A Very Important, Unimportant List

Today was not my typical day, although I often wonder what IS a typical day anymore.  I woke up earlier than I had to.  I made 3 pans of pumpkin bars by 9am.  One by one, each of my walking littles appeared.  They were drawn into the kitchen by the unusual activity and aroma--clearly perplexed that their very NON-morning mama was not ONLY awake, but productive.

"Wanna lick a beater?"  I asked when they looked at me as if I had gone mad. 

One of them noticed the bowl, after already licking her beater, and I didn't even wait for the obvious question.  Those big, brown eyes had already asked for her.  So I handed her the bowl with a large spoon full of batter.  Why not? 

I headed for the treadmill to try and squeeze in a few minutes of pretending like I was a runner before I had to get ready.  The clock was ticking down.  Never mind.  Exercising can wait until tomorrow.  I hopped in the shower instead.  That decision would give me enough time to lay on the floor and be a human jungle gym for my littlest guy before I left. 

Coffee?  Well it was made, but I actually skipped that as well.  I know.  That was a dangerous move for everyone in the household!  But even coffee had to be a back-burner priority this morning.  The kids definitely knew I was up to something.  Mom in make-up AND a skirt this early in the day?  It wasn't even Sunday! 

I don't often leave my kids to do much other than what is absolutely critical to either 1.) their well-being or 2.) my sanity.  But today was a little different. 

Today, I was going to celebrate Helen. 

Who's Helen you might ask?  That's a good question.  And after today, I feel like I know a lot more about Helen than I ever have.  And it's not because I met Helen for coffee this morning.  No, no.  Helen is having her coffee today with Jesus.  That is why two of the three pans of pumpkin bars took a trip with me to a very special memorial service...for a woman I really didn't know that well, a woman I just met less than two years ago, a woman I only had a handful of conversations with. 

And there's so much to say, but I think I'll jump to the end first.  Because on the drive home I had 20 minutes to myself to think through all the things that made this service special today...AND all of the things that were missing.  Hang with me here.  But it's true.  I don't know this family very well, they seem incredibly sweet.  But they forgot a few details.  Most memorial services do.  So I decided that tonight after my littles go to bed that I would make a list of what was missing.  Because it's a pretty important list.  So here goes...


1.  Her stuff.  For example, there wasn't one picture of any of her houses she had lived in.  Not one.  They forgot to show her well-organized closets or lack there-of.  There wasn't a shot of what things looked like on her messiest days, but there also wasn't a shot of one of her Martha Stewart days either.  Funny how this didn't come up in any of the fondest memories her family shared.  Come to think of it, I don't know what she drove.  Was it an expensive, flashy car or an old beater?   Her clothes...Saks 5th or Goodwill?  Hummm... 

2.  Her skills.  On a fly-by, I got the impression this little lady was pretty smart.  Most gals who go back for a masters degree and teach history in college are.  But it was only mentioned in the context of her relationships, like as if a side-note and not her identity.  I'm guessing someone could've put pictures of her transcripts or degrees or something like that in the slide show, but that didn't make the cut either.

3.  I think Helen was a little past the social media age.  But let's say for the sake of argument that social media was her thing.  So what about that most-liked facebook post?  Her best instagram selfie?  That hilarious home video that happened to go viral?  Somehow, I don't think these would have been a part of her service today. 

4.  Her physical appearance and diet.  Nope, not mentioned once.  Did she obsess over eating organic or was she a meat-and-potatoes gal?  I have no idea.  Did she loathe her hips or spend hours at the gym trying to fix some other problem area?   I don't know.  I don't have a clue as to what range of numbers she saw on her bathroom scale over the course of her lifetime.  Her kids didn't mention it.  And there were 4 of them!  Surely that meant there were plenty of weight fluctuations and stretch marks.  But no report on how long it took her to lose that baby weight.  Here were the people that mattered the most in her life, her family and friends, and not a single word on the one area that most women OBSESS over!  Huh...

5.  Money.  No bank statements.  No investment reports.  Did she balance her checkbook well or was she an over-spender?  While I think I know the answer to that last question for Helen, I do find it interesting that money--whether one has a little or a lot--is never talked about at funerals.  Generosity?  Yes.  Sacrifice?  Absolutely.  But not dollars and cents--the thing so many in this life seem to slave for. Not a word.  Zilch.  Nada.

So that was as far as I made it in my list when I pulled into my driveway.  But I'm sure there are plenty of other things that could have been added.  Things that if we were honest with ourselves, take up quite a bit of space and time and effort in our lives--maybe too much.

Someone at Helen's service read a poem about the dash.  You may have heard it before.  It's the dash on the gravestone that ties the date of birth to the date of death.  The point of the poem is that a person's life is in the dash.  Now I believe that life doesn't end at death here on earth.  I believe a soul is eternal and that Helen, today, is somewhere wonderful.  But that doesn't negate the power of the life lived in the dash here on earth.  What we think, say, and do DOES have an impact--good or bad--whether we like it or not.  Helen's husband, children, grandchildren, friends and many others attested to that truth today. 

Now don't get me wrong.  We can't just chuck my list.  Many of the things listed are tools that God intends us to use to live this life and live this life well--while intentionally blessing others He puts in our path along the way.  But sometimes these tools become our passions and identities and even harsh measuring sticks by which we judge others.  And what's sad is when a life is lived this way, people show up at that funeral and don't have much to say.  Because if a life's accomplishments amounted to a fat wallet, a trim body and a clean house, no one will talk about that at a funeral.  They just won't.  Because those things in and of themselves are empty.  And more importantly, they took up the precious space that should have been used for what is truly important. 

And we all should know what that is, or more accurately, the who's they are.

So let me get back to Helen.  I could spend a lot of this post re-telling what I learned about her life.  And I'm pretty confident that the things on my list were NOT the focus of her life.  Because if they were, they would've edged out what things clearly were important to her, as evidenced by the people who loved her and spoke of her today--the fruit they experienced from her life well-lived.

There was one thing that stood out as the main thing.  RELATIONSHIP. 

A daughter who spoke of her mom today as her ultimate best friend.  A husband who wrote of a marriage love that clearly was sacrificial, affectionate, and committed through the highs and lows that the years inevitably bring.  Grandchildren--every single one--who got up to share something from their hearts because of their love for their grandmother. 

And the center of it all--Jesus.  This spunky little lady knew Him and loved Him--and she is with Him today.  And it is why in the midst of all the tears this morning, I found joy.  And I was inspired. 

A life, when stripped of everything this world says is important, and even stripped of her last breath here on earth, stood glorious and beautiful.  She used her life, and all that it contained, to love others well.  No denying it today. The fruit of her life was evident.  And it was a display of God's love, a LOVE that uses broken, ordinary people and turns it into something extraordinary.

