Speed Dating
Happy Monday Tuesday Everyone!
Today I am joining in a Speed-Dating Blog link up! Super excited to "meet" some new bloggers and share someembarrassing things about myself.
So here goes... all about me.
1. I will be celebrating my 7th wedding anniversary in June. (right dear...? 7th? I mistakenly thought last year was our 5th anniversary. Apparently it was our 6th. I will NEVER live that one down..
2. I am a mother to 3 beautiful children-2 crazy boys and a sweet little girl. I love being able to stay home with them and am especially excited for all thefighting and whining fun we'll have this summer before Nolan starts 1st grade and Charlie begins Preschool.
3. We live in a 100+ year old farmhouse which we remodeled ourselves about 3 years ago. It is on a small acreage and we LOVE LOVE LOVE having so much room for the kids to run around naked, yell and scream at each other, pee outside...
4. I hate cleaning my house. It's not that I hate it I guess.. it's just that I would much rather be doing other things. Like reading/painting/sleeping/eating/baking/pullingoutmytoenailsonebyone/anythingelseintheworld.. Conveniently, when my husband gets upset guess what he does? Cleans. My secret "Operation Annoy Hubby At Least Weekly" manages to at least keep CPS at bay.
5. I started this blog only about a month ago. I wanted to be able to share the story of our daughter Ella who has Cornelia De Lange Syndrome (CdLS).
6. I am honest to a fault. Seriously.. do NOT ask me if those jeans make you look fat.. I might try to spare your feelings, but my face will give me away every.single.time. Yup.. Me and Honest Abe.
7. My dream is to be able to use that honestycurse blessing to give hope to others struggling with accepting a special needs diagnosis, or anything in life, really. I make it no secret that I have struggled and still struggle with it. My curse is your blessing?
8. I am passionate about graphic design, photography, painting, building, sewing, recycling, upcycling, motherhood....creating! my husband teases me about my collections of "treasures" i acquire--corks, pallets, old windows and doors, buttons, ribbon, wrapping paper, jeans, wood, beads, thread, paint, fabric, patterns, tutorials, books, photos, paper....
9. I'm awesome at starting projects. Finishing?? Not so much...
10. I'm a bit of a craft floozie. I see something I want to do, love it, have.to.do.it.NOW, collect 1,000,000 of them, then burn out and move on to the next thing. But that's another post for another day....
Thanks so much for stopping by today! I am excited to learn more about this whole new BlogWorld I have entered.
Today I am joining in a Speed-Dating Blog link up! Super excited to "meet" some new bloggers and share some
So here goes... all about me.
1. I will be celebrating my 7th wedding anniversary in June. (right dear...? 7th? I mistakenly thought last year was our 5th anniversary. Apparently it was our 6th. I will NEVER live that one down..
2. I am a mother to 3 beautiful children-2 crazy boys and a sweet little girl. I love being able to stay home with them and am especially excited for all the
3. We live in a 100+ year old farmhouse which we remodeled ourselves about 3 years ago. It is on a small acreage and we LOVE LOVE LOVE having so much room for the kids to run around naked, yell and scream at each other, pee outside...
4. I hate cleaning my house. It's not that I hate it I guess.. it's just that I would much rather be doing other things. Like reading/painting/sleeping/eating/baking/pullingoutmytoenailsonebyone/anythingelseintheworld.. Conveniently, when my husband gets upset guess what he does? Cleans. My secret "Operation Annoy Hubby At Least Weekly" manages to at least keep CPS at bay.
5. I started this blog only about a month ago. I wanted to be able to share the story of our daughter Ella who has Cornelia De Lange Syndrome (CdLS).
6. I am honest to a fault. Seriously.. do NOT ask me if those jeans make you look fat.. I might try to spare your feelings, but my face will give me away every.single.time. Yup.. Me and Honest Abe.
7. My dream is to be able to use that honesty
8. I am passionate about graphic design, photography, painting, building, sewing, recycling, upcycling, motherhood....creating! my husband teases me about my collections of "treasures" i acquire--corks, pallets, old windows and doors, buttons, ribbon, wrapping paper, jeans, wood, beads, thread, paint, fabric, patterns, tutorials, books, photos, paper....
9. I'm awesome at starting projects. Finishing?? Not so much...
10. I'm a bit of a craft floozie. I see something I want to do, love it, have.to.do.it.NOW, collect 1,000,000 of them, then burn out and move on to the next thing. But that's another post for another day....
Thanks so much for stopping by today! I am excited to learn more about this whole new BlogWorld I have entered.
The Great Clothing War
This morning my father-in-law approached me with a predicament he had... Apparently his house was way too full of Mac-n-Cheese with not enough people to eat it. And he had a few too many brand new movies he hadn't gotten to watch yet, but sadly no one to watch them with. So could someone please come over to play?
It just so happened I had 2 boys more than willing to help out.
Ijoyfully leaped at this wonderful opportunity agreed to the idea.
Soon after that phone call, the wheels in my head finally began to spin (the 6 cups of coffee were a little slow at making their way to my brain cells this morning)... Ella was due to take a nap soon and the boys would be gone for hours... what ever would I do with myself?
I could work on craft projects, paint, take a bubble bath, put my clothes away (does anyone else hate doing this?), clean the house, go shopping, make freezer meals, pay bills (if I could only find the checkbook..), write a blog, edit pictures, read a book, read a magazine ....
Oh the possibilities...
After daydreaming far too long about what I could do, I immediately set to work making a list of things I should do. You know, just a few items that I really thought could be completed in the time they were gone.
There were 12 things on my list (15 if you count the "extras"that I did, then wrote on the list just for the satisfaction of crossing them off). I made sure to be just vague enough to ensure some success on my behalf. I included things such as "pick up" that are truly based on opinion, so if I run out of time, but feel like I made some effort, I had to leeway to cross it off. Smart, huh? Yup, I'm a pro at working my own system.
I included some small-ish items such as mop the floor, sweep stairs, etc. And also some bigger-ish items, such as finish mudding the wall we started renovating 6 months ago and was supposed to be done by Christmas... and the boys' birthday parties.. and this summer... but is still left plaster-white, untextured, with pieces of wood flooring missing.. don't worry-no hard feelings there. It's FINE!
*deep breath...*
I may have overdid it on the list. But I was really excited at the prospect of getting some things done around here! I completely forgot how much more of a mess 3 kids make compared to 2..
Anyways, after the boys left and Ella went down for her nap, I started tackling that list. (I may have squeezed in a little Facebook and got distracted by a few blogs along the way..). But after that I was focused and ready to go. What to do first... Hmmm.. what can't I do while Ella is awake? Which, in her constant state of fussiness this week is... well.. pretty much everything. I did a few smaller things like empty and reload the dishwasher, just to boost my confidence that I could do this.
And then I ventured upstairs. The one (of many) things I'd been struggling with this week was finishing the nightmare of sorting through the boys' summer and next-size-up clothing. Please tell me I'm not the only one who dreads this.. I thought it wouldn't take that long, considering I had spent 2 hours in the attic last weekend, sorting, folding, putting away. I figured the hard part was done. ha!
I began with Nolan's clothes, since I knew he probably had some in his dresser that could go immediately into Charlie's. I was right. He is 6. Not a huge 6, but 6 nonetheless. The problem is, some of his 4's still fit. Charlie is 4. Rightfully, the 4's should be his. But really, he still fits in most of his 3's. So should he get the 4's or be forced to wait until next year, when the possibility exists that he may outgrow them? After too many minutes of contemplation, I unloaded the 4's from Nolan's dresser and put them into Charlie's.
I moved on to the size 5's. Many of them still fit. I was willing to keep the size 5 t-shirts in his drawer for this summer, but what about the long sleeve shirts? Am I going to store them all summer, taking up precious dresser storage room, making it so difficult to open to over-filled drawers that when one of the boys tries to pull on the knob, the entire things tips over on top of him, only to find out in the fall that he's now too big for most of them, thus having to sort through them yet again? Same thing with the jeans.
Then I started looking at the box of size 6 clothes. Last weekend I had sorted the 6's into 2 boxes. The winter-ish clothes stayed in the attic, leaving me only the summer-ish clothes. This shouldn't be too bad. But then I started looking closer. Why do clothing companies assume when your child turns 6 they instantly blow up like a big fat balloon? Are our school lunch programs that unhealthy that as soon as a child starts Kindergarten, society accepts the fact that they will triply in width?? Seriously... These shirts are GINORMOUS! (yes too that is a word, spell checker...)
But that's not the worst of it. It would be ok if ALL the size 6 shirts were this way. I mean, really easy. I would just throw them all back in the attic until next summer and succumb to the fact that I have shrimpy kids. But nooooo.... some of the size 6 shirts are actually wearable. So that leaves me sorting through every.single.shirt. just to try to guess which ones might fit Nolan and which ones I could potentially wear... I mean, if I were into dinosaurs and monster trucks and that sort of thing. Hmmm... That's actually not a bad idea. Might be an option on those weeks laundry doesn't get done and I run out of clean t-shirts.
To make matters even worse, at this age clothing companies seem to develop decision-making phobias.. Instead of the typical 2T, 3T... all of a sudden I see 5, 6, 6-7.. Wait.. what? What the heck does 6-7 mean?? Is it a SIX or a SEVEN??? Make a decision!! Those seemed to be slightly bigger, so should I just throw them back in the attic with the 7's? Because, really, who are you kidding.. that's what they really are. But then the 7-8's should be in the 8 box? And are there 8-9's that should go in a 9 box? How long does this nonsense go on???
I finally gave up and moved over to Charlie's dresser. There, I was confronted with many too many 2T shirts. He is FOUR!! I sorted through each and every one. I even embarrassingly found a few 18-24 month shirts... They were BIG 18-24 month ones though!! They were... I swear.
So, checking every tag I filled his dresser with the 4T's that were so recently unknowingly "gifted" to him by his brother. I also had to look closely at the 3T shirts. There were some 3T shirts that still fit great, some that are still too big, and some that are the size of those 18-24 month shirts I found... Each and every shirt had to be unfolded, studied, folded again, and put into the appropriate pile. Some I actually took into account what the tag said "Oh, it says 3T, so it must go in the 3T box." But others made it so glaringly obvious that what was labeled a 4T was really more like a 2T, so the rebel in me took delight in putting it in the "wrong" box.
And I had to decide what to do with the 4T long sleeve shirts.. Do I fill his dresser now because by next winter he'll be wearing them? But what if he still fits in the 3T ones? I could get one more year out of them. I don't want to put them away in the attic, because what if I forget about them?? We might miss out on a whole size of clothes, with him being forced to wear too small 18-24 month clothes because I forgot we had more!!
Oh, the heartache..
And then there were the shorts.. and the tank tops.. and the swimming trunks.
They weren't any better.
The piles of clothes were beginning to accumulate around me. I realized they were towering over me, taking the form of giant mountains.. no wait! volcanoes.. And there were about to erupt all over me. I was going to be buried alive. I began to fear suffocation. How long would I lay here in misery? Who would find me?
