Update of Sorts

Apparently, I don't recall what it is like having a 4 year old boy around the house. Okay, Ethan is a very special little boy, which sometimes means he is a bit more of a challenge than your typical 4 year old. But still.

I was up bright and early yesterday morning. I went with Christina to Children's Hospital. Ethan was having the nerves in his ears checked for hearing loss. He had to be sedated. Any procedure that has to be done at Children's seems like a huge ordeal, especially when the arrival time is 7:00a.m. I figured it'd be a 15 minute thing once he was out. But no, it was nearly 2 full hours of waiting. We found out that Ethan has pretty good hearing in his left ear, a bit of hearing loss in his right. Nothing that would cause his lack of speech. On one hand it is good news. But the other hand is left to wring itself out. I forgot how much emotional energy it takes to trust a child in the doctor's hands.

Today it was my privilege to take care of Ethan while Christina ran some errands. One small boy, sounds like a piece of cake. That is when my shortcoming kicked into gear. I forget I am getting older.

A not-very-well-liked dog woke Ethan up with her barking. I couldn't get him to eat anything for breakfast, despite my most equisite cuisine offerings. Two hours later I made him lunch. He did eat a few bites, but mostly because his grandpa was eating the same thing. I forget how picky kids can be.

I gave him a bath. While bathing, I gave him a quick haircut producing a horrendous mess in the bathroom. During my attempt to clean it up, he poured powder on his feet. (And all over the carpet.) I forget how wiggly boys are.

Then the bad Gramma remembered she'd forgotten to give Ethan his anti-seizure medication. She quickly mixed it into his leftover yogurt/oatmeal and tried to spoon it into his mouth. I have no idea how much of it went down. He swished it around until he no doubt tasted the bitterness, then proceeded to spit it down the front of his clean shirt. I'd forgotten how messy boys can be.

We played Power Rangers. We put his puppy outside, while we stayed in. I looked around the house. I decided to wait to bake cookies together. If I could just run the vaccuum and pick up some of that dog hair, then maybe we could do something fun. Ethan was playing with his new castle and watching Sesame Street, so I quickly got out the vaccuum and headed for the bathroom, then the bedrooms. Did I forget how fast he is?

I vacuumed for 5-6 minutes. I walked back to the kitchen. The refrigerator door was wide open, a carton of eggs atop the table. My instincts told me to find the kid. Looking up, I see what looks like raw egg whites coming out of his mouth. Pausing a split second to close the refrigerator door, I see an empty prescription bottle on the floor. The contents are spilled. I break into a full run to reach Ethan. It isn't egg white running from his mouth, but saliva. He is trying to remove the bitter taste from his tongue. It's been a long time since I've had to call poison control. I'd forgotten the number.

After counting pills I realized he probably only bit into one of them. The man on the phone assured me that he might get a headache, but nothing worse. Relieved I hung up the phone. I spent the next 20 minutes trying without success to get Ethan to eat or drink something so he'd quit gagging. Juice, chocolate milk,ice cream, pretzels...I'd forgotten how difficult it can be to coax a child to eat.

He had a seizure, and I felt sure it was my fault. I didn't know grandparents felt guilt the way a parent sometimes does.

His mom came home, and boy did I feel relieved. I could be just "gramma" and not the responsible adult. I'd almost forgotten how nice and fun it is to be a grandma.

The phone rang. Practice was cancelled. Hilary needed to be picked up from school. Did I mention it was snowing and we had about 6 inches already? I had not forgotten how icy the roads can be, nor how cold it no doubt was. I was taking a coat & the 4 wheel drive.

On my way out the door, I saw my refrigerator standing open again. To the right stood Ethan. He was holding an emtpy bottle of coffee creamer. He was covered in white liquid and the carpet beneath him was soaking it up too. The rest of the evening I enjoyed the delicious vanilla scent.

Imagine the joy when I finally saw this:



I'd forgotten the sweetness of a sleeping child.

Wordless Wednesdays

(More Wordless Wednesdays)

Survivor

How many of you are Survivor Fans? I confess, I am. I have watched every show since the beginning episode. It isn't because it is the most entertaining show. Nor is it because I am endeared to the contestants. No, it goes much deeper than that. I have a secret desire to be a contestant on Survivor.

Honestly, I really do want to be a survivor. Think of the adventure of it all. I realize there would be no morning coffee, no soft pillow to lay my head upon at night. And yes, I know my age. It would be difficult at best to keep up with the 20 something year olds. But still, I want to be a survivor contestant.

