The Best Superbowl Shuffler Ever

Tonight, on the way home from visiting my grandma, I said a brief prayer. I don't ask for much from God these days, as I find myself fairly blessed and healthy, with a healthy husband and marriage, and a healthy and wonderful son. I have a flourishing business, a nice house, good friends, and well, I don't have much right to be asking God for anything other than asking Him to protect my loved ones so it can stay that way. But tonight, for the first time in my life, I prayed for death.

My grandma is a woman of great strength and stubborness, whose eyes sparkled with the greatest mischievous glint and she was always ready for whatever life threw at her. She was ahead of her time, ahead of her peers, ahead of the game for the majority of her life. She's survived a spine-crushing fall, a broken pelvis, heart attacks, and several strokes since I've known her, yet she still managed to get right back up again. She's the grandma who was always flying to Hawaii, vacationing at her summer cottage, and spoiling her grandkids every chance she got. We'd brush our teeth and she'd say "let me see those pearly whites" or if we did something silly or bad, she'd just say "You just watch- I'll remember!" She's the grandma who would skinny dip in the dark of night, show up at the house with bags of candy, give us money for random chores, sneak cheetos to the dog when she thought no one was looking, and would do the Superbowl Shuffle with us until she was out of breath. My greatest memory is her shuffling on down with me and my brother to a floppy square 45 record we had gotten as a prize from somewhere with "The Superbowl Shuffle" on one side and "Bear Down Chicago Bears" on the other. We stomped and shuffled until we couldn't anymore, and then she wanted to do it again. She was the epitome of Grandma, and she deserved that title.

5 months ago, Grandma suffered another stroke. She's 82 years old, so it wasn't a surprise, but still a blow. The stroke was massive, encroaching on her brainstem and robbing her of mobility, of her ability to swallow or talk, and of some of her vision. Yet she would crack a smile when you joked with her and attempt to talk even when her brain wasn't supposed to let her. She would squeeze your hand to let you know she heard you and tear up when you talked about her only great-grandson. The doctors gave her 9 months for a healing period- when we would know the true extent of the damage and what skills she could gain back. Ironic how they gave her the exact amount of time it takes to produce a new life to gain back her old one. But there was hopeful talk of speech and eating with a spoon instead of a feeding tube.

As the months wear on, instead of winning the fight, she's losing it. I can only imagine how all that time being locked in your head can make you want to quit. Because she is in there, but she can't eat, can't drink, can't talk, can't see, can't move. But she's in there. Oh, is she in there. And every time I visit, I am tortured by that thought. She's in there. And there's not a damn thing she can do to get out. Is she suffering? Is she in pain? Does she want to tell us anything? Can she see me? Understand me? Can we comfort her? Are we making it worse? I am tortured by the thought that she is living a tortured life inside her head.

I can only hope the brain has a mechanism that allows it to escape inside itself. I hope she thinks she's at a ballgame in the summer, or sitting on a beach in Hawaii, or eating the best damn pizza she's ever had. I hope her brain is doing that for her- a type of shock to numb the reality of what has happened. But if no such mechanism exists...

As I watched her tonight, smoothing back her hair that is now showing it's true grey color that she had bleached blonde for my entire life, she gasped for air as the pneumonia takes over. She can't breathe deeply, she doesn't have the ability to make herself cough, so when she does, it's torture for her. I watched her struggle to breathe, struggle to stay calm, and struggle to sleep. For the first time, she didn't turn her eyes to us when we talked to her, didn't seem to acknowledge that we were there, and didn't seem to have any will to live. I cannot blame her. I cannot believe that this is the way it's going to end for the greatest woman I've ever known. Not with a bang nor a whimper. She cannot tell us how bad it is.

Tonight, I said a prayer. It was simple and completely sad. God, please take her home.

I love you, Grandma. You are the best Superbowl Shuffler to ever live. And you just watch- I'll remember.

The Highest Form Of Flattery

My hubby came home tonight from a weekend golf trip, and a whole weekend of no daddy made Evan the ever-studious munchkin tonight. Everything that Daddy did, Evan repeated. Words, mutterings, laughs, Everything. Daddy could do no wrong. Even getting scolded for throwing a MatchBox car in the direction of the dog simply meant that the CAR must be the one that got him in trouble, not Daddy! Bad car!

So Evan sat and watched as Russ checked out the new paint job on the ceiling (finished as he was driving to Wisconsin), and tipped his head back and studied the ceiling, too. Daddy scratched a little drip of paint off the wall, Evan scratched the wall, too. But, oh the joy! when the tape measure appeared.

Evan loves numbers. Knows numbers. Counts out loud every chance he gets. But do you know how exciting numbers are when they come out of this little metal gadget on a bright yellow strip, AND THEN THEY GO BACK IN???? Oh. My. Goodness.

I sat, completely enamored, watching the most adorable kid on the planet copy his dad by measuring the dog, Daddy's feet, the carpet, his hand. Everything was met with a big smile and a very loudly announced number "SESEN!" No, that's not a typo. That's a seven in two year old speak. "NOYNE!" "TWOOO!" And the glee that followed the sucking of the tape back into the metal contraption was too much to take. You would have thought Elmo just appeared in his hands by the hysterics that ensued.

