The Post My Sister Promises She Will Never Read

Today was another day of photo shoots-about half as many families as yesterday so I apparently I should only be half as exhausted.

But I'm not here to talk about the beauty of photographing, instead I am here to tell an embarrassing story about myself-yay!

I had a 2 hour break in the shooting this afternoon and came home to grab some lunch and upload the memory cards I had. I started nuking my soup and decided that I was going to use my Neti Pot. I had been a little stuffy all day, it was more than my regular allergy medicine regime could handle and I figured that pouring a little warm saline through my nostrils was just the ticket.

About an hour later, I was photographing a family (who also happened to be dear old friends as well.) We were all over the beach and had found a perfect rock with the perfect shade to catch some shots of the sweet three year old of the family. In trying to get her to smile, I tiled my head, and the camera, alllllll the way to the right.

That's when I felt it. It was running down my face, onto the camera just a little bit and down my shirt.
It was Neti Pot Saline...RUNNING OUT OF MY NOSE!!

Thankfully, the three year old was being incredibly cute and all eyes were on her.......not on the photographer wiping saline off of her face.



When telling the story to my sister and her hubby on the phone later, Kris figured it out: "The saline sensed the presence of it's own kind...it just wanted to go home!"

..............snap..................

I had a full day of photography mini sessions for a playgroup at a nearby church. I have been photographing some of these families for 4 years....I have become so attached to some many of them. They have added family members, grown inches and feet and some of them (the dads!) have even become better listeners over the years. And when a tutu'd, pink pearl-wearing, pigtail'd 5 year old runs up to you shouting "Miss Bethany! Miss Bethany!" and then gives you a hug, you might decide right then and there that you have the best life anyone had ever lived.

There were 14 families today.
6 hours of photographing.
1300+ pictures to sort through.

It is a lot. I have only (only!) half that tomorrow and it increases the work load, that is for sure. And it will be a little stressful on my time management skills. And parenting skills. And my "balance my life so I can do it all" skills. (But I don't think anyone actually possesses this skill.)

But one of the things that keeps me coming back to this playgroup, to this little side "hobby" of mine, is seeing families. There was a family of 3 snuggling on a rock with the golden light of sunset on them. The mother, father and son were looking off in the distance and for a split second, the mom turned her head straight to the camera and her face, filled with peace, said "This is my Family." And I absolutely started crying.

Family photos can show who you are (the one year old eating mouthful and mouthful of sand) or hide some of your flaws (the boy who gave his brother a bloody nose and then stood next to that brother with smiles all around.) But every once in awhile, a photo can completely sum up who your family is when they are together. And, as a photographer, I live for those moments.

Especially since, many years ago, I was the recipient of one.......

The Four Corners of Life

While wandering the beautiful aisles of Target (two stories! kid free!) with my sister recently, I decided that from now on, I am going to life my life according to the cliches, um, WISE WORDS written on picture frames. After all, if it is important enough to be written next to your favorite picture of your family, it must really be something to live for! So here are just a few key life lessons.....

The first thing you have to learn when living Life By Frames, is that it is important to Live and Laugh and Love. In fact, you are told this a lot. Over and over again. But sometimes you are told to Live and THEN Love and then Laugh. I am very unsure if this is a recipe and therefore the order of the ingredients matters or if you can choose the order in which you laugh or live or love.

(Occasionally you are told to Live and Laugh and then DANCE! Like no one is watching! I feel that can be left as a personal decision. Because you really don't want me to dance like no one is watching--it just isn't pretty and there's more jiggly-ness happening than most people can stomach.)

I have been married for 13 years now and it was only today that I found the key to being in love. Because if Two Hearts in Love Need No Words then I don't have to talk anymore! This means I have more time to....

...measure my life. But how do I go about doing that? Is it by the breaths I take? Wait! The Frame Has Spoken! Because Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away. I am so glad to know this. Counting breaths was tiring.

There are a lot of definitions. Definitions of what a sister is, what a grandparent is, what a grandchild is and I think that is so important. Just the other day, I had a ton of people gathered around me and I wasn't sure who was whom...but the frames helped me sort it out through their definitions. This is also helpful once the picture is in the frame and I am an old lady. One glance at the frame and I will remember who my friends are!

Next time I go shopping, I am going to keep my eyes open for advice on children. I am quite anxious to see what The Frames have to say about how I should parent!

