Thursday, January 29, 2009

answer to prayer

Baby K is breathing normal and everything has cleared up. Thank you all for praying!

life lessons

A few years back I was involved with a Baptist forum where I spent most of my posts debating with non-Calvinists. Once when discussing God's sovereignty over man's decisions I put forth a hypothetical situation where in someone is rescued from the water simply because the color of their shirt was bright and able to be seen. I suggested to my opponent that while the person certainly chose the shirt earlier in the day freely with no seemingly outside influence, it conformed to the decreed plan of God for what that person would wear and thus be rescued because of. My brilliant argument was met with more disagreement. Fast forward to yesterday evening.
After having received generous amounts of snow all day, the contracted snowblowing guy did the main walkways, but not our individual paths or steps. No problem, I'll just surprise my husband and get it shoveled while we wait for him to come home. At this point, my son had already requested to play in the playcrib with his baby sister, so I would just head out for a couple of minutes and get the job done. As I pulled on my boots, I debated whether to add my winter jacket or just go out with my hoodie. After all, I was wearing my around the house pants, aka, my jamamas, no need to get too dressed up here.
In the end, I grabbed my winter coat with my scarf and gloves and headed out the front door. I had just pulled the door closed behind me when I realized my mistake. Gulp! The door is locked and son 5.5 years is not likely to be able to get out of the playcrib without hurting his masculine self. In a quick nanosecond of panic, I pound on the door with my mittened hand about four times. Oh well, I'll ring the doorbell when I'm done and maybe somehow he'll be able to get out and unlock the door for me. Or worse, I'll just have to wait another 15 minutes or so until my husband arrives home. As I shovel the steps and the pathway, I'm thinking.
Near the end of the path, it hits me. I pad down my right hand pocket. Yes! That's where I keep my keys most of the time. I DO have my keys! I'm smiling now. What a goof I am! Hope the neighbors aren't watching, all nineteen of them.
I finish shoveling, unlock the door and let myself back in the warm house. The kids are still playing and no one is the wiser. Oh my. Wait until I tell my husband this one. As I shrug out of my jacket and hang it back up I think, see God does care and plan what we wear! I felt vindicated...then I remembered myself pounding on the front door just a few minutes ago. I slink back into the kitchen humbled.

Pregancy calendar

an online pregnancy calender
I used this to track my pregnancy with Baby K and am using the bottom link for this next baby.
my calender for August

life lessons

A few years back I was involved with a Baptist forum where I spent most of my posts debating with non-Calvinists. Once when discussing God's sovereignty over man's decisions I put forth a hypothetical situation where in someone is rescued from the water simply because the color of their shirt was bright and able to be seen. I suggested to my opponent that while the person certainly chose the shirt earlier in the day freely with no seemingly outside influence, it conformed to the decreed plan of God for what that person would wear and thus be rescued because of. My brilliant argument was met with more disagreement. Fast forward to yesterday evening.
After having received generous amounts of snow all day, the contracted snowblowing guy did the main walkways, but not our individual paths or steps. No problem, I'll just surprise my husband and get it shoveled while we wait for him to come home. At this point, my son had already requested to play in the playcrib with his baby sister, so I would just head out for a couple of minutes and get the job done. As I pulled on my boots, I debated whether to add my winter jacket or just go out with my hoodie. After all, I was wearing my around the house pants, aka, my jamamas, no need to get too dressed up here.
In the end, I grabbed my winter coat with my scarf and gloves and headed out the front door. I had just pulled the door closed behind me when I realized my mistake. Gulp! The door is locked and son 5.5 years is not likely to be able to get out of the playcrib without hurting his masculine self. In a quick nanosecond of panic, I pound on the door with my mittened hand about four times. Oh well, I'll ring the doorbell when I'm done and maybe somehow he'll be able to get out and unlock the door for me. Or worse, I'll just have to wait another 15 minutes or so until my husband arrives home. As I shovel the steps and the pathway, I'm thinking.
Near the end of the path, it hits me. I pad down my right hand pocket. Yes! That's where I keep my keys most of the time. I DO have my keys! I'm smiling now. What a goof I am! Hope the neighbors aren't watching, all nineteen of them.
I finish shoveling, unlock the door and let myself back in the warm house. The kids are still playing and no one is the wiser. Oh my. Wait until I tell my husband this one. As I shrug out of my jacket and hang it back up I think, see God does care and plan what we wear! I felt vindicated...then I remembered myself pounding on the front door just a few minutes ago. I slink back into the kitchen humbled.

