Boys, A Business and Wicked Good Fun

In 2012 Pap and I will gain two new grandchildren.  The first, Preslie, you’ve already met.  She’s doing smashingly well, by the way, growing and changing every day.  This summer, another daughter will be having …drum roll please…our FIRST grandson!! Holy cow, 7 grandgirls and now a boy??? Who the heck will the poor little guy play with at family functions?  I’m completely obsessed with shopping for tiny trucks and dinosaurs, button up shirts with khaki shorts.  Pathetic.

In addition to writing a new Christmas play, working on a cemetery tour and finishing up my friends books for his ice cream truck…I’ve been assembling a business plan.  Have you ever had in your life one of those moments when somebody says “Hey, you should….” whatever, and the cartoon light bulb pops up over your head?  A suggestion that instantly starts your imagination racing, an idea that becomes so obsessive you sit up at night crunching numbers and making lists of people that might be able to help you?  This is one of those times for me.  A full circle experience.  A business that will work better for me than anyone else simply because I’ve never been able to do just one thing because I was raising kids.  Eight years as a non-commissioned officer in the Air Force – works.  Twelve years in finance-works.  A lifetime around community theater-works.  Sew, knit, paint -works.  Construction through our old house of perpetual remodeling-works. Freelance writer-works.  Daycare operator and mother of many-WORKS!

Eventually I will write about this business but today I’m huddling under “if it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”  Usually, only you dearest blog neighbors drop by and visit.  If I were to post all the details of my new business before I finish the trademark and patent work, some internet fluke would land my post on “freshly pressed” or you tube or something and the opportunity would be gone.  So…care to guess how I’ll be making my living this time next year?

Quality of Life

If not for this brave new world’s medical advances, my husband would have died several years ago.  Diabetic with vascular disease, without a quadruple bi-pass and stints, he wouldn’t be alive.  But the doctors can’t do it all, he has to take some responsibility himself.  A bucket full of pills and a very limited diet are necessary to keep him above ground.  Which brings up the issue of Quality of Life. 

He’s a foodie.  He sells it, cooks it, eats it and uses it as the center of his entertainment.  He did really well keeping his weight down for awhile, but now, at least from outside appearances, he has given up.  256 and climbing, 60 pounds over his doctors recommended maximum.  For him, maintaining a quality of life means not amending the list of foods he loves.

I wonder sometimes what my issue might be.  I’m blessed with excellent health and relatively few bad habits.  Right now with eight grand kids and one more on the way, I imagine I’d give up anything for one more day watching them grow.  I can’t imagine anything that would be worth more to me then seeing them graduating from college, getting married, and having kids of their own.  Stop writing?  Sure…if it gives me one more game of tag with Makenna, one more sewing lesson with Briauna, one more afternoon rocking Preslie.  Eat only bread and water?  Sure…if I get one more story with Ayla, one more puzzle with Juliette and one more chance to plant flowers with Brendolyn.  There just isn’t anything more important to my quality of life than watching Aubree build her music career, and seeing who Austin will date next.  

Maybe it’s a woman thing.  

Three Pretty Girls and A Contest

There’s our little Preslie! Home safe, sound, growing and getting kissed frequently by her nearly 2 year old sister Makenna. Katie is currently trying to win a mother/daughter photo shoot. If you will click on this link: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=186347494796178&set=a.186036331493961.37540.105714472859481&type=1&theater and like the picture that gives her a vote.

Grimm…The Brothers

Everything I know about life I learned from fairy tales.  Not the Disney versions mind you, the originals from the Brothers Grimm.  Not a whole lot of happy endings there especially if magic was sought or employed to resolve a problem.  I think that’s my problem with this current trend to make heroes out of mythical beings.  Honorable vampires?  Puleeesse.  Ghosts, witches, goblins saving the day?  As if.   Even the Harry Potter series, which was a wickedly fun read, got it wrong.  What I learned from the original fairy tales and have found to be true over a half century of life is that bad things happen to good people and magic, aka “the easy way”,  comes with a price.

The man that can help you marry a prince really will get your first born child in payment.   If you want everything you touch to turn to gold…you cannot touch the ones you love.  The wolf really does eat Little Red because she was too stupid to notice the smell if not the big nose and teeth and run away.  The Grimm Brothers gave us haunting stories that would spring to mind when faced with a life quandry.  Stories that illustrated the value of hard work and an honorable existence, if only between the lines.

