All grown up!

It's been a week full of milestones in our house! AD is finally toilet-trained during the day. I can't express to you how exciting this is for me. If you've ever had a child who is headstrong and strong willed at almost everything, then you understand why this small biological feat is so important. It's the beginning of an independence that I have craved for her. I'll admit, I've been rather lazy about training her, giving her the opportunity to figure it out herself while minimizing the mess that comes along with the whole act. There isn't much of an opportunity in life to discuss these sorts of things unless you're a parent and I didn't want to become that mother who did nothing but talk about how amazing it was when the potty was filled without prompting. Yes, there were texts sent to my husband regarding bladder functions (hers, not mine) but I refused to fret or fuss about the whole experience. Since she's my last child in diapers, I was determined to just lay low and let her figure it out. And you know what? She pretty much did. So score one for lazy parenting!

Our other milestone, closely tied to toilet-training, is that AD is in a 'big-girl-bed' now. I have to say, she's done amazing. I won't deny that there was a lot of rule setting beforehand, but she doesn't get out of bed at all. It's glorious. For now. But I'm telling you, right now I need a few wins.

With all these milestones, one might be thinking that I'm feeling nostalgic about my sweet girl growing up. Nope. Not in the least. And here's why: I am tired of toddlers. There, I said it. I'm so looking forward to the days when diapers are a thing of the past. When I'm not required to get the 33rd cup of milk for that day and they can just get it themselves. When my husband and I can have a conversation that lasts more than three minutes without one of us being interrupted about the bird flying outside or the boogie they've discovered on their finger. The Mommy-shamers would call me cruel, heartless, cold. Go ahead, if it makes you feel better. But I'm tired. Not just physically tired, because yes, I am that. But every kind of tired: spiritually, emotionally, mentally. I find it hard to enjoy life these days because of the exhaustion. I would love to say that I'm working on fixing that, but that's another post for another time.

So, as the milestones come and go, I will celebrate them and move on without a glint of sadness in my eye. I will simply revel in the fact that I've helped them on the path to growing up and becoming a person. And that's good enough for me, for now.

This life, continued.

Oh, gracious, where can I start?

We've been Texans for over a year now. Wow! It's weird to know that something that I've dreamed about my entire life has come true. I have been talking about moving to Texas for so long that I think my NE friends looked at my intentions to move as one of those obsessions that was just part of me. Like traveling to Germany (which I am still determined to do), and own a cow (which I am not sure whether or not I will do). But yet, here we are, Texans at last. A friend, who also happens to be a Texas transplant, told me that you have to spend at least 10 years in the state before you can call yourself a true Texan. To that, I say BAH! My heart has been here for at least 20 years. I think I've earned the title.

So, what HAS been going on since we've uprooted life and settled so far from home? Oh, so much. We've found an amazing group of friends, a beautiful home and neighborhood, thrown myself headlong into homeschooling, and adopted a dog. And we're helping plant a church. Basically, we've been building a home again. Away from what we know, what we've grown up with, what we've surrounded ourselves with. We're setting down roots. And it's amazing.

And yet, it hasn't been all fun, all the time. It's been hard. For reasons that I can't explain. We discovered that G is most likely profoundly gifted. It sounds like such a blessing and yet, it's really not. It's amazing that God has blessed him with this incredible brain, but it's so hard, so hard to parent him and not lose my sanity in the meantime. It's been hard to leave E behind and know that he's growing up and I'm missing parts of his life that I will not get back. I can't tell you how many nights I've kept myself awake hoping, praying that I've done the right thing for him. But through all of this, through all the tears, self doubt, and misery, through all the happy celebrations, through all the joys, I have found a group of women that supports me and holds me up. I have found a tribe.

Now, I was never a clique person in high school. I had a group of friends that had shared... I don't even know any more. Classes? Friends? Who knows. But they got me through high school. And that was about it. Sadly, I never kept in close contact with any of them once that segment of life was over. And that was mostly my fault, I readily admit. Once I entered college and afterwards, I was able to find a few close, crazy, awesome friends who know me well enough to call me out on my crap and that are able to say to me "that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say" and mean it. And now, in addition to that, I have the beginnings of a tribe.

I have a group of women who text me daily, whom I laugh with and who laugh at me (I won't live down the Redeemer Sticker debacle anytime soon). Who call me to try to brainstorm to fix my latest issue with G, who don't mind my ramblings or my misery. Who just love because they can and they do. No reason. No rhyme. They just do.

Is it easy to find a tribe? No. And I'm fully aware of that. Maybe that's why I value them more than ever. If you can find one, man, hold onto it with all your might. Because I swear, it will save you.

Words of faith

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on June 25, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!

As some of you may know, I have a fascination with words. I love to read, love to write and words are such a part of my being that it's difficult not to pay attention to a word when it jumps out at me. Earlier this year, I came across a website, MyOneWord.org. This website's goal is to encourage people to choose one word that the person will use to form their entire year around. The idea is that instead of a New Year's Resolution, you choose one word and use that word to change the world around you. Being a word-lover, this really appealed to me. And so I started searching for my own word. At first, I thought my word would be something fun like "Family" or something important like "Peace". Maybe even, being the mother of a newborn, "Sleep". But none of those words would stay with me. All this time, God kept pointing me toward another word: forgiveness. Now, I'll admit, I kept thinking "I really don't want that word! That's too hard. I want something fun, like KNIT! or PARTY!" So I sort of ignored Him and tried to find another word. A few weeks later, still word-less, I saw an announcement in the church bulletin for a Bible study group focused on, you guessed it, forgiveness and I said "All right, all right, I get it, that's my word!"

Now, I wasn't looking forward to owning this word. See, for me, and I'm sure many of you feel the same way, forgiveness isn't an easy word and it isn't a fun word, but I knew that it was the word He wanted me to have. So, for the past six months, I have been owning this word. You would be amazed how often a word comes up in your life once you pay attention to it. I find that it creeps into my world in little ways; in songs, in conversations, it's everywhere. Last week, my husband and I were having a tense night. The kids were tired and pushing buttons left and right and by the end of the night, I was grumbling at my husband and we close to not speaking. As I was walking upstairs to get ready for bed, my husband was sitting on the couch. As I passed by him, God said to me in this soft voice "How can you treat someone you love like this?" And there it was again, that word: forgiveness. I'll tell you I felt about two inches high for the rest of the night.

I can hear you thinking, what does this have to do with faith? To quote Matthew, 6:14, "For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses."

I learned quite a few things about forgiveness during that Bible Study. For me, the major theme was that it's very difficult to really extend forgiveness without having faith. When you're confronted with forgiveness, whether it's forgiveness you're extending or you're hoping someone will extend to you, faith allows you to understand the meaning of forgiveness. When we are the ones extending the forgiveness, our belief in the Lord gives us the capacity to understand how we have been forgiven and sometimes that understanding makes the forgiveness just a bit easier to extend. I won't say that forgiveness is easy; sometimes it's simpler to stay mad or in other cases to not ask for forgiveness. But in almost every case, if you are able to keep in mind what your faith has taught you, that you are already forgiven by a God who loves you and gave His only son for you, it is becomes possible to move toward forgiveness.

