The days after his death, over the weekend, were full of emotion. Mostly, I was in a fog. I couldn't sleep, but the endless coffee supply wasn't working either. We were all exhausted. We struggled to keep up. It wasn't all misery and sadness. There was a lot of family around, and coming and going of numerous family friends.
I was struck most by Mr. Max. Pepeir's best friend, and neighbor across the street for thirty years. Thirty years. I think of the relationship that I have with my longest friend, Sabrina. We've been friends for, like, ten years. I feel like she is my family. She is like another sister to me. Pepeir and Max saw each other every day. They helped each other with everything, through everything. Together, out in the workshops or in each other's yards, they forged a brotherhood. Max's despair wore heavily on him. He was truly heartbroken. We should all be so lucky to have such a friend. It was especially hard to watch him, appearing in the yard, leafblower on his back, grooming the lawn as he'd helped do all through the summer when Pepeir could not. It was as if he was reaching out for some sort of normalcy. For years, they'd groomed each other's lawns- fought moles, weeds, pests and critters- cut down enormous trees, moved sheds, built things. Now, it was just Max. I was acutely aware of the profound loneliness that hung about him as he shuffled along, blowing the leaves. It was truly a moment where I wanted, more than anything, to wear his pain as my own - to save him from having to feel it.
The New England Invasion came. Aunt Barbie (Bahbie) from Buffalo, New Yahk. Aunt Eileen and Uncle Frank, from South Carolina (Maine, really, for most of their lives) (Picturing them in South Carolina is like picturing George Bush at Gay Pride. Something just not quite right about it. They are true Nahtherners.) As Dana so wittily put it, r's were dropping like flies all over the shore. Not having spent much time with Memeir's brother and sisters, in my adulthood anyway, I can truly say that they were wonderful. They were a joy. Their presence was comforting. They sounded like faheigners, with their accents, but felt like family. I truly enjoyed being around them and getting to know them.
Billy and I had our first real fight, as adults. To put it shortly, he internalized his feelings, and probably tried to ignore them. He went out a lot, which I thought wasn't appropriate. I told him so, and he said two choice words to me that started with f and ended in you. I wasn't really mad, just frustrated that he wasn't talking to me. I feel more protective over him than a little bit, and just wanted to be there for him I think. I know he picked the fight with me. And I know why. Sometimes, emotions don't always come to the surface when they should. Sometimes, we have a really tough time trying to express them. Sometimes, often times, they are preceded by misguided anger and, in Billy and my case, always forgiven. Often, I've wished we lived nearer to each other. Our whole lives, it seems, we've lived in different states, different cities. We've forged one of the closest relationships and bonds I've had in my whole life, via holidays and long lost road trips to Maine. Our fight was short lived, perhaps two hours, and it ended in tears and hugs and a wonderful conversation cut short only by the fact that we were conversing in the twin room in Memeir's very busy house. A twin room that wasn't ours, but Cindy's. Needless to say, before the week was out, we took a walk around Deer Harbour and just...talked. During the walk, there were things that I could tell were lurking just under the surface of our casual conversation. Apologies, rehashing, understanding...but they didn't need to be said. We both knew.
Michelle was at the house almost every free chance she got. It was amazing to me how she always seemed to say the right thing, be there at the right time, somehow save the day. She got a playpen for Taylor to sleep in while we were there. It was cute, too; one of the ancient ones like I used to play in as a child. As a child, she was truly difficult for the adults. She was strong willed, determined to be defiant, threw temper tantrums that would make even Pepeir frustrated. My mother even once poured a bucket of cold water (waden) over her head. A really huge bucket. It was amazing. The child had powers to zap the patience and resolve of even the most Dr. Spock loving adult. But, never did her and I have any issues. I was a touch older, and when she got truly out of hand, I would try to talk her into behaving. Like a younger sister, she tended to just want to hang with me, so she'd chill out. But, I have to say. She is an amazing woman. I got to know her so much more as an adult during this trip, as well. She is strong, smart, and says exactly what she feels. She doesn't apologize for being herself, and nor should she. She is caring, and thoughtful, and understands us crazy people more than most of us understand ourselves.
The few days leading upto the funeral were gray, and rainy and cold. But the warmth in the house was incredible. Quickly, I started to miss the shore. I started to yearn for the closeness of my family. I felt that some part, if not all, of my heart lived down here. The smell of chicken manuere in the spring. The glorious violence of the hurricanes on the beach in the fall. The endless supply of vicious mosquitoes and fireflies in the summer. The really bizzarely resilient daddy longlegs spiders ?all year long?. (I don't remember them in October, but I guess so). The ridiculous amount of other arachnids. Ok, so it isn't all roses and strawberry jam; but it's my roots.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
15Oct2009 - Day 69
The last blog was the first time I've said that Pepeir died. I've not said it aloud. I don't know if I can. I can only say that he passed. For some reason, it sounds so much more pleasant. It makes it sound as though he's moving on to something better. It makes it sound less final. It makes it feel less painful.
