Just For me.

Now I know for certain 'cause I've been around,
That the sun shines every day even though you might not get to see
No matter who, no matter what, no matter weather permitting,
The miracle is that sometimes it can burn just for you

...or just me
Oh this one's burning just for me
yeah, yeah, yeah, me
Some things, some things are just for me.

~ Blues Traveler, Just for Me

The past few days it's been 27 degrees (Celsius) - which is 86 Fahrenheit - in my neighbourhood.  It was 26.5 inside, because we're situated such that the sun shines on the front of the house all through the afternoon.  I can't tell you how nice it was to sit on my sofa while the sun went down, with a warm breeze coming in the window.  I can't tell you how much I needed that. 

It's been busy, as usual, and a week ago I was feeling pretty melancholy.  I prefer to be upbeat, energetic and happy.  (You say "Doesn't everybody?" but I've met many folks who seem quite content being sad and sullen.  Like Eeyore, for instance.  I know lots of people just like that.)  Anyway, I figured it's just been a long winter, and I needed some vitamin D and fresh air.

When the sun came out and the world warmed up it felt like an answer to a prayer.  It won't last; it's already cooler today and the whitecaps are moving from the north.  But the sun is still shining today, and I hope you're getting some of this great weather too.  I have lots to accomplish today and I feel - for the first time in a while - like I can totally handle it.

have a great day!

How are things, you ask?

This week has been a bit of a drain and a strain, and the writing suffered for it. 

I refused to give a refund to someone - to make a long story short she simply wasn't entitled to one.  She told me I didn't know how to run a business.  She said I should get a degree.  She said I would be very, very sorry.  She told me I was mental, and childish.  She called me - ready for this? - she called me a skank!  And then she went outside to her car, got an empty coffee cup, and threw it at our door. 

A family member is angry at me because of a decision I made.  I am sad, but I am not changing my mind.

Little Boy has his first detention today.  Apparently, his best friend slammed a door on his fingers, and so he punched his friend in the stomach, and knocked him into a wall where he bumped his head.  It's interesting to note that the Vice Principal, on calling my husband, was audibly relieved to find that we supported her decision to punish the little Berserker, and indeed said Little Berserker is finding that there really are a lot of nasty chores that need doing around the house and yard this week.  I'm grateful that his BF's mom says, never mind, they're boys, these things happen sometimes.  And the BF has already pretty much forgotten the whole thing.

And unrelated to all this, I said something stupid and insensitive and I feel rotten about it.

So this morning, I said Cindy you need to write.  So I got myself out of bed, and made some coffee, and laid my fingertips on the keys.  That's when Pebbles woke up.  She would not go back to sleep.  Then Little Boy came in and spilled my whole entire cup of coffee on the carpet.  That's when I taught my children an important life skill:  How to say SHIT.  And hell, it was going to happen sometime.  Why not today? 

So I'm just going to wander off and answer the voicemail now.  I have two beta reads going, I hope today I'll finish my comments on one and read my way into the middle of the other.  I'm going to listen to Joshua Radin, especially this one:

Come here, and let me rock you

At my uncle's wake, Mrs. Potter reached out to touch a photograph of my grandmother. I saw her do it, waiting as I was among the dim light and flower arrangements for my turn to see the collection. My mother saw it too, and we looked away from one another, swallowing against the tightening of our throats.  The affection in that gesture was so plain to see, and so much like our own.  That's just the kind of woman Nanny was.

We really miss her.

She forever had her hand up the back of our shirts, rubbing our backs.  At the mall, she spoke to anyone nearby, and if they were cold to her she would wink at me.  She liked the challenge, she said, and usually she could bring people out.  She never let you leave her house without giving you some small treat, I never heard her criticize anyone, and she sang songs from the 1920s.  Come here and let me rock you, she said, and we would clamber into her chair with her and lay our heads.

Won't come over to my house?

Won't you come over and play?

I've lots of nice playthings, a dolly or two,

I live in a house 'cross the lane.

I'll give you candy and nice things,
I'll put your hair in a curl,

Just say you'll come over to my house,

And be my sweet little girl.

I visited her in her apartment when she was dying.  We both knew it, but we never said.  I remember I'd been to the dentist and had half my face frozen.  I felt awful, and she must have too.  She fed me tinned chicken soup, and we took a nap - me stretched out on her sofa, she in her chair.  When we woke up and it was time for me to be going, she said Come here, and let me rock you.

And I did.  I was twenty-one years old.  I didn't fit in that chair at all any more, so I perched my butt on the edge and I laid my head on her familiar shoulder.  Looking back now, I see myself as I was then - finishing a rough time in my life, just beginning to heal, just beginning to grow up, and I am grateful for the gift of her and her unwavering, unconditional love.  I'm so grateful for that last rock in her chair.

I thought of Nanny this morning as I was getting my daughter ready for preschool.  Pebbles wanted to wear a dress, and she complained about the tights quite a bit but she decided to wear them anyway.  She let me comb her hair and even put an elastic in it!  I sat on a rubbermaid stool, thinking little thoughts, just enjoying the sight of her.  How tall she's getting, even if she hasn't gained a single pound in eight or nine months.  I watched her wash her own face, and I felt so blessed.  I said, Come here and let me rock you.

