It's been three weeks since Nanna died. Her apartment is mostly cleaned out, with stuff being distributed or stored or donated.

Princess got released from the hospital on April 28th and went back to school and intensive outpatient therapy. Then she had an outburst in therapy last Wednesday and threw something at the art therapist, hitting her in the head but not injuring anyone. Princess was regretful and apologetic and was assured that everything was OK and that she could move past the incident. Then a few hours later, a police officer showed up on our doorstep to arrest her for 2nd degree assault against the therapist. I am waiting to hear from juvenile services regarding whether prosecution will continue or whether the charges are being dropped.

My Board meeting went off with only minor hitches, and I think I am more aware of the problems and concerned about not meeting expectations than any of the participants are. Another smaller scale meeting is taking place next week, so I am still on that same hamster wheel.

Mothers' Day is in a few days, and my mother just wants it to be over. I want a day to just...be. To sleep, to eat, to knit or to do nothing. I am getting half of a day for it, but must put on my happy face to celebrate on Sunday afternoon with my in-laws.

And life continues to go on.

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It was a Tuesday, about a week after the hospice care had started, when the hospice nurse advised bringing the family together. She gave us a 48 hour timeframe, maybe less. My sister informed me at work as soon as she knew. My dad had accompanied Princess on the field trip she’d earned, and my sister asked me whether I thought he’d gotten back yet. He was, and she contacted him with an update. I contacted my husband, who was working late that night on a rehearsal that couldn’t be rescheduled. We couldn’t get someone to cover the kids for me so I could go to the apartment after work, so I picked up the boys, made dinner for the four of us, and waiting until Hubby got home around 9:00 to drive back down to be with my family.

The assembled group consisted of my mom and sister, three sets of aunts and uncles (the fourth was due in town on the weekend for my cousin Jon’s wedding), and four cousins with a fifth on her way up from college.  Nanna was sleeping, her breathing shallow and noisy. We mostly rotated through the bedroom, with my aunt laying right by her side in the bed so that she was never alone.

After a few hours, my mom and my sister and my aunt insisted on me going home. I couldn’t skip work the next day; I had an important meeting that I couldn’t reschedule. I wanted to stay, yet I couldn’t handle staying any longer. They stayed through the night, being there to represent all of us who couldn’t.

I stopped to visit again on Wednesday morning, on my way to work, on an impulse. My first meeting wasn’t until 9:00, so I texted our Exec to let her know I’d be in just in time for that meeting.  I stayed with Nanna for about 20 minutes, and told her I would be back that afternoon, when I finished my last meeting at 2:00. When I got to work, our Exec rearranged the schedule to move my 2:00 to 1:00. She would do whatever I needed her to do so I could try to be there for Nanna at the end.

As soon as I got back to my desk from my 10:00 meeting, I saw a missed call from Princess’s school on my office phone and my mobile. My heart sank. When I called back, the counselor told me that Princess had experienced an episode of suicidal ideation and would not re-engage with staff. She was on her way to the ER. So, I was too.

I arrived at the hospital around noon. I texted my sister and my husband on the way, promising an update when there was one.  Around 2:15, I got a message from my sister. Nanna was gone. I didn’t even have it in me to cry at that point. A few more hours passed without our getting any further with Princess’s situation. Around 7:30, my husband brought me a sandwich for dinner and my phone charger, which I’d requested. I stayed on Facebook and Twitter and email trying to remain connected with the people I should have been with (but being with them meant I wouldn’t have been with my daughter, and I needed to be there, too). The ER social worker came soon after, and made the recommendation that I didn’t want to hear- intake to a mental health facility. I caught a few hours of sleep on the pull out chair in the hospital room, and the nurse woke me around 1:30 AM to bring me paperwork to admit Princess to a hospital not far from my parents’ house (a facility we’d never used before, but our best option because our first choice had no beds available) and let me know the transport would arrive by 2:30. I followed the ambulance to the hospital, worked through the admissions paperwork, and drove home. I took my medication, filled out the note Hoss needed for school on Thursday so I could take him to his scheduled doctor appointment, and collapsed into bed about nine minutes before Hubby’s alarm sounded to start his morning. I fell asleep solidly enough that I didn’t hear the boys prepare for school, didn’t hear Hubby explain why he was taking them instead of me. The alarm I set went off at a time when I would normally have been knee deep in preparing documents for my upcoming Board meeting.  I checked in with my mother for mutual brain dumps- mine to provide an update on Princess, hers to let me know what arrangements were likely to happen for my grandmother. I checked my email, I took Hoss to his therapy appointment, I stopped at the church to put Nanna on the prayer list at Mass. I spoke to the doctor and the social worker (by phone, each in a separate conversation) to give them more history and background and any insight I could about what was happening to my child. I packed a bag to take to Princess at the hospital and stopped by my office to pick up my notes for what songs and readings I thought my mom might want for her meeting with the priest on Friday. Then I picked up the boys so that my husband could go see our baby girl (even at 13, she is my baby girl) before his rehearsal. I oversaw homework, I fixed dinner. I put the boys to bed and started looking for pictures for my sister to use in the slideshow at the funeral home, I texted with cousins in our shared grief, but I still didn’t cry.

