Almost 50 ... Finances

I just turned 49. It's not really a big deal for me. I'm actually not upset about almost being 50 but it has highlighted a few things that could be better in my life.

My first focus ... FINANCES

My finances are out of control. I make a good salary but I have a lot of credit card debt. I owe over $35,000 in credit card debt, by myself. Hubs has his own debt.

Don't misunderstand. I haven't been doing everything wrong. 

I put money away in a Christmas Club account each payday. My kid's birthday is at the beginning of December to I use the money for her birthday present, for her birthday party, to pay off her dance classes, for Christmas presents, and then for something for me. It's money I don't miss because I do it every payday. So far this year, with my Christmas Club money, I have paid off the kid's dance company fees, dance class, and, hopefully, her costume fees.

I max out my contribution to my 401K to the level my employer will match. This means that 6% of my salary is moved to 401K. At 49, I have $150,000 in my 401K which isn't much in the long term but, once my cards are paid off, I will start and IRA.

I take advantage of our Healthcare Flexible Savings Account (HFSA). This is different from a Health Savings Account (HSA) in that I don't need a high deductible medical plan. I use this for everything from co-pays to sunscreen. It keeps me from having to fork over cash for a doctor's appointment.

I have moved all of the automated payments that were going to my credit cards. They are now being paid out of my checking account so that is one less worry.

Now to the credit cards ...

Hubs and I separated checking accounts and credit cards 7 years ago. I still can't believe it's been that long. Hubs is a gambler. I am a shopper. They didn't mix very well. I blamed him for not having any money in the checking account. He blamed me for our credit card balances being so high. It was a rough go at first but it has worked out over time.

Well, I have worked on paying off my cards and then I started charging them up again and back and forth it went. Well, looking at the fact that my kid will be out of high school in 6 years and retirement is less than 20 years away, I realized I couldn't keep this up if I thought I would be able to retire at any point in my lifetime.

I have developed a plan for paying them off. At maximum, I will be paid off by the end of 2019. That is so much better than I expected. $1800 a month to pay them off. 

I am horrible about getting the money out of my checking account. I don't spend it but I don't send it out either. To combat that character flaw, I have set up automatic payments from my checking account to send half of the monthly payment every paycheck. Since I get paid every other week, I will also be able to send an extra payment each year. It's not much but it's something. Plus, any additional money I can bring in will go straight to the cards.

I filed our taxes late this year after an extension. I am waiting on the federal refund to come in so I can pay off Credit Card #1, a department store card. That should be paid off this month.

The day after Thanksgiving, my employer gives us a bonus. It is usually around the amount of one paycheck. That will get turned around to pay off Credit Card #2. I expect Credit Card #2 to be paid off by Summer 2017.

The problem is that I have this plan and I know how long all of this will take and, yet, I can't stand that it is going to take as long. I have always paid off my loans a little bit early because I get tired of making that payment. Once I have a plan, I like to run full speed ahead and this is more like a really slow crawl. I update my Quicken files multiple times during the day in hopes of something miraculously showing up. It hasn't so far. Boo! 

I am looking for any opportunities to make extra cash in hopes of paying my debt off sooner. I am trying to teach myself web and mobile programming languages so I can do freelance work. I have applied for a couple of legitimate work-from-home positions and hope that I am selected for one. I already work 40+ hours a week but Economics 101 says I need to either reduce spending or increase income. I am trying to do both.

This is the first change I am making in my life. There are more to come. Stay tuned.

The Immortal Parent - Summer 2010

My dad is 85.

What does that mean? It means he’s old and I’m trying to come to terms with it. While he has some health concerns, he’s not sick at all. He’s one of the healthiest 85 year olds you’ll meet. He is starting to ACT old.

My dad has always been a very young-at-heart man. He was 42 when I was born (yes, that means I’m 43 … or at least almost) but you’d never guess it. One of my most vivid memories of my dad acting young was when I was around 7. He had an ice fight with me and my cousins at our family picnic. I can still see him running around like it was one of us kids, putting ice down our backs.

He’s never been one to sit down for too long. When I was little, he worked full-time at his electrical engineering job, worked part-time as an apartment maintenance man and completed his degree all at the same time. He didn’t have his rebooting moments but he was mostly moving. And when he had his back problems, he would lie on the floor to watch TV or read his paper.

Woodworking was his hobby. He didn’t get to do it as much as he wanted when I was younger but he’d do a couple projects a year. He built my sister and I a pantry cabinet and refrigerator for us to play with when we were smaller. He built our toybox, which was big enough for us to hide in. He built tables and bookshelves for our bedroom and even built in a dresser with a desk in between the two sides on one side of our room. He inserted our microwave into the wall to get it off the counter. He used part of the closet in the spare room to built a utility closet in the hallway for mom’s vacuum cleaner and cleaning supplies. He made a picnic table for my mom. He finished our basement, including a bedroom for me. After us kids moved out, he stepped it up. He used an out-of-the-way corner of their family room that was probably originally designed to stack firewood for the fireplace to build a TV stand. He extended the small, stone mantel of their fireplace by building a wooden mantel that just slipped right over the stone one. And these are just the things I can remember!

When I moved out, he looked at my apartment and decided I needed tall bookshelves because I didn’t have much floor space. He built a microwave shelf for me. He built a pantry cabinet for my sister.

