The End of an Era…

Right now, I am waiting for my grandson. He is thirteen. I have asked him to help me with a project this morning, and he was kind enough to say he would.

Eight years ago, my then daughter-in-law and I started on a grand adventure: we set up our own booth in an antiques store. On what was definitely the hottest day of the year, in that July, we rented a moving van and loaded it with everything we had gathered for our first retail venture.

The shop was on Main Street, in a nearby town. We chose that location because the town is known for its murals, ambience, and antiques’ shops. We wanted to be where the action was. And we were.

In the basement.

The building that the shop occupies started life as a bank, and our “booth” was a records vault in the basement. With the moving van parked in the alley, we trekked up and down the stairs more times than I can count.

The stairs were narrow, with a low bulkhead, and a 180 degree turn to be maneuvered. Carrying bulky, heavy furniture pieces was a challenge. And we met it head on. We had been worried that we would not have enough “stuff” to fill the room. As the day wore on, we worried that we would not have room for everything that we had loaded on the truck.

A few hours of heavy lifting and grunt work was followed by hours of decorating, and making everything look just right. There were sales tags to attach, inventory logs to fill out, and “smalls” to arrange.

Hot, tired and dirty, we pronounced ourselves “open for business” by about 4 in the afternoon. And thus began one of the nicest journeys of my adult life. I met so many wonderful people while I was “in the business” and learned so much about antiques, especially china and furniture styles. More than that, I learned a lot about myself and my daughter-in-law, who has

become one of my best friends.

One of the things I learned about myself is that I am not a good businesswoman. True, I do know the basic tenet: “buy low and sell high” but I have a problem with that. If someone wanted something I was selling and couldn’t afford my price, I would always lower my price. If they still couldn’t afford it, I lowered my price even more. Sometimes, I even gave something to someone who wanted it and couldn’t afford it.

My other problem was remembering to sell things at all. I would go to garage sales, or junk stores, and buy things, take them home and fix them, paint them, and decorate them. And then, I would decide that I liked them too much to sell them!

About three years ago, I took a good look at my home and all the clutter and decided I had had enough. I called a friend who has his own shop, and asked him to come over and bring his 30-foot trailer. I sold the things I didn’t want to keep for “wholesale” prices. I helped him load that trailer and it was full when he left.

My CPA told me that, if I didn’t start making a profit, the IRS would probably audit me, and so I closed the business. I put the last of the “I don’t know why I bought this” stuff in storage.

And there it has sat for three years. Today, my grandson and I will haul it, one load at a time, to Goodwill. And all I will have left of my great adventure will be the good memories. I won’t be paying the monthly storage rental any longer. Somebody, somewhere will have something they need and want. And my grandson will be twenty dollars’ richer.

Not a bad deal, all the way around.

Save Home Health Care....

I promised myself that I would not get into this mess, but here I am. I went to our monthly staff meeting today and this was one of the topics. I have to share it with you.

One of the things we all have to remember about health care reform is that it is not going to be free. Just putting together the programs and writing the laws and getting the information out will cost millions of dollars.

Well, guess where that money is going to come from? Huge cuts in Medicare B. For reference: Medicare Part A covers hospitalization expenses; Medicare Part B covers outpatient therapy, physician’s office visits, and home health benefits; and Medicare Part D is their prescription medication plan.

As I see it, home health care bridges the gap between inpatient services and outpatient services. Patients who are not considered sick enough to remain in the hospital are sent to a lower level of care: a sub-acute facility, skilled nursing facility, or perhaps home with home health nursing care.

Per Medicare regulations, those patients treated in the home setting must be essentially homebound, which precludes being transported to outpatient facilities. And so, home health nurses, and therapy staff, go to the home to provide interim care and teaching.

Around the year 2000, Medicare implemented their assessment tool: OASIS, which provides answers to very specific questions. Those answers are weighted and determine the skilled need required and thus, the reimbursement that Medicare will make.

In my agency, we have been mandated to follow those Medicare guidelines as strictly as possible. Sometimes the need of the patient requires more visits than Medicare will reimburse, but we have been encouraged to consider that fact, and then make the visits anyway, if they are needed.

If those cuts in Medicare Part B come to fruition, the patients we serve may no longer have access to skilled nursing care. Many of the major health insurance companies look to Medicare: if Medicare won’t reimburse for something, neither will the insurance companies.

