Thursday, June 24, 2010
A Father's Day I Will Never Forget
The little ones and I let dad sleep in. While daddy slumbered we thoughtfully prepared his favorite breakfast. (Okay, I did most of the work while the kids watched cartoons.) As the bacon began to sizzle, Lindsey and Zach tiptoed into the kitchen to beg for some. “After dad gets his breakfast!” I firmly announced. Needless to say, we fed dad and I went back to cooking. Lindsey snatched up some bacon and made a break for it. I giggled to myself as I pretended not to see her. A minute later I went in to request that she have a picnic on the floor so that our sofa wouldn’t be covered in bacon grease. As I entered the room I noticed that her eyes were unusually wide--panicked you could say. I instantly knew she was choking. “Are you choking?” I quickly asked, but no sound came from her mouth and she didn’t even nod. I spun her around and instinctively performed the heimlich maneuver on her…nothing, all I heard was a little gurgle and me praying in my head. I did it again…nothing . After the third attempt I felt as if my entire body was on fire and as I began the forth time, decided that I would scream “Call 9-1-1!!!,” but before I could, a huge chunk of fatty bacon shot out of her mouth and landed with a large splat on the floor. “Can I have a drink, my throat hurts?” Lindsey calmly asked. She had no idea the severity of the situation at all. Numbly, I got the drink then raced up the stairs to Neil. Shaking from head to toe I burst into tears as I tightly hugged him. It was a full minute before I could even blurt out what had just happened. I have never performed the heimlich maneuver on anyone before, let alone my own child. Thank you God for helping me stay calm I can’t imagine my life with out Lindsey in it.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Milestones
It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon when I discovered a little cash in my pocket. Since our second grader (Zach) seemed a bit down in the dumps when we arrived home, I thought I would bring our three youngest children out for lunch. We seldom go out to eat these days and I figured it would make his day a little bit brighter. After walking for what seemed like days because our three year old is completely awestruck by nature, Zach’s whole demeanor changed for the better. His sweet face lit up even more when he noticed a few of his buddies were already there as we arrived. We ordered our food and then my excited boy turned to me and asked if he could sit at the table with his friends. Without skipping a beat, I softly handed him his lunch and off he went. While I may have looked composed on the outside, on the inside I thought, Does this have to happen so soon? Zachary is our third child, so I have been through this before and while I fully recognize the whole autonomy thing, it remains a tricky subject for me. (In fact I am positive that I would make a terrible mother bird. The thought of letting my little hatchlings fledge for themselves after only a few weeks is appalling. My nest would be freakishly enormous not to mention insanely loud and probably overloaded with an abundance of extra feathers and random worm particles.)
I decided it best to sit with my back to him. I knew that my role in this circumstance wasn’t to hover, so I pretended that I wasn’t paying attention as he ate with his pals. (Boy did I wish I had one of those Whisper 2000 thingamajigs.) All was going relatively well until his friends had to leave, and instead of rejoining us at our table, he finished his meal by himself. I didn’t see that one coming I thought as I attempted to swallow the enormous lump in my throat. It was a bittersweet moment. He felt self-confident enough to eat by himself, yet I really wanted him to return to our table. As we finished, Zach appeared beside me “You ready?” my bright eyed eight year old asked while loudly slurping the last of his drink. “We sure are Zach, are you?” I replied, trying to act unflustered. He responded by tenderly saying thanks, and my broken heart was instantly repaired.
Believe it or not, I am making progress in this area. We recently took the crib down after 14 years. Our youngest (Allyson) moved into her big girl bed and it only took me about a month before I eventually felt ready to dismantle it. That crib was such a poignant staple in our home, so this pronouncement wasn’t an easy one. Luckily my husband Neil was very understanding. (Either that or he just didn’t want to deal with a weeping wife.) On that day I blurted, “I am ready for you to take it down, but I don’t want to be here when you do it.” Neil simply smiled as if to say, “Finally!” So I went for a walk (alone) and thought about all of the amazing things I was truly grateful for and when I finally returned, the crib was in the attic and the world was okay.
It might be a good idea to embark on the future instead of on the past, especially since our oldest is heading off to high school in the fall. (Would it be inappropriate to ride the train in with him on the first day of school? Don’t answer that.) I am ready…I think. I am ready to accept that my hatchlings will eventually leave the nest and until that time it’s my job to help them all to learn how to fly. (As long as I don’t have to teach them how to parallel park we will be okay…I think.)
I decided it best to sit with my back to him. I knew that my role in this circumstance wasn’t to hover, so I pretended that I wasn’t paying attention as he ate with his pals. (Boy did I wish I had one of those Whisper 2000 thingamajigs.) All was going relatively well until his friends had to leave, and instead of rejoining us at our table, he finished his meal by himself. I didn’t see that one coming I thought as I attempted to swallow the enormous lump in my throat. It was a bittersweet moment. He felt self-confident enough to eat by himself, yet I really wanted him to return to our table. As we finished, Zach appeared beside me “You ready?” my bright eyed eight year old asked while loudly slurping the last of his drink. “We sure are Zach, are you?” I replied, trying to act unflustered. He responded by tenderly saying thanks, and my broken heart was instantly repaired.
