Can you pin that on without looking?
Sarabeth & Eric
Sarabeth and Liz
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Happier Times 2/Birth
I announced to my husband, that today was the big day. I showered and dressed, but didn't eat breakfast. At birthing classes, I was told it was important not to eat before giving birth-just in case. I didn't care. I couldn't wait to hold my very own baby.
My husband had plans for the day to meet up with friends. Several guys showed up. They were disappointed to hear he couldn't leave and wanted to know how in the world I knew I was going to have a baby that day. I wasn't about to share details of how my body was making preparations for an impending birth. I mean, really, way too much information for single, 20 something young men.
Throughout the day, I had contractions, but nothing dramatic. Each one brought increased excitement. Around dinnertime, consistent squeezings were at 12 minute intervals. ( I was starving, so mealtimes were significant. I noticed each missed eating opportunity.) The father-to-be said something about going out to get food for himself and left. He really went up to the corner Circle K Market to call my sister. We didn't own a phone, and he was getting worried. My sister lived just a couple miles away and had survived giving birth. He figured she'd know what to do.
I was a little surprised when he came back with my sister and her husband. The last thing I needed was for 2 more people to hover over me, asking if it was time yet. Thankfully, we played cards for the next several hours. Around 10:30, Carolyn decided they were going home and would check back in tomorrow. But she didn't. She drove to the corner Circle K and phoned my doctor to express her concern. He told her I should go to the hospital to be checked. Fifteen minutes after I thought Carolyn and Larry had gone home, they returned to say they were taking me to the hospital.
I refused to go, but my husband insisted he'd take me. We were in a room by 11:30 p.m. After much paper work, monitoring, and a very uncomfortable check of my cervix, I was declared at a "2" and in early labor. I was told it would be awhile and if I wanted I could leave and come back. Exhausted, from not eating all day, I chose to go home and try to sleep.
I dozed off occasionally, only to be awakened 10 minutes later. At 9 the next morning, we had visitors again. I couldn't get out of bed. The excitement I felt with each contraction the day before had been replaced by pain. Gripping pain came every 5 minutes. I found my parents beside my bed. Not having a phone caused undue stress for my family. Did they think I'd give birth and not call from the hospital? Mom said she thought they'd come by and either take me out to breakfast, or see their new grandbaby. Sorry to disappoint. I was going to the hospital.
It was April 5th, 1981. Women in labor were routinely "prepped" for childbirth with shaving and an enema. The shave was for an episiotomy- a big word for a small cut that required several stitches and painful recovery. Labor rooms were more pleasant, but at a most critical time, moms were whisked down the hall to sterile delivery rooms. Husbands were allowed in to the labor rooms, but not anyone else. I had no idea that just outside my door I had a roomful of waiting people.
I was sorely disappointed when I was told I was 4 cm. I wasn't even halfway. The doctor broke my water. I've never understood this. My body created this nice big, pillowy-soft cushion protecting not only the baby, but me. Once removed, the pain became unbearable. Someone appeared and offered Demerol to take the edge off. A ridiculously false statement. My eyes crossed & I couldn't see straight. The edges remained, stabbing like knives. I was miserable. I didn't think I could feel any more exhausted, but thanks to the drug, I did. I declared to all, that I didn't want to do this anymore, I couldn't. The man next to me just laughed and told me there was no going back. I really didn't like him much at that point.
At 2:45, I was complete and told to push. I didn't feel like pushing. I felt like sleeping, but I pushed. I pushed. I pushed. I was actually relieved when the critical moment came and I was wheeled to delivery. I didn't have to push.
Out came the stirrups, up went my legs. I didn't recognize anyone with their matching gowns and face masks, but the room was full of people. I felt a burning sensation, then I felt as if someone was turning me inside out. A moment later a voice proclaimed "It's a girl!" A few more minutes and someone was holding a little bundle over my head, before whisking her away. She was alive and she was real. I was a mom.
Christina arrived at 5:04 p.m. She weighed 5 lbs 6 oz. I wish I'd had pictures, but we didn't own a camera.
My husband had plans for the day to meet up with friends. Several guys showed up. They were disappointed to hear he couldn't leave and wanted to know how in the world I knew I was going to have a baby that day. I wasn't about to share details of how my body was making preparations for an impending birth. I mean, really, way too much information for single, 20 something young men.
Throughout the day, I had contractions, but nothing dramatic. Each one brought increased excitement. Around dinnertime, consistent squeezings were at 12 minute intervals. ( I was starving, so mealtimes were significant. I noticed each missed eating opportunity.) The father-to-be said something about going out to get food for himself and left. He really went up to the corner Circle K Market to call my sister. We didn't own a phone, and he was getting worried. My sister lived just a couple miles away and had survived giving birth. He figured she'd know what to do.
I was a little surprised when he came back with my sister and her husband. The last thing I needed was for 2 more people to hover over me, asking if it was time yet. Thankfully, we played cards for the next several hours. Around 10:30, Carolyn decided they were going home and would check back in tomorrow. But she didn't. She drove to the corner Circle K and phoned my doctor to express her concern. He told her I should go to the hospital to be checked. Fifteen minutes after I thought Carolyn and Larry had gone home, they returned to say they were taking me to the hospital.
I refused to go, but my husband insisted he'd take me. We were in a room by 11:30 p.m. After much paper work, monitoring, and a very uncomfortable check of my cervix, I was declared at a "2" and in early labor. I was told it would be awhile and if I wanted I could leave and come back. Exhausted, from not eating all day, I chose to go home and try to sleep.
I dozed off occasionally, only to be awakened 10 minutes later. At 9 the next morning, we had visitors again. I couldn't get out of bed. The excitement I felt with each contraction the day before had been replaced by pain. Gripping pain came every 5 minutes. I found my parents beside my bed. Not having a phone caused undue stress for my family. Did they think I'd give birth and not call from the hospital? Mom said she thought they'd come by and either take me out to breakfast, or see their new grandbaby. Sorry to disappoint. I was going to the hospital.
It was April 5th, 1981. Women in labor were routinely "prepped" for childbirth with shaving and an enema. The shave was for an episiotomy- a big word for a small cut that required several stitches and painful recovery. Labor rooms were more pleasant, but at a most critical time, moms were whisked down the hall to sterile delivery rooms. Husbands were allowed in to the labor rooms, but not anyone else. I had no idea that just outside my door I had a roomful of waiting people.
I was sorely disappointed when I was told I was 4 cm. I wasn't even halfway. The doctor broke my water. I've never understood this. My body created this nice big, pillowy-soft cushion protecting not only the baby, but me. Once removed, the pain became unbearable. Someone appeared and offered Demerol to take the edge off. A ridiculously false statement. My eyes crossed & I couldn't see straight. The edges remained, stabbing like knives. I was miserable. I didn't think I could feel any more exhausted, but thanks to the drug, I did. I declared to all, that I didn't want to do this anymore, I couldn't. The man next to me just laughed and told me there was no going back. I really didn't like him much at that point.
At 2:45, I was complete and told to push. I didn't feel like pushing. I felt like sleeping, but I pushed. I pushed. I pushed. I was actually relieved when the critical moment came and I was wheeled to delivery. I didn't have to push.
Out came the stirrups, up went my legs. I didn't recognize anyone with their matching gowns and face masks, but the room was full of people. I felt a burning sensation, then I felt as if someone was turning me inside out. A moment later a voice proclaimed "It's a girl!" A few more minutes and someone was holding a little bundle over my head, before whisking her away. She was alive and she was real. I was a mom.
Christina arrived at 5:04 p.m. She weighed 5 lbs 6 oz. I wish I'd had pictures, but we didn't own a camera.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Happier Times
Since finances were so tight, I took a job. I babysat for a friend's 3 month old infant. The baby was delightful and I earned $35/week. (I didn't realize at the time, but 22 years later, Kathy would marry my brother. But that's another story.) The best and worst part of the job, was I didn't work from home. My friend lived close to my parents, so we met there each day. It was a 15-20 minute drive. I'm not sure how well it worked out for my folks, but it was wonderful for me. They had a very food friendly refrigerator and a washer and dryer. I often had the chance to visit with my mom or sister, before heading back to my apartment. This was a morality boost for me.
In spite of my increasing size, motherhood seemed a far way off. No ultrasounds or fancy tests to tell the gender of the baby. My only connection to this little one, was movement inside my belly that I had no control over. It was hard to imagine that this was a little person. The only birth experience I'd had was my cat having kittens. At night I'd dream my baby wasa tiny kitty in my arms.
Eight days before my due date, I awoke at 5:00a.m. I experienced what I'd been told was a bloody show. I laid back down, but couldn't sleep. It was Saturday and I was going to have a baby.
In spite of my increasing size, motherhood seemed a far way off. No ultrasounds or fancy tests to tell the gender of the baby. My only connection to this little one, was movement inside my belly that I had no control over. It was hard to imagine that this was a little person. The only birth experience I'd had was my cat having kittens. At night I'd dream my baby wasa tiny kitty in my arms.
Eight days before my due date, I awoke at 5:00a.m. I experienced what I'd been told was a bloody show. I laid back down, but couldn't sleep. It was Saturday and I was going to have a baby.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Get A Life 2
As a new wife, I couldn't wait to show off my culinary skills. I opened the refrigerator to find 2 bottles of beer and a pizza box containing 1 dried up, shriveled slice of pizza. The cupboards were bare. What in the world would I cook?
My pregnancy brought about a craving for cheeseburgers. I could eat them every single day. So that would be my first home cooked meal. The man of the house was off to work. When he arrived home, he'd find his wife in the kitchen, preparing a delicious, homecooked meal of burgers. Yes, that would be nice.
Before he'd left for work, he gave me $20 for groceries that week. I was so excited to be doing my own shopping and meal planning. It wasn't on paper, but in my head I had the meals worked out. I snatched the money off of the counter. This was exciting: my first grocery shopping adventure as a married woman.
I went straight to the meat department and picked out a nice 1 lb. package of ground beef. That would make 4 large patties. Without stopping to look for other meat, I skipped to the bakery for a package of buns. Oh, I needed cheese slices; on to the dairy section. Mmmmm....the cartons of milk caught my attention. A tall, ice cold glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies would make a fine dessert.
Let's see, I needed ketchup & mustard. I had to have onions. Pickles, wow is that the smallest jar they had? Mayonnaise would be nice to have, lettuce too. My mouth was watering, just thinking about how good these burgers would be. Now for the cookies: flour, sugar, eggs...how in the world could I buy all of this stuff? I didn't have enough money to cook one meal, let alone make it last all week. What about breakfast and lunch?
Slowly, I pushed my cart up and down the aisles. I placed the items back on their proper shelves. I left the store with a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, eggs, and margarine. Once home, I tried my best to load it in the refrigerator so it looked like lots of food. I didn't normally put bread in there, but I wanted something on each shelf.
For dinner I had a 29 cent cheeseburger from McDonald's. He had 3 and 1 order of french fries. The cost was just under $2.00. How would I ever be a good cook, a good wife, and a good mother? I wondered how my parents ever managed to have their cupboards stocked with so many things.
My pregnancy brought about a craving for cheeseburgers. I could eat them every single day. So that would be my first home cooked meal. The man of the house was off to work. When he arrived home, he'd find his wife in the kitchen, preparing a delicious, homecooked meal of burgers. Yes, that would be nice.
Before he'd left for work, he gave me $20 for groceries that week. I was so excited to be doing my own shopping and meal planning. It wasn't on paper, but in my head I had the meals worked out. I snatched the money off of the counter. This was exciting: my first grocery shopping adventure as a married woman.
I went straight to the meat department and picked out a nice 1 lb. package of ground beef. That would make 4 large patties. Without stopping to look for other meat, I skipped to the bakery for a package of buns. Oh, I needed cheese slices; on to the dairy section. Mmmmm....the cartons of milk caught my attention. A tall, ice cold glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies would make a fine dessert.
Let's see, I needed ketchup & mustard. I had to have onions. Pickles, wow is that the smallest jar they had? Mayonnaise would be nice to have, lettuce too. My mouth was watering, just thinking about how good these burgers would be. Now for the cookies: flour, sugar, eggs...how in the world could I buy all of this stuff? I didn't have enough money to cook one meal, let alone make it last all week. What about breakfast and lunch?
Slowly, I pushed my cart up and down the aisles. I placed the items back on their proper shelves. I left the store with a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, eggs, and margarine. Once home, I tried my best to load it in the refrigerator so it looked like lots of food. I didn't normally put bread in there, but I wanted something on each shelf.
For dinner I had a 29 cent cheeseburger from McDonald's. He had 3 and 1 order of french fries. The cost was just under $2.00. How would I ever be a good cook, a good wife, and a good mother? I wondered how my parents ever managed to have their cupboards stocked with so many things.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Get A Life
When I was 17, I had ovarian surgery. The doctor told me I would probably never have children, but if I did, my best chance would be to have them ASAP. I cried. Often. The only thing I ever wanted in life was to be a mom, not to one or two. I wanted a home filled with children. How could this be happening to me? Didn't God realize this was the only thing important to me?
