Goldfish emergencies occur whenever I am out of town or expecting my own health news. Really, I've tracked this phenomenon. Yesterday the goldfish in question was Mail Truck, a sturdy Comet and sole survivor of an unfortunate overfeeding incident that took the lives of his tank companions Garbage Truck and Truck two years ago. Mail Truck has been Danny's pet for over three years and, with the exception of the feeding catastrophe at the beginning of their relationship, the only remarkable event has been watching the fish grow too big for his tank. Until yesterday.
Danny's yell echoed down the hallway before school. "Mommmmmmmm, come here. It's Mail Truck!" Nothing makes me run faster than the naked pain in my children's voices. Reaching his room I saw the cause: Mail Truck was flopped in mid-tank, supporting himself on the filter shaft so as not to drift. He was alert, breathing but it didn't look good. Danny was in tears.
"Help him, Mom."
Oh, geez. Fish saving is one of those mom jobs I'm not really qualified to hold. Okay, though, I knew enough to perform a little first aid. I gathered the fish bucket, gravel cleaner, two gallons of tank-ready water, fresh filter and a few water conditioners and started working while explaining to Dan how fragile fish were. What we had going for us was Mail Truck's toughness and his spirit.
"Look at his eyes, Danny. See how he's looking around? He hasn't given up, and we can't either. Go to school and I'll do the best I can."
When I showed up to volunteer at computer lab the first thing he asked was, "How's Mail Truck?" I replied that he was still with us. Danny shared the news with his best friend who then told him we should bang the fish's head against a rock so he wouldn't suffer. Ugh. Danny had the presence of grace to tell his friend that Mail Truck wasn't ready yet, and we weren't giving up on him.
All afternoon Danny checked on the fish, pronouncing his chances at "10%" and then "5%" of surviving. All I could do was tell him to give it time, not give up, and know that if his pet was going to die we were giving him respect and a peaceful way to go.
About 8:30 that night, as he was changing into his pajamas, Danny yelled, "Mail Truck! Buddy! I knew you could do it!"
In he ran to tell me that Mail Truck was swimming "95%" normally and acting like himself. "He's going to make it, Mom. We were right to believe in him."
I believe in the power of little boys, a goldfish with a will to live, and acceptance. Sometimes everything does work out at the end of the day.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
They Don't Need to Know
Somewhere along the road of marriage, miscarriage, fragile pregnancies, too many pets and little babes with peculiar tastebuds I misplaced my meager culinary skills. Three years ago, when I veered off on the Cancer Detour, I abandoned all hope of recovering those skills or even acquiring new ones. Poor, hungry kidlets. Woeful, starving father of kidlets. And what about the recovering Cancer Mom, who tossed aside the AI-treatments in favor of nutrition and exercise? Coffee and laundry aren't on the "recurrence prevention" list.
With no room in the budget for a personal chef, dream though I may of such a luxury, I peruse my library of cookbooks. Considering I don't cook I have an amazing collection. The Sneaky Chef is one I've been meaning to study. Between appointments I sit in the van, check out possible recipes, list the ingredients and head into Trader Joe's. Knowing it will have to be a two-grocery-store trip (I so hate grocery shopping) I even purchase a $6.99 thermal bag at TJ's to keep the cold stuff cold. Run to Safeway, grab the rest of the items, and make it home in time to unload before picking up Round 1 of the kids. (Round 2 comes 20 minutes later.)
The first item I hoped would appeal to Danny who loves turkey tacos: a turkey meatloaf. The secret disguised ingredients, though, involve pureed veggies and beans, wheat germ, and a few other things Danny hasn't eaten in years. Did I mention that Danny doesn't eat vegetables? Well, surprisingly, he refused to touch it but dear Gracie, my flexitarian, did agree to taste it and loved it! A success! She needs protein and iron in her diet; this was an incredible triumph. Danny did eat green salad and bread.
The next day I made Peanut Butter Muffins that were really sneaky. While they suspected the meatloaf originated from the "sneaky" cookbook, the kids did not know the muffins came from the "sneaky" book, too, and that's why Danny tried them. That and the fact that I added milk chocolate chips to the mix. The muffins were made with whole wheat flour, wheat germ, pureed veggies (I used organic BABY FOOD: sweet potatoes, carrots, green beans, spinach!!!), organic peanut butter, brown sugar. Here's the kicker: Danny not only loved them, he ate three. Gracie had two. Joe tried the ones with strawberry preserves in the middle and liked them. Wow, I'm on to something here.
