Double-Fisting

Do normal people double-fist Diet Coke and coffee first thing in the morning?

Probably not. But, then again, I am not normal people.

Our little family of four is now well into our fourth year of the long-distance commuter marriage arrangement upon which we embarked back in November 2010. I will be the first to gladly report that, with each day that passes, it gets easier to manage a household when flying solo and without the man-on-man defense that naturally comes with two-parent households. David and Elizabeth are (sob!) getting older and are much more self-sufficient. Once they are awake, they are self-starters in the morning. Sometimes, they even remember to make their beds.

I know grown adults who do not function with as much decorum and independence as these two kids do.

But, still, the morning routine is ... tiring. Both kids have inherited my penchant for hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock and/or attempting to negotiate (in a groggy stupor), for "five more minutes." Someone has to feed the dogs. And the cats, for that matter. Someone has to make certain that the alarm system is disarmed before we release the hounds into the backyard so that they can do their business. Oh, yes, and there is also the matter of getting dressed (which, I can report, the kids also do quite well on their own ... as do I).

Once I get to the office at Foothill Country Day School, I've usually sucked down about 50% of what I refer to as "Diet Coke #1" of the day. I set the offending beverage on my desk, grab a mug, and march directly to the Keurig coffee maker in the staff lounge for "Coffee #1 of the day." I return to my desk and begin the ritual of "double-fisting." This ritual continues for the better part of the morning.

Amazingly enough, this does not throw my pulse rate into tachycardia. Well, not always.

People often say to me, "I just don't know how you do it," usually referring to my single parenting obligations that I maintain throughout the work week. Usually, my response includes any or all of the following disclaimers:

1) I have two great kids, who make my job extraordinarily easy.
2) I am fueled by Diet Coke and coffee.
3) Said ingestion of caffeine does not, in any way, shape or form, impact my ability to nap at a moment's notice, which I also do whenever the opportunity presents itself.

And there you have it. My own hack. The trick up my sleeve for morning functionality.

Let's not, however, go into my life-long love affair with McDonalds. That's a blog post for another time.

Utterly Amazed

I am completely gobsmacked that eleven years can go by so quickly. Eleven years ago, at this very hour, I was strapped up to fetal monitors at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, watching the telemetry machine track every breath and heartbeat of the baby that was inside of me. Eight hours earlier, I awoke to make what I thought would be a routine trip to the bathroom, only to discover that the wee little person taking up residence in my belly was plotting to arrive into the world four weeks ahead of schedule.

Fast forward, at a very rapid pace, eleven years. And that wee little person has evolved into a sweet boy ... or, dare I say it, a very young man.

I am in awe of his kindness, his empathy, and his character. He is smart, funny, and at the drop of a hat can exude physical comedy that would put Jerry Lewis or Jim Carey to shame. He is a musician, an artist, an activist, a jock, and a friend. He loathes being one of the smallest boys in his class, but uses his petite frame to his advantage, especially in flag football and cross country.

I can't believe how much I lucked out. I get to be the mom of David Thomas Hastings. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.

Happy birthday, my sweet David! Thank you for making me the happiest mommy on the face of the planet eleven years ago today. 

So little to report ... and that's actually a good thing

What makes tonight's blog post so extraordinary - besides it being the first in four months - is that it is being written on my brand new MacBook Air. Really, keyboarding on this magnificent instrument is a thing of beauty.

And yet while I take a moment to compose my thoughts for all 12 of my followers to see, I realize that there is both very little and a whole lot upon which to muse. Elizabeth and David finished another year of elementary school. David, my little man who, just yesterday was small enough to pick up with one hand for a diaper change, is 10. I continue to be amazed by the self-assured, kind, easy-going young man he is turning out to be. Elizabeth has rightfully earned the title of Academic Princess Diva; she's whiz in school, a fashionista, and a confident and sparkling little girl. Everyone is her BFF.

For my part, I am a darned lucky mommy, and I'm married to an incredibly smart, handsome man who also has the world's kindest heart.