I was sad. I was angry. But deep in my heart, I held a little flicker of hope. I reminded myself that my own mom had been told she'd never have children. She'd had a similar surgery. She welcomed her firstborn 11 days after her 19th birthday. Her 4th child arrived before she turned 24. (Do the math. That's 4 kids in 4 1/2 years.) Two months after her last birth, mom had a complete hysterectomy. I'm thankful to be here. If my mom hadn't been told she couldn't conceive, she'd have waited to have children. I wouldn't be sitting at this computer.
Eighteen months after my surgery, in the summer of 1980, I became pregnant. I wish I could say I was overjoyed. Instead, my insides churned with a jumble of emotions. I was elated to be having a child, but at age 18 I wasn't married. Telling my parents would not be pleasant. They weren't particularly fond of the guy I was dating.
With visions of becoming a mom dancing in my head, and the hope of having more children in my heart, I entered into marriage. I pushed aside my doubts and fears. I'd love this man, I'd love my child. Life would be good.
I should have listened when two days before we wed, Randy told me we'd be divorced some day. He said it so nonchanlantly.
I remember leaving my parents' home to spend the first night with my new husband. I fought back the tears. When I awoke in the morning, nobody would be there but him. My sister wouldn't be there. Gone were the late night chat sessions & the early morning scuffles over who would be first to use the bathroom. Dad wouldn't be scraping his burned toast over the trash can the next morning. I wouldn't smell the peanut butter he'd spread over the top. Mom's pile of school books would not be on the breakfast table, nor would I see her making hot tea or hear her tea kettle whistle. On the short drive to our apartment, loneliness nestled in to make her home in my heart.
I was sad. I was angry. But deep in my heart, I held a little flicker of hope. I reminded myself that my own mom had been told she'd never have children. She'd had a similar surgery. She welcomed her firstborn 11 days after her 19th birthday. Her 4th child arrived before she turned 24. (Do the math. That's 4 kids in 4 1/2 years.) Two months after her last birth, mom had a complete hysterectomy. I'm thankful to be here. If my mom hadn't been told she couldn't conceive, she'd have waited to have children. I wouldn't be sitting at this computer.
Eighteen months after my surgery, in the summer of 1980, I became pregnant. I wish I could say I was overjoyed. Instead, my insides churned with a jumble of emotions. I was elated to be having a child, but at age 18 I wasn't married. Telling my parents would not be pleasant. They weren't particularly fond of the guy I was dating.
With visions of becoming a mom dancing in my head, and the hope of having more children in my heart, I entered into marriage. I pushed aside my doubts and fears. I'd love this man, I'd love my child. Life would be good.
I should have listened when two days before we wed, Randy told me we'd be divorced some day. He said it so nonchanlantly.
I remember leaving my parents' home to spend the first night with my new husband. I fought back the tears. When I awoke in the morning, nobody would be there but him. My sister wouldn't be there. Gone were the late night chat sessions & the early morning scuffles over who would be first to use the bathroom. Dad wouldn't be scraping his burned toast over the trash can the next morning. I wouldn't smell the peanut butter he'd spread over the top. Mom's pile of school books would not be on the breakfast table, nor would I see her making hot tea or hear her tea kettle whistle. On the short drive to our apartment, loneliness nestled in to make her home in my heart.
Follow It I Did
On March 12 (I remember because it was the day before my birthday,) I came down with a cold/virus. Then came a sinus infection, fluid in my ears, & it has been ugly. At least I didn't end up with pneumonia & an ear infection like Hilary. Nor did I run down the stairs, roll my ankle, & tear ligaments in my foot as Sarabeth did. But I have spent more time on the computer. Which my Dr. says explains is why I am now experiencing tennis elbow and shoulder pain. (Why do they still call it tennis elbow? I don't play tennis. Computer Elbow? Mouse Elbow?) Technically, tendonitis.
All of that to say, I am extremely fatigued at the end of the day and it is why my recipe blog has not been updated much. I do cook, but I can't remember to take pics. I barely throw it on the table. Before cooking something new, I like to see what a dish looks like, before I take the plunge. This is especially true when it comes to baking. I'm a baking failure as you probably know.
Last Thursday, my inlaws were coming to dinner. No brownies or cookies in sight, so I went looking for an easy-to-prepare dessert. One in which I already possessed the ingredients. I was so excited when I found this Apple Brown Betty at the Pioneer Cooks site. The Pioneer Woman is famous for taking an abundance of photos, while preparing food. This recipe had 4 ingredients: Apples, Bread, Brown Sugar, & Butter. Simple. I can do this. I can follow a recipe.
And follow the recipe I did, with just one teensy addition. Cinnamon. One cannot make an apple dessert without it. It was a hit! We topped it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as it was a little bit dry. But that was to be expected. I just could not bring myself to using 3/4 cup of butter. That equals about 2 TBS a person. So I cut back on the butter, but otherwise, I followed the recipe...almost.
Michael declared that there was no way I actually followed the recipe exactly. Why do I try to argue? In my mind, I DID follow the directions. Well, I didn't have Granny Smith apples and used Jazz Apples instead. Apples are apples. I'd never buy mushy sweet ones anyway. So I used different apples, a little less butter, and added cinnamon to the 4 ingredient dish. Oops, did I say 4? That is what the Pioneer Woman starts with, but at the end, she tells you to sprinkle 3-4 TBS of water over the top. I added maybe 1 TBS. I was afraid the bread might get soggy, although I'm not sure why, as I added 2 extra slices of bread. !?!? Did I really just say that?
Okay. I don't follow recipes. Ever. Not even simple 4, err...5 ingredient recipes. I just can't. That is why I don't like baking. With cooking, there is grace. Baking is not so forgiving.
All of that to say, I am extremely fatigued at the end of the day and it is why my recipe blog has not been updated much. I do cook, but I can't remember to take pics. I barely throw it on the table. Before cooking something new, I like to see what a dish looks like, before I take the plunge. This is especially true when it comes to baking. I'm a baking failure as you probably know.
Last Thursday, my inlaws were coming to dinner. No brownies or cookies in sight, so I went looking for an easy-to-prepare dessert. One in which I already possessed the ingredients. I was so excited when I found this Apple Brown Betty at the Pioneer Cooks site. The Pioneer Woman is famous for taking an abundance of photos, while preparing food. This recipe had 4 ingredients: Apples, Bread, Brown Sugar, & Butter. Simple. I can do this. I can follow a recipe.
And follow the recipe I did, with just one teensy addition. Cinnamon. One cannot make an apple dessert without it. It was a hit! We topped it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as it was a little bit dry. But that was to be expected. I just could not bring myself to using 3/4 cup of butter. That equals about 2 TBS a person. So I cut back on the butter, but otherwise, I followed the recipe...almost.
Michael declared that there was no way I actually followed the recipe exactly. Why do I try to argue? In my mind, I DID follow the directions. Well, I didn't have Granny Smith apples and used Jazz Apples instead. Apples are apples. I'd never buy mushy sweet ones anyway. So I used different apples, a little less butter, and added cinnamon to the 4 ingredient dish. Oops, did I say 4? That is what the Pioneer Woman starts with, but at the end, she tells you to sprinkle 3-4 TBS of water over the top. I added maybe 1 TBS. I was afraid the bread might get soggy, although I'm not sure why, as I added 2 extra slices of bread. !?!? Did I really just say that?
Okay. I don't follow recipes. Ever. Not even simple 4, err...5 ingredient recipes. I just can't. That is why I don't like baking. With cooking, there is grace. Baking is not so forgiving.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Spring Has Sprung
As the temperatures soared into the 60's, I flung my kitchen window open. I breathed in deeply. Ah, the fresh scent of spring. I quickly finished cleaning up, so I could enjoy the warm, sunshine.
Ethan loves spring too. We spent all afternoon outside. He wasn't too happy when it was time to come in. I think he wanted to bring that fresh, spring air inside. In fact, I'm sure of it. I noticed the clean scent as I came downstairs. It reminded me of freshly laundered sheets, hanging on the clothes line, gently blowing in the breeze. The air inside was indeed spring fresh. Actually, it was April fresh, according to the empty bottle lying on the laundry room floor.
In his little helper way, Ethan managed to take the clean clothes out of the dryer, and place them back in the washer. Apparently, they didn't smell clean enough. An entire bottle of fabric softener would do the trick.
What a mess! It was all over the top of the washer, down the front, on the floor. Pretty much everywhere. In trying to salvage some of the blue liquid, I took 20 of my nicest cleaning cloths and soaked up the April freshness. I thought I could toss one in to the rinse cycle of the next 20 or so loads and voila! I'd have soft, static-free, nice smelling clothing.
Seriously, what was I thinking? First off, how am I to know exactly when the rinse cycle begins? Would a little timer go off in my brain, exactly 43 minutes after I put clothes into the machine? Or is my memory so superb, that I would automatically remember to run downstairs at just the right moment? Nope. Isn't going to happen.
Secondly, the blue splashes down the wallpaper should have been a clue that this was not a good idea. Once the blue stuff dries, a cold water rinse does NOT dissolve it into the creamy liquid it once was. My lovely cleaning rags are now dirty blue, and leave anti-static streaks on my mirrors. Oh, but they do smell fresh. April Fresh. Thank-you Ethan, for bringing the spring air inside for all to enjoy.
Ethan loves spring too. We spent all afternoon outside. He wasn't too happy when it was time to come in. I think he wanted to bring that fresh, spring air inside. In fact, I'm sure of it. I noticed the clean scent as I came downstairs. It reminded me of freshly laundered sheets, hanging on the clothes line, gently blowing in the breeze. The air inside was indeed spring fresh. Actually, it was April fresh, according to the empty bottle lying on the laundry room floor.
In his little helper way, Ethan managed to take the clean clothes out of the dryer, and place them back in the washer. Apparently, they didn't smell clean enough. An entire bottle of fabric softener would do the trick.
What a mess! It was all over the top of the washer, down the front, on the floor. Pretty much everywhere. In trying to salvage some of the blue liquid, I took 20 of my nicest cleaning cloths and soaked up the April freshness. I thought I could toss one in to the rinse cycle of the next 20 or so loads and voila! I'd have soft, static-free, nice smelling clothing.
Seriously, what was I thinking? First off, how am I to know exactly when the rinse cycle begins? Would a little timer go off in my brain, exactly 43 minutes after I put clothes into the machine? Or is my memory so superb, that I would automatically remember to run downstairs at just the right moment? Nope. Isn't going to happen.
Secondly, the blue splashes down the wallpaper should have been a clue that this was not a good idea. Once the blue stuff dries, a cold water rinse does NOT dissolve it into the creamy liquid it once was. My lovely cleaning rags are now dirty blue, and leave anti-static streaks on my mirrors. Oh, but they do smell fresh. April Fresh. Thank-you Ethan, for bringing the spring air inside for all to enjoy.
Friday, April 11, 2008
I Saw God Today
I am a George Strait fan. I have been, since the early 1980's.
I'm also a fan of mama's with large families, and babies, and birth stories.
So in honor of Jenni, who is in the hospital at this very minute, bloggin about the birth of her 12th baby, I wanted to share George Straight's newest release with you. (Just in case you are not a country music fan and haven't heard this yet.)
"I Saw God Today"
Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I'd been by her side for 18 hours straight
Saw a flower growin' in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin' up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin' lights, the honkin' horns, all seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08,
I saw God today
Chorus: I've been to church
I've read the Book
I know He's here but I don't look
Near as often as I should,
(yeah, I know I should)
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today
Saw a couple walking by,
they were holding hands
Man, she had that glow
Yeah, I couldn't help but notice,
she was starting to show
Stood there for a minute taking in the sky
Lost in that sunset
A splash of amber melted into shades of red.
Chorus
Got my face pressed up against the nursery glass
She's sleepin' like a rock
My name on her wrist,
wearin' tiny pink socks
She's got my nose,
she's got her mama's eyes
My brand new baby girl,
she's a miracle
I saw God today
I'm also a fan of mama's with large families, and babies, and birth stories.
So in honor of Jenni, who is in the hospital at this very minute, bloggin about the birth of her 12th baby, I wanted to share George Straight's newest release with you. (Just in case you are not a country music fan and haven't heard this yet.)
"I Saw God Today"
Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I'd been by her side for 18 hours straight
Saw a flower growin' in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin' up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin' lights, the honkin' horns, all seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08,
I saw God today
Chorus: I've been to church
I've read the Book
I know He's here but I don't look
Near as often as I should,
(yeah, I know I should)
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today
Saw a couple walking by,
they were holding hands
Man, she had that glow
Yeah, I couldn't help but notice,
she was starting to show
Stood there for a minute taking in the sky
Lost in that sunset
A splash of amber melted into shades of red.