I focused on work on Friday morning. I did things that could not be postponed or delegated. I tried my best to feel normal. At 1:00, I had an appointment with the social worker to outline the first day of the hospitalization and met with the doctor to discuss his plans for treatment and medication. I got to visit with Princess, since I wasn’t going to have a chance that night. I picked up the boys from school, ran a couple errands, I emailed my co-teacher and the head of the religious education department to say I wasn’t going to be able to teach class on Saturday morning, then I went to lay down. Two hours later, my husband woke me up so we could make dinner. He had to leave after dinner to go stay with his father, whose Alzheimer’s Disease has progressed to a point where he cannot be left alone when my mother-in-law goes away for the weekend. Once the boys were asleep, I poured a few fingers of Scotch  (not Nanna’s brand, though) into a glass I’d kept from my grandfather’s bar when we cleared out the house two years ago. More texting and Facebook-ing and looking at pictures.  My sister had told me she would take the boys on Saturday, take them to the ball game and meet me in the evening, so that I could do whatever I chose to. I visited Princess during the mid-day visiting period. I went to church as scheduled, and avoided eye contact with everyone with whom I was serving when Nanna’s name was read during the prayers for those who had “gone to sleep in the hope of rising again” for fear that I’d start crying and not stop. We went out for dinner, then I took the boys home and waited until they were asleep before I decided to wallow. But I still couldn’t quite let myself let go to cry.

The funeral was on Tuesday. I took the boys to school and met my parents at their house before we joined the rest of the family at church. My reading got a little blurry and I had to breathe through some of it, but I held it together. The weather was rather pleasant, unlike so many interments I've attended in the rain or the wind or the overcast nothingness. We stood and said our appropriate prayers and hugged each other. Then my sister fell apart crying. And my floodgates let loose. We huddled, joined by a few others who glommed into the cry-fest for that moment. Then we all dried our eyes, took our deep breaths, and moved on. Reception at the assited living facility's party room, the same room where we'd conducted our last few family Christmas gatherings (complete with a visit from our favorite party crasher, a gentle old guy with dementia who would had a tendency to walk away with unattended wine). We retired to my uncle's house, with its bar still set up on the ping-pong table after his son's wedding-related festivities three days earlier. We shared our crap; our amusements and our sorrows were all fair game. And we vowed we'd find more ways to bring everyone together for those dumping sesions, but for less bleak reasons.

I got home after the boys were in bed. My brother-in-law had been babysitting until one of us could get home (Hubby had a late meeting at school). He left in a hurry, having been at our house for almost 6 hours at that point. I snuck into Hoss' room to say good night, and upon sitting down on the bed, felt myself drop with a "thunk."

Earlierin the evening, my brother-in-law had tossed Hoss a bit too enthusiastically down on the bed while playing. A number of sub-mattress slats were broken, but Hoss is small enough that putting the cracked slats back in position gave him enough support to sleep. My extra weight, however, was more than the cracked wood could bear.

After a day full of crying, I had no choice but to laugh.

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Ever since we moved Nanna out of the house she’d lived in for over fifty years into a “senior living community” two years ago, I’d avoided facing things. I knew it was a good idea for her to move, that staying in the house just wasn’t feasible with her declining mobility and increasing health issues.  Going to visit her apartment once she moved was a reminder of how we’d all had to let go of the house and what it represented.  I kept meaning to go visit her place, but life would get in the way. I saw her whenever we had family get togethers at my parents’ house or my aunts and uncles’ or when we had our Christmas parties in the community room at Nanna’s building. But I never seemed to get  myself in gear enough to face visiting her one on one, in her space.

