Yesterday was a sort of busy day at work, if you factor in visiting with a former co-worker who was back with her kids to visit. I had all sorts of plans, was going to run to Sam's Club at lunch so I didn't have to go after work, I was going to be EFFICIENT!
Yeah, right.
Didn't happen.
I ended up eating lunch at 2:00, at my desk, working around HR paperwork and the like.
I went to the bathroom before I left at 4:30, and did the usual once over. Hmm ... that looks like pepper in between my front teeth. Damn.
But, to look on the other side of the coin, the bright side of things, whatever you choose to call it:
Don't complain that your day didn't go as planned. Be glad you had lunch at 2:00 instead of 12:00, because it means that you only had pepper in your front teeth for two and a half hours instead of four and a half.
It's all about the peppercorn.
Remember the peppercorn.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Sunday, October 08, 2006
It's my birthday!
Well, tomorrow is my birthday.
Birthdays are interesting things, on many levels.
I share mine with John Lennon (10/09/1940). I think that's pretty cool in itself. I am always guaranteed to hear "Imagine" on my birthday - how fantastic is that?!
Also, I don't feel that I am what my age says I should be. I don't feel that *THIS* is what 32 should be. A couple of years ago I stopped telling people I was 25. I wasn't even trying to be tricky, I just felt 25. I'm 32 years old, and while I'm not totally hot, I'm not dog meat by any stretch of the means. I'm in good health, am trying to eat right, am having fun on a daily basis, and I don't feel that I am as responsible as I should be, if that makes any sense. I'm totally over committed in many areas, but that's okay. I do need a new hair do though, it's giving me fits.
Birthdays are now, for me, much more meaningful now that I am a parent. I know that on their birthdays, I replay the entire day, all day long, like I am re-living my labor and delivery. I know that my Mom didn't really get that with me, and I don't know if I like that, not that I can do anything to change it. I know that my birth was for her, something traumatic, and I don't ever recall a time when she told me about it that she didn't cry. That makes me sad, because you shouldn't be sad recalling the birth of your child, especially if it was the baby you wanted and waited for. She cried because she remembers how scary it was for her, and the fear that she had that I may not have survived being born ...
Unfortunately, I am very familiar with that ... when I had Q, I went through something similar. I ended up with general anestesia (my mom had it too), and I was not awake to meet him. That makes me very sad, and it also bothers me that my husband did not get to meet him immediately either. Our son was greeted by strangers, that didn't have a vested interest in him. To them, he was another baby. To us, he was our son, and we were so eager to meet him, both so excited that it was going to be SOON, and then BAM! you end up in surgery.
When my Mom was waking up from her surgery/my birth, she remembers my Dad saying to the Doctor, "You have to tell her, I don't know how to tell her, I don't know if I can." and she said that all she thought was that I had not survived, that the doctors were right, that she couldn't get pregnant, that she shouldn't get pregnant, that it was a danger to both her and I. As it turns out, my Dad was panicing at the thought of telling her that I was in ICU, and had been transferred to another hospital for care.
Fast forward to my daughter, two years after my son. My fast and furious three hour and fifty-nine minute labor, my squirmy wet daughter, I grabbed her on the way out and brought her to me immediately. That is what I wish for all women, if that is what they want, on the birthdays of their children - to hold them and love them minutes after arrival.
Aah ... it's a bouncy sort of night ... a little bit here, a little bit there ...
Thanks, Mom, for being brave enough to do what you and Dad wanted, and follow your heart instead of what the doctors said. Thank you for my birthday.
Thank you to Q and The Bee for reminding me on a daily basis of how great things can be, even if it is exhausting sometimes.
Birthdays are interesting things, on many levels.
I share mine with John Lennon (10/09/1940). I think that's pretty cool in itself. I am always guaranteed to hear "Imagine" on my birthday - how fantastic is that?!
Also, I don't feel that I am what my age says I should be. I don't feel that *THIS* is what 32 should be. A couple of years ago I stopped telling people I was 25. I wasn't even trying to be tricky, I just felt 25. I'm 32 years old, and while I'm not totally hot, I'm not dog meat by any stretch of the means. I'm in good health, am trying to eat right, am having fun on a daily basis, and I don't feel that I am as responsible as I should be, if that makes any sense. I'm totally over committed in many areas, but that's okay. I do need a new hair do though, it's giving me fits.
Birthdays are now, for me, much more meaningful now that I am a parent. I know that on their birthdays, I replay the entire day, all day long, like I am re-living my labor and delivery. I know that my Mom didn't really get that with me, and I don't know if I like that, not that I can do anything to change it. I know that my birth was for her, something traumatic, and I don't ever recall a time when she told me about it that she didn't cry. That makes me sad, because you shouldn't be sad recalling the birth of your child, especially if it was the baby you wanted and waited for. She cried because she remembers how scary it was for her, and the fear that she had that I may not have survived being born ...
Unfortunately, I am very familiar with that ... when I had Q, I went through something similar. I ended up with general anestesia (my mom had it too), and I was not awake to meet him. That makes me very sad, and it also bothers me that my husband did not get to meet him immediately either. Our son was greeted by strangers, that didn't have a vested interest in him. To them, he was another baby. To us, he was our son, and we were so eager to meet him, both so excited that it was going to be SOON, and then BAM! you end up in surgery.
When my Mom was waking up from her surgery/my birth, she remembers my Dad saying to the Doctor, "You have to tell her, I don't know how to tell her, I don't know if I can." and she said that all she thought was that I had not survived, that the doctors were right, that she couldn't get pregnant, that she shouldn't get pregnant, that it was a danger to both her and I. As it turns out, my Dad was panicing at the thought of telling her that I was in ICU, and had been transferred to another hospital for care.
