Sickness and Sadness

You know how you find yourself rolling along just fine and dandy ... things are going pretty well, other than the usual day-to-day hiccups. Then... BAM! You get smacked with a bunch of things at once? The kind of things that plant your feet firmly on the ground and bring you back to the reality of life.

There's a nasty flu bug going around, which (knock on wood!) I think we may have avoided. I've been giving the boys their daily vitamin and supplements, followed by a quick prayer that they remember to wash their hands well at school. The cousins have been knocked down by this bug, and Kate came down with it earlier in the week. It is not a virus to be taken lightly -- it will whip your butt if given the chance.

I have been on vigilant Lysol patrol, misting doorknobs, refrigerator door handles, remote controls, the phone, etc. Basically, if it cannot run from me, it gets disinfected. Germs fear me.

I got an email from a childhood friend, Missi, a few days ago with "horrible news" in the subject heading. That's never good. Seems one of our friends, Cory, committed suicide last week. Wow. Talk about reading something that takes the wind out of your sails for a few minutes. Not many details are known yet, but we all set out to notify other friends from high school. Sigh. I sat there, silent for a few minutes letting the news sink in. I felt overwhelming sadness. Then it occurred to me that I'd only seen Cory a total of about three times since we graduated 20 years ago. Two class reunions and a bachelorette party. How was it that I felt such a loss for someone I'd barely seen in two decades? I received a few more emails that night, one from another high school friend. He, unknowingly, answered my question. He wrote that no matter how scattered or removed we are from our hometown and the people there, they are -- and will always be -- part of who we are. He was so right. That town, those people... they helped form the foundation of the people we are today. Maybe we aren't in constant contact with everyone who hung out together in grade school/junior high/high school, but they are part of the fabric of who we've all become and the relationships we have today.

So, in remembering Cory, I will try not to focus on her tragic end. Rather, I will always remember her seemingly never-ending crush on John Hrapek in elementary school; riding the bus with her and Missi to school every day of junior high; being lab partners in sophomore chemistry, where we somehow decided we'd like to run for president/VP some day and came up with the slogan "'88 or '92! We don't care, it's up to you!" (OK, so we were a little off on the age requirement, being that we'd have only been 19 or 23 at the time of election. It was the thought that counted.) I will fondly remember my friend Pam and I being locker neighbors with Cory and Missi our senior year -- it's amazing how much drama and hilarity you can pack into 5-minute passing periods throughout the day. I will also never forget Cory, Missi and myself being the "chatty Bermuda Triangle" in creative writing class. And when we weren't chatting, driving Mr. Pinkerton crazy (in a good way), we would pass notes. They were hilarious. I kept them for many years, based on how re-reading them would make me laugh until I cried. I wonder if I might still have them. I will remember how much fun we had at Missi's bachelorette party in Chicago... and at our 10-year high school reunion.

The last time I saw Cory was a little over a year ago at our 20-year reunion. If she was sad/depressed at that point, I'd have never seen it. She was always laughing. And that's exactly how I want to remember her.

Goodbye, Cory. So many will miss you.
"I left my heart,... In Sam Clam's Disco..."

Just call me Monkey Bread

Well, well, well... look who's putting up another post! And within a week of the last one!

I was driving to work today, categorizing and prioritizing the various things I want/need to accomplish in the near future. (The "near future" being anywhere from this morning until ... ???) Every time I'd think of something and add it to the mental list, another one would pop into my head, weaseling its way in front of the last thing. I started having that feeling of being pulled in every direction -- sort of like Monkey Bread. You know, it's like a big blob of cinnamon rolls, and half the fun of eating it is pulling off individual pieces as you go.

Feeling pulled in a million directions isn't always fun and games. In fact, I've never known it to be ANY fun at all. I mean, it's nice to feel "needed," but when several areas of your life are needing things from you on a daily basis, it can become a bit too much. Two Thanksgivings ago, while driving to my parents house for the feast, I had an epiphany of sorts. As a single-parent then, I felt I needed to focus on things in my life that were important (my kids, extended family, work, etc.) eliminate everything in my life that was taking away from that. I realized that, in 25 years, no one would remember (or care, for that matter) that I served on such-and-such committee, or handled XYZ for some organization. What would matter was the time I spent with my boys... and what kind of relationship we had. Being too stressed out with too many things on my plate made me cranky, and being cranky when dealing with kids is a recipe for disaster.

