. He saw that I was a member of this freakish club of people deeply affected by breast cancer. I am not discounting the emotions that he’s been going through. He loved my mother very much. More than that, he loved the way she loved me. However, I have taken his non-communication about my mom’s death as a sign of not realizing that I have been grieving deeply each day since December 13th.

As we drove to pick up the kids, I knew that this time alone with my husband, and my mom, was almost over. I will run this race again and it will always be agonizing, but I raised more money than I expected and that is something I need to do every year.

A couple of people asked me later in the day how my “fun run” was. How could I explain the emotions those three long miles had taken me through? I couldn’t. All I said is that it wasn’t “fun”.

She's never seen this much alcohol in Utah before!

 

Happy Birthday to me

My FOURTY-SECOND (aaaahhhh!!) birthday was Friday. Since I was running the Race for the Cure yesterday morning, Chris threw me a party last night. It was a huge success.

This is a picture of my birthday cake. (A "real" one was also served for the rest of the crowd!)

P.S. The Race for the Cure was inspirational and extremely emotional. I even started crying pretty hard around the second mile! I am so glad my husband was there to keep me going. Thank you all for your words and dollars of support!!!!

All in one day

Digging through Harrison’s parent folder at preschool the other day, I found this note.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I broke the Blue Class’ birdfeeder. It was a class project. Miss C would like it replaced. Could you please help me replace it?

Thank you, Harrison

“I don’t know how it happened. Me and A were just hitting it over and over and it fell apart!” Harry explained after I started raising my voice and trying to control my anger. (This is not exactly the first problem Harrison has had late in the afternoons at preschool.) After digesting the entire story of Harrison’s misadventure with a birdseed birdfeeder in the shape of a heart, I found two violets back at home on the counter that he had planted in Kindergarten for me. Next to the potted flowers was a card. On the front it said, “Mom” and had a BEAUTIFUL drawing of my face. Underneath the picture was “I (heart) U.” Inside he had answered these questions:

ALL ABOUT MOM

Your age is: 41 (correct)

Your weight is: 40 lbs. (almost correct)

You’re as tall as: the door

I want to take you on a trip to: Minnesota

If I had a lot of money I’d buy you: flowers

You’re favorite food is: chicken (not correct)

I make you happy when: I smile (that one made me tear up)

You are so: good

My favorite time with you is: storytime

Yeah, I would say the card pretty much negated the hysteria that the first note had caused.

Long week

I've never been close to anyone who has lost someone close to them. My grandparents either died before I was born, or died when I was too young (or adolescent) to appreciate what my mom was going through. One of my friends lost her mom when I was in my twenties, but I lived so far away that I never really saw, or felt, her pain. That's it.

So here I am – going through this incredibly awful experience basically alone. I don’t think that people truly understand what grief feels like unless they’ve been through it. I’m fairly new to this town, but am fortunate to have made some good friends. Fortunately, most of them can only sympathize, but not empathize. I don’t want them to know what this feels like – to lose a person in your life that gave you complete loyalty and unending love.

So where does this leave me? Alone with these feelings. Feelings that I can’t put into exact words, but I want to so that someone else might get it. Feelings of sadness, anger, frustration, relief (I don’t have to find her the perfect gift this Sunday), guilt and emptiness.

I never thought I’d be the type to experience “anniversary” feelings – those feelings a person gets on the anniversary of a death, the person’s birthday, etc, but I am. I am struggling with Mother’s Day. The cards, the special ad inserts in the paper, and the commercials. They really bug me.

I’m hoping that the run this weekend, Race for the Cure, is healing instead of painful. I know it will probably be both.

May's edition of Ellastyle

 

Six weeks

I’m pretty sure that healthy living is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Eating healthy…I eat at least five servings of vegetables daily, lean chicken, fish and Boca burgers. I avoid sweets, eat low fat cinnamon graham crackers or Life cereal instead, and eat a variety of fruits. I keep my portions small and follow the Weight Watchers point plan religiously. For some reason I cannot cheat when I’m dieting and yet can’t really control a low-calorie lifestyle for the long run.

