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!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, May 05, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
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?
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?
Saturday, May 03, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
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!
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)
(An hour later, it is starting to stick)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Happier Times 2/Birth
I announced to my husband, that today was the big day. I showered and dressed, but didn't eat breakfast. At birthing classes, I was told it was important not to eat before giving birth-just in case. I didn't care. I couldn't wait to hold my very own baby.
My husband had plans for the day to meet up with friends. Several guys showed up. They were disappointed to hear he couldn't leave and wanted to know how in the world I knew I was going to have a baby that day. I wasn't about to share details of how my body was making preparations for an impending birth. I mean, really, way too much information for single, 20 something young men.
Throughout the day, I had contractions, but nothing dramatic. Each one brought increased excitement. Around dinnertime, consistent squeezings were at 12 minute intervals. ( I was starving, so mealtimes were significant. I noticed each missed eating opportunity.) The father-to-be said something about going out to get food for himself and left. He really went up to the corner Circle K Market to call my sister. We didn't own a phone, and he was getting worried. My sister lived just a couple miles away and had survived giving birth. He figured she'd know what to do.
I was a little surprised when he came back with my sister and her husband. The last thing I needed was for 2 more people to hover over me, asking if it was time yet. Thankfully, we played cards for the next several hours. Around 10:30, Carolyn decided they were going home and would check back in tomorrow. But she didn't. She drove to the corner Circle K and phoned my doctor to express her concern. He told her I should go to the hospital to be checked. Fifteen minutes after I thought Carolyn and Larry had gone home, they returned to say they were taking me to the hospital.
I refused to go, but my husband insisted he'd take me. We were in a room by 11:30 p.m. After much paper work, monitoring, and a very uncomfortable check of my cervix, I was declared at a "2" and in early labor. I was told it would be awhile and if I wanted I could leave and come back. Exhausted, from not eating all day, I chose to go home and try to sleep.
I dozed off occasionally, only to be awakened 10 minutes later. At 9 the next morning, we had visitors again. I couldn't get out of bed. The excitement I felt with each contraction the day before had been replaced by pain. Gripping pain came every 5 minutes. I found my parents beside my bed. Not having a phone caused undue stress for my family. Did they think I'd give birth and not call from the hospital? Mom said she thought they'd come by and either take me out to breakfast, or see their new grandbaby. Sorry to disappoint. I was going to the hospital.
It was April 5th, 1981. Women in labor were routinely "prepped" for childbirth with shaving and an enema. The shave was for an episiotomy- a big word for a small cut that required several stitches and painful recovery. Labor rooms were more pleasant, but at a most critical time, moms were whisked down the hall to sterile delivery rooms. Husbands were allowed in to the labor rooms, but not anyone else. I had no idea that just outside my door I had a roomful of waiting people.
I was sorely disappointed when I was told I was 4 cm. I wasn't even halfway. The doctor broke my water. I've never understood this. My body created this nice big, pillowy-soft cushion protecting not only the baby, but me. Once removed, the pain became unbearable. Someone appeared and offered Demerol to take the edge off. A ridiculously false statement. My eyes crossed & I couldn't see straight. The edges remained, stabbing like knives. I was miserable. I didn't think I could feel any more exhausted, but thanks to the drug, I did. I declared to all, that I didn't want to do this anymore, I couldn't. The man next to me just laughed and told me there was no going back. I really didn't like him much at that point.
At 2:45, I was complete and told to push. I didn't feel like pushing. I felt like sleeping, but I pushed. I pushed. I pushed. I was actually relieved when the critical moment came and I was wheeled to delivery. I didn't have to push.
Out came the stirrups, up went my legs. I didn't recognize anyone with their matching gowns and face masks, but the room was full of people. I felt a burning sensation, then I felt as if someone was turning me inside out. A moment later a voice proclaimed "It's a girl!" A few more minutes and someone was holding a little bundle over my head, before whisking her away. She was alive and she was real. I was a mom.
Christina arrived at 5:04 p.m. She weighed 5 lbs 6 oz. I wish I'd had pictures, but we didn't own a camera.
My husband had plans for the day to meet up with friends. Several guys showed up. They were disappointed to hear he couldn't leave and wanted to know how in the world I knew I was going to have a baby that day. I wasn't about to share details of how my body was making preparations for an impending birth. I mean, really, way too much information for single, 20 something young men.
