Who knew?

Who is this person who studies the Bible and then makes a plan and then teaches what she has learned?

She's more than I thought she was, this person who has always said "Dave has the gift of teaching, not me." (He does, though. He thinks and plans and relays information in a way that is astounding and exciting, and I have always enjoyed his teaching as much as any of his students. He sets a high standard because he really is gifted by God with the ability to teach anything.)

The thought of teaching the Bible used to paralyze me. What do I say? What do I do? What if they don't ask questions? What if they ask questions I can't answer? I needed a least a week of lead time to prepare myself. I freaked out every time and sometimes Dave would jump in and save me.

But, as I spend more time reading the book, I find that I want to spend more time talking about it. As I get to know these teenagers better, I want to tell them all the things I know about God, about Jesus, about the history of the Hebrew nation and the early church. I want them to KNOW HIM. I want to tell them all the things. I've annoyed Dave with, "You need to teach about __________" enough.

So, I'm learning to teach.

I don't know if I'm especially good at it because my daily standard of comparison still blows it out of the water every time he teaches, but I kind of love it. And? At some point I realized that I've actually been teaching for years, not the Bible, but software. That's what so much of client support is about - teaching the client how to use the software, demonstrating how it works, organizing information to answer their questions. It was the part of my job that I loved - learning and then sharing what I learned in a way that others could understand.

I don't teach like Dave does, but I've been teaching all along. If I could know software so intimately that I could stand in front of a room full of adults and answer questions on the fly, why can't I know the Bible and share it like that? The answer is, there's no reason at all that I can't. Who knew?

And that makes me wonder what else I can do.

A Different Winter

I'm sitting on the couch in the "big living room" as we call the common area of the house we now live in - the part that we share with the girls - doing paperwork with the doors open and the breeze blowing through the room. I know it's fake springtime because it's going to storm tonight and get cold again, but I can't help but marvel at how different this winter has been compared to other winters. I'm not talking about weather.

Winter has always left me feeling like I'm hanging on to my soul with jagged fingernails, just waiting for God to rescue me with daylight and daffodils, but this year has been different. 

Is it because I'm not chained to a desk in a cube farm now and I actually get to experience daylight? I seriously think not sitting in a desk chair for 9 hours a day might have saved my life. 

Is it because life and work are so combined now that I wasn't filled with dread about the turn of the year and the return to work? 

Is it because I see my children more than I leave them now? I didn't realize how much I actually missed them while I was working an office job until I got to be with them all the time. Apparently, I was more stay-at-home-mom material than I realized. 

Is it because the black depression that hovered over my household for so long is finally gone? I could write pages on that alone. 

 

Is it because I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing and I have peace in my soul now? 

It's probably because of all those things and more that I don't recognize. What I know is, I'll take it. I like this peace, this happy.

Transformation, indeed.

It's been almost a year since I wrote a blog post. I started a post back in May about why I haven't been blogging anymore, but I never felt compelled to finish it. I just looked at that draft and found this bit that is still so relevant.

"I blogged all the way through cancer and chemo and the year after, but the year after that just wouldn't come out. Little known fact, peeps - the recovery from cancer is much longer, deeper, and darker than the treatment of cancer. My household has been in a state of transformation for three years, and while part of that is my story to share, it's intimately woven with three other stories that aren't mine. Two of them are little but growing, and the older they get, the more cautious I become about sharing their lives and their stories. They get to decide if they want to tell their own story one day."

Transformation, indeed.

For a year before I wrote those words last May, I was using the word "transformation" to describe our family. It started with cancer, it grew as my heart changed while I read the Bible from cover to cover, clarity began when we went on a mission trip with our youth group. Then, out of the blue, last Thanksgiving break there was a fateful day in our kitchen where Dave said the often said statement that maybe we should just go to Africa, and this time, for the first time, I said, "Yeah, I think you're right." Africa!

Peeps, I started praying ten years ago for God to prepare me for ministry because I knew then that there was a call on Dave's life and I also knew that I would be a horrible preacher's wife. Like, really horrible.

Ya'll, God will do what he says he will do.

Dave isn't a preacher, and I'm not a preacher's wife, but we've been prepared for ministry. We are still being prepared. We haven't made it to Africa, but in May, we made a decision to leave our lives to obey God and care for and share Jesus with at-risk teenagers in our area. We moved across the county to live with 8 teenage girls in a group home.

