There are days that leave me totally speechless.
Last week I took my niece to pick up two puppies from a rescue organization. She has wanted shepherd mix puppies for quite some time now, and the 3 hour round trip drive seemed like a good time with 2 nieces, their 5 children and my 3 youngest. We planned fast food lunch, and snacks on the way back if the kids could all play nice together.
Other than needing to use the little potty or finding a corn field for the boys, the trip down was eventless. Until we got to the puppy farm.
I told myself for days that I sure wouldn't get a puppy again. I mean, this trip for me was just a way to spend time with my nieces and their kids. A road trip. Been there, done that. 7 kids at home already, who needed a puppy?
Evidently, I did. As we were leaving I told the lady in charge of the operation that if she had a kitten, I wouldn't be able to leave with out one, but shepherd puppies were simply too big for my life. We have our 3 year old char pei, yellow lab mix, Baby Butterscotch, who is a real honey and a great watch dog to boot. She is completely house broken, protective of my kids, and never a bother. I don't like puppies.
But then she showed me her "other" pups. Oh, I should never have walked behind her house to the kennels! There were so many puppies of all types, and one certain puppy hung back with his head tilted just so, his dark eyes begging me to say "No."
I couldn't stand it!! The owner asked me if my husband liked puppies, or did I live in a house that was not appropriate for dogs? I explained our home, which really had nothing to do with my disdain of puppies.
Then the imploring fellow who stayed politely at the back of the crowd was lifted over the fence, into my arms, and all I could think of was how very much I LOVED puppies, wanted one, and how happy Mike would be to get this particular sweetie for his 50th birthday on the 29th.
Sold.
I had my niece waiting in the car with her puppies, already to go home, while I finished the transaction. Seems he gets his soft ears and wavy hair from the Cocker Spanial in his bloodline. His tail is cropped, and he has the most adorable white streak right between his tiny eyes, and a tuft of white fur on his chest. He is seven weeks of baby energy and just the transfer from his kennel to our car caused him to sleep almost the entire hour and 1/2 ride home. My niece took his photo, posted it to Mike's email, with a sappy note of birthday wishes from his loving wife (me). I knew he'd be as hooked as me once he saw this precious little critter.
Unfortunately, the 7 children take so much time with the baby dog that there is rarely any time left for Mike to do any significant bonding with his birthday pet. Except throughout the night.
It seems the box I choose for him to sleep in is not even a slight challenge for Pup to remove himself from. And he really prefers sleeping in the crook of Mike's arm, or between us, or on the pillow with his tiny head on Mike's shoulder.
Another one of my nieces, Ali, told us she had a puppy that was so adorable and tiny that she slept on her chest. There only problem is, the puppy grew into a 65 pound dog who still wants to sleep like that. Oops!!
So, forget creating bad habits, Mike continues to bring the puppy to bed with us, and the puppy is great at waking him up to take him outside. There are few accidents if he goes out every 2 hours. There is also very little sleep on the other side of my bed going on since puppy joined our nighttime routine.
Ah, the joys of puppies. Oh, and I found a gray and white fluffball kitten, the same age as the puppy. I asked Mike if I could get it, and since he could hardly refuse after the wonderful gift I had just gotten for him, I now am the proud mamma to a 7 week old kitten, with claws and sharp teeth, and a purr too big for his body, whom I named Martin.
Mike chose the name CARL for his miniature shadow, and I believe he will definately become this mans' best friend. I remain a cat person, but I can't stand to see this tiny dog all alone while Mike's at work. I know what you are thinking, but when I am holding and playing with the puppy while Mike is gone, it's really just because I don't want to see him lonely. After all, I really don't even like dogs.....
I guess in this case you could say I am speechless...and hopelessly in love with the two babies who joined our household last week.
Large family life, through a mama's eyes
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
My First Son
Today is Mother's Day, the Nationally recognized day to honor our mothers. People are celebrating all over the U.S., and in our home, Mike has always made it a full day event.
When I think of the events that made me a mother, I travel back in time to my first set of children, and the powerful feeling I experienced becoming a first time mom.
Throughout my entire first pregnancy, I referred to the baby as our "Chad Michael." The first born in both of our families were both boys, so I figured our first born would be also. When Ashleigh was born, we immediately forgot about our thoughts of a boy. The next pregnancy brought us another wonderful little girl, so our third pregnancy would not have surprised me if I was, again, carrying another girl.
Around the 5th month, an ultrasound revealed, to our surprise and joy, a baby boy was growing and thriving in my womb. We immediately determined he would follow in daddy's footsteps and we would name him after his dad. We were to have a "Junior" in the house, but we would call him by his middle name so there would never be any confusion about who we were talking about.
