don't speak

don't speak, no

High and Dry

is apparently what my blog has been lately. So, let's catch up. I'm moving to Kentucky in two and a half weeks. CRAZY SHIT, Y'ALL.

I got a job as a mechanical integrity engineer (who even knew such a job existed?) at a plant in Calvert City. My cousin sent me the job description; I wasn't even looking for a job...but the description hooked me. It's sort of like forensic structural engineering, just on machinery and pressure vessels and stuff instead of on the actual structure. I'd have to USE MY BRAIN! YAY! I am so excited. It will be intensive training for a year or so, but hey, I was considering going back for a PhD anyway and I think this will be better and more practical. Oh. And there is a SIGNIFICANT pay increase, but that is not why I want this job.

Mama is pretty torn up about it (as I expected, and honestly I am too, but I'm also really really excited which helps me, and she doesn't have that) but she did say that she totally thought it was a wonderful opportunity and she is happy for me. But, yeah. She is so sad. :( I wish I didn't have to do this to her, or that she and my dad would move up there but that isn't realistic considering her other two kids live in GA still--and the grandkids.

More later, kind of keyed up right now.

Movie Star Sugar

A wonderful old man and his wonderful wife are at home. Their great-niece is arriving soon to spend the day with them. She, and they, are very excited about this. She bursts in the door, blonde curls flying behind her.

The old man says, "Get over here and give me some movie star sugar!"

The child scampers over to his chair and proffers first her right palm, then the back of her right hand. Next, the left palm, and the back of the left hand. Right cheek, left cheek, almost like they are French. Finally, the enormous bear hug, and she is still and happy. His cologne smells like home, warm and spicy and comforting.

I suck, and last week

Overstuffed, hell, I don't know, I can't remember that far back. Yes. At least once.

Spendy. Yes. We went to visit a friend this weekend. Friend just had a baby 8 wks ago and wanted to go shopping. I am the world's worst at not giving in to temptation, so I bought stuff I shouldn't have. (With a credit card! ACK! Because we don't have any money!)

Self-care. Ok I guess, except for I've been stressing about money because I SUCK. But we'll get to that in a minute.

What else am I supposed to be tracking again? (Consulting the list)....

Socially balanced? It was pretty good. We had people over Wed and Thurs but somehow when it's people at my house it's much easier for me socially than going OUT. Plus it's actually cheaper. (Chili one night, chicken another from the freezer).

Weekly project...not even sure what it was supposed to be, so no, nothing got done.

Monthly project, going, I guess. We haven't been home weekends though and I can definitely tell. Plus we are broke...which leads me to WHY I SUCK.


So...remember when I went shopping a couple weeks ago? And I may or may not have mentioned that I've been shopping a lot more often for a few months...well. Last week I finally did the budget for January and realized that I'd spent money we didn't have. So I initiated a transfer from our online savings account and was done. Or so I thought. But since the transfers take so fucking long, it didn't come through in time. And the situation spiraled, because automatic bills came out (like the $20 toll card charge that happens when the card is getting low, which is really difficult to predict), causing NSF fees all over the place. Since Friday I've been IN THE NEGATIVE (this has NEVER happened before, so please understand the shame I'm feeling right now, and the stomach-in-knots feeling, and the stress), and because things keep hitting, I keep getting NSF fees and the transfer from the online savings isn't enough, and OMG. And hubby has the ATM card for the online account (don't worry, I already told him I fucked up) and I keep meaning to get it and hurry up and put money in, and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I am up to $216 in NSF fees. OMG. OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. I cannot adequately express how this makes me feel (nauseated, ashamed, sick of not having enough money, etc).

So. I set up a new budget, with more categories (I had an "other" column in the other budget and that, I think, has contributed to my slip ups). I factored in things like car insurance and car tags and all those semi-annual to annual expenses...and discovered that I ACTUALLY DO NOT MAKE ENOUGH MONEY FOR EVERYTHING. Before, somehow, I was either afraid to find out (because I had a sneaking suspicion that I might not actually make enough) or just assumed we were ok since I didn't have to pay tuition anymore. So no more "other" for a while. If ever.

AND Bea (the puppy) was limping on her back leg last week. It improved marginally throughout the week, and she stayed with a friend this past weekend. At friend's house, she went underneath the back deck (she likes it under there and has always done that when she's over there)...and came back in and wouldn't put ANY weight on that back leg. So I took her to the vet yesterday. And it's likely her ACL torn and will likely require a $2000 surgery to fix. Yes, we should have gotten pet insurance. And the vet said since this one is blown it's likely only a matter of time until the other one blows, so start saving. I wanted to throw up. We are supposed to keep her on STRICT bed rest for 8 days and if it's not fully functional by then, we get to go to the orthopedist to schedule surgery. Poor puppy. And how the F are we going to pay for that???? Ugh.

So I'm applying for part time jobs that I can do at night and on weekends, at least until hubby can get a part time job. And I am thoroughly chagrined. And I do not want to live like this anymore. I never want to feel this way when I look at my online account again. Just thinking about it makes me sweat.

I'll keep you posted. I think this may be the "rock bottom" for me that all the financial people keep talking about. Enough is enough. No more extra anything for us until we have paid off all our debt. I AM DONE.

Mimi

"And I realized why old people talk to checkout girls for so long. It's because they haven't spoken to anyone else all day."

