Today my sweet Cecilia turns four. You would think that by the time your third child is born, you already know all that there is to know about parenting. I was apparently taking random shots in the dark because the reality of health issues was quite sobering and intense. I'd been living on easy street with my textbook kiddos and I didn't even know it.
She was born the sunniest human being I've ever known. Topped with fledgling blonde hair and the biggest eyes you have ever seen. She was an easy baby, I relished the lack of sleep deprivation and her laid-back personality. She only cried when necessary and was content to go about her days being worn by me or playing next to me as I worked.
She has always been bold and chatty. It was no surprise that when asked what her name was she would plainly answer, "Cha-Cha." And the nickname stuck like glue. To this day we rarely refer to her as Cecilia but almost always call her Cha-Cha. It fits!
She is one the toughest, bravest, strongest people that I know. She has kept a stiff upper lip when seizure meds make her feel tired and cranky. She mustered a smile shortly after coming out of anesthesia from her neurosurgery. She managed to make friends with practically the entire staff at Duke ER when we returned to find out that she had chemical meningitis. Most people can barely lift their head during these kinds of trials, but she looks up every.time. This darling girl just does *not* know the meaning of letting a challenge get the best of her. She will see your challenge and raise you a handful of smiles and giggles. I am so thankful for her optimistic outlook that has kept her from feeling sorry for herself or noticing that she wasn't always like her friends. She takes it all in stride and is Cha-Cha through and through.
She loves her sisters with unmatched ferocity. I will never forget the look of sheer joy on her face when we brought Evelyn home from the hospital. Or the way she waits anxiously every day for Bird to come home from school. And the way she wrestles and wriggles Morrison until he lets her kiss him goodbye before he goes to school. I love that she sings loudly and proudly in the car, in the store, in the bath, or at school. She doesn't worry about what people think- she just does what makes her feel happy. In turn, her happiness is contagious.
I feel so very blessed to be her Mom. Mere words cannot express the deep and abiding gratitude and love that I feel for the marvelous little wisp of a girl. I am so thankful for these wonderful and never-dull four years and I look forward to watching her grow and grow and grow...
Randomness: The breakfast of champions.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Pumpkin and Honey Bunny + a tween
Today there was a tornado near where my Aunt Jane and Uncle Bob live in Missouri. I was worried for their safety but also realized that if anyone was going to come through a tough situation, it would be my Aunt Jane. It gave me time to turn over in my mind one of my fondest memories of her...
I believe I was in the 8th or 9th grade when I was informed that my spring break was to be spent in a car traveling the midwest with my Aunt Jane and my Mom. Don't get me wrong, I love both of these gals dearly, but this was not exactly the bitchin' spring break that I had envisioned. But since I was a captive audience, I was along for the ride.
My Mom and I flew out to Kansas City and were met by family at the airport. We drove to Jane and Bob's house in Sedalia before setting out on our grand adventure. I must explain that Jane is one cool cat. She has a wicked sense of humor, always has a camera at the ready, and often carries Liva-Snaps in her bra in case she comes across a dog that needs a treat. She is a hoot. She also often cusses like a sailor- something I find quite endearing and I'm pretty sure I inherited from her and not my sweet Mom.
We headed out in their Taurus that was packed well beyond reason. We had enough food and Diet Coke (another vice I seem to have inherited from Jane) that we could have been mistaken for a distributor vehicle. I was wedged in the back seat among all of the various foods and clothing. We tooled along the highways of Missouri, Kansas, and Iowa singing along to Jimmy Buffett and swilling diet soda. We stopped at any store we felt like checking out. I saw the place where my Nana was born. I saw the places where my Great Aunts had lived and died. I had the chance to form a connection with that beautiful black-soiled land that I had never felt before and that I carry in heart to this very day.
We were cruising along the highway, swapping stories and laughing maniacally when I notice flashing blue lights behind us. Jane pulls over and the officer approaches the vehicle. She gets the usual routine, license and registration, et cetera. She hands them to the officer and she apologizes profusely. I can't remember if she actually got a ticket or not, but still we are allowed to carry on our merry way. Apparently it was a warning unheeded as a few hours later, as we were belting out, "Why Don't We Get Drunk (and screw)," we are pulled over again. This time when the officer asks for her license and registration, Jane can't find her license from the last time she was pulled over. She looks at my Mom and says, "Gail, I can't remember where I put my license when I wrote that last check (wink,wink)." My Mom, who is every bit the honest Abe, looked at her and said, "What check?" Jane winked even more emphatically and repeated herself at which point the officer says, "Lady, do you even have a license?" Jane tells him that of course, she does, she just can't find it. I think that poor officer was afraid that she was going to tear apart that car until she found it. That apparently wasn't a hill he was prepared to charge and he let us go. Jane revs up the Taurus and we take to the road once more and she looks at my Mom and says, "Well I sure as hell am glad he didn't search the car. I have a loaded pistol under the seat and I'm not sure it's registered." I don't think I have ever been more shocked or laughed so hard in my life.
