Just call me a professional mover

Posted on May 20, 2012 by Lucinda

I’ve always enjoyed rearranging the furniture. Whether it was my bedroom as a child, my dorm room in college or my living room of my first house, moving furniture always seemed to give the room a fresh feeling that I enjoyed. Apparently I have passed this gene on to my children, or so it would seem, given the number of times in their short lives that I have “moved” their rooms.

It started out innocently enough. When we first moved into this house, the kids were 2 and 3. We put them in separate rooms but within months they made it clear they would prefer to sleep together. So I made one bedroom where they slept and the other where they played. Easy enough.

Until Willow was about 6. She decided she wanted privacy. This seemed natural to me given that she was demonstrating it in other areas too such as closing the bathroom door and dressing when her brother was not in the room. I switched the rooms thinking this was it.

However, by the following summer, Willow was back to sleeping in Jackson’s room, so I moved the furniture again. It was less than a year before the fighting began so yet again I separated them. (See a pattern yet?)

The way our house is set up, the two bedrooms share a wall. By last summer the kids had taken to fighting “through” the wall. They would pound it, kick it, yell through it. If we sent them to their rooms when they were in trouble, they would stick their head out the door and yell into their sibling’s room, or better yet, throw something into their sibling’s room. It was driving me crazy, and I felt a change was needed.

So last fall I moved Willow into the back bedroom which had been set up as a guest room, but was never used. Rather than move the furniture out of the room, I gave Willow the big bed and dresser and gave away her smaller bedroom set. I sold it as a “big girl” room since she was now in 4th grade. She loved it.

Until the novelty wore off. Then she realized she was sleeping far from her brother and she didn’t like that so much. Additionally, Jackson hated her being so far away. Either she would beg to sleep in his room (he has bunk beds), or he would beg to sleep out on the couch (to be closer to her). At first we allowed this on the weekends but eventually they convinced us they could handle it school nights as well.

This worked fine until Jackson realized that Willow now essentially had two bedrooms. The one where she slept and the one where she kept all her stuff. She would not allow him in her bedroom but would complain when he returned the favor because frequently she had stuff in his room from the night before that she needed, like her glasses.

Again they were driving me crazy. This sibling bond they share is wonderful until it drives me to distraction. Finally last week I caved. Her old bedroom had become my craft room, but I started allowing her to sleep on the floor with the promise that I would turn it back into her bedroom.

All week she has happily slept on the floor. Both kids have been pleased with the arrangement. I reminded them of all the fighting when their rooms were closer and extracted a promise that they would be better about that if I moved Willow back in to her old room.

Today found me frantically moving furniture. Willow had a new friend visiting this afternoon and I wanted Willow to have a nice place to show her friend. We sorted and shoved and carried until we had something semi-presentable. The closets still need to be switched but for the most part, the job is done.

I was pleased for exactly 4.5 minutes…until they started fighting and slamming doors and yelling through the wall. Clearly no good deed goes unpunished.

Let’s talk about my yard

Posted on May 19, 2012 by Lucinda

Today I spent most of the day recovering from my mom’s visit. It took a lot out of me emotionally which never translates well physically. while I’m not stuck in bed, I’m not perky either. But nonetheless, I did manage to cut the grass in both the front and the back yard yesterday which I considered a real victory.

As I wandered through the yard, I noticed our grass was looking…green. Not the pale, sickly light green bordering on yellow that I’m used to but a nice, lush, dark green. The kind of green that makes you want to kick off your shoes and feel the soft blades tickle your feet. I was pretty excited. I also haven’t seen a dandelion bloom in our yard in at least a week.

In the meantime, the garden struggles. Last week my husband helped me turn up the soil in our little garden in an effort to undo more of the thistles. Unfortunately he also managed to hit a sprinkler pipe and break it. He reconnected it and thought it the problem was solved until he turned on the sprinklers. He is now convinced there is a slow leak in the pipe so I’m not supposed to plant anything until he can fix it. In 14 days when he finally has a day off. (We’re ignoring the fact that there is no way in hell he’s going to want to do that after working 14 days straight.)

