Imagine My Surprise

Caro has asked twice now for stories of Me!Me! (a.k.a. Meiners in his 'older' years). Somehow she gathered, from the little picture of him on the side bar and, I don't know, maybe the one at the end of this post, that he is...well...rascally. I'm unsure where this reputation originates (besides the all-too telling photos), but let me assure you. It is all true.

Me!Me! is the epitomal middle child. I never believed in such a thing as birth order - until reading Pioneer Woman and raising Me!Me!. I imagine one day he will drive a Jeep. In the open air. Without the top. Muddied from off-road trailblazing. A braided band around his neck with a carved stone cross dangling from the center (cuz he'll be a follower. Just the one who drives a Jeep and has a shaggy hairdo). Me!Me! likes to hang loose (as I'll demonstrate in a minute). He's cool. He's happy. He's, well, he's Me!Me!

Why the nickname "Me!Me!" you ask? When he was two and his dad would ask the twins who wants to ____________ (insert some really cool, fun kid thing to do), the two older kids would scream "MMMmmmeeeeeeeeeee!" in unison. Little Dude first signed "me" "me" with his hands. As he became more savvy with words, he turned it verbally to: Me! Me! Henceforth, he came to be known as Me!Me! However, being the wise, mature 4 year-old that he is now, he does not want that baby name attributed to him. On more than one occasion, he has corrected me on how to appropriately beckon him (oh yes, beckon him I do). Well, being defiant and mischievous as I am, I refused to give up calling him a cute little nickname, but I transitioned it to Meiners. And he responds to all three of his names now. His two nicknames plus his God-given name (plus its shortened version, plus the one...OK, really that's all.)

So, loving Me!Me! as I do, and thereby knowing him as I do (or vice versa), I should not have been wholly surprised this morning when I entered the living room where the three older kids were rehashing Monday night's High School Musical's version of American Idol on the DVR with this added nuance of musical talent:

I can't really tell you why the HSM talent-wannabes needed to be vanquished by our budding Luke Skywalker, but rest assured, that lightsaber wielding 4 year-old was out for revenge.

Fast forward to our trip through WalMart this afternoon, and count me equally as surprised (although why I was surprised I know not) when I turned around to beckon Me!Me! to hurry only to find the weight of the lightsaber (still attached) had accidentally pulled his shorts down a bit too far and Little Man was unassumingly flashing his stuff to the local WalMart patrons and associates. (I assume unassumingly, anyway...) Oh. Wait. I forgot to tell you. He refuses to be encumbered by common underwear. Oh it's true. "It holds me in, Mom." Um, yeah. That's it's job, Me!Me! So you don't flash the people at WalMart. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

Go figure. There's a story about Meiners. (You're Welcome, Caro!)

Using My God-Given Talents

I used to be "A Stamper." I say 'used to' because I've been working on a card for two kids' birthdays all week long, and I have no inspiration. If you're a stamper, you know one card and one week do not equate to good math. Now, in my defense, I have been busy. But, really, the other crafts that I have been busy finishing are bringing me more enjoyment than the stamping. And that's a first. I've created art using rubber stamps for a decade. I'll do it again, I'm sure. For now, I am having so much fun making these onesies:

I made a set for my new nephew in June. I just love the idea - enough that I made my 'baby' a set, too. I love the origami boxes with little matching note cards. Aren't these cute?! I'm mailing them off today.

But, Ladies, Gentlemen, I am not just for the babies. I, too, represent the women:

I think I slept in that shirt - it's pretty stinkin' wrinkled. But, great photography, right? That would be Pookie.

So, anywho. I'm off to make a set of these today and a set of these in preparation for the big party!

Blessings!

It's Fun Bein' A Kid

You can imagine what I might have been thinking when I came in to this scene this morning. Did she lose her diamond (or at least a gold sequins)? Her favorite Webkinz? Her brothers? I heard their voices, but they were no where to be seen.

Aah. Answers. I sought them. I found what I searched for here:

A good old-fashioned game of telephone. Gotta love being a kid!

My Little Baseball Player

He could have been a Danny. Or a Charlie. Or Ethan. Or - we didn't really know. (Sorry, Little Buddy, it's true). The morning of my scheduled c-section with My Little Man, our Baseball Buddy, Me!Me!, who has come to be known as Meiners (rhymes with weiners), I recall standing in front of the sink, scrubbing my morning breath away, and having the infamous discussion with The Man about the baby's name. If he had been a she, we knew what her name would be. But for the better part of his 38 weeks of gestation, we couldn't decide what he should be called.