It was strange, how quickly the life left his body. Within minutes I noticed how different his face was. It was hard, and cold, and suddenly his cheeks were gaunt. He was gone. The most amazing man I've ever known had left his body and was gone. Seeing death happen was jarring. I didn't expect there to be a difference in how he looked so immediately and so noticably. Everyone was crying. Some were pacing, angry, scared. Some were quiet, sullen and staring. Memeir was sobbing quietly at his side. I kept it together, for the few hours his body was with us, until the two men from the funeral home arrived to take him. They were going to move him. They said that the family would probably prefer to leave the room, because it was hard to watch. Everyone stayed. I kept picturing it. I pictured his head falling back, and no one catching it. Like a sleeping child being picked up, but this was no sleeping child. It was my strong, gentle, loving, wonderful Pepeir. This was a site I knew I couldn't bear. I left and went into the living room. I walked in, and was overcome like I've never been overcome before. I staggered, falling onto the edge of a chair. I felt faint, and could barely walk to sit in the chair. I held myself so tightly. I rocked. I cried quietly. I heard the bed squeaking, and the horrible sliding noise of the thick plastic bag that he was being placed on. I couldn't stop hearing it. I couldn't take it. Bruce came in and saw me, and stood in front of me and blocked the view to where the men were taking Pepeir outside. He rubbed my back, and I sobbed. Mom came and sat next to me, and I sobbed louder. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I needed to cry. I lost my Pepeir. I had to cry as much as I could. I couldn't breathe and I kept crying and crying. I knew everyone was around me now, but I didn't care. I wasn't embarrassed of the love I felt, and the grief I felt. Slowly, I calmed down and people trickled out of the room. Soon it was just a few of us. Then, something turned my sobs into laughter. Mom farted. (sorry mom, for putting it out there). But, it was loud and funny and so totally innapropriate and obviously accidental. We all roared for a few minutes and I started to breathe again. I will cry for Pepeir, probably often and for the rest of my life. But, I will never cry like that again. I don't know if I could ever cry like that again.
I went to bed, sometime around 3 or 4 am; because I knew that Taylor would be up in the morning no matter what time I went to sleep. Strangely, too, after Pepeir passed, Dana put her to sleep and she went right to sleep. It was as if she knew, and wanted to be there. Truly, if I've learned or experienced anything, it's that we are all truly connected. She can't communicate well, at all. But, I truly believe that she knew. I truly believe that she said goodbye, the she grieved..if only for a few brief minutes. It was as though she had some sort of clarity in her face both times that she was in the room with Pepeir, and it was brief and it was something amazing to see.
That day was a blur of activity, phone calls, food arriving, family coming and going. Billy arrived in the early evening. For all of us who'd witnessed it, there was a definite darkness that Billy didn't have. I was truly sad for him not to have been there, but it was really difficult to see and the protective, older cousin in me was glad that he wasn't. Memeir seemed to not be able to even sit down in a chair, let alone stop calling and arranging. I don't know where she found the strength, but she did and I was inspired...She called each and every family member and close friend, herself. Over and over again, she did it. Over and over again, she told them that he had died. I don't know how she did it. She wouldn't let us help her. She kept saying that she wanted to tell all the people that he loved and that loved him the most, herself. It truly moved me. I hope that if I am ever in her situation, I handle it with the grace and strength that she did.
I felt out of place. I felt lost. Already, I didn't know what to do with myself or my feelings. I just kept drinking coffee. I didn't bring my big cup with me, so I was super annoyed with having to refill and refill. I wanted a drink, a real one. Real bad. I wanted maybe a few of them. It hurt really badly, and it didn't stop hurting. Even when there were jokes, and hugs, and coffee. It hurt. I understand wanting to numb that hurt, but I also believe that I need to feel that hurt to understand it, to understand the opposite of it, to really grieve and learn to move on and be healthy.
I felt an array of emotions. Anger at Uncle Mike for leaving and going home. Sadness when I saw the picture of Pepeir that Dr. Raab had made. Uncertainty about what to do to help Memeir. Awe of my mother who kept it together, and kept the house running. Gratitude toward Cathy who always seemed to know what to do to help, and seemed to never mind. The first day without Pepeir was the first day of the rest of our family. This day was awkward, and sad, and the hurt was so fresh on all of us. Over the course of the week, we'd all try to fill his shoes. We'd all try to step into his roles. Over the course of the week, I marvelled at how it took all of us to do it. And how even with all of us trying, we seemed to fall short. But, on this day, this first day, we were just us. We were just inherently us, sad and grieving and alone. Everyone seemed alone with their grief, despite our physical togetherness. I wanted comfort, but so did everyone else. Yet, none of us could do what we all wanted. None of us could bring back our Pepeir.