Scary Mary

I really don't have anything to say about this....other than how fantastic it is.
And how I wish I'd seen this in time to share on Halloween.
And how much I love love love love Mary Poppins.
And Julie Andrews.
And Dick Van Dyke.
And David Tomlinson.
And KITES!

I think that's it.
Wait, one more thing!
Michelle, don't be mad about this. This is funny, not sacrilegious.

Waterproof Uncle

Well friends, it is the Busy Season for Family Photographers. We have been taking pictures of some very beautiful people and even had an all day shoot recently. So we had to call on the assistance of AUNT TEE TEE (who comes with her own superhero theme music) and now that she's a married lady this also includes UNCLE KRIS (who will one day have his own theme music, but for now only gets his name in all caps.)

The plan was for Kris and Kristy to wrangle Zablets while David and I wrangled other people's kids and attempted to get that ONE SHOT for the family Christmas cards. But since David had to call in sick with the flu and was barely coherant enough to put on his own socks (I really wish I was kidding about that) the plan changed to Kristy assisting me with the shoot and Kris wrangling Zablets and a 102 degree David.

The shoot went really well and we had a TON of fun with our families and when we called on the way home to see how things were, we heard a lot of giggling. Ella was put on the phone telling us she was drawing on Kris's head. Thinking we misheard, we spoke to Lucy who confirmed the story. And finally we got Kris on the phone who said, indeed, he'd allowed the girls to color with my (brand new and special gifted from Michelle) markers atop his bald-tastic skull.

And, well, they were all telling the truth.....







I was so sure that David was completely surrendered to his fever and out of it because "there is no way he'd let this happen if he had his wits about him" I reported to Kristy on the way home.

Wrong again. His fever had dipped, he was up watching Fox News and laughing at his brother in law. Just when you think you know someone.......

Proper Echo Punctuation

I know, I put a mustache picture up for my header. I'm kind of obsessed with the 'stache and since that adorable 2 year old in the picture carries my homemade mustache around all day, it is just hard to get out of my mind.

Let's use this time to talk about things that are hard to get out of our minds, shall we?

*cue big voiced announcer*
"THINGS THAT ARE HARD TO GET OUT OF OUR MINDS" (minds, minds, minds)
(Should I have put quotes around the echo? Is an echo still considered a quote? Could this train of thought possibly totally derail the direction in which this blog was heading? No! Because this is all about things that are hard to get out of our minds so it's still there! In my mind! And we are moving on now.....)

That awesome segue provides me with the opportunity to blog my annual "Hey Old Lady at My Polling Place, You Have Too Much Cleavage Showing" comment. This is terribly exciting because it is the sort of thing that I usually publish on Facebook but today I am posting it HERE! Okay, here goes....

Hey Lady at my polling place, you have too much cleavage showing.
And when I say that I mean, too much for an old lady and too much for a young lady. And as much as I would like to go into the actual logistics why it would be inappropriate amount of cleavage even for a young lady, this is a family blog and I will instead simply suggest trying a new kind of bra. Although props this year for dressing up the droopy girls in a little bit of red, white and blue.

Sincerely,
Voter B Who Will Always Vote and Will Probably Be Subjected to Your Cleavage For at Least a Few More Years Since You Look to Be in Excellent Health and Are Probably Not Moving Anytime Soon.

PS: Thank you for your service at my polling place.

Many people might find a blog of this kind distasteful. To them I ask one question: What is more American than showing off too much of The Girls? Well, I will tell you:

BLOGGING about how some lady is doing exactly that.
Ahhhhh. I love America.

I Might Knife Someone for a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup

Is it possible to have a candy hangover?

Additionally, there is a big dent in the bowl of candy I had on the counter as if someone who, whilst walking out the door for work, grabbed a whole sandwich sized Ziploc bag's worth of mini Snickers and the like, and stuffed it all in his laptop bag. And if I was the sort of person who counted her sandwich sized Ziploc bags, I could tell you if that is what really happened. But I'm not.

But perhaps I should be......hmmm.

It's now NaBloPoMo and it means I will be writing in this here place. And I have things to say, let me tell you. Things about.....my kids and.......um, television and um, diplomatic policies. (That's right, more than ONE policy!) But most of the time you will get whatever comes out of the tips of my fingers and the top of my head.

So for today, I offer this: It's Ella. With a mustache on a stick. Isn't that interesting and cutting edge and will keep you coming back each day for more!?



I knew it.
See you tomorrow!

