Happy Father's Day!

My dad and my husband.....

My dad is Randy and he is a very cool guy. I know many of you have noticed his awesome comments here on my blog, and even entertained the idea of starting a "Randy fan club".

But really, you shouldn't exalt him like that. He doesn't need the ego boost.

I am my dad's one and only. Our relationship has had its ups and downs just like most relationships. Neither of us is perfect (truly, dad!). But I have always known he loves me, that I'm a huge part of his heart. I often describe him as a mix of Michael Landon, Phil Donahue and Steve Martin. We share a love of good and greasy fish 'n chips (with lots of tarter sauce!), TV and going to the movies.

Lately I have been a little bit in awe of his generous heart where Mark and I are concerned. My dad has been 100% there for us during some of our most trying times. It makes me feel safe and cared for.

Dad, I hope you know how much we appreciate and love you.

Mark is a great dad. He has a great "dad voice" that gets the kids' attentions. He is a very hands-on dad and always has been. Sure, he avoided changing diapers as much as he could, but he totally did it. He made a point of asking me to pump breast milk so he could also feed our daughter, and  get that special bonding with her. He did realize though, that there are plenty of other ways for dads to bond with their children. And it's a good thing, because our son wanted nothing to do with bottles!

What I appreciate most about Mark as a dad is his ability to relate to the kids, to draw on his own childhood in order to better understand them. This has been especially helpful with our daughter and her ADD. Mark should have been diagnosed with ADD as a kid. Watching Camryn, he now sees how similar their experiences are. It took me much longer to accept that Cami wasn't going to be like me. She is soooo her father's daughter, and has been from day one!

Mark plays Xbox with the kids and cooks with Camryn. We're almost always on the same parental page, and when we're not, we only fight about it a little bit. Maybe.

Mark, I love the kind of dad you are. I know you love the kids just as much as I do, and for that they are so lucky.

I must not forget about my step-dad, Doug....

Doug and I met when I went to live with my mom at age 12. Their relationship was actually pretty new and here I was, thrown into the mix. Doug was never one who wanted kids of his own. But he took on a woman and her daughter and loved us.

Doug is one of the kindest, most easy-going people you could ever know. He's a retired firefighter, which I think says loads about the kind of person he is. I will never forget how he would come home from a 24 hour shift and regale me with stories of "scraping some stupid kid off the road", trying to impress upon me the dangers of teen driving.

He managed to make it through my teen years without killing me, and stood by my side when I was having my eye surgeries. Today he is my kids' GranDoug and he is terrific at it. He was their main caregiver while Mark was in the hospital in March. I appreciated it sooooo much!

Doug, you are an awesome step-dad and an even better GranDoug. We love you!

Happy Father's Day to all the great Dads and Grandpas out there!

My Husband and My Dad

Mark and my Dad (Randy) are not just father-&-son-in-law.

They are really good friends, and have been from the start.

They are a lot alike.

What they say about a girl marrying a man similar to her father proved true in my case.

They both love motorcycles and great sounding, loud music.

I could maybe even say Mark married me for my Dad's speakers!

When we did our recent family photo shoot, my Dad met us at the park to check out what we were doing. Since he was there, I asked Jess to get a couple shots of the two of them.

The first picture is nice, but this second one just gets me.

You may not be able to see my Dad's eyes, but I know what's there.

He loves Mark very much. And I love that about him.

Not only does he love Mark, but he loves me and Mark together.

What we go through breaks my Dad's heart.

Sure, he can be all tough and matter-of-fact, "we'll deal with this too, hon."

But I know inside he's a big mushy ball of goo.

He can't fool me.

Probably because no matter how strong and steadfast I seem to be, I too am a big mushy ball of goo on the inside.

Linking up with By Word of Mouth on this Wordy Wordless Wednesday.

And with Yeah Write #51.

Grief

This may be short and sweet.  It may get long.  I really have no clue because my thoughts and feelings are very jumbled at the moment.

At the moment?  Try for the last 5 days since my uncle passed away.

I am not the one who is hurt most by this sudden loss.  He was not my father, partner, brother or son, connections that bind tighter than uncle and niece.  Still, I feel so much.

