Can I just admit that I will be a little sad not to take the kids to Vacation Bible School this week?
And not just because it gave me a little breather from all of the summer togetherness we got going on around here.
The kids had so much fun, and I was very impressed by their little performance at the end of the week. Francie was in the chorus and Fiver was a wolf in one skit and a blade of grass in the other. I know I am his mother, but he was the best darn blade of grass I have ever seen.
Especially when he yelled out to me from the front of the church: "Mom! Here I am! I am the grass! Do you see me? See my arms? I am GRASS waving in the WIND!"
He and his friends also had some pivotal lines in the show. Among them were these gems:
"LazarETH! LazarETH! Come out!" (He does not have a lisp. He just likes to say LazarETH instead of LazarUS.)
And my ALL-TIME favorite: "ShaLOBE, Grandma Jesus."
I believe the original line was "Shalom, Rabbi Jesus" but I think my son really felt that the scene needed some ad-libbing. Either that or his ears are really blocked.
In addition to the exciting VBS musical review, we enjoyed a little weekend trip out to Hershey, PA, also known as The Sweetest Place on Earth.
Hershey is great. They give you a piece of chocolate for parking your car. Seriously.
Rob checked into our hotel/resort and he came out with six full sized Hershey bars. Francie doesn't like chocolate bars (she's obviously a genetic anomaly), Bun can't eat them yet, and Fiver and Sally are still under parental control, so I'll let you guess how many full sized chocolate bars Rob and I ate this weekend. (Hint: more than four and less than six)
And now you see the primary reason why I could never live there. I mean, besides the fact that the whole town's color palette is predominantly brown.
Rob was presenting a lecture to a group of doctors, so the hotel was "taken care of," as they say. I would like to go on record as officially volunteering to be "taken care of" for the rest of my life because it rocks.
While Rob was sweating it out in front of his colleagues for an hour, the kids and I were stuffing our faces at the deluxe breakfast buffet and then watching all of the free Disney/HBO we could handle in our adjoining rooms. (We don't get the super cable package, so this was a treat.)
The only thing I didn't have time for was the Chocolate Spa, but I think that it probably worked out for the best anyway. They use chocolate in their treatments and it's probably frowned upon if I walk out of the spa licking myself. Even if I did get the Chocolate Fondue Wrap.
Besides, even though it's good for my waistline, part of me just sees that as a waste of perfectly good chocolate.
Would you take a bath in chocolate? Or are you with me in fearing that you might drink your treatment?
I just can't be too careful around chocolate.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
So Where Are The Magic Poppies When I Need Them?
Today, after I dropped Francie and Fiver at VBS, I went a-visitin'.
I was so happy to have somewhere to go this morning other than back to my own home. It is much easier to ignore your laundry when you are not actually in the presence of your laundry.
Plus, it was easier to stop Sally from crying over not being allowed to stay at VBS when I could tell her we were going to see Mrs. C, who happens to be one of her favorite people. There is nothing like a two year old screaming like she is being scalded alive in the vestibule of the church to make little children feel welcome.
It has the same effect as Kumbaya, I think.
We got to my friend's house around 9:45 and she greeted us happily and quietly. Why? Because her children were still in bed. Sleeping. Her children who are not teenagers. Asleep. In their own beds. Not milling around her and begging for food. Not bickering or playing tag around the dining room table. Not following her with a deck of cards saying, "Now? Is it time for Go Fish now? Are you ready now? For Go Fish? Now?"
She apologized and said that they had been out late at their grandmother's house the night before. She was just letting them sleep and getting some housework done. It seemed that she was a little nervous that I would think she was making the wrong decision in letting them sleep.
So what was I really thinking? One thing:
HOW!?!?! How do people get their kids to sleep in because I want to know. Stat.
For their whole lives, all of my children have been early risers. I'm talking crack of dawn early.
I consider it a late start if my kids are rolling out of bed at 7. Even Sally, my occasional late riser, is often only the last one up because she is still contained in a crib.
I'm starting to think it must be encoded into their DNA because we cannot seem to alter their waking habits in any way. We have darkened their rooms with double layers of shades and curtains. We have given them a certain time before which they are not allowed to leave bed. We have let them sleep in a nest on the floor of our room if it will just keep them quiet.
The biggest culprit is Fiver. I haven't used an alarm clock in years because I can count on Fiver standing next to my head every morning before 5:30. Sometimes he calls my name, sometimes he just stands there and waits until I sense his presence and refuse sleep just to gaze upon him. That's still creepy, even a hundred times later, my friends.
Now some people who know our routine will say, But Aimee, you must admit that your children go to bed super early. You can't expect them to sleep late on that schedule.
I freely admit that my kids are in bed early. They are easily the earliest to bed of all their friends and relatives. Fiver and Sally are in bed by 7 pm, and they are usually asleep by 7:30. Francie goes in to bed by 8 pm, although she reads in bed for a little while before she actually sleeps.
But this is key: We have tried the keeping them up so they will sleep later routine and it doesn't work. They wake up at the same time, only crabbier. Just last week we went to my parents' church carnival and we did not get home until 10:45. Want to guess what time Fiver was up? Here's a hint: it was before 7 am.
I am pretty resigned to being an early riser for now, but I am interested to know what it's like in your house. Do you have night owls who are late sleepers? Or are do you have a house of early-to-bed, early-to-risers?
And is there anything I've missed? Besides, you know, pharmaceuticals? Or magic?
I was so happy to have somewhere to go this morning other than back to my own home. It is much easier to ignore your laundry when you are not actually in the presence of your laundry.
Plus, it was easier to stop Sally from crying over not being allowed to stay at VBS when I could tell her we were going to see Mrs. C, who happens to be one of her favorite people. There is nothing like a two year old screaming like she is being scalded alive in the vestibule of the church to make little children feel welcome.
It has the same effect as Kumbaya, I think.
We got to my friend's house around 9:45 and she greeted us happily and quietly. Why? Because her children were still in bed. Sleeping. Her children who are not teenagers. Asleep. In their own beds. Not milling around her and begging for food. Not bickering or playing tag around the dining room table. Not following her with a deck of cards saying, "Now? Is it time for Go Fish now? Are you ready now? For Go Fish? Now?"
She apologized and said that they had been out late at their grandmother's house the night before. She was just letting them sleep and getting some housework done. It seemed that she was a little nervous that I would think she was making the wrong decision in letting them sleep.
So what was I really thinking? One thing:
HOW!?!?! How do people get their kids to sleep in because I want to know. Stat.
For their whole lives, all of my children have been early risers. I'm talking crack of dawn early.
I consider it a late start if my kids are rolling out of bed at 7. Even Sally, my occasional late riser, is often only the last one up because she is still contained in a crib.
I'm starting to think it must be encoded into their DNA because we cannot seem to alter their waking habits in any way. We have darkened their rooms with double layers of shades and curtains. We have given them a certain time before which they are not allowed to leave bed. We have let them sleep in a nest on the floor of our room if it will just keep them quiet.
The biggest culprit is Fiver. I haven't used an alarm clock in years because I can count on Fiver standing next to my head every morning before 5:30. Sometimes he calls my name, sometimes he just stands there and waits until I sense his presence and refuse sleep just to gaze upon him. That's still creepy, even a hundred times later, my friends.
Now some people who know our routine will say, But Aimee, you must admit that your children go to bed super early. You can't expect them to sleep late on that schedule.
I freely admit that my kids are in bed early. They are easily the earliest to bed of all their friends and relatives. Fiver and Sally are in bed by 7 pm, and they are usually asleep by 7:30. Francie goes in to bed by 8 pm, although she reads in bed for a little while before she actually sleeps.
But this is key: We have tried the keeping them up so they will sleep later routine and it doesn't work. They wake up at the same time, only crabbier. Just last week we went to my parents' church carnival and we did not get home until 10:45. Want to guess what time Fiver was up? Here's a hint: it was before 7 am.
I am pretty resigned to being an early riser for now, but I am interested to know what it's like in your house. Do you have night owls who are late sleepers? Or are do you have a house of early-to-bed, early-to-risers?
And is there anything I've missed? Besides, you know, pharmaceuticals? Or magic?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
There and Back Again
I am still recovering from Sally's birthday festivities, and I am shamelessly using Vacation Bible School to ease myself back into the real world. Having only half my children during the morning has really given me time to catch up on my laundry. Or to catch up on my Google Reader. Whatever.