Psalm 139:13

You can Read Part One of our story here

*This part of our story includes medical information that may make some people uncomfortable. I will, of course, aim to be as tasteful and modest as possible. But I also wanted to give fair warning before we continue.*

I woke up the next day-Sunday-morning and heard David taking a shower. Ella was talking and playing in her bed and Nate was probably off reading a Calvin and Hobbes comic book somewhere. I needeed to get up becasue we had decided to take Nate to his baseball game. But first I just laid there with my eyes shut. I forced myself to feel everything Iw as feeling. I told myself, "This is what it feels like to wake up in the morning knowing your child is dead." And then I began crying.

I sobbed into my pillow. I cried for my loss, the loss of my children of their sibling. I cried knowing that this was a child who had the potential to be one of the most fantastic people on the face of the earth--but no more. I would never know this child. I hadn't even felt this baby move.

I felt safe to cry because David was in the shower. He needed a break. He needed to go a few minutes without having to hold me and mop up after me. But I forgot about Nathan who has some sort of radar built in to come and find me when i am crying. I felt him climb into bed with me and wrap his arms around me and beg me to tell him what was wrong. I heard the panic in his voice and I pulled myself together enough to tell him, "I miss our baby." I cried some more and Nathan didn't let go. He held me and said he understood.My wise 7 year old just let me cry some more and then offered encouragement, "You know Mommy, in 20, 30 or 40 years, you will get to see the baby again in heaven." I wanted to slug him (20 years? I will only be 53!) and smooch him all at the same time. (Thank you God for Nathan!) (Remember, you are keeping track of all of these.) When David came out of the shower, I felt better for the moment and we gathered ourselves off to baseball.

The rest of the day was a blur. There were a lot of tears. I didn't talk on the phone a whole lot but texted a few people. My Mom kept Lucy who was really doing well and loving her one-on-one time with Grandma Sisi. that evening, our next door neighbor who just started teaching AWANA at our church took all of the kids with her to AWANA so David and I could be alone. (Thank you God!)

We had some hard conversations. We had to talk about the practical side of things. My child was still inside and was going to have to come out one way or another. But what was right? Go to a hospital, do things clinically, cleanly, with experts around us and risk that we'd be in a room of people who would not regard our child as a being with a soul? Or do we opt or fight to have the process occur naturally at home and run the medical risk plus the emotions of associating a room in our home with losing our baby? We were overwhelmed. We handed the decision to God. Begged Him to make it clear what would be best for the two of us. And then we talked out both scenarios so we would be prepared when the time came. I had a doctor's appointment Monday evening but a friend who had been sharing her wisdom and experience with me guessed that Nature would take it's course before then. My gut agreed. The same gut that was feeling crampy all evening.

I cried myself to sleep that night. I had survived another day.
I still did not feel alone. I still felt some peace, bits and pieces of it. But I still didn't feel like anything that was happening was real, either.

Monday morning we all got up and got the big kids ready for school. David got to see the crazy process and go through the steps I take every day as one of those moms who stands on the campus watching her kids walk to class till there isn't anything left to watch. while talking to some girlfriends who knew about Saturday, the cramps I had been feeling began to grow stronger.

When we got home, I sat next to Ella in her high chair and watched her eat breakfast. the "cramps" were beginning to feel familiar-more like contractions. David called the clinic and wondered what to do when suddenly I had the feeling of my water breaking. We had already discussed that I would go to our upstairs bathroom and we met up there. By the time I had removed my pants and another gush of blood came, I was pushing. It was a very strange mix of both the totally familiar but completely unreal.

I knew when the baby had come out and-as we had discussed-David looked the baby over to see if it was intact. This was something I had been warned about and had decided I only wanted to see if the baby was whole. It was. (Thank you, thank you, thank you God!) I looked down at my....son. Yes, no doubt it was a boy. Just as I had suspected. He had tiny little ear flaps and dark black little eyes, he had a miniature button nose and a sweet mouth turned downward. One hand was on his chest and the other was laying to his side with his palm open and David saw all 5 fingers. He looked like a baby. This was our son.

David and I sat and held each other again just like we had been doing for the last 2 days but this time we were thankful, joyful even, and yet grieving. We cried and prayed and just looked at him. We knew that our prayers had been answered and as we sat there totally alone, with Ella perfectly happy in her high chair eating breakfast downstairs. (Thank You God!) We were so thankful that this morning had been put together to fit exactly what we needed. We needed to do this in private, we needed to have time with our son. What a gift this moment was.

