Tag: life

A lump of intestinal fortitude

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Kiddo jumped out of bed this morning almost as if his body was as connected to the light switch as was the lamp. As I lifted him up to give him a hug I was hit once again by how long his legs have grown. With his eyes level with mine, his feet dangled only a foot or so above the floor. He grinned and hugged me back.

Kiddo came to my book launch with a flower in hand. He has seen my name on the cover and my picture in the back. Kiddo loves that mommy wrote a book. He wants to one day write one too. He knew that mom had been celebrating, but this morning wasn’t about mom. Today is Kiddo’s 7th birthday.

volcano birthday cake
I lava birthday cake

Even though this week we are celebrating big time in the Potts household, I am reminded of another birthday when things weren’t going quite our way.

I wasn’t sure I was ever going to post this, but here goes – sorry in advance mom.

It was the day of my nephew’s birthday party. Both of my boys were eager to join their cousin and several of his friends at a nearby indoor playground. Within seconds, my eldest was running in between the various bounce houses and jungle gyms, having adventures with kids. His brother, LT, on other hand, made no effort to join their games.

Instead, LT walked over to me with his arms outstretched, a wordless request to be picked up. Once in my arms he rested his head on my shoulder while the rest of the world partied around us. There are so many people out there who want their children to be special, but special isn’t always all it is cracked up to be.

It started back when the hubby and I noticed a large lump in LT’s lower left abdomen. We had detected a similar lump the year before and had rushed to radiology only to learn that the lump’s source was nothing more than a hardened brick of fecal matter. We were told how to treat it and after a few long days it eventually passed. It wasn’t the last time. He has a chronic condition, so when this new lump formed, we thought we knew how to make it better, only what worked before didn’t seem to completely do the trick.

His doctor told me in no uncertain terms that we weren’t working hard enough. Triple his dose (like a colon blow for kids). Eliminate potential food sources like dairy and bread (the only food he enjoys – natch). Increase his fluids and his level of activity. Don’t give him a choice in the matter (oh – that’s what I’ve been doing wrong all this time). “You have to brace yourself to go to war.”

He wasn’t kidding (perhaps he has met my son after all). It is a wonder we haven’t had a knock at our door from a concerned neighbor considering the frequent sounds of pain coming from the bathroom. Finally, just as I was beginning to wonder if we needed to schedule surgery, it happened – a major crack in the dam (just in time for the party). We were exhausted. LT, from the process, the rest of us from watching the tears stream down his face as he begged for it to stop all the while pretending it was anything other than completely heart-wrenching (you’re doing great honey!).

He cried when we returned to the restroom later that day. I fought back my own tears. But we got through it because we had to. Eventually, his cry tapered off and he looked at me and said, “I a brave boy?” I nodded and told him how proud I was of him. The next day was easier, as was the day after that.

I apologize to my mom who I know reads this blog, but I cannot think of any better way to say the following:

Shit happens. Shit hurts. Shit doesn’t always make sense.

It doesn’t matter if it is in the form of an earthquake, a riot, or the very literal variety. Shit makes us scared. Shit makes us angry. Shit makes us question everything, including our beliefs or our resolve.

And yet if we try to avoid it or ignore it, we grow weaker and when it hits (which it will) it is ten hundred times worse. There is a reason we refer to a courageous person as one who has intestinal fortitude. Adversity may make us cry, but we have to find a way to push through, to seek answers, make adjustments, or offer comfort where we can.  So that the next time it hits, we are braver, stronger, and faster to respond. That is the only way to ensure that next time, it too will pass.

I’m fixing a hole

by Allie P., posted in Indie book promotion, Life as I know it
Image courtesy of Wikipedia
Someone, please find me an iron torch and an epic hero. (Image courtesy of Wikipedia)

Getting your novel ready for its grand debut is like battling a hydra. You make one correction, only to then discover the need for three more. I had grown somewhat obsessed over the last few weeks, a condition that has only gotten worse the closer I got to my launch date (which is next week by the way). I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night worried that there might be some aspect of the reading experience I could still improve.

The boys were taking their bath. Knowing they were occupied for the moment, I decided to sneak away to process yet another last-minute update. They’ll barely notice I am gone. After Lamont caught me in the act, I felt the need to explain what I was up to, and why. He wisely refrained from rolling his eyes. We’ve probably only had this same conversation a half a dozen times over the last month (I have the slight tendency to worry something to death). I was turning to go back to the boys when I saw it – a stream of water coming from the kitchen ceiling. Yes, it was raining out, but my kitchen is on the first floor. Considering we hadn’t recently installed an indoor water feature, there could be only one source.

LT. The boy is currently obsessed with volcanos and waterfalls. He likes the look of thing cascading downward. Sand. A glass of milk. An entire roll of toilet paper. He’s not picky. I must have left a cup within his reach once again (whatever happened to those good old days before he was mobile). I flew up the stairs, stopping at the bathroom door. Sure enough, you could almost make out waves and tidal patterns in the amount of water that covered the tile floor. (I’m a tad surprised NOAA wasn’t already there). I had only been gone a couple of minutes. Five tops! It takes the boy twenty minutes to eat half of a peanut butter sandwich, but he can cause trouble with amazing efficiency.

