A Month of Mondays!

You’ve heard the phrase “a month of Sundays” which means that month has dragged on for a really, really long time, like 30 weeks, or a month of Sundays.  I think I’ve just survived a month of Mondays, which is the same thing, but you know that Mondays are the longest days of the week so I am making it Monday, just to be dramatic.

On September 3rd, my husband and I were in Florence, Italy.  We had been there a little less than 24 hours when I injured my knee so severely that it put an end to our vacation.

I have had what I refer to as “wonky” knee since I injured it playing tennis, 3 years ago in December. At the time, I would have bet money that I tore something, but the ER told me that if I improved over the next week, then I didn’t and if I didn’t improve, then I would need an MRI to determine what was torn.  I did improve. Almost to 100%, but not quite. I call it wonky because it never hurts, I just experience moments of instability – when it feels like a rubberband inside my knee.  It causes me to stop for a second, shake it off and then move on, but there is never pain.  There are certain things I just avoid — playing tennis for example — but for the most part I didn’t have limitations because of it. I did yoga, went to boot camps, hiked Kennesaw Mountain, stand up paddleboarding – pretty much anything. But also everyone who knows me, knows I have this problem knee because I do, to some tiny degree accomodate it.

The first day we were on our vacation, we walked over all over the historical center of Florence, we visited the Academia, the Uffizi and climbed to the top of the Duomo — that’s right, climbed up and down about 15 stories of  ancient stone steps.  I did invest in good shoes and I did take a brace with me for my knee because I knew we would be walking a lot, and I said to my husband as we walked back to our hotel that I was really glad I had the bought the shoes and brought the brace.  We were both tired and were going to rest prior to deciding on what to do for dinner.

I bet you’re thinking I tripped on the way back to the hotel? Jumped out of the way of car on a narrow street? Got picked off by a speeding scooter? Nope. I was in my hotel resting when I ended our 25th anniversary trip on day 1. It’s not a very good story is it?

I was sitting on my bed with my knees tucked under me — so that my bum was resting on my heels.  I scooted my bum off of my heels onto the mattress and blew out my knee. Seriously. We would later learn that this happened as a direct result of already having a torn ACL – something I did not know at the time.

I knew instantly that something was very wrong – different that my normal wonkiness.  John went to the pharmacy and bought crutches. He went to the hotel bar and got a bag of ice.  We elevated, we iced. I was determined to get up in the morning and power through.  In the morning  I knew I was in trouble. We contemplated seeing an Italian doctor. We contemplated going to the ER. I couldn’t straighten my leg, so even if I could have gotten a cortisone injection and a solid brace, I still wouldn’t have been able to walk. John was 100%  certain that I needed surgery. I, on the other hand, envisioned flying home to baby my knee which would miraculously be better by the following Monday when I would return to work and everything would be fine.  I couldnt’ live with this scenario. I wanted to stay. I cried. And cried. And cried. In the end we decided to change our flight and return home.

So, we traversed Florence, Paris and Atlanta with me in a wheelchair.  Thank God I could bend it or I don’t know how we would’ve gotten home. The wheelchair was an adventure — especially in Florence which is a small airport.  You board the plane from the tarmac, so my wheelchair got put a lift — similar to the ones that deliver the food and I was wheeled onto the plane that way.  At Charles DeGaulle, we felt abandoned and I began to panic that we might miss our fight to Atlanta, so John found a stroller that you can rent like a Smartcart.  Away we went with me in the stroller. It would have been hilarious if my heart had not been broken by the circumstance. I did meet a lot of Senior friends with my preferred boarding status, that was nice. I let their words of wisdom comfort me.

And I knew, it could be worse. I would much rather be flying home due to my injury rather than because my kids or my parents were injured here at home.  John kept reminding me that my knee could’ve deciced to go at the top of the Duomo, that definitely would have been worse.

We got home late on a Monday, went to the ER on Tuesday morning, the orthopedic Tuesday afternoon and then had to wait a week for an MRI.  The day after the MRI, however, things started to move very quickly.

My doctor called me the afternoon after my MRI to tell me that I had a significant “bucket handle” tear of my medial meniscus and that the only fix was surgical.  My follow up appointment was not supposed to be until the following Friday, but he was kind enough to squeeze me in the next day which was Friday, a full week sooner.  I was so greatful because I was now walking with just one crutch, but my knee had not been straightened since the injury. So, the next morning he gives me the good news: easy surgery, very little recovery. The bad news: there is a large part of of your meniscus being removed, you have some arthritis and your are 48. This knee is not going to be the same as it was before.  You are losing some of the cushioning your knee is designed to have. We will do the best we can. I am not thrilled with this, but I say ok, so I will have some pain in my knee going forward but what about the instability? This gives him pause.  He re-examines my knee.  He looks at the MRI. He says yes, it will fix the instability. He says this because my MRI reports says my ACL is in tact. He has a cancellation on Monday, his assistant decided she is going to try and get my insurance to approve the surgery today, so I can have the surgey on Monday.

I am trying to focus on the fact they can fix it quick and easy and not worry about the fact that it will never be the same. It is what it is. I go to work. I am there 5 minutes when my doctor calls me again. He explains that he was very concerned with my instability issue and after looking specifically at the ACL on my MRI he felt the need to call the radiologist and ask for a re-read. My ACL is completely torn and now we are talking about an entirely different surgery and recovery. Can I come back in? Well, yeah, I can come back in.

