Charles Dickens. I love his writings, A Christmas Carol being my favorite book that he penned. (Shocker, right?) He wrote, "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." I was thinking of this statement this morning and I began to mourn the end of the Christmas season. I know that I should take advantage of the down time and rid my house of all of my beautiful Christmas decorations, but I just can't. I want to hold onto it for a little while longer.
As much as I would like to have frozen time on December 25th to savour every moment of that day, the reality is that Christmas has come and gone, and there will be 360 more days until it reappears. There is no stopping time. And as a mother who is now 36, I can tell you that I long to stop it on a regular basis--to pause on a special moment, to marvel at my kids at a certain stage just a moment longer, to hold their hands tightly while they let me, to snuggle them in bed while they will still visit me there, and to keep the wrinkles from multiplying and body parts from sagging. Sometimes I think time is an enemy, a thief.
I am powerless to stop time, of that I am certain. None of us can. Only God has that power, and He chooses to allow it to move on in this realm, though I believe there is no concept of time in Heaven. There is one passage in the Bible where He did stop the sun for almost an entire day for a battle because Joshua had prayed for him to do so. So, I guess there has been a moment in our history where time did stop. Hmmm.....that has me thinking.....maybe I should pray about this. :)
Anyway, on to the point of this blog. We had a wonderful Christmas. As is our tradition, we spent Christmas Eve at Aunt Bonnie's with the Bailey clan, and though the absence of Granny and Granddaddy always brings a tinge of sadness, we are always happy to be together. Christmas Eve, my family came over to open gifts and eat together. Christmas morning, the boys opened their gifts from Santa and since Anderson got a new airplane, we went over to my parents' house Christmas morning to fly it and eat breakfast with everyone there. That afternoon, we left for Greensboro and spent the evening with the Brewers. And today, five days later, I thought about this: the constant staples of these gatherings is always three things-- the presence of our God, the love of our families, the joy of the season.
And I guess really what I miss most about Christmas is just that: the presence (not the presents, though they are FUN), the love, and the joy. And what I thought about today when I remembered the Dickens quote was this: That presence, that love, and that joy are constant in my life. Sure, there is something magical about December for me. It always has been and always will be. But the things I love most about Christmas I carry throughout the whole year.
So, I DO honor Christmas in my heart, and I DO keep it all the year. And since time never stops, I will look forward to the time when the season arrives once again.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
i was dreaming of a white christmas...
...and I got one! Raleigh has not had an accumulation of snow on Christmas day since 1946, two years before my dad was even born. I'm not sure that we technically broke that record this year because it didn't start snowing in Raleigh until around 11 pm on Christmas night, but we were in Greensboro where it had been snowing since 1 pm, so we had our very first white Christmas!
The morning of the 26th, Paul, Bennett and I loaded up the van with five sleds and Jordan, Candice, Ava Michelle, and her friend, Abe, and headed over to the golf course at Starmount. We met Elisabeth, Ryan, Molly and Myles on #4 for some sledding. (Anderson was sledding with his older cousins over in their neighborhood, and Miller, Elisabeth's baby, was with his grandparents.)
The snow was perfect. About 4-6 inches of thick powder, perfect for snowball and snowman making and for plastic sleds on grassy slopes. We had so much fun! And I had fun taking lots of photographs with my new camera. Here are a few...
Elisabeth launching at the top of the hill.
Myles and Bennett--best cousins and friends--near the end of their ride.
Paul and Bennett having fun.
Best buddies.
Bennett LOVES the snow!
The morning of the 26th, Paul, Bennett and I loaded up the van with five sleds and Jordan, Candice, Ava Michelle, and her friend, Abe, and headed over to the golf course at Starmount. We met Elisabeth, Ryan, Molly and Myles on #4 for some sledding. (Anderson was sledding with his older cousins over in their neighborhood, and Miller, Elisabeth's baby, was with his grandparents.)
The snow was perfect. About 4-6 inches of thick powder, perfect for snowball and snowman making and for plastic sleds on grassy slopes. We had so much fun! And I had fun taking lots of photographs with my new camera. Here are a few...
Elisabeth launching at the top of the hill.
Myles and Bennett--best cousins and friends--near the end of their ride.
Paul and Bennett having fun.
Best buddies.
Bennett LOVES the snow!
Monday, December 13, 2010
monday's funnies
Bennett has said two things in the last ten minutes to his brother that I just had to write down so I wouldn't forget.
1. He and his brother were teasing each other about girls. Anderson says to Bennett, "You have a singing girlfriend." (He was talking about Selena Gomez.) Bennett gets very upset and says, "No my don't!" I overhear the argument, so I tell Bennett to go to his room and get his pajamas on to separate them since Anderson was headed to his room to do the same. On the way to his room, Bennett stops by the playroom where I was sitting and says, "Mom, my have to tell you something." He continues in an angry, frustrated voice. "Bubba says my have a singing girlfriend and my don't! My dating Cole!"
Okay, how in the world he knows about "dating" is still a mystery. He may be four but he can talk like he's a twelve. I'm sure that has a lot to do with having a twelve-year-old brother.
Oh, and for the record, Cole is a girl (Rachel "Cole"), and she is my niece. That makes her his cousin. First cousin. Yep, but it's okay. We live in the South. :)
2. Anderson and Bennett, clearly chockful of testosterone tonight, were just wrestling in the playroom. What Bennett lacks in size and strength he makes up for in tenacity and determination and fiestiness. All of a sudden, he is hanging onto his brother's neck and back for dear life and saying in the loudest, meanest, most intimidating voice he can muster, "Who's the strongest? Who's the strongest?" He honestly thought he was stronger. In fact, he keeps asking me tonight, "Mom, who's the strongest: Me or Bubba?" He doesn't like the answer, so he then responds, "Nope. Nobody's strong. Only me." Delusion is a powerful thing.
1. He and his brother were teasing each other about girls. Anderson says to Bennett, "You have a singing girlfriend." (He was talking about Selena Gomez.) Bennett gets very upset and says, "No my don't!" I overhear the argument, so I tell Bennett to go to his room and get his pajamas on to separate them since Anderson was headed to his room to do the same. On the way to his room, Bennett stops by the playroom where I was sitting and says, "Mom, my have to tell you something." He continues in an angry, frustrated voice. "Bubba says my have a singing girlfriend and my don't! My dating Cole!"
Okay, how in the world he knows about "dating" is still a mystery. He may be four but he can talk like he's a twelve. I'm sure that has a lot to do with having a twelve-year-old brother.
Oh, and for the record, Cole is a girl (Rachel "Cole"), and she is my niece. That makes her his cousin. First cousin. Yep, but it's okay. We live in the South. :)
2. Anderson and Bennett, clearly chockful of testosterone tonight, were just wrestling in the playroom. What Bennett lacks in size and strength he makes up for in tenacity and determination and fiestiness. All of a sudden, he is hanging onto his brother's neck and back for dear life and saying in the loudest, meanest, most intimidating voice he can muster, "Who's the strongest? Who's the strongest?" He honestly thought he was stronger. In fact, he keeps asking me tonight, "Mom, who's the strongest: Me or Bubba?" He doesn't like the answer, so he then responds, "Nope. Nobody's strong. Only me." Delusion is a powerful thing.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
God's goodness & golf
God's goodness and golf--such a strange blog post title, I know. How in the world will I connect the goodness of God with the game of golf? Well, here you go...
