Monday, July 17, 2017
I do bulk cooking to save a bit of money and hassle and usually have a freezer full of the same meals that we can just pull and heat and eat. I'm tired of those. I'm tired of our usual recipes. But I'm also stupid picky so trying new stuff almost always involves some kind of recipe editing.
So, in an effort to shake things up a little, save some money by using what we already have and only have to buy a few things to finish off, and to eat maybe a little healthier (ok, so not too much but at least without lots of unpronounceable ingredients) I've been cooking dinner from "scratch" at least once a week for the past month or so using some of the many recipes I've got stashed all over.
We've had mixed results.
Asher is even pickier than I am. He eats zero vegetables willingly. I eat like 6 so I can't fault him too much. He hasn't liked much of what we've had that's new, so I make sure to throw in an old standby periodically so we know he's eating at least once a week.
I've messed up a couple things. I've underseasoned (I weirdly HATE tasting what I'm cooking. I can't explain it, I just don't want to do it. If Austin's around, he's my taster.). I've over cooked. I've had to cut meat in half to get the middle done in time to serve it with the rest of the meal because the rest was cooked to the point that it was almost mush.
We're all surviving. And we're saving a lot on food.
We buy gift cards through the church for restaurants then we end up eating at other restaurants and buying tons of groceries and snacks and wondering why we have spent $1000 on food this month. Now, when we want to eat out, we try to use those cards. It's pre-paid for food, and we pre-paid so long ago it feels like free food.
I quit buying lots of snack foods and chips so now the kids are actually hungry at dinner and typically eat an actual meal instead of 20 packages of fruit snacks or 15 cheese sticks or half a bag of chips. I do still buy cheese sticks because that's an easy quick snack for me while breastfeeding, but since none of them can open the packages by themselves, I can control how many they get. This backfires because I get snacky late at night and toast gets real old, as do cereal bars, granola bars, and cheese sticks. Sometimes I just want a handful of chips or Oreos or something.
Tonight we had tacos and met with mixed reactions. Asher didn't like them at all. Eden wanted to eat the meat out of the shell with her fork, then when we tried to dump the meat on the plate for easier access, flung the shell around so now there's meat chunks on the floor. Elijah ate 2. Austin had 4 1/2 and I had 3 1/2. Most of it we had on hand. $1 for some shells and a couple bucks for sour cream (which I'll use the rest of for something later next week) and some veggies from the farmer's market and we had a nice meal.
For dessert, we're making a cinnamon roll cake that I had all the ingredients to on hand and have been wanting to make for a while. I just hadn't gotten to it because buying a cake or some cupcakes or whatever is so much easier, but it usually doesn't taste as good. We'll see how this tastes. We did edit the recipe a bit: it called for plain icing and we made cream cheese frosting, because cream cheese frosting makes pretty much anything better.
A benefit of this method of feeding my family, besides the whole saving money thing, is that Elijah wants to help. He wants to learn how to make things, specifically cake. He wants to pour the eggs in and watch it mix up. He wants to watch me spread frosting on cake. He wants to know how to make his favorite things. He's slowly getting interested in making dinner, too. I'd love to raise kids who know how to cook and cook well and cook more than one dish well. Or at the very least, kids who know how to follow a recipe and adapt it as needed.
The cinnamon roll cake is now out of the oven and the house smells amazing: cinnamon and cream cheese and sugar. We're going to let it cool a little before digging in and it'll be another thing that brings us all back together around a table, enjoying each other and our food.
At the end of the day, that's the best part. We sit together and eat. It doesn't matter if I made it from scratch or if Austin picked up a $6 hot and ready from Little Caesar's on the way home. Eating together with my family is my favorite part of any meal. Except when food goes flying and wails of anguish rise up because I'm making someone eat something they don't like. Life is hard, y'all. Especially when you're 6.
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
One of the questions on one of the forms I filled out asked if I worried about Asher's relationships with other kids his age (or something along those lines) and it got me thinking.
