but I'm still thankful.
Thankful to be feeling really, really good.
Thankful that I was able to be on the elliptical machine for 45 minutes yesterday and today and felt great. And don't worry, I DID NOT over do it!
Thankful for my kids. They are crazy and require a LOT of training these days. But I like them. I really really like them.
Thankful that my husband is an involved and hands on dad.
Thankful for a mother-in-law who gave up a week of her life to come and help me after surgery.
Thankful that although I miss her like crazy, my mom does not have to go through another holiday season suffering and wishing she could *feel up to stuff.*
Thankful that she gets to celebrate her birthday with Jesus this year (do you think we'll celebrate our birthdays anymore once we're in heaven? Probably not, but I like to imagine it anyhow.) It falls on Thanksgiving day this year. Hard for me... good for her!
Thankful for the car in front of me at Starbucks this morning who payed for my drink!
Thankful that diet cherry 7-UP is back on the shelves for the holiday season.
Thankful that Olivia decided, after two and a half years, to start wearing jeans again. She looks so dang cute.
Thankful that I got to have left over Chick-fil-A for lunch today.
Thankful that Glee is on tonight.
Thankful that American Girl sent us ANOTHER catalogue yesterday (right after I posted) so we can get rid of the other worn one. (Oh, wait, I'm not really thankful for that...)
Thankful for the IRONY of AG sending another catalogue the same day I posted about their devilish catalogues- because that is just hilarious!!
Thankful today for big and little things. How about you?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
What to count when sheep don't work?
Last night I woke up at 2:30 and could NOT fall back to sleep. I'm not a super great sleeper to begin with. But then I found I had a lot on my mind.
Dumb stuff, really. But stuff nonetheless. I tossed. I turned. I seriously counted sheep. But I found that my sheep were on a conveyor belt (true story) and were passing too quickly for me to count. I tried imagining them jumping off the conveyor belt... but I couldn't get them off. I sense I have bigger issues than insomnia!
One of the things I worried about was the fact that Thanksgiving is NEXT WEEK. Hello. The surgery and being in bed and barfing and stuff like that kinda allowed that fact to sneak up on me. And there are plenty of holiday details that have fallen through the cracks. Because, let's face it, husbands are great for raking leaves, plunging toilets and getting oil changes, but holidays would no longer be celebrated if women suddenly vanished. I spent nearly 45 minutes on what would happen if the kennel was already full. (Our kennel is incredibly popular and we've been shut out a few times in the past!)
Another chunk of time was spent fretting over what to do for the actual dinner. We are going up to my dad's and now that he is in a small one bedroom apartment, there isn't heaps of room for cooking a turkey dinner; or even catering one in. And who wants to plan and orchastrate a meal in someone else's kitchen anyway? Our plan is to make a reservation at a nice nearby hotel that has a lovely buffet. But I forgot to call and make reservations yesterday. So at 3:30 am, I was convinced all reservations were gobbled (I hear your groans at my bad pun from here, don't think I can't!) up. What then?
I could not let the opportunity to obsess over the Christmas holiday pass me by either.
You see, Olivia received an American Girl Doll catalogue in the mail about 2 weeks ago. I have never seen a girl love a magazine more. She pours over that thing like its going away (which it *might* the next time it leaves her clutches.) She is in LOVE with Felicity... who of course, is being retired after this Christmas. (Why a doll gets retired is beyond me. I guess to give well meaning parents sleepless nights. Stupid capitalism.) But I've already told her that she can't have one until she's six. Because you need to P.R.O.V.E. to me that you are responsible enough and love dolls enough before I spend one hundred bones on a doll.
But the thing is, she hasn't bugged me. She hasn't whined or pouted. She just looks at her pathetically worn catalogue. Night and Day. And it actually makes me want to get one for her. But then I remember the hundred bones. And then I reconsidered. And then I thought, "But they are going to RETIRE her favorite one." And then I slapped myself and said, "Get a hold of yourself, woman! She'll totally be in love with something else by the time she's six."
And then the clock turned 5:15.
And then I fell asleep. And then the alarm went off at 6:35. And then I cussed.
** And just so YOU can rest tonight: There was ONE more opening at the kennel. I took it! I was able to make a reservation for the time we wanted at the buffet. Whew! And no, I still don't know what to do about the doll, but I'll keep you posted.
Dumb stuff, really. But stuff nonetheless. I tossed. I turned. I seriously counted sheep. But I found that my sheep were on a conveyor belt (true story) and were passing too quickly for me to count. I tried imagining them jumping off the conveyor belt... but I couldn't get them off. I sense I have bigger issues than insomnia!
