Frightening Times

Sunday night was a rough night. That night, I knew fear. I think that as a mama, fear is a constant enemy. And fear was working overtime on me that night.

We found ourselves at the hospital late Sunday. Well, we didn't just "find" ourselves there, we drove of course. But I think you got that. I fought going. I really, really didn't want to go. I didn't want to go and have them tell me something was wrong. I didn't want to go and come home not pregnant.

I wanted to stay home wrapped in my secure, cozy little coccoon and pretend everything was going to be just fine in the morning. Surely, I could ignore all common sense and push frightening thoughts aside. I probably could have, too. But Paco was having none of it.

So, there we were. In the maternity triage center, where very pregnant ladies were coming in to have their babies and I was desperately wanting to keep mine where he/she belongs.

Three different nurses tried to get a heart beat. Three times, they failed.

They failed.

I had failed in some way. Maybe it was the caffeinated coffee I had drunk, maybe I lifted something too heavy, maybe I'd forgotten to take my prenatals one too many times, maybe it was my fault.

This pregnancy has been harder for me than the others. I hate saying that, admitting it. So, in the back of my mind, I reasoned that it had to be something I had done.

The guilt and the tears set in. That night was a long night.

And then, as a reminder of God's grace and love, the doctor walked in. He was a funny doctor with a thick accent. We understood every other word he said, but we grabbed onto what he was offering us.

Hope.

We prayed fervently, and hung onto that hope like a drowning sailor to a life preserver.

We clung to it as went to the ultrasound room. We clung to it as I climbed onto the bed. We clung to it as the tech gelled me up.

We held our breath, daring to hope. Hoping for the best, preparing for whatever was ahead.

And we were rewarded. Our hope, our prayers were answered by a truly loving and gracious Father.

There was our reward. A tiny, precious one with a heartbeat and too much energy for 1:30 am.

We laughed, we cried, we breathed.

Once again, we were reminded of how He is in the big things and the little things. And how blessed we are that He loves us.

The Smell of Sharpened Pencils

Ah, can you sense the excitement in the air?

The sense of anticipation?

The smell of the newly sharpened pencils and the sight of the beautiful perfect points on the brand-new, not broken, not ugly or nasty crayons...



The time had come. I had to stop indulging myself and get down to business. No more lying on the couch. No more watching soap operas and eating bon-bons - like I'd ever do that. I couldn't afford that many bon-bons. Besides, I prefer the Walton's to soap operas.

I had to suck it up and get ready for school to start. And start we did.


Fourth Grade



Kindergarteners


And one tag-a-long

However, lest I deceive you, the real joy in this post is not necessarily that we started school, but that we've made it through the first two weeks and I haven't had a nervous breakdown. Yet.

Twitch, twitch.

What brought you joy this week?



Head over to Sharon's Just for the Joy of It and share your joy with us!

Give the Man a Prize

I'm a sentimental old fool.

Or maybe you think I'm a sentimental young fool. If you do, let me just say, "Bless you."

I remember dates like no one's business. Well, the good dates anyways. I remember what I was doing five days before Gi-Gi was born because it was tax day, the date of our first kiss, the date we met, the day we moved into this house. Believe me, the list goes on and on...

...and on and on...

I think my husband secretly loathes the days when I say, "Guess what happened on this date five (or six or three, whatever) years ago?" He gets his deer in the headlights look in his eyes and I know his pulse jumps exponentially.

Being the wonderful man that he is, though, he almost always comes through. Bless his little pea-picking heart.

I sprung this on him two days ago. "Guess what tomorrow is?"

There was only the slightest of pauses as he gathered his scattered wits about him. Then he triumphantly pronounced, "It's the seventh anniversary of the day we got engaged."

Aw, that's why I love this man. He indulges me in my silly little 'Name the Event' game and he almost always gets it right.

And that is reason #1,943,003 that I love him.


Enjoying our honeymoon at Lake Tahoe

I'm really glad that he asked me to marry him on August 23, 2003.

