the power of distraction

So in other news ....

Halloween was this past weekend and I didn't get a single picture of all four kids in their costumes.  Although I'd asked them to please not leave the house without me taking a picture of them, do they listen?    (Usually yes ... on Halloween night when everyone is desperate to get outside ... no.)

For the record, William was a werewolf, Elizabeth was Frankenstein's daughter, Henry was a dinosaur trainer (Owen, to be exact), and Carolyn was a zombie colonial girl.  It brings me great joy that Carolyn still wears her costume from Colonial Williamsburg that I purchased two years ago, after one too many ales, when I thought it would be a superb idea to spend the equivalent of a mortgage on handmade colonial garb for the whole family.  It's good to know that at least one of my children is getting our money's worth out of the costume.

Here's Elizabeth with her haul ... she lost count at 420 pieces of candy.



Charlie and I were dressed up, too ... as Colonial people, of course.  When we arrived at the neighborhood block party and we were the only adults dressed up, Charlie said aloud to everyone, "So ... it would appear that WE were the only ones that received the memo?!"  

After the neighborhood shindig, we retreated back to our house, dragged out our fire pit, and hosted several friends at the base of our driveway.  And so it is, our tradition of Halloween 'smores has successfully migrated and taken root in Texas.



Last week, I was away on a business trip in Puerto Rico, and after our very productive meetings during the day, I had the privilege of kayaking with one of our senior managers (my boss' boss) through a bioluminescent lagoon in twilight.  It was so awesome ... one of the coolest things I've ever done in my life.  We paddled through a twilight harbor, and entered this lagoon where the pitch black sky was drenched in stars.  We put our hands in to the water and splashed around to see the phytoplankton light up, and over head, there was a huge shooting star.   A fiery meteor so large, I could make out the shape and texture of its rocky surface as it flew through the atmosphere.

It was a truly spiritual experience and I felt the most amazing sense of peace in my soul.

On our paddle back to the loading zone, we navigated a canal that was draped in mangroves.  Our guide shined a light up in to the trees and pointed out the 4-foot iguana that was perched on the limbs above us and told us how these huge reptiles, with their huge claws, will often teeter off the branches and fall in to the boats.  In that moment, we heard a loud "SPLASH!" and both my senior manager and I let out a scream and startled so hard, we almost capsized.  We then started rowing so fast, our previously synchronized paddles were clanking off each other.

(Good feeling GONE.)



While I was away, Charlie received this letter from our insurance company. I'm not sure why this cracks me up ... it's really not very funny, but it is nice to know that my insurance has approved me for brain surgery.  



As word travels that I'll be going in for surgery in the next few weeks, so many people have expressed that they are amazed how "composed" I seem to be during all of this.  To which I've replied, "What is the other option?"  

As my sister Janet says, ours minds can be like a bad neighborhood, so she prefers not to go in there, alone.  You've got to roll up the windows, lock the doors, turn on some happy music, and keep your eyes on the road.  

Perspective is important.  Consider, if not for modern medicine, I would have checked out of this world 40 years ago, when I had a ruptured gangrenous appendix at the age of 5.  Charlie would have checked out at 18-years old when he had a ruptured gangrenous appendix.  When I look at things that way, I clearly see that each day has been nothing if not a gift.

Between me and the kids, this week I've been at the doctor's office almost every day.  I've been going through a lot of tests, and the triplets have been going in for their 11-year-old check ups.

What I didn't realize is that ELEVEN is a big age for shots.  In addition to the flu shot, they get their tetanus vaccination, and a host of other things (at least three that I could count).  To say that Elizabeth turned inside out at the prospect of a shot is an understatement.  Yesterday, she received her flu vaccination, and the only way she could get it, is if she was cradled in my lap with her head on my shoulder.  When she overheard me talking to her father that she would be going back in two weeks for more shots, she imploded.

So I told her exactly what I've been telling myself the past few weeks.

"Why worry about something that hasn't happened? Why distress ourselves with dark imaginings for what may or may not occur? It's not in the here.  It's not in the now.  So let it go and just be present in THIS moment."   Then I showed her a picture of the 38 shots I had to have when I had my allergy testing last month.



At the sight of this, she screamed like a 4-foot lizard had fallen in to her boat.

And agreed, yes ... it could always be worse.

when the cup is half full

So, earlier this week I went back to see the neurologist and it turns out I've got two tumors.  One on the left and one on the right.  In case there was any question, being diagnosed with "multiples" in tumor language is not nearly as much fun as the diagnoses of "multiples" in children language ... although the sensation of surprise is comparable.

The doctor initially thought that I had a glomus jugulare tumor, but because they didn't "light up" with the contrast during my recent MRI, he's not quite sure what they are.  He's assured me that malignant tumors in this region of the skull are extremely rare ... in fact the only time he's ever seen one is when it metastasized from somewhere else.  That's good news for me. I think.

At this juncture, we know that the tumors are eroding the bone, and are very close - if not impeding on the temporal lobe - so I'll be going in for basal skull brain surgery on November 18th to get the pathological scoop.  (Literally.)

While I'm remaining very optimistic that everything is and will be fine - and this will soon become yet another blip on the radar of life - there is this small little voice that whispers, "What if..." 

My hearing is further damaged? 

There's a hemorrhage?

It's malignant?

What's really amazed me is that the little voice of worry, is being drowned out by an even louder voice of strength that is shouting, "WOW... WHAT A GIFT!"

The truly beautiful thing about having a health situation like the one I'm currently facing, is that it makes you abundantly aware of your fragility and mortality.   I'd suggest that the vast majority of people are so busy with their lives, they never really stop to think that this could be their last day.

Or year. 

We have plans! Schedules to keep! Goals to accomplish!  Rooms to paint, albums to organize, pounds to lose, trips to travel, children to raise!

At least for me, I've been far too busy to even think about the prospect of NOT being here.  The mere concept of that is simply inconceivable.  It's got to be an emotional defense mechanism because if we dwell on the not of being here - the possibility of departing our loved ones - we'd slump in to a state of perpetual depression.  That's surely part of the reason, seven years later, I still haven't finalized my Will.  Yep, totally flaked... can you believe I never had it notarized!?

So this blip on the radar, has been an excellent reminder that we're not in control.  While being organized and having a clean house and stocked refrigerator, might give the illusion of control, we don't completely hold the reins on our fate.  The only thing we can control is our attitude, so I'm trying to keep a positive one.

It's also been a gift to be reminded that we're part of something.