After he retired, he first finished his family tree that he had printed into a book and sold all of the copies of the two printings he did. Once he was done with that, he started his woodworking hobby again. He worked with my sister to build a wine cabinet as a gift for her husband. He built a dresser for my niece and nephew. He built curio cabinets for my sister and I. He built a CD cabinet for me.

When the projects were done, he took another maintenance job for a retirement community. But maintenance was not like it had been 20 years earlier. He was now on pager all the time. He grew tired of being on pager and having to plan his life around the pager so he retired again and became an ‘M.D.’ – Maintenance Doctor. He got one client that he helped with projects around the house and she passed his name on to friends and so on. It kept him busy but he could have a life too.

The last year has been hard for my dad.

• In May 2009, his sister-in-law passed away. His brother had already passed away a few years back.
• In June 2009, his oldest brother passed away.
• In July 2009, a mentally-retarded (is that still the politically correct term???) cousin he visited passed away.
• In September 2009, his aunt died at 103.
• In October 2009, his youngest brother passed away.
• In February 2010, he faced his own mortality with the news that he has an aortic aneurysm but the doctors were not concerned about it because he is in such fantastic health. They told him to come back in 5 years.
• In March 2010, Mom fell and dislocated her shoulder. She was very dependent on him for the next month.
• And, just as he was getting over all of that, in June 2010, his only sister passed away. She was buried exactly one year to the day that their oldest brother died.

He is the last living member of his family and he feels like he is a ticking time bomb.

Since I moved out of the house, he has talked about getting my mom moved near one of the family before he dies so that she would have someone if she needed help. This kept getting put off because of the proximity to the airport for my sister and family to come in or for them to hop on a plane, for the proximity to the highway for me to come up and for the size of their house to accommodate the grandkids. After the aneurysm was discovered and Mom injured her shoulder, the plans were kicked into high gear … from dad’s perspective. Mom’s not so sure about it. She says she’s not ready to move.

He’s had more than one realtor walk through the house and give opinions of what should be done. He’s been downsizing everything … burning VHS tapes to DVDs because they take up less room, giving things away, and throwing things away.

The true measure of what Dad is feeling was the fact that he sold the bulk of his tools at the garage sale they had this past weekend. Mom said it was very sad to see the tools go because it really was a major indicator that dad was getting older and slowing down and that they were actually going to be moving. He told her that his heart was still in the hobby he’s always escaped to in the past but his body wasn’t up to the challenge anymore. That makes me sad too.

It’s so easy and so nice to live in the oblivion of the immortal parent or the immortal spouse or the immortal child. But, we, they, are not immortal so why do we do that? I have decided that we do it as self-preservation. If we did nothing but worry about the end, we’d get depressed and never enjoy the ‘during’.

Then reality comes around, slaps you in the face and makes you face the truth that everyone is mortal.

Reality … you’re a bitch. I hate you.

And so it goes ...

The test of the immortal parent continued in March. My not-quite-yet 65 year old mother tripped and fell as she was walking into the house. It was almost exactly 1 month after she got her Medicare card in the mail in preparation for her birthday in June (no, she could not use it yet).

My parents have an enclosed front porch and there is a step up to get in the first door. My mom apparently did not raise her foot quite high enough, got caught on the step and down she went. As she fell, she hit her head on a decorative sled that was leaning against the wall ... if it hadn't been there, she would have hit her head on the brick wall.

And there she sat. Bruised forehead. Bruised ego. Really sore shoulder.

She didn't get up right away and tried to yell for my dad ... which is a joke because we make fun of the fact that my dad doesn't hear anything unless you're looking right at him and say his name first. But she was so shook up that she couldn’t get much strength behind it. When dad finally realized that something was going on, he came to the front porch and offered to help her up. She declined because, by this point, she’d gotten over the shock of falling and was ready to do it on her own.

When she got up, she realized something was really wrong with her shoulder. She called one of the physicians she works for to ask which orthopedic surgeon she was going to want to be referred to out of the emergency room. He told her to have the ER doctor call him and they’d work it out.

After x-rays and a hands-on exam, mom was told she had dislocated her shoulder and that it looked like there was a probable fracture of the upper arm. She did as Dr. B requested and asked the ER doctor to call him. Mom's arm was placed back into her shoulder and she was given a discharge referral to Dr. K.

The next morning, mom called Dr. K’s office and explained what happened. They told her to come in for 10:30 and they’d get her in as soon as they could. She was seen at 10:45. Apparently Dr. B had Dr. K paged first thing that morning to make sure that mom could be seen quickly. Dr. K looked at her shoulder and the x-rays. She had fractured the top of her humerus where it sat in the rotator cuff. Dr. K didn’t think she needed surgery and gave her some exercises to do for the next two weeks.

Long story short (too late?), six weeks and a trip to Dixie later, mom’s arm is doing well and Dr. K doesn’t think he needs to see her anymore. My mom sent out an email to friends and family letting them her medical status. My sister’s response???

YAY!!!!

Now you can come back down and help redecorate the kid's bathroom!!   :)

I didn’t respond to tell her that I was in line before her. I figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Hero. I'm a hero?

I went to a spa party tonight (it's kind of like a Tupperware party but with skin care products). While I was there, the hostess started telling everyone how I am her hero because I've been doing super-couponing and saving all of this money.

This isn't the first time I've been told that I'm someone's hero for one thing or another and it started me wondering ... am I a hero?

