Berries

Sometimes I can try so hard to accomplish a task that I can get in my own way.  I see housework that needs to be done, so I make a list.  I can spend three hours making a list of the chores that need to be done and then leave myself too little time to complete a quarter of them.  I am often my own worst obstacle because I fail to recognize that which is eluding me.

One thing I enjoy about summertime is picking time with the kids.  We have blueberry bushes and raspberry bushes.  I have tried and been unsuccessful with strawberries.  For the last several years, I have wanted to get blackberry bushes as well, but haven't had the opportunity to buy, plant, and care for them. 

We have had plenty of outside work to do besides working on cultivating a new plant.  There are tons of weeds popping up everywhere.  Poison ivy creeps in along the ground with runners making their way up trees.  Brambles with long, painful thorns crop up near the trees.  This can be an arduous task.

About a week and a half ago, I was outside doing some clearing and pruning by the blueberry bushes that had grown too high and thrust out branches so far I couldn't get to the berries above nor to the weeds underneath.  As much as I relish the taste of fresh blueberries, I haven't been able to pick any due to the fact that they had grown to be about 12 feet high.  I couldn't reach the ripe fruit.  The birds have been able to feast on them, but I was determined that my family will as well.

In the middle of all the pruning and weed whacking, I kept coming across this little bramble with odd-shaped leaves and thorns.  This thing had popped up everywhere!  It was under my blueberries, in the middle of my yard with the grass, and on the opposite side of my house next to the hibiscus.  It seemed like an infestation.

My mom has developed quite a green thumb, so I showed her this pest and asked her what it was and how to get rid of it.   She took one look at it and gave me the name of this unwelcome intruder.  Blackberry.  The very same plant I have been considering buying is the very one I was trying to evict from my yard.

If I had continued under my own wisdom, I would have lost the treasure that I have longed for, that was right under my nose this whole time.  I would have cut it all down,lost it of my own volition, and I would have had to wait even longer for my blackberries. 

Sometimes it takes a little external guidance to reap what I would like to sow.  Sometimes I miss out because I do not have a clear picture of what is as opposed to how I think it should be.  When I stop and trust the expert of my soul, who knows how I am knit together and recognizes me, who sees all the thorns and yet lovingly works to cultivate me, I will be able to bear the fruit that He desires of me.

Sometimes I need to just trust the caretaker of my soul to do what He needs to do so I can be fully productive in this life.  Sometimes I need pruning in order to keep me from wearing myself out trying to reach the sun.  I need that extra help to keep me  where I need to be in order to be able to flower as I was meant to blossom.

The Nitty Gritty

Life has a habit of going on, whether you do something about it or not.  You can't control the waves in the ocean or the pollen in the air, nor can you keep your little ones from growing up and learning about the joys and pains of this existence.  It's not that you want things to happen, but as you get caught up in the mundane and the wild rides, things don't always turn out the way you planned.  But what do you do when that happens?

Here's the low down.  My kids are all growing up.  You may remember my Three Amigos, aka the Three Musketeers, but they have grown, not only in age, but in number.  My oldest is now 15 and writing her own book, journal entries of Ahsoka Tano.  Yes, my daughter has the Star Wars genes and loves this character so much that she is writing her entire life story.  Her brother in arms will be 14 on Monday.  He is, most of the time, our gentle giant.  At 6 feet and 250 pounds, he is almost twice my size but just as much a teddy bear as his father.  The last third of this troupe is now 12 and loves Legos and Minecraft.  I never hear him laughing so much as when he is watching a Minecraft video.

Added to the fold are two more.  My 9 year old Punkyanna, as my husband calls her, is a cross between Punky Brewster (remember her?) and Anna from Frozen.  She is quite feisty and is as much a princess as her sister is a tomboy.  Completing the handful is my 5 year old, precocious, and a voracious reader.  He will read anything he can get his hands on, from a child's book to a newspaper.

My quiver full keeps me on my toes most of the time.  All are very active, inquisitive, and part of this wonderful unit called a family.  They all have their roles, their unique personalities with strengths and weaknesses, all dearly precious to me.  Truly, they can wear me out at times, but they are filled with such wonder and insatiable curiosity.  All except my spitfire princess also have High Functioning Autism, which brings its own challenges to the table.

Just this past Monday, my husband and I had to do something no parent enjoys.   We had to make some tough choices regarding Mr. Man.  See, here's the deal:  most of the time, he is as sweet as can be.  He has a sparkle to his smile that just lights up the room.  But when he is down on himself, it is as if the shadows come out to play.  He gets dark and hard on himself.  He gets frustrated and has been known to knock holes in walls, doors off their frames, and to verbalize feelings of self-harm.  We have tried him on different medications to stabilize his moods, but he doesn't respond well to many of them.  It came to a head this last week.

We had to take him to get an emergent psychiatric evaluation.  We answered questions, and so did he, regarding his well-being and intentions toward himself.  He has never been intentionally aggressive towards others, though he has been known to fight when he feels backed into a corner.  He has, however, always been very hard on himself.  He gets so engrossed on what he may have done wrong that he hasn't grasped how great our love is for him.  He gets to feeling hopeless and....we had to leave him there for observation.

This has probably been the longest week of my life.  On top of his issues, I had to go to a few different doctors for my own health.  Evidently, my body thinks I am going too hard and is insisting on enough being enough.  Honestly, I have crashed a couple times for a quick nap and it has been intense emotionally.  But as a mother, when I have a child in crisis and four other children depending on me, some of whom have no understanding of what is going on, I can't exactly just stop.  Life keeps going, regardless of the circumstances.

At first, he was very resistant to talking about things with them.  Then he realized that the only way to come home is to face his fears and confront his challenges head on.  He decided he is willing to do what it takes to be able to come home.  One of the amazing things about him has always been that he is perfectly honest with us.  There is no guile or deceit in him, so we are grateful that when he says how he is feeling, he is being forthright.  Now he is talking and feeling better about things and learning how to cope with all his emotions.  Just being a teenager is hard enough in this day and age, but my son is beginning to rise above it all.  He is starting to refuse the lies that come at him.

It isn't about what happens, but about the choices we make when it does.  When we are sitting in that boat in the middle of a tempest, do we yell out and jump overboard or do we take the storm by the horns and set our jaw for the big waves?  We have to look past what we see to the truth of what is.  The storms will pass.  They all do.  The weather sometimes holds for a while, but the calm will also come, with the soft, gentle wind and the sun will shine once again.

I wrote a poem on Wednesday, and I would like to share it with you.  Please note it is gritty, as it holds a myriad of this weeks' emotions laid bare:

Battle of the Mind

Why did you lock me up?
This place is like a bunker, a prison cell.
I want to escape
But you tell me I can't, that I'm not well.
I don't understand
I have always been this way, can't you tell?
The thoughts have always been there, they never leave
Torturous, taunting, haunting me,
Whispering that I belong in hell

You pray and you talk and you say I am loved
But somehow, despite what you say,
I don't feel any of this

You say God delivers and brings us to our good, but I can't hear.
I can't see, I can't speak
I just sit here wallowing in my fear
That voice continues, whispering in my ear
Yet you say God is near.

I hope.  Can I?  Dare I? Believe despite what I feel bubbling up inside?
My tears are dry as I try desperately to hide
From the pain down deep I cannot escape
The chasm is just too wide.

There is only one way, the voices say,
To exterminate the anguish I have today
End it here and now, and nobody else has to suffer in the mire of my misery
What am I but a drop in humanity
It doesn't matter in the grand scheme, can't you see?
Yet you say you keep me in this jail to set me free.

Please let me come home.  I wouldn't hurt you
It's myself that I want to kill
I dream and I scheme and it makes me ill
That you don't understand this is my will

How can my absence bring you more pain?
Surely you don't want to deal with my outbursts again
Your tears fall fast, like the summer rain
While my mind keeps chugging along on this train

You say group therapy is where I need to be
And you say to go down on my knee,
that Jesus' love will comfort me
in the midst of this, my tragedy.

I don't trust and I don't want to feel
for this pain inside is just too surreal.
I want to come home, so what's the big deal?

Surrender the heart when I'm falling apart
Open my soul and that's the start
Well here you go, it's sitting right there
Laid open bare, wounded everywhere

I mess up all the time, you know that it's true
Just what do you want me to do?
Overwhelmed by it all, I just want to fall,
I hear your love call,
But a failure I feel and it hurts that you have to live
with the destruction of my pain.  What have I to give?

You couldn't have known, you didn't see
Just what those boys did to me
Opened my eyes when I wished I was blind
So I couldn't see what they were showing me
Wish I could leave it all behind

Oh God, how it hurt, offended my spirit
I tried to go deaf so I wouldn't have to hear it
Please pry out my eyes and puncture my ears,
so badly my heart it did sear.

