Cleaning...and other lessons from my mother

I really don't like to clean - but I do like a clean house. 

I blame my mother for wanting things to always be clean and organized.  Her house was spotless, but welcoming.  And she always had a plan on how to keep it that way.  Monday - vacuum.  Tuesday - dust.  Wednesday - laundry.  Thursday - kitchen.  Friday - bathrooms.  (Okay, this may not have been the actual schedule, but you get the picture.)  My mom's job was maintaining a house, a family, a budget - including planning meals, monitoring activities, taking on side jobs when money was tight - and she was darn good at it!

She became the impossible standard to which I compared myself.

It wasn't always that way.  I was a pretty messy teenager.  Ask any of my friends.  My bedroom was not known for its made bed, organized closet, or dirty clothes that actually landed into the laundry basket.  My mom taught me the value of just closing the door.  (I embraced that lesson when I became the mother of a teenage daughter.)  Sometimes, all you need to do is ignore the mess and hide it so it doesn't offend the people to whom it matters.  And if it didn't matter to my friends - it didn't matter to me.  (You should have seen their rooms!)

But, she also taught me the correct way to make a bed (military corners anyone?), why it is a good thing to put away clean clothes before they become a wrinkled mess, how to sort those same clothes when doing the laundry so whites did not become pinks, how to iron, how to sew on a button and repair a torn seam, how to bake, how to plan a meal, how to organize a kitchen, and how to "straighten" for company.  All valuable lessons that I didn't truly understand the importance of until I moved out of the house and started living on my own.

When Lance and I were first dating, he invited me over one night to his place for dinner.  I was pleasantly surprised when I saw how clean the apartment appeared to be - at least at first glance.  It wasn't until I was searching for a garbage can under the kitchen sink that I discovered his real method of cleaning...hide the evidence!  Yes, I found a cabinet full of dirty dishes where I thought I would find a garbage can.  And while the bathroom toilet was quite clean...let's just say I should not have peaked behind the closed shower curtain.

Once Lance and I were married, I slowly discovered that when he said we should "clean" for company he did not mean clean as I defined it.  To me, cleaning meant dusting, washing the floors, vacuuming the carpets, cleaning the entire bathroom, changing out hand towels, scrubbing the kitchen and making the house sparkle.  This would take hours and made me exhausted just thinking about it!  But, what Lance really meant was that we should straighten and hide the "junk", clean the toilets, throw in some vacuuming (those lines on the carpet indicated a floor that was always clean), and make sure the kitchen sink was spotless.  Once I figured this out, my life became much less complicated. 

Ever my mother's daughter, I still felt compelled to fully clean the house each week - whether we had visitors coming or not.  But, while my mother was an accomplished homemaker and made a career out of her family and home, I had chosen a different path.  I was a child of the feminist movement and I was going to have it all - career, family, and a clean house!  The problem with this - I also wanted to spend time with my husband and daughter doing fun stuff.  I did not want my weekends to be dedicated to cleaning - and fortunately for me - neither did my husband. 

And that is how I - the person who still shops the clearance rack looking for bargains, repairs her own clothes, replaces buttons, thinks duct tape and glue are a girl's best friend and just can't throw away something that might have another use - ended up hiring a cleaning lady.  I have to admit, I still feel like I need to apologize for this luxury, that I should be able to "do it all" with out any help, but I wouldn't give up her bi-weekly visits up for anything!

Knowing I will never be able to duplicate my mom's standards in the same manner as she did is hard to accept - but I am learning - with a little help from my friends...

Back to work...

"Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it's off to work we go..."   Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

Monday I return to work - and I have mixed feelings about it.

On one hand, it will be good to see my co-workers and get back into a "useful" routine.  Plus, getting a normal paycheck will be nice.  (I am fortunate that my company provides short term disability, but it is not paid out at 100%.)

On the other hand, I kind of enjoyed this preview of my future retirement.

Okay, I admit, my first week off I was in the hospital having just had major surgery - and it was not fun. 

The next five weeks I focused on recovery - and was not able to do much physically.  It wasn't until my third or fourth week home that I could even attempt to do anything around the house.  Pouring milk from a full jug was a major accomplishment. 

Since June was "visitor month", that did make things a bit difficult.  My honorary sister-in-law was visiting the weekend I was released from the hospital.  (Sorry Beth, you ended up being more of a nurse than a visitor.)  But, I was so glad she was here!

