flower among the thorns

Thanks to everyone who has written well wishes and inquiries about my mother in law. She went in for surgery this afternoon. Oy what a mess! So glad she had a blessing the other day!

When the doc got in there he found both bones broken, one crushed like we thought. They repaired both, one with a piece of metal to wrap or lay aside the bone, bone grafts, and some screws that will be taken out after a bit of healing. That's the short of it. The long of it is she is getting better, albeit feeling extremely beat up at the moment.

Thanks to everyone for your sweet concerns.

Do One Thing: Week 14

Week 14: Bandages.

Hint: Make sure you have emergency provisions for pets.

Standard First Aid Supplies: adhesive tape, ammonia, antibiotic ointment, bicarbonate of soda, calamine lotion, diarrhea remedy, elastic bandages, gauze bandages, hot water bottle, hydrogen peroxide, ipecac syrup (induces vomiting), knife, matches, measuring cup, medicine dropper, needles, paper bags, razor blades, rubbing alcohol, safety pins, scissors, soap, thermometer, triangular bandages, tweezers, first aid book, prescription medications, consecrated oil. First aid kits and supplies should be checked and replenished regularly. All supplies should be labeled and organized for fast use.

Don't Try This At Home! Try It At A Friend's House!

Well, as long as today's theme is water I thought I'd set up this video for you. It was pointed out to me by my Sis, Chronicler. You see, she is the mother of three daughters. I have three sons and two daughters.

The thing with boys is this, they discover things, they have adventures, they act before they think things through. They freeze amphibians because they have watched one too many National Geographic Videos ("Beaver Pond" - I don't recommend it.)

If these were my boys I can tell you right now, things in this video would have been different. After each of the boys involved had a trial run, things would have been kicked up a notch. Say, surf style (standing up), or after dark with sparklers. I know, because when we had the advantage one summer of living where a pool was in the back yard and accessible, swimming was JUST. SO. BORING. yawn. No , we had to figure out ways to propel our bodies into the pool from various and sundry vantage points, like the roof. Or fence. Or off a moving bike. The diving board was just a means to an end, an additional tool in the arsenal of dangerous toys. Anything that could float was employed as a surfboard. Including your best friend. Contests and feats of strength were invented, and commentary was sometimes pre-scripted as to make sure nothing got left out. Boats were made, slides were invented, rules were constantly changed to promote manhood and the growth of chest hair. And the loss of cousins. kidding. I think.

We only lived in that house one summer however, so learning and testing had to take place in other arenas. Little sisters were also used as tools or physics experiments. Their smaller bodies lent them to be used as keys ("Shove your hand through the hole and turn the nob!"). Their cat like legs begged to be dropped from trees to see if they too (girls) landed on their feet. Or as human propellants ("As soon as you get this high...JUMP!) Poor little things were flung across the yard, into pools, off of trampolines and skate boards, and onto old mattresses or boxes (...like in the movies!)

One summer our then 16 year old was at his best friend's house. No parents. No sisters. Just the two of them. They had spent hours and hours filming each other trying out the newest tricks on their skateboards and decided to go indoors. One thing led to another and they began to wrestle each other while on the boards, in the house, in the living room (probably while eating something). My kid lost. He went elbow first through the fancy glass coffee table severing all the muscle systems, the ligaments, the tendons, and chipping the bone in his dominant arm about two inches above the elbow. When I first saw it, his arm muscle looked like a red sea urchin. Lovely. His brother drove him to meet me at the local ER and I have been informed that along the way the injured one managed to flirt with a girl in the car next to them at the stop light. (Never miss an opportunity.)

Long story short, he also severed the nerves, so he wasn't in pain, but that night he had an 8 hour appointment with a neuro surgeon who had to reconnect all of the above. He had an amazing recovery (one for the books actually) and a few months later had a "ligament transfer" (read: The neuro plastic surgeon harvested the extra ligaments in both of his arms and rewired his hand so that he could use it again, like the bionic man, only without the cool noise and slow motion, and um, six million dollars paid by the government.) He had 33 "entry points" in his one hand and after 130+stitches we stopped counting. Again he had a miraculous and amazingly quick recovery and he was the youngest patient to ever have this procedure at the time.

So yeah. Boys. I could go on, but suffice it to say, keep your eyes and the first aid kit open, never leave them alone for a second, and if you do, make sure your medical insurance is paid up!

Smashing Pumpkins

Today, at 9:00, I will be doing my routine squish-o-gram. It's not October, but hey, I'm getting it done. A while back there were a few reasons for me to get on a call back list and so -lucky S'mee!- I get preferential treatment now! (read: they call me, and I get a gown with an actual working tie, not two ties, but one string. yeah that stinks.)

