The House Where I Dwell (Part 1)

My house is in a diastrous state. One of the bedrooms looks like this:


I've been waiting to update pics of my "new" kitchen. But it isn't finished. Here is a bit of an update:



I'm using my kitchen again, but there are no drawers. The cabinets are doorless, leaving their insides exposed. But the worst part isn't in these photos. It is the stuff that is all around me. The contents emptied from the bedroom and kitchen are stacked about the other rooms. Add to that the normal, everyday clutter and it is a wreck. I can't take it much longer. I want to run screaming from here.

It's funny. We moved into this new-to-us home nearly 16 years ago. At the time it was gently used, but lovely. Each wall was perfectly papered. But over time, the reality of paneled walls began exposing their true nature. Cracks, flaws, and weak areas began to appear.

This old house was built back in 1962. Hmm...same year as this here body of mine. It creaks and groans about the same as the wooden floors in my house. Nevertheless, this is my home. I live here. What I can't figure out is how did so much junk get in here?

Lingerie Again?

Kellan has me as a guest blogger at On The Flipside today. I'm honored. In order to preserve some dignity for my son, and in case you all missed his comment, I'm including it here.

Christopher said...
Verbatim:
mom:"ok this is a little bit awkward but I just got the invite to Lauren's lingerie shower. Any requests?"

Son:"mom what the! I want you to go, and i want you to get her something, but I most certainly am not going to talk about my likes and dislikes of lingerie with you."

She didn't just ask preference, she asked for requests. Silly mom.

The funny thing is, when I spoke with Lauren, she had no problem talking lingerie with her future mother-in-law.

Anyway, Kellan asks the question "Do you think men care about what lingerie women wear or is it really only the woman that cares?" Go check it out and let her know what your opinion is. I'm surprised by the responses I've read so far.

I'm not a clever title creator

Last night after dinner:

Me: Hilary, wouldn't you like to buy your lunch tomorrow, for the first day of schoool?

Michael: Why don't you buy your lunch every day? If you did, your mom wouldn't have to get up so early.


Hilary: But then who would make my breakfast?

Laughter.

Michael: I can't believe we just had this conversation.

Morning came way too early today, but later than expected. I awoke to Hilary's gentle nudge, "mom, what can I have for breakfast?" My alarm hadn't gone off. I'd been so careful to set it. The power has gone off 3 times in the past week. While the alarm was set correctly, the clock wasn't. Sigh. Not the best way to start a new school year. Since I'd only been up 15 minutes by the time she left for school, I was tempted to sneak back in bed. Mommy guilt wouldn't let me.

Is it me or was summer vacation way too short?

Cheated

I feel cheated. Most summers I enjoy doing laundry. Short sleeves & sleeveless shirts, shorts instead of pants...the clothes are smaller, so less of them to wash. During winter, it is difficult to jam the many layers of clothing into the same amount of wash loads. Hoodies and sweat pants are the items I detest the most. I wait for summer to arrive when thick, heavy clothing disappears from the laundry baskets. The hampers overflow in the cold months. Summers allow them to air out. Come Fall, they are fresh and ready to be stuffed again. Except this summer.

For some reason, the people in this house can not agree on the perfect temperature. While one sweats in the sweltering 73 degrees, another wraps herself in a blanket-while wearing the dreaded hoodie. I've also had to wash the throw blankets several times this summer. Normally I put them away at the end of spring. What's with all of the clothes and blankets? We've had record heat here, people! Why are we wearing sweats and hoodies???? Oh yeah, I forgot. We installed air conditioning last year. A blessing & a curse?

Do You Understand?

I understand why you yelled. Really, I do. You were afraid. The person, to whom you screamed, lives with that fear every day. Your words cut deeply into her heart. I forgive you. I hope she can too.

Right before that incident, she & I were talking. My friend is hurting. She really wanted to sit down, have a cup of coffee, and talk. She is alone. She spends her days fighting the battle that caused such a strong reaction from you. It's this battle that creates a greater need for friendship & companionship. But this is also what scares others away, isolating her all the more.