Where life resumes.

Wow. So, apparently it takes about two months for me to get my bearings. I've officially been at home for two months today and I'm just getting back to the point where I can function as a non-mother-person. It's been a roller coaster ride, but most days I'm glad I'm on it and am trying my hardest to stay sane. I feel like I have a million things pulling me in three million directions, but such is the life of every mother I guess.

There are a few things that I've realized in the past week or so and one of them is that I need to get my head cleared in a major way. So, I'm hoping now that the new computer is set up, blogging will begin again! I don't expect it will be pretty, but I think that's normal. Personally, I'm tired of the sheen that the internet seems to put over everyone else's life. I have been searching for authenticity and although the internet is certainly not the first place I should be looking, it's the most accessible place for me right now and that's caused so much heartache for me. To combat that, I'm going to try as hard as I can to be authentic, to be me here, there and everywhere. Yes, I admit that's sort of not really possible on a blog, but you'll have to deal if you're reading this. Unless you want to come over and just hang out to vet me and all. Please, feel free. Except on Fridays because I'm usually busy then.

Faith in a box

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on March 26, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!

A few weeks ago my older sister, who lives in California posted a link on her Facebook page. My sister has been a professional belly dancer for over 10 years now.  The link she posted wasn't her usual information about upcoming dance classes or hand-made costumes for sale.  It was a collection of photos of a burned-out apartment.  The photos were striking.  Most of them looked as though they'd been shot in black and white due to the amount of smoke and soot damage the apartment sustained.  One of the most memorable photos, for me, was of a child's bedroom. The only recognizable thing in the photo was a charred changing table standing alone in the middle of the room. 


The woman who lived in the apartment was a friend of my sisters.  Actually, to say she was a friend is probably an understatement. I've never met the woman, but I know that she has had a profound impact on my sister's life.  She was a driving force behind my sister becoming a professional belly dancer and instructor and throughout the years, my sister has mentioned this dance teacher many times, always with reverence and awe.  She had influence in my sister's life far greater than I can imagine.  So seeing those photos and knowing that they had impacted my sister gave me pause.  But it was seeing that photo of that baby's changing table that brought tears to my eyes.

God was watching that family on the night of their fire.  I never heard the full details, but I know that everyone involved escaped physical harm.  From what I understand, the family was getting ready for a blessing, reading the Koran and smelled smoke or heard a fire alarm.  They got out in time, but subsequently lost practically everything.  Like me, she has a little boy and I couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been to see all her baby's belongings destroyed.  I thought about what it must be like to have to care for that baby while trying to rebuild a life around him.

So, I did the only thing I could think of to help: I sent a box of clothes to her.  
Now, just as an aside, I have to thank my lucky stars that I have the smart husband I do because otherwise I would have sent the boy a shirt with a fire truck on it.  That's probably not what the mother was in the mood to see.  Along with the clothing, I sent a short hand-written note telling her that my prayers would be with her and her family. 

When Pastor asked me to start a monthly series about ways to share your faith and speak to the congregation, I was nervous about accepting.  Pastor had no way of knowing, but a few days earlier I had been having one of those conversations with God where you ask Him what He wants you to do with your faith.  I always dread asking those sorts of questions because most of the time, He answers pretty quickly and sometimes it isn't what I want to hear.  But I knew that Pastor approaching me was part of the answer I'd been asking for and so I accepted whole-heartedly. Sharing your faith isn't always easy and it isn't always obvious.  It can be something as small as sending a box of clothes (without a fire-truck shirt) to a stranger who's lost everything.  Or it can be something bigger.  My hope is that over the next few months, I help you explore ways to share your own faith so that you can grow in God and perhaps help others to do the same.

Goodbye stent, hello swollen kidney.

I do remember that G was in a fantastic mood and other than being overly tired. In fact, he was feeling so decent that we stopped at IKEA on the way home and bought him a new big-boy bed. After a quick, albeit late, lunch of chicken nuggets, fries and apple slices, we were on our way home. I felt so overjoyed that yet another hospital visit and surgery was behind us and that this is what it felt like to have a successful, non-complicated surgery. It was such a difference from open-heart surgery, which sounds obvious but until you've lived it, you don't really get it.

We got home around 3:00pm, I think, and decided that it was probably a good idea for everyone to take a nap. And this is when things got messy.

We awoke to the sound of G crying. Given the fact that he'd just had major surgery, we didn't think anything of it. I brought him downstairs and after a while, it became obvious that he was more than just uncomfortable, so I gave him some Advil and we soothed him on the couch and tried our best to distract him. Sure enough, he calmed down about 45 minutes later. I didn't want him to take the Advil on an empty stomach, so I made him eat some yogurt before the Advil. He refused it at first, but I was able to coax him into it. At around 7:00pm, he stood up to walk to the kitchen where I was standing and I saw the look on his face. I'm never sure if it's mother's intuition or a look of pure panic in the eyes or what, but I knew what was coming: puke. And it did. He threw up and didn't stop. We thought it was just the yogurt, so we cleaned him up, chalked it up to silly parenting and tucked him in for the night. An hour later, I could hear him whimpering "Mommy... Momma..." and I ran upstairs to find him and his bed covered in vomit. We reasoned that he probably was still reacting to the anesthesia, so we cleaned him up and tucked him in again. An hour later, we replayed the previous scene. This time, though, he made it to the bathroom and then began to be sick with real gusto. The poor kid had nothing left in his stomach and when the dry heaving started, I called the hospital. 

After talking to a few different doctors on call, we were told to bring him back to BCH immediately. And, almost on cue, G started vomiting blood. It was 10:30pm at night and we rushed around, packing him up into the car with a bowl, some towels and I drove the 45 minutes back to Boston. Alone. Pulling over every 10 minutes to help my three-year-old vomit blood. You want to feel alone? Try this some time. Or rather don't. It's not fun, trust me.

G and I finally made it to BCH at around 11:55pm and rushed into the ER. He was so lethargic at this point, he could barely open his eyes. There were a few nurses standing around when we walked in, but as soon as they saw me, they ran over, ushered G and me onto a chair and began working on him. After the initial intake paperwork, they found a room for us and the ER waiting game began. G alternated between vomiting more blood and sleeping. The doctor would come in, test the vomit, check him out, ask me some questions, and then leave to go order more tests. This went on for six hours. Six long, long hours...

Now, at this point, I will admit I think I started to crack. I had been awake for almost 26 hours straight, except for a 30 minute cat-nap at home. I was running on fumes and wanted nothing more than sleep. The doctors finally decided to leave it up to me on whether or not we should be admitted back into the hospital, but given that G was still vomiting blood and it had taken two doses of IV meds to get him to stop and they still had no real clear idea of what was causing all this, I gladly elected to call BCH our home for the night. Around six in the morning, they got a room ready and G and I passed out for a few hours. 

