Our Mother - Full of grace

My mother is in the hospital with pneumonia.

They thought she had some highly contagious disease. They called in the infectious disease crew and my father had to wear a mask near her.

She was just here. She watched my kids on Saturday for my birthday date night out in Philly (wonderful! but sadly, for another post). She was sick when she got here and gradually got so bad that she disapeared into her room and stayed sleeping for almost 48 hours. Then she got on a plane, flew home and the next day was in the hospital.

On a scale (preferrably sliding) how horrible a daughter am I that I had very little concern for my mom and was in an absolute panic over my babies?

I take a great deal of solace in the fact that they were her major concern too.

I love my mom.

I once told her that the sound of her voice on the other end of the line was like a pressure release valve. This is still true.

She is my second best friend in the world (having slid down only after I fell in love with the right man).

And she lies in a hospital bed on oxygen, an IV and antibiotics.

And she is worrying about my babies.

What a gift.

I know she will be fine. I know she will recover.

But :

She is getting older.

She is beginning to seem mortal.

She
is
getting
better.

Go go Mozilla

So I discovered the problem. Downloaded Mozilla's Firefox and I am now back in my blog from work.

The last post I sent was actually from home but work access will definitely mean more posts. Yipee.

I feel so liberated and connected.

I also used the fun little touch screen at Wawa to order a hoagie for the first time this week and, even though the 16 year old behind the counter clearly thought I was a cute old lady for having no idea what I was doing, I have to say: technology is so cool!

Change your browser, change the world.


When does Heroes come back on anyway?

No God but me

So I am having a balancing problem again.

I suffer from this from time to time and I can't quite work through it enough to move past it. Maybe it's a constantly moving object and I will never really solve the problem just rearrange the load until it works and then begins to tilt again eventually.

Balance.

Me time, kid time, husband time, house time, friend time.

Balance.

I have come to a realization: I am a bit controlling.

I have a hard time letting my husband do a job that I do, differently. Note that I am not saying that he will not do it as well as I do. But, he will do it differently. I have been unwilling to allow for this.

So I moan that the distribution of work is unfair. And I get tired and cranky and overwhelmed. He is happy to help. He is happy to do anything that I want him to. Sometimes it bothers me that this is the way it works. That he is waiting for guidance. But then I realize that I am in control. This is a control that I have chosen to assume and I cannot complain when it works against me occassionally.

We talked about this tonight. I made a point to stress that I am coming to terms with my own short comings and I would like some more help from him. I tried hard to be sure that he understood that this was my problem and I was in no way pointing a finger at him but admittedly even though he tried to understand it he said he still felt like I was calling him a dead beat.

He also said that anything I currently do will require a "transition period". That I cannot expect that he will all of the sudden know the ages at which the kids need check ups, what bills post to the account on what days, etc. I understand this too. And yet...it annoys me.

I learned this stuff. I wasn't born with the knowledge of health check ups, tax dates and bill payment.

Such a dilemma. I do not like the lunches he packs for the kids. BUT THEY ARE JUST LUNCHES!!!!! The kids will eat and be healthy and all will be fine in the world. If I want to share the responsibility I have to admit to the fact that he will do things differently. And I think as all good racists will tell you different=bad. I will not be a lunch racist.

I need to practice love and tolerance. I need to delegate and realize that the end result - happy kids, paid bills, Drs. Appts made and kept, meals that I would not have made myself but still satisfy the hunger. Are all the signs of love and balance.

Release.

Breath deeply.

And choose. What do I know I can most easily stay out of? Because I know it is not fair to pass something on to him and then micromanage the task. Not fair to either of us and defeating the point.

So.

Bills.

I hate bills.

I will create a calendar or when payments post. I will include when pay checks are due to deposit. And I will answer each question with the happy knowledge that the more he knows, the sooner I will no longer have to worry about the bills.

I married this man because he is my best friend and my life partner.

In Him I trust.

So he will make lunches every other day and help with bills.

I can already feel the scales shifting.

Balance.

Naked before God

First off.

I have been locked out of my blog from work. I know it is something I have done since I set the IT rules and I haven't set that one. BUT that is why I haven't written in so long.

And look at what has happened in my absence. I have been "discovered". No longer a journal, I now have an audience. hmmmm.

More later.

Now that I have confirmed that I can get in here from home, I have to go.

Peace.
Out.

