This Is How We Enjoy Easter Peeps

Easter Peeps are cute, crystalized, sugary bits of yuck. As a general rule, I don’t eat marshmallows straight or covered in sugar. If I eat a marshmallow, it’s between two graham crackers and covered in a melted Hershey bar, or pretending to be river foam on top of a Mississippi Mud Cake. If I’m going to eat candy with absolutely no redeeming quality (Chocolate isn’t included as it has free radical fighting antioxidants and it keeps Mommy from losing her mind.), I prefer Skittles, or Sour Gummy Life Savers, or cinnamon discs or butterscotch. Marshmallows? Meh. The rest of my household feels pretty much the same about marshmallows.

Yet, somehow we always have a package of Peeps lying around at Easter. And we keep them until they are petrified because they are too cute to throw away. This time Ella picked them out to include in a goody bag for me at the hospital. When I offered her one, her response was, “Meh.”

I’ve been letting them live in the candy bowl for a few weeks, and the other night Dave asked what we were going to do with them. I told him to throw them away. He said he would – after they played a game with them.

Then, as I cleaned up the kitchen, he and the kids proceeded to sing a modified version of “Little Bunny Foo-foo Hopping through the Forest” while bopping those Peeps to oblivion. And laughing. Luke could barely contain himself; he thought it was so funny.

Scooping up the Peep chicks.

Turning Little Bunny Foo Foo into a goon.

Not entirely sure those Peeps aren't alive since they jump around when bopped.

Completely engrossed in the game.

By the time they were done squishing them, they were small enough to fit in Dave’s fist. I probably should have given them to someone in need – but does anyone need Peeps? Does anyone actually eat Peeps?

The Sick One Speaks

Dave wrote this for us and he said it all so much better than I would have. Enjoy!

I have had many opportunities to count my blessings during the past few weeks. Strangely, I did not have to look very hard to find an overwhelming number of blessings, even while confined to a hospital, connected to various tubes and devices, recovering from surgery digesting the news that I had cancer and violently hiccupping.

I thanked God over and over and over again for the blessings as they came to mind. Among them were the many friends, relatives, church members and even a few people I did not know who visited me in the hospital. There was also my amazing wife and a new appreciation I gained for her love and devotion to me during the whole experience. I made a vow to stay with her through sickness and health eight years ago. She made the same vow to me. I learned what that meant during my hospital stay. She. Would. Not. Leave. Me. Thank God. I am extremely blessed to have such a dedicated partner and I am better for having learned of her dedication that I so very often take for granted.

Perhaps the thing I am most thankful for is that I have this cancer and not any other member of my household. I cannot imagine myself in Amanda’s role as caretaker and supporter. I had the easy part of all of this. I was told I have a disease, cut open, stitched back together and told to get lots of rest. Amanda was the one left to sit in hospital waiting rooms, call the family together, talk to the doctors, fill me in on things I missed while under the influence of heavy narcotics and sit by my side at the hospital for days on end all while worrying about our two children and wondering what the future would bring for our family. Once at home, Amanda shouldered the large majority of the household chores for several days, kept the kids fed, bathed and entertained and made sure I was properly encouraged, medicated and attended to while I laid around the house, watched television and slept. She has had the hard part of all of this and I am extremely blessed that I am the one who is “sick” because I don’t think I could have handled things if it was Amanda.

But I would have. Somehow and some way, I could have dealt with Amanda being sick. I would in no way have been the champion that she has been to me, but I would have muddled through, with much more help from family and friends than she required, and survived.

The thought I cannot imagine is that of Ella or Luke being diagnosed with cancer and forced to undergo medical treatment and hospitalization. This is the greatest blessing I have encountered through my experiences of the past four weeks. I thank God multiple times each day that I am the one with the illness and not my children. I can deal with pain, surgery, giving blood and bone marrow, taking treatments and whatever else may come my way. Let me hurt every day the rest of my life if I don’t have to see pain, hurt and fear on the faces of my two precious babies. Thank you God that they are well. I don’t know how I would make it if they were not.

But many parents do. There are many who have to experience their children being diagnosed with cancer and watch them endure the pains and fears associated with the treatments and the disease itself each and every day. And they are all much stronger than I ever want to become.

Last year we participated in a Trike-a-Thon through Ella’s school to raise money for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. We enjoyed the experience and Ella had a great time on her tricycle. We were amazed at the generosity of our family and friends in donating to this cause. Amanda asked today if we should participate in raising money for the event again this year, considering all that we have going on in our lives right now and all of the assistance we have already received during the past month. We absolutely should and will. We have the tremendous blessing of not having to know what the families serviced by St. Jude live through on a daily basis. The least we can do is contribute to the cause. Thank you God that my kids are healthy and well. I don’t know how I would make it if they were not.

So, as we did last year, we have again set up a fundraising page for Ella’s Trike-A-Thon and would appreciate any contributions you would like to make: EGR's Trike-a-thon page. Thank you for the prayers and support you have given me during the past days. I am going to be fine. I am blessed beyond all imagination and I feel that we should do what we can to pass it along.

As always, please only give as your heart moves. If this doesn't interest you, please do not feel obligated to donate. The Trike-a-thon takes place on April 13th, so we have until then to see how much money we can raise. Thanks in advance!

Sweet Answered Prayer!

Dave talked to the oncology nurse this afternoon and she relayed the message that his bone marrow came back normal, his heart function is normal, his PET scan shows "minimal disease," and they want him to start chemotherapy next Tuesday! I don't exactly know what "minimal disease" means, but we'll take it.

He still has to have his port put in, and that is scheduled for the end of next week, so they might actually start the chemo a week later. We'll find out about that on Monday.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the prayers! Please keep them coming; we know the treatment isn't going to be a cakewalk. But for now, I'm squealy excited - spontaneous, uncontrolled squealing bursting out of my body in fits of joy. It's like new car squealing, but more. And better.

"Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands." - Psalm 100:1

I have a confession.

I have an inappropriate sense of humor. I laugh at things that most people probably find offensive or, well, inappropriate. Dave is usually on my wavelength - either laughing with me or making me laugh at completely inappropriate times. Like the time we were at a wedding and, during the middle of the vows when the preacher asked, "What token do you bring...?", Dave turned to me and whispered, "The fatted calf." I was laughing, quietly, so hard that tears were running down my face with the effort of containing it. People were turning around to look. Now of course, he doesn't even have to say anything in the middle of a wedding ceremony, he can just look at me knowingly and I'll start laughing.

I laugh because it's fun and because sometimes it's either that or fall apart. And who wants to do that? So it's not at all surprising to me that in the middle of our most serious personal situation to date, I find myself laughing at the most inappropriate things. Namely, Dave.

He's mostly with me, but I occasionally hit a soft spot and realize I've gone too far and need to take it easy on him. Like when I received a chat from a friend of ours telling me to take a close up of his eyebrows because I probably wouldn't see them for a while after he starts chemo. I found that hilarious, mainly because it hadn't occurred to me that he'd lose his eyebrows, too, and I laughed out loud. When I told Dave about it, he just wasn't very amused. (I had an elaborate plan to take before and after pictures of his eyebrows and write a post about them, but I don't think he's going to let me. Party pooper.)