 It was March when I started to face the facts about how little time was left.  I had off the first week of April while the kids were on Spring break; I’d take the kids and go visit her then. Except that my sister warned me that waiting another month might not be a good idea. Nanna’s anemia was worse, despite her blood infusions. She was becoming less and less mobile, and less able (or inclined) to assist in moving herself when someone tried to transfer her from bed to wheelchair or from wheelchair to vehicle. She was becoming more forgetful, more erratic in her behaviors.

 I went on Sunday in late March.  My mom, my sister, an aunt, uncle and a cousin were there as well. We chatted about stuff. Nanna’s lunch was delivered while we were there; she barely ate at all. After awhile, the nurses came to put her to bed, not as much for napping purposes but because sitting in her recliner without moving made her unhealed bedsores get worse- they’d been there for months without going away, despite treatment. We all left the visit with the words we didn’t want to say hanging over us.

 A few more weeks went by like this, with emails exchanged among my mom and her brothers about the medical procedures and the reports from the doctors and the lack of improvement or positive prognosis. My sister broached the hospice topic, only to be shut down by elders telling us that we weren’t at that point yet.  Then somehow they decided we were at that point. Nanna’s primary doctor served on the board of one of the local service agencies that provided hospice care. They could come into her home to provide the services because she was already in a facilitated environment. The coordinator spoke to family, explaining the services and asking how ready everyone was for what hospice really meant, and estimating that Nanna’s seeing Mother’s Day was only an outside chance.  

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My department gave me a nice flower arrangement for my Nanna's passing. Or, more accurately, my friend Michelle got a nice arrangement and signed the card from the whole group. She said she would have given me a bottle of wine instead of flowers if the liquor store had been open as early as the florist was. See? I told you she is a friend!

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I vowed I would reduce my yarn stash, so I am using partial skeins and multiple colors for my next knit-along

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It started as one scarf as part of a weekend crochet-along. But once I got going, I just couldn't stop.

My name is Karen, and I'm a yarn-a-holic.

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This is the project from Vickie Howell's Ravelry/Facebook crochet-along. I've already started a second scarf in grey.

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I am currently sad. And angry. And proud. And sort of silly.

My boys have just had birthdays recently. Hoss turned 11 three weeks ago, Joe turned 9 one week ago. Let me emphasize that- my baby boy, my final bonus child, is in the final 358 days of a single digit age. At their birthday party, Princess was discussing books with my sister. The YA novels that she likes so much (the series and standalones by Margaret Peterson Haddix) are exploring concepts and plots that keep adults interested. It seems like she was just reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, or Angelina Ballerina. Now she's loaning books to her 40something aunt. We got recommendations for Hoss' gifted and talented class placement for middle school. He scored in the 85th percentile in math when they did the testing. That's a good score on its own, but even more impressive when you consider that the criteria used was based on 9th grade achievement. Little Joe is working after school with another boy to create a movie with one of the teachers. My kids kind of rock.

During the last two weeks, I've gotten phone calls from the schools resulting in 4 days of rushing out of the office to pick someone up, one of those being a trip to the ER for a psych consult (not my doing; the counselor who was called in insisted upon it). There have been many calls and email to the various members of the mental health/behavioral support systems and some changes in providers. Things are OK for now but could flare up at any time. This past Friday was also the third anniversary of my first big leap into the pediatric psychiatric experience. Seven more ER visits (culminating in four inpatient stays) have not made it all that much easier to handle.

I went to a show this weekend, somewhat impulsively. I say "somewhat" because I heard about the show, thought I might like to see the show with Hubby, and bought tickets less than a week before we went. To a normal person, that is not impulsive at all. For me (whose theater excursions usually consist of me buying tickets and planning transportation and picking out an outfit months ahead of time), it's quite a leap.  

I am going to visit my Nanna tomorrow. There is a chance, I'm not sure how big of one, that it will be the last time I really have a chance to sit down and chat with her. She may be going into hospice care, or she may have some procedures done that defer the need for hospice care for awhile. Her breathing is getting more difficult, her blood counts are not good and she has had a number of blood infusions. She has various incidents of maladies for which we can only hope to get a cause determined if she is subjected to uncomfortable or invasive procedures. She's 89 years old. I don't know if she knows how sick she is or whether she wants to fight or whether she is just tired of everything. I don't want to ask because I don't want to articulate the worst. I don't want to avoid asking because I don't want to take the chance of losing her without having let her say what she wants to say to any of us. I'm a jackass and a wuss for not visiting her enough in the past 2 years, since she moved into her assisted living facility.

