Cycles

I am such a dork. Really. I am.

Yesterday we participated in an event that was inspiring, motivating, and downright awesome. Nine weeks ago, The Christian Reformed Church (my denomination) launched their Sea to Sea Bike tour in an effort to fight global poverty. Their catchy slogan -- "ending the cycle of poverty" -- was their rallying cry, as over 200 bicyclists signed up for the challenge. They left Seattle, Washington to embark on this fight for justice, and began by dipping their tires into the Pacific Ocean in their own version of an "opening ceremony," with prayer before they pedaled away across the continent. 129 hardy souls made the entire trip; others picked up a leg of the journey. Two friends of mine joined the group, leaving their families two weeks ago to join the final leg of the trip, beginning in Grand Rapids. My friend Sandy blogged about her experiences, and just reading of it made my heart swell. It's truly, truly amazing.

Yesterday the cyclists' route put them in our area, the last day of the tour. They began the morning at High Point State Park, I believe, and would cycle down to Kearny where they would pick up a police escort for the last bit of the trip. Then in the afternoon they all gathered at Liberty State Park, where they would then dip their tires into the Atlantic Ocean, signaling the end of the journey across the country, finishing with a picnic and worship service. And never once did anyone lose sight of the goal: to fight poverty. As Sandy said this morning in church, every 3 seconds a child dies of poverty (or poverty-related issues); that's 4 turns of a bicycle wheel. She said she thought of that so often as she drove: every four strokes a child died, every 4 strokes a child died ...

So yesterday morning we piled into the car (my parents included) and joined our church's throng to meet the cyclists as they zipped down that particular route. Tables were set up with water, watermelon, grapes, and cookies -- a rest stop for the cyclists to refresh themselves, and we had a chance to meet them, hear their stories, rejoice with them, and encourage them on the last hours of their journey. It was awe-inspiring, to say the least, to see one person after another smile, wave, slow down, and stop, all gathering at our little oasis. The little kids -- mine included -- had the job of being the lookouts, shouting and screaming and waving and holding up homemade signs as the first glimpses of the riders came up over the hill. Sometimes one or two riders would stop for a rest; other times throngs swarmed down the hill -- creating their own sea of fluorescent yellow bike shirts with the logo of the event emblazoned on it. Some were sweaty, some were panting, some were soaring with ease, some were bruised and bloodied from past wipe-outs. So many of them were Canadians, some had strong Dutch accents, so many had interesting stories to tell, some had their own cameras with them and out of those who did, about 95% of them took pictures of the jubilant kids doing their part. I told Aidan that so many people took pictures of him, and Grace, that people all across America and Canada will see him! Everyone -- everyone -- was smiling.

But I am a dork, through and through.

When I was a kid, I saw Chariots of Fire in the movie theater with a neighbor-family down the street. I was captivated, inspired. When we got back, the two girls and I felt that we, too, could run as fast and hero-like as Eric Liddell. We raced up and down the sidewalk, throwing our heads back just as he did, convinced it made is run like the wind. I wanted to be a runner.

Yesterday, surrounded by a sea of justice-seekers, heroes, wonderfully fit human beings, fellow CRC-ers, super-cool bike riders ... well, I couldn't help myself. My dorkiness reared its head. I used to be a bike rider, before I had kids. I loved -- loved -- riding my bike. I wasn't a road cyclist, though -- I preferred riding in the woods, single-track, on my mountain bike. I got really good at it, too. But I hung up my bike when the kids came on the scene, too worn out to do it. Lame, I know. But yesterday ... well, I was an Eric Liddell fan again. It was just so, so cool. I wanted to ride my bike, convinced that I too could fight poverty, I too could be a part of a tour like that. Ummm ... well ... maybe not. At least not now. But yesterday afternoon I went into the garage, pulled out my dirty, dusty bike with tires like deflated balloons. Aidan was captivated, surprised to know that his mommy too knows how to ride a bike. I wiped it down, the silver Gary Fisher shining like new. I hopped on the seat, for the first time in over 6 years, and pedaled around the yard to Aidan's cheers. Who knows where it might lead ...

Yeah, I'm a dork.
But instead of biking, today we're hitting some hiking trails. Now that is something I can easily handle ...

Making Lunch ... with a Whole Lotta Love

For years on end my mother's ritual had been the same. After a full-blown dinner, the table would be cleared and wiped clean, the dishes would be put in the dishwasher while some were washed and dried by hand. The kitchen would be put back to its immaculate, pre-dining form, sparkling and clean. And then the rest of the ritual began.

Out came the brown paper lunch bags, lined up in a row on the counter -- five in all, with our names written on them: my dad, my three brothers, and myself. White bread sandwiches were wrapped up in waxed paper, with an initial written on the outside to identify the owner of the sandwich. In went the sandwich, the fruit, the snack, the napkin, and occasionally a little note saying "I love you" or "Have a great day" ... Every single night, for years on end, my mom worked at the kitchen counter, with the tools of her trade spread around her, making our lunches.

My mom was a world-class baker, so more often than not the snack in our bag was some kind of delicious homemade treat. I was the envy of my class, with my mother's tasty reputation preceding her. In 5th grade I sat in the row second from the left, second from the back. Behind me sat Carl, a stocky round-faced African American boy who salivated over my mom's baking. And of course the grass is always greener on the other side of the desk ... I was jealous of Carl, whose mom always, daily, packed him some kind of pre-made, pre-packaged Hostess snack. My mom never, ever, ever bought Hostess snacks -- fruit pies, Suzie-Q's, Devil Dogs, you name it. Nothing. So often it would be lunch time, we'd grab our brown paper bags, and I'd hear Carl behind me: "So, whatcha got today?" Out came the plastic-wrapped chunk of a Rocky Road Dream Bar, eagerly turned over for a Suzie-Q. (What was I thinking ...)

On Tuesday, for the first time, the lunch baton will be passed along to me. I don't make lunches now -- Don makes his own lunch in the mornings before work. This will be a new thing for me, making someone's lunch after dinner. My current rituals will change -- the clearing of the dishes as quickly as possible, and then playing with the kids. Now I have to make a lunch somewhere in there. We don't have brown paper bags, but instead we have a blue insulated lunch bag, adorned with a race car. In will go his sandwich, some fruit, a snack, a container of chocolate milk, a napkin, and probably a little note saying "I love you" or "Have a great day!" And year up on year I will be making lunches at my kitchen counter after the dishes are cleared ...

And thus I start another chapter on my journey.
Making lunch ... with a whole lotta love.

Chocolate and Vanilla

I can't believe it's 11:14 p.m. -- yes, the late evening hour -- and I am still up. Awake. As in, can't sleep. It's frustrating, really. I love to sleep. I would hibernate, bear-like, if I could. But tonight ... well, I'm not sure what happened. I think it was the Coke Zero I drank this afternoon. Earlier this summer I cut out a bit of my caffeine intake, for no other reason than I thought that perhaps my allotment was just a bit too much. My two big mugs o' joe in the morning are now down to one (although I wonder if that will change once the mornings dawn darker and colder), and my afternoon Coke Zero -- which gave me the kick in the pants that I needed to get through the rest of my day -- somehow got lost in the shuffle as well. I've been chugging seltzer, and I guess those harmless yet refreshing little bubbles took the place of my black can of soda. But today, after a string of tiring days, I indulged ... and I guess now I'm paying.