Those fears forced me to dig deep, channel my inner strength, and triumph out of this great depth of clothing despair I was in. It was a very similar situation to the man who had to cut his own arm off after falling on a climb, just to survive. Believe me.. it was.
I was frantically searching... Is this a 6 or a 6-7? Is it a "fat" 6 or a "regular" 6? Is it a 6 that will fit my 6 year old or a 6 that might fit when he graduates high school? And this 4... Is it a 4 like a 6? or a 4 like a 2? Or a... 4 like a... *gasp.. 4??? And here is the pile of 5's that still fit Nolan. And the pile of 5's that are too small that might fit Charlie, the pile of 5's that are too small for Nolan yet too big for Charlie, and the pile of 5's that might fit Nolan right now, but I'm not sure if they still will this winter, so do I put them away in the abyss of the attic, or do I keep them out, knowing I will have to sort them again if I do..
I am currently proposing legislation to standardize children's clothing sizes. One pattern shall be used by all.
Can you imagine for a moment what a serene place this world would be if we mothers didn't have to suffer through the troubling torture of dishonest clothing tags? We would clearly have more time to spend with our children, more energy to do crafts and bake cookies. Our children would be happier, not only because their mothers were not walking around in a frazzled tizzy muttering things like "Why call it a 5 if it fits like a 4..." but also because for once in their lives their clothing fits. Don't you get crabby when your jeans are too tight? I do. Maybe that's the real reason Charlie threw a huge temper tantrum when I asked him to clear his plate from the table today... His jeans were too tight!
I truly believe this could solve so many world problems.
On a side note: I do realize that the sheer volume of the boys' clothing adds to my drama. Just for fun I counted Nolan's t-shirts (the ones that fit). There were 52 of them. 52!!! And that's not even counting the ones in the dirty clothes basket. I also counted Charlie's shorts... 37 pairs of shorts.
Do you realize the enormity of what this means??? I only have to wash their clothes once this entire summer!!!!! whohoo!
If 'anyone' would like to point out the fact that I could save myself some misery by cutting back on rummaging, I do believe that someone could be sleeping on the couch tonight. Yes, I think you know who you are.
And no, I still did not get that wall mudded. *sigh...
It just so happened I had 2 boys more than willing to help out.
I
Soon after that phone call, the wheels in my head finally began to spin (the 6 cups of coffee were a little slow at making their way to my brain cells this morning)... Ella was due to take a nap soon and the boys would be gone for hours... what ever would I do with myself?
I could work on craft projects, paint, take a bubble bath, put my clothes away (does anyone else hate doing this?), clean the house, go shopping, make freezer meals, pay bills (if I could only find the checkbook..), write a blog, edit pictures, read a book, read a magazine ....
Oh the possibilities...
After daydreaming far too long about what I could do, I immediately set to work making a list of things I should do. You know, just a few items that I really thought could be completed in the time they were gone.
There were 12 things on my list (15 if you count the "extras"that I did, then wrote on the list just for the satisfaction of crossing them off). I made sure to be just vague enough to ensure some success on my behalf. I included things such as "pick up" that are truly based on opinion, so if I run out of time, but feel like I made some effort, I had to leeway to cross it off. Smart, huh? Yup, I'm a pro at working my own system.
I included some small-ish items such as mop the floor, sweep stairs, etc. And also some bigger-ish items, such as finish mudding the wall we started renovating 6 months ago and was supposed to be done by Christmas... and the boys' birthday parties.. and this summer... but is still left plaster-white, untextured, with pieces of wood flooring missing.. don't worry-no hard feelings there. It's FINE!
*deep breath...*
I may have overdid it on the list. But I was really excited at the prospect of getting some things done around here! I completely forgot how much more of a mess 3 kids make compared to 2..
Anyways, after the boys left and Ella went down for her nap, I started tackling that list. (I may have squeezed in a little Facebook and got distracted by a few blogs along the way..). But after that I was focused and ready to go. What to do first... Hmmm.. what can't I do while Ella is awake? Which, in her constant state of fussiness this week is... well.. pretty much everything. I did a few smaller things like empty and reload the dishwasher, just to boost my confidence that I could do this.
And then I ventured upstairs. The one (of many) things I'd been struggling with this week was finishing the nightmare of sorting through the boys' summer and next-size-up clothing. Please tell me I'm not the only one who dreads this.. I thought it wouldn't take that long, considering I had spent 2 hours in the attic last weekend, sorting, folding, putting away. I figured the hard part was done. ha!
I began with Nolan's clothes, since I knew he probably had some in his dresser that could go immediately into Charlie's. I was right. He is 6. Not a huge 6, but 6 nonetheless. The problem is, some of his 4's still fit. Charlie is 4. Rightfully, the 4's should be his. But really, he still fits in most of his 3's. So should he get the 4's or be forced to wait until next year, when the possibility exists that he may outgrow them? After too many minutes of contemplation, I unloaded the 4's from Nolan's dresser and put them into Charlie's.
I moved on to the size 5's. Many of them still fit. I was willing to keep the size 5 t-shirts in his drawer for this summer, but what about the long sleeve shirts? Am I going to store them all summer, taking up precious dresser storage room, making it so difficult to open to over-filled drawers that when one of the boys tries to pull on the knob, the entire things tips over on top of him, only to find out in the fall that he's now too big for most of them, thus having to sort through them yet again? Same thing with the jeans.
Then I started looking at the box of size 6 clothes. Last weekend I had sorted the 6's into 2 boxes. The winter-ish clothes stayed in the attic, leaving me only the summer-ish clothes. This shouldn't be too bad. But then I started looking closer. Why do clothing companies assume when your child turns 6 they instantly blow up like a big fat balloon? Are our school lunch programs that unhealthy that as soon as a child starts Kindergarten, society accepts the fact that they will triply in width?? Seriously... These shirts are GINORMOUS! (yes too that is a word, spell checker...)
Check this out. The shirt on top is a 5. The shirt on bottom is a 6. 
HUGE difference!
To make matters even worse, at this age clothing companies seem to develop decision-making phobias.. Instead of the typical 2T, 3T... all of a sudden I see 5, 6, 6-7.. Wait.. what? What the heck does 6-7 mean?? Is it a SIX or a SEVEN??? Make a decision!! Those seemed to be slightly bigger, so should I just throw them back in the attic with the 7's? Because, really, who are you kidding.. that's what they really are. But then the 7-8's should be in the 8 box? And are there 8-9's that should go in a 9 box? How long does this nonsense go on???
I finally gave up and moved over to Charlie's dresser. There, I was confronted with many too many 2T shirts. He is FOUR!! I sorted through each and every one. I even embarrassingly found a few 18-24 month shirts... They were BIG 18-24 month ones though!! They were... I swear.
So, checking every tag I filled his dresser with the 4T's that were so recently unknowingly "gifted" to him by his brother. I also had to look closely at the 3T shirts. There were some 3T shirts that still fit great, some that are still too big, and some that are the size of those 18-24 month shirts I found... Each and every shirt had to be unfolded, studied, folded again, and put into the appropriate pile. Some I actually took into account what the tag said "Oh, it says 3T, so it must go in the 3T box." But others made it so glaringly obvious that what was labeled a 4T was really more like a 2T, so the rebel in me took delight in putting it in the "wrong" box.
And I had to decide what to do with the 4T long sleeve shirts.. Do I fill his dresser now because by next winter he'll be wearing them? But what if he still fits in the 3T ones? I could get one more year out of them. I don't want to put them away in the attic, because what if I forget about them?? We might miss out on a whole size of clothes, with him being forced to wear too small 18-24 month clothes because I forgot we had more!!
Oh, the heartache..
And then there were the shorts.. and the tank tops.. and the swimming trunks.
They weren't any better.
Example #2. These shorts are the same size!!
There is at least a 4 inch difference there... Can you feel my agony??
The piles of clothes were beginning to accumulate around me. I realized they were towering over me, taking the form of giant mountains.. no wait! volcanoes.. And there were about to erupt all over me. I was going to be buried alive. I began to fear suffocation. How long would I lay here in misery? Who would find me?
Those fears forced me to dig deep, channel my inner strength, and triumph out of this great depth of clothing despair I was in. It was a very similar situation to the man who had to cut his own arm off after falling on a climb, just to survive. Believe me.. it was.
I was frantically searching... Is this a 6 or a 6-7? Is it a "fat" 6 or a "regular" 6? Is it a 6 that will fit my 6 year old or a 6 that might fit when he graduates high school? And this 4... Is it a 4 like a 6? or a 4 like a 2? Or a... 4 like a... *gasp.. 4??? And here is the pile of 5's that still fit Nolan. And the pile of 5's that are too small that might fit Charlie, the pile of 5's that are too small for Nolan yet too big for Charlie, and the pile of 5's that might fit Nolan right now, but I'm not sure if they still will this winter, so do I put them away in the abyss of the attic, or do I keep them out, knowing I will have to sort them again if I do..
I am currently proposing legislation to standardize children's clothing sizes. One pattern shall be used by all.
Can you imagine for a moment what a serene place this world would be if we mothers didn't have to suffer through the troubling torture of dishonest clothing tags? We would clearly have more time to spend with our children, more energy to do crafts and bake cookies. Our children would be happier, not only because their mothers were not walking around in a frazzled tizzy muttering things like "Why call it a 5 if it fits like a 4..." but also because for once in their lives their clothing fits. Don't you get crabby when your jeans are too tight? I do. Maybe that's the real reason Charlie threw a huge temper tantrum when I asked him to clear his plate from the table today... His jeans were too tight!
I truly believe this could solve so many world problems.
On a side note: I do realize that the sheer volume of the boys' clothing adds to my drama. Just for fun I counted Nolan's t-shirts (the ones that fit). There were 52 of them. 52!!! And that's not even counting the ones in the dirty clothes basket. I also counted Charlie's shorts... 37 pairs of shorts.
Do you realize the enormity of what this means??? I only have to wash their clothes once this entire summer!!!!! whohoo!
If 'anyone' would like to point out the fact that I could save myself some misery by cutting back on rummaging, I do believe that someone could be sleeping on the couch tonight. Yes, I think you know who you are.
And no, I still did not get that wall mudded. *sigh...
pathetic
I am so happy I finally found time to work in my weed patch garden!
But I am so embarrassed to admit that after only 2 hours of pulling weeds, I am exhausted...
And pathetic.
so.ridiculously.out.of.shape.can.not.think.straight.
I think I actually fell asleep this afternoon while reading the boys the longest and most boring book ever
So no witty words of wisdom until this feeble body regains some strength. (and maybe not even after that..or before that... what??? nevermind--I told you I'm tired...)
Allow me to make up for your sure-disappointment with these classic pictures from this week
That was our week so far in a nutshell.. Maybe theweed patch garden isn't the only reason I'm so tired... Hmmm... I'll think about it in the morning.
But I am so embarrassed to admit that after only 2 hours of pulling weeds, I am exhausted...
And pathetic.
so.ridiculously.out.of.shape.can.not.think.straight.
I think I actually fell asleep this afternoon while reading the boys the longest and most boring book ever
So no witty words of wisdom until this feeble body regains some strength. (and maybe not even after that..or before that... what??? nevermind--I told you I'm tired...)
