tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25217546333208882022024-01-27T01:48:45.273-05:00of paths and errands"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say." - J.R.R. Tolkien, from The Fellowship of the RingCindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-86852476460196712872010-06-09T01:19:00.002-04:002010-06-09T01:24:17.188-04:00my little chatterbox<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Several days ago, Ahna and I were having quite a conversation on the back porch. When I climbed up on a chair to snap her photo, she was utterly concerned.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mama, get off that chair. We're not supposed to stand on chairs, Mama.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4683858599/" title="IMG_2651 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2651" height="480" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4070/4683858599_7a2a876e23.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mama, what are you doing up in that chair?</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4683858661/" title="IMG_2652 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2652" height="480" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4059/4683858661_9855c841f9.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We're not 'posed to stand in chairs, Mama, because we will fall.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Won't we, Mama?</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4683858761/" title="IMG_2654 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2654" height="480" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4067/4683858761_86db3670bc.jpg" width="401" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But grown-ups can stand in chairs, 'cause they might not fall, right Mama?</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I can't stand in chairs, either, can I, Mama? Cause I will fall, too.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I would hurt myself, wouldn't I, Mama?</span></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But you should get down from the chair, Mama.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(still some residual redness and swelling in her eyes, from the surgery)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4683860585/" title="IMG_2657 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2657" height="320" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4026/4683860585_93516e6b9c.jpg" width="480" /></a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Good thing she's not bossy.</span></span><br />
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</span></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-13324659269397699742010-06-01T22:50:00.000-04:002010-06-01T22:50:49.521-04:00surgery day in photos<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"> She has certainly had some rough moments, but Ahna has done so well with her eye surgery recovery. The first day was no fun at all for her. She received so much sedative that she slept fitfully all day and night, and was very unhappy and in pain when she was awake.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The swelling and redness have actually been much less than we had expected. Today was the first morning she awoke, though, and actually opened her eyes. (4th post-op day) She usually spends the first couple of hours with her eyes closed, through breakfast and whatever else she's doing. She's just afraid of how they'll feel, so she leaves them at rest. It's kinda funny, actually, to see how well she has adjusted to moving around without being able to see. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The worst part of the whole experience has been putting in antibiotic eye drops and steroid ointment. Absolutely EXCRUTIATING. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">On the way to the hospital, sparkly shoes ON. The only shoes the girl wants on her feet.</span></i> </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Before surgery, getting vital signs, etc. She did so great with all the nurses and multiple hospital staff we had to deal with. </span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4661491041/" title="IMG_2262 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2262" height="334" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1305/4661491041_4782bc1f18.jpg" width="500" /></a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Chillin' with Daddy....... and doing gymnastics.</span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4661491201/" title="IMG_2287 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2287" height="334" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4072/4661491201_a618c5785e.jpg" width="500" /></a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4661491297/" title="IMG_2309 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2309" height="334" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4019/4661491297_6f7158ee17.jpg" width="500" /></a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Then a really rough Recovery Room experience, but finally she was asleep on Daddy. He had been holding her standing up, and was finally able to ease down onto the bed. Can anyone tell she's a Daddy's Girl??</span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">from IPhone:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4661490507/" title="IMG_0450 (3) by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0450 (3)" height="480" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4017/4661490507_54969c43ec.jpg" width="360" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">And on the way home, with her cool shades on. </span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4662111970/" title="IMG_0460 (2) by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0460 (2)" height="480" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/4662111970_c1370d662e.jpg" width="360" /></a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Later that night. I think that was Dora on the computer. </span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">She was pitiful.</span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4662112832/" title="IMG_2317 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2317" height="334" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1270/4662112832_8d0f4944ea.jpg" width="500" /></a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">But then the next day? Ready by the afternoon, to spash in a makeshift "pool" while Daddy was washing cars. She went out in sunglasses, but tossed them aside after a while.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">And yes, I stressed out when I saw this picture and realized that she was holding the water hose and COULD'VE sprayed her face and eyes with that very strong current. And that would've been BAD.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">But she didn't.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4661491569/" title="IMG_2343 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2343" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4037/4661491569_0cd7cdfa5a.jpg" width="373" /></a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><b>See ya later!!</b></span></i></span></span><br />
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</span></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-59038547416472145912010-05-28T18:15:00.000-04:002010-05-28T18:15:03.265-04:00emergence delirium<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is a continuation of earlier posts on Ahna's eye surgery. It will be short. We are home and she is awake and needy and quite uncomfortable.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Her surgery went well, we spoke with her opthamologist, then were taken pretty quickly back to the recovery room. She woke earlier than expected, and to put it mildly, was absolutely beside herself. The nurse deemed her as a case of emergence delirium: </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Emergence delirium is defined as a dissociated state of consciousness in which the child is inconsolable, irritable, uncompromising or uncooperative, typically thrashing, crying, moaning, or incoherent. Additionally, paranoid ideation has been observed in combination with these emergence behaviors. Characteristically, these children do not recognize or identify familiar and known objects or people. Parents who witness this state claim the behavior is unusual and uncustomary for the child. Although generally self limiting (5-15 min) ED can be severe and may result in physical harm to the child and particularly the site of surgery." (from a pediatric anesthesiology website)</span></i></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">They thought we might help calm her. They were wrong. When we got to her, there were FOUR grown women trying to manage her, keep her safe, keep her IV in and her eyes protected. Her screams were louder than loud, and as forceful as her kicking legs and flailing arms. Poor baby. Poor baby. Her nurse had given her "two pretty big doses of Fentanyl," without effect so far. After a few more minutes and me handing her off to Daddy, who was bigger and stronger, AND after one more dose of Fentanyl, she did drift off to sleep. Body jerking from the crying, she slowly relaxed and gave in to the sedative effects of the drug. And Daddy didn't let go. He held her until she woke again, probably an hour later, this time in a much different way. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Juice in and IV out, we left the hospital less than 5 hours after arriving there. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She has drifted off to sleep now. Her eyes are a little swollen and extremely teary and glassy-looking, and her entire face looks generally puffy from the IV fluid. She is uncomfortable and mostly cries when she is awake so far. :-( I don't expect her to be awake for long periods at all today, since they had to give her so much Fentanyl earlier. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I took pictures throughout the day and plan to post those, but maybe tomorrow. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We are glad to be on the "other side" of the surgery, for sure.</span></span><br />
