No Scarcity of Happiness

Rojo had a great day today. First of all, a friend of his needed a ride to school, and he needed it early. The earlier the better in Rojo's book, so he threw open the door at 6:40 AM and eagerly greeted his guest. He gobbled down his breakfast, happy to have a new audience member. (5 pieces of bacon, two pieces of toast with both garlic salt AND cinnamon sugar, a few rainbow-colored Goldfish, and a couple pineapple-flavored licorice. Just like at your house, right?)

By 6:50 we were out the door and headed to a Peer Mentor meeting, in which Rojo informed me he was "hosting," thus the need to be there at 7:00, and not at 7:15 when the meeting was technically scheduled to start.

On the way, in the car, he tells his friend, "This is such a great day, you need a ride, I am hosting Peer Mentors, we are going to play Christmas charades, and there is pizza for lunch! Ahhh... the happiness of the day never ends!"

As if that weren't enough, Nancy and I picked him up from school, took him for yogurt, AND to Costco so he could shop. I'm not even a member of Costco, but Rojo has developed "needs," so we drag poor Nancy there, too, in addition to all the other places we drag her. He told Nancy, "When I get to Costco we are going to look for pineapple-flavored licorice. Kate (at his usual yogurt shop) gave me some to take home yesterday, but I want to buy a big bag. We will find them at Costco."

Nancy told Rojo in all her many trips to Costco, she's only seen flavored--licorice once, and it was a special event, with its own portable display, etc. Rojo assured her there would be no problem. Entering Costo he instructed her to head for the candy section, despite her warnings that they didn't have it there, and if they'd have it at all, they'd have to go to a different part of the store. Not discouraged, he walked her straight to what? Oh, yea, pineapple-flavored licorice.

We are two 1.5 lb. bags of pineapple-flavored licorice richer.

The happiness of the day never ends.

Proofed

Okay, so I gave my proof to a friend that I didn't even know (but should have guessed) was a good proof reader, I actually gave her the book for a whole different reason (to pre-read it before it launches, so when we have our big party, she can bail me out when I get all tongue-tied talking about it, if you must know). But, alas, she is not only a GOOD proof reader, she is, the best. She found things in the manuscript that the umpteen people before her have failed to find. "Little" words totally omitted (to, of, etc.) Words that had an "s" but didn't need one, words that didn't have an "s" at the end, and did need one. Misplaced quotation marks, commas where periods should be, spacing errors, wrong word choices, a "who" that should have been a "whom," and vice-versa. 70% of the dog-eared pages are because there was some weird inconsistency with the quotation marks, as in, the actual mark. It shows up looking two different ways, with no rhyme nor reason. We think it's because of cutting and pasting, and I was using a Mac, and my editor was using a PC, and the two got their wires crossed.

Anyway. I have spent the better part of two days making each and every correction, LORD, HEAR MY PRAYER! If not, so be it. It's as good as I can get it. If you read it and find something wrong, I beg you, do not tell me. Do not even insinuate!

I am finally able to find some humor in all of it, and to see that this was not a waste of time, or exercise in futility. I learned a lot about myself, things I wanted and needed to know, and things I didn't want to know. Last night I was watching one of Oprah's "Super Soul Sunday" shows I'd recorded, it had Jean Houston on it, and she was talking about "The Wizard of Oz," and how we all have our tornadoes, things that pick us up, twist us around, and we have to go crawling back to where we think we want to go, which we had within us all the time. ("You're always wearing your ruby slippers.") I would say this book-writing process has been a tornado for me. One could easily say I ended up right where I began, and that would be true, but the journey has been life-changing.

Waiting

Where to start? Let's start with the fact that Mercury goes direct today, and this particular turn in retrograde kicked my *&% like none other. Small things, like two different people trying to text me, and instead, texting STM. Weirdly, neither had his number in their contacts, and obviously were not intending to text him. So why did he get them? Then how about me trying to print address labels for Christmas cards, and the printer printing only the top half of each page? EACH page! But the biggest show of Mercury's strength came in the form of my printed proof of my book. A small disaster, to say the least. One million (slight exaggeration, really more like a thousand) typos, omissions and just outright errors. The book has been proofed, edited, proofed, edited, proofed, edited, over and over and over again. I almost didn't even proof it this "last" time, but "fortunately," did.