I hurt for my friend, my daughter, my child. I wish you hadn't added to her pain. Or her fear.

Apologize. Pour her a cup of coffee. Listen to what she has to say.

Thunk Thursday

Posted outside one of the rollercoasters at the amusement park.

I can ride, no recent surgrys here.

Lingerie

An invitation arrived in the mail. A Lingerie Shower.

The intention of a bridal shower is to aid the newlywed couple as they establish their own home The lingerie concept enables the bride to ditch her old, tattered, worn-out undergarments for pretty, new ones. Afterall, the new hubby will soon be privy to every hidden article of clothing his lovely bride could previously hide.

Or do young ladies today not keep tattered underwear and desire more, um, exotic under clothes and night wear? Years ago, we had two choices in underwear: briefs or bikini cut. That's it. With such variety, I figured I should ask what the preference might be. Surely there could be no embarrassment. The invitation already listed a bra & panty size. But wait, maybe the groom should get an opinion. I sent a text message to my son, Christopher.

"I know this is awkward, but I'm going shopping for Lauren's Lingerie Shower. Do you have any preference?" I waited for his reply.

"Mom. There is no way I'm going to discuss lingerie preferences with you."

I laughed and laughed. I suppose this is not unlike the shocking realization that your parents have had sex at least once in their lives.

Kitchen In A Bubble

My kitchen in its transformation stage:







After Day 2, I wished I'd gotten more things out of my cupboards. After Day , I wanted in my refrigerator. Today, I'm disappointed that I won't have my kitchen back until next week. Sigh. It will be a long weekend.

Thunk Thursday

This is blurry, so in case you can't read it-this is a "Nail Dry Station"

1. To start, place hands in dryer.
(I'll place mine under, thank-you.)

4. Fan will shut off automatically when you move out of your hands...
(As soon as I figure out how to get out of my hands, I'll let you know if it stops.)

Christopher's Birth Story.

Back around July 11th, I promised to tell Christopher's birth story. I'm finally getting around to it.

Twenty-four years ago, I was expecting my second child. We'd moved to Colorado and I was feeling very far away from family. On April 1st, at 26 weeks, we shared the happy news with our parents. Shortly thereafter, my parents revealed their own surprise. They were about to embark on a 2 year teaching assignment to Germany. The plan was for them to leave the beginning of August. My baby was due July 5th.

Knowing they'd miss his first couple of years, my parents flew out for his birth. A week later, taking 3 year old Christina with them, my parents flew home. No baby. Three days later, my inlaws brought Christina back to wait for Christopher to be born.

I went to the doctor July 10th. He declared I was ready and could have the baby anytime. I was dilated to 4 cm. That was good news, but still no baby. The next morning, after having contractions for 2 days straight, I decided I was tired of waiting. At 9:00a.m., we headed to the hospital.

Surprise. I was 4 cm. dilated. Nothing had changed. My doctor, who likes things done in a timely fashion, assured me that by breaking my water, I'd have the baby quickly. I was hesitant. I couldn't help but think how cushy that bag of water was. Once that nice water pillow was popped, the cushion was gone. It would be bone against bone. NOT my idea of comfort. I yielded anyway. I wanted the baby born.

Just as I thought. The contraction following the bursting of my water bag was very painful. The next one was worse. And oh my, I couldn't take it anymore. Doctor Snyder suggested I get an epidural. I remembered the Demerol from my 1st labor. No, no, no he convincingly said, this is completely different. This doesn't just take the edge off. This magical drug will cause you to completely relax and feel no pain.

I was skeptical. If that was true, why didn't I get one before.?I trusted my doctor and I was desperate. I gave in to his offer for relief. I waited for this wonder drug to kick in and provide some calm before the storm. I waited. And waited. My peace never arrived.

