Dear Alex

[Sometimes I feel like a crappy mom, and I'd just like to get Alex's attention for 2 mins to tell him what I think about him. Today, I decided I'd write him a letter]

Dear Alex,

When I dropped you off at school this morning, I saw that look I see on your face sometimes. That “defeated” or “depressed” look that I feel I put there with my homework reminder.

It breaks my heart every time we talk and you get that look. It makes me sad that my words made you feel that way.

I love you. I love you more than you’ll ever be able to conceive. That’s what mom’s do, they love their kids. Dad’s love their kids too.

What you may not know, or understand right now, is that we have a job. Our job is to raise a child who can go out into the world and be confident, successful and happy. If that means we yell sometimes, to get a point across, then we yell. If it means we punish or take things away when what we asked to be done, isn’t done, it’s because we’re trying to make a point and trying to guide you to better choices.

You are NOT stupid. You are a WONDERFUL child. You are my heart and soul.

All I ever want for you is your happiness. I want you to know what I know, that you are a wonderful person. I want you to think good things about yourself so that when someone else tries to make you feel bad, you can laugh it off and ignore their taunts. I want you to KNOW what I KNOW about you. I want you to BELIEVE what I BELIEVE about you.

You are loving.

You are kind.

You are smart.

You are funny.

You deserve from life, all your willing to ask of it.

You will always have me in your corner.

You deserve to be happy.

Love always,

Mom

Pre Op Appt... Last Chance to Opt Out

Met with my doctor today. Dr. Puri of Northwestern Memorial Hospital.  Great guy, and from what I hear from others who have used his skillful hands to replace joints, a great surgeon.

He walked in with the requisite "doc in training," and began to explain what to expect, what he'd be doing, how it would only take about an hour.

An hour?

Uh, doc, it's FULL hip replacement...shouldn't it take longer than an hour? It will take more than an hour just to prep me for the surgery! I want my money's worth.

Anyway, the main thing is that for two weeks AFTER the surgery, he wants all my attention on PT and recovery. After that, if I feel up to it, I can start working. Maybe from home first, and then in the office.

I am going to go stir-crazy.

You can't take a woman who works 50-60 hours a week, consistently (and the rest of the time tries to make up time with her son, husband and small pet) and make her SIT and do intermittent PT. It's inhumane!

My aunt says I should catch up on my beading, and jewelry making. And I'm sure I've got a couple of books on my Kindle Fire that need read. Well, that accounts for a couple hours each day.

I'm sure sleeping will be involved. You know how recouping from anesthesia can be on the body.

Again, ONE HOUR for the surgery...days of getting over the damn anesthesia.

But the most arduous part of this whole journey (other than the pain)... the PAPERWORK! A folder of tests and protocols and agreements and prescriptions and exercises... Ugh.  (more on this later...maybe even a picture)

The good thing is that even though I'm overweight, I'm in pretty darn good health. And scheduling my surgery for the 11th, has allowed the possibility of 1) going to my company's summer party; and 2) attending the Annoyance Theater's 25th Anniversary.

I don't think I'll be doing the "Assume the Position" song & dance number from Tippi... but I can surely sit there and visit with my old friends and fellow improvisors. Hopefully I can walk into both without a limp... and without any pain.

One more errant thought.. I haven't even asked what this is going to cost me in $$. Weird, huh? I guess when you make your mind up to try and better the quality of your life... you just move forward.

Pain...is a pain!

It's been a lonnnnngggg time since I last posted here. It's not that I haven't had something to say, but none of it seemed like things anyone would want to read.

I know, let YOU be the judge of that, but it just plays into my insecurity that maybe I'm just not as interesting as I hope I am.

Lately, however, my current "condition" has given me pause.

I want to share.

On July 6th of this year, I will be 49 years old.

On July 11th of this year, I will be getting a full hip replacement.

I'm not scared. I'm not nervous (at the time of this post).