Life is messy. Some of it is messy like eating a rich ice cream cone on a blisteringly hot summer day, as you try to catch every delicious drop before it drips stickily down your hand. Some of it is messy like catching the heel of your shoe in a sidewalk grate during a rainstorm and twisting your ankle and tearing your stockings as you fall into a mud puddle.

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I made a monkey. His crown-y hat looks sort of Rasta, and his overalls look much like lederhosen. Is there really anything else I can say beyond that?

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In honor of the BCS championship game next week, and in honor of my friends Kathy (LSU) and Mandy ('Bama), I made a crimson and purple cowl to wear. I counted stitches to ensure equality and show no favoritism whatsoever!

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A friend of mine from work has embarked on a challenge, and I feel compelled to follow along. She, and now I, vow to go a year without shopping for clothes. We've set slightly different rules for ourselves, but the spirit is the same.

I have a lot of clothes. Some of the clothes I have (let's be honest, A LOT of the clothes I have) don't get worn. Some because they don't fit right, some just because I have so many clothes but I only have a limited percentage in high rotation. So, I am crying "No mas!"

First I will clear out the stuff that doesn't fit. I am working on losing a bit of weight, so the items that I just slightly outgrew can stay, but...let's call a spade a spade and say that I've got a few suits and dresses that won't ever fit over this middle aged ass ever again.

If something wears out, I will replace it. I will get rid of the expired item in order to buy new, though. No more "let's just keep this for casual wear" when I get a nicer sweater or something. I won't pay out of pocket for anything new unless a comparable item is being trashed. This goes for shoes, too.

I got some gift cards for Christmas, and once I clean out the clothes that don't fit I may need to use them to fill in some gaps (jeans are a likely option now that I've admitted that I'm not a size 6-8 anymore). But I will stick to the face value of the gift card, not use it as a starting point (many of my $25 gifts cards in the past have resulted in shopping sprees beyond the $75 mark...) I am going to try to avoid buying any clothes even with the gift cards, using the money for some pretty jewelry or home goods, but I'm not going to set myself up for failure right from the start!

Paring down and not bringing new clothes into the mix may force me to start looking at new options for making outfits. It will also reduce the ever growing laundry pile that is threatening to take over my side of the bedroom, which Hubby is convinced is going to spring to life and attack us while we sleep.

Wish me luck, because it ain't gonna be easy for me...

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Schmutzie told me to do this.  I like Schmutzie, so I hope this makes her (and others) smile.

I love the smell that lingers after I’ve been baking, and the sly way my kids try to sneak the cookies off of the cooling racks before I put them away; how Hubby tries to be quiet and unobtrusive when he comes into the bedroom after I’m asleep, but often fails; the way my implausibly high heels make me feel just a little bit powerful; finding old family pictures and seeing resemblances I never knew existed; the whooshing sounds of milk being frothed; the texture of Patons Stretch Sock yarn on the soles of my feet; hearing random “Raising Arizona” quotes from my kids when I least expect them; painting my toenails in the dead of winter, even though no one else can see the fabulous color; when a meeting gets canceled and I get an hour of my day back; the snuffles and sighs of a sleeping baby; a lit Christmas tree in an otherwise dark room; the smell of sunscreen mixed with salty air; waking up because my body is rested, not because an alarm broke my sleep; Heat Miser and Snow Miser; the unspoken rhythm of movements as Hubby and I navigate a tiny bathroom in the morning without getting in each others’ way; getting to keep all of the Heath bars after Halloween, since no one else in the family likes them; the sheepish look that people get when they are caught seat-dancing or playing air drums at a stoplight; free food samples; the stained glass rose windows at my church; Facebook groups with inside jokes (my IOM Wolfpack knows what I am talking about!);  the angels that take on unexpected forms (like elementary school principals or café workers); getting respect from someone I respect;  Fractured Prune doughnuts; the Toys R Us and Disney store locations in Times Square; Christmas ornaments I’ve had since childhood; little girls wearing Easter hats; the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade; holding hands; a dusting of snow on the holly bush in front of my house;  coffee shops in grocery stores; four generations in one room at a family party; game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals when I have nothing invested in the outcome of the game; vegetables from my own garden; “Sports Night,” especially the first season; when no one is looking when I fall down (literally or metaphorically); a hot shower after shoveling snow; grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon.    