Throughout the day, I had contractions, but nothing dramatic. Each one brought increased excitement. Around dinnertime, consistent squeezings were at 12 minute intervals. ( I was starving, so mealtimes were significant. I noticed each missed eating opportunity.) The father-to-be said something about going out to get food for himself and left. He really went up to the corner Circle K Market to call my sister. We didn't own a phone, and he was getting worried. My sister lived just a couple miles away and had survived giving birth. He figured she'd know what to do.
I was a little surprised when he came back with my sister and her husband. The last thing I needed was for 2 more people to hover over me, asking if it was time yet. Thankfully, we played cards for the next several hours. Around 10:30, Carolyn decided they were going home and would check back in tomorrow. But she didn't. She drove to the corner Circle K and phoned my doctor to express her concern. He told her I should go to the hospital to be checked. Fifteen minutes after I thought Carolyn and Larry had gone home, they returned to say they were taking me to the hospital.
I refused to go, but my husband insisted he'd take me. We were in a room by 11:30 p.m. After much paper work, monitoring, and a very uncomfortable check of my cervix, I was declared at a "2" and in early labor. I was told it would be awhile and if I wanted I could leave and come back. Exhausted, from not eating all day, I chose to go home and try to sleep.
I dozed off occasionally, only to be awakened 10 minutes later. At 9 the next morning, we had visitors again. I couldn't get out of bed. The excitement I felt with each contraction the day before had been replaced by pain. Gripping pain came every 5 minutes. I found my parents beside my bed. Not having a phone caused undue stress for my family. Did they think I'd give birth and not call from the hospital? Mom said she thought they'd come by and either take me out to breakfast, or see their new grandbaby. Sorry to disappoint. I was going to the hospital.
It was April 5th, 1981. Women in labor were routinely "prepped" for childbirth with shaving and an enema. The shave was for an episiotomy- a big word for a small cut that required several stitches and painful recovery. Labor rooms were more pleasant, but at a most critical time, moms were whisked down the hall to sterile delivery rooms. Husbands were allowed in to the labor rooms, but not anyone else. I had no idea that just outside my door I had a roomful of waiting people.
I was sorely disappointed when I was told I was 4 cm. I wasn't even halfway. The doctor broke my water. I've never understood this. My body created this nice big, pillowy-soft cushion protecting not only the baby, but me. Once removed, the pain became unbearable. Someone appeared and offered Demerol to take the edge off. A ridiculously false statement. My eyes crossed & I couldn't see straight. The edges remained, stabbing like knives. I was miserable. I didn't think I could feel any more exhausted, but thanks to the drug, I did. I declared to all, that I didn't want to do this anymore, I couldn't. The man next to me just laughed and told me there was no going back. I really didn't like him much at that point.
At 2:45, I was complete and told to push. I didn't feel like pushing. I felt like sleeping, but I pushed. I pushed. I pushed. I was actually relieved when the critical moment came and I was wheeled to delivery. I didn't have to push.
Out came the stirrups, up went my legs. I didn't recognize anyone with their matching gowns and face masks, but the room was full of people. I felt a burning sensation, then I felt as if someone was turning me inside out. A moment later a voice proclaimed "It's a girl!" A few more minutes and someone was holding a little bundle over my head, before whisking her away. She was alive and she was real. I was a mom.
Christina arrived at 5:04 p.m. She weighed 5 lbs 6 oz. I wish I'd had pictures, but we didn't own a camera.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Happier Times
Since finances were so tight, I took a job. I babysat for a friend's 3 month old infant. The baby was delightful and I earned $35/week. (I didn't realize at the time, but 22 years later, Kathy would marry my brother. But that's another story.) The best and worst part of the job, was I didn't work from home. My friend lived close to my parents, so we met there each day. It was a 15-20 minute drive. I'm not sure how well it worked out for my folks, but it was wonderful for me. They had a very food friendly refrigerator and a washer and dryer. I often had the chance to visit with my mom or sister, before heading back to my apartment. This was a morality boost for me.
