My mom, when she was alive, coveted office products. She collected them. My stepfather will never ever ever have to buy any type of office product again.
"You know for as much as your mom cleared out everything else and avoided clutter," he said once, "what we all didn't realize was that her 'thing' was office products. She hoarded office products!"
The other day I took the kids to Michael's. I had a few small things I wanted to buy, but one of the main reasons was guilt. I felt guilty with respect to Skadi because AB and I get sucked into these games of Fortune Street with Leif and Skadi doesn't care to play Wii at all. So she plays by herself, or draws, or whatever. It isn't like she complains about it, but I felt the need to give her some kits and some other fun things to do for those one or two evenings when AB and I give in and play Wii with Leif.
We were wandering the aisles of Michaels when it struck Skadi.
There in the clearance bin was a PINK tape dispenser.
And the child went nuts. Yes NUTS!
"MOM!! I HAVE TO GET THIS! A PINK TAPE DISPENSER!" She squealed at the top of her little lungs. I was wondering what other shoppers thought about my daughter's freak out over this pink tape dispenser?
She grabbed it and held it fondly.
Then she HUGGED the tape dispenser. Seriously. She HUGGED it.
I immediately saw my mom's influence on my daughter. Is this office products addiction genetic?
I agreed that she could get the most fabulous pink tape dispenser that she was cradling in her arms.
We went home and I stuck it on the counter that bugs me in the kitchen. I have this "desk" in my kitchen that since the day we moved in has become a landing space for everything and serves no real actual purpose. When people state they want a desk in their kitchen, I cringe. I want the actual counter space as kitchen prep area instead.
Anyways, I put the tape dispenser on the counter. And yes, she has used it routinely.
The other day one of her friends came over for a playdate. The two giggly little girls were wandering around the house when they made their way through the kitchen.
"Oooooh!" Kait squealed, "I LOVE your tape dispenser!"
"Isn't it fabulous?" Skadi squealed back. (The girls are in the squealing phase.) She picked it up, "you can hold it if you want!"
Kait takes it and turns it over in her hands and declares it "cool". Then they put it down and wander off to go giggle and squeal about something else.
I think I am missing something here. But it may be the best $1.50 I have ever spent.
Showing posts with label my mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my mom. Show all posts
Friday, July 27, 2012
Saturday, October 29, 2011
The saddest children's book EVER!
Ok, maybe except for that Robert Munsch book - "Love You Forever". Do you want to turn a new mom to mush in 60 seconds or less? Give her that horrible book!! (Ok, so it isn't horrible... plenty of people think it is beautiful...)
I don't often order from the Scholastics Book flyers, but I noted recently that we had very few books about my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. So I decided to stock up on some fall and Thanksgiving books through the monthly book orders at the kids' schools. I suppose this is where the problem started. Because if I had ordered from Amazon I would have read a synopsis of the books before ordering.
But nope. I saw Amelia Bedelia's First Apple Pie and thought in my head... girl theme... apples (my daughter's favorite)... a cute little girl kind of like my own on the cover... and PIE (my families specialty)... no brainer!
But little did I know what awaited me under the cover.
Tears!
See Amelia Bedelia was spending the day with her grandma and grandpa and she and her grandma set about making an apple pie.
Right there my first thought... My mom was THE pie maker and if you have read my blog in years past, or if you know me, you know the importance of homemade pie in our family. My little girl won't ever get to make pie with her grandma. And teaching the art of making a homemade pie was extremely important to my family.
Of course I could wallow in this and feel sorry for us and let the tears keep rolling as I read it.
And yes, I did let the tears keep rolling as I read the book. But I know my charge. I know that it is *my* duty to teach the art of pie to my daughter (who appears to love to bake as much as her grandma).
My next charge is to get rid of that horrible, awful, sad book!
(Ok, so it really isn't a "horrible" or "awful" book. It is quite charming. But it doesn't belong in my house.)
I don't often order from the Scholastics Book flyers, but I noted recently that we had very few books about my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. So I decided to stock up on some fall and Thanksgiving books through the monthly book orders at the kids' schools. I suppose this is where the problem started. Because if I had ordered from Amazon I would have read a synopsis of the books before ordering.
But nope. I saw Amelia Bedelia's First Apple Pie and thought in my head... girl theme... apples (my daughter's favorite)... a cute little girl kind of like my own on the cover... and PIE (my families specialty)... no brainer!
But little did I know what awaited me under the cover.
Tears!
See Amelia Bedelia was spending the day with her grandma and grandpa and she and her grandma set about making an apple pie.
Right there my first thought... My mom was THE pie maker and if you have read my blog in years past, or if you know me, you know the importance of homemade pie in our family. My little girl won't ever get to make pie with her grandma. And teaching the art of making a homemade pie was extremely important to my family.
Of course I could wallow in this and feel sorry for us and let the tears keep rolling as I read it.
And yes, I did let the tears keep rolling as I read the book. But I know my charge. I know that it is *my* duty to teach the art of pie to my daughter (who appears to love to bake as much as her grandma).
My next charge is to get rid of that horrible, awful, sad book!
(Ok, so it really isn't a "horrible" or "awful" book. It is quite charming. But it doesn't belong in my house.)
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Switching away from pink
When you know someone who is suffering cancer it seems like there just isn't enough money out there for research. As a scientist, albeit a non-medical, non-bio scientist, I get the proposal and funding process and fully understand that there is limited funds out there for really great ideas.
Breast cancer, at one point, was the cancer that people didn't talk about. A woman's problem. And not always terribly survivable. Thanks in large part, or maybe huge part, to the Susan G. Komen foundation this has changed. Breast cancer has turned into, in the last decade or so, a cancer with a much higher survival rate. Thankfully.
As someone who has lost a family member to cancer, I have seen in the cancer communities online, frustration with breast cancer research. "All the money goes to breast cancer", is the common lament. As someone who lost a family member to a rare cancer, it would be easy to fall into this. Nobody researched rare cancers. There is no payoff. A cancer that 4000 people get a year is terribly unfortunate. But who is going to research and make a medication to treat 4000 people a year. It doesn't make financial sense. (And I am a capitalist at heart.) I found this frustrating, financial sense be damned, you are talking about my mom.
Once my mom exhausted the routine treatments for her type of cancer (pretty quickly) she moved onto clinical trials where none of her options were targeted treatments for her cancer. It was frustrating to her. To all of us. Her participation in a clinical trial was akin to playing the lotto with the major benefit being to check off a researchers list - nope it doesn't work for this rare cancer. The researcher didn't hit the lotto and neither did my mom.
In the last few years I quit opting for pink. I bought the obligatory pink pin at work for $5, but my money hasn't gone to breast cancer research or to buy pink blankets with ribbons on them, or appliances with little ribbons on them. Instead my giving to the American Cancer Society went up as well as to the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation. A small foundation that is devoted to this rare and fatal cancer.
I never stuff my change or money into the jars in the check out lines at the grocery store. But I stood there today reading what the cause of the day was, surprised to find out it wasn't breast cancer. Nope, pancreatic cancer. A cancer thought to be highly related to my mom's rare cancer, cholangiocarcinoma. I immediately opened my wallet and stuffed some bills in the cup that held pennies and a few dimes and nickels.
As a scientist I do understand that the research performed on breast cancer may very well lead to discoveries that help different cancers. That there are markers that are similar and may respond. I believe that the researchers are doing their best to save a lot of women. And they are saving a lot of women, thank God. (I have a high school friend who is battling breast cancer right now and I am very happy for the research that will hopefully give her a new lease on life.)
But my point? Let's not forget about all the others. A once small foundation has turned pink on its head and enabled many women to live strong.
Let's change the way people think about green now.
Breast cancer, at one point, was the cancer that people didn't talk about. A woman's problem. And not always terribly survivable. Thanks in large part, or maybe huge part, to the Susan G. Komen foundation this has changed. Breast cancer has turned into, in the last decade or so, a cancer with a much higher survival rate. Thankfully.
As someone who has lost a family member to cancer, I have seen in the cancer communities online, frustration with breast cancer research. "All the money goes to breast cancer", is the common lament. As someone who lost a family member to a rare cancer, it would be easy to fall into this. Nobody researched rare cancers. There is no payoff. A cancer that 4000 people get a year is terribly unfortunate. But who is going to research and make a medication to treat 4000 people a year. It doesn't make financial sense. (And I am a capitalist at heart.) I found this frustrating, financial sense be damned, you are talking about my mom.
Once my mom exhausted the routine treatments for her type of cancer (pretty quickly) she moved onto clinical trials where none of her options were targeted treatments for her cancer. It was frustrating to her. To all of us. Her participation in a clinical trial was akin to playing the lotto with the major benefit being to check off a researchers list - nope it doesn't work for this rare cancer. The researcher didn't hit the lotto and neither did my mom.
In the last few years I quit opting for pink. I bought the obligatory pink pin at work for $5, but my money hasn't gone to breast cancer research or to buy pink blankets with ribbons on them, or appliances with little ribbons on them. Instead my giving to the American Cancer Society went up as well as to the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation. A small foundation that is devoted to this rare and fatal cancer.
I never stuff my change or money into the jars in the check out lines at the grocery store. But I stood there today reading what the cause of the day was, surprised to find out it wasn't breast cancer. Nope, pancreatic cancer. A cancer thought to be highly related to my mom's rare cancer, cholangiocarcinoma. I immediately opened my wallet and stuffed some bills in the cup that held pennies and a few dimes and nickels.
As a scientist I do understand that the research performed on breast cancer may very well lead to discoveries that help different cancers. That there are markers that are similar and may respond. I believe that the researchers are doing their best to save a lot of women. And they are saving a lot of women, thank God. (I have a high school friend who is battling breast cancer right now and I am very happy for the research that will hopefully give her a new lease on life.)
But my point? Let's not forget about all the others. A once small foundation has turned pink on its head and enabled many women to live strong.
Let's change the way people think about green now.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Keeping it simple... and clean...
One of the really, really neat things about raising kids is seeing their evolution. Lots of people love babies. Ok, yes, I love babies. But I really, really love the toddler to young child time. I love when they start interacting. Trying to communicate, developing their own styles of communication, saying funny things. I don’t care for the Terrible Twos and Threes and I have had a lot of that the past two years, but we can just use a partition coefficient here and pretend that doesn’t exist for now. I keep saying it, and I will say it again. It just keeps getting better.
Since Leif was little he always showed a bit of OCD. In fact, I think I have a topic reserved in this blog for Leif’s OCD. The past few months this has spread into a new and interesting area. His bedroom.
