The Spitting Pigeon

Happy New Year!

2009-01-07T21:56:00.000-08:00

It's 2009 so come see me at my new blog:

http://www.thehollerinchef.blogspot.com

A Little Bit of Grace

2008-12-07T04:05:00.000-08:00

We had a horrible accident at our house yesterday. It was both gruesome and tragic. We've been able to keep a low profile so there are not dozens of news vans outside our house, though I did spot Telemundo sneaking around our backyard. The carnage was unspeakable; half of his face torn off, his eyeball ripped out of its socket, a large gaping hole where his right cheek used to be. We were not able to shield our youngest two children from this tragedy. They witnessed it first hand. Our middle son tried to stop the senseless mutilation, but he was too late. The damage had been done and there was no going back. Eugene lay there on the ground, three quarters of the bear he used to be with his innards strewn about the floor. Star, our 7 1/2 month old puppy, sat there next to her victim with foam still stuck in her teeth looking guilty, but satisfied.

My son and daughter, realizing the sensless injustice of it all, cried out in anguish. How could this be happening to them? They have been careful. They have taken the necessary precautions to avoid similar stuffed animal deaths. But now it was happening to them and with not just any stuffed animal, but with my bear, their mother's bear. The sacred bear that I have had for most of my 40 years. Psychological pathology aside (how many grown women still have their childhood stuffed animals on their beds?), this toy has significance. Everyone knows that you don't mess with Eugene. He is special. He is important. This dog is a relative newcomer to our family and with utter disdain, she completely disregards our code of honor and she actually turns on one of us.

Needless to say, Lee and I had to immediately launch our PR blitz and put a spin on the whole mauling incident. "Look, it's merely a flesh wound!" I explain to them, lightheartedly. "The 6" hole in his head isn't that bad. Look we can just scoop up all this stuffing and shove it back into the hole. With a little reconstructive surgery he'll be as good as new! A little disfigured and missing an eyeball, but practically just like new." Lee offers, much like the French woman with the facial transplant, perhaps we can graft another stuffed animal's face onto the missing part of the bear's right skull. Eventually we are able to coax some reluctant half smiles onto their faces, but they remained resentful to their canine sibling for the rest of the day. Sometime this week either Lee or I are going to have to smuggle home some 5-0 prolene, needles and needle driver home from the hospital to perform Eugene's microsurgery.

I think my middle son must have been harboring anger towards the dog all day long, because later that evening while she had her shock collar on, he shocked her with the dial amped up all the way to 10. He could offer no explanation for doing this other than, "I just wanted to see what would happen." Normally, we don't even shock the dog, we just push the button that emits an obnoxious tone and she stops doing whatever undesirable behavior in which she is engaged. Initially Lee and I were concerned that this might be an early indication of antisocial personality disorder, but luckily, our middle son doesn't exhibit a pattern of cruelty to animals. He just has a pattern of poor impulse control. It has been a source of frustration for me lately and I am feeling like a bad mother for being frustrated and angry about my kid's behavior.

By themselves, none of the incidents are that alarming, but when I lump them together, I get ahead of myself and worry that we are raising a derelict. Don't get me wrong, I love my son and he is incredibly cute and charming and mostly well-behaved, etc, etc but...I'm just frustrated. As your kids get older you realize what little control you have over them. They make their own choices, good or bad and our job is to instruct them as to how to make good choices. I've always had pretty good impulse control and my other two, for the most part, are pretty rule oriented. So, this one is challenging me and I don't like it and quite honestly, sometimes I don't like him for making my job difficult. If he would just do exactly what he was supposed to do all of the time, then I wouldn't have to be perplexed and I wouldn't have to worry. Which leads to a deeper consideration; am I more concerned about his welfare or how I look as a mother? Tricky. I know that I am concerned about him, but I also want a good grade in the mother department. This parenting expedition is more than I bargained for, at times.

I don't know, I guess I just need un poco de gracia. Actually, I need a whole lot of grace, which is what God demonstrates to me all of the time. It's much easier to be the recipient of that grace than to exhibit it to others. Paradoxically, it frequently easier to extend grace to complete strangers than to those that you love the most.

Well, it's first thing in the morning on Sunday morning and we are trying to rally our troops out of bed to go to the early church service before we cut down our tree. And the little guy about whom I have been talking has just hobbled out of bed and into my lap.

I had intended on writing about how my middle son didn't realize that I was funny ("You're funny mom?" he asked me one day when I wanted to know who they thought was funnier, me or their dad). I was going to parlay that whole bear mauling incident into how funny I really am, but I must have needed to discuss my feelings of inadequacy as a mother. Thank God for his grace and mercy which he bestows upon us each new day, regardless of whether or not we deserve it. Now if only I can learn to do that with my own children and those that I love...

Mice and Tadpoles and Dogs Better Scurry...

2008-11-17T21:18:00.000-08:00

Everyone breathe a collective sigh of relief...Snowflake has been found. Apparently in her small mouse mind, she was never lost in the first place. She was doing quite well living in the freedom of the open range of our home. Saturday morning as I sat quietly reading my bible and saying my prayers she scampered across the floor of the sun room. Within moments, everyone in our family was on high alert (even if that meant we were alert in various stages of dress-anywhere from underwear to nightgowns) with brooms and mops and buckets in hand. After a prolonged game of cat and mouse, we finally cornered her behind the refrigerator and as Lee pulled the fridge away from the wall, I trapped her underneath a tupperwear bowl. We got her back into the cage and within minutes she was back out again. Even after reenforcing the sides of her wire cage with plastic cable ties, she still pulled a Houdini and was running around the kitchen counter, but unable to find her way to the floor. Lee put her back into the tupperwear container and we called U-haul and relocated the Snowflake and her life partner, Piggy into the flat previously occupied by our tadpoles, Jupiter Flash 1 & 2.

I don't have time to go through their entire biographies, so I'll just provide a brief character sketch of the Jupiter Flash series. If my memory is correct, there were actually 3 of them (kind of like Lassie-we kept replacing them). The first 2 were mail order tadpoles and the last one was your run of the mill creek tadpole. After the first 2 died, Lee decided the reason the tadpoles were not living was due to inadequate housing and filtration/oxygenation systems. To house the pond tadpole Lee went and bought the Cadillac version of aquariums with the XL3000 filtration system. About 15 minutes after he put the tadpole in the water it could no longer fight the current that was sucking it into the filtration system and it died. The first two tadpoles had been given a very proper ceremony and aquatic burial (down the commode, of course). The 3rd tadpole was too big to flush, so I decided to bury it outside, but I didn't want to bury it in our yard. I thought it might bring us bad juju...so, I decided to bury it in our neighbors flower bed. It was about 10 pm and I was between our 2 houses, digging furiously before anyone walked outside and realized what I was doing. Well, fast forward about 2 weeks and I am getting out of the shower and I am standing in the middle of the bathroom wet and completely naked. We have a window in our bathroom, but the privacy fence prevents my neighbors (the neighbors with the dead tadpole in their zinnias) from being able to look in, so I never really worry about modesty. But this time, when I look out the window as I am completely naked, I see my neighbor on his roof staring into my bathroom...at me. The sight of me without clothes, while might have been something to stare at 20 years ago, could turn a grown man into stone now. Luckily, the poor old guy didn't fall off his roof and quickly averted his eyes and turned away. Later, I thought about it and decided that since I turned his flower bed into a tadpole burial ground, I was probably getting what I deserved (by making him an unwilling peeping tom)...bad juju.

It's a good thing that Star can't read. If she could she might decide that she'd be better off living somewhere else because most animals don't have a fighting chance in our house. But she's proving to be a pretty sturdy dog, so odds are, she'll survive us...

Life Lessons

2008-11-06T13:02:00.000-08:00

Lesson 1: Have fun with your kids.
The boys and I were talking politics the other day. This was their take on the President Elect;

Oldest boy (age 8, 2nd grade): "Nathan Freeman (not real name) told me that if Obama is elected president (this was the day of the election) then he is going to make a law saying you can hunt animals all year round."

My reply: "Hhmmm! That is interesting. Is that good or bad?"

Younger son (age 6 1/2, 1st grade): "I heard Obama hates dogs and always says bad things about dogs."

I can see that this is turning into a witch hunt so I decide to have a little fun with it.

My reply: "I heard that Barack Obama eats live human babies every morning for breakfast."

Both boys, with a mixture of fascination and disbelief: "Really!?! Are you kidding mom? Where does he get the babies? Really?!?"

Me: "REALLY! I heard it. Someone told me. It must be true."

Both boys: "You're kidding mom, aren't you? Does he really eat human babies for breakfast?"

Me: "It's true. Someone told me, so it has to be true."

Boys: "We can see you smiling mom. We get it!"

This was our first lesson in 'don't believe everything that you hear'.

Lesson 2: What's mine is mine and it's not yours!
Our next lesson, on sharing, occured the next morning.

Oldest son (to younger brother): "Give that back to me! It's mine!" (He's normally not too surly, but he was having an especially difficult morning and he yanked a pencil with photos of all the American Presidents away from his little brother).

Younger brother sits there stunned, still too dazed from having just woken up to put up much of a fight.

Lee: "I let him look at it. Give it back to him so I can explain something to him."

Oldest boy: "But it's MINE!"

Lee: "I told you to let him look at it."

Oldest boy: "But, I got it. My teacher gave it to me. He might mess it up."

Lee: "I'm trying to explain something to him."

After about 5 minutes of this, I couldn't take it anymore and my award winning mothering skills took over. I decided that I needed to provide oldest boy with an illustrative lesson and I took away the plate, but left him his toast.

"Give me that plate. It's mine! You know what, give me that cereal bowl. It's mine too."

This is where I officially lost it. I dumped his cereal on the counter and took away the bowl. My son started laughing at me and bent over and started eating the cereal like a dog off the counter. So, at this point, I decided to use my hand to push the cereal off the counter into the sink saying, "You know what? Give me that cereal too because it is also mine."

Both boys and my husband stare at me like I've lost it. The lesson in sharing quickly devolved into yet another example of how suddenly and seemingly little provocation mom can go from normal person to stark raving lunatic in just moments.

Lesson 3: Don't ever have rodents as pets.

Snowflake escaped. She plotted and planned and she succeeded. When the mice moved from our daughter's room to the boys' room they started escaping from their cage. The boys claim that they had never assisted the mice in their flight to freedom, but I don't believe them. Lee moved the mice to our spare bedroom thinking that this might solve the problem, but when he went to check on them this morning, Snowflake was gone. Coincidentally, there is a stange odor in our backyard. It smells remarkably like a dead animal. But, I don't think Snowflake could decompose that quickly and after a pretty thorough search, we couldn't find any escaped mice, dead or alive. My solution to the problem was to let the other mouse (Piggy) go in the backyard and then in a couple of days tell the kids that both mice had escaped and we would be free of our mouse responsibilities (because I REFUSE to buy any more rodents), but Lee, suddenly getting all moral on me said he wouldn't participate in any mouse genocide. He told me that I could do it, but he wouldn't be a part of it and he didn't want to know about it. When I reminded him that my mom made my brother and I set our mice free in the back yard when we were little he said my mom had been a sad and sick woman and obviously I was still suffering the effects of my childhood. To make matters worse, when I went to check on Piggy, she looked lonely and depressed. When I told Lee that I thought Piggy was depressed he said, "Of course she's depressed." Then I thought he was just shitting me, but he assured me that mice can definitely experience feelings of loss and sorrow. Now I feel bad for the poor mouse that her girlfriend (I'm not sure if Piggy and Snowflake were lesbians. They might have just been girlfriends in the sense that they are/were both female and roommates) is gone and I'm feeling like I should go out and get a replacement mouse. So, now I'm depressed because I'm never going to stop having pet mice because they keep dying or running away. In the mean time, Snowflake is going to start stinking soon.

Mrs Bean the Crazy Meandering Machine

2008-11-03T19:26:00.000-08:00

We have a elderly neighbor who likes to wander into everyone else's yard. It's kind of like "Where's Waldo", because no one knows who's yard she will be in next. Today she might be investigating our garbage, but tomorrow she might be peeping into your front window. Until recently, she was on the architectural review committee of our neighborhood association, but her term either finally expired (after 48 consecutive years) or her Sanford and Son landscaping and yard art didn't appeal to the committee. As frightening as it seems, she still drives and she is a firm believer in the "I'll take my half in the middle" school of automobile lane changing (as evidenced by witnessing her turn left from the right hand lane the other day). Most days she can be found cruising the streets in her white Ford Focus far, far from her own home. She has managed to vex just about everyone on the street with her intense scrutiny of all of our lives. Though she might be wearing yesterday's breakfast on her pajamas today, she isn't the least bit hesistant to knock on your door and tell you that your garbage cans are exceeding their capacity or your recycling is out too early.

Lee and I have created a story line with her as the lead character. Because she is so odd, it's only fair that she should have a fictional villian fashioned after her. By day, our protagonist, who we will call Mrs Bean, ambles up and down the street in her inside out pajama top with her long stringy grey hair in a pony tail off to the side. As she walks, stuporously, she runs her fingers through her pony tail over and over and over again. By night she lurks high in the trees in her leather cat suit, stroking her whiskers and listening to the details of other peoples' lives. As she jumps from tree to tree gathering information she purrs with satisfaction. She is a spy, really, and with this evidence, she will damn people. 2710 leaves the water on while they brush their teeth. 2738 has not converted to LED lighting. 2800 drinks organic milk, but they throw their aluminum cans in the garbage.

I've decided that I need to institute a "Mrs Bean Alert" for my neighbors. Whenever she is in one of their yards sifting through the shrubbery at 8:46 am or driving dangerously close to someone's grass (who remembers the term, "trenching your yard"), an APB must be sent out to all who are within earshot. Instead of an "Amber Alert" it is an "Old Woman Alert". My next step is to install lights in the trees so when she is perched up on a branch in her leather cat suit, the floodlights will shine on her directly.

So, if you see someone in your trees late at nite, remember Mrs Bean's Ford Focus can wander far from home!

First Your Right Hand...Now Your Left

2008-10-24T09:24:00.000-07:00

I had to get fingerprinted yesterday so I can volunteer to teach Spanish at my daughter's preschool. Do not be lulled into a false sense of security thinking that your children are safe from predators because all potential employees or volunteers have to go through a fingerprinting process. The system is only as good as least common denominator. I'm here to tell you that there are many weak or missing links in the operation. I don't even know where to begin...These fingerprinting agencies are set up in spare rooms of low budget businesses. If you have an extra bedroom, you can set up shop. I felt like I was on the set of some bad BBC comedy. I was fingerprinted in a real estate school which was inside a standard office building. The actual real estate school didn't look very credible. Having been inside a 'real estate school' I am much more likely to check any future real estate agents' credentials. This place was essentially The Sally Struthers School of Home Selling. The whole premise of selling a home is based on first impressions and curb appeal. The place could be in shambles structurally, but if looks pretty, then you are more likely to get a bite. It reminded me of the doctor's office where my cousin had her sinus surgery. One walk into the waiting room and I knew that she should have walked right back out and found another doctor. The ripped plastic covers on the seats, the bad flourescent lighting and the dingy sea foam blue painted walls in the waiting room told you everything you needed to know about how much time was spent giving attention to detail. You want your surgeon to pay attention to detail. I felt like I was walking into the waiting room of a sketchy plastic surgeon on the other side of the border in Mexico. The kind that you see as expose's on the 6 o'clock news. This particular real estate school/fingerprinting office gave off this vibe.

The first person to greet me was a doughy faced boy with glassy eyes and unfortunate pock marks and an expressionless stare. "May I help you?" "No, but maybe I can help you", I thought to myself. He was able to hand me an application and I sat down on the cleanest looking piece of furniture I could find, a dining room chair with a plastic cover. All of the furniture appeared as though it had been purchased at the Holiday Inn on the axis road. You know the one, the one that has the commericals on TV saying "everything must go; all artwork, all desks, all lamps. Final Liquidation". Nothing was a matched set and it all had dings on it. There were fingerprints and smudge marks all over the glass top of the dining room table (the set had an Asian motif). I'm sure that if you ran a blue light (the kind used in crime scene investigations to find blood or semen) over the sofa the whole thing would have lit up flourescent blue. One doesn't normally come across window treatments inside an office building. Maybe mini-blinds, but certainly not antebellum era curtains and valences, the kind you might expect to see on a plantation down south, like Tara (these probably wouldn't have passed the blue light test either). So, I sat there, with my daughter (home from school due to illness) trying not to touch anything till my name was called.

As I waited, the proprieter of the school came out into the lobby. She was tall and really skinny and the kind of person who flirted with everyone, man or woman; the kind who talks to loud, winks at you inappropriately, glances at you for approval when she's not even talking to you, half laughs after every statement that she makes-as though everyone is interested in what she is saying or doing. All I could think was, "Why don't you stop talking, put down the Starbucks cup that you are clutching with both hands and get a vacuum cleaner and some Windex." Everything was inappropriate in this place, the furniture, her decorum and her dress. Though she was late 40's to early 50's, she wore skin tight jeans (the kind that are worn by metal band groupies) with a patch of an angel on her left cheek tucked into high heel boots, a sleeveless cowl neck sweater with a cleavage revealing tank top underneath and a big silver ring on her left index finger. You could tell she had a membership to a tanning salon and she had not seen her natural hair color in decades. The current overly treated blond that she wore was so brittle that it probably snapped off every time she brushed her hair. It was probably her idea to run the fingerprinting operation out of the extra room. This would allow her to be subsidized for all the time she spent doing nothing. Maybe she had an ex boyfriend who had been a cop who told her about the scam. "Listen, you don't have to do anything and you get paid $XXX for it a month. They just send you checks. You hang a sign in your window, have a spare room with some low budget computer system and you are listed on the registry of state sponsored fingerprinters." She probably broke up with him after he came home drunk too many times, but at least he got her set up with her little cash cow.

I was escorted back to an room about 5' x 8' to get fingerprinted. There was a sign on the door that said "Secure Room. Enter only with authorized personnel. Everything beyond this door is recorded." It was supposed to make it look official, but the scotch tape holding it up and the poor grade computer paper that was crumpled on one edge made it loose effect. If you have ever seen the show "To Catch a Predator" you could imagine what this 'secure' room looked like. It was the room behind the 2 way mirror that the guy with the headphones, tape recorder, video camera and computer with voice matching capabilities was hiding out in while the bad guy sat on the other side not knowing he was about to get caught. ("I really thought she was 19. That's what she told me in the chatroom. I know I'm not a 15 year old choir boy, but I was gonna tell her that when I met her in person"). No one had bothered to wire this room appropriately. I guess if they needed to quickly close up shop (like when the real estate school accreditors came around) they could pull all the wires down and make it look like just another classroom. The wires poked out of a white tile in the ceiling and hung along the wall. There were 2 computers with a digital camera set up on a tripod attached to them. Along with getting fingerprinted, you had to have your picture taken-a mug shot. The fingerprinting machine was wired directly to the computer and it was like a mini photo copier. I stood in front of the fingerprint copy machine and the junior helper wiped each of my prints with a damp washcloth that had probably been used on the previous 12 fingerprintees and had probably been brought from home by the tall, blond lady. He did each finger on both hands and then all 4 fingers together. I showed my daughter the fingerprints on the computer and told her that no 2 people had the same fingerprints. "And no 2 fingers are the same either" added helper jr. "They are like a snowflake" I explained. To which she responded, "Like Snowflake's (the mouse)." "No" I said, "Animals don't have fingerprints". "What about Star (our dog)". "No, not even dogs" (even though I wasn't not completely sure about that one-maybe they do have dog-prints?).

