Death in the family

If you're lucky to live long enough, you will lose people you love. Anne Lamott explains that sooner or later we all lose people we cannot live without. Just, sit with that.

As I take in the sounds and warmth of the little camp fire we burn on our tiny lot in the Pacific Northwest, I hold The Bright Hour by Nina Riggs, a memoir about dying and death. I begin it reverently. I begin it because I need to continue grieving. I wish I could just wear a black arm band or veil so I could continue the work of loss and memory. Our society doesn't embrace those traditions anymore, so I carve out time to read and let the feelings come.

The past six months reshaped my family and my psyche. Though the deaths that visited us followed  the natural order, they leave me feeling untethered. In a completely irrational way, I feel homeless. I have a home. I have a family. We are all safe and healthy. I know my good fortune. Yet, I feel like a loose sail--flapping and clanging my grommets, hoping for the wind to calm so I can be properly cinched. My brother says I feel that way because everything is different now. I have fewer visits to make on my trips to Wisconsin. I have fewer calls to make. My life is a little smaller.

You'll giggle, as you should, when I explain that we lost my 98-year-old grandpa unexpectedly. His good health astounded his doctors. Perhaps his stellar lab results convinced him that the heart attacks he began suffering in early January had to be heartburn. If you find no other wisdom in my words, take this piece. Do not take Tums for a heart attack. Had Grandpa's minor heart attacks been caught, he wouldn't have suffered the pain of the massive attack from which he could not recover. Seeing him in pain was the hardest. He struggled for air; he thought if only he could get his legs over the hospital bed edge, he would find his breath. The only tonic for air starvation is anxiety medicine and morphine. Let your people have those balms.

Our family had braced for Grandma's passing because her heart was failing. Her doctor had given her a window of expectancy. We planned for how to care for Grandpa when Grandma was no longer there to be his eyes. He was strong and knew my parents' home, so he could live with them. The call from my mom stalled me. I didn't understand what she was explaining. I needed clear instructions--get on a plane as soon as you can. What she said was, Grandpa had a massive heart attack. He is talking and his pain is under control. The next morning, while the boys (my brother and cousin) spent the day at the hospital, and Grandpa enjoyed telling stores about cars and baseball, I booked a flight and a car to get there. Snow fell as I drove north from Minneapolis to the hospital. The street was blocked by the plow, so I took a couple of photos of the falling flakes that made halos of the street lights. I arrived too late for a last conversation. Seeing me confused Grandpa because I live too far away to be where he was. Seeing me confirmed his fear, and then sedation to keep him comfortable closed his eyes.

My mother, brother and I stayed with Grandpa. My Pop chauffeured Grandma to her room, went home to let the dog out, and do the farm chores. We held Grandpa's hands and watched as his breathing changed. And then it stopped. Bearing witness to suffering and passing is important. Being present in weakness is the only comforting thing a person can do. By the time my father returned with Grandma, Grandpa was gone. She was sweet with him and grateful he was peaceful. She kept repeating that they were always together. . . always together.

My cousin, brother, and I buoy one another by sharing a text chain. Whenever memory or nostalgia strikes, we share a photo or one of Grandpa's countless sayings. Today's volley was about a baseball game and a lawn mower. Grandpa would like that. We're sharing pictures we haven't seen in decades. If you lose someone you love, find a way to share them with others who love them. You'll be surprised by the joy it brings.

In late January, we learned that my uncle had terminal pancreatic cancer. He had known he was ill since at least October, but had no desire to spend time with more tests at the VA. He went home. He saw his children at Christmas. At least one of the boys noticed how weak his dad was, but he chalked it up to the time spent caring their mother and not working physically as he had all his years as a farmer.

My uncle went from the emergency room to the hospital for three days. His children, brothers and sister visited. My Pop spent time with is brother, his best friend, and thanked him for all his help over their lifetime together. Day four took him to hospice. His children visited. His brothers and sister visited. His grand children and nieces and nephews spent time with him. I sent a plant. What a stupid thing to send--a plant he wouldn't be around to see grow. Two weeks later he was gone, and I was on a plane back to attend his services. 