It sounds crazy. It is crazy. It takes crazy, wild abandonment to walk away from what the world says we should have and want, and do what the Word says we should do.

It's way harder than we expected it to be - and we were told how hard it would be. It's exhausting and heartbreaking and joyous and transforming. See, I mistakenly thought we were coming here to do God's work, and I was so ready. I had it all together. I'd read the whole book, and I'd received confirmation from God in so many ways, and I was going to save souls and love teenagers.

Ahem.

I'm the one who has been saved here. I trust that God is doing work through me to reach these girls, because I know He will do what He says he will do, but He had plans for me that I never saw. He had plans to transform me, to break me and remake me, to flush out the world and fill me with things I didn't know I needed. He had plans to show me myself in a way I've never seen me, and He has plans to make me fully, desperately rely on Him.

Africa may still be in the future. Preaching may be in the future. I have no idea because right now I can't see past this place I'm in. I can't even see tomorrow, but I know that He has gone before me and He has plans to prosper me, so when I get there, He'll be there, too. I know the joy of living in the dead center of His will, of not having the plan laid out but knowing it's a good one.

For a recovering control freak, that is transformation, indeed.

Merry Christmas, ya'll!

This year, Christmas cards have gone the way of this blog. That is to say, there won't be any. 

Instead, enjoy these sweet digital pictures of my children in (rarely) coordinating dress clothes (and in a rare, cooperative, tolerant mood). 

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." Mark 10:14

Time + Remission

I was doing some homework for preschool the other night, making a scrap book page of Luke's family for his class photo album. As I was flipping through stacks of pictures I ventured into the During Chemo months. Dave and I both had to take a few minutes to study those pictures of him. I was like the paparazzi during that time, so his progression through treatment is well-documented.

It was amazing. And quieting. And strengthening. To see how sick he was from the chemo, to see how God carried us right through it without us even realizing how hard it was on him.

Oh, it was hard, and we knew it was hard. You knew it was hard. But we didn't know it was a hard as those pictures make it look.

Thank God. I thank Him for the shelter and the strength and the peace that surpasses understanding. And I thank Him for the reminder of During Chemo. Sometimes it's good to think about it and remember the focus we put on every day as important, and the attention we paid to the things that matter. Life is distracting; sometimes we need to be reminded to focus on important things.

As time passes and life goes on, we don't mark the time like we did then. We did remember the anniversary of the last round of chemo - it was somehow more memorable than the official remission date anyway. But after sorting through that stack of pictures the other night, I realized we had passed right by his second cancerversary without even a mention of it. He probably remembered, but I didn't.

He's had normal PET scans and blood work. He changed oncologists because his is retiring. He has regained his old habit of putting hot sauce on his chicken fingers, so I know spicy stuff doesn't bother him anymore.

Time and remission have done a lot of healing.

Praise the Lord.

Traveling with Kids

Every evening after supper.

We try to take a vacation every year, usually in the summer except for The Year of Cancer. This summer we made two trips with the kids and I realized something: traveling with kids is so much easier than traveling with babies and toddlers.

I didn't pack a single diaper. Not one.

No one cried because riding in the car sucks.

I actually got to face forward in my seat for the majority of the ride.

There was still vomit, but since we've learned some things over the years, we were so prepared that we didn't even have to stop the car.

They like our music now. Maybe a little too much.

We stayed in a hotel for our big vacation and with the Foley grands for a weekend, and they acted like small people instead of a pack of howler monkeys. Mostly.

Dessert for 4.

They have the stamina to stay up later while also keeping themselves together. Mostly. That meant no naps and late nights of playing mini-golf and then eating ridiculous amounts of dessert right before bed. There was the one melt down at 4:30 in the afternoon at the side of the wave pool on the 4th day of vacation, which resulted in me holding Man Cub in my arms, rocking, and singing our time-tested lullaby until he passed out. At which point I continued to hold him for an hour and 15 minutes while he slept. It was okay with me. It might have been the last time I'll ever rock him to sleep. I don't remember the last time before that. The fact that it happened while lounging in a low chair with my feet in the water just makes it sweeter. Lord knows I used to hold them on the beach like that.

All of our stuff fit in our car with space left over. I just knew we wouldn't have room based on the amount of crap I've had to pack in the past and the fact that we downsized my Honda Pilot to a CR-V. I was wrong.

