He Changed My Story

Well, lots have happened since my last post but the biggest event is that my dad suffered a hemorrhagic stroke last Thursday.  Because I'm a bit drained physically/emotionally, I thought I could just cut and paste the story here instead of recapping it again...

UPDATE on dad:

First of all, we wanted to thank you for all the support we were shown through phone calls, emails, visits, food, prayers, etc. God, in his provision, prepares the way for all situations-good or bad. We have experienced such great love from our friends and family in the good times but during the lowest points, we were shown a love like no other. Thank you so much for being God's comfort to us!

What happened:

On Thursday night, I had fallen asleep while putting Ava to bed.Mike Lee, was downstairs working on his sermon when he heard my dad calling for me. He went upstairs and found my dad on the floor of his bedroom. My dad had lost all ability to use both his legs and his left arm and had fallen on his way to the bathroom. At this point, Mike woke me up and told me that there was something terribly wrong. Even though my dad had lost use of his limbs, he wanted to take tylenol and sleep it off thinking he was just tired. Thankfully, a good friend of ours advised us to call 911. Dad was taken to Northwest Community hospital where a CAT scan showed that he had suffered a hemorrhagic stroke, otherwise known as a bleeding stroke. A blood vessel had ruptured in his brain. His blood pressure was also very high which was dangerous because it could cause another rupture or force more blood into the brain. When the doctors assessed him that night, he was paralyzed on his left side and we were told that only time could tell what the damage was.

The great news is, by this morning, my dad is moving his left arm and leg and is regaining sensation in his limbs! My prayer throughout this whole time was that God would make a way, if it was his will, for my dad to recover in such a way that the doctors would be amazed! Sure enough, his neurosurgeon and neurologist couldn't believe the progress he had made in the few short days since the stroke. Praise God! We are hopeful that he will make a full recovery, all glory to God!

We're still in shock at the fact that
1) he had a stroke and
2) he is recovering so quickly. 

It's almost unreal that all of this is happening. We've been running on little sleep and pure adrenaline, but we're thankful for the experiences we've gone through as a family.

What if:

Of course, as we look back a the entire situation, we see how God's hand was on us the whole time. Here's how in just 3 ways:

1) Mike wanted to go to sleep at 10:00 but he had taken a nap earlier that day and decided to work a bit longer.

If Mike had fallen asleep early, no one would have heard my dad calling. My dad would probably have woken up Gwen and because we are in the midst of sleep training her, she would have masked his voice even more. Because his blood pressure was so high, the rupture would probably have bled more which would have been fatal. 

2) When my dad told us that he would rather sleep off the pain than to go to the hospital, we called an ambulance instead.

If we listened to my dad and let him "sleep it off," his high blood pressure would have caused more bleeding which would have led to death or severe damage to his brain.

3) When my dad asked me for tylenol, I went to the pantry and grabbed the first pain med I found which happened to be Ibuprofen and not Aspirin which is what we usually have.
If I had grabbed the Aspirin instead of the Ibuprofen, it would have caused him to bleed more because it is a blood thinning medication. Again, this would have been devastating.

Although we don't live life thinking of what could be, I'm reminded that God is in control of our lives and each breath we breathe is not without his knowledge and providence.

*My dad will be transferring to Alexian Brothers Rehabilitation hospital to begin therapy in a few days. If you could please pray that he would continue to make great progress during the next weeks as the window of opportunity for optimal recovery happens within the first 3 months of a stroke. Thank you again for your support in the form of prayers and acts of service and love. We are blessed. Truly.

Although we were all running around like crazies the past few days, the ones that were affected the most were probably the kids.  A and G were carted around, left with babysitters, told to "shush" at the hospital, etc., etc.  G was inconsolable when she wasn't with me and A was grieving in her own way.  She was distracted by unexpected visitors like her uncles (Dave and Nehemiah) but she must have felt the tension in the air because when it was time to drop her off at school today, she was a crying mess.  She normally sings the whole way to school out of excitement but today she sobbed.  I could hardly detach her from my body when it was time for her to go inside.  Just like how an animal can usually sniff out danger, it seemed like A was on high alert.  Finally, her teacher was able to distract her enough for me to slip out.  When I looked back, I saw that she was still crying...