I'm hoping that my staring at the bright computer screen, in the very dark living room, will make my eyes feel heavy. So far ... no luck. Maybe I have to get to my point in this post, which -- really, sad to say -- isn't much of a point. Just some musings. Chocolate and vanilla ... on this the last weekday of summer vacation, I tried to take inventory of my precious kids and realized that they are, indeed, chocolate and vanilla.

I bought a bunch of those handi-snack puddings, a rare treat that we haven't had in a long, long time. Don likes them in his lunch occasionally, and with Aidan starting full-day school on Tuesday he said he'd like some too, just like Daddy. I bought two 4-packs of chocolate, and one 4-pack of vanilla. Today at snack-time, after their plates of watermelon, Aidan asked for some pudding. Sure, what kind would you like? (as if I needed to ask). CHOCOLATE! came the resounding and fully expected answer. Grace was still eating her watermelon so I left the kitchen for a minute. Soon I heard some clattering, a door shut, a shuffle, a clunk ... and Grace was soon by my side, holding the 4-pack of vanilla puddings. Her choice: vanilla, hands down, any day of the week.

We managed to scrounge up a few bucks this week and decided to treat ourselves to Carvel. Yes, in NJ Carvel ice cream is actually made in stores as well as featured in a grocery store's frozen aisle. And nothing -- NOTHING -- beats Carvel ice cream. Not Kohr's, not Dairy Queen, not Baskin Robbins ... nothing. We pulled up outside of the place, and Don and Aidan jumped out to get the goods, while Grace and I stayed in the car chattering away about her new (imaginary) friend named Etta (he's a boy, by the way). Here come the men-folk -- a kiddie cup of VANILLA for Grace ... and a small cup of CHOCOLATE (with M&M's) for Aidan.

Got a chocolate chip cookie handy? Aidan will snatch it up in a minute. But Grace ... she would actually refuse and ask for a cracker, or a pretzel, or cheese. Sweet vs. Salty. Chocolate vs. Vanilla. Letter of the Law vs. Imaginary Friends. I love the fact that my kids are so very, very different. It amazes me, really. And with Aidan (sadly) going to be absent from our daily routine, I will be meeting this little girl, ALONE, for the first time -- for an extended period of time. I will get to know her imaginary friend Etta; I will smile at her salty preferences while I crave the chocolate that is (purposefully) absent from our cupboard. I will peek into her creative mind, her world, and see what's there.

Me -- I'm a chocolate girl, through and through. But I have a feeling that vanilla's not so bad either.

Small World (and Yummy Food)

Our next door neighbor, "Mr. John," has been our next door neighbor for about 8 years now. We've gotten to know him pretty well over the past year and a half that we've lived here, and he's a great guy to have next door. He's a bachelor, he's a biker (of the Harley variety), he has a long pony tail, he's a Civil War reenactor, he's super nice ... he's one unique guy.

A few weeks ago we were chatting "through the fence" about random things ranging from reenactments, music, the area, and so on. Regarding the segment on music, he mentioned something about a friend of his who lives in PA. Oh ... whereabouts, I asked? He mentioned the road ... our road ... the very same road we lived on while we served at our second church. And not only that, his friend lives only two houses down from our former rectory! It's a fairly rural area, so he never expected us to know of it ... it was just so crazy to have one of those "small world" moments!

We shared a bit of common-talk about the area, Pennsylvania, shared places of interest, and so on. Of course, we got on the topic of cheesesteaks ... of course you must talk about cheesesteaks ... and Don told Mr. John of his favorite eatery in that area, saying "The next time you're down there, you have to give it a try!"

A few minutes ago the doorbell rang. It wasn't Don, because he's working late(r) tonight. Aidan peeked out the window; "Hey, Mommy! It's Mr. John!" Boy, that's strange ... he has never come over before. I answered the door. There stood Mr. John, smiling, holding out a bag.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Two cheesesteaks," he said, still smiling. "And they're still warm." Sure enough -- warm and smelling sooooo good. He had three cheesesteaks (one for himself, of course) and a zucchini bread strapped to the back of his bike the whole way. Apparently they travel quite well.

I love small worlds.

Winding Down

I always feel a bit strange this time of year, this winding down of "carefree" summer days (I use that term very loosely here -- I'm a mom, after all) yet not quite jumping into the deep end of autumn's pool. I feel a bit sluggish, actually, as if I'm moving in slow motion while time ignores me and marches on ...

I think part of my "problem" stems from the upsurge of clubfoot during this latter half of our summer. What started out as carefree, lovely summer days turned into a barrage of emails and phone calls, doctor visits, research, etc. That's all OK, really -- I mean, it had to be done and I'm not complaining. But I think the flurry of activity on the medical front shifted me into another gear of sorts, quickly leaving summer behind.

This week has been a no-man's-land for me as, again, I find myself straddling the last days of summer and the coming of the fall. It's funny, really -- often around this time I do start feeling the itch for brisk weather, the turning of leaves, pumpkin shopping, planting mums. Now ... oddly, not so much. I find myself wanting to hang on to summer -- to my cute summer skirts, to warm afternoons spent in the back yard, to blankets spread on the lawn and playing with my kids, to that invigorating angle of summer sunshine streaming through my windows. And yet the days are ticking by very quickly and I don't feel as if I'm catching up.

Aidan turns 6 on Monday -- the very apt Labor Day. What a labor it was, bringing my boy into the world. But his turning 6 also signals something in me -- of a little boy growing up, entering full-day kindergarten for the first time. Full-day! What am I going to do without him? Aside from the occasional tiffs and squabbles, we get along fabulously and complement each other quite well. The baby I could not understand has grown into the boy who connects with me in a beautiful way. He's my buddy, through and through, and I will sorely, painfully miss his company. He starts school on Tuesday, just a few days away. And ... he'll be taking the bus. He's growing up, and this year I feel that more than ever before.

Perhaps I'm not just trying to hang on to the last vestiges of summer. Perhaps I'm trying to cling to a part of my life that's ticking by just like the clock. I think my "baby boy" has flown by his carefree days with smiles and bubbling giggles and here we stand, on the threshold of a new chapter, for all of us. He's big now, in so many ways. Perhaps this odd feeling is only seasonal in part. I'm going to miss my boy next week. It's all good, I know, but for some reason this morning I woke up with a heavy heart.

Ah, welcome to Motherhood. Full of twinges and wistfulness and loads of love.

Just WAY Too Cute

So ... cute blog, don'tcha think? OK, well, I was visiting the blog of ... I guess the appropriate relationship would be "a friend of a friend" ... and she recently changed her blog site from something fairly generic to something utterly adorable. I saw the ad for it, which is emblazoned on the upper corner, drooled a bit at the amazing creativity of the folks who came up with the site, and just HAD to try it for myself. There are probably thousands of really cool patterns to choose from, and I could change mine weekly if I so desired!

I worked my housewifely hands to the nub this morning, cleaning like a fiend. I have 2 children over for a while this afternoon, watching them while their parents (and our super-good friends) are engaged elsewhere, and later on my sister-in-law and her 2 boys are coming over for an early birthday party for Aidan. Ahhhh ... and Grace just woke up, adding to the mix.