I'm coming up on a milestone birthday.  You know the one where you turn 39 for the second year in a row?  Yup.  That one.  Just days away.  I won't lie and say I'm all thrilled about that.  In fact, looking into this next year feels pretty overwhelming on many levels.

But today, things became crystal clear again.  Funerals and significant loss have a way of doing that.

So I'm not going to get stuck in all the things on this list I made.  I'm just not.  My time, my energy, and my resources would be wasted on things that don't matter--or last--if I did.  This world is a hurting place.  Seeing children being decapitated an ocean away as I write this should be a reminder to all of us that this isn't a game about who gets the most toys or comforts in this life.  Those who win that game actually lose, and so does everyone around them.

This mama has a mission to accomplish.  And so do you, if you are still breathing.  Mine begins in my home, with a teenager to send to school tomorrow, a baby to patch, and 5 middles in between who need their souls loved and engaged everyday.  And while it should begin there, it doesn't end there--it SHOULDN'T end there.

Overwhelming?  Sure.  But God's got that part.  He always has.  The question is, will you and I step out in faith and let Him?

So thank you, Helen.  I loved you the moment I met you so many months ago when you pulled me aside in your wheel chair to tell me you liked me and thought I had some interesting things to say.  Who wouldn't love you with that kind of encouragement?  But the legacy you leave and the clarity it brings me was a priceless gift today.  I am truly grateful.  May you dance with Jesus, forever.

     Love one another.  In the same way I have loved you, you love one another.  This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples--when they see the love you have for each other.  John 13:34-35 The Message

Moving Past the Sippy Cup

You know, there are times when I think that we as mothers should have a star chart--a chart that we, too, get to put stickers on just like our children do.  Each mom's chart would be different because each of us have different mountains to climb, valleys to wade through, and marathons to run.  But in addition to the big things to star on our chart, I think there needs to be a category to make a place for the moments that aren't necessarily grand, but still accomplishments in their own right.  I'm struggling to come up with a name for such a category for our chart, but it would have room for things like the day that my baby boy completely destroyed his exersaucer with a diaper blowout and I made it through the clean-up.  It would also include a star for the ophthalmology appointment where this mama--who is very squeamish around blood, body parts, and especially eyeballs--bravely turned around to look at the charts on the wall of all the inner workings of the human eye and chose one to study in order to begin dealing with my fears since, well...my littlest guy was born blind in his left eye. It would be a category that acknowledges that sometimes just making it through the gross, the mundane, or even the embarrassing and awkward moments in life are important, too.  Maybe that "accomplishment" doesn't win any trophies, but it might give us a great story to tell or a good laugh later on.  That's the kind of category I'm thinking of, and that's the category that I found myself in tonight. 

To many moms, these ponderings will seem silly.  I realize that many have tread this path before me, and many of them have tread it when their sons were younger than mine are.  Maybe to some, this really is no big deal.  And it really isn't a big deal.  I just found it comical.  And I was a bit caught off guard by it.  Because in all of my thoughts, dreams, and plans that revolve around my children--and in the realities of the day-in and day-out of childcare--tonight, I found myself in a rather interesting and funny place. And honestly, it had never crossed my mind that this, too, will be part of my parenting journey. But I did find myself thinking after the fact, "Wow!  I just did that!  And from all outward appearances--calmly, I might add!"

Let me back up just a bit.  My second son, my sweet and sensitive boy--the one who is a pro with the baby of the house and wants to be a surgeon so he can go to Africa to do surgeries for those with no access to medical care--well that son has been wanting to play football for a long time.  Why? 

"Well, Mom," he says, "I just want to tackle people.  You know." 

Uhhhhhh...no, actually, I don't.  And I was more than a bit surprised that he did.  He definitely has his Daddy in him.  So football it is.  We called our school district to see if this homeschooled boy of mine could play with the junior high team since we plan to integrate him into the public school when he is a freshman. 

"Sure!" they said.  "Bring him on over!"

 So we took him last week to get him registered.  Sports physical?  Check.  Registration money?  Check.  Measurements for helmet, pads, and uniform?  Check.  We were good to go!  Or so I thought.

"Alright, Luke!" said the defensive coach.  "You are set!  Practice starts next Tuesday.  Make sure you get yourself some cleats, a mouth guard, and a cup!"

Sounds great, I thought.  I just dropped $275 on registration...and it looks like there would be more checks to write. We'll need to buy cleats and a mouth guard, but a cup?  He must've meant a water bottle, and we already have plenty of those.  So how much do cleats cost, I started wondering... 

Ummmmm...wait a minute...he DID say a cup.  I suddenly remembered that "cup" has more meanings than just a holder of liquids that you drink.  However, for many years the term "cup" has been used in this house with the word "sippy" in front of it.

We often hear, "Mommy!  I want my sippy cup!!!"  or  "Honey, did you remember to pack the sippy cup?"

 And maybe that's why you might understand my delay in putting two and two together...for about fifteen years "cup" in my world has been a "SIPPY" cup.  Unless, of course, you're talking about a "COFFEE" cup, which I added to my life a few years back to get through the exhausting "sippy" cup phase.  But I guess those days are numbered around here.  Those four babies who fall into the male gender category around my house are all growing up.  And that means they won't be needing sippy cups anymore.  They get to move on to another type of cup...and not the "coffee" cup kind, either...at least not in football.  So it looks like I'm going to have to adjust my thinking, beginning right now.  I jumped in the car and promptly told my shopping-averse husband that he was in charge of the football supply shopping trip.  It'll be great male bonding, I thought. 

So we fast forward a few days, a few very busy days.  And I realized tonight as my husband is at a late meeting, and while I'm getting ready to send my two oldest sons off early in the morning for a day-long float trip, that the big shopping trip hasn't happened yet.  And I added up the time left that both father and son would be available to shop, and I quickly surmised that the father/son bonding at the store wasn't going to happen before the first football practice tomorrow night after all. Ugh.

"Luke!"  I called out.  "It's time to go to the store.  We need to buy your cleats...and a few other things."

Fifteen minutes later the two of us walked through the doors of Sports Authority.  Shoes first, I thought.  We soon found a pair.  Next up, mouth guards.  It took me awhile to find them, but I really wasn't wanting to draw attention to our situation by asking for help.  We found them.  Oh my!  A wall full of mouth guards!  All sorts of colors to choose from, including ones with flavors in them.  Yuck!  Who wants to taste a very berry blue raspberry when they are hot and sweaty while running football drills?  We finally decided on one.  The cheap one.  No flavors.