If you saw Leif’s bedroom you would assume he is a poor abused child with no toys. While the reality is that the kid has a closet that rivals our Master closet and a toy room. But that’s not all of it… His closet? Skadi spends the vast majority of the time in the closet rifling through stuff, generally destroying the area. And I have about 6 Rubbermaid containers stacked in there as well. I will take storage space wherever I can get it.
Nope, Leif likes things simple. All he really needs are a bookshelf for his books, a place to put his clothes, a place to store his electronics (i.e., charge the DS, keep his headphones handy, etc.), and a few shelves to show off his trophies and his Harry Potter collections and to keep his new locked box. (I bought him a $10 cash box with a key at Target… best thing since sliced bread according to Leif.)
Compare to Skadi’s room that is just unmanageable. Seriously. That child can destroy her room faster than you can blink your eye. Tornado Skadi. And she has toys and loves her toys and wants them all out in her room at all the same times. This is a scary tale for another day. Leif's closet? Well she endured his wrath the other night when she pulled out a box of trucks and didn't put them back.
Back to Leif.
We have “pick up night” every Wednesday evening. The kids’ rooms get picked up along with common areas throughout the house to enable the housecleaner to be able to actually clean.
Leif is a master bedroom cleaner. When he says it is done, you can bet he is not joking. It’s done, it’s perfect and it took him less than 3 minutes. (I have started paying him to help Skadi with her room.) On top of that, Leif has started cleaning his room ahead of time so that he doesn’t have to do it on Wednesday. Because according to him he just has “too much stuff to do on Wednesday with spelling test on Thursday and all”.
Last Tuesday night I finished reading him a book and tossed it on the floor next to the bed. Wow did I unleash the wrath.
Leif: “MOM! I just picked up my room, I don’t want to have to pick it up again tomorrow, would you please put that book back where it belongs?!”
(I could have sworn I have heard this line many times before... only not starting with "mom".)
Leif loves having friends over, but he gets pretty massive anxiety after they leave and his room is a mess. In fact, I have decided that from now on we need to incorporate pick up time into play dates. I did this when I was a kid. I remember storming out of one friend’s house and marching home because we (once again) got into a fight about something. I got home and Jennifer’s mother had called my mom and told her I didn’t help clean up. Dang it. I had to march back up there (tail between legs) to go help her pick up.
Yes, picking up is going to be part of the new play date routine.
I see Leif’s future… a sparsely furnished, stylish (thanks to his interior decorator sister) minimalist loft. Hopefully he can find a woman who will put up with his neat freakiness…
Having Leif jump on me about not putting his book away made me smile.
My mom was somewhere looking down with a big grin on her face.
Since Leif was little he always showed a bit of OCD. In fact, I think I have a topic reserved in this blog for Leif’s OCD. The past few months this has spread into a new and interesting area. His bedroom.
If you saw Leif’s bedroom you would assume he is a poor abused child with no toys. While the reality is that the kid has a closet that rivals our Master closet and a toy room. But that’s not all of it… His closet? Skadi spends the vast majority of the time in the closet rifling through stuff, generally destroying the area. And I have about 6 Rubbermaid containers stacked in there as well. I will take storage space wherever I can get it.
Nope, Leif likes things simple. All he really needs are a bookshelf for his books, a place to put his clothes, a place to store his electronics (i.e., charge the DS, keep his headphones handy, etc.), and a few shelves to show off his trophies and his Harry Potter collections and to keep his new locked box. (I bought him a $10 cash box with a key at Target… best thing since sliced bread according to Leif.)
Compare to Skadi’s room that is just unmanageable. Seriously. That child can destroy her room faster than you can blink your eye. Tornado Skadi. And she has toys and loves her toys and wants them all out in her room at all the same times. This is a scary tale for another day. Leif's closet? Well she endured his wrath the other night when she pulled out a box of trucks and didn't put them back.
Back to Leif.
We have “pick up night” every Wednesday evening. The kids’ rooms get picked up along with common areas throughout the house to enable the housecleaner to be able to actually clean.
Leif is a master bedroom cleaner. When he says it is done, you can bet he is not joking. It’s done, it’s perfect and it took him less than 3 minutes. (I have started paying him to help Skadi with her room.) On top of that, Leif has started cleaning his room ahead of time so that he doesn’t have to do it on Wednesday. Because according to him he just has “too much stuff to do on Wednesday with spelling test on Thursday and all”.
Last Tuesday night I finished reading him a book and tossed it on the floor next to the bed. Wow did I unleash the wrath.
Leif: “MOM! I just picked up my room, I don’t want to have to pick it up again tomorrow, would you please put that book back where it belongs?!”
(I could have sworn I have heard this line many times before... only not starting with "mom".)
Leif loves having friends over, but he gets pretty massive anxiety after they leave and his room is a mess. In fact, I have decided that from now on we need to incorporate pick up time into play dates. I did this when I was a kid. I remember storming out of one friend’s house and marching home because we (once again) got into a fight about something. I got home and Jennifer’s mother had called my mom and told her I didn’t help clean up. Dang it. I had to march back up there (tail between legs) to go help her pick up.
Yes, picking up is going to be part of the new play date routine.
I see Leif’s future… a sparsely furnished, stylish (thanks to his interior decorator sister) minimalist loft. Hopefully he can find a woman who will put up with his neat freakiness…
Having Leif jump on me about not putting his book away made me smile.
My mom was somewhere looking down with a big grin on her face.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Stuff that lasts a lifetime? Or a lifetime of stuff?
The other day while skiing with AB, we were sitting on the ski lift (because our children were in ski school – yay ski school!) and he commented that all his ski gear was getting old. We had purchased nearly it all in Reno, which was 9 years ago. I looked at my stuff and felt a fondness.
There have been lots of articles out there lately about how purchases are not satisfying, they don’t fill ones soul, basically. I think in the down economy it is an attempt to make people feel better about not having the cash-oh-la to go out and buy buy buy. There is a lot of talk out there about reusing and what a wasteful society we have become. Disposable is bad.
I like shopping. I like stuff. I admit it.
My family likes stuff. My grandmother REALLY liked stuff. This last summer we cleaned (I use the term “we” loosely here) out her house as she went into an Alzheimer’s care facility. As a kid I thought she had loads of treasures. Turns out? She bought the cheapest stuff she could find. I found a little crystal tea service set that I loved – I don’t remember seeing it as a kid – it was stashed away in a secret spot. Very retro and fun looking, but missing a cup. I went to replacements.com and was a bit disappointed to find out I could only order the entire set, not just the missing cup. But then again, the entire set was $14. (And yes, I do still love it.)
This is the type of stuff my grandmother had. Depression era mindset, never spend money on luxuries for yourself, save everything. My mom, a few years ago, went to my grandmother’s house to help her clean stuff out and found an entire cabinet full of all the lotions and soaps she had ever given her for Mother’s Days, Christmas, her birthday.
“Why haven’t you used these?” my mom asked picking up the dusty, cruddy old bottles.
“I am saving them,” was her reply.
“For what?” my mom asked.
“To use,” she replied.
And I expect my mom rolled her eyes and left the conversation there. No one ever won arguments with my grandmother.
Lately I have been looking through my stuff with a bit of a critical eye given the articles and general opinion out there about buying new stuff, as well as combined with my recent experiences “helping” clean out my grandmother’s and my mom’s belongings.
My purchasing habits have changed over the last few years. I do still find joy in my older purchases though – the common consensus out there that purchases won’t fill your soul is a bit flawed I think.
My ski bibs and my ski gloves are two of these things. I truly believe that these two items will last my lifetime. High quality, good fitting and timeless items. Clarification, they will last my lifetime at my current level of commitment to skiing and cold weather activities, which is that I am a fair weather skier living in a warm-ish climate that is 2 hours 45 minutes drive to ski.
I bought my grandmother a good set of stacking stainless steel mixing bowls just like mine after she visited my house and commented a few times, “I wish I had a good set of bowls”. I love my stainless steel nesting bowls. They will be with me for life.
My kitchen items – I have a ton of kitchen stuff. But instead of replacing my $4.99 Woolworth special hand mixer that my grandmother bought for me with another of its type, I plan to get a Kitchen Aid hand mixer (in cocoa silver, in case you were wondering) and never ever have to replace it again.
This blog topic has been floating around in my head for a few weeks. And as I have walked around my house I have made mental note of the things I have purchased that will last a lifetime. What do I believe I have bought or been given that I will never have to replace?
And it isn’t always the most expensive things.
My ski bibs, for example. I think I bought them for $28 on clearance at Sierra Trading Post in Reno. But they ARE fabulous.
A few shirts/sweaters I have may go the distance. I have a few of those chunky wool sweaters that were so in style in Boulder in the 90’s. I love those still (shhh, don’t tell) and I expect they will go the distance if only because I don’t wear them currently – I would roast and well my colleagues might mistake me for a hippy. But a weekend in the mountains? Yes sir!
My hutch. Yes. My shelves that AB built me exactly 8 years ago. Yes. NOT the crappy dressers from Furniture Row. (I need to work on the furniture aspect of this mindset in my house.)
My All Clad griddle, my Le Creuset pieces (have I sung enough praises lately about my Dutch Oven and Skillet?), my Kitchen Aid Professional mixer has made it 10 years with no sign of decline.
My beautiful, lovely purse will last – especially if I continue to stop by the retailer I bought it from to swoon at other purses and random sales people continue to clean it and massage it with lotion for me.
Years ago as a shopper I sought quantity. I need to outfit a kitchen, what do I need? I want a new work wardrobe, what should I buy?
Now as a shopper, I seek quality. I don’t always want to pay the prices for quality, I am a danged good sale shopper. Retailmenot.com is my best friend in online shopping.
I wonder if it seems morbid to ponder if something will last my lifetime? But I plan on living a long, long time.
Age 108 here I come with my Le Creuset and Coach purse!
There have been lots of articles out there lately about how purchases are not satisfying, they don’t fill ones soul, basically. I think in the down economy it is an attempt to make people feel better about not having the cash-oh-la to go out and buy buy buy. There is a lot of talk out there about reusing and what a wasteful society we have become. Disposable is bad.
I like shopping. I like stuff. I admit it.
My family likes stuff. My grandmother REALLY liked stuff. This last summer we cleaned (I use the term “we” loosely here) out her house as she went into an Alzheimer’s care facility. As a kid I thought she had loads of treasures. Turns out? She bought the cheapest stuff she could find. I found a little crystal tea service set that I loved – I don’t remember seeing it as a kid – it was stashed away in a secret spot. Very retro and fun looking, but missing a cup. I went to replacements.com and was a bit disappointed to find out I could only order the entire set, not just the missing cup. But then again, the entire set was $14. (And yes, I do still love it.)
