Old Age

My sister and I were talking about age and it's effects on the body yesterday.  We agreed that we wanted to continue to take care of ourselves so we could be strong and active in our 70's.


Laura commented on our mother and how she marveled at Anita (mother-in-law and all around wonder-woman who is older than my Mom) and how she cooked for the entire family on Easter.  This led to the discussion that I have never seen my mother or father exercise until maybe a year ago.  Never.  We never went on a family walk.  My parents never aerobicized, never lifted weights, never jogged, never ANYTHING.  Don't get me wrong, my father was the strongest man I knew until PD.  But, my parents never took care of their muscles.


After this long, enlightening discussion we both felt good that we have walked and made exercise a priority.  We aren't perfect, well maybe Laura is, but we are making efforts and trying to take care of ourselves.  I patted myself on the back.  Until...


I am in the deepest sleep I have ever been in at 1:00 a.m.  I'm talking James Cameron in a submarine to the deepest part of the ocean, deep sleep, when my 11 year old SCARES THE %H@T OUT OF ME by waking me up with an earache.  


I try comforting Bubba.  I honestly cannot wake up.  He is lying in bed next to me whimpering and writhing in pain over his ear and I don't even know how to wrap my mind around operating a flashlight to look inside his ear.  God forbid I have to turn a light on.  


For the next HOUR, yes darn you Ibuprofen for not working quicker, I stumble around my bedroom wetting hot washcloths, trying to focus on his ear canal all because my only goal is to make him stop crying and whimpering so I can go back to sleep.  


At one point I remember handing him the children's Ibuprofen bottle and telling him to drink up because I can't remember how to measure, and who knows where the little plastic cup is at 2 in the morning.  If it is any consolation, I do remember thinking that he is almost 12, and it was children's Ibuprofen, so he should be fine.


Now?  It's 9 in the morning and I feel like I have been hit by a truck because I was up in the night for an hour.  How did I ever do this when the kids were babies?  Forty two,  I honestly think I hate you.

Touched by Jesus

Hannah decided to join rec soccer this spring.  No, it wasn't because she wanted to prepare for trying out for Fall soccer.  No, it wasn't because she wanted some exercise.  No, it wasn't because she wanted to make the 2 days a week at the field turn into 4 days a week for me.  The reason?  Her boyfriend (I'm barfing in my mouth, but we'll talk more on that later) is playing rec.  No, they are not on the same team, silly.  Hannah is too competitive for that.  She wants to beat his team.


Last Tuesday night they had their first game.  


Remember.  My girl is 5'5" or so and weighs about 110?  She is a ninth grader.  A YOUNG ninth grader.  She decided (with my permission) to play in a high school 9-12 coed rec league.  So yes, there are men playing on the team.  Full grown men.


Hannah runs out on the field, which this is good for her on so many levels...she doesn't know ANYONE on her team, she has a great NEW coach...all good things.  Hannah runs out on the field and plays a fine game, she was a little timid, but her team slaughters the other team.  


During the game I notice that one of the boys on the other team is HUGE, has long curly brown hair that has to be contained in a pony tail, and a full grizzly Adams beard.  He truly looks like the Living Bible Caucasian Jesus from the 1980s.


At the end of the match the teams line up to smack hands and say the prerequisite "good game" and a member of the opposing team smacks Hannah's hand.  Hannah runs over to me excitedly and exclaims, "I touched Jesus!  He told me I did a good job!  I touched Jesus!"


Apparently every freshman at school calls the man with the long hair and beard Jesus, and when they do?  He flips them off.

My Brain is Full

No, I haven't been consumed by crickets.  I haven't been handcuffed and sent away because I  freaked out and actually confronted one of the idiots I tend to prey on in these pages.


My life, like all the rest of yours, is complicated.  This last year I have been on the roller coaster ride of being caught up in my own head and thoughts, sometimes depressed, and other times managing better than I ever dreamed.


On top of this crazy head of mine filled with...stuff, this blog has evolved into something more humorous?  And sometimes I walk through life not noticing all the crazies around me because I am so consumed by thoughts.  That and I am knee deep in research paper currently and trying not to drown.


Did I tell you all that I'm in grad school?  I'm in the 5th week of a 7 week class and this Sunday my first ever grad school research paper is due.  APA format...citations...references...all that.  Yup, that soaks in and fills the rest of my thoughts.


But have no fear!  Soccer season started last week and I was fondly thinking of the blog and all the myriad of characters on Bubba's team...and NOW!!!  Hannah is playing rec too and BOY DO I HAVE STORIES TO TELL!!!  After only a week!  So have no fear.  I am slowly rising out of the muck of my brain and will prevail!

