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Family Reunion 2010

24 Aug

This past weekend we attended my family reunion in New Ulm, MN. We’ve had the Lee family (my maternal grandmother & her brothers et al) reunion as long as I can remember. I talked about it in this post.

We haven’t gone in the past few years as it was a long trip for a few short hours. This year we are closer & we were anxious to show off Magnus to the extended family. There weren’t many people in attendance & unfortunately it appears that this will be the last year we have the reunion. I’m saddened by this…so many of my childhood summer memories are tied up with this event. I would love for my child (and my nieces/nephews) to have a similar experience. However, the family circle has drifted to all corners of the country & a yearly reunion just isn’t feasible. It remains to be seen what will happen. In the meantime I got a few pictures that I really want to share from this year.

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Posted in Family, Memories, Out & About, Photography

The Birth of Magnus Troy

19 Jul

When we last saw our heroine she was lying in an extremely hard birthing bed on day 3 of being induced for the health of both Baby & momma. As we resume the doctor has decided to break the water in hopes of speeding up the labor & subsequent delivery.

It was apparent that I was going to need an epidural before my water was broken. I was incredibly happy to hear that as anything that would ease pain for even a short time had reached DefCon 5. Abe stood in front of me & held my hands as the epidural was placed in my back. I abhor needles so having a giant one inserted into my back was not one of my most favorite things but I did much better than I thought I would. There was very little flinching & no embarrassing crying or fainting.

While we waited for the epidural to take effect & the doctor to come back Abe headed out into the waiting area to tell some family what was happening & to take care of some business with his paycheck. In the meantime the doctor came back & a team of people were with her. It was time to break my water. Of course I immediately wanted Abe with me but he was not to be found. The procedure was completed (I will spare you my description of it) and suddenly I was rolled onto my left side while a nurse slapped an oxygen mask on my face & began talking me through some slow, deep breathing. I could tell something was wrong but didn’t know what. Through all of this my cell (my Blackberry, my tether, my line to the outside world) was clutched in my right hand. When I was rolled onto my side I remembered the phone & quickly sent a text message to Abe. The gist of the message was “Get your ass in here RIGHT NOW!”.

Abe showed up right quick & was there when the doctor came back to discuss our options. The doctor explained that when my water broke Baby’s heart rate dropped to 50. It came back up but would decelerate every time I had a contraction. They stopped the pitocin for a while and the heart rate remained where it was supposed to be but I stopped having contractions. Dr U explained that we could continue the pitocin & try for a natural delivery but that every time the pitocin was used it would take a toll on Baby. On the other hand there was the option for a c-section. As with all surgery there are inherent risks but we concluded that taking time to do a c-section while Baby wasn’t in distress made the most sense for everybody’s well-being.

The team got right to work getting me ready to head down to the OR for surgery. They worked on increasing the epidural along with getting me to sign all kinds of release forms. Then I was wheeled down the hall to surgery; Abe had been ushered off to scrub & don the gown, mask and hat so he could join us. Once in the OR the anesthesiologist worked on getting a new IV placed so that I could handle the drugs. It took a bit of work but the new IV went in perfectly & soon I was taking all the drugs that were needed. With the epidural flowing (like a trickle of cool water sliding down my back) I was soon numb to my sternum. The blue barrier went up & the doctors came in with Abe.

Abe was seated to my left & could reach out to hold my hand which was very necessary as I was freaking out in a corner of my mind though I was working very hard to breathe & remain calm on the outside. Waiting for the first cut was nerve-wracking — Dr. F & Dr. U were great though & soon put me at ease. There was this wonderful atmosphere of joy in the OR. The whole team was chatting, smiling & laughing. Abe & I joined in on the chatter discussing whether the baby was a boy or girl, name choices, how long we waited to become parents etc. Dr. U told me she was going to have to perform a vertical incision which “will mess up your bikini line”. “Right, because I’ve worn a bikini so much recently”, I retorted.

