- Youngest Daughter started out her spring break with a sprained ankle. She slid while playing basketball the Thursday before the break began and her ankle was so swollen she didn't get to school on Friday.
- My mother ended up terrible sick on Thursday while in rehab. By Friday afternoon she was unresponsive and the rapid response team sent her to the ER where I was told the doctors had done all they could for her and it was now up to her. My brother was called and frantically tried to find a private plane to fly him to Florida. After nine hours in the ER my mother decided she wanted to live and began fighting to get back. She was moved to the main hospital and ICU by midnight of Saturday morning. My brother made it to Florida Saturday morning by commercial flight. Connie spent four days in ICU and then was moved into a regular room in the hospital.
- Our lawn was killed with harsh chemicals in preparation for our new sod so that we had to avoid stepping outside in the front yard. The dog didn't understand why he couldn't step foot in the front yard and we spend considerable time wrangling with him on the leash. Then at the beginning of the week the workers began quite early tearing up the lawn with loud machines so that sleeping in was almost an impossibility. The new grass, however, is beautiful.
- I came home on Tuesday to find that the cabinet under my kitchen sink was flooded. A pipe under the sink had a hole in it so cooking and cleaning suddenly became more of a chore then normal. Husband replaced the garbage disposal and pipes under the sink on Friday.
- My DVR got full and didn't record important shows. For someone who loves TV this was terrible.
- Eldest daughter started vomiting on Thursday night. She had fever, headache, and stomach issues for three days. The first night of vomiting I spent the night sleeping on a love seat in the living room, my legs hanging off the side. She has since recovered.
- The weather was in the 50's and the 60's. I had already put away my winter clothes in my cleaning of my closet, and with my mother in the hospital not much laundry was getting done. I lived in my Steelers pants that are several sizes too big, much to my mother's dismay.
- The Indiana Hoosiers men's basketball team lost. And they lost without really showing any emotion or excitement about playing basketball. Duds.
- My brother insisted on eating at the same place for lunch every day; Buffalo Wild Wings. My stomach has yet to recover.
- My diet was thrown out the window during this week and the weeks since we called 911 for my mother. This has resulted in me being more tired, anxious, and yucky feeling. I plan to jump back on the diet come Monday.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Spring Break is finally over - Hallelujah!
10 reasons why I'm thrilled this past week has come to an end:
Saturday, March 23, 2013
March is colon cancer awareness month
I didn't know that March was colon cancer awareness month two months ago when I scheduled my colonoscopy. It is the third one that I've had and I've yet to reach the magical colon time age of 50 yet. The first colonoscopy I had was when Darcy was little, like a year or younger, and I had some rectal bleeding. My doctor referred me to a gastroenterologist who insisted on the scope and a week later I was viewing the photos of my 12 internal hemorrhoids which looked like little mushrooms or alien space ships. The gastro doc was female (I'm a firm believer in female physicians for myself) and pregnant with her first child. I told her to take a good look at those hemorrhoids and push daintily when it was her time to expel that kid. I didn't see her again for over ten years.
Two years ago I had tons of stomach/bowel issues. If you are squeamish about reading or discussing these types of things then move on to another blog because this post is going to contain the word poop. I'm not embarrassed about talking about my bodily functions. I spent my childhood waiting for a parent's bowels to move before we could leave the house for the day. My friends refer to my poop talk as the "Mason fecal update" because no one in my family is afraid to bring up the subject whether it is at dinner or a wedding. Besides this is March - Colon Cancer Awareness Month - and so there is no better time to discuss "down there".
Two years ago I started with a few days of diarrhea, an upset stomach, and a feeling of fatigue. I spent some time in bed and then got up and dragged myself to a doc-in-the-box where I explained this was nothing new for me having had giardia several years before. Back then giardia was relatively unknown and I went through weeks and then months of tests and hell before diagnosing myself with the help of a friend who once had it. My primary tested for it (she had to look it up in her medical book) and it came back positive. Everyone in my family was treated for it and I was back up on my feet in no time. Now giardia is a common test for ailments such as mine, but alas, it came back negative as did several of the other tests. I was sent home with a low antibiotic and ordered to take some Imodium, which I didn't take because my belief is better out than in. Weeks turned to months and I went to my primary care. She listened, made notes, and then referred me to my old gastro doctor who was still in business and so busy it took my over a month just to get in to see her. She made me go through the second colonoscopy, having no record of my previous one, and ran me through so many tests I was cleared of diseases that started with every letter of the alphabet. That colonoscopy came back with a polyp and some diverticulosis, but nothing of great concern. Still I kept pooping. And pooping. And pooping. Month after month after month.
I lost fifteen pounds during the nine months that I pooped diarrhea and took a combination of pills ordered by the gastro doc. The last three months of my illness I had a day or so during the week when I felt decent and didn't have to spend my time in the bathroom. I kept on chugging because I was a mom with responsibilities, but it was a slow summer that year for the girls. Then one day it was over and soon my visits to the gastro doc went from monthly to every three months, six months, and then finally to a year. This year she sprung the colonoscopy on me, something she had mentioned at the last visit, but one that I hoped she had forgotten. It had been over two years since my last one and because of the polyp find she thought it a good idea to go back inside for a check. Where I would have hesitated, hemmed and hawed, and argued several months prior (five years being the time frame between polyps) I didn't when the time came because my friend's brother, barely over the age of 50, had recently been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and given two years to live.
I signed up for my colonoscopy, picking the date in March, unaware of its importance. It wasn't until I got into the elevator at a hospital that I discovered March as the awareness month for colon cancer. It was posted in every elevator I rode up and down in to visit my mother and suddenly I found myself spreading the word, especially to those people over 50 (HUSBAND...cough, cough), although why 50 is the magical age is beyond me seeing that I've discovered exciting things in my colon in my three probes.
Having gone through two other procedures, I knew what todread expect. The problem with that thinking is that each time has turned out differently. Procedure number one was awful, but the drink had some flavor and I had to take pills with it. Ten years later at procedure number two I only had to do one dosage of the drink seeing as how my colon had been cleared for several months prior. This recent procedure had me doing two drink doses; one in the evening the night before and the other in the early morning the day of the procedure. Let me just say that the procedure itself is nothing. The expelling of your colon is nothing. The not eating anything for twenty four hours is well, that isn't nothing, but it is doable. The drink, however? The drink is god awful. Seriously choke-it-down-disgusting. Why someone hasn't invented a pill for this is beyond me, but whoever does will be filthy rich.
The drink I had was called MoviPrep, a cute little play on words that didn't improve my mood. The box it came in was huge and the pharmacy had to store it in a bag inside a large drawer. Everyone who has ever had to have the procedure knows what is happening when the large drawer is opened and the bag is passed on to the customer. I got quite a few pats on the back and some condolences as I paid and left the store. Inside the box were two more boxes and one 32 oz. bottle with a lid and four 8 oz. markings on the outside. I had to take the first dose the night before at 6 pm. after not eating a thing all day since breakfast. I did well with the no eating until I picked up Darcy after basketball practice and she asked me to take her to Home Depot for some science supplies she needed. I will admit I bit her head off and drove home.
At six o'clock I took the contents of one box, a bag of white powder, and poured it into the bottle. My instructions from my doctor told me I could use any liquid I chose as long as it wasn't red. I could mix it with a soft drink, water, Gatorade, tea, etc. Each time in the past I've mixed it with water and I thought about mixing it this time with something different, but I got concerned that it might even be worse so I just used water. I had to shake it and shake it and then I took a deep breath and poured the first 8 oz. of the drink into a cup. My friend, the one whose brother is battling colon cancer, had had her colonoscopy the week before mine and offered up the info on using a straw. I stuck in some ice and a straw, took another deep breath, and tried to down the 8 oz. I got as far as two gulps. The liquid smells like Sprite and tastes like a glass of salty watery Sprite without the carbonation. I hate Sprite to begin with so I'm doomed. I held my nose so that the taste was hidden, but as soon as the taste buds felt that salt they shriveled up and caused a gag reflex. I worked at getting three gulps and then swished my mouth with a gulp of Ginger Ale. By the time I got down the first 8 oz. I had very little time left before I had to take the next dose. You have to drink in 15 minute intervals and believe me when I tell you by the last two doses your 15 minutes have come and gone and there is no break. That I remembered from procedure #2.
