Highs and Lows

There is a scene in the movie "Notting Hill?" I believe, where the family is at the dinner table and they go around and each say the best and the worst thing of the day or the "high and low."  We've been consistently inconsistent doing that at our house but when we do it's always interesting...
Here are the highs and lows of our week

HIGH: We went to visit our awesome cousins and experience Dinosaurland. Upon seeing the giant Pteranodon sculpture from the parking lot, Cannon exclaimed, "I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!!!"  He almost got his wish when our car broke down....but we'll save that for the low...

Cannon's alter ego

This is what you do in heaven all day, according to the 4-yr. old

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 HIGH: Escaping a verrrry windy day and spending it indoors swimming at the rec. center.

They can't get enough of dinosaurs in these here parts

LOW: Our van died! It started making this awful clanking sound so we thought we better get it checked out. The mechanic told us we weren't to drive it a minute more. Diagnosis: Major engine problem   It gets lower--the Repair: $5500.  That's just enough to make you think about getting a new car. 

The nice part of this is that the mechanic (and neighbor of cousins) had a van he wasn't using and brought us the keys so we could borrow it to get home and use until we got a new one?!  How is that for generosity and kindness?!! 

 Other HIGHS:
We visited the house where my Dad was born and raised. Well, almost--he was actually born across the street in his cousin's house that no longer exists. But this is the home he was raised in.  The girls climbed all the trees on the property--with permission from my mom's "adopted" sister who lives there now.

 She showed us the bricks where my Dad carved his name and the year 1947

 The girls had their end-of-school hoopla and merry-making

 Kate's patriotic program: She bet me a dollar that I would get emotional and cry.  I must have had a stone cold heart that day because not even the slideshow of the wounded soldiers and weeping widows got to me but the soldier who just returned and surprised his daughter at the assembly almost did.   Kate also participated in the 5th grade Spelling Bee because she figured that would be more exciting than just watching it. She didn't study darn it so she was pleased to end up around 13th place.

 Brynn had State gymnastics competition.  She played "Arkansas Traveler" on her fiddle for the 3rd grade talent show.

I helped out with Adrie's 1st grade Field Day as well as tag-along Cannon. I got to be the "parachute mom" which was the most exciting event there in my opinion. We had tons-o-fun but after doing it 6 times in a row with each class I had no voice left...or energy.

I guess the only low would be that all these school events were packed in the same 3 days!
Welcome summer!  What is your high low?

Explosion of Fun

My uncle, the youngest brother on my mom's side, came to visit last week. I asked my 7 year old how she would descibe Wendell's visit. She called it an explosion of fun--hence the title.  He came for my cousin's wedding and stayed until my mom's memorial.  If my mom is a firework, my uncle is dynamite. To announce his coming he left a message on our machine that went something like this...
GREAT NEWS!!! I get to come stay with you guys for a WHOLE WEEK!!!    How could that kind of enthusiasm not rub off on you?!  He did come and did stay for the whole week and it turned out to be a huge blessing to have him here.   With his movie-making magic and my photos we put together a DVD tribute of my mom's life.  He was able to color her life with the stories behind the photos. He is a master storyteller.

The first night he arrived was a whirlwind of fun. He brought each of the kids inflatable T-Rexes and water squirty toys. A water fight quickly ensued which I had to usher outside with Wendell dripping at the center of it. After dinner he announced that we must all go out for ice cream his treat. So off we went to the local creamery. He had all the kids surrounding him at the table licking their treats, laughing at his jokes, and staring in wonder at his riddles. Even kids that weren't ours came over to our table to join in the excitement.  At bedtime he told all the kids a gutsy version of David and Goliath. The story was puncuated with tickles and horsey rides on his knee. He is the cat in the hat.

He praised my homemaking skills, gushed about my amazing children, and laughed heartily at Brandon's good humor. He made me see that the grass really was greener on my side of the fence metaphorically speaking.  "There's nothing more important than family and you're doing a He** of a job!" Everyone needs an Uncle Wendell.

The neighborhood kids were fascinated by Uncle Wendell. I started calling him the Pied Piper because of the posse of kids he daily attracted. He loved having a fresh audience for his repertoire of jokes. He even made some up on the fly and the kids still laughed their heads off. He asked each of them their names and made them feel special by asking them about their lives.  When he heard that some of the kids were headed down to the canal he wanted to come too.

One day he spent the whole morning candidly telling me his entire life story-- the good and bad, no holds barred. How he suffered job loss, break-ups, lost his faith. How he put his life together, found true love, married and became a father, and how he owed that all to my mom who saved his life many years back by placing a timely phonecall that prevented him from taking his life. He told of his missionary adventures in South America, of sailing charter yachts to Hawaii and the Marshall Islands. He shared heart wrenching experiences of being a Red Cross volunteer in the guts of the San Francisco earthquake.