My definition of a hero has always been someone that faces danger while everyone else is running away. For instance, the fire fighters and police officers that ran into the World Trade Center on 9/11, definitely heroes. The passengers on Flight 93 that crashed the plane into the Pennsylvania field, heroes. The photographer that grabbed the bank robber, hero.

But these comments got me thinking.

I know my daughter considers me one of her heroes. She always wants to emulate my actions which is a sign of flattery. But other grown ups have told me this.

I was called a hero this time because I have been figuring out how to play the couponing game. During the last 6-8 weeks, I have been learning all of the ins and outs of coupons and how to get the best deal without breaking the rules. I brought my grocery bill down from an average of $550/month to only $283 this month and I have personal products to last a while. Impressive but heroic??

I have also been called a hero because I have figured out how to provide real meals and food for my family in a very simple manner rather than ordering out all the time ... in addition to working full time and running all over the country taking my daughter to one thing or another six and sometimes 7 days a week. Again, impressive but heroic?

I wouldn't consider myself a hero. Heck, take one look at the mess around my house and you'd probably say the same thing. But, then again, maybe Superman's house isn't tidy and clean because he's always flying off to save Lois. Maybe Wonder Woman stops at Target every now and then to pick up a couple more articles of clothing on her way home from the latest Steve Trevor rescue because she hasn't had time to do laundry in, oh, a week or more. Yeah, that could explain it.

When I start thinking about my definition of hero, I realize that maybe I'm being a bit too narrow-minded and boxed up in my thinking. Could I possibly define hero as being a single parent who works more than one job to support the family and make sure there is food on the table and clothes on the backs of the children? Yeah, maybe.

So, how would what I'm doing be that much of a stretch from the heroic acts of a single parent who wants to avoid welfare? It probably wouldn't but I don't see myself as a hero. I still put in my hours at work followed by my hours at home. I make sure my daughter has breakfast and lunch to take with her in the morning. I make dinner 4 or more nights a week. I save money on the non-perishables so that I can spend the money necessary on the perishables that don't go on sale very often.

Hmmmmmm, OK, so, I'm a hero. What letter should I wear on my chest?

9 years ago ...

9 years ago, my life was very, very different.

9 years ago, I was pregnant with my son, Jeffrey.

9 years ago, my husband made me pretty much completely miserable during my entire pregnancy because he was no longer the center of my attention. He didn't talk to me for the first two months after we found out. It was so bad that I was ready to pack things up and walk away if he hadn't improved by the time my birthday rolled around. This was something I hadn't told anyone but my closest girlfriends at the time and I highly doubt they would have said anything to him about it. For my birthday, he bought me my maternity wardrobe so I thought he was finally coming around. He seemed to get a little excited for a while about the baby and, when we found out it was a boy, he was over the moon for a couple of weeks. But he was disappear more and more to go to the track at night. I would ask him to bring me ice cream so that he'd have to come home early. As the due date approached, he started really scaring me. During the last couple of weeks before I delivered, he talked of running the truck into a telephone pole and killing himself but making it look like an accident so that Jeffrey and I would have his insurance money. He was concerned that we weren't in the right place financially to have a baby. He also swore to himself that he'd never bring a baby home to an apartment and we were still in an apartment.

9 years ago, I came to conclusion that I might not be anywhere near my sister's league where my mom is concerned when I told my parents that I was pregnant and they looked like they wanted to crawl out of the restaurant and run away. I could see it in their eyes that they were not happy about what I'd just told them. They were so unhappy that they met us for dinner a second time to apologize. They brought me a quilt that was made for my mom when she was pregnant with me. As my mom would be sitting there holding the lifeless body of my son, she would apologize for not being more excited.

9 years ago ... At this very moment, I was staring at the TV not paying attention to what was on or what was being said.

9 years ago ... 9 years ago, I lost my baby boy. Tomorrow he would have been 9yrs old.

Jeffrey was my first and, as luck would have it, the pregnancy was generally normal. No major complications during the 42 weeks but there were some minor complications.

At 36wks, Jeffrey was still in a breach presentation. Since he had not yet begun to drop, the doctor did an external cephalic version (ECV) to turn him head down. That means that she and another doctor manipulated my abdomen by pushing on it and physically forced him to turn around so that he was head down. It was a rather uncomfortable couple of minutes but the only risk it really posed to me or the baby was the possibility of early delivery due to a ruptured placenta. I then had to wear this 12" Ace bandage type of gizmo, a.k.a. the girdle, around my abdomen to keep Jeffrey from flipping back around.

I also developed a rash that pregnant women get called PUPP (pruritic urticarial papules and plagues). PUPP occurs in about one in every 150 pregnancies and characterized as itchy, reddish, raised patches on the skin that will go away after delivery. It was one of the most uncomfortable periods I can ever remember. I would pretty much bathe in cocoa butter just to stop the itching. So I would slather on the cocoa butter, put on one of my husband's t-shirts, and put on my 'girdle' and I'd sleep sitting up on the couch. I don't remember why I was sleeping sitting up but my instinct tells me it was because I suffered from a great deal of heartburn during both of my pregnancies so that may have been the reason.

My due date was April 9. That day came and went and my Jeffrey had not made any move towards the exit. I was going to the doctor twice a week now and they were checking for various things but by feel as well as using their in-office ultrasound. Nothing concerned them so I felt completely at ease.

