It's Almost Flu Season, Have You Vaccinated?

As is occasionally the case in my role as Ma, yesterday the day wasn't full of fun and adventure.

It was a day spent building up to one of the most dreaded events in a parent's life -- shots.

Let me say up front that I know there are parents who chose not to vaccinate fearing the side effects of vaccines are damaging to their children, or citing religious reasons. We vaccinate because there is no question that polio, small pox, whooping cough and other diseases can kill, scar or cause long term damage. I had measles when I was a child and lost a whole summer to fever dreams and late night trips to the doctor. Everyone makes their own best informed decision, and as long as those unvaccinated children don't get sick and expose my baby who doesn't have full immunity, then I just hope their parents are making the best choice for them.

That's not what this about.

Most kids dread a vaccine of any kind, not because of any possible side effects, but just for the appearance of the needle itself and the fact that the friendly looking nurse sticks it into their body. I can't blame them for that. I just don't look and try to relax. You can't convince a child to do that.

Parents approach the whole vaccine situation with a mixture of reason, bribery, coaxing, and if necessary, force.

Up until recently, E1 has been the world's best kid about vaccines. She laughed at the idea of a needle. Cried if E3 needed a vaccine and she didn't get one. Doctors and nurses were amazed at her ability to watch with fascination and collect her "bam bam" (her word for bandage). She was frequently praised for her bravery. She occasionally says she's going to be a doctor.

Sometime this fall between her two year checkup and a trip to have blood work taken, something went off track. By the time the nurse tried to prick her finger, she was ready to fling herself out a window to get away. Well, maybe not that bad, but it took Mom and nurse to get it done (I had E2 and E3). It didn't help that she emerged from the lab with a bam bam that was not holding up its end of the bargain and blood dripping down her clothes and into the floor.

A trip with all three to get flu shots was not on my highly anticipated to do list. Especially since they'd just spent a fun-filled week at Disney World with their other grandmother -- sometimes I feel like the evil witch in The Wizard of Oz, paired up against a good witch Glenda. (Just a day now and then mind you, and no reflection on their Nanny, it's just how it is.)

The appointment was at the end of the day during a flu clinic, so we had all day to talk up the visit. E1 promised to be brave. She wasn't afraid at all. Papi was going along, which made the whole trip seem more of an adventure. Waiting our turn was full of games, especially since the older two are fascinated by the masks used to control germs. Even going back to the room was no big deal.

Then the nurse told us to go ahead and get their pants down (why do all the pictures on the Internet show babies getting shots in their arms?) and she'd be right back. E1 lost it. She retreated into a corner holding her pants up and crying as she argued with Papi that she just wasn't going to do it. Reasoning and bribery were out the window and coaxing set in.

I pulled down E2's pants and scooped E3 into the right position with her little jeans around her chubby thighs. I think the image of the needle going in hurt me more than the shot actually hurt her. She gave a surprised cry, I popped the pacifier in her mouth and handed her off to Papi and picked up E2. The nearly hysterical crying continued from E1. The 2-year-old likewise took her turn like a trooper. A little crying and she was done.

Then it was time to take on E1. At 4, she can sometimes be reasoned with. "Look, your sisters have already had theirs and they aren't crying," I said. "It's not that bad."

"No," she insisted. "I don't want it."

"Well, you really have no choice." At this point force becomes the only option. I pull her hands off her pants and loosen them, pulling down as she tries to pull up. The nurse says we'll probably have to lay her down and hold her. I ask E1 if she wants to be put down like a baby or sit up like a big girl. She opts for the big girl option but the nurse still asks me to hold her hands to keep her from scratching. Ouch, the little ones really do put up a fight!

The needle goes into the little thigh and E1 stops struggling, she starts laughing again. "That didn't hurt," she proclaims, watching the bandage go on.

Seriously? So what was all this drama?

I help her on with her pants and we collect our things and leave with me inquiring exactly why she had been crying. "I didn't cry when I got a shot," she said. Well, but before. There was no unraveling that piece of yarn. She had not cried when she got the shot, so everything else was out the window and she not only didn't know why, she more or less decided it had not happened.

A couple of stops where they sat in the car and enjoyed a DVD with Papi and we were headed home.