It was strange, how quickly the life left his body. Within minutes I noticed how different his face was. It was hard, and cold, and suddenly his cheeks were gaunt. He was gone. The most amazing man I've ever known had left his body and was gone. Seeing death happen was jarring. I didn't expect there to be a difference in how he looked so immediately and so noticably. Everyone was crying. Some were pacing, angry, scared. Some were quiet, sullen and staring. Memeir was sobbing quietly at his side. I kept it together, for the few hours his body was with us, until the two men from the funeral home arrived to take him. They were going to move him. They said that the family would probably prefer to leave the room, because it was hard to watch. Everyone stayed. I kept picturing it. I pictured his head falling back, and no one catching it. Like a sleeping child being picked up, but this was no sleeping child. It was my strong, gentle, loving, wonderful Pepeir. This was a site I knew I couldn't bear. I left and went into the living room. I walked in, and was overcome like I've never been overcome before. I staggered, falling onto the edge of a chair. I felt faint, and could barely walk to sit in the chair. I held myself so tightly. I rocked. I cried quietly. I heard the bed squeaking, and the horrible sliding noise of the thick plastic bag that he was being placed on. I couldn't stop hearing it. I couldn't take it. Bruce came in and saw me, and stood in front of me and blocked the view to where the men were taking Pepeir outside. He rubbed my back, and I sobbed. Mom came and sat next to me, and I sobbed louder. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I needed to cry. I lost my Pepeir. I had to cry as much as I could. I couldn't breathe and I kept crying and crying. I knew everyone was around me now, but I didn't care. I wasn't embarrassed of the love I felt, and the grief I felt. Slowly, I calmed down and people trickled out of the room. Soon it was just a few of us. Then, something turned my sobs into laughter. Mom farted. (sorry mom, for putting it out there). But, it was loud and funny and so totally innapropriate and obviously accidental. We all roared for a few minutes and I started to breathe again. I will cry for Pepeir, probably often and for the rest of my life. But, I will never cry like that again. I don't know if I could ever cry like that again.
I went to bed, sometime around 3 or 4 am; because I knew that Taylor would be up in the morning no matter what time I went to sleep. Strangely, too, after Pepeir passed, Dana put her to sleep and she went right to sleep. It was as if she knew, and wanted to be there. Truly, if I've learned or experienced anything, it's that we are all truly connected. She can't communicate well, at all. But, I truly believe that she knew. I truly believe that she said goodbye, the she grieved..if only for a few brief minutes. It was as though she had some sort of clarity in her face both times that she was in the room with Pepeir, and it was brief and it was something amazing to see.
That day was a blur of activity, phone calls, food arriving, family coming and going. Billy arrived in the early evening. For all of us who'd witnessed it, there was a definite darkness that Billy didn't have. I was truly sad for him not to have been there, but it was really difficult to see and the protective, older cousin in me was glad that he wasn't. Memeir seemed to not be able to even sit down in a chair, let alone stop calling and arranging. I don't know where she found the strength, but she did and I was inspired...She called each and every family member and close friend, herself. Over and over again, she did it. Over and over again, she told them that he had died. I don't know how she did it. She wouldn't let us help her. She kept saying that she wanted to tell all the people that he loved and that loved him the most, herself. It truly moved me. I hope that if I am ever in her situation, I handle it with the grace and strength that she did.
I felt out of place. I felt lost. Already, I didn't know what to do with myself or my feelings. I just kept drinking coffee. I didn't bring my big cup with me, so I was super annoyed with having to refill and refill. I wanted a drink, a real one. Real bad. I wanted maybe a few of them. It hurt really badly, and it didn't stop hurting. Even when there were jokes, and hugs, and coffee. It hurt. I understand wanting to numb that hurt, but I also believe that I need to feel that hurt to understand it, to understand the opposite of it, to really grieve and learn to move on and be healthy.
I felt an array of emotions. Anger at Uncle Mike for leaving and going home. Sadness when I saw the picture of Pepeir that Dr. Raab had made. Uncertainty about what to do to help Memeir. Awe of my mother who kept it together, and kept the house running. Gratitude toward Cathy who always seemed to know what to do to help, and seemed to never mind. The first day without Pepeir was the first day of the rest of our family. This day was awkward, and sad, and the hurt was so fresh on all of us. Over the course of the week, we'd all try to fill his shoes. We'd all try to step into his roles. Over the course of the week, I marvelled at how it took all of us to do it. And how even with all of us trying, we seemed to fall short. But, on this day, this first day, we were just us. We were just inherently us, sad and grieving and alone. Everyone seemed alone with their grief, despite our physical togetherness. I wanted comfort, but so did everyone else. Yet, none of us could do what we all wanted. None of us could bring back our Pepeir.
14Oct2009 - Day 68
The beginning of some of the toughest days I've faced. Mom woke me up at 6:30 in the morning, so I knew it wasn't good news. I answered and she said "Kristy, you need to get on a plane as soon as possible. And I hope you make it." After I hung up, I layed in bed for a few minutes; absorbing, waking up, preparing myself to deal with what was to come. I jumped out of bed, and went down to start looking at flights for the day. Of course, the wireless network wasn't finding the internet. Ugh. I started to feel frantic and worried. Finally, I got it to work, and started looking. I was somewhere between covering my shift, and calling Sabrina for the ninetieth time trying to get her up to talk to when I realized that the only flight out was at 11:25 in the morning. Only three hours from the current time. And we live an hour away. And I have animals. And how long will I be there? Should I pack funeral clothes? Is it wrong to think of that? Is thinking of funeral clothes like wishing for Pepeir to be dead? I definitely don't ever want that. When I was a little girl, whenever there was a shooting star or I had a birthday wish, I'd wish for Memeir and Pepeir to live forever. And I did that until I was...29? I never told anyone either, for fear that it wouldn't come true. How long should I pack for? Where would the animals go? How will I get to the airport?
