I'm miserably behind on updates, but I've been on Christmas vacation.  We had a great white Christmas in Indiana with my family....where we were all spoiled rotten with help, food, and love.

This picture is from way before Christmas, but I wanted to share:

We were able to borrow a wheelchair for Lilah until hers comes! I'm so excited that she has it, because she's already gotten much better at it.  Although, i will say that she does not love it--at all!  She would still much rather be carried:).  I'll try to get some video of her in action soon.

These were taken when we put our tree up, so you can ignore the outfits. Or actually, ignore Lilah's--obviously she's moved on to appropriate Christmas attire.  G, however, wore this exact outfit today....the coldest day of the year.  Brace yourselves--I've told him that Winter starts Dec. 21 and you are not allowed to wear shorts after that day--until Spring.  Should be a fun transition:).

Snow Day

Woohoo! I love snow...at least for the month of December:). It's so festive! And you know what makes it even better? When your husband and 4 year old are out playing in it and the other one is napping.

Christmas music + Christmas candle+ Quiet  =   Jolly Momma

Friends

Between her wheel chair and her iPad, Lilah is the most popular 2 year old on the block these days:).

Fo Real

I have a confession to make:  I like Facebook.  I wish I didn't because it's all cyber-y and a little to hip for me, but I do.  I think it's because, when my life is all "mommy, mommy, mommy", I have some sort of connection to the outside world--albeit fake and superficial.  I wish I could visit with all the people I keep up with via Facebook in real life....well, almost all.  I de-'friend' some people on occasion, mostly because they post too much about things that are TMI for me or about how many eggs their chickens laid on Farmville.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then Welcome to the 90s (much better ring than '10s', don't you think?).  Get yourself a Facebook account. Unless you are going to use it for evil instead of good:).

Any-who, my most recent de-'friend' was today and I'm kind of sad about it because now I feel like I'm going to miss said 'friend's' complete psychotic snap.  Obviously, she's not a real friend, just a 'friend', and I'd never root for someone's close encounter with a straight jacket--but, this girl has got it coming.  She's  Pollyanna is totally asking for it.....let me tell you why.  Her life is all unicorns and rainbows and air kisses and crap.  A bunch of crap.   It drives me Crazy.  Her husband is perfect.  Her children are perfect.  And her status updates read something like this:  "My husband just surprised me with a Dooney and Burke handbag.  He is the most romantic man in the world."   "Sarah made honor roll--again."  "I love my children."  "I have all my christmas presents bought and wrapped and homemade bread in the oven."  (a week before thanksgiving).  "I love my life".  "I don't understand why some people can't be nice.  I pray for those people."   Seriously, not one post about how she burned the rolls or screamed at her kids or locked her family out of the house.  Ever.  It's just not right.  And I'm not buying it.

Now, don't get me wrong....I'm all about some happy attitudes and choosing joy.  But I think that anyone that claims their life to be a fairy tale is either living in their own mind, totally disconnected from reality, or has some serious stuff to hide.  Because--news flash--no one's life is perfect.  And, I'll choose real and honest friends any day over the ones that spend all that energy trying to convince themselves and others of Wonderland.  So, in an effort to keep it real, here are some 'real' tales of my week:

--you already know about the party mix up
--I sent Garrett to school without breakfast
--I totally forgot about an OB appointment
--I screwed up my phone in a way that I did not see or receive any messages for a week....and then proceeded to call and leave messages with offices and people about why they hadn't gotten back to me...when, in fact, they had.
--I fed Garrett rotten sour cream--twice.  Even though he complained about how his food tasted.  I chalked it up to pickiness.  Awesome.
--Garrett has already found 2 of his christmas presents that I failed to hide well enough.
--I lost 2 pages of addresses.


Feel free to laugh at me.  I'm a total mess.  But at least I'll admit it:)

HoHoHo

This is my latest find....and it's simulatneously obnoxious and beautiful (because it keeps her entertained for 2.2 seconds).  Push Santa's hand and he sings--over, and over, and over. :)

I'd like to bake Christmas cookies...

but this is what my pantry looks like.  And I can't find the chocolate chips.  I wish Martha would come to my house and organize and label with color coded somethings.

Oops I Did It Again

I will start this story by saying that I've had a very sick little girl at home this week and my extra brain power (which is scant) has been focused on keeping her out of the hospital--not social engagements.  Clearly.

Garrett received 2 birthday party invitations in the mail a couple of weeks ago and, while the thought of a kids birthday party usually makes me run for the hills, there was no way we were missing these.  Jumpity Jump and Gymnastics parties....a 4 yr. old boys' dream.  Both at 2:30, one Saturday and one Sunday.  Check.

It's Saturday, Lewis's Jumpity Jump party, and I had to wake him up from a nap (it figures, right?) so we started out about 20 minutes late.  He is so excited! This is the Superbowl for him--the kid lives for bounce houses.  We pull up to the place, get out of the car, run into the place, and he starts stripping off his clothes.  (He had negotiated his customary shorts and t-shirt underneath long pants and shirt).  I sign the waver, tell the 12 year old working the desk that we are there for Lewis's party and she says "We don't have anyone by that name today.  Are you sure it's here at Pump It Up?".  Right.  Crap.  Wrong place.  That's when it would have been helpful to have carefully re-read the invitation...had I had it with me.

Back in the car.  Racing to Jumpity Jump.  30 minutes late.  Holiday traffic.  40 minutes late.  We get there, run inside.  Garrett is literally hopping with anticipation.  I sign the waver, tell her sorry we are late, where is lewis's party?.  12 year old worker looks confused and says, "We don't have a Lewis party here.  Actually, I think that party is tomorrow."  Crap x 100! I am a totally loser.  It's like having your child at the gates of Disney and saying, "oh, you can't go though".

