Dear #4,
Happy Birthday! You’re my favorite 11 year old! I remember the day you were born, barely. I remember the first thing I said they held you up for me to see. I said “Wow he looks just like David!” Then I turned to your father and said “no more babies.” and he was fine with that. You are the exclamation point at the end of our family sentence, the pie at the end of the meal, the funny bit at the end of the movie. Man, you have been fun to have around, every single bit of it.
I see bits and pieces of all of us in you. You have your father’s sense of right and wrong, his steady demeanor, and his ability to get over anger quickly.
You’re artsy like me, loving color and style (well, let’s call it your very own sensibility), and sure of how things should be put together.
You have bits of your brothers as well. You look like Will….you look like a CLONE of Will. Except for your eyes, they’re dark blue like David’s.
You are sure of yourself like David. You know what’s right and wrong, and aren’t afraid to stand up for yourself or someone else.
You’re a crack shot like CJ, it’s not even something you’ve practiced. You throw up that .22 and hit the target.
You’re left handed like GrandDaddy and Uncle Scott.
You love to cook like Grandmother and me.
You garden like Gran.
You are a wonderful blend of the whole family, and we all love you very, very much and couldn’t be happier that you’re one of us.
Happy Birthday young man, and may you have another year of learning, growing, and all that other good stuff 11 yr olds are supposed to do!
Love,
Mom
#4 and I went shopping today. It’s really nice to go shopping with a kid who doesn’t yet think he’s too cool to be seen with you.
Granted, I had to veto the shoes. He picked these black high top Nikes that had lime green trim and shiny things and were REALLY UGLY not to mention they wouldn’t have gone with anything he owns.
His second choice pair involved more shiny and vile colors and got vetoed as well. Third choice, solid black. Good for church, or play or whatever. I was reminded of a neighbor kid we had years ago, 12 yrs old and proud as punch of his ultraviolet shiny hightop basketball shoes. And, being 12, his feet were about 5 sizes bigger than the rest of him so he looked like he was standing in a pair of day-glo purple kayaks. Bless his heart.
However, the shoes he finally got pleased us both. Then we went looking for shirts. Polos for him, for church mainly, and some for me. As I was looking he found one he said he thought would look nice on me. So, even though I would never have given it a second look normally, I bought it. It’s kind of a red calico short sleeve thing in a feminine sort of cut, and darn if it doesn’t look kind of nice, and he is extremely pleased. I have often let Terry pick clothes out for me, because he’s really good at it, and when I do it I wind up with a stack of plain white shirts and denim skirts, and Terry has more imagination than I do where that’s concerned. Anyway, #4 seems to have inherited that talent.
After the clothes and all, I said “let’s get lunch.” and since Eli had requested Fried for his birthday supper and frankly, I didn’t feel like frying everything in the fridge, I took him to Vandy’s, a local Southern BBQ place that also fries everything they don’t barbeque. He had (bless his heart) fried chicken, fried pickles, fried okra, and french fries. The waitress looked startled, but I told her it was a birthday thing and I didn’t like to fry stuff at home.
Then we went cake shopping. First to the Dollar Store for decorations. Army guys, tanks, jeeps, that sort of thing. Then Red Velvet mix and cream cheese frosting….yes, I buy mixes and ready made frosting. He wants the cake to look like The Battle of Bastogne, so it will be snowy, and explosions, and men in foxholes. I love making crazy decorated cakes, and since I have NO skill, I go for the plastic dudes and explosions, because all you need is a bit of red food coloring and some imagination. Pictures forthcoming, maybe.
What a great day…spent with a cheerful and compliant 11 yr old.
I’ve updated Weinerdog Bliss and will include a link in the blogroll over there. I’ll post news on Rosie’s progress there, if you want to follow. All the stuff published here is also there. Anyway, it’s compartmentalization, and I needed to update there anyway.
In Other News,
This morning, I woke up while Terry was in the shower, like I do most every morning, and rolled over to look at the clock, thinking 4am, like it has been since December. The clock said 6:30 am and I sat up going OH SH*T Terry slept late! (brief panic). He came out of the bathroom and I asked if he was aware of the time. He said yes and I said I’d rush downstairs for fix his coffee and breakfast so he could get on to work.
