Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Pictureless Top Ten
Oh, I know that y'all are waiting (not-so) patiently for Christmas pics. They're coming! I just need to beg Richie to download them from the camera to the computer!
Until then, I figured it was a good time for a Top Ten List.
Top Ten Highlights of Christmas 2008:
1) Ellie slept in till 9:00 or later every morning of the holidays. Kid you not. It was the BEST. GIFT. EVER. Now, yesterday morning back at work was a RUDE awakening, but it was so worth it.
2) "Me sit on the seat with Mommy and read Cinderella." That's right, people. A TEN-WORD SENTENCE. From the mouth of my daughter. Whoot!
3) Jam Jams. Oh, man, my Grandma still has it in her. Nothing is better than a dipped-in-coffee Grandma-made Jam Jam cookie. Nothing.
4) The Price Is Right. For Wii! I hate video games. But, get me a TPIR disc and I'm all into it. We originally bought the game for my 7 and 10 year old cousins. It was the last one on the shelf, so we had to buy it unwrapped. Of course, that meant that we could "test it out" before giving it to them for Christmas. Let's just say that we ended up keeping TPIR and getting them another game instead (cuz, really, would a 7-year-old know the price of a can of spaghetti sauce??). My favorite game? Plinko. Man, it's just such a productive way to spend my time.
5) Baby Zach. This was my nephew's first Christmas and he was so precious. Ellie's getting more comfortable with him every time they're together and I can't WAIT for next Christmas when they can actually interact! It warms my hear to know that she will have someone to play with at gatherings. Perhaps it gives me a little more room to think about the possibility of only child-ness. (And THAT, my friends, is a topic for a different day...)
6) Ellie's kitchen. My parents bought sweet Ellie a play kitchen and she loves it. And I love watching her love it. I can't tell you how I savor the moments when Ellie's just a typical three-year-old girl. Just banging around with her teal-blue pots, making me oatmeal and bananas on her plastic stove.
7) Anne Murray Christmas CD. Richie-Rich got me the Canadian crooner's holiday album and it is FAB. I still say that deep down, my parents gave me the middle name of "Ann Marie" because it sounds so much like Anne Murray. Anne and I, we're tight.
8) Trivial Pursuit. With amazing friends and a bottle of wine. Mmm, mmm good. And the girls team kicking some boy boo-tay. Oh yeah.
9) The village. No, no, not my small little hometown, but the Dickens village that Richard puts up every year. This year's new addition was the Alamo. Nothin' like a little Texas in the Christmas village to warm the heart.
10) 5 days of Richie and Ellie. They are my loves.
Until then, I figured it was a good time for a Top Ten List.
Top Ten Highlights of Christmas 2008:
1) Ellie slept in till 9:00 or later every morning of the holidays. Kid you not. It was the BEST. GIFT. EVER. Now, yesterday morning back at work was a RUDE awakening, but it was so worth it.
2) "Me sit on the seat with Mommy and read Cinderella." That's right, people. A TEN-WORD SENTENCE. From the mouth of my daughter. Whoot!
3) Jam Jams. Oh, man, my Grandma still has it in her. Nothing is better than a dipped-in-coffee Grandma-made Jam Jam cookie. Nothing.
4) The Price Is Right. For Wii! I hate video games. But, get me a TPIR disc and I'm all into it. We originally bought the game for my 7 and 10 year old cousins. It was the last one on the shelf, so we had to buy it unwrapped. Of course, that meant that we could "test it out" before giving it to them for Christmas. Let's just say that we ended up keeping TPIR and getting them another game instead (cuz, really, would a 7-year-old know the price of a can of spaghetti sauce??). My favorite game? Plinko. Man, it's just such a productive way to spend my time.
5) Baby Zach. This was my nephew's first Christmas and he was so precious. Ellie's getting more comfortable with him every time they're together and I can't WAIT for next Christmas when they can actually interact! It warms my hear to know that she will have someone to play with at gatherings. Perhaps it gives me a little more room to think about the possibility of only child-ness. (And THAT, my friends, is a topic for a different day...)
