My eldest left home today.

My eldest child left home today. He is 25 years old and it was time. But I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let him go and make mistakes. I’m not ready for him to have his own troubles. I’m not ready to see him fail or fall. I’m just not ready. I never have been.

No amount of time makes one ready to let their child go , leave the home, and spread their wings.

I lay in bed last night thinking about the first night we spent together in the hospital after his birth , he opened his eyes and he looked over at me , so fragile and helpless but safe . Today he hugged me goodbye , 6 feet 3 tall and yet I still feel his helplessness. He loaded up his car and his room sits empty.

I’m sad. He’s gone.

I wish my eldest every happiness and all the luck on the world but I know he will have his share of troubles and heartbreak ahead of him , as I did. He will make the wrong decisions and choose poorly sometimes, as I also did. I want to protect him from everything but that’s not my place now.

My eldest son left home today and I’m sitting crying as he is excitedly unpacking in his new home.

Parenting has been a challenge, and I have 3 more at home still to raise. The first leaving is brutal and I hope I gave him a good start and guided him in the right direction.

The first born is something special. All the mistakes and adjustments are made , the trailblazer , and experiment, if you like.

I wish you well my son , I love you. Be safe , make good choices. Be happy.

A cup of tea and a hot bath for me , I think. This will take time to sink in.

My children and I play a game daily. I like to call it The Covid 19 Quiz. Each morning we start afresh as if they had never heard the answers before.

Here are the questions in our quiz :

1. Can we have Nutella for breakfast ?

2. Why can’t we have Nutella for breakfast ?

3. Why do we have to get dressed ?

4. Can I have my Kindle ?

5. Why can’t I have my Kindle?

6. Why are we not watching cartoons and are watching the Cincinnati Zoo live instead ?

7. Can we have a snack?

8. Why do I have to do math?

9. What day is it?

10. Can we go to our friends to play?

11. Can they come over here?

12. Why do we have to read a book?

13. Will there be school tomorrow ?

14. Can we have pizza for dinner ?

15. Can we have our Kindles?

16. Why do I have to have a shower?

17. Can I have a snack before bed?

18. Do I have to brush my teeth?

19. Can the dog sleep with me in the top bunk ?

I bet if you are a parent you can relate and play along. This is monotonous and I for one am ready to have them back on play dates already.

It has been just over 2 yearS since I last wrote anything for this blog.

I started writing as a therapeutic outlet after being forced out of my job. I find myself again at the beginning of a new road,  and it only seems fitting that I continue my musings again.
So here is a recap of what I have been up to in the last two years.

The saga of our house remodel continued, we lost our primary contractor due to his ill health and poor management on his part . Luckily,  we reacquainted ourselves with a prior contractor , and he completed our home splendidly! Everything was complete before we left except for the demolition of the 1900 square-foot old house. Like every renovation in modern history (and possibly ancient history) we were over budget and over schedule.

We planned a great adventure To Southeast Asia, Thailand in particular. Managing to save enough money and enough time off work, we took our three youngest children and left for six months. You can read about  our adventure at

http://www.sevenmonthsinsiam.com

Arriving back in the United States was a little bit of a culture shock especially since the COVID-19 virus had appeared in the world. I had visions of sitting in a coffee shop sipping a latte, eating a scone , and waiting for the children to get out from school. Not so fast Arlene, we are shutting the schools.

Back to the agony of homeschooling, whining ,  captive children, evening drinking and Netflix binging days ahead. I couldn’t help but wish that I had stayed in Thailand if only our visa had allowed for such an option.

Thailand, it turns out, is my happiest place on earth. I didn’t believe when I left that I would become so attached to the country ,food , culture and people, and seeing my father most days. My level of stress was 1/10. We spent happy days on the beach, wandering around the markets, playing in the pool, picking up trash with a local organization and generally being a happy family. Now don’t get me wrong, homeschooling was one of the worst experiences of my life with the three children who did not want to participate despite my beautiful organization and classroom.

I also became quite unwell whilst in Thailand after contracting a virus called Chikungunya from a mosquito. This happened after only being in Thailand for about six weeks and although I had my challenges, I still managed to enjoy my time there. My family were incredibly supportive and assisted me when my pains were great, let me rest when I had to, and always cheered me up.

I had to rethink my position as a registered nurse back in the United States as now I have been left with arthritic type joint pain. Making the decision not to return was inevitable , and I handed in my resignation before our return.

