tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17660624571906173902024-03-04T22:47:17.532-06:00What I Know TodayAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-8133817515515443652012-04-04T14:13:00.000-05:002012-04-04T14:13:07.577-05:00Merge Ahead...On the off chance that anyone is actually following this blog :), I wanted to post and let you know that I have decided to merge my two blogs back into one, and will no longer be posting here. Not that I post all that often any where these days, but it is always my hope that that will change. I love to write, and often think of things to blog about, but never take the time to actually do it. <br />
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When I started blogging six years ago, <a href="http://scrampinmama.blogspot.com/">http://scrampinmama.blogspot.com</a> was my only blog. As I became more and more involved with rubber stamping and started working on design teams and posting cards daily, I decided to break all of my family and life-in-general posts onto this secondary blog. Even if I at some point begin stamping again, I'm going to stick with the one blog (linked at the beginning of this paragraph) just for ease of use and the sheer organization of it all. <br />
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So, if you have this blog saved in your reader (God bless you!), please replace it with <a href="http://scrampinmama.blogspot.com/">http://scrampinmama.blogspot.com</a>. I have merged all of these posts (except this one) into that blog, so everything you see here is over there already, just waiting for you to revisit it. :) <br />
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God bless, <br />
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<a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-31228482482120959692011-12-19T22:36:00.000-06:002011-12-19T22:36:49.446-06:00Our Very Own Elf On The Shelf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Olmvc7T-xrBByHBdNgjBLZpaqIuWlyr5bax_eyhgqyvqyCJQ0jnLVzD3tSm-Ks5lMZk-AClHXh5KTA9Hh96zA1HFk4PgPK7QzqOcwr4gQQBCAsmKhyCW30xSNr-PBB9kxhJqm2eeuEo/s1600/elf1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Olmvc7T-xrBByHBdNgjBLZpaqIuWlyr5bax_eyhgqyvqyCJQ0jnLVzD3tSm-Ks5lMZk-AClHXh5KTA9Hh96zA1HFk4PgPK7QzqOcwr4gQQBCAsmKhyCW30xSNr-PBB9kxhJqm2eeuEo/s320/elf1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
Meet..... Legolas. <br />
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I know, I know. No long blonde hair, no miraculously full quiver of arrows, no hobbit to follow. But still, he's an elf, and therefore he shall be called Legolas. This is what happens when you marry a gamer nerd. Jack couldn't decide on a name, so we asked Papa for input. He made the suggestion, Jack (age 3, knowing nothing of the "real" <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&sa=X&biw=1382&bih=784&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=-IxgF3xtcfOUBM:&imgrefurl=http://austenitis.blogspot.com/2011/08/j-r-r-tolkien-day-spotlight-legolas.html&docid=OTsah_abqMJ85M&imgurl=https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UUDsj3_qR1Tt4s8_UHxEFPMTg_R0l93v_TPA_WDsRyQgLpj6UmfsGX9HwKU-RUyUTNI9WNK9qJhqDdaCXa1_CZWh27KFdiQK6HDeLIAhKxbHZlnxrYHuAWeqwvkb97zXWGAfAwLyiW9Z/s1600/lord-of-the-rings-return-of-the-king-legolas-lake-4900868.jpg&w=316&h=450&ei=xBDwTpSJGIjDgAeBlOjvCA&zoom=1&iact=rc&dur=13&sig=117637550141665627277&page=1&tbnh=161&tbnw=113&start=0&ndsp=30&ved=1t:429,r:10,s:0&tx=84&ty=71">Legolas</a>) loved it, and so it stuck. <br />
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Jack's Aunt Sandie sent the Elf on the Shelf set for Jack and we received it today. He was thrilled, and couldn't wait to read the story. She also sent him the stuffed elf along with other elven goodies, and that stuffed elf was tucked firmly under Jack's arm and carried off to bed (his name is also Legolas, because Jack insisted they have the same name) where he and the boy are snuggling as I type. <br />
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I have seen several posts on <a href="http://pinterest.com/search/?q=Elf+on+the+shelf">Pinterest</a> and from friends who have their own elf about what sort of mischief the elves can get into at night, but I dreamed this up all on my own. Jack loves Pez, so last night when Legolas went to the North Pole to report back to Santa, he returned with a new General Grievous Pez dispenser. He loaded the dispenser with one pack of Pez, then decided to chomp on a few himself before getting caught in the morning. Naughty little elf!<br />
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Do you have an elf on your shelf? <br />
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<a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-11146809003820926042011-10-09T22:19:00.000-05:002011-10-09T22:19:37.464-05:00A Day In The North WoodsSo many of my entries on this blog have been about grief since we lost Henry. While that is understandable, the truth is that although a piece of my heart is gone from me, there is still a lot of living I need to do. I still struggle with some major separation anxiety when it comes to leaving Jack for any length of time (sometimes just leaving him with Papa so I can drive across town to visit my mom gives me anxiety). I tried to be brave and schedule a weekend away in Minneapolis to visit one of my best friends... a trip I took regularly and without thought before having kids... but I couldn't go through with it. Fortunately, God has blessed me with some pretty amazing friends, and this one in particular happens to have a family cottage in northern Wisconsin. He suggested we meet there for the day, and I accepted. I was relieved to have a day away, but still be close enough that I could rush home if something happened. <br />
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Maybe you're thinking that's crazy, but it's part of my process. And, let's face it. We're talking about Jack here. The kid who had to be life flighted to Milwaukee a month after his brother was because he fell with a toy in his mouth and did major throat damage. It was the same flight team that came for Henry. Exactly the same. Their faces turned ashen as soon as they rounded the corner in the hospital and saw us standing there. Or, more accurately, saw my husband standing there and me sitting near by in a wheel chair unable to breathe properly. I faint easily, and nothing brings on a spell like one of my babies in the hospital, so extra precautions are always taken. <br />
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At any rate, I spent the day up north yesterday and thoroughly enjoyed myself. I didn't dwell on being away from Jack. I trusted that he was in capable hands with his Papa and lived in the moment for the first time in a long time, and it was blissful. <br />
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My friend (Chris) and I spent some time at his family's cottage, had brunch, did a little shopping, a little driving, a little hiking, a little reflecting. It was perfect. He is always worried about not doing enough to entertain me when I visit, but it really was exactly the kind of day I needed. <br />
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Here is a photo I took of the road we traveled up as we approached the <a href="http://www.dnr.state.wi.us/ORG/LAND/er/sna/index.asp?SNA=496">Cathedral Pines</a> area in the <a href="http://www.fs.usda.gov/wps/portal/fsinternet/!ut/p/c4/04_SB8K8xLLM9MSSzPy8xBz9CP0os3gjAwhwtDDw9_AI8zPwhQoY6BdkOyoCAPkATlA!/?ss=110913&navtype=BROWSEBYSUBJECT&cid=FSE_003853&navid=091000000000000&pnavid=null&position=BROWSEBYSUBJECT&ttype=main&pname=Chequamegon-Nicolet%2520National%2520Forest-%2520Home/index.html">Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest</a>. How gorgeous is that? <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTntRemC05E6wqW-dLz2eXDeQPJ5IQdFK_xWOkeOc8J9_23rZ7NsYWsCTcfgYJzAc84Me2hNOm9TQEdIIFsDSasZtIZNBamWyv_Gy6fDuXPsJKWWl8jQcohjqCgbxis2wiWeuRzM1fPE/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTntRemC05E6wqW-dLz2eXDeQPJ5IQdFK_xWOkeOc8J9_23rZ7NsYWsCTcfgYJzAc84Me2hNOm9TQEdIIFsDSasZtIZNBamWyv_Gy6fDuXPsJKWWl8jQcohjqCgbxis2wiWeuRzM1fPE/s320/021.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There is a sign as you enter the trail area that tells you this: "This area, called the 'Cathedral of Pines', was preserved as a result of the efforts of Lucy Rumsey Holt who influenced her husband, logger W.A. Holt, to leave it as virgin timber. Mrs. Holt used this area to teach Bible studies to her children and did not want the area disturbed. This 200 to 400 year old white pine and balsam old growth stand is also home to a Great blue heron rookery."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am always in such awe when standing in the presence of history. To think that these pines are between 200 and 400 years old is amazing to me. I can't help but think about the different people who have crossed this same path and touched these same trees, and what their lives might have been like. How equally amazed would they have been if they could have seen me there yesterday snapping photos with my iPhone! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Speaking of iPhone's, did you know that your photo will look like this if you point it directly at the sun? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Yeah, me neither. :)<br />
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Just to give you an idea of the size of the pines, here's a photo of an unsuspecting Chris giving one a hug, and another I took at the base of that same tree looking up. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnicue58j_Tv4wk_1in9_5L8tbmpJ102mAchEiJHDIfIAbr8vSIp1DrmvAUGf-QfdUipWFTzV6NIquZERA_JZM22CKiVIyW2CRU-AOV3J5p4eCPWMDODwF1H4ZuAWwjN5SAzvbKOtRIc/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnicue58j_Tv4wk_1in9_5L8tbmpJ102mAchEiJHDIfIAbr8vSIp1DrmvAUGf-QfdUipWFTzV6NIquZERA_JZM22CKiVIyW2CRU-AOV3J5p4eCPWMDODwF1H4ZuAWwjN5SAzvbKOtRIc/s320/028.JPG" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX6Nd0NILiAr4U6UsMw8IGJABihaBOUU95ms1ZEA6PItoE-CWdYoq3-S4RjPnGY26OHfmPi3G0H1WmdL6fDP4fBpqhdBPXqnvCwU0y6MB5OJmNRe4bNfvTJJ9-f1yC93vWtN5VSz4ajg/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX6Nd0NILiAr4U6UsMw8IGJABihaBOUU95ms1ZEA6PItoE-CWdYoq3-S4RjPnGY26OHfmPi3G0H1WmdL6fDP4fBpqhdBPXqnvCwU0y6MB5OJmNRe4bNfvTJJ9-f1yC93vWtN5VSz4ajg/s320/026.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
We crossed paths with two women at this point and took a picture for each other. Ignore my cute little pose. I just wanted to be short for once in my life. We were a little loopy with these women we'd never met before. If you know me at all, you'll know "loopy" is not a far stretch from reality for me. *wink*<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAx4bdJv0Yc9r9fR-vO_irh3x6agT2sAnlZIGNkFTgaFTZvfC0-lh137OXSf6zWqpi6qrxAyeonCe3mtxkKSeywDdSz3qcW53Ab3aPHrgBpqMc8auFJAxNmWP1wHoUNz4RpwRERzY2qEs/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAx4bdJv0Yc9r9fR-vO_irh3x6agT2sAnlZIGNkFTgaFTZvfC0-lh137OXSf6zWqpi6qrxAyeonCe3mtxkKSeywDdSz3qcW53Ab3aPHrgBpqMc8auFJAxNmWP1wHoUNz4RpwRERzY2qEs/s320/030.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
After leaving the pines, we visited a small dam. I couldn't tell you how to get there or what the name of it was, but the lake was gorgeous with all the fallen leaves in the water: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwfdG9gA0jBwLQdBYeGwnaBs1GCby_NBgGwVMwmMCQ2xcp8cQyFBClJO1EVGj7vu1axUb3LWT8rIoIm1a8IprzbIw-HjCchFpLpoWFZbqQw155ppAoMtXM6QU7nRS1nPHaicQv1-GGi0/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwfdG9gA0jBwLQdBYeGwnaBs1GCby_NBgGwVMwmMCQ2xcp8cQyFBClJO1EVGj7vu1axUb3LWT8rIoIm1a8IprzbIw-HjCchFpLpoWFZbqQw155ppAoMtXM6QU7nRS1nPHaicQv1-GGi0/s320/034.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
Here is a shot looking the other direction (bottom of the dam, out towards the river):<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCT39UdfCTyE8v__eto_VIC1N7mm128bbhBT1VC3hBUSSUQ9JcoRq4Q9GiwFKIE-blYGkPcuLndcFwVDvMIg-Yo9jV2IDNCUNvcR3PhSHy6FVPdbApz6TcNyfm8xn__ykMxDQWSY68qk/s1600/038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCT39UdfCTyE8v__eto_VIC1N7mm128bbhBT1VC3hBUSSUQ9JcoRq4Q9GiwFKIE-blYGkPcuLndcFwVDvMIg-Yo9jV2IDNCUNvcR3PhSHy6FVPdbApz6TcNyfm8xn__ykMxDQWSY68qk/s320/038.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
Someone took the liberty to "decorate" the dam with silver spray paint. Seriously, don't even get me started. Lovely antecdotes, like, "JUMP!" spray painted at the top of the dam were scattered here and there. Although I don't condone this type of vandalism AT ALL, I thought the silver heart on this rock did make for an interesting picture... <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLY1KOKucWBangxIRw5dlcR_Yz6CkTgldzkie4RJ75ZI0q9wGZjMuqxxroEWm9S9aqfjN0_qo5d7xYzWKQB9hs6jZPKOgXQKyDTzJoiGexO7R058JmCkJ3hOR4GS53-BMD2OyEUpBSUbU/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLY1KOKucWBangxIRw5dlcR_Yz6CkTgldzkie4RJ75ZI0q9wGZjMuqxxroEWm9S9aqfjN0_qo5d7xYzWKQB9hs6jZPKOgXQKyDTzJoiGexO7R058JmCkJ3hOR4GS53-BMD2OyEUpBSUbU/s320/040.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
Same river, a little farther downstream: <br />
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Back at the lake Chris's family's cottage is on, I was impressed by how clear the water is. Growing up on a larger lake that is mostly filled with greenish brown water and corporate waste, this was amazing to me. This was taken at the small boat landing area:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZm6m93DAeG9hzuom-sDXEWAXX8Uq2Nl0QXUZy4dweh0lx5pzmAy55wI6S79e0rVsp32IEUZxRHdDSbFI7GMbSigmhxrHv9TwIgYPvR9XVjT3rJEss0jn5-ca8saRNXjr-D9wIvpA4Ts/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZm6m93DAeG9hzuom-sDXEWAXX8Uq2Nl0QXUZy4dweh0lx5pzmAy55wI6S79e0rVsp32IEUZxRHdDSbFI7GMbSigmhxrHv9TwIgYPvR9XVjT3rJEss0jn5-ca8saRNXjr-D9wIvpA4Ts/s320/047.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
And this is the view they see from their back yard. The good life, to say the least. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPR5TtiU9jAfVh2WrK4lEUm3wJrlNq1TatKAefxuOy7x6nZU6pBNxvZnceuHEb8dqmVvEINVlvzEFm65BhUJe0M3dhZeR9nIRJehP3vdpItKTZecBvFTI7WhGz1MIjOR9r00dGeovNQpM/s1600/054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPR5TtiU9jAfVh2WrK4lEUm3wJrlNq1TatKAefxuOy7x6nZU6pBNxvZnceuHEb8dqmVvEINVlvzEFm65BhUJe0M3dhZeR9nIRJehP3vdpItKTZecBvFTI7WhGz1MIjOR9r00dGeovNQpM/s320/054.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
Despite all the trials we have been through, I can honestly say that life, and the God we serve, is good. As someone far wiser than me (and anonymous) once said: "At the end of the day you can focus on what's tearing you apart, or what's holding you together." I'm trying my best to stay positive, and focus on what holds me together: God, and His blessings of family, friends, and nature. I feel more comfortable now with the idea of traveling farther from home (but will still take baby steps, I'm sure), and I think Papa is more comfortable with it, too. Jack was largely unphased through my absence, but isn't that always the way? The one you worry about the most is the one who seems to notice the least! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-89090790652040088472011-10-07T23:42:00.000-05:002011-10-07T23:42:22.318-05:00Working It Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmi2DVDoG1qfW_Np-kt-U-IyHGRzPRDid1yhgwWZRN_CXEtMoFdHBaDB8lN2lkcUDQi1fOn3eey4e7hNwyUlgvGcKvAGtB2oxmtjErlAwkvY4GiDwdEC3t3-LX8dgzMZ7bEFYnGxjf1go/s1600/abby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmi2DVDoG1qfW_Np-kt-U-IyHGRzPRDid1yhgwWZRN_CXEtMoFdHBaDB8lN2lkcUDQi1fOn3eey4e7hNwyUlgvGcKvAGtB2oxmtjErlAwkvY4GiDwdEC3t3-LX8dgzMZ7bEFYnGxjf1go/s320/abby.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I just finished reading another book about life and the grief process and thought I'd share it and a little story here since I haven't updated this blog in awhile. The book is called <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/working-it-out-abby-rike/1100053739?ean=9780446575034&itm=1&usri=working%2bit%2bout">Working It Out by Abby Rike.</a> Does anyone remember Abby from her season on <a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-biggest-loser/season_8/">The Biggest Loser</a>? She was on the year Danny won, and was roomates with Shay - Season 8, which aired in the fall of 2009. I vividly remember watching the contestants introduce myself and her tear filled account of the accident that took the life of her husband, 5 year old daughter, and 18 day old son. I was heart broken for her and wondered to myself how she ever managed to move on from that experience. How she could move on from losing a child. Little did I know that before the season was over, I would be learning first hand.<br />
