A New Leaf

Today, the family and I took the opportunity to get out and get a little fresh air and exercise. We live 10 minutes from Lake Thurmond, one of the major reservoirs on the Savannah River by the Army Corp of Engineers. We actually used to spend a good bit of time in the area, but 2009 was a really stressful and full year for us. Necropolis and I decided today was as good a time as any to make a change.

Necropolis, Things 1 and 2, Pearly Sue and I all trecked out to the Bartram Trail along Lake Thurmond and walked and looked.

We saw a LOT of pine trees, fallen leaves, and small granite outcroppings. Lake Thurmond is actually along the path of the granite vein that also created Stone Mountain, more than 120 miles away.

Unfortunately, we didn't have the foresight to bring trashbags. There was litter everywhere, and some of it too big to move, like this bouy.

While we were hiking I kept my eyes open for mushrooms, to share with my friend lisascenic. I had about given up on seeing any, and as we were almost back to the truck, I spotted these. I have no idea what they are, but I'm hoping Lisa will chime in here and let us know.

A Final First

When Nec and I were very brand new parents, we probably behaved like most first timers. Okay, yeah, we were convinced our progeny was the brightest, most beautiful, wonderful child ever conceived in humankind. We meticulously chronicled every small detail of every minor milestone and major achievement Thing 1 could manage. And, in some ways, we were justified. Thing 1 was a quick study, even as a newborn and achieved the usual baby milestones much more quickly that most in his peer group.

By the time Thing 1 was 15 months, however, we discovered there would soon be a Thing 2, and priorities shifted. We still reveled in the minutiae of Thing 1’s seemingly miraculous abilities, but our attention was now divided. Whereas before we had only 1 small, perfect being to focus on, we now had to start over and record each detail of the newest member of our family.

As most parents of multiple children close in age will tell you, at times, your survival mode it to keep your head down and take each day as it comes. Somewhere in our total brilliance, we thought it was a good idea to have 2 children less than 2 years apart. 2 babies in diapers. Yes, I was obviously suffering from a strange and inventive form of parental senility.

At any rate, we did record, and I can remember, most of the biggest, important milestones in Thing 2’s infanthood. I also know that while he could sit up, crawl and walk more quickly that most, he didn’t cut his first tooth until he was almost 17 months old, almost a full year past the time the majority of babies will cut a first tooth.

The Things continued to get older, as children will do, and I noticed a disturbing trend of diminishing milestones. These had altered and changed over time, to where it’s not based on physical and motor development, but more on societal achievements, such as a first day of school or a first sleepover. The physical measures became less and less frequent, and more difficult to define. It’s tricky to see how quickly a child grows from day to day or week to week. Every once in a while, however, there are some exceptionally stellar moments that remind a parent of the joy and wonder that is raising a child.

Last month, Thing 2 finally lost his first tooth. He’s now 8, and will turn 9 in a couple of months. Developmentally, he is years behind most of his peer group. Most children lose their first tooth towards the end of year 5 or during year 6. This is, unless they manage to knock out their front teeth by diving into playground landscaping when they’re 3. But, that’s a story of a different Thing altogether.

Thing 2 lost his first tooth, and while I was genuinely excited and happy for him, I was starkly reminded that my children are quickly growing up, becoming their own person, and leaving their father and I behind in the dust.

I don’t think I’d have it any other way.

Why, yes. Yes I am....

...watching the Crab Show Marathon on Discovery, or TLC, or whatever channel.

At least I'm not overly emotional.

And, to make it even better, Necropolis is making his award-winning (really!) chili. It's really, really good.

Are You Lonesome Tonight?

I'm a terrible blogger.

Or, perhaps I should say I'm not a very faithful blogger.

There's plenty going on in the McD house that might qualify as blog fodder, but I've either not had access to a computer (thanks, Things), or I've been too exhausted to put together two thoughts to prepare a blog entry. But, once again, I'm going to attempt to be a more faithful and creative thinker.

Maybe.

At any rate, tonight was the big Trick-or-Treat pilgrimage. Personally, Trick-or-Treating falls into the realm of parental responsibilities and less into the fun catagory. I feel more a member of the Donner Party and have less Halloween spirit than the rest of the McD house. It's the costuming. The Things don't allow me much in the way of creativity anymore. I think next year, I am going to insist on something more interesting than the latest movie character.

