She Said "Yes" to the Dress!

We went wedding dress shopping last night. 

My girl is getting married next year and wedding preparations are starting to kick into high gear.  Of course, high on the list of have-tos is finding that perfect dress.  But, between working very long hours and being out of town on business trips, Ashley has had a hard time fitting it into her schedule.  We finally managed it last night.  Grandma joined us and so did her sister Rachel.  It was just "us girls."  The three generations out for a night of shopping.  What could be better than that?

It's quite a personal thing, wedding dress shopping, and finding that perfect dress can raise the anxiety level of even the most cool-headed bride.  Ashley figured this would be a trial run, just to get a lay of the land and see what is out there in wedding dress world.  She really didn't have a concrete idea of what she wanted so she thought she would take a peek and try on a few things before she made any commitments.  She did know what she didn't want - nothing too flouncy or frou frou.  She is tall, like her sister and I, hovering around the six foot mark and doesn't want to add a lot of lace and fluff.  She likes to keep things simple. 

So, here we are, waiting for Ashley to come out of the dressing room in that white gown, in breathless anticipation.

When Ashley was a little girl there was nothing she liked more than looking at herself in the mirror.  She especially liked store mirrors, where she could see herself from all sides.  As soon as we would enter a store, she would beeline for the dressing rooms and twirl around, singing at the top of her lungs. 

When we walked into the bridal store changing room last night,  the mirrors reflected into each other to infinity, plus they had risers, for that inner superstar!  Rachel said, "Ashley, this would have been your dream come true when you were five years old!"

Well, my girl is no longer five years old.  She is a beautiful young lady preparing for her wedding day and when she walked out of that dressing room door in a white dress, it was a little bit hard to take in.  I didn't cry, I wasn't even very emotional.  It was a bit surreal.  I'm not really believing this yet.  It's going to take me a while to really absorb the fact that she is moving into another phase of her life.  I am really more excited for her than I am sad for me. 

It has been easy welcoming Daniel into our hearts.  He is easy to like, with his infectious smile and his teasing, middle-child ways (fist-bump for the middle child.)  He clearly loves our daughter and loves the Lord.  Ashley's face lights up when he walks into the room.  She is head over heels in love.  What more could parents ask for?

So...back to the dress.  After trying on a few, not-so-flattering, four-sizes-too-big dresses (what were those sales ladies thinking?) and one very cute, almost-there dress Ashley opened the dressing room door and came out in "the One"!  As soon as she turned around and looked at herself in the mirror the biggest smile spread across her face.  She could not stop grinning.  This was IT.  There was no reason to keep looking, or to try on another dress.  We were done.

As Ashley put it so succinctly,  "I can picture myself walking down the aisle in this dress and feeling beautiful."  What more do you need than that?

Well, here's a glimpse from last night. 

This was the "dress that almost was."  It's just a teaser and all you're going to get for now.  You'll have to wait until next June to get the real thing.

In the meantime, this mama is happy, because nothing makes me happier than seeing my kids smile!

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

 "Age is not a particularly interesting subject.  Anyone can get old.  All you have to do is live long enough."
  ~Groucho Marx

My body is falling victim to some terrifying vandalism and the latest body part to fall prey is my hands.  I don't know when it happened, but one night "they" came, crept in while I was sleeping and took my beautiful, youthful long-fingered soft-skinned hands and left me with these (I have another one that matches).

I hadn't really paid a lot of attention to my hands until I downloaded some pictures and realized I had inadvertently snapped a picture of my hand - there was the evidence.  It was really quite shocking, like the first time I realized Mick Jagger was old enough to get the senior's discount at Denny's (not that Mick is heading there for a Grand Slam breakfast any time soon.)  I don't know who these hands belonged to before, but they look like my grandmother's hands, not mine.  While the rest of my body is getting a little more... well...rounded, these hands are almost skeletal, with veins popping out, scaly skin and spots appearing everywhere.

I'm alarmed.  I don't know who "they" are, the perpetrators of this horrible crime, running around willy-nilly wreaking havoc in the night, but I can't imagine what body part they're going to take next and who they are switching parts with.  All I know is some dear old lady is sitting in her chair admiring a pair of beautiful velvet-skinned hands at this very minute, wondering where on earth they came from.

Now, I live in California, land of sun, surf, and surgery - cosmetic surgery that is.  You may find this hard to believe, but one of the latest trends in cosmetic surgery is hand rejuvenation treatment.  Yes, it's true.  Just when we thought there wasn't a single inch of our bodies left that someone hadn't nipped, tucked, plumped or tweezed, the caring physicians in the field of cosmetic surgery took it upon themselves to show us how critical it is to our health and well-being to take care of yet one more flawed body part.

I became aware of this vital information recently while purchasing tacos.  Yes,  I do all my heavy reading while sitting on a bench waiting in line on Taco Tuesday.  Our illustrious Orange County magazines are jam-packed with ads for cosmetic surgeons ready to nip and tuck you within an inch of your life and apparently, the latest part of our bodies that should bring us mortal shame is our hands.  So, for a mere $300-$3,000 (I guess they need to see them first) they can "restore a youthful appearance" to my hands.

As I am sitting here writing about this, the dots are starting to connect.  Be patient with me, sometimes I'm a slow learner.  I suppose it's no coincidence that on Taco Tuesday I stared at a magazine with several ads for hand rejuvenation, shaking my head at the vanity of some women while admiring the gorgeous hands in the magazine.

