Good Enough

After that night Buster’s health did not get any better.

He still had trouble uri*nating. He was moody. But after the hospital visit, Mr.Good was even more assured that nothing was wrong with our boy.

The next weekend rolled around, and matters became clearly defined.  Buster began throwing up and having loose bow*els by Sunday evening. I stayed up with him all night. He began complaining of intense stomach pains. I let him relax in the bath, where he could barely sit up straight. He was getting very weak. By Monday he could only sit on his little inflatable bed. We had to carry him around on it because he was in too much pain for us to touch and hold him directly.

Mr.Good left for work that morning.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I loaded up Missy and Buster in the car and headed to Auntie’s house. I would leave Missy there and take Buster to his pediatrician. I had given him some ibuprofen that morning and it seemed to help his mood. His pediatrician was, of course booked that day, we saw the Nurse Practitioner. I immediately liked her. She took me seriously, she was sensitive to the fact that we had no health insurance. Although Buster performed like a champ for her she was still suspicious. She poked his inflated tummy. He seemed to have a lot of gas, and said it didn’t hurt that much. She asked him where it hurt the most, he indicated to his right side. But even then, not that much, he said with his three year old wisdom. She asked him to jump up and down. He did. She asked if it hurt. He said no. He had a smile on his face.

This was a different boy than I had nursed the night before.

She suspected appendicitis. She said we should go to Children’s Hospital to be diagnosed. They had programs there for people without insurance. We would have to wait in the E.R. that was adjacent to the Regional Hospital. Everyone had to be admitted through there.

Picture the waiting room of the regional E.R. in downtown Anaheim CA. It was packed. We waited for four hours. I debated leaving. Buster seemed fine. Was it really worth it? He was smiling, laughing, walking around. After two hours I asked the admitting attendance. 

You should wait. She said. Even if you go back to his ped’s and he gets diagnosed with appendicitis there, he’d have to come back through here to be admitted. It shouldn’t be too long now.

I couldn’t help judging the people I saw as I sat there with Buster and his favorite blanky curled in my lap. No one really seemed as sick as he had. The little 11 year old girl across from us sat there with her father. She looked fine. She was being over dramatic to get out of school. That’s what I thought about her.

Then there was the little baby with a head wound. Why didn’t they make him priority?

It looks worse than it is. They told the mother.

I wanted to scream. IF MY SON IS HAVING AN APPENDICITIS IT COULD BE ABOUT TO BURST! DOES ANYONE CARE ABOUT THAT?

But we waited in silence. For two more hours.

What a relief it was for me when we saw a real nurse. She weighed Buster, took his temperature. It was high. We talked about his symptoms. He was admitted to a small room decorated for children, with a TV/Video on the wall. Oh joy of joys! He could finally relax. A nice Doctor came in and apologized for the wait. He was handsome. As far as I was concerned nothing else mattered. This man would tell me what was wrong with my child.

They started Buster on an I.V. drip. He was dehydrated. I told the nurse he only got one poke with Buster, he better get it right the first time. Buster was eerily calm with all that was going on. He didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes on the movie. The nurse got it in right away. By this time Mr.Good and Grandpa Good showed up.   

They came and took our little boy in for an ultrasound. I remember seeing a technician and a doctor in the small room. They were shocked at what they were seeing. His appendix had burst, and been broken for many days now. Pockets of infection riddled his stomach. The largest one was covering his bla*dder and ure*thra.  Which was why he couldn’t use the toilet.

He is the bravest little guy I’ve ever met, said the Doctor. I can’t believe he’s not screaming in pain right now. 

So what’s next? I asked. Are you going to operate? I had visions in my mind of a quick, easy surgery, and Buster coming home in a few days.

Little did I know that the diagnosis was just the beginning. My husband and I had no idea what a nightmare that next month would be. The battle was far from over.

Because things had been a little too “happy” around here.

Because We all know what happens when things feel too happy and perfect and life is just how mommy wants it.

Because I had recently declared to all friends, family, and neighbors that no more babies were in our plans for another year or so.

Because I almost fainted at the Hair Dresser’s.

Because some how this little pooch seemed harder to stuff into the jeans than usual.

Because a simple lesson in Fifth grade, and my last baby should have been an indicator at how easy it can be for us.

Because it is still hard to believe that it only takes one “oops.”

Because the stick said I am.

So I am.

And I couldn’t be happier.