We called him "Scotty" from the moment of that first ultrasound. Our much anticipated Son took center stage as we decorated a boy's room, bought blue outfits and prepared for his birth. It was some of the most exciting days of our lives - a boy!!
During my pregnancy there were very few issues, but the last week prior to his delivery was full of problems. My blood pressure teetered on the edge of dangerous, and baby's heart rate fluctuated enough that, in those days, the doctor considered me high risk. We were blessed to have my mom come stay with us in Tennessee during this time, and I remember moving painfully from chair to couch to bed the entire week. I was miserable.
Finally, doc decides to deliver. March 14, 1986. My water was broken, and labor began. Mom was at home with the girls, who were then 4 and 2. Everything seemed to be running smoothly, when baby's rate dropped, and doctor didn't leave my side. As soon as the doctor thought we could try delivery, my epidural had kicked in, giving me sweet relief from the pain. After delivering both girls naturally, I knew the process would be painful, but this time I was having a hard time focusing on the end result, so the epidural was a huge bonus.
I remember the relief I sensed when the doctor saw the crowning of baby's head, but then the fear I sensed invading the room within minutes. The cord was pulling tight against the baby's neck, making his delivery frightening. After what seemed like a very long time, the forceps brought Scotty into the world, blue, and not breathing. We were holding our breath when we heard the first cry, and realized, we just had a baby boy! Although he was bruised and slight color slowly infused his cheeks, he was finally here and we were blessed. He looked just like the girls, on first sight, then the nurses whisked him away to the nursery where he could get life-sustaining oxygen and his apgar scores could be recalculated.
Many other thoughts crowd my mind of that time, but I jump forward to today. Scott is a man, father of three, married to a great gal. He is nearing the end of his career in the Coast Guard, making plans that will take his family into the next stage of life. Although he lives over 700 miles from us, he has a strong presence in our lives even now. He is a firefighter, plays guitar in his church worship band, is a creative dad and wonderful husband. He works hard to make a good life for his family, and he is pursuing an online college degree to secure his future.
Sometimes I think he took on an awful lot at an early age. But what he has accomplished is far beyond what some men will never do. He is kind, considerate, and extremely funny. He is sensitive to the needs of others, and he looks for ways to help out. He makes friends easily, and his laughter brings laughs out of others. He is compassionate, dedicated and loyal. I have no doubt all of these things will just continue to deepen and ripen as he ages, and I am so proud of all he has accomplished so far.
He doesn't like me to brag on his accomplishments, but when he earns an award for something he's done with the Coast Guard, I say, with pride, "That's my boy!!" When he comes up with a new song he's written, or one of his boys calls me with something funny to share, I know it's in part because of the father he is and I swell with pride.
He grew so tall over the years, and he's strong and handsome. He's a great example for my younger boys to follow and he's a man that I am never afraid to lift up to them. He's become so much more to me than the baby boy I longed for. He's now a man, with a bright future, and a precious past I am fortunate to be a part of.
Scott, I miss you being in my day to day world, but your life is a beautiful picture to me of selfless contribution to family, friends and your community. I miss you and love you. I am so glad that God chose me to be your mom. Thanks for contributing to my life and making me a stronger, better mother. With all my love, Mom.
When I think of the events that made me a mother, I travel back in time to my first set of children, and the powerful feeling I experienced becoming a first time mom.
Throughout my entire first pregnancy, I referred to the baby as our "Chad Michael." The first born in both of our families were both boys, so I figured our first born would be also. When Ashleigh was born, we immediately forgot about our thoughts of a boy. The next pregnancy brought us another wonderful little girl, so our third pregnancy would not have surprised me if I was, again, carrying another girl.
Around the 5th month, an ultrasound revealed, to our surprise and joy, a baby boy was growing and thriving in my womb. We immediately determined he would follow in daddy's footsteps and we would name him after his dad. We were to have a "Junior" in the house, but we would call him by his middle name so there would never be any confusion about who we were talking about.
We called him "Scotty" from the moment of that first ultrasound. Our much anticipated Son took center stage as we decorated a boy's room, bought blue outfits and prepared for his birth. It was some of the most exciting days of our lives - a boy!!
During my pregnancy there were very few issues, but the last week prior to his delivery was full of problems. My blood pressure teetered on the edge of dangerous, and baby's heart rate fluctuated enough that, in those days, the doctor considered me high risk. We were blessed to have my mom come stay with us in Tennessee during this time, and I remember moving painfully from chair to couch to bed the entire week. I was miserable.
Finally, doc decides to deliver. March 14, 1986. My water was broken, and labor began. Mom was at home with the girls, who were then 4 and 2. Everything seemed to be running smoothly, when baby's rate dropped, and doctor didn't leave my side. As soon as the doctor thought we could try delivery, my epidural had kicked in, giving me sweet relief from the pain. After delivering both girls naturally, I knew the process would be painful, but this time I was having a hard time focusing on the end result, so the epidural was a huge bonus.