And so the stress, and urgency began. And it didn't stop until...maybe tonight (tuesday oct27).
Sabrina called back and said that she and Delmo were on their way. They would drive us to the airport, and go back and get the animals and take out the trash etc. When she arrived, I'd half packed, showered, and was getting ready to get Taylor up. She grabbed Taylor and changed her, prepared breakfast for both of us. She packed us snacks for the airplane ride, and formula for the trip. It was amazing, I wouldn't have made it out of the house on time without her.
The plane ride went really well. On the long trip, from Seattle to Philly, we were lucky to have an aisle seat, and an empty middle seat for lap-riding-Taylor to sit in. The hop from Philly to Salisbury was literally long enough to receive a drink from the flight attendant, change Taylor's diaper, and eat a nutri grain bar. It was only a 45 minute flight. We were in row 8, and that was the second to last row of the plane.
When we arrived, I spotted Dana, Mom, and Michelle through the window. The airport is tiny, so we went inside and greeted everyone and despite the circumstances, it was sort of cheerful. Taylor tends to do that. At this point, I was still hopeful and worried that Pepeir would recover and get bad again and I was contemplating how I would afford another trip back.
I was supposed to go home for Thanksgiving. Seeing Pepeir then meant a lot to me.
On the way to the house was when my denial, or hope was lost. Mom said to prepare myself. I asked some questions. Was he eating through a tube? Was he conscious at all? Would he wake up to speak to us? What really struck me, horrified, scared me was when mom said that they'd stopped feeding him. He was receiving no nourishment, no water. His lungs were filling with fluid and he was on morphine to keep him from flailing about or feeling too much pain. He was not conscious, and would likely not be again.
When I arrived, I saw everyone; but not really. As I came in the back kitchen doors, as usual, I saw him. Or, I saw his bed. It was in the family room. It wasn't his bed from upstairs, as I'd pictured. It was a hospital bed. Everyone was gathered round him. Memeir was sitting next to him, holding his hand, and looking...like she was losing the love of her life. She looked distraught; but wasn't sobbing. She just looked sadder than I've ever seen.
He was thin, frail. But his hair was still so soft as I'd always remembered it. I didn't know what to do. As we entered, someone picked up Taylor. I can't remember who it was. But she saw her Pepeir. She stared at him, with a very somber, almost sad look. Looking at her, you'd think she understood what was going on. For ten or twenty minutes, she just stared at her Pepeir. Maybe she was saying goodbye to him in her head, with her eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I just picked up his hand. His eyes were closed. They told me to talk to him, to tell him we were here. My eyes welled with tears. I was also embarrassed to talk to him. I don't know why; it just didn't seem right. I talked, though. I told him we were here for him and how much we loved him and how much he has always meant to us.
It was difficult. Taylor began to show signs of being tired, so I resigned to put her to bed. I needed a moment to decompress what I had just seen and heard. Everyone was there, Bruce, Bill, Mike, Mom, Cathy, Terry, Dana, Jeremy, Michelle. Pepeir was breathing, like he was sleeping peacefully. Occasionally a strange noise would escape from his throat, or lungs. He seemed in a coma. The room felt different than it always had when I'd been there. The grief and sorrow was everywhere. It was so thick. It choked you. This place, this home, these grandparents. My entire life they were my childhood joy, my stability, my solace, my purity, the definition of unconditional love. This was my nightmare. This was a day I knew would come. This was a day that I dreaded more than any other day I could think of. Ever since I was young, and learned what death was, I had always dreaded the death of my memeir and pepeir. I've cried at night, thinking of it, many times. I've missed them when I was gone, across the country, and felt such separation anxiety that I was almost compelled to stay with them when Adam left...both times. The fear of this day, is like the maytermares. I would be living a regular day, and something would trigger a thought of them dying. And I'd sob, or just be trapped in fear and feel inconsolable. No amount of comforting, or rational logic applied ever made me feel better. I would feel a hollow aching in my chest so painful I thought there was something physically wrong with me. This was a day I never wanted to face...
Upstairs, Taylor was refusing to sleep. I laid up there so long that I got angry, feeling like I was missing precious few hours with Pepeir that I could be downstairs. I called Dana up to lay with Taylor. As I went into the family room, I saw mom listening to Pepeir's chest. I said something awkward, asked some stupied question that no one answered. Then, I swear it, Pepeir smiled. And then he wasn't breathing anymore. Memier wasn't in the room for the first time since we'd arrived. Mom commanded someone to get her immediately. I ran to the stairs and told Dana to come down and bring Taylor.