In spite of my increasing size, motherhood seemed a far way off. No ultrasounds or fancy tests to tell the gender of the baby. My only connection to this little one, was movement inside my belly that I had no control over. It was hard to imagine that this was a little person. The only birth experience I'd had was my cat having kittens. At night I'd dream my baby wasa tiny kitty in my arms.
Eight days before my due date, I awoke at 5:00a.m. I experienced what I'd been told was a bloody show. I laid back down, but couldn't sleep. It was Saturday and I was going to have a baby.
In spite of my increasing size, motherhood seemed a far way off. No ultrasounds or fancy tests to tell the gender of the baby. My only connection to this little one, was movement inside my belly that I had no control over. It was hard to imagine that this was a little person. The only birth experience I'd had was my cat having kittens. At night I'd dream my baby wasa tiny kitty in my arms.
Eight days before my due date, I awoke at 5:00a.m. I experienced what I'd been told was a bloody show. I laid back down, but couldn't sleep. It was Saturday and I was going to have a baby.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Get A Life 2
As a new wife, I couldn't wait to show off my culinary skills. I opened the refrigerator to find 2 bottles of beer and a pizza box containing 1 dried up, shriveled slice of pizza. The cupboards were bare. What in the world would I cook?
My pregnancy brought about a craving for cheeseburgers. I could eat them every single day. So that would be my first home cooked meal. The man of the house was off to work. When he arrived home, he'd find his wife in the kitchen, preparing a delicious, homecooked meal of burgers. Yes, that would be nice.
Before he'd left for work, he gave me $20 for groceries that week. I was so excited to be doing my own shopping and meal planning. It wasn't on paper, but in my head I had the meals worked out. I snatched the money off of the counter. This was exciting: my first grocery shopping adventure as a married woman.
I went straight to the meat department and picked out a nice 1 lb. package of ground beef. That would make 4 large patties. Without stopping to look for other meat, I skipped to the bakery for a package of buns. Oh, I needed cheese slices; on to the dairy section. Mmmmm....the cartons of milk caught my attention. A tall, ice cold glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies would make a fine dessert.
Let's see, I needed ketchup & mustard. I had to have onions. Pickles, wow is that the smallest jar they had? Mayonnaise would be nice to have, lettuce too. My mouth was watering, just thinking about how good these burgers would be. Now for the cookies: flour, sugar, eggs...how in the world could I buy all of this stuff? I didn't have enough money to cook one meal, let alone make it last all week. What about breakfast and lunch?
Slowly, I pushed my cart up and down the aisles. I placed the items back on their proper shelves. I left the store with a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, eggs, and margarine. Once home, I tried my best to load it in the refrigerator so it looked like lots of food. I didn't normally put bread in there, but I wanted something on each shelf.
For dinner I had a 29 cent cheeseburger from McDonald's. He had 3 and 1 order of french fries. The cost was just under $2.00. How would I ever be a good cook, a good wife, and a good mother? I wondered how my parents ever managed to have their cupboards stocked with so many things.
My pregnancy brought about a craving for cheeseburgers. I could eat them every single day. So that would be my first home cooked meal. The man of the house was off to work. When he arrived home, he'd find his wife in the kitchen, preparing a delicious, homecooked meal of burgers. Yes, that would be nice.
Before he'd left for work, he gave me $20 for groceries that week. I was so excited to be doing my own shopping and meal planning. It wasn't on paper, but in my head I had the meals worked out. I snatched the money off of the counter. This was exciting: my first grocery shopping adventure as a married woman.
I went straight to the meat department and picked out a nice 1 lb. package of ground beef. That would make 4 large patties. Without stopping to look for other meat, I skipped to the bakery for a package of buns. Oh, I needed cheese slices; on to the dairy section. Mmmmm....the cartons of milk caught my attention. A tall, ice cold glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies would make a fine dessert.
Let's see, I needed ketchup & mustard. I had to have onions. Pickles, wow is that the smallest jar they had? Mayonnaise would be nice to have, lettuce too. My mouth was watering, just thinking about how good these burgers would be. Now for the cookies: flour, sugar, eggs...how in the world could I buy all of this stuff? I didn't have enough money to cook one meal, let alone make it last all week. What about breakfast and lunch?
Slowly, I pushed my cart up and down the aisles. I placed the items back on their proper shelves. I left the store with a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, eggs, and margarine. Once home, I tried my best to load it in the refrigerator so it looked like lots of food. I didn't normally put bread in there, but I wanted something on each shelf.