Food has become a power struggle for us, and an area of worry for me. Many days I just don't want to bother with eating, especially since the effort is often met with uninterested kids or whiney battles. But, I can't afford to abandon the act of nurturing my children or myself. What we eat matters, it really is life and death for our bodies and spirits. This may seem like a small thing and yet it could be the bridge that allows us to start having more variety in our diets, more complex food choices. Who knows, what starts out as sneaky may progress to a bowl of sweet potatoes or a bean salad or ...
With no room in the budget for a personal chef, dream though I may of such a luxury, I peruse my library of cookbooks. Considering I don't cook I have an amazing collection. The Sneaky Chef is one I've been meaning to study. Between appointments I sit in the van, check out possible recipes, list the ingredients and head into Trader Joe's. Knowing it will have to be a two-grocery-store trip (I so hate grocery shopping) I even purchase a $6.99 thermal bag at TJ's to keep the cold stuff cold. Run to Safeway, grab the rest of the items, and make it home in time to unload before picking up Round 1 of the kids. (Round 2 comes 20 minutes later.)
The first item I hoped would appeal to Danny who loves turkey tacos: a turkey meatloaf. The secret disguised ingredients, though, involve pureed veggies and beans, wheat germ, and a few other things Danny hasn't eaten in years. Did I mention that Danny doesn't eat vegetables? Well, surprisingly, he refused to touch it but dear Gracie, my flexitarian, did agree to taste it and loved it! A success! She needs protein and iron in her diet; this was an incredible triumph. Danny did eat green salad and bread.
The next day I made Peanut Butter Muffins that were really sneaky. While they suspected the meatloaf originated from the "sneaky" cookbook, the kids did not know the muffins came from the "sneaky" book, too, and that's why Danny tried them. That and the fact that I added milk chocolate chips to the mix. The muffins were made with whole wheat flour, wheat germ, pureed veggies (I used organic BABY FOOD: sweet potatoes, carrots, green beans, spinach!!!), organic peanut butter, brown sugar. Here's the kicker: Danny not only loved them, he ate three. Gracie had two. Joe tried the ones with strawberry preserves in the middle and liked them. Wow, I'm on to something here.
Food has become a power struggle for us, and an area of worry for me. Many days I just don't want to bother with eating, especially since the effort is often met with uninterested kids or whiney battles. But, I can't afford to abandon the act of nurturing my children or myself. What we eat matters, it really is life and death for our bodies and spirits. This may seem like a small thing and yet it could be the bridge that allows us to start having more variety in our diets, more complex food choices. Who knows, what starts out as sneaky may progress to a bowl of sweet potatoes or a bean salad or ...
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Things Break, Things Get Fixed, Other Things Break
St. Paddy sent the green folk for a visit this morning and the kids found the breakfast chairs turned willy nilly, the milk green and their shoes in the freezer. The leprechaun traps were empty, alas. To show they were good sports about this silly threat to their treasure the leprechauns did leave a bit of gold coin in the van's cup holders. Chocolate coin, for sure. Wee children need their chocolate.
This Irish lass has been out of sight for weeks now. That bit I wrote about things falling apart was true: my lungs were broken! Pneumonia the doc said, although I coughed my way up to Yosemite and back again with two children before learning of this diagnosis. Even the doc at first thought it was just bronchitis and a sinus infection gone horribly wrong. Slowly I'm regaining stamina and strength. The three-day-rule of my life following treatment still applies: three days of steady activity puts me out of commission, sometimes for a week. What a weenie. Who will hire an old lady who needs an occasional nap, or three?
The other after-cancer rule is that nothing is ever simple. A cough is never "just" a cough and pneumonia is never "just" pneumonia. There is always the shadow of metastatic disease lurking, and not just in my head. My primary care doc has me scheduled with a pulmonary specialist to make certain that all is well.
