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I’ve been sitting on this post. I’ve been afraid that what I want to share isn’t quite eloquent and beautiful enough. I’ve decided that I’ll just let it be what it is.
I press forward with working, preparing to move, busy house projects and marriage stress. I even continue to blog about the progress on our house and family adventures and close calls. (Do you realize that in the past two months we have had two ambulance calls to our house and one rushed trip to the ER?) .
But it’s time for me to take a step back from all the craziness and acknowledge that my grandma passed away a couple weeks ago. Yes, my most loyal blog fan has died.
Somewhere near the middle of July I pretty much abandoned the blog, but Grandma is the one who motivated me to get back online and update it so that she could check in on me and my family while she was in the hospital.
Many might see a blog as an impersonal way to stay in touch, but I think that it served as a connection that kept my grandma close to my life’s adventures and my inner-workings. I would hear second-hand that she was shocked about something I wrote, or hear that she was asking other family members if they had read my latest post.
The result, I think, is that my grandma probably knew me pretty well, even though we didn’t see each other or speak very often. We had occasional email and photo exchanges, and she sent a fair amount of lovey dovey angel and teddy bear forwards.
I am sure of her affection for me.
I feel lucky that I was able to take enough time away from house projects to go and visit her this fall–once when she was first brought to the hospital and once after she was moved to hospice care. I brought my guitar and sang some seemingly random songs (that were actually chosen quite strategically) with a prayer in my heart to be a conduit of the spirit for her.
God, I love to sing. It physically feels so good and right. I smile and close my eyes and and sometimes can’t believe that it’s my flesh moving the air and creating the sound. It feels like someone else has taken control of my head, heart, throat and lungs and breathed something clear and true out of them.
When I sang Schubert’s Ave Maria at a funeral for my husband’s great aunt several years ago, I hardly had to open my mouth and the most beautiful and big sound echoed from little me. Spirit took hold and played me like an instrument. It left me warm, bright-cheeked and feeling humble.
Last night I got my guitar out and started jammin’ on the song that came together the last day I saw my grandma alive. The song had the bones of a chorus before that day, but hardly a real verse. And when I sat down to play it for her, it clicked.
My sister Becca and I sang it at her funeral last week. Becca added some beautiful harmony and suggestions for pacing and an ending. It turned out so lovely, and it feels wonderful to sing.
My little J. told me last night that it was good music for jumping. He was jumping from the couch to the bean bag chair and running laps around the kitchen. As we set the table for dinner, I was still singing it and when I stopped, two of my girls kept singing the chorus without me.
I think they actually really like the song. It made my heart smile.
Pray Our Way to the Other Side
Hanging on, my friend
This can’t be the end
The path isn’t straight
If we lose sight along the way
Let’s pray our way to the other side
Asking forgiveness on the way to the other side
Let’s pray our way to the other side
Learning to trust on our way, on our way
We’re on our way to that other side
All the love we have to give
Come to me you say
And together, we’ll pray
On our knees
Hands to the sky
Grace and healing freeing you and me from the lie
We can can trust in Him
To lead us there
Let’s pray our way
To the other side
And it won’t be the end
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A song was born, Grandma made it to the other side, and each of my blog posts will permanently be missing one loving visitor.
Okay, so a few weeks ago, a bunch of our fantabulous friends and family showed up and we sanded, spackled, primed and painted…
And the guys finished installing the last of the rodge caps on the roof!
The weather was beautiful and the kids played outside. With sticks. And as the saying goes, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye…
Have you ever experienced watching your son being carried into the house with blood gushing from his eye?
I have.
I’ll cut to the good news, which is that little J.’s eye is fine, though it took almost two weeks to get the “all clear” from the doc. He suffered a hyphema, which is internal bleeding between the cornea and iris.
It is quite serious and a real threat to vision if pressure builds up during healing, which can permanently damage the optic nerve. Up until pretty recently, a kid with this injury would have been hospitalized for five days.
All we had to do was keep him on the couch and administer eye drops and ointment twice a day. Ever tried to keep a four year old boy from running and jumping and doing everything that a normal kid does? Or given him eye drops?
I have to give Sean the glory on this one. He came up with the wonderful idea of bribery with transformers. All J. had to do was cooperate to get drops for a couple of doses let the eye doctor get a good follow up exam and we would drive directly to Target to buy a new transformer.
The best eleven bucks we ever spent.
J. instantly became the bravest little man on the face of the planet. Here he is with his metal eye patch after that first follow up eye doctor visit. (The new transformer is in his lap.):
I seriously have never felt so proud of him before. My heart was just bursting with love for my little boy who was being so grown up. The staff at the eye clinic couldn’t say enough great things about well he did.