On April 19, I had a feeling that I can't really describe even today. The doctor scheduled me to be delivered on Tuesday, April 24. I would arrive that morning and begin the process. I don't know if it was the fact that I was just plain tired of being pregnant at this point or if I actually sensed something was wrong but I asked if there was any way we could do it sooner and he said he wanted to give the baby the chance to do it on his own. OK, there wasn't anything to be concerned about so we can wait.

On April 21, I was sitting on the floor when my son started to kick up a storm. I did the usual mom thing and complained to him about how hard he was kicking. I know now that was the moment he died because, although I continued to do the kick counts here and there, I really didn't feel him kick or move after that even though I felt something that made me think he was moving.

On April 23, I began to go into labor. Knowing that we had time so we went to breakfast and then called the doctor. Rather than make us wait, she had us come right in. By lunch on April 23, I knew my son was gone. I have never really liked my name but I absolutely hated hearing the doctor say it when she told me.

I laid there crying for the rest of the day. What else was I going to do? They gave me all of the drugs I needed so I wouldn't feel physical pain since there was no concern for the baby's health; however, they didn't give me enough drugs to dull the emotional pain.

On April 24, I woke up early enough to see the sun rise. I looked out the hospital window and noticed that the trees didn't have much in the way of leaves yet. I started crying right away and my husband woke up. He asked if anything hurt and I told him it was just my heart.

Jeffrey was delivered still on April 24, 2001 at 1:32pm after a 42wk gestation. He was 9 pounds 3 ounces and would have weighed more if he'd survived or if I'd realized what had happened earlier. He was delivered normally rather than c-section because, as the doctor explained to my husband, they didn't want to give me a physical scar in addition to the emotional ones. (My husband would tell me much later that he was glad they didn't do a c-section. At the time, though, he just wanted me to not be in so much pain.) The doctor said that the cord was wrapped tightly around his neck twice and he believed that was what killed him so we didn't do an autopsy.

My husband made the initial arrangements for the funeral home to pick up our baby. We would go back after I was out of the hospital to bring the clothes we'd packed to bring Jeffrey home. That is the outfit he was buried in. I also gave them a stuffed animal my sister had bought for him since we expected him to be with us for Easter just a couple weeks earlier. I didn't want him to be alone.

When I was released from the hospital, my husband took me to a park because I didn't want to go into the apartment. I noticed that in the couple of days that I was in the hospital, the leaves had come out on the trees. I have always felt the leaves were a sign of Jeffrey. (I also see a mourning dove and think of him but that's another post.)

This week has been exceptionally challenging because of all of the stuff in my post from yesterday plus my husband is out of town until early, early Sunday and there's changes happening at work. So, besides my daughter who would take excellent care of me if I were to break down in tears, I am alone this year for my son's birthday. It's a lot to take when you're already emotional. I also think the emotions have been overflowing because the Spring has been very warm this year and the leaves have been out for more than a week. Last year, I barely noticed the date until it was THE date. This year, I've been building up to it and the only reason I can think of is because of the damn leaves.

At least one good thing came out of the loss of Jeffrey. I found one of my very best friends. She lost her son on April 19 and we met on a bulletin board for grieving parents. Now, I know they say to be careful of people you meet online (and boy were they right! jk) but, after 9 years, she knows just about everything about me and there's not much I can't say to her. Love ya, Nik!

Tomorrow is Jeffrey's birthday. He would have been 9yrs old. Happy Birthday, Jeffrey. Momma loves you and misses you soooo much!

I'm being irrational, right?

My parents are planning on moving from Cheeseland to Dixie. The way they are talking, they are planning on doing this before next Winter because this last Winter was just too much for senior citizens.

Why Dixie? Because my sister lives there with her family. My mom will tell me that she really liked Dixie when we lived there for 11 months 30 years ago but I believe it has everything to do with the fact that my sister is there. I mean, they're considering buying a home in the same subdivision as my sister. How could I think anything else???

Why do I believe that? Because my mom and my sister have had this special bond their entire life. I am and always have been an outsider in their relationship. My relationship was with my dad who, as he's gotten older, has withdrawn more and more since he really can't hear anything. I have tried to build my relationship with my mom. We have gone to plays downtown. We have gone to the Wisconsin State Fair. We did the Breast Cancer Walk. We took my daughter to see a children's performance of Aladdin. We used to go to big craft sales. I have said she should let me know when she wanted to go outlet mall shopping but I never hear anything. She never calls me to do anything.

Why do I think I'm an outsider and not just the way my mom is? Because I can be sitting in the same room trying to participate in a conversation they're having and can't even get their attention.

Moms love all of their children equally, don't they? I have always wanted to believe this but I'm at the point that I'm realizing it may not be the case.

1. When I told my mom that I was pregnant with my son, there was almost no reaction from her. A couple weeks later, they met us for dinner to basically apologize for not reacting. When my mom was holding my son before the nurses took him away and I never saw him again, my mom apologized to him for not seeming very excited about him but that she really did love him.

2. My daughter was born a couple years later, 5 months after my nephew. My mom gave each of them a book called "At Grandmas". My mom wrote in my nephew's book "To the love of my life" and in my daughter's book "To the other love of my life". My daughter and my husband have never noticed this inscription. I did and it eats at me all the time. I tried to convince myself that it was because my nephew was the first live-born grandchild so he was more special ... then my niece was born.