So, now we embark upon our first summer vacation where I am working at Foothill Country Day School and the kids are on campus with me. The ebb and flow of the summer days just feels more ... mellow, more laid back. Earlier last week I read a wonderful article entitled, "10 Ways to Give your Kids an Honest-to-Goodness 1970s Summer,"and I could almost smell the familiar scent of twilight air that used to blow past my face as I peddled furiously on my little red Schwinn (with training wheels) all around Greengate Street and Locust Avenue. I watched tonight with great contentedness as David and Elizabeth splashed around in the pool of our dear friends (who are getting married this weekend! Yeah for marriage equality!) until way after the sun had gone down, and was so grateful not only for the California climate but also for the relaxed feeling of a Wednesday summer evening.

We expanded our family to welcome yet another kitten (say hello to Eclaire!) who is a miniature version of Grace, whom we adopted in December. I love waking up in the morning to find both cats curled up at the foot of our bed, quite often spooning with each other.

And, of course, there are the sweet dogs.

The simplicity of it all, at least for now, is at it should be.

First blog post of 2014!

I would be more horrified about my lack of due diligence in keeping up to date on my blog missives, but given the fact that I only have 12 official followers, I'm not too embarrassed. Yet.

But, here we are - 2014, and already half-way through its second month. February. The month of the Ground Hog, Presidents, Cupid and, this year, what would have been my grandfather's 105th birthday.

But, let me rewind a bit to muse just briefly on how there is, in our house, always enough love to go around. Consider, if you will, Grace and Remy Hastings.

Grace (foreground) and Remy (background) ... and Glen's legs

Grace and Remy were the result of a long-winded discussion that Glen and I had in December. We were mulling over the complications of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Well, actually, we were just asking each other, "what do you want for Christmas?" I responded: "I'd like a puppy and a kitten, please." After Glen realized that I had not entirely lost my mind, he agreed with great enthusiasm. We concurred that getting two babies that have fur and walk on four legs would be much simpler - and much less expensive - than getting the human type. That factory is closed. But that's a blog post for another time.

So, within a week's time, I began searching on the wonderful web site that is petfinder.com. That's www.petfinder.com. This site links families seeking to open their hearts and homes to stray, rescued and fostered pets to their perfect, four-legged companions.

The first contestant to pique my interest and steal my heart: Ricky.

At the time, Ricky was a 12-week old Malti-Poo, being fostered in our hometown of La Verne. To see his sweet face, big eyes, and overall fluffiness was to instantly fall in love. The kids and I arranged to meet him that night. It was love at first sight. We were done for.

The little guy made himself instantly comfortable in David's arms

Yep. I'm irresistible.

After a brief interview with his wonderful foster family, we sealed the deal, and agreed to pick up the little guy the following Saturday.

Then came the matter of finding a name for him. Look at him. Does he look like a Ricky to you? Nah, didn't think so. Do not get me wrong; Ricky, short for Richard, is an adorable name. But not for this fellow.

Lager, of course, was named after a specific beer style. But, a Malti-Poo just doesn't have that "beer" vibe. A Malti-Poo is a bit too ... fluffy ... delicate ... foo foo. And, over Yahoo Instant Messaging, Glen proposed the name: Remy - after the chef/rat character in the food-themed Pixar film, Ratatouille. Done and done.

Here are a few photos from Remy's first minutes at his forever home ... our home. There is little doubt in my mind that Remy was sent to us by Spike, my lovely Bichon who crossed the Rainbow Bridge in 2012, and whom I still miss to this day (and always will). Remy evokes the crazy, zany buzz that Spike did in his younger years, and it could not be a more perfect fit for the four of us.

Kissing up, literally, to his new big brother, Lager

Instant BFFs

I think I'll like it here just fine.

Meantime, in between meeting Remy, naming him, and bringing him home, my search continued for a kitten. Originally, I planned to look for a white cat - again, evoking the memory of sweet Honey, who was called to the Rainbow Bridge last year. My search on www.petfinder.com yielded a little beauty with the temporary name of Arya. However, this kitten was being fostered just a little farther from home ... in Huntington Beach. Undaunted, the kids and I traipsed out there one weeknight for our first visit with this little sweet girl. Arya was 16 weeks old when we first met her.

Getting comfy

Nose rubs!

Again, it was time for a choice of name. Glen and I could not come up with any food-themed names that seemed appropriate for this dainty little girl, so then we began thinking of key phrases that describe what makes us the most happy, content, and grateful. And, thus, Grace came into being. She brought grace to us before we even brought her home ... and bring her home we did!

Say hello to my little friend!

Two little ladies

Safely tucked in for the car ride home!

