April is over
Not a whole lot of time to write these days. I'm trying to do a better job of relaxing in the evenings, and I find I do a better job of that if I don't even turn my computer on at night. I'm
The total crap month of April is now over. On the 29th, I started feeling tired and achy and wondered if two days was enough time to die of swine flu. It would fit, after all. I did start feeling better, and the month ended with only two members of my family spending time in the hospital. To my knowledge at least. Not counting the urgent care trip that Rod and Scott took last weekend to get their heads to stop bleeding after a head to head collision involving a baby gate.
Three incidents with cars -- A minor tap on the way to the hospital for Thomas's surgery. The coil in the van went bad. Luckily, that was fixed quickly. The chemical odor in my car returned - the one that acts up at highway speeds after about an hour and gives me a headache and sore throat. Not coolant. Not exhaust. Nothing on fire. Midas's theory was that some new spark plugs would help the fuel burn more efficiently - that there was perhaps an imbalance of oxygen or something causing too much unburned fuel to make it to the catalytic converter, which could heat up after a while and filter into the car. No harm - the car needed them anyway if you believe the factory suggested maintenance guidelines and it ended up improving my mileage at least on my next trip to OKC. So far the odor has not returned but it was intermittent anyway so it will be hard to tell whether it is fixed or not. So several hundred dollars spent on car repairs.
Thomas got to go home from the rehab hospital (like for physical therapy - not for drug use) the same day as Dad's memorial service. I got to see him twice last weekend - he's looking good but I am sure he is getting bored by now spending most of his time at home.
The city gave us a nastygram about Cricket barking all day and all night. Understandable - I just didn't need the threat of 30 days in jail or a several hundred dollar fine this month. Cricket is almost 15. My family got Cricket when I was a freshman in high school, and Rod and I took her in when Dad went into the hospital last summer. We started crating her during the day, since we got a nastygram from the electric company saying that the meter reader felt threatened when Cricket was in the yard on meter reading day. Plus she for some reason chews on herself when she has enough room to move around and her skin was doing better if she was in a confined space. Lately she just hadn't had the bodily function control to stay in her crate and she is getting bad arthritis so staying in mostly one position all day was bad news, so we decided to take our chances with the electric company and leave her in the yard all day. Well apparently she barks at the door the entire time my husband and I are at work, and she barked all night and since the bedrooms are at the other end of the house from the back door we couldn't hear her. Anyway now we have a dog door, and Cricket is so anxious that she spends most of her time stumbling from one side of the door to the other to make sure that everything is okay on both sides. She is me in dog form. Luckily her skin condition is getting better and the meds for the arthritis we got this month are helping.
Emerson is a great gal. She's 14 months now. I find it hard to believe that just two months ago I was writing of her first birthday, and we're already a sixth of the way to another one. Losing my dad a month ago today, at just about this time, a few minutes after 10 - has gotten me to start thinking about my own role as a parent. I already did a morbid post on this several months ago - things I want Emerson to know or do if I don't get to see her grow up. But one can't help but think about the short time we have in this world - blah blah blah life is fleeting -- blah blah blah, etc. It is cliche, but there is a reason everyone talks about it. It is true.
I go through most of my life assuming now that everyone I love and care about is going to die soon. Or that I will. It leaves me in a fog of sadness most of the time but I think I'm a nicer person because of it.
It makes me want to send more greeting cards and buy more gifts.
It makes me want to put a big smile on Emerson's face every chance that I get.
It makes me want to hug my old old dog and tell her that everything is going to be okay.
It makes me make wise use of my time. I'm writing this after Emerson goes to bed because I don't want to miss out on any time with her. And don't even ask me how dirty our kitchen is or how much laundry I need to do.
It makes me want to tell my stepsons how proud I am of them and the young men they have become. I will have their backs in anything that they do.
I never leave the house or let Rod leave the house without a big hug and an "I love you".
It makes me want to live the kind of life I want to be remembered for. I want people at my memorial service to say "That Amanda was one hell of a broad". I want to be kind. I want to be generous. I want to be sharp as a tack. I want to be funny. I want to make a difference.
There was no real goal to this post. I almost wrote a break up note to Parenting Magazine, but remembered I have plenty other things I need to be doing. Rod summarizes one of the issues I have with them pretty well here and I left a comment on another blog here. And I guess if there's a magazine market for mommies who only really care about mascara and dressing up their little girls in trendy pink clothes and teaching their little boys that raising children is women's work, then who am I who judge? There's no advertising money for the kind of magazine I'd like to write - how to be frugal and not really care all that much about your appearance. But the magazines that do exist will provide plenty of opportunities to teach Emerson about manipulation and stereotypes, which should be a lot of fun too.