I remember the relief I sensed when the doctor saw the crowning of baby's head, but then the fear I sensed invading the room within minutes. The cord was pulling tight against the baby's neck, making his delivery frightening. After what seemed like a very long time, the forceps brought Scotty into the world, blue, and not breathing. We were holding our breath when we heard the first cry, and realized, we just had a baby boy! Although he was bruised and slight color slowly infused his cheeks, he was finally here and we were blessed. He looked just like the girls, on first sight, then the nurses whisked him away to the nursery where he could get life-sustaining oxygen and his apgar scores could be recalculated.
Many other thoughts crowd my mind of that time, but I jump forward to today. Scott is a man, father of three, married to a great gal. He is nearing the end of his career in the Coast Guard, making plans that will take his family into the next stage of life. Although he lives over 700 miles from us, he has a strong presence in our lives even now. He is a firefighter, plays guitar in his church worship band, is a creative dad and wonderful husband. He works hard to make a good life for his family, and he is pursuing an online college degree to secure his future.
Sometimes I think he took on an awful lot at an early age. But what he has accomplished is far beyond what some men will never do. He is kind, considerate, and extremely funny. He is sensitive to the needs of others, and he looks for ways to help out. He makes friends easily, and his laughter brings laughs out of others. He is compassionate, dedicated and loyal. I have no doubt all of these things will just continue to deepen and ripen as he ages, and I am so proud of all he has accomplished so far.
He doesn't like me to brag on his accomplishments, but when he earns an award for something he's done with the Coast Guard, I say, with pride, "That's my boy!!" When he comes up with a new song he's written, or one of his boys calls me with something funny to share, I know it's in part because of the father he is and I swell with pride.
He grew so tall over the years, and he's strong and handsome. He's a great example for my younger boys to follow and he's a man that I am never afraid to lift up to them. He's become so much more to me than the baby boy I longed for. He's now a man, with a bright future, and a precious past I am fortunate to be a part of.
Scott, I miss you being in my day to day world, but your life is a beautiful picture to me of selfless contribution to family, friends and your community. I miss you and love you. I am so glad that God chose me to be your mom. Thanks for contributing to my life and making me a stronger, better mother. With all my love, Mom.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Those Dreadful Catepillars
I don't know about your area, but our area is being overcome right now by those tree eating, wiggly, furry catepillars. They build ugly white, filmy tent houses and destroy my flowering bushes. I hate them.
My children, however, love them. They name them, pet them, and build fabulous houses for them out of boxes and sticks. They beg to bring them into the house at night, and they carry them around as if they were kittens. They want me to fall in love with their striped, furry bags, their tiny black legs, and their beady little eyes. Oh, ok, they are kinda cute, but I still hate the destruction they create.
I saw my neighbor cutting branches out of his beautiful maple tree last week. I shouted for him to be careful on the ladder, and he commented on how many caterpillars we seem to have this year. He was clearly trying to save his tree. I wish him luck, but I am not exactly sure how successful he will be this year.
So, on our weekly scrap day this past week, my great nieces and my youngest daughter were carrying these critters around in plastic boxes. Of course, like every great treasure, each one wanted the boxes of caterpillars that the other one was carrying. Two boxes of wiggly worms were not enough, evidently.
We broke up numerous squabbles between the kids, and I even told them if they didn't play nicely together with each other, I will stomp their little heads off (the bugs, not the children).
The final axe fell when Macy, the cutest two year old in my world, came in to complain about her cousin.
"Macy, what is wrong?" her momma asked.
"Bella took my cattapissers!" Macy cried.
Oh, we couldn't help but laugh. Yes, Macy, I agree, because my new name for these dreadful critters is now the DREADED CATTAPISSERS!
I hope they are not destroying your trees right now.
My children, however, love them. They name them, pet them, and build fabulous houses for them out of boxes and sticks. They beg to bring them into the house at night, and they carry them around as if they were kittens. They want me to fall in love with their striped, furry bags, their tiny black legs, and their beady little eyes. Oh, ok, they are kinda cute, but I still hate the destruction they create.
I saw my neighbor cutting branches out of his beautiful maple tree last week. I shouted for him to be careful on the ladder, and he commented on how many caterpillars we seem to have this year. He was clearly trying to save his tree. I wish him luck, but I am not exactly sure how successful he will be this year.
So, on our weekly scrap day this past week, my great nieces and my youngest daughter were carrying these critters around in plastic boxes. Of course, like every great treasure, each one wanted the boxes of caterpillars that the other one was carrying. Two boxes of wiggly worms were not enough, evidently.
