The healing power of positive thinking...and puppies

Those of you who follow Grandma's Briefs on Facebook and Twitter know that I've been on nurse duty for my youngest daughter, Andrea, who had her tonsils out this week. At 26 years old. Which had her mama—that would be me—pretty concerned.

The surgery went well, and I think much of that can be attributed to Andrea's positive attitude going in.

I've heard distressing stats on how long it takes adults to recover from tonsillectomies, ranging from two weeks of intense pain (and hunger) to it taking three full months to get back on one's feet. Again, I think (and hope) Andrea's positive attitude will make for the best possible outcome.

Despite moments of debilitating pain and frustration immediately following the surgery, Andrea's sense of humor continues to carry her through. To wit: When the nurse summoned Andie's roommate and me from the waiting area to see Andrea in the recovery room, the nurse said Andrea's first words were, "No grape popsicles!" All Andie and a reference to her concerns medical staff would immediately provide purple pops afterward. Seems purple popsicles and the vomiting that accompanied them is Andrea's only memory from her only other surgery, getting tubes in her ears, more than 20 years ago. Her roommate and I couldn't help but laugh (yes, out loud!) as we followed the nurse to Andrea's bedside.

Another example of Andrea's goofiness and how it's helping her deal with the pain is her novel approach to communicating in the first excruciating hours after surgery when talking was virtually impossible. She started off with pen and paper to relay her requests—and, at times, distress—but that soon proved too cumbersome and Andrea turned to her iPhone, typing all she wanted to say into the Notes application then having her text read by the computerized voice...which involved not only a monotone voice—except when a typed question mark meant text was read with a lilting tone at the end of requests—but numerous awkward and incorrect pronunciations of words. Which got Andrea giggling despite the pain. Which made her repeat the humorous text again and again. Typing song lyrics got her roommate and me giggling as well.

That's not to say it's been easy on Andrea. At all. She's in pain, she's hungry, she's worried about coughing and choking and vomiting, and concerned the recuperation might not go as quickly and smoothly as we all hope. When mustering her own comic relief doesn't come easy, though, puppy love steps in, courtesy of Luke (Andrea's dog) and Lennox (her roommate's dog).

With a cute quotient so high, how could these adorable kiddos not make her feel better?

I head home today, leaving Andrea under the care of her roommate—and the pain relieving power of puppies.

I have no doubt she'll be better in no time.

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Today's question:

When you don't feel well, what one thing never fails to help you feel better?

Pledge of the long-distance grandma

We all know the pledge of the United States Postal Service: “Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep the postmen from their appointed rounds.” I propose a similar pledge for long-distance grandmas, only the obstacles—at least in my case—go far beyond the basic blustery weather.

For example, when I visited Bubby and Baby Mac last August, I encountered a haboob that delayed my return home:

 

Then, when Jim and I drove to see our grandsons last October, the return trip featured an epic traffic situation that left us sitting—literally, at a standstill—on the interstate for three hours:

And last night, as I attempted to make my way home from a week with Bubby and Baby Mac, a blizzard threatened my return, resulting in delayed arrival (and fears arrival wouldn't happen at all, courtesy of the pilot stating as we prepared to take off into the storm, "We'll give it a try and we'll see what happens"):

 

Okay, okay...the photo above isn't an actual shot of last night's snowstorm, but you get the idea.

Yes, like the Postal Service, neither haboobs nor treachery on the highway nor snowstorms of any significance can keep me from my appointed rounds with my grandsons. But...all of the above and more sure as <cuss> muck up my return home after each and every visit anymore, without fail.

I've had enough, and I'm not gonna take it anymore!

Well, at least not until April, that is. For in April I take my next trip to the desert to play full-time grandma again, and I won't let <cuss> conditions of any sort keep me from getting there.

Getting home, though, will unfortunately surely follow what has become this long-distance grandma's traveling protocol. Especially considering that April is typically one of the snowiest months in the Rockies; I can pretty much tell you now getting back home afterwards isn't going to be easy. Or fun.

My grandsons and their parents can still count on me being there, though. Like I said, it's not the getting to them that's the problem, it's getting back home again. But the USPS pledge gives no guarantee nor particulars on the return of its postmen. The same shall apply to the long-distance grandma pledge, too—whether I like it or not.