Children deserve two parents who love and guide them. My brother and I had four. My Uncle and Aunt cared for us when our parents worked, and before and after school until we were old enough to ride the bus home. They fed us. They got us ready for kindergarten. They taught us lessons, and disciplined us just like they did their boys. Consequently, my brother and I had extra parents and have four extra brothers. Having extra people who love you is a gift.

I did my part this time. I helped my little brother write a proper tribute for our uncle and sat in the pew by the boys as my brother read the words we crafted. Someone needed to put a hand on the oldest during the worst of it for him. I write this time, because I didn't make the flight for my Aunt's service. She passed in December, but the services were in February. I decided I could write the boys letters about their mom, and their loss. I wouldn't fly back, the letters would suffice. I was wrong.

Oh, I'm sure they were fine--lost in their grief, but moving forward as the calendar forces us all along. I wasn't fine. I wrote to remember one of my last visits with her. Her memory was failing, but she remembered the girl I had been and she loved me all the same. On my next trip, I asked my father to take me to see my Aunt's stone. She would like the birds the boys and my uncle chose for her. I wasn't ready to see her name and dates carved in granite. I suppose no one ever is.

Leaving my parents' home, making the trip back to the airport after my uncle's service, I stopped to visit my Grandma. She was the grandmother of card games, hair braids and sleep-overs. She would swim the lake or take a hike with me. When I entered the nursing home, she was at the church service. Her failing heart and grief left her small and tired. I sat with her and sang the familiar songs. We made it back to her floor where she wanted to sit near the window in the common room. That was the last time I left her.

By April, she was in hospice care. Gauging the timing of the end is difficult. I booked a flight and my Auntie met me at the airport. I drove us north, and we were two hours too late. My Grandma died while I was exiting the plane. My mother was with her, but only other friendly old women at the nursing home were there to comfort my mother. I guessed wrong. More death wisdom--book the early flight, travel sooner. Having an extra day, or two hours is a blessing for you and for those who have done the lion's share of the vigil. They need you.

So now it is June and the bleeding hearts wilt, the lilacs fade and the roses should open soon. Time heeds no grief; it only knows the route of the sun and the tilt of the Earth. This season of death has brought me knowledge.

1. Tell those you hold dear how much you love them. Say it out loud. If you can't say it, write it down and give it to them.

2. Have a decent photo of yourself that you hand your children. Tell them this is the one for the alter or the program. Don't make them dig through boxes or agonize over which one you would like. You can make that part easy.

3. Find a way to pay tribute to the person you lost. If you're a writer and stalwart, you get the eulogy. It is a crap job, but people need you to help them remember and how to honor the person you all lost. If you're not a writer, find a tribute that would make your loved one smile. It will help you grieve.

4. Know that you will never be done grieving. We lost my Godfather 20 years ago and some days I swear he is in the car with me. Grief is both all at once and little by little--forever.

5. You're never ready.

6. Believe in something. My mother believes in God. My father believes in nature. It soothes them both to have a notion of their next journey.

7. As in all of life, the best advice I was ever given is: ask for help. People want to do something. Doing something makes everyone feel useful and better. Let a friend clean your refrigerator. Let a cousin help choose music and flowers.

8. People will bring food.

9. As time passes, continue to talk about your loved one. They live in your memories and in your heart. They always will.

10. Keep breathing until it is your turn to stop.

Everybody Cannot Do Everything

As sure as I know my given name, I know everybody cannot do everything. Even when invitations are extended early, even when it seems like options exist, I know the limits of what is possible, or rather, what is doable. My children have heard the statement: everybody cannot do everything so many times they must believe it is my mantra.

I don't claim to be good at mountains of things, but I am a good reader.  I love to read, actually, and choose to spend my free-time in books. Consequently, I can read the crap out of any curriculum guide, link or text. Because our youngest child is now receiving instruction in curriculum our middle child has completed, I'm going to play the crap shoot and hope that we know what we need to know about the school work that is coming our way this year. You see, like many families, time is precious. I'd rather spend time with my people than at meetings about my people.