Austin pointed out that he's not really in touch with many of his high school friends, and even fewer than before. Really, the childhood people he's in touch with are all from boy scouts. The friends that we have kept up with more are the college friends and people we met after we moved to Abilene. And even then, we're extremely homebody people so we don't have lots of friends (loads of acquaintances, but that's different). He didn't see the fact that Asher doesn't have any friends as an issue because he's not still friends with anyone he was friends with at 6. He doesn't even keep in touch with them on facebook. It concerns me because I AM still friends and keep up with people I was friends with at that age.
Kristen and I met when we were about 5. I assume. That's when we were in kindergarten and when I started piano lessons. I don't really remember NOT knowing her. We went to church together, school together from Kindergarten through high school, we had plans to live together and be in each others weddings, raising our children side by side.
We definitely have had our ups and downs as any 27 year relationship will. We've argued, we've disagreed, we've hurt each other's feelings, we've been distant for years at a time, but we've always managed to come back to each other after a while. I wrote a post about it a few years ago, lamenting the fact that it had been so long wince we'd been back that maybe it was over. Kristen saw it and we had a lot of talks and are back, though being in our 30's with families we'll never be back to where we were as teens or even 20 somethings. Kids and families can really get in the way...lol
In spite of the years apart, we, I feel, easily slip back into the comfort of our relationship. We know what we did before that hurt the other, so we try to avoid those mistakes. We cook for each other, we are an ear for each other when our families are driving us nuts or when something exciting is happening, we're a shoulder when something terrible is happening. We get together with our mess of kids and husbands and eat big meals then shoo the kids away to play card games.
Things can still be rough. Scheduling is a nightmare, since we both have lots of extended family in town and there are other obligations we have to church and work. When we do get together, there's the whole trial of "oh lord, what do we cook to feed this mob of people we're in charge of that everyone will eat and isn't too hard to make?"
Relationships change as we age, we both get that, and we do grieve the relationship we had as teens. We'd get together and cook or bake something, then sit on the roof of the carriage house and eat and talk for hours. Our biggest worries were tests and classmates and siblings. Our worries and locations have changed, but our main activities haven't. I have to make myself leave sometimes because I could sit and talk for hours. The funny part is I'll wonder what we'll talk about before we get together and then we're standing at the door for 20 minutes talking 5 hours later as one of us is trying to leave. Everything and nothing, that's what we talk about.
I'm looking forward to raising our children together. So far, they're all still young, so we're in the trenches together. Coming soon is school aged kids together, then teens together (lord help us), then empty nesting together. Maybe someday a vacation together (with or without kids, I'm flexible).
That's what I want for my children: relationships to last their whole lives. Relationships with ups and downs, sure, but with love at the heart of them. Relationships where it doesn't matter what you might disagree on or where you might end up, you still gravitate back towards each other. I want my kids to have friends who they can raise their babies with, friends who will pick up the wrapping paper at their kids birthday party while they dish up dessert in the kitchen, friends they can call on when they're moving or need help for whatever, friends who will come to their house and not judge them for the grease spatters on the stove, the dirty dishes in the sink, or the dirty floors and children. Friends who will just show up to eat good food and play games and ignore the kids in the other room screaming (mostly happily) and playing. Friends for a lifetime.
It doesn't hurt to have a lifelong friend with a pool who's happy for you to invite yourself over once in a while. Or who's a fabulous baker and willing to "share" the extra/messed up cupcakes with you. Or who gets the silly thrill of saying Streusel Berry Apple Bars. ;-)
Sunday, June 18, 2017
When my dad died, Mom gave each of us something of his. My brother John got a Father's Devotional book of some kind and when he flipped through it, he found a list of ten things a dad should do. I have a scanned pdf of it, but I don't know how to convert to a jpg, so I'll just transcribe it below. I'm not sure if he came up with it himself or if it’s part of the devotional book, but these were words he lived by and I think it made him an excellent father....but then I might be biased.
