lazy knitter

Here's a vignette of me at the height of my laziness.  I've been crocheting a lot lately. I want to knit something small and easy.  I look around the chair where I'm sitting.  I see a pair of size 5 needles. That's pretty small.  I look again.  I see a ball of white acrylic yarn I bought to finish a crochet project (that I'm currently not finishing). It will work for these needles. I pick up my laptop, which is also near my chair. I don't want to do anything so drastic as stand up, or go to the next room for heaven's sake.  I find a free pattern for a bear online. No printing- knitting from the screen- I start "nervous movie knitting" to Rouge One. Nervous knitting is when I am watching a movie that's kind of intense, and knitting something not so intense at the same time.  I give 2/3 attention to the movie and 1/3 attention to the knitting. Sure I miss a few details in the movie, and I may lose count of my stitches- but I feel pretty accomplished by the end of the movie if I haven't completely lost the plot and/or my place in the pattern.  I got almost a quarter of a bear out of that movie.

Learning about my father

I have always had a very minimal interest in my father. Today I learned his middle name was Martin, he was barely taller than me, and he had brown eyes. How unexpected.

the cano talker

When Eowyn was 1.5-2 years old she was a talker.  (She still is.) She talked about everything.  I wrote down some of the more ridiculous conversations. She talked about bananas and babies and kitties and trucks.  I remembered last night she also talked about volcanos.  She was really concerned about volcanos and what destruction might come as a result of an erupting volcano.  I'm not really sure why this was such a big concern considering we live in Texas, where as far as I know, there are not, nor have there ever been any volcanos.
We would be driving down the highway, and she would see a huge pile of dirt which was going to be used for construction and say, "Mama! cano!"
And I would say, "No, that's just a pile of dirt."
To which she would reply, "No! Cano!"
I knew better than to continue an argument with a two-year-old so I would say, "Okay, it's a cano."
She would be very worried and say, "I too like canos!" I don't know why, but "too" often took the place of a negative marker for her. I would say, "Yes, I know.  But don't worry, that cano won't get you."
She would say, "Canos (s)carry!  I too like canos!"

I  didn't know her being so verbal at that age was unusual until I met more 1.5-2 year olds.  Many of them are still working on answering questions like, "What does a cow say?" I had a child worried about the danger of volcanic activity in the area.

At the doctor's office they ask developmental questions like, "Can your child use original  sentences of three or more words?" I remember sitting in the office thinking about that question.  I was running through some of the most common things she would say.  I decided she could, but wasn't convinced that I had heard much evidence of it.

That evening when we got home she walked into the dining room and said, "I wanna sit in my highchair and eat apple." I thought, 'well, at least I gave the right answer on the doctor's form."

This past week we had this conversation.
"Mama, your arms are a little bit fat."
"I know.  I need to go on a diet."
"What's that?"
"It's when you don't eat any candy or cake or desert."
"Oh! I'm sorry!" (very heartfelt)
"Mama, when it's your birthday, and you have a cake if you are unfat you can eat it, but if you aren't unfat you can just look at it okay?"
"Okay."

#Nuggets from my children

It would be incorrect to say that Lailah doesn't talk as much as Eowyn.  She does talk just as much, she uses far more made up words, and the real words she does use are sometimes hard to decipher- but she does talk/verbalize easily as much.

Sometimes while we are watching TV she's just sitting on the sofa humming.  Not humming tune, really just buzzing.  Making noise- sometimes robot noises "beep-bloop-bloop-beep."  Sometimes she will come up with an urgent story which must needs be told- about a purple dragon.

If you ask her who ate the last cookie, or how her toy got broken, she's say, "Maybe it was a monster."

She decided just after her third birthday that she would be potty trained, but before that she flat out refused to participate in the training exercises which I wanted her to perform.  I tried to transition her to pull-ups by telling her that diapers were for babies.  "Do you want to be a baby."
Lailah, "yes!"
Me, "No! You want to be a big girl!"
Lailah, "No, me baby!"
Me, "Well, no more diapers. You are going to wear these pull-ups now!"
Lailah, "That diaper!"
Me, "No it's not!  It's like panties see!" (Showing her how pull-ups are connected at the sides and diapers are not connected."
Lailah, "Do this," (pulls the pull-up sides apart at the velcro seams) "now it diaper!"
Me, "Give me that!  This is a pull-up!"

Jacket

I found a dog.  She was running around on the road- she looked hungry and it was cold outside, so I picked her up.  She came right to me.  I put up some posters, I took her to the vet to see if she had a chip.  (No.) I even posted her picture on craigslist. I got several calls "That's not my dog, but if you don't find her people, I'd like to take her."
My children pretty much immediately said the same thing.
Eowyn said,  "Mama, can I name her?"
I said, "Well, she's not really our dog, so when we find her family we will give her back."
Eowyn: I know, but she needs a name now.
Me: Okay, what do you want to name her?
Eowyn: How about Red.
Me: But she's white and brown, why would you name her Red?
Eowyn: Okay, then let's name her Jacket.
Me: Jacket?
Eowyn: Yeah!
Me: Okay?

 Now we have Jacket, who is super cute, but NOT HOUSE TRAINED at all. Pooping on the floor makes her so less cute.

I have a hard time remembering Jacket's name.  Our friend has a similar looking dog named Patches. Sometimes she is Patches-
Biscuit, Jumper, Pocket, Brisket, Cookie, Locket, Packet! What is that dog's name again?
Jacket.
Welcome Jacket.  I think she's a Papillion or Papillion mix.

animal heads

Despite the fact that heads, indeed any body parts without the remainder of the body, freak me out, I bought this book.  It was the zebra.  The zebra calls to me.  I must have a crocheted zebra head mounted on a wall.  Then, possibly I must have a unicorn head mounted on another wall.

I am one week into my winter break, and I have accomplished (satisfactorily) very little.

I'm supposed to be packing, sorting, cleaning ... instead I have finished a baby blanket, two doll sized sweaters, and the head, arms, and legs of a smallish gold monster.  I would have done his body, but I've packed my stuffing.  I must stuff the head before I go on with the body.

I have ordered and received several books instructing me on how  to create incredibly useless items (see left.)  I need to continue to remind myself that I should certainly have less, but I keep buying more.
Then I end up with a crochet zebra head on my wall. Life is weird.

not the dishes

Today I did not do the dishes as I had planned. (as I have put it off far too long) Instead, I spent way too long cruising the internet for information about my maternal grandmother's family. What I've learned- most of what I thought I knew was wrong.  Wrong-wrong-wrong.  Not that I knew much.

My grandmother's name was Barbara Ellen (Beebe) Hindle.  She was born in 1925.

Her father's name was Schuyler (Dutch name pronounced Skyler) Porter Beebe (1905) He was born in PA.

Her mother's name was Hazel (Roberts) Beebe (1904)

My grandmother had one brother Schuler Lyle Beebe (1929) and one sister- Diana (Beebe)Williams I (I don't remember if that is the correct or only married name for her.(1938)

Schuyler Porter's father's name was Porter J. Beebe. He was born n NY in 1830.
He had two wives and five children listed in the census reports between 1870-1870.

