He'll be fiiine...

Chris is having two hernias repaired today.  His surgery is scheduled for 10:15 AM and we both understand this to be a fairly routine and simple procedure.  Other than not being able to lift anything heavy for six weeks, Chris is prepared to be sore for a day or two and allow the repairs to heal.  I'm prepared to do all the extra lifting around the house that Chris typically does, like...  It doesn't matter.  I'm sure this will be an opportunity for me to learn to appreciate all the subtle, quiet ways he assists me during a day.

Dad called from Arizona last night to make sure we had everything under control.  He's very sympathetic when it comes to surgeries and procedures.  He's had major back surgery, a kidney removed [cancer -- he's fine now], knee surgery and shoulder surgery.  He also has a serious case of man-sympathy.

"Chris isn't going to feel well when he comes home tomorrow, Chrisy."

"I know.  I'll get him to bed so he can rest."

"I'm serious.  He's really gonna feel crummy.  You have GOT to keep those little boys away from him.  They can't jump on him..."

"I know.  I'm going to take all three of them to Oldest Boy's saxophone lesson later in the day.  I've talked with Oldest Boy and Middle Boy.  They want to be helpful.  I've got soup and 7-Up for Chris.  He'll be fine."

"You might want to get him set-up on the couch.  He could have a tough time with stairs."

"They said this was going to be no big deal, Dad."

"That's what they always say.  I had a friend who had double-hernia surgery and he's fine now, but it was worse than he expected.  ...  I can tell I need to be there to supervise.  Poor Chris."

I've been up since 5:30 this morning, Chris and the boys are sleeping soundly, and I'm getting ready to go for a run.  Dad's famous for his make-sure-you-READY-AIM-FIRE-and-don't READY-FIRE-AIM lectures.  And this one worked.  I just remembered Chris needs to add salt pellets to the water softener and stomp down all the trash in the recycle bin before we leave for the hospital.  I can hear Dad sighing 600 miles away.

Fleeting

It's been cloudy and raining for a week.  This time of year I usually have the air conditioner running, but I'm closing windows because fresh air is making it a little too cool in the house.  It's great sleeping weather though.

This morning while blow-drying my hair, I slipped the blow-dryer under my t-shirt at my waist.  A move I typically do on winter mornings.  I moved it from front to back several times and warmed my torso.  It's important to maintain a perfect pace so the skin stays warm but doesn't burn—something that happens when the dryer gets too close to my skin and stays in the same place for a second too long.  The warmth never lasts.  When I remove the dryer, I'm chilled again—even more so.  Always.  But I can't resist the easy warmth, even if it's fleeting.

When I was a little girl I wore long, flannel nightgowns during winter months.  Floor registers delivered our heat and when the heat kicked on, I stood over the nearest register so my nightgown filled with warm air.  It was wonderful.  My parents allowed me a few moments of uninterrupted warming, but then reminded me that the heat wasn't getting to the rest of the room.  My brother begged for a turn, but I convinced him it was wasted on his body because his pajamas didn't billow with proof of contained and appreciated heat.

When I stepped off the floor register, the heat seemed to instantly dissipate, taking with it any of my own body's warmth.  I was always worse off—colder—than before I stepped on the floor register.  Always.  But I could never resist the easy warmth, even though it was fleeting.

On Turning 43

My birthday was yesterday, June 5th.  I'm 43.  I asked all three boys how old they thought I looked.  Middle Boy [9] said 42, Toddler Child [3 1/2] said 23, and Oldest Boy [11] nervously looked to his father for assistance.  Chris told him to say 29.  I honestly don't care how old I look.  When I feel healthy and rested, I usually look better than when I'm sickly and tired.  My 91-year-old grandmother is beautiful to me, and she looks every day of her 91 years.

THOUGHTS:

Grey Hair - The last 12 months have brought a plethora of grey hair.  I now use an all-over hair color prior to adding any highlights or lowlights.  This bothers me more than I thought it would.  My maternal grandmother, referred to as Grandmother, had a head of white hair by the time she was 50.  It looked great on her, but I'm not feeling it.  Funny how that works.  She died 19 years ago and is deeply missed.

Toddler Child - I adore this little boy.  He'll be four in September.  His personality remains fiery, although he's behaving more civilized on occasion.  I feel 43, sometimes older, parenting a toddler.  Naturally, I have no regrets about the choice to add another child to our tribe.  I simply underestimated the level of physical and mental fatigue I would experience.

Changing Perspective - Fewer issues are black-and-white to me like they once were, and a handful have earned a definitive spot in my mind.  I find myself accepting, understanding and respecting intelligent arguments on both sides of an issue.  Sometimes I think it's empathy to a fault.  In a 20 year period I can recall being neutral on an issue, then leaning right, then a little left, then a lot left, then finding neutral again.  If my perspective isn't challenged, I'm either on too safe of a road, or I'm asleep at the wheel.

Core Character - I don't think I'm radically different than who I was as a child, a teenager, or young adult.  I don't think many of us change radically.  We may soften or sharpen, become more educated, or not, endure unique life experiences that might eliminate or create judgments, but I think most of us remain fundamentally the same at our innermost part.

Facebook - Hated it.  Now I love it.  Reconnecting with people I probably never would have otherwise as well as connecting with new friends, has had it's head-bobbing-so-now-what-do-we-talk-about? moments.  As time goes on, those moments bother me less because the pieces of gold that surface as I pan are worth all of the who-the-hell-are-you? moments.  For me, it's been a gift.

This past year, via my Facebook experience and even writing this silly blog, I've learned that I am who I was, and I am who I will always be.  Life experiences have thankfully altered my perspective, but not my core character.  Old friends can see through life's sediment to the enduring parts.  New friends will learn what old friends have known.  It's humbling, refreshing, and comforting to see that under the layers of strata we all develop, is the same spirit that arrived at inception and will likely remain until the end.