6) Ellie's kitchen. My parents bought sweet Ellie a play kitchen and she loves it. And I love watching her love it. I can't tell you how I savor the moments when Ellie's just a typical three-year-old girl. Just banging around with her teal-blue pots, making me oatmeal and bananas on her plastic stove.
7) Anne Murray Christmas CD. Richie-Rich got me the Canadian crooner's holiday album and it is FAB. I still say that deep down, my parents gave me the middle name of "Ann Marie" because it sounds so much like Anne Murray. Anne and I, we're tight.
8) Trivial Pursuit. With amazing friends and a bottle of wine. Mmm, mmm good. And the girls team kicking some boy boo-tay. Oh yeah.
9) The village. No, no, not my small little hometown, but the Dickens village that Richard puts up every year. This year's new addition was the Alamo. Nothin' like a little Texas in the Christmas village to warm the heart.
10) 5 days of Richie and Ellie. They are my loves.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Feliz Navidad!
PS: If you wanted a snail-mail picture card/letter, and didn't receive one, then let me know and I'll put you on our list for next year! I lurve sending out Christmas lovin'!
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Reason Why We Moved to Canada
Oops, wrong photo!
How 'bout THIS:
Mama
Great Aunties
Ellie's only girl (second) cousin
Ellie's abusive (second) cousins (with a couple, including baby Zach, not included in pic).
And, of course, all of those who fall under the heading "family and friends".
I have to admit that I still get a kick out of Richard's facial expression when he looks out at the driveway after a blizzard and sees an image similar to the top picture. So, maybe that IS a small part of the reason for moving up here. Tee hee!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
One Mourning
This is why I hate crying. Especially right before bed.
My head hurts the next morning and my eyes look the Purple Pumpkin-Eater’s.
I just couldn’t help it last night. The silence and serenity of the dark leave my brain poised for thought. Thoughts that make me feel like I’m having mini panic attacks. And I HATE it.
Every night, when I turn off the light and snuggle into my down comforter, I think about the precious little girl snoring in the room across from mine. I think about her relaxed and free, sprawled out in her bed, hugging Elmo and Winnie the Pooh. I wonder what she dreams about. And my heart, for that second, is warm and soft because I know that Ellie is safe and secure and the world is right.
But, that is the calm before the emotional storm.
The more I think about Ellie being safe and happy in her bed, in her room, in her house, with mommy and daddy only a few feet away, the more I realize that the morning will come and we will have to face a not-as-safe world. Although *this* morning doesn’t concern me very much, as I know she will be gloriously happy and wonderfully cared for at daycare, it’s thoughts of the next morning that make my heart palpitate. And by NEXT morning, I mean the mornings of next year, of the next decade.
One morning Ellie will be too heavy for me to carry. On Friday, we have an occupational therapist coming over to assess our house for “modifications” (the fancy term for “having to renovate your house to make it handicapped accessible”). The only way the government is going to give us any reno money is if their representative sees the need. The only way she’ll see the need is if she thinks Ellie will be in a wheelchair. As thrilled as I am at the possibility of getting financial help to put in new flooring and widen the hallway, the reason behind the monetary approval tears my heart out.
One morning Ellie will go to school. I can’t be with her at school. I can’t ensure that kids treat her nicely. I can’t shelter her from rude questions. I can’t be there to smack the kid who says, “What’s wrong with you?” I can’t force kids to be her friend. I can’t ensure that the teacher pays her enough attention to see her potential.
One morning Ellie will ask me why she can’t walk. Or, perhaps worse yet, she WON’T ask me that question, because she doesn’t have the cognitive ability to understand that she’s different. I don’t know if I’m ready to answer that question. And I definitely know I’m not ready to fully accept the sort of mental delays that would keep her from asking it in the first place. These thoughts alone send me into panic mode. Clammy hands, fast-beating heart, wet eyes. Either option sucks and I don’t want that morning, that realization, to come.
When my heart starts thumping wildly, and my tears start flowing uncontrollably, I try to calm myself down by referring back to that creed:
Start from what you know.