Already, one of the Blues has decided that “after care” following hospitalization for major surgery is the sole responsibility of the surgeon. Home health benefits for post-op care in the home health realm have been denied. Patients who would have benefitted from wound assessments by a registered nurse, wound care instructions, and medication management teaching are doing without.

If you think that this is not the appropriate way to finance health care reform, please feel free to go to this website (wecansavehomehealth.org) and sign the petition:

http://www.wecansavehomehealth.org/

You will be asked to fill in your name, address, phone number and email address. And click on the “I oppose Congress’ proposed Medicare home health cuts” submit button.

The goal is one million signatures. After you submit your petition, the “Virtual Lobbyist” will submit your petition directly to your Congressman.

A Simple Gift...

As I walked out into the kitchen this morning, I was greeted by last night’s supper dishes. Ever loyal, they will wait for me until the end of time, if I let them. It was just another reminder that the weekend is too short and the work week is too long.

At least, that is the way I was thinking this morning.

I always seem to have more things to do than time to do them. As I told a friend yesterday: when I go to bed at night, the list of things that I did not accomplish during the day is long and distinguished…

And so, this morning started out with things undone. I got to work and there was more to do. Little “love notes” in my mailbox: things to finish doing, or redo. Documentation has to be correct before it is sent to Medicare, and so I corrected it.

I needed to call my patients and schedule today’s visits, but the phone just kept ringing. Patients with questions, physicians with orders, other nurses with questions, too. One patient who is still a little “foggy” after open heart surgery, called me three times. Understandable though, he had three questions.

When I finally got out of the office, got the supplies and charts loaded into my car, and got on the road, it was getting late. I wanted to see the patients who needed lab work done first. I like to have their blood specimens into the lab before noon. And it was going to be close.

John Denver was singing to me, telling me how sunshine makes him happy, and I was wishing it would do the same for me. I wasn’t unhappy, really, just feeling rushed and a little stressed.

And then something quite ordinary happened. As I was stopped—at a green light—waiting to make a left turn, a pregnant woman and two small children were crossing the street. I was waiting for them to get across the street safely before turning. Even though I had a lot to accomplish, I was not at all “put out” by having to wait for her.

As she walked in front of my car, her arms outstretched as she held on to wayward toddlers, she looked at me and flashed a beautiful smile. Her dark brown eyes danced with kindness as she looked at me. I had no choice: I returned her smile.

Funny thing, the smile she evoked in me lasted all day. The hurry was gone, the stress was over, and I went about my day’s work calmly, sharing her smile with everyone I saw.

Smiles can do that, you know.

Charlie...

I like that name. I like the way it sounds and I like the feelings it evokes in me. I had a Grandpa Charlie when I was little. He and I had adventures together when I was very little, and he taught me to be fearless…..on the slide, anyway.

The Charlie I am thinking about right now is my Baby Brother. He is the Charlie who has been in my life the longest. And, lucky for me, he has always been my brother. In the best sense of the word. He is someone I can count on. He may be busy, but he will find time for me.

Yesterday was not a good day at work. It was a tiring day at the end of a tiring week. And it was very hot yesterday. I crawled in the door after work only to receive a phone call and have to go out again, to see another patient.

But Charlie was in town yesterday, for a memorial service. One of his best friend’s father died. I think Charlie still has every friend he ever made. And is in contact with them, still. He is just that kind of guy. A keeper.

He left his business card for me, in the mail basket, with a note that he had stopped by. He asked me to give him a call, and so I did. We had a nice talk, for about fifteen minutes, as I drove to my next patient’s house.

We chatted briefly about our kids, our lives, and our busy schedules. We promised—again—to keep in touch. He apologized for not responding to all the emails I send him, the ones that friends send to other friends. I reminded him that it wasn’t really about the content of the email; it was just to let him know that I am thinking about him.

Apparently, he called again last night. I didn’t hear my cell phone ring, so I missed the call. In his message, he asked if the number I called from was a work number, and if he could call me again using that number. He said he would like to get together at the beach, since we all love the ocean so much, and he will rent a house anywhere along the Pacific Ocean that I would like to stay….so we can get together and visit.

And he told me again how much he enjoyed talking to me and how important I am to him. I went to bed last night feeling connected: to my past, to my family, and to my Baby Brother.

And loved.

Weave Me The Sunshine

Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine, out of the pouring rain….

