Shiny and new

Do you know how happy this sight made me?  Definitely picture worthy to see the entire contents of our refrigerator on the counter.  Can you guess why?





Our trusty fridge that we hauled back from Idaho, with 1 forgotten pint of Ben and Jerry's chocolate brownie ice cream completely forgotten in the freezer... which melted and ran all throughout the interior and then all through the door at the bottom...yes, making a gooey, sticky, mess that I still have remnants of in the grate at the bottom... yes, that fridge is moving out... into the garage... 
and look who moved in... 1 shiny new fridge with french doors and a big freezer drawer with a slot for pizzas.  




Plus when I went to put the food all back in?  I had lots of room for more... which is a good thing since the boys are eating their way through their college fund as I speak.









As if I could get any luckier, look what came in the mail... its a hand made tote bag that Megan at Polish the Stars, sells in her Etsy store.  I won it in a giveaway, but her crafty and clever ideas are worth going to visit for yourself!  Thank you Megan! 

Pepsi Cup 2010

Can you guess...



where I've been?



If I told you I'd been wrapped in a blanket, freezing my rear off, on a sunny 78 degree day? Would you think I was crazy? Cause I felt a bit silly, with my coat and blanket on while my bare toes peeked through in the frigid air. And when I forgot to take my warm coat ensemble off later, I got a few stares at the store.


It's okay, its all good...


Nolan played in the 2010 North American Pepsi-Cup Hockey Tournament with 15 other Moorhead boys all born in the year 2000. They won their last game to finish the tournament in third. See, I'm only a tiny bit crazy after all.

Prayer for a Normal Day...

Prayer for a Normal Day

Normal day,

let me be aware of the treasure you are.

Let me learn from you, love you,

bless you before you depart.

Let me not pass by in quest

of some rare and perfect tomorrow.

Let me hold you while I may,

for it may not always be so.

One day I shall dig my nails into the earth,

or bury my face in the pillow,

or stretch myself taut,

or raise my hands to the sky and want,

more than all the world, your return.

Mary Jean Iron

I saw this quote over at the uber talented Orange County Photog, Tara Whitney's blog.   

What I  would blog about, on a normal day, is not what is on my mind or in my heart today.  I am finding, the longer I try to squelch whatever words are on my fingertips, the longer the rest of my words come to a complete stop. 

So feel free to skip right past reading on these days when I am a "Debbie Downer..."   Just know I am okay, but being real.  I have always turned to the written word to make sense of my world.

But, did you know you all help?  Every heartfelt comment or email brings a measure of comfort.  Every offer of help, every offer of listening or just being there, it all helps.  All of the prayers?  I feel Dad, and myself, and my family being covered in prayer. 

In case I forget to tell you, seeing all the ways you show up to tell me I am not alone, it all helps. 

Normal day...

I wake up to find my head is throbbing...  I trudge through the day, breakfast, school bus, shower, hospital, Target, school bus, hockey, baseball, hockey, baseball, bed, bed, bed.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  

I am here.

And I am not here.  I try to soak in the peace and solitude of being alone for one last quiet morning of blogging.  I am preparing.  I've purged our closets, sorted out the drawers, donated all of the too small clothes, that were bought just a little too big, not long ago.  

Its the last day of school.  I long for it, I dread it.   

I've stocked up on sunscreen, bug spray, swim shorts, and gatorade.  We made travel plans.  We're going to hockey camp, baseball tournaments, Junior Golf lessons, swimming lessons.

I am ready.

I am not ready.  

We brought Dad home yesterday.  It is good to be home.  It doesn't resemble home.

Its a house in the midst of being packed up.  We're moving... they are moving.  44 years of life packed up in cardboard.  It seems suddenly so unimportant to be moving.

I am hopeful they will like their new place.  Its big and roomy, with lots of light, and its all brand new.  Even the dishwasher.  It's my mother's first one in 74 years.

I am doubtful.  