One of the things I worried about was the fact that Thanksgiving is NEXT WEEK. Hello. The surgery and being in bed and barfing and stuff like that kinda allowed that fact to sneak up on me. And there are plenty of holiday details that have fallen through the cracks. Because, let's face it, husbands are great for raking leaves, plunging toilets and getting oil changes, but holidays would no longer be celebrated if women suddenly vanished. I spent nearly 45 minutes on what would happen if the kennel was already full. (Our kennel is incredibly popular and we've been shut out a few times in the past!)
Another chunk of time was spent fretting over what to do for the actual dinner. We are going up to my dad's and now that he is in a small one bedroom apartment, there isn't heaps of room for cooking a turkey dinner; or even catering one in. And who wants to plan and orchastrate a meal in someone else's kitchen anyway? Our plan is to make a reservation at a nice nearby hotel that has a lovely buffet. But I forgot to call and make reservations yesterday. So at 3:30 am, I was convinced all reservations were gobbled (I hear your groans at my bad pun from here, don't think I can't!) up. What then?
I could not let the opportunity to obsess over the Christmas holiday pass me by either.
You see, Olivia received an American Girl Doll catalogue in the mail about 2 weeks ago. I have never seen a girl love a magazine more. She pours over that thing like its going away (which it *might* the next time it leaves her clutches.) She is in LOVE with Felicity... who of course, is being retired after this Christmas. (Why a doll gets retired is beyond me. I guess to give well meaning parents sleepless nights. Stupid capitalism.) But I've already told her that she can't have one until she's six. Because you need to P.R.O.V.E. to me that you are responsible enough and love dolls enough before I spend one hundred bones on a doll.
But the thing is, she hasn't bugged me. She hasn't whined or pouted. She just looks at her pathetically worn catalogue. Night and Day. And it actually makes me want to get one for her. But then I remember the hundred bones. And then I reconsidered. And then I thought, "But they are going to RETIRE her favorite one." And then I slapped myself and said, "Get a hold of yourself, woman! She'll totally be in love with something else by the time she's six."
And then the clock turned 5:15.
And then I fell asleep. And then the alarm went off at 6:35. And then I cussed.
** And just so YOU can rest tonight: There was ONE more opening at the kennel. I took it! I was able to make a reservation for the time we wanted at the buffet. Whew! And no, I still don't know what to do about the doll, but I'll keep you posted.
Friday, November 12, 2010
T.G.I Feel Good
Well, I had grand plans of blogging my way through my recovery. And then... I got the stomach flu. Let's just say, the past week of my life has been a rather humbling experience. And while it's not technically over yet (the recovery that is) I'm feel so much better. Rather than my leg feeling like there is a raging forest fire going on from my groin to my mid-inner thigh, I am left with only a loud and clamouring ache. And that my friends, is do-able. I have the flu to thank for that.
Because you see, up until Monday night I had barely ventured down the stairs. Because, DANG, hernia surgery sucks! But right before dinner on Monday (thanks to Steve's mom, who arrived Monday morning, I didn't have to prepare) I got really nauseous and could barely stand to see or smell food. I figured I was in with drawl (because I had taken myself off the Vicodin- you know... all 11 of them I had taken since last Thursday.) I took myself off them because they made me *nauseous.* Hmmm... good thing. So I went to bed at 6:30 Monday night and couldn't get warm. Couldn't get comfortable. My whole body ached. I figured I was definitely having with drawl, because after all, I've seen that one episode of Little House on the Prairie where Pa takes Albert away so that he can go through detox from the morphine he'd been on. I am an expert in most areas thanks to Laura Ingalls.
I got up Tuesday morning not exactly refreshed. I rolled down to the couch where Quinn rubbed my back for a while. Steve's mom went to pick Olivia up from school and I fought it hard. She got home and I ran upstairs (ok, so it was more of a hobble) so I could go throw up. And oh the agony of throwing up while trying not to rip the seams of my stitches. I know I couldn't have. But my insides would have argued you something fierce to the contrary.
I slept the rest of the day. Which was a real bummer since my friend Jean brought us dinner... she's a really good cook. I got to have the left overs the next day, but it's never the same. I did manage to keep down a Popsicle. Red since I know you're wondering.
By Wednesday I was ready to get the heck out of the house. We took the kids to the mall where Olivia picked out her first pair of jeans in over 2 years. The end of an era. I sat in the play area with the boys in only mild misery. Mostly thankful to not be barfing.