We took Adrie out of school and took the two youngest to the Indian museum and Cove Fort. An avid historian, Wendell gave the tour guides more info than they had to give.
He even came to my music practice. He put his video skills to work by recording us playing, each time shouting our praises, "You guys are FANTASTIC!!"  We played an Irish pub song and invited him to take the vocals. He's acknowledged he wasn't a singer but "what the heck,' he reasoned, "life is an adventure."  He was such a good sport and we had lot of fun that evening.

Wendell cooked us breakfast, dinner, treated us to lunch. He fixed my stubborn door hinges and replaced the lock on my bedroom door that never worked. He generally spoiled us. He let me cry to him about my troubles and gave me hugs and wisdom from the scriptures. He was truly a blessing and I'm grateful to have him in my life.

Mom Memorial

My mom almost died so many times in her life due to cancer and various health challenges, I think I was in denial when it really happened. It wasn't until I woke up one Sunday morning a few days later and knew that waiting on my front doorstep was a tightly rolled up newspaper with her obituary. It didn't matter that I had sweated over writing that obituary all week. Seeing it in writing, published, announced to all the world, made her death real and it struck me with finality... and grief.

We celebrated my mom's life with a memorial service yesterday. It happened by the grace of many of my mom's dear friends, neighbors, and relatives. In her last few months, my mom, in predictable contrariness, said she didn't want a formal church service. It was fine for my dad because he liked to play by the rules. Not my mom. She wanted a party, a Dixie Land Band, with wild celebrating in the streets and treats--lots of them. She knew very well where she was going and couldn't wait to get there. In her last few months she lost some of that exuberance and just wanted to be sprinkled over the ocean with beachside family memorial service.     Maybe we'd had enough of funerals, but as a family we were content to go along with the latter.    Then a few good souls stepped in and called me, expressing the need to do something bigger.   My mom was a firework. How could a lighting a match possibly reflect the magnitude of her fire?   


With their help we planned what would turn out to be the perfect memorial service.   My mom's good friends and old neighbors hosted in their gorgeous made-for-entertaining home. My uncle (one of those good souls) emceed and we had a couple of musical numbers. One was my mom's own song, a vocal duet with piano accompaniment. My mom's dear friend (another of the good souls) performed a song she had written just for my mom. Then it was open mic. I learned all about my mom those in the music profession, those who knew her in her younger more energetic days, family that came to her reunions. My niece wrote a poem that so aptly described her as only a poem could. All of it was wonderful!
We had a video tribute of her life playing downstairs and mountains of fudge, cookies and refreshments. It was just the kind of party my mom would have wanted. For me, it was a happy reunion of relatives, friends, old neighbors that I grew up with. I learned all these wonderful stories about my mom from different perspectives that I never knew.  After it all I felt great satisfaction that my mom had gotten the attention she deserved. I also felt an enormous sense of closure, like everything was made right. It was a great lesson to me that these are the reasons we have funerals and memorials.

Between the memorial tributes, the obituary, and pulling out all the old photos, awards, letters, I have pieced together this whole person that is my mom and she is amazing! From a cherished baby in her mother's arms to a precocious toe-head child, to a mother with unique talents and ambitions--  I never thought of my mom as that whole person,  she was just "my mom."  How I wish I could go back with the knowledge and perspective I now have and befriend her. But, I'm happy to know I will someday. When it's my turn to die I know she'll be the first one to bust through the crowd,  wrap her arms around me and shout in joyous reunion "Love ya hard!"

On a Roll (the coin kind)

So recently we decided to hunker down and get smart with our money. We're not bad with money it's just that you can always do better right? Like organizing.Ugg. We  know we should be saving for a rainy day but you add to that retirement, kids college, paying the house off, and it gets pretty overwhelming. I've struggled with how to prioritize all this so I was so happy to find someone that knows the answers,  Dave Ramsey! On his website he has many many good resources but I particularly have latched on to his 7 Baby Steps.

First: establish a  $1000 emergency fund--it's not a matter of IF but WHEN you'll use this
Then: Pay off debt--smallest one first so you get that sense of motivating victory
Next: Build a savings amount equal to 3-6 months of expenses. This your insurance policy for yourself.
4th: Save 15 % of income to a roth IRA for retirement
5th: Kids College savings in  an education savings account.
6th: Pay off your house
7th: Give, Share now that you're wealthy.

