Kaya's JDRF Walkathon T-Shirt

Here are images of Kaya's T-shirt that she personally designed for her JDRF Walkathon!

The shirts are $15 each, and ALL profits to Kaya's walkathon donations! Please let me know your size when you order.

If your would like to order, please contact me via either Facebook or email: familyd@hotmail.com

I will take your information and send you payment delivery information. Thank you again for your support!

Front

Back

Kaya modeling her shirt! 

Kaya's JDRF walkathon fundraising

Hello Everyone!

This is just a update to let you know what we are doing over the course of the next three months to add to our fundraising efforts. Please feel free to take part in some of all of these fundraisers to help Kaya raise as much as she can (she would like to earn the "Golden Sneaker" and raise $1000!).  Then we are walking on April 27th. Anything you can do to help us reach our goals is AWESOME!


Here are our fundraisers. I will update this blog as more donation locations become available!

Donation locations: 
Directly to Michelle or Kaya
online at: http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR/Walk-CA/Chapter-SanDiego4053?px=2520096&pg=personal&fr_id=2190


Fundraising activities:

February: Mary Kay party (at my house and online!) - profits go towards Kaya's JDRF walk!
               T Shirt sales - we should have pics and order info online in the next week!
               recycling Drive - if you live close, let me know when you have a few bags of cans or bottle and I    will collect them from you!

March: Thirty -One bags/totes party sales! - profits go towards Kaya's JDRF walk!
               T Shirt sales - we should have pics and order info online in the next week!
               recycling Drive - if you live close, let me know when you have a few bags of cans or bottle and I    will collect them from you!

April: Jewelry sales - Diabetes Awareness and Kaya's Dove design on custom made jewelry --
           - profits go towards Kaya's JDRF walk!
               T Shirt sales - we should have pics and order info online in the next week!
               recycling Drive - if you live close, let me know when you have a few bags of cans or bottle and I    will collect them from you!

Dysgraphia - What is it?

            My son has terrible handwriting. Not just bad printing, but poor cursive, poor numbers, and difficulty with drawing. He is 12, in 7^th grade, left handed, and until just this past year, printed like a 2^nd grader.  While we assumed it was age and left-handedness that resulted in his poor handwriting, he was finally at an age where some improvement should have occurred. Over the past 5 years, we tried every program out there: Handwriting without Tears (we still had tears), Pentime, PACES. Nothing helped.

And while his cursive is at least legible, it is barely legible, and he hates to write in cursive. He says writing a lot (more than one paragraph) hurts his hand and he would rather print. He prefers mechanical pencils and says the wood ones feel funny, grainy, when they write. Getting him to handwrite a paragraph is like pulling teeth; however, put him on the computer and he could write pages, typing like the wind. What he produces when typing is so well thought out that I can’t put together that this same kid can barely put together a sentence when handwriting. He consistently fails to use caps, periods, commas, and even his spacing strange.

It all came to a head for us early this year in 7^th grade. We were doing a science project and he needed to write a title for it at the top of the notebook paper. The title he came up with was: “The Water Project.”  What he wrote on the top of his paper was: “th  ewat   erp  rojec  t.”  I was horrified. It was time for something more. I hit the internet.

One quick search answered nearly all of my questions. I typed into Google, “poor handwriting,” hoping for some ideas that I had not yet tried. The first listing used the phrase “dysgraphia” - what was that?

According to Wikipedia (2009), dysgraphia is “a deficiency in the ability to write, regardless of the ability to read, not due to intellectual impairment. People with dysgraphia usually can write on some level, but often lack co-ordination, and may find other fine motor tasks such as tying shoes difficult” (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysgraphia). Further research helped me better understand what this was and check to see if my son fit the bill. The Learning Disabilities Association (LDA) (2009) has this list on their website under “Signs and Symptoms”:

• May have illegible printing and cursive writing (despite appropriate time and attention given the task)
• Shows inconsistencies: mixtures of print and cursive, upper and lower case, or irregular sizes, shapes or slant of letters
• Has unfinished words or letters, omitted words
• Inconsistent spacing between words and letters
• Exhibits strange wrist, body or paper position
• Has difficulty pre-visualizing letter formation
• Copying or writing is slow or labored
• Shows poor spatial planning on paper
• Has cramped or unusual grip/may complain of sore hand
• Has great difficulty thinking and writing at the same time (taking notes, creative writing.) (http://www.ldanatl.org/aboutld/parents/ld_basics/dysgraphia.asp).

I was fascinated. My son hit all but one of these signs – even tying shoes! My husband was intrigued; he asked if it could be hereditary, as he hits all of those markers as well. And I will admit my handwriting has always been sub par. Wikipedia does indicate that might be the case, but there are too few studies on dysgraphia to really draw a solid conclusion.

Dysgraphia is often a neurological problem (the brain can’t talk to the fingers) and is sometimes compared to dyslexia. The National Center for Learning Disabilities (2009) calls it a “processing disorder,” so the difficulties may change as one ages (http://www.ncld.org).   Typically, students with dysgraphia are bright, speak well, and are excellent readers and good communicators. The fact that they cannot replicate that in the written sense is almost what makes this problem that much more puzzling. My son can critically analyze a text or poem aloud, but ask him to do it on paper and it is a mess. How can a student who obviously thinks so well not be able to write it down?

I am not one to leap at a label; in fact, we have gone out of our way not to use this label with our son. But an answer? Possible ideas on how to help? It was all right there. I felt as if a huge boulder was lifted from my shoulder. Now we had some tools to help him.

Then came the big question – what is the next step to help his writing? The LDA website also provided some strategies to help the writer:

• Suggest use of word processor
• Avoid chastising student for sloppy, careless work
• Use oral exams
• Allow use of tape recorder for lectures
• Allow the use of a note taker
• Provide notes or outlines to reduce the amount of writing required
• Reduce copying aspects of work (pre-printed math problems)
• Allow use of wide rule paper and graph paper
• Suggest use of pencil grips and /or specially designed writing aids
• Provide alternatives to written assignments (video-taped reports, audio-taped reports) (http://www.ldanatl.org/aboutld/parents/ld_basics/dysgraphia.asp)

There are some good reasons for these recommendations. For example, the use of the word processor allows the student to complete work at his/her level. We can easily complete a three page book report using Microsoft Word that would never happen (or only happen painfully) if it had to be hand written. Also, the reduction on the reliance of written work results in a reduction in stress overall, especially when it is time to write. 

We still require him to use a penmanship workbook, but we only do it 2 days a week. The other days we use a product called Create-a-Sketch by Insight Technical Education. It is a simplified drafting workbook which allows our son to practice his writing skills, but not with writing. He uses it to practice control, and he much prefers it to his handwriting text.  Again, this helps lessen the stresses he has when approaching handwriting projects.

We have used graph paper for a while with math – this is the first year without it. We buy specific mechanical pencils for his written work. Earlier this year he needed to do a report on “Around the World in 80 Days,” and he used Microsoft PowerPoint to do it. I told him it had to include text, but he could play with the graphics element. We showed it to our Education Specialist, and she was so impressed, she showed it to her literature class.

This is not to say we use “dysgraphia” as an excuse or a label – we used the recommendations to help us solve a problem for my son. He still needs to write paragraphs for his schoolwork – not all of his writing is on the computer; just more of it is. For essays, he must handwrite outlines and one paragraph, but the rest he can compose onto the computer. He still has his handwriting workbook. We’ve told him that while his typing is great, he still needs to know how to handwrite, and as he ages, he is starting to see the truth in that.

So have these recommendations worked? Has handwriting less improved his handwriting more?  Yes, and I am as surprised as everyone else. I think the reason for the improvement is that when he has to do handwriting, he can absolutely focus on it – not on what the sentences have to say or if his paragraph makes sense. He copies the text and all his energy is focused on that alone. Then, when he needs to write an essay or answer history questions, typing allows him to focus on that; cognitively, it allows for a better flow of ideas.

Somehow, separating the two processes allows him to integrate them in his mind on his own schedule, and the result is better handwriting, and better writing with that handwriting. Just today, he wrote half a page on Augustus Caesar, which contains varied sentences, specific detail, and has good sequencing. His letters are no longer oddly spaced, the letters are legible, and he doesn’t complain that his hand hurts. That, I think, rates as a success in my book. 

*Originally published in Secular homeschooling, Sept 2010.

reaching out

This past year, as is pretty well known, has sucked. And it was not a transition that was painful just to me, but to my whole family as well.  That is probably the worst part of everything - seeing my kids hurting, too.  