And yet, I am well. I do need more rest than your average princess but I wake up, still breathing, still willing to dance the dance. Now and then I'm reminded about the simple act of taking air in. As my dear friend Tom used to say, never take breathing for granted. Sometimes it's as simple as that.
Oh, and it seems to be the dryer's turn to need repair. Although I think the fact that the fridge is freezing whatever happens to land in the bottom produce drawer constitutes replacement we do need dry clothes... Maybe we could take bets on which appliance breaks down next? Is there money in that for us? (kidding!)
This Irish lass has been out of sight for weeks now. That bit I wrote about things falling apart was true: my lungs were broken! Pneumonia the doc said, although I coughed my way up to Yosemite and back again with two children before learning of this diagnosis. Even the doc at first thought it was just bronchitis and a sinus infection gone horribly wrong. Slowly I'm regaining stamina and strength. The three-day-rule of my life following treatment still applies: three days of steady activity puts me out of commission, sometimes for a week. What a weenie. Who will hire an old lady who needs an occasional nap, or three?
The other after-cancer rule is that nothing is ever simple. A cough is never "just" a cough and pneumonia is never "just" pneumonia. There is always the shadow of metastatic disease lurking, and not just in my head. My primary care doc has me scheduled with a pulmonary specialist to make certain that all is well.
And yet, I am well. I do need more rest than your average princess but I wake up, still breathing, still willing to dance the dance. Now and then I'm reminded about the simple act of taking air in. As my dear friend Tom used to say, never take breathing for granted. Sometimes it's as simple as that.
Oh, and it seems to be the dryer's turn to need repair. Although I think the fact that the fridge is freezing whatever happens to land in the bottom produce drawer constitutes replacement we do need dry clothes... Maybe we could take bets on which appliance breaks down next? Is there money in that for us? (kidding!)
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
In For Repairs
Every day, in my mind, I blog. If I had one of those whatchamathingies, you know, an all-in-one tool with the fruity name that would literally take over my life in a sick minute, I'd update PHC everyday. I take pride in my chunky little cell phone whose only mission in life is to place and receive phone calls. No photos. No music. No texting, GPSing, or GOOGLEing. Not that I don't secretly covet those sleek devices, because I do. There are moments when I've had to catch myself from comparing the Pearl to the NO STOP DON'T GO THERE HEDGIE! Not safe, you see, for women with obvious obsessive-compulsive tendencies. A little distance from instant information can be a very good thing.
The universe, or Universe, has been knocking on the door these past weeks. A message of some sort needs to be delivered. I must be unusually daft because the taps have turned to bangs. The theme seems to be along the lines of "something is broken and needs to be fixed" or "look out for that sinkhole, idiot!" What would you make of these events?
The decrepit dishwasher coughed through its last cycle. This awful machine came with the house 9 years ago and has two cycles: on and off, with a rotary knob. Young Son was alarmed to see me approach it with a screwdriver, certain I would harm it instead of repairing it. Well, in my disgusted opinion, there was nothing left to repair. Out of curiosity I looked up the model number to see how old it was and learned that not only was it at least 20 years old it had been recalled for a serious electrical fault years ago. We were entitled to a $25 rebate and 1 year extended warranty on purchase of another dishwasher (different brand, or course). Most interesting was the fact that even latching the door shut was enough to cause a fire. Yikes. If the machine hadn't had a little help in going over the edge (I'm not saying I had anything to do with it) we would have replaced the fridge first. Or decided to latch it closed while we researched our replacement options. At first, all I could think about was the high and unexpected cost of replacing the hated thing. Now, I'm grateful it broke.
Roscoe our Wild One went to Doggie Daycare for a win-win event: I get 8 hours of quiet and a somewhat tired dog at the end of the day, Roscoe gets to run, run, run with his buddies in a supervised setting. Well, one of the pooches got carried away in all the fun and hooked his nail on Roscoe's lower eye lid, ripping it open. The folks cleaned him up but didn't call; Joe brought him home at 7pm and I took one look before heading off to the Emergency Vet. Ka-ching. He's still a conehead, the total is up to $500, and I have my doubts that the sutures are doing anything other than causing both mutt and mistress great distress. The daycare, to its credit, was quick to offer reimbursement of vet bills. Poor Roscoe. What price "pain and puppy suffering" in dollars? Poor us. The scraped furniture from the cone, the scraped skin from the cone, the raw nerves from the whining (from the cone). Broken, all right.