No, he answered. I’ve got time for coffee before I leave. No rush.
uuuh….
So we got downstairs and he explained.
“I realized I can get to work at 5am and be home by 7pm. Or, I can get to work at 8am and be home by 7pm. I’m choosing 8am.”
“I thought you got all sorts of stuff done between 4am and 8am, that was the point of going in so early.” I said.
“Oh, I do. but, there’s no reward for doing that, so I don’t see the point in it. What gets done gets done, what doesn’t, doesn’t. If they don’t like that, tough.”
Thank You God, he’s not going to kill himself working for people who will let him kill himself if they can get away with it. THANK YOU GOD.
Filed under: dogs!
Rosy continues to show cautious signs of improvement.
She is no longer incontinent- which is huge for me. She whines when she needs to go, that means she’s feeling something back there, very good says the vet. I love her but am not going to keep an incontinent dog.
Her legs won’t support her, but she can move them to a squat position when I take her outside to potty. Also her tail has tone, she can wag it, and it’s not just flopping there.
The main thing is this: is her disc merely herniated, in which case bed rest and tincture of time will result in recovery, or is the disc fully ruptured, which means she won’t ever use her back legs again. A myelogram (expensive and not without it’s own set of risks) would determine that but even if we did know, the recovery and treatment would be the same, so it would be information, and that’s all. We have a swimming pool and Dr. E said that’s about the best physical therapy she could do. So, come summer when the water warms up, I’ll get her a little life jacket and let her swim.
Then this: if she won’t use her back legs, and yet is not incontinent will I be happy with keeping her as an inside house dog, where it will be easy for her to scoot around because we have kind of slick wood floors, and what would we do with her when we travel, and what about a wheelchair?
All questions to be answered in the future, when that comes.
I do know this, I don’t want her to be kept in crate, to be carried outside 4 times a day to potty, then either kept in the crate or in my lap. She’s active, and curious, and this crate rest is not making her happy. If it turns into a permanent thing, it’s not a good life for her.
So, we’ll see. Dr. E was cautiously optimistic, and so am I.
I am happy. For the first time in MONTHS I am actually…happy. Perhaps it’s that whole “Winter Depression stuff” that I go through, and every year around November I decide I am not, and then I do anyway. I guess the depression is gone. Good thing too.
I hate being a slave to brain chemicals. I know we all are, essentially, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Still, stuff has conflagrated in a manner that is giving me a certain peace that hasn’t been there in a while
The Good:
CJ is doing ok. If you’ve ready anything I’ve written in the past few months you know how much that means to me.
Roxie is getting a new home, a good place with land and a pond and turkeys to chase. A relief because she’s a sweet dog, but too big to play with the weinerdogs and they have seniority.
Rosie is appearing to heal. Slowly, but definite signs there. She wags her tail, and squats her legs to pee. This from complete paralysis a week ago. She has also resigned herself to the comfort and safety of her crate, and appears to be content. Not having to deal with my own emotional upheaval of planning to euthenize her has been…well. It’s been a real relief.
David has a job! He’s starting at KF (where Terry works) working for the IT guy doing piddly fixes fo $8/hr. Yay! The Blackhearted Bastard (formerly known as El Presidente) isn’t happy about it but his boss said make it so.
In about a week my very best not-married-to friend and her Three Fine Kids(tm) are coming for a visit!
Now then, a disclaimer, because being who I am I cannot accept any sort of really good news without realizing this:
It hasn’t happened yet, any of it. CJ still hasn’t graduated, and I won’t be completely satisfied until I see him walk down the aisle in cap and gown.
Roxie hasn’t left yet. She has to get spayed first, but the appointment is made.
Rosie isn’t out of the woods yet, and she may yet have to be put down, but the signs of healing are there.
David hasn’t started work yet, and The Blackhearted Bastard might very well go out of his way to make it a living hell for David. He does that.
The friend and kids aren’t here yet. Something might come up.
Just sayin’.
The Bad:
Terry still works too much. He has personel issues. His best friend of the last 15 years came to work here with him 3 years ago, but cannot deal with The Jackass or The Blackhearted Bastard any more, and has found a job in his old town, so he’s leaving town. He was worried Terry would be mad, but Terry told him he wasn’t, just jealous. At least it’s the town where my parents live, so Terry can see him now and then.