I paid my $44.20 (which will be deducted from next month's tuition), got my receipt and we left. I guess the fingerprints will be uploaded into some national database to make sure I am not some criminal or creep. All, so I can go into my 4 year old daughter's preschool class and count from uno to diez once a week for 20 minutes. I didn't mind doing it. It's not like I had anything else to do. But, I did learn something. Nothing is probably as secure as you think it is. I have more confidence in my ability to judge a character than the official fingerprinting process. Know your kids' teachers and who they hang out with because this is a far better indicator of what is going on in their lives than some guarentee afforded to you by a beaurocratic institution...

Animal Obituaries

2008-10-20T18:44:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading one of the best books I've ever read, Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. She received the Pulitzer Prize for this book of short stories, so I guess I'm stating the obvious by saying that it was good; she doesn't really need my endorsement. With my newly reduced work schedule I can do things like read. I've read more books in the past couple of months than in the past 10 years. Anyway, because her prose was so haunting and poetic and touched me so deeply, it's making me want to exercise my literary muscles. Rather than struggle to come up with new material, I'm pulling from my stock pile of old stuff...

September 11, 2005

"I loved him. He was my best friend!" The first time we heard this sentiment it was at the untimely demise of a tick that had been extracted from our eldest son's scalp. His younger brother was mourning the loss of the first family pet. His brother had fed that tick and nurtured it with his own blood. As the tick circled the dark watery tunnel of the commode, we bade him farewell. And then he was gone. Our middle son knew he'd never find another friend quite like this tick, a blood brother in the truest sense of the word. We prayed for the tick, thanked Jesus for the tick's presence in our lives, we told stories of how the tick would be happily reunited with it's mother and father and all of its tick siblings. Nothing could console our middle son. Something special happened that day between that tick and our middle son. A bond was formed and our 2 year old son was forever changed (or, even though he wasn't the one with the blood sucking tick-he was manifesting early symptoms of Lyme's disease).

Recently our middle son found a grub worm in the back yard. This was his new best friend. No matter that he had caused a near fatal crush injury to its dorsal half. His soul mate had been resurrected in the form of the common grub worm. As he rushed to show me his new discovery, I could see the joy in his eyes and his plans for their future together; They would take up residence together. Our middle son in his bed and the grub worm in a plastic cup sitting on his shelf above him. The worm would accompany our son to bath time, ride shotgun next to his carseat in the minivan. They'd be together forever, or at least until his dessicated carcass found its way to the dustpan and out to Monday morning trash pick-up. Our son eagerly waited to show his father his new invertebrate friend. His father was not keen to give free room and board to the grub worm and obviously was oblivious to the complexity of their, middle son and worm's, relationship. Lee had no compassion towards displaced grubworms, but acquiesed and allowed the worm to reside in a non-disposable drinking cup. He even put some water in the cup, at our son's request. As middle son ran across the yard to show his new worm habitat to his brother and sister, the worm was catapulted out of his new home. Just like that, in the flash of a moment, life was forever changed and the grub worm was gone. This time, middle son was able to reach deep within himself and pull through, launching the cup full of water, the former worm abode, into the air and baptizing his brother and sister.

This past Friday the kids and I drove north of town to an orchard. Lee was at home with a bad case of the shits that he had acquired subsequent to helping Hurricane Katrina evacuees. Along with Toby, a yellow lab, and a flock of guineas, we were the only people at the orchard. Before we could pick persimons and jujube's, my oldest son insisted on discussing a dog's life span and the neutrality of Toby's gender based on his lack of testicles. Finally his mind was able to wrap around the concept of involuntary emasculinization and we set out to harvest bounty. After about 15 minutes of intense gathering, it was time to break for lunch. While eating, a hummingbird landed near where we sat for our picnic. The bird was not quick enough to escape Toby and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to instruct the kids on the theory of 'Survival of the Fittest'. In the best Marlon Perkins voice I could muster I began my narration, "Watch children as the dog grips the bird in his teeth. See the bird's fragile bones shatter in the dog's teeth." Just before, "Look at how the bird glides down the dog's throat", in a miraculous twist of fate, the bird hopped out of Toby's mouth and onto a plastic chair. While the oldest son, youngest daughter and I went to go shake more jujubes out of the trees, middle son decided he needed to stand vigil at the bird's side. Daughter was scared to death of the dog. She knew that after all those years on a chain with those guineas just beyond his reach, Toby had finally tasted blood and if you put a few feathers on her, she might well be a guinea in the dog's mind. As middle son stood shiva, he decided to construct an altar for the bird; 2 towels were wrapped around it. But this configuration was not quite sacred enough, a 3rd towel needed to be draped on top of the bird and pressure, ever so slight, needed to be applied to the bird. As the bird entered into its afterlife (with middle son's assistance), daughter, believing the supernatural to be possible, lifted the bird by its bloody wings in the hope that it would take flight. And we all appreciated the moment for bringing new meaning and clarity to the circle of life."

This reminds me of the most recent loss in our household...Dottie...she was a victim of the aftermath of Hurricane Ike. Dottie had been left in the care of my husband while the kids and I headed out of town after the storm. My mother in law offered to house the mouse in our evacuation (and we did have an emergency mouse evacuation plan-she was to be loaded up into a tupperwear container with holes), but since the urgency of the moment had passed and truthfully, because 3 kids, a dog and a mouse for 5 hours in the car was more than I could handle, I opted to leave the mouse in the capable hands of my husband. The day that we are to return home he calls and says, "You're never gonna believe this (when ever anyone starts a statement like this, you know they are lying about something), but when I went to check on Dottie this morning, she was stiff as a board. She was fine just yesterday. I don't know what happened. I fed her and gave her water." Long story short, a replacement mouse was purchased before we returned home. The replacement mouse was a male and smelled like urine and had red eyes (original Dottie had black eyes), but the kids didn't seem to notice. Dottie #2 lasted a day and a half before my daughter assasinated her. If it is possible to be stunned to death, this is how Dottie #2 came to his demise. Either that or it was a crush injury (inside the vise grip of a 4 year old girl's hand). Upon learning that Dottie #2 (which the kids still thought was Dottie #1) was dead and gone, there was a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Misery. That pretty sums up the collective emotion. Or maybe it was heartache. Much time was spent eulogizing Dottie. Sometimes something will happen and all of the sudden Dottie will be remembered, "I remember when Dottie used to eat her food" or "I remember when Dottie used to sleep in her plastic cup" or everyone's favorite memory, "I remember when Dottie used to run on her wheel". Such bittersweet memories...all the more precious now that we have 2 new mice, Piggy and Snowflake.

Holiday's Over

2008-10-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

I've been on holiday (that's the way the British say it-they leave out the article 'a'. Like, they 'go to hospital', not 'the hospital'). Though it really hasn't been much of a holiday. Unless you've had your head under a rock, then you know that Ike rolled through Galveston and Houston. The actual storm itself wasn't too bad-very noisy and at times a little scary. But, our house remained intact with only a blown-over fence and a couple of broken tree limbs. The aftermath of the storm was fun for about a day and a half while everyone was in their front yards helping each other clean up and grilling all the food from the fridge so it wouldn't spoil. Precisely 36 hours after the power went out, it officially got old. It was not intended for me to be a pioneer. The kids and I loaded up and went to my in-laws' lake house for about 7 days and then came home with the pipe dream that our power would come back on and the kids would get to go back to school, but that didn't happen for another 8 days (15 days after the storm). But, considering the amount of damage that occurred in other places, we came out if it unscathed.

Lee and I took our internal medicine recertification exam today. I flew through 180 questions in about 3 hours. The speed with which I completed the exam is not any indication of my results-my fate hangs in the balance and I won't find out whether I passed or failed for another 2-3 months. Because all of my pride (not to mention my board certification) is riding on this, I really hope that I passed. I hate public humiliation. My mother graciously watched our kids last week so we could study and I crammed as much knowledge as I possibly could into that one week. It was actually fun returning to student life when your biggest concern was how many hours of studying you could get done in one day. Since Lee and I didn't meet till I was in medical school and he was in residency we never had the opportunity to study together and it was a great experience hanging out in different coffee shops and university campuses (Lee quite enjoyed the scenery on campus, though he could have been the father of most of the girls there). I did learn a lot; I really like internal medicine andI really like my husband.

While you are preparing for an exam this big, especially when it is crunch time-the last 2-3 weeks before the test, you have this perception that every waking moment of the day needs to be spent reviewing material. "Sorry kids, I can't make you dinner, I have to study. You've seen me get the gas burners started. Make yourself some mac and cheese." "No, you don't have any clean underwear. Laundry isn't a topic in my review book." So, needless to say, my mom was a lifesaver. Who knows what our kids would have had to resort to (selling plasma for food, maybe) if she hadn't agreed to intervene. I explained to my son that this test was like all of the spelling tests in the whole world multiplied by a thousand. I still don't think he got it.

You don't have to take # 2 pencils and bubble in scan trons during standardized testing these days. The 'modern' process is completely computerized and you go to a testing center where the person next to you might be getting his certification as a radiology technician or taking defensive driving, for all you know. We had to arrive at 7:30 am and we arrived about 10 minutes early. Precisely at 7:30 am the test center proctor opened the door and immediately started barking out orders. She was the drill sargent equivalent of a shopping center rent a cop. You could tell she had aspirations, dreams of someday, somewhere being able to really tell people to do things that really mattered. But, for now she was content to make us stand in a single file line and take a number and sit down till our number was called. Every once in a while she would show us her soft side and be personable or make an attempt at humor, but if you tried to reciprocate, she was all business. During my break, I was standing by my locker eating a granola bar and drinking some bottled water and she says, "I'm sorry mam, but you can't eat or drink in here. I'll have to ask you to step into the hallway." "Okay, no big deal", I think to myself. When I walk back in, she is stuffing a candy bar down her gullet. After she got us all signed in and fingerprinted (literally, we were fingerprinted) she didn't have anything to do except surf the net and enforce protocol when one of us would wander out for a break. "No we don't have any water here. Remember, if you take longer than your ten minute break, you will not get extra time to take the test." I think she might have had a flask under her desk. Either that or she was a rapid cycler.

Yesterday we had 2 insurance adjusters come out to look at our master bathroom which has a water leak (pre storm problem). We learned that these guys were not actual employees of the insurance company, but individual private contractors. They were storm chasers of sorts. They were from Florida and were experts in hurricane damage. These guys could have been a band of traveling minstrels dressed as insurance guys-they had the shirts with the company logo, but that was about it. I mean, they were very convincing in their knowledge of house structure and construction. However, the most impressive thing about these 2 guys was their schtick. They were like the McKenzie Brothers or the Smothers Brothers of the insurance adjuster world.

Guy 1, "Hey, did you say you had a water leak, aye?"

Guy 2 "Yeah, she said she had a water leak. Didn't you hear her, she said she had a water leak."

Guy 1 "We're gonna have to go in your attic to look at your pipes, aye."

Guy 2 "Like he said, we're gonna be looking at the pipes in your attic, aye. Your pipes need looking at."

Guy 1 "It could be coming thru the roof and going thru the eaves and it works like capillary action, the water aye, it wicks you know."

Guy 2 "It sucks the water right up, aye. The wicking and the capillary action. Sometimes it comes through the roof, right through the eaves. The water could be coming from there, aye."

Guy 1 "Now what we have to do here is take out all this sheetrock and then you get your mix of grain alcohol and you spray it on the sheetrock to get rid of the mold, aye. The grain alcohol, that's what you need to get. What's that stuff called, you want to get your 151 Everclear, your moonshine-that stuff is what the professionals use. You want to use it aye"

Guy 2 "Now your moonshine, the 151 Everclear-now you might want to drink it, but just take a sip, aye, you want to save it for your mold, aye. Spray her right on there."

Guy 1 "That pipe up in the attic, right where the joint is, aye. What you have there is copper oxide. You see it in that picture there. That's copper oxide. Now it might be a leak, or it might be your standard pinhole, aye."

Guy 2 "Your pinhole, aye, that's what I'm talking about. The pinhole could be causing all yer problems aye. Ya see that copper oxide. Could be that pinhole."

Guy 1 "Now you got yourself a real good insurance company here, but they aren't gonna pay for this, aye. This'll eat your deductable right up, but won't be anymore than that, aye. Yer standard job here, spraying that Everclear and putting up the sheetrock, aye. You won't get a penny from the insurance company, aye."

Guy 2 "Hell no they're not gonna pay fer this, aye. Ya got yer deductable aye. Damn good insurance company. The best there is, aye. That food yer cooking sher does smell good, aye"

Me, "Thanks, your welcome to have some, but my husband told me it tastes like horse shit, aye".

I couldn't have paid for better entertainment. Lee told me that he thought Guy 2 was sweet on me. I think it was the "my husband thinks my cooking is equivalent to horse crap" statement that charmed him the most. But, if flirting gets my bathroom fixed, then I'm all for it, aye.

Final note, I'm on an "eating clean" kick-barley, oats, kashi, etc...So, my recipe, polenta with salmon, bombed yesterday. I believe that right after Lee told me "this tastes like horseshit" he told me that he was going out to get a double at Wendy's. I paid him back by reading about all of the evils of processed foods, refined sugars and saturated fats while he ate his 2 chimichangas. I ruined it for him so bad that he couldn't even eat his refried beans. This morning he reminded me of why I was so smitten with him from the get-go. We were on our way to the test and he was complimenting me on my choice of apparel, black sweats, white t-shirt, black and white hankerchief tied up, 'Aunt-Jemima' like in my hair, glasses with the black and white frames. "You look kind of cute this morning in your headband and matching glasses. Kind of a dalmation look, like you might be riding on the side of a firetruck." He'd better watch out...someone out there might like me, aye!

It's a Comin....Ike's a Comin!

2008-09-11T14:33:00.000-07:00

This may be a repeat for some of you, but it is a recap of our experience with Hurricane Rita in Sept 2005:

“Evacuating Rita” 10-5-5

To all our concerned friends and family, thank you for your generous offers of help and support surrounding the events of Hurricane Rita. I’m happy to report that we escaped unscathed and that our house remains intact. In the profound words of Oprah Winfrey to the individuals affected by Hurricane Katrina “[We] are not refugees, [we] are not victims, [we] are survivors!” And as Tom Petty so poignantly sings “You don’t have to live like a refugee.” A sentiment that we took quite literally. With that in mind, so starts our journey…

It was a day like any other, children screaming, chaos predominating, clothes needing washing, then the chief meteorologist of a major network and who is endorsed by the National Weather Association, proclaims that Hurricane Rita is headed towards the Gulf Coast with the coast south of us as the bull’s eye. With no time wasted, city officials decide that certain areas need to be evacuated. No one wanted to suffer the same fate as those poor fools in New Orleans. No one in our town was going to be plucked off a roof top or be left sitting on the interstate going to the bathroom on the frontage road or waiting for a yellow school bus to pick us up and carry us off to some sports dome slated for demolition only to sleep on a cot next to 5000 other people. Instead we’d choose to sit on the interstate in our cars without gas or air conditioning with a heat index of 110 for 28 hours. So we packed the essential items as itemized by the news media; important documents, wedding photos, non-perishable items, then we boarded up the house, packed up the 3 kids plus 4 bonus neighbor kids and like 2 million other city dwellers, we quickly headed for dry land.

Before we could begin our trek we had one important stop to make. We weaved through the neighborhoods to my brother house and gathered him, his wife, my nephew, my mom, the 12 year old Rottweiler named Isaac and about a dozen undocumented Mexicans (I’m Mexican too, so I can say that) and headed west. We were like pioneers in their covered wagons (but in our minivans, pick-ups and SUV’s). We didn’t know where we were going, but we had enough peanut butter, canned ravioli and batteries to last us till Armageddon.

Thinking I could outsmart the masses, I decided to take the ‘backroads’. The first 20 minutes were smooth sailing. Then we hit traffic. Obviously, I wasn’t the only clever one in the metropolitan area. About every 45 minutes (equal to 3 miles) we’d accelerate to about 25 mph for 3 miles. Every gas station we passed was like a ghost town. It was very eerie, like a scene out of a Mad Max movie. Occasionally we’d see a line of cars waiting at a gas station for a pump to open once it received fuel. The only problem was that a gas tanker would have to have been air lifted into the gas station to by pass the traffic.

About 4 hours into the odyssey, we stopped on the side of the road to let the 8 + kids run around and to stretch our legs. More accurately, I had pulled into a gravel road and intentionally ignored a sign that read ‘Private Property.’ I figured it didn’t say ‘keep out’ so it was more like a proclamation than a warning. Besides, it was a dirt road for as far as the eye could see, so I thought any chances of human life were fairly far removed. As you will later learn, I figured wrong. In the meantime, a few people found some bushes that looked dry and discretely watered them. We hoisted Isaac out of the back of the car and let him sniff the fresh country air. While we were busy eating our PB & J’s and drinking our bottled water (the stock piling actually did come in handy!) a pick-up came driving up the dirt road. It stopped in front of us and out stepped two very disgruntled country gentlemen, Pops and Jr. Pops claims that Isaac (as you recall, the geriatric dog with an artificial hip and cataracts so thick you can see your reflection) spooked their horse. Needless to say, we packed up our happy picnic and got the hell out of Dodge!

About 4 hrs later, at midnight, (8 hours from the start of our journey and 120 miles later) we came crawling into small town USA. Our original destination, some 350 miles north of us had long been abandoned. We would have gotten there long after Rita had made landfall or the DPS would have found our desiccated carcasses on the side of the road. So at the last minute we made a call to some friends in the small town and made a desperate plea; would they be willing to house some 30 odd people (mostly complete strangers) and one beast? How could they resist such a request? Foolishly, they said yes!

Well, our kind hosts, who, to preserve their privacy and anonymity, I will call Howard Johnson and his wife La Quinta, live on about 35 acres with livestock, tractors, a fishing hole, a jungle gym better than most playground’s, a swimming pool and a 5’ flat screen TV. Suddenly this was no longer a flight for personal safety, this was vacation at a 5 star bed and breakfast! Even Isaac was in dog heaven, acres and acres of territory to mark and as a special bonus, all the cow dung a dog could eat (apparently cow excrement is a delicacy). The highlight of our stay was grilling grain fed cattle raised by our hosts and feasting on it in the form of burgers, sausages and steaks (sorry all you PETA people, but Daisy and her pals tasted good)! Basically, by the time Sunday rolled around, Howard and La Quinta had to pack our bags for us and push us out the door!

