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Off her rocker-911, poison control, and other parenting mishaps

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When I entered the bathroom alone that day, Angel was on her little rocking chair playing quietly. A few seconds later, when I came out, it was an entirely different story.

In the short time, Angel turned her rocking chair upside down. She was lying face down wedged uncomfortably under the two rungs on the bottom of the chair stuck and crying.

I had two choices. I could either yank her out by pulling on her back or I could grab her legs and try to get her chest, head, and neck through the two rungs. The second option wasn’t ideal as I didn’t want to trap her head and neck in the chair. So I tried to yank her out from her back. She wouldn’t budge since I couldn’t get her butt past the rungs.

Next I did what I thought was the best. I freaked out! I called my husband at work. He tried to calm me down and walk me through it. He told me that I needed to put cooking oil or something slippery on her in order to slide her out. Seemed kind of obvious, but in a panic my IQ drops 50 points.

After I calmed down, I ran into the bathroom and found some anti-bacterial soap. I pulled down her pants and applied globs of soap to her butt. After that, I was able to slide her out of the chair.

But the story doesn’t end there. Angel broke out in the biggest fire red bumpy rash that I have ever seen right on her rear. I was worried that people would think that I had taken to beating her. It certainly looked like I did.

Looking back, the whole experience seems kind of funny now.

It is so hard to believe that in less than two weeks she will be packing her bags and moving out. I am happy for her, but mostly I feel sad.

Sea sick

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I spent the whole weekend on the water. Sailing by day and fishing by night. My body is swaying to an unheard unsteady beat. I feel sea sick. It is slowly going away.

Saturday morning, Paul and I took my mom sailing for her birthday. Not just my mom, but a whole fleet of boats followed us to a local festival. We also took our daughter Arabella, my sister-in-law Carla, and my autistic brother Matt. Carla and Matt never sailed before.

The trip went better than expected. Matt did really well on the boat, better than Carla who spent a lot of time complaining about how hot she was. It took us a long time to eat lunch with our big group. By the time we finished, there was only an hour left of the festival. We were downhearted about having to pay full price until they decided to let us all in for free.

Paul, Arabella, and I stayed overnight at the marina in town alongside our friend Harv. Harv wanted someone to sail back with him in the morning. Harv is in his mid-80’s. We discussed what to do in an emergency. I piped in that I would probably freak out and never want to go sailing again. It was decided that Arabella would sail back with Harv. They had a great time playing cards together while the auto pilot sailed them home with Paul and I beside them.

I was dead tired when I got home. A few hours after I got home, I received a call from Ted and Cindy who wanted to take me salmon fishing for the first time. They asked a couple of times this year and last year, but I was never able to go last minute. Paul has hell week at the theater, so I decided to go without him.

The three of us left yesterday evening to salmon fish on Lake Michigan. After we got past the breakwater, Ted opened the motor on his boat and we were flying across the waves. I have never been on a boat that fast. It was exhilarating. I was not afraid even when we were in 100 feet of water. Ted cast the lines in the water. The down riggers made a melodic humming noise in the water. It was very peaceful.

Then we waited. We saw fish on the fish finder, but they were not biting. Ted gave me pointers on how to reel in a big salmon. Cindy showed me her big box of lures. Ted marked spots where he saw schools of fish. It seemed like we went in circles all night. We danced around other boats. We saw the lights go on in the towns nearby. The lake became quiet and dark. It was very beautiful. I was cold. Still no bites.

The other boats filled with men left the water. I didn’t see any other women fishing. Still no bites. I could tell that Ted was upset. They wondered why the fish weren’t biting. They looked at me. I hoped they weren’t going to throw me overboard. Maybe I was bad luck. They worried that I was bored and would never come back again. The lake grew dark. The other boats left. No bites. No bites. I was not afraid. Even in 100 feet. Even in the dark.

I was starting to feel sleepy. Ted pulled out the fishing poles. Cindy steered the boat. I put away the glow in the dark lures. I put one away and several others stuck to my clothing. I wanted to be helpful but didn’t know what else to do. Ted opened the motor on the way back in the dark. I was a little afraid of what I couldn’t see. I felt like I was driving with my eyes closed.

We got back after midnight. I almost fell down the steps when I got home. The room was swaying. The steps seemed to move.  This morning I felt hungover. I had a headache. My stomach felt queasy. It was hard to eat. The room moved. I wanted it to stop. My body wanted to fight the feeling.