So yes, I just indulged myself with a little blog fun this afternoon. So keep checking at my lovely little site, for you never know what cool design will greet you next!

Standing Up!

Haven't figured out how to post a little movie yet on this blog, although I would love to get Grace's "walking" on tape somehow. [On tape? did I just date myself?] A picture will suffice for now, taken yesterday afternoon of my little girl standing on her own two feet. The bent position destroys any semblance of good posture, and her "good" leg has to take on a tremendous amount of the weight, but ... she's doing it. She's upright and mobile.

What a sight, huh? What this girl has been through is pretty amazing -- with a big Gracie-smile to boot. And I had a thought yesterday -- I have a feeling that these weeks spent in a cast will actually help her adjust very easily to the nighttime brace. If we just went cold-turkey from absolute freedom to the brace, we'd have a war on our hands. But now she knows what it feels like to be restricted, to be hindered in her mobility. And I think this will ease the adjustment into having her little feet strapped together every night. At least the heavy cast will be off; at least she'll be able to bend her knees and be more flexible. It's a different kind of restriction, to be sure, but I have a feeling that it will be easier to deal with. Plus, all of this current annoyance is dealt with 24 hours a day. With the brace, she'll be sleeping. She'll be free during the day when she'll need it the most.

"Staycation"

Silly word, really, but apt in our case. This summer has been fairly stationary, with any real "road trips" undertaken mostly for medical reasons. Yippee. Don's first year of employment as a "regular joe" didn't offer him many days off, most of those too which were taken up for his own coughs and sniffles. A far, far cry from his pastor/priest days where we had a glorious 4 weeks of down-time each year. We spent one day at the shore, which was part fun and part (literal) wash-out, and now with Grace cast-bound we are finding ourselves rather house-bound. That's all right, really -- someone came up with a word for that: "staycation."

Don took his final 3.5 days off now, with today being his last day of freedom. The first day and a half were spent traveling to and from PA for Grace's cast, and now we're home. We spent part of the day yesterday at a nice-sized zoo -- quite inexpensive (for NJ), super clean, not crowded, and thoroughly enjoyable for all of us. I think the kids' favorite part was the little train that chugged through the forest, past a reservoir, cooling us down from lots of walking. We came home in time for good afternoon naps all around, free of charge.

Today we ran an errand, dropped off a too-small bike at my brother's house, then visited a local mini-arboretum. Our mega-3-wheeler stroller came in handy, having escaped a Craigslist posting for now, and Grace got a kick of riding around on the trail in such a fashion. It wasn't a big place but it was very pretty and just right for some tired out kids. While Grace now naps, I'm finishing up the laundry while Don and Aidan are out yukking it up at Chuck E. Cheese.

I'm wiped out, really. This summer has been an interesting combination of fun, relaxation, a very slow pace, and crazy insanity -- a mixed bag of nuttiness. The last month+ has been wrapped up in clubfoot issues, sapping a lot of my energy and peace that I had been feeling earlier in the season. While I'm not worried -- at all, in fact -- it still is draining nonetheless. And one week from now my baby boy will be starting his first full day of school, riding the bus to and from. That, my friends, will be a killer of a day for me. Of that I am very, very sure.

Back to folding shirts and shorts and super-cool camouflage boxer briefs picked out by my boy. No stickers to add to our steamer trunk this season, but somehow memories still find ways to be made ...

Casting Call: Moving Forward (with wobbly, "bumpy" steps)

Is it possible to really, truly love your doctor? If so, I think I'm smitten. He's just incredible. Our tag team of The Great Physician + The Philadelphia Physician wins nothing but gold. The day yesterday went better than well -- it exceeded our expectations. My husband came with us this time which made the ordeal so much easier for all of us. But anyway, GREAT NEWS! After just one week in the cast, Grace's foot looks much better, and Dr. vB was really happy with the results. The metatarsus adductus was still there (the curvature of the foot) but WAY more mild -- just a very, very slight inward turn, but nothing like it was. And her heel is now appropriately valgus (straight, very slight outward turn -- normal)! No varus (inward turn - abnormal)! Just like that -- I was amazed. She stood flat-footed for the first time in almost a year. The cavus (high arch) was still present but again, much better than it was. That was all I understood as far as the "stats" were concerned. He was throwing out a whole bunch of numbers for his intern which made no sense to me, and when I asked him "Are those good numbers?" he laughed and said they were very good. Phew. The only thing I didn't like was that her dorsiflexion (the flexibility in her foot/ankle area) was still pretty bad and just tight-looking all around, but he did manage to stretch it to 5 degrees (I think it was at zero last time) easily, and then really shoved it upward to 10 degrees (much to Grace's chagrin), but at least he got it there. So ... good improvements all around after just one week!

[And ... aren't you just terribly impressed with my expanded medical vocabulary? I can wow the crowds when I pour out this kind of lingo! :) Varus, valgus, cavus, metatarsus adductus ... who wouldn't want me at their dinner party?! :) My dance card is filling quickly so send your invitations now, my friends ...]

He also said he was so impressed with her response overall that he's jumping to "the number 3 cast," as he put it -- the final leg of the casting rounds (oh, BAD pun, I know, but quite appropriate). This cast -- now in some horrific neon yellow! :) -- is in the same position as the first, knee bent at 90 degrees or so, foot outward. The "odd" thing here is that this cast will stay on for 3 long weeks ... I'm not sure why, but I guess he just wants that foot to get the maximum amount of time in that position. Whatever -- it'll be a pain but if it works, great!

Grace did wonderfully well with the cast removal. We brought head phones/ear protector things and she got a total kick out of that. At first she covered her eyes, then started peeking through her fingers, and then finally she couldn't take her eyes off of the process. She even started laughing during it! What a girl. When it was done Aidan asked her, "So Grace, what was it like?" She laughed and said, "Oh, it was just awesome!"

And she was hilarious trying to walk. At first she couldn't get her foot down, and she said it felt "bumpy" to walk on the floor. She had a really hard time when I washed her leg -- I guess her skin was just super sensitive and any sensation bothered her. We had to wait quite a long time before the next cast, and after about an hour or so she could stand easily, and then tried walking across the room. But she looked SO funny, like she was surfing or, as Aidan pointed out, quite penguin-like. It must have just felt so weird. I can't imagine what it'll be like after THREE weeks.

OK, on to the surgery discussion ... or shall I say, NO SURGERY! :) At least not yet, and not for long time. He apologized profusely to me, saying he was so sorry I had gotten the impression that he wanted to cast and then jump right to surgery. I had completely misunderstood him last week and he was so apologetic (unbelievable, huh?! A doctor? Apologetic?! LOVE him!). He said that after this cast is done, he wants her in the brace at night as well as some kind of a heel cup/insert for her shoe during the day. There's no time-line yet, how long any of this will be, and that's OK. He was just SO INCREDIBLY COOL about answering all of our questions (and man, did I have a lot of them!). He took his time explaining things, talking through issues, etc. It was just so fabulous -- I wanted to talk to him all day! :) So we are just absolutely thrilled with how things are going, I can't even tell you ... It's like Christmas in August. We're flying high.