So, all in all, we faired quite nicely. Even the trip home was a breeze. It took the people at Sonic Burger longer to bring us our order than it did to drive home. When we finally pulled into our driveway, our house was still standing and no trees had fallen over. As a matter of fact, our house never even lost power. So, we took the boards off the windows, returned the neighbor kids to their mother and dug a shelter to store our provisions.

So, once again, thank you to all of our friends and family who were so concerned about us and who made offers to house us. We know who our true friends are! So, the next time you all have to evacuate and you need somewhere to stay, remember you have friends, Howard Johnson and his wife La Quinta who would love to have you come and stay at the official Hurricane Rita Evacuation Center!

Still dry,

The Family

So, this time, as Ike approaches, we are hunkering down and hoping for the best. I'll let you all know how we fare on the other side!

Tribute to Uncle La

2008-08-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

When my mom walked up to the door, I could tell something was not right. "What's wrong?" I asked her. "Uncle La died," she said. Though she said the words, they didn't register in my mind. It was like someone telling me that 1 + 1 = 3. I could hear it, but it just didn't make sense. Perhaps what didn't make sense the most was that I never got to say good bye. When I was in Atlanta this past June I didn't get to see him. Usually a visit with Uncle La is a priority whenever I go to Atlanta. I didn't stress about not getting to see him because I figured I would just visit him next year. It never crossed my mind that there wouldn't be a next year.

My kids don't understand the significance of my relationship with Uncle La. This is the man to whom, in addition to my own dad, I sent a father's day card almost every year. Flamboyantly and true to his previous life as a majorette, Uncle La came marching into our lives when I was about 15 years old (what else might you expect from a former male baton twirler?). My parents were divorced (or they might have just been separated) and my mom was a mess. A 'hot mess' as Chelsea Handler might describe her. She was uneducated and away from her family and she had 2 kids to raise without the help of her ex (or soon to be ex) husband. After bouncing around churches for a couple of years, we landed on the steps of First Baptist Church of Atlanta and my mom found her sanctuary. She joined a bible study with a motley crew for members, but this motley crew became our family and our rock for the next several years. Mainly, they were my mom's rock, but mine and my brother's by proxy. Had it not been for this unlikely assortment of God's children, I am quite certain that a) my mother would have been institutionalized and/or b) my brother and I would have been placed in foster care.

I don't remember all the people, but everyone in her bible study was like a character in a play. There was the older, conservative white couple who were the mom & pop of the outfit. Before moving to Africa to become missionaries, they led the group, opened their hearts and home and centered everyone. They kept the compass pointed in the right direction. There were some musicians and street performers, their son and his girlfriend (a bi-racial couple; still a pretty big statement in Atlanta, GA in the mid to late 80's), my mom (the single mom hanging on by a thread) and a medley of born-again, reformed gay men. Larry fell into this latter category. These men were no longer 'living in the life-style'. One was a hair-dresser who was HIV positive, the other lived with his grandmother and was on disability for 'chronic fatigue', the young guy who had just been starting to experiment with his new, gay identity, a married 'heterosexual' florist and then there was Uncle La.

Uncle La had grown up in a conservative Christian home in North Carolina. He had 2 sisters and one brother and I think his daddy might have been a baptist preacher (even if he wasn't ordained). I'm not sure when Uncle La came out of the closet (though I don't think they make closets big enough to have held Uncle La), but the whole world, especially the part of the world that includes bible belt North Carolina, had to have been mighty suspicious when in high school Larry started throwing the baton for the marching band. Sometime after college he moved to Atlanta and began his career as a female impersonator. Legend has it that Larry was the best female impersonator in Atlanta in the late 70's/early 80's with a pretty lucrative career. Gays and straights alike would come to see his show. When he had his first heart attack at age 35, Larry suddenly called up his old friend Jesus and left the bright lights of transgender entertainment. He hung up his dress and his tights, shelved his heels, feather boa and wig and grabbed a bible and never looked back. That's how he got to the bible study. His first near death experience caused him to reevaluate his entire life.

If my mom could have had a second husband, I would have wanted it to be Uncle La. But, b/c my mom was a 'hot mess' and more likely, b/c Larry didn't suddenly become attracted to women, they never wed. However, they were always as close as husband and wife or brother and sister. La called my mom, Tia. He knew her weaknesses and frailties like no other. He was the first person that I remember teasing my mother and her actually laughing. He made her laugh at herself. A thing that she had not been able to do. It was like a valve on a pressure steamer. He came along and started telling a few jokes and the situation was no longer as intense as it had once been. I don't know what my brother and I would have done without Uncle La. He taught us how to love her despite her blemishes and to actually love the spots that we had once found to be unsightly. He brought us laughter when there wasn't a whole lot about which to laugh. Every Sunday after church we'd go eat at Mick's. He introduced us to Oreo Cheesecake. There was a whole host of restaurants we'd go to and in each and every one, they all knew Larry. He was loved everywhere he went. It was like walking into a place with a celebritey. "Oh hey Larry! Glad to see you. Who do you have with you today?" And, I don't think I am looking at everything through rose-colored glasses, but it always seemed like he payed the tab.

Larry was a big man. Well over 6 feet tall and probably some 300+ lbs, physically, he took up a lot of space when he entered a room. But, even if he had been a wee little man, his personality could have filled a mansion. It was not possible to stop laughing when you were in his presence. I'm not talking about giggles, but gut-busting, pee your pants, laugh until you are crying and it hurts kind-of laugher. Though he had left his life on the stage, he was still always an entertainer. He was there through so many milestones in my life (and if a recovered homosexual can be a positive male role model, then that is precisely what he was for my brother); prom, high-school graduation, going off for my junior year of college in London (he bought me a box of Godiva chocolates which I exchanged for a red plaid robe that I still have today and I preferentially wear over all others in my closet), medical school graduation and my wedding (he did a reading). Though we never could get him to come visit after our wedding, we always visited him when we were in Atlanta. When I was interviewing for a residency spot at Emory, I went swimming and took a nap at his apartment. When I was pregnant with my oldest son he took us to his favorite Chinese restaurant. He drove out to my dad and step-mom's house when my boys were young to celebrate my oldest's 2nd birthday. I still remember the Bob-the-Builder outfit he bought my son. That same trip, we crashed in his apartment again, this time with the boys (one of my favorite pictures of the boys is on Uncle La's chair). He always met us out; Mick's, McDonald's, Cudzew Cafe, Mexican restaurants, Cumberland Mall (Larry's one bedroom apartment was full of crystal frames and figurines, but his refrigerator was empty except for some bottled water and Haagen-Dazs Ice Cream). Once he went with us to the Chattahoochee River and waded into the water with the kids. Then he took us to Target to buy Crocs for all 3 of my kids. The last time I saw him was last summer(2007) at his favorite Mexican restaurant. He took my kids to eat ice cream at Baskin Robbins afterward. When my 5 year old (at the time) decided to take a leak in the potted plant outside the shop, Larry told him that someone was going to cut off his weiner. This made my son cry b/c he didn't grow up with Uncle La. I remember feeling a little bit angry with him b/c he made my son cry.

I didn't get to see him on this most recent visit because I was crunched for time and I got lazy. I could have driven out to see him the nite that I arrived into town, but I hadn't seem my dad yet and my dad didn't want to drive into town to have dinner with Larry after a long day at work. God, what I would do to go back and change that decision. He left town to go see his mom in North Carolina the 2nd or 3rd day I was in Atlanta. For the first time, our paths didn't converge. I should have known something was going to happen. Larry was a big man and he enjoyed life. Sure he had heart disease and high cholesterol and high blood pressure and sure he took his medication, but there was no 'lifestyle modification'. If he wasn't having sex, he sure was going to eat. Eating was the one carnal desire that he could satisfy. Even after some cardiac surgery and additional hospitalizations, he still kept on eating exactly what he wanted to eat. I don't think it was a death wish so much as a lack of concern for things of this world. Even though Larry didn't necessarily take care of the his 'temple' (his body), he loved Jesus like no one's tomorrow. Jesus had walked him down some roads and Jesus was Larry's best friend. Larry walked the talk. He was almost always singing some Baptist hymn. That's about the only thing that makes this whole thing bearable; knowing that Larry is in heaven loving every minute of it and making the angles fall down and bust their wings with laughter and Jesus himself is probably wiping away tears from laughing so hard. I know that when it's my turn to go, he is going to run and greet me at those pearly gates and there is no one else (other than God himself) that I'd rather have greet me as I am enter into Glory. I'm going to miss the hell out of you Uncle La and Atlanta is never going to be the same, but save me some Oreo cheesecake and save me some good jokes. And if I forgot to tell you how much I love you the last time I saw you, maybe only now, when you are up in heaven, you can fully comprehend how much I loved you and how much your love meant to me. Take care of all the people down here who need it. Good bye Uncle La, good bye.

Clickin'

2008-08-05T22:12:00.000-07:00

Wow, I've been lazy lately! I've been spending far too much time making those bead designs that require ironing. It's completely addictive and has consumed just about my every waking moment for the past 3 weeks. I sit there like an idiot or a trained chimp picking out tiny beads and putting them on a peg board. It's about as mentally stimulating as watching static on the tv, but I just can't take my hands off those tiny beads.

When I was in Pennsylvania, my 10 year old niece and I went to Michael's to buy more of these beads and it was though we had landed in wonderland. It was almost too much to bear; aisles and aisles of crafts that needed to be purchased and completed. We filled our cart up to the rim and then I came to my senses as I approached the cash register, realizing that there was absolutely no justification in spending 3 digits on shit that I was just going to throw away or that would sit in my spare bedroom (like my scrapbooking stuff, knitting yarn/needles and pictures to be framed). I'm becoming frighteningly similar to my grandmother and her nursing home posse and I'm skirting dangerously close to applying jewels and rhinestones to my jeans and putting angels on sweatshirts and sending them to everyone I know as Christmas presents.

Today my 4 year old daughter told me that she just couldn't control herself and that she needed to be trained. This was in reference to our new puppy. Puppies are small and cute and she wants to rub their cold, wet noses. I think she might be right. The dog needs to be trained, but so does she. We hired a dog trainer to come over to the house and show us the correct way to get the dog house-trained but we might need to hire a girl-trainer that can show us how to manage our daughter.

My husband and his sister are watching the movie Hostel. I think the basic premise of the movie is college graduates get murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They love to watch slasher flicks. I don't have the stomach for it and I'm a huge chicken. I can hear them complaining because no one has gotten dismembered and they are already 10 minutes into the movie. "This movie sucks! Didn't people get killed right away in Saw?" They opted for this over the Olympics. Lee is in a bad mood and nothing makes him feel better than watching people suffer, especially if it is particularly violent and people are being tortured.

He (Lee) has been working in the ER this month. Working there can make you a sadistic person. When you are taking care of the dregs of society you start to view everyone with disdain; the grocery store clerk, the person who won't let you merge into traffic, your wife and children. Sleep deprivation intensifies your emotions so something that might seem mildly irritating on a normal day, on a sleep deprived day might push you to become justifiably homicidal. The other nite, while the rest of us slumbered, he took care of 29 acutely ill patients in a 12 hour period. We are talking about heart attacks, strokes, altered mental status. It was him, one 3rd year medical resident and a first year medical resident. You leave there, the hospital, at 7 am (or more realistically, at 7:30-8 am) and you are supposed to immediately mainstream yourself. You might have just finished intubating (putting a breathing tube into) someone with pneumonia so bad that he can't breath for himself, sent someone with a possible stroke to the CT scanner, or taken care of the same drunken bum for the 118th time, but you have to walk out of there and act like the world is a balanced place. Last Wednesday nite he had a patient that would only talk to him and agree to medical treatment after conferring with the Holy Spirit. "Holy Spirit, is it okay if I get an IV?" "The Holy Spirit said no, you can't draw my blood or put an IV in my arm." "Sir if you don't let me put an IV in your arm, we are going to have to call security and they will tie you down so we can put an IV in your arm, so you might want to check with the Holy Spirit again." "Alright, I checked again and this time the Holy Spirit said it was okay."

Last month, Lee was taking care of the patients on the in-patient service in the hospital. These are the patients who have been hospitalized for various and sundry reasons. He was making rounds by himself one day and he asked a guy with AIDS why he stopped taking his HIV medications. "Well, I was at work and these people kept messing with me and then I started clickin' and theys started clickin' and then they was clickin' and I was clickin' and we was all clickin'. Click, click, click, clickin'. You know what I mean? We was clickin'." I wonder if he wrote in the patient's chart. Diagnosis: clickin'. And I wonder what the treatment might be.

I've been having a hard time the past couple of days because I don't know how to handle disapproval. Judgment is damaging. We all do it, judge. "How can she let her kids watch that movie, play that video game, listen to that music, etc..." It is so much easier to condemn someone elses actions/intentions than to analyze our own lives. It gives us this weird sense of superiority. By devaluing someone else, we somehow feel validated. "If they are wrong, then I must be right." I think we are the harshest with our own families, our siblings & parents or our spouse's siblings and parents. Then we feel like we have to rally our cause and talk to other family members to get them onto "our side." "Can you believe what so and so is doing (or can you believe what they did)? What are they thinking?" When you become the one who is being judged then all of the sudden you realize that it is a bad idea. Suddenly you want them to walk in your shoes, to see the world from your perspective. I have to admit that when someone I love judges me, I don't know what to do. It has taken me a while to go to God about this one, to finally realize that the only thing that really matters is His judgment of me. And as sad as I might feel about someone's disapproval of me or my actions, I still need to choose to love them and realize that God will take care of the rest. And if I go to Him first, if I honor Him, then nothing else really matters. It all goes back to keeping my eyes on Him. If my eyes are on Him, then the waves won't overpower me and drown me. But the minute I take my eyes off of Him, then I start to drown. If I keep my eyes on Him then there is no reason for me to keep 'clickin' with everyone around me.

The In-Laws

2008-07-21T20:29:00.000-07:00

We're up in Western PA on vacation. The kids love it up here because it is a total departure from their reality. They can play in the creek, swim in the pond, pick blackberries, shoot b-b guns, stay up as late as they want, harrass their older cousins...Basically it's utopia. Bathing is pretty much optional. The place uses well water and my mother-in-law polices water usage like the Kremlin policed free speech. My kids have no concept of conservation. You turn on the tap, water comes out. To them, it's like cash at the ATM machine-there is always an endless source-if you want some, you can get some. Trying to explain the differences in modern water delivery sources was more than they cared to know. I wasn't about to start a conversation about septic tanks. Plumbing is not a topic of interest to them.

Many people might consider a two week vacation with your in-laws to be a lapse in better judgement. Before I left home, one of my friends asked me, "Are you sure you want to spend that much time with your husband's family?" These people, Lee's family, are delightful. Where else could Lee have gotten his charm? There isn't a single conversation without the use of 4 letter words (by granny and grandchild alike). Besides, these people know all of my husband's most embarrasing and humiliating moments in life and share these stories freely. I know that I am accepted and loved by these people because any story that involves me they begin with the statement, "Remember when Michelle used to be nice..." My sister-in-law is convinced that with my first pregnancy there was come trans-placental transfer of blood causing a transformation that changed me into the beautifully ruthless woman that they love and admire today. While the kids might look forward to all of the woodsy/outdoor activities, Lee and I get all giddy at the prospect of playing Scrabble day after day with his sister and various other family members. It's pretty cut-throat and I have to admit that I can't really run with the big dogs, but I give a fairly good show.

We spent some time in the DC area with Lee's brother and his family. Lee and his brother are about as tight as two grown men can be. However, you'd never realize that the two of them left adolescence, at least not mentally. They are complete idiots around each other and my two boys are just like them. It's heartwarming. (It actually is-to see them-Lee and his big brother-simultaneously change diapers/give baths and make up foul stories to make the other one laugh). It makes me smile to think about our collective 5 children playing together. The biggest dilemma of our 7 days together was that my eldest boy couldn't understand how his 3 year old girl cousin wanted to incorporate princesses into their spy game. This caused him endless frustration because why would anyone want to desicrate a perfectly good spy game with girl stuff? It almost overloaded his system for me to tell him that perhaps she could stun the bad guy with her princessly beauty or karate chop them with her ballet moves. Begrudgingly, he acquiesed. My daughter, at age 4, was the cool, older cousin to her 3 year old cousin. "Why does she copy everything I do, Mom?" Hmmm...sounds familiar, but the other way around usually...And of course, everyone loved the baby. None of it could have been any better.

We were able to go to DC one day and see some of the sights. My oldest son never stopped asking questions from the moment we parked the car till the second we arrived back to his aunt and uncle's house. These weren't your usual 'I need some factual information' questions. These were the 'torture your parents till there brain throbs' kind of questions. "What if we saw the President?" "What if he invited us to his house to eat?" "Why is there a gate around the White House?" "How did that squirrel get inside the gate?" "I can't see any of the security cameras." "What if I climbed over the fence?" "Where does the Vice-President live?" "What does he do?" "Why hasn't their ever been a woman President?" "Will we ever have a woman President?" "What if we stole the Hope Diamond?" "It's not really that big. I've seen bigger."

We took our 10 year old niece with us and I think she was the perfect age to see DC. She knew enough history for it to be pertinent (as opposed to our kids who will likely only remember the popsicles that we bought from the street vendor). Taking her, our niece, reminded me of when my aunts and uncles used to take me with them on trips. Going somewhere with your aunts and uncles, when you are little, opens a whole different window to the world. These are grown adults, in many ways like your parents, but completely different from them. It's a whole different set of rules with aunts and uncles. They listen to different music, eat different food, watch different shows, laugh at different jokes. It's the first time you are able to see the world in a context other than the one presented to you by your parents and it's done with complete safety. Who better to show you an alternate view of reality than your own parents' siblings? They aren't trying to corrupt you and they have only your best interest in mind and they completely love you. I think back to my own childhood and the impact that my aunts and uncles had on my upbringing and I can't imagine not doing this for my own nieces and nephews. These are the people that you turn to when your own parents are being absolute shits for not letting you stay out all night on prom-nite. They aren't your parents so you don't see their flaws with the intensity that you see your own parents' flaws and they tolerate your irritating personality traits much more than your own parents do. Aunts and uncles (even those unrelated "aunts and uncles") are God's emissaries of good will. They are the angels that help us through some of life's most difficult moments. I take my job as aunt very seriously and I am much more sensitive to my nieces and nephews judgement of me than my own children (my kids are stuck with me, they have no choice).

I guess that is why these trips to see my husband's family are so important to me. I'm not really doing it for my own enjoyment. That's a fringe benefit. It's for my kids and my nieces and nephews; the next generation. I'm hoping and praying that Lee and I are building a legacy that my kids and my nieces and nephews can pass on to their kids and their kids' cousins. There is not much that matters more than family. My kids have the luxury of being in the same town as my mom and my brother and his family. They don't have that benefit with Lee's family and how could I ever deprive them of the opportunity to be around the people that made their father the man that he is. They need this to help put together the puzzle of who they are. Especially since my kids have characteristics of their father's family poking all through their personalities. And I am proud that they do.

