Thumper

Last year, about this time, I began to clean out the garage.

Brian said he had seen a mouse running in there, so it was time.  Tucker was brand new and sleeping in the house.

The other kids were swimming, being watched by Samantha.

Ok.  I backed the car out.  Then I went to the front corner of the garage, moved a piece of plastic…and out runs a baby rabbit.  A baby.  Light grey fur, little white cotton ball tail, the whole thing.  Thumper.

The bunny runs right past me and stops in the other corner of the garage, right next to the garage door.  He could have easily run out.  But in his extreme state of anxiety and fear, he just stayed in the corner and kept jumping up the wall.

Bunnies are cute.  They really are.  But they are also pests and love to destroy my plants and trees, and they leave pellet poo all over my yard.  So I am able to see past the cuteness and focus on the task at hand.

What is the task?  To kill it?  Trap it?  I clearly had not thought there was a rabbit in my garage.  Brian said he saw a MOUSE!!  And frankly, I kind of doubted that.

So I grab the closest thing to me, which was my snow shovel.  Yes, I realize a snow shovel in Texas is underutilized, but it came with us from Utah.  And it reminds me of Idaho, snow, family, lots of good memories.  Aaahhh.  I love snow.

Anyway…I grab the snow shovel.  I thought I would just trap it against the wall it kept jumping up, and then I could formulate a better plan.  Using my cat-like reflexes (hahaha), I thrust that snow shovel into the corner.  Success!

WAIT…I accidentally pin the baby bunny TO the wall.  Not what I was intending at all.  I wanted to trap it, not kill it!  So now this has become a disaster.

Bunnies cry.  CRY.  AND IT SOUNDS LIKE A HUMAN BABY.  Did I mention that Tucker was maybe one month old?  That stupid rabbit was crying so loud, and it sounded just like my own baby boy!

I froze.  What should I do?  I couldn't stand the crying.  It was excruciatingly painful to hear.  I decided to push harder and just kill the thing.  I pushed.  Thumper cried louder.  Harder…louder.  Finally, it stopped making noise.  Tears filled my eyes.

I pulled back the shovel, and that little bunny wasn't dead!  He had a nice fold in the middle of his tiny body, and he was slowly pulling himself along the floor.  Feeling about as awful as I could, I decided to end the misery I had inflicted.  I raised the shovel and whacked it on the head.

THUMPER DIED.  And I killed him.

I scooped up his tiny body with the shovel and put it in the garbage.  Then I said a prayer of gratitude that none of my children had witnessed that.  And then I called my mom to confess.

Unreal.  I don't know if I am cut out for Texas.  This place is tough.

Hindsight

Ever seen The Sixth Sense?

Brian and I went to it years ago, but I've never seen it since.  Freaked us both out pretty good.  However, when the twist at the end of the movie comes, I did like my brain racing backwards trying to make sense of it all.  That was fun.

My life is like that now.

Here we go.  Samantha was diagnosed with ADHD last June.  She has been taking medication for it since July.  Since that diagnosis, my mind thinks through years and years of memories…things I should have noticed, but rationalized them away.

In January 2012, my parents were out visiting us.  My dad said Samantha had ADHD.  I looked at him incredulously…what?  I agreed she was completely obnoxious, but my dad is grumpy anyway, so I kind of ignored what he said.  Then her piano teacher said she had a hard time keeping her on task at piano.  So it got me thinking.  What if?

I made an appointment with her pediatrician.  That was……….humiliating.  I described the circumstances surrounding Samantha, and he went on to belittle and shame me.  He said if she truly had ADHD she would have been diagnosed before age 7 (which, btw, is NOT true for girls).  Then he proceeded to tell me how HIS son had ADHD and how Samantha clearly did not.  He kept asking me if I wanted to continue to pursue this course.  Once opened, we could never go back.  I felt like an idiot.  And I was ashamed.  He then suggested she may have Aspergers.  WHAT???

It was the worst appointment ever.  I left.  And I stopped thinking about it.

But then, as time went on, I began noticing lots of things.  Samantha was incredibly messy.  Not normal kid messy…way worse.  I went to pick up some things for her at school, and she opened her locker.  It blew open with papers, trash, junk.  My jaw dropped.  What was going on?

I went to school everyday for her….forgotten lunch, papers, money, notebooks, textbooks…whatever.  Seriously, E.V.E.R.Y.D.A.Y.

She happened to be on the swim team this year as well.  She lost two swimming suits, could not remember her towel, her underwear, her shoes, etc.  We tried all kinds of things to help her be organized…a notebook, a planner, a sheet of paper, her hand.

She could not remember to brush her teeth, could not sit and do homework without someone sitting next to her, would forget to put on deodorant.  Her work at school was either perfect or failing…100% or 60%.  Her tests were especially poor.

And socially, she was awkward.  She had no sense of personal boundaries…Brian and I would helplessly watch as other kids would look annoyed by her and leave.  But she never got it.

The dynamics in our house have been awful, and that is putting it mildly.  We were very hard on her, yelling often and never understanding why she acted so incredibly immature.  I felt hopeless.  And I didn't like her.  At all.  I was so glad when she had somewhere else to be because our home was so peaceful without her.  And that felt terrible.  Who doesn't like their own kid???

Fast forward…in May of 2013, I was on pinterest and saw a pin about symptoms of ADHD.  I clicked the link and started tearing up as I read the exact description of my daughter.