Since we had such fun in Lancaster a few weekends ago, we decided to take Sally back for her birthday. This time we took my parents, my sister, and my brothers along for the ride. All of them were off of work for various reasons, although none as interesting as my youngest brother who called off for a work related injury. Namely, a raging case of poison ivy. He's a groundskeeper and it's an occupational hazard. It is probably the number one reason why I will never be a groundskeeper. That and the sweating.
We saw more trains (I told you it was a cult), and this time we even stopped at the outlets. I could only make a cursory tour of the stores, but I still managed to slip into Pottery Barn Kids and score a huge picture frame that was originally fifty dollars marked down to eighteen.
That's what I'm talking about, my friends.
But I guess the whole day could be characterized by this little episode: While the girls went with my dad in search of lemonade, I took Fiver and Bun in the stroller to the lingerie outlet. I was in desperate need of some new bras (thank you, children), and I just wanted to grab some and get out.
Of course, this being the outlet, there were some great deals to be had. As I was looking through the racks (HA!), Fiver suddenly realized where we were. He sat up in the stroller and announced:
Oh wow! Look at all these fabulous bras!
And on that note, One More Equals Four tagged me for the ABCs of Me. Since I have another busy day on my plate, I will leave you with even more things that you never wanted to know about me.
A. Attached or Single? Attached to Rob. Usually at the hip, unless he’s on call. I’m on call enough in my own house. Forget the hospital.
B. Best Friend? Rob. I pick him first all the time.
C. Cake or pie? Yes, please! Preferably German chocolate and apple pie.
D. Day of choice? Sunday. We reserve this for church and family and nothing else. It’s the only day that I do not feel guilty for not doing laundry.
E. Essential item? These days? Baby wipes. I have little packs of them stashed all over the place, and I use them on everyone. Even Rob will ask me for a wipe on occasion. I mean, he will ask me for the actual wipe not for me to physically wipe him. I wipe enough people around here.
F. Favorite color? purple
G. Gummy bears or worms? I guess gummy bears, although I don’t really like gummy things. Well, except for actual gum.
H. Home town? Growing up it was Reading, PA.
I. Favorite indulgence? Chocolate covered pretzels.
J. January or July? This one’s a draw. January has my birthday and July has Francie’s birthday and summer fun, so I like both.
K. Kids? Four right now. Can’t say if there are any more in the future, but if you happen to ask me around 4:30 in the afternoon, the answer would most likely be “No”
L. Life isn’t complete without? Prayer and laughter - sometimes these are the only things that get me through the day.
M. Marriage date? 6/14/97
N. Number of brothers and sisters? Two brothers, one sister. I am the oldest.
O. Oranges or Apples? Apples all the way. I have to be in just the right mood for oranges.
P. Phobias? I don’t know if I have any full blown phobias. I guess fear of the dark? Like total, absolute, primordial darkness.
Q. Quotes? There are so many I love! How about: "Little things are indeed little, but to be faithful in little things is a great thing." Blessed Mother Theresa
R. Reasons to smile? I have so many that I should just always be walking around grinning like a fool. I'm alive, my kids are healthy and happy, my husband is here to help me and make me laugh, I have plenty of food, I have a home, etc, etc, etc . . .
S. Season of choice? Autumn.
T. Tag 5 people: T With Honey, RC Mommy, The Estrogen Files, Nothing Really, As Many As We're Given (if you feel so inclined - it's summer, do whatever you like!)
U. Unknown fact about me? I once ran a 5K and did it in a respectable time (meaning: I was not last.) Then I promptly got pregnant so I never had to do that again.
V. Vegetable? Glazed carrots or creamed corn or creamed spinach. I know, I am an 80 year old trapped in a 32 year old’s body.
W. Worst habit? Nagging. I am a world class nag.
X. Xray or Ultrasound? Ultrasounds – most of mine have been for happy reasons!
Y. Your favorite food? So many, hence the Weight Watchers every Saturday. Off the top of my head? Lasagna, coconut shrimp, ice cream, chocolate, chicken and dumplings, . . . .
Z. Zodiac sign? Capricorn. And so is Rob’s, of course (see “A”)
Since we had such fun in Lancaster a few weekends ago, we decided to take Sally back for her birthday. This time we took my parents, my sister, and my brothers along for the ride. All of them were off of work for various reasons, although none as interesting as my youngest brother who called off for a work related injury. Namely, a raging case of poison ivy. He's a groundskeeper and it's an occupational hazard. It is probably the number one reason why I will never be a groundskeeper. That and the sweating.
We saw more trains (I told you it was a cult), and this time we even stopped at the outlets. I could only make a cursory tour of the stores, but I still managed to slip into Pottery Barn Kids and score a huge picture frame that was originally fifty dollars marked down to eighteen.
That's what I'm talking about, my friends.
But I guess the whole day could be characterized by this little episode: While the girls went with my dad in search of lemonade, I took Fiver and Bun in the stroller to the lingerie outlet. I was in desperate need of some new bras (thank you, children), and I just wanted to grab some and get out.
Of course, this being the outlet, there were some great deals to be had. As I was looking through the racks (HA!), Fiver suddenly realized where we were. He sat up in the stroller and announced:
Oh wow! Look at all these fabulous bras!
And on that note, One More Equals Four tagged me for the ABCs of Me. Since I have another busy day on my plate, I will leave you with even more things that you never wanted to know about me.
A. Attached or Single? Attached to Rob. Usually at the hip, unless he’s on call. I’m on call enough in my own house. Forget the hospital.
B. Best Friend? Rob. I pick him first all the time.
C. Cake or pie? Yes, please! Preferably German chocolate and apple pie.
D. Day of choice? Sunday. We reserve this for church and family and nothing else. It’s the only day that I do not feel guilty for not doing laundry.
E. Essential item? These days? Baby wipes. I have little packs of them stashed all over the place, and I use them on everyone. Even Rob will ask me for a wipe on occasion. I mean, he will ask me for the actual wipe not for me to physically wipe him. I wipe enough people around here.
F. Favorite color? purple
G. Gummy bears or worms? I guess gummy bears, although I don’t really like gummy things. Well, except for actual gum.
H. Home town? Growing up it was Reading, PA.
I. Favorite indulgence? Chocolate covered pretzels.
J. January or July? This one’s a draw. January has my birthday and July has Francie’s birthday and summer fun, so I like both.
K. Kids? Four right now. Can’t say if there are any more in the future, but if you happen to ask me around 4:30 in the afternoon, the answer would most likely be “No”
L. Life isn’t complete without? Prayer and laughter - sometimes these are the only things that get me through the day.
M. Marriage date? 6/14/97
N. Number of brothers and sisters? Two brothers, one sister. I am the oldest.
O. Oranges or Apples? Apples all the way. I have to be in just the right mood for oranges.
P. Phobias? I don’t know if I have any full blown phobias. I guess fear of the dark? Like total, absolute, primordial darkness.
Q. Quotes? There are so many I love! How about: "Little things are indeed little, but to be faithful in little things is a great thing." Blessed Mother Theresa
R. Reasons to smile? I have so many that I should just always be walking around grinning like a fool. I'm alive, my kids are healthy and happy, my husband is here to help me and make me laugh, I have plenty of food, I have a home, etc, etc, etc . . .
S. Season of choice? Autumn.
T. Tag 5 people: T With Honey, RC Mommy, The Estrogen Files, Nothing Really, As Many As We're Given (if you feel so inclined - it's summer, do whatever you like!)
U. Unknown fact about me? I once ran a 5K and did it in a respectable time (meaning: I was not last.) Then I promptly got pregnant so I never had to do that again.
V. Vegetable? Glazed carrots or creamed corn or creamed spinach. I know, I am an 80 year old trapped in a 32 year old’s body.
W. Worst habit? Nagging. I am a world class nag.
X. Xray or Ultrasound? Ultrasounds – most of mine have been for happy reasons!
Y. Your favorite food? So many, hence the Weight Watchers every Saturday. Off the top of my head? Lasagna, coconut shrimp, ice cream, chocolate, chicken and dumplings, . . . .
Z. Zodiac sign? Capricorn. And so is Rob’s, of course (see “A”)
Monday, June 23, 2008
And Now You Are Two
My gal Sal, how did you grow so quickly?
