Easter 2014

When my brother and I were children we celebrated Easter in various ways. We were dressed in new Easter clothes and taken to church, something that was quite rare in our house. I always had an Easter bonnet and I always got to carry a purse. I vaguely remember the purse because I would sit in church and open and close it for entertainment, but I remember vividly the bonnet.  I wore the same bonnet (and by the pictures carried the same purse) each year and kept it, giving it to Madison to wear for Easter when she was little.

We always decorated Easter eggs with the little colored kits, trying to outdo one another in egg beautification.

And the Easter Bunny always brought us Easter baskets and hid plastic eggs inside or outside, depending on the weather, for us to hunt. We always had one egg that couldn't be found each year and we always would find it several months or maybe even a year later at the oddest time. And finding that one egg after all that time would be the most joyous event ever. "I found the Easter egg! I found the missing Easter egg!" It was like a tradition in our house.

As we got older we stopped decorating and searching for eggs, but my dad always made sure we had Easter chocolates and something decorated from the local grocery's bakery. It is one of those traditions that I have fond memories of and am grateful to my parents for helping to make.

When I had my own children I tried to do the same for them. Tom and I colored eggs with them as did their grandmother Mary Anne. We took them to various Easter Egg Hunts all over town, including ones in a pool where they had to dive to the bottom for the eggs.

We took them to breakfast with the Easter Bunny. Or to tea with the Easter Bunny.

And each year the Easter Bunny came and hid eggs in our playroom, branching into other areas in the house as they got older. Each plastic egg had an "M" or a "D" so that each girl got the same amount of eggs to hunt and each egg contained a goodie inside. And, just like when I was little, each year we had one egg that never got found until months later.

This year Easter came late among the stresses of life, and I wondered aloud if the Easter Bunny still came to a house with teenagers. Those teenagers were horrified at the thought that he didn't, and so Saturday morning the Easter Bunny was at Target collecting all the goodies that would go inside the "M" and the "D" eggs. And as the bunny drove back to her warren, she thought about how she would miss these traditions when the teenagers were grown and gone, and suddenly the bunny was happy to hide eggs and celebrate the day.

The Easter Bunny also included the dog, something that has gone on since the dog arrived at our house, but this year he got his own "E" eggs and his own hiding spots.  He was thrilled. He followed the girls around the entire house (the bunny branched out this year) searching for his eggs. He was quite the little seeker.

He would wander past an area and then stop and sniff. He would back up and look around and look around and sniff and sniff and then pounce he would have his egg. Which he would take in his mouth and work it until it popped open to reveal the dog treat inside. Delicious!

So the thrill of Easter and the eggs, which started for me as a youngster and was renewed as a mother, has once again gained ground as a dog owner. I can now alert the Easter Bunny to the fact that my dog enjoys the hunt and perhaps next year I can find him a bonnet. Or, since he is a male, perhaps a tie or an Easter like collar?

Happy Easter everyone!

Photos from the spring break that wasn't ours

Susan and friend at our favorite beach pizza place

Our view from our spot in the parking garage at Clearwater Beach

Darcy and Kelly ready for the beach

Susan soaking up the rays

Madison wishing it was overcast

Gabby and Darcy and friends playing tourists

Kelly getting a henna tattoo

One of the sand sculptures we did  on the beach

5 things to start the week

1.  My mother is back in the hospital. The nursing/rehab facility called me Saturday night as I was standing in the aisle of a beach shop surrounding by sunscreened tourists and overpriced merchandise waiting for the rest of our group to catch up to me. It was not a call I was suspecting and so I got a bit panicked at the thought of having to make a decision on amputation because what else could send her to the hospital? Turned out her PICC line site was infected. She had a temperature over 103 degrees, was fatigued, and a bit loopy. It took three days to grow out the culture to figure out the infection and it's source, but now that she has been diagnosed and treated she is feeling more normal. The PICC line was removed and will be out for 48 hours. If her blood work comes back clean after that a new one will be put in and she will head back to the facility where they eagerly await her return.

2.  Our family left this afternoon and as always our house is very quiet. The dog is forlorn at the loss of his playmate, my niece who kept him entertained. He keeps peeking out the door in hopes that she is sunbathing out back with her mother, but alas, they are heading back to snow and will need their boots and coats instead of flip flips and bikinis. 

3.  My recipe idea and my first recipe choice has hit a snag. The ingredient that I was clueless about, lemon curd, turned out to be simple after I searched it online.  It can easily be made the night before or it can be purchased at the grocery in the jelly aisle. Frozen bread dough, on the other hand, has stumped me and two different grocers. I have everything I need but the main ingredient. Madison tells me it is quite easy to make by scratch, but jeez doesn't that mean another recipe?

4.  A few months ago I wrote about my oil changing experience with Jiffy Lube and the employee who tried to sell me $90 oil. Turns out my new van takes synthetic oil which does cost more. Our regular oil changing place charged us $52 and explained that all the new cars were going to synthetic oil. However,  you change it every five to six months. So I suppose I owe Jiffy Lube and the employee sort of a pass, but no apology as he never explained everything and his customer service and attitude sucked. 

5.  I've started working with an app that my daughters' principal told me about called Lose It. It is free and I log in all my daily foods and exercise. I have a set amount of daily calories I'm allowed to eat to reach my goal of losing two pounds a week. The app keeps track of how many steps I take in a day which I find fascinating, and it charts out my intake of fats, carbs, and protein. That in itself is eye opening when viewed in a pie chart. It also makes me wish I could eat pie, but....sigh. 

Postcard Inn Experience

My SIL and her daughter came our way for their spring break which is way past our spring break.  Which meant that my children were in school the entire week.  Because of that, and because she deserved it after the winter she has had in Indiana, my SIL decided to spend part of the week on the beach.  Not really understanding the many cities within minutes of each other, she booked a place in St. Pete Beach about forty minutes from my house.  I made sure to complain about that every chance I got.

They came in at night so we didn't hang around the hotel after they checked in, but I found my brief view of the facility to be spectacular. The lobby was very spacious with the front desk area, a large sitting area with comfy couches arranged in a circle for easy conversation, an area to play games or cards, and another sitting with couches and funky chairs. The walls were very beach themed and the smell of coconuts wafted through the entire lobby. The front desk clerk informed me that the scent was piped in through the ceiling to create the beachy smell.

