BATGIRL!

How could I help but laugh out loud when I picked up Hannah from school today...and she looked like this! Life's little pleasures. :)

An Unusual Date (Rated PG-13)

Recently Carl & I went out on a date. We planned to go to an early movie, then have supper--at a restaurant where someone would wait on us, keep our drinks filled & clean up the mess: HEAVEN! We watched Bourne Ultimatum, a movie based on a novel by one of my favorite authors, Robert Ludlum; and pigged out on popcorn and nachos. Completely stuffed with popcorn and junk food after the movie, we opted to skip the restaurant supper, but we didn't want to waste our babysitter time by going home. What to do in Pittsburg, KS on a Tuesday night???


Carl and I celebrated our fourteenth wedding anniversary this past August. We stopped trying to impress each other before the turn of the century...for the most part. Frankly, I'm thankful for that ease & comfort...at least most of the time. This comfort allowed us to trade our restaurant ambiance for Wendy's take-out in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Can you say redneck? That decision resulted in more entertainment than we banked on.


Immediately upon pulling into our front-row, handicap parking space (ah, the benefits of chronic illness), we witnessed a police officer handling a hit-and-run. When that resolved, we turned our attention to the people coming & going, half of whom were talking on cell phones or blue tooths. What did we do prior to cell phones? I watched one couple pull up in a minivan with their two-year-old daughter. Sporting his blue tooth, "he" stood back smoking his cigarette while "she" procured a cart, loaded the child into it and pushed the child into Wal-Mart. The reverse occurred when they returned from their shopping, mom pushing the cart full of kid and sacks of stuff. Mom unloaded the stuff, buckled the kid into the car seat and put the shopping cart away. Dad drove them off. What a man.

I looked over at Carl with new appreciation.


Next is the PG-13 part of today's entry:


We watched as an elderly woman pulled into the handicap parking space directly in front of us with her 80- or 90-something husband. She walked into Wal-Mart while he waited in the car. About ten minutes passed while we crunched our salads and watched people come and go. The elderly man then exited his car, where he stood in our direct line of sight with his car door open and commenced babystepping in a semi-circle and fumbling with the front of his clothing. This continued for about five minutes, which doesn't sound like much, but really is when one is trying to watch someone without appearing as if she is. Finally, the gentleman...um...how do I say this...SHOULD I say this... relieved himself. Right there in front of us, with his back to us of course.


What a date. We got more than we bargained for, but all-in-all we enjoyed ourselves.


This reminds me of my FIRST date with Carl...well, sort of. We met one summer day when I visited my brother where he worked for Carl in Wichita. Carl later asked me out--to the boat races being held on the Arkansas River in Wichita that weekend. I agreed (obviously) and remember being semi-impressed that he had invited me to do something other than dinner and a movie.

Life has been interesting ever since.

Potty Time!

BEEP! BEEP! BEEE! BEEP! B33P! BEEP1

That's what I'm hearing right now and, no, it isn't my wake-up alarm. (I left the typos because I'm barely awake yet, still on my first cup of coffee, and that's how well I'm typing.) I am going through an "early-riser" phase, though I know it won't last. Nevertheless, even on a Saturday morning I am up before 7:00.

That sound is our "potty time" alarm. During the first weeks of school we often forgot to have Hannah, ahem, go to the ladies room before leaving for school, which resulted in "accidents" at school. To solve the problem I purchased a $5 digital alarm clock radio, placed it next to the microwave, and set the alarm for 7:15/daily. When it goes off, everyone in the house yells, "Potty time!" Hannah runs through the house hollering "Pah-ee time! Pah-ee time!" after which she actually does, ahem, potty. In the pot.

About once every season I come up with an idea that actually works. This one has been a jewel...except on Saturday morning, when we have forgotten to turn off the alarm, my medicine & coffee haven't kicked in, and my body aches too much to set aside the laptop or book I'm reading and drive my electric chair (wheel chair sounds so old-lady) to the kitchen.

So, here I sit, enduring the beep beep until Carl emerges from the shower to turn it off. Hannah did the potty time dance and still here I sit. I hear Hannah pushing a chair up to the microwave and fumbling with something, attempting to gag the grating noise and still...here I sit.

I don't deserve full credit for the potty time alarm. My sister, Ashley, suggested I set an alarm for ten minutes prior to departure-for-school time so that everyone could walk out the door composed and prepared for another day. Being the superior parent that I am, I didn't need an alarm for this purpose [snort], so I improvised and used it for Hannah. It's almost like "pARty time" every morning at the Solomon house. Almost.

