Today is my Grandma Colleen’s birthday. She passed when I was pregnant with Neil, over nineteen years ago. I think she would be 100 today. Renal cancer killed her. We think she and my grandfather were exposed to something in their travels in NM when he worked road construction. At 81 she had lived a pretty good long life but none of us were ready to lose her. It’s been nineteen years and I’m still not ready.

Every sorrow, every triumph, even just boring daily trivia makes me want to call her up. I bet she would still be using her wall phone in the kitchen with that handy chalk board right next to it, and the old fashioned step stool we all loved to sit on.

She was my unconditional support, my enveloping blanket, the person who would be kind no matter how shitty I was being. And boy, could I be shitty. I made her cry more times than I want to remember. I hope I made her smile more than that, but the good we do doesn’t stick with us as well.

I miss you, Gram. I miss your onion breath, your powder-puffy hugs, your old lady polyester shirts. I miss you checking every door in the house three times so we felt safe. I miss you watching tv til one am and keeping me up with your wall-shaking snores.

I miss your Queen of Crack jokes and your silent but deadlies… I miss our late night conversations and giggles.  I miss your little lessons on how to spoil myself (take a book and tea into the bath, use Oil of Olay, Herbal Essences when it was GREEN.) and your stories of riding the street car in Topeka or living in one room houses with dirt floors and no lights when you were first married.

Every person in our life teaches us, but you loved me best. Thank you. I hope you see my children and how hard I’m trying to be more like you in the good ways.

I hope when I die that there IS an afterlife and are together again because I spend every day of this one missing you and wishing you had gotten to see me AFTER I grew out of (mostly) my rotten phase. And oh, how I wish my children had known you.

I love you, Gram. Thank you for loving us.


Life’s little blessings?

We started watching “Sherlock” on BBC.  Holmes’ isolated genius always gives me food for thought.  Very smart people are often depicted as having terrible social skills or simply not caring about them.

I personally know several incredibly intelligent people who are not verging on “highly functioning sociopathic,” and are even very socially adroit, but I think it makes us lesser mortals feel better to think that every gift is balanced with a flaw, and vice versa. We naturally seek patterns, symmetry and balance.

Then there are people they should have named “Igor DaVinci” and left it at that.

Fevers and such

Linnae has some kind of virus giving her a fever of 104 that hasn’t been responding to Tylenol. It is one thing to intellectually know that a fever isn’t all evil, and another thing entirely to feel helpless to manage it. SuperHubby went and got children’s ibuprofen to see if that worked better. Chewable tablets meet with her approval, anyway.

So like every paranoid mom with a sick kid I was listening to her breathe – nice and even, not too fast or shallow – and I noticed her temperature finally going down l. 103, 102, some sweating…

Suddenly, she popped up in bed and started panicking incoherently, throwing her arms back almost spastically and drawing her knees up. I was practically running to put her in the tub and I could hear Paul rushing (it’s an interesting sound, soft yet implacable, he WILL get there, not even the laws of physics will stop him) down the hall. She yelled “this is NOT a good plan!” and something about sliding, and apparently woke up all the way. After her delirious spell earlier today, I was thoroughly frightened, thinking the thermometer must be broken.

I gave her a bath anyway, used another thermometer to make sure her temperature was really only a hundred, and we got her back in bed.

I now feel like I need a shot of whiskey which I don’t even LIKE. Boy.

Life’s little surprises

I never thought I’d have a two am feeding for an animal we raise to eat. I’m pretty sure if this cutie patootie lives he or she will not be dinner.

The little furry miracle is doing better with us holding a droplet of our formula mixture at his lips for him to lap up. I’m fairly certain that le cafe Wolfen is going to get a scathing review on Yelp, however. Tonight’s mishap was the darn syringe had a clog and I got a bunch up his nose.

Let me tell you, gently sucking on a rabbit kit’s nose to get milk out so they don’t aspirate is NOT what I anticipated doing. Helped, though.

Furry thing is still easier to take care of than the Tyrant was. So much quieter 🙂

Well, I’m off for more sleep tool I hear more scrabbling in his little box. I hope this little fighter wins…