This is the type of stuff my grandmother had. Depression era mindset, never spend money on luxuries for yourself, save everything. My mom, a few years ago, went to my grandmother’s house to help her clean stuff out and found an entire cabinet full of all the lotions and soaps she had ever given her for Mother’s Days, Christmas, her birthday.
“Why haven’t you used these?” my mom asked picking up the dusty, cruddy old bottles.
“I am saving them,” was her reply.
“For what?” my mom asked.
“To use,” she replied.
And I expect my mom rolled her eyes and left the conversation there. No one ever won arguments with my grandmother.
Lately I have been looking through my stuff with a bit of a critical eye given the articles and general opinion out there about buying new stuff, as well as combined with my recent experiences “helping” clean out my grandmother’s and my mom’s belongings.
My purchasing habits have changed over the last few years. I do still find joy in my older purchases though – the common consensus out there that purchases won’t fill your soul is a bit flawed I think.
My ski bibs and my ski gloves are two of these things. I truly believe that these two items will last my lifetime. High quality, good fitting and timeless items. Clarification, they will last my lifetime at my current level of commitment to skiing and cold weather activities, which is that I am a fair weather skier living in a warm-ish climate that is 2 hours 45 minutes drive to ski.
I bought my grandmother a good set of stacking stainless steel mixing bowls just like mine after she visited my house and commented a few times, “I wish I had a good set of bowls”. I love my stainless steel nesting bowls. They will be with me for life.
My kitchen items – I have a ton of kitchen stuff. But instead of replacing my $4.99 Woolworth special hand mixer that my grandmother bought for me with another of its type, I plan to get a Kitchen Aid hand mixer (in cocoa silver, in case you were wondering) and never ever have to replace it again.
This blog topic has been floating around in my head for a few weeks. And as I have walked around my house I have made mental note of the things I have purchased that will last a lifetime. What do I believe I have bought or been given that I will never have to replace?
And it isn’t always the most expensive things.
My ski bibs, for example. I think I bought them for $28 on clearance at Sierra Trading Post in Reno. But they ARE fabulous.
A few shirts/sweaters I have may go the distance. I have a few of those chunky wool sweaters that were so in style in Boulder in the 90’s. I love those still (shhh, don’t tell) and I expect they will go the distance if only because I don’t wear them currently – I would roast and well my colleagues might mistake me for a hippy. But a weekend in the mountains? Yes sir!
My hutch. Yes. My shelves that AB built me exactly 8 years ago. Yes. NOT the crappy dressers from Furniture Row. (I need to work on the furniture aspect of this mindset in my house.)
My All Clad griddle, my Le Creuset pieces (have I sung enough praises lately about my Dutch Oven and Skillet?), my Kitchen Aid Professional mixer has made it 10 years with no sign of decline.
My beautiful, lovely purse will last – especially if I continue to stop by the retailer I bought it from to swoon at other purses and random sales people continue to clean it and massage it with lotion for me.
Years ago as a shopper I sought quantity. I need to outfit a kitchen, what do I need? I want a new work wardrobe, what should I buy?
Now as a shopper, I seek quality. I don’t always want to pay the prices for quality, I am a danged good sale shopper. Retailmenot.com is my best friend in online shopping.
I wonder if it seems morbid to ponder if something will last my lifetime? But I plan on living a long, long time.
Age 108 here I come with my Le Creuset and Coach purse!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Merry Christmas!
We had a quiet Christmas. It is the first Christmas in years that we have not travelled. I used to get a bit bent out of shape about always traveling for the holidays. Annoyed that no one would come to us for holidays. Now the fact that we are home is a bit bittersweet. In one instance I am relishing being in our own home for the holidays, while the next instant that fact is soured because the reason we are not traveling is that my mom is no longer with us. It hasn't been easy.
Little events have brought loads of memories. I normally do Christmas cookies early so that we can enjoy them through the season. Doing cookies this year was a bit tough and I procrastinated them until just a few days before Christmas. Memories of Christmas both as a child, as a teenager and adult flood through of doing cookies with my mom.
When I was a child my mom would cut them and bake them - making sure to never put different shapes on the same cookie sheet when baking so that they would all cook evenly. I thought she was horribly boring that way. Guess how I do them now? Yes, the exact same way.
Memories of "retarded" angels. No, I don't really mean to be anti-PC here - but back in 1980, "retarded" wasn't a horrible thing to say. When I was a kid we would always try and put faces on our angel cookies. My mom would laugh and tell us that was definitely a "retarded" angel.
As a high schooler, my mom would try to cut corners and change up the labor intensive cookie recipe that was my great grandmother's. It wouldn't take so long if we did this other recipe she would tell us. And my sister and I would roll our eyes. Because they never TASTED as good.
And as an adult my mom would wait to do cookies until we arrived in town and then we would go down to my sister's house and decorate them with her kids and occasionally my aunt and cousins would come down too.
Our Christmas Eve tradition was always to eat seafood and open one gift. Those lean years where we didn't have much, we would still have snow crab legs and my sister and I thought we were the luckiest kids alive. I made a friend's boulliabaisse recipe this year and it turned out fabulous and we were lucky enough to have king crab shipped directly from Alaska to put in it.
My kids had their one gift to open on Christmas eve which surprisingly turned out to be pajamas! (Do you know how hard it is to find Christmas - not winter - themed pajamas for boys in size 7??) Skadi cracked us all up when she opened hers, jumped around the room with a huge grin squealing, "It is EXACTLY what I always wanted!"
I may be deluding myself, or maybe it is what I need to believe to make things easier, but I believe that this was the first year that my mom was in our house with us on Christmas. I felt as though she was here watching all these traditions and partaking with us.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Two lifetimes of stuff
Part of our trip to Colorado has included plans to clean out / organize / distribute the stuff that accumulates after a lifetime. My grandmother has gone into an assisted living facility in Denver, which means that her home in Casper needs to be cleaned out and sold. My mom passed away just over two months ago and her stuff needs to be sorted through as well.
The very obvious aspect of this to the family involved is that these are two different worlds. If you have ever been in my grandmother's house, you would never forget it. My grandmother is from the Depression era. This means that she does not easily get rid of anything, ever. Her house is stacked deep. My grandmother doesn't really clean, so the house is grimy as well.
As a child I spent many years at my grandmother's house. We used to explore her basement and find all sorts of treasures. We would play hide and seek, we would draw on the little chalkboard, we would play dress up in the stacks of clothes. We would play on the ancient electric piano and we would stay away from the very scary dolls in the corner. I looked at the basement this time around happy that my children weren't with me. Danger was everywhere!
My mother was the opposite of my grandmother and she always claimed this was my grandmother's fault and I believe her. She didn't save things. My mom is a clean freak who spent every Saturday morning cleaning the house from top to bottom regardless of whether it needed it or not. My mom's house is cleaner than I can ever hope that my house would be... and I pay for a weekly housecleaner.
When you walk through my mom's basement storage there are no sheets hanging from the ceiling to create rooms, instead, they have clear plastic bins with neatly typed labels describing the contents. As a kid I was often irritated with my mom for getting rid of things. Yes, I admit it, I have packrat tendencies. As an adult - and especially after going through my grandmother's belongings - I can appreciate more my mom's tendency to rid her home of clutter.
During our days of cleaning out the houses of mother and daughter we have discovered a few more similarities than we ever anticipated. Both my mom and grandmother have an affinity for beauty products, lots of different beauty products. In my grandmother's case it is beauty products from the last 20 years that she has received as gifts and has all this time "saved for a special occasion" - eventually never to be used. My mom bought really great stuff and wonderful smelling soaps.
My mom, like me, couldn't ever get rid of a book. I inherited my love for books from her. A love for a fresh, brand new, clean, creaseless book. And despite reading it and maybe not even liking it? Getting rid of a book is just not something either of us does with ease.
All of us? Huge fans of photos. None of us have ever thrown away a photo, no matter how out of focus.
We have all moved away from Casper, Wyoming. So cleaning out my grandmother's house had to be a quick activity. We squished it in to a few days where the three remaining brothers and myself and my cousin went up and grabbed items we "needed". By the time I got there, many of the items were gone. But I spent a few hours picking through items. I got the crystal bowl that I admired as a child and that I was told I would someday get. My cousin took the matching cake pedestal. My grandmother had set aside a number of things with our names on them, she labeled special things as to who they had belonged to or which family member had made what. She put non-sticky paper tags in photo covers that said who each person in the picture was. For as grimy and stuffed to the gills her house was, things were actually a bit organized. I will never forget the box I pulled out that was labeled, "Travel memories, throw away when I am gone".
It was sad to see the boxes and boxes of every single school paper that my mom and her brothers had ever completed going into the dumpster. We all worried about how much money was thrown away... my grandmother was notorious for hiding money. And we all wondered if we weren't throwing away old pieces of art that were just maybe a missing Rembrandt. But time... none of us had it to put towards picking through things paper by paper.
I drove off with my mom's wedding dress, some questionable valuables, a Little Black Sambo book, an original copy of Old Yeller, a blanket and pillow that my great grandmother made, the crystal bowl I wanted, a set of Depression glass with a very funky and fun pattern, photos, my grandmother's nursing service pins, and many coins of questionable worth. I packed up a stack of my mom's and my grandmother's school papers. (Me = packrat) I also grabbed my great uncle's purple heart and am hoping I can get his address and send it to him someday. I am sure he doesn't remember that my grandmother was holding it for him for some reason.
I helped my stepdad in clearing through some of my mom's stuff. I took a few of her cookbooks that I remember as a child and that held a few of my drawings as well as some of her newer cookbooks. I took her rolling pins and her good pie pans, her sweater from Ireland, some nice outdoor wear, loads of fancy soaps, lots of Aveda products (we both have a weak spot for anything labeled Aveda) and some jewelry.
Clearing out both houses provided very different experiences. Clearing my grandmother's house was enjoyable, an adventure coupled with a little fear of reaching my hand into each box. She has had a long and good, active life with a lot of accomplishments. Helping her on to that last stage in life.
Clearing my mother's house is bittersweet as I held items in my hands that I knew my mother still had dreams of using. Things that she should still be using. Helping my stepdad move onto the next phase of his life.
The very obvious aspect of this to the family involved is that these are two different worlds. If you have ever been in my grandmother's house, you would never forget it. My grandmother is from the Depression era. This means that she does not easily get rid of anything, ever. Her house is stacked deep. My grandmother doesn't really clean, so the house is grimy as well.