He may not want to go.  I don't know if he wants to go to the new place.  He railed against my mother yesterday.  Who is this showing up?  He does not want morphine.  He does not want more nursing care.  He does not want the furniture rearranged.  He doesn't rail, normally, he doesn't rail.  

He wants to decide.  He will decide.  We will let him decide.

Normal day... 

its a new normal...

every day. 

When it doesn't all add up...

When I worked in Psych. one of my responsibilities was to observe behavior of our patients. Not only to watch in minute detail, but to painstakingly document behaviors, conversations, and demeanor each day. If a patient said they were sad, and talked about sad subjects, and cried... there wasn't much more to interpret. Often times however, not all of their words, thoughts, and behaviors matched up so neatly. Sometimes the smiling face in front of you that claimed "I feel fine," had so much unspeakable trauma, that you knew that face was a brave exterior to a crumbling inside.

The pictures from part of our weekend, don't truly match my words. Oh I suppose they do for the boys. They truly relished their time with Grandpa and Grandma at the lake. They had campfires and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. They relaxed in the hot tub. Colton took pictures with his new camera. Nolan went fishing out in the boat numerous times and caught several fish. They came back to town tired and happy.  But Rick and I only briefly visited the lake.

On the way to the lake on Saturday, my phone rang. It was a panic-stricken voice on the other end. Mom called an ambulance for dad. She had tried to take him out to lunch and he collapsed on the way home.

When I told mom we'd return to town just as soon as we'd dropped off the boys, she didn't refuse our offer.  She sounded so alone, and her words were riddled with guilt.

Rick drove us, quickly back to town.  By the time I arrived at the hospital, dad was awake and talking.  While more stable, he was still on 14 liters of oxygen... his normal requirement is 5.

My mother and I have taken turns staying with him at the hospital.  His spirit remains strong, despite his failing body.  He talks of getting in the boat with the boys to go fishing.  He wants help in the garage from Nolan, in sorting his tools.  He talks of traveling.  But his words don't match what his body is clearly no longer capable of doing.

So we smile and nod.  "Sure, anything you want Dad," we say.  We make light of the fact he is tied to his chair with a monitor that sounds an alarm whenever he moves beyond its confines.  And then the nurses run in and scold him gently, reminding him he has to stay still.  In the meantime, dad gets a sly look on his face and he chuckles as they walk away.

Its true, outwardly we are coping.  We simply don't know where we are at.  So we smile and make small talk, and go on.  And I know I don't match.  At all.  My exterior may be brave, but its on the inside that I am crumbling.

Field trip...

We went to the zoo today... me and the entire first grade from Colton's school.  Can you say, exhausting?  I think all first grade teachers are saints.  And Kindergarten teachers and second grade teachers and well, you know what I mean.





This is Stan.  He is a white-naped crane who scared the pajeebers out of us when he pecked the plexiglass.  All we wanted was a close up view of him... so he crouched down and then snuck up on us and when he stood up he was literally face to face with us.  And when Colton put his palm up to the glass?  He pecked at it!





Do you see his eyes?  Yeah, he is an omnivore...  he eats plants and small mammals...  and if you look closely at his eyes, you'll see small boys just might be on the menu! 

 He pecked and pecked and us.


Until little Aubri said "he is creeping me out, lets boogie."  So long Stan.



The ducks were not enclosed however.  No cage is necessary when you install a machine for duck pellets and charge a quarter for a handful.  These are some well fed ducks.











And one big canadian goose.


"Did ya hear the latest on the missing prairie dog?  You know, Stan is just two exhibits over... I'm just sayin..."









"I'm telling you... second grade is a piece of cake..."  






The best kind of horseback ride to end our day at the zoo.

How well do your shoes fit?

We took the boys shopping last night. I know! Boys and shopping, theres an irony if ever one existed. Unless we're going X-BOX game shopping, or new hockey-stick shopping, boys and going to the store really don't mesh well.

It was pretty much necessary, considering what happened when I looked at Nolan's feet last week. We were sitting side by side on the couch, with our feet propped on the ottoman. In utter disbelief we merged one foot each, back to back with the other's foot. I kid you not, they were the same size! No wonder he has been complaining of heel pain.