Fast forward to my daughter, two years after my son. My fast and furious three hour and fifty-nine minute labor, my squirmy wet daughter, I grabbed her on the way out and brought her to me immediately. That is what I wish for all women, if that is what they want, on the birthdays of their children - to hold them and love them minutes after arrival.
Aah ... it's a bouncy sort of night ... a little bit here, a little bit there ...
Thanks, Mom, for being brave enough to do what you and Dad wanted, and follow your heart instead of what the doctors said. Thank you for my birthday.
Thank you to Q and The Bee for reminding me on a daily basis of how great things can be, even if it is exhausting sometimes.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Reflective
As you can tell, I was in an off mood yesterday and am still in one today. I probably should stay away from here, and people in general, when I'm in moods like this. It has been a long week, and it has been stressful, and it has brought back a lot of the "stuff" I had packaged up and deal with on MY terms, when I'm ready.
Anyway, I went to hte walk this morning, and when you take two small kids to a five mile fundraising walk, there is not a lot of time to deal with emotions. I suppose theres time for those later tonight.
As part of pre-walk e-mails was the one asking what Our Reason To Walk was. I wrote something, but in the midst of last week, I didn't get to send it in. I'll post it here instead:
My Reason to Walk …
I choose to walk for several reasons. I walk because I am a daughter, a wife and a mother.
I am the daughter whose mother, diagnosed as Type I when she was thirteen years old, died from complications of diabetes when she was just 47 years old. I was only 25 and had been married for just seven months. The life I had lived was the only life I knew – that of the child of a hard to maintain diabetic. No matter how hard we tried, it always seemed to be out of hand. For me, however, it was normal. I helped drive the car home when I was five because her blood sugar dropped too low. I learned how to check sugar levels and build blood sugar back up when it dropped. I knew the signs and what to look for, and how to get help. Some people say that was a lot for a kid, I say it was normal, it was all I knew. As a teenager, the once a year hospitalizations were routine, almost ordinary. As an adult and new wife, the trips to and from doctors and hospitals to help treat complications were a time for us to bond even more, to talk about this and that, to make sure that things weren’t left unsaid.
I walk as a daughter because I don’t want any one else’s child to have to do what I did, although I would do it again in a heartbeat. I don’t want anyone to ache like I did, and still do.
I am the wife, to a terrific husband, much loved and often under appreciated. I walk because I don’t want him to have to wait in hospitals, and I don’t want him to hurt the way I watched my Dad hurt for my Mom. I want my husband to have a wife to retire with and be able to live out all of our dreams and “one days”.
I walk as a wife because I don’t want anyone else’s spouse to grieve like my Dad does.
I am the mother to two terrific children, more unbelievable than I could ever imagine. I walk for them. I don’t want them to have to watch me struggle, and I don’t want that stress, the stress that the child of a diabetic faces, for them, now or ever. I walk because my Mom wished that I would never get this disease, but heaven forbid if the myth held true that it would skip a generation and get her grandkids. If it comes to be that our family gets this disease, I want the research done and the wheels in motion, so less damage is done and me, my husband or my kids have a better chance of staying healthy and living a long, complete life.
I walk as a mother because I didn’t know I could love like this.
I walk to honor my past and protect my future.
I walk because for me to do nothing would be wrong.
I walk because she loved me.
Anyway, I went to hte walk this morning, and when you take two small kids to a five mile fundraising walk, there is not a lot of time to deal with emotions. I suppose theres time for those later tonight.
As part of pre-walk e-mails was the one asking what Our Reason To Walk was. I wrote something, but in the midst of last week, I didn't get to send it in. I'll post it here instead:
My Reason to Walk …
I choose to walk for several reasons. I walk because I am a daughter, a wife and a mother.
I am the daughter whose mother, diagnosed as Type I when she was thirteen years old, died from complications of diabetes when she was just 47 years old. I was only 25 and had been married for just seven months. The life I had lived was the only life I knew – that of the child of a hard to maintain diabetic. No matter how hard we tried, it always seemed to be out of hand. For me, however, it was normal. I helped drive the car home when I was five because her blood sugar dropped too low. I learned how to check sugar levels and build blood sugar back up when it dropped. I knew the signs and what to look for, and how to get help. Some people say that was a lot for a kid, I say it was normal, it was all I knew. As a teenager, the once a year hospitalizations were routine, almost ordinary. As an adult and new wife, the trips to and from doctors and hospitals to help treat complications were a time for us to bond even more, to talk about this and that, to make sure that things weren’t left unsaid.
I walk as a daughter because I don’t want any one else’s child to have to do what I did, although I would do it again in a heartbeat. I don’t want anyone to ache like I did, and still do.
I am the wife, to a terrific husband, much loved and often under appreciated. I walk because I don’t want him to have to wait in hospitals, and I don’t want him to hurt the way I watched my Dad hurt for my Mom. I want my husband to have a wife to retire with and be able to live out all of our dreams and “one days”.
I walk as a wife because I don’t want anyone else’s spouse to grieve like my Dad does.
I am the mother to two terrific children, more unbelievable than I could ever imagine. I walk for them. I don’t want them to have to watch me struggle, and I don’t want that stress, the stress that the child of a diabetic faces, for them, now or ever. I walk because my Mom wished that I would never get this disease, but heaven forbid if the myth held true that it would skip a generation and get her grandkids. If it comes to be that our family gets this disease, I want the research done and the wheels in motion, so less damage is done and me, my husband or my kids have a better chance of staying healthy and living a long, complete life.
I walk as a mother because I didn’t know I could love like this.
I walk to honor my past and protect my future.
I walk because for me to do nothing would be wrong.
I walk because she loved me.
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