I told Brian about it and then had him read it too.  He agreed with me.  He knew a doctor who specializes in adolescents, especially those with ADHD.  We saw her in June, and she said Samantha was a textbook case.  I broke down.

Years of bad and mean parenting came into my mind.  In third grade, when she was struggling so much with memorizing math facts, and we just made her go over it and over it til she cried.  When we moved to Utah, and the teacher often told me how Samantha just didn't have any friends…
So much fighting with her about how she was not reaching her potential, how she was so much smarter than all the school work showed.

Anyway, I'd love to say a pill fixed everything, but it didn't.  It did help a lot of things.  This school year she has not forgotten anything!  Not even once!  She can also finish her homework all by herself now.   She is much less awkward around people, too.  We are still working on the social aspect, and I truly wish girls were nicer.  But that is life.  And I hope Samantha will have enough character to not worry about the meanness.  She has had a good dose of it already.

ADHD has such a stigmatism to it.  Samantha was thrilled when the diagnosis came…she said all the smart kids have ADHD, so she must be smart, too!  More evidence of the fine parenting we had done.
Samantha promptly shared her good news with the girls at church…and one girl said, I don't believe in ADHD.  I wish I had the luxury of not believing in it either.  Maybe if I don't believe in diabetes, Annie won't have that!  Give me a break.

I trust in the medicine that so far is helping her lead a more normal life.  And I hope we have enough time to repair the years of damage I feel we have done to her.

I went to stake conference this weekend.  We sang the closing song, "I'll Go Where You Want Me To Go."  Although it is typically a song about missionary work, my heart was touched in a very different way.

It may not be on the mountain height or over the stormy sea,
It may not be at the battle's front, My Lord will have need of me.
But if, by a still, small voice he calls to paths that I do not know,
I'll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine: I'll go where you want me to go

I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord, over mountain or plain or sea;
I'll say what you want me to say, dear Lord; I'll be what you want me to be.

An answer to pleading with the Lord, "How do I do this?"

I am incredibly overwhelmed with the responsibilities of parenting healthy kids.  But then you throw in diabetes, and Norah's bowel troubles, and ADHD…and crying in my shower is typical here.  But the words of that song brought me my answer, along with peace.

And I am so grateful for that.

Tucker

There was a time that I thought I would never STOP talking about it…but as time goes by, I find that I am starting to move on and forget things, actually.  So here it goes.

On May 8, which was a Wednesday, Samantha had a honors society induction ceremony at school.  Our family went.  I started having contractions about 6 p.m., and they were definitely hurting.  The program began at 7, and the contractions kept coming.  It was painful, but not so bad because I could sit through them. Although, I did start to time them…about 8 minutes apart.

At about 8, we all went home and I told Brian I was going to take a bath, figuring they would stop.  (It was interesting to me how much I wanted to have the baby, but when labor started, I changed my mind).  Anyway, these contractions were painful.  And I started timing again.  They were about 5 minutes apart now.  Normally, I would have gone to the hospital, but I really didn't want another C-section, and my doctor wouldn't give me any Pitocin, so I knew I had to labor as much as I could at home.  Ugh.

So after about an hour in the tub, I realized they were not going to stop.  Brian was in the living room watching a game, so I told him I thought this was real and we needed to go to the hospital.  Did he even acknowledge that I had spoken??  I can't remember.  But he didn't move from the couch.  So I continued on, rocking on my hands and knees through the pain.  So weird, but it helped.  A little while later, I told Brian again.  He asked me if I was going to go to the hospital in what I was wearing?

WHAT???!!!  Granted, I had on a ratty old t-shirt, but who cares!  I take off my clothes in the hospital anyway!  And still no movement off the couch.  So I quickly change my shirt, throw some things into a bag (I never pack a hospital bag) and come out again.  Through tears of pain this time, I say we need to go to the hospital.  Brian looks at me and it finally registers that I cannot stay at home any longer.  He jumps up and quickly gets ready.

We are in the car at 10 pm, driving the short distance (about 5 minutes) to the hospital.  I call my doctor on the way.  Contractions are 45 seconds long about every 2-3 minutes.

We park.  As we walk in, a huge contraction hits and brings me to my hands and knees.  Brian is pulling on my arm, saying we can't do this in public?  Is this man for real?  I could NOT get up.  Not til the contraction passed.  We get inside, and I immediately say I want an epidural.  Brian asks who is on call, and doesn't  know the anesthesiologist, so he calls one of his friends instead.  At this point, I am crazy with pain.  I think I was dilated to a 6.  Who cares?  It was awful!

I remember Brian telling his friend he can take his time, that I usually take a while.  I turned to him and may have called him an idiot and a few other things…get that doctor in right NOW!!!!!

At this point, things change.  I can no longer time the contractions because there is no time between them.  They just keep coming, one on top of the other.  They give me oxygen.  Brian whispers to me, "You have to try to breathe, or this will be just like Norah." :(  I cannot deal with the excruciating pain. I try my hands and knees, try lying down…nothing works.  My ridiculous hospital gown is twisted all around me as I toss and turn through the contractions.  The nurse keeps adjusting the monitors on my stomach…I cannot hold still for her to do it, so she and I engage in some crazy baby monitor dance as I writhe around in pain.

The anesthesiologist FINALLY walks in, and hurriedly sets things up.  They keep telling me to hold still, but I cannot.  The pain was so intense I don't know how he could get the needle in my back, but he did.  I lay on the bed and was overcome with so much pain that I thought I would burst.  I straightened my legs and then felt a huge pop…my water had broken.