We hadn't discussed what to put the baby in but made a decision and I insisted that he be wrapped in a baby blanket. David was not sure where to look for one and with my organizational skills, knew it might not be easy to find. However, just the night before I walked into the kitchen to find a baby blanket on the kitchen floor. I don't know why it was there. Ella or Lucy probably dragged it downstairs to play with. I'd picked it up and tossed it on the counter. I gave David specific directions and we had our blanket. (Thank You God!) I found out later that there were TWO baby blankets on the counter. David got to pick which one to wrap our boy in! Just explain that to me...I can by saying: Thank You God!

We needed to go to the doctor so I made a few phone calls while David attended to the baby. Michelle was coming for Ella and my mom had amazingly offered to clean up our bathroom while we were gone. (Thank You God!) David helped me out of the tub and suddenly I felt dizzy. I was sure it would pass and I lowered myself back down. The tunnel vision began and I kept saying, "I'm fine! I'm fine! Don't call 911, I'm fine!" Apparently those words turned into something more of an "ImfiiineI'mfinefinefine." The last thing I remember is hearing David, "That's it." and the sound of his phone dialing 911.

I had dreams....dreams of throwing up, (ewww!) dreams of a taalll man in dark blue standing over me and not feeling afraid (the paramedic standing on my bathtub while getting me out) and a mustache with kind eyes asking me what day it was and panicking because I actually didn't know-not because I had brain damage. On the way out of my house, I saw Michelle who had been called to come over when everything was fine and met the paramedics at my door. I couldn't stop apologizing to her because I knew my body's actions were making her face look so worried. On our way out, David handed our wrapped up baby to the paramedics. I was told later that as he did, he said firmly to the men, "Don't do anything distasteful in front of my wife."

I can't tell that part of the story without crying. When I heard those words I was struck and overcome with the amount of selflessness my husband was displaying in that moment. We both lost a son. We both had seen him and felt the pain. There wasn't one grieving more than the other. But he knew how important it was to me for our baby to be treated with dignity. I have an amazing husband (but that is a whole other blog for a whole other time.)

I spent the rest of the day in the hospital. My amazing amazing school mom friends took my big kids from school to Chuck E Cheese. My mom, sister, sister's husband, and bestie Michelle cleaned my downstairs and kitchen. Folded and washed a ton of laundry and I still can't find the little pan I cook my eggs in. And then they fed, cleaned, jammied and loved my 3 kids while I was gone. My pastor came up and visited with book in hand to read out loud. And the text messages and phone calls and e-mails poured in. The love, support, kindness--all overwhelming. It was impossible to overlook as anything but a blessing. Thank You God! (And thank you to all our friends!)

When I was young, my mom had a book called "A Child is Born" that had amazing pictures of real babies while they were still in the womb. I was delighted to find my own copy of the same version of that book right after I got married. And then only a few years ago, I found an updated copy. the pictures are stunning, moving (sometimes distrubing and not fit for the young children in your house) but all of it is an amazing display of the details that God has put into the making of a human. A week or two ago, I wnated to see if there was a photo that represented where our son was in the development process. The kids were interested and I knewmy family would want to see but mostly so I could have an additional image in my head of what he looked like. I wasn't sure if I would find one that was exact but I looked through every single page.

And, I am thankful and pleased to be able to share this picture with you. Because this is what my son looked like....

Psalm 139:13
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.

My dad called for an update while I was in the hospital and since I was stable, we got to talk. He was grieved and I could hear the pain in his voice as I told him everything that had happened. He said to me, "I can only imagine that this is the worst day of your life."

I paused and told him, "No. Saturday was the worst day of my life. On Saturday, my baby was dead. But today? Today I got to meet my son."

Psalm 34:18

It was mid July when we found out that we were expecting...again. And it was a surprise to us....again. And as I wrestled with the direction that God was taking our family, I really honestly did have faith that He knew what was going on. Because I have been through a number of things in my life that have been a roller coaster of events and God has never, EVER let me down in the midst of pain and confusion and a slew of other emotions and experiences. So I was ready...well, mostly ready. Okay, kinda ready.

By August, after I had survived crazy weekends, crazy hormones and Vacation Bible School, I really WAS ready. My tummy was popping out a little bit. I was puking all the time. This was the real deal baby! Ohhhh, baby. A Zab baby. Yes. I love those Zab babies. I love my Zab Mister. This is good.