You'd think I would have already applied. I haven't. I keep waiting for just the right inspiration. I need an incredibly creative and perfect idea for a personal video to send in to the show. I haven't been inspired enough yet.

My family thinks I'm crazy. But I figure if I can survive having 5 kids, raising gerbils, lizards, hamsters, frogs, a snake, cats, dogs, caught the resident mice, had giant cockroaches run across the floor, endured...well, you get the idea. Don't I have some bit of experience to bring to a game of Survivor??? (Or maybe I'm just trying to escape it all, and it sounds like a lovely break from the mundane?)

The funny thing is, I think I know where my spirit of adventure comes from. My mom and various family members-including my son, applied to be contestants on the Amazing Race. And I don't even watch that one.

Happy 20th Birthday Elisabeth!

It's hard to believe you've closed the door to your teen years. What happened to my little Gerber baby with the infectious smile?

Very quickly, that baby turned into a laughing, forever-singing toddler. You loved singing and entertaining anyone who'd pay attention. There was no such thing as a stranger. You welcomed everyone into your world.


Remember how you'd play dress-up for hours and hours? Or making tea and crumpets with your kitchen set? Your golden brown hair, pulled up in crooked pigtails, would bounce as you "cooked." You'd talk and talk in your singsong voice as you'd offer freshly baked cookies.

I remember a girl in second grade who wanted to be a cheerleader. You went to cheer camp and performed at a high school basketball game. Two ladies in front of me saw you amidst the sea of girls and couldn't get over how cute you were. I wanted to say, "that's my girl!" But before I could you waved and curtsied my direction and they thought you were waving to them and they waved back. You brought out the best in others. It wasn't but 7 or 8 years later that you were in high school drawing the crowd to their feet.

Do you recall that summer we took your cousin Jeremy to church for the first time? You both were 8. You had such a tender heart. You loved to dance and worship. You were explaining to Jeremy what it was going to be like in service, and how much he would enjoy it. "And something happens in there," you told him "and it's ok if you cry. It's not like it's because you are sad. You're happy. But God just touches you and sometimes you just start crying. But don't worry. My mom has tissues in her purse if you need them." What you didn't realize, is not everyone experienced what you did. It was precious. I'll bet you remember getting baptized too. You kept practicing how you'd hold your nose and asking if you were doing it right. You looked so little in the tank, but turned and waved to the crowd. You then bobbed up and down excitedly until it was your turn.

In 6th grade, my little girl struggled at school. You couldn't figure out why your friends didn't want to spend more time with their families. You told me I was your best friend and always would be. I wanted to hold onto that forever.

You finally became a teenager, a bit later than your peers and phone became your new best friend. We laughed, we cried. At times harsh words flew out, but tender ones calmed them down.

Now here you are, all grown up. Being 20 doesn't mean you quit having fun. Wherever this year finds you, laughter and fun won't be far behind.

Happy Birthday Elisabeth! I love you!

Oh Ye Of Little Faith...

When my children were little I prayed for them when they were sick. For every scraped knee and bumped head, we asked for God's healing. My first goal was to get them to seek God to meet their needs. Secondly, I wanted them to realize that God cared about them and their individual needs, that he wanted them to be whole and healthy. But I also hoped that they would experience first hand that He is our healer and He still performs miracles.

I must admit, sometimes my faith was not as big as that tiny mustard seed. I remember the night we were standing in the grocery store checkout. I had 3 small children with me and I was exhausted. Distracted and not watching, I pushed the cart forward, running into Christina's little 5 year old foot. I felt awful. This has happened to me and it hurts! "I'm sorry," I blurted out. Before I finished speaking, she dropped to the floor, clutched her foot and wailed, "Pray for me! Pray for my foot! You ran it over!" Tears began running down her face.

I'd like to say I immediately ran to her and prayed. I did not. I couldn't leave the baby in the front of the cart while I attended to her. I glanced around. Everyone around me was watching. They could hear her as she began pleading again, "pray for me! Pray for my foot, I think it's bleeding!" Two year old Christopher was already poised beside her ready to pray. The commotion became louder, more heads turned. I'm sure they waited to see what I would do. In a half whisper I choked out, "can Christopher just pray for you?"