There, in the family room, with all of us surrounding him, my pepeir died. He. just. stopped. breathing.
And so the stress, and urgency began. And it didn't stop until...maybe tonight (tuesday oct27).
Sabrina called back and said that she and Delmo were on their way. They would drive us to the airport, and go back and get the animals and take out the trash etc. When she arrived, I'd half packed, showered, and was getting ready to get Taylor up. She grabbed Taylor and changed her, prepared breakfast for both of us. She packed us snacks for the airplane ride, and formula for the trip. It was amazing, I wouldn't have made it out of the house on time without her.
The plane ride went really well. On the long trip, from Seattle to Philly, we were lucky to have an aisle seat, and an empty middle seat for lap-riding-Taylor to sit in. The hop from Philly to Salisbury was literally long enough to receive a drink from the flight attendant, change Taylor's diaper, and eat a nutri grain bar. It was only a 45 minute flight. We were in row 8, and that was the second to last row of the plane.
When we arrived, I spotted Dana, Mom, and Michelle through the window. The airport is tiny, so we went inside and greeted everyone and despite the circumstances, it was sort of cheerful. Taylor tends to do that. At this point, I was still hopeful and worried that Pepeir would recover and get bad again and I was contemplating how I would afford another trip back.
I was supposed to go home for Thanksgiving. Seeing Pepeir then meant a lot to me.
On the way to the house was when my denial, or hope was lost. Mom said to prepare myself. I asked some questions. Was he eating through a tube? Was he conscious at all? Would he wake up to speak to us? What really struck me, horrified, scared me was when mom said that they'd stopped feeding him. He was receiving no nourishment, no water. His lungs were filling with fluid and he was on morphine to keep him from flailing about or feeling too much pain. He was not conscious, and would likely not be again.
When I arrived, I saw everyone; but not really. As I came in the back kitchen doors, as usual, I saw him. Or, I saw his bed. It was in the family room. It wasn't his bed from upstairs, as I'd pictured. It was a hospital bed. Everyone was gathered round him. Memeir was sitting next to him, holding his hand, and looking...like she was losing the love of her life. She looked distraught; but wasn't sobbing. She just looked sadder than I've ever seen.
He was thin, frail. But his hair was still so soft as I'd always remembered it. I didn't know what to do. As we entered, someone picked up Taylor. I can't remember who it was. But she saw her Pepeir. She stared at him, with a very somber, almost sad look. Looking at her, you'd think she understood what was going on. For ten or twenty minutes, she just stared at her Pepeir. Maybe she was saying goodbye to him in her head, with her eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I just picked up his hand. His eyes were closed. They told me to talk to him, to tell him we were here. My eyes welled with tears. I was also embarrassed to talk to him. I don't know why; it just didn't seem right. I talked, though. I told him we were here for him and how much we loved him and how much he has always meant to us.
It was difficult. Taylor began to show signs of being tired, so I resigned to put her to bed. I needed a moment to decompress what I had just seen and heard. Everyone was there, Bruce, Bill, Mike, Mom, Cathy, Terry, Dana, Jeremy, Michelle. Pepeir was breathing, like he was sleeping peacefully. Occasionally a strange noise would escape from his throat, or lungs. He seemed in a coma. The room felt different than it always had when I'd been there. The grief and sorrow was everywhere. It was so thick. It choked you. This place, this home, these grandparents. My entire life they were my childhood joy, my stability, my solace, my purity, the definition of unconditional love. This was my nightmare. This was a day I knew would come. This was a day that I dreaded more than any other day I could think of. Ever since I was young, and learned what death was, I had always dreaded the death of my memeir and pepeir. I've cried at night, thinking of it, many times. I've missed them when I was gone, across the country, and felt such separation anxiety that I was almost compelled to stay with them when Adam left...both times. The fear of this day, is like the maytermares. I would be living a regular day, and something would trigger a thought of them dying. And I'd sob, or just be trapped in fear and feel inconsolable. No amount of comforting, or rational logic applied ever made me feel better. I would feel a hollow aching in my chest so painful I thought there was something physically wrong with me. This was a day I never wanted to face...
Upstairs, Taylor was refusing to sleep. I laid up there so long that I got angry, feeling like I was missing precious few hours with Pepeir that I could be downstairs. I called Dana up to lay with Taylor. As I went into the family room, I saw mom listening to Pepeir's chest. I said something awkward, asked some stupied question that no one answered. Then, I swear it, Pepeir smiled. And then he wasn't breathing anymore. Memier wasn't in the room for the first time since we'd arrived. Mom commanded someone to get her immediately. I ran to the stairs and told Dana to come down and bring Taylor.
There, in the family room, with all of us surrounding him, my pepeir died. He. just. stopped. breathing.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
11,12,13Oct2009 - Day 65,66,67
(it's actually tuesday as i write this, and given the magnitude of what's going on with Pepeir, I am honestly finding it difficult to write. I don't think I'm quite ready to acknowledge "out loud" any feelings about it. I'm devastated, to put it mildly. I may hiatus from the blog for a few days, I may not. Perhaps I'll be ready to deal with my feelings tomorrow. I don't know. I love you so much Pepeir.)