Then came the part I was dreading.  I was looking around, scouting for where, oh where this next item on my list might be found.  I was praying that a sales associate wouldn't finally appear to ask if he could help us.  I thought I saw it.  Nope, those were chin guards.  I moved on down the wall, at this point frantically searching, searching, searching. 

FOUND!  Yes!  There they were!  But oh!  There was such a large selection!  I moved in closer.  Thank goodness we didn't have colors to sort through like the mouth guards!  But sizes!  Uhhhh....oh!  Here we go, I found the size we needed.  But then prices!  You have got to be kidding me!  Anywhere from $14.99 to $34.99!  I panicked.  I'm really not wanting to drop 35 bucks on a, ummmm...cup.  But I suddenly remembered picking out a cheap $5 cover for my new cell phone a couple months back and the sales rep telling me that the $40 protective cover is shock absorbent and a much better choice, especially with 7 children at home eager to play on my phone.  Isn't this kind of the same thing?  Like, am I a bad mom for buying the cheaper version, thus putting my son's manhood on the line as soon as he gets tackled because I was more concerned about dollar signs than my son getting rushed by the opposing team's defensive line?  I tried to read the boxes to see the differences between the differently priced options, but at this point I was in a fog.  I am NOT a guy!  What do I know about these things?  And where in the world was my husband anyway?!?!

I grabbed the $14.99 version and made a b-line to the checkout register.  Thank goodness it was a female to check us out!  I glanced over at Luke, who seemed to be much pleased with his rather striking new cleats and completely oblivious to the turmoil I was feeling.  To him, this was just another shopping trip with his mom. I began to calm down.  I caught his eye and smiled. 

 "I did it!" I thought to myself, as we made our way back to the car.  "I can't believe I just did that!  Shouldn't I get a star on a chart or something?" 

To me, my night's shopping excursion with my son would be tantamount to sending my husband with my daughter to the store at some point in the future for...well, you know what for!

So tonight I've taken a rather comical step in this whole process of raising kids, thus putting another star on this imaginary chart of mine.  And I wonder if I'm the only Mom out there thinking that this was a pretty big deal after all...not just for my son getting to finally play football, but also for his mom in getting through a bit of an awkward evening shopping with that son.

We will soon be closing the door on things like diapers and bottles and sippy cups around here.  We are entering a new phase of life as my kids are getting older.  And I'm getting excited about it, even if it brings a few new surprises my way.  You know in Proverbs it talks about a woman who is considered praiseworthy, and one of the descriptions of her is that she doesn't fear winter's snow,  "for all her household are clothed with scarlet."  Well, I'm far from praiseworthy, and I really don't fear snow, given the time and place in which we live.  But linemen?!  Now that's a different story!  Football guys can be pretty rough!  However, after tonight's successful trip to the store, I chuckle as I think of Luke's upcoming season.  You will find me at the game, sitting in the stands, and I, too, will not fear.  All because my son is clothed in...well...let's just say he will be well protected.   Go Luke!  Go Lions!   

Green means go! Red means stop!

"Green means go!  Red means stop!...Green means go!  Red means stop!..."  Like a bad tune that keeps playing through my mind--over and over and over..."Green means go!  Red means stop!"  These are the words buried somewhere in my brain, cycling again and again tonight. Thanks to Bethy's new revelation of what stop lights are all about, she has a little sing song-y way of reminding us, or just singing it to herself, on many occasions.  Like many things around here, it can be cute, or it can just be downright annoying.  It all began a couple of Wednesday's ago.  Wednesdays are our craziest day of the week.  The schedule is stacked.  After my kids have math with their math teacher at our house, we load up in the big white van for the "P.E. Exchange."  My crazy friend (I say that in the most loving way since I seem to be crazy, too!) who has 7 kids, 3 newly adopted and an 8th on the way, asked if we wanted to do P.E. this year.  Long story short, to make it work for both of us, I take my kids to P.E., a 30-minute drive from my house.  I drop off 3 of my oldest for classes.  I take her youngest with me back home for lunches, playtime, and naps.  She keeps mine during classes, feeds them lunch in her big van on the way back to our house to do another kid exchange.  It works.  However, on my 60-minute round trip P.E. excursion that particular Wednesday, we pulled out of our driveway and I heard Bethy from two rows back, "Green means go! Red means stop!...Green means go!  Red means stop!..." How cute, I think.  Well, about 15 minutes later with Bethy still chanting, the cuteness had worn off.  Seth jumps in.  "Bethy, it's not just green and red, there's a yellow!" 

Oh, the fireworks.  The three-year-old was insistent on the red and green with no yellow.  The five-year-old wouldn't budge either.  "Seth!"  I hollered, "Please leave Bethy alone.  Don't start a fight.  Yes, there is a yellow, but she doesn't understand, just let her be happy!"  Seth protests.  He doesn't get that a happy Bethy is what I was wanting, not a corrected, but madder than a hornet, Bethy.  The baby cries.  "Green means go!  Red means stop!"  The chanting continues, but now with much more volume and vigor so that the world will know that green means go, red means stop--and there will be no yellow!  Seth gets in the baby's face with an obnoxiously loud rattle to distract him.  I think I'm going to crawl out of my skin.  Surely when we add the two-year old at P.E. Bethy will be distracted.  No.  Not a chance.  Older kids out, two-year-old in.  "Green means go!  Red means stop!..."  The two-year-old chimes in with his questions about lunch, "Hot gog?  Bee-nana?"  Yes, Peter, when we get home, I assure.  "Hot gog?  Bee-nana?...Hot gog?  Bee-nana?"  "Green means go!  Red means stop!...Green means go!  Red means stop!..."  Baby cries, the rattle just about makes me want to jump out the window.  I make an executive decision.  Ten minutes from home I pull off.  "Peppermint mocha," I almost bark to the to the friendly voice coming out of the box behind the nearest Starbucks.  "The largest one, whatever that is called."  When I pull up to the window in the 12-passenger van, the voice will surely understand why I don't know the correct size names for fancy 5 dollar coffees.  She smiles at me as if she understands my desperation and calls me honey while she passes over the mocha and I hand her my 5 bucks.  I just about crawled through the window to give her a hug.  "Green means go!"  Yes, yes it does.  Time to get home for some "hot gogs" and "bee-nanas."  The van eventually comes to a stop, and on cue, the commanding voice from the 3-year-old in the back finishes with, "AND RED MEANS STOP!" I find myself breathing up a quiet prayer that I often pray these days, "Lord, please have mercy." 

And He does.