"Nooooo, pleeeease, Mom. Praaaay for me." I pulled the baby out of her seat. My cheeks felt hot. All eyes were on me. I could have been a great witness to all of the observers. I wasn't. I knelt beside my daughter, with the baby dangling to one side and said, "can we pray in the car?"

My normally quiet, non-dramatic daughter seemed to be going for an Academy Award. "Noooo, I can't walk on it. Praaaay that it isn't broken! It hurts!" I laid my hand upon her foot, closed my eyes and somewhere between a whisper and hushed voice I prayed, "Lord Jesus, please heal Christina's foot." Her sad eyes looked up as if to say, "that's it? After all the effort it took to get you to pray, that's it???" But she didn't say that. She rubbed her foot, stood up and proclaimed, "I think its feeling better."

I was deeply humiliated. Was I ashamed to let strangers know that as a mother I prayed for my children's owies? I felt like Peter, when he denied he knew the Lord. I found myself apologizing to Christina and Christopher when we got to the car for not having more faith.

I knew in my head, that God heals. I've read the stories of Jesus healing blind men, opening deaf ears, even raising people from the dead. I believed it was right to pray for healing. James tells us to pray for the sick. Friends would share glorious stories of their personal experience of being healed and touched by the Great Physician. I had not witnessed the miraculous. I continued to pray for accidents, sickness and to teach my children to pray.

In the wee hours of the morning, holding a sick baby and rocking in the chair, I'd cry out to the Lord to touch her. I'd ask Him to remove the pain of an ear infection, comfort an upset tummy, lower a fever. There wasn't anything dramatic. But I could rest, knowing that He was in charge and I wasn't. He would watch over my children. It was my job to pray for them.

The funny thing is, I had a hard time praying for myself. I can count on one hand the number of times I was so sick that I actually crawled back in bed in the middle of the day. Then I would lie in bed and pray that my family could survive without me for a few hours. It wasn't that I never got sick. But how does a mother lie in bed with 5 children to care for? It has to be bad. One time it was. I had to ask Michael to come home from work. I knew I wasn't going to make it through the day standing up. After giving him suggestions of what he could do with the little ones and what time the others needed to be picked up from school, I laid down in my bed. It felt weird, but after a bit I began to doze off.

I heard the older kids arrive home from school, still asking what was wrong with mom. Why was she in bed? Was she going to die? Christopher quietly came into my room and stood beside me. I opened my eyes.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mom. I just wanted to say I hope you feel better." Then he did an unexpected thing. He placed his hand upon my forehead and he prayed. He prayed that God would touch me and heal me. Was I filled with faith? No. I worried that he would be disappointed when I didn't immediately arise from the bed healed. I did not want him to be discouraged, but I had no idea how to encourage him. When he finished, I thanked him and he left the room.

In my head I began to question my lack of faith for healing. At the same time, I knew God could work through sickness and pain-but I don't like to suffer. Why didn't He just heal us immediately when we asked? As I lay there wrestling with my thoughts, I noticed something. My head was no longer pounding. I didn't feel feverish or even sleepy. Why was I still lying in bed? I hesitated, then sat up. I didn't feel sick. I felt fine. Out of the bed I came. I went to Christopher and thanked him for praying for me.

In my weakness, God showed Himself strong. And is it possible, that in my weakness, God spoke into the heart of a 2 year old boy? When I asked Christina if her 2 year old brother could pray for her, did God breathe life into those words? Without even realizing it, my words told Christopher that I believed in the power of God to work through him. I'd like to believe God used my lack of faith to build faith. My son's faith, in turn, increased my faith. This is what the body of Christ is all about. We need one another, whether it is a 90 year old lady who prays or a 2 year old boy. God values and cares for us all.

Phone Calls (Updated)

I want to be snug in bed right now, my head resting comfortably on my special pillow. I'd be wearing my fuzzy, soft, pink pajamas with the covers pulled up and folded neatly under my chin. But here I sit. I'm wide awake. I'm waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring.

It's nothing serious, I hope. Earlier in the evening I received one of those "mom, what should I do?" phone calls. Christina's voice sounded remarkably calm, although I suspect that was for my benefit. Ethan had choked on something. He began gagging, then vomitted. Whatever it was, it didn't come out. But he did start breathing, so it must have gone down. She wondered if she should take him to the Emergency Room to make sure he was okay. One part of me wanted to shout, "yes, get him there now!" Another part of me didn't want to be an alarmist. I suggested she call a real doctor and ask his advice. She did.