Last night, though, it felt like I knew nothing.
I don’t know if Ellie will walk. I don’t know if Ellie will speak understandably or articulately. I don’t know if Ellie will be able to keep up with grade-level school work. I don’t know if Ellie will be made fun of. I don’t know if Ellie will be mad at the world, at God, for her differences. I don’t know what her, what OUR future looks like.
All this unknown makes for a chaotic brain and a tumultuous heart.
And a post-crying headache.
So, maybe I need to sleep with the light on. Maybe I need to go for counseling. Maybe I need to be given a swift kick in the butt, because somewhere in the middle of the bedlam, I DO know that it could be worse. Maybe I need to be told over and over again that I have to stop dwelling on the negative “one morning”s and shift my nighttime wandering thoughts.
One morning Ellie might get out of bed on her own, grab her walker, and go to the bathroom like any other 7-year-old. One morning Ellie might ask me if she can have a sleepover with 10 of her BFFs. One morning Ellie might be all excited to go to youth group and talk to her peers about how God’s held her hand and enabled her to rise up despite her physical challenges. One morning Ellie may receive an acceptance letter from the University of Alabama.
So, how do I reconcile hope with reality; possibility with dashed dreams?
Maybe one morning I’ll have it all figured out.
My head hurts the next morning and my eyes look the Purple Pumpkin-Eater’s.
I just couldn’t help it last night. The silence and serenity of the dark leave my brain poised for thought. Thoughts that make me feel like I’m having mini panic attacks. And I HATE it.
Every night, when I turn off the light and snuggle into my down comforter, I think about the precious little girl snoring in the room across from mine. I think about her relaxed and free, sprawled out in her bed, hugging Elmo and Winnie the Pooh. I wonder what she dreams about. And my heart, for that second, is warm and soft because I know that Ellie is safe and secure and the world is right.
But, that is the calm before the emotional storm.
The more I think about Ellie being safe and happy in her bed, in her room, in her house, with mommy and daddy only a few feet away, the more I realize that the morning will come and we will have to face a not-as-safe world. Although *this* morning doesn’t concern me very much, as I know she will be gloriously happy and wonderfully cared for at daycare, it’s thoughts of the next morning that make my heart palpitate. And by NEXT morning, I mean the mornings of next year, of the next decade.
One morning Ellie will be too heavy for me to carry. On Friday, we have an occupational therapist coming over to assess our house for “modifications” (the fancy term for “having to renovate your house to make it handicapped accessible”). The only way the government is going to give us any reno money is if their representative sees the need. The only way she’ll see the need is if she thinks Ellie will be in a wheelchair. As thrilled as I am at the possibility of getting financial help to put in new flooring and widen the hallway, the reason behind the monetary approval tears my heart out.
One morning Ellie will go to school. I can’t be with her at school. I can’t ensure that kids treat her nicely. I can’t shelter her from rude questions. I can’t be there to smack the kid who says, “What’s wrong with you?” I can’t force kids to be her friend. I can’t ensure that the teacher pays her enough attention to see her potential.
One morning Ellie will ask me why she can’t walk. Or, perhaps worse yet, she WON’T ask me that question, because she doesn’t have the cognitive ability to understand that she’s different. I don’t know if I’m ready to answer that question. And I definitely know I’m not ready to fully accept the sort of mental delays that would keep her from asking it in the first place. These thoughts alone send me into panic mode. Clammy hands, fast-beating heart, wet eyes. Either option sucks and I don’t want that morning, that realization, to come.
When my heart starts thumping wildly, and my tears start flowing uncontrollably, I try to calm myself down by referring back to that creed:
Start from what you know.
Last night, though, it felt like I knew nothing.
I don’t know if Ellie will walk. I don’t know if Ellie will speak understandably or articulately. I don’t know if Ellie will be able to keep up with grade-level school work. I don’t know if Ellie will be made fun of. I don’t know if Ellie will be mad at the world, at God, for her differences. I don’t know what her, what OUR future looks like.