Thank God I don't come from a line of boring women and I sincerely thank God Jane and Bob are safe in their home tonight. Even that twister knew you don't mess around with Jane.
I believe I was in the 8th or 9th grade when I was informed that my spring break was to be spent in a car traveling the midwest with my Aunt Jane and my Mom. Don't get me wrong, I love both of these gals dearly, but this was not exactly the bitchin' spring break that I had envisioned. But since I was a captive audience, I was along for the ride.
My Mom and I flew out to Kansas City and were met by family at the airport. We drove to Jane and Bob's house in Sedalia before setting out on our grand adventure. I must explain that Jane is one cool cat. She has a wicked sense of humor, always has a camera at the ready, and often carries Liva-Snaps in her bra in case she comes across a dog that needs a treat. She is a hoot. She also often cusses like a sailor- something I find quite endearing and I'm pretty sure I inherited from her and not my sweet Mom.
We headed out in their Taurus that was packed well beyond reason. We had enough food and Diet Coke (another vice I seem to have inherited from Jane) that we could have been mistaken for a distributor vehicle. I was wedged in the back seat among all of the various foods and clothing. We tooled along the highways of Missouri, Kansas, and Iowa singing along to Jimmy Buffett and swilling diet soda. We stopped at any store we felt like checking out. I saw the place where my Nana was born. I saw the places where my Great Aunts had lived and died. I had the chance to form a connection with that beautiful black-soiled land that I had never felt before and that I carry in heart to this very day.
We were cruising along the highway, swapping stories and laughing maniacally when I notice flashing blue lights behind us. Jane pulls over and the officer approaches the vehicle. She gets the usual routine, license and registration, et cetera. She hands them to the officer and she apologizes profusely. I can't remember if she actually got a ticket or not, but still we are allowed to carry on our merry way. Apparently it was a warning unheeded as a few hours later, as we were belting out, "Why Don't We Get Drunk (and screw)," we are pulled over again. This time when the officer asks for her license and registration, Jane can't find her license from the last time she was pulled over. She looks at my Mom and says, "Gail, I can't remember where I put my license when I wrote that last check (wink,wink)." My Mom, who is every bit the honest Abe, looked at her and said, "What check?" Jane winked even more emphatically and repeated herself at which point the officer says, "Lady, do you even have a license?" Jane tells him that of course, she does, she just can't find it. I think that poor officer was afraid that she was going to tear apart that car until she found it. That apparently wasn't a hill he was prepared to charge and he let us go. Jane revs up the Taurus and we take to the road once more and she looks at my Mom and says, "Well I sure as hell am glad he didn't search the car. I have a loaded pistol under the seat and I'm not sure it's registered." I don't think I have ever been more shocked or laughed so hard in my life.
Thank God I don't come from a line of boring women and I sincerely thank God Jane and Bob are safe in their home tonight. Even that twister knew you don't mess around with Jane.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
I'm baaaaack!
So, I was chatting with a friend today via IM and she mentioned that she had found my blog. I had to pause and think about it for a moment, how long had it been? The last time I updated my blog I only had 3 children.
I know you are dying for a quick run-down of the past 3 years (ha!), so I will happily oblige. Mostly it's about how I went from near death to the healthiest I've ever been.
Since my last post I've had a (last) baby- a brilliant and charming girl named Evelyn, dubbed Mittens by her siblings when she was in the NICU. She is the most joyful, funny, smart little gal. I can't imagine life without her- of course last time I blogged I couldn't imagine life *with* a 4th child ;)
Whilst I was pregnant with her, I nearly died from a rare complication called Septic Pulmonary Emboli that resulted from an infection that developed in the PICC line that had been inserted because I couldn't keep down food or fluids.The infection traveled directly into my body and set up camp in my lungs. 4 days before Christmas 2008, I was told that if I survived the next 48 hours, I should pull through. Luckily I did survive that little (not-so-minor) hiccup but came out with permanently damaged lungs which of course makes it awfully hard to get a lot of movement into your daily routine. This led me to an impressive weight gain which only made it harder for my compromised lungs to do their job. Add in some meds to boost lactation and you have the weight-gain equivalent of the perfect storm.
I remember clearly the turning point for me- it was the holiday party for my husband's work the following year. We arrived and everything was truly *lovely*. Except I was so uncomfortable in my dress that I wanted to go home and put on my pajamas. I couldn't get over the fact that I was the fattest chick there. I couldn't breathe and people assumed (general "people," this is nothing agains his co-workers, they're awesome!) that I couldn't breathe because of my weight not because of my lung damage. I was, for the first time, missing out on the fun because I couldn't get past what I looked like. I thought to myself, "This is not who I am." I have never been a skinny girl, but I'd never felt like the fat girl, either. It was sobering. I vowed that I would be back the next year as the old me. And I was... but not before an assload of work took place.