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After we lost Henry, Abby was one of the first people I thought of. I searched for her on Facebook and found the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sairabee?cropsuccess#!/abbyrike">fan page</a> that is run either by her or on her behalf and later posted a comment in the "death of a child" discussion area letting her know that she is in my prayers and thoughts regularly. I knew she had a book in the works, and was anxious to read it when it came out in May. Well, one thing led to another and me and reading didn't actually do too well together over the spring and summer. I've always been a book worm, but as Jack gets older and my daily window of free time gets smaller, I find I have time for only one hobby at a time and this year it was embroidery. I finally ordered the book a week or so ago and when it arrived, I finished it in a matter of days. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sometimes, when I'm thinking about Henry and all that has happened to us, I am dead inside. I don't cry, I just feel empty. I have felt often that this feeling of emptiness makes me a bad mother. I should have some level of emotion, but it usually is not there. There are other times though that the emotions are so strong they are almost violent and they scare me to my core. It's a roller coaster in the truest sense, and it never ceases. Reading Abby's book, and seeing that she experienced the same types of highs and lows helped me to remember that I am normal. I am not a bad mother, I am not in denial. I am simply working through my emotions as they come to me, and that is enough. I in no way believe our situations were equal, but I do strongly believe that grief is grief, if that makes sense, and in that respect we are similar.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I also felt a deep connection with Abby because of how steadfast she has been in her faith through the last five years. When the doctor took my husband and I into the small conference room and sat down with us to tell us there was nothing more he could do, my first thought was not despair or destruction, but rather, I thanked the Lord that I was raised in faith. I thanked him silently as we sat there for blessing my life with a mother, grandparents, and great-grandparents who were all Christians and who went out of their way to ensure that I knew I was a child of God and that he would not forsake me. If it were not for that knowledge, that blessed assurance, I can honestly say I would not have been able to rise up out of that seat and walk out of that room under my own power. I swear to you with every fiber of my being that Jesus was in that room with us, and it was then that He carried me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Abby wrote something in a journal entry two months after the accident that she shared in her book. It struck such a chord with me, I am going to share it here with you all, for I could have written these words myself. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>What now? What do I do now? What plan does God have for me? If I have to </em>suffer<em> like this, then I want my life to matter. I want to know what I'm supposed to do. I want to know my plan. I am shattered and I'm trusting with childlike faith that God will put me back together again. This loss cannot be for naught. <br />
~Abby Rike, December 3, 2006</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I cried when I read that. And I don't mean those sweet little tears my grandma used to shed and discretely wipe away with a tissue. I mean I CRIED. I bawled. I gave a full on "ugly cry", as Oprah likes to call it. The topic was something I had often thought about, but never had the words to express until now. Instead of <em>Why me?</em> I have often felt <em>What now? </em>What am I to do with this lot in life? How can I use my experience to help others? I have put a lot of thought into bereavement counseling, but I'm not sure I'm up for more schooling with three unused degrees on the wall already. We've thought about fostering or adopting to help another child, but don't feel a strong draw to that calling either. I largely still feel like I'm floating in a vast ocean with no real direction as to where the dock may be. I have no specific goal other than my focus on raising Jack, preparing to educate him as a home schooling mom, caring for and loving my husband, and keeping our home up. I reach out to different areas and play them out in my mind, but nothing fits. Square pegs, round holes. I am almost morbidly drawn to history, bereavement, death, and dying, but how can I fit in there? Since losing Henry I have also developed a keen interest in heaven, health, and organized living, but again, I'm seeing no strong direction for my life. These are the answers I pray for. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Abby also spoke to my heart when she quoted passages from Job about the people who "sat in the ashes" with him. I have heard before from different people that our story is reminiscent of Job's story, but never took the time to think it through very well. Abby's stories about the love that surrounded her and the people who "sat in the ashes" with her - just being present without trying to offer advice or wisdom or ramble because they don't know any other way to fill the space - reminded me of the dear friends and family members we have been blessed with who did the same for us. It is truly humbling to think about. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Finally, Abby speaks about her experience on the Biggest Loser and her efforts to reach and maintain her goal weight - another topic near and dear to my heart. To say this book and this woman are an inspiration to me would be an understatement. I am not in the habit of building a library, and frequently pass books on to friends once I've finished them, but this copy of Working It Out is mine and will remain as such for a very long time. I hope you'll check it out. I think it will move you, regardless of your struggle. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you could also take a moment to pray for Abby and her family this week, that would be wonderful. Thursday, October 13 marks the five year anniversary of the accident. I'm sure they can use all of the prayers they can get to help them through the upcoming days. For more information on Abby Rike, you can visit her personal website <a href="http://www.abbyrike.com/contact.html">HERE</a>. Check out her calendar and see if she's speaking near you. If she is, consider me jealous. I would love so much to meet her in person, but I have yet to figure out exactly how to make that happen. I will be praying about it, and if it's meant to be, I am confident God will find a way. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">God bless, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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P.S. Please pardon my lack of blogger knowledge. I can't get this post left justified for the life of me. Except for this post script, that is. Go figure.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-49414412260859886362011-08-07T09:15:00.000-05:002011-08-07T09:15:04.558-05:00SidetrackedI was busy on Friday getting the house ready for company, and had an obscene amount of dishes that needed washing. I have had two back to back colds/sore throats, so things had gotten a little out of control. And, since one of the many joys of owning an old (110+ years!) home is a lack of a dishwasher and no hope of getting one without a major renovation, well, I was in for a solid hour of washing. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jack does pretty well (usually *ahem*) with entertaining himself if I need to do dishes or pick things up, but I tend to save these larger tasks for when he's in bed at night or at naptime. This time I was on a time crunch though, so there was no way around it. I needed to work and I needed an easy distraction. Enter the train wash: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhki6YjdLlpdIdHteF9CbuUI6jdO-UeTMjKLoNVJ3Cbx6e4xmlDGdW5JDf77L77TSUC0_iFm7DIBlkhAm6eUm6-ZO7ypQo6rnJQv_Rea9dnhKmIDt8tn_80oP1Jvvi7EA3ivy6mufRGTaQ/s1600/trains1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhki6YjdLlpdIdHteF9CbuUI6jdO-UeTMjKLoNVJ3Cbx6e4xmlDGdW5JDf77L77TSUC0_iFm7DIBlkhAm6eUm6-ZO7ypQo6rnJQv_Rea9dnhKmIDt8tn_80oP1Jvvi7EA3ivy6mufRGTaQ/s320/trains1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Like any kid, Jack loves to play with bubbles. Whenever I do the dishes, he'll ask to grab a handful, and then usually claps his hands together and giggles while they shoot into the air and fall around him like snowflakes. I got tired of walking on a soap-sticky floor, so I encouranged him to "draw" with the bubbles on the island. On Friday, we introduced trains to the mix. He was enthralled for the duration of my dish washing adventure, continuously coming back for more bubbles as each of the four trains maneuvered in and around them. When we were all done, I rinsed and dried them, too, and to my knowledge they are none the worse for wear. Only one of the four had a battery operated light... had I noticed early enough we would have nixed that one {Proteus} from the party. Ah well. I'm just a mama, not a superhero. I can't catch *every*thing. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLt_t1rE64DsCjAvlt4ZJpBUdI4CUD9cYFaVzz05mlSqZV7Jyaey4rZN2B009NDwKMwgFU4-ij40NUSOB9NKblyrKp0159TxfdS84fqr7oK9XHfYuyN4__0OpQD6FAs7HVrU8BdQp_DhA/s1600/trains2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLt_t1rE64DsCjAvlt4ZJpBUdI4CUD9cYFaVzz05mlSqZV7Jyaey4rZN2B009NDwKMwgFU4-ij40NUSOB9NKblyrKp0159TxfdS84fqr7oK9XHfYuyN4__0OpQD6FAs7HVrU8BdQp_DhA/s320/trains2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Our makeshift Sodor Engine Wash (with "Live Action Bubbles!" <wink>)... </wink><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW3BvdX7tW71XxrtwZM4IWB7Bhn9zymK0mgl8I1hIq3UrjN3m5R2o_xxK8Ht_Z1thimn_riwLVNIGbX6IpGtkbUMtnFgol37OEeoLe_ApA7c4c_C7iVwWmAWYE8qnvhffMX0dHix85qU/s1600/trains3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW3BvdX7tW71XxrtwZM4IWB7Bhn9zymK0mgl8I1hIq3UrjN3m5R2o_xxK8Ht_Z1thimn_riwLVNIGbX6IpGtkbUMtnFgol37OEeoLe_ApA7c4c_C7iVwWmAWYE8qnvhffMX0dHix85qU/s320/trains3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
See how happy Salty is? He got cleaned up, Jack got a solid hour of fun play with good imaginative and sensory applications, and I got the dishes done!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQghEcoufKyDjdUoXceVVF4Gku-wWfywmss131JCQKkMVYrGoV5niYobxCo3mHT8ojw2Rrb0CAzlk9zwZF8ECk6vKQcfABOuq1PGgXilSS_kbOqDPvGMjIVudrRECsgbgu5qJjbVM9HA/s1600/trains4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQghEcoufKyDjdUoXceVVF4Gku-wWfywmss131JCQKkMVYrGoV5niYobxCo3mHT8ojw2Rrb0CAzlk9zwZF8ECk6vKQcfABOuq1PGgXilSS_kbOqDPvGMjIVudrRECsgbgu5qJjbVM9HA/s320/trains4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">PEEP, PEEP! We are all really useful engines! hehe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-80957203498110011392011-08-02T11:50:00.000-05:002011-08-02T11:50:38.567-05:00Heaven Is For Real<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2eooQwCW1urgIFhA4JP4Yt2Qc6Ikur29GKzlU93Mk7d9IPVN72s5GuYtSpa01Wx8n8vQgEbEVaoYb3c6JeLQDzWFOwe2-Xw35P0Aq2JhdrrOMZfzY_0LanAWvl5taZWO_KhfSB0qhYzw/s1600/heaven+book.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2eooQwCW1urgIFhA4JP4Yt2Qc6Ikur29GKzlU93Mk7d9IPVN72s5GuYtSpa01Wx8n8vQgEbEVaoYb3c6JeLQDzWFOwe2-Xw35P0Aq2JhdrrOMZfzY_0LanAWvl5taZWO_KhfSB0qhYzw/s320/heaven+book.png" width="211" /></a></div>I am not much of a book reviewer, and when I do share books with my readers I tend to do so on my <a href="http://scrampinmama.blogspot.com/">craft blog</a>, because I think of reading as a hobby and that is where I share all things related to my hobbies. But given the nature of this book and the nature of bereavement, I thought it seemed more appropriate to talk a bit here about it instead. <br />
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<a href="http://heavenisforreal.net/">Heaven Is For Real by Todd Burpo</a> is a short and sweet book that was gifted to me recently (well. semi-recently) by one of my girlfriends. She read it herself and knowing that I enjoy reading about first hand experiences with heaven - particularly since we lost Henry - thought it would bring me some comfort... and she was right. <br />
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For starters, I loved the book. I loved the story and the experience, and the fact that this family did not have to go through the experience of losing a child. Praise God for that! I enjoyed reading Colton's account of his visit to heaven and the comical way in which his dad related the stories as bits and pieces of the experience was revealed to them. <br />
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The struggle I have with this book (and others like it) is that it leans heavily on the fact that God answered their prayers and saved their child. While I am eternally grateful that He did that for ANY family, there is a part of me that always asks... why not mine? The book talks about how the family was prayerful and the church held special prayer vigils and so on and so forth and that collectively their voices reached God and their prayers were answered. Well, we prayed, too. When Henry was in the emergency room and I was kneeling at his bedside beside his little head because it was the only space in the room that was not occupied by a doctor, nurse, priest, or some other support staff, I prayed until I was on the verge of a black out from exhaustion, and then I was moved to my own bed where I lay with the hospital chaplain at my bedside and prayed some more. Our friends were praying, our families were praying, churches, strangers, even an entire village in Vietnam (true story) and many others we don't even know were holding prayer vigils for my boy.... but he still died. Our prayers weren't answered. As I read, I struggled more wondering why not. Because he (Todd Burpo) is a pastor? A better Christian? The right denomination? Does he know some secret way to pray that I don't? It's a slippery slope down this road, but it is hard to avoid in situations like this. <br />
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Of course the answer to those question is no. I am every bit the Christian that the Burpo's are, and Jesus loves me as equally as any other parent loves his children. He has no desire to hurt me or seek vengence on me or punish me in that way. He knows the prayers on my heart that haven't even reached my lips yet. He knows the future and the past and has a plan that ensures eternity for me - for us - for all His children. And part of that plan, for whatever reason, included taking Henry to heaven before I was ready to offer him up. I don't understand why, and maybe I never will, but I have faith in Jesus Christ and I have faith in the works of our Heavenly Father, and I hold those faiths close to my heart and they lift me when nothing else will. Afterall, faith isn't faith unless it's all you're holding on to. <br />
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Our family situation was unique in that both of our boys could have died without us ever knowing what killed them. My husband and I often speculate that if it had been Jack and not Henry who died, we may have never followed through with an autopsy. Babies die. It's an unfortunate reality, but it happens. Would we have been as alarmed if a baby had died as we were when a preschooler did? Or would it have been explained away as "one of those things" that happens but here is no explanation for. There is a very real possibility that we would have lost both of our boys if any one detail of our story had been different. Had the surgeon at Children's Hospital not persuaded us to have an autopsy done - something we were hesitant to do (<em>he's been through enough, he was cut into enough when he was alive, no more.</em>..) we would have never diagnosed the XLA... never gotten Jack tested and diagnosed. Without a diagnosis and his monthly treatments, it was only a matter of time until Jack would have contracted a virus his little body couldn't fight off and in a matter of days he would have been gone, too. In taking Henry, we believe that God spared Jack. Would I love for Him to have spared both boys? Obviously. It goes without saying. But after having lost one child, I can't even imagine the horror of life that would have come had we lost both. <br />
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In the weeks before Henry's death, some interesting things happened with him. Nothing on the level of what happened to Colton, but interesting just the same. He started to speak of a man who was in the house at night who wasn't Papa. My husband thought it had been a friend of mine, or perhaps a repairman, but no males had been to the house. Henry was adament that the man had been there in his bedroom several times though. At the time, I chalked it up to an over active childhood imagination. After his death, I started to wonder if Jesus had visited my son. I don't know - I never will - but the thought brings me comfort, and it is not outside the realm of possibility for me. In the month or so before his death, I would open Henry's door most mornings to find a good share of his clothes - two dressers worth - strewn across his bedroom floor. The only explanation he had was that "the man" told him he needed to get ready, because he would be going on a trip. I also vividly remember one day, walking into his bedroom in the morning to wake him - it was quiet, so I assumed he must have still been sleeping - only to find him sitting in the rocking chair with his children's Bible open on his lap, studying every picture. What three year old does that voluntarily in a room full of his favorite toys? I sat down with him and told him the story of Noah and about Jesus and then we started our day. We always said that our kids assumed the personalities of the people they were named after and waking early to read the Bible only solidified that notion, as my Grandpa Hank (Henry's namesake) did it daily when he was alive. <br />