 I believe three of the children died young- and I'm not sure about the fifth as she had a different last name.  Maybe she was the child of his second wife from a first marriage.

His first wife's name was Cynthia, or Cyntha or Syntha depending on where you look. Her children were Jennie, Charles, and Syntha.

His second wife's name was Julia, or Julie Anne, or Julieanna, or Anna depending on where you looked. Schuyler (my great grandfather) and Pearl H. Morey were listed as her children in the 1910 census, but only Schuyler was listed in the 1920 census.

I believe Julieanna was Dutch, spoke German, and taught her son Schuyler to speak and/or understand German. Julieanna was about 30 years younger than Porter J. Beebe.

Porter J. Beebe seemed to be quite a character.  I'm interested in learning more about him.

His father's name was William Beebe. He was a blacksmith. He was born in VT.
His mother's name was Cyrena (Maxon) Beebe. She was from NY-but was of Scottish heritage.

William's father's name was Ebenezer Beebe.  That is where I lost the trail.

Beebe is an English name which means "beekeeper."

Among the fist Beebes listed in the USA was John Beebe in New England in 1668.

I bought a DNA test kit to spit in and find out what kind of mutt I am.  I'm hoping it's not going to come back with 'you're white dummy!'  As far as I know I am all European (East) and Brittish Isles.  I think it would be great if I had some unexpected African, Native American or anything other than European.

I've always felt pretty white though.

Sermon Notes

As we were singing Eowyn kept saying, "Washed in blood?! Why would you do that? Why would yo do that Mama? I don't think that's a good idea."

I tried

I gave it a shot, but I gave up 1/4 of the way through the story which seems to intentionally be made up of every grammatical structure except a sentence.

I shold have known that I wouldn't be able to finish when I read this: "Gray rivers of the industry rolling down plated skin, cascading over rivited joints, collecting in a murky pool around ten digits, sucking into a maelstrom, filtering through bits and dross at the drain into the winding unknown." on the first page of the first story.

I know ... it's artistic expression, but the grammar teacher in me can't take it anymore.

Pitching Ice Cubes at the Sun: a Book of the Dead by Todd Sherman.

I'm done.

lists

I've always been a list maker. I've found that making lists can relieve some anxiety. I can see what I have or want to do.  It helps me remember what I have or want to do.  I feel more productive on days when I have accomplished things on my list.

I've been making these lists- but my expectations are too high.  I can't accomplish all  the things on my lists, not even most of the things, sometimes none of the things.  It's disappointing.  It's frustrating.  I think, is this a time in my life that will pass? Why do I always feel like nothing is finished?   Or is there something wrong with my expectations?

There are goals on my list- simple goals like drink 8 cups of water and take my vitamins each day. There are perpetual goals which I know are never really finished, like laundry and dishes and general cleaning and housework.  There are goals even for alone time and relaxation, because I need time for myself. I have 30+ minutes of reading (for fun), TV, crafting, blogging, or playing with a girl or two on my to do list.  I also include my work list.  Since I'm not required to be in my office any amount of time outside of class-  I can take my work home (although I rarely do these days.)

My time is fleeting.  I feel like I should be taking account of my time.  What's happening? Maybe it's a sign of the times. A plague of my stage in life.  We never have enough time. It is wearing us out.

Questions

Mama, what's that sign say?
It says STOP.
Why does it say stop?
So people will stop here.
Why do people want to stop here?
So they don't have an accident.
Why will they have an accident?
Because they didn't stop.
Why didn't they stop?
Because they didn't obey the sign.
Will the police come?
Yes.
Why?
Because someone who doesn't obey the sign can cause an accident.
What's an accident?
Please stop asking questions now.
Why?
Eowyn!
Okay -okay.

30 seconds later.

Mama?
Yes.
What's a question?
Stop talking.

Isaiah 43:2

Heart breaks

That balloon is gone forever. We can't get it back.

Thanks Pantego FD

So- I locked my children in the car today.  We were at the park and we were loading up.  I remote started the car. I unlocked the doors. I put the girls in their seats.  I threw my phone and keys in the front passenger seat while I buckled them in.  I closed the back door, walked around the car to open the driver’s door- and it was locked. 

All the doors were locked.  I didn’t even know that was a thing! I knew that sometimes the car would lock it’s self if I unlocked it, but didn’t open a door within a certain amount of time.  I never expected that it would lock its self with the key in range.  It’s a keyless open/start. I thought if I unlocked it and the key was in range it would stay unlocked. Actually, I never thought about it at all.  WHY would the car LOCK itself at all?  The car was running on remote start (so I had about 10 minutes before it turned off and started getting hot in there.) Ok- so locked car, no keys (not even an extra key- anywhere) no phone. Crap.

I knocked on the window of the car parked next to me. I told him I had just locked my kids, my keys and my phone in the car, and asked to borrow his phone.  I called D- he said either call 911 or a locksmith. 

My 911 call.

Arlington 911

Hi- I’m at Dottie Lynn Park and I’ve locked my keys and my kids in the car.

Dottie Lynn Park? Is that in Ft. Worth?

No- it’s in Arlington, it’s an Arlington City park.

Do you have the address?

No- it’s on Norwood near Parkrow.

Is there a sign with the address?

No- It’s behind Duff Elementary School- It’s next to a church that faces Parkrow. If you turn onto Norwood from Parkrow- it is just after the church. It’s a big park, with a pool and a recreation center, and a playground.

Hmmm- let me see if I can find it. Yeah-Ok. I got it.  So- your kids are locked in the car. Are all the doors locked?

Yes.

Do you have OnStar?

No.

Can you kids reach the keys or unlock the doors?

No.

Are the windows open?

(I’m trying to remain calm. I’m trying to remind myself he has been trained to ask these inane questions. He apparently deals with more dummies than I have imagined.)

 I said, “No,” ---but I was thinking, “God help us both, if you ask me one more idiotic question I will reach through this stranger’s cell phone and strangle you! If I had OnStar, or one of the doors was unlocked, or the kids could reach the keys or a window was down I wouldn’t have to call 911!”

What is your phone number?

I won’t be able to answer my phone. It is locked in the car with the keys and the kids. I’m using someone else’s phone.

So- the number you care calling from is 817-------

I don’t  kno. . .  ok, yes, that is the number. (I just agreed without checking. What did it matter, dude’s got things to do, he’s not waiting around.)

The fire station is just a few blocks away-I heard the sirens within a minute of hanging up.

When the firefighters got there, the first thing they did was check to see if any doors were unlocked.

Really?  How often does this happen? Wouldn’t I feel foolish if one of the doors was unlocked?

They slimjimmed the lock in just a few minutes.  So much for the safety of locking my doors.

The girls were just sitting in the back, looking around-not worried at all.

They got some badge stickers and little plastic helmets.  They were shy with the firefighters, but pretty pleased with their loot.