Last night, Paul and I went to his end-of-the-year party for his golf course and its sister courses. I have to admit that I wasn't terribly excited about a golf Christmas party that was comprised primarily of golfers that I do not know. But as it turns out, my second cousin and his wife were there because--unbeknownst to me--they are members at a sister course, so I ended up knowing two more people than I expected to at the party. But I'll get to that part of the story momentarily.
One of the reasons we wanted to go to this party was because they were having a reverse raffle (still not sure exactly what that is?), and the grand prize was $3000 that could be used toward anything at the golf club--including monthly fees, golf clubs, etc. The winner would have more than a year of golf paid in full for his or her entire family. It was a prize that I admit I had prayed for from time to time whenever Paul mentioned it. You see, only people who had won tournaments during the year would be qualified to participate in the raffle. Paul had only played in three tournaments this year (probably because I requested that he not play as much golf this year, so he honored me in that). But of the three tournaments, I think he placed first or second in all of them, so his name was put into the drawing six times. There were 135 drawings, so his chances were probably better than anyone's that he would win some kind of a prize, though of the 135 drawings, there were only 36 prizes, so four of the times that Paul's name was drawn, there was no prize. But by the twentieth drawing, every person whose name was drawn received a prize. And at this point, Paul's name was in there not once but twice.
Paul looks at me when drawing #20 was up and said, "How cool would it be if I won the grand prize and the second prize?" We both laughed, and I agreed that such an event--though highly unlikely--would be such a blessing. Because of the economy, we had discussed downgrading our membership next year which would restrict when we could play but would allow us to pay a lower fee each month.
The drawings continued until the 10th prize drawing, at which point we paused and moved into the auditorium to have a business-type meeting and would then close the night with the final drawings. As we began our exit from the banquet room, my cousin says, "My name is still in the drawing."
"Yeah, I saw that, and so is Paul's name. His is in there twice. I think you two should take the top three prizes."
We both laughed and he agreed that this would be ideal. Of course, I'm sure he had his eye on the grand prize, too!
After a very long business meeting (where I passed the time trying to figure out how to use Paul's cell phone and accidentally called a few folks), the drawings commenced.
They called name #10--not Paul's. Every time they drew a name, I prayed, "Not Paul's name. Not Paul's name." They called #9, #8, #7.....all the way to #5, and still--Paul's name had not been called. Things were looking really good for him and for my cousin, whose name had not been called either. But Paul's chances were twice as good as my cousin's for winning the grand prize.
They called #4, and neither Paul nor my cousin's name was called. That meant that the top three prizes were going to my cousin and to Paul. I was elated.
And then they said it--#3, "Gary Norris". Paul looked stunned. Then slowly, his hands went up in the air in sheer astonishment. He had won both the first and second place prizes. He had won $3,000 to use at the golf course and unlimited tournament entry fees (a prize probably valued at well over $1000). This astonishing win means two things: Paul will not be paying the golf course a dime for anthing for at least a year. And it means that if I want to see my husband in 2011, I better take up golf.
I can't tell you how grateful we felt when we realized what Paul had won. It was amazing. The odds of this happening were well under 1% from a statistical point of view. But with God, statistics mean nothing. He can do anything. And he did. He just gave my husband a desire of his heart--more golf FOR FREE. Paul said to me on the drive home that I could use some of the money we will save to go shopping. Of course, that made me so happy, but truthfully--just seeing the joy on my husband's face was enough. At least for now it is. :)
I stand amazed at God's goodness to us, in every area of our lives. If it all went south tomorrow, God would still be good. That will never change.
But I have to share this--just a few months ago, a local municipality tried to charge us an ungodly amount of money to do some road improvements where we own a business. It wasn't right nor was it fair. Needless to say, we did a lot of praying and asking God to intervene. And he did. We still have to pay more than we should, but they reduced the original charge 75%. But ever since that ordeal, we have seen the hand of God reach down to bless us financially time and time again, providing ways for us to earn more. It was as if He was saying to us, "Don't worry. I've got you. I will take care of you." And Paul's winning those raffles last night was just another reminder that He holds us, He cares for us, and He will not only take care of us but will bless us with heart's desires. What a good God He is.
So if you don't see me much in 2011, you can probably find me on the golf course with my husband and sons. And it won't be costing us a dime. Thank you, Jesus.
Last night, Paul and I went to his end-of-the-year party for his golf course and its sister courses. I have to admit that I wasn't terribly excited about a golf Christmas party that was comprised primarily of golfers that I do not know. But as it turns out, my second cousin and his wife were there because--unbeknownst to me--they are members at a sister course, so I ended up knowing two more people than I expected to at the party. But I'll get to that part of the story momentarily.
One of the reasons we wanted to go to this party was because they were having a reverse raffle (still not sure exactly what that is?), and the grand prize was $3000 that could be used toward anything at the golf club--including monthly fees, golf clubs, etc. The winner would have more than a year of golf paid in full for his or her entire family. It was a prize that I admit I had prayed for from time to time whenever Paul mentioned it. You see, only people who had won tournaments during the year would be qualified to participate in the raffle. Paul had only played in three tournaments this year (probably because I requested that he not play as much golf this year, so he honored me in that). But of the three tournaments, I think he placed first or second in all of them, so his name was put into the drawing six times. There were 135 drawings, so his chances were probably better than anyone's that he would win some kind of a prize, though of the 135 drawings, there were only 36 prizes, so four of the times that Paul's name was drawn, there was no prize. But by the twentieth drawing, every person whose name was drawn received a prize. And at this point, Paul's name was in there not once but twice.
Paul looks at me when drawing #20 was up and said, "How cool would it be if I won the grand prize and the second prize?" We both laughed, and I agreed that such an event--though highly unlikely--would be such a blessing. Because of the economy, we had discussed downgrading our membership next year which would restrict when we could play but would allow us to pay a lower fee each month.
The drawings continued until the 10th prize drawing, at which point we paused and moved into the auditorium to have a business-type meeting and would then close the night with the final drawings. As we began our exit from the banquet room, my cousin says, "My name is still in the drawing."
"Yeah, I saw that, and so is Paul's name. His is in there twice. I think you two should take the top three prizes."
We both laughed and he agreed that this would be ideal. Of course, I'm sure he had his eye on the grand prize, too!
After a very long business meeting (where I passed the time trying to figure out how to use Paul's cell phone and accidentally called a few folks), the drawings commenced.
They called name #10--not Paul's. Every time they drew a name, I prayed, "Not Paul's name. Not Paul's name." They called #9, #8, #7.....all the way to #5, and still--Paul's name had not been called. Things were looking really good for him and for my cousin, whose name had not been called either. But Paul's chances were twice as good as my cousin's for winning the grand prize.