I honestly don't know what the Universe is trying to tell me about the book, but one thing seems to be clear: slow down. I was all about getting it out in 2012. I was all about getting it out before I turn 50. I was, let's just be honest here, ALL ABOUT GETTING IT OUT. PERIOD. I feel like I've been pregnant with this "baby" for years and years and am so sick of waddling around with it, I just want it OUT.

Apparently, its gestational time is not yet up.

And I'm forced to ask myself the bigger question, is this a brick to the head? Is it simply, not meant to be "out?" As my cousin pointed out, it was important to write, but maybe it's not important to publish. I puff up my ego thinking the book will be of benefit to others, but really? And at what cost?

And so I sit with the question while I go ahead and tediously correct the errors in the Word doc., before deciding if I really want to upload it one more time and have it out. Maybe, being pregnant was and is the point. Maybe, birth is not.

Blog About It

Rojo's fetish for "flavored" hand soap continues. After church yesterday we bee lined for Bi-Mart to carefully peruse and make our selections. Technically, we were there shopping for the St. Vincent de Paul drive coming up, where they are asking for toiletries. As I picked out toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo, etc., Rojo weighed his hand soap options very carefully.

Finally, after about 20 minutes of this, I asked if he needed help. He wanted me to unscrew the lids off a few so he could "taste." I grabbed one, obliging, "Oh, my God," he exclaimed, "that smells like a toilet!" Then he laughed at his own joke so hard he nearly wet his pants.

All the way home in the car he repeated his joke, "Care! That soap smelled like a TOILET!!!" sending himself into gales of laughter again and again. Shortly after that we picked Kathleen up to go to yogurt. Right away he told her his "toilet joke." "Care, you gotta blog about that, promise me you'll blog about it, don't forget to blog about the soap smelling like a toilet!

This morning, up at 5:45, he was after me immediately. "Care, did you blog about the soap smelling like a toilet, yet? You gotta blog about the soap smelling like a toilet! You gotta tell Kathleen and Nancy they need to get blogs, and they both need to blog about the soap smelling like a toilet."

Because he is standing over my shoulder now and won't get dressed for school until I blog about the soap smelling like a toilet, I am.

Not a mark on him!

Please join me at Hopeful Parents today. Thanks!

I See How This is Going to Go Down

As everyone knows that reads my blog (thank you!), my dad has spent the last 16 years taking things from our home and putting them back later (sometimes after many months). As a child he'd have me go in search of something, and inevitably, I'd come up short. "Carrie, you're not bad looking, but you're a bad looker," he'd say. I'm convinced that his teasing from the other side is to remind me that he's there, and that I'm still a bad looker - what I need is right in front of me, I just can't see it.

STM's dad could fix anything, anything at all, but we were forever taking broken lamps to him, and other electrical things. Since he died we've had a slew of things break or go out: the doorbell, six light bulbs (6!) and three smoke alarm batteries (3!). You can't tell me that's an accident. He's on the other side now, too, but right there. Apparently we need frequent reminders.

Today, as I replaced the batteries and bulbs, I was able to offer up a prayer of gratitude that our loved ones never leave us, they just transform.

The Best Medicine

Not a lot to laugh about over here lately, although, my mother-in-law and I were able to have a few giggles sitting in the hospital day after day, reminiscing. There's nothing like the death of a loved one to help you pull your head out of your *&% and have crystal clear (however temporary) insight into what really matters, and what, simply, doesn't.

I got my Christmas present early this year, and it was a biggie. I've had an varicose vein that I wanted removed, but it was "asymptomatic." I guess the psychological distress it caused me was not a "symptom." Anyway, because it wasn't causing horrible pain, we got to pay out-of-pocket, I told STM it could be my Christmas present, 50th birthday present, on and on and on. Just get that thing off my leg. Finally, on Wednesday, I got this sucker fished out. You don't even want to know more than that. Trust me.

By the way - see the cute pajama bottoms on my "good leg?" Those came to me from my friend, Amy, all wrapped in a Victoria's Secret box, complete with darling top, shortly after my blog post depicting the state of my sleepwear. Note to self: picture more things on blog, in a state of disrepair.

