Believe

OK -- I'll just tell you -- I have cried on and off all morning because of a blog I read. It was written by Martha Brockenbrough and you can read it for yourself here: http://www.cozi.com/live-simply/truth-about-santa

Martha is a mother whose oldest child figured out the whole the-Tooth-Fairy-is-a-lie thing and then asked if Santa is real. And it made me realize -- hey -- my oldest is seven years old, nearly eight, and I was eight when I figured out the whole Santa thing. So this year may be the last that Nicholas truly believes in Santa Claus.

At best, I might have one more Christmas after this year with him still Believing.

Every other day or so I say to him, "Stop being tall!" or "Stop growing!" And he always says, "MOM -- I have to grow!"

(sigh)

They don't stay babies forever. From the moment I laid eyes on Nicholas up to this very moment -- this one, right now -- feels like Warp Speed. There is nothing I can do about this. Nicholas is right -- he HAS to grow. That is the way we and all of life are designed. We must grow and change. And we must ask questions, and those questions deserve answers. Honest answers.

In the link to the blog above, Martha Brockenbrough published a letter she wrote to her daughter in response to the question if Santa is real or not. I think it is beautiful and smart, and I was inspired to write a similar answer for my own son.

I really hope I don't have to show this to him any time soon, but I will save it for when the time comes...

You have asked a very big and important
question, and that means you are ready to know The Secret.

Santa Claus is – and was – real. Your dad and I named you after him: Santa Claus and St. Nicholas – they are two names for the same person.

St. Nicholas gave people hope. He gave them something to Believe in. And as you get older, you will learn that we all need something to Believe in. We all need to Believe that even when things are going wrong, or when we think we don’t have all that we need, that there is hope; that there is magic; that there are miracles; that wishes can come true.

Is Santa Claus real?
Yes.

Does he come down the chimney and leave
presents?

No. Your daddy and I are the ones who fill your stockings and leave you presents. We do Santa’s work. Our parents did it for us, and we do it for you and Parker, and someday, you will do it for your children. It is a very big job. We listen to your wishes and dreams and hopes, and we try really hard to make them come
true for you. We know that you BELIEVE, and we hope you always will.

A very wise lady, Martha Brockenbough, once said, “Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand.”

Santa’s work is done by all of us moms and dads (and big brothers and sisters too!) who Believe. Now that you know The Secret, you have the privilege of helping others to Believe. And you also have the responsibility of keeping The Secret, because younger kids like Parker deserve to wonder about the mystery of how Santa’s work gets done. We do these things because we are a family. Because we love one another. Because with and through each other, we can see our hopes
and dreams come true, and we can always Believe.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

My last blog post was all about the events that took place on April 26, 2011. I posted it on May 9, with the intention of continuing with the next day's events soon after. It is now the second week of August, 2011. Truly, I have reached the pinnacle of my procrastination habit here. I realize that I have not absently, but actively avoided writing about the events that happened to my family between April 27 and May 1...purposely found other things to do...didn't write ANYTHING at all for my humble little blog...all to avoid reliving what I experienced (at least I think that's the reason, or part of the reason). It's not that my home or any of my family had major damage. I'm not sure what the deal is. Mainly, I guess, it's just tiring to think about it.
I can't remember a more exhausting day. But here it is, better late than never.

I write this now because of a favorite quote of a favorite author of mine:
"If I can tell the story of my life artfully enough, then perhaps those who read them will, at the end of telling, be able to hear more of their own stories within." ~Robert Benson~

I adore my Motorola Android. It is a very useful addiction -- I mean, tool. It contains my entire life in one sleek, black 2 1/4 x 4 1/2 inch rectangle. I use it for lots of things, and one of its most utilitarian functions is as my alarm clock. On the morning of April 27, 2011, it was set to wake me up at 6AM. I lay in bed, still asleep, though slightly aware that my husband was up and about, getting ready for work. My 6AM alarm proved unnecessary though, because at 5:30 I was awoken by a text message, followed by a phone call. It was the Arab City school system announcing that school would be delayed until 10AM due to inclement weather ("inclement" turned out to be a huge understatement).

