I'm Back, but with sad tidings...

Wow.

It's been a year since I last logged on.

Really?

Time flies when you're not having fun.

I was hoping to start this blog again with my usual dry wit and snarky observations, but fate stepped in and said, "Nope! You'll write about something depressing and sad. If you don't like it, tough noogies."

So here goes.

Dave's dad, Jimmy, passed away last week. We've been very busy with funeral details, estate details, and just everyday details that can't be delayed or ignored, as tempted as we were to forget about everything else.

Even as I write this I can't believe he's really gone. And it's not as if we didn't have time to prepare ourselves for the worst. He was sick for two years, and in a nursing home for 1 1/2 years. You figure that should have given us plenty of time to prepare.

But here's the thing: Just because you are prepared for something doesn't mean you are ready for it.

I've known Jimmy for half my life. I just assumed he would always be there, worrying about us living in the 'sticks, calling us in when bad weather was headed our way to make sure we were safe. He just always seemed to be a constant in our lives, an anchor, a person we could always call about home repairs questions, car repairs questions, or just to call and say hi.

We don't have that anymore.

Yes, I'm sad. We lived next door to Dave's parents for 5 years. In that time, he was always very generous, willing to help with anything, always greeted me with a smile and a bright, "Hey, Kath." I'm starting to realize I won't be hearing that greeting anymore, and it stinks.

I know I should be grateful that he's no longer in pain, a fact of life he dealt with for over 2 years. He's no longer forced to endure life from a nursing home bed, a situation he hated and would have avoided at all costs, had the choice been his to make. He couldn't speak, couldn't eat, and could only communicate with blinks and hand signals from one hand. It's not a quality of life he wanted.

I should be grateful that I had 17 years with him, to know him, to love him, to appreciate all his help, guidance, and support.

I should be.

But I'm not.

Instead, I find myself angry.

Angry that my daughter will never know her grandfather. Angry that she never had any real time with him, because all her visits were confined to running around outside the nursing home, while he sat nearby in a wheelchair . Angry that she will never go fishing with him, never enjoy the park with him, never be spoiled rotten by him. She will never hear his stories about winters in Indiana, about how he tricked her dad and her uncles by pretending to be Santa on the roof.

Angry that he never really got to hold her, love her, or spend quality time with her.

It's an odd feeling, being so angry at something I can't change or control.

I suppose it'll get easier as time goes by. I suppose we'll keep his memory alive by telling her the stories he himself would have told her.

I won't like it.

But I'll do it, for my daughter's sake, because she deserves to have good memories of him too, even if they're only in story-form.

Time Flies When You're Changing Diapers

I know... I know. It's been a LONG while since my last post. I could give you so many excuses for why I haven't been posting: I've been insanely busy trying to keep my 8-month-old fed, clothed, clean-diapered and entertained. Seriously -- who knew such a small person could demand so much of your time, energy and sanity?!?!?! : )

Perhaps I'll just use the standard excuse that has worked for so many schoolchildren for so many generations -- the dog ate my computer.

Really, though, my main excuse is that I got a new computer (laptop) and didn't transfer over the Favorites links, and I was entirely too lazy to remember any important details (userid and password) pertaining to the blog, so I kept putting off any updates. Well, tonight I finally found where I had written down those details. So, voila! Here we are again.

Life has been hectic, for sure. My daughter (aka my little nomad) is very much an on-the-go child. She is not happy unless she is in the car traveling during the day. So this means most everything else has taken a secondary importance, because, as those of you who are parents can attest, whatever works to keep her happy and quiet, you do it. Thankfully, as she gets older, she is starting to get content staying home for longer periods, and seems happy with 2 hours treks versus the old 6 hour treks. This means we can start getting some things done around the house which are LONG overdue. The list is too big to get into detail here, but let's just say that I purposefully have not had company over since Christmas because of my lack of attention to those home details. I have to believe that a messy house signifies that a happy child lives there. I have to believe it or I will, possibly, go insane.