a book ramble: chapter 1

Since I was once a child, a children's bookseller and an elementary schoolteacher, I have continued to maintain an interest in reading children's books. But I am quite out of the loop with regards to what's new, what's the current best seller, or what's likely to win the next awards, etc. My life circle is small at this point. I stay at home with our children without a vehicle most days and am occupied with the dailyiness of routine demands. I am happy to do this and rely on our local library to spice up our reading materials. However, Canada is not the United States and the world of books up here is not that same as down there. Profound, I know. So let me ramble and reminisce about my experiences with books.
As a child, my mother tried to keep up with my reading appetite by supplying me with Christian serial books from the local Christian bookstore. I also visited the local library and borrowed much of my reading material from there. I didn't have a guide to suggest great books, so I found a Nancy Drew and read every title I came across. The same thing with Bobbsey Twin books, the Happy Hollisters and even a token Hardy Boys book(my older brother had a few). The books commonly referred to as the Classics did not make their way into my reading circles nor did the award winners at least not intentionally.
In elementary school, I always did well in our reading groups and in junior high I read and studied with selected classmates two award winners: Johnny Tremain and Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry But I didn't appreciate the books and would simply read my books when given the first opportunity. At some point, I read my way through my mother's Christian historical fiction novels and series. I have since read and re-read those books and own some of them myself.
Somehow I made it through high school and college without ever being required to read what usually appears on most reading lists. I didn't notice or mind. Taking a job in the local Barnes & Noble brought me into the world of books that I really knew very little about. I suppose I could have pursued the local Christian bookstore as that is where the majority of my owned books had come from. But I wasn't interested in their employee dress code and a few other things.

in real life

Remember my paint story from a few weeks ago? Remember how I lost it with our son in the parking lot? Read Ann's story and see how she ended her paint mishap on a beautiful note. There is a lot to be desired in a family like hers. She has since had others write in and relate their own experiences. She has shared some of them here

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

two loaves

My mother gave me her Kitchen Aid mixer at Christmas that she has never used and I could hardly wait to mix up some bread dough. However she forgot to pack some of the accessories like the dough hook and the instruction manual so she brought the rest of the stuff last week. On Tuesday, we officially were out of bread but the recipe I wanted to try called for powdered milk which I do not have or use. So I checked the basic white bread recipe and decided to try for that one on Wednesday. A-n-d everything came out great! I substituted some of the bread flour for some organic whole wheat flour that I wanted to use up and used a couple of tablespoons of my organic sugar and both worked fine. The only thing I need now is bigger loaf pans as the bottom of the loaves are noticeably smaller than the the top.
But it tastes yummy and the mixer did most of the work! Thank you, Mom!

an update and a prayer

For my dear praying friends, Baby K continues to struggle to breathe and feed, although she herself is happy and laughing. I spoke with the doctor yesterday who performed the surgery expressing concern for amount of mucus and blood still coming from her nose. The doctor explained that the mucus and blood are in response to the inflammation in her nasal passages and elsewhere. And once the inflammation goes down the mucus should also clear up. Also she explained that we may not see any changes in Baby K's eyes until everything settles down. Although the procedure may not have been successful, but she felt it was too early to say for sure. Children with Down Syndrome often need to have the procedure repeated as the ducts and passages close back up. So we continue to pray that her recovery will be complete and that we will not have to repeat this again, but we know that the Lord may have different plans for our baby.
In the meantime, I was out on Monday getting blood work done for the midwives office and a quick haircut while my mother stayed an extra day due to her car needing some repairs. As I was nearing the end of my haircut, the door to the salon opened and I looked up to see who my stylist was speaking to and it was our pastor. He needed to return something that he had purchased and he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He told the stylist, "This is another one of the wonderful people in our congregation, you should come check us out." I was smiling at his bold witness and eager invitation. He came over and asked how are we were doing. (On Sunday, because I was the only Sunday School teacher who would be there that day, my husband insisted that he would stay home with Baby K while my mother and I went to church with our son.) I answered that we were fine, but then explained a little about Baby K. He immediately grew quite concerned and asked why had we not notified the church family to pray for her. As I squirmed in the seat trying to explain that it wasn't something that I felt was major enough to require an email to the congregation, he continued to shake his head and speak in a concerned voice. He then went on to relate how he had been visiting a dear sister from our church, Euri, who is in hospice care (one of my closest friends here in this city who I have wanted to write about) and she had asked about us and the children. He said he had told her that he thought we were fine, but now he would have to tell her to pray for us. She loves to pray for others even though she is so weak herself. (I will write about Euri soon as she is my dear friend and so much has happened.)
Back in the salon, our pastor finished his scolding and suggested that he pray right now for K. So we bowed our heads while the stylist finished up at the cash register and he prayed for us and Baby K. He must have spoken to the stylist about Euri on his previous visit because she knew about her situation and clucked her sympathy over it while she finished my hair cut. Who knew what a simple trip to First Choice Haircutters would yield on that cold Monday morning.