Two weeks later the Nelson Girls came for a visit.  Again, still not able to do too much.  I managed to go out for dinner at Pinocchio's in Brighton one night and had lunch in Boulder one afternoon with everyone.  I still had to excuse myself for an afternoon nap and early bedtime each day - bummer.

The end of June my friend Dena came out for a girl's weekend in Aspen (while Lance attended the Aspen Ideas Fest) and I was finally feeling a little better.  While we didn't have the weekend I originally envisioned (hiking, biking, shopping, hot springs), we did have a good time.  We walked Aspen (taking frequent rest stops for a glass of water and/or wine - thank goodness I was off the narcotics!), took the gondola to the top of Aspen Mountain (conquered a fear there - right Dena?), and spent a lot of time catching up at the condo we were renting in Snowmass.

Then last week the doctor gave me the okay to go back to work on the twenty-first. 

This week, while I am still achy, I can finally move about more freely.

I love my mornings - getting up sometime between six and seven - taking Ellie for a walk - enjoying breakfast and coffee on the deck - planning my day, checking email and Facebook, reading and writing. 

My late mornings and afternoons are spent doing the tasks I had mapped out earlier: cooking, laundry, cleaning, shopping, seeing a movie, having lunch with a friend, sorting through boxes still unopened in the basement, organizing my recipes and old photos, cleaning out my closet... you get the picture.  I have to still be cautious and not overdo the lifting and moving items, but I can do much more that I could five weeks ago. 

I will be honest - I loved my time at home.  The days just flew by - and I still have a list a mile long of things I didn't get to. 

I look forward to the day I am healed enough that I can start to exercise and jog again (I still have a goal to run a 5K - not run/walk like I normally do).  I want to take up golf again.  I want to rearrange furniture and hang pictures.  I want to finish going through all the boxes in the basement.  I want to write more and take up painting again.  I want to try new recipes.  I want to hike and go to festivals.  I want to do more volunteer work.  I want to host parties and entertain visitors.  I want to take a class just for the fun of it.  I want to finish all the things I didn't get to on my to-do list.

But, I am going back to my "real" job on Monday.  And I am sure I will get into the old routine of working during the weekday and playing on the weekend.  Still, after spending six weeks at home this summer recovering from surgery - I now anticipate partial retirement with excitement.  If  I enjoyed being home when I was not functioning at my best, just think of all I will be able to do when I am healthy!

Here's to the future...

Independence Day!

This year, my daughter Kaitlyn spent the Fourth of July in Venice, Italy.

While she loved Venice, I suspect she was also a little disappointed in the timing.  Spending the Fourth in Italy meant no parades, no fireworks, no cruising in a boat on a Minnesota lake (although she and Bear did take a gondola ride through the canals of Venice), no picnics, no grilling burgers, no patriotic songs, no corny red, white, and blue outfits.  As Kaitlyn recently informed me, the Fourth of July is her favorite holiday - and she kind of missed out on it this year.

That got me thinking about my Independence Day celebrations of years past.  Would I have considered it my favorite holiday when I was her age?

Last weekend Lance and I were reminiscing about the summer celebrations of our childhood as we drove into the mountains to get away from the Denver heat.  We both remembered sparklers and those silly "snakes" that marked up the sidewalks with carbon residue.  We remembered writing our names in the air, drawing pictures and just running around the yard with that colorful trail from the sparklers following our every move.  I am not sure what the fascination of the "snakes" were - other than we didn't have to wait until night to light them.  (For those of you who don't know, snakes were a small cylinder of black carbon that you put on your sidewalk, lit, and they magically turned into winding puffy "snakes".)

As a kid growing up in small town Wisconsin, the highlight of the Fourth was, of course, the fireworks.  We never went to the fairgrounds where the fireworks originated, so we never saw the ground displays.  (I didn't even know there were ground displays until I was a teenager!)  Instead we carried our blankets and lawn chairs to the top of Wilson's Hill where most of the kids (and a number of adults) from the neighborhood oo'd and awe'd in amazement as we watched the colorful display of pyrotechnics high in the night sky.  And when they finished, we would hurry back home to light our sparklers - the end to a great day.

It wasn't until my teen years that I finally saw fireworks close up.  But, unfortunately, they had lost some of the mystique of my youth.  I think we watched more out of habit than fascination.  The celebration changed in my teens and early twenties - from a family get together to hanging out with my friends.  Instead of sparklers and snakes, we were more interested in the party that resulted from having a dozen or so young adults in one place.  Swimming, water skiing, grilling and finally settling in to watch the fireworks as we now jokingly oo'd and awe'd over the spectacular. 