We walked though WalMart one day when I offered the name 'Ethan Philip.' That was my favorite - our oldest son was named for his dad, grandfather, and great grandfather. Philip was my great-grandfather's name. The Man said of the four boy babies we knew born the same year, all four were named Ethan. We had to move on.

The morning of his birth, Daddy threw out 'Danny.' Hmmm. It sounded nice with our incredibly common last name. No strange famous people with the same moniker. But, being a speech pathologist, I had just discharged a child with that very name and if the mother ever got wind that I'd named my child after her child, she might think me ... odd ... so I threw it right back out of the running. We headed to the hospital, me saying, "I'll know who he is when I see him."

Two weeks later, my daughter visited her cardiologist for a monthly check-up. Her heart had been in decline for a few months and visits were scheduled frequently, with a break to deliver her baby brother, then back into the routine of cardiology visits. I had had a Level II u/s with the new baby in utero with a perinatologist about 22 weeks into the pregnancy. Our cardiologist's partner was supposed to have attended, but had an emergency that day. I waved him off, knowing nothing would be amiss. Our path with Pookie had been a fluke. I had only followed the advice of my doctors to have the in-depth look. I, myself, was not at all concerned.

The cardiologist asked if he should examine the baby. I agreed to it, just to let the dust fall and receive the standard 'stamp of health.' And when the exam wore on and on and, well, on, I suggested to the nurse that I head down to the lab to start Pookie's monthly blood work while the doctor finished up. I was still very much in denial, completely oblivious to the growing tension in the office.

Upon returning to his office after the labwork was drawn, I see in my mind's eye to this day, our tall, blonde, (handsome!), sincere physician push past my husband in a rush in order to arrive in front of me moments after I'd stepped into the lobby. He spoke of my oldest son, assuring me that "His heart is fine. His heart is fine." OK, I thought. That's nice to know. Why would I worry about his heart? The knowledge and understanding of his words had not yet begun to sink in. When I had left the office, the baby was in the ECHO room. Upon my return, my oldest son lay on the table in the dark room lit only by the green glow of the sonogram machine.

Slowly. Very slowly. His words began to sink in. Heart defect. Unusual twice in same family. Same developmental timeframe in gestation. Heart defect. The baby. Heart surgery. Different. Different this time. Not as hard. He promised me. It would not be as hard. My husband took me to the car and drove our family home.


I'm working on the party, baby presents (it's been a summer like that!) and will finish Meiners' story soon. Gotta keep you on your toes!
'Night!

Quirky Artist I Am

Quirky Me

Debbie from This is the Life recently asked her readers to post their quirky traits. Honestly, I think I can be fairly quirky, but like I get when asked to share a most embarrassing moment, my mind goes blank on the specifics. As the days have passed, nonetheless, I've recalled at least one of my notable quirks.

I think sharks live in the deep end of pools. Seriously. I took my kids swimming at my mom's pool just this week and had to look over my shoulder and swim very fast to get myself back into the safety of the shallow end. Of the indoor pool. Oh yes. And this picture of my friend Coley swimming in a pool with sharks does not help my pathology.

This fear correlates to my fear of the Boogey Man in the basement. I send the dog down before me every time. Every time.

And the Growing Pains Halloween episode I watched when I was a kid. That scared me enough I still recall the heart-wrenching fear that gripped me. Growing Pains. No lie.

I am a giant, quirky, scaredy cat.


Artsy Me

I have been working diligently on a gift for my FIL's birthday, and I finished it today! (OK, so his birthday was July 7th. Something about the overextending myself. I think I've touched on that recently.) But now I can share it with you! The baby photo is an example of the newborn pictures I snapped of my new little nephew. I'll post more of those later.

Enjoy!

I took a 20x20" piece of birch plywood and cut a 6" hole in the center. I stained, painted light, then painted dark and sanded the wood for a distressed look. After searching the internet for countless hours, I printed a verse, cut it into pieces and embossed the letters onto the wood by drawing around each one with a pen.

Looking closely, you can see the embossed 'd' in the wood I am about to paint.

This is New Baby and a gift for his mama.

This is FIL's version - using an old photo of all the boys in The Man's family being very shortsy and svelte.

