Some Days Are Just Sad

Tomorrow will be a happier day. I think it is ok to have a down day once in awhile. After a sunny day in the 70's yesterday, it is a bit gloomy here. It began raining, snowed a bit and it gray, cold, and damp. Certainly a good day to get some things accomplished inside.

I need to put my scrapbooking supplies away. I'd been searching for a photo of my mom and me. I wanted to post one for Mother's Day. I found 3 or 4 from the past 25 years. It seems it is usually my mom or I that takes the pictures. I vowed to get more soon. Here is the most recent one with my mom and dad:



Ethan was here for a few hours on Mother's Day. He had a rough week. I noticed he found my photos. Thankfully, I noticed 40 or so that he'd thrown in the garbage. He also found my fancy scissors and pens. One photo I found of both my mom and dad was ripped in half, as were a number of other pictures. I don't blame him. These things happen. I don't feel very motivated to reorganize and put things away though. I'm afraid of what else I might find.

Remember when I posted how excited I was for Ethan to attend the Autistic school? That was in December and he didn't actually start until April? I posted about how the school wouldn't pay for the the summer and if Christina couldn't come up with the difference they wouldn't accept him? Did I tell you that thanks to the tax stimulus rebate and such the money was available? Yesterday she found out it didn't really matter. The school has "changed their mind" and won't pay for him to go in the Fall, even though they had verbally said he was approved beginning last November for at least a year. Instead, he gets to attend school for a mere 3 months.

I don't understand how they can deny him. Why open the door to watch him blossom for a few weeks, then slam it shut in his face? What a crushing blow!

I'm sorry. Sometimes it is just that kind of day. But if any of you happens to win the lottery and begin feeling very generous, I know a little boy who would love to keep going to school.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Who was that crazy lady riding down the middle of the street in a homemade go-cart? Built with her 9 year old son, it sure was fast. She crashed and burned at the bottom of a hill, grinding gravel into her knees. Walking home, the enthusiastic boy raved about how cool it was, while his mom limped along, blood running down her legs, dragging the cart behind her.

That was my mom.

Many times I've waited to hear an important speaker. But their introduction gets in the way. By the time the announcer has rattled off her many titles, education, accomplishments, & virtues, my mind has wandered. I lose the awe with which I've come to hear this person. A list can't capture the essence of the person. I want to tell the announcer to stop and let the person speak so I can decide this person's greatness for myself.

As I try to share about my own mom, very quickly I see the same pattern. She is multi-talented and the list grows the longer I write. Each time I stop. I don't want others to quit reading because she sounds way beyond everyone else, a superior being. But I want to share that she is Mom to 4 kids, 14 grandkids, 2 great grandkids, to share er adventures in life, education, accomplishments, generosity, intelligence...but I become that announcer.

To simplify, as I read about the Virtuous Woman, I see my mom.

A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds.

A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.

She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.

She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.

She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:

"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!

A Little Something I Found

I ran across a Christmas letter I sent out in 1999. Every year when my children were young, we'd take the obligatory family photo. I'd try to write a little something about each person and send it off with the photo and Christmas greeting. Somewhere along the way, it became too much. I missed a few years, didn't even get cards out, let alone a photo taken. I tried again in '99. We'd celebrated my inlaws 50th anniversary so we did have a photo. But what was I thinking???

I wrote this post about a Christmas letter from 1970 that my dad found. After sharing it Gretchen had commented "Any chance you'll try to write some new poetry?" This is why I don't:

Twas a few nights before Christmas and all through the house
No one was quiet, Eeek! The cat's got a mouse!
Michael's been working the computer with care
Building a web page for sports everwhere.
The house is a bustle with children and dog,
Two cats, six gerbils, a fish, and a frog.
Christopher's off with lacrosse stick and ball,
This year in high school he played football.
Christina graduated and went to CSU
She's home now, recovering from Mono and flu.
Elisabeth's homeschooled, but still goes to choir,
She's also involved in the youth group, "On Fire."
Sarabeth just finished her part in a play, and
Represented her school in a speech meet one day.
Hilary's in Brownies and loves to run,
Ran the mile in P.E. and won just for fun.
Joanne has to shop and doesn't have time
To be real clever and keep trying to rhyme.
So we send these greetings to all we hold dear,
May your home be filled with holiday cheer.
And may you be blessed by the Father above
Who sent His Son Jesus to show you His Love.