All this unknown makes for a chaotic brain and a tumultuous heart.
And a post-crying headache.
So, maybe I need to sleep with the light on. Maybe I need to go for counseling. Maybe I need to be given a swift kick in the butt, because somewhere in the middle of the bedlam, I DO know that it could be worse. Maybe I need to be told over and over again that I have to stop dwelling on the negative “one morning”s and shift my nighttime wandering thoughts.
One morning Ellie might get out of bed on her own, grab her walker, and go to the bathroom like any other 7-year-old. One morning Ellie might ask me if she can have a sleepover with 10 of her BFFs. One morning Ellie might be all excited to go to youth group and talk to her peers about how God’s held her hand and enabled her to rise up despite her physical challenges. One morning Ellie may receive an acceptance letter from the University of Alabama.
So, how do I reconcile hope with reality; possibility with dashed dreams?
Maybe one morning I’ll have it all figured out.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Nonsense
I really try to be a coherent writer. I spent $20,000 earning a college education, and I REALLY do try to utilize my essay-building, stay-on-topic, paragraph-structure knowledge while blogging.
Today, though, not so much.
My brain is mushy because it’s exploding with thoughts of all sorts, and it’s nearly impossible for me to contain them to one subject area. And, really, I don’t feel like bullet points. I just feel like spewing. So, arm yourselves with barf bags because you’re about to be hit with some verbal vomit!
I’m annoyed. Annoyed that Ellie puked up her Tylenol this morning. Annoyed that I wanted to blame HER. Annoyed that I wanted to blame Richard. Annoyed that I had to change her clothes, which took up all the time I had allotted for a quick Tim Horton’s run for coffee and a low fat blueberry muffin.
I’m sad. Sad because yesterday I was able to feed baby Zachary in the same red La-z-boy rocking chair that cradled my butt for HOURS AND HOURS while feeding Ellie. Sad because Ellie sat on the floor completely mesmerized as I fed Zach and I so much wished that I could give her a sibling-baby, not “just” a cousin-baby.
I’m hopeful. I had a fantastic conversation with one of the students this morning. She’s in the 7th grade and her sister, who’s in 2nd grade, has cerebral palsy. The student was telling me how her younger sister had undergone SDR surgery in Vancouver last summer and the results have been amazing! The little girl is now walking with canes and talking at near grade-level! I’m sure she went to Vancouver Children’s Hospital for the surgery---the same facility (and possibly doctor) that Dr. Hot Stuff recommended for Ellie. Stories like these always make my heart flutter!
I’m tired. REALLY tired. I’m not sure why. Eating crap, avoiding the -40 degree outdoors and not exercising must be huge contributors, but this is worse than normal. My motivation is in the toilet and I wonder if I’m a teeny , tiny bit depressed.
I’m busy. This is one of those something-up-every-night- weeks and it gives me heart palpitations just thinking about the things that need done before the week’s end. Why do we go so crazy at Christmas? It’s totally ridiculous, since this is supposed to be the “most wonderful time of the year”. My butt. If you’re over the age of 17, you hate Christmas. Just admit it. You have to spend way more money than you have. You have to clean your house. You have to bake (or pay someone to bake for you…which, by the way, is WELL WELL worth it. Especially if you have Baker-Extraordinaire at your disposal!). You have to decorate. You have to park 8 miles away from the Wal-Mart entrance and walk up hill both ways in -120 degree weather while in pursuit of those gifts you’ll pay too much for. (Unless, of course, you bring your disabled child shopping with you well past her bedtime, ONLY because it allows you to use the Handicapped Parking Pass.) Oh, and Happy Birthday Jesus. Cuz it’s all about You. Really, it is.
I’m irritated. You all know how much I loathe SUVs and vans for families under the size of four. It’s a gross reflection of how greedy, space-hungry and environmentally-abusive our society is. It pains me to even write this, but I think we’re going to have to start looking at buying one of those gas-guzzling monstrosities. My back hurts. It’s hard for me to lean down and put Ellie in her carseat in the back of our compact car. The bending and lifting is taking a toll. Most of all, though, I hate what this symbolizes. We will drive a van or SUV because our daughter is disabled. Not because we want to. Not because we feel cool. Not because we have four kids. But, because lifting a 35-pounder in-and-out of a car is hard on our backs. Because our vehicle needs to fit a wheelchair sometime soon. Dangit.