Part of this time included the emotional roller coaster of my 15 year old son.  Putting aside the fact that he's a teenager, and that comes with a wealth of emotional highs and lows, this year scarred him for life.  For the past year, he has tried to pull away, to hide, to lose himself in video games and tae kwon do. 

And it would have been so easy for me to let him do that - to let him have his space and figure out his new normal in his own way. But I have never been a stand back parent, and more than anything, I missed being able to hug my son.  For the past few years, I had been getting a one-armed side hug at most; over this past year, he would physically jerk away from any touch I tried to give him. 

I'm a touchy person, a hugger.  At the end of the day, I could not let my son turn from me; moreover, I could not let him think that anything he did made me turn from him.  I heard a saying on the radio that if your child pulls away, that is when you need to step in and pull them closer - that is when they need the affection the most.

He may want to pull away from me, but I have long legs with which to step in.  And it was so hard - the hardness, the being pulled from, the feeling like I'm being rejected by my own son.  But that is not what was going on. Pouting and angry and sad, he was pulling away because he felt hurt and rejected, and that is when he needs someone to hug him the most. 

So that is what I did.  And when he tried to pull away, I hugged tighter.  If he flinched his head away when I tried to touch his hair, I grabbed his head and kissed the top of it.  If he tried to roll away when I went to wake him in the morning, I leaned over and hugged him in bed. A good morning hug every morning after he was out of bed. A good night hug every night, no matter how bad or low the day was, and an "I love you" on top. Sometimes I would even yell at him: "Hey, I love you and want to hug you, so come here."  When I started to get the one armed hug back, I was grateful, but did not rest on my laurels. If something really good happened, I said: "Ok, this deserves a two arm hug. And a big squeeze!"  

It has been just over a year since this whole fiasco began.   And it was hit or miss, but at the end of the day, every day, I pulled him closer because I was not about to lose my son to hurt and anger over something that was not his fault. I pulled him closer because even if he didn't think he needed a hug, I needed one. It is not something that happened overnight, and it was painful at times, and I can't give up now that we are getting into our new normal. 

We still have really bad days, but  now there are fewer tears and more smiles. There are more easy touches. He doesn't jerk his head or body away when I reach out to touch him. He makes jokes about giving mom a hug. And he may be 15, but he now knows that he can always give mom a hug; he can always reach out to me about anything, and no matter what, I am there. And he knows that even though he is 15, and at a public place like the Airsoft field with his friend and several other young men, his mom will still want a hug before she leaves, and she gets it.  

Having to hold on like I did reminds me of the Gaelic story of Tam Lin: http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/AMisc/TamLin.html

Silver linings

I was at the mall today with my girls. Aden has spent much of this summer working for his TKD studio, so while I so wished he were there too, mall shopping is an entirely different experience when it is all girls,  especially when those girls are my daughters  ("Oh mommy, that looks beautiful!  You should get it!").

Our trip to the mall was so enjoyable; we bought some fun stuff, spent more than we should, and came home all smiles. In fact, my daughter Sophie told me earlier that today is her favorite day. Why? "Because I got my drum set and we are going to the mall to get my clip on earrings and a new pillow, and then we get to have Soup Plantation for lunch!  It's my favorite day!"

The happiness of the day echoed as we came home, organized our new shoes and put our new pillows in pillowcases.   And it occurred to me why I was so happy -- I didn't have to explain, justify, or go over every expenditure we just made. AND I don't have to worry about someone's idea of "spending fairness" which would mean having  to spend the same amount  in return (and life sure as hell isn't fair, is it? I never understood that one).

And I don't have to worry about something as stupid as explaining why I bought the one on sale. I like buying things on sale. Saving money is a good thing, so I like how I can come home and share with my kids how I got it ON SALE, and everyone in the house is as excited as I am.

I like how there is never any extra money missing from the bank. I always know the exact balance and there are no surprises.

I like how if I get the in the car and its on empty, it's because I made it that way.

I like how there are never any clothes on the floor of my bedroom. All the dirty clothes magically make their way to the laundry hamper. And I like having to do less laundry as a result.

I like how much cleaner the bathroom remains.

I like that I can move any stack of paper, any item in my house, and not catch hell over "touching my stuff" (my kids know that it does not fly in my house, so they don't say it).

I like that we can eat a Soup Plantation anytime we want. And use a coupon to do it, so the whole family can pig out for less than $30.

I like how I don't have someone else's mother telling me that I am doing something wrong, or there is a better way to do it, or why don't I do it this way?

I like how I don't have to use any "Rule of Three" for housewares selections anymore - If I like it, I get it.

I like how I don't have to hear about what a bad cook I am, or what a bad cook my mother is. (REALLY?!)

I like that I can leave the kitchen a mess if I want to.

I like how I feel better about myself, that I don't feel fat or ugly anymore.

And sometimes, when the girls aren't sleeping with me, I like how I can sprawl across the whole bed and not worry about someone hogging the blankets on a cold night.

There is a lot, A LOT A LOT A LOT A LOT of bad that comes with divorce.  More bad than good every day.  So sometimes, in quiet moments, I catch a good thing about it, and amid all the tumult and torment, a small smile crosses my face.

Tonight we're going to party like . . .

Tonight I am having a party.  Not a birthday party or a graduation party, but the type of party that wields the double edged sword of happiness and sadness.  This party has been in the works since the end of November, and while initially I said I would not have it, when the time came, I decided I needed something to mark this moment with a party, just as we mark most milestones in our lives.

In fact, one of the first things a close friend said to me was "When's the party?" The party. Right now I am decorating and it is the first time in 20 years I have prepped for a party on my own.  And as I put up decorations in 100 degree heat, I am reminded of where I was just over 17 years ago, in a similar heat, putting up decorations before I put on a pretty dress. I'll be wearing a pretty dress tonight, but it certainly is not nearly as pricey, nor is it white. The decorations are not hearts and bells, but fiesta-esq decor.

However, this time I do have REAL champagne.  Not sparkling wine. Not California "champagne" (which is just sparkling wine), REAL champagne from France. Expensive as hell and something I most certainly did not have at that party 17 years ago.  So perhaps that is a good start. Perhaps all real life changes need REAL champagne to mark their significance.

And friends. While more people came to that party 17 years ago, there will be several friends here, some newer friends, some long term friends. We will have music, and food, and drinks, and some fun games, and a pinata filled with grown-up style goodies. We won't have cake, but I will have a chocolate fountain this time, and since I like chocolate more than cake, I think that is more than a fair trade.

This is not the party I wanted to have.  In my dreams, my party would have had a number and the word "anniversary" after it, but we cannot control the actions of others; we can't control fate or the hand that God deals us. All we can do is pick ourselves up afterwards, nurse our wounds, then work on moving forward on our new path. And every crossroads in life needs recognition. This party tonight is my recognition of the crossroads where I find myself, and like the aftermath of most parties, I hope it only gets better from here.

On Getting My Daughter Back

Kaya has always been my odd duck. At age 12, she does her own thing her own way and is happy in her own world.  Sometimes this means she is distracted, or it may seem like she is not paying attention.

We attributed her frequent urination to an incontinence problems she's has since potty training. Since we live in the desert, it is not unusual to be thirsty a lot and drink several bottles of water a day.  With her recent growth spurt, and the accompanying weight loss, most people didn't think much of how skinny she became, especially since she still ate quite a bit. And if she was distracted or off in her own world all the time? Well, that was just Kaya.

But for the past few weeks, the weight loss started to frighten me - she looked like a survivor of Auschwitz. Her sunken eyes, her gaunt cheeks, and we could see every bone and tendon. Then she had no energy, started sleeping more, and the peeing was bordering on ridiculous.  I was worried, so I took her to the doctor, the most awesome of all doctors, Dr. Nguyen of Ivy Springs Medical Care.  We focused on her bladder issues as that seemed to be the worst problem.  He guessed it was an incontinence problem that could be fixed with meds, but wanted to rule out any biological issues first. We were off to the lab on Thursday, June 14th, around 9 am.  She spent Thursday afternoon, drinking 3 bottles of water, searching for bathroom, and getting in trouble for not working hard enough in her Tae Kwon Do class.