You tell me I have to move on,
that I am your son
But it ain't so fun and I just want to run
But oh, how I want to come home, to not feel alone
I'm tired of wandering.  I don't want to roam

Letting go isn't easy to do but it's true
I want to trust you will come back for me
when this part of my journey is through

So I cry out, I scream and I shout
From the depths of my soul I still doubt,
Nevertheless, God's Word says He hears,
that faith is what it's all about

Oh Jesus, I cry, shut out the noise that swallows me up
LORD, fill my cup.  Sit with me and sup.
I want to hear you

You want me to tell what's troubling me
but You already know
It's hard for me to put it in words
Where do I begin to let it out?

Honesty is the best policy,
I have that on good authority
It leads to the path of tranquility

Well here I am, LORD, Do what You will
Empty me out then fill me back up
Heal my brokenness,
replace it with Your Holiness
Show me Your faithfulness and make me brand new,
Wholly, completely devoted to You

You hold the key to the prison in my mind
Release me, for I am resigned
That this fear will no longer bind  my soul

And when I am ready, I'll walk out these doors
And walk outside on the soft, grassy floors
Remembering that Your Spirit pours
over my life both day and night,
and that I never have to fight alone

For You are with me, You love me
You purposed for me to be
And I will hold tight to the truth that
You crafted my mind to work differently
Creatively
Joyfully delighting in Who You are in me,
and in the wonderful knowledge
that You have set me free

Taking the Opportunity

I've been rather silent here for far too long and something happened today to remind me that when I am waiting for a chance to get where I want to go, there is more to it than just wanting to have the opportunity.  I was driving home from a meaningful meeting regarding my current situation when, upon passing through a light, I saw a man in a truck sitting in a turn lane with his blinkers on.  He was attempting to turn into a shopping center and had been waiting there the whole time I was waiting for the stoplight to change to green.

I saw that the traffic had been flowing consistently, blocking him from entering the parking lot.  I slowed to a stop and flashed my lights toward him so he would know I was giving him a chance to turn.  I waited for a few moments and then flickered my lights once again.  It was to no avail, for he was not looking at the road. He had his eyes in heavy concentration on his cell phone and did not see me.  I could wait no longer, for the cars behind me had caught up and I needed to get moving  The gentleman missed the opportunity because he was focused elsewhere and failed to see the opening when he had one.

I was momentarily bummed for him, because I knew the man had been sitting there, stuck and at the mercy of fellow motorists.  Then I was puzzled as to why he had not kept his eyes on the road.  I then not kept my mind on important matters and had missed opportunities for my failure to see them.

In life we are all wondered how much longer he would have to wait.  It made me stop and consider the times I have taken my eyes off of where they need to be.  How often have I missed opportunities to witness, to serve, to be in a different lane because I am distracted?

Sprains, Trains, and Letting Go of the Wheel

Yesterday morning I was so excited, yet anxious.  I had gotten the kids ready and off to school and was in the middle of moving things around to get our upstairs carpet replaced when the phone rang.  The installers were letting me know that their team was not going to be able to come in.  Could I please put it off until Thursday?

Sigh.  Let down, yet seemingly a blessing.  There were still a few things to get in order, so a couple of days shouldn't be that big of an issue.  Of course, it meant moving some things back into the kids' rooms for the time being, but it gave me more time to take care of the gazillion little things lying around.

Well, yes, I was able to get more things boxed away, but then I ran into a little snag. I was in the parking lot with my girls, leaving an American Heritage Girls meeting when I stepped into a pot hole.  I heard a POP and my ankle was on fire.  I knew there was no question that I had just sprained it. 

My mind was flooded with questions.  How in the world was I going to drive them home?  How was I going to get the rest of the way to my car?  How was I going to move everything out of the way for the carpet installers?  Breathe.  Forget that, how was I going to stay completely calm in front of my daughters when I couldn't think straight for the throbbing on my right side?

As always, God provided.  I certainly cried out to him enough times, quietly.  Oh, and anyone who knows me realizes that the quieter I am when I get hurt equates to how much it does hurt.  Poor Nyssa said she wished she were old enough to drive.  So did I.  But I did ask God to help us get home.  I had to drive with my left foot as there was nothing doing with my right.

Thankfully, we only live about 2 miles from where the meeting took place.  It was 8 o'clock at night, so the roads were quiet with absolutely no traffic whatsoever behind me the entire way and only a few cars on the other side of the street that passed me.  The whole trip home, I was thanking God for the perfect driving conditions, for the lack of drivers on the road, for the lights, for the spacing between cars that allowed me to turn.   I told the girls that we are to give thanks in every situation, because that is God's will for our lives, even if it doesn't seem to have anything worth thanking Him for.  But if we concentrate and think about the things He is providing right then and there, then we are taking our eyes off of the pain of the moment. 

We finally got home, after Nyssa laughingly told me that my breathing sometimes sounded like Darth Vader.  I told her it sounded like that just before she was born, too!  My poor husband had to help me in the house and then we waited for my mom to come take me to the ER while Richard put the kids to bed.

The x-rays confirmed my suspicions.  It was only a sprain and not a break, but I'm not supposed to put any weight on it for a few days.  The doctor handed me a narcotic to dull the pain and sent me home with crutches and an air cast.  Sigh.  No weight.

How in the world am I going to get those boxes and drawers out of the kids' rooms, the mattresses off the bed, and the rest of the odds and ends out of the way?  This was the worst timing ever!  If only the installation crew had come when they were supposed to, we wouldn't be having this trouble right now!  All sorts of negative thoughts swam around in my brain fraught with worry about the current circumstances.  Then, something happened.

God reminded me He is in control.  He brought my mind back to what I had been telling the girls on the trip home.  He gently nudged me and let me know that He did, indeed know what was going on in my life, knew already that it would happen, and that He had a plan.  What it was didn't matter.  What did matter was that I trust Him and rest in the knowledge that He was going to take care of me.  All of a sudden, when I looked to him and not to the situation, I was at peace and perfectly fine with what would be. 

How did it turn out?  Well, I started writing again, for one thing.  I've been trying to get back in the groove for quite some time but could never quite get the time to sit down and do it.  Well, sitting's not going to be a problem for a bit.  As for the whole moving issue and the carpet?  Ask me again tomorrow night, because I haven't completely crossed that bridge yet.  But the wonderful thing is that I don't have to cross it alone and that the bridge I am walking on is a solid rock.  God specializes in making a way when there seems to be none.  He is letting me lean on Him so I don't have to bear all the weight on my own.  It's His burden now, and His burden is light.  Whew, thank You, God!

A Dream Fulfilled

So it has been quite a while since I have written, and for those of you who have been waiting around for a new post, I greatly apologized and am humbled that you still check my blog.  I was gone so long that it took me a week to figure out how to get back in.  Hopefully I will make it up to you.  As for my new readers, thank you for stopping by and giving me a chance.  I hope you are not disappointed!

When I was young, I always knew I wanted 5 children of my own to raise.  I also kept my mind wide open to adopting more, should the occasion arise, and I still do.  While we had more complications and unexpected gifts with our first three, the desire lingered.  When we had Gabriela, though it grew even busier and crazier around the home, I still hungered for one more.  A part of me had given up because, as our Autistic children continued through elementary school, the challenges got even more difficult.

Then, it happened.  I grew content (almost) with just the four, understanding that I was at my limit of juggling my time with the children and the work of the home.  I knew that to have another was staring a mountain in the face I felt I didn't have the strength to climb it at that time, even though the crazy notion of having one more nagged at me.  Of course, it's when you decide to camp out in the comfort of the meadow in the valley that those mountains just seem to appear out of nowhere!

A miracle came to us on April 14 of last year; to be precise it appeared on 4/24/14 at 1:24pm.  Our last blessing was born, and what a blessing he is!  Overwhelmed by all of my children, I was still overjoyed that the final portion of the hole in my heart was filled to the brim.  I never thought I would have a child smaller than my first, but Alexander came as a tiny spitfire, determined and joyful.  Still near the bottom of his weight and height class, he brings out the best in all the others.

I have to laugh because he literally seems to be all the others rolled into one.  Praise God I did have the others before him, because they helped prepare the way.  Alexander has the ability to figure things out like Nyssa.  At 15 months old, hardly walking, he had already figured out how to turn on the DVD player and TV.  All he needed was to have someone take the disc out of the case for him.  He can put things back together like Nathaniel.  He climbs like Benjamin, and is as socially engaging as Gabriela.  He brings them all together.

His name means "Defender and Protector of Mankind."  His middle name, Joseph, means "God has added unto us a son."  How truly we can already see both of these attributes flowing through him.  He is unwittingly bringing out the best in all of them, just by his sheer existence. 

Before he was born, Nathaniel used to be afraid of him, that he would hurt Alexander, but he is so gentle and caring for his little brother.  In fact, he's the best babysitter of the bunch.  That is what Alexander brings out of his brother.  Though a typical toddler who gets into everything, Alexander is not going to get anywhere near anything remotely dangerous to him when Nathaniel is around.

To the girls, he's still a play toy.  He is carried and peek-a-booed at, handed toys and stuffed animals, and adored.  Somehow he always manages to work his way back to me when he needs a diaper change, but goes right back to his entertainment team when he's cleaned.