Mark and I turned on the local news and saw that indeed, tornadic weather was headed our way. We got the kids out of bed at 5:45 -- we told Nicholas to put his shoes on, and we changed Parker's diaper and put his shoes on as well. We all had our shoes on, and that simple fact was nerve wracking for me. It wrecked my one year old's world as well. In the first place, he had to be woken up, which is never good where one year olds are concerned. And for another, he associated putting shoes on with going outside to play. Here he is, jerked wide awake and having shoes slapped on his feet, and he's saying, "'Side? 'Side?" We tell him no -- we're going to all sit in the bathroom. With our shoes on. This did not bode well. Not at all. So there we were, all in the bathroom, the TV in the other room turned up loudly so I can hear it through the cracked door, which I'm having to barricade with my body to prevent Parker from bolting out of it as he screams and cries, "'Side!!! 'Side!!! 'Siii-iiii-iiiiiiiiide!!!!!!"

Good times.

That first tornado, though it side stepped my neck of the woods, turned out to be significant. That was the one that tore through Warrenton (at the foot of the mountain where I live), and if I am not mistaken, also hit Guntersville State Park, and then went on to Jackson County where the first death in the state of Alabama occurred.

Mark went in to work. I kept an eye on the weather while we waited for 10AM to arrive, when Nicholas could go to school.

It seems like the weather in our area quietened down for a bit, though I think some other significant weather occurred in other parts of the state that morning. I can't really remember -- there were so many tornadoes that it's all a blur to me now.

I almost didn't take Nicholas to school. I hate for him to miss if he's not truly ill. I watched the weather on TV. I got on the Internet and played and replayed many times the Weather Channel's future radar-in-motion thingy -- it looked OK to me -- so I took him to school. Something in my brain kept tugging at me though. "Keep him home. Keep him close to you." But I didn't. Off to school we went.

But around noon, I got yet another message from the school system saying that school would let out early because of the threat of bad weather. I had to rouse Parker out of his crib yet again, this time to load him in the car to pick up Nicholas. Home again, home again, jiggety-jig...

Once home, I decided I would take my brown-speckled bananas and make some banana bread. That would make a good dessert for our dinner, which was going to be homemade Sloppy Joes (don't snicker -- I make mean Joes) and sweet potato fries.

I think it was around 2:15 or so that our local weather warned of a tornado in Cullman heading straight for Arab. The sirens blared yet again. Also yet again, we all put our shoes on just to sit in the bathroom. And what transpired over the next half hour was almost apocalyptic. For the sake of posterity, I hope I remember all this correctly...

I turned the TV up loudly again, so that I could hear it while the boys and I were in the bathroom. Parker still wasn't thrilled about having shoes on and not being allowed to play outside, but he was at least quieter this time. At one point I told the boys to stay put while I stepped out to look at the TV. The news showed live footage of the tornado that had just left Cullman, and it was on its way to Arab. It was on the ground -- on the road -- it was not small -- it looked scary. I dashed back into the bathroom, but not before I had the forethought to turn the oven off and take the banana bread out. The power went on and off a couple of times. Then I opened the bathroom door to turn off the thermostat in the hallway -- I didn't think the central air unit being turned on and off repeatedly was a good thing. I heard noise outside -- not wind or thunder, and not threatening -- just noise. I picked up Parker and told Nicholas he could come with me. We looked out the front door and saw a car in the ditch directly in front of our house. The light outside was such that I could not tell if someone was inside the car, but if someone was in there, I wanted to let them know they were welcome to come into my house. I didn't feel safe leaving my porch (I have a rather large front yard -- there was lightning and I didn't know how close the tornado was), but I waved frantically and yelled, "Come inside! You can come in my house!" There was no response. The wind sounded funny. I took the boys back into the bathroom and hoped for the best for whoever belonged to that car. I shut the bathroom door. There was no power, and the bathroom literally is in the middle of my house; it has no windows, thus no light. Having no power, the TV was not on for me to hear and I was in the dark with my two children. I was in panic mode now.