They called #4, and neither Paul nor my cousin's name was called. That meant that the top three prizes were going to my cousin and to Paul. I was elated.
And then they said it--#3, "Gary Norris". Paul looked stunned. Then slowly, his hands went up in the air in sheer astonishment. He had won both the first and second place prizes. He had won $3,000 to use at the golf course and unlimited tournament entry fees (a prize probably valued at well over $1000). This astonishing win means two things: Paul will not be paying the golf course a dime for anthing for at least a year. And it means that if I want to see my husband in 2011, I better take up golf.
I can't tell you how grateful we felt when we realized what Paul had won. It was amazing. The odds of this happening were well under 1% from a statistical point of view. But with God, statistics mean nothing. He can do anything. And he did. He just gave my husband a desire of his heart--more golf FOR FREE. Paul said to me on the drive home that I could use some of the money we will save to go shopping. Of course, that made me so happy, but truthfully--just seeing the joy on my husband's face was enough. At least for now it is. :)
I stand amazed at God's goodness to us, in every area of our lives. If it all went south tomorrow, God would still be good. That will never change.
But I have to share this--just a few months ago, a local municipality tried to charge us an ungodly amount of money to do some road improvements where we own a business. It wasn't right nor was it fair. Needless to say, we did a lot of praying and asking God to intervene. And he did. We still have to pay more than we should, but they reduced the original charge 75%. But ever since that ordeal, we have seen the hand of God reach down to bless us financially time and time again, providing ways for us to earn more. It was as if He was saying to us, "Don't worry. I've got you. I will take care of you." And Paul's winning those raffles last night was just another reminder that He holds us, He cares for us, and He will not only take care of us but will bless us with heart's desires. What a good God He is.
So if you don't see me much in 2011, you can probably find me on the golf course with my husband and sons. And it won't be costing us a dime. Thank you, Jesus.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
can't find the right word exactly
My boys and their words.....they can be so funny. Or not.
This week, out of the blue, I am working on Christmas cards when Bennett enters the room and says, "You're sexy", followed by a slew of giggles.
My first reaction--shock. My second--I want to laugh. Third--I try to get it together so I can address the fact that sexy is a word no four-year old should use, or even know for that matter.
"Excuse me, son? You don't use that word. That is a grown-up word, and you do not even know what that means."
"My gonna be a woman and be sexy." The laughing is now uncontrollable.
My voice gets louder, "Bennett, you are NOT to use a word that you do not understand what it means. That is a grown up word. Don't say that again."
Well, if you know Bennett, you know that he did say it again. If you know me, you know he was disciplined for it.
I know the moment something becomes forbidden, its appeal skyrockets. I kept thinking about this as I gave Bennett strict instructions not to use it. I wondered, "What can I get him to say instead?" I couldn't think of a word then, and I still can't. It seems the ONLY words that make him giggle are potty words.
Like the other day, for example. He was watching the San Diego Chargers game, and they were blowing the game. All of a sudden, out of the blue, Bennett says, "They suck!"
"Excuse me? No sir, we do not use that word. You can say, 'They stink'."
Bennett begins to laugh heartily. "They suck."
"Okay, I am going to have to discipline you," I assure him.
"No, no, no, Mom.....NO!!!!!" And the protesting begins.
To be honest, the hardest part about disciplining Bennett is that I am trying so hard not to laugh (as is Paul, who is worse than I am in trying to hold it together when the boys say something inappropriate). I think this week alone Paul and I have held our breaths on three different occasions to keep from laughing. And Bennett is so onto us. He can just feel when we want to laugh, which only encourages him to keep at it to see how long it takes either of us to lose our composure.
I don't remember Anderson having a so-called potty mouth, which makes sense because Anderson is so much like his dad (who also doesn't have a potty mouth). And Bennett is so much like.......me. Yep, makes perfect sense.
But I did ask Anderson, after the "sexy" incident, where Bennett learned that word. After all, one of the few challenges I have found from having children almost 8 years apart is that the younger one always learns things before the first child did, and often they are things they are not ready to learn just yet. Anyway, Anderson said, "He learned it from Shrek, Mom. You know, at the end of the movie where they have 'Far, Far Away Idol'? They sing that song (he starts singing), "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts. I'm immortal, you know what I mean."
"Wait, Anderson. What did you just sing? I'm immortal?"
He smiles, "That's not the right word, is it?"
"No, honey. It's 'I'm a model.'"
We both laughed hysterically. And this time, I didn't have to try to hold my breath.
This week, out of the blue, I am working on Christmas cards when Bennett enters the room and says, "You're sexy", followed by a slew of giggles.
My first reaction--shock. My second--I want to laugh. Third--I try to get it together so I can address the fact that sexy is a word no four-year old should use, or even know for that matter.
"Excuse me, son? You don't use that word. That is a grown-up word, and you do not even know what that means."
"My gonna be a woman and be sexy." The laughing is now uncontrollable.
My voice gets louder, "Bennett, you are NOT to use a word that you do not understand what it means. That is a grown up word. Don't say that again."
Well, if you know Bennett, you know that he did say it again. If you know me, you know he was disciplined for it.
I know the moment something becomes forbidden, its appeal skyrockets. I kept thinking about this as I gave Bennett strict instructions not to use it. I wondered, "What can I get him to say instead?" I couldn't think of a word then, and I still can't. It seems the ONLY words that make him giggle are potty words.
Like the other day, for example. He was watching the San Diego Chargers game, and they were blowing the game. All of a sudden, out of the blue, Bennett says, "They suck!"
"Excuse me? No sir, we do not use that word. You can say, 'They stink'."
Bennett begins to laugh heartily. "They suck."
"Okay, I am going to have to discipline you," I assure him.
"No, no, no, Mom.....NO!!!!!" And the protesting begins.
To be honest, the hardest part about disciplining Bennett is that I am trying so hard not to laugh (as is Paul, who is worse than I am in trying to hold it together when the boys say something inappropriate). I think this week alone Paul and I have held our breaths on three different occasions to keep from laughing. And Bennett is so onto us. He can just feel when we want to laugh, which only encourages him to keep at it to see how long it takes either of us to lose our composure.
I don't remember Anderson having a so-called potty mouth, which makes sense because Anderson is so much like his dad (who also doesn't have a potty mouth). And Bennett is so much like.......me. Yep, makes perfect sense.
But I did ask Anderson, after the "sexy" incident, where Bennett learned that word. After all, one of the few challenges I have found from having children almost 8 years apart is that the younger one always learns things before the first child did, and often they are things they are not ready to learn just yet. Anyway, Anderson said, "He learned it from Shrek, Mom. You know, at the end of the movie where they have 'Far, Far Away Idol'? They sing that song (he starts singing), "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts. I'm immortal, you know what I mean."
"Wait, Anderson. What did you just sing? I'm immortal?"
He smiles, "That's not the right word, is it?"
"No, honey. It's 'I'm a model.'"