Instead, I believe the drug put my baby in distress. His heartrate began dropping.
The oxygen mask went over my face. The room quickly filled with people. I have no idea who they all were. Students? Doctors? I don't know, but I felt like I was center stage at some fancy theatrical performance only I wasn't properly dressed. I was poked, prodded, twisted and contorted to find a place that "baby was happy." I was ordered to begin pushing.

I pushed with all I had. Some woman had the audacity to tell my I wasn't trying hard enough. She said I wasn't holding my breath and wanted another person to "help" me hold my breath. I was in tears. Everything hurt. I felt like I wasn't going to make it. My doctor said, "we need to get this baby out NOW!" With that, he proceeded to perform another lovely procedure-an episiotomy. I had no problem with this, except when he went to cut, YEOW!!!! He was certain I wasn't really feeling pain. I only thought I was feeling pain because I could see what he was doing. They put a drape up so I wouldn't know when he was making the cut.

Nope, that was not the problem. I think when I screamed, he believed me and numbed the area before he continued. As soon as he was done, he grabbed the forceps and attempted to pull my baby out. As he pulled, I felt as if something was turning me inside out. I cannot describe the intense pain. Not being able to get a good enough grip, the doctor added metal extenders onto the forceps. I wish I had a photo, as I sometimes have a hard time believing this really happened. Michael later told me he was very scared. As he watched the doctor tug, twist, and pull, he feared his baby's head would pop right off.

At 4:56p.m my son appeared. His face and head were quite bruised, but he was in one piece. Christopher was born 7/11/84 and weighed 7lbs 7 oz.

Shortly after Christopher's birth, I went numb from the waist down. Nice, but a little too late. I was told by my nurse that my doctor was out in the hall chewing out the anesthesiologist who'd conveniently disappeared after my failed epidural. The following day he told me the birth had been difficult but he'd worked with me since I'd been so adamant against a c-section. "But"he added, "I'd never do it again." I think he was as traumatized as we were.

I truly believe had it not been for a friend who attended the birth and prayed throughout the delivery, things would not have turned out so well. But one look into Christopher's eyes and all was forgotten. We were blessed with a son.

1st Day of Kindergarten

Mary at Owlhaven is having a Land's End Backpack giveaway. In order to enter, she asked us to post a memory from a 1st day of school. So here is what I remember from my 1st day of kindergarten.

I had watched my older brother and sister go to school every day. I was so excited to be joining them. Although I knew the route to walk, my mom drove me that first day. She stopped in front of the building.

"Are you sure you want to walk home?" Mom queried.
"Yes, I want to walk home. I know the way."

I got out of the car, looked both ways before crossing, then walked across to the very large building. The steps leading up to the doors looked much steeper than they ever had from the car, but I climbed them anyway.

There it was. The kindergarten room. Mrs. Preston, with her white hair pulled back in a bun, stood at the door greeting the children. I found my desk, opened it up, and placed my nickel inside. The nickel was for a carton of milk that we got from the janitor.

It was a busy first day. We said the pledge of Allegiance, played on the blacktop playground at recess, took a nap afterwards, sang songs, & had a snack. When it was time to go, we lined up in two lines. Boys in one, girls in the other. We then went over all of the safety rules, since most everyone walked home from school.

Look both ways before crossing the street.
Walk on the left, facing traffic.

Then it was time to go. Out the building, down the steps, and those of us going East turned left. Before us was a huge hill. It wasn't as thrilling to walk home as I thought it would be. I didn't remember that I would be walking alone by the time I reached the crest.

Down the hill, turn right, past the Reverend's home, then left. Up the long street towards the Catholic school...I was getting tired. Home was still pretty far. It was hot. I had took off my blue sweater and began tying it around my waist. I wondered how I could get home faster. Just as I tightened the arms of my sweater to keep it from slipping, I had a wonderful idea. I took it off, laid it on the ground. Sitting down on the soft fabric, I closed my eyes and imagined flying the rest of the way home on my magic carpet.

With my eyes still squeezed shut, I said the only magic words I knew, "abra cadabra, fly magic carpet, fly me home." And I waited. I'm not sure how long I sat there waiting in the street. There was no sidewalk at this point of my journey.