* * *

At preschool I saw a plaque that said:

“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was,

the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove...but the world may be different

because I was important in the life of a child.” - Forest E. Witcraft

Yes, I thought to myself, that's exactly what I've been thinking.

Roo

Yesterday I took Roo back to the vet, and I did what I needed to do.

My heart hurts.

I'll spare you the details, and say only that in the end there were no more questions. It was Time.

I guess the heart knows after all.

We're hanging in there

Today a salt fog rolled over the city and knocked out the power for three hours. And no, I didn't know that could happen either. While it was dark in here I dusted, I put some papers in alphabetical order and I checked over my cable inventory. Confirmation: it's in a sorry state.

Uncle is somewhat stable for someone whose heart has failed. He's on a pump that moves his blood for him through massive tubes sewn to his heart that pass through the front of his chest. He is heavily sedated but my Mom can still make him grin. His body looks a lot different but he's definitely in there somewhere.

Pebbles says he has a broken heart.

His first heart attack was 19 years ago, and they figured he had 5 years to live. There have been many technological advancements in this past decade - there are smaller versions of the pump that he's presently on that can be inserted right into the chest. There is a slight possibility of a transplant. We have hope.

Also hanging in there, my cat Roo. My husband says it's like caring for an infant - he feeds her many times a day, coaxing her to eat and drink, keeping her clean and carrying her to the litter. We laugh and call it Kitty Rehab. He makes her get up and walk around, and he has some medicine he's been giving her. She still wants to be close to us and she seems to be gaining weight and strength, so we hope that a few weeks more will make a big difference. I don't know what we'll do if she doesn't improve. I'm not thinking about that yet.

So my cat just looks like shit.

The verdict is in. For the price of two week's groceries, we are assured that our cat is stubborn. I am giddy. I am so relieved, so grateful.

There is no evidence of liver, kidney or thyroid malfunction. No obvious tumors, no diabetes. No heart trouble. The vet says she's surprised how healthy Roo is, considering how she looks.

She is dehydrated and underweight. (15 lbs down to 7.8) Apparently, she hates her food and simply won't eat it. And because both cats eat from the same bowl, we didn't clue in that she was starving.

I've just got to say, this would never happen to me. (S)

Her muscles have deteriorated to the point that she is working very hard to move around, and that is why she pants so heavily. Poor old girl. We'll stock up on the extra-stinky, extra-gooey canned yuck that she seems to prefer.

Thank you for commiserating with me on this. I really thought we were losing her, and your comments were a really big comfort.

...and Roo goes to the Vet

The nose knows, I thought to myself this morning as I carried Pebbles up the hall to the kitchen. We both blinked in the light, and I put the kettle on for my coffee. And so does the heart.

There it was, right by the back door. Pee, again. I cleaned it up with a rag, some bleach cleaner and a heavy heart.

Before I left the house, I kneeled beside a cardboard box tucked beneath an end table. Inside it, curled up on a green towel, my sixteen-year-old cat watched me with sunken but adoring eyes. She's lost a lot of weight just lately, her legs and paws are painfully bony, and her sides heave with the force of her purring.

"I love you, Roo."

Soon, I will have a call from my husband with The News. I'm hoping for a bladder infection. Have you ever hoped for one of those? Me, neither.

In the meantime, in that place deep in my chest where Truth lives, I think I know otherwise.

I'm afraid it may be Time.

A reminder

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Paper Angels, by Jimmy Wayne

Living the Coles notes version

It feels longer than two months since my awesome co-worker left, and I'm still trying to find a rhythm of work and home that functions properly. There just isn't enough time, I'm covering the bases, checking off the major points - shower, work, bedtime stories - and enjoying hardly any of it. It's the Coles notes version of my life.

At work, I'm three weeks behind on some of my administrative stuff, and I go from line 1 to line 2 to the counter, to email, and back to the phone again. I'm doing all right, I'm doing a good job, but I'm so rushed that I'm not getting the sense of accomplishment I would like to feel. I'm only tired.

Then I drive home, trying to shake the vaguely irritable, dissatisfied feelings before I get there, so I can walk in with a smile and enjoy the kids for those two or three precious hours before they go to bed. Work is over now, I am lucky to be going home to such a wonderful family.

I once heard a woman on a tv show remark "If the Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" I remember rolling my eyes, and wondering just who in hell she thought she was, the queen? But now that I have a family, I see what she meant. It wasn't that she wanted everybody kowtowing to her every whim. It's just a simple truth - the household watches the mother. They take their cues from her, they calibrate their sense of peace and wellness according to her mood.

No pressure. (G)

Being away from them so much, I can't help but feel the full import of this priviledge - what an incredible thing, to be so essential to these people. And yet, it can be overwhelming. I don't always manage to get my sh*t together, and those days it's rough knowing that I'm letting them down. They need me.

And then my daughter goes to sleep with her little hand on my face, and I am forgiven, and healed.