So somewhere, 70 miles away, Ethan and Christina are waiting. Waiting to be seen, waiting for ex-rays, waiting for the results, waiting to speak with the doctor. And I am waiting for the phone call that tells me everything is fine and I can go to bed now.

At 2:23 a.m. Christina sent me a text message to say that they were home and Ethan was fine. Hallelujah!

Monday is my grocery shopping day. I debated about whether or not to go, since it was a holiday for the kids. I was feeling a bit guilty that I didn't do anything special with them. It is sort of what happens during Spring Break. I hear about the trips to Hawaii, Arizona, the Cayman Islands, New York, Paris...all of the places their classmates go for Spring Break. We almost always stay home. When they were little, we'd go out to lunch, take a trip to a museum, see a movie, or drive up for a picnic in the mountains. But now, maybe I just get tired.

So, even though it was a day-off-from-school, I went grocery shopping. I found I was walking a bit slower than usual. (I think it was because I didn't bother to make a grocery list.) Not only that, I hadn't even thought about the meals we'd have this week. I was browsing.

By the time I reached the produce section, my cart looked rather barren instead of its usual brimful self. Fruit and vegetables are healthier anyway, I mused. I pushed my sparse-filled cart to the apples. I decided on 3 different varieties, but a lady and her plentiful cart blocked my way. I pushed mine off to the side, so as not to block anyone else, then wiggled my way to the apples. I carefully selected some lovely, crisp Pink Ladies, a few not-as firm Galas, and 1 very green, most-likely tart Granny Smith. I turned to place them in my cart. But it wasn't there. I turned 3 or 4 times. I knew I'd pushed it a bit to the side, but hadn't it been right here?

I heard familiar giggling as I was looking around but it took a minute to figure it out. There across a few rows was my cart. It had been kidnapped by Elisabeth, Sarabeth, and Hilary. They were no longer just giggling but laughing hysterically.

"You turned around 4 times looking for your cart, Mom! What did you think happened?"

Oh! My kids can be so funny. I didn't feel so guilty for not doing anything special with them. They seem to have managed to amuse themselves just fine without me. We finished shopping together and they loaded my groceries in the car for me. I can't imagine life with just 1 or 2 kids. Think of all the fun I'd miss out on. If anything, I should have had a half a dozen more.

Opening Night

The stage was set. The actors stood poised, ready to make their entrance. The curtain was about to be drawn for the High School Musical. Sarabeth could feel her heart beating and noticed she was breathing faster. "Take a deep breath and relax" she told herself. Afterall, it wasn't as if she was going to be seen, but still. She was responsible for left stage.

Back in November, Sarabeth tried out for the musical. It wasn't the first time she felt the sting of disappointment. When she didn't make it, she chose to become part of the stage crew. Before she had the courage to try out, she was part of the crew. She could do it again. I was reminded of Joseph, of the bible. He too was able to rise above rejection and disapointment and work hard at whatever task was at hand.

As practices began, the Director made an unprecedented move. For ten years he'd produced some of the finest high school musicals around. He is well respected in the community for running a quality show. His standards are high. He demands hard work and respect from his cast and crew, but he gives the same and more of himself. This year, he chose two Juniors as his Stage Managers. Formerly, these positions had only been held by Senior students, typically the most mature and responsible kids. Sarabeth was chosen as Left Stage Manager.

Once during rehearsal she missed giving the cue for closing the curtain. Apparently, she took to daydreaming. (She does sound a lot like Joseph. Didn't his brothers call him "The dreamer?") The director began yelling, "curtain, curtain, curtain..." expecting it to close instantly. Sarabeth froze. I have learned through the years, that she does not react well to shouts. I found out while teaching her to drive and she blew through a stop sign. Another car was coming. Yelling "stop, stop!" did not produce results. She froze, with her foot on the accelerator.

Afterwards, Sarabeth apologized to the Director for missing the cue. He wasn't angry, but replied, "just don't let it happen again." And it didn't.

I proudly sat in the audience opening night. I noticed when the lights went off and on, the entrances and exits of the actors. I listened in the dark to scene changes and paid attention to the orchestra. I'm sure most of these things went unnoticed by the others who've come to watch this performance. The audience was full of parents who came to see their sons and daughters on center stage in all their glory. But I knew it took the work of many unseen people to create this stunning production. I was proud of Sarabeth and her accomplishments.