People from all over the world have been sending me emails (I'll respond to all of them soon, I promise!), and friends and family have been showering us with calls and offers to travel to Texas and stay for as long as necessary.  The kids asked me one night when I was tucking them in to bed, "Mom? Why were you crying earlier today? Is it because you are going to die?!" and I laughed, "No, I'm not worried at all about that .... we are blessed because we have so many people that love us.  That feeling of being lifted up, it makes me so grateful I weep!"

My sister called me last night to tell me about a sweet little girl that lives across the street from her, who was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was two. The doctors surgically removed most of it.  She's now seven, and recently lost sight in one eye because the tumor had regrown and damaged her optic nerve.  This past May, she had a massive stroke, while undergoing surgery.  Her recovery has been very long, and is now punctuated with chemotherapy, because the re-growth is malignant.

It's so difficult to see God's Fingerprints on that situation, but I'm sure they are there, just as they are on so many other incomprehensibly sad situations.  Perhaps these things happen - in part, to spark love and compassion?  And maybe remind us of the beauty in what we have in the here and now?



A favorite passage of mine is from the Buddhist teaching:

One day some people came to the master and asked, 'How can you be happy in a world of such impermanence?  The master held up a glass and said, 'Someone gave me this glass and I really like this glass. It holds my water admirably and it glistens in the sunlight.  I touch it and it rings! One day the wind may blow it off the shelf, or my elbow may knock it from the table. And I say, 'Of Course!' When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.' 

Another way of looking at it, is to consider the conversation I had with my mother earlier in the month. Her response upon first hearing all of this was to say, "Well, you know ... NONE of us are getting out of this world alive!" 

True that.  Treasure your cup ...



And all the awesomeness in it.

what are the odds?

It really seems like our move to Texas was meant to be.  Or at a minimum, we are supposed to be exactly HERE at this point in time.

Last month, I mentioned that Carolyn needed to have her tonsils taken out - and because she was (repeatedly) unable to have them removed in Virginia - we finally decided to make the move and find an ENT surgeon, here.  As luck would have it, there is an ENT office in our neighborhood. And, a well respected ENT surgeon lives less than a hundred feet away.  This ENT surgeon happens to be the same one who took out Carolyn, and William's tonsils and adenoids, just last month.

As I also mentioned, when we moved to Texas, I had a slight cold that led to the worst ear infection, I've ever had in my life.  After suffering through it for a few days, hoping that a spare Z-pack I had would do the trick, I went to the Emergency Room because I was new here, and didn't yet have a Primary Care Physician.  The ER doctor prescribed me a stronger antibiotic and told me that if I wasn't better in three days, to let them know.

Because I'd talked to my mother - and she was adamant that I get in to see the ENT - I called the ER three days later, and asked that they refer me. Which they did.

When I arrived at the ENT, two days later, they did a hearing test and told me I'd lost approximately 50% of the hearing in my right ear.  The ENT immediately scheduled me to have a CT-scan and an MRI ... and a few days later, I was back in the ENT's office and was told that I was being referred to The Medical Center in Houston, because there was something "suspicious" with my images.  I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I wasn't thinking it would be too big of a deal.  When I was in that MRI machine ... on the first day of our children's school ... I fell asleep and had a dream that I'd totally missed the bus.  Maybe I startled and it was blurry?

My appointment with the neurologist was last week and after he had me answer a number of different questions, and walk across the room, and touch my fingers to my nose, and bend down to touch my toes, he inquired on the headaches I've been having.  These pesky headaches that happen at least daily and sometimes persist for hours, started around the same time as our move to Texas.

They originate from behind my right ear and radiate across my entire head.  I've been chalking them up to the ear infection, dehydration, lack of sleep, stress, relocation, hormones, the vast quantities of barbecue we've been eating each week, and fifth grade homework.

The neurologist nods and says,  "I suspect you've got a cyst.  But let me go look at your MRI and I'll be right back...."

Almost 45 minutes later he comes back and says, "Well, it's definitely not a cyst."  I smile and am just about to say, "Phew, that's good news!" when he continues, "It's a tumor." 

Unfortunately, I only retained 27% of what he said from that point on.

There are a lot of questions, I don't yet know - including where exactly it is, or whether or not it's malignant.  We do know it's about the size of a small walnut.  Yesterday, I was back having another MRI - and within the next few days, I'll be meeting with the neurologist, again, to determine the course of action, which he assures me will likely include surgery and a lengthy recovery.

While I still have some slight loss (~5%) and it feels like I've got fluid sloshing around my ear, my hearing has largely returned.  And from what the neurologist can tell preliminarily, this tumor is likely NOT the cause of that hearing loss; although it is probably the cause for my persistent headaches.  

When I was leaving his office last week, he told me that this is what they call an "incidental finding." If they hadn't been in there, investigating my hearing loss - on this exact ear - they wouldn't have known about the tumor, until who knows when?   Of course that begs the question, how many of us are walking around with absolutely NO idea what's going on inside our bodies?

(Insert need for everyone to have full body MRIs!)

It could just be that it's all coincidental, but I think living where we are - in this location - with these ENT specialists literally in our yard, is no accident.  Moreover, the doctor told me, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you have someone upstairs looking out for you..."

YES, I'm sure I do.  (Thanks Dad!) (And Mom, who talked me in to going to the ENT!)

I'm sure that whatever happens, all will be good because no doubt, the universe is unfolding as it should and God's fingerprints are all over everything.  Meanwhile, on a more serious note ... I'm still trying to figure out how to work this situation in to to my annual rhyming Christmas letter.

There's been a rumor... ?

We must always try to keep our sense of humor... ?

they fill up my senses, like a night in the forest

Tomorrow ... my once three-pound babies will turn eleven-years-old.  ELEVEN.  We're now solidly in the throes of tweendom and I'm in awe thinking about where the time has gone?

As these children become older and more independent, time doesn't seem to be slowing down ... in contrast - it just keeps moving faster.  Long gone are the days when I'd gaze at the clock dreaming of nap time.  Now, because of the lengthy school days - and after school activities (including but not limited to homework, soccer, dinner, and showers); my time with the children seems so fleeting and so, so precious.  Except when they're fighting with me over homework. Which is still almost every night.  But I'm trying to focus on the positive.

For as long as I can remember, our most special time of the day is bedtime, when I'll sit with them, on the edge of their beds, in their dimly lit rooms and recount the events from the day.  Sometimes, I feel like I hurry along our conversations because it's late - and they need to sleep - or I'm zapped and I need to put my feet up.

