I haven’t posted in awhile, haven’t had much to say since the election that Trump won. Here’s one of the few songs that can give me hope, and it’s terrifyingly accurate for today’s news reports.
In these demon days, it’s so cold inside
You don’t get nobody, people sigh
It’s so bad, lasting far, but love yourself
Hiding in a hole in there
All the glasses are too big
Bring it back, got to hold it back
To let you do that yet you don’t want me back
Before it fall down, falling down falling down
Falling out to go far from the sun
In these demon days it’s so cold inside
So hard for a good soul to survive
You can’t even trust the air you breathe
Cause Mother Earth wants us all to leave
When lies become reality
You numb yourself with drugs and TV
Pick yourself up it’s a brand new day
So turn yourself round
Don’t burn yourself, turn yourself
Turn yourself around into the sun!
In these demon days it’s so cold inside
So hard for a good soul to survive
You can’t even trust the air you breathe
Cause Mother Earth wants us all to leave
When lies become reality
You numb yourself with drugs and TV
Pick yourself up it’s a brand new day
So turn yourself round
Don’t burn yourself, turn yourself
Turn yourself around into the sun!
I almost texted PG with good news on Thursday night, swept up in excitement at choosing our next family home.
Then I realized he’d never read it. No matter how many distractions there are, it still hurts so much and just doesn’t seem real that he’s gone.
I would need PG’s gift of words to express how deeply Chooch and I miss him, especially as we start this new adventure of a life in New Mexico. In our favorites, we strategized about where to put our gaming lair and felt a stab knowing he’d never join us in it. At least, not in this dimension.
P.G. Holyfield wrote it and he was my friend.
Give it as a gift to someone that enjoys a good fantasy mystery. I can still picture the river of magic he describes.
Or donate a copy to your local library.
Or treat yourself and enjoy his rich world just for yourself.
There was supposed to be a vow renewal ceremony with our full family and closest friends. Then the guy that we long planned to officiate moved on to greater adventures, beyond this world.
Still, I really wish you were here, P.G. I know any words you’d haven given us would have been perfectly grumpy. And perfectly wonderful.
We figure he’d approve of our revised plan – saving vow renewal ceremony/reception money to spend instead on a spontaneous, bonding-heavy, anything goes vacation with our kids and family. We did that a few weeks ago, and I lost yet another wedding bond.
I have been using cheap fake wedding rings for years, since I lost my engagement ring. Big, chunky and silly, but very clearly representative of being married. The real deal is locked up. Fibromyalgia “fog” and medications to fight pain make my memory horrible. No matter how crucial the memory, I have no power over whether I retain it or not. It’s truly crushing sometimes.
So FINALLY, before this big hop from the Blue Ridge Mountains to the Sandia Mountains, we’ve ensured that I can’t lose my wedding ring again. The original will stay locked up and safe for the duration of the move. It’s perfect.
The design we settled on is a “rupee” (gem) found in the Nintendo game, Legend of Zelda. It’s outline-only, in dark purple. (Purple is my favorite color, and my skin grabs it nicely.) Plus, dodging black for now gives me more options later.
No, Chooch did not get one because he’s our financial provider and who knows when employers that can’t see beyond the exterior may come in to play?
But he designed it along with me, just like our original wedding rings. #DayJobSecurityFTW#FamilyLife#FamilyLove
Now, because it’s a finger tattoo, it will blur and muddy over time more than other tattoos, as is often reported. Since that news, it’s taken us years to decide on the design, deciding to embrace that imperfections inherent, rather than abandon it something we love.
With this in mind, wanting more than just the rupee itself, there are little dots and bigger dots making up a disconnected “band” below the stone.
Happily, over the years together, we’ll get to watch as the natural process of aging blurs the series of dots into a strong, solid yet imperfect band. The longer we live, the stronger our bond and our band, as has happened all this time. #ArmouringUp#EndingThisEra #StartingANewOne #Finally
EDITED with proper linkage. This is why I don’t get paid, folks. *deep curtsy*
My current earworm, hide the ad pop up for the lyrics, or scroll down and read them. (I know I share a lot of Metric songs, but I made sure, none have repeated. I don’t think 😉
And I’m speechless to say that my life is a damned embarrassment of riches, some days.
It’s so very humbling.
Thanks to all that keep my/our lives/life on the bright side.