My doctor asked if I was feeling better…NO!  Only about 1 minute had passed since the needle went in, and I suddenly had to push.  I said (screamed) "I've got to push!"  I can no longer visually focus on anything, so I just am hearing voices.  My doctor said to wait because she didn't have her gloves on…hahaha.  Still makes me laugh.

"I'm going to push RIGHT NOW!"

And two pushes later, at 11 pm, out came the most bruised, purple baby boy I'd ever seen.  It was so fast, so intense, and crazy.  And I cried.  The only birth where tears were shed.

What an ending.

Bedtime

     The girls all sleep in one bedroom.  This particular night, Julie was insistent that Tucker come with them to bed.   When I walked in the room, she had him laying on her bed under the sheets.  It made me laugh, and I went to get my camera.

     As soon as I was back, all the girls had jumped on the bed.  Amazingly, I actually got a good picture.  Even Tucker was smiling!


****just so I remember...Julie is an awesome babysitter.  I realize she is not quite 8 yet, but her maturity is far beyond that.  She always helps with the little girls and with Tucker, and is more responsible than any child should probably be at 7.   What a blessing she is in my life. ****


     I really love this picture.  I want to frame and hang it, so I can remember that I DO love these kids when they are screaming...pulling hair...unbuckling seat belts and standing up in their car seats as I am driving...pinching...coloring on my walls...dumping all my brand new cleaner all over the carpet...etc, etc, etc.

Yes, I think I will hang this picture up.

   

September

While my big kids are in school, my little girls LOVE to swim.  They both learned to swim this summer...Yippee!

Annie was usually pretty cautious, so I didn't worry about her too much.  she was quite diligent about always wearing her life jacket.  :)  Norah, on the other hand, was a crazy lady.  She had fallen in the pool a number of times, and she never seemed to be too disturbed about the whole thing.

One time, when she was barely two, she fell in and had to be rescued by Landon (fully clothed).  Scary....but that experience made Landon grow about 6 inches with pride.  He was thrilled about his life-saving actions, and often talked about it.

He is a good kid.

Anyway, once Annie learned how to swim, Norah stopped loving her life jacket and got busy swimming herself.  Their skills have improved rapidly with all the swimming they do.  I love it.  It is about the only thing you can do out here during the summer heat.

And just for good measure...Tucker.

How I love this little boy.  He is the BEST baby ever.  So happy, takes a pacifier, sleeps so well;  I have no complaints.  I love me some babies.

The aftermath

We came home from the hospital on a Sunday.  Brian was going to come get us, but I HAD to get out of there.  Annie was feeling better, and I was completely overwhelmed.  For the next few days Brian's mom stayed with us to help.

Help with what though?  I just needed time and information, and I really wanted to be alone so I could grieve privately.  I would go to bed each night in tears.  I lived for bedtime.  I could go to sleep and dream of a completely alternate reality.  Waking up was awful.  It was living the diagnosis over and over again with each sunrise.  I wanted to sleep and not wake up.  Yikes...actually putting those words down on paper is frightening.

I was depressed.  And I hated Texas with all my heart.  Dumb Texas and its weird germs and viruses that somehow contributed to my little girl having diabetes.

Norah was only 9 months old.  She was an awesome baby...not demanding at all, just went along for the ride.  I'm grateful for that.  I'm sure she will have issues later.  ;)

It was so hard.  My showers became my sanctuary.  I could stand in there, and cry, and pray to my Heavenly Father for help.  And after a bit, I would get out and go on with my day.

Anyway, my neighbor out here is a wonderful woman named Kathi.  I love her dearly.  And...her daughter is also a Type 1 diabetic.  She has helped me so much...she completely understands our new life.  Kathi provides help, advice, understanding, babysitting, you name it.  She is an angel.  Of all the houses we considered buying...how could it just be coincidence that we felt THIS house was the right one?

It is not coincidence.  Heavenly Father knows us, and what we need.  And it is just sometimes hard to acknowledge His help in our lives.

The last two and a half years have probably been the hardest of my life.  Every day seems to bring a new challenge with one kid or another.  Brian and I often laugh about how good things were in residency!  I thought that was hard.....how funny.

But I now rely on the guidance of the Holy Ghost more than I ever did before.  I used to feel pretty wise, I suppose...and now I know I don't have any idea how to best help these children of mine.  So I pray, and I ponder, and I ask for help.  And in these few short years, I can now recognize how much inspiration we can really have EVERY day.  For ANY problem.

Amazing.  I must be growing up.  :)

Annie has diabetes

Annie was barely two when we moved to Texas.  She seemed to be having a hard time adjusting.  She cried a lot and was super whiny.

As a side note, one  of my children started wetting the bed when we moved to Utah.  This was very odd, since this child never had worn pull-ups at all.  And had never wet the bed in the three years since that kid was potty-trained.  It was so weird that I decided to do some research on the internet about suddenly wetting the bed.  I ended up reading a lot about symptoms of type 1 diabetes.   I decided that this child might have it.  Thankfully, one of my good friends in Utah also had diabetes, so she checked this kid's sugar for me one day at church...totally normal.

Anyway, this kid eventually stopped again.  Weird...and yet I think it was a tender mercy from my Heavenly Father that would come into play a while later.