And yes, I did ask how a completely torn ACL could be missed. Here’s the professional answer. It is old.  Usually, because it is such a traumatic injury, there is bone bruising and evidence of trauma. I had none of that because it was a nearly three year old injury. Long story short is, I am in for a much longer recuperation period, with extensive and rigorous Phycial Therapy recovery.  The meniscus will more than likely still be snipped out, but there is now a chance that it can be repaired, but it is still unlikely.  The reason is because the meniscus gets no blood flow, therefore stitches and repairs don’t heal.  The ACL repair does cause increased blood flow to the area and therefore increases the chance of successful meniscal repair. He won’t know until he is there, a lot of other factors come into play.

Fast forward to the following Thursday, September 22nd. After 19 days of walking on a swollen, bent knee I have surgery. We decided on an allograft for my ACL reconstruction — that means it came from a cadaver. I get happy juice. I get a nerve block. I get wheeled to the OR and the next thing I know, I wake up with a “fixed” knee.  My husband instantly tells me, they repaired my meniscus. He says the doctor came out to tell him everything went well and he says remember how I said there was a 99.9% chance I couldn’t repair the meniscus? Well, I repaired it. He said that when he flipped the torn part back into place it just fit together so perfectly that he couldn’t cut it out. On the flip side, my ACL canal was incredibly small and he had to shave bone to get the graft to fit.

So, my long term prognosis is now much better.  The arthritis that showed on the MRI is almost certainly from walking around on the torn ACL for so long, so that’s good in that it is not a hereditary or early onset of the disease. But. Because of the meniscal repair, which required 6 stitches, it was nearly the entire circumference of my medial meniscus, I cannot put any weight on my left leg for 6 weeks. WHAAATTT???

So here I am one month from my injury with another month of not using my left leg left to go. It has been a looooooonnnnnnng month people. But, I am 12 days post op and I am finally feeling better – like I might actually recover.  I was not sure last week. I was shaken to my core. I was full of fear and feeling sorry for myself.

I have a fabulous Physical Therapist. She is truly a God send for me right now. I believe doing exactly what God put her on this earth to do. Today I get my 20 staples out — from “arthroscopic” surgery lol! I still will need my husband’s help to get in and out of the shower but I won’t have to wrap my leg in plastic! I think I will get my driving privileges back as well. I see a trip to Publix in my near future. This is very exciting.

My husband has been great throughout all of this, and my friends – my friends have provided us with meals nearly every day for 2 weeks, they have visited me just to cheer me up. I am so blessed. I have so much to be thankful and greatful for. But gosh, September has been a really long month and October is promising to be just as long. On the bright side, it is my favorite month.

 

Empty Nest, One Year Later

This “transition” period has been a doozy. I have had a lot of “transition” in my life, I usually do not skip a beat.  In fact, I consider myself to be pretty adaptable.

I think there are just so many factors that come into play in the empty nest transition. Your relationship with everyone and everything changes. Your spouse is the most obvious relationship.  I think for most of us mere mortals, we have been relating to each other more as parents and co-habitants than as lovers and individuals.  We have overlooked flaws in each other and serious deficits in our relationship because we had kids to focus on and keep us busy.  We all know, and expect, that we are going to be rambling around our now too large homes with each other.  This is going to be fantastic on many levels, but it is also, more than likely going to force us to deal with some things we may have had the luxury of avoiding because we have just been too busy previously.

Our relationship with our kids has to change. They are adults and boy does this get a little weird at times.  Weird for us, especially if we think back to ourselves at the same age.  Oh Dear God. But, aside from the great memories of crazy shenanigans of our youth, there are the worries that keep us awake at night, imaging the worst possible scenarios. I have spent many a night trying to drown out horrible thoughts with the simple prayer “Lord, please take these thoughts from my mind” – I mean seriously, why does our brain do that to us?

No one tells you that you are going to go through transitions with your friends as well. Friendships, more than likely, have also had children as the common thread, the glue that brought the friendship together, and kept it together.  It gave us so much in common: kids in the same class, at the same school, with the same PTSA, sports teams, etc.  Now, we don’t have these things in common and we are all going through the same crisis of life transition.  It can make for strained relationships among friends as well.

And the cherry on top, is that you really do realize your life is more than likely half over. You come to realize that all the things you always thought there would be time for, trips you wanted to take with your kids, things you wanted to teach them are not going to happen if it hasn’t happened already.  Dysfunctions in the family dynamic that you always thought would work themselves out never did. All the mistakes you made in parenting are there for keeps, part of the intricate woven tapestry that is your family…your life.

Despite those regrets, you look at what your kids are accomplishing and you think wow, they are so much better than I was at that age. We’ve must have done something right. You make peace with the regrets and parenting mistakes and then you wonder….what it is that I want my life to look like? Some people are really good at this, I am not. That is just an overwhelming question for me.  Like, seriously, I hope I never find a magic lamp because I would probably die still holding my lamp, never having been able to decide on 3 wishes. But then I remember, my life is, like everyone’s, is finite. The time for indecisive melancholy and “somedays” is now.

No life is perfect. No family is perfect. No relationship is perfect. But I truly believe that 99% of life is what we make it. We cannot give in to the late night horrible thoughts, we must train our minds like we train our bodies.  We must believe in ourselves like we believe in our children. Believe in ourselves like He believes in us.

I believe that you can’t truly appreciate light without having experienced darkness.  Success is not as sweet without having endured some failure.   I often wonder this about Southerners — can you really appreciate Spring and Summer? Not having experienced sub zero wind chill factors and not having seen the grass for months at a time? Maybe that’s just me. Maybe not everyone needs to experience all of the seasons to appreciate one of them.

