Seasons

It has been over a month since I last wrote. Do you know how I know that? Because you all keep telling me. Little FB messages, little comments here, little emails in my inbox. And oh how I appreciate them (well except for the one from BlogHer telling me they were suspending my ads) because it made me feel missed and it made me feel loved and oh how I do love validation--just like my book Breaking the Chains of Low Self-Esteem says I do.

One of the reasons I haven't been blogging, besides that I just didn't feel like it (you other writers understand this) is that I've been in the process of making a big decision.

Early in March, members of Council were asked to turn in their decisions of whether or not we would be returning in the Fall. For those of you who don't know, for 2 years I have served on a leadership team at my church. It has been an amazing experience that has grown me as a leader, a wife, a mother, a Christ follower, a friend...etc. etc. etc. Serving on Council and doing what I got to do week in and week out felt like the greatest of all sweet spots. I don't know that I have ever felt that I was doing EXACTLY what God created me to do more than when I was doing what I was doing on Council: public speaking, teaching, leading, being a part of an amazing Bible study. So that's why it was so weird when earlier this year I felt God calling me out of it. I felt myself losing joy and losing passion but passed it off as just being tired. Remember I've been going through all this sleep apnea business and chalked up to that. Yet part of me knew that God MAY be calling out of this ministry and I told Hot Jeff that I was going to start praying about it very intentionally but that if God was calling me out and I would have to let go, that it would have claw marks in it.

To make a long story short God showed me in several different ways, on several different occasions that I should resign. Then I asked Him for confirmation. And He graciously gave it to me...that very evening. God is so patient. So eternally patient.

So March came and it was time to give an answer and this is where we come to my blog and me not blogging. I've been a little too busy wrestling with God. Desperately trying to make it work. Desperately trying to misinterpret the things I've heard for what I wanted. Here's the interesting thing though, God sometimes calls us out of good things. Sometimes He just wants obedience and for us to trust Him that there's something else around the corner and we can't be in His Will and we can't experience the richness of of His promises unless we're willing to let go. Even of the good stuff.

Last week I told my sisters in Council that I wouldn't be serving with them in the Fall. And I cried the whole time. And I told them I was sad. And I told them I didn't think I would ever, ever, ever leave Council and so that's how I knew it was God (amongst a lot of other reasons). I'm not exactly sure what this next season of life is going to look like or what God is going to have me do. Sensei Jen Roth has suggested that God may be calling me back into a season of fully pouring myself in to my children and husband. Samuel will start kindergarten next year and if you've met Samuel you know that this will be a huge transition for him. It's huge for any kid but Samuel is ultra sensitive to change and will need my full attention and time. I'm blogging while I sit outside and I'm watching them ride their bikes in our and my neighbor's driveways and my heart feels such contentment and peace knowing that I'm going to be spending, at least the next year, just loving on my kiddos. Just watching them ride bikes. Mixing paint for them. Building legos with them. We go, go, go and going back to work part-time has only magnified that feeling of always being on the go. We are a family of home-bodies and having somewhere to go every morning and almost every night is exhausting us.

So here's what I'm coming away with and going to hold tightly too until I'm told to do something else: margin. Sustainability. Freedom. Rest. That may sound a little cryptic and I may or may not elaborate in a later blog post but the bottom line is that I'm in a good place of knowing that I've made the right choice, despite it breaking my heart.

Finally, for those of you who I've been in Hearts at Home with over the last 4 years and on General Session team with 3 years ago and on Council the last 2 years with--thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. We had been attending Salem Alliance for over a year and I knew about 6 people. Going to Hearts at Home introduced me to countless women (and in turn their families) who changed my life. You know who you are. You gave me community; a true place to belong. You showed me that being a mother and wife is the highest of all callings and that I could honor my Maker by serving my family. You brought tremendous joy and laughter in to my life. You have loved my kids, my husband and me unconditionally and without limit and you have brought us meals and cards and flowers and coloring books when we were sick. You have loved me through seasons, surgery, bad moods, good moods, depression, joy, milestones, craziness and everything else. You have taught me to read my Bible deeper, trust God more wholeheartedly and the true joy of being my authentic self. I am in debt to every single one of you who has smiled at me, remembered my name, hugged me, invited me to sit with you, invited me to serve with you, laughed at my emcee-ing antics and told me that something I said meant something to you.

My cup runneth over. Thank you.

The Devil Lives in Cone Lunges

I made it to Boot Camp today. I got my butt handed to me on a sweaty platter. Oddly it felt wonderful. Thankfully my pants were black.

What is it about that class that is so addictive? I wish I knew so I could cut it out and go back to sleeping in. My arm held out great--thank You Jesus. There is something to be said about adrenaline and every other part of your body being on fire to make the pain in your arm dissipate.

On an unrelated note, Molly died. Seriously. Why can't this family keep a hamster alive? I swear I am doing everything right yet this is the second one to die after having her for only 6 weeks. Even though we all seemed to be a lot more attached to Molly than Riley there weren't as many tears. In fact, there weren't any tears at all up until I told Samuel we weren't going to get another hamster. Hot Jeff piped in and said we could get a dog. What??? A dog? Why would I add a 3rd factor in to the ruin-Jen's-carpet equation?

On another unrelated note, I am having my sleep evaluated tonight at Willamette Sleep Center. I have to be there at 7pm--that's like a whole 3 hours before I go to bed! It sounds positively delightful. The rooms are so cozy and there is a big TV and wireless internet. Sounds dreamy to me--I'll probably sleep wonderfully and they'll tell me there's nothing wrong with me. More to come on the sleep study experience for sure!

So on this sunny Monday morning I am thankful for sleep studies and friends who are holding me accountable. What are you thankful for today?

The Naughty List

So it turns out BlogHer is paying attention. After a whole month of not blogging, BlogHer contacted me by email. In the subject line it said, "We've Missed You". Isn't that nice? Don't you wish that every time you were a month late on something you were reminded in such a kind way? Nevertheless, I think I am on BlogHer's naughty list so I'm putting out a blog post to try and get back on the paycheck list.

So here it is...the long awaited post. Last week Shannon told me all she wanted for Christmas was a blog post. So I took back the diamond necklace I had gotten her and am giving her what she wanted. My Mom asked me when I was going to post again. Even Karen Garcia asked me when I was going to write again and I didn't even know Karen Garcia read this blog.

Its shameful really. November was blog month and so all my blogging friends were blogging once a day and I only blogged once the WHOLE MONTH. I think it was a sub-conscience defiance against National Blogging Month. I think it is similar to how I refused to read the Harry Potter books when everyone else was reading them. And the Twilight books. Well actually I refused to read the Twilight books because I don't have braces anymore. I believe only girls who are young enough to have braces should read the Twilight series. I sort of feel this way about Taylor Swift as well. And Justin Bieber.