3. When my nephew was younger, my sister and brother-in-law lived in Michigan. My mom and dad would make great efforts to get over there for long weekends. They would babysit, at my sister's house, for my nephew. I would get the same number of visits but they would be for 2 maybe 3 hours at a time. My mom would use the excuse that my dad was tired or they'd plan to drive out to Rockford to see my aunt. Then, mom didn't understand why my daughter wasn't as comfortable with them as my nephew was. Gee, Mom, maybe it's because you don't spend any real time with her and you never do anything with her. This has improved in the last few years. They have never babysat my DD in her own house where she's more comfortable; it's always at their house.

4. My sister moved to Dixie. They go down there 2 or 3 times a year for 4-5 day weekends. The last time they were at my house was in January because my sister was in town for work and they were going to dinner with us. (It has to be noted that this meant that they'd have to drive back to Cheeseland in the dark. Whenever they're visiting with my family, they've got to leave to get home before it gets dark.) Before that, it for my daughter's birthday in December and I had to beg them to hang around for more than just breakfast with us. Before that for her christening and I had to beg them to come down for more than just the mass. Otherwise, I go up there and sit in their family room and talk.

5. My niece was born. She's a sweetie but my mom talks like she is just the greatest thing since sliced bread. G can do no wrong as far as my mom is concerned. Actually, outside of my nephew's temper tantrums, neither of the kids can do any wrong. I do not know if she talks the same about my DD to my sister or not.

6. My parents' dog ripped up my bathroom door in September when I watched her and I tried to get them to come down for a day to replace it when my daughter was out of school so that I wouldn't have to take more time off of work. They were already going to Dixie to help my sister after she had surgery on her toe. They never tried to reschedule it with me and the door is still ripped up.

7. When my DH scheduled his golf trip, I tried to schedule a couple of days for them to come down and help me around the house with painting and electric repairs. They've done quite a bit of this work for my sister in all three of her houses. I have only asked a couple of times for this assistance. I asked a couple of months before he was leaving. In March, my mom dislocated her shoulder and broke her arm. They scheduled a trip to Dixie during the week that DH would be gone. I figured that it was just because my mom wouldn't be able to help me and that they had forgotten I was also wanting help with woodworking and electrics. I was trying to give my mom a hard time about going to extreme lengths to not help me with my painting. She made the comment "well, you always want to schedule it around when [DH] isn't going to be home." That really hit from out of nowhere.

DH is not the most friendly person and neither is my mom. So, I think they're both waiting for the other to make this huge, grandiose effort that will never come. I believe he has a bit of social anxiety and he really only opens up when he's had a few beers. My parents are not drinkers. My mom feels that DH doesn't want them here. DH never says anything of the sort and, in his way, tries to make them welcome by offering drinks, asking questions about stuff around the house, talking politics, talking sports.

Based on the recent comments about how DH doesn't seem to want them here, I have come to believe that my mom was not happy about DS because it would forever link me to DH. I have come to believe that my mom is not as happy about my DD because she is half DH.

Now, when they move to Dixie, based on the comments about DH, I am wondering if my parents will EVER travel to Flatland to see me. And, if they do, is it only going to be for a couple of hours after their flight lands? Am I going to have to do all of the traveling for my DD to see them? And how much is that going to cost me at a time when I'm trying to pay down my debt? Plus, right now, I don't get enough vacation time to make more than one trip a year. And how am I going to explain it to my DD, who now loves to go to Grandma's House, that Grandma and Papa have moved 900 miles away so we can only seem them once or twice a year but they live less than 5 miles from her cousins and they get to see them every day?

I'm being irrational, right?

This too shall pass

My cousin and his wife are having a baby. I am very happy for them. I have been invited to a baby shower for them on April 18.

They've been married for 4 years and have been trying since they got married to get pregnant. And they've been successful ... more than once. Unfortunately, his wife (would she officially be my cousin-in-law??) has a problem with uterine fibroids and she has miscarried each of her pregnancies.

This is the first time she's carried the baby past the first trimester. They've announced to the world that they are having a baby. They are due in July. They are having a boy. There is a baby shower this month because she may be on bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy. When this pregnancy is done, she will most likely have a hysterectomy so this really is their only chance to have a baby.

However, because of the fibroids, there is a chance that there may be something wrong with their son. My cousin doesn't want to know. His take on it is "and what are we going to do if there is something wrong with him?"

So, they are going through this pregnancy with the stress of knowing that their son may not be healthy, knowing that their son may not make it, knowing this is their last chance regardless of the outcome. I know the stress of two out of three of these stresses; although, there's always a chance the baby will not be healthy or that the baby may not make it. This is a reality that no one really talks about.

I wish I could be happier for them than I am. I am worried for them, of course, but that is not from where my hesitation comes. My hesitation comes in the name they have chosen for their son ... Jeffrey Edward. You see, that is the name of my son who was born on April 24. The anniversary of his birth will be just 6 short days after the shower.

It's such a simple, common name and, yet, the name brings up such emotion in me. They mean no malice. They probably don't even remember that this was the name of my son for they weren't married at the time we lost him. They may not even remember I have a son. They are simply naming their son after the grandfathers.

My cousin (his mom) is very upset about the name they have chosen and feels caught between a rock and a hard place. She can't ask them to change the name of their son and, yet, she remembers that this is the name of my son and worries about how I will react. I am grateful that someone remembers him. So often it feels like I am the only one that remembers him.

