We usually begin our school day at 8am.
So, naturally, I usually begin waking up my children/students around 7am.
Why then was this morning's wake-up call so very rough?
No kidding it was...rough.
Every body had a bed (or two) strewn across it. Rumpled sheets across cherubic looking faces. Warm and cozy bodies snuggled tightly into their beds. When I arrived a mere 15 minutes early to gently rouse my troops for our parish's first-ever homeschool Mass (isn't that cool?) where Beulah and Hannah would do both the reading and responsorial psalm, did eager faces meet my "Good Morning"!
In a word, no. Although, in their defense, I will say that Beulah and Hannah were already awake when I peeked in their room this morning. Candace and Naomi, however, were not. It took all sorts of cajoling and lofty promises of food and drink from a wonderful place that rhymes with Danera to elicit even a slight rapid-eye movement.
I knew I would need to bring out the big guns.
"Girls," I whispered as I gently rubbed their heads, "do you want to go down and watch a kid's show before we go? You can bring your blankets with you?"
A grin appeared on Candace's face and without opening her eyes she mumbled back, "Can we bring the bed?"
Suffice to say, we made it to Mass on time. And my girls, both of my girls, did a marvelous job with their readings.
Showing posts with label Family matters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family matters. Show all posts
Friday, September 04, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Praise
"There are so many ways of praying, so many ways of addressing God: in repentance, in petition, in intercession. But in the end we were meant to praise our Creator. Gratitude puts everything into a different perspective. It prevents me from taking anything for granted. It helps me to live my life awake, alert to those good gifts that I am given, in a state of mindfulness or awareness. Then, when I look at the world with eyes of wonder, I discover, rather to my chagrin, that it is often only too easy to drift and become neglectful, lazy, forgetful of gratefulness. I enjoy that line of W.H. Auden, "Practice the scales of rejoicing," because of its suggestion that it really is hard work and needs discipline. I might rewrite those familiar words "pray without ceasing" so that they become "praise without ceasing," giving thanks to my Creator for all the good gifts in my life." --Esther De Waal
"Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise!" Psalm 95:2
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Fiaklnllay I Caa;kmn wrrRitae
Sorry about that title. I type much better with my mittens off!
Yes--mittens--the A/C is (knock on wood) fixed and it is finally below 80 degrees on the Ark for the first time in 6 days!
Now, I believe I promised you a story...
Way back in the Winter, we were struggling with a high school decision for The Boy. We had hemmed and hawed about every piece of minutiae that was available. But when we finally came to a decision, we suddenly had peace about it. We knew that it was the right decision for us.
Actually, let me take you back even further. Over a year ago, we were discerning whether or not we would begin homeschooling. It became clear to us that homeschool was an appropriate choice for our family, but that it would not include The Boy, who only had one year of school left before beginning high school. The decision was made to allow him to finish 8th grade at the parish school where he was doing very well and had formed many good, solid friendships.
Back to earlier this year.
We had made our high school decision and now registration paperwork to rival an adoption dossier began pouring in to the Ark. We sorted through the papers. We circular-filed the unnecessary ones and began putting pen to paper on the others.
As spring approached, there was one last paper to complete. The deadline for the form was May 1st. After more hemming and hawing, a call down to "the principal's office" to discuss said form prompted us to go ahead and complete it. So, complete it we did.
Fast forward to the end of May. Graduation week. The Captain and I (thanks to the kindness of my neighbor who came to stay with the rest of the arklings) accompanied The Boy to the 8th grade awards dinner. Sitting front and center, we were so proud of him as he accepted award after award for his academic achievements, his character and his accomplishments on the sports field.
But none of those awards could have prepared me for what was about to happen. As we sat, directly in front of the stage (yes, the stage was in the gym where the dinner was held---isn't the cafetorium standard Catholic school fare?), we listened as the principal introduced a woman who was there to present one, last special award.
It seems that her father, who has since passed on, was a physician in our area who had done very well for himself. In addition to raising 5 children (who from her description had also gone on to do great things), he was a successful surgeon and a strong supporter of the community and parish at large. She wound her way around his life's story and shared the sacrifice---because "every parent sacrifices in some way to give his or her children a Catholic education" she said---their family had made to send all 5 children through the parish school and then on to the diocesan Catholic high school.
Because her father knew how important this was to him and he knew the sacrifices involved, he wanted to pay his success forward in the hopes that it would help someone else.
Someone who had worked hard and academically achieved in grade school.
Someone whose character was one that looked outside him or herself to help others.
Someone who had a love for Science and excelled in that area.
