Crazy Is Hard

These past few weeks have really been interesting where Corey is concerned. The people who took him in allowed him to stay until yesterday afternoon. In the meantime, he had to do yard work and stay off the computer and phone most of the time. In exchange, they bought him a one way bus ticket to the continental US destination of his choice.

They would have provided a ticket to Vancouver, but those pesky immigration laws and the fees associated with minimal documentation made that a nonstarter. No more than 11 hours later Corey had selected a new location, North Carolina.

I know, I know, you have questions and I have answers.

A girl.

Her name is Audrey, but she goes by Audie.

19.

WalMart, and she might be able to get him a job there, too.

They've been together for a while now.

Oh, in Vancouver? That was just a friend.

Audie lives with her parents who, while apparently relieved to be in on the plans are not participating in them any more than we are. So, no. Corey will not be living with them. I mean, she has been thinking about getting her own place. In the meantime, she has provided Corey with a list of shelters where he can stay at night.

Taking the I should be on serious meds to be able to see the bright side like this positive outlook, I am trying to view this as an adventure. It could be awesome.

Tom and I met online. It was one of the best things to ever happen in my life. No reason to believe Corey can't have that same good luck.

Yes, yes, the games I play with myself. I know.

I spent about an hour with Corey this afternoon. We picked up his ticket and went to lunch. He was feeling the weight of his decision and remarked a couple times that it was crazy.

Yes, it is. But if I had to choose between having one of my children making the choice between moving across the country for a chance to start fresh or stagnating at home, I would choose crazy every time.

On the other hand...

He just exchanged couch hopping in southern California for shelters in North Carolina.

He does not have Audie's address, just her phone number. What good is the address if he can't stay there and she lives outside of town anyway, right?

I wonder if the people Corey is about to encounter will ever understand him. My kid packed almost all of his belongings into two bags, a backpack and a satchel.

Yeah, a satchel.

And the almost? Well, he left a knife with me that he's asked me to ship to him when he gets settled. Corey practically taught a class as he talked about the details of the knife that he "bought with his own money." (There were so many questions I could have asked about the source of his own money, but he has already admitted to my mom that he stole repeatedly from her.)

When he arrives in Audie's hometown, will she answer her phone? Will she really come and pick him up? And take him where?

Today I hugged my son three times.

I told him I love him and he said the same.

He said, "I'm going to be alright, Mom. But you have to be alright, too."

And I said I will.

And I will.

I just have to get past the part where the thought, I may never see my son again, makes me wince with an unidentifiable soreness as my eyes flood with tears and my throat tightens so much it hurts and I have to open my mouth to get air.

And I have to figure out a way to explain to Madelyn that Corey has moved away. That he would did not come to tell her goodbye, and that she won't be seeing him. Some day Fynnie will understand this, too. She might now. I guess we'll be finding out.

Just not tonight.

Something Awful

Isn't that a strange phrase?  How does it translate into "a lot" or "with a passion"?

Why don't people realize that's what I mean when I say things like, "I love to sing something awful"?

Maybe they've heard me sing.

I love to sing.  I have always loved to sing.

In fifth or sixth grade I tried out for the Tri-Cities Choir (those three cities were Ontario, Montclair and... I'm not sure what the third city was, but clearly this was only a big deal to the people applying).  I don't recall what song I sang.  I do remember standing next to the upright piano, singing my heart out and wondering what it was going to be like as a member of this choir.  I mean, I breezed right into my school's choir which was an awesome way to get out of class proved how talented I was.

Fast forward maybe 15 years when I was saving my mom from being featured on Hoarders decluttering my mom's apartment in advance of a move.  She pulled out this file that she'd kept with my accomplishments.  Dozens of (participant) ribbons from all those years I spent competing (without advancing) in gymnastics.  (Motivational) Certificates for doing things (like attending) in school (without faking sick because Luke and Laura were trapped on an island).  What else did I find?  The rejection letter from the Tri-Cities Choir.  Suddenly I recalled how the bearded, corduroy wearing man wrote on a little scrap of paper, "F flat."  Only his "flat" was underlined three times.

When Corey was a baby I would sing to him to help him sleep.  When he was maybe 18 months old I noticed that he was increasingly distressed at bedtime.  One night it finally came out.

"Hush little baby, don't say a wor..."

*sobbing*  "No song!"

"Hmm hm-hm hm-hmm..."

*bawling with tears shooting out of his eyes*  "No hmm-hmm!"