We broke up numerous squabbles between the kids, and I even told them if they didn't play nicely together with each other, I will stomp their little heads off (the bugs, not the children).
The final axe fell when Macy, the cutest two year old in my world, came in to complain about her cousin.
"Macy, what is wrong?" her momma asked.
"Bella took my cattapissers!" Macy cried.
Oh, we couldn't help but laugh. Yes, Macy, I agree, because my new name for these dreadful critters is now the DREADED CATTAPISSERS!
I hope they are not destroying your trees right now.
Friday, May 7, 2010
How Big is God?
"Mom, is God a King?"
We were coming home from dinner at a fast food joint, in the pouring rain, and I just wanted to get home and into my comfy jammies for the night.
"Yes, Mere', God is the King of Kings."
"Tommy said God is not a King."
Tommy jumped in, "I know God is alive, and I believe in Jesus, but I just don't think God is old enough to be a King."
Such heavy conversation from two kindergarteners. I really just wanted to get home.
"Yes, Tom. Even if you don't believe it, God is the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. The Bible tells us about how big God is."
"But, I don't know how old God is. Is He old enough to be a King? Is he older than Grampa or Grandma?"
I wasn't sure which grandma he was talking about, but I replied, "Yes, Tom, God is bigger and older than grampa and gramma. God has always been here, and is the biggest of anyone we know!"
The conversation was not over yet. "So, is God older, even older than dad?"
Oh yes, God is even older than dad. As I began to answer that one, he turns to his six siblings in the back of the van, and says, "Hey, mom says God is older than grandpa and grandma, and even older than DAD!!"
If only life's lessons could all be so easy to grasp with just a little bit of belief and a whole lot of conversation to help me understand them all.
Yes, God is older, bigger and more powerful than I give HIM credit for. And that is an answer I just can never waiver on. My God is a BIG, OLD GOD!! Oh, yeah!!!
Thanks, kids, for the uplifting discussion. It never hurts to cover the basics, does it?
We were coming home from dinner at a fast food joint, in the pouring rain, and I just wanted to get home and into my comfy jammies for the night.
"Yes, Mere', God is the King of Kings."
"Tommy said God is not a King."
Tommy jumped in, "I know God is alive, and I believe in Jesus, but I just don't think God is old enough to be a King."
Such heavy conversation from two kindergarteners. I really just wanted to get home.
"Yes, Tom. Even if you don't believe it, God is the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. The Bible tells us about how big God is."
"But, I don't know how old God is. Is He old enough to be a King? Is he older than Grampa or Grandma?"
I wasn't sure which grandma he was talking about, but I replied, "Yes, Tom, God is bigger and older than grampa and gramma. God has always been here, and is the biggest of anyone we know!"
The conversation was not over yet. "So, is God older, even older than dad?"
Oh yes, God is even older than dad. As I began to answer that one, he turns to his six siblings in the back of the van, and says, "Hey, mom says God is older than grandpa and grandma, and even older than DAD!!"
If only life's lessons could all be so easy to grasp with just a little bit of belief and a whole lot of conversation to help me understand them all.
Yes, God is older, bigger and more powerful than I give HIM credit for. And that is an answer I just can never waiver on. My God is a BIG, OLD GOD!! Oh, yeah!!!
Thanks, kids, for the uplifting discussion. It never hurts to cover the basics, does it?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Jennifer
Jenni is my second daughter, who just turned 26 in November. It's funny that no matter how hard I try, I constantly refer to her at the wrong age.
One year when she was only 20, I added 21 candles to her cake. That's an age that young adults never want to get wrong since it's the "coming of age" birthday. But in so many ways, Jenni always seemed older to me than her actual chronological age.
When Jen was really young, serious migraines defined her life. We saw so many doctors, therapists, and specialists trying to locate the reason for the pain that plagued her. She endured so much poking, prodding and questioning most of her young life, that it makes me think her desire to become a nurse is probably the result of all the things she was exposed to from so early on. Some of the worst memories of her childhood, for me, was having to give her injections for her migraines when she was already in such pain.
Jenni has always been creative, in spite of her pain. She was not a complainer. Around 10 years old, Mike rushed her to the medical center for a large cut just below her thumb. As the doctor stitched her up, he questioned her dad about how she had gotten a cut like that. He was astonished that we allowed her to use an X-acto knife, and was discussing safety issues.
Doctor: "Why were you using a knife, Jennifer?"
Jenni: "I was building a doll house."
Doctor: "That is probably not a good thing for someone your age to be doing, especially with a knife."
Jenni: "I've been using craft knives for a long time. It's the 3rd dollhouse I've built."
Doctor: "Oh."