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Again, I'm not making any grand claims here - the book just brought a lot of thoughts, feelings, and memories to the foreground. <br />
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In regards to the book itself, what a wonderful depiction of Heaven! I wonder now who Henry met when he first got to heaven (besides Jesus, of course). I remember sitting in the hospital room with him at Childrens Hospital that Monday morning. In my heart, I believed he had died the night before and was no longer in that body. Everything was being kept "alive" artificially, but I knew he wasn't there and wasn't coming back. I still caressed him as if he was there and whispered his stories into his ear (he asked for the same three stories every night for over a year - by then I had them all memorized), kneeling again at his bedside, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow above us in the room, at peace, and looking down on us with love. <br />
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It was something I'd never felt before and never did again until this past May when my grandma was in the ICU after surgery to remove a small tumor on her lung. When it started to become apparent that she may not recover after the surgery, there was one night that I sat with her and distinctly felt the presence of someone else in the room and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was Henry. To make matters even more interesting, the following day my mom told me that grandma asked if my mom could see "that misty cloud" over grandma's bed. Was it Henry? Grandpa? Or a drug induced hallucination? I prefer to believe the former. <br />
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I've rambled quite a bit here and not really talked about the book much at all. Remember how I said I am not much of a book reviewer? Yeah. Now you know why. I am plagued by tangents. I get off on a stream of thought and the original topic is lost in the dust. I guess my best advice at this point would be to just read the book. It's an awesome story, and an awesome account of one child's brush with Christ. You will be moved, I guarantee it. <br />
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In closing I'll share this picture, a picture of Jesus. After his experience, Colton's parents shared pictures of Jesus with the boy, asking if that particular image was an accurate depiction of what Jesus looked like. They shared hundreds of different prints and paintings with the boy over the span of a few years and each time they did, Colton would tell them what was wrong with the picture. The hair was too long, or the nose wasn't right, or what have you. What it was about that particular painting or sculpture that didn't match the Jesus he saw in heaven. And then one day, his father showed him this painting titled Prince of Peace by Akiane Kramarik: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgng5ZSu2K302mjG7UVuaUTOmBf0mSKHOt-WMhyphenhyphenldmVXYCemvB5D1EVnpb4VTQvTBLMWJ8JeKyDfvZDhAUsrEmzWZ0abl7mCAizXu6m-470OQggCj9Ahfs2f5J3_h5a1VJEuDJppFwvSjU/s1600/heaven+jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgng5ZSu2K302mjG7UVuaUTOmBf0mSKHOt-WMhyphenhyphenldmVXYCemvB5D1EVnpb4VTQvTBLMWJ8JeKyDfvZDhAUsrEmzWZ0abl7mCAizXu6m-470OQggCj9Ahfs2f5J3_h5a1VJEuDJppFwvSjU/s1600/heaven+jesus.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Colton replied (after a long moment of stunned silence), "that one's right." What makes it even more amazing is that this painting was done by a (then) 8 year old girl who also had visions of Heaven. A girl Colton had never met or even knew existed. You can read more about her story <a href="http://www.akiane.com/">here</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Things that make you go hmmmmm.... </div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">God bless,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-73888634488390857562011-07-25T11:27:00.001-05:002011-07-25T11:32:55.153-05:00A Trip To The Zoo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A few weeks ago, Jack and I took a little trip to our local zoo. He's not too keen on noises or animals that make them, but we needed to get out of the house so we tried it. And it was fine. Mostly. He didn't really pay much attention to the animals, and the few he did see he really wasn't all that impressed with. He was more interested in sitting EVERYWHERE and trying to jump in the lagoon in the center of the zoo. I finally convinced him that that water was only for the animals, so that crisis was averted, but I couldn't get him to stop sitting on every flat surface he could find. For most kids, this would be a non-issue, but for us with Jack's immune deficiency, we worry about the bacteria he could pick up - especially at a zoo. Granted he gets his IvIG treatments and theoretically they will protect him for most of those, but having already lost one child, we can't help but be concerned and a little (ok, a lot) cautious. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not an easy thing to do... trying to balance concerns and risks while still letting Jack be a kid and have as many experiences of childhood as possible. It doesn't help that he is uncooperative and stubborn and independent. But I can hardly fault him for owning three of the most common traits in both of his parents, can I? *wink*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here are a few pictures from our day. First, Jack sitting on the bench in the wolf viewing cabin. Note that the windows one would look through to actually see the wolves are behind him. There weren't any there that day, but I would be willing to bet it wouldn't have made a bit of difference.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8FLw3ue7EbaBhBQsedvxFWKdQBnNmvXD8eEOEhIAasTHFhn2pYazs110f4UL-j1KCZerRj8HS0UAqYx1EAQw1ss1HNC0ZjbFXtcAxHKrhShpFweX-pMw2NYVRHzIbNt_iznEqKO2muI/s1600/jackzoo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8FLw3ue7EbaBhBQsedvxFWKdQBnNmvXD8eEOEhIAasTHFhn2pYazs110f4UL-j1KCZerRj8HS0UAqYx1EAQw1ss1HNC0ZjbFXtcAxHKrhShpFweX-pMw2NYVRHzIbNt_iznEqKO2muI/s320/jackzoo1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Here we are sitting in a little area by the lagoon. This zoo was Henry's favorite place on earth. We visited it daily during Henry's second and third summer. Sometimes more than once a day. When we lost Henry, some of our good friends bought a memorial brick for Henry. You can see it in the photo below: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5vxoWC8hyFy-oN2rEQ0gionxq1oLLYSjIVbRdQzKaUQXHparrilLdQMBcKpLBswkeehnOfjuD7HkLW_E9J9be2lghcDKI7FJCKj65YifM_-VFnjAl5NW2KSPXjMTUmUStvm12f15qqQ/s1600/jackzoo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5vxoWC8hyFy-oN2rEQ0gionxq1oLLYSjIVbRdQzKaUQXHparrilLdQMBcKpLBswkeehnOfjuD7HkLW_E9J9be2lghcDKI7FJCKj65YifM_-VFnjAl5NW2KSPXjMTUmUStvm12f15qqQ/s320/jackzoo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We used some of the memorial money we received for Henry to help get the turtle pond up and running again. I would always tell Henry about the turtles that had been in there when I was a little girl and how we'd watch them sunning themselves. Throughout Henry's little life, it was only a weedy overgrown area in need of work (and a new water pump). Despite the overgrowth and lack of life, Henry would pick a clover every day and toss it over the fence to feed the turtles. We saw a chipmunk run under some nearby evergreens one day, and after that he would always toss a clover in there, too, in case the chipmunks were hungry, too. Henry's heart was bigger than the moon - especially when it came to the animals. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwAWCcMzvvybUtZ-mkRMG3v770q-4zcyuSRyZqfJmU1X1w_oiXlCs4XV0SG6vD2xCFueFzfWdMR4pTU2zSogtuTTspvOzo6DOHoDiYZcdwwhcW4bAJgNdbK3cFVoOGxQZcVKpnX2R_ho/s1600/jackzoo3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwAWCcMzvvybUtZ-mkRMG3v770q-4zcyuSRyZqfJmU1X1w_oiXlCs4XV0SG6vD2xCFueFzfWdMR4pTU2zSogtuTTspvOzo6DOHoDiYZcdwwhcW4bAJgNdbK3cFVoOGxQZcVKpnX2R_ho/s320/jackzoo3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
One of Henry's favorite things to say was, "Be good to the aminals." He couldn't quite pronounce the word right, but it was so cute we never tried to correct him, and came to find ourselves pronouncing it the same way. We had it spelled correctly on the sign though, because we didn't want people to think it was a typo since we couldn't be there telling the stories and explaining the whole thing every time someone walked by. <br />
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In addition to the turtle pond, we also donated two large cement turtles for the kids to climb on. Here's Jack crawling up the little one...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgO2ywcvZAv5jKDMD3CVLy2YfM8TsX7FHv4Bb7jAIxUWsYu7dUZ0g6V0mqgKKwlIUm-Et7JELIXa05gHIfQfX2j1HlewobsrwgJlxlb8229z_TvwCd1QLL-IPZdpm3OyV5Hm90ON6yFv8/s1600/jackzoo4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgO2ywcvZAv5jKDMD3CVLy2YfM8TsX7FHv4Bb7jAIxUWsYu7dUZ0g6V0mqgKKwlIUm-Et7JELIXa05gHIfQfX2j1HlewobsrwgJlxlb8229z_TvwCd1QLL-IPZdpm3OyV5Hm90ON6yFv8/s320/jackzoo4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We chose turtles because Henry loved this guy: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTk2H_YK3-vsS_8Nw6XVoBSGsiFGVzZMsuQSfj4fQz8SdAS5QmswXTyF6IX1F8y6OETAuFIj69hJQ_59HnEvcYmwusKHoiwySsx4WIAqgEFV88GhWI1UrPPAFEO5k_gqqQPMIdJWmalqQ/s1600/jackzoo5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTk2H_YK3-vsS_8Nw6XVoBSGsiFGVzZMsuQSfj4fQz8SdAS5QmswXTyF6IX1F8y6OETAuFIj69hJQ_59HnEvcYmwusKHoiwySsx4WIAqgEFV88GhWI1UrPPAFEO5k_gqqQPMIdJWmalqQ/s320/jackzoo5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
His name is Dash, and we sought him out on every visit. He wasn't always easy to find, but on this day with Jack he was right out on the path waiting for us. I told Jack all about Dash and about how much Henry loved him. I tried to get him to pet Dash's shell, again weighing bacteria against life experience in my head all along (when am I not?), but he would have none of it. This is as close as he got: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAovmSs2zSl4eMpNI8BU-WHgTvX_ryzuENqn6PWj2RbfwY4z3FUs5fMKsWrd3HfesQX6Fm1zZuYjKrd6cQtuE0NZzgvxvD9iqYC0YS6Vcye8hSpVYH1Ne5Cy54w7OvwQv23x0EsbElK8/s1600/jackzoo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAovmSs2zSl4eMpNI8BU-WHgTvX_ryzuENqn6PWj2RbfwY4z3FUs5fMKsWrd3HfesQX6Fm1zZuYjKrd6cQtuE0NZzgvxvD9iqYC0YS6Vcye8hSpVYH1Ne5Cy54w7OvwQv23x0EsbElK8/s320/jackzoo6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Today, as I'm typing, Jack is beside me saying, "Mama pet the turtle!" :) I don't know if that's a memory or a directive so he doesn't have to try it himself. hee hee. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's hard to go back to these places that were so much a part of Henry's life, but it's all part of the healing process I guess. And, it helps me to remember that life does indeed go on. Jack has the whole world to explore. I just need to guide him through it, remind him of all the people (on earth and in heaven) who love him, teach him as he goes, and maybe every once in awhile let life experience trump potential bacterial issues and believe the doctors when they say it will be ok. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-84922964250837789212011-07-21T09:59:00.001-05:002011-07-21T10:30:50.904-05:00Henry's Fifth Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Each year since his death, we've had a small gathering of friends and family at the house on Henry's birthday. We have lunch and visit and then go to the cemetery for a balloon release. We also ask our guests to bring gifts that are then donated somewhere in Henry's name. <a href="http://sairabee.blogspot.com/2010/07/happy-birthday-sweet-boy.html">Last year</a> we asked for gifts from the humane society wishlist. This year, since Henry would have started kindergarten in the fall, we opted to collect gifts to donate to a kindergarten classroom. It just so happens that Henry's godmother is a kindergarten teacher, so choosing her classroom only seemed right. We collected lots of glue sticks and crayons and stickers, games, jump ropes, etc. It was an awesome day, and an awesome way to try to make the best of a sad situation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below you can see a photo of our balloon bouquet. We invited two friends who had also lost children, so I decided to have balloons to represent their angels as well. We released five orange balloons for Henry, two pink balloons for the twin daughters of one friend, and a blue balloon for the son of another. Everyone wrote messages on the balloons before we sent them to heaven. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikAozE9F-i0CB8QId8EyojiQ4-SwYA8lxjEZwhfpr3B8lBkDRGCFyVHUyWulpWliUhQsFdiVYiFYoVC7UmlLfKJPnoVDV6TWFda833YP4YDCip2Y7fm3O_eiKLl-5WtNGJmUiRwgXCC9Y/s1600/handing-out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikAozE9F-i0CB8QId8EyojiQ4-SwYA8lxjEZwhfpr3B8lBkDRGCFyVHUyWulpWliUhQsFdiVYiFYoVC7UmlLfKJPnoVDV6TWFda833YP4YDCip2Y7fm3O_eiKLl-5WtNGJmUiRwgXCC9Y/s320/handing-out.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
And off they went (carefully, to avoid all those trees, of course!).... <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9fsFf6nmKfWhFqbIl6I19V2n9lkENn2DNndckNljSMNsmItu7s5-D96AxCx_1rh9BP5ngZdqqhEdQru7zlmSqOw68eSzsyDIz-sHFAX-j9BzFf0F38gA1K9fdTKiytMqaqDWJtEzME0/s1600/release.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9fsFf6nmKfWhFqbIl6I19V2n9lkENn2DNndckNljSMNsmItu7s5-D96AxCx_1rh9BP5ngZdqqhEdQru7zlmSqOw68eSzsyDIz-sHFAX-j9BzFf0F38gA1K9fdTKiytMqaqDWJtEzME0/s320/release.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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Higher and higher.... <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JZ11FCXLlKRmQwhgRxeyI62ZGhXoYAYvvtEGvWtloBwoeqC4XY880ZYkcQxjIlc8ae95VFqas0ArFbCgNTGxBuVoej8ihx2kpYxaTKVAHieaXmvWufSt0bd3P8-I1ZOw4wk8EzwotDw/s1600/balloons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JZ11FCXLlKRmQwhgRxeyI62ZGhXoYAYvvtEGvWtloBwoeqC4XY880ZYkcQxjIlc8ae95VFqas0ArFbCgNTGxBuVoej8ihx2kpYxaTKVAHieaXmvWufSt0bd3P8-I1ZOw4wk8EzwotDw/s320/balloons.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
There is nothing I can say to you (unless you are also a bereaved parent) that will make you understand the depth of loss and pain that comes with losing a child. It never ends, it never lessens. But small things like this balloon release help to lessen that pain in small ways, if even temporarily. I know those balloons don't actually go to heaven, but to think for a moment that something I am releasing is going straight to my boy makes my heart happy. And giving back to our community in his name, and seeing other people so willing and generous in their giving to do the same gives me a little comfort to know that he is not forgotten. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-91090259023776567532011-05-08T15:19:00.001-05:002011-05-08T15:21:39.740-05:00A Mother's Day Wish From HeavenA Mother's Day Wish From Heaven<br />By Jody Seilheimer<br /><br /><br />Dear Mr. Hallmark,<br /><br />I am writing to you from heaven, and though it must appear<br />A rather strange idea, I see everything from here.<br />I just popped in to visit, your stores to find a card<br />A card of love for my mother, as this day for her is hard.<br /><br />There must be some mistake I thought, every card you could imagine<br />Except I could not find a card, from a child who lives in heaven.<br />She is still a mother too, no matter where I reside<br />I had to leave, she understands, but oh the tears she’s cried.<br /><br />I thought that if I wrote you, that you would come to know<br />That though I live in heaven now, I still love my mother so.<br />She talks with me, and dreams with me; we still share laughter too,<br />Memories our way of speaking now, would you see what you could do?<br /><br />My mother carries me in her heart, her tears she hides from sight.<br />She writes poems to honor me, sometimes far into the night<br />She plants flowers in my garden, there my living memory dwells<br />She writes to other grieving parents, trying to ease their pain as well.<br /><br />So you see Mr. Hallmark, though I no longer live on earth<br />I must find a way, to remind her of her wondrous worth<br />She needs to be honored, and remembered too<br />Just as the children of earth will do.<br /><br />Thank you Mr. Hallmark, I know you’ll do your best<br />I have done all I can do; to you I’ll leave the rest.<br />Find a way to tell her, how much she means to me<br />Until I can do it for myself, when she joins me in eternity.