My puppy-kitten fantasy included visions of these two little creatures growing up together to be life-long friends. They'd share couch space together, rub each others noses, sniff each others butts, and spoon. They would be such an inseparable mass of fluffiness that it would be hard to tell where one began and the other ended.

Well, it hasn't exactly been that simple. Grace still playfully growls when Remy comes up to her demanding play time. They tangle over bed and couch space. Remy wants nothing more than to be adored by his feline big sister. Grace insists on bonding on her terms. But, over the weeks, Grace's growls have clearly just become "bluff and bluster." She secretly adores playing tug-o-war with Remy's stuffed toys. She'll gladly come up to Lager and give his gray muzzle a soft rub. She remains unconvinced that she and the dogs are friends, but indeed they are.

How, you may ask, is Lager faring in all of this? In short, having two new friends at home has given him a new lease on life, a spring in his step, and an undeniable smile on his face. He adores his companions, as evidenced herewith:

You complete me.

Sorry. I work alone.

Okay, ONE photo. JUST ONE.

Okay, TWO. JUST TWO.

Perspective

I am using tonight's blog post to focus on a topic that I usually am somewhat reluctant to focus on: myself. I typically consider this forum, shared with all 10 of you, to be dedicated to missives on my adventures with the kids while Glen is up north.

I guess this is somewhat related, in as much as it involves a conundrum faced by parents who are flying solo - either temporarily or permamently.

In short, I was hospitalized. And here's the scoop:

On Tuesday evening (three nights ago, now), after the kids had gone to bed, I finished up some ironing and then sat at my computer to do a bit of work. I started to notice a very strange pain in my throat. Not the kind of scratch throat one gets when one is coming down with a cold, nor the type that I have felt when experiencing a bit of reflux. This was entirely different. It felt like the back of my throat was being poked, and the pain started to travel down my left arm and the left side of my chest.

Now, I'm no hypochondriac. Just the opposite: I'm a busy mom, and I tend to either ignore or rationalize most symptoms of any ailment that comes my way. But this was different. It was a weird and annoying sensation that refused to be ignored.


Rather than panicking, I did what any other reasonable person would do: I Googled the symptoms. And, I was not terribly surprised to learn that these could in fact be symptoms of a heart attack.

Now, I know what you are thinking. "Heart attack? You weigh 5 pounds, for crying out loud!" I agree. And that is what I kept telling myself as I simultaneously tried to think about how to call 911 and/or get to an emergency room without disrupting the kids' sleep too much.

Only later were my initial hunches confirmed: that I have plenty of friends who would have been MORE than willing to be woken up at midnight, come over, and hang with the kids so that I could get checked out. But, no. I didn't want to wake anyone up. At that moment, I was simply too embarrassed, and willed the feeling to go away. Which it did, after a while. I resolved to call my internist the next morning.


Come Wednesday morning, the pain was pretty much gone but I still felt sore and felt like a had a touch of heartburn - another red flag. I got the kids to school, texted my internist, and he got me in to see the nurse practitioner at his office in Upland. Upon arrival, I met the incredible and lovely Liz Cano, Nurse Practitioner. She ordered some lab work and an chest film and was working on getting me a referral to a cardiologist in the area. I proceeded over to the imaging center near their office but before I left, Liz insisted that if my symptoms come back, I go immediately to the ER.

In the waiting room of the imaging center, packed to the gills with 100 of my closest and newest friends, I started to feel that awkward feeling in my throat.

I tried to ignore it.

It mocked me.

I kept ignoring it.

It crept down my neck and back.

I gave up. I went to the front desk, told the very nice male receptionist that my symptoms had returned and that I was going straight to the ER. He kindly pulled my paperwork, to make sure I would not get billed for an xray I did not get, and sent me on my way.

After a few fits and starts, I found Mt San Antonio Medical Center, and dropped my car off with the very nice valet attendant. Valet parking at a hospital - who knew, right?

From there, things moved pretty quickly. I'd already alerted the key people at Foothill to let them know that I was in for some tests to figure out what was up with the chest pain, and once I got to ER, Glen started to make plans to fly down that afternoon. At this point, I started notifying the troops: Foothill parents, neighbors, and Claremont friends. I was humbled in being reminded by how many amazing and wonderful people are in our lives. But, more on this in a moment ...