The drinking of my first 32 oz. was done in a timely manner with a lot of pacing and staring out of the window. At one point during a rest period I whined to my mother who had called to tell me she was safely at her rehab facility. Having had the procedure herself, she let me whine, told me she was sorry, wished me luck, and thankfully hung up. When it was all over I felt like I had just climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and I preened around the living room like a peacock. An hour later I spent two hours running to and from the bathroom.
The next 32 oz. came at 4:00 in the morning. I rolled out of bed (just in time to discover my eldest just finishing up her homework and going to bed for the night, but that's another story) and started over again. By the time the first 8 oz. was down I had five minutes to relax. I sat on the couch and turned on the television to sit out my five minutes. There is not much available even on cable at that time of the day, and by the time I found a CSI episode it was time to suck down the second 8 oz. This time I left out the ice and the straw and tried to chug it all in a few gulps. I failed. I gagged. I thought it was all going to come up my esophagus at one point, but I worked hard mentally and physically to avoid that little gem. It worked and I got the second one down, leaving myself three minutes for relaxation. I took five. Fuck the MoviPrep makers and my doctor. The third one was the hardest and by the time it was gone, some of it in the kitchen sink drain, it was time to start the fourth dose and so I emptied the container and sat down on the couch thinking I would take a sipping approach. It worked, but it took over twenty minutes. I wanted to jump up and down when it was over, but instead I visited the bathroom and peed from my butt. Because by that time there is nothing but MoviPrep coming out of you.
My friend Kelly took off work for the day to be my caregiver and driver. My husband seemed a little offended by this, but Kelly happened to text me the day I made the appointment and I jokily asked her if she wanted to nurse me. She is all abouttaking off a day of work helping others so she put in for the time that day. You have to have a driver that they can lay eyes on at registration or they will not do the procedure due to the Michael Jackson sleeping drugs they shoot into you.
Everyone kept asking me how I was doing as they gave me a pregnancy test (uh, yeah), stuck in my IV, and entered my little curtained off area to chat. I finally got tired of saying "fine" and said instead, "How do you think I'm feeling after not eating for twenty four hours, drinking that god awful stuff, and pooping my brains out?" I found I'm more like my mother than I had thought. Once the IV was in and I was receiving a bag of nutrition, they asked me some questions, and wheeled me into the surgery room. I had to turn over on my left side and one of the nurses folded up my pillow as if that was comfortable. I had a blood pressure cuff put on my left arm which I would normally have under the pillow but instead sort of had sticking up in the air because placing it on the gurney felt awkward. I kept wondering if I was suppose to be asleep yet as my last two procedures I was out two minutes after being wheeled into the room. This time, however, the doctor was off talking to the nurse who had put in my IV so the two nurses and the anesthesiologist tech stood around chatting. Being me, and more like my mother then I thought, I asked why they weren't including me in the conversation and so they did and we all chatted about pets and my doctor.
I tried very hard to relax, but I was not comfortable. I wanted to sit up and try to readjust things, but my butt was exposed to the computer side of the room, the IV was in my right arm tugging, and the BP cuff was on the left. My legs were drawn up and together, a position I do not sleep in, and so I lay there trying to ignore all of this. Every once in awhile the cuff would tighten and I'd watch my pressure on the monitor. It kept going up and so I made a game of trying to lower it by the next time it would register. Finally, my doctor walked in. First things she said? "Hi, Cara, how are you?" I rolled my head over, looked at her, rolled my eyes at the others in the room, and said, "Great. Let's get his party started." Okay, I didn't say that about the party, but I would have had I thought it then. I saw that as soon as the doctor had entered the room the anesthesiologist tech was on his feet shooting a needle into my IV. Within five seconds I had that beautiful, floating, sleepy feeling and I thought, "Here we go."
I come out of the drugs just fine and fairly quickly according to past nurses. I woke up in my little curtained area with a male nurse to attend me. He wanted me to expel gas so I obliged, but I waited each time until he rushed off to get something or see to someone else. It is very difficult for me to expel gas in front of others since I rarely do so anyway (tee hee). I wanted some cranberry juice, but he would only give me water. He told me that she had found one polyp, several hemorrhoids, and inflamed diverticulitis. She also took four biopsies. He gave me a prescription for an antibiotic for the inflammation and some suppositories for the hemorrhoids. He told me I couldn't eat until tomorrow, which I had never been told before in my past two procedures. He had me get dressed, sign some papers, and released me to my caregiver. The whole thing from beginning to end took two hours.
A week later I went back to see her for the results and they turned out to be better then what the nurse had said. The polyp turned out to be fat. Fat. That she sucked right out of me. She thought I would like that. Since it was fat that meant that I was polyp free which means no colonoscopy for FIVE YEARS. The diverticulitis was diverticulosis and we studied the pictures together as if they would show us something profound. She gave me a high fiber diet, some powder fiber product that supposedly also helped lower cholesterol, and a pro-biotic. The hemorrhoids were smaller than my previous ones and since I had no pain, burning or itching she told me to use the suppositories as needed. She said my blood work was great. We talked about the cholesterol and taking some red yeast rice tablets. She patted me and told the receptionist that they wouldn't need to see me for FIVE YEARS. I whooped loudly and did a little dance. The receptionist told me I was a hoot, gave me my free samples, and I danced out of the office smiling and spreading sparkling charm throughout the waiting room.
March is colon cancer awareness month. Colon cancer is one of the easiest cancers to cure if caught early. Please, if you have a family history discuss with your doctor about having a colonoscopy before the age of fifty. If you are over fifty, please schedule one now even if you aren't having issues. It is good to have that first base line. It is a simple, painless procedure that only requires some taste bud discomfort and tons of pooping. Think of it as a cleanse. Don't we all need one of those every once in a while?
Two years ago I had tons of stomach/bowel issues. If you are squeamish about reading or discussing these types of things then move on to another blog because this post is going to contain the word poop. I'm not embarrassed about talking about my bodily functions. I spent my childhood waiting for a parent's bowels to move before we could leave the house for the day. My friends refer to my poop talk as the "Mason fecal update" because no one in my family is afraid to bring up the subject whether it is at dinner or a wedding. Besides this is March - Colon Cancer Awareness Month - and so there is no better time to discuss "down there".
Two years ago I started with a few days of diarrhea, an upset stomach, and a feeling of fatigue. I spent some time in bed and then got up and dragged myself to a doc-in-the-box where I explained this was nothing new for me having had giardia several years before. Back then giardia was relatively unknown and I went through weeks and then months of tests and hell before diagnosing myself with the help of a friend who once had it. My primary tested for it (she had to look it up in her medical book) and it came back positive. Everyone in my family was treated for it and I was back up on my feet in no time. Now giardia is a common test for ailments such as mine, but alas, it came back negative as did several of the other tests. I was sent home with a low antibiotic and ordered to take some Imodium, which I didn't take because my belief is better out than in. Weeks turned to months and I went to my primary care. She listened, made notes, and then referred me to my old gastro doctor who was still in business and so busy it took my over a month just to get in to see her. She made me go through the second colonoscopy, having no record of my previous one, and ran me through so many tests I was cleared of diseases that started with every letter of the alphabet. That colonoscopy came back with a polyp and some diverticulosis, but nothing of great concern. Still I kept pooping. And pooping. And pooping. Month after month after month.