So Annie also started eating a LOT.  She was eating more than Julie (but that wasn't hard because Julie hardly ate anything).  Then she was thirsty.  REALLY thirsty.  When I was getting ready in the morning, Annie would come in and turn on the faucet and put her head under it, just gulping down water.

The next thing I noticed was that she was soaking through diapers in about 4 hours.  It must be related to how much she was drinking, I thought.  She was waking up wet every morning as well.  Now Norah was about 9 months old, and her diapers were not as full as Annie's diapers.  Still, I was troubled, but kept trying to rationalize it.  I decided to buy overnight diapers and try those.

Meanwhile, Brian and I did not have insurance.  His job had just recently started, and we had no benefits, so we were researching insurance companies and pricing things.  We were delaying because our monthly premiums were coming back so high...even though we picked a very high deductible plan.  We figured that was a good route for our family since we were all healthy.

One day I had to be at the church setting up chairs and things for a youth activity.  Annie and Norah were there, and Annie could not have been more miserable.  She followed me around crying nonstop.  One lady saw this and said..."Could she be hungry?"  Then she pulled out a king size Nut Roll, and Annie devoured it.  But instead of being happy, her behavior stayed the same.  More crying, more tantrums.

I had a very distinct feeling that day that we needed insurance.  I called Brian and told him I was just going to start the insurance plan that day.  He agreed.  I called, and we were set up.  Two days passed.

One night I put an overnight pull-up on her.  I still remember texting Brian in the morning, telling him that the pull-up had worked!  She was dry!  I was thrilled.  It was nothing after all....  but I was still unsettled.

It was Friday morning.  I put the three little girls in the bathtub.  And that is when I knew something was wrong.  Annie was so skinny!  I could see each little rib.  I immediately called the doctor and got an appointment for that afternoon.  On the drive there, I knew she was diabetic.  Her wetting so much, soaking through diapers at night...I had researched all of this before.

Her appointment went well, and they said she looked great.  I asked them to test her blood sugar because I wondered about diabetes.  They did.  The meter registered her as HIGH.  The nurse came in and told me to take her immediately to Childrens Hospital in Dallas.  Please, no.

I quickly made arrangements for my kids...my second cousin also lives nearby and took them all, texted my family, and headed to Dallas with Annie and Norah.  To say Brian and I were devastated is putting it lightly.  I had known two diabetic kids growing up, both who had died by the time I was in 7th grade.  My aunt was also diabetic and had recently been in a coma.  She barely survived.   Brian often treats patients who have diabetic complications...ulcers, amputations, etc.  We were in the depths of despair.

At the hospital, they tested her again.  Her blood sugar was about 560.  They were actually surprised I had caught on so quickly to the symptoms, since most little kids end up extremely sick or in a coma before diagnosis.  That hospital stay was a whirlwind of information, but Annie was the happiest I had seen her in a while.  She was feeling better.

That very same weekend, Brian's mother and sisters were in town.  They get together once a year, and this particular year they picked Dallas.  Why?

Miracles were happening all around us at this time.  Why had one of my children suddenly started wetting the bed?  I believe it was so I would recognize the symptoms of diabetes early.  Why did my in-laws pick Dallas to visit?  (seriously...why?  Dallas is not really a destination city, you know?)  Another miracle since I needed them so badly.  Brian had to work that weekend, so his mother came and stayed with my other kids.  Why did I feel like we needed insurance right NOW?  Again, so we could be protected when Annie was in the hospital just two days later.

I learned so much that weekend.  My favorite lesson was that the Lord is in the details of our lives.  He really is.

Our Texas Move

I have been feeling badly lately because of my lack of documenting our life.

So here I am.  I need to write things before they disappear into the abyss of my brain, never to be recalled again.  I thought that happened when you were older, but apparently not.

When we moved from Utah to Texas, the movers came to our little house the day (or maybe two days?) after Christmas of 2010.  We had taken all the Christmas decorations down.  And then we watched as a crew of men came and packed our little house completely up.  It was incredible.  And sad.  And really fast and exciting...all at the same time.

Anyway, we drove away the next day.  Our things would take about a week, they said.  We were to expect them about the 3rd or 4th of January.  Great.

I had arranged for all of our utilities to be turned on December 30.  So we pull up to our house, and discover we have no running water!  What?!  So I try calling, and calling, and calling...but to no avail.  The office is closed, and will not open until after the new year.

that is kind of a problem. :/

So after much frustration and getting nowhere, we ask some friends of ours here in Dallas if we can stay with them.  They say yes, which saves us.

So...we have a fun New Years Eve, and are having a great New Years Day relaxing and watching football, when Brian gets a phone call.  The movers have arrived!  uh---today?

We pack up the car and drive to our house (about 40 minutes north) to meet the movers.  Well, not really movers.  More like one guy and his skinny 16 year old son!!!

Ok.  Seriously, how many things are wrong with this situation?  They came early, which normally would be great, but arriving on New Years Day???  And then, surprisingly, the main guy can't get anyone to come help him.  Of course not.  So he brings his son to help.  His son.  Did I mention he was scrawny?

We open the front door...and the house alarm goes off.  The REALLY LOUD ALARM.  REALLY LOUD.  I immediately call the alarm company to get help.  But they cannot help because the contract is in the old house owners name, not mine.  And no matter how many times I try to explain how we just bought the house, it doesn't change the situation.  I must turn the alarm off myself, with the code I do not have.  Nice.