I’m disturbed. Why are we, as Canadians, the laughing stock of the political world? Our parliamentary system is a piece of dung and I’m embarrassed at the level of immaturity displayed by our supposedly adult elected officials. Stephen Harper is a power-hungry idiot and this eleventh-hour “coalition” is a farce. I’m not sure what the solution is, but surely something more agreeing could have been orchestrated. I guess it could be worse. We don’t have 8 years of Dubya to clean up after.
I’m thankful. I have a job I really like. Richie has a job he really likes. We’re both compensated nicely. Richie’s working over-time and his company is doing GREAT. We can pay for Ellie’s therapy. Ellie HAS therapy options. The “power off” switch on our TV remote control works, so that when the doom-and-gloom news reports become to much to handle, I can flip the switch (not to be confused with “the bird”, although that’s tempting too) and return to my comfy, able-to-pay-the-bills world.
I’m cold. Why, why, why did my ancestors settle here? Texas was nice. What was wrong with Texas, Great-great-great Grandpa? Or, even better, Alabama??
I’m selfish. This is all about ME. And when I get in these raunchy moods, I become so Chrystie-consumed. Ridiculous, really. Since my father-in-law is lying in a hospital room right now, recovering from double knee replacement. Since one of my sweet friends just found out that her son, who was MISdiagnosed with cerebral palsy a few years ago, may, in fact, have a life-threatening genetic brain disease. Since a dear friend of mine is going through IVF tomorrow. Since …well, you get the picture. *I* get the picture.
The End.
Today, though, not so much.
My brain is mushy because it’s exploding with thoughts of all sorts, and it’s nearly impossible for me to contain them to one subject area. And, really, I don’t feel like bullet points. I just feel like spewing. So, arm yourselves with barf bags because you’re about to be hit with some verbal vomit!
I’m annoyed. Annoyed that Ellie puked up her Tylenol this morning. Annoyed that I wanted to blame HER. Annoyed that I wanted to blame Richard. Annoyed that I had to change her clothes, which took up all the time I had allotted for a quick Tim Horton’s run for coffee and a low fat blueberry muffin.
I’m sad. Sad because yesterday I was able to feed baby Zachary in the same red La-z-boy rocking chair that cradled my butt for HOURS AND HOURS while feeding Ellie. Sad because Ellie sat on the floor completely mesmerized as I fed Zach and I so much wished that I could give her a sibling-baby, not “just” a cousin-baby.
I’m hopeful. I had a fantastic conversation with one of the students this morning. She’s in the 7th grade and her sister, who’s in 2nd grade, has cerebral palsy. The student was telling me how her younger sister had undergone SDR surgery in Vancouver last summer and the results have been amazing! The little girl is now walking with canes and talking at near grade-level! I’m sure she went to Vancouver Children’s Hospital for the surgery---the same facility (and possibly doctor) that Dr. Hot Stuff recommended for Ellie. Stories like these always make my heart flutter!
I’m tired. REALLY tired. I’m not sure why. Eating crap, avoiding the -40 degree outdoors and not exercising must be huge contributors, but this is worse than normal. My motivation is in the toilet and I wonder if I’m a teeny , tiny bit depressed.
I’m busy. This is one of those something-up-every-night- weeks and it gives me heart palpitations just thinking about the things that need done before the week’s end. Why do we go so crazy at Christmas? It’s totally ridiculous, since this is supposed to be the “most wonderful time of the year”. My butt. If you’re over the age of 17, you hate Christmas. Just admit it. You have to spend way more money than you have. You have to clean your house. You have to bake (or pay someone to bake for you…which, by the way, is WELL WELL worth it. Especially if you have Baker-Extraordinaire at your disposal!). You have to decorate. You have to park 8 miles away from the Wal-Mart entrance and walk up hill both ways in -120 degree weather while in pursuit of those gifts you’ll pay too much for. (Unless, of course, you bring your disabled child shopping with you well past her bedtime, ONLY because it allows you to use the Handicapped Parking Pass.) Oh, and Happy Birthday Jesus. Cuz it’s all about You. Really, it is.