I'm just tired. Tired of being in pain. Tired of limping everywhere I walk. Tired of not being able to run with my 8 y.o. Tired of not being able to work with him on his soccer or get him interested in other sports. Tired of gasping out of the blue, if my hip moves the wrong way left or right. Tired of not being able to take my pup on a long walk. Tired of not being able to sleep at night. Tired of not having one comfortable seat to sit in.

Just tired.

So, I gave in...and signed up for the surgery.

It means a lot of changes for me and my family.

First and foremost, I hope it means no more pain. No more pain means, more mobility, which should mean greater health...then hopefully, that momentum continues into more meaningful times with my family, greater participation in my son's health and growth, more quality moments with my husband... and greater energy to be more active participant in life.

Until you've had constant, debilitating pain, it's hard to understand just how it can affect your life both physically and psychologically. I thought this was something I could "get over"! I thought big doses of naproxen and some regular PT would help me like it did 4 years ago... when I lost weight, got in shape and thought I had it licked.

Then I gained back the weight AND some, rarely worked out, never had PT... and found myself holding on to a neighbors fence...near tears... barely able to walk the dog home one evening. It's been down hill since that night.

I found I would turn down invites out with friends, especially if they were at bars where I might have to stand for a while. I didn't meet up at the park with Alex because I was afraid I would break down and end up whimpering and crying. At work, I cringe every time I've worked at my desk for more than two hours and then have to stand. I wince anytime I drop something on the floor that I have to pick up.

I went without a haircut because of the effort I would have to make to get over to my hairstylist. I went without lunch with friends because I wasn't sure I'd be able to get there. I've eaten from the lunchroom offerings on my floor at work so I don't have to walk downstairs to get it. I pick my clothes based on what's easiest to get over my foot without having to lift my leg. When I get in the car, on the driver's side, I put in my right foot, then I lean in and place my back against the seat and slide down, and then pull my left foot in with both hands. On the passenger side, I literally have to step back and fling my left leg UP and over the edge of the car to get it in so I can slide in from that side.

It's humbling. It's a drain on your humor. It's not something you can explain to others, with the exception of those who are in the same boat. Then you just have a gathering of really weary people.

So, I'm doing it, getting the ole hip replaced. Stay tuned ... there's lots to share ... and hopefully, it resonates with someone out there.

A Quick Eulogy

My grandmother passed away last Thursday morning. She was 95. She had been in the nursing home for 2 years, and hadn't really spoken with any regularity for the last year, due to a series of small strokes. She was, for all intents and purposes, trapped in her body. So when her passing came, it was a great loss, but the sadness was offset by the belief that she is no longer constrained, that her soul is soaring, that she is happy once again.


I wrote a few words for her funeral, and tried to keep it brief compared to what I prepared for my mother's funeral. Below is the eulogy... just felt like sharing.

John 15:12 This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.

I take this to heart when I think of my grandmother, Louise. But it struck a particular chord last night when I was trying to decide the best way to pay tribute to her.

My grandmother loved me. She loved her husband of 58 years. She loved her children, and lived long enough to have buried one of them. She loved my brother, my husband, and most definitely, my son Alex. She loved her family, her sisters and brothers, her nieces and nephews, great-nieces and nephews, and their children. She loved her students. And she loved her friends, her church, her community and her life. And she loved God.

Grandmother never spouted scripture, she never attempted to convert anyone, she didn’t sit at home and read the Bible every night but she led by example. She led the life of a true Christian woman. I learned more about being a godly person from her, my grandfather, other grandmother and granddad. And in that way, I was blessed. I had wonderful examples that helped set me, hopefully, on the path to being a giving, loving person.

Nearing 90 years old, she still stood in the kitchen with her rolling walker, with the little seat…and cooked an entire meal for a family in town who was busy fighting cancer. It’s what she could still do, cook, and bring comfort through giving of a meal.

She hated her handwriting near the end of her life. She said, “you just can’t read it.” And I’m sure, her years as a teacher is why she had been so critical, but I received birthday, Christmas and general notes from her…handwritten, until she just couldn’t see well enough to write anymore. And the handwriting, it was just fine. She did this for everyone. Even when there was email, she wrote, pen to paper because it was personal.