Does anyone else think Taylor Swift's music all sounds the same? I really like her December something or other song but I pretty much break out in hives when I hear most of her music. And don't even get me started on that song of her's about Tim McGraw.

Since I posted last Samuel has gotten over Liesl and now is in to Jessie from Toy Story. At least Samuel had good taste. Speaking of Samuel's good taste, the other day I could hear him in the bathroom going number two and singing a Lady Antebellum song. From the downstairs bathroom I heard, "Its a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now". I know I should be a little mortified that Samuel is singing a song with the word 'drunk' in it but I was just so pleased that he was singing a great song and got the words right.

Also since I posted last our hamster, Coach Riley, died. It was a freak thing and is accompanied by a funny story. I'm going to try and shock the world and write about it tomorrow. You're welcome.

It has been so long since I wrote on my blog that it made me sign in. Like it kind of thought the author of this blog must have died in a tragic gasoline fight accident and was certain an imposter was trying to get on and write positive comments about Republicans or something. I love its devotion to me and that it made me sign in just to be sure no one got on and wrote nice things about Republicans on here.

I know I owe you some kind of sincere apology for not writing in 2 weeks but the truth is I just don't have it in me. I haven't missed blogging one bit. I think its because I'm too darn busy to miss it. BUT I will say this, your emails, comments and Facebook notes have meant the absolute world to me. Really. It touches my heart to know that my ramblings make a difference in your life; that somehow the words I write make you smile, laugh or stop and think. I love that. And that's actually why, despite wanting to take a bubble bath, I'm writing a blog post.

So...here's what's going on.

I love being back at work. It makes me happy. And when I say happy I want you to hear it like I say it, like with the aaaaaaaaa all drawn out and the y too. Like haaaaaaaaaaappeeeeeeeeeee. I love using my knowledge, gifts, education and love for people in an office where I'm valued, appreciated and acknowledged. I work with AMAZING people and it turns I out I have freak steel trap for a memory which has made the 3 years I was out of the biz feel like 3 days. I got my 24 CE credits in less than a month and am now back to being licensed. Which all brings me to my conversation with Samuel last night.

Samuel: Mom, what do you do at work?
Me: I help people with their insurance.
Samuel: Oh. I thought you made toilet paper.

And speaking of toilet paper...

Jeff and I bought ourselves some bikes. And one of those fancy bike trailers to tow little Roo in and we are like the Brady's with our little trio of bikes and trailer riding all over Salem. Something I never really paid much attention to, until now, is the amount of hills in our neighborhood. And I'm talking like the Sound-of-Music-the-hills-are-alive-and-kicking-my-ass hills.

Since we got the bikes I've been the one riding trailer-less. And I think I am just made for biking because it is so much fun. I'm asking myself questions like "This is so awesome, why didn't we buy bikes years ago" and thinking of buying biking attire and crap like that. Then, on Tuesday I got home from work at 3:30 and was thinking I could use some exercise so I strapped the trailer on and PUT BOTH KIDS IN IT because I didn't want to have to "wait around for Samuel". I'm thinking Samuel is too slow and I'm such a fabulous biker and am going to go out and ride like the wind and take names later and can't be bothered by the slow 4 year old on training wheels.

So yes, my neighborhood has hills. Lots of them. Lots of steep hills and towing that trailer that weighs 7000 pounds and two children who weigh at least 150 pounds EACH nearly killed me. No lie, I literally thought I was going to die.

And here's the saddest part: the last 90 yards or so to my driveway is a slight hill and I COULD NOT GET UP IT. I had to walk the bike and trailer the last 90 yards to my house. Past my gawking neighbors. Past the laughing and pointing children at the park across the street. In front of my children who will forever have the indelible image of their mother WALKING HER BIKE up the hill to her home.

When I told Hot Jeff the story later that night he laughed.

I hate him.

And since I wrote a Samuel funny I'll leave with a Roo one. These kids crack me up. Thank God they are funny; I would hate to have un-funny kids.

Me: Roo, finish your milk before you go outside.
Emily: Why?
Me: Because it will make you strong.
Emily: I'm already strong.

God Reads This Blog

God reads this blog. And I have proof. I wrote about serving my kids and about being all excited to serve them and guess what? They got sick. And while most of the time I don't blame God for illness and other generally bad things, I'm pretty sure this was His doin'. Just a little test to see if I would actually follow through with my good intentions of serving my kids.

Serving your kids is pretty darn easy when they are well enough to follow the house rules, go outside and enjoy a nice day, don't pull at pant leg all day and whine. Oh the whining...

When your kids are sick? Well that's just a whole 'nother ball game of service.

Now don't misunderstand me here; I am not talking about compassion. I've got all sorts of compassion for the poor babes...come on, I'm not a monster. How can you not feel bad for the little buggers when they are all feverish, and shivering and their little coughs sounds like they've swallowed a rottweiler so much so though that I don't know whether to give them cough syrup or perform an exorcism? Poor little things.

No, no, I'm talking service. Like true-I-love-you-more-than-I-love-myself service. That's a hard kind of service. Especially when that service calls for just sitting on the couch and holding them both while watching a marathon of animated favorites. Now like most stay at home Moms our schedules are pretty full so when a "stay home day" (as Samuel calls them) rolls around I like to knock me out some chores so you can imagine with 2 kids on the couch not making a mess behind the one I just cleaned up is rather appealing to me.

Yet when you've got a 2 and 4 year old who are EXACTLY like their mother and want to be loved on when they are sick there is NO house cleaning, or laundry, or bill paying, or blog writing, or thank you card catching up on, or anything else going on. Nope, its pajama snuggle time all day long with only the every 4 hour break to administer more fever reducer. And should I dare to get up and update my Facebook status or get a drink of water or PEE FOR GRACIOUS SAKES its all sorts of drama and whining. So I pretty much sit and hold and snuggle and don't drink nearly as much water as I usually do.

And I while I sit I wonder why its so hard to be still. I think about how in 10 years when they are sick and home from school they will just sit and text and want me to leave them alone. I wonder why I can't just stop looking at the dishes piling up in the sink and enjoy these lovable moments where both of my babies are by my side and holding my hands and not needing anything in the whole world but their Mama.

Last night I fought the urge to get online and watch Hulu while Emily slept next to me in my bed. It was 7:00 and she was sleeping fitfully; it was too early for me to sleep but whenever I left her she whimpered so I laid next to her and stroked her hair and fought the urge to go get Ruby and watch a Grey's Anatomy rerun. I thought about all the times my Mama just held me and loved me when I was sick and how I never, ever felt like she wanted to be anywhere else but with me. I thought about service and if how a feverish Jesus was lying in my bed I would never dream of watching TV or reading a book instead of singing a soothing lullaby. I thought about how I wanted to serve my kids better and how I wrote about it (and that's when it dawned on me that God must read my blog) and that this was my first chance to practice what I preached.