Meanwhile, man-mover and skinny son are moving stuff in as quickly as possible.  That, as it turned out, was not really quickly at all.  We have pounding headaches at this point...and hearing loss.  I decide to call my realtor and tell him to call the sellers to see if they can give us the code...but just then the alarm goes off.  I have no idea why.

As a side note, it does make me wonder about the value of a home alarm.  That thing had been going off for at least an hour, and no emergency vehicles of any kind came to our home.  No police.  Nothing.   hmmm...

We felt bad watching man-mover and skinny work alone, so Brian and I offered help, but it was refused.  We could not help.  Liability and all.

We watched them move.  S.L.O.W.L.Y.  Still no water.

When they were done, we went back to our friends' home, and stayed one more night.

The water was on the next day.  The utility company did call and apologize.  The reason our water had not been turned on was because the office was closed on December 30.  Oh.  Doesn't that seem like important information to share with someone when they ask to have it turned on ON the 30th??  It does to me. ;)

We arrived.
We live in Texas.

I sometimes cannot believe the life I am living.

A Day of Reflection

This week has been an emotional one.  We heard last week about a friend out here who had found a mass on her liver.  She was going in for surgery to remove it and see what was going on this Tuesday.

Tuesday night came, and we heard bad news.  She had liver cancer, stage 4.   It was a slow growing kind, so chemotherapy and radiation wouldn't be effective.  She was given approximately two years.  This woman has five children, four girls and a boy.  Her oldest is in high school, and her youngest is a 14 month old little girl.

I have thought so much about her, and what I would do if given such limited time on earth.  Then today, I hear the news that she suddenly passed away this morning.

My heart is broken for her and her family.  All those little kids.

I know that we will live again.  I know that Jesus Christ lives and that our very lives go on through his redeeming power.  However, this causes me to reflect on my own life.  Am I ready to go?  How much time do I spend on frivolous things that really don't matter at all?

Do my children know each night how much I love them?  Does Brian?  I've grown up knowing death is a part of life, but it is so hard anyway.  I have some changing to do.  We all do.  That is the purpose of our life....to change and become perfected in Christ.

A Story

   About 2 1/2 years ago, I was headed to the hospital with painful contractions.  One completely panic-y doctor later, I had myself an emergency C-section.  Norah had arrived.

   That is not the story today.  That is old news.

   So, in that day after Norah was born, I knew she was not my last baby.  I just felt like there was one more.  It was an unwelcome feeling, especially at that time.

   Fast forward to several months ago.  I kept feeling like I should have another baby, but had no desire.  NONE!!  Brian and I often had conversations about our family being complete, but I just didn't think so.  Frankly, neither did he.

   So we jumped one more time.  What?!  I know!  Even as I write it down, it feels crazy.  It has never NOT felt like a totally crazy move.   Anyway, so here I am, 21 weeks pregnant.  I'm due in May.

   But guess what?  I'm having a boy this time.  Landon is thrilled, and Annie is devastated.  I, on the other hand, feel weird.  I expected to be SO excited about getting another boy, and yet I just feel nervous.  I have a lot of girls, and I am a bit freaked out at the boy.  Plus, Brian wants to name him Brian Jr, which is not going to happen.    (I'm thinking of having a secret baby blessing given by my dad just so he won't change the name we REALLY pick ;))

   I wonder about this baby.  I wonder if this is how all women feel when it is their last.  Did they want it to be?  I feel too old, too tired, and am too mean all the time to have any more.  I want to be done.  I want to schedule some permanent procedures for myself as soon as this boy arrives.  Seriously, like same day stuff.

   "Yes, could you just take the whole uterus with the baby?  Really, I won't be needing it anymore." That's how I feel.  And feeling like that makes me feel guilty.  I try to get excited, and I'm sure I will eventually, but so far I'm not.

   19 weeks to go...and counting.

 

Mom and Dad

I am the youngest of five.  I also live the farthest away from my childhood home.  I wish I was closer.

About four weeks ago, I checked my phone after my class at the gym.  I had two missed calls from my mother....uh-oh.

My heart was racing and I could barely think as I dialed her back.  I knew it was something bad.  Sure enough, my dad was in the hospital in Pocatello having a heart attack.  All ended ok, my dad got a stint put in and was recovering quickly.  I was so grateful for that.

But I still dread THAT phone call.  You know the one.

I felt completely helpless stuck so far away.  My parents are definitely aging, and no one is around to just check in and make sure they are ok.  My mind always reverts to that old church video where the little old lady dies in her house and no one even knows?!!  AAHHH!!

My sister and two brothers live in Utah, but boys don't seem to really care or feel the same amount of concern and worry that girls do. :)  I don't know how to get back.

Anyway, just wanting to write it down.  There are so many people in my ward out here whose entire extended family lives within about an hour of each other.  I miss family close by.  I feel neglectful by hoping someone else takes care of my mom and dad.  Ugh.

It drives me crazy...I'm already crazy anyway.  Certifiably nuts.

A pebble in the water

    I must write this down so I don't forget.  It was kind of unbelievable.

    Ever since Landon got his retainer, it has become a toy for him.  I understand...he is 9.  But still, he flicks it up and down, up and down constantly.  Some of his teachers think he is chewing gum because of the flash of white they see.
    Last week about 8, I was picking Landon up from Tae Kwan Do.   I had Julie, Annie and Norah in the car with me.  He got in the back, and I started to drive.  Now it was dark...and the music was on. ( I am not a quiet music listener.  I like it loud.  Otherwise, what is the point?)

