Saturday, May 29, 2010

More Ink for Tea!

Probably nothing is wrong, but I just got a letter from the imaging center asking for previous images. Probably nothing is wrong. If there was something wrong, I'd have gotten a phone call that would be overly assuring and sugary sweet, assuring me that everything was OK, but that they wanted me to come in to talk, and to bring my husband. Of course I can't call the first place for my images today and we are at the start of a long weekend. (sigh)

The only reason I am worried is because I started having problems after the fire and then I saw my GYN's nurse at a restaurant which I feel were sigh-ns. Whenever I die (and it's probably not soon) and my guardian angel and I are able to communicate directly, if this is important to bring up, it will say, "Da--, Tea! I [insert things that I missed here], then I let your house burn down so you'd start having problems and take notice, then I had you run into that nurse-- geez, you were dense at times!"

I hate this waiting period. Dr. Seuss wrote about The Waiting Place in his book Oh, the Places You'll Go! If something is wrong, I am hooked up with the best organized church on the planet and I know that if I need help in getting to appointments that they may help arrange it. Since my husband's little church helped us post fire so much, I worry about overtaxing them. In the mean time, I volunteer and help out at the church I attend as much as I can and put in time to help.

Nothing is wrong, nothing is wrong. God, I hope nothing is wrong-- but if it is, it is probably early. The last scans were three years ago right before I went to see my dad when he died.

I told my husband and he was cool about it—his insurance is changing over for the coming year and this is just in time to get results back to see how much money we can ask to be taken from his paycheck and put into his medical account.

You of course know what this means, right? If something is wrong, I am getting a tattoo! If something isn’t wrong, I am getting a tattoo! Right quad, the strongest muscle in the body.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

First week of school being out. . .

I have been running children to the dentist since last week. How many trips does it take a mother with 7 at home to get their teeth fixed?

Eldest daughter is leaving for another state soon. I am sad and seeing her for the last time before she leaves this Thursday. She is 12 hours away from the ocean and said, "I am next door to the ocean!" She thinks she will go every weekend!

I had to get a mammogram today. I can't talk medical stuff face to face and I want to crawl on the floor and stay in a fetal position, but saying it in a blog is OK. The lady who did it was great-- I chose the place because it is not my local hospital that I dislike. I in fact drove past the local hospital en route to going there and blew a raspberry at it in my rear view mirror. That made getting it done pretty darned fun. I will go back because the woman who did the scan was nice. She also spells her mane like I do, T-E-A LOL   I got through it.

I also took my Giraffe with me. My giraffe is my protector-- he came through the house fire with me. I like to say that I ran in for my purse because of him. (But it was really for my driver's license!)

I sat in the wait room for a short time and knitted a prayer shawl for a friend. It comforted me as much as the friend comforts me.

Shock is a funny thing. . .

Since the fire, my shock with things has worn off, but ever so often, I go back into it. This is not a bad thing because I am still coherent and fully functional, I just slip into a partial reality where I deny that I lost everything. The other night it happened again.

I was looking for something and couldn't find it. Cloud asked what I was looking for and I said I needed a pair of shorts and a tank top-- I knew they were around here somewhere. She said, "They burned up."

I smiled at her, no I had seen them just the other day. I told her which pair of shorts they were. She laughed and asked if I knew where my red sandals were to go with them. Yes, they were in my closet. She knows better than to make gutteral noises or to make fun of me and just said, "I hope you find them!"

My husband said, "They burned up. Here's my card. Go to Fred Meyer and buy yourself a new outfit." So intent was I that they were in my room or downstairs that I shoo'd him off, they were here!

After 20 minutes of rumaging I came upstairs, "You know, I think they burned up! May I have your card so I can run up to Fred Meyer and pick up a couple of things?"

No one thinks anything of this. (I did the same with Christmas decorations.) Before the fire struck, I had boxed up my summer clothes in RubberMaid boxes and they of course melted, so with many of our new things in similar boxes, my association seemed recent. It was thought that I was in serious shock because I seldom turn down an offer to buy new clothes, but I really just wanted to get to my yard work (haha-- and that was another casualty of the fire!)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Middle school is a drag

Today a young person came home from a dance, very much devastated. At an age when sports should be prevalant, her hormones are running. The boy she asked to dance with her told her that he didn't dance with other guys. At 16 a response of this nature will get blown off as the guy being immature, but today there was something wrong, in this person's mind, with herself. No one would slow dance with this attractive young woman; she wants to be held by one of the immature boys who seem so cool and so detatched and above it all. The young woman is not immature, but she is very smart and very sensitive.

