Sanctuary

The services for my aunt Nell were on a Friday. The visitation was the Thursday evening before the services.

Tom and I decided that Olivia is old enough and mature enough to attend both the visitation and the services.

Alyssa had to work Thursday evening so she couldn’t come to the visitation but she did come to the services.

Because I’m that mom, I sent the girls to school for two hours that Friday. I mean, it was only fair, I went to work for three hours so…

The service was lovely. Grammy Dotty was adorable. She arrived about ten minutes late, made her way to the front row, talking to everyone she passed, saying, “Ohh, hi, sugar!”

Remember, she’s 94, mostly deaf and blind in one eye. She deserves a lot of slack.

My mom and all but one of my aunts got up to talk about their sister Nell. They told stories from their childhood, talked about Nell’s candor and her strength, her enormous capacity to love.

After each person finished speaking, Grammy Dotty asked, “Oh, I wish I could hear! Can I get a transcript of that?”

It lightened the tone of the service and made people chuckle.

After the service, we all headed down to the basement of the church where the ladies of the community had prepared food for us. Well, okay. The ladies of the community DID prepare food but my mom, her sisters, my cousin’s wife, and even I made plenty of the food too.

The girls and I managed to get to the bathroom first immediately after the service. Ha on all the ladies who were waiting outside that door when the three of us filed out, like a mother duck and her little ducklings. Sorry, ladies, you snooze, you risk peeing your pants!

After we spent a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom, A and O and I made our way to the basement.

For reference, this is the church I grew up going to vacation bible school in. It’s also the church where Tom and I got married. We had Amy’s funeral service there two years ago.

Though, let me be honest here, I don’t remember it smelling vaguely of urine any of those times. This time…the urine smell was quite unpleasant…vague but unpleasant.

Also, this church has not been updated in, oh, at least 40 years. Same carpet as when I attended for VBS, same pews, same tables and chairs in the basement.

But it’s kind of nice that some things never change. I do so hope, though, that someone will Fabreze the hell out of the carpet and pews some time soon. That urine smell could change and we’d all be happy. Just saying.

After partaking of the luxurious lunch provided by the lovely ladies of the Metz community (I am only being slightly sarcastic here…) Olivia was bored.

She’d had two and a half servings of beef and noodles, half a brownie, two cups of sweet tea, a cup of green jello with melted whipped cream. She was stuffed and ready to recline.

She’s also sat there listening to Jaxon lament the woes of young love. Apparently, there’s a girl in his class (he’s in 5th grade…FIFTH GRADE, for the love of Pete!) and they talked a bit, then he ‘caught feelings’ and then she ‘caught feelings’ and now she’s his girlfriend. (Is ‘caught feelings’ a thing the young pups of this world are saying? It’s weird, but whatever.)

Then he started standing on one foot, leaning like a fool, stating, over and over and over again, telling us that he’s the only one in his class who has to lean like that when they stand on one foot. What are they doing in his fifth grade class?

I, fool that I am, suggested that perhaps he has scoliosis, which is why he has to lean in order to stay standing when he’s only on one foot. This set him off an a scoliosis tangent that is probably still going even all these days/weeks later. Sigh.

So Olivia asked me if I had any paper and a writing implement with which she could doodle.

I told her I had something in my purse, which was in my car. She lit up. We could LEAVE that basemen (and, coincidentally, Jaxon and his new scoliosis fear) and go get the pen and paper from my car.

Which we did. Because I’m an accommodating mother. Also, I was really looking for an excuse to escape that boy too. We’re bad relatives but he’s also an odd duck.

Once we’d retrieved the notepad and pen, Olivia suggested we go to the sanctuary, which was blessedly quiet. There were a few people in there, but not nearly as many as were in the basement. The sun was shining in the tall windows and there was just a sense of peace in the air.

Olivia kicked off her boots (tangent: she needs to start wearing socks with those boots. When she doesn’t her feet REEK after she takes off the boots) and her the smell of her feet competed with the smell of urine in the air.

I didn’t stick around long to see which odor won.