For dinner I had a 29 cent cheeseburger from McDonald's. He had 3 and 1 order of french fries. The cost was just under $2.00. How would I ever be a good cook, a good wife, and a good mother? I wondered how my parents ever managed to have their cupboards stocked with so many things.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Get A Life
When I was 17, I had ovarian surgery. The doctor told me I would probably never have children, but if I did, my best chance would be to have them ASAP. I cried. Often. The only thing I ever wanted in life was to be a mom, not to one or two. I wanted a home filled with children. How could this be happening to me? Didn't God realize this was the only thing important to me?
I was sad. I was angry. But deep in my heart, I held a little flicker of hope. I reminded myself that my own mom had been told she'd never have children. She'd had a similar surgery. She welcomed her firstborn 11 days after her 19th birthday. Her 4th child arrived before she turned 24. (Do the math. That's 4 kids in 4 1/2 years.) Two months after her last birth, mom had a complete hysterectomy. I'm thankful to be here. If my mom hadn't been told she couldn't conceive, she'd have waited to have children. I wouldn't be sitting at this computer.
Eighteen months after my surgery, in the summer of 1980, I became pregnant. I wish I could say I was overjoyed. Instead, my insides churned with a jumble of emotions. I was elated to be having a child, but at age 18 I wasn't married. Telling my parents would not be pleasant. They weren't particularly fond of the guy I was dating.
With visions of becoming a mom dancing in my head, and the hope of having more children in my heart, I entered into marriage. I pushed aside my doubts and fears. I'd love this man, I'd love my child. Life would be good.
I should have listened when two days before we wed, Randy told me we'd be divorced some day. He said it so nonchanlantly.
I remember leaving my parents' home to spend the first night with my new husband. I fought back the tears. When I awoke in the morning, nobody would be there but him. My sister wouldn't be there. Gone were the late night chat sessions & the early morning scuffles over who would be first to use the bathroom. Dad wouldn't be scraping his burned toast over the trash can the next morning. I wouldn't smell the peanut butter he'd spread over the top. Mom's pile of school books would not be on the breakfast table, nor would I see her making hot tea or hear her tea kettle whistle. On the short drive to our apartment, loneliness nestled in to make her home in my heart.
I was sad. I was angry. But deep in my heart, I held a little flicker of hope. I reminded myself that my own mom had been told she'd never have children. She'd had a similar surgery. She welcomed her firstborn 11 days after her 19th birthday. Her 4th child arrived before she turned 24. (Do the math. That's 4 kids in 4 1/2 years.) Two months after her last birth, mom had a complete hysterectomy. I'm thankful to be here. If my mom hadn't been told she couldn't conceive, she'd have waited to have children. I wouldn't be sitting at this computer.
Eighteen months after my surgery, in the summer of 1980, I became pregnant. I wish I could say I was overjoyed. Instead, my insides churned with a jumble of emotions. I was elated to be having a child, but at age 18 I wasn't married. Telling my parents would not be pleasant. They weren't particularly fond of the guy I was dating.
With visions of becoming a mom dancing in my head, and the hope of having more children in my heart, I entered into marriage. I pushed aside my doubts and fears. I'd love this man, I'd love my child. Life would be good.
I should have listened when two days before we wed, Randy told me we'd be divorced some day. He said it so nonchanlantly.
I remember leaving my parents' home to spend the first night with my new husband. I fought back the tears. When I awoke in the morning, nobody would be there but him. My sister wouldn't be there. Gone were the late night chat sessions & the early morning scuffles over who would be first to use the bathroom. Dad wouldn't be scraping his burned toast over the trash can the next morning. I wouldn't smell the peanut butter he'd spread over the top. Mom's pile of school books would not be on the breakfast table, nor would I see her making hot tea or hear her tea kettle whistle. On the short drive to our apartment, loneliness nestled in to make her home in my heart.
Follow It I Did
On March 12 (I remember because it was the day before my birthday,) I came down with a cold/virus. Then came a sinus infection, fluid in my ears, & it has been ugly. At least I didn't end up with pneumonia & an ear infection like Hilary. Nor did I run down the stairs, roll my ankle, & tear ligaments in my foot as Sarabeth did. But I have spent more time on the computer. Which my Dr. says explains is why I am now experiencing tennis elbow and shoulder pain. (Why do they still call it tennis elbow? I don't play tennis. Computer Elbow? Mouse Elbow?) Technically, tendonitis.