Allow me to make up for your sure-disappointment with these classic pictures from this week
move over little dog..
"No, mom, we don't need to change out of our nice clothes. We're just going to walk by the mud."
Famous last words...
Safety first: those sharp little fingernails will get you if you're not careful.
Apparently he took the "safety first" a little more seriously... I guess we really should clip those nails...
no idea..... ha!
total look of confusion as to why she is surrounded by crazy people.
That was our week so far in a nutshell.. Maybe the
TGFP - Thank Goodness For Photoshop
After too many long, time-consuming, energy-sucking hours spent exchanging heads, switching smiles, deleting body parts, adjusting lighting, desaturating, changing leggings colors, removing tags, cropping, picking, contemplating, debating... the results are finally in.
I think I got a few good ones.
They might even be good enough to advance out of the "Decent" folder they're been subjected to the past week.
I'll think about it.
If you didn't happen to see the beautiful pre-edited photos of my children in all their glory, feel free to go here
You won't regret it. maybe..
I think I got a few good ones.
They might even be good enough to advance out of the "Decent" folder they're been subjected to the past week.
I'll think about it.
If you didn't happen to see the beautiful pre-edited photos of my children in all their glory, feel free to go here
You won't regret it. maybe..
To recap... here is what we started with.
awesome
the results
I actually meant for the kids to be semi-blurry in this one..
the lighting isn't great here, but at least they're looking
retro
brothers are the best
I think this was the only picture of all three I didn't switch any heads.
had to crop Charlie out of this adorable one of the other two.. sorry kid-that's life....
can't tell they're related, can you?
they really wanted to be watching the beaver in the crick beneath them, but I coaxed this out first
cheeseball
cheeseball x 100
how did he get so grown up???
you would never know she hated this, would you?
laughing at daddy dancing behind me :)
and my fave..
I'm hoping when these kids are all grown up,
I'm just senile enough to think I "remember" us all having a really good time taking these pictures..
For now? I guess they are pretty cute. :)
moral dilemna
Is it ever okay to use a contractor your boys are obsessed with watching work as a form of babysitter?
To just let them follow his shadow around all morning, asking a bagillion questions while I am conveniently MIA?
What if said contractor is your brother?
Because I could really use a nap right about now..
To just let them follow his shadow around all morning, asking a bagillion questions while I am conveniently MIA?
What if said contractor is your brother?
Because I could really use a nap right about now..
a trip to remember
Yesterday I did something incredibly amazing.
I drove to Omaha all by myself, found my location (only having to turn around twice and calling my sister-in-law in a panic once), and found my way home again.
Now tosome of you, most of you, probably all of you this isn't a big deal, but since it's something I've never done before I am pretty darn proud of myself. :)
Now, I had detailed Google directions plus instructions from the Children's Hospital and was so overly confident in my abilities, I had prematurely started to write this blog in my head. I was going to say that this was the very first time I had driven in Omaha. (Even though technically it was the second, but since I try to block out the memories of the actual first time when I took the wrong exit, got lost, was rudely honked at, and came very close to a nervous breakdown... I was going to declare it the first).
As I was writing this mental blog, I realized it was Exit time. My directions clearly stated "Take Exit 3" and then the next step was "Turn Right at the Stoplight." Well, I took Exit 3, but could someone please tell me why in the world Omaha has sub-exits upon exits?? You take the exit, and then all of a sudden you have to make a split second decision about which way to veer in the middle of the exit, while trying to read both signs, and potentially swerve across 4 lanes of traffic??
Google-you failed me. You said nothing about this. I had absolutely no warning.
As you might guess, in the .025 seconds I had to make a decision, I made the wrong one and ended up on what is called the "Expressway." As I had never before driven on an "Expressway," I didn't realize that the definition included 600 lanes of traffic traveling at warp speed upon towering heights....
Terrifying.
Since there were no stoplights (how could there be when you're driving 10,000 miles/hour??) I knew I was in the wrong place. Thankfully my lovely sister-in-law was home from work and was able to guide me safely and semi-calmly back to my destination.
I found the Hospital, but then proceeded to follow Google's directions instead of the Hospital's as to where to park (mistake #2), so ended up turning around a few times to get to the right parking garage. Yes, I am that U-turn-in-the-middle-of-the-road car you savvy-driving Omaha citizens love to loathe.
Next, I went to the wrong floor and checked in at the wrong place.. details....
The actual appointment was rather uneventful. The ENT specialist Ella saw confirmed what we already suspected. She has fluid in her ears and we will try to put tubes in, but it may be difficult with her tiny ear canals. No big surprises there (but that's a good thing.)
After the appointment was over, my sister-in-law picked me up and we went out for a lovely lunch at Jones Bros. Cupcakes. One word: YUM.
And the most wonderful thing happened there. Even more wonderful than my Sweet & Salty Chocolate Cupcake... I know, right?? Mmmmmmm.....
There were some younger-ish middle-age ladies a few tables over that I noticed looking over at our table. It was fairly obvious and went on for some time. I, in all my glorious insecurities, wondered what they were thinking?? Did they notice Ella's eyes didn't quite open all the way? That her eyebrows are more arched than most other babies? Did they somehow know she is 15 months old, but looks and acts more like a 9 month old? Did they think she looked funny? Were they wondering what was "wrong?"
They soon got up to refill their waters and simultaneously Ella squirmed on my lap, kicked her little size-1 foot out, and sent our splendor-filled cupcakes flying in slow-motion through the air, landing with a loud clattering of the plate. On the floor.
Which was devastating, of course, but conveniently opened up a conversation with these gawking ladies. One of them said, "Well, I'll bet they'll just give you a new one because she's so cute!" I smiled and of course agreed, but it didn't stop there. The ladies suddenly surrounded us and were all oodling over Ella. They were saying how she was the cutest thing they're ever seen, how she's just a doll baby, they loved her hair, and I must just hear this all the time... They were just in awe. At one point I wondered if they were ever going to leave!
It's a truly wonderful feeling when someone tells you your children are cute. But it is something else entirely when your baby, who you have fought so hard to even keep in this world, and who you worry about how she will be accepted by society every single day, is something that is adored, loved by complete strangers... amazing. (And we did get free replacement cupcakes.) :)
After that, my sister-in-law and I decided to drive out to World Market to spend ridiculous amounts of imaginary money. And feed Ella her bottle, of course. This is where the 2nd drama of the day began. After realizing World Market had closed (sad!) she backed her brand-new Rainier into a pole at Children's. And mere minutes later, immediately upon arrival at the strip mall, I accidentally creeped a little too far ahead in my parking spot and nudged into her hitch.... This vehicle is so new it doesn't even have license plates on yet! I should have known to call it quits right then.
Instead, I made possibly one of the worst decisions of my life. Ella had fallen asleep in the car, and since she hadn't eaten a bottle yet that day, I thought it was important to try and sneak her out of her car seat, feed her a bottle while she was half-asleep, then quietly slip her back in and continue blissfully on our way home.
Well, we decided to sit at Pier 1 to spend the imaginary money we had left over from not being able to go to World Market, and also because they would have comfy, fabulous-looking couches to sit on..
Everything was going as planned. Ella was still asleep so I carefully lifted her out of her car seat and tried to sneak the bottle in. Well, she woke up. And flat-out refused to eat.
What a waste of a bottle and a nap. I decided we'd just head home and hope she would play quietly for awhile, then fall back asleep. HA!
Normally Ella really likes riding in the car... Well, not this time. She was fussing and screaming and since we all know she absolutely cannot in any circumstances be allowed to cry, I was driving with one hand, frantically searching for the pacifier with the other hand, and trying to assume a contortionist position to try to hold the bottle in her mouth behind me with another hand (Don't think too hard about that).. Be thankful I wasn't texting.
But I could.not.find.the.pacifier. I was mortified. My mind raced. Where could it be??
The unthinkable must have happened.
We left it at Pier 1.
And since no one in their right mind brings small children to Pier 1, I just knew our dear paci, who is like a beloved family member to us, was destined to be thrown into the abyss of all things that do not belong in a store like that. I could envision it joining with the ranks of large bouncy balls, river stones, sledgehammers, and red-eyed stampeding bulls.
I didn't know what to do.
I saw a sign. It said Sioux City: 73 miles.
I wept.
It had to be a full 2 hours of misery later that I saw another sign. Sioux City: 65 miles.
This was the trip that never ends.
As I rolled into Fremont, I smelled the familiar aroma of what I thought was a slaughterhouse.. or a sale barn.. or a hog confinement.
And then I realized that the odor was not coming from cattle. But instead was wafting up from the precious child I carried in my backseat.
Thank goodness for Sapp Bros. They sell everything! Do you think they might have a pacifier??
I went to remove said odorific child from her car seat and behold! There was the pacifier. ALLELULIA!!
We went in to get all cleaned up and I noticed their bathrooms were newly remodeled and beautiful. There was new tile, bright lighting, and individual sinks in every single stall.
And there was no changing table.
I did find out after the fact that there is a separate "family" bathroom, equipped with a shower for the truckers that the changing table is discretely hidden in. Do truckers often haul babies??? Just wondering..
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. Ella slept, I drank Diet Coke. And we mercifully made it home.
I have never been so relieved to hear the crunch of gravel beneath my tires in all my life.
Unfortunately I will have to venture back into the big city in a few weeks for our tubes appointment.
Wanted: Driver. Able to get one anxious adult and one ridiculously cute, small child safely to Omaha and back. Must be able to quickly decipher misleading exit signs, make split second decisions (preferably the right ones), steer clear of ramming into family member's brand-new vehicles, and deliver us to the hospital without looking like a frazzled, shaky, pit-stained mess. (Not at all saying that's what I looked like...) :)
Any takers???
I drove to Omaha all by myself, found my location (only having to turn around twice and calling my sister-in-law in a panic once), and found my way home again.
Now to
Now, I had detailed Google directions plus instructions from the Children's Hospital and was so overly confident in my abilities, I had prematurely started to write this blog in my head. I was going to say that this was the very first time I had driven in Omaha. (Even though technically it was the second, but since I try to block out the memories of the actual first time when I took the wrong exit, got lost, was rudely honked at, and came very close to a nervous breakdown... I was going to declare it the first).
As I was writing this mental blog, I realized it was Exit time. My directions clearly stated "Take Exit 3" and then the next step was "Turn Right at the Stoplight." Well, I took Exit 3, but could someone please tell me why in the world Omaha has sub-exits upon exits?? You take the exit, and then all of a sudden you have to make a split second decision about which way to veer in the middle of the exit, while trying to read both signs, and potentially swerve across 4 lanes of traffic??
Google-you failed me. You said nothing about this. I had absolutely no warning.
As you might guess, in the .025 seconds I had to make a decision, I made the wrong one and ended up on what is called the "Expressway." As I had never before driven on an "Expressway," I didn't realize that the definition included 600 lanes of traffic traveling at warp speed upon towering heights....
Terrifying.
Since there were no stoplights (how could there be when you're driving 10,000 miles/hour??) I knew I was in the wrong place. Thankfully my lovely sister-in-law was home from work and was able to guide me safely and semi-calmly back to my destination.