As the surgical team went about performing the C-section I was talking with them, Abe & generally feeling better than I had in several days (mostly due to the fact I could lie flat on my back & I had an excellent supply of drugs being pumped into me). In what seemed like a long time but was really only 6 minutes Dr U commented on how wrapped up the baby was. Then came the big announcement… “It’s a boy”! Abe & I were surprised & overjoyed. I had thought for sure that we would be having a girl. Of course it didn’t matter at all…a healthy baby was all we really wanted. As the doctor held the baby up over the blue barrier I glanced up to see our son — beautiful & perfect with just a bit of dark hair. The nurses quickly cleaned him off a bit & wrapped him up in a blanket before handing him off to the proud father.

While the nurses were getting him clean they asked if we had a name. Glancing at Abe I said Magnus Troy is his name. We had started out joking about naming a boy Magnus as it is such a strong name & we figured it was a name that could be for any profession. Who wouldn’t love to hear a kickass prog rock/metal band called Magnus? Cheering for a ball player (football, baseball or basketball) named Magnus… absolutely! However, what started out as a bit of a laugh for us quickly became a name that just seemed to fit; it grew on us & one look at the little man sealed the deal.

Anyway, I’m still on the table and can “feel” the doctors working on me. I can feel tugging & pulling in my abdomen. I heard someone ask “Can someone cut this suture left-handed”? “Yes, Dr F can cut that left-handed”. Me, being the smartass that I am, pipes up with “Just don’t let Dr. F use the kindergarten plastic safety scissors”. Dr U chimes in, “Oh, didn’t we tell you? We only let Dr F use the kindergarten safety scissors”. “Well in that case I am out of here,” I laughed. Leave it to me to joke with and taunt the doctor who is in the middle of stitching me back up.

At the same time part of me is detached & watching Abe with Magnus. It was a surreal feeling to be gazing at my husband & newborn son while a bunch of people were cutting & sewing on me. I was absorbed in seeing the two of them together…it was (and will always be) one of the best most complete moments of my life. We were a family — after years of hoping, praying & trying — there was a child in our family.

The surgical team was finishing up on me and the nurses came over to take Magnus for weighing, measuring & a better bath. I could see them out of the corner of my left eye & realized there was a lot of whispering. Just as my brain started to panic the nurses announced that due to a lower level of oxygen then they really liked Magnus was going off to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Before Magnus was whisked off (Abe went along) I got to have him rest on my chest for a few seconds as we had our first family picture taken. Then I went back to the room I had been in earlier to recover over night & Magnus was off to NICU where he was put on oxygen, had a chest x-ray & had antibiotics etc through IV.

There’s more to the hospital stay…several more days for both of us as I tried to recover from the preeclampsia & c-section and Magnus was weaned off the IV & onto breast-feeding. Maybe I will share all that another time. Right now I have a little boy who needs his mom….

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Posted in Baby Stuff, Family, Memories

Baby Time!

10 Jul

As you may or may not already know, I gave birth on June 25th, 2010. I’m going to start at the beginning of the road to delivery with June 23rd. I had been having problems with my blood pressure for the last month so the doctor was having me in twice a week for non-stress tests to make sure Baby was doing well in spite of my elevated blood pressure. I also had to do 24 hour urine collection for protein testing to make sure that my kidneys were functioning properly.

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Posted in Baby Stuff, Family, Memories

A Burst of Spring

11 Apr

A year ago I waxed (somewhat) poetic about the joys of spring. I was often found sitting on my front patio (sometimes wrapped in a large blanket) enjoying the sounds, scents & sun of that time. I reveled at my country dwelling & all the charms present. Flowers blooming, trees flowering & heavy with the scent of promised fall apples. The nearby water offered up the choral performances of frogs calling for mates. It was a heady time full of desire & I was stepping out into an unknown realm. I was more than ready to embrace it & my exuberance was obvious.

This year is a world apart from that time. I’m feeling much more jaded with life (not that I’ve ever been much of a wide-eyed girl) and find it hard to look at anything like I did then. My summer took a turn when I ended up in hospital for a week at the beginning of August. That set me back physically as expected but the mental aspect I was something for which I was NOT prepared.

With my plans & dreams of the spring wilting under the heat of late summer & my body betraying me I was lost. For the first time I was enveloped in a fog of depression. I wasn’t ready to deal with it nor even to admit it (not even in my own head) for a long time. I pulled into myself, avoiding as much contact/interaction with people as I could, and felt the promising blossoms of spring turn with the oncoming fall weather.