Later that day, my sister and brother told me of the shortcuts when walking, after they laughed at the long way I'd gone. I was glad I hadn't mentioned my not-so-magic carpet.

Blogger Award

I'm slow in getting to this, but here goes. I received this blogger award from Jewels at Pursuing "Happily Ever After." What a pleasant surprise! (And you all know how much I enjoy a surprise.) Now that I'm thinking about it, blog comments are have the same treasured quality. I don't blog to get comments, but what a delightful surprise when I find them.



Here is what Jewels wrote on the award: Joanne from "Piece of the Puzzle": I like to stop by her blog to hear about her family---she is so proud of them! She sees the blessings all around her and celebrates each one. When dealt a lemon, Joanne can certainly make lemonade out of it. And she has a great sense of humor as well.

The rules given to me: Put the logo on your blog. Put a link to me (who awarded it to you) on your blog also. You need to nominate 7 other bloggers for the award and put links to them also on your blog. Finally, leave a comment for those you've nominated - so they know they've received a special award.

1) Lisa at The Funny Farm Lisa is a sweet & caring online friend. Her blog reflects both her kindness and also the humor that makes life manageable. She has one very special daughter that she homeschools and does that well.

2) Tammy at PB4UGO Tammy blogs about a variety of things. Her humor comes naturally and sometimes unexpectedly. Her cups runs over and she's happy to share, so get your cup out.

3) Mylinda at The Buggy Crew-Always upbeat and encouraging. Mylinda reminds me of a country wife who gives a lot & is hardworking. I love Mondays as she shares her menu for the week, one of these days I'll join her in this. I'm challenged to go that extra step.

4) His Girl-His girl is reflective and meditative. This doesn't keep her from being fun and spunky. She shares from her heart. But often, I can't comment on her blog as I need time to reflect on what she has said. By the time I return, she's added more food for thought.

5) Melanie at Dandelions & Roses (Private Blog) Melanie is full of energy. I have no idea how she manages all that she does, but she makes it sound easy. She is also a fabulous cook. Her blog may be private, but she has a food blog that serves up one delicious dish after the other.

6) Kate at Life With Special Needs Kids (her blog is private) Kate is an articulate, compassionate person. I wish she'd run for a political office. She has courage and the backbone to make things happen. She is a genius too, wiser than someone twice her age. Kate has lots to say and is worth listening to.

7) Lori at View From My Porch Swing (whose blog is also private)-Lori has a creative flair and is certainly gifted in many things. She fills her life with beauty and grace. The love she pours into her family is evident in the photos she shares. Beautiful, smiling faces adorn her blog. Lori is an inspiration to large families and families with special children.

Wow, I didn't realize I read so many private blogs. I have so much enjoyed not only these ladies, but so many others (and yes, I probably need to update the blogs that I read on my sidebar.) I enjoy sharing in your lives and you all help me to grow as you inspire and encourage me.

And thank-you to all who comment, you truly are a treasured surprise!!!

One Last Photo

This was one of the many rollercoasters we rode yesterday. I LOVE rollercoasters. (I take after my grandmother.) In case you can't tell, starting in the front is: Elisabeth, Sarabeth, Hilary, & David. I was in the car just in front of them. We had a great time!

Thunk Thursday

Posted in the car wash.

Having fun today.

Feelings of Inadequacy

The past few days have left me wondering if I am a real mother. Today I took one 6 year old boy to the grocery store. I needed just a few things: milk, ham steaks, & parsley (I killled what was growing in my garden.) At the grocery store, I was distracted and harried. I forgot the milk. I walked in the house shaking my head. I asked Michael how in the world I ever took 5 kids grocery shopping week after week without losing my head.

I have had Ethan since very early Thursday morning. His mom is out-of-town until tomorrow night. He has made amazing progress in school and therapy. This should make my job easier, right? He communicates in so many ways. He is using sign language again. Ethan looks at me and gestures with his hands.

"What do you need, little buddy?"