Believe it or not, I am making progress in this area. We recently took the crib down after 14 years. Our youngest (Allyson) moved into her big girl bed and it only took me about a month before I eventually felt ready to dismantle it. That crib was such a poignant staple in our home, so this pronouncement wasn’t an easy one. Luckily my husband Neil was very understanding. (Either that or he just didn’t want to deal with a weeping wife.) On that day I blurted, “I am ready for you to take it down, but I don’t want to be here when you do it.” Neil simply smiled as if to say, “Finally!” So I went for a walk (alone) and thought about all of the amazing things I was truly grateful for and when I finally returned, the crib was in the attic and the world was okay.
It might be a good idea to embark on the future instead of on the past, especially since our oldest is heading off to high school in the fall. (Would it be inappropriate to ride the train in with him on the first day of school? Don’t answer that.) I am ready…I think. I am ready to accept that my hatchlings will eventually leave the nest and until that time it’s my job to help them all to learn how to fly. (As long as I don’t have to teach them how to parallel park we will be okay…I think.)
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I Love You Allyson
My sweet baby girl. I know, I know, you aren't a baby anymore, but
you will always be my baby. Thank you Ally. Thank you for giving
me the amazing gift of carrying a child inside of me one last time. Thank
you for warming your dad's tender heart. Most of all, thank you for the
gift of you. Our family is joyfully complete because of you. We are blessed.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALLYSON
you will always be my baby. Thank you Ally. Thank you for giving
me the amazing gift of carrying a child inside of me one last time. Thank
you for warming your dad's tender heart. Most of all, thank you for the
gift of you. Our family is joyfully complete because of you. We are blessed.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALLYSON
Sunday, May 9, 2010
There Is a Reason
This morning at Mass our pastor recited a poem near the end of his sermon that touched a chord with me.
I thought that I would share it with you.
There is a reason:
For every pain, that we must bear,
For every burden, every care.
For every grief, that bows the head,
For every tear-drop that is shed.
For every hurt, for every plight,
For every lonely, pain racked night.
There's a reason
Buf if we TRUST GOD,
As we should, It will all
work out for our good.
He knows the reason
Happy Mother's Day
I thought that I would share it with you.
There is a reason:
For every pain, that we must bear,
For every burden, every care.
For every grief, that bows the head,
For every tear-drop that is shed.
For every hurt, for every plight,
For every lonely, pain racked night.
There's a reason
Buf if we TRUST GOD,
As we should, It will all
work out for our good.
He knows the reason
Happy Mother's Day
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Scattterbrain
Please tell me I am not the only person who does this!
I will begin a task…let’s say I am putting laundry away. (Usually I have the kids do this, but there are times when I do it just because I am behind schedule and I want to check it off of my list.) So I grab a pile from the table in the kitchen and begin my journey to the stairs. I march by the computer desk and notice that one of the kids left a toy on the desk so I put the laundry down and pick up the toy and bring it to the toy box. When I enter the playroom I realize that the entertainment center is really dusty so I set off to the kitchen to grab a rag. I catch a glimpse of the laundry and it reminds me that I need to put the clothes away. Then I make my way back to the desk and get the clothing to put away. When I tread past the bathroom on my way back from putting the laundry away. I notice that the sink in the bathroom is covered in toothpaste. So I grab a wipe from under the sink and begin to clean up the toothpaste. Then the phone rings and….you get the point, right? So by the end of the day I am not really sure what I did that day because the entertainment center is still dusty and the laundry is only half done!
I am a hopeless scatterbrain.
I will begin a task…let’s say I am putting laundry away. (Usually I have the kids do this, but there are times when I do it just because I am behind schedule and I want to check it off of my list.) So I grab a pile from the table in the kitchen and begin my journey to the stairs. I march by the computer desk and notice that one of the kids left a toy on the desk so I put the laundry down and pick up the toy and bring it to the toy box. When I enter the playroom I realize that the entertainment center is really dusty so I set off to the kitchen to grab a rag. I catch a glimpse of the laundry and it reminds me that I need to put the clothes away. Then I make my way back to the desk and get the clothing to put away. When I tread past the bathroom on my way back from putting the laundry away. I notice that the sink in the bathroom is covered in toothpaste. So I grab a wipe from under the sink and begin to clean up the toothpaste. Then the phone rings and….you get the point, right? So by the end of the day I am not really sure what I did that day because the entertainment center is still dusty and the laundry is only half done!
I am a hopeless scatterbrain.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Zach's First Holy Communion
(getting ready)
Here is my sweet boy in his "lucky socks." (I pick my battles...God loves him regardless of his footwear.)
Doesn't he look absolutely thrilled? LOL
Here is Lindsey practicing for her day in a couple of years...
And sweet Ally (waiting for her hair to be braided) wondering what is going on?
Our two oldest were a bit camera shy, but I think I can post a few family ones soon.
It was a glorious day.
God Bless you Zachary. He will always be with you.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Update
In an earlier post I expressed uncertainty regarding our son Ryan and his high school education. Well, he is going to attend his dream school! Thank you for your prayers and encouraging words.
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