More Art

Fio paid younger son ten dollars to pose.

Happiness

Not a single pain this morning when Fiorella got up--and she slept seven peaceful hours in bed without resource to the bath tub or the downstairs couch.  And Younger Son is engaged--and also got a raise at work.  And he and his fiancee are going to help with the Christmas tree and both will be with us for Christmas dinner.  And so will Daughter and her husband, as well as Fiorella's brother and his wife.  And so will Older Nephew.  Fiorella's cup runneth over.  Three days till Christmas and she'd bursting with happiness.

Oops--cross your fingers.

Hope Abounds

Pregnant women and birthdays are sacred to Fiorella. Come to think of it, they're both about the same thing--hope, which Fio values mightily. She's been through some pretty tough times, and there will probably be more to come, but it's that tiny glimmer in the distance that keeps her going.

Right now the flame is burning brightly. Older Son has had the knee replacement surgery he's needed for so long, and he has exciting career plans. Younger son has picked up a job he enjoys which has great potential. At the same time, he's launching an art line Fio thinks will take off big. Daughter, newly married, loves her new job. Husband's experimental lupus treatment seems to be working. And yours truly is revising Princess of Bosque Bend for an interested agent.

Nothing is guaranteed, but we all have hope.

Good News All the Way Around

It's been a semana buena en la casa de Fiorella. Su hijo menor has a job, a real live job, and his art is being showcased by un amigo of his. And the knee replacement surgery de su hijo mayor went very well--he's undergoing physical therapy as we speak. Meanwhile Fiorella is talking to a real live New York agent about Princess of Bosque Bend.

The nexus was the birthday del padre de la Fiorella en Lunes, and having Nephew Aaron's cumpleanos en Martes augmented it.

Gracias al buen Dios, muchas gracias. Merci, grazie, danke shoen, spaseeba, shyeh shyeh.

Okay, Fio took a flyer on this one so any corrections to her linguistic prowess are welcomed.

Happy Birthday, Son

Happy birthday to Younger Son. Fiorella has ordered the cake, arranged the out-to-eat dinner, and bought the on-line gifts, which she hopes will arrive later in the day. All of this was a little hard to manage, what with Christmas preparations to take care of, Daughter's wedding shindig in the offing, and Fiorella limping around on a cane and tossing down hydrocodones and Lyricas like they were candy. But it's nothing compared to YS's birth.

Fio was two weeks past due so Dr. Stahl scheduled her for induced labor. But even with the pitocin as high as it would go for several hours, the baby wouldn't budge. Turned out he was stuck, front facing, so Fio was wheeled off to the operating room.

Despite the epidermal, she felt the scalpel cutting her open. If anyone wonders, it feels like fire, of which she notified her obstetrician.

"Yeah, that's because of that back surgery you had," Dr. Stahl explained in a cheery voice. "Your nerves are scrambled."

In a trice he had the baby out, all eleven pounds and seven ounces of him. Yes, not 7-11, but 11-7. He was king of the nursery. In fact, he was so big that the hospital didn't have diapers to fit him and had to send out for a larger size.

When people came to look at the new babies, Fio would lurk beside the window awaiting her cue.

"And look at that one!" they'd say.

Fiorella would move forward. "He's mine."

She was proud of her big, brawny boy.

And she still is.