(from Boo)

And it makes me sad for my grandmother, Mimi. She was widowed in her thirties with four young children, and she never remarried. I think she would have, once, but one of her daughters made a snide comment (and this was LONG after her husband had died) about how they didn't think she should remarry--so she DIDN'T. However grumpy she sometimes was, however much she really didn't like kids in her old age, I can't help but wish I'd been more thoughtful. We used to make fun of the fact that she talked. Incessantly. To anyone and everyone who would listen. She always told cashiers that my mom was valedictorian back in 1970 (and later when my cousin and I were too she'd add that in), she always talked about how "you're looking at three generations!" when she, my mom, and I would go places together--and we (me, my sister, and our cousin) always used to roll our eyes and get embarrassed that she was with us. She'd tell anyone that she raised four kids alone and they turned out fine...but she never talked about the emotional toll that had to have taken on her.

Now, though, I can see why she'd be that way...she'd been widowed for 40 years and lived alone. Mimi had no one to talk to, even if she did stuff with us once or twice a week--can you imagine only talking one day a week? Life had to have meant more to her than us--hence three generations was something to be grateful for, since she never got to live out her golden years with the love of her life. And no wonder it sometimes seemed that she was boastful of raising four kids alone--she was forced to do exactly that during a time when most women didn't even work, much less worry about being a single mom and putting food on the table. (I hope, but don't know, that my granddad had life insurance. She did get military benefits though, thank heavens).

My granddad was a nose gunner at 19 years old in WWII, and because of that his heart was enlarged and he began to have heart problems shortly after coming back. He lived a while in a state of bad health, and died when my mom was just 15. (Mom was only the second of four, too). Mimi never talked about resenting the military for the long years of his bad health and drinking because of being depressed about his health, but I have to think that in that situation I'd have blamed them endlessly AND been a lot more bitter about it than she.

The older I get, the more respect I have for this side of my grandmother that I never knew. I wish I had stopped long enough to consider it while she was living; I think she would have talked to me about it if I'd asked. Too often, we assume people don't want to talk about things that might be painful...but I think she would have been pleased that I wanted to know.

If I had a copy of it, I'd leave off with my favorite picture of her--she's 14, and she and my granddad are on some kind of youth church trip, and they are gripping hands, two skinny kids in the snow, in their bathing suits, looking absolutely FREEZING, and grinning like idiots. I wonder if they were on the way to a hot tub? Whenever I get sad that she's gone, I picture that, and I know that if there is a God, if heaven exists, that's where she is right now. Fourteen, with Jimmy, in their swimsuits in the snow being idiotic teenagers, their life before them. No war, no health problems, just them, making up for the last fifty or so years.

The End

Here is a picture of the first line the last section of my graduate school evaluation:

....and it felt so good.

moving and stuff

we moved on september 6th. my family came up to help (well, most of my family--brother, sister in law, their two kids, mom and daddy. and of course, caleb. his family had to go to a funeral in BF alabama that weekend).

i'm still not sure how i crammed THAT much stuff in my apartment. the HOUSE is pretty full, and even though mom and daddy brought some stuff from carrollton, they didn't bring much. no wonder the apartment was always such a clutter pit. it wouldn't all fit in the 16' truck that my parents brought up (which had three pieces of furniture and maybe six boxes from carrollton already in it, the rest was all in the apartment). so caleb and i made several trips in his truck that day and in the days following. i finally got completely out on tuesday the 9th (a whole day early from my lease perspective! yay!)

my family and friends are awesome. they came over, they helped move (and pack the last remaining stuff), and they unloaded. and then my dad fixed my hot water heater and built shelves for my linen closet, and my mom and two best friends picked up where terri and jesse had to leave off and began unpacking and taking boxes to the rooms they belonged in. my brother, sister in law and niece helped unpack/arrange stuff too. please note: i hadn't wanted to ask my brother (much less their whole family!) to help, since they have two small kids, it's an hour drive for them to get here, and he already helped me A LOT by closing and finding a better mortgage lender for me and a whole lot of other stuff. but he came anyway and amie and the kids did too, and i feel like the luckiest person ever. with the greatest family ever. (my sister wanted to come too, and was disappointed she couldn't, but she's kinda swamped right now with work and phd stuff and puppies and a husband). so anyway. i felt very loved. it went well. i have a house!

after, i apologized to my brother for them having to drive so far and, well, sweat their butts off (we did have air in the nick of time, but it was still a VERY hot day)...and he was all, 'i wouldn't miss it for the world.'

happy sigh.

so now the kitchen is relatively unpacked (it was first) and i cooked at home all last week. i find that now that i have a kitchen again, all i want to do is COOK! MEALS! THAT TASTE GOOD! I HAVE ROOM IN MY KITCHEN TO DO THIS AND IT'S AMAZING, LOOK AT THIS! (a sample of my inner thoughts as i look at my cute kitchen). i had my college roomie over for dinner thursday night, a couple friends over for dinner last night, and i have no plans to slack off the dinner hosting anytime soon. i figure it's fun for me to cook, having someone over lets me be sociable without spending too much eating out, it's healthier, and there's STILL usually plenty leftover for lunches at work. win, win, win, WIN. yes.

i finally feel like i am returning to some semblance of internal balance. before the apartment, i'd never lived anywhere other than a house. (and only two houses, at that). in athens, i cooked most of the time (ate out once or twice a month) and was generally a homebody, inviting friends over a lot, but rarely "going out" at night or on weekends. i absolutely cannot wait to return to that, and so far it has been wonderful. we actually thought about going out to eat friday, but nixed it in favor of eating at home. eating out is just not as appealing anymore, when i can have fun, create something, and have leftovers that i can repurpose (ex: roasted whole chicken for dinner becomes chicken salad for lunch and seasoned and cooked, filling for quesadillas the next night). yaaaaaaaaay food!!! and kitchens! and washers!

i think i am secretly very much a homebody.