Friday morning at 8 am I received a phone call from the doctor. Could we come in right now? No, not this afternoon, but right this moment? And then the panic set in. Only bad news has the doctor calling first thing in the morning saying get in here NOW.  So off we went. I am trying not to cry and my Kaya bunny has no idea what is going on.  It was not until we were sitting in the room and I watched the nurse to a finger prick on Kaya that everything fell into place - like a crazy puzzle in my brain:   The frequent peeing, the  unending thirst, the unbelievable weight loss (she had lost another 1.5 lbs in the week between her first visit and this one, down to 97 lbs for a girl who is 5'5"), the lethargy and sleepiness, the fuzzy and distracted mind.  Kaya has Type 1 Diabetes.

My maternal uncle and grandfather both had it - I had watched them take insulin shots and watch their diets most of my young life, but so see my baby girl, so realize OH MY GOD SHE WAS DYING and no one saw it is a horrifying moment in a mom's life. Then to think of everything it means from this point forward, the shots, the glucose tests, the diet and exercise, just the schedule and focus it would entail was daunting beyond measure.

Kaya, fortunately, had a great attitude about it - she had read about a girl with diabetes in an American Girl magazine and was, if nothing else, relieved to know that it wasn't just her not being a good kid or a focused kid -she couldn't control her bladder or stay awake or focused because she was sick.

How sick?  Well, after trying to sort through all the information from the doctor and pharmacist, and reading as much as I could on the internet, I sat down to look at Kaya's lab work.  The Doctor got a phone call at 2 am from the lab after they ran her glucose serum test; they wanted to know if she was in a diabetic coma. The normal range for this test as indicated on her paperwork ranged from 60-99. Typically diabetes or the like is indicated at a range of 120-140 or above. Kaya's number?  623.   You read that right - I didn't miss type or forget a decimal. 623.  623. 623.  That number is etched in my brain.  There was human writing all over the paper work - FOLLOW UP NOW!  GET HER TO HOSPITAL. CALL THE MOTHER IMMEDIATELY.  The stuff of nightmares.

She is a healthier eater to begin with, so I think that saved us a bit.  She had a salad and some cheese for lunch, and low fat, low sugar yogurt for a snack in the afternoon.  After we picked up $200 in meds and hardware, we went home, researched sugar free foods that she could eat, picked up a few things at the grocery store, and then took her blood sugar level before dinner as required.  345.  I had to call the doctors, as he required that for any reading over 300, he told us how much short acting insulin to give her, and for the first time I injected my daughter with insulin. She was a trooper.

  After two hours, her sugar levels were at 245. Still not got, but better than 345, and a helluva lot better than 623.  Then we gave her the long lasting insulin, which was a bit more painful of a shot as it required more units of insulin, and she went to bed. We took a blood sugar reading at 12:30 that night (I had to make sure she didn't get low blood sugar now that she had insulin in her - a whole OTHER problem that could mean a trip to the ER). Her blood sugar was at 181.  Under 200 for the first time. Still high, but oh so much better.  Then I woke her at 7 for another reading, another shot and breakfast of low fat whole grain English muffin with sugar free peanut butter and Jelly.

 At this point I am only guessing and using what I remember my uncle eating as a reference - today is research and book buying day.  But Kaya took it all  in stride, and we working on yet ANOTHER type of new normal for our family.  And Kaya is so happy right now - not to have diabetes of course, but to finally have an answer, and she is excited to tackle this and get on living her beautiful life.

I am so proud of you, Kaya bunny.

On Finding a Home

I have lived in several places, and I have owned a total of three homes. One we sold to move to Michigan, one we still own and rent out in Michigan, and then this one. The one with the misnomer of Dream House.

I had so many fanciful hopes and dreams tied to this house. We had been living in a dumpy apartment in the ghetto of Escondido, so this house, with all its space, on a cul de sac in the small town of Menifee seemed ideal. However, houses are only extensions of the families that live in them. And if the family is broken, whether all the members know it or not, the house is not truly a home. I wish I had known that 4 years ago.

Over the past 4 years, I though I had a dream home. We had holidays and birthdays. We had friends over, family dinners, and played games together. 4 years ago, I imagined this house is where we would retire. Where my children would come home from college to visit, where the grandkids would come for holiday dinners. I dreamed we would upgrade the kitchen and bathroom, design a beautiful backyard so we could barbecue together, and sit together in the evenings and enjoy out time together.

I now refer to my dream house as the place where dreams come to die. I didn't realize that my dream, my children's dream, was not the dream of everyone in the family, that our dreams of a family home was actually a nightmare for someone else. This house was never a home. I didn't know at the time that my dream house was nothing more than fog and ashes.

Houses aren't inherently evil, no matter what the Amityville movies show. However, they reflect the family within, and when the family is torn apart and destroyed, it cannot help but be reflected withing the house. This house, I realize, was never our home; it was a way-station until our family could be redefined, and now we are moving onto a new house.

My new house is not as big. It is not in the nice neighborhood tucked in a cul de sac. It will contain a smaller family, a broken family. But it will contain my family. My family now has a new set of hopes and dreams, and this new house will reflect our small family that will move within this Sunday. This house will be our home.

Blessings

For the past 9 months, it would be very easy for me to say I really have to search to find any blessings in my life. When the core foundation of one's life is violently torn away, and left behind is only a broken, empty shell, seeing hope in God or counting anything as a blessing in life seems very, very far away.

However, when asked how I am doing, since December my response has remained constant: "God knew I would be traversing Hell, and he made sure I was well prepared and protected while I walked that path." The truth in this is majestic, in that I didn't roll over and want to disappear - I did enough of that in the fall. Instead, I picked up my broken, empty shell, dusted myself off, and with God's help, started putting that shell back together.

I was asked again, just a few weeks ago, how I was doing. I told my friend what my old response was, the one listed above, but then I told him, "I used to say that, but I can't say that anymore." He initially freaked a bit, thinking I had lost my faith in God. "No," I told him. "God is still there - He makes it plain to me every day. No, I can't say I'm in that bad place anymore."

Every day since things crashed down, I have seen God working in my life, making this transition as smooth as it could possibly be, and now that I am walking taller and stronger than ever before, I can see it even more, and it amazes me just as much now as it did when I was still the crumpled heap. I have a friend who just lost her mother, another who received a frightening medical diagnosis, and a third who is in sincere financial straits, and in this past week I have cried for them more than I have cried for myself.

That prompted me to sit down and list just some of these blessing that God shows me daily, to help me remember that we all are on a rough road, and God gives us faith, family, and friends to help us along the way. I think of these blessings every morning, then get out of bed, and take on the day.

My Blessings:
1. My Children - they are first because they are mine and a daily visual reminder of everything in this world that is good. I wake every day wondering what I can do to ensure they are happy, healthy, and can achieve all they want in life. They are my heart, and they deserve so much more than what they've had so far, and I want to help them reach for the stars. If everything else was taken away and all I had were my children, my blessings would still be immeasurable.

2. My God - He knows I am a visual learner, and He makes sure that, every day, I see more and more of his workings in my life. I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. He is the blessing of all blessings.

3. My mom - she has walked a similar road and has always been my biggest supporter and cheerleader. I have just learned a friend of mine lost her mother to cancer, so today, this moment, I feel especially blessed to have my mother still in my life.

4. My sisters - they have been my backbone when I didn't have one, gave off anger when I couldn't, gave me guidance when I needed it,and make me smile when I think I can't. They never stop giving, giving, giving. If you don't have sisters, you don't know the power of sisterly love, and that is a blessing that never ends.

5. My friends - they have let me cry on their shoulders, text and email me every day for support, encouragement, or ranting moments, and they don't care if I call or text at midnight or 5 am. They came to me instantly, the moment everything fell apart, and I am blessed to have friends that I don't even need to talk to, but will be there the minute I need them. I am blessed to never feel alone because God made sure I had a friend at every turn.

6. My job(s) - I work contract. I have zero job security, and I had "quit" two of my jobs in anticipation of a different move. When I needed those jobs back, I got them - I was told they never took me off the roster. When I needed to max out classes at one of my schools, they did it that day. I am blessed to both be able to work, and to have work to do.

Those are just my top 6 - they are blessings that God gives me every day, every moment, so at no point in my life can I forget and think how bad things are. Because they are not bad, different, but not bad. Looking at that list of blessings, how could anyone say it's anything less than wonderful?

On Becoming a Young Lady . . .

Oh, my almost 11 year old daughter has been doing that for a while now - she has become long and lean (like a bean! we say), and we've started buying certain "undergarments." She's began styling her own hair more, wearing lip gloss (that is all we allow for makeup at this point) and using glittery, scented bath gel and lotions.