But just a little while ago, he completely exploited his recent, dramatic weight loss to make me laugh and laugh. I was making fun of the shorts he was wearing because they were all bunched up when he tied them on his waist with his belt. He changed to another pair and said, "These aren't much better. Look at this." Then he proceeded to perform a hula routine that jiggled those shorts all the way to the floor. He thought it was funny, too, so I was safe that time.

Sure, it will suck for him to lose all of his hair, but it's just hair. It will grow back. Sure, the reason for the weight loss sucks, but he's presently thrilled to be able to eat whatever he wants and not gain weight. Why not laugh? It's certainly more fun than being depressed over it.

My point is, I have an inappropriate sense of humor and you are going to see it here about chemo and cancer and all manner of other serious things. If it offends you, well, as my Grandma used to say, "I hate it."

The Twos Got Terrible Over the Weekend

A few times over the weekend I found myself thinking, "When did my sweet baby boy turn into this holy terror?"

Oh my mercy. Luke celebrated his 19th birthmonthday with a record breaking tantrum followed by an Incident with a block and his sister's head.

After church and lunch yesterday, we took the kids to Tractor Supply in hopes of seeing the baby chicks and ducklings. It really wasn't good timing for Luke as he was already starting to fall asleep in the car, but we did it because we knew they would love the fluffy babies. We were sadly disappointed to find them sold out, so we didn't get to see the babies and Luke was in such a state that things were scaring him. Those little faces that you stick on trees? Terrifying. The stuffed chickens? Scream inducing. We made our way out of there quickly, but we stopped at the front of the store where they have little bins of things you need. There was a ball. He grabbed it and talked about it for a few minutes while Dave assessed the rubber mallets. (I think he was thinking of buying me one, but he was afraid I would actually use it to knock them over the head when they are refusing to go to sleep at night. I would never, but it's probably best not to have that or tranquilizer darts in the house.) Anyway, when it was time to go, we went through the whole "tell it bye bye, give it love" transition, but Luke Roper had no intention of leaving that ball at the store. When I took it from his hands, he lost it. He screamed like I was peeling him all the way home. At home, I tried to put him down for nap and he kept fussing at me in his mad voice and saying, "Ball!" I decided to let him have a few minutes to wind down and try again for the nap.

During that time, he and Dave were playing blocks in his bedroom and Ella went in there to play. Shortly, I heard screaming and genuine crying and Daddy's scolding voice. I was trying to find somewhere to lock myself, but they found me. I overheard enough to know that Luke hit Ella in the head with a block. She was crying real tears and Dave was attending her. I scooped Luke up and tried that nap again. He needed it badly, but instead of falling straight to sleep like he normally does, we kept having this conversation.

Luke: Eh?
Me: Ella is with Daddy. He's taking care of her.
Luke: (while patting his head) Eh. Hit head. Block.
Me: I know you hit her head with a block. We don't use blocks for hitting people.
Luke: Daddy?
Me: Daddy is taking care of Ella.
Luke: (patting his head) Hit head. Block. Daddy.
Me: I know Daddy told you not to use blocks for hitting. We use our soft touch with each other.

And so it went until I took him out to the living room to see them both and know that everything was okay. He was very worried about Ella and very worried about the scolding he got from Dave. After that, he finally went to sleep.

So, I learned something. He's so much like me. He's as much like me as Ella is like Dave.
Ella and Dave have tempers like the Fire Swamp in The Princess Bride - quick to flare up and quick to die out. Luke and I, well, we're more like that pot you keep watching, waiting for it to boil and it's taking forever until suddenly it's boiling over and then you keep turning it down but it keeps boiling up again and making a mess all over the stove. Yeah, that's us. Slow to anger and slow to get over it. And, it seems like it's not just the messy temper he got from me. The way he worried about Dave and Ella after the block hitting deal makes me think he might also have inherited my tendency to be really hard on myself. I am and have always been my harshest critic. I kind of hate it for him because I know that forgiving myself for something is one of the hardest things for me to do - much harder than forgiving others. But I also know that there is not much anyone else can say to me that I haven't already said to myself. That makes it so much easier to let other people's crap roll off my back. And really, when you meet someone's angry tirade about something you've done or said with, "You're right, I am a jackhole. Please be angry with me; I deserve it" - well, there just isn't much left to say.
 
I know this about me because I'm a study in my own personal psychology. I know it about Luke because now he has enough words to tell me what he's thinking about, and what he was thinking about all afternoon was the ball I made him leave at the Tractor Supply Co. and the block to the head incident.
 
While he made me nuts all Sunday afternoon with his angry fits, I can't complain too much. For the most part his second year has been all climbing naughtiness. I guess he was about due for expressing his discontent with my parenting.
 
P.S. Because it deserves to be noted, EGR did not even retaliate when Luke smacked her over the head with a block. Amazing.

We Aren't Good Waiters

And I don't mean the kind that serve food at restaurants, though I'm pretty sure I'd suck at that job, too.

We (I think I have to stop saying "we" so much, as it isn't my body I'm talking/writing about.. this time.) were supposed to have an appointment with an oncologist at the end of this month. That wasn't really acceptable for a variety of reasons, so we got a referral to the Bruno Cancer Center at St. Vincent's. The first appointment was this morning and we got good news.

He has an intermediate-grade lymphoma that is highly treatable, generally with chemotherapy alone. While we were there today, he had a bone marrow test done. Next week they'll do the PET scan to figure out what stage it's in. In the midst of that, the pathologist at St. Vincent's will review the slides of his tumors to confirm the diagnosis and make sure there isn't some weird variation that would make the treatment more complicated. There is a small possibility that it could be in his bone marrow and that would also make the treatment more complicated. Hopefully we'll find out that everything is as straight-forward as it appears and he can get started with chemo in the next couple of weeks. He is still recovering from a major surgery, so a couple more weeks of rest certainly aren't going to hurt him.

We both loved the doctor and the general friendliness of the cancer center. It felt like we were supposed to be there and greatly helped our comfort level with this process. I have no idea what chemo will do to him, but I imagine we still have a pretty crazy road ahead of us.

The kids are hanging in there but the stress is starting to show at times. I saw that the cancer center can hook us up with a support group for children of cancer patients, so that might be something we look into as we get into the treatment phase. I know that Ella is very worried even though she's not saying much right now. Every night she says a special prayer for Daddy and she'll ask just enough questions to let me know she's trying to figure this out. Luke is velcro. We can't leave his sight, and even when we are with him, he regularly does a roll call of all his people just to get a status update - even the dogs. He's also nursing more now that he has in months. I'm just going with it. It's been an abnormal month, even for us.

Quick Update

We came home Friday morning and Dave slept most of the day. He woke up Saturday ready to go to Ella's first soccer game. We did and afterward he requested pizza for lunch. I was thrilled to see him eat an entire piece, then he slept most of the rest of the day. This morning, he woke up ready for church and still felt well enough, and hungry enough, afterward to stay for lunch. It does my heart good to see him wanting to eat again.

We don't know anything else about the lymphoma right now. He has an appointment with the oncologist at the end of the month to find out more about the pathology and talk about what to do next. We know there is a PET scan in the future and probably a bone marrow test but for now his job is to heal. While is energy level is increasing every day and he's already getting stir crazy, his body is in no shape for additional testing or treatment right now.

Please continue to pray as we wait for more information and slowly get back to our normal lives. Thanks for the prayers, calls, messages, visits, meals, cards - all of it. It means more than I can say.

