My kids are back!!

The girlies wasted no time reminding me of what I'd been missing.  Dialogue.  The hilarious conversations that they have with each other, and with me, never cease to entertain.  We were sitting in the kitchen having breakfast on tuesday, just hours after they returned and I was probing for details about their trip. This was the conversation...

Me: "So how was the trip!? Did you have fun with Grandma Carlene?"

Gwen: "Yeah.  It was fun.  I hope Grandma Carlene never has to live in a nursing home like Grandma Jackie.  But mom, when you're old we'll visit you in the nursing home."

Me: ????

Gwen:  "We'll keep the house, Tula and me, and dad'll be... I dunno... somewhere... but don't worry, we'll visit you when you live in the nursing home."

Tula: "OOOOh, I can live here too? With you?"

Gwen:  "Yeah Tula, and you can do whatever you want!"

Me:  ????

Tula with a joker grin, directly to me: "I'm gonna eat candy for breakfast!"

So, in summary:  Gwen, (the daughter who has already informed me that she will be having children when she grows up, but she will never get married because she doesn't want to have to kiss a boy...) is already making plans to oust me from my home and lock me away somewhere (shortly after my retirement in 2047, no doubt),  all the while singing the praises of the sweet hereafter and bribing her minion with the lure of unbridled freedom.  My daughters just might take over the world.  

Man, this is fun!

Slowing Down

A few weeks ago, I went to see my Gramma.  She lives in a really depressing care center, but then again I guess they all are.  It takes me a little over an hour to get there and I'm always reluctant to go because I get the feeling that most of the time, she doesn't remember who I am.  She always knows that I belong to her, but she never seems to know quite how.  You can almost see her fumbling with the pieces of the puzzle and not quite realizing how we all fit together.  Dementia sucks.   

Whenever I visit her I'm bombarded with questions about life, ethics, quality of life, all the things that make me love and hate being a nurse and being a member of a family.  But, every time I go to see her, I try to beg my way into a visit with my Aunt and Uncle.  They live near her care center and somehow I feel time slow down when I'm with them.  I relax almost instantly when I'm around them.  Even when I disagree with their political views or their take on current or historical events, I still feel accepted.  Perhaps it's them, or perhaps it's that photosynthetic life is exploding all around their house... they have the most amazing gardens of anyone I know.  I can't imagine being able to wake up to this every day... and this is just a piece of the view... Amazing.

20freakin47...

In the 8 years that I've claimed to be a grown-up, I've been throwing my money in the general direction labelled "Retirement" and I've never met with anyone about what a great job I'm doing at saving... I honestly try not to think about the numbers in my retirement account because I find the whole thing really depressing.  The numbers fluctuate, and with each fluctuation I find myself tacking more years onto my career...groan.  I had an appointment today with an advisor for the company that manages the retirement plans for my employer.  I'm not sure exactly what I expected, a little pat on the back "nice job sport", a little "looks good, keep it up"... Wrong-o!  She really didn't have anything bad (or good) to say.  The only thing I really took away from our little meeting was anxiety.  


The retirement calculator thingy that the system uses is quite simple, you enter your estimated year of retirement and the system automatically tapers down your risk the closer you get to retirement.  No biggy... just wish I had thought of something brilliant like that... then I wouldn't have to talk to anyone about my retirement plans because I'd already BE RETIRED!...  So, in big bold print on my account's page it has my estimated year of retirement; 2045.  I cringed when I saw it.  I can't even fathom that number.  AND THEN this horrid little woman says with a shrug, "Realistically, it's really going to be at least 2047"  AND SHE CHANGED THE YEAR!  Just like that.  I almost vomited right there on her laptop.  How dare she!  I choked a little and said, "Good god, I seriously hope I'm not working 12 hour shifts on the floor when I'm 67 years old!"  She smiled and shrugged.  I said, "Lets be optimistic and leave it at 2045" to which she hesitantly said, "ooookay."  That's how she became not my favorite person.  I'm not sure what else she told me.  I just kept seeing the number 2047... 2047... 2047.  Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.  Where's my paper bag.  I could hear my pulse in my ears... uuuuuugghhh.  


In the 2 hours since this meeting I've decided to try two things to help me retire by 2045, NOT 2047: 
1) I'm going to start buying lottery tickets on a routine basis
2) I'm going to start hoarding cash in random places like my great grandmother did- random cupboards, old purses, we even found it in her vacuum along side the vacuum bag- it seemed to work for her- worth a shot, I'd guess.