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</span></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-43617988403628437882010-05-28T16:56:00.001-04:002010-05-28T16:57:51.336-04:00a late posting of earlier events<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">11:30 a.m. and she’s in surgery.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Was such a trooper this morning. Woke her just a few minutes before we needed to be on our way. Reminded her that it was Hospital Day and that God was going to help the doctor fix her eyes.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After gathering her full medical kit, a couple of lovies, her favorite blanket, and 2 stuffed animals (which she wanted nothing to do with once we arrived here) – we were on our way.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Buckled in her carseat, she asked, “May I please have a snack now, Mommy?” </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“Well, we have to get to the hospital first. And then you’ll have a snack a little later, OK?”</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“MAAMMAAA…. Hospitals don’t have snacks.” (rolling her eyes at me like I didn't have a clue)</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A few days ago, we were at the pediatrician’s office for her pre-op check, and it was the FIRST TIME EVER that she didn’t frantically scream throughout the entire process. She has been absolutely terrified of the doctor’s office and all things medical-related, since the day we took her from the orphanage worker. Completely uncooperative, she wails her way through every event, every time we set foot in the door to the doctor’s office. It was such a relief, this past visit, to see that she was finally beginning to understand and cope and know that she was safe.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That being said, we were apprehensive about how she might tolerate all the events of today. Sensory overload happens quickly for Ahna. BUT – she has done beautifully, perfectly, performed like a champ. And we are so proud of her!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The final step of the morning, before surgery, was the "induction room." Here, Ahna was to inhale her grape flavored "sleepy gas" through a mask, which of course would put her to sleep. A kind man came to wheel her away, parents by her side. It was a fun ride through the hallways of the hospital, back through a long corridor, and into the entrance to the operating room. At this point, she had finally had enough, and decided that she did NOT want that mask near her, nor the 3 or 4 new faces around her. Thankfully, her cries and yells and wide eyed fear lasted only about 60 seconds, and she was sound asleep.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bill and I were led here, to the surgery waiting area, to WAIT.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">More, a little later.</span></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-84546720900677783842010-05-27T23:01:00.006-04:002010-05-28T15:43:01.237-04:00her eyes<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4646038989/" title="IMG_1598 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1598" height="293" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4016/4646038989_b029d9014c.jpg" width="440" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not long after we brought Ahna home at 13 months of age, we noticed that her left eye wandered outward on occasion. We usually noticed it in the morning, or when she had just woken from a nap, or when she was tired. In the beginning months, she would simply close her eyes and the left eye would refocus. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Her opthamologist diagnosed the exotropia, which is simply an outward deviation of one or both eyes, due to weakened muscles in the eye (the lateral rectus muscles). We learned that this condition would eventually get worse, and were told that Ahna would need corrective eye surgery between the age of 3 and 4. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We were told to monitor for these warning signals:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">1. The frequency of the eye wandering was increasing</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">2. The duration of each instance was increasing</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">3. The angle at which the eye wandered? increasing</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">4. It would become more difficult for her to correct the 'wandering eye' by batting her eyes - it would remain unfocused despite her effort.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">5. The eye would begin to annoy her - she would notice the problem, rub her eyes, etc.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Initially, with exotropia, vision is unaffected. However, if corrective surgery isn't done, the brain eventually "tells" the wandering eye that it doesn't have to "see" along with the "good eye." So surgery is necessary to help assure binocular vision, whereas the brain uses both eyes together as a single unit. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's hard to believe that our girl will be 3 years old next month, and it turns out her eye surgery is taking place tomorrow. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Over the past two or three months, her eyes have gotten significantly worse. Both eyes - the right decided to join in on the wandering, too. Guess it felt left out. :-) It has become a regular, many-times-a-day occurrence, for a brother or a parent to be calling to Ahna, "Your eyes, your eyes...." as a signal to her that she's out of focus. She'll close those eyes, rub them, open, close. It'll take a few tries and a few seconds to correct them. The exotropia is still most evident when she is tired or sick, or when she is looking at something in the distance. Also, when we're out and about and she's in her carseat looking out the window, most usually when I glance back at her through the rearview mirror, her eyes are out of focus.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So it is time. We feel extremely blessed to have an excellent pediatric opthamologist performing her surgery. He, in fact, has done over 12,000 such procedures. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've decided to blog my way through Ahna's surgery and recovery for a few reasons: because I'm obviously not blogging about anything else; because maybe it can help inform another family who may be going through the same thing, someday; and because our family in other states might want to follow along.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We leave for the hospital around 8:30 a.m. Hopefully, our baby girl will sleep in a bit, since she can have nothing to eat or drink when she wakes.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Her surgery is at 10:30. More tomorrow.</span><br />
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</span></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-79564352994135341812010-04-28T00:39:00.004-04:002010-05-28T00:15:21.594-04:00seth's gift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ahna at 16 months.</span></i></span><br />
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</span></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hwb4FCSN3E6b07xN1yXQWzll_PzVqZygG7n1Oi6_HAa4O7eJdzjqqBd2D5qOn5vVBeNaaOSH4SuglbvusKqlS_W1LYe0uNjSFX6GCnhAAgRoU4PaSLFtT39VUKC_Wwi5oiGS52Zf-rQo/s1600/Ahna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hwb4FCSN3E6b07xN1yXQWzll_PzVqZygG7n1Oi6_HAa4O7eJdzjqqBd2D5qOn5vVBeNaaOSH4SuglbvusKqlS_W1LYe0uNjSFX6GCnhAAgRoU4PaSLFtT39VUKC_Wwi5oiGS52Zf-rQo/s400/Ahna.jpg" width="262" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She'd been home with us for less than 3 months when we did the photo shoot in our back yard, in October 2008. Then a couple of months after that, I received this painting as a Christmas gift from our oldest son, Seth. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Needless to say, I was undone. I had had surgery just a few weeks before, and was still physically weak and emotionally adjusting, anyway. I bawled like a baby to see our beautiful girl on that canvas, painted by her big brother.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Such a light we were beginning to see, in those eyes! And Seth's painting displays it so perfectly. At least to me. He is not pleased with this particular painting anymore - something about tones and values and depth. I suppose he has matured as an artist, and sees qualities my eyes cannot. I only know that I wouldn't have him change a single thing about the painting of his sister. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">His gift will always be one of my greatest treasures. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our high school senior artist-son is on his way out our door, preparing for the great big world that has spread itself before him. (I typed that, then sat here and stared at the words of that sentence for 20 minutes.)</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Do all parents of high school seniors ask, "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">HOW IN THE WORLD CAN IT BE??</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">" Inwardly, I am screaming it.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My brain is abuzz with a million thoughts constantly colliding. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And with that, I will close this post.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-10325945296181031062010-03-15T20:58:00.189-04:002010-03-16T00:20:51.498-04:00school at home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNxsOhn-gdGqO5Bwd7RnfXaBoCfzlEgSWGR_CZ8yarTcyPkgE6xsM26MgjFY3OtYI1JmRA1r46kh3Yzg0OV2RqEb4IE2Z7gMGRWXMcGaOgmusmER6FVWriFIr3_gZlORlcUJ3WV4bGJMn/s1600-h/IMG_7646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNxsOhn-gdGqO5Bwd7RnfXaBoCfzlEgSWGR_CZ8yarTcyPkgE6xsM26MgjFY3OtYI1JmRA1r46kh3Yzg0OV2RqEb4IE2Z7gMGRWXMcGaOgmusmER6FVWriFIr3_gZlORlcUJ3WV4bGJMn/s400/IMG_7646.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I homeschool our 6th grader. </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Most days we are uber-organized and have hours and hours of uninterruped class-time.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just kidding.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We do have 2-yr. old sister to "teach," as well. What brother is doing, she also must do, in some form or fashion. During school, toys mean very little, her play kitchen stands alone, and she can hardly pull herself away from the "classroom" for a moment.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Having those structured hours is very important, though. We function much more effectively when our days are orderly and when an hourly schedule is maintained.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">However, many of our school days feel chaotic and anything BUT orderly. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then, especially, my inadequacies shine like headlights at night that come speeding toward you. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The headlights on "bright" that the driver forgot to dim. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Algebraic expressions. Chemical compounds. Latin vocabulary words. I want them all to go away, be someone else's responsibility to teach. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I become easily convinced that I am "messin' up my son." </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The two of us butt heads, become exasperated with one another. While trying to encourage him to control his attitude, I find that I am in stark need of an adjustment in my own demeanor. A broken-down car in need of a tow-truck-trip to the mechanic.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've been stretched way out of my comfort zone. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But if I was not, I would not learn how to be pliable.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've come face-to-face with areas in my own life that need to be dealt with. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But if I was not, I would not learn how to turn and face the Father.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've been on an uncommon and often unpopular journey. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But if I was not, I would have a lesser awareness of what it means to follow God's path.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I homeschool Eli. And he teaches me.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>2 Peter 1:3 "His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness."</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBc4WgBQ_lrHywwtAfrnW4dTISZ5dvg5BbhwgO1A6g0d7FlOFWtopebp4IcwHdFMkmB75DJgLqvfxnHH7DzKNKOXxBcD7n7HxGRCXdLwijoKOyAoktcTd9qfCmVNArui7JmxpOa1SWnWn/s1600-h/15842_1290277457698_1253071785_832928_8006776_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBc4WgBQ_lrHywwtAfrnW4dTISZ5dvg5BbhwgO1A6g0d7FlOFWtopebp4IcwHdFMkmB75DJgLqvfxnHH7DzKNKOXxBcD7n7HxGRCXdLwijoKOyAoktcTd9qfCmVNArui7JmxpOa1SWnWn/s400/15842_1290277457698_1253071785_832928_8006776_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-26756330218757289812010-03-10T07:29:00.004-05:002010-03-10T08:49:13.031-05:00the visit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She arrived with the dawn, being ushered in even as we slept. It had been long months since we had been graced by her beauty, her loveliness.