And its been a steady incline since then. Today... I took on Kroger in a single bound. I also took advantage of Grandma here for one more day and went solo. 'Cause even on a good day I want to curl up in a ball and sob myself to sleep when I have to take the kids with me. Forget 8 days post surgery.
Don't worry, I'm taking it *easy* but I am itching to get back into my normal routine. Isn't it ironic how there are those weeks where all you want to do is lay in bed and have nobody bother you and no responsibilities; and when it happens all you want to do is go scrub a toilet?! It's either irony or stupidity. I'm not sure which one.
Because you see, up until Monday night I had barely ventured down the stairs. Because, DANG, hernia surgery sucks! But right before dinner on Monday (thanks to Steve's mom, who arrived Monday morning, I didn't have to prepare) I got really nauseous and could barely stand to see or smell food. I figured I was in with drawl (because I had taken myself off the Vicodin- you know... all 11 of them I had taken since last Thursday.) I took myself off them because they made me *nauseous.* Hmmm... good thing. So I went to bed at 6:30 Monday night and couldn't get warm. Couldn't get comfortable. My whole body ached. I figured I was definitely having with drawl, because after all, I've seen that one episode of Little House on the Prairie where Pa takes Albert away so that he can go through detox from the morphine he'd been on. I am an expert in most areas thanks to Laura Ingalls.
I got up Tuesday morning not exactly refreshed. I rolled down to the couch where Quinn rubbed my back for a while. Steve's mom went to pick Olivia up from school and I fought it hard. She got home and I ran upstairs (ok, so it was more of a hobble) so I could go throw up. And oh the agony of throwing up while trying not to rip the seams of my stitches. I know I couldn't have. But my insides would have argued you something fierce to the contrary.
I slept the rest of the day. Which was a real bummer since my friend Jean brought us dinner... she's a really good cook. I got to have the left overs the next day, but it's never the same. I did manage to keep down a Popsicle. Red since I know you're wondering.
By Wednesday I was ready to get the heck out of the house. We took the kids to the mall where Olivia picked out her first pair of jeans in over 2 years. The end of an era. I sat in the play area with the boys in only mild misery. Mostly thankful to not be barfing.
And its been a steady incline since then. Today... I took on Kroger in a single bound. I also took advantage of Grandma here for one more day and went solo. 'Cause even on a good day I want to curl up in a ball and sob myself to sleep when I have to take the kids with me. Forget 8 days post surgery.
Don't worry, I'm taking it *easy* but I am itching to get back into my normal routine. Isn't it ironic how there are those weeks where all you want to do is lay in bed and have nobody bother you and no responsibilities; and when it happens all you want to do is go scrub a toilet?! It's either irony or stupidity. I'm not sure which one.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
A little cheese with my whine
OK. I'm going on day 4 of being in bed. While it's killing me to stay in bed... taking a shower, walking down the stairs, going to church and giving Olivia a shower nearly killed me more. I whine if I'm laying around (not because I'm in pain... laying around is the position that doesn't hurt right now) but more because I'm missing out. Then I whine if I'm standing, because it feels like my leg and abdomen are on FIRE. Then I whine if I am sitting because pretty much the same thing, Oh the fire.
I decided yesterday I didn't really like being on the pain medication. It made me kind of nauseous. In fact, right after I finished my last post (Thurs. evening) I wound up barfing for a stretch. Which honestly made me feel better. So I decided to forgo the narcotics on Saturday and just try the Motrin approach.
Our good friends Matt and Sally brought us dinner and their kids and they all stayed and ate with us. Which was so kind and thoughtful and really helped Steve out in several ways. But for me it was pure torture, and very humbling, to see things that needed to be done, but instead of hopping up and doing them, I had to ask. And worse yet, I had to wait. Because let's face it, others' priorities are not always yours. Stupid life lesson. I was happy to be downstairs with everyone and glad to be out of bed. But sitting with everyone really took it out of me. So I popped more Motrin.
Then I decided to try Tylenol PM for my night stretch. I did pretty good.
This morning I was moving around and not feeling so great. But it was *Orphan Sunday* at church and the thought of being here by myself was hard to swallow. So I popped a narcotic and figured that would help me make it through. I did fine during the service. It was the getting back to the car that nearly did me in. Seriously? I did a spinning class Tuesday and rode 22 miles. Now I can barely walk to my car. Ugh. But oh the fire.
Got home and was about to take my Motrin when I happened to inspect the bottle. Come to find out the bottle expired 08/08. Oops. That *might* mean that I actually went without any pain medication yesterday. So maybe I am a bit tougher than I seem? (Nod and smile and throw a girl a bone here.)