To get to their room we left through the back of the lobby and out into a beautiful courtyard surrounding the pool with plenty of palm trees and flowering plants. It made for a lovely walk, especially in the evening with soft light and music playing from speakers placed in the foilage.  The room was a good size for two people, although the bathroom was quite tiny. There were two beds covered in pristine, white bedding under a hodge podge of framed photographs on the wall. There was a couch decorated in fifties stripes and bright, neon colors in a little alcove next to the bathroom, and a combination dresser and desk that housed a television. The floors were wood and the walls an off white. I thought it charming and very surf style. I left before the discovery was made of crackers and food on the floor, a lack of towels, and only one half used roll of toilet paper. The phone to connect with the front desk only offered a busy signal and so they had to hike back and forth through the courtyard to communicate with the hotel.

I met them for breakfast the next morning at the hotel. It was pouring down rain and that forecast was scheduled for the entire day, a rare thing in these parts. The waiter in the hotel restaurant was attentive and entertaining as we were the only guests there for quite some time. The food was good and the prices quite unexpectedly inexpensive. We drank coffee in the lobby in the sitting area and caught up on our lives. Gabby took selfies in the photo booth and investigated some of the hung photographs. We got brave and hiked down to the private beach after breakfast just to see it, but our shoes got soaked and we gave up. I drove them back to my part of town and we visited Grandma in rehab and hung with the girls after school.

They had better weather the next two days on the beach, but did not fare so well with their hotel. The second night the air conditioning broke and the thermostat stuck on 60 degrees and they froze in their room. The next day repair took up several prime tanning hours and in the end wasn't fixed and the air conditioning turned off.  That night they were too hot. Despite being mostly unoccupied, the hotel staff never discussed moving them into a better functioning room and seemed quite indifferent when alerted to the fact the room and conditions were less than satisfactory. They did take $50 off of the final bill, but after our experience with Hampton Inn's refund policy that was almost a slap in the face.

I know that my family will not stay at the Postcard Inn again. Had it been more then what they got we might all have spent some time there this summer, despite the distance from my house. Instead my SIL spent time searching closer beaches for her next spring break trip hotel. Of course, the next set of accommodations on this trip were more then adequate and came complete with in house and outside animals and a chef which more then made up for the disappointment of the Postcard Inn.  But that is for the next post.

5 things to start the week

1. My family is coming into town tonight for a week of sun and fun.  My niece and my SIL are escaping the cooler spring Indiana weather to venture south for their spring break week.  The first few days they will spend residing on the beach because they wanted to experience Florida beach living they didn't want to interrupt our school schedule. The rest of the week will be spent at our house where I think I will get them up at 5:30 a.m. with me so that they will be ready to drive to the beach.  Either way we are excited to see them.
2. Today I heard on the radio that getting up an hour earlier each morning and spending it outside in the sun will help you lose weight. At first I was all over that. I mean, I live in Florida so we have sun pretty much 24/7 and sitting outside for an hour to lose weight is way easier then lifting weights at the gym. But then I got to thinking exactly what does an hour earlier mean? I get up now at 5:30 and trust me the sun isn't even awake at that hour so getting up at 4:30 surely isn't what the research meant. So then, what constitutes an hour earlier? If I had my way I would get up at 10:00 every morning so does that mean getting up at 9:00 will help me lose weight? I hate when the radio announcers throw this sort of stuff around without clarifying. No wonder I can't lose weight.
3. My mother is progressing in the strength department in rehab while she receives daily antibiotics through a PICC line. She is slowly shaping up all the employees and has even joined in some of the activities, reading poetry and trying to win at bingo. The foot wound closes a teeny tiny bit each week, but still drains quite a bit. She is in the last week of her 6 weeks of IV antibiotics, and then I suppose she goes home to see if she can continue to fight off the infection. There is no cure, only keeping it at bay.
4. School is fast coming to a close and I know that summer will race by in a blur. I'm trying to nudge my soon to be college bound daughter into getting together a list of schools to visit, but she is too busy with high school, sleeping, and ignoring the fact that the college application entry date is fast approaching. Those who have gone through the experience tell me to relax and that it will all work out in the end. My youngest just wants to have a summer vacation that doesn't include college visits, but does include spending time with the "boyfriend". I've decided they need to get jobs so they don't spend the whole summer sleeping until noon because by golly, that's what I had to do back in the day. (Insert both girls rolling their eyes)
5. I have watched both Final Four tournaments this year and so far only one team that I cheered on made it.  Go Notre Dame Women! I've never been a fan of the Connecticut women's team because for some reason I don't care for their coach, Geno Auriemma. I think it has to do with something I heard him say about my favorite coach, retired Tennessee coach Pat Summitt, but seriously I've just forgotten why. But I haven't changed my mind. I root for the women coaches because getting respect for female athletes and coaches is hard enough. Call me sexist. As for the men's tournament, it should be a good game as both teams have big, dominating guys, but I can't cheer for Kentucky players who really aren't interested in college. But how fun will campus be on Wednesday if both UConn teams bring home the wins?

Trying something new for the blog

I have written before about my inability to cook well. I blame some of it on my mother who had no patience with my wanting to measure and follow recipes to a tee method, and some of it on my Home Economics teacher who taught me that very method. Through the years I have learned some skills and I have recipes that I'm famous for, like my caesar salad. But for the most part I am not a chef. If I ever had the chance to do over some of my life I shall work harder at having a more lucrative career so that I can afford a personal chef.

In the meantime I limp along with the tried and true recipes I have and frantically peruse the Internet for new ideas. Every Thursday in our local paper we have a Taste section that has different articles on different recipes, foods, wines, etc. There is a section that tells me what produce is in abundance at this time of the year and a section that lists a weeks worth of meal ideas. There is usually a main article with follow up recipes on that topic and now there is a new section called the Cook Club that gives a weekly recipe that you can follow and then Tweet or Instagram about. I actually made one of those recipes and put it on both social media outlets getting several re-tweets and a shout out from the paper for doing so.

