Paradise

Hellooooooo, everyone! It’s Day One of my big vacation! I am leaving momentarily for the airport, in fact. If you’re wondering where I am going, I will be here:

and getting a massage in here:

and relaxing on the beach with this guy for seven straight days (with no kids):

Don’t be a hater.

A Letter to My Mom

Dear Mom,

First of all, before you freak out that I’m writing a letter to you on my blog, you should know that I really haven’t mentioned anything about you on here until now. I’ve hinted at certain things, but was never really forthcoming about our relationship or what you (we) are dealing with now. And while it may seem unusual… impersonal, even… to put this letter out here for anyone to read, I can’t imagine a more powerful way to shout my feelings from the rooftops, if you will.

We have had a tumultuous relationship, you and me. I know that I was a stubborn child who didn’t want to be told what to do, and you were young and inexperienced and immensely frustrated with me. As I grew into a teenager, my moods became more irrational and whatever passed for a civil relationship between us quickly began to crumble. We spent the remainder of my young adult years either fighting or avoiding each other, and soon found that we didn’t quite know how to reconnect after all the wounds had healed.

But then as the years passed, I began to understand what it must have been like for you. As Lauren tried my patience and made me want to pull my hair out, I thanked my lucky stars that I had waited until my thirties to have her because I had learned to be patient. I knew without a doubt that if I had given birth to her in my twenties, I would have been a different parent. And I started to understand that much of your parenting must have been colored by the fact that you were just so young. I’m sure you felt ready at 19 to give birth to me, but in hindsight, I think you’d agree that you were so unprepared for what was to come, and ill equipped to cope with it all. I’m sure I said things that hurt you… all kids do from time to time… but I think that because you were so young yourself, you couldn’t rationalize that and forgive me for it. I know you regret that, and so do I.

A few years ago, I found this picture of us:

I was struck by the expression on your face as you gazed at your new little baby — as you gazed at me. I realized then that no matter how difficult our relationship became, how many regrettable things we may have said to each other — at the heart of it all, we were still a mother and a daughter.

Lately, your health has been in decline. When I spoke to you on the phone the other day, your voice sounded so small… so fragile. You told me that when you went into the Emergency Room this last time, you literally felt the life slipping from you. I know you are scared, and I know you are worried about the future — about how much of a future you still have. Because I am an optimist, I choose to think about ways we can improve your quality of life right now and keep you with us a little longer.

At first, when I heard about your health issues, I was angry at you. I felt like your kidney failure was a result of malnutrition, which was a result of you not taking care of yourself. While I still wish you had been a little more proactive with your care years ago, I now understand that you never thought that anything like this would happen. I think you have been as surprised as anyone that your body didn’t withstand the stuff that was happening to it. I don’t think you ever saw your spotty diet as anything that could potentially hurt you. You were losing weight and feeling good about yourself, and it probably never occurred to you that you may have been doing damage to yourself. I hope you know that while I am sad that this has happened, I don’t hold you responsible for it anymore. I believe in fate or divine will or whatever you want to call it, and I believe that things happen for a reason. Everything that happens to us (whether we consider it to be a mistake or not) is predestined. This is the path that we were supposed to follow, and while the reasons may not be clear to us right now (and may never be), it doesn’t mean that it’s not our path.

You’ll notice that I used the word “we” in that last sentence. That’s because this illness isn’t just affecting you and Dad, though you are certainly most impacted by it. It has affected all of us. All of your daughters are scattered across the country, and there is very little that we can do to physically help you. So we send you good thoughts and offer up our prayers, and call you often to let you know we’re thinking of you. But it’s a rather helpless feeling for us. We are grappling with emotions that run deeper than this illness. We are seeing our relationships with you in an entirely different light, and learning to come to terms with the new definition of those relationships. In the past, we may have looked to you and Dad for support, encouragement and validation. Now it’s our turn to provide those things to you. And the reality of that has shaken all of us to our very core. Regardless of our past, it pains me to see you in this condition, and to know that you are quite literally in the process of dying. It frightens me, but not for the obvious reason. I have only ever defined myself as a person who had all her family in the background, ready to cheer her on no matter what happened. If you are no longer on this planet, how do I define myself? Who am I, once I have lost my mother?

I think that now that you’ve started regular dialysis, we should see an improvement in your quality of life. And hopefully, a kidney will soon become available and give you many more years with us. But in the meantime, I need to let you know how thankful I am for the things that you gave me.

