Life – Page 4 – Angel Wheeler

Emotions.

The first time I watched the movie Raising Arizona, I couldn’t believe how stupid it was. But, in its defense, I didn’t really watch it. I busied myself with other things, catching snippets here and there while my husband sat in his chair giggling his little butt off at, in my opinion, bad actors.

At a later date, I watched a little more of it, and then a little more, until finally I’d seen the entire movie and understood it.

In case you’ve never seen Raising Arizona, it’s about a couple (one outlaw, one law enforcement officer) who can’t have any children so they decide to kidnap one from a rich man and his wife who recently had quintuplets. They figured that was too many babies for one couple and they probably wouldn’t even miss one anyway.

Here’s a little clip from the movie. This scene takes place right after they have abducted Nathan Jr. and have him in the car.

I so get this. I so get her. That woman is me in a nutshell. And J-Dub too.

We are utterly, completely head over feet in love with our new baby. To the point of tears. Add to that, my hormones which are up, down, east, and west and I can break down at any moment.

I have so many emotions. Indescribable emotions. From overwhelming love that I never knew existed…..

to guilt and remorse over the circumstances surrounding her birth……

to worry that every breath she takes is normal…….

to exhaustion from the past 11 days……..

to determination to give her the absolute best in life……..

to contentment when I feel her soft cheek next to mine…..

And to think, I am not alone. Every mother in the world has felt these same feelings.

What an honor to be a mom.

A New Body

It made many trips down I-40 from Tahlequah to Pampa. It rode in the passenger seat of a red dodge pickup and when that vehicle wore out, a yellow Chevy pickup.

When he died, it rode in the back of my vehicle one last time along with the potted plants sent with condolences and a couple of cardboard boxes of belongings.

When we arrived home, it sat in the floor of the spare bedroom right behind the door. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I went about my day-to-day life and when I found time, I sorted through the cardboard boxes that had made the trip, discarding unnecessary things. But still, it remained.

When the spare bedroom began changing into a nursery, it sat on the floor watching while paint went on the walls, and office furniture was replaced with a crib. Like a child’s teddy bear with the eye missing and the stuffing coming out, it remained as a reminder.

It wasn’t valuable. It wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t useful to anyone. But it was such a part of him that I kept it around. It’s funny how when someone dies, their everyday things become such strong reminders of them. For my grandmother, it was a silver fingernail file that sat beside her chair. She probably used it every day. For my dad, it was a grimy, white Easter basket he used to carry his medication. An Easter basket. While other men have a satchel or a tote, or even a gallon size Ziploc bag, my dad used an Easter basket.

“Take one daily with a meal.” “For management of high cholesterol, take one each day.” “Take each morning and evening.” The instructions on each bottle kept him going for several years. High blood pressure, cholesterol, blood thinners, aspirin.

When New Year’s Day 2012 rolled around, sadness overcame me. A new year, a new beginning, only without him. Moving ahead, moving on, I knew I must. But I didn’t know how. And then I was reminded:

“For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—-and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again.” 2 Corinthians 5:1 The Message

My dad no longer needed his pills. It was just a sad reminder to me of the temporary body that burdened him.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight. We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7

On Monday January 2, I carried the basket to the dumpster and set it in. Don’t think I didn’t consider taking it out and bringing it back in the house throughout the day. I was home on Tuesday, the 3rd, when the loud roar of the trash truck pulled up. I heard the lifting of the dumpster, the bang of the lids as it flipped over. I imagined the dirty Easter basket and the bottles of pills scattering as they fell. I sat on the couch as the truck roared away, thinking of my dad and his new body. No longer sick. No longer burdened.

Today, he would’ve been 69 years old. He left this world February 26, 2011.

He is dancing.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I love you.

My dream

Upcoming monumental events cause me a bit of angst, anxiety, and apprehension.

For example, each August I methodically prepare to meet a new group of second graders. I hang posters, write out name tags, copy wonderfully engaging papers, plan ice breaking activities, and decorate my classroom door all in eager anticipation.

It seems that no matter how long I’ve been teaching, every August I still get nervous. With those nerves come dreams. My anxiety permeates my subconscious. It never fails, that my dreams are unpleasant. No matter how prepared I am in the real world, in dreamland I am usually very unprepared for the first day of school. My papers are not copied, the children are rowdy, no one knows which seat belongs to them, I’m late to class, or simply have no control over the students. After a dream like the aforementioned, I usually wake up, mop my brow, and expel a big “Whew, glad that was only a dream.” And then the first day of school comes off without a hitch.