So as you are out and about today, pinching tomatoes, thumping melons, and being extra careful not to smash your freshly baked buns....remember somewhere, there in the dimly lit, funky chemical smelling radiology department of my uber medical center...there on that cold slab, in a less than flattering, less than modest dress, I will be flattened within a (literal) inch of my life and screamed -um screened- once again. yea. : [

If you have flat out forgotten your appointment this year, go make a call. Misery loves company!

UPDATE: It wasn't as bad as I remembered. The center where I go has been remodeled and they did a great job. The room where the actual exam is done was large, warm (who knew that was possible?), and the gal had this Native American flute type music playing...not my thing, but I think most of the other ladies would like it. The lights were dimmed and I think they were going for a "let's calm down the frightened animals" mood. The tech was very nice and talked just enough. I was in the building a total of 20 minutes and it was DONE! Whoooot!

The Easy Road part three

I went home. Back to the day to day routines and no paycheck and having to scrimp again - still. The big paycheck never had a chance to arrive. But after all the attention and all the pumping up of my attitude, ego, and ability it was time to go where I really mattered. I was making all kinds of strides and money for a corporation that in the long run probably doesn't even remember my contributions or name. At home, no one said thanks or appreciated what I was doing...yet.

The thing about being a mom is this: No one cares until it's too late. No one cares if you were there to do all the icky stuff, or even the really really fun things unless they go wrong and then they tell you about their disappointment or lack due to your efforts. It is the dictionary definition of "thankless job". But does that make it less important or necessary? Less worthy of praise and thanks? Consider a "janitor" or "housekeeper" for a facility. Let's say a hospital. No one ever really thinks about them. Heck, when is the last time a housekeeper saved anyone's life? The doctors do that, right? Maybe the nurses? Well think about it, no, "janitors" and "housekeepers" are right up there in the life saving business and no one shows them the respect they are due. Why? Because we assume they are uneducated, unmotivated, less than.., frankly, they aren't nurses or doctors when they had the same opportunity to become such as anyone else. But they choose to stay low and mop and sanitize and wash the laundry and wipe up the vomit and blood on the floor. Imagine a hospital where a janitor/housekeeper does less than the job requires and you are next to lay in that bed they cleaned. It gives me the heebeejeebeeies thinking about what could be left behind. Although I can honestly say I have never searched out a janitor to say "thanks, I mean it, really, thanks for keeping the place clean."*

The whole idea of political correctness nudges us to rename these janitors "housekeepers" in an effort to elevate their status. I can hear the voices now, "yeah, now we are compared to janitors! I HATE being a housekeeper, housewife, SAHM, whatever, I am more than that!" We hate it because of all the "someones" out there, some in our own homes that demean this work as menial and something worthy of "any idiot". Think back to what would happen without your menial labours, icky-ness everywhere. And we have all seen it ourselves; that one lady who just can't get it together in her own house. It's filthy and smells and we all think ill of her and sorry for her families. Yet, we demean ourselves for doing the job correctly. It's a conundrum for sure!

Perhaps the original sin is with women. We are, whether we like it or not, the primary care-givers (another PC attempt at elevation) for those in our families. EVEN the women who work outside the home full time and come home to another's "help" or none at all. I see my sister in this role. She works outside her home and still comes home to make a warm meal, clean the house, reared worthy children and kept a happy guy all the while. How she accomplished all that I can't imagine, I wasn't a good working mom and I know it. But there are women like my sister who do manage to do it; out of necessity or talent, they succeed. But the fact remains: women teach their families and are primarily responsible for the rearing of the brood. Part of that teaching should include respect for mommy and what she is doing, whatever she is doing. I mean really teach our children, both genders, what is involved in all this "care-giving". We all point fingers at the examples of ill parenting, housekeeping or basic living. How about pointing some fingers in the other direction?

Although the paychecks never came, the payoff has. I can see it in my sister's home as well, so I don't think it is a matter of the "stay at home"s versus the "work out side the home"s. For me the pay off comes to those who have taken the hard road. Done the menial and elevated those labours into what they truly are. They choose to serve and sacrifice for their children and spouses willingly and with a good attitude. They teach those being served the value of having a good home with parents who care enough to stay actively involved throughout the rough road. The payoff comes when you see the last of your daughters at the alter of the temple, dressed in purity and reflecting the teachings and principles taught by parents who took "the easy road" and lived life for their family rather than going for what they could have had in the "real world". The thanks may be silent, late, or perhaps there are those times when the "movie stuff" actually happens and your sons write you a long thoughtful thank you letter on the day of their temple sealing. I have received 3 such "thank you"s and let me tell you, nothing can compare to those kinds of paychecks. It helps me see that I really do matter and what I do, all the mundane mindless dribble that goes with the mom role is worth it. I am worth it. Taking the predictable road is worth it. Sanrio International has long forgotten S'mee; but my family will be with me for eternity.