All of that to say, I am extremely fatigued at the end of the day and it is why my recipe blog has not been updated much. I do cook, but I can't remember to take pics. I barely throw it on the table. Before cooking something new, I like to see what a dish looks like, before I take the plunge. This is especially true when it comes to baking. I'm a baking failure as you probably know.
Last Thursday, my inlaws were coming to dinner. No brownies or cookies in sight, so I went looking for an easy-to-prepare dessert. One in which I already possessed the ingredients. I was so excited when I found this Apple Brown Betty at the Pioneer Cooks site. The Pioneer Woman is famous for taking an abundance of photos, while preparing food. This recipe had 4 ingredients: Apples, Bread, Brown Sugar, & Butter. Simple. I can do this. I can follow a recipe.
And follow the recipe I did, with just one teensy addition. Cinnamon. One cannot make an apple dessert without it. It was a hit! We topped it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as it was a little bit dry. But that was to be expected. I just could not bring myself to using 3/4 cup of butter. That equals about 2 TBS a person. So I cut back on the butter, but otherwise, I followed the recipe...almost.
Michael declared that there was no way I actually followed the recipe exactly. Why do I try to argue? In my mind, I DID follow the directions. Well, I didn't have Granny Smith apples and used Jazz Apples instead. Apples are apples. I'd never buy mushy sweet ones anyway. So I used different apples, a little less butter, and added cinnamon to the 4 ingredient dish. Oops, did I say 4? That is what the Pioneer Woman starts with, but at the end, she tells you to sprinkle 3-4 TBS of water over the top. I added maybe 1 TBS. I was afraid the bread might get soggy, although I'm not sure why, as I added 2 extra slices of bread. !?!? Did I really just say that?
Okay. I don't follow recipes. Ever. Not even simple 4, err...5 ingredient recipes. I just can't. That is why I don't like baking. With cooking, there is grace. Baking is not so forgiving.
All of that to say, I am extremely fatigued at the end of the day and it is why my recipe blog has not been updated much. I do cook, but I can't remember to take pics. I barely throw it on the table. Before cooking something new, I like to see what a dish looks like, before I take the plunge. This is especially true when it comes to baking. I'm a baking failure as you probably know.
Last Thursday, my inlaws were coming to dinner. No brownies or cookies in sight, so I went looking for an easy-to-prepare dessert. One in which I already possessed the ingredients. I was so excited when I found this Apple Brown Betty at the Pioneer Cooks site. The Pioneer Woman is famous for taking an abundance of photos, while preparing food. This recipe had 4 ingredients: Apples, Bread, Brown Sugar, & Butter. Simple. I can do this. I can follow a recipe.
And follow the recipe I did, with just one teensy addition. Cinnamon. One cannot make an apple dessert without it. It was a hit! We topped it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as it was a little bit dry. But that was to be expected. I just could not bring myself to using 3/4 cup of butter. That equals about 2 TBS a person. So I cut back on the butter, but otherwise, I followed the recipe...almost.
Michael declared that there was no way I actually followed the recipe exactly. Why do I try to argue? In my mind, I DID follow the directions. Well, I didn't have Granny Smith apples and used Jazz Apples instead. Apples are apples. I'd never buy mushy sweet ones anyway. So I used different apples, a little less butter, and added cinnamon to the 4 ingredient dish. Oops, did I say 4? That is what the Pioneer Woman starts with, but at the end, she tells you to sprinkle 3-4 TBS of water over the top. I added maybe 1 TBS. I was afraid the bread might get soggy, although I'm not sure why, as I added 2 extra slices of bread. !?!? Did I really just say that?
Okay. I don't follow recipes. Ever. Not even simple 4, err...5 ingredient recipes. I just can't. That is why I don't like baking. With cooking, there is grace. Baking is not so forgiving.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Spring Has Sprung
As the temperatures soared into the 60's, I flung my kitchen window open. I breathed in deeply. Ah, the fresh scent of spring. I quickly finished cleaning up, so I could enjoy the warm, sunshine.