Last weekend I bought some Columbine at the farmer’s market and planted it. It’s still alive. I watered them every day until yesterday when I was too exhausted from my mother. Fortunately the weather cooled yesterday so I think they’ll make it. They are beautiful and I’m so please.

But I still have more iris than I know what to do with. I have thinned and thinned and thinned some more. But they still grow. I’m also struggling with developing an actual plan for what I want my flowerbeds to look like.

None of this in itself is terribly exciting. It’s just yard work. But it’s thrilling to me because for two weeks straight I’ve been able to do it. Joyfully and with lots of energy. I’ve had a day or two where I felt less than perfect but I could still get out and putter around.

This weekend should be a little quieter. We have a couple obligations but I’m hoping to get out and attack a few weeks that dare to grow back, thin a few more iris, and generally admire the changing landscape. I never knew yard work could be so fun.

Feeling like a sandwich

Posted on May 18, 2012 by Lucinda

I never planned to take such a long break from posting but it has been a bit hectic around here and I didn’t really know how to write about what’s been going on. The long and short of it is that there are some pretty big changes coming up for my family.

My mother is moving to town.

A bit of background might be helpful. I may have mentioned in the past that my parents divorced when I was young and I lived mostly with my mother. Being a single mom is not easy and she did the best she could. Unfortunately, as is the case with many mother-daughter relationships, ours has been bumpy over the years. While I care for my mother and I have no doubt of her love for me, we butt heads regularly. A Hallmark card we are not.

When I was in high school, my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. While I don’t think I ever felt angry with her for being sick, I know I was confused at times by her diagnosis. MS does many strange things to you anyway; being a single mom faced with the diagnosis of a debilitating disease after already having spent many years fighting other health issues is enough to make you a bit crazy. Emotional. Angry. Throw in a 16 year old daughter and you have a recipe for misunderstandings at best and all-out war at worst. We fell somewhere in between but it ended with me moving out late in my senior year and going to live with my dad.

It wounded my mother in a way that has reverberated throughout our relationship for the past twenty years. Now I’m not taking full responsibility for this schism, but I have no desire to place blame either. Ultimately damage was done to both of us and it has taken years to heal from all of this.

In the meantime, my mother’s disease has continued to progress. She eventually had to stop working and go on disability. Over time I have watched her health deteriorate while her medical costs increased faster than her income. But I was powerless to help largely due to the hurts of the past. I was angry. She was distrustful.

Last summer she came close to death. A bladder infection was left unattended to the point where she went septic. 4 days in the hospital with intravenous antibiotics while I was on a short vacation left me terrified that I was going to lose her and overcome with the realization of how unprepared I was for that outcome.

Even though I had been trying for years to convince her to move out of a house she could no longer afford into a living situation where more support was available, she refused to accept the reality of her situation. She clung desperately to her independence, convinced if she moved out of her comfort zone, I would abandon her just like I had in high school.

Now with her in the hospital, things had come to a boiling point. I was angry with her for allowing herself to get so sick. I was terrified she would die. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to save her from herself. I was utterly lost in a way I never had been before. It’s not shocking that this stress probably pushed me over the edge as I was hospitalized myself a month later. I joked that I was jealous and wanted my own IV antibiotics.

Last summer we had some very open and honest conversations. I made it clear that I wasn’t willing to watch this anymore. She assured me she understood the gravity of the situation, but I doubted her. I felt like she gave me lip service but at least she listened to me. Eventually I dropped the topic again because it didn’t appear she was budging, and I had to attend to my own fragile health.

Then something changed. I don’t know what or how or why, but she decided she could trust me. About a month ago she called and asked for my advice on a financial matter. She’s never done that before. I looked into the situation, came up with several possibilities for her, and ultimately concluded that the best resolution was for her to sell her house and move closer to me. It wasn’t where I started when she first called me, and I felt sick to my stomach explaining why I thought it was her only option given her financial and medical status. I knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But she listened.

We went back and forth for several days, her trying to negotiate another ten years in her house, me illustrating why that wasn’t feasible. Eventually she conceded that ten years probably wasn’t realistic. Last week, I drove up to her house to take her out to lunch for her birthday. It was the first time I had seen her face to face in over a year.