* I apologize for this poorly written post but I do not have time nor the attention to detail to explain it all as it should be done. Just know that I was deeply moved by our pastor's care in an unlikely place and by my friend Euri's concern for us.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

not quite

Our son: Mommy, you're a fudgebutt!
Us: Excuse me? Where did you hear that?
Our son: From Mommy.
Me: I've never said THAT!
Me: I've said fussbudget before, but not that!
Our son: Oh.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

little patient

Baby K was in for a minor surgical procedure this past Wednesday to open her blocked tear ducts. So far, it does not appear to have been a success and she now has a cold with a stuffed up nose making breathing and eating very difficult. She did well with the anesthesia but was given two doses of Ventolin in the recovery room after she woke up which made her fall back asleep for most of the afternoon. So our hospital stay was much longer than intended.

Photo Flashback

Just four days born.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Mrs. Cardinal

The lady has returned looking just as beautiful as ever in her red and brown coat.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Thursday, January 08, 2009

snowy days

Here he is redeeming himself yesterday by shoveling the front walkway just like Daddy does.




And here is one of Baby K on Christmas Day opening her packages.

morning light

This dark wintry weekday morning like all others finds my husband rising just after six, showering and getting himself off to work while I snuggle down in the covers and try to drift back to sleep. Daylight does not come until at least the late hour of 7:30am.
Our son has his own role to play in this morning routine and his goes something like this:
Jump out of bed and jump into mommy and daddy's bed with no regard for where feet, legs, stomach or other important body parts may be comfortably resting.
Skooch around in the covers until there is no longer any warm and covered areas left.
Proceed to repeatedly ask when mommy is going to get up.

This morning he added a new part:
Bring a book to bed, loudly turn pages.
Jump off bed and go dig in his closet for something.
Come back to mommy's bed and resume reading book and loudly turning pages with the aid of a LED booklight so kindly left behind for him by his maternal grandmother.

Now to give him credit he did not begin flash the light in the direction of my eyes until AFTER he had finished looking at the book. Boredom must have set in.
So finally after having some silly conversation about rolling our beds downstairs to the living room where the heat was on, I begin to seriously consider getting up.
A few minutes later, we hear Baby K awakening so I know that morning is officially here.
Later as I return upstairs to shower this is what I find sitting on my bed abandoned by our early-bird son.
The book title really could not be more ironic if he had tried. (Notice the offending booklight tucked inside presumably to mark his spot for tomorrow morning's read?)

Monday, January 05, 2009

night visions

After waking only an hour after falling asleep with an uncomfortable stomach ache I found myself being sick. Feeling better I came back to bed and drifted off to sleep only to be awakened a few hours later by the sound of our son jumping down from his bed and hurrying down the stairs. Bewildered, my husband asked me what time it was. Downstairs the tv came to life and the clock showed 2:37am. I hurried out of bed and down the stairs to find my son setting the quartz heater up while the tv blared about this year's past news stories. I spoke to him, "First Name Last Name", "What are you doing? It's not morning yet!" as I turned off the tv and the antenna. He was startled and I could hear tears in his mumbled words. I took his hand and led him back to bed where he huddled miserable underneath the blankets. I kissed him goodnight, turned on his cd player and said, "See you in the morning."
Slipping back into bed, my husband and I had a quiet laugh about that surprise.
Later today when asked about it, my son insisted that Daddy had come in and told him that it was time to watch cartoons.(Monday, Thursday and Saturday are his allotted cartoon mornings.) He doesn't believe us that he must have been dreaming.

Now where were we?