    Anyway,  I look back and Landon looks like he is...I don't really know....he looks funny and is moving around in his seat.  I ask, "Are you ok? "

     He puts his hands around his neck and squeaks out, "choking!"

    I stop the car and then hear a huge upchucking sound.  Uh-oh.  As I turn around to see what is happening, Landon (who is now teared up) says, "I was choking on my retainer!"

     He apparently had been flicking his retainer up and down like always, when he took a drink of water.  His retainer went to the back of his throat and got stuck.  Hence, the weird noises and thrashing around.  Landon said he remembered learning the heimlick maneuver from scouts,  so he tried doing it to himself, and that is when the retainer came out.

     I gave Landon a talking to about WHY WHY WHY we don't flick that dumb thing around in our mouth!  Honestly, choking was not the first reason I thought of, but it is now.  And guess what?  He still does it!  Probably less often, but still.

     The whole episode made me think about our choices.  Just like a pebble thrown into water, the ripples go on and on and on.  And so do our consequences.

   

Asthma

Anyone have kids with asthma?  I don't...at least I didn't think I did.

Last Monday, annie woke up coughing.  We went about our normal morning, and as we were driving to the gym, I noticed she was coughing a lot.  A LOT.

Being endowed with endless amounts of compassion, I was ticked.  Great, I thought.  They probably won't even let me finish my class.  But I shoved her in there anyway.  After the hour was up, I went to pick up the girls.  The teacher mentioned she was coughing...yeah, I know.

Whew.  Made it.  :)

We go home and mill about doing normal stuff.  Cleaning, playing, etc.  Her coughing continues.  Then around lunchtime, I have a primary meeting at my house.  Norah is napping, and Annie has fallen asleep on the couch.  She wakes up in about 30 minutes, so I get her lunch.

She is coughing so much, and can barely eat.  It appears she is too tired to eat, but her blood sugar is fine.  I continue on with my meeting.  I keep watching her though, and she lays her head on the counter between each little bite.  I seriously write this all off as part of the cold she has.

Annie manages to eat a little, then moves and watches a movie.  After a while, she comes and sits on my lap.  Then Marianne (one of the women in the meeting) says...is she asthmatic?

No.  I don't think so.

Marianne then tells me Annie is retracting.

She's what?  Lift up her shirt, she says.  Now watch her chest.

It completely gets sucked in under her rib cage as she struggles to breathe.  She needs a breathing treatment...ASAP.

It is time to pick up my other kids from school, so I go get them, then pick up a machine from Marianne to help Annie.  I already have leftover medicine from a difference cold she had, and was wheezing that time.  (Yes, I realize what I genius I am at this point.  The child has been wheezing before, but she always does with a cold, and it usually gets better quickly)

Annie has her breathing treatment as soon as we are home, and is instantly better.

I, however, am not.  I start researching asthma, and find that Annie was suffering from a serious asthma attack.  Falling asleep because she was having so much trouble getting air?  And I just kept going along like an idiot.

Frankly, I worry so much about her sugars that other things seem to just get ignored.  Who would think she would be asthmatic as well?  Could we not spread things out a bit??

Brian and I do not have favorite kids, but Annie just has her own spot in our hearts.  Her suffering becomes almost unbearable for us.  As she was hooked up to this machine with a mask over her face, Landon asked me, "does she have asthma, too?"

Seriously.  Really?

But on the bright side...Marianne is awesome.  She saved my little Annie.  And I am learning a little about compassion.

The worth of a woman

More specifically, mine.  I think I may have posted something like this before, but clearly this kind of thing troubles me.

I grew up in a house with a father who was bossy.  I love him, but he bossed us all around...except my mom.   They discussed, argued, fought...whatever.  Sometimes I will read something that says, "my parents never said a cross word to each other."  Liars.  I don't believe it.  Probably because that was absolutely not the case in our house.

Dad told Mom what to do, and she did her own thing.  Oftentimes she would be going along, then my dad would try telling her how to slice the tomato (on his sandwich SHE was making for him), and suddenly that sandwich was being hurled at his face.

In a nutshell. :)

In a conversation with my mother, she told me she didn't raise me to be a 'women's libber'.  Hahaha.  Maybe not intentionally, but she did.   For as long as I can remember, I wanted to prove something.  My own value, I suppose.

In the mile race in third grade, I wanted to be the fastest one.  I usually was in races.  But one kid was faster...a boy.  My motivation was solely to beat him.  And on the last little stretch, I passed him up.  I was thrilled, and he cried.  I ate that up.

In sixth grade, we had a arm-wrestling competition in my class.  I could beat everyone, boys included.  Well,  except for one boy.  But he was massive.

I became extremely competitive in all aspects of my life.  I wanted to be the best, the smartest, the funniest...you name it.   (I must say here, that my desire was great, but my execution was not.  I really did want to be the best one at everything, but never was.  )

And then I went to college.  I was still the same.  I figured when I got married and had children, I would stay home with them.  My mom did, and I wanted to as well.  Brian and I even had this huge fight (while engaged) about me working or not.  I was insistent that even when my kids went to school, I would be home...he wanted me to work.  It makes me laugh now to think of it.