9. Leave the back door open and the light on. A lifelong commitment to being a dad. Be sure they are welcome home. - Luke 15:20
8. Cry when you leave home. Don't be afraid to show your emotions. - Gen 45:1,2; 46
7. Teach your kids to work hard. Lead by example. II Thess 3:10
6. Marry off your kids many times. Be actively concerned about your kids' future spouses, no matter what age. - Gen 24:3
1. Wear a cowboy hat. Be yourself within God’s freedom.
I think those are the references. Some are hard to read on the pdf. I feel like Dad managed to exemplify these traits.
Dad liked chocolate a lot, but I think he would have rated his children higher than two pieces of cake in one day. He loved us and our spouses and our children tremendously. More than that, though, he loved our mom. He made sure we saw that in a lot of little things he did for her, the courtesies he extended to her, the affection he felt for her. It was so much a part of our daily lives, I can't think of many specific examples other than him squeezing oranges for fresh orange juice for her periodically. He wrote her some pretty mushy letters when they were dating and engaged and some sappy (though not too terrible) poetry after they were married.
That was a good thing for a father to do. It gave all of us an example of what to look for and be in the future. He may not have consciously done it thinking about the example he was setting, but just because hey, he loved this woman he'd married and had all these kids with and why WOULDN'T he want to show her how he felt about her? That is the best example, the one where it's not a pre-planned thing, just a natural, instinctual part of life.
So to all the dads in my life, raising your own children, raising someone else's, stepping in to help out adults who aren't your kids but are kids to someone you love, doing it with a partner or doing it alone, Happy Father's Day. It’s a pretty thankless job sometimes, so I'll say it today: Thank you for loving us, your wives and the mothers of your children and your children. Have a neck tie and a beverage of your choice. And maybe a piece of chocolate lava cake. Or two.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
The burden of thought, very basically, is the fact that women know/do everything in the home. We know when the doctor's appointments are, we know how much toilet paper we have and where it is, we know what's in the pantry, we know who the teacher is and what kind of drink she likes from Sonic, or if she prefers Starbucks instead, we know what's going on with our kids and what time of day is their best. We know everything and do everything. Men don't for the pure reason of not being there when things are scheduled or purchased or revealed.
This has led to the social view of men being helpless dolts around the house and women being the frazzled "how does she do it all" mature one of the relationship. Men are children and women are the long suffering adults who got suckered into spending their lives raising their children and cleaning their homes.
This is wrong. Men are not HELPING around the house when they pick up their laundry or wash dishes or put children to bed. They are being a part of the household. I don't care if he works all day and she stays home or vice versa. The house has to be cleaned periodically, the children have to be tended, the food cooked, the laundry washed. It all has to be done and just because he works outside the home and provides the finances to keep the family going does not give him a free pass to do nothing.
Austin read an article about the burden of thought and asked me about it. It hadn't occurred to me that he just didn't know these things and that he might want to. We keep our communication lines pretty open but we still have times when we miss something, like all couples. We talked about how I'm the one who's always making lists of what we need to take when we go on a trip, I'm the one making all the plans for the weekends when we do something (like CALF...that weekend was planned out weeks in advance, then altered slightly Thursday night and again Friday night....all by me), I'm the one planning all our meals and shopping for everything. Austin never hesitates to run to the store when I've forgotten something or to pick something up whenever I'm just wiped out and too tired to cook. He's not "helping" exactly, he's being a member of the family. He and his children need to eat and if I wasn't there, he'd have to do it on his own.
For a couple of years now, I've sent Austin a weekly email with our schedule for the upcoming week so he knows what's going on while he's working. Sometimes it's packed full of school and doctor's appointments and outings around town. Sometimes there's nothing but praise team practice. He likes knowing what's going on so if there's a day that's going to be particularly busy for me and the kids, he knows that maybe that's a day he can take over and "help" me. Since things have been changing on short notice recently we got the Cozi app and started using that. Austin can pull up the calendar and see what's up that day at a glance. It has a place for grocery lists, too, if I need him to hit the store so I don't have to go with 1-4 children in tow.