I'm a tiger mom in many ways, but one thing that breaks me is when I see A crying.  I have a hard time walking away from her when she's sad.  I know.  I know.  I have to learn to let her figure things out on her own but I'm not sure why her (sad) tears causes my, other-wise, tough mommy exterior to crumble.  

Perhaps it's because I think she's cried enough for a life time from all of the medical hurdles she's had to jump in her short life.  

Perhaps it's because she is so undemanding, agreeable, and positive that when I see (sad) tears, it must be bad.  (Notice I keep saying "sad" tears.  The other kinds of tears she produces are usually ignored or simply shown the "no sympathy" face).

Anyway, I walked back to my car feeling uneasy.

Fast forward 1.5 hours later and we were on our way to pick A up from school.  (Her school day is very short and it is very inconvenient because that amount of time allows absolutely no room to do anything.  Sometimes I'll just sit in my car and wait.  Very, very inconvenient.)

M and I both got out of the car and met A as she ran up to hug us.  She was in a great mood!  We buckled her in and asked her how her day was.  The conversation went like this:

M: Did you cry the whole time?

A: No, just in the beginning.

M: How did you stop crying?  Did the Lord help you?

A: Yes.

M: How did he help you?

A:  He changed my story.

"He changed my story."  What an absolute profound truth uttered from the lips of my child.  Her faith allows her to see God with an unadulterated lens.  He is a game changer.  "God can do anything," she often reminds us.  And here, again, was proof that she was relying on Him in ways that are still hard for me to do after 20 or so years of faith. 

Indeed, He has changed our story. Not just in the miraculous way my dad survived his stroke with minimal impairment, but the way God changes the life story of every believer. 

We are no longer lost, but are found.

We are no longer dead, but alive.

We are no longer sinners, but saints.

We are no longer sad, but we rejoice.

We are no longer hopeless, but filled with hope.

We are no longer orphans, but adopted and loved.

Our story is no longer tragic, but it is a testimony of faith, hope, and love.

Thank you for reminding me of this truth today, A.  Your sensitive spirit and wisdom speak to my heart in powerful ways.  I continue to treasure these moments I have with you.  

Now if only you would give me some room to digest before you slam me with another biblical truth.  I'm just not as spiritually mature as you are so relax, girl.  Can you just go make some mud pies or something while I catch my breath? 

Second Child Syndrome

I was warned.

But no warnings, advice, tips, etc, can prepare you for how guilty you will feel when the second child is born.  It's not immediate, but more like a gradual slip into a hot scalding tub of guilt.  Because the inequality  between the two is great and it's unfair; no one will argue that.  There are the obvious reasons why we feel bad for baby #2: less pictures, hand me downs, and lack of excitement at all the baby's "firsts."  But there's actually a lot more that set kid #1 and kid #2 apart.

Here's my list:

A

Has a professional photo album with photos from birth through the present bound up in a hardcover book.

G

Has a photo album made of flimsy stuff that I scored off of groupon for really cheap.  Oh, and Ava is in most of her pictures.

A

Has at least one new item of clothing/shoes/accessory every month.

G

The last time she got something new was when...I don't remember.

A

Had too many Christmas presents to count.

G

I could count the gifts she got on my two hands...but I only need one hand.  Actually, one finger will do.

A

Still gets one of us to sleep with her at night.

G

Sleeps in her own room and in her own crib with loneliness as her only friend.

A

Gets fed 3 meals and several snacks a day.

G

Have to remind everyone (including myself) that she eats meals now.  Her need for survival has caused her to adapt to the situation by learning to say "MAMA!!!!" every time she sees food.

A

Has many many pictures taken with my really really nice camera.

G

Most of the scant pictures that were taken of her were shot with the camera on my phone.

A

We read to her every night.

G

Not so much. (This has to do with her absolute disinterest in books. But that could be due to the fact that we didn't really start reading to her until last month.).

A
Has a journal that I began writing in before her birth and every few weeks since then.
G
Has a journal that I began writing in when she turned 8 months.  I meant to write some retroactive entries with fake dates but that plan didn't seem feasible after I accidentally wrote down the actual date of my first entry.  I thought it would look fishy if either I 1)scratched out the real date to put a fake date--one that was closer to day of her birth or 2) the entries following that first entry had (fake) dates that were before the date of the first entry.  This is getting confusing.  See, another reason not to lie.  Lying can get messy.

So the question remains...Do we love the second one less?