Sweet Garrett buried his head in my thigh and sobbed.  Sad, crocodile tears against which I am powerless.  It's terrible to disappoint your child and, I know I'll have to get used to it, but I wasn't really wanting for either of us to have to learn that lesson yesterday.  I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, but it's a part of the story---at this point I was crying too.  Dumb, I know....I'm totally blaming pregnancy hormones.   I would say I swallowed my pride, but since I had none left, after going to the wrong place, for the wrong party, on the wrong day, 40 minutes late....pride was a non-factor when I asked,  Is there anyway in the whole wide world that my little boy could jump?  For just 10 minutes? I will do anything!!!???  Please!!!!!!


I'm not sure if it was fear or mercy, but someone went and asked another birthday party mom if Garrett could jump at her party.  And she said "yes":) .  Garrett marched on back, dried his tears, and had to be hauled off an hour later as the birthday girl, that we did not know from Adam, was cutting cake.  I was not able to laugh about this at all yesterday (unlike me, I know), but today it seems really funny that Garrett and I spend an hour at a birthday party full of strangers, bouncing under a sign that read, "Happy Birthday Jenna".  And that he kept saying, but I don't see Lewis, the whole time.  And that now there is the possibility that two people could be having a conversation that goes something like this:

Stranger #1:  "Last week a random mom and her little boy crashed a birthday party that we were at."
Stranger #2:  "That's so funny because that exact thing happened at a baby shower I was attending a
 couple of months ago.  Wonder if it was the same person? Hahahaha"


And then they will put two and two together and I will be known all around town as The Girl who Goes to the Wrong Parties.  I guess there are worse things to be known for.

You can thank me later

I have found the perfect Christmas gift for kids anyone.  It's a little stuffed animal that is filled with lavender seeds and can be microwaved for warmth.  It makes a certain little boy's room smell like a spa instead of feet and has been a huge hit.  I got it at TJ Maxx for $10 and wish I would have bought 10 of them.  Now that I'm home bound because of Lilah's annual winter plague, my hopes of getting more have been dashed. But, there is still a chance for you:).

The Cozy Plush is vaguely reminiscent of a Christmas present someone in my family got for my beloved Grams one year.  She was a tiny woman and always cold...like wore a sweatshirt in the summer.  Anyway, someone got her a pair of microwave slippers.  Same concept as the cow, microwave and they stay warm for hours.  Grams was not one to be overly excited (unless there was talk of an imminent card game), but she went gaga over the slippers.  She was so excited! So, being the doting granddaughter that I was, I offered to microwave them for her so that she didn't have to get up.  A few minutes later, during the hubbub of the post present exchange extravaganza, the family hears a loud explosion.  Coming from the microwave.  That had previously contained Grams' highly anticipated new slippers.  What can I say? I was young and did not yet fully appreciate the power of the micro waves.  And also, maybe I was operating under the concept of "more is better"--which we all know to be erred reasoning.

Moral of the story:  treat your Cozy Plush with care.

wheels

  I've been saying for 6+ months that I've got to quit carrying Lilah everywhere, but she hates to be in a stroller for long and it always seems easier to just cart her around the house myself.  Easier to carry her to and from the car, in and out of stores, rather than fuss with her big stroller.  I'm always afraid that when we make the jump to a wheel chair (or something like it) that she will just be in it all day--which is definitely not what I want for her.  For the last few months, Lilah's favorite thing has been for me to just tote her around the house looking at things....lingering....touching...playing...on my hip.  This is totally where she's at developmentally and she has so few opportunities to explore because she's immobile, that I don't blame her.  But, as my waist is rapidly disappearing and she seems to get heavier by the second, I've been starting to freak about it.  That's a lot of hours of carrying by the end of the day.

What's our next step? I've researched the latest and greatest strollers.  Nothing better than we already have--which don't fit the bill.  I've looked at bikes and trikes.  We've got a new therapy chair, which is good for table top activities, but stationary and not what she wants.  We've been discouraged around here, because, although she's making progress....it seems to be as slow as frozen molasses.  And, the worst part, is that Lilah is frustrated.  I thought from the beginning that she would be so severely handicapped that she wouldn't even know it.  Thankfully, that is not the case, but what it means is that she is trapped--wanting to move and not being able.  It keeps me awake at night, thinking about the imprisonment that must be--to be totally dependent upon what someone else shows her or brings her as her only stimulus.

So, when her Physical Therapist mentioned that she had a little girl who was L's age who used a manual wheelchair, I said 'great, we should try it', thinking that it would be another place for her to sit, with the possibility of moving in the future.  We talked it over and concluded that, since her upper body has always been more coordinated and strong (which is not saying much) than her legs and feet, a push chair could be a viable option for her down the road.

Monday, that little girl's very gracious family brought her, and her wheel chair to our house so that Lilah could try it.  I thought we'd just sit her in it and see if she could even tolerate it.  But, her PT placed her in it and....she pushed!! Not far and not consecutive pushes, but she definitely got it.  Here is the video:

It may not seem like much, but I tell you, we were overcome.  It's a heavy load to see your baby in a wheelchair....something that will likely be a permanent situation.  But, it was also the most hopeful I have ever felt for her quality of life.  To think that she might learn to use that tiny little chair to explore her world anytime in the near future is way more than I've let myself dream for...and the gifts that you don't even know to hope for are the best!

The hard part now is getting Lilah one....it has to go through insurance, be custom fitted and made, shipped from CA, and you know it's the holidays...blah, blah, blah.  It's a good thing I couldn't run out to Target and buy her one that day, because I would have...and wasted all that good insurance money.:) But, I'm getting impatient already.  I've called and looked everywhere I can think of to rent/borrow one, with no luck.  So if any of you 7 readers out there have a pint sized manual pediatric wheelchair in your garage, call me.

Thanksgiving Recap

We had a really great holiday...celebrating for the first time I can remember in shorts.  It was 75 and sunny and we were thankful! My parents came from Indiana and my brother, Jeff, all the way from Colorado.  Here's my documentation:

  Smoked turkey and ham.  I'm no Martha, but I highly recommend the smoking (of meats).  Keeps the boys  busy, frees up the oven, and requires no brining or basting...and turns out delicious every time.  Sarcastic brother trying to mess with picture is optional.