Middle School dances are really a snake pit.

My own 14 year old will not be happy when I announce that no one under 16 gets to go out on dates or to dances, but I am backed up on this by my 21 and 20 year old daughters who always went to the movies or to friends houses instead of dances.

Building a house

I been showing signs of PTSD. Nothing bad, but I feel like a study for psych students of minor PTSD symptoms.

So I wanted to just buy a house that already existed. The first one was a friends' house, but it was $100,000 more than we could afford. As time went on, I became more interested in smaller houses. Oh, it wouldn't be hard to add on! Finally a real estate agent told me that if I could get a loan to either buy or build a bigger house, that with four kids rappidly becoming adults, that I'd be nuts to not either buy or build what we need or at least get something bigger if we could afford it. Adding on is OK if you are stuck with something. We are not. I didn't know why I took a shower and cried for 45 minutes after she told me that.

It took a couple more weeks, but I realized that me wanting a house that was too small was me wanting to go back to what I knew. It was upsetting to realize that in some way, I was reaching backward to grab what I knew.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Latest Hobbies

A month after the fire, I couldn't sleep, so I was surfing around aimlessly on the 'net and click n' paid for a knitting class. I stared at the computer. WTF was I thinking? In high school, dateless girls knitted on Friday nights and virgin aunts of old would while away their spinster years discussing their latest knitting projects. Knitting was for women who had too much time on their hands! Certainly knitting helped a group of women in Scandinavia earn money during the Depression, but this was 2010, not 1938! I emailed the instructor and told her that I'd paid for the class but didn't know why, explaining that my mind wasn't right, and could I please get a refund. She was very sweet and said I could, but if it wasn't a scheduling conflict, why wouldn't I try it out? If I still wanted my money back, given my circumstamces, she'd be happy to consider it.

Dare I joke about a needle addiction?

I went and discovered that I have no time left as it is all spent on knitting! Instead of me getting a refund, I gave her more money so I could learn to cable and do lace, and then there were so many patterns!Spinster aunts of old retained their spinsterhood so they could knit! I should have taken up the kntting gir;s invitation to join them on Fridy nights!

Right now I am working on a Tree shawl that my teacher is helping me modify. It's a prayer shawl for my mum in London (don't confuse her with my mom in Tombstone, both who are fabulous women!)

I am also taking yoga teacher training. It is three times a week. My awesome teacher informed me that I am not trying as hard as I can and I was told that I am not allowed to say anything negative about my form. I cannot say anything she doesn't know. I am not mad in the least-- you don't pay a good teacher to tell her what you think, so you take their words seriously.

Today on Mother's Day I have been hit with allergies. My husband gave me a gift card to a local yarn store which is burning up in my purse, but I am savoring it for when I can buy a really nice hank of yarn. I am working on several shawls, all prayer shawls, of the same pattern. I am working on both ends so I will, by the end of the week, have six pair of needles with work on them. I am slow at getting this and the pattern is complicated in places, so I learn a technique, come home, work it out on each set, and return to my teacher. While it is tedious, I am retaining it and I remind myself that I like to knit so it's not terrible. (I wish I had six bodies for yoga so my evil little woman of a teacher could kill me and kill me again of different nights! PAH!) Knitting has probably staved off a depression for me-- after the fire, I wanted niceness around me. I was hiding in bed and just touching the sheets or holding a soft, plush blanket that Starshine was given-- I was never bad because I gave myself limits, but with the knitting, I have something to do and hold! I spend about 2 hours a day with it on non-yoga days.

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Just another Crumpet Clan outing!