That has always been her personality. Making things gave her satisfaction and joy, and she still makes a huge majority of her own clothing. She also has made stunning art by combining pieces of magazine pictures,or dried flowers. She just has an eye for that. She also has books of drawings (all three of my kids can draw - that's a trait they get from their dad's side of the family!) that are beautiful. She beads, and just recently taught me some of that skill. I think Jenni can take anything and make something out of it.
Jen has also been my adventurer. She was the first to leave the area when she moved to Alabama for a year, so I should not have been shocked when she married and moved to Oregon. I don't know what I would do if there were not cell phones, email or airlines!! The cost to fly home is tremendous for her, but she never complains. She looks for ways to make it home twice each year, and tells me that it's just part of being the one who moved away.
For a while her days off were on Fridays, so I looked forward to a call each week. We missed each other for 2 weeks, and when we finally connected, it seemed like so much time had passed. I really miss being able to know her day to day thoughts, feelings, or current projects she is working on. I wish we could go to the Farmers Market together on the weekends, or run to the fabric store when the whim hit us. I would love to have her come over for a Chili dinner and stick around for a cheesy movie. I would love to have her and Ash run around to garage sales with me on Saturday mornings. I would love it if she lived closer.
Life is like that, though. We love our kids, teach them to be responsible and prepare them for life, then send them off into the world. Some parents have a hard time letting go (I don't want to!!)but I don't want to cripple them. They need to explore, see their own adventures and build their own worlds. I am proud of who Jenni has become, and as much as I wish she were here, I am thankful on this busy planet that she still maintains such great contact with us. She has made friendships and formed a lifestyle that suits her personality. She makes me proud.
So, two days before Mother's Day, I am not only thankful for Ashleigh who made me a mom for the first time, but I am also grateful for the second daughter that God blessed us with. Jennifer, you make me smile just thinking of how far you have come and how well you have gotten to this point in your life.
Jenni, If you ever want to move back here, I will enjoy it immensely. While you are away, know that I cherish our conversations, and I can not think of anyone else who has kids just as wonderful as mine. You made me a better mom when you entered my world. I love you.
One year when she was only 20, I added 21 candles to her cake. That's an age that young adults never want to get wrong since it's the "coming of age" birthday. But in so many ways, Jenni always seemed older to me than her actual chronological age.
When Jen was really young, serious migraines defined her life. We saw so many doctors, therapists, and specialists trying to locate the reason for the pain that plagued her. She endured so much poking, prodding and questioning most of her young life, that it makes me think her desire to become a nurse is probably the result of all the things she was exposed to from so early on. Some of the worst memories of her childhood, for me, was having to give her injections for her migraines when she was already in such pain.
Jenni has always been creative, in spite of her pain. She was not a complainer. Around 10 years old, Mike rushed her to the medical center for a large cut just below her thumb. As the doctor stitched her up, he questioned her dad about how she had gotten a cut like that. He was astonished that we allowed her to use an X-acto knife, and was discussing safety issues.
Doctor: "Why were you using a knife, Jennifer?"
Jenni: "I was building a doll house."
Doctor: "That is probably not a good thing for someone your age to be doing, especially with a knife."
Jenni: "I've been using craft knives for a long time. It's the 3rd dollhouse I've built."
Doctor: "Oh."
That has always been her personality. Making things gave her satisfaction and joy, and she still makes a huge majority of her own clothing. She also has made stunning art by combining pieces of magazine pictures,or dried flowers. She just has an eye for that. She also has books of drawings (all three of my kids can draw - that's a trait they get from their dad's side of the family!) that are beautiful. She beads, and just recently taught me some of that skill. I think Jenni can take anything and make something out of it.
Jen has also been my adventurer. She was the first to leave the area when she moved to Alabama for a year, so I should not have been shocked when she married and moved to Oregon. I don't know what I would do if there were not cell phones, email or airlines!! The cost to fly home is tremendous for her, but she never complains. She looks for ways to make it home twice each year, and tells me that it's just part of being the one who moved away.
For a while her days off were on Fridays, so I looked forward to a call each week. We missed each other for 2 weeks, and when we finally connected, it seemed like so much time had passed. I really miss being able to know her day to day thoughts, feelings, or current projects she is working on. I wish we could go to the Farmers Market together on the weekends, or run to the fabric store when the whim hit us. I would love to have her come over for a Chili dinner and stick around for a cheesy movie. I would love to have her and Ash run around to garage sales with me on Saturday mornings. I would love it if she lived closer.
Life is like that, though. We love our kids, teach them to be responsible and prepare them for life, then send them off into the world. Some parents have a hard time letting go (I don't want to!!)but I don't want to cripple them. They need to explore, see their own adventures and build their own worlds. I am proud of who Jenni has become, and as much as I wish she were here, I am thankful on this busy planet that she still maintains such great contact with us. She has made friendships and formed a lifestyle that suits her personality. She makes me proud.