I feel extreme empathy for my family members.  For my dad, aunt and uncle who lost another brother.  For my grandmother who lost another son.  For my cousins who last their dad, and my uncle's partner who lost her love.  And simply for the tragedy of it happening so suddenly and sooner than anyone was prepared for.

And right now, as I type this, I feel anger.  His death has been confirmed as a heart attack.  I just stopped crying over this. Too many heart attacks around me.  They seem to be my nemesis.  My husband has had two, my father one and now this.  Oh and there have been others.  The way I remember it as a child, my great-grandfather had one while driving which caused his death.

*Deep breaths* Reeling myself in before I start going off and dropping F-bombs and shit.  Oops.  Oh well.  Fuck it.

Grief.  There are stages and phases, it wanes, it waxes.  There is no prescribed amount of time it should last and everyone reacts to it differently.  I know these things.  I also know I don't have any answers.  I find myself simply shaking my head a lot, in utter disbelief with only an nth of understanding about how these things happen.

This is very hard for me because I always want to know WHY?  But I can't know.  Not about the complexities of life and death.  It's not for me to know.  It's not about me.  It's about God and universal flow and Karma and all that jazz.  I am but a spec.  My uncle is but a spec.  And I get that.  I am actually somehow comforted by this because I know it's not up to me.  God's got it covered, whether any of us can comprehend it or not.

Well, my uncle wasn't a spec to us.  He was a good uncle.  He was someone I've known my entire life.  His girls are at least 9 years younger than me and I helped take care of them when they were babies.  He bore an uncanny resemblance to my father, so much so that it actually creeped me out a little when I was a kid.  Yet on the other hand, their resemblance made him all the more familiar and safe.

Uncle Mark made the trip down to California for my wedding, and since we've returned to Washington, he's been there for many things.  He helped us move, he attended a couple of my kids' birthday parties and he always gave my kids a little something for Christmas.  Last year when my Mark was recuperating from bypass surgery, uncle Mark helped my dad take care of our lawn.  He was the guy we knew with a large enough truck to haul a couch, which he did for us twice.

I have always admired my uncle for following his passion for music.  He was a good musician and singer, beloved locally by many.  And he managed to make a living at it.  I am ashamed to say that my only experience seeing him perform live was exactly one week before he died.  Interesting thing is, I felt pushed to go to the Hometown Hootenanny that night.  We had been invited to come several times before but I had blown it off for one reason or another.  I am so glad I listened to the little internal voice telling me to go.

Mostly for me, I am rocked by the fact that another of my father's siblings is gone.  This is a huge thing to try to get used to.  It's always been the FIVE Hibbert siblings, Scott, Mark, Renee, Randy and Clay, in that order.  And I've loved them all.  Now Mark and Clay are both gone and I kinda don't know what to do with that.  I don't know how to process that this is happening out of order.  Not only among the five of them, but also that they've gone before their mother.  It doesn't make sense, and it sucks to feel like you're counting down the people in your life.

And then there's the fact that I had to ask my dad to talk with me about his plans and wishes for when his time comes.  I want to know exactly what to do, no questions.  I need my mother and step-father to do the same.

This fucking sucks.


11/1/11: Linking to Lovelinks!

About My Family Tree

Guess what??

This?  This post that you're reading right here, is number 250!

I love that it's a Listicle.

This week's prompt was chosen by Ms. Mamalog and it's a doozie!  She asked us to come up with 10 tidbits from our family tree.

Hmmm....

I can imagine my family members squirming in their seats.

Mwahahaha!

Lucky me, it just so happens that I got to attend a cousin's wedding this weekend where I saw most of the paternal side of my family and did a little recon.

Mwahahaha!

Here is what my immediate family tree looks like:

To clarify, this is my immediate biological family: My grandparents and my parents and their siblings.

1. My father's mother, Dolores, whom we fondly refer to as "Dode", is actually really into genealogy.  As far as I know, she has tracked our ancestry back centuries.  It seems to mostly lead back to England.  I think Grandma Dode's trove of information is mainly names, places and dates, not so much anecdotal.  So I will only be able to share with you what I know about my family.