At least, that's how I felt most of the time. Other times, I wished I wasn't pregnant. The pregnancy was bringing some insane complications into my life and making it VERY difficult to function. I wrestled with depression, anger, and a little bit of bitterness. However, I never felt alone. God was there. My amazing friends were SO there. And my husband...oh he is the best. So onward we went.

Saturday, September 25, I awoke with some spotting. Nothing that was a big deal. But enough to puzzlingly tilt my head at. At a split moment of panic, collecting all the struggles I'd had with this pregnancy and adding them up to equal a whole lot of "Mom Guilt" I said to David, "I really really need everything to be okay right now." David and I decided a trip to the ER might be a good idea. Kids were easily squared away (thank you God!) and we were off. David even brought the camera for when we were done thinking it would be fun to wander around downtown and take pictures of stuff.

The ER wasn't crowded (thank you God!-keep track of these) and we were shown to our bed right away. And moments later, we were whisked away to Ultrasound. "Maybe we will get to see if it's a boy or a girl today!" When the tech pulled up our images, I saw the baby. Our baby! This was David's first time getting to see our little Peanut. But the baby was really really still. And I didn't see anything in the baby's middle that looked like a heartbeat. I dismissed it. But that gut feeling spread all over when the tech quickly jumped to take pictures of ovaries and then got up to consult with the radiologist.

The radiologist came in and asked me some questions regarding baby movement, other complications during pregnancy and the like. She then told us that from what she could see, the baby was no longer alive.

I think I blinked at her a whole lot and wondered whose life I had wandered into because THIS was not happening to ME. Remember, I had called for everything to be okay just that morning. Remember? The next 30 minutes contained a lot of crying and holding each other and staring and more crying. I was shocked how quickly my tummy could go from feeling full with life to empty and void.

The rest of the day at the hospital had us seeing more doctors, being told of all the decisions we would have to make and many many heartbreaking texts and phone calls to our friends and family. I prayed Jesus would come back. I prayed that somehow I would never have to leave the hospital room I was in. I prayed that these doctors were wrong and by the POWER of CHRIST may my baby be ALIVE.

None of those things happened. Instead I found myself surrounded by caring doctors and nurses offering their condolences. Treating me kindly as a human being (thank you God!) and treating our baby as a human being as well. (Thank you God!) We checked out of the hospital feeling "crushed in spirit" and unsure what life looked like on this side of a great loss. The headache I had been nursing all day long was pounding all kinds of thoughts in and out of my head and finally beat me so badly that David had to pull the car over so I could be sick on the side of the road.

We drove to my mom's house where she and her husband Tim, my sister Kristy and her husband Kris had been wrangling kids all day. There were a lot of hugs and tears and some bits and pieces of normal conversation. And the time came to talk to Nathan and Lucy about what had happened. Ella was napping so we all gathered around in the living room. As we told the kids, Nathan began crying. At 7 years old, he understands death and loss on a greater level than Lucy. We told the kids that our baby was in heaven with Jesus. Joked that the baby was possibly riding around on Grandma Great's walker like Nathan used to do when he was little and how our baby was now living with no pain or sadness. Nathan, who was sitting on my lap, looked at me and said, "You mean like the pain and sadness we are feeling right now?" I told him he was exactly right. My family then prayed over us. We were lifted up to the Father to be cared for. We sat there empty and shocked and grieving. David broke down in a way I have never seen in 15 years together. That prompted Lucy to also start crying. I held my daughter in one arm and my strong husband in another. This whole situation feeling so foreign and ill-fitting to me as Kris poured beautiful words of healing over our wounds, lifting us up in prayer.

When we were done, Lucy looked up at me and looked deep into my eyes. "Does this mean we won't get to go swimming at Grandma Sisi's?" And when she was told we wouldn't be swimming, a whole new batch of tears began. My mom, recognizing the need David and I had to be with our kids but also needing a bit of a break (and also her own need to have a freckled five year old to squeeze) offered to keep Lucy overnight. (Thank you God!) We bundled everyone else up, went home and tucked them into bed.

Our Saturday was over. We survived the worst day of our lives.
We fell asleep holding one another, crying and praying for strength.

But this was not the end of our story.....