Considering my past, I’ve been a little concerned as to why I’ve only dreamed about my baby once, and I haven’t dreamed about the labor or birth of my baby yet. I mean, it’s not as if this is not an upcoming monumental event! Or it’s not as if I’m not experiencing some angst, anxiety, and apprehension. By now I should be riddled with night terrors. But I’m not.

I woke up this morning with a smile. Why? Because she visited me in my dream, and it wasn’t a horrific labor that caused me to sit up with sweat gluing my gown to my back. Nor was she sick or crying. She was sleeping, and I walked into her nursery and there she was lying on her stomach (yes I know, she should be one her back).

She was a tiny little thing sleeping peacefully. I reached down into her crib and placed my hand on her back to rub her gently. She awoke. Not the sleepy-eyed, grumpy kind of awakening, but rather a “yea, my mommy’s here!” kind of awakening. You know how weird dreams can be, so although her body was small, she was much older and developmentally capable of more. She sat on her knees with her arms outstretched. I picked her up, but I couldn’t see her face. Her hair was brown and mussed and it grew down into a point on her forehead, kind of like Dracula needing a haircut in the worst way. I remember wanting to see her face so badly, wondering what she looked like. I was seeing her for the first time. I reached my forefinger towards her hair and swept it to the left out of her eyes. And there she was. She wasn’t anything spectacular or breathtaking to behold. She was a baby. My baby. A baby I’ve never seen before until last night.

She had small brown eyes, and chubby cheeks, and a pudgy little nose. And when she smiled, two little bottom teeth appeared. She was happy and energetic and glad to see me. It was as if she’d been waiting to see me as long as I’ve been waiting to see her. But what made the dream so realistic was the fact that her nose was dirty, and her eyes were sleep-filled. Little dried sleepies rested in the corner of her eyes, and her nose had run in the night and she had dried crusties on the edge of her nostrils.

Then I carried her to the living room and handed her to her daddy because I was late for work. My house filled with people, strangers that I didn’t know. I was upset because no one had woken me for work, and my face scrub was missing out of my shower, and someone had rummaged through all my cabinets and nothing was where is was supposed to be. Then I was running a race on the highway. You know how weird dreams can be.

I wanted to write my baby dream down however, because I am clinging to that image in my mind. As the hours pass, it’s vanishing, ever so slowly, because that’s what a dream will do. There will be a fading, and then a fragment here and there, until it’s forgotten completely.

We’re down to 11 days until her due date. On Thursday, I’m having a sonogram. There isn’t any concern, but the doctor would like to get a birth weight estimate and check my fluids. I think it’s just a way to get more money, but at least we’ll get to see her little face and I’m sure I’ll post the pictures.

And then, a few days after that, we’ll get to see her face for real. It won’t be long until we’ll stumble through the house in the dark, sweep her hair off her forehead, pick her up from her crib, clean her crusty nose and boogery eyes, smother her in kisses, tell her how glad we are to see her, and how much we love her.

It won’t be long.

Change and Creation—my year in review

I’m three days late, but I wanted to take some time and reflect on the year 2011. It’s long gone now, but still deserves some time of remembrance. Any blogger worth their weight in blogging ability has already accomplished this feat, however, it’s me we’re talking about here.

I began this post a couple of days ago with the best of intentions, but I was (and still am) having trouble getting my thoughts nailed down to make it coherent, but alas, I’ll try.

I’m experiencing mixed emotions about the new year, and about saying good-bye to the old. This is a new phenomenon for me. I usually wake up on January first of whatever year it happens to be, and go about my usual life. Just another day. But this January 1st, 2012, I found myself at a crossroads. There’s a song by the Bellamy Brothers where one line says, “he’s an old hippie and he don’t know what to do, should he hang on to the old, should he grab on to the new.” Oh how I can relate.

Last January there was a movement if you will, instead of resolutions, choose a word for the year. A word that will define you. A word that you will focus on during the year. Like hope or faith or happiness or fitness. My friend Suzanne asked me what my word was. I took a while to think, and finally I chose the word create. I wanted to create great writing. I wanted to create a home for J-Dub and myself in our new country dump, I wanted to create a wonderful garden, a chicken coop, so many new things.

How little did I know that with creation comes change or perhaps change begets creation. But I can look back now and affirm, create was my word.

