I'm not quite certain how it's possible, but that's the number of years it's been since Riley Jayne made her grand entrance into this world. It's funny...with each age, I've decided, "No this is my favorite." As she's grown and matured, I've found something delightful in each stage of the process. And even though I worry we might soon be reaching a point where that isn't so much the case (Dear Lord, she's almost a 'Tween!) there's been much this past year that has made me so very proud.
Riley began asking about getting her ears pierced a year or so ago. Knowing her to be a true literalist and not one to forget anything, I carefully side-stepped committing to a specific time frame or age. In a stroke of pure parental genius (or maybe just spectacularly good luck), I suggested that, before she could experience this rite of passage, she'd need to earn it by showing me that she was truly responsible enough to take care of her holey head herself. This served multiple purposes: 1) it was a great stalling tactic; 2) it decreased the likelihood that her poor father or step-mother would someday be cursing me under their breath while trying to extract an embedded earring back from an inflamed ear; and 3) it motivated her to step up her maturity game.
Maybe I shouldn't have been, but I was surprised at how seriously she took this challenge. Repeatedly, I'd find her taking on chores and responsibilities I hadn't even thought to suggest yet. Typically followed, of course, with a pointed comment or question as to how well she was showing me she could be responsible. Suddenly, I discovered I had a daughter who not only knew how to pick out her own clothes, but place them in the hamper when they were dirty. Who could prepare and take a shower without assistance -- even if getting all the shampoo out was sometimes a little tricky. Who could cook her own bacon and eggs and heat up her own slice of leftover pizza. Who could open her own lemonade cans. Who could feed the dog and train him. Who could brush her own hair, and, sometimes, her teeth without prompting. Who was slowly but surely easing away from the thumb sucking.
And with the added assumption of responsibility has come an ever increasing air of independence and self-confidence. The little girl who used to cling to my leg, sobbing, when I dropped her off for school, now hops on the bus in the morning without batting an eye. The one who used to be petrified at the thought of removing the training wheels from her bike now rides off down the sidewalk on a mere two wheels, sporting a grin from ear to ear. The kid who was often too scared to even swing the bat is now slugging softballs aggressively.
Though I certainly can't take credit for all of the above, I do take a certain amount of pride in her progress. And yet, there's a bittersweet note to all of it. For with that sense of pride in the fact that my little girl is growing up, comes the realization that my little girl won't long be a little girl.
But for now, she's just right. She's nine. And she has pierced ears! Happy Birthday, Riley Jayne! I love you and am so proud of you!!
In the neverending saga of my adventures in home ownership, last night I discovered, much to my surprise, that there was something wonky going on with my pipes. All I was trying to do was wash some dishes. Then splut...spit...sputter...my kitchen faucet suddenly became a hostile beast. And the sound Riley's toilet made when I had the gall to flush it? Dreadful.
My first call was to my Mom. (This is not an uncommon thing - she is almost always the person I call first in a crisis, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. More like grateful.) My call prompted her to recall the work trucks she'd seen out front of my house, blocking the street, earlier in the day. Suddenly the cordoned off area in my neighbor's yard across the street made sense. Mom suggested I call the water company. Well, yeah, I probably would have thought of that. At some point.
My first call to the water company resulted in the nice lady on the other end determining that there must be air in the lines, and walking me through the steps to clear it out. That didn't fully resolve the issue, but she opined that the remaining low-flow was due to sediment/calcium deposits that had broken loose in all the commotion, and were now clogging up the little screeny things that cap the ends of most faucets. Okay, fair enough. None of them wanted to budge, initially, but the trusty old rubber jar opener did the trick.
Then Riley tried to take a shower, and had the same issue. Thankfully, a bath sufficed. But while she improvised with that, I noticed that the kitchen sink output had now diminished to a pitiful little trickle. Even without any screen or fixture at the end. Ruh-roh.
Call No. 2 to the water company resulted in Different Nice Lady expressing her puzzlement at my continued flow woes. While First Nice Lady had checked and found no reported issues in the area, Second Nice Lady did acknowledge that there had been a break in the line across the street earlier that day. (Really? No!) But the symptoms I described to her just didn't add up. So, she opted to put in an emergency call for service for me. I hung up, realized it was approaching 9:00 p.m., and wondered what the turn around time on such a call might be.