Chorus
Got my face pressed up against the nursery glass
She's sleepin' like a rock
My name on her wrist,
wearin' tiny pink socks
She's got my nose,
she's got her mama's eyes
My brand new baby girl,
she's a miracle
I saw God today
Sick
Tick, tick, tick...15 more minutes. I really would prefer to jump in the shower, but I can't just yet. In 14 minutes the doctor's office opens their phone lines. Does anyone else do this?
Mondays and Fridays are the worst. Come on, you moms know the routine. The child misses school. You wonder how sick she really is, just miss class sick, or go to the doctor sick. The next day she goes to school. Yes! But then she comes home looking like she should have stayed home again. You hope by the next morning, she will be bouncing out of bed so as not to miss any more school.
But as soon as you open the door to her room, you know she isn't going. The mom starts thinking she better take the kid in before the weekend. Time for the 8 o'clock marathon of punching the numbers on the phone. It's never as simple as dialing, then speaking with someone. You have to know the codes. I'm good at punching codes, I play video games, remember? (Ok, so guitar hero doesn't count.) After just the right sequence of digits, I get to idle away the next 15 minutes on hold. A good time to catch up on reading blogs.
But if I miss the 8 o'clock fun, then I have to do this all over again. I'm not playing this game Monday. I'd rather do it today. So if you live in the area, please don't try to call THAT doctor's office. I'd really like to get a shower before noon.
Updated: Hilary has pneumonia again and an ear infection
Mondays and Fridays are the worst. Come on, you moms know the routine. The child misses school. You wonder how sick she really is, just miss class sick, or go to the doctor sick. The next day she goes to school. Yes! But then she comes home looking like she should have stayed home again. You hope by the next morning, she will be bouncing out of bed so as not to miss any more school.
But as soon as you open the door to her room, you know she isn't going. The mom starts thinking she better take the kid in before the weekend. Time for the 8 o'clock marathon of punching the numbers on the phone. It's never as simple as dialing, then speaking with someone. You have to know the codes. I'm good at punching codes, I play video games, remember? (Ok, so guitar hero doesn't count.) After just the right sequence of digits, I get to idle away the next 15 minutes on hold. A good time to catch up on reading blogs.
But if I miss the 8 o'clock fun, then I have to do this all over again. I'm not playing this game Monday. I'd rather do it today. So if you live in the area, please don't try to call THAT doctor's office. I'd really like to get a shower before noon.
Updated: Hilary has pneumonia again and an ear infection
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
The Proposal (Details, details, part 3)
After obtaining Lauren's parents' permission to marry their daughter, Christopher flew home and began making plans for the proposal. He inquired about her work schedule that week. Was she working late? He would happily come over on his lunch break to let the dog out. She did have a late day on Wednesday. So Wednesday was the designated day.
Christopher took the afternoon off of work, to execute the plan. He'd spent Monday and Tuesday preparing the details. He gathered the necessary decorations and thought everything was set. Wednesday afternoon, Lauren calls with good news. Her last client of the day had canceled their appointment. She would be home early! Hooray....time for plan B. Was there a plan B?
Quickly, he improvised. Instead of decorating her apartment himself, he enlisted the help of a couple of friends. He told Lauren he had to work late, and took the time to drop everything off with Gabe, along with instructions. He and Lauren would go shoppin, and when they left, he'd text message Gabe. When they left for the apartment, Christopher would text him again, to let him know they were on their way.
Everything was running smoothly again. Lauren remarked how patient he'd been as she browsed the entire store, up and down every aisle. He just smiled. Upon leaving, Christopher sent another text to Gabe, but didn't get a response. This made him a little nervous.
Pulling into the parking lot, he noticed Gabe's car. He must not have gotten the text. Anxiously he began driving around. "What are you doing?" Lauren queried. "Just trying to find a spot where I can see my car from your window." With that, he pulled back around in front of Lauren's apartment.
"Oh my gosh! Someone is in my apartment!" Sure enough. Christopher could see his friends in the window. "No, Lauren, I don't see anyone." He slowly pulled into a parking place. "Chris, there IS someone in my apartment." Lauren got out of the car quickly.
On there way in, they passed Gabe and Shannon. Not knowing what to do, Christopher pretended he didn't see them and kept walking. Lauren stopped. "What are you doing here? Were you in my apartment? What's going on?" The questions came flying out. Their friends mumbled something about they just stopped by, but Christopher just kept walking. Lauren became a little frantic. By the time she opened her door, her hands were shaking and she was still asking what was going on. Christopher took her by the hand and led her to her room.
Inside, candles were lit. The room was adorned with flowers. Spread across the bed were 63 photographs of Christopher and Lauren together. He had printed up 1 for every month they'd been together. On each photo, he'd written a quote, bible verse, or sentiment on love and/or marriage. Lauren began to cry and buried her head in his shoulder. After a moment, Christopher told her to look at the photos. He then reached in a drawer, where Gabe had put the ring. He dropped to one knee and took Lauren by the hand.
(If I know what love is, it is because of you. Herman Hesse)
"Lauren, we have been together for five years. My love for you has yet to be quenched and I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to do so...will you marry me?"
Christopher took the afternoon off of work, to execute the plan. He'd spent Monday and Tuesday preparing the details. He gathered the necessary decorations and thought everything was set. Wednesday afternoon, Lauren calls with good news. Her last client of the day had canceled their appointment. She would be home early! Hooray....time for plan B. Was there a plan B?
Quickly, he improvised. Instead of decorating her apartment himself, he enlisted the help of a couple of friends. He told Lauren he had to work late, and took the time to drop everything off with Gabe, along with instructions. He and Lauren would go shoppin, and when they left, he'd text message Gabe. When they left for the apartment, Christopher would text him again, to let him know they were on their way.
Everything was running smoothly again. Lauren remarked how patient he'd been as she browsed the entire store, up and down every aisle. He just smiled. Upon leaving, Christopher sent another text to Gabe, but didn't get a response. This made him a little nervous.
Pulling into the parking lot, he noticed Gabe's car. He must not have gotten the text. Anxiously he began driving around. "What are you doing?" Lauren queried. "Just trying to find a spot where I can see my car from your window." With that, he pulled back around in front of Lauren's apartment.
"Oh my gosh! Someone is in my apartment!" Sure enough. Christopher could see his friends in the window. "No, Lauren, I don't see anyone." He slowly pulled into a parking place. "Chris, there IS someone in my apartment." Lauren got out of the car quickly.
On there way in, they passed Gabe and Shannon. Not knowing what to do, Christopher pretended he didn't see them and kept walking. Lauren stopped. "What are you doing here? Were you in my apartment? What's going on?" The questions came flying out. Their friends mumbled something about they just stopped by, but Christopher just kept walking. Lauren became a little frantic. By the time she opened her door, her hands were shaking and she was still asking what was going on. Christopher took her by the hand and led her to her room.
Inside, candles were lit. The room was adorned with flowers. Spread across the bed were 63 photographs of Christopher and Lauren together. He had printed up 1 for every month they'd been together. On each photo, he'd written a quote, bible verse, or sentiment on love and/or marriage. Lauren began to cry and buried her head in his shoulder. After a moment, Christopher told her to look at the photos. He then reached in a drawer, where Gabe had put the ring. He dropped to one knee and took Lauren by the hand.
(If I know what love is, it is because of you. Herman Hesse)
"Lauren, we have been together for five years. My love for you has yet to be quenched and I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to do so...will you marry me?"
She said yes.
Some Days Are Hard
I hope to get "the Proposal" story up a little later today. My head is a little fuzzy right now. As I get older, I don't function well with little sleep.
At 12:22 last night, I was awakened. Hilary is standing over my bed, handing me her cell phone. "Elisabeth needs to talk to you." Fumbling in the dark it is difficult to know if I am holding it forwards, backwards, or upright. Finally, I hear a teary voice in my ear.
"There's a drunk guy outside my door. He keeps knocking and trying to get in. Now he is sitting next to my door."
"Call your CA." She reminds me that her CA quit earlier in the week. There had been an incident on Friday. A girl a couple of doors down was found dead in her room, probable overdose. The CA was so shaken, she quit and they hadn't found a replacement yet. I hand the phone to her father, since my mind is just not thinking clearly yet. She retells the story. As he suggests she call a friend, who'd moved out but used to work the front desk, I blurt out, "or call 911." He adds that bit of information and tells her to phone back.
I stumble out of bed. I hand Hilary her cell phone and she heads back to bed. After a few minutes, Michael and I are both up waiting. Several tearful phone calls back and forth, more waiting, Michael making phone calls to try to locate someone in charge, and the situation was somewhat resolved by 1:30a.m. The police escorted this guy off, who did not live in this gated, locked building. Elisabeth was given a number she could call for one of the other CA's. Her dad offered to come get her, but she thought she'd be ok.
But it is hard to settle in and fall back asleep. I found myself lying in bed, continuing to pray for my daughter. Then the CAs who'd helped her, remembering when Christopher was an RA and it wasn't always the most pleasant job. And I prayed for every other person that came to mind during that time. I have no idea when I fell asleep.
At 12:22 last night, I was awakened. Hilary is standing over my bed, handing me her cell phone. "Elisabeth needs to talk to you." Fumbling in the dark it is difficult to know if I am holding it forwards, backwards, or upright. Finally, I hear a teary voice in my ear.
"There's a drunk guy outside my door. He keeps knocking and trying to get in. Now he is sitting next to my door."
"Call your CA." She reminds me that her CA quit earlier in the week. There had been an incident on Friday. A girl a couple of doors down was found dead in her room, probable overdose. The CA was so shaken, she quit and they hadn't found a replacement yet. I hand the phone to her father, since my mind is just not thinking clearly yet. She retells the story. As he suggests she call a friend, who'd moved out but used to work the front desk, I blurt out, "or call 911." He adds that bit of information and tells her to phone back.
I stumble out of bed. I hand Hilary her cell phone and she heads back to bed. After a few minutes, Michael and I are both up waiting. Several tearful phone calls back and forth, more waiting, Michael making phone calls to try to locate someone in charge, and the situation was somewhat resolved by 1:30a.m. The police escorted this guy off, who did not live in this gated, locked building. Elisabeth was given a number she could call for one of the other CA's. Her dad offered to come get her, but she thought she'd be ok.
But it is hard to settle in and fall back asleep. I found myself lying in bed, continuing to pray for my daughter. Then the CAs who'd helped her, remembering when Christopher was an RA and it wasn't always the most pleasant job. And I prayed for every other person that came to mind during that time. I have no idea when I fell asleep.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Details part 2
Back in 2003, Christopher was a senior in high school. Often, I wouldn't get to bed until around midnight. Before laying my head on the pillow, I'd go downstairs to check on everyone. As I'd pass Christopher's closed door, I'd hear muffled talking. Opening the door, I'd find him talking on the phone.
"Who are you talking to at this hour? Don't you know you have to be up in 6 hours?" (As if I didn't also.) The answer was always the same.
"Lauren."
Who was this girl that he talked to so late at night? I truly wanted to take away his phone privileges for being on so late. At the same time, I reasoned he was 18. In a few months, he'd be off at college. He would have to make choices about what time he went to bed, knowing what time he had to go to class. At some point he wouldn't have his mom telling him what to do. I figured it was better to let him begin making these choices now.
One night, after finding him on the phone late again, I asked him if Lauren's parents were ok with her being on the phone that late. He said he didn't know. I let him know, that if her parents objected that he was dishonoring them by talking to her so late. I could tell by the look on his face, he cared.
During basketball season, Christopher declared he wasn't cutting his hair until his high school team went to State. It not only got longer, but taller. His hair began to look like a crop was planted atop his head. To the games, he dressed in a black and white referee shirt or his mean & green tee, with white-out contact lenses. I couldn't help but wonder if other people questioned who the parents were of this teen.
"Who are you talking to at this hour? Don't you know you have to be up in 6 hours?" (As if I didn't also.) The answer was always the same.
"Lauren."
Who was this girl that he talked to so late at night? I truly wanted to take away his phone privileges for being on so late. At the same time, I reasoned he was 18. In a few months, he'd be off at college. He would have to make choices about what time he went to bed, knowing what time he had to go to class. At some point he wouldn't have his mom telling him what to do. I figured it was better to let him begin making these choices now.
One night, after finding him on the phone late again, I asked him if Lauren's parents were ok with her being on the phone that late. He said he didn't know. I let him know, that if her parents objected that he was dishonoring them by talking to her so late. I could tell by the look on his face, he cared.
During basketball season, Christopher declared he wasn't cutting his hair until his high school team went to State. It not only got longer, but taller. His hair began to look like a crop was planted atop his head. To the games, he dressed in a black and white referee shirt or his mean & green tee, with white-out contact lenses. I couldn't help but wonder if other people questioned who the parents were of this teen.
At the beginning of state playoffs, his school was teamed against my daughter's school. She was a cheerleader at the Christian school associated with our church. I recall as we walked into the building, the pastor's son was pointing at my son and whispering to his friend. But it didn't bother Christopher one bit as he strode by.