I have made some decisions – I have put a ball in motion. I am not sure where exactly my ball and I are going, but I am really excited about the journey. I will divulge more about this soon, but I’m still cultivating my little seed. We are in the first trimester and I’m not ready to go public yet, but I definitely will, and soon.

One thing I can tell you, is I’m done with the mourning period of this “transition”, it’s time to celebrate all that is and be thankful for what has been. I have developed a patience lately that I can assure has been missing in my life — it is allowing my to have faith in what will unfold for the future without trying to plan and figure out every aspect of it.  It allows me to just put one foot in front of the other and enjoy the journey. Maybe that is the beginning of wisdom.

 

 

Wait, What Just Happened?

I’ve been very neglectful of this blog. The effects of working fulltime have finally caught up with me. Leaving the house every day at 7 and not getting home until 6, leaves very little leisure time. I keep myself cheered up with 1) my paycheck, and 2) the fact that this gig has an end date for me. It is two years away, but nevertheless, it is finite.

In defense of my neglect, I feel like a year’s worth of events have occurred between the beginning of May and now. On May 6^th, we travelled to Statesboro for Jenna’s graduation from Georgia Southern University. Following commencement, we loaded as much of her apartment as would fit into our SUV and headed home. On Monday, we moved Aubrey out of her dorm in Athens.  On Tuesday we packed Aubrey’s one suitcase for a 4 week study-abroad trip to Australia and New Zealand. On Wednesday we dropped her off at the airport and welcomed Jenna home with the rest of her belongings from Statesboro.  On Thursday we loaded up our car and Jenna’s and drove up to Erie, PA on Friday to move her into her new living space for her summer internship.  On Saturday, we explored Erie, took her to the grocery store, stopped to pee at my Dad’s my house in OH and drove to Cincinnati so that we could leave from there on Sunday.  On Sunday, May 15^th, we drove from Cincinnati to Kennesaw. We travelled more than 2000 miles, all by car, in this period of time.  We accomplished 3 moves, a major life event and a prepared for a 4 week trip to the other side of the world in one day. And I only took 1 day off work. Whew.

It seems as though, that pace of living that is still on-going. But I’m sure it’s going to slow day any time now right?

Aside from the physical demands of traveling and moving, we have been taxed emotionally as well. Aubrey experienced some incredibly hard challenges in the last month of her freshman year.  We know that God has a plan and that trials and tribulations are part of that plan, however, it is still stressful.  Suffice it to say my girl had A LOT on her and as any mother knows, when your child is suffering, you are as well.

Jenna had much to celebrate, but was also struggling with leaving her home of 4 years and all of her friends. This is hard and scary stuff.  Even with a great internship and the exiting adventure of moving to a new city, her heart was aching, and so, mine was too.

My husband is involved in an acquisition of a new company at work and he is now travelling weekly and working after he gets home. It’s been a long time since this has happened.

In this short period of time, my Mom has once again started chemotherapy. This time it is maintenance chemo and so this is the new normal and will continue for the rest of her life.  My Dad had a catheterization that resulted in a new stent being placed. A second stent, in a different place, for the same artery.  The artery was 90% blocked so thank Goodness both he and his cardiologist were proactive.

So, when I started this big girl, full time gig, I had no kids at home, my days were long and lonely. It took 8 months but I am now having to figure out how to manage huge family demands and work full time.  I am not at a point in life where I am willing to sacrifice enjoyment or self-care, so it is a true challenge. But I am doing it. And I am gaining confidence, perspective and perseverance in the process.

It is stange that even though I barely recognize my life, I am not worried.  I have been spending time in the Word everyday and I know that I am loved. And I know that I am blessed. And I know I needn’t worry. Worry is wasted.

Yesterday was the first day of summer so I am going to treat this new season as a new beginning. Good riddance spring! See you next year;)

Sometimes, Life is Too Hard

Last Wednesday, April 27th, by baby girl turned 19.  I called her at around 9:00 in the morning, thinking I would get voicemail because Wednesdays are her busiest days with back to back classes, literally all day.  I figured she would call when she had a minute in between classes, and I prayed she was having a great day, her first bithday away from home.

Much to my suprise, she picked up right away and I could hear the happiness and joy in her voice.  She had just become a Young Life leader and her Young Life friends had planned a suprise breakfast for her and had taken her to Chik Fil A. Everyone has a first birthday away from home and, truly, in the scheme of things, its not a big deal whether its eventful or not. But I can’t tell you how much joy I felt for these kids, who’s names I did not know and whom I’ve never met. It just made my day.

Fast forward to April 28th at approximately 1:00 a.m.  My husband and I are woken out of sleep by a call from Aubrey.  He answered the phone, but I could hear her, hysterical. I don’t have to tell any parent the fear and horror that went through my brain. The number of scenarios that played out in my head in a matter of 1.9 seconds were many, but I was able to reasonably process that I could hear her. That’s a good thing, even if she is hysterical. I can hear her. All of this played through my thoughts in literally 3 seconds before my husband was able to tell me she’s ok.  Which in parent code means, she’s not hurt and she’s not in trouble.  Ok, then. Except something was obviously very wrong, the magniture of which I could have never imagined.

