5:18 a.m. She rose with the sun and greeted the day enthusiastically.
8:30 a.m. All out of enthusiasm. Time for a nap!
Tonight I'll probably make her favorite meal, chili and pasta. I may or may not bake a cake. The heat index will be between 95 and 100-degrees F. Turning on the oven should be illegal!
Happy birthday, baby girl!
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Better today
All that crying had a good effect because today I was able to face the world without melting. Got a shower, took the kids out to TWO grocery stores, and had a meeting before naps. (Deep breath.) I can do this.
This weekend Matt's family is coming in from West Michigan to help celebrate Liberty's one year. What a peach she is! It hardly seems possible that the time has gone by so quickly. More tomorrow.
This weekend Matt's family is coming in from West Michigan to help celebrate Liberty's one year. What a peach she is! It hardly seems possible that the time has gone by so quickly. More tomorrow.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Hit Hard
This blog needs to be cathartic because I'm a mess today. Yesterday sitting in church I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of loneliness. It was so powerful that I started to cry. Strange, since I've had a few times of grown-up interaction this week. I went to a neighbor's Mary Kay party and had a great time meeting more people in my neighborhood. Yesterday afternoon I spent 2 hours at women's ministry thing at church with about 15 other ladies. You'd think it would have abated, but no. This morning is rough because, though I gave Matt the go-ahead a week ago, he has to be at church working on a time-sensitive project this morning... thus interrupting Family Day... thus leaving a lonely wife at home crying. Not to mention morning to noon is such a brutal time with the little ones on top of pregnancy, and I do 6 out of 7 mornings alone. I look forward to the company for one morning, though I thought I'd be okay without it. I guess not. I didn't anticipate the overwhelming loneliness. I am not in gracious spirits, but don't want to frustrate an already bad day by exasperating the husband. Sometimes "the ministry" is disruptive, and in general he keeps it to a minimum, so it's not his fault. And it's not my fault either. It just is.
I want to go home, but I'm not really sure where that is anymore. Life has gone on without us back in Hamburg, the house is sold, painted and redecorated. Life has some sort of rhythm here, but the walls are white, there's no artwork up, and I still have a hard time remembering my phone number. Homeless at moments, sometimes very lost, and then sometimes suddenly found. It's hard to explain. In general I can override these moments, but today's an exception.
Issues carry a different weight here too. I used to be aware of things going on at Hamburg but not have to carry them because Matt was an assistant pastor, and I was one of seven assistant wives. Here I'm the "first lady" (Matt's words, not mine). I'm constantly thinking about when to speak and when to hold my tongue. I consciously balance knowing in general the issues that NW faces, but not becoming bogged down by them. And though issues are generally not personal, as the wife of the leader it takes a boatload of discipline not to make things personal as they relate to my husband's career/life calling. But that's part of protecting my home from the invasion of the job. Most of the time I do well. Days like today I feel my limits, my shortcomings, my vulnerability. And I have to proverbially throw myself on the mercy of the court. That stinks.
The kids are well. Libby is handling her night wakings like a champ. I've stopped going in, so she generally turns the times around pretty quickly and sleeps again. Last night I heard her partying at 1 a.m. - it sounded like so much fun I wanted to go in, but curled up in the guest room to make sure she turned the corner. Izak woke up on the wrong side of the crib today, but has adjusted his attitude with a little help from Mom. Right now he's upstairs playing. It's strangely quiet... I should go check. Here's to tomorrow being better. When the nights are bleak I always remember Mom quoting the Psalm, "Sorrow lasts the night, but joy comes in the morning." I wonder if there's a scripture that says, "Hey, yesterday and today may be flushed down the toilet, but there's always tomorrow!"
I want to go home, but I'm not really sure where that is anymore. Life has gone on without us back in Hamburg, the house is sold, painted and redecorated. Life has some sort of rhythm here, but the walls are white, there's no artwork up, and I still have a hard time remembering my phone number. Homeless at moments, sometimes very lost, and then sometimes suddenly found. It's hard to explain. In general I can override these moments, but today's an exception.
Issues carry a different weight here too. I used to be aware of things going on at Hamburg but not have to carry them because Matt was an assistant pastor, and I was one of seven assistant wives. Here I'm the "first lady" (Matt's words, not mine). I'm constantly thinking about when to speak and when to hold my tongue. I consciously balance knowing in general the issues that NW faces, but not becoming bogged down by them. And though issues are generally not personal, as the wife of the leader it takes a boatload of discipline not to make things personal as they relate to my husband's career/life calling. But that's part of protecting my home from the invasion of the job. Most of the time I do well. Days like today I feel my limits, my shortcomings, my vulnerability. And I have to proverbially throw myself on the mercy of the court. That stinks.
The kids are well. Libby is handling her night wakings like a champ. I've stopped going in, so she generally turns the times around pretty quickly and sleeps again. Last night I heard her partying at 1 a.m. - it sounded like so much fun I wanted to go in, but curled up in the guest room to make sure she turned the corner. Izak woke up on the wrong side of the crib today, but has adjusted his attitude with a little help from Mom. Right now he's upstairs playing. It's strangely quiet... I should go check. Here's to tomorrow being better. When the nights are bleak I always remember Mom quoting the Psalm, "Sorrow lasts the night, but joy comes in the morning." I wonder if there's a scripture that says, "Hey, yesterday and today may be flushed down the toilet, but there's always tomorrow!"
Friday, June 03, 2005
Resolution?
What a week! I'm glad (?) it's almost over. The minivan has been at the dealership getting serviced since Tuesday, but I have faith (perhaps misplaced, we'll see) that they're doing the best they can and keeping it to what's being covered by our splendid extended warranty. That sucker may have paid for itself with the list of repairs this trip alone. So, I've been house-bound. Not generally a big deal.
The ultrasound was last evening. It went well. I believe that all is going long normally. At first I thought she might be spending too long focused on the heart, slowly clicking back and forth from frame to frame. But I could really drive myself nuts wondering or take her at her word that "everything looks good". I see the OB in a week.
MY NEW DISHWASHER IS HERE... more later.
The ultrasound was last evening. It went well. I believe that all is going long normally. At first I thought she might be spending too long focused on the heart, slowly clicking back and forth from frame to frame. But I could really drive myself nuts wondering or take her at her word that "everything looks good". I see the OB in a week.
MY NEW DISHWASHER IS HERE... more later.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Comes in Threes
This morning my sister and BIL got on a plane and headed home to Pittsburgh. They've been here since Saturday night, enjoying the kids. The last time we saw each other was the end of January, and we anticipate not seeing one another until sometime after December, probably for Bennett Christmas. The kids have changed so much, and I was so grateful for the extra help.
Monday I ran a load of dishes in the morning to keep up with the extra plates and cups, and afterwards noticed the floor sounded spongy. The good news is I get to have a newer, quieter dishwasher. The bad news is it ruined my parquet hardwood floor. Tuesday morning I spent calling insurance agents, flooring specialists, and the Dodge dealership in Antioch. My minivan's on the fritz too, thankfully the big problems are warranty work with a moderate size deductible. Dad always said, "It comes in threes." Minivan, dishwasher, floor. Yup, Dad, you're still right. We'll know the extent of the damage to the floor and insurance coverage by the end of the week. For now the peaks of wood have crushed into the floor and there's a rug over the worst of it to protect the kids. And I'm admiring my dishpan hands...