Less than a week later the fateful picture was taken and I saw my own hands in a way I had never seen them before, as the hands of an old woman  - "my grandmother's hands."  

Now I'm starting to wonder, what is wrong with my grandmother's hands?  I love my grandmothers.  I named this blog after both of them.  They were powerful women of faith and integrity that raised their children to love God.  What I wouldn't do for the chance to sit beside either one of them for one more hour holding their precious hands.

A lot of hard work went into getting my hands to look this way.  These hands have changed diapers, washed dishes, pulled weeds, done the wave at baseball games, applauded at countless recitals and award ceremonies, been folded in prayer, been caressed, washed dishes, dried tears, grabbed the remote, brought comfort, built sandcastles, pet the dog, did I mention wash dishes (?) and been held by my husband twice while he placed rings on my finger - on my wedding day and on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

Every line tells a story, every wrinkle is a part of my history, every freckle has been earned.  I guess I figured out who the body snatchers are and they are not prying a dollar out of these beautiful hands!  They are mine and I'm keeping them.

"Grow old along with me!  The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made.
  Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; 
  Trust God:  See all, nor be afraid!'"
  ~Robert Browning

Market Monday - Heirloom Finds

My baby started junior high today.  He was looking forward to it until last week when somebody (Sam would not reveal who) told him he that everyone would be way bigger than he was, he would probably get "jumped" the first day and the principal would send him home from school because his hair was too long.  My husband and I couldn't figure out why he had a sudden interest in weight-lifting over the past week.  As it turns out, he was building up his muscles to fend off any would-be attackers.

After much reassurance by his sister, who just survived two years of junior high unscathed and a long talk with dad last night, our boy seemed to be a bit calmer this morning.  He had a smile on his face as he headed out the door and dad said he was happy to see his friends once he arrived at school.  Mom isn't doing so well, feeling a wee bit melancholy about how quickly her boy is growing up.  I'm sure both Sam and I will feel better in a few days!

Fall is a time of new beginnings, as the kids head back to school and the easy-going days of summer give way to the regimented days of fall.  I always have a sense of anticipating the new in September and I attempt to reorganize the house and schedule my time, the kid's calendars and all of the various family activities.

Over the summer months I neglected my little etsy shops, so I'm listing some of my sweet vintage finds and today I'm bringing you Market Monday,  highlighting some of my unique treasures.

I always wanted to learn how to knit or crochet.  When I was a little girl one of my great aunts very patiently attempted to teach me how to knit.  Her attempts were in vain, but I still had visions of chunky knit sweaters and colorful scarves that I would someday create.  Years later, as a married woman, my mother-in-law took on the daunting task of teaching me once again and I patiently sat down with the knitting needles in my hands and began knitting a sweater for my new husband.

Ten years passed and I finally asked my sweet Aunt Hope to finish that sweater (finishing meaning taking it apart and making it all over again.)  I finally admitted to myself that knitting is not my thing.  When a dear friend tried to show me how to crochet just a few years ago, I got that sparkle in my eye once again.  Within a few short hours I realized, that like knitting, crocheting requires patience.  Unless I wanted to devote the next ten years to the project, I figured I better quit while I was ahead.

I admire the patience required and the beauty involved in the art of crocheting and I recently acquired a stash of lovely vintage crocheting threads along with other vintage sewing supplies.   I know the true craftsperson will be delighted with these special finds.  I will be listing more over the next week.

So,  now I've demonstrated my lack of domestic skills in the areas of knitting, crocheting and pie baking!  After last week's pie fiasco, I couldn't resist showing you this beautiful pie plate.  I love the gorgeous fall colors of rust gold, brown and blue.

I may not know how to bake a pie, but my mother bakes the best apple pie, hands down!    I have ordered apple pie in restaurants time and time again when I smell one baking.  I can't resist that tantalizing smell of cinnamon and apple mixed together, but I'm always a bit disappointed.  It's never quite as good as mom's!  She mixes in just the right amount of cinnamon and can roll out one mean pie crust - tender and flaky.

This beautiful pie plate would be the perfect reward for the pie maker in your life!

There is also a lovely matching casserole dish, perfect for a green bean casserole or those sweet potatoes topped with crispy browned marshmallows that everybody loves to eat at Thanksgiving (well, at least I love to eat at Thanksgiving.)

I have a kitchen utensil drawer, jam-packed with so many knives, choppers, sifters, graters, peelers, mashers and more.  It is so full that I can barely close it.  In fact I think my utensils breed at night.  There are things in there that I'm sure I've never used and other things that I don't even know how to use.  Besides that, I have a big basket sitting right beside the oven containing all the spoons and spatulas that I use most often.

For Depression-era cooks, every single kitchen item was treasured.  Nothing was taken for granted.  Everything was used and there was no such thing as waste.  It is hard for us to even conceive of in our high consumption world. 

This pair of 1930's kitchen utensils have survived the years.  Imagine the stories they could tell.  Seventy years of being used in the kitchen while families cooked, laughed, fought, cried, ate, prayed and lived together through lean years and plenty.

I love the apple green paint on wooden handle of this tin crinkle cutter and stainless steel Ace chopper.  They would make a great addition to a country kitchen or a great gift for a collector!

These are a few of things I have waiting for you in my etsy shop.  Remember, I'm posting new items weekly and Christmas is just around the corner!