The Shape of the Mold

In our lives we have stories....moments or things that have happened to us that form who we are as a person. We share these at a party or a casual gathering- something funny or embarrassing to yourself or the family member sitting nearest to you (if you are a part of my family. (And, if you read my blog, you probably are.)) These are the round, smooth edges of who we are. The extra bit of dimple in our cheeks or even the slope of our belly that laughs and our hips that dance.

But there are also stories that really form the sharp edges and corners of who we are as we walk on the earth. These are the stories that we tell one-on-one, over coffee with a friend, during an intimate dinner with our closest friends or a counselor if the moments are too hard to work through on your own. As a Christian, we call these our testimony. Part of the story of our lives that God has allowed to happen and has walked alongside us for a journey that is painful, unrelenting and always memorable.

My family went through that very thing about a month ago.
It began Saturday, September, 25 and came to a climax on Monday, September 27.

I will be taking the next few days to write out our story. Because it has changed my life. And because I can't be quiet. I have to talk about the things God has done for David and me.

I hope you will find the time to read it.

2010 Mini Sessions

It's that time again!! (Pardon the little advertisement)

A Link With a Side of Insanity

This is what made my day today: Pregnant Chicken on Caffeine

*bonus points go to Mel for sending this to me*

Additionally, this weekend was one of those weekends that involved so very little individual activities but seemed to require very much of me. 2 mornings of waking early for stuff for my kids to do and very little time left for sitting on my couch.

My couch misses me. It thinks I like my daytimer better. And I keep trying to tell it that I love them both very much and I could never choose between the two of them! But then it became very upset and refused to let me sit on it.

Well, that really didn't go over well. I mean, it's just downright disrespectful. But like many other tired moms, I didn't really respond the best way. I sat on the OTHER couch and wrote long calendar notes in my daytimer and even changed up the pen colors just to make the daytimer feel special. But that backfired.

Suddenly the daytimer seemed to be adding extra activities that I hadn't ever seen before and it was very clear that it knew exactly what I was up to and didn't appreciate being USED.

"But you are a DAYTIMER. That is why Staples let me take you home. To USE you!" I replied.

It was at that moment that I realized that I was actively going crazy and told all the inanimate objects that this conversation was closed and searched for a live person to talk to.

Yep. (Repeat)

Used once before in 2007 and still true today.

Happy Monday Like No Other

Some days, when I am in the middle of explaining to a 2 year old why she was put on time out for yelling at her mother, my mind will suddenly explain to my body how much happier it would be playing Lego Indiana Jones 2 on the Wii than talking to a 30 pound tyrant. One of these days, my mind might actually win.

Here's wishing you the kind of week where you see something lovely....like a flowered branch with a ladybug on it....




...but when you look a little closer, it's actually two ladybugs and they'd like you to close the door behind you when you leave.

Yes, We Know What Causes That

So....many of you who are Facebook Friends already have heard about this....

And I will be honest, it caught us a little by surprise. Kind of like when you're walking along and someone hurls a wet fish at your face and you don't even like fish. But I DO like babies. And I like MY babies especially. But the dreamy love of a newborn sometimes gets pushed out of the way of cold reality. A glance at my home, the day to day life of the Zab Clan and just what I think I am able to endure and I become overwhelmed. The blood in my veins goes icy cold and I fly into a tailspin that usually doesn't end nicely.

I know God has my back. He has been faithful through moments in my life when no one else could be. And I know He's going to help me with this one too. But because I am human, my imagination runs away with me and we are back to the doubt and the ice water and the freaking out.

Today I was granted access to my laptop whose cord has given up the ghost and I haven't yet replaced it with a functioning cord. I was looking at pictures that were trapped on here and e-mailing documents to myself. I was letting that imagination go crazy again and wondering how I was going to handle an extra person in my care without severely messing them up when I came across a photo I had never seen before that shut all those fears down.

It is Ella and Me....she is exactly 11 minutes old. We had just gotten her out after thinking we had lost her a few times. Her face was no longer blue but her hands and fingers stayed pretty blue for a good 24 hours. This picture brings me peace, hope and reminds me that they don't come out at 2 1/2 screaming bloody murder and hitting and throwing around toddler curse words because their older sister won't give them a My Little Pony they want. (Wait, that was a very specific example. Almost as if it happened this very morning. As if it happened this very morning and was then followed by Mommy yelling so loud that the next door neighbors could hear it through the walls!)

It will be okay. There will be more yelling due to that "I'm human" part I talked about earlier. But there will also be moments like this picture. They will take my breath away and remind me what god has given me. What He has challenged me: To raise little people to become adults who live in the Love of Christ.