So I snuggled with that Baby Roo all night long. I stroked her forehead and sang her songs and kissed her sweet, soft hair (that was nice and clean after our bath together washing her vomit off of both of us). And today I put my big girl panties on and loved those babies of mine all day long. We had another movie marathon but my heart was a little less self-centered and a little bit more service centered and I can honestly tell you there was no other place I would have been than on the couch with Samuel and Emily.

The Worst Day of the Year

Certainly the worst day of the year has to be the 3rd day after Christmas. For days and days my children have been living on sugar. Their diet has consisted of that which resembles an elf's: "candy, candy corn, candy canes and syrup". I've gladly been letting them hog it down so that when its gone its gone and I don't have to be bothered with it anymore. For the record, I do this exact same thing after Halloween. For days and days they just bounce off the walls and I hear things like, "Mama is a dooty head, a dooty head, a dooty head. Mama is a dooty head and I like to eat vacuums." Just rude, non-sensical stuff that I chalk up as "the sugar talking". Now don't be too alarmed, I've mixed in an occasional bowl of cereal and macaroni and cheese but for the most part they've stuck to their elf diet and I haven't heard much complaining about it. None in fact. Its been bliss. When I was a little girl I was convinced that heaven was going to be filled with my Gigi's No-Bake cookies and now as a mother I can only hope it is because my kids are never as happy as they are when they are holding a cookie. It would bum me out to have to fight with my kids about eating in heaven. That would be a real drag.

Yesterday evening I heard the dreaded words, "Mama, I'm hungry" and I realized all the moose munch, sugar cookies, Santa shaped chocolate bars and plastic candy canes filled with M&M's must be gone and I was sad. So sad. And hence, the 3rd day after Christmas when all the sugared food is gone and I have to start preparing meals again is the worst day of the year. You see feeding my children is my least favorite thing about my life. If I could change anything it would be my childrens' taste buds. Samuel and Emily wouldn't know a vegetable if it stood up and bit them in the butt. They are convinced that vegetables are those plastic toys that go with the play kitchen. Last week when I was cutting up carrots for my salad Samuel asked me why I was eating reindeer food. See what I mean?

When they were babies and toddlers they ate and ate vegetables. And of course I was the bestest mommy ever and made all my own baby food (mixed with breast milk, of course) so you'd think they would have this wonderful foundation of healthy eating. Apparently not.

They will eat fruit. Of course fruit is just nature's version of candy so of course they like fruit. I'm thinking of starting to roll their vegetables in sugar and see if they'll eat them like that. Or perhaps peanut butter. It will be like giving a dog medicine...you just roll it in peanut butter and shove it in before they know what you're giving them. "Here Samuel and Emily, try this long crunchy piece of peanut butter; you'll LOVE it!"

New Years doesn't offer much in the candy category so it looks like the battle lines have been drawn until at least February when we have Valentines day and I have heart shaped chocolates to look forward to. Hooray!

Reality Check

Sometimes I forget that I am a SaHM. That's my job: being a Stay at Home Mom. Being Samuel and Emily's Mommy is my job. My job is not to keep the house clean at all times. My job is not to blog. My job is not to talk to Besties on the phone. My job is not ministry. My job is being Samuel and Emily's Mommy. Period.

Sometimes I forget that. In fact, most of the time I forget that.

So I bought a book (because I LOVE books) to help me remember. It is called "365 Games Toddlers Love to Play" and I went through page by page last night and bent the tops of corners on the pages I liked. And this morning I took it downstairs and we went to work on playing. Because Mommy doesn't do nearly enough playing. Mommy does a lot of laundry. Mommy does a lot of farting around. Mommy does a lot of wasting time on Facebook but Mommy doesn't spend a lot of time playing with her kiddos.

It was my night to put Samuel down tonight and as I prayed over him I realized I only have approximately 2 years left until he spends the majority of days with someone else. I will never, ever, ever get this time back. So I need to make the most of it.

When my kids grow up and think of their early childhood I want them to remember us playing games on the floor, painting, making obstacle courses with couch cushions and tickling. Lots of tickling. Chances are they will have few memories of these early years but the ones they do I want to be of me playing with them, not loading the dishwasher.

No worries, I'm not boycotting housework, Facebook or meal preparation. I'm simply going to try and be a little more accountable with my time, particularly my time with the midgets. This is my New Years Resolution. Starting 2.5 weeks early.

Because really, who wants to miss out on this?

Or this?

And especially not this.

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

I chose this picture not only because they are both not wearing pants (because they were on fire) but look how adorable and innocent they look. You'd never know they were both filthy liars, would you?

Up until today, Samuel has been a little George Washington and couldn't tell a lie. Even if he knew it would get him in trouble, he would tell the truth. His sister on the other hand...well like in most cases, she's a different story.

The story goes like this: last Saturday night I was at a Christmas party and Hot Jeff stayed home with the kids. He made them their favorite dinner of macaroni and cheese and about half way through excused himself to use the bathroom. When he returned, a bowl had been knocked over and cheesy noodles strewn about the floor. The conversation, as it was told to me, went like this:

HJ: How did these noodles get spread all over the floor?

S: Daddy, I didn't do it.

HJ: Emily, did you spread noodles all over the floor?

E: Nnnnnnno. (Emily never just says 'no'. She draws the n out for.ever.)

HJ: Samuel and Emily...who spread the noodles all over the floor?

S: It wasn't me Daddy.

E: No me Daddy.

HJ: (Knowing Samuel doesn't lie) Emily, who spread the noodles all over the floor?

E: Mama did it.

HJ: Mama did it?

E: Uh-huh.

HJ: Emily, you need to tell Daddy the truth. Who spread the noodles all over the floor?

E: Mama did it.

HJ: Emily, I'm going to give you one more chance to tell the truth before you get a consequence for not telling Daddy the truth. Who spread the noodles all over the floor?

E: Mama did it.

Well needless to say, Daddy's little Roo got a Hot Jeff sized lecture and a spank. Sucked to be Roo.

So today, I go upstairs to put Emily down for a nap and when I come downstairs Samuel is sitting on the couch reading a book. He looks at me and smiles and I ask, "Samuel, did you get into the icing in the cupboard?" "No Mama" he says. "Are you sure Samuel? Let me ask you again: did you get into the icing in the cupboard?" "No Mama, I've been reading" he continues. And as my heart breaks inside my chest, I say slowly, "Samuel, it makes God sad when we don't tell the truth; did you get into the icing in the cupboard?" He lowered his eyes and said yes. His eyes darted back up to mine, "How did you know" he questioned. "You have blue frosting on your lips".