The boys, being so young, didn't really know to be scared, though I'm sure they were confused. After all, we don't normally spend our time intermittently sitting in a dark bathroom. The door rattled, tapping the door frame back and forth. I opened it to let in the cat, who was inevitably pawing at the door, wanting to be where we were. I looked down, but there was no cat. When the central air is on and that bathroom door is closed, it always taps the door frame once or twice when the air kicks on. But the thermostat was off, and there was no power to run it anyway.

The door was rattling on its own -- no cat, and no power.

I told the boys to get in the bathtub. I closed the curtain -- it was pitch black in there -- the sirens were wailing -- I was crying --

Have I mentioned that I adore my Motorola Android? I'm in the bathroom. I have neither power nor Internet service, yet in the palm of my hand I have a phone, a camera, a calendar, and a computer with Internet access. "And there was light." In the glow of my phone screen I could see the three of us in the tub, Nicholas looking at me, searching my face for how he should feel and act, Parker looking at me questioningly, the radar map showing the tornado-containing storm right over my part of town...

Sounds: the ever present sirens...my frantic breathing...my voice talking to the boys -- what was I saying?...that darned door still tapping the door frame...a sort of boom-boom-boom above us...
I thought pine cones were being pelted at our roof, and rather forcefully. More wind...more panic inside me...a text message from my mom...possibly a text from one or both of my sisters -- can't remember...

Thoughts in my head: "This is so much bigger than me. I can't protect my kids. I can't keep my babies from this. I can't even protect myself. Those poor people in my front yard -- were they safe? Should I be praying right now? I don't even know how to pray about this -- where to start..."

The urge to pray was overwhelming. It was the only thing I could control, and that aspect in and of itself was measurably comforting. Nicholas knew the Lord's Prayer by heart. So I asked him if he'd pray it with me. The three of us held hands, and in the dim glow of my Droid we prayed.

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...
boom-boom-boom
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven...
"I can't do this...I am terrified."
Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us...
boom-boom-boom
And lead us not into temptation, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

The booming sounds faded away and all went quiet. Even the bathroom door was not rattling anymore. I waited another thirty seconds or so before allowing the three of us to go into the living room. We appeared to still have a roof over our heads. There was still no power, and we would soon find out that the power would not return for several days. I bade the boys to stay in the living room while I went outside to survey possible damage. A tree in my neighbor's yard was split in two. I felt bad for them. I walked around my yard further. A tree just outside my backyard fence had been uprooted and was laying on the fence, which now had a few broken boards. My father in Florida called. I am now a basket case, realizing how close the tornado had been to me. I told Dad we were fine -- just a tree down. He said there was more bad weather heading our way from Mississippi. Great. Dad said Tuscaloosa was about to get hit.

My baby brother, who is no longer a baby, lives in Tuscaloosa and is, naturally, a student at UA. He called me then as well. I told him we were all right. He said he was on his way to campus to while the coming storm away in the safety of a brick building with a basement. This made sense. That tornado hit about fifteen minutes after he and I hung up, mere blocks from where he sought safety. Though parts of Tuscaloosa were leveled, Cliff made it through all right.

I went out the back door to get a better look at my damaged fence. My two dogs reside in the backyard. When I opened the door they bolted inside, completely beside themselves. They are outside dogs with few-and-far-in-between house privileges. Not even cold cuts from the fridge could lure them back outside (believe me, I tried). I contained them in the kitchen with a baby gate. My manly-man husband would take them back outside later. I went outside, and there lay the maple tree that absolutely should not be there. It lay over the top of my fence and rested on my snowball bush (one of the only flower producing plants in the yard I have managed not to kill). I had been crying on and off all afternoon, and this sad sight made me cry some more. An uprooted tree -- fine. An uprooted tree that broke part of my fence -- fine. An uprooted tree that broke part of my fence AND damaged one of the only beautiful features in my backyard -- now that's just insult to injury!

I could not reach my husband. He later told me that the last thing he heard on the news before the power went out at work were the words, "A tornado is on the ground in Arab at Eddy Scant City Road." That is our street. It was more than two hours later before we heard each other's relieved voices.