I'll leave you with this cuteness - pictures I received one morning in the hospital.

It's hard to believe, but I promise I'm the mother of these children.

This one especially looks like her father, and much older than 3 1/2.

This is his very focused Cheese! face.

We are so very glad to be home and together again.

Around the Hospital

Now we know that Demerol is very good, and it makes Dave very funny.

After the first round of Demerol finally gave him some relief from the pain Saturday morning, Dave told the nurse, “Now, I’d like to air some grievances.” Then he blabbered out some nonsensical things about the morphine that didn’t work and the food tray that should not have come to his room. He was very serious and he made no sense at all. I giggled freely while the nurses tried not to. That’s a perk of being the wife.

“He scared me last night when he grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go.” That’s what the tech told me in the hallway after she encountered Demerol Dave in the middle of the night while trying to take his temperature. He really was not going to let go. I had to intervene.

In response to Dave telling her that he wasn’t taking the Demerol anymore, the night nurse said, “Oh, that’s too bad. You were kind of entertaining.”

He stuck to oral pain medicine after the first day.

Know what else is good? Thorazine. It stops hiccups. For real, people, they have a drug that stops hiccups. I only wish they’d given it to him sooner, but whatever, at least he got to sleep last night. Valium and Phenergan helped, but they kept coming back until he had Thorazine.

We’ve been here a full week now, and there have definitely been ups and downs. I think the biggest ups are when we get to sit outside for a few minutes and when we see the kids. They get so excited. So do we. The first day they came to see us when we had to meet them in the waiting room (because they weren’t allowed in the room), Luke was waiting outside the hall door and he started yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!” We parked Dave’s chair in the waiting room to play, and then we had to go back to the room for a few minutes to see the doctor. When we came back, Luke greeted us at the door again and escorted us back to the waiting room where he patted the floor so we would know where to park him. He wasn’t finished with Daddy yet.

Yesterday, Dave didn’t feel well enough to go to the waiting room, so I went by myself. Once Luke had loved on me for a minute, he took me by the hand and pulled me to the door, telling me, “Daddy!” I explained that Daddy wasn’t coming because he was taking nap. He tried twice more to run through the door and down the hall before I could get him. Today, we have a new room and the kids are allowed here. They came for a couple of hours and Luke had to get right up on the bed with Dave and talk about his incision: “Daddy. Bo-bo?” He needed to see it. Dave showed him and he was quite impressed.

Ella, upon seeing that we had hung up the penguin picture she made, said, “Oh, you put up your penguin. That’s so cute!” She had a project for Dave today. They shared the rolly table and colored a princess. She also writes him a note on his board when she’s here. She has been such a trooper through this experience. Her gracefulness right now is absolutely God working because she is completely out of her normal routine, and she is a child who needs routine.

As for Dave, we got verbal confirmation last night that his cancer is lymphoma. It’ll still be another day or so before we know what kind. I have to be perfectly honest and say that having that oncologist stand in the room and talk about PET scans and chemotherapy made the whole cancer aspect of this situation very real for me. I had a moment. I found the little chapel downstairs and cried myself dry. I came back to the room and told Dave I was freaking out, and from his sleepy haze he said, “Go wipe your worries on the spot.” I did it, then and a few more times, and I’m much better today. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, but for now we are just trying to get home.

Our Door Sign

Dave has had so many visitors during his hospital stay that I had to start keeping a list because there’s no way my Mommy Brain would remember them all. I’m beginning to understand why people feel called to visit others in the hospital. It’s not my usual M.O., but we’ve been loved by so many people, and the visits have been so appreciated, that I think God is working on my poor introverted soul about this.

We have a sense peace about this new adventure in our life, and truthfully, right now we are focused on his recovery from surgery so our family can live together in our house again soon. It’s quite a project, this recovery. Saturday was hideous, and most people who visited either found him sleeping or encountered his alter ego, Demerol Dave (more about him in another post). Sunday was a much better day, one with a lot less Demerol and a lot more Regular Dave. He got up and showered, and took several walks. We saw the kids. He actually got hungry. Monday started out great. I went home to get something I needed for work, and by the time I came back, he had already showered and dressed (and tied is shoes- that’s hard to do with a 12 inch incision in your belly) and was ready to go. We walked all over the hospital and found the little prayer garden so he could sit in the sun for a few minutes for the first time in a week. All was well until he broke out in a fit of hiccups that lasted SIX HOURS. Holy moly. He was having reflux with them, so his throat and chest were on fire, and after six hours of hiccups, his belly was sore, too. It took 2 doses of Valium, some Tums, and finally, a shot of phenergan to stop them – and knock him out. It was the nurse’s idea to try the phenergan because, “It sounds like he’s throwing up.” It did. I kept jumping up with the vomit cup, but I am very conditioned to react to that sound. I’m so glad I didn’t have to listen to that all night.

Through all this work of recovery, we’ve had plenty of time to discuss all that has happened since last Tuesday, usually in the middle of the flippin’ night. It was during one of these conversations that he told me that he really feels very positive about this whole cancer situation but he feels like some of his visitors are projecting their worry onto him. I decided then and there to make a sign for his door. This is what it says, but it doesn’t look this professional. I wrote it in marker, just like the old days when I was The Birthday Sign Maker at Lucky’s. I even signed it “Thanks, Management,” which apparently freaked out the hospital staff. Oops.

We can both feel the prayers wrapped around us. We know that God is working here. We can see it in every step of the process – the timing, the people - every little thing. With that sense of peace, there’s really no room for worry in our hearts right now. We aren’t dwelling on the tumors that the surgeon removed, but we are praising God for the pain that brought him here to find those tumors. He doesn’t feel or look sick, and he says that even with the pain from the surgery he feels better than he has in weeks. That’s a blessing! He told me last week that he just wants to be able to play with his kids and not be so tired all the time. Well guess what? Now we know why he was so tired. And we’re fixing it. So, though you may be worried, please bring your joy when you call or text or email or visit – because really, there’s no room for worry right now. We have work to do.

And, thank you to everyone who has prayed for and with us. It’s an act of kindness that soothes my soul and sometimes makes me cry. We have needed it; we still need it. Please keep praying with us. It helps us keep our joy.

The Debriefing, Part 2

Read the first part of the story here.

Once I committed to the surgery that day, we were whisked away through the secret passageways of the hospital – the ones you don’t see if you are just visiting there - to the operating room. They allowed me into the holding area while they prepped him and asked a ton of questions that I mostly answered for him because he was still drugged. Then I signed the consent form because he wasn’t in a legal state of mind to do it. They showed me to a waiting area right next to the building where our room was, but I had no idea how to get to it from there. I was completely lost in a maze of corridors until my dad showed me the way back to the room later.

I sat outside on the sidewalk and called our families to tell them what the GI doctor found and that he was in surgery. Half of my family was coming to sit with me while the other half took care of Ella and Luke. I nearly lost my composure while talking to Dave’s brother because I didn’t know how to tell his Nana. She doesn’t hear well over the phone, so I felt like she needed to hear it in person, and I felt so guilty that I had to ask his brother to give her that news on the eve of her birthday. I still hope that was the right decision.