I talked to my cousin Chet (he’s Nell’s son). I helped my mom and her sisters take down the displays they’d put up the day before. I carried vases of flowers out to my mom’s car. I hugged my cousin’s wife and thanked her for all she’d done.

I checked on Olivia and her feet a few times but she told me that I didn’t have to stay around her. She’d found a quiet place to doodle and was happy as a stuffed clam in that sanctuary.

I loved watching her in that pew. She seemed peaceful, relaxed. That’s not a state Olivia is usually in when we’re out and about.

I don’t know if it’s the meds, the calm of the church, the presence of God. But something about that moment struck me. My girl is growing up. We’ll have times when we backtrack but right now, we’re moving forward and I thank God for that every single day.

Late to the Party

At least ten years ago, my step-daughter-in-law jumped feet first into the essential oils business. She became a representative for doTERRA oils. I don’t know if she still is a rep, I haven’t seen or spoken to her in over a year. No big drama, we just live almost 80 miles apart and she has her life and I have mine.

My husband sees and talks to his son as much as possible but…there you have it. I did communicate with her via FB until she deleted her page. That was a surprise but again, we were never close enough for her to confide as to why she deleted it.

To be honest, I kind of thought the essential oils craze was just that, crazy. Or, if not crazy, a little hokey. K insisted that the use of essential oils in a diffuser had ‘cured’ her children of asthma. I mean, come on. I don’t think it works that way. But whatever, you do you.

But anyway, when I started my current job (about a year and a half ago for anyone counting) I couldn’t stand the smell of the office. It was awful.

It smelled like old cigarette smoke. It was probably 'just' the smell of welding dust. There are a lot of welders in the production part of the building wehere I work. Whatever it was, it was nasty and most days in those first few weeks, I had to change clothes the minute I got home and sometimes, I needed to shower to get the smell off me.

So, I did what one does and got an essential oil diffuser. I didn’t get it because I’d suddenly developed asthma. I did it because my sense of smell was affected by chemo and it was incredibly sensitive. I figured if nothing else, diffusing oils would help the office smell better. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Almost immediately, the office did smell better. I got all kinds of comments on how great everything smelled. Yay!

So this past Christmas, I gave Alyssa a diffuser for her bedroom. She diffuses lavender in the evenings and orange throughout the day.

Then…her room smelled so nice that I decided to use the $40 Meijer gift card given to us from Tom’s sister and bout another diffuser, this one for the master bedroom. And now, we diffuse a lavender blend each night. It’s lovely.

And…I currently have eleventy billion (or, you know, like, 16) bottles of essential oil in one of my desk drawers at work. I mean, you never know what kind of mood I’m going to be in each morning. Some days I might want clarity. Others I might want immunity. There are days when I want a pure oil like peppermint and others when I want a blend like Joy.

I haven’t gotten to the point where I’ll rub peppermint oil on my temples rather than pop a couple of Excedrin when I have a headache but that might be right around the corner.

Or it might not. Trust me, I’m not going all crunchy on you. I have no plans to stop shaving my right arm pit.

Finally

Finally, I had a dentist appointment that did not lead to scheduling another appointment for fillings.

Ahh, the side effects of chemo that no one mentions: dry mouth and the cavities that come along as a result.

For what it’s worth, I never missed a cleaning while I was going through chemo. I mean, why would I? It wasn’t that big a deal.

But once chemo was over, I continued my regularly scheduled cleanings and all of a sudden, a year post-chemo, I started developing cavities. In the past year, I’ve had eight fillings, five of them in the backs of my top front teeth. Yikes!

I’d like to keep my teeth, please.

Then we all remember that one day I went in for two fillings and left with three. That was actually sort of traumatic, to be honest. I’m not sure why. I mean, I’m really good at telling myself that something unpleasant isn’t going to last forever but that session with the dentist reminded me of why dentists are often compared with sadists.

Alas, it did NOT last forever and I have moved on from the trauma as much as possible. How is it that I felt more traumatized by that hour in the dentist’s chair than I did by months of ultrasounds, biopsies, MRIs, x-rays, surgery, chemotherapy and radiation?