My problem, however, is finding recipes that don't have some strange ingredient in it. I hate getting excited about a recipe only to find it needs something in it that I have never heard of before. Immediately, along with recipes that include items I hate, I chuck the recipe out the window and move on.  This week in our Taste section I found several items that I thought tasty.  Two were from a local woman who eats healthy and is a runner, two things I do neither of but was willing to overlook. For lunch she likes to make a kale salad with a pumpkin smoothie. The picture of it looked delicious and so I moved to read the recipes. The kale salad called for odd ingredients like "hemp, flax or avocado" oil but also said I could use extra-virgin olive oil which I do use so I ignored the weird oils. Next came pure maple syrup which I considered a waste of a purchase because my kids would not eat that and whatever I didn't use would go to waste and pure maple syrup isn't cheap. But I figured I could eat at Cracker Barrel and bring home the little bottle of pure syrup I get with my order of blackberry pancakes. Next came an English cucumber. What the hell is that? No biggie, I would use the kind of cucumber I'm familiar with, and I would ignore the next ingredient of hemp seeds which was optional. Sounded okay and somewhat doable despite the handful of pomegranate seeds. The Creamy Pumpkin Smoothie, on the other hand, had ingredients like rolled oats, chia seeds, blackstrap molasses and coconut whipped cream, which turned out to be another recipe I would have to make that called for scraped vanilla bean.  Huh? Who has that crap in their kitchen? Not me.

I chucked those recipes out the window and moved down the page to a beautiful picture of a lemon breakfast bun, an Easter twist to the cinnamon roll.  Hmmm...this was right up my non healthy, no running lifestyle. I checked out the recipe which included sugar, check, zest of lemon, check, loaves of bread dough, check, lemon juice, check, and lemon curd.  What?  Lemon curd? Immediately, I chucked the recipe out the window. Where would I even find that in the grocery store?

But then I got to thinking that maybe I should at least attempt to try something new each week from this section of the paper and blog about it. Step out of my comfort zone. Get to know my grocer better. So I kept the recipe and looked up lemon curd on the Internet. Apparently it is something you make, of course, and it can be made ahead of time. The recipe in the paper, however, called for ready made lemon curd so I have added that to my shopping list and will attempt to find it in the grocery.  Because Easter is coming and because lemons are available right now and because why not start out with a hard recipe that calls for rolling bread dough into a shape?  Stay tuned!

Sticky Lemony Breakfast Buns

April Fools Day Prank

April Fools Day falls right next to St. Patrick's Day in my book; far down the list of holidays. I looked up the history of the day, but learning it did not move it up the list. The history is goobley gook just like the day, and next year I refuse to celebrate it, participate in it, and shall hide out all day in my house away from phones or the door. Why? Because I seem to fall for tricks played on this day.

Back in the ancient days of my childhood, this holiday was simple. We did silly things to one another with the old staple, "Your shoe is untied", which I admit I did yesterday to the eldest daughter who fell for it and then rolled her eyes when I shouted, "April Fools!"  April Fools Day was a fun, trickery day that kept us on our toes just like wearing green or getting pinched on St. Patrick's Day. No one did mean or cruel things that I can remember.

Several years ago my friend Cheryl's husband, Michael, who owns a car repair business called me at home and left this message: "Cara, it's Michael.  Listen, where are you? Toby Keith is here at the shop getting his car worked on. He and his tour guys are sitting around playing guitar. You've got to hurry and get down here." When I got home and heard the message I immediately called him and he told me he couldn't stall much longer and for me to hurry. I thought it a true possibility because he was touring through Florida at the time. I hung up the phone, shaking and panting, and ran frantically around my house gathering up keys and my purse and changing my shirt as a way to freshen up. It wasn't until I was actually in my car ready to back out of my driveway that I stopped to think.  "Wait. Toby Keith is a Ford man. He touts Ford. Why would he be at Michael's import car shop?" I sat and thought some more and I got out of the car, called him back up, and asked that very question. He said, "April Fools!" and I proceeded to curse him out. He thought it the most hilarious thing ever and pretty much calls me each year to mention Toby Keith so that he can laugh some more. He did not call me yesterday which is probably why I fell for the next trick.

Darcy's new beau (I hate using the word boyfriend) and family know my Steelers buddy who I watch the games with each week. That came out in some conversation regarding soccer, and so after meeting the beau's parents and discussing our mutual friends, I texted my buddy and his wife and gave them the scoop.They in turn assured me the kid was a good one and the family good people. Yesterday my buddy sent me a text that said, "I just spoke with Darcy's mother-in-law at the soccer field." He went on to tell me that spring soccer had started and his youngest was going to give it a try. We snickered over the young "lovers" via text and then he told me something shocking. He said he was checking out the hot soccer moms because he and his wife were on the outs.

I thought at first he meant they had a fight, but then he said it was amicable and it would be a quick ending without any fighting. I was shocked and didn't believe him. He assured me it was true. I joked that I hoped he kept the satellite dish and the football package, sort of just playing along with his nonsense. I had forgotten completely about what day it was, but didn't believe for an instant that he and his wife were calling it quit. Then he said no go on the dish as he was moving out and into a one bedroom apartment. I said I didn't believe him. He told me they hadn't told many people. I was shocked and told my daughter who was shocked. We got all depressed thinking about his two daughters. We had all met in Lamaze class with our first girls so I wasn't taking the news so well. I sat, unsure of what he was texting. Then I remembered it was April 1st and I told him so and called him a not-so-nice name. He texted back he wasn't joking. He was serious. I said his anniversary was coming up and he said 21 years with the same person was just hard for anyone. He told me to call his wife. I said I was calling his mother. He told me to go ahead. He seemed so sincere, or at least, I read it as he was so sincere. I told him I was sad, sorry, and sent him hugs.

For two hours I grieved. I went back over all the Sundays at their house during football season wondering if I had missed the signs. Madison kept talking about their children and how sad it was. When Tom got home I told him and he too felt sad, although he will never admit that now. I had been having a decent night and was enjoying the General Hospital Anniversary show when he texted, but I couldn't even finish it. I wandered around my house in a daze, wondering if I should call his wife, worried about his children. I thought about convincing them to see a therapist.

Then something else happened to take my mind off of their problems, and while I was dealing with that crazy issue, my buddy texted me that his wife was home and that he was out getting gas.  "Call her," he texted. "Talk to her". I told my husband, "Does he want me to try to talk her out of it? I'm not sure what even happened. What should I do?" I texted back to my buddy that maybe she wouldn't be happy that he told me. He told me to call her. I texted her instead. She waited some time and then texted back, "You know my husband. He is stuck with you for the long haul. Or at least until the kids are out of the house. LOL" Huh? I sat wondering what the hell that meant. Was she blaming me? Then she texted that she meant with her, not me, and through several more texts I found out he was April Fooling me.  "For the record", she texted," I didn't think it was funny when he told me what he had done, but you know my husband."

