Shut The Hell Up!

8 Aug

This past weekend I had the pleasure of traveling north to Santa Barbara and meeting my sister and her friend for the weekend.  As we perused the street vendors and kitschy wall hanging plaques we laughed out loud as we read the crass slogans which illuminated truths about our lives.  For instance, one plaque had a picture of a woman in an apron and alongside her read, “The menu for the night? Take it or leave it!”

Now fast forward to Sunday evening when I was again home and surrounded by my motley family (dogs and all), we had a visitor who happens to be expecting her seventh child.  She had a moments reprieve from her “little birds” and came over to our house for a visit (because she acquiesced to my daughter’s request, not because she had some free time with nothing to do!);  now as the dinner hour fast approached, the subject of feeding the family was laid out on the table.  And of course with that subject comes much comedy especially when two or more mothers are gathered and interject their own trials in nutritiously satisfying the varying palates of their brood.  So it was with appropriate context that I shared the kitschy plaque about “take it or leave it.”  To which my friend answered, “I don’t want that plaque, I want one that says, Shut the Hell Up!”  Now you have to understand why this is so funny to me…it is because my dear friend, who has six little ones with another gaining speed, is such a loving mother and wife.  Her passion is taking care of her family and loving the great I AM.  So this crass response was just absolutely hysterical (my word choice here is no coincidence for those of you who love language, look up the etymology of hysterical and you will understand its perfect fit), and of course I love her rendition of the plaque much more than the original.

In fact, I have found myself uttering those very words this morning…

I was in the bathroom, having some private time (or so it should have been), the door was closed and the fan was on (now that should be clue enough for everyone to get the gist of what I was doing in the loo) when my husband decided to have a sit down near the door and converse with me about details of, who knows–I can’t remember, all I remember is the subject was not pressing and the details could have, should have, and would have to wait!!  In that moment, just about an hour ago, I found myself thinking the uttering of my friend, “shut the hell up”!  Now I realize it could be argued that a response such as that is warranted given the circumstance of the situation, however, I personally feel that such abrupt and rude language is never the appropriate manner in which to respond; so I didn’t use it…out loud.  But I thought it.

And the fact that I thought it bothers me.  I will tell you why.

There is an old adage that goes something like this:
“Be careful what you think because your thoughts become your words.  Your words become your actions, and your actions become your character.  And character is everything.”  So truth be told, my thought life has been a bit polluted for a while now.  And when considering the truth of the referenced proverb, I am in for some trouble if I don’t let the thought police come and do a bit of housecleaning.  I am in trouble because I don’t like the slippery slope of negativity that the “shut the hell up” response suggests.  No, not the “shut the hell up” said in a humorous context of kitschy plaques and dinnertime, but the “shut the hell up” thought toward my happy go lucky husband who is undeserving of such a response.  Actually, he is undeserving of me nurturing such responses, as is the rest of my family, as are my neighbors, as are the anonymous drivers on the road, as is the community in which I live or travel to, as is my G-d, as is myself.

Granted, my husband sitting outside the bathroom door while I’m taking care of “business” is definitely not a habit I intend to encourage.  But I will employ a gentler attitude when I stand firm upon the platform of “absolutely not.”  And the impetus to my decision is this:  love builds up, it does not tear down.  If I allow “shut the hell up” to fall from my lips upon the ears of any one of my beloveds, then I have failed to express the true essence of love.  So I avow at this moment to climb up the rope of the slippery slope backwards and by doing so redirect the course of my actions.

Thought Police, permission granted to come aboard!

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The Little Things

2 Aug

I haven’t had time to write for pleasure this week.  And because I have only a few moments to post something before my eyelids bring my system to a close, and because it will be a few more days before I have the energy-opportunity convergence which will allow me to indulge my cathartic pen, I will share a few tidbits that have been mulling about in the vacant space of my mind (which doesn’t offer much room, though that point my siblings and good friends would argue).:

  • If you clean your ear with a dirty Q-tip, the result can be most alarming!
  • The blog, www.igamemom.com is a valuable “apps” resource.
  • Cleaning up after a dead rodent, in the kitchen, is nauseating.
  • I love my family.
  • Silver hair is beautiful, gray hairs are not.
  • This life is hard, yet full of fun adventures.
  • Math after 3:00p.m. should be against the law.
  • Speaking of law, traffic signals at freeway entrances are for everyone else; not me!
  • I am in love with the moon, with Moliere, with Voltaire; With Rousseau, Ibsen, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle…with sleep.