Share love and life into the circle of love that surrounds you, and by Glob’s calculator, they will surround you, too.
It’s a big world, and I’m grateful that I was taught not to limit it, superficially (race, religion, gender identity, hair cut, boxers vs briefs).
My whole life, I’ve loved the idea of the melting pot, all of us coming together. But that’s not the reality.
I had to learn myself to limit the artificial, because it inevitably hides the darkest of depths that will cause harm to me and mine now that I’ve got a “delicate disposition” (GLOBDAMMIT.)
My heart aches for those lost from this existence, but they’ve made their mark on me, strengthening my empathy, teaching me that I’m worth loving and not to waste time on negativity. Love is all you need.
I’m currently focused on a project we are involved in thanks to our dear old PG. So many things I’m grateful to him for, but the Durham family is high on the list.
If you want info on the project, there’s this party tomorrow night, in Greenbelt, Md.No charge and you get to see James’ new indie short film, “Thirst.” Clicky linky for info on the Facebook Event page and pix that various folks on the cast and crew have been taking, including pix taken by me. It’s amped up my desire for my photo project in time for Balticon, but who knows? I’m still trying to get the anthology done.
First, the formatting on my WordPress stuff needs updating after things settle down. I’ve never changed it from the original lotus design from 2010. It looks like shite in the browser and the mobile too, I’m guessing.
I’m really struggling with overlay at the top of the post, so I’m dropping in this adorable snap of my wondrous second of husband Chooch Schubert and my magical GrandSon, Codename Little Bear, from his first birthday in April 2016, while visiting he and his parents in Texas and helping them move in to their own place.
Second, I’ve been reading through an intentionally broad spectrum of political/current event articles* as much as I can over recent months. Until recently, I followed all the candidates on Facebook, to ensure I understood the persona they had whipped up for us to vote for in the election.
I was reading what the lone red candidate posted along with what Bernie Sanders posted, and the other final half dozen or so, until they dropped out or until I gave up on them as a viable candidate. I now only follow Bernie and the other blue candidate.
I know all I want to know about that other candidate and I was left angry and sad, so I called “uncle” and don’t follow him anymore. *covers ears*closes eyes* You have no power over me. LA LA LA. Hopefully you never will. LALALA.
The tv news is annoyingly laced with opinions. I just want facts, simply told, so I started searching online when I could.
I think the biggest surprises was the number of articles applauding Baby Boomers (and older) for holding on to “traditional values” instead of becoming zombies like everyone younger than them has become in our wonderful country.
The relevant articles vaguely point their fickle fingers of blame for society failures on younger citizens (65 or younger, I guess?) Nothing is actually reported, so the news items were incorrectly flagged. They were opinion pieces that were entirely effective in page interactions. In some cases, hundreds of comments on them, not counting facebook likes or shares.
To my eye, the more vague, the more comments of agreement it would get. As if, in my non-scientific, loopy newsing, the less specifics given, the more it was cheered.
And as always. the true horrors of society lies in the misspells, missing words, exclamation marks, trailing ellipses everywhere instead of where they make sense, name calling, judgment, and a lack of responsibility and/or blame after being in charge for decades, right in the comments. As if 1 + 1 does not equal 2, almost. Many times, I downright struggled very hard to make sense of the twisting logic, even when my brain was clear.
They paint different pix of how badly we young’uns have destroyed the country they built. They call us zombies because we aren’t smart enough to do what they say anymore. I guess they aren’t getting the perks they used to get from us all, while we struggle to help younger generations in our own struggles?
In my very small sampling, our elders are being encouraged to mock the very children that they conceived when they banged without birth control; that they raised, and that they taught values; ethics; and parenting.
It’s been awhile, buuuut if biology works the way I remember, they raised us; they taught us ethics; we parent by their example, except for what we choose to improve/do differently due to #ChildhoodPTSDAmIRite? #EveryoneHasIt
Cause and effect, they taught us that, too.
And they laugh at us for turning out the way they, and society as a whole, taught us to be?
And then mock us for not listening to them? (ESCAPE CLAUSE: People planning to vote against environmental and economic interests of themselves and their children now makes sense to me, at least. We’ve been told, by our elders, to always respect your elders.)
I guess I’d feel hurt if I didn’t already know the info in the blog post / news article was discredited, if the comments were legible, and/or make sense, or if in any way they were they plausible in an realm of possibility.