In the mean time the sirens blared again as the tornado in Tuscaloosa headed our way, and we were back in the bathroom, shoes in tow. I cannot remember where else that tornado struck -- possibly Brown's Ferry? It's all a blur now, but it didn't come near us and that is all I cared about. All I remember is being exhausted to the point of tears, yet thankful that my boys were safe and that we were together.

Later on I allowed myself to realize that the bathroom door rattling had everything to do with the suction that the tornado produced, and that the booming sounds that I originally believed to be pine cones was the sound of the tornado itself. I also learned of what had happened to the owners of the car that was in my ditch. They were relatives of my neighbors. They had been driving down Hwy. 231, and they saw the tornado. They first tried to seek shelter in the grocery store down the street, but all the employees and shoppers had already taken shelter and the door was locked. So they came a couple of blocks up the street to their uncle's house. In their panic, they drove into the ditch, denting their front fender, and ran into my neighbor's house.

The next five days were like camping, only we got to sleep in the comfort of our own beds. We carried on like everyone else: the banana bread I'd made was yet another God send, since there was no way to cook, except on the grill; we used up what we could in the refrigerator; we filled up our gas tanks when the opportunity arose; we bought necessary supplies and food when a store opened up; we charged our phones with our car batteries; we listened to the radio; we grilled hot dogs and pineapple; we lit tons of candles and brought our garden solar lights inside when the sun went down (Nicholas and Parker would wave them around and disco dance -- who needs TV?); we told stories in the dark; we drove thirty miles away to Oneonta to get the boys out and to give all ourselves a break -- Oneonta had power, so it was a good place to get gas, shop, and eat a Happy Meal. The weather, thankfully, stayed mild -- neither too hot nor too cold, and the windows open in the house felt fine. We picked up tree limbs. The logs from the pine tree we'd had cut down were still in the yard, so we had that mess to clean up along with the mess the tornado left behind -- but we handled it.

We took a few cold showers. We also went to my sister's to shower -- her power came back before ours, so she had hot water. We did laundry at my sister-in-law's, and she made lunch for the four of us. My dad brought us gasoline, and he and mom helped us clean up debris.

On Sunday we were able to help what was known as "The Flashlight Baby." While the tornado passed by our house, and the power went out, the hospital down the street lost power too. A mother was in labor at that very moment, trying to bring her daughter into our stormy little world. The baby was literally born under a flashlight. Our local radio station announced that The Flashlight Baby needed a swing, and we had one we were more than willing to part with. It felt good to help someone, especially since so many of my family had been helping us.

Sunday was also the day our power came back on. This was a huge relief because Mark had been scheduled for several weeks to attend a work-related seminar in Orlando. Yes, at Disney World. In the aftermath of the April 27th tornadoes, he made some calls and tried to get out of going, but he was told he had to go if he was able to get to the airport. He didn't want to leave me by myself with our two boys and no power, and he would have felt guilty being in a luxury hotel while his family was still in survival mode. That thought didn't appeal to me either, I admit. But with the electricity back on, we both felt much better about him leaving. I went to Foodland and bought items to put in the refrigerator and steaks to put on the grill. Everyone in the store was celebratory because electricity was slowly but steadily being restored, and many of my fellow shoppers were carrying steaks and shrimp and fresh veggies and beer in their buggies. My family had a lovely evening, and it was what we all needed between the days behind us and the days that lay ahead.

I still have yet to make my Sloppy Joes. I'll have to get on that. I bet I can track down the recipe I use on my Droid.

Tuesday April 26, 2011

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

I have renamed Tuesday nights “Fright Night.” Not that it scares me or that we watch horror flicks that evening, but because, since the advent of the 2010-2011 school year, that is my family’s busiest night of the week. I could just as easily have nicknamed it “Pasta Night,” since that is usually what we cook for dinner those days, but we don’t always have pasta – sometimes it’s Papa John’s pizza, or maybe I throw something in the crock pot that morning, so “Pasta Night” doesn’t cover that – but also “Pasta Night” sounds boring. It doesn’t even rhyme.