You can check his website for more info. Daveramsey.com

In order to accomplish those steps he inspires you to look at the world with new eyes--ones with dollar signs reflecting in them. Where can you save? What can you cut out so you can be reaching those goals quicker?   What is lurking in your closet or garage that could be sold for $$.

Brandon and I sat down with our budget. We don't really have any "extras" that we're paying for--no pedicures or fancy dinners, regretfully. A lot of our money goes towards kids lessons.  
Brynn's gymnastics $120 month
Competitions: $60-80/month (yes, BD wishes she would just break a leg already)
Brynn's violin: $60/month
Adria's violin: $60/month

Awhile back, Adrie quit gymnastics, which paid for Brynn's competitions. Then I called her coach and we cut Brynn down to 2 days/week. Recently we decided that Brynn would only compete every other month.   In addition I cut her and Adrie's violin lessons in half so now they only go every other week. No harm done and $60 saved.   And as nice as it would be to send them to a professional, we do save a lot of money by me teaching the girls piano, even if it means premature wrinkles.

KaChing!
Next I looked around the house: What could be making us money? The troublesome puppy, of course! I put an add in the classifieds and got a buyer $150. Believe me, no one's crying any tears.

 The closets and storage rooms had a lot of good stuff to sell. Normally I'd give it to goodwill but this year it's gonna be a yard sale--first of June--toys, clothes, books, furniture, baby stuff, and yes, dog stuff. Out with the old and in with the cash!

I shopped around and saved us $50/month on car insurance. Score!

It feels great to save and...remember when I mentioned about it's not a matter of if but WHEN you'll need that emergency fund?...  Just this afternoon the 4 year old and his friend chucked some of our landscaping rocks and busted out a couple of windows on our neighbor's car:(

Hello, Goodbye

We joined Brandon's family today in welcoming home his parents. They spent the last 18 months serving an LDS mission in Western Massachusetts. This was their 2nd mission. The first was to Cambodia. I felt abundantly blessed both time they were away on their missions and I will miss that special spirit that comes from having a missionary in your life. It was beautiful to hear them share their experiences during Church services and feel their love for the people there.

Last Friday my mom passed away in her apartment overlooking the beach just like she wanted. I am comforted to know that she is happy and free from the physical pain that plagued her life and celebrating with my dad and Jesus and her parents and I'm sure a host of other good souls. There was no one quite like my mom. Brandon called her a "force of nature." She was funny, eccentric, brilliant, wild, dynamic, and stubborn all rolled into one person. She was my mom and she made life beautiful and fun. I will surely miss her!

DARE to be Different

"Just Say No!" I think we all remember being raised on that anti-drug slogan preached from the school auditorium.  As a young kid I remember sitting on the gym floor during one of their revivals and having this inner dialogue:
1. What ARE drugs??
2. They must be a big deal because all the grown ups are getting real worked up about them.
3. EVERYBODY must be doing them.
4. I'm really curious....

I followed  up on my curiousity, harmlessly, by making my own chart of all the different kinds of drugs complete with a plastic baggy "sample" of what they looked like. On my poster I wrote "cocaine" and stapled a plastic bag with a little powdered sugar. For marijuana, dried crushed leaves, etc.  My high school brother was a tremendously helpful resource in my quest to name and identify street drugs. When I was done with my project I proudly showed it to my mom and was surprised at her response: Shock and Horror! "Why are you doing this???"  I think it just showed an early proclivity for the medical field.

I have never had a desire to do drugs. I had good friends who felt the same. Had I been a recalcitrant youth, or wanted to rebel, a path toward drugs and the vices that go with it would have been the clear choice.  Amazingly to me, I've never even been offered drugs in my 30+ years of life--that is until last week. I was walking to my hotel after visiting my mom when I was invited inside someone's apt. to help myself to a mountain of cookies, and by the way, they offered, "do you smoke weed?"  Interesting timing based on last week's events..."I don't, thanks.  I prefer to de-stress by passing out:)?!"  Of course, I only said the first part.

So, let's hop off memory lane to the present:
Our 5th grader Kate, was recently asked to write a paper about what she learned from the D.A.R.E program this year. All I've heard from her about the program up to now are complaints, "We had to miss recess again just so they could tell us not to do Mary-jew-wanna."
I didn't tell her my above feelings... but I did tell her she was free to do some internet research and find out for herself the effectiveness of DARE.
Ohhh, she did that alright.
She wrote a paper that stirred the pot of controversy and got all the teachers,  officers, and principal talking...I didn't actually get to read it before she turned it in but her very concerned teacher called to let me know what it said:

"The U.S. Department of Education forbids most schools from spending its, money on D.A.R.E. because it is a total waste of time, effort and money."