Identify some pictures? Sure!
Drops to numb the eye? No problem.
Pressure test with a little pen-like stick? Bring it on.
Shine a light into the eye? Sure, do that too.
It was awesome. He’s been back for a couple more appointments and has earned two more toys. The pressure was up at the second visit, but we continued the drops and at his last appointment, they declared him good as new.
And as we nursed J.’s eye, the worked continued…
Our friend Mark braved the cold and ladders to seal the windows, and then he and I cased the interior of several windows.
How much do you love the bright apple green and electric blue in C. and J.’s room?! I am more excited about the colors in this room than I am about any room in the house–and I didn’t even pick the colors. The kids did!
Tina painted and painted. Noel installed an outlet for the microwave and hooked up the electricity in the garage (hooray for not having to run a cord out to the table saw!). Jeremy and Sean installed basement windows.
While we worked, our sweet friend Linda took care of everyone’s children! I think she gets the hero award for the weekend!
This past week, Sean finished sanding the floors, the older girls painted their room, and I applied three coats of floor varnish…
I’ve recently given the camera a break from the dust, but I promise I’ll take some photos of the floor to amaze and astound you.
With any luck, we’ll get the carpet in this week and move in over MEA weekend. As for me, I can’t wait to be done living in two places and ignoring the kids for the sake of floors and walls.
For now, we’re neither here nor there.
Watching.
Laboring.
Waiting.
Working.
Deepening waves
leading to this:
Push.
Stretching.
Tearing.
Blood vessels
popping.
Prized insight:
The prize is in sight.
Still.
It’s messy.
Push.
Anticipating,
fearing
pain.
Squeezing through.
Knowing.
Wanting.
Feeling
it’s close to being over.
Push.
Anyone remember where we left off in the bathroom? Filled with ladders and buckets of joint compound, that’s where. It’s now painted a lilac purple, and all plumbing and light fixtures are installed and operational.
I should have snapped a quick shot tonight before we left… but I forgot the camera today. We’ve now installed an over-john cabinet, toilet paper holder, towel bars, and shower curtain.
Of course, the fridge is now in the bathroom, too, filling in the footprint where the stacked washer/dryer will go… it will stay there until the wood floors are finished. The linen cabinet works well for food and plates while all the cabinets are AWOL from the kitchen.
We stayed overnight last night (Saturday) and I even got to be the first one to shower in the new tub! What a treat, truly.
My sister Becca and I had such a fun email exchange last week. She asked how Sean was recovering from knee surgery (they scoped him and removed some torn cartilage), and I told her that he was up and moving around without crutches.
I was worried that he would push himself too quickly and that recovery would take even longer. I went on to describe the many ways that our house projects are gaining momentum and all the different people who are helping us make it happen.
She has been renting the Little House on the Prairie series for her girls and my comment reminded her of the episode where Pa breaks a rib and has to finish stacking the bags at the mill to pay the mortgage. Mary and Laura try to do it for him, but of course the men of the town swoop in and stack the bags and save the day.
I vaguely recall the episode… I remember the tape wrapped around Pa’s ripped abs. Well, maybe he wasn’t THAT ripped.
Anyway, she said that it sounds like our house project is coming together Walnut Grove style.
I like that.
I’m cheesy that way.
The latest project includes a new staircase to replace the steep farmhouse steps we ripped out last week.
Our skilled friend Chad brandished a tape measure, saw, and nail gun to make it happen. It was amazing to witness the process. It started with a TON of measuring and dividing and marking on the walls. Apparently there are more rules for stairs than just about any other place in a house. A few cuts into the first boards and we had a platform:
Once the boards dry out well and the roof is fixed to prevent more water (and the resulting mold) problems, we will be able to finish treating the mold, and then insulate and sheetrock the walls inside the staircase hall.
Here’s our hero of the day! A million thanks Chad! If anyone out there is looking for a contractor to hire for a remodel job, I know of a really great guy…
We still need to cut into the ceiling to make more headroom. For now, the opening is perfect for munchkins.
C has decided that the platform is a stage. What a surprise. Like mother, like daughter.
There will be finished southern pine boards for the skirt along the wall and the edges of the steps, and we will install a carpet runner in the center of the steps.
This last one makes me smile.
Geez, maybe someday we’ll look back at all this and say, “We were crazy.”
I’m sorta basking in it for the moment.
I ended my Memorial weekend feeling absolutely blessed. Blessed by fabulous friendships and by God’s amazing and humbling synchronicity at work as we charge ahead.
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We have bartered a wood stove for window installation (and are getting the windows at a deep discount besides!).
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The labor for our roof tear off and installation is being donated.