Samuel and I had a good talk about how people will know we love Jesus if they can trust what we say and how God tells us in His word to be honest. I'm not sure how much he took away from it (probably more than I give him credit for) but tonight as I write about it I realize the stories themselves are funny but the larger truth is so sad: our children have an inherent sin nature. Almost every day I pray for God to call my kids to Him at early ages. I pray that as they grow they will know Jesus intimately and live lives that glorify God and build His Kingdom yet I've never been so aware of their need for a Redeemer, for a Savior, as I am at this very moment. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God... Even little Samuel and Emily.

My heart's sadness turns in to joy as I read the rest of that passage and as I imagine someday sharing this Truth with them, This righteousness from God comes through Jesus Christ for all who believe...and [they] are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Jesus Christ (Romans 3: 22-24).

God's Word never gives bad news without following up with the good. Amazing grace.

I'm curious, how do you talk to your kids about lying? Are there any good children's story books (which my kids respond wonderfully to) on the topic? Let's talk it up!

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Friends, you have outdone yourself with the title suggestions. I am LOVING them. Keep them coming. In a few days I'll pick my favorites and put them in a poll for everyone to vote on. As for your writing prompts...you rock. I definitely have stuff to go off on now when the blog clog hits. You are the best readers EVER!

That's How We Roll

I know some of you don't do the Santa thing and that's cool and I respect it. I'm sure you have great reasons and most likely your kids will end up evangelizing my kids because we all know that the letters in Santa also spell out Satan. Yep, got it.

We do the Santa thing. We also do the Jesus thing. And in case you're wondering, or just judging, we do the Jesus thing MORE than the Santa thing because we want our kids to understand the real reason why we celebrate Christmas; we just think the Santa thing is pretty darn fun. I'm not going to go in to my tangent on the commercialism of Christmas and why I hate presents because it will only confuse you because, well because, we do the Santa thing. And I know this paragraph is loaded with hypocrisy so why not heap a little more on... Even though we don't get our kids 3 hours of unwrapping worth of presents we do get them all hyped on a present from Santa.

Let me flashback here for a moment and let you know that Samuel has been asking for a Talking Buzz Lightyear for pretty much the better part of 5 months. And for the better part of 5 months we've been telling him that "maybe Santa will get it for you" so that we wouldn't have to shell out the $40 for it during not-Christmas. Well lo and behold a few weeks ago I was pacifying the midgets in the car with my junk mail and Samuel happened to get the Walmart flyer. I'm sure in Samuel's mind this was not coincidence but more like all the stars aligning and the sky opening up and God smiling down on him and saying he was meant to have a Talking Buzz because THERE ON THE THIRD PAGE was a Talking Buzz.

That night we cut it out, pasted it on paper and Samuel dictated a letter to Santa to me. Here it is, EXACTLY the way he dictated it to me (ok, I added the "Your Friend" closing). He is so flipping cute I can't even stand it.

In the full spirit of Jolly Old Saint Nickolaus, since Samuel's and Emily's first Christmases I have written them letters from Santa and had them mailed to them. I send them up to a post office in Fairbanks, Alaska and they postmark them from the North Pole and its super cute and corny and I put them in their baby books. This will be the first year Samuel really gets it and I'm more excited than ever to get "Santa's" letter.

If you're interested in doing this, put your written letter in an addressed and stamped envelope to your child and then enclose it in a bigger envelope addressed to:

North Pole Christmas Cancellation

Postmaster

5400 Mail Trail

Fairbanks, AK 99709-9999

Tomorrow, unless something really exciting happens, I will put their Santa letters up for you to read. Wahoo.

How We Celebrated

One of my all time favorite TV moments is from The Bachelor. Yes, I said The Bachelor. Andrew Firestone, heir to the vast Firestone fortune, was this particular season's bachelor and he was on one of the early dates with one of the women who get cut super early and then cry on national television because they thought they really had a connection with him after spending 45 minutes in a crowded room watching him look at other women's breasts. They were doing that get-to-know-you thing and he asks her what her favorite restaurant is and I kid you not she replies, "Olive Garden" and then he gives her this you-did-not-just-say-that-to-Andrew-Firestone-look and THEN she says, "What? You don't like Italian food?" And it is, and forever will be, one of my all time favorite TV moments and it probably goes without saying but she got cut that night. And seriously, just writing that and remembering that made me laugh so hard I snorted.

Yesterday I called Jeff AT WORK to ask what he would like for his birthday dinner. And being the sweetheart that he is he says, "whatever is easiest for you". So I press him and press him again and finally he says, "tacos" which I knew is what he really wanted because he loves tacos and he always asks for tacos on his birthday. Which I suppose begs the question of why I bothered to ask him in the first place. I guess I just wanted him to know I was thinking about his birthday dinner a whole day early. Which makes the following even more unbelievable.

At 4:00, precisely when Jeff was getting off work and heading home for his delicious birthday dinner that I had not even begun to prepare, he called. And I said, "I'm sorry but I haven't started dinner yet!" And then I gave a REALLY GOOD excuse: "I've been working all afternoon on your birthday cake and now my wrist hurts". Tip: All good excuses involve you doing something nice for someone and now being in pain as a result. And then, to add insult to injury to my pathetic excuse of wife-dom I said, "We can have leftover spaghetti or go out. I'll even let you choose". I will pause and give you a moment to choke.

Precious Hot Jeff, who by the way, is broke out literally from his head to his toes because of an allergic reaction to a new medication and is pretty much miserable from the itching and burning, chose the Olive Garden as it is quasi-sophisticated enough for a birthday dinner yet the kids could have macaroni and cheese. Someone please call the Pope because this man deserves Sainthood.

Here we all are, after dinner and back home celebrating Daddy's birthday! Before you go wondering why I'm such a crappy wife and didn't throw him a big bash let me explain. Jeff told me like 6 years ago if I even THOUGHT about throwing him a 40th birthday party or any other th party he would NEVER throw me another party for as long as I live. I'll let you in a little secret: you can get me to do anything for you by threatening me with not throwing me a party (I love a party in my honor) or by telling me you won't cry at my funeral.

40 DOES rock. Just ask Hot Jeff. This is the birthday cake that will make my right wrist require a cortisone shot and the reason why I didn't make my darling husband a birthday dinner of tacos.
Damn you electric guitar cake and your perfectly piped icing.

I just love that Emily looks so flippin' hilarious in this picture. It is also, coincidentally a picture of my 3 FAVORITE people in the whole wide world!

It doesn't matter how many times Hot Jeff and I have said we're not going to do some awful, terrible parenting thing (like fast food or cheetos) we somehow end up doing it anyway. Our kids have some sort of magical, mysterious power over us. Case in point: since they have both been sick they have been...oh I can't believe I'm going to say this...sleeping with us. Now as you know, Samuel often sneaks in but Little Emily is in a crib so this is all our own fault. We were well intentioned; we wanted to monitor her fever and we wanted to listen to her breathing-- it seemed only natural to put her in our bed with us.