The day after my minimally invasive surgery, I had lunch with my friend liz, and her daughter, Andrea, aka, A Farmer in the Dell. Super fun with lots of laughs (and of course, yummy food.) Then, for dinner, I went out with three friends I met over 20 years ago. We used to all teach together, before I had Woohoo. We've been doing birthdays, Christmas and just-because dinners ever since. This time the occasion was Marti's recent marriage. For years we've been pushing Marti to marry her long-time boyfriend, whom we all adore (and so does she). Not sure if it was because we threatened offered to be bridesmaids, or what, but Marti up and got married by a justice of the peace without so much as how do you do.

Naturally, we took the proper actions. She had denied us the opportunity to be bridesmaids, but she wasn't going to deny us the opportunity to dress up and have some laughs.

A special thanks to my sister-in-law for providing three of the perfect dresses for the occasion. A special thanks to everyone that makes me laugh. A special thanks to all my good friends.

Love.

A Love Story

I don't know about you, but it's a good thing this election is today, because I don't think I could survive one more day. So much hate. So much negativity. So much division. Please vote your heart today, then let us join hands and move forward.

Let me tell you a little love story. This is what 60 years of a happy marriage looks like. These two went on their very first date in 1950. A Halloween party. A blind date, I believe. A year-and-a-half later they married. The day they brought their first child home from the hospital, Don lost his job. The day they moved into their brand new home that they had just built, with their now three-year-old daughter and one-year-old son, Don lost his replacement job. The only two times he was ever unemployed, couldn't have come at a better time, in his mind. Time opened up for him to be with his new family. Time to paint the house and help Doreen get it all situated. Time to be useful and helpful and all-hands-on-deck for his family. Money was tight, but his family was tighter. Family always came first.

The next several decades brought all kinds of changes to the world, but very few to them. Simple was the name of the game. The never did "get all carried away." Each Sunday Don would read the obituaries, and scroll through the long list of accomplishments. "I don't understand how they had any time left for the family doing all those things." He was not impressed. He never felt less than. He always felt grateful that his family was happy and healthy and had what they needed: love.

Last Monday Don lay in bed with Hospice care. Doreen came to sit beside him and tell him the story of their lives together. She started with their first date, 62 years ago to the day, and worked her way through the highlights since. Moments later he died.

I've never known a more successful man.

I don't believe I ever will.

Keeping it in Perspective

So, our friend, liz, and I were taking Rojo to yogurt Monday after school. liz says to Rojo, "Rojo, isn't it exciting that your mom wrote a book about you and it's coming out soon?"

Rojo says, "Well, I have news, too! Wednesday is a Thursday schedule, and Thursday is a Wednesday schedule."

Hard to beat that!

Papa

Donald Edward Link

11/19/25 - 10/29/12

Heaven has a new angel, and his name is Papa. We lost STM's dad yesterday after a wild 18-day ride through ER, the hospital, rehab, ICU, and finally Hospice. Throughout the ordeal there has been more blessings than battles, more tenderness than toughness, and more love than loss.

The above picture was taken the day after Rojo was born - the three Link men. They had much in common, stubbornness being right at the top of the list. STM and I were joking about that several days ago, and he said, "The only other person on par with Papa for stubbornness, is Rojo." 

I asked, "What about YOU?" 

"They are 6A and I'm only 4A. True, I'm All-State 4A, but they are in a whole different league."

Papa's stubbornness got him through a horrible childhood - and instead of turning angry and having a victim mentality, he decided he'd be a whole different type of father and husband. And he was.

He lived on his terms and he died on his terms, full of gratitude, humor and thoughtfulness to the very end. Lying in ER after being put through the wringer, we asked how he was doing. "Doing OK, some people have it a lot worse." That was so Papa.

Once he was in the hospital on "the floor," he was in such pain, but always aware of and thinking about his wife of 60 years. "Can I get you anything, Dode?" he asked in his semi-conscious state. 

She joked back, "Yea, you can hop up and hang up my raincoat!" 

"If you're OK, I think I'll just rest," he said, before drifting out of consciousness.