Oh, thank-yuh, Juheesus! (I don't consider that taking the Lord's name in vain: I haven't been this thankful in a loooong time). Carl killed the beeping AND brought me another cup of coffee. It's time to start another day.

Plan B

As I went to bed last night, I had big plans for today. I planned to go to Joplin and take care of the many little things that have accumulated over a month or so: return some curtains to JCPenney, purchase building project stuff from Lowe's, drop off at Goodwill, do my "big" shopping at Wal-Mart (yuck), etc. etc. Because the girls don't have school today and Carl has the day off, I planned to get an early start and make a day of it. I even thought I might catch a chick flick at the $1.50 movie theatre.

I awoke achy, tired and unrefreshed with an almost imperceptible tickle in my throat. After a couple of cups of coffee, I got dressed and organized for my trip, hoping that movement would produce momentum. No such luck. I'm getting old enough that I no longer know if my fatigue is caused by the RA or aging. Either way, I know my body well enough to know that if I push now, I pay later. The overcast sky, the drizzly day and the fifty-ish temperatures all conspired with my physical condition to keep me at home.

Plan B. Yesterday I made a crock pot full of beef-vegetable soup. Today I poured some of it into a thermos, cut up two green apples, and took it all to my bedroom along with caramel apple dip and a pitcher of water. I already had my book club book (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou) waiting there for me along with my laptop. I changed from my town clothes into a pair of five-year-old sweat-pants-capris, a long-sleeved t-shirt and cozy, dorky-looking socks. Because I do FLYlady (see flylady.net) and her focus was the master bedroom zone this past week, my night stand was clean, the bedroom floor was uncluttered and the room was orderly and peaceful.

I only had one problem. Did I mention that all three girls AND Carl were home today? Any mom knows that it doesn't matter how peaceful a room is if she is interrupted every fifteen minutes with a question, a problem or even funny information. I just wanted to be left alone. I have to give Carl credit for suggesting I do this:

This is my bedroom door (ignore the fingerprints and whatever-else-that-is). Too bad Hannah can't read.

Today Carl has built a fire in our fire pit for the girls to roast stuff in and has set up a movie for them to watch in the Tahoe (yes, the Tahoe...anywhere but in the house is OK with me). I plan to spend the day curled up cozily in bed practicing the three R's: reading, writing and resting.

Awards Assembly Day

Today's blog entry will be the equivalent of a verbal home movie, except you aren't stuck in the room with me, the movie reel operator, so you can turn this off at any time instead of politely acting interested.

As most people know by now, I home schooled Katie and Hailey until this year. In January, 2007 we were academically "behind" and I gave myself through the summer to not only catch up, but to have a sense of routine, of enjoying school. Well, as of July Hailey was mostly caught up, though she still had some holes in her education. On the other hand, Katie and I were butting heads on an almost daily basis (especially in math), she was not caught up and "joyful" was NOT an adjective I would use to describe our schooling. More and more I felt like I was doing many things, but doing none of them well. Something had to give.

I struggled with the idea of putting the girls in public school for a several reasons. First, I sincerely believed I had been called to home school them...even before they were born. Was I suddenly not called? Had I been wrong that whole time? If I was wrong about that, what else was I wrong about? Second, I was concerned that they would be too far behind academically and therefore be outcasts. Would they fit in? Lastly, I feared what everyone would think of ME for allowing them to be so far behind. The last ten years of my life centered around being a mother and a teacher. Was I about to be ratted out as a failure at both?

Because I hadn't met my end-of-the-summer goal, I placed them in public school. I thought about giving myself one more school year. However, if I failed after that year, I would be placing Katie into middle school. Having been a middle school girl once myself, I have the right to say: middle school girls can be plain mean. I wanted to give Katie at least one year to adjust and make friends before dealing with the hormones and hoopla of the pre-teen years.

The first nine weeks have come to a close and today I attended my first ever awards assembly. I wonder if the teachers could see a bright glow emanating from my end of the bleachers. I'm certain I lit the place up with my pride...if not with the flash from my camera. Speaking of my camera, it makes a sound every time I take a picture, a sound that I'm certain annoyed everyone around me before the event ended.

Here is where my "movie" begins. Following are the awards Katie and Hailey received:

Katie received an "Honors" certificate for having a GPA between 3.5 and 3.9 and Hailey received "High Honors" for earning a 4.0 (did you catch that? 4.0! OK, OK, so it's fourth grade, but still...!)