In the category of Broken and Fixed we have Danny who at almost 7 suddenly developed a dislike of reading. At home we began to battle over what used to be a fun activity. In school he was staring at the wall during choral reading (this I learned after asking his teacher if she had noticed anything unusual). Back to the eye doctor and yes, he could benefit from reading glasses. Maybe. After much deliberation he picked out one of the most expensive pairs of frames, showing me he has better taste than we have insurance. We'll see how this works for 6 weeks. Perhaps this will be an easy fix.
My literal broken tooth? Still broken, of course, and its former home still trying to heal. An implant is not possible without several nasty surgeries and when the oral surgeon discourages a procedure you know it's a bad idea. Now we're heading to bridge territory. Bridges rely on stable, healthy teeth between the replacement tooth. No wobbly, painful teeth need apply. The dental jury is still out on my support candidates.
So many more broken and fixed elements in my life, some I can discuss, some I won't. A weird week or two for sure. Hope next week will bring gentle rain. Until then, I'm going to row my little boat to shore.
The universe, or Universe, has been knocking on the door these past weeks. A message of some sort needs to be delivered. I must be unusually daft because the taps have turned to bangs. The theme seems to be along the lines of "something is broken and needs to be fixed" or "look out for that sinkhole, idiot!" What would you make of these events?
The decrepit dishwasher coughed through its last cycle. This awful machine came with the house 9 years ago and has two cycles: on and off, with a rotary knob. Young Son was alarmed to see me approach it with a screwdriver, certain I would harm it instead of repairing it. Well, in my disgusted opinion, there was nothing left to repair. Out of curiosity I looked up the model number to see how old it was and learned that not only was it at least 20 years old it had been recalled for a serious electrical fault years ago. We were entitled to a $25 rebate and 1 year extended warranty on purchase of another dishwasher (different brand, or course). Most interesting was the fact that even latching the door shut was enough to cause a fire. Yikes. If the machine hadn't had a little help in going over the edge (I'm not saying I had anything to do with it) we would have replaced the fridge first. Or decided to latch it closed while we researched our replacement options. At first, all I could think about was the high and unexpected cost of replacing the hated thing. Now, I'm grateful it broke.
Roscoe our Wild One went to Doggie Daycare for a win-win event: I get 8 hours of quiet and a somewhat tired dog at the end of the day, Roscoe gets to run, run, run with his buddies in a supervised setting. Well, one of the pooches got carried away in all the fun and hooked his nail on Roscoe's lower eye lid, ripping it open. The folks cleaned him up but didn't call; Joe brought him home at 7pm and I took one look before heading off to the Emergency Vet. Ka-ching. He's still a conehead, the total is up to $500, and I have my doubts that the sutures are doing anything other than causing both mutt and mistress great distress. The daycare, to its credit, was quick to offer reimbursement of vet bills. Poor Roscoe. What price "pain and puppy suffering" in dollars? Poor us. The scraped furniture from the cone, the scraped skin from the cone, the raw nerves from the whining (from the cone). Broken, all right.
In the category of Broken and Fixed we have Danny who at almost 7 suddenly developed a dislike of reading. At home we began to battle over what used to be a fun activity. In school he was staring at the wall during choral reading (this I learned after asking his teacher if she had noticed anything unusual). Back to the eye doctor and yes, he could benefit from reading glasses. Maybe. After much deliberation he picked out one of the most expensive pairs of frames, showing me he has better taste than we have insurance. We'll see how this works for 6 weeks. Perhaps this will be an easy fix.
My literal broken tooth? Still broken, of course, and its former home still trying to heal. An implant is not possible without several nasty surgeries and when the oral surgeon discourages a procedure you know it's a bad idea. Now we're heading to bridge territory. Bridges rely on stable, healthy teeth between the replacement tooth. No wobbly, painful teeth need apply. The dental jury is still out on my support candidates.