We both laughed hysterically. And this time, I didn't have to try to hold my breath.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
snow and a family reunion, in no particular order
It snowed today in Raleigh! It started while we were at Aversboro Baptist Church in Garner at the semi-annual Hicks Family Reunion. Both events brought sweet joy to my heart--the snow because it was beautiful and caused my boys to squeal in delight, and the reunion because this tradition of being able to visit with my great aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. and eat oh-so-delicious-southern food takes me back to my childhood in a way that only Christmastime can.
I took my early Christmas-and-birthday present (a method of gift-giving we December babies are very familiar with) to the reunion and took some photos to commemorate the events of today. I am LOVING my camera. I am still learning how to use it along with the lenses, but I am having a great time learning. It never hurts to have such wonderful subjects to photograph.
This is my beautiful mother with her newest grandson, Sawyer--another miracle baby.
This is a photo of Anderson and Hampton playing in the falling snow. I wish I had not blurred Anderson's face here, but I still love this photo.
Another photo of sweet Hampton.
Bennett was having fun running around in the driveway as it snowed.
Eating snowflakes.
A photo of my handsome Anderson.
More snow eatin'.
Aunt Bonnie holding Sawyer, Mom, and Uncle Charles holding my newest cousin, Davis.
My daddy and Sawyer.
I took my early Christmas-and-birthday present (a method of gift-giving we December babies are very familiar with) to the reunion and took some photos to commemorate the events of today. I am LOVING my camera. I am still learning how to use it along with the lenses, but I am having a great time learning. It never hurts to have such wonderful subjects to photograph.
This is my beautiful mother with her newest grandson, Sawyer--another miracle baby.
This is a photo of Anderson and Hampton playing in the falling snow. I wish I had not blurred Anderson's face here, but I still love this photo.
Another photo of sweet Hampton.
Bennett was having fun running around in the driveway as it snowed.
Eating snowflakes.
A photo of my handsome Anderson.
More snow eatin'.
Aunt Bonnie holding Sawyer, Mom, and Uncle Charles holding my newest cousin, Davis.
My daddy and Sawyer.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
My Christmas and birthday gifts arrived on Anderson's birthday this year--a new camera with new lenses. I am SO excited. I decided to test the camera out (ie--start learning how to use the thing) one night this week, so I took photos of some of our Christmas decorations. I have had some requests that I take photos of all of the decorations and explain how I did various things, and maybe, just maybe, I will do that in the next few days. For now, this is all I can manage to do.
twelve years and counting
Happy birthday to my precious Anderson. I would say it just seems like yesterday that he was born, but honestly, it doesn't. It may not seem like yesterday that he was born, but I remember that day as if it were.
I had been in the hospital for exactly one week by the time I was induced on Monday morning at 9 am on November 30th. I had been taken to Cary Wake Hospital (known as Western Wake at the time) in the wee morning hours on November 23rd after days of being in tremendous pain, with irregular contractions and a leg, groin and back that hurt so bad I thought I may not survive the pain. My left leg was swelling (eventually, it was twice the size of my other leg, at least) and was discolored. I went to the doctor's office on Friday where I even asked them if I might have a blood clot because I had read in What To Expect When You Are Expecting that my symptoms may be symptoms of a blood clot. Dr. Vulgaropolis, one of my ob's, asked me to flex my left foot, and since that exercise caused no pain, they said the swelling must be typical pregnancy edema. They thought I was in early labor and would be in that weekend to deliver.
So, on Saturday morning, with the pain as intense as ever and contractions becoming more regular, I went to Rex Hospital to be evaluated. At the time, Western Wake Hospital could not care for pre-term babies, and since I was 36 weeks gestation, they referred me to Rex. Rex kept me for observation, determined that I was not dilating enough to admit, and sent me home.
Finally, on Monday morning around 3 or 4 am, Paul and my mother literally carried me into the closest hospital, Western Wake, because I could no longer walk. I could not even stand up straight. I was shaking uncontrollably because of the pain. All of this prompted Paul to take my father's advice as we entered the hospital which was to tell the staff that Paul had a gun and that I wasn't going home again unless a medical professional went with me. We were done with the run around with doctors and nurses who continually missed the signs of what was really going on with me. (Yes, Paul actually told them that. No, he wasn't sent to jail.)
On Monday the 23rd at 6 am an ultasound technician diagnosed me with deep vein thrombosis, also known as DVT. My iliac vein was being pressed by my uterus and a low-positioned baby causing a massive blood clot to form in my deep vein from my abdomen down to the back of my left knee. I was immediately put on bed rest (I was not even allowed to go to the restroom in anything other than a bedpan) and transferred to Rex Hospital where Anderson could receive the care he needed should my contractions not cease. I was given an IV of heparin to combat the clot, pain medication (I think it was morphine), and a medication to stop my contractions which caused a rapid heart rate (which made no sense to me...did they really want my heart to pump blood through my body at a faster rate?). And I was given a lot of grave looks by those who knew better than I did what was going on inside my body.
That is until Dr. Lemuel Yerby walked into my room that afternoon at Rex. He was a vein specialist with a reassuringly calm and warm spirit that was referred to me by my obstetricians. He carefully explained what was wrong with me and how they would treat me. He asked if I had questions, and he answered them thoroughly and honestly. I remember asking him what would happen if the clot broke off and entered my lungs or heart (the iliac vein leads directly there). He said, "You can get very sick, and you can die." But here's what he did that took all of that growing fear and began to dispel it. He looked me straight in my eyes, he patted my leg gently, and he said this: But YOU are going to be just fine." It wasn't just hope that I felt he was giving me. He was making a declaration. A war had ensued against me, against Anderson, and we would have to fight. As for Dr. Yerby, whether he was aware of it or not, he was verbalizing a declaration of faith--of eventual victory--on our behalf.
For one week I endured total bedrest, for the most part. Let's face it, I'm not the greatest rule follower in the world, and one can only poop in a bedpan once without deciding they will never do it again. Once I discovered that I could temporarily unplug my IV, I started making bathroom trips when no staff was watching.
My obstetricians decided on the 28th that I should be induced after seven days of treatment were complete. At the time, it was believed that after seven days of heparin therapy, a patient with a blood clot was considered to be highly unlikely of suffering a deadly clot breakage. So, around 11 pm on Sunday night, the 29th, a cervical balloon was inserted to start the dilation process. I cramped and ached and wondered again how I would survive an entire night of intense pain. I finally took a sleeping pill and had my family pray for me and found sweet relief in a deep sleep.
The next morning, an IV of pitocin was administered around 9 am. I now refer to pitocin as "hell in an IV" because, frankly, I could not imagine that anything could actually be worse. Pitocin made me feel like my uterus cramped up for a long eight hours without relenting. And that pain triggered all the pain in my leg and groin. I remember grabbing the bed mattress as hard as I could and asking how long it would be until I could get an epidural. The nurse's response? You have to have the blood thinner out of your system for six hours before your blood clotting time can even be tested to see if an epidural is even possible. If your blood isn't clotting normally at that point, an epidural cannot be administered due to bleeding risks in the spine which can cause paralysis or death.