I was upset after hearing what it would cost to replace the parquet with ceramic tile. More out of disappointment than despair. But I was able to quiet myself pretty quickly. God was not surprised. He knows our situation, so why panic? The worst case scenario... a big rug for awhile. Not a problem. I have learned over the past year to go against a natural tendency of mine - motion. If something's wrong then you swing into gear, if there's a potential problem then you fuss and stir (waste a lot of energy trying to predict the future). "We must correct this immediately!" No, there's no need to freak out. A lot of times I think that the popular default mode is action, when I believe that scripture teaches us when difficulties arise we should WAIT. If the path is unclear, hold still and wait. If you're not sure that you can afford to wipe out your savings account to correct a problem, then hold on. If you're thinking that God has forgotten you and you need to take matters into your own hands, then you're misled, and potentially creating an even worse situation. Let God play His cards,wait until you feel like you've heard from HIM, and then act. Goes against my nature, that's for sure, but I'm thankful that my neurosis is lifting a little. No need to hurry or fuss, just STOP.
#3's ultrasound Thursday afternoon.
Monday I ran a load of dishes in the morning to keep up with the extra plates and cups, and afterwards noticed the floor sounded spongy. The good news is I get to have a newer, quieter dishwasher. The bad news is it ruined my parquet hardwood floor. Tuesday morning I spent calling insurance agents, flooring specialists, and the Dodge dealership in Antioch. My minivan's on the fritz too, thankfully the big problems are warranty work with a moderate size deductible. Dad always said, "It comes in threes." Minivan, dishwasher, floor. Yup, Dad, you're still right. We'll know the extent of the damage to the floor and insurance coverage by the end of the week. For now the peaks of wood have crushed into the floor and there's a rug over the worst of it to protect the kids. And I'm admiring my dishpan hands...
I was upset after hearing what it would cost to replace the parquet with ceramic tile. More out of disappointment than despair. But I was able to quiet myself pretty quickly. God was not surprised. He knows our situation, so why panic? The worst case scenario... a big rug for awhile. Not a problem. I have learned over the past year to go against a natural tendency of mine - motion. If something's wrong then you swing into gear, if there's a potential problem then you fuss and stir (waste a lot of energy trying to predict the future). "We must correct this immediately!" No, there's no need to freak out. A lot of times I think that the popular default mode is action, when I believe that scripture teaches us when difficulties arise we should WAIT. If the path is unclear, hold still and wait. If you're not sure that you can afford to wipe out your savings account to correct a problem, then hold on. If you're thinking that God has forgotten you and you need to take matters into your own hands, then you're misled, and potentially creating an even worse situation. Let God play His cards,wait until you feel like you've heard from HIM, and then act. Goes against my nature, that's for sure, but I'm thankful that my neurosis is lifting a little. No need to hurry or fuss, just STOP.
#3's ultrasound Thursday afternoon.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Kicks and Giggles
I have been running crazy, as you can see. But amidst it I've been able to slow down enough to feel baby #3 kicking away. Just the internal "flicking", nothing pronounced, but a reminder that I have company. Nights are long, as sleep doesn't come easily to me when I'm pregnant. Looking forward to OCTOBER! Our ultrasound will be next week. No, we are not planning on finding out the gender.
The kids are hilarious, alot of laughing and playing. Izak has begun to recognize the presence of his sister. He now greets her in the morning when I bring her downstairs, "Good morning, Bibby!" Libby has started to self-feed, which is a HUGE accomplishment for both of us. Izak was very slow to self-feed, and had a really senisitive gag reflex, so new food was not very fun. Libby is shoveling in chili, bananas (has the potential to keep up with Lukie P in the future...), Chex cereal, etc. I think she needs to eat in her diaper alone, because she becomes very involved with her meal. This morning she had tons of fun rubbing her hands in her hair, and the afternoon capris are already soaking in a bucket of OxiClean.
Grandma DID come last weekend and thoroughly enjoyed the kids. Her arm looks tough, but is healing. Bay County judge has signed 7 warrants for the dog to be destroyed, along with other legal issues, so it should be interesting to hear how it rolls out. Evidently the dog was still out of the house the other day standing off neighbors in the street. I just don't see how you can care that little...
Midwest vs. Northeast, interesting observation. I've been in the NE region for about 10 years. While people are a little more reserved in their interactions, there's also a greater sense of restraint in the conversations. I think that's something that I've grown used to. I actually like the coolness ot NE'ers, even though I'm MW-born. As I've begun to meet folks around here, you are immediately transported into areas of conversation that used to be reserved for third or fourth visits in the NE. I have to remind myself, You're back in the MW, where you can have a 15-minute conversation with a stranger. But something else I notice it the freedom with which people voice their opinion about the subject at hand. A lot of times I find myself feeling set-up, because people ask about more personal issues and then proceed to invalidate what I say by rattling off their thoughts about said subject. I stand there thinking, But I didn't ask... . From what I hear, it will get worse as I become more pregnant, obviously a bigger target for those with an agenda. My girlfriend was telling me about perfect strangers aproaching her in the stores, asking her if she was breastfeeding. I do remember when I was pregnant meeting a (NY) woman I did not know, (met with once to practice wedding music with) who wanted to know upon 2 minutes of knowing me if I was having a boy, and if I did would I cirumcise him. She spent 15 minutes discussing why I shouldn't. I think I will be better prepared this time to deflect the nosey and inappropriate comments, but it's hard when you're not sure who's safe and who's not. There's a place I need to find between being polite, being honest (which I usually do not think is appropriate), and being politely honest.
I went out for dinner the other evening with ladies from my neighborhood. We had a great time. I was so impressed with how they treated one another, and how well they listened to each other. It was great. I didn't feel picked on b/c of being the "pastor's wife," which is unusual with unchurched people. They were good at sharing funny stories, and taking the time to encourage each other as one might voice frustration with a particular issue. I'll admit I was nervous, I was texting Aunt Lo back in Buffalo to pray for me before they arrived, but three hours went by like no time at all. I look forward to next month!
The kids are hilarious, alot of laughing and playing. Izak has begun to recognize the presence of his sister. He now greets her in the morning when I bring her downstairs, "Good morning, Bibby!" Libby has started to self-feed, which is a HUGE accomplishment for both of us. Izak was very slow to self-feed, and had a really senisitive gag reflex, so new food was not very fun. Libby is shoveling in chili, bananas (has the potential to keep up with Lukie P in the future...), Chex cereal, etc. I think she needs to eat in her diaper alone, because she becomes very involved with her meal. This morning she had tons of fun rubbing her hands in her hair, and the afternoon capris are already soaking in a bucket of OxiClean.
Grandma DID come last weekend and thoroughly enjoyed the kids. Her arm looks tough, but is healing. Bay County judge has signed 7 warrants for the dog to be destroyed, along with other legal issues, so it should be interesting to hear how it rolls out. Evidently the dog was still out of the house the other day standing off neighbors in the street. I just don't see how you can care that little...
Midwest vs. Northeast, interesting observation. I've been in the NE region for about 10 years. While people are a little more reserved in their interactions, there's also a greater sense of restraint in the conversations. I think that's something that I've grown used to. I actually like the coolness ot NE'ers, even though I'm MW-born. As I've begun to meet folks around here, you are immediately transported into areas of conversation that used to be reserved for third or fourth visits in the NE. I have to remind myself, You're back in the MW, where you can have a 15-minute conversation with a stranger. But something else I notice it the freedom with which people voice their opinion about the subject at hand. A lot of times I find myself feeling set-up, because people ask about more personal issues and then proceed to invalidate what I say by rattling off their thoughts about said subject. I stand there thinking, But I didn't ask... . From what I hear, it will get worse as I become more pregnant, obviously a bigger target for those with an agenda. My girlfriend was telling me about perfect strangers aproaching her in the stores, asking her if she was breastfeeding. I do remember when I was pregnant meeting a (NY) woman I did not know, (met with once to practice wedding music with) who wanted to know upon 2 minutes of knowing me if I was having a boy, and if I did would I cirumcise him. She spent 15 minutes discussing why I shouldn't. I think I will be better prepared this time to deflect the nosey and inappropriate comments, but it's hard when you're not sure who's safe and who's not. There's a place I need to find between being polite, being honest (which I usually do not think is appropriate), and being politely honest.