But today is a different story ... I have a sad, sad little girl on my hands. Thankfully we are playing out the same scenarios from last week -- a novelty first day, a miserable second day, so I have faith that things will improve soon. We were shopping in Target this morning and she cried ... the ... entire ... time. It was my worst nightmare -- the loud noise, the stares from people. Thank goodness for the glow-in-the-dark cast, for people's stares turned into looks of pity. Had there been no cast, we would have gotten some serious death stares.

Anyhoo, here's a pictorial journey of our day yesterday, and looking forward to brighter days ahead.

Big brother hamming it up and spreading some cheer

"Hear no evil ... See no evil ..."
(This is not our doctor, by the way -- he was the student du jour)

"OK, I can do this" -- taking a peek at the process

That's my girl! Flashing her beautiful smile -- all is well

Trying to take her first 'bumpy' steps

Drum roll please -- a STRAIGHT FOOT!
The first time we've seen this in about a year

After only one week of casting -- a beautiful sight

Very slight M.A. (metatarsus adductus -- I know, you're jealous) but nothing like it was before

Heel valgus! Not varus! Woo-hoo!

Casting Call: Day #5 ... REALITY CHECK

It's a sight to see, watching Grace zoom around in her clunky cast. She even figured out how to put her toys of choice on a higher surface and then stand to play, heavy leg dangling. Stairs no longer prove to be an obstacle either, as she paid a visit yesterday to my parents upstairs. She's getting around, that's for sure.

But the poor thing had a brutal reality check yesterday, when she informed me of her own prognosis.

"Mommy, I have a cast," she said.
Yes, sweetie, I know and it's beautiful.

"Yeah, and Mommy, the doctor is going to take off my cast ... and then I can RUN!" She raised her arms in the air as she said this, her face beaming and jubilant.

Oh you poor little sweet thing ... yes, he's going to take it off tomorrow, only to turn around and put another one on. No running yet, my dear little one ...

You should have seen her face at this reality check. She was utterly crushed. She just looked at me for a moment after I delivered the unwelcomed news, her huge brown eyes suddenly filling with tears. Then came the cry ... "Mommy, I just want this OFF!"

I wanted to cry right along with her.

Homestyle Olympics (Or: Desperate summer day - not sure what to do with kids ...)

I love the Olympics. I'm actually quite addicted to them. I've said more than once (and I know others share this sentiment) that I can't wait until they're over so I can get a good night's sleep. Any semblance of a bedtime goes out the window when the evening rolls around, for who truly can go to sleep when gymnastics pops on the tube around 11 pm?

Swimming is a favorite of mine, in part because I can't do it myself (at least not very well) and also it's just incredible to watch. Aidan has shown quite a fascination with the sport as well, and we've been "talking it up" to him, perhaps sparking an interest. My boy strikes me as having a "swimmer's body" at his young age, so who knows how he'll develop ...

This afternoon has been one of those summer days where my kids (well, kid-singular, as in Aidan) needs a jolt in the creativity department. So we just staged our own backyard Olympics, with the featured event: the obstacle course. I couldn't get it all in one picture (above) -- the "course" goes down the side yard as well. We've got the slide, a balance beam, crawling action through the tunnel, kicking, hopping, rolling, you name it -- even mowing the lawn for a stretch and scootering down to the finish. It's quite cool, if I do say so myself.

Poor Grace is out due to injury, so she set up her own little island in the middle of the yard and has been cheering on her older brother. She's also the keeper of the timer (although that doesn't always fare so well).

I know, I know -- this is just so terribly creative of me to think of something like this ... and I also know that tens of thousands of backyards across the country look very similar to mine, if not way cooler. Ah, well ... it's my little effort. Now I must go finish up our medals out of cardboard and construction paper: yellow, blue, and red (the closest I could come to metallic shades). The time to beat is 41 seconds, which Aidan set this afternoon. I gave it a run myself at a straight minute (with some clear disadvantages in my court, considering my butt can't fit on the narrow slide, the hole in the "tunnel" is too small ... you get the idea).

Now to glue on some gold leaf ...

Casting Call: Day #4 ... IDENTITY

I won't be going through a day-by-day rundown of our casting experience (or at least, I don't plan on doing so), but things just keeping popping up (so far, at least) that I want to jot down. This one was a real winner ...

OK, so Day #1 was a Novelty, Day #2 was Misery, Day #3 dealt with a broken cast, and yesterday was the cutest of all days: true acceptance of her situation ... and accepting it with a flash of Grace-humor.

My parents had a guest over for dinner last night, a lovely woman who has been praying for us a great deal. Grace and I were spread out in the back yard, on a blanket playing with a Prince and Princess, some Little People, and all the while pretending we were on some island. Jack's houndish baying alerted us to this woman's arrival, so I got up and met her at the gate. We chatted a bit, until I heard her say pitingly, "Ooohhh ... just look ..."

I turned around and there was my little Grace, crawling toward us down the long side yard, an Olympic distance for her, booking at an impressive pace, chunky hot pink leg flying. Her strong little arms dug into the ground as she pulled her hind-end behind her. It was really cute, yet it still breaks my heart to watch her. She crawled up to us and sat down, taking a deep breath.

She then looked up into the face of this visitor and said:

"Hi, I'm Grace ... and I can't walk."

My sweet, sweet girl ...

Mercy

When I have heavy things on my plate, the one thing that usually falls by the wayside is my sense of time. Days meld into each other; I am rarely correct when guessing which day it is. The only days I do get straight are important ones -- in this case, most recently, doctor appointments. Other than that, forget it. Monday, Tuesday, Friday ... one in the same.

This morning, at a very early hour, my doorbell rang. My doorbell never rings unexpectedly. Jack went crazy, howling his houndish howl, my kids jumped up from their toys (well, Aidan jumped while Grace clamored) wondering who was paying us a visit. I opened the front door and was greeted by the most unexpected site.

A policeman!

"Good morning, Ma'am," he said. "Is that your car parked out front?"

I knew it as soon as he said it. My eyes bugged out. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?!" I exclaimed.

He smiled. "Yes," he said. "Would you mind parking on the other side of the street?"

You see, Tuesdays are important days around here, for between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. we are not allowed to park on our side of the street. It's supposedly "street cleaning day" but I can't remember the last time I saw a street cleaner. Every Monday afternoon I remember to move the car to the other side of the street. But you see, I've been in "heavy things on the plate" mode lately, which means I lost all track of time ... and which meant that I completely and utterly forgot it was Tuesday.

I thanked the man profusely. He didn't have to do that, come to my door and remind me of the day. In fact, I didn't even know they did things like that, judging from the tickets I usually see on a weekly basis plastered on various windshields up and down the street. The police around here do seem to be rather ticket-happy, so this kind gesture was completely unexpected.

I quickly put on my flip-flops and ran outside to the car. I saw the same policeman in his patrol car, a few doors up on the other end of the block. There was a white van parked there, and the cop pulled up to the van. I did my thing, finding a spot across the street, and as I walked back to my house the cop drove away ... leaving behind a big pink-ish ticket on the van's windshield.

Why this guy decided to show some mercy to me this morning and not that van ... well, I have no idea. But I sure am grateful.

Casting Call: Day #3 ... Highs & Lows

Day #3 brought something unexpected ...

Broken cast, anyone?

Our little Destructo Kid proceeded to crush her kneecap. Well, not the real kneecap, but the plaster in the knee area. Dented. Smooshed. Pink fiberglass ripped off, white plaster exposed and crumbling. Unbelievable.