Then I went inside to wait. A crowd of love surrounded me and distracted me for the 2 hours of surgery. We were the only people in the place, and that was nice, too. When they called me back to the consultation room, I went alone, but my dad followed me. That was an act of kindness I really needed but couldn’t ask for; I was so grateful.

As the surgeon talked, I grabbed a piece of paper and the pencil from the middle of the table to take notes and keep myself present. I knew I would need to tell Dave everything, and I didn’t want to miss anything in my shock. He was telling me that they got the tumor from the colon, but he found 3 more in the small intestine. He also removed the swollen lymph nodes from that side of the abdomen. It didn’t look like a typical colon cancer; it might be some sort of lymphoma. He called Dave a “diagnostic dilemma” because his case was difficult from the minute we arrived in the ER. Because of his age and the strangeness in the number and location of the tumors, they decided to send them to the pathology lab at Vanderbilt . It would be six days before we knew anything else. If it is lymphoma, it might be in other parts of his body; chemotherapy is a strong possibility. We won’t know anything until the pathology report comes back, but all three surgeons involved in this case tell us that we want this to be lymphoma because it is so treatable.

I absorbed this news and cried like a baby on my dad’s shoulder for a few minutes before I went back to the rest of my family. There, I gave my first recitation of everything I’d learned – a practice round, for when I would later tell Dave. The thought of telling him that there was more bad news was more than I could handle in the moment. I cried and cried, then got myself together to make all the phone calls again. More practice rounds that I desperately needed. Sometimes just saying the words that scare you over and over again make them not so scary anymore.

They finally called to tell me he was out of recovery and moved to his room. I met him there and settled in for a long night. He was in so much pain, so he spent the night trying to survive it and peppering me with questions that he didn’t remember the answers to until the morning when he told me, “I’m ready for a debriefing now.”

So, now he knows, and like me, he’s practicing saying the words that scare him. We will wait some more, with joyful hearts and lots of hope and even more “Please God.”

The Debriefing, Part 1

In the wee hours of the morning on March 3, Dave came out of his drug induced haze and told me plainly, "I'm ready for a debriefing now." This was to be the real one, the first time he was conscious enough to absorb all that I had been telling him through the night. He had been asking, over and over again, like they said he would, but he didn't remember.

I started from the last thing he did remember. At noon on March 2, we were cuddled in his bed watching a movie on the laptop when they finally came to get him for his colonoscopy. He'd been up since 5, waiting for it. He was not a happy camper.

They drove him in a wheelchair to the other side of the hospital and directed me to a waiting room. I later heard from the doctor that he was bargaining about how to get out the next day for his Nana's 90th birthday party. I waited for 2 hours before the nurse called me back to the consultation room. I waited there another 20 minutes that felt like an eternity. I tried hard not to have a panic attack. There wasn't enough room to pace without getting dizzy, and my heart rate was already so fast I felt light headed. I just tried to control my breathing (that Hypnobabies training is still working). I prayed the prayer of the speechless, over and over, like a chant: "Please God. Please God. Please God." I know He knows the words in my heart even when there are no words in my mouth, and thank Heaven because there has been a lot of "Please God."

I finally heard the doctor come out. I also overheard the nurse make a comment about a closed door and something being bad, then the doctor asked if she would come with him. Then he went to the room next door, to the lady who had been called back after me. The nurse did not go in there with him. She waited in the hall. Then she came to my room. I'm grateful for those few minutes of knowing that what he was going to say to me would knock the breath out of my lungs.

Then he came to my room he told me quick and straight that he'd found a tumor in Dave's colon and it would have to be removed. He showed me a diagram to point out the location and assured me that Dave would not need a colostomy bag - that was one of his big worries. He explained how much colon they would need to take out, that 99% of the time a tumor like this one is cancer, and that he'd already called the surgeon. I took all of that like a woman and then I nearly lost it when he said that Dave didn't know yet.

The doctor took me to Dave's bed. He was still sleeping and I hoped hard that he would stay asleep until the doctor came back to explain it with me. He didn't. He rolled over and looked at me and said, "Is it bad?" I nodded. "Cancer?" Probably. Then it was a whirlwind of explanation about surgery and risks and tumors and timelines, and we had to repeat it all several times because he was still sedated and couldn't remember. The surgeon joined us and, as God would have it, he had a slot open at that exact time because the weather was bad and they had been sending people home. He told us we could wait until next week, but it would mean being readmitted and going through the prep again. Thankfully, Dave looked at me and asked what I thought we should do. I said, "Do it today."

Waiting, Waiting and Writing

This has been a whirlwind week of hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. As I type, we are waiting for Dave to go for a GI test that will hopefully explain the pain and symptoms that brought us to the ER Tuesday night. If this test doesn't tell us anything, I understand that we'll move on to another one tomorrow.

When I brought him to the ER Tuesday, the pain was debilitating. Honestly, he looked like a woman in labor, the way he had to focus and breathe through it. He told me, "If they tell me nothing is wrong and send me home, I'm going to walk back in the door and sign in again." They were able to relieve the pain with IV narcotics and fluids. He had an ultrasound and a CT scan in the ER and was later admitted "to the surgeons" with a suspected small bowel obstruction. For a full day, he had IV fluid and nothing by mouth. The surgeon ordered a follow up x-ray yesteray (Thursday, I think?) and it showed improvement in the obstruction. Basically, the contrast he drank for the CT scan had passed all the way through the intestine but there was still inflammation. At that point, the surgeon stepped back to let the GI doctor take over to try to figure out what caused the obstruction. Surgery is still a possiblity, but hopefully it won't be necessary.

He was able to get some broth and juice yesterday, and he handled it well. He still has some pain, but not enough to take the narcotics. He's anxiously waiting for answers. He's never really been sick, ever, so this is a very new experience for him. It has definitely been an exercise in patience.

As we wait in faith, trying hard to remember the grace that God gave us and let His love show, I can see lots of little ways that He is taking care of us. Monday night, both kids slept through the night. That's only happened once before, and was much needed since I did not sleep again until 5:00 Wednesday morning. Also, the last 3.5 years of sleep deprivation? Obviously training for that hard 24 hour stretch - like a marathon runner, right? The kids have handled all of this disruption in our routine amazingly well. They've been to visit Daddy in the hospital twice and Ella wrote him a note on his white board. I am able to work from the hospital room, so I'm not just completely burning my sick time. On top of that, my boss brought me my laptop so I didn't have to drive to the office to get it. My family is taking care of the house and kids while I just try to keep it together. And most of all, Dave and I have spent tons of time just being together, which we both need. I do have a bit of struggle with Mommy Guilt about being away from the kids so much, but I know that they are well cared for so I can listen to my heart and be here with Dave. Hospitals are lonely places, and I don't want him to be lonely.  

Juice is the New Milk

That’s what Dave said recently about Luke and his juice cup, and it’s the truth. Ella almost exclusively drank milk – mine and the cow variety, but Luke won’t drink more than about a cup a week of alternative milks. We offer him soy and I just started giving him cow’s milk, but he could take it or leave it. He still nurses at bedtime and sometimes overnight, but he has started asking for juice in the middle of the night. Occasionally he’ll ask to nurse after work, but that’s only happening about once a week – and usually what he really wants is the cuddle and then he’s off and running again. He’s 18 months old (last Saturday) and I don’t think he’ll nurse much longer. So, yes, juice is the new milk. The boy loves some juice.