Saturday, October 10, 2009
10Oct2009 - Day 64
Sweet relaxing, unobligated Saturday! Woke up around the usual time, got the mayter up (who has acute diaper rash so bad it bled!)(I say acute, because yesterday she didn't have it. Then she pooped while I was at Darina's and when Darina changed her, it looked like a chemical burn. It was awful. She was screaming and crying, too, which made it hard to clean it.)(Poor chunka tata!)
Anwyway, we got dressed, brushed teeth, and came downstairs to start breakfast. Rylee was joining us for pancakes (Rylee's with chocolate chips, mine with butterscotch and topped with granola) around 9am. She knows us, so she was a touch late...because we are always running a touch late. It worked out great, because she got here just as I was about to cook the pancakes. We ate them; I swear they were too thin. It was strange. I followed the recipe, but the batter seemed watery. I'm so fired. After that, she stayed a bit, but had to go to her mother's house, so she was gone around noon. Around then, Taylor was getting cranky. So I put her down for a nap, and came downstairs to the computer. I did her christmas list, wrote up what the bills were for the month, did some laundry, put some laundry away, made a plan to pay off our credit cards, made a mental note to talk to Adam about it, and then sat down and started to read the Ikea catalog. Around then, mom called. Of course, Taylor woke up at the same time as when she called.
She was so cute when I walked in. She sleeps on her stomach, with her legs tucked up underneath her, and butt up in the air. So when she wakes up, she sits up. She had, presumably, just sat up when I walked in, because she still looked super sleepy and confused. Her bed head was adorable. A bed head that, by the way, she is (as of late) in a perpetual state of. Her hair is growing out long enough to be wild, but too short to restrain. It's a hot mess at all times, sticking out here and there, in her eyes almost all of the time. It cracks me up, because it grows in the middle of her head, into her eyes; but doesn't really grow at all on the sides. Poor girl has a forehead and hairline...like her daddy. lol
Anyway, she proceeded to run around the house after we came back downstairs. She really does an amazing job of just running around doing absolutely nothing and loving it. She just does laps. Sometimes she'll pick up a shoe (or a sock, as she calls it) from the front door on her way, drop it in the kitchen, other times she'll chase the cat. Sometimes, she has a few rare quiet moments on the floor in her play area. Mostly, she chats away. And lately, she's been carrying the Winnie the Pooh doll that John and Jamie gave her for her birthday everywhere. Today was the first time I saw her interact with him in a pretend play manner, though. She fed him Sadie's dog toy. She sat him up in her high chair. She sat him on Daddy's subwoofer, then tried to climb on it herself. (Don't worry, daddy. I didn't let her.) She was a flurry of activity all afternoon. She even required pretty minimal interraction from mommy. She seemed to be hungry all day, and told me so every twenty minutes or so. I'd give her a string cheese. She'd carry that in one hand, Pooh in the other all over the house in her circuit. She set it on the floor, picked it up, had a bite (ugh!), went and climbed into the dog's cage with it, and got about halfway through before Sadie (who was following Taylor around) couldn't resist seeing it on the floor one more time. Before I knew it, it was six; I'd harrassed Dana as much as I could for details about her new apartment and furniture and color scheme and kitchen color scheme, and it was dinner time. I made some broccoli and cheese veggie bites for Taylor. She housed three of them like it was nothing. I made three more. She also ate those! Her little belly was huge! She screamed in pain afterwards, and I knew she'd peed. It was this way all day. The pee stung her rash. I undressed her to change her, and decided that it was time for a nice soak in the bathtub. It was seepy and oozy. Weird. Off we went, she in her birthday suit, and I...still in my jammies. lol
I detoured to my room to gather her clean laundry to put away. It couldn't hurt for her to run around and air out for a bit. If she peed, well, frankly...I've cleaned up worse. I set the empty basket on the floor. She immediately dumped a pair of "socks" (shoes) into it, and proceeded to climb into it. I was a touch nervous, considering the sides of the basket were right at, ehem, 'gina level. It seemed as though she may get stuck, and it didn't look like that would be very comfortable. She didn't, at first. In and out, she climbed, sometimes falling out, sometimes using the crib or gliding ottoman to stabilize her. I have to admit, it was funny watching her try to use that ottoman to steady herself out of the basket. She was wobbling to and fro on the top end, and far from steady on her feet trying to climb out of this basket that looked like it was stuck in her bits and pieces.
Off to the bath we went, and all went well there. Nothing particularly interesting. Afterwards, all bundled in her hooded towel, we went back to the mayter room. She "brushed" her teeth, while I q-tipped, and lotioned, and desitin-ed; putting a particularly thick layer on the seepy parts. (ugh) There's nothing she loves more than having her feet rubbed after a bath, so much so that she'll give them back to you until she feels they've been sufficiently rubbed. It cracks me up. She even looks like it's relaxing. I must be good at it.