What I Like Doing Best Is Nothing

"How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh,  after he has wondered for a long time.
"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're gong off to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh, nothing, and then you go and do it."
"O, I see," said Pooh.
"This is a nothing sort of thing that we're doing now."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh again.
"It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

I'm feeling nostalgic.

My two youngest are heading off to junior  high and high school next week.  The years of doing Nothing are behind us, even our summers are filled with doing Something, now.    It seems like yesterday that summers stretched out endlessly with lazy days spent doing...well, Nothing.

I'm not one to get caught up in sentimentality, but Winnie the Pooh was my son's favorite character from the time he was an infant and "The House At Pooh Corner" is, in my mind one of the sweetest pieces of literature ever written.  There is something about summer drawing to a close and school beginning that always reminds me of the tender words between Pooh and Christopher Robin at the end of this heartwarming book.

Christopher has spent his childhood deeply absorbed in the world of Pooh, Tigger, Piglet and his other friends in the Hundred Acre Wood.  Now the time has come for him to leave for school and enter the world of "Kings and Queens and something called Factors, and a place called Europe, and an island in the middle of the sea where no ships came, and how you make a Suction Pump (if you want to), and when Knights were Knighted, and what comes from Brazil."

Pooh Bear begins to feel left out, being a Bear of Very Little Brain, as he realizes that Christopher Robin will eventually leave him behind to enter this strange new world where he does not belong.

Every time I read this, my heart beats a little faster and I feel like shouting, "Don't go, Christopher Robin!  Stay.  Live in the Hundred Acre Wood forever."  But I know that he can't - and he shouldn't.    This is the tug and pull of growing up.

We have already been through this with our oldest child.  We survived and so did she, the growing pains of adolescence.  She is now an  adult and a beautiful young lady.  She is excited about the future looking to get married next year and start her own family.  If our children never left the Hundred Acre Wood, if they stayed with Tigger and Pooh forever, they would never grow to be mature, healthy adults.

Yet, there is something so sweet, so innocent about those days of childhood, that we long for our children to cling to them as long as they can, knowing that they will grow up soon enough.  Those early years of childhood have now passed for my precious three and oh, how I cherished every minute.  I glance back with a smile but look forward with great hope, knowing their future is bright as they place it in the Lord's hands.

The final paragraphs of Pooh and Christopher Robin's story expresses the tug of a child's heart but I think we hear more the heart of the parent/author A.A. Milne, as Christopher's childhood wanes and adolescence begins.

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out "Pooh!"
"Yes?" said Pooh.
"When I'm-when--Pooh!"
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"
"I'm not going to do Nothing any  more."
"Never again?"
"Well, not so much.  They don't let you."
Pooh waited for him to go  on, but he was silent again.
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"said Pooh Helpfully.
"Pooh, when I'm-you know-when I'm not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?"
"Just Me?"
"Yes, Pooh."
"Will you be here too?"
"Yes, Pooh, I will be really. I promise I will be, Pooh."
"That's good," said Pooh.
"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever.  Not even when I'm a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw.
"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I-if I'm not quite--"he stopped and tried again-"Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"
"Understand what?"
"Oh, nothing."  He laughed and jumped to his feet.  "Come on!"
"Where?" said Pooh.
"Anywhere," said Christopher Robin.

So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way,  in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

A letter to Facebook

Dear Facebook,

I love you.  These are the reasons why

~ It is really nice staying connected to childhood friends and reminiscing now and then.

~ Who doesn't like getting dozens of birthday greetings?

~ If you wasn't for you, I wouldn't be able to keep in touch with my in-laws.  You know I'm a terrible correspondent.  I wouldn't have pictures of my nieces and nephews.  I wouldn't be able to spy on their daily lives or send them quick hellos.

~ Because of you, dear Facebook, my kids can see how cool their grandparents really are.

~ I love you because I can chat with my husband and kids and send them sweet little notes and somehow it means more when it's posted on their wall for the whole wide world to see.

~ I miss my extended family and you help me feel connected to the people I'm related to. 

I love seeing pictures and hearing the details of all the weddings and celebrations.


If you weren't around my in-laws and second cousins and once-removeds wouldn't even know who I am.  It's nice to put faces to names.

~ Facebook, I really love you, because you reconfirmed what I already knew.  My sister really is quite crazy.  She proved this to me when she posted that indecipherable status on her wall sending everyone into a frenzy.


Dear Facebook,

I hate you.  Here are the reasons why

~ You are a mind-numbing waste of time!  You suck me in to your web of 'friend-ing', 'like-ing' 'poke-ing' 'chat-ting' mayhem until I've wasted hours of my life - and for what?

~ I hate you for the days it seems like everybody's life is way more fun than mine.  I'm stuck at home and everyone, I mean everyone has posted a status about their trip to Rome/Bali/Dubai/Africa/Australia/Hong Kong/Paris.   Puhleeze.  It was a struggle for me to get to the hardware store for pantry moth traps and everybody's posting  pictures of  themselves beside one of the Seven Wonders of the World.  It's so not fair.

~ If it wasn't for you Facebook, 505 of my closest friends would never have seen that embarrassing picture of me from my awkward phase.

~ I would never have married my husband if I had known he wanted to be a farmer.  Now he wastes his time on you, Facebook, begging people to help him plant lima beans and tomatoes!

Okay Facebook.  I can forgive you for all of the above things based on this one single video.