But last night she was just fine. Still a little puny but no fever. So I put her to bed, in her own bed, and said I would see her in the morning. Well a few hours later Samuel had a bad dream and found his way to the "big bed" and then Roo started crying and Jeff and I felt all soft hearted and tender and WEAK and we went and got her.

So there we all were in one bed all snuggly and adorable and Jeff fell asleep within, oh lets be generous and say, 15 seconds and left me to whisper-yell, "Samuel. Emily. Stop wiggling. Samuel. Emily. Be quiet. Samuel. Emily. Go to sleep." And FINALLY Samuel fell asleep and then the snoring duet with his dad started. The loud, harmonious snoring: HUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMPPPPPPPPPHSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Back and forth, back and forth between the two Henderson men. I'm certain the Egyptian locust plagues sounded just like what I experienced last night.

Then there was Emily, who when she isn't running a 104 fever was pretty squirmy and still totally impressed with the awe of the big bed and she sits up and then lays down, then sits up and then lays down and... Sleeping with Emily is like sleeping in a dryer. With a log. With a trip wire. And I say trip wire because when the dryer finally shuts off and the log lays in one place it feels like there is a trip wire on her and you're afraid to scratch, or fart, or cough or BREATHE in fear that you'll trip the wire, she'll wake up and the dryer with the log in it will start up again.

The longest night in my life had been reserved for the time Bug and I decided to snow camping. In January. In Montana. We were in college and lacking all good sense. We hiked in to some remote little snowy spot and tied our tent down to trees because the ground was TOO FROZEN to put stakes in. And when the sun went down and we went to bed the longest night of my life, up until last night, took place. I remember waking up shivering, looking at the clock and thinking it had to be almost morning. I looked at my watch: 10:00. 10:00! I had only been asleep for 30 minutes. And that's how the whole night went: me waking up every 30 minutes, thinking it was almost morning but really it was only 30 minutes later than when I had last woke up.

Well last night took over on being the longest night of my life. 12:00. 12:30. 1:00. 1:30. Oh so dreadfully painful it went on. At one point Emily woke up randomly screaming and she didn't want water but was trying to say something that sounded like she wanted water and I hear from Jeff's side of the bed, "What's that? Timmy fell in the well?" It was pretty funny and reminded me we need to keep our senses of humor when our children start taking ganging up on us in our very own bed.

She's in her own bed tonight, as is Samuel, and Jeff and I are prepared to listen to them scream it out. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, we're so mean. Cry me a river; she's not sick anymore.

The Long and Overdue Post

This is Cho.

Cho was our 1999 Honda Accord that we sold in August. And now you know why this post is overdue: yes I said August. I just had to blog about Cho though because it would be totally not like me not to blog about Cho. I name my cars so it should come to no surprise to you that I would blog about them.

My very first car's name was Elvis. It was a blue Chevy Spectrum and it rocked my world and the world of all my high school girlfriends who didn't have their own wheels. I got it in high school with settlement money from a car accident in which I was a passenger. Ironically, Elvis died when a car hit me head on because some idiot waved me on from a side road and like a retarded college student that I was, I went and the car traveling in the lane next to him, the car I couldn't see, hit me as I turned into the opposite lane. I know that is hard to follow, especially with all the poorly placed commas, without a diagram but trust me that Elvis was totaled and I got 2 black eyes out of the deal. Best part of the story: I was heading to my boyfriend Eric's house to pick him up to go to a hockey game (there is just so much wrong with that scenario that I'm just going to leave it alone and let you all question me in your comments about why I was picking him up and why for pity's sake were we going to a hockey game?). So anyway, 1 totaled car, 2 black eyes and 3 nights later Erick broke up with me after a NewsBoys concert. Yes, he broke up with me while I had 2 black eyes. And that my friends is how Eric got the name "Eric the Bastard".

My next car was Margarita. A white, hatchback Hyundai that drove me from Montana to Oregon. A few years later she died and I sold her for $60 and bought a VCR with the money. 'Nuff said. Well except for that Jeff and I love to tell the story how we sold a car and bought a VCR with the money.

Next, the turd brown Ford Taurus my Mom gave me as a quasi wedding-you-finally-graduated-from-college present. I named her "Sin Wagon" after that great scene in "Grease" where Sandy says, "You expect to just stay here in this, this...sin wagon?"

At last that brings us to Cho. Cho was the first car Jeff and I bought as a married couple. It was our first "big" purchase. We initially thought we would call him Silver Bullet but then we went to LA for a Beaver game and stayed with our friends Cho and Margaret. Cho is absolutely THE WORST DRIVER ON THE PLANET and drove the LA freeways like he was running from cops. No lie. When we got home, Hot Jeff suggested we name the new Honda after Cho and I was all for it!

And here is why Cho gets a whole blog post devoted to him. Because he was the greatest car to ever be made. Great gas mileage. Ran like a dream. Never needed any work. I really believe I would have driven Cho well into eternity if only he would have had side air bags. You see, not having side air bags + 2 kids in car seats always left Hot Jeff a little uneasy. We had known since Samuel was born we wanted a Pilot. After driving Cho we knew we would never buy anything other than a Honda and the Pilot was an obvious choice. Well, actually the Odyssey van was the obvious choice but in the 10th grade I made a pinky promise with b-f-f Traci that we would never drive mini vans and well you just can't go back on a pinky promise. So again, Pilot = Obvious Choice.

It was the day after we sold Cho to a nice young chap named Travis that I got all nostalgic. I called Jeff at work all crying and said, "Cho was the first car we bought as a married couple. We parked Cho in the garage of the very first house we bought. We brought our babies home from the hospital in Cho. Oh I CAN'T BELIEVE WE SOLD CHO". And Jeff said, "Babe, I'm at work". And I was all, "I know you're at work. Sniff, Sniff, I called you" and then he was like, "No, I'm at work. Can we talk about you crying over a car when I get home or when I go to lunch?" and I was like, "I CAN'T BELIEVE WE SOLD CHO". And again I say, I can't believe that man stays married to me.

A few days later we bought THE Pilot, who you all know as Harriett and who Samuel still really bitterly calls Sally, and pretty soon I found myself saying, "Cho who?"

No, no, I'm just kidding. I'm not that fickle. I will always love Cho. I BROUGHT MY BABIES HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL IN CHO... I will always love Cho but here's to new cars. When Hot Jeff got home from work the evening of the phone call he reminded me that we had all sorts of new memories to make in a new car. What a sweet husband. He was right.

Here's a picture of me with Harriett right before I drove her off the lot. She's a beauty.

We've had her a little over a month now and no one has thrown up in her yet; I figure there's still time.