I went out for dinner the other evening with ladies from my neighborhood. We had a great time. I was so impressed with how they treated one another, and how well they listened to each other. It was great. I didn't feel picked on b/c of being the "pastor's wife," which is unusual with unchurched people. They were good at sharing funny stories, and taking the time to encourage each other as one might voice frustration with a particular issue. I'll admit I was nervous, I was texting Aunt Lo back in Buffalo to pray for me before they arrived, but three hours went by like no time at all. I look forward to next month!
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Answer: Good for Shootin'
Question: What are feral cats and pit bulls good for?
Last night was remarkable in Bennett history. My dad tried calling our house twice last night at about 9:45 p.m.. That's never a good sign. When I returned his call his first words were, "Your mom's in the hospital. She was bitten by a pit bull." Ok, deep breath, put on nurse face, don't panic and scare dad. At that point he backed the story up to some time around 5 p.m.. They had just returned from visiting Mom's sister in Beulah for the afternoon. Upon arriving home my sister Stef, who is mentally and physically handicapped, was out in the yard. Before Dad knew it, the neighbors, Connie and Larry, were bringing her into the house, covered in blood. Evidentially, there was a feral cat in the neighborhood that literally attacked her. (A half an hour earlier it lunged at and scratched up our neighbor and friend, Carol, before running off.) I'm not sure if it was witnessed or not. Clawed and bit her face, tore up the skin between her eyes, lacerated areas behind her ear and throughout her hair. Mom prepared to get her to the RiteAid treatment center, and Dad hunted down and detained the cat until Animal Control came. Dad said it still had Stef's blood on it's face when he found it. The cat almost attacked the A.C officer as well before he was able to get it netted. The cat will be quarantined for 7 days and then destroyed. Cats don't get rabies (I'm not sure what they get instead of it), but the cuts have a high possibility of becoming infected. The emergency center used a skin glue on Stef to get her face/head back together, and started her on large doses of antibiotics. Mom returned home with her about 7 p.m..
Daisy is Mom and Dad's miniature schnauzer. She routinely has a walk in the evening before bedtime. Mom set out to go around the block about 7:45 with Daisy on her retractor leash. They went down the block and turned right. A man was coming out of his house to get into a car that was in front of his house. Suddenly, the screen door swung open and a pit bull charged out after Daisy. Mom reeled her in and kept lifting her higher and higher to get her away from the dog. (Not sure what the people of the house were doing while this was happening.) Eventually the dog backed up and lunged at Mom. It got her forearm. Mom began screaming. She says she heard a woman in the car yell, "Get that dog back in the house, it has a warrant out on it." Somehow the kid got the dog back into the house, and my mom was yelling, "Call 911!" She was bleeding all over. Get this: The woman said, "My cell phone's dead," and the guy jumped back into the car and they DROVE OFF. By this time the whole neighborhood was coming to Mom's aid as she was calling out the numbers of the license plate. Someone shouted, "Don't worry -- that car lives there." The neighbor called 911, and the fire trucks came to get Mom ready for the emergency room. The people were quick to tell Mom and the police that there were two pit bulls and both were menacing; multiple reports had been filed. Meanwhile, the nice neighbor's husband came running to Dad at home, "Your wife's been bitten by a pit bull!" So off Dad goes again. Mom was certain that Daisy would have been killed had she not been lifted out of harm's way. Mom ended up with 4 stitches, a tetanus shot, a Rochephin injection, and Augmentin.
Can you believe the owners fled the scene?? What if Stef had been with Mom? What if a child had been outside? What if Daisy had not been on her leash? What if...???? I'll be anxious to see justice meted out in this case. Mom and Dad are rightly talking about litigation. I'm dumbfounded by the ignorance of the dog owners, and the randomness of two animal attacks in 3 hours on my family. Not sure how this will effect Mom's trip this week. She may need to stay home and keep a close eye on Stef. The doctor said that if she shows even the slightest sign of infection she needs to get more medical attention immediately. My guess is IV antibiotics.
At the end of our phone call, I jokingly said to Dad, "Just make sure Grandma stays inside tonight."
Last night was remarkable in Bennett history. My dad tried calling our house twice last night at about 9:45 p.m.. That's never a good sign. When I returned his call his first words were, "Your mom's in the hospital. She was bitten by a pit bull." Ok, deep breath, put on nurse face, don't panic and scare dad. At that point he backed the story up to some time around 5 p.m.. They had just returned from visiting Mom's sister in Beulah for the afternoon. Upon arriving home my sister Stef, who is mentally and physically handicapped, was out in the yard. Before Dad knew it, the neighbors, Connie and Larry, were bringing her into the house, covered in blood. Evidentially, there was a feral cat in the neighborhood that literally attacked her. (A half an hour earlier it lunged at and scratched up our neighbor and friend, Carol, before running off.) I'm not sure if it was witnessed or not. Clawed and bit her face, tore up the skin between her eyes, lacerated areas behind her ear and throughout her hair. Mom prepared to get her to the RiteAid treatment center, and Dad hunted down and detained the cat until Animal Control came. Dad said it still had Stef's blood on it's face when he found it. The cat almost attacked the A.C officer as well before he was able to get it netted. The cat will be quarantined for 7 days and then destroyed. Cats don't get rabies (I'm not sure what they get instead of it), but the cuts have a high possibility of becoming infected. The emergency center used a skin glue on Stef to get her face/head back together, and started her on large doses of antibiotics. Mom returned home with her about 7 p.m..
Daisy is Mom and Dad's miniature schnauzer. She routinely has a walk in the evening before bedtime. Mom set out to go around the block about 7:45 with Daisy on her retractor leash. They went down the block and turned right. A man was coming out of his house to get into a car that was in front of his house. Suddenly, the screen door swung open and a pit bull charged out after Daisy. Mom reeled her in and kept lifting her higher and higher to get her away from the dog. (Not sure what the people of the house were doing while this was happening.) Eventually the dog backed up and lunged at Mom. It got her forearm. Mom began screaming. She says she heard a woman in the car yell, "Get that dog back in the house, it has a warrant out on it." Somehow the kid got the dog back into the house, and my mom was yelling, "Call 911!" She was bleeding all over. Get this: The woman said, "My cell phone's dead," and the guy jumped back into the car and they DROVE OFF. By this time the whole neighborhood was coming to Mom's aid as she was calling out the numbers of the license plate. Someone shouted, "Don't worry -- that car lives there." The neighbor called 911, and the fire trucks came to get Mom ready for the emergency room. The people were quick to tell Mom and the police that there were two pit bulls and both were menacing; multiple reports had been filed. Meanwhile, the nice neighbor's husband came running to Dad at home, "Your wife's been bitten by a pit bull!" So off Dad goes again. Mom was certain that Daisy would have been killed had she not been lifted out of harm's way. Mom ended up with 4 stitches, a tetanus shot, a Rochephin injection, and Augmentin.
Can you believe the owners fled the scene?? What if Stef had been with Mom? What if a child had been outside? What if Daisy had not been on her leash? What if...???? I'll be anxious to see justice meted out in this case. Mom and Dad are rightly talking about litigation. I'm dumbfounded by the ignorance of the dog owners, and the randomness of two animal attacks in 3 hours on my family. Not sure how this will effect Mom's trip this week. She may need to stay home and keep a close eye on Stef. The doctor said that if she shows even the slightest sign of infection she needs to get more medical attention immediately. My guess is IV antibiotics.
At the end of our phone call, I jokingly said to Dad, "Just make sure Grandma stays inside tonight."
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Update - probably too much information ahead
Many people ask how the pregnancy sickness is going. The nausea has lifted during a majority of the day, which is wonderful. I still have vomiting more days than not, which is no big deal. It's a quirk that I've learned to deal with and cope with. I keep ziplock bags everywhere -- in the car, my bag, kids' diaper bags. I'm not too proud to hang over the garbage disposal at home.