Writing this I've had to stop myself from typing "help" a lot. It's so ingrained in our heads as women that men are helping us it's hard to get away from that. It's even Biblical that we are helpmates to our husbands, though it seems that women have had some pretty difficult tasks historically, what with raising children, keeping vegetable gardens, cooking, cleaning, making clothes, etc. Almost always in long skirts and long sleeves. God bless the women before me. I'd not survive without my leggings and tank tops and a/c in this Texas heat. My generation hasn't seen it much in the previous generations. I remember my dad reading to us and occasionally cooking breakfast (always on Mother's Day, though) but that's about it. He wasn't even a grill kind of dad. He worked a lot of long hours so he just wasn't there for that kind of thing, but he was there for us in other ways. It seems that most dads of my peers were like that.
I'm getting off track.
The main purpose of this is to say: I'm trying to relinquish some of the load, but it's tricky. For 9 years of marriage, my "job" has been to run our household. And Austin was my assistant. When kids came into the picture, he stepped up, almost eagerly, to do more. He has always taken the diaper changes when he's home and most of the feedings in the evenings once they're on bottles. He does bath time and bedtime and playtime and clean up time. He's really the parent in charge in the evenings. I'm the back up then. He's in charge of dinner on weekend nights when we don't have something planned. He gets that I need time away from my kids to be a good mom so he doesn't mind when I run away to play with my friends at 8pm and don't come home until midnight. I don't ask his permission, but I check to make sure he's got the energy to parent solo for the evening or that he didn't have plans or a thing he wanted us to do as a family. He's taking over more with the boys when it comes to travel plans. We sit down and discuss day by day what we'll be doing and eating and he takes on some of the tasks. I'm apparently too much of a control freak (who knew?) that I can't give up complete control of things, but he's ok with that. Sometimes he needs a reminder or a little push.
We're both learning how to share the load and it's trickier than you might think, but we'll get there.
Disclaimer: this is not to say ALL men are clueless at home. Some are very hands on and stand shoulder to shoulder with their wives or partners in the trenches of young childhood. I'm just speaking in general and personal terms. 😊
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
I remember him making a valiant effort to be at every school event and piano recital that I participated in. When he wasn’t there, I bragged to the other kids that my dad was off saving lives.
I remember him only having to spank me once. I don’t remember what I did but I was more shocked by the fact that he hit me than by anything. I knew he loved me and that I had earned this punishment and that I never wanted it again.
I remember his reading to me all the time. The only stories I remember specifically were Little Monster’s Bedtime Book and the Chronicles of Narnia. Once a friend came over early for my birthday party and we were reading. She curled up on the other side of Dad and he read to both of us until the party started. She told me later she wished her dad would read to her and I realized I had something special. I was 7.
I remember falling asleep in the car on the way home from anywhere and waking up in his arms as he carried me inside. I loved it so much that I would sometimes pretend to be asleep just so he would carry me. I hated when I got too big for him to carry me anymore.
I remember him getting us up for school in the morning, flipping on the light in my room and telling me it was time to wake up. When I got downstairs, he’d usually have breakfast ready to go, either oatmeal or cereal or if we were really lucky, French toast. He’d go outside to warm up the car when it was cold outside so we didn’t have to shiver on the way to school. We’d listen to NPR and classical music on the way and he’d talk to us about the things going on. When we carpooled with the Kings, we listened to the kids’ station with silly goofy songs and I realized my dad wanted me to learn about the world around me and know about classical music.
I remember him driving us to school and listening to the announcement that Bill Clinton had been elected president and asking if Dad voted for him. He told me it wasn’t generally something a lot of people felt comfortable talking about, but no, he didn’t vote for him. He also pointed out that it didn’t matter that he hadn’t voted for him, he was still our president and thus deserving of our respect.
I remember hating playing the piano, but loving how proud it made Dad to see me playing in recitals and the goofy faces he’d make at me through the doors to the music room.