Now, remarried with a seven- (soon to be eight) person family, there are a whole new list of priorities to order. I guess if I can just remember to keep who and what is important at the forefront of my mind, I should be good to go.

And the only Monkey Bread I'll have to worry about is the batch I want to make for Thanksgiving. :)

Cleaning before company comes...

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Nor have I been sucked into a giant black hole in the universe. Life just has a way of getting in the way sometimes. Sounds lame, I know... but true. How sad when a person doesn't even have 10 minutes to spare and ramble incessantly about life in general?

I just re-visited a friend's website. I hadn't been there in a while, and wanted to check her blog to see what she's been up to. Reading her update prompted me to dash off a quick email to her and check in. I told her about having started this blog, and gave her the address to come visit. Of course, I admitted I hadn't posted in ages, which was a good nudge to get me here and update things. I likened it to cleaning up before company comes over... so here I am. Sans feather duster, but here I am nonetheless.

Thankfully, all shreds of whatever fever/virus was visiting our home have left the building. At least I hope so. Now, in our post-Halloween sugar buzz, my main objective is to keep the excess sugar from completley depleting everyone's immune systems. I know, I know,... I'm just short of being the ultimate "Candy Nazi." But I'm OK with that. Seriously.

We are gearing up for a mid-month, early Thanksgiving celebration in Chicago with relatives. Actually, a bit north of Chicago in Crystal Lake. (Shout out to Stacy! "HEY!") We are calling it our "Festivus," but will have traditional Thanksgiving all together back in Indiana a couple of weeks later. Honestly, there is no such thing as too much Thanksgiving... or as I lovingly refer to it, "the kickoff of 'Pie Season!'"

The "little one inside" is growing healthier and stronger each day. This fact is perfectly illustrated by the repeated kicks and shoves he's giving to my internal organs. This is especially charming when he targets my bladder. Enough said. After joking with one of my co-workers today... some light griping about the pregnancy ... she asked in all seriousness if I was excited about it. Truthfully, I am. It's just that this came so out of left field, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that in a matter of months, we're going to have another child. Not just another kid to trek around to school and activities, but a newborn who will rely on us for every waking/sleeping need and want for a looooong time. We will be back to square one (Hence the name of this blog; clever, no?) when we were all set to sit back and enjoy the ride with five kids. With the element of surprise as a major factor, I find times when I still can't believe this is happening. Not in an "Oh-my-gosh-Why-me?" kind of way, but in a state of total disbelief that we would be blessed in such an awesome way this late in life. So, yes... I am excited. I would probably be more outwardly excited if I weren't experiencing some of the less glamourous accompaniements of pregnancy, but I digress. (Seriously. You don't want to know.) I will admit... I have two baby outfits hanging in my closet. Six-year-old Sam spotted them on a trip to Sam's Club one day, and begged me to get them. When I am reaching for something near those two outfits, I often stop... take one down and hold it out in front of me. Most times I will hold it under the arms, like holding a baby in it, and I just smile, marveling at how little it is. It won't be long...

A Day Off...?

I had a day off work Wednesday, because one of the kiddos was home sick with a fever. It was one of those pesky fevers that would subside with Tylenol, but spike back up when it wore off. Despite feeling crummy, he was a trooper and put up with me pushing fluids on him all day long. We all have our vices. I happen to be a hydration freak. Bless his heart.

So, on my day "off," one might think I lounged on the sofa with the boy, watching movies and interesting shows on The Food Network, on say... ice cream. (Which we did, and now I'm craving ice cream.) Nope. Instead, I waged a full-force attack on the laundry piles haunting my sons' rooms. Then I marched boldly into the 9-year-olds' room, took a deep breath and opened the closet. To say this small space was a disaster is an insult to disasters everywhere. Catastrophic would be more the word. Clearly, they had about three times as many clothes in there than they wear on a daily basis. Where these clothes came from, I have no idea. It's like they were breeding in there. T-shirts, sweatpants, shorts,... ugh. Half of the stuff was partially stacked, the other half gasping for a last breath on the floor. The pregnancy "nesting" phase has kicked in, so I went to work. Picture the Looney Toons Tasmanian Devil cleaning a closet. In about an hour, I had most everything done, with separate piles on the floor for donating, eBay and passing down to their litlte brother. When all was said and done, I stepped back and texted my husband: "You won't BELIEVE how the boys' closet looks now!" I'm sure he'll agree it looks a ton better, but probably had to be there to fully experience the satisfaction and emotion I felt. How sad that a cleaning a closet fills me with such glee.