2.  My paternal grandparents are Wally and Dode who had 5 children, 4 boys and 1 girl.  Their names are Scott, Mark, Renee, Randy and Clay.  Randy is my father.  My Grandpa Wally and uncle Clay have passed away.

My father and grandmother

3.  My maternal grandparents are Paul and Joyce who had 3 children, 2 girls and 1 boy.  Their names are Dawn, Deanne and Scott.  Deanne is my mother (pronounced Dee-anne).

My grandma Joyce
Update: Dear Jen, the family name on my moms side is Littlejohn - He was given a land grant by the King of England in the new world in the 1600's.  He came from Scotland and was Robin Hood's partner in crime.  Believe me they were beyond fit, the movies make them look ridiculous.  There are quit a few in our country's history too, like Danial Boon or was it Davie Crockett?  My aunt has a book she is going to leave to me.  luv Grams

My mother

4.  I have two uncles named Scott and an uncle named Mark, which is my husband's name.

5.  All these aunts and uncles married and had 2-4 children each, for a grand total of 14 cousins.  One I have never known and one died of SIDS.  They are made up of 7 girls and 7 boys.  This sounds all even-steven like, but growing up, I was surrounded by mostly female cousins.

Grandma Joyce, mother, aunt, me, cousin and my daughter

Grandma, dad, my family, aunts, uncles and cousins on dad's side

6.  Many of us cousins are now married and having children too.  My and my cousins' children number 13 so far.

7a.  It seems that my grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles all got married and had children pretty young by today's standards.  At the wedding I just went to, I found out that one of my grandmothers and most of my aunts were pregnant on their wedding days.  So was my mother, who was only 16.

7b.  I was conceived in Lake Tahoe, born in Washington state where I lived for 12 years, moved to Lake Tahoe where I lived until I was almost 20, and now I live in Washington state again.

My mom holding baby me

8.  The wedding we just went to was for a cousin we didn't know until we were adults.  My uncle Mark didn't know.  Interesting thing is, this cousin's mother named him exactly the same name as my aunt Renee named her son, first AND middle names, without either of the moms knowing.

9.  I haven't seen or spoken to my mother's father I think since my high school graduation, nearly 20 years ago.  He upset me regarding my graduation, then he divorced his second wife whom we all loved and then he just sort of went away.  He is bipolar.

10.  Have you noticed that I haven't mentioned any siblings of mine?  That's because I am an only child.  Even though I had young parents who could have easily had more children in each of their second marriages, they didn't.  I have had some angst over this my entire life.  I'm trying to get over it.  Really, I am.

"Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family. Most of us would give our own life for the survival of a family member, yet we lead our daily life too often as if we take our family for granted."

~ Paul Pearshall

That Was Funny!

10 things that made me laugh last week:

1. Trying to play frisbee with my kids and that I can't catch the darn thing!

2. After doing something he needed to apologize for my son said to his sister, "I'm sorry and I mean it!"

3. My father told me a 22 year old hit on him.

4. I changed my blog description to "or Just Plain Awesome".

5. My daughter was out in a little tent in the backyard and got out because she needed fresh air. I had to point out, "You're already outside."

6. My husband found a little frog hanging out with our hose. It was fun to watch the kids playing with him.

7. Cami has ADD and for some reason the kids were discussing this over breakfast (mine + Cami's friend). AJ chimed in with "it means coffee is good for you!"  I told him that's not what it means, but we all cracked up.

8. In my dad's SUV on the way to drop Cami and her friend at camp, listening to 2 giggly girls in the back seat.

9. Grabbed dinner at a local dive with my dad and AJ who was apparently pretty hungry. I mentioned that he was eating a lot and I thought AJ said back that he ate a "freaking" lot. He actually said "50 fries".

10. This

The Good Life
@NorthWestMommy

PYHO: Blind Girl

There’s a little something I’ve mentioned here before, but never really written about. Pour Your Heart Out seems like a good opportunity

* * * * *

I think I was around 7 when I first realized I couldn’t see the stop sign at the end of the street. At that time both of my eyes were fine, I was somewhat near-sighted, but all I needed was glasses.

A few years later, at age 10, I had my first bout with “inflammation” in one of my eyes. The right one, if I remember correctly. It was treated with a shot of steroids and life went on.