Looking back at these past several weeks are stories just like these.  Some of them take my breath away...a baby's chunky thighs, spontaneous conversations with little hearts that ask some pretty big questions, a late night Quick Trip run with my hubby for a soda and iced tea that feels like a date because we can sneak away for 10 minutes without the baby.  Some of the moments come with tears...like the texts I got on the trail this past Saturday when I got to go blading for the first time in months and months.  "Please come home!"  Well, what do you know, the dog's perimeter collar stopped working and the dog ran away, 3 kids went running in three different directions through the woods to find her, the baby's contact fell out and was lost while my husband was dog searching, and, well...it was just time to come home. 

And so it goes.  Lost contacts and potty training and runaway dogs.  But yesterday.  Yes, yesterday was a day where the clouds of the mundane and craziness parted and the sun shone through on the beauty of it all.  Yesterday Joseph was back up at Children's Hospital for another eye appointment.  They called his name.  Someone looked at his eyes.  The first doctor came in.  She examined him.  She asked us questions.  She looked surprised, relieved.  She said a bunch of big words that I don't really understand, other than I know what it means when she said they don't often see good results at this stage with many children.  She makes a big deal about the words "parental compliance" in his patching, and links it very uncomfortably to best outcomes.  She called in a student doctor and said, "Do the examination."  The student did.  The first doctor said, "Joseph had a pediatrician who caught this right away.  We did surgery as soon as we could.  They are patching, and as you can tell, his brain is responding the way we want."  She had more to add, like patch him for two hours a day (I gulp), see me again in 7 weeks, yada, yada...  She left the room and we hear her tell the student doctor out in the hallway, "See, it IS possible."  We schedule the next appointment.  We talk to billing.  Turns out our insurance had approved paying for contacts and fittings, yet doesn't seem to want to pay.  But we breathe a big sigh of relief anyway.  So far, so good.  Our baby is on his way to vision.

As we drive away, the weight of the appointment was hitting my husband.  Patching is hard.  They never told us before this visit the gravity of the lack of positive outcomes.  I can understand why parents fudge or delay or get frustrated.  To say it's not Joseph's favorite thing would be an understatement.  When the patch is on, even the other kids say, "Oh, no!  Not the patch!"  It requires full time attention and often a three-ring circus to keep our patched baby happy.  Add to that a contact that falls out and gets lost.  I would give up if I didn't have my husband's help.  The last time Joseph's contact fell out?  Yeah, that was Saturday while I was on the trail.  Dan found it on his cell phone when he pulled it out of his pocket.  It went from the baby's eye to somehow stuck on Dan's phone while big sister was playing a game on the phone next to him.  Then the phone went in the pocket, and by the sheer grace of God, stayed stuck to the phone rather than the inside of the pocket.  Dan searched the house for an hour, but never would've thought to look inside his pocket!  Oh my, I get chills just thinking about the jeans that go in the laundry and the contact that just disappears.   And knowing my husband's tenacity, he would still be on his hands and knees, how many days later, with a flashlight and a magnifying glass.  Yes, the Lord had mercy!

But, oh yeah, the clouds parting thing.  Well, that was when I realized coming home from Children's that in the daily mundane things, and in the feelings of not being enough and not doing enough for the 7 little souls that live in my house, and in the loneliness that has been a large part of my last several months of containment for fear of a tiny contact getting lost or blown off in the wind, all of it...it was worth something.  No, it doesn't win any prizes or get the attention of the masses.  But sight!  It is helping my son see.  And it seems to be working!  Suddenly, the guilt over the trips to the Magic House or the zoo that aren't happening right now, the absent dates with friends and even Sunday's sitting in my room with my little guy rather than in a pew at church, all of the guilt...it just lifts.  Because THIS is the important thing.  My little guy needs a mommy, and quite frankly a daddy and 6 siblings to love him for who he is, despite of some of the limitations he brings to the table.  And I see that it is those limitations that have helped us grow deeper in so many ways, and depend on Jesus more and more.  And I realize, it is out of the limitations that new blessings have come.  There are beautiful things that have come out of this stretching time in loving another adorable little baby in our family.  My children have grown in compassion, in responsibility, in independence, and in mercy--thank goodness in mercy towards me, and towards each other.  Yes, the Lord is merciful.  It has come in so quietly, so tenderly, and it finds its home here.  Despite the craziness, despite the seemingly mundane day-to-day living--and yes, despite me and my inadequacies. 

So green means go.  Lots of things are a go around here.  My oldest has his driver's permit--oh my!  But he's doing great, and honestly, I have too many other things on my mind to be stressed out about it.  He got to put that he is 6-feet tall on his permit.  Like I said--oh my!  My next in line took a little R&R with his grandparents in Iowa.  Went hunting with Grandpa for the first time--oh my! 
Got a turkey.  If you know my dad, you probably have already seen the pictures.  Proud Grandpa, what can I say?  And on and on it goes, school work, house work...heart work.  Yes, green means go, Bethy.  So we'll just keep on going.

And red means stop.  Lots of things are a "stop" right now.  But I'm learning that certain stops allow for the more important go's in life.  So tonight I will rest content in the stops, as well. The stops of potty training for now, the stories of the pooping issues around here are enough to fill a whole blog post in and of itself.  So we decided last week to put the diapers back on a certain darling and strong-willed little 3-year-old I know.  And that is just one of many stops these days. So yes, Bethy, red means stop.

But as you know, Seth is right.  There is a yellow light.  And yellow means slow down.  So I slowed down today--on a Wednesday, none-the-less--after the "hot gogs" and "bee-nanas" were eaten, when the baby was napping and the other littles were in the toy room playing, and I read. Easter!  I forgot, this week is Easter!  It couldn't have been a better reminder that the chapter I was reading was on the Humility of Jesus. The Son of God who had all the "go's" of heaven, yet emptied himself to become the Son of Man.  He became fully human--with life's limitations and "stop's", even in the ultimate "stop" of death, so that we might be restored to a relationship of freedom and "go's" with God.  That's what Easter is about, and I have been so busy that I hadn't stopped my going to remember, even in this Holy week.  And I fell in love, again, with this Jesus.  Yes, the Jesus who performed miracles and cast out demons and rose from the dead.  But before all that, He was born into an imperfect family--with lots of siblings, I might add.  He experienced first-hand the noise-levels and chaos, the endless laundry and drooling babies.  Yes, he knows the daily mundane just as well as the glories of heaven.  And if I pay attention, He shows me where to find the love, the forgiveness, the hope, and the peace that I'm often craving...it is in Him.  It always has been.

And so, for one last time--because there is no other way to end this tonight as all my kids are coming home and needing their mama to tuck them in...Green means go.  Yes, it does.  And red means stop, doesn't it?  Green means go.  Red means stop.  Green means go.  Red means...shhhhh...

A Surprising First Place...Chili Recipe Included!