It’s spin-control, or my brain is more than broken trying to logic it. Either way, I yield. Uncle. Tell yourself whatever you need to sleep at night. Because I don’t think any of it was/is intentional.
We’re all just winging it. Aren’t we? That’s the American Dream now, to survive with your baby chicks, without a net.
OF NOTE – I call bullshit on trying to distance myself from blame by pointing at the next generation. There are millions of pages for you to express that on, that will tremendously agree with you. Go there if you gotta bust on the 25-ish and unders. I delete without hesitation 😀
Translation, if this turns into more insults for “Millenials,” I may delete without comment.
But I don’t care. I’ve heard enough of it. They’re just trying to survive the world we’re giving them.
Instead, let’s take an honest look at the causes of what we face, take accountability (myself included) for the mess, learn from the mistakes of the people that have been voting and leading our country for the last bit of American history because of out-of-norms birth rate handing most decision-making to their whims.
I’m disappointed in myself and my own generation for not having improved things for future generations and I apologize often.
But where has any of that gotten us?
Simply read the news for that answer.
So come on, Gen X and younger.
Let’s enter this election with both feet.
Determine long-term impacts, because we’re dying younger and younger we’re taking the planet with us. (My guess is due to short-term profits somewhere.)
Decide for yourself what makes sense to your life as an American Citizen, because you can’t just move to Canada.They know we made this mess, and they won’t take us. (They have standards, too.)
If you are a parent, you are compelled to be more vigilant to protect the country that you’ll leave to your child.
If you’re a grandparent, you are doubly accountable.
Spread the word, respectfully.
Don’t waste your time on trolls.
Whether people agree with you or not, hopefully they’ll become engaged.
Not everyone in your life should be friended with you in Facebook.
Also, don’t end relationships that you wouldn’t have ended in real life over a political or religious difference in social media.
If someone else does it to you, don’t waste any tears, it’s to your benefit. Every time.
And always remember and never forget —- we get the government we deserve.
Especially if you don’t vote.
So, you know, vote.
*Blogs, online “news” sites, and newspaper articles over the last few weeks. I have no links to cite because I ended up rage quitting and won’t go through history for them. Why? Cuz this is my opinion blog and nothing else. #Neener
Besides, I learned quickly to read via incognito because it was impacting my Bacon/Spam/Whatever in a disturbing way.
I had a really long rant about stuff I didn’t get to do or can’t do. Actually just a list of stuff I can’t do, along with bitching and complaints only slightly above a child’s tantrum. I deleted it because while it’s true but really about something else. This time I caught it the night before, first time ever.
It’s pre-Mother’s Day letdown and I’m missing my Mom. She remains unmatched as the greatest teacher, cheerleader, disciplinarian, role model, muse, bar-setter, inspiration, square-in-the-ass kicker, then-unknown-filter, unabashed critic and unrelenting fan that I ever had or will have, because it was only possible from her, because she was uniquely MY Mom. It’s strange, but she must be different, I think, from my brother’s Mom or my Sister’s Mom, even. Different ages and experience levels (since we weren’t born triplets as triplets, but rather, over 12 years span) mean we had different versions of her growing as we did.
What I do know from my experience is that there’s no “*ding* You’re A Parent Now,” stage. You constantly learn and evolve, and I’m so very grateful for the version of her that I had, although I miss one or two aspects my siblings had. But that’s how things go, and I really wouldn’t change a moment with her. (Or against her, we had some doozy fights, dontchaknow!)
But lately, it’s getting harder and harder when I see her in the mirror and hear her voice come out of my mouth. I literally startle, sometimes, although I’ve heard that I look like her my entire life and should be used to it. I look like her, but I can’t do things like I used to, or like she used to, so it’s like a bait and switch. I keep having to lower expectations on myself, which then makes me see disappointment, which makes me feel like shit. It’s a fun cycle, all just because I looked in the mirror and remember her and all she did.
It makes me reflect on relationships and their resulting status. Am I too much of a reminder of her to some? I mean, I am for myself, so why not? And is that a larger version of what’s happened in other unrelated, now-dead relationships? Do I remind them of someone or some thing that has changed? I’m finding that standing by people during their darkest times means you sometimes get associated and cast out with it. I’m praying I haven’t done that to anyone that sincerely wanted to continue a genuine relationship, in a way that takes me as I am today, not how I was 30 or 20 or 10 or 5 years ago. Or how they expect me to be.