I lay in the bed and insisted that Paul and my mother, the two family members I invited into the birthing room, be completely silent. All I could do was pray. And moan. And cry.
Around 3:30 pm, I found the sweetest relief in the form of an epidural--God's gift to women to give us some form of escape from the "curse". To say I was relieved is a tremendous understatement. I felt rejuvenated, even excited.
Just before 4 pm, Anderson became distressed. His heart rate was slowing to dangerous rates. Dr. Mulvaney, the doctor on call, came into the room to evaluate. I was only dilated to 8 cm, but I felt the need to push, and Anderson was now in serious trouble. An emergency c-section was not a good option for me because of the blood clots, needing to be on blood thinner, etc. It was a precarious situation to say the least. People don't believe me when I say that Dr. Mulvaney said this, but he did. He shook his head and said, "I am too old for this."
What happened next can only be attributed to the grace and strength of God that was manifesting in me as a waiting room full of friends and family--prayer warriors--prayed for Anderson and me. I looked at the doctor and said, "I can push him out. If you help me, I can push him out." He must have checked my cervix again, thought I don't remember that, but without hesitation, he said, "Okay."
Just three pushes later, at 4:11 pm, along with some help from a suction machine and a big, strong Jamaican doctor, the most handsome cone-shaped-headed boy was born. He was laid on my chest for a moment, the color blue instead of pink. But he was breathing, and barely crying. I shook him gently and said, "Cry, baby, cry." The nurses took him and began thumping his foot, and within a few minutes I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard--a screaming baby.
We did not know what gender Anderson was until the nurse announced, in the midst of the chaos of his birth, "Aww....I think I see something." She did! It was--for sure--a BOY.
I wish I could describe the joy I felt when I first touched Anderson. I can still feel what he felt like--so warm and tiny and delicate and beautiful. I mean, this kid had the longest head you have ever seen thanks to his positioning in my womb and a traumatic delivery. But he was absolutely GORGEOUS. Needless to say, he wore a hat continuously that first week of his life.
Looking back, I marvel at God's goodness and protection over us. I know the enemy had come to "steal, kill and destroy". Maybe another day I will blog about the countless friends and strangers who came to our side to join us in prayer during this time of great fear and uncertainty, or about how God healed me. God was and is so faithful.
So today marks the anniversary of the day that Anderson Logan Brewer entered the world and the day that God brought great victory to the Brewers. Truly, we have a lot to celebrate.
Happy birthday, dearest Anderson. You are a joy, a treasure, an answered prayer, a hope fulfilled, a miracle. For twelve years, you have graced our lives with such love and joy that I cannot even adequately describe it in words. Thank you for being the human being that you are and for making our job about as easy as it can be. We love you, son.
Mom
I had been in the hospital for exactly one week by the time I was induced on Monday morning at 9 am on November 30th. I had been taken to Cary Wake Hospital (known as Western Wake at the time) in the wee morning hours on November 23rd after days of being in tremendous pain, with irregular contractions and a leg, groin and back that hurt so bad I thought I may not survive the pain. My left leg was swelling (eventually, it was twice the size of my other leg, at least) and was discolored. I went to the doctor's office on Friday where I even asked them if I might have a blood clot because I had read in What To Expect When You Are Expecting that my symptoms may be symptoms of a blood clot. Dr. Vulgaropolis, one of my ob's, asked me to flex my left foot, and since that exercise caused no pain, they said the swelling must be typical pregnancy edema. They thought I was in early labor and would be in that weekend to deliver.
So, on Saturday morning, with the pain as intense as ever and contractions becoming more regular, I went to Rex Hospital to be evaluated. At the time, Western Wake Hospital could not care for pre-term babies, and since I was 36 weeks gestation, they referred me to Rex. Rex kept me for observation, determined that I was not dilating enough to admit, and sent me home.
Finally, on Monday morning around 3 or 4 am, Paul and my mother literally carried me into the closest hospital, Western Wake, because I could no longer walk. I could not even stand up straight. I was shaking uncontrollably because of the pain. All of this prompted Paul to take my father's advice as we entered the hospital which was to tell the staff that Paul had a gun and that I wasn't going home again unless a medical professional went with me. We were done with the run around with doctors and nurses who continually missed the signs of what was really going on with me. (Yes, Paul actually told them that. No, he wasn't sent to jail.)
On Monday the 23rd at 6 am an ultasound technician diagnosed me with deep vein thrombosis, also known as DVT. My iliac vein was being pressed by my uterus and a low-positioned baby causing a massive blood clot to form in my deep vein from my abdomen down to the back of my left knee. I was immediately put on bed rest (I was not even allowed to go to the restroom in anything other than a bedpan) and transferred to Rex Hospital where Anderson could receive the care he needed should my contractions not cease. I was given an IV of heparin to combat the clot, pain medication (I think it was morphine), and a medication to stop my contractions which caused a rapid heart rate (which made no sense to me...did they really want my heart to pump blood through my body at a faster rate?). And I was given a lot of grave looks by those who knew better than I did what was going on inside my body.
That is until Dr. Lemuel Yerby walked into my room that afternoon at Rex. He was a vein specialist with a reassuringly calm and warm spirit that was referred to me by my obstetricians. He carefully explained what was wrong with me and how they would treat me. He asked if I had questions, and he answered them thoroughly and honestly. I remember asking him what would happen if the clot broke off and entered my lungs or heart (the iliac vein leads directly there). He said, "You can get very sick, and you can die." But here's what he did that took all of that growing fear and began to dispel it. He looked me straight in my eyes, he patted my leg gently, and he said this: But YOU are going to be just fine." It wasn't just hope that I felt he was giving me. He was making a declaration. A war had ensued against me, against Anderson, and we would have to fight. As for Dr. Yerby, whether he was aware of it or not, he was verbalizing a declaration of faith--of eventual victory--on our behalf.
For one week I endured total bedrest, for the most part. Let's face it, I'm not the greatest rule follower in the world, and one can only poop in a bedpan once without deciding they will never do it again. Once I discovered that I could temporarily unplug my IV, I started making bathroom trips when no staff was watching.
My obstetricians decided on the 28th that I should be induced after seven days of treatment were complete. At the time, it was believed that after seven days of heparin therapy, a patient with a blood clot was considered to be highly unlikely of suffering a deadly clot breakage. So, around 11 pm on Sunday night, the 29th, a cervical balloon was inserted to start the dilation process. I cramped and ached and wondered again how I would survive an entire night of intense pain. I finally took a sleeping pill and had my family pray for me and found sweet relief in a deep sleep.
The next morning, an IV of pitocin was administered around 9 am. I now refer to pitocin as "hell in an IV" because, frankly, I could not imagine that anything could actually be worse. Pitocin made me feel like my uterus cramped up for a long eight hours without relenting. And that pain triggered all the pain in my leg and groin. I remember grabbing the bed mattress as hard as I could and asking how long it would be until I could get an epidural. The nurse's response? You have to have the blood thinner out of your system for six hours before your blood clotting time can even be tested to see if an epidural is even possible. If your blood isn't clotting normally at that point, an epidural cannot be administered due to bleeding risks in the spine which can cause paralysis or death.