Katie wants to be a writer, so she was especially excited to receive her class's ribbon and recognition for her writing skills. She also received her class's ribbon for being the most-improved in math, an award that eased this mother's mind more than you can know.

Katie received a "bronze club" AND a "double bronze club" certificate for already earning 32.3 AR (Accelerated Reader) points. She claims she wants to make it to "diamond." Hailey received a "bronze club" certificate for earning 16.5 points.

Hailey received the Citizenship award for her class, a special honor awarded to one student from each classroom. With each award, the teacher presenting the award had wonderful things to say about each child.

Finally, their principal, Miss Hofer, called them to the front together to present them with "Principal's Award" certificates for "Adjusting Well to Neosho Heights." She explained to the crowd (I say "crowd"--I mean the 3rd-5th graders and about 15 parents) that Hailey and Katie had been home schooled and had done well making the sometimes-difficult adjustment to public school.

The recognition was heady and the girls came home giddy with excitement. "You should have seen the look on my face, Mom!" (Did she not notice I was there???) And when the neighbor girl came over, "Come and see my awards! Miss Hofer called us BOTH up to the front!" In the wonderful world of parenting, most days are the "same ol' same ol'": Meals, laundry, homework, routines, chores, sibling rivalry, bedtime. Yawn. Today has affected me much like a home movie. As I watched I thought, "Look how much they've grown!" and "Maybe I haven't done such a bad job after all."

While I have made it a point to enjoy every moment of this day, I am also cautious. Recognition is to me like helium to a balloon: it makes me float, but it won't keep me alive. I need the oxygen of knowing who I am regardless of what others think. I know from my own past experience that I will breathe in helium, talk funny and act ridiculous if I don't keep myself in check...a trait I hope NOT to pass on to my children. I feel silly saying that today was one of the best days of my life, but it's true. Each time the girls received an award, I felt like I was the one receiving it. For that, I’m grateful to the teachers and staff at Neosho Heights. Now, however, I return to meals, laundry homework, routines...

Project Limbo

Three years ago I decided I wanted a sign on my porch that said "Solomon's Portico (Acts 5:12)." When I explained it to Carl, he offered to make it for me, though I fully intended to purchase the sign. At the time I was relieved because I didn't know where to have a sign made and I didn't want to spend a lot of money. The following sign scenario epitomizes the sequence that the Solomon family takes when embarking upon any new idea. It can be summarized like this:

Angela imagines it, Carl offers to make it, Carl "improves" it then begins building the "improved" it ... it remains indefinitely incomplete. (I sound like an e-bay commercial).

We have many such items around here, including one HUGE, incomplete 2000+ square foot building project, which began in 2000 or 2001...it's been so long, I don't even remember.

In my mind, the sign was simple: words painted on wood, hooks on the back, hang it on the brick, end of story. In Carl's mind, the words were cut out of the wood, then mounted on a frame with plexiglass behind lights that lit up the sign at night. Of course, no simple switch would work. He needed a photo-eye that automatically turned the sign on at dusk. Did I mention we don't have electricity hooked up to the sign's brick wall?

Back in 2004 Carl excitedly began the sign, cut out the letters, mounted them to the frame and...there he stopped. The sign became one of many its in project limbo.

Eureka! After 14 years of marriage I have discovered the secret to releasing its from project limbo: arrange to (gasp) PAY someone else to do them. So far in 2007 alone I have rescued under-the-house water lines (which have needed replaced for over a year now because they were causing a water-leak line under my kitchen linoleum), a bathtub installation, part of a gutter project and now my Solomon's Portico sign from project limbo. I'm certain I've forgotten something.

As for the sign, I had arranged to order my sign through my mom's uppercaseliving.com home party. The party closed yesterday. Upon telling Carl Friday evening about my impending purchase, he replied, "But I almost have that sign finished out in my shop."

I said, "I'll make a deal with you. If you have that sign finished, hanging and looking nice by Sunday, I'll cancel my order." Keep in mind, we're talking a $30 purchase here, well under our if-it's-over-$150-we-talk-about-it-first purchase rule. I held no animosity. I simply had found, after three years, the means of making the sign at a reasonable price.

Carl worked diligently Saturday and Sunday, running electrical lines, painting, drilling into brick and finally hanging the finished sign, complete with neon-like lighting that allows you to read the sign from blocks away. Mom asked me if I liked it.