So, two days before Mother's Day, I am not only thankful for Ashleigh who made me a mom for the first time, but I am also grateful for the second daughter that God blessed us with. Jennifer, you make me smile just thinking of how far you have come and how well you have gotten to this point in your life.
Jenni, If you ever want to move back here, I will enjoy it immensely. While you are away, know that I cherish our conversations, and I can not think of anyone else who has kids just as wonderful as mine. You made me a better mom when you entered my world. I love you.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
My First Born
One of the things that makes me extremely happy is that my oldest daughter lives just a few miles away from us. It's not that I love her any more than the others, but since they live so far away (one on the west coast, one on the east), I get excited about seeing them for vacations and special events, and miss them terribly, but my oldest daughter is here all the time, and I love that.
She is the one who has stepped up to say, "I am here" if anything happens that we can not raise our little ones to adulthood. Our other daughter and son would make sure everyone is safe too, but it's comforting to know that the oldest one is here, learning to understand each of the kids and their quirks, along with seeing the day to day struggle that some of the kids bring into the picture.
Don't read this wrong. I feel tremendous support from all three of our grown kids, and I am very, very proud of the things they are doing in their own families. I have NO doubt that when the chips are down, they are pulling for us, comforting us over the miles through phone calls, emails and cards. We never walk alone in this family. They all pray for us, support us, and love us. We are grateful. It's just that their life walks took them out of town, and our oldest daughter's walk is, at least for the moment, here.
But because our oldest daughter is here, I think we have a tendency to understate her importance in our lives.
I appreciate it when she comes to help me clean. ALOT.
I love the fact that she is not the hoarder and pack rat I tend to be, and she's not afraid to tell me when something needs to go.
I am grateful that she has grown to understand my intensity, and that she knows when I am near tears, all she has to do is hug me and tell me it will all work out. Together.
I like it that she is opinionated, and a strong woman. But she is also tender, gentle and caring. She has taken us by surprise with her love of animals, a simple farm life, and her career choice in caring for others. That extends from years in nursing home care, but it's also choices she has made to give so much of herself to loving people that sometimes she experiences deep hurt.
She can fix nearly anything, and I believe there is no project that she won't at least try to tackle. She works on fences, cars, construction, art, sewing, mending and puzzles. She helps put people back together, too. She mothers her small flock of ducks and chickens, tenderly, as a momma loves her child. She is sensitive. She loves to talk politics. She would rather read in her garden bench or dig in the dirt than shop at a mall. She prefers a cold beer to a diet coke. She makes no excuses for the way she lives her life, and she constantly strives to make her life the best she can be. She is not caught up in material things, but has a beautiful house that she proudly fills with her style of creations from the earth.
She cares for her younger siblings, and even asks to spend time with the ones who may just need a little less mothering, and a whole lot more big-sistering. The littlest ones here can think of no other place they would rather be than at her house. I love that.
I am grateful that she has taken time to help with Girl Scouts, show up at science fairs, and comes to birthday parties even when she gets a last minute notice.
I am thankful that she keeps my bathrooms clean, empties my trash cans and finds numerous ways to make life easier for me.
She's beautiful, fun loving and continues to value growing. Whether it's her mind, her garden or her ability to take on a new project.
I tend to take her for granted, and I am reminded each time I am with her that the reason I do is because she requires nothing from us. She is not demanding, but welcomes us when we pull into her driveway. She asks for advice, but lives within her budget and her abilities to make it on her own. She is proud of her achievements, but never boasts of all she accomplishes.
I see other people who are not as lucky as us to have such a wonderful daughter. Another day I will write about the other wonderful children we have been blessed with, but today, I just wanted to say how very much I appreciate my oldest daughter, and how very glad I am to be her mom.
She never reads my blog, but I hope I can do better at letting her know just how very wonderful she is. I am proud of the daughter that first made me a mom. I love you, Ashleigh.
She is the one who has stepped up to say, "I am here" if anything happens that we can not raise our little ones to adulthood. Our other daughter and son would make sure everyone is safe too, but it's comforting to know that the oldest one is here, learning to understand each of the kids and their quirks, along with seeing the day to day struggle that some of the kids bring into the picture.
Don't read this wrong. I feel tremendous support from all three of our grown kids, and I am very, very proud of the things they are doing in their own families. I have NO doubt that when the chips are down, they are pulling for us, comforting us over the miles through phone calls, emails and cards. We never walk alone in this family. They all pray for us, support us, and love us. We are grateful. It's just that their life walks took them out of town, and our oldest daughter's walk is, at least for the moment, here.