As I've aged, it seems to me that I can now occasionally hit keys.  Madelyn has enjoyed having me sing to her.  But I guess that's changing.  She's three now and more discriminating than when she was two.

This evening as we were driving home, we talked and sang.  Sometimes we talked in sing-songy voices.  She finished my sentences.

"I cannot..."

"... sing!"

*sigh*  At least we know she's got taste.

How Are You?

I'm sterile!


Very funny to Tom and I.  No one else seemed to laugh nearly as much as we did at the surgery center today.


Everything went very well.  I love my OB (and yet I'm still glad he never delivered my girls... go figure).  Love that he spent about five minutes chatting with us about Chicago and the ratio of Jews to non-Jews in his last two years of medical school (71/1 both years... one year there was an Italian and the next year there was a Chinese man... oh, and one brave, but odd woman in his graduating class way back in the day).


Found it odd that I now have high quality before and after shots of my tubes, as well as the bonus shots of my ovaries.  I was very impressed at how "clean" everything was, for some reason (drugs).


A bit disappointed that my request for a complimentary boob job was declined.  Ah well, winter's coming and maybe I'll appreciate my armpit warmers more over the next several months.


I was surprised by how much pain I was in when I became aware that I was waking up.  Apparently I'd already assessed my pain at a nine in the half hour before that.  It was "only" a 6-8 from when I remember.  (For context, when I was in labor with Madelyn and stuck at 8+ for over three hours, I was also at an "8" on the pain scale.)


I'm grateful my dad and Margaret live so close to my doctor and the surgery center (at the same hospital where I delivered my girls).  We'd planned on getting out of surgery, getting a bite to eat, grabbing the girls and being home by Mad's nap.  Instead we went straight to my dad's, where I pumped (let someone else handle the act of dumping) and then slept for a few hours.  When I got up, I repeated the process.  We got home just before 7:00 this evening.


So I'm also grateful to my mom for hanging out with Corey (she spent the night last night and said she'd stay until we got home... we did have dinner with her before she left).  Then she offered to follow me up the stairs in case I fell.  Love her for that.  I'd totally take her out if that happened, but it was sweet.  And she offered to come back any time this weekend or Monday and Tuesday if I still need help getting around.  (However, this puts me in a bit of a pickle, because Margaret also offered once she found out about the surgery.)


I'm still in pain and still walking like it, but it's getting much better as the hours pass.  Totally expecting to be fine by Monday.  I've been pre-scolded not to overdo things by a few people, so that's well-covered.


Fynn and Mad had a great time with Grandma and Papa today, and I think Mad especially enjoyed having four of her favorite adults together, even if two of us couldn't maintain consciousness.  All in all, not a bad day.


My eyes, in case you are wondering, are burning, but I think it's just because I'm tired.

Good News All Around

This was started on Friday last week, but it sucked mightily.  Hopefully it sucks less now.  Either way, I haven't changed the time perspective.


The family seems to be well on the road to recovery from the stomach flu.  I managed to dodge the bullet.  And since I behaved like an anti-social germophobe at work for most of this week, I think I've managed to ensure I didn't pass it along.  (It was mostly not awkward, except the part where I told an employer who I barely know, "I'll love you from afar" instead of shaking his hand.)


Corey has managed to get into summer school.  The only thing that saved his tardy rear end (he turned in the form about two weeks ago; it was due May 7th) is that his school is even more behind than he is.  Summer school will be at a central location for the district.  His school submitted all of their applications Wednesday afternoon.  When I went to see if his name was on the list, it wasn't.  The receptionist heard which school he was from and sent me to a counselor.  She confirmed that she'd put him into one class and then made sure he got into the second one, too.  Corey needs to pass these two classes and then 14 more over the course of the next school year.  (This is based on the assumption that he only failed one class this past semester.)  At least he has a chance to graduate.


And the biggest news of all, my mother is... behaving normally (relatively... we're talking about my family here).  It's been years since she and I were able to have a conversation where I didn't either dominate or have to pull info from her.  I went to her house yesterday afternoon and we spent an hour talking, mostly about baby stuff.  I learned more about her pregnancies and labors with my brother and me.  We talked about how things are going with Fynn.  Yesterday she felt Fynn move for the first time.


I was trying to remember when things had changed between her and I.  Maybe it was the year my grandfather died.  She adored him.  The following year, so did my grandmother.  She loved her mom, but not like her dad.  I think that made it harder for her.  In between their passings, Tom and I got married.  She loves Tom.  He's like her dad, she says.  I'm not sure how, since she always called Grandpa "Mr. Fix-it," and Tom will be the first to proclaim his short list of handyman skills.