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She stayed long enough to tickle us with her warmth. Melodies rose from her lips through soft and gentle breezes. The trees themselves, standing bare of leaves, seemed to stretch yet taller, reaching their hungry limbs ever higher, begging her to stay.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Like dominoes, her aura spread from one place to the next. The whole earth appeared to be more alive. Children's laughter could be heard at every turn. Dogs barked in unison and squirrels clamored about playfully as if they, too, were caught up in the sheer excitement surrounding her appearance.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The sky shone brighter and bluer, and the fluffy, white clouds waltzed silently about on their dance floor. Mysterious and beautiful shadows played on the ground, the water, as her light beamed down from above. Remnants of giant snowmen and giant-er snow piles shrank and melted down to nothing. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She was such a tease.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For, even while we were still reveling in her glory, she stole quietly away, leaving almost no traces that she had even been here.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Farewell for now, </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Spring</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Please come back soon, to stay.</span></span><br />
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</span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-31592913154035147552010-03-05T15:26:00.006-05:002010-03-05T16:30:47.411-05:00a little silly<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrI-wryPv4RQ2rmzTg5O6vrgY9IzeESZpetr4wtaT_q7SnuGNfVxFO24c6uCi2kx5wJrmdqLqcZ6LT0gTv2Lar6NUtJK1ZcruOSvALDutRopjMFz2TltZrhGL1arCC6QMVBZGiJOsGtc9/s1600/feb.2010+044-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrI-wryPv4RQ2rmzTg5O6vrgY9IzeESZpetr4wtaT_q7SnuGNfVxFO24c6uCi2kx5wJrmdqLqcZ6LT0gTv2Lar6NUtJK1ZcruOSvALDutRopjMFz2TltZrhGL1arCC6QMVBZGiJOsGtc9/s400/feb.2010+044-2.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
Just "poking </span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">my</span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Ahna's head in here" to say that I'm working on being back, regularly! I am certainly as slow. as. molasses. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the meantime, (not that anyone is actually waiting to see more from me): <b><i>have a happy,</i></b> <b><i>silly weekend!!</i></b> Or at least a relaxing one!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">P.S. Do you download photos from a computer folder straight to your blog? Or use Flickr or... I am trying to figure out the most time-efficient method. </span></span><br />
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</span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-38632264913409486132010-03-01T21:25:00.004-05:002010-03-01T21:34:43.237-05:00naptime<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Or not.</span></b></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What I found in Ahna's room INSTEAD of a napping girl, today:</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4400007882/" title="IMG_7707 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_7707" height="316" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2687/4400007882_ea7f2ef6fb.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4400007526/" title="IMG_7691 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_7691" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4064/4400007526_5d12f00e27.jpg" width="317" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4399240863/" title="IMG_7692 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_7692" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/4399240863_ec81e23bdc.jpg" width="330" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4400007766/" title="IMG_7694 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_7694" height="500" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2711/4400007766_75bb4305c9.jpg" width="311" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ummm... clearly, it's time for a big-girl bed. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Did I mention that one of her favorite books is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Five Little Monkies Jumping on the Bed?)</span></i></span><br />
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</span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-16633516348321150052010-02-25T22:50:00.009-05:002010-02-25T23:29:35.747-05:00independence<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In so many ways, she says, "I can do it! Don't you limit me!" </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This day, she was after a cookie. </span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4388353457/" title="IMG_6671 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_6671" height="460" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4025/4388353457_f35bcc9e21.jpg" width="350" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She finds a way to reach her goal. Scoots a bar-stool over, then...</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4388353581/" title="IMG_6687 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_6687" height="460" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/4388353581_222a441ba6.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ah, she did it.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4389119048/" title="IMG_6690 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_6690" height="390" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4001/4389119048_0abf321300.jpg" width="460" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Victory is sweet.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4388353315/" title="IMG_6691 by sejsim, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_6691" height="365" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4070/4388353315_19162b7d6f.jpg" width="460" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Today a cookie.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tomorrow, the world. :-)</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She causes me to consider: What holds <b>me</b> back? When am I silent when I need to speak? When do I stay still when I need to DO something?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What limits me?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>What limits you?</i></span></span><br />
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</span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-73856694859812794842010-02-22T20:31:00.003-05:002010-02-25T15:24:38.175-05:00wooden blocks and monopoly games<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I came up to my bedroom a while ago. Scattered on our bed: many wooden blocks and beads, along with the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Very Hungry Caterpillar</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> card game. A reminder that early this morning, Ahna wanted to play with Mama, rather than go back to sleep. So we drank our milk and coffee and talked about our nighttime dreams. She dreamt "About Eli (E-i)", as she declares any time she is asked about what happens in her sleep-thoughts. And she remarked that he was playing the piano. That part of her sleep memory was different this time. He is usually "doing nuffin."</span></span><br />
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</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Left untouched at my bedside: the Bible study I had meant to work on, the Yancey book on prayer that I am reading. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fast forward to our evening. Eli (12) has had some privileges removed for the night. We end up playing a game of Monopoly, or at least we play MOST of the game. We will have to finish in the morning. (does that game ever end??) I think it turns out to be more enjoyable to him than watching T.V. or playing video games might've been. Or maybe I just hope that is the case. We listen to music, we listen to Ahna play and talk and talk some more in her crib before finally going to sleep. (Jacob: in bed already. Bill & Seth: in Sarasota for that college visit)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Left untouched all over the house: various piles that I had meant to tend to; clothes that didn't get put away; school planning that was intended for the evening...... more housework than I care to mention. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(How DO you all keep up?)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tonight, though, I am mindful and thankful for all the things left UNDONE today. Because <b>most usually</b>, I am not OK with all that I think I don't accomplish. My tendency is to be frustrated and aggravated and exhausted by even the thought of all that I need to be doing but don't do. And in the process </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> begin to feel UNDONE. I begin to wonder why I am the only girl in the world who can't handle or keep up with her "stuff." I too easily forget that every simple and fun moment that I can can grab with one of my children, is oh-so fleeting. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So it's a good place to be right now, sitting here writing. Knowing that the time spent talking quietly with Ahna about dreams in the dimness of early morning; laughing with Eli over a Monopoly game this evening: these were TRULY the things that mattered today.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The rest of it? Well, it will all be here tomorrow, won't it?</span></span><br />