The total crap month of April is now over. On the 29th, I started feeling tired and achy and wondered if two days was enough time to die of swine flu. It would fit, after all. I did start feeling better, and the month ended with only two members of my family spending time in the hospital. To my knowledge at least. Not counting the urgent care trip that Rod and Scott took last weekend to get their heads to stop bleeding after a head to head collision involving a baby gate.
Three incidents with cars -- A minor tap on the way to the hospital for Thomas's surgery. The coil in the van went bad. Luckily, that was fixed quickly. The chemical odor in my car returned - the one that acts up at highway speeds after about an hour and gives me a headache and sore throat. Not coolant. Not exhaust. Nothing on fire. Midas's theory was that some new spark plugs would help the fuel burn more efficiently - that there was perhaps an imbalance of oxygen or something causing too much unburned fuel to make it to the catalytic converter, which could heat up after a while and filter into the car. No harm - the car needed them anyway if you believe the factory suggested maintenance guidelines and it ended up improving my mileage at least on my next trip to OKC. So far the odor has not returned but it was intermittent anyway so it will be hard to tell whether it is fixed or not. So several hundred dollars spent on car repairs.
Thomas got to go home from the rehab hospital (like for physical therapy - not for drug use) the same day as Dad's memorial service. I got to see him twice last weekend - he's looking good but I am sure he is getting bored by now spending most of his time at home.
The city gave us a nastygram about Cricket barking all day and all night. Understandable - I just didn't need the threat of 30 days in jail or a several hundred dollar fine this month. Cricket is almost 15. My family got Cricket when I was a freshman in high school, and Rod and I took her in when Dad went into the hospital last summer. We started crating her during the day, since we got a nastygram from the electric company saying that the meter reader felt threatened when Cricket was in the yard on meter reading day. Plus she for some reason chews on herself when she has enough room to move around and her skin was doing better if she was in a confined space. Lately she just hadn't had the bodily function control to stay in her crate and she is getting bad arthritis so staying in mostly one position all day was bad news, so we decided to take our chances with the electric company and leave her in the yard all day. Well apparently she barks at the door the entire time my husband and I are at work, and she barked all night and since the bedrooms are at the other end of the house from the back door we couldn't hear her. Anyway now we have a dog door, and Cricket is so anxious that she spends most of her time stumbling from one side of the door to the other to make sure that everything is okay on both sides. She is me in dog form. Luckily her skin condition is getting better and the meds for the arthritis we got this month are helping.
Emerson is a great gal. She's 14 months now. I find it hard to believe that just two months ago I was writing of her first birthday, and we're already a sixth of the way to another one. Losing my dad a month ago today, at just about this time, a few minutes after 10 - has gotten me to start thinking about my own role as a parent. I already did a morbid post on this several months ago - things I want Emerson to know or do if I don't get to see her grow up. But one can't help but think about the short time we have in this world - blah blah blah life is fleeting -- blah blah blah, etc. It is cliche, but there is a reason everyone talks about it. It is true.
I go through most of my life assuming now that everyone I love and care about is going to die soon. Or that I will. It leaves me in a fog of sadness most of the time but I think I'm a nicer person because of it.
It makes me want to send more greeting cards and buy more gifts.
It makes me want to put a big smile on Emerson's face every chance that I get.
It makes me want to hug my old old dog and tell her that everything is going to be okay.
It makes me make wise use of my time. I'm writing this after Emerson goes to bed because I don't want to miss out on any time with her. And don't even ask me how dirty our kitchen is or how much laundry I need to do.
It makes me want to tell my stepsons how proud I am of them and the young men they have become. I will have their backs in anything that they do.
I never leave the house or let Rod leave the house without a big hug and an "I love you".
It makes me want to live the kind of life I want to be remembered for. I want people at my memorial service to say "That Amanda was one hell of a broad". I want to be kind. I want to be generous. I want to be sharp as a tack. I want to be funny. I want to make a difference.
There was no real goal to this post. I almost wrote a break up note to Parenting Magazine, but remembered I have plenty other things I need to be doing. Rod summarizes one of the issues I have with them pretty well here and I left a comment on another blog here. And I guess if there's a magazine market for mommies who only really care about mascara and dressing up their little girls in trendy pink clothes and teaching their little boys that raising children is women's work, then who am I who judge? There's no advertising money for the kind of magazine I'd like to write - how to be frugal and not really care all that much about your appearance. But the magazines that do exist will provide plenty of opportunities to teach Emerson about manipulation and stereotypes, which should be a lot of fun too.
posted by Amanda Shankle-Knowlton | 7:28 PM
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