Thankfully we can live with a crushing. It hasn't cracked. If the cast breaks, we have a major problem, for that means the correction cannot be maintained. The minute her foot begins to move, we lose every precious moment of correction. So ... we're praying that the plaster will hold! In the meantime, we taped the knee with lovely black duct tape, trying to hold it in place until our appointment on Friday. Hot pink with a black stripe ... utterly tacky.

But that one low is accompanied by a high -- today was the first day that Grace was OK with the cast. She got around fine, indoors and out. She managed to climb up on some furniture, and climb off her tall chair at the kitchen table onto the floor. She even managed to climb up the steps on the back porch, all smiles when she came into the kitchen.

We leave again for PA on Thursday, staying overnight once again with friends in order to make our appointment for 10:15 a.m. Friday morning. We heard some pretty bad stories about the cast saw, terrorizing the poor little kids. A myriad of suggestions have come our way to ease the situation -- headphones for sensitive little ears, a new toy to keep her distracted, a large book to cover her face so she can't see, sunglasses to keep the plaster and fiberglass dust out of her eyes, a wash cloth to clean off the leg before the second cast is put on.

What a day that will be.

Casting Call: Day #2 ... MISERY!

It's a beautiful Sunday morning here in NJ ... and we all feel pretty miserable. Poor Grace had a HORRIBLE day yesterday. It started off so well (that's when I last posted), but by the afternoon I guess the "novelty" of a new cast wore off. She's absolutely miserable and it's breaking my heart. I know she'll plow through it, but it's the "getting through it" that's hard. I can't tell you how many times she just stopped what she was doing, started crying, and begged, "Mommy, PLEASE take this off!" It made me want to cry.

And unfortunately -- being the fallible human being that I am -- it's pushing buttons with me, buttons that I don't like about myself. I feel this sense of impatience when I hear "Mommy! Mommy!" ... I feel this horrible frustration with her, which I know is so totally misplaced. A few times I just had to walk out of the room for a few seconds, even though she was crying, just to breathe. In some ways I feel like I have an infant again, with all this dependency, and I'm finding it difficult to sort of "go backwards."

And the really weird -- and unexpected -- thing is that Grace has sort of gone backwards too, acting like a baby herself. I think it has to do with the need to crawl, like a baby, so her behavior is following suit. She's talking like a baby, her cries even have changed to more of a baby sound. It's so strange, and SO annoying!

I know all this will pass. I know it. I'm just feeling a little down about it all. Plus I have a bad cold, and I'm reeling from exhaustion -- physically, from carrying her heavy self around, as well as emotionally/mentally. Mommy Guilt does kick me in the butt at the same time: "What's wrong with you? Buck up and deal with it - it's not her fault!" It'll pass, I know ...

We're heading off to church in a little while, so it will be really interesting to see how she reacts in nursery with the other kids. I have this funny feeling that she's going to be completely normal -- which means the "act" is all for me. :) We'll see ...

Grace's HOT new fashion accessory!

HOT PINK, that is ...



So what do you think of this latest fashion trend? Lovely, eh? :)

Yesterday was the day, and just being prayed for and thought of and supported completely carried me through. I was exhausted, more so than I've been in a long time. We left on Thursday, spending that day and night with friends. All went wonderfully well until bedtime, when it all came crashing down. We don't go away often, so Grace isn't used to sleeping elsewhere. She had her own sweet little toddler bed, and two hours after she crashed from exhaustion, she woke up crying, and crying, and crying ... and it took hours before she settled back down. Finally she went back to sleep ... until 2:00 a.m. when I heard a loud "THUD," followed by ... "Mmmmoooommmmyyyy!!!!" Yep -- she fell out of bed. It was a rough night for her.

And for me as well. I shared a double bed with Aidan, and all I'll say is this: I PITY his future wife! What a horrible bed companion, thrashing and poking. He slept like a log, and I guess the silver lining was the absence of snoring, but I felt bruised when I got up in the morning, after hours of being jabbed by bony elbows and knees. It's not a great feeling to wake up more tired than when you went to bed.

At 8:30 a.m. we said our farewells and left for the hospital, traveling through a not-so-great Philly neighborhood, and got there in plenty of time. I don't know much about the Shriners, but they certainly are friendly, courteous, and helpful -- each staff person I encountered treated us well. I was thankful.

Time ticked away, oh so slowly ... at 9:30 we were still in the lobby. At 10:00 we could go up to the floor. At 10:30 we were ushered into the examination room (thankfully, a very large one). At 11:00 the doctor came in to talk to us, check her out, etc. He left after about 15-20 minutes, and we waited for the casting. And waited. And waited. Finally, nearly 1:00 p.m. it was Grace's turn. We left the hospital at 1:45, for a tiring 2 hour ride home. It was a long, long long day.

The kids were an absolute dream. They played together so well, we read stories, sang, hardly any complaints or whining. In fact, I heard only one voicing of discontent, from Aidan at 12:45 p.m. My hungry, tired boy (who hadn't had lunch yet) said with a sigh, "Mommy, I'm getting pretty tired of looking at this room." That was it.

Grace did extremely well on all fronts, doing what she was told (walk, run, stand still) and let the doctor touch and bend and manipulate. Her thumb was in her mouth more than I've seen in a while, so I knew she was having some reservations about the whole ordeal, but that little sign was the extent of it. When casting time came, she laid quietly on the table, thumb in her mouth, without making a peep. Every once in a while she'd look up at me (I was standing behind her head, stroking her hair, her cheeks), those outrageously big eyes and long lashes turned to me, and she'd smile. From time to time she'd take her thumb out of her mouth, look at the doctors and say, "I'm OK, doctor. I'm OK" and then pop the thumb back in. My heart melted.

And I have to say, while horns are being tooted here, I was really proud of myself. I don't usually give myself enough credit; I can be strong when I need to be, and our adventure was proof of that. I don't really like to travel lengthy distances by myself, yet I did it. I really despise driving in cities -- especially unknown parts -- yet I navigated with a sense of calm and relative ease. I get tired out pretty easily when I have both kids for an extended period of time, yet oddly enough we all got along and didn't get on each other's nerves. What an extra measure of grace I received, all wrapped up in a pretty hot pink bow.

Today is our first full day of the cast. So far it's going well, and I am praying that this isn't a great novelty that will soon wear off. She does seem to understand that this thing isn't going anywhere. I almost anticipated something like, "OK, Mommy, let's take this off now" after 5 minutes. No, she seems to understand. She loves the color, and I certainly didn't mind granting that obnoxious wish (although I do keep dropping suggestions that she try another color next week, just for fun, of course!). On the ride home I heard the first sounds of discomfort -- I think she had an itch, for she started sounding a bit frantic, "Mommy! Mommy! There are busy bees in there!" Her description for any creepy-crawly-feeling. Every once in a while she'll show some frustration, if she wants to stand or walk. Last night, after our prayers and story time and right before I started singing the nightly tunes, she sighed and said, "Mommy, I just can't dance anymore." :) She's enjoying the fact that she can crawl, just like a baby (but unfortunately I'm beginning to hear some baby sounds along with it). All in all, so far so good ... for the First Day.

A little trooper who's making it work

Tonight is bath night. Now THAT will be interesting!