Paul has been talking about sailing the loop. Retiring on the sea. Getting a bigger boat. Cruising the Caribbean. Sailing to Tahiti. All I want right now is for the room to stop spinning.

Something is fishy- 911, poison control, and other parenting mishaps

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This morning while riding my bike, I thought of what I might write. I was so deep in thought that I almost hit a skunk. Of course, that would have been a very interesting story. The little stinker was two feet away in the ditch. It could’ve had a good shot at my legs if I would’ve screamed like I wanted to. Glad I avoided that bump in the road. Phew!

I was thinking about the time when Angel was a little girl. I had a friend over that had a little boy Angel’s age. The boy was a bit of a stinker. He still is as far as I know. They were playing quietly in the other room. That should have been the first indication that there was a problem.

When I entered the room, I noticed that they emptied a large container of fish food into the tank. I couldn’t even see the fish. A few of them died that day. It looked like a big tank of corn flakes that has been sitting in milk all day. It was a huge filthy mess. I spent the afternoon unexpectedly cleaning out the fish tank with my friend.

It made me think of other stories of fish tanks over the years. Like that time when my youngest aunt took her wild kids over to my cleaning freak uncle’s house. The kids were running wild and they knocked over the fish tank. They got kicked out of the house that day. It probably didn’t help that their parents laughed about it instead of offering to clean up the mess.

Then it brought me back to the time when I was a kid when our fish tank broke. We had our fish tank near a front door that was never used. One day my brother Luke came through the front door quickly. He flung the door open and the handle went straight through the fish tank breaking a hole in the glass. Water leaked all over the floor and was seeping into the basement which angered my dad.

I reached into the fish tank to save the fish cutting my arm on the broken glass. My dad grabbed me and threw me out of the house while swearing at me. It was a very painful moment in my life. I was just trying to save the fish.

As I was riding, I realized that a majority of my most remembered childhood memories are tragic. There is a little drawer in my mind where they are stored. They never change but are starting to fade away. The strange part is that all of the emotions that go along with those tragic events are stored in a different drawer. That drawer is locked, sometimes I can open the drawer and sometimes I cannot. I don’t seem to have control over whether the key works. Mainly, I want the door to remain locked with the key hidden away. Writing about these things sometimes unlocks the door. I can see why people don’t want to think or write about such things.

Then I spent some time pouring over other painful memories. Still no emotions at all. Nothing. Then I thought for awhile if there were any good memories in there from my childhood. Any at all?? Then I thought of all of the evenings that my mom would take us on walks to visit my grandparents and Aunt Grace whom lived nearby. Those were the best memories. I remembered the comfort, quiet, and peacefulness of their houses. I remembered visiting with them talking about nothing of importance. Those memories are tinged with emotion, more of a nostalgia that my grandparents and Aunt Grace are all gone now.

Then I put my bike and thoughts away, took a shower, and headed to work..

 

Amish windows

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8-2-16 001This week we got our new windows. You probably are wondering why I would even talk about something so boring as home improvements. The exciting story here is not in the what, it is in the who. We had the Amish come out to work on the project.

Let’s just clear up the boring part first. My husband and I bought a house built in the 1990’s when everyone was on the air tight energy saving kick. Having an air tight house has been great when it comes to heating bills. We barely pay anything to heat our house during the cold Wisconsin winters. However, we have had moisture issues since the day we bought it.

The moisture can’t escape. Anytime we had temps below freezing, condensation would form on our windows. Sometimes it rained inside our house with water dripping down our windows pooling into the wooden sills. Our house is like a rain forest. We  bought an air exchanger to draw the humidity out of our air tight house. But by then the damage was done to our windows. They needed replacing but we couldn’t afford to do it in our earlier years.

The picture above is the window from our bedroom. We have been breathing in black mold for years now. We tried bleach, we tried everything, but we couldn’t fix the damage done without replacing them.

We were referred to an Amish man to do the work of replacing our windows. The first step was to have him come out here to look at our windows and take measurements. He needed someone to drive him. The first obstacle was giving him directions to our house. Get out your iPhone and type in our address. That obviously wasn’t going to work. He did get lost coming out once because he had difficulty explaining the directions to different drivers. It is probably like trying to read a map in a different language.

After he took the measurements, he made the windows himself. I thought that was pretty impressive. Most people around here know that anything Amish made is high quality.

Then he came over this week with three other men. They arrived in a large diesel truck driven by a heavy set man in overalls. He looked like a rancher from Texas, not that I have ever seen one anywhere besides TV. Then he drove off.

