SNOW DAY!

Wow! The snow is coming down like cotton today! Cotton in my brain, cotton from the sky, cotton on the ground where Hailey flies!

Hailey got busy shoveling snow while Hannah ate it. Obviously school was cancelled today and I'm anticipating a cancellation tomorrow.

Can you imagine how much effort it took to create a snowball this big??? Notice the girls aren't wearing their coats!

(Not So) Tranquil Tuesday

My Tuesday babysitter arrived as usual around 4:25. I planned to use a Target gift card to purchase blooming spring tulips & hyacinths as well as to leisurely shop for necessities like laundry detergent, pencils, a toilet seat, etc. etc.

I've been posting about my struggles with the winter blahs, though my insipid dealings with depression embarrass me on some levels. However, I continue to include them because depression is often a side-effect of chronic illness as well as of caring for a person with special needs.

With that said, one element of both depression and arthritis is brain fog and the accompanying inability to follow a thought or task through to completion. With cotton filling my cranium I grabbed some cash and my cell phone and drove to Joplin. Forty minutes later while zooming down Seventh Street I realized I had forgotten my checkbook (courtesy of cotton) which contained my Target gift card, credit cards, driver's license--everything a girl needs to enjoy a truly tranquil Tuesday. Blimey! After scrounging through the Tahoe and my pockets I accumulated a total of twenty dollars.

Now what?

I really wanted those spring bulbs, so I shopped at Target first. After limping around the store for twenty minutes, I finally asked a red-shirted Target employee where to find the bulbs. Answer: they don't have them yet. I was beginning to think the gods were conspiring against me.

Plan C: The dreaded Wal-mart. I used to love the one-stop shopping benefits of Wal-mart, but as my mobility has decreased I've begun viewing a trip through that particular store as the equivalent of running an indoor marathon. By the time I've finished I need plenty of fluids and a complete day of rest. This trip was worth it, though. Because I only had twenty dollars, I wasn't my usual marketer's-dream-self, grabbing something from every other end cap. I found the bulbs, purchased a fragrant purple hyacinth and a budding yellow tulip for $10 plus tax and left the store within twenty minutes: a personal record in both time and money.

Fewer than ten dollars remained at only 6:45. I didn't bring a book and didn't want to spend my pittance on one. Maybe a movie? I discover that The Golden Compass was playing at the second-run theatre at 7:15 AND Tuesdays offered 50-cent-movies! Score! I recently read the His Dark Materials series (The Golden Compass is book one of three) when the movie's release caused so much hype from the Christian right, a group of which I consider myself a member, but not a mindless-sheep-type member. I've been looking forward to seeing the movie and the right-wing-Christian part of me relished viewing it without financially supporting it.

I spent fifty cents on my ticket, then scrounged to come up with the $8.62 needed for a small popcorn and bottle of water. I wondered how they profited when they only charged 50 cents for a movie??? (eye-rolling here). I balanced the water, popcorn and ticket on my left side while I managed my cane with my right, handed off the ticket to a frazzled, overweight ticket-taker and moved slowly to my theatre. Based on the loud entryway overcrowded with high-school-aged kids yelling things such as douche-bag and like-like-you-know-like, I wasn't the only one looking for a cheap viewing on the big screen. I was just the oldest one. I hoped they'd all purchased tickets for Beowulf or Thirty Days of Night.

Wrong. The theatre was packed! Rather than hobble around with my cane and risk spilling my popcorn, I chose the back corner seat nearest the door, a door I closed myself after it remained open during the first two scenes, allowing raucous, profane sounds to interrupt the movie. Before the movie began, I turned off my phone, opened my water and settled in to enjoy an uninterrupted movie.

In my dreams. A man seated in the front of the theatre evidently suffered from some condition because intermittently through the beginning half of the movie he would whoop! whoop! whoop! at the top of his voice like some kind of self-setting alarm. He later escalated to running up the aisle and out the door while another man (his dad?) followed him. For me that looked like this: man runs up aisle, second man follows, door opens letting in loudness and light, door closes, momentary peace, door opens letting in loudness and light, man runs back down aisle followed by ever-tiring second man, both seat themselves, momentary peace. Repeat.

Oh, but it gets better. At a very-quiet-climax of the movie another movie in the cineplex finished, letting out another pack of vociferous adolescents. I could only surmise that this particular group of teen-agers was working up the courage to sneak into a second movie without paying (I don't know why I thought teen-agers might do such a thing...of course I never tried such a thing in my youth). They opened the door (bright light bright light! -- I was beginning to feel like a Gremlin), one exclaimed, "Dude! It's packed!" shut the door, and they all remained just outside the door talking loudly and pushing each other into the door. Over. And over. And over. I contemplated asking them to please be quiet, but felt certain that my limping, cane-toting demeanor would only inspire ridicule and more noise.