And in spite of our best efforts, we still live too far from hubby’s Mom to be able to dump my excess love on her like a confetti and glitter glue eruption. And now our daughter-in-law lives 2,000 miles away, so same thing there.
So I fill the time with making plans and planting fun things on the path ahead to make the now seem less dark with that fun that shimmering, just ahead. And then I find myself overwhelmed again with details and a sense of failure, even if it was a success.So for those that have a muse, be kind to her. It sucks when your brain is always working and putting out ideas for other people to use and claim, the only downside being we have no real sense of accomplishment. If the two things seem unrelated, please attribute it to the influence of my Mom, constantly in motion, constantly on the prowl for something to make another person smile.
Cyber hugs and love to all those that are missing her, a parent or loved one as we try to survive the milestone/reminder in one piece. I think this is the 10th without Mom, but so much crumbled since then, I don’t think I want to know for sure. If it’s your first, know that there is a special prayer I will make to my special angel. In my experience, the first is the worst. I couldn’t even really feel it then, I was in so many pieces, even as a grown-ass woman.
Mom loved my enough during her life to last me a lifetime, and is still carrying me through dark times, just like I said they would. And her fiery spirit lives on in me, her other children and her Grandkids. There’s even some sass that looks familiar from the Great-grandkids, which is downright delightful.
It feels weird to make an announcement post of this, and it’s taken me days to write somewhat coherently (still fighting cooties), but I’m pushing publish as is. Apologies to thems that want one, but I’d rather do it this way than do it personally or have anyone surprised or worried, and have to console them, because that’s not what this is about.
It’s about accepting a tool and empowering myself with it, as I face an arduous drive to visit family in Texas and enjoying it as fully as physically possible.
But, you know me, it’s really about chasing giggles and my refusal to stop when my body fails but otherwise am well enough to go. And since I’m currently fighting cooties and feeling like an exposed raw nerve, I may as well be transparent before I change my mind, in case it helps someone else someday, somehow.
Similar to my previous post about using a walker at home, I’m not doing this until I feel like I have to, but with my health issues, including Fibromyalgia, I’ve long relied on wheelchairs at arrival gates at airports for the ability to get in motion faster. Being seated for the length of a flight with the other hazards to be navigated, I struggled and it slowed us down, so I started utilizing a provided wheelchair to stay out of the way of others and to make it to the next gate on time.* As health issues fluctuated, it’s become a tool I use with less hesitation and with Balticon coming…
So, last Labor Day weekend, 2015, I was in bad physical shape with lots of pain. I was also unwilling to miss out on a planned trip to the National Zoo, however, with family and dear friends. My choices were to either miss out and stay in bed OR swallow my pride and use a wheelchair loaned to me recently by dear friend, Lisa.
Our son, his wife, and their son were moving away the next month and I just didn’t want to miss a second with them. It was a glorious and happy, yet inconvenient day. And spending that time seated allowed me to physically feel well enough to attend a friend’s birthday celebration the next day, where Chooch and I introduced our grandson to friends that hadn’t met him yet. Although migraine stuff made me miss some of it, but, hey I was there! But I was embarrassed and it was so inconvenient for Chooch and the rest that I chose to kind of forget about it.
Until visiting friends earlier this month beyond The Wall, aka, the Canadian border. It was a delayed November anniversary prezzie to each other, delayed for passports and the promise of spring. We had stuff we wanted to see, but mainly visit with old and new friends we don’t often (or ever!) see in a less-chaotic-than-Balticon setting. We arrived Friday and did a bit of walking but retired early for recovery and fun the next day. I was fighting neurological stuff on Saturday until later in the evening when the physical pain and intense fatigue was hitting hard. We collapsed as soon as possible, but it was clear I pushed too hard while distracted with Niagara Falls, Toronto, a casino, a FrankenBurger King, butterflies, poutine, a romp through a Hollywood wax museum, but mainly enjoying our small group vibes in Buffalo + Canada to the point of addiction. They were all so kind and cautious about my health issues that it made them even more irresistible.