Big Day Comin' Up

OK, so I'm feeling a whirlwind of thoughts/feelings/emotions right about now, as we embark on another a twist in this path of life. Tomorrow we leave for PA, ready to start Grace's casting and treatment for her relapsed clubfoot. I plan on leaving right after lunch, with the hope that Grace will catch a few zzz's on the way down. We're staying with dear friends of ours -- two little girls and a "baby," now a year old, whom we haven't even met yet. It will be a wonderful reunion.

Friday morning, bright and early, we leave for Shriner's Hospital -- a new place for me, for all of us. I only know two things about the Shriners: they do fabulous charity work, and they act silly in parades. The hospital is only about a half hour away from our friends' house, but it's in an area of the city of which I'm not that familiar. I'm a nervous driver when it comes to charting unknown territories, so I need a calm heart in just getting there.

Interestingly, my feelings are a bit different than when we first started this Clubfoot Gig when Grace was born. I was a wreck then, so full of fear and sadness. I cried buckets of tears -- for my child with a deformity, and yes, for me, a mom who just didn't want to deal with something like this. I wanted a cute, cuddly baby whom I could snuggle in my arms -- not get constantly jabbed with a heavy, awkward cast. Sure, it might sound selfish now, but the feelings at the time were honest.

There were so many unknowns then. I didn't know much about clubfoot, nor did I really want to. Too much information can overwhelm me, so in order to stay composed and relatively at ease I chose not to learn too much, and just trust the doctor. Mistake #1, I guess. I can't blame him for the relapse; that could have happened regardless of the best treatment. But it's hard not to look back now and see the missteps along the way.

But here we are, today, looking forward. A part of me is rather ... excited, perhaps? ... to just get this thing going. Not excited in an "oh, boy, Christmas is here!" kind of way, but more in a pumped up Nike "Just Do It!" mentality. Her foot has gotten noticeably worse over this month and a half, and I hate looking at it. It hurts me to look at it. How she walks, how she runs -- she scrunches her toes underneath and runs on the top/side of her foot. So hard to explain, so hard to watch. It needs to be fixed, now, so just DO IT.

Yet I'm sad ... for her, for me. I don't want to go through this again -- the casting, the brace, the looming potential of surgery, the what if's. Thankfully, my journey as whole has taught me a lot of things, mostly to toss those "what if's" right out the window, and that applies to this scenario as well. She's such a crazy, fun, carefree child who runs like the proverbial wind. It's going to be difficult to approach this interruption in her little life. It's going to hurt to watch her struggle to get around; it's going to tug at my heart to hear her cries of frustration. Oh, I'm sure she'll figure it all out sooner or later, but the adjustment will be a challenge.

A new "clubfoot mom" friend emailed me the most encouraging letter yesterday, having gone through all of this with her 5-year-old son -- the relapse, the casting, even surgery (and yes, even having started out with the same doctor!). She understood that talking to a 3-year-old about this can be difficult, if not impossible. They have no context, no framework in which to understand what's going on. I can't say "Grace, you're going to have a cast on your leg," for what does she know about casts? So this mom emailed me several pictures of her son when he was casted, sitting in his little wheelchair, standing up, moving around, SMILING. I sat Grace on my lap, told her about this little boy, pointed out what her feet look like now, how one is straight and one is curved, showed her the cast.

"Ooooohhhhhh," she said thoughtfully. "Is that little boy OK?"
Yes, he's fine -- and you will be too.

Later on, when the kids were sitting at the kitchen table, Grace grabbed a thick rubber band and started pulling it up onto her leg, fitting it snuggly on her skinny calf. "Look, Mommy!" she said, smiling. "This is my cast!"

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Dear Lord, heal my precious child. Give us courage and strength and patience to jump through the necessary hoops to get to the point of wholeness, for it can be done.

A Day of Delightful Thievery

Moving on from "Red Coats" to the Civil War, this weekend has proved to be quite a foray into military history for my little ones. Today was a dream-day for me, as we braved all of the unknowns and took our kids to a Civil War re-enactment.

Our bachelor neighbor, John, has portrayed a Confederate soldier for many years and is, clearly, quite the Civil War fanatic. He owns several original, period weapons, several different uniforms and/or suits of clothing (depending on his particular character for a particular re-enactment), as well as all the authentic reproduction gear you could possibly imagine. A few weeks ago John told us of an upcoming event of which he was participating -- a re-enactment on Governor's Island, off the coast of Manhattan, featuring Civil War prisoners (of which he played an officer), and he invited us to come. Dare we do it? We tried visiting a re-enactment a few months ago with semi-success -- interest at the start, which waned quickly once Aidan saw the Toy Tent. But this event would be fairly hard core for our little ones, involving their first ride on a "big, big boat" (the ferry), several hours on the island ... would their interest hold?

Ah, it held -- and then some. They were enthralled. The drive into the city alone, across the George Washington Bridge, elicited much excitement and shouts of joy. Passing Yankee Stadium, watching a small pontooned airplane land on the East River, helicopters galore, all lent a hand to an exciting start to our day. And the ferry ... oh! A ride on Santa's sleigh couldn't have held more ecstasy for them, as Aidan pointed out the well-known sites of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. My spirits were absolutely soaring -- not only for my own enjoyment of the trip, but soaking up their own little rays of astounding joy.

Once we disembarked, we walked around a bit, followed the poor bedraggled Confederate soldiers into the prison, talked a while with the guards. After a while we found our friend, "Mr. John," and his friend "Miss Rachel" who was working as the laundress for the prison. I actually learned quite a bit about that particular "social history," what life was like for these people. I enjoyed my time of relaxing chat ... until I noticed my kids had wandered off. Look for a bright pink dress and red shorts ... pink and red ... pink and red ...

"It's OK!" I heard a voice call to me from the top of the grassy hill. "They're up here with us. It's OK!"

It was a smartly dressed Union officer, waving at me and pointing downward at two little heads standing by his tent. Phew. Well, at least my kids: 1) safe, and 2) were still very interested, moving on to the next thing to see and learn ...

I joined them at the encampment as the kids tried out each little tent, checking out the bedrolls and gear, even rifling through one of the boxes of personal belongings. The soldiers were great, thoroughly enjoying my kids' interest and inviting them to look and touch and experience. Now that's how you learn about history! "What is this? What is this?" my kids asked repeatedly, and the soldiers engaged them in such a wonderful, kid-friendly way. I was beyond happy.

Then amongst the little pup-tents they finally spied it -- the big tent. They made a dash for what turned out to be the officer's tent, and the officer heartily welcomed them in. He was seated at his makeshift portable desk and once again invited them to look and ask and touch. Then it happened. I knew something like this would happen. And I knew it would be ... GRACE.

After rifling through the poor man's desk, pulling out ink wells and papers and pens, her bright, alert eyes settled on something that piqued her interest. Quick as lightening she scooted to the other side of the table. There, next to a candle, was a small cloth napkin. And next to the napkin was a small tin plate. And on the plate was ... hardtack. Disgusting, dry, leaden, tasteless crackers. She looked at the plate. She raised her long-lashed eyes briefly to the soldier. Her little hand reached out ...

And she ate it!