Some days I forget to take the Zofran ... and that usually spells TROUBLE. Without the drug on board, the vomiting hits much quicker and with greater severity. For example, yesterday I smelled a dirty diaper, and I knew I was in for some heave time. But before I could get anywhere safe it hit. And when I was done it was literally running down the walls. Gusto!
I usually think it's a boy in there, since the N/V is more similar to when I carried Izak. But this terrible dandruff and itchy scalp is something that I had only with Libby. So boy? Girl? Completely befuddled. Last heart rate check was 136-165. That doesn't help me a bit. I'm approaching 18 weeks, about half way done.
I look forward to getting color on the walls and more shelves and storage at home. Other than that the house is very functional, most of time looking like Toddlerland blew through and blew up. I will eventually get a picture of it posted on the website for you curious folk.
Visitors on the list: Mom is coming by train from Bay City, Michigan next week, Thur- Mon. Kat and Dave (S and BIL) coming the following weekend from Pittsburgh. A free week and then the Hilson/Cary/Fishers are coming for Liberty's one year birthday bash! Can you believe it?!
Otherwise, still getting settled in IL. Some very groovy things about my new digs: no inspection stickers required, a fenced yard for the kids, not law (yet) for handsfree cell phone use, DSL, tons of space, lots of dogs to enjoy without having to do poop pick-up, a loving church, every store that you can imagine within a mile, and DUNKIN DONUTS, AND (soon coming) a DRIVE-THRU STARBUCKS. These last two guilty pleasures will, of course, have to wait until after I get this baby out since coffee tastes like metal.
As far as the emotional adjustment-- if it's possible to be quite happy and still sad at the same time, then I very much am.
Some days I forget to take the Zofran ... and that usually spells TROUBLE. Without the drug on board, the vomiting hits much quicker and with greater severity. For example, yesterday I smelled a dirty diaper, and I knew I was in for some heave time. But before I could get anywhere safe it hit. And when I was done it was literally running down the walls. Gusto!
I usually think it's a boy in there, since the N/V is more similar to when I carried Izak. But this terrible dandruff and itchy scalp is something that I had only with Libby. So boy? Girl? Completely befuddled. Last heart rate check was 136-165. That doesn't help me a bit. I'm approaching 18 weeks, about half way done.
I look forward to getting color on the walls and more shelves and storage at home. Other than that the house is very functional, most of time looking like Toddlerland blew through and blew up. I will eventually get a picture of it posted on the website for you curious folk.
Visitors on the list: Mom is coming by train from Bay City, Michigan next week, Thur- Mon. Kat and Dave (S and BIL) coming the following weekend from Pittsburgh. A free week and then the Hilson/Cary/Fishers are coming for Liberty's one year birthday bash! Can you believe it?!
Otherwise, still getting settled in IL. Some very groovy things about my new digs: no inspection stickers required, a fenced yard for the kids, not law (yet) for handsfree cell phone use, DSL, tons of space, lots of dogs to enjoy without having to do poop pick-up, a loving church, every store that you can imagine within a mile, and DUNKIN DONUTS, AND (soon coming) a DRIVE-THRU STARBUCKS. These last two guilty pleasures will, of course, have to wait until after I get this baby out since coffee tastes like metal.
As far as the emotional adjustment-- if it's possible to be quite happy and still sad at the same time, then I very much am.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
The complexity of "salad"
I share this with Matthew's permission.
Matt was gracious enough to run to the store for me the other evening. I sat down with the list and began to ellaborate on the various items. "Be sure the Mrs. Grass is the original recipe, not with the celery or carrots. Izak won't eat the veggies. And the Mr. Bubble should be for sensitive skin, it's in a white bottle. It's by the adult bubble bath in the health and beauty section...". I continued down the list. Matt rolled his eyes. "I can figure this out, unless you really want to do this." I didn't, so I shut up and let him go. He came home with several bags, everything exactly as I'd requested-- except for one thing. There was no Suddenly Salad pasta mix, which I'd been craving. I'd written, "Sud. Salad, original or ceasar." Where was it? The last item I pulled out of the bag was a Dole salad kit, Ceasar style. I asked Matt, "Would you like ceasar salad tomorrow night?" He looked confused. And then it dawn on me.
Complete salad kit in a bag = "suddenly" salad.
Matt was gracious enough to run to the store for me the other evening. I sat down with the list and began to ellaborate on the various items. "Be sure the Mrs. Grass is the original recipe, not with the celery or carrots. Izak won't eat the veggies. And the Mr. Bubble should be for sensitive skin, it's in a white bottle. It's by the adult bubble bath in the health and beauty section...". I continued down the list. Matt rolled his eyes. "I can figure this out, unless you really want to do this." I didn't, so I shut up and let him go. He came home with several bags, everything exactly as I'd requested-- except for one thing. There was no Suddenly Salad pasta mix, which I'd been craving. I'd written, "Sud. Salad, original or ceasar." Where was it? The last item I pulled out of the bag was a Dole salad kit, Ceasar style. I asked Matt, "Would you like ceasar salad tomorrow night?" He looked confused. And then it dawn on me.
Complete salad kit in a bag = "suddenly" salad.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Riding the Bus with my Sister
I stayed up late Sunday night and watched the Hallmark special, "Riding the Bus with my Sister," along with my mother in Michigan. Mom and I called each other during commercial breaks and reflected on the storyline together. The commercial that showed the sister going to her brother's apartment for the first time, the brother who finally moved out mom and dad's at the age of 34, was priceless. He was Down's Syndrome. She brought him a congratulations card (Hallmark, of course), had a tour and lunch. Before the commercial was over, my phone rang. It was Mom. She didn't have to say hello, I have caller ID. "Wasn't that a neat commercial?" "Sure was, Mom." "Okay, that's all I wanted to say. Goodnight."
I don't usually take the time to watch movies about handicapped people. I made the mistake of watching Forrest Gump. It was the first (and almost last) movie with a theme around handicapped people that I would willingly watch. My sister couldn't stomach the movie "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in high school. She left the classroom. I did see "Nell" (very good). But I will generally turn a movie off, or change the channel, if a handicapped person is being depicted. There's an irreverence that writers innately have in their depictions of MR characters and scenarios. It succeeds in highlighting their ignorance of the reality, the structures that surround MR people. Well, maybe not as much ignorance as much as plain ol' lack of perspective. Many times it's a good try, but they miss the essence. And the public watches on, not knowing any better or being able to articulate a different point of view because of their limited exposure to mentally handicapped people. Everyone assumes what is on the screen is probably how things are for MR persons.
The thing that attracted me to the Hallmark film was that it was based on a true story, and from the title I could surmise that it was written by the sister. Being a sister (or brother) of a handicapped sibling is a special club that you are born into; that privilege is rarely abused. I loved the movie. It was witty, true to life, accurate at a lot of levels. Many times I found myself laughing, "If Stef (my older sister) could talk, this is exactly what she'd be saying!!!!" Beth had a ruthless love of riding the bus, junk food, and being in other people's business. That's Stef, except she is lower functioning than the character of Beth. I was captivated by the flashbacks that her older sister would have during the movie. That has become a part of my adult life on a regular basis. Flashbacks to my childhood days, scenes when I failed (or succeeded) to protect my sister, times when she was taunted, hurt, vulnerable. I still carry the weight of those times even in my thirties. I battle the memories knowing that they directly influence the kind of mother that I am and will become. Some of what I inherited from having a handicapped sibling is wonderful. Some of it is poisonous. I have the rest of my life to get it sorted out. Those of us in "the Club" understand that. I met a physician who had a handicapped sister; he was afraid to have children. A PhD research director who couldn't handle it when his children would cry; it evoked a visceral response from when his own handicapped sister would cry and rant as a child. A woman who cried every time she remembered the day her sister got locked outside in the snow, and not a single neighbor offered to help. Simple things - a smell, a sound, a memory. It takes time to figure out.
