30 Days of Truth: Day Fifteen

Day Fifteen:  Someone or something you couldn't live without.

Love puts the music in laughter

the beauty in song,

the warmth in a shoulder,

the gentle in strong...

Love puts the magic in memories,

the sunshine in skies,

the gladness in giving,

the starlight in eyes...

Love puts the fun in together, 

the sad in apart,

the hope in tomorrow,

the joy in our heart.

~jh~

Pooldad, I love you.  So much more than I think you will ever know.  It has been a heck of a ride these past 16 years, eh Bud?

I have no idea where I would be all these years later without you. I know we talk about us not meeting sooner, but I don't think you would've been able to take a 3rd grader to your HS Senior Prom. Additionally I think we agreed that my Dad might've frowned a weeeeee little bit at the idea of someone who was getting ready to celebrate 3 decades escorting his college freshman daughter to the Governor's Ball. [For those unable to do super, quick math - ME! - We are 10 years apart in age.  He is the old one. I got the trophy wife status. ::wink::]

We met at the right time.  The right time for us.

It has been interesting, no doubt.  Do I regret any of it?  Not much, but I would be remiss if I didn't say sure to some of it - SR and Deb weren't exactly the packages we needed to carry along with our new marriage, four kids and a new baby - but we weathered that.  The court, the child support, the moving, the taxes, the family turmoil.  We got through, didn't we?  I think back and sometimes realize the best thing I can say is "Well, at least neither one of us ended up in jail."  Hee.  

Our happiness is thanks to you.  Pooldad - you have always taken care of me.  You made me strong.  Showed me what real happiness is.  You taught me how to laugh.  Oh, hoo boy - can you make me laugh sweetheart.  No one in the world makes me laugh like you do. I like that you are the one person in the whole, wide world that doesn't think my laugh is scary or heinous - you love to make me laugh.  Best gift, next to Wallene, I think, you have ever given me.

I love to laugh and you give me that in buckets.

The last few years have been our hardest - but I don't grieve about them. I am just scared.  Scared if I don't have you.  You do everything for me.  Everything.  It will sound silly to list all of the things, but I want everyone to know what it is you do for me.  First - you go to work everyday - same career for 33 years and you rock at it.  I am so proud of you.  You never cease to amaze me that you love your job - after all this time.  After working all the hours you do, you come home and shop, cook, clean, wash clothes, walk the dogs and love on me.  You change schedules to accommodate my desires, the childrens' needs or your parents' requests.  You never fail any of us. Any one of us.

I am SO proud of you.

I don't know how you do it, but you do.  I am afraid if I ever lost you I couldn't do any of it without you here.   

I can't say I couldn't live without you, as the question asked.  I have our children to think of, but I know, without a doubt, I wouldn't want to live without you. Ever.

You are my hero, my best friend and the very love of my life.  There was never anyone like you before and there will not be anyone after you.

God made one of you and he gifted me.  I feel like the luckiest woman in the world - of that there is no question.

Thank you S.  I could say that a thousand times and it will never be enough for everything you have ever given me.

Let's goof with the wedding band again, shall we?
I promise I am not trying to lose it.
Sizing.
It's a concept.
Stop laughing.  You know what I mean.

I love you truly baby.

~J~

30 Days of Truth: Day Fourteen

Day Fourteen:  A hero who has let you down.

That's my Dad!

My Dad is my hero.  He will always be my hero.  And he did let me down, but not in the sense of what most people would think.

My Dad lived his life the way I strive to everyday.  My father was fair.  He was honest - honest to a fault some would say.  He was strong - in his heart, his mind and his abilities to do anything.  He put himself through college, earning two degrees, while working and raising our family.  He was so smart - probably the smartest person I have ever known.  If my father didn't know how to do something he would read about it and teach himself to do it.  Auto repair, computers, bridge, golf. He was amazing.

If my father had a fault it was he smoked.  A lot.  Too much. [I know, I know one cigarette is too much, but the man SMOKED.]