the flip side, though:

it will be significantly more money than renting. however, it remains to be seen whether cheaper food makes up for that. (even if it doesn't, my reduction in stress has ALREADY been worth it. i truly HATED it at that apartment and didn't even realize how much).

the gutters need cleaning and our ladder wasn't tall enough this weekend, so it has to wait another week.

the grass needs cutting and we don't have a lawnmower. i think my brother is giving us one of his extra ones though. thank heavens. lol.

two closet shelves have collapsed. stupid cheap brackets. so i have to fix that (we can reuse the shelf but not the supports).

there will always be a to do list. but i'm ok with that (and used to it, even)...there's just A LOT on it right now.

it has yard drainage issues. we have to fix that relatively soon (like in the next year).

none of these were surprises, so that's good i guess, but yeah. we have a long way to go. :) yay home improvement/maintenance!

summary: i'm LOVING life in the house. and my family rocks. and my friends rock too :)

giddy

and married! hee hee.

sunday (august 10) night, caleb got a text from his best friend's girlfriend. it asked if we wanted to elope with them the next weekend. he relayed the message. i laughed, thought for a minute, and said, SURE!

he was (naturally) a bit taken aback, as i'd been discussing having an actual wedding and we'd pretty much decided it'd be next fall. i explained that after attending one of my bff's weddings, i had NO interest in going through that much stress for just one day that i'd be stressed out and probably grouchy (due to not eating) for.

he kept asking me if i was SURE. i think he didn't want me to feel like i was giving up my dream wedding. i reassured him, and got super excited. then (within hours) his best friend called to say they were backing out (friend was upset over losing the opportunity to propose and have it be a surprise). we, however, had already concluded that we were IN. no matter who came or whatever. in retrospect, it was one of the best decisions i've ever made. no stress.

monday afternoon, i booked the hotel on tybee island. it was a cute little b & b near the beach (maybe a block or two away).

monday night, my best friend and i went shopping for a dress. EIGHT STORES later, we finally found one--at Dillard's of all places. it was 8:45; we couldn't have timed it better. also monday, caleb ordered the ring (that i still hadn't seen).

thursday evening, we were on the way to tybee. we called family then (only because both our moms had SPECIFICALLY said, we don't care HOW you get married, but we'd at least like to know about it...i'm the baby, and i think at one point caleb's mom thought she'd never see him married, or at least not to me. lol.)

the uproar grew, but people quit their grumbling and either made plans to come, or didn't.

friday morning: to chatham county courthouse for marriage license. then to florist for flowers (just mine and his). then nail place for manicure/pedicure (gotta make my fingers look worthy of that beautiful ring!). then food, parking was a nightmare in savannah friday, finally found some, ate. then back to hotel for nap.

people all arrived friday afternoon/evening. we ate dinner at the crab shack friday night. (though due to other stresses, which i'll discuss in a minute, i was unable to eat more than a bowl of crab stew).

caleb and i ran to wally world friday night to get plastic cups, silverware, and paper plates and napkins for the "reception" the next morning. (we had gotten a tiny, cute cake). we also got OJ and champagne and apple juice. yes, weird, i know. there were kids. they needed apple juice. and mimosas taste good! we arrived at 10:40 and were done by 10:50. which was good since it closed at 11.

saturday morning, i got up at 4:40 am to get ready (i had to make sure my hair was already DRY for the ceremony and pictures so it wouldn't frizz up or look like a wet dog). got ready, got dressed, left at 6:21 for ceremony at 6:40. met the officiant and photographer, signed paperwork, paid the wedding company people. the rest of the group arrived and we all trooped out onto the (beautiful, not too hot, sunrisey) beach to begin the ceremony.

(at this point, it got to feeling a little surreal. was this really ME? was i really this lucky? i'm not dreaming, am i? *pinches self* nope. not dreaming. AWESOME).

we do the ceremony, repeating the words in turn, faces threatening to break from smiling so much. it feels RIGHT. more right than anything i've ever done. and also wonderful. i can't believe i'm here. i'm the luckiest woman alive.

we are done, and we kiss. then he announces us (i am mrs. caleb stephens?! rock on!!!), and we turn, surprised to find there are other people there.

then we go take an assload of pictures and our faces hurt from smiling but we're not forcing the smiles cause we're so freaking happy.

then we go to the "reception" on the rooftop deck and eat cake and drink mimosas for breakfast. hang out, talk with everyone, then people begin leaving.

later that day, breakfast (real food this time), nap, dinner with mom and his mom and stepdad (my dad had to go back to work so he was an early leaver).

all in all, it was a wonderful, perfect, beautiful weekend. happy sigh. i keep looking down at my ring to make sure it was all real, i feel THAT lucky.

so yeah. eloping is great! three emails and a phone call and we had a ceremony and a room all booked...AMAZINGLY EASY.


.....except for one minor (major?) snag.

when my mom, daddy, and grandmother arrived friday evening, they couldn't drive to their hotel (hyatt in downtown savannah on river street). they discovered there had been a taylor swyft (sp?) concert and so streets were blocked for traffic. so they parked and walked to check into the hotel. at which point they discovered a) there had been some kind of underground explosion directly under the hyatt (i think it was a transformer), so b) the official people had turned off the power to the hyatt to check stuff out, and c) the hyatt wasn't offering refunds or letting people cancel. keep in mind my brother, the argumentative, irascible lawyer with two kids under the age of 5, is on his way TO THAT HOTEL. it promised to be very, very ugly. meanwhile, mom, daddy, and mama dean are eating with us at the crab shack...which is why i couldn't eat well (my mom is very, very good at RADIATING stress when she's stressed, which she was very, more so than was necessary).