We lost my dad to a heart attack in February and I began to create a life of only memories. Whether through facebook or blog comments or email or phone calls, we spoke daily. I’m thankful for technology, for through that our relationship grew closer and we knew each other better than ever. Creating a new life without him has been hard for me.

Less than a month after burying my dad, J-Dub and I packed our horse trailer with boxes and furniture and moved to a place outside of town. A place that needed (and still does) a lot of work. We had spent the previous winter attempting to create a home for ourselves along with a plethora of mistakes, problems and money that come with home improvements. Moving is life changing and not knowing where the dadgum lightbulbs are kept is more than irritating. Shortly after moving in, like 4 days, I got a box of little chicks in the mail and my life was changed forever! I spent the spring and summer, raising those babies and adjusting to the country life with snakes in the front yard, water wells breaking, drought, wild fires and wind. And with wind, lots and lots of dust.

In May, I felt like I was losing my ever loving mind. I believed Satan had come in and taken control of my body. I felt like a raging lunatic, and then while on a trip visiting my dad’s grave for Memorial Day weekend, I discovered the cause of my angst. I was pregnant. So the summer was spent in shock and adjustment. And the fall was spent in shock and adjustment. And now that we are three weeks away from giving birth, I’m still in disbelief and adjusting. Someone told me in a comment on this blog that God gives us nine months to prepare for childbirth. I’m here to tell you, I probably could be a pretty good elephant because nine months isn’t enough time for me.

Although I desired to create great writing, and a wonderful home, and new and beautiful things in 2011, I never would have fathomed that I would create a daughter. What a change. What a creation. What a scary experience.

Plans for building a new fence and putting up a barn were replaced with painting a nursery and choosing a name. A whole new dimension has been added to my life. God has given me a great task. He has chosen me to be the mother of a little girl who I worry I won’t do right by.

With this great task ahead, I find myself fearing the new year. Afraid of what it holds. I find myself walking by sight rather than faith, fearful of the next step. And the one after that. And the one after that.

My 2011 was a year of adjustment. Lots of changes took place, the kind of changes that rate high up on the stress level list. So why don’t I want to move on? As I ponder, I decide it must be the familiarity of the old and the fear of the new. I am embarking on this new year, expecting more changes and I’m frightened that the struggles I faced in 2011 will follow me into the new year.

I’ve been weepy the last two days and it appears this day is no different. My present prayer is that my sorrow will be turned to joy, my worry will be changed to rejoicing.

Like the old hippie, should I hang on to the old or should I grab onto the new?

If I look to the scriptures, I am instructed to remember the days of old, remember what God has done for me, how He has carried me through, and then press forward to what is ahead, walk by faith, finish the race, and trust in the Lord.

Hang on or grab onto? I’ll try to do both.

And so I go.

Happy 2012.

In Memory of My Dad #37—the bear and the bob

Merry Christmas Eve, friends. I hope this evening finds you all blessed with love and family. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, due to several reasons that I won’t bore you with, but hopefully you aren’t holding it against me.

I’ve had my supper consisting of grilled cheese, sweet pickles, and Classic Lays potato chips, which coincidentally is not pregnancy related. It’s just the way I roll. I’ve got a steaming cup of hot cocoa excluding marshmallows beside my computer, the Christmas tree is aglow, the presents are wrapped, the pie remains unbaked and I have a Saturday story to share with you written by my dad in September of 1996.

The weather was seasonably cool as I started my morning run. The Doctor had told me to exercise a little bit, so I had started to do a small bit of roadwork.

I had been immobile for the last three weeks due to a summer cold. A medico that I saw on morning television had said there was no such thing as a summer cold, only allergies. Well, I know the difference between allergies and a summer cold, and Doc, I had a summer cold.

I used to run out on the Bertha Parker bypass but that was before I met Crazy Jack. We’ve all had dealings with old C.J. He’s the one that thinks the four-lane is the Indianapolis Speedway and the speed limits don’t apply.

Mama used to tell me, “Son, you’re going to get run over on that four-lane.” So after hitting the bar ditch a half-dozen times or so, I thought maybe Mama knows best and found me another route to get my morning exercise.

Crazy Jack—he could be anyone. Maybe he’s the teenager that Daddy let borrow the keys and he’s out to impress his friend. He might be the harried young mom trying to drive while corralling three small children. He could be the man who had a fight with his wife and is late for work, he could be the young wife talking on her cellular phone, or he could simply be “blue hair driving in my lane.” Truckers ain’t no day at the beach either.

Anyway, I was ready to resume my exercise regime after the hiatus. The morning was gray and cool. The night birds had stopped their calling and had given way to their daytime cousins when I struck out.

