Southern Fried Cleaning

The news on my Aunt Betty is that - get ready for this - she has a fractured vertebrae. She broke her back moving furniture, and we then dragged her halfway across the state and back. And made her go to the park. And pull the boys in the wagon.

Not true - the dragging part. Betty is stubborn and did all of that of her own free will, crazy as it is. But she also spent a lot of time resting in bed. And while she was in bed, we did the following:

packed up over a hundred dolls and gave then to goodwill

cleared out a cupboard full of canned goods that expired in 2001

moved bound copies of Awake and Watchtower magazines from one set of shelves to another

threw out all of Mary's old prescription medications

cleaned a fish tank which was full of water, but no fish (and was really gross, by the way)

looked at a bunch of old family photos of people I am related to

did three loads of laundry, just to make myself feel at home

The house there still seems full of stuff, but it's a bit better, I guess. Not that it really matters, one way or another, beyond Betty being able to use the space. I suppose, when someone dies, we're torn between wanting to keep all of their things exactly as they were, or getting rid of anything that might remind us of them. All I can say is, after that week, I started wondering who would be going through my personal items when I died. Would someone read my journals, or just throw them away? What would happen to my unfinished quilts? My dolls? The letters and photos I've saved over the years? Who would go through my cabinets and my useless stuff? Who would use the rest of my shampoo? Would anyone keep a shirt of mine to remind them of me?

From Nashville To Memphis

Actually, it was from not-quite Nashville to not-quite Memphis. In Tennessee, we took the three hour drive out to our family cemetery to visit the graves of my family members, including my Aunt Frances.

It's a strange thing, having a family cemetery. In a regular cemetery you don't know anyone, or you know only a few people. And the dates seem to progress in some sort of order... in THIS cemetery... well, I still knew only a few people. Two of them, actually. The other family members whose names I recognize died before I was born. But still, I know that I am somehow related to every single person buried there. Including the young man with a giant cowboy boot full of flowers on his grave, and the plaque honoring his achievements as a hunter.

It was rough trip out, mainly because Betty had decided to move heavy furniture herself just before we arrived, and hurt her back. So after visiting Frances we had to find a motel so she could lie down. This meant that we were kind of stuck there, with nothing for the boys to do, until the next morning.

Anyway, next time I go I might actually take some pictures. It just never occurs to me while I'm there. A bit morbid and I'm usually distracted...

Home Now

In case you didn't know it, last week I was in Tennessee with the boys visiting my Aunt Betty. And just in case you haven't heard, as in my voice wasn't actually loud enough to carry, we had nightmare travel times both getting there and coming home. I will detail these in later posts because you WOULD NOT BELIEVE ME if I just spat it out, and the telling requires attention and care so that nothing is left out.

I will say that, despite the travel, the airlines, etc, and despite the fact that parts of this visit were sad, IT WAS WORTH IT. To see Aunt Betty, and to visit Frances's gravesite, and my Grandmother's. Not to mention the super duper playground we visited twice.

Details in later posts. Today I have too much catch up work to do, not to mention planning for Nick's birthday party.

What is there to say?

Sorry about the Halloween photos. They are still on my camera, which has run out of battery. Besides that, I would feel odd posting those pictures right now.

Within the past few days, Mary Clare had a stroke and passed away. Mary was a classmate of my mother's, but she also lived with my Aunt Frances for years, at least as long as I can remember. I'm over 30, so that's a pretty long time. Longer than many marriages last these days. Mary was very upset when my Aunt Frances died six months ago, and she hadn't been herself since, not really.

So what is there, really, to say? I can't think of anything.

Home Again Home Again Jiggety Jig

The trip to Tennessee wasn't really what I had pictured it being. Nothing has changed in the house - Frances's dolls and her things are still all over the house. Her doll houses and her pictures still line the walls. When we were all together I would find myself glancing over my shoulder, wondering who was missing - who was out of the room - and I realized I was missing her, my Aunt Frances. Her things might be there, but there is a definite someone missing.

I had thought the visit would be a lot more... I don't want to say relaxing, but slower paced? I had pictured hours with not much to do but talk and entertain the children. Instead, Luana came down with her two kids and stayed almost the entire time, which was great because my kids loved having playmates. But it was not at all restful. The kids wound each other up and instead of downtime there was a constant flurry of activity and rushing around to grab kids off furniture or steep stairways or barganing with kids about what they could or could not eat, while Betty fed them donuts under the table.

Then, the last day we were there, Nicholas began throwing up. He kept throwing up until nothing was left in his body. I started getting sick later that night, and even though I wasn't puking during our flights back, I was exhausted.

Our trip included a flight change in Philadelphia, a pit of an airport. I will never understand why, when I am taking a connecting flight on the same airline, I am required to walk three miles to the next gate. One would think the airlines would be clumped closer together. Does anyone ever get off their first flight and look across and say "Hey! There's my connecting flight, right across the hall!" No. Instead, we landed in Terminal D, and our connecting flight left from Terminal E. For some reason, primarily, I think, to irritate travelers, we had to EXIT and go through security ALL OVER AGAIN, a fact which no one explained to us (who would, really?) and precious moments were wasted as I kept walking past the correct hallway, thinking "No, that's the way OUT, I just want terminal E."