Ear buds because our music was too loud.

They can use an iPad 99% of the time with zero adult assistance. That one is a bit ironic seeing as how we dramatically reduced the amount of technology we use at home this summer, and then we bought an iPad. Within 12 hours of the kids first touching it, we were saying things like, "If you ask to play with the iPad again, I'm taking it back." Rules were established, but it did make the driving more peaceful.

It's so liberating to be able to just throw clothes in a bag and go. To not have to plan for diaper changing and feeding outside of normal meal times. To not have to take bags of toys to entertain them in the down time (they packed one backpack each and were very content with what they brought). I feel like we've passed some kind of parenting milestone where vacationing with the kids has finally become more fun than work. It was lovely.


I can't wait to plan our next trip.

Four

From this...

...to this...

...in just four short years. The first few years of life are truly astonishing.

By the way, that last picture was taken just a few days ago. In August. He wasn't cold; he just has no time for things like weather when creating a character. 

Luke is four today. He has grown exponentially over the summer. Nearly every stitch of clothing I bought for him in April is too little. We had to replace his entire warm weather wardrobe, down to the socks, before school started. I suppose all that growing is a direct result of all the eating he's been doing, or vice versa. At any rate, he's been starving all summer no matter what we feed him.

Recently he has learned to swim, discovered The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers (circa 1995), and started playing with his "guys" (his superhero toys) with the kind of focus that I've only seen him give to puzzles. He still acts out his favorite movies, and he's still stubborn and easily distracted from the task at hand, but he has finally quit throwing himself into the floor in a fit of rage when he doesn't like our answers to his requests. Now, he just asks repeatedly, hoping I'll change my answer, until I lose my cool. I've had to re-employ the, "I've already answered that question, please don't ask me again" response. It's more effective than yelling. 

Speaking of yelling, he has a most annoying habit of yelling "Mamaaaaa! Mamaaa!" all through the house, over and over again until I'm half nuts. Alot of the time I adopt the "If I can't see you, I can't hear you" policy. Other times I just yell back. I did start to feel a little better about this when I heard him bellow for his Sunday school teacher across the party room during a church party at Pump it Up. It was incredibly rude, but so refreshing to hear someone else's name coming out of his loud mouth. 

Occasional rudeness aside, he has a sweet spirit and a vivid imagination that makes parenting him a daily adventure. I can't believe he's already four. 

Last First Day of Preschool

This is a mer-man.

It's Luke's last first day of preschool, and OUR last first day of preschool. Next year he'll go to kindergarten.

His rapid physical growth, athletic development, and increasingly logical arguments have already hinted at the big kid he is becoming, but this first day of school marks the beginning of the end of a season in our lives. We're going to live it.

He was also ready for school to start. There's only so much swimming a kid can do in one summer, and he did it. We told him at the beginning that his Puddle Jumper will not fit him next year (because he's just 2 lbs. shy of the weight limit now and I had to work to get his arms in it), so he had to learn to swim this year. He took us seriously. By July, when his actual swim lessons started, he was already mostly swimming by himself (thanks to Gigi's coaching). By the end of swim lessons, he was jumping off the diving board and swimming to the side by himself. Oh, and he had taught himself to do underwater forward and back flips like it's no thing. He just rolls and rolls and rolls under the water until he needs to take a breath. This summer's pool progress was amazing.

First day of 4K.

Now we're looking forward to a time when he counts to 20 and actually includes 15 and 16 together, in order.

He has been telling me for the last couple of weeks that he doesn't want to go to school. I knew it wasn't true. As usual, when we met his teacher last night, we had to drag him out of there when we were ready to leave. He got up at six this morning and gave no resistance to dressing himself and brushing his teeth. Those are pretty big school morning milestones.

And, if that wasn't enough to convince me, "I can't wait to play with those Legos!" did.

Summer's Over

Did you hear that this is the first day of school? Probably not.

First day of 1st grade.

We summered all the way until 9:15 last night. None of that going to bed early and getting back on schedule a week before school business for The Ropers. Ain't nobody got time for that. 

(In truth, they never really get off schedule because I have to go to work all summer even if they don't, so they get up at the same time every day. And, usually before the alarm because apparently ain't nobody got time for sleeping when the sun is up, either. Except me, but I don't count.)