Someone who had attended the same exact parish grade school his children had attended.
And someone who would be a Freshman next year at the same diocesan high school he sent his children to many years ago.
That someone, his daughter announced, would be honored with a full, four-year high school scholarship.
And that someone was The Boy.
After all that hemming and hawing about grade school decision and high school plans, in one evening we received an unbelievable affirmation about our choices. The scholarship could only be given to a student who had attended that specific parish grade school and who would attend that specific diocesan high school. And, of course, it could only be given if you completed the application form.
I can almost see God winking at us now.
Yes--mittens--the A/C is (knock on wood) fixed and it is finally below 80 degrees on the Ark for the first time in 6 days!
Now, I believe I promised you a story...
Way back in the Winter, we were struggling with a high school decision for The Boy. We had hemmed and hawed about every piece of minutiae that was available. But when we finally came to a decision, we suddenly had peace about it. We knew that it was the right decision for us.
Actually, let me take you back even further. Over a year ago, we were discerning whether or not we would begin homeschooling. It became clear to us that homeschool was an appropriate choice for our family, but that it would not include The Boy, who only had one year of school left before beginning high school. The decision was made to allow him to finish 8th grade at the parish school where he was doing very well and had formed many good, solid friendships.
Back to earlier this year.
We had made our high school decision and now registration paperwork to rival an adoption dossier began pouring in to the Ark. We sorted through the papers. We circular-filed the unnecessary ones and began putting pen to paper on the others.
As spring approached, there was one last paper to complete. The deadline for the form was May 1st. After more hemming and hawing, a call down to "the principal's office" to discuss said form prompted us to go ahead and complete it. So, complete it we did.
Fast forward to the end of May. Graduation week. The Captain and I (thanks to the kindness of my neighbor who came to stay with the rest of the arklings) accompanied The Boy to the 8th grade awards dinner. Sitting front and center, we were so proud of him as he accepted award after award for his academic achievements, his character and his accomplishments on the sports field.
But none of those awards could have prepared me for what was about to happen. As we sat, directly in front of the stage (yes, the stage was in the gym where the dinner was held---isn't the cafetorium standard Catholic school fare?), we listened as the principal introduced a woman who was there to present one, last special award.
It seems that her father, who has since passed on, was a physician in our area who had done very well for himself. In addition to raising 5 children (who from her description had also gone on to do great things), he was a successful surgeon and a strong supporter of the community and parish at large. She wound her way around his life's story and shared the sacrifice---because "every parent sacrifices in some way to give his or her children a Catholic education" she said---their family had made to send all 5 children through the parish school and then on to the diocesan Catholic high school.
Because her father knew how important this was to him and he knew the sacrifices involved, he wanted to pay his success forward in the hopes that it would help someone else.
Someone who had worked hard and academically achieved in grade school.
Someone whose character was one that looked outside him or herself to help others.
Someone who had a love for Science and excelled in that area.
Someone who had attended the same exact parish grade school his children had attended.
And someone who would be a Freshman next year at the same diocesan high school he sent his children to many years ago.
That someone, his daughter announced, would be honored with a full, four-year high school scholarship.
And that someone was The Boy.
After all that hemming and hawing about grade school decision and high school plans, in one evening we received an unbelievable affirmation about our choices. The scholarship could only be given to a student who had attended that specific parish grade school and who would attend that specific diocesan high school. And, of course, it could only be given if you completed the application form.
I can almost see God winking at us now.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Sweet Sixteen
Before the day was done yesterday, as my mother-in-law phoned to announce the cancellation of our weekend track meet due (in part) to swine flu, I jokingly remarked to her that it only took a minor pandemic to garner a relaxing weekend at home.
Earlier in the day, however, my mood was less than jovial.
I had been nursing a head cold since the exact moment that the press released news of the outbreak. Then, we had to make the trip downtown to finalize Baby Girl's papers as Chicago began closing schools due to probably cases of the virus. So, it is not an understatement to say that I had begun to panic a full 48 hours prior to yesterday when I had to take Baby Girl in for her follow-up appointment. It didn't help matters that apparently our medical clinic had gotten the panic memo, too and was prohibiting entry to their facilities until each arriving patient had been "interviewed". Upon talking with Baby Girl and I about our fever-less, cough-less ailment, we were re-directed to the Urgent Care section of the clinic for evaluation. Additional masked health care providers met us at the door and did the most helpful thing for a panicked mother and child---showed us to an out-of-the-way waiting room (so we wouldn't be around any sick people, of course) and left us to sit for a while.