On that note, I’m still hauling my breast pump around in the back of my car for no good reason. Dave mentioned that I need to get it out of there and offered to store it in the basement for Ella to use in 25 years if I just couldn’t get rid of it. When I told him how much improved the technology would be by the time she needed one, he said, “Yeah, you’ll probably be able to pump with your iPhone…. Look at my suction cup app! It feeds the baby virtually.”

My baby is not a baby anymore and I need to get rid of the pump.

He amazes me every day with his ability to communicate, his resourcefulness, and his sweet, sweet spirit. He has had a runny nose since Christmas and we’ve been through the whole nose sucking routine so many times that he now does that to his baby, complete with laying a wipe out perfectly flat to wipe the bulb on after he sucks baby’s nose. Just I do. His baby is named Baby and he pronounces it with heavy emphasis on the first syllable, like “Baaa-by” in fine Southern drawl. He also nurses Baaaby and shares his juice with him. Sometimes I have to nurse Baaaby at bedtime.

He recently stripped off his socks to use them to wipe his nose. That was funny, but it was even funnier the next day when he found a pair of Ella’s and tried to wipe my nose for me. If he can’t find a sock, he’ll just climb the couch at Grandmother’s house to reach the Kleenex – and he prefers to wipe his own nose. He’s sick to death of us doing it for him.

His communication skills, both verbal and non-verbal, may be even more developed than Ella’s were at this age. He’s already using short sentences, like “tee-tee in the potty” and “need a drink”. He has a huge vocabulary and he uses a new word nearly every day now and in context. Yesterday when I called to check on them on my way home, I heard him telling Grandmother, “Stuck!” He had put something down his shirt and couldn’t get it out. He asked me for a banana over the weekend, then he took my hand and walked me to cabinet where we keep the peanut butter, spun the lazy susan until he found it, and pointed to tell me he wanted some. When he wants us to sit with him, he pats the spot on the floor/couch/bean bag/bed. He spontaneously says “thank you” most of the time when you give him something, and now when you do something for him or something that he deems worthy, he claps and says, “Yaaay!”

He has discovered the beauty of the Pez dispenser. A toy that gives candy? What’s not to love? He has a Mickey Mouse Pez that Grandma gave him for Valentine’s day and he carries it around the house with him, gnawing on the one little piece that sticks out when you flip up Mickey’s head. Sometimes he asks me to get the candy out for him. We were doing this the other night when he dropped a piece and instead of grabbing it off the floor, he let the dog eat it. Then he flipped up that Mickey head and realized he had dropped the last piece of candy. The look on his face was priceless, complete with a pitiful little pouty noise. Then he took matters into his own hands and tried to pry the dog’s mouth open to get it back. It was so cute, and a lot pitiful, so for his effort, I reloaded the Pez dispenser.

He and Ella have been getting along amazingly well lately. I think it helps that he is able to make himself understood more often now, and she has developed a sense of patience with him that I’ve not seen before. As with all things, I’m sure it’s just a phase, but I hope it’s also a foundation. I can handle repeating the scene from Lowe’s a few weeks ago when he reached up to hold her hand while they walked through the store.

He had his 18 month check-up this week and he weighs 23 lbs. and 2 oz, measured 32.5 inches long and has 8 teeth. He’s a skinny little thing for sure. We're supposed to try to fatten him up a little with Pediasure - the idea being that he might drink it since it's sweet like a melted milkshake, but we'll see. He was very proud to recieve his special "ju-ju" and needed to carry all four bottles out of there himself, but I think he's over it already. It's not juice.


The EGR Update
I’ll just give you two recent quotes that made me laugh.

While Dave and I were discussing our supper plan and his need for ice cream the other night, Ella kept asking me if we were going to get ice cream. I told her we would have to assess the situation after we ate. She went bouncing across the room to tell Dave excitedly, “Daddy! We have to assess the situation first!”

The same night while we were eating, Dave was talking about something “not coming up in this joint,” to which she immediately replied, “This is a house, Dave Roper.”

When the No-Kid Zone Becomes the Kid-Zone

Or Mommy is a Silly Fool

I was off work yesterday; Dave was not. I had two goals for the day: 1. Grocery shopping and 2. Get to gymnastics on time. I did shower before bed Sunday night, but I didn't wash my hair so the top of me was in full greasy teenager mode even if the rest of me was at least not smelly. Since I have a monkey for a son whom I'm terrified to leave unattended for more than a few minutes at a time, taking a shower when I am the only adult in the house can be quite tricky. I decided I had to do it because while the people at Publix could probably handle my greasy hair, I wasn't about to walk up into the crowd of Perfect Moms at gymnastics looking nasty.

I opted to lock them in my bedroom and shower as quickly as possible with the bathroom door open. We prepared the area.

Ready for Mommy's Shower

As you can see from this picture, shower time requires a lot of stuff. A bag full of baby things and the baby to use it on, a doctor's kit for doctoring the baby and distracting the little brother, and three blankets for a rolicking game of Goody-Hog. (I have no idea what a Goody-Hog is, but I do know that it is a game they made up and it is not a groundhog. I also don't really understand the game except that they roll around in the floor in blankets and declare each other the Goody-Hog. When asked to play, I do so enthusiastically, but, really I don't get it.) Notice what is missing from the picture? The children.

That's right, we brought all their crap into my toy-free bedroom and they did not even play in there. Why? Because they were busy turning my shower into a Little People Naked Party, complete with the baby doll, Maggie Beth. She's not even made for bathing, but Ella scrubbed her pink anyway. We had to put her in the dryer when she was finished. Luke just ran in and out of the shower, waving his hands around in the air and yelling, "Wheeeee!" Like he does when he slides down the slide.

Little People Naked Party

Because there is no door on our shower, I could not contain him so the bathroom floor was one big puddle. The the hardwood outside the bathroom became a puddle because neither of my children grasp the concept of actually drying themselves with the towels I wrap around them.

Once I finally got everyone dressed and the bathroom and bedroom put back in order, I found this.

Luke dismantling the alphabet puzzle.

That was all well and good. He was occupied for a few minutes while I started a load of laundry until he realized I was doing laundry and needed to help.

Laundry Helper

At this point, every time I pulled one of Dave's shirts from the basket, he yelled, "Daddy!" Then he started throwing clean clothes back into the dirty clothes basket and we had to abort the mission.

We finally made it out of our house and did our shopping - at 2 grocery stores because my feeble mind didn't remember all of the things (that were on my list!) for supper. I got them home and fed them lunch, and put away the groceries and cleaned up the alphabet puzzle and unloaded the dishwasher and rotated the laundry.

Then I found this.

Mopping with Dog Water

They were very graciously mopping the floor with the dog's water. Poor dog. (Side note - EGR still prefers to go pantless most of the time. Luke is very much in the middle of the I-Just-Learned-How-To-Take-My-Clothes-Off Stripper Phase. There is a lot of nakedness in my house at any given moment and I'm not talking about the fun adult kind.)

After I cleaned up the puddle that was "drying" in the floor, I went back to the laundry and found this.

Alphabet Puzzle. Again.

That's the alphabet puzzle, out again, 6 feet down the hall from the original location. This is where I stopped documenting and just embraced the idea that I would just clean up after them and try to keep them from harm. We did make it to gymnastics on time, and I did pack their lunches and make dinner (which they refused to eat so they had Cinnamon Croast Tunch), but then I offered Dave $10 to bathe them while I hid in the basement. They went to sleep early and I sat on the couch.