See those snazzy new shoes she's wearing? She earned them by learning to tie them herself this summer. Praise the Lord. Ya'll know how I hate little shoes. Hers aren't little anymore, so it was high time she tied them herself. We gave her a choice: Learn to tie your shoes and you can pick out the craziest, sparkling, pink ones you can find, or don't and we will make you wear gray velcro shoes. It worked like a charm.

I was surprised that she wanted us to walk her in.

She got the teacher she really wanted, the one she met and loved at reading camp this summer. She has been ready for school to start since camp ended two weeks ago. She even put away her Palace Pets and broke out her classroom supplies to teach her dolls yesterday. I haven't seen her teach in a long time. Now she can read the names of the states on her map and the days of the week on the calendar, so it was pretty neat to listen to her class while I worked. 

She's going to be exhausted when I pick her up today. For as much as she protests napping when we make her do it (Yes, we still make her nap often. I will milk that for as long as possible.), she has been sleeping long and hard most afternoons. That's one schedule adjustment I probably should have made before school started, but I didn't because sleep improves us. She'll adjust and we'll make up the naps on the weekend. Oh, yes we will.

Little brother starts his last year of preschool next week, but that's another post. 

Six

This stubborn, kind-hearted, smart little weirdo is six today. 

It's hard to believe it's been six years since I held her for the first time. That tiny baby is a half-grown kid now - in the middle place where I still catch glimpses of her babyhood and other times I get a peek at the young woman she will be one day. 

She loves to swim, read and be read to, play soccer, paint, and construct entire make believe worlds for her Barbies, Princesess, and Palace Pets. On good days, she's full of wisdom and understanding for her younger sibling , and on bad ones, he awakens the beast in her, but there is no doubt they are tight friends. 

Watching her grow just gets better every year. 

Waiting Up

I was on the fast track to bed, but Ella came running into the living room with a foamy mouth and a hand full of toothpaste exclaiming, "Where's Mama!?"

I was standing at the kitchen sink in my invisibility cloak. I always wear it in the kitchen. 

Dave said, "She's right there."

She raced around the counter with her toothpaste-y hand held out and a smear of blood on her face. "Mama! My tooth came out while I was brushing my teeth! I just felt something when I spit the toothpaste out!"

I exclaimed over it, retrieved it from her hand, rinsed it, put it in a ziploc bag so the tooth fairy can find it, and told her to go rinse her mouth. 

As she passed by on the way back to the bathroom, Dave interjected, "You know, I care about these things too. You can show me, too." 

For real, ya'll, I tried to take a nap today and I gave them both specific instructions to go downstairs and ask Daddy if they needed something. They came into the bedroom no less than 6 times. He didn't see them once. 

But I digress. 

Now, I'm just sitting here waiting on the winged intruder to make her appearance. 

Here's the bloody tooth hole. The tooth itself was almost too tiny to see. 

That's two down and about eighteen to go.

A Saturday Morning

After chatting my ear off while I grunted non-committaly for 20 minutes, Ella said, at 7:41 am, "I'm bored." 

Umm, no, go clean your room. 

Then Luke came in, straight from bed, so attired only in Ninja Turtle underpants. He gave us his own diatribe about something we needed to come see. When he finally stopped talking, Ella's only response was: "Here's the deal - I'm not marrying a boy without a shirt on." She is not impressed with our man cub. 

In the next instant, they realized the neighbor was on her porch and made a break for the door to go see her - with my voice trailing behind at Luke: "You aren't wearing any clothes!" It took a moment of convincing, but he got dressed.

There was only one problem, Ms. Hollie is on the phone, so now, he is patiently waiting at the end of the driveway to go see her. Ella decided she'd catch her later and went to her room, though it's doubtful she is cleaning it. It's 7:57 am. 

And, I am peacefully sitting in solitude.

Good morning, peeps! Have a happy Saturday!

Edited: Before I could even publish this, he came in, went to Ella's room, and they commenced loudly negotiating the rules of play. I'm still sitting in solitude. 

Edited again: Ella came out and asked for an intervention. While trying to convince me to kick him out of her room, she was rubbing my legs until she asked, "Mama, what are these prickly things on your legs?" Hairs, child. Mamas don't wake up with freshly shaved legs. 

I'm Still Here

Hey ya'll.