As five minutes turned to ten and ten to fifteen, I began to think that this process wasn't going to be as quick and easy as it seemed and I had two preschoolers to pick up from school. Flagging down one of the masked faces, I inquired about our wait time. She returned quickly only to inform me that eight more people were scheduled to be seen ahead of us. Unable to wait any longer, I headed out to my car where Beulah and Hannah had been waiting for me: reading and listening to the radio.
For those of you who are knowledgeable about automobiles and such, you might predict here what happened next.
For those of you like me, you hopped into the car, frustrated with the situation and worried about the impending apocalypse, and turned the key in the ignition expecting to make a mad dash to preschool pick up and hearing only: click...click...click...click...click
The car battery was dead.
It was more than one mom could take in a day. I laid my head down on the steering wheel and between tears cried, "Nononononono--this is not happening." I pulled out my cell phone, which fortunately was charged and called the Captain.
Between sniffles and sobs, I struggled to explain my current crisis:
"I was taking Baby Girl to the doctors (sniff) and everyone at the door had on masks (sob). They're testing people for the swine flu (sob sob) and we waited for so long (sniff sniff) but I had to pick up the girls from preschool (sniffle sob sniff). Now I turned the car on and it just "click clicks" and won't go (soooooobbbbbb)."
The ever level-headed Captain assessed the situation, created a contingency plan and worked it out.
Then he called me back:
"It's okay. I'm on my way to get the girls now. Once the mechanic jumps the car, just come home. I'll meet you there."
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I nodded in the affirmative into the phone.
"One last thing," he said with a chuckle, "Next time you call me in tears, please don't lead off with 'They're testing me for swine flu.'"
Sixteen years ago today, The Captain promised before a church full of friends and family (and a few West Point wedding tourists) to accept the role of loving me and our little family in a way that mirrors the love God has for us.
He's been watching my back ever since.
Earlier in the day, however, my mood was less than jovial.
I had been nursing a head cold since the exact moment that the press released news of the outbreak. Then, we had to make the trip downtown to finalize Baby Girl's papers as Chicago began closing schools due to probably cases of the virus. So, it is not an understatement to say that I had begun to panic a full 48 hours prior to yesterday when I had to take Baby Girl in for her follow-up appointment. It didn't help matters that apparently our medical clinic had gotten the panic memo, too and was prohibiting entry to their facilities until each arriving patient had been "interviewed". Upon talking with Baby Girl and I about our fever-less, cough-less ailment, we were re-directed to the Urgent Care section of the clinic for evaluation. Additional masked health care providers met us at the door and did the most helpful thing for a panicked mother and child---showed us to an out-of-the-way waiting room (so we wouldn't be around any sick people, of course) and left us to sit for a while.
As five minutes turned to ten and ten to fifteen, I began to think that this process wasn't going to be as quick and easy as it seemed and I had two preschoolers to pick up from school. Flagging down one of the masked faces, I inquired about our wait time. She returned quickly only to inform me that eight more people were scheduled to be seen ahead of us. Unable to wait any longer, I headed out to my car where Beulah and Hannah had been waiting for me: reading and listening to the radio.
For those of you who are knowledgeable about automobiles and such, you might predict here what happened next.
For those of you like me, you hopped into the car, frustrated with the situation and worried about the impending apocalypse, and turned the key in the ignition expecting to make a mad dash to preschool pick up and hearing only: click...click...click...click...click
The car battery was dead.
It was more than one mom could take in a day. I laid my head down on the steering wheel and between tears cried, "Nononononono--this is not happening." I pulled out my cell phone, which fortunately was charged and called the Captain.
Between sniffles and sobs, I struggled to explain my current crisis:
"I was taking Baby Girl to the doctors (sniff) and everyone at the door had on masks (sob). They're testing people for the swine flu (sob sob) and we waited for so long (sniff sniff) but I had to pick up the girls from preschool (sniffle sob sniff). Now I turned the car on and it just "click clicks" and won't go (soooooobbbbbb)."
The ever level-headed Captain assessed the situation, created a contingency plan and worked it out.
Then he called me back:
"It's okay. I'm on my way to get the girls now. Once the mechanic jumps the car, just come home. I'll meet you there."
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I nodded in the affirmative into the phone.
"One last thing," he said with a chuckle, "Next time you call me in tears, please don't lead off with 'They're testing me for swine flu.'"
Sixteen years ago today, The Captain promised before a church full of friends and family (and a few West Point wedding tourists) to accept the role of loving me and our little family in a way that mirrors the love God has for us.