This is my veteran, my Grandpa Bud. My hero.
We celebrated his birthday last night.
My 6 year old son was proud to know that he had a veteran in the family.
“Grandpa, which war were you in?” I asked him.
“I was in World War II, on a ship called the USS Tucson.” said Grandpa
“Did your side win?” my son wanted to know.
Everyone laughed.
“Sometimes we did and sometimes we didn’t,” was his reply.

He told us some stories. He was in charge of payroll on the USS Tucson. “Were there any perks to that job?”
“Well, no one minded when I cut in first in the chow line!”

My Grandpa said the worst battle he saw was with Mother Nature. There were some storms that even the massive ship he was on could barely handle. He could literally see the ship bending in the storm. Other ships were not as lucky and didn’t survive.

Writing this today I realize there is still so much about my Grandpa’s life that I don’t know. He’s a quiet man, unless something is irritating him. In my 31 years knowing my Grandpa, I’ve known him to be extremely generous, a little intimidating, very tough and hard working, and the hugest fan of my Grandma.

My Grandparents have been all over the U.S. and I’ve been lucky to go with them on some of their travels. I have many wonderful memories of visiting my Grandparents, who spoil us because we are there only grandchildren. That’s why my mom had 7 children.

I’m so grateful to my Grandpa for his sacrifice for his country, as well as all the others that have before him, and those continue to do so today. And for the families that support these men and women. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t help hoping my children won’t become veterans as well. Yet if that is the road is the road they decide to travel I hope they will return home safely like my Grandpa Bud.

Thanks is not enough Grandpa! We love you, we appreciate you, and we’re proud of you!

So let me preface with the fact that my youngest sibling is away at college for the first time in her life. I asked her if I could post SOME of her e-mail…she said yes. But I can’t post only SOME of it. I must post it all. I cannot edit this e-mail. To me it is TOO GOOD for so many reasons! I wasn’t sure how she’d take to college, she is brilliant so I knew she’d do well in her classes…but let me just say she’s a bit eccentric (the theatre type) and I was nervous for her and how she would relate to the minions. Plus she IS the youngest of six, and let’s face it…spoiled! There, now that the air has cleared…I’m sorry I doubted you Sis. I’m sorry that I’m so shocked your handling your roommate problems so well. And my heart is gladdened that you have grasped the concept of how sometimes motherhood can be so thankless. Thank you for thanking our mom. Thank you for realizing so soon how hard she works for us.   