It's been a while. I've been finding it hard to share our daily lives since we linked our cancer story to the campaign page. I don't think it was a bad decision - the story is out there to be shared - but I have a tendency to treat this space like it's my own living room and we're just having a casual conversation about kids and life, so it was a little unnerving to write while a lot of extra people were paying attention. Lord knows I have a lot of opinions, and 99% of them probably don't need to be said.

I've also struggled recently with how much to share about the kids. They aren't babies anymore - especially Ella. Funny stories about babies and toddlers and stubborn preschoolers are funny, but funny stories about kids are potentially embarrassing. In being mindful of that, I find it easier to just keep most things private.

Another thing I've realized in the last few months - raising kids is hard.

I don't mean the parts about getting up twice a night (or 3 or 4 or 5 or 6 times a night), or changing diapers, or potty training, or teaching manners, or dragging a screaming toddler out of a grocery store mid-trip. Now that both children are fully potty trained and sleeping in their own beds all night (most nights), that stuff seems easy compared to what comes next.

Sorry, parents who are currently elbow deep in sausage-making with your sweet little terrors, it gets harder.

The sleep is fabulous most of the time now, but I'm convinced it's because God knows I need it to be able to handle the hard questions, the heart questions, that I have to answer now. Theirs and mine.

They ask hard questions. They get their hearts hurt sometimes. They hurt other people's hearts. They test and they push, and they still say "Mama..." so many times that I think I might lose my mind at least once every day. They are learning so much, from everywhere and everyone - some things I want them to learn, and some things I don't. Some things I let go, some things I just cannot, and constantly I'm praying, "Lord show me the way. Give me the words I need when I need to answer, and clamp your hand tightly over my mouth when I need to let it go."

Let it go! Let it go! I am one with the wind and sky!

I don't care what they're going to say; let the storm rage on. The cold never bothered me anyway.

Ahem. Where was I?

Yes, some lessons they just need to learn for themselves. For instance...

... your room gets stinky when there are 5 pairs of dirty socks stuffed under your bed.
... you actually CAN find your things when your mother refuses to help you look for them.
... your bed will be wet when you get in it if you leave your wet towel balled up on it.
... your favorite shirt doesn't get washed if you stuff in your toy bucket while "cleaning" your room.

And God knows sometimes I mess up, too. I have lessons to learn, too. I never considered that parenting would teach me so much about myself. And, I never thought about how hard it is to care for another's soul before I had kids. It's hard work, ya'll.

Anyway, I'm still here. We're still here.

Holy Week

Monday morning of this week, I was sitting on the couch in the quiet of my house, drinking my coffee and delving into 1 Chronicles. This is a relatively knew habit in my life, the reading of the Bible at the start of the day. It's good; it makes the days better. It took me a really long time to get here, to this point where I crave the history and the wisdom enough that I set aside time on most days to sit down and read it. It works best on the weekdays when I have a little time to myself after Dave leaves the house and before the kids are awake. I started at the front cover of the book, just like I would any other book, and I intend to read through to the back cover. I've never done that before. There are large chunks of the Bible that I've never read, but now I'm on a journey to read those chunks.

Some of it is hard to get through, and I was struggling with the genealogy at the beginning of 1 Chronicles Monday morning when Luke got up. He squirreled his way under the quilt with me, tucked himself under my arm, and said, "Read about Jesus." Sometimes when he asks this, I tell him no because I'm reading about something else and I don't want to stop. This particular morning, having just come off of our first weekend of Easter celebration with our children's department at church, I asked him, "Which part?" 

"The soldiers and the tomb." 

He loves the story of the resurrection. So do I. I love it more, even, than the story of the newborn king. It is the very heart of my faith. I've often wondered why we don't make a big deal about Easter like we do about Christmas, but I've come to the realization that I like it without all the pomp and circumstance. I like the muted, quiet, day-to-day celebration of the resurrection. It allows me to focus on my Savior instead of on my to-do list.

I turned to Matthew 27:27 and I read through the end of the book - to make sure we covered soldiers and the empty tomb, you know. 