But because our oldest daughter is here, I think we have a tendency to understate her importance in our lives.
I appreciate it when she comes to help me clean. ALOT.
I love the fact that she is not the hoarder and pack rat I tend to be, and she's not afraid to tell me when something needs to go.
I am grateful that she has grown to understand my intensity, and that she knows when I am near tears, all she has to do is hug me and tell me it will all work out. Together.
I like it that she is opinionated, and a strong woman. But she is also tender, gentle and caring. She has taken us by surprise with her love of animals, a simple farm life, and her career choice in caring for others. That extends from years in nursing home care, but it's also choices she has made to give so much of herself to loving people that sometimes she experiences deep hurt.
She can fix nearly anything, and I believe there is no project that she won't at least try to tackle. She works on fences, cars, construction, art, sewing, mending and puzzles. She helps put people back together, too. She mothers her small flock of ducks and chickens, tenderly, as a momma loves her child. She is sensitive. She loves to talk politics. She would rather read in her garden bench or dig in the dirt than shop at a mall. She prefers a cold beer to a diet coke. She makes no excuses for the way she lives her life, and she constantly strives to make her life the best she can be. She is not caught up in material things, but has a beautiful house that she proudly fills with her style of creations from the earth.
She cares for her younger siblings, and even asks to spend time with the ones who may just need a little less mothering, and a whole lot more big-sistering. The littlest ones here can think of no other place they would rather be than at her house. I love that.
I am grateful that she has taken time to help with Girl Scouts, show up at science fairs, and comes to birthday parties even when she gets a last minute notice.
I am thankful that she keeps my bathrooms clean, empties my trash cans and finds numerous ways to make life easier for me.
She's beautiful, fun loving and continues to value growing. Whether it's her mind, her garden or her ability to take on a new project.
I tend to take her for granted, and I am reminded each time I am with her that the reason I do is because she requires nothing from us. She is not demanding, but welcomes us when we pull into her driveway. She asks for advice, but lives within her budget and her abilities to make it on her own. She is proud of her achievements, but never boasts of all she accomplishes.
I see other people who are not as lucky as us to have such a wonderful daughter. Another day I will write about the other wonderful children we have been blessed with, but today, I just wanted to say how very much I appreciate my oldest daughter, and how very glad I am to be her mom.
She never reads my blog, but I hope I can do better at letting her know just how very wonderful she is. I am proud of the daughter that first made me a mom. I love you, Ashleigh.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Life
It's been a trying week emotionally. There have been some wonderful moments in each day, but for most of the days, there has been a sadness, an awareness of life changes, and sometimes a little bit of righteous anger, even.
Last Sunday night at this time I was returning from the Emergency Room. I sat for 6 hours with my father, my brother and sister-in-law, as doctors tried their best to determine what was wrong with my mother. Mom was weak, feverish, and very confused. We had been seeing some disturbing things going on with her thinking lately, and noticed her decision-making skills were a bit skewed. It culminated in this trip to the hospital, which later she confided to us that she was not really even sure how she had gotten there.
She had a wide-eyed stare, or a blank and sleepy countenance. She was definately struggling with an infection, but the disconserting part was her inability to focus on simple questions, like her height or her birth date.
Fast forward to a few days later. She's released from the hospital, fever is down, and the antibiotics seem to be working to clear up her illness. Those were blessings. The hard part now, is realizing her mental state still fogs up on a regular basis, and her reasoning ability is much slower. She is compliant, and allows us to help her with basic care, but it shouldn't be this way.
Mom is 72. She used to be fiesty, fun, dark headed and stubborn. She's shakey, weak, and we had to cut her thick curls so she could manage combing through her own hair. My niece is a nurse, and has been great this week at helping mom bathe, sort her medications, get her to eat, and help her change her clothes. My oldest daughter has been cleaning for mom and dad, clearing out some of the things that they don't need in their way, and helping them make sense out of their schedules of doctoring appointments.
I just wonder, where did my parents go? They can not be these people who are depending on us to help them get through their days. Their home is beginning to look like OLD people live there, and I resent it.
I wish my kids would have known them when they were younger. My dad, who built his own home, can work any math problem perfectly and can tie a bolen knot that will never slip. My mom, who loved having people stop by, told jokes from the Reader's Digest magazine, and could make pork chops that my husband would die for!! The dark headed, fun-loving couple who square danced on the weekends, and offered tea and coffee for visitors as soon as they walked in their door way. The man who could fix anything, and did, or the woman who loved any baby she could get her hands on.
Where are the real parents who I grew up with? When did they disappear, and in their place, these dependant, old folks who only slightly resemble the people I knew, appear? Their dark hairs have gone white, their stamina gone.