So my fellow people…here is the e-mail that made my chin drop… 

Hello Family,
So, for almost a week now, ever since the whole ordeal with [my roommate], I’ve been doing everyone’s dishes. All the time. Always. Every single day. I figured, “Hey, if they see me constantly doing their dishes, they’ll feel guilty and start cleaning theirs right away as apposed to filling them with water, laying them in the sink and thinking that counts for them doing their part.” MAYBE it would count if we had a dishwasher, cause all I would have to do would be to stick them in there. But no, I have to scrub them off, rinse and de-contaminate them with dish soap, and then dry them. Well, my act of charity, (if you could call it that, seeing how my intentions weren’t very Christ-like,) has had the opposite effect. Instead of encouraging them to clean themselves, they have either consciously decided to take advantage of my hospitality, they got the idea that a kind little elf magically makes their dirty dishes disappear, or they simply just don’t care. Because noow, they NEVER do their dishes. They used to every once in a while. We would kind of take turns. But now, no. Never. They know I’m going to do them. So why should they?
   I’ve been sick for the past three and a half days so I haven’t eaten anything at all. I can’t keep it down. And the things I HAVE eaten have come in disposable containers. So you can imagine my surprise when I’ll leave my bedroom for THE FIRST TIME at the end of the day to find a sink filled to the brim with bowls, plates, cups and silverware, most of which haven’t been rinsed, just WAITING for me to take care of them. I didn’ dirty one of those dishes, yet I’m the one who stops what I’m doing to make the problem go away.
   Now, might I say, after seeing that my plan for silently urging them into submission wasn’t working, I realized, “What kind of MORON am I?” I remember when mom used to gather all the things I had left around the house and pile them in front of my bedroom door, thinking that I would see them and put them away. No. One of two things would happen; 99.9% of the time, and I meant that statistic literally, I would simply hop over the pile and move on with my life. I would do this for days on end before she decided to shove them over the threshold herself. OR, I would push the pile in after a couple of days and just let it sit THERE forever. Mother never seemed to understand that I was not compelled to put things away by this particular tactic of hers.
   Well, this is the same kind of situation. And I am aware now that if I continue to do their dishes, I am going to continue to do their dishes. It’s not going to make them start doing their own. Guilt does not work on most people. I feel like an unappreciated mother. This is GREAT practice for being a mom in fact. They eat, I clean up after them, and MAYBE, MAYBE every once in a while I get a, “Thank you.” But it’s NEVER a , “Thank you for starting to do my dishes, but let me take care of it. It’s my mess.” No. They might SAY thank you, but they never ever offer to help. Some thanks… I would rather skip the gratitude and take the labor.
   What I’m excited for is Thanksgiving. Because I’m the only one going home for five days. My roomates are only leaving for the day of. So while I’m gone, the dishes are going to pile up to the ceiling and they will be so confused… And maybe, for one moment in time, they’ll actually appreciate me. But I, now being aware of human selfishness, know perfectly well that once I get back, they’re not going to act any differently. They’re not going to think, “Wow. She helped out a lot while she was here, maybe I should reciprocate the kind gesture.” No. HERE’S what they’re gonna think, “Thank HEAVENS she’s back. Now she can do her job again.”
   Regardless of that fact, I’m still going to do their dishes and take out the trash all the time. If I go the extra mile I’ll never have to feel like a bad roommate. And I can’t force them to be good roommates. The only one I can be sure to take care of is myself. So I will and be content with that.
   That being said, Mom? I want to apologize. I’m sorry for always leaving my bowls in the sink full of water instead of taking an extra two seconds to rinse it and stick it in the dishwasher. I’m sorry for hopping over the pile of my stuff that you always left in front of my bedroom door. I still think it was a pretty silly idea of yours that it would ever compel me to actually put it away, but still, I can’t fix your silly ideas. I can only fix my inconsiderate actions. And, I know I always said thank you for all the meals you made me, but I’m sorry that I never offered to help you make them. It’s the same thing with the dishes. They might say, “We appreciate it,” but if they don’t show gratitude, why should I believe them?
   Oh, and I’m sorry for not doing things right away when you told me to do them. One time, we were COMPLETELY out of toilet paper in this apartment, and I had to go really bad. It was [roommate’s] turn to buy it, so I asked her to go get some. Now, there is a grocery store IN the apartment complex. Not nearby, not across the street, IN the apartment complex. But for some reason, Sarah didn’t grasp the fact that it was a necessity to have the paper NOW. So when I asked her to go get some, she said, “It’s on my to-do list.” PARDON?! IT’S ON YOUR “TO-DO”?! WELL THAT’S JUST GREAT! I’LL JUST STAND HERE DEVELOPING A BLADDER INFECTION WHILE YOU’RE NOT GETTING TOILET PAPER BECAUSE YOU’RE BUSY DOING….WHAT? NOT THE DISHES! THAT’S FOR SURE! Yeah…it was then that I decided to do things that people asked me to do as soon as possible after they make the request. And if it has anything to do with urinary functions, I will get on it right away.
   It’s amazing that living in an apartment with two women my age is preparing me for being a mother. They’re teaching me how to deal with working really hard to make someone happy and then being unappreciated and yelled at. GREAT practice for raising teenagers.
   And apparently it’s only taken me eighteen years to learn that most people don’t want to better themselves. They just want to continue being the same immature, inconsiderate, rude, slobs that they are and tell themselves that everyone else has the problem. Because if they admit they anything is wrong with them, that means THEY have to fix it. That means that THEY have to feel guilty. Another thing, apparently people LOVE admitting that they feel guilty about something, but they don’t love so much actually DOING something to CHANGE what it is they did that they feel guilty about. “So,” they think, “why feel guilty in the first place? Why not just never admit or let it cross my mind that I did anything wrong.” So if nothing I am going to do is going to be fix them, I’ll just stop trying to come up with ways to fix their problems and only paying attention to what I’m doing wrong. I’m the only one I can attempt to perfect. I’m the only one who I can make be a better person. Took me a while to realize this… Even though I swear dad’s been telling me that same thing for years. I swear I listen to everything he says. I just really didn’t get the significance of that one till now.
   Meanwhile, I’m still sick. I’ve been sick for three days now. And I’m sick of it. Today is the worst yet. One side of my nose is stuffed and the other side is really runny, my throat is sore and I keep coughing and sneezing.
   I’m coming home in seventeen days.
   Just thought I’d share.