Pausing a few moments, I answered, "It's not what I originally pictured in my mind and I prefer the font we had chosen from uppercaseliving.com. But my new sign symbolizes so much: Carl took my idea and brought life to it. He added his own touch, then built it just because I wanted it and for no other reason. I could have a fancy, perfect sign from a store, but what I have is so much better. Plus, it gives me hope for all my its still residing in project limbo."

Read on for more on "Solomon's Portico."

Solomon's Portico

As mentioned in my previous blog, Carl made a sign for my front porch that says "Solomon's Portico (Acts 5:12)." Portico means porch in some other language, don't ask me which one. Following is the Bible passage from which I took it:

Many signs and wonders were done among the people at the hands of the apostles. They were all together in Solomon's portico. None of the others dared to join them, but the people esteemed them. Yet more than ever, believers in the Lord, great numbers of men and women, were added to them. Thus they even carried the sick out into the streets and laid them on cots and mats so that when Peter came by, at least his shadow might fall on one or another of them. A large number of people from the towns in the vicinity of Jerusalem also gathered, bringing the sick and those disturbed by unclean spirits, and they were all cured. (Acts 5:12-16)

While I don't intend to advertise my home as a place of miraculous healing (though that would be really cool), I like to think of it and hope to make it more of a healing place: a place where friends and family can come in, have a seat and a snack and hopefully leave feeling in some small way happier or more rested...provided they don't mind the mess.

Yesterday I had my first visitor since the hanging of the sign. My friend had been through a difficult, busy week followed by an unrestful weekend. Did I listen quietly and offer support? Sadly, no. I listened briefly and instantly interrupted with a comment about my "I Want a Wife" blog entry and my own tales of woe.

I guess that goes to show you that posting a sign on my front porch, sporting a "Jesus" license plate (which I don't have, by the way) on my car or wearing a cross necklace does not make me a good Christian. I need to work a little harder on my actions and less on my looks.

Gratitude and Humor

This is my first of two blog entries today.

Ever since trying and failing to publish a poem in sixth grade, I've thought that I would publish something "someday." Next June I turn forty, that imaginary line in the middle of our lives where we issue ourselves midterms grades. I realize "someday" needs to get here or I'll receive an F in at least one subject. I began blogging as a step in that direction, deciding that at the very least I will compile the stories of my children's childhoods and "publish" a book just for them...probably not before June, though.

Often I feel led to do something--like blogging--for a specific reason. However, once I'm into the process of that "something," I realize my original reason wasn't the only nor even the most important one. (That idea could be it's own blog). As I've blogged more-or-less consistently the past month a serendipitous second reason has surfaced: gratitude and a sense of humor have grown inside me--for my family, for my circumstances, for the little things of every day. Why? Because I watch for them, then I focus on every detail so that I can better write about them. We all know what happens to the things on which we focus: they grow.

I've tried keeping a gratitude journal several times in the past, but that never "did it" for me. A list of good things isn't substantial enough to compete with the fourteen other lists I keep on paper and in my head: to-do lists, shopping lists, pathetic score-keeping-with-my husband lists. In contrast, blogging forces me to be in the present, to completely experience each memorable moment, then to re-experience it at the computer keyboard. I guess I don't have to make my thoughts public. I publish my blogs, though, because I appreciate the comments and the feedback, both of which make me a better writer. And that takes us back to paragraph one.

So, now that I've told you all how grateful I am, I'm going to publish this post and write the second blog of today that is screaming to get out of my head and into the internet.

I Want a Wife

This is my second post this morning. The first one balances this one out a little...I hope.

The title says it all: I WANT A WIFE! I want someone who loves and cares for my children as much as I do, feeds them nutritious meals at set times of the day and helps them with their homework. I'd like someone to pack my lunch, change the toilet paper roll and notice that it's time to schedule another dentist appointment, doctor appointment and hair appointment, then actually schedule them and write them on the calendar. After that, she could get started on the eleven loads of laundry that accumulated over the weekend and check the pantry before she goes grocery shopping.

My wife could taxi the kids to school, girl scouts and piano lessons and pick up twelve messes before hubby returns home to ask why mess number thirteen is all over the kitchen floor. This evening she could cook supper while simultaneously answering two separate homework questions and deciphering Hannah's unintelligible sentence that MUST be acknowledged to avoid total meltdown. After supper she would ensure that everyone had clean clothes and bodies, did their reading and went to bed at the actual bedtime. Really, I want a wife.

Come to think of it, Carl probably wants a wife, too. Hee hee.