So- I can cross  that off my parental ‘to do’ list – called 911 to rescue my children- check!

technology in the hands of babies

I know some people strongly disapprove of giving little children "screen time," but my girls (2.5 and 4 years old) LOVE playing with the ipad and the kindle they have  in their chubby little fingers.  I know that for adults screen time is "I'm ignoring you to focus on my electronics" time, but for my girls, they want to interact with me and each other while they play.

It makes me smile to hear my two year old singing "The Wheels on the Bus" over and over again, as much as she wants to.  Now she's moved on "Where is Thumbkin?"  She almost always refuses to sing with me or her sister- but she's having a great time singing by herself.  I know if I went over there she'd stop singing immediately.

My four year old is sitting on the floor next to me feeding and helping virtual pets.  There is value and detriment in most of our activities- depending on how much or little we do it or allow it to happen.

Precious people:

http://www.petition2congress.com/3937/go/

Parental Bereavement Leave (The Farley-Kluger Initiative to Amend the FMLA)

Help support the need for a Parental Bereavement Leave Act as a way of extending coverage and existing benefits allowed by FMLA to employees that have experienced the death of a child.

You can sign the petition and say that you support Kelly Farley and Barry Kluger in their efforts to make these necessary changes and allow the time needed to begin the healing process.

And then share with others to further spread awareness of the need

Hard to write, hard to read, hard to see

I woke up early on Friday morning.  Something seemed wrong.  I thought my water might have broken.  I was wet and that had never happened before.  I called the doctor.  The nurse told me he wasn’t in, and to go to the hospital for a check.  At the hospital, the nurse put the monitor on my belly, found the heartbeat and said, she thought everything was fine, but I needed to stay to be monitored for an hour.  He moved and kicked and I heard his heartbeat for an hour.  Before I left the nurse said, “he’s really happy in there.”  She thought he was pressing on my bladder and that’s why I was wet.

Thinking back, that’s not just the last time I heard his heart beating, that was the last time I remember feeling him move like that.  I went to work, I came home, I ate dinner and I went to bed.  He didn’t move all the time, I didn’t worry about it. 

On Saturday we went to my aunt’s house.  We played outside and chatted and had lunch.  When we got home I realized I hadn’t felt him move- but sometimes when you aren’t thinking about it you don’t notice or remember.  I drank some cold water; I laid down.  I was having contractions- painful ones, but not consistent.  I thought maybe he wasn’t moving because of the contractions. 

On Sunday we watched to Super Bowl.  I thought I felt him move, just a little bit. I was still having contractions.

Early Monday morning, about 3:00 I was wet again.  I thought it was the same thing.  I tried not to worry about it.  At 4:30 it happened again, and I got dressed and told my husband I needed to go to the hospital to get checked. I told him it was probably nothing, but I wanted to be sure.

I went to the same room I had been in just a few days before.  The nurse put the same kind of monitor on my belly.  She couldn’t find the heartbeat.  She tried several different ways. She called in another nurse to try.  She couldn’t find it either.  They called in a third nurse.

My doctor came in and said, “I won’t say good morning until we are sure it is a good morning.”

They took me to get a sonogram.  Although I couldn’t see the picture on the screen I knew as soon as they saw it.  Their faces fell. 

I couldn’t do anything. I felt the tears, but I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t cry out, I didn’t scream, I didn’t move- I could hardly breath. My only thought was “Why?!” I couldn’t even ask.

The doctor said, “I’m so sorry, it is not a good morning.” He said, “I know the only thing you want to know right now is why, but I don’t have any answers for you. I may be able to tell you when I take him out, but even then may never know why.”

We will never know why my perfect baby’s heart stopped beating.

I needed a cesarean section.  He was 37 weeks. He was full term.

My husband was finally able to cme. I had told him on the phone that our baby was gone.

We cried and stared blankly.  It couldn’t be real.

The doctor said he would try to get us in as soon as he could, but there were already surgeries scheduled.

The nurse gave us information to help us make decisions.  We had to contact the funeral home, did we want a photographer?  Should she call the chaplain? She had already called social services.  She handed us paper work and a gift basket from another grieving mother.

I stared at the paper work and basket for a while hoping they would just go away. 

My husband had to contact our families and tell them.

They started showing up within the hour. I wanted them to have a chance to see and hold him, Michael Eugene- my beautiful lost baby boy, my first son, my heart.

The anesthesiologist came in to talk to me.  He told me what would happen, and he asked if I wanted something to ‘help me forget.’ He said, “We can’t offer this in a normal delivery, but in this case I can give you something so that it won’t be so vivid.”

I said, “Yes.”

What did I forget- I don’t know.  I remember most how quiet it was.  

When my girls were born I remember the doctors and nurses chattering, I remember country music on the radio.  With Michael is was quiet. No music, not chatting, no baby crying.

I was shaking uncontrollably. I was so cold. Did I cry the whole time? I think so- I suppose I did forget something.

The nurses cleaned him and handed him to my husband while they finished with my incision. 

When I held him for the first time he was still warm from my body. He was pale, but still looked like a sleeping newborn, so still, so quiet, so amazing.  He looked like my second daughter.  He was tiny, only 4 pounds 5 ounces.  I loved him with all of me.  I needed him.

Our family came in and everyone held him for a while and cried.  

Before our daughters came in the room my husband had to explain to a four year old and a two and a half year old that their much-anticipated baby brother was dead.

“Why did he died?”

“I don’t know why baby, he just did, and we are all really sad about it.”

“Do you want to see him? Do you want to hold him? Do you want to give him a kiss?”

“After today we won’t see baby Michael anymore.”

“Where will he go?”

“He’ll go to heaven with God and the angels.”

“How will he go there?”

“They angels will take him.”

“I don’t want him to go.”

“I don’t either, baby.”

We held him for twelve short hours, and we said goodbye to our tiny son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin. We said goodbye to our expectations, our hopes, and our dreams for that little boy.

After he was gone I felt empty, my belly was empty, my arms were empty, but I can’t say my heart was empty. My heart was full of love and sorrow. You don’t stop loving someone just because he is gone. My heart will always be full of love and sorrow for my baby Michael.

I wondered when I had my first child how I could make room in my heart for a second child, it felt so full. When I had my second child everything just multiplied, it was magic. When I had my third baby- when I lost my third baby I gained perspective. He taught me things I never wanted to know.

He taught me I’m stronger than I ever thought I was.  I’m not angry at God.  I’m not bitter or depressed. I don’t feel guilty or jealous. (As some books indicate that I might feel.)  I feel sad.  I feel sorrow. I feel loss. I feel sorry for myself sometimes, and I feel it’s okay to have all those feelings.

He taught me how much you can love someone you never met.

He reminded me in the biggest way that we don’t get everything we expect to get, no matter how much we want it.

He showed us how much our friends and family love and support us.

He reminded me how important it is to how my girls how much I love them as often as I can.

It’s been just over a month and my girls still ask about him almost every day.