It took the men a day and a half to complete the job.  At first the men seemed pretty ackward around me. In their culture I don’t believe that they are comfortable talking to a married woman without her husband around. I felt naked around them in shorts and a t-shirt. No matter what I wore, I don’t think that I could ever be as modest as an Amish woman. I didn’t want to offend them.

I heard the men talk a lot in German. I didn’t understand a word even though they were speaking the language of my ancestors. When they were working outside, one of the men asked another what the buzzing sound was coming from a machine. The other man replied, “I think that is what you call an air conditioner.” They were very respectful and friendly, yet we all eyed each other in puzzlement by the differences in culture.

The second day, the four men came back to finish the job. This time they brought along two little boys around the ages of 7 and 10. The boys didn’t seem to do any of the work besides carry a few light things. Instead they followed their dad around intensely watching him and learning the family trade. I wish that our culture had the same attitude regarding our youth instead of throwing them out into the world after high school with no job skills.

The Amish workers seemed interested by my children watching TV. They seemed fascinated to see us drive off in cars, especially the teenagers. I’m sure that they had just as many stories to tell about us as we told about them. There was nothing bad to say.

I am very happy with our new windows and the work the Amish men did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anniversary race

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The sailboats are snuggling in their harbor slips deceptively calm before the start of the race.

On our actual anniversary date, I decided to join Paul as crew on his sailboat race. It is risky for a married couple to do, especially on their anniversary date. I was one of the few, if not only, wife out racing last night with her husband.

I have heard a lot of wives say that they can not race with their husbands. In the excitement of the event, the husband at times can raise his voice and speak harshly to his wife. I spoke to someone this weekend who said that she cried after her husband yelled during a race. They got into a big argument, and never raced together since.

I work with my husband, so…

Then there are the wives that don’t want to go sailing at all. There are a lot of reasons why. They are afraid of being on water and boats. Boating is the only mode of transportation that doesn’t terrify me. Another really good reason….they are afraid of spiders. Again, not me. I don’t even mind touching them. Or maybe, just maybe, they can’t stand their husband. Who knows? I love sailing. What is there not to love? Every time is a different adventure even if you go to the same place.

I prefer cruising over racing though. Can I let you in on a little secret?? There was more yelling during our anniversary cruise than on our anniversary race. Not to worry, it was nothing major. Paul accused me of not caring about him anymore. He is right. Sometimes I am uncaring. I lack patience. I lack empathy. I think that part of growing up in survival mode has made both of us lack empathy. We needed to have a thick skin and not care. But that is no excuse.

Sometimes I wish the honeymoon phase of marriage lasted a little bit longer. Maybe it would have if we didn’t have a newborn on our first anniversary. Who knows? It seems like those annoying quirks that I thought were cute at first didn’t stay cute for very long. Now we have a mutual annoyance for each other. Then add busyness and stress to the picture which tends to naturally give me less tolerance and makes me more critical.

It takes a lot of work to make a marriage great after being together over 20 years, but it is well worth the effort. We are trying to be more supportive, not take each other for granted, and take the time needed to make our relationship a priority. It is difficult because neither one of us has ever been shown this.

After the race, we celebrated our anniversary in a little dive bar. It was one of the few places that serves food after dark. Surprisingly, the food was great. We played a game of darts together and talked to another sailor that wandered in. He told us that he wished his wife would sail with him. Then we went home and decided to call it a year.

19th anniversary sail continued…

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And just like that, Sunday morning arrived and it was time to sail home. It was a warm day with agreeable winds that would blow us back home.

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This is a picture of Paul attaching the whisker pole to the jib sail. This allowed us to open our sails wide to let the breeze carry us home.

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It can be lonely out on the open water. We saw a couple of birds, boats, and this big cargo ship on the horizon. Paul said that the only time he sees me fully relax is when I am on the sailboat. We can be heeling at a sharp angle with me calmly snoozing.

Today we have been married for 19 years and together for 21.

A few years ago, I saw an older couple walking together hand in hand on the beach. We had the opportunity to talk and I asked them how long they have been together since they looked so happy and in love. They responded that they have been dating for 6 months or some similar period of time. What I don’t see is what I want to be. I want to be that couple that has been together over 20 years walking hand in hand on the beach.

I worry about the changes that this next year will bring. We are facing the loss of our first parent this coming year. Saying good-bye has been a difficult process. Plus, in a few short weeks, we are sending our firstborn off to college and into the adult world.