Wasn't it two hours ago that I was being pumped full of pitocin and an epidural that didn't work? Wasn't it two minutes ago that you came barreling into this world, pink and round? (click here, if you have the time, and read Sally's story)
No, that was two years ago.
Now you are a wonder, a hugger, a little sister, a big sister, a lover, a fighter, a kisser, a biter, a pretend cake-maker, a sibling toy-taker, a Mama's girl, a Daddy's girl, a precious pearl.
We've always said that you are our baby made from pure joy. You came to us after a long, hard time in our family, and we couldn't be more thankful for you.
Happy Birthday, Sally. We love you.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Lazy Days of Summer?
It's official: our summer has begun and we are going at it full tilt. (What's The HomeFront Motto? Go Big or Go Home!)
This is only the first full week that school has been out, but I already feel like my kiester is being handed to me on a platter. I'm not an overscheduler by nature, but we've had a major confluence of events over the past few days. Playdates, therapy schedule changes, church fairs, doctors appointments - they've all managed to get squeezed into the span of ten days.
Of course, you know what this means. We will hit July and the kids and I will be all Hey, how come we don't have anything fun planned? Where did all our friends go? I'll tell you where they went: home! They are probably sick of seeing us so much.
I've got to learn to pace myself. It would be beneficial on so many fronts.
I've fallen behind on housework, meal planning and prep, and laundry. I am ashamed to admit how many times this week my children have feasted on butter noodles and orange segments, so I won't. At least they are whole grain noodles.
Another casualty of Summer '08? The blogging.
Each night, when I finally sit down to post, I am too stinking tired and I resolve to get up earlier than usual so I can post. But when I get to the computer in the morning, I start out with my Google reader (which now contains approximately 7200 items) in a fruitless effort to catch up, and by the time I am ready to compose a literary masterpiece, someone is wanting breakfast or equally inconvenient.
I haven't commented on any posts or answered any emails; I am dropping off the technological radar. And, to be honest, I always impose a little self-inflicted guilt on myself because I am weird and ridiculous sometimes.
I often catch myself reading different posts about how to grow your blog and increase your traffic and yadda yadda yadda, and every single time I do, this thought comes back to me like a boomerang in the teeth:
How do people find the time? Especially people with young children? Are they staying up until all hours? Do they get up with the roosters? Are their children letting them type while they play happily with one another never making a peep? And if they are, can my kids come over, because that scenario has never played out here.
And then I get a little panicky thinking, I spend so much ding dang time on this blog and I am not really doing anything with it. I'm not actively trying to grow it, and I sure as heck ain't making any money off of it. I could spend the time I use for blogging to do more productive things things like make my own cheese and make spool dolls for my children.
When I get to that point, I just have to remind myself that, in a way, I am live-blogging my life, and I've got to live it before I can blog it. Besides, I am not out to change the world, I'm just out to record and remember my little piece of it.
I know things will slow down and even out, and until then I'll just be around. I may not be growing my blog, but I am growing my family, and that's the way it should be.
This is only the first full week that school has been out, but I already feel like my kiester is being handed to me on a platter. I'm not an overscheduler by nature, but we've had a major confluence of events over the past few days. Playdates, therapy schedule changes, church fairs, doctors appointments - they've all managed to get squeezed into the span of ten days.
Of course, you know what this means. We will hit July and the kids and I will be all Hey, how come we don't have anything fun planned? Where did all our friends go? I'll tell you where they went: home! They are probably sick of seeing us so much.
I've got to learn to pace myself. It would be beneficial on so many fronts.
I've fallen behind on housework, meal planning and prep, and laundry. I am ashamed to admit how many times this week my children have feasted on butter noodles and orange segments, so I won't. At least they are whole grain noodles.
Another casualty of Summer '08? The blogging.
Each night, when I finally sit down to post, I am too stinking tired and I resolve to get up earlier than usual so I can post. But when I get to the computer in the morning, I start out with my Google reader (which now contains approximately 7200 items) in a fruitless effort to catch up, and by the time I am ready to compose a literary masterpiece, someone is wanting breakfast or equally inconvenient.
I haven't commented on any posts or answered any emails; I am dropping off the technological radar. And, to be honest, I always impose a little self-inflicted guilt on myself because I am weird and ridiculous sometimes.
I often catch myself reading different posts about how to grow your blog and increase your traffic and yadda yadda yadda, and every single time I do, this thought comes back to me like a boomerang in the teeth:
How do people find the time? Especially people with young children? Are they staying up until all hours? Do they get up with the roosters? Are their children letting them type while they play happily with one another never making a peep? And if they are, can my kids come over, because that scenario has never played out here.
And then I get a little panicky thinking, I spend so much ding dang time on this blog and I am not really doing anything with it. I'm not actively trying to grow it, and I sure as heck ain't making any money off of it. I could spend the time I use for blogging to do more productive things things like make my own cheese and make spool dolls for my children.
When I get to that point, I just have to remind myself that, in a way, I am live-blogging my life, and I've got to live it before I can blog it. Besides, I am not out to change the world, I'm just out to record and remember my little piece of it.
I know things will slow down and even out, and until then I'll just be around. I may not be growing my blog, but I am growing my family, and that's the way it should be.
Monday, June 16, 2008
We Did It Our Way
Many thanks for all of your anniversary wishes, my friends. Rob and I had a great day together.
Of course, we didn't spend it alone together because we gave all that up about nine years ago. Now our anniversaries are more like a school field trip than anything else. Lots of snacks, lots of potty breaks, lots of herding small bodies through crowds. (Although this year, we did get to see an awesome concert a few days before our anniversary. I'll share later.)
We don't mind a group anniversary celebration; after all, it's because of the wedding that we even have a group anyway. The employees are the best way of reminding ourselves about the start of The HomeFront Corp.
This year, we went to Lancaster and we took the kids on the "Day Out With Thomas" train ride.
If you are not familiar with Thomas, well, I don't even know what to say. It is sort of like a train cult that has held my son in thrall for about four years now. I see no prospect of escape in the near future.
We didn't tell the kids where we were going; we have learned the hard way that Fiver really cannot handle any build-up. Unless we wanted to be interrogated to the point of insanity, we knew that packing them in the car and calling it a "surprise" was the best option.
Of course, that meant big fun for us as we listened to them guess where we were going for the whole 2.5 hour trip. Everything we passed became a possible destination. Are we going to the mall? Are we going to Target? Are we going to the Days Inn? Are we going to Wendy's? Are we going to the highway rest stop?
Obviously, my children are well-traveled. And klassy.
At one point, after being asked for the third time if we were going to McDonald's, Rob said, Yes. You guessed it. We drove 2.5 hours to go to McDonald's. I heard the fries are better here.
In addition to trains, quilts, antiques, and the Pennsylvania Dutch, Lancaster is home to some sweet shopping. Outlet shopping, my friends. As we passed the stores, I saw all kinds of places I wanted to visit. Like a Pottery Barn Kids outlet. I told Rob to just slow the van and I would jump out. He could come back for me after the train ride. Surprisingly, he didn't go for the idea.
The closer we got to the train, the more signs we saw for it. Finally, after passing huge billboards with Thomas' face on them, Fiver looked out the window and said, Hey! There's Thomas! And that was the end of that. He guessed that we might be taking him to a Days Inn, but could not possibly conceive of the notion that we might be taking him to see his most favorite thing EVER. You've got to love this kid.
We were almost at our destination when Fiver actually saw the train on the tracks. Oh. My. Lands. If a child could levitate from sheer excitement, Fiver did it. He started to unbuckle his seat belt while we were still on the road. I think he was preparing to jump, much like his mother at the sight of the outlets. We are not a patient people.
The ride itself was hot and short, but there were many Thomas-themed activities at the train station that kept the kids busy. And with our crew, shorter is better anyway. Besides, we had to wait for the loan approval to come through before we could put cash on the barrel head at the Gift Shop.
On the way home, we pulled into a Sonic Drive-In for dinner. Fast food heaven, if you ask me. We don't have one close to us, which is absolutely fantastic for our arteries and waistlines, but still. When Rob pulled the van into the parking space, he said, Only the finest restaurants for you, my dear. It's our anniversary after all.
I may have squealed with glee and clapped my hands. Don't judge me.
The kids, who are Sonic neophytes, were so thrilled that someone brought the food to our car! and that they were allowed to unbuckle themselves!! and walk around the van while eating!!!