That song is in my head this morning. I like it because it reminds me of summer camp, and sitting around the campfire, singing and laughing. There were guitars and banjos and songs to be sung. It was an enchanting time in my life.

Back in those days, at this very time of year, I would be newly home from camp. After spending a week in the glorious Sierra Nevada mountains with old friends and new friends, at church camp, I would be home, still humming the songs we sang.

Back then, the new school year would be looming large on my horizon. I always looked forward to going back to school with mixed emotions. I knew I would be glad to see my friends again, and to share the activities, the football games and the dances and the daily dramas that only teenage girls can create…the homework and tests? Not so much.

But for now, the songs linger in my head…weaving my own form of sunshine. It is, after all, not about the weather; it is about personal attitude and hopes and dreams. I have always wished for sunshine in my life. I know that it is the rain that nourishes the earth, and makes it green and lush, but it is the sunshine that nourishes me.

I remember sitting around that campfire, singing those songs, and we would sway a little, from side to side, with the music or the feelings the music evoked. It was church camp, and our days in the mountains included Bible studies and worship services.

I remember our evening “service” that was held up the hill, at the chapel. There was a simple wooden covering over an altar, and a roughhewn cross hanging from it. We sat on logs placed in rows and listened to a priest offer what he hoped would be a message with meaning…..Meaning for a bunch of gangling, pimple-faced teenagers.

I have to admit, most of the messages were lost on me. I was in awe of the stillness of the place, the majesty of the towering fir trees that had been there for hundreds of years, and the smell…that unforgettable smell of the pureness of the mountains.

The event I remember most was after “chapel” as we called it. We would carry candles, the kind with the paper ring around them to keep the melting wax from burning our hands, and we would descend as a group, down the gentle slope to the campfire. Imagine 200 teenagers, carrying candles through the fir-lined twilight, and singing “We are climbing Jacob’s Ladder….”

Somewhere in there, some magic happened. Two hundred teenagers, some good singers and some not, coming together in songs of worship and praise, and then singing the folk songs of our day…..a choir of angels wearing blue jeans and sweatshirts….and singing their hearts out.

So, when I think about Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine…., I am thinking about the times and places I have been, and the effort that it requires to be happy. It isn’t a song about “POOF” here is some sunshine…..it is about the actual work—the weaving, if you will—of that sense of sunshine and well-being.

And sunny memories of that summer camp experience…….so very long ago.

Hail and Farewell....

Well, I did it….

I have been thinking about it, reading everything I could find about it, and talking about it. And now, I have done it. In the past, I have always been a day late and a dollar short, but not this time.

It’s a done deal…

I have always liked cars. And none for a longer period of time than my beloved 1992 Ford Explorer. It is white with a blue interior. Cargo rack on top. Never-used “Draw Tite” hitch on the back. I have had it since it was brand new….

I have paid for it twice.

I bought a license plate frame for it early on. Everybody laughed when they saw it: “If you can read this, roll me over.” And of course, it was mounted with the words upside down.

For the last four years, it had been relegated to Number Two Car, having been displaced by my Toyota Highlander……my “Yota.” Right after I bought the Yota, the Explorer got taken to the car wash for cleaning, inside and out, and a new coat of wax. It was my way of assuaging my guilt over replacing it.

As I said, I paid for it twice: once when it was brand new, and again when it served as collateral on a very necessary home repair loan. Like most people, I didn’t have $5000.00 at my disposal, and I needed to fix the plumbing. The Explorer made it happen.

And now? It has become a dinosaur. Out of step with more modern, greener, times. Never the most fuel efficient car…and always at risk of rollovers. Not to mention the tire scare and factory recall of original equipment tires. Oh, and a history of transmission failure at >80,000 miles.

Yet, it never failed me. Yes, there was the summer of ’02 when the air conditioning was broken. And the dead battery when I was in another town. Looking back, that was kinda funny: I was at an antiques shop in a nearby town, and when I left, the Explorer wouldn’t start. I walked around the corner to the Ford dealership, and the service manager came back with me to try to jump start it.

No luck.

I had to call the Auto Club and they sent a tow truck, from Podunk, to where I was stranded, ten miles away. Then, the tow truck driver towed the Explorer right around the corner, and less than half a block, to the Ford dealership.