As a child I spent many years at my grandmother's house. We used to explore her basement and find all sorts of treasures. We would play hide and seek, we would draw on the little chalkboard, we would play dress up in the stacks of clothes. We would play on the ancient electric piano and we would stay away from the very scary dolls in the corner. I looked at the basement this time around happy that my children weren't with me. Danger was everywhere!
My mother was the opposite of my grandmother and she always claimed this was my grandmother's fault and I believe her. She didn't save things. My mom is a clean freak who spent every Saturday morning cleaning the house from top to bottom regardless of whether it needed it or not. My mom's house is cleaner than I can ever hope that my house would be... and I pay for a weekly housecleaner.
When you walk through my mom's basement storage there are no sheets hanging from the ceiling to create rooms, instead, they have clear plastic bins with neatly typed labels describing the contents. As a kid I was often irritated with my mom for getting rid of things. Yes, I admit it, I have packrat tendencies. As an adult - and especially after going through my grandmother's belongings - I can appreciate more my mom's tendency to rid her home of clutter.
During our days of cleaning out the houses of mother and daughter we have discovered a few more similarities than we ever anticipated. Both my mom and grandmother have an affinity for beauty products, lots of different beauty products. In my grandmother's case it is beauty products from the last 20 years that she has received as gifts and has all this time "saved for a special occasion" - eventually never to be used. My mom bought really great stuff and wonderful smelling soaps.
My mom, like me, couldn't ever get rid of a book. I inherited my love for books from her. A love for a fresh, brand new, clean, creaseless book. And despite reading it and maybe not even liking it? Getting rid of a book is just not something either of us does with ease.
All of us? Huge fans of photos. None of us have ever thrown away a photo, no matter how out of focus.
We have all moved away from Casper, Wyoming. So cleaning out my grandmother's house had to be a quick activity. We squished it in to a few days where the three remaining brothers and myself and my cousin went up and grabbed items we "needed". By the time I got there, many of the items were gone. But I spent a few hours picking through items. I got the crystal bowl that I admired as a child and that I was told I would someday get. My cousin took the matching cake pedestal. My grandmother had set aside a number of things with our names on them, she labeled special things as to who they had belonged to or which family member had made what. She put non-sticky paper tags in photo covers that said who each person in the picture was. For as grimy and stuffed to the gills her house was, things were actually a bit organized. I will never forget the box I pulled out that was labeled, "Travel memories, throw away when I am gone".
It was sad to see the boxes and boxes of every single school paper that my mom and her brothers had ever completed going into the dumpster. We all worried about how much money was thrown away... my grandmother was notorious for hiding money. And we all wondered if we weren't throwing away old pieces of art that were just maybe a missing Rembrandt. But time... none of us had it to put towards picking through things paper by paper.
I drove off with my mom's wedding dress, some questionable valuables, a Little Black Sambo book, an original copy of Old Yeller, a blanket and pillow that my great grandmother made, the crystal bowl I wanted, a set of Depression glass with a very funky and fun pattern, photos, my grandmother's nursing service pins, and many coins of questionable worth. I packed up a stack of my mom's and my grandmother's school papers. (Me = packrat) I also grabbed my great uncle's purple heart and am hoping I can get his address and send it to him someday. I am sure he doesn't remember that my grandmother was holding it for him for some reason.
I helped my stepdad in clearing through some of my mom's stuff. I took a few of her cookbooks that I remember as a child and that held a few of my drawings as well as some of her newer cookbooks. I took her rolling pins and her good pie pans, her sweater from Ireland, some nice outdoor wear, loads of fancy soaps, lots of Aveda products (we both have a weak spot for anything labeled Aveda) and some jewelry.
Clearing out both houses provided very different experiences. Clearing my grandmother's house was enjoyable, an adventure coupled with a little fear of reaching my hand into each box. She has had a long and good, active life with a lot of accomplishments. Helping her on to that last stage in life.
Clearing my mother's house is bittersweet as I held items in my hands that I knew my mother still had dreams of using. Things that she should still be using. Helping my stepdad move onto the next phase of his life.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
On kids and sports
I remember pontificating one time, okay, maybe more times than once, that I thought kids were overscheduled and that *my* kids would only participate in one activity at a time outside of school (Spanish lessons, music lessons and Tumblebus aside since those are extracurricular through school, during their time). If there was more than one activity they wanted to do, then they had to make a decision.
This week my son has two tennis lessons, one soccer practice and swimming lessons.
In my own defense, tennis is ending this week and soccer is just starting. So there is really only one week where this craziness of three sports has taken hold.
Swimming lessons are every Saturday morning. Leif could kind of care less about swimming, but his sister is a fish. It would be easy to let swimming fall off Leif’s schedule, but both AB and I feel that swimming is an ultra-important skill that our children must possess. Our family cabin is on Puget Sound, about 100 feet from the water. There are boats and watercraft of all sorts during the summer. Not to mention that AB grew up swimming and it was his sport of choice. Oh and did I mention that we are hoping for a trip to Hawaii this coming year and want the kids to be able to swim... like in the ocean.
Then you toss in there the sibling factor… Skadi lives every day of her life looking forward to Saturday swimming lessons – this IS her one activity. She knows all the swim teachers and they know her... well. Since she was in parent-tot she was a little swimming star. The teachers love teaching Skadi because she does anything they ask. (This is the one time every week that Skadi does as she is told.) Check out the picture from the one session where her teacher decided to pass her up - way up. She did quite well, but it looked pretty funny in the picture her standing there with a 6, 7 and 9 year old and she was 2.5 and in a swim diaper.
We opted to put her back with kids her own age and the teachers promised not to let her stagnate - so far they haven't!
We did the divide and conquer thing one session where I took Skadi to swimming and Leif stayed home with daddy. And it isn’t that it didn’t work… it just wasn’t ideal. We like being together as a family, even if it is just for an hour of swimming lessons with mom and dad on the sides watching the kids perform.
This was really that turning point when we realized that one activity a week wasn't going to work for long.
Tennis. When I was five years old my mom put me in tennis lessons and I wore the cutest little white skort and went to Mike Cedar Park for my lessons. One of the older boys in my lesson made a snide comment to me – he made fun of me for having Kool-Aid in my water bottle. I responded in the manner that most girls that age would – I stuck my tongue out of him. My mom saw too. I thought I was going to be in so much trouble, but she thought it was hilarious. I played racquet sports off and off through my life. Mostly racquetball, like my mom and stepdad, but I also dabbled with tennis. Leif became strangely intrigued with tennis after playing it on the Wii. A few months ago he started asking for tennis lessons and I scrambled looking for options.
See as a working mom, you are terribly limited in summer sports activities. No one wants to teach summer sports on the weekends! I finally bit the bullet and signed Leif up for four lessons over a span of two weeks as an introduction to tennis.
I sort of expected he would take the class, realize he wasn’t Andre Agassi (not that he knows who Andre is), and move onto something else. Instead Leif has declared that he “loves” tennis and it is “even better than baseball”. And not terribly surprising since the kid loves sports, he isn’t half bad at it. He was sporting his wicked backhand today. Yes, he knows what a backhand is now.
This is where mommy guilt stings. Because I can’t justify to continue taking off at 9:30am Monday and Wednesdays to go grab Leif from school (where he misses ultra-important calendar work) to drive across town for a half hour lesson, then drive back, deposit him back at school and run back to work and get there by 11am in order to further his tennis interest. Can I? I keep telling myself he is only 5 and 11/12th. There are going to be plenty of summers when I am clamoring for camps and such to enroll the kids in. He will probably get his fill of tennis then.
Soccer. Oh soccer, the most beloved of Leif sports. We do soccer through the YMCA in the summers as well as indoor soccer in the winter. And this year, given Leif’s enthusiasm over soccer, we have registered him for the competitive league that starts this fall. I think this officially makes me a soccer mom putting Leif in this league. Leif is all about soccer and during every recess at school he can be found on the soccer field. Daily he begs me to allow him to wear his cleats to school. Today he wanted to "just bring them in case" his teachers decide he can wear cleats on the playground. The boys cheer when he arrives in the morning and direct him to which team “needs help”. Leif very willingly complies because like his father, he likes to help the underdog. Not doing soccer? Not really an option unless I want one unhappy little boy.
I know people who slam sports, who think it ridiculous that we spend time running our kids around for sports practices and events. To each their own. Both AB and I were raised in families that prided physical activity. AB and his brothers were diehard swimmers. I was lucky, my mom worked at the YMCA and so I was able to take every single class I wanted to (hello disco dancing!) and my mom was lucky that she didn't have to pay for childcare.
I played volleyball and basketball from 5th grade through 9th grade, competed in track and field and competed in gymnastics through 10th grade, until I got an afterschool job instead. I ski both downhill and cross country, played tennis and racquetball (2nd in State Juniors in Wyoming), softball (which I absolutely despised though), swam and most recently ran (which I really need to get back to).
My parents taught me I could do anything and enabled me to pursue my interests. I wasn’t great at every sport, but I enjoyed them (except for softball) and learned the value of physical activity.
So when I run home from work on Monday and race to fix a quick dinner to eat on the run to soccer practice that starts at 6:15pm… yeah, it’s not ideal. But it’s the best we can do right now as working parents who are striving to enable their kids’ dreams. Not every child dreams about sports.
Mine does.
This week my son has two tennis lessons, one soccer practice and swimming lessons.
In my own defense, tennis is ending this week and soccer is just starting. So there is really only one week where this craziness of three sports has taken hold.
Swimming lessons are every Saturday morning. Leif could kind of care less about swimming, but his sister is a fish. It would be easy to let swimming fall off Leif’s schedule, but both AB and I feel that swimming is an ultra-important skill that our children must possess. Our family cabin is on Puget Sound, about 100 feet from the water. There are boats and watercraft of all sorts during the summer. Not to mention that AB grew up swimming and it was his sport of choice. Oh and did I mention that we are hoping for a trip to Hawaii this coming year and want the kids to be able to swim... like in the ocean.
Then you toss in there the sibling factor… Skadi lives every day of her life looking forward to Saturday swimming lessons – this IS her one activity. She knows all the swim teachers and they know her... well. Since she was in parent-tot she was a little swimming star. The teachers love teaching Skadi because she does anything they ask. (This is the one time every week that Skadi does as she is told.) Check out the picture from the one session where her teacher decided to pass her up - way up. She did quite well, but it looked pretty funny in the picture her standing there with a 6, 7 and 9 year old and she was 2.5 and in a swim diaper.