Dear Ataulfo,

Dearest Ataulfo,


I am utterly addicted to you.  You and your wicked sweetness.  You taste like a hot summer day in the middle of March.  You taste like tan skin and sand under my toes.


Even though you are only in my life a short short time, I hunger for you all year long. My sweet, sweet Ataulfo.


When I see your buttery yellow flesh I smile and overindulge.  I carry you home hoarding you, protecting you, fighting for you.  


Please...please don't go away again Ataulfo.  I can't wait another year for your return.


Careless

Dear Depression,

Dear Depression,


Apparently I toyed with a tiny version of you early this week.  That is, my friend Heather told me at dinner last night that I toyed with you, depression, based on my actions.  


This week was Spring Break.  I was off all week long.  Evidently I start toying with depression when my mind is idle.  Work...chaos...life...those things keep me sane.


So what behaviors of mine constitute a diagnosis of depression from Heather?  Uh...YouTube.  I was describing to Heather that I watched the video of Jonathan and Charlotte and that I cried, albeit only a few tears, because I was so happy for Jonathan.  Since the story broke I've only watched the video 3 times!  Geez.


This kind of depressing behavior segues into me surfing the news sites and finding the story/video of blind dog rescued and given sight that really made me cry and start surfing ASPCA site for dogs to adopt.  WHICH led me to google the video of Christian the lion...you know the one reunited with the men who raised him. The lion video ALWAYS makes me cry.


This is the point of the conversation in which Heather stops me and asks me if I was feeling a little depressed this week.  Apparently I watch heartwarming videos on YouTube and news sites when I need a little pick me up.


Thank goodness I am going back to work on Monday.




Careless

Dear Grad School,

Dear Grad School,


Thank you so much for kicking my brain into gear.  The first week's grades, 90/89/96, had me encouraged, worried and fearful all at the same time, but the second week?  98/95/100...yeah baby!


I have discovered a love hate with you and your TA, grad school.  The first week the comments left on my submissions were not that great...I need to be more formal...use the APA format (Whoops!).  This week, you ask me why I'm not giving specific examples from my own classroom?  I'm wondering how to be formal and give amusing classroom anecdotes.  


So now I am juggling weekly assignments AND the 25 page research paper, due in a few weeks.  This is why I am missing.  Sorry.


100% kisses,


Careless

Dear Mind and Body,

Dear Mind and Body,

What the heck?  You have served me for 42 years, and now you give up?  Let's review.

Last Sunday on my way to church I realize that I have no phone, no purse and I have left the sweater to my ensemble on the counter in the kitchen.  When I get to church and go to get out of the car I realize I indeed have my phone, but it was in my lap so it's now on the pavement.  In pieces.  Then, when it is time to shake hands with those around me, I have a 'moment' and shake hands with the man in front of me.  Twice.

Today I got a bee in my bonnet and drug Hannah outside with me for a run after work.  In the 86 degree heat.  After a long winter.  You can see where this is going.  We died.  My hips are burning in their sockets right now.  It's 8:30 and I am barely awake.

Why?  Why do you fail me?

Careless

Dear iChat,

Dear iChat,


Thank you for being the coolest, Jetson's thing ever.  I know, people can video talk on their phones and all that now, but still, iChat, you are pretty cool.


First, you have saved me from a very large, looming, headache.  My 73 year old father has a new Mac and your app has made it so that he can call me and I CAN TAKE CONTROL OF HIS COMPUTER!  Now when he calls me, like last night, and says that he can't get any e-mail, code for "no one has sent me anything," I can jump on his computer and close the 105 windows he has open and make sure his e-mail is still set up correctly.  Woot!


But, iChat, there is a set back.  Is there any possible way that you can design your app to disable the screensaver when the video chat is on?  After "fixing" Dad's computer last night we started video chatting and my Mother joined in.  This is all well and good until my Dad's screen saver changes and my Mother's attention jumps from the conversation to the pretty poppies on the screen.  Except, it's more like I *think* my mother is telling me that they have poppies in the yard....or poppies from the market...since poppies are suddenly part of the conversation, then I realize my Mother is distracted by the screen saver.  This happened 10 times last night!


You see, when you are in your 70's, and self admittedly not very computer savvy, it doesn't occur to you that even though you are video chatting, the person you are chatting with is not seeing your screen, only the direction your camera is pointed.  Oh, there was also the "what a pretty vest you are wearing" comment and my Mother proceeded to start taking said vest off and searching pockets and showing us all the features and tags to the point that my 14 year old asked her if she had any ones.  (Not my proudest parental moment, by the way.)  Hmmm.  Okay, it's not so much a app issue as a Mother issue I guess.


My kids, on the other hand amused themselves by hanging their nose over the top of the camera, making fish shapes with their hands across the screen and showing off their mad photobooth skillz.


Thanks iChat, for all the entertainment!


Careless