You've Come a Long Way, Big Girl

As Katie, Hailey and two neighbor girls ran giggling out my front door, Hannah ran up to me and said, "Pay ahsyee. Me too!" (Translation: Play outside. Me too!)

"Alright, Hannah, but you have to put on shoes and socks," I told her, assuming she would lose interest while dressing.

"OK!" Hannah said excitedly and hurried into her bedroom. I continued cleaning the kitchen until I heard, "Mom! Mee-ooh. Hep me peese. Buhts" (translation again: Mom! Come here. Help me please. Boots.")

When I found Hannah in her bedroom she had changed from her weather-appropriate sweat pants and long sleeves into the stylish ensemble you see here.



I'm including this second picture because it more clearly shows the entire "look," except it's blurry.

" 'Mon mom! (come on, mom!)" Hannah pleaded, so I disregarded my kitchen work (she really had to twist my arm), grabbed my camera and cane and headed outside. Hannah and I matched each other perfectly playing hide and seek. She could count to twelve, which took just long enough for me to hobble behind a bush, trying not to use my cane because it's sound would give me away, and yell, "Ready or not, here Hannah comes!" She called for me, I answered, and she SQUEALED with delight, moving ever closer to me. Once she "found" me, she belly laughed and ran away, then turned and said, "One more"...at least seven more times.

My heart overflowed for so many reasons. The obvious: I laughed out loud at her outfit. It's the look that makes mothers smile while strangers wonder. But a deeper story of gratitude begins with those boots. Grandma Janis bought those boots for Hannah last Christmas. I picked them out, thinking they would be perfect. However, once Hannah put them on, she couldn't walk. Because of the Dandy-Walker, she wasn't a very dandy walker and couldn't keep her balance with those clunky things on her feet. So, winter 2006-07 came and went without wearing the boots.

But today began a new chapter in the boot story. Hannah didn't just walk in those boots, she RAN. She jumped off of four-inch curbs with a single bound! Those boots helped me remember how far we've come, how long it took Hannah to crawl, then to walk. Now she runs and climbs. Just a few months ago Hannah barely spoke individual words. Now she attempts complete sentences. I marvel at her persistence and wish I could somehow intravenously inject her patience...as well as a little of that energy.

Today, in the midst of difficulties, diagnoses and meltdowns, laughter reigned. Hannah, you've come a long way, big girl. I'm so proud to be your mom.

Feeling Philosophical: Compassion & Understanding

I met Lou Ann Duffy while I was a nineteen-year-old college sophomore. Like some kind of freaky foreshadowing, Lou Ann had recently been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (RA) while I was at the prime of my health. We attended the same Catholic university, lived in the same dorm and both of our boyfriends were in rock ‘n roll bands out of town, which meant we both left town each weekend. We became friends as a result of all we had in common, but our similarities ceased at gym class. While I did high-kicking aerobics with the rest of the class, she marched in place. While we ran, she did small range-of-motion exercises. We KICKED-two-three-four! She streeeeetched.

I remember talking with her late into the night, a conversation during which she tried to describe RA to me. I thought, “What a whiner. You look fine. Suck it up.” Early RA is cruel. It gives you invisible, debilitating symptoms while leaving you looking outwardly as healthy as ever. I transferred to a different college before I developed RA myself and lost touch with Lou Ann. She never knew I became sick.

Everyone who goes through chronic, difficult circumstances asks the same question at some low point: Why me?... I don’t have the answer to that question. But I do have twenty years of hindsight that have taught me to view life more as “cause and effect” than as “why or why not?” I don’t know why your child became ill or why her husband died. I don’t know why I have RA. But I can see the effect those circumstances have had on people. I have seen people become bitter. I have watched others blossom with faith. Still others ride a rollercoaster down to despair and back up to faith over and over again. Personally, I’ve experienced all those effects...and more. Today, my mind has wandered a crooked line straight to compassion and understanding.

In hindsight, my early twenties were the perfect years for my personal life lesson of compassion and understanding. I was old enough to have done lots of playing: playing the piano, playing tennis, playing college intramural sports. But I was also old enough to have developed opinions and judgments. The homeless needed to work harder. People with messy yards were apathetic. Untidy homes equaled laziness. If you were sick, you hadn’t taken satisfactory care of yourself. Overweight people just needed to push away from the table sooner. I had your basic bootstrap mentality: everyone needed to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.