A little displaced angst, perhaps?

A Blue Sweater

I wear a sweater to work almost every day. And by sweater, I mean the kind like a cardigan rather than those that are pulled over your head. I have several, obviously. Once upon a time, I had two black sweaters, a blue (royal-ish/navy-ish) one, a light gray sweater and two beige sweaters in different lenths.

Alas, my blue sweater sprung a leak. Aka, it got an enormous hole in it right under my right armpit; it was almost as if the stench under there was so strong it couldn’t be contained. So sad.

One of my black sweaters got a really bad snag and also had to be retired.

Which brings me down to one black sweater, one light gray and two beige. I only really wear one of the beige sweaters.

The other one is just a really unfortunate beige and because of this, I decided, AHA! I’d dye the unfortunate beige one navy blue. The cost of a bottle of dye is much less than a new blue sweater.

Remember that one time I dyed something and it took me five thousand trips up and down the stairs from the kitchen to the basement and back again into infinity? Yeah, this time around the dyeing process was much smoother.

I read the instructions…I followed the instructions. I even noted on the instructions that this dye was not recommended for acrylic.

Huh.

Guess what I didn’t do?

I didn’t check to see what this unfortunate beige sweater was made out of. Can you say foreshadowing?

I went through the entire dyeing process. I made the machine do a pre-soak of the sweater in the blue dye.

I went down an hour later to check the status of the sweater.

I opened the washer…I took out…an unfortunate beige sweater.

The little string that is attached to the shoulder to keep the sweater on a hanger was blue, so I didn’t imagine the entire dyeing process.

I checked the tag. Guess what that stupid, unfortunate beige sweater is made of?

Need a minute?

Let me give you a hint…ACRYLIC. Gross, nasty feeling acrylic. No wonder I hardly ever wear that stupid sweater, the unfortunate beige color notwithstanding.

Which means, obviously, that I am now out the cost of a bottle of dye AND I need to buy a new blue sweater. (I wear a lot of blue, which is why it’s necessary for me to own a blue sweater. The girls’ school colors are blue and gray, another reason for wanting/needing a blue sweater. Not that I have to justify my desire to buy a blue sweater, I mean…ahem.)

The Commitment Spectrum

There is a spectrum of parental commitment at work around here.

Of course, each parent thinks their level is the ‘right’ level.

On the far conservative end, we’ve got Marie Nordoff. Her daughter is Harmony. Harmony is the best of the best at everything at Edon. Okay, wait. Harmony is not the best at track, but that’s because she’s only three feet tall (or, you know, five feet exactly) and her legs are four inches long. So, while she’s got spirit, yes she does, she’s not the fastest runner. But you’ve got to hand it to her, she’s always willing to get out there and run a race, even knowing she’ll probably come in last.

But other than her less than perfect track score, she’s pretty damned talented.

But her mom, wow. That woman takes the cake of parental commitment. She’s at EVERYTHING. She’s at practices, she’s at performances. She’s paid for years of lessons, both voice and oboe (Harmony does not play the oboe but I don’t to give away too many actual details for fear of giving away too much.)

Lee is a member of the music boosters, she even holds an officer role. Go her. She’s a smother if ever there was one.

Harmony has been heard to say that she can’t way to go away to college so she can get out from under the stifling control of her smother.

But on the other end of this spectrum is the mother of Alyssa’s friend Jayda. Jayda’s a joiner, which is incredibly surprising because her mom comes to nothing. Literally…nothing. Wait, I’ve seen her mom at one track meet in the four years (we’re heading into the fifth) of Alyssa and Jayda participating in the sport.

Her mom is never at concerts, never at plays, never at meets or games where the marching band is performing. Jayda also plays the oboe (she does NOT) and while she’s third chair (behind Harmony and, oh, let’s just say Alyssa also plays the oboe) she shows up and what more can you ask of a child who’s parents are never, ever there?