I love all things cranberry and this is the top.  Here's the recipe.

This is the best of 30 family pictures we took.  I usually bribe Garrett to smile, but L will not be 'had'.

We are still feasting on left-overs, and since we cooked enough for triple our eaters, we will be for awhile--until Paul tells me 'he's had it', which will likely be the after next round of turkey.  Also, I should be in maternity pants after one more plate:).  Good bye turkey....hello Santa.  The Christmas decorating has begun...woohoo!

Thankful:  the state of being aware and appreciative of a benefit; grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving! Who doesn't love Turkey Day, right? Lots of family, my mom's dressing, my Grams' cranberry salad, the excitement of putting up a tree tomorrow....and, oh yeah, celebrating 'thanks'.  I'll admit, that part of Thanksgiving, the giving thanks part, gets more important to me every year.  As I age, my blessing grow, I know.  But, as I experience more of the world, I am more acutely aware of the richness of my life.  The blessings of health, joy, true friends, family, time, resources, freedom, love, and peace.

The addition of lasting love and precious children should make anyone's heart swell.  And,  teaching those children to have a thankful heart is of the most important things I will do. Surely, if we can just teach our kids to be aware and grateful for all they've been blessed with, they will turn out all right.  Right? :)  I'm banking on the fact that it should be hard to turn into a drug lord or an ax murderer with true thanksgiving.  Get back to me on that in 20 years and we'll see:).

Last night, because my kitchen was overflowing with Thanksgiving feast preparation, we headed out to dine and ran into a man from our church.  I recognized him and we've said hello several times at church, but I didn't know his name or his story.  Thanks to my newly outgoing 4 yr old, this is what I now know:   His name is Arthur and he's in a wheel chair because he has only one leg.  He lost the other after a gun shoot wound that lead to gangrene.  He lives alone and he had just spend all day at the hospital for some tests....alone.  Some days he is unable to get out of bed and into his chair.  And he was alone that night, resting in the night air before heading back to his apartment.  And as he told us his story, he said that he was thankful.  Thankful to be alive.  Thankful for all that God has given him.

I am glad that Arthur reminded me what I already knew, each of us has infinitely more to be thankful for than we even realize.  Grateful for all that is good, and even what we think is bad.  Because there is richness and blessing in hardship.  And thankfulness is a choice...an attitude we have to remind ourselves to have, even when it's not easy.  So, as Garrett would say (although in regard to me making a toy talk) "BE IT"!  Thankful, that is. :)

In general, I'm not a fearful or anxious person.  Maybe it's my German heritage or my pig-headedness....fear and anxiety stand in the way of forward progress, right? There is stuff to do around here and I don't have time to be mulling over the 'what-ifs' very often.  But, I do have my moments.  This moment comes every year at the start of cold and flu season (at least since L got sick), when I start hearing the trends of illness increasing and I'm hit by The Fear.  The Fear is at it's peak when you hear that a child that was at your house 2 nights before is in the ER with a stomach bug, or that someone in Lilah's class came to school with a fever--2 days in a row! (her teachers sent him home because they are awesome.  that mom=not awesome).

I know all moms (and I hear reports of some dads, but they must be more far sighted than the ones I know) have The Fear.  No one wants their kids sick.  It sucks for them and it sucks for us.  Life comes to a screeching halt, schedules are whack, you get even less sleep than before, and on top of that, your kids are so whinny you want to stick your head in the oven--and keep it there.  But for me (and lots of others, just not ones I know), The Fear sends my preparedness into overdrive.  Keeping hospital bags packed, making the house somewhat organized in case I'm gone for a week, watching my 'help's' schedules so I'll know who's on deck if I need them.  I'm embarrassed to say, at least a significant portion of The Fear is driven by an intense hatred of the hospital.  And not "oooh, I hate the hospital" b/c obviously, they are great--I want to slap people that say they don't like to go visit people in the hospital because it's so sad.  I just hate to 'live' there for extended amounts of time.  (Although, to be fair--I don't know the half of it.  There are people who's children spend months and months there).

The Fear makes me want to keep my kids at home, sequestered away from life and it's germs.  No school, no friends, no outings, no church.  And this phase lasts about 3 days....until I am C.R.A.Z.Y!! Then I move to obsessive use of antibacterial wipes, hand washing, and an outlaw of shared sippy cups.  And then, I get lazy and move back to our normal state of "do the best you can" (which, between us is probably a step down from my best, but operating at Code Red all the time wears me out!).  This is where I have a pep talk with myself, which goes something like this:

1.  You can't live life in a bubble.  It's bad for you, for your children, for your family.  A sheltered life is not living.

2.  It's better for Lilah to experience what little she can of the world, even if it means getting sick. And Garrett deserves as normal a life as possible.

3.  You can be an uber-germ-freak and they still get sick.  It's what they do.

4.  A certain amount of it is 'now or later', says Lilah's cardiologist.  I always choose bad news first...let's get it over with.

5.  All of her days were written in His book before even one of them came to be.  (Psalm 139).  This is the truth and it reminds me that it's not up to me.

And that gets me to drop the nerve pills (a la Betty Draper, except I think she always takes them) and have The Peace, which is even more powerful than The Fear and way better.   Because nothing is more freeing than knowing 'it's not up to me'.  Life, and especially parenting, is huge and overwhelming and full of a kazillion pressures and fears....and if I thought I had to do it all on my own, perfectly....or that my children's fates rested solely in my hands....I would crack...in a slit second.  So instead, I just do the best I can and trust that it's not up to me.  That way I can get back to things that matter...like planning my Turkey Day feast.  In the immortalized words of 2 year old Garrett Burch:  " Dobble, Dobble" !

**edited to note:  Before you start thinking I'm some sort of a jedi, who's conquered The Fear...I just noticed that The Fear has caused a mysterious rash all over me.  That, or it's that virus that kid down the street had last week.  Excuse me.  I have to go take my vitamins.

The G will concede to a hat and mittens, in addition to his summer wear...on days of his choosing. 