Photographic Proof of Why We May

Never Be Invited Back to Nana's

Exhibit A

Emily, after having dumped salt and pepper (and water) all

over Nana's kitchen table and floor

Exhibit B
Cross-dressing, furniture jumping midgets

You've Got to be Kidding Me

Its been one of those days. One of those failure-to-thrive-whose-kids-are-these-I-wish-I-were-in-Vegas days. Somewhere in Oregon Bestie Kim is nodding in appreciation and Shannon is raising her 4:00 beer to me. Amen my sister friends.

It is 3:30 and I have resorted to putting a movie on the portable DVD player because we couldn't find the TV remote and that's how desperate I was for quiet time. Its been like this all day; it started 5 minutes within of waking up to Samuel's piercing, raise the dead, scream because he shut his finger in the bathroom door. On the outside I was full of Mommy compassion but on the inside I was like, "STOP SCREAMING IN MY EAR AT 6:45"! Shortly after that, Emily slipped on spilled water and neither of them have stopped whining since. It is approximately 9 hours later and I am so tired of their little whiny selves I could put myself in solitary confinement if only I could find a place where they couldn't find me.

I don't know if its because we are in Montana and they miss their home and Daddy or if God is playing a cruel joke on me. I think the latter because I don't care how homesick you are there is nothing short of God playing a cruel joke on me that could make these children turn into pure evil the way they clearly did last night while they slept.

They have fought, pushed, kicked, cried, told me no, told me they were hungry, told me they were full, told me they wanted to go outside, told me it was too cold outside for 9 hours. Yes, 9 hours. Oh, I guess I already mentioned that part. On this 9 hour thought though, let me just make this one point: a normal work day is only 8 hours. I've been going for 9 (thank you for paying attention) and will continue to go probably until around 8:00 tonight. That's 4.5 more hours. And all you moms are nodding in appreciation and the lucky ones are raising a 4:00 beer to me because you all are doing the same, dang thing. The same unappreciated, sometimes monotonous, job that I am.

And here's the funny part: like me, you wouldn't trade it for anything. Somewhere deep in your heart you know this is a holy calling. And while it may be hard to remember today you feel it in your bones and with every fiber of your being. It often presents itself with goose bumps on your arm when one of them throws their arms around you and says, "I love you Mama".

So if you're having a day like mine I applaud you. I applaud you for hanging in there. I applaud you for not beating them within an inch of their life. I applaud you for not being drunk out of your mind. I applaud you for working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week at a job you'll never get paid at and may go several days without a thank you. I applaud you for kissing away the boo boos, for running the errands, for getting the laundry done (even if not put away), for praying for your kids when you'd really just like to donate them to science. I applaud you for being amazing.

Guess who else applauds you? Your Heavenly Father. And yes, He may be playing a cruel joke on you just like He is me but He loves you and He will honor and bless your love and devotion to your family. He will lead you and carry you close to His heart. And that just may be all I needed to hear to get me through the rest of this day.

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
He gently leads those that have young (Isaiah 40:11).

Montana Road Trip--The Conclusion

Well thank goodness the trip wasn't all nursing home all the time. Even though my Mom was working during the weekdays we still got our evenings and one whole weekend with her. She also took the Friday we were there off. Nana, as my kids call her, is madly in love with my kids. I'm an only child hence making them her only grandchildren. To say she is nuts about them is the understatement of the century.

Samuel slept with Nana the whole time we were there and they were both in sheer heaven. Think ice cream sundae with sprinkles and cookie crumbles and chocolate syrup with a side of Doritos and washing it down with apple juice that isn't watered down and you may come close to how Samuel felt about sleeping in Nana's "big bed".

I love this picture of the 3 of them in the nursing home's garden. They are looking at ladybugs.

No one will believe this but by "total accident" our spontaneous trip coincided with Park City Daze and yes, that is days spelled like daze. Or perhaps I should say, 'spelt like dayz' because I'm quite sure somewhere when the concept of Park City Daze originated the conversation went like this,

"We should have some sort of festival where people come from the two bars in town, together for one night, in the middle of the one main road and drink and dance. And it will last all day long and we'll even have a parade with like the one fire engine and the one ambulance and they can drive down main street and throw candy."

"Yes, and we can call it Park City Days".

"But its only one day".

"Well then lets spell it with a "z".

And then there were a lot of high fives and beer can toasting.

First of all, why do I look so pregnant in this picture? Secondly, even though it was Park City Daze, the trip was centered around visiting Gigi but BFF Traci was able to meet me for breakfast one morning. Traci has been my BFF since the 4th grade when we both moved to Park City in the middle of the school year. We moved within one week of each other and knew we were kindred spirits the day we both wore our hair in pony tails with 4 braids. Awe.Some. I'll go ahead and save you some brain power as I know you're still processing the math of my kids in the car for 17 hours and tell you that "since the 4th grade" is equivalent to 22 years. 22 years Traci and I have been BFF's. 154 in dog years.

In 154 dog years we have seen each other through dozens of boyfriends and subsequent break ups, high school graduation, college graduations, several moves, 3 marriages, 1 divorce, 3 kids and 6 Sawyer Brown concerts. Traci is my North Star.

One hot afternoon while Gigi napped, my Auntie Kathy came out and we loaded the kids and Nana and headed to the Yellowstone River to wade in the water and catch some Vitamin D. Cool water, lots of laughs and at the end of the afternoon no one was sunburned or had drowned. In Montana we call that a successful trip to the river.

This picture really has nothing to do with the next vignette, I just loved that Jeff could sit down and eat 4 ears of Farmer Richardson's corn without stopping to take a drink or a breath. Hot Jeff hearts corn on the cob. Hot Jeff eats corn on the cob without butter or salt--I think he may be a communist. Paula Deen wouldn't let him within 30 feet of her home.

Ok, here's how I tie in the next story: one night we had Mark and Jami Broyles over for dinner and we barbecued and had fresh corn.

Mark and Jami are central characters in the Hot Jeff and Jen love story. If it weren't for them I would have never gone to Alaska and would have never met Jeff, the dead sexiest man alive.

Jami and I met in college and have been dear friends ever since. Mark was Jami's high school sweetheart, sigh. Jami is the type of friend that no matter how long its been since we have talked we can hook up in person or on the phone and its like we haven't spent one minute apart. Jami's gentle spirit is a wonderful balance to my wild one. Mark was Jeff's roommate in Alaska (at the sport fishing camp where we all worked) in the summer of '96. Jami and I weren't up there that summer, we didn't go until '97. AND, the summer of '97 is from here on out known as the Summer of Looooove! In '97 Mark and Jami were newlyweds which left me with a lot of time to myself on a remote island. Jeff befriended me and the rest is Summer of Looooove history.