At this point, the aforementioned man from the front jumped from his seat, held his palms tightly against his ears with his elbows pointed straight out from his head and ran up the aisle screaming, "It's bad! It's bad! It's bad!" I couldn't agree more.

Finally, five minutes before the movie concluded a man sitting further down my aisle rose amidst his wife/girlfriend's, no-dont's to address the unruly crowd outside the door. I thanked him out loud as he squoze in front of me. Whatever he said or did worked because we in the last four rows were able to watch the conclusion in peace.

I arrived home at 10:00 to find Hannah still awake and out of bed.

I just had to laugh. It was that or go crazy...hey...maybe that's not such a bad idea either.

Silliness

While Hannah played "Joyful Joyful" on the piano, I heard a distinct phhhtt!

"What was that?!" I asked, laughing.

"Me. Han-nah."

"What was that sound, me-hannah?"

"Ah tooh, (a toot)" she replied, laughter in her own voice.

"A too-T," I corrected, emphasizing the missing ending T.

After a brief pause she asked, "Whuh-za mehw? (What's that smell?)

She's been around her daddy too much!

Blues Busters

FOUR MORE DAYS!!! Including today. Four days until February. February does not magically promise happiness, but it's a tangible step towards spring. While visiting outside with my neighbor yesterday, she mentioned that she'd been struggling with the winter blahs.

"What do you do to overcome them?" I asked her.

"First I had Larry install stronger lighting in the kitchen. Then I bought myself some blooming tulips to put in the house. I'll plant them in the ground as soon as they're done blooming."

Her ideas made me wonder: do any of you do anything specific to combat the winter blahs? That is, if you even have the winter blahs. I've posted my own ideas below. Please comment and tell me your own. Please. Please.
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Blues Buster Number One: I have a 10,000 lux broad spectrum light. Mine is an older model than the one pictured below from Apollo Light Company. It definitely perks me up, though it's kind of embarrassing when my living room window glows like I have my own tanning bed. For your information: Apollo states on their website that many insurance companies will now cover the cost of one of these lights. It might be worth looking into if cost has kept you from purchasing one before.

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Blues Buster Number Two: I'm going to do exactly what my neighbor suggested and purchase SEVERAL potted tulips, hyacinths, whatever-I-can-find and put one in each room. Serendipitously, I will finally have spring bulbs outside next spring. Every fall I want to plant bulbs, but by then I'm burned out with gardening and don't get it done. This way I can plant my bulbs in the spring when I feel like being outside digging in the dirt.

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Blues Buster Number Three: I'll actually take the Omega 3 capsules I have stocked in my medicine cupboard. I did some hefty research over a year ago and believed at the time that OmegaBrite provided the best quality Omega-3's in the correct ratio to Omega-6. Of course, I couldn't tell you now why I thought this was the best company...but I'm going to trust myself on this one. They're pricey, though.

Studies have shown that high doses of Essential Fatty Acids, specifically Omega-3s (found especially in salmon) relieve depression. But, hey, I'm no doctor. Do your own research before you take my word for it.
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Blues Buster Number Four: I purchased one of these online and received it Friday. I'll use it as an arm cycle, though it can be used with either arms or legs. So far my children have used it twenty-four times while I've used it once. Go figure. My arms are so weak that it's going to take several weeks before I can pump this baby long and hard enough to get my heart rate up. Evidently typing at a keyboard does not increase arm strength or cardiovascular endurance. Bummer.
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These are my intentions. I should know better than to post my intentions before carrying them out, but I couldn't resist.

Remember: please comment to leave your own tried-and-true Blues Busters...or even something you've heard about but not tried.

Here's to a head start on happiness for February!

Bouncing Baby Girl

I originally intended to post the antics acted out here while my niece and nephew visited this week. Believe me, there have been a few. However, I've put together a little impromptu photo album for Ed & Ashley and I don't want to spoil it by posting the stories here...on the off chance that they can't keep themselves from my blog longer than three days during a week in Sin City. Without kids. Ha.

When I followed Hannah through her schoolroom door today, I got an eyeful of Hannah cheeks...the bottom kind. Cute as they may be, I realized I needed to tighten the waistband of her pants. By the way, who is the genius that devised those nifty elastic bands inside of waistbands? You know, the ones with buttonholes so people like myself who are completely incapable of sewing can still "alter" pants. Whoever it is, I hope she's filthy rich. She deserves it. Or "he."

Hannah undressed before nap time (I know, I'm shocked too). Just before putting her baggy pants back on her today, my nephew E and I worked together to tighten the waistband. While we focused down at the pants, Hannah jumped on her bed in my peripheral vision. Boing boing boing boing. I concentrated so hard at making my curled hands hold the elastic just so that I almost succeeded in tuning out the boing boing until I heard boing boing BAM! In an instant Hannah bounced from my peripheral vision into my direct line of sight on the hardwood floor...head first, facing up at me with a how-the-heck-did-I-get-here look. She didn't cry (sensory dysfunction?). None of us moved for a good ten seconds.