The little princess, however, had exhausted herself with her crying. She had to have a power nap before we were back in the driveway.

Come to think of it. I could have used one, too.

Apple Cider? Don't Try This At Home

Monday morning rolled around with all the high drama and expectations that a week apart could provide. The girls were back, arriving in a whirlwind of forgotten items, stuffed animals, diaper bags and regal requests.

I, however, had an activity already planned that was sure to eat up some of our pre nap time and provide entertainment and sustenance. At least, that was the plan.

Note to self: Juicers are not all they are cracked up to be. Even with the best efforts of one grandmother and two excited children, you could die of thirst before you make enough apple juice for everyone.

But not to give away the story.

Near the house there is an old apple tree. I have no idea what type of apple it might be. Suffice it to say the tree is old and untended with dead branches and undergrowth. It is, however, located on the side of the road where apples fall and land in the ditch, roll onto the pavement, and generally accumulate in a way that attracts an assortment of wildlife. We frequently gather a handful when we pass and eat them while walking. Even the baby, E3, likes to gnaw on one with her few teeth.

I had been lamenting the lack of a cider mill to put all those wonderful apples to use. For a cider mill, I would have been able to gather the juicy fruits, toss them in and emerge with a beverage to enjoy. As it was, I happened to remember a juicer I had not previously put to use. Over the weekend I informed E1, who rode with me to church on Sunday, that we'd make apple juice. It was a much anticipated event, at least on my behalf.

When E3 went to her room for a pre-lunch reset (sometimes she naps and she has a while to collect herself for the afternoon), we managed to get lunch in the oven and grabbed a bucket to collect apples. The apples are organic (around here that means deer apples because they're wormy, but it's all in the marketing), so we filled the bucket with water to take care of unwelcome guests while we ate.

Finally, with lunch out of the way we pulled out the juicer and discovered its most serious flaw. While I didn't think it would accept whole apples, I was dismayed that it would only take really tiny slices. Not to be dissuaded we soon developed a system for juicing.

I sliced the apples and E2, sometimes aided by an overanxious E1, put the slices in the top of the juicer.

E2 took her job seriously and was very good at it. Although occasionally, to the delight of both girls, the whirling blades would send a slice of apple shooting back out the top and ricocheting around the cabinet.

E1 had the job of pushing the slices down once the feeding tube was loaded. While she was willing to infringe on her sister's role, she didn't let her task fall into anyone else's hands.

The problem was not in the process, which they found delightful. It was the product, which despite the super juicy apples, was lacking in quantity. In fact, we had accumulated a large bowl of stems and scraps long before reaching two cups of juice. I decided we had enough to sample and since I was going to need to get rid of the compost, called the experiment to an end.

They didn't mind.

Both enjoyed sampling the fruits of their labors, although had they been thirsty we'd have been lacking. And we still have a bucket of apples -- not for future juicing, but we may enjoy an afternoon snack another day.

Oh, and E3, well, she finally discovered a use for all those corks I've been saving.

What Makes Star Trek So Special?

iThis weekend we watched "Star Trek Into Darkness" after borrowing the unopened DVD from my daughter.

A couple of points to notice. First, we watched a movie on DVD; not in a theater. The first is rare not because we don't have DVDs, but because since the arrival of "The Hopper" we've almost always got something recorded (and during football season even those aren't watched as we're watching live TV on weekends). The second option -- going to a movie -- is rarer still and may happen twice a year or so. Then the DVD was unopened, which means my daughter suffers from the same time constraints I do.

Anyway, back to Star Trek.

After the movie was finished I pointed out to my husband that I found it interesting that a arguably poorly acted television series from our childhood days with no real special effects could still be inspiring remakes and movies nearly 50 years later. I mean, stop and think about it.

In 1966 a television series debuted and ran for three seasons. There were no outstanding special effects and the acting of some of the stars has long been criticized. And yet in the years since the "original" series disappeared there have been nearly constant attempts to recreate and recapture whatever it was that made that show, which wasn't especially long running so apparently not a huge commercial success, so magical.

Even today, odds are good that people recognize James T. Kirk and Spock, the quirky heroes of those early voyages through the stars. Though they may have seen only much newer versions of the series, which most people will say are not as good, William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy, who played the very first version of the duo are well known and terribly typecast into those roles. Seriously, they worked that series for three years and can you think of any other roles (other than remakes) that they have played other than commercials?