And I'm really glad that I had the guts to say yes to the adventure that was about to begin.

Peace

*If you're viewing this via email, you're going to have to actually visit the blog to view this video.*

When Paco and I were first married, we learned that not only did we have similar tastes in food (no cauliflower please) and movies (Cinderella Man and The Notebook are two of our faves), but we were astounded to learn that our tastes in music are almost identical.

Almost. (I still haven't gotten a liking for classic rock. At least, most of the time.)

One of the songs that we "discovered" was Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune. One night after the house was quiet from the wonderful noise of the day, we popped this in the cd player and just let it wash over us. We actually took turns making up stories to go along with the music, laughing and loving being together.

It's one of my most favorite, intimate memories I have with him. And just because I love you guys, too, I hope you get as much joy and peace out of it as I do.



What brings you joy this week?



Linking up to Sharon's Just for the Joy of It over at the Good, True and Beautiful.

PS Let me know if this video isn't so great. The speakers on my computer aren't working so I had to imagine that this is okay. I watched the hands on the piano, but not being a pianist it didn't help any. Go figure.

Thing-A-Ma-Jiggers

This week has been, oh how do you say, crazy busy.

I guess you would say it just like that: crazy busy. First week of school, three doctors' appointments, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Every day I've tried to sit down at the computer to share the newest piece of drama, I mean vital information that you need to know. I say to myself, "Self, you must get that on the blog. You simply must."

And then reality sets in and I realize that I simply MUST take care of the screaming children, the clogged potty, the dirty diaper and the ringing phone all at the same time. What can I say? I'm a mama. That's life.

And a good life it is, too.

However, it would be even better if I could find my camera's USB port cord thingamajigger so I could show you all my glorious pictures that I've taken but haven't shared since, um, before the fourth of July.

I have a feeling a little seventeen month old might have thrown it in the garbage.

Should have seen it coming.

But I didn't. Nope, didn't see it coming at all.

That'll show me. Maybe.

Death of My Vanity

Oh, boy. Summertime in Arizona is not the time to be forgetting one crucial step in my morning routine.

Picture it:

August.

In Phoenix.

High temp is predicted to be 108 degrees. Feels like the surface of the sun.

The stage is set...

On Tuesdays during the summer, my most precious, loving, sanity-saving mother-in-law takes 3/4 of my children out on an adventure. Sometimes it's the movies, sometimes different museums, sometimes whatever...

Have I mentioned lately that I love her? As in, deeply?

Today being Tuesday, they were off to the magical land of the Musical Instruments Museum. Pretty cool. I never knew it even existed. Oops, digressing.

My lovely, fun outing was running errands. Actually, it wasn't bad. I had to go to two different government offices and only having to take one child was actually vacation-like. And the best part, Paco told me I could grab lunch while I was out. Apparently, people get to out for lunch.

People who are NOT stay at home moms.

Now if you've ever been in a government office of any sort, you get to observe that there are all kinds of people. From every walk of life, these people come. Some very conscientious of their personal grooming, others, um, not so much. That being said, we'll proceed.

The first stop was in downtown Phoenix. I don't have to drive to downtown alot, so I don't know my way around very well. When I don't know my way around very well, I get nervous. When I get nervous, I sweat. When I'm pregnant, I sweat even more. When I live in a scorching desert, well, you get the picture.

Found it okay, mission accomplished. A little sweat, but no biggie.

Next stop, another government office. Have to walk across the blazing asphalt parking lot into the building. Because it's a courthouse, you have to go through a metal detector. No big whoop. Ju-Ju out of the stroller, purse on the X-ray machine, nothing I hadn't expected.

Oh, wait. I forgot about the butter knives in my purse.

Seriously, I had butter knives in my purse. Who doesn't?

Well, apparently, they could be considered weapons. Um, oops. Cue more sweating.

Next, I find myself in a room trying to figure out how I'm supposed to be getting the information I HAVE to have. Uh, oh. Getting nervous. The room is getting busier and busier, it's lunchtime and I had to wake Ju-Ju up from his short car-trip nap.