I lost fifteen pounds during the nine months that I pooped diarrhea and took a combination of pills ordered by the gastro doc. The last three months of my illness I had a day or so during the week when I felt decent and didn't have to spend my time in the bathroom. I kept on chugging because I was a mom with responsibilities, but it was a slow summer that year for the girls. Then one day it was over and soon my visits to the gastro doc went from monthly to every three months, six months, and then finally to a year. This year she sprung the colonoscopy on me, something she had mentioned at the last visit, but one that I hoped she had forgotten. It had been over two years since my last one and because of the polyp find she thought it a good idea to go back inside for a check. Where I would have hesitated, hemmed and hawed, and argued several months prior (five years being the time frame between polyps) I didn't when the time came because my friend's brother, barely over the age of 50, had recently been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and given two years to live.
I signed up for my colonoscopy, picking the date in March, unaware of its importance. It wasn't until I got into the elevator at a hospital that I discovered March as the awareness month for colon cancer. It was posted in every elevator I rode up and down in to visit my mother and suddenly I found myself spreading the word, especially to those people over 50 (HUSBAND...cough, cough), although why 50 is the magical age is beyond me seeing that I've discovered exciting things in my colon in my three probes.
Having gone through two other procedures, I knew what to
The drink I had was called MoviPrep, a cute little play on words that didn't improve my mood. The box it came in was huge and the pharmacy had to store it in a bag inside a large drawer. Everyone who has ever had to have the procedure knows what is happening when the large drawer is opened and the bag is passed on to the customer. I got quite a few pats on the back and some condolences as I paid and left the store. Inside the box were two more boxes and one 32 oz. bottle with a lid and four 8 oz. markings on the outside. I had to take the first dose the night before at 6 pm. after not eating a thing all day since breakfast. I did well with the no eating until I picked up Darcy after basketball practice and she asked me to take her to Home Depot for some science supplies she needed. I will admit I bit her head off and drove home.
At six o'clock I took the contents of one box, a bag of white powder, and poured it into the bottle. My instructions from my doctor told me I could use any liquid I chose as long as it wasn't red. I could mix it with a soft drink, water, Gatorade, tea, etc. Each time in the past I've mixed it with water and I thought about mixing it this time with something different, but I got concerned that it might even be worse so I just used water. I had to shake it and shake it and then I took a deep breath and poured the first 8 oz. of the drink into a cup. My friend, the one whose brother is battling colon cancer, had had her colonoscopy the week before mine and offered up the info on using a straw. I stuck in some ice and a straw, took another deep breath, and tried to down the 8 oz. I got as far as two gulps. The liquid smells like Sprite and tastes like a glass of salty watery Sprite without the carbonation. I hate Sprite to begin with so I'm doomed. I held my nose so that the taste was hidden, but as soon as the taste buds felt that salt they shriveled up and caused a gag reflex. I worked at getting three gulps and then swished my mouth with a gulp of Ginger Ale. By the time I got down the first 8 oz. I had very little time left before I had to take the next dose. You have to drink in 15 minute intervals and believe me when I tell you by the last two doses your 15 minutes have come and gone and there is no break. That I remembered from procedure #2.
The drinking of my first 32 oz. was done in a timely manner with a lot of pacing and staring out of the window. At one point during a rest period I whined to my mother who had called to tell me she was safely at her rehab facility. Having had the procedure herself, she let me whine, told me she was sorry, wished me luck, and thankfully hung up. When it was all over I felt like I had just climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and I preened around the living room like a peacock. An hour later I spent two hours running to and from the bathroom.
The next 32 oz. came at 4:00 in the morning. I rolled out of bed (just in time to discover my eldest just finishing up her homework and going to bed for the night, but that's another story) and started over again. By the time the first 8 oz. was down I had five minutes to relax. I sat on the couch and turned on the television to sit out my five minutes. There is not much available even on cable at that time of the day, and by the time I found a CSI episode it was time to suck down the second 8 oz. This time I left out the ice and the straw and tried to chug it all in a few gulps. I failed. I gagged. I thought it was all going to come up my esophagus at one point, but I worked hard mentally and physically to avoid that little gem. It worked and I got the second one down, leaving myself three minutes for relaxation. I took five. Fuck the MoviPrep makers and my doctor. The third one was the hardest and by the time it was gone, some of it in the kitchen sink drain, it was time to start the fourth dose and so I emptied the container and sat down on the couch thinking I would take a sipping approach. It worked, but it took over twenty minutes. I wanted to jump up and down when it was over, but instead I visited the bathroom and peed from my butt. Because by that time there is nothing but MoviPrep coming out of you.
My friend Kelly took off work for the day to be my caregiver and driver. My husband seemed a little offended by this, but Kelly happened to text me the day I made the appointment and I jokily asked her if she wanted to nurse me. She is all about
Everyone kept asking me how I was doing as they gave me a pregnancy test (uh, yeah), stuck in my IV, and entered my little curtained off area to chat. I finally got tired of saying "fine" and said instead, "How do you think I'm feeling after not eating for twenty four hours, drinking that god awful stuff, and pooping my brains out?" I found I'm more like my mother than I had thought. Once the IV was in and I was receiving a bag of nutrition, they asked me some questions, and wheeled me into the surgery room. I had to turn over on my left side and one of the nurses folded up my pillow as if that was comfortable. I had a blood pressure cuff put on my left arm which I would normally have under the pillow but instead sort of had sticking up in the air because placing it on the gurney felt awkward. I kept wondering if I was suppose to be asleep yet as my last two procedures I was out two minutes after being wheeled into the room. This time, however, the doctor was off talking to the nurse who had put in my IV so the two nurses and the anesthesiologist tech stood around chatting. Being me, and more like my mother then I thought, I asked why they weren't including me in the conversation and so they did and we all chatted about pets and my doctor.
I tried very hard to relax, but I was not comfortable. I wanted to sit up and try to readjust things, but my butt was exposed to the computer side of the room, the IV was in my right arm tugging, and the BP cuff was on the left. My legs were drawn up and together, a position I do not sleep in, and so I lay there trying to ignore all of this. Every once in awhile the cuff would tighten and I'd watch my pressure on the monitor. It kept going up and so I made a game of trying to lower it by the next time it would register. Finally, my doctor walked in. First things she said? "Hi, Cara, how are you?" I rolled my head over, looked at her, rolled my eyes at the others in the room, and said, "Great. Let's get his party started." Okay, I didn't say that about the party, but I would have had I thought it then. I saw that as soon as the doctor had entered the room the anesthesiologist tech was on his feet shooting a needle into my IV. Within five seconds I had that beautiful, floating, sleepy feeling and I thought, "Here we go."
I come out of the drugs just fine and fairly quickly according to past nurses. I woke up in my little curtained area with a male nurse to attend me. He wanted me to expel gas so I obliged, but I waited each time until he rushed off to get something or see to someone else. It is very difficult for me to expel gas in front of others since I rarely do so anyway (tee hee). I wanted some cranberry juice, but he would only give me water. He told me that she had found one polyp, several hemorrhoids, and inflamed diverticulitis. She also took four biopsies. He gave me a prescription for an antibiotic for the inflammation and some suppositories for the hemorrhoids. He told me I couldn't eat until tomorrow, which I had never been told before in my past two procedures. He had me get dressed, sign some papers, and released me to my caregiver. The whole thing from beginning to end took two hours.
A week later I went back to see her for the results and they turned out to be better then what the nurse had said. The polyp turned out to be fat. Fat. That she sucked right out of me. She thought I would like that. Since it was fat that meant that I was polyp free which means no colonoscopy for FIVE YEARS. The diverticulitis was diverticulosis and we studied the pictures together as if they would show us something profound. She gave me a high fiber diet, some powder fiber product that supposedly also helped lower cholesterol, and a pro-biotic. The hemorrhoids were smaller than my previous ones and since I had no pain, burning or itching she told me to use the suppositories as needed. She said my blood work was great. We talked about the cholesterol and taking some red yeast rice tablets. She patted me and told the receptionist that they wouldn't need to see me for FIVE YEARS. I whooped loudly and did a little dance. The receptionist told me I was a hoot, gave me my free samples, and I danced out of the office smiling and spreading sparkling charm throughout the waiting room.