I found the Hospital, but then proceeded to follow Google's directions instead of the Hospital's as to where to park (mistake #2), so ended up turning around a few times to get to the right parking garage. Yes, I am that U-turn-in-the-middle-of-the-road car you savvy-driving Omaha citizens love to loathe.
Next, I went to the wrong floor and checked in at the wrong place.. details....
The actual appointment was rather uneventful. The ENT specialist Ella saw confirmed what we already suspected. She has fluid in her ears and we will try to put tubes in, but it may be difficult with her tiny ear canals. No big surprises there (but that's a good thing.)
After the appointment was over, my sister-in-law picked me up and we went out for a lovely lunch at Jones Bros. Cupcakes. One word: YUM.
And the most wonderful thing happened there. Even more wonderful than my Sweet & Salty Chocolate Cupcake... I know, right?? Mmmmmmm.....
There were some younger-ish middle-age ladies a few tables over that I noticed looking over at our table. It was fairly obvious and went on for some time. I, in all my glorious insecurities, wondered what they were thinking?? Did they notice Ella's eyes didn't quite open all the way? That her eyebrows are more arched than most other babies? Did they somehow know she is 15 months old, but looks and acts more like a 9 month old? Did they think she looked funny? Were they wondering what was "wrong?"
They soon got up to refill their waters and simultaneously Ella squirmed on my lap, kicked her little size-1 foot out, and sent our splendor-filled cupcakes flying in slow-motion through the air, landing with a loud clattering of the plate. On the floor.
Which was devastating, of course, but conveniently opened up a conversation with these gawking ladies. One of them said, "Well, I'll bet they'll just give you a new one because she's so cute!" I smiled and of course agreed, but it didn't stop there. The ladies suddenly surrounded us and were all oodling over Ella. They were saying how she was the cutest thing they're ever seen, how she's just a doll baby, they loved her hair, and I must just hear this all the time... They were just in awe. At one point I wondered if they were ever going to leave!
It's a truly wonderful feeling when someone tells you your children are cute. But it is something else entirely when your baby, who you have fought so hard to even keep in this world, and who you worry about how she will be accepted by society every single day, is something that is adored, loved by complete strangers... amazing. (And we did get free replacement cupcakes.) :)
After that, my sister-in-law and I decided to drive out to World Market to spend ridiculous amounts of imaginary money. And feed Ella her bottle, of course. This is where the 2nd drama of the day began. After realizing World Market had closed (sad!) she backed her brand-new Rainier into a pole at Children's. And mere minutes later, immediately upon arrival at the strip mall, I accidentally creeped a little too far ahead in my parking spot and nudged into her hitch.... This vehicle is so new it doesn't even have license plates on yet! I should have known to call it quits right then.
Instead, I made possibly one of the worst decisions of my life. Ella had fallen asleep in the car, and since she hadn't eaten a bottle yet that day, I thought it was important to try and sneak her out of her car seat, feed her a bottle while she was half-asleep, then quietly slip her back in and continue blissfully on our way home.
Well, we decided to sit at Pier 1 to spend the imaginary money we had left over from not being able to go to World Market, and also because they would have comfy, fabulous-looking couches to sit on..
Everything was going as planned. Ella was still asleep so I carefully lifted her out of her car seat and tried to sneak the bottle in. Well, she woke up. And flat-out refused to eat.
What a waste of a bottle and a nap. I decided we'd just head home and hope she would play quietly for awhile, then fall back asleep. HA!
Normally Ella really likes riding in the car... Well, not this time. She was fussing and screaming and since we all know she absolutely cannot in any circumstances be allowed to cry, I was driving with one hand, frantically searching for the pacifier with the other hand, and trying to assume a contortionist position to try to hold the bottle in her mouth behind me with another hand (Don't think too hard about that).. Be thankful I wasn't texting.
But I could.not.find.the.pacifier. I was mortified. My mind raced. Where could it be??
The unthinkable must have happened.
We left it at Pier 1.
And since no one in their right mind brings small children to Pier 1, I just knew our dear paci, who is like a beloved family member to us, was destined to be thrown into the abyss of all things that do not belong in a store like that. I could envision it joining with the ranks of large bouncy balls, river stones, sledgehammers, and red-eyed stampeding bulls.
I didn't know what to do.
I saw a sign. It said Sioux City: 73 miles.
I wept.
It had to be a full 2 hours of misery later that I saw another sign. Sioux City: 65 miles.
This was the trip that never ends.
As I rolled into Fremont, I smelled the familiar aroma of what I thought was a slaughterhouse.. or a sale barn.. or a hog confinement.
And then I realized that the odor was not coming from cattle. But instead was wafting up from the precious child I carried in my backseat.
Thank goodness for Sapp Bros. They sell everything! Do you think they might have a pacifier??
I went to remove said odorific child from her car seat and behold! There was the pacifier. ALLELULIA!!
We went in to get all cleaned up and I noticed their bathrooms were newly remodeled and beautiful. There was new tile, bright lighting, and individual sinks in every single stall.
And there was no changing table.
I did find out after the fact that there is a separate "family" bathroom, equipped with a shower for the truckers that the changing table is discretely hidden in. Do truckers often haul babies??? Just wondering..
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. Ella slept, I drank Diet Coke. And we mercifully made it home.
I have never been so relieved to hear the crunch of gravel beneath my tires in all my life.
Unfortunately I will have to venture back into the big city in a few weeks for our tubes appointment.
Wanted: Driver. Able to get one anxious adult and one ridiculously cute, small child safely to Omaha and back. Must be able to quickly decipher misleading exit signs, make split second decisions (preferably the right ones), steer clear of ramming into family member's brand-new vehicles, and deliver us to the hospital without looking like a frazzled, shaky, pit-stained mess. (Not at all saying that's what I looked like...) :)
Any takers???
'School's Out For The Summer!!"
Dear Nolan,
Today I am going to get a little sentimental-sappy-mommy-cliche on you. I hope you'll forgive me.. but how is it possible you are already done with Kindergarten??
It really does seem like just yesterday I watched you, my sweet baby boy, walk down our lane to get on the bus for your very first day.
I watched with tears in my eyes and wondered if the day would ever come that I could watch you walk away and not feel as if my heart was ripping out of my chest.
I will admit that throughout the year, our mornings have slightly evolved to include "Come on... It's time to get up... NOW" And often include me shouting out the door "Hurry up!!! You're going to miss the bus!!!" as I wrestle a new diaper on a squirmy Ella while trying to distract a sullen, playmate-less Charlie.
But I do still feel a little tug every time I watch you walk away. Every time you climb on that big yellow school bus that I still have a hard time believing you're old enough to ride.. I don't think that 'tug' will ever go away.
I remember the night before Kindergarten started last fall you looked at me with your big hazel eyes and whispered "But Mom... I don't know how to read." And that night you prayed that you wouldn't have to go to school the next day.
My heart broke for your fears.
But you faced them. And you conquered them. One by one.
Tonight you cried because you didn't want school to be over... :)
I am so proud of everything you've done this year. I am so proud of your good report card, that you went from not even knowing all your letters at the beginning of the year, to now reading books on your own. I am so proud that you seem to be a natural math whiz. That you work hard in everything you do.
But I think I am the most proud of the new friendships you've made. Of the kids you've seen left out on the playground and tried to include. I am so proud of your character and your "Citizen Award" you received today.
And I am soooo excited that... "School's Out For The Summer!"
I am so excited for all the fun times we'll have and the memories we'll make. I know some days will be filled with splashes in the pool, giggles, and popsicles. And I know some days will be filled with whining, fighting, and crying.
But know that every single day I love you. And every single day I'm proud of you.
Love, Mom
I wonder what 1st grade will bring...
M&M Monster
The other day Ella wasn't eating much for lunch, so I took it upon myself to go that extra mothering mile to get some extra calories in her by cracking open a little bag on mini M&M's.. She nibbled on a few and after awhile turned away, so I stuffed the bag on the shelf under the coffee table for future bribing use.
And I kindof forgot about it.
This afternoon Ella was playing on the floor, happy as a pig-talked lark, and I waswasting time on Facebook doing very important work on the computer when I heard a familiar clinking noise.
And I kindof forgot about it.
This afternoon Ella was playing on the floor, happy as a pig-talked lark, and I was
I looked down to see this.
"Caught ya red-handed"
And then this.
"Hey! Innocent until proven guilty.."
And then this.
"Quite condemning evidence I'd say.."
And finally this.
"Good thing I'm cute!"
She was so proud of herself!
I think I've created a monster. :)
picture this
So I've been meaning to take "nice" pictures of my kids for a long loooong time... so long, in fact, that I am very much ashamed to admit that I don't have ANY "nice" pictures of all 3 kids, or even Ella at all!
It seemed like I was always waiting for something--waiting for Ella to sit up on her own, waiting for bad haircuts to grow out, waiting for a nice day, waiting for the feeding tube to come out.... and then it seemed like whenever I would try to plan it, something would randomly occur.. thunderstorms, multiple black eyes, swollen-shut eyes from bug bites, salmonella poisoning... it just wasn't in the cards for us..
Until this weekend.
I was SO excited!! The weather was perfect, all eyes were clear, noses were tube-free, AND they all had naps. At the SAME time!! Clearly this was some sort of miraculous sign from above... YES! This was the weekend...
So I spent too many hours carefully picking out their cute little matching outfits, dreaming up photo locations, clearing my memory card, charging my camera battery... And Saturday night we finally set out to take the highly anticipated pictures I'd been dreaming of for months.
Everything really came together.
It seemed like I was always waiting for something--waiting for Ella to sit up on her own, waiting for bad haircuts to grow out, waiting for a nice day, waiting for the feeding tube to come out.... and then it seemed like whenever I would try to plan it, something would randomly occur.. thunderstorms, multiple black eyes, swollen-shut eyes from bug bites, salmonella poisoning... it just wasn't in the cards for us..
Until this weekend.
I was SO excited!! The weather was perfect, all eyes were clear, noses were tube-free, AND they all had naps. At the SAME time!! Clearly this was some sort of miraculous sign from above... YES! This was the weekend...
So I spent too many hours carefully picking out their cute little matching outfits, dreaming up photo locations, clearing my memory card, charging my camera battery... And Saturday night we finally set out to take the highly anticipated pictures I'd been dreaming of for months.
Everything really came together.
The kids were clearly thrilled to be there.
The lighting was perfect.
They did a exceptional job of looking at the camera,
and charmed me with their bright eyes.
Their outfits really looked nice,
and my camera focused amazingly well.
..........
The kids did an admirable job of listening..
They payed attention,
showcased their adorable faces,
and brilliant smiles.
Ella was in a fabulous mood.
the entire time...
and sat up all by herself, with no help what-so-ever from the large hand and dark blob oddly situated behind her.
Did I mention everyone was in a great mood?
Anyways, I was so happy to get those "nice" pictures of all 3 kids my heart has been so desperately longing for.
When I got home I sorted the pictures into 2 folders.
They were labeled: 'Decent' and 'So Awful They're Funny.'
I'll let you guess which folder has waaaaaay more...
How did people do this before Photoshop??