Exercising…I run four days a week and cross train on another. I’m not sure if it’s my age - or the altitude - or a combination of the two, but every year it seems harder to exercise. I don’t seem to have the lung capacity. It takes me twice as long to gain stamina and endurance as it used to. That’s not too fun when you’re in a hurry to run a long distance. The half marathon I’m training for is on June 3rd – only ONE month away.

Bottom line…I gained two pounds overnight - one pound for the week.

This is so much fun.

Race for the Cure

Since I've started running more regularly (still a little afraid to admit too loudly that I'm training for a half marathon), I've decided that I can definitely run in the Susan Komen Race for the Cure on May 13th. It will be hard for me, emotionally, but Chris has decided to join me and I'm sure that will help. I wish it wasn't on Mother's Day weekend, but a part of me knows that it probably couldn't be at any other time.

If you're interested in donating to try and fight this awful disease, check out my side bar. Thanks to my talented neighbor, I now have an easy link to help me collect donations.

...first star I see tonight...

I heard a rustling in the next room around 2:30 AM. Harrison was getting out of the top bunk to use the bathroom. I got up to help him get back in bed because the ladder isn’t there and I worry about him climbing up the back of the bed in the dark. He’s fine, but complaining that it’s too dark – the lights were too dim for him.

About an hour later he is rustling again. Then at 4:00 AM he’s wandering outside our door. He’s awake and ready to start the day. We ask him to crawl in bed with us and try to sleep. The kicking and squirming go on for about 50 minutes until we can’t handle it anymore. He’s awake and now we’re all grumpy and irritable.

He can’t verbalize why he is awake and somewhat agitated. This has always been an issue for him. He’s upset about something, but can’t seem to tell us. When he was little we called it “colic”, now we call it “a pain in the ass” with an edge of “game playing”.

I worried all day about his poor sleep affecting his behavior at school. A friend of mine, who volunteered in his room and had him over for lunch, was kind enough to call his behavior “out of sorts”. When I picked him up from his preschool, the teachers said that he had been a little “aggressive” today and for the last two weeks or so. “Ella? Oh she’s such a doll.”

I truly love my children equally. They each have their assets – Harrison is intelligent, a great artist and funny. Ella is flexible, smart and very social. They each have their faults. Harry has a negative outlook on life at times. He’s not very adventurous – likes routine - and has a short temper. Ella demands a lot of attention, is a hypochondriac and is probably one of the whiniest individuals I’ve ever met. That said – Harrison is more difficult. I have never thought of this as a gender issue. It’s just a difference. As their preschool teacher said to me tonight, “They are little tiny people with fully-formed, large personalities.”

After thinking about Harry’s horrible behavior the last two weeks, or so, I think that it all comes down to simple love and attention. When Harrison feels secure and has strict routine, he behaves better. There is nothing routine about our household, and I’m sure he can feel less than secure, at times, when his two full-time working parents are both working lots of hours (as we have been lately). Throw in a visit from Grandma and Bumpa (last weekend) and I’m sure it’s enough to throw his little brain, heart and body into a tizzy.

What is it about the bond between parents and kids that can literally turn your insides upside down? I worried all day about his social interactions, his teachers and their impressions of him, his behavior (would he get in trouble – or worse, hurt someone?) and his heart. I ached for him and the anxiety that woke him and he couldn’t tell me about. I think if I had a magic wand, or could make some wishes, I would wish for Harry to be able to tell us his feelings more often. I don’t know if that is the answer, but I think if I understood how his mind worked better – I wouldn’t get so impatient with him.