However, this weekend allowed me that rare opportunity to see my daughter look and act more like a young lady than any other, and it was nothing more than the simple task of selling Girl Scout cookies.

She wants to try for the first recognition level of "Walkabout," which involves a serious amount of selling door to door. We set out yesterday; she donned her Cadette sash and a small, purple, Girl Scout, money-collection apron, and with her long (oh, she so needs a trim) blonde hair swaying as she walked, she set out.

She confidently approached the first door, her cookie bag in hand (easier than dragging the giant wagon up to the door), and rang the bell. When the occupant opened the door, she delivered her line: "Would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?" and when the occupant asked what flavors were available, Kaya patiently pulled the cookie boxes from her bag, one at a time, explained the cookie flavors, and offered options if they could not decide. Then, when they paid her, she made change for them, pocketed the profits so as not to drop the money, thanked them, and turned to me with a huge smile of success. She had to sell 25 boxes that one day to reach that level, and she did it.

I do not approach the door -- I stay back on the sidewalk, standing guard over the wagon o' cookies and watch my daughter work. From behind I almost don't recognize her, this tall, blonde, confident young woman selling cookies to learn about running her own business. Her optimism in the face of adversity (one day we hit 8 houses on a quick spree, and not a single person bought cookies), her confidence in conversing with adults, and her ability to handle the money show that my baby girl is no longer a baby but growing into a strong young woman.

Sometimes I will catch sight of her when she is not looking at me, and she has a small smile on her face as she concentrates on a project, unconsciously flipping her hair out of the way, and she has this ethereal beauty and contentment that I never had and have never seen before. She is growing so fast, yet she is ready and conquering this phase of life, embracing changes and new experiences, and although she still is, to me, my thoughtful, artistic, unique baby, when I see her in those moments, I glimpse the woman she will become, and my breath catches and my heart breaks, both for what is gone, and for all the wonders of life that lie ahead for her.

Watching them turn into adults

My son turned 14 this weekend, and since he is my oldest, he is my reference for watching the kids grow up. While there will be many differences when my daughters kick 'growing up into high gear, for right now, he is my responsible grown up in training.

And it wasn't his birthday or the small trip to Disneyland with us and his best friend that really called by attention to it all, but the fact that Christmas is just around the corner.

Here he is, ready for presents galore with both his birthday and Christmas in the same month. No child is richer than my son in December; however, we do have to focus on holiday gifts for everyone. Typically, Craig and I help the kids buy gifts for the siblings and mom and dad. They pay for part of it and we pick up the rest. It has become a fun tradition for us to all go shopping the weekend before Christmas, and the kids love selecting gifts for everyone.

This year, about 2 weeks ago, as we finished up lunch, my son asked if there was anything, "like a game or anything," (his words) that Craig and I wanted for Christmas. At first I though he meant a video game, but then he clarified, "no, a family game, like Catan or something, that you and dad want." And it hit me; this year we will not be helping our son pay for the gifts he buys. He has worked hard, saved babysitting money and allowance, and has his budget and idea list in hand. He hasn't been this excited since he bought me a ring when he was five (his little song then? "I bought a present for someone I love . . . " I will NEVER forget the song or the ring), but this is significantly different.

I joke with the kids that if they could drive, they could probably live on their own since they are so self sufficient. But there is more to living on one's own that makes one an adult. A responsible grown up saves for a rainy day or upcoming expenses, anticipates future needs, plans accordingly, and considers the needs and desires of others.

My son is well on his way to becoming a wonderfully responsible "grown up." And while it hurts my heart to see my sing-song little boy now as a young man, I love the young man he is becoming, and in a way, I can't wait to see my girls do the same. Moments like these are the true gifts in life. Of all the gifts I receive, the blessing of my children and family is the absolute greatest.

Merry Christmas, and may you find your greatest gifts as well.

Oh lost knowledge . . .

Today in class my college students were to watch Sling Blade and begin work on an essay comparing elements of that film to the book Of Mice and Men. Singularly, this is one of my favorite assignments to work on in the class -- very literary, interesting topics -- overall a strong unit. Quid pro quo: Sling Blade can be a rough film at times, so when I have students 16 or under, I tell them don't show up and instead watch Simon Birch, still a strong film that contains similar elements, only in a prettier package. I understand that though Sling Blade is the stronger film, for younger students, it may not be appropriate.

Half way through the movie, two students got up and walked out, and asked me if they could watch a different film. Evidently, the harsh language (in one scene only , for the most part) and the R rating when against their religion. I referred them to Simon Birch and they left.

Here is my rhetoric about it, and please don't throw eggs! I understand religious conviction, but at the same time, I am saddened about the knowledge they will lose in the name of religion. Don't try to call me out to the carpet on the "religion" aspect - I am a homeschooling Catholic Christian for goodness sake! But hiding knowledge is not part of my agenda, and I don't think it is part of God's as well. We've seen what happens when a religion hides from knowledge, or tries to hide it from others; the Catholic Church made that attempt in the Middle Ages and "hello" Protestant Reformation!

God does not want us to hide from knowledge - He tried that once in the Garden of Eden and saw how that worked. Of all people, God's people should not be an ignorant populous. God wants educated people, people who read the Bible AND more. The more knowledge one has, the better one can study his/her religion, teach it to others, and defend against it. While the language in the film was bad, the themes of the film bespoke such greater purpose, and for these students, that knowledge is forever lost. They now cannot evaluate, assimilate, analyze, or discern any of that information - they purposely elected ignorance over learning, and that is a choice I just cannot understand.

Socially, it is bad as well. I give them credit for standing up for their beliefs, but to what end? In America, we cry and cry over the loss of academics on our youth - who then grow into ignorant adults. If they are unknowledgeable about some of the more gruesome horrors of the world, how can they then stand up against those when it matters? Evil does not always present loudly; it creeps in on quiet footsteps until we are intimate with it and no longer cringe from its presence. In American, our Evil is a willingly uneducated population, but the uneducated masses don't know. We have seen this before too, in Nazi Germany - first a cleansing of the music, then the books, then the Jews. And their excuse? "We didn't know." In America, we wonder how they could look evil in the face and not see it, but if it creeps and becomes your friend, you DON'T know.

That is the point - film and literature deal with elements, characters, and themes that directly reflect on social mores, life, and the human condition. The ability to identify those elements, learn from them, analyze and evaluate them, is a indisputable part of knowledge and rhetorical ability. While the content may have been less than pleasing at times, as adults, they should use that opportunity to wrestle with those elements and themes, and apply their Biblical rhetoric to show the human failing or the lack or moral rectitude. They could have elected to become more knowledgeable, to see how their religious standpoint would concern itself with such behaviors.

Instead, in their ignorance, they will let the Evil in, and allow it to creep a little closer.

Newest writing book!

A great resource (I think) for teaching poetry to elementary students!

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/poetry-writing-for-grades-3-6/11712879

Zoe update

Good news is the dog is like Lazarus - pretty much rose from the dead and has come back to us.

Bad news is this WHOLE event could have been avoided if the vet had told us, just ONCE, to give her some honey after she has a seizure.

Karo syrup would work, too.

Evidently the brain has a sugar level (those who are hypoglycemic understand how this works) and when dogs have seizures, the sugar level in the brain decreases a bit, and it can take time to rise.

The problem occurs in that if the sugar levels don't get back up, that can trigger ANOTHER seizure, which AGAIN lowers the brain sugar levels, which can cause ANOTHER seizure . . . see where I am going with this? Our poor doggy was in an endless loop, and I guess my continually asking the vet "What can I do for her?" wasn't enough.

The vet told Craig the dog would make a full recovery (and he said this in front of my 13 yr old son - really does the man have even half a brain?) and that we should give her some karo syrup to help maintain her sugar levels. Really - file this under "things you could have told me YESTERDAY."

That is was really ticks me off the most - that my dog suffered and has some minor brain issues (she is now a "special" dog) because my vet could not be bothered to tell me, anytime in the 8 months she's had this problem, to give her sugar. My dog suffered for two days and almost died in a diabetic coma in the backyard because my vet couldn't be bothered to tell us three words: give her sugar.

So we are now looking for a new vet, one who maybe has more than half a brain and cares about the animals, not the payment he will receive when we bring a half dead dog into his office.