The first quarter-mile or so would be the toughest, it’s uphill before making a mad dash across the four-lane, then a leisurely down hill jaunt before turning and heading back uphill and taking it to the barn.

My breathing comes hard as I set out. I must find a rhythm, I tell myself, and stick to it. The traffic is fairly light at that hour so I don’t break a stride crossing and by now the beta-endorphins are pumping in my brain and my breathing evens out as I head toward the creek. I feel strong. I feel free. I wish the route was three, four miles instead of just a shade over two. I feel as if I could run forever.

“Pfft, Pfft, Pfft,” go my ragged Reeboks against the pavement. The perfect measured stride of a long distance runner. “Pfft, Pfft, Pfft,” I want to shout with great exuberance because I feel so good.

I reached the cul-de-sac that marked my turning point of my measured run, when a light stitch started in my side. I tried to ignore it and concentrated on the pain that started in my trick knee. Is that the shuffling of the bear I hear? Am I bear-caught so soon. I wavered a bit in my stride.

The bear was hungry and gaining on me. I hit the steepest part of my route, and thought “only one-half more mile and it will all be over.” My breath rasping deep in my lungs, I sounded like a wind-broke horse and I struggled up and onward. I leaned into the run and tried to ignore the aches and pains that returned many-fold. My ancient legs quivered as I struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

The bear has now become full-grown and his growls give me a little strength as I continue my task. My nose starts to run and I’m back on my heels at this point. The bear catches me and jumps on my back as I hit the corner turn. I’m ready to quit.

That’s when I saw her. She was a winsome young thing, unaware of anyone being around. She was dressed in nothing but a pale blue negligee with midnight blue panties. I tried, unsuccessfully, to still my rasping breath and quiet my plodding feet as she ran through the dappled grass to retrieve the morning paper.

She appeared to be reading the headlines as she stood there in the early morning sunlit yard. Then she must have heard me—-she looked up and gave a startled yelp as she saw me approaching in my tattered running shorts and shoes. She reminded me of a deer caught in the headlights of a poacher. Then she made a dash back indoors. I think an old man’s thoughts as I approach the four-lane.

My run, for all practical purposes, is over. Then I think of nothing at all because I’m back in Crazy Jack’s territory and he could be out there, loaded for bear.

Bob Briggs 1943-2011

In Memory of My Dad #36–relatives

I’m so glad to have discovered a story from my dad to share with you today. Months ago, my sister sent via her husband, a large canvas box filled with Tahlequah Times Journal newspapers from the years my dad worked there. I thought I had shared all the “stories” and was left with sports articles of how the Tulsa Hurricane Little Leaguers won the Championship or Arnold Palmer’s hole-in-one. But today, I uncovered some more commentaries. This one was written on Sept. 14, 1996 by my dad Bob Briggs. I miss him dearly. I wish he were here with me this morning, stoking the fire, listening to some classic rock, drinking coffee on this frosty December morning as we look forward to little Miss Emma Kate to arrive in six short weeks (give or take a day or two). He would’ve liked this day.

She was always a heroine of mine. I admired her from day one when we were attending a small country school there at Briggs, Oklahoma. We walked the long miles to school together and talked of many things, of the many dreams that two country kids knew the outside world held for them.

She, being a couple of years older than me, always took my part when I got into a skirmish with the older boys. You know how kids on kids are? That’s the roughest kind of play there is and the girl was also a pretty good rough and tumble fighter herself.

She never had much time or even the chance to be a child herself. Her mom worked at many menial jobs trying to hold her small family together after the girl’s father left. She was regulated to the task of caring for her younger sisters and brothers—so there went her childhood.

Then, one day, the girl was gone from the small house on the south side of town where she had lived with her siblings and hard-working mother.

She had married a young man and moved out of state. She was 16—so there went her teenage years.

When she could have been readying herself for the prom and having fun with her friends, she was busy having children of her own and keeping house for the man she chose to be her lifelong mate.

I don’t recall seeing the girl smile much as a child. There weren’t many occasions for her to smile in later years either. The man she married, though a boy himself, drank to excess and was generous to a fault. But I’ll say this for him, he never missed a day’s work.

The three children she and her husband produced, grew into teenagers and faced the typical teen problems of today, but she went the extra mile to see the kids were raised up with Christian values.