It's hard to believe, looking at that sweet face, that this child is driving me to the brink of insanity.  It's true. It's not about the sassiness or the defiance or even the potty words--those are the things I was 'prepared' for with a 4 year old boy. It's about the dress code.

Now, I consider myself a pretty laid back momma, especially when it comes to clothes.  I strive for clean and weather appropriate--and those are about my only 2 requirements. I have some basic requirements about church clothes, but they are very loose.  In short, I chose L's clothes because she could care less and Garrett choses (and has for quite some time) his own.

To illustrate my point, Garrett wore the exact same outfit (of his choosing) to school for the first 6 weeks--before you think I'm some sort of laundry genius, he only goes Tu/Th.  His teachers graciously allowed him to wear flip flops, as in years past tennis shoes were the rule.  The shorts were a pair of size 3s from Kohls from last year.  When he was 2.  They were faded and produced a muffin top like I've never seen on a small child.  The shirt was worn thread bare in two spots.  And if I ever see either of those items again, my head might explode.

Here are the specific requirements of Sir Garrett's clothing:  shirts must be snug fitting and not hang past the waist band of his shorts.  Shorts must hit well above the knee, but not touch the belly button.  Socks of any sort are from the devil.  Pants, long sleeve shirts, jackets, even tennis shoes are out.  Bare feet are preferable, but flip flops will do.

My laissez-faire attitude was making for days of peace and nights of laundry, and I was happy.  But now, the frickin weather has changed and a paper thin t-shirt that almost exposes his belly button and shorts that are 2 sizes too small just won't cut it.  So.....every morning....every flippin morning....we have the same 'discussion' about clothes.  It usually starts something like, "you need to wear some long pants and a long shirt", with G responding No....and it spirals downward from there.

I've tried all the usual and customary threats, punishments, bribes, and rewards, so please don't suggest some sort of cheesy sticker chart....because The General (that'd be G, not me) would laugh in the face of a sticker chart.  This is a child that would forfeit riding his bike over putting on acceptable clothing--he's a machine, I tell you.  A machine of self-control, tenacity, persistence, intense opinion, and pure hard-headedness.  He's wearing me down, breaking my spirit in a slow, systematic fashion--GITMO's got nothing on this kid, people.   Anyway, the point of this ramble is this:  if you see us in January and The G is wearing some blatantly inappropriate ensemble--don't judge, just know that I've made the decision to preserve my sanity over his body temperature.  Every man for himself!

Hobby:   an activity or interest that is undertaken for pleasure or

       relaxation, typically done during one's leisure time.

So today wednesday in my bible study, we had a little 'get to know you' session where you go around the horn and tell the group what your hobbies are.  Go ahead...roll your eyes, I was.  I despise cheesy crap like that (cynical, much?), but it wasn't nearly as bad as the day that they made us stand up and march for 2+ minutes to "get the wiggles out" so we would know what our children are doing in their class. It took all I had to participate and I'm still bitter.  Anyway, for the hobby exercise, I was last to go (because, shocker, I was late), so I had many minutes to formulate my list.  Of my hobbies.  Alphabetically.  And by devotion level.  And years committed to said hobbies.

You know what I came up with?  NOTHING.  No hobbies.  I'm, like, devoid of interest totally* (*you should say this like a valley girl).  I thought about saying 'schlepping crap back to it's rightful place', 'changing batteries', or 'answering questions'....but then I remembered that the key words in hobby's definition were pleasure and relaxation....and leisure time (there's the rub). Huh. So, then I thought about saying 'eating' and 'sleeping' were my hobbies, but that sounds even worse than "nothing."  I considered saying 'watching reality tv', but figured that was not the time or the place for such a confession.

So, I stuck with "nothing".  I don't think I'll be crossing meet new and interesting people off my resolution list anytime soon--because I'm pretty sure the lady that knits hats for overseas orphans or the one who has traced her genealogy back to the 1600s have their eyes on the woman who grows 72 varieties of heirloom roses or the one who is a pastry chef as their new BFFs.  


You win some, you lose some.  At least I have my cats.  No, that's not right. I don't like cats either.  See...I'm like a wasteland of human interest.  But, I'm ok with it.  I'm planning on taking up all kinds of hobbies.....when I'm 80. :)

Look...we have a new pet:).  Actually, we thought about getting a pet and decided against it.  So, we opted for another child instead.  Totally kidding on the pet (as if!), but not at all about the baby.

That's right, the above stork should arrive sometime in late May with Burch Baby #3 (I wish it were that easy!).  We are super excited, with a dash of fear...mostly about how we will bathe, feed, clothe, do anything with 3 kids.  But we already feel like this sweet little one is a part of this family (or at least I do, considering I am expanding at a rate rivaling a hot air balloon) and are so thankful.

Anyway, it's been a little hard for me to blog b/c most every story I have revolves around how I threw up or cried over something dumb.  Sorry you've missed it, right? :) Well, don't be....you know there is more where that came from.  This will be an exciting 9 months--or, if you gestate like an elephant, like me--10.  Let the good times roll:)

Little Miss has yet another piece of equipment...but this one might be our fav so far.  It's just a 'souped up' chair that she can't fall out of and can't tip.  At least it's functional and she likes it (in short spurts).  The downsides are that it's heavier than a 2 ton elephant and it takes up a bunch of room. Oh, and it's not as easy as it should be to get that tray on and off.  Also, it must be filled with gold, considering the sticker price (have I mentioned lately how thankful we are for insurance?).  But, other than that.....:) it's great.

Seriously though, we are glad for it.  It's all adjustable, so it will grow with her and can be rolled around when needed.  It's always a bit of a *gulp* moment when she gets something 'new'.  In our minds, it sounds great and we are so excited before it arrives, because, since Lilah isn't mobile, she spends most of her day being moved from 'place to place'.  The bigger she gets, the fewer safe places she has.  Anyway, once the equipment arrives, it always seems so medical, serious, big, sad, sterile.  And it always takes me awhile to get used to it, and I want to kick myself for being such a brat.