We did have a photographer come in, and I look in the mail box everyday for pictures of that little prince.

I’m usually okay, but it strikes me at random times. “I should have a baby right now.” “How would this be different if I had Michael right now?” I wonder how long this grief will keep me on the verge of tears.  I’m worried it won’t go away, I’m worried it will. I wonder if I will ever be able to smile when I think of him.

I loved him. I love him. I will always love him.

I wish all babies were loved as much as he is.

Paris 2006

If I remember correctly I got this drawing for a kiss- or maybe I got a discount for a kiss?   Kissing was involved in the acquisition of this drawing- that's all I know.

beatitude

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

Matthew 5:4

country music to the rescue

 "It Only Hurts Me When I Cry"

The only time I feel the pain
Is in the sunshine or the rain
And I don't feel no hurt at all
Unless you count when teardrops fall
I tell the truth 'cept when I lie
It only hurts me when I cry

You couldn't tell it by the smile
That my recovery took awhile
I worked for days and nights on end
Just to walk and talk again
You can't believe the time it takes
To heal a heart once it breaks

Oh maybe every now and then
I have a small heartache again
You wouldn't know when you look at me
There's tiny scars that you can't see
It was a struggle to survive
I'm probably lucky I'm alive

The only time I feel the pain
Is in the sunshine or the rain
And I don't feel no hurt at all
Unless you count when teardrops fall
I tell the truth 'cept when I lie
And it only hurts me when I cry

I tell the truth 'cept when I lie
And it only hurts me when I cry

Dwight Yoakam

still learning

I'm sure everyone in my position has thought, "Why did my baby die?"  I then think am I asking why my baby- as opposed to someone else's baby?  I certainly wouldn't wish this on another person.  Am I asking why my baby- as opposed to my toddler, preschooler, or school age child? Would it have been better if he had come home with me and died later of SIDS?  Losing a child at any point is losing part of your heart-- a part of yourself.

Someone asked how I was, and I explained I literally couldn't think of anything worse.  Not that aren't worse things, but at this time I cannot make myself conjure an image of a worse thing.  This thing feels so terrible, even imagining something worse could break me.

What you can do is say; “Yes, this sucks. But what’s the lesson? What can I take away from this to make me a better person? How can I take strength from this and use it to bring me closer to happiness in my next moment?”

The Science of Happiness: Why complaining is literally killing you.
By Steven Parton, From CuriousApes.com
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Statistics didn't help this time. 1% of American babies are still born. 1.6% of cesarian section wounds come open after surgery. The doctor informed me I had a certain infection which could have (very small chance) affected Michael (although the infection was not found in his placenta) and the chances of me getting this infection are so small there aren't even statistics concerning the possibilities.
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I asked the doctor yesterday what he had put on my FMLA paperwork about going back to work. He said I was cleared to do whatever I wanted as of that day. However, he had signed the paperwork that I was also free to choose to NOT go back to work for 6 weeks after the c-section.

I asked the nurse about it as well and she said, "Yeah sure, do what you want to do- but if you are at the gym doing a really hard workout or something, and it starts to hurt real bad- you should probably stop."

It's kind of like they haven't noticed the gaping, seeping wound in my abdomen.

First of all I don't go to the gym and "work out real hard" EVER- and I'm certainly not going to do it now that I can only walk at a turtle pace- and I only bend at the hips in straight up emergencies.

As for going back to work- sounds a little iffy when I have a doctor's or nurse's appointment 4 of the 5 work days a week.
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I had a new home healthcare nurse yesterday and she decided to "explore the wound." She stuck a cotton swab in the wound and it felt like lava was running all the way across the wound and out the other side! So ... I yelled- some. And she said, "You have a lot of undermining. Did they tell you you had undermining?" Then she mumbled about "undermining" for a while. While I prayed "Please God, whatever she just did, don't let her do it again!"

Then she took my blood pressure and said, "Your blood pressure is good, even after all that yelling. I wish all my patients had blood pressure this good, before I make them yell like that."

Well, that's one good thing- I've always had good blood pressure.

All these things

Of all the things laying around the house, this- what I had written on the calendar, was the thing that upset me the most.  I have baby clothes, diapers, formula, toys, little blue blankets, crib, bassinet- all these things and this little note of expectation is what was upsetting me the most yesterday.

And of all the things I've bought and made in the last 9 months for my baby boy- this knitted feather is the thing that I've latched on to for comfort.  It is something to hold on to when I'm thinking about him.

Today wasn't terrible- I had feared it would be worse- but the anticipation of what I thought it would be turned out to be the hardest part. I had wanted to go to the funeral home and pay and get the cremation process started, but the home health nurse came for the first time today, so we didn't have enough time. The nurse changed the dressing and good news, it didn't hurt too much when she redressed it.

Last night the power steering when out on the car- yes of course it did.

Daniel's boss came by today to visit and drop off some cards co-workers had signed.  They had taken a collection for us and it turned out to be exactly the amount we owe the funeral home.

God Provides.

We don't plan to have an open service or memorial for Michael.  It would certainly be upsetting to me, and most likely upsetting to the girls.  I know that many people would like to come support us; I appreciate that.  It simply isn't the type of support I want/need or even know how to deal with.  I want to know people are still praying for us- I want to know you put us on a long term prayer list.

I'm a private person- this is a matter of the heart- which cannot be hidden. We don't want to hide it. We rejoiced and everyone rejoiced  when we announced a coming boy.  We cannot pretend that he wasn't and that he won't always be a part of us- I can't pretend I'm not sad and I can't keep my eyes dry to make anyone comfortable.  I physically, emotionally, spiritually can't do anything except what I've been doing.

Everyday Eowyn repeats back to me something we've told her in the past weeks.  Tonight she said, "It's okay to cry and be sad."  I said, "That's right, and it's okay to play and have fun too."

We just keep reminding ourselves- it's okay- it's going to be okay.

A letter for my baby boy

2.22.16

“I have gotten a man with the help of the LORD.” Gen 4:1

My Dearest Sweet Baby Michael,

I never thought I’d love a red-headed boy, but you changed me forever in more than one way.

It took over a year to conceive you.  I was just ready to give up. I’m 41, the chances of you coming along were getting slimmer every missed month.  But there you were on Father’s Day- “the best Father’s Day gift ever”- the promise of a child.  I wanted you to be a boy- I wanted to make a man.  I had dreams for you before you ever were.

I wanted you to be tall and smart and handsome like your daddy, and talented like your namesake uncle, and loving and sensitive like your big sisters.  I wanted you to have dark hair and blue eyes like me- because I’ve always wanted a dark haired baby. I wanted to see you with grey hair holding my hand at the end of our days together.

You won’t become all the things I wanted- and that is true for every parent- but you will always be my perfect baby I held in my womb for nine months and in my arms for only a few hours. 

You didn’t open your eyes, but you opened my heart.  You will always be in my heart, but also inexplicably-  you will always be my missing piece.