Those memories of the twenty-something Angela clarify the evolution of my compassion and understanding. Now when I hear that someone has been diagnosed with fibromyalgia or any other invisible, but painful disease, I give them the benefit of the doubt. Twenty-something Angela would have been skeptical, just as I was with Lou Ann. When another friend, who also has RA, arrives at church with greasy hair and a wrinkled skirt, I realize she must be having a particularly painful morning (try scrubbing through hair with knuckles that feel like fire). Twenty-something Angela would have judgmentally been aghast. When I haven’t heard from a friend in an unusually long time, I now wonder if they are experiencing difficulties. Twenty-something Angela would have taken it personally.

Recently I spent time with an acquaintance who is especially concerned about appearances. In the last decade she has commented that my moustache has gotten too dark, that my brows need waxed, that I needed to hold my stomach in, that my bed needed made...you get the idea. This particular acquaintance definitely does not know how it feels to make the decision of whether or not to shower for the day based on how exhausted one feels after showering.

After spending WAY too much time feeling hurt (boo hoo) by her latest remarks, I finally asked myself, “Why do I care so much? Why am I expending so much mental energy on such trivial issues?” Especially when I know this person is not spiteful or mean-spirited and probably sincerely believes she is doing me a favor.

Compassion and understanding. My acquaintance is extremely healthy, her children are healthy, she is financially successful, she always looks terrific—on purpose. Her biggest complaint is that her family is too busy, a complaint that she prefaces with, “I really don’t have room to complain, but...” She knows her life is good. I would have it no other way. However, compassion and understanding are muscles that are built on the weight benches of trials and hardship, unless one builds them through intentional practice. She and I haven’t been using the same weights, so her statements seem to stem from judgment.

I sound like I’m tooting my own horn. I hope not. I see the speck in my eye as I look at what I perceive as the timber in hers. My argument against her is inherently flawed: I claim compassion while not really knowing and having compassion for the difficulties she probably is silently experiencing in a world completely outside of my own...her own “weights.”

So, for everyone going through something difficult...and that would be just about everyone...allow your difficulties to create compassion and understanding. You will probably never know "why"--the cause for your challenging circumstances--but you can decide the effect. My acquaintance is beautiful on the outside. But I am so much more thankful for--so much more aware of--the beauty of friends and family that reaches out from the inside.

What a Morning!!!

You would not believe the morning I had. First, understand that the Solomons have the "Evening Routine" so that morning school preparation goes somewhat more smoothly. Included in the evening routine is "Pick out clothes, socks, shoes and undies for tomorrow." This step is as much for me as for the girls because I'm notorious for allowing them to run out of clean clothes, a problem I can't easily solve one hour before school begins.

The weather has gotten colder, so the girls are wearing some of their new pants for the first time. Katie waited until this morning to complain about her pants...while I was trying to make lunches from nonexistent ingredients (because they had previously been pilfered from the refrigerator), fix breakfast, holler at Hannah to leave Hailey alone, all the while weaving (well, as well as I "weave") my way around the mess I had left last night when looking for a missing check register. (You know: every box and drawer had thrown up their contents due to my manic hunt & I went to bed without cleaning up). Katie's complaint? Her pants whooshed when she walked. I just couldn't find it in myself to care at that particular moment.

Once the girls biked off to school, I returned inside and opted to procrastinate picking up a little longer by showering first. A few weeks ago I "splurged" and purchased Neutrogena facial wash for the shower. I just hate spending that much money on a face cleanser, but I did. This morning when I pumped it into my hand, it splattered onto the wall. Seeing the dime-sized portion of face cream, I thought, "Oh no! I can't waste THAT!" So I quickly rubbed it off of the wall onto my undereye area. It only took my eye one second to realize it was TOOTHPASTE! My eye burned for the next ten minutes. By the way, how did a blob of toothpaste that big get that high up on the shower wall??? I'm sure if I ask, we'll discover it was "invisible Hannah."

I next discovered that the girls weren't the only ones to have trouble finding clean clothes to wear. Plus, I hadn't finished my book (The Out-of-Sync Child) for Hannah's therapist appointment today. Time to finish everything was closing in on me. Where was that book???

I threw a load of clothes into the washer, put together a deposit for the bank (to avoid an otherwise-impending overdraft), realized I had waited one day too long to post a credit card payment, and left for the bank. Spotting Sheri's vehicle at her aunt's real estate agency across from my bank, I pulled in there after making my deposit to procrastinate yet some more and to enjoy what I knew would be a funny time. I was not disappointed.