I just sipped myself into a Sonic Slush stupor and called it a day. A great day.
(Although next time, I really feel like we could squeeze in a little outlet time. I'm just sayin'.)
Of course, we didn't spend it alone together because we gave all that up about nine years ago. Now our anniversaries are more like a school field trip than anything else. Lots of snacks, lots of potty breaks, lots of herding small bodies through crowds. (Although this year, we did get to see an awesome concert a few days before our anniversary. I'll share later.)
We don't mind a group anniversary celebration; after all, it's because of the wedding that we even have a group anyway. The employees are the best way of reminding ourselves about the start of The HomeFront Corp.
This year, we went to Lancaster and we took the kids on the "Day Out With Thomas" train ride.
If you are not familiar with Thomas, well, I don't even know what to say. It is sort of like a train cult that has held my son in thrall for about four years now. I see no prospect of escape in the near future.
We didn't tell the kids where we were going; we have learned the hard way that Fiver really cannot handle any build-up. Unless we wanted to be interrogated to the point of insanity, we knew that packing them in the car and calling it a "surprise" was the best option.
Of course, that meant big fun for us as we listened to them guess where we were going for the whole 2.5 hour trip. Everything we passed became a possible destination. Are we going to the mall? Are we going to Target? Are we going to the Days Inn? Are we going to Wendy's? Are we going to the highway rest stop?
Obviously, my children are well-traveled. And klassy.
At one point, after being asked for the third time if we were going to McDonald's, Rob said, Yes. You guessed it. We drove 2.5 hours to go to McDonald's. I heard the fries are better here.
In addition to trains, quilts, antiques, and the Pennsylvania Dutch, Lancaster is home to some sweet shopping. Outlet shopping, my friends. As we passed the stores, I saw all kinds of places I wanted to visit. Like a Pottery Barn Kids outlet. I told Rob to just slow the van and I would jump out. He could come back for me after the train ride. Surprisingly, he didn't go for the idea.
The closer we got to the train, the more signs we saw for it. Finally, after passing huge billboards with Thomas' face on them, Fiver looked out the window and said, Hey! There's Thomas! And that was the end of that. He guessed that we might be taking him to a Days Inn, but could not possibly conceive of the notion that we might be taking him to see his most favorite thing EVER. You've got to love this kid.
We were almost at our destination when Fiver actually saw the train on the tracks. Oh. My. Lands. If a child could levitate from sheer excitement, Fiver did it. He started to unbuckle his seat belt while we were still on the road. I think he was preparing to jump, much like his mother at the sight of the outlets. We are not a patient people.
The ride itself was hot and short, but there were many Thomas-themed activities at the train station that kept the kids busy. And with our crew, shorter is better anyway. Besides, we had to wait for the loan approval to come through before we could put cash on the barrel head at the Gift Shop.
On the way home, we pulled into a Sonic Drive-In for dinner. Fast food heaven, if you ask me. We don't have one close to us, which is absolutely fantastic for our arteries and waistlines, but still. When Rob pulled the van into the parking space, he said, Only the finest restaurants for you, my dear. It's our anniversary after all.
I may have squealed with glee and clapped my hands. Don't judge me.
The kids, who are Sonic neophytes, were so thrilled that someone brought the food to our car! and that they were allowed to unbuckle themselves!! and walk around the van while eating!!!
I just sipped myself into a Sonic Slush stupor and called it a day. A great day.
(Although next time, I really feel like we could squeeze in a little outlet time. I'm just sayin'.)
Saturday, June 14, 2008
To My Love, on Our Anniversary
I was busily herding the children out of Target a few days ago when something caught my eye and I turned my head. A man was helping his wife out of her wheelchair and into their car.
There was nothing unusual about the act; in fact I have seen many people helping loved ones in and out of wheelchairs and cars. The thing that struck me was the look on the man's face. He was not impatient, he was not rushing her, he was not disinterested. He was focused solely on her, and he was looking at her with love. He was just there for her.
The whole scene took me back to when I was dating Rob. No, he was not helping me in and out of wheelchairs at Target. We were just young and totally in love and sweeping each other off our respective feet (even though we did not live near each other and never got to see each other, but that's a completely different post). The "falling in love" part of our relationship was fantastic.
One night, after it became apparent that Rob was around for the long haul, my mom and I were talking and she said, You know, Aim, sex doesn't last forever. That all consuming attraction will disappear after time. Sometimes it's just faded, but sometimes it's gone forever, and the only thing you have left are communication and your commitment to be together.
After I got done thinking, Eww, eww, eww, I hope she doesn't keep talking about sex (I was a very mature nineteen year old), I put her words in the back of my mind and went on to marry Rob and found The HomeFront Corp. You know, the business of life and all that.
But now? Well, now I can see that my mother was right (as she often was about things in my teenage years, but let's not get into the weeds here). Sometimes I am so beleaguered by the three-foot set, that the mere thought of someone else wanting to hang on me makes me want to run for the bathroom and lock the door. Of course I still love Rob, but some days I just love him over there.
And here's the funny thing, I'm still wild about him. He still rings my bell, and I love him more now than I think I even knew how to love him when we were dating. There is still no one else that I would rather talk to before him, and, when things are bleak, there is no one else who can comfort me like him. Yet, some days, the only thing that keeps us going is our communication and commitment.
He loves me so much that he will wake from a dead sleep and get the baby, he will empty the j-trap of the gunky sink, he will insist that I go out by myself while he stays home with the kids, he will let me use the treadmill first (which might not seem like love, but it really is). He leaves me love notes when he has to be away, he brings me flowers for no reason. Many of the things I love most about him have nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with just being there.
Eleven years ago today, I said I would stay with Rob for the rest of my life, and I still mean it, even when we just have enough energy to sit next to one another. Each year with him has been the best year, and there's no one for me but him. Happy Anniversary, Rob.
This was right before the entire top of the cake fell over and hit the ground. Still don't know what my wedding cake tasted like, but I've made up for it by eating many other slices of cake throughout my life.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Good Things Come in Small Packages. And Sometimes in Big Ones.
I took the boys in for their check-ups and it continues to amaze me how differently all of my children develop.
Fiver, my second largest baby, has maintained his title as the slowest growing member of our family. He will be six in August and he is 44 inches tall and he has finally broken 40 pounds. He still wears 4T shorts and his foot has only grown one full size in three years. He comes in at the 20th percentile for height and weight.
Bun, on the other hand, has been busy bulking up. He was my smallest baby by far, but at four months old he is now tipping the scales at 17 pounds and he is 26 inches tall. He comes in at the 90th percentile.
But no one can beat Sally. She was the biggest baby, and she is continuing that trend as she grows. She wasn't in for a check-up, but we measured her just for kicks and giggles. She weighs 32 pounds and she is 36 inches tall. She's not yet two years old.
They say that if you double your child's height at two you'll get their average adult height. Apparently we are looking at a career in the WNBA, since this child is already wearing 3T clothing. That's only one size smaller than Fiver. Did I mention he is almost six?
Of course, Fiver's slow growth is not a new phenomenon around here. He grows, but it comes at a snail's pace. He has been tested for every kind of genetic or chromosomal abnormality that may cause his slow growth and lack of muscle tone, but no explanation has been found.
Sometimes it frustrates me, the not knowing, but I prefer to focus on the positives. Like all the money I save by not having to buy him new clothes. He's wearing his summer wardrobe from last year, and even some of those pants are still big on him. God bless the person who invented those handy adjustable waistbands in kids' pants.
We also found out that Fiver has a heart murmur. Of course he does. I should have known something was up when Dr. P was spending a lot of time with the stethoscope pressed to his chest.
She feels that the murmur is probably innocent, but she said she'll keep a close eye (ear?) on it because of all of the other mojo he's got going on. She also feels that his growth is normal for him, even though it looks abnormal when compared with the way my other children grow. I just shrugged because, honestly?, sometimes I have no idea what is going on with this kid. He is what he is. Small but mighty.
What I do know is that I plan on saving some major coin at the school uniform store this summer.
What about your people, my friends? Any other slow-growers out there? How about slow-growers in a family of kids who look like they might be hopped up on HGH? Do you think they'll outgrow it?
Heh. I've got to get my laughs in somewhere.