Finally I picked her up, she fake cried, and I busted up laughing. Out loud. Almost to tears. I must be mentally imbalanced. When life has been generally good, I've been depressed. My daughter does a header onto the hardwood, I laugh.

I am so ready for February.

Hannah: Our Barometer

January. Ack. December's full, shorter days close into the frozen, lifeless days of January. How's that for a peppy intro? For the past several years January's lifelessness has drifted into my soul and I feel like I need an ice pick to remove it.

WELL then! This past week I tried to find something funny in this darkness about which to post. I've tried to find the humor in Hannah's behavior, but her behavior hasn't been very humorous.

Hannah is our family barometer: if any pressure rises, she measures it and provides a fairly accurate reading. Between my moody mental state, Carl's late working hours and the flu bug my family passed amongst itself, Hannah's had plenty of pressure to gauge. On top of that, she had physical therapy AND occupational therapy last Tuesday. She communicated this pressure in several ways.

One example: she cried out in the night several times per night, saying things like, "No, Tatie! 'top! AAaaahh! (No Katie! Stop! AAaaahh!) after which we could hear the bed bang bang bang against the wall as she rolled back and forth to calm herself. At school she spaced out, refusing to pay attention or complete her work. Her teacher placed a cardboard cubicle around her, but even that wasn't completely successful. Hannah's speech therapist wrote (in a communication journal we keep): "Hannah did not try today--she left sounds out and would just stare at me" and "She has trouble following through...3 steps forward and 2 steps back." She also added, "I understand the frustration. My son has done the same." Thank goodness the speech therapist shares her own humanity with me.

Another "thank goodness:" I have finally figured out that when Hannah's teachers and therapists share these things with me, they are not attacking me or implying I'm a bad mom. Yet I still feel as if I have somehow failed. This feeling of failure combined with sleep-deprived nights and the other pressures mentioned above has left me feeling like I'm in a downward spiral that I'm powerless to stop. However, I know logically that the powerlessness feeling is false, a lie. I know that just as January will pass, so will this current set of circumstances. Right now that's all I've got--the hope that this will end: mere survival and not authentic living. I'm going to do the best I can with that for now and believe that better days are just around the corner.

Sorry this post is a bit depressing. The coming week promises to be better. My niece and nephew are staying with me while their mom and dad take a much-deserved trip to Vegas. I hope to post some of the humorous antics here. That's my best anti-depressant: looking for the funny stuff and focusing on it hard enough to be able to convey it in writing.

Udder Confusion

I recently sent this movie as a belated gag Christmas gift to my 60-year-old dad (a.k.a. Pop):






Ben, pictured below, was one of the main characters in the movie...






Ben's voice was played by Sam Elliott. Oh baby--Sam Elliott. I remembered him with Patrick Swayze in Road House...a real bad-ass (excuse my language). In the eighties Sam looked like the picture on the left below while today, he looks like the picture on the right below (from the movie The Golden Compass). Why do wrinkles make a man look rugged, tough and desirably masculine, while they make women look aged and worn? Ah, but I digress.

Actually, I'm going to digress more. I'm a farm girl at heart. I grew up in a family that raised cattle and hogs and farmed land...mostly wheat. At different points in my life I drove tractors and combines, bottle-fed baby calves and spent every other Sunday morning with my family chasing in the pigs that had escaped to destroy mom's vegetables and flowers while we attended church.


One thing particularly irritated Pop: when people called all cattle cows. He instructed us, somewhat vehemently, that cows were female cattle that had calves, bulls were male cattle, heifers were female cattle that had not had calves and steers were castrated bulls. I often heard the phrase "try like a steer," though I didn't understand it until, well, later.


Do you get the idea? I had understood clearly since my youth that cattle with udders were the equivalent of female, breast-feeding, mommy cows. So, imagine my confusion when "Ben" first showed on the Barnyard scene as you see him in the picture above with a deep, masculine, Sam Elliott voice, then appeared full-body onscreen looking like this:





Sam Elliott with breasts??? Ack!

10 Years Old -- Already???

Where have the last ten years gone??? Following is my own photo montage of Hailey. It's my first ever attempt at using my scanner. Also...I'm still not feeling real whoopie, so I have a big gap in the years, but you'll get the idea.

Hailey as a baby...lovely couch she's sitting on. Wouldn't you agree? (gag, ugh, yuck)

What baby photo history is complete without the high-chair-mess picture?

Here's Hailey taking some of her first steps...