March is colon cancer awareness month. Colon cancer is one of the easiest cancers to cure if caught early. Please, if you have a family history discuss with your doctor about having a colonoscopy before the age of fifty. If you are over fifty, please schedule one now even if you aren't having issues. It is good to have that first base line. It is a simple, painless procedure that only requires some taste bud discomfort and tons of pooping. Think of it as a cleanse. Don't we all need one of those every once in a while?
Friday, March 22, 2013
Serenity
This too was in my photo stash recently discovered in my closet the other day. I thought today a good one to post this because my dad died on this day fifteen years ago. He sent this to me, but I don't know when. Amazingly he did not put a date on it.
This is a picture of me with my Mason grandparents at the farm. It is a picture made from a slide my dad took in the 60's. He put it into this old frame card he must have found in a pile of old pictures. He attached that note at the top.
When I saw this in my stash I had no memory of it and wondered if whatever he had put behind the picture was still there. It was.
Serenity! He was a nut. I miss him.
This is a picture of me with my Mason grandparents at the farm. It is a picture made from a slide my dad took in the 60's. He put it into this old frame card he must have found in a pile of old pictures. He attached that note at the top.
When I saw this in my stash I had no memory of it and wondered if whatever he had put behind the picture was still there. It was.
Serenity! He was a nut. I miss him.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Life in pictures this past week
#1 Cream of Wheat -
When I was a kid my mother made Cream of Wheat almost every winter morning. It was not my favorite, but it wasthe chosen one's my brother's favorite. Some time she mixed it up and added some Cocoa Wheat in and I really didn't care for that flavor. But eat it we did. We had it with a pat of butter in the middle and honey. While it was hot and warmed you from top to toes it never had enough honey in it for me. Back in those days you didn't whine and/or get more sugar. My mother was so good at cooking it that she would dump the wheats into a pan the night before and leave on the stove so that all she had to do was add the milk. It seemed like she stirred it twice and it was done and ready for us to eat. While it wasn't my favorite it is one of those childhood memories that I wanted to pass down to my daughters.
Madison likes Cream of Wheat, and Darcy likes it with tons of honey, but I am the worst cook of Cream of Wheat. I tried buying the instant in a package, but it was awful, so I went back to the two minute kind and tried to master it. I rarely offer it up as a breakfast option. Now it is on my list of breakfast foods on my diet (which I keep starting over on) and when I read it my mouth began watering so I bought a box of it and fixed it. The first time I made it I ate it plain with a dab of butter.
The second time I made it I added blueberries. It was delicious and so filling with my toast and juice. Of course, the bottom of the pan was scorched and it took a few hours of soaking to come clean, but I'm sure when I whip it up for Madison at six in the morning I will be better at it.
#2 Connie in rehab
I don't recognize my mother in rehab because she is so positive. She has really embraced this chance to gain strength and has been quite quiet and gone with the flow, something she isn't always willing to do. When I visited her for the first time she was on her way to occupational therapy with a nice, timid, serious girl who wanted her to do some therapy in the house setting.
There is always a "house" setting in rehab places that simulate a real house. This one had a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen with a bar and small seating area. This way the therapist can see how a patient will manage at home. This young girl wanted Connie to stand up out of her wheelchair and take out plates and cups from the cabinet. Once those were removed she had to stack cones into the cabinet in the place of the plates and cups and then take them back out again. She did this without complaining, although she did comment that she didn't think the cones were good for anything with a hole in the bottom.
Next up was cooking. The therapist asked Connie to make a grilled cheese sandwich, and I thought, "Oh, boy, here we go. She will complain at this activity." But I was wrong. She pulled open drawers and cabinets and got out all the things she needed. The only comment she made was that the skillet was too large for one little grilled cheese sandwich and that perhaps she would need to donate a smaller one to the facility.
She kept calm even when the stove didn't work and she had to be wheeled upstairs to another kitchen to finish the job, the skilled and buttered cheese bread in her lap. Instead she cooked and cooked until the sandwich was done. I got to eat it. It was delicious.
#3 New keyboard
My wireless keyboard died on me a few weeks ago and my husband hooked me up a back-up that had to be plugged into my monitor. It was small and the buttons very large, but I didn't complain. I did mention that Amazon sold a Steelers keyboard, but I got this new one instead.
It is really nice and clean. The buttons are so firm, yet seem to move so smoothly no matter how light I touch it. It is a bit different then my old one so I have to learn the different locations for certain buttons, but I'm enjoying it even though it isn't the Steelers keyboard.
Tom: "Put stickers on it."
So I did.
When I was a kid my mother made Cream of Wheat almost every winter morning. It was not my favorite, but it was
The second time I made it I added blueberries. It was delicious and so filling with my toast and juice. Of course, the bottom of the pan was scorched and it took a few hours of soaking to come clean, but I'm sure when I whip it up for Madison at six in the morning I will be better at it.
#2 Connie in rehab
I don't recognize my mother in rehab because she is so positive. She has really embraced this chance to gain strength and has been quite quiet and gone with the flow, something she isn't always willing to do. When I visited her for the first time she was on her way to occupational therapy with a nice, timid, serious girl who wanted her to do some therapy in the house setting.
There is always a "house" setting in rehab places that simulate a real house. This one had a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen with a bar and small seating area. This way the therapist can see how a patient will manage at home. This young girl wanted Connie to stand up out of her wheelchair and take out plates and cups from the cabinet. Once those were removed she had to stack cones into the cabinet in the place of the plates and cups and then take them back out again. She did this without complaining, although she did comment that she didn't think the cones were good for anything with a hole in the bottom.
Next up was cooking. The therapist asked Connie to make a grilled cheese sandwich, and I thought, "Oh, boy, here we go. She will complain at this activity." But I was wrong. She pulled open drawers and cabinets and got out all the things she needed. The only comment she made was that the skillet was too large for one little grilled cheese sandwich and that perhaps she would need to donate a smaller one to the facility.
She kept calm even when the stove didn't work and she had to be wheeled upstairs to another kitchen to finish the job, the skilled and buttered cheese bread in her lap. Instead she cooked and cooked until the sandwich was done. I got to eat it. It was delicious.
#3 New keyboard
My wireless keyboard died on me a few weeks ago and my husband hooked me up a back-up that had to be plugged into my monitor. It was small and the buttons very large, but I didn't complain. I did mention that Amazon sold a Steelers keyboard, but I got this new one instead.
It is really nice and clean. The buttons are so firm, yet seem to move so smoothly no matter how light I touch it. It is a bit different then my old one so I have to learn the different locations for certain buttons, but I'm enjoying it even though it isn't the Steelers keyboard.
Tom: "Put stickers on it."
So I did.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Little hidden gems
Yesterday I decided to tackle the cleaning of my closet. I wanted to donate clothes I haven't worn (so I can replace them as the New York trip is coming soon...shhh...) and follow through on one of my new year's resolution in getting organized. I started by pulling everything on my side of the closet out. I put things everywhere there was space starting with my bed. By the time I was finished I could barely get around my room, which is odd since my walk-in closet is small.
Little did I know that I would find little gems hidden in my closet! The first one I found was on the top of my shelf in the corner.
I took the picture to show that while I am living in Florida I am still a Hoosier. We come out of the womb with a basketball in our hands and I keep mine in the closet. I thought it would make a fun photo for my photo of the day. The basketball is a keepsake; one I won shooting the most free throws in my age group at a charity event put on by the University of Evansville basketball team. The ball is signed by all of the players which is why it is in my closet. Don't want anyone to mess with it and erase the signatures.
When I got a step ladder to climb up to dust these shelves I took the ball down and found this one behind it.
I'm wondering if this is a sign? I haven't filled out my bracket yet, but after the Hoosier's last game I wasn't so sure I would have them even in my final four, but now? I'm rethinking that. I'm a big believer of signs.
