My Mom's Here

The intense sun beasts through our corner window in our main living space this morning.  It is freezing outside, but the hot sun is grabbing my attention to each outside element. Inside it reflects off the little 1/4 size viola.  We let our nanny go this morning.  Objectively, good.  For our family, good. As a mom, tricky with a side of mourning, but appropriate. I'm grateful I am able talk now after a half-silent winter and think straight about these things!  As the nanny saw me getting stronger, my role switched from a "mam" to an enabling mother of a college student home on spring break.  The college student who does not know what she does not know.  I will pray for her future that she finds places to exercise her gifts and excel, and that she makes her family proud. One month and two days of her work was a good amount of time for me to understand what she can do.  It only took my Oma an hour. What I'd give for that kind of wisdom! I h...

Thankfully we were all home today.  Kids making fun and messes, music and laughter. Mike is home from work and plenty of down time.  As he just now left to pick up our nanny for the week, I will recount the events. I am talking more these days, and able to flood into full dissertations to the children, rationalizing and explaining everything I can get my thoughts on.  Then blurting them out in some overbearing way.  Not quite the parent I had hoped to be.  I was convicted when I came across this page from a favorite parenting book, How to Talk so your Children will Listen & Listen so your Children will Talk by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish .  Page 12 & 13.  Basically, I was the mom on page 12 today and one day I want to be the mom on page 13. Instead of "Questions and Advice," acknowledge with a word, "Ohh, mmmmm, I see . . ." After that sad little jaunt, I decided to make stuffed cabbage today.  Clean and healthy eating, cance...

Humming a little tune is so refreshing.  For the past few months would save my voice for Mike to come home, or to explain something pertinent to the children, and well up with frustration that it fell on deaf ears, or even worse, that they could not understand me.  I have spoken over the past few months like I have a lasso around my tongue, a marshmallow stuck to the roof of my mouth, or talking through a muzzle. Such is the way the Myasthenia Gravis flareup has been, but thankfully I have a voice whether I have a voice or not. And I have been able to hum a tune and talk the past few weeks which has felt amazing. I'm slowly starting to shift my glance to dread of medicine to gratefulness for medicine.  Don't we all need to be held up by something anyway, and what's wrong with a few tools, discoveries, and tries to get a fully-lived life back?  I'm shifting my gaze from doing millions of things for others and moving to the me, myself and I. A day does not go by tha...

Truly, we are not here alone, on this earth which is fallen with much sin and sadness.  But it must cross minds across the world as the nights plays on, as trials ensue, as people march on with their own lives in sought after independence, either intentionally or unintentionally hurting people and relationships along the way.  I was always intrigued with a song from the musical, Little Women, called "Here Alone." The character is Marmee, mother of four, sitting down to write a letter back to her husband at war.   Mindi Dickstein wrote these words for Marmee to sing , she begins, "My dear husband. . .   Write a letter, be inventive Tell you everything is fine. Be attentive to the distance Send my love with every line Every word should bring you closer and Caress you with it's tone. Nothing should remind you That I am here alone I can't tell you what I'm feeling. I can't talk about the war How the peeling of the church bells Brings the battle to our...

Hugh Martin's penned phrase rang across the Cocoa Beanery, pulling me out of my funk a few weeks ago. It was a week before Christmas, and all our most loved wanted "for Christmas," when asked, was for me to be healthy and able to speak again.  The kindest answer anyone could give.  It felt heavy at first, but I knew it was the kindest request.  Hoping that prayers are answered to have this present ready for Christmas, I continued to dread staring down my mental list of all that I should do before Christmas to make it special. The wrestle is, if my heart would be light, I should erase the mental list, do nothing for anybody, and just be.   It seemed like the most selfish but necessary spot to be in. Although, the selfish idea is not appropriate at this point.  Like if a baby is crying and the mother needs to eat. It would do more harm for the mother to feel selfish and not eat than it would to let the baby cry for a minute and have at least a few bites befor...

Well, I end up in obscure places and wonder what's going on.  On line at the cocoa beanery, I have my attention drawn to a man who is waving a book at me.  "I wrote this book, do you read poetry? I wrote this book and sold 600 copies. Here, read this." I'm not in the middle of a city, I'm in Hershey at a relatively yuppy coffee shop.  So I read.  Touching.  Heartwarming. " Very nice," I explain.  I glanced at his bio on the back page and made my way to the line.  (A cornell graduate? Is he retired? Is he okay?) Ordered a salad and cinnamon infused tea. Sat down. It has been a wacky week.  Over all it started well, with good physical signs.  I could talk and eat the majority of the day.  Then the craziness of a labored swallow and the need to drink extra water kicked in about Monday, okay a bit at Saturday brunch.   I guess that is the beginning of the week.  After a morning and afternoon of a few conversations, the last f...

I am generally a good communicator, but when it comes to describing a medical condition or giving an update about myself, I find myself floundering.  Put me in a doctor's office and forget it.  Flounder flounder.  Here's an attempt to document the past few months. Back in October I had plasmapheresis treatments done in the hospital, and I responded well to the treatments.  I was talking, eating, and even singing well during the time in the hospital and for a few weeks after. My health started to decline enough to call again two weeks after being discharged, so I needed 5 more treatments through the month of November.  Mike was noticing that since I was home from the hospital, I am frequently clearing my throat and sound congested.  Each time I was congested in the throat, my talking and swallowing got worse.  This was the beginning of the puzzle, like finding the corners.  At the neurologist appointment back in November, I was stammerin...