Alas, we come to the end of this story. It ends much the same way it began: Jeff and I driving on a combined 4 hours of sleep and waking our midgets up at an ungodly hour to drive 940 miles. The only difference is it took us 18 hours to get home instead of 17. Thank you Portland traffic. Can I get a collective groan?

I'll leave you with this little gem from my verbally advanced 3 year old. As we woke his sweet, sleeping body and put him in the carseat he stuck a thumb in his mouth with one hand and waved and blew kisses to Nana with the other. He tilted his head to lean on the seat and closed his eyes as we drove out of the sleeping town of Park City. About 4 minutes onto I-90 as our car began to climb the big hill that would take us west to Columbus his little voice said from the back, "Mama, remember last time we went to Nana's house and we went to the airport"? I told him I did remember that and he replied, "Yeah, me too. We should do that again; its faster".

Gigi-- Montana Road Trip, Part Two

I would like to write that Gigi was on her death bed, we went and saw her, she's better and I'm happy. I cannot imagine the amount of flack I would get from you chumps if I went and pulled a stunt like that. You were all so kind with your comments and emails regarding Gigi and I just love all of you for it. Its just that its kind of a long story with a lot of medical jargon and the ending makes me cry and I will have a hard time making it funny but here goes.

Gigi may have been faking the I'm-Going-To-See-Jesus deal just to get us out there for her birthday.

Ok, not true. Just me trying to make this story funny. The truth is once we got there it was as awful as I thought it was going to be. She was so nauseated, so sick, so depressed. She rallied for us but it was evident she was feeling really crappy. My precious Mom, who by this time was so overwhelmed she could barely speak coherently, called a meeting of all the who's who at the nursing home for a meeting on Friday (we got there late Tuesday night and went to see Gigi first thing Wednesday morning. Keep up.). Friday was also Gigi's birthday and she couldn't keep anything down, was struggling to stay awake and was overwhelmed by the company, phone calls and excitement of the day. She tried to make it to the in-house meeting but got so sick she had to be taken back down to her room.

The meeting was great, I mean really positive. The ladies working Gigi's case are an impressive bunch of women and after reviewing everything decided perhaps her Lanoxin, a medicine for her CHF, was making her toxic. And a little side note, if one more of you teases me for saying Gigi had a congenital heart disease instead of congesitive heart failure I'm going to beat all of you. You can read all about Lanoxin making you toxic here. Sho' nuff, a simple blood test showed Gigi was toxic from the Lanoxin. And seriously, every time I tell someone that Gigi was toxic I want to bust out in Britney's "Toxic" song. Shout out to you Brit. Also, try saying "toxic from the Lanoxin" 10 times fast.

So by Saturday morning they knew Gigi was toxic and had adjusted the meds. By THAT AFTERNOON she was feeling a little better. Amazing. By Sunday she was not vomiting, had eaten breakfast and sat in the courtyard with us while the kids rode their bikes (they have a great courtyard area for the residents). By Monday, our last day, she felt like leaving the center and hanging out at my Mom's house. Can you believe that? I could not believe it. She was perky and had an appetite. Wow. What a difference taking you off of the medicine designed to save your life but is really killing you can make.

So yes, Gigi is better for now. Bottom line, she still has congestive heart failure and a whole host of other things wrong with her. On top of all of that she is in chronic pain so I get it that she is in the twilight of her life but somehow, some-amazing-God-gifted-how, I am at peace.

One night, for some reason, we had 2 cars there. Ours and my Mom's. We were packing up to leave and Jeff suggested he and Nana take the kids home and I stay and visit. I gladly took him up on it. After they left I moved from the chair to the foot of the bed where Gigi lay stretched out. We sat and visited for a while when she stretched out her arm and patted it, motioning me to come and lay with her. So this 32 year old adult woman curled up next to her Grama like I was 4 again. I laid my head in the crook of her arm and chest and she tickled my face. She said it reminded her of when I was a little girl and she would babysit me and I would sleep in her bed with her. She told me I was particularly afraid of thunderstorms and would sometimes lay on her arm so long it would fall asleep but she was afraid if she moved me off of it I would wake up and be afraid again.

That night after I had left and was driving back home to my Mom's I realized that when Gigi dies I will be at peace. No regrets, just peace. Jehovah Shalom, the great God of peace gave me an amazing gift, one that right now I can't even fully appreciate but I know that someday I will bask in it. For now, I store it close to my heart; I know its there and I know someday I will call upon it in the midst of immense sorrow and loss. For now, what I carry outwardly is deep gratitude for the peace that's tucked away.

Getting There-- Montana Road Trip, Part One

Now I know sometimes I give my kids a bad rap; its all a part of my drunk-mom-whose-kids-make-her-a-little-crazy schtick but I know you all know I'm not really drunk all the time and I adore my children and here's why: because they were perfect angels for a 17 hour car ride. SEVENTEEN HOURS IN A HONDA ACCORD BACKSEAT. For those of you who are a little slow on the uptake, that's 17 hours. As in 17 hours. Like only 7 hours short of a whole day. 17 hours.

We started as all good road trips do: going to bed at midnight and getting up at 2. We woke the kids up at 2:50 and were on I-5 by 3:20. As we picked their innocent, sweet, sleeping bodies up they both looked at us like "I'm sorry I didn't pick up my toys like you asked, but this seems a little extreme". Several minutes into the drive Samuel exclaimed, "I know its a long drive to Nana's house but I don't really want to sleep". And friends, he pretty much kept to his word. For 17 hours.

I'm going to save you all the boring details but I will tell you this: bribery was involved. And new toys from the $1 store at every state line. And Bob the Builder. A lot of Bob the Builder. Perhaps too much Bob the Builder. I also had the entire snack aisle from Walmart on the floor of the backseat and if ever we heard a hint of whining we said, "Who wants a snack? How about some gummy worms? Peanut butter crackers? Ooh, what's this? Grapes!" For Samuel and Emily it was the closest they will ever get to being back in the womb: not a lot of room to move and a constant flow of food. The whir of the tires on the highway was the perfect background music like that of my blood flow as they lived in my belly. Hummmmmmm. Hummmmmm. Hummmmmmmm.

The key to long road trips with a 1 and 3 year old is an early realization that making good time is a luxury meant for childless couples and college kids who haven't gone to bed yet. The prime goal becomes arriving with everyone's hair still on top of their heads. For us that meant making some good stretch stops. We had a short one in The Dalles and another in Wallace, Idaho and lastly in Butte, Montana.

We found this perfect little rest area/park/mining memorial/shallow river right off the highway. Kudos to Wallace, Idaho City of Commerce for making this place especially for us. The Hendersons thank you. We spent a whole hour here stretching, peeing and playing. It was awesome and when we left Emily screamed so hard and so loud we started calling her Samuel.

Here's an imitation mine shaft where we threatened to leave the kids if they cried in the car. "Stop crying or Daddy will turn this car around and take you back to that mine shaft in Wallace, Idaho". No, I'm just kidding.