He keeps signing. Over and over because I don't get it. I have no idea what this sign is. He says something to me sounding as if he is fluent in a foreign language. But I don't speak this language. Nobody speaks his language. He continues to plead with me via hand motions. I don't know what he is saying. I hear the frustration in his voice. I begin offering him things. Juice, toys, anything I can think of. He begins melting down. He screams. He throws his transformer car across the room. He grabs the first thing he can reach, a DVD. He bites down hard, leaving teeth marks in the disc.

I don't blame him. He has no way to make me understand. I have no idea how to parent him in my daughter's absence. I don't know how to grandparent him at this moment. I fall to my knees. It's the only place I know to go. I feel so inadequate. Caring for a child shouldn't be this difficult.

Break In

Elisabeth went to dinner with a friend last evening. When she returned to her car, she noticed something on her seat. It was her car registration from the glove box. Something was amiss. Sitting on the dash was an empty hole. Her car stereo was missing. Items from the console were strewn about.

It was 7:30p.m. when she came out of the restaurant. It was daylight. The area of town she was parked is a busy, active place. People coming and going, standing around. Nobody saw anything unusual. This is the same car that was attacked 3 years ago. And the same driver.

This was tough for Elisabeth. It felt like another personal assault.

Thunk!

Am I the only one who shakes my head in confusion as to why closer attention isn't paid to grammar/spelling/proper English when marketing a product in the United States? I understand that much of what is shipped here, comes from countries where English is not their native language. How difficult would it be to have someone proofread an item?

Or what about a sign that is printed and posted at a business with misspellings? Does the printer not notice the error and ask the purchaser of said item? Having a sign printed costs money, do those buying the item not care if it is printed incorrectly. Did they notice?

I've decided to post photos under my Thunk Awards. Here is the first one:

P.S. Just because this grammar thing on signage is a pet peeve, I do not claim to check my blogposts for spelling/grammar/proper English errors. But if I was selling a product, I'd hire an editor.

Six

Six is such a nice number. A half dozen. Lots of things come in a pack of 6, like soda. And who doesn't think six-pack abs are nice? Six Flags Amusement parks are packed with fun. But the very best thing about the number six happens today. Today is Ethan's 6th birthday. We celebrated yesterday.

I do believe this was his best birthday ever. Ethan blew out his candles for the very first time. (Well, at least 3 of them.) I had no idea he'd acquired this skill.

(This video is only 16 seconds.)

I attempted to order a Transformers cake, but the bakery didn't make any without milk. I could bake my own cake and they agreed to decorate it. Great! Did they have icing without milk? ButterCream wouldn't work, but their non-dairy whipped icing would. Upon further inspection I realized the non-dairy icing contained milk. But the buttercream icing contained no butter. I decided to make it all myself.

Hilary came to the rescue and decorated the cake for me.

Ethan was one excited 6 year old. Transformers ruled the day.

Happy Birthday to my favorite 6 year old!

After Birthday Post

After reading His Girl's "shallow observations" on Christopher's birthday post, I decided to upload the video his sister's created for him. She might see things differently. (I have no idea why my kids do what they do. I don't make silly faces, but maybe I wear ridiculous hats.)

Happy Birthday Christopher!!!!

Happy 24th Christopher. This is the last birthday you will celebrate as Christopher. Next year it will be as Mr. & Mrs.

Over the next few days, I'm planning to share your birth story. I don't have much time today. I'm taking your sister to her college orientation, like you and I went, just 5 short years ago.

How did we get from here:

to here:

running to here:

biking to there:

zooming past 6th grade to here:

Ooops, I mean here as Uncle Chris:

and landing here:

and staying here:

I'm out of time, but I want you to know how proud I am of you son. You have one terrific future wife and she has an amazing soon-to-be husband. May this birthday find you radiating with the knowledge of how very much you are loved. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, your kindness, your work ethic, the way you encourage everyone around you, and your positive attitude. I could go on about your many good qualities, but I gotta run. Happy 24th Birthday Christopher. Love, Mom

Falling

Whenever I hear about an older person falling, it scares me. I worry about my inlaws falling. My dad wrenched his ankle recently going downstairs. A couple of years ago, my mom stepped off a curb, fell, and tore her rotator cuff. My grandmother fell taking out the trash. She never recovered and that fall cut short her life.