We had plans on Sunday to go to an aquarium, a lifelong passion of mine. It’s a shared passion and Chooch and I visit in every city, and drag along kids, whenever possible. But I found myself unable to walk beyond minimal needs after the excursions the days before, essentially because of my refusal to halt them earlier. I did the usual triage, heavy meds and leg elevation and soaks back at the hotel, but my body simply needed more recovery time before doing any walking and I was facing a day alone in the hotel room. In bed again, just a different place. Chooch would have offered to stay but I’d have kicked him out.
I was pretty devastated, so when it finally occurred to me, I scrambled to the Ripley’s Aquarium in Toronto website and yes, they lend wheelchairs for free on a first come, first serve basis. We weren’t even sure there would be a wheelchair available until we arrived and I really had no back up plan, other than napping in the car, but I was so swiftly and kindly accommodated that I only remember it as a blur of kindness until I found myself just inside the entrance – warm, seated comfortably with Chooch in front of the first sea life display as friends Nutty and Tek arrived. They’d had very little warning of my situation, but I know they are utterly accepting of my disabilities, and they were more kind and patient with the inherent inconvenience and delays.
I chose to go to the aquarium and risk embarrassment (few wheelchair riders seem to have cotton candy colored hair apparently, so I really stand out!) and am now choosing to share more pix, to show what I look like when in a chair and thatI’m fine! But more importantly, to show what I gain when I choose to swing from the chandeliers by bracing for stares and inconveniencing the HELL out of those that let me.
FACT: When you’re this age and this size, many adults assume you’re being lazy. It’s why I never go to the store if I need an electric cart. Nope. Parking in handicapped spots, legally, is bad enough.
But since I handily put away fears in face to face interactions, with family, friends, strangers and their kids, I’m also putting aside fear of ridicule by or accusations of sympathy and attention seeking. Becoming disabled at 40 with an invisible illness has been quite educational in teaching that no matter how intelligent, respected and seemingly kind people can be, in real life, that’s not always the case. Nothing stings quite as badly as when it’s someone I care about, but time heals all wounds, so don’t waste any more of my time if that’s your opinion. #HarshlyWorded? Can’t tell, #PainCranky.
A wheelchair won’t work every time to get me where I want/need to be, and that’s okay. I know I reach for every brass ring, and if others doubt that, I just will not waste energy on defending myself further.
I also hereby affirm that I stand by the pinky swear to a specific few about what to do if I find myself only mobile via a scooter thingy. A random sampling of statistics seem to show that for chronic conditions, once you get in, you don’t gain back full mobility again. Remind me to fight if I ever forget, but don’t judge me for using this tool, only as needed, I promise. *raises pinky* #YouKnowWhoYouAre
Clearly, it was a big deal for me, so I’m getting my own travel chair in case of need, to make it more possible for me to be out of my room and enjoy the special bonding time with far flung friends. Especially at the new, larger, more spread out convention hotel. If anyone has recommends for a lightweight travel wheelchair, plz and thank you link in the comments.
Here’s me, having no regrets, with wonderful people, out in the light of day. #NoShame #NoSadness #SilverLinings #ExtendedGiggleChasing
Click on the image below to go to the full Flickr album, if you like. That’s where the good stuff is… yup, my grandson at five months old, last Labor Day weekend at the zoo.
*For those that may be now considering a wheelchair for travel, I’m writing another post with my views in the next few days.
I saw this picture on Facebook and my post grew to too many words. Apparently there’s still controversy over women using the ladies room, simply because of how they obtained their feminine appearance. I had such a visceral reaction, I had to get my milk crate out to stand on. *ahem*
HELL YES to this post and here’s why:
20-ish years ago, when I was a young mother at work one day, I was using the facilities when I noticed a hand mirror under the stall wall next to me.
Confused, I then noticed the hairy knuckles and bare feet in that stall and yelled. I was still foolishly trusting in those days and couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, so I otherwise froze not knowing what to do.
Luckily for me, when the pervert realized he was seen, he bolted instead of staying. He was probably gone before I felt safe enough to exit and run to my office to call the police, but definitely before the officers arrived. The location was a professional office building where I worked for a real estate office. Lots of foot traffic, and no one saw a shoe-less man running out of the building.
I never saw his face (or shoes!) so couldn’t pursue further. OR determine if it was a co-worker or someone else that worked in the building daily, meaning it could easily happen again.