Perhaps the beginning of the school year requires more.

Recently, I asked my daughter's soccer coach how his family does dinner.  He and his wife have four children who are all on soccer teams and participate in music. He kind of chuckled, as if the idea of dinner was a nice fairy tale.

Last week I missed the Volunteer ID photo and paperwork event, and the PTA meeting. I believe my family will miss the class pot-luck and I just might miss curriculum night, too.

Fast-froward a couple of weeks, because reasons (as my son would say).

Today in the school pickup line, while catching up with two other moms, another mom drove by and expressed her child's desire for a play-date with the daughters of the women with whom I was speaking. And then said mom realized she had invited their girls and not mine, who was suddenly welcome, too (I believe my girlie was welcome, and honestly believe everyone is not to be included every minute). Not a big deal--I swear I made her feel relieved when I said and meant, "Everybody cannot do everything."

When the text about an evening meet-up came through, as it does every couple of weeks with two girlfriends, the same rule applied. It was curriculum night at my children's' school and at the school where one of my friend's children attend. The friend who started the notion of late appetizers and a glass of wine realized later that her family needs would not permit the meet-up. Again, I shared, everybody cannot do everything. I share this and I also share that I am not a flexible person. My plans never turn on a dime. I always need an emotional adjustment period. I may be impaired in that arena.

I couldn't make curriculum night or the meet-up as my husband is on a trip to care for his aging parents. Tonight's soccer practice shuttle did not permit a review of the expectations for my child in her new classroom. We will review for the fifth year the school behavior expectations which is her homework. I hope her teachers understand that everybody cannot do everything.

Tomorrow I need to write the school to inform teachers and administrators that my children will likely miss three consecutive days, thus needing pre-excuse, non-excuse. We have a family wedding and we didn't intend to take the children. My parents intended to visit and spend the long weekend with the kids. However, my grandmother is in the middle of tests that may or may not lead to surgery. My parents will not be traveling to help us as they are needed where they are. We do not live near family and four days of sleep-overs is more than We're willing to ask any of our amazing friends. The children will be traveling with us and not attending school because everybody cannot do everything.

Last week, a friend with a child the same age as our middle kid, and who has three children at different stages as we do, text me in frustration. She and her husband are all-in supporting the passions of their people. They drive in traffic and wait through lessons. They attend performances. They send one a child on an amazing trip with another family only to miss her when they take the other children on an adventure.

This friend shared her frustration with all the scheduled "requirements" like class pot-lucks that somehow usurp family dinners. Though our hamlet isn't a small town, our school is. By the end of summer class gatherings and prior to school work-parties, we honestly do not need a class pot-luck to make introductions and friends. I've already missed the first PTA meeting and the official volunteer sign-up--though I've submitted my paperwork for background checks and signed up for two volunteer sessions. Sometimes we need to have family dinners that includes each member of our families. That night my friend's husband took one child to the pot-luck, and she took the balance of the family to the beach for a picnic dinner because everybody cannot do everything.

As a JV mom, I somehow manage to send my kids to school in clean clothes with lunch, most of the time. We have called Daddy from the drop-off line for a last minute review of some math concept, or for a forgotten instrument drop. I'm on the extra details of robotics club paperwork, choir enrichment, and new violin rosin/bow seasoning? Tempering? I don't know what the process is called because I was a band kid--my tiny school didn't have an orchestra because--yup--everybody cannot do everything.

Let me wax sentimental about my formative years. When I had music lessons after school, I walked to them and then walked to my great grandmother's apartment where she would fill me with Tang or Little Debbie's until my parents picked me up. When I grew and had athletic practice, it was after school. My parents would finish work and I would spy my father's car outside. We would then proceed home where I set the table and we had dinner. If my brother had a game on Friday night, we might grab a bite to eat in town, but most of my memories have us eating dinner together.

This fall, and keep in mind, our little kids are in elementary school, one has sports practice Monday/Wednesday from 6-7, while the other has practice Tuesday/Thursday from 7ish-9ish (his coach has some volunteer conditioning scheduled, thus the -ish). Our big girl is working and starting her college classes again so who knows when we'll have the whole crew together for dinner? So far we have split dinners or eaten so early sometimes the growing boy thinks we haven't fed him at all. That coaches volunteer is amazing! That practices are post-work hours is obviously understandable. That our culture seems to value organized activity over family time rubs on me hard.