Snowstorm photo: stock.xchng/tes

Today's question:

What obstacles do you anticipate encountering in your travels this weekend—even if only to the grocery store?

11 things I learned last year

No. 6: Two grandsons are better than one.

1. How to make salmon, cut mango, appreciate the delights of a boldly flavored balsamic vinegar.

2. Every once in a while hype is well warranted. Case in point: Adele.

3. The older I get, the more unbidden kindness and consideration matters, makes a difference.

4. My black thumb is apparently permanently tattooed that color and will never transform into green. (Though I'll surely give transformation yet another attempt this year.)

5. Despite the complaints and bad press, I'm unashamed to admit I love Netflix. Especially instant streaming for without it, I'd never know the thrills, chills, and chuckles of Friday Night Lights, Sons of Anarchy, Nativity!.

6. Two grandsons are indeed double the fun, double the pleasure of one and two of my life's greatest pleasures day in, day out, whether I see them or not.

7. Although decades removed from the drama and trauma of the teen years, mid-life friendships are still fickle affairs. Some flounder and fade for reasons unclear, while others grow and glow brighter than ever—also for reasons unclear yet much appreciated.

8. Committing yourself to fulfilling your heart's desire is worth far more than money. Most of the time.

9. Less really isn't more, it's still less—especially when it comes to having. But it's manageable, survivable, easier than previously believed.

10. There are benefits to having less, though: It highlights the abundance of blessings remaining for which to be endlessly grateful: a loving family, a welcoming home, continued co-pay assistance.

11. Those things that go bump in the night at my house really are just my boogedy boiler. (Or so I keep telling myself...and my houseguests.)

Today's question:

What did you learn last year?

One word

No improvement needed here—perfect as they are.

Improvement. That's my one word, and I'm sticking to it.

That one word is my response to a question posed yesterday on Facebook by SITS Girls, a network of bloggers I—and several other Grandma's Briefs readers—belong to, a network built around the idea that "The Secret to Success is Support".

The question SITS Girls asked its members yesterday: "What's the one word you hope defines 2012?"

I hemmed, hawed, considered (but never consulted) the thesaurus. Then I settled on improvement. Mostly because I desperately want, desperately need 2012 to be an improvement over 2011...and 2010 and 2009—the years that became so tough in so many ways since losing my job. The years that have been so tough for so many since losing jobs, losing retirement investments, losing savings of all sorts, and, for many, losing hope.

I thankfully never lost hope. Ever. And my hope for 2012 is that it's marked by my chosen word: improvement. Not just improvement in year-over-year as a whole, but improvement in nearly every single sector of my life.

I hope to see improvement physically. I need to eat better, exercise more, feel fit to function in far better ways than I have been.

I hope to see improvement financially. I have little gigs here and there that foster this improvement, but I need to improve my numbers—of gigs, of words written, of options. Mostly, I need to improve the numbers in my bank account.

I hope to see improvement in my home, and I have more home improvement projects on my plate than I care to admit. Accomplishing even just one or two would surely be an improvement, so success in this sector is a given. I hope.

I hope to see improvement in my piano playing, picture taking, recipe making, wrinkle erasing, and more.

I hope to see improvement in the quality of relationships I have, the friendships I maintain.

I hope to see improvement in the number of hours I spend reading—for enjoyment, not review or research.

I hope to see improvement in my ability to relax...without guilt...without reservation and unnecessary explanation.

And I hope to see improvement in the amount of time I devote to gratitude, thankfulness, appreciation. Of all I already have. All I already am. All I already can do and give and be.

Improvement takes work. And persistence, motivation, perseverance. And the ability to overcome frustration, as I'm sure I'll get frustrated along the way to improvement—frustrated with myself, with others, with circumstances beyond my control. (Especially with circumstances beyond my control, which makes me consider that I should really work on improving my need to control everything, too.)

With work, persistence and more, paired with hope—humongous heaps of high hopes—that one word will be mine. Improvement. In all areas. In this year over years past.

Improvement. That's my one word, and I'm sticking to it.

Photo of Bubby and Baby Mac: Shamelessly stolen from Megan's Facebook page.

Today's question:

As the SITS Girls asked, "What's the one word you hope defines 2012?"