In the end, the drama seems to have been caused by the stent being removed and causing the kidney to swell, cutting off the kidneys function temporarily.  He was hospitalized for two days and after ensuring that his kidneys were functioning normally and getting the vomiting under control, we were released and sent on our merry way. 

Who says kidneys aren't exciting?

In rock, paper, scissors, kidneys win.

There are some times when you would rather not remember what happened the day or even the week before.  Most of those times, they involved lots of tequila, and don't tell me I'm the only one, but last week... No tequila, just a kidney. I have a bit to recap, since it's been a while since I've posted and I honestly was thinking that I would not want to post about our 'adventures' last week, but I'm hoping getting it out of my head may purge it from memory.  So, here goes.

After all the tests were said and done, it was found that G had a utero pelvic junction obstruction, or in those fancy medical letters, a UPJ obstruction. The only fix for this obstruction was, you guessed it, more surgery. AD, on the other hand, got off easy with a diagnosis of Grade 3 bilateral kidney reflux. Her likelihood of surgery is about 50/50 right now, so we'll wait to see what happens. We met with the surgeon at the local children's hospital, but since he only did the surgery in the 'traditional' method, we opted to go to Boston Children's Hospital instead and have it done robotically. Here's your biology lesson for the day! A UPJ obstruction is caused when a piece of the tube leading from the kidney to the bladder stops growing and becomes narrow. This causes the fluid in the kidney to drain slowly and in turn, causes the kidney to swell. After more tests, we discovered that his right kidney drained in about 9 minutes, while his left kidney was taking over 136 minutes to drain. The surgeon later told me that it probably takes longer than that, but they gave up after 136 minutes. Poor kidney even disappoints the doctors.

When we went for the initial consult in Boston, we met with a great doctor and G was this close to having the procedure as an outpatient operation, but the surgeon suddenly recalled that our G is a past-cardiac patient which meant that he'd be treated to an overnight stay, just in case. Aw, shucks, as G would say. So, we scheduled G for surgery for early March. We had the pre-op testing on March 6, and other than just getting over a cold that day, he passed with flying colors. Fast forward to just 36 hours before surgery and the hospital calls to tell us that the surgeon that was supposed to perform the pyeloplasty on G has left the hospital and all surgeries are being rescheduled. You know, I'm a silver lining type of gal, but I'll admit I was annoyed that we were pushed off, again! G's open-heart surgery was delayed because of pneumonia and fifth disease and now the surgeon leaves BCH? The nurse assured me that they had another surgeon lined up that specialized in robotic surgery and we went ahead and rescheduled the date for March 30.

The surgery lasted only an hour or so, if I remember correctly. Seems strange now to forget the exact details, but there you have it. Probably because everything else paled in comparison to his awful recovery. The surgeon came in to tell us that G did great, they didn't find anything out of the ordinary and were able to place a stent in his ureter to keep the tubes open while they healed. The nurse led us to the recovery area and we were able to sit with him while he woke up. At first, he was groggy, but the more he woke up, the more miserable he became. He complained of pain non-stop and cried for me to hold him and carry him. After about 30 minutes of trying to calm him, I climbed into the hospital bed with him and we managed, with all his tubes and wires, to have him lay on me in his bed for a few hours. The nurse had to call for additional morphine and Valium to help with his pain, but it finally did subside and they were able to get him out of recovery and into a room.

Sky Burger, again?!

G is one of those kids that has a rather large personal space bubble around him, so the fact that he wanted me to hold him for hours was unusual but post-op boy can have whatever post-op boy wants. When we made it to our room, we set-up camp for the day and got as comfortable as you can in a hospital. This time around, we booked a hotel room down the street, so I made myself a little bed on the window seat and TDH Man went and got some food. Ironically, we were in the same room location as G's CICU room at BCH, just a few floors away. We set up his personal TV and let him loose on the remote and PBS. He fought sleep for a long time, but what else is there to do in the hospital?

Puffy, tired boy demands PBS. 

Looking back now, G's stay was fairly unremarkable. I only say this because I'm writing it a few months later and I honestly can't remember much of it. Blame Mommy-brain, blame all the hospital trips blurring into one, blame whatever, but we were pretty much dismissed the next day, given instructions on how to care for our boy and sent on our merry way. During the surgery, the doctor had placed a stent in the kidney to assist in keeping the repaired tube open. We were told that the stent would need to be removed in about three to four weeks, but that it was a simple procedure and not to worry about it. 

Ha. That should have sent all those red flags a-flyin', but that's another story for another post.

FOUND: New path.

I've realized recently that I have trouble making big announcements. I'm more of a one-on-one person, spreading news to close friends in little bits. It was the same when I was pregnant with one of my kids. It was difficult for me to figure out how to announce another human was being added to our family and so I usually just waited for someone to ask if I had consumed one too many donuts before saying anything about my expanding midsection.

It isn't without pause that I make the next announcement: as of May 15, I am changing careers. After the past month's ups and downs, TDH Man and I have decided that it's time for me to stay at home with the littles and take a new path. I have a confession: I'm scared. There are so many layers to this fear, but in my heart, I know it's what our family needs right now. Three kids, two careers, one child with medical issues, and another with possible medical issues was just not adding up to one happy Momma. I love my career as a librarian, I really do. It was one of those passions that started in my heart as a kid and I never knew how it grew until I had the chance to see it through. And I am so, so grateful that I was able to follow that road for seven years. But the path has changed a bit and although I'll be off it for a bit, if it is God's will that I rejoin it, I will when the time comes.

I'll also confess that I'm looking forward to lots of things too. I'm looking forward to teaching my kids about the world, taking morning runs, listening to G's crazy stories, complaining to TDH Man about how they're driving me crazy, and trying every day to be present in the life of my family.

I'm praying that God will watch over me, the littles, TDH Man and keep us sane in this transition time! I wonder if they make a GPS for this...

Twins, really?!

Ever since AD was born, people have been telling us that she and G are practically twins. I have to admit, they look A LOT alike. At first, it was funny. Now? I'm not laughing anymore. The similarities are not only uncanny, they're making me nervous. I've already posted about AD's heart murmur; she has an echo-cardiogram scheduled for Monday, November 25. We're still hopeful that what the nurse has told us is true and that AD's murmur is benign. TDH Man and I are trying to ignore the repeated phrases that we heard when G had his evaluations: "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing... it sounds benign!" Instead, we're trying to focus on the odds: a congenital heart defect is pretty rare and to have TWO kids with it? Well, that would just be downright crazy. Right?