Half an hour later, Nice Lady No. 3 called me -- just to follow up and check on the issues I was still having. She was stumped, too, but confirmed that someone would be out to check things out. I inquired as to the expected time frame, and she laughed and said that would just involve checking out valves on the exterior of the house -- no need to wait up and leave the light on.
So, I didn't. I headed to bed, got comfy, and began painting my nails. Thus, the banging on the front door at 10:15 startled me. And messed up my manicure. There was Wally the Water Guy who introduced himself as "Water Company" and bounded through the door as soon as I opened it. I was a little alarmed by this, but felt at least reasonably confident he was no vampire. The orange reflective vest also helped lessen the threat perception. (Sociopathic serial killers just don't strike me as the sort to sport safety vests.)
Wally wandered through the house and quickly concluded that my remaining issues -- including the shower head -- were all about those dang calcium deposits. What a relief -- a relatively easy fix. I ushered Wally out and returned to Riley's bathroom to remove the shower head and clean it out. Only...no budging. At all. Not even with the jar opener. Holy hell. It was time to bust out the channel locks. Which is never really a happy occasion -- how can it be?
Alas, even the channel locks were no match for the super glue/cement/immovable adhesive welding shower head to pipe. I wrestled with it for several minutes, while perched atop the tub and ducking down under the shower rod, all the while cursing and muttering under my breath. Or maybe over it.
As of tonight, I've two bathroom faucets which work fine, a washing machine which works okay, a kitchen sink which remains reluctant, despite the removal, cleaning and replacement of the screeny thing, and a shower head which may require TNT to remove it. On the bright side, I've discovered that it is possible to "shower" under the bathtub faucet. You just have to be a bit flexible.
It seems silly not to blog about my Friday mis-adventure, and yet...somehow...self-absorbed to do so. I'm not sure why that is. I have a blog. It's largely about me. There's a certain degree of self-absorption that's undeniable there. Maybe it's more a matter of embarassment. Although...if I were that embarassed, I'd probably not have Facebooked about it from the ER.
Maybe it's just hard to know where to begin. The night had gone so well. Inspite of the crazy storm raging outside, my sister's birthday party was a smashing success. Lots of friends and family, great photos from long ago (and some more recent -- I'd totally forgotten that Obama joined us for the Wisconsin trip!), yummy food, good drinks. Even my toast went well. We had fun. Most importantly, Julie had fun! If only the night had ended on that note...
I can't honestly say whether I tripped on a riser, or slipped on the wet entry hall, as we entered her house, and I headed upstairs to go collect Riley. All I know is that chin met wood, and it wasn't pretty. After the jolt, I immediately put my hand up and felt the blood dripping down. I scampered the rest of the way up the stairs and into the bathroom. One quick glance told me all I needed to know. Grabbed some tissues and started applying pressure, then made my way back downstairs to break the news to my sisters and Di.
According to my brother-in-law, I managed all the above rather quietly. And Karen, Julie and Di were so busy bringing stuff in from the car, they had no idea it had even happened. So my announcement to them that we needed to head to the ER was met with no small amount of bewilderment. They wanted to see my chin. I told them no, they didn't! Finally, it sank in, and Di and Karen shifted into EMS mode, while Julie graciously agreed to keep Riley for the night.
Off to St. Mary's we went. Was our lucky night, I suppose - midnight on a Friday night, I'd expect the ER to be packed. But it was a ghost town. They took my info and vitals, and got me into an exam room in just a few minutes. Took a closer look, cleaned out the wound, gave me the option of calling in a plastic surgeon (with the caveat that it'd make for a looooooonnnnggg wait.) Given the location (just on the underside of my chin), I decided to chance it and just settle for good old fashioned stitches. I'm not entirely sure why a tetanus shot was necessary, but apparently, it was.