I remember playing two duets with him: one as an awkward adolescent and the other as a frustrated teenager. I never told him how much I valued that I alone of his children got to do that with him.
I remember as an older teen dreaming of weddings and happily ever afters asking what his favorite song was. We were listening to Natalie Cole’s album “Unforgettable, With Love” and he told me he really loved the song on that cd, Unforgettable and explained how Nat King Cole died and that Natalie had taken old recordings of her dad singing and had turned it into a duet. He thought about it for a bit and told me that his all time favorite, though, was The Way You Look Tonight. We danced to that at my wedding.
I remember when I was about 12 we were home alone, just the two of us, for a weekend. It didn’t happen often, so that was kind of special in itself. We went to bed early on Saturday because he was driving me out to Girl Scout camp in Sweetwater the next day. In the middle of the night, there was a loud crash that shook the whole house and woke us both up. I thought there’d been an earthquake or something but the big tree in the back had fallen over into the courtyard. It was like walking in a tree. Dad was relieved no one else was home because Caleb would have gotten scared and Mom would have been blocked in. I was just relieved it didn’t hit the house.
I remember several times being told I was his favorite. I always teased that Cari was the favorite because she was chosen and he got stuck with the rest of us.
I remember once my dad describing feeling real joy as he held one of his children moments after birth and my mom asking if that’s why he named her Joy. I wondered if secretly I’d been the favorite all along.
I remember being shocked when I saw him lying in a hospital bed all hooked up to wires when he had his brain aneurysms. I couldn’t believe this fragile body belonged to my dad. It never seemed very real to me that he could die. He was dad: he was going to be around forever.
I remember being frustrated that he wasn’t the same after and wishing he’d just go back to normal.
I remember being angry that I could only take two classes at Abilene High so that I could take care of Dad after school while Mom worked.
I remember feeling guilty at how relieved I was when other people stepped in and helped and feeling like I let Mom down because I didn’t help enough.
I remember taking racquetball as a PE course for distance learning and Dad doing that with me. I wasn’t very good because I was afraid of getting hit by the ball.
I remember taking physics in high school and absolutely hating it because I didn’t get it. Dad was frustrated with that since he loved physics so much and had advanced degrees in it. He would sit with me for hours and try to explain it and eventually I would get him to do the work for me. He’s the main reason I passed the class.
I remember him taking me on a real date when I was about 15. We went to the Olive Garden, we played putt-putt and we went to a movie. He told me I wasn’t a cheap date and that any guy who didn’t want to spend the money wasn’t worth my time.
I remember getting ready for the few dances I went to in high school and Dad saying ‘Wowwee!” every single time.
I remember how much he loved astronomy and how he tried to teach me about constellations. He would take me star gazing whenever there were meteor showers. We made it a semi-regular date and I’d make grilled cheese sandwiches and hot cocoa and we’d sit on the car and look at the stars and talk. To this day, the only constellation I can find on a consistent basis is Orion.
I remember my senior prom and how excited Dad was that I had an actual date. He told me that if Charles knew anything about anything he’d bring me an orchid. Dad was so proud when Charles showed up with a beautiful purple orchid wrist corsage.
I remember him being proud of me when I graduated from high school, but that pride was tempered by anger at my cousin and my brother disappearing right after, causing us all to be delayed getting home.
I remember him trying to help me with my college math classes and finally accepting that I couldn’t do this advanced stuff, that my brain was better at the social studies than the sciences.
I remember him meeting my first boyfriend and telling Mom he was a fine young man.
I remember his disappointment when I broke up with that boyfriend.
I remember him trying to like the next guy I brought home and not succeeding.
I remember him helping Mom and her siblings pack up their parents’ house and grumbling at the stupid Christmas tree I wanted so much, but bringing it along just because I wanted it.
I remember graduating from college and his pride that I had done it and with some honors.
I remember his frustration when they called me Talitha Jane.