Goodnight.

P.s. Please check out the blog I mentioned, the information it provides is most valuable (and truly does not deserve to be categorized with the rest of my delirium).

 

 

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Nothin’

26 Jul

A couple of months ago my husband Brian and I were with my aunt for the unveiling of my uncle’s tombstone.  It had been over one year since his passing and though traditionally the unveiling is done at the one year marker, for reasons that avail themselves to be a part of life, the unveiling happened at about 15 months.  At any rate, while we were driving in the car my aunt confided in us that the second year of living without her husband seemed to be harder than the first.  I remember really taking in what she said at the time and mulling over its meaning.  And quite frankly I haven’t stopped my mulling.

Our family (and more specifically my son), is at the 16 month marker from the date of learning of the dreaded brain tumor.  We are in the second year, and I concur with my aunt, it is harder.  I have a motto: “You mess with the brain, you mess with the entire body!”  And since Cole’s surgery, besides the obvious physical disabilities he is left to contend with, he has been left with an internal system that remains, at best, mysterious.  Quite frankly, his gastrointestinal system is a problem.  In fact, his last two trips to the hospital ER have been due to extreme pain in the region of the small intestine.  So much so, that only a narcotic pain relief system has saved him from the agony.  And because that is not the course of treatment we look to, on the long term, the diagnostic testing was moved up and completed this past Tuesday.

Now being that Cole has Crohn’s Disease on both his maternal and paternal sides of the family, as well as colon cancer heavily on my side along with ulcerative colitis, you can imagine how happy we were to learn that none of these issues befalls him.  Yes, we can let out a big sigh of relief…for he doesn’t have to contend with having had a malignant brain tumor and then contend with having any form of additional disease on top of the whopper he already endures.  A big “Praise the Lord” for that!

But what he does have heavy upon his mind and soul is the big nothing that showed up in every test and culture taken.  “Nothing, everything looks normal.”  Yet he has agonizing pain.  This is the “hard” I mentioned earlier.  The moving through the nothings of life and trying to keep the chin up.  The first year post tumor resection was spent in concentrated rehabilitation.  Our family was on high alert living off of the adrenaline rush of the circumstance.  Now we are not.  It’s as if we have turned another corner…  We have moved out of the big city of dodging cars and people, with blinking lights–green now yellow then red–which seemed to guide our every step.  And we are now heading along a path that is more subdued, plain, and perhaps a bit monotonous.  With a tumbleweed or two, from time to time, rolling across our path.  Not enough to invoke our internal emergency system (the chemicals which strengthen us in times of emergency), just enough to wear us out from dodging them.  And when we think there might be a tornado on the horizon, which could possibly kick up the ‘ol juices again, it turns out to be nothing more than the lackluster performance of a dust-devil.

So here we are, walking a long road of nothing.  Cole has pain and now has to somehow process that this is normal.

Being the last of the diagnostics were Tuesday, and yesterday he was down as a result; And today he was still suffering the tail end of the tests intrusions, I have to somehow remain hopeful that tomorrow we will figure out how to traverse this “second year” path no matter how droll the scenery may be.

Does that make sense to you, my reader?  Can you feel the anguish through my metaphorical ramblings?  Because I assure you, I am not lamenting the adventure of our previous year.  I am merely sharing my current observations.  And what they boil down to, in plain spoken text, is that it is harder to have to tell my son that his disabilities and internal sensitivities just might be here the rest of his life when in the first year we were pushing as hard as we could to help him gain back every ounce of ability lost.

That, dear friends, is my tumbleweed.

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