I digress. A typical Hyatt Family Tuesday looks like this:

• Take Nicholas to school, as always.



• Pick Nicholas up, as always.



• Feed the kids a [nutritious!] snack while Nicholas does his homework and I try – really try – to pick the house up from whatever mess my one year old has made before my mother in law comes over.



• Nicholas eats his snack as he does his homework (God bless him – he’s a good little multi-tasker), then he changes into his gymnastics clothes.



• Drive half an hour to gymnastics class – sit and read and breathe for an hour and a half.



• Drive half an hour home; call husband en route to let him know it is time to boil the water and preheat the oven. He doesn’t cook a whole lot outside of the charcoal grill (he is amazingly talented at this skill, by the way), but pasta and garlic bread - he can handle :)



• This item on the list mainly applied to the first half of the school year – Cub Scout meetings at 6:00 or 6:30, which is the time frame we arrive home from gymnastics. This addition to the schedule truly did make Tuesdays “Fright Night.” It made for an extremely long and stressful day for all of us. But those meetings are more sporadic now, thank goodness.



• Bathe the boys – they brush teeth and put on PJs – we read stories to each one – we tuck them into bed.



• Mark and I say something like, “Hello – how was YOUR day?” Then we pass out.
  

See? Fright Night. Tuesdays used to really wind me up – the stress was awful. But eventually we found our groove and now, in the middle of spring, it is just routine. We kind of do it on autopilot.

I am a laid back person by nature. I try to not fret too much over things – with a seven year old and a one year old, I have to pick my battles and let some things go. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. My husband on the other hand…

…well, HE called ME on the way home from gymnastics on Tuesday, April 26. He said something like, “You know that pine tree closest to the driveway that has sort of split into two trees sharing one trunk? I was walking Mom out to her car, and I happened to look up and noticed a crack going all the way from where the trunk splits down to the roots, and when the tiniest breeze blows, the side closest to the house SWAYS toward the house . I have called a guy that cuts down trees and does emergency service and he will be here in fifteen minutes and it’s going to cost $350.”

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

I asked Mark if he was crazy. He said I could be the judge when I got home. But I was thinking to myself, “He’s just overreacting…it can’t be that bad…” And Mark said, “We have to get this cut down now – there are storms coming tomorrow!”
In less than 24 hours, I would know how right he was…

I arrive home. I look at the twin pine tree(s). I see the crack Mark told me about. It indeed started at the base where the two secondary trunks split and went all the way down. And then it happened: The breeze was extremely light that evening, seemingly with no more strength than someone breathing – yet the left twin of this five story high pine tree would separate itself from its brother with the slightest movement of air.

It swayed toward our house.

In the direction of my sons’ bedrooms.

If it fell – and that event was inevitable – it would land on one or both of my sons in their sleep. I wondered how long we had precariously lived like this.
And I said, “WE HAVE TO GET THIS CUT DOWN NOW – THERE ARE STORMS COMING TOMORROW!” Mark never acts like he loves it when I admit that he’s right because he’s a good person. Bless him.

For a one year old and a seven year old (OK – AND a 37 and 38 year old), watching a tree getting cut down is FUN. With our house on the left side of the tree, and our neighbor’s fence on the right, they had to bring out their sky bucket truck contraption and cut it from the top – down. The only sounds for the next hour were:

BUZZZZZZZZZ…CRASH! WOW!
BUZZZZZZZZZ…CRASH! ((Gleeful laughter))
BUZZZZZZZZZ…CRASH! COOL!

It was comforting seeing a fifty foot tall potential threat to our home and all that dwell therein come down in a controlled, skillful manner. $350 well spent.

Dinner – check. Boys bathed – check. Teeth brushed, PJs on, stories read, kids tucked in – check, check, check, check. Mark and I acknowledge each other’s existence and pass out – check, check.

We all rested peacefully that night, and as Martha Stewart says, that’s a Good Thing, for tomorrow would be here soon enough.

There is no "I" in "Parenting." Oh, wait...