I made a feather for you. It didn’t really mean anything at the time, just a trinket- a little thing to match the tiny hat.  Now that little trinket- that feather is an anchor.  Just a little feather that I worry though my fingers to remind me that you were real- you were mine- you are mine- you will always be mine. Although you won’t be in my arms again on this earth, I know you are in the arms of the angels until I see you again.

I want to stop crying for you.  I want to smile when I think of you- I realize I’m not crying for you- I’m crying for me.  I see a red headed boy and I cry and I think ‘would he have stayed strawberry blond?  Would he be blonde like his sisters?  Would he have been auburn or turned dark?  Would he be fair?’  I thought you looked very much like your sister Lailah.  Lailah is beautiful, I imagine you two would have been very much alike.

I believe I will always see you- in your sisters and in a thousand little boys. 

On Monday February 22, 2016 we planned to celebrate your birthday; instead you will return to dust, from which we all come. 

It has been my great joy to have brought forth a man.  It has been my great sorrow to lose a son.

I will celebrate your life.  I will cry (a lot) and I hope one day I will smile for you, my love.

I wish I could write something more beautifully phrased.  Even these few lines took such effort.  I would say I am broken, but that’s not true.  I’m not broken- but I am bent to the ground and Satan is biting at my heel. My comfort is knowing he is crushed beneath our feet and you are safe forever.

I love you forever and always, more than I can say, more than I can show-

Mama

I'm home 2.19.16

Reset
I'm home
The morphine is gone, but the headache remains
It feels good to bend my elbow without setting off an alarm.
We went to the ER at 12:30 Wednesday morning.  According to my thermometer (which I now think is a liar) my temp was 102 or maybe 101.9- either way I had told my husband that I would call the doctor if my temp got that high.  (Even though the doctor told me to call if it got above 100.4, that just sounded like a silly number to me.)

I called the on-call doctor, and it turned out my doctor was on-call.  Just when he was about to tell me to Not come in, he  asked about the antibiotics I was supposed to be taking.  I told him the pharmacy had told me twice that they had never been called in.  Twice after office hours of course- so I hadn't started them yet.

Then he sort of freaked.  He told me I needed to go in immediately.  He said he was calling the ER doctor to give him instructions for when I got there.  He said, "They are going to admit you."

So we began gathering the stuff- looking through the bags of stuff we hadn't unpacked from the last trip to the hospital. This pillow- that robe, don't forget the headphones and the phone charger, yes I need my slippers and I should take a book.

In the waiting room Eowyn wanted to know why that girl was crying and kept asking if I was okay.  I told her I was okay and she struggled to keep her eyes open.  She didn't want to miss anything.  When my name was called I shuffled along behind the tech. Daniel and the girls shuffled along behind me.  In the exam room a beautiful blonde nurse and a handsome young doctor introduced themselves and told me what they were going to do- then they both disappeared for over an hour.

The nurse came back to draw blood and put in an IV.  She was pretty, but didn't seem to have much practice with "rolling" veins.  Although the floor nurses had not had any trouble finding a vein, ER nurse was having no such luck.  The girls thought the whole procedure was amazing.  Eowyn was basically up under the nurse's arm trying to see what would happen next- and she kept giving me advice- "Okay mama, close your eyes!  It's only gonna hurt a little bit!" Then to the nurse, "What's that? What are you doing? Why are you doing that? Can I have that?  I can hold that for you."

Eventually she had the IV in and two blood samples for cultures and one for the immediate lab use.  That's when I said, "The doctor mentioned something about pain medication?"  She said, "Oh! I'll get that for you and your fluids, and your antibiotic."

When she came back an hour later and hooked me up I asked when I would be moved to a room.  By that time it was nearly 6:00AM and we were all starting to lose it.  She said, "Oh, I'll have to check- but maybe not until 8:00 or 9:00- we have a lot of people in holding because there aren't enough empty beds upstairs.

Surprisingly she came back less than an hour later to tell us I had a room and they were ready to take me to it.

In the room the girls got weepy because they were so tired and stressed, but they had really been so good all night in that cramped little exam room. They left their most prized possession with me, Eowyn's favorite Teddy Bear and Lailah's favorite toy 'Broccoli.' What sweet girls I have.

Emptiness

I've been dreaming of empty buildings and empty rooms.

Emptiness 
To dream of emptiness suggests that there is something missing or lacking in your life. It symbolizes fruitless labor, an emotional void, or loneliness. There is nothing to show for all the effort that you have dedicated to a project or relationship. In particular, to dream that a container is empty represents optimism.

http://dreammoods.com/cgibin/dreamdictionarysearch.pl?method=exact&header=dreamsymbol&search=empty

the hippo story and my yard

While all the neighbors have cleaned up their leaves in our "Woodland West" neighborhood, ours are still lying conspicuously on the ground.  Not just laying there, but also blowing into the neighbor's yards.  No doubt they love us.

No less than 5 people have knocked on our door in the past weeks asking if we wanted them to clean up our yard for a price.  Each time I said, "No thanks."

This is because last year a guy came to clean up and he was tricksy- over charged us and left me feeling unwilling to try again.

On a side note, the year before when the Mormans did it, it was wonderful.  Too bad the Mormans won't come back.

I had a professional lawn guy, a student,  and a church group they are the runner-up for my favorite- it was a guy wearing nice clothes, driving a molester van (no windows, painted black- real shading looking).  He had a glossy card about his recovery church- and  a speech about how they were raising money for more work.  I mean- maybe I should have had him do it- but really I was a little scared about the van.  He kept saying "we" but I didn't see anyone else in the van.

My favorite was the last one- it was Sunday after church, and he appeared to be wearing his church clothes.  He told me (with a bit of an African accent) that he had noticed my lawn needed cleaned, and told me he was trying to get some money to send back to his family.  I said, "No, thanks." But he went on to tell me that his cousin had been in an accident and he wanted to help him.  I sympathized, "I'm sorry about that, but no thanks."  "You see," he said, "They were fishing and a hippo knocked the boat over."  "Oh! Well, that is terrible, but I think we will do it ourselves."

Yeah- the hippo part surprised me.  Not that it couldn't happen, but seriously I've never been within 100 yards of a hippo and I know they are one of Africa's most dangerous animals!  Stay away from the flippin' hippos!

I couldn't decide if that was a made up story or a real one.  I suppose those are the best kinds.

Long lost friend...

Well- I could be talking about this blog- my long lost friend- but actually I was thinking of something far simpler- older-
a pen
When I was in high school I had a thing about fountain pens.  I'm not sure why, or how it got started, but I has a small collection of (cheap) fountain pens. I loved them and I had all different colors of ink.
Fast forward 20+ years.  I have a new collection of some cheap (Chinese) fountain pens and some rather expensive ones as well. I also love them.

However, up on a shelf, in a box was a little green, plastic fountain pen.  It has yellow daisies on it, and the ink inside has long since dried up.  It was one of my high school pens.  I've been dragging it around all these years.  I have some cartridges too, unopened, but half dried up anyway.