so we get done eating and all split up to go to our respective hotels (and i'm cringing because i KNOW what david's anger will look like after he's been in the car with a < two-year-old who whines while in the car, no matter how long. especially since he spent the better part of an hour LOST because he and my mom didn't communicate very well about alternate directions due to road blockoffs).

in the morning i discovered that sometime before david arrived at the hyatt, the hyatt people had reconsidered their stance on refunds/cancellations and agreed to refund everyone and cancel for no charge (when it became apparent they wouldn't have power anytime soon). so my family found another hotel. thank goodness. :)

all's well that ends well, i guess.

cross purposes

so i've been looking for a house for almost a year. the saga so far:

found a short sale. it was a little more than i wanted to pay for a house (180k), but i put in an offer anyway since i had 2 guaranteed roommates for a year. waited FOUR MONTHS for bank to approve it, seller went bankrupt before short sale approved. (in retrospect, thank god. that price was a bit too high).

found a brick ranch fixer upper a couple miles south of where i really wanted to be. 4 bed/2 bath for 45k, in decent shape. (that, to me, represents rock-bottom, or close to it, of the atlanta market). put in offer for asking. lost it to (presumably) an investor.

first short sale house came back on market as a foreclosure for a lower price. put in offer, above asking, but still not as much as before. the next day, the bank sends notice that we need to send highest and best offer because there are already SIX OFFERS...and it's only been on the multiple listing service (on the market) for less than 24 hours. go up to originally under-contract price (grudgingly). face the fact that i've probably just lost the first house i ever loved (insert sad music here), but also grateful that i'm not going to be spending that much money.

find another house, in the location that i want, for ~80k. needs a small amount of work or can do a more major renovation before move-in and have a freaking awesome space. either way, still will have <=140k in the house, which i am FAR more comfortable with than the 180k for the first house. put in offer for 85 (with 3k in closing to be paid by seller). receive notice that there will be multiple offers and need best and final. up it to 91,725 (with closing costs by seller) and hope.

that's where i am right now. this house feels right. there's an upstairs area that is currently two attic bedrooms (will become one bedroom, large closet, and large master bath). it feels like a little treehouse up there, so cute! and downstairs is a compact floor plan with 2 bedrooms and a bath, kitchen, dining room, living room, and back deck. all brick exterior, big yard with fence. feels very not-so-big-house-ish. big magnolia tree in front yard. on a street with well-taken care of houses in the location that i want, and very close to publix and the interstate. in short, i can see myself there for a good 10 to 15 years, as long as i don't accumulate a crapload of STUFF. which i plan on not doing. :)

also, within the area that i want to be, i am in one of the sub-areas that doesn't yet have the majority of homes rehabbed. so as an investment, i'm either one of the frontier people (and will therefore make more money when others follow) or i do it and no one follows (but there are a couple already rehabbed, so i'm pretty sure that won't happen). and i'd be okay either way, price wise and neighborhood wise. so all in all, i really hope the hunt is over. i will find out wednesday or so. cross your fingers!

the reason for the title of this post: i think my realtor and i have different purposes for this house. i see it as a space that i'm happy with, that i can be happy with for years to come, and that i can afford comfortably while still having enough room for a family. realtor sees it as an investment, and has in mind a certain amount that i need to make off this deal in order for it to be worthwhile. (the assumption, i think, is that i will want a bigger and therefore better and more expensive house in a few years and this "instant equity" is the way to do it, which is not entirely true. if i'm happy there, i'm staying, because then i can use extra money for travel and fun). this perspective, though, is good and bad...it's nice to have someone watching out for my equity, but at a point, i keep losing houses because if i offer above a certain amount, i don't make the "magic number" on it.

so for this one, i offered a little more than the realtor suggested, in the hopes that i might prevail. and while i'm giving up some instant equity, i'm not banking on the instant equity being there in the first place--it's just a home for me, a haven, at a price i am ok with and with the intention of living there for a long time. if i make money, great, if not, at least i have a really cute home that i love and want to live in!

all in all, i am very, very glad that my realtor is who he/she is. i trust this person implicitly because they are above all a friend (and i know there is commission to be made off me, but the person's main income isn't from homebuyers, they just do this because it is their passion to find people homes and make them instant equity--they are actually pushing me NOT to spend as much money). also, every action is explained, reasons are logical, and no question i have regarding the process, prices, reasoning, etc. is off limits with this person.

it's been an interesting year. i have gained A LOT from the process, though, because the process was somewhat atypical: we began by driving around many different neighborhoods in the area, and comparing what you can get for what price in what area. after several months of this, i was asked which neighborhoods were my favorites. my choices? cabbagetown, old fourth ward, and east atlanta village. two were out of my (self-imposed, not the bank's estimate) price range for amount of space and the condition that i desired, so that was easy. the most valuable part of the experience, though, to me, was learning the city. i know where most, if not all, of the neighborhoods in atlanta are. in more than half of them, i know which areas are safe versus not-so-safe, where the good food is (cause come on, y'all, good food is one of my top priorities in life), and the general feel of the residents. i fell in love with the city (cities in general, this one in particular), made a friend who is now among my closest friends, and learned a LOT about real estate. (never mind the fact that it has always fascinated me and secretly i've always wanted to be a realtor and interior designer). it also took (takes?) my mind off my somewhat depressing current apartment. AND, i like looking at houses even when i'm NOT going to buy one--sometimes when we were young, my family used to drive around on saturdays looking at houses (where i lived, they were generally left open for much of the construction process, allowing for us to wander in freely). it's great cheap entertainment, and good for when you actually do look at houses for real, because then you have an idea of floor plans/finishes/etc that you really like and think would flow well.