He's been watching my back ever since.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Home For Good
I am happy to report that Baby Girl came through her surgery yesterday with flying colors! She was supposed to stay at the hospital until at least 3 or 4 in the afternoon (and possibly overnight!), but by the time she had been out of recovery and in the room for an hour and a half, she had managed to drink two full sippy cups and remove her own IV!
At that point, the hospital staff decided it was time to send us home. ;-)
With no arguments from anyone.
And, in even better news, her endoscope was totally clear, which means that she had a totally normal upper airway and throat...and showed no evidence of the condition which she had been diagnosed with in Ethiopia. It either resolved or was never there in the first place.
By the time she came home and took a good, long nap, she woke up well-rested and into as much mischief as is her status quo.
In case you were wondering, yesterday was also the day we received the results of the MRI (done both with and without contrast) because her soft spot was still open at 18 months. In a completely perfect ending to an already perfect day, her MRI was absolutely, 100%, thoroughly N-O-R-M-A-L!
Praise God!
And thank you, for all of your prayers and support! We had a wonderful surprise at the hospital, when the husband of a friend from our parish strolled his friendly face into Baby Girl's room as her anesthesiologist!
They say the Devil is in the details, but yesterday God was right there...two steps ahead of him.
At that point, the hospital staff decided it was time to send us home. ;-)
With no arguments from anyone.
And, in even better news, her endoscope was totally clear, which means that she had a totally normal upper airway and throat...and showed no evidence of the condition which she had been diagnosed with in Ethiopia. It either resolved or was never there in the first place.
By the time she came home and took a good, long nap, she woke up well-rested and into as much mischief as is her status quo.
In case you were wondering, yesterday was also the day we received the results of the MRI (done both with and without contrast) because her soft spot was still open at 18 months. In a completely perfect ending to an already perfect day, her MRI was absolutely, 100%, thoroughly N-O-R-M-A-L!
Praise God!
And thank you, for all of your prayers and support! We had a wonderful surprise at the hospital, when the husband of a friend from our parish strolled his friendly face into Baby Girl's room as her anesthesiologist!
They say the Devil is in the details, but yesterday God was right there...two steps ahead of him.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Mantra
Phillipians 4:13
(tweaked for my purposes)
I can handle one more hospital visit, IV stick, multiple doctors and nurses and one more procedure through Christ who strengthens me.
(tweaked for my purposes)
I can handle one more hospital visit, IV stick, multiple doctors and nurses and one more procedure through Christ who strengthens me.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Hospital Bound
I guess I didn't get to those Easter pictures. Bad blogger, I am. But real life prevailed.
We're leaving this morning for Baby Girl's first procedure--the MRI with sedation. Pray for a successful procedure, for wise and caring staff and, of course, for good results!
I'll update later.
We're leaving this morning for Baby Girl's first procedure--the MRI with sedation. Pray for a successful procedure, for wise and caring staff and, of course, for good results!
I'll update later.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Congratulations Miz!
Pittsburgh's Perfect!
But don't take my word for it. Listen to this guy...
Way to get it done! You are now officially the most edumacated one in the family. You're so smart, I can't even figure out the topic for your doctoral studies---because you just know I want to link to it...
Updated: Thanks for sending the link, Miz!
But don't take my word for it. Listen to this guy...
Way to get it done! You are now officially the most edumacated one in the family. You're so smart, I can't even figure out the topic for your doctoral studies---because you just know I want to link to it...
Updated: Thanks for sending the link, Miz!
Friday, March 06, 2009
Keepin' Up With Miz
75,000 people came out to voice their concerns against massive cuts in NYC's budget--including (but not limited to) the termination of 15,000 public school teachers and the closing of more hospitals.
And ONE of those social-justice minded people was my card-carrying activist baby sister, who filmed this brief clip of the event.
The magnitude of this protest was demonstrated in the breadth of people stretched from City Hall all the way to Canal Street!
And ONE of those social-justice minded people was my card-carrying activist baby sister, who filmed this brief clip of the event.
The magnitude of this protest was demonstrated in the breadth of people stretched from City Hall all the way to Canal Street!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Semi-semipro
Why is it when I look at this...
I can't help but think of this.
Must be the sweatbands. Or his not-ready-for-prime-time sense of humor. Which ever it is, he's a box office smash on the Ark.
I can't help but think of this.
Must be the sweatbands. Or his not-ready-for-prime-time sense of humor. Which ever it is, he's a box office smash on the Ark.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
High School Decision Revealed!
Deciding which high school The Boy would attend was a decision that we have debated for about a year--maybe longer. Before I say anything else, let me say this: Before we made our final decision, at any given point and time, The Boy was *going* to each one of these schools...until nagging doubt about our decision took over and we were back to square one weighing the pros and cons.