Sometime ago I bought some syringes to flush out some of my pens, and maybe refill some cartridges.   And so- while I should be working I have revived my little green flowered pen!  She's alive!  She's perfect!

Knowing I have enough pens and ink to last for generations does not stop me from wanting more!
Vive le stylo plume!

At the party

Yesterday  OE was talking about how much she loved 'the party' where I wore the funny glasses.  She said, "I love that party, I love those funny glasses, I wish I could have some funny glasses like those." I had no idea what she was talking about.  She had mentioned something like that before. I thought maybe she was referring to a dream she had had.  Or maybe she was mixing me up with something else she had seen.  She referred to the party as 'yesterday' which generally means anything in the past.

Then she expanded the story to include how much she loved the tattoos on my hands and the princess dress (although, she  informed me, that a pink one would have been a better choice) and how Daddy gave me some cake in my mouth.

Then I realized what party she was talking about.  A long time ago- more than 6 months for sure I showed her our wedding album- and she remembered everything.

dreaming 11/11

From Dream moods.com

Toes

To see your toes in your dream represent the way you move and walk through life, either with grace and poise, or the lack of.  It also signifies your path in life. Alternatively, toes represent the minor details of life and how you deal with them. 

To dream that you hurt your toe or that there is a corn or abrasion on it, means that you are feeling anxious about moving forward with some plan or decision.

I dreamed that I had a small sore on my big toe.  I think it was my right big toe.  It didn't really hurt, so I didn't pay much attention to it.  When I took a closer look at it I saw that it was very deep.  As a matter of fact half my toe was hollow!  The skin and nail were like an egg shell.  I knew I should go to the doctor, and I wondered why it didn't hurt.

I also dreamed that my mother came to me and told me I needed to go the the doctor to get my heart and blood checked.

I also dreamed that a teeny tiny cat was sitting on my pillow and meowing in my ear. That, however, was probably just a result of the high pitched wheezing from my throat.

dreams of times ago

The other night I dreamed about some college friends.  It was one of those continuous dreams.  I wake up quite often in the night. When I was younger I used to think it would be nice if I could go back to find out how  a dream ends- because I have always woken up a lot in the night- and I used to start a new dream with each wakening.  Since I've been pregnant I've started either continuing the dream, or restarting the dream.

The dream was that I was with my college friends and we were hanging out, having a fun time.  Then they got girl friends and they just stopped talking to me.  I was nonexistent.  It was so frustrating- and it wasn't always the same guy.

In reality it did happen several times, not quite so dramatically as in the dream.  The problem was, not that it happened- it happened we were young- the problem with the dream was that it kept happening all night- over and over again.

I was so annoyed when I woke up.  I think I'd rather just get a new scene if the old one is going to be so annoying.

Ultrabook

The Ultrabook has arrived... and it's awesome!

Happy Birthday to me

For my birthday I've decided to give myself time.  Time to write a blog.  Anytime I feel inclined to write something on my much overlooked (by me) blog I think, "But, I have so many other things that I really SHOULD be doing!"  Then I do that other thing, and by the time I have a moment to sit and write- I'm tired or out of the mood, or  can't remember what I wanted to write about any way.

In order to try to facilitate my new gift of time to myself- I've asked for a new netbook.  However, it seems netbooks have gone the way of the dinosaurs- I am currently writing on a net book I bought in 2008 or 9 ?! I don't really know. Since then I've had two or three computers, a tablet or two and a variety of smart phones, but none of them give me the ease of typing, researching, portability and comfort of a little computer.

I told my techie husban
d I wanted a netbook. He said, "There's no such thing"- translated- there's no such thing worth buying. I said, "What about a chromebook?" He said, they were interesting in concept but flawed in execution.  I said, "How about a budget laptop?"  He said, "Not worth it."  I was losing hope for my writing 'career' when he said, "What you want is an ultrabook."

I do? Yes, of course.  (I'm pretty easy to convince.) I want an ultra book.  I want an expensive gadget. I want a computer that is light, but doesn't have the cramped keyboard that I am currently fighting with.  It should run Windows and have enough power and memory to keep me happy for the next 5 years.  It should have a long battery life and a sleek design.  All of those things will help me write. :)

My gift of time is about finished for now- but I hope to continue to gift myself.  I have a list of possible topics to address.

  Here's to the next year of Shannon

The ballad of love and hate

"The Ballad Of Love And Hate"

Love writes a letter and sends it to hate.
My vacations ending. I'm coming home late.
The weather was fine and the ocean was great 
and I can't wait to see you again. 

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.
"No one here cares if you go or you stay.
I barely even noticed that you were away.
I'll see you or I won't, whatever."

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.
Every stranger and drifter he greets.
And shakes hands with every loner he meets
With a serious look on his face.

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.
Carrying with her the good things we know.
A reason to live and a reason to grow.
To trust. To hope. To care.

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car.
Without much regard to the moon or the stars. 
Lazily killing the last of a jar 
Of the strongest stuff you can drink.

Love takes a taxi, a young man drives.
As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.
But tears follow after, at the end of the ride, 
Cause he might never see her again.

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.
He screams o'er the sidewalk and into the drive.
The clock in the kitchen says 2:55, 
And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who's out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung, eyes to the floor.
He says "Love, I'm sorry", and she says, "What for?
I'm your and that's it, Whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I'm your's and that's it, forever."

You're mine and that's it, forever.

I think I will think of an assignment to have my students analyze these lyrics.

Hungry

Yesterday some students presented some cultural information about Ramadan to their non-Muslim classmates- as it is starting tomorrow.

I probably should have gone, but ugh- I know about Ramadan already NO FOOD all day = Angry Muslims.  PARTY and FOOD all night = tired Muslim with digestive problems.  

I suppose that  was not exactly the gist of the presentation.

The only thing that made me consider going was the food.  I was HUNGRY!  I have breakfast, snack and lunch, and I was still hungry.  (I suspect Aunt Flo of affecting my appetite.)

I thought it was probably wrong to go to a Ramadan presentation just for the food.

I waited until I was pretty sure it was over, then walked past the room on the way out- but they weren't done. The pizza hadn't even come yet.  So I popped in, had some Arabic coffee and waited for the pizza.

Oh Ramadan- It's going to be a long month for my Muslim friends.

Celebrate Gladly.

Matthew 6:16-18 “And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

Both hands

I've painted my nails... the big news is I got two coats on both hands. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but I never seem  to have time to complete the task. There are a lot of those types of tasks- the unfinished ones.

It's spring break this week. I'm hoping to get some household chores completed, do ny class prep work  and have some time to have fun and relax.

That's a big list- at least my fingernails are ready.

Awesome on a bad day

Wednesday OE came home sick and threw up all the way down the hall.  D stayed home Thursday,  but on Friday they seemed fine.  We all went to work and daycare.  I had a headache at work yesterday.  Things didnt seem bad until Friday  night after D had left.
I was sick in all the ways.
Im guessing it's some sort of flu. 
But even fluish i made some finger paint and supervised a few masterpieces.

get closer to Canada . . .

terrible-horrible-no good-very bad.