Later, when we met up in the car, my son seemed a bit concerned. "Ma, I just met Lauren's dad." I didn't understand what the big deal was. He continued, "he probably thought I was a weirdo." I could hardly believe my ears. The boy who didn't seem to mind who saw him dressed so crazy, but he cared what Lauren's dad thought. "So did he say anything?" I asked. "Well, he said he liked seeing a kid with so much enthusiasm for his team." I liked this dad. But at the same time, I couldn't help but wonder if this girl could possibly be the future spouse I'd prayed for so often through the years. And what would you think if your daughter seemed crazy about this boy?
Christopher and Lauren graduated from high school, and "just happened" to go to the same college 1000 miles away.
At the end of their first year of college, Lauren's mom, Dee, & I drove to Arizona together. We talked and shared the entire 12 1/2 hours we were in the car together. (The time passed so quickly, it seemed it was maybe a 4 hour drive.) It was amazing to hear the stories of Lauren growing up. I was quite certain this was the little girl I'd prayed about. As we laughed and chattered away, I could see how well these two complemented one another. I suspected a marriage could possibly be in their future, but I didn't want to rush anything. So I tried to do as Mary, and quietly tucked away these thoughts into my heart.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Happy Birthday Christina!!!!
I need to take a little break in the engagement story to celebrate a birthday. Happy 27th Birthday Christina!
A lovely daughter
Sharing secrets sister-to-sister
A fun sister to a brother
The best mom in all the world for Ethan!!!
Friday, April 04, 2008
Details, Details, Details (Part One)
(Follow up of the Celebrate post.)
A little over a month ago, Christopher let me know he was ready to propose to Lauren. He planned to fly to Denver at the end of March to speak to her parents. I was elated, but it was not easy to keep it a secret. But that I did. When my mother-in-law and I were talking one day, she brought the subject up.
"Do you think Christopher will get married to Lauren?"
"Umm...well, I think they've been moving that direction for awhile. We will have to wait and see."
Do you know how difficult that was? Inside the secret was pushing hard, trying to burst forth. It was as if someone was blowing air into that balloon of secrecy, and I was afraid the inevitable would happen. But it didn't.
Sitting around the dinner table last Thursday night, Christopher shared his secret, and swore the family into secrecy. A little bit of the pressure of holding this in escaped. We could speak openly within the confines of our home about the upcoming event. This new freedom brought relief, but it was still a secret.
Christopher met with Lauren's parents the next evening. Driving over to their home, he felt his heart beat a little faster. What was this nervous feeling? He knew it would go well, but he felt a aquiver inside.
Lauren's folks were overjoyed. Since she was born, Rick and Dee had prayed for their only daughter's husband. Twenty-three years later, here he stood, asking for her hand in marriage.
Christopher reminisced about the first time he'd been to their home. An awkward junior kid, who lost his glasses, because he hadn't remembered tucking them in a side pocket of their mini van. What did they think when they found his glasses? Did they pray for him and wonder if he was the one?
On Sunday, Christopher boarded the plane back to Phoenix with the promise that within two weeks the proposal would be made. We'd be free to share their engagement with the world.
I wish I had a picture of them when they were 8th graders. But here is a photo of Senior Prom 2003.
A little over a month ago, Christopher let me know he was ready to propose to Lauren. He planned to fly to Denver at the end of March to speak to her parents. I was elated, but it was not easy to keep it a secret. But that I did. When my mother-in-law and I were talking one day, she brought the subject up.
"Do you think Christopher will get married to Lauren?"
"Umm...well, I think they've been moving that direction for awhile. We will have to wait and see."
Do you know how difficult that was? Inside the secret was pushing hard, trying to burst forth. It was as if someone was blowing air into that balloon of secrecy, and I was afraid the inevitable would happen. But it didn't.
Sitting around the dinner table last Thursday night, Christopher shared his secret, and swore the family into secrecy. A little bit of the pressure of holding this in escaped. We could speak openly within the confines of our home about the upcoming event. This new freedom brought relief, but it was still a secret.
Christopher met with Lauren's parents the next evening. Driving over to their home, he felt his heart beat a little faster. What was this nervous feeling? He knew it would go well, but he felt a aquiver inside.
Lauren's folks were overjoyed. Since she was born, Rick and Dee had prayed for their only daughter's husband. Twenty-three years later, here he stood, asking for her hand in marriage.
Christopher reminisced about the first time he'd been to their home. An awkward junior kid, who lost his glasses, because he hadn't remembered tucking them in a side pocket of their mini van. What did they think when they found his glasses? Did they pray for him and wonder if he was the one?
On Sunday, Christopher boarded the plane back to Phoenix with the promise that within two weeks the proposal would be made. We'd be free to share their engagement with the world.
I wish I had a picture of them when they were 8th graders. But here is a photo of Senior Prom 2003.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
It's been one month since I posted that I had a secret. Last night, I could hardly sleep. That secret danced in my head and my eyes kept popping open. I wanted to shout Hallelujahs and woohoos to anyone who would listen. But it was late, so I waited until this morning.
Lingering visions of tears of joy streaming down Hilary's face as she phoned David to tell him the news. Huddled around my cell phone last night, while it was switched to speaker phone, Sarabeth, Hilary, and I tried to listen to the details. Some of them were missed, as it was hard to contain our whoops of joy and enthusiasm. Pictures, people, I need pictures (so I can share them with all of you.)
Christopher proposed to Lauren last night. There is going to be a wedding! I will have my one & only daughter-in-law. The excitement in the air is unreal. The girls were making declarations of whom they alone were privileged to tell the news too. As you know, I've been dying to share with you all, my blogging buddies.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
One of those mornings
The most unpleasant sound in the morning is standing in the kitchen and hearing your dog wretching behind you, while cooking breakfast and preparing lunches. Worse yet, is not hearing your dog vomit, and slopping in it while wearing fuzzy slipper socks. Ugh!
Let's see...we are on day 21 of this same, stinkin', virus.
Have you ever been called for jury duty? Michael has been wondering why he has never been called. He would really like to have jury duty. A few weeks ago, he received his official notice. Just 2 more weeks and maybe, just maybe, he will be a juror.
Oh, and a week later, I received a jury summons for the Superior Court. Makes me feel, um, superior. It is for the month of May. Let's see, what do I have going on in May...that trip to North Carolina, a graduation and all of the events leading up to it like banquets, baccalaureate, plus all of the end-of-the-school events crammed into the month. I too thought it would be fun to be a juror, now I'm not so sure.
Lastly, this is Autism Awareness Month. I've been spending a lot of time researching autism, and another not-so-well funded or publicized syndrome: Angelman's. Christina took Ethan to the geneticist last week, like she does every year. Each time, it is a new doctor. This doctor remarked that the last geneticist had clinically diagnosed Ethan with Angelman Syndrome.
When he was little, Ethan seemed like he fit this syndrome. He was tested. A defect was found on the same gene, but not exactly the classic defect for diagnosing it. To rule it out or make a diagnosis based on the results, the geneticist requested both parents be tested for this abnormality. If neither parent had it, Ethan would most likely be diagnosed as having Angelman's Syndrome. If one parent had this same defect, and since neither parent has Angelman's syndrome, it would be ruled out that this was the cause of Ethan's issues.
Christina had the test done almost 2 years ago. She did not have the mutation. Ethan's father refused to have the test. Thus, I believe, the reason for Ethan's clinical diagnosis of Angelman Syndrome. (Last week was the first time we'd heard this as his diagnosis.)
It doesn't really matter one way or the other. Ethan will forever be my little angel man.
Let's see...we are on day 21 of this same, stinkin', virus.
Have you ever been called for jury duty? Michael has been wondering why he has never been called. He would really like to have jury duty. A few weeks ago, he received his official notice. Just 2 more weeks and maybe, just maybe, he will be a juror.
Oh, and a week later, I received a jury summons for the Superior Court. Makes me feel, um, superior. It is for the month of May. Let's see, what do I have going on in May...that trip to North Carolina, a graduation and all of the events leading up to it like banquets, baccalaureate, plus all of the end-of-the-school events crammed into the month. I too thought it would be fun to be a juror, now I'm not so sure.
Lastly, this is Autism Awareness Month. I've been spending a lot of time researching autism, and another not-so-well funded or publicized syndrome: Angelman's. Christina took Ethan to the geneticist last week, like she does every year. Each time, it is a new doctor. This doctor remarked that the last geneticist had clinically diagnosed Ethan with Angelman Syndrome.
When he was little, Ethan seemed like he fit this syndrome. He was tested. A defect was found on the same gene, but not exactly the classic defect for diagnosing it. To rule it out or make a diagnosis based on the results, the geneticist requested both parents be tested for this abnormality. If neither parent had it, Ethan would most likely be diagnosed as having Angelman's Syndrome. If one parent had this same defect, and since neither parent has Angelman's syndrome, it would be ruled out that this was the cause of Ethan's issues.
Christina had the test done almost 2 years ago. She did not have the mutation. Ethan's father refused to have the test. Thus, I believe, the reason for Ethan's clinical diagnosis of Angelman Syndrome. (Last week was the first time we'd heard this as his diagnosis.)
It doesn't really matter one way or the other. Ethan will forever be my little angel man.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
I Stand Corrected or Birthing Revisited
After I posted Birthing, I received an email. It was from my dad. It speaks for itself:
I read your blog for today. I hate to have to tell you this, but your
memory is not a whole lot better than mine. I told your mom what
your blog was about concerning the births and she said I needed to let you know that you have some of the details mixed up.
Greg definitely had bigger shoulders than his head, but the water
didn't break until right before his birth. Since it was Christmas day and Dr. Payne was at home enjoying a family get together when they called him to the hospital in the early evening, he forgot to change shoes and he was wearing a brand new pair of shoes. When the water broke, Dr. Payne jumped back as it burst with a gush and the water poured over the table and off onto the floor and on his brand new pair of shoes. He was hoping that it didn't ruin the new shoes.
The out of body experience came when Laurie was born. The water breaking thing was when you were born. So, all four births had some element of surprise and significance.
The night before you were born we went to the drive-in movie. Carolyn and Greg went to sleep in the back of the car and we watched the movie. We got out of the movie and I looked at the gas gauge on the car and said I better get some gas. Only problem was, I spent my last bit of cash for the movie and those were the days before bank cards and ATM's. Plus, I didn't have any credit to get a gas credit card. So, buying gas would have to wait until after the bank opened and I could get some cash. I made the comment, “I sure hope that baby isn't born tonight.”
Your mom said I didn't need to worry about that. Well, sometime during the night, your mom got up for Greg and in so doing, her water broke. She woke me up and told me what happened. I said, oh great and we have to drive clear in to Phoenix this time, instead of Mesa Southside Hospital where Greg was born. The distance was a lot farther and I wasn't sure we had enough gas to make it. I called a friend and got him out of bed and he came down and took us to the hospital while his wife took care of Greg and Carolyn. Even at that, we just barely made it in time. By the time I completed all the check-in paper work and got back to the OB area, they said you had been born. Wow!!
I stand corrected.
I read your blog for today. I hate to have to tell you this, but your
memory is not a whole lot better than mine. I told your mom what
your blog was about concerning the births and she said I needed to let you know that you have some of the details mixed up.
Greg definitely had bigger shoulders than his head, but the water
didn't break until right before his birth. Since it was Christmas day and Dr. Payne was at home enjoying a family get together when they called him to the hospital in the early evening, he forgot to change shoes and he was wearing a brand new pair of shoes. When the water broke, Dr. Payne jumped back as it burst with a gush and the water poured over the table and off onto the floor and on his brand new pair of shoes. He was hoping that it didn't ruin the new shoes.
The out of body experience came when Laurie was born. The water breaking thing was when you were born. So, all four births had some element of surprise and significance.
The night before you were born we went to the drive-in movie. Carolyn and Greg went to sleep in the back of the car and we watched the movie. We got out of the movie and I looked at the gas gauge on the car and said I better get some gas. Only problem was, I spent my last bit of cash for the movie and those were the days before bank cards and ATM's. Plus, I didn't have any credit to get a gas credit card. So, buying gas would have to wait until after the bank opened and I could get some cash. I made the comment, “I sure hope that baby isn't born tonight.”
Your mom said I didn't need to worry about that. Well, sometime during the night, your mom got up for Greg and in so doing, her water broke. She woke me up and told me what happened. I said, oh great and we have to drive clear in to Phoenix this time, instead of Mesa Southside Hospital where Greg was born. The distance was a lot farther and I wasn't sure we had enough gas to make it. I called a friend and got him out of bed and he came down and took us to the hospital while his wife took care of Greg and Carolyn. Even at that, we just barely made it in time. By the time I completed all the check-in paper work and got back to the OB area, they said you had been born. Wow!!
I stand corrected.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Spring Break In Pictures
(Due to my continued battle with this illness, I didn't get photos of everyone.) I did, however, enjoy every minute of having all of my kids here and Ethan too.