I watch a baby takes her first steps. She tumbles more than she stands, but bounces back to her feet. Sure she gets an occasional bump or bruise, but mostly it is no big deal. Adults do have farther to fall, but as we age, we no longer bounce. It is more like a thud.

I fell almost 2 weeks ago. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I lost my balance and came crashing down. I continue to have a residual headache which causes me to feel out of it almost daily. Last week I blamed feeling like this on having workers in my home, but I think it was the headache that made it difficult to deal with their banging. I've been especially forgetful.

I missed meeting with an online friend who was in town. I didn't remember the date.

I feel old.

Ethan's EEG Results

Ethan had his neuro appointment. Christina liked the new nurse practioner. No seizures were seen on his EEG, but it did show abnormal brain activity. This was interpreted as: the medication is keeping the seizures in check, otherwise he'd be having lots of seizures throughout the day. Good news? Bad news? I'm taking it as good news.


One of the reasons for the latest EEG, besides that he was due for one, is his OT wanted the information. She is excited about a new therapy she recently learned about at a conference. She feels Ethan is a perfect candidate. She has used this new technique with him twice, with amazing results. But in order to take it further, it was imperative to know whether or not he was having seizures. Hopefully, the latest results will not hinder him from receiving this promising therapy.


We had a rather quiet 4th of July. My inlaws were here for dinner, as were Christina & Ethan. Just 6 of us. Oh so quiet. Ok, quiet is not really the right descriptive word, as Ethan can be oh so busy. Independance Day is a day for celebrating. We have much to be thankful for in this country. Fireworks, Family, Fun, Food. Sounds Fabulous to me.

Here are a few photos taken after Sarabeth arrived home from work.









Ethan loved the sparklers. This was the first year he really got into fireworks. He clapped, cheered, & kept signing please for some more. If I'd had any idea, I'd have bought more. Next year I will. And maybe, more than 2 of my kids will show up.

The Tyrant

I've never been one who is terribly organized. For years, I created these wonderfully detailed schedules that were ridiculously impossible to follow. But when I don't at least try, I become a victim to the urgency of the moment. And I miss out on truly important things. I hate that.

Sometimes the urgent things come by way of a phone call, the desire to check something out on the internet, or even a walk to the mailbox. I get caught up in the busyness of those around me and accomplish nothing seemingly worthwhile.

Today I wasn't terribly motivated to do the things that needed to be accomplished. But it wasn't that I was distracted by so many things. I was tired. I didn't go to sleep last night until 5 this morning.

I was on my way to bed around 1 a.m., but Elisabeth came in and was having severe back pain. After chastising her for not taking better care of herself, making her feel worse, I realized her pain was at the point of warranting a trip to the Emergency Room.

Have I mentioned I don't go anywhere without having my hair done and makeup on. Seriously, I don't even walk to the mailbox. But last night I'd already washed my face and was ready for some Zzzz's by the time we decided to go. For the first time that I can remember, I put my clothes on and off we went. Without a drop of makeup. And I survived. (Could my obsession with my hair/makeup routine be a tyrant of sorts?)

The ER at 2 in the morning is an interesting place. The thin curtain separating the beds allows one to peak into the lives of others who have arrived at this same place. The reasons for being there are varied. The language can be crude. I couldn't help but overhear the sordid details of the girl behind the curtain's life, the drugs she used, her injury and the breakup with her loser boyfriend-her words edited. The little lady who came in on a gurney because she was caring for her 91 year old husband when she fell. When she couldn't get up, he managed to drop a phone on her head, and the laceration was bleeding profusely. What was her husband doing with a phone at 3 in the morning?

Okay, I think I'm getting distracted. This is why I need to create more of a schedule to my life. I hate routines, but distraction is a terrible tyrant. I've lost much time to it.