So thank you to the writer of "Riding the Bus." It was delightful, and gave me fun, new ways to understand my sister and her favorite things. Bus, bus driver, sweets, and friends.
I don't usually take the time to watch movies about handicapped people. I made the mistake of watching Forrest Gump. It was the first (and almost last) movie with a theme around handicapped people that I would willingly watch. My sister couldn't stomach the movie "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in high school. She left the classroom. I did see "Nell" (very good). But I will generally turn a movie off, or change the channel, if a handicapped person is being depicted. There's an irreverence that writers innately have in their depictions of MR characters and scenarios. It succeeds in highlighting their ignorance of the reality, the structures that surround MR people. Well, maybe not as much ignorance as much as plain ol' lack of perspective. Many times it's a good try, but they miss the essence. And the public watches on, not knowing any better or being able to articulate a different point of view because of their limited exposure to mentally handicapped people. Everyone assumes what is on the screen is probably how things are for MR persons.
The thing that attracted me to the Hallmark film was that it was based on a true story, and from the title I could surmise that it was written by the sister. Being a sister (or brother) of a handicapped sibling is a special club that you are born into; that privilege is rarely abused. I loved the movie. It was witty, true to life, accurate at a lot of levels. Many times I found myself laughing, "If Stef (my older sister) could talk, this is exactly what she'd be saying!!!!" Beth had a ruthless love of riding the bus, junk food, and being in other people's business. That's Stef, except she is lower functioning than the character of Beth. I was captivated by the flashbacks that her older sister would have during the movie. That has become a part of my adult life on a regular basis. Flashbacks to my childhood days, scenes when I failed (or succeeded) to protect my sister, times when she was taunted, hurt, vulnerable. I still carry the weight of those times even in my thirties. I battle the memories knowing that they directly influence the kind of mother that I am and will become. Some of what I inherited from having a handicapped sibling is wonderful. Some of it is poisonous. I have the rest of my life to get it sorted out. Those of us in "the Club" understand that. I met a physician who had a handicapped sister; he was afraid to have children. A PhD research director who couldn't handle it when his children would cry; it evoked a visceral response from when his own handicapped sister would cry and rant as a child. A woman who cried every time she remembered the day her sister got locked outside in the snow, and not a single neighbor offered to help. Simple things - a smell, a sound, a memory. It takes time to figure out.
So thank you to the writer of "Riding the Bus." It was delightful, and gave me fun, new ways to understand my sister and her favorite things. Bus, bus driver, sweets, and friends.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Back off, Barney!
A pet peeve of mine is when children's characters, like Barney and Elmo, look into the camera and tell my kids that they love them. "I love you!" Something in me makes me want to jump through the TV and grab that overstuffed throat with my bare hands and say, "I don't think so, punk." The reality is that they don't love my children, so why misuse the sentiment from the tender age of 2? You, Barney, do not get up in the night when there is puke to be cleaned and a boy to be comforted. You, Elmo, do not lay awake at night agonizing over the latest discipline issue. (You may think I've had a reality break, but it is something that I want to blog.)
I think this lazy use of "love" also can set a kid up for inappropriate situations in the future. I love my dear friends' children, but rarely verbalize it. When I do, I make sure it's in the presence of the parents. Unfortunately, this day and age has twisted and poisoned love, as seen by early sexualization of adolescents and increasing numbers of adult perp crimes. What are the chances of me teaching my son and daughter about the healthy, safe characteristics of parental/familial love when I have imaginary characters spewing it at the end of their 30-minute segments?
(This is one of the reasons I loved Mr. Rogers. He understood the turn of the times and maintained an appropriate distance with children while being warm and kind.)
My mommy spider-sense tingles when I hear someone on the TV trying to engage my children with the language of love. Someday it may be someone online, or a member of the opposite sex who flings the word in their direction as a lure. I want the boundaries I am steaking out now to instill the true values and characteristics of love so they will be wise and safe as they grow.
I think this lazy use of "love" also can set a kid up for inappropriate situations in the future. I love my dear friends' children, but rarely verbalize it. When I do, I make sure it's in the presence of the parents. Unfortunately, this day and age has twisted and poisoned love, as seen by early sexualization of adolescents and increasing numbers of adult perp crimes. What are the chances of me teaching my son and daughter about the healthy, safe characteristics of parental/familial love when I have imaginary characters spewing it at the end of their 30-minute segments?
(This is one of the reasons I loved Mr. Rogers. He understood the turn of the times and maintained an appropriate distance with children while being warm and kind.)
My mommy spider-sense tingles when I hear someone on the TV trying to engage my children with the language of love. Someday it may be someone online, or a member of the opposite sex who flings the word in their direction as a lure. I want the boundaries I am steaking out now to instill the true values and characteristics of love so they will be wise and safe as they grow.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Family (Flu) Day
We had a wonderful weekend with our friends, the Musielaks from Buffalo. I cannot put into words how perfect the timing was. It dawned on me that, though I really like my new life here in Illinois, most of the time I still feel like a visitor. Strange.
We had a special day planned for Sunday afternoon with just the four adults. Dee Norlin, who is amazing with four under four, came over and watched the kids so we could go play. I'm so thankful for the great afternoon and evening we spent together. When we got home, all of the kids were sleeping, and Dee still looked cheerful and energetic. I don't think I've ever met anyone who is truly energized by children the way that she is. What a blessing. To her tribute, she had four babies under five, the last two being 11 months apart. (I'm kneeling and bowing right now. LOL)
Sunday at 11p Izak started with an unusual cry... oh, that's right, the flu cry. I didn't reconginize it. Monday morning Libby joined in. I was just worried about getting the Musielaks out before they got it. As of Tuesday, they're still all standing. At noon on Monday Matt went down the hardest and slept from noon until 6 a.m. the next day. So family day was composed of the BRAT diet, stinky carpets, and frequent diaper emergencies. I think I have washed every piece of fabric in the house, some twice.
When I'm pregnant, and spending much of the work week alone with the two little ones, I tend to take Matt's sicknesses personally. I don't mean to get angry with him, but darn it, I do. I can laugh at it a little today. I pull the weight all week and I expect some help for ONE day. I look forward to a real nap on Mondays, adult conversation and companionship. When he disappeared upstairs I knew it was bad. The #1 rule is, If you're sick then go to bed and get out of my way. (Did I mention I have mercy gifts? :) ) When he stumbled downstairs Tuesday, he looked pasty and beat. He said, "You know, I don't get sick just to piss you off." I had to laugh. I know, but it brings out the height of frustration in me. But in my defense, I did check on him several times while he was sick and sleeping in the guest room (The #2 sick rule is, Don't sleep in the most comfortable bed. You might contaminate it, and the caregiver of the home needs to be well-rested to care for everyone else.).
It's already Wednesday. The week's half gone. Heck, before I know it it'll be family day... again.
We had a special day planned for Sunday afternoon with just the four adults. Dee Norlin, who is amazing with four under four, came over and watched the kids so we could go play. I'm so thankful for the great afternoon and evening we spent together. When we got home, all of the kids were sleeping, and Dee still looked cheerful and energetic. I don't think I've ever met anyone who is truly energized by children the way that she is. What a blessing. To her tribute, she had four babies under five, the last two being 11 months apart. (I'm kneeling and bowing right now. LOL)
Sunday at 11p Izak started with an unusual cry... oh, that's right, the flu cry. I didn't reconginize it. Monday morning Libby joined in. I was just worried about getting the Musielaks out before they got it. As of Tuesday, they're still all standing. At noon on Monday Matt went down the hardest and slept from noon until 6 a.m. the next day. So family day was composed of the BRAT diet, stinky carpets, and frequent diaper emergencies. I think I have washed every piece of fabric in the house, some twice.