The other night I took the kids to Saturday evening Mass. My husband was was out of town on business. I’d wanted to try for Mass for Sunday morning but as chaos built up here, I realized that getting out the door the next morning would just not happen. I told Cloud to get the little girls ready and the boys to get ready. Cloud put the little girls into flip-flops and tank top dresses. The boys were in t-shirts, as in, undershirts. They wore hoodies over them. I wouldn’t notice Cloud or her sisters until it was too late and we were taking off in the car. . . or the boys until they were in church and simultaneously removing said hoodies. I am in no way a prude, but for church, my boys need to wear something more substantial than undershirts even if they are clean, and no one in my family should bare their shoulders in a church unless it is a bride or her bridesmaids. Sandals are OK, but I don’t like my kids in flip-flops at church; they are way too casual and they don't pay attention.

At church, I parked the car with a few minutes to spare and felt proud of myself. Other people were arriving. Do my kids do what I have tried to train them to do, the same that I was trained to do without my parents ever telling me, did they wait around the car while everyone got out so we could walk in together? If I am asking you this, you know that the answer is no. My automatic locks on my newer suburban don’t work. It was like a trap set up to slow Batman down when they all hopped out of the suburban and sprawled across the parking lot and I had to simultaneously yell at them to slow down and wait of me while leaning over to lock doors manually. Cloud was loudly scolding her brothers over going too fast, 12 year old Guy was elbowing Calamity Jane over something. Starshine and Mudd were racing each other for a Darwin Award* and proving why we must walk with parents or older siblings to cross driveways. Dmitri had taken a seat, fortunately in the back of the church, but I’d have to look for him.

Going inside I realized that the door to the church was open, with the seated people clearly able to hear the havoc that Clan Crumpet was causing. The priest and his retinue were waiting and he was smiling at me, “Which of your kids get Communion?” I assured him that I’d spoken to them—all of them would. He suppressed a laugh, I wasn’t fooling him, I could talk to my crew all I wanted but I don’t think he thought they’d listen and if he did think this, he was probably correct.

Calamity Jane would complain that the music was too Protestant, she didn’t like the hymns and they “are not Godly.” She sings Gregorian chant at the Orthodox church and wouldn’t sing with us, “But I will do everything else with your people.” Guy was singing but grunting, drawing attention to his special needs. Cloud, in addition to being casual, had chipped nails and toe nails and that bugged me—if you want nail polish, fine, but keep them polished. (I’d later ask her if she would tape scraps of clothing to herself. Even in high school, my nails were perfect-- it was the bargain I did with my mom if I grew my nails out and got to paint them red. My spearing of olives with them drove my dad nuts, but she laughed in private over that.) Joey made loud comparisons to his fathers’ church and to the Catholics. Bash didn’t want to be touched so he sat on the far side of Dmitri. Dmitri was Dmitri and cute and sweet as ever, rebuffed by his brothers as he tried to show them things in the hymnal. At one point Starshine blew a whistle that I would confiscate, and she occasionally screeched because I wouldn’t allow her to pull down the kneeler or get up and sit with different family members. They handled Communion OK—the Most Precious Blood wasn’t spilled, but I think Bash may have gulped it.

Upon leaving, my crew separated yet again, but Father did get out with his escorts before we did, inspite of Bash trying to take off. Guy wandered away and went out another door when we got into the foyer. Twice I passed Father and said, “Good morning!” (It was aer 6pm.) I came back in to look for Guy and one of the deacons told me to bring them all back again, assuring me that we were OK. What was I thinking in having so many independent variables?!?!?!

I am allergic to booze because God knows that I would drink it often and this is an act of God that I cannot drink it. We came home and I put in a movie for them and sat in my room and listened to Bach and drank tea and ate Almond Roca.

Next time we get into the car, we will go over how I expect them to act when they get out of the car. When I spoke to them in the car on Saturday, they blamed each other which drove me to the brink of quietly pulling out my hair. We will talk about how to act in church and what to do if someone bothers you. It's complicated. I stopped making ugly faces and I don't even get mad at the kids beyond a short lecture. Restriction, reading a chapter on manners, none of it works. Maybe talking before church next time will help and maybe it won't. My children will most likely have children of their own and they may be as I often am with them!

*I sound like I am joking here. I am not. Parking lots scare the sh-- out of me be I driving in them where there are people, kids or adults, running around, and they scare the sh-- out of me when it's my kids or hsuabnd running around in them. In theory, my children watch out for the little ones with me!