Proof of life

After my dad died (dad #2, that is), I tried to call my mom daily to make sure she was doing okay. She didn't always hear her phone (or didn't know where it was, or had inadvertently silenced it) so after asking the neighbors to check on her at various times, I finally asked her to check in with me instead, even if it was just to text "POL" (for Proof Of Life).

I have been trying for awhile now to post here, but between a lack of discretionary time and physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion, I just couldn't get 'er done. Then yesterday I got a sweet PM from a Rav-pal, checking in to see how life was going since I have so much on my plate these days and wanting me to know she is thinking of me. I took time this morning to respond to her, and decided my response, below, could be used to give my blogpals POL.

"Thanks for checking in. I'm keeping my head – well, at least my nostrils – above water and that's about it.

“My surgery date is April  9 – if I don't have to delay it. We are still in the process of moving my husband's vet clinic into the new space, and yesterday I started training a new hire in the chaos of boxes and supplies everywhere and no phone service. I have some concerns about her and if she doesn't work out, I'll have to continue covering the office until someone else can be found and trained.

“My sister and I were going to converge on my mom in TX next week to help her get ready to move from a 5-bedroom, 2-car garage house into a 2-bedroom apartment near my sister's in NE, but she adamantly refused our help so I cancelled my ticket this morning. That takes one thing off my plate but we know she is NOT going to be able to do this without our help whether she likes it or not. Since her move-in date is May 1, I won't be able to BE any help if I don't change my surgery date. But the thought of postponing makes me cry; I'm taking two Aleve twice a day and am still barely functioning at times.

“The other thing that MUST be done before surgery is getting my flock of 15 sheared. Doing it myself in my usual time- and labor-intensive way isn't physically possible; getting on a  professional's schedule is iffy. But another Shetland breeder has agreed to come help me, so I think we'll get them sheared at least. Most of the skirting will probably have to wait, but I have a few fleeces already reserved that I will do my best to skirt and ship off before surgery/recovery.

“At least my son is working again!"

I have photos on my iPhone to share but not enough time to download and save them, so I'll just add one more piece of farm news. Bridget miscarried a dead lamb, so provided none of the little escape artist ewe lambs got bred through the fence, I don't have to worry about a lambing season. A blessing in a bane, I guess.

That's it for now from . . .