God knows this is not the case.  I mentioned in a previous post that my heart used to be small...only big enough for one person - me.  Then M came along and my heart grew and I thought that it would burst because it was so full.  Naivety.

When I got pregnant with A, M, and I would talk about how important it was for couples to stay strong and continue loving each other and putting each other first when this tiny "game changing" creature came along.  Because we heard one too many stories about how children took over the lives of innocent unsuspecting couples and we saw way too many zombie eyed parents having conversations solely about what their kids ate, how many times they went to the potty, and how many naps they took and for how long those naps lasted.

We'd say naive things like, "If I had to choose between the baby and you, I'd choose you" to a myriad of what-if situations.

"If the doctor said I had to choose between you or the baby in a life-death labor situation, I'd choose you because we could always have more babies but you are irreplaceable."

"If the family was drowning, and I had to choose between you, the children, or the dog, I would save you first."  (I always threw in the dog as a way of softening the blow to the fact that the children were second because, hey, at least they were going to be saved before the dog!  No offense to dog lovers.

We asked arbitrary "test" questions that young couples ask to prove their love to one another and we passed with flying colors.

But, we obviously didn't KNOW love until the baby came along because the answers now would almost unequivocally be "SAVE THE CHILD!"  It's not because we love each other less, but because we love our kids more.  No, just kidding.  That's not really what it is, even though it might seem like it.

It's actually an inexplicable thing.  Something just happens when you become a parent.  That child is a part of you and nothing can even compare.  And although it might seem that spouses take second seat, kids can actually GROW the love between husband and wife...most of the time.  You know that heart bursting love I described between M and I during our pre-parent years?  It's incomparable to the love we have now, for each other and for our kids.

Lots of things grow when you have a child.  Bellies grow - obviously for moms but also for the dads who gain "sympathy" pounds.  Expenses grow because diapers don't grow on trees.  Cars grow because once you realize that the car seat won't fit inside the 2 door coupe, the subsequent cars get much larger while the cool factor shrinks considerably. The mess around the house grows.  Even mold grows because you're just too busy to clean.  But the most amazing thing of all is that LOVE grows.  It grows and grows and grows.  The heart that was once only big enough for one person grows SO pregnant with love but instead of popping it actually stretches and makes room for as many as it needs to.

So, back to the original question.  Do we love the second child less?

Absolutely not.

Does it seem like the above statement is a lie?

Absolutely.  So let me explain what I think is the reason behind the "baby #2 blues."

The second baby gets jipped.  Always.  I won't minimize the pain of all the second born children out there (me included).  But it's not because we are loved less.  It's because parents are human.  We run on our own strength, our own intentions, our own motivations.  There is little strength left when you have two kids to feed, clothe, bathe, play with, yell at...I mean lovingly rebuke, read to, yadda, yadda.  We are just plain tired.  The bags under my eyes aren't just from the smeared make-up.  It's actually semi-permanent war wounds from battling out long sleepless nights of diaper changes, night feeds, and self induced insomnia from wanting to have some down time after the kids go to sleep.

Our intentions are short lived because...well, just because they are.  I intended to buy a new battery charger so that I could take pictures of G with something better than the camera on my smart phone. I intended to take videos of her that were not all choppy from using, again, my phone.  I intended to write in her journal more than the 3 entries I have so far.  I intended to look through the 12-18 month clothes bins so that I could replace her holey, too short, too tight clothes with ones that actually fit.  (This is sort of on her though because, really, she's only 10 months old.  Someone please tell me why she can't fit into anything smaller than a 12 month outfit. What is going on, G.  Why are you in the 95th percentile of a standard used to measure CAUCASIAN babies?!)

Anyway, the point is, no matter how badly you want to carry out some of your intentions, sometimes they just fizzle out.

We are motivated to treat the second child as well as, or even better than, the first knowing that it's just not right that they get the hand-me-downs in life.  But it's like training for a race, we might do really well for a day/week/month and then we lose the motivation.  Is it because we don't love the sport anymore?  No, it's because we're lazy and the couch looks more comfortable than the pavement.

So, all you second children out there, don't worry, you are loved!  It's just that your parents are lazy bums.  Get rid of all the baggage that comes with being a second child and go conquer the world!  Who knows, maybe when you become a parent you'll be able to treat your second child the right way...Or maybe you'll just end up like the rest of us.