He knows the Easter story, of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey as the people waved palm fronds, the washing of the disciples feet at the last supper, the lashing of the whip, the death on the cross, the burial, and the empty tomb. He knows all of these things because we (his village) break it into kid-sized bits and serve it to him in a kid-friendly way - and he gets it. And so do I. Just like I savor a kid-friendly food at a birthday party, I savor the kid-sized presentation of the gospel. It happens every time I'm involved in children's ministry - I learn from those who are wiser than me, who know how to teach the gospel in a way that a 3 year old can understand and fall in love with the story. And I learn from the kids. Man, they know so much.

As I read to him, I thought about all the parts of the story and how there's so much more to it than just "the soldiers and the tomb." Like the Christmas story, it is told across multiple books, by four different authors, so each book provides a different piece of the story. I remembered a blog post I wrote that linked the passages of the Christmas story in sequential order, and I decided I should do something similar for Easter. I've never written much about Easter,  except about that stinkin' bunny. 

Here are the links to the story. 

Betrayal, Last Supper, Denial, Prayer, Arrest, Trials, Mocking, Death and Resurrection -  Matthew 26:14 - 28:17

Betrayal, Last Supper, Denial, Prayer, Arrest, Trials, Mocking, Death and Resurrection, and Appearance to Mary Magdalene -  Mark 14:12 - 16:20

Betrayal, Last Supper, Denial, Prayer, Arrest, Trials, Mocking, Death, Resurrection, Appearance to the Disciples, Ascension into Heaven - Luke 22:1 - 24:53

Prayer for Disciples and Believers (one of my favorite passages), Arrest, Denial, Trials, Death, Resurrection, Appearance to Disciples, and Doubting Thomas. - John 17:1 - 20:31

As for our Easter celebration, this Sunday we'll mark the beginning of Holy Week. I'll scrub them clean of their self-drawn tattoos and make them wear clothes that match so that we look, at least, presentable when they parade around the church with their palm leaves, and Sunday evening, we'll watch Dave play Peter in The Living Last Supper. Then, we'll spend a week answering a thousand more questions about Easter, and it will be good.

Tympanoplasty: Another Fancy Word

The word "tympanoplasty" makes me think of drums and plastic surgery, and rightly so since it is a surgical procedure to reconstruct the ear drum (or the "tympanic membrane", in medical speak). It is done to repair a perforation (a tear, rupture, hole, etc) in the ear drum, and Ella is having this surgery because one of her tubes left a hole behind that never closed on its own. From what I understand, this is not terribly uncommon, but it is definitely not what usually happens when tubes come out.

Ella had her tubes put in at 21 months. They came out of the ear drums around the time she turned three, and were actually out of her ears and saved in a Ziploc bag in her keep box by the time she was four. It was while they were resting in the ear canals that the pediatrician started watching her perforation to see if it would close. He also sent us to the ENT so he could watch it. When the ENT saw no change at all, he decided we should fix it as she approached her fifth birthday. As God would have it, after almost two years without an ear infection, she got strep throat and a really nasty upper respiratory infection. The ear without the perforation was infected, but the ear with the hole in it was not because the hole was still acting like a tube and ventilating the ear so it could drain. Surgery was postponed.

Armed with that knowledge, a teeny bottle of ear drops that cost $120, and a pack of ear plugs, we made it through the summer with only one mishap when the ear plug came out in the pool. The magical ear drops cleared up that infection and we saw the ENT last fall for a hearing test and made plans to schedule surgery in the spring. She has some very minor hearing loss of lower frequency sounds in the "bad" ear (i.e. she can't hear me when I speak quietly in a low voice, but she can hear me from three rooms away when I'm just having a semi-private conversation with Dave in the kitchen). We followed up with the ENT in January, and since we survived this cold and flu season without a new ear infection, surgery to repair the hole is a go.

It is an outpatient procedure that takes a couple of hours. Basically, they will make an incision behind her ear to get a piece of tissue that they will then use to patch the ear drum. The ENT says the hole makes up about 30% of her ear drum, and he had actually done a surgery to repair a hole almost identical to hers on the day we saw him. He did a fantastic job of explaining the procedure so that Ella could understand. Once the patch is in place, they will pack the ear with dissolvable material to support it while it heals. After five days, we'll use ear drops (that probably cost a fortune) to facilitate healing, and we'll follow up with the ENT in three weeks. She can't play soccer or participate in PE or recess until the three week follow up, but I purposely scheduled it during the school year/soccer season so that it will be healed in time for swimming so she can go without the blasted ear plug this summer.