But whether a brief two-minute conversation, or more lengthy twenty-two minute conversation ... we'll talk, and pray, and I'll run my fingers through their hair and tell them - every night I tell them - how much I love and adore them and how incredibly GRATEFUL I am that they blessed my world.

No truer words have ever been written on this blog:  I really am the luckiest person alive.

Tonight Charlie and I spent a few hours after they went to sleep, blowing up 48 balloons, which we strung around the house.  Ever since their seventh birthday in Virginia, we've made it a tradition to decorate the house on the eve of their birthday.  Because when 50% of your family celebrates the exact same birthday ... it deserves some festivity.

These lists have been hanging up on the fridge for the past few weeks, since perhaps early September, but I took a photo of them tonight, so I can memorialize their birthday gift wishes @ 11:



William's birthday list - he really wants an X-Box 360 and Marvel Superhero games.  Also, Jurassic World X-Box games.  Because if there is one thing that he and his little brother love to do - it's to talk / play / breathe / dream about anything and everything related to superheroes and dinosaurs.  Add a video game to that mix and you've got the recipe for 8- and 11-year old male euphoria.

William would also like Love, Hope, and Peace throughout the world.  Oh, and a Nerf Sword. So glad that was listed after his charitable desires.

(Ankit is our Indian friend, through Compassion International, that we've been sponsoring for the past six years. I'm happy to see that William is thinking of his pen pal, on his birthday. Although I suspect it has something to do with me repeatedly telling him, "It isn't always about what *we* want. It cannot be 'me, me, me!' We must think of others, and what we can do to make the world better."   This is evidence he's hearing at least a little of what I'm saying and for that, I rejoice.)



Elizabeth's birthday list - a phone, a baseball mitt, roller skates, colored pencils, get ears pierced, cowboy boots, new tennis shoes, visit her best friend from Virginia - Rosie - and get two new guinea pigs.   I haven't written about it yet, but in July, we made the very difficult decision to leave our two guinea pigs, Barack and Georgie (also known as James Brown and Einstein; Chocolate and Oreo), in Virginia.  The day before we pulled out of town, I came to my senses and realized that driving 1,500 miles with two guinea pigs AND the rambunctious dog in the middle of summer, was infinitesimally more than I could handle.

For as much as I loved our guinea pigs ... I didn't love them that much.  Nor did I love them so much that I'm in a hurry to replace them anytime soon.  If soon = 90 years.



Carolyn's birthday list - a real baseball bat, cowboy boots, a walkman, and then a lot of time spent together as a big happy family.  Going to the movies - fishing - and having my Mom and Jim visit.  My favorite birthday wish of hers is that we "Drive around Texas and give money to the poor people."

I think this wish stems from a situation last year, when we were on a road trip, and saw an elderly homeless man near a traffic light, in the pouring rain, holding out a cup.  We'd stopped at the red, and reached out the window to hand him some food and money. That gesture was a highlight of our children's trip.   I'm so glad to see that the memory of how good that small act felt in her heart, stuck with my sweet girl.   But pray tell, how do we find all the poor people in Texas?  And where does all the money come from?

In regards to distribution - do we just roll down our windows and throw it out?

Clearly, there's still some logistics we need to work out.

so, around the same time they qualify for AARP

Despite pleas from the children to buy them their own phones ... we've held out because I see no reason for our 10-year olds to have that kind of technology.  I'm so mean, because apparently "Everyone else MOM, EVERYONE has one."  Our poor children, they're so deprived.  

A few months ago, Charlie replaced his iPhone with a new one, and the kids thought that meant they could have his old phone which he'd stashed away somewhere.  When they found the old phone, they probably felt like they'd just won the lottery - and thought they'd try to crack the security passcode.  

I only figured out what had happened when William asked if I could let him use a calculator.    

This was a fun little math project for us to work on together.   Although probably more fun for me and Charlie, than the children. 

We calculated that the phone will be unlocked in approximately 45 years ... or around the same time they may be planning to retire.  

Suffice to say, they're very, very upset with Siri.  

what's in you wednesday (the ficus edition)

It's been a while since I've written one of these "what's in you" posts ... but I'm trying to get in to a better habit of jotting down thoughts more often than I have been; and tonight when I was at the gym (Me, at the GYM! Miracle of miracles!), it struck me that it was Wednesday.

So I decided I'd blog about this, and leaning back - took a picture of my little workout partner, who was taking 214 steps a minute, next to me who was only taking 120 steps a minute, and then nearly toppled off the machine because holding on with one hand while snapping a picture with the other hand, as you're on a moving ellipse machine is really not a good idea.  



Point is!

The same week we moved to Texas, two months ago this week, I picked up a little cold.  It stuck with me for the entire drive south, and then knocked me flat a week later.  The week of our 21st wedding anniversary ... I developed an ear infection, which was so painful, it woke me up in the middle of the night in tears. After waking Charlie up and telling him that he was on alert to take me to the hospital, I guzzled Tylenol and tried to sleep while sitting upright with my head on a heating pad.

When the sun rose, I went to the ER and they told me, "Yep, you have an ear infection." They prescribed antibiotics and pain medication, and sent me home.  Three days later, it wasn't any better. So the ER doctor referred me to the ENT at the end of our street (so convenient!) and after a hearing test, they informed me that yes, I do have an infection, and also - I have at least 50% hearing loss in my right ear.

Say what?!

No, really. What did you say??

I was sure that the hearing loss was due to the ear infection, and if they could just get the fluid out of my inner ear, my hearing would return.  Perhaps they could put in tubes??

But my highly respected otolaryngologist, who ordered an MRI and multiple CT scans, didn't agree with my theory.  During my second or third visit, he held up one my scans and said, "This is a very unusual and complicated case. There's something happening here and here, and here, and see this shadowed area on your temporal bone? This is especially curious..." so I've been referred to a chief neurologist in Houston.

I've noticed a very strong similarity between me and a ficus tree. You know how every time you move one of those plants, they get so stressed out by their new environment - they lose their leaves?  That's me!!  While a somewhat different scenario this time, I'm just losing my leaves, again.

But soon the roots will be down and everything will grow back JUST FINE!

I'm confident that the "curious" issue will be demystified and my hearing is soon restored. Although if it isn't restored until AFTER the children get in to a good routine with their homework, and aren't so "vocal" about their displeasure of completing it ... I wouldn't mind.  (At least not terribly.)

Meanwhile, Charlie completely and totally threw his back out last weekend.  It was our last day on a beach weekend, and we were packing up to leave.  My husband was innocuously bending over to toss a box of Ziploc bags in to a crate, and his back seized up on him.  He let out a yelp, grabbed his lower back with both hands, fell to his knees, before going face first on the floor with a thud.