A New Kind of New Year’s Day

For the last 30 years of my life I’ve spent New Year’s day holding my nose against the reek of sour kraut and pork while groaning through an entire day of football.  Football, ugh, the bane of my existance. I am irritated by football for a number of reasons, none of which will be included in this post.  Because year 31 was my lucky day.  While the rest of my family was whooping it up over football, I managed to escape to my daughter’s well appointed basement for a lovely quiet day of sewing and writing.  Sadly, I still had to put up with the stink of sour kraut.

Happy New Year!

Oh Holy Night…

Merry Christmas!  This year, more than any other, I pity the Scrooges.  The intellectuals that want to argue about the actual date of Christ’s birth and that it isn’t December 25th.  The discouraged who see only the commercialism and fail to see the spirit of joy behind the display.  The angry folk jaded by all that is ugly in the world and can’t let go for even this one glorious day.  The scoundrals who will take advantage of the kindness of others.  To all of them: I wish you a day of peace, joy, and optimism.  

Katie is home and Preslie Grace is doing her best to follow her mother.  She is no longer jaundiced, and out from under the heat lamp.  She’s eating a little more every feeding and has just one more milestone to reach to come home.  She must be able to maintain her body heat when they take her out of the box.  Merry Christmas!

Staying in Perspective

It was a cloudless night. Crisp but warmer than our usual Decembers. The path from the parking lot to the hospital’s entrance was lined with small evergreen trees trimmed with tiny twinkle lights. Just as I stepped out of the car I could hear church bells pealing, “Oh Holy Night”. A combination that took my mind off my aching baby and her tiny daughter. A reminder that I have so very much to be grateful for. My girls are alive and this scary time will pass.

Baby Preslie will not eat. She has no interest in all the work of sucking on much of anything. As a result she’s now jaundiced. Nobody is yet sure whether her intestines are working properly and since she won’t eat they’ve decided to feed her with a tube until she will. There are so many wires and tubes connected to that tiny body it breaks my heart to look at her. I feel like there are things they aren’t telling us. Why would she need a heart monitor? If she’s on a feeding tube, why does she need an IV? Talking to nurses is like talking to a career politician sometimes, they say a lot of words that add up to zero content.

Preslie Grace Just Couldn’t Wait for New Year’s

This should be an interesting day.  Preslie made her entrance into the world last night before midnight, at 4:30 my phone is ringing.  Hysterical daughter “can you or Dad come”.  Apparently my son-in-law collapsed from exhaustion and is now in the emergency room.  Katie is recovering from the c-section and Preslie, since she arrived a month early, is hooked up to a variety of machines, gadgets and other hospitally things.  Pap is most experienced with hospitals and I’m most experienced with toddlers, so he’s dashed off to boss all the nurses around and I am home with Makenna, Katie’s almost 2 year old.  Ugh.

Worry…worry, worry, worry….

As I type this, my youngest daughter (the one I usually call Princess), is having her second child.  With complications.  It’s maddening to sit at home waiting for news from her shy, beleaguered husband when every cell of my body is calling for action.  But this is the way she wants it.

Her real name is Katherine, she’s a type A as you might have figured out if you’ve read this blog since I started it in 2006.  She had no interest in filling her labor time with friends and family as is the modern custom.  She likes that time to be spent quietly, with her husband, like we did in the 80′s.  Toxic and ill through most of this pregnancy, after two days in the hospital they’ve now rushed her off for a c-section.  Preslie Grace is six weeks early.

It isn’t unusual now days for babies to come early and show no side effects from the experience.  I haven’t heard of anyone dieing in childbirth for many decades.  But I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on in intimate detail.  What’s going into her IV?  What is her blood pressure?  Let me see that read out from the fetal monitor….without the intimate details, I’m definitely worrying myself into a headache.

 

Once a Year We Gather

Today the extended clan gathered for our annual Christmas party.  A weird event this gathering.  With the exception of my own children, I only see these people once a year, at Christmas.  Aunts, Uncles, Cousins…I know their names, I know their faces, but I can’t say I know them.  It wasn’t always this way.  We used to be a more tightly woven group.  We got together for more holidays than just Christmas, had the occasional dinner together throughout the year, sent cards and letters, talked on the phone…but then our matriarch passed away and with her, our energy to stretch out beyond our immediate families and friends.

The fun has gone out of this party which leaves me two choices.  Stop going, or attempt to pump the fun back into it.