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. :)