He told me later, it felt like he had been hit with a taser.

Thankfully, our good friend who was with us, has had a history of back problems, so never leaves home without a full supply of prescription grade anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers.  Charlie took two flexeril (we later learned that he should have only taken one), a handful of ibuprofen, and got in to the car before falling asleep for the next 24 hours.

Last week was a tough week; he could hardly move for four days.  Next week, the day after I see my neurologist, he'll be seeing an orthopedist about his back. Oh, and his foot. It seems he has a Morton's Neuroma that needs to be surgically removed, because after receiving steroid shots every six weeks for the past 18-months, it's been suggested that he get it resolved once and for all.

All this to say ... THIS IS LIFE! 

Everyone - at some stage - has health challenges.  As for us, we're getting older, and things break.  Although I look at my former boss, who has 15 years on me but still manages to work out every day, completes several triathlons a year, and is strong as an ox.

His Fountain of Youth is and always has been, Exercise. 

So in an effort to combat the effects of gravity and time - we recently joined the YMCA and have penciled in to our calendar that we will go - three times a week - come hell or high-water or fifth grade homework times three.   The goal is that we'll get stronger, and the kids will, too.



At a minimum, we'll hopefully be demonstrating that carving time out of your day to take care of yourself and keep your body strong, is one of the most important things you can do in your entire life.  (Making sure you always have extra strength pain medication on hand is a close second.)

cabot, cortez, and pedro menendez de aviles

My new strategy for setting a timer and letting the children do their homework on their own is not going so well. This is the scene at our kitchen table T+90:



We've got a great place to sit, excellent lighting, the assignment neatly laid out, and a nicely sharpened pencil. The only thing missing is the student who is vowing to never talk with me for at least the rest of the day, and possibly the whole week - if I don't stop what I'm doing and help them read the newspaper article about early explorers. And then, just help a little bit more with finishing the crossword puzzle.

Dinner?  Who needs dinner?! 

are you smarter than a 5th grader?

Does anyone remember the show, "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader" that was on several years ago?   Actually, in pulling the link for this blog, I see that it's still on the air.   Maybe the reason I don't know it's still on the air is because we never seem to have a spare moment to do things like watch television.

Which leads me to the purpose of this blog post.

Words nearly escape me as I try to convey the feeling of supervising homework with fifth grade triplets.  Maybe it's a function of moving from one school district to what feels like a much more challenging new one; or maybe it's the academic jump from fourth to fifth grade.  Or maybe it's the transition from elementary school to intermediate school, with increased responsibility and workload.

All I know is that the amount of homework has gone up significantly this year, and my odds of winning BIG TIME have gone up should I ever be on a show about fifth grade curriculum, that is still apparently on the air.



To manage this considerable spike, I've made every attempt to pull what "tools" I can from my "toolbox" to help our children on the home front.  In my professional career which spans more than 20 years, I've directed global teams of people working on multi-million dollar projects with a common end point.  We've successfully navigated obstacles with efficiency and ease because of what I consider to be my outstanding ability to be patient, organized, and focused.

But all of those stellar people and project management skills that I so aptly possess in a professional setting, are gone with an audible - WHOOSH - the moment I try to help my 10-year old children with their homework.  The instantaneous feeling of being overwhelmed, outnumbered, and desperate surpasses even the days of my precious children's infancy.

(Insert a picture of me pulling my hair by its roots.)

The kids are trying to understand what they need to do, and we're trying to understand what they need to do.  We often resemble the blind leading the blind.   My theory that a child should only spend 10 minutes per grade on their homework, so in the case of our children = 50 minutes per night, is sufficient for their math and language arts.

But not also for their science and social studies. 

Tonight for example, we spent more than two hours on their social studies trying to access a website and complete two assignments, before we received an e-mail from their teacher saying in effect, "As a result of the numerous emails received tonight, I just wanted to clarify that all the children needed to do was log on and demonstrate that they could access the information."

Wha?! Who?? 

Most nights, we'll start working on home work by 5 PM, after the kids get off the bus at 4:15 ... and our homework marathon will span until 8 PM; sometimes it resumes at 6:30 in the morning before the kids leave for school at 7:45.  The roughly one hour of home work per night generally translates to one hour PER child, which means THREE HOURS for us.

It would be so much easier if I could just do their homework for them.  I'd get all three done in less than 30 minutes.  But NO.  Apparently, that's not OK and totally frowned upon, as evidenced by my children furiously erasing even the slightest marks that I make on their paper.

We need to teach them and teaching a fifth grader who is also your child, has to be the hardest thing in the world because as far as our children are considered, we just don't get it.   Yes Mom and Dad, we KNOW you went to school for more than 20 years each, but school has obviously CHANGED since you were a student.

And yet .... they still insist we help them!!



On those nights we have soccer, or try to do something crazy like make and eat dinner, we'll wrap up earlier and the kids will finish it, before bed time.  But when I say "finish it" they usually sit staring at their paper until Charlie and I will stand over their shoulder and work them through it.

I wonder, but am still not ready to let them completely sink (although it's coming soon), would they get anything done if we weren't there prodding them along?

Here's an excerpt from tonight, and yes - I honestly promise that all of these urgent questions came at me in the exact same moment and every one of them expected an immediate response:

"MOM!  How many times does seven go in to sixty three .... MOM! how do you spell "environment" ... MOM MOM MOM MOM what's my log-in password?"  

To the first child I handed an arabacus and said, "FIGURE IT OUT."  To the second I handed a dictionary and said, "STARTS WITH AN E". And to the third I said, "Your guess is as good as mine, ask your teacher tomorrow."

That was just one barrage of questions. More came and kept on coming.   Meanwhile, there's little Henry and I didn't even have the stamina to help him, so put his older sibling on the task.



For as much as I want to help our children succeed, three hours of homework a night for Charlie and I is NOT sustainable.  This is a loaded question, but doesn't it seem insane that 10-year olds are in school for nine hours a day and then spend another several hours at night doing MORE school work?

Where is the balance in life?!  

And more importantly, how do other people do this, especially those who have multiple after school events happening each week? Do you sleep??

And for other parents with similarly aged children, does it feel like 95% of the battle is getting them to take responsibility and sit down and DO the work?

At the risk of not working with our children to do their absolute best, I'm ready to set a timer and tell them they've got ONE HOUR to get their work done - on their own - and if they don't get it done, then oh well.  Pay better attention in class, and be more efficient at home.