Turning Christian

2008-07-09T22:10:00.000-07:00

Need to clean the mouse's cage. I say that to myself everyday with earnest intentions of doing so. It doesn't smell-not yet. In her cage, there is a mezzanine, an area for relaxation and there are little mouse turds on it. This is what tells me that I can't keep waiting one more day. When the mouse turds are visible to the naked eye, it is creeping into the realm of public health concerns. I can ask my housekeeper/nanny to do a lot of things, but that is probably crossing the line.

I am at the mercy of my housekeeper/nanny. This morning when she walked into our house I thought she was in a bad mood and immediately I felt guilty. I know this is a very egocentric view of my nanny's world, but I was convinced I had done something injurious to her-like asking her to come in early. I tip-toed around till I was sure that she was in a good mood. You must understand, this woman, she completes me. As a matter of fact, in the diad that is myself and my babysitter, I am a very small component. It's mostly all her. I'm almost unnecessary in our home. Even the kids know this. They know to go to her for most household queries. I'm mearly window dressing. Because my world would come crashing down around me if she were to suddenly leave me, I'm constantly trying to keep the fire burning with little enticements and gestures of affection, like heating her a slice of left over pizza for lunch or sending left-overs home with her. How could she ever leave me? No one else would ever treat her so well...

Middle son "turned Christian" this week at vacation bible school. He announced this at our evening meal while he was saying grace. "And God, thank you for letting me turn Christian today..." He is all okay with Jesus. Oldest son is slightly more concrete than middle son. When asked about the condition of his eternal soul, he told his father and I that he just couldn't do it. Meaning he could not have the same conversion experience that his younger brother had just had, "because I waited and nothing happened. I didn't feel any different. It's just not going to happen for me." He had so quickly and easily resolved himself to eternal brimstone and damnation as though he had decided to take a pass on the gravy. Christ's salvation was meant for some people, but not for him and he was a-okay with that. He tried once in that gospel tent at vbs, but it was a no-go for him. As we talked to him, we realized his teacher had told him that she had felt something emotional when she "turned Christian". I guess he kept waiting for this rush of wind or the song of a thousand angels or Christ himself to come marching down the aisle with his big brass band and when it didn't happen he just shrugged his shoulders.

I don't expect my kids to completely get it about salvation right now-I mean while they are this young. We talk about it all the time. Christ's redemptive love, his salvation, his death on the cross, our sins, etc, etc...Not in a frightening, legalistic, authoritarian kind of way, but in a "hey, this is really cool & you're never going to believe this" kind of way. Eventually they will have to make up their own minds. Our job is exposure. And dialogue. And modeling. This last one is the most important one. God himself knows that I am a pretty feable stand-in for him, but he still nominated me (and Lee) for the job. We are the first people to reflect Christ's grace and mercy and love to our children. How we live our lives, especially in these early years, tells them everything about God's love. We have a few short years before other peoples' opinions matter more than ours do. Whenever I have to take a deep breath and pause so I don't completely loose it, this is what I remember. Time passes by quickly.

Oldest son had some hope that salvation was also for him after we explained that as Brad Delp, lead singer of 70's band Boston, so aptly stated, "It's more than a feeling..." (though I don't think he was referring to salvation, but to some girl named Marianne). Middle son, realizing for once in his life he had something his older brother did not have (even though we all have it-the ability to open the door from the inside), immediately became the spiritual and moral compass for that moment at the dinner table. With his 4 year old younger sister sitting to his left, he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, raised his eyebrows and asked out of the side of his mouth, "What about her?" As though we might be able to sift her out once and for all. She was happily oblivious with her rice and squash. For her, vbs is something that her mother is forcing her to attend and she barely tolerates. But, I guess all a mother can do is pray. That is what my mother did for many, many years and she still does. I know I am where I am today because of my mother's prayers. I pray for my children; that they would know (and know early) and experience God's love and mercy and grace that he gives to all of us, free of charge. Hopefully someday they will all "turn Christian".

Ephesians 3:14-19

14 When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father,[e] 15 the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.[f] 16 I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. 17 Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 18 And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

Consider It All Joy

2008-07-02T19:49:00.000-07:00

Today has been a rough day. There has been the usual parenting stuff-kids vomiting, whining, arguing. The cousins spent the night last nite as part of my elaborate plan to make life easier for myself and my sister in law. But the plans were foiled when middle son started vomiting at 4 am and one by one all of the kids started waking up. Then we just had one sick kid, one caffeine deficient mother, a sleeping father and 4 extra kids. However, I will say that for a few brief moments, while I had my daughter, my niece and my middle son all hunkered in bed with me and my nephew and oldest son asleep in the other room (Lee exiled himself to the guest room) I felt like I was doing something right. Even though we had everyone rambling around different beds (girls on floor, girls on bed, boys on floor, boys on bed, husband on bed, husband in guest room, niece in bed with cousins, niece on floor with aunt, everyone awake by 5:30 am), this is how summer should be, spending the night with your cousins and staying up late (or in this case, getting up early).

By 9 am I was ready for a nap and lucky for me, our babysitter was here, but that's when the scream-fest began. My niece, who is 2 yrs old, had been up since 4:30 am and her usual cheery disposition was overshadowed by sleep deprivation. My daughter was hell bent on doing her best Sybil impersonation and when my sister in law tried to take her and her cousin for a walk, she began shreaking so loudly that I thought she was being abducted. Erroneously, I had thought that I would be able to get some sleep while my sick kid was sleeping. I was jolted out of my pre-slumber state by my daughter's howls and I reluctantly got out of bed to try to do some damage control. With the TV tuned to Sponge Bob (with nearly 300 channels, we can always find a channel showing Sponge Bob) I tried to sleep on the sofa while my daughter watched TV, but like clockwork, she would poke me in the ribs just as I was about to drift out of consciousness. When my oldest son called me from swim practice to tell me he missed me (he had been taken by a neighbor) and could I please come and stay with him at the pool (this was 5 minutes after the practice began) I realized that it was not meant to be. The gods did not ordain sleep as part of my destiny.

Because middle kid fell of our tread mill yesterday, husband and I were concerned about his complaints of headache and his persistent vomiting. Seventeen years of combined medical training and nineteen years of combined practice has made us nothing if not overly neurotic when it comes to our kids' health. Since neither one of us are pediatricians, our kids might as well be donkeys when it comes to diagnosing their ailments. We know as much about pediatrics as we do veterinary medicine. So, mid day was punctuated with a trip to the kids' doctor just so she could tell us that it was indeed a viral illness and not some traumatic brain injury that we had feared. Thankfully she gave us a pass on the judgement call of allowing a six year old on a treadmill (it's not our fault that he increased the speed to 7 miles/hour when we weren't looking).

As I am writing this I am watching Dottie, the newest member of our family, do her damnest to try to escape the cage in which she is imprisoned. I finally relented to my daughter's pleas and I bought her a rodent. It's a little mouse and even I've got to admit that it's kind of cute. Dottie, realizing that her tormentors are no where in sight, has decided that now is the time to make a quick get-away. Unsuccessfully, she has tried to chew her way through every corner of the cage. I can see her over there training. Trying to get bigger, stronger, faster by racing on her little wheel and doing drills in her little tunnel. She is determined to have her persistance pay off because I think she knows the alternative-one of her youthful caretakers will unwittingly assasinate her.

The worst part of the day was learning that a breast cancer acquaintence died in May. She was 40 years old and she is survived by her husband and 2 daughters, 13 and 7 years old. I've spent a good part of the day mourning her death and quite honestly, mourning my inclusion in this unfortunate club. This woman was such a lovely person and a true angel when I was first diagnosed. She never failed to send me encouraging notes and she brought me holy water from a cathedral in NYC and a worry/prayer cross. The last time she and I talked I knew that her death was not too far in the distant future. I think that she had hoped that I might be able to help her in some way due to my profession. I think I wanted her to be a window into my future, but a window that did not include death. In the end I think I was a coward. I think I pulled away from her because I couldn't handle the fact that she was going to die. Breast cancer sucks. Everyone should be able to live happily ever after or at the very least until their children are out of college. Children shouldn't be left motherless, especially not 13 and 7 year old children. For as much as I kvetch about motherhood on this blog, every moment with my family is a priviledge and I don't want to be short-changed one single second. I would like to rescind my membership in this club. The dues are too steep and there really aren't too many perks. Pray for me and pray for the women and the families who are affected by this disease.

James 1:2-4 "Dear brothers and sisters, whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy. For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything."

Grace Needed....

2008-06-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

I'm wrapping up my week in Atlanta. I think my kids have had a good time. I've had a good time. I've gotten to hang out with my dad and see a bunch of friends. I've tried my best to be a good mom, but I've lost my patience on quite a few occasions. I feel really awful when I get impatient with my kids. Everything is going along just fine and everyone is in a good mood and then someone does something to push one of my many buttons. It's hard being in the deep South and yelling at your kids in public. I guess everyone does it behind closed doors, because I got some looks in Blockbuster today for reprimanding my middle son after he pulled about 3 dozen glow-sticks of a shelf (I don't know why a movie store is selling glow sticks). We are deep in the heart of Dixie and these folks around here do not seem to share my parenting style. When I got back to my dad's house he could tell that I needed a cold one and immediately put a beer in the freezer for me. I question my mothering abilities at times. I wish that I didn't loose my temper.

The kids and I watched a double feature tonite; Nacho Libre and Blades of Glory. The oldest one especially seems to get the subtle humor. Earlier this week we camped out in my dad's yard. Otherwise we've done some swimming and the kids have ridden their scooters on my dad's driveway. The boys had a blast earlier this week by crushing rocks in my dad's vice (spelling?) in his work shop. They were convinced that they had found gold and collected the rock dust into ziplock bags. My daughter has had a field day tormenting my dad's 3 dogs and she has decided that she wants a chinchilla. Every couple of days I make the kids write in their journals and despite all of the activities that we have done, my eldest chose to write about the meal he had eaten at Cracker Barrel the nite before and my middle wrote about some plastic toy he wanted to buy. My daughter has immunity from journal writing, but has to do dot to dots.

What I hate the most is when my kids argue with each other and when they pick on each other. Generally they get along well, but they do get on each others' nerves. I don't know how to handle it. I think I try to remain rationale, but after awhile I am driven beyond reason (because my gentle pleas to them to get along don't work) and then I start yelling like a crazy woman. I'm no better than they are and I'm certainly not setting a very good example. The tactic I used tonite exploded in my face-when I tried to tell them that after their father and I were gone they would only have each other (so they better learn to love and appreciate each other). All 3of them burst into tears at the thought of a future that didn't include Lee and I. Earlier today, I was sitting in the van with them as my mom ran into a store and they started up with each other and I put them "on silence". No one could talk for a good 5 minutes and then I made them each come up with 5 things they liked about their other siblings. Each one of them has their own tactic that they use in battle with the other two. The oldest always has to be in charge and always has to be right. He exasperates the younger two because he always corrects them and he almost always has the other two under his thumb. The middle one is a cry baby. He has learned that the quickest way to get people to do what he wants is to start screaming and pitching fits. Literally, his sister can look at him wrong and he will start yelling and crying. We are all kind of scared of him because he tends to make everyone else miserable when he is miserable, so we all cave into his ploys (b/c no one wants to deal with his meltdowns). The youngest just has no concern or regard for consequences so she does whatever she wants to do and generally doesn't listen if you are trying to reprimand her. I wish I knew what I was doing. God needs to infuse me with his grace and patience.

How to Torture Your Brother, Part 2 (and give your Grandmother an ulcer too)

2008-06-23T21:21:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure Martha is going to make it. Someone is going to be victorious in the battle of wills and I'm wagering on my kids. Hearing her scream brings back all sorts of childhood memories. My kids have never heard their grandmother use her 'mean' voice. She's already made two thirds of them cry today and we're only on day two of our journey. She is not sympathetic to middle son's footwear issues nor his inability to keep a pair of shoes on his feet or within a 500 yard radius of his person. After I let him walk barefoot thru the streets of New Orleans, she made us stop at an outlet mall so she could buy him flip-flops (the crocs were rubbing blisters).

Female child continues to engage in psychological warfare against her older brothers. Everytime a song comes on the radio that one of them wants to hear, she suddenly has a question for me. Brothers beg her to be quiet so they can listen to the Jonas Brothers for the 862nd time. Grandmother has little patience for the bickering and for girl child's tactics. Not sure if grandmother will ever choose to vacation with us again. She has issued all sorts of proclamations today; "We must never unload the car again!" and "If you loose your shoes again, I will spank you!" and "If you bother your brother one more time, you will sleep on the sofa."

Walking around New Orleans today was akin to walking on the surface of the sun. It was 800 thousand degrees in the shade at 9 am. As we walked down Bourban Street the smell of urine and warm beer permeated the air. My oldest has a penchant for endless questions so the scenery provided him with a well-spring of intrigue. "Why do people drink so much beer?" and "Why are there naked ladies that dance for people?" and "Why do homeless men pee on the side of the road in broad daylight?" and "Why are there so many poor people?" and "Why is this place so dirty?" I was able to take a walk down memory lane and that was fun and satisfied that urge for the next 15 years, especially since very little has changed since I started college in New Orleans 22 years ago.

Gotta love Americana! Ain't nothing quite like it. What a glorious day!

How to Torture Your Brother, Part 1

2008-06-22T21:09:00.001-07:00

The kids and I are on our latest trek. This time we have my mom as our travel companion. God bless her. The first leg of the journey has been largly uneventful. My hotel choice has been a huge disappointment to the children because there is no pool nor does the TV have Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network. They could care less that it is on the historic registry and that I got it for a rock bottom bid on Priceline. I have failed in their eyes. They are harsh critics. I promised that I would take them to the McDonalds that I used to eat at when I was in college(it has 2 stories), so that is a bright spot on the itinerary for tomorrow.

My daughter has taken great pleasure in keeping her older brother awake. She invents all sorts of ways to irritate him while passing it off as routine behavior. It is very sly and underhanded and it drives him to the brink of sanity. Of course she loves it because he is such an easy target and every time he shreaks her face lights up with glee. Just a slight stretch of the foot to the right barely touching his leg sparks a litany of whines, protests and complaints from his half of the bed. My mom suggests putting a pillow between them but she has a whole artillary of ammunition. If she scissor-kicks her legs up and down just a half inch above the bed, but with a high enough frequency, this causes the sheets and the covers to move up and down like waves on the ocean and can knock her big brother out of that pre-REM state to wakefulness. It's almost as fun as Christmas morning and brings as much satisfaction as watching your lab rat go through the maze correctly to get to the cheese. Once she has completed that task on her agenda (big-brother torturing) she moves on to grandmother mocking. My mom, her grandmother, has fallen asleep much faster than the target-brother. She lets out occasional snores and my daugher, knowing what this sound is, keeps asking, "What is that?" and then laughs hysterically. Whether she bores of her sadistic activities or just tires out, she finally falls asleep.

Once again I've stayed up much later than I intented to just to have some time to myself. Huddled over the computer in the dark at nearly midnite, this is about the only way I can have a small little slice of time that is just my own. I can be alone with my own thoughts without any interruption and I so cherish that luxury. This is my way of recharging and the sleeplessness is nothing that can't be fixed in the morning by a Grande Latte from Starbucks. Even though this is the mental equivalent of channel surfing, it's like eating the last bite of something really yummy that you've waited for all day. I'm savoring every morsel before I turn out the lights and hug my little bed bugs (who are huddled together as tightly as they were trying to stay apart).

"Sing a Song" by Third Day

verse: I want to sing a song for You, Lord
Lord, for You I want to sing a song
And I want to lift my voice to Heaven
And listen to the angels sing along

chorus: A song of Your faithfulness
A song of Your grace
And of Your loving kindness
To the glory of Your name
With everything that's in me, Lord
Listen to me say
I want to sing a song for You
I want to sing a song

verse: I want to live my life for You, Lord
Lord, for You I want to live my life
And I want to praise the name of Jesus
And Pray above all things You're glorified

go to chorus

And I sing about Your mercy
And I sing about Your love
Your goodness, Lord
Your righteousness
I want to sing...
go to chorus

And we'll sing holy, holy, holy
We'll sing holy, holy, holy
We'll shout holy, holy
Are You Lord almighty

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

2008-06-16T21:18:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking about publishing lately and I have to admit that there is a lot of ego involved in that thought process. Writing on this blog and my previous blog has mainly been like an on-line journal allowing me to air my thoughts. It brings clarity to my mind and it is a way to chronicle the lives of my children. I don't know why I think anyone might want to read (on a grander scale) the schlock I write. Actually, I do know why; because someone else just published a book about their breast cancer experience and I'm horridly jealous. Certainly this person can't be funnier or more clever than me? Are we all like that or is it just me? Petty and insecure? I am a supremely competitive individual and mostly it has served me well in life, but sometimes I am obnoxious to even myself and this is one of those times. At least I can recognize it, right?

I worked in the emergency room today and I almost came unglued on one of my colleagues. The fact that he is a supreme asshole was my justification for wanting to snap off his head. His lack of compassion was truly mind boggling and makes me wonder why he still practices medicine. I was able to keep a level head throughout our entire interaction though hot molten lava was simmering just below the surface. I think when you start considering your fellow man to be the scourge of the earth it might be time to take a step back to do some introspection. He didn't want to admit (to the hospital) some poor, young guy who almost certainly had a malignancy to prove a point regardless of whether or not it was in the patient's best interest. Unfortunately that is how it gets in the emergency room. People argue just to argue. I'm no patron saint of the poor and uninsured, but you would have had to have a heart of stone and a ridiculously guilt-free conscience to sit in my colleagues's judgement seat. He basically said that people who don't have insurance don't deserve to get diagnosed or treated for cancer. Resources need to be limited to those people who have a third party payor. Those were almost his exact words. Though it was extremely unprofessional, I told the residents that I thought he was an asshole. Apparently I'm not the first to think this about him.

My middle son told my husband that he (middle son) is a professional butt-wiper. When Lee asked whether he needed checking (after doing his business) this is when middle son informed Lee of his new title; "No dad, I'm a professional. I was in a butt-wiping contest and I won first place." This is the same kid who told us the itsy bitsy spider lived in his bottom and demonstrated by bending over and pulling his butt cheeks apart. I think he intends on going the whole summer without putting on a pair of shoes (which gets rid of the sock issues). Literally we can not find a pair of his shoes and if they allowed him to go barefoot at school, I would rejoice. Today he was at a friend's house and they were riding bikes on a newly paved street (but still blocked off) and he told the friend's mother, "I prefer not to ride bikes on roads that are under construction. I think I'll go inside now."