The security line to Terminal E left the security line room and stretched out and down last the moving walkways. I had 40 minutes to make my flight. I was crying. And some really nice guy who is working at Yellowstone in Montana pulled me into line ahead of him. GREAT GUY! SO nice. Obviously. I wanted to offer him my firstborn child. Except Nicholas was crying and fussing and no one would have taken him.

Once we got to our gate, at the very, very end of Terminal E, we discovered it was delayed. In fact, our flight was still on the ground in Pittsburgh. It would be a couple of hours before we would be able to get on.

Blech.

Anyway, we made it back. I did end up getting sick just as the plane was landing, and just as the flight attendant was asking me for my trash, bringing it to everyone's attention that I was the one throwing up over there, the crazy pregnant lady with the two kids. I must say, I have never had so much help in getting off the plane before. People can be really nice when they think you're going to pass out.

Glad to be home. I slept twelve hours last night. I feel 100%. Almost.

True Life

Ever since I got the news my Aunt Frances was in the hospital, emotions have been beating me up from the inside. They have run the gammet from sadness to anger and hope to helplessness.

But none of those emotions could be compared to what I felt last night when I took Nick's temperature and the digital readout said 105.2.

That isn't a typo. That's one hundred and five point two degrees.

Nick just has this fever. He's complaining for a sore throat, but the doctor looked and said it was fine. His ears are fine. His lungs are fine. She even took a culture anyway, on the off chance it was strep. It wasn't. That was BEFORE his fever got so high. So of course I was on the phone in a panic.

He slept last night, but woke at 5am with 103.6 which isn't very comforting.

Frances's funeral is Thursday. I had been planning on taking the boys, which seems silly now that I think about it. But now I am not sure I even want to leave Nick. Not when he's got a fever that soars almost before whatever medication (Tylonol and Motrin) we're giving him wears out.

Out Of Service

I'm off to Tenessee to be with my Aunts and my mother.

I'm leaving the boys here. Don't worry. I've left Gunther detailed instructions on what they are and aren't allowed to do.

Just kidding. Steve and Lillian will both be here.

I will not be posting while I'm gone.

Mistake #579

At school, back when I had a class of two-year-olds and also in Nicks class, a sand or water table is sometmes filled with rice to give the kids something different to play with, especially since textures are considered important at this age.

Being the crazy mother I am, and also having rice that made the move with us from our old house, I thought I might make out own little rice table here at home. See how I filled the tray with rice? See how I put down a mat so I could easily clean up spillage? Am I not so thoughtful?

Well, that worked nly as long as I was sitting there with them. Then the phone rang, and in the three minutes I had my back turned the boys sprinkled rice all over the kitchen floor AND the dining room floor. It took me twenty minutes to clean up, even with the vaccum, all the while shouting at the boys to stay put in the living room because they kept running back and forth spreading the rice back to areas I had just vaccumed.

My Aunt Frances is very sick in the hospital right now. Please send her your thoughts.

Too Much Information About Puck

Yesterday I got off track from my to do list. I blamed it on the fact that I had learned that my Aunt Frances had taken a fall earlier in the week and was in the hospital with a broken rib. She'll be fine, but still, it's not good news.

It was afternoon, and despite the fact that the boys woke up from naps early, I was behind. I put the laundry through the dryer for the second time. I made marshmallow brownies with the boys, and then I realized I should start the pot-roast for dinner. And then I realized that it didn't matter that I had moved it from the freezer to the fridge 48 hours previously, it was still a block of solid ice. But I put it in a pot, anyway. I was cooking away, juggling the boys, the clock ticking and ticking the afternoon away...


One of the items on my to do list was to brush the pets, so I started in on Puck, who is the easiest because he usually just stays there giving you mean looks but not moving... and then I lifted his tail and saw A Massive Tangle Of Bloody Fur. Puck was just sitting there, not meowing or acting like he was in pain, but then I remembered how it took him three tries to get on the counter to his food that morning, and I had chalked it up to his getting fatter - he IS over 17 pounds. But then again... I couldn't tell where the blood was coming from. So I called the vet...

The vet was this great lady who took a look at the mess and said she couldn't tell anything, either. So they had to shave poor Puck's bum to expose these really gross wounds... and for a while we still didn't know what we were looking at, so the vet had to poke around in there and the poor cat was not having a good time... it turned out Puck had an Infected Anal Sac, and I hadn't noticed. And it ruptured. Through his skin. In several places. Leaving gaping bloody wounds. Lovely, huh? AREN'T YOU GLAD YOU'RE READING THIS?



Anyway, the kind vet cleaned it all out and said Puck was behaving like a champ and gave us antibiotics to be administered twice a day, and instructions to bath the area with a warm washcloth twice a day, then we paid our $100 and went home, where Steve had taken over the kids and the roast and m mysterious goopy marshmallow brownies.

My Aunt Frances should be fine, by the way. She might even get to come home today. For those of you that know her and love her and might want to give her a call. And For those of you that know and love Puck, he's fine, too. He's not running around - I put his food on the floor for a while. If the infection isn't cleanred up in a week he'll have to have surgery. But I'm thinking he'll be fine.