If we have to repeat fifth grade so be it.   Although, it makes me wonder, is my temptation to keep helping them and sacrifice the rest of our lives, a function of my concern that they will not be successful in school and will fall behind, or am I worried that I'll be dubbed as a deadbeat parent who doesn't keep their child on the crest of the academic wave?

After some reflection on that thought, I know it's because I don't want them to fall behind and feel lost in school ... I've been there and it's awful.

Still. We've got to do something, and soon. 

Charlie and I are dying over here by decimals and fractions, which can be volumetrically measured in a graduated cylinder, and geographically positioned just west of the Prime Meridian and north of the equator.

one more reason to carpe diem

This one ... right here ... is so intellectual.



He's been reading a lot about earth science, astronomy, and after watching a program on the universe that aired on National Geographic, he's been very interested in The Big Bang Theory.  What is it, who came up with the idea, where's the proof, and while we're on this philosophical topic ... how exactly is the world going to end?   

Charlie and I have had a lot of fun talking with him about the concept and the various proofs that exist. While my geologist husband and I have had a good time theorizing with our son, he's not at ALL keen on the idea.  Instead of looking at it as a potentially wonderful scientific miracle, he thinks the whole concept is depressing. He's particularly bothered by the fact that the world which one day started, will one day come to an end.   Tonight after dinner, he said to me, "It's like that dumb song, 'All We Are Is Dust in The Wind.'"

When I said, "Well, we kind of are like dust in the wind..." he snapped, "We most certainly are NOT dust in the wind. WE ARE THE WIND.  We are the energy that moves through everything! And I'm going to do something - I don't know what yet, but something - about how this whole world is supposed to 'scientifically' end."

I love it ... and I can't wait to see the topic of his science fair project next spring. Something tells me he's going to come up with a plan to stop plate tectonics woven in with transcendental meditation.

tonsillectomy recovery time (aka: the seeming eternity)

It'll be two weeks on Tuesday that our children had their tonsils and adenoids removed; and I would be remiss to not capture what this experience has been like for us.

Interestingly enough, I'd had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was ten-years-old and had just started fifth grade, also.  I remember waking up from surgery and crying for my mother, and my mother - who was working at the time, was not there. But my Aunt Grace - who looks very much like my mother was there - and so the nurse put my Auntie in front of me and said, "Here she is, Dear."  

And I howled ... because as much as I love my Aunt Grace - I knew that she wasn't my mother. That is one of the few things I remember of the situation.  I also remember that I spent two or three nights in the hospital, because back in the "olden" days, tonsillectomies were in-patient.  

So the children had their tonsils out on Tuesday morning and we took them home on Tuesday afternoon.   The doctor told us that they'd likely miss one full week of school, and would need to have limited activities for two weeks.  (Note, our Virginia doctor told us that they'd need to miss TWO full weeks of school, so we were hopeful that perhaps they heal faster the closer you get to the equator.)  

The doctor also told us that they'll be very sore the first few days, and then seem to improve, until the scabs fall off around Day 7, and then they'll have a "dip" and seem to relapse.

But then they'll rebound and continue to improve.  

The day prior to their surgery,  I had filled their prescriptions for lidocaine lollipops, Tylenol with codeine, and Zofran (to offset any upset from the codeine).   We had an abundance of popsicles, ice cream, Jell-O, juices, and straws on hand.  I felt we were as prepared as we could possibly be.

The doctor told us Tuesday would be a mellow day; somewhat of a "honeymoon" because the kids would still have morphine in their system from the procedure.  Sure enough Tuesday afternoon, albeit groggy, they seemed fine; nibbling ice cream and contemplating the movies they'd watch during their recovery time.

Wednesday, was still pretty mellow.  No significant pain; although we stayed on our pain medication very religiously administering it every six hours, round the clock.

Thursday, was much the same as Wednesday.  I started to taper off the Tylenol with codeine, and introduce straight liquid Tylenol because I'd rather not give the children narcotics unless they ABSOLUTELY need them.  Responsible parenting; right here.  Also, I was sure the worst was behind us. What little did I know.

Friday, William started to complain of a headache, neck and jaw pain.  This continues to amplify throughout the day.  I'm still administering plain old liquid Tylenol every four hours.

Saturday, William continues to complain with increased intensity; Carolyn seems to be doing OK and Charlie and I wonder if it's because girls have a higher threshold for pain? The doctor calls and tells me that we have a window of opportunity to begin alternating Tylenol with Motrin until Sunday afternoon, because their scabs will not fall off until likely Monday - and so I won't be able to give them an anticoagulant within 24 hours of those scabs coming off, because of an increased risk of bleeding. BUT, by giving them Motrin - an anti-inflammatory - that could help with their neck pain.  Liquid Motrin is introduced every eight hours.  The only thing that makes him feel better is a bubble bath.



Sunday morning at 2 AM, William is awake screaming from the pain.  I get the Worst Mother of the Year Award because I had promised him that I would turn the baby monitor on that I just found during our move, so if he needed anything, I'd be there in a jiffy.  While I did turn the monitor on in HIS room, I neglected to turn it on in OUR room.  And so it is, he woke up and called for me - for several minutes to no avail - before climbing out of his bunk bed and navigating through the dark house to find me.  It was awful, awful, awful and I wound up sleeping with him on the couch.

Monday, William is miserable - all day.  Tylenol with codeine has been reinitiated every six hours.  Sometimes, we can't even make it the full six hours.  Carolyn is starting to go downhill fast, too.  She sleeps on the couch next to her brother.  We think this has to be the "dip" the doctor referred to, and the scabs must be coming off.  I'd like to look in their mouths, but their post-surgical breath is so outrageously bad, I'd pass out cold if they breathed on me.  I innocently ask Charlie to look and in doing so, also collect my Worst Wife of the Year Award.

There's no way they're returning to school on Tuesday. 

Tuesday, William continues to be miserable.  To the point that he will at random times, cry uncontrollably.  He's drinking more than 80 ounces a day, so is sufficiently hydrated - we're also religiously administering medicine, but it's awful.  He sits with an ice pack on his neck and sucks ice chips.  By Tuesday afternoon, Carolyn is a wreck.  Both kids sleep on the couch again.



Wednesday, both children are up in the middle of the night, crippled with pain.  I'm delirious from sleep deprivation, it feels like I have newborns again.   I'm beginning to question if this procedure was the right thing to do.  I'm beginning to question my own existence and which way is up.