The aftermath of breast cancer comes at you in waves. I've compartmentalized and closed off that part of my brain-the part with all the memories from last year. I have a couple of friends and acquaintences who are going through treatment and diagnosis and it is difficult for me to relive a lot of that stuff. For instance, I haven't gone back to read what I wrote last year. I don't think I'm ready to do that (yet I want to publish it in a book?). I started this blog with the intention of it being my spiritual journey and I haven't really written too much about my relationship with God. All I can say is that I have to keep the line of vision perfectly clear because the moment I loose sight, I falter.

"I Have Decided to Follow Jesus"
(Folk Melody from India)

I have decided, to follow Jesus,
I have decided, to follow Jesus,
I have decided, to follow Jesus,
No turning back, no turning back.

VERSE 2

Though I may wonder, I still will follow,
Though I may wonder, I still will follow,
Though I may wonder, I still will follow,
No turning back, no turning back.

VERSE 3

Though none go with me, still I will follow,
Though none go with me, still I will follow,
Though none go with me, still I will follow,
No turning back, no turning back!

VERSE 4

The world behind me, the cross before me,
The world behind me, the cross before me,
The world behind me, the cross before me,
No turning back, no turning back!

VERSE 5

Will you decide now, to follow Jesus,
Will you decide now, to follow Jesus,,
Will you decide now, to follow Jesus,,
No turning back, no turning back!

The Pachanga, Part II

2008-06-07T22:01:00.000-07:00

Once again I have to withdraw my nomination for mother-of-the-year award. When you are a graduate of the Joan Crawford School of Mothering, you're not gonna get a lot of accolades. The kids did well during Mass. On the way in I used bribery to entice them to behave. We've set up a reward system at home-dried pinto beans in a plastic cup. Proper behavior earns you more beans-the more beans you have, the quicker you fill up your cup. Once you've filled up your cup you get to do fun stuff (I haven't figured that part out yet-what they actually get to do). It's like dangling a carrot in front of their nose. On the way into the church I told them if they acted properly and didn't embarrass me they would each get 10 beans. My oldest wanted 19 beans. "No way" I told him. The Mass was in Spanish. They got 19 beans. Seven kids all under the age of 7 sat thru 45 minutes of liturgy en espanol. God himself must have orchestrated that one for Fina. When the Mass was over I told my eldest that now we had to do the most important part; go give Fina a kiss. Without the proper salutation she would have never known we were there and our trip to the church would have been pointless, I explained. With the kiss, we got brownie points. It's not just me who follows this protocol. Everyone understands the manipulation that is involved. As we walked over to Fina's wheelchair I overheard my aunt tell her 5 year old granddaughter the same thing.

After almost getting thrown out of the church (Apparently you can't stand up where the priest stands-pulpit?- to get a better angle for your group photo-even after the Mass is over. The priest yelled at my cousin's wife, who was taking the picture, to get down. It was less important to him that one of his elderly parishoners had 30 plus family members gathered around her for photodocumentation of some milestone in her life than it was to ensure the sanctity of his little man-made platform. I'm most certain that God could see the irony in the situation), we headed back to our cars. This is where the situation starts to unravel. My middle son has a propensity to mischief-making. As we were walking out he saw some lady bless herself with some holy water, so he thought it would be appropriate to do the same and to tell his cousin about it also. Sticking to our family motto of "If some is good, more is better", he opted for the large-volume blessing practically bathing in the holy water as he attempted to do his version of the sign of the cross. No problem, I could roll with that one-Jesus himself had a soft spot for young children. Certainly he would be watching and smiling even if the humorless priest was scowling as he caught a glimpse of the 2 boys splashing in the holy water. Forty-five minutes of Spanish Mass and 10 minutes of posing for pictures, a little spillage of some holy water wasn't going to hurt anything.

My Mommy Dearest impersonation happened as we approached our cars. My eldest asked to ride with his grandmother after his cousin had asked to ride in our car. Hind-site tells me I should have said 'no' since his cousin was going with us, but he caught me in a moment of weakness when I had my guard down. As soon as middle son found out oldest son was going with the grandmother, middle son had an old-fashioned melt down. Once middle son gets going, no one can talk him down off that ledge. This is precisely the way to raise my irritation levels to threat level red. He wouldn't stop boo-hooing. He went on and on about missing his big brother and wanting to be with his grandmother and no amount of rationalization, bribery or ultimatum-making was going to get him to stop. Making matters worse, my mom drives up and offers to take him in her car. When I say 'no' she looks at me as though I've just told him that there is no Santa Clause and he can see the look of injustice she is giving me. She doesn't know anything about the whole cousin scenario, all she knows is that I am being horribly unjust to her grandson. At this point, because he won't stop throwing a fit, I tell my oldest son to get out of his grandmother's car b/c otherwise middle son will have to be dragged away from the grandmother's car or I will have to cave and let him go with the grandmother and leave the cousin all alone without my 2 sons in my car. My kids love to do this. None of them want something until one of the other ones has it. If one of them is going in the car with the grandmother, suddenly the other wants to go also, but the first doesn't want the second to go with him and they argue about it to the death. Meanwhile all I can think is "You ungrateful little shits. There are people in this world with real problems." Compassion is not one of my better qualities. So, back to the situation-because middle son is being a royal pain in the ass, I have to play my wild card and have the older, more compliant child pay the price and he sacrifices his seat in the grandmothers car b/c his younger brother is not able to deal. Still, even after the older brother gets out of the car (with absolutely NO argument I might add. At this point he could see the crazy, rabid dog look in my eye and he could hear the tone in my voice. He just said, "Yes mam" and got out. Not even my own mother argued with me). The middle son is still pitching a fit. At this point, he just wants his own way and he is going to hold his breath until he gets it. So, I do exactly what I had been hoping to avoid. I pick him up, kicking and screaming, and carry him to my car while he is crying for his grandmother as though I were about to exile him to Guantanamo Bay. This is were I do my very best Joan Crawford imitation in front of God and my whole family. I believe my exact quote was, "Shut-up and get in the f_cking car before I beat you." Alec Baldwin eat your heart out. Shockingly (not) this has the effect that I was going trying to achieve. He immediately stops crying (for the moment) and gets in the car. My cousin, who has been helping me with the kids, asks, "Did you just drop the F bomb?" She knows the situation has reached critical levels and knows the solution. "I'm getting you a drink as soon as we get back to the hotel!"

As quickly as the situation erupts, it calms back down again. Two minutes into the ride, middle son, oldest son and cousin are talking and playing in the backseat as though nothing has happened and I am gripping the stearing wheel so tightly that I'm leaving imprints of my hands. Middle son and I get back to the hotel, have a pow-wow, I apologize for blowing my stack and we make a deal that he's not going to boo-hoo anymore and I'm not going to loose my temper. Now, middle son, oldest son and cousin are all sleeping in my hotel room b/c they all wanted to spend the night with each other. Daughter, cleverly, flew the coop and is staying with her grandmother. Somehow she managed to avoid the conflict and still get the prize; staying the nite in the grandmother's hotel room.

The rest of the nite was good. Dinner at a restaurant (again, well-behaved children) and then back to Fina's house for more food (dessert), charades and watching the kids play. No I must go to bed b/c tomorrow it is shampoo, rinse and repeat...

Proverbs 30:17

The eye that mocks a father and despises a mother’s instructions will be plucked out by ravens of the valley and eaten by vultures.

Ephesians 6:1-4

1 Children, obey your parents because you belong to the Lord, for this is the right thing to do. 2 “Honor your father and mother.” This is the first commandment with a promise: 3 If you honor your father and mother, “things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on the earth.” 4 Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger by the way you treat them. Rather, bring them up with the discipline and instruction that comes from the Lord.

The Pachanga

2008-06-07T12:53:00.000-07:00

The kids and I are in Laredo. We drove down here for a family reunion. These things are always chaotic fun. My kids are slowly getting indoctrinated into the ways of the Mexican family like greeting everyone with a hug and a kiss even if you have no idea who they are. My oldest son asked me why everyone had gathered into my aunt's hotel room. "Why are we having this party?" he asked. "Because when you get a bunch of Mexicans together, that is what they do son. They have parties and they eat (as I stuffed another appetizer in my mouth)" I replied. He is starting to get it. Last nite, on his own, he chose to eat encilantrada (green chicken), but stopped after he got a couple of mouthfuls of chicken bones (a known risk). Who could blame him? My grandmother had her housekeeper (who is really just like an aunt to us b/c we have all known her our whole lives) some pigs feet for my uncles. The whole idea of pigs feet has never appealed to me and after my uncles described the flavor basically as "meat flavored jello" it sealed the deal. Tonite we are all going to Mass ("Why do we have to go? We're not Catholic" my son asks. "B/c your great-grandmother wants to go," is my response. "Why can't she go by herself?" is his rationale. He still hasn't learned about obligation through guilt. He's young so there is time). Then there will be pictures and then more eating. He, my oldest son, wanted to know what American families do when they get together interested in the other half of his heritage. Plenty, but I couldn't quite describe it. This thing, Mexican pachangas, have so much more of an emotional feeling associated with it.

My grandmother, Fina, has 7 children and per her report she would have had 15 children had she not had miscarraiges and still-births. It could be true. The age span is about 20 years between her children. My mom is number 4 after 3 boys followed by 3 younger sisters. Everyone but the youngest sister is here (which very well could have been an intentional decision-to run for the hills when she found out everyone else was going to be here). My husband likes to call my Mexican family the KIA's-the Know It Alls. It's true. Everyone is an expert in a broad assortment of subject matters. It's definitely a cultural experience.

Right now we are having a little bit of down time in the hotel room and my kids are enjoying some Japanimation. Thank God for Cartoon Network. The kids were so exhausted that they slept in till 10:30 this am. Young kids never sleep late. Last nite the only way I could convince them that going to my grandmother's house was a good idea was to promise them that they could go swimming in the hotel pool no matter how late it was when we returned. I don't know if my kids can ever quite comprehend how my mom's family helped shape me as I was growing up. I thrived on the chaos. I don't think that they get the same energy from it, so I am trying to balance it yet still expose them to it. Like going to Mass-my kids would rather watch paint peel, but they have to learn that part of the family experience is doing things you don't enjoy, but you do it for someone else's (someone you love) benefit. Mass is at 4:30. Laredo is a small town (relatively). My mom wanted us to start getting ready to go to my grandmother's house at 2:30 to arrive at my grandmother's by 3-3:30 so we could get to the church by 4pm (early so we could get a seat). I know that this is a set-up for disaster-trying to make my kids sit quietly in a church for 30 minutes before the Mass even begins. I opted for arriving late (and likely exiting early). We'll still get face time and I won't have to scream at my kids. Everyone wins (though my mom was disappointed that we didn't want to keep her company).

All the kids swam in the pool this afternoon and it was fun to watch them all splash and play. I wonder what kind of thoughts go through my grandmother's mind as she witnesses the legacy that she has created. She has always been a constant in all of our lives. It is hard to imagine that there will come a time when there will be a future without Fina. She is 87 years old and she was fortunate to watch all her children grow to adulthood and have children and grand-children of their own. Sometimes I wonder, even though I know God doesn't really work this way, if that was God's consolation to her for having been married to a man who had Bipolar Disorder. The other day my husband commented on how giving and generous my family has always been (my aunt and uncle hosted the kids and I at the beach overnite) and he said, "You'd better be ready to do the same for your nieces and nephews." I'll remind him of that when I have my nieces and nephews and cousins spend the nite, the weekend or travel with us. I am trying to create memories for them, a bond, a culture of their own.

I Thessalonians 2:4 "Our purpose is to please God, not people. He is the one who examines the motives of our heart."

Date Night

2008-05-31T14:46:00.000-07:00

Lee & I went out on a date last nite. Part of the time was spent shopping for clothes which was not his idea nor was it preapproved. Most of the time, if I know that my husband is not going to want to do something, I don't forewarn him. I just spring it on him last minute. I know that this is fairly inconsiderate and probably obnoxious, but I have enough charm that I never get in trouble for this technique. As I mentioned in my last entry, I've been busy with a lot of nonsense lately (we refer to this as 'scurrying sickness'-my inability to sit still) so the poor guy has been subjected to a higher than usual concentration of activities. For example, last weekend we dog-sat for 3 dogs and my 6 year old nephew spent the night while my step-mother-in-law was visiting for the weekend. And we had 2 parties. And my daughter had a birthday party which required one of us (me) leaving the dogs and the step-mother-in-law at home while I sat for two hours at one of those jumpy-house places. And I had to teach Sunday School. And we had a 4th dog over for part of the weekend. And I convinced my husband that it was a good time to paint our daughter's bedroom. This weekend I suprised him with family pictures at 8:30 this am and a pool party from noon to 3 (I was hosting of course) and another birthday party that he had to act as chauffer and sit for an hour and a half (after he had come to the pool party for at least an hour and a half).

So date nite, which had been fairly routine in our household, has sort of taken a back seat to my mania (which after just reading the above paragraph I realized, "Shit, I sound manic"). Sensing that my husband's last thread of patience was about to snap, I arranged for our sitter to stay late last nite so we could go out and make an attempt at a peaceful evening. Dinner was okay-Turkish food; our favorite. After dinner I let him know about the pictures, but I don't think I said anything like, "Oh, I forgot to tell you that we are having pictures done tomorrow morning at 8:30 am" because I know that in man-mind this translates into something like, "I don't really give a shit what you want to do b/c I'm a crazy female and I make all the rules and if you know what is best, you'll just sit quietly and comply. Just do as your told." I think I just told him what was happening. Something like, "Let's go get some white shirts for the pictures we are having done tomorrow morning. We can quickly go into Banana Republic. (And Kids Gap. And The Gap. And Ann Taylor)." Giving him an option of having photos taken and actually shopping for the apparrel is the man-equivalent of Chinese water torture. It's complete emasculinization. He was a pretty good sport the first two stores and then he had to stop at Starbucks to fortify himself. Now that I think about it, I went into Chico's while he talked on the phone to, ironically enough, his friend Chico (Leland the man-wife). I think I went into the store and then his friend called and he sat outside on a bench (maybe while he was in Starbucks he called Leland and told him to call-an SOS). By the time I made my last stop (who knew that finding white shirts could be so complicated) under the guise of getting a parking validation he was no longer polite. As I walked into the store I think he said to me, "What the hell are you doing?" I never noticed that it was so hard to be married to me till reading this. He managed to pry me away from the allure of impulse-shopping and needless consumption (mostly b/c the stores closed at 9 pm) and we went and played Scrabble at a place called "The Chocolate Bar."

On our way there, our babysitter called us. To be precise, she allowed our 6 year old who was wailing to call us. He was incomprehensible through the sobs. There was no crisis. No one had a missing limb or had swallowed poison. He simply missed me and she felt that the appropriate decision was to allow him to dial the phone. I guess she and I have different algorhythms in our "Babysitting 101" book. In my book, the bifurcation pointing to "call parents" is only used if someone is on fire or bleeding profusely. As this was not the case, I was annoyed. I was paying her to listen to my kid cry unconsolably and without reason. She's been our babysitter forever and it's not like she is some pimply adolescent. She is 30 years old and the mother of two children. After he quit crying long enough for me to say, "Put the babysitter on the phone", I gave her some trouble-shooting tips like "turn on the TV". After two more phone calls of having to listen to my other 2 children's tales of woe ("It's too hard to listen to them-the younger 2-cry. Can't you come home?") I was finally able to tame the beast by making promises of candy.

As we were walking out of The Chocolate Bar, Lee made the comment that there were a lot of geeks and nerds in the place and then he noticed the Scrabble box under his arm.

Tonite we are having a redo of date nite. Wish Lee luck.

Joshua 9:14 "So the Isrealite leaders examined their bread, but they did not consult the Lord."

Bitch Session

2008-05-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

My friend told me that she thought I was trying to run away from myself and that irritated me. I've been spread a bit thin lately, by my own doing, and I'm kind of tired of it. We were sitting outside on my new 2 seated rocker and she started analyzing me. I didn't appreciate it. Once before she questioned my recent busy travel itinerary and my decision to have liposuction and she wondered where I was getting all the money and if the many trips were causing instability in my children. I told her about the 'accelerated living' theory attempting an explanation. My husband reminded her, regarding my liposuction, that perhaps I deserved it after the shit my body has gone through in the last 15 months. So, a few days ago when we were sitting on the rocker, after I expressed my recent fatigue, she says to me, questioningly, "Accelerated living? Maybe you are trying to run away from yourself." Bitch. When I need pop psychology I'll watch Oprah, Dr. Phil or read Cosmo thank you very much! Then again, maybe I'm so sensitive because she struck a nerve. I'm sure to a certain extent I am trying to avoid some things. But shit, what am I supposed to do, sit aroung and contemplate my mortality? Think about the ways that I am f_cked? I don't know if there is a right way to do this. I'm certain there are lots of wrong ways to do it, but there are lots of wrong ways to live life cancer or not. Just because I'm not suscribing to the ways someone else thinks I should be living my life am I supposed to change how I do things? I know the pendulum is going to swing the other way and I am going to settle down. I can't keep up this pace forever. I guess I just want understanding, not judgement.

That's the weird thing about having had cancer. People, with very good intentions, come up to you and ask you how you are feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling; I'm feeling sick of this shit, dammit. I'm sick of people telling me that I look really good, almost shocked. Tell me that I look pretty, tell me that you like my shoes, tell me that my tits look great. Just don't tell me that I look good with this sorrowful smile on your face. I just want to be normal. I want to talk about things that everyone else talks about; my kids, the weather, Brad & Angelina. I don't want sympathetic inquiries. I don't even have a burial plot yet. Hell, I still don't know if I want to be buried or cremated. I know all of this sounds really ungrateful and I'm aware of that. But I don't want to be the elephant in the room. If I'm going to be the elephant, I'm going to sit right down and put my feet on the coffee table and pop open a beer and stay awhile.

I guess I've vented enough for one night. I'll be nice next time, I promise.

Fish Lives

2008-05-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a break from my household responsibilities. That's kind of funny, because most of my existance has been based on the principle of avoiding manual labor, which for me, includes house work. I told Lee that I think I'm going to have to go back to work eventually because I'm a terrible housewife and I spend all of my time doing ridiculous things like shelving books at my kids' school or making photo books for their teacher appreciation gifts, so I might as well get paid to do something so we can pay someone to clean our house on a regular basis (woefully, our housekeeper/nanny only comes 3 days a week now).

Tonite Lee and I are going to graduation for Baylor College of Medicine. One of our friends is graduating (go Tamela!), which is my excuse. He actually likes to go every year and get in the whole graduation regalia. The cap and gown thing lost its excitement a while back for me. I guess when you are in academia this is the time of the year to exercise your ego. Since we are not high on the food chain at Baylor we don't get to sit on stage. The president of the school and various deans sit up on the stage and say all sorts of nice things about the graduates before they sneak out back well before the ceremony ends. I guess you get your photo op with the president as you walk across the stage to get your diploma. When I graduated, Dr Michael DeBakey handed us our diplomas, which I guess now is kind of cool considering he is almost 100 years old and his name is probably going to be synonymous with Osler (in the medicine world) if it's not already.