Her appearance left me shocked. She had aged. She looked frail. But as we sat down to lunch at Red Robin, I also saw how happy she was in her town, a much larger town than where I live, a town she has lived in her entire life. I gave in. I told her to stay here. I would help her find a way to make it work. I just wanted her to be happy. I wished she would move closer and explained the limitations of staying where she was but that I would support her if she chose to stay.

The next day she agreed to come visit me and learn more about her options here. So this week she spent three days in my hometown. I gave her the grand tour. She looked at two different potential residences, one being an assisted living facility. I watched her face as it fell each time she entered a place only to see her slowly start asking questions that indicated a budding interest. By the end of the yesterday she agreed that she should move.

Then my stomach sank. What had I done? What was I taking on? What would this mean to my family, my life, my health? As I said, our relationship is not easy. Her needs are great and growing. Was this really the best thing after all? I realized I would be entering the sandwich generation. You know, the time in your life where you are caring for your parents while still raising your children. I was terrified all over again but for completely different reasons.

By today I was feeling better about it. I know in the long run this will probably be best for all of us. I will know she is safe. I can check in on her more easily. Short frequent visits are less draining than rare extended visits. I also know that when she isn’t stressed, we get along a lot better. Living here should reduce her stress.

I don’t know how long this transistion will take. There are many, many factors to consider. It’s going to be a long process, and she will resist at times out of fear. I will have to practice setting boundaries to protect my own health.

But there are some huge benefits to be gained by this. My children will finally get to know my mother. She will be able to do a few things she has always wanted to do while she is still physically able to do them. I will know I have done everything I can as her daughter to help her out.

We’ll never be a Hallmark greeting card or a Norman Rockwell painting. But maybe, just maybe, when her life ends, I won’t feel regret or relief. I will feel like I was able to enjoy my mother, even if it’s just for a little while.

The brush from heaven

Posted on May 7, 2012 by Lucinda

My daughter refuses to brush her hair. Despite my many attempts to convince her, she fails to see the importance of something as mundane as hair. It might be my fault. I am the one with the attitude that hair isn’t a big deal. It might be because I’m really evolved and self-assured, so that I don’t worry about things like hair. Or it might be because at 40 I still haven’t a clue what to do with my own.

My daughter has inherited my fine, brittle, stick-straight hair. It doesn’t hold curl but will tangle if you merely look at it. The closest thing to holding a curl is the rat’s nest that develops if not brushed daily.

When my daughter was young, I tried to cut her hair myself. After all, every mommy blog I read talked about how much money you can save and how easy it is to cut a child’s hair. Clearly these people all had children with thick hair that hides mistakes. You see, stick straight, fine hair shows every cut. Every. Cut. There are no mulligans when you cut hair like this. So for the first few years of her life, my daughter had terrible hair cuts.

Eventually I gave in and started paying to have her hair cut. The problem with this is that it is much easier to cut hair when it isn’t full of tangles. Trying to stop a preschool-aged child for anything that takes more than 30 seconds is difficult under the best of circumstances. But when you wave a brush at them and they know it’s going to be painful and they are as stubborn as a mule? Well, you get the idea. In addition to inheriting my hair, she inherited my sensitive scalp.

I remember as a child crying when my step-mom would comb my hair or the hair dresser would massage my scalp as he washed my hair. No matter how gentle they were, it hurt! In her wisdom, by the time I was in 1st grade, my mother had my hair cut in a bob that was so popular in the mid-70′s. She didn’t ask me if I wanted it done, and I was shocked when it happened, but it didn’t take me long to realize the benefits of my new “do”.

However, my daughter has stronger opinions on her hair so it is longer. Don’t get me wrong. We have tried short. Long. Everything in between. I have tried leave-in conditioners, detanglers, and bribes. I have brushed her hair for her or let her do it depending upon her mood. I have joked, cajoled, urged, begged her to brush her hair. I have talked about what others think when they see her. How it reflects upon her and me.

Even her teacher said something to her.

But she has continued to go to school looking something akin to Cousin It with hair going in every direction and looking dirty despite being washed regularly. It has been a source of contention between her, me, and my husband. The entire extended family has commented on her hair at one time or another. To say I have been frustrated would be an understatement.