Because I should be, and I am, thankful.  Thankful that this precious soul was born into a home that could provide for all that she needs to make her life as full and comfortable as possible.  Thankful that she doesn't have to go without food or medicine.  Thankful that I don't have to send her to daycare.  I know this is not the case in many families in our situation.  And it is a blessing I do not want to take for granted.

Happy Halloween!! I love festivities of any sort and have been so excited for today.  In years past, my excitement has pretty much been the only around here....but this year, it clicked! Garrett got really into dressing up and even more 'into' trick-or-treating and it was so fun to watch.  I even had a makeshift cat costume, which all the kids thought was so funny.  Maybe next year I can get Paul to wear a costume.:)

My boy is growing up...wanting to go up to doors without me, high-fiving friends about their loot, and making his own plans about what he was going to do with the stash.  It was great---nights like tonight feed my soul.  There is nothing better in the whole wide world than watching your child find such overwhelming joy in something.

The part where momma begs "please sit by your sister so I can get your picture":)

The annual 'pre-game' picture

Spider-people were very popular this year

Aunt Liz, Uncle Seth and Miss Flower-Anna Kate

Look at that determination!

This was Lilah's favorite part...chewing on the cotton candy stick:)

This is Lilah and her cousin Maggie, born just days apart.  I love this picture, because Lilah looks so normal...so interested, so engaged...because laying in bed is just about the only activity where she can hang.  It's still really hard for me to be around little girls Lilah's age--and it's probably going to get worse before it gets better.  Until recently, I've gotten away with thinking, in my head, that she is still a baby--even though she's over 2--because she still seems like a baby.  And, when it's just us at home, it's easy to not think about.  Not that I'm trying to be all "stick your head in the sand and ignore the obvious", because I'm nothing if not a realist.   But day in and day out, I'm meeting her needs, where she's at and not thinking about where she's not.  However, it's darn near impossible not to compare when I see her with her peers.

And sometimes, the emotions sneak up on me.

I have a dear friend who is  a trained counselor, (coincidence? I think not.) who told me early on in this journey that I just had to deal with the grief as it came.  That there was no preparedness or prevention to do.  No 'banking' of the bounty of joy we've experienced to throw at the waves of sadness.  "It is what it is".  This has been our mantra from the beginning, Paul and I.  I know, I know....you are standing in awe of our depth of wisdom and enlightenment, right? :)  But it's true.  And it is.  This whole thing is a million descriptions and experiences rolled into one--and it covers the expanse of emotions...from the happiest happy to the saddest sad.  And there is just not much I can do about where my heart lies on the spectrum sometimes.  And what it is right now is sad.

And the sneaking up of sadness happens something like this: 

 We go to  a birthday party where every other child is running around independently while the grown-ups are talking--as it's supposed to be.  But,  I'm sweating from holding a 30 lb child on my hip and can't hold a conversation because I'm thinking about how in the world we are going to get her and her stroller back up the steep hill at the pony farm and back to the car, and, since we can barely manage this year, how it will be next year.  

Or how, the next day at church, I fight a quivering lip as I listen to a child behind me tell her momma all that she did at children's church.  And I hear that momma "shush" her several times, as I'm thinking I would do anything in the world to just hear Lilah's voice.

And then,  I know that the 'sneaking' is over and the onslaught of grief has begun.  Because, in the grocery parking lot, I see a little girl dancing in purple ballet leotard and I absolutely lose it.  As in, must pull off the road to keep from crashing, crying so hard.  Like, wasting hours of babysitting time, driving around bawling because I just can't pull it together.  And, I'm thinking, It's not that I have always dreamed of her doing ballet, why the heck am I a basket-case?  But, I know the answer. Or the answers, I should say--because there are a million things that have me so upset.  There are so many things about Lilah's life for me to grieve that my head spins.  

My girl can't stand or crawl.  She can't talk or eat.  She will never have a best friend or a first crush.  All her thoughts are a secret to me.  I want so badly to know who she is and what she wants.  (Or maybe I know the very little that goes on in her mind already, and it's nothing more than simple likes and dislikes.  And that is even more terrifying.)  I want her to disobey me or sass me back or argue about what clothes I've chosen.  I want her to scrape her knees on the playground or discover that she really loves to read.  I want her to go on field trips, and sleep overs, and spring breaks.  

I'm still trying to find my way in all this, obviously.  I wish I could say that it gets easier, but I'm starting to suspect it doesn't---only that the sadness ebbs and flows.  But, I do know that God's desire is to love and guide us through it, asking only that we rely on Him and trust His promises.  I also know that without Him, I wouldn't make it through one day with the burden of the reality of her life.   But, hope is a powerful thing....and as hard as things get, it wins out over sadness and grief everyday of the week (and twice on Sundays:).  

We've moved....the rental period is over and we are in our new house! Yeah! If I wasn't so freakin tired, I'd be even more excited.  Right now, I kind of feel like my head is spinning between piles of random things, boxes of stuff, and baskets of clothes.  We are making great progress and are anxious to be 'settled'.

We are so thankful for the village of people who helped us, brought us food, and watched our children.  I would post our new address, but because friends who are more internet-smart than me would make me take it down immediately, I will just say:  email me if want it. :) Because, at this rate, there is snowball's chance in you-know-where that I will get those cutesy little WE'VE MOVED cards out before I die.

I'm posting in retrospect here....because it was a big story this summer.  "The Day My Baby Smashed Open His Beautiful Face".  It was traumatic--seriously.  It was a hot, hot summer evening and we were having dinner with dear friends.  The kind of dinner where both mommas are too hot and too tired, and a joint meal seems easier because at least the kids entertain themselves.  The older kids were outside playing manically, getting hyped up on fatigue and popsicles and the mommas joined the papas (he-he) when the clean up was done.  I was just thinking we should go, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Garrett trip.  Not a big deal.  Kids fall.  His daddy picked him up and came toward me.....and I am not even kidding here, I almost passed out.  He looked like Frankenstein on steroids.  The pictures do not do it justice.  It was massive.  Not really bleeding, but full of blood and with a crackled appearance, and sticking out from his forehead 3 inches.