And then bedtime, glorious bedtime. When we're at home, it's a pretty smooth process. Bottle, give bottle back to mommy when finished, sit up, burp, be cuddled by mommy, get a kiss goodnight, be layed down by mommy, lights out...
ah, mommy time....
Anwyway, we got dressed, brushed teeth, and came downstairs to start breakfast. Rylee was joining us for pancakes (Rylee's with chocolate chips, mine with butterscotch and topped with granola) around 9am. She knows us, so she was a touch late...because we are always running a touch late. It worked out great, because she got here just as I was about to cook the pancakes. We ate them; I swear they were too thin. It was strange. I followed the recipe, but the batter seemed watery. I'm so fired. After that, she stayed a bit, but had to go to her mother's house, so she was gone around noon. Around then, Taylor was getting cranky. So I put her down for a nap, and came downstairs to the computer. I did her christmas list, wrote up what the bills were for the month, did some laundry, put some laundry away, made a plan to pay off our credit cards, made a mental note to talk to Adam about it, and then sat down and started to read the Ikea catalog. Around then, mom called. Of course, Taylor woke up at the same time as when she called.
She was so cute when I walked in. She sleeps on her stomach, with her legs tucked up underneath her, and butt up in the air. So when she wakes up, she sits up. She had, presumably, just sat up when I walked in, because she still looked super sleepy and confused. Her bed head was adorable. A bed head that, by the way, she is (as of late) in a perpetual state of. Her hair is growing out long enough to be wild, but too short to restrain. It's a hot mess at all times, sticking out here and there, in her eyes almost all of the time. It cracks me up, because it grows in the middle of her head, into her eyes; but doesn't really grow at all on the sides. Poor girl has a forehead and hairline...like her daddy. lol
Anyway, she proceeded to run around the house after we came back downstairs. She really does an amazing job of just running around doing absolutely nothing and loving it. She just does laps. Sometimes she'll pick up a shoe (or a sock, as she calls it) from the front door on her way, drop it in the kitchen, other times she'll chase the cat. Sometimes, she has a few rare quiet moments on the floor in her play area. Mostly, she chats away. And lately, she's been carrying the Winnie the Pooh doll that John and Jamie gave her for her birthday everywhere. Today was the first time I saw her interact with him in a pretend play manner, though. She fed him Sadie's dog toy. She sat him up in her high chair. She sat him on Daddy's subwoofer, then tried to climb on it herself. (Don't worry, daddy. I didn't let her.) She was a flurry of activity all afternoon. She even required pretty minimal interraction from mommy. She seemed to be hungry all day, and told me so every twenty minutes or so. I'd give her a string cheese. She'd carry that in one hand, Pooh in the other all over the house in her circuit. She set it on the floor, picked it up, had a bite (ugh!), went and climbed into the dog's cage with it, and got about halfway through before Sadie (who was following Taylor around) couldn't resist seeing it on the floor one more time. Before I knew it, it was six; I'd harrassed Dana as much as I could for details about her new apartment and furniture and color scheme and kitchen color scheme, and it was dinner time. I made some broccoli and cheese veggie bites for Taylor. She housed three of them like it was nothing. I made three more. She also ate those! Her little belly was huge! She screamed in pain afterwards, and I knew she'd peed. It was this way all day. The pee stung her rash. I undressed her to change her, and decided that it was time for a nice soak in the bathtub. It was seepy and oozy. Weird. Off we went, she in her birthday suit, and I...still in my jammies. lol
I detoured to my room to gather her clean laundry to put away. It couldn't hurt for her to run around and air out for a bit. If she peed, well, frankly...I've cleaned up worse. I set the empty basket on the floor. She immediately dumped a pair of "socks" (shoes) into it, and proceeded to climb into it. I was a touch nervous, considering the sides of the basket were right at, ehem, 'gina level. It seemed as though she may get stuck, and it didn't look like that would be very comfortable. She didn't, at first. In and out, she climbed, sometimes falling out, sometimes using the crib or gliding ottoman to stabilize her. I have to admit, it was funny watching her try to use that ottoman to steady herself out of the basket. She was wobbling to and fro on the top end, and far from steady on her feet trying to climb out of this basket that looked like it was stuck in her bits and pieces.
Off to the bath we went, and all went well there. Nothing particularly interesting. Afterwards, all bundled in her hooded towel, we went back to the mayter room. She "brushed" her teeth, while I q-tipped, and lotioned, and desitin-ed; putting a particularly thick layer on the seepy parts. (ugh) There's nothing she loves more than having her feet rubbed after a bath, so much so that she'll give them back to you until she feels they've been sufficiently rubbed. It cracks me up. She even looks like it's relaxing. I must be good at it.
And then bedtime, glorious bedtime. When we're at home, it's a pretty smooth process. Bottle, give bottle back to mommy when finished, sit up, burp, be cuddled by mommy, get a kiss goodnight, be layed down by mommy, lights out...
ah, mommy time....