Several months from now, they'll do another hearing test to see if her hearing has improved in that ear, and they expect it to be normal since what loss she has is caused by the holey ear drum. How they figure all that stuff out from a hearing test is amazing to me.

We've talked about the surgery quite a bit over the last couple of weeks and her concerns are exactly what the Children's Hospital website told me they would be, plus she's mad that she'll have to fast before surgery. I'm planning to let her fuss and nag about needing food and drink as a method to distract her from being scared. We should cater to their strengths, right?

On a very positive note, since she is 5, she was not subjected to the Hearing Test of Terror that poor Luke had to survive two years ago. Thanks goodness; we wouldn't have slept for weeks if that had happened to her.

P.S. If you are a nerd like me and want to see pictures and diagrams, this is a good link that explains the procedure. Tympanoplasty

Around the House

Here are more snippets of conversations that I've collected from our day-to-day activities. I've excluded the funniest one I had in my notes because a lot of people aren't as comfortable with the use of actual body part names as we Ropers are, but rest assured that this mixed set of children know who has what parts - as recently reaffirmed in a very public conversation at the supper table at Main St. Tavern. Enjoy!

One night as Georgia (the dog) was stretched out on one end of the couch and Luke was loving on her, I told him, "If you smell Georgia's toes, they smell like corn chips."
Both kids leaned over to take a big sniff.
Luke: Can I eat them?
Ella: Yummy!
They really do smell like corn chips. It's a Lab thing.

During one of our recent adventures to the University Lake, Luke was sitting with Dave, throwing rocks in the water when he picked up a walnut hull and asked, "Is this poop?"
Dave: In the future, that's not a question you ask after you pick the thing up.

I picked out super hero Crocs for Luke for Valentine's day. Since then, he sporadically and very sincerely tells me, "Mama, your ways are awesome."

Ella has started bringing library books home from school to read to us. The first night she did, I realized that 5 year old Ella reads with the same tone and enthusiasm as 14 month old Ella. I was transported back to her "reading" of Go Dog Go, and I almost cried.

There's been a lot of talk recently about what people have given up for Lent. Aunt Becca had to explain it to Luke and this text message followed: "Luke's spin on Lent: I'm going to eat macaroni for 40 days." It would be a sacrifice, but he would do it.

Ella is having surgery later in the week to repair a hole in her eardrum that was left when her tube came out, so we've been talking about what to expect when we go to the hospital. She was proclaiming that surgery was the "worst thing ever!"
Me: Surgery probably isn't the worst thing ever.
Ella: (without missing a breath) The worst thing ever is pooping in the pool and then having to shut it down.
It is really annoying when the pool gets shut down for poop.

Finally, here's the latest character in our house. Meet Wonder Boy.

The marker on his belly gives him power.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere, There's Signs

"Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind..."

Seriously.

I never thought I would think so much about signs.

How big are they?
How are they constructed?
How do you put them up?
Did they stay up after the storm last night?
What colors should be on them?
Is the print big enough to read?
How much do they cost?

"And the sign says you got to have a membership card to get inside."

Where can you put them?
Will someone take them down?
Who took them down?
Is it in the right of way?
Can you see it from this angle?
What do we do with them at the end?
Are they recyclable? (Yes, they are number 5 plastics.)
Are they spaced adequately so as not to be annoying while also reminding the viewer of the candidate?
Can we reuse them?

"I got me a pen and paper and I made up my own little sign. I said 'Thank you, Lord, for thinking about me. I'm alive and doing fine.'"

And in addition to the thinking, there is the constant repeat of the song in my head. I've tried to drown it out. It keeps coming back.

Nightmares: Hers and Mine

Is there such a thing as a 5.5 year sleep regression? Because, I think we're in it.

My poor kid has been waking up 2 or 3 times a night, for the last 15 days. Correction, she did sleep through on 2 separate nights, a week apart, but I suspect it was because she was just too exhausted to wake up. Every single wake up is a bad dream - things in her bed, geese pecking her face, a cat scratching her legs, and last night, after we watched The Little Mermaid sequel, the sea witch "blinked her eye" at her. At that point, she was in the bed with me and she nearly strangled Luke (who is always in the bed with me at some point during the wee morning hours) in her effort to get closer to me.