When I'm pregnant, and spending much of the work week alone with the two little ones, I tend to take Matt's sicknesses personally. I don't mean to get angry with him, but darn it, I do. I can laugh at it a little today. I pull the weight all week and I expect some help for ONE day. I look forward to a real nap on Mondays, adult conversation and companionship. When he disappeared upstairs I knew it was bad. The #1 rule is, If you're sick then go to bed and get out of my way. (Did I mention I have mercy gifts? :) ) When he stumbled downstairs Tuesday, he looked pasty and beat. He said, "You know, I don't get sick just to piss you off." I had to laugh. I know, but it brings out the height of frustration in me. But in my defense, I did check on him several times while he was sick and sleeping in the guest room (The #2 sick rule is, Don't sleep in the most comfortable bed. You might contaminate it, and the caregiver of the home needs to be well-rested to care for everyone else.).
It's already Wednesday. The week's half gone. Heck, before I know it it'll be family day... again.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
God Bless Benedict
You can tell when Matt and I actually have grown-up conversations because we tend to blog similarly. LOL I have been so moved by the whole Pope events that have occurred recently. First of all, I felt a great deal of warmth regarding Pope JPII. I appreciated the ways in which he used his authority. Granted, since I'm not RC I may not be aware of all of the ins and outs of his papacy, but what I did hear seemed to make sense, and held closer to Biblical teachings than some protestant churches I know. I don't think the RC is on target with their entire theology, but I can't think of one denomination who is. There may be some former RC friends out there who are reading this that react to the fact that I won't toe the line and condemn this religion. I have some wonderful friends who are definitely alive in the Spirit who are RC. I have a variety of friends who are protestant that are not. I think I'm harder on the protestant denominations because it's through these churches (the "Holiness Movement" in specific) that I became confused and disenfranchised with Christianity, so it's often despite Protestantism that I follow Jesus. Perhaps friends who used to be RC and are now protestant feel similarly...
Another strange emotional link that I had with PJP2 was 9/11. For some reason I remember a camera shot of the Pope in is his special place of prayer that day at the Vatican. It was a side profile from a distance, he was leaning on a beautiful podium in prayer, and in the silence he began to weep, his hands covering his face and he slumped over the podium. That image has stuck with me. Not sure why, maybe it confirmed the tenderness I saw in him.
My mother's mother also had Parkinson's Disease from a very young age. My earliest memories of her were with the masked expression, sunken posture, and occasionally, incomprehensible slurred speech. When the conversation turned to "Hellooo? Is the Pope Still in There? How Can He Possibly Be Functioning?" I always thought of my grandmother, and the value that her family placed on her, though the interactions were becoming fewer and farther between... the whole sanctity of life thing. I thought about the caregivers that gently fed him and cared for his failing body. I thought about the humiliation that often accompanies the deterioration of the body, and how in the faithful it often adds a beauty to the spirit. So I cried when PJP2 died.
My stomach turned and churned on Sunday when I Matt and I paused on a televised protestant church service. At first we were taking note of the traditions that so annoyed us... I won't go into them lest I play my hand. ;) And then the preacher stood up and open with an illustration of the "chaos and emptiness exemplified by organized religion"-- and he had the balls to begin ranting about the RCC, the Pope's death, blah blah blah. I was flabbergasted at the disrespect, condescension, and hypocrisy of it all. I thought, You sit there singing your hymns in your robes, standing behind a pulpit, looking out over your pews, praying the Lord's prayer in unison, and you give no credit to the very religion that spawned you?!? Nice. Some protestants are quick to bitch and forgetful of their own past. And I think every religion has their own "We're right, everyone else is damned" clause. Must we be so acrid about it? True Christ-followers, regardless of the name over the door, possess the winsome beauty of the Holy Spirit, the character of Jesus, and kinship with the Father's own children, their spiritual brothers and sisters.
So I cried again when the bells rang that "Habemus Papum!" What a rich tradition. And a humble man's life is changed forever. As he commented on trusting in the prayers of his people, I thought, I don't think the prayerful devotion of the RC for their leader on a world-wide scale has any duplicate in the protestant realm. We don't view praying for our leaders as seriously as I've witness within the RC.
Well, my rant is fading. Thanks for listening. My daughter has become mobile so I need to run. God bless Pope Benedict the Sixteenth.
Another strange emotional link that I had with PJP2 was 9/11. For some reason I remember a camera shot of the Pope in is his special place of prayer that day at the Vatican. It was a side profile from a distance, he was leaning on a beautiful podium in prayer, and in the silence he began to weep, his hands covering his face and he slumped over the podium. That image has stuck with me. Not sure why, maybe it confirmed the tenderness I saw in him.
My mother's mother also had Parkinson's Disease from a very young age. My earliest memories of her were with the masked expression, sunken posture, and occasionally, incomprehensible slurred speech. When the conversation turned to "Hellooo? Is the Pope Still in There? How Can He Possibly Be Functioning?" I always thought of my grandmother, and the value that her family placed on her, though the interactions were becoming fewer and farther between... the whole sanctity of life thing. I thought about the caregivers that gently fed him and cared for his failing body. I thought about the humiliation that often accompanies the deterioration of the body, and how in the faithful it often adds a beauty to the spirit. So I cried when PJP2 died.
My stomach turned and churned on Sunday when I Matt and I paused on a televised protestant church service. At first we were taking note of the traditions that so annoyed us... I won't go into them lest I play my hand. ;) And then the preacher stood up and open with an illustration of the "chaos and emptiness exemplified by organized religion"-- and he had the balls to begin ranting about the RCC, the Pope's death, blah blah blah. I was flabbergasted at the disrespect, condescension, and hypocrisy of it all. I thought, You sit there singing your hymns in your robes, standing behind a pulpit, looking out over your pews, praying the Lord's prayer in unison, and you give no credit to the very religion that spawned you?!? Nice. Some protestants are quick to bitch and forgetful of their own past. And I think every religion has their own "We're right, everyone else is damned" clause. Must we be so acrid about it? True Christ-followers, regardless of the name over the door, possess the winsome beauty of the Holy Spirit, the character of Jesus, and kinship with the Father's own children, their spiritual brothers and sisters.
So I cried again when the bells rang that "Habemus Papum!" What a rich tradition. And a humble man's life is changed forever. As he commented on trusting in the prayers of his people, I thought, I don't think the prayerful devotion of the RC for their leader on a world-wide scale has any duplicate in the protestant realm. We don't view praying for our leaders as seriously as I've witness within the RC.
Well, my rant is fading. Thanks for listening. My daughter has become mobile so I need to run. God bless Pope Benedict the Sixteenth.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Another Family Day
Mondays are pretty sacred in the Furr house. We generally ignore all phone calls and spend the day together. Today it was 80-degrees in Chicagoland. Matt suggested we go to a park, I believe the term was "explore." So I spent time packing a picnic lunch and preparing for said adventure.
It began to go slightly awry when Libby decided she'd take a super long nap. This endangered the good graces of older brother, who typically starts to go South around 11:30a. I pulled her from her bed at 11a and loaded her in the car seat. She sobbed. Once we all got on the road Izak (2.5y) decides he is going to stop using his "words" and just sits in the back seat yelling, "Please! Please!!" He was trying to demand water and pretzels, but we were ignoring him because he wouldn't ask politely. So about 9 miles into our journey and things didn't look good. We had located a state park that looked like it would be fun for picnicking and play... once we found it, we had to turn back because it was on fire. You heard me, as in flames and smoke. The give-away should have been the big tower of smoke that I spotted 5 miles away. It appeared to be a "controlled" burn, perhaps an old field. The sign on the sidewalk said "No access." Matt thought it was probably just for the bikers, since it was across the sidewalk. I assured him that since there were 5 acres of flames and the wind was blowing over the rest of the park, that perhaps we should find another place for the children... But by now they're sobbing and hungry, and things are not looking promising...