Took a little while for my seamstress to arrive, but eventually, she did. I missed this at the time -- probably because my face was draped with a lovely blue veil for the procedure -- but, according to Karen, her hands shook like she was on an espresso bender. If that impacted her stitching, I'm sure my Frankenchin will attest to it. One thing I learned that night: Diane is hardcore. She stood behind the doc and watched all seven stitches go in. Bleh. I love my friends, but I've no desire for visuals like that!
Speaking of visuals...forgive me for the pic. It didn't seem right to blab about it all and not save a glamour shot of the whiskers for posterity. (You'd think in this day and age, they'd offer you more than just basic black for stitches -- I could've rocked hot pink threads!) In any event, the stitches are slated to be yanked tomorrow. Hopefully, all that will remain is a thin red line. On the chin, anyway. My arm still feels like I got kicked by a horse, compliments of the tetanus shot. And there's a lovely bruise the size of a small orange on my left thigh. (Those stairs pulled no punches!)
A $200 co-pay is a rather stiff price to pay for a blog topic. Still...it could have been much worse. I broke no teeth; didn't bite my tongue. And someday, in the not-too-distant future, will have only a minor scar to show for it all. Still, I'm not sure I'll ever hear "chin up!" and think of it quite the same way ever again.
As I was loading the washer tonight, "spin cycle" suddenly seemed like an appropriate metaphor for my mind's current setting. So appopriate, in fact, that I've now forgotten how I intended to weave it into this entry. Nevertheless, here goes:
I need a manager. Either that or one hell-uv-an app. I'm teetering on the brink of complete chaos and epic fail. In 19 -- check that, more like 18 -- days, I'm set to start trial on a monster of a case. I could literally spend all of my waking hours between now and then preparing for it, and still not be confident I'm fully ready for it. Meanwhile, below are snapshots of my calendar from the next 5 days. And it'll be filling up to look like that from here on out through early April.
In a strange way, I'm excited to meet this challenge. If I can hang on and keep my head over the next 5 weeks, I may be able to place it firmly in the "great experience" file when all is said and done. It's just...that's a huge "if" on the front of that previous sentence. And, let's be honest, headless isn't a flattering look for anyone.
I've been trying of late to make the most of the technology I have at my disposal -- to get myself somewhat organized so that I can keep myself somewhat organized, and not spin utterly out of control with all of this. But I suspect much of that is really more about avoidance than order. It's amazing, the things one can find to occupy one's time when the alternative is dragon slaying.
Regular readers will recall that I took a slightly different approach to my New Year's resolutions this year. I chose 5 fairly simple concepts to try and follow. I wrote about them here, printed them out and stuck them on my refrigerator at home and above my computer monitor at the office. And, surprisingly, it seems to be working. So far. In anticipation of the approaching Armageddon, I decided to try a similar approach. My new mantra is a 3-stepper:
Printed that out and slapped it up on the wall next to the resolutions. Simplify. Focus. Progress. It's either that, or run away screaming like a ninny. So, if you happen to see me wandering around in the next few weeks, muttering those three words under my breath, don't be alarmed. Just...point me in the direction of my iPhone or my laptop. And maybe say a little prayer that my head doesn't go AWOL.
Just a smattering here and there, but I'll take them where I can get them!
- Hurricane and Stormy as Twinkies.
- Finally succeeding and bending Microsoft Outlook to my will. Sort of.
- Being reminded of what true friendship means.
- Lunch with my co-workers today -- where else can you discuss severed digits, the appearance of genitalia as evidence of God's sense of humor, the making of God in one's own image and then declaring who He hates, all before the food even arrives?
- Making progress with trial preparation -- slowly, but surely.
- J-Lo on Lowenstern: "All that hair tossing is more than me and Beyonce put together in the past 10 years!"
- James Durbin, Jacob Lusk...amazing talent in the AI guys this season.
- Lea Black laying the smackdown on Christy Rice on WWHL. (That will make zero sense to anyone who's not a Bravo/Real Housewives addict like I've become, but dang that was a thing of beauty! Who crashes a charity event?)
:)
Tomorrow would have been my Grandmother’s 105th birthday. I know we were so lucky to have her through her 100th – I got to grow up, go to school, get my college and law degrees, get married, have a child, all with her in my life. Best of all, Riley got to spend time with her Great Grandma and get to know her before she left us. And I think – no, I know – she was ready to go when she did. So, it’s selfish of me to think like this, I suppose. But, so often these days, I’m struck with the realization that I need her now more than ever.