A few details then about the decision-making process...
It took us a while, but when we knew--we knew.
Next year, The Boy will be entering here as a freshman.
And fortunately, we have four more years before we have to make this decision again.
A few details then about the decision-making process...
- The public high-school is 2 miles (read: The Boy could walk, if necessary) from our home. They have a stellar sports program and excellent academic opportunities. A certain Boy was quite impressed with one of their seniors (third in his class) this year who is attending Northwestern and will also play football there. The staff we met was extremely helpful and showed a true commitment to their work, calling each student they encountered by name. No small feat for a school of nearly 2000 students. And did I mention the facilities? We pay money to belong to a gym that is not as nice as the facilities at this school. And the auditorium! Is not of the cafetorium or cafeagymatorium variety. Let's just leave it at that. But, there's always two sides to every coin and in this case we had to consider--The Boy would be leaving an incredible group of friends--none of whom would attend this school and while it seems a very character-filled place, our Faith would not be taught. Students would not attend Mass together. And the character traits being taught would fall into the "be good for goodness sake" category rather than their Judeo-Christian etiology.
- The diocesan co-ed high school is about 20 minutes from our home. It would definitely necessitate additional driving next year to and from school, sports practices and friends' homes. Fortunately, The Boy has a good friend who lives close by who is planning to attend and his mom is a stellar car pool companion. The school offers (as did the public high school) block-scheduling allowing for The Boy to be finished with all of his advanced Math classes before taking the ACT. And freeing him up to take AP Biology senior year, which would help in his current calling to work in medicine. This is also The Captain's alma mater. Although he attended back in the day when the school was neither located in its present location nor housed in the brand spanking new building it is in now. Students participate daily in the Faith and are required to complete service hours each year in order to graduate. There are roughly 500 students in the school. 150 incoming freshmen took the placement test. Several of his friends will attend here--the remaining majority will attend the all-boys school....
- Which is also an excellent option. Firm in the faith and tradition, the school offered an impressive list of colleges where students are accepted. Having attended a single-sex college, I know first hand the benefits of this endangered style of education. In the same sports conference as the diocesan school, both offer similar options for sports and activities (A new building and grounds campaign is underway to improve and add to the outdoor facilities). And, this school is also located about 25 minutes from our house...again with the carpool. While I'm sure there are people in our neck-of-the woods who attend, we have yet to meet anyone currently there. There are approximately 500 boys in attendance. Being as traditional as it is, the school offers a standard seven-period school day rather than block scheduling. And as a former military school, it is well-known for its discipline. And in the past two years, they have sent a number of students to West Point (The Captain's other alma mater.)
It took us a while, but when we knew--we knew.
Next year, The Boy will be entering here as a freshman.
And fortunately, we have four more years before we have to make this decision again.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Helping the Welborn-Dubriel Family
As many of you already know, the Catholic community suffered a great loss this week with the passing of Michael Dubriel. Father to two small boys, husband to the wonderful writer Amy Welborn, and author in his own right he left a great hole in our faith community.
But as God has promised, when one part of the Body of Christ grieves, we all grieve and we work together to help those in the Body who are hurting. Faith and Family Live! has started a collection for the surviving members of the family. Our Sunday Visitor will be contributing to Michael's children's college fund by doubling the proceeds to his family from all of his books through the month of February. If you've not seen his books, make sure to visit their site to check them out. And absolutely, do not miss his poignant last column at Amy's blog.
But as God has promised, when one part of the Body of Christ grieves, we all grieve and we work together to help those in the Body who are hurting. Faith and Family Live! has started a collection for the surviving members of the family. Our Sunday Visitor will be contributing to Michael's children's college fund by doubling the proceeds to his family from all of his books through the month of February. If you've not seen his books, make sure to visit their site to check them out. And absolutely, do not miss his poignant last column at Amy's blog.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Post-Christmas Discovery
If I'm your friend on Facebook, you're well aware that today is our "un-decorating" party; which commemorates the official end to the Ark's 2008 Christmas season.
If you've been reading here for a while, you know that our family has been growing over the past few years (exponentially some might say, although I beg to differ). And you'd also know from reading that we've just now finally solved our vehicle conundrum that has befuddled us for many months now.
But I'll be that none of you know that this year, when it came time to hang our matching stockings by the chimney with care, that we were one stocking short of a perfect match. Due to my resourceful Yankee sensibility, I had saved a matching set of six stockings from a few children ago. This thrifty move allowed me to resurrect the old Mom and Dad stocking, leaving not the needed seven--but EIGHT--extra kid stockings. All was right with the world.