I wish I could say it doesn't bother me but it does. But, as with everything surrounding my Jeffrey, this too shall pass.

The Immortal Parent (Epilogue)

My dad does have an aortic aneurysm. It is 3.7cm in size and not big enough to operate on. Because my dad is in good health and does not have high blood pressure, the doctor doesn't want to see him about the aneurysm for another 5 years at which time they'll measure it again.

The Immortal Parent

Reality has come to Flatland. My parents are mortal ... or, at least my dad is mortal.

This week we were delivered a crushing blow ... 'they' think my 85 year old dad has an aortic aneurysm. The 'they' in the story is the Veterans Association. He uses them for the routine medical stuff to save money. Unfortunately, the wheels of the VA move about as quickly as the wheels of justice.

My dad went in December for a check up and they heard something with his heart and wanted x-rays to check it out. Well, it was right before Christmas and realizing he'd probably forget to go after the holidays, he went right upstairs and got them done.

Just as he figured, he forgot about them.

About 6 weeks later, he gets a call that they want to do a cat scan of his heart for more information. He asked when the results would be ready and was told later that week or early the following week. 10days later, he hadn't heard anything so he tried to call. The calling thing went on for a few days until he got ahold of one woman who said that if he didn't hear from Nurse Bitch #1 (OK, so the woman on the phone didn't actually call her that but I am) by noon the following day, he should call her and gave him her name and number. Well, Nurse Bitch #1, that he was told would give him his results, finally called but said that she couldn't give them to him and that he needed to talk to Nurse Bitch #2 (again, my name).

Frustrated, he went out to get the mail after hanging up and there was a letter from the VA telling him he had another test (probably an MRI) scheduled for Tuesday and an appointment with the Department of Cardiac Surgery on Thursday.

My dad, now freaked and furious, calls the VA again. He gets transferred all over (which only makes him angrier) and finally gets a guy who tells him "If I were you, I'd call the Dept of Cardiac Surgery and ask what you are being seen for." He does and finds out that he's being seen for a potential aortic aneurysm.

Now, these can be very dangerous. Depending on where and how large, they may be able to put a graft in or they may not even be able to operate. If it's small enough, they could decide to keep it monitored. My husband's uncle died of a ruptured aortic aneurysm while driving a few years back. On the other hand, a friend's dad has had one for 2 years that they're monitoring because it's small and not growing. The good news is that it was found before it ruptured because there are almost no symptoms with this ailment.

The kicker of the whole thing is that NO ONE has talked to him about it. NO ONE has told him what he should do until it is confirmed and/or treated. Should he take it easy? Should he just be lying down all the time? Should he be running a marathon? Should he be making sure his affairs are in order (which we already know they are)? He most probably has a ticking time bomb somewhere in his torso and no one from the "successful" social medicine experiment known as the VA has talked to him about it ... but they've set up appointments for him. In the two months now since the x-rays, he has shoveled snow, done his woodworking side business, exercised for the sake of his health, painted, tiled, and gotten the house ready for sale in the Fall. Could any of these things caused the aneurysm to rupture?

While I am overwhelmed by fear and anger and sadness, I can only imagine what he is feeling. I mean, my head knows that my parents are human and they're going to die someday. At 85, I should be happy for the many, many years I have had with my dad. But, down deep in my heart, in my gut, I secretly hope they're immortal and will live forever. This event has made me realize this. It is a bitter pill to swallow because I want more. I'm not ready to say goodbye but this has forced me to acknowledge the fact that I'm going to have to ... someday.

So, there you have it. My dad is mortal. My dad is human. I'm just desperately trying not to freak out about it.

Clean-Up Saturday

The first day of cleaning went pretty well.

The kid made a good first pass at cleaning her bedroom. I then worked with her and sorted through everything to get it put away.

My husband cleaned up the living room ... sorta. At least he cleaned up some of the living room. He left the table next to the laptop for me.

I spent the rest of the day working on cleaning out the kitchen and dining room. I took everything out of the china cabinet and wiped it down. I cleaned up the kid's desk, books, games. I cleaned up my pantry. I cleaned up my pot cabinet. I sorted through the things that were laying on the kitchen counter.

The hubby helped where he could. He even made the kid pick up her toys and put them away when she was done with them. Until now, that hasn't been something he's been willing to really enforce. Hopefully this trend continues.

I wish I could say I finished but I didn't. I worked from 10:00am - 6:00pm and didn't finish. My house is, was, truly a disaster. I haven't been real great at keeping it picked up for the last couple years and last month was even worse between being sick and Christmas. So, I made dinner, got the kid in for a bath, did a load of laundry, cleaned up the entryway and crashed. I did wake up in the middle of the night and cleaned off a bit of the microwave but that's about it.

I will now take the kid to breakfast, stop to pick up some organization needs, and come home to work on the house some more. I am shooting to have the house completely picked up by lunch so I can clean the floors, work on laundry and get ready to face the rat race tomorrow.

First Attempt

Well, my first announcement went over like a lead balloon. Hubby and the kid were all for Clean-up Saturday but, when I mentioned that it was not just Clean-up Saturday it was also Keep-It-Clean all the time, he seemed less than thrilled. I did it as though I had been talking to the kid and he didn't seem happy. I said that I had told her "We all live in this house and so we all need to take responsibility for what we do because it's frustrating to go to do something and have to do the clean-up from the last time it was done."