From that point forward, my day improved. I laughed out loud several times with Sheri and Susan, went to lunch with a friend in Missouri, had a good therapist appointment with Hannah and received the good news about Keaton. Life is good.

Yes, Megan, Miracles DO Happen (prayer request update)

I called Dad today about Keaton (see prayer request blog of October 9) and Dad's exact words to me were, "You're not going to believe this, Angela, but the tumor was benign."

Benign.

After the goose bumps settled out of my skin and I finished whooping joyfully, I asked Dad why the doctors thought it was cancerous in the first place. They hadn't done a biopsy, had they? No, they hadn't done a biopsy, but the tumor had cancer-like tentacles, so they assumed it was cancerous. They've removed the tumor (without shaving Keaton's head, by the way) and Keaton is already acting like Keaton, so I'm told. The eleven-year-old returns home in ten days.

Now that I've had time to process all of this, I've considered Dad's statement above. Actually, I DO believe this. I DO believe in the power of prayer. I can't say that I understand why these prayers were answered while other equally-powerful and worthy prayers were not, but I am still uplifted.

So, Keaton, if you ever read this...God must have something pretty important for you to do.

For everyone who prayed...thank you. You know what? God has something pretty important for us to do, too.

Two Steps Forward & One Step Back--Literally

After several conversations with Sheri, my new unofficial expert on sensory issues, I have decided to pick Hannah up from school rather than have her make the 30-minute ride on the big, yellow school bus. We agreed that the loud WAAAAHHHMMMMM of the bus coupled with the rocking, swaying and general child craziness probably resulted in sensory overload and contributed to her daily meltdowns.

SUCCESS! For two days, anyhow. Hannah had no meltdowns after school, though she did still have a couple of fits later in the day involving bedtime, eating or some other change. I am encouraged.

Yesterday was my one-step-back day. She had multiple meltdowns and the slightest thing set her off several times throughout the day. If nothing else, I am becoming an officiando on self-control and patience, not my previous fortes. I can also count to ten quite efficiently...maybe I should begin counting in other languages just to give a little variety to the situation. Ha.

We tried to make a trip to the grocery store for ingredients for homemade sweet and sour beans in the crock pot for supper. We made it the four blocks to pay the water bill (due yesterday) and I realized I would be nuts to try to take Hannah through the grocery store, unless I REALLY wanted to practice my newfound gift of patience. Instead, we returned home, I put the screaming, biting, rolling child to bed and decided on plan B: frozen chicken pot pies.

The day continued with helping a crying Katie with her homework while Hannah generally annoyed her and we all waited expectantly for Papa Carl to come home and save us with his humor.

The day concluded with two glasses of wine and a zombie hour in front of the television. This was not a day I'm particularly proud of, but I'm posting it because it's truth. Some days we just do what we can to get through the day without damaging any relationships or saying something we will regret. In that light, yesterday was a success and today has dawned fresh and new.

Prayer Request

My day started on quite a down note. My Dad's fiance's 11-year-old grandson, Keaton, has been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. His operation is scheduled for Thursday in Atlanta, for which the prognosis is not good. The tumor has attached itself to the brain and the doctors fear they will not be able to remove all of the cancer.

Eleven years old...Katie's age. That's mighty close to home.

But God is mighty, too. I say, "Prognosis Schmognosis." Let's pray and prove that oh-so-literary statement true.

Thanks guys.

One Full Weekend

OK. I am officially fried. While Mom visited this past weekend, we updated Katie's & Hailey's room. Mom painted a glaze over their very "Sunny Bell" yellow walls, we painted the trim (color name: Accolade), painted some tall, narrow knick-knack shelves & hung them on the wall, painted one closet, painted both closet doors, installed a new door & door knob, (Carl) built two 12"x12" night stand shelves which attach to the bunk beds, laid down two 5' x 7' rugs to make one large 7' x 10' carpet...what else am I forgetting?

I allowed Hailey to play computer games endlessly (usually limited to 20-minute increments). She and Katie were "bored" because they didn't have access to their bedroom, so even Katie, the self-professed computer hater, was laughing while watching Hailey play a Veggie Tale internet game. I knew Hannah was in the livingroom with them, so I let my guard down.

Let my guard down. Did you get that?

While Carl, Mom & I were busy in the girls' bedroom, we heard Hailey holler, "Hannah! What are you doing with glue on the couch?!" Hannah had found and dumped a bottle of Elmer's glue onto the couch while Katie and Hailey played on the computer twelve inches (yes, inches) away from her.

"How could you girls miss that?"