I guess I was always proud of the girl that became a woman more out of necessity than the process of growing. She went back to school and earned her diploma and learned to drive a car after she was married. She worked for a newspaper in west Texas and stuck with her husband until he quit the whiskey. And mightily fought the drug demons along with her son.

Now she and her husband have a house full of grandchildren and three well-adjusted children. And when she should be kicking back and enjoying the fruits of their labor, she is girding her loins for a battle the doctors have no name for. She’s been religious most of her life and I hope it carries her through these trying times.

I’m writing this on her birthday so she’ll know that my love and prayers go with her. Happy Birthday, sis. May you have many more years of happiness.

****************************

Speaking of relatives, my brother surprised me a couple of weeks ago by inviting me to his place for a T-bone dinner.

Being the type that haunts fast food places and convenience stores I readily accepted.

He put the potatoes on to slow bake and the corn-on-the-cob went into a large pot on the stove. Then he peeled the lid from a bottle of Jim Beam and we retreated to the patio where the coals were just beginning to turn a nice shade of grey and plopped two inch-high steaks on the grill.

The hour we waited for the steaks turned into three and we talked of new cars and old friends. Relatives make good fodder for conversation when you’re in the process of getting into the cups and non of ours (except unknown grandfathers and our three sisters, who are saints) escaped unscathed.

Cousins, uncles, aunts and brothers-in-law all were praised or caught hell with equal zeal and fervor as the levels dropped steadily on the bottle.

About mid-night, I was treated to one of the finest charcoaled steaks I’ve ever laid into. My brother rummaged through his lower cabinets until he found a long forgotten six-pack of Busch and we talked on and on till the early morning.

My brother became so adament on one point of the conversation, he said, “That’s the truth, brother, and if it ain’t, I hope that moon up there comes flying through the air and crashes into the earth.”

Later on we slept.

I was awakened by the pattering of rain of a passing storm. My brother slept peacefully in his chair as Sissy, his chowdog, slept at his feet. I looked through the branches of the huge evergreen that graces his bakyard and saw the low flying rainclouds as they made their way toward Adair County. The clouds broke a little and there was that moon—-that sucker hadn’t moved a bit.

Blessings

I have a hot drink, a quiet house, and a long to-do list, but I’m going to sit a minute and write. I miss blogging. If I had my ‘druthers, I’d stay home, write everyday, and make preserves; or some other similar lost art. It sounds idyllic, but I’m sure it would get old after a while.

J-Dub and Ash have gone on a bike ride to a nearby, near-dried-up lake, and I’m sitting in my comfy chair, in my comfy preggo pajamas, listening to the flock of birds that live outside my window in an evergreen tree causing quite a ruckus.

Today I feel so blessed. Most days I feel blessed, but sometimes it is an overwhelming feeling that I simply can’t describe. I believe it has something to do with Fall. It’s quickly becoming my favorite time of year. or it may have something to do with my little baby to be, Emma Kate. Oh I dreamed of her last night. It was the most precious thing. She was about 5 or 6 months old, and had the biggest eyes you have ever seen. She was eating a strawberry. It was the first strawberry she’d ever tried. When she got a taste of it, her big eyes grew even wider. It was like a taste of heaven in her mouth. I loved waking up with that sweet image in my mind. I must plant strawberries this spring!

For the past two years, I have attempted a pumpkin patch, and have failed both times. Ash used to have a flower-pot of strawberries and they would produce about 3 a year. I hope to have better luck with my green thumb. Emma needs strawberries.

I’ve also been dreaming of my lost loved ones lately. My dad and my grannie have both been present with me in my dreams. It’s nice to wake up after being visited by a loved one, passed on.

But mostly, my blessed feeling has a lot to do with God. Isn’t he awesome? He has given me so much, even the things I thought I didn’t need. He knows our every thought before we think them. He knows the number of hairs on our head. He knows us better than we could ever know ourselves, and the most amazing thing is, He loves us still. His love is bigger and wider and deeper than anything we can fathom.

I hope you know Him. Somedays I’m an ungrateful child of the King, and I think I’m too busy to spend much, if any, time with Him. But He doesn’t hold it against me. He welcomes me back as a loving Father. He’s with us all ways. Even before we ever knew Him, He knew us. Right now I’m reminded of a scripture, Psalms 139.

¹ You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place,
   when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
   all the days ordained for me were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,^[a] God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.

¹⁹ If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.
²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.
²³ Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting.

He’s always with us. Always there. May you have a blessed day.

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50 Rules for Dads of Daughters

My friend Suzanne sent me a link.

Actually she sent it for me to share with J-Dub.