This morning I got up at 5 and took a shower all by myself and got dressed and ate breakfast. All by myself. Then I got them up and dressed and to Grandmother's house, where I realized that they were ready for a break when Luke peeked up over the back of the couch and blew me a kiss, saying, "Bye-bye. Door!" while pointing for me to leave.

And all I could think was, "Well, played sir. I'll be on my way now."

Around the House

I've been feeling so uninspired lately that Dave actually questioned why something he said this very week wasn't reported here. The answer? I guess I haven't been paying enough attention. He followed that up with this classic last night when talking about his recent illness.

"I wonder if it's because I've been wiping [Luke's] nose with my fingers and then getting a dip of Skoal?"

Um, yes? Probably so? Don't you know that's what t-shirts are for, provided there are no tissues or wipes? And there are tissues and wipes, and you know it, because you make fun of my roll of toilet paper in the kitchen all the time. But you are using your fingers to wipe his nose? Then getting Skoal without washing them first?

Sexy. Almost as sexy as the sound he makes when he hacks up his spleen coughs. But enough about that. I am just relishing the fact that the last two times the kids have been sick, Dave has been sick with them, not me. Is it possible that like an ER nurse or a preschool teacher, I've finally conditioned my immune system to fight off their little nasties?

Back to the topic at hand, if there is one, after he said that gem about snot and Skoal, I decided to ignore the voice in my head rushing them all to bedtime pay attention and take some notes.

Dave fixed the supper plates last night and put all the stuff away while the kids and I were eating. As he was closing the package of tortillas, Ella asked him what he was doing. He said, "Closing the tortillas," but he pronounced it like "tortila" - without the double "l" that makes the "y" sound (there's your Spanish lesson for today). Immediately, Ella attempted to correct him, except she mixed up the syllables and it sounded like: "Teetoras."

While Luke adds words to his vocabulary on a near-daily basis, he does not yet have the words to say, "I want to put my own sprinkles on my cake!" We know this because as Ella was sprinkling her cake last night, Luke was yelling at us every time Dave or I tried to say anything. Yelling. Each time we opened our mouths. I couldn't figure out what he wanted and I finally let him down out of his booster seat. He went straight to the cabinet, got the last can of sprinkles, climbed back in his chair, and proceeded to sprinkle his cake. I think we got the message.

The sprinkles are in the same cabinet as the onions and garlic. Lately, since he discovered the cabinet and dumped a box of baking soda on the freshly mopped floor (this is why I hate to mop, it invites mess) over the weekend, Luke goes to the cabinet to get an onion and throws it around the kitchen, yelling "Ball!" He might be even more ball-obsessed than Georgia right now. Case in point: As he ate his chicken tacos last night, he held up each little black bean or corn kernel to tell me, "Ball," before he would eat it.

From there we proceeded to bathtime, where we now keep a schedule of who gets to sit in the front of the tub on which night. It's only fair. I know this because I always got to sit in the front of the tub when my sister and I were little, and the few times I was in back, it sucked. (Sorry, Rebecca.) Finally, after Luke tried to drown himself, brush his body with his toothbrush and throw it in the tub, contort himself like he's been travelling with Cirque de Soleil while I put on his diaper and t-shirt, he was ready for bed. Ella put on her own clothes (!) and once Luke was asleep, I went to her room to lay down with her.

When I walked in there, Dave said, "Tell Mommy about your fella, Ella." And she did. A little boy in her class is her fella. They play together every day. Cars and sometimes babies, and he takes care of the babies like she tells him to.

I opted to respond with, "It's good to have all kinds of different friends to play with. That makes school more fun."

I'm also thinking we didn't start reading Amazing You: Getting Smart About Your Private Parts a moment too soon. Think I'm wacko? Guess how old I was when I first chased a boy around the playground trying to kiss him?

Three.

Mommy Meltdowns. They Happen.

Let me tell you about the time I lost my mind. I don’t mean mind losing on the scale of thinking my baby had a tapeworm or lacking balance. I mean a prisoner-of-war style mental breakdown that involved crying inconsolably.

In my boss’s office.

If I'd had any, I would have revealed corporate trade secrets or matters of national security.

It was two years ago, around this time of year, which is always stressful. There is a period of time from right after Christmas until around the time the daffodils bloom that I have a really hard time keeping it all together. I like to think of it as The Crash. In the history of my relationship with Dave, 12 years this May, I cannot remember a year that we didn’t experience The Crash. There are a lot of contributing factors that cause it (the weather, the Christmas let-down, etc.), but it leaves me feeling like my life is woven together with spider silk and I’m either going to get completely tangled up in it or it will all just blow away in the wind. I’m barely holding it together during this time.

So, two years ago, in the middle of The Crash, I was newly pregnant with Luke. In my experience, the first trimester of pregnancy is like walking around in the drowsiness of a codeine cough syrup fog. I could, and sometimes did, sleep anywhere at any time. It’s what the hormones do to me. That was all well and good when I was pregnant with Ella because I could come home and sleep, but when I was pregnant with Luke, I had an 18 month old Ella.

And she was sick. Very sick. We had started our year with a very fun birthday party at the McWane Center, and unfortunately, brought home an unwanted party favor. A nasty, nasty sinus infection. At that point, Ella had already started having ear infections, and so of course, she got another one. And so did I. I cannot remember ever having an ear infection in my life, but after doing my best to get rid of that sinus infection with Sudafed and Tylenol for two weeks (because I was pregnant and couldn’t take anything else), it moved into my ears and I had to call my doctor for antibiotics.

We were both sick, she was not sleeping, and this was the time when she started having apnea episodes because her adenoids were too big. Her sleep went from bad to tragically worse. She was waking up every half hour because she would stop breathing. I was sleeping with her because I was terrified and it was the only way to get any rest at all.

Work was extremely busy, as it tends to be at the first of the year when everyone is back from vacation. It was so busy that I would come into the office at 8 and barely move from my desk until after 5. I had to remember to get up to pee. And eat.

Seriously, I was probably not even qualified to operate a moving vehicle.

It was at that point that The Crash reached its peak –a stupid fight with Dave about something ridiculous. I don’t even know what it was about. But he is the best friend I have in this world, so when I’m in a state of mind like I was then and we cross up, it’s like someone just yanked the rug out from under my feet.

That’s where I was one morning when my boss found me sitting at my desk (in a cube farm), staring vacantly at my laptop, trying not to cry. He said something to me, probably, “How’s it going?” since that’s his usual greeting, and I lost it. I couldn’t speak; I couldn’t look up; I couldn’t not cry. He basically pulled me out of my chair and into his office so I could lose my mind in relative privacy. He waited until I got myself under control enough to talk and asked me what had happened. And I unloaded all of the above, with all the details I left out here, and then I cried some more.

I was so embarrassed, and at the same time, I couldn’t even care.

I have a wonderful boss. He told me to pack my stuff and work from home, and take a nap.

I did – that time, and many others when the exhaustion of pregnancy and toddlerhood was pushing me toward the brink.