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</span></div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-91165229259930446712010-02-20T15:25:00.003-05:002010-02-22T20:45:30.936-05:00on letting go<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>(Written a few weeks ago): </i></span></span><br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A toddler girl growing faster than I can keep up with. A senior in high school, who is in Sarasota, Florida with Dad, checking out an Art Institute he's interested in attending. And two more boys in between: the sophomore and the sixth grader.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Earlier today, I was (mentally) back in Knoxville, TN, on our oldest son's 1st day of 1st grade. Both his dad and I took him right to that classroom doorway, of course, on that exciting morning in August, so many years ago. After navigating through the crazy 1st-day-of school traffic that we didn't quite expect, then finally finding a parking place, we raced through the school just as the final bell was ringing, Dad holding our 1st grader's hand, me toting 2 and 1/2 year old brother on my hip. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The tall and slender and lovely Mrs. Smith met us at the door. I naively expected to be invited into the classroom for a few moments to see my big boy off, to see what his first day of school "looked like." But NO. Mrs. Smith was not at the door to welcome US, but only the 1st grader himself. She had actually only moved toward the door to CLOSE it, of all things, since the bell had just rung. With a smile on her face, she briskly takes OUR boy (MY BOY) by the hand, looks HIM in the eye and welcomes him sweetly, then instructs him to TELL MOM AND DAD GOODBYE. Then she looks at us herself, smiling mockingly, and says, "Bye, Mom and Dad!" OK, she was not really smiling mockingly.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I felt so jilted, as that door closed (so rudely) in my face.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The lump in my throat was so ginormous that I could barely swallow. I drove us home, after dropping Dad off at work. And I cried the whole way. I remember so vividly walking into that house, going straight to my bedroom and FLINGING myself on the bed, sobbing. Loudly. Brother saying, "What's wrong, Mommy?"</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My baby. In 1st grade. How did it happen?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I also remember laying there sobbing and praying and then feeling like the Lord whispered to my heart, (in a very firm tone): "Are you entrusting your child to Mrs. Smith and everyone else at that school? Or are you entrusting him to ME?" It sounded so loud to me. It boomed in my spirit.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It sounds almost silly now, but I believe that was my first real glimse of what it means to "let go" of my children. And since that day? Boy oh boy, have I had to let go over and over and over and over. Am still learning how to do that. Will I always be learning how to do so? I think so, yes.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And now the first grader will be graduating from high school and going away for a time, in a few short months.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I ask myself again, "How did it happen?" How do the days, the weeks, the months, the years fly by so quickly?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Will I be fit and ready to "let go" when I really must? Have all the moments along the way prepared me? All those times when the stark reality has hit me hard that he is not really mine, anyway? That none of our kids are? </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am reminded of that fact, when one of our teenagers (we have 2, almost 3) is out with friends, and I know he might not be making the same decisions as I would, if I was in his shoes. (or he might.) I must let go.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am reminded, when their grades in school don't quite measure up to MY expectations. I must let go. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am reminded, when it's late at night and all is quiet in the house, and the teenagers aren't yet inside the safety of our home. They aren't mine. I must let go. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I try to hold on in so many ways - often in the name of just "influencing" them or "guiding" them. It is hard. So hard, at times.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So I'll keep pressing forward, learning how to release them moment by moment, day by day. I'll keep getting frustrated, I am certain, that I seem to take two steps forward in the process, one step back. Like Ahna and potty-training.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Eventually, though, maybe I'll be a big girl, fully trained, with all the freedoms that come with knowing my boys - and my girl - are much better off in God's hands, and not my own.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just like Ahna is much better off without the hindrance of those diapers.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And for the record: our soon-to-be high school graduate? He had a WONDERFUL year in first grade, and I ended up adoring his teacher, Mrs. Smith.</span></span><br />
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</div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-21253171640831774882010-02-17T15:20:00.019-05:002010-02-22T20:45:03.926-05:00here i am again<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's the name of a song. (the title of my blog-post)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Here I am. Here we are. The story's gettin' old."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Who knew? As I sat down here to try my hand at posting AGAIN, the phrase just came to mind. So I did what most of us do: I googled it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And in fact, it is a song. And it's a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3333ff;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><b>Hello -</b></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3333ff;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3333ff;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><b>I'm Trying This Once More</b></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">from me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There is no failure except in no longer trying</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">." An American philosopher named somebody Hubbard said that.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So I will try. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'll fight the urge to be embarrassed that I am HERE yet again, to blog-tease. Only to potentially disappear again. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I will try.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A few of you will pop in. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Grandparents, aunts, cousins, etc. will love the chance to see the pictures I post, since many months and many more miles separate us.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So for starters? A few pictures of Ahna catching some evening playtime in the snow with Daddy. It was coooold, but she didn't mind a bit. She has been waking most mornings and saying, "It's snowy again."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She loves it.....</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span> </span></div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4366243326/" title="feb.2010 071 by sejsim, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img alt="feb.2010 071" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/4366243326_7ec556bd05.jpg" width="350" /></span></span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4366243526/" title="feb.2010 075 by sejsim, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img alt="feb.2010 075" height="390" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4010/4366243526_e2b28597e1.jpg" width="500" /></span></span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4366244178/" title="feb.2010 069 by sejsim, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img alt="feb.2010 069" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4047/4366244178_22d8a1afe7.jpg" width="333" /></span></span></a><br />
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</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Daddy started tossing her into the snow! (very gently)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mama was standing at the door saying, "DON'T THROW HER IN THE SNOW!!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ahna was lovin' it.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4365499231/" title="feb.2010 081 by sejsim, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img alt="feb.2010 081" height="476" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4066/4365499231_54f065542b.jpg" width="500" /></span></span></a><br />
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Until she got stuck.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4366243670/" title="feb.2010 080 by sejsim, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img alt="feb.2010 080" height="334" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4028/4366243670_805cef0a19.jpg" width="500" /></span></span></a><br />
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Still not quite over getting stuck. And not liking the idea that it was time to come in.</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27592848@N03/4366244042/" title="feb.2010 082 by sejsim, on Flickr"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img alt="feb.2010 082" height="369" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4060/4366244042_21e6dc787b.jpg" width="500" /></span></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-28511123902945168062009-08-13T14:39:00.008-04:002009-08-13T14:56:44.585-04:00stuck already<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I haven't even waded all the way back in, and I am in quick-sand.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I think of posting on the blog several times a day. One of the kids will say or do something, or I'll have a memory flash, or I'll be pondering an important or unimportant matter. And I'll think, "Now there's something to write about." Plus there's all the other stuff I intend to jot down here, too, the stuff of "my story." Honestly, if I had an obsession, it would be writing. Or the desire to do so.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">While I'm painting or doing laundry or tending to Ahna or whatever, I'll actually form the paragraphs in my head. It will all sound so good. The title will come to me, then I will just begin to write. In my head.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And once I come to the computer, it all goes away. Or at least becomes muddled. Nonsensical.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So I'm trying to figure </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ME</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> out. How it is I'm going to actually get the words on the paper (rather, on the computer screen). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Because I do intend to. I am resolved. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The end. of this post.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-85206535938633911642009-08-06T13:36:00.009-04:002009-08-06T15:36:11.202-04:00what are you up to?<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I'm listening to Ahna sing in her crib via the monitor, while she tries to get to sleep. Twinkle Twinkle is her favorite lately, and though her words aren't quite clear yet, her tune is impeccable. So sweet.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And I'm painting. Because of one new couch, I have felt the need to repaint 3 rooms. They're all sort-of connected and of one color scheme, so it is necessary. I've been ready to change the color of those rooms, anyway, so the couch has given me enough of a reason to get the project started.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And as with many of my projects, I am S L O W at seeing progress. I am ok with that, though, and am trying not to be in too big a hurry. Which is a good thing, since I do have two-year old Ahna playing and dancing around me at every turn.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Putting a fresh coat of primer on the brick red hue, I also notice traces of the pink color that was there when we first moved in 4 years ago. Yes, pink. Girly pink, in a dining room and living room. Go figure. Needless to say, my husband was not moving into the house until the pink was gone. Or covered up. Funny to think about that, since at the time we didn't have the foggiest idea that we'd be seeing lots of 'pink' in the years to come, only in a different room of the house - Ahna's room.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">SLOW progress. I see it in many areas of my life:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">1. My decorating venture.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">2. My attempt at being a consistent blogger.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">3. Decisions to be made regarding the education of our children. This coming school year. I know, it's August already.