We opted to put her back with kids her own age and the teachers promised not to let her stagnate - so far they haven't!We did the divide and conquer thing one session where I took Skadi to swimming and Leif stayed home with daddy. And it isn’t that it didn’t work… it just wasn’t ideal. We like being together as a family, even if it is just for an hour of swimming lessons with mom and dad on the sides watching the kids perform.
This was really that turning point when we realized that one activity a week wasn't going to work for long.
Tennis. When I was five years old my mom put me in tennis lessons and I wore the cutest little white skort and went to Mike Cedar Park for my lessons. One of the older boys in my lesson made a snide comment to me – he made fun of me for having Kool-Aid in my water bottle. I responded in the manner that most girls that age would – I stuck my tongue out of him. My mom saw too. I thought I was going to be in so much trouble, but she thought it was hilarious. I played racquet sports off and off through my life. Mostly racquetball, like my mom and stepdad, but I also dabbled with tennis. Leif became strangely intrigued with tennis after playing it on the Wii. A few months ago he started asking for tennis lessons and I scrambled looking for options.
See as a working mom, you are terribly limited in summer sports activities. No one wants to teach summer sports on the weekends! I finally bit the bullet and signed Leif up for four lessons over a span of two weeks as an introduction to tennis.
I sort of expected he would take the class, realize he wasn’t Andre Agassi (not that he knows who Andre is), and move onto something else. Instead Leif has declared that he “loves” tennis and it is “even better than baseball”. And not terribly surprising since the kid loves sports, he isn’t half bad at it. He was sporting his wicked backhand today. Yes, he knows what a backhand is now.
This is where mommy guilt stings. Because I can’t justify to continue taking off at 9:30am Monday and Wednesdays to go grab Leif from school (where he misses ultra-important calendar work) to drive across town for a half hour lesson, then drive back, deposit him back at school and run back to work and get there by 11am in order to further his tennis interest. Can I? I keep telling myself he is only 5 and 11/12th. There are going to be plenty of summers when I am clamoring for camps and such to enroll the kids in. He will probably get his fill of tennis then.
Soccer. Oh soccer, the most beloved of Leif sports. We do soccer through the YMCA in the summers as well as indoor soccer in the winter. And this year, given Leif’s enthusiasm over soccer, we have registered him for the competitive league that starts this fall. I think this officially makes me a soccer mom putting Leif in this league. Leif is all about soccer and during every recess at school he can be found on the soccer field. Daily he begs me to allow him to wear his cleats to school. Today he wanted to "just bring them in case" his teachers decide he can wear cleats on the playground. The boys cheer when he arrives in the morning and direct him to which team “needs help”. Leif very willingly complies because like his father, he likes to help the underdog. Not doing soccer? Not really an option unless I want one unhappy little boy.
I know people who slam sports, who think it ridiculous that we spend time running our kids around for sports practices and events. To each their own. Both AB and I were raised in families that prided physical activity. AB and his brothers were diehard swimmers. I was lucky, my mom worked at the YMCA and so I was able to take every single class I wanted to (hello disco dancing!) and my mom was lucky that she didn't have to pay for childcare.
I played volleyball and basketball from 5th grade through 9th grade, competed in track and field and competed in gymnastics through 10th grade, until I got an afterschool job instead. I ski both downhill and cross country, played tennis and racquetball (2nd in State Juniors in Wyoming), softball (which I absolutely despised though), swam and most recently ran (which I really need to get back to).
My parents taught me I could do anything and enabled me to pursue my interests. I wasn’t great at every sport, but I enjoyed them (except for softball) and learned the value of physical activity.
So when I run home from work on Monday and race to fix a quick dinner to eat on the run to soccer practice that starts at 6:15pm… yeah, it’s not ideal. But it’s the best we can do right now as working parents who are striving to enable their kids’ dreams. Not every child dreams about sports.
Mine does.
Friday, June 18, 2010
I was chatting this evening on FB with a friend from high school. One thing we always had in common was a love for music. He told me what he was listening to right now - Sam Cooke - and because I am not a naive young teenager anymore afraid of not knowing something, I admitted that I wasn't familiar with him. My friend then typed "American Idol".
And fear set into my heart. Must change the subject.
And a whole new type of nervousness kicked in... the "I can't admit that I have never seen American Idol" type of nervousness.
Nope. It's true. Never seen American Idol.
I blogged recently about how AB and I have dropped off the face of the planet with respect to TV.
Thanks to Facebook I knew to set the Tivo for Top Chef - though I am certain that Rachel or Vanessa would have clued me in. I also knew that a new season of Entourage would be starting soon.
AB says we don't watch TV because we have a crappy CRT TV.
Yes, we do have a 12 year old or so CRT TV, but the thing works. And plus, we never watch it.
My mom was an avid TV watcher. And she admitted it proudly too - she loved watching TV. When I was a kid our evenings were filled with watching TV. Cosby Show, Different Strokes, Mork and Mindy, Dallas, Charlie's Angels... you name it, we were there.
After my mom passed away we opted to do a few things in her memory. One was to plant some roses in our garden and get a stepping stone to create a living memorial to her.
The other was to bite the bullet and buy a new TV. This one pleased my husband greatly. But really, last I saw my mom she said to me, "I don't understand, high def TV's just AREN'T that expensive anymore!" I didn't tell her we just never watched TV, though I think it was obvious when I hadn't seen any of the HGTV episodes and admitted to having never seen a long list of shows she watched.
So really, it was an appropriate thing to do.
AB researched what "we" wanted. And then one night a little over a week ago we sat down and placed the order for the top of the line, 50" Panasonic Plasma TV. And a blu ray. And a new receiver with DVR. And an articulating mounting arm.
We are going to get back on the TV bandwagon one way or another!!
We thought that was going to happen this weekend.
I came home over lunch today to receive this nice, nifty new TV from the shipping company that drove it over to our little town from "the west side".
They unloaded it, brought it in, unpacked it.
Then the driver sat shaking his head.
"It's broken," he announced.
"What?" I asked.
He beckoned me to the other side of the TV and there before me was a massive crack across the screen.
"Wow." I said.
"That's a shame," the driver said.
"Wow," I said.
The driver picked up his phone and called the distributing warehouse to tell them it was refused for the crack. He pointed to the Amazon.com number for me to call at the same time. I did, and told them it was refused.
They quickly credited the account, but told me since it was a third party seller fulfilled by Amazon I would have to go reorder it online, they could not simply replace it.
That... has proven more difficult than I anticipated since it appears that cracked TV may have been the last one on earth like it. Or at least the last one on earth for what my husband deemed to be an appropriate price to pay.
Ok, so back to the point. Appears our foray back into watching TV? Delayed.
But someday? I will know who Sam Cooke is, or what the flap is about Cougar Town, and I can even see myself delving into Pawn Stars. (Which is about as appropriate as my mom's love for "Ice Road Truckers".) Maybe I will return to getting my Adam and Jamie fix? Big Love was supposed to redeem me this past year and make me love TV again. Top Chef will make me want to go cook. What is going to make me want to waste my time in front of the TV instead of on the internet?
And fear set into my heart. Must change the subject.
And a whole new type of nervousness kicked in... the "I can't admit that I have never seen American Idol" type of nervousness.
Nope. It's true. Never seen American Idol.
I blogged recently about how AB and I have dropped off the face of the planet with respect to TV.
Thanks to Facebook I knew to set the Tivo for Top Chef - though I am certain that Rachel or Vanessa would have clued me in. I also knew that a new season of Entourage would be starting soon.
AB says we don't watch TV because we have a crappy CRT TV.
Yes, we do have a 12 year old or so CRT TV, but the thing works. And plus, we never watch it.
My mom was an avid TV watcher. And she admitted it proudly too - she loved watching TV. When I was a kid our evenings were filled with watching TV. Cosby Show, Different Strokes, Mork and Mindy, Dallas, Charlie's Angels... you name it, we were there.
After my mom passed away we opted to do a few things in her memory. One was to plant some roses in our garden and get a stepping stone to create a living memorial to her.
The other was to bite the bullet and buy a new TV. This one pleased my husband greatly. But really, last I saw my mom she said to me, "I don't understand, high def TV's just AREN'T that expensive anymore!" I didn't tell her we just never watched TV, though I think it was obvious when I hadn't seen any of the HGTV episodes and admitted to having never seen a long list of shows she watched.
So really, it was an appropriate thing to do.
AB researched what "we" wanted. And then one night a little over a week ago we sat down and placed the order for the top of the line, 50" Panasonic Plasma TV. And a blu ray. And a new receiver with DVR. And an articulating mounting arm.
We are going to get back on the TV bandwagon one way or another!!
We thought that was going to happen this weekend.
I came home over lunch today to receive this nice, nifty new TV from the shipping company that drove it over to our little town from "the west side".
They unloaded it, brought it in, unpacked it.
Then the driver sat shaking his head.
"It's broken," he announced.
"What?" I asked.
He beckoned me to the other side of the TV and there before me was a massive crack across the screen.
"Wow." I said.
"That's a shame," the driver said.
"Wow," I said.
The driver picked up his phone and called the distributing warehouse to tell them it was refused for the crack. He pointed to the Amazon.com number for me to call at the same time. I did, and told them it was refused.
They quickly credited the account, but told me since it was a third party seller fulfilled by Amazon I would have to go reorder it online, they could not simply replace it.
That... has proven more difficult than I anticipated since it appears that cracked TV may have been the last one on earth like it. Or at least the last one on earth for what my husband deemed to be an appropriate price to pay.
Ok, so back to the point. Appears our foray back into watching TV? Delayed.
But someday? I will know who Sam Cooke is, or what the flap is about Cougar Town, and I can even see myself delving into Pawn Stars. (Which is about as appropriate as my mom's love for "Ice Road Truckers".) Maybe I will return to getting my Adam and Jamie fix? Big Love was supposed to redeem me this past year and make me love TV again. Top Chef will make me want to go cook. What is going to make me want to waste my time in front of the TV instead of on the internet?
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
A most difficult topic
One of the single hardest things in dealing with my mom's death has been in regards to my kids. Death is just not an easy subject to get, like at all, for the younger set.
When AB and I told Skadi that grandma died, she looked at us and said she wanted to go play with her dollhouse. We didn't expect much more, but still felt the need to say it to her.
Leif was a different story. He knew for months that something was up. We said daily prayers for grandma, we talked about her being sick and late in the process we admitted that grandma probably was not going to get better and was probably going to die. He sobbed and sobbed one evening that he didn't want grandma to die.
Neither did I, sweet boy.
When I had kids I never gave it a thought that my mom would not be here to share them with me. We live far away from family, but somehow my mom always made it closer between webcam sessions, visits and little packages that would arrive for every holiday and some non-holidays as well.