What was I thinking? And why did we take pictures at the very end of the day when nobody looked their best? Oh well, maybe I didn't really send this out. Maybe it was like so many of my other started but never finished projects.

So instead I embarrass myself and post it here.


It's fun to look back. And this my friends, is why you don't read poetry on my blog. So there you have it Gretchen. I guess I did try to write some poetry in my adult years.

School Project

Hilary had a Spanish project she needed to work on over the weekend. It was one of those group efforts that all parents dread. (Ok, maybe just me.) It requires having the bunch at my house with me supervising, which I don't do well. This often results in one or more kids lingering around because their ride doesn't show. I end up feeding them dinner, then driving them home. Or, as was the case this day, I drive 20 minutes one way to drop my daughter off at another kid's house. She stays a couple of hours, then I pick her up. I lose over an hour and a half out of my weekend driving her around. I should get an 'A for effort.

As I drove Hilary to meet with her 4 male partners, I encouraged her to keep the guys on task. It isn't that I think teen boys goof off...well, yes I do. "Don't let them get distracted by other things. If they do, gently remind them that you really don't have a lot of time. Help them stay focused."

I didn't go to the door with her, just waited until someone answered. After the 20 minute drive home, I began preparing dinner. I hear my phone jingle a text message. It's from Hilary.

"Kyle almost just sliced his thumb off trying to cut this thing for his mom so we are at the emergency room doing our project."

"What???" Was my first response.

I then message her back (why don't I just call???) asking if I should pick her and the other boys up & bring them here to finish the project. Nope. She assures me everything is under control. What, and miss all of the excitement?

I couldn't help but wonder what in the world I would have done if this had been my child who nearly sliced her thumb off. I can't imagine dragging a bunch of teens with me for that trip and having them sit in the waiting area to work on their project.

I then receive a picture message of the bloody wound being cleaned up. Nice.

I text Hilary, "Are you in the room watching Kyle get stitches?" Well, duh. She simply said yes.

Kyle's parent was a much better superviser than I. They did almost finish their project.

Reach Out To Touch Someone

I was late to church this morning, so sat in the back. At one point, we turn and greet those around us. I looked around. A couple with a small boy standing between them sat a row behind me and over several seats. I shook the father's hand first, then greeted the mom. The boy was looking down, so I bent over, placed my hand on his shoulder and said, "hey buddy, how are you today."

As he looked up at me, I noticed he had Down Syndrome. Without thinking, I swiped my hand across his face, wiping most of the drool dripping down his chin. The same way I've done with Ethan so many times. And just as quickly, I dried my hand on the side of my skirt. With Ethan, I am usually wearing a pair of absorbant jeans when I decide to whisk saliva into my hand. This skirt was not cotton. I stroked his hair, smiled and turned to greet the next person. But when I sat down, I was horrified.

Was it a faux pas to wipe drool off of someone else's child? Did I embarrass the parents? Except for when they were babies, I've never had a child that drooled. (A wet pillow doesn't count.) I imagined being back in church when my children were little. In the middle of greeting, an older lady pulls a wrinkled tissue from her purse and says, "here honey, let me get that big booger" and then proceedes to wipe my child's nose. No this didn't happen, but I would have been horrified. I would have thought the lady figured I didn't take the time, or didn't notice my young child needed to wipe her nose. I would be embarrassed.

I truly hope I did not embarrass these parents. It was not my intention. I hadn't even noticed the drool until he looked up. My movements were automatic, not something I thought about. Shudder. Anyone have any thoughts?

Oh Baby, part 2

Summer came early that April. As I walked along, the temperature was 89 degrees and climbing. This wasn't unusual for Phoenix. I was thankful for 2 things, no 3. One, that I wasn't pregnant in this heat. Secondly, that this doctor appointment was in the morning. Thirdly, for the precious 2 week old babe in my arms. Taking care of a newborn was a lot of work, but mixed with the exhaustion was an indescribable joy. Being a mom was the best job in the world.

The doctor's office was a mile and a half down the road from our apartment. I didn't own a stroller yet, nor a diaper bag. Since I hadn't gone anywhere, I didn't realize how handy a diaper bag might be. My steps were awkward and jostled my sleeping baby. I became increasingly uncomfortable. I'd squeezed into prepregnancy clothes that were too tight. Sweat began to trickle down my skin. Was my tiny infant hot too?