I realize we are growing older every day, I was just not sure when this obvious change really happened to them. I saw them slowing down, I saw their health issues take some of their life exuberance away, and I know each illness put them deeper into the "older folks" category. But now when I trudge up their stairway, I see remnants of who they were, and I worry that who they used to be will be lost forever to the younger generation.
My front door is always open, because I learned that from my mom. I love having friends and family around. I embrace it. That's my mom.
I think any project at home is doable, like tearing a wall down and expanding our living space, because I grew up that way. I think men should fix their own cars, change their own oil, make money to support their families, because I saw my dad do that.
I never knew my maternal grandparents, because they were gone by the time I was born. But I loved my paternal grandparents because my parents taught me the value of family and relationships. I knew you could live without alot of things, but family would always be there for you. I learned that from my folks.
I guess my anger came in this week when I realized our roles are reversed. I will be taking more time to care for my folks from now on, and I see them in a different way. Their lights are waning and I dont' like knowing that my younger kids will never know them the way I do. There's a dignity to their life that will be diminished as they are forced to accept more daily care. And I resent that.
I will never resent caring for them. I am glad to do it. I just hope that some of the good I learned from them will be passed on to my children through the way I live my life.
Because my folks are good people. I have learned so much from them. I just hate it that they had to grow old before it seemed fair.
Last Sunday night at this time I was returning from the Emergency Room. I sat for 6 hours with my father, my brother and sister-in-law, as doctors tried their best to determine what was wrong with my mother. Mom was weak, feverish, and very confused. We had been seeing some disturbing things going on with her thinking lately, and noticed her decision-making skills were a bit skewed. It culminated in this trip to the hospital, which later she confided to us that she was not really even sure how she had gotten there.
She had a wide-eyed stare, or a blank and sleepy countenance. She was definately struggling with an infection, but the disconserting part was her inability to focus on simple questions, like her height or her birth date.
Fast forward to a few days later. She's released from the hospital, fever is down, and the antibiotics seem to be working to clear up her illness. Those were blessings. The hard part now, is realizing her mental state still fogs up on a regular basis, and her reasoning ability is much slower. She is compliant, and allows us to help her with basic care, but it shouldn't be this way.
Mom is 72. She used to be fiesty, fun, dark headed and stubborn. She's shakey, weak, and we had to cut her thick curls so she could manage combing through her own hair. My niece is a nurse, and has been great this week at helping mom bathe, sort her medications, get her to eat, and help her change her clothes. My oldest daughter has been cleaning for mom and dad, clearing out some of the things that they don't need in their way, and helping them make sense out of their schedules of doctoring appointments.
I just wonder, where did my parents go? They can not be these people who are depending on us to help them get through their days. Their home is beginning to look like OLD people live there, and I resent it.
I wish my kids would have known them when they were younger. My dad, who built his own home, can work any math problem perfectly and can tie a bolen knot that will never slip. My mom, who loved having people stop by, told jokes from the Reader's Digest magazine, and could make pork chops that my husband would die for!! The dark headed, fun-loving couple who square danced on the weekends, and offered tea and coffee for visitors as soon as they walked in their door way. The man who could fix anything, and did, or the woman who loved any baby she could get her hands on.
Where are the real parents who I grew up with? When did they disappear, and in their place, these dependant, old folks who only slightly resemble the people I knew, appear? Their dark hairs have gone white, their stamina gone.
I realize we are growing older every day, I was just not sure when this obvious change really happened to them. I saw them slowing down, I saw their health issues take some of their life exuberance away, and I know each illness put them deeper into the "older folks" category. But now when I trudge up their stairway, I see remnants of who they were, and I worry that who they used to be will be lost forever to the younger generation.
My front door is always open, because I learned that from my mom. I love having friends and family around. I embrace it. That's my mom.
I think any project at home is doable, like tearing a wall down and expanding our living space, because I grew up that way. I think men should fix their own cars, change their own oil, make money to support their families, because I saw my dad do that.
I never knew my maternal grandparents, because they were gone by the time I was born. But I loved my paternal grandparents because my parents taught me the value of family and relationships. I knew you could live without alot of things, but family would always be there for you. I learned that from my folks.
I guess my anger came in this week when I realized our roles are reversed. I will be taking more time to care for my folks from now on, and I see them in a different way. Their lights are waning and I dont' like knowing that my younger kids will never know them the way I do. There's a dignity to their life that will be diminished as they are forced to accept more daily care. And I resent that.
I will never resent caring for them. I am glad to do it. I just hope that some of the good I learned from them will be passed on to my children through the way I live my life.
Because my folks are good people. I have learned so much from them. I just hate it that they had to grow old before it seemed fair.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)