After 40 years my father developed lung cancer.  He was diagnosed shortly after his 65th birthday in 2003.  He had several operations, but the cancer kept spreading.  As he grew weaker he kept telling us "No radiation, no chemo."  He had watched several friends die of this hideous disease and how they struggled through the treatments and he didn't want to suffer like he saw them do.  In September of that year he finally relented and agreed to radiation.  I took him to all his appointments - and as heartbreaking as those memories are - I mean, I was watching my father die - it was some of the best father- daughter time we have ever spent together.  He couldn't speak so well anymore, as the cancer had spread to his brain, but as I drove him around he would hold my hand and every once in a while he would blurt out a funny observation or thought.  I knew he was scared, we all were, but he tried to make it easier by still trying to be himself.

My father died in October of the same year he was diagnosed.  There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of him and wish that I could pick up the phone or drive over to the house just to hear his parting words once more.  Each time, as I was leaving, I would kiss him goodbye and say "I love you."  He would reply "Talk to you later." He wasn't big on all the mushy I-love-you kind of stuff, but those "Talk to you laters" meant exactly that - That he loved me and that was his way of telling me so.

Dad, I know you had to go and I am glad that you aren't in anymore pain, but why, why did you have to leave me so soon?

You let me down Dad and I miss you every single day.

Bring Your A Game

Somehow I found myself asked many questions by several Tadpoles today via email.

I appreciate that anyone...ANYONE...thinks enough of my opinion to ask me anything.

I am actually quite flattered.

I don't feel flattered very often.

Flattened? Yeah, life has thrown me on my ass this year so - absolutely, but rarely do I experience the other word with the R in it.  See how close they are?

Yeah, I am not so special.

I am going to be honest. I thought the "30 Days of Truth" would pull it out of me - but I realized in responding to all of the wonderful emails today you guys don't realize what a day for me is like. You are getting the "Good Skippy", the "Happy Skippy" - the "Breathing Skippy".  [The last one is my favorite if you didn't know.] Breathing trumps good and happy all day long.

It isn't always the case.  Life can suck.

Anyone care to know what my day is actually like?  Well - regardless of who wants to know - here goes.

5:00 am - I have slept tilted up because I can't breathe lying down. I can't roll over this morning because the pain in my shoulders, elbows, hands and knees keep me motionless for a few minutes. I start to count "1, 2, 3..." and flip over until I think I can sit up. I make it almost to the edge of the bed.  I am trying to be quiet because my husband doesn't have to be up for a few more hours, nor does my daughter who is asleep across the hall.

5:15 - I manage to swing my legs off the bed, still counting because I figure if I can count to a 5 I am good. 10 would be bad and I try to move faster.  I think it hurts less to do it in 5 instead of 10.  I play mind games with myself.

5:20 - I stand up.  Three steps in front of me is our Master Bathroom.  I can lean towards the door and grasp the handle and hold on.  Then the huffing starts.  I need to get into the bathroom for - well potty - but my lungs are so filled I have to huff for air to do this.  I actually make the noise.  I say the words, out loud  "Huff, huff, huff" just to get the air in my lungs.  I am quiet though.  Not because it would bother Pooldad but because there is nothing he can do if I wake him up.  He can't clear my lungs or help me with my stumbling - I have to do those things. Better he sleeps.

5:30 - I come back to the bed and I have to decide.  I am so thirsty I want to be in the kitchen now, but do I go downstairs in my pajamas or do I attempt to get dressed in clothes for the day.  If I go downstairs in my pajamas there is a good chance I won't get another trip up the stairs to actually be in day clothing, but if I decide to get dressed I might end up back in bed because I can't breathe.  Leaning over a dresser or walking into the closet and grabbing something exhausts me.

I have to decide quick. I need a glass of water.  I pick blue jeans and a sweatshirt.  Pulling off my pajamas makes me yelp because my left side is so tender.  I am still huffing out loud and then there comes the coughing. Cough, cough, cough.  I need to get downstairs now.