All of these digressions about expectations and scheduling are truly to point out that I know childhood is short. Families want some time to know one another before the big kids move out and don't get to learn what the littlest siblings hope or fear. I love that our middle kid didn't mention cross-country to us because even he feels like soccer and robotics are enough when he figures in his a homework and his own desire to build or 3-D print things in unstructured time.

Bless my girlfriend who, when learning my husband was gone for couple of days, delivered treats for my kids and laughter to my home after she attended curriculum night. She is constantly without her husband because he is a fireman who works shifts that keep him at the firehouse. I need to remember that if she he has extra goodness for my kids when Daddy is gone, that I can supply the same for her people who have daddy gone regularly. She is a Varsity Mom, by the way, and I am in awe of her ability to run a business, serve her family and truly see and accept the people she loves. While wearing her Varsity M, she would agree that everybody cannot do everything.

We can do what we are able for the people who matter. When they need us, we show up in the ways we can--in person with snacks for kids, or over the phone or text when our families need us, but so does a grieving friend. We can grab a kid, or tend to a yard for a friend who is buried in work, but is worried about said yard. We can email a book a friend will love, or deliver a lasagna because a friend needs to rest. Everybody cannot do everything--to be certain, but we can do right things for our people and helpful things for our tribe. If that means I miss a curriculum night or pot-luck or my kids have three unexcused absences, so be it.

Maybe "everybody cannot do everything," is my mantra. If you find it helpful, it can be your mantra, too.

Birthdays Require Remembering So Many Details

Even when I plan a special party for one of my kids, I stumble on some imperative detail. We have canceled almost as many friend birthday parties for baby girl as we have hosted (She employs epic sass when she forgets herself.). This year, we planned something special. Actually, my husband planned something special. He made the reservation and he text invitations. I gathered party favors and packed the bags for the kids. With two friends and her siblings, our baby was to celebrate her ninth birthday at The Great Wolf Lodge.

For two days, our girlie and two of her besties body surfed the wave pool and rode the tube slides. They had eyes bigger than their stomachs at the buffet, hosted magic shows in the curtains of the hotel room, played arcade games to win "unnecessary plastic objects" as Nanci Griffith sings in Love at the Five and Dime. Magically, they included her big brother with ease. Of course, there were moments that required problem solving like broken goggles and hunger close to dinner. However, the ease of the two day adventure cannot be over-stated. The kids were great.

Like all people, our little people have their idiosyncrasies. Our girlie's particular hurdle is accepting that her vision of how things should happen won't always match the way things occur. She had her hear set on enjoying each water slide with her friends at each moment she wanted to do so. Sometimes her friends wanted to do other slides, or have a break, or have a snack, or sit in the hot-tub. Our girlie had opportunities to learn the lesson of adjusting. She is still learning; for the record, so am I.

The girls watched a movie on the car ride home. We delivered one child safely to her house and parents picked up the other from our home. Birthday calls from grand parents and an uncle came in while I dug through the kitchen drawers for candles. We had no birthday candles in the house. While at The Great Wolf Lodge, the kids celebrated with gifts and ice cream. At home, I knew though pie was the requested treat, candles would be required.

I found a 4 and a 6 from prior celebrations. Really? I could remember party favors of bubble gum, socks with personality, special play putty, and candy, but not candles for the family celebration? I could sneak away from early soccer warm up to get extra goggles and be back in time for the game to start. I just couldn't quite get all the pieces together at the same time for the family birthday celebration.

Thankfully, I am a little creative.  I could see the 9 in the six.  So I cut off the wax anchor from the base and found a toothpick to place in the top as a wick.

Did our child notice?  Yes. I believe her words were, "A toothpick, really?" She was still excited to light it. She wielded the torch like a pro. She took her time while she made her wish and she made the sweetest face as she blew out that cobbled-together birthday candle.