You would think after all I've been through as a momma, this would not have shaken me so badly.  It was all I could do to speak reassuringly to the child and not throw up dinner.  After we determined he was okay and got him to bed, I cried and cried.  Garrett was just fine.  Momma was not okay.

See, the thing is, Garrett is still my child.  The one I cling to, put all my hopes in, the one I still trust to myself.    He's the child whose future I dream of instead of avoid thinking about.  I know this is not right, but it's where I am.  In some ways, I worry more about him than Lilah.  Crazy, I know.

The same truths apply equally to both my children.  They are children of God, on loan to us.  He loves them far more, and better, than I.  The Lord has a perfect plan for both their lives, a plan that numbered their days before the beginning of time.  The only difference between those truths is my perception....with one child I accepted them swiftly and wholly and with the other....well, it's a work in progress.  Because relinquishing control is hard for most of us, especially me--and when it comes to my babies, very unnatural.  But my hand was forced with Lilah.  I'm hoping it will be a more gradual process with Garrett.

You will be glad to know, (and not at all surprised, I'm sure) that Garrett handled his injury very well.  He used it to milk privileges (like eating on the couch), with skills that would have made any pre-teen proud.  Also, being familiar with the term 'goose egg', coined this his 'dinosaur egg' and joked to strangers "that it's about to hatch any day."

Oh my word...I am blogging with a complete handicap. Our computer had to make the move to the new house ahead of the rest of the family. That computer and I have a hate-hate relationship, so it really works out....except that it leaves me tapping out blog posts with my pointer fingers on the iPad. Don't tell Mrs Bozeman, after all the work she put in trying to get me to have all 10fingers in 'the ready' position in high school typing, it would just make her sad. Anyway, because of my plight, I'm going to bullet points.

-my baby turned 4! I can't believe it and I had all kinds of things to say about the event, but, with the typing and all, it's too hard. I will say that he is the sweetest, kindest, best little boy in the world, despite what you've read on here in the past.

-Lilah spent the end of last week in the hospital for IV fluids. It sucked. I hate the hospital, so much. It divides our family and gives me way too much time to contemplate the severity of her medical conditions. But, of course I'm so thankful that she's better and that we have great care so close to home. And, it always serves as a sort of 'restart' for me. A reminder of what is important and how I want to spend my time. As Garrett said "I love it when we are all together."

-it is flippin freezing here and the only clothes I can find that aren't in boxes are 2 pairs of jeans, one totally random sweater, and two long sleeve tees. So, if you see me around town, that's why it appears that I am always wearing the same thing--because I am.

-we move in 2.5 weeks and this rental house has officiAlly become a biohazard. Not that I really did much all summer, but I have officially given up now. If we had any dishes or ever ate at home, they'd be piled up. As it is, it looks like someone (Garrett) took the contents of every room, shook them up, and dispersed them randomly throughout the house. Complete chaos. That means when I open the moving boxes in 3 weeks I will find things like shoes, apples, hairbrushes, Lightening McQueen, bug nets, and empty sippy cups in the same box. Fun.

That's it. Hoefully coming to you soon from a real keyboard......

Well, it's happened.  Garrett's flawless academic record has been tarnished.  All my hopes and dreams are shattered.  His chances of getting a full ride to Harvard based on charm and obedience, not to mention dashing looks have come to an end.  (listen, don't tease....look at his parents.  of course Ivy League hopes cannot be dependent upon brains).  That's right folks....I got a note home from school.  Preschool.

It's not that I don't think my child can get in trouble.  In fact, he is quite familiar with trouble....but usually only with the (5) people he feels really comfortable with.  Up until this point,  it's been all "he's so sweet." "most well-behaved child in the class".  Ha.  I knew this was an act, but I was okay with it.  In fact, I was hoping to ride the glory train of good behavior thru the 12th grade....and beyond.  I was banking on the idea that G was too hesitant to draw attention to himself, to misbehave.  Despite the fact that this trait clearly did not come from my genes, I had planned to take full advantage of it!

Until yesterday.  And, I will just tell you--I'm still in shock.  Disbelief that he's gone from hanging on my leg and barely uttering a peep the whole day, to getting reprimanded for excessive talking and refusing to clean up trains.  My mind was fast forwarding to a time when I'd be called into the principal's office because he hid up in a tree and threw rocks at a school bus.  No wait, that was my brother.  Anyway, he's in big trouble.  But, since it's his birthday weekend, I've decided to let him out of his room.

Kidding.  Totally kidding.

I am not a criminal.

Happy Last Day of Summer! The season is going out with a bang, considering it's 92 degrees outside. I, for one, am over it! And that's saying alot for someone who rarely leaves the house between 10am and 3pm:) I am ready for apples, and pumpkins and crisp, cool mornings. But until then--here's what we've been doing this summer (courtesy of my iPhone):

going to the zoo...

notice my 'death grip' on her leg...b/c my girl would crash to the ground in 1 sec otherwise.

this picture cracks me up. i think it was windy, but there is a high probability her hair was just standing up like that. we have hair issues.

playing in the sand and construction zone at the new house. many, many hours spent watching the diggers from the air conditioning of the mommy mobile. we are going to have another house to watch next summer...it's been so fun!

swimming lessons. bless ms macy's heart:) i'm not sure how much he learned, but i learned that there is nothing more funny than watching a 3yr old try the 'side stroke'.

looking at the water, where G wants to feed the fish and L just wants someone to push her into the shade, or stick her feet in the fountain. whew, it's been hot!

going out to eat has been the story of our lives this summer:( try as i might, i have not been very successful at home cooking. i'm blaming the quality of appliances, but a certain amount of stir-crazy might also have been a contributor.

riding toys...between the hours of 8 and 9 am:)

That's it. We are an exciting people, I tell you. Here's to the first day of fall....with temperatures falling to 90 degrees!