Fiver, my second largest baby, has maintained his title as the slowest growing member of our family. He will be six in August and he is 44 inches tall and he has finally broken 40 pounds. He still wears 4T shorts and his foot has only grown one full size in three years. He comes in at the 20th percentile for height and weight.
Bun, on the other hand, has been busy bulking up. He was my smallest baby by far, but at four months old he is now tipping the scales at 17 pounds and he is 26 inches tall. He comes in at the 90th percentile.
But no one can beat Sally. She was the biggest baby, and she is continuing that trend as she grows. She wasn't in for a check-up, but we measured her just for kicks and giggles. She weighs 32 pounds and she is 36 inches tall. She's not yet two years old.
They say that if you double your child's height at two you'll get their average adult height. Apparently we are looking at a career in the WNBA, since this child is already wearing 3T clothing. That's only one size smaller than Fiver. Did I mention he is almost six?
Of course, Fiver's slow growth is not a new phenomenon around here. He grows, but it comes at a snail's pace. He has been tested for every kind of genetic or chromosomal abnormality that may cause his slow growth and lack of muscle tone, but no explanation has been found.
Sometimes it frustrates me, the not knowing, but I prefer to focus on the positives. Like all the money I save by not having to buy him new clothes. He's wearing his summer wardrobe from last year, and even some of those pants are still big on him. God bless the person who invented those handy adjustable waistbands in kids' pants.
We also found out that Fiver has a heart murmur. Of course he does. I should have known something was up when Dr. P was spending a lot of time with the stethoscope pressed to his chest.
She feels that the murmur is probably innocent, but she said she'll keep a close eye (ear?) on it because of all of the other mojo he's got going on. She also feels that his growth is normal for him, even though it looks abnormal when compared with the way my other children grow. I just shrugged because, honestly?, sometimes I have no idea what is going on with this kid. He is what he is. Small but mighty.
What I do know is that I plan on saving some major coin at the school uniform store this summer.
What about your people, my friends? Any other slow-growers out there? How about slow-growers in a family of kids who look like they might be hopped up on HGH? Do you think they'll outgrow it?
Heh. I've got to get my laughs in somewhere.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
There Will Be Blood** UPDATED
We've been having some evening drama around the HomeFront Corp these days. For the past few days, Fiver has been getting bloody noses.
Sounds like no big deal, right?
Usually, I would agree with you, but these aren't your garden variety bloody noses. This kid has had six bloody noses in three days, always from the same nostril, and it takes an average of thirty minutes to get it to stop. Sometimes longer.
Rob, who has been in Kansas for the past few days, got to experience his first Fiver Bleed-a-Thon last night. Good thing he's a doctor because it wasn't for the faint of heart.
When we came home from the airport (after he finally got in at 10 pm, even though he was supposed to be home before dinner, thanks very much to the insane passenger who crammed miniature bottles of alcohol down the plane's toilet and flushed thereby causing a tremendous clog that had the plane sitting on the tarmac for hours. Two thumbs up! You're awesome, dude!), we saw our bedroom light was shining.
Uh-oh, not a good sign. Fiver had been sleeping in our bed, so if the light was on that meant bad mojo. We came upstairs to find my sister with Fiver on her lap, both of them looking like they had been hit with arterial spray. There was a big bloody towel up to his face. Crap.
There was blood all over the bathroom, all over our bed, all over everyone's clothes, on Fiver's legs and arms, in his ears, and well, I'm sure you get the picture. If it wasn't from my own child, I might have run out of the house with a major case of the Heebie-Jeebies.
We did everything you can do for a bloody nose, which, by the way, is not very darn much. You can tilt the head slightly forward, pinch the nose right under where the bony part of the nose stops, and you can apply ice. And you can wait for it to stop, that's pretty much it. Party on.
The problem is that he did not stop bleeding. We were going through absorbent bathroom hand towels like they were tissues. He was bleeding so much that blood started coming out of his mouth. Plus, he was freaking out with a capital FREAK.
This cycle repeated itself all night. We let him sleep in a little pillow nest on our floor, and every hour or two he would pop up crying and he would be bleeding again. We would get the bleeding to stop, he would fall asleep, and then he'd start all over. He finally managed to fall asleep for good in the wee small hours, and so far this morning he's been blood-free.
Fiver has an appointment with the pediatric ENT doctor later this month (his hearing deficit is back, maybe more tubes. Happy day.), but Rob is trying to see if he can fit him in in the next day or two because of The Bleeding. If it's just a dry nose due to allergies or something like that, well that's a pain, but we can deal. But with everything else that goes on with this child's head, we'd just like to be safe.
Have any of your kids ever had marathon bloody noses like this, my friends? Share with me, because I'm a little freaked out and a little weary of the long nights around here.
Updated to Add: We managed to squeeze in with the PA in the ENT's office this afternoon after therapy. She took a look in his nose and said that he basically has what amounts to a big scab sitting on a big vessel in his nose. When his nose gets irritated or dried out, the scab comes loose and The Bleeding begins. We need to keep his nose moist and she said that we need to swab the inside of his nose with triple antibiotic ointment and shoot him up with some saline spray. If we keep him moist enough, the scab with go away and he should have no more problems. If he does continue to bleed, then they will need to cauterize the inside of his nose, possibly at the same time as they do his new set of tubes should he need them. We are talking big fun, my friends.
Sounds like no big deal, right?
Usually, I would agree with you, but these aren't your garden variety bloody noses. This kid has had six bloody noses in three days, always from the same nostril, and it takes an average of thirty minutes to get it to stop. Sometimes longer.
Rob, who has been in Kansas for the past few days, got to experience his first Fiver Bleed-a-Thon last night. Good thing he's a doctor because it wasn't for the faint of heart.
When we came home from the airport (after he finally got in at 10 pm, even though he was supposed to be home before dinner, thanks very much to the insane passenger who crammed miniature bottles of alcohol down the plane's toilet and flushed thereby causing a tremendous clog that had the plane sitting on the tarmac for hours. Two thumbs up! You're awesome, dude!), we saw our bedroom light was shining.
Uh-oh, not a good sign. Fiver had been sleeping in our bed, so if the light was on that meant bad mojo. We came upstairs to find my sister with Fiver on her lap, both of them looking like they had been hit with arterial spray. There was a big bloody towel up to his face. Crap.
There was blood all over the bathroom, all over our bed, all over everyone's clothes, on Fiver's legs and arms, in his ears, and well, I'm sure you get the picture. If it wasn't from my own child, I might have run out of the house with a major case of the Heebie-Jeebies.
We did everything you can do for a bloody nose, which, by the way, is not very darn much. You can tilt the head slightly forward, pinch the nose right under where the bony part of the nose stops, and you can apply ice. And you can wait for it to stop, that's pretty much it. Party on.
The problem is that he did not stop bleeding. We were going through absorbent bathroom hand towels like they were tissues. He was bleeding so much that blood started coming out of his mouth. Plus, he was freaking out with a capital FREAK.
This cycle repeated itself all night. We let him sleep in a little pillow nest on our floor, and every hour or two he would pop up crying and he would be bleeding again. We would get the bleeding to stop, he would fall asleep, and then he'd start all over. He finally managed to fall asleep for good in the wee small hours, and so far this morning he's been blood-free.
Fiver has an appointment with the pediatric ENT doctor later this month (his hearing deficit is back, maybe more tubes. Happy day.), but Rob is trying to see if he can fit him in in the next day or two because of The Bleeding. If it's just a dry nose due to allergies or something like that, well that's a pain, but we can deal. But with everything else that goes on with this child's head, we'd just like to be safe.
Have any of your kids ever had marathon bloody noses like this, my friends? Share with me, because I'm a little freaked out and a little weary of the long nights around here.
Updated to Add: We managed to squeeze in with the PA in the ENT's office this afternoon after therapy. She took a look in his nose and said that he basically has what amounts to a big scab sitting on a big vessel in his nose. When his nose gets irritated or dried out, the scab comes loose and The Bleeding begins. We need to keep his nose moist and she said that we need to swab the inside of his nose with triple antibiotic ointment and shoot him up with some saline spray. If we keep him moist enough, the scab with go away and he should have no more problems. If he does continue to bleed, then they will need to cauterize the inside of his nose, possibly at the same time as they do his new set of tubes should he need them. We are talking big fun, my friends.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Requiem
How do you type the sound of an exhalation? Because that is almost all I feel able to do tonight.