Her parents are divorced and her dad lives about an hour and a half away. But that’s no excuse. Yes, Jayda is mean to him, but that’s also no excuse. The man is her father. He’s his job to show up for his child, even if she’s an ungrateful brat. The adult looks beyond the brattiness and see the pain and works to overcome it. Right? Right!

Then there are those of us who are somewhere in the middle.

Okay, so I totally admit that I definitely fall closer to Marie’s side of the spectrum than to Jayda’s mom’s side. But while yes, I attend the music boosters meetings, I’m not an officer. And yes, I did take charge of about half of all of Olivia’s class parties from kindergarten through third grade, sharing the responsibility with Deb Porch, the only other working mom but also the only other mom willing to take on that responsibility. But those are extremes that I didn’t want to have to take on, there was no other choice.

I attend the junior parents’ meetings because someone has to. But, go me, I’m not in charge.

I try to let Alyssa do her own thing, supporting her as she figures out who she is and where she’s going. I don’t want to mold her into a mini-me. I don’t want her to live my life nor do I want to try and relive my youth through her.

But I also want her to know that I’m always there. Always cheering her on from the sidelines as she lives her own life.

And wow, this is a judgey-ass post. Sorry. I obviously have strong feelings about being too involved and not being involved enough.

Good thing I’ve found the perfect balance of involvement, huh?

Sorry, I’ve got to go, the hair and makeup crew for the musical can’t make do without me.

And don’t even get me started on all the snacks that Tom, my mom and I brought to give Olivia during a one hour concert. Damn, you’d think she was four years old the way we cater to her. Yikes.

A Concert

Alyssa and several classmates were invited to participate in an ‘All County’ honors band and choir event recently. There are about six junior/senior high schools in Williams County, Ohio.

The students who participated in it got to get out their regularly scheduled classes on a Wednesday for band practice and on a Thursday for choir practice (or vice versa, I’m not actually sure which was which, does it really matter? I mean, Lyss was in both so she went to Montpelier on both Wednesday and Thursday that week.)

Ahem. Where was I?

Yes, they were taken to the high school in Montpelier and practiced with their peers from the other school and ‘guest’ conductors.

Then, on the following Sunday, the students gathered and performed for parents/grandparents/siblings and community members in a lovely little concert.

The week before the concert, I asked Alyssa if she wanted me to make her dad and sister come to the concert. She admitted that she did want them there. I told her I’d make them attend.

See, here’s the thing, Tom has used Olivia’s lack of attention span for years, YEARS, to get out of these kinds of things.

Only too bad for him, Olivia is old enough and mature enough to come to these things herself and be expected to behave. Honestly, she’s been old enough for years. But because it was easier for me to just go with my mom and watch Alyssa perform than to deal with Liv’s constant questions of “When is it going to be over?” I just let them stay home.

But that’s not fair to Alyssa. She deserves to have her dad show up too. Her sister can also support her by showing up.

I am proud to be able to say I’ve never missed an event. If my kid (either of them) is performing/attending, I’ve been there.

I know not all parents feel the need to be there all the time. I get that. And while I admit to being a little judgey of the ones who NEVER show up, I get that sometimes we have to work or there are extenuating circumstances that keeps parents from being there.

But this time, I simply informed Tom and Olivia of the time and place and told them I’d see them there.

Then I joked with him that I’d told Alyssa that I’d make him and Olivia show up. He got a little huffy over the word make. So I changed his perspective and told him I’d told her that I’d gently encourage him to go to the concert. That smoothed the feathers and everyone (well, except Olivia, but she had snacks so…) enjoyed the lovely music created by our amazing students.

Skating By

One weekend in mid-January, Alyssa said, “Did you know there’s a roller skating rink in West Unity?”

I did NOT know that, thank you very much.

That is definitely information I would like to have.

That same weekend, Lyss and her friends made their way to West Unity to check out the new skating rink.

She came home several hours later with blisters and sore legs.

She also declared that they’d skated for two hours and then went for food.

Hello? How could they have left after only two hours when there was still skating time left?

Go ahead, laugh at me now. I get it. I really do.

A week later, the day Nell died, actually, Alyssa texted me before I’d talked to my mom and found out that Nell had died.