Ever since, I’ve assumed perverted men are in stalls next to me. It’s no big deal, just take an end stall and watch the shared wall. It’s never happened since then, which I know because my residual fear means that I watch closely. IMHO, you’d have to be perverted and/or dangerous to get off by violating a woman’s privacy to such an extent, and risking arrest, just to watch her pee or poop. Just…. beyond disgusting. And I’m watching out for them.
Meanwhile, no woman has ever used the mirror peek trick. I actually feel safer knowing there will be more women in the ladies room. It’s less of a chance for perverts to creeeeeeeeeeep around in there unnoticed.
For those worried about their kids seeing something “inappropriate” if a trans person is in the bathroom, then why do you let them go alone in alone at all?
Don’t you worry about them having an experience similar to mine, at their young ages? Regardless of whether the perpetrators are culturally permitted in the restroom, or not? Please give it some thought.
To the trans ladies, I continue to welcome you! But please let this serve as warning to you of the dangers of being in the ladies room:
Be vigilant for your privacy and safety at all times, including the bathrooms, for you are now a part of what I think of as “The Prey” gender. You will likely be targeted and victimized by some just because you are female and “up for grabs.” I’m so sorry for that, because this nation hasn’t done enough to lower the incidence of sexual assault against females.
Please, use your voice LOUDLY and don’t let anyone disrespect you. Even those with good intentions.
For the Dudes For offended males that I trust:
This isn’t about you, but it’s good for you to know about. I similarly warn young females about this and about never leaving a drink unattended and watching out for each other. Consider protecting those in need.
For other males that are offended:
Welcome to reality. Suck it up and be grateful that you are a part of what I call “The Predator” gender and don’t piss me off with stupid sexual comments. Know that I give you the gift of believing YOU aren’t one, and hope that now you know what some women suffer through just to get through a day of work. For 1/4 less than you likely make, but with potential the sexual harassment gauntlet to run every day.
If you are one and know it:
GET YOURSELF HELP. You deserve a better life than the shit you are now doing, and your current/future victims deserve peace.
The emotional damage doesn’t end, and the world is hard enough to survive. Agreed?
I attempted college in 2012.
I was unable to read/retain/communicate the information.
I was unable to make it to a lot of the classes, I’m guessing because of migraines or dizziness.
I only know this because I just read it in something Chooch wrote.
I have zero recollection and don’t even know what the classes were.
It’s shit like this that gives me peace when I get sad that our son and his family have moved far away.
I was already growing more and more limited in what I was able to do for him/them, as he is literally thriving and too heavy for me to lift, oftentimes.
Finding this out, in spite of not being on those types of meds any longer, has me even more grateful that he never came to any harm in my limited care.
Conclusion, silver linings are everywhere, if you look, tilt your head, and squint *just* so.
Yesterday was exactly one year from when I announced our move into our “new nest” which ended up being called The Seuss, for silly reasons.
I was too exhausted from fighting a very persistent migraine to write an update, as we are now watching our oldest son, his wife, and their son pack their belongings to move out of state. It’s been a chaotic yet wondrous year, and I’d like to retain my thoughts today, just a few days before they hit the road.
We moved in with much chaos and many hidden fees. This isn’t terribly surprising in hindsight, since I’m not as smart as I used to be, at running households. Our life was so simple previously, I’d forgotten all that goes into the expenses of moving to another state, and Chooch was too busy working, commuting and moving things in prep for our move.
Little Bear arrived in early April instead of late March. He was the light at the end of a dark tunnel for so long that now he is simply the brightest star in a bright sky. He’s super cute, very clever, as strong as he is heavy, and is always looking for a reason to smile and laugh. In short, he’s my dream grandbaby.
My gratitude for being with them during this special time has not only grown, but it’s far more far-reaching than expected, after being able to include dear friends into our family experience. Having all those infinitely helpful and kind friends was very comforting at a time when nerves were exposed and raw and different medications were being tried out for pain relief.
Although we knew this was going to happen, I find myself surprised that it’s actually happening now. Already. I’ve taken thousands of pictures and hours of video to see me through missing them, tho and I’m hopeful that the kids will send pix so I don’t have to launch a drone near their place.
But in all honesty, I’m reaching the end of my usefulness in assisting in caring for my grandson. With the chronic pain health blahs, there are frequently days that I can’t even get out of my room to see him, let alone be of a help to his parents. It’s heightened my sense of failure. Who can’t pick up their grandson, at six months, for Glob’s sake?!