Shortly after that, he came out of the bedroom and asked what I was making. Since we haven't been shopping as a couple in, oh, two months, I had 2 hamburger patties and some Kraft Mac&Cheese. He wasn't happy with that for dinner so he went for a burrito ... 45min ago. The going out for something other than what I've made for dinner is one of his regular moves ... but it's not usually a 45min trip unless he's going gambling too. Schmuck!

This is going to be rough.

New Year's Resolutions

I have been very bad about my blogging. It's not something I think of first but it is something that I enjoy ... even if there's only one or two people reading what I'm writing.

So, I've decided to put my New Year's resolutions in writing and hopefully they will be paid more attention.

• Get my house picked up and kept picked up. This is not an easy thing for me because, as soon as I get the main living spaces picked up and cleaned, my husband and daughter come home. By the time we go to bed, the rooms are a disaster again. The kid is expected but the hubby does not help to keep things clean. He is the one that opens the junk mail and sets it on the table rather than throw it in the garbage. He empties the dishwasher and sets the Tupperware on the counter or dumps the pots and pans in the cabinet wherever they fit. So, to get my house clean and KEEP IT THAT WAY, I will need to begin to nag when things are not picked up or put away.
  
• Pay off my debt. As of today, I have to start using only cash for everything. I need to stop using my credit cards completely. If I don't have the cash, I don't buy it or do it. As I began to discuss in my blog posts, my husband is a gambler and has given very little thought to the household and whether we have enough money. His bottom line is, and has always been, that he wants the debt paid down but he doesn't (or at least didn't) recognize how much he was spending and felt that I had all of the adjustments to make to my spending. So, he wanted me to completely stop spending but he did not change his habits at all. I tried to make him understand how much money he was really burning through and took the same amount out of our checking account that he did. We had nothing in the account in no time. After many, many fights, I began to use his gambling to rationalize my shopping, entertainment, whatever else I want to charge because I was trying to make myself matter to my husband and make him realize that I earn my paycheck and should be able to spend money too. In September, we separated our checking account. I slowed way down on my spending because I no longer felt I had to 'keep up with the Joneses' with my spending. We now have my debt, our debt and his debt. Christmas changed my shopping habits back to pre-split habits so now I have to get back on track. My post-debt plan is to put money into a 529 for the kid to go to college (regardless of what my husband thinks about helping her with college. Yes, he thinks she should have to get through college like we did ... in debt. I would like to assist her so that she doesn't have to start her life in debt.) and actually update our home and stop treating it like an apartment. We need new flooring, a new kitchen, a completely revamped basement, a new washer, new living room furniture, landscaping, etc.
• As part of the pay off debt resolution, I will be going grocery shopping on Wednesday evenings. Our original agreement was that we would go shopping together and then split the grocery bill except that it's not important to him. Just like our bills, all that matters to him is that we have food in the house but he doesn't think about how it's going to get there. He doesn't want to make the effort to go regularly. He wants to go 'when we need something' but he doesn't realize that we pretty much always need something. The trips to the grocery store every few days costs us more because we pick up a lot more extraneous items and do not stick to the short list. So, I haven't been shopping except when I need something to send for the kid's lunch because I cannot afford to buy groceries on my own for the family. Now, I will give him the option of going with me or just reviewing the receipt and paying me half. Either way, he will pay half of our grocery bill and we will stop eating out.
  
• Get back on track with my weight loss. Now, that's not to say that I've gained anything back. Before a couple days of noshing for the new year, I was actually down .7lbs from where I was at my doctor's appointment in November. I will behave myself again and start going to the healthclub on Monday after work. I need to do this for me.
• Clear out my clutter. I realize this is similar to the clean my house but I have a lot of clutter that I set off to the side or in the spare room with the idea I'll deal with it later. I will ruthlessly go through that clutter and get rid of what I can. I will do this because I am teaching the kid some bad habits and she is having problems letting go of her toys. How can I expect something of her that I am not willing to do myself?
• Blog more.
  

So, there you have it. Those are my resolutions. I will blog about them and hopefully that will keep me on track. 2010 is going to be a growth year!

Wishing Flowers

My daughter came rushing in the other day all excited. When I got her settled down a little bit, I was able to understand what she was saying. She was excited because our yard was filled with 'wishing flowers.'

I looked out and I saw what she was talking about ...

When I saw it, I have to admit that my first thought was of all of the dandelions we were going to have because of these. But, her excitement soon won me over.

As she blew the dandelion seeds into the air, I hoped she'd never lose that innocence ... but sadly knew some day she would.

What do you see ... wishing flowers or dandelions?

Goodbye, Baby Girl; Hello, Big Girl

Well, it happened. The first day of big-girl school is finally here. The day I’ve been dreading. The day my baby girl becomes a big girl.

It started the way I remember my school days starting … with the parent getting frustrated with the child for not getting up. There are times when it is completely obvious that my daughter really is MY daughter. This was one of those times. I remember my dad even going so far as to pour water on me to get me out of bed when I was older. It is obvious that neither of us are morning people at all.