It's gonna be quite a ride!

Key to Reading the "Love Song"

I don't like raisins.

I consider it to be a great act of love when I make tuna for Lucy and David.

Spearmint gives me a headache.

http://fallingoutofthewardrobe.blogspot.com/2010/07/love-song.html

A Love(?) Song*

You're the raisin in my toast,

the tuna in my salad.

You are the chihuahua in my walk and the Rocky Road Ice Cream of my day.

You're the hazelnut cream in my coffee,

the red delicious apple of my eye.

You are the beautifully dressed salmon placed upon my dinner table.

You're the Nutri-Grain bar of my mornings,

the Kirsten Dunst of my evenings.

You are the Pepsi to my summer and the Egg Nog to my winter.

You're the spearmint in my garden,

the ballpoint pen of my musings.

You are the bbq chips to my party and the Sponge Bob of my playtime.

You are the magenta hue coloring my world.

* Song inspired by "I Love You" from the "Songs That Tickle Your Funny Bone" record I had growing up as a kid. Yes, I said record.

He Heard My Cry

If God hadn't been there for me, I never would have made it. The minute I said, "I'm slipping, I'm falling," your love, God, took hold and held me fast. When I was upset and beside myself, you calmed me down and cheered me up. Psalm 94:16-19 (The Message)

"I'm slipping, I'm falling...."
I cried this very thing to the Lord this weekend. I cried it out to a few trusted friends. Their answers of encouragement and prayers texted to me lifted me up and carried me through a busy weekend that was suddenly causing me unexplained and crippling fear.

But He heard my cries! And He was faithful! And I survived the weekend-even enjoyed it!

And while it doesn't make for the most interesting of blog posts, I simply couldn't let it go by without sharing my Thankfulness with you.

If It Quacks Like a Duck...

I haven't been writing.

My sister and I had a conversation about it.

I told her that each day that passes without me writing or blogging, I feel like a fish that is laying on a hot sidewalk shriveling up.

And then I realized in that conversation that I don't know how to spell shriveling.

I would like to spell it: Shrivelling

But the "sh" sound is too clean, I think it really should be schrivelling.

After suggesting that I spell it as I FELT it, I typed it to my sister as:

S C H R I V V E L L I N G

But I really doubt that's the right way to spell it.





I have no punch line for this story. Instead, a picture!!



This is a documenting of the fact that my friend Carol is an evil genius.

Carol and I have been trading a ceramic duck back and forth for over 8 years. We found it in a dollar store or some odd place like that. It killed us with hilarity so we bought it. She tells the story best here.

Michelle was given the lovely cross from a student when she was working at a local Christian school. Michelle and Carol soon had their own gift exchange going with Michelle and I sometimes collaborating together to try and get the duck and cross back in Carol's possession.

The day we went to dinner to celebrate the marriage of my sister to Michelle's "brother from another mother," Carol got us. She had the bride and groom give their sisters gifts of "appreciation" for "all of the hard work" they had done on the wedding. Mailed from Northern California to San Diego only a handful of days before and then wrapped lovingly by the bride, Carol turned our very family against us. (Do you see? The Evil?!)

And she got us. She got us good.

I think the only way I can get her back is to get pregnant, get her to be present for the delivery and somehow give birth to the duck. Who's the Evil Genius now?!

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So, this happened....

That's my baby sister. She's a married lady now.

See those totally adorable tissue paper balls hanging in the background? Those tissue paper balls and other things like them are the reason for my prolonged absence.

Be glad you aren't the tubs of unplanted withered flowers in my backyard.....or the dishes that just want to be clean and home in their cupboard rather than in the cold, uncomfortable sink because then you would be not only neglected but losing leaves and possibly covered in dried spaghetti sauce.

You know what you SHOULD be? My daytimer. It gets a LOT of my attention. You get to go everywhere with me, I look at you all the time and rely on your exclusively to keep my life together. And I write on you-in all kinds of pretty colors!

Now don't be sad you aren't my daytimer, I can write on you guys with all kinds of pretty colors too. Interested?

It's Monday Morning. I have a hangover from a weekend that contained no alcohol whatsoever but it did contain a whole lot of happy. And because I am happy, I am leaving you with Uncle Kracker's "Smile." I got to sing with with some very dear friends after my sister and her mister were pronounced husband and wife.

Happy Monday everyone.