Sandwiched In

What a week this has been. School was busy and three days I had people in my room observing something. Twice it was a student teacher doing observation, another time the Academic Lead Teacher from my department, and then two assistant principals showed up in my level class on Thursday.
I've been trying to put things together for a substitute to use when I'm gone for the birth of my new grandson. But, it's hard to do when you're not sure exactly when you'll be needing the sub. Tyler, this is Memom...don't come until after Open House and Gigi's surgery on Tuesday.
The schedule is for Mother to go into St. Joseph's hospital on Tuesday and have cement injected into the spine between disks to give her some relief from the pain she has been in. She's pretty anxious about how all this is going to go, and I had never said that I would be able to take off and be with her. She thought I'd just leave this up to my brother, but I won't. She'll feel better if I go along too.
Last night I missed Kate and Tom's 40th anniversary party because Mother was in a lot of pain, she was emotionally exhausted and she was full of narcotic pain reliever. I couldn't possibly have left her. But I found myself feeling irritable and crabby with Jean when she called to find out why I wasn't there. I felt resentful that there was this expectation that one would not have any reason to miss the occasion.Who put her in charge of policing social obligations?
I do feel better tonight after getting those damned Federal Mandate Projects graded and recorded. I've been carrying them around for a week. I graded papers for my level class tonight and I have to give grades for the political ideology assignments the AP kids emailed to me. Then, I'm closing out the six weeks and I'll be good to go if Tyler comes before the six weeks actually ends on Friday.
Getting the laundry done, the groceries bought and the house tidied up just the slightest bit has helped my mood too. I find that being mentally and emotionally caught between Mother and Berit, between work and home, and between friends and family has to be about as uncomfortable a situation as I've ever experienced.
I find that my attention is short and my focus is fuzzy no matter what I'm trying to do. I don't consciously worry about any of this, but my subconscious evidently hasn't gotten word not to fret. My left wrist has a a huge not on the underside and sometimes hurts like hell. I feel tired pretty much all the time.
I'm trying to get some exercise and yesterday and today I popped in the ear buds and went to town for thirty minutes on the gazelle. Broke a sweat even. Then I even did a little therapeutic knitting and watched some football.
Mother feels better today I can tell. I bought her a transport chair today at the drugstore. Now she won't have to worry about walking from the car to the hospital on Tuesday. There's nothing like being able to relieve some one's anxiety about a thing like that...best $119. 99 I ever spent.

Now if I can just make it through Open House, pack a go bag, get Mother home from her ordeal and get ready for the next week of school before the call comes to head to Dallas....I'll be fine. I will, really...fine. No problem.

Tortilla Soup

Yesterday it was cloudy and that kept the temperature below triple digits. It may still be summer on the thermometer, but it's September, it's football season and it's time to cook. Got out the Calphlon wonder pot and simmered up some tortilla soup.

1 package boneless, skinless chicken thighs
water
onion
celery
salt and pepper
Cook chicken until tender. Remove chicken and set aside to cool.
Season chicken stock with:
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon cumin powder
Add to stock:
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 can chipotle white corn
1 can crushed tomatoes
Shred chicken and return to pot.
Simmer to develop flavor.
Serve with tortilla chips, cheese, sour cream, avocado, lime to garnish.