I learned in the next few minutes that the friend who had planned the surprise birthday breakfast, who had made a happy birthday playlist just for Aubrey, was Agnes Kim. The only survivor of the horrific car crash that took the lives of four other UGA sudents Wednesday night.  I cannot express how much my heart has ached since that phone call.  Aubrey called back around 3:30 a.m. to update us with what little was known at that point.  When she originally called they had been on their way to the Young Life house to begin prayer, but had moved to the hospital and decided they were staying there to pray through the night.

The past few days have had me consumed with trying to gather information, trying to figure out what happened, to make some sense of this horrific tragedy. The truth is, we may never know. And that is hard. Almost too hard. And if it feels too hard for me, I cannot imagine how it feels to the families of Kayla, and Halle, and Christina and Brittany. Or for the driver of the other car, who is also a young lady – only 27 – who has chosen being an EMT as her vocation. When she is able to return to work after recovering from her injuries, will responding to a scene such as this one be too hard? Her life has been forever changed and I pray for her as I pray for Agnes and the friends and family of the students whose lives were lost.

As is so often the case in the face of tragedy, people have come together and displayed  the kind of  kindness and love that move people’s souls and changes people’s lives.  When I ask if there updates, she tells me that Agnes is still “resting” which she needs to do so her body can heal. There has been some  positive news on Agnes’ condition. But, as the newspapers have reported, it is an unknown waiting game from here.  She could wake up tomorrow, or months from now. And no one knows what that will bring, but it is not necessary to consider such things now. Right now it is only important to pray.

The world will never be the same as it was before this accident occurred.  The world lost 4 young women, all of whom had already positively impacted the world, and I am certain would have continued to do so. And Agnes. Today I pray for recovery from her injuries.  In time  my prayers will change because she will wake up to a nightmare that is going to be very hard to work through. Life will be hard. Too hard.

And so, I lay all of this at the feet of Jesus, because truly it is just too hard not too. The Bible tells me that God knows me before I am born, and  He knows the number of hairs on my head. There is a reference in Job 14:5 that alludes that he knows the number of days allotted to us. I have to believe that this is true.  That He knows the number of days we will grace this Earth. This comforts me because I realize we will not all live long lives and somehow, that is part of the plan.  I know that Halle, and Brittany and Kayla and Christina are in the Kingdom of Heaven and that it is only those left behind that feel anything less than joy.  Still, seeing young lives end and knowing the pain and agony that is left for the survivors is just too hard.

 

Life, Love and Legacy

I want to tell you a story about my Uncle Richard. He was my mom’s dad’s brother.  Half-brother technically, and my  great-uncle.  He never married and had no children.  He was the last of his siblings to pass away.  He lived  with one brother and two sisters for his entire adult life, until, eventually they each preceded him in death.

Aunt Rita (l) and Aunt Shirley (r)

My Uncle Robert (l) and Uncle Richard (r).

In order to paint the whole picture, I have to start with a woman I never met, my great-grandma, Elsie Siegel.  She married a man named William Lieber. William was killed in May of 1916 in WWI.  This would leave Elsie, with a son named William, Jr., and an unborn child, my Popo, who would be born in October of 1916 and named John. Elsie would eventually remarry a man named Albert Sherer and add 5 children to this blended family: Albert Jr., Richard, Robert, Rita and Shirley. William Jr. and Albert Jr. both died in early adult hood.  John would marry, but Richard, Robert, Rita and Shirley never did. The 4 of them would spend their adult lives with each other, which made them excellent aunts and uncles to me, an only child with nothing but time on her hands.  It was a perfect match.

You may conjure up a sad picture in your head, of these 4 adults who never married, but my aunts and uncles house was always a happy place for me.  I spent many, many Saturday nights in my youth with them.  Every holiday was spent at their house as well — from before I was born, until my Aunt Rita died in 2002. All four of them were blue collar workers, spending their lives working in a brush factory, a box factory, Joseph and Feiss, and Chevy.  My Uncle Richard would spend 30+ years at Chevrolet. A member of the UAW Local 1005 from August 11, 1952 until January 1, 1988. He made a wonderful living in the hay day of the automobile in the United States. He once told me a story of being recognized at Chevy for a safety record goal.  He received the week off with pay and a voucher for gas.  He went home and picked up my Aunt Rita and they took off on a week long road trip. It was a different era to be sure.  My Uncle was so loyal to Chevrolet, and in return he was provided with a stable job for his entire life and excellent pension for his retirement.

Aside from work, there were recreational pursuits.  My Uncle Richard golfed nearly every day that weather allowed.  This was not that many in Cleveland, OH, but I can assure it was his passion.  It would be the first word I would say if you asked me to describe him in one word.  My Aunt Shirley was an excellent bowler and my Aunt Rita was not bad either.  My Uncle Robert was an unusual man, as I guess all artists are.  He had a very high voice, which opened him up to much ridicule in his life.  He was a creative soul. He was constantly building, painting and creating something.  He took pictures and put them in scrapbooks.  He scrapbooked decades before it became the pursuit of suburban women everywhere. I recently came into possesion of a scrapbook that Uncle Robert put together holding all of my Popo’s letters home during WWII.  What a treasure. When I was very little, my Uncle Robert would hide pennies for me and I would have to find them.  This filled hours upon hours of my young life.  I can remember getting in a box and making him pretend to be the garbage man, which would entail picking me up and depositing me at various places around the house.  He would then of course have to pick up the garbage and take it somewhere else.  We could probably analyze this garbage thing, but I can assure it was my imagination that spurred this game and My Uncle Robert’s aching back that was happy when I eventually grew out of that phase.