Thursday, pain - pain - pain.  Lots of crying.  Both children are miserable. So am I. This isn't the relapse or "dip" I'd envisioned ... they've absolutely bottomed out.  

Friday, ever so slight improvement for William. He doesn't cry as much.  Carolyn is miserable and Charlie has called in for a refill of her lidocaine lollipop.  By Friday evening she is feeling slightly better, but now her ears are hurting.



Saturday, continued improvement for William; Carolyn maybe slight improvement, but still breaks down in to tears from the pain.  William is back on liquid Tylenol; Carolyn is still on Tylenol with codeine.

Sunday, William has finally turned a corner.  Carolyn is doing better, but still cries every so often from the pain of a sore throat and ears.  She is also back on liquid Tylenol.  Henry, the awesome little brother that he is, tries to lessen their pain by reading aloud. His book today was "Ben Hur."  The kids said it didn't help.  He got them popsicles, instead.



Tomorrow, William will be returning to school; I'm still not sure about Carolyn.

It's safe to say that TWO WEEKS is at base case, the recovery time needed for a tonsillectomy. Anything less than that, I'd suggest that you have super-human powers and are somewhat immune to pain.  Like the young boy in the hospital room next to me in 1981 when I had my tonsils removed ... he had a hankering for Cap'n Crunch following his procedure - and they actually brought it to him.

Yep, I remember that, too.

popsicle partners

Earlier this week, William and Carolyn both had their tonsils and adenoids removed.



Going in to the surgery, the kids had asked the doctor to let them know who had the biggest tonsils.  Because at 10-years old, every thing is a competition.  Including the size of your tonsils.

Following the surgery, we were informed that Carolyn "won" and had the larger of the two tonsils and adenoids.  Not just in our family, but in all of 2015.  Our good doctor was very impressed at the size of her adenoid tissue, and said it was some of the largest he had ever seen.  Upon hearing that, whatever questions or concerns I'd had about subjecting our children to this procedure, were immediately eradicated.  I so love it when we make good parenting choices!

The doctor told us, "Your children are going to be totally different kids; they can now breathe and will feel so, so much better!"  He also told us that if we had any questions or concerns, we could call his office ... or just walk over and knock on his door.

(Because he only lives two houses away from us.)



A few things I want to remember about the day include Carolyn, feeling so concerned and breaking down in to tears when we began to get her ready for the surgery ... which made me break down in tears.  The nurse started her IV and administered something I cannot even recall (I'm sure one of my pharmacist sisters would know), to take the edge off.

Within mere seconds, my daughter had a dreamy look in her eyes, and slowly lifting her bandaged IV hand, gently whispered, "Little hand, I'm so very sorry they did that to you.  You are a good little handy hand and I love you."  Then she kissed her hand.

The nurse standing near her chuckled and asked, "Carolyn, what is your hand's name?" And my daughter looked at her as if she grew two heads and said, "HAAAAAND."



Then she gave her a smirk and said, "Silly nurse!"  Then she stared at her for a long moment and asked, "Why do you have two heads?" 

Other things to remember about this event, include the sequence of them coming out of surgery, Carolyn first, followed shortly thereafter by William.  Carolyn insisted on seeing her brother, and wanted the recovery room curtain open so she could have him in her sights.

There were notes, traded between my two groggy children in the recovery room.







The car ride home, with William asleep on his sister's arm.



The domestic recovery room (aka: family room), with the two of them snuggled next to each other with note pads for communication, and glasses full of ice chips and water.  Note Charlie asleep on the couch, too.  Major surgery (on others!) totally takes it out of my Guy.



Popsicles.



Jello and Ice cream.  Thankfully, Blue Bell is back on the shelves this very week.  Kismet!

Tender loving care from their siblings.

The key to the game right now is pain management, so I'm ensuring that we've got our clocks set and am administering the appropriate medication every six hours, on the dot. 

The only hiccup has been the movies that they're watching. William is 100% Marvel superheroes - all day, every day.  Whereas, Carolyn enjoys a good strong feminine heroine movie now and again.

William is not too keen on watching Pride and Prejudice, but he'd totally do it for his sister.

twofer tonsil tuesday

I'm not sure I mentioned that one of the reasons we delayed our move from Virginia to Texas is because Carolyn needed to have her tonsils and adenoids removed.  Her adenoids, primarily, because they are completely preventing her from breathing through her nose, and we think it may be contributing to sleep apnea, and attention deficit, and a host of other issues.

Not to mention, her orthodontist pointed out that mouth breathing may have a significant impact on the shape of her pallet, that we just spent a year and a half correcting. And since we had strep throat a whopping 17 times in 2014 across the five of us (kids had it 4X, I had it 1X) ... we figured while we were in there, we may as well take out the tonsils, too.

But then Carolyn was sick and unable to pass her pre-op so her surgery was scheduled from last week of April until first week of May.  And then my Dad passed away and surgery was postponed indefinitely.  And then it was the end of school, and I didn't want her to miss any state required testing, or saying goodbye to friends.  And then she was sick again in late June and early July, and unable to pass her pre-op and eventually, I decided WE NEED TO JUST GO.   Surely there will be Ear Nose and Throat doctors in Texas that are fully capable of removing tonsils and adenoids.

So we moved to Texas and on the day that we were driving in to our new neighborhood for the first time, I happened to notice that there was an ENT office 1/2 mile from our house.

"Well, would you look at that! That's very convenient!" I said to my family.

And the next day, when I was taking my first walk around the neighborhood with Louie, I met a lovely woman who lives a few houses down the street, who was also out walking her dog.  And this woman, the absolute very first person that we met while in Texas, said to me, "If you need anything, please let me know.  I've lived in this area for decades, and my husband is an ENT."

Her husband is an ENT.

It's kismet!

So it is, that exact same husband, a highly respected ENT in the area, will be doing a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy on both Carolyn and William, today; at approximately 10 AM and 11 AM, CST, respectively.



William was added to the mix because it recently dawned on us that he sounds like Darth Vader when he breathes. On a whim, I took him to the ENT along with Carolyn, and the doctor confirmed that his adenoids are just as blocked as Carolyn's and his tonsils are huge.

My poor children can hardly breathe.

We're very hopeful that this procedure - which I have seriously considered the benefits for the past several months - will help them both feel signficantly better.   I'm also hopeful that I don't gain five pounds in the next week, sympathy eating ice cream alongside my two sweet patients.

now ... with pictures!!! >> first day of school ... first day of school!