I lost my grandfather when I was 13 years old. At that age I well understood the concept of death and that my grandfather had been sick for a decade with congestive heart failure and diabetes. No one was terribly surprised when he passed away at 72.
Surprisingly it has been Skadi who has been stuck on the topic of grandma passing away the last week. Nearly every time we have been in the car she immediately starts asking questions.
And not all of them are easy to answer.
"Where did grandma die?" (This one is easy, she died in Colorado at the hospital.)
"Where is grandma now?" (She is in heaven with God.)
"Like Jesus?" (Yes, I guess like Jesus. Though Leif reminded us that grandma did not die on the cross like Jesus did.)
"Where is heaven?" (Umm, way way high up in the sky, where she, God and Jesus can watch over you.)
"Is she on top of the clouds?" (I believe she is on top of the clouds.)
"Can we visit her on the airplane?" (No.)
"When is she coming home?" (She isn't coming home.)
"When will she come see us?" (She isn't going to come see us anymore.)
"Why not?" (Because she died, like how flowers die and turn brown, or like if you step on an ant and it is dead. Realizing of course that now she is going to think that grandma was stepped on...)
"Did grandma die?" (Yes honey, grandma died. Here we go again.)
My stepdad picked up some materials from Hospice to help with explaining death to kids this age. I get the whole keep it simple thing. But I suck at that. I tend to take things to a complicated level - more complicated than it needs be level - very quickly.
I ordered about four books today from the extensive list that Hospice provided after studying the Amazon ratings trying to find books that jive with our beliefs. Customer ratings can be a wonderful thing... or they can really suck up your time and make you a neurotic consumer.
This evening I asked Leif to say prayers. For the second night in a row he declined. "I don't have any prayers tonight," he told me.
"Sure you do," I said. "Think about prayers about keeping everyone healthy, or helping us all be happy, or being with grandma in heaven." I listed the options off.
"I am tired of sad prayers mommy," he mumbled to me half asleep.
"Then how about a happy prayer," I said and quickly tried to come up with a happy prayer. What exactly is a happy prayer? I have my own belief on the things that we should and should not pray for. And I am not sure what it stems out of. But in the moment I could only think of one thing that so violated my thought of what prayers should be about.
"Pray to God that you get some nice things for your birthday," I said to him.
And he did.
When AB and I told Skadi that grandma died, she looked at us and said she wanted to go play with her dollhouse. We didn't expect much more, but still felt the need to say it to her.
Leif was a different story. He knew for months that something was up. We said daily prayers for grandma, we talked about her being sick and late in the process we admitted that grandma probably was not going to get better and was probably going to die. He sobbed and sobbed one evening that he didn't want grandma to die.
Neither did I, sweet boy.
When my mom died we sat Leif down and told him. His first response was an angered, "I wish she would have washed her hands." Because no matter how many times I have tried to explain the difference between a communicable disease and non-communicable disease, he just hasn't gotten it. "But my teacher said that handwashing prevents diseases!" He tells me. I can't caveat it because that isn't what his teacher says.
And I am resisting the urge to talk to the teachers about specifying the difference between diseases we catch through germs and those that arise from different sources. Because I see how this can quickly become complicated to 3-6 year olds.
Leif has handled it quite well to this point and tends to tell us that "but it is okay, because she is with God and she isn't in pain." And at Sunday school the other day when Skadi started talking about grandma dying, he was quick to explain "well she had this disease".
When I had kids I never gave it a thought that my mom would not be here to share them with me. We live far away from family, but somehow my mom always made it closer between webcam sessions, visits and little packages that would arrive for every holiday and some non-holidays as well.
I lost my grandfather when I was 13 years old. At that age I well understood the concept of death and that my grandfather had been sick for a decade with congestive heart failure and diabetes. No one was terribly surprised when he passed away at 72.
Surprisingly it has been Skadi who has been stuck on the topic of grandma passing away the last week. Nearly every time we have been in the car she immediately starts asking questions.
And not all of them are easy to answer.
"Where did grandma die?" (This one is easy, she died in Colorado at the hospital.)
"Where is grandma now?" (She is in heaven with God.)
"Like Jesus?" (Yes, I guess like Jesus. Though Leif reminded us that grandma did not die on the cross like Jesus did.)
"Where is heaven?" (Umm, way way high up in the sky, where she, God and Jesus can watch over you.)
"Is she on top of the clouds?" (I believe she is on top of the clouds.)
"Can we visit her on the airplane?" (No.)
"When is she coming home?" (She isn't coming home.)
"When will she come see us?" (She isn't going to come see us anymore.)
"Why not?" (Because she died, like how flowers die and turn brown, or like if you step on an ant and it is dead. Realizing of course that now she is going to think that grandma was stepped on...)
"Did grandma die?" (Yes honey, grandma died. Here we go again.)
My stepdad picked up some materials from Hospice to help with explaining death to kids this age. I get the whole keep it simple thing. But I suck at that. I tend to take things to a complicated level - more complicated than it needs be level - very quickly.
I ordered about four books today from the extensive list that Hospice provided after studying the Amazon ratings trying to find books that jive with our beliefs. Customer ratings can be a wonderful thing... or they can really suck up your time and make you a neurotic consumer.
This evening I asked Leif to say prayers. For the second night in a row he declined. "I don't have any prayers tonight," he told me.
"Sure you do," I said. "Think about prayers about keeping everyone healthy, or helping us all be happy, or being with grandma in heaven." I listed the options off.
"I am tired of sad prayers mommy," he mumbled to me half asleep.
"Then how about a happy prayer," I said and quickly tried to come up with a happy prayer. What exactly is a happy prayer? I have my own belief on the things that we should and should not pray for. And I am not sure what it stems out of. But in the moment I could only think of one thing that so violated my thought of what prayers should be about.
"Pray to God that you get some nice things for your birthday," I said to him.
And he did.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
These are a few of my favorite songs...
My music tastes tend to change with the wind. I can tell you what my favorite songs are now, but who knows if they will be my favorites in another week.
Same with books.
Lately I have found myself gravitating to the "oldies". Going back to the music I listened to growing up. I think this probably has a lot to do with my mom passing, but the songs that are hot on my iPod, weren't necessarily her favorites.
When I think of my mom's favorite music, I think of things like Mamma Mia and other contemporary musicals. These were her favorites most recently.
My music tastes as a kid reflected my parents. That's one of the advantages to having young parents... I KNEW who Ted Nugent was back when he actually sang instead of pontificated. (I suppose if at 3 years old you think that knowing the words to "Cat Scratch Fever" was an advantage...)
As I got older and lived further away from my parents, our tastes diverged, though my mom and I often compared notes. When I discovered Greg Brown recently, she was the only one on FB who jumped up and said, "he is one of my favorites right now".
My parents fell on the Stones side of the fence - not the Beatles side.
Me? Well this is one of my top played on my iPod right now.
Leif's first song he declared as a favorite was "Yellow Submarine". This was when I fully understood that 50% of his genes do come from his father.
When I was in high school I picked up "Tangled up in Blue" for my mom. Her copy was worn out.
I couldn't find a good video that wasn't a cover, but one of my favorite lines ever:
"I like the smile in your fingertips, I like the way that you move your hips, I like the cool way - you look at me. Everything about you is bringing me misery."
Another top song right now on my iPod.
One of my favorites now is an old song that I despised as a child... after all it was country and by Kenny Rogers of all people (everyone say "ewww" like an 8 year old little girl). Then I found this cover and the world changed.
Something about this one though just screams "like".
Next on my list of most played?
"Domenik the Donkey" (thank you Skadi) and "Who Let the Ghosts Out" (thank you Leif). We just won't go there. And yes, there is a reason that the play number of these two horrible songs is exactly equal.
My mom went through a Johnny Cash phase too. I don't know that "Long Black Veil" hit her favs, but it is getting loads of play in my car.
I haven't been able to touch some of my mom's favorites with a ten foot pole yet - "Me and Bobby McGee" for example. I suppose it is easier for me to skirt around the edges right now.
When I was at my mom's shortly after her passing going through the computer I went through her playlist. The song that blew me away on there was this one:
I went through a big Terence Trent D'Arby phase when I was what... about 14? I played this all.the.time.
I guess at 14 (or whatever I was) I was too absorbed in myself to note that my mom had fallen for this song too.
The funny things that we discover after the fact.
Oh and this one? I can listen to. Because my childhood memories don't include my mom singing along to this one.
Same with books.
Lately I have found myself gravitating to the "oldies". Going back to the music I listened to growing up. I think this probably has a lot to do with my mom passing, but the songs that are hot on my iPod, weren't necessarily her favorites.
When I think of my mom's favorite music, I think of things like Mamma Mia and other contemporary musicals. These were her favorites most recently.
My music tastes as a kid reflected my parents. That's one of the advantages to having young parents... I KNEW who Ted Nugent was back when he actually sang instead of pontificated. (I suppose if at 3 years old you think that knowing the words to "Cat Scratch Fever" was an advantage...)
As I got older and lived further away from my parents, our tastes diverged, though my mom and I often compared notes. When I discovered Greg Brown recently, she was the only one on FB who jumped up and said, "he is one of my favorites right now".
My parents fell on the Stones side of the fence - not the Beatles side.
Me? Well this is one of my top played on my iPod right now.
Leif's first song he declared as a favorite was "Yellow Submarine". This was when I fully understood that 50% of his genes do come from his father.
When I was in high school I picked up "Tangled up in Blue" for my mom. Her copy was worn out.
I couldn't find a good video that wasn't a cover, but one of my favorite lines ever:
"I like the smile in your fingertips, I like the way that you move your hips, I like the cool way - you look at me. Everything about you is bringing me misery."
Another top song right now on my iPod.
One of my favorites now is an old song that I despised as a child... after all it was country and by Kenny Rogers of all people (everyone say "ewww" like an 8 year old little girl). Then I found this cover and the world changed.
Something about this one though just screams "like".
Next on my list of most played?
"Domenik the Donkey" (thank you Skadi) and "Who Let the Ghosts Out" (thank you Leif). We just won't go there. And yes, there is a reason that the play number of these two horrible songs is exactly equal.
My mom went through a Johnny Cash phase too. I don't know that "Long Black Veil" hit her favs, but it is getting loads of play in my car.
I haven't been able to touch some of my mom's favorites with a ten foot pole yet - "Me and Bobby McGee" for example. I suppose it is easier for me to skirt around the edges right now.