In January of 2010 I began hitting the gym. And when I say, "hitting," I'm pretty lucky there wasn't a massive thud after I simply managed to climb the stairs. I started out at 10 minutes on the elliptical. And I felt like I was dying every single second. I couldn't breathe- I felt like there was a pillow over my face. BUT I didn't die, so I took this as a sign that I should keep going. And I did keep going. Every day I would add a little more time, a little more cross-ramp, or a little more resistance. Finally the fog began to lift. I wasn't svelte and sexy but (holy crap!) my lungs were getting stronger. Strangely my appearance was what got me in the door but my lungs were kept me coming back. From December 2009 to December 2010 I lost 65 pounds. I felt better than ever. I was back to my normal size. And I could exercise for 90 minutes (while sweating like nobody's business- oy!) and not be exhausted. My lungs were better than ever and I was released from the care of my pulmonologist. This was huge because it was an accepted fact that my lung problems would plague me for the rest of my life.
So my next logical step was to step up the training. The elliptical was beginning to bore me and I was way too efficient for it to be a long-term solution. So I decided to start running. On 1/1/11, I ran for the first time since college. 7.7 miles with my best friend flew by. I felt great. I felt strong. I was totally smitten with running.
So, I sit here, 85 pounds lighter than I was at rock bottom, back to my college weight offering an explanation for why I am so fanatical about exercise. About how I am one of those lucky people that doesn't look back and wish for what I once had but can't stop looking forward to what is to come. Every day that I run, I make progress. I gain strength. I learn what works (and what doesn't). I don't worry about my weight anymore. I think about how to get stronger and increase endurance.
To date I have completed 2 Half Marathons, several 5ks, an 8k, and am training for the Thunder Road marathon. For the first time in my life, I am embracing who I am, a short, feisty, sturdy gal who decided kick her own fat ass.
I know you are dying for a quick run-down of the past 3 years (ha!), so I will happily oblige. Mostly it's about how I went from near death to the healthiest I've ever been.
Since my last post I've had a (last) baby- a brilliant and charming girl named Evelyn, dubbed Mittens by her siblings when she was in the NICU. She is the most joyful, funny, smart little gal. I can't imagine life without her- of course last time I blogged I couldn't imagine life *with* a 4th child ;)
Whilst I was pregnant with her, I nearly died from a rare complication called Septic Pulmonary Emboli that resulted from an infection that developed in the PICC line that had been inserted because I couldn't keep down food or fluids.The infection traveled directly into my body and set up camp in my lungs. 4 days before Christmas 2008, I was told that if I survived the next 48 hours, I should pull through. Luckily I did survive that little (not-so-minor) hiccup but came out with permanently damaged lungs which of course makes it awfully hard to get a lot of movement into your daily routine. This led me to an impressive weight gain which only made it harder for my compromised lungs to do their job. Add in some meds to boost lactation and you have the weight-gain equivalent of the perfect storm.
I remember clearly the turning point for me- it was the holiday party for my husband's work the following year. We arrived and everything was truly *lovely*. Except I was so uncomfortable in my dress that I wanted to go home and put on my pajamas. I couldn't get over the fact that I was the fattest chick there. I couldn't breathe and people assumed (general "people," this is nothing agains his co-workers, they're awesome!) that I couldn't breathe because of my weight not because of my lung damage. I was, for the first time, missing out on the fun because I couldn't get past what I looked like. I thought to myself, "This is not who I am." I have never been a skinny girl, but I'd never felt like the fat girl, either. It was sobering. I vowed that I would be back the next year as the old me. And I was... but not before an assload of work took place.
In January of 2010 I began hitting the gym. And when I say, "hitting," I'm pretty lucky there wasn't a massive thud after I simply managed to climb the stairs. I started out at 10 minutes on the elliptical. And I felt like I was dying every single second. I couldn't breathe- I felt like there was a pillow over my face. BUT I didn't die, so I took this as a sign that I should keep going. And I did keep going. Every day I would add a little more time, a little more cross-ramp, or a little more resistance. Finally the fog began to lift. I wasn't svelte and sexy but (holy crap!) my lungs were getting stronger. Strangely my appearance was what got me in the door but my lungs were kept me coming back. From December 2009 to December 2010 I lost 65 pounds. I felt better than ever. I was back to my normal size. And I could exercise for 90 minutes (while sweating like nobody's business- oy!) and not be exhausted. My lungs were better than ever and I was released from the care of my pulmonologist. This was huge because it was an accepted fact that my lung problems would plague me for the rest of my life.