Yesterday, I took everything out of it: the quilt that was always in the back, in case I needed to haul furniture for my antiques business…..maps, deposit envelopes for my bank, napkins in the glove box, a flashlight that didn’t work, and a tire pressure gauge.

I took the garden hose and sprayed a month’s worth of accumulated dirt off of it, and then drove it one last time. Of course, after not being driven for at least a month, it started right up.

I sat in the familiar seat, with my hands on the familiar wheel, now covered in a Hawaiian print steering wheel cover. I turned on the turn signals and heard the familiar click-click, click-click…..and I drove it to the Toyota dealership. I tried not to think about what I was doing, and focus on the future…

For me, the future is a 2010 Toyota Prius……for the Explorer? Scrap metal. It is part of the Cash for Clunkers program: traded in for a more fuel efficient car and sentenced to the scrap heap. It looked hardly used, and only had 88,245 miles on it….

Hail and Farewell, My Friend……thank you for taking care of me for all those years!

The Funny Stuff

I have been thinking……if nursing is so bad, why do I keep at it?? The answer is obvious to me: there are people out there who need my help. It’s that simple, and that difficult.

I just got off the phone with my friend, Marsha. She and I have worked together a couple of times in our careers. About a million years ago, we were both “office nurses” at the local medical clinic. More recently, we both worked in the Operating Room. Marsha is still there, still complaining about it, and still doing a good job.

I told her about my day from hell yesterday. More than any of my other close friends, Marsha can empathize; she is knee-deep in the muck called regulations, too. She shared some of the crap she has been through this week and helped me put my own crap in perspective.

I don’t get to talk to Marsha all that often. The last time we talked was about 3 months ago, at a baby shower. I haven’t seen her since. As always, we just start talking as if there was no time lapse in between conversations. Before the conversation goes very far, we are both laughing and remembering the funny stuff. Maybe that is why I called her today: I needed a dose of the funny stuff.

We spent a few minutes playing “catch up” about everybody; who’s still in the OR, who’s moved on, etc. Other people might call it gossiping, we call it “catching up.” Not a lot of changes in the last three months so, we moved on to reminiscing about the “good old days.”

Working in the OR is very stressful. Dealing with life and death situations takes a toll on everybody. The thing I always liked best about the operating room was the camaraderie among the staff and physicians. Look at a single operating room, if you will: there is a patient, in the middle of the room, a circulating nurse, a scrub nurse or tech, a surgeon, and an anesthesiologist. It is a microcosm of what healthcare should be: the patient is in the middle, surrounded by a group of skilled professionals, all focused on the needs of the patient.

Each member of the operating room team has a specific function and more importantly, every member of the team needs every other member of the team. They work together, each bringing their own expertise to the table, literally, and enhancing the activities of the other team members.

The surgeon might think that he is the most important member of the team; all the rest of us would argue that point. No one of us could perform the operation without the others; we need each other. If only it were that obvious everywhere else in the healthcare world!

The camaraderie in the operating room is borne of that need for teamwork. Surgeons are frequently addressed by their first names by others in the operating room. Social boundaries are blurred: a surgeon may be asking the OR tech for advice on purchasing a bicycle, or skis, or traveling to the Bahamas. We take breaks together. We play practical jokes on each other.

As OR charge nurse, I was in and out of all the operating rooms all day long, planning surgeries, coordinating staff and equipment use, and “guess-timating” surgery schedules. The staff gave me a wrist watch that had “1-ish” “2-ish” “3-ish”etc. on it for the numbers…….that’s how “ish” it got.

One day, as I walked in Cliff’s room, he was just completing a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Unfortunately for me, he had the irrigating trocar in his hand and proceeded to soak me with it. Drenched, I had to go change scrubs.

By the time I was back in the OR, Cliff was in the next room, getting ready to do another surgery. He was talking to his assistant, facing the other direction, when I came into the room. Connie, the OR tech winked at me as I tied Cliff into his surgical gown. He didn’t turn around to see who was tying him, and he didn’t stop talking to the assistant. Just before I handed him the card so he could tie his gown in front, I took my scissors out of my pocket and cut the cord that was holding his scrub pants up. I then handed him the card and left the room quickly.

About 10 minutes later, I heard him yell something like “I’ll get you for this!” Funny, nobody in that room could remember who came in and tied his gown for him. Didn’t matter: he knew who it was.