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Hailey and me. I promise she had more than one outfit...

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Hailey on the "horsey-cow." I'd forgotten that horsey-cow had been around for so long! No wonder it currently looks like it had seen better days!

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Every girl needs a stylish pair of shoes. Hopefully they take your attention away from whatever is on her face!


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Hailey, Katie & Carl on our fourth-of-July vacation to the Colorado Rockies. In this picture they're at the Independence Day parade in Granby, CO. Love the glasses, babe!

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More in Colorado...I love the Colorado Rockies in the summertime!

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Thumbs up! Hailey consistently sports this hair style due to her "rolling."

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OK, we skipped a few years here. This picture was taken by my brother's wife, Shelly, in 2006.

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This is Hailey preparing to eat her birthday breakfast this year.

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...and all three girls birthday morning.

Happy 10th Hailey! I sure love you!

(No) Fun with the Flu

We have the flu here. Carl was first on Friday, followed by Hannah & Katie on Sunday. Katie missed school Monday, but it is such a short-lived flu that Hannah made it to school Monday.

I'm bummed because it hit me yesterday afternoon, so I had to miss an awesomely planned Tuesday Tranquility: I had an appointment at The Oasis Salon and Day Spa to use a gift certificate Carl gave me months ago. I would have received a 30-minute massage, a new cut & style along with having my nails filled. Instead, I spent the evening in bed while my awesome babysitter watched the girls. I never realize the importance of having a good support system when living far from family...until I'm sick. Hannah still had a mild case of diarrhea. There's nothing much worse than keeping up with THAT when I already feel like I'm gonna, um, lose my lunch.

I'm feeling better, though still weak, today. Hailey is home with it. I'm glad we all got over it before my niece and nephew come to stay with us next week while my sister & her husband enjoy a well-deserved trip to Vegas. Actually, my sis is pregnant and not a gambler, so hopefully she'll still find a way to enjoy the trip. Just getting away from mommy-hood (except for number 5 she'll be bringing inside her) would be a huge relief to me.

I have two posts started that I was unable to finish because of this flu bug. Yesterday was Hailey's TENTH birthday. Ten???!!! I have some photos to post as soon as I feel up to tackling my scanner. Be sure to check back later!

Lightning Creek

Yesterday Carl took Katie & Hailey on a romp around Lightning Creek and shot these pictures while they were out.

Hello Hailey...



...and Katie...




They climbed a tree...





Acted like a couple of monkeys...



And, if I have the story right, they crossed at a shallow spot like this one.

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After romping a while, they couldn't find another shallow place to cross. Carl improvised by throwing this little log across the stream from the far side of the picture, then they all three crossed like so:

Believe it or not, they came home clean and dry except for their shoes!

Bean Money!

It's been a fairly creative weekend at the Solomon house. No credit to me, though. I basically read a book all weekend, and did laundry, and started a new diet, and took Hailey to her basketball game, and...I guess I did more than I realized.

Do you recall my bean money conversations with Hannah?

Carl took it to the next level by making her a bean bank for her bean money.

New Diet from an Unexpected Source

Along with thousands--maybe millions--of people, I am implementing a new diet. Unlike a large percentage of those thousands or millions, I'm not trying to lose weight. I could stand to lose many lumps of cellulite and firm up the pounds I do carry, but at 106 pounds, my weight is fine. Maybe even a little low.

So why am I going on a diet? I'm tired of feeling crummy, tired of brain fog, and I believe that our bodies are "amazing self-righting machines." (That's actually a quote from a Northern Exposure episode that's still rolling around in my brain.) Yesterday I completed my first day of Dr. Perricone's Three-Day Nutritional Face-lift. Yeah, I could use a face-lift, but again--that's not my goal.

Dr. Perricone's diet is based on the theory that wrinkles--all signs of aging for that matter--are a result of inflammation. Inflammation. The root of all arthritic damage. Can you guess who steered me towards this diet? My rheumatologist? Maybe a wrinkly friend? No--it was my OB/GYN...and a male OB/GYN at that. I don't recall exactly why he adhered to the diet, but in the process he realized that the sports injuries from his youth no longer ached.

I wanted to post "I'm getting ready to start a new diet!" yesterday, but I know myself too well. Some people gain satisfaction from setting goals, sharing their goals, then achieving them. I gain satisfaction from simply writing about them...then I stop there. It's as if I feel a sense of value and accomplishment from coming up with a good idea or learning something that the average person may not know. Actually carrying out the plan? I could take it or leave it.

So yesterday I adhered to the diet silently, stifling my desire to tell everyone what I was doing. Today I can say I DID IT! I stuck with day one. Dr. Perricone has a 3-day regimine about which he writes, "The more closely you stick to this diet, the better results you will achieve. After three days, you should be well on your way to controlling inflammation and fluid retention, and as a result your skin will glow and your energy soar."