It's been a while since I've had a chance to sit down and update my blog ... a lot has happened since my last post.  We moved from Virginia to Texas, unpacked hundreds of boxes, unloaded five truck loads to Goodwill and the dump (and I thought I had purged well before we moved), found the local grocery store, registered the children for school, scheduled two to have their tonsils and adenoids removed (next week!), and have been trying to "set up camp" at our new digs.

At some point I hope to have some time to sit down and write about each of those things in a bit more detail, because there is an incredible story for the memory banks within each situation.

Alas, the older our children grow, the less hours there are in the day. I'm not sure how it's possible, but it's true.  Consider....  ZOOM, today was the first day of fifth grade, and second grade.





(Pinch me.)

Henry is at a different school than his siblings, and his bus picked him up this morning at 7:15 AM.   Which is approximately 45 minutes earlier than when the bus picked him up in Virginia ... or to be technical, 55 minutes earlier than how long our bus driver would sit and wait for us at the top of the hill.   God Bless that Mr. Yani. 

The trio's bus didn't arrive until 8:20 AM, but they were up, dressed, fed, and waiting with their wittle brother to wave him goodbye.  William then spent 30 minutes doing P90X because he had some nervous energy to work out.  I'd like to think he gets that from me, but no... my nervous energy is usually resolved with a nap.  Usually after I vacuum the couch cushions.



When the kids arrived home this afternoon, we met all the neighborhood children at the bus stop with a wagon full of lemonade and banana muffins.  Greeting the kids on the first day of school with lemonade and a treat, was just one of the many fun traditions that we picked up while living in Virginia that we've decided to bring, here.



While we were a little ambivalent about moving, we are so excited to be here, now. This next chapter of our lives will be filled with amazing adventure and learning.   Like just today, my children taught me the Pledge to the Texas flag.  I'd had no idea Texas had their very own pledge.

(Apparently, 16 other states do, too.)

PS: It seems I don't remember how to share photos from Flickr to my blog anymore.  Why must people change things?  I'm hardly able to keep up anymore.  Hopefully, one of my more technically savvy children will be able to give me a tutorial next time I'm on line.

and so it is, another chapter concludes

Last Friday, we closed on our new house in Texas.  This week, our Virginia home has been swarmed by packers who are loading up everything and preparing for the move south this Friday.  In this time and space between moving from one place to another, we've been saying goodbye to so many wonderful friends that we've been blessed to know in our nearly five years in this area.

Like the amazing people we knew in San Diego, our northern Virginia friends will be sorely missed. So rather than dwell on the sadness of moving away from these incredible people, we are trying very hard to revel in the gratitude of having the opportunity to know them, at all.  Even still, I'm sure there will be tears because we really adore our friends.



As I've told the children, life is a book comprised of chapters. Each chapter teaches us something different, and with each chapter, there comes an eventual end.   So while we're in that chapter - it's important to learn what we can, and do our best to enjoy it to the utmost.  Almost daily, I imagine the chapter coming to an end ... and so it is, I've become pretty good at cherishing moments.

Our moments today were epic.  

We spent a sun-drenched afternoon and starry evening, with some of our best friends, at our neighborhood pool.  What I want to sear in to my memory, is the way that we all felt so comfortable with each other, and how we laughed until our cheeks hurt.   I want to remember our beloved friends.  Tomorrow, our last full day in town, we'll be back at the pool with more dear friends who are carving time out of their busy lives, to come spend moments with us, and say "see you later."

Because we absolutely will see them later ... of that I'm sure.



What I also want to sear in to my memory, is the 14-year old son of our good friends, who is an extremely accomplished swimmer, that has been on a year-round swim team for the past five years. Those early morning practices are surely what has contributed to him becoming one of the top swimmers in his club, and the region.  A swimming scholarship for college is likely in his future if he stays on the current trajectory.

Today when we were in the pool, I asked him what was his best stroke, and he responded, "Fly."  As in, butterfly.  Because I absolutely love to talk smack with the kids, I asked him if he thought he could beat me in a race across the pool, and without hesitation he politely said, "Yes, M'am."

So I said, "Really? You really think you can beat ME?" Then I added, "Did you know that I swam a bit when I was in high school?" and his cheeks flushed as he replied, "Um. No, I didn't know that you swam a bit in high school. But yes, I'm pretty sure I could beat you in a race across the pool."  And so I said, "BRING IT."  And he said, "What?"

And I said, "YOU HEARD ME. LET'S GO."

So this young man, on the verge of earning his Eagle Scout rank, made his way to one lane, and I made my way to another lane, right near the edge of the pool. Charlie made his way to the middle of the pool, where with his hands above his head, he shouted, "Swimmers! Take your mark!"  Nearly all the eyes in the pool were directed at me, the mother of four, perched next to the 14-year old ranked regional swimmer, as Charlie yelled, "GO!" and threw down his hands.

The young whipper snapper bolted off the wall so fast, he was an instant blur.  As he did this, I flung myself out of the pool as fast as I could and SPRINTED down the deck of the pool hoping that: 1) the lifeguards wouldn't blow the whistle and publicly chastise me for running; and 2) I wouldn't slip and break a hip. Even running at nearly breakneck speed, I could barely keep up with him in the water.  I made it to the end of the pool, did a shallow dive and free-styled it the last two meters to the wall.

Miracle of miracles,  I hit the wall just an instant before he did, but it was unquestionable - I was there first, smiling at him when he surfaced.  People around us burst out laughing.

The look of absolute astonishment on this young man's face was priceless. PRICELESS.  He stammered, "Wow. Did you say you swam competitively in college? How did you do that? How are you so fast?!" And I replied, "That was nothing ... like a brisk stroll in the park."

He was stunned in to silence, but you could tell he was extremely impressed.

And humbled.  

Because so many of the kids had been swimming behind him, seeing if they could keep up, they were not even aware that I'd run the distance.  All the kids that is, with the exception of my son, William.  He was aghast and said, "MOM, oh my gosh, MOM! You so totally che...." But he didn't  get to finish that sentence because I put my hand on top of his cute little head and playfully pushed him underwater to silence the chap.  Then I pinched his bottom which is my code for, "ZIP IT."



Eventually my conscience got the better of me, and I came clean and told the young man how I'd won.  As I did, I added, "Just so you know, it wasn't really 'cheating', because I challenged you to a race across the pool. But never once did I say I'd SWIM it. Ah, ha! That's what you call a loophole!"

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have told him.