When I was at my mom's shortly after her passing going through the computer I went through her playlist. The song that blew me away on there was this one:
I went through a big Terence Trent D'Arby phase when I was what... about 14? I played this all.the.time.
I guess at 14 (or whatever I was) I was too absorbed in myself to note that my mom had fallen for this song too.
The funny things that we discover after the fact.
Oh and this one? I can listen to. Because my childhood memories don't include my mom singing along to this one.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Venturing back
In a way, it is hard to get back to blogging. I have this huge list of blogs to write about, but I haven't really felt like blogging, I have been overly busy and well, I just haven't been in that frame of mind. I blogged, in large part this last year, for my mom. She loved the safe haven of my blogs and hearing the stories about the kids. I purposely kept the majority of the cancer details out of my blog.
I enjoy blogging. It's cathartic to me. So the best thing to do is dive straight in I suppose. This is going to be an unusual post from me. It's lengthy (that's not unusual, I tend to be wordy, but you can deal or click away). There is love. There is anger. There aren't too many laughs. And not a dang thing funny that my kid's have said. But it is what it is.
My mom passed away after a 14 month battle with a rare type of liver cancer called cholangiocarcinoma. She was the picture of health so recently, nearly vegetarian, a marathon runner, a hard worker. And young. She was only 56. She had done everything right. She was not one of the risk categories for liver cancer. This took us by storm.
She battled hard until she could battle no more. The problem with rare cancers is that the drug companies don't invest resources into making drugs targeted at a disease that only 4000 people in the US get a year. All the chemos she tried were being used "off label". She battled and battled. When she wasn't on chemo, she suffered heartache. She needed to fight.
When I visited her in March her oncologist took her off chemo and very kindly and tenderheartedly suggested Hospice. Only 6 weeks later, on May 10th, the day after Mother's Day, she lost the hard fought battle.
She entered the Hospice ward at a hospital a few days before as they were unable to care for her at home. At that point she was lost in her body. She did not speak, nearly comatose from what I understand, but eventually did start responding a little in her own way and finally saying a few words on Sunday.
On Mother's Day she mustered an "I love you" into the phone. I didn't hear it, though I think I had the phone up to Skadi's ear at the time. My baby heard her grandma tell us she loved us.
My mom passed away quietly that Monday. Her breathing had changed that morning and while holding Rick's hand, she just quit breathing.
It has been a very surreal experience. I flew to Colorado that Tuesday morning, afraid to look at anyone for fear that they might expect me to speak to them. I buried myself in "Breaking Dawn" - the least likely book to remind me of my heartache while I travelled. On Tuesday when Rick picked me up, my guard came down. We cried and talked for three days.
The after.
I have learned through this experience how atypical my mom was. Also how I have apparently inherited this atypical-ness. And why this is atypical and not typical, because I didn't realize beforehand that there is certain expectations that those left surviving are "supposed" to uphold. It appears I have faltered in many of them.
My mom did not want a funeral or burial service. This did not surprise me at all, I remember when I was 13 years old and my grandfather died and how my mom complained and was creeped out by the whole process. Instead, we will give us all a bit of time to mourn and then hold her Life Celebration in Colorado on July 17th.
I have felt through the last year or so a lot of judgement placed on me, my mom and my family by others. There are times where I wish that I wouldn't have even shared what is going on so that *I* don't have to live up to what other people expect in situations like this. So that *I* have not had to explain to others my mom's wishes.
I have often wanted to yell at people. (And I don't normally yell... but anyways.) I have wanted to YELL, "What do YOU believe I should be feeling? Why isn't my path appropriate? Why can't you accept the way MY family is without forcing YOUR expectations on me?" I found that much of the perceived judgement came only from those people who in no way had persevered this magnitude of loss, could in no way have any idea what was going on.
Those friends of mine who had or are going through similar issues, were the softest, the gentlest and the kindest.
Everyone is different. My mom was a different person. An intensely private person. My mom took huge pride in my sister and me. In me, she was proud of my degree, proud of my work, proud of my kids, proud of where AB and I have positioned ourselves in our lives.
And I will never forget one of the last things she told me in person as I hugged her small frame goodbye for the last time.
"You are where you are supposed to be. You have your family. You need to stay there and take care of my grandbabies. A lifetime is not defined by a moment in time, a moment of passing." She didn't want an audience. My mom never wanted an audience in her entire life. She wanted to go quietly, softly and rest in knowing she had passed her being on in at least five people in the world - myself, my sister, and our kids.
It felt right for me to return to work shortly after my mom's passing. Truly, if her passing had been less expected, not something we prayed to God about to take her softly and to remove her suffering, then I would have needed a lot more time. But my grieving, my getting used to losing her, was something that was spread over a year. I grieved with every setback in her diagnosis, every scan that showed the cancer advancing, every doctor who regretably, could not help her. I grieved. I hoped, but I was also a realist and therefore I grieved.
I embarked upon two weeks of business travel a week after my mom passed. For months I had talked to my mom about this travel. She knew how I loved going to DC and she knew how I looked forward to riding the train to Philadelphia and then spending a few days gawking at big-ass boats like a tourist. She was excited for me to go to one of her favorite places, New Mexico, and to experience the desert Southwest. In those last few months of her life, she raved about sopaipillas and art galleries and her love of New Mexico. Not going on my travel served little purpose. I knew that my mom would have wanted me to go.
During these past three weeks one thing that happened that shocked me, was that "friends" were defined. I bonded with Jen from high school who was losing her sister in law in a similar fashion through cancer, her sister in law died days after my mom did. I bonded with Erin from high school who lost her father and was a tremendous resource. I met my mom's closest friend, Noreen, who was a tremendous sounding board for me during those last few weeks and the person who kept me talking and sharing experiences with me when she lost her sister to cancer.
I hung with one of my coworkers in DC who knew exactly what had happened, had prayed for us, and then didn't let me out of his sight. I had to convince him I could walk across the street to Starbucks by myself (and to the shop next to that to get Advil for that raging headache). He didn't say a word, but the way he looked at me out of the corner of his eye asked me if I was ok every hour or so.
My very close friend Melissa kept it real by e-mailing regularly, asking only occasionally how things were, but all the time realizing that life still goes on and sharing all those little details that friends share about their days.
I cried with Rachel whose father has recently been diagnosed with a rare cancer.
I sobbed under Heather's hand in the bathroom at work when I got that phonecall.
My Philly client took me off to the side after our review and wanted to know how my kids were doing with my mom passing, and when I started talking and kept talking and finally had to tell myself to shut up, she asked me more questions to keep me talking.
I drank beer with my lead engineer and talked NBA finals, never mentioning my mom. His kind e-mail to me days before said it all.
There are others. I can't list the compassion of everyone during these last three weeks. But actions resonated.
Life goes on. I am grieving. I will be grieving for a long time.
But I am not fragile. I will not break. I have two children who, for the most part, haven't felt the impact of the loss and who still need to go to school daily, finish up baseball, still behave like the biggest goofballs alive, and strive to make me smile. I love life. I am dealing with my loss my way and when I am able.
I enjoy blogging. It's cathartic to me. So the best thing to do is dive straight in I suppose. This is going to be an unusual post from me. It's lengthy (that's not unusual, I tend to be wordy, but you can deal or click away). There is love. There is anger. There aren't too many laughs. And not a dang thing funny that my kid's have said. But it is what it is.
My mom passed away after a 14 month battle with a rare type of liver cancer called cholangiocarcinoma. She was the picture of health so recently, nearly vegetarian, a marathon runner, a hard worker. And young. She was only 56. She had done everything right. She was not one of the risk categories for liver cancer. This took us by storm.
She battled hard until she could battle no more. The problem with rare cancers is that the drug companies don't invest resources into making drugs targeted at a disease that only 4000 people in the US get a year. All the chemos she tried were being used "off label". She battled and battled. When she wasn't on chemo, she suffered heartache. She needed to fight.
When I visited her in March her oncologist took her off chemo and very kindly and tenderheartedly suggested Hospice. Only 6 weeks later, on May 10th, the day after Mother's Day, she lost the hard fought battle.
She entered the Hospice ward at a hospital a few days before as they were unable to care for her at home. At that point she was lost in her body. She did not speak, nearly comatose from what I understand, but eventually did start responding a little in her own way and finally saying a few words on Sunday.
On Mother's Day she mustered an "I love you" into the phone. I didn't hear it, though I think I had the phone up to Skadi's ear at the time. My baby heard her grandma tell us she loved us.
My mom passed away quietly that Monday. Her breathing had changed that morning and while holding Rick's hand, she just quit breathing.
It has been a very surreal experience. I flew to Colorado that Tuesday morning, afraid to look at anyone for fear that they might expect me to speak to them. I buried myself in "Breaking Dawn" - the least likely book to remind me of my heartache while I travelled. On Tuesday when Rick picked me up, my guard came down. We cried and talked for three days.
The after.
I have learned through this experience how atypical my mom was. Also how I have apparently inherited this atypical-ness. And why this is atypical and not typical, because I didn't realize beforehand that there is certain expectations that those left surviving are "supposed" to uphold. It appears I have faltered in many of them.
My mom did not want a funeral or burial service. This did not surprise me at all, I remember when I was 13 years old and my grandfather died and how my mom complained and was creeped out by the whole process. Instead, we will give us all a bit of time to mourn and then hold her Life Celebration in Colorado on July 17th.
I have felt through the last year or so a lot of judgement placed on me, my mom and my family by others. There are times where I wish that I wouldn't have even shared what is going on so that *I* don't have to live up to what other people expect in situations like this. So that *I* have not had to explain to others my mom's wishes.
I have often wanted to yell at people. (And I don't normally yell... but anyways.) I have wanted to YELL, "What do YOU believe I should be feeling? Why isn't my path appropriate? Why can't you accept the way MY family is without forcing YOUR expectations on me?" I found that much of the perceived judgement came only from those people who in no way had persevered this magnitude of loss, could in no way have any idea what was going on.
Those friends of mine who had or are going through similar issues, were the softest, the gentlest and the kindest.
Everyone is different. My mom was a different person. An intensely private person. My mom took huge pride in my sister and me. In me, she was proud of my degree, proud of my work, proud of my kids, proud of where AB and I have positioned ourselves in our lives.
And I will never forget one of the last things she told me in person as I hugged her small frame goodbye for the last time.
"You are where you are supposed to be. You have your family. You need to stay there and take care of my grandbabies. A lifetime is not defined by a moment in time, a moment of passing." She didn't want an audience. My mom never wanted an audience in her entire life. She wanted to go quietly, softly and rest in knowing she had passed her being on in at least five people in the world - myself, my sister, and our kids.
