Lots of new house progress

The painter started in our new house the same day I took Ada to the hospital, so she was the first one to see the colors with me when we got back.  

She was pretty pleased with her room.

Also, we have a lot of doors.

Jason spent his Saturday unloading Pergo.  Each box weighs 25 pounds.


There were a few boxes.

Incidentally, notice the main reason we're moving, out the window (beyond the parking lot):  proximity to playground.

Also, the siding is done on the front of the house.

And today, they installed Pergo!

The painter finished all the first coats, and Lizzy agrees:  their room is a good color.

Halfway Day

Today is Halfway Day--as in, halfway through the school year!

What better reason to throw a party in the dark of winter than to celebrate this milestone?

So we laid out hors d'oeuvres and invited the grandparents (and Daddy) to peruse the kids' schoolwork so far.

Supportive oohing and ahhing was just what we needed to encourage us when we're lost in the middle of a sea of endless lessons.

Plus, cupcakes.


Why didn't I think of this last year?

We support the education of tomorrow's medical experts

When the pediatrician couldn't figure out what the lump next to Ada's eye is, he referred her to the major regional hospital--the place you go when you're really in trouble.


This particular hospital not only has bad associations for me because it's the place to go when you're too bad off for the local hospital, but I've also had a few personal visits there that were pretty much terrifying--as in, testing-my-kid-for-something-that-would-probably-kill-them level of fear.


Not only that, but the hospital is made up of about eight different ginormous, sprawling buildings, all of which are perpetually under construction so the entrances are constantly shifting, and not all of them adjacent to the sole parking garage.


So, seeing as I was thrilled enough to be headed that way, you can imagine it was the cherry on top to learn that we would be seeing a first-year resident rather than the main doctor.  Perfect.


After a long ride in the car, I was in serious need of a pit stop--a need that grew increasingly desperate as I followed a line of cars around and up the parking garage at 3 miles per hour.


I started to consider double-parking and making a run for it.


We were also about to be late for the appointment, and I still didn't even know which building it was in.  I wasn't driving to the emergency room, but I was reminded of Brian Regan's emergency room bit--


I'm circling around the parking lot.  'Can I park there?  I think I'm gonna die.'  

'I'm dying too.'  

'Ok, go ahead.  Yeah, I'll go up a couple levels.'  

[Humming]


Thanks to a very kind lady in the elevator who redirected me, Ada and I ran down a hill and up a hill to the correct building, found a bathroom, and made it to the eye clinic in reasonable time.


It was a dreary place, with outdated orange linoleum, low, dim ceilings, and unhappy receptionists.


Nor was the exam room designed to put me at ease.  It was roughly the size of a broom closet, so that I inadvertently stepped onto a floor pedal that turned out the lights as soon as we walked in.  The only chair available for me was in the extreme corner, behind all the optical equipment, so I had to peer around it to see Ada there on the big chair.


The practitioner himself looked about thirteen years old.  That really didn't instill confidence in me, nor did it when he got his lab coat stuck on the doorknob on his way in and had to struggle to release himself.


His name was clearly displayed on a nameplate, with an engraved "MD" after it, presumably to fend off frazzled parents ready to throw aside the equipment and come at him shrieking, "Are you even a REAL DOCTOR??!"


Not that I could identify with that urge.


Thankfully, he eventually told us to come back after lunch and see the main doctor, who assured me that Ada's lump is benign and does not call for surgery.  He prescribed hot compresses and had us make another appointment (with the resident) in three weeks.


I just....can't....wait.

Entering the house homestretch

It's getting there...

Caleb liked this "new car!" the drywaller was standing on.

Wordless Wednesday

Syrup freakout

I spent one morning last week as I often do, fretting through my morning prayers, pouring out my worries to the Lord, seeking help and solace.

Caleb making Christmas cookies last month.

That doesn't stress me out at all.

I needed to resume school after a long break and I was determined to work some exercise in too (New Year's and all).

I wondered if I would have the stamina to get through school and the rest of the day.

Ada's nativity scene.

I kind of feel like this shepherd.

Also, with the new house going full tilt, I needed to order floor tile, paint colors, garage doors, interior doors, trim, and cabinetry.


All last week.

Caleb doing a science experiment and learning that screws are, in fact, circular inclined planes.

Lots going on.  Lots to fret about.

Math.

Then, after I finished listing all these worries to God, I prepared a pancake breakfast.

Jeddy training his replacement dish-washer.

I set out one almost-empty syrup bottle while I put a full one in the microwave to warm up.


My dear 4-year-old saw the almost-empty bottle and cried in complete anguish, "Do we have more syrup?!?"  She was halfway to meltdown before I assured her that we had more syrup.


For a second I was so annoyed--Have you not noticed that I always provide for you?  Do you think I didn't anticipate that we would need syrup with these pancakes?  When have I failed to give you what you need?--but I immediately heard the voice of God echoing my very thoughts to my child.