I was reminded that in some ways, I also am a Left Stage Manager. I am responsible, as a wife, mother, friend, sister, daughter, to see that those around me achieve their full potential. God is the ultimate creator and director. I may not be chosen to be center stage, but by doing my part and giving direction in the lives of others, I can witness a glorious performance.

Love At First Sight

He smiles when I walk in the door. As we talk, I see a spark in his eyes. I know he loves me.

His embrace is warm and inviting. It's like hugging a big teddy bear.

His hands are soft and gentle. I know I can go to him for comfort and support.

There's a ruggedness about him. Strength and character abound. I can count on him for always doing the right thing, no matter what it will cost him.

Was it love at first sight? I think it was. Even though the first time he saw me, he thought I looked like a shriveled up monkey without a tail. My dad loves me.

Happy Birthday Dad! I love you!

(Dad with greatgrandson Ethan)

Buttons

What is the allure of a shiny round button that says "push?" Or the attraction of soft, plastic, arrows that light up when pressed, that have the power to bring an elevator up or down? Watch any child excitedly walking onto the elevator who has been given the privilege of seleting the floor. She will understand. Truth be told, if allowed, she'd press every single one of those buttons again and again. Watch two children race to the street corner to see who can reach the walk button first. It will not be good enough for the loser to press it after he's been beaten. Quite possibly, the mother will have to wait through an entire light cycle to calm the crying child who didn't get the privilege of pressing the button first.

Why do adults press the same button repeatedly? Intellectually they know that only one push is required to trigger a response. Push! Push! Push! In their rush, do they really believe the elevator will move faster if they push it 6 times? Possibly there is an elf inside, manning the pushes. Gosh, this man must be in a hurry. Four pushes, I'll speed the elevator up just for him. In all reality, the elf is probably saying, "Nope! Ten pushes is way too many. That woman needs to learn some patience. Hold the elevator on the 5th floor for at least another minute or so."

Okay, I admit it. Once or twice I've double-pushed, just in case it didn't register the first time. The other day I beat a kid to the elevator button. I deleriously watched the 3 light up. The kid went to push the button. "No honey, we are going to the 3rd floor too." His hand dropped. his face fell. He looked dejectedly at the floor. I felt a little guilty. I hadn't really meant to beat him. There's just something about pushing the button.

Can you believe it? I have this in my car:
A bright red button! Who could resist this beauty?

I guess it shouldn't surprise me, that my daughter, Elisabeth, cannot resist the secret beckoning of a button. I hung one of these in the shower: If you've never seen this product it is an automatic shower cleaner. How cool is that? Before exiting the shower, you press the button. It beeps 10 or so times to let you know it has been activated. It then sprays your entire shower with cleaner, to keep your shower sparkling clean. Now if you are Elisabeth, and see this blue button while you are showering, you will not be able to resist pushing it. Right there in the middle of your shower you will press it. Your music will be loudly playing and at first you won't hear the beep, beep. You will wonder why it didn't do anything and you will press it again. Then, without warning, apple-scented cleaner will squirt you in the eye. Around and around it will go, until it has sprayed your entire body. When you finally recover, and are out of the shower, you will inquire of your mother, "what-in-the-world is that spray-thingy in the shower and why didn't you warn me?"

Wordless Wednesday

Bronco Game


Hey, the Broncos are playing


Touchdown!


Interception!

Phone Calls You Don't Want To Get

This was one of those weeks that you don't even want to hear the phone ring. It started last Sunday night.

Michael received this one from Elisabeth (our 19 year old)

"Hello?"
"Dad, (pause, sniffle) Brian's dad just died."

Tuesday night another call came in. Michael answered it.

"Hello?"
"Mike, this is Jeri (his sister.) Dad just took mom to the hospital."

Wednesday Evening-another one Michael had the privilege of receiving

"Hello?"
"Dad, (long pause) Brian and I just slid into another car. I was on the way to the chiropractor because my back was hurting so bad. Brian was driving and the roads are real slick..."

Thursday Afternoon (I answered this one from my oldest, Christina)

"Hello?"
"Mom, my car just hit a concrete barrier in the middle of the highway."

Later that night Jeri phoned again.

"Mike, can you come down? We are worried about dad being alone while mom is still in the hospital."

It is Saturday morning. Michael is in Arizona with his parents and I'm on my way to a funeral. If the phone rings, I'm not answering.