But, Zoe is doing well and did make a fine recovery, though she is "rediscovering" her world. Good news is she remembers some of her basic commands and that she adores balls and frisbees. And if she forgot who we are, at least she seems to have fallen back in love with us.

Going into that long goodnight

Zoe is our bright and adorable collie/Australian shepherd mix dog. We took her off the hands of our next-door neighbor in Michigan when they lacked the requisite brain cells to have their dog fixed - thus resulting in 8 (yes - 8!) puppies! Of course they tried to pawn those puppies off on everyone, and my kids (aged 2, 6, and 9) went ballistic. Of COURSE they wanted a puppy - who doesn't puppies are cute; that is God's way of insuring you continue to care for them until they are grown.

I told the children, if there one of the chocolate brown girl puppies still available, we will get her. Otherwise it was no deal. So OF COURSE the lady had a chocolate brown girl (little did I know she would grow into a beautiful blonde!) so we got her. When Zoe came into the house, she was the tiniest little thing - Kaya would put her in her stroller and wheel the puppy around the kitchen.

We cage trained her and behaviorally trained her, since I don't have much patience at all. And what a reward she was - she caught on and was so obedient! One morning, when she was now all grown up) she was in her cage and could see out the back window at the deer in our back yard. She knew she wasn't allowed to bark in the house, so she kept making this low "wuuf" sound instead of a bark. It cracked me up that she was trying to "whisper bark."

Her favorite thing in all the world, outside of my son that is, would have to be the frisbee. She could actually catch them in mid-air! Just like the trained dogs at the fair or at Sea World! The kids thought it was the best trick ever. And if she got off her leash and didn't want to come back, all we had to do was show her the frisbee and she would come a runnin'!

When we had to move to California, she was the pet that was still young enough to go. She was only three at the time, and we got her a dog seatbelt for the car. She sat in the back with Aden, on her pillow on the seat, and was the most well behaved dog of all time. She didn't climb around; she didn't bark (naturally); she just sat patiently next to her Boy, as though she knew this was an important moment and she was taking it all in.

She became much more spoiled when we moved to CA, as we lived in a little apartment with no real patio, so she became much more of an indoor dog. While she did miss the snow (she loved catching snowballs in her mouth!), she enjoyed the life of leisure inside the apartment even more! We put her dogbed in Aden's room, and she was in Heaven, sleeping under his loft bed every night. We did not live the best life in this apartment, and for a year and a half, Zoe was Aden's only real friend.

After we almost killed her with some bad flea treatment, and got her funny hives under control, we moved to our current house, where, for the first time ever, Zoe had a back yard with a fence. This meant no more leashes; she could run free to her heart's content in that back yard, and there was not one place she left untouched. Even though it was mostly dirt, she loved her freedom. The kids would spend lots of time with her in the back, throwing balls and frisbees, and she was happy.

Then we got the pools, and if it is possible for a dog to be ecstatic, it was she.

Much like the snowballs of Michigan, Zoe loved having WATER thrown at her - again she would try to catch it in her mouth! So when we got the pool and would splash around, she would run around the pool, jumping and barking, playing with the splashing kids and catch as much water as she could until she gave out and crashed in the shade.

Then that same summer, she started having seizures. Not little ones, big ones. Ones that left a bloody, urine and vomit mess in the bathroom. We got her some meds, started keeping her more outside and in the garage and the meds managed her seizures a bit. When they came back, we got her more meds, but they slowed her down. When we forgot to refill the script for 2 weeks, and realized she didn't have a seizure that whole time, we took her off them for a bit, and our energetic Zoe was back. She was chasing balls and frisbees again, playing with the kids, and Aden started taking her for walks in around the neighborhood.

Then this week she had about three seizures in two days, so we knew it would be another trip to the vet and more meds. Then on Thursday morning, she had such a large one, or enough of them, that her brain started breaking down. She didn't recognize us (still so friendly and docile and loving though - the brain damage didn't change the core personality, her soul possibly?) and Craig put her in the back yard. She wasn't walking well, and she couldn't seem to see well either. It was funny to watch her walk around and try to climb on things, but in such a sad way.

Over the course of Thursday, she had at least one more seizure, and now the Zoe's knowledge of us was gone; we were just some nice people in the house who fed her, when she could find the food bowl. We tried to get her into the garage last night, but she wouldn't come in the house and I wasn't about to force her. Plus, though it would be cold at night, she was probably safer in the backyard than the garage with all the bikes and tools and such. Aden and I got her a warm blanket and showed her where is was a few times, and spent some time trying to play with her a bit, and pet her. She was stumbling around badly at this point, and Aden knew; he knew that this was the end and cried and cried and I cried with him.

Today we woke up and she is pretty much gone - I was surprised she made it through the night. We have an appt. with the vet this afternoon, but I don't think she will make it. We will have to call him this morning and set up a different type of visit. Zoe's seizures are almost constant; she can't walk much at all, and I'm so glad Craig is staying home - I wasn't sure how I was going to get the dog into the van to even get her to the vet. She is laying down a lot, is a daze, with drool from her most recent seizure hanging from her mouth, and she is not there. Our dog is gone; her body has just not caught up with her yet.

So today Craig and Aden (if he wants to go) will take her to the vet for her last visit. They may have to carry her, and I have a blanket ready to go. It's one that a friend, who has a special fondness for dogs, gave us years ago. I thought it fitting to give it to Zoe as we say our final goodbyes to a dog I didn't really want, but ended up nuzzling her way into all our hearts. I pray for strength for both myself, but more for my son, who is losing one of his closes friends.

I believe there is a special Heaven for dogs, where there will be plenty of meat scraps from the table, lots of balls and frisbees, and God's loving hands rubbing her belly whenever she wants.

End O' the Year Missive:

I will be the first to admit that the latter part of the first decade of the third millenium left many people wondering just when they got dumped off the Merry-go-round. Unemployment, foreclosures, bankruptcy, became household watchwords of despair. Several people have even gone to far as to say this decade was worth less, feign to say "how can it get worse" and are either hoping for better in the next year, or at least want to forget this one.

That is where the idea of "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" really comes into effect. Forget this past decade, or this past year? Yes, we need to do what we can to create a better year overall for ourselves, our communities, our country, but if at the very least we don't learn from our mistakes, how can we grow from them?

But more than that, I beg to differ that the decade of 2000-2009 was one to forget. While there were moments of "less than ideal," every day brings its own challenges; "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" (book of Matthew) has been my mantra for several years - focus on today, and let today take care of itself first. In this light, I embrace the challenges we've had, and I look forward to more to come in the new year. Why focus on the negative, when all this is ephemeral; we are so limited on time, let's focus on all the good of the past ten years.

Why? Why would I welcome something that could be so detrimental? Because in mine eyes, the past ten years are ones I want to remember until the moment I leave this earth. And if the next ten are half as wonderful, I will one of the most fortunate people on earth. For this was the decade that saw the birth of my daughters; the ability for us to purchase three houses (not all at once, of course); moving back to California; the making of life long friends; the establishment of great careers; the wholeness of our family; the growth of my children into strong and beautiful young people; vacations; celebrations of birthdays, holidays, and accomplishments galore. These are the moments that will forever burned into my mind, and when the challenges arise, it is memories like these that will carry the day.

Yes, we've had hardship this decade too, loss of a father, sickness and hospitalization, death of a pet, financial insecurity, job loss . . . but these things happen all the time. But to want to forget those - then how can we grow and learn from those events? Every decade, every year, every day is filled with challenges - the Chinese have a saying, "May you live in interesting times," which is a threat; it means may you have much upheaval in your life. And who doesn't? But what we do and what we focus on during that upheaval is what makes life "good" or "bad," not the events inherently.

For those of you for whom the past decade has been one you just want to forget, you have my sincerest sympathies; however, I beg you not to forget that decade. Don't decry it as the worst decade ever. Think instead of the joys of that decade, no matter how minor they are.

From my perspective, sitting in my warm house, listening to the sounds of my children playing, waiting for the glory and joy that is Christmas, I don't feel the last ten years have been a loss, a decade to forget. On the contrary, these ten years are engraved on my mind for all time, and I hope that others also find the joy in the past ten years. Yes, we want to make the next ten better in many respects, but in my life, I don't know if I could handle that much joy.

Drum Roll Please . . .

http://igethalf.blogspot.com/

Reassessment

I had an epiphany yesterday, and not necessarily the good kind. However, the resulting actions I take ARE a good thing.