She also cited some studies that showed increased drug and tobacco use of kids participating in DARE as opposed to non-participants.
Piqued their interest? I could attest to that.

The teacher wondered if we as parents made her do it.
In the book,  "Samantha the American Girl"  the protagonist is a young girl who shocks her school by giving a speech about the atrocities of factory labor conditions.  The factory controversy she ignites ends up rallying the public in her favor. We read and discussed this story a couple years back. Kate remembers it well and defended her paper. Literature has taught her that women of courage stand up for their beliefs even if they are unpopular. I totally support that, but no, I did not make her write that. Kate's feelings are her own.

 "Drugs are a huge problem in our area." the teacher contended.
And don't we know it!  My husband has a job because of it. He is currently our county Drug Court Coordinator, which does have a successful track record for helping people get off drugs and stay off.

The controversy is that these papers were going to be put in a book as a sort of "thank you" to the city who currently funds our local DARE program (the city also is currently bankrupt.) Kate's opinion isn't exactly the rainbows and lollipops they were hoping for. So now the question is to publish or not to publish Kate's opinion. I left the ball in their court.

Since that conversation last week I decided to do my own research and found out basically what Kate already knew. The D.A.R.E program exists because it makes parents, teachers, and police officers FEEL like they're doing something to combat drugs, but it just doesn't work.  It has cost billions of dollars over many years unsuccessful at doing what it set out to do.  Sounds like a few other government programs. What's your opinion?

Heck in Paradise

I flew out for one last visit to my mom in lovely Laguna Beach.After being diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer, she sold her house and came here to paradise.  It was hard to see the reality of my mom's situation. Between the cancer reaching her brain and a toxic regiment of end-of-life medications her physical and mental states have rapidly declined from a month ago.  She was like ten behaviorally challenged toddlers in one adult body-- Impulsive, agitated, quick to laugh or cry, and more stubborn than ever.

4:30 p.m. My sisters pick me up at the airport with her in the car. Mom recognizes me but doesn't know what day it is or month. Her speech is slow and slurred and as we drive she engages us in a mostly nonsense conversation. Some of the things she says are funny, "I gotta quit smoking."
 Others are more concerning-- like seeing things that  aren't there. "Look! It's snowing!" on PCH? She becomes very agitated, repeatedly trying to rip out her IV and open the car door. It takes one sister to drive, one to block the door handle, and me trying to restrain her from getting out of her seat to go who knows where.  I don't believe it can get worse until I see her taking her shirt off. Ugg.

6:00 a.m. I relieve the newly hired night time caregiver. My sisters are catching up on sleep that as her previous primary caregivers they haven't had in days. My mom is feeling fresh and fully awake after a 3 a.m. shower.  While making the bed over and over she tells me she wants to write something... A letter to each kid? I suggest. Yes, that's it. We start with Dave. She tells me what to say and I dictate it back to her as I write in my notebook. She talks about what a wonderful son he is and how proud she is of him, even using big words like "munificent." I'm pleased with her level of cognition today and thinking what a heartfelt letter this will be when she says,
 "I hope you use this money (?)
 to take a special trip--
 to the Mississippi River--
to see the bullfrogs mate."
She is perfectly serious. Sigh.

My mom has none of her wishes in writing, at least not that we can find. She tells something to one sibling, and a completely different story to another. At least that is what we are finding out. It becomes apparent that my mom's situation is bigger than we can handle. Those of the siblings who are in town, meet with a hospice provided social worker to assess the immediate and future needs of my mom's healthcare. We meet outside on a picnic table at the park in front of my mom's house, overlooking the beach.  She does her best to piece together everyone's opinions, weigh in with the facts, and come up with a plan.  I gain a new appreciation for what my husband does. I also gain new insight for the Jews vs Muslims in the Middle East. Some people are just never going to see eye to eye in this life. 
The social worker presents a recommended plan: 24 hour professional caregivers so my mom can stay in her apt. Family coming only to visit, a few at a time,  for 2-3 days max. We vote, and it passes.