Leaving the park my comment was, "The first park you see, we're stopping. I don't care if it's in a subdivision. You pull this van over." We noted that the funeral home did have a nice basketball hoop, but no swings or slides for the kids, so we continued down the road until we came across a little lakeside park. We squealed into the parking lot at noon and ran for the swings. Ah, ideal picnic, soft breeze, the sound of the highway just off to our left, but hey! We were out of the van, and for the moment, not crying or screaming, "Please!!" After an hour we started the bittersweet journey home for naps. Note: Izak doesn't leave playgrounds gracefully.
It was a late start, but besides the forest fire and utter desperation of the park hunt panic, it was a really good day.
It began to go slightly awry when Libby decided she'd take a super long nap. This endangered the good graces of older brother, who typically starts to go South around 11:30a. I pulled her from her bed at 11a and loaded her in the car seat. She sobbed. Once we all got on the road Izak (2.5y) decides he is going to stop using his "words" and just sits in the back seat yelling, "Please! Please!!" He was trying to demand water and pretzels, but we were ignoring him because he wouldn't ask politely. So about 9 miles into our journey and things didn't look good. We had located a state park that looked like it would be fun for picnicking and play... once we found it, we had to turn back because it was on fire. You heard me, as in flames and smoke. The give-away should have been the big tower of smoke that I spotted 5 miles away. It appeared to be a "controlled" burn, perhaps an old field. The sign on the sidewalk said "No access." Matt thought it was probably just for the bikers, since it was across the sidewalk. I assured him that since there were 5 acres of flames and the wind was blowing over the rest of the park, that perhaps we should find another place for the children... But by now they're sobbing and hungry, and things are not looking promising...
Leaving the park my comment was, "The first park you see, we're stopping. I don't care if it's in a subdivision. You pull this van over." We noted that the funeral home did have a nice basketball hoop, but no swings or slides for the kids, so we continued down the road until we came across a little lakeside park. We squealed into the parking lot at noon and ran for the swings. Ah, ideal picnic, soft breeze, the sound of the highway just off to our left, but hey! We were out of the van, and for the moment, not crying or screaming, "Please!!" After an hour we started the bittersweet journey home for naps. Note: Izak doesn't leave playgrounds gracefully.
It was a late start, but besides the forest fire and utter desperation of the park hunt panic, it was a really good day.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Baby Number Three Update
Monday Matt and I went for our 13-week appointment. I love the fact that it's a priority to him to come with me to all my doctor visits. We met another doctor in the practice... I asked Matt on the way out if he thought she was even old enough to drive. We're probably the same age. She was a size zero, 4-foot-nothin' pleasant Asian woman with really tiny hands. The things you notice after two births.
It took a minute but she caught up with the zippy little baby in my belly... heartbeat 160. I laughed, "It's a girl!" And Matt said, "But you're sure it's a boy." I know the heartbeat thing has no scientific backing, but it was right with both of my previous babies (faster hr = girl, slower = boy). Mommy brain trumps nurse brain, observes my husband. So now I have no idea. I love the surprise at birth. "It's a ...... !" One of the few things that I am genuinely delighted to find out after the fact.
Of course, we have names picked out, and as much as I don't care what you may think of them, I'm not going to post them here. If we're good enough friends to talk outside of this forum, and you want to know, I'd be happy to tell you.
The insurance company has denied my request for a month of meds at a time, and is insisting that I get 20/$25. I'll continue to argue this because the main reason for denial was that my form was (for the SIXTH time) filled out incorrectly by the doctor's office staff. I have a copy of the form, I'm an RN, I'll do it myself and take it in to them. Overall, I'm really unimpressed with this medical group. I like the doctors, but their ancillary staff is fair to poor. The office manager who sits behind the glass as you walk in has never once smiled. Bad attitudes, lack, lack, lack of professionalism, shoddy attention to details, all except for this sweet CNA at the Gurnee office named Vickie. She has to be one of the sweetest, most thorough assistants I've met. I keep thinking, The office staff isn't going to deliver the baby. And it pales when compared to my midwifery practice in New York. But I adjusted my expectations downward for this third one as I am dealing with doctors and lackluster staff. I'd love to write a letter to the docs right now about my experience so far, but I know how the passive-aggressive thing can work in health care. I'm not suicidal! When it comes to the hospital, I understand that they only have private post-birth rooms. Cool, no roomies! I think I'll be lucky to get to the hospital with much time left before the baby comes.
The kids are waking up. Gotta run.
It took a minute but she caught up with the zippy little baby in my belly... heartbeat 160. I laughed, "It's a girl!" And Matt said, "But you're sure it's a boy." I know the heartbeat thing has no scientific backing, but it was right with both of my previous babies (faster hr = girl, slower = boy). Mommy brain trumps nurse brain, observes my husband. So now I have no idea. I love the surprise at birth. "It's a ...... !" One of the few things that I am genuinely delighted to find out after the fact.
Of course, we have names picked out, and as much as I don't care what you may think of them, I'm not going to post them here. If we're good enough friends to talk outside of this forum, and you want to know, I'd be happy to tell you.
The insurance company has denied my request for a month of meds at a time, and is insisting that I get 20/$25. I'll continue to argue this because the main reason for denial was that my form was (for the SIXTH time) filled out incorrectly by the doctor's office staff. I have a copy of the form, I'm an RN, I'll do it myself and take it in to them. Overall, I'm really unimpressed with this medical group. I like the doctors, but their ancillary staff is fair to poor. The office manager who sits behind the glass as you walk in has never once smiled. Bad attitudes, lack, lack, lack of professionalism, shoddy attention to details, all except for this sweet CNA at the Gurnee office named Vickie. She has to be one of the sweetest, most thorough assistants I've met. I keep thinking, The office staff isn't going to deliver the baby. And it pales when compared to my midwifery practice in New York. But I adjusted my expectations downward for this third one as I am dealing with doctors and lackluster staff. I'd love to write a letter to the docs right now about my experience so far, but I know how the passive-aggressive thing can work in health care. I'm not suicidal! When it comes to the hospital, I understand that they only have private post-birth rooms. Cool, no roomies! I think I'll be lucky to get to the hospital with much time left before the baby comes.
The kids are waking up. Gotta run.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Recycle
I admit it, I used to roll my eyes at the thought of recycling. For one, I had no appreciation for the shrill argument involving trash in space and holes in the ozone. The way it had been presented made me rear back on my haunches and shout, "Someday this world will be consumed by fire! So who cares?!" I had made friends with people who were slightly less shrill, but still difficult for me to handle. They used the argument that we needed to be "creation conscious," but would turn the talk into an attack on large churches, Republicans, and then ranted about examples and studies that seemed so outlandish and self-righteous that I, again, tuned out.
Then I became friends with Carrie Musielak. In her Eden home she religiously folded up old boxes, rinsed and stored plastic baggies, and collected soda cans. I was stunned when I came by to visit one morning before the trash had been collected, and I saw a mammoth recycle pile that equaled the size of the trash bin. Something in me clicked. I could do this. Carrie never shoved anything down my throat by lecturing, or accused me (in so many words) of being a lousy Christ-follower. She lived the example.
So I began learning what the recycle center would accept, made a little side container to put items in, and started on the road to recycling. (Note: The financial incentive that MI offers for soda cans and bottles was a huge reason that I did save those items when I lived there.)
I cloth diaper too, and I am amazed at how much less trash there is on a weekly basis when I'm using cloth. I've taken a break during the first trimester of my pregnancies because the nausea and vomiting is so severe, and the smell can be overwhelming. But today I fired up the cloth train and tossed the kids in their soft, white cloth Bumkins. It feels good to be back...