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">4. Being more physically fit through diet and exercise.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">5. Living joyfully, in the mundane. My personal motto for the last several days has been, "Do it ALL joyfully, and then see what happens." The ALL being the laundry, tending to the wet towels on the carpet, the piles of dirty clothes that aren't in a basket, the dishes in the sink that I didn't put there, etc. etc. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I really think the "see what happens" may only be in my own personal attitude, but that will be enough. And to keep it real, I need quite a few attitude shifts in my life. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Slow progress. But I'll get there.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">About the blog: my plan is to post a few photos of Ahna from the last year, until we're caught up to the present time. The ones below are from October 2008. In the second photo, she could barely stand on her own. I would steady her, then snap a photo quickly, before she fell. She had gone from scooting around on her belly, though, to crawling very well (at around 14 months). By the end of November 2008, she was taking her first steady steps (17 months). The strength in her legs increased daily, as she was allowed mobility and exercise. Now, she hardly ever stops running. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Sept%2008/Ahna0019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 640px; height: 426px;" src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Sept%2008/Ahna0019.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/IMG_8911a-1.jpg"><img src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/IMG_8911a-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 640px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-12041276321796411912009-07-22T22:06:00.017-04:002010-02-22T20:57:45.133-05:00one year ago<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><br />
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</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is the beginning of my attempt to be back in the blogging community. No promises, just a real desire to come here and vent and visit, to check in on friends made here. And to give those of you who still pop in here every day (you know who you are) a reason to come. You deserve to be given a glimse.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #336666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(why are those words 'scrunched up'??)</span></span></i></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-top: 3px; text-align: left; width: auto;"><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Give me a few days (or weeks?) as I pull it back together, get the blog on a make-over waiting list, and get my ducks in a (crooked) row. I'm looking forward to spending time with you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I may write mostly about the little one, about our experiences during the process of her adoption. I just don't know yet. I do know that I have concerns about posting much about my older children, because I value their privacy and I know they do, too. So we'll see. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The only thing I do know is that I'll be ME. When I start writing, a part of me that stays mostly hidden slips onto the page. I just can't help it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Today I wrote on the back porch, while the rain pounced and splashed and the wind whipped. It was an unseasonably cool day as I sat there while Ahna napped. And I loved every minute that I "gave myself."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #336666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">***(oh, boy - Blogger has changed in the last few months. Even after enlisting a little help from my techie-but-too-busy husband, we are unable to figure out how to post photos the way I need to. I am so blogger-challenged. So for this post, mostly just 'words' will have to do.)</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">One year ago yesterday.</span></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It was a day like no other. A day that was full of trepidation and anxiety and astonishing peace all wrapped up together. The day that 13-month old Ahna physically joined our family. Her birth and her presence into our lives. Oh, she was already part of us. We had waited and prayed and hoped and waited some more. And she finally came, just as we knew she would.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">She SO didn't like us at first. Her tiny face was writhed in an emotional pain she didn't even understand. Her tears flowed freely, her nose ran constantly, her cries came softly but steadily. 3 days of this. When we first took her from the orphanage worker's arms, she pulled away, back toward the only life that she knew. For a time her head rested on my shoulder as she sobbed. Soon, though, we realized that she she wasn't ready to see us, to look us in the face. We were strangers, the 5 of us, and she wanted nothing to do with any of us. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My husband and I were thankful for her strong emotional reaction to us, for we knew it meant that she FELT emotion, that she had likely been attached to someone else. And so hopefully, she would also attach to us, given a little time. But that day, the day we met her, it was not to happen. Hours later, my husband finally got her to stop crying by holding her away from him (so that she didn't have to look at him), and moving her around in a bouncy fashion. She caught sight of herself in the mirrored closet door of the hotel room, and she was mesmerized. And she stopped crying. He even 'snuck' the bottle into her mouth for the 20th time, and she began to suck. He laid her in my arms - I was recovering from a passing-out episode - and she drank her bottle dry and fell asleep. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So for the next several days when the uncontrollable crying would begin, we would pick her up, face her outward, bounce, and go to the mirror. Seeing herself there would stop her crying in its tracks, and she would look and look. And finally she began to glance up to the person holding her. And soon, she liked what she saw, thought she might be safe, and decided she'd try and give this family a chance. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It is a year later, and her reflection has incredibly changed. Not just on the outside, but on the inside, as well. The toddler who still loves to stare at herself in that mirror, now has a brand new reason to do so. She knows exactly how special, how loved, how safe she is. She trusts us completely and pours hugs and kisses over us at a whim. She goes to the mirror now, to see how pretty she looks in a new dress, or to attempt to brush her hair or mock me in some way, or to just study her face. She is all silliness and giggles and joy. And sometimes a little stubborness, too. Just a little. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We can't get over how much we love her, how natural and effortless and beautiful it has been to have her in our family. That a whole year has passed is craziness to me. So much life has happened; so much is yet to be lived. We look back to that day a year ago, and we could not be more thankful that Ahna was meant for us, that we were meant for Ahna. She is ours and we are hers. God smiled on us and put us together. We know that He did. It sounds trite, but it is true.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Happy </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ahna Forever Day</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, sweet girl.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtvxDDznlmLXAzBs1SXbsgPU_XVj4QuQo0qVZNyp8qKtGpFax14MRr5Rx5uijd76XLsXmbIp0uewzttvZzon1NISK3inrrECgi4VNKoHK-KazFtl45b8m2or-ZbHBB-2je-IMTW68yMqP/s320/One+Year.jpg" /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #336666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">(small photo, but since I don't know what I'm doing.....)</span></span></span></i></div><div><br />
</div></div></div></div></div></div></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-45485978500491657112009-01-12T23:41:00.002-05:002009-01-13T00:27:39.839-05:00Oh, my.<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />It has been way too long. I do have sort-of a good reason for being away, though. At the end of October I began to have some medical issues, which led to major surgery the second week of December. After several weeks of recovery, (and doing every last bit of Christmas shopping online), I am doing wonderfully now. <br /><br />Obviously, this blog was pushed aside. I have said here more than once that I REALLY want to blog. Which I believe is part of the reason why I do not. Because when the things of life call and circumstances beckon, I begin to feel (false) guilt for doing things I really enjoy doing. That, however, is a great big topic for another day.<br /><br />Right now I just wanted to pop in here and say HI. I so hope that I'm officially "on my way back." I have got to get this blog a makeover, though! And, boy, could I use a makeover! I watched way too much Wh*t Not to We*r on TLC while I was recouping....<br /><br />I'll be catching up with all of you over the next several days, and look forward to reading about your holiday adventures. This family's Great Adventure with Ahna continues. What a blast, what extreme joy, to finally have her with us this Christmas. She delights us all, all the time.<br /><br />Typing that last sentence reminds me of another sentence: one that floated through my mind earlier. It is what I want to do, and it is this: I want to write simply, and to simply write. Which reminds me of my very first blog post which was entitled "Just Do It." <br /><br />And since I am literally falling asleep writing this and not even making sense, I will close until next time. Thanks for reading my rambling!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-3032166030424040982008-10-29T20:41:00.003-04:002008-10-30T10:24:49.795-04:00what we're doing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Sept%2008/Ahna0010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 454px; height: 302px;" src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Sept%2008/Ahna0010.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Since I can't seem to break away and hide long enough to compose a thought-provoking or encouraging or eloquently-written post, I decided to just write about right now.<br /><br />Right now, Eli (5th grade) and Bill are poring over a logic problem for one of Eli's classes. Eli started working on said problem... oh, 2 hours ago... and has had many frustrating moments along the way. His dad finally arrived home from a long day at work, around 8:15 p.m., to "rescue" him and help him figure it out. That was half an hour ago. Some logic problem.<br /><br />Jacob (9th grade) is hidden away in his bedroom doing homework. He and I just spent quite a while (way too long, actually) trying to find colored pencils for something he was working on. The colored pencils were supposed to be in a certain place, but magically had disappeared from there. While searching high and low and everywhere in between for this rainbow of color, I ranted - I mean, I gently spoke of - the fact that once these pencils were found, that I was going to collect and organize them, along with other important school supplies. Once I have done this, if a student in this household needs a certain item, I will have it locked away and ready to be "checked out," then returned directly to me. Sounds like a plan; but, will I actually follow through with it? I guess time will tell.