*Since the original writing if this post I have sought out housekeepers, janitors and other folks who make it their life's work to keep things nice for others, and say, "Thank you" in a way that they understand just how much I appreciate their effort.

Did I ever tell you how much I hate bugs and spiders?

I woke up yesterday thinking it would be an easy day. Knock off some easy cafe type curtains, cut a rug to fit the bathroom, get rid of the weeds overtaking the front yard, make a nice dinner and then kick back and wait for the Bishop to call. (I was released from my calling and told to expect a call on Thursday night)

The curtains. What should have taken no more than an EASY hour took almost the entire day. It was just one goof-up or small snag after another. Things like the screws just not wanting to stay put in the wall. Huh? How does stuff like that happen? Where is #4 when I need him? lol. #4, since he was able to hold a screw driver has had the ability to fix pretty much anything. He's a genius (seriously), and my right hand man when I need something tricky done. Bada bing and it's a done deal.

So about 3:00 I decide to scrap the bathroom rug for the weeds, which are haunting me. #5 and her "non-boyfriend" (yeah right!) dig right in with me and in an amazingly short time we are finished. Hey we had to remove a literal ton of ornamental rocks and small boulders to get to the weeds growing between them and then replace them to their spots. Weed whacker, hula hoe and plain muscle were the tools of choice. After about 2 hours the yard was filled with 5 huge piles of weeds and debris from the wind! #4 shows up and begins to help as well.

With the small bed in front of the porch cleaned to perfection I think I should go ahead and re-plant some flowers. For me this means: Sunflowers and alyssum. I am taking a chance on some morning glories and nasturtiums, but I don't hold my breath. I am like Charles Manson to the botany world. My sad little Charlie Brown wysteria is hanging on for dear life, so I just keep praising her and hoping for a miracle. And thinking I might be able to pull it off, I got three Yucca plants for in the corner.

I am down on my hands and knees, very happy at seeing the dirt turn easily and being able to plant some more seeds, and to add some small alyssum sprouts in between the rocks. Everything is going fine. Until I reach for another pod of flowers. My right hand is immobile and stiff and extremely weak and I cannot life even the tiniest of plants without excruciating pain! YEOWWWIE! So I look at my hand and the outside edge of palm, pinky side, is blown out about an inch and the skin is so tight that it has turned completely white. My pinky finger is straightened tight and stiff and cannot move at all. Hummm. I search for a bite or puncture, any wound really. Nothing. Weird. O.k. Well, something is wrong. So I ask #4 to finish planting the flowers taken from the packaging (I don't want to waste the $2.00!!!). He sees my hand and says, "Go call dad, I will take you down to the doctors". (Which for us, is about an hour drive) I tell him o.k. and go inside to tell the other kids and get the dirt off of my hands.

I call Thor and he is almost home, so we drive to meet him and Thor and I head down to the doc's. Along the way, my arm is beginning to ache and stiffen and pretty soon the pain is at my elbow and beyond. Still no sign of why. Thor calls the ER nurse at the hospital. Hands the phone to me and we go through all the pertinent info; she'll call me right back. The call comes back, this time with a Dr. on the line who asks our ETA. About 8 minutes. "I can tell by your descriptions and voice that you are going into neurological dysfunction. If you begin to shake, tremor, or lose speech, have your husband pull over and call for an ambulance." "O.k." I am having tremors in my hands and my tongue is getting thick. But for now I think the car can get us there faster than waiting for an ambulance, and really, other then the ache and stiffness, I feel o.k. I can still breathe and talk, so I am not too concerned.

I get into the ER and the evaluation takes place. "Go down the hall, turn right on the rug, and wait in ER#2." What she should have said was: "Go down the hall, turn right on the rug and wait in ER#2 for about 3 hours until everything goes away. The nurse will call you at that point and then we'll have you sit up in a very uncomfortable exam table for another 45 minutes and then a dr. will exam you, give you a non diagnosis and then have you sit for another 45 minutes while they write you a prescription you will probably never even fill."

What the dr. said was that it wasn't a recluse bite, no ulcerated skin, etc. And that the symptoms were exactly the same as a black widow bite, but concentrated to the right hand/arm only so they are ruling that out as well. I was to go home and come back if the rest of my body began to ache in the same manner as the arm and hand.

This morning the hand has almost gone back to normal size and has an odd reddish bruise(?) on the side where the pain is. Pinky is still stiff, but movable - jerky, kind of- and the stiffness in the arm is still there to a point. It looks more like I was stepped on by a horse than bit by a spider.

All's well that ends well and I am headed outside to finish the flower bed. Perhaps I was only licked by a spider.