Hang in there little sister! We’ve all been through it! Roommates are such a necessary evil. And I’m wanting to know…fellow bloggers and lurkers alike…what are your pyscho roommate stories? Come on, you know you’re still bitter!

When you look at this house what do you see?

I see memories.

Memories of my family of eight, watching as the sewage system was put in. Standing in awe as the framework of the house went up. Gleefully sweeping sawdust from the empty plywood floor of what would eventually become my room. Amazed as the house began to take shape, and the insulation went in, sheet-rock went up, floors were laid, and paint sprayed the walls. This house became our dream home. We each had a part in it.

Could we have seen then how our lives took shape in this beautiful house? Beginning as children and then growing into adults. This house sent many of us out into the world, and welcomed us back in again when we began to fail.

That room in the upper right corner saw the dreams of a stubborn young girl. It saw her dance, sing and study ( a very little.) It saw her attempts at sneaking out. The mother of the house always seemed to know and catch her. It saw her fall in love for the very first time. It received many odd visitors throughout her high-school years.  It witnessed her throwing her stuff in trash bags in a fury of shame and moving out. She did not want to bring disgrace to this home.

This house and those in it saw her come home again. A different girl. A broken girl.

I love this house. There are not enough words to tell all that transpired here.  This house was built with so much love, as was the family that dwelt in it.

I love my family. The one that my husband and I have built, and the one that built me.

As much as I wanted to escape this place growing up, I know how blessed I was. And I couldn’t help wanting to return, but it is no longer ours to return too. We are building our own house now. Building will start within the year. I can’t help but remember this sweet house that weathered 6 strong willed children. In some ways I would love for my own children to experience this place, and I’m also grateful for a new beginning. I can’t see how my children will grow in their new home. I can only hope they might be a little less willful, and a little more humble. But I won’t be holding my breath.    

My children have decided the best gift they could give me was them having fevers on my birthday…at 12:05 Missy woke up screaming. Of course I sent Mr.Good in. It was my for real birthday when the clock changed to 12:01. He came back and said she was burning up. After Motrin, water, and another episode at 2:30 to use the toilet she slept for the rest of the night. When I went to get Bubba this morning he was hot to touch as well. Oh the joys. I wouldn’t be upset, I’ll admit when my children have fevers they are mellow and need nothing but rest and mommy’s nurturing. I’m good at nursing them.  I’m most disappointed becausemy girlfriends had planned a sweet little lunch at their house for me. I don’t want to go over and infect their children. They worked so hard on planning it! I don’t know what to do. I wish my family members weren’t all working…hmmm…we”ll see how this one works out.  There may be hope still. Mr. Good may be able to rescue me.

So I woke in a not so happy birth week mood. The kitchen was hid-e-ous. I tried the technique of waiting till my husband was sick of the mess in the kitchen and actually cleaned it. It was four days before he did anything. I don’t recommend trying this particular technique if you have a husband like mine. His eyes are blind too any type of domestically made disorder. Needless to say the whole house mirrored the kitchen. I volunteered to watch three children yesterday. That equals six under six and they left quite a tornado of destruction in their path. I still haven’t had time to find a replacement washing machine for our broken one. My landlord said to see if I could find one for free on Craig’s List. He’s a winner! So I can only wash once a week. It’s getting to me. Especially when I have a child that still soils her pants at least twice a week.  OH the simple pleasures of a working washing machine. The next time you feel like complaining about the laundry pile up, know that you have it so much better than me.

I had no bread in the pantry this morning. I tried to convince Buster to buy lunch. He absolutely refuses too. He’s scared he’ll mess up the whole process of lunch buying. I threw together whatever I could find in the pantry. The day hit it’s all time low after I dropped off my preschooler and it was just Bubba and me.

Bubba is a tough one. He just turned two and gets so irritated when I attempt housework in his presence. I can’t blame the little guy. If the only time I had alone with my mom was four hours a week when the big sister was in preschool I’d want her whole attention as well. Hence my dilemma. I was stuck in the house that was hit by it’s own private tornado, and a superiorly hideous kitchen…and Bubba was staring at me with his beautiful squintchy blue eyes as if to say “what’ll we do now mamma?”

I took the high road and we went to the grocery store. I even let him walk by the cart. It was amazing how good he was if I just asked him nicely and paid lots of attentions to him. I hope I’m figuring him out because although he’s as cute as a baby kitten, he is my most taxing child.  