And then this past Monday, I took G and AD for kidney ultrasounds. We already knew that G has a duplex collection system on his right kidney, probably related to his microtia and atresia, since the kidneys and ears develop at the same time in utero. A few weeks ago, AD had a terribly high fever, spiking at 105 for a time. The pediatrician's office did a catheterized urine catch and the results came back as having a mild UTI. I have my doubts about that because her fever broke without ever taking any antibiotics and the fever resolved itself. Still, it was scary and because she's so young, the doctor wanted her kidneys evaluated to rule out any physical anomaly. Wouldn't you know it, they found that the tubes in her right kidney are split, so she has two where only one should be. We aren't sure what this means for her yet, but the next round of tests will be on Friday morning. They'll inject her bladder with contrasting dye to see if she has a reflux issue in her kidneys and once we know that result, we'll figure out the next step.

But, of course, that's not all. Here we were, worrying about our AD when G decided he didn't want to be left out of the testing-fun. You know it's never a good sign when, after the ultrasound tech leaves to check to see if she 'got enough good pictures', she brings the doctor on-duty back into the room with her. I have to say, my heart sunk a bit when she walked into the room. She gave me a brief run-down of both results, but I guess I was focused so much on AD that I didn't really understand what she was saying about G. Turns out his kidney is swelling and it's probably caused by a blockage somewhere. So now he has to go for more tests and yet another doctor.  Are you keeping track of how many specialists see G now?  Here!  Let me list them for you!

Maxillofacial surgeon - for Hemifacial microsomia
Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeon - for Microtia
Cardiac Surgeon - for an Atrioventricular Septal Defect and cleft valve
Otologist - for Atresia and hearing loss
Audiologist - for hearing loss
Physical therapist - for gross motor delays
Occupational therapist - for fine motor delays
Hearing therapist - for severe deafness in right ear
Urologist - for Hydronephrosis

No wonder I'm dizzy...

Perspective

I have a day to myself, oh, yes I do. E had a dental cleaning this morning, so I took the opportunity to take a day off and sit at home. Normally, I'd use the time to catch up on housecleaning and call it a day. But I promised myself that I'd do some things for ME this time around. And so, here I am, writing a long-due blog post. What else have I done today for me? Yes, laundry and dishes, but I also cut my nails. That sounds like such a silly, small thing, doesn't it? It's all about perspective.

I've realized more and more lately that everything in my world is about perspective. There are some times when I'm really proud to be able to say I have a decent perspective on a situation and sometimes, I miss the mark completely. TDH Man almost always has a perspective that I envy. He's a person that's open to what life throws at him; I can only think of one time when something threw him for a real loop and it's not something I'd care to have happen again. I struggle with keeping things in perspective, especially when it comes to the kids. G just turned three and he is quite the handful. I was blessed to have my first boy be relatively easy. Perhaps God made him that way because everything else in my life at the time he was born was complete chaos. G, on the other hand, has been a handful since the second he was conceived. I'm trying to learn to embrace that, to watch him as he grows and to revel in the gifts that God has given him even when they don't jive with what I'd like them to be. He's strong-willed? Perhaps that's God's gift to him to be able to persevere through the medical issues that are ahead of him (or even those that are already behind him). He's not affectionate? Perhaps that's God's gift to him so that he won't get his feelings hurt by others when they realize he has physical differences and when he does get to be close to someone, he's certain they love him for him. I don't know, but it's got to be in the perspective.

AD had her nine-month appointment yesterday and the pediatrician found a heart murmur. I smiled. Yes, you read that right: I smiled. Not because I'm happy that he found something that could potentially cause us to have to walk the same path we've walked with G, but because I know that this is part of God's plan. Perhaps AD has holes in her heart, just as G did and God put her in our family because her parents and brother have already gone down that path in life. Perspective.

So now, while I pray that our little girl doesn't have to go through open-heart surgery, I am grateful that we've done it before and we know what's ahead if that's what it comes to for her.

Opening more doors, faithfully

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on May 29, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!


A few weeks ago I attended an event to listen to an author talk about his recent book.  During the question and answer period, someone asked the author how his faith had impacted his life thus far and I think that his answer really spoke volumes about the process of sharing faith.  He said, and excuse me for paraphrasing, that as you grow in your own faith, you transform from a person who is concerned with your own world to a person who is concerned with the world around you. If you follow the author's way of thinking, then the first step in the faith-sharing process is a personal one.  By examining your own faith, you start on the path from inward to outward-thinking and over time, I believe that this causes you to grow in faith.  I never thought about the progression of faith in that way before, but I think it's very true.  If I think about how my own faith has grown, I certainly see the parallel to what the author was talking about.  As I understood more about my faith in God and what it meant to follow His word, I inevitably changed my way of thinking.  I became a person who wanted to be more Christ-like, and when that happened, I found that I became a more outward-focused person in my actions as well as my thoughts.  That's what I want to talk about today.  

I whole-heartedly believe that God gave us His Word, He gave us the gift to read and hear and learn his Word to help us grow in faith.  Once you have that faith, that gift of belief, the only thing you CAN do is share it.  But how?  Although there are many ways of sharing your faith, it all starts with YOU.  See, when you allow yourself to grow in your own faith, it's almost impossible to keep it to yourself; you want to SHARE it. And that's the point, isn't it?  Sometimes the specifics of sharing faith are difficult.  People become afraid of evangelizing and pushing their beliefs on others and in that fear, they keep their faith to themselves.  I will say that for me, the easiest way to share my faith has to been to surround myself with God, to allow Him into all parts of my life whenever possible.  I frequently tell people I'm praying for them, and then I do.  I share with others what I'm doing here at our church.  I talk with my Christian friends and my non-Christian friends about what it means to have faith.  I talk and I talk and I talk.  But above all else, I listen.  You've heard me talk about how faith can open doors, and about how when you least expect it, God will make Himself known and shine His light into your world.  When you take the time to examine your own faith and allow yourself to grow in your belief, in your faith, you'll start to see opportunities that you didn't realize where there.  You will start to see those doors opening for you.

Happy, happy number three, G.

Our boy, G, our middle child, turned three today. I wrote this about the day he was born a few years ago. It's only proper to share it today.

After 42 weeks of waiting, TDH Man and I were more than ready on Friday morning to meet our baby.  We woke up just like any other morning, had breakfast and got Evan off to the bus.  Once we got home, we sat and waited for the midwife to call and tell us to come to the hospital.  I did a last load of laundry while TDH Man read the paper and at around 9:30am, Maureen, the midwife on call, phoned to tell us that they were very busy on the labor and delivery floor of the hospital so she was going to have to wait to see what time we could come in.  "Don't worry, it WILL be today though", she told us.  Finally at 10:30am, the nurse on the L&D floor called and asked us to get there as soon as possible. I told her we lived about 40 minutes from the hospital and she said "OK.  Don't speed, but we need you to get here as soon as possible."  So, we were off!