Perhaps all the little disappointments I present to my kids will prepare them to handle the big disappointments that inevitably arrive with grace and humor. When I text the candle fail and solution to my BFF, her response was, "Oh, hell yes!" Maybe I'm teaching my kids to find creative solutions. Maybe I'm teaching them to accept love rather than expect perfection. Maybe I'm teaching them to plan better than their Mama plans for all varieties of situations.

Whether they emulate my solution scrambles or find their way to organized plans that work out to the number, I'll applaud them. My husband comforts me with this comment, "Perfection is boring." While those words are kind, he is an accountant. His work is all about perfection. I'm lucky his personal life is full of flexibility and acceptance.

If you're a JV Mom, like me, feel free to carve up a candle. Maybe you light nine toothpicks. Maybe you find nine tapers, or one taper and you sharpie the number 9 on it. What matters is that you do it for the love of that baby.

Do your best and offer it with love--your love is always more important than perfection.

I Swear We Will Get Her to Her Graduation Ceremony

Last night, one of Baby Girl's Brownie Leaders text me to see if we were on our way. My response was, So sorry, we would not be making it. I took a few moments to register that I had not fully understood the calendar reminder or the e-mail. Then a troop mom sent a photo of all the girls in their be-badged sashes--adorable! I loved seeing their smiles of accomplishment!

And then--the guilt--set in hard. I couldn't tell our daughter what she had missed last night. I wasn't ready to be the source of her disappointment. This morning I made a sincere apology to my daughter.  It went something like,

"Honey, I don't want you to be sad, but I do have to tell you something. Last night was your bridging ceremony for Brownies.  We missed it. I'm so sorry."

That sweet girl said, "It's okay, Mama." No tears. No anger. No stink-eye. Just forgiveness and understanding. How lucky are we that she is our girl?

So how does a mama not place an important kid ceremony on the calendar? This spring, we definitely missed meetings. Baby girl's soccer commitments fell on the same nights as her Brownie meetings. Our family was also coming off a weekend soccer tournament out of town, so the piles of laundry, the groceries we needed, the catching up that didn't happen on the weekend got stacked into late nights. I'm not exaggerating when I note that work has both her parents slammed. That doesn't mean our kids are not our first priority. They absolutely are--and to make the soccer trips and keep kids in clothes and college funds, work is important.

To manage my guilt, I text my college BFF with the words I assume a sinner uses at a confessional. She assured me that my child would be fine. She wrote that little disappointments or big ones like she is confronting--moving her child to a different country for his middle and high school years will not break our children. She assured me that apologizing for parental failings shows our children that perfection is a fallacy, that the best any of us can do is to apologize when we've hurt or failed someone and model that vulnerability.

My dear girlfriend's kind words made me feel a little better. After 11 years of parenting, I know one thing for certain. I'm completely capable of eating my feelings.  Some mamas run. Some mamas clean. Some mamas create. I grab something salty or something sweet.  I'm not saying it is healthy or wise. I'm saying it is real. So I grabbed a pint of Tillamook Double Peanut Butter and ate more than half of it. It didn't make me feel better, but it made my belly hurt, which distracted me from the berating self-talk that needed to stop.

What grand parents have always warned me about is that the speed of this life is astounding. When I saw the e-mails about bridging, I didn't even read them. It couldn't possibly be time for our Girlie to be crossing into Juniors.  It must be "volunteer to help with the ceremony if you can" time. That I want her to stay little and stretch her childhood double years and triple weekends, is nothing unique. Cave mamas probably felt the same way. I know I am in denial about her maturing because while registering her for fall soccer today, I told the fine youth sports people she would be in third grade next year and then had to correct myself--she will be in fourth grade.

She has one of those mid-September birthdays and is a precocious thing. With a big sister and big brother to chase, she has always been beyond her years. I don't regret sending her to school at four-years-old--she turned five soon enough. I know her childhood is fleeting and maybe, just maybe, my unwillingness to read the e-mails and calendar reminders about bridging was my way of pushing back against the clock. I swear this missed ceremony was not due to my consistent calendar insufficiency, the cornerstone of my JV Mom status. I needed to push against time for just one night and keep my kiddo small. Shame on the guilt that followed.