I've told you how I love sleep, and how nighttime parenting is the hardest part, right? Every night of broken sleep just compounds the problem until I'm a hot mess.

Last night, as I dragged my arm away from her own sea witch-like tentacles that were trying to hold me in place until my limbs were numb, I snapped at her: "You are touching me from your toes to your head. I think we're covered!" She replied in her pitiful voice, "I'm just scared." I was a hot mess.

She is scared; so scared she is waking up sobbing, with tears running down her face. I remember being scared like that from my bad dreams. I remember just needing to be close to my parents to feel safe, so I'm trying so hard to be patient - to pray and cuddle and reassure her through this while also begging God to make it pass. I need it to pass for me and for her; we have matching blue circles under our eyes right now.

In those wakeful moments in the middle of the night last night, with one kid on one side of me and the other on the other side of me, both holding on for dear life, I pondered how one person can feel so many things at one time. Desperation, frustration, anger, heartbreak, empathy, compassion, exhaustion, hopelessness, love, dread, shame - all of it swirling inside me. I prayed and thought and prayed, and finally we all slept for a couple of hours.

When I woke up with the alarm, I wiggled to turn it off without disturbing them and I laid there, picturing the calendar in my head and counting. Two weeks ago, her 6 year molars broke through the skin. I know new teeth have always caused bad dreams, but they are mostly in and the dreams should be going away by now. Then I realized that she started taking Singulair again that same week, after having been off of it for 2 months. I was mulling that over when Dave came in. "Did you sleep at all last night?" I didn't know. "When did she start that medicine?" He was thinking the same thoughts. We talked about it, and I Googled it.

I found this:
"Tell your doctor immediately if any of these rare but serious side effects occur: mental/mood changes (such as agitation, aggression, anxiety, trouble sleeping, abnormal dreams, sleep-walking, memory/attention problems . . . "

I even found some anecdotal "evidence" that some kids experienced the horrible dreams after having taken the medicine for years without issue. Ella was on it for three years with no problem. We started it back after her allergist appointment because her nose stayed stuffy all the time. I don't know if this is happening now because she was off of it for a while, or because her dose was increased, but we're done with it. 

I just hope this resolves it. We can live with a stuffy nose; we cannot live in terror of sleeping at night. 

So, this is a lot of whining to make myself feel better, but also part public service announcement. This is the second time one of the kids was taking medicine that made them crazy, and both times I think it took us too long to figure it out.

If your kids suddenly go wacko, check their meds!

Ten is My Favorite Number

It's been ten years since I entered into a covenant with this man. He probably won't like this picture, but it's one of my favorites.

During Chemo

It isn't always easy, and sometimes I feel like marriage is the hardest thing I do. Not because of him or me, but because it just is hard to consider someone else first over and over again, in every decision, every day. I am selfish and stubborn and proud, and left to my own devices, I'd steamroll him (and everyone around me) because that's my nature. On the flip side, he would do the same, because it's also his nature.

Before Kids

We've walked side by side over mountains, through valleys, across deserts, and on the bottom of the ocean floor, and he is still my safe place. He's the first person I want to tell good news, and bad. He is my secret keeper, my partner in crime, and the one who can always make me laugh.

Two in Diapers

I am a better me because of him, and maybe, hopefully, he's better because of me.

February 21, 2004

Family Planning Advice

I keep seeing this quiz on Facebook about how many kids you should have.

It reminded me of a conversation I had the pleasure of overhearing last weekend. We were all out in the front yard working on campaign stuff. Dave and the kids were putting together signs, and I was on the porch with the laptop searching for current pictures of the four of us together (they are hard to find!). Our neighbor from across the street came riding down the road on her bike and, seeing us all out there with a stack of Elect Dave Roper signs, she stopped in our driveway to talk.

Luke walked right up to her, interrupting the conversation as usual, and said, "Ms. Holwee (her name is Hollie), it's supposed a be a brother and a sister." He had obviously been planning to talk to her about this for a while.

Ms. Hollie, who has two boys, bent down to eye level and said, "A brother and a sister? So, are you saying we got it messed up over here?"

Luke nodded seriously and emphatically, "Yes."

So, ya'll just go ahead and take the quiz about how many kids you should have, but I'm here to tell you, the answer is 2 - and they better be a brother and a sister, else, you'll have some 'splainin to do.

P.S. The quiz really did say I should have two.