<br /><br />Seth (11th grade) has yet to return home from a small group Bible study that he's part of on this night. He had been home from school less than half an hour, earlier today, when he proclaimed that HE would go pick up Eli from school. I believe his exact words were, "I've gotta get outta here. I have cabin fever." Cabin fever! After just getting home! Teenagers.<br />And, I know that "outta" is not a word.<br /><br />From the other room, I just heard Bill explain: "I GOT it!" The logic problem, that is. Hmmm, I think that was supposed to be Eli "getting" it, but I'm sure Dad will walk him through it...<br /><br />As I sat down here at the kitchen table to type this, I had just started picking up all of Ahna's toys. Yes, they are scattered everywhere. As are all the plastic plates and bowls and lids from "her" cabinet in the kitchen. She is tucked away in her crib, sound asleep for the night.<br /><br />Ahna is a soothing balm to her Daddy's tired soul, and he was disappointed that he wouldn't get to love on her tonight. I didn't think he'd be home 'til much later, or I would've kept her up a bit later.<br /><br />And so back to this moment, where I hear much laughter from upstairs, where the Dad and two of his boys have gone. Probably a bit of "boy humor" going on up there, that I wouldn't think as funny in the least. I must go remind them that Sister is asleep.<br /><br />Good night to you all.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-1890940239649822992008-10-22T23:03:00.007-04:002008-10-23T14:02:23.358-04:00ours 3 months<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><br /><br /> Ahna </span></span>, almost 16 months.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/IMG_8911a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 327px; height: 490px;" src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/IMG_8911a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Three months ago yesterday, this little angel became a physical member of our Forever Family. And today she is not the same. Neither are we.<br /><br />She has brought so many smiles, so much joy and laughter into our home.<br /><br />The little babe who could not pick ANYTHING up with her fingers or hands, now grabs everything in sight and explores every inch of it.<br /><br />Her lazy, slumped posture has become more upright and much stronger. She has gone from scooting a little on her belly, to crawling slowly on her hands and knees, and then to crawling so quickly that we can't keep up with her!<br /><br />As the photo implies, she now stands solidly on her own, and is even trying to take 2 or 3 steps. She LOVES to fall over into Mama's or Daddy's arms!<br /><br />Her face literally lights up when her brothers get home from school and greet her. She is always at the ready with her "mockingbird" face on, to show them all her silly looks and make them laugh.<br /><br />She is still quite wary (sometimes downright afraid) of strangers, but is becoming more and more comfortable with friends and family who she comes in contact with.<br /><br />One of our biggest hurdles has been that she has a fairly significant oral aversion. For weeks she allowed nothing, except her bottle of formula or her thumb, near her face or mouth. After several weeks of playing "face and food games," she has decided that she will try to eat pureed food. She had learned that every time we sat down to eat we would all say "Mmmmm, Mmmmmm," to help her understand that food is a good thing. So, almost every time she sees anyone eating, she makes the same excited "Mmmmm, Mmmmm," sound. So sweet. She is still not willing to bring food purposefully to her own mouth, and still gags alot with anything that has texture, but we are thrilled that she has at least begun to take 'baby steps' toward eating.<br /><br />She is so affectionate! We in this family are daily recipients of her snuggly hugs and her wet kisses. It has been astounding to watch the transformation from the baby who wouldn't even turn towards us when we were holding her, during those first days.<br /><br />Love is a beautiful thing.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-91223665588784016552008-10-19T22:31:00.007-04:002008-10-23T12:06:39.147-04:00jacob<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Jacob%20Homecoming/JacobHomecoming311-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 421px;" src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Jacob%20Homecoming/JacobHomecoming311-1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today, he turns 15.<br /><br />He has somehow gotten much taller than me.<br /><br />His big round brown eyes that captured his mama's heart the day he was born, will capture other hearts in the years to come.<br /><br />He is determined, with his sights set on a lofty goal; and he refuses to settle for anything else.<br /><br />He works hard when there is work to be done, but plays even harder.<br /><br />His passion at this stage in his life involves intense physical training and concentration, and he is living up to the challenges before him.<br /><br />He is a 'softy' at heart,thoughtful and kind, tho' at times he might not want others to find that out.<br /><br />He has a tendency toward mischief, adventure, and all things risky; and more than once these qualities have landed him in the Emergency Room.<br /><br />He is witty without always intending to be, and has a bright personality: the kind that draws people around him.<br /><br />He has learned lessons that come from making decisions that are not the wisest ones; and he is allowing these to shape him, to teach him.<br /><br />He is becoming. As we all are.<br /><br />I am esteemed to be his Mom.<br /><br />I love you, Jacob.<br /><br />Happy Birthday<br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-26808831907631652562008-10-15T22:01:00.006-04:002008-10-16T20:53:07.462-04:00ahna day revisited: part three. yeah, really.<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="font-style: italic;">Don't faint, you loyal few. :-) Part Three is here...... FINALLY. And boy, is it long.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><br />(written in present tense rather than past - I know one is not 'supposed' to change tenses during a writing project, but anyway.) And you'll probably have to reread Parts 1 & 2 before going on...</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><br /><br />Here we are, in the same room as our Ahna. We walk into that room with some semblance of order and quiet, but once we're inside, that all changes. We adoptive family groups are hunched together, our gazes fixed on those babies, our c</span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">onversations marked by only one thing: which baby is ours? I sense the activity around me, our guides trying to find the appropriate authorities to deal with so that we can have our girls; family members talking, pointing, searching; the babies becoming increasingly aware that the very air in this room has changed, since all these strange-looking white people entered. The volume in the room begins to increase by a significant amount, and in a moment it feels like </span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">disorganization reigns. Though it does not.<br /><br />This procedure is to be like many others before it. We know that soon our names will be called, and we will be summoned to step forward so that we can receive our new family member. We have done our homework about Ahna's orphanage; we are aware that often there is simply a quick passing of our baby, from one set of arms, to ours. Will that be the way these moments unfold for us? We wait, we watch, we listen, we try to remain calm and focused.<br /><br />Everything is happening at lightening speed now, or so it </span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">seems. There is a bench to our left: Two Chinese women hold babies, and it looks like one of the ladies has brought her young son along, today. He is maybe 10 or 11 years old. My eyes scan the sweet faces of those yet-to-be-terrified baby girls, trying to match the image we received 6 weeks before that has burned into my head and heart, with the true flesh-and-blood face of our daughter.<br /></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">My eyes are drawn to the corner of that bench, to a little one sitting alone but directly beside one of the ladies. She has her head tilted down a little, her right arm raised and resting on the bench armrest, her fingers scratching the wood ever s</span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">o intently. Her eyes are fixed on her little task, but when she glances up to see what all t</span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">he commotion is about, I see those eyes and I know that it is Ahna. The eyes. The lips. The fine black hair that has grown out some with the passing of time. It is July, and the photo we received was taken in March.<br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/At%20home/ahna%20day%20revisited/Ahna1178.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/At%20home/ahna%20day%20revisited/Ahna1178.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(The photo is so blurry, but captures the first moment we saw her, exactly.)</span><br /><br />I tell Bill and the boys that it is her as I point her out from that short distance away. A couple of them initially disagree with me, as we all realize that she has changed. Her precious and fragile form in full view now, we are beginning to grasp the realization that we are here, in this room, to take her away forever.<br /><br />With our entrance, the relatively calm environment quickly dissipates, and soon one of the babies is crying. Not long afterwards, so are most of the others. Ahna has joined the crying party. An orphanage employee, a pretty lady wearing glasses and with ha</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">ir pulled back in a ponytail, dressed neatly in jeans and a nice top, has made her way over to where Ahna is sitting. She positions herself on the armrest that our girl had been scratching, and in a few more seconds she picks up crying Ahna.<br /><br />So much noise, now. I don't want to take my eyes off Ahna, but I realize that parents are stepping forward and the unions are beginning. I am smiling, watching Ahna, who is now crying in the arms of the aforementioned woman; then I'm watching as one baby is being placed in a Mama's arms, then another. Video cameras everywhere. Cameras constantly flashing. Family members moving, dodging, trying to see, attempting to get the best view for a photo. History being recorded. Tears. Laughter. More tears. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Stunned babies.<br /><br />Then Bill is moving away from me and I realize that it is OUR TURN. I haven't heard anyone's name called, nor did I hear or see our family being summoned. But Bill must have. We are now part of this unstoppable force that is bringing us to the moment that we've waited so long for. Can it be? How many videos and documentaries have we watched with tears in our eyes, seeing strangers receive their long awaited children? And now it is us. I am moving behind Bill, ready to be given this one that we are already in love with.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We walk over to our guide, arriving just about the same time as Ahna arrives in the arms of this woman she obviously knows. Ahna is frantically clawing at the woman's shirt, this woman who is trying to smile and pull our daughter away. I face her now, this woman. Bill at my shoulder. The boys right behind. Bill flashes our documents to her. Or maybe Maggie, our guide has them, and does so. I am only aware now, of this baby. This very sad and scared and tear-soaked baby, who is finally pried from the woman who carries her, and is given to me. She is fragile. Horrified. She is weeping.