The rest of the night was me calling him naughty, nasty, things via text to his phone. His wife texted me that he was "over here laughing his ass off".  Who does that sort of a prank? By the time the texting was done for the night I was snickering, but deep down I was relieved and a tad giddy that it was not true.  But I was also pissed.  Who does that? Who finds that funny? "Well, why would you fall for that on this day," my husband kept saying to me when I asked that question out loud, like he hadn't sat around speculating with me on their failed marriage.

I always swore that some day I would get back Michael for the trick he played on me, and now I have to add Scott to the list. Last night I had some ideas, but they all involved darts and knives and his picture and since he works in law enforcement with my husband that would have just gotten me into trouble. No, no, I have to retaliate in some other way...some nice, respectful, non violent way. But also on a day that isn't April Fools. Because next year I will be holed up in my house with the windows and doors shut!

The best of the best

During swim season this fall, my youngest complained of her shoulder hurting. She said it kept popping out of place and she made us feel her shoulder at least once a day. I didn't take it too seriously because she always has some type of injury while playing sports. During football season it was allergies. During soccer it was her foot. During basketball it was her leg. Now the shoulder. Sometimes it would hurt her. Sometimes it was fine because it "popped back in". I made some noise about getting it checked, but never did anything.  

One day during her telling me of her day she mentioned the school trainer. I asked her how she knew the trainer. She told me she had gone with another swimmer to see the woman about her shoulder. The trainer took a look at it and gave her some exercises to do. Darcy did them, returned to the trainer, who told her that after the swim season she should get her shoulder looked at by a doctor. Feeling a bit chagrined, I promised to do just that. But then I didn't because after swimming the pain went away.

Then one day she got up wrong and the shoulder popped again so I called our pediatrician. The office, which is open 365 days a year, had recently started offering night time hours for sick patients and the office manager scheduled me for that. I was unaware that those visits were seen by a nurse practitioner, someone I had never met. While I have nothing against nurse practitioners, I didn't feel that this type of appointment fell within her category, and I was right. She examined the shoulder, agreed it needed further evaluation, and gave me a list of orthopedists. She could only recommend one from the list since she wasn't familiar with any of the others having not lived in this area. The one she recommended was with the children's hospital. I left that appointment none too happy as I was hoping for at least an x-ray.

The next morning I researched my insurance providers and picked two doctors that fell on both lists. I wanted someone who dealt with sports injuries, but apparently that doesn't make the list of information on my insurance website. The first doctor was from a local practice that Connie and I have both used previously and one that didn't exactly impress me. The second name I liked because he was affiliated with the children's hospital as well as another hospital so I got the feeling he worked with children as well as adults. I called and asked for some recommendations from the woman in charge of referrals. I asked for an orthopedist specializing in sports, but the woman acted like I was asking for a million dollars. She gave me the name of the first group and then agreed with my second name when I mentioned him. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but welcome to healthcare in 2014.

I called the second guy, set up an appointment, and filled out paperwork downloaded from his website. I obviously did not read his website, but just followed his assistant's directions to the paperwork and printed it. I vaguely remember thinking I would come back to the website, but then Connie ended up in the hospital and time got away from me. Next thing I knew we were in his waiting room for the appointment.

When we walked in the place there were ten patients sitting in chairs lined up around the walls of the room. The center of the room was empty save for a tiled floor of a baseball diamond. The walls, and I mean every wall, were covered with framed photos, newspaper articles, movie posters, autographs, and letters.  A huge flat screen television dominated the room tuned to ESPN. As I stood in line at the check-in desk, I began reading those frames closet to me, the first one an autographed picture of Dick Vitale thanking the doctor for fixing him up. That led me to read the next frame, a picture of  a professional baseball player thanking the surgeon for getting them back on the field.  By the time we were called into the back office, two and a half hours later, the waiting room was standing room only and filled with high school sports players, and I had researched the guy to discover he was the team physician for the Tampa Bay Rays and considered one of the top ten surgeons in the world of professional baseball.

My eye doctor's office has framed autographed photos of famous athletes the surgeon have worked on, but those hardly compared to the walls of this doctor. Every room was covered with frames. He has repaired the bodies of baseball players, wrestlers, basketball players, tennis players, golfers, body builders, swimmers, triathletes, football players, runners, and pretty much all of our county's world class high school athletes. I didn't see a sport that he hadn't done some work on somebody. I read all of the newspaper articles in every room I was seated in, and by the time the man himself entered the room I was primed to ask for his autograph myself. Plus, I was patting myself on the back for finding the guy...by accident and luck.

The first guy who entered the room was young and tiny. Having seen pictures of the famous surgeon I knew this guy was not him. I have no idea who this guy was as he did not introduce himself. He did apologize for our long wait, but since the good doctor only holds office visits on Tuesdays and follow up surgical visits on Thursday it is normal. Darcy sat on a table facing the only wall without frames. It held instead a huge mirror that covered the entire wall in length. This guy, in a doctor's coat, stood behind her and examined her shoulder after listening to her explanation of the problem. He immediately agreed with her "popping" explanation and said she would need surgery.  "But we will let the doctor take a look at her and see what he has to say, but it is definitely posterior." He smiled and left the room. Immediately, I felt guilt at having ignored the problem for so long. Then came annoyance at whoever that guy was marching in here and declaring surgery. Then came relief at finding the best sports surgeon in our area if it came to surgery. Then came panic at what my husband, he of the belief that all doctors are quacks (yes, his own brother is a doctor), was going to say. Then came annoyance again at how quickly surgery was diagnosed especially without an MRI. Then came the guilt again. By the time the real doctor arrived in our room I was a mess of emotions.