It's Back

About fifteen years ago, I experienced an episode of auto-immune illness that puzzled a myriad of doctors and specialists, who never quite figured out what it was, but treated for the symptoms as if it were rheumatoid arthritis.
At the time I was stuck in a teaching job that I absolutely could not stand, working with people whose neuroses were even worse than my own. I was in a relationship with a man who has come to be known as the Soul Killer, and my youngest had gone off to the Enormous State University and become anorexic. Those were just the big visible tip of my anxiety iceberg. I was also trying to earn some extra money from a $2,500 a year stipend as the Freshman cheerleader sponsor. The job involved a minimum of three after school practices weekly and two football games every Thursday night. In addition you could depend on several phone calls each week from the cheer moms, who were brimming with good ideas, and there was a stunning week's vacation in beautiful Denton, Texas in July for cheer camp at NTSU. The only place hotter than Denton in July is the ninth circle of Hell. Did I mention it was hard to find a place to have a cigarette on the campus, in the dorm or away from the children?
While at Denton, I had my first flare up with the mystery disease. The joint of my left thumb turned violently purple and swelled to twice its normal size. I walked around for days with my prehensile digit stuck in a styrofoam cup of ice.
As the summer turned into fall, the swelling and pain began to travel around from joint to joint. Ankles, knees, wrists, everything got involved. I couldn't put a shoe on my left foot at one point and went to school with a pair of thong sandals which my principal at the time deemed inappropriate foot wear for the classroom. He didn't seem a bit concerned about my deformed ankle.
After many weeks, the Soul Killer finally hooked me up with a rheumatologist he called on professionally as a drug rep. She started me on a course of methotrexate, which ended my wine drinking career and eventually effected a cure for my swelling and pain.
I concluded quite independently of psychologists and mental health professionals in general that my problem had been caused by stress, anxiety, guilt, depression and a pervasive sense of abject failure at living satisfactorily.
Anyway, I made a number of critical changes in my living situation and remained swelling and pain free for many happy years after. Until this past month. Now it's back. My left wrist has a lump the size of a walnut that varies in size through the day. When it hurts, it hurts like the toothache. My left ankle also seems to be involved, but so far only in a minor way.
So, quite naturally, I'm beginning to investigate what the hell is bugging me so much that this is happening. There aren't any cheerleaders now, the Soul Killer is gone on to eff up other lives in other parts of the city. The anorexic child is a successful wife, mother and psychologist living her own life very happily. My job is getting better all the time, except for the pay, which looks like someone took a vow of poverty. But I don't have to struggle the way younger members of the faculty do.
The source of my anxiety is Mother. She is in failing health and I am watching her decline and her efforts to cope with pain. I'm scared and helpless to do anything to make this come out any other way than her leaving me here alone to go on without her.
My friend Sharon called me this morning and said that she sees me doing all that I can to cope and to meet Mother's needs, but she thinks that I'm trying to take on her pain, and I can't do that. She recommended meditation and seeking ways to put up a barrier (her word) to afford myself some protection from my subconscious. She's all about the homeopathic way and reeled off a list of stress fighting vitamins and minerals to pick up at the Natural Kitchen.
I felt a lot better after the conversation just because someone said I notice you're struggling and I give enough of a damn to say something about it. Thanks Sharon. Thanks for the shopping list and for caring.
Now I'm going to put my face on and go sit in Billie's chair at the Very Expensive Hair Salon, where I will feel like a pampered poodle for about two hours. All those damned essays I have been carrying in my tote bag since Wednesday will get graded during the fourth quarter of UT-UCLA.

Sunday Afternoon

Did you ever notice how when it begins to get late in the day on Sunday, things seem melancholy. When I was a little girl, I thought it was because we had to leave my grandparents on Sunday afternoon. Now that I'm the grandparent, it's because I have to go back to work tomorrow.

Today, I emailed my son. I haven't actually spoken to him since June, when he called to wish me happy birthday. I'm not the world's best mother, but then again he isn't exactly a prize either. We're both just doing what's easiest I suppose. I hope he returns my email...I'll know we still have a relationship.

The great grandmothers are falling apart. My mother has an appointment with the spinal sugeon tomorrow. She has a compression fracture of the lower spine from a fall. My former mother-in-law had surgery today for partial replacement of a broken hip. Another upside of divorce...I only have one of them to take care of.

It was watering day on the even side of the street today. The shrubbery is surviving, but the grass is sparse and crisp. The drought continues and the forecast is for a return to 100 degree highs before the week is over. The fires at Bastrop and in Grimes and Montgomery counties are partially under control. My anxiety level about living in these parched woods is pretty high. I keep thinking about putting things I'd want to save in the back of the car. But where would I begin? Berit's wedding portrait, Sloan's baby pictures, everything else is just stuff. Stuff that our lives are made from.

The kids sent a picture from lunch at a hamburger joint. Maura sent a picture of Molly sitting up.

Her new trick for her grandpa.

Some fall down, some sit up and tomorrow is Monday.