(Despite all the examples I gave above, G, you are an exception to the second child syndrome.  I'm not just saying this because I am writing this blog for you and I don't you to be traumatized, but because you have one loud set of vocals and you always make sure your voice is heard.  I love that about you.  Keep roaring away and fight hard for the attention that rightfully belongs to you.  God knows you've got some stiff competition in the form of your sister!)

The Best Years Pic #1

Candid photo at Costco

A is a sweetheart.  I'm sure you got that from all my posts on her.  But this is just a double shot of sugar. G kept snuggling (or losing control of her rotund body) into A during our long Costco run.  (It wasn't supposed to take forever but I kept getting sidetracked by the food samples.)  Instead of pushing the baby away, A put her arm around her and patted her head.  Love.

(Unwelcome) Valentine Surprises

Happy Valentine's Day!

Guess what we found in A's school bag today!  She brought home some great valentines and a nice and friendly letter from the nurse saying there is...a case of LICE in the classroom!!!

Okay, I'm a teacher so I know what the drill is regarding lice. You find a case of lice in the class. You frantically call the nurse as you begin to get very paranoid about everyone that is standing next to you.  You have EVERY single kid's hair checked.  You secretly freak out and think about everyone you leaned over that day as your long (untied) hair unknowingly touched their lice infested heads.  And then you write home a very nice and friendly letter saying that a case of lice has been found in the classroom and that everything will be okay as long as they buy special chemicals to wash out their child's hair, their hair, their husband's hair, the hair of any other children they may have in the house, the blankets, the sheets, the couch, their entire family's wardrobe, and maybe even the house pet.  And parents usually follow directions because, really, who wants to deal with bugs that hide out in the hair.  Ewwww.  

Just the thought of lice makes me itchy.  I'm itching my head as I type.  And I am not feeling calm despite the letter's carefully constructed tips on how to deal with the nasty little things.  

The clincher: A's preschool program has a blog that uploads pictures of the kids from that day.  A's long (untied) hair is in the close vicinity of many other little heads in every single shot.  

Oh, the joys of public education.

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On a more pleasant note: 

Valentine's Day was spent with some quality time at the germ infested playground located inside the mall.  It was so grimy in there that even A was distracted by her sticky hands.  After 10 minutes, she asked me if she could wash her hands.  Gross.  

On the way out from A&W (where we used their washroom without purchasing anything), I saw a balloon artist sitting at the entrance.  I thought A&W hired him as a way of luring in tired parents with promises of happy children and a fun time for all.  I was kind of impressed that A&W knew their stuff.  There are few things more alluring to a child than a balloon...So I asked the guy to make one for A.  

Shameless, I know!  As if it weren't enough that I used A&W's bathroom for free but, now, I was trying to get a balloon for my daughter on their dime.  (I was going to tip him!)  Well, the joke was on me because it turns out he was selling them, not freely passing them out, and the particular flower balloon I wanted was TWO bucks.  So, basically, he was using A&W to get some business from unsuspecting parents that thought they, too, could get a free balloon for their child.  (That is actually genius.)  

And, get this, we didn't even have the joy of watching him create the balloon!  He had a few on the side and just handed us one.  What?!

A was done with the balloon after an hour of sporadic play but I made her drag it around a while longer and then I made her pose for a picture as if it were the greatest thing a girl could ask for.  

They say some things are priceless...like a child's smile.  

Not this one.  This one cost us $2.

Why I talk to my 3 year old about dying...

I am a runner.  Or at least I think I can call myself that.  Yes, my last race had me barely hanging on and it's been 2 years since I've seriously trained for anything.  But, if you count the 15 years before that when running was a BIG part of my life, I think I can say that I know the pain and effort that goes into disciplining the body.

 However, no amount of training can prepare you for racing towards your child when he/she is calling out for help.  In fact, you don't need any kind of background in running to get to your child in record time.  I've learned to hurdle baby gates, clear piles of toys, and take 3 stairs at a time in order to get to one of my babies calling my name.  My reaction times have become quicker all around just by being a parent.  The other day, I caught a grape rolling off the table.  That's not easy.  (OK. It sounds easier than it is but, believe me guys, this was one fast rolling grape.)

Any parent will agree that when we hear the sickening thud of a baby falling off the bed (don't judge; i know you're guilty too) or a feverish child whimpering in the dark we will run, not walk, to the rescue.  Heck, we'd even teleport if needed.