My decision to start my own small business stemmed from my love of crafting, design and general creation. As soon as we returned in early March I acquired all of  the licenses and accreditations required to open  a legally owned small business, created a Facebook page and as of April 11 I was live!

Please check out my Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/Arlycrafts

I am hoping to continue writing this blog, sharing silly stories, easy recipes, a laugh or two , and my creations from Arlycrafts.

 

Thank you, to whomever reads this , and may you keep safe in your home.

When I was a child a birthday party was a delight , starting with the handwritten invitation passed out by the birthday boy or girl around the class , or as ancient as may be ,….mailed to your home !!

The day would arrive and your mum had you in the bath, scrubbed you until you were raw , brushed your hair and tied it up tight with a ribbon and your best party frock put on. Frilly socks and shiny shoes.

A present and card were acquired and beautifully wrapped ready for the happy recipient. Your mum dropped you off at the door of the hosts and waved you off saying she’d be back in 3 hours to pick you up.

The front room of their house was decorated with a table full of cake and sausage rolls , sandwiches and jammy dodgers on a crisply ironed tablecloth. Balloons were plentiful and the record player played music we could dance to , appropriate to our age. We knew there would be games like Pass the Parcel or Pin the Tail on the Donkey and best of all , jelly and ice cream!! As much as we could eat.

Our sadness came when the parents arrived to pick us up , exhausted , red faced from jumping around and slipping into a sugar coma from too much sweet indulgence. We had to stand and thank the hosts for having us before walking home and falling happily into bed.

Fast forward 40 years ( wow, I can actually say that now ) and to the modern day child’s parties here in California.

The invite is either a text , Evite or a casual “why don’t you come ?” often with no expectation of an RSVP. Side note : why do people write “RSVP please to …”, I imagine they have no idea that the SVP part means please in French ?

Anyways , the day appears on the google calendar and the kids are told to put on a clean t-shirt and decent looking shoes. A gift card is thrown into a card ,hastily scribbled in the car and a scroll through the texts to get the child’s name spelling correct.

When we arrive at the party it is generally hard to find a parking space within 1/2 a mile of the house as everyone has driven . When we finally do park ,we all walk en masse to the front door only to see a sign that reads that the party is in the yard.

The yard turns out to be a veritable oasis of palm trees , swimming pool and inflatable jumpers. There’s a bbq and platters of salad , chips and dips. Ice chests full of drinks and usually a wink from the hostess that “there’s wine in the fridge for the mommies”. The music is blasting and there are kids running and screaming everywhere. Rented tables and chairs with plastic tablecloths are neatly placed and a few groups of large families are huddled in their cliques.

The parents are expected to stay and make small talk with people they have never met before , who really have no interest in talking to you either, or just stand holding their kids shoes as they run up on the bouncy castle in their grass stained socks for the umpteenth time.

There are no organized games , perhaps a piñata that the older kids get all sweaty from trying too hard. The music is too loud and too mature for 6 year old ears. The adults are getting slowly inebriated and louder.

I count the minutes until I can escape these gatherings. I can talk the hind legs off a donkey but I’m always very uncomfortable at these types of gatherings. I want it to go back to the more innocent time when a children’s party was just that , not an adult party where they have a cake for their kid. Even when it’s a party at a bowling alley or at a park , the parents always stay too. This was such a foreign concept to me when we first moved here.

I am going to have a tea party for my daughter this year with big hats and china tea sets , we will play pass the parcel and musical statues AND I’m going to request that the parents drop their little girls off at my house! Wonder how that’ll play out ?

Oh well , party on.

I was asked today if I was easily offended.

Backstory: Another parent, actually she’s a students grandparent , had made a snide comment about my pre- K daughter and the fact she likes to tuck into her lunchbox before school. This has been an ongoing problem for her and us , and a source of anxiety for me that others keep remarking on it.

Today was the straw that broke the camels back and I snapped at her pretty much to mind her own business. When I took the backpack into the teachers classroom to remove temptation from my daughter ( and escape the judgy eyes of the other parents who witnessed my annoyance ) the teacher asked me if I “was easily offended”.

I had to think long and hard about the answer to that.

I don’t like being criticized, I prefer constructive criticism .

I like my business to be private , unless I choose to share with you.

I am protective of my children , shown in my willingness to challenge anyone who upsets them outside of the family.

I believe that not everything needs to be said publicly. How about pulling someone to the side or even better , how about not saying it at all ?