So many times since Wednesday I have wanted to come back here and say that it was all a mistake. I wanted to be able to tell you that I got a phone call: there was a misunderstanding and S was gravely ill, but not dead. Her infant son was not motherless. Her husband wasn't a widower.
There's been no mistake. S is gone. In the blink of an eye, in the space of a heartbeat, she was called home for reasons we may never understand.
I think the most shocking aspect is the way in which she died. Without getting into too many unnecessary details (many of which I still don't know anyway), S died because of a massive infection that went septic. This infection shut down her organs and sent her into respiratory failure in the span of three days. The infection was a postpartum complication, but certainly not a common one.
Fiver's occupational therapist was at the hospital when S died, and she was able to fill me in on a chain of events. We know that S was discharged on Sunday morning, but passed out at home on Monday. Her husband brought her to the emergency room and she was in the OR by Monday night. By early Tuesday morning she was in the intensive care unit getting massive amounts of antibiotics. By Wednesday morning she was being intubated. By lunchtime on Wednesday she died.
Fast doesn't begin to describe it.
I've heard so many different parts of the story - from my friends in the hospital lab, from some of Rob's colleagues who were at the hospital, from the other therapists - that they all swirl around in my mind. They're little glimpses of the close of a life.
Everyone who knew her is devastated. The hospital where she delivered was also where she was employed. It is where Rob works, where I had Sally and Bun, and where Fiver gets his therapy. People in Rob's office knew her, people in the lab knew her, the nurses on labor and delivery knew her. Someone in the hospital lab told me that when the nurse from intensive care called down for blood, she was sobbing so hard that no one could understand her. S was one of our own.
Rob and I attended the viewing on Friday, and we were not surprised to find it packed. It was a beautiful tribute to someone who touched so many people. There were pictures of S all over the room, but the ones I found it most difficult to look at were all of the photos from the night she delivered her little boy. She was incandescent, radiant with joy.
We made our way through the line and offered our condolences to her family. Her father could hardly speak, he gripped my arm and choked back sobs as I told him what a special person she was to our family. I looked in his eyes and saw utter brokenness, and I had to hug him. I had to because I could see he was sinking.
When we spoke with her husband and mentioned Fiver's name, he smiled and told us how often S talked about Fiver when she was at home. He said that she loved him and thought he was the sweetest boy. In that moment, I remembered that S had once told me that she hoped she would have a little boy as wonderful as Fiver some day, and sadness closed like a hand around my throat.
The funeral mass was very solemn. I've been to some funerals, usually after a lengthy illness, where you can see that people are almost celebrating the end of suffering for their loved one. There are tears, but there is also laughter and talk of all the good memories.
There was none of that at S's funeral. When the priest was not speaking, all you could hear was crying from every corner. At one point, her husband rested his head on her coffin and wept.
In his homily, Father mentioned that it was natural that we should question why the Lord would want to take S now, when she was so needed here by her husband and baby. He pointed out that Martha and Mary asked the same questions of Jesus when their brother Lazarus was in the tomb. Why, Lord? If you had been here our brother never would have died.
I believe that God has a plan for each life, and that He alone knows what is best. But I am also human, and I cannot see why S should die now. She was so happy to be a mother, and she would have been an excellent one.
I can only give myself the small comforts of knowing that she got to see and love her little boy, that she only ever enjoyed happy moments with him. She only ever had the honeymoon with him; no cross words, no frustration, no sick nights, no lost temper. Just kisses and happiness. Her son will forever have an angel mother to watch over him.
I appreciate your prayers and kind comments, and I'm sure this blog will return to its usual aimless content soon. (Something to look forward to?)
Until then, love well, life is short.
So many times since Wednesday I have wanted to come back here and say that it was all a mistake. I wanted to be able to tell you that I got a phone call: there was a misunderstanding and S was gravely ill, but not dead. Her infant son was not motherless. Her husband wasn't a widower.
There's been no mistake. S is gone. In the blink of an eye, in the space of a heartbeat, she was called home for reasons we may never understand.
I think the most shocking aspect is the way in which she died. Without getting into too many unnecessary details (many of which I still don't know anyway), S died because of a massive infection that went septic. This infection shut down her organs and sent her into respiratory failure in the span of three days. The infection was a postpartum complication, but certainly not a common one.
Fiver's occupational therapist was at the hospital when S died, and she was able to fill me in on a chain of events. We know that S was discharged on Sunday morning, but passed out at home on Monday. Her husband brought her to the emergency room and she was in the OR by Monday night. By early Tuesday morning she was in the intensive care unit getting massive amounts of antibiotics. By Wednesday morning she was being intubated. By lunchtime on Wednesday she died.
Fast doesn't begin to describe it.
I've heard so many different parts of the story - from my friends in the hospital lab, from some of Rob's colleagues who were at the hospital, from the other therapists - that they all swirl around in my mind. They're little glimpses of the close of a life.
Everyone who knew her is devastated. The hospital where she delivered was also where she was employed. It is where Rob works, where I had Sally and Bun, and where Fiver gets his therapy. People in Rob's office knew her, people in the lab knew her, the nurses on labor and delivery knew her. Someone in the hospital lab told me that when the nurse from intensive care called down for blood, she was sobbing so hard that no one could understand her. S was one of our own.
Rob and I attended the viewing on Friday, and we were not surprised to find it packed. It was a beautiful tribute to someone who touched so many people. There were pictures of S all over the room, but the ones I found it most difficult to look at were all of the photos from the night she delivered her little boy. She was incandescent, radiant with joy.
We made our way through the line and offered our condolences to her family. Her father could hardly speak, he gripped my arm and choked back sobs as I told him what a special person she was to our family. I looked in his eyes and saw utter brokenness, and I had to hug him. I had to because I could see he was sinking.
When we spoke with her husband and mentioned Fiver's name, he smiled and told us how often S talked about Fiver when she was at home. He said that she loved him and thought he was the sweetest boy. In that moment, I remembered that S had once told me that she hoped she would have a little boy as wonderful as Fiver some day, and sadness closed like a hand around my throat.
The funeral mass was very solemn. I've been to some funerals, usually after a lengthy illness, where you can see that people are almost celebrating the end of suffering for their loved one. There are tears, but there is also laughter and talk of all the good memories.
There was none of that at S's funeral. When the priest was not speaking, all you could hear was crying from every corner. At one point, her husband rested his head on her coffin and wept.
In his homily, Father mentioned that it was natural that we should question why the Lord would want to take S now, when she was so needed here by her husband and baby. He pointed out that Martha and Mary asked the same questions of Jesus when their brother Lazarus was in the tomb. Why, Lord? If you had been here our brother never would have died.
I believe that God has a plan for each life, and that He alone knows what is best. But I am also human, and I cannot see why S should die now. She was so happy to be a mother, and she would have been an excellent one.
I can only give myself the small comforts of knowing that she got to see and love her little boy, that she only ever enjoyed happy moments with him. She only ever had the honeymoon with him; no cross words, no frustration, no sick nights, no lost temper. Just kisses and happiness. Her son will forever have an angel mother to watch over him.
I appreciate your prayers and kind comments, and I'm sure this blog will return to its usual aimless content soon. (Something to look forward to?)
Until then, love well, life is short.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Let Perpetual Light Shine Upon Her
I have a heavy heart tonight, my friends.
It is so heavy that it seems to have plunged to my stomach and I don't know when it will be coming back to its place. I can scarcely believe what I am typing. In fact, I still do not want to believe it.
I received some tragic news this afternoon: a very dear friend of ours, a friend who we have come to think of as an extension of our family, has passed away very suddenly. She was young, only in her twenties, and she leaves behind her husband and her four day old infant son.
Even after typing that I want to jump back up and hit delete until I can erase it all.
S was Fiver's speech therapist for two years and she was the first person to begin the process of unlocking him from his mysterious inner world. It was largely through her that we discovered his other delays; she was the first to notice that something wasn't right and she got us in contact with Fiver's occupational therapist (who was S's best friend and who is deeply in grief this evening). In many ways, S uncovered Fiver's personality. She set him free.
She was a gentle, sweet person, who was beloved by her family and her patients, and, after working in pediatric rehab, she was so excited to become a mother for the first time. In our last conversation together, she said that she couldn't wait to hold her baby.