Then my sister-in-law casually mentioned a brush. Her niece, who also has fine hair and a sensitive scalp, brought it with her when visiting from Phoenix. My SIL didn’t give me much to go on. ”It has bristles of different lengths and it just works. The tangles come out right away.” She didn’t know the brand or where to find it. She did send me a picture via text message which wasn’t very helpful. But she tried. I appreciated the thought but wasn’t certain I would be able to find a brush that would work.

So great was my doubt that I forgot about it until my husband brought it up again last week.

So I went to the store. I wasn’t optimistic. The first store had nothing like she described. I went to another store and lo and behold there were two brushes that might work. All things being equal, I chose the cheaper one, brought it home and left it in a bag on the table, promptly forgetting about it again.

That evening I was getting ready to read to the kids when Willow found the brush. She looked disappointed until I explained that the brush was for her. Her face lit up and she did a happy dance. I suggested she try the brush before getting so excited. So she did.

One stroke. Two strokes. Three strokes. ”Mom! It doesn’t hurt!!!! Well, it hurts a little but not like the other brushes.” She could barely contain her excitement as her body wiggled and danced across the room. That evening as I read, she brushed her hair.

The next morning at breakfast she brushed her hair again. When she got home from school she brushed her hair. She has brushed her hair every day since, often twice a day. It feels like a miracle. My daughter will not be the middle school kid who doesn’t brush her hair. Hallelujah!!!!!

I posted something on Facebook about this and immediately had three people asking to know which brush I had bought. Apparently I am not alone in my troubles. So for those of you wondering, it is a Goody brand brush with boar bristles. Other brands make similar brushes. The key is short boar bristles and longer plastic bristles. Good luck. Go forth and brush!

And they’re off…almost

Posted on May 4, 2012 by Lucinda

I’m tired. Really, really tired. Who knew two 5 year old boys could wear you out completely just being themselves? Man I’m a wimp. Or old. Or completely normal and unwilling to admit it.

This morning I am gathering as much of their laundry I can find (we’ve lost at least 2 socks, not from the same pair of course) and washing it before I take them back to their grandma’s house. I’m searching for toys they may have brought and trying to pick up the disaster that is my son’s room where they have been sleeping all week. I’m not even trying to entertain them because I’m too damn tired today. Not that they care. Wii is the ultimate entertainment for them so they’re pretty happy.

We’ve had a great time. They are adorable and funny and cute and mischievous all at the same time. I have loved listening to their endless stories. Today it was about jumping off a really tall building and walking all over the world. Yesterday it was about beating up 100 men all at once. They are big talkers which is especially funny when you consider how small in stature they are. Even for 5 they are little.

We have had light saber battles and wrestling matches. They have drawn pictures of battles, explaining to me the complex defense systems they have included. We enjoyed the children’s museum and library story time. My son read stories to them at bedtime while my daughter chased them around the house to steal hugs and kisses. My husband played baseball with them and gladly acted as their punching bag while the crawled all over him. Yes, it’s been a very good week full of memories.

But I am so tired now. Yesterday I told my husband that I remember the days when my kids were younger and the house was constantly a mess. I couldn’t keep up, was tired all the time, and wondered why I was such a loser because I couldn’t pull it together. I assumed it was because of my illness which was certainly a contributing factor. Now I realize it was more.

My children go to school every day. I get hours of the day where I can do whatever I want. Sure there is work and responsibility. It’s not like I’m watching soap operas and eating bon bons all day but still, I don’t have to be “on” all the time. Even when my children are home, they are pretty responsible most of the time so I can relax.

With the twins though, they are young enough that you still always have on ear open to listen to them. As I type now, I’m only half here. The other half of my brain is upstairs, listening to them, making sure they are not getting into trouble, knowing that at any moment I may have to get up and take care of them. Just that extra constant awareness is exhausting.

Even my kids are tired. Jackson has had no privacy this week due to the twins sharing his room, something that became very clear last night when he finally lost it. He loves the twins but hero worship can be tiring in its own way.