I think that if we praised each other and offered to help one another , that might make life and the stresses that go with raising children , whilst struggling with anxiety , a little less harsh.

Am I easily offended ? Perhaps I am. I hope that I’m stronger than that.

I AM reactive with a temper of the tiny red headed woman that raised me. Not one of my finer traits but a defensive mechanism that protects me against any ill will sent my way. Reactive is in my blood.

I did go back and apologise for the way I spoke to the older woman but I did not apologise for my comments. I was raised to respect my elders and I wanted to bite my tongue off rather than do it. I’m sure it’s not the first time someone has put her in her place. No doubt we will never speak to each other again but no loss. She was not a positive model in my child’s life.

Easily offended ? I’ll think about it some more.

My latest craft project with the cricut explore and oracal 651 vinyl.

Mornings are such a rush for me and usually I run the kids to school in my sweats with my hair tied up in a rubber band, no make up. This day was different because my beautiful Costa Rican friend who is tall , with mocha colored skin , and looks way younger than her years, had invited me for coffee at 9. I wanted to keep up , at least a little.

I rushed the boys off to school, came back to the house ,put on some decent looking clothes , foundation, blush , lipstick and grabbing a mascara to put on in the car as my time was screaming away from me and I don’t like to be late. I might add , not whilst driving but maybe at a red light ( oops, sorry person behind me honking). I’ve never been great at applying make up , just the basics. I’ll leave the contouring to the teenagers as I wipe lipstick off my teeth.

Well, I get halfway there and I reach out for my mascara. Not on the seat next to me , not on the car floor , not in my purse , I even pulled over to look for it. I glance into the rear view mirror and all I see are these little piggy eyes staring back at me. My eyes are a grey blue and one of my only decent features in a face full of freckles and crooked teeth. I felt the hair in the back of my neck stand up.

What to do? I’m already running late and I can’t run into a drugstore and the fact that I have 4 new mascaras in my bathroom purchased last week gnawing at my decision.

I’m not kidding when I looked around for alternatives ( ladies use lipstick as blush on occasion and other alternates) but all I had was a sharpie marker. Luckily I talked myself down from that one.

I’m not sure that a male reader who doesn’t use cosmetics can relate but it’s like having a five o’clock shadow going to an important interview.

I once saw a photo of a panda without the circles around its eyes likening that to a lass without mascara ! That’s exactly what I felt , bare.

Nothing for it but to pop on the sunglasses and feign a headache thus hiding the small , and getting smaller the more I stared and worried about them , eyes.

I arrived at her door and as she greeted me I saw that SHE HAD NO MAKE UP ON!

Phew. Glasses off , coffee in hand and then inwardly chastising myself for being so vain and worried. I told her and we laughed. She’s a friend not a critic. I should have known that. I did know that. I do know that.

Needless to say ,there is a small make up kit in the glovebox in the car for such future events.

I was in a big box craft store filling my cart with shiny vinyl to create orders to sell. My youngest was with me , she’s 5.

As I was ogling the sparkly colors I got chatting to a lady next to me about making t shirts. She is the leader of a large Girl Scout troop and it is cookie selling season soon. She went on to tell me that she will need to have someone create t shirts for her girls and was asking my advice about shirts and the colors that would look good together.

Just as I was about to give her my details and offer my services,  I hear “ momma I have to poop “ .There is no second chance with this little one so I frantically searched for a way to quickly give my business details ….no pen , phone battery was too low , child needing the potty , ah man.

I looked for her after our bathroom break but alas, she was gone.

That night I sat down and made myself a few hundred business cards and have scattered them throughout all of my purses , cars etc.

Be prepared , indeed.

Give me a box of those thin mints.

Last week I was walking from my car through the campus , where I work , at a large university hospital . It was early in the morning and I passed many student doctors and nurses chattering and excited heading to class , treading where thousands of medical residents, surgeons and faculty had before them over the last 100 years.

They were bright and chippy , obviously thrilled with their choice of career, and seemingly very happy to be starting another new day. White pressed lab coats and shiny stethoscopes around their necks.

It started me thinking about how I was at the other end of my career. Now working only one shift per week and happy to be near retirement at the grand age of 47. I’ve done my time , worked all of the shift patterns, missed holidays with my family , trudged through rain and snow to get to work and crossed the world to work in the USA.

I started my nursing career at a fresh 19 years old in Scotland , after choosing not to attend university, and was apparently as green as it got.