There are jokes about the overacting; the fact that seatbelts were apparently a lost technology (oh, come on, in 1966 did we even care what seatbelts were for?); and Kirk's womanizing. None of those jokes are limited to those of us who watched the original series in our formative years. Instead they're spilling across Facebook and spreading to new generations.

I'm a "fan" of a Facebook page that was created by friends of George Takei (called Oh Myyy), who played Sulu, the helmsman on the original series. The page is a humor page, and occasionally that is directed at Star Trek or "trekkie" references.

Beyond the original series, of which there were only 80 episodes and the cancellation of which has been ranked in the top 5 of television bad decisions, Star Trek has lived on. There was a one year animated series and, beginning about 20 years after the original series disappeared from prime time viewing and went into syndication, there have been four more attempts at a TV series based on the original idea. Some were supposed prequels and some further voyages of starships whose staffing and mission was much like the original. There have also been 12 feature films, half of which were cast with the original crew, four from another series' cast, and more recently with actors portraying the same characters (Kirk, Spock and the gang) at an earlier point in their lives.

But enough history. Beyond it all I'm still fascinated by the fact that a TV series from my youth, which I probably actually watched in syndication since I was about E1's age when it started its run, is still such a part of our entertainment lingo. Sure, there are other shows that live on and many of them may be easier to find airing somewhere at any given time. But I think it would be difficult if not impossible to find another that still inspires the imaginations of writers, directors and viewers the way Star Trek does.

Perhaps it was the vision of its creator, Gene Roddenberry, who simply turned the then popular idea of westerns and wagon trains into its futuristic application of a journey into the unknown of the stars. That idea somehow still captures our imagination and appears to be at the heart of all of the attempts at a recreation of the original series. Perhaps, however, there was more to the series than a random scifi adventure.

After watching the latest installment with all its special effects and its much improved acting, I think what really lies at the heart of the series isn't the space journey at all -- although that gives it a twist that makes it ever changing and different. It's actually about a group of people who are racially diverse (and in some versions species diverse) who work together for the success and survival of them all and a pair of best friends who within their visions of what is right will do virtually anything for one another.

That, in essence is what really attracts us, that commitment within a small group of people and that friendship that we'd all like to have, whatever our character flaws may be. And whether or not we ever dream of going where no man has gone before.

Seeking Freedom from Too Much

Things can have a terrible power in our lives. Acquiring them, taking care of them, holding on to them, worrying about them can become consuming. It can turn us into people who seem shallow, or it can become an obsession that takes over our lives.

If you've ever tuned into one of the shows about hoarding, it's easy to see how completely things can wreck a person's life. Those people who typically suffer from an obsessive compulsive disorder, or who are compensating for some loss in their lives, may be extreme collectors, compulsive shoppers, or people who hang onto everything -- even items that have no value. Using things to fill their lives drives away family and friends, leaves them in debt, and sometimes forces them from their homes.

The ways that things wreck the lives of healthy people are more subtle. We have to buy the latest fashions, the "in" bags, the latest tech gadgets, or a new car on a regular basis. Keeping up with which of these things we "need," finding the money to buy them, keeping them safe and paying for them can be almost as overwhelming as the things that take over a hoarder's life. The fact that we don't make our homes unlivable (usually) or wind up on the streets doesn't make the things a lot less powerful.

Or we hold on to the treasures or our past -- toys we played with as children, items from the homes of our grandparents or parents, souvenirs from past vacations. We feel like those items keep the past alive or help us hold on to loved ones who live only in our memories. They are things to be looked at and protected, no matter if their intrinsic value is lost in doing so. They are time capsules of the past littering our lives.

While most people see a house fire as a tragedy, I've occasionally reflected that if a person had their pets, and kept their insurance paid, it might be a blessing.

Although I don't want my home to burn, I have imagined the freedom of starting over free from all the things I've accumulated over a lifetime. Like anyone else, I have my treasures, the antique dolls, the knick knacks, the crocheted afghans, even the old shoes and sweaters; and the newer things like my boots (I love boots), my favorite jeans, the air sleep system, the DVDs and the big screen TV.