 
Ok, I have to admit, winning the K'Motion Chili Cook-off last night was the furthest thing from my mind.  In fact, when they were announcing the winners, I was shoveling in my dessert as quickly as I could so that I would be ready for the baby trade--Dan holds while I eat, then I hold while he eats.  He took first shift, it was my turn.  There have been years past where we have made great efforts to try to place in our church's beloved chili cook-off, but this was NOT one of those years.  In fact, I really wasn't wanting to enter a pot at all.  However, since this event helps fund one of the best things about our church--an amazing children's program, and because my kids would be so disappointed in not having a pot in the contest, I decided at about 1am the night before to message the commander in charge...ok, count on another pot of chili--if it's not too late.  A few of you have asked for the recipe, although I'm not sure how serious you were about that since most requests come with a chuckle...so I thought I'd oblige.  Here you go...the prize winning recipe...and all the details that go into it...don't be intimidated...if I can pull this off, so can you!  :)

Chili:

1:40pm  Oops.  Forgot to thaw hamburger.  Quick, grab 4 lbs. out of the freezer.  Thank goodness my Dad is a vet and keeps our freezer stocked with corn-fed Iowa beef.  Put a 2 lb. package on defrost in the microwave while I run and take a shower. 

2:00pm  First package is mostly thawed.  Switch to package number two.  Defrost while I run to the flower shop to pick up oldest son's corsage for his date for the winter formal that night. 

2:20pm  Put 4 lbs. of mostly thawed hamburger in frying pan.  Yell downstairs, in my not-so-patient voice, for my oldest to come back to finish putting the trash can liner in the trash can while I stand with raw hamburger packaging dripping down my arms, frustrated out of my mind that I can't just throw it away. (Yes, I know the sermon today was on patience.  But I needed that sermon yesterday.) 

Chop 1 yellow onion.  Put it in with the hamburger and brown.  Begin opening cans and pulling out spices...not much time to put into this, so grab my 9-year-old and have her help brown the hamburger.  Run to help child who's potty-training make it to the potty.  Missed again.  Strip down wet clothes and add to mounding "accident" pile in the laundry room.  Yes, I DID take time to wash my hands. 

Drain grease from browned meat...well, most of it anyway.  I put as much into the strainer as I could fit and then figured a little grease left won't hurt anybody, I don't have time to strain more than one round.  Put meat back in pan.  Yell down again to oldest, this time making sure he gets in the shower before his big night.  Run upstairs to help very frustrated husband, taking his only couple of hours of precious free-time to put together a new treadmill for his wife, only to get it together and realize something isn't working.  Find out that I really am no help to him at all, get back to kitchen to work on chili.

Add:1 large can Brooks Hot Chili Beans
        1 can Great Value Tomato Juice
        1 can Great Value Tomato Sauce (notice how much I splurged here, lots of generic stuff)

Uh-oh.  I don't have a can of crushed tomatoes.  I usually don't get so "fancy" when I make it just for home, but I have always added tomatoes for the cook-off.  Oh well.  It's not worth another trip out and an extra 3 bucks, I figure at this point I'm just making this for my kids.  If someone wants tomatoes in their chili, there are 20 other pots to choose from.  Scratch the tomatoes.

Time to add spices:  I grabbed a bunch, I didn't use them all.  This is what I remember using.  No time to measure.  Just pull off the lids and dump.
        chili powder (if I had to guess, maybe a Tablespoon)
        seasoning salt (same)
        cumin (same, made sure I grabbed cumin and not cinnamon by mistake this time)
        red pepper (some, but not as much)
        black pepper (who knows how much)
        salt (again, who knows)

Bring to a boil, stirring everything in.  This is where I usually try it and repeat with more spices to taste.  But not this time.  No time.  Dump everything into the crock pot, set it on low to simmer until we leave.  Oh yeah, forgot about that.  When should we leave?  A couple of years ago we were a little late and we missed the judging.  All that work to make chili and we missed it.  Better text someone...I'll bug Kim this time...What time do chili entries need to be there? 

One final thing, if you want to have the best chance at duplicating this prize winning chili:  have your husband load it in the back of your van, lid secured, set on a cookie sheet to catch any spills.  Drive through our neighborhood with its incredible hills and curves and bumps.  Ask your children to watch the chili in the back and listen to them scream every time it spills out of the "secured" crock pot.  Make sure it not only spills out on the cookie sheet, but that it hits the van carpet as well.  It will give you just the right proportions for winning the contest, and leave you with the winning aroma and color in your van carpet to remind you of the incredible night for days and weeks to come. (No, I really won't take the time to clean it up.)  Then let your anger and frustration churn as you take a dripping, messy crock pot into the church kitchen, getting chili all over your hands and clothes.  Only then is it ready for some tough judging. 

Last year we got second place.  (If you want that recipe, it's on the back of a chili beans can.  I know, we are quite innovative over here.)  Because of that, my kids were just sure we'd win first this year.  The whole car ride over, Dan and I tried to tell them that just because we place in one year doesn't mean we will the next...there are just too many variables.  Both of us knew that this wasn't a year of much effort on my part.  We were just glad to make it on time and have none of our kids show up in their pajamas.  And we were just hoping that the potty trainer wouldn't have any accidents at the cook-off and that a certain little baby would still be wearing his new contact by the time we made it home.  So I was just a little surprised to be taking home the trophy this year.  I'm still wondering if my kids paid off the judges, you know, to give me a little encouragement to get back into the kitchen more often than I have been lately.  Who knows.  But more than the trophy, I loved that my kiddos were so thrilled.  That was a gift.

We love chili cook-off night.  My kids love K'Motion.  I love that we are in a church that loves children.  Maybe we don't have a lot of bells and whistles at our church, but we do have adult leaders who love my kids enough to share Jesus' love for them in a way that they can both learn and enjoy.  So in all of the commotion yesterday of making a pot of chili for the K'Motion Cook-off--and the sake of my kids--I was reminded again that it doesn't take a lot of fancy stuff to make something wonderful. Yes, wonderful might mean a pot of prize-winning chili.  But I think, more importantly, what's wonderful is reaching the hearts of children.  So thank you to all of you who serve my kids.  This year is a year in particular where it really means so much to their Mama.

And the chili?  Well, there's the recipe.  I won't be the least bit offended if you don't make it. :)  And if you do, but need to find the interruptions to make the recipe just right, come to my house--my kids will be happy to help you with that!

Held

Tonight I'm sitting here scrolling through pictures taken over the past several months as my older boys watch a movie with their daddy downstairs much too late into the night.  Wow, what a year!  I'm guessing most of you who are reading this probably feel the same way if you've had time to reflect on your year like I have been doing.  I seem to have plenty of time to reflect these days since I often find myself sitting while nursing a baby...and there is so much to take in and process.  The past 18 months in our family have been quite a roller coaster ride.  Plenty of highs, plenty of lows.  I would've never guessed then how things would be now.  But as I look through my pictures, there are a few that stand out as I've been mulling over a word that stays constant despite all of life's changes.  It is a word that takes on special meaning again as we have a new little one in our house. 