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A year ago, I was dealing with a psych hospital stay for Princess (the fourth of the year). Today she is in school and I haven't gotten any emails or calls about any meltdowns. We made it through the whole year without any inpatient hospital stays, and the one crisis call a few months ago was resolved fairly quickly.

A year ago, I decided not to do Christmas cards or most of the decorating because I just couldn't summon up the energy. This year my cards went out around December 1, I am taking orders for my baking day (I may ignore some of the requests- I'm looking at you, Vic and Nic, for requesting red velvet cupcakes when you both knew full well I don't do cupcakes for Christmas- but I am paying attention to what people ask for), we don't have any decorations up but that is only because we just got new carpet installed.

Things are busy, but they are good. By Christmas I will probably be crying from stress, as I always do, but this year I can probably be cured by the smell of my amputee gingerbread men and mis-shapen snickerdoodles.

This July brought me a promotion at work (updated PD to recognize how my job has grown) and August brought me a landmark birthday that turned out to be not as awful as I'd feared it would be.

2011 totally kicked 2010's ass, y'all.

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Once again, I tried NaBloPoMo and fizzled out. I briefly considered creating some posts and backdating them, but decided that the spirit of the exercise was more important than the actual 30-post count. I wanted to stick to it, but life got in the way a bit this week- school conferences and preparations for home renovations (the carpet guy is in my

I do plan to tune into BlogHer more often and get prompts or inspiration to write more often. I am still trying to find my place in the blogosphere, still trying to figure out my role and my personality in the great mass of wordiness and pictures and links that is the internet.

Thank you to any new readers who have stopped by during this month. I hope you come back and that you comment. I know that my posts are all over the place- the knitters that stop by may not care all that much about my kids, people hoping to see food posts (which will be forthcoming in December, since my bake-a-palooza is scheduled from the 17th-20th) may not give a hoot about pictures of my scarves and shawls, and so on. But I hope that anyone reading this has something that appeals to them and makes them stop back. I plan to be more diligent about tagging posts, allowing readers to zoom in on the crafty or the yummy or the momminess of it all.

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Here are some things I've heard or that I've read (and applied voices to, which is not in any way an indication of me becoming psychotic, I promise) recently. Some things are funny and some are sad and some are poignant. (As an aside, I really like the word "poignant." I'm not sure exactly what it is that I find so appealing, but there is something about the sound of the word along with its meaning that I really like.)

"[Hoss] does some really fantastic work. Which is like saying 'The sun shines brightly.'  We just kind of expect it, because that's how it should be." Mr. G, my son's homeroom teacher, at parent-teacher conferences.

"Don't be a dick. Or an asshole. In fact, just to be safe, don't be anything that belongs in undergarments." Tamara Out Loud , in referenced to something she's learned over a year of blogging.

"Chill out space" The term bestowed on the area of my third-grade son's classroom for kids to take a minute to get their heads together. I like the sound of "Little Joe is good at using the chill out space when he needs it."

"God has a bad memory. He only remembers the good things we do." Fr. Greg, our associate pastor, in response to Princess lamenting her guilty feelings for misbehaving or acting out.

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We are back from the in-laws, the kids and I. Hubby is out at a football game and spending another night at his parents' house.

I survived another family party, despite Hubby's aunt arriving 40 minutes late and the kids getting cranky. Here are the things for which I am thankful today:

• I am thankful that Princess does not consider herself too old and cool to sit down and watch the Macy's Parade with me.  The boys watched part of it, but she hung with me for the whole morning.
• I am thankful that my MIL and her relatives refrained from discussing any medical issues over dinner. Previous encounters have included a discussion of the need for a colonoscopy (at the funeral reception a few weeks ago), surgery to repair a cervical hernia/vaginal prolapse (the boys' birthday party a few years ago) and the aftermath of sinus surgery (Father's Day a few years back).
• I am thankful that the weather was pleasant, meaning that BIL (who was not expected to attend) could go out and walk the dog while I was trying to gather the kids up to leave, since he is notorious for distrupting them and contradicting everything I say when I am trying to keep them under control.
• I am thankful that MIL wanting to be finished cleaning up from dinner in time to watch the Ravens game gave me a convenient reasons for leaving in a timely manner and getting the kids home and medicated (after I helped as much as possible to get the dishes done so that she really could sit down and relax).
• I am thankful that Hubby's sporadically employed, never married, childless cousin refrained from any proclamations about how I should be caring for my children.

Happy turkey day, y'all. In our house, it's always turkey day.

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