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-53256529096344456982011-03-28T11:48:00.004-05:002011-03-28T23:38:45.272-05:00Party Like A JediMy littlest boy turned three yesterday(!), and to celebrate we had a little "Yoda Party". Jack is very much his own person with a stubborness I have never seen before in any child (although if you ask my mother she may claim to have had one other experience with such a streak, but I have no idea what she is talking about). When grandma asked if we were going to eat before we opened gifts, I thought, <em>yeah, right</em>. Sure enough, as soon as the gifts started coming in, he was having a fit because he couldn't open them. If this first picture was a a video clip you'd be hearing "<em>WHAZZINDERR? WHAZZINDERR??" </em>over and over and over and over and, well, you get the picture.... <br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEj2FtkXbvwav8WT7-6605yTgzO_rgCvN1Dc_tWhYR2ycMm8p5ozow0oLMsOsxCc_86ovPTIw73qvT4EtbVsRgPZ6XhyY6YL83K3m4IjAmoc9-QpgwVm82zGDAJCh3cacaJcXhoKdq2Q/s1600/bday-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589174173961391090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEj2FtkXbvwav8WT7-6605yTgzO_rgCvN1Dc_tWhYR2ycMm8p5ozow0oLMsOsxCc_86ovPTIw73qvT4EtbVsRgPZ6XhyY6YL83K3m4IjAmoc9-QpgwVm82zGDAJCh3cacaJcXhoKdq2Q/s400/bday-1.jpg" /></a></p><br /><p>How sad he looks while he stands guard to make sure no one takes his beloved Yoda bag (which, by the way, has become as much of a toy for him as the toys it contained). Jackie got lots of fun gifts, including some books we've been wanting (Llama, Llama, Red Pajama, and Oh, The Places You'll Go) and both LOVE, some Star Wars guys, clothes, a Star Wars chair, a Hot Wheels track, etc., etc., etc.... and this light saber from grandma. Never mind that that is one child. With six light sabers. He neeeeeeds them, don't you know?! We will soon be holding Jedi training for the block. Watch your mailbox for info... (heh.) </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha79mBwWNqXiH6JxE1wwJtL3kRdok3Io4EMwgyTTTknZQrnRFHSgM8aS7oXNbNI9pyG8OvwPK6N3haSCZuLKdlJ-7KVKz-yVV9sili0iwDWCOCoGFKHhjU253zyzdMxwXfdEyfhw0h-Oc/s1600/bday2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589348713087249186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha79mBwWNqXiH6JxE1wwJtL3kRdok3Io4EMwgyTTTknZQrnRFHSgM8aS7oXNbNI9pyG8OvwPK6N3haSCZuLKdlJ-7KVKz-yVV9sili0iwDWCOCoGFKHhjU253zyzdMxwXfdEyfhw0h-Oc/s400/bday2.jpg" /></a> Here is a picture of our traditional cupcake tower. I cheated this year and bought these cupcakes rather than making them. I felt like a bad mom, but everyone lived through it so I guess it wasn't so bad. And, most importantly, Jack absolutely loved the "Darf Ader" cupcakes. He still carries that candle holder around with him (in the aforementioned Yoda bag) and thinks it's a toy. Remind me again why I buy this child expensive gifts when he's happy with a gift bag and a candle holder?! </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjRQ0pbJAzSA9oj1ipb2RQTGgKOaSvDzzEfAc4UC9RSIP5ot3Z5uklnNwMK0S4r3XeOmUCHid6_ZTDVCb927VNX-5BR8QokG9blGyZ3k8mADU1S_u4C2dC7_jqjLH0WMis_IhbEH2120/s1600/bday3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589348718453541698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjRQ0pbJAzSA9oj1ipb2RQTGgKOaSvDzzEfAc4UC9RSIP5ot3Z5uklnNwMK0S4r3XeOmUCHid6_ZTDVCb927VNX-5BR8QokG9blGyZ3k8mADU1S_u4C2dC7_jqjLH0WMis_IhbEH2120/s400/bday3.jpg" /></a> His favorite part of the whole day, however, was NOT Darf Ader. It was NOT Yoda, nor even the gifts. It was all of us singing the Happy Birthday song. :) He demanded an encore. And then another. I'll bet it was the most curtain calls many of us - myself included - have ever gotten. We finally video taped it the third time around because he was so stinkin' cute the way he'd run around laughing and dancing and then clap at the end. I'll have to remember to share it once I get it uploaded to YouTube... Here we are with his godfather, Tod, clapping after the first round of song... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-30P7oy15gAlX_bgZr2MK5pfgN8GwnJKjr8JJH8yZx2Dk0cbssYVl1I1FP5Wgb9hKCdEmNzKfeuOEIYJZlczmi7x4LMd-a85jER62RIcusvfiS2DfoWKzX92HtciYs7BWougWbCVTGz0/s1600/bday6.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589348730645902306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-30P7oy15gAlX_bgZr2MK5pfgN8GwnJKjr8JJH8yZx2Dk0cbssYVl1I1FP5Wgb9hKCdEmNzKfeuOEIYJZlczmi7x4LMd-a85jER62RIcusvfiS2DfoWKzX92HtciYs7BWougWbCVTGz0/s400/bday6.jpg" /></a> Aaaaand here we are with our Star Wars hat (a.k.a. my table centerpiece). And what, you ask, is that underneath it? That would be his train shaped Easter basket. Because he thinks that - and just about everything else - is also a hat. This from the child that would NOT wear a hat for love nor money for a full two and half years (once he could reach it to pull it off). I also love this picture because I feel like it's a foreshadowing of photos I will see some twenty years from now after other parties where maybe a little too much fun was had. </p><br /><p><em>Mama.... Where am I? What time is it? I had the craziest dream. There was all this singing, and all these light sabers and I think we demolished the dark side.... </em></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h5pA4SCWf6rJdlkGpCsQfyTXYTTd4BxL5a9HngLxQLK-PNyme9-VPV88Q3IkmcYfuRIFM7CIth7LTqAYY09cMDA9BP6fG0o2F0NI7LwCH0cKudjRNMuV7EtDeZK5-cMOfTjHhS6kgsA/s1600/bday5.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589348724762295554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h5pA4SCWf6rJdlkGpCsQfyTXYTTd4BxL5a9HngLxQLK-PNyme9-VPV88Q3IkmcYfuRIFM7CIth7LTqAYY09cMDA9BP6fG0o2F0NI7LwCH0cKudjRNMuV7EtDeZK5-cMOfTjHhS6kgsA/s400/bday5.jpg" /></a></p><br /><p>Yes, yes you did, little man.... </p><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZ8DiRxNRCqFjLK_b3ZHpvol9OF2g1U-Ns9ed7wUXMrPcSN0VGj8nfe3KBrJnVCicoC7N_bGNJjguUJ8m0s7CoknyWmkyTvuZ089bQIoL1yz6__qxjE6Oa3emWtjqySBaxT-FvT2URUc/s1600/bday4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589348722465735330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZ8DiRxNRCqFjLK_b3ZHpvol9OF2g1U-Ns9ed7wUXMrPcSN0VGj8nfe3KBrJnVCicoC7N_bGNJjguUJ8m0s7CoknyWmkyTvuZ089bQIoL1yz6__qxjE6Oa3emWtjqySBaxT-FvT2URUc/s400/bday4.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><div>Thank goodness the galaxy is safe once again!</div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-51548098094333195242011-02-22T13:07:00.004-06:002011-02-22T23:17:56.489-06:00Joy! Joy! Joy?<em></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSejv1R4lkCuPlyzU5NyK_CdxM7oZvL0Yz9kOcfAydGD-UgCT-NvjFlz810aq2ctm6xUPAzyhyphenhyphenATkixmLuYKxKG2isS7w4RwKSyh4PvC6hLHEQPtWsGhCqx2iWGlM8LtF0o_Sbrg2T-s0/s1600/joy_of_lord.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 301px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576592872382869778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSejv1R4lkCuPlyzU5NyK_CdxM7oZvL0Yz9kOcfAydGD-UgCT-NvjFlz810aq2ctm6xUPAzyhyphenhyphenATkixmLuYKxKG2isS7w4RwKSyh4PvC6hLHEQPtWsGhCqx2iWGlM8LtF0o_Sbrg2T-s0/s400/joy_of_lord.jpg" /></a><br />Jack and I were watching a new show on Netflix on Demand (love that, by the way) today. I don't know the exact name of it, but it's something similar to Baby Einstein except with a Christian theme. This particular one was about the story of Jonah and the Whale (or "Big Fish" if you want to get technical, which they apparently do not). Most of the show is filled with instrumental music of songs that I remember from Sunday School, but at one point children start singing along to one, so I decided to sing along with them.<br /><br />"I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart! Down in my heart, down in my heart!"<br /><br />Jack loves when I sing, and tries to mimic me with words a few seconds too late and knee slaps a bit off beat, but he's so stinkin' cute those things don't even matter. He's smiling and laughing and I'm smiling and singing....<br /><br />"...and I'm so haappy! So very haaaappy!....."<br /><br />We're really on a roll here!<br /><br />"....I've got the love of Je *sniff* s *sob* us in *sob*..."<br /><br />Aaaaaand I can barely choke out that last sentence because I am bursting into tears. Jack looks at me like I have three heads and two of them just managed to spontaneously combust. Not only did I muff the song and further disrupt his knee-slapping, belly laughing fervor, I started *crying*! In a song about JOY!<br /><br /><em>HELLO, MAMA! We're singing about JOY here!! DuH!</em> I can just read it on his face...<br /><br />My little man does not realize yet that there are happy tears and sad tears. He doesn't understand the feeling that you are losing every single thing you love in the world, and the only thing you have to hold on to is that love of Jesus this very song sings about that is etched deep in your heart. He doesn't realize how very much that love means to you on your darkest days, nor how you're really not entirely sure you could survive without it. I remember the doctor coming in to tell us they had done all they could do for Henry. When he left, the first thing I said to my husband was "Thank God I was raised in Faith." Because I knew then that I needed the assurance of Jesus and His word to get me through that day, and every other day for the rest of my life.<br /><br />I am grateful for the diligence of my mom and grandparents who insisted I attend worship every. single. week. (sometimes two or three times a week!) as a child and young adult. We lived in the country, and I can remember massive snow storms that my grandpa would drive through to get me to Sunday School, when even city kids were absent. God bless you, Grandpa. You didn't know it then, but every trip you took added up and you may have single handedly saved my life some thirty years later.<br /><br />When we would ride in to town, I would sit next to Grandpa and sing to him for the duration of the whole 20 minute trip. I would be willing to bet that I even sang this song a dozen or more times. Who knew how it would define me all these years later? Grandpa always loved listening to me sing - he encouraged it. His favorite song for me to sing was "I'm in the Lord's Army (Yes, Sir!)" I still remember the whole (short) song, and it brings tears to my eyes to even think of it because he loved it that much. As a military man himself, I think he could relate to it. It said what needed to be said, and was short, direct, and to the point, much like himself. His least favorite song for me to sing was The First Noel. Because he said I was always off pitch on it. He was a military man and a painter by trade, but he couldn't sing a note so I blame his ear rather than my voice.<br /><br />Ha. Kidding, Grandpa. Just kidding.<br /><br />Anyhow, when you look at me, or read my blog, or hear me talk, and think, <em>I just don't know how she does it...</em> Remember this blog post. Remember Jesus. <em>He</em> is how I do it. <em>He</em> is my strength.<br /><br /><em>I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, shoot the artillery. I may never fly o'er the enemy, but I'm in the Lord's army. Yes Sir!...<br /></em><br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-1045993996280573012011-02-08T14:22:00.003-06:002011-02-08T15:03:42.558-06:00Love and Laughter<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrdMYlvJjnbqJ07GgS5XlVcNvGZCbve5MRJzgyuCPXWJN6YMPmCkeC04EtLt51wmyQ_4DPKbmpHewH_Yqbp0-_F5K12di9FSNHwejOgeydQHM83rTtiXaNagaB1UDrjIL6w8PYan_RSY/s1600/Yasbeck.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 258px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571416937394482274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrdMYlvJjnbqJ07GgS5XlVcNvGZCbve5MRJzgyuCPXWJN6YMPmCkeC04EtLt51wmyQ_4DPKbmpHewH_Yqbp0-_F5K12di9FSNHwejOgeydQHM83rTtiXaNagaB1UDrjIL6w8PYan_RSY/s400/Yasbeck.jpg" /></a><br />For those who don't know me and haven't heard the news, I'll admit it here: I have loved John Ritter my entire life. Some of my earliest memories include watching Three's Company with my mom, and although I didn't get most of the jokes and inuendos until years later, Jack and his antics had me rolling from day one. I was obsessed, and credit Mr. Ritter (along with my grandparents and mom who are all downright hilarious in their own right) with being much of my comedic inspiration in life. I have followed his career religiously, catching sitcoms, movies, and interviews whenever possible. The fact that I have a child named Jack is no coincidence. I was even watching a Three's Company marathon in the hospital while I was in labor with Henry. Laughter truly is the best medicine, and despite all I have been through, I still agree with that statement. That, and: sometimes you have to laugh just to keep from crying.<br /><br />When I read about the release of this book, I knew I needed to read it. The last few chapters of the book hit closest to home as they detailed the events of the days surrounding John's death and then the emotions his wife faced afterwards. It's the first book I've ever read about grief and loss that I could have written myself. It's refreshing to me to read about other people who try to laugh and live through their pain. So many books I've read about bereaved parents talk about people who could not listen to music ever again, or could not bring themselves to laugh for at least ten years, etc. I will not judge them, because every grief process is different, but I truly felt like I was either defective or in denial. It turns out I am neither (the first being more debatable than the second). She spoke about how much heavier she felt after John's death. About how gravity seemed to have a greater pull on her, which is not unlike my post about <a href="http://www.case-mate.com/iPhone-4-Cases/Case-Mate-iPhone-4-Bounce-Case-with-Pong-Radiation-Reducing-Technology.asp">The Weight of Grief</a>. That alone gave me comfort. She went on to describe her grief process in ways that were nearly identical to mine. The trudging forward, despite wanting to curl up and cry. The days when we let ourselves do just that. The hope with which we look to the future, and ways we try to keep the memory of our loved ones - in her case a husband, in mine, a son - alive.<br /><br />Amy wrote, "My life now is not what I expected when John and I fell in love. It's not what I intended, nor what I was creating. Gravity took the life I imagined and added its own spin. The struggle is accepting that fact and still finding beauty and meaning in what remains."<br /><br />Amen, sister.<br /><br />She also included in her book a portion of a letter that John wrote to his daughter Carly, two years (to the day) before he died. In it, he quotes Thornton Wilder's famous novel <em>The Bridge Over St. Luis Re</em>. In his letter, John was relating the quote to the attacks on the Word Trade Center (the letter was written the day of the attacks, September 11, 2001. He died two years later on September 11, 2003, which also happened to be his daughter Stella's fifth birthday). The excerpt reads:<br /><br /><em>But soon we will die, and all memories of those five will have left Earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for awhile and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living in a land of the dead and the bridge is love. The only survival, the only meaning. </em><br /><em></em><br />Beautiful, isn't it?<br /><br />I loved reading about John and his family. Like so many others, I always felt like he was a part of my own family. I was surprised to learn that he could not cook. *grin* I guess the naivete of childhood had engrained the idea of Jack Tripper going to cooking school equating to John Ritter learning as well. I love that his family has become so active in informing others about aortic aneurysms and dissection, even lending the family name to the "<a href="http://marfan.org/cms/uploaded_files/8XJIUG81F3/89/docs/ritter%20rules%20final%203%2011%2010.pdf">Ritter Rules</a>", a list of guidelines about the disease. It reminds me in many ways of how active my husband has become in the world of primary immune deficiencies. The world has lost some precious boys here, but in their absense has gained advocates for some very worthy causes and hopefully in doing so has saved several other people from the same fate.<br /><br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-92027855566719879662011-02-02T20:35:00.006-06:002011-02-04T18:20:25.634-06:00A Message To Heaven<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPgBIewmwwQULY3AtD7eOjxGV5hgtuzPNyM3e9Isx6IRLV27bD1L5VhR28OH2qEzaEasVWfZscNlFX-nvh0gS-SXKezcR2gS5DqImXjITlGzWhOKSJnjZ17OYsTcnByGD1uleMJPWOv0/s1600/072.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569291841267709650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPgBIewmwwQULY3AtD7eOjxGV5hgtuzPNyM3e9Isx6IRLV27bD1L5VhR28OH2qEzaEasVWfZscNlFX-nvh0gS-SXKezcR2gS5DqImXjITlGzWhOKSJnjZ17OYsTcnByGD1uleMJPWOv0/s400/072.JPG" /></a><br />This past Sunday the family took a drive through the cemetery to visit our little man. Last year the snow in the cemetery was such that if you were creative, you could walk between the drifts and pretty much get from the road to the grave site on grass. This year we weren't quite so lucky. A nice, thick, evenly distributed, blanket of snow is covering the grounds and we weren't dressed for trudging through it. As we rounded the bend before coming up to his area, I noticed something in the snow. About ten feet long, there was a message written from someone to "Bruce", saying several sweet things including, "Thank you for loving me." Once we got to our area, I took my lead from that writer and left a message myself, on behalf of all who were in the van (Jack, Papa, Grandma, Great-Grandma): "We {heart} you, Bug".