I can't hear you

Articulate.
One of the many offensive descriptors used by Mr. Biden in his description of Mr. Obama recently. Isn't it funny how we become so comfortable with common usage that we do not stop to think about what we are saying?
I don't think Mr. Biden will make a good president. Not because of the content of what he said but because he said it out loud. All of America might have been thinking it. But you don't say it out loud. Not as a politician anyway.
I read a very interesting article about the use of the word articulate in describing african americans and how what is really being said is actually a racial slur.
Gee Nigger you talk good.
I became aware of another truth in our society. There is no other politician out there that we refer to as anything other than, mr. or ms. and their last names. Our only exceptions are Barak Obama, who is usually referred to in the whole or just as Barak but rarely as Mr. Obama. And of course Hilary. How is it that we are so familiar with her? Isn't she Mrs. Clinton? Shouldn't she actually garner more respect, being a former first lady.
I wonder about word usage.
Like mulatto. This was a name chosen to describe me on more than one occassion. A term coined in slave times because it was believed that white men and black women could not produce fertile children. Like the horse, the donkey and their child the mule. I am not a mule child.
You need only to view my stretch marks and my children to know this. But even before my reproductive heyday, I was not a mule child.
Some words are better left alone. Articulate is indeed one of them. Never have I heard a white person described as articulate.
I had hoped for a Biden Obama ticket in 2008.
Now I need to scope the presidential hopefuls for the running mate that will most likely claim Mr. Obama's rightful spot in the oval office and yet walk with the first man of color into the White House. Albeit as Vice President.
One small step for man, one giant leap for man kind.
Damn, that Neil Armstrong sure was an articulate fellow. Wasn't him?

Gratitude

I was taught my please and thank yous early.

I am trying to do the same with my children. I believe that manners and respect for others is imperative.

I was also taught to write a thank you note. I know that not everyone is and somehow I just can't get past how rude I think it is when I do something for someone and don't even get acknowledged, much less a thank you. It makes me mad that I am so...classist?

I don't mean class in the traditional use of the word because I don't think that good manners are an upper class thing. Actually, I think the opposite is true in many cases. I do think that a "classy lady" is one that is quick and sincere with her please and thank yous.

I wish I were more altruistic. I wish I did good deads simply for the doing of them.

I am not. I want a thank you.

The weird thing here is that I am okay with no thank yous when I do something for someone in crisis. I understand that stress can strip away your please and thank you. I am somehow understanding of the actions I truly do because someone is hurting or in need. I expect no thank you then.

The irony is that this is also when you are most likely to get a thank you or a note.

Hell, an email thank you is more than appropriate in today's world.

I once sent a thank you note for a birthday present (which I have never actually agreed with) and received a note in return. My father insisted that I write a thank you note back. I refused. Several weeks later the woman asked my father if I had ever received her note.

I know this tactic because I use it myself. The actual question here is - "Don't you have manners enough to at least ackowledge my kind act?". In this case I thought a thank you note FOR a thank you note was just a bit much.

I send a card or email when I go to a friend's for dinner. I think that acknowledging the work they did and the good time we had is worth the time and the stamp.

I have little patience for those who can't even say thank you when you have done them a favor. While this will certainly not end a friendship, it will stop me from helping next time.

I just needed to vent.

Thank you for listening.

(see? how hard was that?)

For the love of Dog

My daughter and I have entered into a new groove when it comes to the night night routine. For about a year now she has preferred that daddy put her night night. I bravely tried not to be upset by this. I told myself that I get to spend more time with her because I am her taxi service to and from school and we get more quality time then.

I didn't buy it.
Neither did my husband.

We asked her what daddy does that mommy doesn't do. She was not forthcoming.

Turns out, daddy talks to her. Each night before he leaves her room, he leans in and tells her thank you for being a good girl and tells her how proud he is to be her daddy and talks about her day.

So I started telling her stories about life before Maya.
I told her the story of how mommy and daddy met. How mommy and Unkie MC celebrated xmas as kids. I told her about daddy and Kikki celebrated theirs. I also told her about her birthday, Dean's birthday and the days we picked up the dogs and brought them home.

This is by far her favorite story.

She likes to hear about the doggies. She snuggles into bed after we have talked and says goodnight rather happily.

She likes talking. And I like that she doesn't cry "no I want daddy to do it!" when she's told that I am taking her upstairs to bed.

Thank dog.