So we returned from the park yesterday, and between the cool air and cold wind, we were freezing. My son tore his knee up at the park pretty badly, so we decided to skip Tae Kwon Do that night and just go to youth group later. That gave us an extra few hours at home to hang out. With that in mind, plus, since we were icy from being outside, I decided some hot chocolate was in order.

Then, it hit me that we had tortillas in the house, and wouldn't a great snack be tortillas toasted in the oven with butter, cinnamon, and sugar? I though it would be - so I made some for the kids and I. Once everything is ready to serve, we all sat together at the table and enjoyed our very new snack. The kids had never had the "homemade churros" before; in reality, I had never made them before. I was totally winging it!

As we finished and cleared the plates, my son comments on how fun that was. He says, "You don't do stuff like this very often." That actually stopped me in my tracks. I froze. "What do you mean, buddy? I make stuff all the time." "Yeah," he replied, "you make basic stuff, not stuff like this usually." At first I was taken aback - I do make "different" stuff; it is just usually fruit based and he does not care for fruity desserts and snacks.

But then I let my ears hear what he was really saying - we don't do stuff like stop in the middle of the afternoon, make a new snack, and just enjoy each other for a while. And he is right, and that is totally my fault.

When I started homeschooling, I did it because I adore being with my kids and get a kick out of teaching them. For many years we did school, but life was just as important. However, once we moved out to California, started working with a charter, had all the extra curricular activities and the like, suddenly we were all schoolwork, running around, and activities. Even on our days home, it was all school, chores, get it done. Then, by the later afternoon, we are all beat and I am ready for a nap! This was not how I wanted my school to work.

I had assessed this earlier when I realized the co-op at the church was just not working for us, so I had to stop that. Teaching those classes from my house a bit later in the afternoon works better for my schedule. But then I am still doing a co-op with friends, and we still have our extra curriculars that the kids love -they are having fun! So what to do?

It hit me when the teacher we work with for the charter commented on how much work we completed one month, even when the kids were sick! And she is right - academically, I demand a lot from the kids, and they rise to those expectations beautifully. But why is my focus so heavily on those academics when I, we, want more than that? Since we have to meet with the teacher one Monday a month, which means we lose that day for "school" for the most part, I decided to commandeer that day overall.

After our morning sports class, my kids are mine - it will be our day as a family. No school, just games, movies, baking, crafts, adventures in new places, visits with friends, that is our day to be a family again. I want to feel that contentment with my children that we used to have - and I think my taking back just one day, we can do it. We like the school schedule, the activites, the busyness, but we miss the perks of slower days. Monday is going to become that day. What a great way to start the week.

Get Writing, and Get My New Book!

You can find my book on creative writing at lulu.com! Here is the link:

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/bibliophile/5942135

Happy Writing!

I sit here listening . . .

listening to the type type typing of fingers
on a warm keyboard
as cool breezes tickle my elbows and toes.

I sit here listening
listening to outside sounds
insects, dogs, and the passing cars
that are for once not drag racing, yet.

I sit here listening
listening to that quiet
that only comes once all the children
are asleep in their beds.

The house sighs with me.
I sit here listening
listening to the house sigh
of delicate sounds
of evening air
of children's breaths

I sit here listening.

(Michelle Dalrymple, 2009)

On My Team!

Even though I often want to believe I can do everything myself, I know I can't. Sometimes the most important thing I can have is a team in my corner, working for me.

Usually, that team is pretty much my hubby. It might be my sister, mom, or kids, but often it is Craig and I against the world. However, when something comes up that is beyond our mortal ken, like this past week with our littlest, we need more team members. And I found them.

After the most agonizing week with a primary care physician who won't see us unless we use his urgent care (not even for a follow up from the ER?! Are you kidding me?!), I called a doctor who came as a referral from another urgent care facility. I called his office on Thursday morning after poor Soph's ear looked like it exploded. He answered the phone - so at that point I had spoken to our soon to be new doctor more than our current doctor! After listening to our trials of the week, his first words were: "Can you get her here tomorrow at 8:15?" Of course, I could! By now, this doctor had DONE more than my doctor did for the whole 3 months we were is patients! My biggest concern: our insurance does not flip to him as our primary care provider until August 1. We are one week out from that.

His response: "We will either get you squished in, or we will waive the fee. Just get her here." I am totally willing to pay whatever I need to for my daughter, but already I felt relieved that here was someone else, someone who doesn't even know us, showing more concern for her than most other medical personnel in the past week. I was ecstatic. New team member number one.

We get her there right on time; he explains to his staff what we need to do with the insurance, and his receptionist gets on the line with our insurance. I knew she would get them to cover the bill, because as I went into the exam room with Soph, this is what I heard her say: "I understand that, but we have a little girl who just had a seizure, needs to see a primary care physician, and needs medical care now. Do you want her to have another seizure because she can't get in to see the doctor?" New team member number two.

The nurse who first saw us before the doctor came in was more than courteous and told me that we could not have picked a better doctor - she actually followed him from the urgent care office to this new office just to work for him. New team member number three.

The doctor and his office took great care of Sophie, fixed our insurance to cover the bill, and want her back in the office this week for another follow up. And while it took some trauma to get here, it was a result of our other horrible doctor that led us to Dr. Nguyen. I guess there is a silver lining to every bad situation. I love our new team!

The past revisited

The one thing a mother should never wear is a shirt with her daughter's blood on it. But that is exactly what I wore to the ER last night after a very strange misadventure.

Sophie was supposed to be in bed, but in a moment of bad judgment, decided to pick up one of the cats. She mishandled the cat so badly that the cat scratched her to get away. That is when I heard the screams.

I go running into the bathroom and Sophie's hand is COATED in blood -- thick and welling. I grab a rag from the closet and press it to her hand to staunch the blood. AT the same time I call to Craig for help - just how bad did the cat get her? Pretty badly -- it seems the cat somehow dug deep enough to hit a vein, hence all the blood.

Craig gets on the phone to the nurses' hotline as I inspect the damage to the hand. Not too bad maybe; the blood has already started to clot, but I can see there is a collection of blood under her skin. So I tell Sophie it doesn't look to bad when she tilts her head up to look at the ceiling. I ask her what she is looking at when her eyes roll back into her head.

I know what this is. I know it because this is what I do -- my baby is having a seizure. She starts to fall but I am still holding her wounded hand, so I half-catch her and guide her to the floor, where she begins to twitch and spasm. I am yelling for Craig to call 911, and I am frantic. I know this misery of a condition like this, and I don't want my daughter to suffer through it.

Craig has the nurse transfer him to 911 and I stop yelling at him, but now I am crying because I am in such a panic. Sophie stops twitching and refocuses her eyes. I can see her confusion, and she asks me, "Why am I not in bed mommy? Wasn't I in my bed?" (my first wake up mantra was "there is no place like home" - perhaps the brain defaults to a place of comfort?). I gather her into my arms, and now she is crying because I am crying, and I am failing to get a hold of myself. I keep telling her, "You're OK, baby! You're OK!" and she keeps repeating, "Why am I not in my bed, mommy?" like we are in a bad movie loop.

Craig hangs up the phone and the emergency team is on the way. He picks her up and we go downstairs. I call a friend to come watch the other two, as this is going to be a late night. The paramedics recommend Sophie go to the hospital, since we have a history of seizure in the family. In the ambulance, Sophie talks and talks and talks non-stop. He takes her temp, and she has a fever. She is very pale.

The ER is not quite the stuff of nightmares, but in a community that grew faster than the hospital, we are close to that. There are four paramedic beds waiting for a real bed, and people are in beds in open areas, in every hall. How are there not enough rooms for everyone? The Dr's first visit occurs while we are waiting in this hall. He checks her over and looks at her stats. It is her fever that gives him a clue to her condition - he thinks the seizure was brought on by a quickly spiking fever, but since she is just a bit out of the age range for that condition, ran interference on the cats, and has the family history, he gets her into a bed, and we begin an evening of tests.

Over the course of 5 hours, Sophie is the lucky recipient of several tests. First they do a chest CT. When we get back, they draw some blood and hook up an IV - she evidently needs fluids. When she says she needs to pee, the nurse hands me a cup. What a fun job for me. Afterwards, it takes Sophie a bit of time to fall asleep, as she is "nervous." At one point she jerks awake quickly and calls out, "Mommy! Mommy where are you?" She is a bit confused but remembers quickly where she is and eventually goes back to sleep. Craig and I doze on uncomfortable chairs, then I awake when I hear a noise right by the door. A large, jovial man has arrived with a wheelchair to take Sophie to have a head CT scan. The machine resembles a giant donut, and the man does a good job of being careful and caring for Sophie. Other than the paramedic in the back of the bus, this man has exhibited the most concern for my baby.