Thank you for teaching me to be honest and true to my own mind and heart. It has led me down a different path than you would have wanted for me, but my life feels right and genuine to me now.

Thank you for teaching me to be kind and loving and generous with my time. I could not imagine my life if I hadn’t become a nurse, and I developed my love of nursing from you. I love caring for my patients and I receive a lot of gratification from knowing that I have made a difference in someone’s life, if even for a moment.

Thank you for disco dancing with us in the kitchen. Although our childhood was occasionally difficult, you still taught us how to have fun.

Thank you for sharing your taste in music with me. I have the coolest iPod of anyone I know.

Thank you for loving each of the boys that I brought home, even when they were dorks and you knew it. Whether you realized it or not, all of those boys served a vital purpose in my life, and that was to educate me about what I did and did not want in a partner, and how to be a good partner in return. All of those “mistakes” brought me to the place where I can have an amazingly pure and honest relationship with my perfect companion. Thanks for letting me make those mistakes.

Thank you for forcing me to babysit my younger sisters, especially when I wanted to go off with my friends. It taught me that family comes first, no matter what. It also taught me the finer skills of childcare, which have come in handy now that I am an adult. I am the Mother that I am because of what I learned from you.

Thank you for telling me that you were proud of me, and that I was a better nurse than you were. Though it’s never been a contest and I’ve never felt that I was competing with you, it was a humble moment when you acknowledged my career and my hard work. Thank you for noticing the effort that I put into being a good nurse.

Thank you for my life. It has been the most interesting ride, and though I have experienced many things that I would never wish on another human being, it has all led me to where I am today. I have a beautiful home, a fulfilling career, a smart, funny and loving child, and a handsome, adoring fiance who is my biggest fan. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world.

We’ll get through this together, Mom. I promise.

With Love,
Your Daughter

Because I am Halfway To Geriatric

In case you were wondering what kind of crazy weirdo I will be when I finally grow up, I hope I will be a little bit like Hazel.

(Thanks to Chris at C Squared Plus 3 for posting this first. I am not above stealing stuff off other people’s blogs, but I am always careful to give mad props.)

And when I die, I think I will adopt the policy of my friend L’s grandfather. He and his wife prepared for their death in every way possible, down to the clothes they would wear, who would speak at the service, and which casket they wanted to be buried in. It was all planned out to avoid as much hassle for the family as possible. In the event of their death, all anyone had to do was to place one phone call. No decisions to make, nothing to pay for, easy peasy.

Except for one teensy little problem.

Grandpa found out that if he or his wife were to die outside of the state of Utah, the family would be subjected to a $5000 fee to transport the body back into the state. Ouch. That is a major kink in the works. But Grandpa found a way around it. He placed a phone call to L’s Dad.

He said, “Son, I need you to do something for me,” and then proceeded to tell his son that if he died outside of the state of Utah, his wanted him to drive down, pick up his body, and transport it himself to the lovely town of Beaver, Utah, where the mortician would meet them to pick up the body. His son was understandably horrified. He argued that he couldn’t drive up I-15 with a dead body strapped into the passenger seat. I mean, Weekend at Bernie’s was a stupid movie, and no one would buy that crap in real life.

He asked his father, “What if I get stopped by a state trooper?” His Dad quite seriously replied, “You just tell him you thought I was sleeping.” In Grandpa’s eyes, apparently, saving 5 Grand is worth risking your son spending the night in jail for desecration of a corpse.

Seriously, people, I can’t make this stuff up.

How I Got Mud In Places I Didn’t Know I Have

So guess what I did last weekend? I spent three days and two nights of sheer torture tent camping with six Brownie Girl Scouts. Yeah, I know. I don’t know what I was thinking, either. I wasn’t alone, however. I was accompanied by two of the most saintly women I know, who shall heretofore be known as “N” and “C”. (They begged me not to reveal their identities.)

“N” spent the entire time with me, corralling wayward 7-year-old girls and trying to stop the neverending-oh-for-hell’s-sake-what-are-they-crying-about-NOW tears. We later estimated that 80% of our girls burst into tears at some point over the weekend. For things such as “I lost my Dream Box!” and “She has my pillow!” and my personal favorite, “SPIDER!” I consider myself to be a fairly patient person, as I’m sure “N” does as well, but by the end of the weekend we were both a little snippy when the water works began. Sue us.

“C” on the other hand, was the lucky one who got to go to work during the day and only join us at night. Unfortunately, that also meant that she had middle-of-the-night latrine duty because “N” and I had HAD ENOUGH! Thanks, “C”, for letting me sleep.