From both sides now

Even several years into it, an empty nest can be hard to get used to. Especially during the holidays. No longer do I have play-by-play announcements from the family room of who's up next in the Thanksgiving parade as I prep the turkey in the kitchen. No longer must I search high and low for a favorite Christmas CD that's been nabbed from the holiday-music tin by a teen who wants to play it in her room or car. Nor do I have youngsters—or teenagers—waking up early as can be on Christmas morning, excitedly serving as the alarm that time had come for celebrations to begin. 

I miss all that and more—even the pilfered music—that was part and parcel of a full nest. Every now and then I indulge in pity parties, bemoaning the occasional sadness Jim and I now share since our daughters have grown up, moved on.

In my self-centered, self-pitying mindset, I often, no, I pretty much always forget that my daughters face their own sadness and challenges in the growing up, the moving on. Especially during the holidays. My youngest daughter, Andrea, recently—unintentionally—reminded me of exactly that.

Andrea was scheduled to work on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to spend the day with the family. As a counselor in a residential treatment facility for troubled adolescent girls, staff is required to be on-site 24/7, and Andrea's regular hours include Thursdays, which, of course, Thanksgiving was. Which meant she had no choice but to cover that shift. It was to be her first Thanksgiving absent from our table, so she and some friends who also had to work that day—plus a few who simply couldn't make it to their own family homes for the holiday—planned a holiday gathering of friends for later in the evening, after the workday was done.

The idea Andie couldn't be home for Thanksgiving—that now two of my three daughters wouldn't be around for the day—saddened me. But in these crazy economic times a job must come first, so I accepted it. I didn't accept as easily, though, the seemingly nonchalant attitude from Andrea each time we discussed it. I never voiced it to her, but in all honesty, there were a few times I thought my youngest might just be asserting her independence and actually pretending to me that she had to work but in fact was planning a full day of holiday fun and frivolity with her friends instead of her family.

How wrong I was. Turns out Andrea was just doing her best to stay strong in the face of reality, of growing up, of being an adult, of needing to stay employed. Her tough facade crumbled Thanksgiving evening. On her way home from the gathering, Andrea called me in tears. The celebration with friends had been fine, the food was good, she assured me, but it simply wasn't Thanksgiving at home, and it broke her heart to feel so far away from family during a holiday for the very first time.

"I'm 26 years old," she said through her tears, "I'm just being stupid and a big baby, but I missed being home. It was just...so...hard!"

I realized at that moment how rarely I take into account what my girls have gone through, continue to go through, on the road to adulthood and independence from their parents. I focus only on what I'm missing, what I've lost.

I don't consider often enough Andrea's steadfast determination to continue traditions instilled in her childhood, everything from green eggs and ham on Saint Patrick's Day to pumpkin-carving competitions for Halloween. Or a holiday turkey dinner with friends that may be fine...but oh-so hard to get through without crying.

I don't consider often enough the role reversal for my middle daughter, Megan, who as a child definitely enjoyed the giving but wholeheartedly preferred and relished the receiving at Christmas. She'd happily pose with her piles of presents, giddy with the prospect of opening them. Once her picture was taken, she'd dive right in with unbridled joy, not worrying one whit what went on around her. Now as wife/Mommy/grown-up, Megan must care plenty of whits, as she plays supervisor of the family giving and receiving, making sure celebrations run smoothly, successfully. In other words, putting everyone else first. Which can be hard, is hard.

I don't consider often enough that my oldest daughter, Brianna, leads a solitary home life yet still does her darnedest to make her home a happy space filled with holiday joy to enjoy on her own. Just last week she decorated her tree, by herself, with no one to help string the lights, hang the ornaments, place the angel on top. "You have no idea how difficult it can be doing it all by yourself," she later told me.

And I don't know. Because I have a husband to help. And because after Brianna finished her own tree, decorating her own place, she hopped in the car and drove over to help Jim and me decorate our tree, our place.

"I had to come," she said when I thanked her for doing so. "With Megan gone now and Andrea not able to help this year, I didn't want you and Dad to be sad doing it alone. We have to ween you off such things slowly, Mom. I know it's hard."

She's right. It is indeed hard—for all of us. I need to consider that, I need to remember that. Especially during the holidays. 

Today's question:

What did you miss most about holidays at home when you first left the nest?