Last night was such a night.  As I was reveling in the fact that both kids were down and I could finally eat some cake and catch up on the news (because that's what i do to find out what the heck is going on around me while I'm busy changing diapers, feeding hungry mouths, and keeping kids from death by electrical shock), I heard it.  It was soft at first.  One or two muffled sounds were enough to make my mommy ears perk up.  Then came the, "Mommy!"  Now this wasn't the tone of "mommy, I have to pee" or "mommy, I had a scary dream."  Those would be dealt simply with a "GO BACK TO SLEEP!"

No, this was the kind that I dread hearing.  I flew up the stairs, and I say "flew" because I don't remember feeling anything under my feet.  I crashed into her room and saw what I hate seeing.  She was squirming, gasping, coughing, and scared.  I gave myself 3 seconds to assess the situation and decide which route I would take: the EPI or the nebulizer.  Was this an allergic reaction?  Should I call 911?  Or should I give her a neb treatment and run the risk of wasting too much time if it wasn't an asthma attack?  Feeling confident that she hadn't eaten anything that she was allergic to, I went with plan B.  I still wasn't sure about my plan knowing that if she was going into shock, I would essentially be allowing her to suffocate to death.

Let me pause here so I can give provide some context for her condition.  A has severe life threatening food allergies.  But more than that, she has a history of anaphylaxis.  Sometimes her condition deteriorates so rapidly that we barely have time to get her help.  And, therefore, one false decision could threaten her life.

Resume.

I grabbed all that I needed for her treatment (in the dark) and turned on the nebulizer.  She fought me the whole time partly because she was still asleep and partly because she was scared.  When you can't breathe, the last thing you want to be is constrained.  I didn't have a choice, as usual, as I wrapped my arms around her and stuck the mask on her face.
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TANGENT alert:  I hate being the one holding my child down.  I hated holding her down for her vaccines when she was a baby.  I hate holding her down when the nurses have to put an IV in and I hate that I'll probably have to hold her down more in the future.
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After a minute or two, she began to relax and I was finally able to talk to her.

"A, are you okay? Can you breath?"
(Nods her head)
"You couldn't breathe, so you were scared?"
(Nods her head again)
"You're okay now. Mama's here."
(Nods her head and falls back asleep)

As I held her, I thought about a conversation I had with my mom a few days ago.  I was running some errands and left A with her.  When I got back, my mom was visibly disturbed.  I asked her what was wrong and she took me into another room to tell me what happened while I was gone.  Apparently, A wanted to play a new game with her, a game called "Heaven."  She wanted to pretend that she was in Heaven and my mom had to look for her there.  My mom began to lecture me about talking to A about dying because, you see, she overhead a conversation I had with A just that morning.

"A, remember not to eat anything that has dropped on to the counter.  Only eat what's on your plate."
"Why?  Because I could die?"
"Yes, because you could die...But you don't have to be scared of death.  Remember, this is not our home.  We're just staying here for a little bit. Heaven is our real home."
"But I don't have a room in Heaven.  Where would I live?"
"You have a room there, A.  Mommy, Daddy, G, Halmonee, Halabujee, we all have rooms there. And even if one of us goes there first, we can wait for each other.  We can look for each other in Heaven."
"Oh!!  I can look for you when I get there!!"

Yes, this is the very conversation my mom was referring to and some of you might agree that I probably shouldn't talk about dying with my 3 year old daughter.  I would have said the same thing if I didn't have the life experiences that God, in His infinite wisdom, allowed me to have.  But, I know better now than to judge.  You see, I have very good reasons to talk about death with my daughter.  Here are just three of those reasons.

1)  It's a reality

“In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”- Benjamin Franklin

Well said, Ben.  Death is inevitable.  In A's life, premature death is a harsh reality.  Her doctors are so concerned for her life that they cautioned us to adopt a "new normal" as soon as possible.  What is that, you may ask?   A "new normal" means that A doesn't ask if she can have a cookie.  She asks what is in the cookie.  I don't ask her if she's washed her hands before dinner.  She asks me if I've washed my hands before I give her any food.  I usually can't get away with giving her a kiss without her asking if I ate any "itchy" foods.  Our new reality is that she, at the age of 3, has to be responsible enough to protect her life.  So while I'm aware that death is not an appropriate topic for a typical 3 year old neither is having to memorize all her life ending allergens, or having to sit still while I inject a 22 gauge needle that is half an inch long into her thigh, or having to practice restraint when watching children around her eat all sorts of things that look really really delicious to a 3 year old.

