Clarification

My dad came through again. (If you remember, dad brought clarification in a previous post.) I received this email after mentioning the napkin story:


"I was checking out your blog and saw your remarks about the napkin story. I can only give you my recollection of it. Here it is from the best of my memory.

We were out to eat at the Black Angus on Broadway in Tempe. You were still in high school and so was Laurie. I believe the conversation took place as we were leaving the restaurant as we were in the parking lot. You were fiddling around pulling what looked like wadded up napkins out of your jacket pocket. Apparently, you only wore that Jacket when you went out to eat somewhere. I asked you what all the wadded up paper was about. You told me that you put your napkin in your jacket pocket whenever you ate out, that way you could pull out a napkin, sniff it, and have a recollection of what you ate and of the evening.

Apparently, it was your way of revisiting a pleasant time. It sounded like something a teenager would do, so we laughed and that was it. I am surprised that you don't recall that. I don't know if you made up that answer on the spur of the moment to cover for why you had all these old napkins, or if you really kept them for the stated purpose. Anyway, it was a good story that we thought should be shared with Sarabeth.

Love, Dad "

I have my own ideas about my intentions. This was way before recycling was popular and I was ahead of my time. It was all about the environment. Instead of wasting a new tissue to blow my nose into, I saved my paper napkin to reuse for that purpose. As a bonus, they were pleasantly scented with savory food smells instead of perfumes-the way toilet paper and tissues were. I wonder how many trees I saved.

International Text Messaging

Did I mention my daughter, Sarabeth, is currently traveling in England with my mom and dad? My older sister went along as well. Before they left, I added international calling/text messaging to Sarabeth's phone-for emergencies. Phone calls are very expensive from Europe. Text messages aren't too bad, 35 cents to send, 15 cents to receive. But at this rate, considering her average text usage, she could easily reach the 300 dollar mark. No thank-you.

She flew to Arizona with her brother, where she met up with her grandparents. Christopher had come out for her graduation. He lives with my parents. I received a text message from Christopher a few hours before the plane was scheduled to depart for London.

"Please pray for Gramma. She is sick, and isn't sure she can get on a plane right now."

I began praying. The next message I got was from Sarabeth.

"Your sister is so funny. This will be a very entertaining trip."


Hmm...she didn't mention my mom at all. My sister, Carolyn, does like to talk. I wonder what sorts of things she will tell my daughter.

Eventually I get a message, not from Sarabeth, but Christopher assuring me that they boarded the plane. Whew!

I'm thinking I will hear from her at some point. A short text message lettin gme know they have arrived. Nope. Ok, I can accept that. She is being very wise with her text messaging privileges. Smart girl. But when 3 days later I hadn't heard anything, I send her a message asking if she'd made it to London. She sends me a picture text message of where she is and that she is having the time of her life. They were on their way to see "Wicked" at the Apollo Victoria. They'd been to Hampton Court, Westminster Abbey, etc. Wow, what an exciting time! Then out of the blue:

"By-the-way, I heard about your napkin thing." I rack my brain trying to figure out what my daughter means by this. It must be a story from the past my sister or parents have told. But I don't remember any napkin story. What sordid tales are being told??? My curiosity gets the best of me. I text her back, mentally figuring out how many messages it will take to understand and how much it will cost. Normallly, I'd ask a simple "what?" But that tranlates to 15 cents a word. Instead I ask several questions just to get my money's worth. I receive a response.

"Gramma said you used to keep used napkins and you would smell them later and know what you ate."

I have no recollection of this. I try to imagine myself with a stash of wadded paper napkins. Sniff. Ah yes, this one is bean tostadas and rice. Sniff. Mmmm...steak and baked potato.

Seriously. Is this for real? I quit sending text messages. That's enough information exchange for now. I will have to think real hard on this one. Was I a teenager when this took place? A little kid? I have no idea.

The following day I receive another message.

"Pray for your parents they are not in good shape. Papa is on his way to the hospital."


Could she not give just a bit more information than this??? The joys of international text messages.