He entered the room and immediately filled it with his presence. He is a big guy, well over six feet and he reminded me of Penn Jillette from Penn and Teller. He came into the room all smiles, his handshake strong, and he immediately read Darcy.  "She's an athlete," he said. "I can tell by the body.  Long arms. Swimmer? What stroke? My guess is butterfly." He listened to Darcy tell her tale regarding her arm. He stood behind her and rotated both shoulders. He asked her tons of questions regarding her workouts, her dry land training, and her sports history. He told her she had the shoulders and the arm to be a pitcher. He had her lie down and messed around with both arms and shoulders. "Well," he said, "it's good news. No surgery. Rehab. Tons of rehab. Although I do want an MRI just to make sure the labrum isn't torn. I don't think it will show anything, but we should make sure." I admit I stuck my tongue out at the other guy who had accompanied the great surgeon into the room.

Darcy before the MRI

I liked him. He spent time explaining his diagnosis; multi-directional instability. He talked directly to Darcy, but also included me. He had a sense of humor.  When we returned two weeks after the MRI he went over the films which showed inflammation, but nothing that needed surgery. He gave us a sheet of recommended rehab centers and lectured Darcy on doing her exercises.  He wished her well and sent us on our way. Hopefully he wouldn't have to see us again.

Whew!  Now I just have to put my magic fingers on researching rehab facilities.

5 things to start the week

1. Darcy's date went well.  His two little brothers accompanied them to the movies, and, despite being told to sit elsewhere, sat with them.  After the movie they got ice cream...with his family. My friend, Sharon, who was present at Darcy's birth..."I delivered her"...read the blog entry and immediately called to ask, "What the hell do you mean you let Darcy go on a date with a boy?" She and Kelly are having just as much trouble with my baby growing up. Maybe more so. 
2. Apparently Blogger has messed with updated their site, and now I find that I must not hit the space bar twice like I was taught by Miss Irma Jean Rodgers in typing class. This new fangled technology doesn't require two spaces, and if I forget, having had it drilled into me for so many years, then my page is uneven in the margins and my OCD kicks in. I have to keep editing and it is driving me crazy. I should have listened when my children tried to tell me that they only single space after a period in their school reports.  Pfft.  This "new typing"...
3. I don't like to be called ma'am.  It makes me feel old.  When I first moved to Florida I was "Miss Cara" at work.  I've tried to keep that moniker ever since.  Even when I substituted in school I asked not to be called Mrs. because it made me look for my mother-in-law.  Now I'm a ma'am.  Darcy's new beau refers to me as that every time he answers one of my questions.  Today on the phone I was ma'am.  It has got to stop.  Turning fifty this year is bad enough.  I'm working on finding a better expression.
4. Tis the season for my annual blood check and mammogram. So far I've put it off past the 30 days written on the script.  I feel like I'm defying my doctor, but as she patted me on the head when I mentioned this, she said, "I can only suggest and write scripts. I can't drive you there and force you inside.  It is your health." The old, "The only person it hurts is you" saying from my youth.  It didn't work then, but it must be working now because I called today and scheduled my mammogram and then went out and bought some fish oil pills.
5. A week off from school and 5:30 a.m. wake up calls was great, but getting back into the routine is not. My body does not want to cooperate, and I had a fitful-less-than-three hours of sleep last night. Which means that I will need a nap later in the day.  Which means I won't want to sleep tonight. Which means another fitful-less-than-three hours of sleep. I don't chalk this up to old age, however. I've always been a late nighter/late sleeper.  Which I believes proves that I'm not old because doesn't that change as you get older? Early to bed? Early to rise? I'll have to survey some "ma'ams" to get that answer. 

Ribbett...

Me (handing toothbrush over the shower curtain):  "Can you put this away inside the frog?"

The toothbrush is removed from my hand and I hear a clink as it is deposited, not inside the frog, but into the cup that his toothbrush, his razor, and his toenail scissors reside.

Me (peering around the shower curtain just to make sure what I heard was correct):  "I said inside the frog, not that gross cup."

Tom:  "I thought maybe you had lost your mind.  A frog?  You want your toothbrush inside a frog?"

Me:  "Yes, that thing hanging on the wall.  The frog."

Tom:  "I thought that was a hippo."

Me:  "Seriously?  You really thought I meant a real frog, yet had I said hippo you would have hung it there?"

Tom:  "It doesn't look like a frog.  It looks like a hippo.  Or a bear."

Me:  "A green bear?  It's a frog.  And it protects my toothbrush from germs."

Tom:  "If you say so, but I bet there are plenty of germs inside a frog's mouth."

Exploring higher education

College visits with my high school junior are underway.  First of all, today's high school students are on their own.  At least in our area.  The excuse is that the guidance counselors have too many other titles and responsibilities to help out in the guidance part of their job that might include helping students get to college. Or get scholarships.  All of this now falls on the student's shoulders, which in my daughter's case falls on my shoulders because she is too darn busy with her IB responsibilities which include tons of essays and projects. I'm just glad that I realized this early, and that I have a good friend who keeps me informed.

Secondly, high school students are granted only three days of excused absences to visit colleges, which means this must be done on the weekends, over breaks, and during the summer months.  All before she begins applying after August 1st.  While she is working on her IB Extended Essay that is due the first day of senior year.  Holy pressure!

I would love to talk about our college visitation experiences, but do not want put things out there that might jeopardize her getting into a college.  How crazy is that?  Welcome to the world of social media.  I will say, and this is because when things are done right I believe in honoring an institution, that so far the best college open house experience that we have had is a private school in Ft. Lauderdale; Nova Southeastern University.

From the outstanding student dinner that we attended the night prior to the next day's open house, this university was first class all the way.  We talked to recruiters, admission staff, professors, deans, library staff, and the college president.  We were informed on applications, the financial aid process, and scholarships. We toured the campus, the dorms, the student center, the library, and tasted the food.  Every questions we had was answered.  If the person we were talking to didn't know the answer, he got someone who did right then and there.

It was our first college visitation and as one professor told me, "we set the bar high".  Who knew she would be so right?  I thought all of our experiences would be just this good.  I thought these institutions would be rolling out the red carpet to woo these students, to pull them in.  So far that hasn't been the case.  I have had one recruiter answer my question with the response, "Go to our website.  It is all on there."  I have been to a college where I met zero professors.  I have been on a tour that showed me only around the outside of the campus, as if they had something to hide in the inside.

So far we have only toured Florida universities and colleges which I have to say are beautiful.  There is nothing like a Florida campus.  I can remember driving around the University of Florida when we were visiting Florida on one of my brother's golf tours and thinking, "Why didn't I come to Florida and go to school?"  The palm trees and the sun were definitely draws for a Hoosier girl coming from a landscape of darkness and snow.