Of course, Daddy sat, completely enamored, having missed the last 72 hours of Evan's life, and just soaked it all up. I love the look on his face when I can actually read the love in it. And because Daddy brought Evan home a MatchBox car, Daddy was held in even higher regards than normal, and had been the center of two year old love and affection all night long. Mostly, that means he was slathered in "Daddy, Look this!" and "Daddy, See Car?", but it didn't matter. Daddy was in heaven because what better flattery than to have your son imitate you and present cool stuff to you after you've been gone for 3 days? When it was finally time for bed, Daddy even got a big hug and a kiss without argument and without fuss, and Evan walked up the stairs with one foot in front of the other. Just like Daddy does.

O-Tay!

Evan has learned some pretty hilarious things in his past 26 months on this earth, but so far, my favorite skill is his negotiating skill. It's amazingly clever. Of course, his pretend-to-snore-on-the-couch-like-daddy skill that he is practicing as I type this is pretty freakin' hilarious, too, but I digress.

Evan's vocabulary is insanely amazing. He has more words than I could possibly count. However, the problem is that I'm usually the only one who can clearly understand him, and when I say "clearly", I mean I can translate as long as the conversation applies to the situation we are immediately involved in. "Mama, ni hab booberdy jeddy?" is obviously "Mama, can I have blueberry jelly?" when we are standing in the kitchen. But throw that line at me while we're at the zoo, and uh, well, I just start guessing.

Now the fun part about the guessing game, is that Evan has learned that if he throws something tricky into his conversation, I'll start to guess. And when I guess correctly, he says "O-tay!" with a big grin. And because I smile when I get it, too, it's a good game, and he likes to play it. And he's GOOD. So good that he has learned that he can turn it around so that it sounds like I'm offering up an idea that he can say "O-tay!" to. Which, I have to admit, he uses on me frequently, and it's so damn cute, I sometimes just have to give in. "Mama, topilat tip tootie?". Um, ok, I'll bite, though it may be 7am and I haven't had coffee yet. "You want a chocolate chip cookie?" Big grin, "O-TAY!" Hmmm... this kid is way too smart.

Tricks of The Mind

You know how when you are thinking about a particular subject A LOT, you begin to think the rest of the world revolves around that subject? You begin to hear and see things tinted towards the color of your subject?

For example, home repair is on my mind like crazy. We just had the hall and ceiling painted, and rearranged the furniture. So, while flipping through a magazine the other day, I had to stop myself and flip backwards. What was that? Paint for Grout? Really? (BTW, NEVER EVER let anyone tell you white grout is a good idea. Especially with dogs).

As I flipped back a few pages, I bust out laughing. My Paint for Grout advertisement really read:

Painful Gout?

Yeah. I need something new to obsess over!

I Am A HGTV Junkie.

So hubby and I are considering selling our townhome. Of course, I've been considering selling it since the addition of dog #2 and no back yard, but I don't bring home the paycheck. And then we added son #1 who is now a running ball of fire, and I would give my left arm for a fenced in back yard right about now. A small gated deck just doesn't cut it anymore.

Needless to say, we are preparing to sell. Whether it is next month or next year, it depends on a house that strikes our fancy and is better than the townhouse and has everything we want. What? We're lazy as all hell, and our townhouse is really nice. We don't want to have to fix up someone else's house just to get to the level of our townhouse after paying a gagillion dollars more for an extra space in the garage and a fence. I'm sure our realtor is about to kill us.

Now, I've been watching HGTV for a while now, because I have zero decorating skill, but I'm starting to learn. And the shows they have on now versus a year ago are AWESOME. I'm addicted. I watch it every second I can, and even stay up waaaaay past bedtime to see how the freakin' basement in some house turns out JUST IN CASE I LIKE IT ENOUGH TO DO THAT TO OURS! I take mental notes about everything, picture our rooms with that furniture/color/arrangement/etc. and even go to their website to see what the "Room Of The Day" is. I need a fix right now and I need it bad!

Unless we win the lottery and can build a house, we'll have to fix something, paint something, rearrange something, so I prefer to think I'm less of a junkie and more of a study in the way of HGTV. But somehow I think selling our townhouse and buying a house with a backyard is simply going to make me a junkie about the whole landscaping thing instead of the design thing. Because I will FINALLY have a yard. So, one addiction for another, right? You really need to check out HGTV. But be careful. You may not be able to turn away!

La-la-la (A Bit Of Happiness)

After a dreary couple of weeks, mentally, things are looking up. It's nice outside, my house is clean, and well, it's nice outside. So I'm going to take the kiddo Somewhere Fun and enjoy the day. Don't know where we're going, but it will be good. Park, Festival, wherever. It's a perfect day to spend outside before these days grow ever shorter and that freakin' event called Winter rears it's ugly head. So, we're puttin' on our sandals, packin' a bag, and hittin' the great outdoors. I highly suggest you do the same.

Enjoy a happy, sunny day. Over and out.