I swear we will get her to her graduation ceremony. We will mark ALL the calendars. We will be excited about her adult plans. We won't be ready. We will weep as we celebrate her. I'm teary just typing it, though it is already less than a decade away.

The Mom Fails piled up this week.

It is Thursday night. How is it not the end of the week? The mom fails pile up. Check out the text from my Husband on Wednesday evening.

Exhibit A.
Text and photo from my husband.

You see, I received a call from a friend during the day asking if we could watch her kiddo while she worked and her husband went to the preschool coop meeting. Yes. We could do that.  I knew I had to run our daughter to Girl Scouts and knew that my husband and son would be home.  He would say, "Yes," to an hour with a three-year-old, so, "Yes," was the answer. The trouble was that I had to rush work to get kids from a half-day while my husband was in a meeting. I didn't text him the evening update; I figured I'd see him before the arrival of the little critter.

I did see him at home, but the time was consumed by making dinner, teaching our daughter how to carefully open and close her new pocket knife for Girl Scouts and doing dishes. The girly and I left the house, and while I was gathering some items necessary for the following work-day, I received the text you see above.

Today's fail includes Girl Scout cookie sales. If you show up and pay attention, the two hour cookie sale is not a big deal by itself. A parent supervisor need only arrive at the Cookie Mom's house, pick up all the cookies, GS approved TV tray to display said cookies, and the sign the girls made, the necessary paperwork and fanny pack that serves as a cash box. It is not a big deal, if you aren't fighting Seattle traffic as you head north.  Bless the Cookie Mom who, since I was stuck on Mercer--if you're from Seattle you know the bane Mercer is to all drivers attempting to get anywhere out of the Lower Queen Anne neighborhood. But the Cookie Mom is obviously Varsity!  She accounts for all the cookies, makes sure we have the appropriate paperwork, counts money when we finish a sale and even helps this JV mom count her daughter's cookie money. The Cookie Mom does this as a volunteer. You all understand what an amazing feat that is to me, yes?

Obviously, though I was the assigned sight sale supervisor, I was not going to arrive as planned for a 3:30 cookie/kid pick-up to get sales going by 4:00. This woman was an angel. She understood. She said she would set up and get things started, which she graciously did. My daughter and I arrived a half-an-hour late for sight sales, an hour late for gathering the goods to set-up. Below you see my child arriving at her site sale.

No doubt, you notice she is on the run and not in her uniform. School had a half-day, so my husband worked from home in the morning and then grabbed the kids from school at noon. It didn't occur to me that he would need to supervise uniform packing. I hoped to wrap up work and get us north in time to stop by the house to get her sash. It was not to be. My child did not seem to worry about whether she was wearing her Brownie gear. She is a force of nature--always has been. She knew people would understand she was a Girl Scout because she was selling Girl Scout cookies. Obvious, right?

The happiest moment of the sale was when one of the troop leaders stopped by for a visit. She was picking up some St. Patrick's Day cup cakes for her family. She encouraged the girls, and bought treats for them to enjoy. She made no comment about my daughter's lack of uniform.

Thank goodness it was a sunny day. We're still in rainy season here in the Pacific Northwest, and my child was in a summer romper, a cotton sweater and shearling boots, of course. At least her feet were warm. Only one person shamed her for being out of uniform, and she totally shrugged off the finger wagging. Just one. . . out of all the humans the girls pestered to buy cookies. Humans are impressive. One dear man couldn't buy cookies--he didn't have the money, but he did donate to operation cookie drop for the troops. He was the hero of the day--giving what little he had (88 cents) when the girls asked, and the girls made him feel good about what he gave.

After the sale, I missed my husband's call to pick-up bread at the grocery because my phone was dead. Oh well. We still enjoyed corned-beef, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots with some toasted sour dough that was a little stale, but, completely edible to round out our St. Patrick's Day. I've picked up most of the leprechaun's mess in the house. Yes, a leprechaun visits us each St. Patrick's Day. I blame my kiddos' kindergarten teacher who taught them to make leprechaun traps. He makes a horrible mess with anything green he can find--compost bags, sugar, food coloring, construction paper, sticks of gum. . . you get the idea.