He's not sure where he lies with his roommate.  Today he may be the best friend in the world while yesterday he was told to stay out of the way.  Truth is, he adores Benjamin and enjoys his evening chats with his big brother, even if Benjamin has no idea what he is saying.

Two and a half years ago, we had, along with everyone we knew, reached the conclusion that four children were plenty and that our hands were full enough with them.  Then somehow, this tiny miracle came along and showed us what we still needed...and that is the crux of the matter.  We needed him, all of us.  He was the final arrow in our quiver.  He was number seven, the number of completion.  He was all of us rolled into one, showing us that it is possible to all work together as a cohesive team, a family. 

Just this past Sunday, he was dedicated at church.  I hate admitting that we had been so busy the time flew by before we knew it!  He's 17 months old now, but I believe the timing was perfect.  Our pastor talked about him being a vital part of the family, that he was, in essence, an integral part, a key role in our family.  He echoed, I'm not sure if he realized it or not, the meaning behind Alexander's name.  He is already proving to be a protector, at his young age, and a defender of our family in a way that cannot be expressed. 

It is often the dream that seems to die that is the most precious of all.  We go through life with expectations, hopes, and dreams of what we would like it to be.  Often these dreams are discarded or forgotten; they go by the wayside.  But then, with some that are dear to our heart, something wonderful happens.  When we least expect it, they come back in full force, like a rushing river flowing past, a flood that knocks away every obstacle in its path.  That doesn't mean to say that it is all peachy and smells of roses.  With the precious ones, we may face the most challenging days of all; but then the hard times are worth it, because we realize they were times that might not have been.  We realize that because these dreams were so very dear to our hearts, even the troubles are endurable because we understand the passion and the deep satisfaction that goes along with seeing the impossible dreams fulfilled.

Cast Down those Vain Imaginations

I have heard it said that the greatest battlefield is that of the mind.  As long as you focus on positive things and don't give in to the whispers of despair and hopelessness, you can endure just about anything through to the end.  People have overcome great adversities by hanging on to hope.

Saturday, our family went to the Georgia Renaissance Festival with some former co-workers of my husband.  Hailing from a theater background, I was relishing the experience, my first in the state, and was looking forward to sharing it with the rest of my family.  Half of us - myself, Nathaniel, and Gabriela - even dressed up in costumes for the day.

The children were lit up with joy, wanting to ride everything, watch half the shows (they got bored after a few minutes), eat the food, and experience the fun.  As soon as we entered the grounds, the first thing Nathaniel did was look at his map.  After a few minutes of studying it, he declared that he wanted to go through the maze.  We saw various shops on the way, but he was determined to make that a priority, and was eager to get started.

Hubby and I decided to both go in so that we could stay with the children if they split up and avoid losing anyone.  Well, naturally they did, and they outnumbered us.  By time I got through the maze with Gabriela, the only one I could see from the top was Benjamin, still in the maze.  Nathaniel was nowhere to be found.  The woman at the slide said that one went down and I looked down just in time to see him drop a shredded map and tear off like his pants were on fire!

I slid down with Gabriela on my lap as quickly as I could, but by time I got to the bottom, Nathaniel was nowhere in sight.  Benjamin was on his way down and I had no choice but to stay with them while waiting for Richard to get to the slide.  The whole time I was looking in the direction I thought I saw my son go, but the area was flooded with people and the disappearing act had already taken place.  As Richard took off in the direction we last saw Nathaniel, I went over to the closest location with a communications device and asked for assistance.

By time I had given the security and police officer a description and discussed the best way for strangers to approach a child with Autism Spectrum, it seemed like a lifetime had passed.  A few more minutes later, and my dear husband returned with no son, hoping that he had come back toward the maze on his own.  Richard's next action was to do what he thought Nathaniel may have tried:  he went back to the beginning, to the parking lot, to see if Nathaniel had gone to the car or, worse, tried to walk home.

In the meantime, it was almost noon and the others were hot, hungry, and thirsty, so I had to keep my wits about me taking care of them.  It proved to be a blessing in disguise, but there is almost nothing worse than being a mother with a missing son, and unable to just take off after him, feeling completely helpless.  As time dragged on with still no word on Nathaniel, I desperately fought the thoughts that tried to creep past my sensors.

The first hour passed and security informed me that it was a very safe place and that a child had never made it past the gate, so I shouldn't worry.  Trying to combine not worrying while letting them know that my son is an escape artist and can get past when he wants to was quite a balancing act, though convincing them that he has been known to hide in dark corners away from people did help in some strange, convoluted way.  After a while, it was my turn to search while Richard cooled down with a drink and watched the remaining children.  I went from one end of the park to the other, going from the children's petting zoo, craft station, and playground, to First Aid and the edges and around buildings with still no sign.  By time hour 2 came and went, just about everyone working there was keeping an eye out, including the resident man on stilts and the sweet woman who was selling pixie dust.

I finally made my way back to the front gate again, just to check and make sure for a third time that Nathaniel hadn't slipped past.  You can imagine my relief when the woman said that he had been found and that my husband had come for him.  For 2 1/2 hours I had fought the imaginings of him making it out to the highway.  I had refused the vision of him passed out from heat exhaustion or being lost in the woods after climbing over the wooden fences.  I had rejected the notion that he was harmed, while knowing in my heart of hearts that with every moment that I had suffered in worry, he had painfully endured in increasing fear and confusion.  Never before had he been lost in a crowd of such magnitude, nor for such length of time.

Heading for our prearranged meeting picnic table in a tumult of relief and sudden release, I choked down the tears of relief and just offered up silent prayers of thanksgiving for his safety, for his rescue.  I hurled past the adrenaline rush to the explosive drain as all energy all but left me in the moment I hugged him close to my heart.  In spite of the emotion bubbling inside me, I forced myself to remain calm as not to overpower and thus frighten  him with my reaction at seeing him once again.

I knew what a blessing, what a privilege, how amazingly heartbreakingly true it was that Nathaniel was returned to us complete.  I realize how many mothers have those moments of terror and they never see their child again, but I would not, could not, allow myself to think that way at the time.  It was inconceivable to do so because my Nathaniel, my gift of God, was depending on us, on his parents, to find him.  I also realize that it was an eye opening experience for those who worked at the park that day.

I realize that because for the first time in the known history of the park,, a child had made it out the gate.   A child made it to the parking lot.  A child wandered around, looking for his minivan and, upon not finding it, wandered back to the gate, unseen.  That child hid in the bushes near the gate, staying away from strangers, waiting for us to come get him.  Over 2 hours after that child exited the gate, a police officer finally saw him behind the bushes, walked up to him, and offered him some water.  Even then, that child moved farther into invisibility to avoid the man, and waited for his father to come to him.

Yes, for all that time, with hands over his ears and hiding his eyes, he sat there, the prodigal, waiting, trusting, with an incomparable knowledge, that we would come to him.  What kind of faith!

Look Ma, No Fear!

As long as humanity has existed, so has the vast unknown.  One of the greatest joys in the history of this world has been the discovery of new and exciting information.  Of course there have always been risks associated with gaining that knowledge, but the human race has weighed the costs and overcome adversities and fears, going beyond the great unknown into the vast reaches of space and discovering new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no one has gone before!

Ok, so maybe it is a little different than the science fiction shows make it out to be.  It is often the rare individuals who crave excitement, who reach out beyond the typical comfort zone.  Let's just be honest here:  for some such as these, facing the unknown IS their comfort zone.  The old saying that curiosity killed the cat can prove true for individual humans as well.  Ever hear of the Darwin Awards?

Closer to home, it is a miracle that my oldest daughter has survived to be almost 9 years old, for she has the explorer's spirit like nobody else I have met.  Nyssa has been as reckless as she is fearless and impulsive, and I have the grey hairs to prove it!  But at least the others have given me some respite in this arena.  Gabriela, while curious, does seem to think things through a little better, and the boys seem to have had phobias coming out their ears.

Ah!  The joys of parenting gifted and unusual children!  They have kept me on my toes the last few years, and lately has been no exception.  Now, just as a certain amount of fearlessness can be a bad thing, so too can be an overdose of fear; there must be a balance between the two.  Up until recently, anything that involved change was frightening to Nathaniel, and therefore hard on him.

He hasn't always responded well to the unknown.  He enjoys staying grounded.  Regular swings do nothing for him, but he loves the comfort of swinging in a cocooned seat.  Climbing trees meant becoming ungrounded with no constant securing pressure to hold him in place.  While he was fearful of such things, it was also a relief to have one less thing to worry about in regard to him.  That is, until about three weeks ago.

Now, because of Nyssa's fearlessness and Nathaniel's past tendency to run, I don't do the typical stay in the house and clean while the children play in the back yard.  I'd love to be able to do that, but it's simply not practical, nor is it safe to do so.  Instead, I work in the garden or straighten the yard when it is a nice sunny day and the kids can play, running off all that extra energy that I'd love to be able to zap from their bodies so I can use it myself.