In total, I had two  EKGs, an echocardiogram, and two different 3D images of my heart (one at rest and one after a stress test), using a radioactive isotope to make it glow. As if I am not already glowing enough. I was introduced to the lovely, and I mean lovely, Dr. Padmini Tummala, a cardiologist at this hospital, recommended highly by my internist (who, in full disclosure, is an old Webb friend of mine). Turns out the good Dr. Tummala has a son who just graduated from Foothill and is now at Webb, which explained why we both thought the other looked strangely familiar. 

The echocardiogram coincidentally showed that I have an opening between my left and right ventricles. This opening exists when a baby is developing in the womb, but usually closes by the time a kid is one year old. About 30-40% of people never have theirs closed. I am one of them. But this did not explain the chest and throat discomfort (but could explain my history of migraines, but that's another story).

Ultimately, we are not entirely sure what was up with my throat and such, but I am very pleased to report that my heart is healthy and good (with just a little gap). Most likely, the pain I had can be partially explained by reflux coupled with muscle soreness (and a bit of arthritis in my neck, as found on an x-ray - again, who knew?) coupled with copious amounts of good old- fashioned stress.

Things like this really make a girl pause for a second to realize that there are so many people who care. I've always been the type ready and willing to help, but a bit sheepish to ask for help. And I am grateful beyond belief for everyone whose text messages made me smile, whose Facebook posts made me laugh, and whose irreverent sense of humor simply made my stay in the hospital that much more tolerable.

 I am home, I am safe, and I am grateful.

 

The bliss of normalcy

As I sit at my desk in the room that Glen and I refer to as our "home office," I cannot help but overhear the unmistakable slurping sounds that are coming from right next to me: Lager, our beautiful 12-year-old Labrador, is licking himself with an almost OCD-like concentration.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

David pads into the room to announce, with great delight, that he has finished Chapter 4 of the first Harry Potter book. "I hope to get through Chapter 6 tomorrow!" he proclaims, all giddy. Never mind the fact that it's already 10:30 on a school night.

I wander downstairs in search of a quick snack (a bologna sandwich did the trick) and pause to look at the pile of laundry just sitting on the floor next to the washing machine. I move on.

Once in the kitchen, I take mental note of the open plastic box that serves as my portable filing cabinet for all things pertaining to Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts. The counter is a mess. I go about my bologna sandwich business and go back upstairs.

Back to Lager: he is now in repose on the floor next to me, chin down between the paws, resigned to the fact that he only got a crust (or two) of the aforementioned bologna sandwich. A deep, dramatic sigh emotes from his sturdy frame.

The clock on the wall is ticking. Loudly. I can't tell if it's trying to remind me that I should be getting "real work" done, or simply be heading to bed.

I know that, one day all too soon, I will look back on moments such as these and yearn for the normalcy of it all. Kids - still small and still thinking that I am cool - tucked into bed; the sweet dog at my feet; the house in satisfying disarray.

I resist the urge to go into "the zone" and tidy everything up. Were it not for the late hour, I'd more happy to go back to the kitchen and cook up some of the cookie dough in the refrigerator.

Not tonight. Tonight I pause, and take it in. And enjoy the precious gift of being a mommy.

After a long hiatus ...

Well, this is awkward.

I know that I do not have scads and scads of devoted followers of my blog, but I must say that, were my livelihood dependent upon regular posts, I'd be broke.

But I think that one of the reasons that I haven't had any deep thoughts to share is that ... well, life has been pleasantly uneventful. With the exception of one thing: I have changed jobs.

Any mom who works outside the home - full time, part time or otherwise - is more than aware of the constant battle within her heart as to how to divide her time equitably between many obligations and responsibilities: the office, the kids, the home, etc. So, when the opportunity can to take a full time position at David and Elizabeth's school, I jumped at the chance. Not just jumped, but LUNGED.

I am now happily taking on the role of Director of Admission at Foothill Country Day School. I am so lucky that the school's leadership took a chance on me, a person who has 12 years of experience crunching numbers but very limited background in the world of admissions.

Additional details and reports from my new headquarters will be forthcoming, but suffice it to say that David and Elizabeth love hanging out in my office at the school as much (if not more so) than they did at HMC. And they like to bring their friends by. And their friends' friends.

It's awesome.

First day of school, for all three of us!