I did manage to sit down every now and then to rest, and give my legs a break. Just the day before, I discovered to my shock and dismay... varicose veins. In the past two pregnancies, I hadn't experienced even the slightest problem with them. Now, on the fast train to 40, apparently it's time. Waking up one morning and noticing a "bruise" on the back of my leg that looks like someone took to it with a lead pipe was a bit horrifying. The aching pain that has accompanied them is irritating at best. So, I brought basket after basket of laundry to fold and keep Jack company in the family room. We chatted. We watched a Harry Potter movie, and he was so inspired to pick up the last book in the series and begin reading. It was a dreary, rainy day ... and while I know I had a list of assignments to jump on at work ... I'd have rather been nowhere else.

So, yes -- my day "off" managed to morph into a day where I work myself silly at home. So much so, that at 8pm, after getting dinner around and cleaning the kitchen, I cozied up on the sofa with all the boys and found an interesting program on the science channel to watch. Whether it was a result of the day, or the fact that I wasn't charmed by the "rod phenomenon" (study of mysterious "rod shaped" objects caught on photo and tape for decades) I promptly fell asleep, waking at 9pm to get the boys off to their own beds. By that time, they had become enthralled with "Survivorman," and the fact that he fashioned the flame-blower from a hot air balloon into a defense weapon against predators on African plain. (Namely, lions.)

Now THAT'S a good day's work, as well!

Time Flies...

Where in the world has the time gone? My intentions of posting since the last one Oct. 1 have been there ... just kept getting sidetracked, distracted, etc. Go figure.

The two 9-year-olds started hockey recently, adding a practice to their weekly hockey time commitment. Another new element: early morning games. As in 7:45am on Saturday games. As in get-out-of-bed-and-be-in-the-moving-car-by-7am-to-be-at-the-rink-by-7:15-and-getting-dressed games. Good times. As we backed out of the driveway this past Saturday, one of the boys observed, "Hey, it's still dark out." My response? "Well, Sweetheart, get used to it, because you're doing this until the end of February, you know." Apparently my maternal sweetness doesn't kick in until 8am or until I've had my first full cup of coffee -- neither of which had happened at that point. At least I called him "Sweetheart."

In baby news, the little man (a.k.a., "Little Bubby" as his big brothers refer to him) has begun moving and kicking. The outward kicks are still barely detectable, but the shots to my tiny bladder are quite strong. More good times. I realized the other day that I will be 18 weeks along as of this Thursday. Wow. Another case of time passing quickly without really realizing it. Granted, not enough time has passed to completely forget the 6-8 weeks of nausea this little guy gave me... Still, though, it's strange to realize I'm almost halfway through this pregnancy. I met a friend at Starbuck's this past weekend, and as we chatted I noticed a couple come in with their small kids. The father was holding a baby boy, and suddenly it hit me. Oh, my... that's going to be ME in under six months! I just got used to being pregnant -- it somehow escaped my notice that the baby will actually come out at some point.

On a seasonal note, the boys and I hauled out the Halloween decorations the other night. There wasn't a lot in the two orange/black totes (conveniently color-coded for those of us who are organizationally challenged), but enough to give a little spooky spirit to the house. Sam (6) totally captured my heart that night. After dinner, I saw him lacing up his tennis shoes. "Where are you going?" I asked. He looked at me with those huge hazel eyes and looooooooong eyelashes and said very matter-of-factly, "Outside to decorate!" I had to remind him that decorating for Halloween wasn't like when we decorate for Christmas... when anything that doesn't run away from us gets either lights, a bow or a wreath attached to it. He looked a little disappointed for, maybe, five seconds; then he snapped the lid off a tote and began pulling out pumpkins and such. His big find was a headband with antennae topped off with little bats. He thought this was hilarious. So much so, he tried to get the dog to wear it yesterday. FYI, dogs don't necessarily enjoy wearing bat antennae headbands.