I shared it, and then I read it myself.

I loved it. I cried. But I’m a bit emotional these days with my little girl on the way. I couldn’t help but think of her and her daddy.

And then I can’t help but think of me and my own dad.

This was written by a fellow named Michael Mitchell who blogs at Lifetoheryears.com and stolen from a blog fromdatestodiapers.com

There some great stuff out there, folks. I hope you enjoy it.

1. Love her mom. Treat her mother with respect, honor, and a big heaping spoonful of public displays of affection. When she grows up, the odds are good she’ll fall in love with and marry someone who treats her much like you treated her mother. Good or bad, that’s just the way it is. I’d prefer good.

2. Always be there. Quality time doesn’t happen without quantity time. Hang out together for no other reason than just to be in each other’s presence. Be genuinely interested in the things that interest her. She needs her dad to be involved in her life at every stage. Don’t just sit idly by while she add years to her… add life to her years.

3. Save the day. She’ll grow up looking for a hero. It might as well be you. She’ll need you to come through for her over and over again throughout her life. Rise to the occasion. Red cape and blue tights optional.

4. Savor every moment you have together. Today she’s crawling around the house in diapers, tomorrow you’re handing her the keys to the car, and before you know it, you’re walking her down the aisle. Some day soon, hanging out with her old man won’t be the bees knees anymore. Life happens pretty fast. You better cherish it while you can.

5. Pray for her. Regularly. Passionately. Continually.

6. Buy her a glove and teach her to throw a baseball. Make her proud to throw like a girl… a girl with a wicked slider.

7. She will fight with her mother. Choose sides wisely.

8. Go ahead. Buy her those pearls.

9. Of course you look silly playing peek-a-boo. You should play anyway.

10. Enjoy the wonder of bath time.

11. There will come a day when she asks for a puppy. Don’t over think it. At least one time in her life, just say, “Yes.”

12. It’s never too early to start teaching her about money. She will still probably suck you dry as a teenager… and on her wedding day.

13. Make pancakes in the shape of her age for breakfast on her birthday. In a pinch, donuts with pink sprinkles and a candle will suffice.

14. Buy her a pair of Chucks as soon as she starts walking. She won’t always want to wear matching shoes with her old man.

15. Dance with her. Start when she’s a little girl or even when she’s a baby. Don’t wait ‘til her wedding day.

16. Take her fishing. She will probably squirm more than the worm on your hook. That’s OK.

17. Learn to say no. She may pitch a fit today, but someday you’ll both be glad you stuck to your guns.

18. Tell her she’s beautiful. Say it over and over again. Someday an animated movie or “beauty” magazine will try to convince her otherwise.

19. Teach her to change a flat. A tire without air need not be a major panic inducing event in her life. She’ll still call you crying the first time it happens.

20. Take her camping. Immerse her in the great outdoors. Watch her eyes fill with wonder the first time she sees the beauty of wide open spaces. Leave the iPod at home.

21. Let her hold the wheel. She will always remember when daddy let her drive.

22. She’s as smart as any boy. Make sure she knows that.

23. When she learns to give kisses, she will want to plant them all over your face. Encourage this practice.

24. Knowing how to eat sunflower seeds correctly will not help her get into a good college. Teach her anyway.

25. Letting her ride on your shoulders is pure magic. Do it now while you have a strong back and she’s still tiny.

26. It is in her nature to make music. It’s up to you to introduce her to the joy of socks on a wooden floor.

27. If there’s a splash park near your home, take her there often. She will be drawn to the water like a duck to a puddle.

28. She will eagerly await your return home from work in the evenings. Don’t be late.

29. If her mom enrolls her in swim lessons, make sure you get in the pool too. Don’t be intimidated if there are no other dads there. It’s their loss.

30. Never miss her birthday. In ten years she won’t remember the present you gave her. She will remember if you weren’t there.

31. Teach her to roller skate. Watch her confidence soar.

32. Let her roll around in the grass. It’s good for her soul. It’s not bad for yours either.

33. Take her swimsuit shopping. Don’t be afraid to veto some of her choices, but resist the urge to buy her full-body beach pajamas.

34. Somewhere between the time she turns three and her sixth birthday, the odds are good that she will ask you to marry her. Let her down gently.

35. She’ll probably want to crawl in bed with you after a nightmare. This is a good thing.

36. Few things in life are more comforting to a crying little girl than her father’s hand. Never forget this.

37. Introduce her to the swings at your local park. She’ll squeal for you to push her higher and faster. Her definition of “higher and faster” is probably not the same as yours. Keep that in mind.

