Feeling Blessed?

A quick note during the pre-work hour and as Christmas approaches.

I am overwhelmed most days by the typical demands of a work at home mom of two kids on the autism spectrum, looming or missed deadlines, shuffling clutter, and various necessary emails that clog the arteries of my information highway, stuff like insurance, school, support groups, volunteer projects, trying to fit donations to recipients, and the like.

My paying job starts in 10 minutes and I think of you.  The any yous who come to check on us.  The folks I meet every day online, in stores, at events, and are part of our community.  The adorables who live under this roof with me, my Utopian Clan, and the Utopian critters here, too.

Far from perfect in ANY way, our days are our days, our ways ~ our life.  My life.

I'm feeling grateful for the opportunities I have had, am having, and will have; for the people I meet from all walks of life and in all realms of the real world; for all of you.

Blessings are funny little things that are always around.  But if you aren't looking for them, it's hard to see them.  They won't always look like what you'd expect them to look like.

Look for them.

Find them.

Feel them.

Merry Christmas.  

Thankful today.

Playing the Trump Card

It's not a game.

Nobody wins.

Too much negativity.

Too much fear.

Worlds Apart in the Same Room

He's right in front of me.  I can see, hear, and touch my son.  Yet its as if he is worlds away.

Missing My Mom, Always.

Mother's Day this year brought the realization that my mom left this earthly existence 20 years ago that very weekend.  On October 10 she'd have been 78 years young.

That Friday she'd come to watch our daughter while I worked, fairly routine but it was a sudden switch in the schedule and she was tired.

Mom doted on our nearly 2-year-old daughter that Friday morning.  They played with a brand new Beanie Baby, she carefully made their lunch, and soon after sang her lullabies at naptime.

Kiddo asleep, mom came down and stood in my office doorway.  A bit more tired than usual, speaking almost dreamingly, she told me of plans for the near future that included a surprise trip for my dad to Baraboo, she worried about dad stressing over his business.  She'd also decided she was going to start living a healthier life, to get more fit and generally feel better so she could see her grandchildren grow up, "Whether or not your father joins me," she added.

When she was ready to leave, I took a break from my desk to walk her out where we lingered much longer than usual on our goodbyes.

She stayed in the drive until I was inside, still just watching it seemed.  She left after I waved and blew a kiss to her and saying we'd see her on Sunday, Mother's Day.

My husband came home and I told him about the special kind of goodbye mom and I had shared and that it seemed everything was going to be an orderly switch beginning the following week.  No more long drives for her to help us out with our daughter while I worked.  We'd been stocking up on gas gift cards for her to use, which she always refused, so now we were going to give them to her as gifts to help with that trip she mentioned, Utopian Girl made a few choices at the store for what a grandma might need to have fun, and we took out a special ad in the Chicago Tribune Mother's Day section that read, "For All You Do, Babcia, I Love You!"

Soon, the baby monitor sounded the rustle of a blanket and we heard our toddler woke from her nap quietly saying, "Babcia, I'm up.  Babcia?"  I grabbed the phone, poked the speed dial, and shared with my mother our daughter's voice calling for her.  At first, she felt bad about not being here when Utopian Girl got up.  I explained to my beloved mother it was the most endearing, loving thing to my ears to hear our daughter looking for her Babcia.  I could hear the smile in my mother's voice when she chattered that she would call back shortly to talk with Utopian Girl, that my brother and his little girl had stopped by for a brief visit on their way home.

We exchanged, "Love you," "Love you, too," and the phone hit the cradle just as I heard my 2-year-old Goddaughter's voice squeal with excitement seeing her grandma.

Not 30 minutes later, the phone rang.  I thought, "That was really quick!"  Picking up the receiver, it wasn't my mother's voice but my sister, nearly hysterical, screaming that she walked from work to find our mother on the floor, maybe sleeping, but she wasn't able to wake her up.  I told her to call 911, which she'd already done, and my eyes began to leak scared tears that continued to blur the rest of the night.

The woman I'd given gray hair and worry lines was someone I'd grown to admire and had become great friends with was gone in an instant.

I remember the first time I heard myself say that my mother had died, very unexpectedly and quite young.  It was at the fertility clinic the following morning.  Routine, clock-like blood draws and ultrasounds to closely monitor of all sorts of whatever were on the schedule.  I was surprised to see one of my favorite nurses working and rather casually asked her how much stress would affect our attempts at pregnancy that particular cycle.  She asked why and I told her; then collapsed onto a chair, sobbing.  They sent me home with hugs and tissues but did no testing that day.

The next many days, weeks, and months were rough.  For obvious reasons and for all sorts of reasons that aren't important now, if they ever were.  I just know it was a time of harsh reality, emotional twister, and unrelenting pain that faded slowly, ever too slowly, over time.

To say that I am grateful to have learned something about the woman who was my mother, my confidante, my best girlfriend is an understatement like no other.

Mother's Day is celebrated any and every day of the year, now.  Much like when Buster's mom stresses over the holiday being perfect for him, he names Baxter Day their day in "Arthur's Perfect Christmas,"  Similarly, my Young Utopians came up with their own version of Baxter Day to let me know I'm special to them WHENEVER the mood strikes.  It's fun.

But I never stop missing my mom.  Even in Freaking Utopia.

It's Not Just Mondays That Are Hard

Today just happens to be a Monday.