I plan to make one for the girls' room in cream, pink, green, and yellow. Stay tuned! Some day I will finish it and you'll get to see it here first! I make no promises when that will be. But I do promise it will be darn cute.

Backyard Olympics: The Planning Stage

I love to throw parties. For absolutely no reason. And sometimes, I just create a reason - my kids each have enjoyed 'just because' parties. The girls painted their nails and dressed up in our ginormous amounts of dress-up clothes. The boys built Thomas tracks aplenty on our deck and ate fire truck cake (thanks, Vonda!).

In a recent conversation with my friend Pam, I decided to throw a Backyard Olympics party, complete with Family Flags, judges with stop watches and whistles (thanks, Grandparents!), and loosely termed 'sports' (is eating ice cream considered an Olympic Event in China? It is in Our Backyard!)

So, for the entirety of this week, as I have attempted to document, at least in part, the struggles of Pookie's early life, I have diligently been scouring websites and magazines for decorations and ideas and ordering trinkets and medals galore. And Planning, Planning, Planning!

So, here's my quirkiness. I always tend to get in over my head with my parties. And I stay up late. RRReeeeeeeeeaaaal late to accomplish everything. Pretty much at the last minute, usually. (Remember birthday pupcakes at 3:00 A.M.??)

This time (I promise) I am planning ahead. And these lanterns will all be completed (with the kids' help!) by the end of the weekend so they will see a happy mama each morning - and not one taking a trip out for coffee before showering. At 3:00 P.M. Cuz, that's happened before. I'm just saying.

I promise to post pictures after the event! We have a week to go!
And since I'm rising at 5A.M. to run 11 miles, I'm hitting the sack tonite.

Upcoming posts to look forward to:

• Newborn Photography
• My Crafty Side
• Meiners - the Story

I can't wait!

The Final Chapter

I don't want someday for Pookie to see my blog in book form (because my plan is to have it bound for them, not because I'll be so famous that my ancestors will publish my memoirs...) and wonder why I never finished this story or why I just sort of ended it in mid-thought. But the truth is, it is a long story. And much of it has been repressed. The days following that fever spike were days of survival. Hers. Mine. Daddy's. And, as I sit here even now and type words onto a computer screen, I run the risk of letting the tears fall from the flooding corners of my eyes and I just don't want to allow that. So, I will continue, but with guard.

Pookie's heart filled with methycillin resistant staph bacteria - MRSA. I know you've heard about it on the news. Lives are lost by it. Only one medicine can vanquish it - Vancomycin (I always thought that was irony at its ... well, worst). And Katelyn's tiny, less-than-10-pound body was infused with this medicine around the clock via a portal in her chest. For 14 weeks. This medicine plus another cherry red one (Rifampin, Pookie). She spent 6 weeks in the hospital after the initial surgery. She was very, very sick. In retrospect, our beloved cardiologist admits that he never let on to us just how grave her situation was.

The bacteria damaged that wonderful, perfect, life-saving first surgical repair that the surgeon had so carefully and masterfully sewn into place. Plus, the bacteria thought it was yummy enough in there to take away some valve tissue, and then when they slowly but surely were vanquished, those nasty little germy bacteria, they left their bacterial decay lining the walls of Pookie's heart. And the surgeon was forced, one month after the first repair, to go back in again to clear out the junk and fix the damage.

Two weeks later, she was home.

There is so much more to this story. Maybe she needs to know it all. Maybe. Some day. But, for now, I'll leave you with some photos of the baby who almost didn't make it. And yet, now, thrives. Her beauty is far more than skin deep, as she has a heart of gold (well, at least partially metal --- surgery #4 replaced her mitral valve with an artificial, [precious!!!] metal valve) and a spirited personality and a kindness and intelligence that surpasses her years. Her story has traveled the globe to as far away as China. She has been the poster child for a nonprofit and she is a poster child for God. He listens and He hears the prayers of His people. He makes good come from the trials of those people who choose to follow Him.

And, if I may. Please know, as I know you do, He doesn't always answer our prayers the way we hope. And we have lost too many little friends in the last 6 years. So, my prayer goes out on behalf of the mommies who didn't tuck their baby in tonite. Indeed, congenital heart disease takes the lives of more children in my state than the next three illnesses combined. I wrote about one special friend here.

Last few moments before first surgery





Healing after Surgery #2

Quick recovery after #4

4 broken arms by age 3 (why a black cast??)

Sassy by age 4

Fashionably sensible at age 6