The point is, when you are about to reach your wits end - with tooth brushing, sleep deprivation, poop cleaning, shoe putting on, whining, fit throwing, nose wiping, medicine giving, you get the idea – you need a break. A real one. One where you get to do something just for you without a kid hanging on you, while someone else takes care of your normal responsibilities. It might be a couple of hours of nap, or lunch with a friend, or a long soak in the tub, whatever, just take it. You’ll be better for it, and so will you kids. And so will your marriage. And your work, and your entire life perspective. If there’s any way to get one, take a break.

Don’t be me, blubbering like a fool to your boss. Take care of yourself.

Little Shoes Make Me Crazy

It’s not just the fact that they cost too much and are outgrown before the soles are worn; it’s because I put them on little feet eleventyninehundred times a day. At least it feels that way.

Luke has the sweetest disposition of anyone in my house. He's just an easy kid; he rarely needs more than a distraction to correct him when he's misbehaving. He is happy, he greets me with a smile in the mornings, and even when he’s naughty (like last night when he needed rescuing from the puddle of toilet water he created after putting half a roll of toilet paper in the potty in MY bathroom where he wouldn’t be disturbed), his enthusiastic baby grin usually diffuses my frustration.

Except when he takes off his shoes.

It’s probably an issue of leftover baggage from Ella’s shoe-shedding phase that only recently ended. But holy mother, it drives me nuts to put on his shoes and the put them on again, then again, and then one more time BEFORE WE GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. Then, as soon as we get into the car, he takes them off again.

Gah!

The only reason I bother to put them on him in the mornings is because he walks to the car by himself. He would gladly go barefoot, but sometimes it's wet and sometimes it's cold. So, I’ve started waiting until the last minute to put them on, right before we walk out the door. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Today, not so much.

I put the shoes on him (praise the good Lord that Ella finally does this job herself), I gathered up all our crap (because I’m not just a mommy, I’m a Mommy Mule), I opened the door and said “Load up” like I do every morning. On the way to the door, he took off his shoe. And handed it to me with his cute little face, saying, “Shoe-shoe!”

I lost it.

I yelled out a rant that went something like, “WHY must you take your shoes off EVERY.TIME. I put them on you?! We are about to walk out the door! You can’t leave them on for 45 seconds? I am so tired of putting your shoes on you fifteen hundred times a day!”

He just cocked his head and looked at me with his sweet face like, “Is she talking to me?” Then I stomped out to the car, loaded all the crap, got Ella in her side, and came back for him. He always stops on the porch to love the cat and usually he runs from me when I’m ready to put him in the car. I was all loaded and ready for that this morning, but do you know what I found?

The sweet little punk was working so hard to close the door behind himself; and he was so proud.

Diffused again.

I picked him up and thanked him for his helping hands, then I whispered that I was sorry I yelled at him. He loves whispering right now, so he grinned and whispered back to me. All is well; he probably forgave me before I ever yelled the first word because that’s how he rolls.

But I still hate little shoes.

Quotable Ella 2011

I have not had time to write here lately; and I'll be honest, I haven't felt very inspired either. I guess reading, revising, writing, and re-revising 800 pages of instructional documentation in 9 days time - you know, my real job - was enough to stifle me for a while. I've started a post twice this week, but I haven't written more than 3 sentences. Then I remembered that I went through all of my Facebook statuses at the end of last year and pulled out the ones with quotes from Ella with the intention of posting them here (because this is my documentation of her life, a virtual baby book, if you will). So, that's what this is, a compilation Ella's Facebook quotes for 2011. Enjoy!


"It will improve us." - Ella, in response to my comment that a little Mickey Mouse is in order. Snack and Mickey = quiet time. Amen.


This morning, while searching the fridge for breakfast, Ella told me, "But not brussel sprouts." Indeed. Not for breakfast. (Though she would probably eat them if I put them on her plate. Luke would.)

"I don't like my brother. I'm jealous of him." - Ella, 3 years old. She's also very honest.

"Roll the dough, roll the dough! Put the baby in the oven..." That's where she stopped, realizing something wasn't quite right. Happy Friday, from Katie Ella Grace.

This morning, Ella told me, "Mom, he's eating crayons!" Indeed, Luke toddled into the bathroom where I was brushing my teeth and there was orange crayon foam all over his mouth and shirt. I cleaned him up, but there were still crayon bits stuck in his front teeth.

As Ella climbed into her carseat last night, she put Luke's beaded teething ring on her head and said, "I'm a drama queen." As usual, she speaks the truth.

On the way to Chick-fil-a with the kids again this morning, Ella was telling me how much she loves chicken and that she is going to turn into a chicken because she eats so much of it. Then she said, "But I just leave the bones because I don't want to be a bone." I concur.

Tonight was one of those nights that I had to coerce Ella into brushing her teeth. I said, "Open your mouth and let me brush those shark teeth." She said, "They're realwy big. You might not want to see them." It was a nice try.

Last night, just as we were sitting down at the supper table, Ella "answered" her cell phone. I jumped right in with, "Um, no, we don't talk on the phone at the table. Please hang up now." She said goodbye and set the phone down next to her plate. Then she reached for it again, and Dave immediately said, "No texting either." I thought we were going to have to confiscate her phone. She's 3. Almost.

Every night after bath time, Ella serves me tea and cake while I nurse Luke to sleep. Every night she tells me, "I'm a mattress." She means "waitress".

After missing a day of school because of a virus, Ella made a grand entrance to her classroom yesterday with this announcement: "I'm not sick anymore - I'M BACK!" And she told me last night she does not want to have Spring Break because she will miss her friends.

Ella did not want to give away her Valentines at school today. She told me she thought she was "going to have a bad day about it." I told her to dig down deep inside and find her good day. Her response: "It's taking a nap." Well, then.

Baby Fever

Not mine. No, oh no. A snotty, sleepless, teething mess of a toddler is a great antidote for baby fever. Three molars in five weeks time is enough to send Luke and I both over the edge. And the fourth one is swollen up and ready to burst, so I know we have at least one more week before we get a reprieve.

I have fully embraced the love-them-and-give-them-back phase of my life, much to my daughter's dismay.

It's Ella who has baby fever.

We have been surrounded by new babies and pregnant women. It seems that as soon as one baby is born, we find out that another one is on the way. It's been very exciting, and all this babyfying is manifesting itself in play. Ella has delivered a hundred babies over the last couple of weeks with a full script that includes a hospital, nurse, and doctor. Thankfully, the last two babies added to her immediate cirlce were vaginal births, so she gets that mamas push the babies out now (as opposed to having them cut out in surgery).

She has been walking around the house with a baby stuffed up her shirt, waddling like a 9 month pregnant woman, then going to the hospital to push her baby out. Then she nurses the baby, but sometimes she pumps and gives it a bottle.

Since Luke was born, she has been requesting a sister. I keep telling her that I don't think there will be any more babies in our house. Over the weekend, as we went through that topic again, she said the one thing that could completely unnerve me about that situation: "I'm going to talk to God about that."

I had to stifle the urge to beg her not to, because she knows things.

Yesterday, she began our day with an announcement that Aunt Becca has a baby in her tummy. She does not, but I'm sure that she found that news unnerving as well.

Not only is she completely focused on new babies, and especially girl ones, she is also becoming unsatisfied with my explanation of how babies get into tummies. Until now, she's accepted a simple "God put it there" and now she wants to know how.

Uhhh.

I think I need to find some books.