Ethan loves spring too. We spent all afternoon outside. He wasn't too happy when it was time to come in. I think he wanted to bring that fresh, spring air inside. In fact, I'm sure of it. I noticed the clean scent as I came downstairs. It reminded me of freshly laundered sheets, hanging on the clothes line, gently blowing in the breeze. The air inside was indeed spring fresh. Actually, it was April fresh, according to the empty bottle lying on the laundry room floor.
In his little helper way, Ethan managed to take the clean clothes out of the dryer, and place them back in the washer. Apparently, they didn't smell clean enough. An entire bottle of fabric softener would do the trick.
What a mess! It was all over the top of the washer, down the front, on the floor. Pretty much everywhere. In trying to salvage some of the blue liquid, I took 20 of my nicest cleaning cloths and soaked up the April freshness. I thought I could toss one in to the rinse cycle of the next 20 or so loads and voila! I'd have soft, static-free, nice smelling clothing.
Seriously, what was I thinking? First off, how am I to know exactly when the rinse cycle begins? Would a little timer go off in my brain, exactly 43 minutes after I put clothes into the machine? Or is my memory so superb, that I would automatically remember to run downstairs at just the right moment? Nope. Isn't going to happen.
Secondly, the blue splashes down the wallpaper should have been a clue that this was not a good idea. Once the blue stuff dries, a cold water rinse does NOT dissolve it into the creamy liquid it once was. My lovely cleaning rags are now dirty blue, and leave anti-static streaks on my mirrors. Oh, but they do smell fresh. April Fresh. Thank-you Ethan, for bringing the spring air inside for all to enjoy.
Ethan loves spring too. We spent all afternoon outside. He wasn't too happy when it was time to come in. I think he wanted to bring that fresh, spring air inside. In fact, I'm sure of it. I noticed the clean scent as I came downstairs. It reminded me of freshly laundered sheets, hanging on the clothes line, gently blowing in the breeze. The air inside was indeed spring fresh. Actually, it was April fresh, according to the empty bottle lying on the laundry room floor.
In his little helper way, Ethan managed to take the clean clothes out of the dryer, and place them back in the washer. Apparently, they didn't smell clean enough. An entire bottle of fabric softener would do the trick.
What a mess! It was all over the top of the washer, down the front, on the floor. Pretty much everywhere. In trying to salvage some of the blue liquid, I took 20 of my nicest cleaning cloths and soaked up the April freshness. I thought I could toss one in to the rinse cycle of the next 20 or so loads and voila! I'd have soft, static-free, nice smelling clothing.
Seriously, what was I thinking? First off, how am I to know exactly when the rinse cycle begins? Would a little timer go off in my brain, exactly 43 minutes after I put clothes into the machine? Or is my memory so superb, that I would automatically remember to run downstairs at just the right moment? Nope. Isn't going to happen.
Secondly, the blue splashes down the wallpaper should have been a clue that this was not a good idea. Once the blue stuff dries, a cold water rinse does NOT dissolve it into the creamy liquid it once was. My lovely cleaning rags are now dirty blue, and leave anti-static streaks on my mirrors. Oh, but they do smell fresh. April Fresh. Thank-you Ethan, for bringing the spring air inside for all to enjoy.
Friday, April 11, 2008
I Saw God Today
I am a George Strait fan. I have been, since the early 1980's.
I'm also a fan of mama's with large families, and babies, and birth stories.
So in honor of Jenni, who is in the hospital at this very minute, bloggin about the birth of her 12th baby, I wanted to share George Straight's newest release with you. (Just in case you are not a country music fan and haven't heard this yet.)
"I Saw God Today"
Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I'd been by her side for 18 hours straight
Saw a flower growin' in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin' up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin' lights, the honkin' horns, all seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08,
I saw God today
Chorus: I've been to church
I've read the Book
I know He's here but I don't look
Near as often as I should,
(yeah, I know I should)
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today
Saw a couple walking by,
they were holding hands
Man, she had that glow
Yeah, I couldn't help but notice,
she was starting to show
Stood there for a minute taking in the sky
Lost in that sunset
A splash of amber melted into shades of red.