It seems that Shirley was a bit of rebel, which certainly endears her to my heart.  She rode bikes, bowled, fished and was never worried about being photographed with a beer in her hand.  She was the first of the siblings to pass in my lifetime, in 1982.

Rita was a “big girl,” not only in stature, but in presence.  She had red hair, I never saw her without lipstick and she had a costume jewelry collection to be envied by anyone with two X chromosomes.  She was the cook in the family and the caretaker.  I can remember her ironing my Uncles handkerchiefs in the middle of summer — long before air conditioning was a common thing.  She did all of the laundry, which I might add was done in a laundry mat and carried up to the second floor — remember they rented spaced above a butcher shop.

People say that my aunts and uncles, all people born to this generation, were the greatest generation that ever lived.  I don’t take this to mean that they were perfect, altruistic human beings without fault.  Definitely not.  But, in looking back on my own family experience, I think there are a great many reasons to call this generation the greatest.  Never once did I hear any of them complain about having survived the Great Depression.  The opposite is true, they were grateful, because everyone of them knew people who didn’t.  Never once did I hear them ask why me in regards to the death of a father one of them would never meet, or the death of an older brother who was the only other child to said father, or to the death of another brother years later.  The four of them lived in a 5 room, 1 bath apartment above butcher shop and they never complained about not having enough.  In fact, I always thought My Uncle Richard was my rich uncle.  They were happy to host every holiday and always had enough food, love and room for more. This Christmas tree is the Christmas tree that greeted me every Christmas day of my youth.

They were a blended family that people today might think was unusual for the time, but in fact, with many husbands and fathers having lost their lives in WWI, it was not that uncommon at all. One woman, two husbands and 7 children.  Three family histories, the Liebers, the Sherers, and the Siegels, combined to make one that eventually resulted in me. And then my children. And perhaps someday theirs.

I think of all of them often.  What makes their lives remarkable and worth telling you about is that they were happy people for the most part.  And life is not about having material possessions or competing with your neighbors or co-workers.  Life is about being happy with what God blesses you with and making a difference in someone else’s life.  Not about judging other’s and worrying about what they are up to and how you might feel about it. Not about thinking about what life would have been like if this, or if that.  It was about being the best you could be and doing the best job you could with what you are given.  Ambition and determination have their place of course, but never did I see these come before treating others with common decency, respect and kindness.

This story is about four siblings who made a life together in the most uncommon of ways.  Nevertheless, they left a legacy in me.  In my next story, I will tell you about the one that married, my Popo John and his wife Ruth.

Aunt Rita (l) and Aunt Shirley (r)

Elsie in the middle, with my Grandma Ruth and my Aunt Rita.

My Uncle Richard practicing his golf swing in his back yard.

My Uncle Robert

My Aunt Shirley is the first lady seated on the left.

 

 

I’m Married to Mr. Right. For Real.

I think it is safe to say that every parent has a fear of laying their heads down to sleep and having the phone ring in the middle of the night. This is probably a human fear actually, not just parental, but if you have young adult children who live somewhere other than under your roof, this is the stuff that you pray daily to be spared from.

The other night, John and I were just dozing off into sleep when his phone rang. Because we are lying in bed, in a quiet house, I can hear that it is Aubrey and I can hear that she’s calling because she just came out of the UGA basketball and game her car won’t start.  It is approximately 11:30 p.m.  This is where all of my friends who bought their  kids brand new cars feel justified in their decisions.  Brand new cars don’t break down and leave your children stranded.

At 11:30 at night, our only real concern is that Aubrey is alone in her car that it won’t start. She is in a campus parking deck and there are plenty of people around because the basketball game just let out, but in 20 minutes it will be closer to midnight and there won’t be anyone around.  The friends she attended the game with, live close enough to have walked to the game and she drove herself.  So, we decide there is nothing to be done about the car tonight.  The only matter at hand is to get yourself back to your dorm and to not do it alone.  We tell her to call a friend for a ride and then call us as soon as she is safely back in her dorm. Luckily, her Big came and got her so no worries, she is in her bed by midnight.  Aubrey tells us she can’t return to her car until after her last class at 3:00, which gives us time, in the light of day, to rationally come up with some sort of plan.

So the kid is safe and sound and now Mom and Dad get to lay awake and wonder what is wrong, how much it is going cost, if her car is going to get towed out of the parking deck before morning, because it the deck is restricted during the day, should we go to Athens in the morning or should we go to work…you get the idea. In addition to all of the things running through our heads, my husband starts thinking out loud.  His schedule is booked solid for tomorrow. He may not be able to go until Friday. WHAT??? Now I’m just aggravated.  First of all, you can just call a tow truck and have it towed to a garage – you know like normal people.  Second of all,  if I need to be in Athens tomorrow, nothing is going to keep me from my baby girl if she needs me.  But my darling is husband is going to solve this issue from Kennesaw…. riiiiggghhhttt…..

Now, you’d have to know my husband to know that I am going to eat those thoughts. The next morning I research auto repair places in Athens. I search through online customer reviews and I come up with what appears to be the best option – I even have the guy’s name.  I feel like I know him.  John texts me and says that the plan is that she will get to her car this afternoon, after classes, call Roadside Assistance through our insurance and they will bring gas and if that doesn’t work will tow it to the garage.  I give him my research information and we have a plan.  But seriously? Why do you think she ran out of gas? She drove to her destination, turned her car off and it wouldn’t start when she came out.  I have to ask him. My husband is incredibly smart – too smart for his own good most days – so I know if he thinks this, there is a well thought out and researched reason.  Still I am flabbergasted.  I’m thinking he is just delusional, how would he even come up with this, other than just wishful thinking.  So, I ask him, why do you think she ran out of gas? Here is his text to me:

She had gone to Waleska and back this past weekend. He looked at her credit card transactions, figured out the last time she purchased gas, determined the mileage between Kennesaw and Waleska and came up with this.  I want to just argue with him because, living day in and day out with this kind of brain is exhausting.  Just once I would like him to not be right about something that he shouldn’t know anything about.  I don’t have to be right, I just want him to be wrong!