Miss Kaylee is now crawling backwards, but lays on her stomach and rolls herself forward. She is learning the fine art of eating solid foods, and she is learning sign language with the help of Baby Einstein videos. She knows the signs for mommy, daddy, milk, sleep, and cereal. And let's face it -- that's pretty much her life right now. With the help of her bouncy chair, she is working towards propelling herself into the Milky Way. She has two teeth on top and two teeth on the bottom, and will strip the skin off your finger if you are brave/dumb enough to stick a finger in her mouth.

All in all, she's a healthy and happy little girl.

Where does the time go?

I can't believe I haven't posted anything in so long.

Time just seems to be slipping away from me, and the tighter I try to keep hold, the faster it slips away.

We've been a busy little family the last few weeks. Miss Kaylee is now in the throes of teething woes, and we're trying everything under the sun to help alleviate the worst of her pains, but it looks like this is just something she'll have to outgrow. She won't touch teething rings. She hates the taste of Ora-Gel (but it does give some relief). The only thing she likes to knaw on is a stuffed animal Bunny with wide, flat plastic feet and hands (we've Bun-Bun, because right now it's the only thing keeping Big Dave and me sane.

We're also in the process of trying to get the house in order because come Christmas Day, we will be invaded by relatives. My brother, sis-in-law and niece and nephew will be here, as well as my mom and dad, so we'll have a full house for the holidays. Great for family togetherness, not so great for Big Dave and me because quite frankly, house cleaning has not been at the top of our priority list after a difficult pregnancy and the trials and tribulations of early parenthood. I'm trying to take it one room at a time, but with a teething infant, work, and tax season almost near, there's very little time left to devote to cleaning a toilet, let alone a whole room. Why can't I have the powers of Samantha from Bewitched? Just wiggle my nose, and the chores are done. Ya know what? That's my Christmas wish. Forget world peace and goodwill towards mankind. I want supernatural powers that will take care of the housework.

Are you listening, Santa?

Life's Little Speedbumps

Ever notice how you can't enjoy the good things in life without a little of the bad things thrown in for good measure?

Lately, it seems Big Dave and I have been encountering more of the bad than the good.

Big Dave's dad is not doing so well after his strokes and operation. He's still on a feeding tube, still cannot move without a wheelchair, and is in pain much of the time. Fortunately, we were able to get him into a good nursing home. Now we have the fun task of trying to get him onto Medicaid, because Medicare will run out in December. So we have been helping Dave's mom try to get the paperwork in order. This is proving much more difficult than previously thought. We have been trying to navigate through the Medicaid system, and it is filled with roadblocks, landmines, atomic warheads and potholes the size of Texas. When you can get ahold of a live Medicaid person to talk to, whatever they tell you may or may not be the right answer. The next person you talk to will tell you something completely different, and tell you the previous person doesn't know what they are talking about. More often than not, instead of getting answers, you get pushed right back to square one. And if you don't get the application perfect, you run a very high risk of getting denied or getting delayed in funding. In short, it's a bureaucratic nightmare. And it doesn't seem to end.

Even the lawyers don't seem to know the Medicaid rules. We have talked with elder law attorneys, estate planning lawyers, and lawyers specializing in Medicaid, and they are all telling us something different. It's enough to make you scream and beg the pencil pushers for mercy.

Where's the Me That Was?

I used to be a very independent person. Just ask anyone, and they'll tell you that I enjoyed being on my own, to do whatever I wished whenever I wished. I had strong opinions about most everything, and wasn't afraid to share them. Most issues were black and white to me. Things were either wrong or right.

Fast forward 15 years. I have been blessed with many things over the years - a loving husband, a healthy and happy daughter, and a home to call my own. I am thankful for these blessings a thousand times a day. But for a long time it has felt like something significant has been missing from my life, and I think it's this:

I feel less like myself now more than I ever have before.

