About the baby who had open heart surgery:
Audrey’s doing wonderfully. Amazingly, joyfully, delightfully, thankfully well. She’s toddling around, grabbing for all the world that’s now within her reach. She’s a happy, energetic, brightly-smiling, jabbering, chattering baby. Read the rest of this entry »

“The secret to every lasting marriage is time apart.” That’s what the experts say, anyhow. But surely another of the secrets is time spent together, apart from the kids, the laundry, the laptop and the stress of it all. Read the rest of this entry »

When I was a newer and better mother I said prayers every night with my son. These began with “Now I lay me” and ending with a long, long list of family, friends and pets upon whom my son thought God should bestow special blessings. Most nights the coda was a round of “little” hymns—Jesus Loves the Little Children, This Little Light of Mine …”

My son’s patience with this lengthy bedtime ritual waned as he left toddlerhood behind and became a kindergartner then a first grader. Initially I responded as the diligent parent, determined that my son develop a disciplined relationship with God; no matter how many times he suggested a different, perhaps inappropriate* song, I attempted to reel him back in and return to the checklist of godly communiqués. Read the rest of this entry »

Over the last three weeks I’ve dipped in and out of a sort of frightening parental fever dream. While I’m finally starting to sleep easy again, friends of mine are still staggering in the dark through a surreal hell reserved for the most loving parents.

On January 30 our 7-year-old son was fine one minute, but in the next began experiencing very suddenly swollen, painful joints. The swelling in his hands, feet, ankles, knees and back were followed by massive bruising in each of those areas as well as others. For most of the first week he couldn’t bear shoes, socks or slippers on his feet, and he couldn’t walk, so we carried him around barefooted. As alarming as all that was, he next developed raised red streaks on his legs and buttocks that looked like some sort of demonic claw marks.

In the first week, the doctors presented potential diagnoses like rheumatoid arthritis, Lyme Disease and leukemia, and then made us wait a week or more for the test results that ruled them out. While we waited, another strange new symptom would appear almost daily that demanded another round of tests, each requiring another long wait. Read the rest of this entry »

Sea World. Soccer practice. Soccer games. Cub Scouts. Surgery. Which of these things doesn’t belong? If you guessed “Surgery,” you’re right.

A mom with a 7-year-old son doesn’t have the time to get sick or have surgery. These past months have been a whirlwind of child-centered fun. We have loved doing all these things with our son, but there’s no getting around it, Mommy’s going to have to have surgery. Read the rest of this entry »

My stepfather, Carl, continues to improve from his colon resection surgery. Other than the physical therapist that comes twice weekly to help him regain his abdominal strength, you’d never know he had colon cancer or colon surgery.

My mother’s Alzheimer’s symptoms have improved dramatically, too. During Carl’s two hospitalizations this summer, she lost so much ground we didn’t think she’d rebound; usually Alzheimer’s patients who have that kind of loss during a trauma don’t recover. Incredibly though, she’s actually better than she was before Carl got sick. She hasn’t been accusing him of having a girlfriend, and she hasn’t accused him or anyone else of stealing her money or jewelry.

So, with their mutual recovery, they’re enjoying their quiet home without so much family interference. I no longer call every day; once or twice a week is about my limit. It’s a huge relief to focus only on the madness of working full time and taking care of my own kids again. My brother, too, is feeling a lot better without Mom and Carl’s almost daily calls for help, and he’s going over just once a week.

Despite all these blessings, I’m still seeing a bit of a dark cloud on the horizon. Before surgery (the one Carl approached as a chance to die and be relieved of his wife’s madness), Carl promised that if he survived he would put their house on the market and move with my mother into the beautiful assisted-living facility near their house.

Everyone agreed that would be best for Mom; if they moved into an apartment together there, the transition would go much smoother and with less confusion; we’ve had a good dose of how bad she can get during upheaval. If they moved in together, Mom wouldn’t have to go into the locked “memory care” unit.

That dark cloud and the sense of foreboding that comes with it developed once I learned of Carl’s change of plans. Now that they’re doing so well, he’s determined to stay in their house with Mom until she has to go to a nursing home. No transition. No comfortable, private apartment.