That being said, this one day I had gone into the laundry room to put clothes in the dryer and realized how late it was getting.  I called the children to come inside for the evening and my dear son was nowhere to be found.  At first I thought he had run inside and was hiding, but realized he had not gone past me.  So I went back outside and called him.  It took a couple minutes before I heard him somewhere in the front yard.  I looked and still did not see him.  Finally, I heard him giggling from a place that sounded from above.

Now, before this, the highest our little gift had climbed was to the top of the slide.  Imagine my shock when I looked above and saw him in the distance.  He had managed, using the pine tree next to him, to climb this sweet gum tree and was about 18 feet over my head.  I quickly fought the panic that threatened to arise in my throat as I realized the impossibility of me being able to get up to him should he have trouble getting down, or of catching him safely should he fall.  In the calmest voice possible, I told him it was time to come inside because it was getting dark out and he wouldn't be able to see much longer.  It took him a few minutes, but he eventually scrambled down to the ground unscathed.

A mixture of emotions flooded my soul, from the visions of him slipping to the joys of finding him doing something you would expect of a typical boy his age.  Though caution remains in my mind and gives yet a new reason to stay outside with my children while they play, something else also stays with me, something that shows how Nathaniel faces challenges every day and yet is learning how to overcome them; this is part of what brings such hope to my heart.

The memory of that innocent, gleeful giggle that emanated pure joy and pride in his successful climb will always remain transfixed in my mind.  This was something new!    There was no quivering of voice nor uncertainty in his tone, merely the contentment of a wondrous experience.  He had faced this fear and discovered the simple joys of sitting in a tree, watching nature at work around him.  

Just thinking of him like that makes me wonder.  How often are we faced with daunting opposition in which our fears keep us from discovering a new facet of life?  When there is a bird's nest of exciting life just above our heads and we are too afraid to just reach up and take a few steps holding on to the tree of life, we are missing out on the wonder of the world around us.  I, for one, am grateful for those courageous, now and in times past, such as Galileo, Uri Gagarin, and Neil Armstrong.  These are ones who have faced adversity, whether in the thoughts and beliefs of those around them, or the undiscovered reaches of space.  Oh, to be like them!  Yes, they are the fearless ones, the bold ones, not afraid, or perhaps looking beyond their fears, sometimes facing the possibility of death itself for the joy of discovering new truths that will change the world.

Dealing with Pests

My children can be pretty picky eaters at times.  Alright, let's face it.  They are pretty picky most of the time.  There have been a handful of meals in which all of them will actually enjoy every item on their plates.  But the one thing I can always count on is their love of fruit.  All four of my children adore fruit and will eat the whole batch the day we buy it if I'd allow them.  

It's not too shabby of a deal, truth be told.  They may not eat all the meat or the veggies or the starch.  Hey, these days, my oldest is boycotting pizza.  But fruit has almost all the vitamins and minerals they need, with a few exceptions.  So far none of them are lacking in Vitamin D or iron, the main concern of their pediatrician. So when they decide to reject their meal after taking the mandatory three bites, I still have the good ol' fruit to fall back on, and it makes me feel good that they are definitely not going to starve, neither are my children going to be malnourished.

Thing is, they are not the only ones who are getting their fill.  We have had some unwanted guests the past few weeks, and it's getting to be a chore ridding our kitchen of them.  Fruit flies.  Here I interpose (probably to the chagrin of my English teachers) that though fruit flies is not a sentence, it could be in an imaginative way if I allow the exaggeration of an imperative.  I.E.  Fruit flies - you finish the sentence.  Ok, back to our regularly scheduled program.  Fruit flies have become an annoyance in our kitchen lately.  Though our fruit never is left uneaten long enough to go bad, these pesky gnat-like creatures invade our space for the desire of this greatly appreciated food.  I suppose I should be grateful we don't have a bat infestation, as other people I know in Georgia have had, but the itsy bitsy little fruit flies bother me.  

They like to fly around the kitchen as if they own it and settle down on some surface.  When any of my family goes near to swat them, a whole swarm gets up and flies about our heads again for a few moments before settling back down again, as if to say, "You got some food for us; you're not going to make us leave that easily."  They think they own our kitchen.

I guess from a certain point of view, they did for a while.  For a time, I resigned myself to having them in our house.  I thought since I had fruit I was going to have to live with them.  I mean, they are such a tiny creature after all, and what harm are they, really?  So I would shoo them away and then just sigh and go on with my business.

Then one day I woke up.  I looked at the pesky little swarm and thought, Enough!  Aside from the fact that they drive me nuts when I’m trying to clean or cook, they do in fact leave an unhealthy legacy behind.  They, like all other flies, eat from the surface and then regurgitate their food back onto the surface.  Just the thought was appalling enough to make me say, Enough!  So I took my first step in purging my house of these little fruit flies.  I bought a Venus Fly Trap.

That won me tons of brownie points from my son, Nathaniel, as he has a fascination with the carnivorous flora and has been asking for one since last year.  I wouldn’t put it past him to have prayed those little buggies in just so I’d get him one!  The only problem is that these Seymours will only eat a certain number of insects before that particular head dies off.  Granted, ours has been constantly growing new leaves and mouths, but it hasn’t kept up with the pests. 

So, glad as we are to have our new familial addition, we had to take more drastic measures.  Because of Nyssa’s allergies, we have a pest control company that comes out once a quarter and however more often we need them.  So I decided to ask our case worker, as it were, about dealing with our infestation.  The problem, it appears, was quite simple.

We simply had to find a solution that was more appealing to them than the fruit.  He gave me a little covered cup that had a solution with red wine vinegar in it and told me to place it on the windowsill inside.  It was quite a simple answer, really.  Red wine vinegar is like honey to those flies and they flock right up to it.  

Some days I get so busy with housework or am so exhausted that I mentally think of my children as those fruit flies.  I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true.  They come flocking toward me and climb over me and do all they can to get my attention.  On those days, especially when I'm hurting badly, I initially want to swat them away and tell them to go play somewhere else.  But they keep coming back and swarm all over again.

But shooing them away does not help any more than trying to shoo away the fruit flies.  They love me, they want to be with me, and they are not going to leave.  Even in the moment of the times I give in to the impulse to send them off, something in me goes sour and my whole attitude shifts.  Deep down, I realize that, so I stop myself from sending them into another room and try another tactic.  I give them something:  I give them my time and my heart.





If I'm cleaning, I give them simple chores that take just a minute or two and turn it into a game.  I let them sweep the kitchen floor and make the choice to not comment too much on the peas or carrots they missed.  I count slowly so they can run up and put their clothes in their dresser before I get to twenty and then praise them for winning.  We clean for 15 minutes and then we take a break for 5, where they go do their own thing for a while.

If I'm hurting and they want to climb for hugs and kisses, I lead them over to the couch where we can all sit together.  I sit on the ground in front of the couch, my youngest sits in my lap, the boys come in under my arms, and my oldest sits on the couch behind me, hugging my neck.  We read a couple books together until they get tired of being still and then they go off to play, chirping along together.

Yes, I can give my beloved offspring my time, love, and attention and they will be happier, as will I.  Luring my lovelies in for some quality time works a lot better than shooing them away.  It gets better results because then all of us are happy.  The children get the affection they need.  I get to smile and laugh with them, enjoying their company in a less harmful, more controlled setting.  Usually, they will make some remark that makes my day!  Most importantly, we get to spend a few minutes together making good memories that I hope will last a lifetime.

Just Blowing Smoke

Rare is the person in this day and age who hasn't heard the addage, "he's just blowing smoke."  It's a common enough term, but what does it mean?  Well, simply put, it is a metaphor for some harmless comment or action.  After all, smoke without the fire is rather harmless, is it not?  If there's not a fire then all is well and no danger is present.  Or is there?

Interestingly enough, I have been rather much of a clutz lately.  The entire summer has been filled with bumping this or that, falling here or there, and I was thrilled on Monday when I actually started to feel more like myself again.  The children were back to school, all but Gabriela, so I had time to actually get some housework done.   I've had to take it easy for quite some time, and it felt good to get down and dirty again.

Since it's been a very long time, I decided I was going to make some fried chicken.  I had corn and fresh garden beans and I was going to have an honest to goodness down home Southern cooked meal for a change.  I had everything ready and I felt like I was earning my keep again, if you know what I mean.

I shucked the corn and got it ready to boil, had the beans about ready to go, and all that was left was to fry the chicken while all else was cooking.  So I poured the oil in the deep cast iron pot and turned on the heat.  While I waited for it to get to the appropriate temperature, I set about making the batter for the chicken.  I had all the spices and ingredients on the counter in front of me and had already added the flour, salt, and pepper when suddenly the pot started putting off an extremely insane amount of smoke.

My instant reaction was to turn off the electric eye, but I already had a weird feeling in my gut.  No sooner had I put the lid on top then the entire right side burst into flames from the handle to the eye and on up to the bottom of the vent overhead.  I grabbed the baking soda and had a sudden blank:  Was I supposed to use baking soda or baking powder?  I grabbed the phone to call the fire department but all I got was a busy signal.  I figured it wasn't an emergency and could put it out myself if only I could remember.  So I called my mom who immediately told me it was the soda.