Chorus
Got my face pressed up against the nursery glass
She's sleepin' like a rock
My name on her wrist,
wearin' tiny pink socks
She's got my nose,
she's got her mama's eyes
My brand new baby girl,
she's a miracle
I saw God today
I'm also a fan of mama's with large families, and babies, and birth stories.
So in honor of Jenni, who is in the hospital at this very minute, bloggin about the birth of her 12th baby, I wanted to share George Straight's newest release with you. (Just in case you are not a country music fan and haven't heard this yet.)
"I Saw God Today"
Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I'd been by her side for 18 hours straight
Saw a flower growin' in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin' up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin' lights, the honkin' horns, all seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08,
I saw God today
Chorus: I've been to church
I've read the Book
I know He's here but I don't look
Near as often as I should,
(yeah, I know I should)
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today
Saw a couple walking by,
they were holding hands
Man, she had that glow
Yeah, I couldn't help but notice,
she was starting to show
Stood there for a minute taking in the sky
Lost in that sunset
A splash of amber melted into shades of red.
Chorus
Got my face pressed up against the nursery glass
She's sleepin' like a rock
My name on her wrist,
wearin' tiny pink socks
She's got my nose,
she's got her mama's eyes
My brand new baby girl,
she's a miracle
I saw God today
Sick
Tick, tick, tick...15 more minutes. I really would prefer to jump in the shower, but I can't just yet. In 14 minutes the doctor's office opens their phone lines. Does anyone else do this?
Mondays and Fridays are the worst. Come on, you moms know the routine. The child misses school. You wonder how sick she really is, just miss class sick, or go to the doctor sick. The next day she goes to school. Yes! But then she comes home looking like she should have stayed home again. You hope by the next morning, she will be bouncing out of bed so as not to miss any more school.
But as soon as you open the door to her room, you know she isn't going. The mom starts thinking she better take the kid in before the weekend. Time for the 8 o'clock marathon of punching the numbers on the phone. It's never as simple as dialing, then speaking with someone. You have to know the codes. I'm good at punching codes, I play video games, remember? (Ok, so guitar hero doesn't count.) After just the right sequence of digits, I get to idle away the next 15 minutes on hold. A good time to catch up on reading blogs.
But if I miss the 8 o'clock fun, then I have to do this all over again. I'm not playing this game Monday. I'd rather do it today. So if you live in the area, please don't try to call THAT doctor's office. I'd really like to get a shower before noon.
Updated: Hilary has pneumonia again and an ear infection
Mondays and Fridays are the worst. Come on, you moms know the routine. The child misses school. You wonder how sick she really is, just miss class sick, or go to the doctor sick. The next day she goes to school. Yes! But then she comes home looking like she should have stayed home again. You hope by the next morning, she will be bouncing out of bed so as not to miss any more school.
But as soon as you open the door to her room, you know she isn't going. The mom starts thinking she better take the kid in before the weekend. Time for the 8 o'clock marathon of punching the numbers on the phone. It's never as simple as dialing, then speaking with someone. You have to know the codes. I'm good at punching codes, I play video games, remember? (Ok, so guitar hero doesn't count.) After just the right sequence of digits, I get to idle away the next 15 minutes on hold. A good time to catch up on reading blogs.
But if I miss the 8 o'clock fun, then I have to do this all over again. I'm not playing this game Monday. I'd rather do it today. So if you live in the area, please don't try to call THAT doctor's office. I'd really like to get a shower before noon.
Updated: Hilary has pneumonia again and an ear infection
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
The Proposal (Details, details, part 3)
After obtaining Lauren's parents' permission to marry their daughter, Christopher flew home and began making plans for the proposal. He inquired about her work schedule that week. Was she working late? He would happily come over on his lunch break to let the dog out. She did have a late day on Wednesday. So Wednesday was the designated day.
Christopher took the afternoon off of work, to execute the plan. He'd spent Monday and Tuesday preparing the details. He gathered the necessary decorations and thought everything was set. Wednesday afternoon, Lauren calls with good news. Her last client of the day had canceled their appointment. She would be home early! Hooray....time for plan B. Was there a plan B?
Quickly, he improvised. Instead of decorating her apartment himself, he enlisted the help of a couple of friends. He told Lauren he had to work late, and took the time to drop everything off with Gabe, along with instructions. He and Lauren would go shoppin, and when they left, he'd text message Gabe. When they left for the apartment, Christopher would text him again, to let him know they were on their way.