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And she is in my arms. Just. like. that.<br /><br />I think I smile and nod a thank you before I turn and begin to move away from all the activity. Later, I feel badly that I did not linger and speak heartfelt words of gratitude to this woman who placed Ahna in my arms. All that mattered in that instance, was trying to help our daughter during these traumatic moments of transition. (We find out when Bill</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> visits the orphanage, that the lady who gave Ahna to us was an office worker, rather than a caretaker.)<br /><br />I walk to the outskirts of this large room with Ahna in my arms. She is turned toward me with her head on my shoulder. Sobbing, still. I am elated that I have her, but I do not want to overwhelm her any further. So we just walk. I try to get her distracted by the flags waving along the wall that are being blown by the air conditioner.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> To no avail. So we just walk. She clings when I try to turn her around or move her, because she is shaken and scared. I sit down on a bench with her after a few minutes, and the boys and Bill draw nearer. She continues to sob. Bill takes her and walks over to an air conditioner, a stand-type that is in the shape of a small refrigerator. For a moment the tears cease, when she feels the cool air blow through her hair. But then they are back. Such heart-wrenching, devastated cries, from a baby who doesn't understand what in the world is happening to her. She is so worn out.<br /><br />Her yellow cotton dress (like the other babies are wearing) is quite wet, and she smells of vomit. We find out the next day that she got carsick </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">on the long trip from the orphanage. She wears some type of disposable diaper underneath the dress panty, but it does not have tabs that close, and has come out of place. So her dress is also soaked with urine; and tears and snot. We are given no information about her schedule or ANYTHING, today. However, we have been told that the next day we will back in this very room, and we may ask the orphanage director questions about our daughters.<br /><br />In direct contrast to Ahna's demeanor and emotion, I feel an overwhelming relief simply wash over me like a flood. And sweet joy. It has been just over 3 years since we made this decision to add a child to our family. We never could have imagined that the wait would become so long. But we did our best to wait with grace, to live life fully during each season that came and went. We were busy and our time was occupied with raising our sons. But always, we waited with anticipation and a sincere desire that a speed-up in this process would take place. It never did.<br /><br />Within minutes, we deliriously happy families are being asked to return to the bus. What a sight it is, to see these precious ones being held in the arms of their Forever Families. Ahna again decides to stop crying for a few brief moments, as we walk out of that building and board our bus. She is in my arms again, and her little body shakes with each breath as a result of the weeping. But again, the pause is short-lived, and she sheds even more tears during the short drive to the hotel and as we exit the bus and as we make it to our room. Bless her sweet heart. She must be so weary.<br /><br />Once in our hotel room, we decide Ahna probably needs a little space, so we place her on the middle of a bed. We don't wipe her dripping nose our her tear-stained cheeks just yet. That will only add to her trauma. Sitting there on that bed, ever so slowly, she seems to pull herself together. Legs outstretched straight in front of her, her trunk bent in a slumped position, she begins to look us over. Just a little. She is able to sit alone, but her posture will certainly need some work. We sit on the other bed in the room, gazing at her. She is definitely the center of attention. Eli wants to creep closer to the bed where she sits. Ahna's whines let him know that he is not allowed. We keep our distance, thankful that she seems less stressed out for a time. Her bare right foot rotates at the ankle, her leg lifted up just a bit. She twirls and twirls and twirls that foot, looking around the room. We are in awe of her.<br /><br />The next few hours actually comprise another chapter to this story, but for now I will briefly summarize. We are able to keep our sweet girl from crying that first day, only for brief moments and when we hold her facing out, away from us. Bill actually first discovers the best way to calm her: by walking her over to the full-length mirror on the closet door. For the next several days, when she would get upset, we would head for the nearest mirror.<br /><br />After much prodding and later on into that evening, we are finally able to get her to take a few ounces of formula from a bottle. Our guide had gone to a local market to purchase formula for all the babies, since we were given none when we received our girls. Our plan is to keep Ahna on the Chinese formula that she is used to, and begin the transition to American formula once we are home with her.<br /><br />And finally, rest comes for her. On this day that has marked her new beginning, our new beginning, she sleeps. It is a restless sleep in a blue metal crib that is beside our bed. In this crib we have put her own colorful, soft blankets as a way to help her understand that she will no longer close her eyes in a cold, stark bed. It will be many days and weeks before she understands this. Before she trusts. Before she allows herself to face us and look us straight in the eyes and smile.<br /><br />But now? Smile, she does. And joy she exudes. As I finish this and prepare to hit "post," she sits in her highchair moving her head back and forth to music, flipping the pages of the board book that she is looking at. She still rubs and scratches everything intently, just as she did in that first moment we laid eyes on her. She glances up frequently while I sit here, to flash me a big smile with her 8 teeth. And then, it's back to the book. Today is "pajama day," and she looks adorable in her polka dot pants and light blue shirt that has "sweet" written on it. And oh, how SWEET, this life with Ahna is.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Sept%2008/Ahna0027.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 519px; height: 344px;" src="http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm167/aheljase/Sept%2008/Ahna0027.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">**Don't give up on my blog yet! You have no idea how much I want to continue what I started, here. I love it. Yes, life itself has had me in its clutches, but I am trying to make myself find a specific time of day to invest in this.**</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-67026212976115020792008-09-11T23:36:00.007-04:002008-10-27T08:50:28.919-04:00still here<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In the words from the cartoon that most of us once loved to watch, "Good grief, Charlie Brown!!"<br /><br />It was an unintentional blog hiatus... it all started with a trip out of town, then settling back in, then simply life itself.. Ya'll know (that's the Southern girl coming out in me:-) what I'm talking about.<br /><br />Thank you for your patience in waiting for PART 3 of the saga! One thing I am learning about this bloggy world: when writing something long, in sections, I should probably actually write it all before I begin to post. But, oh well. I am a student here, a Freshman, the new kid on the block who has just moved in and doesn't yet know the ropes. I am not blog-savvy yet, nor am I blog-confident.<br /><br />I can't get over how kind and gracious your comments have been.... via the blog and via personal email. Thank you so much. It is confirmation for me that though I may not know WHAT I want this blog to be, I DO want it to BE.<br /><br />If you decide to leave a comment, please do tell what YOUR blog routine is. I haven't quite found mine yet. Does it take you a long time to post? Or can you write and publish something in 10 minutes? If you don't post on a blog, but just read, when do you work it into your day?<br /><br />And by the way, I am looking forward to catching up on your blogs over the next few days. Not only have I been on a hiatus from posting, but from reading blogs, as well.<br /><br />Oh, and one more thing: my sweet blog friend Lisa at <a href="http://thelongroadtochina.blogspot.com/">The Long Road to China</a> has bestowed upon me my first blog award! How fun!<br />THE DIAMOND AWARD!!<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSCSLC1LC6LKiYYomx7cnIao51DrLAG4EtBMlLVG3tlGVWIBE_CcauPDKUWdSX5nSc-4zXSCvown0SXyK82SyvqY5d3IU6z5Q9l7q9rwHXhtVEC1nHrwQhnM8gdpVf9WA4cHdVkb9xdXB/s1600-h/diamond__blog_award%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241953071044419042" style="" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSCSLC1LC6LKiYYomx7cnIao51DrLAG4EtBMlLVG3tlGVWIBE_CcauPDKUWdSX5nSc-4zXSCvown0SXyK82SyvqY5d3IU6z5Q9l7q9rwHXhtVEC1nHrwQhnM8gdpVf9WA4cHdVkb9xdXB/s200/diamond__blog_award%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I consider it a great compliment. I am not sure yet, what I am to do with my diamonds, or whether I am to pass them on to others, but I will do my research and do the right thing! I guess there are rules that go along with receiving awards in bloggy world?<br />Thank you, Lisa. It has been a pleasure to get to know you through your blog, as you await your next great treasure.<br /><br />And finally, thank you all for reading.<br /><br />Have a really great weekend!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-60981575644200802742008-08-28T22:00:00.003-04:002008-08-30T08:38:23.164-04:00ahna day revisited: part two<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">*Before I begin, let me thank you for reading and for your gracious comments. I constantly question myself about what I should record here versus in a personal journal. For now, this seems the most appropriate platform for all these words I have floating in my head.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">So, where were we?</span><br /><br />The flight to Nanchang was fairly uneventful. Bill did some reading. Eli did some card tricks. Seth and Jacob listened to some music. I had not put my book (<span style="font-style: italic;">Saving Levi</span>) in my carry-on, as I knew that I would not be focused enough to be able to read. We did, of course, keep speaking of the fact that this event was really going to happen. "We're in China. Today is the day. We finally get her." Bill would check the time ever so often. When the day started, he'd said, "8 hours." We both knew what he meant. So, as the day moved on, he'd speak the number of hours it would be before we held her. And we'd just look at each other and smile.<br /><br />One of the more interesting aspects of the flight turned out to be the lunch meal. Along with a chicken or beef entree, we received our juice of the day; it was "white fungus and pear juice with rock sugar soup." Ever try it? It was of a cloudy consistency with odd-looking speckles inside. None of us drank from that cup. AND when Bill bit into his (quite regular looking) roll, he discovered a good-sized chewy red thing inside. This, our wonderful guide Maggie confirmed, was a large red bean. She said they were very good. Bill did try it, and said the bean was fairly sweet. I passed on the opportunity for this new taste experience.