Here's what's shakin' for then end of first week of family separation.  

— 1 —

I have learned I can make a bar of Lindt 70% dark chocolate last a whole week if I play my cards right. The advantages may or may not outweigh the obvious challenges involved.  

— 2 —

The first of the three sets of movers is coming by today for a 'visual survey.'  Hope he has a strong constitution. <g> This move is complicated by the sheer volume of stuff – live and otherwise- we had to relocate and the number of places it is all going.  We have the small shipment of stuff that is going by air, the large shipment of stuff going by sea, the stuff that is going into storage, and the stuff that I hope to never see again which is going out the door. All the movers of these groups of stuff must come and look at the stuff before removing it. 

I am installing a revolving door and handing everyone a hard hat upon entrance. 

— 3 —

We learned how to use the webcam this week.  Where have you been all our lives webcam?? Pretty amazing to see 'Skype-Daddy' onscreen.  Sounds really hip-hop doesn't it?  Wild. 

Call me Jane:

 The whole thing is a little surreal and I admit that the whole idea of 'virtual family' is not without its theoretical problems.  However the alternative is that we don't see get to each other at all and that isn't better.  I am grateful for the opportunity to keep connected.  Little ones talk to Daddy and the big brothers get to watch the little kids grow up and stay an integral part of their lives. 

— 4 —

Speaking of which Kieran rode along with me to an appt this week.  When we got to the base he asked if I would take him by Dad's office.  Then he looked out the window quietly and said, "Oh yeah…"  

Happens to me too, Buddy. : /  

— 5 —

Thought of a young friend of mine when I heard this on the radio. 

"You're gonna do great things, 

I already know, 

God's got a plan for you,

So don't live life in fear,

Forgive and forget, but don't forget why you're here…"

You are bigger than your circumstances and this too shall pass.  

— 6 —

Thermostat or Thermometer? Best line I have heard in a long time from Kelle Hampton.

"My dad always says to be a thermostat and not a thermometer. Thermometers only measure the temperatures around them. Thermostats change them."

— 7 —

Favorite song on my playlist (left) at the moment? Number 39 –  I Love You Sweet Baby.  Tell me this doesn't pretty much cover it. : )   Off to kiss these hands….

Chaser of bad guys,

thinker of big thoughts,

fighter of crime,

man among men, 

My favorite five year old Super Hero.  : ) 
  
 

Insomnia struck Colin and I at the same time in the wee hours this morning.  It landed us in a chat over a new OK law that would protect life but also disallow suing a doctor for not sharing suspicions of birth defects.  In this litigious age it will likely not stand.  I am not sure if it even should.  There are so many issues involved, all centering around Colin's questions last night.  Did we know? (about his health) Would it be better to know?  What can we really know?  What should we know? 

I don't have those answers. We did not have those decisions in 1985.  Newly married and newly in a foreign country and newly pregnant we knew only that we were having a baby.  That was enough for us.  The ultrasound was crude and the resulting image looked like stormy weather patterns.  No matter, that was our baby. 

After months of bed-rest and medication to stop the contractions that landed me in the hospital on my 19th birthday we met the most beautiful baby in the world.  He happened to arrive with a litany of medical complications.  No matter, he was our baby.  We would deal with all that later, after examining that perfect swirl of dark hair and kissing those hands stretched in newborn surprise. There were songs to sing and rocking to do.  

 Priorities, you know. ; ) 

Would I have wanted to know?  Not really.  Despite months of pre-term labor, I was full of joyful anticipation which I would not have traded for a prognosis which could never define nor determine the person Colin would become. He is so much more than a label.  Would we have been able to know that before we looked into his eyes?  

We think we know so much these days. We test.  We make predictions.  We think our knowledge will save us. In fact some of that knowledge did save my baby.  I will be forever grateful for that. But, I don't pretend to think that a lab sheet is ever going to give a complete picture of the mystery that is us.  It reduces us to our data. We are so much more than that. We cannot know love on a piece of paper. 

If you are given  prognosis before you are given a baby, let me tell you this secret.  Your world is about to rock. Your heart is about to break.  And it's ok.  It will mend and stretch and grow in ways you can't even begin to imagine right now. You come out in a better place.  And you won't want to go back.  I promise.  Don't miss it. 

 more on this:

Another mom who has learned this same secret. 

Just So It's Healthy

Happy birthday Colin

There Goes My Heart

Does this happen at your house?  I have been stumbling over these large pairs of socks lately. The most recent find felt exceptionally dense.  Upon examination it turned out to be several pairs of socks wadding together. Some clean and some, um, less so.  

me:  So what's with the wadded up socks?

them:  It's a sock football.

me:  Why?

them:  To play football with (falls under 'ask a stupid question…') 

me:  But you have a football.

them:  Yeah but we can't throw it in the house.

Ah.   That explains it.   Resourceful – if barefoot.  : ) 

I signed in to a new social network online yesterday which had been highly recommended by women I know. It was indeed every bit as lovely as promised.  I was tired, through and through, and could not bring myself to dig into the number of things in need of my attention. So with a few clicks I found myself there.  I filled out my profile, visited  a few delightful pages, and slowly sank deeper into the lethargy and exhaustion that was overtaking me.  

As I waited for a new page to load I turned and looked out the window.  I saw little faces between me and the door, some looking as cranky as my own.  Silently I reached for shoes and camera, put the tv remote out of reach and the computer on sleep.  The children and I made our way outside, football in tow and I forced myself to wake up.  To notice. 

The sky was a startling blue, punctuated with white clouds which brought us rain earlier and would bring more as the day wore on. Right then, we were in a pocket of sunshine.  

So I alternately threw the football to the boys and a plush babysized ball to Abbie.  Between passes a boy etched this into the wet ground:

Little boy found a ladybug and coaxed it onto his finger.  As it took flight I snapped a couple more pictures.

   I asked him to say something, since that usually prevents that frozen posed smile. He began to recite a prayer from his bedtime books, "Dear God, I love you," he said sweetly in a tiny voice.  I stood rooted to the ground, stunned by his spontaneous prayer.  

Dear God, I love you too.  And I almost missed this. 

Daughter was behind us.  She had picked up a stick and slowly drew it through the puddles. Tess found her own stick and joined her, which naturally caught the attention of mud hungry little boys.  

There were more sticks and more puddles and eventually someone 'accidentally' stepped into the water.  I thought about the cleaning. I thought about the laundry.  There would be more of both. But there would not be many more  puddles, in this place, with these children.  

So we stayed.  I smiled.  They splashed.  They chased each other around the barn with war-painted faces, hurling handfuls mud and whooping with glee. 

Dear God, I love you, and I love this beautiful mess I'm in.

Laughter rang out through chattering teeth as the sun was swallowed up by the clouds moving in. Eventually there were showers and piles of towels and wilting dandelions to pull from wayward ponytails. 

So, that is how I missed my networking.  Or maybe I didn't.  Instead I wallowed in muddy splendor and a little boy uttered quiet praise and woke me up.  

Dear God, I love you.