"We couldn't see her!" they insisted.

What is she--invisible?

Wait...the mystery is solved!!! You know how there is an invisible person who leaves the lid off of the milk, or leaves the door open or a light on...it's HANNAH! We just can't see her!

Considering the amount we accomplished, the resulting fatigue, and the general lack of attention given to children (or anything for that matter) during major projects, the glue incident was minor. All went well, no police were notified and I love the results.

On a more thoughtful level: I am blessed, blessed, blessed to have such a giving mom and husband. Rheumatoid arthritis limits my ability to do the kinds of things mentioned in the first paragraph, but you would never know it by looking at the beautiful bedroom. I join with the newly-painted trim, giving them "Accolades." OK, that's a little lame, but there you have it.

Reading & Reading & Reading & Sanding

This isn't going to be much of a post. Some books I ordered from amazon.com arrived, so when I haven't been sanding the woodwork in Katie's & Hailey's room (in preparation for the arrival of Grandma Janis, wonderworker extraordinaire), I have been voraciously reading about Dandy-Walker and Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Boring to you, maybe, but fascinating to me! Remember the upsidedown puzzle I mentioned in my last entry? Some of those pieces are flipping over.

When Hannah was younger, my friend Sheri commented on numerous occasions that Hannah is very "tactile." I remember being puzzled every time Sheri mentioned it, which was fairly frequently. Aside from hating to wear polyester shirts in the summertime, I'm decidedly UNtactile. Who knew there was an entire group of people out there who chose their clothes based on the "feel" of the material as much as the appearance of its design??? Certainly not I.

As it turns out, Sheri noticed something about Hannah that I didn't even KNOW to notice, but her experience has given me a greater understanding as I progress through the puzzlement. Isn't God good--providing a friend with that particular understanding at that particular time of my life.

I intend to finish the book recommended by Hannah's therapist, The Out of Sync Child, before Hannah's next appointment (this Friday Oct. 12), so don't be surprised if you don't read much here before then...although I want to post an update regarding the aardvark...I mean deer decoy.

Hannah

I've struggled the past few days with deciding how much to write about the difficult side of Hannah. It's so much more fun to laugh at her antics and ignore the trials, at least on this blog. However, if some day someone stumbles here who is also struggling to meet the demands of a child with special needs, I want them to know they are not alone, they are not crazy and life is still rich and full and beautiful.

Hannah was the easiest infant of my three daughters, but has--by far--become the most difficult to decipher. Though she is not a "problem" to be solved, some days I do feel like I'm putting together a puzzle with the wrong side up.

Hannah attends a preschool comprised of 50% "model" children and 50% special-needs children. She loves circle time and play time, though she has become easily distractable during seatwork. She's rarely (I wish I could say "never") defiant at school. More often she's loving, affectionate and outgoing. She loves school, looks forward to it every day and, as I have personally observed, she is comfortable and content there.

Home has become another story. Hannah now has daily "meltdowns" right after school as well as over the weekend, during which she bites herself, bangs her head (we have holes in the sheetrock to prove it) and generally goes berzerk. We have tried ignoring her, assuming it is a phase, putting her in time out, rewarding her, redirecting her...I think we've tried it all. At least all that I know...which is far from everything. We are not models of consistency, but Katie and Hailey were raised in the same environment and do not even REMOTELY behave this way. Frankly, if truth be told, Hannah is in a better environment, as Carl and I have settled into married life and parenthood and have gained...at least I HOPE we've gained...some wisdom and ease over the past eleven years.

If Katie and Hailey were not the people that they are, I would be questioning myself as a mother...more than I already am. Have we done something wrong? Is some kind of food sensitivity contributing to this? Should she have another MRI? Is this part of Dandy-Walker? Does she just need a swift kick in the *$!?

Does anyone know the number for the nearest mental health facility? For ME, not Hannah.

I have taken Hannah to a therapist four times now. The therapist, Rachel, has given us a possible, unofficial diagnosis of...get this..."Sensory Integration Dysfunction." They have a name for everything. I feel a littly psycho taking my 4-year-old to a therapist, but the fact remains that Hannah is hurting herself (biting herself until she bleeds on a regular basis, leaving her body open to infection, among other things) and I am not strong enough to physically chase her or stop her. I hate admitting that I need help.

So, there you have it. For those of you reading my blog for some daily levity, I apologize. For anyone who some day reads it for solidarity or assurance, know that you are not alone, you are not crazy and life is still rich and full and beautiful.

Easter, 2007