My daughter is nonchalant.  Or scared.  Or excited.  Or a mixture of all of that.  She has another year of high school and doesn't get the fuss, especially since she has a huge amount of IB requirements that still must be met.  I feel that I'm pushing.  She feels that I'm pushing.  I try to step back, but doing so sets us back. Registrations fill up.  Hotels fill up.  It is a daunting experience for all of us, yet also exciting.  The world is so big and waiting for my little one to embrace, to explore, to conquer.  How we get there doesn't really matter, but the institution does and so we continue on with visitations.  Hoping for the that one campus that speaks to her, to us, where we feel she can enjoy, succeed, learn.

Letting go

Today I watched my younger daughter walk out the door with a boy for her first date.  It took everything I had not to grab her arm and pull her back.  To hold her in my arms and shout at the kid to go away.  To tell him that she is my baby.  That she is too young for this nonsense.  That he has no right.  But instead I smiled, greeted him, kissed her, and let her go.

She told me about him a month ago.  We talked about the feelings you get inside when you see that certain someone.  I think a part of me felt it wouldn't go farther.  But it did.  First it was a group get together.  Then it was meeting at a school event.  Then it went to "dating" as my daughter called i,t which meant he asked her to be his girlfriend and she said yes.  Then came the hand holding.  Then he began to come to her sporting events to cheer her on, and we met him and then his parents.  It was inevitable that the date would come next.

I originally told her no dating her freshman year.  As if I could hold her back and stop the rite of passage. Silly me.  I gave in after meeting him.  He is kind and can hold a conversation with an adult, with me. Without cracking, although I was on my best behavior.  Plus, are you ready for his?  His parents are from the same area of Indiana that I am from.  I mean the guy has got to be okay, right?

Darcy has done well this year in school.  She has stayed focused, done well in a program that we originally thought might not be a fit for her, and has gotten great grades.  She has shown us that she is mature.  We trust her.  So I said yes.  Her father, he said yes right away.  I was the hold out.  She is my baby.  The little girl with the pacifier and the thumb in her mouth that cuddled with me every chance she got.  But being a parent is also letting them sprout wings to move away from the cuddling, to branch out into the world.  And so I said yes, and waved as they walked together toward his parents in the van, away from me.

Connie foot update

As my faithful, kind, followers have seen, I have not been blogging like I should.  Those that follow me on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter know that I have been busy.  Those that have had no idea have been nice to call to ask the reason.  Since the first of the year my mother has been in and out of the hospital three times, her latest this past week.  The first visit was due to a change in medication which resulted in a five day observation stay, plus a week in a crappy skilled nursing/rehab facility.  The second visit was due to an infection in the foot wound that required surgery, a longer hospital stay in the critical care unit, and a three week stay at a great skilled nursing/rehab facility where she was given medication through a PICC line.  She went home on a Wednesday and was back in the hospital on Friday where she is residing still.

In the past, since the beginning of this foot saga, she has claimed that she had osteomyelitis (OM).  The infectious disease doctors, and various others, have all sort of shrugged because the MRIs that she had done didn't definitively show that to be the case. Apparently, now they have changed their minds.  This group of hospitalists said that the prior MRIs were poor due to movement and ordered a new one.  This time her foot was packed so that she couldn't move it and the results showed OM in the bone that is the cause of her foot wound.  The treatments for that are the PICC line medication or amputation.  Connie chose the first one.

She is on vancomycin through the PICC line for approximately four to six weeks.  She is also taking two oral antibiotics to go along with the vancomycin.  She will head back to the same skilled nursing/rehab facility that she stayed in recently.  It is connected with the hospital, and her hospitalist physician that has worked with her at various times through this almost four year saga will be her doctor there.  She was informed that she would be back in her same room with the same roommate that she had just received a couple of days before she checked out.

The prognosis on this infection is that it will come and go and that they will continue to treat her with the medication as amputation would just cause more problems.  The infection can spread.  Eventually the treatments may become too much and Connie can opt out of them.  At that point the hospital will keep her comfortable.  For now she goes along with the treatment.  It isn't the first time she has done this same treatment.  She did this twice before when the foot wound first happened and she has done it in fewer weeks since that time.  Each treatment has bought her more time so she is hopeful that this one will too.

I shall try not to feel like I must go visit her every day.  She is thirty minutes from me and visiting cuts into my day.  We both agree that we have to be more reasonable when it comes to this.  I have to continue on with my life and she has to work on getting healthy. Which means more blogging and more foot photos to come! Thanks for your loyalty, dear readers.

Two month 2014 resolution check

I'm a tad late on this, but better late then never, huh?

1. To take control of my life both physically and mentally so that I am a happy, healthy person by the time I turn 50.  It is interesting that I have forgotten most of these resolutions these past two months save for this one.  I have controlled the mental part well, but the physical side of things seems to be going downhill.  I suppose that means I should give myself half in the points department.  Score:  5
2. To treat my blogging as a job so that I am writing more than the previous year.  As we all know, this resolution has not been kept.  Score:  0
3. To purchase a new wardrobe and get rid of items that I have held on to for way too many years.  I'm not sure that this resolution is one that can be done in little spurts unless I throw out something each month.  Which is an easy solution now that I think about it.  My thinking in making this resolution was that I would drop tons of weight, buff up, and have to buy all new fitting clothes.  But that it wouldn't happen until the end of the year.  That being said, I have become quite depressed with my wardrobe and have thought daily about changing parts of it.  That should count for something. Score:  3
4. To assist in the college process as needed.  Oh, yes.  This one has been done in spades.  Madison is registered on sites.  We have toured two three colleges.  She is signed up for the ACT and the SAT.  Bam!  Score:  10
5. To seriously change my language so that the "naughty" words are used less.  Yes, this is one I've worked on for years, but if I'm going to take control this one should be controlled as well. Hmmm....I can honestly say that I had no memory of making this resolution.  Despite that fact, I can also say that since Darcy has acquired a "boyfriend" who is, in Darcy's words, "A good Christian boy", I have toned down the language.  In fact the only time that my language got a tad "naughty" was when I was with my niece in IN, which I found weird since she hates it when I talk like that.  That should probably be dealt with in therapy if I ever go back.  Score:  7

Total (out of 50):  25 Hey, half the points this early in the game? Go Cara! Go Cara!