(P.S. My parents are home and doing well. Sarabeth was home for 2 days and is now off on a cruise somewhere in the Carribean.)

Congratulations Sarabeth!

Congratulations Sarabeth! You have finished K-12 well. Gone are the imaginary Velcro strips pinned on by concerned friends and family. In their place are the wings of independence, I never doubted would sprout.

In Kindergarten, your teacher remarked that she had a class with several quiet, respectful, diligent students-and you were one of them. “But,” she said looking me in the eye, “there is so much more to Sarabeth. She isn’t just a quiet, hard-working girl.” She looked at me intently, without saying more. She didn’t have to. I knew exactly what she meant.

Mrs. Rowe saw passion, determination, a glowing ember inside this little girl. When necessary the spark could ignite to rage against the flames of adversity. Once a year, each teacher awarded one student with the Diligence Award Pin. That award went to you. God whispered to you at the tender age of 6, revealing gifts He’s placed within you.

You play by the rules & demand fairness. You go along quietly, completely every task set before you. But you aren’t afraid to stop the train, if you see it traveling down the wrong track. You stand firmly & without hesitation, whether or not you stand alone is inconsequential. You maintain the path of integrity.

It isn’t your nature to shine in the spotlight. But when called upon to lead, you step forward with grace and confidence. Others follow.

My fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl is now a beautiful, talented, wise, educated, young lady. Don’t worry that you don’t have your college major picked yet. You take after your multi-talented grandmother. Like her, I doubt you will be locked into any one vocation in life. You are more like the Virtuous Woman spoken of in Proverbs 31. She accomplished many things, and excelled at them all.

I’m so very proud of you, Sarabeth.

More Jury Duty

So I had this nagging feeling. It gnawed at my stomach. So yesterday, I drove Michael's car to jury duty. He asked me why. I told him I didn't want anything to happen to my car. His car is more than 10 years old. He assured me mine would be fine.

I could see my car from the jury room. I checked on it every chance I could. My fellow jurors laughed.

"Is it still there?"

"Did it drive away without you?"

"Ok, your car must be new." I told him no. But I did ask him to find the cutest car in the parking lot. He immediately picked mine. We all laughed.

At the end of the day, I went to the parking lot. Here is what I found:

The whole front bumper will need to be replaced and probably the side panel too. And you know what? I didn't cry one tear. But I wanted to.

Back to jury duty tomorrow.

Juror Number 13

So, that's me. Number 13! Since I can't actually talk about the trial, I wanted to share that I was prepared for this. Almost as soon as I received the jury summons, I was fairly certain I would be picked. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I sensed God was speaking something to me, I just didn't know what.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I went shopping last week. Attire for jury duty is casual business wear. Not knowing exactly what that meant, I did read the words "no jeans." Basically, my wardrobe is nothing but jeans with an occasional dress thrown in for church or other event. I managed to put together several outfits.

I had moments where I thought "how silly this is. I am going to get dressed up, drive downtown, only to be coming home a couple of hours later. No trial, nothing." Nevertheless, something deeper inside of me continued to make plans. I pulled a pot roast from the freezer, to put in the crock pot, so if I didn't arrive home until after 5:00p.m., dinner would be ready.

As I, and 61 other prospective jurors sat in the room and were given the instructions for the day, I kept thinking I was going to be the 13th juror. As far as I knew, there were only 12. But as the woman in charge continued her explanations, she announced there would be 12 jurors and 1 alternate. I thought, yep, that's me!

At lunch, when all 62 of us left, I found myself wondering what to do. I am not an overly social person and am quite content to sit alone to eat. I had a book. But again, there was a nagging not to. Both the person ahead and behind me in line at the sandwich shop in the building across the street were potential jurors. We'd been given strict instructions not to mention anything about the trial, even though we were not yet jurors. What were we to talk about? After getting my food, somehow these two had already sat together, so I asked if I could join them. I had a feeling the three of us would somehow end up on the jury, even though I hadn't noticed either of them before in the courtroom. I only knew they were potential jurors because of the bright yellow buttons we were required to wear.