Chris and I were both busy all day and only had a minute to talk. Harrison was the topic of our conversation. We need to devote more direct attention to him, and his sister. Our weekend was filled with togetherness as a family, but most of it was yard work, performed by Mom and Dad, with little ones in the wings. There were trips to REI and Shopko, but no trips to the park. We went to two soccer games, but those are really more about rushing around, to get to the game on time, with a lot of coaxing and bribing for them to play the whole game. I truly think we need to consistently plan for more child-focused activities each week.

I know my kids, for the most part, are well-adjusted and happy. They love their schools and have accepted that their mom works outside of the home, while most of their friends’ moms do not. They enjoy the variety of activities and people that they experience weekly. And so do we. But life is unpredictable. It throws curve balls. Our job is to not only notice the curve balls, but to act on them. This morning was a curve ball.

When my mom died it was more than a curve ball – it was the wake-up call of my lifetime. I have spent the last four months thinking of life with her, and without her, daily. I remember her as my best friend and mom, but lately I have been analyzing her as a parent. She wasn’t perfect, but her love for me was something I never questioned.

We will spend this week and weekend focusing more on our kids. Planning kid-centered activities that force us to ignore the lawn mower and pay more attention to Harry’s second loose tooth and Ella’s ow-ies with more sympathy. I’m not really worried about how my kids will remember me – I have no doubt that they’ll know they were loved. What I worry about is me. I want to look back knowing that I did the best job at this parenting-thing that I could.

Material

I go through stages when I love blogging. Other times I tolerate it. Lately I've been struggling with subjects to write about. I think it probably is because I've been reading some really great posts lately. People have been writing about politics, body image issues, role conflicts as women, religion, education...you name it.

I have tons going on, but can't seem to figure out how to get it on "paper".
So when Chris posed the "Dino" chicken nuggets and told me to "get the camera", I obliged.

Yes, this is how we party at our house. A nice Cabernet, salsa from Costco, processed chicken and pizza with cube shaped pepperoni.

This should keep my readers on the edge of their seats. 

Fitting In

Throughout my kids’ lives, we have moved them in and out of several childcare settings. Harrison especially. About two months ago, we made yet another mid-year switch due to my dissatisfaction with the preschool they were in. It was called “Montessori blank blank”, but really it was a traditional day care with a few wooden manipulatives tossed around the room. The director was very loving and caring, but plagued with financial difficulties and health issues that kept her from fully teaching the Montessori philosophy. A TV/VCR was moved into the school a few months before we left and that was when I started to really question what my kids were doing all day (Harry only in the afternoon). Long story short – I made the difficult decision to uproot my babies from their comfort zone and friends and move them ten minutes further away.

The new school is truly run as Maria Montessori would have wanted it. The atmosphere is cheerful and bright and the teachers are caring and sensitive. The curriculum is well planned and there are even extracurriculars taught – dance, music and Spanish. Still, I have questioned how they were doing there.

Ella immediately seemed to enjoy it, but often mentioned a few of her friends back at her old school. It was a really small place and each individual was an integral part of the community. This new school is much larger. Two big classes of kids – about 40.

I worried most about Harry. The second afternoon he was there, a kid on the playground threw his hat over the fence. We have yet to find it. I wondered what kind of “big” kids were at this preschool. They have a whole group of full time Kindergarteners and I worried if they would accept him into the fold. He never complained. He never tattled on the boy who threw his hat. He seemed to take it all in stride only occasionally requesting that he be able to go back to his old school and see D – the boy from hell who would tattle on Harrison constantly and provoke him only to blame Harry for everything. This boy was whom Harry loved. Again, I think it was because the community was so small and Harry and this boy were two of three big boys at the school.

Since the new school is near Chris’ office, he does a lot of the pick up and drop off. Even though that makes my life a whole lot simpler, I miss the parent/teacher connection that you get with that duty. The little bits of information they throw you as you are getting their coats on. I just don’t feel any large connection with this new place. I still feel like we are outside of the clique looking in.

Thursday, though, it all changed.