We quickly packed the last few things for the hospital, I put the laundry in the dryer and we headed out the door.  On the way to the hospital, we stopped at CVS so that I could get some Lansinoh and some more wipes.  Sadly, they were out of the Lansinoh, so we just headed to the hospital. TDH Man and I arrived at the triage area and checked in with registration.  Once we were done with the paperwork, they brought us upstairs and showed us to our room.  A few minutes after arriving, Maureen peeked into the room and we went over the plan for the afternoon.  The first step was to check to see if she could break my water and if so, we'd see if that would kickstart my labor.  The Alternative Birthing Center was taken with another woman in labor, so that was no longer an option for us.  I was a bit disappointed, but we'd try to replicate the experience as much as possible, Maureen told us.  Around 11:30am, Maureen decided it was time to get started so she did an internal exam and saw that I was still only about 3-4 cm dilated.  She said it was going to be a bit tricky, but she would try to break my water anyway.  She did it and then told us to walk around to see if my labor would start on it's own.  They hooked me up to the telemetry monitors and TDH Man and I proceeded to walk the hallways for the next few hours.  Maureen would come to check on me periodically and she told me that I was having contractions about 3-4 minutes apart, but I couldn't feel any of them.  She said that since I wasn't feeling them, they weren't the kind of contractions that were productive and she was willing to let me go for another 30 minutes or so before making the call about the pitocin.  TDH Man and I agreed, so we just continued to walk in the hopes that labor would start.

Around 2:30pm, Maureen reviewed the contraction and baby monitor and decided to start the pitocin.  Because I was already having contractions regularly and baby was still doing well, she started me off on the lowest dose possible.  TDH Man and I walked more laps.  About 30 minutes later, I still couldn't feel any contractions, so they doubled the dose and we walked some more.  Thirty minutes later, Maureen checked on me again and I was still not feeling any contractions.  We laughed and said that if this kept up I was going to have the easiest labor in the world since I was actually having contractions (according to the monitors) but I still couldn't feel them.  Finally at 4:30pm or so they increased the dose again and TDH Man and I walked some more.  Around 4:45pm, I finally started to feel some cramping and decided that I couldn't sit any longer and needed to walk around.  When the contractions were strong enough to get my attention, I told TDH Man to go down to the cafeteria to get some dinner because I knew that this was the beginning and I needed to make sure he was well fed and not starving the whole night.  He ran downstairs and when he got back at 5:00pm, I started having to breathe through the contractions.  They were definitely getting stronger as the time went by.  TDH Man ate quickly and we walked the hallways again to keep labor going.  Finally around 6:00pm, the pain was getting intense, so Maureen checked me and I was 6cm dilated.  Maureen suggested that I go and sit on the toilet to help with the pain.  I did so and when the pain of sitting got to be too much, I asked if I could get into the shower and Maureen told the nurse that we could stop the pitocin and let me labor on my own now.  I got into the shower and I have to say it felt SO good!  TDH Man was able to stand outside the shower and hold the sprayer on my back to help relax me and I was able to just stand there for the next hour or so.  I have to say, this was the best part of labor!  I can remember joking around with him and Maureen would come in and check on my progress now and then.  It was just relaxing and so easy-going at this point.

When I started to feel more pressure with the contractions, Maureen suggested that I get out of the shower and she would check me to see if it was time to push yet.  I was finally at 9cm dilated and feeling tons of pressure in my belly and backside but she said that she couldn't let me push quite yet.  By this time, I was already more than half way through transition, so she kept suggesting different ways to help me get over that final centimeter. I changed positions a few time, first trying to lean over the bed, then trying to be on my knees on the bed.  Squatting by the side of the bed helped, but I couldn't get that last centimeter out of my head.  I remember telling baby to move down, move down, move down over and over.  Finally, when the pressure became too much, I told Maureen that I really wanted to push now and she said she'd check me again.  Just as before, she said I was still at 9cm and she didn't want me to push yet.  She suggested I try to empty my bladder because sometimes that will slow baby from moving down enough.  I tried, but nothing happened and the pain of sitting during the contractions was too much to bear.  At this point, she told me to try laying on the bed and she would see if I could push that last centimeter out of the way.  I laid on my back but it was so painful to lay down that I kept saying "I don't want to lay down... I don't like this position!"  At this point, my blood pressure had started to rise a bit and so Maureen asked me to lay on my side to try to get that last centimeter out of the way.  The nurse gave me some oxygen because the baby's heartrate dipped a little bit.

Maureen decided that it would be best to try to push through that last centimeter because we needed to get the baby out as soon as possible.  I remember her saying "This is a much more difficult second labor than I thought it would be for you.  I'm sorry!"  Because I was still so uncomfortable on my back, she suggested that I try to push while lying on my side, but no matter how I tried, I couldn't get enough leverage to push effectively.  After a few tries, Maureen told me that as much as I hated it, I pushed so much better while being on my back.  I agreed to stay on my back and around 8:00pm, we started pushing.  At first the pushes weren't moving baby down very quickly.  Maureen kept encouraging me to push harder and she kept trying to loosen my cervix around baby's head to help the descent.  TDH Man kept whispering in my ear, telling me that he could see baby's head and that I was doing really well.  He helped hold my legs up and was cheering me on with every push.  I remember a few minutes of just staring in his eyes, gathering my strength when I thought I wasn't going to be able to do it any longer.  I don't remember Maureen telling me that I was fully dilated at anytime, but I remember thinking she was going to stop me from pushing at any moment and tell me that I was still only 9cm.  The thought scared the daylights out of me!

Finally, something happened and baby shifted just a bit and at 8:45pm, my pushes became much more effective and I remember Maureen telling the nurse to call the doctor because the baby was going to come soon.  I remember crying and saying that I was never going to be able to get the baby out and that I just couldn't do it anymore.  TDH Man, Maureen and the nurses kept encouraging me, saying that the could see the baby and that I was so close!  Maureen had me reach down and feel the baby's head and that was all that I needed to keep going.  I gathered my strength and pushed 4 or 5 more times.  I could feel an intense pressure, but I never had that 'ring of fire' feeling that women talk about.  Suddenly, I felt more pressure and Maureen told me to push hard and suddenly the pressure was gone.  The baby was born at 9:05pm after about an hour of pushing.  I saw Maureen pull the baby away from my body and all I could see was it's arm and it was so, so blue.  I started panicking and kept saying "Is the baby alright?  Is it alright?"  Maureen held the baby low and clamped the cord.  I could see TDH Man standing near the baby and Maureen told him to go with the baby to the warmer.  I kept saying "Is it alright?!" And Maureen said "Tell them what they have!  They don't even know what they have yet!"  TDH Man came back over to me and said "It's a boy!  We have a boy!".  I was still in panic mode and I kept saying "Is he ok?  Is he alright?  I can't hear him crying!"  TDH Man said "He's fine, baby, he's crying!  Do you hear him?  He's fine!"  The nurses worked on him for a bit and my husband asked if he should stay with me or with the baby.  I told him to stay with the baby and watch him.  The nurses were so amazed at how big he was that they wanted to get him on the scale fast.  When they were ready, they called TDH Man over to take pictures of our boy on the scale:  10 pounds, 14 ounces!