So Brian and I got married.  We both had school and work to manage.  I liked it.  Loved it actually.  After my first year of grad school, we were all supposed to do an internship.  Brian was finishing his undergrad and applying to medical school.  Well, he got a good internship down in CA, and I had nothing....so I worked temp jobs.  Even now as I think of it, I felt like a loser.  Here my classmates were doing meaningful (at least related to our classes) work, and I was stocking shelves at Kmart, doing data entry for an online toy company, more data entry somewhere else.  It was awful.  I really was happy for Brian and his experience he was getting, but I resented him a bit.  Why had I worked so hard in school?  to work at Kmart?  It was difficult to say the least.  Continually trying to convince myself that I was smart and capable, but I just felt disappointed.

Back to school was great,  and I found we were pregnant with Samantha.  She was born just as I graduated, so I stayed home with her.  Those days were interesting.  Not quite what I had envisioned.  Newborns are boring.  so I watched a lot of Lifetime channel for a while.  But, after the 15th beaten woman who took her life back and got revenge on her old lover...blah blah blah.  I've seen that before.

So life continued on.  More children came, medical school, I stayed home but managed apartment buildings.  Then one day in 2007, I decided to get certified to teach aerobics.  I did, and I started teaching at the Y where I lived.  And I absolutely LOVED it.  seriously, loved it.

Why?  I do love to exercise, but I was getting a meager little check each time I taught.  People would tell me they liked my class.  I felt worthwhile.  Staying at home has been more difficult for me than I ever anticipated.  Who knew I wanted to work?  But not just a job, something I loved to do.   It was a real, tangible thing I could prepare for, execute, and then get instant feedback.  It was awesome!

Sadly, in 2009, I left CA and have not had a teaching job since.  My life has become even more hectic, but I yearn for that outlet.  I love it.  People will sometimes come to me and tell me how much they love Brian, what a wonderful doctor he is.  I know he is.  But let me tell you about the last time someone said what a wonderful mother I am................................

wait.  it never happened.  Probably because my kids just burped out loud and then pushed your kid down.  Oops.

Knowing how I have struggled with these ridiculous feelings of inadequacy, of not reaching my potential, of guilt for wanting to leave when I know I should stay...why would I have 4 girls?  I needed to have boys.  Boys I could push to be the best, to become whatever they would like to be.  Instead, I talk to my girls about picking a career that can possibly be flexible with a family later on.  It hurts my heart to even say it....be awesome, but not TOO awesome because that might prevent you from staying home and raising your kids.  Yuck.

Mostly, I guess I hope they can marry wonderful men who will understand that they really are equals in every way, and not less than their husband.  In this church, I find those men are few and far between.

Whew.  That is enough ranting for today.

Permanent Teeth

About the beginning of May, Landon had come with me to pick up produce from this weekly co-op thing I participate in.  His soccer game was shortly afterward, so he, Annie and Norah came with me.  Brian had the other girls.

There was a big line to wait in, but thankfully a playground was nearby.  I asked Landon to take the little girls over there and play while I waited.  He disappeared with them.  Just before it was my turn, Landon comes over to me, holding his mouth and crying.  His entire soccer jersey is covered with blood, running down his face and chest.  I feel nauseous and light headed.

It took me a minute to gather myself together enough to think what I needed to do.  I didn't panic, but I was in a stupor.  Just stood there while the women around me asked what they could do.

Someone handed a burpcloth thing to Landon to keep in his mouth, while I went and got the little girls. Someone else gathered my food and helped me to my car.  She was actually trying to carry Norah, who was pitching a royal fit the entire time.  But I am already carrying Annie, so I just keep going.

I try to open Landon's mouth to see the damage, but he is in so much pain he can hardly cooperate.  I thought his teeth had been knocked out, but then I see that the front two teeth have just been shoved right back up through the gums.  It is disgusting.

We get in the car and my mind is racing.  I call Brian, but can't hear him very well, and he is already at the soccer fields with Julie.  I contact a few people about the dentist I know in our ward.  I leave him a few messages.  After a few minutes, he calls me back and tells me to come over and he'll look at Landon.  I am incredibly grateful, as it is Saturday.

I show up at his house and the entire family is outside doing yard work.  I feel even worse.  He takes one look at Landon and says, "Yep,  we need to go to the office."  I feel hopeless.

Once there, he starts working on Landon's mouth.  He keeps telling me it doesn't look good, but I keep praying for him to keep his teeth.  His PERMANENT FRONT TEETH!  Please, please, let him keep the teeth.

My little girls are out in the front part of the office, so I go to check on them.  When I come back, one front tooth is gone.  The dentist said in his effort to pull that tooth down a bit, the whole thing just came out.  I am shocked and want to throw up.  That was a lovely answer to a prayer.  As he keeps working, I have to sit and look away, feeling lightheaded and unsteady again.  I hate myself for being such a wuss.

The office part only takes about 15 minutes, and then we are driving home.  I am in disbelief about what has happened.  I feel incredible guilt.  What if I just hadn't taken him with me?  Why did I have to ask him to watch the girls?  why am I so lazy?  What if I had gotten there sooner...or later?  What if?  Why did I?  It could go on forever.  Still, I wish I could go back and change it.  I have an incredible amount of guilt.

So now Landon looks interesting.  He has a flipper, which is a retainer with the missing tooth attached. He has lost it multiple times, dropped it in a wave pool (where it was stepped on), and he constantly flips it up and down in his mouth like gum.   He is a 9 year old boy, after all.

So we just keep doing this until he is about 17 and can get an implant.  He will also need a bone graft for his gum, since he broke his maxilla right above the tooth that came out.  The whole deal stinks, and my heart hurts for Landon.  I would much rather have a broken arm, broken leg...those things heal!  Dang teeth are irreplaceable.