I lay in the bed and insisted that Paul and my mother, the two family members I invited into the birthing room, be completely silent. All I could do was pray. And moan. And cry.
Around 3:30 pm, I found the sweetest relief in the form of an epidural--God's gift to women to give us some form of escape from the "curse". To say I was relieved is a tremendous understatement. I felt rejuvenated, even excited.
Just before 4 pm, Anderson became distressed. His heart rate was slowing to dangerous rates. Dr. Mulvaney, the doctor on call, came into the room to evaluate. I was only dilated to 8 cm, but I felt the need to push, and Anderson was now in serious trouble. An emergency c-section was not a good option for me because of the blood clots, needing to be on blood thinner, etc. It was a precarious situation to say the least. People don't believe me when I say that Dr. Mulvaney said this, but he did. He shook his head and said, "I am too old for this."
What happened next can only be attributed to the grace and strength of God that was manifesting in me as a waiting room full of friends and family--prayer warriors--prayed for Anderson and me. I looked at the doctor and said, "I can push him out. If you help me, I can push him out." He must have checked my cervix again, thought I don't remember that, but without hesitation, he said, "Okay."
Just three pushes later, at 4:11 pm, along with some help from a suction machine and a big, strong Jamaican doctor, the most handsome cone-shaped-headed boy was born. He was laid on my chest for a moment, the color blue instead of pink. But he was breathing, and barely crying. I shook him gently and said, "Cry, baby, cry." The nurses took him and began thumping his foot, and within a few minutes I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard--a screaming baby.
We did not know what gender Anderson was until the nurse announced, in the midst of the chaos of his birth, "Aww....I think I see something." She did! It was--for sure--a BOY.
I wish I could describe the joy I felt when I first touched Anderson. I can still feel what he felt like--so warm and tiny and delicate and beautiful. I mean, this kid had the longest head you have ever seen thanks to his positioning in my womb and a traumatic delivery. But he was absolutely GORGEOUS. Needless to say, he wore a hat continuously that first week of his life.
Looking back, I marvel at God's goodness and protection over us. I know the enemy had come to "steal, kill and destroy". Maybe another day I will blog about the countless friends and strangers who came to our side to join us in prayer during this time of great fear and uncertainty, or about how God healed me. God was and is so faithful.
So today marks the anniversary of the day that Anderson Logan Brewer entered the world and the day that God brought great victory to the Brewers. Truly, we have a lot to celebrate.
Happy birthday, dearest Anderson. You are a joy, a treasure, an answered prayer, a hope fulfilled, a miracle. For twelve years, you have graced our lives with such love and joy that I cannot even adequately describe it in words. Thank you for being the human being that you are and for making our job about as easy as it can be. We love you, son.
Mom
Monday, November 29, 2010
conception from a four-year-old's perspective
Well, hell has not frozen over, but I have indeed blogged three times in the last 48 hours. Wonders never cease.
I wanted to record the conversation we just had with Bennett so that I wouldn't forget it. There are some things your children ask and say that you just never want to forget. The following is Bennett's inquisition on how he was conceived. Don't worry. It is a G-rated conversation, entirely appropriate for a four-year old.
Bennett: How did my get into your tummy? (By the way--Bennett still uses the word "my" for "I" in most cases, in spite of Paul's efforts to change this.)
Anderson: (giggling)
Me: God put you there.
Bennett: But how did God put me there.
Paul: He plants a seed.
Anderson: (giggling louder)
Me: Anderson--shhh. We prayed and asked for a baby, and God gave you to us. He created you in my tummy.
Bennett: Was my invisible?
Me: Yes, your spirit was invisible when you entered my tummy.
Bennett: AGH!!!!! Then my am a witch!?!?!?!?
Paul: What? Why would you think you were a witch?
Bennett: Because my can disappear. Like the witch on The Wizard of Oz.
I wanted to record the conversation we just had with Bennett so that I wouldn't forget it. There are some things your children ask and say that you just never want to forget. The following is Bennett's inquisition on how he was conceived. Don't worry. It is a G-rated conversation, entirely appropriate for a four-year old.
Bennett: How did my get into your tummy? (By the way--Bennett still uses the word "my" for "I" in most cases, in spite of Paul's efforts to change this.)
Anderson: (giggling)
Me: God put you there.
Bennett: But how did God put me there.
Paul: He plants a seed.
Anderson: (giggling louder)
Me: Anderson--shhh. We prayed and asked for a baby, and God gave you to us. He created you in my tummy.
Bennett: Was my invisible?
Me: Yes, your spirit was invisible when you entered my tummy.
Bennett: AGH!!!!! Then my am a witch!?!?!?!?
Paul: What? Why would you think you were a witch?
Bennett: Because my can disappear. Like the witch on The Wizard of Oz.
my body needs a cookie
I neglected to mention in my previous post that I am thankful that we actually had THREE Thanksgiving meals this holiday season.
Ava Michelle was traveling to Ecuador for her school break, so Candice and Jordan hosted a Thanksgiving meal at their house on Wednesday, the week before Thanksgiving, so that AM could have a proper Thanksgiving feast before she left. They graciously invited Paul's parents, Paul, the boys, and me over to celebrate. It was a delicious meal in a warm, inviting home. (Sidenote--thank God Jordan married Candice. His bachelor pad has been beautifully transformed into an actual home.)
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, my sisters and I and our families gathered at Mom and Dad's for another delicious meal. Mom prepared the turkey, dressing and ham, and we girls brought the sides. Another thing I am thankful for? That my family can COOK. :) Good food!
Then on Thanksgiving day, we traveled to Greensboro to eat more turkey, a Honey Baked ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, broccoli casserole, string bean casserole, corn casserole (yes, there is a casserole theme here), cranberry salad, yeast rolls, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, cheese cake, and chocolate chip peanut butter cookies.
Although I consider myself a fairly health-conscious eater, I throw every consideration of fat, calories, sugar, cholesterol, etc. out the window for holidays. So suffice it to say that I, along with all of my boys, ate all we wanted at each of these meals. And then some.
And then Anderson's birthday party was Friday (a good time worthy of another post), so we ate pizza and chocolate-chocolate cake a la "Aunt Stacy". And who could say no to THAT? Not me.
So, I am now in a self-imposed sugar, fat, and salt detox. No, I guess it is more accurate to say that I am just backing off over-indulgence this week, giving my body a break. But I may be the only one. Bennett, for example, is still on a sugar kick. Last night I made a lasagna, salad, and cookies to take to our neighbors (her father just passed away from cancer), and Bennett smelled the cookies. He came down and licked the mixing spoons, but that is all I would allow. He returned upstairs while they were baking, snuggled up to his daddy (knowing I had already said "no cookies"), and this is what he said:
"I want a cookie."
Paul's response, "It is too late for a cookie, buddy."
Bennett's voice transforms into a higher pitched whine, he stretches his body out, writhing a bit as if in pain, and pitifully says, "But my body needs a cookie. Really bad. It does. My body needs a cookie."