It'd be fun to end this chapter, as the middle-aged mom who whooped a state-ranked swimmer.

the no mercy rules

I had to host a fairly large conference call this afternoon, and since I've been working from home and my office is essentially the kitchen counter - Charlie took the kids out for the day.  Elizabeth had to get fitted with her new retainer, because her braces were removed yesterday ... and Henry had to have a plantar's wart removed from his hand, because ... well.

He had a wart that required removal.  

In the midst of these appointments, which were spaced nearly three hours apart, Charlie took the kids to the park with a bucket full of baseballs, a bat, three bases, and a couple gloves.

Once they arrived at the park, Henry recognized that one of his good friends from 1st grade was there. So while the kids all ran off to play, Charlie struck up a conversation with the boy's mother.  In the course of small talk, she indicated that she was a fire fighter and was telling my husband about all of the training and conditioning that she needs to go through.  My husband told her that he was afraid of heights and our 74-year old neighbor, a retired fire fighter himself, recently came over and cleared out our gutters because he totally froze after reaching the eighth rung.

According to Charlie, they laughed about this. And I laughed upon hearing the story, because I love his honesty and no-shame policy.   He owns his fear and it's awesome!

At one point, they looked down to the field, and upon noticing that the children had recruited more children - and had divided in to teams for a baseball game - they commented how nice it was that the children are at an age where they can keep themselves entertained.

Shortly thereafter, Charlie said he saw that Henry was loudly crying as the third baseman. Even from far away, Charlie could see their pitcher had tears on his face.  Suspecting that something was amiss, he questioned how the team's had been divided?

Could the mother of Henry's friend see how they had split up the teams?

She could not. So Charlie walked down to investigate.  And what he discovered is that William and Elizabeth and several other athletically inclined kids aged 10 and up, were on one team.  And Carolyn and Henry and several other not as athletically inclined kids who were aged 8 and under, were on the other team.  According to a nonchalant William, "Mercy Rules" were in play so the first team to reach 10 won.   At that point, William's team was up 8 to 0.

So Charlie, being the awesome Charlie that he is, said to Henry, "Hey little man, can I be on your team?"  Henry tearfully nodded yes, and Charlie ran out to the outfield, where he caught the next three pop ups to quickly end the inning and get his team up at bat.

He then coached the kids so that at each bat, they advanced to a base. By the time he got up, with no outs - the bases were loaded. That's when my husband knocked the ball out of the park, and in to the lot next door.  A few minutes later, he did it again, and the game was tied much to the dismay of William's team who were complaining, "Hey, it's not fair...!"

Not fair?  

According to Charlie, since the kids seemed to know all about "mercy rules" he felt it was his duty to teach them about "no mercy" rules. Those are the kind that precipitate when you unfairly gang up on someone else.  So as Henry's little friend was running home for the 10th run, effectively winning the game, my husband yelled out, "You are burning up this game little dude, your hooves are on FIRE!" 

The little kids were laughing deliriously, the bigs kids were sulking, and the mother firefighter said next time she comes to the park, she'll drive her water tanker.  William and Elizabeth politely told her that wouldn't be necessary.

Oh, I love when a good life lesson is learned in the course of outdoor fun!

my two new mottos

I've been talking with my sister, Beth, every single day for the past month.  The average length of those conversations are about an hour.  But we talked for 6.5 hours on Thursday night and in to Friday morning, and I was amazed that:

1. We didn't run out of things to talk about, and

2. My cordless battery held up as well as it did.

Miracles never cease to exist!

During our ritualistic phone call last night, Beth asked me why I've been so negligent about updating my blog, lately.  Of course she said this tongue and cheek, because holy mackerel. 



We're in escrow on one house that following the inspection, had questionable stucco integrity (read: potential of devastating mold), and we're getting another house ready for sale.  That sale was delayed only slightly by a tree that almost fell on top of the house.

FYI:  Under normal circumstances, that huge red oak in the backyard isn't leaning at a 60-degree angle over our house.   Although a new roof (and two new vehicles) would be nice, that's not something I was planning. Especially since we just finished our kitchen and master bath remodel; both are which are on the IMMINENT COLLAPSE TREE side of the house.



And last week, as said tree was being removed to the tune of $4,700 ... we discovered that we need a new septic because it failed the inspection (located beneath the fence sections because the inspector wouldn't even cover the tanks up again.  Leaving a 2-foot deep hole in the middle of the yard, didn't bode too well for me and my safety-oriented mind since a tree was partially removed and I had contractors still walking around with chainsaws).  Ruh-Roh!



The list of our house in Virginia has been pushed back two weeks, the close on the Texas house is scheduled for next week, and the moving truck is scheduled for the week after that.  I'm still not sure how we'll host an open house with four children who have been attempting to undermine our move by destroying things, and have an insane infatuation with Legos that they leave all over the house; two guinea pigs that seem to be pooping a lot more in the past month than they ever have in their entire lives, and one dog who keeps running away.    What's insane is that these situations are absolutely eclipsed by a much larger situation, that has had me talking to my sister Beth every night for the past month. But I can't write about it.  Which really pains me, you know.

In the midst of this:  There have been a lot of tea parties.



Muscle-man competitions with best friends.



Swimming.



And our littlest one turned eight.



The only thing I do know is that life is never boring.  And I'm feeling so blessed, because just about every obstacle that we're dealing with right now, are what I consider "First World Problems."  My new motto has become, "Can you solve the issue with money?"  If so, it really isn't an issue at all.

Until you run out of money. 

So for any one who tells me they've been praying for us ... I'd like to know, who exactly are you praying to? And also, are you maybe holding a Voo-Doo doll during those prayers and jabbing it in the pocket book?  

That was supposed to be a joke. I think it's hilarious.  Which leads me to my other motto of, "Always laugh."  Despite the most seemingly grim circumstances, there's bound to be a glint of humor in there, somewhere.   Do your best to mine that glint and light up the world with it.

... on the upside*

While I'm in Texas this week house-hunting ... Charlie is in Virginia with the children, trying to get things buttoned up so we can list our house in the next two weeks.  His list of items still to-do, which was approximately two feet long, had been reduced to just a few items. Until, this afternoon, when a tornado touched down in our back yard.



Now he just needs to figure out which box he packed his saw.

(*The good news is that the tree didn't slice the house in completely half. Although it will need to be entirely removed and Charlie's fort that he had worked so hard to build, has been reduced to debris.  More good news ... because I'm trying really hard to stay focused on the positive ... our house isn't supposed to list until the end of the month so we have time to clear up the hardwood carnage. Then again, at the rate the Universe keeps throwing us curveballs, I'm afraid to commit to which month that is exactly - but we'll just aim for June.)

duo