A couple of hours later, 31 potential jurors were seated. I was number 18. As the process continued, people allowed to go home, others dismissed, until we were down to the remaining 31 with only a handful of others left on the benches. The Attorneys were then allowed their peremptory challenge. As this process began, jurors were no longer pulled from the bench to take the empty seats. Instead those jurors with higher numbers were called by name to fill the vacant spots. I realized that those who ended up in the 1-13 spots would be those on the jury. I waited for them to choose to dismiss juror 13. When they finally did, I waited for my name to be called. Only it wasn't. Someone else took that spot. But she was also the next one eliminated. Then my name was called.

Have I mentioned 13 is my favorite number? Ok, it's no doubt because I was born on the 13th. But look at the 12 disciples and Jesus. Thirteen. It's as if whenever 13 shows up, so does He. I like that.

As it turns out, I'm not the alternate juror. Well, maybe I am. The Judge said it will be kept a secret to ensure all jurors pay close attention to the trial-which is supposed to last 3 days. I believe God is speaking something to me, but I don't feel that I'm to share it. He HAS to be. Oh, my fellow lunchmates? Yep, they made it on the jury too.

To some this all may sound silly. But it is a reminder to me, that if we will listen, God has a way of preparing us, speaking to us, guiding us. Everything won't be so specific, but at times it will. That is an aha moment for me, when I see He is trying to get my attention and I really need to listen.

Ketchup or Catchup

I have a lot of catching up to do.

I believe I mentioned I don't multi-task, and I'm not even sure I can call it that. I am single-focused. That means if I'm busy with one thing I can't even think about the next event until the first is over. Christopher asked me last week how the Rehearsal Dinner planning was coming along. I said, "I don't know." Ask me next week when graduation is over.

I'm not thinking about it today either. I am at the U.S. District Court House. As a prospective Juror, I have to be downtown by 7:00a.m. I am not normally even dressed at 7. Sarabeth is off to London, so I'm supposed to be taking Hilary to school at 7:00. But instead, I have left at 6:30a.m.

After the energy I am putting forth and the sacrifices I am making, I hope I get to sit in on a trial. If I come home after all of this without performing my civic duty of being a juror, I will be sorely disappointed. Or maybe just sleeping.

Finish Well

Sunday was the Baccalaureate.

Monday-Tuesday are Finals

Wednesday is the Senior Banquet

Thursday the Senior Picnic

Friday Graduation Rehearsal

Saturday-Graduation

Sunday-Sarabeth flies to Phoenix

Monday-Sarabeth is off to London

My 4th child is graduating from high school. This week will be filled with nostalgic moments. Tomorrow I will pack Sarabeth's lunch for the last time. I will say good-bye to lunch boxes forever. (Hilary will only use a sack for lunch.) I always knew she'd carry one through her senior year. She chooses to walk her own path. Today she wore the same outfit to school that she wore the first day of her senior year.

Sarabeth, you have finished well!

Last Saturday I was supposed to fly to North Carolina with my mom-in-law to visit her oldest daughter. MaryAnn's husband had phoned late one night after she'd gone to bed. His wife was to receive a prestigious award at church. What a sweet man to invite her mother to come be a part of this event. MaryAnn would be surprised and I'd get to be there all of the fun.

Instead, I learned what Atrial Fibrillation is. No, not personally, my via mom-in-law. We had to cancel the trip.

A funny thing happened though. On Thursday my mother-in-law called to thank us for the beautiful fruit arrangement they'd received. Only we didn't. She said but they'd received a card and it had all of our names on it, even our soon to be daughter-in-law and Christina and Ethan.

What a fun idea! Send gifts bearing the name of someone else.

We received another call. A mistake had been made. With all of those names on the card, she'd just assumed Michael and I were on it. We weren't. My kids had gotten together and sent it just to brighten her day. And they hadn't even mentioned it to me.

I do like the idea of sending gifts under an assumed name.

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.