So we bravely headed to the mall with the boys reluctantly in tow. I remember at his age that Nike was just coming on the scene. By the time I hit jr. high school, I would have given anything for a pair of Nikes. I think I landed my first pair sometime in high school, when I could pay for them myself.  In the meantime I wore the standard store brand from Tempo, or JcPenney.

I still feel a trace of awe and reverence every time I go to try on a new pair of Nike running shoes.  But trying to impress upon the boys how "lucky" they are to have parents who can buy them Nike?  Insert eye-roll here.  Nolan in particular was not swayed to look at Nike. With Sidney Crosby obsession running through his veins, Reebok, was the shoe de jour.

He found the one he wanted almost instantly. It was mostly a light gray, with purple accents. We all agreed it was a great looking shoe, in a budget friendly price. Perfect. Except for the size. Not a single pair in his size. Now there were plenty of other shoes in his size, but they came with manly sized prices, or all the wrong colors. He started to deflate.

Until Mommy stepped in. With an idea brewing in my head I set out in search of the same shoe, in a different part of the store... and there it was. Gray Reebok shoe with purple accents, and an affordable price. He instantly loved the shoes... and they had his size.

The only drawback? It was a woman's shoe. Steeling myself for the big rejection I was sure was about to follow, I broke the news to Nolan. At this time the brilliant sales woman stepped in an attempt to rescue her quickly evaporating sale. Why weren't those the colors of the Minnesota Vikings? Didn't they look like the shoes Brett Favre might wear? Nolan is taking all of this in, and then she goes in for the kill. I tell you what, she says, you wear these shoes, and someday when I come watch you play in the big league, I'm going to ask you for your autograph.

I saw Nolan slowly smile, walk around a bit in them, shrug his shoulders and heard him say "I'll take them."  Insert jaw drop here.

I hate to admit, but the rest of our shopping trip was smooth sailing.  It helped that we found a sale on none other than a Brett Favre purple Minnesota Vikings jersey.  Maybe we'd "masculinized" the shoe situation well enough for it not to be an issue.

Upon arriving at home, Nolan quickly took off for his friend's house, completely decked out in his new shirt and shoes.  But leave it to Nolan, without skipping a beat, when his friend inquired if he had gotten new shoes, he replied, yes, and they're girls!!  Insert head shake here... mine!

He wore them to school today.  Who knows, maybe he'll start a new fad?  Or maybe he just possesses enough self esteem to know it really doesn't matter what kind of shoe you wear.  Hmmm... there's a novel idea.  It's the message my parent's tried to instill in me.  Too bad it took my own kid's wisdom for me to finally get the lesson.

but then the tree rescued me...

                                            The tree is more than first a seed,




then a stem,


then a living trunk,




and then dead timber.

                               The tree is a slow, enduring force straining to win the sky.  


~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Wisdom of the Sands, translated from French by Stuart Gilbert

Friday I arrived at my parent's house, accidentally, over an hour early.  So I went down the block to our empty rental house.  In a few short days it will once again house a gaggle of college girls.  But in the meantime I took full advantage of the tranquil setting.

I sat.

With my back to the tree.

Feeling its sturdiness against the spine of my back.

I felt the forgiveness of the tree ooze through her bark.  The scar from the pick up truck that had run into her several years back was just above my right shoulder.  Remarkably, the tree had only been bruised and quickly sent shoots of new growth reaching out around her.   The truck bore the brunt of the damage.

I could see the resiliency in her leaves.  The Dutch Elm Disease that has claimed so many other Elm trees on the street, has not gotten a grip on this one.

I felt the warm embrace of her branches.  Spreading out around me, shielding me from the wind and sun.

I drank in her strength and left transfused with her vitality.

I went back to my parent's house.

With the tree's whispered promise of hope playing through my mind, we signed my dad up for hospice.

Secure in the wisdom of the tree, I see my dad, he is "a slow enduring force, straining to win the sky."  I am the offshoot of that tree, straining right along with him.