38. When she’s a bit older, your definition of higher and faster will be a lot closer to hers. When that day comes, go ahead… give it all you’ve got.

39. Holding her upside down by the legs while she giggles and screams uncontrollably is great for your biceps. WARNING: She has no concept of muscle fatigue.

40. She might ask you to buy her a pony on her birthday. Unless you live on a farm, do not buy her a pony on her birthday. It’s OK to rent one though.

41. Take it easy on the presents for her birthday and Christmas. Instead, give her the gift of experiences you can share together.

42. Let her know she can always come home. No matter what.

43. Remember, just like a butterfly, she too will spread her wings and fly some day. Enjoy her caterpillar years.

44. Write her a handwritten letter every year on her birthday. Give them to her when she goes off to college, becomes a mother herself, or when you think she needs them most.

45. Learn to trust her. Gradually give her more freedom as she gets older. She will rise to the expectations you set for her.

46. When in doubt, trust your heart. She already does.

47. When your teenage daughter is upset, learning when to engage and when to back off will add years to YOUR life. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

48. Ice cream covers over a multitude of sins. Know her favorite flavor.

49. This day is coming soon. There’s nothing you can do to be ready for it. The sooner you accept this fact, the easier it will be.

50. Today she’s walking down the driveway to get on the school bus. Tomorrow she’s going off to college. Don’t blink.

Good News!

I’m on top of the world. I’m just on top of this beautiful, dadgum world. It’s as if scales have fallen from my eyes and I see things in a new light.

In case you haven’t been following my life, first off, I’m pregnant. With my first child. At age 36. With this came a scary test that informed us that our baby was at an increased risk for Down’s Syndrome. A 1:75 possibility. I stewed and fretted and cried, then I prayed, and others prayed, and the Holy Spirit granted me a peace that passes all understanding.

Today, we had a consultation and an ultrasound that looked for certain “markers” of Down Syndrome that the baby may display. If any of these markers were found, it increased the risk for the disorder, and if they weren’t noted, it decreased it. Some markers they look for and measure are the thickness of the skin at the base of the neck, the length of the bones, the amount of fluid around the baby, the veins and arteries in the umbilical cord, certain spots in the heart, and others.

God is good, and if you don’t already know that, well, you need to. There were not any markers found! I praised Jesus out loud right there lying on that table. The absence of markers does not mean our baby does not have anything wrong with it, but it does mean that the chances went down 50%. So now the odds are about 1:150. And that sounds pretty dadgum good to me. We were offered an amniocentisis to determine 100% for a yes or no answer, but we declined. Our faith is in God, not in medicine. You know I’ve never been the “one”. I’ve never won the lottery, I’ve never been struck by lightening, and I know that I know that I know my baby is normal (as normal as can be expected with the parents it’s been given).

I am praising God to day for His goodness. His mercy. His grace. His gifts. He has given me something that I never dreamed I could ever need. And I’m thrilled to become a mother.

I’d like to believe that even if the test hadn’t turned out positively for us, I would still be praising God. I’m just so thankful and relieved I am not experiencing the other end of the spectrum right now. Praise the Lord with me today!

On a different note, during this ultrasound they were able to determine the sex of the child. I have some wonderful, caring, loving people who are throwing a reveal party for me. I had never heard of a reveal party before my principal approached me with the idea. It can be done several different ways, but generally speaking it works like this: the ultrasound technician puts the gender in an envelope keeping it a secret, even from the parents. People are invited over, and in some way the sex of the child is revealed to everyone during the party, including the parents!! Yes, you are reading that right. We do not even know the sex of our baby.

Our baby was VERY uncooperative today. It decided to stay sleep with it’s little legs crossed. The technician was getting frustrated, but she perservered. Finally she was able to get a good view. She told us to turn our heads from the screen, while she took the picture. It was then stuffed and sealed in an envelope and hand delivered to my principal by me. It was much harder than I ever imagined it would be driving home with that envelope in the car! But we didn’t peek. I do admit I held it to the light, but still couldn’t see anything!

Tomorrow we will be finding out whether we need a blue nursery or a pink one. I can hardly wait.

I wish you all could be there, but since I feel like you are all experiencing this with me, please join me in spirit and cast your vote.

The result will be announced tomorrow!