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The application for a permit for our driveway has been approved, mostly because of who we know.
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The labor for our stairway installation is being donated.
Each one of these items has a long involved story to explain how they came about. The point of all of it is so clear: We are being blessed!
I also have to interject a few words about partnership and marriage. I have felt for a long time that this project is one giant metaphor for me and Sean and us taking time and energy to rebuild our life together. Moving forward prayerfully and intentionally. Establishing new financial habits. Being kind and respectful partners with a common goal: a safe, functional, spirit-filled home for our family. Few goals are so worthy!!
With that said, we were blessed this past weekend with a visit from the Malveys, who maintain a permanent spot on our list of our favorite people in the entire world.
I get giddy when we have plans to visit and our time together is never enough. Thanks for your help with everything this past weekend Malveys! I have a few more pictures I didn’t manage to get resized last night with this round, so keep an eye out for another round of Memorial Day shots!
Sean, Craig, Me and Lori hanging out on the stoop:
The ceiling above the stairs… or where the stairs USED to be!
My new favorite picture.
In the interest of preserving our lawnmower blades, we had a contest to see who could pick up the most sticks out of the yard. Complete with cheesy prizes! (Photos forthcoming.)
The kids formed alliances, in true reality TV style. J and L formed a team:
Against J, C, W, and A. Forces to be reckoned with for sure!
After a Saturday full of destruction and a Sunday full of mud and tape, the tile floor is installed at last… the plan is to apply grout this coming weekend. My knees and back will live a happy and complete life if I never install tile again.
Sean has been having knee trouble and our calendar has been filled with a plethera of family and church and school events. Combined, this means that work has stalled out a bit at the new house.
The good news is that the deadline to be out of our current house has been extended to December. We would still love to be living in the new house before school starts in the fall, but we do have some breathing room in case that becomes an impossibility.
The only things we’ve accomplished in the past couple of weeks are puttering sorts of projects. The drains have been assembled and I discovered that I should have installed the bathroom door before I put in the cement board on the floor… ergh. Modification and rework. The bane of my existence. And a reality of working on an old house when you don’t really know what you’re doing.
A fresh dumpster is in place for some more destruction, but we really need to get that darned bathroom working before we make an all-out call for help.
Phase one is the bathroom. Believe me, that’s enough. Once we finish that, we can move on to phase two projects: roof, windows, and stairs. Phase three involves the rest of the interior finishing. Electrical updating and sheetrocking bedrooms. Paint, carpet, trim. Sanding and finishing the floors.
I feel so far away from painting anything. I can’t even begin to think about color schemes and decorating.
Because of Sean’s knee and the amount of work involved in a full tear off of asphalt and wood shakes on a 12/12 pitch with all new underlayment required, we are getting bids on the roof. And we talked to our friendly local excavator about roughing in the new driveway, even though we won’t have a garage built for awhile.
Right now the driveway is shared with our neighbors. They seem like lovely people but since we’re planning to build a garage on the opposite side of the property anyway, it only makes sense to put in our own driveway.
We are tapping a resource on some windows for a deep discount… and another resource for helping us to rebuild the stairs…
Too many irons in the fire!
Meanwhile, the kids have been busy exploring the new yard. We put up some swings in an ancient ash tree in the front yard for them to fight over. Spring blooming has revealed two large clusters of lilacs and a mature apple tree. That makes me smile (makes Sean cringe).
New and old maples, pines, and birches spatter the perimeter. There’s a huge old nut tree of some kind in the front too. I wish I had more tree knowledge!
Well, enough of this rambling post. Lots of stuff in the works, nothing getting finished… this is the state of things.
My husband and I have officially been together for 16 years (married for thirteen). I’m 32, so that means that we’ve been together for half my life.
I know who I am better when I’m around my husband. Not that I’m always in the mood to be someone happy around him, but I think that’s really the point. I don’t have to put on different colors around him.
Best of all, I can say the weirdest, sickest, messed up things around him, and nothing shocks him. If you know me at all, you can guess what sorts of weird sick things I might come up with. Then think SICKER, WEIRDER, AND MORE MESSED UP. Then you’re starting to get close.
He made a comment recently about dying young. And I told him to hurry up so I can remarry while I’m still young and hot.
But the truth is I can’t imagine starting over with someone else. All the uncomfortable getting-to-be-comfortable-with-you crap. No thanks.
I just hate that some days I’ve used up the nice and friendly piece of me before I ever get to see him and he gets stuck with the bitchy, cranky, headache afflicted me.
For some reason, when I sat down to write this post, I thought I was coming up with something really transcendental.
These thoughts aren’t new. But they’re true. And I’m grateful for the half of my life we’ve been together.