I spoke with Fiver's OT this afternoon, and she told me that S had had a wonderful, perfectly normal delivery, and her baby boy is beautiful. S went home with her little boy but came back into the hospital for some post partum complications, and she passed away this afternoon. The doctors still are not quite sure what the cause of death is, and right now her baby boy has been admitted for blood tests and a spinal tap. They are afraid that if she had an infection, he may have contracted it as well.
Please, please, I am asking you for your prayers tonight, even if you feel that you are not a praying person.
Pray for the repose of S's soul; pray for her husband, who is out of his mind with grief at the loss of his wife and the prospect of raising his son alone; pray for her little son, who may be sick and who will never get to smile up at his mother on earth; pray for her parents, who have a little grandchild but not their child; and pray for all of us who knew and loved her. Many little hearts will be broken by S's departure, and many of them may not be able to communicate the depth of their feeling.
Thank you.
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight,
And give Your angels and saints charge over those who sleep.
Tend Your sick ones, O Lord Christ.
Rest Your weary ones,
Bless Your dying ones,
Soothe Your suffering ones,
Pity Your afflicted ones,
Shield Your joyous ones,
And all for Your love's sake. Amen.
-St. Augustine
It is so heavy that it seems to have plunged to my stomach and I don't know when it will be coming back to its place. I can scarcely believe what I am typing. In fact, I still do not want to believe it.
I received some tragic news this afternoon: a very dear friend of ours, a friend who we have come to think of as an extension of our family, has passed away very suddenly. She was young, only in her twenties, and she leaves behind her husband and her four day old infant son.
Even after typing that I want to jump back up and hit delete until I can erase it all.
S was Fiver's speech therapist for two years and she was the first person to begin the process of unlocking him from his mysterious inner world. It was largely through her that we discovered his other delays; she was the first to notice that something wasn't right and she got us in contact with Fiver's occupational therapist (who was S's best friend and who is deeply in grief this evening). In many ways, S uncovered Fiver's personality. She set him free.
She was a gentle, sweet person, who was beloved by her family and her patients, and, after working in pediatric rehab, she was so excited to become a mother for the first time. In our last conversation together, she said that she couldn't wait to hold her baby.
I spoke with Fiver's OT this afternoon, and she told me that S had had a wonderful, perfectly normal delivery, and her baby boy is beautiful. S went home with her little boy but came back into the hospital for some post partum complications, and she passed away this afternoon. The doctors still are not quite sure what the cause of death is, and right now her baby boy has been admitted for blood tests and a spinal tap. They are afraid that if she had an infection, he may have contracted it as well.
Please, please, I am asking you for your prayers tonight, even if you feel that you are not a praying person.
Pray for the repose of S's soul; pray for her husband, who is out of his mind with grief at the loss of his wife and the prospect of raising his son alone; pray for her little son, who may be sick and who will never get to smile up at his mother on earth; pray for her parents, who have a little grandchild but not their child; and pray for all of us who knew and loved her. Many little hearts will be broken by S's departure, and many of them may not be able to communicate the depth of their feeling.
Thank you.
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight,
And give Your angels and saints charge over those who sleep.
Tend Your sick ones, O Lord Christ.
Rest Your weary ones,
Bless Your dying ones,
Soothe Your suffering ones,
Pity Your afflicted ones,
Shield Your joyous ones,
And all for Your love's sake. Amen.
-St. Augustine
I Yell Because I Care
A question, my friends: How loud is your house?
Please tell me that my home is not the only one that sounds like someone is being murdered, or at the very least mortally wounded, on an hourly basis. There just seems to be no end to the yelling and hollering and crying some days.
And the kids make a lot of noise, too.
Usually, most of the noise can at least be called "good natured." There is singing and whooping and squealing, and now that the weather is nice, I can turn them all out of doors and let Mother Nature be my buffer.
But yesterday? Oh yesterday sounded like some kind of massacre in the backyard. There was anguished wailing, whining, tattling, then more anguished wailing when the whiny tattler got his/her comeuppance.
I called them in to get washed for dinner, figuring that they were hot, tired, and maybe a little dehydrated and that was the reason for all of the yelling.
News flash: it wasn't. They were just in a yelling mood.
After dinner, when the bickering and the sniping continued unabated, Rob and I were the ones who became hot and tired. We started yelling back at them because they couldn't hear us over all of their own yelling. It was a charming and idyllic evening.
Finally, with my ears ringing, I stomped around the stuffy house and closed every single window. Then I said: I hope you all like living in a sweatbox because I am sick of being the family that is always screaming and yelling. Our neighbors must think we are lunatics.
And of course I was yelling. My maturity astounds me.
Rob tried to tell me that other families yelled, but I have never heard such yelling coming from our neighbors' houses. He said it was because they all have their windows closed with the A/C on already. I just stormed out to the grocery store in a huff. Again, the maturity.
When I got home, the house was cool and quiet. Rob had put them all to bed and re-opened the windows. I'm thinking of submitting him for canonization.
But now I need to know. Tell me your house sometimes this loud. Tell me, or I might yell at you. Apparently, we are known for that.
Please tell me that my home is not the only one that sounds like someone is being murdered, or at the very least mortally wounded, on an hourly basis. There just seems to be no end to the yelling and hollering and crying some days.
And the kids make a lot of noise, too.
Usually, most of the noise can at least be called "good natured." There is singing and whooping and squealing, and now that the weather is nice, I can turn them all out of doors and let Mother Nature be my buffer.
But yesterday? Oh yesterday sounded like some kind of massacre in the backyard. There was anguished wailing, whining, tattling, then more anguished wailing when the whiny tattler got his/her comeuppance.
I called them in to get washed for dinner, figuring that they were hot, tired, and maybe a little dehydrated and that was the reason for all of the yelling.
News flash: it wasn't. They were just in a yelling mood.
After dinner, when the bickering and the sniping continued unabated, Rob and I were the ones who became hot and tired. We started yelling back at them because they couldn't hear us over all of their own yelling. It was a charming and idyllic evening.
Finally, with my ears ringing, I stomped around the stuffy house and closed every single window. Then I said: I hope you all like living in a sweatbox because I am sick of being the family that is always screaming and yelling. Our neighbors must think we are lunatics.
And of course I was yelling. My maturity astounds me.
Rob tried to tell me that other families yelled, but I have never heard such yelling coming from our neighbors' houses. He said it was because they all have their windows closed with the A/C on already. I just stormed out to the grocery store in a huff. Again, the maturity.
When I got home, the house was cool and quiet. Rob had put them all to bed and re-opened the windows. I'm thinking of submitting him for canonization.
But now I need to know. Tell me your house sometimes this loud. Tell me, or I might yell at you. Apparently, we are known for that.
Monday, June 02, 2008
The Mailbag, Part III
The end of school is coming like a juggernaut and I am feeling a little fried. (Just wait until they are home with me all the time! This blog may implode.)
I was very forthright with my intentions to use your questions to perpetuate blogs posts ad infinitum, and tonight is the next installment. Whee!
T asks: What is your favorite song to belt out in the shower or the car when you are driving by yourself?
Oh, T, there are just so many of them, and, in the interest of being truthful like I promised, I will admit that many of them are older country songs. More specifically, older country songs by Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn. It may sound corny, but I love me some Dolly and Lorett-y.
And here's the kicker, my kids sing along now! You haven't lived until you've heard Fiver singing "9 to 5." It's classic.
I love to belt "Here You Come Again," "Coat of Many Colors," "In My Tennessee Mountain Home," and, well, you get the picture.
But the one song that I'll always sing is "Coal Miner's Daughter," because it doesn't get realer than that song. And because I come from a family of coal miners so I have an even softer soft spot for it. (Even though we didn't read the Bible by the coal oil light and my daddy didn't have to sell a hog to buy us shoes in for the winter.)
Also? I love the movie with Sissy Spacek. How she got Loretta Lynn's accent so pitch perfect I'll never know, but man is that a great movie.
Sara asks: What are the reasons behind your kids' real names?
It may surprise you to learn that we are pretty old school around here. Aside from the odd daydream of naming my first daughter Apollonia, I have always gravitated toward more traditional names. To me they just sound regal and timeless.
Luckily, I married a man who was on the same page.
With Francie, we had picked out Lydia for a girl and Henry for a boy. As you may have guessed, these were not the names we ended up using. Nor have we gone back to them for any of the other children.