Speaking of the terrible, senseless things people do ... Sometime ago D told me a story about a baby who had been severely abused. This baby, at two months old need to be care flighted to a more sophisticated hospital because of the severity of her injuries.  She had broken ribs, broken legs, head contusions and two occasions of bleeding on the brain just to start.  She was experiencing convulsions because of her head injuries, and I'm sure there were far more things wrong with that tiny baby that I didn't hear about.

No matter how frustrating a newborn can be- what kind of monster would hurt a baby like that? If you don't want to deal with a baby- give it away- it's that easy.  That's what those "safe place" signs are all about.

That baby has been in protective care for the past 7+ months.  I heard more of the story yesterday.  The parents are a young couple.  The couple was living in a house with the mother's parents and one other family member. The grandparents were caring for the baby.  The parents were both working or otherwise away from the baby on a regular basis.

When the baby stopped breathing because of the seizures the parents took her to the ER.  At the ER the assessment was that she needed more sophisticated care than could be given at that ER.  She was care flighted to a bigger facility.  At the bigger hospital the doctors immediately recognized abuse and called CPS. CPS took custody of the baby and she has been in foster care since that time.

The young couple maintains that they were not the abusers, and suspect it was the grandparents, or possibly this other unnamed family member.  CPS only knows that the parents should be responsible, and that there is no proof they didn't do the abuse, or at least know about the abuse.  Its a "he said-she said" situation.

The attorney of the young couple suggested that if they broke up the mother would have a much better change of getting the baby back, because blame would slide to the father of the child.  The young woman refuses to take this advice, being sure both she and her boyfriend are innocent.  The grandparents are suing for custody of the baby- the young mother insists that she would rather see that baby anywhere else than with her parents.

The young couple has been advised to find an adoptive home for the baby or CPS will take the baby permanently.

The person telling us this story is the great aunt of the baby.  She is looking forward to her own children graduating from university and retiring from her job in the coming years.  She confesses that she is from a family of drama- she is the logical-rational-determined one who got out of the family business of trouble and drama.  She's the only one to go to university- to work her way to the top of her field. She's the one they asked to take the baby.

She's not unkind, but she just isn't in a place to take a baby in.  She raised her kids alone- she has her own medical issues- she's busy at work. She has her life. She doesn't want a baby.

When we heard this story D and I both said, "We do. We want a baby. We're ready- we've got all the stuff for girls."

Our story teller said, "This baby might be special needs after the abuses she suffered."
I said, "When you have a baby, you don't know what you're going to get- taking this baby would be just like having one- we would take her as she was, and help her to be her best."

She said, "What would you think about letting the parents see her?" She thought they were telling the truth, and they really were not the abusers.
I said, "I'm sure that would be court mandated, but I wouldn't be opposed to supervised visits and seeing what happens from there."
She said, "I think you guys are crazy- are you serious? If you are serious I'll tell the parents."
We said we were serious.

If that baby came to us- it would only be God giving her to us.

I told D before we got married that I would be interested in adopting- I just don't know the logistics of the whole thing.

God doesn't always deal in logistics.

I just wanted a taco

Yesterday I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to stop at one of my favorite places for lunch.  It was a headache-and-I-think-I-need-some-protein- kind of unwell.
I went to Taco Cabana.  I had a super yummy bean and cheese taco plate and highly enjoyed to salsa bar.  I was feeling good when I came out and started the car.  I saw I had a tire with low pressure, so I got out to check it out and I saw that I had a 4 inch slash on the side of my tire.

Seriously? Why so angry tire shasher?

I'm just a white girl enjoying a taco!

D came to change the tire (theoretically I could do it myself, but lets face it- tire changing is certainly a perk of having a man around) and he was trying to be optimistic and said, "Maybe it was a really sharp piece of re-bar you drove by."   That kind of gash would have deflated the tire immediately- so I thought, "Maybe it is was a crazy person with a really sharp knife."

It turned out that crazy-pants-cutter chose to slash the one tire I had with a road hazard warranty.  Weird.  I messed up the previous tire  when I slid off a county road in the rain.  I didn't need 4 new tires so I just got that one new- and bam! Another new one!

It makes me really wonder what is wrong with people.  I mean I know people do terrible-horrible-disgusting things on a regular basis- but when it doesn't directly effect you- you can push it aside. This is something so small- an inconvenience- but what makes a person so angry to lash out at a stranger for no reason? What makes them think destruction of someone else's property is ok?

non-posh jars

I've taken lately to putting everything in glass cars (plastic for the babies.)  My breakfast and lunch jars are sitting on my desk, looking empty and forlorn.

My Campbell's black bean cilantro soup was a mistake. The hazelnut chocolate milk on the other hand was yummers.

My jars are not Mason jars- just baby food jars and salsa jars- juice jars and pickle jars.  One day I will break a jar in an unfortunate place and my jar-love will cease.

a flash of my future

Lailah will be walking soon.  She cruises and stretches all of her 27 inches to reach the next piece of furniture- she stands alone when she's not thinking about it, and has *pretty good* control of when and where she sits down.  Lailah is a busy body, who loves to be held, but hates to be held down. She's squirmy and wiggly and willful. Lailah, like her sister has "ape arms" she can reach faster and farther than you would think possible for a baby.

Eowyn is still not happy with Lailah.  Occasionally she is sweet to her baby sister, but most of the time it's "No Lailah! No touch!" or "Lailah hurt my princess!"  Which is translated as "Lailah touched my dress." (Major crime in Eowyn's mind)

Lailah, on the other hand, loves everything about Eowyn. Before she could crawl she would watch her sister and giggle.  Now that she's mobile, Lailah is everywhere Eowyn is.  Lailah wants the eat the same food, drink the same drink, and play with the same toys.  Lailah wants to be next to her all the time.  Eowyn wants Lailah to be anywhere else.

I keep hoping that when Lailah becomes a steady walker Eowyn will learn how fun Lailah can be.

I had a glimpse of what I can expect when by little angels start working together.  I had a full glass of water.  I put it in the middle of the coffee table, which is- for now, one of the few places Lailah still can't reach. I was knitting something, and not looking at the girls when I heard my glass of water spilling onto the floor. I looked up to see Eowyn holding the glass up for Lailah to drink, and the water dripping down the front of Lailah's shirt.  I saw two sets of blue eyes looking at me with this expression of "That's not what we wanted to happen at all- are we in trouble?"

At that moment I knew what my future would look like- those sweet blonde haired, blue eyed angels wreaking all manner of havoc- then giving me those innocent-scarred looks.

What could I say?  It was one of the few times that Eowyn was being sweet to Lailah without any prompting from me or Daniel. I didn't want to scold Eowyn for trying to be nice to her sister- her poor thirsty baby sister who couldn't reach the water.

I didn't say anything- just went to get a towel, and another glass of water.