I'm not beautiful, but I am vain.  I know it.  If I wasn't, maybe this wouldn't bother me so much.  But it does.  And patience does not come easily to me.  My children's misfortunes are the worst part of parenting.  To have to sit on the side and watch bad things happen is torture, but what can be done?  It is a part of life.  But I will hate that part forever.

Toilets

I am in the midst of pee at the moment.  Pee on my tile, pee on the carpet, pee on rags, toilet paper...you name it, it has been peed on.  That's right, I am potty training Norah.

She exhibited all the appropriate signs before I started...staying dry during naps, totally interested in the toilet.  She would even sit on the dang thing every night before she got in the bathtub.  About 4 days ago, I decided to get more aggressive with it.  She seriously kept her diaper dry for two days!  Only going in the toilet.

Sweet!  I am totally ready for this.  It will be a cinch, I know it.  I am a seasoned mother now.  No more rookie mistakes, no more ridiculous pull-ups!  Norah will be potty trained over the weekend!  Whoo-hoo!!!

Somehow, this delusional line of thinking kept running through my mind.  It is right up there with having more children (pregnancy goes fast!  It's only 9 months!  Who cares about heartburn?  You are tired anyway, whats the big deal?)  Yeah, delusional I tell you.

So I jump in and put Norah in underwear.  It is going pretty well, but all I have done is potty trained myself.  I examine Norah's face and look for any signs of...what?  Relief?  I don't know.  I chase her around forcing her on the toilet every 30 minutes or so and get more crazy by the minute.

In the meantime, I was called to be the primary president of my ward on thursday night.  What?!  The president of a newly created ward, with no one in any callings whatsoever!  If it seems like that burden is light, you are absolutely correct.  I barely even think about it.  ;)

So off we go to church on Sunday.  I put Norah in a pull-up.  I realize this is a mistake, but what can I do?  Primary has to be run, Brian is at the hospital...I feel stuck.

Basically, it has come to this.  Norah thinks pull-ups are awesome and wants to wear them.  I rotate between keeping her bottom bare and underwear on.  She occasionally tells me she needs to go, but today I just decided she has to learn to tell me.  So I gently ask, but no longer force.  Hence, the pee.

I put her down for a nap today at 2:30...forgot to get her up until 5, and then made her go back to bed at 8.  AAHHH!  I just needed a bit of time without stressing about where she is, what she is doing, is she on the carpet?

I hate potty training, but I refuse to give up.  We've come this far, baby.  I hope tomorrow gets better.  I don't know how much more urine I can take.

Plano Balloon Festival

We went to the Plano Balloon Festival a couple weeks ago. I had been anticipating this since we moved here. I love hot air balloons! I think they are amazing.

Anyway, we rushed to get there, sat down, and waited for the launch.....and waited.....and waited....um, oops, it has been cancelled. What?! This was at 6:30. The balloon glow was supposed to be at 8 pm...so again, we just waited for that. It was a lot of waiting.

However, I did manage to take some pictures, and learned a few things along the way.

Texas grass is sharp and painful. I don't know why, but it is. Blankets are not optional. Lesson learned. Also, we are not photogenic. ;)

Norah is a troublemaker. Seriously.

Somehow when I turned 35, I lost the ability to keep my eyes open in a picture.

Norah

Norah is funny. She took two steps at 14 months, and then took another MONTH to start walking all the time. She just began cruising around a few days ago.

She has been biting me since she got teeth at 6 months. She used to bite my collar bone, (which really hurts by the way) and now bites anything she can get her teeth into. And when I yelp in pain, she laughs. When I get mad and tell her no, she laughs. I even flicked her mouth....her bottom lip turned down momentarily, then more laughter. AAHHH!

She could be my first child to be expelled from the nursery.

Norah doesn't say much. She finally said her first word a few weeks ago, and it was "Hey!". That has since morphed into Hi, she has said "up" and "bum" before. I think she roared like a lion yesterday, and she can open and close her mouth like a fish.

What a cutie.

Kindnesses

As I was thinking about my day today, I remembered several people who were very kind to me today.




First, a woman at Costco stood by Norah and talked to her while I had to take Annie to the bathroom. This actually happens a lot. Norah is typically left in the cart as close to the bathroom as I can get, then I frantically rush back and forth helping Annie and making sure Norah is ok as well. What a nice thing to do.


Next, a woman at the park kept pushing Norah in the swing while I was giving Annie an underdog. Seriously, what a small gesture, but it means a lot.




Finally, Samantha pushed the kids on the swings while I took care of our dog, and then carried Annie when she was too tired to walk. I told her, but I hope she can understand how much that helps me.


And just so I remember-----


On our way to the park, the kids were watching Tangled for the umpteenth time. We were on the part where Rapunzel and Flynn sing "I see the Light." From the backseat I hear some interesting sounds...it is Landon, armpit farting in perfect sychronization to the song. I laughed.

As he is the only boy in a family with four girls, stuff like that is welcome anytime. :)

Grateful

I haven't cleaned the mirror in my bathroom for about a month, and this is why. It is Annie's cute little handprint right on it. I love it.

It makes me smile every time I see it. It reminds me that she always wants to put on makeup when I do, she wants me to curl her hair when I do mine, and she wants to wear deodorant just like me.

It makes me grateful.

Clean mirrors will just have to wait. ;)))