<br /><br />I've often thought about you, my blog readers, and thought of things I can post here. Unfortunately my follow through hasn't been so great. We are now 15 months past Henry's death and it still seems like it was yesterday at times. I'm not sure that feeling will ever go away. The pain is still very fresh and very real and very constant. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't feel something - pain, remorse, guilt. I can't pinpoint any one thing that gets to me more than anything else, it just happens at random. I've been struggling with bitterness, and a general lack of empathy. These are both characteristics that are new to me and so different from the person I was before November 2, 2009. I'm not sure what to do with those feelings, so I pray about them. I pray that simple prayer that I have prayed nearly every day for 15 months - first about the saddness and desperation I was feeling. Then about the guilt. Now about the bitterness: Lord, please lift these feelings from my heart and help me find peace. Such a short little prayer, but a powerful one, and thankfully one that is responded to quickly. Those feelings are frequent but brief and I am grateful for that brevity.<br /><br />I wonder about heaven a lot. What it is like, who we'll see there. I find myself seeking out literature about it - scriptures, stories, "eye-witness" accounts from folks who claim to have been there and returned to earth. All of it fascinates me. I'm a bit of a skeptic with the folks who say they've been there and back, but I don't discount their stories... I just don't pin my dreams on them, if that makes sense. Awhile back I was looking for some words of wisdom to share with a girlfriend who is also going through a grief process of her own after the sudden unexpected death of her mother, and I found this quote by Dwight L. Moody:<br /><br /><em>"Very often people come to me and say: "Mr. Moody, do you think we shall know each other in Heaven?" There is a verse in Scripture in answer to this, and that is: "We shall be satisfied." (Psalm 17:15). It is all I wanted to know. My brother who went up there the other day I shall see, because I shall be satisfied. We will see all those we loved on Earth up there, and if we loved them here, we will love them ten thousand times more when we meet them there."<br /><br /></em>I found comfort in this, and have carried it with me ever since that day. As I get older, and continue to grow in my faith (because let's face it, faith, like love, is a verb - an action word - continuously moving and growing, enveloping and developing), I realize more and more that this earth is not the end of my journey just as it was not the end of his. He is in heaven, and he is waiting for all of us who love him, and one day we will all be satisfied just as he is today. He doesn't know the pain of missing his mama, papa, "bee", and grandmas, just the anticipation and excitement as he awaits our arrival. What will be decades of life for us on earth will be only seconds to him in heaven before we are reunited again.<br /><br />Until that day, I am here, and I am waking up every morning, and living the life God intended for me to live. I am taking care of my family and watching my baby boy (who is much more boy than baby these days) grow at an unprecedented rate of speed. We are nearing the end of our therapy with the wonderful "Birth to 3" therapists who have helped us over the last 16 months, and we couldn't be happier with the progress Jack has made. His vocabulary has exploded, and he is picking up new words and activities every single day. He knows his alphabet forward, backward, and sideways (which makes Aunt Julie the kindergarten teacher very proud because she will tell you that just because you can sing the song doesn't mean you know your alphabet.). He can identify the letters in any order right side up or upside down (which surprised us all!). He is counting from 1 - 13 unassisted, 13-29 with a little help. He loves to sing(!) and his favorite songs are the alphabet song, Old MacDonald, and Jingle Bells.<br /><br />That last one makes my heart smile, because Jingle Bells was the only song Henry ever attempted (despite Old MacDonald being his all time favorite for me to sing while he chimed in with the animal noises). Henry would run up to a cat toy we have hanging on the door and shake it (there are bells on it) and sing, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, oh we have funnnnnn!!!!!!"<br /><br />*smile*<br /><br />Jack is obsessed with dinosaurs and can identify about 50 different types of dinosaur by name (and alternate name where applicable, as is the case with the Gravitholus who is also called Prenocephale, and Stenonychosaurus who is also known as Troodon... things I never thought I'd learn, much less teach my two year old). He loves puzzles and play time, and, and, and..... I could go on forever. He's quite the character, and we love him more than he'll probably ever know. We are so blessed to have him in our lives, and so grateful that in losing Henry we were able to save Jack. It is the bright and shiny silver lining to that very dark cloud.<br /><br />Looking forward, I have purchased paint for Henry's bedroom to bring it from it's current bright yellow little boy nursery to a much more muted beige guest room. It is the bigger of our two bedrooms for the boys, but I'm not ready to move Jack into it yet. Not ready to open that door every morning expecting a face that is no longer looking back at me to be on the other side. Maybe some day, but not today. I will post pictures once that project is complete. Although I am sad to paint the room and convert it back, I know that keeping it untouched does not bring my boy back. And, truthfully, I regretted that bright yellow color choice from day one, so in that respect the change will be welcomed.<br /><br />We also have a birthday party to plan in the not-too-distant future as Jack will turn three at the end of March. It looks like a dino party is in order, and we are already scheming to switch out his Raggedy Ann & Andy decor for some dinorific decorations as our gift to him.<br /><br />I am also very proud of my husband who has been working diligently for months now on getting Henry's bedtime stories illustrated and published. The first book will be available soon in hardcover, and we are so excited about it - there aren't even words to express what this means to us, and especially to Papa whom Henry shared those stories with every night. Not only are we getting the stories out, but we are doing so in a way that will benefit other children with rare diseases. Click over to the Adventures of Henry website if you'd like to learn more or help great causes by ordering a copy or three. *wink*<br /><br />Thank you, as always, for your continued thoughts and prayers. We are so grateful for the strong network of family and friends (both in person and online) that God has blessed us with.<br /><br />God bless,<br /><br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-24558163736770926112010-11-24T14:19:00.008-06:002010-11-24T16:38:50.097-06:00Top Ten Christmas MoviesAs the holidays approach, I feel compelled to share a list of the best Christmas movies of all time. By whose standards, you ask? Well, mine of course. I haven't done any research into which movies have gotten the best reviews or were the most widely broadcast or sold the most copies. All I can tell you is that I have watched every one of these movies oodles of times, and they are part of a great tapestry of traditions that will always make Christmas special for me. Some are popular, some are not. Some you probably didn't even know existed. All are worth watching at least once in your life. Maybe even twice.<br /><br />Here they are, in no particular order:<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>The Christmas Gift</em></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4F9YDu-RdxwnG1GiboDN9_KEQmROI56JhyphenhyphenDHsVlgeNGvFKZ2cpOeLQD4RjS6_SHHpdsQiPS10wbDmOblT5NELOCK09fGaJcAIihKhPDoUMDzl30LQmM6pTxTLuKgpbPD5LiAUs4TfUQ/s1600/christmasmovie7.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 163px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543231520302438258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4F9YDu-RdxwnG1GiboDN9_KEQmROI56JhyphenhyphenDHsVlgeNGvFKZ2cpOeLQD4RjS6_SHHpdsQiPS10wbDmOblT5NELOCK09fGaJcAIihKhPDoUMDzl30LQmM6pTxTLuKgpbPD5LiAUs4TfUQ/s400/christmasmovie7.jpg" /></a><br />The Christmas Gift is a made-for-tv movie that was released during my childhood. My mom has always tried to catch as many of those tv Christmas movies as possible, and this one always stuck with me. The story revolves around a man (John Denver) and his daughter - his wife had recently died. He uproots what is left of the family and relocates them to the cutest little town. Man, how I longed to move to that town. Everyone knows everyone, there are sleigh rides down Main St., the whole town participates in the Christmas pageant. So quaint! I remember thinking that little girl (who happened to me my age) was soooo cool. I wanted to be just like her. :) You may also recognize the woman in the photo above. That's Jane Kazcmarek in one of her earliest roles. She plays Susan, the postmaster. Such a sweet movie.... and still getting aired on Lifetime as recently as last Christmas! I have easily watched this movie at least 200 times (no, that is not a typo - I had it recorded. Play, rewind, play, rewind, play rewind. Well, you get the picture. Check it out! <br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>The Christmas Wish<br /></em></span><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNRfU1uOX91PN5YQ1GC27C2L5f29LNhHsN5nldCn5RaHXJI_8rjzDQEb5hJIYnoSuoJIu3UmkmdM7EOi5SxaELo0HDsG4e8tMVDCR6OBD7ZsBkYfsxDPq8gtr8etym-8-kKtjf-bL1yE/s1600/christmasmovie9.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543231513775391714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNRfU1uOX91PN5YQ1GC27C2L5f29LNhHsN5nldCn5RaHXJI_8rjzDQEb5hJIYnoSuoJIu3UmkmdM7EOi5SxaELo0HDsG4e8tMVDCR6OBD7ZsBkYfsxDPq8gtr8etym-8-kKtjf-bL1yE/s400/christmasmovie9.jpg" /></a><br />Despite the fact that it has been around since 1998 or so, I just found The Christmas Wish last year. What drew me to it? Two words: Debbie Reynolds. She plays Neil Patrick Harris' grandma in a little story about finding out what's important in life. I've seen this one twice - both on tv last season. I'll definitely be looking for it again this year. You know, because it has some catching up to do with some of these other flicks.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>Meet Me In St. Louis</em><br /></span><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnjADHlc143aoOKBrMo1vOrfiEIQUdjTQHiBbn3X1O48bQXvhnJqWC7tKRZ17tQHSPf2sky8OQncW1ja2osmV3lqdgbTh9NiluGlKG587TnkfBL2S72Dl9tDxM_YCrZOmabISr__I_y8/s1600/christmasmovie10.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 317px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543231368964706178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnjADHlc143aoOKBrMo1vOrfiEIQUdjTQHiBbn3X1O48bQXvhnJqWC7tKRZ17tQHSPf2sky8OQncW1ja2osmV3lqdgbTh9NiluGlKG587TnkfBL2S72Dl9tDxM_YCrZOmabISr__I_y8/s400/christmasmovie10.jpg" /></a> Alright. I really don't consider this a true Christmas movie. BUT... there is snow. And there is a Christmas tree. And there is quite possibly one of the most idyllic Christmas songs of all time. You cannot watch Esther sing Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas to Tootie without getting a little nostolgic. It's just not possible. And for that, it makes my short list.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>White Christmas</em><br /><br /></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5ryIi8tchjyfEhJ7Z9ZOnfel_F9gmvJEyZkLaLcxn2V9tKVlYicHVXqy2Yiacpd8u4KMoGyIlHOZsNgTPuKsXhjFqD9KwIrdnGjgNdg1_KnC4DodNGSdvL4BdFbFuw0PiG8H8Ij81us/s1600/christmasmovie1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 385px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543226029522011346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5ryIi8tchjyfEhJ7Z9ZOnfel_F9gmvJEyZkLaLcxn2V9tKVlYicHVXqy2Yiacpd8u4KMoGyIlHOZsNgTPuKsXhjFqD9KwIrdnGjgNdg1_KnC4DodNGSdvL4BdFbFuw0PiG8H8Ij81us/s400/christmasmovie1.jpg" /></a><br />Folks, remember how I said that these were listed in no particular order? Well, it's true. Because if they were, this would be at the top of the list. White Christmas is my favorite Christmas movie. Perhaps even my favorite movie period. I have literally watched this hundreds of times. We could possibly be in the thousands by now. I have the entire script memorized, and I'm not even making that up. I spent hours upon hours watching this as a child. Play, rewind. Play, rewind. Play, rewind. Alllll weekend long. Every weekend. All year long. Until one day I rewound it and went to hit play and my grandpa, God love him, said, "If you put that G.D. movie in ONE MORE TIME I'm going to rip it out with my bare hands and destroy it!!!"<br /><br />I cried.<br /><br />Grandma laughed so hard she nearly peed.<br /><br />As always, Grandpa won, and White Christmas went on hiatus for awhile, which in hindsight was ok because it gave me a chance to put some of these other ones on heavy repeat.<br /><br />This photo cracks me up, because that little ballerina you see hides at the base of the Christmas tree while they sing their song, and then she stands up and starts dancing. For the longest time, I had no idea where she came from. I thought they dubbed her in. I had to rewind it and play it in slow motion to see that she was there at the bottom of the tree all along. D'oh.<br /><br />Best Line: "When what's left of you gets around to what's left to be gotten what's left to be gotten won't be worth getting whatever it is you've got left!"<br /><br />I actually pulled this one out today and popped it in. Jack (who, for the record is named after my aforementioned grandfather) started saying, "No! NO! NO!" as soon as it started.<br /><br />*sigh*<br /><br />Rest in peace, Grandpa. I took it out.<br /><br /><div align="left">For now. </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:180%;">Ebbie<br /></div><p></span></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmU0m3IdvycMJIK2V7o4ouvt4Y0MxRJbNUoYvaWtmIYNSghdlOLzs5O6irLvrrXfPOg20XZWmVdUhZ9yaSNWYAf3HpNTdIWoxWy3OCt8210pMFUHja0qWBccdq-JN0o-dwtB4t4SPJwXg/s1600/49c9189264149_104439n.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 321px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543233252452424658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmU0m3IdvycMJIK2V7o4ouvt4Y0MxRJbNUoYvaWtmIYNSghdlOLzs5O6irLvrrXfPOg20XZWmVdUhZ9yaSNWYAf3HpNTdIWoxWy3OCt8210pMFUHja0qWBccdq-JN0o-dwtB4t4SPJwXg/s400/49c9189264149_104439n.jpg" /></a>When I was a child, the only thing my mother watched more than Christmas movies was All My Children. I probably saw wayyy too much far before I should have, but that's kind of how it was back then. I don't think parents worried as much about what may or may not impact their child. Whatev. I turned out ok.... and have a strong appreciation for Susan Lucci. Love her! I remember the year she finally won her daytime emmy. I was in tears and woke my mother up who came running in to watch the acceptance speech. Ahh, the memories. Anyhow, as you can imagine, we grabbed any chance to see our diva on tv, and back then there really weren't many. Ebbie entered our lives and fast became a favorite. If you haven't seen it, it's really worth checking out. Kind of a modern day version of Ebenezer Scrooge. Cute, cute, cute. </p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:180%;">Holiday Inn</span></em></p><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLxETFjh41InbdRe27h75jodYqwH0rWQgp8S-Ka-roqVZJVNhlofQs23CmWmsbAGGFbcNOWu8wrOAcrZZYCgtqXhj9DMEfkBDCzKkvcoEN_rfvq2q-GNbfANbPVmrsyXQbUT9wyY3GNo/s1600/christmasmovie6.