Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Doors.

I've been working a lot of hours lately, and not getting home until the late hours of the night/morning. Because that's what happens when administration pisses off the per diem employees by posting their jobs. On the verge of state citations for being critically under staffed. I wonder when they will notice the lack of people waiting in line to work for lousy pay and poopy (literally) conditions.

I stumble home from work, walk in the door and smell what my family had for dinner.
I go to the bathroom and see a tub full of dinosaurs, hot wheels, legos and other seven year old boy tub toys.
I head to my boys room, to kiss their faces, smell their heads and to tuck the blankets they've kicked off, and stare at them too see how much they've changed in 12 hours.
I go downstairs to my younger daughters room, and see her latest art project, turn off her radio and her lamp, kiss, tuck, and ponder the outfit she has chosen for school, because, DAMN the girl may be color blind.
I have to sneak into my oldest daughters room, because she is at the age, where tucking and such, are like so not necessary MOM, this is my private space, MOM. Plug in her cell phone which is desperately dead and beeping from hours of supposed sleep time text messaging.
I walk into the kitchen to see the dishes washed, the leftovers in the fridge and a plate with my name on it.
I don't have to go anywhere in the house to hear my husband snoring. He has really been super-dad lately. He's stepped up with the cooking/laundry/homework etc.
And I love them. And I miss them.

I walk in the door at work AGAIN (I should really just rent a room) and wonder who is still with us, and if so, what condition they are in.
I try not to have favorites anymore, because (it took a lot of learning) it hurts too much. But this is me we're talking about. My favorite old man is declining. He's about 5 foot on a good day, when not hunched over, with a 46 inch waist. Freaking Teddy Bear. He has an unique last name (Italian?) and delights in me pronouncing it correctly. I went into his room tonight to wake him for dinner, which is unusual. He's usually the first one out, and NOT one to miss a meal. :o) I called his name, then called his name and stopped breathing to see if I could hear him breathing. I started to get concerned. I walked over and shook his big toe, and he woke with a start. I said "anonymous old fart, you must have really been snoozing!", he said, "I was dreaming about playing a basketball game!", I asked "who won?" and he replied, "I don't know, I didn't get to the end!" He is generally in great health, but has these unexplainable whack-A-Doo episodes. They've done MRI's CAT scans and tested for infections. No TIA's, no UTI's, nothing wrong with the dude he just goes off the planet for awhile. We had to take away his motorized cart because of his episodes. He was running into walls, eloping in 10 degree weather and almost ran over another resident....But lost eleven pounds from all the walking! :o)
He was given 30 days notice. I know when he walks into that new door, he will give up. Because he told me so. I said I would visit him. He said, don't bother. :o(

I'm starting school again at the end of March (YAY! Yay?). Now that my husband is working night shift, I can take classes during the day and still be home with my critters at night. I'm taking it slower this time, not such a full credit load. I feel like I failed somehow last time, even with an awesome GPA, just by quitting. This is a scary heavy door to open for me...Again.

My younger brother is moving out of the country, and has chosen a car for my oldest daughter. The dudes a mechanic, he is constantly buying, fixing and selling cars. BTW, if anyone is in the market for some sweet vintage restored VW's busses, let me know. :o)
He chose this car as the perfect teenage driver starter car. It is an ancient diesel Mercedes. He has fixed everything that could be fixed, and a few things that he just did because he loves her and is awesome.
He proudly tells me that it takes about 10 minutes to accelerate to 30 miles an hour :o) and is a tank, so if she hits anything or anything hits her, she won't be the one to sustain the damage.
It has been almost as hard for him to deal with her growing up, and going to drivers ed as it has been for me. They've always been more like siblings, because he was so young when she was born (13), and was her favorite babysitter.
She doesn't know about the car yet, he's waiting until the car is perfect and an exact date when he will lovingly drive it from Utah to Washington for her.
Probably the last time we will see him for an unknown time.
That door opening, and closing, will be a tough one, for all of us.

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