My first shift on the ward the sister told me to give my geriatric patient a suppository. I looked at her, in my highly starched white dress and cap , as if she was speaking a foreign language as she thrust a foil tray with a glove, some lube and a pellet at me. I managed to squeak out “which finger do I use “ to which she replied “ the longest one”.
The swish of the curtains closed behind me and suddenly I was a bonafide nurse.

On another occasion , just a few week later , an elderly lady had fallen and gashed her leg deeply. The sister had the student nurses gather around the bed to watch her clean the wound and bandage it. I was at the foot of the bed when suddenly I saw stars before my eyes and I was losing my hearing , near to fainting.
I gasped “ Sister , I can’t see “to which she replied “come closer then “ as I fell backwards onto the floor.

Despite my obvious wrong choice of career, I continued and managed to get over my fear of deep wounds and poop. Three years later and I was an RGN.

It was a huge change from Scotland to California. The differences in drug names and names of body parts had me blushing right from my first shift ,as well as being expected to come to work in what seemed to be pajamas . I was to give an injection to a patient and she asked me if I was going to give her it “in her fanny” ! I was shocked as that isn’t the name for the derrière in the UK , it’s a naughty word there.

I’ve had some very sad moments during my 28 years , but also a terrific amount of hilarity and nonsense both with my patients and colleagues. Giggling uncontrollably through report, doctors rounds and on break. It sounds bad when the patients around us were sick, but it helped to relieve the daily stress and was a coping mechanism. It was never directly in front of a patient.

I have sat with medical residents on the night shift who were crying because they were so tired , given them words of encouragement and a cup of tea, covered them with a blanket and answered their pages for them. It was a team effort and we certainly were not their hand maidens ,as some of the older doctors treated us.

The psychiatric and confused patients were always an experience. One came into the ER after assaulting a mannequin in a department store yelling  “I need a doctor , even Dr Pepper will do” , another would come in frequently with his tin foil helmet on to stop the voices. I’ve been instructed to put a pillowcase over a patients’ head to move him to another department as he was paranoid and believed there was a ‘hit’ out on him. I’ve looked for chickens under beds in geriatric wards and sang songs with stroke patients that can’t get out a single word but can miraculously sing a whole song.

It has been a privilege to be a nurse, but I’m winding down now, happy to pass the syringe on to the enthusiastic younger nurses.

May they always choose their longest finger and keep a sense of humor.

 

Happy New Year!

My blog writing dipped severely last year as I was rather busy with the littles, remodelling our little farmhouse and I went back to work to help finance the afore mentioned. I also chose the busiest year I’ve had to start a small business with my crafting skills. Do I take on too much for myself? Probably.

So , my small business is called Arlycrafts and I can be found on Facebook , not Snapchat or Instagram, nor on Twitter , because apparently at 47 years old, I’m too old to learn new tricks. Swiping up and down , adding a dogs tongue coming out of my mouth and only using 144 characters to say what I have to is beyond my capabilities. I like photo journaling and describing what I see or feel. A sticker or OMG just doesn’t do it for me.

Back to my small business. I started making hand made wooden signs and embroidered items. Then a Cricut Explore Air came into my life. Game changer. This little sucker can cut paper or vinyl from a design I make on my iPhone then send via Bluetooth to it!! Whaaaat? I still don’t understand how electricity works !!

I’ve been making decals, custom tee shirts and signs for a few months and really enjoying it. My only issue is that I’m a perfectionist and spend way too many hours perfecting the designs and cutting them out. At the prices I charge I’m sure to be making a loss. But…is that really the worst problem to have ? It does bring more than a little anxiety for me , but also a degree of pleasure and fulfilment. I believe it balances itself.

I’m a nomadic crafter. Let me explain. I have a short attention span and get bored easily ,so am always looking for new ideas and crafts. I get really involved in tee shirt production but the following week I’m making candles, then the next week I’m onto glitter covered tumblers. The amount of craft supplies I have is staggering. I am thankful for Amazon prime and Hobby Lobby coupons.

This week I’m back to the glitter tumblers that leave sparkles wherever I go. Even the dog was glistening yesterday and I brushed some off the counter she was standing under, hoping for a titbit. That may have her scratching for a few days, sorry pup.

I believe my therapy is my crafting. Rather that than medication , chemicals or electric shock therapy ( I have witnessed this and it does work , but that’s another long story !)

Call me crazy one more time, and I’ll cover you in mod podge and bedazzle you!!