Everything was running smoothly again. Lauren remarked how patient he'd been as she browsed the entire store, up and down every aisle. He just smiled. Upon leaving, Christopher sent another text to Gabe, but didn't get a response. This made him a little nervous.
Pulling into the parking lot, he noticed Gabe's car. He must not have gotten the text. Anxiously he began driving around. "What are you doing?" Lauren queried. "Just trying to find a spot where I can see my car from your window." With that, he pulled back around in front of Lauren's apartment.
"Oh my gosh! Someone is in my apartment!" Sure enough. Christopher could see his friends in the window. "No, Lauren, I don't see anyone." He slowly pulled into a parking place. "Chris, there IS someone in my apartment." Lauren got out of the car quickly.
On there way in, they passed Gabe and Shannon. Not knowing what to do, Christopher pretended he didn't see them and kept walking. Lauren stopped. "What are you doing here? Were you in my apartment? What's going on?" The questions came flying out. Their friends mumbled something about they just stopped by, but Christopher just kept walking. Lauren became a little frantic. By the time she opened her door, her hands were shaking and she was still asking what was going on. Christopher took her by the hand and led her to her room.
Inside, candles were lit. The room was adorned with flowers. Spread across the bed were 63 photographs of Christopher and Lauren together. He had printed up 1 for every month they'd been together. On each photo, he'd written a quote, bible verse, or sentiment on love and/or marriage. Lauren began to cry and buried her head in his shoulder. After a moment, Christopher told her to look at the photos. He then reached in a drawer, where Gabe had put the ring. He dropped to one knee and took Lauren by the hand.
(If I know what love is, it is because of you. Herman Hesse)
"Lauren, we have been together for five years. My love for you has yet to be quenched and I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to do so...will you marry me?"
Christopher took the afternoon off of work, to execute the plan. He'd spent Monday and Tuesday preparing the details. He gathered the necessary decorations and thought everything was set. Wednesday afternoon, Lauren calls with good news. Her last client of the day had canceled their appointment. She would be home early! Hooray....time for plan B. Was there a plan B?
Quickly, he improvised. Instead of decorating her apartment himself, he enlisted the help of a couple of friends. He told Lauren he had to work late, and took the time to drop everything off with Gabe, along with instructions. He and Lauren would go shoppin, and when they left, he'd text message Gabe. When they left for the apartment, Christopher would text him again, to let him know they were on their way.
Everything was running smoothly again. Lauren remarked how patient he'd been as she browsed the entire store, up and down every aisle. He just smiled. Upon leaving, Christopher sent another text to Gabe, but didn't get a response. This made him a little nervous.
Pulling into the parking lot, he noticed Gabe's car. He must not have gotten the text. Anxiously he began driving around. "What are you doing?" Lauren queried. "Just trying to find a spot where I can see my car from your window." With that, he pulled back around in front of Lauren's apartment.
"Oh my gosh! Someone is in my apartment!" Sure enough. Christopher could see his friends in the window. "No, Lauren, I don't see anyone." He slowly pulled into a parking place. "Chris, there IS someone in my apartment." Lauren got out of the car quickly.
On there way in, they passed Gabe and Shannon. Not knowing what to do, Christopher pretended he didn't see them and kept walking. Lauren stopped. "What are you doing here? Were you in my apartment? What's going on?" The questions came flying out. Their friends mumbled something about they just stopped by, but Christopher just kept walking. Lauren became a little frantic. By the time she opened her door, her hands were shaking and she was still asking what was going on. Christopher took her by the hand and led her to her room.
Inside, candles were lit. The room was adorned with flowers. Spread across the bed were 63 photographs of Christopher and Lauren together. He had printed up 1 for every month they'd been together. On each photo, he'd written a quote, bible verse, or sentiment on love and/or marriage. Lauren began to cry and buried her head in his shoulder. After a moment, Christopher told her to look at the photos. He then reached in a drawer, where Gabe had put the ring. He dropped to one knee and took Lauren by the hand.
(If I know what love is, it is because of you. Herman Hesse)
"Lauren, we have been together for five years. My love for you has yet to be quenched and I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to do so...will you marry me?"
She said yes.
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