I am hoping to scrap together bits and pieces from all 331 photos I took,
in an attempt to get one decent one...
I'll let you know how it goes.
Thankful for the Haters
Yesterday I shared a link on my Facebook page from my one of my favorite blogger friends, Deanna. She writes an amazing blog over at Everything and Nothing From Essex that I am creepily obsessed with really like reading when I have time. I hesitate to share this with you because some of you seem to be under the misguided impression that I am a talented writer.. yet I know that once you read her blog, you will see... "It's like a postcard from Paris, when you've seen the real thing..." Thank you 'The Band Perry'
BUT I decided this topic was much more important than the potential scarring of my fragile ego, so here goes...
Her blog was titled "Society Blind To Beauty?"
If you haven't read it yet, you need to go read it. Like now. But please come back here again to my way-under-her-par writing-style-measly-blog to at least finish reading this post........ pretty please?
Anyways, for all you rebels who chose not to heed my advice to actually go visit her blog, or those of you with a short memory span.. Her blog was about the "Mother's Inspiring Video About Her Blind Baby Boy." I saw that video posted all over Facebook the other day, but hadn't taken the time to watch it. Until yesterday.
What a beautiful story of love and life and faith... Like Deanna, I was "inspired, amazed and thankful." I, too, watched with tears streaming down my cheeks, knowing all too well what emotional, heart-wrenching pain this mother has gone through in order to arrive at this point of humble and admirable strength.
The thought that someone could watch this video and NOT feel those things must affirm my sheltered Nebraska farm girl naivety...
There were, of course, many wonderful, encouraging comments for this lovely mother, but there were also many hateful comments. And the hateful comments that people had posted about this video were horrendous.
The fact that someone could actually have the brazenness to post on this extraordinary mother's video that her baby should have been aborted, that it should be killed, that he will be judged as an eyeless freak his whole life, and what a burden he will be to society... is so so awful beyond words.
I honestly don't know if anyone who reads this blog has any of these same hateful thoughts (I sure hope not..) But if there is, I would say to you who think people with disabilities are unsuitable for living, a burden to society and should not be given the chance at life:
1. I would say I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for your small mindset, for your small heart, for your small amount of compassion. I'm sorry that you've never had the wonderful experience of being around a special needs child, or adult for that matter. I'm sorry that you have never experienced the unconditional love, the pure joy, the true meaning of life. I'm sorry that you do have all the correct genetic information that allows you to "fit in" with society that so many others don't have, yet you are obviously the one who is truly missing out on what this life has to offer.
2. I want to thank you. Thank you for inspiring me to love my daughter on an entirely new level.. Not in spite of how she was made, but because of how she was so uniquely, beautifully and wonderfully made. Thank you for encouraging me to be the absolute strongest advocate for her in this corrupt world. I am so saddened for the stereotypes, the judgement, the hate she may face in her life from people like you, but I am so thankful and humbled for the opportunities that she alone will have, to change opinions and attitudes.
3. Thank you also for reminding me how important the many wonderful people we have in our lives are. I am so grateful for the loving friends and family that support us emotionally and love and care for our sweet Ella girl, who have been with us through our lowest lows and our highest highs. Thank you for reminding me what an amazing and welcoming community we live in.
Honestly, there still are many times I struggle with Ella's diagnosis, with her being "developmentally delayed." There are times I wish she would have been born "normal". Times I wish she were any other 16 month old girl, walking, talking, only visited by one doctor.. Times I wish the letters CdLS didn't mean anything more to me than some randomly placed letters of the alphabet.
There have been times I wondered what the purpose of her life would be.. if she could not go to college? get married? own a house? I've cried buckets over the things I may never get to do with her-help her get ready for her first date, shop for a wedding dress, share family recipes over a cup of coffee..
I am ashamed to admit that I too, have at times succumbed to society's shallow definition of a successful life, thinking that the only life worth living is the one where you are driving your hybrid SUV, carrying your genetically flawless 2.5 children to your house in the suburbs. Having a child with special needs does not automatically make you immune to these feelings. Instead, it makes you so much more aware that you do indeed have them. It forces you to confront them, to look at prejudices you have that you never wanted to see about yourself in the first place, to confront emotions that would be much easier keeping tucked away, just beneath the surface.
I have come a long way in subjectively challenging society's view of life. And if my beautiful daughter can impact just one person's negative way of thinking, if her life can challenge society and alter opinions on what is truly beautiful and worthwhile, then her life will have served a purpose far loftier than mine ever has, genetic "defects" and all.
Is having a special needs child hard? Yes.
Do I wish she hadn't been born into our family? No.
While sometimes I do find myself yearning for the "easy" days of parenting, the days of a typically developing 16 month old baby, the days I didn't know the difference between an NG and an NJ tube, the days where medication was reserved for minor colds... I am honored God chose me to bring to life and nurture this precious gift. What if she would have been put in a family who would have terminated the pregnancy at the first signs of "abnormalities" like so many do?
This world would surely be a little less bright.
I believe our special children serve a special purpose. Thank you, hateful anonymous commenters, who have inspired me to grow in my faith, and for strengthening my belief that our ultimate goal in life is NOT to merely "fit in".
On a side note, today is National Cornelia deLange Syndrome (CdLS) Awareness Day, the syndrome my sweet Ella has. You can show support by educating yourself and others about this little known genetic disorder. Check out cdlsusa.org to see how you can help.
While I admit, these 4 little letters were something I've often wished I could go back to not knowing anything about, I am amazed at how much I have learned about life these past few months. Not about 'life' to fit in with society, not about 'life' and ways to be successful, not about 'life' to aspire to be the most genetically perfect specimen. But 'life' in living to the fullest, 'life' in connecting with many from all walks of life, 'life' in trying to leave this world a little more accepting place than it was before.
Thank you.
BUT I decided this topic was much more important than the potential scarring of my fragile ego, so here goes...
Her blog was titled "Society Blind To Beauty?"
If you haven't read it yet, you need to go read it. Like now. But please come back here again to my way-under-her-par writing-style-measly-blog to at least finish reading this post........ pretty please?
Anyways, for all you rebels who chose not to heed my advice to actually go visit her blog, or those of you with a short memory span.. Her blog was about the "Mother's Inspiring Video About Her Blind Baby Boy." I saw that video posted all over Facebook the other day, but hadn't taken the time to watch it. Until yesterday.
What a beautiful story of love and life and faith... Like Deanna, I was "inspired, amazed and thankful." I, too, watched with tears streaming down my cheeks, knowing all too well what emotional, heart-wrenching pain this mother has gone through in order to arrive at this point of humble and admirable strength.
The thought that someone could watch this video and NOT feel those things must affirm my sheltered Nebraska farm girl naivety...
There were, of course, many wonderful, encouraging comments for this lovely mother, but there were also many hateful comments. And the hateful comments that people had posted about this video were horrendous.
The fact that someone could actually have the brazenness to post on this extraordinary mother's video that her baby should have been aborted, that it should be killed, that he will be judged as an eyeless freak his whole life, and what a burden he will be to society... is so so awful beyond words.
I honestly don't know if anyone who reads this blog has any of these same hateful thoughts (I sure hope not..) But if there is, I would say to you who think people with disabilities are unsuitable for living, a burden to society and should not be given the chance at life:
1. I would say I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for your small mindset, for your small heart, for your small amount of compassion. I'm sorry that you've never had the wonderful experience of being around a special needs child, or adult for that matter. I'm sorry that you have never experienced the unconditional love, the pure joy, the true meaning of life. I'm sorry that you do have all the correct genetic information that allows you to "fit in" with society that so many others don't have, yet you are obviously the one who is truly missing out on what this life has to offer.
2. I want to thank you. Thank you for inspiring me to love my daughter on an entirely new level.. Not in spite of how she was made, but because of how she was so uniquely, beautifully and wonderfully made. Thank you for encouraging me to be the absolute strongest advocate for her in this corrupt world. I am so saddened for the stereotypes, the judgement, the hate she may face in her life from people like you, but I am so thankful and humbled for the opportunities that she alone will have, to change opinions and attitudes.
3. Thank you also for reminding me how important the many wonderful people we have in our lives are. I am so grateful for the loving friends and family that support us emotionally and love and care for our sweet Ella girl, who have been with us through our lowest lows and our highest highs. Thank you for reminding me what an amazing and welcoming community we live in.
Honestly, there still are many times I struggle with Ella's diagnosis, with her being "developmentally delayed." There are times I wish she would have been born "normal". Times I wish she were any other 16 month old girl, walking, talking, only visited by one doctor.. Times I wish the letters CdLS didn't mean anything more to me than some randomly placed letters of the alphabet.
There have been times I wondered what the purpose of her life would be.. if she could not go to college? get married? own a house? I've cried buckets over the things I may never get to do with her-help her get ready for her first date, shop for a wedding dress, share family recipes over a cup of coffee..
I am ashamed to admit that I too, have at times succumbed to society's shallow definition of a successful life, thinking that the only life worth living is the one where you are driving your hybrid SUV, carrying your genetically flawless 2.5 children to your house in the suburbs. Having a child with special needs does not automatically make you immune to these feelings. Instead, it makes you so much more aware that you do indeed have them. It forces you to confront them, to look at prejudices you have that you never wanted to see about yourself in the first place, to confront emotions that would be much easier keeping tucked away, just beneath the surface.
I have come a long way in subjectively challenging society's view of life. And if my beautiful daughter can impact just one person's negative way of thinking, if her life can challenge society and alter opinions on what is truly beautiful and worthwhile, then her life will have served a purpose far loftier than mine ever has, genetic "defects" and all.
Is having a special needs child hard? Yes.
Do I wish she hadn't been born into our family? No.
While sometimes I do find myself yearning for the "easy" days of parenting, the days of a typically developing 16 month old baby, the days I didn't know the difference between an NG and an NJ tube, the days where medication was reserved for minor colds... I am honored God chose me to bring to life and nurture this precious gift. What if she would have been put in a family who would have terminated the pregnancy at the first signs of "abnormalities" like so many do?
This world would surely be a little less bright.
I believe our special children serve a special purpose. Thank you, hateful anonymous commenters, who have inspired me to grow in my faith, and for strengthening my belief that our ultimate goal in life is NOT to merely "fit in".
On a side note, today is National Cornelia deLange Syndrome (CdLS) Awareness Day, the syndrome my sweet Ella has. You can show support by educating yourself and others about this little known genetic disorder. Check out cdlsusa.org to see how you can help.
While I admit, these 4 little letters were something I've often wished I could go back to not knowing anything about, I am amazed at how much I have learned about life these past few months. Not about 'life' to fit in with society, not about 'life' and ways to be successful, not about 'life' to aspire to be the most genetically perfect specimen. But 'life' in living to the fullest, 'life' in connecting with many from all walks of life, 'life' in trying to leave this world a little more accepting place than it was before.
Thank you.
Happy/Sad Ramblings
Happy:
Nolan gets to make up his missed soccer game tomorrow.
Sad:
It's at 8am on a Saturday.
Happy:
I washed all the boys bedding to help ease potential allergies.
Sad:
I hung it all out on the clothesline to dry without thinking...