At the completion of that surgery, he walked with the patient and gurney into the Recovery Room. He talked one of the Recovery Room nurses into calling me and asking me to come to the Recovery Room stat. Of course, I ran right in there, fully expecting a code to be in progress. Instead, I was greeted by Cliff, syringe full of K-Y jelly hidden behind his back. Not for long: it was soon dripping out of my hair and down my back.

Tired of changing scrubs, I decided to go home. The OR schedule was complete for the day and all our patients were neatly tucked in, so it was a good time to leave.

Before leaving, I stopped in my office long enough to call my friend Vicki—the surgeon who shared a medical office with Cliff—and asked her for a favor. “Anything for you, Sis, what is it?” she asked. “Could you rearrange Cliff’s office a little bit?” Based on the laughter at the other end of the phone, I knew my work was done for the day.

Today...

Tomorrow is my day off. So today, I have been thinking about what I will do. I have errands to run and chores to do. Things that can’t be put off because I have to work all weekend. And so, today I am planning tomorrow.

And it seems I have been living in my past a lot lately, too. Thinking about people and things that happened “back when”…and missing things that are now gone. In itself, that is not unhealthy; it is good to be able to remember and appreciate what was, and is no more.

What is bothering me is that, despite my “to do” list, I will wake up tomorrow morning and think about yesterday, or tomorrow. Tomorrow, today will be yesterday, and tomorrow will become today. And I will still be in my rut: thinking about either the past or the future.

Normally, tomorrow morning, I would walk in here and turn on my laptop, looking for messages from friends and family, exploring the websites that interest me, and reading. Reading about what is happening in the world. Reading about what others are doing, or thinking. Reading. A passive activity.

And then, tomorrow night, I will begrudge myself the time spent on the internet, and the chores and errands that didn’t get done. And another “today” will be wasted.

About the only time I live in the moment is when I am at the coast. The sights, sounds and smells are larger than life, and they have the power to keep me centered, right where I am. Thoughts of all my yesterdays flood my memories, but they don’t keep me from enjoying the moment.

Dreams of my tomorrows also visit me when I walk on the beach, but again, they don’t crowd out my enjoyment of the here and now. Memories and dreams enhance the experience of the moment, but they don’t rule it. Enhance, augment, and comfort, but not usurp. I truly can live in the moment. At least, for a time.

In the endless tasks and chores and errands that comprise my daily life, today often gets forgotten, or left behind. Maybe I am a daydreamer, or maybe I am a procrastinator, or maybe I am just blind. Not always, mind you, but often enough that it causes me to think about it. Blind to today. Blind to the here and now. Not seeing, not hearing, and not feeling that which is happening right now.

Have I traded all my todays for memories of yesterdays? And hopes of bright tomorrows? Can I not just live in the moment and relish every bit of today? After all, it is a gift….that’s why they call it the Present.

And maybe, this is as good as it gets.

Of Nursing School and Rainbows.......

I found a definition of me in my dictionary tonight. I looked myself up because I listened to a song and it made me happy and I wondered why. This is who I am:

Indomitable: not easily discouraged, defeated, or subdued.

I have written frequently about my trials and tribulations as a nurse. I have been knocked down to my knees, reduced to tears and kicked in the teeth. Over and over again. Yet, here I am. Why??

Indomitable: not easily discouraged, defeated, or subdued.

I started nursing school when my children were 4, 7 and 9 years old. Between going to school fulltime and having a husband and three children to take care of, I never had to worry about what to do with my free time. At the end of my first semester as a nursing student, I qualified to work at the local hospital as a Student Nurse Aide. So, I worked 2 or 3 pm shifts a week, in addition to everything else.

I had to take Microbiology in summer school between my first and second semesters of nursing school. The night before the class started, all three of my kids came down with chicken pox. Dad had to take the week off from work.

Between my second and third semesters of nursing school, I had surgery on both my legs. I was in school, on my feet all day, just three short weeks later. During my third semester of nursing school, my mother found out she had colon cancer and had surgery. I was in school, at her bedside or asleep for the next three weeks.

I started wearing my name tag at home so the kids would know who I was. I remember doing the supper dishes one night, trying to memorize something, and Rob, who was 8 at the time, came out in the kitchen and helped me. I had index cards, with all the information I needed to learn, taped to all the kitchen cupboards. Rob had already memorized almost as much as I had.