I'm wishing you an easy Friday of purposeful work, clean laundry, a good book, and a relaxing evening.

Pet Moms

Chances are you know a Varsity Pet Mom. One of my office-mates could give anyone a run for Captain of the Varsity Pet Mom Team. She has a Beta fish named Moe who lives in a tank on her desk. He is beautifully blue and was a prize she won at a raffle near the cabin her family frequents. About a year ago, she noticed Moe listing as he swam.  I've had fish at various points in my life. When I saw a fish swimming strangely, I assumed end of days was near. As a fish owner, I did all the normal things. I provided proper food. I cleaned the tank or bowl. That is where my efforts to maintain my fish health stopped.

Not Holly.  She Googled Moe's symptom and learned that he was constipated. Yes, apparently that happens to fish, too. She could feed him extra fiber and he would recover, Google the Vet explained. Consequently, every Thursday, Holly takes one frozen pea from a bag she keeps in the work freezer. She thaws it with hot water and cuts the tiniest slivers of pea with a razor blade, and feeds the slivers to Moe. This weekly health prescription has kept Moe swimming in balance for over a year.

While Holly was on vacation, I prepared to feed Moe his standard fish food, and found he was behind the filter.  If you've had pet fish, you might have reacted as I did. I was sure he was dead and how would I explain that to Holly? With the help of two other co-workers, we roused Moe and I started breathing again. Holly told me that I didn't need to feed him the pea while she was out.  Since my scare, I'm thinking I'll be preparing Moe's pea meal promptly.

I have cooked rice and hamburger for a sick dog. I helped my parents feed a special mixture to calves to heal their digestive tracks. I bottle fed piglets to help them survive. I never thought about what to do for a pet fish.

Holly is the best pet mom! While Holly is on vacation, Lucy visits us. She has been visiting us since she was a puppy and she is 12 now. Per Holly's instructions, I've been feeding her Boston Terrier, Lucy, daily vitamins and glucosamine, because she is an older dog. Lucy definitely lives a more posh life with Holly and her family. As a JV mom, you can guess correctly about my status as a pet mom. I will take a dog to emergency pet care. I will sit and worry while holding a dog receiving fluids through an IV line. I will carry an elderly dog up and down stairs to lengthen her life. I never considered that I could do anything beyond feed and clean the tank, to enhance or lengthen the life of a fish.

If you are a Varsity Pet Mom, I salute you. I've often said that when I die, I want to be reincarnated as one of Holly's pets. My pets receive their meals, their walks and their cuddles. I love on them, pick up after them, and grieve when they pass. I'm sure my lack of awareness about symptoms or possible dietary changes have caused our fish to leave us sooner than they might if they belonged to a Varsity Pet Mom, like Holly.

Calendar Coordination

I'm trying to fix the thing that caused the big fail that started this blog. While writing on our refrigerator calendar, I consulted the March school calendar. It indicated three half-days of which I should be aware. Like an adult person, I have accurately noted said days on the calendar.

In disclosure fairness, I feel like I have to share that as I was noting the Girl Scout Cookie site sale on the calendar, I realized I signed my daughter up for sales on her brother's birthday. Somehow I lost hold of my first born's birth date. How does that ever happen--it is not like that date needs context to prompt a mother's memory. Regardless, the Cookie Mom was most kind when I shared that we would not, in fact, be able to sell on the chosen date, and could she offer the time to another Brownie? Yes, she could and would we like to select another site sales time.

Truly, no we (read I) would not. Somehow two shy parents made social babies. I'm sure my daughter would enjoy selling cookies twice. I can rally my socially anxious self for my children, though I don't often rally that same self to answer the door.  The cookies, the money, the talking to strangers. . . all of it gives me fits. I will supervise the cookie sale that is now scheduled the day before her brother's birthday. It is in my phone, but it has yet to make it to the refrigerator calendar.

Baby steps.