Baby It's Cold Outside

Denver weather has made the news again. We hit an all time low last night, a chilly 18 degrees below 0. Yes, -18, not to mention the 7th straight week of snow. Baby, it IS cold outside.

On to other news, back in early December it was decided that my inlaws would move to Colorado. They currently live in sunny, brutally hot Arizona. Shortly after the decision was made, we've had this amazing weather. I wonder what they are thinking now. At ages 83 and 79, why would they want to leave the never-icy sidewalks of the desert to join the survivors of blizzards, cold, and snow? The answer is simply because Michael and I are at a point in life where we can provide the most help.

Life is about changes, growing and learning. It is a journey not intended for standing still. If we become too comfortable, thinking we can sit at leisure, something will come along to knock us out of that zone. If we resist transition, our personal transformation won't occur. We cease to live.

For Christmas, Ethan received a micro gameboy from his father. Because of Ethan's disabilities, he really doesn't understand playing video games. The miniature size of this one makes even pushing the buttons difficult. It is a mere 3 inches. I tried to take a picture of Ethan playing it, but only got a blur. Hilary was text messaging on her phone and this was Ethan standing next to her "playing" his game. After pushing the buttons, he put it up to his ear and started talking. We laughed and laughed. I guess it works as a cell phone too.

For a couple of weeks, I contemplated what I could do for my sister's birthday. If I lived in the same city it would be easy. We'd go to lunch, I'd bake her a German Chocolate Cake. Laurie loves to shop, so we'd no doubt visit the mall. It would be a grand time. Then I'd watch her boys so she and her hubby could have a night out. So how do I celebrate from another state?

By Monday, I decided I was sending a card. I couldn't actually send it on that day, as her birthday wasn't until Friday. I'd mail it Tuesday and hopefully it would arrive on the proper day and when the confetti fell out of the card it would feel just a tiny festive. (I'm not sure why I couldn't actually BUY the card before Tuesday. I really need to rethink my silliness.)

Sometime on Tuesday I realized I needed to get my act together, if I was going to celebrate in some fashion. That is, until it hit me that it was not Tuesday but Wednesday. Ugh! How did that happen? There was a slim-to-none chance that the card would actually arrive on Friday. I was going to have to order flowers or balloons. But Laurie is a flight attendant and works weekends. By the time she came home the flowers would be wilty and balloons deflated sadly on the ground. Sigh. I didn't do anything.

Friday morning I woke up early. Before I was even out of bed, I remembered it was my little sister's birthday. For just a second I thought about how fun it would have been to just hop on a plane and eat cake and laugh for hours on end. Around 10, I called to wish her a Happy Birthday. I told my sad tale of my pathetic attempts to celebrate and how I wished I could just be with her. I asked her how she planned to enjoy her day. She was having a party that night. Mom was making enchiladas. My other sister, my brother, nieces, nephews and such were coming over. "Why don't you just come down?"

Because she works for the airlines, she can share some of her flight benefits. That is the luxury of flying standby for a very cheap price. She had a pass. The new ones were electronic. The arrangements could be made online. Could I make the 2:57 p.m. flight? Oh my! Michael and I had an errand to run that would take an hour and a half. Yes, I could do it. (Okay, maybe it wasn't really that easy.) I could hear the exuberance in her voice. She began making plans out loud and telling of the fun we'd have. How exciting it would be to share our little secret with everyone when I walked in to the party. She was elated.

I amazed even myself when my bag was packed and we were walking out the door to the airport. I hadn't even told my kids. I text messaged each of them, then texted Christopher. I asked him how he'd like to go to a party with me that night. "What? Are you flying into town???" He was incredulous. I assured him I was and he made plans to meet me there. This birthday celebrations was going to be huge. My mom & dad would be so happy to see me. Could it get any better?

Michael reminded me that although I was looking forward to having a grand time, disguised in my sister's birthday, that it was at a cost. Others would have to sacrifice in order to make this work. He was right. I felt like I was abandoning my other children and him. I was shirking my responsibilities. This was very impractical. But at that moment I didn't want to be practical or responsible. I wanted to be spontaneous, to enjoy the thrill of jetting off to a party. The wind went out of my sails.

I said good-bye, as he got my suitcase out of the car. We embraced and off I went. The security line was long. I felt a bit tense. Maybe when I was on the plane I could feel the party mood again.

