You wanna know what just happened?? You wanna??? WALLACE READ, LIKE, 10 WORDS OUT OF A BOOK!!! I mean, known context and all, but honest to Christmas he sounded out 10 words and pointed to them on the page! One of them was “rainbow”! “It has a r-r-r- r in it. And a n-n-n en. And a b-b-b b. And ohwwwww. w. double-u. … there it is, Mommy. ‘rainbow’”.

And that nuclear blast you heard 15 minutes ago was my head exploding with pride.

Peeps, he was SOUNDING OUT WORDS.  I was just reading to him as usual and BLAM!  He reads. 

I told a friend that it feels like it did when he took his first steps.  He just knocked me sideways with awesome.  It was like getting hit in the face with the world’s biggest slice of french silk pie.

Wow.   And he’s younger than four and a half.

Wallace, you rock.

I’m all verklempt.  People can be so amazing. 

I have issues with professors and drama goes on regularly.  I think this would surprise no one.  On the other hand, I want to get and hold a job and so I don’t feel comfortable publicly writing anything about my experience.  It’s not nice to diss your bosses, even when they deserve it.  I didn’t talk much about my former job, other than what I did or some non-sr. level drama.  This feels the same.  I’m not Dooce.  I will not Dooce my schooling.

Another reason is that I’ve changed and I think I’ve been afraid that what I write here will be very different in tone than what came before, and I’m not sure I’m at all interesting to read anymore.

Lastly, as those two things converge, I have lost a bit of myself in school.

I’m not the world’s greatest mother right now, although I’m doing what I can and might get worse grades this quarter than last quarter.  I’m less willing this quarter to abandon my family.    I’m also not the world’s greatest wife.  I begrudge every minute that I don’t have to read read read or write write write.  I spout angry tears about every bit of cleaning I have to do, which is petty because at least I’m around to clean.  The Troublemaker works so, so hard to keep us afloat.  It’s petty to be pissy about housework.  At least I’m not making money and seeing it all get flushed down the drain by my unworking spouse.  Hi, Honey!

But, more specifically than I’m simply stretched thin by life, this whole experience is being a lesson for me in priorities and having to make decisions that I do not like making.

This Christmas break I was home and got a FedEx package unexpectedly.  In March of 2008 I signed up on the bone marrow donor registry during their free month (Check it out this year and sign up, by the way).  The folks in charge of the registry sent me a letter notifying me that I was a match on two out of eight necessary areas for someone in need of marrow.  They needed to know, ASAP, if I was available to go on to the next step, but also that I needed to know that going on to the next step meant that if I was a match I would be pre-agreed to go all the way to donation.

My first reaction was “of course!” because that’s what I signed up for, right?  I have a rare blood type and it didn’t surprise me that I’d been contacted.  I’m guessing the pool of folks who can use my marrow is smaller but more desperate.  I looked at the paper, happy that I would be able to help someone out, but before saying yes I called the registry with some questions.

Peeps.  It was no good.  They couldn’t say when I’d need to have testing done.  I’d lose two or three days on testing, two or three days on the procedure, and at least a week or two afterward recouperating.  If we could work even just the base testing so that it happend during a spring break…. but even then… 

My quarters are 10 weeks long.  I had pneumonia again earlier this month (FOUR FOR FOUR FOR PNEUMONIA IN FEBRUARY!  HOORAY DOGBITE!) and I missed one day of classes and two at my offsite practicum.  I’ve already gotten all the nastygrams I care to take as well as terminally behind in schoolwork, and that was three days, not a week and a half.  My school is teaching me more than I have ever learned in my life all put together, and it grants very little quarter.  Some of the professors grant virtually none.  Every day I need to be on my game.  Mondays alone are 10 hours of classes.  Ten hours of learning.

If it was just me?  Fuck it.  Work with the administration, beg, do what you have to do.  That person who needed my marrow, they are someone’s child.  Possibly someone’s parent or sibling.  Almost assuredly someone’s best friend.  I had only a 1 in 12 chance of being a full match, but I’m one of only a small number of folks that can donate to this population.  Who gives a shit about my schooling when we’re talking about someone’s life?  Who gives a shit?  Mondays?  Ten hours? What does that even mean in the face of a life?

But the sacrifices my family has made to get me this far…  The way I’m barely holding on to sanity by my fingernails.  The sheer amount of work it takes to get anything like a passing grade.

They could not tell me when the person would need me.  They couldn’t tell me anything.  It wasn’t something that could be scheduled conveniently or in advance.

I agonized for 24 hours and then realized that the stakes were too high in either direction.  I made the call in favor of the people I love in my house who are suffering having me gone both physically and mentally for long periods of time.  I owe them both everything I have.  They are mine and I am for them and I would be criminally neglegant if I failed out of school, even for as noble a cause as this.

But it is not a “me” decision.  It is the anti-me decision.  Since that day in December, I have felt less like myself and more like someone who does bad things because they are more convenient. 

If you are now aghast and horrified and judge me and feel that all of my angst and worry in the face of someone’s life is unconscionable, you’d be absolutely right.

If you can see how a person’s first responsibility is to their family and the communal sacrifice going on in our house at the moment is something that has to be honored, you’d be absolutely right.

And if you think that by putting myself on the “unavailable” list until I get out of school I have set myself up for some fairly heavy bad karma and deserve everything that is coming to me, I fear you’d be absolutely right.

I made the wrong decision.  Unfortunately, they were both wrong decisions, and I have to look into the eyes of my son who misses me like fire every day. 