So my next logical step was to step up the training. The elliptical was beginning to bore me and I was way too efficient for it to be a long-term solution. So I decided to start running. On 1/1/11, I ran for the first time since college. 7.7 miles with my best friend flew by. I felt great. I felt strong. I was totally smitten with running.
So, I sit here, 85 pounds lighter than I was at rock bottom, back to my college weight offering an explanation for why I am so fanatical about exercise. About how I am one of those lucky people that doesn't look back and wish for what I once had but can't stop looking forward to what is to come. Every day that I run, I make progress. I gain strength. I learn what works (and what doesn't). I don't worry about my weight anymore. I think about how to get stronger and increase endurance.
To date I have completed 2 Half Marathons, several 5ks, an 8k, and am training for the Thunder Road marathon. For the first time in my life, I am embracing who I am, a short, feisty, sturdy gal who decided kick her own fat ass.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
The walk of shame.
If you have children old enough to *really* defy you, I don't need to explain what this means.
After much preparation and dissention among the ranks, we managed to get the whole family to Church today.
They were playing well in the nursery during the first part of the service and came in for the children's sermon. Apparently Morrison was tapping his shoes on the floor and trying to climb about. Luckily I am short and couldn't see his antics. As they headed back to the nursery I realized that Sinclair was in need of a potty break, so I headed out to take her to the restroom. Things were OK in the nursery, Morrison was boisterous (as usual!) but when it came time to return to the sanctuary for Communion- they turned on the rancor. I was carrying Cecilia, holding Sinclair's hand and Morrison was holding the hand of the arm that was holding Cecilia. And then he decided he'd like to hang from my forearm. Sheer panic- I nearly dropped Cecilia and the panicked usher told Morrison, "No!" through clenched teeth. I made it it to Chip and then Morrison wriggled up to my Mom where he continued his antics and we decided to cut our losses and head out.
I don't think my face has ever blushed so deeply as it did when we escorted our rowdy brood out the door. Sigh.
Luckily this weekend has been very good otherwise. They were well-behaved and happy at the Greek Festival and visiting with their Grandparents. I suppose 2 out of 3 isn't bad, right?
After much preparation and dissention among the ranks, we managed to get the whole family to Church today.
They were playing well in the nursery during the first part of the service and came in for the children's sermon. Apparently Morrison was tapping his shoes on the floor and trying to climb about. Luckily I am short and couldn't see his antics. As they headed back to the nursery I realized that Sinclair was in need of a potty break, so I headed out to take her to the restroom. Things were OK in the nursery, Morrison was boisterous (as usual!) but when it came time to return to the sanctuary for Communion- they turned on the rancor. I was carrying Cecilia, holding Sinclair's hand and Morrison was holding the hand of the arm that was holding Cecilia. And then he decided he'd like to hang from my forearm. Sheer panic- I nearly dropped Cecilia and the panicked usher told Morrison, "No!" through clenched teeth. I made it it to Chip and then Morrison wriggled up to my Mom where he continued his antics and we decided to cut our losses and head out.
I don't think my face has ever blushed so deeply as it did when we escorted our rowdy brood out the door. Sigh.
Luckily this weekend has been very good otherwise. They were well-behaved and happy at the Greek Festival and visiting with their Grandparents. I suppose 2 out of 3 isn't bad, right?
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
First Day of School 9/2/08
Well, today was the day we've all been waiting for since about Mid-June. Morrison and Sinclair returned to pre-school today. Morrison is back to his rampant flirtations and Sinclair was greeted by the open arms of her buddies from last year. All is right with the world.I should rewind to the drama that precipitated the drive to school this morning. I got the kiddos up and got them dressed- they came down the stairs like a herd of hungry buffalo and swarmed the table. Through their Cheerios and scrambled eggs- they inquired as to the whereabouts of Daddy. Uh-oh. They *were* expecting him to be there after I had assured him it was fine to go on to work. It began with a few queries and ended up with this conversation:
Morrison: "So, NO ONE is going to see us go to our first day of school?!"
Me: "Of course, sweetie, *I'll* be there."
Morrison:
Thank goodness Gigi came through and helped me see them off to school. I had the feeling of Hoke from "Driving Miss Daisy. " My retort of "I'm not just some back of the head you look at while you're getting where you've got to go," was lost on them...
I really am glad that I am such a constant that they can't conceive of me *not* being there for the first day of school. I see the blessing in that, too.
After sulking appropriately, of course.
Oh, and my sincere apologies for the blurry image, I was wearing Cecilia at the time and didn't manage to perfect the focus. Oh well, you get the idea, two super cute kiddos sitting in front of the pre-school sign. They were adorable. Trust me, I was lucky enough to be there ;)
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