But wait...see the calendar? It says that at 6 pm today, the door closes - and it's going to stay that way until Wednesday morning. We're going to my parents' cottage, which is far enough away but not too far, and I will have a break. Four days with no work, no telephone, just the Beloved and my parents and the ocean. We'll do a massive jigsaw puzzle, drink some beer, and laugh a lot.

Thank you, God.

Has anybody seen the weekend?

This morning, as I was leaving for work, I waved and blew kisses to the Beloved in the window, as usual. Then I cut the wheel to turn down the driveway...

...tooted the horn....

...and creamed the front of the car with the side of the van as I passed it. Our vehicles now sport matching dents and nasty white streaks. Thank Dog for my husband, whose laughter kept me from bawling. Well, almost.

I am so very ready for a weekend.

Huge Sigh

I've had some hard news this week - my wonderful co-worker is moving on the first of May. I'm really sad to see her go, we share the same irreverent sense of humour and she's good at the job. I'm also pretty sad about going back to a six-days-a week work schedule.

I'm not excited about hiring. I'm so tired of that process.

Anyway, I have April. I'm going to take some extra days off to be with the kids, and when that's over I'll do what I have to do. I have lots of support, it's not the end of the world.

It might be the end of my getting 10 000 words a month, though. For now.

So I'm a little bummed right now.

A day at home

Hello, fellow writers and moms!

Things have been busy and stressful and sleepless and there has been little-to-no-time for anything other than the absolutely necessary. Life does that sometimes, and that's all right. I can handle it.

But I am letting myself off the hook today. I am tidying up the last of the post-holiday mess, and I am playing aqua-doodle and Little People. I am baking cheddar cheese bread with jalapeno peppers and sundried tomatoes. I am still in my pyjamas at 1 pm, and I am staying far away from that bathroom scale. Today is about me and the kids, and when wonderful husband comes home, it'll be about him too. And maybe a movie and some buttery popcorn.

This week really bites. (Rant warning)

No new words in a few days, it's been a very bad week at work. Pain-in-the-ass things, like a city inspector dropping by to tell me that the sign I have out front (which has been there for thirteen years) now requires a $60 per month permit, and can only be out there for 60 days, and then it's supposed to be made to vanish, somehow, for 60 days, at which point they want another $120 for the next two months. That sucker weighs a couple hundred pounds, and I NEED IT.

It's a part of legislation they're threatening to put through, which it not bloody likely to happen, but in the meantime we have to seem to be complying, so whaddyagonnado? Probably I'll apply for this one permit, and then I'll never hear about it again. Sure won't be volunteering to pay again.

Similar bullshit legislation around here lately is the registration of all housecats. Yes, that's right. All housecats now are supposed to be registered. Because we have nothing else to worry about, like homeless families and school closures and the freaking waiting lists for important medical procedures.

Anywho. The week was not improved by my customers, lovely people most, who all seem to be on some kind of dissociative medication that inhibits input from the senses - particularly my favourite - the COMMON SENSE.

Whatever.

Tomorrow I'm off, and I would love to feel good about it, but I have a lot of residual stress stuck to me right now. Nothing an irish coffee and some Little People can't fix.

Better news, next time!

Priorities

We've all got them. Some are very important, some are middling, some obviously come after everything else. For me, this week, I'm trying to figure out where writing fits, for me, in my life, right now.

It's been a bit of a mess, but the dust is settling. Hubby and I are getting the hang of this role-reversal thang. He's doing wonderfully, and it's gratifying for me to know that he's got a whole new idea of what it's like to manage a household. For me, my heart hurts when I drive away from the house every day, and I keep reminding myself that it's temporary, moms have to work sometimes too.

Being a mother taught me how to use time. Being a mother at work six days a week is going to force me to be brutal in uncluttering those few hours I get between supper and bed, between dawn on Sunday and that moment when I close my eyes. So what really matters?

- Time with the kids, reading, playing , and not looking at my watch and thinking about how I should put a load of laundry in.

- Time with hubby, who deserves more attention than he gets. He comes last too often.

- Time alone. I need - I'm starving for - time by myself, time when nobody needs anything from me, time when nobody is talking to me, time when I can do nothing, just read or soak or sit and watch tv.

- Time to write. I set this apart from alone time because they're not the same thing and I need both.

- Time to sleep. I'm an eight hours person. I don't always get that, of course, but I've learned that I need to do my best to get enough sleep because it affects my personality, and I owe it to my family to be the best Mom/wife I can. When I'm tired I'm impatient and I lose my temper too easily.

I know, welcome to motherhood, the rewards for which are not to be found on the list above. On Sunday I smelled Pebbles' neck a lot, you know the spot, just below her ear. I sat in the sun with my folks, spent some time feeling like I ought to clean something but not doing it. BamBam stayed overnight at his Nanny's, so I still miss him.

Hmmm. Time to clean the house didn't show up on the list.

Anyway, why blog about it? You writers know. Writing it helps me see it better, helps me see me better. I know it's all going to come together. When I get my days off back again I'll appreciate them more, and I'll have learned - again - not to put so many chores before puzzle time. Nothing changes faster than a child, and nothing more precious has ever gone unappreciated.