Guitar Heroes
Boys & Computers
Mmmmm...Popcycles!
Denver Nuggets Game
Making & Eating Brownies
(My apologies to my 3 kids who didn't make it any photos, and for not getting any Dance, Dance, Revolution Pics.)
Guitar Heroes
Boys & Computers
Mmmmm...Popcycles!
Denver Nuggets Game
Making & Eating Brownies
(My apologies to my 3 kids who didn't make it any photos, and for not getting any Dance, Dance, Revolution Pics.)
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Birthing
I've been reading Jenni's birth stories. If you are like me, watch birth stories on t.v., share your own, enjoy hearing the intimate details of birth once not even allowed to be witnessed by dads, you gotta check on Jenni's blog (that is, if you haven't already.) She is close to delivering her 12th child and is in the process of regaling us with every birth story until the last, which will no doubt be in real time.
There is something about the miracle of birth, but equally amazing is the heroics of every mom who has ever born a child. Does any pregnant woman really believe it will be as painful as others describe? So far, I have yet to meet one who could have imagined what the birth experience would really entail. No matter how many televised births seen, or girlfriend stories she has heard, it seems giving birth is a unique experience. Why shouldn't it be? Every child is uniquely individual, shouldn't their birth be too?
As a little girl, I listened to my mom share her stories. It seemed like she always began with my brothers birth. He wasn't the oldest, but his birth must have been the most dramatic. She'd begin with a phrase about her water breaking before they left for the hospital. This always intrigued me. I envisioned a water pipe in the laundry room spewing water everywhere. I wondered why she never mentioned when they cleaned all that water up or what happened. I was left to imagine my dad fixing the pipe later, after the birth of my brother.
His birth was most certainly a sensational event. His shoulders were larger than his head, causing him to get stuck in the birth canal. In a flurry of activity, the doctors put my mom our with some sort of gas, and they must have lost her on the table. She had an experience at that time that she didn't share with everyone. It can be described as a classic out-of-body, or near-death experience. Thankfully, my brother was delivered and my mom brought back to life too.
Her first birth was equally amazing. My oldest sister was born 2 1/2 month premature. According to my dad, he went to church the day after her birth. It was Father's Day and the asked all of the dads to stand. When my dad stood, his friends told him he wasn't really a father yet and to sit back down. He had the opportunity to share that he indeed was a father. Carolyn was born at a state-of-the art hospital where they were trying new therapies with preemies. My sister ended up being the youngest preemie to survive at that time.
My birth, being the 3rd child, sounded not-quite-so-exciting. It was a very quick, easy labor. In fact, I was some young intern's first delivery. I did enjoy hearing my mom tell how this intern asked her, "is this your first child?" After my mom replied no, he said, "well that's good, because this is my first delivery." My youngest sister's delivery was even more boring, with not amuch in the way of anecdotes.
Any one who has given birth deserves a medal of courage. If you want to share your birth story, let me know. I want to hear it.
There is something about the miracle of birth, but equally amazing is the heroics of every mom who has ever born a child. Does any pregnant woman really believe it will be as painful as others describe? So far, I have yet to meet one who could have imagined what the birth experience would really entail. No matter how many televised births seen, or girlfriend stories she has heard, it seems giving birth is a unique experience. Why shouldn't it be? Every child is uniquely individual, shouldn't their birth be too?
As a little girl, I listened to my mom share her stories. It seemed like she always began with my brothers birth. He wasn't the oldest, but his birth must have been the most dramatic. She'd begin with a phrase about her water breaking before they left for the hospital. This always intrigued me. I envisioned a water pipe in the laundry room spewing water everywhere. I wondered why she never mentioned when they cleaned all that water up or what happened. I was left to imagine my dad fixing the pipe later, after the birth of my brother.
His birth was most certainly a sensational event. His shoulders were larger than his head, causing him to get stuck in the birth canal. In a flurry of activity, the doctors put my mom our with some sort of gas, and they must have lost her on the table. She had an experience at that time that she didn't share with everyone. It can be described as a classic out-of-body, or near-death experience. Thankfully, my brother was delivered and my mom brought back to life too.
Her first birth was equally amazing. My oldest sister was born 2 1/2 month premature. According to my dad, he went to church the day after her birth. It was Father's Day and the asked all of the dads to stand. When my dad stood, his friends told him he wasn't really a father yet and to sit back down. He had the opportunity to share that he indeed was a father. Carolyn was born at a state-of-the art hospital where they were trying new therapies with preemies. My sister ended up being the youngest preemie to survive at that time.
My birth, being the 3rd child, sounded not-quite-so-exciting. It was a very quick, easy labor. In fact, I was some young intern's first delivery. I did enjoy hearing my mom tell how this intern asked her, "is this your first child?" After my mom replied no, he said, "well that's good, because this is my first delivery." My youngest sister's delivery was even more boring, with not amuch in the way of anecdotes.
Any one who has given birth deserves a medal of courage. If you want to share your birth story, let me know. I want to hear it.
Friday, March 28, 2008
This and That
Day 16 of a sore throat & congestion, that doesn't appear to be clearing anytime soon.
My mother-in-law had this great idea to fly to North Carolina to see her oldest daughter for Mother's Day and wanted her favorite daughter-in-law to accompany her. So guess who will be seeing the state of North Carolina for the first time in May? I'm so excited. Anyone out there live in Charlotte?
The best moment ever, on an Easter Sunday? Standing at the end of our church service, praying. The Pastor was inviting anyone who desired to a new life in Christ to come forward. People began walking towards the altar. I prayed for hearts to be soft and open. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear. "Mom, would you go up there with me?" And with tears streaming down my face, I stepped out with my daughter, as she rededicated her life to the Lord. Nothing could bring greater joy.
My mother-in-law had this great idea to fly to North Carolina to see her oldest daughter for Mother's Day and wanted her favorite daughter-in-law to accompany her. So guess who will be seeing the state of North Carolina for the first time in May? I'm so excited. Anyone out there live in Charlotte?
The best moment ever, on an Easter Sunday? Standing at the end of our church service, praying. The Pastor was inviting anyone who desired to a new life in Christ to come forward. People began walking towards the altar. I prayed for hearts to be soft and open. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear. "Mom, would you go up there with me?" And with tears streaming down my face, I stepped out with my daughter, as she rededicated her life to the Lord. Nothing could bring greater joy.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
A Nice Surprise-Not
In early December, you may recall I was pretty excited. I posted that Ethan was finally going to get the extra help he needed. He was to begin attending an autistic school. Can you believe he hasn't started yet?
Christina was told it would probably be February before he actually got in...you know the logistics, evaluating Ethan to see what his needs are, hiring a teacher, blah, blah, blah. But nothing happened. It gets sort of confusing, something about another child took his spot, he's next on the list...you get the picture. I'm wondering the whole time, what good does moving him so close to the end of the school year??? And what is taking so dang long?
Finally, a couple of weeks ago, Ethan was evaluated. Then came a meeting with the school district head honcho, who holds the power cards to approve, disapprove, allow, disallow-the one who holds the purse strings. The meeting also consisted of the director the Autistic School so she would know what exactly what head honcho was going to allocate for Ethan. It was during this meeting that Christina found out funding was approved for the remainder of the Spring semester, and for the Fall and Spring semester of next year. Sounded great. There was only one problem.
The Autistic School is year round. This means for 5 weeks this summer, there are no funds for Ethan to attend school. The new school said it would not be conducive for Ethan to start and then be absent for 5 weeks. If this was the case, he would not be accepted into their school. Translated: Christina needs to come up with a couple thousand dollars or so, in order for Ethan to attend his new school.
Isn't this a nice surprise?
Christina was told it would probably be February before he actually got in...you know the logistics, evaluating Ethan to see what his needs are, hiring a teacher, blah, blah, blah. But nothing happened. It gets sort of confusing, something about another child took his spot, he's next on the list...you get the picture. I'm wondering the whole time, what good does moving him so close to the end of the school year??? And what is taking so dang long?
Finally, a couple of weeks ago, Ethan was evaluated. Then came a meeting with the school district head honcho, who holds the power cards to approve, disapprove, allow, disallow-the one who holds the purse strings. The meeting also consisted of the director the Autistic School so she would know what exactly what head honcho was going to allocate for Ethan. It was during this meeting that Christina found out funding was approved for the remainder of the Spring semester, and for the Fall and Spring semester of next year. Sounded great. There was only one problem.
The Autistic School is year round. This means for 5 weeks this summer, there are no funds for Ethan to attend school. The new school said it would not be conducive for Ethan to start and then be absent for 5 weeks. If this was the case, he would not be accepted into their school. Translated: Christina needs to come up with a couple thousand dollars or so, in order for Ethan to attend his new school.
Isn't this a nice surprise?
Saturday, March 22, 2008
All week I've felt guilty. My poor blog has been suffering feelings of rejection as I've logged on to the computer, yet failed to offer any words of assurance that I'm committed to her. So here I am.
Have I ever mentioned I don't multi-task? My computer operates just fine, performing simultaneous functions. I, on the other hand, can't even think about or plan more than one thing at a time. I can't plan Easter events before the last birthday celebration is completed. When I'm shopping for groceries on Monday I was able to buy for the week's meals, including a birthday dinner for Hilary. But forget planning for Easter dinner. My brain just cannot work all of those thoughts out. Easter snuck in way too early this year.
Yesterday was not only the end of the week and Good Friday, but it was officially the start of Spring Break for my school kids. Woohoo! That sort of snuck up on me too. Since I can't plan ahead, immediately I wanted to pack up the car and take off to some exotic location. (Ok, Arizona isn't exactly exotic, but warm & wild enough for me.) Gas prices don't scare me. (I don't pay the bills.) But Elisabeth has committed to house sitting for cousins who are at this moment, enjoying the tropics of Arizona. I'd feel awful leaving her behind with a houseful of pets. Sigh.
The good news? On Thursday, Christopher is boarding a plane in sunny Arizona and flying to not-quite-spring-yet Colorado. Ethan is on Spring break, so Christina and he will drive up to share in the fun. My house will be full. The heck with Spring Break, it will feel more like summer vacation.
Have I ever mentioned I don't multi-task? My computer operates just fine, performing simultaneous functions. I, on the other hand, can't even think about or plan more than one thing at a time. I can't plan Easter events before the last birthday celebration is completed. When I'm shopping for groceries on Monday I was able to buy for the week's meals, including a birthday dinner for Hilary. But forget planning for Easter dinner. My brain just cannot work all of those thoughts out. Easter snuck in way too early this year.
Yesterday was not only the end of the week and Good Friday, but it was officially the start of Spring Break for my school kids. Woohoo! That sort of snuck up on me too. Since I can't plan ahead, immediately I wanted to pack up the car and take off to some exotic location. (Ok, Arizona isn't exactly exotic, but warm & wild enough for me.) Gas prices don't scare me. (I don't pay the bills.) But Elisabeth has committed to house sitting for cousins who are at this moment, enjoying the tropics of Arizona. I'd feel awful leaving her behind with a houseful of pets. Sigh.
The good news? On Thursday, Christopher is boarding a plane in sunny Arizona and flying to not-quite-spring-yet Colorado. Ethan is on Spring break, so Christina and he will drive up to share in the fun. My house will be full. The heck with Spring Break, it will feel more like summer vacation.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Waiting For Baby
"We waited for months,
We waited for weeks.
We waited for days you see.
Our baby you'll always be!"
I picked up your book this morning, and read it cover to cover. "Written for Hilary Rose, by her maternal grandmother, so she'll always know she is loved." It is a delightful story of how we waited for you, our 5th baby to be born. Papa & Gramma were here to share in the excitement. Gramma penned the words, and snapped lots of photos to go into this book. She wanted you to know you were loved as much as our 1st, 2nd, 3rd, & 4th child. Even though you were the 9th grandchild, your birth was special. God planned for you.
At 16, you continue to fill our lives with joy, laughter, and beauty-exactly what your names mean.
>
>
I didn't know you would be our last child. Gramma was right, "our baby you'll always be!" Happy 16th Birthday Hilary, We love you.
We waited for weeks.
We waited for days you see.
Our baby you'll always be!"
I picked up your book this morning, and read it cover to cover. "Written for Hilary Rose, by her maternal grandmother, so she'll always know she is loved." It is a delightful story of how we waited for you, our 5th baby to be born. Papa & Gramma were here to share in the excitement. Gramma penned the words, and snapped lots of photos to go into this book. She wanted you to know you were loved as much as our 1st, 2nd, 3rd, & 4th child. Even though you were the 9th grandchild, your birth was special. God planned for you.
At 16, you continue to fill our lives with joy, laughter, and beauty-exactly what your names mean.
>>
>
I didn't know you would be our last child. Gramma was right, "our baby you'll always be!" Happy 16th Birthday Hilary, We love you.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Thank-you
Thanks everyone for the birthday wishes. I had a lovely day. I made a lavish Mexican Fiesta, with my favorite dishes. (And yes, I could have gone out to dinner, but I wanted to save that for the weekend when Christina and Ethan could join us.) Of course I completely forgot Hilary was having her 16th birthday party on Saturday. How did I forget? I'd been cleaning the basement for 2 weeks so she'd have room for all of those teens.