I felt bad about covering her with a blanket. I hoped since she wasn't exerting herself as I, that she didn't mind having the extra layer of the blanket. Besides, her skin was so delicate and thin I feared the sun scorching it. I'd had plenty of bad sunburns with my fair skin. Nobody used sunscreen. The previous year SPF 15 was introduced. It was touted as protecting and preventing sunburn. The claim was that one could stay in the sun for 15 hours and only receive 1 hours worth of the sun's harmful rays. I was afraid to try it. Afterall, I wanted a little color in my skin. And when would I be in the sun for 15 hours???

I held the blanket up and away from her skin so I could peer under it. This would keep her cooler but still protect her. Christina's downy soft eyebrows arched, but it seemed too much effort to open her eyes. She stretched her arms and tried again. I caught a glimpse of those baby blues as she squinted in the bright sunlight. Her forehead wrinkled. It smoothed, but her brow furrowed as her eyes scrunched tightly shut again. I could gaze at this miracle all day.

Thud! My heart raced. I'd accidently stepped off the curb and nearly fallen. A car whizzed past on the other side of the street. It scared me. What if I'd fallen in the path of a car with my baby in my arms? This was a fairly busy street. I realized I needed to watch where I was walking and not be staring down. The rest of the walk was with great determination to get there and fast. There were bigger dangers than the sun and heat.

May Day

My friend Heth has a great May Day tradition. Last year she shared about it, I was inspired. I remember back in Kindergarten doing the May Pole Dance. I don't remember ever celebrating this day any other time. I'm always looking for an excuse for any kind of celebration, especially if it involves treats to eat. But yesterday it was 82 degrees and the outdoors called to me. Often. (I have sunburned shoulders to prove it.) This morning I was thinking about those May baskets and candy. Now I have an excuse not to share this celebration with others. I can't take my car out in this:


Yes, that is snow. It just started about 5 minutes ago. Guess I'll have to eat the candy myself.
Happy May Day!

*Updated*
(An hour later, it is starting to stick)

Senior Ditch Day

I phoned the attendance office at the high school and left the following message:

Hi, this is Joanne.

Please excuse my daughter from school today. She wasn't feeling well, so went to Ihop for breakfast. She was in need of outdoor therapy so spent the rest of the day at the park.

If you have questions, please call.

Oh Baby

I've been dreaming of babies lately. Maybe it is because I've been thinking a lot about when I first became a mom. I can hardly remember not being a mom. Things sure were different back then.


I took my tiny, nearly 5 lb. bundle home two days after her birth. The newborn outfit I dressed her in looked 2 sizes too big. It's a good thing this was back in the day before car seats. The straps would have wrapped around her clothing and she would have slipped right out of both. Instead, after flopping in the front seat,the nurse placed her in my arms and we were off to be a family of 3.

I thought life would go back to normal upon returning home. I'd no longer waddle around. Energy would abound. I could bend in the middle again and see my toes. I was lighter on my feet. But I didn't really gain back my body. The baby merely shifted from the inside to the outside. She still clung to my middle, but now I needed my arms to hold onto her. Maybe it had been easier letting my belly do the work.

The second thing that changed was the other adult in the house sold my car. I couldn't drive to my mother's to wash our clothes for free. The laundromat was 2 blocks away. I'd been there before. This wouldn't be so bad. I didn't realize how much laundry one tiny baby could generate. How was I going to drag bags of dirty clothes & detergent while carrying a baby? The man had a motorcycle to get to and from work. A load of clothes didn't pack well on the back of a bike. In today's world, I would have figured out a way to do it. But back then, I just accepted this as normal.

My first attempt at laundry, I managed 1 load. All baby clothes and blankets. The man decided I could get more done if maybe I had a stroller. So he began the hunt for a used stroller. I never even wondered how he was going to get it home once he found one. I was just happy at the thought of having another set of arms in the form of a moving baby bed. My arms would be free again.

Senior Prom

Can you pin that on without looking?


Sarabeth & Eric



Sarabeth and Liz

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wordless Wednesday

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.

Last week's Birthday Pics

A couple of photos of Christina's birthday

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

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

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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!!!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.