I take pride in my parenting style. I am one part hippie chic, one part June Cleaver, one part Rosanne Connor and ALL about love. Love is my main objective. When Nicholas was on his way, I really did form 3 objectives. 1) My child will be healthy. 2) My child will be happy. 3) My child will know beyond any shadow of a doubt that I love him RELENTLESSLY.

This was the last week of school. It has been as busy as Christmas. Monday was, well, Monday. Tuesday was field day, which I participated in; three hours of being outside with Nicholas' class while they did various fun activities (I applied sunscreen to the tops of my feet, yet I still have a flip flop tan line.). Wednesday was another "regular" day. And today, Thursday, was awards day, and Nicholas received several awards for being the awesome little kid that he is. And Thursday is also haircut day. And end of the year gymnastics show day. And getting our things packed to go to Camp McDowell day. It's exhausting just blogging about it.

But Nicholas started with the sniffles on Monday. I ignored it in the hopes it would simply go away, knowing what all had to be accomplished by the weekend. He got a little worse on Tuesday. I dosed him with medicine and sent him off to field day. He got more worse on Wednesday, but he had no fever. More meds, and I sent the child off for his last full day of Kindergarten. When I picked him up that day, I could tell before he got in the car that something wasn't right. He climbed in and fell apart, crying his little heart out -- something Nicholas does not do, ever. He said his ears hurt. I cancelled his 3 o'clock haircut and made a hurried call to the pediatrician -- they said to bring him on in. His ears weren't completely infected, but they were going to be without taking action, so a round of antibiotics was prescribed.

Thursday, still no fever, and I knew he'd be out of school by 10:30, so I sent him on. I felt like I had sent him off to the wolves, knowing how miserable he felt. We came home from awards day and ate lunch -- he coughed his head off (some more). A rescheduled haircut was set for 3 o'clock, and off we went. And then, driving home from the hair appointment, I had an epiphany. I was feeling guilty for having pushed him all week long to go to school. Phrases like, "If it weren't the last week..." and "But it's field day..." or "It's awards day..." had taken over my mind. We still had his gymnastics show to go -- had to be there at six to warm up...

Mark and I had talked earlier about gymnastics. Mark already assumed Nicholas wouldn't go. I said, "Oh, but he HAS to." So driving home from the haircut I asked myself why I felt the need to push gymnastics on him even though he was sick and clearly felt terrible. I answered with, "Because I've driven him to Albertville every week for the past nine months, dangit!" And then the darndest thought occured to me: "That's about you, Melanie Hyatt. That has nothing to do with Nicholas." DADGUMMIT! I wanted him to perform in his end of the year gymnastics show for MY benefit -- not his?!?! Not because he'd worked so hard all year long. Not because he'd made a committment and, by golly, he's going to follow through. But because I had sacrificed. I had invested. I had driven. Well. That is not putting my child's needs ahead of my own, and that is NOT good parenting. Where was my unconditional, relentless love for my son, the love I had objectified so vehemently before he was even born?

I felt ashamed. Still though, Nicholas and I had to have one conversation:
Me: Nicholas, how do you feel?
Nicholas: Sick.
Me: Do you want to go to gymnastics?
N: No, I'm sick.
Me: It's the end of the year show -- it's the last time you'll get to go.
N: Mommy, I don't feel good.
Me: Doodah, Nana and Pawpaw are coming to watch. [This was the test; I knew he'd walk barefoot over burning coals for his grandparents.]
Nicholas: (almost pleading at this point) I just can't be there.



We stayed home and had a leisurely dinner. I am sorry Nicholas missed his gymnastics show, but I am glad I (finally) put my son's needs first.