I'm feeling okay about it, the plan that is. I'm taking it all in and try to quench this thirst that I haven't been able to satiate all morning. My whole water bottle has been consumed and my mouth is still soo dry. I wonder if the gum I've been chewing is really a cotton ball. I came into this with a headcold and took a Sudafed earlier in the morning, so why am I still so stuffy?    The meeting is wrapping up and as the social worker concludes I'm trying to focus on keeping the palm trees from spinning. The SW and my bro start to walk back to my mom's house and my sister hangs back with me. I start to walk but realize that any moment I'm going to pass out. I shout out to my brother for help. My legs are becoming weaker. I'm not going to make it across the street to the house. The sw calls the nurse that is taking care of my mom to come down and take my blood pressure. It's 90/40 which I know is too low and my pulse is a racing 120.  I see flashing, like turning the lights on and off. My legs officially won't work now. I'm on the ground fading in and out of consciousness. The SW calls 911 and tells me 5 good looking guys will be hovering over me in no time. They take my blood pressure and this time it's 160 over something. I immediately get an IV, oxgen, heart monitors and they move the body I can't feel onto a gurney. As they load me in the ambulance I yell to my brother to call Brandon.   I am fighting to stay conscious. I don't want to die and I'm so afraid that if I give in I might not wake up. I blame that on Hollywood. (you know the scenes where theyre slapping the cheek and shouting, stay with me!) The paramedics tell me I'm going to be okay, even if I pass out. I wish I would have believed them.
While I struggle for consciousness (for what I find out later is the next 3 hours) they do every kind of test, including pregnancy. I think what an interesting ending that would be to this story but it's negative. The doctor comes in later to explain the results.  I'm relieved that I don't have an awful diagnosis just an embarrassing one: stress.  Apparently, the body can only handle so much before it shuts down. I'm ordered to take it easy for at least a full day and traveling back home is not an option, yet.

I sleep all night.  My sister gives me one of her stellar massages. I rest again then head down to the beach. The world is still slightly out of focus.  I lay on the warm sand with my back against the boulder we stood on for our family picture last trip.  It's a beautiful day. I close my eyes, let the sun warm me, and listen to the waves. After a couple hours or so I feel so much better. I want to chalk it up to beach therapy but then acknowledge it's probably due to the arsenal of prayers that Brandon has rallied up. I get a mango smoothie and walk along the beach as the sun sets over the water. Healing.


12:30 a.m. I get a call from the healthcare worker to please come help. (my sister and I are in a nearby hotel) We run over and find my mom extremely agitated. She has gone a night a day and now another night without a wink of sleep. She wants to take a shower. She wants to go for a walk. She wants to use the typewriter, go to the bank, buy flowers. I give her more meds and we get her to sit on the bed but for it's only 2 seconds before she lurches up again.  . We try to get her to sit down and tell her it's okay to sleep "No, I won't wake up." I wonder if in her case it might be true. "I'm not finished." I remember for years, she told us to hire a Dixie Land Band and celebrate when she died.  Through years of suffering from various health problems she couldn't wait to get to the other side. Why is she fighting it now that's it's so close?
It takes another hour of me singing lullabies and holding her tight, and my sister brushing her hair before she dozes off upright and we ever so quietly lay her down and sneak back to bed.

8:30 a.m. A new day, a new caregiver. I go over with her the schedule of meds, the idiosyncracies of my mom and what she can expect for the day. We take my my mom for a walk through Heisler Park on the beach. One of us steadies her on each side. She seems to be in a good state of mind. She introduces her caregiver to the all the monuments. She points out and names the flowers. She is overjoyed to find out they are making the park even more beautiful with some mosaic artwork along the path.  "Thank you! Thank You!" she tells the world. The head groundskeeper comes over to tell her they're doing it for her.  She is glowing. We walk further on to the flagpoint. I point out to her a pod of dolphins about 50 yards away. She is overcome with happiness and scares us by climbing on the railing for a view that can't get any better. Her voice is weak but she gives it all she's got and shouts out to all the passersby. "Look! Everyone! Dolphins!!  She scares us even more by putting her foot on the other side of the rail. She is now looking down 30 ft. to the tumult of rocks and waves below while I clutch her legs and beg her to get down.  She leans over to me with tears in her eyes,  "I can't think of a better way to go." The nurse and  I immediately pull her down.

My brother treats us to lunch at the Ritz-Carlton. I've never seen so many fresh flowers in one place. Red roses,long stemmed, dozens and dozens of them flank the corridors as we walk to the restaurant. We are all overcome by the sparkling ocean view from the floor to ceiling windows. I don't understand the menu. I order fries with truffle oil and what turns out to be an asian style chicken salad. Everything is otherworldly delicious, including the rolls on the table with their flavored butters. My mom asks for fish and chips. It's not on the menu but they bring it anyway. She gets up twice during the meal to find the restroom, each time giving me this look, "I don't need any help." But, she does.

11:00 a.m I say goodbye to my mom for the last time. I give her a big hug and feel the cancerous growths that are overtaking her body. I know it won't be long until they claim their victory and then I realize why my mom is fighting death. It wasn't her idea.