But I do care about time

My flight from Florida left at 5:55 am. Which seemed reasonable when I booked it. After all I rise at 5:30 during the weekday. I forgot about the time change. As I was walking down the street one day...

I was finally packed and ready to crawl into bed at 1:00 am, but had to spring forward my clock so that I could get in the right time zone in order to get to the airport on time. I got up at 4:10 and left the house at 4:30 which meant I got a total of three hours of sleep. My seat mate on the plane lamented the fact that he had forgotten about the time change. I asked him, "Does anybody know what time it is?"

The first leg of my journey to Indiana for my Aunt's funeral stopped in Chicago where I had a two hour layover. We landed at 8:25 am by my watch sprung forward, but Chicago is an hour behind Florida, thus it was only 7:25 am. My next flight left at 9:45 am Chicago time for an hour flight to Indianapolis, but Indy is an hour ahead of Chicago and so I would arrive at 11:49 am. Which was 10:49 am yesterday. Does anybody really care about time?

What it really meant when I sat down to mull it all over was that I got very little sleep, jumped in and out of time zones, and still managed to find my way despite the confusion. Though I can't imagine why (oh no)...

Everywhere I went people were commenting on the time change and the forgetfulness of the time change and all of it made me think of Chicago's (the group not the city) song about time. Because we all have time enough to cry (or die)...

And it all just seemed fitting. 

Aunt Lorene

Thursday my Aunt died.  The oldest sibling on my father's side.  Aunt Lorene.  She was 99 years old, and I kept telling myself each time that I saw her that she would hang on until 100.  I always felt like I would know.  The last time I hugged my dad I knew I wouldn't see him again.  I felt that.  I didn't want to believe it, but I felt it.  Each time I left Aunt Lorene I didn't feel it and it brought me peace.  This last month I felt it.  She was on my mind and in my dreams, and I worried.  I told myself it was because I most likely wouldn't see her this summer that I felt this way.  I told myself she would make it to 100 years, and I would make sure to come for that milestone.  But I think I knew.

Rusty, Cara, Connie, Russ, Grandma Mason, Grandpa Mason, Aunt Lorene

Both my grandmothers died before I really got to know them; my mother's mother when I was one and my father's mother when I was seven.  The only real "grandmothers" that I had on either side were aunts; Aunt Helen and Aunt Lorene.

Jo and Aunt Lorene

Her life wasn't easy.  She was the eldest child and the only girl in a family of four.  She helped raise her three brothers.  She married young, and while the marriage was hard she stayed, raising three boys of her own.  She left a good job, one she loved, to come home to care for her mother when she was dying.  She wondered aloud to me several times how different her life might have been if she hadn't come back.  "But I don't regret it," she said.  

Aunt Lorene was "grandmother" to many children.  She didn't care if they were related to her or not, if they needed a place or a hug or food she was there.  She was a mother and a mentor.  My brother and I stayed with Aunt Lorene when my parents had to travel.  We stayed in the front bedroom of her house, and she didn't care when we discovered that the closet in that room led into the closet into her room; a great secret hideaway to us.  She let us rummage around in there, pushing aside her dresses to enter and exit from either side.  While my Uncle Leo was the disciplinarian, Aunt Lorene pretty much gave us free rein to play.

She took care of her father when he couldn't be alone anymore, moving him into her house.  "It was just what was expected," she told me.  She worked with her husband selling farm supplies from her garage.  She would be in the kitchen cooking when someone would drive up, and out she would go to complete a sale before returning to the food on the stove.  She gardened.  She took care of the animals on the farm.  She worked later in a corner store that the family owned.  I can remember stopping there with my dad on the way to the farm and she would be asleep standing up when we entered.  My dad loved to catch her napping while on the job.  "Are you sleeping or reading your eye lids?" he would shout at her, causing her to jump.  She never scolded him.  She loved her little brother too much for that.  "Oh, I'm just resting my eyes," she would say in her slow drawl.

 

Family and church were important to her.  She taught us Sunday school, teaching us songs and Bible stories while we colored pictures that she would later hang around the room.  She cleaned the church and made sure that it stayed open even as people migrated to bigger churches and congregations.  She took it upon herself to bring the family together at holidays and reunions.  Thanksgiving was always at Aunt Lorene's after our grandparents died with the women in the kitchen, the men hunting, and the kids playing the many board games she kept in a cabinet in an end table.

Christmas Eve was at the farm.  Everyone would gather and eat and open presents.  Aunt Lorene always made sure everyone had something to open.  She did the shopping for our grandfather and for herself.  My favorite present ever came from my grandfather.  It was a barrette with my name engraved on it.  I still have it to this day because back then Cara was never found on any item, and I thought it the greatest thing ever.  It wasn't until years later that I realized my Aunt was the one who took care of getting me that.

Aunt Lorene came to my graduations.  She came to my wedding.  She made sure that she was there for me in things that mattered, always bringing me a homemade angel food cake that she swore was my favorite, even though I hated angel food cake.  She loved to kiss us and hug us and smother us with love, and we always squirmed and protested and wiped off her kisses.  But secretly we felt loved.

She loved to cook for everyone.  In her better days she made delicious noodles that the kids couldn't get enough of.  Her pies were always sweet and her meringue peak perfect.  She fried chicken for the family reunion every year up until this past reunion when her kids demanded she stop as she could barely stand due to back pain and a fractured hip.  I can remember many a reunion waking up to the smell of frying chicken at 5 o'clock in the morning.  "I have to get this fried so that I can go to church before the reunion," she would say each year.

If you showed up at her house for any reason, you were fed.  "Sit down and I'll make you some eggs and bacon and gravy and biscuits," she would tell you.  She was happiest when she could feed you, and she worried when you refused.  I spent many hours sitting at her round table watching her cook, telling her stories, and eating.  When I began going each summer to stay with her at our reunion time it was Darcy who would get up with Aunt Lorene and sit at the table, watching her cook and telling her about her life.  Life coming full circle for me.

As I got older, I got more curious about her life.  She outlived her parents, her brothers, and one son.  I made her tell me stories about when she was young and lived on the farm.  I was fascinated about she had to see "beaus" in the front room of the house and how they were never suppose to be alone with one another.  I wish I had recorded those conversations.  We talked about doing so, but never did, and of course I regret that as my own mind isn't so sharp anymore either.