Of Indian corn, cranberries, tradition

I'm a sucker for establishing and following family traditions. My family of origin didn't have many traditions, but the family Jim and I created has been steeped in them, especially during the holidays. All holidays, from New Years to St. Patrick's Day to Fourth of July and on into Thanksgiving and Christmas. For each, we have traditions unique to our clan, ones we've followed for years.

Well, at least used to.

The empty nest continually challenges my desire to do as we've done in years upon years past. I'm struggling with creating new traditions to replace the old ones, the ones that required participation of the whole family...or at least its majority. I'm not yet used to not having the majority around for the celebrations that mattered—and continue to matter—most. Yesterday's Thanksgiving celebration, although delightful and enjoyable, was the first time I celebrated a holiday with only one of my three daughters. One had to work, the other celebrated with in-laws. I understand and accept such things, such changes; I'm just not yet used to them.

The empty nest isn't the only thing challenging my commitment to traditions set into motion years ago. Basic changes in our society—specifically, the availability of certain goods and services—take a toll as well.

To wit: I once upon a time created a tradition of sprinkling on the Thanksgiving table the multi-colored kernels of Indian corn. Throughout the meal, family and other guests were invited to place kernels representing the blessings for which they were thankful into a ceramic "gratitude" dish placed on the table. I considered it a way to express our thanks without having to say such things aloud and draw uncomfortable attention to oneself or the things for which they're grateful.

It was a tradition we followed for years, but I'm now unable to find Indian corn anywhere. (I wrote here of one embarrassing Thanksgiving when I had saved the kernels from the previous year, upon realizing the corn was confoundedly difficult to find every year.) Last year we spent the holiday at Megan's house sans gratitude dish, but the year prior, I decided to use popcorn kernels in place of the nowhere-to-be-found Indian corn kernels. I quickly realized it just didn't have the same feel, the same "pop" (pardon the pun) as the Indian corn, that tried-and-true symbol of Thanksgiving. I considered the tradition over.

Until this past Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I came up with a brilliant idea, a way to continue the tradition, with similarly symbolic tokens to represent our gratitude. Cranberries! Why I didn't think of it before, I don't know. But yesterday my Thanksgiving table was sprinkled with the festive red berries, most everyone a berry or two or ten symbolizing blessings in the dish, and in no time our gratitude cup indeed runneth over. Success!

Time and the toll it's taken on the commercial availability of Indian corn required me to alter one of the my family's most time-honored traditions. It felt a little funny at first, but it worked. Sure, the Indian corn was missed...and fondly recalled. But the cranberries worked just as well, even added a colorful turn the tradition lacked in its initial form. A new tradition was born.

As we head into the Christmas season—the holiday marked by the most treasured of family traditions—I resolve to hold close the lesson of our altered Thanksgiving tradition. It's proof that despite changes and alterations, new traditions can be just as meaningful, just as important as the old.

As Indian corn can be replaced by cranberries, new traditions celebrated by a family minority—possibly even just by Jim and myself—can be just as meaningful, just as important as those once celebrated by our entire family. I'll be mindful of that, keep reminding myself of that.

Out of habit, though, I'll likely keep an eye out for Indian corn in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving for a long time to come. Similarly, one part of my heart will always be focused on the traditions that once defined our family, as well. At least until I find something as festive and colorful as the cranberries to replace them.

Today's question:

Which of your family traditions have changed—or ceased—through the years?

13 things that scare me

During this spooky season, it's not goblins and ghosts that give me goosebumps, but these...

13 things that scare me:

• Holiday potlucks with people I don't know well enough to have been to their house to see how they prepare food

• Holiday potlucks with some of the people I do know well enough to have been to their house to see how they prepare food

• The sound of rocks being stacked, reminding me of Crowhaven Farm

• One of my grandkids...or kids...or Jim...or myself falling down the millions of stairs in my house

• The state of our society as we struggle to adjust to and compensate for the thousands (millions?) of jobs lost that will never return

• Grown men in Speedos

• Having a flat tire in a dark, relatively seedy part of Denver after a PR event. (Which, believe it or not, happened last night. Luckily Brianna drove, Brianna changed the tire...while I used my iPhone as a flashlight for her.)

• My boiler

• Sleeping with one hand over the edge of the bed

• Jim's driving (It's not him, it's me...most of the time)

• No life insurance

• Having an angry—or amorous—buck charge me and the dogs while on our morning walk

• The possibility I may never have a book traditionally published

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What scares you?