Once I got everything out of the closet I cleaned the inside of it. Then I tackled the baskets that sit on the shelves. The first basket was full of old purses that I keep thinking I will reuse. I tossed out the ones I hadn't used in a year and then thought perhaps I should make sure the pockets were all emptied. I enjoy leaving money in old purses and pockets of jackets so that I can get that excited feeling when I find it. No money this time, but the gems I found were WAY better.
In the pocket of a purse I'm actually keeping, but is too heavy for me to carry daily, I found a jewelers bag with earrings. When I pulled it out and felt that something was inside I got so excited because I have been missing these earrings and they are my absolute favorite because I wear black almost daily. I haven't worn earrings since these went missing and I lost one of my other favs. They slipped right on and I'm wearing them today too.
Inside one of the purses was a wallet and inside the wallet was a Starbucks card with $10.47 on it and these little gems...Ice cream coupons for G.D. Ritzy! My youngest was oh, so excited about these and keeps wondering when we are heading back to Evansville to use them.
After the purse basket I went through other baskets. I found figurines that my friend's daughter had made years ago and that were in a curio I had that sits in my closet now because my husband has yet to hang it in my room. I had to get out the glue gun to fix a few of them as they are made of dough and they don't do so well in our Florida heat. I also repaired some doll furniture I had stored away since Darcy doesn't know how to care for delicate things and I took it away from her a few years ago. (That will have to be another blog because it is a cool story. The doll house not Darcy's disrespect of delicate things) In another basket I found this:
Kelly gave this to me one year for Christmas. I put it on my head and texted her the pic. She is now insisting I wear it when we watch Survivor on Friday nights (we record it and save it til then). I'm going to wear it as a top this week like the girls do on the show.
I went through the clothes and shoes and got rid of a huge lawn garbage bag full. I put things back slowly and neatly and at the very end when I was sweating and tired I found a container of old photos and photo books. In one envelope I found old school pictures that friends had mailed and given me over the years. Since a few of them read my blog I just had to post them.
First is me. The picture in the left hand corner has a story. My mother took me to get my haircut before picture day. When we got to the salon the man who cut her hair, and whose name graced the whole place, had been called away for some reason or another. He put us with a lady who chopped the crap out of my hair. I can remember my mother coming home and dragging me across the street to show her friend, the two of them pulling and whipping my hair and head around tsking and gasping in horror. My mother was furious and called her man, the owner, ranting and raving about what had happened. He agreed to see me the next day to fix it, which of course resulted in more chopping until I looked like what you see in the above photo. I'm not smiling because I spent two days crying over the horror of it all. And that outfit? I had the same thing in another color.
These are my friends from Pennsylvania; Kim and Steph. We lived next door to them and have remained friends since I was four years old. Kim moved to Florida with me and put up with me as a roommate for several years. You can't see in these photos, but there are so many pin holes in them from hanging them on my bulletin board over the years. Eventually the older pictures were put into an album. The album was before the acid tone free age so they didn't hold up and I took all the pictures out and put them in an envelope which apparently ended up in my closet.
From Pennsylvania to Indiana...this is my friend who lived across the street. She had two brothers and I had the one and we had to join forces to stay sane against the three. I think we held up pretty well and took them down a few notches every once in awhile.
This is Kelly who has been my buddy and savior since moving to Florida many years ago. I put this picture on because I thought ithilarious odd that she had several pin holes in her nose, which is quite visible in this picture. I tried and tried but could not remember her hanging on the bulletin board with a pin in her nose. I blame my brother.
And speaking of him...how cute are these pictures? I just had to post them. I use to wonder what he ever saw in this woman, but now I wonder what she ever saw in him. It certainly wasn't our family. She is one of my best-est friends now and I don't envy her married to that crazy guy.
The best part of most of the pictures are the message written on the back of them. That was back in the day when you autographed your school pictures and passed them out. Michelle mentions guys that I have no memory of, Kim wrote only her name, Kelly did nothing (perhaps the reason for the nose holes?), and Steph wrote this on one of hers: "Cara - Hon-babe - this is my senior picture. Try not to lose it! I love ya and we're Friends Forever! Love always, Steph"
Well worth the eight hours it took me to clean that closet.
Little did I know that I would find little gems hidden in my closet! The first one I found was on the top of my shelf in the corner.
I took the picture to show that while I am living in Florida I am still a Hoosier. We come out of the womb with a basketball in our hands and I keep mine in the closet. I thought it would make a fun photo for my photo of the day. The basketball is a keepsake; one I won shooting the most free throws in my age group at a charity event put on by the University of Evansville basketball team. The ball is signed by all of the players which is why it is in my closet. Don't want anyone to mess with it and erase the signatures.
When I got a step ladder to climb up to dust these shelves I took the ball down and found this one behind it.
 | ||
| Gem #1 |
Once I got everything out of the closet I cleaned the inside of it. Then I tackled the baskets that sit on the shelves. The first basket was full of old purses that I keep thinking I will reuse. I tossed out the ones I hadn't used in a year and then thought perhaps I should make sure the pockets were all emptied. I enjoy leaving money in old purses and pockets of jackets so that I can get that excited feeling when I find it. No money this time, but the gems I found were WAY better.
 |
| Gem #2 |
 |
| Gem #3 |
After the purse basket I went through other baskets. I found figurines that my friend's daughter had made years ago and that were in a curio I had that sits in my closet now because my husband has yet to hang it in my room. I had to get out the glue gun to fix a few of them as they are made of dough and they don't do so well in our Florida heat. I also repaired some doll furniture I had stored away since Darcy doesn't know how to care for delicate things and I took it away from her a few years ago. (That will have to be another blog because it is a cool story. The doll house not Darcy's disrespect of delicate things) In another basket I found this:
 |
| Gem #4 |
I went through the clothes and shoes and got rid of a huge lawn garbage bag full. I put things back slowly and neatly and at the very end when I was sweating and tired I found a container of old photos and photo books. In one envelope I found old school pictures that friends had mailed and given me over the years. Since a few of them read my blog I just had to post them.
First is me. The picture in the left hand corner has a story. My mother took me to get my haircut before picture day. When we got to the salon the man who cut her hair, and whose name graced the whole place, had been called away for some reason or another. He put us with a lady who chopped the crap out of my hair. I can remember my mother coming home and dragging me across the street to show her friend, the two of them pulling and whipping my hair and head around tsking and gasping in horror. My mother was furious and called her man, the owner, ranting and raving about what had happened. He agreed to see me the next day to fix it, which of course resulted in more chopping until I looked like what you see in the above photo. I'm not smiling because I spent two days crying over the horror of it all. And that outfit? I had the same thing in another color.
These are my friends from Pennsylvania; Kim and Steph. We lived next door to them and have remained friends since I was four years old. Kim moved to Florida with me and put up with me as a roommate for several years. You can't see in these photos, but there are so many pin holes in them from hanging them on my bulletin board over the years. Eventually the older pictures were put into an album. The album was before the acid tone free age so they didn't hold up and I took all the pictures out and put them in an envelope which apparently ended up in my closet.
From Pennsylvania to Indiana...this is my friend who lived across the street. She had two brothers and I had the one and we had to join forces to stay sane against the three. I think we held up pretty well and took them down a few notches every once in awhile.
This is Kelly who has been my buddy and savior since moving to Florida many years ago. I put this picture on because I thought it
And speaking of him...how cute are these pictures? I just had to post them. I use to wonder what he ever saw in this woman, but now I wonder what she ever saw in him. It certainly wasn't our family. She is one of my best-est friends now and I don't envy her married to that crazy guy.
The best part of most of the pictures are the message written on the back of them. That was back in the day when you autographed your school pictures and passed them out. Michelle mentions guys that I have no memory of, Kim wrote only her name, Kelly did nothing (perhaps the reason for the nose holes?), and Steph wrote this on one of hers: "Cara - Hon-babe - this is my senior picture. Try not to lose it! I love ya and we're Friends Forever! Love always, Steph"
Well worth the eight hours it took me to clean that closet.