My energy will soar??? I can't wait!!!

His 28-day Wrinkle-Free Program (read: Inflammation-Free Program) is less restrictive, but much different than my current eating style.

This is all part of a bigger plan I have for myself in regards to the arthritis and my overall health, but I'm not allowing myself to post about that just yet. One day at a time. I WILL say that I've been intrigued by Amy Scher's struggles with Lyme Disease, which have culminated in a journey to India for treatment. I ran across her blog when surfing through the "More from BlogHer" posts on the right side of my blog.

For now, I will focus on today, eating right today, boosting my immune system and looking forward to clearer thinking and less-painful walking. I awoke with a headache, rare for me, so I guess I'm getting rid of some toxins and withdrawing from caffeine and sugar. I hope I start to feel better soon.

Following is my 3-day diet:

WAKE UP
8 to 12 oz. water


BREAKFAST
Omelet made of 3 egg whites & 1 yolk and/or 4- to 6-oz. grilled salmon
½ cup cooked non-instant oatmeal
3-inch slice canteloupe and ¼ cup fresh berries (preferably blueberries)
8 to 12 oz. water

LUNCH
4 to 6 oz. grilled salmon
2 cups romaine lettuce; dress with 1 tablespoon extravirgin olive oil & freshly squeezed lemon juice to taste
3-inch slice canteloupe and ¼ cup fresh berries
8 to 12 oz. water

MID-AFTERNOON SNACK
2 oz. low-salt, sliced chicken breast
4 raw, unsalted hazelnuts
½ green apple
8 to 12 oz. water

DINNER
4 to 6 oz. grilled salmon
2 cups romaine lettuce (dressed like lunch's)
1 cup steamed asparagus (YUCK), broccoli, or spinach dressed with a little olive oil
3-inch slice cantelouope and ¼ cup fresh berries
8 to 12 oz. spring water

BEFORE-BEDTIME SNACK
2 oz. low-fat low-salt turkey or chicken breast
½ pear or green apple
3 or 4 almonds or olives
8 to 12 oz. water

I NEVER eat this much food in one day, so that was the hardest part for me. Eating EVERYTHING. I have to admit that I didn't eat the before-bedtime snack yesterday. Today I plan to eat lunch earlier so that all the other meals occur earlier as well. Maybe that will allow me to cram in a before-bedtime snack.

Boring, boring, boring I know...but this is my post for the day!

Accidental Peace

Here it is Friday and I'm just now posting about Tuesday. That's how this week has been.

I've told you before that a babysitter watches the girls for me every Tuesday evening. Being a full-time stay-at-home mom who does the accounting and taxes for our eleven-year-old home-based business (that operates in three states no less), meets the needs of our special-needs girl and deals with rheumatoid arthritis, well, I've got to do something to save my sanity. That something includes hiring a babysitter once a week.

You would think this would be a no-brainer: hire a sitter, do something re-creational, come home revitalized and ready to take on another six-and-a-half days, another 156 hours, another 9,360 minutes...you get the idea. However, it's not a complete no-brainer. Leaving requires that I have a meal prepared, the girls have their homework completed, and everyone (read: Hannah) has clean pajamas and pull-ups.

Once I leave...where do I go? I have approximately four hours. Do I spend two of them driving to and from Joplin? If not and I stay in our small town (population 2000), what do I do? Pizza Hut? The library? I've done all of the above. Some Tuesdays I come home more revitalized than others. When the weather is nice I sit in the local park surrounded by beautiful landscaping and a fantastic natural bluff overlooking the river I hear flowing 75 feet below. On these colder, darker winter Tuesdays I often sit at the small-town Carnegie library with headphones plugged into my laptop, listening to relaxing music while I sit in a comfy chair reading a book, uninterrupted...well, except for the occasional friend or acquaintance who says hello and carries on a brief conversation.

This past Tuesday I read Simple Abundance by Sara Ban Breathnach while sitting at the library, pondering my wants versus my needs and being pummelled by the sounds of rambunctious kids in the next room (no headphones that night). I returned home an hour later to deliver money to the sitter so she could take the girls to the local basketball game. Afterwards I returned to the library for an hour, but frankly...I just wanted to go home.

I pulled into the garage thirty minutes before the girls were scheduled to return from the game. Entering my kitchen, I was met by...silence. Complete silence. I wandered through my dark house for a couple of minutes, closing curtains and relishing the solitude of my quiet cocoon. My heartbeat slowed, my breaths deepened. After lighting several candles, I sat down in the flickering light with a plate of my homemade chicken tetrazzini and a glass of wine to listen to the nothingness.

The phone didn't ring, dogs didn't bark, nothing stopped the stillness. I savored thirty solid minutes, 1,800 seconds, of accidental peace.

