Call Me "Ishmael"

A few weeks ago I received a 2nd bonus that I didn't tell anyone about. I did this for a couple of different reasons: I just wanted to pay off a couple of charge accounts and a loan; and then I wanted to squirrel away a little bit to go to the Saratoga Racino.  I was going to just sneak over there one day and no one would be any the wiser.

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that I went to the Racino, went to a certain machine and won $2,954.00!  It was a sign!  So now I knew exactly how it was all going to happen, and that I was finally going to win a jackpot!

My opportunity presented itself today. Kitty was at a friend's house for the weekend and Brie was getting all beautified at the hair salon.  So after I had my standing hair appointment I drove to Saratoga: my anticipation growing. I had a brand-y new $100 bill in my wallet: the money I had saved from my bonus specifically for this occasion. I was ready to break the bank!

I found a parking spot far enough from the entrance to be sure the wind wreaked havoc with my new 'do. Bummer!  Why were so many people there, anyway, taking up all the close parking spots? I fought my way through the wind and made it to the door. My heartbeat picked up in anticipation: would the machine of my dream be in the same spot? Would it be available? Was my dream of being a jackpot winner finally going to be realized?

I went inside and walked along the wall to the spot in my dream where the winning machine was supposed to be. Lo and behold: there it was! The Stinkin' Rich machine, featuring the smirking skunk that held the key to my soon-to-be acquired wealth! So as not to alert any of the other patrons to this fact, I slowly sauntered up to the machine and sat down in the chair in front of it as nonchalantly as you please.

This was it! My moment had come! I slowly took out my $100 dollar bill, not remembering how many times I was going to have to play, but knowing that I'd emerge victorious! I inserted the bill and watched the credits show up: 10,000 of them. Hey: it was a penny machine. But that didn't matter because I'd had the dream and I was about to make it a reality! So I entered the number of lines I wanted to play, and hit the magic button: 'repeat the bet'. As the lines spun, they eventually stopped and I hit...NOTHING. What? Well apparently it wasn't going to happen on the first spin. so I settled in to do battle with the machine.

Let me tell you: I fought with that machine for what felt like days. I felt like the guy trying to reel in Moby Dick! It was just me and the skunk, I'd lose credits, then I'd gain credits.  My money would go down, and then it would go up again. I was sweating, I was silently pleading...I got 2 bonuses to the tune of 45 free spins which was unheard of for me. Lady Luck was smiling at me: as she should be. There was no way I was going to go down without a fight!

And finally, when I felt I had no more left to give, I gave it one last spin.  I won! I won!!!!! I beat Moby Dick!

Yep: I beat Moby Dick all right. I'd gone in there with my $100 bill, and I walked out almost 2 hours later with:  $100.25.

You might think the whale, I mean the skunk, beat me but that's not true. Maybe I didn't exactly win the jackpot of $2,954.00, but I still came out ahead. I'd had fun, killed some time and didn't lose a dime.  However, the next time that I have a dream about winning a jackpot at the Racino: apparently it's going to have to be on more than a penny machine!

Pumpkin-Patra

In 2001, I had to have some surgery. Prior to this, I was wondering: who would take care of me? Who would take me to the hospital? Would anyone visit me? Who would watch my children? How was I going to get around in the house alone? Who would take me to run errands? Since I was the primary everything to everyone in my family and extended family, I was leery of anyone doing the same for me.  Surprisingly, Marie came up with the answers to my household questions: she would stay with the kids while I was in the hospital.  She decided that we would buy a twin bed with a high bed frame and thick box spring for me to sleep in the living room to be closer to the bathroom and high enough so I didn’t have to strain too much to get up. Thanks Marie! My fiancé at the time grudgingly took me to and from the hospital even though he hates hospitals, was there when I woke up in recovery. Marie cleaned my house, did the laundry and kept my kids in line.  I was very happy.

Until I actually came home from the hospital and realized that was as far as the “caring” went. Life went back to normal for everyone except me. I had to hobble around, very slowly, if I wanted to have anything to eat. I wasn’t supposed to drive for at least 2 weeks, wasn’t supposed to lift anything and then I begged my sister to go to the store for me but she wouldn’t. However, she did deign to TAKE me to the store, where I had to lean on a shopping cart and slowly hobble around the store collecting my items. Then she was nice enough to lift the bags out of the cart and put them in her car, but then wouldn’t take them upstairs for me!  So I was very sad. I had even fallen in the house once, and it took over half an hour for Brie to hear me calling (she was in her bed asleep!) and come out to help me up. Thank God the cats were there to sit on me to keep me warm.

Now let’s move the calendar up a few years. My little Pumpkin Louise is 3 years old and I wasn’t planning to breed her, although I would have loved her to have puppies and many people wanted a puppy by her. But alas, she’s so little and I decided that if she had a baby, she wouldn’t be the baby anymore. So I made the decision to have her spayed. I was horrified at the thought of her having surgery, but when the vet told me that if a female dog isn’t bred, each time she goes into heat it increases her chances of mammary cancer. I certainly didn’t want that, so I made the appointment.

Now, I’m not saying that she’s spoiled, but I did make sure in the days leading up to her surgery that I gave her extra love and treats and told her she was the best little dog in the world. I planned to take the day of her surgery off, but then figured it wasn’t necessary since I was dropping her off at 8 and wouldn’t be able to take her home until at least 3.  So she’d be fine at the vet’s.

However, when I took her there and they wanted to take her, I was reluctant to hand her over. Then I asked if I could scrub in and watch. Then I asked if I could be with her in recovery. Yeah: the answer to both of those questions was a resounding no.  But they assured me that she’d be fine and all would be well and I could call to check on when I could bring her home. Ha! Little did they know how many times I’d call to be sure the surgery went fine, and that she was recovering. Finally, when they were sick of me, they said I could pick her up at 3.