Happy:
Ella is standing next to furniture
Sad:
We are lightyears away from her standing unassisted or even walking.
Happy:
The American Idol Finale is on in 2 weeks (yes-guilty pleasure...)
Sad:
I won't get Wednesday nights off from helping get the boys to bed anymore
Happy:
There was a really great sale on Gevalia coffee
Sad:
I forgot my coupon.
Happy:
I've made lots of CdLS-mom friends.
Sad:
Most live halfway across the country.
Happy:
School will be out next week!
Sad:
The fighting and whining will substantially escalate next week.
Happy:
I started a fitness class.
Sad:
What used to be afreakishly fast 100 yard sprint is now a sluggish jog recited to "Pace yourself..."
Happy:
Both kids at home are sleeping
Sad:
1. I'm not.
and
2. It's 10:30 am and it was a struggle to even make it this far...
Nolan gets to make up his missed soccer game tomorrow.
Sad:
It's at 8am on a Saturday.
Happy:
I washed all the boys bedding to help ease potential allergies.
Sad:
I hung it all out on the clothesline to dry without thinking...
Happy:
Ella is standing next to furniture
Sad:
We are lightyears away from her standing unassisted or even walking.
Happy:
The American Idol Finale is on in 2 weeks (yes-guilty pleasure...)
Sad:
I won't get Wednesday nights off from helping get the boys to bed anymore
Happy:
There was a really great sale on Gevalia coffee
Sad:
I forgot my coupon.
Happy:
I've made lots of CdLS-mom friends.
Sad:
Most live halfway across the country.
Happy:
School will be out next week!
Sad:
The fighting and whining will substantially escalate next week.
Happy:
I started a fitness class.
Sad:
What used to be a
Happy:
Both kids at home are sleeping
Sad:
1. I'm not.
and
2. It's 10:30 am and it was a struggle to even make it this far...
So what has Ella been up to these past couple days?
Ohhhh... nothing much.
You know..
providing her signature slobber-fest to every.single. pair of sunglasses
she can swipe off innocent bystanders' startled heads.
putting some serious moves on that oh-so-cute baby in the mirror
watching her ridiculously crazy brothers run up the walls...
and ceilings...
learning to play--
PEEK-A-BOO!
aaaaaaannnnnndddddddd........
pulling to stand and standing !!!
We had a pretty severe initial bad reaction to this toy... sheer TERROR.
BUT.... given a few days weeks of a painfully slow reintroduction process,
all hard feelings have been set aside, grudges have (seemingly) been resolved,
and I see a beautiful friendship blooming before my eyes.
Good thing, because although her legs are very strong,
her hips seem to made out of a substance strikingly similar to jell-o.
*sigh... I forsee this toy being a part of our decor for a looooong time..
side note: I'm pretty sure I might have been risking a concussion
as I walked away to take this picture (remember... jell-o hips?),
but the mamarazzi in me decided the benefits outweighed the risks...
Aren't you glad? SO cute!
But SO much work!
Needless to say, naptime came a little early today.
Needless to say, naptime came a little early today.
to our nurses
Last night I realized that it was National Nurse's Day and I really wanted to write a nice, eloquent post on our wonderful PICU nurses.. but it was late at night and after a day trip to Omaha with the kiddos, my cognitive ability was not quite up to the task...
So instead I wrote a message on Facebook to all the nurses I'm friends with, thanking them. But really... What do you even say to someone who served such an important role in your life? Seriously.. "Happy Nurse's Day! Thanks for saving my daughter's life" over a Facebook message just doesn't do it justice.
And yes- I actually did write that to one of our nurses...
I felt bad and couldn't sleep, thinking of all the wonderful things I would say in this post. And it sounded REALLY good.
Today I realized that it is National Nurse's Week.. all week! So I can still do a post. Unfortunately, all the eloquent and amazing things I thought of last night before falling asleep have escaped me, so this is all I've got..
Most people reading this know we spent more than our fair share of time in the hospital last year. Four days when Ella was born via emergency c-section, 2 1/2 weeks shortly after with RSV, and 5 weeks in the PICU with salmonella poisoning...
It was a rough year for us. (Understatement)
We spent many long days in the hospital (57 to be exact). Days that were boring-nothing to do but stare at your sick, precious little baby and try not to go insane, listening to those annoying, constantly-beeping monitors, dreaming of how immensely gratifying it would be to smash one to itty bitty pieces on the floor... Days that were exciting-when Ella made a small gain in progress (extubation celebration anyone?). We also had many dark days-days we didn't even know if our daughter was going to live to see the next.
Some days were filled with frustration, anger, boredom, fear, and loneliness.
Some days were filled with excitement, joy, pride, happiness.
But all of our days were filled with the most amazing people-our nurses. They were there for us 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with whatever we needed. Whether it was a high dose of life saving medicine administered at just the right time for Ella or a Diet Coke for me-they did it and somehow acted like you were doing them a favor by asking.
Since the salmonella poisoning hospital stay was the most dramatic, we'll focus on that on..
Here's some history..
Ella had spent 1 week in the hospital with salmonella poisoning (We still have NO idea where she got that from). She was still not looking great, but drinking from her bottle decently so they decided we were good enough to go home.
Less than 24 hours later I was rushing her into my doctor's office because she looked, well.. awful. Her eyes were sunken, her face was ashen, she was super lethargic.. My doctor came in, took one look at her and said "Why did they let you go home???"
They did blood work and her levels were off the charts horrendous. I took Charlie out front to meet my parents, who thankfully happened to be in town at the time, while our Dr. took Ella back to the hospital part of the building. I found out later that no one had ever seen her running down the halls so fast, carrying an infant carseat with the most precious cargo.
When I finally came back, I found out that she was severely dehydrated and they needed to get an IV in NOW. Since her veins are smaller than average and she was so dehydrated, a typical IV, like one in her hand, was out of the question. One of the head guys from the hospital (not sure what his Title is, but he was important) decided to do an Intraosseous Infusion (IO). Basically, he tried to stick a metal straw into her leg bone to get fluids immediately in through the marrow. I watched him do it. It didn't work.
Enter our amazing flight nurse, Maggie.
The life flight helicopter had finally arrived, carrying our super heroes dressed in scrubs. (ok-actually she had a flight jump suit thing on)
Maggie rushed in, knew she had to get the IV in her leg asap, used some kind of drill, (I left the room for that one) and immediately got the IV in her leg bone.
I didn't understand it at the time, but we were definitely in a life and death situation. I am absolutely positive that if she wouldn't have gotten that IO in her leg, Ella wouldn't have made it to Sioux Falls and wouldn't be here today. She saved my daughter's life that day.
And the crazy thing? She was calm, cool, and collected the entire time, making me wonder what I was even worried about in the first place..
We flew back to Sioux Falls and upon arrival was greeted by doctors and nurses I was already familiar with, thanks to our time spent there when Ella had RSV. What a blessing in disguise! I couldn't have been in a better place.
When we got to Ella's room, it seemed like there were nurses everywhere. They were hooking up IV's, administering different medications and fluids, basically saving my daughter's life all over again.
I like to think that I am a fairly intelligent person, but listening to their medical jargon with the doctors made me feel like I was in a foreign country. It was mind blowing to me to watch them switching out IVs, hooking up pumps all the while listening to everything the doctor was telling them, and remembering exactly what they were told-exactly how many cc's or mL of different drugs they were to give and at what times..
I used to waitress and if someone told me they wanted a Diet Coke and I didn't write it down, I would honestly walk back to the bar and ask for a 7-Up.
To see them in action was impressive, to say the least.
But their skills did not end there.
It would be so easy for them to fulfill their job duties and check out emotionally.. To do the things required of them, administering meds, switching tubes, watching the monitor outside our room all.day.long., focusing only on the medical side of the situation.
But they didn't.
It would be easy to get burnt out after working long 12 hour shifts, many caring for families of their own before and after getting home.
But they didn't.
These nurses went way above and beyond the call of duty.
Nurses who weren't assigned to us came in to check on "Ella Bella".
They called in to work on their days off just to see how we were doing, telling the nurses who were there to give me a hug from them.
They found hair bows to put in Ella's hair and painted her toes while we were sleeping.
They were compassionate, coming to comfort me when we were delivered bad news.
They were honest, making sure we knew exactly what was going on (translating that foreign language for us..)
They were caring, asking about my family and getting to know them when they visited.
They were our advocates, challenging the doctors when they didn't agree with something they were doing and making sure we were able to talk to someone about our concerns.
They were loving. If I would HAVE to leave Ella's room to do something crazy, like *gasp* shower, or get something to eat, I would always tell our nurse, just so she could be sure to keep an even closer eye or ear out for Ella, knowing that I wouldn't be there to pick her up if she heard her crying. I would usually only be gone a few minutes, but almost every time I would come back in to see at least 3 nurses gathered around her crib either watching her sleep, or saying she "woke up" and they HAD to pick her up and hold her.
I cannot say it enough that I am SO thankful for our nurses.
They are seriously amazing.
To Maggie, Anna, Abby, Meggan, Amber, Sarah, Tammy, Darla, Marti, and everyone else whose names I can't remember but surely hold a dear place in my heart:
Thank you for making me and my family feel as much "at home" as we could.
Thank you for giving our Ella Bella the very best care.
Thank you for celebrating the 'small' joys with us.
Thank you for going above and beyond.
Thank you for absolutely everything you do each and every single day.
You are ridiculously appreciated in this house and I miss you all (But I really don't want to see you again-at least in those circumstances..) :)
So instead I wrote a message on Facebook to all the nurses I'm friends with, thanking them. But really... What do you even say to someone who served such an important role in your life? Seriously.. "Happy Nurse's Day! Thanks for saving my daughter's life" over a Facebook message just doesn't do it justice.
And yes- I actually did write that to one of our nurses...
I felt bad and couldn't sleep, thinking of all the wonderful things I would say in this post. And it sounded REALLY good.
Today I realized that it is National Nurse's Week.. all week! So I can still do a post. Unfortunately, all the eloquent and amazing things I thought of last night before falling asleep have escaped me, so this is all I've got..
Most people reading this know we spent more than our fair share of time in the hospital last year. Four days when Ella was born via emergency c-section, 2 1/2 weeks shortly after with RSV, and 5 weeks in the PICU with salmonella poisoning...
It was a rough year for us. (Understatement)
We spent many long days in the hospital (57 to be exact). Days that were boring-nothing to do but stare at your sick, precious little baby and try not to go insane, listening to those annoying, constantly-beeping monitors, dreaming of how immensely gratifying it would be to smash one to itty bitty pieces on the floor... Days that were exciting-when Ella made a small gain in progress (extubation celebration anyone?). We also had many dark days-days we didn't even know if our daughter was going to live to see the next.
Some days were filled with frustration, anger, boredom, fear, and loneliness.
Some days were filled with excitement, joy, pride, happiness.
But all of our days were filled with the most amazing people-our nurses. They were there for us 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with whatever we needed. Whether it was a high dose of life saving medicine administered at just the right time for Ella or a Diet Coke for me-they did it and somehow acted like you were doing them a favor by asking.