It’s easy to forget the fatigue. The kids grow, things get easier, and the new challenges, while difficult, aren’t tiring in the same way. You begin to take for granted being able to sleep through the night, zone out for moments during the day, taking both physical and mental breaks from parenting. You look back on those early days, knowing you were constantly tired, but not really remembering why beyond the usual “little kids are a lot of work.”

This week I remembered. I’m glad I did. It’s given me a chance to look back and say, “I did a pretty good job.” To realize again that being tired was normal and simply meant I was human, not a loser. Perspective can be easy to lose so I’m glad for the opportunity to regain it.

Now I’m preparing for their departure. Once they are gone, we will pick up the hundreds of legos spread throughout the house. Pick up the pokemon toys, cards, light sabers, pencils and paper for drawing, library books, wii games, etc. I will mop my kitchen floor and help Jackson clean up his room. The house will be back to its normal order which is never completely clean but cleaner than it is now.

It will be quiet. Well, quieter. It will be nice but I suspect it will feel a bit empty for a few days until we adjust. Being with the rest of our family in Hawaii this week would have been fun, I admit. I think though we got a pretty good deal staying here and spending time with my nephews instead.

Loving with food

Posted on May 3, 2012 by Lucinda

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I find that to be true with more than just men. Some of my best memories are based in food. That was brought clearly to mind this week.

I was told that one of the things the twins talked about when preparing to stay with us was how much they wanted “Aunt Lucinda’s cinnamon sugar pancakes.” It’s a recipe from my grandmother. I was happy to oblige. I love to show my love through food.

As a child, I remember going to my grandmother’s house weekly for dinner. One of my favorite meals was Swedish pancakes. They are thin, crepe like pancakes that we would sprinkle with cinnamon sugar, roll them up, and eat them with our fingers. To this day I can clearly see her standing at her electric skillet cooking up one pancake after another. My sister and I could never get enough. My mom made them for us too of course but somehow it wasn’t the same as eating them at grandma’s.

Grandma created many food memories for us whether it was making applesauce with her after picking apples from her yard or eating cupcakes she had surreptitiously delivered to our house on Valentine’s day while we were at school. In college she sent me muffins and cookies in the mail packed in actual popcorn. At Christmas she didn’t have much money but she would always give me a tupperware container filled with “nuts and bolts” which was her version of Chex mix. It was one of my favorite gifts each year.

My mother created food memories too. She made pounds of fudge every Christmas and dozens of loaves of zucchini bread every summer which she would freeze and we would eat throughout the year. Those too are some of my favorite foods to this day although I can’t eat them in the same way now.

Once I had children, I couldn’t wait to pass on these food memories to them. The recipe for Swedish pancakes is memorized now, but I treasure the recipe card in my grandmother’s handwriting. It is one of many she passed down to me during the early years of my marriage.

I wasn’t a great cook back then but over the years I’ve improved. (We still laugh over some of my more memorable disasters.) The better I got, the more I loved to cook because I realized that it was more than a way to nurture my family. It was a way to show them my love. At first I stuck to the basic recipe but as I have learned more about food and my own food issues, I have started putting my own spin on various dishes. Swedish pancakes are now gluten-free and often I add apples with cinnamon or strawberries with whipped cream. Fudge is made both with and without dairy.

These days, when I cruise the grocery aisles, I look for new ingredients and think of new ways to nurture their bodies and their souls through food. I linger over the latest spice over the way some linger over a great pair of shoes. I ponder over recipes, both new and old, wondering how I can improve upon them both through taste and nutrition.

In some ways food has become my obsession. Part of this is due to my health issues but more because of my desire to take the best care of my family possible. I read ingredients, scour food blogs, try new recipes, and experiment while trying to simultaneously expand their palates and comfort them with familiar flavors. I want them to have food memories like I did growing up.

So this week as I made pancakes for the twins, I was happy to realize that I was passing food memories on to my nephews as well. I don’t get to see them as much as I might like so I want to make the most of their visits. If I have to resort to food to do it, like I said, I’m happy to oblige.

Twice as nice

Posted on May 1, 2012 by Lucinda

I’m seeing double! We have twins here all week long My 5 year old nephews are here while their parents are in Hawaii and so far it has been a lot of fun.