5:40 - I try and navigate my left leg into my jeans and stumble to the left almost hitting the nightstand. Curse. Cough. Huff, huff, huff...breath Skippy.  Get that foot in and sit down.  Breathe. Hard. Stick the right leg in. Stand up.  Sit back down.  Cough. Breath. Cough. Breath.  Stand up and pull my jeans up.  Look at the sweatshirt I considered - I think "Bad idea" because my arm hurts too bad and grab an oversized button up shirt of Pooldad's that is draped over the end of our bed. I can do the buttons in the kitchen when I get down there.  I sit back down and start to cough.  Now I know I am going to be sick and I have to get downstairs.  I grab a handful of tissues and spit out what is in my  mouth.  The congestion is suffocating, but I need to get downstairs.  I have to sit. Huff, huff, huff. Cough.

6:00 - Yes that took me 20 minutes to put on clothes.  There are 18 steps to navigate to the middle floor.  Going down is no better than coming up, my pain and the fact my hands are incapable of holding on requires me to use balance I don't have.  The stairs are my greatest nemesis. They scare me the most.  I put my right hand onto the wall and take one step at a time. Huff, huff, huff...and the pain is there - so in between a huff I am saying "1, 2, 3....."

I need to get to the kitchen NOW.  Keep walking.

6:10 - I am in the kitchen and shuffling to the kitchen sink.  My nose is full, my chest is screaming and I am heaving.  Dry heaves. I don't get my drink of water because I am bent over the stainless steel sink heaving, nothing, into the sink.  I turn the water on to drown out the sound that I make while vomitting into the sink [It doesn't work, ask my family, but it is the best I can do.]  After a few tries I am able to cough or blow out the congestion. It is all the water that has settled in my lungs during the night.  My ribcage is tender, my throat is killing me and I am considering whether that glass of water I wanted is a good idea.  Is that going to come back up too.  I decide against it.  I wash my face and go sit in front of my computer.

6:45 - I have been awake for an hour and 45 minutes and want to go back to my bed, except that requires stairs and my baby is getting ready for school.  She needs company and a lunch. Right.

I sit for a good while.  Check my email and then finally rise to make her lunch.  She doesn't expect it and she will do it gladly, but it is the one thing I can do.  So I do. I have learned some tricks though that would've surprised me a few years back.  I leave the fridge door open the whole time [gasp! the energy waste!] because  it is a huge effort to open and close it. It wears me out.  How weird is that.  No one points out my hypocrisy - they just let me be. If it is easier for Mom then they are fine with it.

It takes me 25 minutes to make her lunch.  I have to stop constantly to hold onto the counter or lean over and breathe.  The whole time I am saying "huff, huff, huff" under my breath. I sound like the lame ass train in the room. The one that isn't making it over the mountain.  I sometimes wonder if this is what my kids and Pooldad are going to remember. I can't really care.  It helps me breathe. So be it.

My girl leaves at 7:45 and I collapse into my chair.  And sit. Sometimes I cry.  Because I hurt, or I am so tired of throwing up.  Or that I couldn't breathe.

Around 10 or 11 am:  Now comes the better part of my day.  Having cleared the congestion I get the benefit of actually being able to breathe [almost] normally.  I have an occasional huff, but nothing like what the first part of my morning brings me.

I have a few hours of this.  I get to play on the computer [Hey! Tadpoles!] but I am incapable to do much else.  That drives me nuts.

 [Things that I have done in the past - laundry, walking the dogs have fallen to the wayside.  Most of my days are what I have just described.  It takes a great amount of effort, time and coddling of me to get me to JMU or the movies.  When I am able to do that I will brag about it.  Seems simple to everyone else, but it is the entire world to me.  I do pay the price to have those joys in my life though.  I have just never told you all.  I am now.]

So back to my day - Around noon or 1 pm I need a nap.  Here comes the quandry.  If I go to take a nap I will have to go back up the stairs.  18 stairs. Up.  Once there I will be huffing for about an hour to clear the congestion that my heart has conjured up because it worked so hard to get me to my bed.  I do take naps, I do go up there.  Here is the backside though - if I sleep for any amount of time [one hour or more] I am so congested I am repeating the morning.  I have to cough out everything that settles in my lungs.  I am dry heaving to clear the congestion. But I am so tired I need that nap.  When my daughter and husband come home I might be awake, but I will coughing, huffing and in pain, just like the morning.