So many more broken and fixed elements in my life, some I can discuss, some I won't. A weird week or two for sure. Hope next week will bring gentle rain. Until then, I'm going to row my little boat to shore.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Keeping in Touch
Whoosh. Where did the time go? Already it is January and I'm a month late with an update.
I'll spare the details on our hope for a "less is more" Christmas with the in-laws and say simply that the celebration we had within our family of four was warm and loving. Joe's mom was the missing ingredient to a wonderful holiday; she took a bad fall and spent close to two weeks in the hospital recovering. Nana is back at home and we are trying to provide as much care, in a variety of ways, as we can. There are full-time caregivers and the other family members are all doing their part. The rest will take time.
I am paddling as fast as I can and still unable to pull away from the dock. Really, hold that image for a moment. Now imagine the woman in the canoe, both hands gripping the paddle, a nagging pain growing in her head. Suddenly, CRACK! Poor woman. She manages to float to her dentist who confirms it: the tooth has fractured, there is no saving it. She's swept next door for an immediate extraction. Ahhh! Talk of implants and bridges, sutures and soft foods swirl around and all she really knows is that sometime, months and months from now, instead of the much-needed new fridge, dishwasher and driveway she will get a new tooth. Yes, a measly tooth. Such is my luck. Meanwhile, I'm ever so grateful for a decent dental insurance policy that will pay for half of the procedure, whatever it turns out to be.
Back on the home front, sweet Gracie announced tonight that she no longer wants to be a strict vegetarian. She really missed a few meat items and was it okay if she tried them again? She was delighted when I told her she could be a "flexitarian" like me. Danny heard her proclaim herself with this new label and came to me for clarification. Yes, Danny, there are flexitarians. Perhaps now we'll be able to cook some semblance of meals. And just when the "1,001 Low-Fat Vegetarian Recipes" book I checked out from the library is so overdue they're going to make us buy it.
Am finally hopeful that the latest combination of glove/sleeve might be a winner. We are going to try a Class I sleeve instead of the current Class II and it might reduce the hand swelling. It's only taken two years to get it right!
Looks like it is close to 3:00 am and I need to toss myself into bed. That's it for a long overdue post.
I'll spare the details on our hope for a "less is more" Christmas with the in-laws and say simply that the celebration we had within our family of four was warm and loving. Joe's mom was the missing ingredient to a wonderful holiday; she took a bad fall and spent close to two weeks in the hospital recovering. Nana is back at home and we are trying to provide as much care, in a variety of ways, as we can. There are full-time caregivers and the other family members are all doing their part. The rest will take time.
I am paddling as fast as I can and still unable to pull away from the dock. Really, hold that image for a moment. Now imagine the woman in the canoe, both hands gripping the paddle, a nagging pain growing in her head. Suddenly, CRACK! Poor woman. She manages to float to her dentist who confirms it: the tooth has fractured, there is no saving it. She's swept next door for an immediate extraction. Ahhh! Talk of implants and bridges, sutures and soft foods swirl around and all she really knows is that sometime, months and months from now, instead of the much-needed new fridge, dishwasher and driveway she will get a new tooth. Yes, a measly tooth. Such is my luck. Meanwhile, I'm ever so grateful for a decent dental insurance policy that will pay for half of the procedure, whatever it turns out to be.
Back on the home front, sweet Gracie announced tonight that she no longer wants to be a strict vegetarian. She really missed a few meat items and was it okay if she tried them again? She was delighted when I told her she could be a "flexitarian" like me. Danny heard her proclaim herself with this new label and came to me for clarification. Yes, Danny, there are flexitarians. Perhaps now we'll be able to cook some semblance of meals. And just when the "1,001 Low-Fat Vegetarian Recipes" book I checked out from the library is so overdue they're going to make us buy it.
Am finally hopeful that the latest combination of glove/sleeve might be a winner. We are going to try a Class I sleeve instead of the current Class II and it might reduce the hand swelling. It's only taken two years to get it right!
Looks like it is close to 3:00 am and I need to toss myself into bed. That's it for a long overdue post.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Mission Free
Okay, forget what I said about loving that mission project. After a few hours wielding a hot glue gun and tending to the emotional needs of a stressed out 9-year-old with a project deadline looming over her head I'm ready for some serious fun. Why did I stop drinking? That's right, too much fun. Good thing I saw the light at 26.