It's the video that brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it.  This is a video is of my nephew Caleb.  He is twelve years old and he is autistic.  Until a few weeks ago he hated water.  He couldn't stand to have it splashed in his eyes but this summer he learned to swim all on his own.  I couldn't be there, but when this video was posted on Facebook I watched it over and over and over.  It's really short, but it's oh, so sweet.

I love you Facebook.

I love you Caleb.

My Friends Are My Estate

Today's post is dedicated to three of the best friends a woman could have.  Kelly, Kathy and Cheryl (plus Madison) thanks for knowing exactly what I needed yesterday and being there for me!

"Friendship isn't a luxury, it's a necessity."

 - Karen Rutledge

To you and all the other dear friends that carry me through each day, may I be half the friend to you, that you are to me!

Here are some of the best quotes I have found, celebrating the gift of friendship - in all of it's beautiful forms - young and old, vintage and new!

"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. 

Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours."
- Ludwig van Beethoven 

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson  

"My friends are my estate."

 - Emily Dickinson

"Ah, how good it feels...the hand of an old friend."
- Mary Englebright

"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."
- Mother Teresa 

"I count myself in nothing else so happy

As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends."
- William Shakespeare 

"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than 

walking alone in the light."
- Helen Keller

  

"Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being."
-Goethe

LIFE Stinks

I don't like to lose.  Just ask my husband, or for that matter, just ask my son.  Okay, just take my word for it.

Yesterday we decided to play a mild-mannered friendly little board game - The Game of Life.  Remember that one?  Well, this is an updated electronic version, with Visa cards and everything.  You get your own personal credit card and every time your turn comes around, you place it in the electronic LIFEpod.  It automatically calculates your salary and LIFE points, based on spaces you land on and cards you pick.

Well, today, (and just about every other time we play) Sam ruled.  I was conservative, picked a decent career, got a degree, and sucked swamp water by the end of the game.  Seemed like every card I picked up was something about dancing.  Let's just say this...dancing and writing don't pay!

Sam picked a career in sports...yes, sports and ended up with a $2,000,000 annual salary and $9,196,000 cash.  He was laughing at, no...

...more like mocking his mother by the end.  Steve was somewhere in between.  What really killed Steve was his five babies. He was a baby-making machine!  Those babies cost him a lot of money and didn't give him enough LIFE  points to make up the difference.

I'm trying not to be a sore loser, but I've lived over 40 years (not saying how many years over,), have a lot of life experience and am relatively intelligent.  Sam, on the other hand, is twelve!  What is a twelve-year-old going to do with a three million dollar salary and a mansion?  It's just not fair.  LIFE stinks.

This was just a game, and I'm over it now getting over it now, but the fact of the matter is ...

sometimes real life stinks too.  This past week will not go down in the annals of history as "the best week ever" for me.  I was so overwhelmed that I didn't know what to write.  I was hurting, confused and struggling to make sense of it all.  I realize I'm not going to "Find a winning lottery ticket on the street +$100,000" or "Be chosen as the cover model for my favorite magazine +$500,000", but I would like to catch a break now and then.

Although the week had a lousy start, something happened on the weekend that changed my perspective.  No, it wasn't playing a game with my guys, or even the fun birthday party at the beach.  The thing that changed my perspective was this...God spoke to me.  Now, before you think, "she's really lost it - she's hearing voices!", hear me out.

I chose to worship with other believers on Sunday.  I really just wanted to stay at home, curl up with a book and a pot of coffee and hibernate.  It's hard to put on that fake plastic smile, shake hands and play the role of "good Christian", when I feel like I'm anything but "good" and I have no answers. 

Here is where that beautiful, mysterious thing called "faith" becomes real and tangible.  I cannot base my relationships (with family, friends, the church or God), upon how I am feeling or what it is that I want to do.  So, I chose community over isolation and found God there and heard His voice.

I heard it in the warm hellos from the friends that greeted me.  I heard it in the sweet words of encouragement from my dear friend Deborah.  I heard it in the beautiful worship music that spoke healing to my heart.  But most of all, I heard it in the message that my pastor gave...just for me.  I know there were a lot of other people in that room.  Some of them may have even had the mistaken notion that the message was for them.

When my pastor said the words, "He hears our heart cry, so go ahead and cry", he meant me.  When he read the words in Jeremiah 31:3, he was reading them for me.  "God told them, "I've never quit loving you and never will.  Expect love, love, and more love!"".  

Yes!  God loves me, cares about me and wants to spend time with me!  What an incredible, beautiful thought.  When I'm tired, cranky, mean, hurting, happy, loving...whatever state of mind I may be in.  I can choose to accept his love, or choose to reject it.  Today, I am choosing God's love for me,  and passing it along to you.  Accept it as the gift that it is and, in turn, share it with someone else!

School Wars

I don't home school.

I have many friends who do.  I also have friends that have chosen unschooling, private schools, schools for the gifted, schools for the arts, religious schools and almost every other permutation imaginable.

Here's the thing that drives me up a wall!  Every single group feels that their way of schooling is IT! Any parent that chooses to educate their children differently is mislead at best and "out of God's will" at the worst.  They won't necessarily say it to your face, but when they get in the room with other like-minded parents, whoa mama!  You know it.  You have probably done it.  Heck, I've done it.  I have heard it all, the public school bashing, the home school dissing, the private school ranting.  Frankly, I'm tired of it.

I've heard all the negatives.  This is just a sampling.

- Home schooled and unschooled kids are socially awkward.  Yep!  I've met a few that are, but I've also met many more who are well-rounded, well-spoken and socially gifted.