However, after 25 years, I know how this is going to go down. I internally admit he is, as usual, probably right.

Now, I should explain at this point that my daughter’s car is a 2002 Jeep Wrangler. The gas gauge was faulty when we bought it.  Aubrey spent the first few months of owning her car, determining her need for gas by watching her mileage.  At some point, Aubrey’s gas gauge started working and has worked for perfectly, for a couple of years now.  So, when her gauge told her she had a ¼ of a tank, it never occurred to her that it was malfunctioning again.

John responds by saying it is either she’s out of gas or it is the fuel pump which would cost around $800 to fix. Uh oh.  If he’s got a plan B, there is an equal chance for either scenario.  Great.  Here is where all my friends who bought their kids brand new cars again have justification.  Warranties are awesome aren’t they?  Here is my text back:

Fast forward to 5:00 in the afternoon. We have a tow truck driver who puts in a ½ gallon of gas and her car starts right up! He follows her to the gas station and even fills up her tank for her. He calls my husband to let him know that she is good to go and explains that when he got to the parking deck and saw her car parked on slight upward incline, he knew almost immediately that she was probably out of gas.  He goes on to explain he has 2 kids currently attending UGA and he gave Aubrey his card with his cell phone number on it and that she ever gets stranded again, she can just give him a call.

I am so thankful for the cheap fix. I am so thankful for the awesome tow truck driver, who went above and beyond to help my girl out and reassure us.  But damnit y’all! My husband figured out she ran out of gas from 2 hours away.  That is so annoying!

John also asked Aubrey if she had any cash on her. Miraculously she had a $20 (I am quite certain it is the exact one that I gave her this weekend when I saw her in Waleska).  John tells her to give it to the tow truck driver for a tip.  And that is one (of the many) reasons I love that man to the moon and back.

 

 

Let’s Face It, Super Bowl “50” Sucked!

Let me just forewarn, you I’m going to cuss in this post.  I have not lost my love of the Lord and I am keenly aware that is Ash Wednesday, but the last time I checked the Bible didn’t tell me I couldn’t cuss. And I’m fired up, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’m not a huge NFL fan.  I grew up in Cleveland, I guess that explains it. Going into this game, I didn’t have a huge preference.  I liked Carolina because of Michael Oher – The Blindside is one of my favorite movies of all time.  I also couldn’t really root against Peyton Manning, I mean, what a way to go out.

As the days have passed following the game, however, it seems we cannot stop talking about Cam Newton and I am sick to death of it.  But that’s not the only thing that made this Super Bowl a memory I’d like to soon forget, there are a few more things:

First of all, I don’t like that they didn’t use Roman numerals. Yes, just an “L” might have looked stupid, but I think they should have stuck with tradition.  But instead, it was a sell out of tradition for aesthetics.  I might be a little dramatic here, but this is exactly what is wrong with society.  It’s all about appearances.

http://espn.go.com/nfl/story/_/id/11031941/nfl-take-one-year-hiatus-roman-numerals-super-bowl-50

Second of all, the post game arguing over Cam Newton is wearing me out. People who defend him are defending poor sportsmanship and bad behavior. He is 26. Stop acting like he’s too young to behave any better. He is a grown ass man. Act like one.

Let me be clear, I don’t hate Cam Newton.  I just don’t have any respect for him.  There is a difference. His follow up press conference, you know, the second one, where he could have taken responsibility for his behavior, sealed that deal for me.  Sportsmanship is the holy grail of being an athlete. If you don’t have good sportsmanship, then you don’t have the heart of an athlete.  I don’t care how talented you are, without it you’re just an amateur.  Cam says in his follow up press conference, “show me a good loser and I’ll  show you a loser.”  Umm…Cam…I don’t how to break it to you, but you are the loser of Super Bowl 50, regardless of  whether you are good at losing or not. You can either behave like a class act or an asshole.  You chose the later and apparently are proud of it.  Go you.

http://www.hitc.com/en-gb/2016/02/10/cam-newton-show-me-a-good-loser-and-ill-show-you-a-loser/

And last, but not least, there was the half-time show. The super bowl should not be a stage for anti-American, race baiting hatred. I never did think Beyoncé had any talent other shaking her fat ass, now I’m convinced of it.

Here’s Why America’s Sheriffs Turned Their Back During Beyoncé’s Performance

So, there you have it.  I’m really glad I got that off my chest. I’ll quit my bitching now.  I did miss yoga last Sunday.  You know why? Because of the f*cking Super Bowl!

 

Happy New Year!

Happy 2016! I hope everyone rang in the New Year with people they loved. We did and both of our girls were safe and had a great time with their friends.  Only fitting for 18 and 21 year olds.

I don’t have any resolutions this year.  I do have a vision of how I want my life to look and so I guess moving towards that vision is my resolution.  But honestly, I don’t have a deadline and the vision is subject to change.