Looking back, I'll never forget:  you douse it with soda (as in pour it on), which I threw in great quantity at the stove.  After several attempts, I had thrown enough on to completely saturate the stove and put out the fire.  Whew!  The fire was out.  But the smoke was insane!  White billowing rolls so thick that I could hardly see and I was coughing from it already.

The older 3 children were outside playing and Gabriela was in the family room.  I knew by the facts that my eyes were watering and that I couldn't see my shoes that I had to get her out of the house before her little lungs got filled with the smoke.  I ran into the family room but didn't see her there.  I called to her but got no answer.  I grabbed a cloth and wet it, covering my mouth and nose as I called and searched for her.  Finally I heard Nyssa say that she had wandered outside already.

Thank goodness for that!  I quickly ran outside.  By this time, the garage was also filled with the white, dense smoky cloud and I told the children to move far away and onto the other side of the tree line in the front yard.  No way were we going to eat inside the house after that.  I told the kids to stay put and then, with the damp cloth in hand, ran back inside to grab my purse, keys, and to open the front door and a couple windows.  By time I ran out the front door, I was in another coughing fit, no matter how I held my breath while inside.  My throat felt like I had screamed myself hoarse and was burning lightly.

I did get the fire department to come let me know how long before it was safe to enter again.  When they got there, an hour later--I had actually waited for my mom to come help watch the kids and drove over to the department down the street since the emergency was over--white puffs were still billowing out the garage and out the front door, rolling into the garden.  Poor Sajak II, the stuffed dalmation in the front hallway was not visible from where we stood because of the roils.

Of course the firemen had me describe what happened and show them the kitchen so they could report it.  The pot on the stove still registered on the stove at over 300 degrees!  They took it, armed in their garb, and set it on the driveway, ready to extinguish any fire that may have threatened to appear.  One of them led me back to the truck to give a statement and to check me out.  He, along with his chief a couple minutes later, asked me if I was a smoker, which I am not.

Amazingly enough, in that very short amount of time, my carbon monoxide levels from the smoke inhalation was high enough to be concerned.  An hour after first exiting the house, my levels were over 7%.  I was put immediately on some oxygen to help bring it down.  To put things into perspective, anything over 2% is not desired but acceptable, 5% is unsafe, and smokers who average 2 packs a day may have a range of 9%.   Because of my levels, the fire chief called an ambulance to have the hospital check me for internal damage.

Three hours after admittance, following oxygen, albuterol to keep me breathing right and to keep my pulse up (even with the albuterol my heart rate was 87), 5 electrodes stuck to my body, an oxygen monitor on my right ring finger, and an artery stick to check my blood levels, I was pronounced safe enough to go anywhere but home, in order to give the smoke time to clear, as long as I promised to avoid smokers like the plague while my lungs and throat heal.  Fortunately, there was no major burns from the heat since the fire didn't last very long.  The carbon monoxide and cyanide were the big culprits in my burning breathing.

I came home for a few minutes yesterday to get some things but stayed too long. I could tell when it started to burn while breathing and my left hand swelled up all red and itchy and burning.  My hand returned to normal an hour after I left, though it still burns to breath at times.  After having the windows open and the attic fan running for 2 days, my children and I have finally been allowed back in my own home.

So as far as the cliche' that there's no trouble if there's smoke as long as there's no fire, I'm not too sure about that anymore.  See, even the smoke itself can cause poisoning, in the center of life where you breathe, in your bloodstream.  Just because one has no external scarring from the burns of a badly said word or negative action, even if done in jest, that cannot show the internal damage that has been done, whether temporary or permanent.  Either way, it takes time to heal from that kind of wound as well.

I am grateful that as soon as I saw the smoke I was able to act.  Nyssa started to come in the house to see what was going on when she saw the thick billowing clouds.  I had to be forceful with her to let her know that even though the fire was gone, the smoke that remained was still harmful and that she needed to stay away from that danger.  With her sensitive airways, it could have been very costly.

At first my children were like the people who can ignore the dangers of metaphorical smoke because they didn't realize the harm it can cause.  They saw no fire.  They just had to trust me when I told them that the smoke which was being blown was dangerous and deadly just the same.  In the same way, it is safest to stay a safe distance from the house that is enveloped by the poisonous gases so that we don't get burned and to heed the warning of those we trust.

Free Flowing Baby Powder

The last few months have been one big blur.  I wake up to find that the rest of the school year has passed me by along with most of the summer.  In less than a week, school begins again and I will find myself alone with only one child at home during the day.  Oh where has the time gone?

Has it been an empty half of a year?  Has nothing interesting occurred?  On the contrary, it has been so busy that the time flew before I knew what was happening.  I must say that I am somewhat ashamed of my silence.  I know there are a few out there who read my blogs and I feel I have failed you in some way.  This was not my intent; I simply didn't feel like writing.

I know that doesn't sound like me.  Normally I love expressing myself on my keyboard.  But life has been rather interesting to me and, well to put it bluntly, I don't like to be a downer.  It's been rough and I like to be encouraging, uplifting, instead of an old stick in the mud.  I have found it hard to find the silver lining at times, though I know it's there.  I guess it's like Pollyanna, if you've ever seen the movie, in which she finds herself unable to see the positive in life for a while.  While I do find those good things, I have been either too tired to type when I do, or unable to get to the computer.  In fact, until this week, I hadn't even checked my facebook in several months (which is very unusual for me).

As it turns out, though, I did find myself at the bottom of the stairs last week, stunned into silence, with my children gathered around me and giving me gentle hugs.  I was in a bit of a daze at the time, and I was shock still, seeing absolutely nothing.  Of course, I suppose it was so dark because my eyes were shut tight.  Perhaps I should go back a little further.

Last Tuesday evening I was at home recovering from some shots in my neck, downstairs watching the Olympics.  The children had all been tucked in their beds, except for Nathaniel, who was sound asleep on the couch next to me.  Aside from the games on the television, there was not a sound in the house.   You know, come to think of it, that should have been my first clue.

As I was saying, it had been a peaceful evening when we heard the smallest of sounds emanating from the upstairs.  It was the sound of our youngest, making a gleeful noise.  Richard and I looked at each other and realized that perhaps not all was as still as we had supposed, so he started making his way upstairs.  I got up slowly from my seat as we both noticed a scent wafting down the stairs.

"They're playing with something," he stated.  He has a gift for stating the obvious at times.
"It's baby powder," I shrieked with certainty.
"Yep, I see it now."  Then, in his booming daddy voice, "Somebody's about to be in trouble!"

Well, by this time, shrieks were let out from all directions upstairs and I looked at the ground below me at the landing.  The white residue was already staking its claim on every visible surface...and this was downstairs!

It was easy to see the room of origin.  Athos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan were covered from head to toe in their pajamas swelling as baby sweet as can be.  The boys' room was a cloud of white so thick we could not even see to the beds.  Talcum snow lay thickly on the beds, carpet, and toys.  There was no way anyone was going to sleep in that room that night.

Nyssa and Gabriela were stripped down and set in one bathtub while Benjamin was left with not even his skivvies and placed in the other.  While they were busy making white mud, hubby and I were left to vacuum up the carpets and get as much of the powder up as we could.  The poor betas in the hallway had to have their water changed thrice because of the thickness that had saturated their tanks.  Even the inside of the aquarium stand had to be cleaned out; the powder had even saturated through the cracks.  The toys had to be wiped down, as did the stairs and the downstairs floor.  The children, complete with pruned hands and feet were eventually rescued from the milky water and put to bed a second time, all in the girls' room.

Meanwhile, through the sound of the shrieks, past the running water of both bathtubs, and in spite of the vacuum cleaner roaring over his head, our dear Mr. Man lay unsuspecting in a deep, peaceful slumber.  Normally he is the one who jumps at any odd sound.  He runs out the door from a noise too loud.  Yet this time he lay there, hearing nothing, sleeping contentedly inside the cocoon of his thick orange blanket on the couch in the family room.

The next day nobody was allowed in the boys' room until I had given it a thorough wipe down and washing.  I vacuumed the floors once again and wiped down the stairs a couple more times, as well as the wood on the first floor.  While Nathaniel was allowed to play on the computer, and watch a video, the other three were denied that privilege and had to help me wipe down the downstairs hall yet again.  I thought we had done a pretty good job at getting rid of most of the baby powder.

Evidently, pretty good is not the same as good, excellent, or effective.  Friday morning, after breakfast, I went upstairs to get the boys' clothes.  The way I came back downstairs was not the way I intended.  All it took was one slippery spot and down I went.  I went down them as surely as if I had decided to go down a slide, hitting my backside on every single step as I slid.  I did try a couple times to catch myself, but all I succeeded in doing was breaking a few blood vessels in my arms and whacking my neck.

"Oh God, please help me stop falling!" I cried at one point.  Well, he did, once I hit bottom.  'course it would have been a real miracle if I had kept falling at that point.  By that time, all four kids were at the bottom of the stairs checking on me.  There was no way to miss hearing the elephant crash.  Poor Nathaniel came over to me and gave me a gentle hug.  I knew it was him not by sight but rather by his voice in my left ear saying, "You're going to be okay, Mommy."