Friday, March 15, 2013
I have my reasons
Darcy: "I need you to sign a permission slip. Here's a pen."
Me: "You have to sign it too it says."
Darcy: "I do? Okay."
Me: "Now put that somewhere where you will remember to take it tomorrow. And put my pen back where you got it."
Darcy: "I'm going to put it in my backpack because it is a good pen and you have another one in there."
Me "No! I stole those two pens for my kitchen! Put it back in there."
Darcy: "Well that's something I bet most kids don't hear from their mother's mouths."
Me: "You have to sign it too it says."
Darcy: "I do? Okay."
Me: "Now put that somewhere where you will remember to take it tomorrow. And put my pen back where you got it."
Darcy: "I'm going to put it in my backpack because it is a good pen and you have another one in there."
Me "No! I stole those two pens for my kitchen! Put it back in there."
Darcy: "Well that's something I bet most kids don't hear from their mother's mouths."
Sunday, March 10, 2013
An old entry draft I found in the archives
I am a dreamer. I dream during the day, thinking of interesting tidbits that would be oh, so cool if they came true (what if the roadways were all water and we had to swim everywhere) or writing romance novels in my head. I am a huge dreamer at night when I'm asleep. I dream almost every night and can usually remember my dreams upon first waking up, but unless I retell them or write them down they disappear quickly. I can dream, wake up and go to the bathroom, and then go right back to sleep and continue on in the same dream as if there had been a commercial break. I've had dreams where I'm standing off to the side like the director of the dream, but then I'm also in the dream as a participant, and the director me is thinking how odd this is and is trying to rationalize how it could be while the actor me continues on in the dream.
Several years ago I had a dream where I was at a funeral at our family farm. The person that had died was a young red headed man who I didn't know and no one would tell me how this man was related to me. It was all very hush hush and eventually I discovered, by sneaking back after everyone else had gone, that this kid was my illegitimate brother and that I also had two illegitimate sisters who looked exactly like my eldest daughter. In the dream the director me suddenly appears and says, "Okay, now that doesn't make any sense since your father has been dead for almost fourteen years and therefore could not have fathered someone that young."
But the dream actor me continues on in the dream and suddenly I'm at a church that we have wandered into while out walking. I am now with my friend Kelly and my girls. I'm trying to whisper the whole funeral and illegitimate kids story to Kelly while keeping it quiet from my kids. The church is very crowded and we are sitting in a pew. Kelly and I are discussing the situation when a lady appears and hands me a program. I look up at her and ask her if John F. Kennedy is still scheduled to speak this morning. She assures me that he is and waves her hand around the crowded church as if saying, "he certainly is speaking why else would everyone be here?" The directer me appears and wonders out loud to the actor me why I care about this since I'm a Republican. And the dream ended.
I kept meaning to take a class or read a book on dreams, but it wasn't until I had another interesting dream and experience that I took some time to research dreams on the Internet. In the dream I had I was reading aloud to someone from a book about the Trix Rabbit, the tall, long eared guy from the cereal commercials. I read on and on about his adventures and suddenly he comes upon the Easter Bunny. The Easter Bunny is very small, quite pink, and has long eyelashes that she keeps batting. I read aloud that the two rabbits have sex, and the book discusses the different positions these two rabbits go at it in.
When I woke up from this dream thinking, "WTF?" I got up and reported the dream to Madison. She thought I was joking because the night before she had listened to her audio book of Junie B. Jones and the story line was about a girl having a bunny party. In the story the party girl asks the kids in her class to guess who the special guest will be at her party. The kids all try to guess different bunnies, including the Trix Rabbit, and eventually the girl tells them they are all wrong and that her special guest will be the Easter Bunny.
Madison figured I must have been listening to this story with her, but I had gone to bed two hours prior to her going to bed and turning this story on. I had been sick and hadn't slept well the night before, and when I went to bed I fell asleep immediately. I never consciously heard the audio story, but we were impressed by the possibility that maybe my subconscious could have heard it. This then led me to the Internet.
I found a site called Dream Central and to seriously read through everything will take me a few days so for the purpose of this entry I decided to just go through the "Dream Dictionary" to see what these two dreams might mean. I started with dream #1, but could not find anything relating to illegitimate siblings, funerals, Kennedys, or Republicans. I did find the word "family"and "church".
Family, according to Dream Central's dictionary, represents good fortune if dreaming of a large family. But if the family is unhappy or bickering it mean the opposite for the dreamer. If the family is very sad expect some adverse reactions in your financial structure.
This is where I think delving further into the site might help because in my dream I could say that yes my family suddenly was larger what with the sibling additions I knew nothing about, but we were also sad since one of the members had died. We might have also been unhappy and certainly secretive, although not really bickering. So I was suppose to have good fortune, but not financially and perhaps I wasn't going to have good fortune. Very confusing there. I moved on.
Church, according to Dream Central's dictionary, is a good luck omen especially if dreaming of the outside of the building which shows luck in love and marriage. The inside means that you will have a few small problems that could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.
The church entry reminded me to study the dream as a whole as other activities could "change the interpretation so that the church itself has no meaning other then that of location". Since I only dreamed of the outside of the church the good luck omen was out the window. So I might have a few small problem, but they could actually turn out to be blessings.
I moved on to the second dream but could not find anything on bunnies or sex. Really? Sex wasn't one of the words in the dream dictionary? I found that a little hard to believe, but I did find rabbits.
Rabbits, according to Dream Central's dictionary, foreshadows luck in business enterprises and/or means that events will take a favorable turn. Dreaming of white rabbits foretells faithfulness of a lover and to see them at play show children will increase your joy.
Hmmm...interesting there, although my Easter Bunny was pink, not white. I was reading the story aloud to children, but guess since the color isn't right I can't go with increased joy. I am still waiting for the business enterprise and the favorable turns.
Not sure that I learned anything on this site with the quick version. I suppose I shall have to delve into the dream thing further. I'll get back to everyone.
Several years ago I had a dream where I was at a funeral at our family farm. The person that had died was a young red headed man who I didn't know and no one would tell me how this man was related to me. It was all very hush hush and eventually I discovered, by sneaking back after everyone else had gone, that this kid was my illegitimate brother and that I also had two illegitimate sisters who looked exactly like my eldest daughter. In the dream the director me suddenly appears and says, "Okay, now that doesn't make any sense since your father has been dead for almost fourteen years and therefore could not have fathered someone that young."
But the dream actor me continues on in the dream and suddenly I'm at a church that we have wandered into while out walking. I am now with my friend Kelly and my girls. I'm trying to whisper the whole funeral and illegitimate kids story to Kelly while keeping it quiet from my kids. The church is very crowded and we are sitting in a pew. Kelly and I are discussing the situation when a lady appears and hands me a program. I look up at her and ask her if John F. Kennedy is still scheduled to speak this morning. She assures me that he is and waves her hand around the crowded church as if saying, "he certainly is speaking why else would everyone be here?" The directer me appears and wonders out loud to the actor me why I care about this since I'm a Republican. And the dream ended.
I kept meaning to take a class or read a book on dreams, but it wasn't until I had another interesting dream and experience that I took some time to research dreams on the Internet. In the dream I had I was reading aloud to someone from a book about the Trix Rabbit, the tall, long eared guy from the cereal commercials. I read on and on about his adventures and suddenly he comes upon the Easter Bunny. The Easter Bunny is very small, quite pink, and has long eyelashes that she keeps batting. I read aloud that the two rabbits have sex, and the book discusses the different positions these two rabbits go at it in.
When I woke up from this dream thinking, "WTF?" I got up and reported the dream to Madison. She thought I was joking because the night before she had listened to her audio book of Junie B. Jones and the story line was about a girl having a bunny party. In the story the party girl asks the kids in her class to guess who the special guest will be at her party. The kids all try to guess different bunnies, including the Trix Rabbit, and eventually the girl tells them they are all wrong and that her special guest will be the Easter Bunny.