When I bought Samuel's leather sandals at the beginning of the summer I told Hot Jeff to try and not get them wet because they would start stinking to high heaven. Well when I caught up to them after changing out camera batteries it was too late, the damage had been done. And yes, those shoes now stink to high heaven and Hot Jeff has taught Samuel the phrase, "My dogs are barkin'".

It was shortly after this stop when the kids were quietly watching a movie, Jeff was driving and listening to his iPod and I was writing on Ruby when I decided this was definitely not what Willie Nelson had in mind when he sang 'On the Road Again'. Remember the good ol' days when we took road trips and the only thing we had to do besides sleep was play the license plate game? And how about just making the back seat one big, huge bed to stretch out on? Well Willie Nelson can suck it because I'm pretty sure he's high on all of his road trips and not traveling with a 1 and 3 year old so bring on the porta-DVD player. There's always time to play the license plate game when the midgets are a little older, can read and have an attention span longer than 4 minutes.

My kids rock.

Where to Start?

I guess I'll start with the obvious: we're home! After an amazing, blessed trip to Montana...we're home. After a 17 hour car ride to Montana and an 18 hour car ride back...we're home. Traveling with children has given me a whole new appreciation for "making good time".

I hope to write about our trip soon; maybe even as early as today but we'll see. My brain is in a total fog so I'm going to go ahead and let you pray for your kids and self-control another week and update PYKM as usual on Monday. Thank you Bug for letting everyone know I was pretty much on an internet hiatus as my Mom's computer was in Emily's room and the only time I was around to get online happened to be when Roo was sleeping.

Thanks for all your prayers, comments and emails. It was a great trip and I'm anxious to tell you about Gigi's improved health.

-Jen

Montana Bound

Could Hot Jeff be any more perfect? Last night when he came to bed and found me crying and writing over Gigi he said, "You should fly out there. Get online right now and see what the tickets cost to be there for her birthday". So I did and they were $588 a piece! So we laid in bed in silence for about 30 seconds when he said, "I have some vacation time and have been wanting to take a road trip with the kids. Lets leave on Tuesday".

So we're leaving in the still-dark morning and driving 15 hours (without kids so most likely 17 with kids) to Montana to spend Gigi's 84th birthday with her. We called her this morning to tell her. I had Samuel tell her and she got so excited she actually giggled. Then she cried a little bit. Then she giggled a little bit more.

The car is just gassed and loaded and I just got back from Walmart to get a whole boat load of snacks and water. I've got the portable DVD player packed and don't think the irony of the family who just went all Little House on the Prairie on you and is now packing a portable DVD player and like 72 hours worth of Bob the Builder, The Wiggles and Pixar movies is lost on me. Yeah, its a little disturbing but so is leaving your kids along I-90 because you can't stand their screaming anymore. 6 of 1; half dozen of another I suppose...

Would you please pray for us? I would love if you would pray blessings and safety over our trip, peace and comfort for Samuel & Roo and energy and patience for Hot Jeff and me. Please pray our time with my Mom and Gigi is rich.

I'll be blogging about our trip while I'm there and will certainly have some fun this-crap-only-happens-to-us stories.

Yes, I know what day it is...PYKM is just one post down.
You're getting a 2-for-1 Monday...

Gigi

I've been reluctant to write this post because I know you all like the funny ones but I can't sleep tonight (and I can always sleep) so I decided to get up and write about why I can't sleep.

Gigi is my Grandma Emily, my Mom's mom, and she lives in Montana where I grew up. Once we had Samuel we started calling her Gigi and now its stuck and she loves it, so Gigi it is. Gigi is who Baby Emily is named for.

My Mom had me when she was very young and my Dad split so that left Grama to help raise me, which she did gladly. She took me to a VBS at a Baptist church across the street where she lived and I liked it so much I made her take me on Sunday too. Pretty soon we had my Mom going too and before you knew it the two of them came to know Christ as their Savior and I followed suit when I was 11 (there is a whole lot to this story that I'm leaving out).

Grama has worked her whole life...and I mean worked hard. Even after she retired she worked at the local senior center helping to prepare meals to earn a little extra money. The hard work has left her body nearly crippled with arthritis.

You would never hear her complain though so in May when she began telling my Mom about the pain she was in and stopped going to coffee with her girlfriends we all knew something was up. To make a long story short she was diagnosed with spinal stenosis, which means her spine is narrowing and putting horrific pain on her joints, all a part of the arthritis that riddles her body. Oh and did I mention she also has liver failure and congenital heart failure? Yeah, she's a walking time bomb but nothing, until now, has ever kept her down. Not even her failing heart. And, before I forget, I know you're wondering, she'll be 84 on Friday.

So in May my Mom had to make the difficult decision, along with Grama, to put her in a nursing home. She's gotten where she can barely walk, needs more care than my Mom (who has to work full time) can give her and needs a lot of physical therapy. Her doctors initially said it would only be for 3-4 weeks, like a rehab stint, but since she's "gone in" her health has declined and she doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Her pain is worsening and is now having to be controlled with heavy narcotics that make her really sick to her stomach. To fight the nausea they treat her with an anti-nausea that makes her sleep all the time. They are considerably limited to what meds they can treat her with because of her heart condition. Its this Catch-22 that sucks more than I ever thought anything could suck. She has gone from being a really vibrant, spunky, feisty old lady to merely existing and sometimes the thought of her in that room makes me so sad, so sick, so pissed that I can barely breathe. And in tonight's case: I can't sleep.

Since I moved to Oregon in '98 I have called her almost every day. We rarely go more than 2 days without speaking. She's got a cell phone and I can call that and still speak to her and I am really, really grateful for that. She has a roommate that she likes and she seems to like the staff and nurses--more things that I'm thankful for. She is, however, so unhappy and so desperately wants to go home. I can't imagine being faced with the prospect of going into a place and never coming out. I find myself wondering, almost daily now, if she will leave only to go Home and be with Jesus.

Because of her heart condition I always thought she would die suddenly. I would have never imagined this slow, dwindling death. Its in these teary nights that I think about God's mercy and His will and I wonder how it all works and I question if I know how to pray or not.


I also think about playing endless hours of cards. I think about riding around in an orange truck she called "Shasta" ("She hasta have gas. She hasta have oil."). I think about learning to make french toast, and No Bake cookes. I think about the look on her face when she met my children for the first time. I think about her seeing my Uncle Bob, her first born son who died in 2007, in heaven and how she will run to him, pain free, and hold him and tell him how much we've all missed him. Mostly I think about kissing her and telling her I'm sorry for all the times I was a punk and that even if the whole world forgets her I will always remember her and she has made a difference.

* Oops...got a comment regarding the congetal heart disease. I meant congestive. I was tired and can't keep it all straight.