Dandy Updates & Household Sounds

Hannah's week has slowly improved. I posted Monday about her difficult day at school. I have since made it a point to get her to bed early. Of course, that decision is entirely for Hannah's benefit--it has nothing to do with the peace that permeates the house after Hannah falls asleep...yeah...nothing. Tuesday went slightly better for her. At least I wasn't met at the preschool door by the teacher when I picked Hannah up. Yesterday Hannah failed to pay attention during center-time, but did complete her coloring page...with constant redirection by her teacher.

She has been more easily distracted than usual. Again: Dandy-Walker? Sensory issues? Poor parenting? She was doing so well before Christmas. Since Christmas she's returned to her beginning-of-school behaviors. That doesn't reflect well on the Solomon home. In my own defense, she did well last Thursday, her first day back after Christmas.

They haven't begun using her weighted vest at school yet. They're waiting for the next occupational therapist visit, as the OT determines the amount of weight to use. We had hoped that visit would occur this week, but unless she arrived today, we'll be waiting until next week.

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I just returned from picking up Hannah from school. No OT. Hopefully next week. On the way home Hannah said, "I in tye moat." I was in time out. Did she mean she was in time out today? Yesterday? Monday? To Hannah every day is right now. I have sent an e-mail to her teacher to determine the details.

I heard Hannah in the kitchen right now. The dishwasher creaked open, next the refrigerator door seal ssssssssed as it released, then the milk jug lid clicked onto the floor. Finally I heard the tink tink tink of a spoon stirring something (presumably milk) in a glass followed by lips smacking. Is it a mom thing to automatically hear and identify all the sounds particular to her own home? That is one of the most exhausting aspects of family life: I'm never completely "off" as long as anyone else is here. Which reminds me of my nice Tuesday evening. I'll close this post and tell you about it next.

Note on My Pillow

I polished off the previous post, shut down my computer after failing at my first attempt at uploading a YouTube video and shuffled to bed, inwardly grumbling about my crummy day, my crummy week, my crummy December, boo hoo hoo. When I reached my bed, looking forward to escaping my crummy life by drifting into dreamland, I found the following letter, misspellings and all (just tellin' ya--they're not typos):

Dear mom thank you for evrething that you have done for me such as washing my cloths cooking my meals and so much more and i bet that all together for all the thing you have done and that all those things i HAVE NOT thanked you for I bet all together all those things i need to thank you for lead up to Google thankyous by the way

THANKS

FOR BEING

THE BEST MOM

EVER

Love
Hailey

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Just what the doctor ordered. My life isn't so crummy after all.

Tornadoes All Around

Here in southeast Kansas we are under a tornado watch as a result of a PDS (Particularly Dangerous Situation, as tagged by our local weatherman). In January. Today's high temperatures topped 70 degrees with gusty winds.

Hannah must be channeling the storm. When I arrived at the preschool to pick her up, her speech therapist stuck her head out the door and asked me to come inside. Ugh. I felt like a child being called to the principal's office. Hannah had a bad day--wouldn't focus, wouldn't follow instructions, wouldn't care.

Miss Ann, her teacher, threatened Hannah, "Do we need to call your Mom?"

"OK," Hannah responded and shrugged. She probably would have viewed my visit as a treat, not trouble.

Time Out? No big deal.

Finish her coloring page while the other kids played? Fine with her.

Frustratingly, Hannah doesn't get the concept of punishment unless it involves spanking or raising my voice. I can speak to her sternly and she understands that she's doing something wrong, but it doesn't immediately change her behavior. The preschool teachers experience the same thing.

She knew she had misbehaved because one of the first things she told her Aunt Ashley on the phone today was, "Teachew say...Tye moat." (Teacher say time out.) So now what??? At home Hannah's tornadoes blow through loudly and destructively. Self-destructively. At school Hannah remains a billowy thunderhead that never lets loose it's storm.

Continuing with the storm theme, I can't help but wonder if this is all the culmination of the stormy atmosphere in our home since my ER trip Wednesday. Hannah watched my entire choking experience from Papa Carl's lap, occassionally approaching me with worried eyes to ask, "Mama sick?" I wasn't her usual mommy through the whole weekend and even spent most of Saturday asleep. Carl allowed her to stay up past 10:00 Friday and Saturday nights, she failed to take a nap Sunday and I heard her cry out several times in the night last night. I suspect the poor girl is exhausted, physically and emotionally, and it's playing out in school. Yes, I told her teachers that, hoping to enlighten them but hating to seem like I sought pity.

On a little different note, I delivered Hannah's weighted vest today (see this post for more information), so her teachers will have it available for the next time she has a day like today. Hopefully that day isn't tomorrow.