Have you not noticed that I always provide for you?  Do you think I didn't anticipate what you need today?  When have I failed to give you what you need?

Guess what Caleb's favorite color is.

I'm so thankful I can tell my Father my felt needs.  I'm so thankful He's gracious and gentle with me.  I'm so reassured when I remember that He has anticipated my every need, and I can hear His voice saying, Trust Me.

Come and go, or not, but stay with us

We visited many family members over the holidays, including one who is getting quite along in years.  We observed that she can barely see anymore, and she can barely hear.  Also, she can barely walk or get around.  I had to wonder about her quality of life, so limited as she is.


Last week I groaned when I read an Associated Press article about a doctor who helped multiple patients take their own lives.  All the patients mentioned were elderly and "suffered from ailments including Parkinson's disease, multiple sclerosis, vascular disease, depression, and chronic pulmonary disease" (emphasis mine).


The doctor was quoted as saying, "I talked only.  And I would say, 'Well, if you want to do it, these are the ways it's possible.'"


So we are talking about a person with depression, approaching a doctor for healing, who is told how to kill himself?  How to hasten the very worst and most dangerous outcome for a depression sufferer?


In essence, the doctor is saying, "You're right.  You're not worth having around on this planet anymore.  Go kill yourself."


Thank God the Maryland Board of Physicians had the sense to revoke the man's medical license.


I am a depression patient.  Ought I to hasten my exit?  How much simpler that would be than figuring out a treatment plan.  Ought our elderly family members give in to the doubts about whether they are still valued?


What about quadriplegics like Joni Eareckson Tada?  What value can someone offer this world when they themselves are suffering and perhaps are no longer sure they want to be here?


Lately I have spent time every day studying and pondering over the words of Moses in Deuteronomy 31:1-13.  They are inspired and inspiring words, well worthy of meditation and memorization.


"Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or tremble at them, for the LORD your God is the one who goes with you.  He will not fail you or forsake you."


Beautiful, necessary words.  Spoken by Moses, the man who faced down Pharaoh and parted the Red Sea, right?


Well, yes.  But notice Moses' introduction to the passage:


"I am a hundred and twenty years old today; I am no longer able to come and go" (emphasis mine).


This man was not unlike our great-grandmothers, leaning heavily on their walkers, or Joni in her wheelchair... or how I often feel when children prevent me from leaving the house to do big important things.


At 120 years old, Moses likely even had Parkinson's or cardiovascular disease.  His life's value, far from being dried up with his physical ability, still had immeasurable worth; he had words of life to speak.


How blessed we are when the sufferers amongst us persevere in faith, passing on wisdom and courage, whether they are coming, going, or sitting still.

Ew

I couldn't help but notice some time ago that Caleb's big toenails were both cracking and disjoining themselves from his toes.  Even when one of them fell off completely, I figured it was some odd little-boy thing (fourth-time mother).


But tonight when Ada said, "Look at my toe, Mommy," and she showed me her cracking, disjoining big toenail, I immediately became alarmed.


After a Google search while I was stripping off everyone's socks to look, Jason informed me that there is a fungus among us.


Awesome.


And I thought Caleb was just losing his baby toenails.


Excuse me.  I'm feeling the urge to go wash my hands again.

Post-holiday stupor

I had my eight-week checkup at the chiropractor.


Ada came with me since we had back-to-back appointments--she had some weird thing going on with her eye for the pediatrician to look at--and she said it was funny to watch me get worked on.


After I talked him out of making me redo the tests I previously passed, I performed just the one strength assessment.  We're ultimately aiming for the average of 149 seconds.  For my two previous assessments I held for 7 and 22 seconds, respectively.


This time I hit 86!  Woohoo!.....?


Apparently, although far below average, this gets me out of the danger zone for back injury, because he doesn't want to see me again for six months.  Which is good, in that I've made great progress and have achieved stability.


But it's also bad, in that I don't have frequent accountability from someone who can tell if I'm doing the exercises or not.


Thus, new freedom from doctor visits has combined with Christmas cookies, celebratory spirits, erratic scheduling, and general holiday indolence to produce a marked disinclination to any sort of physical movement on my part.


In God's wise providence, however, our school break is coming to an end.  Which means several things, among which:


-I'll probably have to feed my children breakfast before 10am

-I'll have to get my brain in gear

-Worse, I'll have to get my kids' brains in gear

-I'll have to clear the junk off of some flat writing surfaces

-I'll have to remain responsibly engaged with my older children during the younger ones' naptime

-I can't in good conscience listen to Andy Williams sing "The Holiday Season" anymore


Ouch.


It also means I should probably plan to work in some physical movement, lest I spend the next six months in sloth and shock the chiropractor in June with a score of 3.