This week saw a 6-hour field trip to a nearby mission complete with foot-stomping-in-a-mud-pit to make adobe bricks (brrrrr!); several major tests; two class parties and a class trip to an ice rink; regular class assignments. AND THE DUE DATE OF THE MISSION REPORT! Pity the poor parents who have a few fingers in school activities, prepare for Christmas holidays and try to breathe at the same time. How many days left until Christmas, anyway?
Danny has been listening to a CD called "The Sleep Fairy" at bedtime. I just heard the opening words. "Hi, Sweetie, it's me, the Sleep Fairy." Someday years from now I'm gonna try the phrase on him and see if he konks out.
This week saw a 6-hour field trip to a nearby mission complete with foot-stomping-in-a-mud-pit to make adobe bricks (brrrrr!); several major tests; two class parties and a class trip to an ice rink; regular class assignments. AND THE DUE DATE OF THE MISSION REPORT! Pity the poor parents who have a few fingers in school activities, prepare for Christmas holidays and try to breathe at the same time. How many days left until Christmas, anyway?
Danny has been listening to a CD called "The Sleep Fairy" at bedtime. I just heard the opening words. "Hi, Sweetie, it's me, the Sleep Fairy." Someday years from now I'm gonna try the phrase on him and see if he konks out.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Nothing Wrong with my Brain
According to the MRI, there is nothing wrong with my brain. Wonderful news that is, isn't it?
After Christmas I will head on down the specialist trail to learn the cause of the headaches, cognitive goofiness, balance problems. Anyone dealt with thyroid issues after breast cancer treatment? An endocrinologist may hold the answer.
I'm giving myself the gift of No Worries for Christmas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go wrap your present. (Hint: I tend to give what I like receiving.)
Love,
Hedgie
After Christmas I will head on down the specialist trail to learn the cause of the headaches, cognitive goofiness, balance problems. Anyone dealt with thyroid issues after breast cancer treatment? An endocrinologist may hold the answer.
I'm giving myself the gift of No Worries for Christmas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go wrap your present. (Hint: I tend to give what I like receiving.)
Love,
Hedgie
Painting the Mission
In some weird moment of teaching wisdom it was decided that scheduling the Big Mission Project of Fourth Grade should occur the uber hectic week before Christmas break. We're on top of it, of course. The model is glued and awaiting paint and things; the almost-final draft has been typed and just needs a final check, the bibliography and TOC; cover page art is percolating in the 9-year-old girl's brain. Hey, it's only Wednesday morning. We have hours to go.
Last night I encouraged Gracie to go on to bed and let me give the foam model a little "wash" of adobe-colored paint. Maybe a test of trim color. Nothing too much, there'd be plenty for her to do. She agreed, perhaps a bit reluctantly. At last, this homework supervision aspect of parenthood is paying dividends. I kept my involvement to a primer coat of custom, creamy brick tempera with darker tan edging on the window and door trims to reflect aging. Added a chocolate brown running strip below the roofline. Will wait to consult with Grace on the roof color.
Umm, really, I held back. She gets off today at 12:30 and we'll work together then. The bells need to be affixed, nests built and swallows attached, cemetery fence painted, grass and trees landscaped, farm critters arranged...
Two hours, thirty minutes and counting. I will not go near the paint, glue or supplies. Need a hobby, need a hobby, need a hobby...
Last night I encouraged Gracie to go on to bed and let me give the foam model a little "wash" of adobe-colored paint. Maybe a test of trim color. Nothing too much, there'd be plenty for her to do. She agreed, perhaps a bit reluctantly. At last, this homework supervision aspect of parenthood is paying dividends. I kept my involvement to a primer coat of custom, creamy brick tempera with darker tan edging on the window and door trims to reflect aging. Added a chocolate brown running strip below the roofline. Will wait to consult with Grace on the roof color.
Umm, really, I held back. She gets off today at 12:30 and we'll work together then. The bells need to be affixed, nests built and swallows attached, cemetery fence painted, grass and trees landscaped, farm critters arranged...
Two hours, thirty minutes and counting. I will not go near the paint, glue or supplies. Need a hobby, need a hobby, need a hobby...
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