I knew he was worried because he almost never calls me Mommy anymore, nowadays it's just plain Mom.  The other kids crowded around but took his cue and were gingerly touching me and asking if I was alright.  I slowly opened my eyes and said, "Yes, Mommy's going to be fine.  I'm very sore right now, but I'll be ok in a bit.  I'm just going to sit here for a minute."

Benjamin asked me how I fell and it was one of the hardest things I had to do, but felt it was the right thing to say.  I just looked him straight in the eye and said, "You know the baby powder?  We tried to clean it all up, but some fell on the stairs and I slipped on it."  A trip to the ER and a couple days later, the children are seeing the effects of their disobedience and I'm reaping the consequences.

Sometimes we do things rashly, impulsively, caught up in the moment with no regard to the consequences.  Often we make those choices when we know we should be somewhere else.  To put it bluntly, we often make those choices while walking in disobedience or in doing what we know is wrong.  There are times when we get away with it.  There are times when we suffer the consequences.  Then there are times when others suffer the greater consequence of our actions.  Sometimes, the consequences themselves can be quite painful and take a while to heal.  When we take something that we know is off limits, that we have been told is off limits, and go out of our way to get it and play with it, it just may end up in a cloud of residue that leaves a lasting impression that can hurt more than just ourselves.  It can end up crippling someone else.

Running Away Together

This evening, after putting together the girls' bunk beds and sending the children off to sleep, my husband and I sat down for a little quality time together.  We had already enjoyed a full evening of labor and were ready to simply relax.  We settled in for an hour of watching The Amazing Race on the computer when one of our little hearts walked sullenly down the stairs.

We could tell right away that Nathaniel was most unhappy.  What we could not tell, however, was the cause of his sour disposition.  His eyes were red, his face was downcast, and he looked like he was halfway between crying and knocking the tar out of someone.  Naturally, we put our minds to the task of discovering the reason for his disgruntled outlook.

We were quickly able to dismiss the notion of a bad dream.  Next came the denial that he was angry with his brother.  After determining he was not hurt in body, we were able to decipher that his heart itself was hurt.  He wasn't angry with us, though he was wanting to hit us because we wouldn't leave him alone.  Of course, the fact that he came in the room with us and sat in front of us was the tale tell that he definitely did not want us to leave him alone; quite the opposite was true, as a matter of fact, for he wanted us to help him feel better.

After a few more minutes of questioning, we learned that he was mad at God.  He was nervous and anxious, and has been frustrated quite a bit recently and felt that God had deserted him, that God had chosen not to help him.  We reminded him of earlier in the day, when he had been so angry that he wanted to run away but didn't.  God had helped him to control his frustration enough that he didn't just take off.

He angrily stormed off and walked toward the door.  I could tell he was thinking about running out past the garage, so I gently asked him if he wanted his daddy to go for a walk with him.  He didn't exactly smile, but his immediate answer was, "yes, I think that would be a good idea."  So I asked Richard if he would want to go for a walk with our son.  Now, this was at 10:00 at night, mind you.

Just before they stepped out of the house, I asked Nathaniel if he wanted me to come or if he just wanted his daddy.  His answer was to hold his hand out to me.   I smiled, took the offered hand, and closed the door behind us.  We all walked out the garage, hand in hand and barefoot.

The next few minutes, we just all talked about the sky, the stars, and asteroids hitting the earth.  Evidently, Nathaniel had stirred his imagination into worrying that a meteor would hit the earth and cause a big hole in the land.  Then he pondered on the possibility of one hitting the water and causing a great big flood.  We reminded him that while there was always the possibility, God had already promised that he would not destroy the entire earth by a flood again.  That had already been done.    We walked back to the house, discussing dinosaurs and stars.  When we went inside, he said goodnight and walked upstairs to bed.  his last comment was, "I wish I could sleep with you tonight."

What a heart tugger!  He's here right now, laying to my left in an orange shirt, head on my pillow, with the face of a sleeping angel. I have missed so much the last few months with my children, that I am grateful for the moments shared with them.  I think our time tonight will hold a special place in my heart.  I will always cherish the time that we three just ran away together, hand in hand, in the dark of night....and found our way home again.

Someone Who Loves You

I've always been an active person, so when my get up and go just got up and went, I f ound myself in a very precarious position.  I mean, I have a family to take care of, mouths to feed, laundry to do, all sorts of daily tasks tht sudenly became increasingly difficult to do.  So I was very put off.  I thought, "Ok, so you needed a rest, everyone knows that, but you can handle it for a couple months."

A couple of months turned into 3, then 4, and now 5.  So I'm trying to concentrate on the positive.  My son is so sweet that every evening before he goes to bed, he comes into my room and lays down with me for a few minutes.  That is truly one of the highlights of my day, to see my son so caring and gentle.  It means we are doing something right.

That doesn't mean to say that all I am able to do every day is just stay in bed.  I have some days in which I can move rather well; I just can't overdo it.  But I will confess there are days like yesterday in which I am in bed for all but 3 hours.  It does tend to put a damper on things.  But on those days, my children come into my room and just talk or play gently.  I have to laugh because sometimes my bed is just too tempting for the wee ones and they have to jump a bit before I have to calm them by giving them the choice to sit with me and play gently on the bed or get down before they get bouncy again.

My dearly beloved husband is also very sweet with me.  He knows the days that I just can't master the stairs and follows me up so that if I lose my balance he is there to catch me.  That is so wonderful to realize...to know that I have someone who will always be there to catch me if I start to fall.  He warns me if he thinks I am doing too much.  He sees it in my eyes, in my walk, or in my movements.  He knows me well enough to be able to read me often.

Sometimes he will gently say to slow down or to not pick up that item.  If I ignore ihm and do it anyway, he is loving and avoids the "I told you so" comment.  Instead, he just takes it away and leads me to a chair or lets me just stand there while he finishes what I started with good intentions, but was unable to complete.  He picks up my burden and walks with it.  Many days it makes me feel embarrased for not having listened to him in the first place.  But if I'm in a jovial enough mood, I will joke with him saying, "I know, you told me so."  But the most amazing thing happens every time I say that.  He just smiles at me and, with a sincere face, says, "I wasn't going to say anything, love."

Then, this morning, it hit me, like a neon sign or a brick wall.  We are all like me.  We all have things that we need to do, that we must do, that have to get done, but for some reason, are uncapable of doing them on our own.  We all need that special someone in our lives that can help us remember when we need help.  We all need someone who will take the burden from us, gently, not begrudgingly, but with selfless love, with nary a word of, "I told you so," but rather, "I love you and want the best for you.  I want to help you with that which you cannot do on your own."  We all need someone we can trust to stand by us through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Even in the Garden of Eden, where everything was beautiful, perfect, without spot or blemish, Adam could not make it on his own.  He needed Eve to complete him.  But it's not just about him needing her, it's about them needing each other and the perfect one who created them.  Then that serpent had to go and ruin it all.  But even in their punishment, there was no "I told you so." There was only sadness with them through the trials and a voice that said, "One day..." Even then there was the hope and help offered.

Just now my son came in and offered me a blanket to keep me warm.  He covered me up in it and then we shared a breakfast bar together.  He told me I'd get better soon.  He's just a little boy, dismissed by many as the least of these, but full of so much gentleness, life and joy!  Faith, hope, and charity. but the greatest of these.

Counting My Blessings

I have found this new era in my life to be most thought provoking.  I have spent the last few months healing from an injury that could be very commonstance, yet when mingled with just the perfect brew of trouble can cause life altering circumstances.  I have alternated between being bored, sad, angry, frustrated to tears, disconcerted, depressed, and finally, just plain content.  That does not mean to say that I wish to live in my current state for the rest of my life; it simply means that I refuse to mope around mentally just wondering "why" and "when" and "how long" and all those other questions that can entrap a person into hopelessness.

There are some things I find I cannot do regularly anymore for now.  I cannot pick up my two year old daughter off the ground.  I cannot drive a vehicle.  I cannot turn my head quickly.  I cannot lift up a basket of laundry to carry it into the house.  I cannot let my children climb on my back to play horsie.

But there are things I can do.  I can listen to my daughter tell me about her day at school.  I can read with my children cuddled up with me in my bed.  I can watch my son grow ever more tender and caring, considerate of my needs.  I can watch my toddler dance and sing a new song of delight.  I can sit and enjoy these wonders called my children, because I do not have the ability to rise up and do all the housecleaning which is necessary and yet calls me away from my little prodigies.

I am also getting more help with my house.  I am gaining a husband who is ever caring (my son well gets it by watching his father) and more attentive to the little things.  I am watching my children develop better habits with cleaning their rooms and their toys.  I have someone who is able to come over and help me sort things and prioritize my needs.  I am learning how to downsize some of my wants to ensure I have all my necessities.