Baby

There comes a time in a blogger’s life, when she must decide if something is too personal to share. It’s easy to share chicken stories and recipes, possum deaths, and classroom funnies, but not so easy to tell others when you’re falling apart. Not for me anyway. There is an occurrence in my life and something on my heart that I want to write down. I want to be able to reflect back on this season. And I must decide. Do I want everyone who happens upon this blog to know my struggles? But then again, there may even be the wild chance that it might help someone else. Or even there might be someone who can help me. Who knows.

I’m a very private person really, although it may be hard to believe. A lot of the things I write are simply stories and day-to-day happenings that really are just for entertainment purposes and possibly posterity., I keep myself tightly guarded for the most part, but sometimes I find myself wanting to share my emotions. Today is one of those times. This leap leaves me wide open. Open to criticism, open to judgement, open to pity. Today I’m deciding to share something very personal and something that I’ve only shared with my closest loved ones. But I’m sharing it for a few reasons.

1) Prayer: It allows people to pray for me, which is all I’ve got.

2) Humility: It’s very humbling to admit when I’m in the valley. I don’t want to sin by being proud, and it is something I struggle with.

3) Support: By sharing, I hope to hear stories that will comfot and rest my heart.

4) Friends: I know I have enemies, but I like to believe I have friends too. I know that people care about me and I am overwhelmed by the love of friends and even strangers who I only know through this computer screen.

My pregnancy was unplanned and the shock of my life. It also has been a piece of cake so far. At times, I’ve even felt guilty when I see and know of pregnant women who are struggling with sickness, puking their guts up, hooked to IV’s, dehydrated because they can’t keep anything down. I know that God has granted me good health during this time.

I enjoy being pregnant. After I passed through the initial shock and the acceptance stage, I have discovered that being pregnant is an awesome experience. When people ask me how I am feeling, I tell them I feel great, but what I really want to say, but don’t for fear of sounding hokey is, “I feel honored”. And I do. This is truly an honor to be chosen to carry a baby. To know that I am working with God to create a miracle, if for only a short time. To look at the night sky, at the vast expanse of stars, aware that the planet I live on is a tiny mass in a small galaxy in a huge universe. And I, an insignificant, minute speck, have been chosen to carry this one little being, this little combination of me and my dear husband, to nurture it, and sustain it. Sappy, sappy, sappy, I know. But it’s true.

I am beginning to get a little more excited each week. My belly is starting to noticeably grow, and I love to lay on my back and press on my abdomen and feel that hard little ball of cells and organs, and imagine it slowly and miraculously developing into this being with fingers and toes and a little button nose whom I already absolutely adore. I can’t wait to meet him. Or her.

Yesterday, however, I received a call from the doctor’s office and it rattled me to the core. At my last appointment, I had an optional blood test done called an AFPTetra. It screens for certain abnormalities like Spina Bifida, Down’s Syndrome, and Trisomy 18, and tests to see if I’m a carrier of cystic fibrosis. All the screens came back negative, except one. Down’s Syndrome. This does NOT mean our sweet baby has Down’s Syndrome. It is only an indication that it is at an increased risk. I’m sitting at the “advanced maternal age” of 36, and based on that, it appears I have a 1:198 possibility it could have Down Syndrome. Based on the test, however, I have a 1:75 chance. This test has been known to worry and fret a lot of women, all for naught. It’s only an indicator of risk, not a confirmation. The test is notorious for false positives and more often than not, the baby is just fine. But even knowing all that, I experienced my first tearful, worrisome night as a mother. I cried, I fretted, I imagined, I planned, I prayed and prayed and prayed.

Next Thursday I will visit a genetic specialist who will give me a consultation and an ultrasound. The way I understand it, they will look for certain “markers” of Down Syndrome during the ultrasound. It also can not confirm the baby has it, only an amniocentisis can do that.

It’s an extremely scary, uncertain time for us all. My loved ones are praying and reassuring me that everything will be fine, and I desperately want to believe that. My heart, my hope, and my faith is shaken right now. But one thing I know: God is good, all the time. All good things come from Him. I know that this precious baby is fearfully and wonderfully made, knit together, with all his days ordained. I know that God will never give us more than we can bear. I know that this baby may not have been planned by Jason and I, but it was planned by Him, and is loved immensely already, no matter.

We will hold tight to our faith and not allow the devil to cause fear and panic into our hearts.

The scriptures I’ve been focusing on are:

Proverbs 3:5—Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all thine ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.

Isaiah 41:10—Do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

2 Timothy 1:7 For you have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.

Psalm 121—I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

⁷ The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
⁸ the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

~Angel