Paul wasn't convinced.
So Bennett is now on a mom-imposed sugar detox for today. Well, for at least this morning anyway. :)
As for me, I guess I will be off the sugar for a few more days. I drove carpool this morning, so I did have a non-fat latte with aritificial sweetener, but my tummy is still rumbling a bit. I think my body needs a cookie.
Ava Michelle was traveling to Ecuador for her school break, so Candice and Jordan hosted a Thanksgiving meal at their house on Wednesday, the week before Thanksgiving, so that AM could have a proper Thanksgiving feast before she left. They graciously invited Paul's parents, Paul, the boys, and me over to celebrate. It was a delicious meal in a warm, inviting home. (Sidenote--thank God Jordan married Candice. His bachelor pad has been beautifully transformed into an actual home.)
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, my sisters and I and our families gathered at Mom and Dad's for another delicious meal. Mom prepared the turkey, dressing and ham, and we girls brought the sides. Another thing I am thankful for? That my family can COOK. :) Good food!
Then on Thanksgiving day, we traveled to Greensboro to eat more turkey, a Honey Baked ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, broccoli casserole, string bean casserole, corn casserole (yes, there is a casserole theme here), cranberry salad, yeast rolls, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, cheese cake, and chocolate chip peanut butter cookies.
Although I consider myself a fairly health-conscious eater, I throw every consideration of fat, calories, sugar, cholesterol, etc. out the window for holidays. So suffice it to say that I, along with all of my boys, ate all we wanted at each of these meals. And then some.
And then Anderson's birthday party was Friday (a good time worthy of another post), so we ate pizza and chocolate-chocolate cake a la "Aunt Stacy". And who could say no to THAT? Not me.
So, I am now in a self-imposed sugar, fat, and salt detox. No, I guess it is more accurate to say that I am just backing off over-indulgence this week, giving my body a break. But I may be the only one. Bennett, for example, is still on a sugar kick. Last night I made a lasagna, salad, and cookies to take to our neighbors (her father just passed away from cancer), and Bennett smelled the cookies. He came down and licked the mixing spoons, but that is all I would allow. He returned upstairs while they were baking, snuggled up to his daddy (knowing I had already said "no cookies"), and this is what he said:
"I want a cookie."
Paul's response, "It is too late for a cookie, buddy."
Bennett's voice transforms into a higher pitched whine, he stretches his body out, writhing a bit as if in pain, and pitifully says, "But my body needs a cookie. Really bad. It does. My body needs a cookie."
Paul wasn't convinced.
So Bennett is now on a mom-imposed sugar detox for today. Well, for at least this morning anyway. :)
As for me, I guess I will be off the sugar for a few more days. I drove carpool this morning, so I did have a non-fat latte with aritificial sweetener, but my tummy is still rumbling a bit. I think my body needs a cookie.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
a bad but grateful blogger
So, I have not done a great job staying on top of this blog. It isn't at all surprising to me considering I often feel I hardly have time to live my life, much less write about it. I feel I have a lot more perseverance than inspiration when life is moving at such a fast pace. But thankfully, Thanksgiving break has arrived, and I have had time to pause and think and reflect and...well, being that it is THANKSgiving...be thankful.
Today, NC State had a chance to play for the ACC Championship next weekend in Charlotte. All we had to do was beat Maryland. We came out of the gates ready to play, scoring in our first two possessions with the score 14-0 in the first quarter. I'll spare you the details (and my mind from remembering them), but we lost. And so, NC State's season ends at 8-4. Sure, we'll get a bowl game, but we hadn't won the ACC Championship since 1979. It would have been great to have a shot at that again. Anyway--my point. When the game ended, Anderson was very disappointed. Trying to put things into proper perspective and relieve his heartache, my response to him was this: In the grand scheme of things, this is just a game--a game that will be forgotten. We have so much to be thankful for--we have each other, we have our health, we have a beautiful home and a wonderful life.
Sure, it was a speech that many parents give their children. And yes, I could have recited it without a lot of thought. Only I didn't. Maybe I needed to hear those words more than he did--our life is BLESSED. Beyond measure. And while I can easily fret over silly things like the game or the fact that I haven't, for example, stayed on top of this blog like I want to, the truth is I am exquisitely blessed. And I am so incredibly grateful to God for reminding me that a heart of gratitude is the only way to keep a proper perspective in the midst of disappointment.
This Thanksgiving weekend, I give thanks--for my God who has loved me way more than I have ever deserved and Who has given me more than I could have even dreamed for myself; for my husband who, though I occasionally do want to ring his sweet little neck, is the most amazing and loving husband and father, whose integrity and honesty are rare and precious, whose strong work ethic has reaped us great rewards, and who really loves me in spite of myself; for my children who are truly more amazing than I ever dreamed they would be and who really love me and remind me that true love never dies and always forgives; for my parents and sisters who first taught me what love and family are really meant to be--loyal, faithful, honest, and merciful; for the family I married into who is so much like the family I was born into that loving them and maybe just as importantly--liking them--is effortless; and for my dear, close friends who are the most understanding, loving, faithful, kind, supportive, and loyal people one could ever know. Really. Saying I am "blessed" feels like the understatement of the century.
Who knows when I will blog again? Hopefully soon? But I won't hold myself to it. I'll get to it when I get to it, and if I don't have an expectation for myself, I am less likely to be disappointed. But even if I am, I am cognizant of the way to overcome it.
Gratitude.
Today, NC State had a chance to play for the ACC Championship next weekend in Charlotte. All we had to do was beat Maryland. We came out of the gates ready to play, scoring in our first two possessions with the score 14-0 in the first quarter. I'll spare you the details (and my mind from remembering them), but we lost. And so, NC State's season ends at 8-4. Sure, we'll get a bowl game, but we hadn't won the ACC Championship since 1979. It would have been great to have a shot at that again. Anyway--my point. When the game ended, Anderson was very disappointed. Trying to put things into proper perspective and relieve his heartache, my response to him was this: In the grand scheme of things, this is just a game--a game that will be forgotten. We have so much to be thankful for--we have each other, we have our health, we have a beautiful home and a wonderful life.
Sure, it was a speech that many parents give their children. And yes, I could have recited it without a lot of thought. Only I didn't. Maybe I needed to hear those words more than he did--our life is BLESSED. Beyond measure. And while I can easily fret over silly things like the game or the fact that I haven't, for example, stayed on top of this blog like I want to, the truth is I am exquisitely blessed. And I am so incredibly grateful to God for reminding me that a heart of gratitude is the only way to keep a proper perspective in the midst of disappointment.
This Thanksgiving weekend, I give thanks--for my God who has loved me way more than I have ever deserved and Who has given me more than I could have even dreamed for myself; for my husband who, though I occasionally do want to ring his sweet little neck, is the most amazing and loving husband and father, whose integrity and honesty are rare and precious, whose strong work ethic has reaped us great rewards, and who really loves me in spite of myself; for my children who are truly more amazing than I ever dreamed they would be and who really love me and remind me that true love never dies and always forgives; for my parents and sisters who first taught me what love and family are really meant to be--loyal, faithful, honest, and merciful; for the family I married into who is so much like the family I was born into that loving them and maybe just as importantly--liking them--is effortless; and for my dear, close friends who are the most understanding, loving, faithful, kind, supportive, and loyal people one could ever know. Really. Saying I am "blessed" feels like the understatement of the century.