I am also learning new things and remembering the old.  I am learning once again how to take a nap when I have done too much.  I am learning to listen to my body when it says it has had enough instead of trying to push through one too many jobs.  I am learning how to steal little moments with my children.  I am learning how to take care of myself and let someone else worry about the children from time to time.

I am learning how to see things in a different light.  I am learning how to appreciate the little things in life that I used to take for granted.  I am rediscovering how to look into the sky and see a planet or the Big Dipper.  I am learning the smell of an Easter Lily.  I rejoice when I am able to hug one of my little one's neck without cringing in pain.  Perhaps that is the greatest blessing of all.

I am learning how to appreciate the moments without the pain because of the moments with the pain.  It is in realizing when I am given a precious gift because I have felt life without it that I am ever the more grateful for it.  I am exceedingly thankful for second chances, for I have been given a second, and a third, and more; only this time it is different.  This time I have truly seen the desolation without and the beauty within...and I will never forget.  This is the blessing I have received from the pain.

A Princess Who Knows Her Place

Most girls I know love all the fairy tales and princess stories.  They fantasize about all the ever afters and wonder at the ability to find true love and their very own prince charming. They want to dress up like Cinderella and to feel special.  But sometimes they also need the balance to understand that a princess is not in charge; the queen and king are still in authority over her.

My daughters are no exception.  They both want to dress pretty and wear fingernail polish and bows.  They love to wear crowns and rings and necklaces.  They love to twirl around in their dresses, allowing the skirts to flow fully as they spin in delight.

Recently, we bought a Cinderella dress up outfit for Gabriela.  She loves that dress with all her heart and never wants to take it off.  She dances and sways and swirls with unbridled joy and innocence to the tune that is playing in her mind.  At a young 2 1/2, this girl loves to accessorize and to make everything look absolutely perfect in her eyes; she even searches for just the perfect pieces and shoes to complete her look.

About a week ago, she tried desperately to sleep in that full dress.  But the lace in it was stiff and made it difficult for her to lay down comfortably.  She knew she was a princess and nothing was going to sway her from dressing like one, even in her sleep, regardless of the scratchiness of her clothing.  The problem was that there was no way she was going to be able to sleep in that beautiful gown, not even in the bed and arms of her beloved Grandma.

So I devised a plan that would hopefully allow them both to rest peacefully.  I went in her room and searched in her drawer for a special little nightgown that we had found on sale.  It was an adorable little piece that had a crown on the bodice and a long, flowing skirt that was soft as a baby's skin. It reminded me a little of Sleeping Beauty's dress.  I said a short prayer for help as I walked back into the room where she was trying desperately to get comfortable enough to sleep.

I said to her, "Gabriela, baby, you make a beautiful princess!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Princesses need to get a good night of sleep just like every other little girl."  She just stared at me, eyes rolling as she was so sleepy, but agreeing with me.  "So even though you love this blue dress, it was not made to sleep in."

"But I want to wear my princess dress!" she insisted softly.

"I know you do, sweet pea, but this dress is rough and hard to sleep in.  But I have a special little dress that is made for a princess.  But you can only wear it to bed.  It is not made to play in.  Would you like to wear this special princess nightgown?"

With baited breath, both my mother and myself watched Gabriela's face as she surveyed the soft material in front of her, uncertain.  Then, we saw the gleam in her eye as she noticed the little silver design right in front.  We knew the deal had been done.

"A crown!  It is a princess dress!  OK.  I can wear that," she said contentedly as she let us help her out of the blue gown and into the pink.  She was sound asleep within 5 minutes.

Now, I realize that even if she hadn't agreed, I would have had to insist that she take off the first dress and put her into her pajamas, but I was so glad when she readily agreed and put on the night shift.  Even though she was hesitant at first, I was able to coax her with kindness to get her to obey for her own good so my precious Gabriela would get a good night's sleep, not to mention my mother and I.

I do truly hope that both of my girls grow up to be the princesses that I see inside of them.  I want them to grow in confidence and maturity.  I want them to have a good sense of self worth, as well as an observant eye of kindness toward others.  I want them to be able to find their prince charming.  Part of that comes due to the positive character that they develop in life.  Part of that comes by learning obedience to that which is right, for only one who has been subject to, and submissive to those in good authority over her can truly learn to respect and move into the position of becoming a great queen one day herself.

Roly Polies and Butterflies

As a little girl, I loved playing in the dirt.  I loved to dig out the worms and play with them. I loved all the little creatures out there.  I even had a little house that I filled with dirt and roly polies that I carried back to my room so they could live with me.  They would crawl in my hand and on my arm freely, but if  I tried to get hold of them with my fingers, they would roll into a little ball in my hand.  I would patiently wait until they felt the danger was gone, and then they would start crawling again.

I also loved to watch the butterflies when they came near.  Sometimes, if I was patient, one would land on my shoulder, hand, or head.  I tried to conceal my joy, so as not to frighten them, for if I so much as moved, they would flitter away.  They have always been such a delight to me. 

Little did I know that years later, roly polies and butterflies would take on a whole new meaning for me.  I was a grown woman, and even though I still enjoyed the occasional roly poly, I no longer went digging for them.  And even though I still delighted in the butterflies, I no longer sat in wait for them.  I just pleasured as they happened along.

I was pregnant with Nyssa, approximately 28weeks along when I had some tests done.  Now, any woman in the USA who has had a doctor's care while pregnant in the last 15 years at least, know the specific tests to which I am referring.  I had to drink this icky orange drink to determine my glucose tolerance.  Unfortunately for me, I failed.  How did this happen?  I hadn't even gained 5 pounds as I had had morning (and evening and late night) sickness for 4 months straight now.

The next step was simple:  at 29 weeks along, I had to go to a lab and have my blood drawn.  First, I had to fast for 12 hours....at 29 weeks...shall we say starvation here?  I had to drink the syrup.  There is no other name for it, pure sugar with a little carbonation, I suppose to make it more bearable, but it tasted pathetic, no less.  Then I had to wait for an hour. 

Next, a nurse drew my blood.  It was painfully hard, as my veins were small and about dehydrated, and were being very difficult.  It took the nurse 4 times sticking that needle in, moving it around, taking it back out, and frowning, to get to the veins so she could draw blood.  Then, I had to wait 2 more hours and the same thing...with nothing to eat or drink between.  Then, another hour, same thing, and another hour.  By time the last drawing of the blood, I was hungry, the baby was hungry, I was thirsty, and I was irritable.

This nurse was so sweet, though, and helped my curmudgeonly mood to calm somewhat.  Before sticking me with her needle, she had that tourniquet at the bottom of my bicep and was tapping the inside of my arm. 

"Oh, Lordy," she said, "Poor thing.  You don't have any veins left.  You and that baby are just plumb dry."

Finally someone understands, I thought.

"We just gotta deal with some roly polies and butterflies!"  she said ever so sweetly, and went to grab a needle to suck the remaining blood out of my arm.

Now, I just looked at her like she was the craziest thing on this earth, but I laughed at her comment and asked what she meant.

"Well, Mrs. Dunlap, your veins are just like roly polies.  They're rolling around, not knowing which way to go.  I've got just the thing that will help me get one in just a single stick.  Don't you worry, none."  Then she held up the tiniest needle I have ever seen.  "This is a butterfly."

Sure enough, it looked like a butterfly, with the plastic edges sticking out so far away from the needle.  She further explained that it was a needle usually reserved for children because the bigger needles can poke through their veins.  She swabbed alcohol on my arm and faster than I could brace for the stick, the needle was in and the blood was flowing.

Ever since then, whenever I've had to go through a blood test (diabetes runs in my family, so we have to check it every year), I sit down and say to the lab technician, "roly polies and butterflies."  They give me the same look I must have given that one sweet lady 8 years ago, and then I explain.  Sure enough, when they check my vein, they agree and give me the butterfly. 

It's interesting.  My veins were just like those roly polies that were in plain sight if left alone, but would try to roll up and hide when someone tried to touch them.  That butterfly, just like it's insect counterpart, was light and painless as I just sat still, waiting for it to flutter away.   It happened again this morning, when I went in for a cervical injection.  They had to put an IV in my hand and the nurse watched my little vein roll away.  I smiled and just said, "roly polies and butterflies."  We both had a laugh afterwards.  But boy, am I ever so grateful for those butterflies when I've got roly polies hanging around!

My Reason to be Thankful

Yesterday, I lay in my bed with so much to do and yet realized it must remain undone by myself.  Not allowed to do so much as wipe a kitchen counter, I have found myself getting more and more frustrated with my current situation.  I have four darling children and a husband who loves me, and yet I spent all but an hour and a half in bed.  My mother had to do my job; I was having a lovely little pity party with my aches and pains.

And then I got slapped in the face with a harsh reality.  My littlest daughter, only barely 2 1/2, wanted to come see me.  But she wouldn't come to my bed because she thought I was sleeping and did not want to disturb me.  When she finally did fall asleep, my mother brought Gabriela and lay her in bed next to me.  Wheneve she started to stir, I just put my finger in the palm of her hand, and she would close it around my finger.  Now that may not sound like such a big deal to anybody else, but to me it meant the world! 