Two things happened. One, I got to pick up the kids and as we were packing up several of their classmates started to spontaneously say “Bye Ella!” “Bye Harry!” My somewhat anti-social Harrison just ran out to the car, but people-oriented Ella basked in it and made it last as long as she could. “Bye A! Bye I!” And then, as we were going up the stairs I heard one girl yell, “I love you Ella!!” It was so sweet and made me feel that she really has fit in just fine.

The second thing was experiencing the school’s version of a spring recital of sorts that night. We almost didn’t go. Harrison didn’t want to sing or dance, and Ella is painfully self-conscious and didn’t want to be on stage. The location was pretty far away and we were supposed to bring a dessert or appetizer. I had about 60 minutes to feed them, get to the store and drive the 20 minute route. Getting in the door and preparing dinner took about 30 minutes. Calling a neighbor to steal her unopened Oreos took about 10 minutes and yet we were still 5 minutes late.

Neither of my children has been on a stage before and this was a real stage. The “big” kind in a gymnasium. There were lots of families in the audience and most of the kids were all dolled up for the big event. Not mine. Harrison had on a wrinkled garage sale shirt that I put on him in the car seat after I discovered a dried booger on the shirt he wore all day. Believe me – it was large enough that someone may have noticed it from the back row. His jeans had a large tear across the knee. I call it his Huck Finn look. Ella wore a long sleeved corduroy dress with sneakers. It was 77 for a high this day. She looked a tad out of place amongst all the shimmery, sleeveless Easter dresses that most of the other girls were wearing. However, they pranced out onto the stage and danced their hearts out. I even saw Harrison’s mouth moving, while swinging his hips, during BOTH songs they performed. Ella didn’t adjust too well after the dancing portion. Something about standing in front of a 150 or so people bothered her. The minute she found me and caught my eye, she lost it. She has a classic move. Her lip quivers and then she extends one of her arms straight out as if she’s making a right angle with her body. This then leaps into the whimper, full out cry and audible, “Maaaaammmmaaaa.” It was so pathetic that I almost ran onto the stage to save her from the unbearable pain she was in, but one of her teachers beat me to it. She kneeled behind her and hugged her. Ella calmed down immediately.

As I stood alone in the back waiting for Chris to arrive, I talked with one mother I just recently met who lives in the neighborhood. She has a girl that Ella loves and a son also in Kindergarten. After the show, I met another mother of one of Ella’s other good friend. Both sets of parents are originally from the Midwest and we had so much in common. It was easy conversation and the kids all got along. We are even trying to arrange playdates. This is big for me. I’m not much for lots of coordination – my life is complicated enough.

As I watched the dancing preschoolers and chatted with new comfortable people, I realized that I finally felt like we fit in. That our kids were not only welcome here, but accepted. The feeling is strong enough to erase the guilt of moving them from their old school and maybe even strong enough to erase the guilt of putting them in full day preschool to begin with! Well…maybe not that much, but I do really like this place.


P.S. I have set up a donation page for the Race for the Cure. I would be grateful to any of you who feel compelled to donate. I don’t exactly know how to direct to this page yet (I’m SO computer inept!!), but will get that info out as soon as I have my neighbor explain it to me!

why don't we dance more?

Driving the kids home from school tonight, I opened the sunroof and their windows. The wind was blowing and the stereo was blaring a great blues tune. Ella started movin' and shakin', "Mama! my WHOLE body is dancing!!" Even Harry got caught up in the beat. It was a terrific moment. 

We are hanging on desperately waiting for Spring to fully bloom and for Summer to arrive. The grass is green and the tulips buds are forming, but heavy snow fell as recently as last Thursday. Our weeks are beginning to become a project in resilience.

Soccer has begun for both kids – two games each Saturday. This is Harrison’s third “season” and he finally seems to be finding it agreeable. Ella has played twice and does pretty well, but thinks that playing “Ring Around the Rosie” with her teammates is much more fun.

