Life is too short for crap.

 

That seems to be a recurring theme for me this year.

So much has happened. So many changes. So many issues. So many trips. So many people. So. much.

Some of it’s been great. A lot of it has been pure, unadulterated, crap.

Some of it was completely, totally, and unabashedly my own doing.

In some cases, there were accessories to the crimes crap.

Some of it was just life.

Regardless of the source, I’m tired of it. I need to get back to the good again.

I spent most of this last weekend sorting through closets and cupboards, clearing out crap we don’t need so we have room for the “good things” to come.

I have piles of stuff heading to consignment, co-workers, and thrift stores. Craigslist postings are up. I nearly finished my Christmas shopping so I could spend the rest of this month helping my mom as my dad continues to shuttle back and forth between hospital, rehab, and home. More importantly, I’m focusing on making great holiday memories with my kids.

And, I’m going to write more and write better.

Thanks to Mrs. Flinger, I’m giving myself an early gift this Christmas – a challenge. So, bear with me. Check back on Mondays for each challenge’s post. I’ll be doing my best to make it good.

I’m not dead. Really.

I just feel like it. The last month has been a total roller coaster ride through hell punctuated by a few moments of sweetness and delight.

In case you’ve been wondering what happened to me, I’ll give you some options to choose from. Some of them are quite true and some of them are…let’s say…a stretch.

1. My dad had…

• A heart attack.
• Congestive heart failure.
• Mild kidney failure.
• Three stents and a bypass.
• A baby.

2. He is now…

• In a rehab center.
• Driving my mom nuts.
• Undergoing physical therapy
• Wishing he could do all the things that got him in this trouble.
• Channeling his inner Benny Hill and chasing nurses about the ward.

3. Doodle is…

• Potty training.
• Having the most gag-a-riffic poop attacks in his two-year existence.
• Stubborn as ever.
• Waking me up at 5 a.m. by using me as a human trampoline.
• Sharing all of his toys, saying please and thank you and using the living room furniture as its makers intended.

4. I was in San Diego last weekend…

• Helping my professional association pass its new bylaws.
• Making inappropriate comments on Twitter regarding my navel.
• Hanging out with some great colleagues from across the country.
• Taking on more responsibility and leadership roles that I don’t have time to do as well as I’d like to.
• Picking up a nasty batch of the flu.
• Collecting hotel toiletry samples to restock my personal stash.

5. I missed my industry awards dinner last night because…

• I didn’t win.
• I didn’t enter.
• I was sick with the flu.
• I couldn’t find a sitter.
• I was stalking Duff Goldman from Ace of Cakes.

6. My Parents Connect Potty Training Project gig…

• Has been going stunningly well.
• Has led to a stellar increase in the stock price of M&Ms and carpet cleaners.
• Has led to hundred of children being potty trained overnight.
• Has brought an odd little potty training doll to my house, which will be reviewed later.

7. I’ve only been at work one day this week because…

• I was looking for a rehab center for my dad.
• I was getting dad settled in previously mentioned rehab center.
• I was celebrating the sacrifices of our veterans by taking the kids to the park and the bread store.
• I was coming down with the flu.
• I was hit with the flu like a soap opera bitch slap.

8. This weekend, I will

• Put my brother on a plane back home to his family.
• Become a referee.
• Attempt to mask my flu symptoms and take the kids to a birthday party.
• Dread the jury duty that awaits me on Monday.
• Escape though a tunnel I have dug between my house and Mexico with a plastic spoon.

Thanks to those of you who have reached out to make sure I was okay. It’s good to know you’re missed. I really am okay and I’ll get back here soon. I promise.

 

Up and down.

Today is Dad’s 18th day in the ICU.

Every day I am amazed that he’s come this far.

I am so thankful for every day he’s here and so sad for every day I took for granted, for every day he took for granted.

Yes, there are fewer wires, fewer tubes and fewer needle sticks, but there is a very long road ahead of him.

I am learning to stop judging his progress hour by hour. The roller coaster is too much for me.

I’m trying to look at things day by day. And from that view, some days are better than others and in different ways….

He’s off the heart pump (hooray!)

His face is sunken, drawn and his skin is grey (panic).

He’s off the insulin pump and they’re going long-acting insulin injections (yippee!).

His Friday night cage match with a nurse got him an injection of Haldol and hard restraints (crap).

He knows who the president is (yea!), but doesn’t have the “sensitivity filter” on enough to realize that making a KKK joke is really inappropriate (stomach twist).

He looks better today and has been sitting up and even ate most of his lunch (halelujah!).

He doesn’t know what city he is in, remember that he’s in a hospital, or why he’s here (ugh.)

He knows I’m his daughter, but thinks I’m my sister (I know there’s a redneck inbreeding joke somewhere in there that is ripe to be cracked and that Dad would really appreciate it).

The path forward is really up to him at this point. He has breathing treatments and exercises to do. He needs to be moving more. He needs to want to get out of here. But if he doesn’t know where he is, how is he supposed to get out of it? We’re trying to pull him out of a downward spiral with cement snowshoes on.

So, for now, we hope, we push, cajole, prod, and remind. We have the TV on all the time so he remembers there’s a world out there he needs to get back into. We give him lots of tough love and hand holding.

Damn this is hard.

My life is becoming the Scipps Spelling Bee from Hell

Me: Boo, have you finished your homework?

Boo: N-O.

Me: Go finish your homework.

Boo: N-O.

Me: Y-E-S.

Boo: N-O.

Me: No TV or computer until you finish your homework. Get it done and you can move on.

Boo: Fine. I need the P-U-R-P-L-E crayon.

Me: Can you say please?

Boo: N-O.

Me: Boo, don’t be rude. I’m not your servant. Say please.

Boo: I can’t.

Me: Why?

Boo: I don’t know how to spell it.

Me: P-L-E-A-S-E.

Boo: Give me the P-U-R-P-L-E crayon.

Me: What happened the the “please”?

Boo: I don’t have to. You already did it.

Me: Ugh.

Boo: How do you spell that?

My happy places

This weekend was a big bundle of suckitude.

My dad is in the ICU.

My siblings aren’t here and I don’t know whether to summon them to his bedside for a final goodbye or if I should let them remember him as they last saw him. Happier. Healthier.

I had to leave SITScation after the first hour. (At least I managed to get the goody bag. The chips were a blessing Friday night.)

I tweeted, plurked and Facebooked my way through the weekend. Reaching out to friends, classmates and acquaintances for support and prayers.

And they came out.

In droves.

I cannot tell you how touched I was every time a direct message, tweet or reply came though. Offers for coffee, babysitting, and food delivery were awesome.

And in the wee hours of the night, I was not alone.

I could see the light. The laughter. The silliness. The joy that makes it all worth the pain and suckiness.

Thank you all for being a part of my life. You are my happy place.