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On the last leg of our journey, another sailboat pulled up along side of us. They warmly greeted us with shouts we could barely hear then continued sailing a different way. Our paths intersected for a short time.

Paul had to be back early for play practice, but we had a few minutes to stop at a quiet sandy beach. We let the cool waves take us to shore. When we got there, we found a little sailboat stuck partially under the sand. We carried the pieces to shore. It was sad to see the broken abandoned boat. It felt like we were seeing a lost dream. The wind must have taken it from its home.

No matter where the winds of life end up taking us, I am happy to be with a great man.

And for that brief moment in time, we were able to walk hand in hand on the beach.

19th anniversary sail

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Seconds tick into minutes. The gears of time grind onward clicking minutes into hours. Hours turn into days, then months, then years, then decades. Before I knew it, I spent half my life with the same person. Sometimes I want to stop the sand from flowing through the hourglass so fast, suspend time for awhile. I wish our days were as numerous as sand on the beach then I won’t have to grasp time so greedily before it slips away.

Paul and I left Friday morning to sail to our destination, a beautiful resort in Door County for our 19th anniversary. The winds were against us. But we didn’t have time to go any other days, we had to force it. Last minute I decided to pack my rain coat, even though we weren’t expecting rain. I took the above picture as we were leaving. A few minutes later, I exchanged my shorts for pants and put on my rain coat. We were sailing against the wind and 3 to 6 foot waves were smashing into the bow soaking me. We had to motor for 2 hours under these conditions. I barely kept down my breakfast. I guess that is what happens when nature conflicts with your schedule.
 

After several hours of fighting the waves, we finally were able to sail through smoother waters. We did sail awhile for fun, but it didn’t get us towards our destination. It is ironic how something seemingly small, like the wind or a slight change in direction, can set the whole trajectory off course. Marriage is a lot like that at times too. The funny thing is that we don’t really notice the little changes at the time. Only when we look back with a great amount of reflection can we try to chart where we went off course. 

 

We arrived safely at our destination and were very warmly greeted by the other sailors. We were even offered the use of a car if an emergency arose at home which I came close to taking them up on. Lol. I AM the worried mother of three teenagers after all! We toured a larger sailboat and were offered a sail the following morning. We politely declined to explore a new beach. 

The next morning we motored 45 minutes to a small beach that was remote to get to from land but rather crowded by water. We were planning on blowing up our dingy and having a picnic on shore followed by a swim. The spot where we anchored was rather weedy. Then we noticed that the beach was full and the water was empty. So we decided to ditch the whole dingy idea and head back to the resort pool. We were talking about the beach we explored with someone and how the people didn’t seem to care for the water. We were told that the water was 61 degrees! Bbbrrrrr!! I’m glad we decided to eat our lunch aboard and head back to the resort pool. I even went into the hot tub and sauna for awhile. 

That is summer in Wisconsin. 

To be continued…. 

Drowning, my fears – 911, poison control, and other parenting mishaps

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I, myself, have never been afraid of drowning. Maybe I would’ve been if my brother drowned that warm spring day.

It is a topic of conversation that never goes away. Why did my mom let my dad talk her into leaving the 6 year old me in charge of watching my 3 younger brothers alone in the water? Was I always the protector or did I become that way? 

A few weeks ago, my brother told me that he has nightmares of me watching him drown. How can he remember? He just turned two. I remember everything that happened that day. I stood on the dock paralyzed with fear watching my brother gulping water and gasping for air. As he flailed his arms, my 3 year old brother exclaimed excitedly over and over that he was swimming. My autistic 5 year old brother stood in the shallow water flapping his hands oblivious to the surrounding peril. 

I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t seem to move. My mom came back to check on us and saved my brother. I knew that I failed because I couldn’t protect him.

I never was afraid of drowning. I was afraid of watching others drown.

Fast forward another 6 years to when I was 12. I watched my baby cousin in their swimming pool while her mom was at work. She was sitting in the water on a pool chair. She fell off the chair backwards into the water. I grabbed her leg and pulled her out. I was so happy that I didn’t panic and let her drown. But everyone else seemed so angry. My uncle got scolded from his wife for letting me watch my cousin in the pool. No one seems to remember that I protected her, that I didn’t let her drown.

Fast forward another decade after I had children of my own. We were told as new parents to never leave your baby unattended even for a few seconds in the bathtub. If the phone is ringing in the other room, let it ring. I suppose this is not a problem anymore for the new generation of parents.