Held.

That is what I am, what we are.  Through the ups.  Through the downs.  Even through the mundane days where it seems like I'm going nowhere.  I'm held. 

There are many attributes of God that He is that we are not--that we will never be.  But then there are some attributes of God that He inscribes in us so that we will be like Him and begin to understand Who He is, although in a very broken and imperfect way.  One of the ways that He has so captured my heart these past few years, and especially these past several weeks with another newborn in our home, is that He invites us into a Father-Child relationship with Him.  That Infinite, that Holy, that Almighty God has through His Son become the Intimate Father--who in Scripture actually invites us to cry out to Him as "Daddy".  I never really grasped that kind of crazy love until I became a parent, a mommy.  And I continue to be amazed by it as I watch my husband be a father--a daddy.  A daddy to 7 beautiful, unique, loud, obnoxious, fun, crazy, messy, demanding kids who take off with our hearts every day, both in ways that thrill us--and in ways that bring us desperately to our knees.  Now I realize that every Dad on this earth is imperfect.  In fact, a few Dads have really made quite a mess of their role as Dad.  But one of the truths of God that I am grasping more and more is this:  He is my Father, my Daddy. And He is Perfect and Good, unlike any earthly dad could ever be.  He holds me.  He holds our family.  He holds each of my children.  The ups, the downs, the times when I don't understand, the times when I feel lonely or scared...in all of it, whether I feel Him there or not, I am held. 

Here is one of my favorite pictures that I keep coming back to, one of many, many of the same shot that I have taken over the last almost 15 years...and I believe it captures the heart of God.  A daddy.  A child.  Held.

 

A friend told me recently that it doesn't matter how big or small my babies are, they all seem tiny when my husband holds them. That's because my husband is a big guy.  Whether my baby clocks in at birth just under 7 pounds or nearly 10, they all look small with a Daddy who stands 6 foot 6.   My husband is big, strong-- he's pretty intelligent, and has plenty of stuff going on in his life.  But he would tell you that more important than just about anything he is or does is this--he's a daddy.  He adores his kids, and those of you who know him well know of the stories of how fiercely protective he is of them.  So while he is by no means God, he has been a snapshot for me of what God wants us to know of Him--a Father, a Daddy.  And even though I'm 39-years-old with a few more gray hairs than I care to admit, I am every bit as much His child as my sweet 3-month old baby is his daddy's son.  And I fit in His infinite hands, nuzzled up on His chest just as much as my little guy does with his daddy.  This is where I find rest--if I will only just abide there. 

 

When Joseph was diagnosed with his blindness, I realized something more about this Father who holds.  Joseph is a baby, he had no idea or understanding of his condition or of some of the difficult days ahead.  But his daddy and I did.  And so we held him.  I would hardly put him down those first days home.  Yes, newborns are held quite a bit.  But I would venture to guess Joseph was held more.  Yes, there were plenty of hands to help and to hold him those first days, but in my heart, only mine or his daddy's would do.  I know that God uses people to be his hands and feet--to comfort, to work, to help, to encourage.  When I went through my first miscarriage, I felt God's comfort and Presence through those He put around me to walk me through some pretty difficult days.  But there are also times when He chooses not to use others because He wants to be that direct source of everything we need Himself.  Often, I perceive those times initially as very lonely times.  But I realized that first week of holding Joseph, keeping him close to me every moment that I could, that those times I'm feeling alone or scared are the very times He is holding me closer than ever.  That He really knows more than I will ever know, and I am really just like my infant son--hardly aware of the why's and what's, but held ever so tightly in the arms of the WHO who knows everything.  Fiercely loved.  Fiercely protected.  So why in the world would I ever thrash around, grasping for straws, trying to leave the grip of One so faithful, so good, so full of a perfect Father's love?  Who knows, but I often do! 

 

I wish instead I would live in this truth with every moment that I breathe. It's easy to be there when the waters are calm.  But when the storms of life roll in, when the waves come up high around the boat of my life, I struggle to rest in that place of being held.  And instead of trusting and resting, I find myself asking...Doesn't He know?  Doesn't He care?

 

Last week, as we are in the thick of trying to find a new normal around here with a newborn that requires more care than we have dealt with before, I had a day where I snapped.  It wasn't pretty, everyone went running for cover.  Later that night, I checked out in front of a movie with my husband.  The plot of the movie was of a man trying to rescue his wife who had been kidnapped.  When it was over, my emotions had settled from the stresses of the day.  I turned to Dan and said, "I bet if I were kidnapped tonight, you probably wouldn't want to come after me, huh?"  Always counting on my husband to shoot it straight, that man of mine replied with a grin, "Babe, I wouldn't have to because ain't no one gonna dare kidnap you tonight!  And if they did, I'd get a call from them within five minutes, begging me to come pick you up!" 

 

He was right.  No human in their right mind would ever go through the trouble of dealing with such a mess--unless, of course, he was my daddy.  Isn't that the truth?  The things we put up with in our children--stuff that we would never put up with in anyone else on this planet--because of this unexplainable thing called LOVE?  The hoops we jump through, the sleep we lose, the hard knocks we bear just because we LOVE these crazy little people that call us mommy or daddy?  And while we are far from perfect in that LOVE, it is a reflection of the one true LOVE that is perfect.  The One who invites, who calls, who feeds and disciplines us so that we might be healthy and grow--the One who draws us home again and again...so that we might be held.  Just like Joseph in his daddy's arms, close to his daddy's heart, face in the nook of his daddy's neck so that his daddy can hear and feel every breath that he takes.  And when that daddy knows that there is a place of brokenness in his child's body, he doesn't reject him or hold him at arm's length like some in the world might do.  No,  he draws him closer still, and he whispers words of love and assurance in that sweet baby's ear--because he is his daddy. 

 

This is the picture that He gives us, it is the relationship He invites us into.  A Father.  A child.  He holds us--with all our questions, with all our fears, with all our joys, with all our attempts at trying to live this life well and with all our failures and all the times that we just want to throw in the towel--His arms never grow weary or tire.  Because He is the Perfect Father, the Perfect Daddy.  And so I am, my children are...and even that big 6 foot 6 man I love is...we are held.