Since the salmonella poisoning hospital stay was the most dramatic, we'll focus on that on..
Here's some history..
Ella had spent 1 week in the hospital with salmonella poisoning (We still have NO idea where she got that from). She was still not looking great, but drinking from her bottle decently so they decided we were good enough to go home.
Less than 24 hours later I was rushing her into my doctor's office because she looked, well.. awful. Her eyes were sunken, her face was ashen, she was super lethargic.. My doctor came in, took one look at her and said "Why did they let you go home???"
They did blood work and her levels were off the charts horrendous. I took Charlie out front to meet my parents, who thankfully happened to be in town at the time, while our Dr. took Ella back to the hospital part of the building. I found out later that no one had ever seen her running down the halls so fast, carrying an infant carseat with the most precious cargo.
When I finally came back, I found out that she was severely dehydrated and they needed to get an IV in NOW. Since her veins are smaller than average and she was so dehydrated, a typical IV, like one in her hand, was out of the question. One of the head guys from the hospital (not sure what his Title is, but he was important) decided to do an Intraosseous Infusion (IO). Basically, he tried to stick a metal straw into her leg bone to get fluids immediately in through the marrow. I watched him do it. It didn't work.
Enter our amazing flight nurse, Maggie.
The life flight helicopter had finally arrived, carrying our super heroes dressed in scrubs. (ok-actually she had a flight jump suit thing on)
Maggie rushed in, knew she had to get the IV in her leg asap, used some kind of drill, (I left the room for that one) and immediately got the IV in her leg bone.
I didn't understand it at the time, but we were definitely in a life and death situation. I am absolutely positive that if she wouldn't have gotten that IO in her leg, Ella wouldn't have made it to Sioux Falls and wouldn't be here today. She saved my daughter's life that day.
And the crazy thing? She was calm, cool, and collected the entire time, making me wonder what I was even worried about in the first place..
We flew back to Sioux Falls and upon arrival was greeted by doctors and nurses I was already familiar with, thanks to our time spent there when Ella had RSV. What a blessing in disguise! I couldn't have been in a better place.
When we got to Ella's room, it seemed like there were nurses everywhere. They were hooking up IV's, administering different medications and fluids, basically saving my daughter's life all over again.
I like to think that I am a fairly intelligent person, but listening to their medical jargon with the doctors made me feel like I was in a foreign country. It was mind blowing to me to watch them switching out IVs, hooking up pumps all the while listening to everything the doctor was telling them, and remembering exactly what they were told-exactly how many cc's or mL of different drugs they were to give and at what times..
I used to waitress and if someone told me they wanted a Diet Coke and I didn't write it down, I would honestly walk back to the bar and ask for a 7-Up.
To see them in action was impressive, to say the least.
But their skills did not end there.
There were also nurses in that room who were standing by my side, arms around my shoulders, asking if I was ok, if I needed anything. Not only were our nurses saving my daughter, but they were compassionately taking care of me as well.
From what I hear nurses tend to be overworked, under-payed, and under-appreciated.
It would be so easy for them to fulfill their job duties and check out emotionally.. To do the things required of them, administering meds, switching tubes, watching the monitor outside our room all.day.long., focusing only on the medical side of the situation.
But they didn't.
It would be easy to get burnt out after working long 12 hour shifts, many caring for families of their own before and after getting home.
But they didn't.
These nurses went way above and beyond the call of duty.
Nurses who weren't assigned to us came in to check on "Ella Bella".
They called in to work on their days off just to see how we were doing, telling the nurses who were there to give me a hug from them.
They found hair bows to put in Ella's hair and painted her toes while we were sleeping.
They were compassionate, coming to comfort me when we were delivered bad news.
They were honest, making sure we knew exactly what was going on (translating that foreign language for us..)
They were caring, asking about my family and getting to know them when they visited.
They were our advocates, challenging the doctors when they didn't agree with something they were doing and making sure we were able to talk to someone about our concerns.
They were loving. If I would HAVE to leave Ella's room to do something crazy, like *gasp* shower, or get something to eat, I would always tell our nurse, just so she could be sure to keep an even closer eye or ear out for Ella, knowing that I wouldn't be there to pick her up if she heard her crying. I would usually only be gone a few minutes, but almost every time I would come back in to see at least 3 nurses gathered around her crib either watching her sleep, or saying she "woke up" and they HAD to pick her up and hold her.
I cannot say it enough that I am SO thankful for our nurses.
They are seriously amazing.
To Maggie, Anna, Abby, Meggan, Amber, Sarah, Tammy, Darla, Marti, and everyone else whose names I can't remember but surely hold a dear place in my heart:
Thank you for making me and my family feel as much "at home" as we could.
Thank you for giving our Ella Bella the very best care.
Thank you for celebrating the 'small' joys with us.
Thank you for going above and beyond.
Thank you for giving Ella many more 'tomorrows' to share with us.
Thank you for absolutely everything you do each and every single day.
You are ridiculously appreciated in this house and I miss you all (But I really don't want to see you again-at least in those circumstances..) :)
and THANK YOU most of all from Ella!!
by request
I highly recommend fasting for at least a day or two before making this blissful goodness, allowing you the utmost pleasure of mostly-guilt-free extreme taste bud indulgence while at its peak.
Translation: skip breakfast. the crust is REALLY good when it's fresh out of the oven
Rhubarb Dream Bars
Crust:
2 cups flour
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1 cup butter
Filling:
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 tsp. salt
4 cups diced rhubarb
Crust: Combine flour and sugar, cut in butter until crumbs form. Press onto bottom of 15x10x1 inch jelly roll pan. Bake at 350 for 15 minutes. While crust bakes, prepare filling.
Filling: Blend eggs, sugar, flour and salt until smooth. Fold in rhubarb and spread over hot crust. Bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes or until filling is lightly browned. Cool and cut into bars.
Eat and enjoy! every.single.one.
Now why I can't lose the last of this baby weight??
Translation: skip breakfast. the crust is REALLY good when it's fresh out of the oven
Rhubarb Dream Bars
Crust:
2 cups flour
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1 cup butter
Filling:
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 tsp. salt
4 cups diced rhubarb
Crust: Combine flour and sugar, cut in butter until crumbs form. Press onto bottom of 15x10x1 inch jelly roll pan. Bake at 350 for 15 minutes. While crust bakes, prepare filling.
Filling: Blend eggs, sugar, flour and salt until smooth. Fold in rhubarb and spread over hot crust. Bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes or until filling is lightly browned. Cool and cut into bars.
Eat and enjoy! every.single.one.
Now why I can't lose the last of this baby weight??
Why it's good to be me, By Ella
Hi everyone! I just wanted to pop in quick while my mom is distracted.. Ok, she's actually voraciously polishing off 1/2 a pan of those Rhubarb Dream Bars, but don't tell her I said so. Apparently she admires my quadruple thighs so much, she wants a pair too? Someone please tell her to stop. They're MUCH cuter on me..
I've got a pretty sweet life over here and I just wanted to share a few reasons why
"It's Good to Be Me"
1. My mom lets me eat Fruit Loops for breakfast. I know, right??? Something about wanting to get as many calories in as possible and not caring where they come from... All I know is she would never dream of giving my brothers sugary cereal for breakfast so that must make me pretty awesome.
2. She also sneaks jelly beans out of their Easter Basket for me. (Just the pink and red Starburst ones.) Shhhh....
3. I never NEVER have to "cry it out". I get a terribly gassy tummy every time I cry for, oh.. say.. 3 seconds or so. Thus, my mom picks me up immediately at the first signs of the slightest whimper. This allows me to pretty much control the tempo of my therapy time.. and let me tell you.. I like it pretty lax.
4. I've been hearing pretty awful rumors from other kids my age that they're being told a filthy little 2-letter word called..... *Dramatic pause*..... "No." I can assure you I never hear this word and quite certainly expect I never will.
5. My mom has been the only girl in the house for almost 7 years. She possibly overdoes it with the pretty clothes/hair bows for me. What can I say?? I already have a 4 swimsuit rotation for this summer.
6. I have the best big brothers in the world. Actually.. let me rephrase that "My big brothers have the best hair for pulling in the world." There. Better.
7. I am a PICU princess. Who else gets pedicures in the hospital and personal phone calls from their PICU doctor after coming home?
8. The music to my world is applause. Seriously, I get clapped at for everything I do. Aren't I the 3rd child? You'd think my parents would be a little over seeing a baby 'simply' raise their arms over their head...
9. I am so incredibly loved. By... pretty much everyone I meet.
10. And I'm pretty adorable too... My mom tells me it's not nice to hoard all the cuteness from the other babies, but what does she know??
Well, gotta go. Looks like my mom's "Project: Inhale as many Rhubarb Bars in as Little Time Possible" is over. It's time for me to cry so she'll set me on her lap and I can hold her hands and make her clap them over. and over. and over. It's pretty much the only thing I want to do lately. All day. Consider it payback for the months of clapping therapy and hand-over-hand sign language you try to teach me, Mom.. (insert villainous chuckle)
I've got a pretty sweet life over here and I just wanted to share a few reasons why
"It's Good to Be Me"
1. My mom lets me eat Fruit Loops for breakfast. I know, right??? Something about wanting to get as many calories in as possible and not caring where they come from... All I know is she would never dream of giving my brothers sugary cereal for breakfast so that must make me pretty awesome.
2. She also sneaks jelly beans out of their Easter Basket for me. (Just the pink and red Starburst ones.) Shhhh....
3. I never NEVER have to "cry it out". I get a terribly gassy tummy every time I cry for, oh.. say.. 3 seconds or so. Thus, my mom picks me up immediately at the first signs of the slightest whimper. This allows me to pretty much control the tempo of my therapy time.. and let me tell you.. I like it pretty lax.
4. I've been hearing pretty awful rumors from other kids my age that they're being told a filthy little 2-letter word called..... *Dramatic pause*..... "No." I can assure you I never hear this word and quite certainly expect I never will.
5. My mom has been the only girl in the house for almost 7 years. She possibly overdoes it with the pretty clothes/hair bows for me. What can I say?? I already have a 4 swimsuit rotation for this summer.
6. I have the best big brothers in the world. Actually.. let me rephrase that "My big brothers have the best hair for pulling in the world." There. Better.
7. I am a PICU princess. Who else gets pedicures in the hospital and personal phone calls from their PICU doctor after coming home?
8. The music to my world is applause. Seriously, I get clapped at for everything I do. Aren't I the 3rd child? You'd think my parents would be a little over seeing a baby 'simply' raise their arms over their head...
9. I am so incredibly loved. By... pretty much everyone I meet.
10. And I'm pretty adorable too... My mom tells me it's not nice to hoard all the cuteness from the other babies, but what does she know??
Well, gotta go. Looks like my mom's "Project: Inhale as many Rhubarb Bars in as Little Time Possible" is over. It's time for me to cry so she'll set me on her lap and I can hold her hands and make her clap them over. and over. and over. It's pretty much the only thing I want to do lately. All day. Consider it payback for the months of clapping therapy and hand-over-hand sign language you try to teach me, Mom.. (insert villainous chuckle)
MUAHAHAHAHAHAAA...
rolls, anyone?