I also remember having an index card taped to the front door. It had a check list on it: feed the dog, lock the back door, brush your teeth, don’t forget your lunch, Mom loves you. The kids read it every morning as they headed out the door to school.

I also remember my younger son’s fifth birthday, right at the end of third semester. I always baked and decorated the kids’ birthday cakes but, this year I couldn’t. There was just too much going on in school. So, after finishing clinical at the hospital, I dashed off to the bakery to get Matthew a birthday cake with cowboys on it. I was worried about his reaction to a “store-bought” cake. Matt was fine with it; Rob, on the other hand, was incensed! How come Matt got a store-bought cake and he got stuck with homemade?? Who knew?

Not to be outdone, my daughter decided during my last semester of nursing school that her eyebrows were “too thick” so, she shaved them off! So, in addition to getting myself cleaned up and ready for school, and getting the kids out of bed, fed, and ready for school, I got to pencil eyebrows on my beloved daughter. Let’s not even talk about the fact that she “volunteered” me to be Room Mother for her class at school.

My mother decided to have a graduation party for me. We sent out invitations to friends and family. When I got discouraged about school, I would think about my party and how fun it would be to not have to go to school anymore. A week before graduation—and my party—my mother announced that she did not want to have people come over to her house and mess up her new carpet. Okay. I made 25 or so phone calls, moving the party to MY house. Hey, why not?

Was it all worth it? I have no doubt in my mind that it was the best thing I ever did. I love nursing: it is what I do…….and who I am.

I also love sunshine, blue skies, puffy white clouds, sunsets, the moon and stars, rainbows, flowers, people, and the beautiful blue Pacific Ocean.

I've Been Thinking......

It’s been one of those days. I have more things that need my attention than I have time to do them. And, after working the last five days, it felt good to rest. Rest is another thing that is lacking in my life, at times.

My favorite saying is: “if it weren’t for the last minute, I’d never get anything done.” And, if procrastinating is an art, then I am a world-class artist! I don’t know if I am bored with chores after all these years, tired of the responsibility, or just plain lazy.

I haven’t always been lazy, if that is what it is. I managed to get through nursing school with a husband, three small children, and a house to keep. Meals were homemade, laundry was done, cleaning occurred and the kids’ homework got done in the evenings. I went to bed exhausted at night—if at all—but things got done.

A lot of the pressure I felt to be a good wife, mother, housekeeper and cook, was self-induced. I had aspirations to do things differently, and better, than my mother did. Birthday cakes were homemade and decorated lavishly. After all, I did take a cake decorating class. And a “Stretch and Sew” class, so I could make all the kids tee shirts.

Yes, it’s true, I was one of those women who kept an immaculate house, then told guests to “pardon the mess”…so they would look around and notice how nice things looked. I also had fresh cut flowers on the dining table, cookies in the oven, and a pitcher of lemonade at the ready.

I taught Martha Stewart everything she knows!

And then it happened. I became a single woman and lived alone. The kids are grown and gone and don’t need Mom fussing over them constantly. There is no hubby to cook for and clean for and do laundry for. It is just me.

Somewhere, in the tranquility that encompassed me, I learned to let go. I realized that the house doesn’t have to look perfect. I don’t have to make cookies for guests: that’s why there are Oreos in the grocery store. And water is good for you so, if you’re thirsty at my house, the glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink. Help yourself!

And so, today. What have I accomplished? Absolutely nothing. I did go shopping. I went to the fabric store with some decorating ideas in mind. Even with as much as 70% off of some items, I still came home empty-handed. Nothing thrilled me. I was hoping to find some wonderful fabric to make a runner for the dining room table. Then maybe I would be inspired to clean it off!

Horizontal surfaces. Why do there have to be so many in my house? They are magnets for all the stuff that I don’t feel like putting away. And it doesn’t matter what color or finish the surfaces are: before long, they are all “dust gray.” Of course, if there’s a phone number or website mentioned on TV, I don’t have to go get paper and a pencil—I can just write it on the coffee table.

Maybe I am just tired from taking care of others all the time. Maybe I used up all my enthusiasm for doing chores when I was a young mommy. Or maybe my house looks just fine and being happy and well-adjusted is more important to me.

In any case, there are still dishes to be done and laundry to be done and bills to be paid and the yard to water and groceries to be bought, brought home, and put away. I need to stop writing about it, stop thinking about it and stop complaining about it and just do it!

And I will……..tomorrow.