Now that the baby was out, Maureen worked on getting me to deliver the placenta.  After 30 minutes, it still wasn't delivered and so Maureen told the nurse to restart the pitocin to get the placenta delivered.  Because I had already had the IV started, she started the medication, but after a few minutes, my hand started to burn terribly.  Somehow I had moved the IV while pushing and the fluid was backing up into my arm.  They had to start another IV line in my other arm because the swelling was so bad in my left arm.  Finally, about 45 minutes later, I delivered the placenta and Maureen said "Wow, even the placenta is huge!"

The nurses cleaned G up and handed him over to his dad.  By this time, I remember being freezing and shaking uncontrollably. I had gotten a second-degree tear from pushing so Maureen worked on stitching me up while TDH Man brought the baby over to me.  I was so uncomfortable being on my back that Maureen promised to work quickly to repair the tear and get me comfortable again.  I was still shaking so bad that the nurse finally brought some warmed blankets over to me and after Maureen was done, I could finally sit back and TDH Man brought G over so I could see him.  The pediatrician on call came over to talk to us about G because they had discovered his right ear was folded over and he had a skin tag on his cheek.  She explained that the two things can be indicative of other problems, but that right now she didn't see anything wrong with him that would require a stay in the NICU for now.  She said that they would watch him over the next few days, but she was releasing him to us for the night.

Once we were all cleaned up and situated, TDH Man and I sat and just looked at our new baby.  It was just amazing to think the he was actually here, safe and sound.  I have so many great memories of the labor and I can't rave enough about how great my husband was throughout the entire labor.  He was nervous that he wasn't going to be able to help me, but it was so wonderful to have him there and he was such a big help.  I remember just staring in his eyes a few times when it got to be rough and it helped to center me and made me remember how much he loved me and was there helping me.  I'm so proud that I got to have the labor that I was hoping for and that even though he was two weeks late, G made his way into this world peacefully and relatively easily.  I'm so blessed to have my three boys in my life.  And now, we start our journey as a family of four!

It hurts no less.

Three years ago, this happened:

Woman killed in wreck on Tarpon Springs Road

And three years later, it still hurts. She wasn't just a woman, she was my blood-mother. No matter what our relationship was, she was the woman who gave birth to me. And it hurts like nothing else to know that she is gone from this world.

My mother in an undated photo.

So today, no matter how crappy your day seems, remember that someone else is hurting too and try to be kind. Please.

Sharing your faith, through doors and windows

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on April 22, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!

I learned this week of the Pascal Greeting tradition. I wondered out loud to my husband when the tradition fell out of favor, if it indeed had.  I haven't heard of it and don't think anyone has ever greeted me with "He is risen!" to which I should have replied "Truly, He is risen!"  This greeting is a wonderful reminder of the joy that Jesus brings and personally, it makes my heart sing to say it.  He is risen, he is risen indeed!

Today I wanted to talk to you about doors, specifically opening doors.  The process of sharing your faith is a lot like learning to open doors.  When you start to open those doors, you start on a path that leads you and others around you, to God.  But even getting that door open can seem like a daunting task sometimes.  I'm not always good at opening doors.  I tend to stay in my own little room, oblivious to those around me, to their joy, their pain, their questions. 

A few years ago, I found myself in a situation I never thought I would be in: sitting in a courthouse, waiting for my divorce attorney to meet me.  It was not a high-point in my life.  My world had been disrupted in a way I couldn't imagine and yet, here I sat in this cold, hard building with a bunch of strangers bustling about all probably feeling the same thing.  Maybe it's my heightened sense of literary drama, but it always seems to me you can feel the pain in those places.  Courthouses usually mean nothing but pain and anger and distrust. There are so many emotions on display, right out there, raw and uncensored.  Being the closed-door kind of person I am, that makes it all the more uncomfortable to me.  But, there I sat, by myself, watching so many dramas unfold and feeling utterly alone.  I had brought a book to read, knowing that I would probably have some time to kill, but I couldn't read it.  Nerves, anxiety, whatever it was, I couldn't concentrate so I just sat there. Close by, there was a women sitting on a bench, intently staring at an index card.  Now, as I said before, I'm a closed-door person; I have a very hard time talking to strangers (I think my parents were probably a little too successful with that whole stranger-danger lesson), but something moved in me to speak to this woman. So, I asked her what was on her card.  I can't remember if she read it aloud or just handed it to me, but this is what it said "Are not five sparrows sold for just 2 pennies?  And yet, not one of them is forgotten or uncared for in the presence of God.  But the very hairs of your head are all numbered... Do not be struck with fear or seized with alarm; you are of greater worth than many flocks of sparrows." 

That verse from Luke spoke to me.  In a time of my life where I felt alone, that I had made some terrible mistakes and had no worth in God's eyes, a stranger shared God's word with me, she shared her faith. She didn't know that some stranger was going to ask her about the card in her hand when she wrote it; she carried it for herself, for her own comfort.  But her faith came through on that card and in the end, she passed it onto me.  We talked for a while and I learned that she too, was in the middle of a terrible divorce.  She too was worried about the impact on her family, she too was worried about what people would think of her.  But that card, that verse from Luke, reminded her that we are never forgotten.  I never asked her name and I probably will never see her again in this life, but the gift of faith that she gave me that day won't ever leave me.  I cherish that card and it's message.

Sharing your faith is like opening a door.  And sometimes, a stranger will see that open door and walk through it.

In my skin.

Have you ever had one of those experiences where you feel like you're reading something and YOU could have written it? TDH Man sent me a link yesterday and honestly, it made me teary-eyed. I swear, it's like this blogger was channeling me; I could have written this.  Change her hair color to my blonde-red-auburn-whatever and it's me, even down to the height. It was eerie and foreign and sad all at once.  Why?  Well, because it mirrors an issue that I've been dealing with lately and I've been ashamed to admit for a while: I'm uncomfortable in my own skin. There, said it.

When I was younger, I never had issues with my body image. And if I did, I either ignored them or just got through them without a problem. I'm lucky enough that the majority of the women in my life weren't self-conscious about their bodies and I can't recall my blood-mother ever, ever saying a single thing about her body other than complaining about the large scar on her knee. My father, who was the one major constant presence in my under-ten years, tried to instill an equal-opportunity atmosphere into his daughters without being overbearing about it. One of the first pieces of clothing that I can remember owning was a shirt that said "Anything boys can do, girls can do better" and my Dad lived by that mantra. I once asked him if he would have preferred to have a son and he looked at me as if I had three heads and answered blandly "Why? There isn't anything that a son can do that you couldn't."