- Public school kids will be exposed to foul language, ungodly teachers and drugs.  Yes! That may be true, but they will also learn (with their parent's guidance) to respect those they disagree with and stand up for what they believe.

- Private school kids are cliquish - Yeah, they certainly can be.  But, they can also be warm and expressive and benefit from the narrower focus of a private school or a Bible-based education.


Parenting is hard work and often just plain overwhelming.  What is best for you, may not be best for me and my kids.  I love the variety and the diversity of options available, but sometimes it's really hard to know if you are making the right decision for each child and their unique talents, abilities and disabilities.

A few year's back, we placed our son in a gifted program that turned out to be a terrible fit for him.  While he was there, I met other parents who struggled with the same problems and concerns.  We tried and tried to work with the teacher and the administration, but they were immovable, so...we returned our son back to his old school.  Other parents in the program, who voiced the same concerns we did, chose to leave their children in a situation that clearly didn't fit them, just so they could say their child was in a gifted program.

It is clear now, with his recent diagnosis of Asperger's, why that school didn't work, but we didn't have all the information then and made the best decision we could at that time. Upon his return to his original school, he was warmly welcomed and, with a lot of give and take between us, the teachers and the administrators, he received the help he needed.

In my 27 years of parenting, I've dealt with private Christian schools, public schools, and GATE (gifted) schools.  I have tried most of the schooling options out there.  So, where are my children now?  Our oldest graduated from a private Christian college after spending the majority of her years in public schools.  Presently, our two youngest are also in public school, one heading into junior high and the other entering high school next year.  This is what we feel is the best option for them at this time.  My kids have had amazing teachers and some, well, not-so-amazing teachers.  They have won awards and struggled in classes.  They have made friends and lost friends.  We have guided them through all the ups and downs of a public school education.

Like I said earlier, we have tried most of the options available, except for home schooling.  I have many friends that do, but it's just not a good fit for us.  There are several reasons why I choose to send my children 'into the fray' of the public school system.  You can judge me as a good mom, or a bad mom, I really don't care.  I didn't just fall off the back of the turnip truck.  I can handle critics.

Here are my top five reasons that I have not chosen to home school (please observe the tongue in my cheek!)

1. I really don't like my kids enough to be with them all day...no, really...I mean it...okay, just kidding.  But, I do have to admit, when I wave goodbye at the door or at the curb, I breathe a sweet sigh.
2. I have paid my tax dollars and I don't want it to go to waste on somebody else's kids.
3. I love my children, and I truly want the best for them and frankly, I'm not always the best for them.
4. The cast of characters that they meet, is great fodder for their budding careers as playwrights and novelists. 
5. I do not want my children to be smarter than I am.  "If publik skool was gud enuf for me, it's good enuf for them."

Okay, those may not be the real reasons we send our kids to public school.  The fact is, we have lived in school districts with some top-notch schools that our kids have been privileged to attend.  We have been blessed to have teachers and administrators that have loved, taught and cared for our children with incredible attention and integrity.  While I have battled illness, I have had adults rooting and advocating for my children.  For that, I thank God.

So, I am laying down the gauntlet. and issuing a challenge to all parents.  The next time you are tempted to criticize or scorn someone else and the choices they have made for their children, why not encourage them instead?  Find someone who is not like-minded and share the things you have learned or are learning from your own unique experience.  We will accomplish so much more with mutual encouragment and prayer than could ever be gained through criticism and disdain.

Real wisdom, God's wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterized by getting along with others. It is gentle and reasonable, overflowing with mercy and blessings, not hot one day and cold the next, not two-faced. You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.
James 3:16

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 7

To read chapters 1-6 of My Story – The Gift of Pain, click on the links at right.

I don’t know about you, but reading through this story again, I’m ready for it to be over! Stick with me. There are only a few chapters left.

This is not a happy story. It is also fairly one-sided. In spite of the pain and sickness of the past several years, I have 

• enjoyed my children and celebrated their achievements, 
• made new friends and savored time with old ones, 
• loved my husband and my family, 
• laughed with friends and relished the good times, 
• dug dipper into the Word and worshiped my Savior. 

With each new trial that has come our way, I have grown to rely on God more and more and for that, and all the other blessings He has given me, I thank Him.

I have set the LORD always before me;
Because He is at my right hand I shall not be moved.
Psalm 16:8 (NKJV)

As I lay in the outpatient recovery room, I began to feel the pain as the anesthetic wore off. Steve called over a nurse and she administered meds through my IV. They brought a small measure of relief but very quickly wore off.  He summoned the nurse again and explained that my level of pain was back to a '10'.  He asked if there was any way to relieve my suffering. Each time they administered drugs, the relief was negligible and the searing pain returned.

I mentioned that the pain also appeared to be coming from my left shoulder, but no one took notice and the afternoon dragged on. One by one, the other patients that were in the room for the same surgery were released to go home as they recovered suitably.

Finally, I was the only patient left, still in terrible pain, with no break in sight. The nurse, exasperated, said she had given me every form of pain meds available. If I needed anything stronger, I would need the doctor's approval.  They summoned the surgeon and he appeared. He was exhausted from a day of performing surgeries and a bit annoyed at being called. The nurse informed him of my pain level and their attempts to control it. "She says she's still at a 9 or 10. She wants something more. It doesn't make sense because we've given her high doses of meds all day and it doesn't appear to be helping at all."