But, she finally got up and after 10min of lying on the couch, she got dressed by herself. I brushed her hair and put a school ribbon on it (the cult requires their ribbon be used if one is present). Then she looked at herself in the mirror. When she came out, I said “Oh, don’t you look cute!” She gave me a look that I have felt myself give people many times and shook her head no. I asked “You look like a big girl. Do you like it?” She shook her head yes (oh, how I long for rocks in the head to rattle when the head shakes). All of a sudden it hit me. “Are you saying you’re not cute, you’re a big girl?” “Unh-hunh.” *SOB* I had to give her a hug so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

Then it was breakfast. She wanted French toast but I didn’t have any frozen stuff and I wasn’t sure we’d have time for me to make it. I convinced her to have Eggs a la Momma (eggs scrambled with cheese and milk) instead. She ate like a champ, brushed her teeth and we were off.

Oops, we have to take the umbrellas because it’s raining cats and dogs. Oh, wait, stop at the top of the stairs, honey. Mommy needs to take a picture. Snap the shot in the rain. NOW we’re off.

I had to make a couple of stops before we got to school. We ran to Walgreens to buy the 5mg tablets of Zyrtec so the school wouldn’t have to break them if there was an allergic reaction on their watch. Then we stopped at my office to make copies of all of the forms from school. I learned my lesson with her daycare about making copies of the forms. Never assume the school is going to actually file what they need in the right place … or at all.

On our way to school, I give the Mommy Lecture. Be good. Listen to your teacher. If you need help, ask.

We get to school and run in. I’ve got 5 minutes until school starts but, wait, does Kindergarten start early? I don’t know so I give her a quick hug and kiss in the hall. “Love you.” “Love you.” When we get to her room, all of the kids are seated in their chairs already. Whew! At least there won’t be a crying scene from either of us. She won’t be happy that I didn’t say goodbye again since she’s very much into saying goodbye and I Love you but it’s for the best today. I am not happy that I didn’t get to hear ‘I love you, mommy’ that one last time but, again, it’s for the best today.

I push her in and run to the office to give them her allergy medicine and the giant stack of paperwork. As I’m talking with the lady in the office about her allergies, Faith’s cousin walks by and rubs my back. I give her the ‘wait’ finger and finish talking to the office lady. I turn around and she’s got tears in her eyes from leaving her little boy in Kindergarten. He apparently told her he’d miss her and it just got her. Seeing her made me very sad because I hadn’t let myself think about it or feel it for fear of exposing too much and making my daughter upset. I got teary. On the way to work, I cried a little thinking about how she was a big kid now and how I had just another 13yrs before she’d be out on her own. 13yrs. It seems like so much and, yet, so little all at the same time.

It’s amazing how little it takes to knock down that wall mothers build so the kids won’t see how much we are going to miss them during the day and how much we are going to miss the little kids they will never be again.

Endings and Beginnings

So, I have this whole post about cheese, Cheeseland and Cheesehead ready to go except that I stopped to find a picture of cheese and never got back to it. I thought it would be appropriate for my first post on this blog considering the name but it will have to wait. I have a major life event going on in my household right now.

As of today, my daughter is done with daycare. We have had the good fortune of being able to keep our daughter in the same daycare she started at when she was 8 weeks old. This has not been without its ups and downs. God knows there were times I wanted to yank her out of there as quickly as I could but I stuck with it because she loved it there and that's where her friends are.

So, because of this, she has been dreading today. She would get upset and cry about it last month. To help her through the last day, I told her we would have a pool party the day after she was done but the weather isn't cooperating and it's only going to be a high of 74 tomorrow which is not nearly warm enough to go swimming. I needed another plan.

Last night, she and I went to the dollar store and bought a bunch of party favors, some brown paper lunch bags, and some stickers. She decorated the lunch bags with the stickers and I filled them with those odd little toys the kids get at parties and some candies ... Tootsie Rolls, Tootsie Roll Pops, and the best, all-sugar candy of all time Pixie Sticks. I threw in a pencil and pencil sharpener for good measure. We also picked up a cake for the class. This way, hopefully, she will learn that the ending of something is not necessarily the end of everything and should be celebrated as an opportunity for a beginning. She won't get the concept of it at Age 5 but hopefully the idea will sink in a little bit.

Her crying about leaving daycare has kind of tapered off this month which may be due, in part, to the building excitement about the next step in her education ... KINDERGARTEN. We go to Kindergarten Orientation on Tuesday for an hour and her first full day of kindergarten will be Thursday. She'll be going to school with two of her cousins and this helps ease some of the anxiety about changing schools. We've been picking up her uniform pieces for her move into big kiddom and she's thrilled that she will be able to wear dresses most of the time. I have told her that as long as her uniform doesn't get stained, I will let her wear it as much as possible. If the two jumpers I've bought get stained, she will need to wear pants. Hopefully that will cause her to be a bit more careful.

My hubby just emailed and said he got a little choked up when the kid said goodbye to the teacher that sits by the front door in the morning to collect the children from the parents as they rush to their jobs. Marina was the first teacher we saw the first day we brought the kid to daycare. (The picture is from the end of our first day at daycare and back at work.) She followed us into the Infant Room and told us that she would take the baby. She looked like any other parent that might be walking into the daycare. She wasn't the teacher we'd been told would be taking the baby from us and I had never met her before. I looked at her and said "I'm sure you can but, unfortunately, I don't know who you are and I'm not just handing over my child to you. I'm sure you understand." Things have changed since then (there are only 3 of the staff there now that were there when the kid first arrived) and she is a very trusted adult. She has to be to take responsibility for our child, right?

I'm so glad that hubby takes the kid to daycare. I would have been crying when the kid said goodbye to Marina. My baby isn't a baby anymore ... :(