Work was more than a difficult situation, life at home was increasingly frustrating as we tried to find a solution to Abe’s jobless status & I felt like hibernating. We made a big decision to start looking for jobs & housing outside of our current area. This led to several trips back to my hometown area as jobs were more available and housing was much less expensive. Soon we had agreed that a move to another state (near where I grew up) was in order & preparations began.

Now we are moved in if not settled in & things are going okay. With the oncoming warm weather I find that glimmer of light encouraging me that I will find the end of this feeling (whatever it may be…I’m hard pressed to define it). Life is about to go around another sharp curve this summer when I finally become a mother. July 6th is fast approaching & I am totally unprepared for the event. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there really isn’t a way I can be prepared…and we all know how I like to be prepared, organized & ready for any eventuality.

Right now I’m sitting on my new patio in our tiny little backyard feeling the wind from the prairie whoosh through town & enjoying the sun, blossoming trees & occasional birdsong….a burst of spring to remind me that nothing remains unchanged.

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Posted in I AM, Memories, Musings, The Life We Lead, What's in my Head

Cowboy Day & Flapjacks

03 Dec

We are staying at my parents’ house for the rest of the week/weekend as we attempt to find housing for the big move which is coming up fast. So far we’ve had lots of great prospects but unfortunately there seems to be something odd or not workable each time we get close….but that’s a whole other “Dr. Phil”.

Last night while making pancakes for supper (with fresh blueberries….. *drools*) we needed more butter. Mom got some out & put it in the microwave to soften it. She placed it next to me as I dropped 2 piping hot pancakes onto my plate (everybody else had already had their first round). I grabbed the knife & proceeded to find that the butter was NOT soft…. ”Well it’s not frozen any more”, Mom retorted to my observation. ”You know how I feel about butter on my pancakes.” With the long suffering sigh only a mother possesses, “Yes I know….” Growing up Mom always made the best pancakes (she still does) and would always spread just the right amount of butter on each one, letting it melt into the golden brown before adding the syrup. They were always light & fluffy, melting sweetly on your tongue. It was the best thing in the world to wake up to the smell of the griddle heating for pancakes. Sometimes we’d get pancakes with faces or ones that looked like Mickey Mouse.

Here’s the story of me & my pancakes….

When I was in kindergarten we had Cowboy Day. Everybody dressed up like a cowboy or cowgirl & we had flapjacks. I was so excited for Cowboy Day…Mom even made me a special outfit to wear with my boots (I think I even took a six shooter cap gun…..my how times have changed. Nowadays a kid taking a cap gun to school would surely be arrested & placed on a terrorist watch list) & of course I had a red handkerchief too. It was all fun & games til it came time to eat. One of the mothers who was helping gave me my flapjacks….with a big blob of butter in the center (all cold & unmelty) and promptly doused it in an overly large amount of cold syrup. I was aghast! Never had I witnessed such an atrocity….so I did what any 6 year old would do…pitched the mother of all hissy fits. I was adamant that I would not eat a lukewarm flapjack with a cold butter blob & enough syrup in which to bathe. There was no admonition, no threat, no “There are starving kids in Africa” speech that would move me….I wasn’t going to eat that flapjack.

I don’t remember what happened after that…it’s possible that I just went without & if so I would have done it with a sense of deep satisfaction at getting my way. I do know that upon my return home that day Mom asked how my day had gone. Bursting into tears I recounted my tale of woe & flapjacks improperly prepared. No doubt Mom comforted me & reassured me that it was indeed okay to not eat the flapjacks. I am equally sure that I was told to be more polite about not wanting to eat something.

To this day I have a difficult time ordering pancakes in a restaurant because often times they come in a haphazard pile (pancakes should be neatly stacked) with a giant blob of butter in the center. At least they provide me the option of adding the syrup on my own.

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Posted in For the Love of Food, I should be in therapy, Memories

Self-Cleaning Oven

18 Oct

Last weekend when I had my head in the oven (no it was not a Sylvia Plath moment) at my brother-in-law’s house I was struck with the overwhelming memory of me as a very young girl in another kitchen.