"Give her whatever she needs, so she can go home," were the doctor's words. "She probably has a high tolerance to the medication since she's been dealing with chronic pain for years."  Finally, they administered straight morphine and my pain diminished to a dull roar. They finally felt I was stable enough and I was released to go home. By the time we arrived home, my pain had skyrocketed once again.

I had been taking Oxycontin for two months prior to my surgery, as my pain had escalated. Now, I increased my intake from every four hours to every two hours with morphine for breakthrough pain and still, I felt no real measure of relief.

This is where things get very foggy. The rest of the events, as I relate them in this chapter, are recalled to the best of my ability. I sat with Steve to help me remember how things transpired while I was in this black hole. It is still a blur, but I believe this is how things occurred.

Two days after surgery, Steve couldn't bear to see me in such agony and called the doctor's office to see if we could go in before my week follow-up appointment. He was reminded that the doctor was in Italy on vacation and we were scheduled to see him in two weeks, when he returned.  I had not slept since I got home from the hospital. I would drift off and awaken, sobbing with the pain. There was no position where I could find relief. I was literally overcome with mind-numbing pain, in my hand, my elbow and stabbing in my shoulder.

Within a couple days, I couldn’t bear it any longer. Steve called our own health provider and scheduled an appointment with the first doctor available. I had never seen her before and she really knew nothing of my condition prior to this, since it has been handled through Worker’s Comp. She was convinced that my pain was aggravated by depression, as I sat in her office like a zombie, barely able to raise my head or put two words together. She prescribed me an anti-depressant and scheduled me to see my regular doctor in a couple weeks.

I went to get my stitches removed, a week after surgery and the nurse asked me to turn my arm over so she could get at the stitches on the inside of my elbow. I could not raise or turn my arm and cried out every time she tried to manipulate it. She was very sympathetic and somewhat alarmed that I was still experiencing so much pain. She called in another doctor on duty to have him look at my arm.  Again, I expressed how the pain seemed to be focused on my shoulder more than the surgical sites. He had no answers for me and increased my Oxycontin intake significantly.

Finally, the surgeon returned and I went for my follow-up appointment. He was annoyed that I was still wearing my sling and said that I probably pulled a muscle in my shoulder when I was in surgery, because they had my hand over my head to get at the inside of my elbow. He insisted that I remove the sling and live without it, or I wouldn’t heal properly.

By this time I was on the highest dose of Oxycontin that the doctor could prescribe, taking it every 4-6 hours. I was taking morphine for break-through pain, anti-depressants, anti-seizure meds and God only knows what else.

I was drugged-up and messed up and begging for relief. I would lie in bed, crying and begging God to remove the pain or take me out of my misery. My prayers seemed to bounce off the ceiling. I moved from the bed to the sofa, constantly struggling to find a comfortable position, but there was none to be found. I prayed to die, since I knew I couldn’t continue to live like this.

Can't you see I'm black-and-blue,
beat up badly in bones and soul?
God, how long will it take
for you to let up?
I'm no good to you dead, am I?
I can't sing in your choir if I'm buried in some tomb!

I'm tired of all this—so tired. My bed
has been floating forty days and nights
On the flood of my tears.
My mattress is soaked, soggy with tears.
The sockets of my eyes are black holes;
nearly blind, I squint and grope.
Psalm 6: 2-3, 5-7 (MSG)

On July 4, I finally left the house. The whole family was going to my cousin’s house for a barbecue and fireworks and I didn’t want to disappoint the kids by staying home again. I knew I could escape to the back bedroom if things became unbearable.

I was walking across the family room when, suddenly, I tripped and fell forward. I reached with my right arm to catch myself on the coffee table. As I did so, I heard a loud pop and felt my shoulder jerk. I screamed in pain and thought, “I’ve done it now.” Whatever had been bothering my shoulder before, this certainly couldn’t be good.

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 6

For chapters 1-5 of My Story - The Gift of Pain, click on the links to the right.

Following Steve’s heart attack, it became apparent that one of us needed a job that provided health insurance, since this had become a major expense for us, maintaining independent health coverage.

Steve was growing stronger every day and his film and live event production business was flourishing. I looked for a job that would be flexible with the kid’s school schedules and provide me with the needed benefits.

Our oldest daughter had previously worked for a major coffee chain. She mentioned that they had full benefits for part-time employees so I went to her old store and applied for a job.

By this time, Ashley was attending Vanguard University in Costa Mesa and we had our two youngest still at home, in elementary school. Ashley had just returned from Costa Rica where she lived for a few years, working with missionary friends of ours and studying Spanish. What a privilege to see your child dedicated to service for God and others.

Anyway, enough mom bragging - back to the story. I got the job and I loved it! The benefits were amazing and they gave me exactly the shift I needed in order to be with the kids when they were home from school.

I admit, at first it was a real challenge, learning the customer’s names and their drink of choice, memorizing the various combinations, codes and products and standing through a full shift (I’m not as young as I used to be), but I came to love the interaction with our customers and looked forward to their bright smiles and the camaraderie of the other employees. There was never a dull moment, dealing with those cursed Frappuccinos, double tall half-caf no fat lattes and the occasional cranky customer.

After I had worked there for several months I asked the manager if I could train to be a barista, making drinks for the customers, instead of standing behind the register. I was trained to work the espresso machines and make drinks and rose to the challenge of creating the ‘perfect foam’. The time flew by and I was soon able to handle our busiest shifts on my own.

Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays arrived. The lines became longer and the pace more frenetic. I noticed a nagging pain in my right hand. I didn’t realize how physical this job would be, constantly carrying and lifting. I mentioned the pain to my fellow employees and they said I would eventually adjust to the physical aspects of the job.

We flew to Canada to be with Steve’s family for Christmas and I was certain that the much-needed rest would do the trick.

We had an amazing time with family, spending our Christmas at the Circle Square Ranch in Arden where the kids played endless games of 'Manhunt' through the empty dorm rooms, romped in the snow, rode horses and enjoyed being with their cousins. It was a wonderful break!

We came back in the New Year and I returned to work rested and refreshed. However, it was only a matter of hours before the pain returned and developed in my left hand as well.

I finally told my boss that I needed a referral to Worker’s Comp to deal with the pain. The assistant manager placed the referral and I went to see a doctor.

I cannot begin to describe the web of confusion and mismanagement that is called Worker’s Comp. I won’t go into all the boring details, but for over two years I went from doctor to specialist to therapist and back around again as they basically attempted to disprove my pain.

At first, my manager was very sympathetic, trying to give me lighter shifts and accommodating me when they could. It became impossible, however, as this job requires lifting on the part of every employee. When there is a line of customers out the door, there are three people working and something heavy needs to be moved or lifted, you just do it.

I encountered countless other people who were truly suffering and in pain, as I was, struggling to deal with the Worker’s Comp mess. They delayed treatment time and again, as my health continued to decline.

I got to the point where I had pain, tingling and numbness in both of my hands, along with pain in my elbows, my neck and my feet. It was constant. I couldn’t continue to work since my condition was deteriorating so rapidly. I finally had to secure the services of a lawyer, since they refused to address my pain and treat me appropriately.

I was diagnosed, misdiagnosed and re-diagnosed with a myriad of conditions, none that seemed to fit exactly what was going on in my body. Eventually, it was determined that I had carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands, a compressed disc in my neck and ulnar neuropathy, originating in my elbows. Lovely.

After endless wrangling with my employer and Worker’s Comp, I was finally scheduled for surgery, over three years after the pain began. As things had worsened on my left side, my right hand and elbow had improved, so I was scheduled for an ulnar nerve release on my elbow and open carpal tunnel release surgery on my left hand. There were no guarantees that it would work, but the odds were in my favor and all other treatments had failed. I was relieved to finally be facing the end of this journey and knew it couldn’t possibly be any worse.

In May 2009 I went to a hospital in Long Beach where they performed the required surgeries. I was there on an outpatient basis and when I came to, Steve was standing over me smiling. We could finally begin the healing process. I didn’t know, that day, that I would experience the worst pain of my life before the healing could begin.

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 5

To read Chapters 1-4 of My Story, click on the links at the right.

Before I continue this next chapter, I have a confession to make. I am feeling a bit squeamish about the title of my story "The Gift of Pain". When I began writing this, most of my pain was in the past.  It had settled to a dull roar and I felt that I had really learned some lessons that I could share. Unfortunately, the pain has returned and is increasing. Once you read the chapters dealing with my chronic pain (I promise, I will get there eventually), you will understand better why I do not want to return to those days of misery.

I have discovered that pain is a cruel master. Just when you think you have beat him back, he rears his ugly head trying to wrest control of your life once again. I guess, in some weird way, this is where the gift aspect comes in. I don’t know if I would have learned how desperately and completely I need the Lord’s presence in my life, were it not for the pain. I’m that stubborn and hard headed.  I just really wish I could learn this another way. 

Right now, I have to admit, I am praying for a reprieve. If you are looking to read a story that wraps up nicely, like the final five minutes of some mindless TV show, where everything is resolved and they all ride off into the sunset, then quit reading now.  

If you are a 'name it and claim it' Christian, this will not fit your theology.  I offer this alone, a firm and deep conviction that whether or not I am ever free of pain, God is who he says he is, he is worthy of my praise, and my life is in his hands.

"Since Jesus went through everything you're going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you'll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want."  ^{1 Peter 4:1-2(MSG)}

Are you ready?….read on.

I will never forget the sight of my dear husband, lying in our bed while a dozen firemen and paramedics crowded into our room . It was surreal. I stood motionless at the end of the bed, until the phone rang. “Mommy, are you going to pick us up from school?” asked our daughter. “You’re late!” I put on my cheery mommy voice and said, “Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I got busy and forgot.  Someone will be there to pick you up in a minute.”

I asked my brother to get the kids from school and he left. The paramedics loaded Steve into the ambulance and told me I would need to follow in my car. I was alone and scared. I immediately called my parents but got their voice mail instead. I finally called my sister, living in Vancouver at the time, and burst into tears when she answered the phone. She prayed with me and reassured me that everything would be all right. God was in control.

I hung up the phone and sat in my car, unable to move. All at once, I felt a deep sense of peace settle over me like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I had never experienced anything so supernatural yet so very real. I dried my tears and headed to the hospital calmly. When I got there, I was directed to the emergency room where a dozen people were hooking up Steve to wires and monitors, asking a constant stream of questions. Their cheery demeanor and professionalism calmed me further. One of the doctors announced, “Congratulations Mr. Rutledge, you are having a heart attack.”

Before long, my parents arrived and rushed to my side. We were told that Steve would be going to the cath lab for further testing and I kissed his cheek as they whisked him away.