My Life in Lists ~OR~ My Top 5's, In No Particular Order

MOVIES I CAN WATCH OVER AND OVER
1. "Moonstruck"
2. "Star Wars" (all six episodes)
3. "You've got Mail"
4. "When Harry Met Sally"
5. "High Fidelity"

FAVORITE BOOKS
1. "Living Prayer" by Robert Benson
2. "The Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Hoff
3. "Harry Potter" series
4. The Bible
5. "Paradise Lost" by John Milton

THINGS I PUT ON MY BODY EVERY DAY
1. Philosophy Purtiy Made Simple Cleanser (if this company ever goes away, I will be in a snit!)
2. Either Mary Kay Moisturizer with SPF 15 or Oil of Olay Complete with SPF -- whichever I have at the time -- I like both
3. Garnier Fructis Sleek and Shine shampoo and conditioner
4. Cetaphil lotion
5. Clothes

FAVORITE SONGS
1. "A Day in the Life" The Beatles
2. "All You Need is Love" The Beatles
3. "The Times They Are A-Changing" Bob Dylan
4. "The Sound of Silence" Simon and Garfunkel
5. "D'yer Mak'er" Led Zeppelin

WHY I LIKE HAVING TWO BOYS
1. Clothes and toys can be passed down
2. Dinosaurs
3. Superheroes
4. Fashion is much easier for boys than girls
5. Hair is easier to fix on boys than on girls

FAVORITE MEALS TO COOK FOR MY FAMILY
1. Breakfast for dinner
2. Cheesy penne with artichoke hearts and creamed spinach
3. Parmesan chicken
4. Chicken soup (Sounds simple, and it is, but I have this thing down to a science, bordering on art form.)
5. Pasta with mushrooms and pesto

WHY I LIKE LIVING WITH MY HUSBAND
1. When he grills, it is a happy thing. He REALLY is good at it. I make all the side dishes, like my mean baked beans and corn on the cob. It is a collaborative thing when he grills and I make the sides. It is hard to explain, except that it is pure happiness when we sit down to a meal we made together.
2. He is very sweet, and not just to me, but to everyone he comes in contact with.
3. He lets the boys roughhouse with him -- this is a daddy thing and not a mommy thing. It helps them to get their energy out.
4. He lets me know that I'm OK, that he loves me for myself, not in spite of myself.
5. He is fun to travel with and talk to -- I couldn't be married to anyone else.

THINGS I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT (Excepting bare necessities like water, air, shelter, etc. I could have easily called this list "Things I Covet.")
1. My chef's knife
2. Vaseline on my lips before going to bed
3. The occasional meal at Surin
4. Computer with internet access
5. Comfortable shoes

MY FAVORITE SMELLS
1. Tea Rose perfume (Mark hates it, so I can't wear it.)
2. Philosophy Pure Grace
3. Magnolias in the summer
4. My kids in the morning
5. Rain (or maybe it's the way the ground smells when it's been rained on?)

God and the Albertville Tornado

Let me preface this, should you be reading, that this is not an attempt to convert you to Christianity, nor am I "preaching," as it were. I am simply stating what I think, in the only way I know how, solely based on my own experience, education and belief system...

I keep hearing people say -- either verbally or via posts on Facebook -- things such as, "My child asked me how Jesus could let this tornado damage our town -- how do I explain that?" or "I can't believe God allowed this to happen to us." or "God took my house away." I even heard a pastor on a local news station say that God had spared his church. People are asking, "Where was God when the tornado came?"

Here is my response, and you can take it or leave it: Jesus did not "let" this tornado affect the town so epicly. God did not "allow" this to happen to you. God absolutely did not take your house away. God did not "spare" one church and smite another.

So where was God? God was the father who could think of nothing but his family while he tried to protect them, hunkered down in the hallway. God was the mother who, perhaps for the first time, did not know how to protect her children. God was the child looking to his parents for comfort. God was the man or woman that kept a cool head in the midst of total chaos. God was the volunteer who showed up with a chain saw and helped a dear friend, or even a complete stranger, remove trees from her yard. God was the various people who handed out bottled water and food. God was all those who lifted up a prayer for loved ones and strangers alike. God was the family who had no damage that generously took in another family until they can get back on their feet. God was the city employees who worked -- and still are working -- tirelessly to get electricity back to people's houses. God was the faithful few that took communion and gave thanks in their church courtyard, though the church building had a gash in the ceiling and the walls were leaning off the foundation.

My Aunt Pam, a very wise and wonderful lady, sent a message to me. It was in response to a post on my Facebook page, where I said that I was sad to see our church damaged, but that I was excited and comforted about the new possibilities that lay ahead. Aunt Pam's message read, "This didn't take the Lord by surprise -- he already has the plans laid out. It is just our job to seek his will."