It is the darndest thing, this phase of one’s life.  I mean, I know I am of certain age and that more than likely my life is at least half over, but I also feel young at heart and free of the grown up responsibilities that come with raising children, which also makes me feel young. So I fluctuate between feeling like I can’t put things I want to do off any longer and feeling absolutely no pressure to get things done! All of the things on my list are pursuits of happiness, passion and joy.  Like learn to play the cello and travel more. Paint furniture, shop for antiques and decorate my home. I’m going to take a formal class on wine so I have an excuse to drink more of it!

Even working full time, life is somehow simpler.  And simple is a hard thing to accomplish.  For me anyway. From a very practical standpoint, some things I would like to work on in 2016 are:

• Creating a capsule wardrobe – have you heard of this? I’m obsessed with the idea but completely overwhelmed at the idea
• See someplace I have never been before
• I want to be fit on the inside, with a healthy heart and good bones. Wow. My age is really showing in that statement!
• Learn something new. My Grandma always says you learn something new every day. I sure hope so.
• Make a difference in someone’s life.
• I am always striving to deepen my relationship with God, so that is always on the agenda.

It is kind of wonderful to not have a written in stone list of must do’s.  It allows me to wake up and greet each day with a sense of adventure. My goals are all centered around feeling and experiencing things that make my heart happy.

Here is to health and happiness in 2016! God bless

Are You Happy With Your Boiled Eggs?

I have been on a mission lately to figure out the best way to boil eggs.  I had used a boil method that I discovered years ago on the National Egg Council’s website.  http://www.incredibleegg.org/cooking-school/egg-cookery/hard-boil-eggs/

I have been doing this for years and the problem is, sometimes they were perfect and other times the shells were stuck and nearly impossible to peel. I discovered, in my research, that fresh eggs are harder to peel than older eggs, so that might explain the inconsistent results despite using the same method.

A few months ago, I began to see Pins discussing the best way to boil eggs.  I decided to do a little field testing.

The first method I tried was steaming.  Here is a link to the Pin:  https://www.pinterest.com/pin/86412886576775480/.  This method works.  The shells did not stick.

Nevertheless, there were other Pins and I wanted to compare.  The next one I tried was to bake them in the oven:  https://www.pinterest.com/pin/195273333820347629/.  I did not have good results with this method at all.  The results were inconsistent with the eggs in the middle muffin tins being less done and all of them being more done on the part of the egg touching the muffin tin.

I tried boiling them with salt in the water, which also worked.  No shell sticking, but I had one more method to test and it was adding baking soda to the water while boiling. This is my favorite method.  The shells almost peeled themselves. Seriously.  Here is the link to that Pin: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/99431104251205167/

I did not take pictures, but there is a food blogger from Mother Nature Network who did. (http://www.mnn.com/food/healthy-eating/blogs/use-baking-soda-for-easy-to-peel-hard-boiled-eggs).

The other reason the baking soda method wins my heart is because it is the simplest, with the fewest amount of steps. You add the eggs after boiling, boil for 15 minutes and move the pan directly to your sink and run cold water over them until the water is cool.  Let them rest for a couple of minutes and put them in the fridge.  No boiling, covering with a lid and waiting an additional number of minutes. No steamer basket. One pan, one period of time. This is key for me because for some reason I avoid using a timer at all costs and I have no idea why.

I hope you give this baking soda method a try, I was so impressed with the results I had to write a blog post about it!

 

 

Let Me Tell You a Story About a Dog Named Snickers

My name is Snickers. I like long walks where I can drag you behind me like a ragdoll. I am particularly passionate about little white fluffy dogs. My favorite foods are pizza crust, watermelon rind, strawberries hulls, apple and pear cores and corn on the cobb.  I pee on everything and can’t understand why this is frowned upon. I am generally cooperative and awesome, but I am a tiny bit part hound dog, and well sometimes I just do whatever I want because I can’t help myself. Once I sharted in my mom’s car. I get away with murder because this is my face:

We adopted my one only dog straight out the Cobb County Shelter. Usually the kids express a desire for a dog, one parent is on board, and the other needs a little persuasion.

In our case, it may have been me that planted the dog seed in the kids minds.  My husband travelled ALOT. I felt a nice big dog was better than any alarm system and so that was the deal, no little dogs, I wanted a big bark. Plus, if you have a dog, you know they go on alert long before some gets to your window or your door.

We just didn’t have a connection in the puppy room, even though my kids really wanted a puppy and would have taken any of them, the truth is I had executed a scouting mission the day before, by myself. I had made eye contact with a scrappy looking retriever mutt, who technically was definitely a puppy, but at approximately 5 months was too big for the puppy cages.  He was still there and he still had that face. My family blames the entire decision on me but the truth is they couldn’t leave him there once they made eye contact with him either.

We brought him into the visitation room, which was a room with cinder block walls, a cement floor and some folding chairs. Snickers was a little skittish and shedding in gobs. Jenna and I have allergies. Serous allergies. The shelter guy assured us the shedding was stress related, that he was in the equivalent of doggy prison. With love and good brushing he would not shed nearly as much as he was now.

The very first thing Snickers did was go to the middle of our circle of folding chairs and take a huge poop. I don’t recall the exact things that happened next, but he ended up in the back of our SUV on the way to his new home with us.

Yes, that’s how we picked him. I can’t explain. All I can say is look at that face.
We thought Snickers was a Retreiver/German Shepherd mix and still do, but somewhere in there is a hound dog. Snickers howls like a champ. This amazes and delights everyone who witnesses it. It also explains a lot about his personality. Elvis had it right.