I’m irritated. You all know how much I loathe SUVs and vans for families under the size of four. It’s a gross reflection of how greedy, space-hungry and environmentally-abusive our society is. It pains me to even write this, but I think we’re going to have to start looking at buying one of those gas-guzzling monstrosities. My back hurts. It’s hard for me to lean down and put Ellie in her carseat in the back of our compact car. The bending and lifting is taking a toll. Most of all, though, I hate what this symbolizes. We will drive a van or SUV because our daughter is disabled. Not because we want to. Not because we feel cool. Not because we have four kids. But, because lifting a 35-pounder in-and-out of a car is hard on our backs. Because our vehicle needs to fit a wheelchair sometime soon. Dangit.
I’m disturbed. Why are we, as Canadians, the laughing stock of the political world? Our parliamentary system is a piece of dung and I’m embarrassed at the level of immaturity displayed by our supposedly adult elected officials. Stephen Harper is a power-hungry idiot and this eleventh-hour “coalition” is a farce. I’m not sure what the solution is, but surely something more agreeing could have been orchestrated. I guess it could be worse. We don’t have 8 years of Dubya to clean up after.
I’m thankful. I have a job I really like. Richie has a job he really likes. We’re both compensated nicely. Richie’s working over-time and his company is doing GREAT. We can pay for Ellie’s therapy. Ellie HAS therapy options. The “power off” switch on our TV remote control works, so that when the doom-and-gloom news reports become to much to handle, I can flip the switch (not to be confused with “the bird”, although that’s tempting too) and return to my comfy, able-to-pay-the-bills world.
I’m cold. Why, why, why did my ancestors settle here? Texas was nice. What was wrong with Texas, Great-great-great Grandpa? Or, even better, Alabama??
I’m selfish. This is all about ME. And when I get in these raunchy moods, I become so Chrystie-consumed. Ridiculous, really. Since my father-in-law is lying in a hospital room right now, recovering from double knee replacement. Since one of my sweet friends just found out that her son, who was MISdiagnosed with cerebral palsy a few years ago, may, in fact, have a life-threatening genetic brain disease. Since a dear friend of mine is going through IVF tomorrow. Since …well, you get the picture. *I* get the picture.
The End.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
5 Photos Never Posted
I'm busy. I'm tired. I'm uncreative.
But, it's been a week, and HEAVEN FORBID I let this blog slip for longer than that! So, here, chosen at random, are five pictures that have yet to be posted:
Ellie and her schweet, schweet cousin Zakky
Richie and Ellie hang out on Tuesday afternoons while I work. They like doing things like baking. This is what I came home to one of those afternoons...
My sister visiting baby Ellie in Texas. Okay, maybe I *do* miss the baby stage a little bit...look at those cheeks! (Ellie's, not my sister's!)
Ellie's 6 month shots
The change table that Richard made for baby Zach (see first picture). Yes, I said MADE. He's a keeper, that one. (And this time I DO mean that about both Richie AND Zach!)
But, it's been a week, and HEAVEN FORBID I let this blog slip for longer than that! So, here, chosen at random, are five pictures that have yet to be posted:
Ellie and her schweet, schweet cousin Zakky
Richie and Ellie hang out on Tuesday afternoons while I work. They like doing things like baking. This is what I came home to one of those afternoons...
My sister visiting baby Ellie in Texas. Okay, maybe I *do* miss the baby stage a little bit...look at those cheeks! (Ellie's, not my sister's!)
Ellie's 6 month shots
The change table that Richard made for baby Zach (see first picture). Yes, I said MADE. He's a keeper, that one. (And this time I DO mean that about both Richie AND Zach!)
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