The Florida Betony is taking over my yard. I can’t lift the bags of Weed N Feed to get them into the spreader.
The Ugly
Can’t think of anything. The Blackhearted Bastard is no prize, neither is The Jackass even tho he thinks he is, colostomy bag and patchy chemo hair notwithstanding. He still sexually harasses waitresses and the office help. I’m no hindu but I sure love the idea of karma (or is that Bhuddist…?)
So the upshot is, I’m happy. I am smiling and laughing at jokes and able to carry on with my smarter and wittier friends and not wonder why they want to have anything to do with me.
The Real Rootie Has Entered The Building.
Hello thar!
Is it…a ray of sunshine? It looks like a light at the end of the tunnel! Could it be an oncoming train? I don’t hear a horn.
See it’s like this. I talked to CJ last night. You know, CJ. The one who moved out before he graduated High school. The one I’ve been gnawing on my back leg about, a-feared he wasn’t going to graduate at all, at times convinced he was dead and buried or sold into drugged sexual slavery in Thailand. The one I have called The Village Idiot. Yeah that one. anyway, here’s what happened (condensed version…we talked for over an hour, also a new development)
“MOM! I found the truck I want! A 1986 Chevy 4×4! He’ll swap it for my hunting rifle and The Green Bean!” (the green bean is CJ’s old nonfunctioning ’93 S-10 truck, on blocks in our back yard)
“Son, I’m not paying insurance on that. It’s too big and I won’t.”
(mild hostility) “WELL FINE THEN, I’LL JUST GET A JOB AND PAY THE INSURANCE MYSELF.”
(choking back the cheeri…I mean…the tears) “Are you sure, how can you do that and finish school and go to college?”
(slightly milder hostility) “I WANT THIS TRUCK, IF THAT’S WHAT I HAVE TO DO THEN I’M GOING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN.”
“sigh…well, ok, if that’s what you have to do, then” (wiping tear of elatio….i mean…regret)
Also in the conversation:
“Mom, I made an arrangement with my science teacher” (this is the only class he’s failing, and needs it to graduate) “He’s giving me until the week before graduation to get the missing assignments caught up, and I am gradually getting them done.”
Now, his grades are good in that class, solid B test scores, good scores on the assignments he *has* done. If he can do this he’ll pull a good middle B in that class, and graduate with a 3.2 or better.
*if* he gets it done.
“Mom, I’m thinking NADC might be too expensive, and I can get the same education somewhere else for alot less”
Glory Hallelujah. He’s got the money, and if he’s careful with it, he’ll only need a part time job to fill in the living expenses. Oh. Mah. Gawd. Is that a flicker of common sense I see?
Also
“mom, the people I’m living with will be happy to take Roxie as long as she’s spayed first. They have 2 other dogs including another golden lab about her age. They live on a farm with lots of woods around, and she would be able to run and play with the other dogs. They’re fine with her coming here to live.”
See folks, this is what people like me call Genuine Answered Prayer. Specific Answered Prayer. Every single bit of it. Dad called it Maturation of the Frontal Cortex. Maybe so…but it smells like the hand of God to me.
I’ve decided that’s my new name. I tend to react, then think later. I like to think of myself as a rational person, but I’m probably not. Please refer to the blog header for more details.
Anyway, this dog of mine, Rosie. I spent 2 days weeping inconsolably because I was positive she was going to have to be put down. My favorite dog, the silly one with the mild neurosis and the sideways looks and the habit of sleeping on her back in the sun. The fierce one who chased off a pit bull 10 times her size, who burrows under blankets then makes her presence known by the tip of her cold wet nose peeping out. The one with the wierd ears and dainty paws. I as positive beyond any shadow of doubt she’d have to be euthanized, and I was darn near inconsolable.
yes, she’s a dog, not a child, I’ve already established that, but still I was NOT HAPPY.
However…yesterday, she showed a small sign of improvement. I put her on the grass, and she kind of got her back legs underneath her and up on her knees. This from her belly being flat on the ground and dragging. She still can’t use her legs, but she’s trying.
So, finally (because it takes a while for this sort of thing to occur to me, as I was not raised in the Internet Generation) I got online and looked up her condition. And, there’s hope. With TLC and ToT (tincture of time), certain meds, and very careful handling, she could recover. I have hope.