Throw together a trip home to PA for American Thanksgiving, a sick baby and emergency room visits, baby's first birthday celebrations, a whirlwind trip from long-lost friends, snowstorms, a terrible cold for me, Christmas, a visit from my parents, and utter exhaustion from the first trimester and you get this: desertion of a blog.
Oh boy. There of course is more to tell, those are just from the highlights reel. Like what happens when you ask Home Depot to match paint from Lowe's and what you do with the can of paint as soon as you are in your driveway, er parking spot.
Oh yes, friends, I have stories, stories of what happens when five year-olds develop routines that they are faithful to follow no matter when they wake up.
So let's dive in, shall we?
Firstly, I am expecting again. We are of course thrilled right after we forget how I am utterly exhausted the first three months of any pregnancy. But still no complaining, the Bible is against it and friends who have terrible morning sickness don't like to hear it either. The due date is set for the 6th of August known to be hot and humid but thankfully usually no threats of massive snowstorms keeping your husband from visiting you and your new daughter in the hospital. The months of July and August are quiet months for us after we finishing celebrating the births of two nations within three days of each other. So here's hoping and praying for a safe and smooth delivery. Baby K's was a middle of the road experience as far as labor stories go, so this one could either top it or sink way to the bottom of life experiences you'd be willing to do again.
Secretly I've already told my husband in a quiet fit of exhaustion that this is my last pregnancy. Of course worse has been said in the delivery room so we have that to look forward to!
Secondly, my husband took a day off from work during the holiday season and got to work painting our kitchen. I lounged on the couch and called out encouraging comments like, "Are you sure we have enough paint?" and "How about primer?"
What was I thinking? If the man wants to paint on his vacation, stop being the wet blanket and just unload the pantry that he has to lug away from the wall. The sanding and primer go on without a hitch and "we're" making quick progress. Then it's time to use up the last of the Lowe's paint "Belgian Waffle" while we debate whether we feel like making the 45 minute cross-border trip to the Lowe's in New York or just get the Home Depot 15 minutes away to match it with their spectrometer thingy. Since we have many errands to run we decide to stick close to home and try Home Depot's paint department. Everything costs more here but the Canadian dollar has slumped in recent months and it costs us about the same right now. Plus my husband has Home Depot gift cards to use. Bonus.
After a quick check with the paint technicians(is that their official title?)my husband runs out to the car to get the now empty Belgian Waffle can. They scan the color inside the can, derive a match, set the computer to add the colors and then throw the can in the mixing machine. The technician shows me the pinky-sized dab on the lid's sticker and it looks the same as our breakfast flavored paint. We make a final stop at the grocery store and pull into the condo parking lot. My husband, the strong man takes the baby in and an armload of groceries. I undo our son from his car seat and send him over to fetch our empty recycling bin a few yards from the car. I go to the back of the car, open the hatch and begin to load up the remaining items including a package of diapers, the empty paint can, and the other two bags of groceries. I rest the newly purchased can of paint on the back bumper while I re-adjust my packages and keep an eye on our son. All of sudden, I hear a soft thud and look down to see paint spilling everywhere on the snowy parking lot. I am in shock. My boot is covered and my jeans are splashed and paint is spreading. I set down the stuff in my hands, dropping the old can in the process so that it rolls under the rear tire out of sight and make an attempt to right the now nearly empty can of paint. I. cannot. believe. that. just. happened.

Multiple thoughts are racing through my head: wasted money, wasted paint, my husband's reaction as my son has returned just in time to gape at the disaster and say "What happened, Mommy?" I state the obvious which he is notorious for asking and tell him to start walking to the house with the recycling bin. He balks. I get angry. I tell him again raising my voice. He senses my unpleasant reaction and balks again. I raise my clean boot and give him a little kick on his snow-pant covered rear end and tell him to get going. He complains about the kick and I threaten more trouble if he does not comply. He does. My husband returns from the house to the parking lot and I gesture helplessly to the ground, "Look!" I say to him. It doesn't register. So I say with more panic in my voice, "LOOK!". He zones in on the snowy mess and immediately he is as disgusted with the whole thing as I am. I point out my boots and pants so he knows that I am suffering too and not just a troublemaker. Together we grab the rest of the stuff and walk silently to the house. I get in the door, take off my boots and rush them downstairs to the laundry room washsink. My husband then becomes my hero for the next hour or so. He cleans up the dripping paint can, mops up the spots on our entryway and then heads out to the parking lot with a bucket and a our son's snow shovel. He returns 10 minutes later and takes the whole mess to the laundry room and spends the next 15 minutes scrubbing my boot, the snow shovel and all the drippy mess. I of course had a baby to feed so I sat on the couch feeling horribly clumsy and guilty. I apologize to my husband who responds with a shrug that it was an accident. Later we hug as we assess how much paint we have left. He puts on his paint clothes and begins to paint. We eat supper and wait for the new paint to dry. A little while later, my husband makes the correct prediction that the new color isn't going to dry the same, it's darker.
And so it is and we like the Belgian Waffle color better. As you can see in the picture, the paint around the pantry is light and the new stuff is definitely darker. Exhale.
Now I don't know what to think. Did it matter that I spilled most of the paint since it doesn't match? Not only is the color off, the sheen is different. We were using eggshell for the Lowe's paint, but I think they must have grabbed an enamel for the base which I don't like either. So I think we'll be heading to Lowe's in the next little while to get the real waffle paint and get the whole kitchen back to one color scheme. At least we don't have to unload and move the pantry again.
Major lessons learned...back bumpers are sloped and will send anything resting on it to its demise, silently and quickly. And don't try to match paint from other stores just go with the tried and true.

Current Reads

Teach Them Diligently: How To Use The Scriptures In Child Training by Lou Priolo
Through the Shadowlands: The Love Story of C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman by Brian Sibley
The Mitford Series by Jan Karon
The Oxford Chronicles by Melanie Jeschke
The NLT translation of the Bible