Today, we may (depending on the weather, now that fall seems to have returned) head out to an Amish farm to see what we can get -- corn stalks, Indian corn, gourds, mums, etc. I need/want to replace the dead mums on the front porch with something a bit more ... well, live. My first two attempts at owning mums failed because I neglected to water them. It wasn't blatant neglect; I just kept forgetting. I have promised myself that new mums will be dutifully watered and cared for. I know, I know... good luck with that. At least the group of six pumpkins sitting in the corner of the porch are still looking very much alive. I like a no-maintenance decoration.

Call me Grace(-ful)

You know how you sometimes forget small details of a situation until you are forced to either remember or relive them? I didn't see "Become awkward" on my list of things to do today, but realized it must be there when I was momentarily wedged between the door and the wall of a bathroom stall at work.

Good times.

I'll admit, my mid-section is growing. However, I didn't think it was THAT big. Maybe it was just the angle of the situation. Maybe I was simply in too much of a hurry and miscalculated the distance. Whatever the case, I'm sure the surprise and shock registered on my face when -- for just a second or two -- I couldn't budge. In fact, I wouldn't have been any more surprised to open the door and find Publisher's Clearinghouse standing in the ladies' room with balloons and a check for a million dollars made out to yours truly.

I quickly un-wedged myself from the stall and went about my hand-washing business, thankful there hadn't been anyone else around to witness my "proud" moment. That came later, when trying to get out of the car somewhat gracefully after returning from lunch. I believe an ostrich on Rollerblades would have been more graceful than I was. I think the problem lies in the fact that I'm driving a VW Jetta most of the time, and have to actually do some hoisting to get out. With my other two pregnancies, I drove a Jeep Cherokee and Ford Expedition. All I had to do was, basically, open the door, lean over and slide out.

I had forgotten how an ever-expanding belly can knock a person off balance or get in the way at times. I just hope from here on out I remember to at least try and look graceful as I lumber about.

Me first, me first!

It sounds disgustingly selfish -- "me first." Those who know me know my life is a whirlwind and it's rare that I just sit down for the sake of sitting down. My hectic lifestyle caught up with me last week, as I dealt with running a million miles an hour, battling a particularly intense episode of allergies (a new and exciting development as I approach middle age!), and... oh, yes... building a tiny human being. By Friday morning, my head hurt so much I could barely see straight. I took off from work a couple of hours early to try and fix the problem; later, I discovered it had probably been a "caffeine headache," as I hadn't had my daily allotted small soy latte. Saturday, I was up before the sun, to get our oldest to school (marching band competition) and then head downtown for our city's first mini-marathon. I wasn't running (despite a desperate longing to do so), but there to support a friend and her husband. He was running his first mini ever, and raising money for the American Cancer Society. (If anyone wants to see a truly inspirational story, visit www.indianasnewscenter.com and watch the segment titled "Man loses 100 lbs. to run...") Anyway, after cheering on runners for the better part of 90 minutes, I headed home, only to start experiencing noticeable Braxton-Hicks contractions. Nothing will make you sit up and take notice faster than an unexpected contraction when you know darn well you've been burning the candle at both ends. I rested, but still had a weekend full of places to go and things to do around the house. Late Sunday afternoon, after hoisting a full laundry basket upstairs for folding, I realized I had officially reached "overdone" status. I ordered myself to lay on the bed and do absolutely nothing for the rest of the evening except drink lots of water and watch TV.

I realized my standard operating procedure for everyday life had to change. As much as I'd like to think I'm able to handle anything thrown my, I have to admit I have different limits these days. I found myself so busy taking care of everyone and everything else, it apparently slipped my mind that there's a little one inside me who needs me more than anyone else right now. So, this morning, I let myself sleep in an extra hour. I enjoyed an actual breakfast (made by my wonderful husband) rather than grabbing a bagel from the fridge to eat at my desk. I got to work at 9 rather than 8, and the world didn't come to a screeching halt. Amazing.

Taking an extra 60 minutes out of a busy day to focus on myself is still an uneasy concept for me to wrap my arms around. But as disgustingly selfish as it sounds, it was worth every last precious second.