Monster on the ceiling

Conversations with a two year old:

OE: Mama! I'm scared! (hiding and shaking- she's really good at pretending to be scared)
ME: What are you afraid of?
OE: A dragon!
ME: A dragon? Where?
OE: In the bath room!
ME: What color was it?
OE: (high pitched shaky voice) Pink!

Then she skips away happy as can be, because this a regular conversation.  She's not really scared of dragons, she loves to see dragons on tv, and has toy dragons.  She likes to roar like a dragon, "RARRR!"

I say this to point out that she generally not generally afraid of things other kids find scary at that age.

Last night she stayed at her grandparents house as part of the first ever "cousins sleep over." Everyone had said night-night, the lights were out, they were laying down together- which is quite an accomplishment for two 3 year-olds and one 2 year old.

Suddenly they heard the ceiling fan clicking, and somebody said, "What's that?" and Liam said, "It's a monster!" and calmly got up and left.  His arm was itchy and he wanted more medicine.  That left the two girls in there to think about the monster.  Tia went back in the room to get the medicine for Liam.  She turned on a bathroom light, which cast shadows across the clicking fan.  And Eowyn Lost It. "It's a monster! I want my Mama!" She was I-have-been-playing-hard-and-didn't-get-a-nap-today-and now-it's-way-past-my-bed-time-in-a-strange-place-with-a-monster-two-year-old-Hysterical.

It was pathetic.

ME: What's wrong?
OE: Monster! (sobbing)
ME: Where?
OE: In there (still sobbing and trying to catch her breath)
ME: What color was it?
OE: (starting to calm down) Pink ...
ME: Pink? Pink's a good color. Do you like pink?
OE: yeah ...

Then she stayed up for another hour or more.

Then we left- so I hope the rest of the first ever cousin sleep over went well.

Conversations with OE

Conversations with a two year old:
OE: Mama, you're my favorite.
ME: Oh, I'm your favorite? Is Daddy your favorite?
OE: Yes
ME: Is Liam your favorite? (cousin)
OE: Yes
ME: Is Noni your favorite? (grandmother)
OE: Yes
ME: Is Grandpa your favorite?
OE: Yes
ME: Is Lailah your favorite? (sister)
OE: (pause) Um, No....
EVERY TIME!

self reflection

Self reflection is what the purpose of my blog was way back in the day.  I didn't really expect anyone to want to read it.  I still have pretty low expectations.  I fell out of the self expression game.  Then came facebook, where self expression comes in the form of memes and shared news stories.  It is much easier- very little effort is involved.

I've been going to Toast Masters meetings.  It's not because I have a deep desire to be a better public speaker, it is because I teach a class on public speaking and taking my students to these meetings gives them a chance to hear Americans speak on a variety of topics, and shows them what I expect from them.  Of course it doesn't hurt me at all to get paid for an hour of work I got some body else to do for me.

One of the speeches today was about the "Starving Baker"  The guy who gets so busy taking care of everyone else that he doesn't have time to eat, or take care of himself.  The girl who spoke said that she felt she had let herself get too busy, so she took a step back and determined to do somethings she wanted to do instead of only things she felt like she had to do.  One of the things she wanted to do was join Toast Masters (of all things) and the other was to take more time for self reflection through writing in her journal.

That reminded me that my poor blog was her languishing for years.  And maybe I could benefit from some self reflection too.

My reflection for today is this.  I really enjoy my job.  Teaching is fun, and getting to meet and talk to students from all around the world is interesting.  However, sometimes I wish I had a desk job.  I wish I could go to work and sit down with a cup of coffee and browse the internet for 20-30 minutes in the morning while I got settled.  I wish I could randomly, in between projects start reading about topics that interest me.  I wish I had time- time that I had to be sitting at my desk anyway, to look busy by writing on my blog about all the things that I learned about in the random reading I did on company time.

I know that's not very aspirational.  I don't want to be a boss- I don't want to be in charge- I just want to sit at a desk, do my work, waste some time and go home at the end of the work day without having to think about my work at all again until I get up and go back in the next day.

Sometimes I think I really should have been a librarian, but they don't get the awesome holidays that teachers get.

grading...grading

Some of my favorite sentences as I grade my final exams and tests:

A lot of house pets are eatable, so the human can care of them to eat them, and it depends on the society and the culture.
The last point is that servise pets are not for eat, but in some culture people grow pets for food.
When you want to talk with other people, a dog usually get ready to chat with you.
When you want to say some bad words or sentences to someone, a dog can become that person, it just listen, never say.
Pets and humans are friends, we should protect them.  We cannot hurt them.  If you always hurt them, you will hurt pet's heart.
On the other hand, pets responsibilities are greeting you when you come home, eating, barking, and peeing on your sofa.  That's it.

Manana

Yesterday my socks matched my outfit perfectly.  Unfortunately, they did not match each other. This is the story of my life at this time.  There is a mountain of laundry in the garage.  Most of it is clean, but heaped up in the corner.  We go out there and rummage though it every morning for socks and underwear.I need a new system.  D said, "If you can't keep up with the laundry, you should ask me for help."  I replied, "If you notice I can't keep up with the laundry, you should help."

EJ's socks never match.  Keeping up with a toddler's socks is near impossible. She takes them off and tosses them in random places, but never both of them in the same place.  I will find one in the car, another in the bathroom; one in the living room, another in her bed.  I'm doing well to give her matching shoes each day.

My little shoe princess... she is perfectly positioned to be that girl everyone, both guys a girls love because of her varied interests.  If you give her a choice between pink and any other color, she chooses pink.  If she sees something that sparkles or shines, it's hers.  If she sees a car or a truck, especially a monster truck (or as she calls it a "truckatruck) she goes wild.  If she had to choose between shoes and a truck I can't say I don't know what she would do.  She would take both, declaring them, "MINE!"

She used to be very interested in trains and planes.  Recently; however, she is concerned they are going to "get you."  By 'you' she means herself, but she's only two and pronouns are hard.  Her daddy says, "I'm going to get you!"  She says, "Daddy get you!"  = Daddy got me!  In the past we would hear a plane or train and I would say, "You hear that? What is it? It's a train/plane."  She would say, "Hear train/plane? It's a train/plane." Now when she hears a train or plane, she runs to me and says, "Train/Plane get you!" She's scared and worried.  I'm not sure why- I'm pretty sure she's never been close enough to a plane or a train to realize how big and (sort of scary) the really are.

She will also say, "Help you mama."  This is modeled after my question, "Do you want me to help you?"

This morning she picked up a banana and "Manana!"  Then she followed me around the house with the banana saying, "Mama, manana!"  Of course my thought was, "Mehnamehna ...do-do-do-do-do!"
I looked at her and said, "Say banana."
She said, "Manana."
Me: "Banana."
Her: "Manana!"
Me: "Ba-nan-a!"
Her: "Ma-nan-a!"
Me: "Banana."
Her: "Banana."
Me: "Good!"
Her: "My banana!"
Me: "Okay."
Her: "Manana!"
Me: "Fine."

The nice thing about personal blogging is that it is impossible to get off topic- because the topic is what ever I want!