Let me see if I can explain it.

I am now known as Dave's wife. I am also known as Kaylee's mom. Very rarely, if ever, am I known as just me. Just Kathy.

Don't get me wrong: I love being a wife and mother. But it's not all I am. There is so much more to me than diaper changes, bottle feedings, dishes and laundry. I'm not just about business meetings, bank conferences, and investments.

But the rest of me just seems to get buried underneath the day-to-day chaos that makes up life. I don't get "me" time. I don't get to make decisions by myself. I don't get to enjoy something that's just mine. For now, it's all shared with my family, and maybe that's as it should be.

But there' s a part of me that misses the old me. The Me who could make an instant decision. The Me who could give you an opinion and spout various facts to support that opinion. The Me who could get frustrated and lose her temper. The Me who was Just Me.

I'm wondering if there will ever come a time when I can reintroduce the Old Me to the New Me, and they will peacefully co-exist.

Or is the Old Me really gone forever, and I should just learn to move on?

Maybe You Can Explain To Me...

How a four-month-old can create more laundry than 2 adults.

How a baby can sleep through day-to-day noises such as a ringing phone, vacuum cleaner, and dog barking, but will awaken and cry out once Mom sits down to eat a meal.

Why no one ever tells you that baby dookie can be green, projectiled, and/or smell bad enough to make the dog run into the other room and rub his nose in the carpet for several minutes.

How a baby can fall asleep at 6pm, and sleep until 6am the following morning, and the diaper manages to hold the resulting backlog. No leaks. Impossible, you say? I call it a miracle.

How a baby can have 300 teething rings lying around the house, but still prefers to knaw on your hand or fingers to alleviate teething pains.

How a baby can poop on you, spit up on you, knaw on you, and head butt you (gaining control of those neck muscles is a tricky business), and yet you're still glad to see the little tyrant every morning.

If you know the answers, please let me know. You are waaaay smarter than I am.

I Get It

Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I was a teenager, my mother and I used to get into many arguments. Mostly they were about the fact that I wasn't allowed to do anything, and that she didn't trust me enough to let me go wherever I wanted with whomever I wanted whenever I wanted. In short, I thought she was extremely unreasonable. When I expressed my displeasure with her, and asked her why she was being so difficult, she would look at me with a weird expression, then say quietly, "You'll see. One day you'll be a parent, and you'll know why."

Well, after many years and 1 daughter later, I will say the words my mother has been longing to hear me say: I get it. I now understand.

I understand the overwhelming and complete love you feel for your child. You will do anything for her. The first time you hold her tiny hand and look into her trusting eyes, your primal instinct to protect and nurture her completely overwhelms you. You are now responsible for this tiny being, and it is a terrifying and humbling thought.

I understand the gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear. The fear that she will stop breathing in the middle of the night. That masked ninja terrorists will break into her nursery and steal her away. That she will be diagnosed with some horrible illness, and I will be powerless to make her better. It's a fear that never, never goes away.

I understand the primal urge to protect her. Everyone and everything is now a threat (real or imagined makes no difference). It's not that you don't want her to enjoy things and experience life. It's just that you have seen what people can sometimes do, and you vow to do whatever is necessary to keep those threats at bay. No threat is too small. You rely much more on your mom radar - and if someone doesn't "feel" right, if you have a "sense" about someone that you don't like, you follow it. When you're a parent, there is no such thing as a "bad" gut-feeling. You don't take chances with your child - ever.

And so, many years from now, when my daughter and I are arguing about her "freedom", about why I'm so insistant on meeting all her friends, and knowing where she's going and when she's coming home, I'm sure I'll be saying "One day, you'll see." And just like I did all those years ago, I'm sure she'll roll her eyes, sigh, and say, "Whatever."

And many years after that fateful day, she'll be writing her own "I Get It" blog. And revenge will be mine.