Now, I'm off to work on some of the ferocious knitting I have to complete before December 25. I always promise myself that I'll start the gift knitting early, but as Mary Poppins says, it's a pie crust promise.

And, I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 250 pictures to download from the camera.

I suppose it's a good thing I get an extra hour tonight. I'm going to need it.

Wild Blue Yonder

I haven't posted in ages. I feel like a total slacker when compared to my friend lisascenic, who chronicled her and her husband's story in detail, while I can't manage to post over a couple of months. However, The Man (my father) is doing well, has been discharged into my care, and we're learning together how to live as a recovering stroke patient. He's ready to live life as his former self. I know the reality.

My sister and I try to mitigate as much of the daily routine as possible, as much to keep him from getting bored as anything else (like burning down my house). One of these activities was to take him to Bristol, TN to a NASCAR stock car race a couple of weekends ago. We had a blast. However, we had a special incentive as well.

Thing 2's class has a project they participate in about a character called Flat Stanley. Flat gets flattened by a bulletin board at school one day, and is fine with the exception of be really, really flat. Flat decides to use this to his advantage and mails himself places to have exciting adventures. Thing 2 had already mailed his "Flats", but I contacted his teacher and told her where we were going and if it would be okay to take a Flat. She thought is was a great idea. So, there were the four of us at Bristol Speedway. Sweet Soul Sister, The Man, me, and Flat. We had a great time.

We Can Rebuild Him; We Have the Technology.

Most of this blog has been dedicated to the ephemera of my life. And the banal. It was never my intention to use the blog to discuss more personal things or discuss 'real life', but there was a major change recently that has taken over my existence to some extent. And, by the same token, it will in some way be reflected in some of the posts on this blog.

My father had a stroke on January 3.

He has no siblings or close family, and as my parents are no longer together, it fell to my brother, sister and I to become his caregivers and advocates as we navigated the world of hospitals and rehabilitation facilities. Being the oldest of the siblings, I, somewhat by default, became the 'child in charge'. We three siblings make the decisions together, with input from my father, but ultimately, The Triumvirate are the ones who have the power, with me being the legal representative.

When it came time to make the decision to place Daddy in a rehabilitation facility, I didn't hesitate. I live in one of the largest medical communities in the state and have one of the best rehabilitation facilities in our area. I made the call, and really didn't give any other options. The Triumvirate live in various parts of the state, but being the only one who actually lived within a strong medical community made the decision even easier. So, when Daddy was released from the hospital, we loaded him into my vehicle and drove him 3 hours across the state to "rehab boot camp" as the intake nurse called it. (Don't ask about why we actually had to do the transport. I've decided the private medical thing is a racket!)

Daddy's therapy is very, very intense. He has at least 3 hours daily, of a combination of physical, occupational and speech/cognitive therapy. Today was a school holiday for me, and I had the opportunity to actually observe him during his day. To say I was impressed is putting it mildly. To say I hope I never need intensive rehabilitation is an understatement. It was brutal. It is not a reflection on the therapists themselves. They were wonderful, encouraging and delightful people who made difficult tasks humorous and engaging. We laughed and joked constantly. But, despite its jovial wrappings, it was hard, grueling work. Daddy was highly motivated, never complained, worked through each and every exercise, and never asked for a break. I think he would have continued working if the therapists would have allowed it, even though they and I both could see he was at his physical limits and exhausted.

The most fascinating part of the day was spent in OT. The rehabilitation hospital has the Bioness equipment, and Daddy is using the Ness H200 for hand rehabilitation. It's the most amazing machine. It allows his left hand, incapacitated by the stroke, to open and close through electrical stimulation. With this device, his hand muscles and nerves are retrained, and the theory is, the pathways to the brain will be reformed, allowing him to eventually move the hand on his own. I told Daddy he was lucky I wasn't his occupational therapist, because we'd be playing with the toy EVERY session. It was just the coolest thing. I also told him he was starting to look like the 6 Million Dollar Man. When I told him we could rebuild him, we had the technology, I got the truest laugh of the day.