Then my kids got older to the age where I didn’t need to sit and watch them bathe. I could go in every few minutes and check on them. One day I checked on Arabella in the bathtub after there was an unusual period of silence. I opened the tub door to find her floating in the water fast asleep. For a brief minute, as I gazed at her motionless body, I was terrified that she drowned. It was the most horrible anxiety ever. I thought that I failed to protect her.

After that happened, I worried that my children would drown. I never liked my kids taking showers when I was gone or asleep. I mean, they could slip on a bar of soap, hit their head, and drown. I don’t let them go swimming alone. I feel the need to keep an eye on them when they are swimming in water.

Even having my 3 kids swim together at the beach in front of me in shallow water wasn’t enough. I looked away for a minute and then there were 2 kids. My youngest wandered off from her siblings and couldn’t be found. It was a large beach with a lot of people. In just a few seconds they got distracted and separated. I ran up and down the beach combing the water until she was found safe. Another terrifying moment. 

So I worry. Worry makes me feel like I have some control, that I will be prepared for the worst that could happen. I worry about the things I can’t control. I feel like I am responsible for everything that happens. I am the protector. Sometimes I even try to control when I need to let go. It leaves me a nervous wreck. 

Within this last month, my daughter became an adult. My son turned 16 and got his driver’s license. Sometimes I can’t even tell anymore if my worries are rational or irrational. I don’t know anymore. 

People that don’t worry tell me not to worry, to worry about things I can control, and that I need to trust God more. Believe me, I wish I was a carefree person. I have an extreme fear of failing to be a protector. When something goes wrong, I blame myself.

I want to relax. I want to let go. 

But sometimes the worry drowns me.

Running with razor blades – 911, poison control, and other parenting mishaps

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A long time ago, back when both of my grandparents were still alive, Paul and I took our little girl Angel out for a visit. My grandparents lived in a house where all of the main rooms downstairs were connected in a circular pattern. Think indoor running track. Well, that is exactly what my kids used it for anyway. It wasn’t bothersome, they wore off some extra energy, and you always knew their whereabouts.

On that day, Angel ran quite a few laps. After awhile we tuned out the constant tread of her little feet. That is until we heard the noise that no parent ever wants to hear…

Absolute silence.

I went to check on her.

What I saw next made me shriek in terror. I sqawked louder than a mother bird protecting her nest from predators.

Angel was holding a handful of straight edge razor blades. Her bloody little fingers were bringing them towards her mouth in slow motion. I screamed! She dropped her find and cried in response to my fear. I freaked out as Paul calmly inspected her bloody hands.

My grandma felt horrible. My grandparents kept everything. Although their house did not reflect hoarding or clutter, they kept many useless objects. They tucked those objects into hidden nooks and crannies like they were treasure. The razor blades from another era were hidden in the back of a bottom lower cupboard. In those brief seconds of silence, Angel found them and attempted to eat them.

Thankfully, she didn’t get seriously hurt. She didn’t need stitches. She just had a few cuts on her hands. Sometimes I shudder to think about what could have happened if I didn’t get there when I did.

It was on that day that I learned a lesson as a relatively new parent.

I learned that sometimes my kids are going to do things that hurt them. As a parent, it is very difficult to watch. If they would only listen to me, then maybe they could save themselves the pain of learning things the hard way.

Unfortunately that is not the way life works.

Sometimes I wonder if that is how God feels about us.

 

Broken snow globes – 911, poison control, and other parenting mishaps

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Back when Angel was a very little girl, perhaps before her siblings were born, I started a snow globe collection for her. Beautiful dancers and assorted wildlife swirled in the glistening snow. I put her collection safe up high on a ledge that she, for sure, couldn’t reach. She could gaze at them during nap time.

Ah, nap time. Well, what was supposed to be nap time.

When I entered her room that afternoon, there was a carnage of broken creatures that escaped their forever winter out of shattered glass. All of the snow globes were broken and Angel had glitter coming out of her mouth.

I called poison control that day.

What do you suspect is in snow globe water? Not drinking water, I’m sure.

Is eating globs of globe glitter harmful?

God forbid, did she swallow any of the glass??

Somehow she managed to survive until adulthood.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. Even if I had the snow globes suspended from the ceiling, they wouldn’t be high enough to keep out of the hands of a curious toddler.

Not long after that, I put the number for poison control on speed dial.