I remember visiting them in Phoenix on my spring break from college, and we pulled up to the mailbox area of their community. Granddad got the mail, and looked through it, and handed her a letter, “Here Louise, this ones for you. Guess someone died.” I was confused, to say the least. He looked at me, “This woman only writes us when someone in town dies. Those are your grandmother’s letters to handle.”

I giggled at my grandfather’s unintentionally funny explanation. He smiled. Grandmother sort of smiled, and gave him the “Oh Paul!” look. She then tenderly read the letter, and went about her “way” of dealing with the sad news inside. I knew a carefully crafted letter would be written to the family who suffered the loss. If they were good friends, or someone they’d known a long time, they were going to make a donation or send flowers. All handled by grandmother.

I think one of the only times I ever saw her TRULY annoyed was when she made my brother and I tuna fish sandwiches. She made a typical, Midwest tuna salad. It had relish in it. To us, it was “that green stuff” and WHAT WAS IT?  She simply left them there for us to eat, but upon her return found two small piles of green relish on each of our plates. We had picked out the relish. She laughed about it later in life, but was NOT amused at the time.

But she loved us. It was never a question. It was a “given.” And we loved her.

One last story, right up to when she went in the nursing home, Grandmother made sure my brother had Chex mix for Christmas. Now, you might not think that’s a big deal, but my brother lives in Dubai. The shipping alone for a few bags of Chex mix was over $200, because it had to go FedEx. It didn’t matter. She knew that to Doug, Chex mix meant Christmas. And she was going to be sure he knew she was thinking of him… and when she couldn’t, Sue did.

She led by example…and we now follow… and emulate… and honor her memory.

Psalm 63:3 Your steadfast love is better than life.

Merry Christmas To You...From Us! 2011

Take What You Like, Throw Out The Rest

That was my mother's advice at being a mother, "take what you like that I did, and throw out the rest." And that's what I've been trying to do. It isn't easy.

If anyone TRULY knew how to parent perfectly, they'd have the riches of the world or author, JK Rowling. But near as I can tell, no one knows for sure what makes a good parent. There are a couple of "gimmes": love and protect your child. But after that, it's a nebulous mess.

My goal, since we brought Alex home, was to try and rear a confident (not cocky), secure, educated, good young man. We're off to a good start, but there have been some bumps. Alex is not confident, at least not outwardly. He's painfully shy sometimes, and doesn't participate openly in class for fear of being wrong. If he can't do something perfect the first time he tries, he abandons it.

I've combed through all his early-learning situations, things I might have said, reactions I may not have controlled that might have influenced this behavior, just sure it was something we may have done when he was an infant to have instigated this fear. And while I find that sometimes I'd talk for him, rather than letting him answer or when I saw his angst in a social situation, I got him out of it, none of these would account for his timidity at 8 years old.

Now, don't get me wrong, he can be social. He has friends. He can talk to adults. He just needs to know them well enough. And he even developed his own coping mechanism when he was 3 or 4. We'd go to the park, he'd grab one of his favorite toys to bring with him. I thought, "why does he need that, we're just going down slides and swinging. I'll probably end up holding the damn thing!" But these toys were Alex's entre into talking with other kids on the playground. If "he" thought they were cool, then other kids would think they were cool and they'd want to play with him. It worked, every time.

Where did he learn this? Not from us! But how ingenious!

It backfired, occasionally, in his younger years, because as much as he wanted to play with them, he wasn't big on sharing his toys with them. BUT, we worked on that, and he adapted his idea, and would bring a second set of the toy... I even joined in and would try to set up games like squirt gun / target shot... I'd put chalk "X's" all over the playground (they wash off) and I'd give them filled up squirt guns, and they'd have to find the Xs and shoot them off. He's developed into a kid that knows how to share.

Good parenting also requires a "village." 