One of the last "conversations" STM had with him, Papa said, "Now don't get all carried away."

"What do you mean?" STM asked.

"You know what I mean," he said.

Papa was practical. Papa was frugal. Papa was kind, loving, funny, and could fix anything, but he couldn't fix his worn out body, one more time.

We know what you mean, Papa. We won't get all carried away. But we will hold you in our hearts forever.

Light 'em Up

Please light the Marys and hold our family in prayer. We have a loved one in the hospital and need your good ju-ju for one and all.

Thank you!

It's the 18th, so you know what that means - I'm at Hopeful Parents!

The Ex Factor

Bear with me, I am typing this on Roho's iPad, and I am a far cry from proficient with the "keyboard." Just had to share with you that last night STM and I went to an Estate Planning/Special Needs Trust info. thingy. A law firm and bank were presenting, and it was very informative, very comprehensive, and very overwhelming, despite the fact I knew a lot of the information already. We thought for sure we'd pursue guardianship, and that there would be no end to doctors, tests, case managers, etc. that would support the fact that Rojo will be "incompetent" as an adult when it comes to making his own health care and financial decisions (not to mention that he can't brush his own teeth or tie his shoes). Last night we got sold on the idea of having Rojo sign over a number of Powers of Attorney to us, upon turning 18. Apparently, that requires a whole lot less hoopla and expense, both initially, and forever more.

Rojo would need to be able to sign his name and agree that yes, we as his parents could help him as an adult. The attorney and notary present would have to decide that he was not under duress to agree. A "yea" would suffice, and a "signature" could be his all-printt, all-cap, giant handwriting that would never in a million years fit upon a signature line. We thought we had that one in the bag. When we got home from the meeting STM in a very round-about way asked Rojo if we could help him when he turns 18. Thinking for sure he would say yes, he surprised us by saying, emphatically, "No! You can't help me! I don't need any help! I will be married! My wife, my ex-wife and my kids will help me!

Where do I begin? With the ex-wife? With his adamant intention to have children? With his idea that his kids will help him, not the other way around? STM assures me that when the time comes, we can get him to jump through the hoops. I am not so sure.

Grateful

I've been 100% obsessed with the book, the book, the BOOK! I know how annoying it can get when authors go on and on about their books, so I am trying to spare you from all that. But let it be known, I have very little else to talk about. "We" and by "we" I mean Greg Koorhan, Toeless' husband, fixed the dpi problem, and whoever guessed that meant dots per inch, was right. It's just a really good thing I didn't know all that was involved before I started out, or I probably never would have done this thing. Now I'm too far gone to turn back. Of course there are already a million things I wish I'd done differently, and I'm sure there are books galore out there that tell you how to do this, none of which, of course, I bothered to read.

Anyway. We weren't going to talk about the book, but see? I can hardly help myself!

What I was going to tell you was about my friend calling, and us getting caught up after way too many months of being out-of-touch. We were best friends in high school, roommates in college and after, at the births of each other's children. All of that. I have known her and her family for 35 years. Turns out her mom has advanced Alzheimer's disease. Her mom still knows her husband and children but has them displaced in time. She doesn't think her home is her home, she thinks she's a guest. At one point her daughter found a note taped to the bathroom mirror, "Thank you for letting me stay here. Please let me know how much I owe you."

What has struck my friend and her siblings (7!) is that throughout this whole ordeal, their mother has never lost her sense of gratitude. She knows she has Alzheimer's. She knows where this is going - her father had it. She also knows that no matter what, there is much to be grateful for.

My Head is Swimming

We are getting close to the big reveal of the book! Thank God for Laurie Harper, who has held my hand throughout this entire journey. Were it not for her, I would have bailed on this a long time ago. If you're a writer that needs help, really, on anything whatsoever, I would highly recommend you consult with Laurie. She is invaluable!