I did have a pretty cake.
Sadly, I had a bad hair day all week. I had my hair cut on Monday. I'd made the appointment the week prior. Upon arriving, I couldn't remember how I wanted it cut. I knew I wanted 3 or 4 inches off the length in back, I just didn't know why. My hairdresser knows me pretty well and I trust her. She snipped to her heart's delight. The next day my memory returned and so did my reasons for cutting the length. I didn't want so many layers, just a bit towards the bottom. By cutting it shorter, the layers would be longer and it would be thicker. I now have the length off AND very short layers on top. The exact opposite of what I wanted. I wish I had a brain sometimes and could remember things.
Thanks for the wonderful birthday wishes. We celebrated again last night by going out to dinner. Tomorrow is Hilary's actual 16th birthdate. We'll eat more cake. Did I mention this is our birthday season?
I did have a pretty cake.
Sadly, I had a bad hair day all week. I had my hair cut on Monday. I'd made the appointment the week prior. Upon arriving, I couldn't remember how I wanted it cut. I knew I wanted 3 or 4 inches off the length in back, I just didn't know why. My hairdresser knows me pretty well and I trust her. She snipped to her heart's delight. The next day my memory returned and so did my reasons for cutting the length. I didn't want so many layers, just a bit towards the bottom. By cutting it shorter, the layers would be longer and it would be thicker. I now have the length off AND very short layers on top. The exact opposite of what I wanted. I wish I had a brain sometimes and could remember things.
Thanks for the wonderful birthday wishes. We celebrated again last night by going out to dinner. Tomorrow is Hilary's actual 16th birthdate. We'll eat more cake. Did I mention this is our birthday season?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
What a nice surprise to wake up to this morning.
Sarabeth is graduating from high school this May. She has a commemorative tassle hanging from the rear view mirror, with an '08 dangling from it. At one point, it twisted around backwards and read '80. How funny. That was my class year.
I was flipping through the radio stations and noticed the "oldies" station no longer plays 50's and 60's music. They were playing 70's and 80's. When did that happen? Is my generation old?
But then I remember. I didn't actually graduate in 1980, like I was supposed to. I graduated in 1997. That makes me the class of '97. I feel so much younger.
To celebrate my birthday, would you mind leaving a comment? I'd love to know who's reading or who might have recently stopped by. Go ahead, make my day!
Saturday, March 08, 2008
An Anniversary (Part 2)
As the months passed, we began to see a transformation. They were no longer Ed & Betty, living at the Meridian. Upon visiting my inlaws we were stepping into the community they'd immersed themselves. I'd find my mother-in-law, sitting at the puzzle table, just outside her room. She'd introduce me to her friends who were working with her on the current puzzle. They began inviting us to special dinners, like the "Wine & Candelight." What a joy to see them chatting away with so many new friends, pointing out which table they normally sit at and with whom.
Ed began stepping out of his comfort zone. When he comes to dinner, he doesn't seem to mind that we don't eat at 4, or even 5. He ventured downtown with us for Elisabeth's birthday at a ESPN Sports Zone, which is a glorified sports bar. Unless the weather is bad, he insists on going to his doctor appointments without us. He shares about the very informative and interesting talks given by (I wish I could remember the name of the organization.) Even after his heart attack just 6 weeks ago, my father-in-law insisted on driving over here a few days ago, to return a movie we'd loaned him. He came by himself, and we sat on the porch and visited while his lovely wife Elizabeth, was learning the card game Canasta.
Speaking of Elizabeth, I am so impressed. I remembered her saying how much she wished she could go by the name Elizabeth, instead of Betty. When I took her to my hairdresser for the first time, I made the appointment for "Elizabeth" and introduced her as such. She loves reading books with strong, female characters. I think "Elizabeth" sounds bolder than Betty.
Elizabeth stepped out of her comfort zone and began playing Bingo on Saturday nights. She attends exercise classes twice a week, reads with a group of second graders, learned to play Bunco, and ventures down to movie night. She isn't afraid to speak up. When some of the residents began discussing the shortfalls of the dininig hall chef, she joined a committee that meets to see that changes are made.
She was chatting with Sarabeth a few weeks ago. Sarabeth is graduating from high school in May and will go off to college in the Fall. Elizabeth excitedly explained the opportunity opening up before her. "You can be anybody you want to be. No one will know you at college. You can reinvent yourself. Everyone at this school knows you as the same little girl that you were when you started seventh grade. It's hard to change within that environment. Look at me, I've been Betty all of my life. Thanks to this move, I've become Elizabeth and it wasn't until I was 80 years old. I could never have done that living in Arizona."
This year has passed quickly. My inlaws not only survived their first winter in Colorado, but I'd say they were living well. We are so very blessed!
Ed began stepping out of his comfort zone. When he comes to dinner, he doesn't seem to mind that we don't eat at 4, or even 5. He ventured downtown with us for Elisabeth's birthday at a ESPN Sports Zone, which is a glorified sports bar. Unless the weather is bad, he insists on going to his doctor appointments without us. He shares about the very informative and interesting talks given by (I wish I could remember the name of the organization.) Even after his heart attack just 6 weeks ago, my father-in-law insisted on driving over here a few days ago, to return a movie we'd loaned him. He came by himself, and we sat on the porch and visited while his lovely wife Elizabeth, was learning the card game Canasta.
Speaking of Elizabeth, I am so impressed. I remembered her saying how much she wished she could go by the name Elizabeth, instead of Betty. When I took her to my hairdresser for the first time, I made the appointment for "Elizabeth" and introduced her as such. She loves reading books with strong, female characters. I think "Elizabeth" sounds bolder than Betty.
Elizabeth stepped out of her comfort zone and began playing Bingo on Saturday nights. She attends exercise classes twice a week, reads with a group of second graders, learned to play Bunco, and ventures down to movie night. She isn't afraid to speak up. When some of the residents began discussing the shortfalls of the dininig hall chef, she joined a committee that meets to see that changes are made.
She was chatting with Sarabeth a few weeks ago. Sarabeth is graduating from high school in May and will go off to college in the Fall. Elizabeth excitedly explained the opportunity opening up before her. "You can be anybody you want to be. No one will know you at college. You can reinvent yourself. Everyone at this school knows you as the same little girl that you were when you started seventh grade. It's hard to change within that environment. Look at me, I've been Betty all of my life. Thanks to this move, I've become Elizabeth and it wasn't until I was 80 years old. I could never have done that living in Arizona."
This year has passed quickly. My inlaws not only survived their first winter in Colorado, but I'd say they were living well. We are so very blessed!
Friday, March 07, 2008
An Anniversary (Part 1)
Saturday is an anniversary of sorts around here. One year ago, my inlaws boarded a plane with as many clothes as their suitcases could hold, and came here to live for the rest of their lives. It was huge.
They'd spent the last 42 years in the hot desert of Arizona and were entering the ever-changing weather of Colorado. How would they adjust to living in snow?
At first we planned to renovate our home to provide them with space and privacy. After months of configuring, strategizing, engineering, researching,we came up with another plan. We found a lovely retirement community, the Meridian. It was close to our home with many amenitites that we couldn't provide-the first being a quiet place. Even though our home is quieter than it has been in years, it can still be bustling with activity and noise. That can be difficult to escape. At 83 and 79 years old, we felt a home at Meridian would offer them so much more than we could provide.
Shortly after their arrival, we worried. Had we made the right decision? They seemed tired, frail, sad. Michael and I doubted they'd be able to live on their own. During family dinners, it seemed they missed much of the conversations. We feared the noise level was too much, the chatting, laughter, and silly stories were not enjoyable but exhausting for them. What were we to do?
It didn't take too many days or weeks before we began to see remarkable improvement. Not only were they smiling more, they were becoming a central part of dinner conversations. Playful teasing, joking, and lots of laughter was exchanged between the kids and their grandparents. We were thrilled.
Towards the beginning of April, Michael and Christopher drove a truck of their downscaled belongings, and moved them into their one bedroom apartment. After everything was unpacked, we said goodbye and closed the door. As we walked from the building, I had butterflies in my stomach. The same flutters I felt the first day of Kindergarten with each of my children.
After 5 years, my child was no longer exclusively under my care.
After 5 weeks, my inlaws were no longer sharing our home.
I was excited for my child to begin his new journey at school, but I worried how he would cope with so many new experiences.
I was happy for my inlaws to have a place of their own, opportunites to meet new friends, and learn new things. Would they be happy?
Letting go butterflies. Hoping & trusting I've done what I should, in the time I'd been given. Expecting the best, but preparing for the worst. Very mixed emotions.
They'd spent the last 42 years in the hot desert of Arizona and were entering the ever-changing weather of Colorado. How would they adjust to living in snow?
At first we planned to renovate our home to provide them with space and privacy. After months of configuring, strategizing, engineering, researching,we came up with another plan. We found a lovely retirement community, the Meridian. It was close to our home with many amenitites that we couldn't provide-the first being a quiet place. Even though our home is quieter than it has been in years, it can still be bustling with activity and noise. That can be difficult to escape. At 83 and 79 years old, we felt a home at Meridian would offer them so much more than we could provide.
Shortly after their arrival, we worried. Had we made the right decision? They seemed tired, frail, sad. Michael and I doubted they'd be able to live on their own. During family dinners, it seemed they missed much of the conversations. We feared the noise level was too much, the chatting, laughter, and silly stories were not enjoyable but exhausting for them. What were we to do?
It didn't take too many days or weeks before we began to see remarkable improvement. Not only were they smiling more, they were becoming a central part of dinner conversations. Playful teasing, joking, and lots of laughter was exchanged between the kids and their grandparents. We were thrilled.
Towards the beginning of April, Michael and Christopher drove a truck of their downscaled belongings, and moved them into their one bedroom apartment. After everything was unpacked, we said goodbye and closed the door. As we walked from the building, I had butterflies in my stomach. The same flutters I felt the first day of Kindergarten with each of my children.
After 5 years, my child was no longer exclusively under my care.
After 5 weeks, my inlaws were no longer sharing our home.
I was excited for my child to begin his new journey at school, but I worried how he would cope with so many new experiences.
I was happy for my inlaws to have a place of their own, opportunites to meet new friends, and learn new things. Would they be happy?
Letting go butterflies. Hoping & trusting I've done what I should, in the time I'd been given. Expecting the best, but preparing for the worst. Very mixed emotions.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
A Bad Day?
I understand that anyone can have a bad, even doctors. But when it comes to one of MY kids, it better not happen in my presence.
Elisabeth went for another back injection yesterday. Michael went with her. I had taken Hilary to school, which on a good day, I can drive it in 37 minutes. It was not a good day. Snow was blowing, and the roads were terrible. I arrived home 93 minutes after I'd left.
After her injection, Elisabeth was in a LOT of pain. With the particular meds that were used, she shouldn't have had any pain. She cried for 2 hours in recovery. The doctor doesn't usually come back to see patients, but two different nurses made requests that he do so.
I understand that he has a schedule to keep and that he is busy, but I don't understand his behavior. He appeared very agitated for having to see her. How much time did he save by snatching the juice from her hand as she was taking a drink? Was jerking her from a reclining position to sitting necessary? What did the few seconds it would take for him to wait for her to set the juice down and sit up on her own really cost him? Was he truly trying to save time?
Maybe this man was really dealing with his own pride. At our first meeting, he came off as very arrogant. He was certain of Elisabeth's diagnosis. We were hopeful in light of the confidence he exhibited, after reviewing her medical records. But now I can't help but wonder if he was feeling a bit like a failure when the injection seemed to go awry. Maybe his diagnosis had been wrong. Elisabeth's pain was making him look bad, and he didn't like that. The recovery room was filled with other patients of his. Several people, also waiting in recovery, came by to ask if Elisabeth was ok. They could tell it wasn't going well. Strangers cared and showed concern, why didn't this doctor?
To fix the problem, he filled a syringe with a numbing agent and re-injected her back. I think he over medicated her, as she became very sick afterwards.
It's a good thing I wasn't there. I would have been like a mama bear attacking anyone who harmed her baby cub. As it is, this doctor will get an earful at her next appointment. And maybe more.
Elisabeth went for another back injection yesterday. Michael went with her. I had taken Hilary to school, which on a good day, I can drive it in 37 minutes. It was not a good day. Snow was blowing, and the roads were terrible. I arrived home 93 minutes after I'd left.
After her injection, Elisabeth was in a LOT of pain. With the particular meds that were used, she shouldn't have had any pain. She cried for 2 hours in recovery. The doctor doesn't usually come back to see patients, but two different nurses made requests that he do so.