I have such vivid memories of the first house I really lived in (the first house I lived in was for such little time I don’t even count it) that it still seems like “home” to me although I haven’t lived there in over 20 years. I remember the hot pink shag carpet in my bedroom, the Raggedy Ann & Raggedy Andy lamp (which I still have somewhere), the way we could race from room to room in a big circle, Dad’s brown recliner, the gold couch & the pea soup green carpet.

We had blonde wood cabinets with large copper-looking knobs. When I was very little I would sit on the top shelf of one of the lower cupboards and play in there. I’d pull all the pots & pans out, banging away like a rock n roll drummer. I also liked to have Mom shut the doors & just curl up inside. Another thing I remember very well is the oven. We had a built in oven in that house…a sort of reddish-brown color that sat on the far side of the kitchen from where you normally entered, right next to the doorway for the back living room.

Since Mom always cooked & baked a lot it was inevitable that the oven would need to be cleaned. One day in particular I was watching Mom clean the oven…since it was not self-cleaning she was using an oven-cleaning spray & a lot of scrubbing. I was underfoot observing all the scrubbing & gross black gunk being removed…not being a fan of icky things I voiced how much I disliked the process.

“Mom, that’s gross”, I said in my little voice, “when I grow up & have an oven of my own you’re going to have to come visit & clean my oven for me.”

Sadly Mom doesn’t come clean my oven but luckily I can turn it on & let it self-clean….

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Posted in I AM, Memories

This House Used to be a Home

14 Oct

As you may know (or not in which case you will soon learn) I have spent the long weekend in Missouri helping my brother-in-law move & clean up the old house. It has been a most bittersweet time as the circumstances for moving are not happy but we always have a good time hanging out. There’s plenty of banter & trash talk but it’s all in fun. As we emptied the house & scrubbed everything it became less of a “home” and more of a “house”. To me home is a sense of place, a building that holds part of me. It shares my identity & personality. A house is just a building, I don’t necessarily feel comfortable in a house…usually I feel stiff like I can’t relax. In my home, my bones become fluid when I sink into my chair or sofa. In a house I’m sitting on the very edge of the seat, anxious about what comes next. As we watched the U-haul fill my brother-in-law’s home became an empty shell of a house, echoing with memories both sweet & poignant.

Packing up & moving has been a huge part of my life. I’ve moved more times than I care to count (15 at least). My first move was so soon after I was born I have no memory of it. We moved into a big white farm house with red trim & a screen door that banged closed when we went chasing in & out. It was one of my favorite places that I’ve ever lived. Maybe because it was my first home…I explored & haunted all the corners of that farm. There were patches of lilies of the valley & violets in the backyard by the grove & the old wooden swing. Moving from that farm made me very sad. I remember crying as we drove away for the last time. I can still remember the telephone number for that house.

From that house we moved back to the town where my parents were raised. We lived in a small house, filling it to the seams & yet we were happy there. Then we moved to a farm where Dad could milk the cows in a big white barn with the most amazing hayloft. We had two mobile homes attached with a breezeway. This meant I got my own room which was a huge deal. I remember hiding in the hayloft with a book & snuggling the baby kitties. I’d take a book (or 3) & find a quiet corner where I could stretch out & read. Sometimes it would be raining & I’d pause in the reading to just lie there & look out at the farm through the crisp clean smell of rain on summer grass.

After awhile we moved into another big farm house…this one had a mile long driveway (no kids this is not an exaggeration) that we had to walk (more often we ran) to catch the school bus. There were days where this wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience…then there were the subzero winter days where the wind screamed across the prairie. Our bus driver was often very nice & would drive up halfway so that we could get out in the windbreak of the grove. Sometimes we’d just walk in the deep ditches for protection…we’d race & slide on the ice. We lived there until a tornado changed everything & we moved again…

The last move I made with my whole family we moved into the house my parent’s now occupy. It feels like home in many ways although I didn’t live there very long. We moved in the October of my senior year of high school. After that all my moving was from college dorm to places sundry. Until we had our first place together, I didn’t feel like I was “home” for a long time…my apartment with Abe quickly became a home. It didn’t feel like I was waiting to pack up my stuff & move again. We did eventually move…to a little house near where we currently live. That house was just a house…we never felt “lived in” there. This current place is somewhere in the middle…it has been “home” for a few years now but that feeling is leaving me. I’m curious to see where/when I start the hunt.