 



Vulnerable Places

Contact in, contact out. Contact in, contact out.  Stress, stress.  Cry, cry.  Stress, stress.  Cry, cry.  It's been a little bit difficult around here since Tuesday when Joseph went to the Eye Center to get his tiny little contact.  His contact doctor wasn't there due to illness that day.  So a different doctor put the contact in...that was rough.  Then on to his other eye doctor for his check-up.  She thought the contact fit great.  However, she said now that the scarring has gone down they would need to order a different contact with a higher power.  She sent us home with instructions to just leave the contact in until we return in 3 weeks.  If the contact happens to pop out, put it back in.  Easier said than done, I thought.  But she said "if", so hopefully that would be a rare thing.  Patch an hour a day.  Sounded good to us.  We headed back out onto icy roads and drove home.  Dan went to work.  I took a shower. Going to the hospital always stresses me out--with a screaming baby and about double the commute time due to weather that day, I was ready to stand under hot water for 15 minutes and catch my breath. 

"Mommy!  I think Joseph's contact came out!"  What??  We hadn't been home 30 minutes!  Sure enough, stuck on his sleeper, already dried out, was a tiny little clear contact.  I panicked.  I quickly put the contact in saline solution.  How in the world did it come out that fast?  How in the world was I going to get it back in?  How in the world will I keep track of such a tiny and clear little thing if it comes out that easily?  Oh my!

My dear friend will sometimes text me as a reminder...breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Okay, that wasn't working.  So I called Dan at work and cried.  That usually seems to help.  When he got home that night, we went to work to try to get that tiny little thing back into a tiny little eye.  Screaming.  Tears.  Daddy holding his head, Mommy trying very unsuccessfully to put it in.  I wish you could see it.  Such a tiny, tiny object just brought on a whole truckload of stress.  Thank goodness for YouTube.  You can find anything on YouTube.  We did a search and watched a woman put a contact in an infant's eye.  We tried again.  The problem is the contact will not cooperate.  It slips, it turns, it goes inside out, then back again.  There is such a small window of time to even get it positioned before the tears and screams begin.  Then it's all over because he refuses to open his eye, and the prying just doesn't seem to work.  Finally!  I get it in, but it wasn't pretty.  We were exhausted. It seemed to take forever.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe in, breathe out.

Ninety minutes passed.  Out pops the contact.  And such has been the cycle, much of the time unsuccessful at even getting it in...and when we do...we have about 90 minutes.  So many fears race through my mind, we will have to make so many adjustments to our life to make this work.  I recruit older brother to help when Dan is at work.  He and I were successful only one time.  We go 24 hours before we get it to go in again.  We search for the best time where Joseph will even let us try.  Now he just cries if I even come near his eye.  I never thought I would despair over what is such a tiny thing to hold, but I do.  Time is of the essence in trying to gain eyesight.  I've been sure this week that I will be the one to blame for him not having sight.  The doctor had showed me how Joseph sees with and without the lens while we were at the office this week by holding different lenses over my eyes.  It was amazing.  We were so excited about the change he would have by just one tiny contact.  But then despair.  I've had a panic attack or two in difficult times before.  But this week they are stacking up.

So I call in, then wait for a call back.  They don't call.  Breathe in, breathe out.  I make plans.  The plans are this:  We can't do anything for the next two years.  It might seriously take hours to keep putting the contact in each day.  And I can't go anywhere.  It could just happen so fast...losing the contact...waiting a long time for an expensive re-order.  Who in the world could watch him while we go out?  No one can keep track of 7 kids and one little contact that refuses to stay put.  And certainly no one can get that little thing back on Joseph's eye.  No.  I won't be going anywhere anytime soon.  Not if I want my baby to see.  Breathe in, breathe out...but my throat feels like it is closing in.  Everything this week seems to bring me to tears--things, people--everything.

I go to Wal Mart.  I buy a million contact cases and fill them with saline.  One in my purse, just in case.  One in the diaper bag, just in case.  One upstairs, one downstairs...just in case.  Morning comes, I try again.  Tears and more tears.  His and mine.  I call again.  Sorry, they say.  Your chart isn't here, that's why we didn't call.  We will call later, they say.  Please, before the weekend, I beg.  Then five minutes later, he calls.  The contact doctor whom we didn't get to see on Tuesday.  I explain.  He reassures.  Ninety minutes at a time is not acceptable, he says.  I can finally breathe.  He will call early next week.  We will drive back in, then back in again, and again and again until we get it to stay longer.  He tells me it won't be easy, but that they will work with us as much as they can to get it to work as best as they can.  I remember Joseph's surgery doctor telling me that ideally they want him to be 2-years-old before they do another surgery to replace his lens.  However, she said they often have to go in at 18-months because the parents just can't fight the daily fight any longer.  I remember thinking that we HAVE to go 2 years, it's what gives the best chances for a good outcome.  Well, before the doctor returned my call today, I was ready to do that lens replacement surgery NOW.  This was awful.  I can't even last one week, let alone 18 months or 2 years!  Breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe in, breathe out.  He said if I can't get the contact in, we can wait until Monday.  Time does matter, he said, but we can take 2 days until we get the next contact if this one just won't work.  Breathe...

So here we are.  Dan suggests we try again tonight.  We set up a little station in the bathroom.  Joseph is happy.  Mommy and Daddy and tickles and smiles.  He lights up.  Okay, let's do this thing.  Daddy holds, Mommy maneuvers.  It goes in!  No tears. Not twelve tries, but one.  It is so much easier when he doesn't fight it, when my fingers don't shake, when, when, when...  I run out for groceries, Daddy puts on the patch.  It was 4:56 when the contact went in.  At 6:30 it popped out.  Ninety-four minutes.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Maybe next week will get better.

I reflect.  I sometimes dare to ask God to teach me from His vantage point something I need to learn.  Surely He has something for me in this.  Often I think that my 7 children are just microcosms of adults, and God has shown me that the matters of the heart are quite often the same in adults as they are in children...it's just that adults get pretty good at masking it.  So I ask, and I believe He responds.  Just observe, Amy.  Joseph's eyes right now look big and bright and cheery.  But there is a problem.  He can't see. He needs a new and different lens to correct his sight.  A contact lens should do the trick until a permanent one can be placed.  But as soon as I try to insert the lens, those big bright eyes shut me out.  It should be so simple, so easy.  But it's not.  It is such a vulnerable and sensitive spot, and he immediately shuts me out as soon as I try to do what we know will help him.  I coax, I pry.  Doesn't he know that I will be gentle if he will just let me in?  I would never use brute force because it's his eye!  I could do serious damage if I "forced" what was best for my son.  So there are tears on both sides.  He doesn't understand.  He doesn't know that I'm trying to help him gain something that is so important, something that will help him really see.  I would normally just give up, but I can't--this is too critical.  Someday he will understand just how important this was. His screaming and his tears don't let me off the hook.  Time will pass, and I will keep at it.  Gently, firmly, trying it this way, trying it another way...but I will press on. This isn't my 5-year-old wanting to wear completely mismatched clothes in the wrong season to Sunday School.  I could fight him on that, but is a blue-eyed freckle face little boy showing up in less than traditional church attire on a Sunday morning that big of a deal?  No.  Embarrassing?  Maybe.  But critical?  No.  How about eyesight?  Is that critical?  Yes, no doubt about it.  That one is a big deal.  He is my son. I love him desperately and I will do whatever I can, even if at times he thinks I'm the enemy. 