He tells me it will take about an hour for the films, and the dr should see us shortly after that. Once we are back in the bed, one more person arrives; Sophie's final test is an EKG, which is quick and easy. We turn off the light and fall back asleep.

I awake with a jerk as my hand and legs are numb from my sleeping position. Sophie has rolled to her side, and she is shivering a bit since her open backed hospital gown is not covered by the thin blanket. I am wrapped in a sheet because I am dressed for the 110 degree weather from earlier, not this hopsital the temperature of an industrial freezer. I cuddle with Sophie for a bit -- it is now after 3:30. A nurse comes in to look at the scratches on Sophies hand and clean them. She does a good job of getting much of the dried blood off Sophie's hand, and then uses a disinfecting wash to take care of the wounds. Another nurse comes in with the Doctor, and we get the final breakdown.

They don't know what caused the siezure (they never really do, do they?) but they think it was Febrile in nature (due to the spiking fever) but they are not 100% certain. As a result, they recommend taking her to a pediatric neurologist (wow, does history repeat itself!) which will most likely mean either another trip to Rady's children's Hospital in San Diego, but maybe we will get lucky and find a reference for the more local Loma Linda. They also prescribe hard core antibiotics for her hand ( I also hope it helps her ear which they say is not infected, but why else should it hurt so bad?). We receive our final paperwork and thank all the nurses and doctors who did their best and took care of my baby. We left just after 4 am.

We arrived home just around 4:30 am, thanked my friend, and Craig walked her to her car. I got Sophie some cereal and a glass of milk while she lamented her inability to use her right hand - the one of the cat scratches -- as they have it pretty heavily bandaged. She takes a few bites and wants to go to bed. I finish my cereal and tuck her in. She is already asleep.

I need to wash that shirt.

On Personal Responsibility

My son is 12 - he will be 13 in December, and I am so proud of him.

He just tested for his black belt in Tae Kwon Do, an accomplishment that has been 5 years in the making. Whether or not he passed, though, is not my moment of pride. My moment of pride involves the events leading up to that moment.

We homeschool, and one of the most important things I am trying to impart to my children is their ability to not only teach themselves, but to also have the personal accountability to do the work well (or better) and on time. For 12 yr old boys, this often extends to the realm of sports and video games, and not much else!

For the past month, my son has been working hard. In this month alone he: 1)completed the Weather Merit Badge for Boy Scouts; 2)completed all his requirements (only has meetings left) for his Second Class rank in scouts; 3) worked as an assistant instructor at his TKD studio for 5-6 hours, on top of his 4) 5-6 hours a week of TKD training. He has essentially worked more this month than *I* have, and that is a lot for a 12 yr old.

But it is more than the accomplishments. Not once did I have to say, "Hey, get to work on your Merit Badge!" or "It's time to practice TKD!" He took that initiative all on his own. When I told him he should start working on his merit badge, he showed me that he was already working on it, and had been for the past hour. He finished his presentation for it a month early as well. While I was upstairs with the girls, he asked if he could "YouTube" his forms to make sure he is practicing them correctly - and he did this for at least an hour a day, ON TOP of his 10-12 hours of class each week.

It is the fact that he stepped up, on his own; that he took the initiative to do the work; that he had the presence of mind to say to himself, "This needs to get done, so I better do it now," is something most ADULTS fail to do.

If nothing else in this world, my son has learned to step up and get the job done.
And that, my friend, is success.

I am becoming a hard core blogger

Instead of working on my books. Bad me! But I look at my blogs as material and notes I can draw from when I do write. I plan on doing a lot of that at the pool while in Vegas. Here is my schedule for Vegas:

Wake up, take pill, go work out for 30 mins, then come back and check email and the like for another 30 min (pill needs an hour to kick in).

Eat my breakfast. This is one area where, if I am having fruit and a granola bar and a glass of milk (my usual) I do not go halfsies. I need those 200-300 calories to start my day and prevent snacking later in the morning. I do only eat half the banana though - I learned recently that half a banana is one serving, so I guess I DO eat my "half" in that respect!

Finish any online work on the laptop. Then change into my (drumroll please) Bikini, grab the laptop, and head to the pool. With some sunscreen and a cool drink, I will begin writing. When the fire of writing burns out, I will then jump in the pool and swim, thus cooling off, and read until I dry off, then start again. I hope to get a huge chunk of writing done over the week!

Around lunch, find something quick and easy that I can cut in half, then go upstairs, shower, and get myself ready to find my hubby at his event. Hang with him and some friends until dinner, the party all night long (or until my bedtime, which is usually about midnight or so)!

Then start all over. I am excited about this writing opportunity - I have never really looked at a vacation as a writing opportunity before, but time to get started!

Vegas, oh ye mecca of partying and writing, here I come!

For more info about "I get half"

My hubby encouraged me to write about this experience. I am going to blog about it HERE to begin recording my little weight loss adventure. That way I have "notes" if I ever decide to write a book about it!

"I get half" Cult Following

Evidently, the "I get half" diet has been pretty successful. Not just for me, but for others as well!

It started with my homeschool group - I see them on a regular basis, and they were the first ones to really notice I was dropping weight. When I first told them all what I was doing, I was a bit embarrassed. I mean, really, there is nothing medical or proven about what I was doing. It just seemed like common sense to me that the easiest way to cut back on ALL my caloric intake was to cut it ALL in half. Then I just added in some of my own rules: fewer sweets, snacks had to be either fruit, cereal, or a cereal/granola bar (half, of course), and more exercise. I even picked up some ankle weights to wear around the house for the added caloric burn.

After some "half a gallon of ice cream" jokes, most of the women commented that it made sense and it was easy. No counting calories, keeping track of food, watch fat grams. The easiest way to cut calories is just to honestly CUT them - in half.

I first noticed it in my back - for some reason I was blessed with back fat. UGH. But that started dropping right away, and as a result, most people could see it dropping from my shoulders as well; I have a very defined collar bone now, and some strong tendons/muscles in my neck. Then my pants started falling off and the moms thought that was hilarious. My hubby has been talking about the weight loss for a week or more now, as it really sees it in my face.

So what is the point of all this? That it is funny how some things get started. My homeschool moms love the fact I am losing weight without a "diet" - just common sense. Their reply was pretty much "That is brilliant" and as word has spread, that is the response I get. My baby sitter loved the idea, and now many of the homeschool moms are doing the same thing (with their own little preference changes). I have had a few other people ask me what I was doing to lose the weight, and they all have the same response too: "brilliant!"

But now the word is really starting to spread - my hubby (who has a huge, extended network of people he knows) has been telling people about it when they complain abou their weight. He tells them, "You know, my wife starting losing weight with her "I get half" diet. . ." and gets pretty much the same reaction: "Brilliant!"

The end result is this little experiment I wanted to try to see if it would help me lose some weight has now lit a fire with others as well. I never expected to be a cult icon - but my diet seems to be one! And hey, if it works . . . why not?

Happy Losing everyone! Let's celebrate with half a glass of champagne and half a serving of cake! :)

I get half!

So, on the cusp of going to Vegas for a work/vacation get a way late in June, I have been trying to get my body ready for a new dress and, at my hubby's request, a bikini. A BIKINI. UGH. I haven't worn one since way before the birth of my third child, over 7 years ago.


My sisters both work out a lot and have great bodies. One sister works for 24-hour fitness, and the other just came in 2nd place in a fitness competition. I didn't not inherit the work-out gene. I am a reader and a writer, not runner or biker. So with a bit of their help and advice, I decided it was time to conquer the treadmill and my diet and get my body Vegas-ready. The spirit is willing; the flesh, weak.


First I really had to commit to the treadmill. I now record most of my TV shows and watch them on the treadmill. I usually can get 20-30 mins a day on the treadmill, plus I use weights and do arm exercises while I walk. Then, once arms are done, I crank up the speed a few notches and jog for a bit, then walk for the remainder of my time. I try to do this 5 times a week. Sometimes I get more, sometime less, but I'm pretty steady.

The most difficult part is the "healthy eating" part. I am not a dieter - I love my chocolate and snacks way too much. I've tried to diet before, and just can't stick to it. I like my junk food too much, and veggies not so much.