Then, this morning when I took her outside to pee (she needs help in the form of having her bladder mashed), she…holy crow!…pulled her back legs up out of the way! SHE MOVED HER BACK LEGS, PEOPLE! This, folks, is huge.
See, the vet told me she still had pain reflex in her back legs. I didn’t give this much thought until I read up on it on the internet. It meant that the nerve damage wasn’t complete. It meant that there really is hope of recovery. It just means she needs to be crated and handled gently for a couple of months, and since we don’t have plans to go anywhere…this is doable.
So, forgive my soggy hysteria of 2 days ago. I was reacting to Bad News and rather than seeking to inform myself, I chose to weep wildly and assume the worst.
now, that’s not to say she’s out of the woods. She still has trouble with her bodily functions and needs help. She’ll need to recover those, because we do travel and I cannot leave her to be fed once a day (like we normally do when we travel), and I just don’t know about the cost of boarding…tho I am considering it.
But the good news is, I am feeling cautiously optimistic, and that’s so much better than being all soggy and wiping my eyes with a sock.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Last year Terry cousin’s (almost) 10 yr old son died after a very long fight with lymphoma. Yesterday they put the headstone on his grave. And here I am bawling about a dog.
Filed under: *whinge*
I know there are people with problems way worse than mine. They worry about their next meal, or if their child is going to survive through the night. They worry if they’re going to have a job next week. I know there are people pregnant with babies they didn’t plan for or want, and people who’s spouses have run off with the secretary. I know these things, but these problems aren’t my problems. I feel for them, I truly do, but I am so absorbed in my own (kinda small, really) issues that I can’t be feeling a whole lot of sympathy for anyone at the moment. Do you ever feel like that? Like your issues are the biggest ones on your plate right now and you kinda gotta wade through them before you can fool with someone elses?
I know. Get a grip, Rootie, you weenie.
wah wah wah
But see, it’s like this. I have this dog. Y’all know I have dogs and I’m a little crazy about them. No, they’re not children. If I had a child with these same problems I would not be talking about what I’m fixing to talk about. Dogs are not children and I am not one of these nutjobs who thinks they are. They’re dogs. However, they are also my constant daily companions, each with her own particular personality and each with her own little spot in my heart. Anyway, Rosie, the mini-est of the dogs, has a herniated disc resulting in paralysis in her back end, possibly (probably) permanent. Along with this is bladder and bowel control issues, and needing to stay in a crate when she isn’t in my lap, as the other dogs (especially the big lab) tend to have little tolerance for weakness. So..it’s looking like (barring a miracle over the next few days) we’re going to have to have her put down. This makes me very sad. Not broken hearted, that’s reserved for people, but sad, as she was a merry and delightful little dog with peculiarities that made her entertaining and quirky. She was also hopelessly inbred and bound for all the things wrong that happen to mini dachshunds. Now, there are wheelchairs for dachshunds, but there are also deep issues with any sort of back end paralysis, stuff like bladder and kidney infections, impacted bowels, and the whole quality of life issue. So, like I said, barring a miracle, we’ll have her put down probably early next week. I have an appointment with the vet Monday to see if she has improved any, but he was sceptical and so am I.
There’s also Terry’s work thing. All those hours, all that political infighting and backstabbing..Well, you say, at least he’s employed, right? Right. I know. He has a job. I am happy for that. Nonetheless, I am very unhappy with the working conditions and will continue to be until something gives.
Then there’s the physical stuff. At least I have insurance, right? Right. It still hurts. My shoulder hurts. It does. Pain meds that work are forbidden. Terry’s arm hurts, or his knee hurts and I can’t get him to the orthopedist to have it looked into. He’s worried it will need replacing and he can’t take that kind of time off from work. His arm probably needs another surgery. Ditto the time off.
but we have a house. We have each other. Love’s still there, kids are all healthy (if misbehavin’ a bit…no one’s dead, no one’s sick). relatively speaking, we’re all ok. it’s just…kinda…I’m not *happy*, and I’m tired of that. I want a bit of time with nothing weighing on my mind. I want CJ graduated and settled at NADC. I want Will’s paperwork done and him definitely going to East Ga. I want Terry to be excited about going to work in the morning, and home at a decent hour. That’s all.