I won’t say I took my Grandmother for granted. I can’t remember there ever being a time when I didn’t see her for the amazing, strong, beautiful spirit she was. Grandma just had this…presence. An almost regal bearing, though not a cold one. But I do regret not taking the time to sit and really talk with her before she went -- not just about the little things, but the big things, too: life, love, loss.
I didn’t realize I’d someday find myself on a path quite similar to hers. I never really stopped and thought about how she came to travel that path herself. What it meant to her. What it might have cost her. I never asked her either. And I don’t even know if she’d have been able or willing to tell me. But I sure do wish I would have.
It will, no doubt, seem strange to some that I’ve felt her, here with me, at times since she passed on. Always, there is the idea of her. But on a couple of occasions, I’ve actually felt her with me, even heard her voice and felt her hand on my shoulder. Those weren’t scary moments, at all. A little strange, but more comforting than anything else. Sometimes, I wish she’d come back and sit with me for awhile. And then, maybe, I could ask her:
Was it hard to be so strong? Where did you look to for that strength? What sustained you?
Did you envision your life turning out the way it did? What would you have done differently if you could? How did you maintain your focus on what you had, instead of what you didn’t?
When your heart was broken, what helped heal it? When you wrote, what inspired you? When you cried, what brought the laughter back?
Was it scary, being a single mother? Did you ever worry you were letting Mom down? If you were failing her by not providing her with a traditional family?
How did you manage to run a farm and a post office? (I realize the town was small, and you had some help with the farm, but I can barely manage a tiny house and a decent-sized yard.) How did you know what you needed to do? Where did you find the time to do it all?
How did you learn to live alone without being lonely? To be independent without becoming isolated?
What would you tell me if you were here now? What wisdom would you share with me to help me find my way?
Most of all, do you have any idea how amazing you are? What a blessing you’ve been in my life?
I love you, Grandma.
A week or so ago, I opted to change my blog’s name. I incorporated the concept of Dorothy’s wistful warbling of blue skies and other such treasures lying just beyond the rainbow to acknowledge the dreamer in me. I gave no thought at the time to the method by which she was transported over said rainbow. Little did I know I’d soon find myself attempting to draft this latest entry while hunkered down in the bathtub in my interior bathroom, hoping to be a bit less Dorothy-like.
I’ve actually never done that before. Maybe the close call my parents and Riley had on New Year’s Eve still has me a little spooked. Whatever the reason, this one had the hair standing up on the back of my neck for a few there. The pressure in the house felt…off, and when the wind and rain (hail?) came blasting through, the sound of the latest branch heaving itself onto my roof about made me jump out of my skin.
Naturally, I was still giving the play-by-play on Facebook. For a moment, I had a vision of clinging tightly to my laptop, trying to post one last status update, while getting sucked up into a funnel cloud. It’s times like these I have no choice but to acknowledge my complete and utter dorkiness.
Fortunately, the worst seems to have passed. Pringle and I are back on the bed, and I’m now feeling a bit of mild irritation at the realization that it will still be a long while before I can relax and drift off to sleep. So much for six solid hours of sleep and hitting the ground running tomorrow morning.
Ahh, well, in the meantime, I’ll share some of the smiles the weekend sent my way:
- Learning how to integrate all my new software. (Outlook notwithstanding – I’ll do battle with it some other day.)
- Enjoying Margarita Friday with Di and Jane.
- Hearing about how well Riley’s continuing to hit in softball and realizing how much she’s matured in recent months.
- Attending another fun trivia night with friends. (With apologies for my “Big” and “Stephen Spielberg” mis-steps.)
- Vodka Gummies.
- Finally getting Riley’s room straightened up…again.
- Having the windows open.
- Listening to Stevie Wonder’s “You Can Feel It All Over” (or, I guess it’s actually called “Sir Duke” – never knew that) on the way home from my folks this evening – can’t help but get happy and peppy when you hear that one.
- Not getting sucked up into a ‘nado or smooshed by a branch.