Sex and babies aren't the only prevailing topics right now. There's also marriage, divorce, salvation, resurrection, prayer, and, as she was falling asleep last night, a technical discussion of how our new door will be installed in the living room ("Like, how does it get screwed in there?").  

She is 3 and a half, and she keeps me on my toes.

The H. Luke Update
Harris Luke is mostly concerned with "Ball!" and "Choochoo!" right now. He got trains for Christmas and has developed a love for them. When his mouth is not hurting, he eats like a starving beast - especially vegetables. I watched the child eat approximately 20 brussel sprouts the other night. It was amazing. He talks all the time; we don't understand him all the time. His vocabulary has definitely expanded, he uses short sentences now and follows simple instructions. He shakes his head "no" to mean "yes" and it's totally cute. He can barely sit still through two pages of a story, but he will sit and "read" a book to himself for a while, and loudly. When he's not playing ball and trains and cars, he clomps around the house in Ella's princess high heels and helps her take care of babies. Occasionally, he finds a ponytail holder lying around and needs his hair done. It's long enough now for a ponytail, and it will get longer because we aren't cutting it any time soon. Like, maybe not until he asks. He gives sweet kisses and tells us "bye" when we leave. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, instead of crying, most of the time he says, "Mama? Mama?" If Dave is already gone when he gets up, he walks around the house calling, "Dada? Dada?" He is trying to figure out the potty and insists on taking his diaper off to sit on it regularly, but that's as far as he's gotten yet. He has told me a few times when he needed a fresh diaper, so I know he is starting to recognize when he needs to go/has gone. He will be 17 months old tomorrow, and he's so much fun right now.

Reaching Out

A little over a year ago, I wrote about my anger and hypocrisy surrounding my brother's suicide attempt.  A lot has happened since then, a lot of good things, so it's time I followed up.

It took a little more time, but Joshua decided to pick himself up and live his life. I said "decided" because I believe that life is about either making decisions actively or letting decisions happen to you. He has made some active decisions and he's doing much better. He enrolled in school, he got a job, he moved out, he got rid of some negative influences and best of all, he is succeeding at all of those things and he can say that he did it himself (and hopefully he also acknowledges his God, because he quite literally wouldn't be here without him).

In seeing him start to live his life again, I'm in a much better place. Maybe my feelings about it shouldn't be conditional on his behavior, but the fact is, they just are. I'm proud of him, I can see a future for him now - that was not true a year ago.

In general, my family is in a much better place, but there are still pieces to put back together and there are scars now that weren't there before. None of us will be the same; I don't think that's possible when a life event happens that has the potential to rip a family to shreds. This one nearly did. Some of us have more baggage to sort through and forgiveness is a hard exercise sometimes.

In the months following his overdose, there was a lot of hurt, a lot of anger, discouragement, heartbreak - there was not a lot of support. We didn't do a good job of supporting each other because we were all trying to survive it. Support outside of the family was hard to find because people just don't know how to handle something so devastating; they don't know what to say and they desparately want you to be normal when that is not possible. There was a lot of blame, a lot of judgement and contempt, a lot of intolerance - inside our family and out. Everyone of us was guilty of saying something hurtful, demoralizing, and completely unsupportive.

We went our separate ways to find the support we needed. I happened to discover that a friend was struggling with a similar situation at the same time so I had someone to talk to, to vent my frustrations and check my perspective. That friend gave me an excellent book to read about living with a loved one who suffers from depression. Those conversations went a long way toward helping me find some peace. At the same time, my mother and Bobby (usually referred to here as Grandmother and Papa) found a support group. They went every week for a year until they reached a point with each other and individually that they felt like they could make it from week to week without it. I know how much those meetings helped them because I could feel the weight of tension lifting from their relationship.

Now, now that they (and my brother) are able to talk more freely about what happened and how it impacted them, they feel like they should give something back. They have decided to start a support group in Montevallo. Because I've been so close to it, it's hard for me to distinguish if suicide and suicide attempts are becoming more common or if I just know more people who have been directly affected by it, but whatever the case may be, our small town has been plagued with it. It seems very appropriate that there be a support group for the survivors, the friends and family who are trying to pick up the pieces. I am very proud of my mom and Bobby because they have decided to do something purposeful with their experience to meet a need in our community.

You can read more about the support group here. If you are interested in attending, this is the information.

What: Reaching Out, a support group for loved ones of those

who have committed suicide or attempted to commit suicide

When: Mondays at 7:00 pm (starting January 16th)

Where: Montevallo First Baptist Church

For more info call 665-2573 or 665-2566.

If you or someone you know is in a crisis situation right now, this is the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.

We Call Him the Dough Roller

Not dough like Uncle Scrooge diving into piles of gold coins, but dough in the pat-a-cake sense. 

Luke rolling the dough.



He rolls and rolls and rolls the dough. All the time. He does it so much that I believe it's become a coping mechanism in times that he feels uncomfortable. If he falls on his face? He rolls the dough. If his feelings are hurt? He rolls the dough.

He does it so much that we have been able to modify the "throw it in the pan" part to look like the touchdown signal and teach him to say "Roll Tide!"


Yes, we shamelessy exploit his cuteness.



And rolling the dough.


Also noteworthy in these pictures - his freshly combed hair. It almost never looks like this, but he was straight from the tub after double-fisting chocolate cake. His usual wild hair fits right in line with another name we call him: Wild Man. Because "off the hook" is his general mode of operation. I might be the only person on the continent to lose weigh over my Christmas vacation because this child never stops.




These next two pictures are not related to dough rolling, but I have to share them. I commandeered Grandmother's camera on Christmas night and took this picture of Luke (in the bath mentioned above).


Luke at 16 months.

It reminded me so much of another picture that I need to put them together to compare. 



Ella, around 12 months.

There's really no likeness between them, is there?

Operation Bigger House: We're In!

Mostly.

The county requires one final inspection and we are waiting to move into the new laundry room until after that, but otherwise, we are living in the new part of the house. We also didn't get to move in before Christmas because the last coat of finish didn't go on the floors until the 23rd, but we made peace and moved on the 26th instead. I spent the entire week after Christmas cleaning out and sorting and moving. I sent bags and bags and bags of clothes and toys out of this house. It felt wonderful.

So, here it is in its mostly finished state.

Master Bedroom

Master Bathroom

Shower

Vanity

Bedroom from the Nook

New Deck

New View from the Fence

New Basement Door

Luke's Room

Ella's Room

Luke's room is also the playroom.

Not Pink Bathroom

Interior entrance to the new basement.

Dave's favorite part.

The kids love their new rooms and Luke was so excited about the Mickey Mouse on his wall that I could barely get him to sleep in there for the first three nights. Ella loved her Tinkerbell and her new bed, but she's accustomed to sleeping on a full sized mattress so we had to bring the bedrail out again after she fell off one morning. That dramatically improved her sleep in there.

We love that our Big Room is not a playroom.

A few small things still need finishing: some missing face plates on electrical outlets, the water restricter in new shower doesn't let it get hot enough to shower in there, the door knobs are backward on the bathroom (so we risk being locked in every time we use it), the old hall bathroom has an electrical problem that's taking some time to solve thanks to the weird 1950's wiring, the cable in the bedroom needs connecting so we can mount the TV, etc. BUT we are living in there and it's wonderful.