Thankfully, Grandma gets here tomorrow to lend a hand. I figured by the time she got here I would need to send her on her merry little way. You know, 'cuz I bike 22 miles on Tuesdays and can make it through a Pilate's class without resting. But now I've learned a sobering lesson- surgery is no respecter of persons~ ouch.
I am humbled. I am in pain. And I am now going to check all the expiration dates in my medicine cabinet... as soon as I can stand long enough to do it.
I decided yesterday I didn't really like being on the pain medication. It made me kind of nauseous. In fact, right after I finished my last post (Thurs. evening) I wound up barfing for a stretch. Which honestly made me feel better. So I decided to forgo the narcotics on Saturday and just try the Motrin approach.
Our good friends Matt and Sally brought us dinner and their kids and they all stayed and ate with us. Which was so kind and thoughtful and really helped Steve out in several ways. But for me it was pure torture, and very humbling, to see things that needed to be done, but instead of hopping up and doing them, I had to ask. And worse yet, I had to wait. Because let's face it, others' priorities are not always yours. Stupid life lesson. I was happy to be downstairs with everyone and glad to be out of bed. But sitting with everyone really took it out of me. So I popped more Motrin.
Then I decided to try Tylenol PM for my night stretch. I did pretty good.
This morning I was moving around and not feeling so great. But it was *Orphan Sunday* at church and the thought of being here by myself was hard to swallow. So I popped a narcotic and figured that would help me make it through. I did fine during the service. It was the getting back to the car that nearly did me in. Seriously? I did a spinning class Tuesday and rode 22 miles. Now I can barely walk to my car. Ugh. But oh the fire.
Got home and was about to take my Motrin when I happened to inspect the bottle. Come to find out the bottle expired 08/08. Oops. That *might* mean that I actually went without any pain medication yesterday. So maybe I am a bit tougher than I seem? (Nod and smile and throw a girl a bone here.)
Thankfully, Grandma gets here tomorrow to lend a hand. I figured by the time she got here I would need to send her on her merry little way. You know, 'cuz I bike 22 miles on Tuesdays and can make it through a Pilate's class without resting. But now I've learned a sobering lesson- surgery is no respecter of persons~ ouch.
I am humbled. I am in pain. And I am now going to check all the expiration dates in my medicine cabinet... as soon as I can stand long enough to do it.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Not as tough as I thought
At about half past the butt crack of dawn, I hopped in the car and drove myself over to the surgery center. (Steve met me there, he had to drop O off at school and then drop the boys back at home where my friend Sally and her kids came over, bless her heart!)Can I just tell you that this surgery center is basically the Hilton of the medical world. It is a satellite campus of the humongo hospital that is 2 minutes down the street from my house. The humongo hospital is where every crack-head-stabbing and shooting is dealt with. Apparently where I went today is where the other half get healed! In the lobby was a baby grand piano. Yes, please.
There were only about 4 others waiting in the lounge for their name to be called. We enjoyed the Early Show on a huge flat scree tv while we waited.
Steve arrived just after they made several attempts to get my i.v. in. *dainty veins* was what she called them. Dainty other stuff is great to have, dainty veins... are just a pain (literally!)
I was rockin the blue hat, don't you think?
All in all the surgery went well. The surgeon told Steve I had a medium sized hernia. Which, naturally, is unusual for women. Apparently we usually get small ones. See? Dainty veins and medium hernias. I always have to buck the system.
The meds were working great because when I got home I was feeling pretty good. I even went up and down our stairs a few times. Then around 12:30 I got into bed and slept for a few hours. Then right around the 10 hour mark the local wore off (just like they said it would)...
And wowzers! This bad boy hurts.
I went to change from my outfit (looking good all day, wasn't I?) to my jammies and it about did me in.
I'm really hoping I don't have to go to the bathroom for about the next 3 days. Think I can hold it?
Thankfully, I'm all set up in our room. Tv. Internet. Books. Phone. Barf bucket. (Seems like the meds might make me a bit queasy. Ugh.)
While I was tucked away for the day, apparently it was operation make it til bedtime for Steve.
Because at one point, the kids came up and Olivia let me know that daddy let her paint every one's faces. And a lovely job she did.
What is funny is that she's been after me for days to let her paint her brothers' faces and the answer has been no. But apparently today she saw her opportunity and took it.
Well done, Olivia, well done.
Later in the day they were playing hospital. I guess Quinn was sick and they were visiting him. Original idea, guys.
Okay, I've hit my limit. I might have to go barf now. Which scares me to death...