2) To address her fears 

Symptoms

By Mayo Clinic staff

Anaphylaxis symptoms usually occur within minutes of exposure to an allergen. Sometimes, however, anaphylaxis can occur a half-hour or longer after exposure. Anaphylaxis symptoms include:

• Skin reactions, including hives along with itching, flushed or pale skin (almost always present with anaphylaxis)
•  A feeling of warmth
•    The sensation of a lump in your throat
• Constriction of the airways and a swollen tongue or throat, which can cause wheezing and trouble breathing
• A feeling of impending doom
•  A weak and rapid pulse
• Nausea, vomiting or diarrhea
•  Dizziness or fainting

Can you believe that one symptom of anaphylaxis is "impending doom"?  I can attest to this.  When A was about 2 years old I gave her some soup that had chicken and chestnuts in it.  The doctors suspected she was allergic to chicken but not enough for a major reaction so I didn't think it was a big deal to "try" some chicken.  What I didn't know, was that she was 100% allergic to chestnuts.  After two bites of soup, she didn't want to eat anymore.  Being completely naive, I urged her to eat more.  Two more bites later, she began to fuss.  We were at a party so, for the most part, I was preoccupied.  I remember that she wanted to be held.  Instead of picking her up, I told her to behave (mistake #1).  She began to cough and wheeze so I gave her the inhaler.  Not 5 minutes after, she started to vomit profusely.  We should have known something was off, but we dismissed it.  We cleaned her up and I even went into the bathroom to cry a little thinking the worst was over (mistake #2).  After I composed myself and stepped back out, I could see that her reaction was only getting worse.  We left the party and attempted to drive her to her hospital 45 minutes away (mistake #3) .  We didn't even get to the end of the street before she was clutching at her throat and gasping for air.  We pulled over and injected her with an EPI and within a minute she began to breathe normally.  I held her in my arms while she clung to me and cried.  The one thing I will NEVER forget from that night was the way she looked at me during the worst of the reaction.  Her eyes told me something was wrong.  She was scared but, instead of listening to my instinct, I let my practical self take over.  I didn't think she was having a reaction because I wrongly thought I hadn't exposed her to anything.  As soon as I saw the look of fear in her eyes, I should have known that something was terribly wrong.  I'm sorry, A.  To this day, I can't look back without feeling sick.  I'll have to write a post dedicated entirely to the guilt that I have from all the mistakes I've made as a mom.  

My daughter, at the age of 2, experienced impending doom.  Fear of death.  I can't protect her from all harm even though God knows I'll try everything in my power to keep her safe.  What I can do is prepare her to face her fears, even the ones that are unspeakable, hence my conversations with her about faith, God, Heaven, and even death.  

Is this heavy stuff for a kid?  You better believe it.
Is it necessary for hope in a broken world?  You better believe it.

3) To grow her faith

Children are known to have the purest of faith.  Why?  Because they'll genuinely believe anything you tell them.  Need examples.  How about these: Santa Claus, Elmo, Mickey Mouse, "I'll buy it for you later."

"I tell you the truth anyone who doesn't receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it." Luke 18:17 NLT 

It's no wonder God wants us to be like children in our faith.  When's the last time we looked at something in absolute wonder?  When's the last time we believed something at face value?

A has one of the most natural faiths I've ever known.  Maybe it's because she's a child, maybe it's because she's been through so much, maybe it's because her Sunday School teachers rock (I'm her teacher this quarter so I'd like to think it's #3) but whichever the case, she knows that God is real.  He's more real to her than Mickey Mouse which she recently told me was a guy in a mouse costume.  Thanks for that, M.  She talks about God without being prompted, well maybe sometimes it's prompted; Her dad is a pastor after all.

I talk to A about death, about God, about her situation, about life because I want her to grow in her faith even more.  I want to teach her that God is good.  He is good in all things, even in death.  His hand never leaves ours.  A reminded me of this a few nights ago when she suddenly out of the blue asked me how she healed so quickly from her herpeticum sores.  Before I could think up a scientific answer that I could dumb down for her, she said, "It wasn't the nurses.  It was GOD (pointing upwards).  He always holds my hand.  And he will never earth the flood again!"