Some times, it's just the little things.

Do You Know Where You're Going To.....

When I was in elementary school, one of my favorite playthings was a white suitcase. That old, beat up suitcase was my childhood version of having a fairy godmother. Open the top, and Bibbidy, Bobbidy, Boo, I became a grownup. Inside were old dresses, hats and purses of my Granny’s. My sister and I (and my brother at infrequent, reluctant intervals) dressed as Grand Dames in these clothes. There were our Haute Couture, refinement, and most of all, the epitome of adulthood.

As I made my obligatory awkward trip through adolescence and into my later teens, I’m sure I thought more than once, “I can’t wait to grow up.” But, what does that mean, “Grow up” or to be a grown up? At high school graduation, I wondered if that was the moment. The moment when I completed my metamorphosis from being a child to the mythological grown up. I waiting all summer before my first semester of college, but I never did feel that difference inside, an indefinable change or state of being that says to myself and the world, “I no longer think or feel or act as of old. As of this moment, I act with a new mature purpose.”

College came, and stayed and lasted for several really fun years. However, I never really felt essentially older inside. I had reached yet another milestone of life. I did what I thought 20-somethings with new college degrees were supposed to do. I got a job. But, I still didn’t feel grown up.

At an impasse, I asked The Mother once when would I feel grown up. Her reply, “When you have children.”

So, I continued to click off the major life milestones that were supposed to make me a mature grown up. I married and at thirty, had the first of my two children. Somehow, astonishingly, despite all the stress and crisis of Thing 1’s birth, I still didn’t feel a member of the grown up club. Yes, I had diplomas, paid my taxed, went to work, had stretch marks, and C-section scars, but I hadn’t crossed that important line in the sand.

Maybe, I thought, it was because I didn’t have a house and a mortgage. I know the illogical nature of this thought, just as I know the whole idea of “becoming a grown up” is somehow inane. Had I reduced it to a date on the calendar? “This is the day I got married, this is the day I had my first child, and this is the day I became a grown up.” It sounds ridiculous. Wondering what defining action will transform me into adulthood is overly simplistic as well. Perhaps I should make it clear that it’s not necessarily that I was so enamored of being a grown up, per se. It is more a sense of it being a failing of character or completion. Being a ‘grown up’ is what we’re taught, as children, we’re to strive to become: to literally grow up from childhood. Somehow, internally, I seemed to be stuck.

I’ve spent the better part of twenty years feeling like the same basic messed up teenager inside. She’s complex and worldly and yes, difficult, as she’s had the benefit of 20 years of experience. At heart, she’s that hormonal, mixed up, crazy chick that has been going through my life living as best she can and bluffing when she doesn’t know what else to do.

No, the mortgage did not magically grant me entry into grownup-hood.

Yes, there’s now a date on the calendar. January, 6, 2009. That is the day a grown up entered my psyche after twenty years of teenage bluffing.

Tuesday, January 6 is the date where I went from being the child of a parent to being the caregiver and decision maker for a parent. Luckily for me, this is a journey and responsibility I do not have to undertake alone. The prognosis appears very good that my siblings and I will not have these additional tasks for the long term.

But, for today, as I am tired, stressed, worried, angered, bewildered, exhausted, and frustrated, I finally feel like a grown up.

And, now that I know that feeling? If this is what being a grown up is about, I’ll take that messed-up, blustering, bluffing, no-holds-barred teenager any day.

I miss her.

It's Too Late, Baby

Remember The Crab Show?

Well, if the man in your life doesn't get enough Crab Show in his life, there's now a remedy for that (not TiVo).

Battle 40-foot waves, storms, ice and a nearly 100 percent crew member injury rate in the dangerous hunt for undersea riches on the Bering Sea with the new video game Deadliest Catch Alaskan Storm, to be launched on the Xbox 360® video game and entertainment system from Microsoft and PC.

The game was inspired by Sig, Edgar and Norman Hansen -- three brothers who have made their living crab fishing on the Bering Sea aboard their family's fishing vessel, the Northwestern. The Hansen brothers started game development with Liquid Dragon Studios in October 2005. Deadliest Catch Alaskan Storm lets gamers captain their own boat in the frenzied search for an undersea jackpot. Gamers select one of five real crab boats, including the Northwestern, Cornelia Marie and Sea Star '' all featured on the series, or create and customize their own boat. Gamers then recruit and lead their own crew from a roster of 20 real crab fishermen.