These guys are kind of the miracle babies in the family. I remember the day my sister-in-law told me she was having twins. I was in the kitchen on the phone with her when she told me and I shrieked out loud. She was still in shock and now I was too. My husband walked in from the other room and said, “She’s having twins, isn’t she?” as he realized that was the only news that could bring this reaction.

It wasn’t much later that we learned the pregnancy was in trouble. Terms like “twin-to-twin syndrome” and “selective termination” were tossed about. I remember her sitting in our kitchen while we all talked about it. She kept saying how she couldn’t think of the babies as real people yet because if she did, there was no way she could do what she might need to do to save at least one of them. She refused to name them. All I could think was how unbearable it must be. I prayed for her. I cried for her.

In the last months of the pregnancy, she went on bed rest and then to the hospital. Her two year old son stayed with family while her husband worked. She quit her job. She stopped moving. She did absolutely everything she needed to do to save those babies. I was so in awe of the grace and strength she showed.

Then they arrived. Tiny, fragile, and absolutely beautiful. A. needed surgery within days of his birth for a thickened artery. He was the tinier of the two, arriving at a mere 3 1/2 pounds. But from the beginning he was a fighter. The whole pregnancy he had been barely attached to the placenta, fighting for whatever nutrition he could receive. 5 years later he still a lfighter.

I remember holding them as tiny babies and being so in love with them and so grateful they were here at last. I was still pretty sick so I couldn’t help as much as I would have liked, but my husband’s family is strong. My mother-in-law spent most of the first month at their house I think. They still visit her regularly. But this week, they’re all mine!

At 5 they are fabulous. Being 4 years younger than my son, I am taken back to an age I no longer usually deal with. Instead of going to school, they are here all day. There are crumbs all over my kitchen floor. Bedtime is earlier. They don’t eat as much. They run around a lot. Minor adjustments.

Being twins, they have each other which has made it easier. Even now they are quietly playing upstairs with the legos. I haven’t heard a peep from them (I should probably see what trouble they are into.)

They are enthusiastic about everything and the stories they tell! I have heard that they went fishing and caught a killer whale, they watched a sheriff shoot a man right in front of them, one of them had a bloody nose that went all the way to his tummy (they are fascinated with blood), they have watched all sorts of adult movies (I doubt it), and on and on and on. R talking with my husband yesterday:

R: Want to see my muscles?

Husband (feeling R’s arm): Wow! Those are some big muscles. How did they get so big?

R: I work out. Every day. I have been working out for 100 years.

Favorite phrases are “know what?’ and “yeah, yeah” as in, “Know what? Know what? I can climb all the way to the top of the house. Yeah, yeah. I do it all the time at home. Know what? I do. I’m not lying.” Or, “Know what? Know what? Yeah, yeah. I’m getting a dirt bike and so is I (his older brother) but A isn’t because he’s too small. Yeah, yeah. Know what? When daddy gets home he’s buying us all bikes. Ok I fooled you! Yeah yeah. We aren’t getting bikes. Hahahaha!”

Yesterday we went to the children’s museum and today we will go to the library. My husband will be in charge Wednesday and Thursday because I will be busy. That will suit the boys just fine. I think they like him better anyway. After all, he’s not a girl.

But they will let me tickle them and make them their favorite food and read them stories. It’s nice having little ones for a week again. It reminds me of how much I enjoyed my kids at this age. Since it’s only a week, I intend to enjoy the heck out of it while it last. Yeah, yeah!

Fighting the good fight

Posted on April 30, 2012 by Lucinda

The war on weeds continues in our yard. We have managed to fill our yard debris bin (about 48 gallons) twice now with just weeds. No grass. No clippings. Just weeds. We aren’t done. Through all this, I’ve made a few observations.

1. Our yard is effin’ big! I knew we had one of the largest lots in the neighborhood but the house is proportionately large. So our yard doesn’t look huge compared to the house. Also, when we moved here, we were downsizing from 5.8 acres so, yeah. I’ve always thought we were wimps for not keeping it up. But now, as I spend hours in each individual area I realize we have a big task. It’s nice for the kids but someday I want a much smaller yard.

2. The first sunny weekend of the year everyone in town will go to Bi-Mart. Multiple times. So every time you go there, it will be crazy crowded. Being the only store in town that sells garden supplies, you will have no choice but to go there.

3. When you get home, you will find in your garage more of the fertilizer, slug bait, weed killer, etc. that you just bought at Bi-Mart because every year on the first beautiful weekend you get inspired to “fix-up” the yard. By the third trip to Bi-Mart you will stop buying most stuff because you are pretty sure you already have it at home and you will be right.

4. Thistles suck. Not only are they prickly but they have massive root structures. I used to think Dandelions were the worst but I have changed my mind. You can pull six thistles but fail to get that root that connects them all so a week later, you have six thistles again. However, trying to find that root can be kind of fun in a fascinating kind of way as you watch just how far the root extends when you do pull it out. Kind of like pulling dead skin off of a sunburn and trying to see how big a piece you can pull. (oh, that’s just me that likes to do that?)

5. Weeds against rocks are a lot harder to pull out. And we have a lot of rocks in our yard. Surrounding the garden, the back patio, along the fence…you get the idea. So there were a lot of weeds growing right against rocks, usually thistles. See above. Note to self: next yard will have fewer rocks or we will put plastic under all those rocks.

6. Ants live under big rocks. Potato bugs live under little rocks. How do I know this? Because we have lots of both. Also, ants freak me out.

7. If given a choice, I would rather pull big weeds than little weeds. They are easier to grab and it takes less of them to feel like you are getting somewhere.

8. Weeds are easier to pull from sand than clay. Guess what we have more of? Oh, and no top soil because our builder didn’t really deem that important. You know what clay also grows? Lots of moss.

9. Moss is easier to take care of than grass. It’s always green and it doesn’t need to be mowed. So why are we trying to get rid of it and replace it with grass? I still haven’t figured out that one.

10. Your children will help you for exactly 78 seconds before getting bored and finding something more interesting to do, like play with dead slugs. Unless they think they are getting paid. Then you get them for a full 2 minutes. However, the neighbor’s kid will help because it isn’t their yard. I’m thinking we should just switch kids for the day next time.

11. When moving pea gravel, you will discover that a play structure with pea gravel for 6 years plus an outdoor cat equals a giant litter box. Enough said. Fortunately, I was picking up my nephews so my husband got stuck with that task.

We now have a couple of days of rain. Just long enough to give our backs a break and the weeds a chance to grow back. I still have big plans. I’m not giving up. This year, we will have the yard I dream of. Or at least give it the old college try. Stay tuned.

Extraordinarily ordinary

Posted on April 29, 2012 by Lucinda

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was also a completely ordinary day. At the end of the day I found myself thinking, “My life is so good!” It wasn’t like anything amazing had happened. The day involved cleaning house, laundry, yardwork, baseball, friends for dinner, and playing in the cul-de-sac with the neighbor kids. Perfect.

My parents divorced when I was very little. I was raised primarily by my mother with bi-weekly weekend visits to my father’s house. Both my parents loved me and did their very best. We had good times and bad times but I did always knew I was loved. But being raised by divorced parents is quite different than being raised by married parents.

I spent yesterday morning helping the kids clean their rooms. In the afternoon my husband and I worked on the yard. Together. My son helped. An experience you just don’t have as a child when your parents are divorced. The weather was pleasant and we made progress while also bemoaning just how big the job is and whether or not we will hire help. Eventually my son left us to play with a friend while my husband and I quietly worked, no need for real conversation. Ordinary but nice.

Later we went to a baseball game for my son’s friend. When I arrived, I knew several mothers and many of the children playing. The joy of a small town. We happily cheered for several kids on both teams, as did other parents there. It was relaxing and comfortable. Completely ordinary.

That evening a friend came over for dinner. When I was a child, my mother didn’t have a lot of friends. I think some of it was just being overwhelmed with being a single mom. I can’t imagine how hard that was. We didn’t go to barbecues or have other people come over. My dad did sometimes when I was at his house but I didn’t really know his friends and there usually weren’t other children. So when a friend comes over to share a meal and my children treat him/her like family, I am pleased to know my children have other caring adults in their lives. If the friends have children (which most of them do), I love watching the kids play while the adults chat. These kids have all have grown up together and know nothing different. I’m glad they can take it for granted as well they should.