Ahhhh, children – such bringers of joy and destroyers of all things expensive to replace.

I looked to his brother, who immediately volunteered, “It was LT” as he scurried down the hall. Kiddo is a survivor. He takes after his father.

LT, on the other hand, happily continued to splash, as unconcerned about the pulsing vein in my forehead as he was about the stream flowing downstairs. Scooping our little future delinquent volcanologist out of the water, Lamont and I sent him to bed without a story (the worst punishment this writer could think of at the time – I have since come up with several other things that I would have liked to have done), before we set out to clean up the mess. Several soaked towels later, it occurred to us that we would also have to address the moisture in the space between floors. (Finding mold would make this a horror story)

So in the words of Paul McCartney and John Lennon

“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go”

Bacon Apple Pie
My bacon apple pie: Warning – bacon has now been linked to cancer. Consider your day ruined.

As October closes, allow me to summarize. My coffee pot caught on fire, a mouse moved into my house, and there is now a gaping hole in my kitchen ceiling. Even so, I still love this time of year. The leaves are changing and autumn brews are back on the shelves along with other seasonal treats. Best of all, by writing this, I am now thinking of pie, Halloween, and Thanksgiving (but not Christmas – stay in December where you belong). I am finally not thinking about what else I could do to the book. It is time to stop worrying about the what ifs and get back to recognizing the what wills.

The water will dry, the mouse will take the bait, and I will enjoy some coffee. All the rest can wait.

I may have one tiny problem

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

All was quiet in the deep dark wood, a mouse saw a nut and . . .

What! A mouse! Jumps on ottoman.

I am not a morning person, so imagine my delight as I noticed a small dark shape run across my kitchen floor only to disappear behind the couch first thing Monday morning. This is not how I like my Adrenalin served. Admittedly it might not have been a mouse. I’d only caught a glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision, but I really wasn’t keen on validating that first impression with another sighting.

No problem is so big or so complicated that it can’t be run away from!
– Charles M. Schulz

Lamont assured me that he would take care of the problem as soon as the boys were safely at school. I went to work and attempted to settle my nerves, however, all I could think of was the witch from Hazel and Gretel. “Nibble, nibble, little mouths. Who is eating my house?” Yes, I would be the witch in this example. And sure, one could argue that she was asking for it when she made a whole house out of gingerbread and candy, but let’s not get side-tracked blaming the victim.

When Lamont arrived home, he brought a highly recommended trap, which he placed near where I thought I saw our little uninvited guest. A day passed. Then another. There has been no sign that the trap has been disturbed in any way.

Gaming Mouse
Image courtesy of Flickr

Now the paranoia is starting to set in. Each thump, bump, creak, or tap of the house settling is making my heart race. What was that?! Oh, just the neighbor kids playing kickball nextdoor. I hadn’t enjoyed my coffee yet that morning. Now I am starting to question myself. It was a Monday. Had I really seen anything at all? Or is the creature simply mocking me?

The whole incident has reminded me of a story I read a few years back about a rodent infestation on a massive scale. An estimated two billion rats were displaced as land was developed. Considering there has been only one unverified sighting in my house and I am freaking out, it is hard for me to imagine how someone could even start managing that kind of issue. I would likely be frozen in some combination of disgust and terror. So what did they do? Go with the knee-jerk reaction? Call in the national guard? Torch the countryside? Poison every potential food / water source? No – someone got creative.

Problems are only opportunities with thorns on them.
– Hugh Miller

The powers that be created a contest for the best recipe featuring, yep, you guessed it, rat. Some of the recipes proved to be quite popular, and soon area restaurants couldn’t pay the locals enough for the rats to keep up with market demand. In addition to eliminating the rat problem, the locals were paid handsomely and stomachs were filled. It was a surprisingly organic and elegant solution for what appeared to be an overwhelming problem.

It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes.
– Douglas Adams

However, I have no intention of trying out one of those recipes any time soon. Just because their solution worked for them, doesn’t mean it will work for me. The point is that by thinking creatively and trying something new, they were able to come up with a solution that not only solved their immediate problem, they were able to address two other issues that on the surface were unrelated.

Progress is obtained only by exploiting opportunities, not by solving problems. When you solve problems, all you do is guarantee a return to normalcy.
– Peter F. Drucker

The trap remains baited, but now I am seriously considering caving into Kiddo’s demand and bringing home a terrier, or at least borrowing the neighbors. I hear pets are good for reducing stress. In any event, I am open to any creative solutions (minus recipes).

Mouse catcher
Image courtesy of Flickr

I missed the red moon arising

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Sorry we missed you signSo apparently there was this whole blood moon, super moon, lunar eclipse thing, and I missed it. Not to worry, I will have another chance to see it again in (pulling out the calculator because I no longer do simple math in my head). 18 Years. (I mean I can, otherwise I might never escape the recurring hostage situation known as Kiddo’s homework time, I just prefer not to). That’s plenty of time for me to forget again.