I remember one year we traveled to Tomahawk on the Fourth for the water ski show (a big deal if you lived in Wisconsin) and then settled in on our blankets at the rivers edge for a picnic/party and to watch the fireworks.  For some reason (it may have been the beer) we decided we had to have sparklers.  Trouble was, we had no idea where to buy any so we wandered around town until we finally found a gas station that still had a few boxes left.  Unfortunately, sparklers just didn't have the same thrill for an eighteen year old as for a young child (even though we pretended they did).  I guess sometimes you just don't want to let go of the kid in you.

As young parents, the Fourth once again became a family affair...pretty tame stuff.  Grilling, sparklers, visiting relatives, and the city fireworks were the highlight of the day...until we became friends our new neighbors in Ham Lake.  For them, the Fourth was a holiday to CELEBRATE, not just a reason to grill burgers.  And, because of Terry and Chrissy, we learned to appreciate all that July Fourth had to offer.

Independence Day in Ham Lake became a day to remember.  It started with a pool party and a pot-luck barbeque complete with the prerequisite salads, burgers and hotdogs.  There was swimming, sunning, volleyball and other backyard games with friends, relatives, and much of the neighborhood.  But the highlight came in the evening as darkness approached.  You see, Terry and several other neighborhood men became children again...children who loved fireworks.

I remember the year that our rural neighborhood display rivaled the city fireworks.  Seriously.  These guys had spent unknown dollars on fireworks - bottle rockets, boxes containing multiple fireworks that created an amazing display of one colorful flower after another in the air above us, and the loud firecrackers whose only purpose was to make us jump.  The display went on and on for almost an hour.  A lone police car drove up and his only comment was "be careful and clean everything up."  Whew!

I have never seen such an aftermath.  As soon as the pyrotechnic display was done, all the guys in the neighborhood started the street clean-up.  These was so much debris they had to use a bobcat to get it all!  And everyone scoured the yards and fields to make sure nothing was left behind.  By the time the cleanup was done you would never have even suspected the spectacular show that had happened earlier that evening. 

Now I live in Colorado and we have yet to figure out exactly how the Fourth should be celebrated.

The year Lance lived here (and Kaitlyn and I were still based in Minnesota) we all traveled to Aspen and met up with some of Lance's relatives.  There we went to the Aspen band concert and watched fireworks from a downtown second story window view (which almost didn't happen because of the rain.)  The first summer we both lived here (Kaitlyn was working in Minnesota) Lance and I watched the fireworks of all the Denver suburbs that surrounded us from the deck of our condo - pretty low key.  The next year we went back to Aspen with friends, but there were no fireworks as the state was under a fire ban because of the draught.  Last year, we went to the Bandimere Speedway with more visiting friends and watched their display from the stadium after the races were finished.  And this year, with me still recovering from surgery, we grilled and then saw a few plumes of light in the night sky from the comfort of our deck, which I am guessing were the Thornton city fireworks.

Bottom line - the Fourth may not be as exciting as it once was, but it still has potential.  We just have to discover what our new Colorado traditions will be.  And once we figure that out - well, let the party begin! 

Happy Independence Day everyone!

My Constant Companion...

I remember when the topic first came up. 

Kaitlyn was twelve and really wanted a puppy.  I had grown up with a dog and thought, why not?  Lance was not as enthusiastic (he knew who's dog this would end up being in the long run) so he gave Kaitlyn a challenge to master before he would say yes.  To Kaitlyn's credit, she worked hard and earned the privilege to bring a new canine member into our family. 

The first full day Ellie spent with us, I took off because (guilt filled admission) I wanted her to bond with me.  Even though she was technically Kaitlyn's dog, I wanted her to be my dog.

Well, it worked.  I am not sure if Ellie became my dog because I spent the first full day with her, or because I fed her, kept her water dish full, took her for walks, and picked her up to cuddle on a frequent basis. 

I don't want to give the impression that Ellie does not love the rest of my family or that they do not reciprocate that love.  Kaitlyn also took Ellie for walks, fed her when I couldn't and still dog-sits when we need the assistance.  And Ellie is always happy to see Kaitlyn.  As for Lance, well, he grumbled about getting a dog, but Ellie has him wrapped around her little paw.  He takes her for a morning walk, feeds her when I can't, and plays "find the bone" with her (a silly little game Ellie made up - who is in charge here anyway?)

We have been through a lot with our furry little family member.