My Give-A-Sh*tter Gave Out

That's what my dad said to me at the end of our phone conversation today. "My Give-A-Shitter gave out." I can relate. I've been trying to keep a cheerful demeanor, think positively, blah blah blah & it's just not there.

Remember my Christmas day trip to the ER? I experienced the joy of another ER trip this past Wednesday when an aspirin, a tiny coated aspirin, not a big chunky Excedrin, lodged in my throat denying even a drop of spit to pass. Alarming is an understatement. After an hour of trying to swallow the pill with no luck, we left Katie & Hailey at home while Carl drove Hannah and me to the local small-town ER. I left a note for Sheri, knowing she would probably stop in for her mail-delivery break.

At the ER a nurse, moving like molasses, showed more interest in my vital signs (oh, my blood pressure is high? No Kidding!) than in the fact that something was lodged in my throat and might at any moment get sucked into my air passages and kill me. OK. I'm being a little sarcastic here. Finally, after about twenty minutes (no exaggeration) the nurse practitioner, who looked all of eighteen years old, paid me a visit. After three banal questions by the NP, I interrupted and asked, "What can you do to push the pill on down my throat?"

"Oh, honey, we probably can't do anything here."

Don't honey me! (I didn't say that, but I really really wanted to!) I did say, "Then let's stop wasting time and figure out where I need to go." I wasted 45 minutes at that little pit-stop before Carl drove me to Joplin. Yes, we could've driven just 20 minutes to Parsons, but they weren't sure a doctor would be available to do whatever needed done. I took their word for it and made the 45-minute trip, as I said, to Joplin.

The Joplin ER was an entirely different story. Friendly, fast, efficient. They had my insurance info on file, papers signed, and a verbalized plan in five minutes. In another five minutes they took my vital signs and wheeled me to my own room. Carl could barely keep up.

Ten minutes later four nurses arrived. Actually, one nurse and three nursing student. Inwardly I groaned, having no desire to be a guinea pig that day. I was doing good to keep my wits about me so I didn't scare Hannah half to death.

Fifteen minutes later I saw a doctor. An actual MD. He had the yellowed remains of a black eye, but I kept my tongue (believe it or not). After having me try to swallow some water to prove that I really could not even swallow my own spit, the MD suggested that I first try a medication that would relax my esophageal muscle. It dawned on me: any medicine I received would have to enter my body through a needle. Could this day get any worse?

Enter nurse and one nursing student with two trays full of every possible needle, syringe, prep pad, yuck, yuck, yuck.

"I'm a real needle weenie. If this medicine doesn't work, will you have to stick me again for the other procedure?"

"Oh no. We'll be real nice," the nurse replied and began discussing the appropriate needle size with the student.

As they approached me and I attempted not to recoil I asked, "Which one of you is going to stick me."

After a noticable hesitation, the nurse replied, "She's going to stick you but I'm going to stand real close." Does she think I'm stupid? What does it matter how close she stands if newbie nursing student misses my enormous vein???

I replied, "How about you stick me and she learns on someone else?" And that is, indeed, what we did. To condense the remainder of this story: the relaxation meds did not work, the nurse put me under, a different MD ran a camera down my throat to photograph the aspirin, pushed the aspirin down and sent me home with a presciption for Prevacid.

Swallowing hurts like a you-know-what, I haven't eaten well since Wednesday, and here I sit with my broken Give-A-Sh*tter. Thank God for Sheri. She took care of the big girls while I visited the Joplin ER, she picked up the same girls from school for me on Thursday and brought Hailey home from her basketball game today. That's been a pretty one-sided friendship this week, for which I'm extremely grateful. If it weren't for Sheri & Carl & everyone who has listened to my tale of woe this week, my Give-A-Sh*tter would have probably exploded altogether. As it is, I can probably repair it...at least I hope I can.

Hannah's Weighted Vest...and the Resulting Memories

The last three paragraphs of this post explain the purpose of a weighted vest, for those who only want that information.

One of the more unusual therapy recommendations Hannah has received is a weighted vest, which is just what it sounds like: a vest with inside pockets that hold under one pound (for Hannah's size) of clay weights. One doesn't find a weighted vest at Wal-Mart. So, after searching the Internet and finding them priced near $100, I purchased a pattern sold online (still near $40) and asked Wonderworker Extraordinaire sew one. This decision supplied the added bonuses of providing a custom fit and allowing Hannah to choose her fabric.

Ah, fabric. Fabric equals fabric stores equals vivid childhood flashbacks. When I and my brother, who is 363 days younger than I, were pre-kindergarten my mother taught herself to sew. Yes, I have been blessed in adulthood by her self-teaching, but I paid for it dearly during childhood. Once Mom learned to sew, she made nearly all of our clothes, which required many one-hour car rides to Wichita to the much-dreaded fabric store. I would have preferred receiving thirty minutes of straight-pin torture to those trips. At least I would have known when the pin torture was scheduled to end.