Summer Is Here

I woke up to loud banging this morning. It was expected, but still seemed harsh as it invaded the dream I was happily enjoying.

I don't like having strangers working inside my home. And to have them here, in my kitchen, before I've had one cup of coffee? Horrors! This wouldn't happen during the school year, but it is summer here people. I slept in. I was reading last night until quite late.

Yesterday was demolition day. I'm getting a new kitchen floor, but the old 3 layers of floor had to be ripped out first. The noise and dust made it impossible to blog. I couldn't go to the grocery store as I had no access to my refrigerator. Sigh. What was I supposed to do? Seemed like the perfect opportunity to get my nails painted for the 4th of July. In years past I've enjoyed decorating fingernails on my girls with splashes of fireworks, stripes of red, white, or blue. I'm patriotic like that. I came home with blue, yes blue as in the color on the flag blue.

Oh, and I picked up the new Guitar Hero Game that came out on Sunday. Before I began reading last night, I tried it out. Can you believe my kids were all gone (except the one who doesn't play) and I had to play alone? For 3 hours. Then I sat and read.

(Seriously, I think I should have had at least a half a dozen more children. I get carried away with too much free time.)

8 hours, 27 minutes

Ethan didn't keep the wires attached for the full 48 hours. He was 39 hours, 33 minutes short. I'm not sure how long it will take before we know if the torture we put him and ourselves through was worth it & if significant information was obtained during those long 8 hours.

The rest of the evening he was pretty darn happy.

We finished celebrating Sarabeth's birthday.


Since Ethan couldn't eat the cake, I made him a batch of brownies during his nap. He thought he needed candles too. Twenty-four candles in the box, 19 for Sarabeth and 5 for Ethan. Perfect.

Not sure why, but after getting all 3 pairs of glasses fixed on Wednesday, he refuses to wear any of them. (Can you believe he'd broken all of them before we had a chance to get a replacement?)

P.S. Tammy, I will get back to the Early Years story.

EEG

Today is Sarabeth's birthday. Happy 19th birthday!!!!

But most of my day so far has been spent with this little guy:

Ethan, undergoing a 48 hour EEG.

Checking out his new do.

A few seconds before he began ripping the dressing from his head

As we leave the hospital the first time, Ethan stops to watch the balls in the maze. We drive out of the parking lot just long enough to look back and see that Ethan has pulled out 4 wires. This is going to be a long 48 hours.

With his head wrapped more tightly, and carrying new toys, we leave the hospital a second time.

Three hours later, 4 of us have wrestled with him, re-wrapped his head, re-attached multiple wires, and now he is sleeping.

The tech was amazed at Ethan's strength and pain tolerance. He said the glue they use is similar to super glue and a solvent is used to remove the connectors so as not to remove skin with them. He said sometimes kids pull off wires, but Ethan definitely set a record for the fastest.

I doubt we will make it through 24 hours.

Where have I been?

Why is it that when I miss a couple of days it is hard to get back to blogging? Does anyone else suffer from this malady? If I have a lag in posting, I feel like I need to come back with something wonderful, humorous, poignant, meaningful, or just plain spectacular. Then I feel pressure, which makes it take that much longer to post. Oh well, I am back. Sorry this post will be none of the aforementioned.

What have I been up to?

NOT a luxurious vacation, no vacation plans in sight.

I have NOT been involved in sports, swimming, or other kid's activities.

No, I'm NOT leisurely enjoying the fun things that happen in summer.



So what has happened since I last posted?



Last Wednesday morning I had a Sheriff Officer yell at me. Yes, this really did happen. He didn't pull me over. He didn't give me a ticket. What he did do was roll down his window and yell at me as he drove past. Weird. I know. If he thought I did something wrong, which he did, why would he not pull me over. Give me a warning, or worse, a ticket. But to scream at me from his passing car? A bit childish if you ask me.