When it comes down to it, however, if there were no lives lost, I could do without the things I could not replace. What makes old toys and handed down treasures special isn't the items themselves, but the attached memories, and losing those items would not take the memories away. The only treasure I'd really hate to give up would be the photo albums because those literal snapshots of treasured memories would be irreplaceable, although I could go on without them.

Not long ago I had a discussion with someone who held the other point of view. I said if I could sell most of my old treasures, I would do so. He pointed out he felt the money would quickly be gone and he would have neither money or treasure and that he would hold on to the things he had.

I'm not sure which view is more materialistic. Mine which reduces a lot of memories to money to be reused, or his that simply hangs on to the memory. I do know that my view would leave me with less to drag around.

Instead I've tried to strike a balance between the two. While I'm not selling all of my old toys, I've begun to turn them over to a pair of eager preschoolers, not whincing when they pull the paper finish off the sides of a wooden train or drag an old stuffed toy around lovingly. They're having fun and the memories of those new good times are much more valuable than anything I might recall from the past. Instead of sitting the old toys on a shelf to collect dust (which is where they were until recently), I've surrendered them to the tender mercies of the children who are likely to love them to death. If will be a good way to go.

I do not need the things to hold onto the memories, and instead I hope the things can make new memories for me and the little ones into whose hands they fall. It will be a gradual transition and if we stumble across an item that seems to have a high value, we may sell it instead and trade it for new things to enjoy.

My goal is not to leave my children or grandchildren with a lot of things to burden their lives. I'd prefer the freedom of carrying all I need in a backpack or dragging it along in a suitcase to leaving buildings crammed full of stuff for my children and grandchildren to filter through. Instead I hope there will be only things they remember for a reason, and that they will be handed down or worn out before I'm gone.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

No matter what I tell people I do there's a good chance they'll think it's awesome. Maybe not because of what I do, exactly, but because of how they imagine it. Or because they think working for yourself means you have the easiest job in the world, no matter what you do.

Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but I'd like to set the record straight.

Working for yourself is no picnic. In fact, my boss is awful. She never gives me a day off, although I may get to start work an hour late on weekends. There are no sick days unless I'm unable to get out of bed and then, well, never mind, there are no sick days. Vacations, well, that's only if there is no work -- can't be assigning your duties to someone else. No holidays. No sympathy. No praise. Just get the job done.

The trade off is my wardrobe is whatever the heck I feel like wearing a lot of the time. I have been known to go out and meet a morning drop off in my pajamas, but only if they are regulars who won't think less of me for it. I do try to put on a clean outfit occasionally, but most mornings my wardrobe has been previously worn because dogs in the morning aren't necessarily really clean. They're so happy to see you and careless about where they put their feet. Makeup is not required, nor a spiffy hairdo, because dogs require no impressing and people who want you to take care of their dogs aren't looking for madam professional. Comfort and ease of cleanup are the rules.

Then there are the people who are just enamored by the fact that you take care of dogs. Wow! That sounds like so much fun. It's like having 20 dogs of your own! All that love and petting. You get to walk them and play with them. Awesome!

And all that is true, but it's like running a daycare with children who don't wear diapers and aren't potty trained. They are jealous for my attention. Some don't play well with others. Some are ok as long as they don't get too excited. Some just want to be held. Some are eager to pick a fight and show who's boss. A walk can be a smooth trip down the road, or it can be a literal trip. Lots of dogs don't know how to get along with other dogs or walk in a straight line.

Then there's the part you don't think about. Once in a while a dog gets a little stressed. When he or she does, the frequent result is diarrhea...in a closed area... Yep, cleanup and a good airing out for the kennel as well as apologies to everyone who had to smell it. And maybe a bath for the dog. And me.

Even when they go where they should, there's a lot of pooh to be picked up and disposed of on a regular basis. My shoes suffer a great deal and Crocs or knockoffs are the best, most washable option.

And that's just my regular job.

There's also the joy of keeping my three granddaughters, which I would not trade for anything. But the experience of being a "when I want them" grandma, versus a "when the parents are working" ma is two different things.

When you think about getting to spend a lot of time with your grandchildren (or even your children), it can be enveloped in a rosy haze of love and sweetness. There's baking and flowers and playing on the swings and reading.