And then my mother-in-law visited.
Having an eye for attention to detail, is, shall we say, one of her strengths. She picked out my two deviant stockings faster than you could say after-Christmas sale. But, as is her nature, she didn't just point out the problem, she also provided the solution. She just happened to have one extra stocking to match the other kid stockings, which (including the one I didn't use this year) bring us back up to NINE matching stockings--one for each of us. Amazing. I love this woman. Again all was right with the world.
Until today when I started packing up our Christmas decorations.
It suddenly occurred to me that if we kept the old Mom and Dad stocking and combined them with the newer set of nine matching stockings, we'd have two extra stockings. The same number of extra seats afforded us by the new vehicle seating arrangement.
Coincidence?
Only time will tell.
If you've been reading here for a while, you know that our family has been growing over the past few years (exponentially some might say, although I beg to differ). And you'd also know from reading that we've just now finally solved our vehicle conundrum that has befuddled us for many months now.
But I'll be that none of you know that this year, when it came time to hang our matching stockings by the chimney with care, that we were one stocking short of a perfect match. Due to my resourceful Yankee sensibility, I had saved a matching set of six stockings from a few children ago. This thrifty move allowed me to resurrect the old Mom and Dad stocking, leaving not the needed seven--but EIGHT--extra kid stockings. All was right with the world.
And then my mother-in-law visited.
Having an eye for attention to detail, is, shall we say, one of her strengths. She picked out my two deviant stockings faster than you could say after-Christmas sale. But, as is her nature, she didn't just point out the problem, she also provided the solution. She just happened to have one extra stocking to match the other kid stockings, which (including the one I didn't use this year) bring us back up to NINE matching stockings--one for each of us. Amazing. I love this woman. Again all was right with the world.
Until today when I started packing up our Christmas decorations.
It suddenly occurred to me that if we kept the old Mom and Dad stocking and combined them with the newer set of nine matching stockings, we'd have two extra stockings. The same number of extra seats afforded us by the new vehicle seating arrangement.
Coincidence?
Only time will tell.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Monday, September 29, 2008
Down Time
The travelers are weary tonight. It's 8:30 and everyone on the Ark is asleep 'cept for me and Baby Girl, who--by the way--slept from 9pm last night to 7am this morning! She seems better and better to me each day. We have our first doctor appointment on Wednesday and a precautionary ENT appointment set up for Thursday, so the jury's still out on any official diagnoses for her (minus a few sketchy ones from Ethiopia). She is sleeping and eating well and has a fiery temper--especially when she's hungry and my spoon-feeding isn't as rapid fire as her royal highness demands. Who says all things are passed on through genetics? *grin*
We said our good-byes to Grandma (who will henceforth be known as Gram-cracker per Naomi's nick name assignment) and Grandpa (who is Baby T's new best buddy...every time the door opens he calls out, "Grandpa?" and sulks off sullenly holding his football). Fortunately, the blows of our typically weepy good-byes were lessened by the knowledge of an upcoming holiday visit!
Baby Girl is finished watching the White Sox highlights (Go Sox!) and her voice beckons. It is music to my ears!
My big girls kept some lovely journals from their trip. I'm going to offer them a "guest blogging" opportunity to let you all know their impressions of the trip. If you have any questions for them, let us know.
The travelers are weary tonight. It's 8:30 and everyone on the Ark is asleep 'cept for me and Baby Girl, who--by the way--slept from 9pm last night to 7am this morning! She seems better and better to me each day. We have our first doctor appointment on Wednesday and a precautionary ENT appointment set up for Thursday, so the jury's still out on any official diagnoses for her (minus a few sketchy ones from Ethiopia). She is sleeping and eating well and has a fiery temper--especially when she's hungry and my spoon-feeding isn't as rapid fire as her royal highness demands. Who says all things are passed on through genetics? *grin*
We said our good-byes to Grandma (who will henceforth be known as Gram-cracker per Naomi's nick name assignment) and Grandpa (who is Baby T's new best buddy...every time the door opens he calls out, "Grandpa?" and sulks off sullenly holding his football). Fortunately, the blows of our typically weepy good-byes were lessened by the knowledge of an upcoming holiday visit!
Baby Girl is finished watching the White Sox highlights (Go Sox!) and her voice beckons. It is music to my ears!
My big girls kept some lovely journals from their trip. I'm going to offer them a "guest blogging" opportunity to let you all know their impressions of the trip. If you have any questions for them, let us know.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Remembering How Much I Like My Sleep...and My Babies
The Ark is whole again.