The weekend began innocently enough, with “N” and I loading our respective cars with enough provisions to last us a year, and driving up Provo Canyon to the beautiful Trefoil Ranch. It took us a while to get from the gates of the ranch to our actual campsite, and much to my dismay, it was like 400 miles up a steep rocky hill from the lodge. A hike that we probably negotiated upwards of 3,000 times a day. Ok, maybe I exaggerate a little. It was really only 1,000 times a day. And I don’t know if I have mentioned this or not, but I am not what you would call “Physically Fit”. I am, in fact, squishy and soft. CCB likes me that way, and Lauren thinks I’m fun to cuddle with. But Squishy and Soft do not lend themselves well to “hiking up a damn mountain a billion times a day”. I think it’s safe to say that I was tired.

But I brought my Ambien, and after all was said and done the first night, I climbed into my sleeping bag, zipped myself in, and waited for the pill to kick in. I don’t remember anything else that night, but apparently there were many trips to the bathroom with the girls, and also a wet sleeping bag/pillow/stuffed animal incident (from a water bottle, not man-made) that required intervention by the other two women in my tent while I snoozed blissfully away. Apparently I was so sound asleep that I was making moaning sounds. (This is not a surprise to me — I have been told that I talk and moan in my sleep on occasion.) I assure you that these moans are not in any way associated with the quality of my dreams (if you know what I mean), but they probably appear that way. When “N” and “C” overheard said moans, they tried to wake me up and tell me that I was making noises. I think they are big liars, too, because they insist that I told them that I was having sex dreams because “my honey doesn’t live with me”. I think this is false, and entirely unlike me, but they maintain that I said those very words. And they apparently laughed hysterically for upwards of ten minutes when I said them. Whatever.

The second day at camp was filled with activities (line dancing, anyone???) and more tears. At one point, “N” and I were perched near the fire pit at the lodge, which proved to be a lovely spot for people watching. I found it quite interesting that there are essentially four types of Girl Scout Leaders:

1. Super-cute crafty Moms who tie dyed t-shirts for all her girls to wear, and found color-coordinated bandannas to match.

2. Enormously overweight Moms (I am talking 300 pounds-plus) whose only activity is in searching out a place to sit down. I do not include myself in this category, for the record.

3. Very masculine Moms. I have never seen so many potential Lesbians in my entire life. It became kind of a sport for “N” and I to guess whether a given Leader was a woman or a man. The whiskers made it hard to tell.

4. Us and those like us. AKA “The Normal Ones”. I think it goes without saying that we were the minority.

The last day at camp, we were awakened by the sound of rain on our tent roof. At first, it was relaxing and tranquil. And then I realized that it was turning our entire campsite into a Roman Mud Bath. I have been home for five days now and have taken approximately 45 showers and baths, but I am still finding dried mud in assorted places. Oh, and let us not forget the rogue caterpillars who hitched a ride to the suburbs with us.

All in all, it was actually a splendid time. I bonded with my sweet little Girl Scouts (yes, even the ones who cried hysterically half the time) and killed more spiders than I have seen in a lifetime. I discovered that my dear Lauren is not willing to kiss and cuddle her Mom when friends are around (and that I can embarrass her without much effort at all). I also discovered that a cold Diet Pepsi with Lime in a camp chair with caterpillars in your hair is a pretty relaxing thing, believe it or not.

Oh, and I also discovered that camping is a LOT more tolerable with Ambien. AND good friends to share it with.

Yet Another Reason Why He Loves Me

One of the most difficult parts of a long-distance relationship is having normal everyday communication. It’s hard when the only way you can communicate is over the phone or on the computer. One of the methods we have available to us is Instant Messenger. Tyler keeps it on all day for work, and all I have to do is log in and say hello. It’s a pretty good chance that he’ll answer, given that he’s tethered to his laptop 90% of the time. I can ask him a quick question, he can answer me, and we can get on with our day. It’s quite handy and efficient.

However, it does have a big downfall. On occasion, Tyler will be in a meeting and will have connected his laptop to the overhead projector to put his documents up on the screen for everyone to see. And I never really know when that is happening, so when I ping him on IM, my comments are sometimes out there for all of his colleagues to see. Take this conversation, for example:

Andi: Hey sexy, whatcha wearing?

Tyler: Uh, I’m on screen in a meeting.

Andi: Oh, does that mean I can’t talk about your ass?

Tyler is now offline.