Sundays are for skiing. We only have one more week before most of the resorts close.  This means that Easter is close and I need to plan a dinner.

Ella’s birthday party was a huge success and Harry is anxiously waiting to pick out his cake for his party next month (he currently wants a cake with a golfer on it – no, not in honor of Phil Mickelson’s win, but because he knows Opa (my dad) loves to play golf.)

Last Friday was my high school’s prom. Our school is so small and intimate that it was fun to see everyone dressed up. Unlike most traditional proms when cliques form on the outer edges of the room, and no one wants to risk dancing in front of their peers, our prom was amazing. We had a wonderful sit down dinner, in a beautiful room overlooking the entire Salt Lake Valley, before the music started. Once the plates were cleared, the volume went up and the kids flooded the dance floor. All of them. It was really fun.

Chris and I have made some big goals lately. One, we have started Weight Watchers – AGAIN for me. During early winter, I decided not to care about the eight months of hard work it took to lose 24 pounds (and maintain that loss) last year and gained it all back fairly quickly. It was kind of like the icing on the cake after the loss of my mom. I have been back in the saddle for about three weeks and am losing much more slowly this time. I’m sure my body is freaking out. On top of the changes in our eating, we have decided to train for a half marathon. It’s a distance I’ve run before – ONCE about nine years ago– but regardless it seems somewhat attainable. The race is on June 3rd, but I will be running the Susan Komen Race for the Cure before that. Last year I wore a paper on my back that honored my mom and her struggle with breast cancer. This year I will get a special one, again with her name, but in honor of her death. It makes me tear up to even think about it. I can’t even imagine running amongst all the other people who will be running in honor of their mothers, sisters and aunts. Although it will be hard, I feel a need to be there.

So we will muddle through the end of the school year. The weeks will hopefully pass quickly and we can get to summer. I cannot wait.

(Now remind me of that last paragraph when I’m bitching about being with the kids day and night in late June!)

Working Mother Dilemma #4,193

I cannot imagine being a single parent full time. The emotional and physical demands are astounding even when I have “back-up”. Lucky as I am to have a partner in this child rearing job I’ve been blessed with, I am currently on my own with the kids till about midnight on Wednesday. That’s only three days, but it’s enough to crush me!

The main reason that this overwhelms me is because I am not built to be organized. I try. Believe me. I have been known to hang all of my clothes on hangers, put them in my closet and then color and item coordinate the clothes. I did this last summer and now most of my clothes sit on the chair next to my closet. Why? Because I can’t keep up with it. The minute I hang a black sleeveless shirt with the black long sleeved shirts – I know I’ve blown it and I just don’t want to do that. So I ignore it. And the pile on my chair is almost to the ceiling. Seriously.

Dishes and mail are other things that deteriorate the clean counters that Chris often leaves for me. Growing up, we put dirty “hand wash” dirty dishes next to the sink, not in the sink, and there were many rules for what was hand-washable. Wooden spoons, big pots and pans (they took up too much space in the dishwasher, it was considered wasteful), all plastic left-over dishes, etc. I have managed to break free of some of the constraints my mother placed on me, but it’s still very hard. So unless I wash dishes after every meal, and load the dishwasher, the piles become pretty large. With limited counter space, mail and school paperwork fill up any remaining empty spots. For the life of me, I can’t come up with a way to organize all the paperwork. We have tried baskets, standing file divider thingys, etc. No matter how hard I try, I end up piling. I am happy to report, though, that we are down to two main pile areas.

My kids are pretty patient with all the disorder in our home. They seem to enjoy life with or without clutter. My husband, on the other hand, can’t handle it at all! He feels that he is the only one who cleans and organizes. I beg to differ, but have to admit he’s much more likely to be cleaning dishes than relaxing reading a magazine. Whenever it becomes an “issue” (my polite way of saying “fight”) I bring up the “P” word – “priorities”. Cleaning and organizing are just not priorities for me. I can look past clutter easily whereas he cannot.