I might have missed seeing the red moon rising, but I’ve noticed that things have been getting weird around my house ever since that event. For example, Lamont and I were getting ready for our second cup of coffee for the day when we heard an odd bubbling sound coming from the kitchen. The sound was coming from our trusted coffee maker and provider of wondrous mornings. The semi-full carafe was seated on its warming pad and I noticed a cloud as it coiled its way out of the machine and into the air. At first I thought it was steam. Only then did I get a whiff of burnt plastic and bad electronics. Lifting it up for better examination, I noticed the cloud was coming from the bottom of the machine where a metal plate read, “Do not submerge”

Yanking the cord out of the wall I presented the smouldering heap to Lamont. “The coffee maker is on fire,” I announced. I really wasn’t sure what to do at this point as I hadn’t yet drunk my second cup. (I am barely conversant in the morning. I definitely wasn’t prepared to problem solve.) Lamont turned on the faucet and started filling the sink. “But it says do not submerge,” I countered (this is why I married a ‘morning person.‘)

Evening came. Later. Much, much later, I was awoken by the sound of music playing in the house. At first I thought it was Lamont’s phone as it is not entirely unexpected that he might get a phone call in the wee hours of the morning due to his job, but the music continued well beyond a typical ringtone and Lamont wasn’t moving. Fine. First no coffee. Now no sleep. I hauled myself out of bed to investigate while Lamont pretended not to notice (and this one of the reasons why Lamont married a non-morning person).

Opening the bedroom door I was assaulted by They Might Be Giants blasting from across the hall. What in the world?! I opened Kiddo’s door. The clock display on his CD player was blinking. Not only had the alarm clock feature been enabled, someone (or something) had set it to trigger at a time long after midnight (ruling out a simple power outage reset). I glanced into the shadows of Kiddo’s bed. There he lay, sleeping as peacefully as if a minimum of 100db of alternative rock / children’s music wasn’t currently vibrating the room’s walls. At least I hoped he was sleeping.

As I located the off button, I noticed that Kiddo still hadn’t moved. I inched closer to his bed to determine whether he was either only pretending to still be asleep or if I needed to check his vital signs. I watched his chest rise and fall. At least he is alive, although if he was goofing around after lights out he might wish he wasn’t.

Sleep Wanted
Image Courtesy of Flickr

I returned to my bed with my imagination working overtime. Were aliens playing tricks on my family and testing our defenses? Did a being from an alternate dimension invade my home’s electrical grid during the eclipse? Has a poltergeist decided to get an early jump on the Halloween season? Are my beloved robotic overlords simply trying to modify my sleep cycle to make me a better me? (All hail, as they are just and know best).

I may not learn the answer anytime soon, and until then I may lay awake in self-induced paranoia, but one thing is for sure – Kiddo can sleep through anything. Note to self – ask him to guest write how he does it. But at least, I may have a few ideas for some short stories.

 

 

Gone but not forgotten

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

One of my favorite shows growing up was Jim Henson’s Fraggle Rock, and one of my favorite episodes in the series was an episode entitled Gone but Not Forgotten. In the episode, one of the Fraggles named Wembley meets a character named Mudwell, a Mudbunny. Mudbunnies are a solitary species which spend their entire lives preparing for their eventual end. They know their time has come when the mud is ready.

Being a Fraggle, a creature which lives entirely in the moment and the complete opposite of a Mudbunny, Wembley has a hard time at first accepting the reason why his new-found friend won’t join the other Fraggles and their fun community forever. Mudwell sings about the water cycle.

“One day it’s an ocean.
One day ice in motion.
One day it’s a tear drop in your eye.”

As he continues, it is clear he is singing about a completely different cycle –

“You’ve got to leave to stay.
We’ll meet again someday,
Just a dream away.”

It is a beautiful, moving episode about handling grief, how painful and awkward it is, and yet it is also an episode about connection, the cycle of life, and rebirth. Mudwell’s song stayed with me throughout the years and has only grown more poignant as I’ve gotten older.  I am especially reminded of it on weeks like this.

Our friend, Ashley passed away this week. Ashley was funny, caring, and nice, but never obnoxiously so. She enjoyed helping others and spending time with her family. In my mind’s eye, I still see her joining the group after a mud run, ridiculously filthy from head to toe, but always with a smile on her face and always looking like the definition of health.

I am conflicted.

I am angry. Cancer takes so many and took her too young. I am sick to my stomach thinking about those left behind. I am sad. I didn’t get to know her long enough. But I suspect if I asked her family, they would say there would never have been enough time. I am happy she is no longer suffering. I am working on accepting. We’ve known this time was coming.

I am grateful.

We are all here for only a moment but live on in the memories of others. Ashley, although we never spoke about it, you’ve inspired me to live each day fully and helped to keep my priorities in order. You had a bigger impact than you’ll ever know. You may be gone, but you are not forgotten. May you live long in memory.

Until we meet again.