After her son died, she wondered why she was still alive.  She said no one should have to bury her child.  She would have liked to have given her life to spare her son.  She felt she had lived a good life, been faithful, loved as often as she could.  She was content in her belief that this wasn't the end. She said she would continue on until "the good lord takes me".  I was hoping it would have been later, but I couldn't have asked for a better grandmother figure.  She will be missed by many.

Stetson is Elliot's first choice

Each day we receive college information in the mail for Madison, and sometimes Darcy since she too took the PSAT this year.  The amount of money that is spent on these mailings makes me crazy most of the time, and in the beginning I tried to make an effort to peruse all of them.  That lasted about one month. Now I am more selective in what goes into the "keep" pile and what goes into the trash.  In other words, you better WOW me in some way because now the girls and I read aloud the mailings and determine which pile these mailings will fall.

One of the universities that has sent us information that I we find helpful is Stetson University.  So far everything they have mailed us has been full of interesting tidbits, helpful websites, and good information overall.  We are heading over to visit the campus later this month and so we recently received a nice packet of information pertaining to that visit.  Inside was a card that listed the Top 10 reasons to choose Stetson University.  A great piece to read aloud, which I did.  Number 10 was Starbucks and it said, "You read this one first, didn't you?  That's okay, our students love it, too.  Come visit the campus and we'll buy you a cup in our new coffee shop in the student union.  Visiting a college campus is your best opportunity to sense if it's the right one for you---we hope you'll stop by so we can get to know you better."  I was sold already.

Number 4 was Pet-friendly Residence Halls and said, "Yes, you read it right: bring your furry pal to live with you (as long as s/he is under 50 pounds and friendly)!  This is one reason why Stetson will feel like home in no time."  I looked down at Elliot, who was standing in front of me thinking I was looking at a food item since I was standing in the kitchen.  "Guess who is going to college with Madison?" I shouted.  "And then I can get my little dachshund!"  (Side note:  I follow several dachshunds on Vine and have fallen in love. I keep talking about my dachshund that I'm going to get whenever Elliot refuses to snuggle with me, whenever he annoys me, whenever the kids refuse to care for him...pretty much all the time.)  Elliot didn't seem concerned or excited in any way and so we finished up the top 10 list and added it to the "keep" pile and moved on with the rest of our after school life.

About an hour later while I was in the living room talking with Madison about things I heard the dog in the trash can.  When Elliot is bored, and when the girls forget to shut the trashcan in the kitchen, Elliot sticks his nose into the can and goes fishing.  He tries to be quiet, but I'm a mother and rarely does this get past me.  I shouted at him to get out of the trash, and Madison jumped up to handle the situation.  When she went into the kitchen she found that he had pulled from the trashcan one of the mailings from a school that had not made the cut.  He was happily using his paws and teeth to shred the mailing into tiny little pieces all over my kitchen floor.

"I think Elliot is telling us that Stetson is his choice," Madison shouted from the kitchen.  "He certainly isn't voting for (Insert whatever school it was) and he is obviously making sure we aren't considering it either."

Connie Foot Update

I haven't given an update yet this year on Connie's foot because one, it was closed, and two, she started the year out in the hospital.  The foot wound closed back in October and we trekked to see the Foot God every two weeks to have him cut off dead skin and any built up scabbing.  By the beginning of December he decided we only needed to come once a month.  The next scheduled appointment was in the first week of the new year, but because Connie was in the hospital due to a medication change, she missed that appointment.  By the time she got out of rehab and the nursing facility and over her bronchitis it had been two months since we had seen the Foot God.  I was having withdrawals.

We were to see him last Wednesday, but when I got to my mother's house she was in trouble.  She was out of it, burning with a high fever, septic, and unable to really move.  The paramedics were called and she spent seven hours in the ER while they worked to get her stabilized.  She had an infection in the body, but no one knew where.  I did.  I asked for the Foot God to be called.  The attending doctor, who was the original doctor when this foot wound began, agreed to call his office telling me, "He likely won't come, but someone in his office will."  I looked at the man and said, "He will come."

And he did.  He arrived after Connie had been moved into the critical care unit.  He was bent over a computer reading up on Connie's case when I came back with her suitcase.  Without thinking, I leaned over and hugged him from behind.  "Oh, a familiar face.  I knew you would come!"  He turned red, laughed, straightened up and said, "How's it going?"  And I knew everything would be better.  He listened to everything, told me he knew something was wrong when we didn't show up for the appointment that day, and went in to check the foot.  Connie was completely out of it and unaware as he unwrapped it, poked on it, and declared it full of fluid.  I asked him if this could be the source of infection and the reason for what was happening and he said it could be.  And then he just did the surgery right there in the room, much to the horror of the nurse.  She cringed through most of it and couldn't believe Connie wasn't moving.  The Foot God told the nurse Connie was neuropathic and continued to cut away on the foot.  She went from this:

To this:

He asked for my assistance after the surgery as the nurse had disappeared.  I wasn't wearing my scrubs, but I held up Connie's foot while he bandaged it.  We both agreed I could work for him, being an expert now in foot wound care.  He patted me and told me he would be back on Friday.

The culture he did on the wound came back as the source of infection.  She had a pulmonologist, an attending doctor, a foot doctor, and an infectious disease doctor on the case.  They put in a PICC line for IV medications and watched her for six days, before moving her across the street to the skilled nursing and rehab facility.  She was to be on the IV medication until the 5th of March, but after several days of the medication she blew up like a balloon in her thighs and hands.  The medications was stopped and we are still waiting on word from the doctor.  The swelling eventually took two days to leak out of her (from any wound holes) and she was quite the little puddle from that.  Despite that, the bone on bone hip, and the recently diagnosed spinal stenosis she is rehabbing and trying to go with the flow.  She developed another nasty skin tear the morning of her next appointment with the Foot God, and as I wheeled her out of the nursing facility to head to the car to take her to the appointment, the nurse assured me they would fix that up when we got back.  I told her not to bother that the Foot God would take care of it.

And he did.  He got out the suture kit and went to work on it.  By the time she was finished at that appointment she looked like a mummy from the knees down.  The foot wound "looked better" and we see him again in another week.

And the saga continues...