After dinner there were baseballs and footballs tossed back and forth in the cul-de-sac and eventually a wrestling match in my living room. As a child, I wasn’t a particularly confident kid. Nor was I athletic. In fact I was quite clumsy. Our neighborhood had pick-up games of basketball and wiffle ball. I even participated occasionally but I wasn’t very good. I never felt quite like I fit in. My dad wasn’t around to play although I don’t know if he would have. None of the dads on the street ever joined us. I don’t know why. They just didn’t.

In our house it’s a different story. My husband is often the one who starts the game. If other dads are around, they all participate. Almost always our children and the neighbor’s children are involved. Last summer a neighbor was the one to start the games which was a real blessing given how terrible our summer was. Every time these ganes happens, I am filled with joy from the laughter and sounds of play that come from all the children. I see the confidence in the children and I know in the future they will look back on these nights with happiness. It will seem perfectly ordinary.

Finally it was time to get the kids to bed. Showers were taken, books were read, teeth were brushed. It was just another lazy Saturday for them. Nothing extraordinary. But for me, it was another perfect day where I was able to thank God for the blessings in our life. I am not angry my parents divorced. If anything it gives me greater appreciation for my marriage and a desire to make sure I do my part to make it work. I know I married an amazing man and that makes it easier. But because of my background, I also know I will never take what we have for granted.

19 years ago yesterday I went on the best first date of my life. I never imagined it would lead me to a life full of extraordinarily ordinary days. I couldn’t be happier about how it all worked out.

Time to reclaim

Posted on April 28, 2012 by Lucinda

After we got home from Great Wolf Lodge, I went to the doctor. My specialist to be specific and over all it was good. I have moved from trying to stay out of the hospital to expecting a bit more from life. It’s all good.

One thing I love about this doctor is that I learn something from him every time I visit. In the past I felt like I was doing the educating with my doctors which can be frustrating but not with this guy. He also is quite direct which works perfectly for me. With many doctors, they try to be gentle and polite so as not to offend me which leaves me trying to guess what they really mean behind the gentle words. This guy doesn’t pull any punches so I don’t spend anytime wondering. It’s great. Even my husband assured him that blunt is best with me.

The good news is I feel pretty good. The bad news is I’m still on prednisone. My doctor feels very strongly about how bad prednisone is and so the goal is to get me off as soon as possible. I’m starting a different anti-inflammatory and taking prednisone while this new med ramps up. In a month I’ll stop the prednisone.

Know how I said I always learn something new? This time it was about prednisone. The doctor made an offhand remark about how prednisone makes you manic and I really didn’t get what he was saying. I’ve never noticed that before but in the past I was always extremely sick or still eating gluten while on prednisone so I was always very tired. This past couple of weeks though I’ve been full of energy. I assumed it was just me feeling better although I did notice I couldn’t seem to sit still for very long. You think it would have clicked at the doctor’s office.

It actually took until later that day when chatting with a friend on Facebook. I told her about my meds (she also has Crohn’s) and she remarked that she bet my house was really clean. I started laughing when I realized in fact that it was pretty clean, the laundry was all done, and I had gotten a lot of weeds pulled last week. Guess I am a little manic right now. Who knew?

Next week I’m scheduled for a bowel study (so fun!) to see what exactly my intestines are doing now. Hopefully they will have healed. If that is the case, the assumption will be my current problems have more to do with IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) which every Crohn’s patient inevitably develops and he will treat it according. Funny enough, that means anti-depressants.

I have been on those before but assumed it was to relieve stress. At least that’s what I was told. But the truth is that your serotonin receptors in your gut can get wonky too. Did you even know you had those in your gut? The drugs help level all that out and should relieve the pain.

As usual, it’s all a puzzle that takes time to solve. But I told the doctor I was tired of giving up stuff. He agreed. ”It’s time to reclaim some of it,” he said. Yet again I was grateful that I seem to have finally found a doctor who gets it and I told him so. We laughed a little about our first meeting and how we got through it. I’m thinking with his help, I can get through this too.

It's all relative

Keeping life in perspective