Over the next several hours the waiting room filled with family and friends as they came to support our daughter Ashley and me. Our youngest two spent the night at my brother’s house, oblivious to the drama at the hospital. I sat calmly in the waiting room, still sensing that “peace that passes understanding”.

After a while, the doctor came and gave us the news. While undergoing testing, Steve had gone into cardiogenic shock.  They almost lost him, but were able to start his heart again.  They implanted an external heart pump to stabilize him so he could survive  emergency coronary artery bypass surgery. The doctor stated, matter-of-fact, that if I hadn’t called 9-1-1 when I did, he would have died. I heard the doctor, but it was days later before the reality of the situation sank in. I signed the approval forms and we continued waiting.

As Steve tells it, one minute he was lying on the table looking at the heart monitor. All of a sudden… he saw it flat-line.

He looked from the monitor to the doctor and then passed out. The next thing he knew he was waking up from surgery. “I thought I died,” he says. When I woke up, everyone looked grim, telling me I had to have a double by-pass. All I could think was, I’m glad to be alive!”

He certainly wasn’t the only one that felt that way. We called friends and family with the good news, praising God for sparing Steve and for the quick actions of the paramedics and doctors.  We braced ourselves for the days of recovery ahead, as his parents booked their flights to come from Canada to be with us.

Let me ask you something, at this point? What is your greatest fear? What is that thing that keeps you awake at night or that you are certain you could never survive? For me, it had always been the possibility of my husband being hurt or injured. From the time we were married, I was certain that I would be widowed at a young age (that time has certainly passed!) I could not imagine how I would manage if I was left to cope with our lives alone. Maybe because we had been married very young and I had never really handled life on my own. Whatever the reason, it was a very real deep-seated fear of mine that I had never shared with anyone.

Now my fear had become a reality. He had survived the heart attack and the surgery, but he was incapacitated and would be so for some time. Being self-employed, we didn’t have sick days or disability insurance to fall back on. How long could we survive, I wondered?

I had a meager income selling my purses and a few things on ebay, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. Here is the amazing part. From that moment in the car, when I felt that peace come over me like a blanket, through Steve’s recovery, I never worried. This is not normal behavior for me. I know it was God’s presence reassuring me that he would care for me when Steve could not.

Many days I would look at our circumstances and say to myself, “Today, the bills are paid, the children are healthy and Steve is alive. That is enough. Tomorrow is another day and it’s in God’s hands.” I took it one day at a time, some days, one hour at a time.

So many dear friends and family held us up through that time, with their prayers, encouragement, presence and financial support. We could never repay them all for being there for us at such a critical time.

Steve recovered quickly and was soon feeling better than he had in years. We had survived another major crisis. Certainly now we would get a break.  We enjoyed a period of relative health and prosperity where we breathed a little easier, but for me personally, the worst was yet to come...


" There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love."  ^{1 John 4:18 (MSG)}

Houseguests

We had a few overnight guests last Friday.  It has been a while since my kids were toddlers and it is amazing how much excitement three little people can bring to a home.

Our daughter offered to host a sleepover for her nieces and nephew-to-be so their mom could enjoy a night out and a peaceful night's sleep.

Lauren, Asia and Kahlil livened up our house with their questions, chatter, chasing the dog, chatter, endless energy and did I mention chatter?  It was a delight having them over.

We had plenty of toy options for them to play with but the three things that entertained them the most were (in order of importance)

1.  the dog

2.  a magnifying glass

3.  Ashley's Pilates ball

I forgot that there was a time  in my own children's lives when a cardboard box would create endless hours of amusement.

One of the funniest moments came when Lauren had something that her big sister Asia wanted.  Asia approached her and in a sing-song voice said, "Sweetie! That's dangerous.  Give it to me."  Lauren frowned and clutched it closer.  Undaunted, Asia grabbed her in a death-grip and repeated, sweeter than ever, "Sweetie!  It's dangerous.  Give it to me."  So cunning and charming at the same time.  I like this girl!

I wanted to get a group picture of everyone there.  Let's just say, it took a while.  Here are my attempts.

There's that darned Pilates ball!

I got one!

Not quite...

Keep smiling Steve.  We'll get there eventually!

Success!

It's been a while since I mentioned my personal heroes, so today I want to honor a group of people who are heroic in my eyes.  To Hosanna, the beautiful mother of these three children, and all the other tireless single parents out there.  You attempt the impossible every day.  May you find friends who support you, strength for the task and the grace to forgive yourself when you stumble (as all parents do)!

 
"Be prepared. You're up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it's all over but the shouting you'll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You'll need them throughout your life. God's Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other's spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out."
^{Ephesians 6:13-18}

A Love Letter

Today is my handsome hubby's birthday.  We have been together since I was 18 and he was 21, which basically means, we have grown up together.  There have certainly been a lot of growing pains in our years together.  We have laughed and loved, fought and cried.  But through it all, we have grown closer to each other and to the Lord.

Indulge me, while I send a little love letter to my sweetie.

Things I love about Steve

~ he is a man of  God

~ that smile!

~ he is a loyal friend

~ he has a great sense of humor

~ he loves his children and isn't afraid to tell them


~ he has THE best laugh

~ he's still a mama's boy


~ he can cook (this is a biggie!)

~ he gets better-looking every day

~ he adores me

~ he's mine.

Steve, I love you more today than ever.

Grow old with me.  The best is yet to be.