M, my wonder therapist, suggested that we hire a nanny part time to help with our morning routine and at other times when we need to clean or just have a date. Chris is all for it. I am not so sure. I spend so much time away from my kids as it is – how can I justify this? M and Chris say it will help our sanity. The kids get to stay in their own home and we get the support we need. We’re both professionals…we can’t do it all. I have a hard time with that, though. If there are thousands of single moms doing EVERYTHING, including working full time, how can I not handle half of EVERYTHING?

I’m pretty sure I was Catholic in another life because this whole nanny thing is making me feel very guilty. And I haven’t even done anything!

Happy 4th Birthday, Ella!

 

Thank you, sweet Jesus!

Saturday 9:50 AM

Ella: Mommy? Can I please have a salad?

Me: Ummm. Ok. (really wanting to say, “HOLY SHIT! Are you for real???”)

Saturday 9:57 AM

After being distracted by something on the way to the kitchen to prepare the breakfast salad…

Ella: Mommmmmyyy! WHERE IS MY SALAD???

Saturday 10:12 AM

Ella: Mom? Can I have some more? And don’t forget the tomatoes.

File under "Happy Parenting Moments"

I really hope he loves reading, and spending time with his dad, this much for years to come.

Sunday in the park

The view...

...from the top of the hill.

We tried to fly a kite.

And tried.

She rolled.

They ran.

"My name is Glenn. I'm a widower."

The view from my dad's lanai (Florida-talk for "back porch").



My dad has entered a new phase in his life. He is slowly figuring out how to live in this world as an independent being. He is not a part of a couple – he is just Glenn. He is so used to the roles and tasks that he and my mom had assumed that it becomes overwhelming for him, at times, to take them all on himself.

For example, the mail fascinates him because he never opened it before my mom died. Never. Last week, as I was trying to watch some mindless TV and decompress after a really long day with two overtired, whiny kids, he gave me a play by play of every piece of mail he received.

Dad: “This is the second time I’ve been invited to Norm Coleman’s fundraising party. (Names the address) I wonder where that is? Who are these people? They probably live in Port Royale. How did they find me? Look! (shows me the envelope) They first sent it to Minnesota. Oh – they make sure to tell me how much I can contribute…”

By this point I have stopped looking up at him occasionally and started to completely ignore him and stare at the TV screen. He is oblivious to this and just continues on.

Dad: “Oh good, my checks came. Deluxe. Haven’t heard of them.”

I begin to perk up because this just blows me away.

Me: “What do you mean you haven’t heard of them? They are one of the largest distributors of checks? Hell, they’re based in the Twin Cities.”

He interrupts my frustrated tirade in the same tone that he was in before I berated him. Again seemingly oblivious.

Dad: “What I want to know is where the bill is? When I ordered these online there was no mention of any charge.”

Me: “Dad, I told you that you will be charged. No one gets free checks.”

Dad: “So where is the bill?”

Me: “Dad, they’ll just take the fee out of your checking account.”

At this point is truly hits me how sheltered he’s been from the every day ins and outs of living independently. My mom must have done absolutely everything and he never bothered to take an interest in the details. I couldn’t handle it any longer. I had to tell him how I felt.

Me: “Dad, I truly care for you, but right now I don’t care about the details of your mail. I just want to watch a little television.”

Luckily he took this in the vein intended and laughed at himself. He then waited about ten seconds and started telling me that Sprint was “no longer” and was changing its name to some word he couldn’t pronounce, but desperately tried to pronounce for another five minutes. This quickly turned into a synopsis of all the details of the free address labels he received from the American Heart Association. “How can anyone use all these?” he added.