And there may be all of that, but it's after dealing with part A of my day, so I may be tired. And they aren't always in the best of moods. And I do have to say no -- a lot. Because just like the dogs there is jealousy, getting too excited or tired, and poop in inappropriate places. If we all end the day on a positive note with good memories (and I know my memories will last longer than theirs) then it's been a good day.

Sometimes I don't quite achieve that and feel like a miserable failure. But there's always the next day to try and get it right.

So before you envy me my "stay at home grandma, dog lover" jobs, think about walking a mile in my shoes.

I was up at 7 a.m. Sunday cleaning up dog poop? What were you doing?

A Vacation Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be

When the family of the little people began planning a trip to Disney World way back in the spring, I thought I'd do a getaway, too. I haven't been to the beach in heaven knows how long and thought it would be awesome to go for a day or two; a visit to Asheville to see my in-laws would also be a nice alternative.

Of course, getting away from home hinged on not being busy at my other full time job, and it didn't work out that way. Not only did I have an extra three dogs from the family, I had seven paying guests the first weekend and I think I've got twice that many for this weekend. Going during the week was out unless I wanted to go alone, so I began to work on a homework list.

It was a pretty impressive list.

I remodeled my kitchen and redid the living room in the spring during the weeks after E3 arrived while I was baby free due to Momma on maternity leave but I didn't get around to staining the large book shelf in the kitchen; a smaller built in shelf in the living room needed painting to go from walnut to white to match the new wood trim. I also had replacement windows installed years ago that I had finally figured out how to trim and a stack of molding to do it with. And that was just inside. Outside there were trees to trim, weeds that had grown out of control all summer while I sat inside with a baby, a fence to build for my chickens to have more grazing room, and there are always things to dig and transplant if the weather is right.

Like I said, it was an impressive list.

It still is, although last night I did manage to paint the shelf in the living room and today I managed to reorganize all the DVDs and put them back on the shelf.

Yep, that's it as far as my to-do list.

Instead, although I've bemoaned how little I accomplished, I've had me time. I had my weekly fitness fix on Monday night; went ziplining on Tuesday; attended the Dixie Classic Fair and enjoyed Brandisa, a contemporary gospel concert, with my soul sister on Wednesday; took food to the food pantry and painted the shelf on Thursday; and today I've spent minding the dogs that have flocked into the kennel as owners have raced out of town to enjoy the beautiful weekend.

I realized that even though the little people aren't here, I've become accustomed to a lot of my life on their schedule, which means it's hard to change my way of thinking on a week day at least in a long term way. While I might do one busy day, I'm used to being available for them and making my schedule adjust to theirs and I'm ok with that.

In fact, I'm eager to slide back into our regular routine and get back to life as I normally know it.

But most importantly, I'm ready to see the three Es and their mom and dad again. I'm ready to send three little dogs home to the people they really like. I'm ready to stop running by and picking up the mail, feeding the fish, cat and guinea pig, and cleaning out the litter box.

I'm ready to see big blue eyes and wild curly hair in person, instead of in a gazillion Enchanted Kingdom photographs. I'm ready to hear the happy scream of "Ma!" when they roll up in the driveway, ready to tear the house apart and rampage around the yard; or color quietly and practice their letter and reading skills. I'm ready to feel small hands in mine, help with shoes, wipe butts, change diapers, kiss chubby round cheeks, argue over meals, break up fights, take walks, talk about why the leaves are changing colors, and everything else that makes up our day to day routine.

When my daughter said they had finally escaped Florida, it was the first step on the long journey home. Now I'm waiting for the call, or after midnight text, that says they've finally arrived.

It's been a nice break, but I'm more than ready for it to be over.

Flying without a Net -- Ziplining

The older we get the more we tend to accept our limits, often self imposed. We may think we can't do something because we never have, or because we failed at some other point in our lives, or that we are "getting too old."

If there's anything I hate it's when someone my age or younger uses age as an excuse for anything. (Sorry, this may turn into a tangent rant.) I was at a birthday party not too long ago talking with a woman I didn't know who was commenting on her inability to run and keep up with her little girl (a child who needed more running) who commented to the hostess that she'd understand when she reached her age, which she revealed to be 44. The hostess is actually only two years younger (although she doesn't look it) and I'm a good bit older. I could have easily kept up with the child and do keep up with three smaller and more active on an almost daily basis. Of course, I also wasn't standing there smoking a cigarette and feeding cake to my muffin top.