Just had to share this pic...
Check it out
One, Two, Three, FOUR leg rolls
(that we can see-there may be more hiding under those shorts!)
World's smallest sumo wrestler?
On a side note I just made some Rhubarb Dream Bars that are AH-mazing...
Hoping this gets me off the pie-making hook for awhile. :)
new therapy tool?
I realize that to some (my husband) this "tool" could possibly be seen as the unintentional aftermath of this morning's chaos and the housekeeping motivation, or lack thereof, of the inhabitants
BUT...
upon closer inspection, I would choose to argue that it very clearly is a clever physical therapy tool, used to promote strength and agility, combining a discarded pajama bottom and a haphazardly-strewn blanket, crafted by yours truly.
Check it out.
You decide.
Imagine the theme song from "Rocky" playing in the background if you will..
Victory!
And the should-really-be-off-limits suction cup arrow at the end was all part of the plan.
It's genius, really.
I should probably look into a patent or something... :)
Ever had one of those nights?
Ever had one of those nights?
You know... the kind where you crawl into bed way later than you should have and realize for the first time just how freezing cold you really are.
And you try to snuggle your subzero-degree-arctic-like body up next to your full-strength-thermal-heater sleeping husband's for some warmth...and he rolls the other way and remarks you should have run your hands under hot water before you came to bed.
And after about an hour, when you're finally feeling warm enough that sleep is becoming a very real possibility, you realize you have to pee.
And you try to tell your body to shut up.
But it just won't stop taunting you. Visions of gushing waterfalls and drippy faucets play through your mind until you just can't stand it anymore.
You drag yourself out of your (finally) warm spot in bed, down the stairs, and across the entire house, then back again through the house, up the stairs, and into bed.
And even though the trip couldn't have taken more than a minute, you realize that whole first hour's worth of dethawing was in vain and you now have to start the process all over.
And just when you start to feel some sort of tingling sensation in your extremities again, a certain 4-year old boy mysteriously shows up beside your bed wanting to lay next to you.
So you mercifully lift him into your bed.
You feel his snuggly body against yours. Ahhh... you are warm at last.
Your muscles begin to relax.
Then his bright eyes look tenderly into your droopy, half asleep ones and he whispers,
"I want to go back to my bed now."
So you begrudgingly drag yourself out of bed once again, tuck him in under his wonderfully warm flannel quilt and lay next to him, shivering because you have no blanket - once again shattering your difficult defrosting work.
And after trying to escape his bed several times to seek the warmth so sought after in your own bed.. at last you are successful.
You tiptoe cautiously back into your room, with it's long awaited promises of sweet slumber.
You slip the covers back, slide in between the sheets and sigh...
The warmth is finally restored. Your muscles are relaxing. Your eyelids are heavy and your breathing becomes deeper.
You await sleep like Aunt Jemima awaits warm buttered pancakes hot off the griddle.
And then the phone rings.
You are once again pulled out of your oh-so-close-to euphoric state and back into the very cold harsh reality.
You rush down the stairs, imagining the worst of this 2:30 am wake up call.
And it turns out to be an old college friend of your husband's who he hasn't seen or spoken to in at least 8 years and has now conveniently managed to get his truck stuck on a gravel road and just so luckily for him remembers you live in the area and even more luckily for him, finds your phone number and decides to call to plea for help.
Yousweetly ask demand your husband to call a tow truck and climb back into bed.
Your sweet sweet, oh-so-glorious bed.
You listen as the previously mentioned child awakes again, crying this time, no doubt from the "friend's" phone call.
You lay awake, praying your husband has enough common sense to return to your cozy bed, when you hear the truck engine start and watch the headlights drive slowly down the lane.
You roll over and try desperately to fall asleep.
Desperately.
At long last you feel your body start to sink, deeper and deeper...
This is it. You are so close you can almost taste the sweet nectar of sleep as it rushes upon you.
And then the door creaks open.
Your husband is home. The "friend" had already been pulled out.
Once again you settle in. You shut your eyes. You. Must. Sleep.
Your alarm goes off.
Your loving husband has volunteered to work overtime and is getting up at 4:00.
You lay awake in bed, wondering if this night will ever end.
The dark thoughts rear their ugly head. Sleep! How you long for it!
The sheep have been counted, yet you are eluded. The flock mocks you.
You are curled in the fetal position, willing your regular old cotton blanket to somehow transform into the electric kind.
You contemplate building a fire in your bedroom.
You dream of the warmth, of the tranquility, and suddenly-- there it is.
You can feel it. It feels heavenly.
Like the first bite of a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven.
And you can hear it. It sounds like... it sounds like.. little footsteps on the stairs?
Your children are up, running around the house, arguing, whining... You pull the covers over your head and try to find that happy place again.
The said children crawl into your bed and amazingly, for the first time all night/morning, you are still.
Sleep mercifully finds all three of you.
For two blissful, mostly uninterrupted, hours.
But inevitably you awake and quickly realize you have just 45 minutes to get 3 children up, fed, and clothed before your soccer game.
Those sparse minutes go by in a rush and soon there are shouts of "Get to the car!" and "Stay out of the mud!" ringing through the house.
But you do it.
You make it out the door with just enough time to get to the soccer field.
You have a fully stocked diaper bag, water bottles, snacks, phone...
Wait-is that your phone ringing?
It is. Your husband has already arrived at the soccer fields only to find them deserted.
Not a soul in site.
Since by this time you are already in town you drive straight to the office andsweetly ask demand to know if by chance, the soccer games were cancelled for today.
The receptionist kindly replies, "Why, yes dear they were."
You go on to ask why you were not contacted, what their plan was for such an event.
She assures you that the coaches have been working to let everyone know.
This would be a legitimate answer... except you are the coaches.
And you want to go back to bed.
But after the night you've had.. even that doesn't sound like a good option.
..................................................
Thankfully this day ends up having two redeeming qualities
1. You visit your parents' house and the boys have a BLAST playing outside with Nana all afternoon while you and the baby take a nap.
and
2. Tonight while you are flipping through the channels to find the Sunday night shows, you realize it's only Saturday. Ahhhhh...
You know... the kind where you crawl into bed way later than you should have and realize for the first time just how freezing cold you really are.
And you try to snuggle your subzero-degree-arctic-like body up next to your full-strength-thermal-heater sleeping husband's for some warmth...and he rolls the other way and remarks you should have run your hands under hot water before you came to bed.
And after about an hour, when you're finally feeling warm enough that sleep is becoming a very real possibility, you realize you have to pee.
And you try to tell your body to shut up.
But it just won't stop taunting you. Visions of gushing waterfalls and drippy faucets play through your mind until you just can't stand it anymore.
You drag yourself out of your (finally) warm spot in bed, down the stairs, and across the entire house, then back again through the house, up the stairs, and into bed.
And even though the trip couldn't have taken more than a minute, you realize that whole first hour's worth of dethawing was in vain and you now have to start the process all over.
And just when you start to feel some sort of tingling sensation in your extremities again, a certain 4-year old boy mysteriously shows up beside your bed wanting to lay next to you.
So you mercifully lift him into your bed.
You feel his snuggly body against yours. Ahhh... you are warm at last.
Your muscles begin to relax.
Then his bright eyes look tenderly into your droopy, half asleep ones and he whispers,
"I want to go back to my bed now."
So you begrudgingly drag yourself out of bed once again, tuck him in under his wonderfully warm flannel quilt and lay next to him, shivering because you have no blanket - once again shattering your difficult defrosting work.
And after trying to escape his bed several times to seek the warmth so sought after in your own bed.. at last you are successful.
You tiptoe cautiously back into your room, with it's long awaited promises of sweet slumber.
You slip the covers back, slide in between the sheets and sigh...
The warmth is finally restored. Your muscles are relaxing. Your eyelids are heavy and your breathing becomes deeper.
You await sleep like Aunt Jemima awaits warm buttered pancakes hot off the griddle.
You close your eyes and there are unicorns flying on marshmallow clouds.
And then the phone rings.
You are once again pulled out of your oh-so-close-to euphoric state and back into the very cold harsh reality.
You rush down the stairs, imagining the worst of this 2:30 am wake up call.
And it turns out to be an old college friend of your husband's who he hasn't seen or spoken to in at least 8 years and has now conveniently managed to get his truck stuck on a gravel road and just so luckily for him remembers you live in the area and even more luckily for him, finds your phone number and decides to call to plea for help.
You
Your sweet sweet, oh-so-glorious bed.
You listen as the previously mentioned child awakes again, crying this time, no doubt from the "friend's" phone call.
You lay awake, praying your husband has enough common sense to return to your cozy bed, when you hear the truck engine start and watch the headlights drive slowly down the lane.
You roll over and try desperately to fall asleep.
Desperately.
At long last you feel your body start to sink, deeper and deeper...
This is it. You are so close you can almost taste the sweet nectar of sleep as it rushes upon you.
And then the door creaks open.
Your husband is home. The "friend" had already been pulled out.
Once again you settle in. You shut your eyes. You. Must. Sleep.
Your alarm goes off.
Your loving husband has volunteered to work overtime and is getting up at 4:00.
You lay awake in bed, wondering if this night will ever end.
The dark thoughts rear their ugly head. Sleep! How you long for it!
The sheep have been counted, yet you are eluded. The flock mocks you.
You are curled in the fetal position, willing your regular old cotton blanket to somehow transform into the electric kind.
You contemplate building a fire in your bedroom.
The cold, miserable, exhaustion consumes you.
You dream of the warmth, of the tranquility, and suddenly-- there it is.
You can feel it. It feels heavenly.
Like the first bite of a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven.
And you can hear it. It sounds like... it sounds like.. little footsteps on the stairs?
Your children are up, running around the house, arguing, whining... You pull the covers over your head and try to find that happy place again.
The said children crawl into your bed and amazingly, for the first time all night/morning, you are still.
You are warm and cozy.
Sleep mercifully finds all three of you.
For two blissful, mostly uninterrupted, hours.
But inevitably you awake and quickly realize you have just 45 minutes to get 3 children up, fed, and clothed before your soccer game.
Those sparse minutes go by in a rush and soon there are shouts of "Get to the car!" and "Stay out of the mud!" ringing through the house.
But you do it.
You make it out the door with just enough time to get to the soccer field.
You have a fully stocked diaper bag, water bottles, snacks, phone...
Wait-is that your phone ringing?
It is. Your husband has already arrived at the soccer fields only to find them deserted.
Not a soul in site.
Since by this time you are already in town you drive straight to the office and
The receptionist kindly replies, "Why, yes dear they were."
You go on to ask why you were not contacted, what their plan was for such an event.
She assures you that the coaches have been working to let everyone know.
This would be a legitimate answer... except you are the coaches.
And you want to go back to bed.
But after the night you've had.. even that doesn't sound like a good option.
..................................................
Thankfully this day ends up having two redeeming qualities
1. You visit your parents' house and the boys have a BLAST playing outside with Nana all afternoon while you and the baby take a nap.
and
2. Tonight while you are flipping through the channels to find the Sunday night shows, you realize it's only Saturday. Ahhhhh...