9Oct2009 - Day 63
If today had a title, it would be bittersweet. And I'm talking chocolate, not lemons with sugar sprinkled on them. Chocolate is generally pleasurable, even the bittersweet kind. Lemons with sugar, mostly sour. Now that I've clarified that my day was mostly sweet...
At work I got a really great shopper's report...perfect except for manager presence (which is totally not reflective of me). That would be my second perfect shop. Hold the applause....while I am apparently great with the guests...today I had difficulty counting. Somehow, my drawer was exactly $20 short. Obviously, I made some mistake somewhere. So, because it was so much, I was written up. I get it. I wasn't happy, but I understood. I think I was more upset than the managers. I hate that I made a mistake like that.
But, I know I won't do it again, so I'm not too worried. On another good note, it was the first pretty busy day in a really long time. So I made really good money, compared to the rest of the last few weeks.
This is good, because I think Adam and I totally overestimated how much we'll be able to save this deployment. I've gone into super saver mode. I want to be able to save as much as possible; but our bills are much higher than last deployment, and I am not making near as much as I was then, either. We'll do our best. I've devised a new system for things that I need/want money for that isn't a bill. I created envelopes, and every day I put some cash from my tips into it. I also do the same for two different savings. Then it gets used, or deposited into savings. I've found that this is stopping me from spending any of it. It's all spoken for. Carpet cleaners coming, envelope. Get my hair done? Envelope. Want to buy __? Envelope. When it's full, I can do it. Let's just hope I can discipline myself enough. I think I will, though, because I really want to have savings and cruise money more than I want to buy new sweaters, and curtains. lol
At work I got a really great shopper's report...perfect except for manager presence (which is totally not reflective of me). That would be my second perfect shop. Hold the applause....while I am apparently great with the guests...today I had difficulty counting. Somehow, my drawer was exactly $20 short. Obviously, I made some mistake somewhere. So, because it was so much, I was written up. I get it. I wasn't happy, but I understood. I think I was more upset than the managers. I hate that I made a mistake like that.
But, I know I won't do it again, so I'm not too worried. On another good note, it was the first pretty busy day in a really long time. So I made really good money, compared to the rest of the last few weeks.
This is good, because I think Adam and I totally overestimated how much we'll be able to save this deployment. I've gone into super saver mode. I want to be able to save as much as possible; but our bills are much higher than last deployment, and I am not making near as much as I was then, either. We'll do our best. I've devised a new system for things that I need/want money for that isn't a bill. I created envelopes, and every day I put some cash from my tips into it. I also do the same for two different savings. Then it gets used, or deposited into savings. I've found that this is stopping me from spending any of it. It's all spoken for. Carpet cleaners coming, envelope. Get my hair done? Envelope. Want to buy __? Envelope. When it's full, I can do it. Let's just hope I can discipline myself enough. I think I will, though, because I really want to have savings and cruise money more than I want to buy new sweaters, and curtains. lol
Thursday, October 8, 2009
8Oct2009 - Day 62
Another slow day, another few(er than normal) dollars earned. My big debate today is something totally silly. I can't figure out what to dress Taylor as for Halloween. It's probably the last one we'll have where I get to decide what she should be, and so I want to a. make it something she'll never want to be that I would really enjoy or b. make it something hilarious, slightly innappropriate, but humorous or c. make her a tomato (a combination of both a and b). I'm going to take her around the Delmos neighborhood for a bit of trick or treating and then hand out candy there for awhile. We got like, 0 trick or treaters last year here in Dupont (I was totally shocked, because there are a ton of kids) so we won't be hanging around here for long. (insert creepy witch laughing at my lame "hanging around" halloween joke).
I went to bed last night at 930pm, and didn't wake up until 8am (when Taylor woke up). I can't believe I slept so long! I must've needed it! Nonetheless, I'm exhausted today too. I think it's stress that is tiring me out, and not actual sleepiness. Today was better though, I think because it started out great. I asked Taylor for a kiss while she was on her changing table, and she (sitting up) leaned forward and gave me one. A real kiss. On the lips, with her lips closed and puckered. Then she giggled the best giggle, as if she'd discovered something so silly and funny. She did it a few times, and I was aglow. Then she put her hands to her mouth to do the sign for "hungry" and said "undy" which is hungry in Taylor speak. It was marvelous. She is a genius, and I love it. Now if only I could get her to do her own laundry....
I went to bed last night at 930pm, and didn't wake up until 8am (when Taylor woke up). I can't believe I slept so long! I must've needed it! Nonetheless, I'm exhausted today too. I think it's stress that is tiring me out, and not actual sleepiness. Today was better though, I think because it started out great. I asked Taylor for a kiss while she was on her changing table, and she (sitting up) leaned forward and gave me one. A real kiss. On the lips, with her lips closed and puckered. Then she giggled the best giggle, as if she'd discovered something so silly and funny. She did it a few times, and I was aglow. Then she put her hands to her mouth to do the sign for "hungry" and said "undy" which is hungry in Taylor speak. It was marvelous. She is a genius, and I love it. Now if only I could get her to do her own laundry....
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