When I was six months pregnant, Rob came to me with a completely different name. He felt very strongly about naming the baby after someone in the family. He said it was sort of like an unspoken Scottish tradition, which explains why there are about six names in the whole country. He pitched the idea of naming Francie after my mother and me. So Francie shares her first name with her grandmother and her middle name with my middle name. (Except that everyone calls her by a common nickname, which is a name in its own right, and there are some people who don't even know what her given name is. We like to mess with people.)
We knew Fiver's name immediately, even though we didn't know his gender until his birth. He is named after his grandfathers: his first name is my maiden name and his middle name is Rob's father's name.
Sally's name was a late game decision. Again, we did not know her gender, but we were able to pick out a boy's name fairly quickly. We didn't definitely decide on her name until a few weeks before she was born. Her first name is Rob's grandmother's name (and his sister's first name, although she uses her middle name), and Rob picked her middle name after me. It is a kind of variation on my name.
Bun's name also came to us later in the pregnancy. We had the girl's name picked out, so we figured we must be having a boy. His first is not really a family name, although a case could be made that it is a variation on Rob's grandmother's maiden name. His middle name is after his father.
Alexis asks: How is your weight loss going?
Urg.
I guess the best answer is to say that it is going very slowly. S-l-o-w-l-y. Glacially slow.
I have lost about 11.5 pounds so far, which is good, but I still have quite a bit more to go. I am still doing my WW, and I am still mourning the loss of my pregnant self's ice cream night cap(s).
I have used WW to lose weight after each pregnancy, but I have to say that it has been harder this time around in the sense that I must be extremely strict about portion sizes. I used to be able to fudge it a little, but no more.
I have to count points and sweat every day. And even then I am only losing about half a pound to a pound a week. I know they say that's the healthy way to do it, but it's still a little frustrating. I don't know if it's my hormones, or the number of kids, or my age. I'm sure it's a combination of all three.
The old gray mare ain't what she used to be, my friends.
In fact, it's time to close up the mailbag because she needs her sleep.
'Night!
I was very forthright with my intentions to use your questions to perpetuate blogs posts ad infinitum, and tonight is the next installment. Whee!
T asks: What is your favorite song to belt out in the shower or the car when you are driving by yourself?
Oh, T, there are just so many of them, and, in the interest of being truthful like I promised, I will admit that many of them are older country songs. More specifically, older country songs by Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn. It may sound corny, but I love me some Dolly and Lorett-y.
And here's the kicker, my kids sing along now! You haven't lived until you've heard Fiver singing "9 to 5." It's classic.
I love to belt "Here You Come Again," "Coat of Many Colors," "In My Tennessee Mountain Home," and, well, you get the picture.
But the one song that I'll always sing is "Coal Miner's Daughter," because it doesn't get realer than that song. And because I come from a family of coal miners so I have an even softer soft spot for it. (Even though we didn't read the Bible by the coal oil light and my daddy didn't have to sell a hog to buy us shoes in for the winter.)
Also? I love the movie with Sissy Spacek. How she got Loretta Lynn's accent so pitch perfect I'll never know, but man is that a great movie.
Sara asks: What are the reasons behind your kids' real names?
It may surprise you to learn that we are pretty old school around here. Aside from the odd daydream of naming my first daughter Apollonia, I have always gravitated toward more traditional names. To me they just sound regal and timeless.
Luckily, I married a man who was on the same page.
With Francie, we had picked out Lydia for a girl and Henry for a boy. As you may have guessed, these were not the names we ended up using. Nor have we gone back to them for any of the other children.
When I was six months pregnant, Rob came to me with a completely different name. He felt very strongly about naming the baby after someone in the family. He said it was sort of like an unspoken Scottish tradition, which explains why there are about six names in the whole country. He pitched the idea of naming Francie after my mother and me. So Francie shares her first name with her grandmother and her middle name with my middle name. (Except that everyone calls her by a common nickname, which is a name in its own right, and there are some people who don't even know what her given name is. We like to mess with people.)
We knew Fiver's name immediately, even though we didn't know his gender until his birth. He is named after his grandfathers: his first name is my maiden name and his middle name is Rob's father's name.
Sally's name was a late game decision. Again, we did not know her gender, but we were able to pick out a boy's name fairly quickly. We didn't definitely decide on her name until a few weeks before she was born. Her first name is Rob's grandmother's name (and his sister's first name, although she uses her middle name), and Rob picked her middle name after me. It is a kind of variation on my name.
Bun's name also came to us later in the pregnancy. We had the girl's name picked out, so we figured we must be having a boy. His first is not really a family name, although a case could be made that it is a variation on Rob's grandmother's maiden name. His middle name is after his father.
Alexis asks: How is your weight loss going?
Urg.
I guess the best answer is to say that it is going very slowly. S-l-o-w-l-y. Glacially slow.
I have lost about 11.5 pounds so far, which is good, but I still have quite a bit more to go. I am still doing my WW, and I am still mourning the loss of my pregnant self's ice cream night cap(s).
I have used WW to lose weight after each pregnancy, but I have to say that it has been harder this time around in the sense that I must be extremely strict about portion sizes. I used to be able to fudge it a little, but no more.
I have to count points and sweat every day. And even then I am only losing about half a pound to a pound a week. I know they say that's the healthy way to do it, but it's still a little frustrating. I don't know if it's my hormones, or the number of kids, or my age. I'm sure it's a combination of all three.
The old gray mare ain't what she used to be, my friends.
In fact, it's time to close up the mailbag because she needs her sleep.
'Night!
Sunday, June 01, 2008
A Letter to my New PBF
Dear James McAvoy,
PS: Go on and spill it, my friends. Who is your PBF/PBG?
Hi. Can we talk for a minute?
I just saw your movie Becoming Jane, and I wanted to inform you of a thrilling advancement in your career. I have moved you to the tippy top of my Pretend Boyfriend List (also known as my Movie Boyfriend List).
Aren't you excited? I thought you might be.
You see, my husband and I are completely fine with the other having a movie crush. He lets me giggle over you and Colin Firth, and I let him get Kate Winslet movies from Netflix under my name. It's a win-win. We have always been able to appreciate that there are just some people out there who are excellent actors, and who also happen to be very easy on the eyes.
I also feel compelled to point out that you are Scottish and you have lovely, twinkly blue eyes (I picked that up by watching Becoming Jane approximately two and a half times over the course of a week. I had to do something while the kids were sleeping and I was feeding the baby, right?) My husband Rob is also Scottish and he has lovely, twinkly blue eyes as well. Reminding me of my darling earns you big points as a PBF. But while Rob looks great in a kilt (killer legs from all that running), he does not have the accent. I heart the accent. The accent goes a long way in getting you to the top of the list (see: Colin Firth).
I have to admit that I first saw you in Atonement with Keira Knightley (another one of Rob's PGFs, although he always wants to give her a cupcake or something), and I thought you were very, very good. However, in all honesty, I thought the chemistry was better between you and Anne Hathaway. I am a sucker for a period drama full of hooded eyes and smoldering glances. Boy did you ever deliver the smoldering glances! I was nearly singed in my seat.
So what does being on my PBF list mean for you? Pretty much nothing, since I don't ever see any movies at the theater anymore, but you will be happy to know that I am not the crazy fan type. (I certainly would never, say, as a teenager, spend all of my babysitting money on hundreds of VHS tapes to tape, replay, and memorize dialogue from shows like Scarecrow and Mrs. King just because I was in love with Bruce Boxleitner.)
If I ever did meet you in person, I'm sure that I would be very calm and not geek out at all. I would just tell you that I think your work is brilliant, and then I would make you say the word brilliant back to me because, well, you know, the accent. But I'm sure that will never come to pass, so you can rest easy.
Besides, it's really better this way, Jamie (can I call you Jamie? Oh good, I thought so). We're both happily married and I am older than you and saggy from being the pod for four children. It's better that I just crush on you from afar without knowing all of your annoying habits or idiosyncrasies. I might even get tired of the accent.
Kidding. I would never get tired of the accent.
Keep up the good work, since I'm sure that you would be loathe to relinquish the top spot. I know the real reason you chose to be an actor was to make American housewives swoon a little and want to kiss their husbands. A noble profession, indeed.
Your fan,
Aimee
PS: Go on and spill it, my friends. Who is your PBF/PBG?
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