I understand that he has a schedule to keep and that he is busy, but I don't understand his behavior. He appeared very agitated for having to see her. How much time did he save by snatching the juice from her hand as she was taking a drink? Was jerking her from a reclining position to sitting necessary? What did the few seconds it would take for him to wait for her to set the juice down and sit up on her own really cost him? Was he truly trying to save time?
Maybe this man was really dealing with his own pride. At our first meeting, he came off as very arrogant. He was certain of Elisabeth's diagnosis. We were hopeful in light of the confidence he exhibited, after reviewing her medical records. But now I can't help but wonder if he was feeling a bit like a failure when the injection seemed to go awry. Maybe his diagnosis had been wrong. Elisabeth's pain was making him look bad, and he didn't like that. The recovery room was filled with other patients of his. Several people, also waiting in recovery, came by to ask if Elisabeth was ok. They could tell it wasn't going well. Strangers cared and showed concern, why didn't this doctor?
To fix the problem, he filled a syringe with a numbing agent and re-injected her back. I think he over medicated her, as she became very sick afterwards.
It's a good thing I wasn't there. I would have been like a mama bear attacking anyone who harmed her baby cub. As it is, this doctor will get an earful at her next appointment. And maybe more.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Secrets
I grew up with an older sister who couldn't keep a secret. If Carolyn knew a secret, we were lucky if it lasted a few hours. I'm not sure why, but asking her not to tell, was like putting a plate of cookies before a sweet-toothed child and asking her not to touch or taste them. Whisper a secret into her ear, and it would come spilling out her lips.
I, on the other hand, loved keeping secrets. I was the best secret keeper I knew. Even my parents trusted me with secrets. Sometimes I knew of trips we would take before anyone else. I'd know what my dad was getting for his birthday. Maybe I felt special that someone trusted me with their secret-so much so, that I wouldn't do anything to lose that entrusted place.
The older I become, it is harder to keep a secret. I can still keep them, but I want everyone to know that "I" have a secret that I'm keeping. I'll announce that I have a secret. If you have read my blog for awhile, you probably remember another time when I shared that I had a surprise secret but couldn't tell what it was. But I had no problem saying I had a secret. And I did really enjoy when it was no longer a secret and I could share it openly.
So, I know a secret. I'm dying to say something, but I won't. And sometime in the near future, I will mention this post and release the secret. I will enjoy every minute of it. For now, I delight in knowing that I know a secret and in being able to say I have a secret.
I, on the other hand, loved keeping secrets. I was the best secret keeper I knew. Even my parents trusted me with secrets. Sometimes I knew of trips we would take before anyone else. I'd know what my dad was getting for his birthday. Maybe I felt special that someone trusted me with their secret-so much so, that I wouldn't do anything to lose that entrusted place.
The older I become, it is harder to keep a secret. I can still keep them, but I want everyone to know that "I" have a secret that I'm keeping. I'll announce that I have a secret. If you have read my blog for awhile, you probably remember another time when I shared that I had a surprise secret but couldn't tell what it was. But I had no problem saying I had a secret. And I did really enjoy when it was no longer a secret and I could share it openly.
So, I know a secret. I'm dying to say something, but I won't. And sometime in the near future, I will mention this post and release the secret. I will enjoy every minute of it. For now, I delight in knowing that I know a secret and in being able to say I have a secret.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Update
For those who asked, no I wasn't in the hospital. I went for a CT scan (those pesky sinus infections) and I was required to wear an I.D. bracelet. Did they think I'd forget my name, or have a medical emergency while having the scan and they needed to know I was allergic to morphine? I kept forgetting to cut it off and actually wore it until the next day. Like I said, they are comfy.
Michael drank coffee every day for an entire week. Then just as quickly as he began, he gave it up. Diet Pepsi is once again his morning beverage.
Last Saturday, we went out to dinner to celebrate Elisabeth's 21st birthday. I wanted to look nice and was digging through my jewelry box trying to find a pair of dangly earrings. (Somehow I thought they might make me look NOT like the mom of a 21year old. Forget the fact that Christina will be 27 in April.)
Sitting innocently, amongst my costume jewelry, were 2 earrings linked together. The rubies and diamonds glistened as lovely as ever. I scooped them up and hugged them tightly to my chest. Once they were lost, now they were found. (I was feeling foolish for the tears I'd cried.) Quickly, I adorned my ear lobes with these fine ornaments and joined my family in the car. I waited to share my find for later, as I didn't want to take anything away from El's birthday celebration. Afterall, 21 is the last big growing up birthday. The milestones after that are at ages 40, 50, etc. and the excitement just isn't the same.
Michael drank coffee every day for an entire week. Then just as quickly as he began, he gave it up. Diet Pepsi is once again his morning beverage.
Last Saturday, we went out to dinner to celebrate Elisabeth's 21st birthday. I wanted to look nice and was digging through my jewelry box trying to find a pair of dangly earrings. (Somehow I thought they might make me look NOT like the mom of a 21year old. Forget the fact that Christina will be 27 in April.)
Sitting innocently, amongst my costume jewelry, were 2 earrings linked together. The rubies and diamonds glistened as lovely as ever. I scooped them up and hugged them tightly to my chest. Once they were lost, now they were found. (I was feeling foolish for the tears I'd cried.) Quickly, I adorned my ear lobes with these fine ornaments and joined my family in the car. I waited to share my find for later, as I didn't want to take anything away from El's birthday celebration. Afterall, 21 is the last big growing up birthday. The milestones after that are at ages 40, 50, etc. and the excitement just isn't the same.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Happy 21st Elisabeth
A little girl, who loved ribbons and bows and is still as cute as ever, turned 21. As I began to write a Happy Birthday Post, I found myself writing much of what I wrote for her 20th, so thought I'd cut and paste a part of that here.
It's hard to believe you've closed the door to your teen years. What happened to my little Gerber baby with the infectious smile?
Very quickly, that baby turned into a laughing, forever-singing toddler. You loved singing and entertaining anyone who'd pay attention. There was no such thing as a stranger. You welcomed everyone into your world.
Remember how you'd play dress-up for hours and hours? Or making tea and crumpets with your kitchen set? Your golden brown hair, pulled up in crooked pigtails, would bounce as you "cooked." You'd talk and talk in your singsong voice as you'd offer freshly baked cookies.
I remember a girl in second grade who wanted to be a cheerleader. You went to cheer camp and performed at a high school basketball game. Two ladies in front of me saw you amidst the sea of girls and couldn't get over how cute you were. I wanted to say, "that's my girl!" But before I could you waved and curtsied my direction and they thought you were waving to them and they waved back. You brought out the best in others. It wasn't but 7 or 8 years later that you were in high school drawing the crowd to their feet.
It was hard to see you move out this year. I'm thankful that your residence is a mere 20 minutes away. I love that you come home for dinner several nights a week. You are still the same sweet, caring sister and daughter as before, but you are wiser and more mature. I didn't realize turning 21 would be such a transformation. You'll always be my little girl, even though you are all grown up.
It's hard to believe you've closed the door to your teen years. What happened to my little Gerber baby with the infectious smile?
Very quickly, that baby turned into a laughing, forever-singing toddler. You loved singing and entertaining anyone who'd pay attention. There was no such thing as a stranger. You welcomed everyone into your world.
Remember how you'd play dress-up for hours and hours? Or making tea and crumpets with your kitchen set? Your golden brown hair, pulled up in crooked pigtails, would bounce as you "cooked." You'd talk and talk in your singsong voice as you'd offer freshly baked cookies.
I remember a girl in second grade who wanted to be a cheerleader. You went to cheer camp and performed at a high school basketball game. Two ladies in front of me saw you amidst the sea of girls and couldn't get over how cute you were. I wanted to say, "that's my girl!" But before I could you waved and curtsied my direction and they thought you were waving to them and they waved back. You brought out the best in others. It wasn't but 7 or 8 years later that you were in high school drawing the crowd to their feet.
It was hard to see you move out this year. I'm thankful that your residence is a mere 20 minutes away. I love that you come home for dinner several nights a week. You are still the same sweet, caring sister and daughter as before, but you are wiser and more mature. I didn't realize turning 21 would be such a transformation. You'll always be my little girl, even though you are all grown up.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Time Flies When You're Having Fun
Let's see if I can quit having so much fun and get back in the swing of things. Last week Christina was sick, so I picked Ethan up and kept him for a few days. And his big dog. I had hoped Ethan wouldn't get sick, but he did. Suffice it to say, I was busy.
Paper bracelets. What do you think? I've decided they are an ideal accessory. I could have every color of the rainbow, add any design to match or coordinate with every single outfit I own. No more struggling with hard to do clasps. They are comfortable to wear. I can go to be without ever removing it. I can even shower while wearing. When it's time to change, I cut it off and put on a new one. These have to be cheap. Just think, I'd never have to worry about losing or damaging them either.
How cool are hand painted nail designs? I absolutely love them! I haven't mastered the art myself, but I figure if I had the proper tools. It is impossible to paint in fine detail without a tiny brush.
I wouldn't try to cut a large piece of meat with a paring knife or use a meat cleaver to slice a tomato.
With the correct tools and proper training, I could paint nail designs. But that wouldn't make me an artist.
Too often, I don't value the talents I have. I want to do or be something never intended for me. It is difficult to accept our weaknesses and sometimes even our strengths.
Growing up, I'd hear my mom telling others about us kids. She'd speak of our gifts and talents. The things she'd brag to others about me didn't seem that big of a deal because they came easy to me. I wanted to be like my sister. Mom would talk about her dancing ability, her social skills-things that didn't come naturally to me. They were a challenge for me, so they seemed like better gifts to have. I didn't realize she felt the same way and didn't see her talents as something special or unique to her. She wanted what I had.
Today's challenge: To appreciate the giftings of others and encourage them to seek after what they are passionate about. I want to express to them how valuable their particular gifting and talents are and how much I (and others) need them. But I will also value and appreciate everything that God has placed within me and try to use my talents and gifts for His glory.
Paper bracelets. What do you think? I've decided they are an ideal accessory. I could have every color of the rainbow, add any design to match or coordinate with every single outfit I own. No more struggling with hard to do clasps. They are comfortable to wear. I can go to be without ever removing it. I can even shower while wearing. When it's time to change, I cut it off and put on a new one. These have to be cheap. Just think, I'd never have to worry about losing or damaging them either.
How cool are hand painted nail designs? I absolutely love them! I haven't mastered the art myself, but I figure if I had the proper tools. It is impossible to paint in fine detail without a tiny brush.
I wouldn't try to cut a large piece of meat with a paring knife or use a meat cleaver to slice a tomato.
With the correct tools and proper training, I could paint nail designs. But that wouldn't make me an artist.
Too often, I don't value the talents I have. I want to do or be something never intended for me. It is difficult to accept our weaknesses and sometimes even our strengths.
Growing up, I'd hear my mom telling others about us kids. She'd speak of our gifts and talents. The things she'd brag to others about me didn't seem that big of a deal because they came easy to me. I wanted to be like my sister. Mom would talk about her dancing ability, her social skills-things that didn't come naturally to me. They were a challenge for me, so they seemed like better gifts to have. I didn't realize she felt the same way and didn't see her talents as something special or unique to her. She wanted what I had.
Today's challenge: To appreciate the giftings of others and encourage them to seek after what they are passionate about. I want to express to them how valuable their particular gifting and talents are and how much I (and others) need them. But I will also value and appreciate everything that God has placed within me and try to use my talents and gifts for His glory.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Making The World A Better Place
Lori at View From Our Porch gave me this award. Lori truly does make a difference in the lives of so many. Everyone needs to feel valued and special.
The rules are to link to Ukok's place, then pick 5 other bloggers to give this award to. I am giving it to everyone on my Links list, as each one of you have made a difference in my life. Please pass it along.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Pet Peeve
Pet Peeve: Cruising along the highway, doing the speed limit, when all of the sudden nothing but brake lights ahead. I slow down to under the speed limit. I wonder what could be causing the slow down. Up ahead, on the side of the road, is a patrol car. No lights, no accident, nothing. The car is just sitting there. Why is everyone braking? If these cars aren't speeding why the need to slow down? Guilt is my guess. They must be regular speeders who watch for police cars. I have never feared or felt guilty seeing a police or patrol car. My dad drove one.
Dad emailed me the rest of his 1970 Christmas letter. I wanted to share another portion here. Dad was 31 at the time, mom 30, I was 8. My siblings were ages 6, 9, and 11.
"Kathleen says the time has come for me to reveal what I've been up to the past year. Life seems to revolve around my work schedule, which can be day shift, night shift, and a combination of the two. I have been working on the road as a patrolman for the past 16 months. I never dreamed that I would ever get to work on the road. I always wanted to be a policeman, but when I didn't grow tall enough to meet the height requirements, I gave up the idea. Now, here I am working along with the six-footers. I may be the smallest patrolman on the highway patrol, but there are a few others not much bigger. We peewees are known as the mini-patrol.