Then during the summer after my freshman year of high school (I was 15) I completely lost the sight in my left eye.

Towards the end of the school year I dealt with redness and pain around my left eye. My mom took me to a walk-in type clinic, the doctor there shined his little pen light in my eyes and diagnosed me with “eye strain” because I had been studying for finals, prescribed some kind of drops and sent me home. He should have known that he wasn’t an opthamologist and given me a referral to one. But because we automatically trust people with Dr. in front of their names, we took his word for it.

After some period of time (I honestly can’t recall how long), those symptoms did go away and we assumed my eye was fine. Not even I knew that I was actually slowly losing the vision in my left eye. All I can guess is that my right eye compensated, or denial, or….?

I lived in Lake Tahoe when I was a teenager and every year there is a great fireworks show over the lake on the 4^th of July. We decided to go see the show that year. We got to the beach where we wanted to watch when it was still sunny. I didn’t have prescription sunglasses so I would sometimes put my mom’s sunglasses over my regular glasses when it was too bright. Well I went to do this and that was when I noticed I couldn’t see anything to my left.

I didn’t freak out. I just sort of took the sunglasses off and tested things. I covered my right eye and lo and behold, I couldn’t see a damn thing out of my left eye.

Um. What the hell is going on here?

I still didn’t say anything. I think I figured if I couldn’t see, what could my mom do about it? Besides, it was a holiday and nothing was going to happen that night anyway.

Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely worried and uneasy, but I chose to keep it to myself until the next day.

My mom found an opthamologist in Carson City and we went right away. After his exam he informed us that my retina had detached. He referred us to a retinal specialist in San Francisco who might be able to help. I think we drove to SF the very next day and met Dr. McDonald.

Dr. McDonald said that I needed emergency laser surgery to try and reattach my retina. However, my retina had been detached for so long and the vision had deteriorated so far, that it might not work.

We’re talking about my VISION, so it was worth a shot.

One of my most vivid memories of that time was all the tests they ran trying to determine how this was happening to me. A nurse pulled me aside to ask if I was still a virgin because if I were sexually active perhaps it was an STD. Can you imagine my 15 year old horror at having to discuss this?

After surgery I had to lie face down for TWO WEEKS in order for the little bubble they left inside my eye to float up and keep my retina pushed to the back of my eye. My mom and step-dad took turns sleeping out in the living room with me to try and make sure I didn’t roll over. I ate hanging my head down. My mom was a pretty big Nazi about it.

And it was the middle of summer. Fun times!

We did everything we could, but it didn’t take. My left eye is dead to me. It ended up atrophying and looks really bad. I had to return to school for sophomore year with an ugly eye.

Because I am one of the kabillions of Jennifers in the world I became known as the “one-eye” Jennifer. Horrible, nasty jokes were made at my expense. The kind of jokes only cruel teenagers can make.

But I had some really good friends who would tell the jerk faces to shut up and would even explain about my eye for me to those who asked. Because I did get really tired of explaining it to people. Still, all of this changed me. I no longer looked people in the eye because I was self-conscious. When I met someone new and we shook hands, I would stare at our hands and mutter my hello, nice to meet you.

After a couple of years Dr. McDonald told me I could get a plastic prosthetic eye to sit in front of my bad one. For one reason or another it never happened, probably because it involved more trips to the Bay Area.

The rest of high school went along without incident. Well, without any more eye-related incidents, anyway. And even though I still hadn’t managed to get a driver’s license, my mom & step-dad gave me a car for my graduation!

Sounds good, right? Read on.

Less than 2 months after graduation I started seeing little grey/black floaters swimming around in my RIGHT eye. Then, the retina in that eye, the only good eye I had left, suffered a peripheral detachment. Meaning, a “corner” of it detached (there are no corners in the eye, though). Perhaps flap is a better word? The best way to describe it is it was like there was a bit of a curtain covering a small part of my vision.

My mom & step-dad were away on a trip to Canada. I was going to have to call my grandmother but I really didn’t want to bother her. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Denial was my friend even at age 18.