So we went shopping, and it was actually a warm, albeit cloudy day, here in the Northwest. So I decided to throw a picnic together and walk to get Missy from preschool, with a detour on the way home by the local park. This day was shaping up very nicely. Exercise for mom, fresh air for kids, everyone was happy.

I’m not kidding when I say everything fell in place from there. I threw together a fun activity for the 8 year old girls at church, my husband cleaned the kitchen while I was gone AND started dinner. We had a nice family meal before I took the kids out for haircuts (tomorrow is picture day) and Mr.Good ran off to Boy Scouts. He looks really cute in the uniform.

I usually don’t like to bore the blogosphere with every monotonous detail of my day as a fearless home-maker.

But it’s birth week people!   I’m just putting myself out there for you all to see and enjoy!

And since my blog is a NO GUILT blog and your feeling a little insecure because my day was so fluffing fabulous, just know that yesterday, the TV was on…well…pretty much all day. So I needed to make up for the guilt that I incurred.  I have this theory that if I am a fun mom for most of the days of the week, they’ll forget the days that I was less than savory.

And the party just keeps on going.

Feel free to send your birth week wishes to me via picture and I will gladly post how loved I am.
goodenoughblogatgmaildotcom

And so I begin my week long celebration of my coming birthday. This morning to my delight I discovered two birthday cards in my mailbox. One from Grandma with $20 bucks! Thanks Grandma! And another from Little Sis in Australia, that made me teary eyed. Awww…I love you too Sis. 

I’m that obnoxious friend that never let’s her people forget when her birthday is. In a way I blame my mom. She made birthdays extremely special. I don’t know how she did it. There were six of us…but each one of us had a special day where we would inevitably wake up to streamers on our bedroom door and presents on the dining room table. We would start the celebration at some unearthly hour, so my Dad could be part of it. That was fine for us because that meant we had new toys at 5 o’clock in the morning. Not a bad way to start out the day. None of us minded getting up that early for each- other either. There seemed for a moment in time to be good will between all siblings on our birthdays. Which is amazing if you know my family.

I have much to look forward to on this week. If the rains hold off I will take my children to the park every day. I will have play dates with friends I like to hang out with even if our kids don’t get along (which fortunately they all do.) I will buy a new CD and schedule a long overdue facial. I will enjoy thinking about fun ways I would celebrate my birthday if we were rich. I will watch chick flicks every night this week and be romantical with my husband. I will go for walks along the river. I will have a dance party in my kitchen. By myself. Even if my children beg me to stop. And on that wonderful birthday of mine I will not cook or clean. We will eat out in careless abandon. I will keep my cell-phone close at hand to receive the many sweet phone calls from loved ones. If they don’t call I will call them and remind them of this miraculous day that needs celebrating.

Happy Birth week to me! And thanks mom, because it’s your birth week too. You deserve a pat on the back for carrying me all those months and those extra 6 weeks I was overdue, and for pushing me out.

I love being alive! 

Hello class, I’d like to share what I did this summer with you…and if you read this, you must share what you did. This is your assignment.

Snakes are fun! But I could never own one. The thought of feeding them live mice freaks me out. If only a snake could be a vegetarian?

Mr. Good gets friendly with them

I like them…?

Buster likes them.

Missy’s in love. She cried when we had to leave them.

The reason you don’t see a picture of Bubba holding one, is all he wanted to do was kick them. Why does he insist on kicking pets? It’s infuriating!

Huntington Beach

My surfer boy.

B-boys at the beach.

My kids were captivated. This was better than TV. They sat and watched for an hour!

Buster took this one.

We watched the sunset.

This picture was part of my much needed “Girls Night.” I love these two chicas.

Look closely. This house is the one in Beaches. Very fitting for an afternoon with girlfriends!

These are the only remaining friends I keep in contact with from High-school. We all have a lot of history together, and they love me anyway!

So that was my summer montage. What about yours?

Yes I’m still here. My husband has made it back safely, and we are SO happy to be a family again.

I miss my blogging time and will resume normal posting after we wrap up this vacation with a little 3 day camping trip.

Pictures will be posted, anecdotes will be written.  School will start. A schedule may resume  be constructed. I don’t want a repeat of last years Kindergarten fiasco.

So class, what did you do this summer? What was your favorite story of the summer? I realize we all can’t get away. But tell me you at least neglected your housework and ate take-out for a four day span?