Oh what a joyous reunion it was! I had to be very careful with her, but I took my little princess home, carefully carried her upstairs and placed her gingerly on her bed, which of course is on my bed. I had gotten care instructions from the vet, but they basically consisted of keeping her quiet, don’t let her lick her stitches and that she shouldn’t be alone for the next couple of days because of the pain meds and she’d be a little groggy and lethargic.

So now I realized that I needed to take extra good care of her. And this is where the difference in her recovery, and my recovery, became more than evident!

When I needed to go downstairs, I knew she wouldn’t want to be in my room alone. So I picked her up, bed and all, and gingerly carried her downstairs. I had already put my special warm fuzzy in her bed so shed’ be all snuggly. I placed her and the bed on my brand new couch next to me so she could see me and I could pet her.  I figured she might be thirsty, so got I my special State Farm cup and got her a drink of water. Then when I had to go back upstairs, again I carried her, in her bed, back up the stairs and back in my room. I gave her another drink of water and put her squeaky fox in the bed with her and my special fleece. The next morning I was hoping she’d eat, so Gabriella put her food on a special little blue and white plate and brought it up to her.  While Brie held the plate, Pumpkin delicately nibbled on her food, and Brie had to turn the plate to make it convenient for her. Then I had to give her a drink of water out of the mug. Seriously?? And when it turned out that I had to go into work a couple of hours on Friday, I had to get a babysitter for her!

Pumpkin’s a smart dog: and she got used to this VERY quickly.  I carry that darn dog up and down those stairs in that stupid bed all the time. It’s like Cleopatra having her servants tote her around in that ornate carrier she had.  I’m calling my dog Pumpkin-Patra!   And even though now she can get around pretty good and is eating and doing other “normal” things, when it’s time to go upstairs or downstairs in the morning she jumps in her bed and looks all  pathetic until I carry her. And the best part of all: Luna has decided that she wants to jump on, or rather in, the bandwagon. The last time the bed was on the couch, I saw her trying to get in there too! That’s when I knew it had gone too far.

So Pumpkin is well on the mend, eating and moving around as she should be.  We are no longer holding her plate of food for her to eat. However, and just because she’s so cute, I might still carry little Pumpkin-Patra up the stairs tonight at bedtime.  But after that: that’s it!

 

It Isn't About Blood

I grew up in what you could call a nice traditional 2-parent family. I had siblings, and we were well provided for.  My father had a good job which enabled my mother to enjoy being a housewife and mother. We went on vacations and enjoyed holidays.  But even from a young age, for some reason I had a feeling of being on the outside looking in. I didn’t feel as connected as I should have felt as a member of the family.  So I decided that when I got older, I was going to create my own new family.

That idea seemed like a good one. I had friends at school, and they became my school family. I’ve always attended church, so those people became my church family. I loved them, but it still never felt quite right. So the new plan was once I got older and married, I’d find a new family that way.

Eventually I did meet someone that I married, but…I definitely didn’t fit in with that family! We didn’t share any of the same views on child raising, employment, family values or have anything in common.  Here’s an example of what they thought was a good way to live: "don’t work, just have kids and get on Social Services because they’ll pay for everything!"  Maybe a good way for his sisters, but not for me. So my dreams of shared holidays, family vacations and family fun night died just like the marriage ultimately did. 

In 2000 I met someone that I thought had great potential to give me a new family.  He had parents and sisters and a niece and nephew.  However, even though we became engaged, it still wasn’t right. His sisters were nice, I adored his niece and nephew, but his parents were none too pleased that he was dating a woman of color. No shared holidays there!

I loved my daughters, and if it was going to be just the three of us: so be it. We loved being together, traveling and doing girly things.  We were, and still are, a tight family unit.

But what I hadn’t been noticing as I searched for a new family was that I’d been accumulating: kids.  Friends of Brie’s that had family problems, or no relationship with their own parents, would come to my house for a meal, or to spend the night, and in a couple of instances to stay for extended periods. They’d call to talk to me or ask advice.  They were looking for family, and my little family apparently fit their bill.

Then a year ago, I was introduced to a young man that has become close to Brie. It was New Year’s Eve and we were at a club that a very close friend of ours owned. She told me that she was going to go get Bubby so I could meet him. I watched her approach him and then point me out. I saw the look on his face, and it looked like he’d seen a ghost or wanted to run for the hills. Regardless, she brought him to me and I shook his hand; and there was a very weird vibe that passed between us.  When my daughters and I were leaving for the night we saw him outside and I went over to say goodbye. “Can I have a hug?” he tentatively asked.  So I gave him one, and again felt that weird vibe.

As it turns out, he comes from a family of 4 siblings.. Their mother died 5 years ago, leaving them in a state of emotional loss. He was very close to his mother so it hit him especially hard. As I have gotten to know these 4 lovely young adults, my heart has totally opened up to them.  We get together at the father’s house to talk (or for me to bring food!), Sunday is becoming family game night, and I love them almost as much as I love Brie and Kitty. We bonded so quickly, there wasn’t any time for awkwardness. Even as young adults, they still craved a mother’s love and I was searching for an extended family to love.

As for that weird look on his face when he saw me: he recently told me that he was startled because when he looked at me, he felt something that he hadn’t since his mother died. I took that as a wonderful compliment.

I believe that God works in mysterious ways.  While I thought that I was supposed to marry and have a new family that way, God played to my strengths and brought me what I love the most: kids! It doesn’t matter that they’re above the age of consent. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t give birth to them.  All that matters is that when we’re all together: I feel like I’m home. And through my new “kids”, I’ve learned that family isn’t about blood: it’s about love.  That’s the tie that binds hearts together.