We only have 2 goldfish now and I thought we were just about down to one. The one that was replaced a million times has been looking a little agonal. For the past day or two he would only swim if you tapped on the glass. Mostly he just floated there. I considered using him as fertilizer, but thought I'd wait till he was actually dead before I poured him into the flower bed. I asked my husband if I thought we should try to revive him by changing his water. "F_ck him!" was his response. "That's what I was thinking too," I replied. I shook a few flakes into his bowl and figured that I'd be able to recycle him this morning. Mr. Fish has come back to life. The little f_cker was swimming around his bowl like a champ this afternoon. I told Lee and he said, disappointedly, "Yeah, I know. I saw him this morning." If they can survive in our garage in the summer heat then I suppose they deserve to live. Can fish haunt you?

Philippians 4:4-8

"4 Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again—rejoice! 5 Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon.

6 Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. 7 Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

8 And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. 9 Keep putting into practice all you learned and received from me—everything you heard from me and saw me doing. Then the God of peace will be with you."

The World According to Boys

2008-05-09T20:39:00.000-07:00

I'm eavesdropping on my sons' conversation. They have a friend over to spend the nite. Basically, what I am listening to is "The World According to 6 & 7 Year Old Boys". Who knew that these boys had expertise in such broad and varied subjects? Before I sent them to bed (that was an hour ago), they asked me for an alarm clock so they could set if for 1 am. As if I would do this? I already know they are going to be up at the crack of dawn, so I don't need them in there fooling around any earlier with an alarm clock's assistance.

Summers are supposed to be about times like this. Having friends over and staying up way too late and doing absolutely nothing the next morning. It's not quite summer, but everyone is ready for it. I think we are all in summer mode already. I don't think my husband has the same philosophy that I do. He seemed fairly disgruntled that the boys were not going to be in bed by 8 pm. Spoil sport! These are the times that your kids remember that their mom was cool. As Brigadere General around here, I've got to play my cards right and let them get away with things sometimes.

They keep sneaking out here to see if I am awake. If there is one thing I know, it's boys. Their friend just walked back into the room and boy-whispered, "She's still awake!" I know that there is some kind of mischief underfoot and what they don't realize is that I am smarter than they are. So, if I don't outlast them (which is unlikely), I'll be shutting the whole operation down and telling them they have to go to sleep. Right now they are having a discussion about whales, dolphins and orcas and their commonalities and differences. Apparently, according to their friend, dolphin is pretty easy to speak.

I think this is why Jesus said "let the little children come to me." They are so damn cute and so real.

Deep Thoughts

2008-05-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

I've been giving God the cold shoulder lately. I know this is completely ludicrous and I'm not really backing God into any corners by this bit of manipulation, but I'm having a hard time with certain circumstances lately. Actually I'm starting to come around and warm up to Him b/c I kind of miss Him. I know He can take it and that is the great thing. He doesn't care if I am irritated or disgruntled with Him. There is so much for which I am grateful. But on the whole, His ways are not my ways this is sometimes difficult to digest. It's not even so much that I don't trust Him. At this point I pretty much have complete trust in Him, whether the circumstances are good or bad, but I guess even though I trust Him, I can still not like the circumstances.

Yesterday my eldest and I went out to dinner together. This is the kid who shoots out questions like a semi-automatic weapon. You can't answer the first one before he is asking another and frequently you can't even hear yourself think b/c he is just interrogating you. I think he can hear about 7 conversations at once b/c he always wants to know every little detail of these conversations (and mostly they don't concern him). This is the same kid, who 2 days ago while we were driving home from dinner, I hear telling his little brother, reminiscently, "I had a poop like that once (like a gun-I guess they were discussing guns?). It had a trigger and a couple of bullets coming out of it". Lee informed me that this is boy conversation 101-stories of your best poops ever. Anyway, while at dinner, he and I had just about the sweetest conversation that we've ever had. He understands so much. Lee and I have tossed around the idea of having a post chemo, post surgery, everything is finally over with, party. The momentum was pretty big early on, but as time has passed, I've been hot and cold about it. My eldest refers to this party as "the chemotherapy party". He asks about it all the time. "When are we going to have the chemotherapy party"? Yesterday at dinner he asked about it again. I said, "what if we don't have a party?" He said it would be okay, but then just as quickly said that we would be having one b/c there wasn't a justifiable reason not to in his mind. At that moment I realized the party was important for him not for the sake of having a party, but for what it signifies. I asked him if the party was important to him and why it was important and he immediately confirmed what I suspected. "Mom, when we have the party, it just means that it is all over. And so many people prayed for you and for us, long and hard, and they need to come because they prayed long and hard." I've known that this journey isn't just about me, but that moment crystalized it for me; that this has so affected my kids and not just in negative ways, but in many positive and meaningful ways. He needs a tangible turning point for closure and healing and he also needs to express gratitude to people that he knows have helped us along the way. After we went through some of the details of his vision of the party (and he was very clear and specific about the size of the venue, the people who needed to be invited and the timing of the party. He was spot-on too), he made me seal the deal with a promissary high five. He was so certain after that high five, with a smile of confidence on his face. This is what he needs to be able to confidently move forward with his life and to feel with some certainty that his mom is going to be okay. The other really cool thing that he did was express gratitude to me for the fact that his father and I actively chose to move him from his prior school to his current school. He thanked me for placing him in his current school and for having him continue there. The whole evening wss so pleasurable and it made me happy to spend time with my thoughtful and insightful kid. Those rare one on one moments are so precious and allow you opportunities to see their true personalities.

The other day I was at Fiesta, a quasi developing-world shopping experience. Usually they have Mo-Town playing and you can buy all sorts of exoctic international fare. I was there to buy leche quemada for my daughter's teachers' gift appreciation basket. Shopping there makes me smile because I feel very Bohemian and like I am traveling to some cool Central American county. Most shoppers at Fiesta are either Asian or on some kind of federal public assistance. What Fiesta lacks in costumer service, they make up for in gritty charm. While I was at the check-out counter, I decided I'd do my part to help the enviroment and I said to the lady bagging groceries, "Paper please". She, in true Fiesta employee style, ignored me. I repeated myself, but this time louder. Again, no response. A third time I made my request and she continued to ignore me. I was starting to get perturbed and after initially thinking, "typical", my next, sarcastic thought was, "Dammit, is she deaf?" Turns out that Claudette, my check out lady, was indeed deaf. I felt very small. By the way, Fiesta's method of giving you paper bags isn't saving any marine animals from the evil plastic bags b/c they put every paper bag inside of a plastic bag. After I'd just humiliated myself with the deaf lady, I figured I wasn't going to make a scene with the paper bags.

Psalm 40: 5

O Lord my God, you have performed many wonders for us.
Your plans for us are too numerous to list.
You have no equal.
If I tried to recite all your wonderful deeds,
I would never come to the end of them

When Every Idea is a Bad Idea

2008-05-01T16:51:00.000-07:00

I had stage 2 of my reconstructive surgery yesterday. This means I now have nipples. Currently, they are being protected by a piece of a 5 cc syringe (imagine cutting a piece of a straw). I have to wear these little plastic pieces for 2 weeks and then they will take them off and take out the stitches. In 6 weeks Dr. Spiegal will tattoo some color into the nipples. I am so ready to be done with all of this. I know I should just be grateful and I am. But, I'm also ready to no longer be a patient. It's amazing how much can transpire in one year. As a little bonus, I had liposuction on my hips. She sucked out 700 cc of fat. Amazingly the liposuction hurts worse than the breasts. I imagine it is because the breasts don't have any sensation in them. Anyway, enough about my girl parts.

I'm breaking out my best mothering skills right now by allowing my children to sit slack-jawed in front of Sponge Bob. My mom was here all day, but I think she could't take it anymore so she fled the scene. She had all sorts of patience at the beginning of the day, but by the end of the day she agreed with me that my daughter should get dropped into school tomorrow. It's hard to be the benevolent grandmother when your grandchildren are acting like brats! I'm trying to give them some leeway. I think another surgery brought anxieties to the surface, especially with my eldest. It's so hard to be compassionate and give them what they need when you're tired, grouchy and sore. My daughter accidently stepped on one of my incisions and I almost went through the roof.

Lee and I have a theory. Every idea that a boy has is a bad idea. I can't think of one good idea that they (my sons) have had. The other day my middle son wanted his big brother to double dare him to jump of a ledge on his razor scooter. This is while he had his rigid boot on his foot. His big brother would have dared him had I not been there to stop it. I reminded my oldest that his little brother didn't need an excuse to act foolish, that it came naturally to him. Just one example, but they are all similarly bad.

The middle son has to take a collection of objects to school for homework. He is taking a collection of plastic knives. Hopefully he won't be expelled for this (this might be a bad idea on my part considering the kid). Other than cheerios, it is the only thing of which we had 50 items (no one ever uses the knives in the plastic cutlery sets). He had to write why this collection was special to him and his answer was "It's not." I found the humor in this and maybe his teacher will too.

From Streams in the Desert, compiled by Mrs Charles Cowman

"It is not necessary to be always speaking to God or always hearing from God, to have communion with Him; there is an inarticulate fellowship more sweet than words. The little child can sit all day long beside its busy mother and, although few words are spoken on either side, and both are busy, the one at his absorbing play, the other at her engrossing work, yet both are in perfect fellowship. He knows that she is there, and she knows that he is all right. So the saint and the Saviour can go on for hours in the silent fellowship of love, and he be busy about the most common things, and yet conscious that every little thing he does is touched with the complexion of His presence, and the sense of His approval and blessing."

Quality Time

2008-04-28T21:05:00.000-07:00

Lee is complaining that I am on the computer when we are supposed to be spending quality time watching prerecorded TV. But, I have to tell the world how much I hate him, so he's just going to have to deal. The burden of being a woman is just overwhelming sometimes. If he was in charge of childcare arrangements, our world would come unraveled. So, one small oversight on my part and suddenly I'm encroaching on his intricately scheduled day and his whole stack of cards comes crashing down. I don't really hate my husband by the way. And it turns out that watching some bad TV has pickled my mind enough that I am no longer as irritated with him.

Six Year Old Boys Don't Defy Gravity

2008-04-27T22:42:00.001-07:00

My middle son and I just returned from our annual trip to the emergency room. I should be grateful that we have had more ER-free intervals as he gets older. But, if any kid is going to make your heart stop, it is him. After explaining to my oldest son that we couldn't go play on the south playground at church because it's isolated and not safe in the late afternoon, my middle son falls off the playground equipment on the "safe" playground. Actually he didn't fall off the equipment, he willingly jumped off. He and his brother play a secret spy game where one is Cody and the other is Toady (I believe it is actually spelled Tody, but prenounced Toady). I don't know who is who, but today, my older son, as part of the game, told my younger son to jump off a 6-8 foot ledge on the playground equipment and my younger son, not ever wanting to disappoint his big brother and willing to follow him into battle, complied with this request. The middle son was lying on his back, crying, when I found him. Apparantly 6 year old boys are not like cats and don't land on their feet when dropped from high places. Mine landed flat on his back.

When I came over to survey the damage, the 6 year old was crying and therefore, luckily, conscious. His big brother was standing at his head and was peering down at him. When I asked him for an explanation, an astute observer of the obvious, he said, "He's crying". My oldest was suddenly struck with an amnestic illness and couldn't remember any of the details of the fall or the events preceding it. Though he did admit to suggesting the foolish stunt to his younger brother, he rationalized it with "But I was going to jump after him". I guess he was only going to jump if his younger brother succeeded in his experiment and survived the fall. Since the experiment failed, it was a good thing he sacrificed his younger brother (all in the name of science). The younger one was castigated for following his older brother like a lemming and the older brother was restricted from all electronic devices till his 21st birthday and was not allowed to talk for the rest of the evening.

We had been at church for the boys' choir program. They managed to pull it together for the production and about an hour and a half later, while at dinner, my middle kid started complaining that it hurt everytime he took a breath or if he moved around. Though I am a doctor, I loose all objectivity when it's one of my kids. My own husband was working in the Ben Taub Emergency Center, so he conveniently missed all of the family drama and exictement.

So, here we are 6 x-rays and $6000 later.

Psalm 91

9 If you make the Lord your refuge,
if you make the Most High your shelter,
10 no evil will conquer you;
no plague will come near your home.
11 For he will order his angels
to protect you wherever you go.
12 They will hold you up with their hands
so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone.

Le Weekend Away

2008-04-19T09:37:00.000-07:00

Lee and I are at the lovely and luxurious le hotel, L'auberge du Lac in scenic Lake Charles, Louisiana. A friend's wedding is the occasion, though it could be a court summons and if it required leaving the state without our children we would be there. We aren't "casino people", but apparently a large proportion of east Texas is. As we walked down the corridor to the elevator to our room, we passed a bunch of shops with fake French names, like L'Sundries, Le Cafe, etc. I'm not sure who they think they are fooling, but we've taken to talking with the article "le" in front of everything we say. The other observation that we made was the people who were in le lobby, Le Cafe and le hallway didn't look like they should be spending their most recent paycheck in le casino. These are the same people who take their babies to the 10pm showing of R-rated movies. I might have missed that chapter of the American Academy of Pediatrics Guide to the First Five Years of Life, but I can't remember reading about the best place to park your stroller in the casino lobby so as to avoid second hand smoke. Lee and I went to le pool today and floated on le lazy river. The room is fairly nice and even though the website didn't give you a non-smoking option, I think they built an entire new wing of rooms to accomodate fussy people like me.

I have become less prepared and neurotic in regards to traveling the older I become. When we left Houston, I didn't have the name of the church or the location of the reception. About 2 weeks ago, when we had our friends over for dinner I commented that I thought the wedding was going to be at the casino. After recoiling in horror she corrected my misconception and told me the wedding was to be in a proper church and the reception at another location. She reassured me that even though I had lost my invitation, when Lee and I arrived at the hotel, we would have a welcome bag with directions to the church and reception. The hotel ran out of them before we checked-in. All we knew was they were getting married in a Catholic church in Lake Charles, LA. No one at the Le Hotel could help us. Since there are only about 5 Catholic churches in town, we thought we might be able to drive around and find it. We decided that they weren't getting married at the Charismatic Catholic Center on 8th Ave which was situated between liquor stores and the barber shop. Neither were they having the ceremony at the church on Mill St where there was a pack of stray dogs and a man carrying a 40oz in a paper bag responding to his own internal stimuli. At yet another church we met a nice group from south Louisiana all dressed in Hawaian shirts. "No baby, we're having our rehearsal here, but if you go right on Enterprise and cross over Prien Lake, there's a real nice Catholic church there." I guess we didn't fit their demographic and they were sending us to the 'burbs. After an hour and a half of the sights and smells tour of Lake Charles, Louisiana, we were about to call it a loss and head back to Le Hotel. Lucky for us, a friend happened to answer his page from his answering service (those people are nosy and I'm sure they think that the good doctor is having an affair after I told them the call was in regard to a personal matter. I was too humiliated to explain that I was lost and unprepared and was asking them to page the man who wasn't even on call simply for directions. When they asked why I was calling him if it wasn't related to a patient, responding with "it's a personal matter" sounded like the better option). His wife unearthed her invitation and called us with the Mapquest directions. The best part of the whole night was the fact that neither one of us cared that we were driving in circles for the better half of the evening. Sure, it would have been nice to have actually seen my friends wedding, but I guess it's a pretty good that we both had fun doing nothing (though slightly sad that this counts as fun for us).

Another thing that we like to do just to keep the love alive is try to find new and unique ways to irritate each other. I recommend downloading embarrasing ringtones. It takes my husband about a day and a half to figure out how to change it back to something he likes, but in the meantime, it's great fun to know that everytime he answers his cell phone, he gets to hear "Dancing Queen" by Abba. Hands down, he is the most irritating person in the relationship. Some days he will go the whole day talking to me with the letters "sk" added to the last word of every phrase or sentence. Then sometimes he will just quietly repeat the suffix, "-sk" several times. Our relationship is based on love and maturity.

Ecclesiastes 11:4

"If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done."

Seamless Socks and Earthly Vessels

2008-04-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I have discussed this topic before, but if I have then it is a very important topic that needs a lot of attention; bumpless socks or more specifically, socks with bumps, but whose bumps would be better off missing. My middle son, who is afflicted with a very irritable tempermant, can't seem to handle the whole sock-seam issue. Most mornings the darn bump in his socks throws him into a fit of rage that affects the whole household. Even the babysitter is scared of him. I have tried the so called 'seamless' socks (they still have a seam) and they are no better. It's the same scenario every morning. Middle son puts on his socks, middle son has a meltdown because the "bumps are irritating me!" Six pairs of socks later, the issue has still not resolved itself. Most days we are walking out of the house late due to so many sock changes and he is still barefoot and crying till we are half way to the school.

The goldfish that my mother bought for my children have lost their appeal. Actually this happened about a day and a half after they came into our possession and my daughter realized that goldfish and their bowls emit a very foul odor. By day 2, due to untimely deaths, we had already put a pair of goldfish 'to sea'. The odor was completely offensive and intolerable to my 4 year old daughter and she implored that I rid the house of them. I asked her how she thought I should get rid of the goldfish and her suggestion was to "just flush them". She had no remorse or guilt over the thought of executing helpless goldfish. When I told her we couldn't just kill them (while I wish I could convince myself that it was a moral issue, I've got to be honest and admit it was the $40 investment in goldfish paraphenalia that prevented me from participating in her sinister plan), she said, "Well then, put them outside because they are yucky!" Now they live in my garage and I figure if the Houston heat doesn't kill them (from near boiling water), shear neglect might. Already, we are back at 2 goldfish. I asked Lee if he thought the putrid water might make good fertilizer for the plants and he said yes. I accidently poured the goldfish out when I was pouring out the water. I covered it with some mulch so my kids wouldn't see it, but I'm sure the neighborhood cats have already had their sushi.

Just when I thought I didn't have any body or other issues, someone delves into the psyche of my husband and points out my not so thinly veiled insecurities. It turns out that having breasts that look like Barbie's (sans nipples) might actually be bothersome to me and, on some level, doubt my femininity and attractiveness. Furthermore, I might fear that at any random moment my husband might say, "F_ck this sh_t! This is more than I signed on for! I'm outta here!" "Could he really find someone attractive whose body, naked, looks like a patchwork quilt?" I say to myself. "What about all those women out there who don't have these complications? They might seem like a viable option to him right about now." I don't think I've said anything of these things on a conscious level, but apparently my subconscience must be screaming. And you know what, it all makes sense (the insecurities that is). It might not be rational, but it makes sense. I kind of feel like the real woman part of me is gone forever (and I'm not being melodramatic-you try having your boobs chopped off) and all the outward stuff is a little bit like putting lipstick on a pig. Never in my life have I so consciously paid attention to my outward appearance. Not to be conceited, but I've always taken it for granted that I was pretty. Now I make sure that I am always wearing cute clothes and that I have on an appropriate amount of make-up and I always wear perfume. I still want to be pretty dammit! Even if I don't have all the girl parts, I still want to be a girl. I'm considering liposuction for god's sake! Not only how I look to my husband, but how my kids perceive me is important to me. I want them to be proud of me and even though physical appearances shouldn't matter, I don't want them to have a mom who is Side Show Bob.