I am not into calorie counting - between kids, the house, homeschooling, work, and life in general, I needed something so easy a 2 yr old could do it, and it needed to be cheap. That is when I decided to do the easiest thing I could think of -- cut all the calories in half. That means cutting all the food in half (plus I cut out snacks - I can only have a 1/2 serving of shredded wheat if I'm hungry). If I cut the food in half, I cut the calories in half, simple as that.

So, for the past 4 weeks, I have been going halvsies on everything. The good news is I can still eat much junk and dinner with the kids. And while do get some hunger pangs, they aren't too bad. And, for the past 2 weeks, it has been difficult to eat larger portions or heavier food when I do try.

My stomach is getting used to less, not more, and for the past week, my collar bones have been sticking out -- I am starting to look bony! I used to wear size 16, which now fall off my hips. The size 14s are starting to feel small, and I just put on a size 12, which fit easily, today because I need a new dress for Vegas - and I bought it! Once more size and I will be where I was before I got pregnant with my son; two more and I will be the size I was in high school!

I wasn't huge, but I wasn't happy with my muffin, my back fat, of being the fat sister. I am on my way to losing all three. Who ever said that losing was a bad thing?

The Trials of Laryngitis!

I am a talker. I love to gossip, talk on the phone; I even lecture once a week as a college prof - for nearly 4 hours! So you can imagine how, lacking a voice, my style is truly crimped.

Every few years or so, I manage to catch a cold, but instead of the standard head cold, it settles into my chest and throat, rendering my voice box useless. While many (not the least my hubby) breath a sigh of relief and this brief reprieve, it does really pose significant difficulties for me. Class on Thursday will be interesting if I don't have my voice back by then. And working with the kids on their school work? So much for read alouds for the next few days. Plus, today I am meeting a old friend whom I hardly ever see - I guess it will be a mostly one sided conversation! UGH.

The good news it usually only lasts for a 3-4 days, so I should be back to my chatterbox self by Thursday or Friday. The down side: making myself heard over my gaggle of kids when they get to playing, fighting, yelling, gaming, etc.

It is going to be a quiet week at our house!

Who in the Hell does he think he is?

My doctor, I mean.

Envision a typical doctor visit for an initial consult. You are not sick; nothing is wrong; you are just getting the doctor familiar with you. A typical, easy visit, if scheduled at 9 am, will include a 20 minute wait or so, the 20 minute visit, pay, and you are out the door in an hour.

Now for my doctor:
I have a tight schedule today - doctor in the morning, someone coming by right after noon, and I have to be out the door to each by 4 pm. Very tight. My appt was set for 10 am, and I got there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork or whatever. My esteemed doctor kept us waiting for an hour and 30 minutes, no apologies, nothing. That was the time BEFORE I ever saw his face. We went through my son first, them began with me.

When we were almost done with my consult, my phone went off (LOUD ringing). I went over to it to check if it was the person stopping over (since it was almost noon and I thought I would be home by this time!) and shut it off and he left the room. When he came back he was infuriated that I didn't turn off my phone, and how it cuts into his time (after I just sat there for an hour and a half? Are you KIDDING ME? I am NOT on YOUR schedule buddy!).

Well, THAT flipped my bitch switch, but I took the higher road. I just shrugged and said "Sorry," when I really wanted to let him know what I thought of MY long wait compared to the 15 seconds it took to get my phone. At this point, I was absolutely frazzled. I hate how some people think their time is so much more important, and there are several doctors in our area that would love a reasonably healthy family of 5. My time is just as valuable, if not, more valuable becuase it is MY time, and MY KIDS' time -- and nothing is more valuable than that, especially not some jerk of a doctor I just met.

Then we resumed the consult and finished, and by then he was acting VERY nice and smiling at me - completely different from his character prior to the phone call of death. Then, as he was getting ready to leave the room, he shook my hand, then just kept touching my hand and kept shaking it again -- a bit up close like. What the hell? Was that an apology for being an ass? If so, it was an uncomfortable one!

After almost 2 1/2 hours at the doctor, I am beat. I am willing to see if the relationship gets better. Otherwise, I think I may have to expand the search for a doctor. Let's hope this was just a misstep - I really don't want to search for a new doctor!

But I will. Don't be a jerk to me, especially if I am paying you for a service, even if you are an esteemed doctor. In this economy, I can and will take my business elsewhere.

Adoptions are fun!

After the sad passing of our Shadow, we mourned for about a day or two when my youngest asked if we can get a new kitty. My loving hubby had already given me the thumbs up on doing this ASAP, so we were ready to go. Imagine my surprise when we couldn't find a kitten to save our souls.

We can't easily adopt from the pound as their "no declawing" rule grossly contradicts my "declaw immediately" law. Nothing on craigslist; nothing in pet stores; nothing from friends. Just when life seemed bleak, a beacon of kitten light appeared by way of a homeschooling friend. She had a neighbor with 2 girl kittens who were headed for the pound if they weren't adopted soon.

She brought them to our park day, and we inspected the kittens, trying to see which we liked more. My son was out-voted, so his choice was put back in her cat carrier while we put our newest member of the family in our little crate.

Then the problem arose - the reject managed to conjure the saddest, most pathetic look and mews known to man. And my soft-hearted son was distressed - he knew the kitten we didn't pick was destined for an unglorious fate. He didn't pester, but he did ask if there was anyway we could take the second one, too.

I admit the kittens were stinkin' cute - how people can NOT adopt kittens is beyond my mortal ken. But that means more work, more $$ for the declaw and spay, more everything. I told him I was not up for it, and I didn't think Daddy would want two cats in the house. Aden asked if he could text daddy and ask him. If dad was OK with it, would I be?

I looked into his earnest face and said, "Sure." I knew my hubby did not want two cats, so we were OK - then Dad's text came through and read "call me" - so I did. He said, "Why not? It will only add to the chaos of the house." I nearly died! He agreed? The kids would be ecstatic!

And they were - we scooped that other kitten out of the carrier, put her in a holey box, and took her home. Stormy managed to dodge the bullet and join her sister Valentine at our house. Two cuddly kittens you've never met - the only way they sleep is entwined with one another.

I told the kids, when Shadow passed, that God had a plan. There was a reason God took Shadow to be with him - maybe there was another cat out there who needed us more. I was wrong. There were two.

The worst week ever.

That pretty much sums it up. How bad, exactly? Let my make a bulleted list for you, from pretty bad to REALLY bad:

1. My daughter forgot to wear an overnight last night, so I had to change pee-sheets at 2 in the morning.

2. One of my classes this semester seems to be heavily LACKING in the brains department. Can we use just an iota of common sense, please?

3. All three kids, and my hubby, have been sick - I have been eating oranges, grapefruit, Zicam, and Airborne like crazy, and Lysol-ing EVERYTHING to ward off all possible germs.

and the worst:
4. My 7 month old kitty died today . . . due to complications while getting spayed and vaccinated.

And piggy-backing on that:
5. How am I going to tell my kids? Especially my 8 year old who told me a few months ago that her biggest fear was to wake up and find the cat bleeding? Or my son who calls the kitten "his" kitten? Or my little 6 year old who has no idea that pets can die?

Oh my God . . . are you kidding me?

The vet called just a few minutes ago, and you know it is going to be bad when the conversation starts like this: "Hello, Michelle. This is Dr. ----- from the Animal hospital. The reason I'm calling is we had some complications . . . ."

I knew. I knew at that moment. The receptionist calls with good news, the Dr. only with the bad.

Shadow was the tiniest gray kitten - feisty as hell. And she hated you and hissed at you until you grabbed one of her "chase me" toys, then she would let you pet her. She cuddled with me all day yesterday, and every morning she would follow me into the bathroom, purring loud enough to vibrate the walls, as if to say, "I am SO glad you finally woke up!" She loved to chase Sophie's feet, play with the dog, and she could jump almost three feet straight up with a back flip to try and chase one of her cat toys.

I love this cat. Even the vet was crying on the phone, and I am crying now just thinking that I don't get her back on Saturday. Instead, we have to talk to the kids and see if we want to pick up the ashes. Don't mention this to the kids yet if you email or talk to them - they don't know yet. We have to have "the talk" tomorrow morning.

The vet said it was a very rare occurrence, especially in a cat this young, energetic, and healthy. It is almost unheard of.

The last thing we said to the kitten as we left was, "Goodbye Shadow! We love you!"

Goodbye, Shadow. We love you.