So what about you? Where have you lived that was truly home? Please share some stories in the comments…I would love to know what makes your place of abode your home.

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Posted in Memories, The Life We Lead, What's in my Head

Cave-ing

11 Oct

I’m feeling like a trip down memory lane again today & this is another one the that makes me laugh ’til I cry &/or snort. Whenever Abe really wants to make me laugh he will mention our one & only “real” vacation. Back when life was good & full of promise we decided to take a vacation…so I planned a week long trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota. I booked online & we chose the first week in October. (I will never go there during the summer again if I can avoid it…it was heavenly to be there & avoid the crowds.) A lot of the tourist traps were closed but the good stuff was open & we were able to wander around without feeling like we were in a herd of cattle. When I booked online I chose a package which included passes to the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Wind Cave & Custer State Park among a few other things.

The Badlands was amazing & we spent a glorious afternoon off-roading through the southern part–totally alone on the windswept buttes & as we drove out at sunset we were lucky enough to drive through the herd of buffalo. We were so close we could nearly touch them. They were completely undisturbed by our presence so we coasted along for quite awhile watching them. I was lucky enough to experience a truly primitive moment when one of the large bulls looked me right in the eye as we drove past…

Anyway, one day we drove to Wind Cave National Park…this was my first time in a cave & although I am a bit claustrophobic I was a trooper (at least I think so….) and just held my breath when I got scared. It was amazing & beautiful — some of the best scenery I’ve ever had the pleasure of photographing. Someday I’ll get ambitious & post them here. One of the most memorable things about the tour was our guide….

Picture, if you will, a tall woman…ordinary in every way, very pleasant manner & the speaking cadence of Keanu Reeves in “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure”. Yes you heard me…suddenly all I could see was Keanu in drag…it is a memory that both haunts & amuses me. In order to give you the full experience please take a trip with me into the cave….(this is all in a California surfer voice…very nasal from a woman born & raised in the Midwest) It went a little something like this–

“So, like there’s tons of cavers (I’m thinking what in the world is a caver?) in like Russia & Mexico. They’re super great & like laid back and stuff. So if you think you wanna go caving (the English major shudders even thinking that word) like just go & you’ll like have the awesomest time. I mean I went caving in Mexico right? It was just really like so fun. All these people just like hang out in caves, ya know, and explore. There’s just so much cool stuff to do when caving….there’s the tunnels & the crawling around….and then there’s like just all this really cool stuff to see.”

Now I understood what she meant when using “caving”….I am fairly well-read & I love words so it wasn’t that I had trouble grasping the definition. However, I am much more familiar with the term spelunking ….the word “caving” falls into that horrible place where words are turned into verbs for no good reason. I personally don’t understand it…just saying. Well, the monologue went on like that for some time…since just typing like that has given me a nervous tic I must stop there. ( It was amusing & yet horrifying as Abe & I had to listen to that for over an hour. I nearly threw myself into a pitch black hole to avoid it but Abe restrained me & promised me a stiff drink if I could soldier on. If I can find the video we took (I believe we have audio of the guide talking) I may have to attempt an upload so you can get the full effect.

We did have a great time & it was fascinating to see all the formations. The one thing that always comes back to us though is the “caving” & the “cavers”….so like anybody wanna go caving & like totally have the funnest, most awesomest time ever? (in my best Valley Girl accent).

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Posted in Embarrassing stuff I make Abe do to entertain me., Memories, Out & About

Non-Addictive Cigarettes

09 Oct

I have to tell this story & I apologize to the other person involved–you know I love you girl but this is too funny not to share.

Lately with all the depression & think-y time I’ve had memories have been washing over me–some of them have been like a storm-tossed wave from the depths of Lake Superior. Others have felt like warm gentle waves kissing my toes on a beach in paradise. The following story falls somewhere in between….but it makes me laugh & that has been in short supply so I’m going to recount it.