I've also seen Facebook posts by people I went to school with complaining about how hard it is to do something at their age....Whoa, I want to scream. It ain't the mileage, it's the maintenance! I'm in better shape now than I was 20 years ago, wear smaller clothes, etc. I just wish I'd realized how important the right kind of diet and exercise were when I was a bit younger. End of rant.

But back on topic, when we fall into that can't do it rut, it usually takes a friend or loved one to pull or prod us out. Then we go in a group and conquer whatever that hurdle may be.

Well once I started seeing pictures of people ziplining through the trees I knew it was something I wanted to do. My lack of friends with a schedule anywhere close to mine meant I generally didn't have anyone to go with. While my husband and frequent partner in whatever comes along was willing, our weekends are generally slammed.

This week with babies away in Florida and time on my hands, I decided to take to the trees on my own. I was spurred by one of those school discount cards that I bought as a favor to a friend of my daughter's whom I see regularly at birthday parties and events. One of the featured discounts was $30 off of the price of an adult's ziplining experience at Carolina Ziplines Canopy Tours. The original price might have been daunting, but with the discount and the fact that mapping the trip meant I only had to drive about 30 minutes each way, I was game. I called and made a reservation.

Over the weekend I talked to a couple of friends about going. One was game, but didn't fit her schedule. The other wasn't sure she would be up to it. Ok, I figured I'd just have my experience with a bunch of strangers, no biggie.

I left home well in advance of when I needed to arrive, just in case I missed a turn. I did wonder what would happen if I got there and completely chickened out, but then I tucked that thought away. When I arrived it was a rather nonchalant building tucked into the edge of a wooded area. Goats grazed in a field nearby. I went inside to learn that I was getting a solo tour as no one else had been able to make my day/time. Just me and two guides off to the trees.

Soon I was harnessed and helmeted, wearing a pair of way too big gloves and hiking into the woods. During the cooler months of the year I frequently spend time in the woods, so other than the harness and helmet, which were surprising comfortable, nothing unusual. We even had a pair of dogs along to make me feel at home.

We climbed a short flight of stairs to a wooden platform and the guides decided who was tossing and who was catching -- sounds way more ominous than it is -- then sent me across my first short, low line. Two hooks secured me to the line, one on the braking mechanism, for use on lines that drop a great deal, and the second over the brake and the line. For braking lines the right hand is on the brake much like a foot on a scooter brake and the left holds the securing line; non-braking lines both hands are on the line. No problem. The catcher goes first, the tosser hooks you up and advises on the best method for leaving the platform, then follows. After the first line we walked a swinging bridge (they called it a sobriety check) then took another line for practice.

Then we took to the trees. It was an absolute blast. Sometimes we climbed steps to reach a platform and others we landed on one swinging from the branches above, then launched to another. At each line they would advise me on braking or not and where I might get a visual cue to brake. The catcher also held up his hand to remind me of braking, or, if it was a braking line, I was free to slow down and look around or even stop if I wanted on some. I was warned not to brake on other lines or I could get stopped mid point -- with the wind I almost didn't make it across one line to the next platform, even with no braking.

There were stairs, swinging bridges, and swaying platforms and occasionally a little hiking. The dogs followed us back down the ridge on their own paths. Finally we came to highest platform of the trip. The landing stage was across a field and hardly visible.

Because I was touring alone I had no one to take my picture but asked the guide to do a few. He caught one before I left the highest platform. He also snapped a few as we did the next to the last run, which has dual cables. But since I was unwilling to risk my best camera, they weren't all as good as they could have been.

All too soon we were sailing over the goats and coming in for a landing on a small ramp near the parking area. The trip through the trees was over after about an hour. With just me, it could have been shorter had we chatted less, but it gave me a chance to enjoy the upper level scenery; with more people, it would take longer.

Now I just want to do it again. Higher. And I've already been on line looking for more locations. For a longer trip I'll make sure to take my partner along. So look out Asheville! Oh, and there's the simmering idea of taking the girls back to Carolina Ziplines. They do ages 3 and up.