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 194px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543231610516888274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLxETFjh41InbdRe27h75jodYqwH0rWQgp8S-Ka-roqVZJVNhlofQs23CmWmsbAGGFbcNOWu8wrOAcrZZYCgtqXhj9DMEfkBDCzKkvcoEN_rfvq2q-GNbfANbPVmrsyXQbUT9wyY3GNo/s400/christmasmovie6.jpg" /></a> If White Christmas is number one, Holiday Inn would be number two. They would be tied for first if this wasn't a black and white movie. I'm not a fan of black and white. Give me technicolor. Give me sparkles. But, hundreds of shades of gray aside, this one is a keeper. When Grandpa made me take out White Christmas, Holiday Inn promptly took its place. Play, rewind. Play, rewind. I knew it by heart. I wanted to be this Linda Carter character you see in this picture. I wanted to meet Bing Crosby. Until I found out he was mean to his kids in real life, but that's a very different, distinctly non-Christmasy post. I love the songs. I love the love triangle. I love the crazy guy in the hallway with the accent and the attitude: "How can I tell you which way is Connect-i-cut?!" I love the dress Linda wears for the Valentine's Day number. And as un-PC as it is, I love the black face number, too. So good! </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>Christmas Snow</em></span></p><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2UjQxkXNsxiUbS_Z54FPReebzoFTe_BbWkzrHZx888oQTAtq6a1w2tHWmfF0LubIVFJAASto3AFW69R8kzuyWBQYs23RLp_uJvEbeT2b-AECG0ulx1mzV5Z1DsfVq0qOV_lbisagDwQ/s1600/christmasmovie2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 314px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543226016185164258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2UjQxkXNsxiUbS_Z54FPReebzoFTe_BbWkzrHZx888oQTAtq6a1w2tHWmfF0LubIVFJAASto3AFW69R8kzuyWBQYs23RLp_uJvEbeT2b-AECG0ulx1mzV5Z1DsfVq0qOV_lbisagDwQ/s400/christmasmovie2.jpg" /></a> Christmas Snow came out while Who's The Boss was popular. I'd lay money on the fact that I watched it simply because Mona (Kathryn Helmond) was in it. I don't have a recording of this, and havent' seen it in the December tv listings for some time, though I search for it every year. I love it though... and love it even more now that I just realized that little girl is Melissa Joan Hart. Who knew?! She (her character) was afraid of Amelia Bedelia. Hee hee. I don't remember much about the plot, but I can tell you that if you find it you won't be disappointed! </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:180%;">A Smoky Mountain Christmas<br /></span><br /></div></em><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wd7mqxGnfb5_5O4WI_KEFSz25hDlqbsqullH4kuvFXX6CodQzjaXUhZ52mF0OEQ33POQNReJCIKh2yGDGJCwk1HbT-kRNOkwWnZ-YhhTNUT5kM123iL3bLKfpLghGU9ujIr3NrduqOQ/s1600/christmasmovie3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 171px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543225998635573346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wd7mqxGnfb5_5O4WI_KEFSz25hDlqbsqullH4kuvFXX6CodQzjaXUhZ52mF0OEQ33POQNReJCIKh2yGDGJCwk1HbT-kRNOkwWnZ-YhhTNUT5kM123iL3bLKfpLghGU9ujIr3NrduqOQ/s400/christmasmovie3.jpg" /></a><br />Oh, Dolly... How I love thee. I could seriously listen to her talk for hours. Weeks. YEARS. And Lee Majors? Hello. As Phoebe Buffet would say, "Lee Majors is hot." You know, in that scruffy old guy kind of way. Not unlike Tom Selleck, but I digress. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Anyhow, yeah.<br /><br />Shake it off, Sarah. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Super sweet movie with orphans and cabins and spells and a mean witchy women on a horse. What more could you ask for? </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:180%;">Santa Claus: The Movie</span></em></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTIS_q677kxzbd4DsficAQkA62Cv0ccGjoDQkL5TsIBdqXedFQTerE1vGLtclRzO707SgjTrN0ydwMNsxvd1LtbNKg7o3Lu9hyphenhyphenkSu7xViJ3cTRNsEyUr0B66MeqgMGlqK9fILEdcS2Mo/s1600/christmasmovie4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543225912313276498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTIS_q677kxzbd4DsficAQkA62Cv0ccGjoDQkL5TsIBdqXedFQTerE1vGLtclRzO707SgjTrN0ydwMNsxvd1LtbNKg7o3Lu9hyphenhyphenkSu7xViJ3cTRNsEyUr0B66MeqgMGlqK9fILEdcS2Mo/s400/christmasmovie4.jpg" /></a> I wonder who decided to cast the shortest actor on the planet as an elf? Genius!! </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Poor Patch... he tries so hard to do what's right, but he gets caught up with a bad bunch of misers and it all turns south. Isn't that always the way though? </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I credit this movie with putting the color peuce on the map. What is peuce? Watch the movie and find out! </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">And last, but certainly not least.... </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation<br /></em></span><br /><br /></div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjC_qmFcfaD7Skyf7nVZk0CSJbDYJ9XufkNFoDbgYn6N6BBJltwt5c2B_wudPf2iaXsq3L7_fcRIRcst5UeBl24gYvMkiigJJalFRfMPlwJTch9SCXLJRfx07GsRtDi7vZxA4hcQO1m4/s1600/christmasmovie5.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543225827960306882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjC_qmFcfaD7Skyf7nVZk0CSJbDYJ9XufkNFoDbgYn6N6BBJltwt5c2B_wudPf2iaXsq3L7_fcRIRcst5UeBl24gYvMkiigJJalFRfMPlwJTch9SCXLJRfx07GsRtDi7vZxA4hcQO1m4/s400/christmasmovie5.jpg" /></a><br />First of all, let me say that this is the best scene in the entire movie. Squirrel in the Christmas tree? Classic. Because that could really happen. Seriously! Probably wouldn't be quite as funny in my living room, but still... </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">And who doesn't love the Griswold's? Or, for that matter, Chevy Chase? I seriously wracked my brain to try to figure out if there was enough Christmas-y material in his movie Funny Farm to warrant adding it to my list (sadly, no, but still an excellent movie.... lamb fries?! Hello!).<br /><br />There you have it, friends. Your holiday television/dvd to do list. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">And no, A Christmas Story did not make my list. Maybe because it is the worst Christmas movie ever created. Because it really, really is. I know people love it, but I just don't get it. It's ok though - I'm sure some of you are looking at this list wondering what I've been smoking, too. And I'm ok with that, because I love my movies and my traditions, and wouldn't trade them for the world.... or a floor lamp wearing fishnet stockings.<br /></div><div align="left"><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-92164226751017226062010-11-12T11:32:00.006-06:002010-11-12T14:56:46.795-06:00To Write Love On Her Arms<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1pqpSvmnm-qdZuZp5Q_WFMcs6sppBYvDDWKWmO6pbLyuOpQwv7JK4zUUaNjhQbZZf3OHH2jA5KjZaPD_sTc7eUUFvGMnvMyjOzm5FuHX1ClyGXimj1re8nzj0AWR_4poi32tWlhU1cw/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538717717490069746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1pqpSvmnm-qdZuZp5Q_WFMcs6sppBYvDDWKWmO6pbLyuOpQwv7JK4zUUaNjhQbZZf3OHH2jA5KjZaPD_sTc7eUUFvGMnvMyjOzm5FuHX1ClyGXimj1re8nzj0AWR_4poi32tWlhU1cw/s400/011.JPG" /></a><br /><br />For those who don't know, TWLOHA is a kind of grassroots movement that has been gaining ground in recent years. I've never participated before, but there is no time like the present, so I thought I'd share here as I am also trying to be a better blogger, believe it or not.<br /><br />If you check out the <a href="http://www.twloha.com/vision/">TWLOHA website</a>, you will learn that this non-profit movement is dedicated to people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. It exists to "encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery."<br /><br />Thankfully, I have not yet had to struggle through these things myself, but like many (all?) of us, I have a friend or two who have been there and my heart broke for them. Today I am writing on my arms (well, one arm, because let's face it... writing with my left hand on my right arm would soooo not work out. I am many things, but ambidextrous is not one of them.) in honor of one friend in particular.<br /><br />She is a beautiful person, and is like a sister to me. She is one of the few people in this world that I can absolutely and totally be myself with. She is one of the first people I call when my life is falling to crap, and one of the greatest inspirations in my life. Her life has not always been easy, but she has always found a way. There has been grief, and depression, and the tell tale raised skin on the inside of her wrist that will always represent the pain of her past and the healing process that will take her into her future. She is still here with us though - still finding a way in this big world, and still in the process of fully believing that she was fearfully and beautifully made by God and is not only an intricate part of his plan, but is loved by hundreds and has touched lives with every step of her journey. We would be lost without her, and thank GOD for placing her in our circle.<br /><br /><em>Ich Liebe Dich, Jemima Puddleduck.<br /></em><br /><br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">P.S. If you saw this in reader, and are seeing two posts. No comment. *blush* It was late, and there was a very important typo that needed to be corrected! Oye. Let this be a lesson to me - I should not blog OR write on my arm at 12:30 am after a few glasses of wine. </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-4703590937522067072010-11-10T13:53:00.003-06:002010-11-10T14:36:31.679-06:00There Is No Power In Intention<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxkfV4xz4gnyvnT0M6Sz4e-LtQHJYaNfeXvsyzkaaw1qUR1vkDyBv2cx5j3Z-I4tuOTeWu3fihobOVNhN290n2KYIi6yzUxYDX70rLHL31tbXHIvcub-KLqLeobK2q6trLWWtCjYN9_u0/s1600/geranium-banner.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 92px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538012473600555346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxkfV4xz4gnyvnT0M6Sz4e-LtQHJYaNfeXvsyzkaaw1qUR1vkDyBv2cx5j3Z-I4tuOTeWu3fihobOVNhN290n2KYIi6yzUxYDX70rLHL31tbXHIvcub-KLqLeobK2q6trLWWtCjYN9_u0/s400/geranium-banner.jpg" /></a><br /><br />A few weeks ago, a friend recommended that I read the book <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Noticer/Andy-Andrews/e/9780785229216">The Noticer, by Andy Andrews</a>. I had never heard of the author or the book, but did a quick google search and was intrigued by the description so I put it on hold at the library. I'm now three quarters of the way through it, and have found something that spoke to me enough to have me thinking about it for three whole days, so I thought I'd blog about it, too.<br /><br />The book basically centers around an old man named Jones, and the interactions he has with different people in the community. Jones is a "noticer," meaning he notices things that others don't. He helps them see things from a new perspective. In one of these interactions, he is speaking to a man about how to change his life for the better. He asks, "Five seagulls are sitting on a dock. One of them decides to fly away. How many seagulls are left?"<br /><br />Go ahead, answer the question...<br /><br />The man said four. I thought four as I was reading it, and chances are you did, too. Turns out we're all wrong.<br /><br />"No," Jones responded. "There are still five. Deciding to fly away and <em>actually</em> flying away are two very different things."<br /><br />Think about that for a minute. How many times in life have we commited to something, whether in our minds or verbally, but never followed through?<br /><br />I intend to eat better and exercise more so I can reach my goal weight.<br />I intend to take the time to learn to speak German, the language of my ancestors.<br />I intend to focus on my faith and be a better Christian role model for my friends and family.<br />I intend to explore the possibility of becoming an author to tell our story in hopes of helping another family avoid the tragedy of undiagnosed disease. <br /><br />These are just a few of the intentions that have crossed my mind in the past year (in no particular order). The author goes on to state that there is "no difference between the person who <em>intends</em> to do things differently and the one who never thinks about it in the first place."<br /><br />That's a powerful statement. We all want to do good and be good. We think about the things we can do to help ourselves and our family. We think about reaching out to people in need. We intend to be the best person we can possibly be... but how often do we follow through? It's so easy for life to get in the way and when it does, so many of those intentions fall by the wayside.<br /><br /><em>I was going to, but I just ran out of time. </em><br /><em></em><br />It makes my head hurt to think about all of the intentions I've had over the years that fell to the side to make room for other things - some of which were never intended and certainly not productive or beneficial to myself anyone around me.<br /><br />And as if that's not enough to think about, the author concludes the paragraph by saying, "Have you ever considered how often we judge ourselves by our intentions while we judge others by their actions?"<br /><br />Think about that for a minute.<br /><br />I don't know about you, but I've been guilty of this. I'll see someone, for example, who is over weight eating something that is obviously not good for them, and sometimes will feel pity. <em>Look at that! No wonder she looks that way! </em>Or disgust... <em>Why is she doing that to herself? How dumb do you have to be to choose a box of ho-ho's instead of a healthy meal? </em><br /><br />And then I take my break at work and grab a diet soda and two donuts on my way upstairs.<br /><br />What.<br /><br />No, no, no, it's ok for <em>me</em> to do that, because, see, I usually watch what I'm eating, and I intend on getting to my goal weight! I joined the gym, and intend to work out three times a week! I've already gone twice in the three weeks I've been a member! It's ok, really!<br /><br />Umm, NOT.<br /><br />This of course is a bit of an exaggerated scenario, but you get what I'm saying. Going forward, I intend to follow through more. Perhaps not try to fill my plate so full of intentions, so that more of them can actually stick and come to fruition. Focus on the things that are important, and clear away the clutter of things that truly don't matter.<br /><br />Thanks for the new perspective, Jones.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-50553173726622764322010-11-01T13:10:00.007-05:002010-11-01T15:31:02.222-05:00November Mourning<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghin9gUmlZPD5s6dny8Lig_btx4FPlYDsG-Qj01nL3fU1mTaPWZKwgsjoIoEG9OK41Zj72P-Xd01n2cOT4h9fZy-xGZLyhTeeNE2rdviBISwhru0mNjedon6R_kTaTiwZd226v0JuaQ7Y/s1600/henry+hands.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 286px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534647304449055218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghin9gUmlZPD5s6dny8Lig_btx4FPlYDsG-Qj01nL3fU1mTaPWZKwgsjoIoEG9OK41Zj72P-Xd01n2cOT4h9fZy-xGZLyhTeeNE2rdviBISwhru0mNjedon6R_kTaTiwZd226v0JuaQ7Y/s400/henry+hands.jpg" /></a><br />One year ago today, my little boy was laying on the couch nursing a virus. Little did we know that in eight short hours he would, for all intents and purposes, be gone. I took him to the hospital that Sunday night, and I was there when he started to slip out of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">consciousness</span>. I remember thinking he was just tired, and was having trouble staying awake. I thought the illness may have been making him delusional, so I asked him a few questions....<br /><br />"Who am I?"<br /><br />"<em>Mum.</em>"<br /><br />"What is your brothers name?"<br /><br />"<em>Zack." (he always had troubles with the J part of Jack)</em><br /><br />"<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ok</span> baby, close your eyes and get some sleep. I love you."<br /><br />And that was it. He closed his eyes, and although several doctors at two different hospitals tried for hours to bring him back, he never opened those beautiful bright blue eyes again. We finally succumbed to the truth around noon the following day, and unplugged all of the machines that were keeping him alive. <br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The photo above was taken post mortem by the hospital photographer at Children's Hospital of Wisconsin. He did about five different shots of us holding Henry's hands and feet, kissing his forehead, and of Henry holding a few favorite toys. I had them all framed for my mom, and the frame hangs in Henry's bedroom at her house. A few weeks ago Jack pointed to the photos and said, "Baby Jesus?" I think he thought the photos were of baby Jesus, but maybe his innocent eyes could literally see Jesus in the pictures, holding us close while we tried to pick up the pieces of our life and leave that room, knowing we'd be going home with an empty car seat that would never again be filled with the same bright and beautiful spirited little boy. It has been a year, and I still have a hard time comprehending the weight of it all.<br /><br />The last year has been a blur. Time moved quickly, and for that I am grateful. There are still days that I have to force myself out of bed in the morning, but I do, because there is still a little bundle of energy here on earth who needs me, and I owe it to him to be the best mama I can be. I am determined to give him a good life, despite the emptiness I feel inside. Of course my heart is full of love for Jack - how could it not be. The problem is that ever since Henry's death, I feel as if my heart is missing. I feel as if there is a hole in side of me that never closes. If you think about the old Wile E. Coyote cartoons, there was an episode where the Road Runner shot a canon at him, and the cannon ball went right through him, leaving a big open circle where his chest used to be. He didn't die, or even fall down. He tilted his head down and peered through the hole, and then just continued on with his business. That's exactly how I feel - literally as though a significant part of me was blown away a year ago and yet I don't die. I just keep walking around. It's really quite surreal.<br /><br />There have been a lot of changes in the last year. Death is an interesting thing, in that it takes your world and, like a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">snow globe</span>, turns it upside down and shakes the daylights out of it, so that all of the little bits around you are upturned and float down in a different order. There are hobbies that I used to define myself by that in the last year I have had absolutely no interest in. I figure they settled on the bottom of the snow pile when all of the little snow-like pieces of my life started dropping down around me again. They used to be on top - important - and now they are so far down I don't even realize they are still there. New things have settled on top. Running, patience, cooking & baking, fitness, and healthy living.