Oh! I have one of those kids! She ate the prop! I was beginning to feel quite mortified -- "Oh, Gracie, NO!" -- when the soldiers began to roar with laughter. They were smitten with my little girl, and were absolutely delighted. The look on her face brought on another round of guffaws, for who indeed would actually choose to eat hardtack? Then, in a typical 3-year-old fashion, she then put it back on the plate (horrors!). Her brother, not wanting to be left out, picked up her half-gnawed piece and finished it off. Ah, my little soldiers ...

The rest of the day was delightful. We listened to a fascinating artillery presentation -- not usually my "thing" but it was just so well done and intriguing -- after which they fired the big gun, eliciting a "Oh! cool!" out of Aidan and a "I don't like that big boom!" out of Grace. By that point my kids were flagging, hungry and hot and tired and Aidan finally said, "I think it's time to go home." We ate our PB&J sandwiches and grapes by the waterfront (while Don downed his prescribed mush -- actually, this time a tasty homemade fruit smoothie, smuggled in an old mayonnaise jar), boarded the ferry, and headed back home.

What a glorious day.
And I will never, ever forget my daughter stealing a soldier's hardtack, and these big burly men just smitten with a little girl with huge shining eyes.

"It's RED Coats, See?"

My kids are playing so well today, I can't stand it! They've got the Power Rangers out, all over the living room floor, but it's the conversation that's cracking me up. Here's a snippet of what they're saying:

Aidan: "OK! Here come the Red Coats!"
Grace: "Huh?"

A: "The Red Coats! Watch out for the Red Coats, here they come!"
G: "Let's go to the mountains!"

A: "No, no, no -- watch out for the Red Coats! Get some help!"
G: "OK."

A: "Grace, here they come! Here come the Red Coats!"
G: "They're crocodiles!"

A: "No, Grace, they're Red Coats."
G: "Oh ... it's winter?"

A: "No, Grace, it's not 'red coats' ... It's 'RED Coats' ... see?"
G: "Oh." [pause] "Let's eat lunch."
A: "No lunch. We have to get the Red Coats."
G: "Stop that squeamishness!"
A: "No! Onward! We have an important mission!"

I don't know why ... this stuff just makes me laugh.

Precious Gifts

For not blogging much, I have managed to sneak in my third post today! :) I just received my digital proofs of the kids' "photo shoot" and couldn't resist posting them here. Oh, how I love these little ones ...

It's Nice to Be Missed

Over the past few days, I received more than one comment along these lines: "Hey, you haven't blogged much in a while. Why not?"

So true. It's not "writer's block" -- just life, I guess. Writing -- or the drive to do so -- can come in spurts. And right now any spurty energy I have is constantly directed elsewhere. So here's a nutshell view of what's going on in my corner of the globe:

- Grace, Grace, Grace: we're making progress! In the span of a month and a half, we have wiped our hands of our former doctor; we have interviewed new ones and wiped our hands of them too; we hit some brick walls and then found a few chinks to break through. We've learned more about clubfoot in one month than the entire three years put together. We decided to shoot for the moon -- or rather, Iowa -- and contacted Dr. Ponseti himself for help. While we had to forego the invitation for treatment in Iowa (for many reasons), we were relieved to receive a recommendation of a doctor who is a bit closer to home. Yes, travel is involved once more, but at least it's not as far as Iowa. It feels so good to have that decision made and behind us; it feels so good to finally begin to move forward.

So where are we now? Well, next Thursday the kids and I hop in the car for a road trip and plan on a fun sleep-over at the home of some friends. Friday morning Grace has her first appointment with her new doctor, where I'm sure we'll do a lot of talking and then she will get her first cast -- heavy plaster, full leg all the way up to her hip, both knee and foot bent at some pretty unnatural angles. It will be more than a challenge, as she will not be able to "walk" in the way that she knows. We'll see how she figures it all out. In the meantime, I'm looking into a pediatric wheelchair and walker for her, as well as acquiring a handicap tag for our car. Every little bit helps.

And then what? Ah, who knows. This relapse phase is truly a "wait and see" ordeal. She'll get a few casts, probably weekly (lots o' traveling and gas consumption, ugh!) and then we see how she responds. If she does well, then she'll need physical therapy and a brace for a year. If she doesn't do as well as we hope, then we're looking at surgery. But that's down the road a bit. I've got enough on my path right now than to start thinking about that.

- In just a few weeks' time, my boy will celebrate his 6th birthday. I keep forgetting about this, and I have a feeling it's going to sneak up on me. I'd better get on the ball -- he's a big boy now and won't let my inadequacies slide by so easily. Fooling him isn't easy anymore. :)

- Grace and potty training? Ain't happening.

- Don was rushed (or rather, rushed himself) to the ER after getting a gigantic piece of meat stuck in his esophagus. I'll spare the nasty details, but 12 hours after the initial lodging, he underwent a "procedure" to evict the offending food item. He's sore and his body is rebelling. Why? Because he was issued this command: eat only MUSH for 2 weeks. "Mush" and "Don" do not go well together. He's miserable, eating his pureed breakfast-lunch-dinner. Steak-and-potatoes-and veggies in a blender just don't satisfy like the real thing. Poor guy.

- I watched the Lord of the Rings Trilogy back to back in a 3-day marathon. I saw them all, a few years apart, way-back-when in the theaters, but immersing myself this way in Tolkien's masterpiece was ... other-worldly. Those battle scenes were myriad and exhausting to watch, but my goodness, what a story. It's pretty awesome.

- We made our annual trek to JCPenney for Grace's portrait, a tradition we started when the kids were born. Last year was horrible, as I had mentioned earlier. But this year was beyond delightful! Grace was just incredible, and to give credit where it's due, the photographer was a joy to work with, letting Grace do her own thing while she snapped away. The results were fantastic and utterly beautiful. Then we decided to do something new -- what the heck, throw both kids in there! What we witnessed was pure love in action. The kids smiled at each other, giggled, hugged, all while the photographer snapped away. We watched a perfect photo shoot in action, and I thought my heart would burst.

- I'm getting quite emotional about my boy starting school next month. We've been getting correspondence from the school now on a regular basis -- a nice introductory letter from his new teacher, a note from the principal, a list of the items we must purchase for him. We already bought a back-pack and lunch box (insulated bag, really) and I smiled at the rest of the list: 8-pack of crayons, 2 pencils, an art shirt, glue stick, etc. My boy will be gone all day ... all day, riding off for the first time on a bus. I will be shedding buckets of tears, you can bet on that.

Ahhhh ... yes. So this is why I haven't been blogging much. Life is life, I guess. My life is full ... and happy. Yes, happy. I am content with where I am. While I'm not thrilled about these medical issues taking up our time and concerns, they're here nonetheless and they will make our lives exciting, to say the least. I enjoy each and every day, and I feel truly blessed. Today is a good day -- maybe in part because I had the chance to blog and catch up. :) And now I depart once again, to put together a few sandwiches: peanut butter and jelly for Grace, and Aidan's "Special Sandwich," as he calls it -- a slice of ham, a slice of turkey, topped with a slice of cheese and placed in the toaster oven until lightly melted. He's a particular one. :)

So thanks for asking about my blog, and where I've been.
It's nice to be missed.
Life is mind-whirling.
But it's good.

I am in LOVE!