Madison figured I must have been listening to this story with her, but I had gone to bed two hours prior to her going to bed and turning this story on. I had been sick and hadn't slept well the night before, and when I went to bed I fell asleep immediately. I never consciously heard the audio story, but we were impressed by the possibility that maybe my subconscious could have heard it. This then led me to the Internet.
I found a site called Dream Central and to seriously read through everything will take me a few days so for the purpose of this entry I decided to just go through the "Dream Dictionary" to see what these two dreams might mean. I started with dream #1, but could not find anything relating to illegitimate siblings, funerals, Kennedys, or Republicans. I did find the word "family"and "church".
Family, according to Dream Central's dictionary, represents good fortune if dreaming of a large family. But if the family is unhappy or bickering it mean the opposite for the dreamer. If the family is very sad expect some adverse reactions in your financial structure.
This is where I think delving further into the site might help because in my dream I could say that yes my family suddenly was larger what with the sibling additions I knew nothing about, but we were also sad since one of the members had died. We might have also been unhappy and certainly secretive, although not really bickering. So I was suppose to have good fortune, but not financially and perhaps I wasn't going to have good fortune. Very confusing there. I moved on.
Church, according to Dream Central's dictionary, is a good luck omen especially if dreaming of the outside of the building which shows luck in love and marriage. The inside means that you will have a few small problems that could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.
The church entry reminded me to study the dream as a whole as other activities could "change the interpretation so that the church itself has no meaning other then that of location". Since I only dreamed of the outside of the church the good luck omen was out the window. So I might have a few small problem, but they could actually turn out to be blessings.
I moved on to the second dream but could not find anything on bunnies or sex. Really? Sex wasn't one of the words in the dream dictionary? I found that a little hard to believe, but I did find rabbits.
Rabbits, according to Dream Central's dictionary, foreshadows luck in business enterprises and/or means that events will take a favorable turn. Dreaming of white rabbits foretells faithfulness of a lover and to see them at play show children will increase your joy.
Hmmm...interesting there, although my Easter Bunny was pink, not white. I was reading the story aloud to children, but guess since the color isn't right I can't go with increased joy. I am still waiting for the business enterprise and the favorable turns.
Not sure that I learned anything on this site with the quick version. I suppose I shall have to delve into the dream thing further. I'll get back to everyone.
Saturday, March 09, 2013
&^%* bleep, bleep, %#*&
I faithfully keep up with several blogs, some written by family and friends and some written by strangers. My favorite blogger, one who writes like I wish I could and who says things I totally feel, is here. Today I went on her site to catch up and read this fabulous entry. It is an entry that I deal with regularly because I curse.
I grew up in a house that encouraged language. Both of my parents cursed, not in each sentence, but when they felt the word fit what they were trying to convey. My father was a marine and shit and dammit were just a part of his vocabulary. My mother was an English teacher who used many words that I had no idea of the meaning (she sent me to the dictionary to find out), but when she injected a curse word into her rants we knew she meant business. Neither of my parents used the "f" word, but I knew it. I heard it. I grew up, unconsciously, knowing that there were words that I could say and words that I shouldn't say, as all children do, but I was never sheltered from curse words at home nor punished if one such word came out of my own mouth due to frustration or what not.
In high school I took a Semantics class from a teacher that taught a "bad word" segment in the class. He started the lesson off by having everyone in class give him the finger and say, "Fuck you" out loud. (You could opt out of this lesson). Some kids couldn't wait to say it. Others had a hard time getting the words out for various reasons. Those reasons were discussed in class and by the end of the week long lesson we understood that while these words' meanings weren't harmful (i.e. shit is just poop, bitch is a female dog, fuck is sex, etc.) the connotations might be to certain people. He taught us that sitting in a restaurant with our friends saying, "fuck" in our conversation was fine when the tables around us were unoccupied, but that it wasn't when there was a table of senior citizens next to us. I wrote in my paper (we always had to write a paper after the lessons) the story of my friend's babysitting kids who when they got mad would call her a "hockey puck" and then giggle and cover their mouths. While "hockey puck" meant nothing or the literal meaning to my friend who cared less, it obviously meant something more, a code word, to the children who thought they were getting away with something naughty. It reminded me of something my neighbor friend and I made up. When we got really mad at our brothers we pursed our lips and made a squeaking noise at them. To them it meant nothing, some silly gesture, but to us....hee hee it was a code for a naughty name we invented to call them without them understanding.
As I got older I heard more cursing. I used it myself. I like the words, think them appropriate when I use them, and I try to behave and remember the lesson I learned from my Semantics class. When I had children I decided to share that same lesson with them when my daughter came home from school and told me a child had used the "s" word in school and had gotten in trouble. Not knowing if her "s" word was my "s" word I asked what the word was and she didn't want to say because to her the connotation was something naughty whether she understood that or not. Bottom line for her was the kid used it and got into trouble. Turned out the word was "stupid" and for me that raised a lot of issues because I thought being afraid to use that word was, well, stupid. So my daughters and I had a discussion about words. I thought they should know that words themselves are not "bad", but that they are harmful when used in such a manner. Calling a playmate stupid was harmful, but saying you felt stupid when you didn't get a joke or understand a math problem was okay. We talked about curse words and the fact that some people absolutely abhor them, and that knowing your surroundings and the appropriate way to use those words was important. Over the years, as they have grown older, we have often revisited the word conversation.
My daughter recently expressed annoyance at a male classmate who referred to others or the things they wore or did as "gay". That word to my daughter is unacceptable used in that context. Her uncles are homosexual, married to one another, and that is normal and fine and dandy with us. When the boy at school told someone they were "gay" for wearing an outfit she thought that harmful and took offensive. She told him so and he laughed at her and called her "gay". Another classmate used a derogatory term for her African American classmate that also haunted my daughter and made her mad. We talked again about the use of words and their meanings. When I read some of the comments on the entry that I had read in the above blog I ran across this video and applauded what she had to say.
My eldest daughter hears cursing every day at school. She isn't shocked, sometimes she believes those words are called for, but she doesn't choose to use those words herself. Both girls admonish me at times for my use of curse words, and a lot of times it opens a door for more language conversation such as the "gay" remarks above. We spend our lives trying to protect our children. We want them to be safe, but the reality is that life is dangerous. I can't keep them from hearing offensive words any more than I can keep them from violence or crazy, road raged drivers. They're living in a world where a lock down in school is something they practice preparing for like we did for tornadoes. What I can do is teach them how to act, how to behave, and how to be kind to one another. In the end that is what I think matters most.
I grew up in a house that encouraged language. Both of my parents cursed, not in each sentence, but when they felt the word fit what they were trying to convey. My father was a marine and shit and dammit were just a part of his vocabulary. My mother was an English teacher who used many words that I had no idea of the meaning (she sent me to the dictionary to find out), but when she injected a curse word into her rants we knew she meant business. Neither of my parents used the "f" word, but I knew it. I heard it. I grew up, unconsciously, knowing that there were words that I could say and words that I shouldn't say, as all children do, but I was never sheltered from curse words at home nor punished if one such word came out of my own mouth due to frustration or what not.
In high school I took a Semantics class from a teacher that taught a "bad word" segment in the class. He started the lesson off by having everyone in class give him the finger and say, "Fuck you" out loud. (You could opt out of this lesson). Some kids couldn't wait to say it. Others had a hard time getting the words out for various reasons. Those reasons were discussed in class and by the end of the week long lesson we understood that while these words' meanings weren't harmful (i.e. shit is just poop, bitch is a female dog, fuck is sex, etc.) the connotations might be to certain people. He taught us that sitting in a restaurant with our friends saying, "fuck" in our conversation was fine when the tables around us were unoccupied, but that it wasn't when there was a table of senior citizens next to us. I wrote in my paper (we always had to write a paper after the lessons) the story of my friend's babysitting kids who when they got mad would call her a "hockey puck" and then giggle and cover their mouths. While "hockey puck" meant nothing or the literal meaning to my friend who cared less, it obviously meant something more, a code word, to the children who thought they were getting away with something naughty. It reminded me of something my neighbor friend and I made up. When we got really mad at our brothers we pursed our lips and made a squeaking noise at them. To them it meant nothing, some silly gesture, but to us....hee hee it was a code for a naughty name we invented to call them without them understanding.