After enduring the hour-long containment in a car with my then-nemesis brother Brad, we were expected to behave ourselves while my Mom spent what seemed like hours pouring over pattern books and browsing through endless bolts of fabric. At first Brad and I were satisfied to page through the books with Mom. After tiring of the books, we tried the are you almost done? whine. No luck. Finally we progressed to hide-and-seek amongst the circles of fabric positioned like forts throughout the store. I remember hiding under the velvet, hoping to find a bolt that dangled low enough to supply a curtain sufficient for concealment as well as a sample for rubbing against my face.

On one trip as I absentmindedly stroked the soft material, my brother snuck up on me. Startled, I forgot to let loose of the velvet before running to the circle of plaid we had deemed base. Crash! I brought the bolt to the ground, bringing Mom and at least one store attendant running. Why did my mom come running? I'm sure she knew that the source of any commotion had to somehow stem from her own children. Let's just say Brad and I were in trouble--big trouble.

These trips nearly always ended in trouble for me. I became like Pavlov's dogs; even the mere mention of fabric stores made me curl my nose and feel that rolling dread in my stomach...and does to this day. So, when Mom suggested recently that we all drive to the fabric store to allow Hannah to choose her own weighted vest material, I experienced the initial Pavlovian drool, even though the fabric store was only six blocks from my mother's house, the pattern was already purchased and I personally wanted the vest.

I overcame the autonomous response, loaded grandma and the girls into the Tahoe and drove to the fabric store. Hannah chose a bright blue Little Einsteins fabric covered with red Rockets, we picked matching thread and buttons, and even spent a little time browsing (yes, I actually browsed in a fabric store) through Christmas clearance items. All in under thirty minutes.

Mom finished the vest this past weekend while the girls and I visited her (that's another story). All I have left to do is form the clay weights and distribute the completed product to Hannah's school.

Why a weighted vest? I have searched my resources for a detailed explanation to put here, but haven't found one. It has been explained to me verbally by both Hannah's psychiatric therapist and occupational therapist. I didn't write the explanations at the time, so I'll give you my best recollection.

Hannah is easily distracted by sounds (called "auditory sensitivity" by sensory processing disorder - SPD - proponents). Her classroom contains three separate tables, each at which one teacher and five students sit during seat work. It is theorized that children who suffer from SPD (or sensory integration dysfunction--whatever it's called) do not discriminate between sounds. Whereas a "normal" child learns to distinguish between the importance of the teacher's voice at her table over the unimportance of a student's voice across the room, a child with SPD hears and values all sounds almost equally. Not only does this make it difficult for Hannah to know which voice to listen to, it causes a sensory overload to which she often responds by zoning out, barely coloring the page in front of her or even by resting her head on her desk.

Theoretically, the weighted vest will help Hannah feel grounded-- or fixed--in her seat by physically pulling her down into it. This physical weight will then help her to mentally be more grounded--or fixed--in place as well. I'm cautiously hopeful. Maybe a little skeptical, too. However, I certainly prefer a weighted vest to medication, so we'll give it our all with that in mind. The only thing going against Hannah: she doesn't like clothing in general. She'd sit at her school table in the buff if they'd let her.

Overheard Imaginary Conversations

Read this in a British accent and imagine Hailey playing with play-dough:

"String cheese! Just use string cheese!! Of course, daahling, everyone loves string cheese on their pizza...or just use three huhndred kinds of cheese."

Silence.

"What ah you doing, dahling?" Hailey asks the Invisible Pizza Person.

Invisible Pizza Person responds, "I'm making a wall."

"Whateveh for?"

"Why to hold in all the cheese, dahling."

More silence.

"Now what are you doing?" Hailey asks the Invisible Pizza Person.

Invisible Pizza Person replies, "Making pepperoni with a rolling pin, of course, dahling. But it's difficult making 300 pepperonis with a rolling pin."

Silence again...

"No more chances! I've given you more than thuhty chances. Your chances are all down the toilet!" I have no idea what she's talking about. "Look at all these puhfect pepperonis!"

Evidently Hailey doesn't know that pizza is typically considered ITALIAN and not BRITISH.

Disclaimer on Demand

I am forced to publish this disclaimer or risk legal action by my brother-in-law: I was not the photographer of the first two pictures in my previous post. My sister's husband, ED, was.

ED.

ED.

ED.

It's all about ED.

Now that ED has receieved recognition, maybe he can return to the important things in life like online video games and naps and leave poor, struggling bloggers like me alone.

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Hey, for those of you out there who don't know me very well--this brand of bantering between my brother-in-law and me is one of the best parts of my day...though admitting that just negated all the joy I received by posting the above. Sigh...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!