Back in my singleton days, when I was wild & crazy living in the Cities, I spent a lot of time with my best friend from college. The two of us were inseparable in a lot of ways. My 23rd birthday was our intro to the world of partying. For the two of us that involved drinking & *gasp* cigarettes. We had our share of rowdy nights & days wandering around Uptown & Downtown Minneapolis. With cigarettes I have the odd ability to smoke them or not. Never got hooked on them & I count myself very fortunate for that.

My friend was a different story. One day as we were standing waiting for a bus in Uptown I mentioned that I thought she was smoking an awful lot. In true Roar fashion she looked at me and stated, “I can smoke as many as I want”. This stunned me & I asked why she thought that. ”Look”, she brandished her brand new pack at me, “they are non-addictive”.

To this day there aren’t words for the initial shock I felt upon hearing those words. My mouth agape & tears pouring down my face from laughing, it took me at least 3 minutes to answer the now frantic Roar, “What….WHAT….WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT”! I finally managed to grab the back & slowly point out the word on that pack of American Spirits (yellow pack)~~ Non-additive….

That’s right, my dear friend (who is a very intelligent woman) had mistaken these “natural” cigarettes as non-habit forming…needless to say she was shocked & as concerned as I when she realized the extent her non-addictive habit had reached. I am happy to say that we are both smoke-free these days — older, wiser & able to laugh still at those wild & crazy days roaming the city together.

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Posted in I AM, Memories, Miscellaneous, Out & About, The Life We Lead

Swinging Pigs

30 Sep

5 year old me was always outside weather permitting. I had not yet discovered “chapter” books so although I was an accomplished reader books didn’t own me the way they would during my teen years (ok, they still own me). Being a farm girl there were 6.475 billion things to do on any given day. This particular adventure deals with a fine early summer day in 1980. I am, of course, the heroine of this little tale with cameo appearances by my sister Lissy, brother TJ & Mom.

I should also note that I loved to help out & follow Dad around. Mom’s jobs were things like dusting & taking care of a baby. Dad had animals, trucks & other machines…plus there was always a chance for a trip to town or a neighbor’s farm. Being the social butterfly I am (and caffeine addict…farmers ALWAYS have coffee) Dad was who I would choose when the opportunity presented itself.

We had pigs at the time & there are few animals more cute than the soft pink & curly tail of a piglet. I was in love with them & attempted to catch one to play with on several occasions. The trouble was there were a lot of baby pigs & they would get all would up by my chasing them. This led to squealing…from them too & I hated that noise. Being a precocious problem-solver I thought about the best way to catch a pig (hmmm…too bad Cary Grant isn’t around for more movie roles…) & decided to grill Dad about it. After using all the persuasiveness innate & willingly wielded; Dad relented & one day gave me a piglet catching lesson. Dad showed me how to stand firm & then he shoo’ed the piglets my way. He showed me how to reach down & grab them by their back legs & hold the squiggly little suckers upside down. If done properly this keeps the piglet from sounding the “a crazy 5 yr old just snatched me” alarm. We practiced a few times & I proclaimed myself proficient.

A couple days later I was playing outside when I decided that catching a piglet was the order of business that needed attending. Needing a piglet catcher I enlisted the aid of my 3 yr old sister Lissy. We walked to the hog house area which was in the back par of our yard. I then proceeded to give Lissy the very same instructions I had received. I planted her in the doorway & then chased 20-30 baby pigs at her. Needless to say she was scared to death & started to cry and scream. Frustrated but undaunted I managed to catch a piglet & headed outside with the struggling piglet firmly clasped about the middle. Of course the pig was squealing, Lissy was still crying & I was frustrated at the whole thing. Mom, hearing the commotion while changing TJ’s diaper leaned to the window, “Becci, what are you doing with that pig?” The exasperation in her voice still rings clearly through the years…. I stopped, still with a firm grip on the pig & in the most matter-of-fact way explained, “Well, I want to swing but I want someone to swing with so I am taking the pig along. I’m going to teach it to swing too.” And with a nod at Mom & the thought of what a silly question that was I continued over to my swing set.

The swing set had a teeter-totter, 2 individual swings (excellent for lying on your stomach & pretending you could fly) & a two seater swing. I hauled that pig into the two seater & began to push back & forth…it didn’t last long & I let the piglet go running back to the safety of the pen. I learned something very important that day….pigs simply don’t like to swing.

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Posted in I AM, Memories

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