I remember him helping me move to Austin. He grumbled about the tree again. He helped move the furniture out of the house in Lubbock and into the apartment in Austin. I remember dealing with two flat tires and the hurt of my roommates seemingly not caring that I was leaving, but knowing that my dad would always be there for me.
I remember Dad was always there when I moved: into the house in Lubbock, to the apartment in Austin, to the first apartment in Dallas, across the complex to the second Dallas apartment, and to the house in Carrollton. He grumbled about the Christmas tree every time and always offered to throw it away for me.
I remember the way he would say “Choooclaaate.”
I remember him telling me not to smile or my face would crack into a million pieces and how 99% of the time I smiled.
I remember he called me Tali-poo and Brown Crested Speckled Thumb Sucker.
I remember getting in trouble on our family trip to the four corners and my punishment was having to sit up in the front with Dad overnight and keep him awake. We watched the sunrise over the desert and it was beautiful. He asked me to write him a poem about it and I did. I'm sure there's a copy of it somewhere.
I remember how much he and Tigger hated one another.
I remember him repeatedly telling me it wasn’t too late to back out, that they loved Austin but they loved me more and I should do what was right for me.
I remember his pride and loving support as we planned the wedding and I struggled with work stuff.
I remember being sick the week before the wedding and him driving to get me milkshakes every day because it was the only thing I wanted and the only thing that tasted good. He frequently got the wrong thing, but I loved it because I knew he did it for me.
I remember his pride as he came to get me to walk down the aisle.
I remember every time I cut my hair for Locks of Love he would frown. He loved my hair long but would always tell me how proud he was of me for donating my hair to others.
I remember one last “Wow!” kiss before getting married.
I remember him asking me if I liked chicken and when I asked why, he stuck out his arm and said “Take a wing.”
I remember writing my Daddy Folio letter and agonizing over it for a couple months, wanting to get the words just right.
I remember him blessing me at my wedding, though I was too emotional to really hear the words.
I remember him holding me tightly as we danced at the reception, like he didn’t want to let me go.
I remember waffling between several songs for our dance and settling on his favorite.
I remember telling him I didn’t have a gift for his birthday, but that I wanted to go bowling with him and him telling me his knees were too far gone for that anymore.
I remember asking what he wanted for Christmas this year and him telling me he just wanted everyone there. I told him this Christmas was with the Mullins but that next year would be with the Walkes and I’d most likely be pregnant. He was indignant that my child’s first Christmas would be with his OTHER grandparents and not him.
I remember my brother asking me if I was sitting down and then telling me our father had died. I didn’t believe him and he had to repeat it before my mom finally came on, sobbing, and telling me he was gone. It’s still not real.
I remember the last time I saw him, cold and still and looking completely surprised. I lay across his chest and wished that he’d hug me back.
I remember Rosetta holding my hand and telling me how he would talk about me all the time and how proud and excited he was about what I was doing with my life and how when I was little, he’d always tell her to make sure I ate when he dropped me off at her house in the mornings.
I remember being incredibly angry when Luke sat in Dad’s chair that night. He wasn’t family and he was intruding.
I remember agreeing with my sister when she said he was a beautiful man and deserved beautiful flowers.
I remember crying as I realized he would never play Fur Elise again and wanting to play it for him one last time.
I remember being amazed at how I didn’t cry during my eulogy and that I could get through my piano pieces and thinking “I don’t want to play any more after this.”
I remember being angry that outsiders to the family were taking his belongings. I wanted to rip the owls and everything out of their hands and scream that they didn’t deserve this and they should get the hell out of my father’s house.
I remember the first time it hit me that my father would never see my children and how much I cried that they’d never have their granddad read them a story.
I remember the last time I held him on this earth. I marveled at how greasy the ashes were and how much, and at the same time how little, there were. I cried as I let the last of his ashes be washed from my hands and wished I was hugging him instead.
I remember seeing my niece being born and thinking “She’s late because he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.” I was angry again that she’d never get to know him.