One time, after 1 child, but before 2, I had a friend who's husband was out of town. He called me to run over and check on her and the kids (2) because he hadn't been able to get ahold of her. I go over, knock.....no answer. Ring the door bell...no answer. I start to get worried and peek in the windows and Oh My Goodness--the mess! The cabinets open, things pulled out, toys everywhere--it was a total state of upheaval. And, I swear, I thought my friend had been a victim of a break-in. And now, I totally get it. My house looks like that at least some point during the day...and especially Mondays.

In case you are keeping up with my 'dislikes'....Monday has officially replaced Sunday as my most hated day. Sundays have gained favor because my children now enjoy going to the nursery (shock!) at church, and getting there doesn't seem like quite the ordeal it used to be. But, Mondays are an entirely different deal--after a weekend of peace, love, and harmony (don't laugh), the beginning of the week is a system shock.

Lilah has 3 of 4 therapies on Mondays, which I hate. I love getting them over with (excellent attitude, right?) and actually really like all of her therapists at this point--but, I hate watching her struggle. I know it's what she needs, what's good for her, she needs pushed, yada, yada, yada....I just don't like it. It's terrible to watch your child's pleading eyes, saying "why the hell don't you help me?". (FYI, I make up what Lilah might be saying all the time, and she cusses. A lot.) And, it's awful to read the reports on your child...detailing her problems, ranking her poor development, setting goals for things like 'will prop herself up on arms for 15 sec'.

But, it's always helpful to have the perspective of an almost-4 year old. A couple of weeks ago, I was telling Garrett as he went to bed the night before that the next morning was Monday, therapy day. And he said: "Oh I love the ferapies. They are the best thing about Lilah." You just have to laugh. And wait for Tuesdays.

            We've had a big weekend, full of lots of celebrating.  Birthday chaos, if you will.  All of it fun...and some of it funny.

            Our first party yesterday was a 1st birthday for some friends who are newly back to Knoxville.  When we left the house, we were in the middle of a flood warning--it was pouring!  Getting all 4 of us out the door, into carseats, back out of the car, and into someone's house is not an easy feet on a sunny day, much less in the pouring rain.  It took P and I several minutes to come up with a 'plan' (we are not braniacs, obviously) which went something like this:  I carry diaper bag and present and umbrella and he carries 30lb angel and walks us to the door, then Paul parks car and meets us inside with Garrett.  Good plan, right?

                Paul rings doorbell, hands me bicep-crushing baby, who I balance on 1 hip, with a counter-balance of a huge present (which, btw: Paul tells me on the way there "oh, the invitation said no presents."  thankyou very much, it is really no trouble to drag two children thru the Target toy section to pick out a toy for someone else.) and an equally huge diaper bag disguised as a purse...and he runs back to car.  I walk in, make introductions  "hi, I'm Gina, this is Lilah" and hand my present to someone I don't recognize.  Actually, I didn't recognize anyone, but that never stopped me before.  Someone offers me a drink.  This is festive, I think.  I've never been to a 1st birthday party that served champagne.  Fancy.  And speaking of fancy, I might be a little underdressed.   And then I see the little cookies, wrapped in cellophane, labeled "Welcome Baby Camden" and for a split-second I think, I didn't know she was pregnant again. 

           And that, is when it all comes together.....the wreath on the door made from diapers and bottles (I thought she was recycling the birthday girl's baby wreath)....all the women....the fact that this house was uber-decorated and my people just moved to this house.  Or actually, not this house.

          "Uhm, you all are going to think I'm crazy," I stammer.  And pause, because I'm still processing.  "I think I might not be in the right place.  What kind of party is this?".  "It's a baby shower for Angie Ford.  You are at Sarah Smith's house."  "I'm supposed to be at a birthday party", I say.  And at that moment, I might as well have been the greatest stand-up comic of all time--because I had that place in stitches.  These women (I had noticed by now that there were no men at this party) were hootin' and hollerin'.  Seriously, hysterics!  They were grabbing their sides from laughter pains, poking each other between breaths, saying "I wondered who invited her", and taking my picture.  I was laughing, and Lilah who laughs by association, was happy and clapping excitedly.

       After I regained my composure and my wit (which is questionable at this point, I know), I realized our party was next door.  I try frantically to call my umbrella man, who did not answer, before I trudged across the lawn in the rain.  I am maybe a bit peeved by this point, wondering what the heck he's been doing all this time and why he hasn't rescued us by now.  In an effort to escape the rain, I go into the right party and you know what???  HE and GARRETT were ALREADY INSIDE, partying it up!!!

       Seriously?  Seriously!?!  At this point I just have to laugh, b/c this is really the funniest thing.  What the heck was he thinking?  But, I know what he's thinking, by the look on his face.   NOTHING:)  He said "Hi", as in, oh there you are, you must have been in the kitchen.   He did not even realize he had walked us to the wrong door.   He had just parked the car and followed someone else inside.  Looking back, I wonder how long it would have taken him to put it together....not that I have any room to talk.

Happy Friday! Hope you are able to enjoy some relaxation.......

Today is a big day, a huge milestone for our sweet baby girl, and our family. Lilah started preschool today, a normal marker of growing up. It's just that we weren't expecting any normals, so a typical preschool sure seems like a big one. I am just so thankful. Thankful that she can go and enjoys going, thankful that they want her, thankful to have a break, but mostly thankful, and humbled, and joyous for how far the Lord has brought her.

I don't often look back at old blog posts. I'm not ready. It's like pouring salt on an open wound for me....it just hurts too badly to remember, so vividly, how it happened when she got sick. What we went through. What she went through. But, I'm glad it's there....a virtual diary, for someday. And today was one of those days, because it struck me, as I was picking her up from her first day, that this day, September 7th, is a big day. It was 2 years ago today.....that we found out she was sick.

Talk about coincidence, or irony, or providence, or something....that on the anniversary of something so dark, something so momentous for her would happen. Whatever it is, it is not lost on us. We are thankful beyond words... for who Lilah is, for a community that loves her, for grace and mercy in the hardest of times, and the unique blessing to be able to truly see a glimpse into His purpose and plan for her life. It brings me to my knees to read the kind and sincere words of many of you those 2 years ago, and since then. Thankyou. We continue to covet your prayers for her health, development, and protection.