It doesn’t make things easy.  Nothing about this experience has been easy.  It’s an investment, but the price is heavy.  My heart is heavy.  And I have no excuse.

Introducing Penelope the Puggle!

That blur at the butt is her tail.  She is ten bundles of puggly joy.

GOOD GIRL, PENNY!

Sorry for being gone so long.  I’ll try and be around a bit more.

xoxo

KP

Let me know if it works.  Let me know what you think!  It’s horrible, but it works.

Hooray!

Speckblog’s Virst eVer Vlog!

W00T!

He needs your help!

Fredd came to Young At Heart from an open admission shelter where he was to be euthanized because of his age. When Fredd arrived to YAH, we were amazed at his wonderful personality and temperament. He was always eager to meet new people, kiss kids that came to pet him, and was just a happy-go-lucky little guy. As Fredd spent more time in his foster home, it became apparent that Fredd was having trouble getting his back end in gear- he would drag his toes and sometimes even have to pull his back end up by dragging it forward with his front end. So Fredd was off to a Neurological consult. MRI results showed that Fredd’s problem was not neurological, but a trauma-induced injury. Two of Fredd’s discs were crushed, putting pressure on Fredd’s spinal cord and causing atrophy beyond the injury site. If we didn’t do something fast, Fredd would lose the use of his back legs completely!

Of course, we agreed to immediate surgery!

After the surgeon operated on Fredd, he told us that Fredd had to have been in excruciating pain. We were shocked and saddened to hear that, because Fredd acted happy and sweet the entire time, never once letting on the level of pain he was actually in. The even sadder part is that vet said that, without a doubt, Fredd’s injury was caused by someone kicking him. For a dog to have been abused to that level and still love people so much is amazing to us, though we witness it again and again. Fredd went through surgery beautifully, and within days had full use of his back legs. It looked like Fredd was in the clear!

Last week, however, Fredd had a setback, and had to undergo a second surgery. The bone that had started to die off in Fredd’s backbone before his initial surgery had caused an infection in his spinal cord post-surgery, re-paralyzing Fredd’s back legs. Fredd underwent surgery as second time to remove the infected tissue and to stop a small bleed. He is now in recovery, and we hope after his follow-up appointment on November 7th, he can being his water therapy to regain the strength in his back legs. Fredd may never walk like a “normal” dog again, but he will now be pain-free and able to live day to day without suffering. He’s not out of the woods yet, but now he has every chance to live a life of comfort.

Young At Heart has spent over $4500 getting Fredd back on the road to being pain-free, and we could really use your help! We are currently in the process of applying for grants to help with Fredd’s surgery and therapy costs, but Fredd could use your support, too! As most of you know, we’ll do anything for the dogs and cats in our care, and the only reason we can do that is because of wonderful supporters like you!

Please consider sponsoring Fredd today. Any amount helps and goes directly to Fredd’s veterinary bills. And we’ll tell Fredd about each and every generous sponsor to give him reason to work even harder on wagging his tail!

To make a donation via e-check, credit or debit card, please click here:

I WANT TO SPONSOR FREDD!

To make a donation via check or money order, please send it to:
 Young at Heart, PO Box 1293, Palatine IL 60078.

If you cannot sponsor Fredd today, please say a prayer, make a wish, and think good thoughts for a speedy recovery for him.

Thank you!

If you have any questions, please email us at info@yahpetrescue.com or call us at 847-529-2025.

On Friday I picked up Wallace from school early.  One of the nice things about school (as much as it is killing me) is the ability to get Wallace early on Thursdays and Fridays.  Not too early, but early enough that he leaves before the rest of his kids.  I think it makes him feel special.  This year has been a good year.

Anyway, rambling, sorry, anyway, I picked him up and he was dawdling, because if there’s anything better than being at school with your friends while your parents look on admiringly, Wallace doesn’t know what it is.  I said to him, chivvying him along for the thousandth time, “Okay, Bubba.  Put your train in the bin.  We have to go.”

One of his very good friends’ head whipped around with an accompanying “crack” and he said, loudly and incredulously, “BUBBLES?”  *crack* *crack* *crack* went the other little heads in the room.

*sigh*

Awkward moment there.  I kind of waved my hand innefectually off to the side and mumbled something while Wallace tried hard not to look embarassed and said, “No, Bubba.  It’s a…. name”.  He doesn’t know what nicknames are yet.

I have called him Bubba from the moment I realized that the name “Chubba” (which it would be hard to argue was not accurate at the time) might have long-lasting effects on his psyche.  He’s Bubba pretty much exclusively at home.  And now his schoolmates know that he’s “Bubba” at home, and since they are all just learning how to make fun of one another in that weird psycho social experiment thing that all of them get into, I’m sure it will come up in class.

The sad thing is that, up until that moment, I called Wallace “Bubba” with zero thought at all, and he responded with as much.  From now on I’m going to be aware of when I call him “Bubba” in public, and he will probably be aware as well.

It’s not the end of the world.  It’s normal and good to be aware of your social setting and social rules.  I went to elementary school with a kid nicknamed “Weasel” for pete’s sake.  He had it rough.  Bubba, if it stops in pre-K, is recoverable.

Still, I think that Bubba is not going to appear at school again.  He’ll always be Wallace there.

Kinda sad.

W: Yes?

TT: Is the water staying in the bath?

 W:…. *cheerfully*  MAYBE!

Did some reading.  Now will study for midterm on Thursday.

Didn’t understand Neurology at all today.  Considering quitting and being professional hermit.

Upon reflection, now wishing to be a professional Kermit.

Wallaceism:

Upon farting:  “I have wheeshed steam out of my BUTT!”