i love houses, homes, interior design, and making my space fit me and feel good. i also love helping other people express themselves through their spaces (helped my BFF decide on curtains for her classroom, and i think she will be really happy with them and enjoy them a lot!) here's to hoping i have that in my own life again soon. :)

caleb

it was my seventh-grade year, and it was cold outside. a few weeks prior, my mom had offhandedly--all too casually offhandedly--mentioned that one of the other teachers at her school had a son and that she thought we should talk. at the time i had rolled my eyes, but even in seventh grade, i took relationships seriously. i took everything seriously even though i rarely showed it.

so anyway. that cold day, we were getting various yearbook pictures for groups taken, and the academic team was called to have a picture taken. that was the first time i'd really met him. he and his (goofy) friend were behind me in the picture, and for some reason that picture took an ungodly amount of time to take. or maybe i was just experiencing time dilation. whatever. i attempted to flirt with him, but i couldn't really tell if he was interested.

eventually (toward the end of that year), i snared him. we "went out" for a few months. it was the first relationship that had any sort of physicality beyond hand holding for me (with the exception of a bad tonsil hockey experience that i don't care to remember). it was the first time there was anything beyond just like. it was a confusing, exciting, delicious, tingly feeling, this feeling that i'd never felt before. i decided i really liked caleb, and i really liked necking. (it was really making out, but i like the word 'necking' so much better. it sounds classier. as if seventh-graders needed to be classy).

my junior year in high school, the band went on a cruise to the bahamas. randomly one day before we left, he asked me if i'd be his date for "formal night" on the cruise. of COURSE i said yes. i don't really remember much about formal night, but i do remember being really excited before it, and the dreamlike feeling that surrounded it. the next day we spent the entire day on cocoa key together (him refusing to put on sunscreen and then getting burnt PURPLE) and were inseparable for about a week. then he left for college.

my senior year in high school, i received a letter. it was one of the nicest, most wonderful letters i'd ever gotten. i forgave, and again we were together. that was the first time i'd ever woken up next to anyone, and the feeling was indescribably wonderful. time went on and things were wonderful, then okay for a while, then started to slide downhill. thirteen months later, we fell apart...it was a difficult time for both of us~i was in athens in college and lonely, and he was in carrollton, unsure of what he wanted from life.

january of my sophomore year in college, we took the plunge yet again. (are you sensing a pattern here yet?) that time was the best so far, and he moved to athens in the fall. i spent that first year and a half in a state of bliss--but i failed to see that he was becoming withdrawn, quiet, depressed. he moved back to carrollton, and i was devastated. i struggled to forgive him and not panic, he struggled with not wanting a family but still loving me...three and a half years after that january, he said he didn't want a family. which automatically precluded having me. we couldn't let go, though, and were on and off for about another year. finally, i broke. i couldn't do it anymore. couldn't see him, couldn't be with him, couldn't speak to him. i needed the separation in order to not lose myself. i needed it to be able to let go and move on and figure out what the hell i wanted from my life. i struggled with thinking it had all been for nothing, struggled with letting go. eventually, i was down to breaking down only a couple times a month instead of a couple times a day. finally, i could go through whole days without thinking about it or him. i threw myself into my life--my friends, my work, my fun, and my school. i tried to date again.

then i got a text message that, though i didn't know it at the time, would be life-changing. he wanted to talk. i decided i could probably get through the conversation. i steeled myself, thinking, "i won't take him back." (yeah, i was a little conceited, sure that was what he wanted).

that tuesday night, february 19th, he came over. i was nervous; i kept my distance. he was on one end of the couch, i was on the other. i could see him gathering his will, thinking of how he wanted to start. he began, and talked, and talked and talked. two hours of the talking. this from the man who didn't talk much, didn't share himself, who possessed an impenetrable wall he'd spent years building up. i was stunned. utterly shocked. you see, the things that he said were things that, even after being friends with him and dating off and on for nine years, i'd never known. i could see the wall crumbling down, stone by stone, and the effort it was taking for him to do it. my heart went out to him. i wanted to hug him, wanted to make it easier for him. but i didn't know where he was going with it and so, wary, i stayed on my end of the couch.

the things he said explained a lot, and the background information filled in a lot of gaps and i finally understood, mostly, why he was the way he was. but the change in outlook, the things he now believed were important, the things he wanted out of life...they were things that, had they been choreographed, couldn't have been better suited to make me reconsider my adamant self warning. could i go another round? did i even want to? most of all, could i really believe him if i wanted to? i wasn't sure. i cried on his chest for a while, hugging him tightly. finally, i looked up and asked, "so what now?"

he shrugged. i was all, "well, what did you picture happening?"

he shrugged again, and made motions with his fingers that suggested he thought i'd be like, "okay, that's nice, see you around sometime." like i'd make him leave.

i thought about it. thought hard. wondered if i had it in me to give it a go. wondered if i should give him the benefit of the doubt yet again. considered whether it would be worth it even if we failed. thought that it might be worth it just to know what being a team, with his full participation, would be like. considered the fact that never, ever, had he shared that much of himself with anyone. ANYONE. i think that was what finally convinced me.

i took the plunge, told him we could try. again. and strangely, this time, it felt like i wasn't falling off the cliff alone. finally.

i still can't believe it sometimes, and it's been five months (has it really been five months? this pure bliss, it feels like it's been days, maybe weeks, but months? nah...) i look at him next to me in the car, and i pinch myself. i smile at him across the table, and his answering smile makes my heart thud. i ask a question, and his answer is in-depth, with a tone of voice that suggests no resentment for the question being asked. he doesn't guard his privacy like i'm trying to invade it...i think that was and is the biggest shock. in a good way. things that we do are OUR decisions now--we work as a team instead of at cross-purposes, we plan together. in short, i've got his back. and he has mine. and that is the greatest feeling in the world.

andrew caleb stephens, i love you.