<br /><br />I have never been a runner. Not even as a child. When all of my friends were running in the park or in the yard, I was in the sandbox. If people were playing a game that involved running, I politely excused myself. I didn't run. Ever. For reasons that I really can not even explain to this day, I decided to start training for a 5K in May. I ran my first 5K the last weekend of July, and my second in August. I now have my sights set on a 5 mile Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day, another 5K through the snow in December, and a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">duathlon</span> in 2011.<br /><br />Why? Well, the best I can tell you is because Henry can't. There are so many things in life that he didn't get to experience. How could I in good conscience sit on the couch and let all of them slip by when I'm capable of enjoying them? It just doesn't make sense. How easy it would be for me to curl up into a ball and throw my hands up in surrender to all of this! You would be shocked if you could fully comprehend what a fine line I walk between sanity and surrender. But every day I crawl out of bed and pray to God for the strength I need to get through that day. One day at a time (as a very wise woman once said). When all of my emotions start crashing down around me, I close my eyes and pray to God, asking him to lift this (insert thought/feeling/guilt/etc. here) from my heart and help me to survive. Thankfully, He does. Every. Single. Time. <br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">There are days when I have to say that same prayer a hundred times, and some when it's only needed once or twice, but without fail I can feel God's presence and power in my life, and for that I am grateful. I can actually remember one of my first thoughts when we found out that we could not save Henry. I thought, <em>thank GOD that I was raised in faith because I don't know I how I would live through this without Jesus</em>. I was reminded of that again a few days ago when I was reading a book about a boy who was in a terrible car accident and the mother presumed he was dead. Her first thought as she got in the car and headed for their Children's Hospital was something to the effect of... <em>he is Yours Lord, and if You need him You can take him, but You have to give me the strength to get through it if You do</em>.<br /><br />Amen, sister.<br /><br />Since Henry's death, there are some things that I can not do. I can not re-visit that weekend. I can not focus on all of the mistakes that were made by our doctors, nor the things that were overlooked through his short life. I can not look at medical records, or bills from those days, stand in the presence of a med flight team in uniform, or get too close to the local hospital that we lost him at. When I do, I feel as though the sides of that hole I described above lose their strength and my whole body starts to cave in on itself. Ironically, these are all the things (with the exception of getting too close to the hospital) that my husband's healing process has thrived on. I have always said that we walk separate grief paths, but hold hands across the middle on our journey. His process is just that - his process. I can't go there. I can't even come close. He occasionally will try to talk to me about something and all I can bring myself to do is raise my hand as if to say, "stop" and shake my head from side. The other day, I was reading some quotes and poems, looking for something to use in our local paper to for a memorial and I found this on one woman's website. I could have easily written most of this myself, and hope it will help give you a better idea of where I am and where I'm going (I deleted a few sentences that didn't apply to me):<br /><br /><em>Life is a Simple Walk in the Woods-<br /><br />I was always told that the 'first year' would be the hardest. I set my sights on surviving through the first anniversary of Ross' death, telling myself that it would all be downhill from there. If I could just keep going long enough to scale that summit! <br /><br /></em></div><div align="left"><em></em></div><div align="left"><em></em></div><div align="left"><em>I was also told that my husband and I would not walk the same path. We started out fine, trudging through the woods, holding hands, telling ourselves that we've been through sixteen years together, we'd be just fine. His path slowly led away from me, but seemed to run parallel for a time - I'd catch a glimpse of him in the woods every once-in-a-while. All of a sudden, his path would cross mine. I'd reach the top of a steep hill and he'd be standing there in my way! More than once, I've had to shove him into the weeds so that I could continue on my journey.<br /><br />Well, then came that fateful First Anniversary. I scaled that mountain! I sat on the very top of that enormous peak, congratulating myself on a job well-done. My husband was nowhere to be seen, I sat there all alone with my pile of Mickey Mouse clothes, little metal cars, well-meaning friends. I had done it! It was incredibly hard work, insurmountable at times, but here I was - still alive, without my child!<br /><br />Without my child! I felt my heart grow cold as I surveyed the path ahead - the rest of my life. The terrain was just as treacherous as the past twelve months!<br /><br />I sat on that peak for quite sometime. I hugged all my son's treasures that I carried with me, his precious memory warmed my cold, cold heart, and I searched for any other movement in the valley below. In the distance, I could see other peaks along my path, some maybe as tall as where I sat. I also began to see tiny clearings where the sun was shining. As my tears slowed, I became aware of other paths winding through the landscape - hundreds of them - each belonging to a different parent. I carefully packed my treasures in my heart, neatly so that none would break, and started running down the hill, headlong into the second year of forever.<br /><br />Peg <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Rousar</span>-Thompson<br />In memory of Ross... </em><br /><br />Another thing I want to address here is for all of you who think about Henry and then wonder whether or not you should tell me. Please, please, do. It may bring back memories that come with tears, but don't let that stop you. Don't be afraid that you might hurt me. It sounds bad, but I hurt either way. It warms my heart to know that others are thinking of him or dreaming of him or writing stories about him or lighting candles for him. It may bring tears, but please know that the good far outweighs the bad in those situations and keep sharing.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The question I am asked most often (besides, "how are you doing?" of course) is whether or not we are planning on having more children. I thought I'd mention that here, too, because I'm guessing that those of you who haven't asked wonder from time to time as well. All I can tell you is that we are open to the plans God has for us. I'm not pregnant, but we're not doing anything to prevent it either (is that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">tmi</span>?). We are also not entirely closed off to the idea of adopting or fostering if a situation presents itself. And, having said all of that, we are also open to the idea of living out the rest of our years as Mum and Pa to no more than the two sweet boys we've already been blessed with. There is a possibility that if we had another boy, he too would have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">agammaglobulenemia</span> like Jack and Henry (or a girl could be a carrier), but we are prepared for that as well.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">A few paragraphs back I noted all of the things I cannot do. I'd like to close with all of the things I CAN do and end on a positive note.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I can remember Henry with love and laughter.<br />I can keep the promise that I made to him at his funeral, and laugh some every single day. </div><div align="left">I can be the best mama my boys could ever ask for. </div><div align="left">I can go on living despite the greatest loss a parent could know. </div><div align="left">I can use my intimate knowledge of grief to help others deal with their own bereavement process.<br />I can do anything I set my mind to, because I truly am surrounded by angels every step of the way, one of which has some of the most beautiful bright blue eyes you'll ever see. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Love to all who've supported us this past year. You will never fully comprehend the impact you've had on our lives, and we are eternally grateful that God has blessed us with each and every one of you.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div>In Him,<br />SarahAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-52250470765134275942010-10-19T23:05:00.002-05:002010-10-19T23:17:13.670-05:00My I Love You<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7PuiO8hiRpV2FCpSrmWirfBDimT2lzR4k2PMuIXK0LBUmV7xY6fj5ORWnP3zPmJUxkEnRP6d-o7YPnUjLg1rXfjP0l6cYTZZoTNehNXepMyfXdbC9IWaXd4CTF9mniIIQ0iQAWIai08/s1600/008+(2).JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529975263507484434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7PuiO8hiRpV2FCpSrmWirfBDimT2lzR4k2PMuIXK0LBUmV7xY6fj5ORWnP3zPmJUxkEnRP6d-o7YPnUjLg1rXfjP0l6cYTZZoTNehNXepMyfXdbC9IWaXd4CTF9mniIIQ0iQAWIai08/s400/008+(2).JPG" /></a><em><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>My I Love You</strong></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">by Maryann Cusimano Love</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your parent; you are my child. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your quiet place; you are my wild. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your calm face; you are my giggle. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your wait; you are my wiggle. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your carriage ride; you are my king. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your push; you are my swing. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your audience; you are my clown. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your London Bridge; you are my falling down. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your carrot sticks; you are my licorice. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your dandelion; you are my first wish. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your water wings; you are my deep. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your open arms; you are my running leap. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your way home; you are my new path. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your dry towel; you are my wet bath. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your dinner; you are my chocolate cake. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your bedtime; you are my wide awake. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your finish line; you are my race. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your praying hands; you are my saying grace. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your favorite book; you are my new lines. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your night-light; you are my starshine. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your lullaby; you are my peekaboo. </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I am your good-night kiss; you are my I love you. </span></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-57023258200653282802010-08-15T08:52:00.002-05:002010-08-15T08:58:50.323-05:00Walk For Hope<table border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" bgcolor="#ffffff"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://smilebox.com/play/4d5467304e5455324d44593d0d0a&blogview=true&campaign=blog_playback_link" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" alt="Click to play this Smilebox slideshow" src="http://smilebox.com/snap/4d5467304e5455324d44593d0d0a.jpg" width="386" height="303" /></a></td></tr><tr><td><a href="http://www.smilebox.com/?partner=aviators&campaign=blog_snapshot" target="_blank"></a><br />Here are a few photos of the 2010 (first annual!) <a href="http://www.wisconsinwalkforhope.com/">Walk For Hope </a>that we participated in this weekend, in memory of Henry. It was a great event organized and sponsored by a family who lost their little girl. Being the first year, there were some organizational glitches, but it just made us want to help more in the future to make this event a great success.<br /><br />Enjoy the pics, and thank you for your continued thoughts and prayers for our family.<br /><br />Blessings,<br /><br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody><br /></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-35026434692207113232010-07-29T23:32:00.003-05:002010-07-30T00:01:37.717-05:00reflecting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5zjCd9Iav_NNmO0VlJjflmI0gskTBuvKcz1fRTxNprYkBtNnPHESF0F9S2y4eH8gzZ6Rcfu1rCFKbbhMADfgZOt3dBFfHbcRzKv956m_tTTKEFyOJOPo1gDez7an9ftRe9Nfllk8Szc/s1600/smiling-jack.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 347px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499552791502299298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5zjCd9Iav_NNmO0VlJjflmI0gskTBuvKcz1fRTxNprYkBtNnPHESF0F9S2y4eH8gzZ6Rcfu1rCFKbbhMADfgZOt3dBFfHbcRzKv956m_tTTKEFyOJOPo1gDez7an9ftRe9Nfllk8Szc/s400/smiling-jack.jpg" /></a><br />I just thought I'd take a minute to blog over here since it has been awhile. I've posted a few recipes on my craft blog in the past few weeks, so if you haven't been keeping up over there be sure to take a peek! I have oodles of recipes that I've clipped from different magazines and publications and enjoy trying new ones. We've been having a bake sale at church every weekend as part of our city's farmer's market, so that has been keeping me busy in the kitchen... and it's a good thing, because I typically just try one piece and then send the rest off before I'm tempted to eat more!<br /><br />Life has been crazy busy lately, but if you ask me exactly what it is that's keeping us busy I couldn't pinpoint anything major. Just the day to day stuff, and keeping up with Jack (whom you see giving you his best, most beautiful smile above! This is a typical scene - smiles and as many toys as we can carry at one time. :) ). Our little boy is quite the handful, and so different from his big brother. Always on the go! Of course we all still miss Henry and think of him daily. My desktop image is a favorite photo of him, and I have a snapshot next to the light on my night stand. I say good morning and good night to him every day, and remind him that I love him. He had three favorite bedtime stories, and I tell one or all of them to Jack every night because I think Henry can hear me, too. Sometimes I sit at the cemetary and tell them to his grave - I have them memorized, you know. I know all about what happens if you give a moose a muffin. And I also can tell you exactly how that duck got stuck in the muck down by the "beep bween mawsh" (i.e. deep green marsh), as Henry used to say. Not to mention how to use your nose to find things to smell (your beak or your snuffle can work just as well)! I can't get past the feeling that this - life - is not how it was meant to be, despite my core belief that everything is a part of His master plan. It's quite the paradox of emotions. *sigh*<br /><br />Darrin and I have worked hard to keep Henry alive in Jack's memory. We show him photos and videos regularly, and Henry is often a part of daily conversation. <em>You like Spiderman? Your brother loved Spiderman! That's something you have in common! </em>Jack will look at the photos on our buffet and point to his brother and say, "N-er!", which is his take on "Henry". :) If you ask Jack what his name is, he will say, "Bee!"... a nick-name Henry gave him when he was born. Then we say, "Or?" and he says, "Zack!" (i.e. Jack). If we ask him where his brother is, he will simply point up to Heaven. It warms and breaks my heart, all at the same time.<br /><br />We are still in the process of choosing a headstone for Henry. And by "we", I pretty much mean me. I have thought long and hard about this, and Darrin and I have discussed all of the options I like (which thankfully he likes, too), but I still cannot commit to one. I tell myself that it's because I want to make sure it's perfect. I look at it like a tattoo. Once you get it, you have it forever (note: it was about eight years between idea and commitment on my tattoo. I like to think things through.). But I wonder if maybe my delay is because that one final act will make everything official... you know, as if it's not already. We are leaning towards a beautiful memorial marker that is a mirage of photos of our boy, but I occasionally go back to the thought of a simple marker that is unassuming and reserved. Because if my boy were given the chance to grow to manhood, I believe that is how he would have been. He would have been humble and sweet and reserved. I could tell all of that in the short time we had him. Maybe a mother just knows? He was so much like his great-grandfather (his namesake). Such an old soul. And maybe that was a gift from God... allowing us to look into those eyes and see so much more than this three years. I don't know, but I like to think so.