When the torture was over, I took my belongings and my bruised life plan and started to exit the hospital cafeteria- the uber private place of this fantastic meeting.  And lo, what did I see?  A plant sale... Maybe this meeting wouldn't be total shit... Ah yes, Orchids, my favorite... Meet my new friends.  I may not be able to retire for another 40 effing years but at least I'll have pretty plants.

Abandoned

AAAAHHHH... I'm being abandoned for 5.5 days.  I just dropped off what feels like my entire universe, at the airport.  Cue rapid breathing and anxiety pit in stomach... In lieu of breathing into a paper bag and sending panicky texts to Matt reminding him to call me when they get there... I'm going to try to be more productive.  I'm going to blog.  Bear with me, it might be a (very) long 5.5 days...  

Top 10 things to do/not do while abandoned

1) Listen to the quiet.  Enough to appreciate the solitude, not so much to actually get used to the solitude; mustn't have culture shock when reality resumes on Monday.


2) Avoid ABBA at all costs! You are entering an ABBA free zone... for the next 5.5 days.  Goodbye my 'Dancing Queens' you will be missed.


3) Try to study for my 'Boob Whisperer' exam.  Can we say "Test Anxiety", um yeah... Where's the paper bag.


4) Feed the dogs.  Cannot. forget. to feed. the dogs.


5) Do not embark on giant any home improvement projects.  This one is really hard for me.  This is my usual response to anxiety, which in return usually causes Matt significant anxiety... Yin and Yang ya'll, Yin and Yang.  I will not strip the mantle, I will not paint (anything), I won't even sand the porch... I may allow myself yard work but that's a slippery slope my friends... a slippery slope...


6) Walk the mutts. I will be conducting a small minimally scientific study on now many dog miles equates to the general dog fatigue that is elicited by one 3 year old (the 5 year old doesn't really count because I'd have to calculate hours away at school etc, etc, etc... just too complicated).


7) Keep the guppy alive.  I'll try... However, let me just say that Gwen's new little BFF 'Rosie' leaves a little something to be desired in the "pet fish" department.  She's not a pretty guppy, she's practically see through and not in a 'kinda cool cave fish at the zoo' sort of way. And I don't think she likes me.


8) Listen to grown up music.  In addition to being ABBA free, I will be listening to music that my children don't like, music that my children aren't allowed to listen to and perhaps even {gasp} new music that I can leisurely peruse and purchase in iTunes without distraction.  Oh my. Lookout.


9)  Try not to work a bunch of OT.  Well we'll just see about that... I may just have to have that be my mantra.  


10) Cook for one. I haven't done this since college.  I'm at a loss for words on this one.

Any other ideas?  I'll take any you can dish.  Now I just have to decide what to do first... I'll start with a lot of #2, and a little #8... 

Storage...

Newport's South Sound Keg Depository, where empty kegs rival bicycles for majority rights!  The ballerinas may be building a fort soon.  They are studying blueprints of those houses they make in the desert out of old crap and calculating stacking stability as we speak... 

Stay tuned for the syndicated graphic novella "The lonely Keg" by Gwen Newport

Happy Birthday Frankie!

Three years ago we acquired this adorable little furball.  He was in pretty bad shape.  My parents found him weak and glassy eyed, abandoned in the woods of their property.  We took him in to try to "find him a home".  A few days and a few vet visits later it became quite obvious that he had found his home.  While this day doesn't mark his actual birthday, it does mark the day that he became one of my kids.  

This is Frankie Johnson Newport.  Isn't he cute?  We think he's close to full Blue Healer.  He's crazy smart and ridiculously loyal.  He's loud.  He barks at everything (which drives me bonkers).  He thinks I'm his mother, which I find endearing.  He has icy blue eyes like my Tula. But his right eye is half brown which makes him just look crazy.  He spends all day herding the children around.  We often find him sitting on top of our picnic table surveying the yard, making sure everyone is accounted for.  I took him running once, and only once... he kept running behind me and nipping my heels to hurry me up.  He has eyes like a hawk and ears that can hear a car door slam two blocks away.  He doesn't however, seem to have any nose at all.  If he can't see it then it's just not there.  He is wonderful with the kids, but really he's Tula's dog.  He is her companion, her friend, and of course he's someone for her to boss around.  Tula has even given him a middle name so that she can more effectively rant at him.  They are pretty much inseparable, kindred spirits.  When we got him the vet guessed that he was about 3 or 4 months old, which would put his actual birthday shortly after Tula's.  No big surprise there.    

Poor Frank, the things he has to put up with...

Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.  ~Colette

Nap time in the fort

Christmas morning

Just one of the kids

 

His favorite resting place?  On the legs of someone kneeling.

 Happy Birthday Frankie!

Maybe we'll plan something fun to celebrate...