He will then stay in the house, alone, until he dies.

This is going to be hard for me to write about. And for some people, it’ll be hard to read. It’s about racism…I think. Maybe it’s about the fear of racism.

When we started looking for a new house a couple years ago, we had more requirements for the new neighborhood than we had for the new house. We wanted a close-in neighborhood so we could spend less time and money driving to our downtown jobs. We wanted a kid-friendly neighborhood with parks and playgrounds. And, of course, we wanted a good elementary school for our little boy, one close to home with a diverse student body. I especially didn’t want our son to grow up in a white-bread community like the one of my own mid-western childhood.

We got everything we wanted in our new neighborhood and school except racial diversity. Jack’s school is predominantly black. He is one of only two white kids in his first grade class. He is the only white kid in a Cub Scout Troup that includes all grades first through fifth. Being in the minority is nothing new to him; he was one of only three white kids in his kindergarten class. Read the rest of this entry »

If I were better organized, I would have already written down all the wonderful things my son has said over the years. And, I’d be able to find “The Eleven Commandments According to Jack” that he dictated to me a couple years ago.

We were snuggling together in bed, reading some Bible stories before he toddled off down the hall to his own room for the night. We’d read before about Adam and Eve, Noah’s Ark, Jesus’ birth and resurrection. That particular night we read about Moses, the baby who was hidden away among the reeds until another mommy could find him, and love and protect him.

Jack has friends who were adopted, so he was especially excited and could relate to the story about this newly adopted baby. I took the opportunity to tell him about the great man and leader Moses grew up to become, and about his relationship with God that was so special God gave him the Ten Commandments.

Because of his Jack-ness, he then related to me the commandments that God had delivered to him only the night before. (What a coincidence, huh?) As Jack, in turn, related the commandments to me, he also instructed me to write them down for him.

He started out with some of the more traditional commandments: Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not steal. Honor your mother and father. But then the kid logic took over:

Thou shalt never say “I’m going to kick you in the butt.”
Thou shalt never kick anyone in the butt (which effectively rules out the surprise attack, since, according to Jack’s other commandment, you’re not allowed to warn them either.)

That’s where my memory gets a little foggy. I can’t remember Commandments six through ten, but I’ll never forget Commandment 11: Never pick your boogers and eat them.

Sometimes the hardest thing about parenting this kid is keeping a straight face.

Just to update you since my stepfather had surgery for colon cancer: He’s at home now and recovering. Three days after his surgery he was still doing well, and pressuring for an early release. Four days after surgery he was back in the ICU with low blood pressure and an irregular heartbeat.

They gave him blood, gave him drugs, gave him different drugs, and then gave him more drugs, but for a couple days there was little improvement. But even scarier than that, he was confused about where he was, and became hallucinatory and argumentative. He kept trying to rip out his IV and leave ICU, saying that since they’d already released him from the hospital, they had no right to keep him locked up in that “apartment.”

Wow. I was (sort of) prepared for him to die, but I wasn’t prepared for him to go nutty like my mom. Isn’t life funny (insert nervous little laugh here). Read the rest of this entry »

For a bunch of drunks, those folks at Alcoholics Anonymous sure are wise. The 12 Steps and the slogans that originated in AA are sound advice for anyone. And, just like they’re applied in Overeaters Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, Gamblers Anonymous, Sex Addicts Anonymous…they could make coping with Alzheimer’s Disease a whole lot easier. But first this disclaimer: I’ve got Step 1 down pat, and the rest are hit and miss with me.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable. We are powerless over Alzheimers Disease, and it can make our lives a living hell.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. Obviously there are powers greater than ourselves–Alzheimers for one. If that greater power can make us crazy, it can also make us sane again.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him. Cry Uncle.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. Consider whether childhood grudges or control issues contribute to our problems of coping with Alzheimer’s Disease.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. If you’re ever going to make amends for past wrongs, this is the time to do it. If you’re frightened to admit those wrongs to the person who has Alzheimer’s Disease, take heart in knowing they probably won’t remember it anyhow. Read the rest of this entry »