Our newest little arkling has, indeed, developed a case of the chicken pox. Spots are popping out with each stroke of the keyboard. In spite of her pockiness, her teething, the time change and the nasty sinus-style infection she has, we are overjoyed to have her home.
Not so much concentrating on the lack of sleep this particular arkling is allowing her new mama, but instead focusing on the *quality* time she's saved for me---even if it is six hours planned between 9pm and 3am!
One of the sisters at Mass this morning (my apologies to those who attended hoping to meet our little sweetie!) upon hearing of our mother-daughter late night bonding session said to me, "Well then, I guess you got to walk the talk of your article last week, didn't you?" Yes, I did, sister. Thanks for the reminder.
But, I know you didn't stop by to hear about my so-sleep-deprived-I-forgot-to-put on make-up-this-morning day. You stopped by for a glimpse of a few of the firsts. So, without further ado, here are a few to tide you over. (You'll have to wait for the airport arrival pictures because my digital camera was with the travelers and we were reduced to using--gasp!--throwaway cameras that need--deep pitiful sigh--developing.)
The Ark is whole again.
Our newest little arkling has, indeed, developed a case of the chicken pox. Spots are popping out with each stroke of the keyboard. In spite of her pockiness, her teething, the time change and the nasty sinus-style infection she has, we are overjoyed to have her home.
Not so much concentrating on the lack of sleep this particular arkling is allowing her new mama, but instead focusing on the *quality* time she's saved for me---even if it is six hours planned between 9pm and 3am!
One of the sisters at Mass this morning (my apologies to those who attended hoping to meet our little sweetie!) upon hearing of our mother-daughter late night bonding session said to me, "Well then, I guess you got to walk the talk of your article last week, didn't you?" Yes, I did, sister. Thanks for the reminder.
But, I know you didn't stop by to hear about my so-sleep-deprived-I-forgot-to-put on make-up-this-morning day. You stopped by for a glimpse of a few of the firsts. So, without further ado, here are a few to tide you over. (You'll have to wait for the airport arrival pictures because my digital camera was with the travelers and we were reduced to using--gasp!--throwaway cameras that need--deep pitiful sigh--developing.)
Thursday, September 25, 2008
My Hair's Been Styled, Now the Baby Can Come Home
I joked to a friend yesterday that I've started to make plans based on whether or not I want to do them with baby-in-tow or not.
As many loads of laundry as I've done this week, the sad truth is that half way around the world there are four people exponentially creating piles of laundry faster than you can say "extra large front loader". It makes the to-do list with Baby Girl.
Ditto the dishwasher, vacuuming and grocery store. All must-dos.
Preschool class field trip? To the bowels of the local grocery? Definitely not.
One thing that made the short-list to be done before Baby Girl's arrival was to have my hair cut. This afternoon, during quiet-time for the little ones, I slipped out in my car and headed down for 45 minutes of head massaging, primping and preening. Something I schedule for myself every time a baby comes or every 8 to 12 weeks--whichever comes first. I'd take a picture of my newly styled hair for you all (because I know it will keep you up at night if I don't.) but the digital camera was otherwise occupied today with more important matters.
Today, The Captain and my two big girls (who are both feeling a little homesick again), met our Baby Girl's grandmother. And using a camera no bigger than a pack of post-it notes, captured the moment for me to see. Try as I might to wiggle into that picture when I see it, to experience that hour spent between her first and forever families, I will never truly know what happened there. It is one of the little heartbreaks of our adoptions that I have. Knowing little of digital technology, her grandmother was captivated by the instant picture that appeared on the tiny screen. She insisted (and we promised) that we send copies of the picture to her.
Because someday, she will look at that picture--just as I will--and try to relive that moment. To recapture just one more time the feeling of holding her precious granddaughter in her arms. But the moment will be gone. All that will be left is a picture.
I think you'll probably agree. My haircut picture really isn't that important after all.
I joked to a friend yesterday that I've started to make plans based on whether or not I want to do them with baby-in-tow or not.
As many loads of laundry as I've done this week, the sad truth is that half way around the world there are four people exponentially creating piles of laundry faster than you can say "extra large front loader". It makes the to-do list with Baby Girl.
Ditto the dishwasher, vacuuming and grocery store. All must-dos.
Preschool class field trip? To the bowels of the local grocery? Definitely not.