I am trying really hard to adjust to his new role. When I was with him through my mom’s last days and death, I helped him a lot. I took care of meals, thank you notes, the details, etc. I needed to because my dad has always been the one we have taken care of. He accepts help easily – hell, he loves it. Now that he has been alone in Florida for over a month, he seems to be finally starting to adjust. He still can’t accept that he is able to go anywhere, or do anything, he wants, but he does seem to be adapting to the single life.
Since we have been here, I have offered to do some things for him – laundry, deep cleaning and running errands for him – but he keeps refusing my help. I think it’s his way of exerting his independence. As if to say, “I’m old, but not helpless.”

I’m willing to accept this “new” Dad, but I’m not sure I can accept the new, single Glenn. He keeps bringing up the interaction he had with this woman he is somewhat interested in. He was seated next to her at a “Minnesota Night” dinner and learned that she was from a suburb next to his in Minneapolis. After further investigation, he discovered that she was raised within a mile or so from where he was raised in Chicago. They played in the same park and even attended the same junior college. My dad can’t seem to get over the “connection” he seemingly has with her. A comforting familiarity.

One evening during our visit my dad had plans of his own, so we took our time coming home from the beach. I was surprised to find the door open, when we returned, and my dad sitting in his regular reading spot with his Journal. His plans were cancelled at the last minute and since he wasn’t sure when we’d be home, he did something outrageous – he called the other woman – Ms. Humboldt Park/Wright Jr. College. He started to tell me about the phone call right away as if I were a buddy of his. I got the complete play-by-play – how he got his nerve up, dialed the phone to invite her to dinner at the club, and…a male voice answered on the machine. He hung up, without leaving a message, confused. I got to listen to speculations for about five minutes before I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave the room to get away from his rambling on about whether the voice was her live-in beau, a new husband (not listed in the community directory) or the voice of her late husband.

The next night we all went to the club and, as fate would have it, we sat at a table right next to Ms. Humboldt Park/Wright Jr. College. She was eating with a young couple and their two kids. It was kind of weird to see her, but not as uncomfortable as I expected. My dad declined greeting her and apparently she didn’t recognize him. She had her back to us and I caught my dad glancing her way a few times. He was curious. What’s her story? Who are the young people? Is it her daughter or son?

Throughout the week I noticed that my dad continues to refer to things as if a part of a couple. “We” went there. This is “ours”. He keeps everything exactly the way that my mom had it. He clearly is not at peace without her in his life. He doesn’t miss the misery she was in. We both shared remembrances when she struggled physically (i.e. getting in and out of the car, or shuffling down the hall with her walker) that we didn’t always empathize with her enough.

He likes being in an environment where he can run into one of her bridge buddies and they will go on and on about Mom’s charm and smile. He isn’t eager to sell the house in Minnesota – he keeps saying that he wants to wait for things to settle down.

I know he loved her the best way that he knew how. Seeing him, this week, in his element I believe that. He isn’t going to replace my mom. He only wants a friend. And if that friend happens to be from the old neighborhood – more power to her.

Adios! Paradise

We are drinking coffee trying to wake up. It is comfortably tepid this morning as I look over the golf course waiting to wake up the kids. This will be a long day for many reasons, but I will try to savor every minute of my last day on vacation.

This was probably one of the best things I could have done for myself. I have felt very blessed, in so many ways, during this trip.

Sunny and 80 degrees

Another wonderful day in paradise.

I'm currently working on a post that actually contains more than a couple sentences. I don't know how I'll get it done though, I'm pretty busy....

Pure bliss

I think Florida agrees with her.

P.S. I hear that 7 inches of snow fell this morning in Salt Lake City. Will someone shovel our driveway?

Father Knows Best?

Dolphins! Real dolphins!

I love my dad. He’s incredibly intelligent and has a great, dry sense of humor, but when it comes to tact – or how-to-get-close-your-daughter-quickly genes – he needs work.

Heard this morning as I was trying on some pants I found in my mom’s closet with the tags still on.

“Wow, Mom must have bought those when she had gained a lot of weight.”