Lyss’s text read something along the lines of: My friends and I are going skating again tonight. Olivia thinks she’s going too.

Well.

Guess what? If Olivia was going skating, that meant I was going skating too. I was excited. (Please read NO sarcasm there. I actually WAS excited. I hadn’t been skating in years…#foreshadowing.)

Let me backtrack. This skating ‘rink’ used to be a grocery store. Let that sink in. It. Used. To. Be. A. Grocery store…

So we go there just before 6pm. I’d already cried a few tears for my mom and her sisters and our beloved Auntie Nell.

We went in, paid our $5 each, $7 for Alyssa who wanted to try rollerblades. Yikes.

The place is still a work in progress. The ‘room’ where the skates are handed out is still just framed out. They haven’t put up drywall yet.

The skates were ancient. I had to try on four pair before finding a halfway decent pair that didn’t pull to one side or the other.

The floor of the actual skating floor is…cement. It’s the left over cement after the linoleum was ripped up. There were a few pockmarks but it was actually almost smooth.

There were two posts on either side of the skating floor. (These come in handy later.)

There’s a janky concession stand set up at the back of the business, probably where the meat department used to be in the grocery store.

Anyway, we got some skates, I put a pair on O’s feet. She declared that they were REALLY heavy.

Duh.

I put my skates on. Tried them. Took them off. Put another pair on, tried them, they were…okay.

We headed out to the floor.

Is it okay if I tell the world that Olivia is incredibly uncoordinated? I mean, isn’t this kind of obvious to anyone who knows anything about her? The child didn’t walk until she was 29 months old. Anything that takes gross motor skills does not come naturally to her.

She was AWKWARD on those skates. I tried to stand behind her and help her. I tried holding her hand. I tried skating in front of her.

She leaned on the rail and pulled herself along. Then…the rail kind of stopped and she grabbed at me.

She started to fall and held on to me for dear life.

She went down, pulling me down with her. We were at least six feet from the wall and about four feet from one of the poles.

I was not going to be able to help her up.

Guys, I can barely get off the floor without pulling myself up using some sort of support when I’m NOT wearing wheels on my feet. With wheels on my feet? I wasn’t going to be able to get up on my own, let alone help my 115 pound toddler up too.

Alyssa ‘raced’ to the rescue (I put raced like that because she was on rollerblades and wasn’t used to them. I should really just say she rolled slowly and gingerly to the rescue.)

She was able to get Olivia back on her feet/wheels.

I walked on my knees on that filthy cement floor to the post and pulled myself up.

I realized then and there that I am WAY too old and fat for this shit. Dear Lord, that was embarrassing.

Not that anyone was watching me. I mean, please.

A couple of strangers did come along and ask if we needed help. I just kind of nodded toward Olivia and said, “She has no idea what to do and I’m clueless as to how to help her.”

They were very kind and told her a little about how to skate. She got ‘better.’ Better meaning she was able to slightly pick up her feet and not end up on the floor every three feet. She and I made our way to the center where she tried to learn to just stand on the skates.

But that was boring for her. So she made her way to the wall again (with my tentative help) and tried some more.

Thankfully, the Porch family showed up. Mama Porch and I skated while Olivia and Delaney had snacks. That was probably O’s favorite part of the whole night. Alyssa and Nora Porch helped their friend Sierra skate.

Oh, but wait. When Liv took off her skates, I decided to try them. They were size 8. I’d had on a size 8. The 8s felt so much better that decided to wear them instead. I turned in the crappy 9s and skated in the 8s for a while.

About two hours in, my right knee hurt. My left foot also hurt. My back was killing me. Did I mention that I’m too old and fat to be doing this sort of thing?

Olivia was bored with the snack offerings and Alyssa and her friends wanted to go to Buffalo Wild Wings.

So guess what? We left even though there were HOURS of skating left.

Yes, once again, I was forced to eat my words.

I will probably never learn to keep my mouth shut.

But for the record, I WILL go roller skating again, no matter that I’m too old and fat. It’s still fun, even if it does hurt for days after.