<br /><br />But, I digress. The flight would last just over an hour longer. I can't express here, the calmness and peace that I was feeling. Sure, my heart felt at times that it was beating 200 times a minute. I jotted on a piece of paper, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Soon. So soon. Doesn't seem real. But it finally</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">is." </span>For the most part, though, I just had an overwhelming sense of quietness in my heart, in my spirit. I knew that whatever the remainder of this day brought, that it was the very thing that God had prepared us for. I spent the remainder of our flight combing through scripture, while some of the other family members napped or read.<br /><br />Psalm 118:23 <span style="font-style: italic;">"<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">The Lord </span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">has done this</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span>and it is marvelous in our eyes."</span><br /><br />Isaiah 25:1 <span style="font-style: italic;">"Oh, Lord, You are my God; I will exalt You and praise Your name, for in perfect faithfulness <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">You have done </span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">marvelous things, things planned long ago</span><span style="font-style: italic;">."</span><br /><br />Our plane landed in Nanchang around 1:50 p.m., just a bit ahead of schedule. We retrieved all our carry-on luggage, exited off the plane, and scurried on to wait for our checked luggage. Then almost single file, we marched directly out of that aged, warm, muggy airport to a waiting van. There seemed to be much less conversation in the group now, but maybe I just don't remember it. I'm sure we were all quite distracted with thoughts about that next destination.<br />I haven't mentioned that we were originally scheduled for a much earlier flight, which would have allowed time for our travel group to make a stop at the hotel where we would be staying in Nanchang. As it turned out, that flight was canceled, accounting for the rushed feeling that this whole experience seemed to carry with it.<br /><br />Knowing we had no time to spare, since we would already be cutting it close to make it on time to our official "appointment" at the Civil Affairs Office, Maggie was leading us as hurriedly, but as graciously, as possible. Once ouside that airport, I realized that there may not be time for a restroom break for the remainder of the day. So as we're practically jogging to that bus - I asked Maggie about going to the restroom. She looked at me with a question in her eyes as if to ask, "Do you REALLY have to go?" but she did kindly give permission. I rallied the few other moms that needed to go, as well, and we were handed off by Maggie to Mary, our local Nanchang guide whom we had not yet officially met. She rushed us back into the airport - I think now of a school bell ringing and students running off to their classes.... So, back in the airport, she pointed the way, and we hurried off to take care of business as fast as we could. I can almost still smell that restroom, which is not a good thing to have to recall. That turned out to be, by far, one of my worst experiences with a squatty potty room in China.<br /><br />Back to the bus we all went, at marathon speed (OK maybe not that fast). Maggie was waiting at the door, trying her best to have a patient, smiling face. This time we were near the front of the bus, Seth and Jacob not far behind us, Eli in the very back with his buddies. The Nanchang bus was not nearly as nice or new or comfortable or cool, as our bus in Beijing. There was an air conditioner, but on this particular day in this particular heat, I guess it was trying its best to do the job. I simply cannot overemphasize how steamy it was! Whether inside or outside, the effects of the heat and humidity cut to the bone. We had become accustomed to carrying around bottles of water and drinking as constantly as we could - usually warm water. This day, that had been a bit more difficult, since we couldn't have liquids of any kind in our carry-on luggage, and hadn't had time to purchase water before leaving the airport.<br /><br />The bus ride lasted about 45 minutes. Mary, using an intercom on the bus, was telling us what to expect once we arrived; telling us about the city and the province where our daughters and sons were born; about the agriculture and economy and poverty level of most of the people who inhabit it. I believe I may have taken some video of what she was saying, because I knew that I could not take it all in at that time. And I didn't, because now I scarcely recall anything she was telling us. I was looking out the windows of the bus at this city, thinking over and over, "This is where our daughter is from." I wanted to appreciate it, see it, experience it. But I couldn't get my mind to wrap all around it, then.<br /><br />Then we saw the tall building in the distance, and Mary was pointing it out, telling us that our children were waiting for us there. To see the building with our eyes, to know that in a very short time we would meet Ahna, brought a bolt to my heart. It was 15 minutes or so, before we pulled up to that building. And as hastily as we had been moving for the entirety of the day, we piled out of that bus and onto the hot pavement, rallied our families together, and headed into that tall building and straight to the elevators. Maggie and Mary were telling us we would go to the 26th floor. There were lots of Chinese people also waiting for the elevators, peering at us, which we had become accustomed to.<br /><br />Was this it? No last minute instructions or coaching session or prayer time? Rush, rush, rush. There, the elevator door is opening... pile in before that other crowd does so. Maggie was inside the elevator, already looking filled to capacity, and she says exasperatedly, "Come, come come!!! There are more rooms in here!!!"<br /><br />Jacob, our 14-year old, was in charge of the video camera; Seth, 17, the camera. We were all just stealing glances at one another, smiling. Eli's face was lit up like a Christmas tree. Sometimes words just aren't needed.<br /><br />Then we were on the 26th floor and we exited the elevator. We walked a few feet down a dim and stuffy hallway, around a corner, and then entered a large open room with wooden benches lining much of the walls. And there, to our left, sitting on those benches or standing close by, were a few Chinese ladies holding a few Chinese babies. Our babies.<br /><br /><br />Stay tuned for Part Three.<br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2521754633320888202.post-75491908713633451282008-08-26T22:05:00.008-04:002008-08-28T22:12:30.286-04:00ahna day revisited: part one<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">*I warn you: this may be long and boring. I tend to get stuck on details, but in remembering and recording this day, I don't want to leave even a tiny one out. </span><br /><br /><br />In the adoption community, the day that you receive your child is widely known as Gotcha Day!. To our family, the day that we got Ahna will always be affectionately named Ahna Day; or maybe Ahna Forever Day. Whatever the title that we decide to appoint to that momentous and extraordinary day in the life of our family, the memories are etched in my mind like an engraving.<br /><br />July 21, 2008<br /><br />Sixteen (or so) adults and almost as many children left our hotel in Beijing to embark upon the most long-awaited point in our journey. By the end of this leg of the trip, we would be sitting in a new city, in a new hotel, with the newest member of our family. Traveling by bus, plane, then bus again, we would go from our present location, some 800 miles, to the Civil Affairs Office in Nanchang, China. And within minutes of arriving there....<br /><br />The day was proving itself to be as hot and humid as those had been before it. When our bus pulled out of the parking lot at 9:15 a.m., the temperature outside read 38 degrees Celcius. That's 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Earlier that morning, looking out our huge window from the 16th floor, we had surmised that this was the smoggiest day yet, since arriving in Beijing. The haze that floated in the air seemed even whiter than usual. And we were headed further south.<br /><br />We positioned ourselves, Bill and I, near the back of the bus, so that we could sit near the children. Several of them had become fast friends, and loved inhabiting the very back row every time we boarded. We figured it was our turn to keep an eye on them.<br /><br />The atmosphere inside that bus? I would call it electric: full of the hope and anticipation and the anxiety that almost 3 years of this adoption process had wrought. Could it all finally be culminating in this reunion with our daughters? As the bus traveled on to the airport, some couples sat quietly, seeming deep in their own thoughts. Others chatted away, visiting and laughing with each other. The children, giddy and rambunctious, went about their business as usual, seemingly unaware of the passage they were getting ready to make with their families.<br /><br />I sat there trying to gather my thoughts, constantly counting bags and cameras to make sure something hadn't been left or misplaced. We had been told by Maggie the day before, that we would need the following items for this day: our Approval of Adoption letter; our Passports; our cameras; our tears. Check. The orphanage donation and gift-giving would take place when we returned to the Civil Affairs office the next day. Today, we would be given our babies and taken to the hotel. She made it all sound so simple.<br /><br />I jotted down quick prayers in my journal as the bus moved on...<span style="font-style: italic;">"Praying for the transport of our children to the place that we will meet them: for health, safety in the vehicle, that they will be kept hydrated and nourished, that they will rest. Praying that the new sights and sounds they experience will not overwhelm them, but they that they will somehow even feel prepared for what this day will bring upon them." </span> I felt a calm and peace amidst the thrill and anxiety of the day.<br /><br />We arrived at the airport in Beijing and were greeted upon entrance, by a flock of security personnel with their search dogs. After the dogs had sniffed to their satisfaction, our checking-in process continued without a glitch. We proceeded to find our gate, then tried to get the boys a bite to eat before it was time to board the plane for Nanchang. TCBY. Kentucky Fried Chicken. We were moving fast, finding restrooms, trying to get back to that gate. The boys were hot and tired and argumentative. And maybe, so were the parents.<br /><br />Snacks eaten and attitudes improved, we boarded the plane for Nanchang. It would be a 2 hour, 4 minute flight. It was just after 12 noon. I was pondering, trying to picture the meeting, seeing if my mind's eye could grasp what our reaction might be to our daughter. How will the boys do? How will Ahna respond to us? I had decided that she would either: 1. shut down and seem unemotional. 2. scream her head off (this would actually be a good thing). 3. be even-tempered, not freak out, and hopefully accept us a bit.<br /><br />So, the plane flies on, and Part One comes to an end. I certainly planned to get more of this written, but life beckons: Ahna is awake, and a son has already called from school saying I need to bring him something. (the post-time is from last night, but I didn't quite finish until this morning.)<br /><br />To be continued....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Cindihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14017257203505392722noreply@blogger.com10