Turns out I need one company to do the e-book, and another to do the print version. Now I've got e-mails back and forth to both places and I don't know if I'm coming or going. So, obviously, the thing to do is fold laundry, type a blog post, have a snack, brush the dog, and in all ways avoid making important decisions. For instance, what do I want the cover to look like? How am I going to make the photo "pop?" What about the font? How many colors do I want? Do I want the title in a different color from the subtitle? My photo only has 200 dpi and it needs 300 dpi. HOW and WHERE do I get 100 extra dpi? And, more importantly, WHAT is a dpi? Now we can't have that quote on the front, but if we take it off it screws up all the ones in the back. But do we have to resubmit the whole thing? Can't we just tweak one little page?

Kathleen says it's like planning a wedding, a million details to anguish over, and in the end nobody is going to notice or care, they are just going to see two happy people getting married and have a nice time.

May this book live happily every after, too.

There is Frugal...

and then there is CHEAP! Check out the armpits of my favorite "pajama" top. Got the T-shirt at Old Navy two million years ago (obviously). Probably paid $5.00 for it. CANNOT throw it away. WHAT is wrong with me. Never mind. Don't answer that.

Instead, look at Flicka's new friend, Layla:

Could she BE any cuter? She is Nancy's "granddaughter." We got to puppy sit part of yesterday (Rojo and I) when Layla's family all went down for the Duck game. See that afghan Flicka is lying on? Underneath are two pieces of an old foam pad we used to use for camping. (See? CHEAP! Why buy a dog bed when you have an ancient foam pad just sitting in the basement getting dusty?) I was at the kitchen sink and thought Layla was just lying there chewing on her toy, but she had gotten up and was trying to chew up Flicka's "bed." Flicka came and got me. Either she was pissed, or she was worried that Layla might ingest 100-year-old foam. I'm not sure which, but good ol' Flicka saved the day.

STM was gone this weekend, so Rojo and I were on our own. We had a lot of fun. Today we went to Walgreens to buy two of his friends birthday gifts. He labored over the cards, finally selecting two perfect ones (the Simpsons and Snoopy). For Rosie he picked shampoo (and not just Sauve, he isn't CHEAP like his mom), two bottles of nail polish and gum. For the male friend he picked out mints, and because the card he selected was a money holder one, we argued over how much money to put in there. He wanted $100 because, "Care, he's a good friend." We settled on 1/10 of that.

Came home and quickly wrote out the card for Rosie because we were picking her up in 10 minutes to have her help Rojo pick out a Halloween costume. She helped us last year, so now it's tradition. If there's one thing we do well around here, it's carve things in stone.

Inside the card he wrote, "I love you like a super star." I love Rosie like a super star, too. Because she is.

Keepin' it Clean

We have a pre-occupation with scents going on over here. It started with shampoo. Every time we'd go to any store that sold shampoo (ANY store), we'd have to take the lids off each and every one of the "flavored" ones and give them a good long sniff. We'd stand in the aisles of Safeway, Bi-Mart, Target, Walgreens, you-name-it, and just smell, smell, smell. Having trouble deciding on just one "flavor" we'd often end up with two or three. Our shower is fully occupied by all the various shampoos in all their stages of use.

Now he's added liquid soap to the drill. We have cucumber in the bathroom, vanilla upstairs and shea butter in the kitchen. He's got me making soap runs after school so he can buy them for gifts. "Care, Grandma really, really needs some soap." Apparently, Grandma did. She sent him a thank you note in the mail a couple days after I dropped it off, so touched was she that he would think of her in such a sweet way, and remember that her favorite fragrance was lavender. He bought one for his other grandmother, too, as well as both his primary teachers.

On Sunday we dragged Nancy on our hamburgers/frozen yogurt/soap shopping run. "It's like the shampoo," she said, having been dragged on more than one shampoo sniffing expedition, as well. We also picked out treats for his teachers, Hot Tamales for one (because she loves cinnamon) and gum for the other, because he swears she loves gum.

Got home and were getting everything in his backpack to take to school the next day, and the Hot Tamales had gone all Don Wilson on us (for those of you that are unfamiliar with that phenomenon, it's when things simply vanish from our house, usually showing up in an obvious place, way, way later). We looked in the car. We looked in the take-your-own-reusable-save-the-earth-bag. We looked in my purse. That box was goners.