Like all good people of a certain age, Paul's mom got the bug to 'downsize' a couple of years ago. I have decided that since everything she looked at below 3000sq feet was deemed 'too small', this was code for 'new'--not that there is anything wrong with that. Her new persons of advanced age community is lovely and full of folks that are tidy, and organized, and rule-oriented. I know this because there is a handbook about two-inches thick concerning expectations of residents. I can't say I've read it, but I do know that "guests may not use amenities without the company of a resident'. I can also say with a certain amount of confidence that the 5+ cars overflowing her driveway on any given Burch get-together are not received warmly. And I'm pretty sure the crazy amounts of pool paraphernalia, towels, and children that seem to be multiplying are frowned upon. I tell you all this because I'm a bit afraid the Burch clan might already be the ugly step child of Fairview Oaks (I totally made that name up, btw, but it sounds right, doesn't it?).

And then. Yesterday, I took G swimming for the last time of the season (sigh of relief) and we had the pleasure of the company of a few residents and the "keeper of the pool", who clearly took this high elected office seriously. He's the man that enforces the pool rules and regulations and stipulations and decrees, so I was already nervous that we were unaccompanied (Granny keeps L for me). Garrett declares loudly that he "has to pee"--which is just what every other swimmer wants to hear, right? And then continues to assure me that "he thinks he can hold it and wants to wait"--also, very comforting.:) So, when it's time to get out, and all eyes are on us---which is very normal, because G is much more exciting to watch than whatever it is they were reading--I make a barricade of a towel and a chair so he can change. He pulls down his swimsuit and I grab the towel (the only one I had) to dry off his body.

It was just like I had pushed a magic button, because, as the suit came down, the pee-pee came out. It took me a second to realize what was going on b/c I was busy drying his hair, but then I noticed the 4 ft high urine arch and the subsequent run-off all over the concrete pool patio. G usually asks me first before he pees outside, so I think he must have just thought that since he had said he had to 'go' and we got out of the pool and we pulled off his pants--that, peeing was the plan. Seems logical to me now, but it never dawned on me then.

So, I could feel the beady hot eyes on my back, and I did what anyone who was swimming without permission, whose child had just urinated all over the concrete where these sweet people rest their toes, and who had no cup to rinse it off, would have done......I ducked my head, gathered our things, and ran like hell. And took the back way to my MIL's condo.

Meet the Teacher

My kids had 'meet the teacher' today at preschool. That's right....I said kids. You probably already know this, because I've been telling everyone within a 10 foot radius that Lilah, too, is going to Mother's Day Out this fall. Partly because I am really excited to have someone else 'teaching' her. Partly because, oh my word, the potential of being alone in my house for any time whatsoever is thrilling. But, mostly, because I am experiencing shock and awe that this sweet little program wants her.

I know, that sounds terrible, right? She's beautiful, sweet, loving, blah, blah, blah. She is all those things, but she's hard work. She's heavy and fussy and almost totally dependent. And this program is under no obligation to take her, much less ask if I would please send her this year. But they did. "She'll be no more trouble than any of the others" they said. "We would love to have her", they told me. And that, to any mother, but especially this mother is music.

Because, with my healthy child, I never worried that he'd be wanted. But, with her, I have visions of years of schooling where she is really neither wanted nor loved by her teachers. It's top 5 of my 'keep me awake at night' fears....that she will be and feel like a burden.

Her sweet teachers were fantastic and they were cool as cucumbers throughout the medical dissertation that started with heart failure and ended with seizures... after mentions of g-tube, scholeosis, and nissen fundoplication. They carted L around the room, showing her different toys, while I explained how (little) she communicates and where the safe places in the room would be for her. I think Lilah is going to love it....she needs and wants the social interaction and we all need a change of pace around here. I have high hopes:)

I just want her to be wanted. And whatever her 'educational' future holds, I am sure thankful that it gets to start off like this. In a sweet little school, full of typical peers...wanted and (I hope) loved.

My little man is rounding out the end of his *gulp* 3rd year. And he is going out swinging. He was a good baby and a sweet, obedient toddler, but the child has 'come into his own', as they say. Garrett has not only been testing to see where our limits lie, but then spitting in our face as he barrels through those limits. Usually these "spells", as I like to call them, come and go just about the time I'm losing my patience.

But, this time was different....the disobedience was deliberate and mean-spirited and the child could not be cajoled into any sorts of fun. He was in a bad mood. A really bad mood for over a week. He didn't want to leave the house and was prone to cataclysmic meltdowns over the tiniest of matters. He was screaming at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason. This was not my child. I was really starting to worry.

So I called our beloved pediatrician to make a sick visit and begged for him to get Garrett in earlier in the day because I can't live with this child one more minute he must have a terrible ear infection or something worse. On the way there I was almost worried to take him, afraid he'd have some sort of terrible fit in the lobby or in front of all this office staff that are practically family.

The nurse takes us back, asks my history and I give her a more detailed version of this: he is not himself. never seen him like this. crying/screaming hysterically for no reason. She says "I'll get the Dr". At this point I look down at my paper and it says this:

and I think...whoa. maybe, I've over-stated my case. maybe I've let my emotions get to me. because, surely we are not dealing with episodic mood disorder here, right? I minored in psychology, so I know this is a catch-all code, but it sounds worse when you see it next to your child's baby face. DON'T TAKE MY BABY OFF IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!!

Anyway, the doctor came in and the conversation when something like this:

Dr: how are you Garrett?

G: I'm doing great. Daddy took me to the firestation. Wanna see my hat?

Dr. are you feeling ok?

G: yeah, i'm doing really good

Dr; are you sad about anything?

G: no, but i'm really happy my daddy took me to the firestation. oh, and my granna is here.

he looked like this

At which point they told me they thought he was just fine, but we could have blood work drawn if I was still worried.:)

And then, I'm sure they laughed all through lunch about me and all the other lunatic mothers.