Disaster in three...two...one

Again, noticing the different kinds of people, feeling philosophical about how God makes all different types, sentimentally watching the young couples come in for marriage licenses, playing with my surprisingly happy son and thinking everyone should be envying me. That's when I noticed a scent. Or maybe it was more of an odor.

Yup, definitely an odor. I did a couple of quick glances around the room, looking for the person who gave off that (ahem) unclean smell and that's when I realized...

...Oh, my heavens. It was me. {gasp!}

I promise, I put deodorant on this morning. Apparently, though, when you live in the broiling oven called The Valley of the Sun, one or two swipes just doesn't cut it.

Now, I don't know about you, but when I realize my deodorant isn't working, I sweat even MORE.

The only solution is pray the line moves fast and not lift your arms for anything or anyone.

Finally done, I was in a conundrum. Paco said I could take Ju-Ju out to eat. He promised. I had earned it. But, did I really want to go anywhere else smelling like, well, you know.

What do I do? Well, I wasn't missing out on my lunch, darn it. I went out anyways. I pulled the baby out of the car again, trying not to inhale deeply. I went in, ordered, and looked for a table. Found a table, but where were the high chairs? Oh, no. On the other side of the restaurant, on the other side of the tables all mashed together. Which meant, I had to lift the high chair up, while carrying the baby and all our paraphernalia in the other arm.

My pride and vanity plummeted.

The sad thing is that I was going to take pictures of my first date with Ju-Ju.

I was too ashamed to even lift my arms to take a picture.

And all because one or two swipes wasn't enough.

Learn my lesson, friends. Learn it well. Everyone will thank you for it later.

Those Little Whispers

This pregnancy is kicking my bum. Badly.

Maybe it's the fact that it's my fifth. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not as young as the first time I was pregnant. Maybe it's the fact that I have four children running around the house, yelling at the top of their lungs because it's too hot to go outside.

Maybe it's because sub-consciously, I was looking for a valid reason to lay down on the couch during the middle of the day.

Nah.

I don't know if anyone else experiences this while they're pregnant, but along with the physical upheaval, I start getting those little whispers. Do you know the ones I'm talking about?

If you don't, let me give you a little sample:

-What?! You're laying down again? How self-indulgent can you be?

-What kind of wife are you? Your husband works hard all day long and then comes home to no clean laundry, a filthy house, fighting children and dinner not even planned.

-What kind of mother are you? Your poor children have cabin fever and you can't even make yourself take them to the library/pool/mall/fill in the blank. You make them eat ramen noodles or macaroni and cheese almost everyday because you can't even make them a decent, healthy lunch. You should be ashamed.

-What are you doing to this poor baby inside of you? All you want to eat is potato chips and french fries. You've stopped exercising and you're eating this gross, terrible food.

-What kind of homeschooling mama are you? You've had all your curriculum for two weeks now and it's still sitting unopened, unplanned on the floor in the office, hidden from your sight. And why do you want to cry every time you happen to glance over and see it?

ARGH! I hate those thoughts! And believe me when I say, that's just the tip of the iceberg.

During my prayer time this morning, I could feel those little whispers building up in me again. "Here we go again!", I thought.

But I'd forgotten. I'd forgotten that I serve a God that is bigger than all of these whispers. I'd forgotten that I'm a treasured child of His. I'd forgotten that even when I'm not at my best (which is quite frequently lately), He is. I'd forgotten that He is a God of grace. I'd forgotten that He has given me the power of my thoughts.

2 Corinthians 10:5 says, "...casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing EVERY thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ..." (emphasis added)

I love that He gently reminded me of that while I was praying. I love that He is patient and gracious with me. I love that He doesn't zap me with lightning when I forget His truths.

One more thing that I love... I love that I don't have to suck in my tummy anymore. I can now chalk it up to pregnancy.

There's always a silver lining.

What are you learning this week?