I accept the responsibility of trying to minimize the amount of disposable diapers that I toss into landfills. Plastic diapers (all disposables are plastic) do not biodegrade. Wouldn't it be amazing if they invented biodegradable disposable diapers? Wow...
All of this is now compounded by the fact that every time I drive to church I pass a huge landfill on Route 83. Matt and I have nicknamed it "the Rosebud." Stinks to high Heaven. And the little voice in my head says, This is why you must take your trash seriously. So now I buy paper bowls, paper plates, and soon paper cups when company comes over. It's why I get so bummed when the plastic baby food containers are #7 recyclables. Illinois accepts #1-5. It's why I'm flushing as much baby waste as possible. I don't pretend to be a hard-core, save-the-planet, God-hates-development-and-technology activist. The arguments still leave a bad taste in my mouth. But in a small way I'm taking the responsibility that I believe is reasonable for my family at this time. I run the household operations. I decide what comes in and goes out. And I have established recycling as a value for our family.
Then I became friends with Carrie Musielak. In her Eden home she religiously folded up old boxes, rinsed and stored plastic baggies, and collected soda cans. I was stunned when I came by to visit one morning before the trash had been collected, and I saw a mammoth recycle pile that equaled the size of the trash bin. Something in me clicked. I could do this. Carrie never shoved anything down my throat by lecturing, or accused me (in so many words) of being a lousy Christ-follower. She lived the example.
So I began learning what the recycle center would accept, made a little side container to put items in, and started on the road to recycling. (Note: The financial incentive that MI offers for soda cans and bottles was a huge reason that I did save those items when I lived there.)
I cloth diaper too, and I am amazed at how much less trash there is on a weekly basis when I'm using cloth. I've taken a break during the first trimester of my pregnancies because the nausea and vomiting is so severe, and the smell can be overwhelming. But today I fired up the cloth train and tossed the kids in their soft, white cloth Bumkins. It feels good to be back...
I accept the responsibility of trying to minimize the amount of disposable diapers that I toss into landfills. Plastic diapers (all disposables are plastic) do not biodegrade. Wouldn't it be amazing if they invented biodegradable disposable diapers? Wow...
All of this is now compounded by the fact that every time I drive to church I pass a huge landfill on Route 83. Matt and I have nicknamed it "the Rosebud." Stinks to high Heaven. And the little voice in my head says, This is why you must take your trash seriously. So now I buy paper bowls, paper plates, and soon paper cups when company comes over. It's why I get so bummed when the plastic baby food containers are #7 recyclables. Illinois accepts #1-5. It's why I'm flushing as much baby waste as possible. I don't pretend to be a hard-core, save-the-planet, God-hates-development-and-technology activist. The arguments still leave a bad taste in my mouth. But in a small way I'm taking the responsibility that I believe is reasonable for my family at this time. I run the household operations. I decide what comes in and goes out. And I have established recycling as a value for our family.
Friday, April 08, 2005
They're heeerrrreeee....
Hi, all. Sorry it's been a bit since my last post. I try to keep up with two posts a week. The way I've been feeling (green with my head in the toilet) I've just been trying to get through the days until Matt gets home in the evening. Haven't felt much like talking.
My in-laws have begun landing in the Lake Villa pad, starting last night. SIL, BIL, and three nephews are here for a few days. They're on their way home from skiing in Colorado over Spring Break. The basement is finished and was ready for the boys last night, but there were a few too many new sounds and three too many overactive imaginations. So the five Carys ended up bunking together in the guest room. This morning Izak was thrilled to find his cousins here. And within the first hour of play Izzy had smacked into a corner and received a bloody lip/shiner. Then I hear, "Look at Izak dance on the pool table!" The littlest monkey had figured out how to climb up to new heights. I pretended I didn't hear it for a minute, but then decided to intervene before he broke his neck. This evening the parent-in-laws come with lasagna!. Yum. And Suzy and I will hopefully get a chance to hit Motherhood. I need some summer outfits, since the girls that I shared clothes with are back in NY. Mom gave me money for Christmas that I think I'll use it now.
It's wonderful to have the room for 7 visitors and not displace my own family. The Carys have always been amazing sports when it came to visiting and making due with whatever our current housing situation was. Seminary dorm, one bedroom loft, two bedroom old home... they just pile into these tiny rooms and somehow manage to sleep and enjoy themselves. Troopers!
Another thing that makes me pause before I blog is that when I'm pregnant I become very blunt. Not a lot of diplomacy. I don't get out-of-control emotional or sappy - I get to the point. Maybe it's because I feel so crappy, and the normal coping mechanism is slim to none, but I feel very strongly about things and want to express unfinished, unedited thoughts. And for me, that's a bit unsafe.
Pregnancy is such a vulnerable time for me. I feel like an exposed nerve. It's a time when things happen in me and to me. The physical birth along with the time of transformation that God takes my soul through is so humbling, so intimate. It's hard to explain. It is like walking in the wilderness where you are unsafe, yet protected. I feel the weakness of my flesh. I'm acutely aware that God alone provides everyting I need, including safety. Scripture talks about walking quietly with God. Pregnancy is a time when He is so near to me that I can receive His tender thoughts as my own without much hesitation. His words stick deeply in my heart. It's hard to not have an outlet by which to express my gratitude... leading worship was always a much more powerful time for me when I was carrying a baby (not to mention when I sing the nausea goes away!). And being so far from close women friends who bear me up and surround me with prayer... it's hard. So this particular journey into the wild woods of pregnancy is especially hushed, lonely, and bittersweet-- but in the best ways possible.
My in-laws have begun landing in the Lake Villa pad, starting last night. SIL, BIL, and three nephews are here for a few days. They're on their way home from skiing in Colorado over Spring Break. The basement is finished and was ready for the boys last night, but there were a few too many new sounds and three too many overactive imaginations. So the five Carys ended up bunking together in the guest room. This morning Izak was thrilled to find his cousins here. And within the first hour of play Izzy had smacked into a corner and received a bloody lip/shiner. Then I hear, "Look at Izak dance on the pool table!" The littlest monkey had figured out how to climb up to new heights. I pretended I didn't hear it for a minute, but then decided to intervene before he broke his neck. This evening the parent-in-laws come with lasagna!. Yum. And Suzy and I will hopefully get a chance to hit Motherhood. I need some summer outfits, since the girls that I shared clothes with are back in NY. Mom gave me money for Christmas that I think I'll use it now.
It's wonderful to have the room for 7 visitors and not displace my own family. The Carys have always been amazing sports when it came to visiting and making due with whatever our current housing situation was. Seminary dorm, one bedroom loft, two bedroom old home... they just pile into these tiny rooms and somehow manage to sleep and enjoy themselves. Troopers!
Another thing that makes me pause before I blog is that when I'm pregnant I become very blunt. Not a lot of diplomacy. I don't get out-of-control emotional or sappy - I get to the point. Maybe it's because I feel so crappy, and the normal coping mechanism is slim to none, but I feel very strongly about things and want to express unfinished, unedited thoughts. And for me, that's a bit unsafe.
Pregnancy is such a vulnerable time for me. I feel like an exposed nerve. It's a time when things happen in me and to me. The physical birth along with the time of transformation that God takes my soul through is so humbling, so intimate. It's hard to explain. It is like walking in the wilderness where you are unsafe, yet protected. I feel the weakness of my flesh. I'm acutely aware that God alone provides everyting I need, including safety. Scripture talks about walking quietly with God. Pregnancy is a time when He is so near to me that I can receive His tender thoughts as my own without much hesitation. His words stick deeply in my heart. It's hard to not have an outlet by which to express my gratitude... leading worship was always a much more powerful time for me when I was carrying a baby (not to mention when I sing the nausea goes away!). And being so far from close women friends who bear me up and surround me with prayer... it's hard. So this particular journey into the wild woods of pregnancy is especially hushed, lonely, and bittersweet-- but in the best ways possible.
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