When good is good.

So, Dr Jay is down in Miami to be with his parents while his mom recuperates from her broken hip. I am playing single mom.

We went down to the American Girl Store on Saturday. I do spoil my girls here. I allowed them each $60 to spend. Soleil had earned a $24 outfit on top of the $60 (Because I bribed her to do her multiplication. Because I will use whatever motivation I can to get her to understand that if you tell yourself you can’t, you won’t. If you have a goal, you can reach it!) Each girl ended up spending $76, so I suggested they pay me back $10 of the $16. Soleil agreed and paid up right away. Luna still wants me to take it from her bank account. I still need to explain that it will come out of her piggy bank (she has enough, but she’s 6. ’nuff said.)

Friday, I got a chance to play scientist. The girls and I are reading a book where "a blown ostrich egg" was mentioned. Soleil asked what that was and I explained. She begged for us to do that with a chicken egg. So, out came the drill, a sharp needle to puncture the yolk and a straw to blow the air through without putting our mouths up to the egg. It took about 15 minutes, but we got everything out and then filled the shell with water and blew that until it was clear. It’s fun to just say "sure, let’s try that". I think I need to do that more.

Yesterday, Soleil got her first migraine and even fell asleep on the couch! If you’ve ever read here before, you know this girl doesn’t sleep!

Luna had a "glamor party", and came home looking like a 6 year old tramp. Then her cheeks broke out from the blush. I’ll have to toss it today, but I’ll let her keep the eye shadow.

Things are good. Life is good. I am missing Dr. Jay, but when I look around me, I can’t help but feel good. 


I did it!

I’ve kept my t-tapp experiment going. What I noticed was that it was 2 steps forward and 2 steps back. Most of this was a lack of constancy. With the help of two friends, I started a 14 day bootcamp with T-tapp. This means, doing the basic, 15 minute workout, everyday for 14 days. I DID IT!

15 minutes a day? Easy, right? Not really! It was harder than I thought. Now my goal is 4 weeks of every other day. I think this will be okay. Tomorrow I start the every other day. I think this might be harder in the sense that I might get frustrated if I miss a day. BUT I have noticed some shifting in my body shape and I have noticed a change in my mood. Between these two things, I am going to do my best to keep going. I need to get my body in a good physical condition.

And I will do it! I will! 

When to say “enough”?

I love sports. Except for golf and basketball. Basketball squeaks too much and golf? Men running around trying to fit things into holes? Yeah.

But NHL hockey, AHL hockey, Even my kid’s hockey, baseball and football, I have been a fan. Yes, I rooted for the Buffalo Bills in the 1990s when they went and lost 4 consequtive SuperBowls. Yes, I still cheer for the Sabres and I have recently accepted that while the Buffalo Bisons will be my favoirte AAA baseball team, I am a Red Sox fan.  Oh I agree these guys are away over paid, I agree they whine, I agree we need more womens professional sports, BUT, I like my sports.

And then on last Thursday, Dave Duerson committed suicide. He had played for the NFL, he was a pro-bowler and had won the Super Bowl twice. He was active in the player’s union and worked with retired players and their disability claims.

What is the issue here? This happens.His personal life had spiraled down recently. Finances and family gone bad. And like most men, Duerson used a gun to kill himself. In the chest. Not a quick a painless shot to the head, but a shot to the chest where it could be instant, or take minutes to die. He was 50.

He left suicide notes (text messages actually) to have his brain sent up to Boston University for study. It is possible that he suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, a disease associated with repeated concussions.This disease is also associated with depression. CTE used to be only associated with boxers. Now it is becoming more and more suspect in NFL player’s suicides. 

Dave Duerson deliberately committed suicide in a manner that would allow his brain to be studied. A life cut short because he did what he loved; played football. I want to repeat that he was 50. 10 years older than me. Dead because he suspected a damaged brain that would make his life no longer worth living.

While I want to know the results of the examination, while I know the media outlets will carry this information, I also want to know, when do we fans say "ENOUGH"?

ENOUGH to hits to the head.

ENOUGH to saying "Man up and get back out there"

ENOUGH to implying or even outright stating that players of any sport need to suck it up during injuries.

ENOUGH to letting people die for our entertainment.

Parenting the parents.

I am not the first person to be in the situation where you start to wonder if you are no longer the child, but a parent of two generations? I am starting to feel that way. I am the POA for my parents. I am also their executrix. I don’t want to have either of these roles, but it is a necessary part of getting older, right?

Last week, my mother in law had a dizzy spell (a whole other post on the ineptitude of the medical establishment in America, since they told her brain cancer and then they said, ‘oops!’ Not cancer, but we don’t know what it is), and fell while in Florida. As you know, she broke her wrist and hip.

Fortunately, my brother in law, Lee, was down with them. They were visiting his condos in Miami and enjoying the warm. Unfortunately, it is so far away from the rest of us.

I am starting to understand the "sandwich" generation. Fortunately, our parents are in generally good health, but it worries me for the future. Dr. Jay’s dad is closing in on the 79 this year. My parents are approaching 69.  It is wonderful that between our great wealth and decent (although not great) medical advances, our country can keep the average person alive longer with a good quality of life. But the flip side is that I am now parent to a 6 year old, an 8 year old and sometimes, I feel I need to watch my 68 year olds. 

They aren’t suffering dementia or anything like that, but when bad things happen (surgery, injuries, heart attack) I need to be there more.

It’s an odd feeling. When my parents had a financial decision to make, they called me to make sure I was okay with it because of my POA. That was weird.

I am not sure if I will ever get used to this, but I suppose like all of us, I have very little choice.

Time moves forward, and our roles in life always change with time. 

OK, let’s face it, I suck at writing

Poor neglected blog.

I started to write about parenting our parents. I was taking my time with it. And then, This weekend happened.

First, I slipped on the way into the Superbowl party. I am getting my hand X-rayed today given the likelyhood that I broke a finger.

Second, my MIL fell yesterday. In Miami. Away from home, on vacation at BIL’s condos on Miami Beach. She fortunately fell in front of a fire house, so EMTs were literally there within a minute. She broke her wrist and her hip. Hopefully, they will replace her hip today.

I feel so helpless. I wish I could do something. Anything. Sigh… The best I can come up with is getting her a kindle or nook so she can read whatever she wants.

Anyway, writing will go on again, but first, let me see if I broke my finger because typing hurts.