Winter's Fire Glow

My feelings regarding the winter season have always been a conundrum to me.  I'm not much for the cold weather; I personally have no use for it but for one occasion: snow.  Those that have known me well over the years know that one of my favorite sayings is, "If it's not going to snow, then there is no reason for cold weather."  If I am going to be cold, I want to see beauty in the mix. 

Yes, snow is the purpose of winter.  There is nothing quite like making snow angels in the dead of winter.  Bundling up to go outside, packing tight snowballs, building snowmen, and making snow cream is where I find the cold's purpose.  I have no purpose for the cold, except for ice on the occasional burn, such as the one on my right arm from making pancakes the other night.  Even when I am injured, I abhore the ice on the site and look forward to the moment I can put heat on my boo boo.

Heat.  Now that is one thing I like about winter.  Say what?  What does heat have to do with winter, you ask?  Everything.  It is my second favorite thing about it.  There is nothing I like better on a cold winter's night than sitting beside a nice, toasty fireplace.  It gives off warmth, nostalgia, and a sense of safety.

Laundry Day

Sigh.  I have 6 loads of laundry to do and I can no longer escape the inevitable.  The mountain is here and there is nothing I can do but to remove it, one load at a time.  Did I let it build up over time?  Not really.  It is merely the culmination of taking a break from laundry since we got back into town on Sunday.  It's really not as bad as it sounds, though if I just look in the washroom I have to fight the compulsion to run and hide. Fortunately, I am learning, slowly but surely, how to overcome that kick in the gut and just get in there and do what I need to do.

Generally speaking, I have around 2 loads a day.  When the kids wet the beds, it adds another load or two, depending on how many wet their beds.  And, thankfully, these days I am not doing it on my own.  Nyssa has been a doll about putting things in the washer for me in the morning and running a couple loads for me in the afternoon.  I am glad to say that she is learning very well how to do it, with a little supervision lest she get too generous with the detergent. 

The rest of the family are also starting to help.  Benjamin takes the dirty clothes from upstairs and puts them all in the laundry baskets in the morning, at least all that he sees.  Occasionally I have to follow and show him some things that he missed.  Richard carries the loads downstairs and Nathaniel carries them to the laundry room.  Benjamin then sorts the clothes.  Once Nyssa moves the clothes from the dryer back into the baskets, Nathaniel carries them back into the house.  Anita often helps me fold and put them on hangars, and either she or Richard carries the clean clothes back upstairs.  Then, we all put the clothes away....sometimes.

The laundry really is becoming a family affair.  Sometimes they don't kick in, but it is becoming a habit.  The good news is that for some reason, the laundry is something the kids all enjoy doing.  Even Gabriela enjoys putting her dirty clothes in the basket.  Now that I'm not doing it all, sometimes clothes end up in the wrong drawer and I fight the OCD that says they must be folded just this way and go on that side of the drawer.  I tell myself I am content when they just get into the right child's drawer these days.  I still get frustrated when the clothes in my room don't get put away for a few days, but I am also learning to say, "Richard, I need your help please now to put these clothes away."  Lo and behold, usually when I actually ask, he helps!  What a concept!

It's like everything else in my life.  A situation arises and it needs to be taken care of pronto before more gets added to the pile.  No it's not always fun, and it can be a hassle carrying those loads up and down the path of life, but it does help when others help me carry the load.  After all, part of the reason I'm in this boat is because I forgot that I needed to ask for their help in the first place.  Plus, when we all work together, we have so much fun laughing and joking around that the chores of life sometimes become a game.

The Depth of a Child

So often lately, I have focused a majority of my writing on Nyssa and Nathaniel.   Today, however, my heart ponders on the wonderment of the understanding of my youngest.  Not quite 2  1/2, Gabriela never ceases to amaze me with her words, her thoughts and expressions, but I think I am still in shock over her countenance and her words last Friday.

It was the day we saw my father for the last time.  Family was gathered at the funeral home.  Young ones met each other for the first time, while my generation of cousins hugged and caught up on old times, reminiscing together.  Gabriela, bringing Richard and I in tow, walked up to the open coffin.

"Is Pops in there?" she queried.
"Yes, he is," I said.
"I want to see him," she told Richard as she lifted her arms for him to pick her up.  Gabriela looked at the body of the man who she had hugged but who had never spoken a word to her.
"That's Pop," she stated simply, rather than questioned.  We both nodded in assent.
"Is he sleeping?" she wondered.
"This is just his body," Richard said gently to our daughter.  "Pops is in Heaven."

She cocked her head in the most peculiar way.  I can't explain it, but she squinted her eyes.  They glazed over as she looked off, contemplating his comment, and pieced it together with the sight of her grandfather in the dark red walnut casket.  I sat there and physically watched Gabriela age right before my eyes.  When she spoke, it was simple, with puzzlement, yet understanding and clarity.

"He's dead."  It was as if even she was amazed at her own ability to grasp the concept.  My eyes watered.
"Yes."
"He's gone.  He's not there."  Again, I wondered at her comprehension.  She sighed and just stared for a  moment and then asked to be let down.  That was it.

The funeral service was nice, more like a celebration of Dad's life.  I think he would've liked it.  We all laughed at the hilarious moments and welled up at the sentimental ones; Gabriela was asleep before my brother even delivered the eulogy, but she had already said her goodbyes that day in the nursing home.

There are moments in our lives which are pointed, signs of growth and maturity.  For my Gabriela, this was one of those.   A single moment in time passed right before my eyes. My baby girl was no longer a baby, or a toddler even.  She was past the days of just going with the flow, reaching whatever conclusion someone else gave her.   This was her moment, and she grasped it.

My Children's Viewpoint

Man. Woman. Birth. Death. Infinity. We enter this life empty and we leave this life with whatever truths we have gained. We choose how we are going to see life, in peace or in strife. We learn from that which surrounds us. Sometimes we learn from the elder, sometimes from our peers, and sometimes we experience the joy of learning through the mouths and actions of babes.

This last Thursday morning, my family packed up for a trip to Texas to visit my family. I had gotten used to the phone calls coming at least once a year for the past 9 years, telling me that the doctors wanted my mom to prepare the family for my father's eminent departure from this world. Each and every time my dad has come back fighting. He's been a scrapper since day one.

Last Sunday, though, when my mom called, I could sense a difference. Though everything looked bad, my dad was fighting back and seemed to be recovering. Still, I couldn't help the nagging feeling in the forefront of my mind telling me that my dad's long battle was almost over.

For the next couple of days, my husband and I discussed whether, with my back, I needed to fly or take the train. Both of those options would take too long, we felt, given the availability, so we decided to pack up the clan and drive to Pearland. I am glad we decided to come then rather than wait for the train that would have arrived in Houston this evening.

When I first saw my dad, he slightly opened one eye in acknowledgement that I was here, but that was the most he could muster. My uncle and two aunts, my dad's siblings, stayed with my mother, brother, and myself in the room at the nursing home where Dad was in hospice care. Having already talked it over with Richard, we agreed that we would give Dad a chance to see our children one more time, thereby giving them a chance to say whatever they wanted to say to him as well. I am so glad we did.

Nyssa walked in first, boldly beside my dad's bedside. "Hi Pops! It's me, Nyssa!" She was bubbly to see him, but when he didn't respond, she turned shy and was a little shaken. She then whispered in my ear things to tell him. Just before she left the room, she touched his arm tenderly with her hand and said, "I'll see you in Heaven. I love you." When she left the room with my Mom, one of the nurses followed behind with tears in her eyes.

A few minutes later, after discovering he was crying insistently that he MUST see Pops, Mom brought Nathaniel in as well. He walked up to my dad and smiled his big, bright smile that outshines Reba McEntire's smile. Nathaniel stood next to Dad's bed and waved excitedly at him. "Hi Pops! I'll see you in Heaven. Bye Pops! I love you!" He put his hands to his ears because the rattle in my dad's breath was too much for him and he walked happily out of the room with me back outside to see the ducks in the pond.

Richard went in next, with Benjamin and Gabriela. Though I didn't witness what happened, I was told that Benjamin stayed back but waved at him and said, "Bye Pops, see ya in Heaven," and that Dad wiggled his toes in response. Gabriela sat in his lap a on the edge of the bed and started calling to him. "Pops. Pops. Pops!" At first she started to get mad that he wouldn't answer her, then tilted her head, looked worried, and just sat with him for a minute and said, "Bye bye, Pops." Apparently, a nurse walked out then as well, with tears in her eyes.

Yesterday morning, Dad passed away in his sleep with myself, my brother, and my mom in the room. We told the kids, who all thought for a moment and said that he is in Heaven now and can walk and talk and sing again. They extemporised on all the things he can do now that he couldn't just a couple days ago.

Though we will all miss my Dad, just leave it to my children to put everything into perspective. We know where his heart is. Though he wasn't perfect, as none of us are, he did receive Jesus as his Savior and so we know he is in Heaven and we will see him again one day. He is happy and free. He is where he belongs.