Me, days before G made his very late arrival

So imagine my surprise when, three kids later, I can't stand to be naked in front of a mirror. I loved being pregnant with my children. I love breastfeeding my youngest child right now. I love knowing that my body was, and is still, sustaining a life outside my own. Yet... I don't feel like me. It's taken me a long time to admit that it's because my body has changed and now, my mind has yet to catch up with it which is causing all sorts of havoc internally.

It seems that TDH Man and I have been talking about this issue a lot lately. We've made a pact to ditch the sweets in an effort to get our eating more in line with what we believe is healthy. We've tried the Paleo style of eating and while it 'worked' for us in the beginning, I disliked the fad of it all and became rather disillusioned about what was 'right' to eat and what wasn't. I realized that I don't like strict rules about my food and I needed to find peace with eating how I wanted to eat without feeling like an entire community was staring over my shoulder, tsking me to death when I let a piece of pasta or rice pass my lips. Do I eat that 'stuff' now? Mostly not. I aim as much as possible for WHOLE FOODS, foods in their original form, cooked how I like them, skipping overly processed things when I can. No raw-only diets, no grain-free diets, no eat-this-and-never-that diets. No diets in general. Just eating. So that's step one, I'm guessing, in my effort to move towards something new.

But will it be enough? I've changed. My body has changed. The years, gasp, are catching up to me. And yes, I'm only in my mid-30's. Laugh if you want, at my naivete, but if you have one iota of sensitivity in you, you won't. You'll understand that every person is dealing with their own demons and struggling with what they want versus what they have. I know that God has given me this body to care for while I am on His earth, but I'm struggling. I'm struggling to find peace with what I've transformed into and to find a way to be me in this skin again.

So it begins.

As a Mom, I know that there are going to be many, many times in my children's lives that I'm going to want to protect them from a broken heart. Sometime that'll be possible, most times it won't and when it's not possible, I know my heart is going to break for and with them. Last week, I got the first taste of heartbreak for G, our middle child.

Little ear and all

See, not only was our precious boy born with three holes in his heart, but he was also born with two other congenital defects called microtia and atresia. It came as a complete surprise to my husband and me and wasn't discovered until G was born, (more on that journey later). The long and the short of it is that G doesn't have more than a little earlobe on his right side and no ear canal. He's been found to have about 10% of the hearing he should have on the right side, but believe me when I tell you that he's got perfect hearing on the left. As a result of this difference, TDH Man and I  have discussed many, many times the things G is going to have to experience on his own. Since he was three weeks old, he's undergone therapies for hearing, speech and other issues to prepare him for the day when he turns three and they set him free into the preschool world.

I'm not going to lie: when G was first born, his 'little ear' (as we learned to call it) was all I saw. But gradually, I stopped seeing it and just saw my child, different and beautiful. And now, three years later, it seems that others are seeing it too.

TDH Man has had the week off because our daycare is on vacation, so he's been Mr. Mom. One of the difference between when I stay home with the three young'uns and he stays home is that I tend to stay home. TDH Man, on the other hand, is a bit of a wanderlust and tends to find an adventure for the kids and barrels forth. Last week, he took G and AD to the park. While he was sitting with AD on the blanket, letting her practice her belly-rolls, TDH Man watched G playing in the sand with two little girls whom he'd never met. Later, when TDH Man was relating the story, he tells me that he couldn't be sure, but he was pretty certain that he heard one of the girls point and laugh, saying "Look at his ear!".

Despite three years of waiting for it, it still broke my heart to hear it.

I've had people tell me they didn't even notice G's difference at all. I'm never sure if they're saying that because they're being nice, or if they really didn't see it. As a parent of a child with a facial difference, I'm telling you right now, be honest. Don't make stuff up, just to be nice. I would rather you just didn't say anything at all if it freaks you out that my son has no ear than to give me a white lie and say you didn't notice because I wonder. I wonder so much that it keeps me up some nights. Yes, I understand that you don't want to be uncomfortable around my boy, and that he's got something different in his bag of tricks, but he's still my boy. He's still funny, smart, sweet, feisty and a toddler. But still, I wonder what people think some times. And that's my hang-up, not G's.

See, that little girl pointed and laughed, but G didn't hear her.  And not because he's partially deaf, but because it's the first time that someone has pointed it out and laughed at it and because it was the first time, he didn't realize it was directed at him. I know there will be a day when he'll realize it, but for now, I'm glad he's oblivious because right now, I needed it. I need to watch him and learn from his reaction and remember that no matter what, he's my boy, little ear and all.

Some things you don't want to know.

I got WD-40 up my nose.

Don't ask.

Sharing your faith, one life at a time

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on July 31, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!

Do any of us really know what a hug is worth?  I'm not sure you can assign a monetary value to it, but have you ever thought about it?  What does it cost to give one?  What does it cost to receive just a hug?  I know it seems like a silly question, but if you ever find yourself wondering what it costs you or what one hug is worth, I'd like you to think of the story I'm about to tell you.

Before our son G was born, my husband Michael and I were pregnant with our first child.  After having been told that I would have a 1% chance of conceiving a child naturally, this baby was truly our little miracle.  Sadly, 10 weeks into our pregnancy, God called our baby home.  We never got to meet that child and as you can imagine, we were crushed by the loss.  At the time, Michael and I were living in separate cities, so we didn't have the ability to comfort each other and the only consolation to offer each other was through long-distance phone calls.  I can't tell you how many tears we cried to each other on the phone.  It was a terribly lonely time for both of us.  A few days after our baby had passed, I was in a local drug store.  I'm sure I looked a wreck after not having slept well for days, weeping an endless river of tears and barely able to speak without crying.  While in line to purchase whatever it was I was at the drugstore for, the cashier looked up from her register and gasped when she saw me.  She was a young woman, probably not older than 20 and although I had lived in the neighborhood for 10 years, I had never seen her there before.  I was at the point where I didn't care what I looked like or what a stranger thought of me.  I wanted nothing more than to get back to my house and drown in my tears.  Yet, this cashier, seeing me in this state, gasped and said "Oh, honey, are you ok?"  I looked up and couldn't say a word to her; it took all my strength just to nod my head.  Seeing the tears in my eyes, she came out from behind the counter and she said "Can I give you a hug?"  She wrapped her arms around me and the tears started again.  While she held me I sobbed, saying that we had just lost our baby.  She said "Oh dear Jesus.  Let me pray for you" and right there, in that line with probably ten other people looking on, she prayed to Jesus, asking him to take my pain away and to watch over our little one in heaven.

When asked the question "Do you share your faith with others?" most people have said to me that they try, but that it's uncomfortable or that they're afraid of being rejected. I can completely understand that.  It's not fun to be rejected and I'll admit that I worry about talking about my faith sometimes too. But what if you don't have to talk much at all?  What if the cost of sharing your faith is one hug?  Could you afford that?  That cashier's hug meant more to me than I can tell you.  Michael was 1,000 miles away from me and having someone physically console me and even more, to pray over me in my time of need truly made me feel like Jesus was by my side.  Even in that terrible time, in my grief, I knew that God had sent that stranger to give me one hug, to let me know that He was there.  One hug.  It really doesn't cost that much.