I have wondered if our marriage was the unintentional kink in the wire, but that seems unlikely.  I mean, maybe she felt pushed out of the loop, or lonely.  But she has been strange with my aunt, too.  My aunt has commented a couple of times lately about how my mom has initiated deeper conversations.


Part of me wonders if my mom is aware of some illness and just not telling us.  That would not be unlike her.  Or maybe she's just more aware of her own potential life span and has decided to get back to participating?  Whatever it is, I'm happy to feel a little closer to her again.


One of the things we talked about yesterday is the plan for Fynn's labor and delivery.  I told Tom that I'm not really sure I want my mom there this time.  Last time she stood against the wall the entire time.  When Madelyn was born and finally in my arms for those few short minutes, she didn't come over to say hello.  And then there were those months and months afterward when she didn't come around.  It was just pathetic that first Christmas, when I could look back and know that my mother-in-law, who lives 2500 miles away, had spent more time with Madelyn than my own mother, who lived less than five miles from us.


Oddly, she's made more of an effort since we've moved farther away, but visits have still been more uncomfortable than relaxed.  So having this open, almost breezy conversation was really something.  It completely changed what I said about Fynn being born.  I told her she's welcome to be there (I would never have said she was unwelcome).  If she and Corey feel like staying at her place and hanging out until things get close to delivery time, that's cool, too.

A Tribute

To Pat, Nancy's mother.  Thank you for creating this amazing human being.  My best friend.  Best friend to many.  Nancy had told me about some of the characteristics she got from her long-departed dad.  I think she may have alluded to her independence and strength coming from him.  That may be so, but she also got it from you, didn't she?


She has commented in years past about how you always call to make sure someone got home okay, "She's a worrier."  Yet she always wants to know when I arrive after a particularly long or weather-filled drive, doesn't she?


The way she orders a glass of ice water with extra ice?  Could that have been learned from her mom who liked everything cold?


There has been a lot for me to learn since meeting Nance.  She has tried to share her taught me grace, patience and wisdom.  I have learned a lot more in the past two years as she helped her husband with terminal leukemia.


Sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever know all of me.  I suppose not.  The woman I feel I know so well keeps revealing herself as we go through our lives together.


Just the other day I learned more about her by sitting with you as you were drowsing under the effects of morphine.  I learned of similarities and differences that I hadn't even considered before. 


The love does not surprise me.  I thank you for teaching her to love the way you have.


And I thank you for the small mercy of passing away while Nancy was not there.  Considerate to the end, you must have known she didn't feel strong enough.


Thank you for my best friend.

Thanks, Mom!

This has to be quick. I'm at Mom's house, using her computer because ours has gone from sick with at least 15 viruses (viri?) to anybody-know-the-Last-Rites? Well, it's not really dying as much as it doesn't matter that it's alive. I can turn it on, log in and watch it start to load for about 15 seconds before it logs me off again. "Windows" is not a recognized file. That's bad, right?

And how did we come to have such a meltdown while we're in escrow and can't spend an extra cent on anything otherwise how will we pay for the new appliances and blinds the house requires? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say my son was porn surfing... again. I'm not just saying that because he's my favorite scapegoat. I say that because the names of the infected files that brought the computer down (back when I thought it was still salvageable) pretty well spelled it out.

Last night Corey stayed here at Mom's house. He also got to come here for a few hours on Friday afternoon. My mom and I have had a standing rule that Corey can use her secondary computer... the one without Internet access while he's here. Makes sense, right?

Imagine my chagrin when I called this morning and asked what he was up to... he was playing his game on this computer. "It's okay. Grammy let's me."

Oh, hell no!

So I called her... she was already at church. She works there (for now, damned economy), and leaves Corey at home until the second service. Corey wasn't making it up. She does let him.

How many times have we talked about the need for him to be supervised if he's on this computer? Or if he's at work with her, because yes, my boy has stolen from the church. But it's as if those things are so far in the past as to not be of concern anymore.

With all the recent problems we've had... and they've been huge... you'd think she could truly be helpful, instead of trying to be his friend.

So I have appealed, yet again, to her desire for his well-being, and how that does not include porn surfing. As an extra measure, I pointed out the damage done to our computer and that she can't afford to have to repair this one again. Less than a month ago she had to get a new tower and all the bits that go into it. She had gotten a virus somehow. Anybody want to guess how?