My greatest fear is the nighttime. Everyone has gone to bed and I know when I make my way back up the 18 steps it will be another hour before I can breathe and lay down.  Then I have to figure out how to lay down/propped up because one side of my body hurts more or that hand can't lay this way or I have to be this elevated to be able to breathe.

When I do finally fall asleep I toss, turn and reposition myself.  The crackling in my chest makes me realize at 1 am or 2 am that I need to sit up and cough.  I do.  For 15 minutes.  I lay back down, exhausted, knowing that I will be up again at 3 am doing the same thing.  And 5 am is just a short time from then.  Sometimes I just choose not to go to sleep because I won't feel the suffocation and pain. Tonight [this morning] is one of those times.

I just realized I started this blog two years ago yesterday.  Little did I know that life was going to throw these things at me in such a short period of time.  I have always been Skippy - I will always be Skippy - but sometimes I can't bring my A game. I suck.

I am trying here Tadpoles but there are some days even I can't do it.

30 Days of Truth: Day Thirteen

Day Thirteen: A band that got you through some rough times

I didn't do the whole teen angst, emo thing growing up.  In fact emo wasn't even a Sesame Street character or state of being when I was in my teens, but I do get the point of this question.

It just doesn't fit into my life or my tough times.  Don't misunderstand me - I love music.  All kinds of music, but I am probably a hair metal band kind of girl first and foremost.  Surprise you?  Well, it shouldn't  hee- I came of age in the mid eighties and bands like Van Halen, Bon Jovi and Def Lepard were all the rage.  Besides enjoying their music [and annoying the heck out of my father - "SKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPY! You can't study while that crap is playing!"] they were seriously easy on the eyes.  Especially Eddie Van Halen and Jon Bon Jovi.

oh my

oh my my my

But I didn't use music to escape - or get through tough times -  I just enjoyed it.  I loved it because it made me happy to be in the moment, excited for the next Rolling Stone or Creem magazine to come out, giddy at the thought of going to a concert.  I equate music to happy stuff.

When times got tough, and I suppose they did, I don't think it occurred to me to turn to "Bad Medicine" or "Eruption" to get me through.  Music was for fun and games - not to mend a broken heart or make me forget the lousy customers at my job.  To equate it with bad memories would've have sullied it for me.

I like it just they way it was.  Loud, fast and fun.  No tough times attached - just sweet, sweet memories.

[This post is entirely gratuitous.  I posted it just to be able to look at my high school boyfriends, Eddie and Jon, for a few days.  You're welcome.]

Sodium for Thursday 11/4/2010
Breakfast:     0 mg
Lunch:          500 mg [I finished the oreos.  No more.]
Dinner:         238 mg <-----Progresso Vegetable soup - 1 cup - who knew it was so low.  I am achy, so this is what we had.
Beverages:      48 mg [slept most of the day]
Total:            796 mg

30 Days of Truth: Day Twelve

Day Twelve:  Something you are never complimented on.

This question confounded me a bit. After reading it a few time I came to the conclusion that it should read "Something that sucks about you but you think you ought to be complimented on" or "A skill or attribute you lack."

Easy.

I have absolutely no ability to decorate.  Anything. Ever.  No one has ever come into my home and complimented me on my paint colors, furniture placement or [lack of] wall hangings.  [And no I don't want to be complimented lied to about it either.]

I like to think of our house as a home, and I suppose it is, but it really looks like a furniture store with hairballs, day old newspapers and random shoes tossed around.  I don't do area rugs or carpets, I couldn't place a few knick knacks on a table in a eye pleasing arrangement if I tried and you can best forget curtains, throw pillows or candles.

Curtains, throw pillows and candles, oh my!

The thing is I have a lot of stuff.  I have been on this planet a pretty long time [as has my husband] and we have accumulated bunches.  Besides what we pick up here and there we keep inheriting things.  Cool things.  Things of which I have no clue what do with them.  Case in point: The painting "Custer's Last Fight".  Remember that whole diatribe?  Well, yeah - ol' "I am no Martha" Skippy finally hung it in the kitchen. Yes you read that right.  The kitchen. ::shame::

See what I mean?  I am just BAD at this.