It’s my experience that as we get closer to walking a path closer to God, it tends to mobilize the forces that get pissed off when someone moves closer to God. I’ve decided that I’m unafraid to label it as such even if it only serves to label me.
My husband and I are on the cusp of some big and powerful and faith-filled changes, and our three year old son has been sent through the medical wringer for the last couple of weeks.
This is a child who screams bloody murder at the mere mention of brushing his teeth, so protective of his personal space he is. (Now if I could get him to feel protective of the right to use the potty, we would be getting somewhere.)
As you can imagine, he doesn’t open his mouth or ears or eyes for any doctor or nurse in the world, so when he came down with a fever two weeks ago and decided that he couldn’t walk anymore because his knee hurt, no one really expected him to be a model patient. Our new favorite nurse practitioner did manage to take a peek in his throat and take x-rays and get a finger-prick, which showed suspicious gran and lymph readings, and we were immediately sent to an orthopedic specialist. He brought in the whole orthopedic team to move our little guy’s legs around, and our J. was such a trooper.
The doctors talked about bacterial versus viral infections and mentioned rheumatoid arthritis.
And they wanted to draw blood. Two whole tubes of it. While we talked, the toddler fell asleep on my lap. His sister colored happily.
I was worried about waking him up by sticking a needle into him. My husband and I debated about how it was going to go, and then the nurses entered with a dose of condescension, suggesting that,”Oh, is Mom going to be okay? Do you want to wait in the hallway?”
Does the bitch want to get slapped?
I was staying right there, to watch them do their job. Or to see them mess up their job, which was actually the case. For ten painfully long minutes, I watched my son fight harder than I’ve ever seen him fight. “Kicking and screaming” doesn’t quite do it justice. It was determined wailing and flailing. He was on a mission. The nurses struggled and jabbed and scraped the needle around in his little arm. At one point, the timiest bit of blood started to flow.
Then the nurse let go.
And the needle fell out of his arm.
Finally they decided that he was traumatized enough and they said they’d try at the next day’s appointment. So we took him home with orders to pump him with ibuprofen (translation: sit on toddler and get medicine spit into our faces every eight hours). When the next day came, they decided that the toddler truly was a worthy opponent and they skipped the blood draw.
Days went by, still no walking. And we gave up on the ibuprofen. A few more phone calls, another office visit, theories about cartilage, then an MRI last Friday, at a clinic 40 miles away. My husband took him alone and this is where I get to sing the praises of a partner who truly helps to carry the load. He is a loving caregiver to our children, and I’m absolutely blessed to be sharing a family with him.
I just about changed my mind and took the day off work when I heard that they planned to administer the sedative through an IV.
That meant starting an IV while he was awake. And yes, S. reports that he flailed and fought, but the medicine was quick.
Since he was going to be sedated for the MRI, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to draw blood. After the scan, they inserted the needle to take the sample.
And it woke him right up. And so went the wailing and flailing.
They did manage to draw the sample, and my husband drove a very tired and cranky toddler 40 miles home. When a call came only a few hours later from the clinic, he was hopeful about hearing results. The last thing we expected to hear was that the blood sample was drawn improperly.
You heard me right.
Today, along with the scan results (no fracture), we learned what happened to the blood sample. Get ready for this.
Seriously, you’re not going to believe this:
The nurse did not put a label on the tube of blood.
She went to lunch and no one could find her and the 30 minute window they had according to protocol to get the label on passed. My son’s blood has been tossed out in the biohazardous trash because no one bothered to put his name on it.
It could very well be that blood tests will not reveal to us exactly what is going on in J’s little legs, but it sure may help the doctors rule out a few things.
In the meantime, J. is back to walking most of the time, but still complaining of his knees feeling “tired” and has even pointed out pain in his ankle as well. His fever is gone.
And we’ve had enough of small town doctors. We gladly accepted a referral to see a rheumatologist at Minneapolis Children’s Hospital next week. Maybe someone there will know how to take a blood sample from a beligerent three year old.
And put a label on it.
Me (driving in the car): Look at the moon guys–it’s big and orange tonight.
Kids: Oooooh!
Me: Oops, it’s so low that it’s hiding behind the trees, maybe when we go around the corner, we’ll see it again.
Three year old: I can’t see the moon.
Me: Just wait a minute, hon.
Three year old: Mom! I CAN’T SEE THE MOON.
Me: Yes I know, but it’s coming back.
Three year old: Mom! I CAN’T SEE THE MOON! I CAN’T SEE THE MOON!
Me: I CAN’T MAKE IT POP OUT OF THE FREAKIN TREES, YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT.
Ah. The harmony of daily life.