In Memory

My Mimi
Helen Virginia Braswell Findley
June 9, 1925 - May 5, 2008

The whole transplant thing

I think for much of my life I ignored the fact that my mom was really sick. Part of that was my optimism (or unwillingness to face reality), and part of it, I’m sure, was because she always played it down, refusing to talk about it unless something was going on with it. She didn’t like for anyone to go to the kidney doctor with her; didn’t like to talk about how the appointments went, and if we asked she’d always say, “It’s fine.”

Then in August of 2005 none of us could pretend anymore. Her kidney function had been dropping slowly but steadily for a while, and the doctor said it was time to start the process to get her on the transplant list. She was at 14 percent kidney function then. She went through all the tests at Emory and got on the list. During this time, I vividly remember confronting the fact that my mother was mortal and that she had a serious, life shortening (potentially life threatening) disease and that even if she got a transplant she could die in the OR. Finally facing the fact that this was real and that she wouldn’t just keep trucking along was a painful, scary process, at least for me. I wasn’t ready to give my mother up. I still needed her around. And I’d always known that most likely my parents would die before me but knowing it and realizing it are two totally different things. I spent many nights crumpled on Caleb’s chest, crying.

Eventually, the immediate panic wore off and it was more of an underlying dread. I had time to adjust to the fact that she’d most likely get a transplant and that the surgery, although possibly life threatening, had MUCH more of a chance of making her better than anything else. So I was excited and hopeful (and very tired of waiting for a donor). Months went by. Then we passed the year mark. In retrospect, I feel like we as a family should have explored the possibility of living donors who weren’t relatives. However, I think Mom would have gotten mad at us had we just sent out random letters or e-mails to friends and family asking them to get tested. If she has to get another transplant down the road (which is pretty likely, actually), I am TOTALLY going to ask friends/family if they want to get tested whether she wants me to or not. Anyway, back to the relevant discussion. At the year mark, I think we all started to get a little worried. They had said 8 to 9 months…and it had been longer. And her kidney function was hovering dangerously near 10% (that’s when they start considering dialysis, and people who have ever been on dialysis don’t do as well with transplants as those who haven’t).

November 2006. Still no word of a transplant. Her nephrologist scheduled a dialysis workup appointment for the Monday after thanksgiving day. The news of that was a huge blow to me—I can only imagine how Mom must have felt. All that waiting, kidneys hanging in there, and now with no transplant, having to consider dialysis and possibly decrease her chances of getting a successful transplant.

I must say, transplant and kidney stuff aside, this particular month was one of the most stressful of my life. I was about a month from graduating college, had no motivation due to all the turmoil in my life due to relationship worries and stress from school, and was borderline behind on schoolwork. I went home over thanksgiving with the intention of catching up. But of course I procrastinated the first day (Tuesday), because I’d just gotten home that evening! So Wednesday I was at Harry T’s in Carrollton getting my oil changed and car washed. My phone rang, and it was Amie. She almost never calls me from her cell so I answered it. She asked where I was and I told her. Recognizing that something was off (she sounded REALLY strained) I asked what was wrong and she said Emory had called and said Mom might have to come up there that night. I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. Feelings washed over me in rapid succession: relief, crazy screaming tearful joy, stark terror…I wanted to vomit. I told Harry’s people not to wash the car, just finish the oil and hurry. And I left. I got home (Mom was at David and Amie’s house—we were all going to have dinner there that night and she’d gone down early to help cook and help with Jenny). Daddy was asleep since he’d worked the night before. I decided not to wake him up in case it was a false alarm. (I did, however, sneak into his room and put the cordless phone RIGHT NEXT TO HIS FACE--you know, just in case). Then I called Mom and asked if she wanted me to pack a bag or anything just in case (meanwhile detachedly thinking, wow, we should have already done this—we knew it was coming and didn’t know when, like a baby, and you pack bags when you’re about to give birth…why the hell didn’t we??) and she said yeah so I packed a bunch of shit in a hurry and drove to Temple (David and Amie’s house) to wait with them. On the way there, I laughed, I cried, I prayed—and then I realized that if I prayed for her to get a kidney I was most likely praying for someone else to die. That made me stop in my tracks. I immediately stopped praying for her to get a kidney and instead prayed for God (assuming he’s up there listening) to do whatever he needed to do, but I was not going to pray for someone else to die.

Over the course of the afternoon/evening, Mom and Amie and I cooked dinner, Emory called to get height/weight/other info, we ate dinner, they called again just to say they didn’t know yet, Mom didn’t eat in case she had to have surgery, and we waited. Mom got a shower, in case she wouldn’t be able to the next few days. And we waited some more. I didn’t and couldn’t eat much because it all stuck in my throat. I seriously considered puking a couple times. At about 8:30, they called and said, come. We freaked out. It was the night before thanksgiving at 8:30 and we needed to be in downtown Atlanta, and who knew what traffic would be like?? We devised a plan. Mom and I would be in my car, David in his truck. David would lead because he could ride people’s bumpers with flashers on and flash his bright lights and presumably they’d be more intimidated by his truck and get over, out of the way. Halfway there (I told Mom we weren’t going over ninety, but really I think we were around 110 most of the time) the traffic sign showed a traffic jam on I-20. David called and we revised the plan: get on 85 north and let me be in front to weave through cars (carefully, of course) and go that way. We made it in less than an hour. Maybe even 30 minutes, I’m not sure. It’s kind of a blur.