My Rock, Your Hard Place ... A Judgment Call.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to find that rock and hard place everyone else gets stuck in?  No?  You'd be surprised the size, shape, and paths to those spots.

Family.  Friends.  Neighbors.  Coworkers.  The people you see every day all have a version of being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Whenever I'm wedged between a rock and a hard place, over a lifetime it's happened many times, but I typically have time and a bit of some sort of room to help me put things into perspective, to help myself pull myself out of a spot.

I'm not a medical professional.  I'm not someone who routinely saves, or takes, lives.  I have saved a life or two through my own actions through the years; I've also been saved from potential demise at least twice.

My mind has run a few miles in my head over the last months, weeks, and days.  There are good folks, there are folks who I'd rather not be around.  There are good neighbors and not so good neighbors.  There are good doctors and not such great doctors.  Choices we make every day affect our lives from that moment on in some way, large and small.

When a medical procedure ends badly, not as expected, something went wrong.  Typically it's not true malpractice but sometimes it is.  Usually, there is a common way to perform a surgery or set a leg and seldom does that routine change.  To be sure, each patient is different, each has a set of needs to be met.  But no one expects to go into a hospital for a routine procedure and end up dead.  It's a tragedy when it happens.  I do not believe that there are many who hear of the tragedy and immediately question the doctor's or hospital's motives or lack of training.  Seriously, there can't be a majority of folks who would think to outline what they'd have done in a surgical suite when x, y or z went haywire during surgery.

Those things that go wrong require a decision be made, typically in a split second.

Routine traffic stops and routine police calls are no different.  There can't be any lay person qualified enough to determine from their dinner table when a police officer wrongly used deadly force.  I can't imagine what they are going through when that happens. It is a tragedy.

Too many of us presume to know the ins and outs of a job that we haven't got the guts to do.  Mistakes happen every day.  No, they don't all cost a life.

Increasingly, it seems we hear and see an awful lot that happens in the lives of a police officer, any police officer, and we hear and see the things others feel they do wrong.  I'm not so quick to say a judgment call is an 'intentional mistake'.

There is a part of me that would dearly like to see justice served to those who need it, whichever way that justice might be needed.  But there is a process and there is a place and it's there for a reason.  There is no need for me to formulate an opinion and share it down anyone's throat because, generally, I haven't got enough information to make even a random guess much less a qualified decision about any given situation, particularly those of these last several years.

Professional athletes should consider themselves blessed that they are not held to the standards our society has for law enforcement folks.  The lapses of good judgment made on and off the playing field by athletes that so many kids look up to is frightening but very seldom is there the outrage one would expect, especially given the standards as I said above.

The rising number of tragedies that are widely known now, the types of incidents, and the names, faces of all victims of circumstance deserve a prayer, a positive thought, and to be allowed their humanity.  Take this moment, right now, to simply forgive mistakes done against you and believe that there are good people in our world.

From my corner of this Freaking Utopia.

Not brand new news, but - Chicago Cubs!  YAY  So excited.

Getting a grip on reality sometimes requires more strength than I physically possess.

Today is one of those days.

Today our 17-year-old kitty, Jezebel, journeyed to Rainbow Bridge. 

She had a ton of heart and lots of want to go on but her body was giving out and needed rest.

She purred through it all and I'm grateful for our time together.

Hey, Jezabelly, when you get where you're going, snuggle Kitten for us and kick Bitty's hiney. 

Going to miss her.  Lots.  Likely more than I realize.

I do stuff around the house.  Some of this stuff is fun, some necessary, and some are just what I do because no one else will.

To that end, I have an understanding with all our critters; I am the spoiler and they get spoiled.

For example, yesterday I was massaging Frisky, our 13-year-old turtle.  I do this about once a week to aid her well-being and develop my communication skills.  Typically, we chat.  Rather, I talk while she hisses and flails, though there are days she just rests and listens intently.

This was a hiss and flail type day.  While rinsing her shell, the loose pieces flaked off in every direction, and Frisky became more frantic than usual, so we took a break.  Her breathing sounded labored, kind of like Darth Vader.  She really seemed upset.  I remembered she had a spot on her belly that bothered her but she'd calmed down as I smoothed her shell.

Then, as I reached past her to fetch errant pieces of shell, that cantankerous creature stood up on her stubby hind legs and BIT ME on the abdomen.  MY belly!  Through a towel and two shirts, no less, and the bite broke the skin!  It still smarts.

What smarts more?  I haven't a clue why she felt the need to do it, nor will she ever apologize for it, and she will still expect to be spoiled.  Yes, THAT kind of understanding, like a typical teenager.

She can't explain, I can't reason with her, and it's easy to forgive her.  Funny the lessons we learn from our non-human family.  

Coming to you from my Freaking Utopia!

Have you got any funny critter stories to share?  I'd love to hear them!

Sooo...how are YOU doing?

I am often asked how I'm doing or what's new and exciting.

I'm not always fine when I say I am.  

There is often something different or new going on but no one is really interested in hearing about one of the cats having vet visits that cost out the ying-yang or that my ASD kid isn't in school again today, or why.

How do YOU answer these questions when nothing is really new, or exciting, but these not new, not exciting things tax your brain, your body, and your demeanor?

But it's my Utopia.

Ah, utopia.  Freaking awesome.  Or not.  Life, my life, isn't smooth.  It isn't typically pretty.  But it's my Utopia.

I hope you'll come back and see what develops.  This is a newer venture for me.  I'd love to have company for the ride.