Me. That’s who. And I’ve known it was going to spike when he hit six months, since 2 weeks after his birth. We were out with friends Billy Flynn, the Flynnstress and their six-month old daughter MJ. She’s lively and clever and active and quick to laugh and smile. I was shocked to find that I was barely able to hold on to her and gave her back way sooner than I wanted. Shortly after that the kids nailed down their plans to move, and what was a heartbreaking and very deep blow due to their upcoming distance, well, later it strangely made it easier for me to process the kids leaving.
Little Bear weighs 18.6 pounds right now, which means it should be no surprise that I frequently can’t lift him. And when I can, it’s grown briefer and briefer as he’s thrived and grown. I’m “disabled” so that’s expected. Except that he’s my grandson, so I pick him up when I shouldn’t and sometimes have to call for an assist. That’s never a problem because I made a rule at the start not to leave me home alone with him. Between pain and medications that turn me into a zombie to allow me to get in motion to help, it’s just not safe. Even after six months, I’ve only carried him on the stairs once or twice. I made these rules with great sadness and shame, even though it’s not my poor choice but rather, my debilities, but it is for his safety and I do have a lot of trouble with stairs.
When the kids move, they will have multiple families nearby. They will have the kind of help that we can’t give them very often, boots on the ground, in the trenches, help. Naughty Bear’s injury and recovery continues to plague him and will for quite a while. He’s being smart and heeding the caution of doctors, and that’s all a mom can ask. They both have jobs waiting for them and our Galadriel (our son’s wife) will have health insurance again, finally.
Gal’s parents and sister will be nearby, in addition to Naughty Bear’s family in the area. Having been her age when I had my first child, I know how important those bonds are, especially with your mom, and I’m so glad they have been able to push through an unbelievable number of challenges to get back to her home state. Her home sickness has been great and she just needs time with her family, and Little Bear gets to meet them all, finally! Only Gal’s mom was able to visit for his birth, and they excitedly await his arrival. Knowing how great LB’s other grandma is makes it way easier to let them drive away, too!
We hope to visit them next spring, possibly around SXSW time. I have a friend or two I hope to visit while we’re there, since I lived in Texas from ages 3 to 18. That’s if I can let go of Little Bear while we’re visiting. 😉
All of these things mean that it’s the right time for me for them to move, too. My frustration grows, as does recovery time when I’m stubborn. It’s time for the circle around them grow larger in their very own nest.
Chooch and I will stay at The Seuss for another 8 months, at least. We did such a good job on our house hunt last fall, we aren’t finding anything worth going through the effort and expense of a move for, especially heading into winter again. It’s an especially bubbly-making decision, since our specifically non-specific house hunt landed us within 5 to 30 minutes from most of our dear friends when it used to be an hour or longer. The accidental blessing of location was purposefully again left out of the calculation, but much happiness was felt when we saw it’s the logical decision.
As for our former housemates, we haven’t done the baking and we’ve gotten the Wee Housies together with our grandson less than I’d hoped before they move, but the love remains. Seeing them healthy and thriving is almost as awesome from a distance, although we still need to do a baking party. They did make me promise, last month and I can’t wait to make it so!
Jen is doing great in her new life, and without our chaos in the basement. Sadly, she now has a new struggle, by way of a tragic downturn in her father, aka Elder Housie’s health. He now requires constant assistance and help, and being such a fiercely determined, up and at ’em type of man, it’s a pretty tough blow for him and his daughter. And it saddens me knowing that even if we were nearby, my help would be as limited as the help I give to the Little Bear. It’s another source of frustration, not being able to do things for loved ones, no matter how badly I want to, and I do love that man so very much.
As for being out of Virginia, it was definitely the right decision, even with the unexpected costs. It’s made the last year far more exciting, and being off those old roads ended up with us bonding more than we might have. So I find myself with the knowledge that Chooch and I made the right move for ourselves, a duo, and not just for our family. We’ve been tackling a lot of gnarly issues recently, and we’re only growing stronger and even have a plan to get us out of debt, hopefully. This is a huge thing for us, since my inability to work has had us in dire straits for almost 6 years.
So, with all these things in mind, I choose to end this post the way I ended that one, because I feel closer and more bonded with my husband now more than ever, I can easily again say to the future: Bring it on. We smiled and laughed and held each other at every turn, snatching up silver linings as fast as we could and plan on continuing!