We are not God's playthings. He is not some grand puppet master, and we are not his puppets. I hope that people will stop believing that God caused this destruction. I hope that parents will stop letting their children believe that Jesus took their homes and trees away. I hope people will stop thinking that God was merciful to some and merciless to others. I hope people will stop asking, "What did God do to me?" and ask instead, "What does God want for me?"

Sleepless

I tried praying, but I don't know the words to utter. I tried watching a funny sitcom, but I'm still not calm, or any cheerier. I tried talking it out to my husband -- even woke him up at midnight, squalling, telling him the most terrible news I'd ever heard. I tried lying down in bed. That didn't help me either; I thought of my boys and wanted to look in on them, which I did. And now I am here. I guess I'm just going to have to blog this one out.

An old college friend of mine has a little son, and he has cancer, Stage 4 neuroblastoma, I think it's called. I only learned of this a month or so ago, though he was diagnosed several years ago, a little younger than my oldest son is now. He has had more pain and medication in his young life than some 80 year olds. He has had blood transfusions. He has been in and out of the hospital. He has been sick and gone bald from chemo. He knows what pain medication is, and he knows when to ask for it, which breaks my heart. He has been visited by several celebreties, which also breaks my heart, because celebreties generally don't visit the children who are going to be OK. Now his life is in real jeopardy. Doctors told my friend today that, judging by recent scans, his bones are being eaten up by disease. They gave him treatment options, but added that there is a 0% chance of survival -- they are simply buying him time.

I am grieving like this is part of my family. I haven't seen my friend from college in 14 years. We were not even close. I have never seen nor met her son. I can't figure out why I am so affected by this family's pain.

Maybe I'm just that nice a person. It's possible. I am not made of stone, though I have been told that I come off as pensive.

Maybe I see parallels in my life and my friend's. We were both music majors, and we both have two sons.

Maybe just nine months ago, my youngest son's life briefly hung in the balance because of birthing complications. I can certainly empathize with the fear that your child, whom you would do anything for, may not live. I have prayed that prayer -- that my child would be spared and my joy would be restored. Oh, yes -- I can empathize with that.

Maybe this child's plight has led me to the discovery (I use this word loosely) that he is not the only child dealing with such sickness as this, that children everywhere are dying of some horrible disease that cannot be controlled. This angers and saddens me. And I'm not one of those who gets mad at God, wondering why he would allow that kind of suffering. I don't believe God works that way, not my God at least. That is a whole other blog, though I may end up touching on my thoughts about God and suffering somewhere in this post.

Maybe I think of my Nicholas and how smart he is and how in tune he is with the universe. I mean, he told me that it was time for me to have another baby and --WHAMO!-- Parker was on his way -- BEFORE I knew I was pregnant. Somehow Nicholas knew. And I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that if Nicholas were as sick as my friend's son, he would KNOW that his life would be shorter than the average little boy -- he literally would piece that together. And I wonder how any mother could handle the questions I know my friend's son is asking. I can't stand to think about it...

I am so thankful that the conversations I have with Nicholas are about all the normal things in life -- "It's a beautiful day -- go outside." "You need to eat more vegetables." "You can play the Wii for ten more minutes, then it's time to get off." "I love your drawings. You are so creative." "You did a great job at gymnastics." "Time to go brush teeth." Normal, everyday stuff. Nothing truly sad or life threatening or painful. Not that life is always a bowl of cherries *all* the time, but still, life is very good.

Maybe I feel guilty. It almost seems unfair that some families have to struggle with losing a young child while others don't. Not that I would trade places with my friend. I really wouldn't. I never want to know that kind of heartache. It's not the natural order of things, for a parent to outlive a child. This is my greatest fear.

I think this will be an on-going, evolving post, for a little while anyway. I just found out about this child's prognosis of 0% survival, and it wrecked my world, and then I couldn't sleep. But now I must go and try to rest my brain and my body, no matter how much guilt and empathy I feel...