I leave you with this. This is what Paul had to say about the capsules we inhabit during our time here on earth. I guess I'm not supposed to put too much stock in this shell, though I fully admit that sometimes it's hard not to.

1 Corinthians 15:50-58

50 What I am saying, dear brothers and sisters, is that our physical bodies cannot inherit the Kingdom of God. These dying bodies cannot inherit what will last forever.

51 But let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will not all die, but we will all be transformed! 52 It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed. 53 For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies.

54 Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.
55 O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?”

56 For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power.

57 But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.

58 So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless.

You Can Get Some Things For Free

2008-03-30T18:22:00.000-07:00

Feeling a little extravagant, we went to California for spring break to visit some friends. Normally Lee does his own packing, but this time because of time restraints I packed for him. We had an evening flight and he rushed home prior to our departure and reviewed the contents of his suitcase. Seeing his sneakers laying next to his clothes put him over the edge. I kid you not, this is what he snarled, "I knew you'd f_ck this up!" This sunny disposition had been created by many overnite shifts in the emergency room taking care of crack heads and homeless drunks. Not making it a practice to take inventory of his footwear, I had no idea that those were his "ER" shoes and as he put it, they might be "riddled with AIDS or some other funk" and they could potentially be intermingling with his underwear transferring cooties. As he repacked his clothes bitterness was oozing from his pours. Fast forward 6 hours later when we are at baggage claim in San Jose, CA and the only suitcase that didn't make it on the plane was mine. This wasn't an airline error, this was human error, more specifically my husband's error. It seems that somewhere between our bedroom and the curbside check-in, he lost my bag. I'm not sure if it was left on the park and ride shuttle or just left on the side of the curb, but it never made it onto the plane. I had the clothes that I was wearing, ski pants and a parka and that was it; no make-up, no contact lenses, no underwear, nothing else. Imagine my delight when I was able to remind him about his earlier statement to me. "What was it that you said to me before we left Houston, honey? I knew you'd do what? F_ck this up?" Ahh, retribution!

I took the boys with me to get the rental car. We took the shuttle to the car lot and in addition to the thrill of riding without a seatbelt, the shuttle bus driver was wearing a turban and he was yelling at one of the passengers. "You must get of the bus! You wait for the next bus! Get off the bus!" The boys had never witnessed discrimination and they were outraged. "Why couldn't the man get on the bus?" they wondered aloud. The man, confused and bewildered, grabbed his skis (which seemed to be the point of contention for the driver) and shuffled off the bus with his head hung low.

The excitement continued when we got to the rental counter. There behind the counter was not one, not two, but 3 Indian men in turbans. This was more than my eldest's mind could hold. Why did these men have these things on their heads? He was so baffled by the head gear that it took him awhile to notice the man with breasts and a blond wig and long red finger nails who kept flipping his/her hair and shifting his/her purse from arm to arm as he/she argued with the man in the turban about paying the security deposit because of all the dog hair that was in the car. Despite my lesson in tolerance and multiculturism, the take home lesson for my eldest son was guys in turbans are irritating because they yell all the time and it should be illegal to cross dress (my middle son is much more accepting. He said he wouldn't care if his best friend dressed in women's clothing. He'd still be his friend).

Based on my lack of willingness to pack my husband's clothes for him you might guess that playing the role of supportive wife has never come naturally to me. I've always been far too selfish and fearful. Even after close to a dozen years of marriage there has always been a part of me that just won't fully trust. I've always had my built in safety nets; my own job, my own checking account, my own last name. I had never thought that I'd be able to do something for my husband that didn't benefit me in some way. I know that sounds horrible, but I can only speak the truth. I mean, I love him and all and I'd probably give him a kidney, but usually there has always been a perk in it for me (like I'd get some fentanyl and sympathy and flowers if I gave him a kidney). I'm very me-oriented.

We went to his friends' (husband and wife) 40th birthday party. This is his friend from high school and for once I was going along for the ride. Before we left I had asked him if he wanted to go alone thinking he might jump at the opportunity to abandon his wife and kids for a weekend of drunken revelry with his friends. I didn't expect him to say that, yes, indeed he did want me to go with him, because as he put it, "You never do anything that involves my friends" (isn't that one of the rules of successful relationships, never make accusational statements that include the phrases, 'you always' or 'you never'). So, with that kind of an invitation, how could I refuse, besides, it was a chance to be away from the kids for a weekend. I suggested a hotel room so we could have true romantic get-away, but he wanted to stay at his friend's house. I complied without protest and I dropped the reins into his hands (after I made the travel arrangements, of course). I did something that I don't routinely do in my married relationship. I relinquished control. I didn't try to change his plans in any way. Even when he and his best buddy decided to spend most of their Friday afternoon sitting in Atlanta traffic, I kept my mouth shut (mostly). When we stayed at the bar till 12:30 am (though I haven't been out that late since I was 25) on Friday night, I never complained or asked to leave or acted bored. What suprised me the most was how much I enjoyed being the counterpart. If marriage were like the boy scouts, I would have earned a merit badge this weekend.

It makes me sad when I talk to people who don't hold themselves in high regard. Usually it is people who don't have obvious reasons to feel badly about themselves and by all outward appearances they are very succesful. When you talk to them they give off the sense that somehow they missed out on the opportunity to feel secure. For some reason, they think that everyone else on the planet is more deserving of this then they are. I just want to hug them and tell them that they can share in the good news that they were created for a reason. But often it is met with sadness and they think you are telling them some kind of elusive fairy tale in which happiness pertains to everyone else. I remember feeling this way in my life and it's not a nice feeling and you don't think you can ever get off that sinking ship. What I've come to realize is that God doesn't make garbage. (Psalm 139:16 You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. 17 How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered!) We are all his sheep and we all deserve his love and grace. It is there for all of us, we just have to open ourselves to receive it. Who says that some things in life aren't free!

When we were in California, while hiking one day, my eldest and I had a very intense conversation. If it were up to him, all of our conversations would be intense because he has questions about everything. But as it is, there are other things in the day that I need to do like cook and care for his siblings and occasionally have my own thoughts. However, this day we had the luxury of unlimited time and he had my full attention. "I don't get it mom. Why did God make people who aren't smart?" he inquired. He's seven so his question was in earnest and not derived out of an oversized ego. In his school, the special education students are mainstreamed for a portion of the day. A boy, who I'll call Reese, visits my son's class daily. Per my son's account, Reese doesn't get along with anyone in his class even though they are all nice to him. Well we went round and round in this conversation, me trying to explain the biologic implausibility of someone with a very low IQ to function on a level equal to him and his peers. I provided a whole discourse on chromosomal abnormalities, cerebral palsy, etc and the fact that God's love for these individuals was no different than his love for us. My son still didn't understand why? Why would God allow children (whose parents would be devistated, but love them no less) to be born with defects? Knowing I hadn't yet answered his questions, I proceeded with a theological discussion with our world not being a perfect world after the whole Adam and Eve debacle. He could accept the 'not perfect world' theory. After all, he's experienced difficulties first hand. But at the end of the afternoon, after the entire discussion and explanations, he still didn't care for the boy in his class with a learning disorder so it boiled down to this: "Listen buddy, you are going to face challenging people and situations your whole life and the sooner you learn how to respond to these people and situations, the better off you will be . It's good for you and it's good for Reese to be in your class because you'll both learn from the experience. " I reminded him of a little boy in his class in kindergarten who had been diffult to get along with and how much easier it was this year compared to the last. By this point we had reached the car and as easily and quickly as had initiated the conversation, he became distracted by the water fountain and walked away.

What I loved about my walk in the woods that day was not so much the breathtaking scenery of northern California, but the company I kept. I will carry a picture of that day in my memory forever; his innocence and his curiosity and his eagerness to know all the answers and to be unafraid of asking questions. God knows I don't have all the answers or even a fraction of them, but I hope he does know how much I love him and no matter what, I will always listen.

Psalm 139

1 O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. 2 You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. 3 You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. 4 You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord. 5 You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. 6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!

7 I can never escape from your Spirit! I can never get away from your presence! 8 If I go up to heaven, you are there; if I go down to the grave, you are there. 9 If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans, 10 even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me. 11 I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night. 12 but even in darkness I cannot hide from you. To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.

13 You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. 15 You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. 16 You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.

17 How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! 18 I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! And when I wake up, you are still with me! ...

23 Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. 24 Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life.

This, That and the Other

2008-03-08T06:45:00.000-08:00

My middle kid (the one who told me that he hated me), in a fit of melancholy, told me that when I died he would visit my grave. We were listening to a particularly sad song on the radio. When I asked him if he was worried about me dying (thinking it might have something to do with my cancer), he told me "Yes, because you are so old". We were on our way to school (late, of course) and I thought maybe we should talk about this. When I asked his big brother if he was worried too, he said "No, because you aren't really that old", but he was mostly concerned about getting out of the car. He didn't care about his brother's emotional state as much as he cared about not getting a tardy slip. Mostly, the middle one didn't want to be inconvenienced by his parent's theoretical death because it would likely involve a move to a school without his best friend.

Sometimes my daughter likes to play a game called "Psycho Kitty". This game consists of her lying or sitting on my lap and looking at me with her tongue sticking out and to the side while she dementedly meows. For added effect, she will flop her head to the side as if she were lacking all tone in her musculature. There is no point or objective to this game. I'm not sure who or what she is using as her character study. We have no cats in our life. However, whenever she does come across a cat (neighbor's or friend's) she will cuddle it without mercy and so, I guess, this is how she has gone about her analysis of cat behavior. Whenever she has contact with a cat, they are being held so tightly by her that they are almost anoxic and so they seem a bit limp. I think she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up.

The oldest boy is in cub scouts this year. When asked if he wanted to continue with scouting next year, he replied, "No, because I thought it was just going to be about adventure and fun and all we do is sit around and talk about honesty and stuff. I don't really care about honesty." Ironic, huh? We are about to embark on a radical approach to activities by not signing up or joining anything. It feels so liberating. Again, when asked if he wanted to play little league he said, "No! I've been playing sports my whole life. I need a break." My middle son, concurred, announcing, "I'm done with sports!" I think we are going to ride bikes and play in the backyard for awhile.

My mother-in-law is in town and she is my personal interior designer. Because I lack all care or effort regarding home aesthetics, I let her do to my house whatever she wants. This is the same reason I don't care if our housekeeper hangs pictures on our walls or rearranges a bit. I figure at least someone is doing it. In preparation for her arrival, Lee and I decided to paint our front room. This task is proving to be a bit more than we anticipated. Especially because Sherwin Williams sold us black primer for yellow paint and it is taking about 72 coats of paint to cover the black base coat. The other night while Lee was on call, after a glass of wine, I decided I would let the boys help me paint. It seemed like a good idea. Mostly, I am lazy and I was calculating that they could cut down on the amount of time that I would have to be working. They didn't realize my motives and thought I was just being a cool mom. The two of them had very different techniques. My younger son was very methodical in his brush strokes. It was all very vertical and horizontal, though he was a bit free with the amount of paint on the brush. The older one was much more whimsical with his brush strokes. There wasn't any pattern or predictability to how he applied the paint to the wall. He was more conservative with the brush to paint ratio. After two glasses of wine, I didn't pay too much attention to details like spillage or tracking paint. I was more concerned with the beauty of the moment (and the fact that they got one whole wall painted). Four days later my husband is holding me responsible for the mustard yellow footprints that are on our bedroom carpet, in the hall and under the tarps. I blamed my sons, but he told me as the captain, I was responsible for my crew.

I have been irresponsible with my commitment to my quiet time this past week. I have been busy scurrying around with things that don't matter and I have neglected my time with God. It is coincidental that my Thursday morning group bible study was on Mary and Martha and the difference between the two. Martha, the older sister (I presume) became irritated with her younger sister Mary because Mary wouldn't help her with the preparations for a dinner party she was hosting in honor of Jesus. When she complained to Jesus about it, He told her that she was missing the point and that her younger sister Mary knew what really mattered and He woudn't take that away from Mary. Talk about harsh! The truth hurts sometimes. I don't think He was telling Martha that He didn't appreciate or care about what she was doing, but He loved her regardless of her busy work. What He was interested in was the amount of time she spent in her relationship with Him. That is what this season of my life is all about, sitting still. It is so foreign to me to sit quietly and patiently. It is so much easier to "do". I am learning a lot from God and also about how much my family requires my presence. There is no currency exchange for time and physical presence. It takes discipline and it is as though I am exercising a muscle. Some habits die hard and it is so easy to lapse back into a task oriented life. Especially if I am not working. I can fill my time with volunteerism. It's like falling off my bicycle and I'll have to just get right back on to it. Practice.

Luke 10: 38-42

"As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”

But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”"

Happy Anniversary

2008-03-03T07:33:00.001-08:00

Today, my middle kid told me that he hated me. This leads me to believe that I am doing my job correctly. After the initial sting, I took it as a compliment. He has an aversion to school and wasn't on board with my 'tough love' approach when I told him that he would have to go to school today (even if it meant going in his underwear) despite the chronic headache and belly ache that he seems to develop every morning (or prior to other events or circumstances he finds undesirable). Being a parent is a thankless job (as my mother would remind me when I was growing up and now I see what she means). The part of their brain that takes in pleasure (like when the get what they want. Frequently) and the part of their brain that senses injustice at the hands of their parents don't connect. I think the synapses don't form till much later. Hopefully I'll be alive and lucid when that physiogical event occurs.

My mother, who forgets how mean she was when my brother and I were growing up, bought my children goldfish (she forgets about the mice that we had and mine and my brother's lack of parental duty which led to the mother mouse eating her young. Finally she made us let them go in the back yard figuring they had a better chance fending for themselves in the wild than they did surviving in our care). She did this without parental consent. She thought it was cute and that it would teach my children responsibility. My husband was seething last nite when my 7 year old was bawling after 'Money' moved on to the afterlife. Money went to 'swim with the fishes' down the toilet bowl and into the sewer system. We had a true Bill Cosby ceremony and my son said some kind words about the fish (which he had had for about 3 hours). "He was a nice fish. He was a good fish. I loved him." After Lee said a prayer, my son pulled the handle and Money went to meet his fishy maker in the sky. Needless to say, she was the one that was taking him to 2 different stores to pick out a new fish at 8 pm last nite. Let's hope that 'Colorful' has better luck than his predecessor.

We, along with my brother's family, went camping this weekend for my one year anniversary (my mom came out for the day). It was the perfect way to mark one year since my diagnosis. Lee pointed out that when I received my diagnosis, I was walking along the bayou, a man-made structure, and mostly trusting in my own self and my own abilities. This year, when the clock struck 1 pm (the time I received the phone call from the doctor with the pathology results), I was sitting on the banks of the Brazos River, a creation of God's and now all of my trust is in Him. As my friend Jennifer told me the day before, "What a difference a year makes." It was exactly what my family needed and what I needed. A weekend away to appreciate God's goodness.

I am lifting a lot from Oswald Chambers these days, but I guess that is why My Utmost For His Highest is as popular as it is.

"Don't just testify about how much you love Me and don't talk about the wonderful revelation you have had, just "Feed my sheep". Jesus has soem extraordinarily peculiar sheep: some that are unkempt and dirty, some that are awkward or pushy, and some that have gone astray!...The love of God pays no attention to my prejudices caused by my natural individuality. If I love my Lord, I have no business being guided by natural emotions-I have to feed his sheep."

Sex, Drugs and Organ Donation

2008-02-28T19:17:00.000-08:00

I have decided to throw caution to the wind and discuss very adult topics with my kids. This might be a bad idea, but it was taking too much time and energy trying to skirt around uncomfortable subjects. In the past week we have had very lively conversations about organ donation, mental retardation, prejudice, homelessness and homosexuality. I'm not just bringing up these issues for debate amongst my 7, 6 and 4 year old; they had questions and misconceptions that needed clarification. I figured that they have already had to deal with their mother having cancer and the ramifications of that diagnosis, so trying to protect them from sensitive material was a moot point. Amazingly, it wasn't too difficult to talk about any of these subjects with them once I got started and they asked good questions and they weren't too blown away by talking about it. They don't know that these are embarrasing or awkward things to discuss and by presenting these things to them as material about which it is okay to talk to mom and dad, I'm hoping that they'll choose Lee and I as their information sources over less desireable fonts of knowledge.

Tonite at their school, my boys had a program called "Art Night". It took place in the cafeteria and there were about 5 or 6 craft stations. I've decided that big crowds of children do not appeal to me. Actually, I find this situation to be the opposite of fun and it usually ends with me cursing and shreiking at my children (but I manage to throw a smile on my face as soon as another mother comes within my force field). We started out at a station where kids could make snacks out of things like cheetos, blue frosting, graham crackers, marshmallows and maraschino cherries (I am not making this up). My boys saw a tray of celery and looked at it and said "What's that stuff?" It was a moment of motherly pride, knowing that my boys had no earthly idea what celery was. When I mentioned to two other mothers that being in that cafeteria, making those crafts was my idea of hell, they looked at me as though I had just spoken heresy. The highlight of the evening was when there was 2 simultaneous drink spills and one child announcing that we had to leave immediately because mother nature was calling. As if that were not enough, I had to man the front entrance booth; a 30 minute (which turned into 60 minutes) shift that I was guilted into doing. The first set of mom's that shared this task with me were a bit eager about their position as greeters and passed out bags of plastic trinkets in a very Kathy Lee Gifford manner. I did not share their enthusiasm. I was happy when this Chinese mom came along and took over for the other 2 ladies. She was equally uninterested in the whole process and she told me all about the Chinese government's one-child-only program, communism and why Chinese parents push their children so hard (in China, it seems, they are kind of like salmon swimming upstream, all trying to beat each other to get ahead). That was my take home message of the evening; find an interesting mother and talk to her. The kids take home message is that their mother becomes a stark raving lunatic at sanctioned school events.

The good thing about the God that I serve is that my shortcomings come as no small suprise to Him. He is not shocked or appalled at my behavior. He is so willing to forgive and forget if I simply ask (and my kids are pretty darn forgiving as well). Despite my intolerance and lack of patience, He loves me no less. As He told Peter, there is not a finite number of times that you should forgive a person, "not just seven times, but 77 times".

So, I move forward knowing that tomorrow brings a new day and just so thankful that I have a tomorrow.

"The call of God is not a reflection of my nature; my personal desires and temperament are of no consideration. As long as I dwell on my own qualities and traits and think about what I am suited for, I will never hear the call of God...The majority of us cannot hear anything but ourselves. An we cannot hear anything God says. But to be brought to the place where we can hear the call of God is to be profoundly changed."
Oswald Chambers in My Utmost for His Highest.