I remember the regret hitting me that I’d never played the Moonlight Sonata for him and that he never knew how much I loved playing for him.
I remember thinking this would make me feel better instead of making me hurt more.
Added in 2017:
I remember how exhausted and sore and overwhelmed I was with Asher as a newborn and how much I wished my Daddy was there to give me a helping hand.
I remember how that happened again when I was overwhelmed with two little boys and one of them needed hospitalization when his little brother was only 3 months old.
I remember when we got Eden's diagnosis wishing he was there to hold my hand while Mom held the other one.
I remember each birth feeling all over again that he would have been so excited to be there.
I remember how much he loved learning whenever Asher asks a "question about life."
I remember how much he loved to read to his grandkids every time I see Papa read to them or hear them demanding at least 3 books from Austin every night.
I remember how helpful he was to my brothers with their kids whenever Papa Bob is just as helpful with mine.
I remember how much I loved him and how much he meant to me when I see how my kids "other" grandfathers have stepped in to fill the void he left behind.
I've finally gotten to the point where it's more bittersweet than bitter. Yes, there are still tears. Yes, there is still that ache and that dismay and even sometimes that anger, but it's better. It helps that Allen is SUCH a present grandfather. Eden changed his name to PopPop and he's going with it. It may have just been for Memorial Day weekend, but if it's a permanent change, he's fine with it, just like Dad would have been. It also helps that Bob is so eager to be helpful and useful he's almost TOO much at times (and I mean that in a good way). Picking up Asher from school, taking the boys to McDonald's so I can get a break, rewarding them when they've done well and giving them a talking to when they haven't. He's relaxed into his role as their grandfather on my side of the family, and I'm thankful for that.
Some days are hard. Some days are easy. It's just the way life goes.
Sunday, May 21, 2017
In those eight years I've missed him tremendously. I've missed him when I moved. I've missed him when I was sick. I've missed him when I was pregnant and birthing babies. I've missed him when I needed help. I've missed him when I've eaten chocolate ice cream. I've missed him when I drive past McDonald's. I've missed him when I see the constellation Orion. I've missed him every time I've seen an elephant or an owl. I've missed him when I've wrapped up in the last Christmas gift he gave me, a woven blanket usually on the back of my red chair.
I miss him in the big moments and in the small ones, like hearing Rebekah laugh for the first time, or Elijah reading a word seemingly out of nowhere to ask what it means. I really missed him with all of Eden's medical stuff.
Here's two secrets in relation to Dad that I don't tell people often:
1. I know most babies do it, but whenever my babies stare at seemingly nothing and grin, especially when they're little, I pretend it's Dad making faces at them. It makes me feel a little better about him missing out on their lives.
2. Rebekah's middle name, Joy, is in his honor. He named me Joy, and she's named after me AND him.
Eight years down and (hopefully) fifty to go.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
She still has the hole, but it's not anything anyone is concerned about. Mom and the midwives listened for it very carefully the night Rebekah was born and didn't hear anything. When I mentioned that to Dr S, she said its because the pressure in the lungs and the ventricles hadn't evened out (or something along those lines) so that makes this type of VSD very hard to hear at the beginning. It's apparently there, but faint. Not like Eden's.
We're going back in a year to check in on it. I'm not sure how long it should take to close, but Dr. S fully expects it to close on its own without needing any surgery, which we like to hear. It will get louder as it closes (think of a water hose when you put your thumb over the opening) but that'll be a good sign.
So it was a relatively pain free appointment. I say relatively because our part we had to pay was nearly $3500. We get reimbursement from Austin's work but still. Gah. Plus two hours at the hospital for an appointment is never fun. All the staff at the cardiac clinic were asking about Eden and were both bummed and excited that they don't get to see her until December.
It looks like we'll have two girls with annual cardiac appointments for a while. It's not too terrible. Everyone loves Eden, so that makes it a little easier. I'm sure over time they'll come to love Rebekah, too. Because she's just adorable. But I may be biased.