It felt right for me to return to work shortly after my mom's passing. Truly, if her passing had been less expected, not something we prayed to God about to take her softly and to remove her suffering, then I would have needed a lot more time. But my grieving, my getting used to losing her, was something that was spread over a year. I grieved with every setback in her diagnosis, every scan that showed the cancer advancing, every doctor who regretably, could not help her. I grieved. I hoped, but I was also a realist and therefore I grieved.
I embarked upon two weeks of business travel a week after my mom passed. For months I had talked to my mom about this travel. She knew how I loved going to DC and she knew how I looked forward to riding the train to Philadelphia and then spending a few days gawking at big-ass boats like a tourist. She was excited for me to go to one of her favorite places, New Mexico, and to experience the desert Southwest. In those last few months of her life, she raved about sopaipillas and art galleries and her love of New Mexico. Not going on my travel served little purpose. I knew that my mom would have wanted me to go.
During these past three weeks one thing that happened that shocked me, was that "friends" were defined. I bonded with Jen from high school who was losing her sister in law in a similar fashion through cancer, her sister in law died days after my mom did. I bonded with Erin from high school who lost her father and was a tremendous resource. I met my mom's closest friend, Noreen, who was a tremendous sounding board for me during those last few weeks and the person who kept me talking and sharing experiences with me when she lost her sister to cancer.
I hung with one of my coworkers in DC who knew exactly what had happened, had prayed for us, and then didn't let me out of his sight. I had to convince him I could walk across the street to Starbucks by myself (and to the shop next to that to get Advil for that raging headache). He didn't say a word, but the way he looked at me out of the corner of his eye asked me if I was ok every hour or so.
My very close friend Melissa kept it real by e-mailing regularly, asking only occasionally how things were, but all the time realizing that life still goes on and sharing all those little details that friends share about their days.
I cried with Rachel whose father has recently been diagnosed with a rare cancer.
I sobbed under Heather's hand in the bathroom at work when I got that phonecall.
My Philly client took me off to the side after our review and wanted to know how my kids were doing with my mom passing, and when I started talking and kept talking and finally had to tell myself to shut up, she asked me more questions to keep me talking.
I drank beer with my lead engineer and talked NBA finals, never mentioning my mom. His kind e-mail to me days before said it all.
There are others. I can't list the compassion of everyone during these last three weeks. But actions resonated.
Life goes on. I am grieving. I will be grieving for a long time.
But I am not fragile. I will not break. I have two children who, for the most part, haven't felt the impact of the loss and who still need to go to school daily, finish up baseball, still behave like the biggest goofballs alive, and strive to make me smile. I love life. I am dealing with my loss my way and when I am able.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Obituary
Barbara J. Carbaugh, 56, passed away peacefully on May 10th, 2010 at Pathways Hospice Care Center located in McKee Medical Center, Loveland, Colorado. She lost her 14 month brave and courageous battle against liver cancer. Our loss is great, however, we are comforted to know she is now pain free and in God’s loving hands.
Barbara was born in Casper, Wyoming on August 2nd, 1953. She graduated from Natrona County High School in Casper, then from Casper College with a degree in business administration. She was employed at the Casper YMCA where she was the membership and racquetball director. She moved to Fort Collins, Colorado in 1986 with her future husband, Rick Carbaugh and her two girls.
Barbara began working for Inhausen Research Institute in Fort Collins and learned the pre-clinical bio-medical research business. She managed the business for many years and purchased the company in January 2007, renaming it High Quality Research. She welcomed the new duties including marketing and quickly added new clients from Colorado as well as national and international companies. Her honesty and integrity created a positive business and personnel relationship with her clients. Over 25 years she has researched many products which may help other cancer patience. She was an active member in many bio-medical and research communities. She sold the company to her general manager of many years on April 30th, 2010. She and her survivors take great pride knowing she spent these years helping mankind.
She loved life and had many diverse interests and hobbies, but none more important to her than her great love for her husband, daughters, grandchildren, family and friends. She spent several years as a skilled racquetball player and teacher before her passion turned to running. She ran the Bolder Boulder for many years, then always seeking a greater challenge started running half and full marathons. She completed nine marathons including qualifying for and completing the 100th running of the Boston Marathon. She was an avid hiker, baker, traveler and loved to read.
She is survived by her husband Richard "Rick" Carbaugh of Windsor, Colorado; daughters Dr. April Carman and husband Hans of Richland, Washington; Angela Allie and husband Joel of Denver, Colorado; mother Shirley Jeanne Walker formerly of Casper Wyoming and presently residing in Denver Colorado; brothers David Walker of Denver, Dr. Michael Walker and wife Laurie of Sitka Alaska, and Robert Walker of Casper, Wyoming; grandchildren Nick and Celeste Allie and Leif and Skadi Carman. Preceded in the passing of her father Eugene Lemuel Walker.
All of her family wish to express our deep love and appreciation to all of the caring, talented and compassionate medical staffs of Front Range Cancer Center and Dr. Robert Marschke, Poudre Valley Hospital, Medical Center of the Rockies Radiology Department and Pathway Hospice and Care Center.
The world is a better place because of what you do and how you do it! Bless you all.
Barbara will be missed and loved forever and never, never forgotten. A celebration of her life will be held at a later date.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Words never spoken more true
Skadi: "Dear God. Make my mama not sad anymore because hers is my mama."
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
An update of sorts
We have been a house of sickos since Sunday. Skadi spent Sunday afternoon throwing up, then it hit AB on Tuesday and finally landed on Leif and I last night late. He and I hung around the house today and recovered. I am hoping now that we are all on the mend and able to escape with healthy bodies this weekend. We have been talking about putting Leif on skis for a year now and if we don't take advantage of the snow now, it won't happen this year. We are meeting some friends with children of the same ages at Silver Mountain for a weekend of ski and water park. The plan is to put the boys in ski school Saturday morning and do a variety of things with the girls, go out and play in the snow and play at the water park and parents will rotate kid duty with skiing.
We are poor right now... or at least we don't want to spend money, so aside from the condo and the ski school for the boys, we are going budget style and cooking meals at the condos instead. I have a big list of stuff to get at the grocery store tomorrow. AB and I really need a mental break from both work (since we have both been high stress with work lately) as well as dealing with home stuff.
First things first though - thanks for all the thoughts and prayers for my mom. The tumor on her liver was cancerous, however was surgically removed in its entirety with clean margins. The cancer was the primary cancer and no other sources could be found. She will spend the next 5-6 weeks recovering and will be closely monitored from now till eternity for more tumors. We are praying that it was a single episode and not another will ever be found.
Speaking of praying, apparently we have been saying a lot of prayers for grandma. Skadi has taken to walking around and saying, "Grandma A-MEN!"
I am sure I speak for the collective that you don't realize how lucky and blessed you are to have people in your life until you are faced with the fact that we are all mortals. Really makes you step back and put things into perspective.
The last thing we are stressing right now about is our new house that we are to close on in a few short weeks. We have been working hard to pack our house up and get ready to move.
Of course wouldn't you know that SOMETHING had to pop up. When we first met with our agents they told us that "something different always pops up that you have to work through on a house, it never fails". Or something like that. My house was going to be the first for them that went smoothly.
Was.
Nearly two weeks ago I phoned our insurance company to get a quote on insurance. They phoned me later and asked that dreaded question, "did you know there was a claim filed on the house last July for water loss?"
I replied that I didn't know this.
And not a minor claim either, $21.8K.
This isn't just a pipe breaking, this is either major excavation for a ruptured main or complete removation of walls inside.
And not on the disclosures either.
The relo company we are purchasing from denies knowing anything and has said they would attempt to find the former owners.
Supposidly they have attempted, though we are skeptical since they keep responding that they can't find them when in the stack of documents we got from them has their names (which I Googled and found their current locale) as well as his business e-mail. Once I had our agent's blessing I popped an e-mail out there to him asking what the situation was.
We really want the house. AB who was once on the fence with the house is now in love with it, I have always thought it was the right house for us. So we want the house, we just want to know what happened and what we need to watch out for, who made the repairs and any warranty information.
So far, no news. This is not one of those cases where no news is good news. No news for us right now is a big red flag. What is being hidden?
We are stressed about what we are supposed to do now? Proceed with caution? Or jump ship?
Stay tuned.
We are poor right now... or at least we don't want to spend money, so aside from the condo and the ski school for the boys, we are going budget style and cooking meals at the condos instead. I have a big list of stuff to get at the grocery store tomorrow. AB and I really need a mental break from both work (since we have both been high stress with work lately) as well as dealing with home stuff.
First things first though - thanks for all the thoughts and prayers for my mom. The tumor on her liver was cancerous, however was surgically removed in its entirety with clean margins. The cancer was the primary cancer and no other sources could be found. She will spend the next 5-6 weeks recovering and will be closely monitored from now till eternity for more tumors. We are praying that it was a single episode and not another will ever be found.
Speaking of praying, apparently we have been saying a lot of prayers for grandma. Skadi has taken to walking around and saying, "Grandma A-MEN!"
I am sure I speak for the collective that you don't realize how lucky and blessed you are to have people in your life until you are faced with the fact that we are all mortals. Really makes you step back and put things into perspective.
The last thing we are stressing right now about is our new house that we are to close on in a few short weeks. We have been working hard to pack our house up and get ready to move.
Of course wouldn't you know that SOMETHING had to pop up. When we first met with our agents they told us that "something different always pops up that you have to work through on a house, it never fails". Or something like that. My house was going to be the first for them that went smoothly.
Was.
Nearly two weeks ago I phoned our insurance company to get a quote on insurance. They phoned me later and asked that dreaded question, "did you know there was a claim filed on the house last July for water loss?"
I replied that I didn't know this.
And not a minor claim either, $21.8K.
This isn't just a pipe breaking, this is either major excavation for a ruptured main or complete removation of walls inside.
And not on the disclosures either.
The relo company we are purchasing from denies knowing anything and has said they would attempt to find the former owners.
Supposidly they have attempted, though we are skeptical since they keep responding that they can't find them when in the stack of documents we got from them has their names (which I Googled and found their current locale) as well as his business e-mail. Once I had our agent's blessing I popped an e-mail out there to him asking what the situation was.
We really want the house. AB who was once on the fence with the house is now in love with it, I have always thought it was the right house for us. So we want the house, we just want to know what happened and what we need to watch out for, who made the repairs and any warranty information.
So far, no news. This is not one of those cases where no news is good news. No news for us right now is a big red flag. What is being hidden?
We are stressed about what we are supposed to do now? Proceed with caution? Or jump ship?
Stay tuned.
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