At just a few years old Ellie was diagnosed with a kidney infection and almost died.  I remember Lance and I had her sleep in bed between us while we listened to her labored breathing, comforted her with our loving touch, and prayed for the meds to kick in and for her complete recovery.  Ellie came through with flying colors, but because of this incident, we discovered she had stones in her bladder and a tendency to continue to form more.  Ellie was put on a special (nasty tasting) food to dissolve the stones.  It worked, and now she is on a maintenance diet (which apparently tastes much better) and has not had any more reoccurrences.

When we decided to move our family to Colorado, Ellie happily came with.

After about a year in Colorado, we learned Ellie had diabetes.  So, now she endures two insulin injections a day.  Fortunately, she did not lose her sight (a common side affect that often occurs in the first year of diagnosis of canine diabetes.)  And has been relatively healthy since.

While we have gladly taken care of Ellie throughout the years - I didn't realize just how much she would take care of me when I needed her most.

Since I have been home recovering from my surgery, Ellie has been more than just a pet.  She is my constant companion.  Ellie has this uncanny sense of how I am feeling, how much activity I can handle, and never leaves my side. 

When I first came home with a tube sticking out of my abdomen Ellie spent all her time following me around.  She napped with me, she shuffled from room to room with me - but never tried to be picked up and she never jumped on my lap.  She was very cautious and protective.

As my recovery progressed and I began to feel a little better she still was always at my side, but now would bring me a toy to toss if she thought I was up to it or lay on the couch with her back resting against me, providing the assurance that she was there if I needed her.  As I started to feel a little more mobile I began to feed her and once again give the dreaded insulin shot.  Whereas she would start to run off at shot time in the past, now she sees me coming and stands perfectly still - no games on her part.  (I am guessing that will change when she thinks I am fully recovered!)

My tube is gone now and I am changing out the bandages on my incision area twice a day.  Ellie seems to know this means I can do more, but am still not back to normal.  We have started to take walks around the neighborhood and Ellie has begun to push me to go a little further each day.  (Does this make her a therapy dog?)  She has her predetermined routes around the neighborhood and guides me along them (although I sometimes veto her choices - I do have some say in what I feel up to!)

As I prepare for my next doctor visit and find out my return to work date, I am not sure who this will be harder on - me or Ellie.  I will miss my constant companion with her adoring looks of love.  And Ellie, she will once again be home alone all day when I return to work.  (Maybe she will be glad to get in a full days sleep again!)

I am thankful for my family, friends, faith, and the doctors and nurses whose diagnosis and skill got me through this unexpected and traumatic phase of my life.  I am especially grateful for my faithful companion - a furry, loveable, little ball of fluff named Ellie.

Letting Go...

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset

Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?

I don't remember growing older
When did they?

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From the musical: "Fiddler On the Roof"

Songwriters Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick

Yesterday I brought my beautiful newborn baby girl home from the hospital.

Yesterday I spent fun filled days exploring the world with my curious toddler.

Yesterday I cried a little as my excited five year old got on the bus for her first day of school.

Yesterday I cheered on my daughter as she learned the joys and disappointments of participating in team sports.

Yesterday I celebrated with her as she became a newly licensed driver ...and supported her when she got in her first car accident.

Yesterday I counseled her as she tried to understand why life doesn't always go as planned and why some friendships suddenly change.

Yesterday she graduated from high school and I said farewell (shedding a few more tears) as she left for her summer job in Northern Minnesota and I moved to Colorado.

Yesterday I watched my daughter grow from an insecure teen to an enthusiastic, confident college student (with a real talent for writing).

Yesterday I wept a little as I watched my twenty-one year old daughter leave for the airport to start a new summer adventure backpacking in Europe.

Wow...where did the time go?

While I am a little nervous about Kaitlyn's newest adventure - I am also excited for her (and maybe even a little jealous - who wouldn't want to be a twenty something back packing around Europe).  I can't wait to hear about her travels and thanks to the world we live in, will not have to hope for a letter or her return home to keep in contact.  Email, Viber, Facebook, Blogging...I know she will keep us updated when she can.

I want her to be independent, adventurous, and joyful.  I want her to make good choices, listen to her travel mate "Bear" (the planner and responsible one), and celebrate all her life has to offer.  I want her to travel safely, meet new people, and try new things. 

I am confident we raised her well - and it is time to spread her wings and have the trip of a lifetime.  Will I be happy when she is safely home?  Of course.   Do I wish she never got on that plane?  Absolutely not.   

Enjoy your adventure Kaitlyn...explore new sites, immerse yourself in the culture, and dance with monks whenever you can!