We took Snickers to puppy training. Twice. The second time, the trainer said “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we sell choke collars on Aisle 3, I think you should get one.”

Snickers is very gentle and sweet. Until you put him on a leash, and then he will drag you around like a stuffed teddy bear behind a toddler. Not because he doesn’t know how to obey. He does. But when it comes to smelling things and chasing squirrels, or birds, or a bunny, or a leaf, the human attached to his leash is going to lose. The choke collar did not help at all. In fact, I think he liked it. We determined he was masochistic and no one had even heard of Christian Grey yet.

It was memorial day weekend when we brought him home. The thing I remember most is that he chewed everyone’s flip flops that summer. I replaced flip flops for the whole neighborhood. Luckily Old Navy flip flops in every color was the trend, so at least I got away cheap.

We had a cat named Climber when we brought Snickers home. Climber, who was the best cat ever, was not amused with this new member of the family. Not at all. I recall Climber, in a panic, slamming into the wall behind the couch like he could somehow make an exit by going through it, but instead it appeared he flattened on impact and slid behind the couch. They eventually became best pals.  Climber passed on a few years back.

That first year we discovered that Snickers was abused before he made his way to the shelter and eventually our home. My husband would come home from work, and as he was walking up the stairs, he would take his belt off. This action, removing his belt, caused Snickers to cower and run away.

I envisioned being a dog owner to include a few things. We have a big, wooded, fenced lot that I pictured him romping through, chasing squirrels and whatnot. I owned a Durango at the time and I fantasized about taking him everywhere with me. You know, a girl, her truck and her dog. I thought we would take walks, hike up Kennesaw Mountain and other lovely places.

He doesn’t like to be outside that much. Even when we are out there with him. He does like going for a ride in the car. He loves to hang his head out the window and leave dog slobber that sticks to my car like superglue. It also drips down the inside in buckets, all over the door and seat. You already know how walking works out, but against better judgment we do still take him to Kennesaw Mountain.

Ten years later, he is ingrained as a part of this family in such a way that we can’t picture life without him.  He has provided us with some of our best family memories.  Once, at the local dogpark, he marked a human.  Walked right up and peed on some poor guy’s leg. He has stolen a raw Costco steak off the counter in the kitchen without leaving any kind of trace. Nothing.  He has eaten a pin cushion, with pins in it.  We tried to take him to a pet store once, so he could pick out his own treats and toys, but he peed on every end cap and aisle display.  It was a disaster.  We took him to Hilton Head with us once, in the off season.  He kept running into the beach bramble stuff, which put burrs between his paws and made him bleed.  We would pull them out and he would run back and in.  My retriever was not the least bit interested in the water.  We left him at the house we rented for a few hours and came home to find he had chewed the wooden blinds.  Totally unexpected.  He has never chewed anything other than flip flops at home.  Luckily the owners were beyond gracious and actually sent the balance of our security deposit after the repairs.  I was moritified and told her to keep it for her troubles.  I sent her a picture of Snickers face and she told us she would love to have us back anytime.

Ten years later, he is slower.  He is mellower.  It is a little easier to walk him now. He drools all over my hardwood floors.  He farts.  He snores, loudly. His breath smells so bad it induces the gag reflex and he smells like dirty socks in general.  He licks everything.  I appreciate this when I drop something on the floor but I want to kill him when the sound of licking wakes up at 2 a.m.

Our current cat Luna, and Snickers co-exist peacefully.  Luna also came from the Cobb County animal shelter.  She tricked me by giving me the warm fuzzy feeling when I picked her up.  She is the exact type of cat that gives cats a bad name.  She is unlovable and aloof.  She kills things regularly.  She loves Snickers and Snickers pretends she doesn’t exist, which I believe is karma perfection. Here is Luna:

I don’t think he ever got over Climber. There is a cat in the neighborhood that is mean to Luna and Snickers goes absolutely nuts and chases the cat out of our yard when he sees it.  So, deep down inside, I know he loves her.  Plus, look at what a gentleman Snickers is:

Despite all of his bad habits and transgressions, Snickers, has become a part of our soul. As all family members do I guess.  Animals, in particular though, teach us true unconditional love.  They teach us that sometimes listening is more important than speaking.  That indeed silence is golden. The sound of breathing and snoring can be comforting. Snuggling, petting and praise are necessary elements of life.

Now that Jenna and Aubrey don’t live with us, Snickers has become more a responsibility.  When there are 4 of you, someone is always coming or going, ensuring that the dog is not alone for extended periods and gets fed and let out.  In the past few years, one of the girls has been home in the summer to dog sit Snickers if the rest of us needed to go out of town. I worried when I took a full time job that Snickers would be alone too long all day.  I couldn’t picture telling people I was a stay at home mom to him either, so I took the job.  So far, so good.  We have the perfect neighbors who we can almost always call in  a pinch to go let Snickers out in an emergency.  Having great neighbors is almost as much of a blessing as having a dog be part of your life.

 

So here is to Snickers and family pets everywhere.  They change us for the better, even though, at times we consider taking them on a long ride in the country and dropping them off.  It’s true, don’t pretend you’ve never thought about it. But at the end of the day, no one loves you more than you dog.  Even if you are lucky enough to have family members who’s love compares, family members judge. They bring up your past transgressions.  Point out your shortcomings.  Dogs never do that. I won’t say I aspire to be the person my dog thinks I am, because let’s face it, he has seen my absolute worst.  But I can say no one loves me as unconditionally as my Snickers.  So fart, drool, smell and lick away because, basically, the feeling is mutual.