<br /><br />I still don't understand why all of this happened, and I'm doubtful that I ever will. But I continue to push forward - probably with more gusto than ever, because I feel him with me, encouraging me, driving me, forcing me to be the mum that he saw rather than the one I really was. Because our children do not see what we see. They see all the good. They see someone who makes the sun rise and set, and they think she is almost mythical. If I can live up to a fraction of the worth he saw in me, that Jack sees in me, I'll consider myself a success. <br /><br />Until next time,<br /><br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-16021533285492341422010-07-10T23:14:00.003-05:002010-07-10T23:45:19.134-05:00Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHc4tqdrd-gQIVvjKjbJKqWVnAqXJXnk7anTXpRWmvFOnzJdjpKSTuIxr5Ycn9kFB7YbFsz6kWTRodC9al_XsAtlyqg5ChM5sBH_FtXw09L-U1lH4sBPKrdDdBq5QvL7l1qhbfJ3ceop0/s1600/henry4bday8.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492498826518469122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHc4tqdrd-gQIVvjKjbJKqWVnAqXJXnk7anTXpRWmvFOnzJdjpKSTuIxr5Ycn9kFB7YbFsz6kWTRodC9al_XsAtlyqg5ChM5sBH_FtXw09L-U1lH4sBPKrdDdBq5QvL7l1qhbfJ3ceop0/s400/henry4bday8.jpg" /></a><br /><br />June 23 marked Henry's fourth birthday. Hubby and I went back and forth about what to do to remember the day, and finally decided to spend the day with close friends and family. We had a small birthday party, and asked everyone to bring a gift from the Oshkosh Area Humane Society wishlist. All of the gifts, which included huge bags of puppy chow, cans of cat food, peanut butter, kitty litter, over $50 in gift cards, chewy bones for dogs, toys, etc., were donated in Henry's name.<br /><br />If you are a regular follower of my blog, you know how much my little boy loved animals. I thought this would be an appropriate way to honor him and also help take care of the little critters he (and I - he totally got that from me!) loved so much. My mother believes that Henry is working with Noah in heaven. I like to think he's the right hand man of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_of_Assisi">St. Francis of Assisi </a>(the patron saint of animals). I don't know why I gravitate to St. Francis. I'm not catholic. I really don't know much about the saints. But for some reason this idea hit me with so much clarity on the day of his funeral that I've never been able to forget it. To this day, statues or pictures of St. Francis bring me a great deal of peace. Either way, we know he was smiling that day, knowing he continues to help the "aminals".<br /><br />After lunch and laughter and memories, we all headed out to the cematary where we released four orange balloons - his favorite color. Prior to releasing, we each wrote a message to Henry on the balloons and then sent them up to heaven. It was a beautiful day. Similar to the image of Henry working with St. Francis, very early on in this whole process I very clearly saw myself (I don't even remember if it was a dream or a vision or what) entering Heaven. When I did, Henry met me and he was holding on to oodles of orange balloons. He had collected all of the ones we released as they floated up to him...<br /><br />I don't get these visions often, but when I do I thank God for giving me little pieces of my boy to hold on to. I've dreamt about Henry three times since November 2. In the first dream, we were at a zoo, and he was standing up ahead of me, watching ducks and geese swim in a pond. I called to him, and he turned and the joy on his face when he saw me was truly amazing. He ran into my arms and I scooped him up and held him tight until I woke up. In the second, I don't remember details, only the overwhelming sense that he was with me and he was happy. In the third, about a week ago, I dreamed that the hospital called and told me that it had all been a misunderstanding and that I could come and pick him up and bring him home. It was so real... Once we got him home, we realized that his speech had regressed, but he still knew all of his animal sounds. Go figure. And the duck still said "ba-da-boooo!"* :) That last one still makes me cry, because I'm sure you all know how much I wish it were real. Unfortunately, it's not. But I am confident that he is happy, and safe, and waiting for us with open arms.... and a lot of orange balloons.<br /><br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a><br /><br />* The first cartoon Henry fell in love with was <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/children/jakers/">Jakers</a>. In one episode Dannon, the duck, yells, "STAMPEDE!" and for whatever reason, a very young Henry repeated her by yelling, "BA-DA-BOOOOOOOO!" (LOL!). Every time we watched it, Dannon would yell and Henry would echo. From that day (at about 16 mos old) until he was almost 3, when asked what a duck said the answer was always "badaboo!"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-73299078441156604292010-06-18T14:26:00.004-05:002010-06-18T14:56:27.858-05:00packer backer in training<div align="center"><em>"Hey, Jack! You get to go to Green Bay today and see Lambeau Field!!"</em> </div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4BlpbarXCtU7E1J4GN7lF4Lv04EhyphenhyphenXcNpcOEoXiJHxYRqLinE4sy0cdPiPl-7z6RzjX2IjADpNOMAlcQDUhq07eT1-CmRiWJDk5VO95wUZVqROFxz5zI3LQ6lX28IEstGOVVcuya69I/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484199018578503250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4BlpbarXCtU7E1J4GN7lF4Lv04EhyphenhyphenXcNpcOEoXiJHxYRqLinE4sy0cdPiPl-7z6RzjX2IjADpNOMAlcQDUhq07eT1-CmRiWJDk5VO95wUZVqROFxz5zI3LQ6lX28IEstGOVVcuya69I/s400/009.JPG" /></a> Doesn't he look excited?!</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>"Hey, Jack! Wanna go to Soldier Field instead?"</em><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc8D4zGy1PP7ZBTa-_ZUOcrwdS_H_QR-XNJy99Tv_KlTqBPfsTwB3fN0de3Z4JfpHWzlxv0cw0qDXqHlGlstd4EeXRk0ajzyLnCuaWVZjzv-atT-3N2hbejyp-Gz_yyhoLGoaf8OBZnQ/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484199011803263314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc8D4zGy1PP7ZBTa-_ZUOcrwdS_H_QR-XNJy99Tv_KlTqBPfsTwB3fN0de3Z4JfpHWzlxv0cw0qDXqHlGlstd4EeXRk0ajzyLnCuaWVZjzv-atT-3N2hbejyp-Gz_yyhoLGoaf8OBZnQ/s400/010.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Yeah, I thought not.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">So, off we went to Green Bay. We had to take my uncle back to the airport, and took in a few stores while we were in town. Our final destination was the Packer Pro Shop, where we found a new winter hat for the little guy...</div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNHU6fFSd7NwNo8HpkTp7Z-5ygHmscY7d-hn7-SpNnkgcEWPQli6cW44A1M2lWzKiRUfsuzUBTOgxm1UTLkW0B1gu0i0N9HkNNBh999JZZQPB2jSTYsTofOjntVmL8wSg_-Ie4kn8b3Cw/s1600/packer-jack.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484200855948353634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNHU6fFSd7NwNo8HpkTp7Z-5ygHmscY7d-hn7-SpNnkgcEWPQli6cW44A1M2lWzKiRUfsuzUBTOgxm1UTLkW0B1gu0i0N9HkNNBh999JZZQPB2jSTYsTofOjntVmL8wSg_-Ie4kn8b3Cw/s400/packer-jack.jpg" /></a><br />I'm telling you, had he actually kept the thing on, he probably would own it today. Because I'm just that mean. Heh.<br /><br />After our shopping excursion, we decided to have lunch right at Lambeau at Curly's Pub. Ahh, nothing says football like crappy service and inflated prices. The food was yummy (highly recommend the "Chicken Booyah" soup. Yum!), but that's about all I can say for the place. I'm pretty sure they are under the impression that people will keep them in business solely because of their location inside the stadium so they needn't try to exert themselves with customer service. Like I said though, it was good food and excellent company, so we left happy.<br /><br />It was also Jack's first experience with a booster seat instead of a high chair: </p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKR67RzeXACyvJnAUhTzc-kKuKDhAyOc9T5RRZz-ctxIYSUwbyH0GdDbQgLUqp3vtgC133oitJ7xWW0ZJdTyhlunSRpaPGTaeoJaKZ5wOVql32meRLZmV3nXkpouIyydXW9G0njNj9Pvc/s1600/015.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484198999346617826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKR67RzeXACyvJnAUhTzc-kKuKDhAyOc9T5RRZz-ctxIYSUwbyH0GdDbQgLUqp3vtgC133oitJ7xWW0ZJdTyhlunSRpaPGTaeoJaKZ5wOVql32meRLZmV3nXkpouIyydXW9G0njNj9Pvc/s400/015.JPG" /></a><br />We were seated at a high table, so the chairs were a good three feet off the ground, and Jack was a total wiggle worm so my uncle sacrificed his belt to help control the situation. :) He got it back a little worse for wear (think greasy little fingers that like to explore), but it served its purpose!<br /><br />Finally, here's a pic of my grandma and uncle together. Awwww...<br />We love you, Uncle Donnie!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZU-WgdNagAtra6k6QmtwvZSHNf36whFnIjH4IqnkXErwZBc9kMlqWQUzZFpIENZibMvm674vIUPaTUsJgSqyMTlwcWRgugp4xg7JsCOL4mzVSuB_XaC5Ie6HWWN5dAjX3WMe_k5QQYes/s1600/017.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484198984460007170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZU-WgdNagAtra6k6QmtwvZSHNf36whFnIjH4IqnkXErwZBc9kMlqWQUzZFpIENZibMvm674vIUPaTUsJgSqyMTlwcWRgugp4xg7JsCOL4mzVSuB_XaC5Ie6HWWN5dAjX3WMe_k5QQYes/s400/017.JPG" /></a><br /><p align="left"><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" /></a></p><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-77069697791593192642010-05-28T21:52:00.002-05:002010-05-28T22:13:06.311-05:00three mothers, four generations<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjej8e1RhC84chVyVd6ZhDHXMLqP7VBL7AQzIiy_51PHZbxgD_cQD6005JFmrTofdV5STOmf3ksl9mrf4UfsNs7H1nVRpytALxxAnG7ZumXr8hlU4VMAxYqO_upXmsB4DiHk09-3c1p6dY/s1600/four-gens.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476519751733545954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjej8e1RhC84chVyVd6ZhDHXMLqP7VBL7AQzIiy_51PHZbxgD_cQD6005JFmrTofdV5STOmf3ksl9mrf4UfsNs7H1nVRpytALxxAnG7ZumXr8hlU4VMAxYqO_upXmsB4DiHk09-3c1p6dY/s400/four-gens.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I caught some flack recently for not blogging lately. *ahem*. I can't say I have an exceptionally good reason for my lapse... I just haven't been blogging. I've been keeping myself busy with choir, dance rehearsal, and reading. I thought I'd take a minute to post a new picture for you all, and give you a little update on our family.<br /><br />The picture I have posted above was taken on Mothers Day this year... all four generations on the maternal side of my family. Mothers Day, as always, was pretty low key this year. I'm sure people wondered how I was doing that day, given the death of our son in November, but I did ok. I find that I do well in the times when people would expect me to break down, and then break down at random times when it hits everyone out of the blue.... Except that I don't think I've ever been with anyone during one of my breakdowns, so many people think I don't have them. Well, they'd be wrong.<br /><br />The pain of losing a child is deep, and I'm certain it will never leave me. I do my best during the day to stay strong for Jack's sake. My mind wanders to Henry frequently, but I will myself to think of the happy memories we had, and not about the last few days of his life. If I allow myself to reflect on those days, I feel myself sliding down a slippery slope of regret, self blame, and despair. It's not a pretty place, and deep in my heart I know that I am a good mother and did all I could for my son, however it is hard to not reexamine every little detail. Maybe if I had pushed harder here, maybe if I had taken this more seriously, maybe if I had prayed harder then. Maybe, maybe, maybe. In the end, those thoughts get me no where and serve no purpose so, as I said, I don't linger on them. I choose instead to focus on the wonderful days I had with my precious boy, the glory that beholds him now, and the day we will all be reunited again in God's kingdom.<br /><br />Although there are many things to be sad about, there are also many things to give thanks for. Jack continues to blossom into an amazing little boy, and thrills all of us daily. He is so much like Henry, yet so different. It's amazing to see the similarities and contrasts as he grows. His vocabulary is expanding daily, and although he's clearly pushing his limits as well as any two year old would, he is also developing a softer side that allows for snuggle time and kisses that melt me. He is my saving grace.<br /><br />The mister and I have been spending some time re-examining our diets in terms of what kinds of foods we are eating and where those foods are coming from. We've been transitioning to more whole foods and much less processed food. We've cut out soda entirely, as well as other artificially sweetened drinks and are moving towards more organic produce, dairy, etc. We're looking forward to the bounty of locally grown produce that comes with summer, and are visiting the first farmers market of the season tomorrow in Berlin and Princeton, WI. Jackie got a new haircut today, so we might have to take the camera along and make some stops for a few bloggy photo ops!<br /><br />Stay tuned!<br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-28741715073929978102010-03-09T08:25:00.003-06:002010-03-09T08:31:25.015-06:00my mom is a survivor<div align="center"><em>My mom is a survivor,<br />Or so I've heard it said.<br />But I can hear her crying at night,<br />When all others are in bed.<br /><br />I watch her lay awake at night,<br />And go to hold her hand.<br />She doesn't know I"m with her<br />To help her understand.<br /><br />But like the sands on the beach<br />That never wash away -<br />I watch over my mom<br />Who thinks of me each day<br /><br />She wears a smile for others,<br />A smile of disguise.<br />But through Heaven's doors I see<br />Tears flowing from her eyes.<br /><br />My mom tries to cope with death<br />To keep my memory alive.<br />But anyone who knows her knows</em></div><div align="center"><em>It is her way to survive.<br /><br />As I watch over my mom </em></div><div align="center"><em>Through Heaven's open door...<br />I try to tell her that angels<br />Protect me forevermore.<br /><br />I know that doesn't help her...<br />Or ease the burden that she bears<br />So if you get a chance, go visit her...<br />And show her that you care.<br /><br />For no matter what she says...<br />No matter what she feels, </em></div><div align="center"><em>My mom has a broken heart</em></div><div align="center"><em>That time will have to heal. </em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>~Author Unknown</em></div><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" src="http://img519.imageshack.us/img519/2504/blogsignatureclearbackg.png" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766062457190617390.post-47226569769695552602010-03-06T00:21:00.004-06:002010-03-06T00:28:27.510-06:00pearls make the man<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOG7ZixwGoFsmEoO7FI1chGyDP73tbOoUxujBX0ohNLpvuLdbK4TMyJxw9dz255FnV488EjsAG4ZR5qyfUVRaUPT24j-pDoyHtOyCl5q3JtZZJm3xzSeW9-cNU1FwCWU8nSkVOiLEyD8/s1600-h/pearls.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445402377906619250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOG7ZixwGoFsmEoO7FI1chGyDP73tbOoUxujBX0ohNLpvuLdbK4TMyJxw9dz255FnV488EjsAG4ZR5qyfUVRaUPT24j-pDoyHtOyCl5q3JtZZJm3xzSeW9-cNU1FwCWU8nSkVOiLEyD8/s400/pearls.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When I was a child, I had a cat named Fluffy. She was a long haired angora and was... well... Fluffy. Hence the name. *wink* For entertainment, we would take the ring from a jug of milk and tie a string to it and the Fluffster would chase me around for hours while I dragged that ring on the floor behind me. No one told me I was practicing for parenthood, but as it happens, Jack will react the exact same way when I drag a strand of Christmas tree pearls behind me! LOL!<br /><br />He was absolutely fascinated with these pearls, and they kept him happy all the while I dismantled my Valentine's tree last month (yep, you read that right. I had a tree full of hearts and pearls. I know. You don't even have to say it.). After I gave them to him, I realized that it was probably not the brightest idea I've ever had (hello! choking hazard!), but I watched him like a hawk and scooped them up as soon as he was distracted for a second. In the meantime though I got a ton of great blackmail pictures. hee hee. Nothing like a shirt full of tools, some camo pants, and a string of pearls. I'd say that outfit's complete!<br /><div><a href="http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/Sairabee/?action=view&current=familyblogsiggy_edited-1.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" src="http://img519.imageshack.us/img519/2504/blogsignatureclearbackg.png" border="0" /></a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12676494062578216098noreply@blogger.com3