I proceeded to drive to Progressive Insurance Company. I was taking my car back for the 2nd time AFTER they'd "repaired it." Two days after getting it back the 2nd time, I was hand-washing my baby as I do about once-a-week. I noticed the front grill was not attached. What the...???? How did that happen? Then as I opened the hood to dry the edges I noticed paint overspray. I decided to get picky. The minor things I'd noticed before that I was going to let slide were suddenly no longer acceptable.

To make a long story shorter, I was told at Progressive that I had obviously hit something and scraped the bottom of my car, causing the grill to come loose and they refused to fix it. They also refused to consider my other complaints, claiming the "overspray" was the way my car comes from the Honda factory.

I was not in the best of moods, still feeling low from having a police officer yell at me. I wanted to yell at this man. I did not. We argued back and forth until I realized I was getting no where. I asked where the nearest Honda dealer was, and left. But I promised he would be hearing from me soon.

I'll post pictures tomorrow.

(In case you are wondering why the officer yelled at me. I stopped at the stop sign at the end of our street BEFORE the stop sign like I'm supposed to. But, the bushes and trees on the adjacent property make it impossible to see very far down the street. After stopping, I pulled far enough forward to see it was clear enough to go and kept going. The sheriff screamed, "YOU DIDN'T STOP AT THE STOP SIGN." I clearly did. He just didn't see me.)

Moms Get To Choose

I was reading On The Upside today, and Kellan shared a story about taking her kids to see Kung Fu Panda. She stated she really doesn't like going to kiddie movies. It reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with a friend.

I was at a church potluck, chatting with a her. I noticed our children playing together and having fun, so I decided to invite them to the zoo. I'd planned to take my kids the next day with another friend. I asked her if they'd like to come along.

Her response: "No thanks. I don't like the zoo. I don't like roller-skating either." (She must have heard me talking about a few days earlier.) I stood there for a moment, taking in what had been said.

She doesn't like the zoo??? Did I? I'd never asked myself if 'I' wanted to go to the zoo, or whether or not I liked it. Was she saying moms get to choose activities with their children based on their own likes and dislikes? Dragging my kids to the Natural History Museum was optional??? I had no idea moms like this existed.

I thought of my own mom. We went on many adventures. We picked strawberries, went mining at the Apache Tear mine, explored old Indian Ruins (I know, not a politically correct term now,) went rock climbing, swimming, picnics in the mountains. Dad took us camping, fishing, showed us how criminals were fingerprinted at his office. I wonder how many activities my parents shared with us, that they didn't particularly enjoy, but did just for us? I suspect there were a few, but I never knew it. I only have fond memories of our outings. (Even the ones I didn't want to do at the time.)

I'm thankful my parents weren't selfish parents, doing only things they "wanted" to do. How different my life would have been. Thanks Mom & Dad!

Ethan Update

I haven't given an update on Ethan recently, so thought I would. First, I am giving an award to his physical therapist. I'm calling it the "Thunk Award." Not that I would ever clunk someone in the head, but if I had, I'm sure that this is the sound I would have heard. Plus she really should have "thunk" before she spoke.

The P.T. told Christina she was no longer going to be a physical therapist. She was moving on to another career. (Hallelujah!) Then she went on to say, "But I think it is a waste of time & money to keep Ethan in therapy. He isn't motivated enough. He hasn't made a bit of progress this past year, not one measurable difference. And truthfully, no he can't kick a ball, but does it matter? So he can't jump or hop, he can make it in life without doing that. He isn't able to go down a flight of stairs in typical fashion, but he can make it. So it really isn't a big deal if he gets physical therapy. He can still manage in life." Grrr....she is very deserving of the Thunk Award.

On a positive note, I'd like to offer a Kudos Award. I just don't know who to give it to. Christina received a phone call from the Autistic School telling her someone had anonymously paid for Ethan's schooling this summer. What a huge blessing!!! Meanwhile, she continues to battle the public school over his continued education. Several people in that mix deserve thunk awards too.

 Helping Gramma water

Aunt Sarabeth's Graduation

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.