Rojo obsessed over the candy for the rest of the evening to the point where I finally said, "Get your shoes on, let's go get her a new box." I suggested we go to a closer, easier, more convenient store than the one where we'd originally gone, but that was not flying. I think he thought the Hot Tamales might still be sitting at the self-check, all those hours later, just waiting for us. Frankly, I'm kind of surprised they weren't.

Off we went back to the store. Grabbed a new box of Hot Tamales and were heading to the self-check again when he said, "Let's just go look at the soap really fast." While he was sniffing and debating whether or not we also needed raspberry in the mix, I texted Nancy. "Guess where I am and what I'm doing," I wrote, "smelling soap."

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Oh, Were it All That Simple

So Rojo has a retreat today at school - gone all day. One of those challenge courses, "Dress in layers, and wear closed-toed shoes," the directions say. Yesterday it was almost 80 degrees, today it's in the low 60's. I convince him to wear jeans. I convince him to wear a long-sleeved T-shirt. I convince him to wear a zip-up hoody. I cannot convince him to also wear his jacket on top, and then shove it in his backpack should he get too warm later in the day.

No. Way.

We step outside to get into the car. It's freezing outside. I try one last time, "Rojo, you're going to be cold in just a T-shirt and sweatshirt, take the coat, don't wear it if you don't want to, just take the coat," I plead.

"Care! Stop worrying about me! I am sixteen years old! I'm not a kid!"

Planning Ahead

STM has been taking Rojo to the "truck store" for lo, these many years (like 14). That's what Rojo named Home Depot due to the fork lifts and other assorted trucks that are in and around the place. Typically, they go on a Saturday or Sunday morning, count the trucks, buy a bunch of candy at the checkout stand and come home. Each year Rojo makes it a little more complicated, now he'll pick a random one, nowhere near where we live, and make STM take him there. They've been to Sherwood, Beaverton, Mall 205, you-name-it.

Last weekend when they were there, STM asked Rojo, "Would you like to work at Home Depot when you finish high school?"

"No," he said.

"Think about it, and I'm going to ask you to tell me more about that later," STM said.

The next day STM asked again, "Have you thought more about working at Home Depot when you are done with school? Maybe you could greet people? Maybe you could help put things on the shelves?"

"No, I cannot work at Home Depot because when I'm 25 I'll have my kids, and someone will need to stay with them. If I am working at Home Depot, nobody will be home with my kids."

Hadn't thought of that.

"So, what about your idea of working in a preschool? How would that work? Who would be with your kids when you were at that job?" STM asked.

"They would BE in the preschool!" he said.

Obviously.

Generosity

It's interesting to note that when doing a Google image search for this Corita Kent print, I found it from own blog, long ago.  I was hoping to get a better image without the glass and glare, but go ahead and say it with me... there are no accidents! I was the source of what I was looking for!

Yesterday Rojo and I met with his new-ish Developmental Pediatrician. It was only our second appointment with her, and the first one was four months ago. He was all out of sort at that appointment, and she really didn't see the true Rojo. This time, she did. She was asking him about his summer, how school is going, etc.

"I worked in a preschool," he said. Then he went into a long description of how you get to the preschool from our house, by bike.

"Did you get paid or were you a volunteer?" she asked him.

"I got paid $5.00 a day," he said.

"What did you do with your money?" she asked.

"SPENT it!" he said with emphasis and drama.

"No, you didn't," I corrected, "tell her what you really did with your money," I said.

"I gave it away," he said. "You know how there is church at 5:30 on Saturdays? You know how there are lots of homeless people? They are really homeless. I gave my money to them."

The doctor teared up and looked to me to validate the story.

"Yes," I said, "he gave almost all the money he made this summer, away."

"Those people are really homeless and poor," he said again, "so I gave it to them."

"I wish I could clone you," the doctor said with love in her eyes.

I looked up and saw that since the last time we were there, she had hung up some art (she had just moved in the first time we were there). She had up the exact same art we have at home. The Corita that I got when I graduated from college in education. Long before I knew just how "special" the children in my life would be.

"I have that same exact Corita at home, framed exactly the same way. I've had it for almost 30 years," I told her.

"Mine is about that old, too," she said. "My parents had it in our house when I was growing up, when I became a pediatrician, they gave it to me."

Each child is special. Give lots of love.