I think I'm beginning to get the lesson.  How many times have I been blind?  He loves me too much to let me stay that way.  But I am sometimes guilty of shutting out those He sends to love me enough to courageously and gently try to give me sight, those who fit the Proverb that says you can trust wounds from a true friend.  A wise counselor once told Dan and I that the person needing help or correction will most often attack or blame the messenger.  They put up a fight to protect their vulnerabilities.  Yes, I've done that.  But when I have let Him in, again, often coming through the people He sends with His message, it satisfies my soul...even if there was necessary pain in getting there.  When I don't, I just find myself in a constant battle, both in my soul and with those around me.  So I find that I have to redefine Him, making Him into someone He isn't because I want love to be always be soft, when really, sometimes love requires something of me and others that is hard.  Okay Lord, today I am listening.  Help me to see, whatever it takes.  Help me embrace those who really love me rather than walking away.

Other times I find myself in the role that I am in with Joseph.  That role can be so difficult for me because I am a harmonizer.  I want to avoid conflict, pain, and all that goes with it.  But sometimes going through the difficulty to get the joy on the other side is what is best.  And if I really love someone, and I know that love would get into the mess and sensitive places of someone who needs LOVE's new lens, I shouldn't let myself off the hook and avoid getting messy.  Not pushy, not forcibly.  But humble, gentle, firm, truthful--willing be hurt and willing to shed tears myself for the sake of truly helping someone I love.  I can name those who have loved me this way--humbly and gently --not shirking back from getting into the messy trenches of my life.  I am so thankful they stuck with me through it, that they sacrificed themselves to help me to see.  Yes, that is LOVE.  Lord, help me to love that kind of love...

I love my son.  So I move forword, I press into loving him well.  Once again, I'm scared, I'm nervous--and at the same time I'm chuckling because the daily issue that is so pressing in this house must seem pretty silly, it would to me if I were someplace else reading this.  A contact.  Something so small.  Yet something so big.  And something so hard.  But I love him.  So here I am in the trenches of daily life with such a sweet little boy...and one tiny contact...and mercy that comes from One who is bigger than all of this and so much more.  Yes, He is in this trench with us because He is Perfect LOVE and offers HIS Perfect LOVE to me...to Joseph...to each of us, and I can trust Him even when that LOVE seems hard. So I can...breathe in, breath out.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe...

The Adventure Begins--Joseph's Big Day

Thank you so much to all of you who have been praying for all of us as we went through Joseph's big day yesterday!  I can't begin to express how much that means to us!  I'll try to keep this short, but I wanted to let you know that the day went very well and Joseph is returning to normal...even with a patch over his eye.  Here are some of the highlights:

Fasting.  This was a big one for me, you guys must've prayed hard on this one!  He woke up himself 10 minutes before I was going to wake him so that he would be done eating by 2:30 am.  I don't usually give him a bottle after nursing in the middle of the night, but I did this time to make sure his stomach was plenty full.  I got nervous when the bottle seemed to wake him up and he kept acting like he wanted to nurse again at 2:45.  But he thankfully took a pacifier and went back to sleep in my arms.  We decided not to wake him again, even though he could've had Pedialite before 4:30am, because I wasn't sure he'd like the Pedialite and I didn't want him awake and mad.  It turned out well.  He slept until we left at 5:30 and made most of the trip to Children's without crying.  As soon as we were 5 minutes out, he started screaming, but that only lasted until Daddy could rescue him in the parking garage.  Daddy kept him quiet and mostly asleep on his shoulder.  He made it through the 3 rounds of eye drops before they took him back to surgery without much of a fuss, even to the surprise of the nurse giving the drops.  At 7:30 they took him back for surgery, so all in all, he spent 5 minutes crying in the 5 hours of fasting.  I'd say that was a success!

Hospital Staff.  Can I just say we had the best surgery recovery nurse ever!  Actually, my sweet friend, Cheryl, sometimes works surgery recovery and was so very kind to schedule herself that morning to be Joseph's recovery nurse.  I really loved everyone who worked with us, all very competent and had great personalities...it was very reassuring.  But the most emotional part for me was going back to recovery and hearing my baby cry a very distressing cry.  I know coming out of anesthesia is hard, but it was very comforting for me to have Cheryl there as we worked with him and eventually gave him some meds to calm him down.  This obviously was the first time seeing him all patched up...just a little overwhelming all around.  Thank you, Cheryl.  You have crowns in heaven for all you do for the Rauchs!

Discharged that day.  This was huge.  There were so many things that could've kept us there overnight because he was right on the bubble with being so young that in most scenarios they would've kept him.  But everything went so well that we went home by early afternoon.  Taking a hot bath and crawling into my own bed to nap with Joseph never felt so good!

Sleepiness vs. Fussiness.  They warned that the first 24 hours he would either be sleepy or fussy.  When he did stir, he was definitely uncomfortable and fussy, but thankfully he was very sleepy most of the day.

Back home.  My mom was here.  Need I say more?  It was such a relief just having someone here with my kids so I didn't have to shuffle them around.  Not only that, I came home to LEFSE (very big deal for me!), carpet stains cleaned, laundry washed and folded, kids happy, etc.  It was great having her today for the post op check and after since I have found myself a little worn down today and a little sick.  I walked in the door and up to my room to sleep the rest of the day.  When I woke up, dinner was waiting...thank you, Mom!

Post Op Check.  Joseph saw three doctors today, all were very pleased with how his eye looked.  We came home with drops, salve, and very yucky medicine that is supposed to upset his stomach.  Fun.  He needs to wear his eye shield for the next two weeks until he is fitted for his contact.  He goes back both next week and the following week, then we should getting the schedule and gear he is to be on for the next several months to a couple of years. 

Today, Joseph seems back to himself.  I can't tell you how sweet it was to see him open his good eye this morning and give me a little smile!  Even when he cries, it isn't the distressed cries of yesterday, and that is reassuring.  The kids, some of whom were pretty disturbed by his eye guard, are getting used to it and have bounced back to normal with Joseph as well. 

So again, thank you, thank you, thank you!  We feel very blessed and very loved, so much to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving week!