Selecting the wrong boat or recruiting the wrong crew member can mean the difference between landing a Bering Sea jackpot or disaster. Lead your fatigued, hungry and hardworking crew in the strategic search for king crab and opilio crab, while battling to secure your catch and livelihood before other captains and crews get to the crab first.

Authenticity and realism were critical to the Hansen brothers. The game features four real Bering Sea harbors and 34,000 miles of Bering Sea coastline created from the United States Geological Survey. In addition, Deadliest Catch Alaskan Storm is the first video game to feature United States Coast Guard vessels and helicopters.

No kidding. Despite my very imaginative and creative brain, I dropped the ball on this one. I could have made a MINT if I had thought of it.

If you need more verification, go check it out for yourself at Discovery Channel.

O Tannenbaum! O Tannenbaum!

This past weekend was Tree Day, otherwise known as "The Third Time of the Holiday Season JPMcD Loses Her Freakin' ........."

It starts with finding the tree. We go live, and The Things think that means they go wild (as in zoo). This year, for some reason, I was really put out with Necropolis and The Things, so we grabbed the first halfway decent tree and brought it home. It wasn't until it was in the living room that I realized we had a mutant tree with antennae.

Now comes the part that no one else in the house can seem to do but me. That would be the lights. We have them on an old cable spool, and I roll them out on the floor, plug them in, replacing any dead bulbs or deleting any dead strings and put the things on the tree. In past years, I would carefully wind the lights around branches and such, having anywhere between 8 to 10 strands, somewhere in the neighborhood of 800 to 1000 lights.

This year, I couldn't find the replacement bulbs I kept (I'm blaming the move), and I had no energy to wind and check and carefully light the tree. I just smooshed (that's a technical design term) the lights up on the tree, trying to hide the cabling as best I could. I was still a strand short.

After the lights comes The Great Decanting. Half a dozen huge and heavy plastic containers filled to overflowing with gee-gaws and doo-dads and all kinds of Christmas regalia are released by The Things. It's almost like watching the little old ladies in their fur coats getting out of their chauffeur-driven Cadillacs at the Day After Christmas sale at Fine's on Broughton in Savannah (that's another story all together).

There's a good side to that, though. I'm so glad The Things old enough to decorate the tree now, I don't even care that most of the decorations are on the bottom half of the tree. All I know is, I don't have to do it.

Seven Bridges Road

One of the many reasons we enjoy our new neighborhood. Hopefully, I will soon have the appropriate equipment to take this picture at night, instead of just at dusk.

Cuttin' Up

After searching for pumpkins, The Things bugged Necropolis and I to carve the things. I managed to keep it to a low amount of pumpkin touching by being the one to witness through a camera lens. The Things had a great time, but it was one messy proposition.

Yes Letterboxers, that is my stamp carving lino cutter. It worked beautifully, so next year, I know we'll be doing more elaborate pumpkins.

The end results. We went rather traditional on the Jack 'O Lanterns this year, but the Things had a great time, and I had pumpkin seeds to roast.

Pick-a, PIck-a Pumpkin

This morning, we braved the cold drizzle to get our pumpkins for Halloween. The Things were not dressed for the weather, so the pictures that include them show that they're not really happy campers. So, it was a quick trip, but I did get some pictures.

I have no idea why this pictures turned out so freakin' huge. However, I'm too lazy to fix them today. I'll see what Blogger has done to change their setting and adjust later.

Jolly Goode Tyme

We made our annual pilgrimage to the Carolina Renaissance Festival this weekend. We took a couple of added kiddos, the offspring of long-time friends who are going through some very difficult medical issues. The Contessa and Danielson are just young enough that I've forgotten somewhat it's like to have ones that need help eating/dressing/bathrooming/car-ride entertaining, so there was a small relearning curve of Necropolis and me. After that, the day, while long, went smoothly and a good time was had by all. I took the camera and got a lot of good shots.

Some of the more amusing and/or those with better composition: