TAKING A BREAK FROM THE SERIES....

I cannot seem to catch my breath. It has nothing to do with the bronchitis I have suffered this past week.

Kayla has just heard that a classmate has a brain tumor. He is in St. Louis where he is most likely having surgery tomorrow. He will be in the hospital 2 to 4 weeks and Kayla wants to go see him so we are trying to work that out.

Please pray for this boy. I will not give his name but you don't need it. God knows who he is.

I truly don't know him very well. I know that he is "part of the group" that Kayla hangs out with. I know that he is a lively, funny young man who makes Kayla laugh.

I know that he is somebody's child.

And that is why I can't breathe. Each of you who is a parent knows why. I keep thinking of the fear and the exhaustion his parents are dealing with. I keep thinking of how they probably felt as though the wind was knocked out of them when they got the news. I keep thinking of them holding their little boy while he got the news. I keep thinking of how the seconds, minutes, hours, will slowly tick away tomorrow while they wait for his surgery to be complete. And I keep wondering. Are they thinking what I'd be thinking: "why couldn't it be me instead of my child?"

I have reminded Kayla that a year and a half ago, we saw a little boy recover from brain surgery amazingly well. I have reminded myself that prayer works. I know it does.

Please. However you pray. Whether you kneel, bow, fall prostrate, lie on your bed before sleeping...pray for this family. Pray for this boy to regain his health and to be free of fear. Pray for his parents to have some sense of peace. Pray for the doctors. Pray for the friends of this boy - some have already been down to visit him - that they can minister to him and keep his spirits up.

Please pray. I know it will work.

AND THEN THERE WAS YOU - PART III

I was so lucky with each of my pregnancies to never have bad morning sickness. As long as I kept food in my stomach, I felt pretty good. I did have heartburn pretty bad with you, Kayla, but according to the old wives' tales that just meant you were going to have lots of hair...
Emotionally, I was on a roller coaster the nine months I carried you. I was thrilled at being pregnant again, yet frightened that I would lose this baby also. I don't think I ever relaxed. I think I sort of made an agreement with myself that if I carried this baby full term, I would not try again. And if I lost this baby, I would not try again.

Even though I didn't have any pregnancy-related sickness during those months, I was ill much of the time. I had a severe sinus infection for about 6 weeks. My OB doctor would not prescribe anything and kept telling me to take over- the- counter medicines "for as long as necessary." I felt terrible. Poor little Blake went to a sitter nearly full time, because I couldn't get out of bed for very long. Finally, I decided that 6 weeks worth of over- the- counter medicines couldn't be good for me or the baby, so I went to our family doctor. After telling me I was huge (He was the only man who could get away with that) he prescribed a mild antibiotic that was "perfectly safe for the baby; otherwise I wouldn't be giving it to you." I started feeling better in 36 hours. One more reason I was not thrilled with my OB doctor, and I totally missed my first doctor. See, with Blake I had gone to our family doctor; a rare thing now to opt for a family doctor over an obstetrician, but it is what I wanted. After being assured that I was very low risk, this brand new family doctor took me on as a patient; because he was one of just a few in the area that delivered babies. Let me tell you, I was treated like a queen in that office. When you are one of maybe 12 pregnant patients, they practically roll out the red carpet when you walk in the door. I got very spoiled with the extra attention, the phone calls where I actually spoke to the doctor himself, and the friendliness of the whole staff. By the time I had you, Kayla, our doctor had stopped delivering babies and so I had to become one of the thousands of women seen by one of the few OB doctors in our town. But I was very fortunate to have gone through my first pregnancy with the doctor I had chosen first, and I tried to focus on that.

I was now with a practice of 3 doctors and they alternated each visit; but mostly I saw just the nurse. They never really learned my name. When I signed in at each visit, I had to sign in with a number. I used to tell Daddy that I was uterus number 4178. When I asked a question, I got the same answer "It's part of being pregnant." Luckily, when I asked a question of our family doctor when I was pregnant with Blake, he would roll his stool over to me, look me in the eye and EXPLAIN why things were happening the way they were. So I didn't have many questions this time around, thanks to my first doctor who kept me very informed.

After I got over the sinus infection, I felt pretty good for awhile, until you decided to pitch a tent on my bladder. I swear you lived RIGHT ON TOP of my bladder for 3 months. I could not walk the lenght of the mall without having to find a bathroom RIGHT NOW!!!!

Then when I was two weeks from my due date, I had a severe hemipalegic migraine. At least we assume that's what it was. I had symptoms of a stroke. I lost vision in my left eye. The left side of my face went numb, my left arm and leg began tingling and going numb off and on. My speech became slurred, and my thoughts became muddled. I did not remember my son's name. I kept saying Daddy had been at church, not work. When Daddy came home to take me to the doctor, I signed in and misspelled my name, wrote my address and phone number wrong, and of course could not remember my uterus number at all. Looking back, these doctors should have instantly called in a neurologist, but they didn't. They simply admitted me to the hospital and under diagnosis wrote "tingling in hands." All these symptoms lasted a few hours and, surprisingly there was very little pain in my head. A nurse tried to make me take 2 tylenol with codeine and I begged and pleaded "no, the pain's not that bad; it's not good for the baby." I remember a lengthy discussion with this nurse. We finally compromised and I took one. For the record, when you were a few months old, I had another severe migraine like that. I called our wonderful family doctor and he got me into a neurologist THE NEXT DAY. I see that doctor 1 or 2 times a year and that's where the medication comes from that I keep in my purse to prevent/stop one of those headaches.

That whole experience left me physically drained and emotionally wrung out. At the doctor's office, two days later, one of the OB's said "I think for some reason your body has just had it. We need to plan a c-section for Monday" This was Wednesday. I was disappointed to be having another c-section, but was ready to have this baby. Before we left the office, the doctor told Daddy that since I was slightly anemic, she wanted me to eat as much iron as possible for the next several days. Then she said "Sunday for lunch, I want her to eat a big plate of shrimp." Aha! I had a medical order to eat at Red Lobster before my c-section. Then she asked what questions or concerns I had and I asked one thing of her, "With my first c-section, they kept the drape up and I didn't like that. I want to be more connected with the delivery. Can you lower the drape before you deliver the baby?" And she said "I always do."

As an aside, we had decided not to find out if you were a boy or a girl. But after the first ultra-sound, I really kept thinking I wanted to know; even though I was certain you would be a boy and we would name you Nathan James. But when I requested the second utrasound I was told that was only done if there was a problem. Luckily that wasn't the case, but I was suddenly very serious about knowing the sex of this baby. I really thought I'd lose my mind if I didn't know. Remember this when I get to the moment you were born.....

The night before my c-secion I prayed for peace so that I could sleep well. And low and behold I slept...well...like a baby. Interestingly our family doctor was at the hospital making rounds when we got there; so he sat and visited with us for a while before I went into the operating room. I was also thrilled to see that I had the same anesthesiologist that I'd had with Blake. I am not ashamed to say I fell in love with him when Blake was born. It's ok. Daddy knows. Not only did Dr. Wonderful make the contractions stop when he administered my spinal block before my unexpected c-section, but he had the sweetest, gentlest voice in the world. He kept his face right by my ear and talked to me like a golf announcer - real low and calm. I would not know that man if I saw him on the street because of his surgical garb, but I love him. I really do.

Anyway, after what seemed like forever with all the hubub of the operating room, they let Daddy come in. That's when I knew it was almost time. Almost time for my baby. And then I heard the words I'll never forget. I heard the doctor say "Lower the drape." I started shaking. I was trembling with excitement. These weren't the baby shakes I got AFTER Blake was born, or the ones I'd get after this baby. These were tremors of joy. I was so excited to meet you, I was shivering as though I was freezing.

AND THEN THERE WAS YOU. The doctor brought you out of me and straight up to my face and I thought I could tell it was a girl, but I wasn't positive because of the way she was holding you. Then she kind of turned you a little and said "It's a girl."

And I became a blubbering idiot. I said four words...over and over again "Oh, it's a girl....Oh, it's a girl...oh, it's a girl..." Dr. Wonderful said "Do you happen to have a boy at home...?"
And Daddy wiped the tears from my cheek and said "You have your daughter, Honey. You have your Kayla Beth." And then he said "She really looks like you." I was so glad at that moment that I had not had the 2nd ultrasound. The joy and excitement of finding out right then that I had a daughter was well worth the wait.

Of course our family doctor had been informed that he'd be getting a new patient that day. I've heard that a pediatrician has 24 hours to see a newborn in the hospital after he/she is born. Well, our doctor called the hospital on his own and asked if I had delivered yet and when he was told yes he said "Tell Heidi I'm on my way." He arrived FIFTEEN MINUTES after you were born. I do not know what that did to his schedule that day, but it was just one more thing that made me thrilled to have him caring for our family, which was now four instead of three.

On the day you were born, I had a list of things I'd be teaching you. I had no idea the things you would teach me along the way.....

More Later....

AND THEN THERE WAS YOU - PART II

With my body and my spirit healed; I knew I just had to try again. In April of '93, we found out that we would be having another baby. Blake would turn two that July. Our two children would be a little farther apart in age than we had planned, but we were thrilled.

I had to start with a new doctor, since the doctor that had delivered Blake stopped delivering babies. I was not happy about this, but it was a minor thing compared to my joy at being pregnant again. I had my first appointment with the doctor, which was just for bloodwork; mainly a confirmation that I was indeed pregnant. I remember that day so well. That day it was "official" that a second baby was coming. Blake had stayed with Miss Judy while I went to my appointment. I was so thrilled, that I came home before picking up Blake so I could write a note to Daddy that I would give him that night to surprise him with the news. But before I did anything, I remember so vividly how I walked in the front door, dropped my purse on the floor and fell to my knees in our little living room. I was on my knees crying and thanking God for this second chance to be a mother; thanking Him for allowing another life to grow in me after losing a baby just months before; pleading with him to allow this pregnancy to go full term.
Then I wrote a note to Daddy that I would give him later that evening; and went and picked up your brother. And then we were happy. We started planning our lives as a family of four. We started talking about names. We wondered how Blake would adjust to a new sibling. I allowed myself to picture a little red headed girl that looked just like her big brother.

Until one day in May. I was at the stop light by Wal-Mart running errands with Blake. I was wearing a blue and coral short outfit. I felt a slight cramping in my abdomen. And I whispered "Please God, no. Not again."

I finished my outing with Blake and went home and called the doctor, who I had not really officially even met yet. But I was a registered patient and I knew I needed to call. I explained what was happening and she said it could be nothing, but I should rest and drink lots of fluids and that "if you are losing the baby, there is nothing to be done." I truly missed my previous doctor at that moment. Not that he could have done anything to prevent what was happening, but he was familiar and I was so comfortable with him. She had said it could be nothing to worry about, but I knew. I knew I was losing this baby too. I started thinking back over the previous few days and realized that I had felt different. I had not felt pregnant. I called Daddy and told him what was happening. He told his boss he would probably not be back the next day and came home.
I tried to go about my evening and pretend I didn't feel those cramps in my abdomen that were coming with increasing regularity.
I had my second miscarriage that night. My heart broke that night. I became angry at God that night. But I wasn't brave enough to say that out loud. I just wanted to cry to him "Don't you remember? Didn't you see me on my knees thanking you? Didn't you hear my cries of joy? Didn't you hear me beg you to let this pregnancy go full term? Why? Why? Why?" But I didn't. I didn't say anything to Him. I gave Him the silent treatment for a few weeks. I didn't even sing in church. My spirit was bruised, nearly broken.

Until one day, for some reason I though of Mary - Jesus' mother. She lost a child. And Jesus watched her lose that child. He was that child. Jesus saw her as He hung on the cross. He had to watch His mother watch Him die. He knew a mother's grief. He was never a mother, but He still knew. That is why He is who He is. Because He can feel what we feel. And so I began to feel a little more hopeful. I began to sing in church again.

Also, my sister - your Aunt Rena - gave me a gift that helped me heal. She called one day a couple weeks after this micarriage. I had heard so many "condolence" phrases, most of which started with "At least..." phrases that were meant to comfort but seemed to minimize my grief.
I was bracing myself to hear more of that through the phone line. But there was no "At least." She said "I know there is nothing I can say to make you feel better. So I called to listen."
And she did. For at least an hour, she listened on the phone while I cried and talked and worked through my pain. To this day, 14 years later, I cannot think of that phone call without my eyes filling with tears. I have always said that she gave me the greatest gift ever - the gift of silence when words were worthless. I have always said that I began to heal on that day.

Again, God's timing is good. For a short while I met with a group of women who had experienced miscarriages or other infant losses. I heard stories from women who had been through things that made my loss seem so small and insignificant. It was hard for me not to say to myself "Toughen up. You've been through NOTHING compared to these women." But none of them ever made me feel that way; it was just me realizing the realm of pain that was everywhere in this world. And I now know the pain another woman feels when she loses a baby. I can't take that pain away but I can feel it with her. As Jarrod said in church recently, I can't carry her burden, but maybe I can carry her for a while. Maybe I can give another woman the same gift my sister gave me.

And so once again, my body and my spirit healed and I was NOT going to give up on being a mother to AT LEAST two children. We celebrated Blake's 2nd birthday with a Big Bird cake. We had a busy summer with our little family of three, all the while hoping to be four one day.

And in early September, we found out that indeed another baby was on the way. I was afraid to be excited but I could not stop myself from picturing our family with a new baby in it. I could not stop myself from thinking of names and planning a nursery. I could not stop myself from circling April 28 on the calendar "DUE DATE!!" I kept telling myself I should not get my hopes up, but you know how I am about babies. I just couldn't help it. Once again, I was on my knees thanking God for this chance to be a mother again, and PLEADING with him to allow this baby to be born full term.

You know, Kayla, that I had two miscarriages, so you must know that this pregnancy was the beginning of YOU. But did you know what an exciting ride those nine months would turn out to be...?

More Later....

TO KAYLA: AND THEN THERE WAS YOU - PART I

Dear Kayla,
In just under a month you will be 13 years old. THIRTEEN!!! A thousand years ago, you might have been engaged by now. A hundred years ago, you might be at the end of your education. If we were Jewish, we'd be planning a celebration to mark your entry into adulthood. But as a middle class, young Christian woman in the midwestern United States, you will be celebrating this milestone with a simple but fun party with about 20 of your closest friends.
As we near this celebration, I feel the need to tell you what a gift you are to Daddy and me. And to Blake; although, we know he'd never admit that. I cannot, however, begin the story of YOU without first putting into words a little bit about my introduction to motherhood. In otherwords, the story of your brother. I will keep it brief.

When Daddy and I decided we wanted, needed, HAD TO HAVE A BABY in our lives, it took about 6 months before we learned Blake was on the way. According to our doctor I had a "textbook pregnancy" and, after a difficult labor and delivery, a baby boy who was "perfect from head to toe." We had very little money in those days, but we were so madly in love with each other and our little boy that life was just plain good. When Blake was about 18 months old (a little less) we decided the time was right for another little one in the house. This was no gradual decision making process. There was no long discussions about the right timing. It was as if I heard a little bell in my head...well actually my heart; "PING! I MUST HAVE A SECOND BABY...RIGHT NOW!" Soon I found out I was pregnant again.

Except none of the pregnancy tests would believe me. Three pregnancy tests told me NO, but my body kept telling me YES. It was at this time (January of '93) that Blake became very sick with a stomach virus (Rotovirus) and ended up in the hospital because he became dehydrated. He was 18 months old. During one of those nights, as I sat by my baby boy's hospital bed, watching him sleep and keeping an eye on his IV's; I lost the baby that was to be his sibling. I was in incredible pain, physically, and was very confused. Remember, I wasn't supposed to be pregnant. What was all this pain? What was happening? The next morning, I called our doctor and he had me come in so he check me over. Ironically, the pregnancy test he gave me at that time came back positive. You know how sweet our doctor is. He called me on the phone and asked me to come to his office. He looked me in the eye and said "This is not news I could give you over the phone. Your test was positive but I'm afraid you've already lost the baby."

I had a very sick little boy to take care of and I was very confused about the tricks my body had played on me. When I WAS pregnant, the tests had said I wasn't. When I WASN'T pregnant anymore, the test said I was. But God's timing is always right. It took several weeks for Blake to be completely well again, so I was not able to dwell on my disappointment and heartache; I was busy taking care of Blake. By the time he was well again, the emotional pain had dulled quite a bit. Just in time to consider having another baby....

More Later...

I'M SO GLAD WE'RE WHERE WE ARE....

Yesterday we went to a little engagement party. Our dear friends' son had planned to propose to his girlfriend and all the parents knew about it ahead of time; so we were invited to be at the house after he had popped the question to wish the young love birds best wishes.
They had gone out to dinner and then he took her to the park right across the street from our house, where his friends had decorated the gazebo with lights and candles and had music playing. There he dropped to his knee and asked her to be his bride. Then they came back to his parents' house where we were all waiting to wish them well, admire the ring, and hear the story. We were honored to be invited. I hope I can do something like that when it is my children.
On the way home, since the park is by our house, Paul and I stopped and cleaned up their decorations. Their friends had done a beautiful job.

As we were getting ready for bed and talking about the fun evening, I told Paul I was thrilled for them and thought it was exciting to see them start this phase of life. But then I said "But I'm so glad we're here and not at that beginning phase." He laughed and said "Me too."

Being engaged was fun; although our wedding plans did not go well. We had lots of things go wrong with the planning. The worst of which was my bridesmaids' dresses coming in the wrong color, with no time left to re-order. I had planned on periwinkle, and they came in lavender. My sister had just had a lavender wedding the previous year. I did not want a lavender wedding. I vividly recall standing at a pay phone in Little Rock sobbing to my sister in Dallas, "MMMMM-My dressss-sss-ss-es came in the wrong COLLLLLLLLOR!!!!!!" There was nothing to do but have a lavender wedding.
Then the wedding shop where I had purchased my dress closed. Not for the day - forever. Without doing my alterations. I would strongly suggest a woman NEVER watch while her dress is being altered in any way by a sweet little old lady in her home town. She did a fine job, but it is not a process one should watch. I remember getting light-headed and thinking "what the...?" as I watched her shove a crochet needle through the seam of my train so she could make the bustle loop. She just shoved it right through like she was testing to see if a pork roast was done. Within minutes, though, she had crocheted a beautiful, lacy little loop that held my train up . Then she had to sew the button on the train AND take in the bodice. I left before she started on that.....
Then one of our groomsmen cancelled on us TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE WEDDING because he had qualified for a national college track meet, which was being held on our wedding weekend. So Paul had to call a cousin and say "UM....I know I hadn't asked you to be in the wedding, but..."

Of course the wedding itself went off without any problems. After all, what could possibly have gone wrong after the hellacious year I had endured planning the thing?

On the day I got married, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love. Now I KNOW what it means to be in love. Funny thing is, as we approach our 20th anniversary I don't know if I can actually put into words what it means. But I know I have it. I know I am not happy every day. Who is? But I am joyful and content and comfortable. And so very blessed. I am secure in my friendship, my partnership, my love and my committment with Paul. We have had our rough patches. If you know someone who has been married this long and has NOT had rough patches, please introduce me to this unicorn- like person. As I planned my wedding, I pictured my future. I pictured babies, a perfect home, a perfectly balanced checkbook to go along with our ever-growing savings account, storybook relationships with in-laws. I pictured myself always a size 5.

I did not plan on the struggles that truly bind you to your spouse. I didn't plan on job changes, and money worries; illnesses and death; family struggles and estrangements. I didn't plan on days, weeks, months where we lose track of each other for whatever reasons. I most certainly didn't plan on two miscarriages that turned my world upside down. I didn't plan on staying awake at night worrying about my children or dreading my husband's next trip overseas. I didn't plan on the wind being knocked out of me when he was in London during one of the subway bombings there. I didn't plan on having to help my mom out financially for two years. I'm sure Paul CERTAINLY didn't plan on that but he did it without complaint. There are so many things a new bride doesn't plan on.

Our young, totally-in-love minds and hearts can't go there when we are first starting out. And it's a good thing. Because those are the types of things that would seem insurmountable if we were seeing them ahead of us. But as we are going through them with our friend, our lover, our partner; they're manageable. And as we are looking at them behind us, well, they're just stepping stones. Some are more slippery than others, but we manage to get across all of them, and we feel somewhat victorious when we can plant our feet on solid ground again after the latest struggle. Especially when the pair of feet beside us belongs to the one you walked back up that aisle with however many years ago.

Not to take away from the joy of a new engagement and the excitment of being newly married, and not to sound jaded about new love. It is a beautiful time of life; a time of life I hope my children experience one day. But it leads to something even better.
Yes, I'm so glad we're where we are....

THIS HERE TOWN MAY BE SMALL, BUT WE'S EDUCATED AND WE'S NICE

Last week our boys basketball team won the state championship. This, just months after we won the state football championship. Some of the boys were key players on BOTH teams. We are only the 2nd school in 100 years to win both titles.

This has generated much publicity locally; and much discussion about these boys and our school district. Let me just say one thing about these boys. These are not a bunch of dumb jocks. Yes, they are receiving publicity because of their athletic achievements, but they are just all around good kids. One of the boys earned a perfect score on his ACT and will be going to Princeton University on an academic scholarship in the fall. He also sings beautifully, as we witnessed at the High School Christmas Concert. His best friend earned one point less on the ACT and will be attending college on a combined full-ride scholarship - his athletic offers combined with academic offers have made it possible for him to attend college without financial worries. He is also a tremendous young man who has been an outstanding role model for our son. Another of the star players is attending a nearby Christian college and plans a career in a ministry field. Yet another signed on AS A JUNIOR to attend a college in Chicago and is a humble, respectful young man as well.

Yet we continually hear comments about this small town and how surprising it is that these young people have accomplished anything. Some examples: "I never thought I'd see the day when that town would win anything." "You certainly don't expect a kid from those towns to go to an Ivy League University." And my kids occasionally hear (from people in bigger "cities") that they are hicks because of the small town in which they live.

Last weekend, I was tempted to reply to one of these remarks "Well, once we added that second room to our old school house, we just really started taking off." Paul said I should have said "Ever since we got indoor plumbing, the whole world has opened up to us." But I didn't say anything. I just scrunched my brow and thought "What are you talking about?"

Enough is enough! Why are people surprised when small town folks do well? I daresay we have some of the smartest people in the world living in our little community; surgeons, dentist, biologists, finance professionals. In the ten years we've been here, our school district has never been ranked lower than second in state testing. And the people we know here who have not received that higher education? I'd trust them in an instant to care for my children. I know, without a doubt, I could call them up any time of the day or night and tell them I need help, and they'd be there for me. I know, because it's happened. They are just good decent families doing their best to raise good decent kids and enjoy life along the way. And they are succeeding.

So you folks who live in the "cities" surrounding our "villages"(even though none of you are reading this) give us a break. Don't tell us you're surprised when one of us has done well. Don't act surprised when you realize we're raising good, intelligent kids. If you can't say "That's Great!" Don't say anything at all.

Cuz, we small town folks, well, we ain't got much culture or nothin, but we's shore 'nuf happy here.

BED TIME WILL BE DIFFERENT TONIGHT....

That was my thought as I drove to the high school to pick Blake up from weights.

After a quick grocery stop on the way home from work, I had planned to take a walk outside since the weather is so beautiful today. But I got home and had a a message that Blake would need a ride home from weights - "I decided to stay for weights and I'll need a ride home at 4:30.." We later had a talk about planning ahead and not assuming that I'd be available if he hasn't cleared his plans with me, but I digress. Then Kayla got a call from a friend and they decided to ride bikes to the library. After 30 minutes of planning, discussing cell phones, and getting a bike down from the ceiling hooks in the garage, I told myself "I AM TAKING A WALK TODAY, DOGGONE IT..." So off I went.

I could almost feel the relief in the air as people were walking, jogging, biking, or roller blading on the bike paths. The baseball diamond was busy with the high school team. The softball diamond was full of girls. Kids were out kicking soccer balls. Several dogs were being treated to a spring walk. It was almost as if we were all saying "WE MADE IT." We made it through the December ice storm that left some of us without power for days. We made it through the Valentine's day blizzard that left us stranded in our homes for 2 days or more. We made it. Winter did a job on us, but we've made it to spring. We may have a bit of bad weather yet. You never know in Illinois, but now we have hope.

March is so interesting in Illinois. It is a month of paradox. One day you'll need a sweater, the next you could go barefoot. On my walk today, I saw a few Robins. I noticed my daffodils are coming up. I also noticed several small piles of snow and ice left over from our February blizzard. Almost a month has past, and we've had several days of warm weather, and still the snow remains in spots.

And now we have extra daylight too. The near 70 degree weather has made us all rush out to enjoy the warmth. And there are children playing. And laughing (I love hearing kids laugh from across the block) And they are wearing shorts; showing skinny little arms and legs, still pale from hiding beneath winter sweaters and boots. And those children will not want to come in tonight. Moms and Dads will have to call several times. Nobody will want to go in for a bath when it's still light out. Nobody will want to crawl into bed and think about school tomorrow when the weather is this beautiful. No, things will not be easy for moms and dads tonight.
Bed time will definitely be different tonight.

REMEMBERING THE MAGIC

Thursday was a little bit hectic. The kids got out of school an hour early, so they got home soon after I did. Paul also came home early because he was going to be heading to Missouri that night for a funeral the next morning. But first we had to go to Parent Teacher Conferences at both the kids' schools. They started at 4:30, so we headed up to be at the high school right at that time.
At our kids' schools the conferences are held in the gym (for Kayla) and the cafetorium (for Blake) each teacher has a table and you stand in line to talk to them about your child. I do not know a better way to do it, really, since the kids each have 7 teachers. At least this way, we stay in the same room and don't have to wander all over the building meeting in 7 different rooms for each of our kids. Having said that, it still can be a long evening. We were at the schools for two hours, and then we had to rush home so Paul could get on the road.
For the third night in a row, we ate fast food for dinner. To top it all off, when I lifted the bun on my big mac to fix all the lettuce that was falling out, I noticed I only had one beef patty. So I said "HEY!! I only got one all beef patty. A big mac is supposed to have two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun." Paul laughed but the kids just looked at me as though I'd grown a second head. They obviously did not grow up in the 80's. Also, Blake's friend Drew was with us, and he also had a big mac. His big mac had 2 all beef patties. So throughout dinner I'd look at him and say things like "I bet that is really good with two hamburger patties." "So...Drew... how is that WHOLE big mac?" And he said "I'm sorry....if I hadn't already taken a bite, you could have this one." I do not often eat a big mac, and I was really looking forward to this one. And it just didn't hit the spot.
But amid the hectic pace of our evening, there was a bright 90 minutes.

At 2:30 my doorbell rang. I was expecting the UPS Man but Cookie was not doing her "UPS Man" bark. She was doing her "YIPPEE, company's here" bark. I opened the door and there stood our little 5 year old neighbor, eyes red and full of tears and sniffling "My Mommy's not home." I knew what had happened. Her mom had forgotten the kids got out early. I had seen her taking a run just minutes earlier (she's preparing for a half marathon.) I'm sure she thought she had another hour.
So I gathered little neighbor girl in my arms and carried her into our kitchen and told her she was very smart to come here when she noticed Mommy wasn't home. I told her I knew where Mommy was and that I was certain she had simply forgotten she was coming home early, but that it would be great fun for me if she'd sit in my kitchen and have a snack and watch Curious George on TV. Once she was settled, I called my neighbor and left a message telling here where her precious daughter was and that everything was ok.
Let me just pause here to say something to those of you whose children have not started school yet. Please do not judge this woman. It happens. After she got my message, she checked the school announcements and there was no reminder at all of an early dismissal. I only knew about it because my kids are 13 and 15 and they live for early dismissal. And of course she was very embarrassed and worried for her daughter.
Anyway, after a snack and a very entertaining episode of Curious George, we were on our way to the basement to play ping pong when mommy rang the doorbell. Little Neighbor Girl was not ready to go home because she had not played ping pong yet nor had she explored our toy shelf. Obviously she had gotten over her trauma.
So after reassuring my neighbor that there was no need to feel bad, and telling her about the time I forgot to pick both my kids up from school, and how when I finally got there and saw them waiting in the office, I was sure that if I could have read their thought bubbles at the time, I would have wondered how a 6-and 9-year-old knew such language; I told her that her daughter was welcome to stay awhile and I'd walk her home after we played.
So we sat on the basement floor and did puzzles. And I was re-introduced to the magic of kindergarten. The excitment in her eyes and voice when she told me about "short O" and how she was "the ONLY one in my class with an "R" name!!" And "In two weeks, I have a birthday and a school concert, BOTH ON THE SAME DAY -" well, the magic was just contagious. Then Paul came home and played ping pong with her and we all laughed when she nearly hit him in the head and when the ball went flying all over the basement. Actually the girl's got quite an arm for a five-year-old. Then we played a "big kid game" for a while before we had to break the news that it was time to go home because we had to "go see Blake and Kayla's teachers this evening."
So of course my heart went back to the time when mine were that little. Like when Blake was 6 and asked for a watch. I told him he could have a watch as soon as he could count by 5's. So he said "you mean 5,10,15,20,25,30...."
And when Kayla was in kindergarten and was learning her first vowel, only they called them letter lights. So I said "Every word has to have a letter light. If there is no letter light, it is not a word." She tilted her head and looked at me very seriously and said "My teacher doesn't know that." And I knew without a doubt that Kayla was going to inform her teacher of this little bit of news the next day.
Yes those days were magic. But so are these days. It is magic watching my kids with their friends. It is magic sitting in front of a teacher and listening to her say "you have many reasons to be proud of your daughter." It is magic watching my son's arm be raised in victory after he has won his Regional Wrestling Meet. It is magic sitting around a table eating fast food with my children and their friends. It is magic hearing their voices on the phone as they call to check in. Sometimes I get lost in remembering the magic. So lost in remembering that I forget to take part in the magic that's right before me.
Well, not anymore.....

AT THE MALL

Our trip to the Mall was very successful and efficient. As when the kids were pre-schoolers, we left the house with me reciting our itenerary. My goal was to work this trip out so that neither kid had to spend much time waiting on the other. That would lead to grumpy teenagers. We do not want grumpy teenagers.

First let me say that for one brief moment, my brain had a cramp when Blake grabbed the keys and headed out the door in a flash before I could even get my coat. I was thinking "What's he do...oh, he's driving." It's one of those things that still surprises me. But he is very confident and cautious - a good mix.

So at Kohl's we head to the men's sportswear and Blake points to some shorts and asks what size he will need. I tell him medium. So he picks up a pair of XL and says they'll probably fit. I have to remind him that we are in the MENS department, which causes my heart to do a weird flippy thing. So he grabs a pair of Medium and heads to the fitting room. He comes back and says "these fit, how many can I get?" After checking the price I say "5 pair." So he says "grab me 5 pair in navy and black, and then we'll pick out shirts at Finish Line." Then he picked out a pair of sweatpants. The whole thing took about 13 minutes. He went to Gamestop while Kayla and I finished our shopping. Gamestop is on the way to Finish Line so we saw him through the window, he put down the controller to the demo game and joined us again. Kayla and I didn't even have to break our stride. That is when I said "Dad would be so proud of how efficient our trip is." Finish Line had college t-shirts 2 for $20 so Blake picked out 4 and and then convinced me to let him get two more. He could not find tennis shoes. What is it about size 13? Does NOBODY carry size 13 for men? Kayla however found her blue plaid tennies at Shoe Sensation and they look just plain cute. Now the kids have a good start on spring clothes.

As Blake was driving us home I could not help but remember all our trips to the mall when the kids were little. I took them once a week, especially in the winter, to run around and eat at Corn Dog 7. Why did they close Corn Dog 7. We LOVED that place. We did not have a play place when they were little so they spent their time running up and down the steps in the center court where the fountains were. They always liked for me to count when they ran. They would say "Count for me, Mommy" meaning time them. So they'd run back to me and I'd yell "NINETEEN!" And they'd want to try again so they could get a higher number. In their little minds, the bigger number had to mean they were faster....

As they got older and in school, we went to the mall less frequently; but we almost always went when Daddy was away on a business trip. Sometimes we'd go for an early supper and have giant soft pretzels and fruit smoothies for supper. Anything out of the ordinary was a treat when Daddy was gone. And I would usually let them pick out a little toy to take home.
When Blake was already in school, Kayla and I had our "mall days" on Thursday. We went after her dance class. In the winter she'd walk around the mall with the skirt of her little leotard poking out of her sweat pants. In warm weather she'd walk around in the leotard and tennis shoes. And was she ever cute, with that leotard and the ever present giant bow on her head. My stars, she was cute. Dance was at 10:00, so we'd get to the mall a little after 11. As we'd leave the house on those mornings, I would say "after dance, we will go to the mall and take a walk and look around, and sit at the book store and read books." And I'd always warn her if there was any actual shopping to do, so she'd be prepared for the extra wait. And of course, I ended up buying a book or two for her and Blake. And then we'd go to Baskin Robbins. Every Thursday, we went to Baskin Robbins. BEFORE LUNCH. It was our "girls day" And by golly we were going to have ice cream before lunch. Since it was so early in the day, it was usually only the owner working and he'd see us coming and say "There's my ladies. How was dance today?" And at least twice he gave us our ice cream for free. Kayla always chose vanilla, and usually in a cup. Now she is more adventurous with her tastes, but she certainly enjoys vanilla on any given day. Vanilla ice cream to her, is like any sort of chocolate is to me.

One time when my mom was with us at the mall, we were sitting at the center fountain while Kayla ran up and down the stairs. The fountain is huge and is recessed into the floor, so it is actually very accessible (too accessible). I looked down once and Kayla was lying on her tummy lapping water out of the fountain like a puppy. So I trotted down the stairs and got her up and as I took her back up to Grandma I said "Let's go find your mommy. She wouldn't like you doing that, but she needs to keep a better eye on you."

I will just add the memory of the "Cat Fight at Kohl's" and then I will stop. At least until tomorrow, when I might add more memories for my kids to read.
Kayla was about 2 and Blake was not quite 5. We were walking down one of the main aisles at Kohl's and I heard some lady speaking to me. I turned and said "Pardon me." And she said "I said your kids are so cute and well behaved. " And I said "Well, thank you so much. They're usually pretty good." And in my minds I was telling myself "You big FAKER." Because we had just come out of the shoe aisle where the kids had been scratching each other's eyes out. Obviously it was an intense experience because I still remember it clearly. We were strolling along, all of us enjoying our day when out of nowhere both kids were yelling and crying and arms and legs were flailing everywhere. I do not know what set it off, but I will say one thing. Kayla could really put up a good fight for someone so little who was strapped into a stroller. Heaven help the evil person who ever tried to snatch her from me. I do not remember how I smoothed things over. But I remember being exhausted and completely bewildered that it happened so quickly. I am fairly certain Kayla started it. She probably pulled on Blake's shirt one too many times or threw something at him. But the storm passed and we continued on our way. Only to be complimented for our excellent behavior.
Go Figure.

NEGOTIATIONS....

Last night Blake and his friend Drew were working on a Driver's Ed project together. They had to find 20 articles about car accidents and glue them to a poster board.
Blake got all of his printed, cut out and lined up on the poster board. Our conversation after that went something like this:

Blake: Mom, do you think Kayla would glue all these on for me if I paid her?

Mom: Call her down here and start negotiating with her.
(I knew this would be interesting because Blake never has any money. Kayla, on the other hand, is loaded)

Blake: KAAAAAYLAAAAA!
(which reminded me I should have said "quietly go to her room and knock on her door to ask her in a civilized manner.")
So Kayla appears.

Blake: Will you glue all these on for me if I give you five bucks?

Kayla: TEN!!!

Blake: ah, man.

He glued them himself.

UM...EXCUSE ME, BUT COULD YOU REPEAT THAT?

So yesterday evening Blake says "Mom tomorrow after school could we go to the mall to shop for new spring clothes?"
Wait, what?
BLAKE SAID THAT. Not my 13-year-old fashion expert daughter, but my 15 1/12 year old fashion challenged son. My mind was saying "It's a trick....do not fall for it..."
But he said he wanted some new shorts and t-shirts, and it IS about that time of year...
Let me just say that Blake has not waited for spring to be wearing shorts again. When I picked him up from school last month he came out of the building in shorts. In January. In Illinois. It was about 25 degrees. See, the boys not only wear shorts under their sweat pants; they wear shorts under their jeans. Then when they get hot in school, they can slip their jeans off in the restroom, or just not put the jeans back on after P.E. class. It is a little disconcerting for us moms who are certain we saw them leave the house in jeans that morning. This shorts-all-year phenomenon has been going on for a couple of years. Blake's grandparents think it is terrible that I allow him to wear shorts in the winter months. I finally started to reply to their outrage with "He's 13 (or 14 or 15) he knows when he's cold. And besides, he only goes from the car to the bus to the school and back again."
So we will head out today to shop. Kayla has her eye on some cool tennis shoes (blue plaid) that she will probably get.
I am tempted to buy Blake 7 pair of black or denim shorts. That way he will have a pretty good chance of matching. Blake has no desire to match his clothes. It is sometimes painful to the eyes.
I guess I have been somewhat of a clothing snob for Blake. I buy two brands - Nike and "And One." Not because I will only buy top of the line, but because they wash up beautifully. I mean really. If he did not outgrow them, these brands would last forever. That is important for boy clothes. And I have always bought them in sets - navy shorts with a navy shirt, burgundy set...whatever. Blake has never felt the need to keep the sets together, however, much to my and Kayla's horror. Our favorite pairing of his is the burgundy shorts with the orange shirt. OUCH! My only comfort in this fashion travesty is that most of the boys look this way. Except Cubby. Cubby dresses really neat.

Kayla, of course, is the opposite of Blake when it comes to fashion. She somehow manages to look cute in plain jeans and a t-shirt. Like today. She went to school in jeans and a black t-shirt. But the silver belt was a perfect touch. And I think she had a red ribbon in her hair. You cannot go wrong with red accessories when wearing black. I tried to impart important wisdom like that to my children at a very young age. I do not seek out the name brands for Kayla, but I will admit to buying her MORE clothes. But she uses them (as I remind Paul every time we trudge in from the mall with 2 or 3 (or 6) sacks. She has different outfits for everything. She has babysitting outifts, going-to-the-movie outifts, eating-out-with-Mom-and-Dad outfits (which luckily does not include dark glasses and a trench coat...yet) hanging-out-at-the-mall outfits. And sometimes she will wear several of these in a day. But I suppose if I'd had that many clothes when I was 13, I would have "utilized" them to the best of my ability also.

Also, regarding shopping... I just recently told Paul that the kids are old enough to be doing much of their own. Kayla especially spends enough time at the mall, that I could just give her the money and tell her to purchase the shirts we've agreed upon, when she's there with her friends anyway. I think she'd go for that. Blake? Not so much. He might consider it just another chore. Unless I was sending him into the Video game store.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GIVE UP....OR....AND STILL IT COMES

So I walk downstairs this morning at 6:30ish after being awake since 5:15 (on a Saturday, I hate that) and look around my horribly messy kitchen and mutter "this is what happens when you give up." And then I looked out the window to see if the snow predicitons were true; that we'd be getting around 4 more inches after the nearly 12 we got 3 days ago. And it is falling nice and heavy. And I muttered "And still it comes."
It's been a bad week. Paul returns this evening after 8 days in London. The travel is nothing new to us but it has been awhile since he's been gone for so many days at once. I learned a couple years ago not to anticipate anything when he's gone. I have a habit of thinking forward into the week he's gone and telling myself "just get through...." fill in the blank, "and things will be smooth sailing from there."
I told myself not to do that this week, and yet I did. I had planned to take Thursday and Friday off work. So I kept telling myself I would just get through Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday and then I would have two days at home to catch my breath during this stint at single parenting and he'd be home Saturday.
Then the blizzard struck. I could not get to work Tuesday because our driveway was blocked by a 3 foot drift...at the end. The garage door was blocked by about 24 inches of snow. The middle part of the drive, however, was perfectly clear so the kids could have shot hoops, I guess, if they had the desire to do so in the 25 mph wind, blowing snow and 15 degree temperature.
I spent Monday night and Tuesday morning watching the drift grow bigger and bigger and worrying about getting out to work. Thankfully my boss called that morning and said not to get out. Wednesday morning, Blake and his friends got me shoveled out but it was fairly late, so I called my boss and said I would not be in that day either. I struggled with that decision but finally decided they would not fire me because all of the men in the office are afraid of the phones.
By Wednesday afternoon, the roads were passable so I decided to venture out and get a few groceries and let Kayla meet her friends for some sledding. I ignored the voice in my head that kept saying "sledding's not a good idea," all day long. As we ventured out I told Kayla "If the lane to the golf course is bad I'm not going to attempt to drive down it," still ignoring the voice in my head. The lane was fine. Halfway. When I got to the middle, I stopped and said "I can't go any further, you will have to walk or come home with me." We were only about 100 yards from where the kids had gathered and we could see them, so she grabbed her saucer sled and trudged through to the sledding party. That is when I knew I had to go back down the lane in reverse. That is when I got stuck. So I used the "rocking" techinque all midwest beginning drivers are taught. Drive, reverse. Drive, reverse. After about 6 times of that I got moving. Then I backed into a driveway to turn around so I could exit the lane going forward. And I got stuck again. Drive, reverse. Drive, reverse. Only 4 times of that and I was on my way. Thankfully there were two men using snow blowers on the lane who seemed quite happy to stop their work and STAND AND WATCH ME GET MYSELF UN-STUCK. I mean really, doesn't an audience make that kind of situation go so much better? So all the way to the grocery store I was thinking " What is the matter with you two men? You both should be ashamed of yourselves, watching a 40 year old woman struggle to get her mini van unstuck on snow packed roads. All I can say is you must be from somewhere else because here in the midwest we help each other out during blizzards, and after blizzards."
Needless to say, since I had missed work on Tuesday and Wednesday I needed to work Thursday and Friday. My anticpated week had been buried in 12 inches of snow. Yesterday I had to get out late to take Kayla to the church lock-in. It was snowing again. I was exhausted. I had only slept about 4 hours the night before. I had a sore throat and an earache. When I walked in after dropping her off, it was after 10. I looked around at my horribly messy kitchen and said to myself "I give up. I'll deal with it tomorrow." I went to bed but had to set my alarm for 5:30 in case Kayla needed a ride home from the lock-in. Thankfully someone gave her a ride. But I had to get up anyway to unlock the front door for her. And when she got home, I could tell just by our very brief "good morning" that she'd had a wonderful time. I'm glad I ventured out and took her. I did not begrudge her that; I had simply been nervous about the roads and was tired.
My mom raised four kids alone. I have been thinking about her a lot this week. I've been thinking about all single parents this week. How do they manage a household alone with no relief in sight? I've been so tired all week. I've been worried and anxious. I have spent some time crying. But I know help is on the way. The cavalry is coming. There will be more trips to come, more "opportunities" at single parenting. But I have reminded myself that this is only an 8-day stint. There are so many parents out there who cannot fill in the blank when they say "just get through..." because they do not see an end to their loneliness.
Today I saw the snow falling and said to myself "And still it comes." I wonder how many of these single parents simply open their eyes in the morning and say "And still it comes."
I will be praying for them.

BUCKLE UP...

Since he was about 12, Blake has occasionally asked "Can I drive?" when we are heading out the door to go somewhere. And I would always reply with something like "Did you have a big ole' plate of crazy for breakfast?"

But this morning, when he said "Mom, are you taking Kayla to the church lock-in tonight?" and I said "Yes," he asked "Can I drive?" And I had to say "Sure." Because today he gets his learner's permit. HIS LEARNER'S PERMIT. It was a struggle to calmly say "sure" to his request because my eye started twitching, I could feel sweat breaking out on my upper lip, my stomach did a flip-flip. He's driving. Starting today. Paul is in London. I am the one with whom he will be driving. On icy roads 3 days post-blizzard.

I am absolutely certain it was just last week that the only thing Blake drove were his matchbox cars and his "diggers 'n' dumpers."
My favorite story of Blake and his matchbox cars happened one weekend afternoon when he was about 2 and a half. I was pregnant with Kayla and taking a nap on the couch while Paul played cars with Blake on the floor. When I woke up I saw the cars in a huge straight line across the carpet. I was impressed. So I said "Blake, that is really neat the way you lined your cars up so straight and even." To which Blake replied. "I didn't do that. Daddy did that while I was in that corner poopin.'" So I just turned my head and gave Paul the raised eyebrow look and said "And have you changed that diaper in which he's been poopin'?"
Blake also loved his diggers and dumpers. Mainly because they were good with dirt. He loved dirt. The first time we built a house, he was five, and I decorated his room with diggers and dumpers wall paper, complete with dirt piles. Anytime we'd leave the house and I would be cleaning him up to go out I'd say "We need to stay clean, so no playing in the dirt on the way to the car." And, without fail, on his way to the car, he'd squat down and scoop his little index finger into the dirt and smile and continue walking to the car, grinning at his finger as though he was carrying a treasure. He was clean from head to toe except for one finger tip. And that little finger tip of dirt made him happy.

And now the diggers and dumpers are stored away, only brought out when little ones visit. The same with the matchbox cars. They've been replaced with a key chain. To hold real keys to a mini van and a jeep, and eventually a third vehicle whose license plate I hope will read CHPST 1.

Nobody warned me about this. This feeling of desperation to stop time. This feeling of disbelief that makes you want to argue "But 15 and a half years CANNOT have gone by simply because I blinked. There has to be some mistake!!" But to whom would I pose my argument? This is the way it should be. This is the plan. To let them grow up and gradually move farther away for longer lengths of time. I am doing my best to cherish this phase; every phase. Because to fail to cherish it is to miss out on it.

Just like Blake spent days counting and counting and counting, when he started kindergarten. And just like he read everything in sight when he was in first grade and eager to show off his new reading skills; I have a feeling we are in for 6 months of "Can we go to (fill in the blank)? I'll drive." And I will lift my eyes heavenward, and breathe some silent prayer and place myself in the passenger seat and buckle up.
This parenting trip is turning out to be an exciting ride.

MORE OF THAT WOOLARD MATH

Yesterday at 5ish, I left the house with 3 kids to go to target - Blake, Kayla, and Cubby. When I returned at 6:30ish, I had 5 kids. There are still 5 kids in my house. Please be sure to show your work when coming up with the answer to this math problem.

I think it happened something like this.
Blake had money to spend which never lasts for long, and I had things to get at Target so it worked out for us all to go to Target. The boys (I am always saying "the boys" even though I gave birth to only ONE) spent an hour in electronics, and Kayla and I got a few grocery items and then browsed in the essential aisles - purses, shoes, makeup...
Blake and I got a Starbucks. Kayla and Cubby got an Icee.
After THE BOYS loaded the van with all of our stuff. I heard Blake say, "Cubby get in the way back." "uh, Blake why are you getting in the way back" "Because we're picking up Cody and Ryan." "Wait, what? I didn't know that." "I told you, Mom" "No you didn't, Blake." "Well, can Cody and Ryan come over too?" "Sure, but you didn't tell me." "Sorry."
The truth is I don't care how many boys come over. At this age, it is very easy to have 4, 5, 10 boys over. They play video games and eat. They are polite and funny. They make an admirable attempt at cleaning up their messes.
The same goes for Kayla's friends. I love for this house to be full of kids.
Last night was a little tricky because I wasn't expecting FOUR teenage boys to be eating. I was expecting TWO. That is the difference between two armies or 4. I cooked up a really big bag of barbecue wings and put out some chips, dip, cookies...
Before I called the boys down, I told Kayla to get her plate and fill it. We all know what happens when the boys start eating....Then the boys came down. All but Blake. I looked at the pan at one point and saw 3 itty bitty wings left. I laughed and said "what, no wings for Blake?" One boy said "ooops". One boy didn't answer because his mouth was full of wings. And one boy said "He had his chance." Blake came down 30 minutes later and ate waffles.
So before we went to bed last night, I told Paul that with Cubby, Ryan and Cody here along with Blake, I felt pretty well looked after because we had 3 football players, 2 wrestlers, and 2 basketball players in the house to do the heavy lifting. You do the math. And again, please show your work.

WHEN SOMETHING IS MISSING

This post was written several days ago, when Paul was on an 8-day trip to London. We try to let as few people as possible know when he is going to be away; it just seems prudent.


Paul and I were still in college when we got married. We had been high school sweethearts and it was just part of "our plan" to be married when we were. We know many people raised some eyebrows over our young age, but even looking back as an adult who has seen a lot, I can truly say we knew what we were doing. We were both paying our own ways anyway. We had both been raised in such a way that we were pretty mature and level headed, even at 20 and 21.
Paul finished college in 3 1/2 years, so we were only married 5 months when he graduated and started working for a big accounting firm in Little Rock, while I finished my degree. He was an auditor. Being a CPA (although he does not work in accounting now) Paul often gets calls from people seeking tax advice (especially from family members). When somebody asks me if he'll do their taxes, I usually tell them "well, actually he was not a tax accountant, but he'd be glad to audit you."
So early in our marriage, Paul started traveling quite a bit. In the accounting field, it was just to various locations within the state (first Arkansas, and then Illinois) where he would audit corporations, universities, city offices. He was usually gone a week at a time. Depending on the length of the job, he'd leave Monday morning, and return Friday night and then repeat the process.
When he left the accounting field, he had a brief period where he worked in internal audit. He did not travel. It was a wonderful time.
Let me just brag a minute about Paul. When it comes to his professional life. Paul's just got it. Really, he is very bright and dedicated. I do not know if I'd call him ambitious because he has managed to do quite well in the business world without sacrificing his family. Because of this "IT" that Paul has, he progressed pretty quickly in this new company as well. Soon he was asked to join a group of about 6 men that would be starting a new company. The new company went around to basically third world companies building or investing in power plants.
So the travel began again. Only this time it was to places like Columbia, Peru, Brazil, Pakistan. And it was often on very short notice. Again it was a situation where he would leave on Monday morning and return on Friday night, and then do the same the next week. There was once a nine week period where he was gone 7 of those weeks.
And this time we had babies. It was a very difficult time in my life. I seemed to live in fear. I was treated for depression. I was basically raising two babies alone. And my husband wasn't across town or even a few hours away. He was on a different continent. He could not get home to me in an emergency. We could not meet for lunch. He could not swing home for supper and then head back to work.
But when he was home, nothing else seemed to exist but his family. I know now I was not always as supportive of him as I should have been, but I was completely overwhelmed and had basically no support system.
After a few years of this, Paul left that company, for various reasons, one of course being the strain it was on our family. He took a pay cut. A 15% pay cut. He worked for 18 months for a family owned business as their CFO. He spent much of that time trying to show them how they needed to cut costs. So they did. By eliminating his job. They gave him 3 months to find something new. It was very fun for both of us when he was able to go in after TWO WEEKS and tell them he had already found a new position. A position that gave back the 15% pay he had lost, plus some. I know to my very core, God had a hand in this. He had used the other brief job as a stepping stone, a way to allow us to catch our breath and re-evaluate our lives.
During his time at this company (where he works now), Paul has also traveled a great deal. But not as much as with the power company. The trips are usually shorter and there are fewer in the year. They are usually to London, Toronto, Brussels, and the different plants within the states. He has gone to Singapore once for this job. Our experience with the "power company travel" has made these trips seem quite easy. Everything is relative.
Paul still somehow manages to be a rising star at work but also our kids' hero (and mine too) He takes overnight flights and arrives just in time for a meeting in London, so he won't miss a concert. He will take a 4 am flight rather than the 6 pm the night before, so he can coach a softball game, or sit through Blake's football game. He will excuse himself from a business meeting in corporate headquarters in London, so he can talk on the phone with the kids about their day.
He fills my van with gas, checks the tires, has the oil changed before he leaves town. He runs to the grocery store for me to spare me having to get out in the 12 degree weather. He always asks if I have plenty of cash so we can order pizza or eat out, while he is gone. Anything to make my time as a single mother a little easier.
I always stick notes in his suitcase, one note for each day he will be gone, so he can know each day how much I love him and appreciate how he provides for our family.
Is it any wonder, that even after twenty years of this business travel, I still miss him? Oh my stars, I miss him. Not the weeping into my pillow, stuffing chocolates into my mouth kind of missing him. But the kind that just makes me want to stare out the window and and lose focus. The kind that makes it difficult to sleep at night, not because I'm scared but because something is just not right.
But I am thankful for this job. Of course, it has provided for us and made it possible to plan to send our kids to college and not expect them to pay their own way. It has given us a home, two vehicles, some extras. But I'm also thankful for it because I know Paul likes it, and I have learned that it is vital for a man to like his job, regardless of the job he is doing. The travel is just enough to keep it exciting for him, but not so much that it is overwhelming for our family. It seems to be the perfect balance. God is really good at the balancing act.
This is the first time in a long time that Paul has been gone for more than a week. I have dreaded it for the 3 months that I have known about it. I have realized, though, that I am blessed to have this "something is missing" feeling when he is gone. In the notes I send with him, I write things like,
"my circle does not close when you are gone." "The sun is not as warm when you are gone." "Even chocolate is not as good when you are gone." All of these feelings are blessings, I know. They mean that my life is complete when he is home.
And I simply cannot wait for him to be home again.

THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T BUY NICE THINGS...

It started with the dishes. Two years ago I asked for new dishes for my birthday. I know, I know, boring...but I really wanted them.
I didn't get them.
So I saved all my birthday money and then some, and went out to buy the dishes.
The thing is the dishes were sold, as my mom says "by the each", meaning, since I wanted service for 8, I had to place 32 individual plates, bowls, salad plates, and mugs in my cart. Also, the dishes came in many colors and I wanted 2 blue, 2 red, 2 green and 2 yellow...of plate, bowl, salad plate, and mug. Don't worry a friend was with me. And she examined every piece before setting them in my cart with me. Then she patiently stood at the check out and helped wrap each and every plate, bowl, salad plate and mug in paper as we sacked them. Then she came into my kitchen and helped me unwrap every individual dish. By this time, the dishes were really not looking so attractive and the visions I had of setting a multicolored table in my red and yellow kitchen were not quite so appealing either. But once they were all unwrapped, washed and stacked in my cabinet, I was thrilled. When I set the table the first few nights, I was thrilled.
Until I noticed the chips in the finish on some of the dishes.
First I thought it was a fluke, so I actually went out and replaced a blue dinner plate and a green bowl because they were chipped. Then I kept noticing more chips. Also they got VERY HOT when I microwaved them. So I looked at the bottom of one. "Dishwasher safe." Wait, what? Not microwave safe? Oh for the love of Pete. How can dishes not be microwave safe in 2005? And why in the world were they chipping? Why were these dishes that took two hours to purchase at the mall one day turning into a nightmare? What about my beautiful magazine-photo table settings?
So it was a sad day when I stacked the dishes and carried them to the basement kitchen to be stored and brought out very rarely. It was an even sadder day when I resigned myself to a boring table setting and bought dishes at Wal-Mart, in PLAIN WHITE for about one-fourth of the cost of my ideal colorful ones.

Then it was the bath accessories. I have never been one to buy a ceramic waste can, soap pump, tissue holder, etc for my bathrooms. Mainly because I haven't had border or curtains that came with all the matching stuff. And also, they can be quite expensive and I just haven't chosen to spend my money that way.
Until I found the set that "are the perfect match to the paint on our bedroom and bathroom walls, honey." Since our master bedroom and bath are painted a very, uh, well unique color (kind of tomato reddish) I was thrilled when I found a ceramic bath set in a floral print that really complimented our walls. So I bought 2 cups, two soap pumps, and one little soap dish (which I use for tiny perfume bottles)at first to go on our sinks.
Within one week, I had knocked my cup off into the sink and broke it into about 4 pieces. Well, sugarfoot. I replaced it. The next week, I picked up the soap pump to clean it and it came clean off the base (which by the way is a beautiful wood). Well, sugarfoot again. Then Paul picked up his cup one evening and it came clean off the base. So we spent some time one Saturday gluing our bath accessories back onto their bases, using my hand weights to brace them (see honey, not all exercise equipment is a waste of money around here.) And now to top it off, the beautiful wood bases of the bath accessories are chipping. CHIPPING! Now perhaps they shouldn't get damp, but you would think a decent bath accessory would be able to tolerate a little dampness considering it is being placed IN A BATHROOM!! So my plans to go back later and buy the tissue box have been cancelled. Same for the waste basket.

And now it is the jacket.
I noticed it while I was walking at the mall one morning before Christmas. I showed it to Paul and he said "Don't you have one kind of like that?" Which shocked me because I didn't think he knew what was hanging in our closet. I must be more careful. About 5 weeks later, I noticed that the jacket was still there and that there was one left in my size. Knowing I could wear it with many different things, I decided to go ahead and buy it. After all, I'm working now.
The jacket snags. Very easily. When I move my arm it snags against the zipper. When I carry my pen wrong at work, it snags. When my necklace catches on it, it snags. When I wore it to church, I spent the 15 minutes between Sunday School and Church services tediously pulling threads back through all over my right arm. Here's the thing. It's a pretty jacket. Really pretty. But it is very unpleasant to wear.

So a few things are looking better to me now:
paper plates
bottles of "Equate" liquid hand soap and
the other jacket "kind of like that."

FORTY IS NOT BAD....NOT BAD AT ALL

Yesterday I turned 40.
I waited all day for the depression to hit. I had been warned by a couple people that I would feel it. "You just wait. When you're 40, you'll be depressed and have a hard time too."
And...not so much.
I love being 40. Actually I think it's silly to be depressed about a birthday. Why get depressed that God has given me one more year?
So my sweet husband got me a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. And no flowers or writing because I do not like white icing at all, and I think the decorations ruin the taste. And we went out to eat with friends for dinner after a massive snow storm. Both the kids were very sweet too.
Kayla got me a set of jewlery - necklace, earrings, and bracelet. It has everything - gold, silver and "diamonds" I love sparkles.
Blake got me a big book of the comic strip "Zits." Have you seen it in your paper? It absolutely cracks me up. It's simply about life with a teenage boy and it is SO VERY ACCURATE. For instance, the one I turned to last night, showed his parents asking him basic questions about his day, but with each question they asked, he was imagining himself in a different medieval torture device. It is SOOOO Blake.
And Paul got me a little CD player to hang under my cabinets in my craft room. But here's the thing...a little TV screen pops down. So now I can watch Andy Griffith and Super Nanny while I'm crafting.
And my coworkers had decorated my desk with black streamers yesterday morning, and brought in donuts and gave me a really cute card.