Sometimes, I wonder why I ever left the cool/warm, depending
on the season, comfort of the radio room. While sitting
overlooking the Salt River Canyon, watching the river below,
and inhaling the cool, pine scented air, I am grateful for
having been liberated from the four walls. On winter nights,
while carrying an injured or dead person out of a canyon, I
wonder why I'm not back in that nice comfortable radio room,
sipping a cup of coffee between radio calls.
People tend to make my job interesting. You meet the good
and the bad. You meet them at their worst and their
best. You get to help them when they need help the most. The
disabled motorist is glad to see you, but the violator wishes you
were in some other county. I could go on about my job as I find it
fascinating, but I'm going to leave it here."
Dad emailed me the rest of his 1970 Christmas letter. I wanted to share another portion here. Dad was 31 at the time, mom 30, I was 8. My siblings were ages 6, 9, and 11.
"Kathleen says the time has come for me to reveal what I've been up to the past year. Life seems to revolve around my work schedule, which can be day shift, night shift, and a combination of the two. I have been working on the road as a patrolman for the past 16 months. I never dreamed that I would ever get to work on the road. I always wanted to be a policeman, but when I didn't grow tall enough to meet the height requirements, I gave up the idea. Now, here I am working along with the six-footers. I may be the smallest patrolman on the highway patrol, but there are a few others not much bigger. We peewees are known as the mini-patrol.
Sometimes, I wonder why I ever left the cool/warm, depending
on the season, comfort of the radio room. While sitting
overlooking the Salt River Canyon, watching the river below,
and inhaling the cool, pine scented air, I am grateful for
having been liberated from the four walls. On winter nights,
while carrying an injured or dead person out of a canyon, I
wonder why I'm not back in that nice comfortable radio room,
sipping a cup of coffee between radio calls.
People tend to make my job interesting. You meet the good
and the bad. You meet them at their worst and their
best. You get to help them when they need help the most. The
disabled motorist is glad to see you, but the violator wishes you
were in some other county. I could go on about my job as I find it
fascinating, but I'm going to leave it here."
For anyone who might be a guilty-braker, thought it would be fun to read the thoughts of a patrolman.
I laughed at the next part of dad's letter:
"Being church treasurer keeps me busy a couple evenings per
month. I sometimes wonder how I ever managed to acquire the
job. Bookkeeping never was high on my list of aptitudes. The
congregation certainly must have a lot of faith."
Dad wrote more, but I figure that is enough for one post. It brought back such fond memories of my dad. He did mention special training he'd been doing for upcoming demonstrations. I don't recall what the commotion was about, but do remember the extra protective gear he had to wear at that time. It was a time of demonstrations turning into riots and complete chaos. Seeing my dad in his uniform, I saw the strong protector. I felt safe, knowing my dad was watching out for us.
Dad is retired now. He no longer wears a uniform, protective gear, or carries a gun. But he continues to be a strong protector of our family and others. His weapons are not visible, except when he's on his knees.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Sometimes It Can't Be Fixed
Not everything broken can be fixed. A lost treasure isn't always found. Ask me how I know.
Before Christmas, I embarrassed myself. Christopher was home and we went out shopping. As we passed my favorite jewelry store, I showed him the bracelet that I wasn't getting. He said, "ma, you don't know that." I assured him that his dad couldn't pull off a suprise like that. I had been hinting how much I wanted the bracelet. No, I wasn't hinting, I was practically begging. I told him about it in detail. I pulled it up on the internet to let him see exactly what I wanted. I even found some cheaper alternatives if he just couldn't swing this one. He didn't pay much attention. Christopher tried to encourage me that surely if it was that important, there was a good chance his dad bought it. No, I was confident that I knew him better. Michael would have asked what store it was at, or if I really wanted it, before he went out. I'd know. Besides, 2 days earlier, he'd bought me a pair of exotic boots for Christmas and it would be way too much money to spend. (Yeah, I knew I was getting them.)
Imagine my humiliation when Christmas morning, Christopher handed me a slender gift box from his dad that looked the perfect size for a bracelet. "Hmm...I wonder what this could be? Oh, but surely not. There is no way dad could possibly have surprised you. Wow, do you feel a little silly for the way you carried on the other day?" He continued laughing and teasing me. And he'd been correct. Michael had truly surprised me.
The whole situation reminded me of a Valentine's Day not too long ago. I posted about my disappointment at not receiving a coveted pair of diamond & ruby earrings. Michael surprised me. He gave them to me for my birthday. He has become unimaginably extravagant in giving to me.
Last week, while painting, I took my bracelet off and shoved it in my pocket so as not to get paint on it. In doing so, I bent it backwards deeming it unrepairable according to the jeweler. During that same week, I took off the above mentioned earrings and set them on the coffee table. They are no where to be found. I fear they fell off the table and I inadvertently vaccuumed them up. I'm afraid they are hidden inside a trash bag located in a remote landfill, never to be found again. You would think that with something so valuable and important to me I wouldn't be so careless.
The jeweler agreed to replace my bracelet if I would purchase an extended waranty for an extra $38. My bracelet is brand new. I am not very hopeful of ever finding my earrings.
The Good News? God is not careless. He has already purchased an extended waranty for us: The guarantee of eternal life. I was careless with this gift of life. I experienced pain, loss, loneliness. My life was a broken mess. I was sure the damage I'd done was irrepairable. But it was not. God made it brand new. He can do it for you.
No matter how lost I might become beneath the cares of this life, He knows where I am. He can pluck me from the darkest, most hidden place.
Maybe you aren't in a dark place, but find somewhere along the path, you've lost your way. You can be a valued treasure in the hand of God, if you want. Your redemption is there for the asking.
I imagine the garbage man walking through the dump. He stoops down. He turns over a dirty, wet paper plate. He digs a bit through the coffee grounds and dog hair and pulls out an item. "I knew right where you were all along," he says. At home, he washes and cleans his newly found treasure. There before him is a sparkling pair of diamond/ruby earrings-something of great value to him.
Every broken life can be fixed. Every lost person can be found.
Before Christmas, I embarrassed myself. Christopher was home and we went out shopping. As we passed my favorite jewelry store, I showed him the bracelet that I wasn't getting. He said, "ma, you don't know that." I assured him that his dad couldn't pull off a suprise like that. I had been hinting how much I wanted the bracelet. No, I wasn't hinting, I was practically begging. I told him about it in detail. I pulled it up on the internet to let him see exactly what I wanted. I even found some cheaper alternatives if he just couldn't swing this one. He didn't pay much attention. Christopher tried to encourage me that surely if it was that important, there was a good chance his dad bought it. No, I was confident that I knew him better. Michael would have asked what store it was at, or if I really wanted it, before he went out. I'd know. Besides, 2 days earlier, he'd bought me a pair of exotic boots for Christmas and it would be way too much money to spend. (Yeah, I knew I was getting them.)
Imagine my humiliation when Christmas morning, Christopher handed me a slender gift box from his dad that looked the perfect size for a bracelet. "Hmm...I wonder what this could be? Oh, but surely not. There is no way dad could possibly have surprised you. Wow, do you feel a little silly for the way you carried on the other day?" He continued laughing and teasing me. And he'd been correct. Michael had truly surprised me.
The whole situation reminded me of a Valentine's Day not too long ago. I posted about my disappointment at not receiving a coveted pair of diamond & ruby earrings. Michael surprised me. He gave them to me for my birthday. He has become unimaginably extravagant in giving to me.
Last week, while painting, I took my bracelet off and shoved it in my pocket so as not to get paint on it. In doing so, I bent it backwards deeming it unrepairable according to the jeweler. During that same week, I took off the above mentioned earrings and set them on the coffee table. They are no where to be found. I fear they fell off the table and I inadvertently vaccuumed them up. I'm afraid they are hidden inside a trash bag located in a remote landfill, never to be found again. You would think that with something so valuable and important to me I wouldn't be so careless.
The jeweler agreed to replace my bracelet if I would purchase an extended waranty for an extra $38. My bracelet is brand new. I am not very hopeful of ever finding my earrings.
The Good News? God is not careless. He has already purchased an extended waranty for us: The guarantee of eternal life. I was careless with this gift of life. I experienced pain, loss, loneliness. My life was a broken mess. I was sure the damage I'd done was irrepairable. But it was not. God made it brand new. He can do it for you.
No matter how lost I might become beneath the cares of this life, He knows where I am. He can pluck me from the darkest, most hidden place.
Maybe you aren't in a dark place, but find somewhere along the path, you've lost your way. You can be a valued treasure in the hand of God, if you want. Your redemption is there for the asking.
I imagine the garbage man walking through the dump. He stoops down. He turns over a dirty, wet paper plate. He digs a bit through the coffee grounds and dog hair and pulls out an item. "I knew right where you were all along," he says. At home, he washes and cleans his newly found treasure. There before him is a sparkling pair of diamond/ruby earrings-something of great value to him.
Every broken life can be fixed. Every lost person can be found.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Random Thoughts
Why do kids wait until right before bedtime to mention they are supposed to bring snacks to school the next day?
When and why do people start drinking coffee? Is it possible to begin at age 54? Michael is doing just that-sitting here having a cup of hot coffee with me for the first time ever. How cool is that after nearly 25 years of marriage? Oh, and he is much older than I.
Did I mention Ethan was here last weekend? I gave him the transformer valentine's I'd bought. We sat at the kitchen table playing something akin to paper dolls, except with cards printed with transformer guys. Ethan squeeled with delight as I did my best transformer voice imitiations. I thought we'd have to do that all day, until I took a quick break to check on his dog. I ran downstairs, let Dazy inside, gave her a treat, then ran back upstairs. In that short period of time, Ethan had ripped everyone of them into shreds. He looked to be having as much fun as he had playing paper transformer dolls. I let him continue ripping and tearing.
The $12 car wash isn't any better than the $6 one. In fact, I think my car looks much nicer at the cheaper price, especially when the roads are dry except for the snow in front of my house. As soon as I got home, slushy, snow splashed on what was a clean car.
Have a great weekend!
When and why do people start drinking coffee? Is it possible to begin at age 54? Michael is doing just that-sitting here having a cup of hot coffee with me for the first time ever. How cool is that after nearly 25 years of marriage? Oh, and he is much older than I.
Did I mention Ethan was here last weekend? I gave him the transformer valentine's I'd bought. We sat at the kitchen table playing something akin to paper dolls, except with cards printed with transformer guys. Ethan squeeled with delight as I did my best transformer voice imitiations. I thought we'd have to do that all day, until I took a quick break to check on his dog. I ran downstairs, let Dazy inside, gave her a treat, then ran back upstairs. In that short period of time, Ethan had ripped everyone of them into shreds. He looked to be having as much fun as he had playing paper transformer dolls. I let him continue ripping and tearing.
The $12 car wash isn't any better than the $6 one. In fact, I think my car looks much nicer at the cheaper price, especially when the roads are dry except for the snow in front of my house. As soon as I got home, slushy, snow splashed on what was a clean car.
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
SuperMom
The day before Hilary left to Florida, she gave me this mini-balloon. She thought it was so cute.
I gave her a card as she was walking out the door. She told me she read it on the plane and it made her cry. Her coach asked what was wrong. She answered that nothing was wrong and shared the card with her. The coach said she wished I'd come on the trip with them.
The next trip to Nationals, I'm going too.
Book Meme
PJ at Bits & Pieces tagged me for this book meme. Here are the instructions:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages.)
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.
The book is Ten Minutes From Normal, by Karen Hughes
"Governor Bush had placed three of us at the head of the campaign: he paid us each the same salary, and treated us as equals. Karl Rove was our political guru, in charge of the overall strategy; Joe Albaugh was the campaign manager who liked to be known as 'the enforcer;' and I was the communicator, responsible for the message. Joe called us 'the brain, the brawn and the bite'."
(Okay, I'm going to cheat. I'm going to quote from the other book that was sitting atop this one.)
3:16 by Max Lucado
"Millions who face the chill of empty pockets or the fears of sudden change turn to Christ. Why? Because he's been there. He's been to Nazareth, where he made deadlines and paid bills; to Galilee, where he recruited direct reports and separated fighters; to Jerusalem, where he stared down critics and stood up against cynics."
So there you have it. Anyone want to play along?
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages.)
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.
The book is Ten Minutes From Normal, by Karen Hughes
"Governor Bush had placed three of us at the head of the campaign: he paid us each the same salary, and treated us as equals. Karl Rove was our political guru, in charge of the overall strategy; Joe Albaugh was the campaign manager who liked to be known as 'the enforcer;' and I was the communicator, responsible for the message. Joe called us 'the brain, the brawn and the bite'."
(Okay, I'm going to cheat. I'm going to quote from the other book that was sitting atop this one.)
3:16 by Max Lucado
"Millions who face the chill of empty pockets or the fears of sudden change turn to Christ. Why? Because he's been there. He's been to Nazareth, where he made deadlines and paid bills; to Galilee, where he recruited direct reports and separated fighters; to Jerusalem, where he stared down critics and stood up against cynics."
So there you have it. Anyone want to play along?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)