Yes.
This is correct.
Isn't this the most BEAUTIFUL thing you've ever seen?
I am in love ... with my "new" (thanks, Craigslist!) dishwasher.

Saturday Snapshots

A low-key day today ... somewhat, anyway. Saturdays are usually catch-up days. This morning we are getting Grace's portrait taken at JC Penney -- a tradition we started with each of our kids when they born: one baby picture, then one taken each year. Last year's episode was a complete and utter disaster, so I am praying for much smoother sailing today! I'm also hoping to see if I can get a shot of both kids together, something we haven't done yet (at least not professionally). Aidan has this thing of feeling left out, so this might placate him.

I took a few fun, random photos recently and wanted to post them, just for fun -- to remind myself that in all of the chaos and weighty times of life, there is indeed quite a bit of fun to be had.

Every day can be Halloween

No comment necessary

Channeling Elvis ... or ... something ...

Would you believe one little girl could make this one big mess?
Yup.

"Friday Five" of the outdoor variety

Once again, a fun "Friday Five" borrowed from my friend's blog -- perfect for these carefree summer days ...

1. Did you go to sleep away camp, or day camp, as a child? Wish you could? Or sometimes wish you hadn't?

The whole "sleep away" camp thing was never really done when I was kid, or now even. I really don't anyone who does this kind of thing in our area. Don went to them, however, in the Poconos -- basketball camp, Bible camp, etc. However, when I was a child I attended our church group called "Calvinettes" (yes, we CRC-ers come up with great names!) -- kind of like the Girl Scouts, but within our CRC denomination. Once a year, if I'm not mistaken, there would be a 1- or 2-night getaway at a camp of some kind, once you reached a certain age. I know I went one year; I don't think I ever went back. I HATED IT. WITH A PASSION. For those of you who know me -- and know me well -- this shouldn't be a surprise. Homesick? Yes. Having a desire to hang out with catty little girls? No. The older girls were horrible, scaring us younger ones on purpose -- telling stories of girls who got kidnapped in the woods, the whole coke-and-aspirin, or coke-and-pop rocks death stories, etc. I cried when I left; I cried when my parents picked me up. I think my dad felt sorry for me, and missed me, because he gave me a gift when I got back: a necklace with a little heart pendant, complete with a rainbow and tiny fake diamond. I still have that necklace in my dresser -- for Grace, some day.

2. How about camping out? Dream vacation, nightmare, or somewhere in between?

When I was a baby my parents owned a pop-up trailer, and for the first couple of years of my life we would go camping. I don't remember any of that, other than seeing myself on my dad's old slides, usually covered with mosquito bites. They sold the camper when they discovered my oldest brother, Steve, was allergic to ... well, everything outdoors. That was that.

Camping as an adult? Love it. Don and I used to go camping quite a bit, before we had kids. We had some fabulous experiences and adventures, but we had a consistent run of bad luck when it came to our actual camping location. Smokey Mountains: neighbors to a group of drunken men who sat out and drank until 5:00 a.m. Kentucky: neighbors to a group of drunken men (although that time we asked if we could trade our camp site, which we did). You get the idea.

3. Have you ever worked as a camp counselor, or been to a camp for your denomination for either work or pleasure?

Camp Counselor? Nope. I don't like camps, remember?

4. Most dramatic memory of camp, or camping out?

Ohhhh ... so many. Smokies: not only did we have raucous drunken men next door, but the skies opened up in a dramatic downpour which lasted for hours on end. Then we spent the next day hiking the mountains -- 5,000 ft and climbing swiftly -- only to run out of water. Thankfully we found a hidden spring of the freshest, most delicious ice cold water ... Beautiful. And the scenery was unsurpassed. Kentucky: After moving our campsite to a more remote location, I got soooo sick. I believe it was a combination of many hours of driving (I don't do long distance driving too well) plus canned chili for dinner. Later, after more driving and another campsite, we found a map and plotted our hiking course -- a 6-hour hike, over a rope bridge (yikes!), lots of fascinating sights, ending up at a gorgeous waterfall. Turns out the map was ... WRONG. Rope bridge, yes (scary!). Fascinating sights? Only mile after mile of leafy terrain. Humidity enough to rival the Amazon. Horse flies (or some biting variety). Dead end after dead end. And -- no waterfall.

5. What is your favorite camp song or songs? Bonus points if you link to a recording or video.

OK, hate camp. Hate it. So "camp songs" sort of fall into that category as well. I can give you a list of all the camp songs I despise, beginning with "It Only Takes a Spark." :)

We had a fabulous, 4-person tent for all of these years. But then as we were packing up our stuff for our final move from PA back to NJ over a year ago, we came across our tent in the basement of the rectory. Something so hideous HAD DIED IN IT! We just threw the tent out. Maybe someday we'll try it all again ...

That's What Love Is

Have you ever wondered if there's a way to measure the love that you have for your child? During those days when a bad attitude prevails, when the scrapping seems nonstop, when you need to leave the presence of your child or else something regretfully might be said or done ... In those moments I think we take our little ones quite for granted. Sure we love them, but in that moment?

So just how can you possibly measure the love that you have for them? Of course there's no real measure, but you can get a glimpse.

Just lose him (or her) for a while.

I felt that this morning. Aidan has been attending VBS (Vacation Bible School) at a neighborhood church this past week, picked up and dropped off every day by Jacie and her kids. He loves it, and practically leaps out the door when Jacie arrives. I'm so happy to see him go, to see his enthusiasm. It makes me smile.

This morning -- the last day -- he was all ready to go. "I'm going to take a peek out on the porch, to see if Miss Jacie's here," he said to me. OK -- fine. I was finishing up a morning chore.

A few minutes passed and I thought of something I wanted to tell Aidan. I yelled his name but was met with silence. I yelled again. Nothing. I went out onto the front porch, figuring he just couldn't hear me.

He wasn't there.

I yelled his name again a few times -- like that would suddenly make him appear from behind a chair or something stupid like that. My heart began to hurt and thud with more force. It didn't take long for the tears to come.

Where is he?! Why isn't he on the porch?!

The rational side of me -- the one that was trying to tell me that Jacie probably came and he just left without saying good-bye -- was drowned out by the panic. My boy, my boy ... where is he?!

I called Jacie's cell phone, but it must have been turned off. I left a tearful message.
I called her house but no one answered. I left another tearful message.
I tried to talk to Grace -- what was I thinking? She's not conversational -- at least not in the way that I wanted her to be at that moment.

Grace, did Aidan go out the door?
Yes.
Grace, are you sure Aidan left?
Yes.
Who did he go with?
Yes.
Did he go with Miss Jacie?
Yes.
Did he go with Pastor Andy?
Yes.

Sheesh -- talk about futile. I was in full-fledged crying mode now and could not, at all, calm down. 10 minutes passed. 15 minutes. Minutes where all I could manage was to hold the phone and look out the window -- but at what was beyond me. What in the world did I expect to see, anyway?

At the 20 minute mark, something logical inside of me kicked in. I found the phone number for the church online and called them. The secretary answered, I cried and garbled out his name. She went to look for him and sure enough, he was there. Would I like to speak with him? she asked kindly. No, there's no point. Not now, anyway. You can bet we'll have quite a conversation when he comes home, though.

Lose your child for a few minutes, and you'll face some kind of test of your love.
Mine flowed like a raging river, panic and all.