I did force myself to call my Grama and of course she rushed to my side. We went to the Carson city opthamologist who confirmed my fears. My mom must’ve called home (this was only 1992, long before the entire world had cell phones) because the next thing I knew they were cutting their trip short and coming home.

This time I had to lie on my side for 2 weeks. But this time it worked. My vision was left a little damaged, but otherwise things were alright.

In the meantime, however, I had to quite my movie theater job, so once I was recovered, I needed to find something to do with myself. A friend of my mom’s had recently given birth to twins and needed help. Well I love babies, so I was all over it!

Through my “mommy helping” I had the opportunity to spend a month in Florida the following April. It was fabulous, but my right eye started acting up again while I was there.

This time I simply noticed a change in my vision. It got ever so slightly blurrier. And again, I didn’t say anything right away. I was all the way across the country, and we’d be home soon enough anyway.

I think close to the time we were to be leaving I talked to my mom and gave her a heads-up that I thought maybe something was wrong again, and I think she made an appointment even before I got back. I have this vague recollection that we went straight from the airport to the Carson City opthamologist, but maybe not, so don’t quote me on that. Jeez, why aren’t these things super easy to remember? We’re talking about life-changing stuff here!

What I do know for sure is that Carson City doc told us my entire retina had detached and called Dr. McDonald who scheduled the surgery.

The weight of this situation hit us pretty hard. We became very concerned that I might end up totally blind. So my mom decided we needed to take a trip so I could see some of my favorite places one more time - just in case. Dr. McDonald said pushing the surgery out a little probably wouldn’t make much of a difference, so that’s what we did.

My dad & step-mother came down from Washington and all of my parents plus my Grama took a road trip together. Oh boy. It was really cool, but also really awkward. Nevertheless, we took the scenic route through Yosemite and Mammoth, over to Gilroy, Monterey and Santa Cruz, and the gorgeous Pacific Ocean, on our way to San Francisco and my third eye surgery.

I had to be on my face again, but this time my retina stuck, thank God! However, my vision was reduced quite a bit. I was now legally blind CORRECTED. The legal definition of blindness is 20/200. That’s right where I was at. That’s right where I am today.

Thankfully my right eye has remained stable since I was 19. There is a theory that adolescence exacerbated the problem so once I was through puberty, it calmed down. Seems plausible.

I never did get to have a driver’s license. But I DID finally get a prosthetic eye before my wedding day. It’s so funny to me that both my left “eye” and the left lens I wear in my glasses are totally useless. Purely aesthetic, vain. Just so I look normal, balanced. It’s kind of ironic I think, given that I pride myself on being authentic. I know that’s one of the reasons it took me so long to get the prosthetic even after I was living in the Bay Area. Isn’t it kind of a lie?

So that’s the story of my bum eyes. I’ve adapted fine. I’m mostly OK with having this disability, but I’m not going to pretend it’s all fun and games. I do get frustrated by not being able to hop in the car to run my own damn errands. And sometimes it’s extra frustrating as a mom when my inability to drive my kids places means they miss out on something.  Also?  It does hold me back some, contributes to my insecurities.

Considering the alternative, though? I am very grateful that I can still see ANYTHING! I’ve met a lot of blind people and 2 of my closest friends are totally blind. It’s doable. But nobody wants to do it.

I recently asked my daughter what she thinks about my bad eyes. She didn’t understand what I meant so I clarified, “Do you think anything in particular about your mom not seeing very well?” She shrugged and said no.

Sure, for now she doesn’t care, but I’m prepared for the day she throws it in my face in some angst-filled teen drama moment. Yeah, it’ll happen.

Sole Sisters...and My Dad

Today I'm participating in a cute little Blog Hop that I came across at The Kir Corner.

I guess she really likes shoes, so she wants people to paint thier toenails and show off their favorite summer sandals.  I think Kir is probably more into cute shoes and I am not.

Toes painted by my (almost) 11 year old daughter.

Flip flops by Skechers.  They are so comfy!


And now I would like to make things a little extra interesting by including another picture:

Those are my dad's feet.

One of his big toes is black and blue so he got the bright idea to grab my daughter's purple polish to cover it, and then both big toes had to match.

Yes, he knows I'm blogging his feet.  He's such a good sport!