Your child isn't always where you can see them, watch them and gauge their life 100% of the time. There's this thing called, "school." We've been lucky enough to have had 5 very engaging, committed teachers for Alex's years at St. Benedict Prep. It started in preschool with Ms. Aubrey, then continued with Ms Wilson in Kindergarten, but got really interesting with Mrs. Feeley (1st G), Ms. Balsley (2nd G) and now Ms. Cirincione (3rd G). They see Alex's potential and have really worked on a one-to-one with him, and with us, to help bring him out of his shell.

A continuous conversation with them has helped us to get Alex to participate more regularly, raise his hand to answer questions, present his projects at a volume that the kids can hear him at the back of the class. He brings home mostly A's (occasionally a B), reads at a 4th grade level and kicked booty on his Terra Nova testing last year.

He also has a rich support system in his grandparents, who take an active role and work with him on liking himself, and feeling good about himself. He has the wonderful moms and dads of his friends, who consistently give him the praise and attention when he does something right.

He is a really good kid.

He has his issues, but nothing we can't work on, and with the support of all of those around us, come out on the other side with a confident, secure, educated, good young man. I'm sure of it!

Knowing Where You Come From

Grandmother & Granddad on their 80th birthdays

I just got back from a visit in Indiana, where my 94 y.o. grandmother resides in a nursing home. She's had a series of small strokes that have left her unable to talk very well. We believe her mind is there, because we see the expressive lift of the eyebrows and small tilt of the head, that let's us know she's answering the silly question we just asked, with a bit of mimed sarcasm.

My aunt has been my grandmother's caretaker since shortly after my grandfather's death in 1997. A series of hip replacements and poor healing had her moving in and taking on the role of nurse, along with daughter. And, with my mother's death in 2002, she took on the full load and responsibility without a whimper.

We know it's tiring, and that her life has been put on semi-hold as she does what she does, because it's "what we do" when it comes to family. So, I try to go down every once in a while and help out...as does my husband, and my soon-to-be 8 y.o.

We do what we do because it's "what we do."

Well, during this visit, my aunt (Sue) pointed out to me a letter she had come across. It was from one of my grandfather's former students. She had written my grandmother shortly after my grandfather's funeral.

Let me point out, at my grandfather's viewing I heard story after story about my grandfather; how he was tough, but fair; how he cared, and taught life lessons; how he was remembered with fondness and respect.

This letter details why... and the type of people I come from:

September 22, 1997

Dear Mrs. Beanblossom,

My grandparents best friends (left),
Grandmother and Grandad

I was sorry to learn about Mr. Beanblossom's illness and passing. Since that time I have thought often of him and what he meant to me. I'd like to share that with you.

I remember Mr. B as a very fair man, one who liked students and expected only the best from them. He was a good teacher and I enjoyed the time spent in his classroom.

His sense of humor I first saw the summer I was ten and he built the house my folks still live in. He teased my younger sister, Susie, and I -- but always in a a fun way. He would ask Susie, "Are you a Republican or a Democrat?" Her response was always, "I'm a bug!" Later when I was in eighth grade, Carol Bedimeister and I put a Democrat bumper sticker on his car. He laughed and took our teasing good-naturedly, and then, of course, took off the sticker! I learned from him how important it is to be a good sport.

During my "trials and tribulations" with one of our classmates, Mr. B was always there to mediate and calm me down. His quiet concern was always obvious--concern for me and probably more importantly, for my adversary who needed someone in her corner.

During my sixteen years as a teacher and now eleven as an assistant principal, I have tried to remember the lessons  I learned from Mr. B. Quite literally, I have more than once wondered what he would have done before I decided how to help a student or how to mediate for students who just couldn't seem to get along.

I might never have made a switch to school administration if I hadn't admired, respected and liked Mr. B so much. I always hoped that he was proud of my career and knew how important he was in helping to shape it.

Thanks for listening to my thoughts of Mr. B. I'm only sorry I didn't write this letter to him years ago.

Sincerely,
Micky Kaiser Lowe

My grandfather was a teacher, a principal and a superintendent... an academic his entire life, who also built homes, created beautiful antique reproductions, loved his girls with all his heart... and his grandchildren with the same warmth and care.

I am proud of my heritage, my family... all of them... but this letter inspired me to share it.