After we’d been there an hour or so, we were told that the surgery wouldn’t be till the next morning and that if Mom wanted to eat she needed to before midnight. By then, Melissa and Derek were there so we (along with David) left to find food while mom got tests and checked in. We brought back McDonalds and all ate crowded in the room. Daddy found someone to work for him for a few days (he wasn’t off that week) and was waiting on them to get to the hospital in Rome and relieve him so he could come back to Atlanta. David left about midnight. Derek left at some point, don’t really remember when. When Daddy finally got there about 2 am, Melissa and I went to her house to sleep for a little while. On the way to her house, Mom called and said they’d postponed surgery and we didn’t need to be back at the hospital till eight or so.

Suddenly, it was five AM and Melissa was shaking me awake. When I woke up enough to realize what was going on, I understood that we needed to leave RIGHT THEN, that they were taking Mom back for prep at about 6:30 and if we didn’t hurry we might not see her before the surgery. We got there at six and sat around with her for a little while. Caleb came and sat with us. Then it was time for her to go be prepped for surgery. Watching them wheel her out and not dissolving into a crumpled sobbing heap on the floor was the single hardest thing I’ve ever done. Daddy went down there with her and the rest of us commenced many hours of waiting. I wanted to fall apart. I am SO GLAD that Caleb was there. To this day I wonder if he knows how much I needed him; couldn’t have done it without his strength.

Finally, they were done and she came back to the room. She was in A LOT of pain. Later we found out the pain was from the catheter, not the surgery, which explained a lot. Unfortunately it took a few days to realize that and by then we were all afraid she wasn’t going to recover well. On top of the fact that the kidney wasn’t working like it should’ve. Those three days were some of the most tense in my life. She didn’t feel any better, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck, the kidney wasn’t working and I could sense that we were all worried and she was giving up mentally. Then her blood sugar was high and I think that was pretty much the straw that broke the camel’s back for her. Somehow, Daddy—whether by force or coercion—MADE her try. Made her walk around the floor, made her try to use the restroom, made her try to eat and drink. Finally around the third day, the kidney started producing, they took the catheter out, she successfully navigated the restroom and began feeling better.

During this time, I didn’t do any schoolwork, of course. But it all turned out ok eventually; I just didn’t get much sleep the next few weeks.

After Mom got home, I thought everything was just great…until I realized she was very quiet and withdrawn and she shook a lot. I didn’t realize how different she felt until she told me one time she liked sleeping the most, because in her dreams she was really herself. I was horribly afraid she’d get depressed or give up, and for a few months I worried about it and she didn’t seem to be herself at all. Then one random Sunday I was at home for family dinner (I can’t believe she still cooked for us all every Sunday feeling like that. But maybe we gave her a sense of normalcy she didn’t feel the rest of the time. We tried to offer help many times because she was shaking so much, but she usually refused and tried her hardest to do it herself) and I looked at her and gasped. She was all, “What is it? A spider?? Where?” and I said, “Mom! You’re not shaking!” Turns out she randomly woke up one day and was herself and wasn’t shaking anymore. It was AWESOME. I didn’t realize how different she was until she was normal again.

Things trucked along for a while, and then suddenly she got CMV (cytomegalovirus). (Well, ok, she’d had a fever for about three weeks so she got labs done and that’s what it was). At the time of the transplant, everyone knew (transplant team, doctors, nurses, and they told us too) that the donor had had it before and Mom hadn’t so she didn’t have any antibodies. They didn’t seem too concerned about it though (she would be on an antiviral for a while after the transplant) so we weren’t either. Apparently, they ALL forgot to start testing for levels of the virus immediately after she went off the antiviral drug and she just hadn’t been tested for it. At all. Until she called them the FOURTH TIME complaining that she’d had a mild fever for 18 days and then for a week it was above 101. THEN they finally decided to make her come in and do labs (just normal labs, they STILL hadn’t realized they hadn’t been testing for CMV and should’ve). They called her and told her to come do more labs the next day to test for CMV because her white blood cell count was up and she had waay to much Rapamune in her system (apparently CMV screws with the liver and it’s ability to metabolize things, like medicine). And not to take Tylenol so as not to do permanent damage to her liver. So she went the next day and they tested for CMV. The nurse called her that afternoon and said she had it, and then went on to say something to the effect of: we should have been testing your CMV levels since you went off the antiviral in May, I can’t figure out why we didn’t. They decided to put her back on the antiviral pill and hope that fixed everything. So far it has. But I am still pretty torqued over the fact that they were completely delinquent in managing a pretty critical part of Mom’s care. CMV can be pretty freaking serious and can cause all sorts of organ damage, and they KNEW the donor had had it and Mom hadn’t and they should have been testing for it. And they (doctors in general) get all huffy when patients/their families ask probing questions or ‘why’ questions or ‘shouldn’t you do ___?’ questions. THIS is why, people. I like the ones that don’t get offended when patients ask lots of questions. I think that’s going to be my criterion for picking doctors from now on. (And don’t worry, I am ALWAYS polite and tactful when I ask—but I still ask). But I digress, again.

So now Mom doesn’t have any trace of CMV in her system, she feels like herself, her cysts have shrunk markedly and she can eat protein again (just not much sugar b/c the prednisone they have her on for anti-rejection is screwing with her ability to process sugar and she’s taking insulin pills, which she hates, but at least at this point it feels like a fair trade-off). All in all, it’s pretty good so far.