Mercy

2008-02-20T18:11:00.000-08:00

Our 91 year old neighbor, who lives with her son and daughter-in-law, has been by herself for the past week because her son and his wife are out of town. This lady is sharp and you'd never guess that she is 91 years old. She is quick-witted and nobody's fool. Our conversations usually cover a wide range of topics and nothing is taboo with her.

While she has been alone the kids and I have been checking on her. The other day, on our way to church, I mentioned, aloud, that we would need to check on her later that day. My 4 year old daughter thoughtfully suggested that we go and stay at her house for the next several days. My middle son, not wanting to be inconvenienced at all, shreaked at that idea. Next, my daughter offered that she should come and stay with us; again a very generous thought. Now, my middle son was really in a fit. "There is no where for her to stay!" he bellowed. My daughter reminded him of our spare bedroom. "She'll mess everything up!" he protested. She told him that it was okay because we could clean up after her. "Why don't we just go put her in one of those old people places!" he concluded. This was a rational train of thought for him. We had just recently visited my 90 year old grandmother who lives in an assisted living facility, so the concept was fresh in his recent memory. There was no way he was going to share his living quarters with this lady. So the obvious solution, if it was good enough for his great grandmother, was to put her out to pasture. It is so strange. My daughter is so completely generous; she'd happily give you her left kidney. He, on the other hand, would leave you bleeding in the street.

Sometimes we all still feel the aftershocks of my cancer diagnosis. They are like the little ripples in the pond. My oldest son has been extra clingy lately. I try to be sensitive to him, but I have to admit that it gets tiresome. Then I have to remember that he is only 7 years old and I take a deep breath and give him what he needs, which for him is a lot of love and affection. At times it feels like my well is going to run dry and then I have to remember that God never pushes me away and never gets tired of my neediness. When we were returning from the grocery store the other day I was explaining to him that a group of friends had given us a gift card for the store after I had my surgery. He thinks about it for a minute and then he asks me, "What was it like, your surgery?" I remind him that he was around and he can remember me having the surgery. He responds, "I know that, but I didn't have the surgery. What did it feel like, for you?" I was completely unprepared for his ability to be empathetic. So, since he truly wants to know, without drama or theatrics, but with complete candor and medical precision I tell him about how difficult, physically, the surgery and the recovery were for me. When I finish telling him about how it felt he thinks for a moment and then he says with the deepest sincerity, "Boy, you are really tough mom!" With tears in my eyes, because not only has he suprised me for a second time with his ability to understand the discomfort I endured but he can appreciate it, I thank him and tell him that it was easy to do because I had 4 good reasons to go through it; he, his brother and sister and his father. I guess he thinks I don't really believe him or understand him, again he says, "No mom, I mean it, you were really tough." Then I realize why I need to be patient when he needs me. Bits and pieces are going to come out when I least expect it and I would be robbing he or his brother or sister if I am not willing to be compassionate to their needs.

I leave you with something I read out of The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence;

"I consider myself as the most wretched of men, full of sores and corruption, and who has committed all sorts of crimes against his King. Touched with a sensible regret, I confess to Him all my wickedness, I ask His forgiveness, I abandon myself in His hands that He may do whatever He pleases with me. The King, full of mercy and goodness, very far from chastising me, embraces me with his love, makes me eat at His table, serves me with His own Hands, gives me the key of His treasures; He converses and delights Himself with me incessantly, in a thousand and a thousand ways, and treats me in all respects as His favorite. It is thus I consider myself from time to time in His holy presence."

The Lord Is My Shepard.

2008-02-12T19:54:00.000-08:00

I'm probably going to be all over the map on this one. Before I had cancer, most of my identity was wrapped up in my accomplishments, namely being a doctor. This past year that identity was strippped away from me. My new role became cancer patient. I am really starting to appreciate that God doesn't catagorize me. I don't have to prove myself worthy to him. He's not so impressed with my accomplishments, neither is he too worried about my shortcomings. There is absolutely no way I could have survived this past year without him walking beside me, frequently carrying me. I have such a new level of trust in God. Before all of this I had so much confidence in my own efforts & concern about my own needs/wants/desires. I have become acutely aware of the part of The Lord's Prayer that states "thy will be done". It is like any intimate relatioship that you might have, you become less concerned about yourself and more concerned about the other person. You want to spend time with that person, getting to know them and you get excited to be in their presence. That is kind of how I feel about God these days. I have so much faith and confidence in him. So, now I have a lot of time to spend with him and I think this is exactly where I need to be. I don't think he brought me through this past year just for grins. I think he wanted to show me tht I could trust him and now I just need to wait patiently.

My oldest son is taking piano lessons and as I sit next to him during the lessons, I passively absorb all he is being taught. I find that I am the one sitting to practice at various times of the day. It is so friggin cool, b/c playing the piano is one of those things I would have just dismissed as not a possibility for me.

I just finished reading, "90 Minutes in Heaven" by Don Piper. He was dead for 90 minutes after a horrific car accident and went to heaven. The book is less about what heaven is like, than a discussion of his acceptance that, for many things on this earth, there is no explanation. We don't know why we are put through certain trials, but our experiences may serve to help others and this might be reason enough.

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.
2 He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.
3 He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.
4 Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.
5 You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies. You honor me by anointing my head with oil. My cup overflows with blessings.
6 Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.

Who Is My Baby's Daddy?

2008-02-07T19:42:00.000-08:00

I had very un-Christ like thoughts today. My sister-in-law invited the kids & I to go to the children's museum with her & my niece & nephew. Thursday nite is family free nite (commoner nite). I had a bad feeling about it going into it, but I didn't want to be the spoil-sport. At first it wasn't so bad; the crowd wasn't too dense & I could still see my children. Then it became like that Star Trek episode, "The Trouble with Tribbles". The place was so thick with the general public I thought I had descended into the bowels of hell. When I asked the docent if it was usually this crowded on Thursday nites, her response to me was, "No, normally we only bus in 6-8 buses, tonite there were 12 buses." From whence do these people come? The free part of the nite imploded because the only way I could pry my children out of there and away from the face-painting station was to coerce them with the offer of a Happy Meal. It just serves to remind me that nothing in this life is really free.

This morning my 4 year old daughter and I were on our way to breakfast and while we are driving she laments that she still has not found a boyfriend. Her preschool class is an integration of pre-K 3's (her class) and pre-K 4's and I blame those racey older kids for filling her head with match-making thoughts (pre-K 4's are notoriously flirtaceous, whorish almost). Horrified that my 4 year old daughter might already be thinking that she needs a 4 year old boy to make her whole, I remind her of her beauty and her intelligence and reassure her that when the time comes,she will have her pick of boyfriends. And I point out how much God and her daddy and her brothers love her. She is still worried, but not so much about the boyfriend as to her future breeding potential. "But mommy, if I don't find a boyfriend, who is going to be my daddy?" By this, she means who will father her theoretical children? I just birthed this child myself and she is already thinking about when she is going to be a mommy. It was almost more precious than I could stand. I'm not sure what I said to make her believe that she need not worry, but as quickly as the subject comes up, it goes away. I did tell her that I am already praying for her and her brothers' future mates. With a conversation like that this morning, it is never too early to start praying.

I am learning a lot about forgiveness right now. Mostly that it is a choice rather than a feeling or emotion. It's an act of will and when you decide to forgive, you have to reign in bitterness and miscontent. Earlier this week I read an exerpt from Streams in the Desert by Mrs Charles Cowman "If we remain groveling on the low ground of feeling and emotion, we shall find ourselves entangled in a thousand meshes of doubt and despondency, temptation and unbelief."

Isaiah 61:10 "I am overwhelmed with joy in the Lord my God!..."

My Lame Dog is Smarter than...

2008-01-31T21:38:00.000-08:00

I should be asleep, but my mind is going Britney on me and running a million miles a minute. I have my favorite CD in, which usually does the trick, but not tonite. My spiritual journey has been a bit bumpy the past few days. I had contemplated logging on a few days ago, but I was too humiliated. So, for all you sinners out there, I just want you to know that some days I feel like I am leading the pack. Of the seven deadly, I'm quite certain that I've committed at least 5 of them, and that is just this week.

Today my 4 year old daughter was playing spinal cord injury dog. We talk about spinal cord injuries a lot around here. Since we are both medical professionals and teaching faculty, Lee and I probably do a bit more explaining than is necessary for your average, say, 5 year old. Due to circumstance, they have met individuals with spinal cord injuries, so we explained to our kids...."hurt the big nerve in their back...can't move legs...sometimes arms...". We've used this as rationale for them not to jump on the bed and the reason we won't let them on our neighbor's trampoline. They were probably too little to remember Baby, my grandmother's Yorkshire Terrier, who was victim to a vicious attack at the jaws of my uncle's Chow, leaving her lame. Afterwards, for the last half of her life, Baby would drag around her back paws, side-winding and yapping. Her spinal cord was no match for the Chow's teeth.

My daughter is drawn to things that are small, cute & furry. So, when she saw the puffy little Maltese coming down the street pulling it's back legs on one of those doggie wheelchair/roller-cart thingies, she had to meet him. When she asked the owner what happened to the doggies feet, the owner kindly explained, "spinal cord injury". My daughter's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. She knew what that was. She knew other people who had similar injuries, but she never knew that dogs could suffer the same fate. The dog and owner walked/rolled away. While her brothers rode their bikes around her, she was down on all 4's barking and dragging one of her legs behind her. "What are you doing?" I asked her inquisitively. "I'm a spinal cord injury doggie" she responded. Throughout the afternoon her level of injury would migrate to a high cervical injury, leaving all of her limbs motionless except for a few involuntary spasms to a low thoracic injury where she could chase her brothers on 3 limbs, dragging her right leg behind her. Her oldest brother tried to offer her an antidote which would allow her to regrow her back paw (he was confusing the spinal cord injury wheeled dog with our neighbor's 3-legged wheeled dog). Imperfection is not an option for him. But, she was comfortable with her handicap, preferring her gimp paw to a newly regenerated one. Her brother, not understanding this, peddled off to play a Y-linked game he could digest, like secret spies; a game of absolutes and right and wrongs and no grays. She barked and wagged her tail, just happy to have 3 good paws.

Psalm 34:4, 8 "I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me, freeing me from all my fears...Taste and see that the Lord is good. Oh, the joys of those that trust in him!"

He Really is Sick

2008-01-25T05:35:00.000-08:00

As it turns out, my middle kid isn't faking it. It took q raging fever and scrawny patheticness to finally convince me, but luckily I didn't force him to go to school yesterday and prove he was guilty till proven innocent. Now, with the ibuprofen reprieve he is feeling well enough to bug me about wanting to play computer games. It inconveniences me that my children are now old enough to want to share my stuff. I guess I should embrace their burgeoning knowledge of all things electronic because soon I can go to them about all my technological questions.

Yesterday I made 'caca cookies'. Caca is the term we use in our house for defecation. I never liked the words 'poo-poo' or other euphamisms, so I went back to my Mexican roots for a good old Spanglish word to describe human waste. The cookies were my way of compromising with my husband about giving our kids metamucil. I was staunchly opposed and he thought it was an excellent way to cure kiddie constipation. So, I made chocolate cookies with that fiber cereal that resembles small twigs. The problem is that they taste so good that we might have the opposite problem soon.

I must go because my kids are pestering me to play their games. I leave you with this poem that read yesterday....

The Road of Life

At first, I saw God as my observer,
my judge,
keeping track of the things I did wrong,
so as to know whether I merited heaven
or hell when I die.
He was out there sort of like a president.
I recognized His picture when I saw it,
but I really didn't know Him.

But later on
when I met Christ,
it seemed as though life was rather like a bike ride,
but it was a tandem bike,
and I noticed that Christ
was in the back helping me pedal.

I don't know just when it was
that He suggested we change places,
but life has not been the same since.

When I had control,
I knew the way.
It was rather boring,
but predictable . . .
It was the shortest distance between two points.

But when He took the lead,
He knew delightful long cuts,
up mountains,
and through rocky places
at breakneck speeds,
it was all I could do to hang on!
Even though it looked like madness,
He said, "Pedal!"

I worried and was anxious
and asked,
"Where are you taking me?"
He laughed and didn't answer,
and I started to learn to trust.

I forgot my boring life
and entered into the adventure.
And when I'd say, "I'm scared,"
He'd lean back and touch my hand.

He took me to people with gifts that I needed,
gifts of healing,
acceptance
and joy.
They gave me gifts to take on my journey,
my Lord's and mine.

And we were off again.
He said, "Give the gifts away;
they're extra baggage, too much weight."
So I did,
to the people we met,
and I found that in giving I received,
and still our burden was light.

I did not trust Him,
at first,
in control of my life.
I thought He'd wreck it;
but He knows bike secrets,
knows how to make it bend to take sharp corners,
knows how to jump to clear high rocks,
knows how to fly to shorten scary passages.

And I am learning to shut up
and pedal
in the strangest places,
and I'm beginning to enjoy the view
and the cool breeze on my face
with my delightful constant companion, Jesus Christ.

And when I'm sure I just can't do anymore,
He just smiles and says . . . "Pedal."

-- author unknown

My Spiritual Journey (and other stuff)...

2008-01-24T05:36:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to decide what direction I should steer (don't know if this is cattle or driving) this new blog. I am entering into a new level of my spiritual growth and I think this would be as good of a place as any to chronicle my growth. Part of me is nervous to put my faith out there because, historically, I've always been mortified by people who publically proclaim to be followers of 'Jee-sus'. But, I'd like to think that I'm beyond caring about public humiliation and I'm secure enough in myself to realize that Jesus is equally as credible to discuss and believe in as most of the schlock that is out there. Before I scare anyone away, this is not meant to be fire and brimstone and hell and damnation (though I do believe in that sort of thing), but just a way to talk about what I am experiencing. Of course I will likely throw in other thoughts and reflections and experiences (and some of which will seem less than spiritual).

I'm starting a new bible study today which will be an 8 week study in preparation for Easter. I'm very excited about it because I have been wanting to really get to know God on a more intimate level. As I go along this journey I become less interested in what it is that I want to do with my life and more interested in what God has in store for me. Interestingly, though you might think this might cause some fear and anxiety (like what if He wants me to go live in the jungles of Borneo or become a televangelist or pass out tracts on the street corner) it really doesn't. As I have learned over the past 11 months, He can carry you through the most horrific of situations with peace and joy. I guess it is like any relationship in which you enter. At first there is some distrust; does this person really have my best interest in mind and when will they screw me over? But, as you spend more time with that person, you build trust and work out your issues. For those skeptics out there, like maybe I'm just deluding myself (that whole idea that religion is the opium for the masses)? Perhaps, but it is a delusion that works for me.

My middle kid stayed home from school today. Apparently he is 'sick'. I'm not sure that I trust this hypothesis right now, but I decided not to be a complete dragon lady and let him stay home (especially since his hacking cough might be off-putting to his teacher and his peers). By allowing him to stay home we avoided the whole 'bump-in-the-sock' drama. A phenomenon that only occurs with his socks, even the so called 'seamless socks'. Putting on a pair of shoes (if we can find his because his and only his always magically disappear) can cause an unreasonable delay as he has to readjust his socks about a dozen times (per foot) before he is able to walk. As I have learned, life is harder for my middle child than for the other 2. For some reason the same situations that the other 2 can pass through with ease cause this one much difficulty and consternation. For instance, he is a 'slow-eater'. This is a diagnosis that he gave himself. He is afflicted with the inability to eat whatever he is provided in a timely manner, especially if finds said meal unpalatable (i.e., not candy or fruit). If I try to shame him into eating by comparing him to his siblings (yes, I know this is not a parenting technique that is advocated by anyone) and reminding him that they finished their respective meals long ago, he responds tearfully, "But mommy, you know I am a slow-eater" as though I am trying to get a legless kid to run faster.

I had a tete-a-tete with my oldest the other day. He and the middle child had been disciplined after they made me proud in the grocery store by doing their finest booty dance at the cash register and engaging in various and sundry other assinine antics. Their punishment, no cookie or cookie-making after school as had been promised (the whole reason we were at the grocery store-to purchase ingredients for our Norman Rockwell afternoon). I thought it was a reasonable solution to the behavior problem. At first, my oldest took his lashes like a man; no crying, whining or gnashing of teeth-until his dad got home and he had to confess the errs of his way-then the flood gates opened. As any good father would, Lee left me to deal with the carnage and went outside with the other 2. My eldest told me he was "so mad at me." He said that he was so mad that he wanted to find other living arrangements. When I offered to call either his aunt or uncle to find out if he could move in with them, he didn't like this solution. Nor did he like the idea of getting a paper and finding reasonable priced apartments. His suggestion was that he build a toilet in his room and that he would never have to come out but I would still have to bring him his meals (he'd build a slot in the door and I could slide a tray under it). When I proposed that his idea wasn't really desirable position for me (I still had to cook, clean and clothe him, yet never see him) he ire abated and he decided that he'd rather go outside and ride his bike than figure out how to move out of the family compound.

Yesterday my daughter told our babysitter that she (our babysitter) could take care of her (our daughter) babies when she had them. This was after my daughter found out that our babysitter wouldn't be taking care of a baby in a supplemental job I was trying to arrange for our babysitter. I guess our daughter didn't want our babysitter to worry and wanted to let her know that she would always have a place in our lives and in our hearts. My babysitter said she had tears in her eyes and joy in her heart when my 4 year old said this to her. When the babysitter reminded our daughter that she (the babysitter) would be an old lady when she (our daughter) had babies, my daughter told her not to worry, she could still take care of her babies. Even when I told our middle kid that the babysitter would be here with him the majority of the day while he is sick, he was relieved to hear it. She is his second mother and we are her second family.

Well, I am off to get ready for my bible study. I'll let you know what I learn.

Feliz Ano Nuevo

2008-01-16T21:02:00.000-08:00

It's a new year and a new blog. If Lee and I ever have a band we are going to call ourselves The Spitting Pigeons so it seemed like an appropriate name. I went back to work today (again) and was suprised at how much I enjoyed it (again). The idea of doing a grand rounds (which is just a fancy description for a medical conference for your colleagues) about the doctor as a patient has been floating around in my head. It seems like a big project, but maybe I'll do it.

I had to tell our babysitter that we might not be able to employ her full time for much longer. I felt like I was breaking up with her and it didn't feel good at all. This woman has been my saving grace for the past 4 years and the thought of not having her come to our house every day is like thinking about breathing without oxygen. And while she makes my life immensely more liveable, what really makes me sick is thought of her being with a family that doesn't love her as much as we do. I wish I had an endless fountain of money so I could support her and her family forever.

I started tamoxifen about 5 days ago and so far there have not been horrific side effects. Hopefully it will continue as well as it has for the past 5 days. Well, I'm off to bed now, but thought I'd get started on my 2008 on-line journal.