Roughing it

Heading South

Picture I took from the back seat, driving home from the airport, during my trip to Naples last March.





It has already been a long morning and I just got out of bed. I’ve been awake since about 4:10 A.M. Chris predicted that this would happen – it always does before we go out of town. Today (in about 6 hours) we leave for Florida to spend a week with my dad. The reason that I have been awake is because I have been packing via visualization.

I am not packed. Not one suitcase is out. There are piles around. We have a snack pile on the kitchen counter along with a DVD pile.. I have a summer clothes pile for me on the floor of our bedroom. I’m pretty sure all the kids’ summer clothes are under the bottom shelf in their closet (a sort of pile) and I have some Teva’s piled by the back door. On the dining room table, we have a marker-tape-scissors-activity books-drawing paper pile. Somehow, in my little mind, I felt comfortable watching and hour and a half of “What Not to Wear” last night instead of packing. As if gaining any last minute knowledge on dressing correctly would help hide all the weight I’ve gained since right before my mom died. Ha! I don’t think straight-leg, medium-rise, dark denim jeans will hide the girth of my thighs in a bathing suit this week!!

It will all get done. It always does. And I will fall asleep in my dad’s condo tonight where the temperature will be warmer at midnight than it gets here on a warm sunny spring day. I’m excited to see my dad, but curious as to how I will be able to handle not having my mom around. In some ways it will be freeing. My mom couldn’t enjoy my kids the last year. They were too loud and raucous for her. This trip they will be able to run and play pretty freely. (I will probably just have to shush them during “The McNeil-Lehrer Report” – one of my dad’s favorite PBS business shows.) But in most ways it will be another transition. She won’t be there to greet me at the airport, and wait for my luggage as my dad circles to avoid parking fees, as she has done for years. That first hug, that I always had to stoop over for, was actually one of the highlights of all of my visits. She would be waiting for me, upstairs right on the edge of security, in a sea of a million other retirees, smiling so big that her eyes were almost shut. Her lipstick was always bright coral and she usually had on a classy straw hat of some sort. It was my sign that she was relaxed and at peace in one of her favorite places.

Hopefully that’s how she feels right now. I miss her desperately.

Unprepared

Harry playing "hide and seek" in my parent's living room the morning of my mom's memorial service.

I’ve slept on it. I’ve tried to push it to the back of my mind. I’ve analyzed every rationalization. I’ve tried to ignore it.

I’m just not ready to accept the fact that my dad is thinking of asking another woman on a date.

surprise!

Today was one of those days when the weather COMPLETELY shocked me.

Yesterday we were running around without jackets - thinking of spring. I noticed that some of my bulbs are sprouting.

This morning, however, the sun was shining, the temperature had dipped and the view was spectacular.

New rule: No balls in the house

 
Harrison seemed a little tired on the way home from an errand last weekend. I took off his seatbelt, but couldn't carry him in (due to the GIGANTIC hole cut out of my back) so I brought some things inside and then came back out to find this.

I'm posting this picture to remind me of his positive qualities. Yesterday he pulled a Dennis the Menace. He was goofing around with a little nerf-type ball in the living room. I asked him to take it downstairs, but he wasn't exactly compliant. "Just a second, Mom..." then I heard a crash. A loud crash. The kind that sounds like something extremely delicate has been broken. Actually it was more like LOTs of somethings extremely delicate were broken.

As we ran out of the kitchen, I went left to check on my grandmother's china set that sits in a glass curio cabinet, while Chris headed right. There it was - shards of mirror everywhere. The very large mirror that sat on our fireplace mantel was now on the floor in a million pieces. Harrison was crying and apologizing. He knew it was bad.

He was so upset that it was hard to get too upset with him. I was actually pretty calm about the whole thing. Chris, on the other hand, got the lovely task of vacuuming. It took about 30 minutes to get everything up...there were mirror shards over 15 feet from the scene of the crime.