Who knows when I will blog again? Hopefully soon? But I won't hold myself to it. I'll get to it when I get to it, and if I don't have an expectation for myself, I am less likely to be disappointed. But even if I am, I am cognizant of the way to overcome it.
Gratitude.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
like mother, like son
I often say that Bennett is so much like me, and sometimes that isn't really a compliment. He has my determination, strong will, drive, ability to "communicate", competitive nature, outgoing personality and love of performing and achieving, all which can work in his favor. Or not.
I love those traits when they produce pleasant results. You know, like when his determination keeps him working at a skill until he has achieved it; when his strong will won't let him back down from failure until he achieves success; when he is driven to learn new things; when he can communicate his feelings effectively so that others can understand; when he gives 100% while playing a game because he likes to win.
But these powers can be used for good or for evil, like when his determination and strong will lead to disobedience; or when his communication skills keep him from filtering and he becomes disrespectful or downright ugly; when his competitive nature urges him to argue that he is taller or older than children who are clearly taller or older than he is. And sometimes we overachievers fall into the trap of thinking we are what we do--that if we "can't get it right", then we are miserable failures unworthy of love and acceptance.
It is a balancing act for us as parents--trying to teach our children that they are not of this world, that they are a part of God's kingdom where NO performance is necessary to obtain love, favor, or acceptance because any branch that clings to a vine WILL naturally produce fruit, and love, favor and acceptance are all a part of an unearned inheritance freely given to us. But, at the same time, we are teaching them to live IN this world, where there is a world's system that often works contrary to Jesus' teachings. They WILL have to perform to make it through school. They WILL have to perform to get into college. They WILL have to perform to get a job. You get my drift....
So yesterday, I got yet another glimpse of how much Bennett really is like his mother. When I went to kindergarten, I already knew how to read and write very well. A kindergarten classmate still teases me to this day about the fact that I used to sit in the teacher's big rocking chair with the class at my feet and read to them on a regular basis so that my teacher could avoid doing her job. Anyway, when I asked my mom recently why I knew how to do those things she replied, "Because you wanted to learn, so you did." I remember being so eager and excited about learning and knowing how to do new things. And I see this in Bennett, which does excite me a little because Anderson was quite the opposite at this age, preferring sports and gross motor development over writing, cutting, drawing, coloring, pasting, etc. It was so difficult to get Anderson intersted in schoolwork at all that I marvel that he is now a very intelligent sixth grader who loves to read and is a very good writer.
Anyway, back to my story...
Yesterday evening, Bennett decides he wants to write his name. I sit with him to do it because he can't remember how to write e's sometimes unless I walk him through it. He must have started his name 4 times, and if he made a mistake on his e's, he insisted on starting over. A little perfectionism? Yep. I recognize that trait, too.
Finally, he wrote his whole name, by himself. The only help he got from me was the reassurance he was doing things correctly. He couldn't have been prouder of his achievement. He smiled from ear to ear. I wish I had a picture of his face when he was done. I don't.
But I do have a picture of his work. Check it out. Not bad for a four-year old newby, right? :) His letters are in order and on a fairly straight line. Like my OCD mother, I admire that straight, neat, orderly style.
So for those moments I have wanted to yank my hair out (or his) during a battle of wills or when his mouth gets him in trouble (as mine always did...and still does), I cherish moments like these when he is an enthusiastic and fun learner, or when he snuggles me at nap time and says, "You are my best Mom", or when he sings a made-up song about how much he loves me, and when I walk in the door and he runs to me with open arms for big hugs. Those wonderful moments far, far, far outweigh the difficult ones, and for that I am grateful. And still sane.
I love those traits when they produce pleasant results. You know, like when his determination keeps him working at a skill until he has achieved it; when his strong will won't let him back down from failure until he achieves success; when he is driven to learn new things; when he can communicate his feelings effectively so that others can understand; when he gives 100% while playing a game because he likes to win.
But these powers can be used for good or for evil, like when his determination and strong will lead to disobedience; or when his communication skills keep him from filtering and he becomes disrespectful or downright ugly; when his competitive nature urges him to argue that he is taller or older than children who are clearly taller or older than he is. And sometimes we overachievers fall into the trap of thinking we are what we do--that if we "can't get it right", then we are miserable failures unworthy of love and acceptance.
It is a balancing act for us as parents--trying to teach our children that they are not of this world, that they are a part of God's kingdom where NO performance is necessary to obtain love, favor, or acceptance because any branch that clings to a vine WILL naturally produce fruit, and love, favor and acceptance are all a part of an unearned inheritance freely given to us. But, at the same time, we are teaching them to live IN this world, where there is a world's system that often works contrary to Jesus' teachings. They WILL have to perform to make it through school. They WILL have to perform to get into college. They WILL have to perform to get a job. You get my drift....
So yesterday, I got yet another glimpse of how much Bennett really is like his mother. When I went to kindergarten, I already knew how to read and write very well. A kindergarten classmate still teases me to this day about the fact that I used to sit in the teacher's big rocking chair with the class at my feet and read to them on a regular basis so that my teacher could avoid doing her job. Anyway, when I asked my mom recently why I knew how to do those things she replied, "Because you wanted to learn, so you did." I remember being so eager and excited about learning and knowing how to do new things. And I see this in Bennett, which does excite me a little because Anderson was quite the opposite at this age, preferring sports and gross motor development over writing, cutting, drawing, coloring, pasting, etc. It was so difficult to get Anderson intersted in schoolwork at all that I marvel that he is now a very intelligent sixth grader who loves to read and is a very good writer.
Anyway, back to my story...
Yesterday evening, Bennett decides he wants to write his name. I sit with him to do it because he can't remember how to write e's sometimes unless I walk him through it. He must have started his name 4 times, and if he made a mistake on his e's, he insisted on starting over. A little perfectionism? Yep. I recognize that trait, too.
Finally, he wrote his whole name, by himself. The only help he got from me was the reassurance he was doing things correctly. He couldn't have been prouder of his achievement. He smiled from ear to ear. I wish I had a picture of his face when he was done. I don't.
But I do have a picture of his work. Check it out. Not bad for a four-year old newby, right? :) His letters are in order and on a fairly straight line. Like my OCD mother, I admire that straight, neat, orderly style.
So for those moments I have wanted to yank my hair out (or his) during a battle of wills or when his mouth gets him in trouble (as mine always did...and still does), I cherish moments like these when he is an enthusiastic and fun learner, or when he snuggles me at nap time and says, "You are my best Mom", or when he sings a made-up song about how much he loves me, and when I walk in the door and he runs to me with open arms for big hugs. Those wonderful moments far, far, far outweigh the difficult ones, and for that I am grateful. And still sane.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)