I should be put in librarian time out.

There are way too many awesome things about being a librarian to list here. You know that joy you feel when you see your kid falling in love with a book you had as a kid? Or when you see him lugging a huge pile of books up to his bedroom so that he can spend hours lolling on his bed, surrounded by his newest treasures? Yeah, well I get to experience that all the time. I'm sure I'd get it even more if I worked in a library that had books that I could half-way understand, but that's another story. The short version is that I really, really love being a librarian. But last night, I broke all the unspoken librarian rules and morphed into a parent. I'm thinking of calling that ALA on myself...

E, our nine year old, has always been a precocious reader, but he's also a timid reader in the sense that certain themes scare the daylights out of him. He tends to choose books that are WAY below his reading level because the subject matter is safer. Let's just say he's a sensitive reader. Heck, he's sensitive about everything; he couldn't watch the Fox and the Hound because there was too much yelling. Seriously. So it baffles me just a bit that he loves books about wars and battles, but being the supportive librarian that I am, I encourage his love of reading and ignore the topic. But last night was different. TDH Man, also a librarian, knows E's love of history and these particular topics so he picked out seven or eight new books for him. He picked them up from our local library the other night and E sat on the couch, engrossed for an hour before coming up for a breath. Last night, before bed, E asked me if he could take a book about the Vietnam War to day camp today.  And I did the unthinkable: I told him no.

Even worse, I told him "I think that some people wouldn't be pleased to see a young boy reading a book about war."

Gracious.

Sometimes I'm clueless. I fully admit that. Sometimes I don't even realize what I've done until it's over and this was one of those times. I mentioned to TDH Man that E had asked me about taking the book to camp and he said "Why not?" and I realized what I had done. I'd censored my own child. For shame, really, for shame.

So, this morning, I atoned for my mistake. As he was walking downstairs, the challenged book in hand to pore over while eating breakfast, I called him over to me. And I told him that it was wrong of me to tell him he couldn't take that book. I told him that it shouldn't matter to anyone else what he wants to read and that if he really wanted to read it, he could take it with him.

He tried to suppress a smile, but I could see he was pleased. Whether or not it was because he was able to take the book or because he caught his mom apologizing, I don't know. My hope is that it's a lesson he'll remember.

Oh, so close... our boy the hospital yo-yo

Saturday morning, August 4, I woke up around 5:00am to G making some strained crying noises. I rushed into his room and could see straight away that something was just not right with him. I felt his head and realized that he was just burning up. I took his temperature and it was 103.2 degrees. For the fourth time in one week, my heart plummeted to my stomach.

The nurses had drilled into our heads that any fever was extremely dangerous for G and could signal an infection in his heart. I rushed to the phone to call the nurse line at Children's Hospital Boston and after a few phone calls back and forth, we were told to head to the local Children's Hospital and have him evaluated immediately. TDH Man and I packed up our feverish, lethargic little man and headed back to the hospital.

Our house is oddly enough about equidistant from two children's hospitals and so when the nurse told us to get to the ER, I asked her which one we should go to. She said "whichever is closest", and so we headed to that one, which wasn't Children's Hospital Boston. Let me just say that was a mistake on our part. We get to the hospital and because G is a post-surgical cardiac patient, they triage him fairly quickly and get us settled in a room. Because he's burning up, they start an IV line again and I can tell he's not feeling well because he basically just lets them set him up. They brace his arm and he lies on my lap, alternatively sweating, napping and cuddling with me. This is not our boy at all.

They call the cardiologist on duty who evaluates him, asks us a bunch of questions and bascially tells us that they think he's caught a virus. Right away, something doesn't sit well with me and I'm not comfortable being there. G has had no other symptoms, he's just gone through major surgery and we've been educated on the dangers of a fever and all they can say is that he's gotten a virus? No, not flying. The doctor then tells us that it's probably best to admit him for observation and as soon as he leaves the room, I turn to TDH Man and say "If they want to admit G, can we refuse and head back to Children's Hospital Boston?" Without blinking an eye, my wonderful husband says "Of course" even though it means that he's going to have to drive 40 minutes back to our house to get clothes for all three of us and then another hour to get to the hospital, he doesn't blink an eye. You may not know this, but I am in love with my husband and this is just one more reason why.

After discussing it with the Boston Pedi Cardio unit, the cardiologist on-duty comes back to tell us that they will indeed need to admit G overnight at the very least. That's when I tell them that we want him moved to Boston and not admitted to that hospital. I don't tell them that it's partially because I'm grossed out by the peeling paint in the exam room we're sitting in, or that it's because of the rather large, possibly moving hairballs under the guerney that G and I are lying on, or that it's because of the three empty hand-sanitizing stations (seriously, people, you work in a hospital and you can't fill them?!), but instead I tell them that I want a continuity of care that I don't think they can accomplish for a cardiac patient.  Yes, I put on my 'if you can't say something nice' face even when my post-operative child is burning up with a fever and I'm panicking every which way to Sunday.

So, because they're already given G and IV and fluids, they aren't allowed to simply discharge him and let us drive him back to CH Boston. Oh, no.  We get to now take a ride in an ambulance!  Fast forward a few hours later, and I'm sitting in the front seat of an ambulance while TDH Man is driving home in the opposite direction to repack bags for all of us and poor G is screaming "Momma!" as every single bump jars the ambulance and jostles the two EMTs and the cardiac doctor who's been charged to watch over all the machines to which G is now reattached. At least now I can look back and say this was the peak of our entire ordeal.

We finally get back to CH Boston and lo-and-behold, we get checked back into the same exact room that G just left less than 24 hours before. They hook him up to some antibiotics, more fluids and retape his IV. Then we wait while they draw more blood, run more tests and basically try to ensure that he doesn't have a pericardial infection brewing. TDH Man finally meets up with us in the hospital room and tells me that he happened to just run into Dr. Emani, G's heart surgeon, on the street and he says that he's heard G is back in the hospital. He then tells my husband his theory of why G has the fever and it turns out that he's probably had a reaction to the heart-lung machine and he's suffering from atelectasis. Lucky for us, G's fever breaks and just 24 hours later, he's feeling much, much better.


Just keeping him busy until discharge, again.

In the end, we have no real idea of what caused his fever, but I'm happy to report, it's been a year and our boy is happy, healthy, crazy and amazing. He's overcome obstacles we had no idea were ahead of him and we've been so unbelieveably blessed to be this boy's parents.

I joke with TDH Man that God put three holes in G's heart because he didn't have the one hole in his ear and his holey-heart was one way to prepare us for the surgeries ahead. We don't know His plan, but I like to think that it was all preparation for something amazing for our boy.

Phew! It's time to go home!

 And don't worry. I'll keep y'all posted.