One thing that made the short-list to be done before Baby Girl's arrival was to have my hair cut. This afternoon, during quiet-time for the little ones, I slipped out in my car and headed down for 45 minutes of head massaging, primping and preening. Something I schedule for myself every time a baby comes or every 8 to 12 weeks--whichever comes first. I'd take a picture of my newly styled hair for you all (because I know it will keep you up at night if I don't.) but the digital camera was otherwise occupied today with more important matters.
Today, The Captain and my two big girls (who are both feeling a little homesick again), met our Baby Girl's grandmother. And using a camera no bigger than a pack of post-it notes, captured the moment for me to see. Try as I might to wiggle into that picture when I see it, to experience that hour spent between her first and forever families, I will never truly know what happened there. It is one of the little heartbreaks of our adoptions that I have. Knowing little of digital technology, her grandmother was captivated by the instant picture that appeared on the tiny screen. She insisted (and we promised) that we send copies of the picture to her.
Because someday, she will look at that picture--just as I will--and try to relive that moment. To recapture just one more time the feeling of holding her precious granddaughter in her arms. But the moment will be gone. All that will be left is a picture.
I think you'll probably agree. My haircut picture really isn't that important after all.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Truth Spoken Here
My daughter, Hannah, has been home with us in America for nearly two years. She arrived speaking little to no English. As time progressed, she has expanded her vocabulary and can hold her own in almost any conversation. But there are still quirks to her spoken language that occasionally change the meaning of her words ever so slightly. I have to confess that there are times when I've taught (and taught and taught and taught!) the same grammar or phonics rule so many times that I cringe when I hear it misspoken again.
Flashback--last night
Powerful storms rocked the Chicago area just around bedtime. For those who are familiar with Wrigley Field, you'll appreciate that the entire upper deck was cleared when the tornado sirens blared. And the storms intensified as they crossed the border into Indiana, where the town of Griffith was declared a disaster area.
This morning, we surveyed the damage to the Ark. A broken flower pot here, a few scattered items there and as if needing to prove its own strength, our heavy Vermont Castings grill pushed by the wind across the deck. Not much by comparison, thankfully. Then we saw the pictures from Griffith. The witnesses spoke of the terror and destruction, shards of glass flying through the air, screaming until their throats were sore for loved ones. Miraculously, not a single life was lost.
Hannah studied my face after the news was over and then matter-of-factly made this observation:
Hannah: Those storms was very bad.
Me: (doing the cringing grammar thing) Yes, those storms were very bad.
Hannah: (considering the situation for a moment) But, Mom---it's good no one was hurt. They can fix the house but they can no fix the people.
I thought about correcting her grammar--for about a milli-second--but decided it wasn't necessary. It hadn't affected her comprehension a bit.
My daughter, Hannah, has been home with us in America for nearly two years. She arrived speaking little to no English. As time progressed, she has expanded her vocabulary and can hold her own in almost any conversation. But there are still quirks to her spoken language that occasionally change the meaning of her words ever so slightly. I have to confess that there are times when I've taught (and taught and taught and taught!) the same grammar or phonics rule so many times that I cringe when I hear it misspoken again.
Flashback--last night
Powerful storms rocked the Chicago area just around bedtime. For those who are familiar with Wrigley Field, you'll appreciate that the entire upper deck was cleared when the tornado sirens blared. And the storms intensified as they crossed the border into Indiana, where the town of Griffith was declared a disaster area.
This morning, we surveyed the damage to the Ark. A broken flower pot here, a few scattered items there and as if needing to prove its own strength, our heavy Vermont Castings grill pushed by the wind across the deck. Not much by comparison, thankfully. Then we saw the pictures from Griffith. The witnesses spoke of the terror and destruction, shards of glass flying through the air, screaming until their throats were sore for loved ones. Miraculously, not a single life was lost.
Hannah studied my face after the news was over and then matter-of-factly made this observation:
Hannah: Those storms was very bad.
Me: (doing the cringing grammar thing) Yes, those storms were very bad.
Hannah: (considering the situation for a moment) But, Mom---it's good no one was hurt. They can fix the house but they can no fix the people.
I thought about correcting her grammar--for about a milli-second--but decided it wasn't necessary. It hadn't affected her comprehension a bit.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
You're Telling Me
It seems the truth, which I have beenshrieking like a banshee about calmly insisting upon for years, is finally out. If only I didn't have to be the one to tell my younger siblings.
Come on, you know if I don't, they'll never hear and all that important research will have been wasted. It's my duty as the responsible older sibling, isn't it?
H/T Rocks in My Dryer
It seems the truth, which I have been
Come on, you know if I don't, they'll never hear and all that important research will have been wasted. It's my duty as the responsible older sibling, isn't it?
H/T Rocks in My Dryer
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