I’ve been meaning to post about the whole experience for several reasons…so I won’t forget, to get it off my chest, and just in case people wanted to know. I would like to see my family evolve somewhat such that we’re not all off in our own little hole when it comes to medical issues…and Mom has been the hardest one to crack. Sometimes I wonder how she made it through all these years and especially the transplant essentially alone. She never sought out PKD support groups or wanted to go to the transplant support groups at Emory. Still doesn’t. I told her several times if she ever had any desire to go to one I’d go with her and would be very glad to do it…but I think she just deals with these things differently. If it were me, I’d be seeking out all the people in my boat that I could, just to know what to expect and have people in my life that totally, completely understand in ways that my unaffected friends/family couldn’t. (I accidentally did that with my hearing issues in college, and to this day I have a bond with the Sound Off people…something about shared differences brings people together).

Ok. I’m done. I don’t think I left anything out.

The Dream

I never told you about it, I don’t think. I was about twenty at the time—it was the most poignant, most significant dream I’ve ever had.

I dreamed about William Madoc. He was an adorable blonde child of about two, and we were on vacation—me, him, and you. Will and I were talking (in the typical way of mothers and their children—I was given an understanding of why moms do that—because their child is soooo interesting, sooo beautiful that they could listen to him talk for hours) and you were standing a little off to the side, looking at the horizon. I sensed your inner peace, contentment and happiness. I felt more right, more happy, and more peaceful than I have ever felt in my waking life.

You may think, ok, I was just delusional…and maybe I was. But the point of the dream, I think, was not the life that you and I had or could have had, though that part was not lost on me. It was to make me know, without a shadow of a doubt, that children and family are the single greatest things in life, beyond all our expectations. We expect them to be a hassle, expect them to cause hurt and heartache and just generally be a pain in the ass—and we are afraid of the responsibility of a little life being in our hands. What we fail to realize is the indestructibility and peace of having love and family. I can’t even describe the way I felt about this child, this part of us. It is a love I have never known with or for anyone. It was so strong I woke up knowing with certainty that THIS is the love that all of us should experience in our lives. I didn’t even know that it was possible to love another human being that much. I also realized how much more I could grow to love you throughout our lives. Upon waking, I knew that the meaning of life is not personal gain, power, money, or trying to figure out life and civilization and why they suck so much—they always have and always will and one person can’t change that. If someone constantly worries about those things, it only prevents him or her from enjoying the few things there are to enjoy in life and eventually leaves him/her utterly miserable, cynical, and jaded, with no belief in any of the good that lies in all of us. And most likely, alone and lonely. Sure, there are distractions: our hobbies, our vices, all the self-gratifying things we do in order to not think about the sad state of the world and humans in general. Those are just that—distractions. They don’t solve anything or erase the pain of society. But the point of life, to me, is to love and be loved. Because that is the most rewarding thing that any of us experience in our short time here, it causes no angst, and it makes the world at least a little brighter for at least a few people—those people at least knows that there is an oasis of love, acceptance, and comfort for them to come home to in the midst of all the insanity, injustice, pain, and anger that is human life and civilization. It’s more effective and personally uplifting to brighten up a little corner of the world for the people around you than to stew about the whole of civilization and realize that you cannot affect it at all, thereby becoming small and mean and lonely inside--but incapable of reaching out to anyone anymore.

I know that I can’t make you agree, can’t make you want the same things…but I can at least try to help you understand. You choose your destiny, you choose the ramifications of all your actions and I am not here to judge or change. Only to explain myself, the things I want, and why I want them. And maybe, just maybe, make you see why sometimes I seem flippant or unconcerned with the injustice and sorrow in the world. I see it, and I feel it, and I do what I can. But I don’t let it drive me crazy, or drive me away from others. Because that would be insanity.

In short, I think that morning I awoke with an understanding of what was truly important to me: being able to love and be loved with everything I’ve got in order to make the world a little brighter for everyone whose lives I manage to touch. It’s not taking on the world, but it’s the best I can do with what I’ve got. Loving someone else more than myself, more than my own mother, more than my significant other—even if it was just a dream—made me see what is really, truly important in my life. And made me want to experience that love. Because I KNOW I will be a better person for it. And if that…THAT…was only a dream…well, I want the reality.

memories

heh

ahhhhhh...

i'm sitting in the den, no lights on...just the glow of the christmas tree with a pile of presents underneath. drinking egg nog (i like mayfield better than the soco brand, but soco is all we have at the moment. and no, there's no alcohol in it) and enjoying the christmasy feeling. probably going to bed soon, but for now i like this feeling. i might watch the grinch in a little bit, or maybe garfield christmas.

done with all my shopping, 'cept for one thing for david and one thing for amie. and one more thing for caleb...

proceeding with trepidation.

mama got a transplant. on thanksgiving day! things are going to be rough for a few more days, but i think she's on the mend and the new kidney is working, just maybe not 100 percent yet. excited, and nervous....and really really happy and relieved. melissa and i came home and cleaned her house friday, but there's still so much to do...and i have so much schoolwork. i have faith that it will all work out though, which i can't say i had before, so that's good. life is so beautiful, and so precarious--but all the more beautiful because it's so precarious.

i don't have to work monday; today and tomorrow will be spent cleaning mom's house, getting necessities at wally world, and doing school work.

holy jesus

that test was HORRIBLE. i feel like my brain just had explosive diarrhea and shat everything it ever knew about finite elements (useful or not) onto my test paper. did i mention he DIDN'T HAVE THE TEST DURING CLASS because the HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES WASN'T ENOUGH--WE REALLY NEEDED FOUR HOURS TO TAKE IT. from six to ten on a wednesday night. and he was fucking right. my hand hurts. and i'm still not done with residential load calculations that are due tomorrow at 12:30. sometimes engineering really pisses me off.

will this week never end??

i have another interview friday in stockbridge...i'm a little apprehensive though because the person i'm interviewing with's name is Rahim. i hope i can understand him, what with my crappy hearing abilities.