Yes, child, his promises are true.  He will never earth the flood again or flood the earth again.  However you say it, the truth is still there!  He holds us close, especially in death.  I see this BIG faith sprouting from such a little body, and it gives me the strength and hope that I need to weather our life's harshest storms.  You are right, indeed, sweet A.  He will never leave or forsake us.

In the midst of all the unknowns, a baby paves the way for faith.

As I face the valleys and hilltops of this life on earth, I find lots of peace in the fact that my girl knows where she's going.

SO...Death do your thang but, know this, we got you beat.

I Have A Stalker

She follows me around the room with her eyes...in a creepy cute way.  It's like one of those portraits where the artist draws the eyes in such a way that no matter where you stand, you are being ogled.  But, the thing is, I love it.  To any other person, I'm just E the _______.  (Be nice--I was thinking of nouns like friend, sister, teacher, wife, etc., so don't get carried away.)  But to her, I am EVERYTHING.  She loves to be near me, smell me, touch me, be strapped like a backpack to my body all day long.  When she gets passed around the room, her eyes never leave my direction.  Sometimes I'll be doing something and I look up and there she is staring, for who knows how long, at my face.

So, I guess the point of this post is to remind myself to stop and stare back.  Actually, I've made it a goal to stare at her in the same creepy way when she's not looking and wait for her to catch my eye.  The toothy grin that she flashes me followed by the shrieks of excitement are worth 1000 minutes of waiting.  (Seriously, sometimes it takes her a while to notice.)  Because before I know it, I won't be her center.  If I'm lucky, I'll be in her close peripheral but will probably lose first place forever.

I'm going to hold her more, pass her around less.  I'm going to sneak into her room at night, in the hours when it seems like even time is sleeping, and I'm going to get back those wasted moments.  I'm going to drink in the smell of her which is usually food because the girl loves her meals.  I'm going to get her to laugh her deep throaty laugh (totally different from her sister's laugh) and then I'm going to treasure it in my heart later that day when I'm alone and the noises are gone.  I'm going to do these things now because time doesn't pause for anyone.  There's a poem I read, when I still only had enough room for myself in my heart, that left a mark.  Its message was to stop. and. cherish. the. moments.  They slip by way too fast.    

Childhood Doesn't Wait 

I was sitting on a bench
while in a nearby mall,
When I noticed a young mother
with two children who were small.

The youngest one was whining,
"Pick me up," I heard him beg
but the mother's face grew angry
as the child clung to her leg."

"Don't hang on to me," she shouted
as she pushed his hands away,
I wish I'd had the courage
to go up to her and say..."

"The time will come too quickly
when those little arms that tug,
Won't ask for you to hold them
or won't freely give a hug."

"The day will sneak up subtly
just as it did with me,
When you can't recall the last time
that your child sat on your knee."

"Like those sacred, pre-dawn feedings
when we cherished time alone
Our babies grow and leave behind
those special times we've known."

"So when your child comes to you
with a book that you can share,
Or asks that you would tuck him in
and help him say his prayer..."

"When he comes to sit and chat
or would like to take a walk,
Before you answer that you can't
`cause there's no time to talk"

"Remember what all parents learn
so many times too late,
That years go by too quickly
and that childhood doesn't wait."

"Take every opportunity,
if one should slip away
Reach hard to get it back again,
don't wait another day."

I watched that mother walk away
her children followed near,
I hope she'll pick them up
before her chances disappear

by Kathie Davis

(I guess a sub-point of this poem is, also, not to be a jerk.)

G, mama loves you!  I welcome any and all creepy looks from you!

The Reason

My friend has been bugging me for the past year to start a post on the going-ons of A, my daughter who was born with severe life threatening food allergies.  I have given her every excuse on why blogging is just not for me but, the truth is, I'm just too TIRED.  Today I had a conversation with my girl that kinda sorta changed my mind-at least enough to start this entry.  It was a simple exchange...really too simple to even call a conversation but it reminded me of how short my time with her is and how much it will mean to us to have some memories penned in so that not every recollection will be a tangle of fabrication with strands of reality.  I want a space to remember.  Remember her.  Remember me.  Remember us.

So this is the reason...

Cupping her face in my hands, I said, "A, do you know that these are the best years of my life?"

And she replied, "Thanks."

Thus begins the journey of many more midnight memories.