At the gate I phoned my sister to let her know I'd be there in just a couple of hours. She chattered enthusiastically. When they began boarding the plane, I told her I needed to hang up. I waited impatiently. I stood near the counter as they called each section to embark. What was taking so long? I didn't have a confirmed seat yet. The announcement came. The plane was full. No one else would be getting on the plane. An earlier flight had been canceled making the rest of the evening an impossibility. Sigh.

I phoned Michael, who was already at home. He drove the half hour back to get me, and it took us over an hour to get home. It wasn't meant to be. I guess it really was a unrealistic & impractical.

Wordless Wednesday

Snow Dog

Seasons Poll

I have a confession to make. In the midst of constant complaints about the non-stop snow, I am secretly loving it. I say secretly because I'm afraid that if towards the end of the season I begin to look forward to green grass, someone may not let me forget my secret love of the white stuff. I even read in the news today about "Tips on how beat the depression" brought on by this kind of "foul" weather.

Colorado is known for huge changes in weather at a moment's notice. I love variety, which is one of the reasons I fell in love here. (Did I mention one day 2 weeks ago, the temperature hit 64 degrees and I hand washed my car? Two days later the high was 6 degrees.) This has been a very unusual winter. The grass was still green in December when the first blizzard hit and I now have no idea what it looks like now. It's been buried beneath deep snow for over a month. Snow usually melts within a day or two at most. But it is beautiful, which is why Winter is my second favorite month of all.

So, all of this got me to thinking about seasons. What is your favorite season of the year? I'd love to hear from everyone about which is the best to worst season. (I missed "delurking week" so I'd love for lurkers to jump in and add their answers too. You are welcome to post annonymously.) Oh, and please include the month you were born. I'm wondering if some of us look forward to a season because of the anticipation of celebrating one's birth.

Here are my answers:

1. Summer-I love the hot, lazy days of summer.
2. Winter-I love layering clothes and the beauty of winter snow.
3. Spring-Because just about the time I'm getting tired of being cold, springs breaks out. (My birthday is in March 13, technically winter, but close to spring
4. Fall-I think I've always disliked fall. For the past 20 years or so, it means my kids would go off to school, spending more of their day with a teacher instead of me. I never liked the beginning of a school year. I miss my kids when they are gone!

So what about you?

Sights & Sounds Sunday

(I love mobile blogging!)

Tick...tick....tick...it wasn't audible, but I could hear the the minutes counting down. He knew that the tickets went on sale at exactly 10 a.m. Why wasn't he out of bed yet? Did he forget? No, he couldn't possibly forget, or could he? Sometimes when things weren't important to him, he became absentminded. But he knew how much this meant to me.

It was only 9:15, but he never sleeps past 8 a.m. Ninety percent of the time, he goes to bed before me, and 99% of the time that is before midnight. So what was he doing up until 2:30 a.m. the previous night? It would be understandable if he slept past 10 this particular morning. This whole situation could be resolved in 1 of 2 ways. I could go wake him up. But in my mind, if I wake him up, that would be saying, "I don't trust you to keep your word." I could awaken him just before 10 if it looked like he wasn't moving towards getting up, but that still seemed a bit pushy.

Or, if he wasn't out of bed by the time the tickets went on sale, I could actually make the purchase myself. But...but, that wouldn't be the same. The tickets were for my birthday. It just wouldn't feel like the special gift it was if I made the purchase myself.

At this point I am beginning to fret. I'm already wondering what my reaction is to be if I miss out on this concert. He and I have never been to a concert together. We've never spent so much on tickets strictly for entertainment purposes. Am I going to be angry, disappointed? Will I have a hard time not bringing this up again-failure to remember something that is important to me?

What? Do I hear the sound of water running? Yes! He's up in plenty of time. He only takes about a half hour to get dressed. At 9:45 a.m. he walks into the room. He poises himself at the computer, as if he is about to start a marathon. At exactly 10 a.m. he begins furiously typing the info onto his keyboard. By 10 minutes after the hour it is done. Michael and I are going to the George Strait concert on March 3rd! My birthday is the 13, but I don't mind celebrating 10 days earlier. Woohoo! My husband rocks!~

This is my first attempt at blogger mobile. Nice temperature. I didn't realize I could take pics with my phone and upload to my blog without being anywhere near the computer. How cool is that? I can blog via my phone! Gotta love technology.