I am so bad at it that Wallene took it upon herself to rearrange the living/dining room combo, place flowers and candles about "just so" to make the house more homey for her sister's prom date.  Her exact words "No Mom. No. [steering me to a safe place in the kitchen]  Let me do this. Please.  PLEASE."  The child was begging to do housework and heavy lifting.  That has to tell you something.  Like perhaps she didn't want me to embarrass her sister with my oh-so-not mad skillz?  I am still convinced I saw Squirrel slip Wallene a 10 spot when they thought I wasn't looking.  sigh.

You know you really suck at something when your kids conspire to keep you from doing it.  Yep!

My sodium for Tuesday 11/2 & Wednesday 11/3
Breakfast:  36 mg                        0 mg
Lunch:  0 mg                            630 mg*
Dinner:  335 mg                       310 mg*
Beverages: 75 mg                       48 mg
Total:  446 mg                         1038 mg

[*Keep the turkey slices out of the house Pooldad! But no Oreos!]

Have a great day!

The Tessa/Skippy Challenge - Day One [Let's Call it a Cheer A Thon!]

Tessa and I have joined up to cheer eachother on in our journey to eat healthy.  I am trying to keep to my prescribed sodium limit while Tessa is working her way to weight loss.

I made her a deal - I would stick [or try to stick - eek!] to my 1000 mg a day of sodium if she would work at keeping her caloric level at what she felt is comfortable for her.  She attends TOPS and it is a great program that [I believe] uses caloric intake and exercise as a way in which to lose weight.  Awesome!  Go check out her blog - not only will you fall in love with Tess - you will just about want to gobble up all the new grandbabies she is being blessed with lately! [::Jealous! Babies!::]

The best part of this challenge is we want you all to join - Want to exercise more?  Hop aboard and post about it.  Do you desire to stop smoking?  We are in your corner!  Need to lose weight or gain weight?  We are your go to ladies.  Heck - are you trying to save money, get out of debt? Let's all cheer eachother on.  This is meant to be fun and helpful - we are here to support eachother.

If you want to hook up just go over to Tessa's and let her know and we can all be in this together.  Nothing is more supportive than good friends that are working on something to improve their lives together.  Am I right?

Everyday I am going to post my sodium level at the end of my blog post.  I may write about things like helicopters in my backyard or why Wallene is named Wallene or why I sleep in my bathroom but please appreciate the little sodium aside at the end of each entry.

It's for a good reason - and what friends are for.*

My sodium for the day:
Breakfast: 7 mg
Lunch:  530 mg
Dinner: 480 mg
Beverages:  75 mg
Total:  1092 [It was the Oreos I swear.  Lil' suckers have 160 mg per 3 cookies. Dang!]

*Can someone explain to me why I am incapable of not ending a sentence in a preposition.  It drives me batty.

30 Days of Truth: Day Eleven

Day Eleven:  Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

I was going to say my kids because they would be at the top of the list, but let's make this [more] about ME! Shall we?  I figure one narcissist in my family just isn't enough. hee

And just to be extra, extra shallow - let's pick my best physical attribute.  Well, at least the one people seem to comment on the most.

My legs.  I am pretty tall - 5'8 [or 5'7 1/2 depending on who you ask] - not insanely tall, but the average height for an American female is 5'4 so I am doing a bit better than the average height I would say.  Most of my height is made up in my legs.

My Mom had fabulous legs.  'Til the day she died her legs were shapely and gorgeous - she never had a bit of cellulite [much to other people's chagrin - we could never figure it out - the woman ate anything and everything].  Her legs were gorgeous - so pretty that one time while she was cooking dinner I saw Pooldad staring off towards the stove and I asked him "What are you looking at?"  He replied "Your Mom's legs. They're great!"  I was, like..."Ewww."  And then my Dad hit him. [I am kidding. Sort of.]

So I have to thank my Momma for my nice pair of gams. I am no Betty Grable - but I can pull off shorts and mini skirts if I feel like it without worrying.  I do have to say since I have been on this low sodium diet I am finding it difficult to put the weight back on my legs [and arms and my behind] but I think I can still rock it:

Yes?
Taken last evening - and no I won't be wearing those shoes again. 

Have a great Monday!