Also, on the way home from work yesterday, driving through five inches of snow, I came across a young kid who had run off the road and damaged all of his tires. It was right outside the mall, so we were in a very high traffic area. He started walking and I could not help but think that in a year, that could be Blake. Two other ladies had stopped, and rolled down their windows and said something to him but drove on. I offered to make a call for him and I could tell he was close to crying. So I offered him a ride home. Turns out he goes to Blake's school, knows Blake and is just a year older than Blake. His home was about 2 miles away and he was planning to walk. It was 14 degrees at the time and, being a teenage boy, he had no hat or gloves, and his coat was hanging open. So all the way to his house he kept telling me how he sure hated to call his dad and tell him, that his dad was going to be furious and kill him. I asked about his mom and she happens to work out of state through the week (at Paul's company, actually). I tried to tell him that his dad will be thrilled he was ok, and that in this weather even adults have accidents, and he said that he wasn't supposed to be out driving (the kids had been released from school early and evidently he had decided he could make it to the mall.) So there is that disobedience issue, I guess. But I prayed all the way home, that his dad would handle this well and not let anger make him blind to what was important. And, of course I worried all evening and have even thought about calling this evening just to make sure he is still ok.
*************************************************************************************
Kayla stayed home sick today. Paul stayed home for the morning because we had the repairman come for the refrigerator(to be discussed later). He went to work at 12:30 and I got home at 2:30 so Kayla only had to stay home for 2 hours without us. And being nearly 13, she was fine with that, since she wasn't vomiting and just has a cold and slight fever.
I, however, hate it. I left Blake home sick one day last week, although he called Paul at 11 and had him take him to school. And I hated that too.
Even though they are nearly 13 and 15 1/2, I do not like leaving them home sick. Especially for me to work part time when we are not desperate for the money. The kids are fine with it, but I just know there are little things I would be doing if I were home. I would be offering popsicles. I would freshen their cold drinks. I would ask them what movies they wanted to watch. I would just peek into their rooms and watch them sleep for a moment. And I would just know. Know that I was the one there in case they needed something.
I know we are blessed. I know we are blessed that I have this ideal job and that Paul has a job where he can usually stay home, leave early, go in late. And I especially know we are blessed that I don't HAVE to work. But I have been praying for an answer to this question: Am I really meant to be working, even just part time? Am I only working because society says that, with my children nearly grown, I should be?
The uncertainty at work does not help the constant feeling of being unsettled. With the changes that happened in the fall, brokers and other staff started asking me if I was going to be let go. To which I respond, "uh...I sure don't know."
So today when I left Kayla I thought "ok. This is it. I am not going back to work next August." Isn't it ok to be a stay at home mom even when your kids are older? Isn't it ok to ENJOY the role of homemaker in 2007? But I have already found myself questioning again. What does God intend for me to do? Does my resolve lately to stay home again mean He has answered my question? Or does it mean I am not waiting for His answer? How will I know his answer?

Anyway, Happy Birthday to Me. And for those of you who have 40 to look forward to...
It's not bad. Not bad at all.

I LOVE THIS...

From GRACE FOR THE MOMENT by Max Lucado - today's thought:

Holiness Among Us -

God became a baby. He entered a world...of problems and heartaches.

"The Word became human and lived here on earth among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness." John 1:14 NLT.

The operative word of the verse is "among." He lived among us. He donned the costliest of robes: a human body. He made a throne out of a manger and a royal court out of some cows. He took a common name - Jesus - and made it holy. He took common people and made them the same. He could have lived over us or away from us. But he didn't. He lived among us.

He became a friend of the sinner and brother of the poor.

"Shout and be glad, Jerusalem. I am coming, and I will live among you," says the Lord. Zechariah 2:10.



I love beautiful words. And these are some beautiful words.

I AM A WONDERFUL MOTHER....I AM A TERRIBLE MOTHER

I confess. I watch Super Nanny. Why? Because it makes me feel like the best mother in the world. Really. It's on Monday nights - ABC I think. Any time you are feeling like a failure as a parent, try to find it. You will truly be amazed at how some people choose to parent...well actually choose NOT to parent. And you will feel like somebody will be knocking on your door any minute to present you with that all illusive Mother-of-the-Year Award.
So this past Monday I sat around all evening like a slug and watched Super Nanny. And I did my usual commenting to the TV screen; "Are you KIDDING me?" "These people are afraid of their kids." Blah, blah, blah. I was feeling PRETTY good about myself by the time Super Nanny had saved one more family.

Then, continuing in slug mode, I flipped channels until I came upon my new hero, Michelle Duggar. The Duggars are on the Learning Channel. They have 16 children. SIXTEEN CHILDREN.
Have you seen them? They are a very conservative family in Arkansas who have gained all this public attention because they are raising 16 children. They did a whole show about the house they built, and this past week was about a big vacation the family took. ALL EIGHTEEN OF THEM.
The Duggars homeschool, and their children range in ages from 18 down to a few months old. Their are two sets of twins.
When I first heard of them, I thought I'd see a husband who was a little fanatical about the word "submit." I thought maybe I'd see a family who was a little superior in their attitude and stand-offish from "the world." But no, this is a couple who truly believe they will have the children God intends them to have. They were genuinely loving and respectful - one for the other. The kids were well behaved and respectful, but not in an unnatural sense. There is humor in their home. There is tenderness and patience and discipline. And that mom? She truly glows. She truly has the spirit of God living in her. In fact, at one point I squinted and really concentrated and I am sure I saw her halo and wings. Really.
As I listened to the children one night telling the audience some house rules (amid bloopers and giggles)I was amazed at how easy she made it seem. "Never raise a hand to hit. Never raise a foot to kick. Never raise an object to throw. Never raise a voice to yell." And that is when I said it.
I AM A TERRIBLE MOTHER!!!!
Oh my gosh! Some days I feel like I am drowning in uncertainty and my own incompetence trying to raise my two children. TWO CHILDREN. And she is raising SIXTEEN and making it look easy. Her husband is one lucky man, and her children are SIXTEEN lucky kids.
I bet she never lies around on a Monday night watching TV in slug mode...

POOR CUBBY...

Cubby is here this weekend. You know, Blake's best friend. Cubby's family is spending the weekend at a university, speaking to the football coach. It looks as though his big brother is going to be offered a scholarship.
Cubby's mom has often introduced me as his second mother, and we jokingly tell them that each month we look for the child support check in the mail from them. He's just one of us.
But poor Cubby could not have chosen a worse weekend to stay with us. Here were his choices for how to spend the day today:
- driving 6 hours with his family and then following his family around a college campus and/or sitting in a hotel room while they take care of college business for his brother

- spending 9 hours at a wrestling meet with Blake and Paul - his face was PRICELESS when I told him what to expect from THAT.

- spending the day at our house with ME.

He chose option #3. But I know it is only because it was the least painful of a list of very unappealing choices. Thankfully Cubby is a very (I mean VERY, VERY) easy going young man. He also happens to like Blake's X-Box LIVE, so he does have that to do all day. We tease Blake that his friends only love him for his X-Box LIVE. It is not uncommon for Blake to be in the basement watching a movie while one or more of his buddies is in his room playing X-Box LIVE. In fact, Blake told us Cubby stayed up most of the night playing. I also am under no delusions over that. I am certain he stayed up all night so that he could spend the day in sweet oblivious slumber and not having to visit with ME. Although, he did not seem at all repulsed by the idea as we discussed it at dinner last night. I told him I would bring him lunch from the mall, if I went and I asked him what kind of cookies he liked, because I'm going to make peanut butter cookies for Blake when he gets home from his tournament. Turns out Cubby doesn't like peanut butter cookies. So he will get a batch of chocolate chip. Kayla will get chocolate chip-LESS. She likes the toll house recipe without the chocolate chips (go figure) So I usually keep half of the batter plain.
I love having extra kids in the house. Really, I LOVE IT. And as my own kids grow so quickly, I have realized I will miss their friends also.
I will miss Cubby and Ryan and Drew and Sarah C and Hannah.

I have also decided that God gave us the teen years to prepare us for the empty nest. Our kids are on the go nearly all the time; going to ballgames, birthday parties, sleepovers, THE MALL...practice, games...
Weekends seem to be merely blocks of time during which we are either waiting for them to check in or preparing to take them to their next activity. Yesterday when I reminded Kayla that next Saturday we are hosting a bridal shower and I will need her help, she smiled and said "I will be sure to fit that into my schedule."

That about sums it up.