As I got older I heard more cursing. I used it myself. I like the words, think them appropriate when I use them, and I try to behave and remember the lesson I learned from my Semantics class. When I had children I decided to share that same lesson with them when my daughter came home from school and told me a child had used the "s" word in school and had gotten in trouble. Not knowing if her "s" word was my "s" word I asked what the word was and she didn't want to say because to her the connotation was something naughty whether she understood that or not. Bottom line for her was the kid used it and got into trouble. Turned out the word was "stupid" and for me that raised a lot of issues because I thought being afraid to use that word was, well, stupid. So my daughters and I had a discussion about words. I thought they should know that words themselves are not "bad", but that they are harmful when used in such a manner. Calling a playmate stupid was harmful, but saying you felt stupid when you didn't get a joke or understand a math problem was okay. We talked about curse words and the fact that some people absolutely abhor them, and that knowing your surroundings and the appropriate way to use those words was important. Over the years, as they have grown older, we have often revisited the word conversation.
My daughter recently expressed annoyance at a male classmate who referred to others or the things they wore or did as "gay". That word to my daughter is unacceptable used in that context. Her uncles are homosexual, married to one another, and that is normal and fine and dandy with us. When the boy at school told someone they were "gay" for wearing an outfit she thought that harmful and took offensive. She told him so and he laughed at her and called her "gay". Another classmate used a derogatory term for her African American classmate that also haunted my daughter and made her mad. We talked again about the use of words and their meanings. When I read some of the comments on the entry that I had read in the above blog I ran across this video and applauded what she had to say.
My eldest daughter hears cursing every day at school. She isn't shocked, sometimes she believes those words are called for, but she doesn't choose to use those words herself. Both girls admonish me at times for my use of curse words, and a lot of times it opens a door for more language conversation such as the "gay" remarks above. We spend our lives trying to protect our children. We want them to be safe, but the reality is that life is dangerous. I can't keep them from hearing offensive words any more than I can keep them from violence or crazy, road raged drivers. They're living in a world where a lock down in school is something they practice preparing for like we did for tornadoes. What I can do is teach them how to act, how to behave, and how to be kind to one another. In the end that is what I think matters most.
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
Work in progress
I have not been blogging due to some unforeseen complications, but rest assured I will be back at it as soon as material and circumstances allow. First up was my wireless keyboard acting funky giving me capitol letters, missing letters, triple letters, etc. as I wrote. I replaced the batteries twice and finally gave up, requesting help from the computer master. First thing he said?
Tom: "You have to first replace the batteries. Try that first."
Do I know this man or what? His temporary solution was to give me an old keyboard from his computer parts stash in the garage. The day I got that the youngest daughter awoke with a fever and yucky "I feel like I'm going to throw up" stomach. After several hours of television, meds, and loving, maternal care she was resting comfortably on the couch. Then came the panic of not being able to reach the wheelchair grandma who lives thirty minutes from me by car. After an hour of phoning her, I left sick daughter at home, picked up eldest daughter from school, and drove to the condo where we had to dial 911 for grandma who had been asleep for the past 21 hours. She is resting in the hospital where they are running tests and declaring her healthy with no answer to why she is weak and shaky.
Fireman responder: "Can you tell me your name?"
Connie: "Oh, don't do that. Don't start asking me dumb questions. I know who I am. I know where I am. I know who the President is, but I won't say his name because I don't like him."
It was quite the scene in the little condo with three hefty fireman, Connie in the wheelchair, Madison and me, and the next door neighbor who had initially awakened her. By the time the two paramedics with the ambulance arrived we were all snickering at Connie's humor and the firemen were going back to the station with some entertaining stories.
Fireman responder: "Connie, why are you not looking at me?"
Connie: "Because I can't see you."
FR: "Are you blind Connie?"
Connie: "No, I'm not blind. See"
When everything gets back to normal I shall return to blogging. Sorry for the delay!
Tom: "You have to first replace the batteries. Try that first."
Do I know this man or what? His temporary solution was to give me an old keyboard from his computer parts stash in the garage. The day I got that the youngest daughter awoke with a fever and yucky "I feel like I'm going to throw up" stomach. After several hours of television, meds, and loving, maternal care she was resting comfortably on the couch. Then came the panic of not being able to reach the wheelchair grandma who lives thirty minutes from me by car. After an hour of phoning her, I left sick daughter at home, picked up eldest daughter from school, and drove to the condo where we had to dial 911 for grandma who had been asleep for the past 21 hours. She is resting in the hospital where they are running tests and declaring her healthy with no answer to why she is weak and shaky.
Fireman responder: "Can you tell me your name?"
Connie: "Oh, don't do that. Don't start asking me dumb questions. I know who I am. I know where I am. I know who the President is, but I won't say his name because I don't like him."
It was quite the scene in the little condo with three hefty fireman, Connie in the wheelchair, Madison and me, and the next door neighbor who had initially awakened her. By the time the two paramedics with the ambulance arrived we were all snickering at Connie's humor and the firemen were going back to the station with some entertaining stories.
Fireman responder: "Connie, why are you not looking at me?"
Connie: "Because I can't see you."
FR: "Are you blind Connie?"
Connie: "No, I'm not blind. See"
When everything gets back to normal I shall return to blogging. Sorry for the delay!
Sunday, March 03, 2013
Happy Birthday to my baby bro
Didn't have anything else to blog so thought I'd dedicate this entry to my brother since it is his birthday. Tee hee!
Baby years:
Early years:
Teen years:
Grown up years:
Baby years:
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| First day home 1968 |
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| First day home 1968 |
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| Swimming on land |
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| Taking the leap |
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| First birthday 1969 |
Early years:
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| Best buddy 1972 |
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| Lipstick fun |
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| 1973 Birthday |
Teen years:
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| Aces Basketball Camp |
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| Studying for school 1980's |
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| Aces game night |
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| 1996 maybe |
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| White legs 2002 |
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| 2003 |
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| 2004 |
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| 2008 |
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| 2010 |
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| 2013 |
Happy Birthday Rusty!
Friday, March 01, 2013
Two month 2013 resolution check
It is that time of the year when I weigh in on how well I'm doing on the New Year's resolutions that I made. I score myself from 1 - 10 and tally up the scores, aiming for a perfect 50 points. I've yet to ever get that 50, but I keep thinking that I will and that is what is important.
- To get down to a certain weight (which will not be mentioned here for all to see) by eating healthy and exercising - I have done very well on this resolution for the first two month. I started a diet and I am shedding pounds, although slower than I would have hoped. I'm exercising and have lowered my total cholesterol. I am eating healthy meals and snacks. While I've not reached my goal weight I am on the right track so I'm scoring this perfectly. Score: 10
- To organize my schedule, my desk, my home, and finish the scanning/organizing of photos. That means getting rid of stuff and boxing up and storing other stuff. - This is a hard one to explain, but it boils down to I need to be more organized each day to achieve everything by the end of the week. I started out well with this one, but still haven't done enough to master it. I am doing better then last year, but still have more to do. Score: 4
- To work on my patience and try to not be so uptight. To channel my inner Sharons, two people who I think handle life calmly -I feel I've done well with this one and so do my children, although I still have a ways to go. Score: 7
- To get into couponing to save money - I have clipped and organized my coupons, but still have trouble remembering to bring them with me. I am much better, however, and have saved some cash. Our grocery recently went digital and I'm signed up for that. Score: 5
- To contribute more articles to Yahoo and Google and try to earn some cash - Well, four out of five isn't too bad to start off with it. I did earn a check for the ads on my blogs this past month so that earns me some score, but I haven't done any writing for Yahoo. Score: 4