Here's hoping tomorrow is a new day.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Surgery Eve
Well, tomorrow morning at 8:45 I will be under the knife. I'm having my hernia repaired (because I was looking for an ailment that would make me sound like a 74 year old man.) Up until about an hour ago I haven't been too nervous. Now... I'm thinking I've watched a few too many episodes of Grey's Anatomy. No, my surgeon is no McDreamy (he's a bit more like Old McDonald) but I'm seriously hoping for no drama. No shooter sneaking in to take revenge, no students taking a crack at my groin. No interns arguing over who is sleeping with who. If I can escape with a nice little dose of a good pain reliever, I'm good to go.
More than the actual surgery, I'm dreading the recovery. Several days of no driving. Two weeks of no lifting. Use my own judgement on starting up my work outs. Yada yada. It's just hard to know what it will all be like. Up and down the stairs. 3 little kids. 1 dog with his own set of issues. You know... life.
Although its against what I stand for, I'm moving a tv into our room. I've bought some books at the half price book store and I'll have my computer on hand.
Wish me luck. No drama. And a little McDreamy wouldn't hurt either ;)
See you on the other side.
More than the actual surgery, I'm dreading the recovery. Several days of no driving. Two weeks of no lifting. Use my own judgement on starting up my work outs. Yada yada. It's just hard to know what it will all be like. Up and down the stairs. 3 little kids. 1 dog with his own set of issues. You know... life.
Although its against what I stand for, I'm moving a tv into our room. I've bought some books at the half price book store and I'll have my computer on hand.
Wish me luck. No drama. And a little McDreamy wouldn't hurt either ;)
See you on the other side.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Short but sweet
It's late. I'm tired. But I have to brag. Is it wrong to brag? Isn't that what blogs are for? Don't answer any of those.
I went to my Weight Watcher's meeting tonight. I weighed in. Under my goal! Yee Haw!
I've lost about 4 lbs in two and a half weeks. That included Halloween.
Here's the thing. I am really glad I posted about my struggle. Not for any of you. But for me. Apparently it was the fire I needed under my rear. I nearly quit. I nearly threw in the towel. Had I done that, I would have had to be back at the meetings with 30 lbs to lose, not 4.
I had great incentive to not over do it with the Halloween candy. It was hard. I'm not gonna lie. I was INCREDIBLY sad about my mom this weekend. (Because let's face it: there is NO ONE on the face of the planet who cares how many Milk Duds my kids brought in. But she would have. So I have to silently live with the fact that my kids now have 16 boxes of Milk Duds. And I can't eat them. 'Cuz I gotta weigh in at dang Weight Watchers.) But I digress....
Because of my sadness what I wanted to do was slide up to a vat of Reece's Peanut Butter cups and drown my sorrows. But I had a sheet of paper posted on my fridge that let me know how many points each fun size bar would cost me. Almost every time I decided it wasn't worth it.
I'm still hoping to drop another 3-4 lbs. But for now, I am reveling in my personal victory.
Mostly I wanted to post this to encourage. Whatever you're about to throw the towel in on- don't. It's not worth it. Tomorrow is a new day. Start over. Begin again. Put the hard work in. It's worth it.
And then do it again the next day.
And then...
eat a peanut butter cup.
I went to my Weight Watcher's meeting tonight. I weighed in. Under my goal! Yee Haw!
I've lost about 4 lbs in two and a half weeks. That included Halloween.
Here's the thing. I am really glad I posted about my struggle. Not for any of you. But for me. Apparently it was the fire I needed under my rear. I nearly quit. I nearly threw in the towel. Had I done that, I would have had to be back at the meetings with 30 lbs to lose, not 4.
I had great incentive to not over do it with the Halloween candy. It was hard. I'm not gonna lie. I was INCREDIBLY sad about my mom this weekend. (Because let's face it: there is NO ONE on the face of the planet who cares how many Milk Duds my kids brought in. But she would have. So I have to silently live with the fact that my kids now have 16 boxes of Milk Duds. And I can't eat them. 'Cuz I gotta weigh in at dang Weight Watchers.) But I digress....
Because of my sadness what I wanted to do was slide up to a vat of Reece's Peanut Butter cups and drown my sorrows. But I had a sheet of paper posted on my fridge that let me know how many points each fun size bar would cost me. Almost every time I decided it wasn't worth it.
I'm still hoping to drop another 3-4 lbs. But for now, I am reveling in my personal victory.
Mostly I wanted to post this to encourage. Whatever you're about to throw the towel in on- don't. It's not worth it. Tomorrow is a new day. Start over. Begin again. Put the hard work in. It's worth it.
And then do it again the next day.
And then...
eat a peanut butter cup.
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