Such a wordsmith I am

A graphic representation of my word choices over all my 2008 blog posts.

Clomp? Really??

So lame

Do I dare admit how excited I am that someone commented on my shower favors over at Flickr?  You know, I played it cool in my response to her.  Very casual, no exclamation points.  

But on the inside?  I was thinking "Yippeeee!  They like me!  They really like me!"

Seriously.  The geek-o-meter is at tilt.  I absolutely must get a life.

Tap, tap, tap

I'd like to say that I've always been skeptical about people who claim to have heard God speak to them.  It's more truthful to say that I have felt robbed that it didn't happen to me.

Really though, I suspect that it has.  Lots of times.  I just didn't know what I was listening for.  I guess my simple, simple mind expected (wanted?) something obvious, a la Jacob's dreams or burning bushes.  Well, so...  no.  Not so much.  God does not operate like Sara in that "MAAAAMAAAAA, COME HERE RIGHT NOOOOOW!" mode of communication.  He is more like my cat Pete, who sits quietly by my feet while I do the dishes, then talks to me while I put them away, then eventually gets caught up in my feet while I'm trying to cook dinner -- all in an effort to let me know that I really need to fill his water bowl.  Now, please.  

What it boils down to is the whack versus the tap.  The choice isn't as easy as you might think really.  The whack is painful, yes -- but hard to miss.  The tap?  Ugh, the listening and the patience and the faith.  It's just so hard.

The good news is that very slowly, over lots of time and many trials, I'm starting to learn to listen.  Sometimes it seems so very obvious, other times it takes me banging my head into a wall (again and again and again) to hear it.  And recently I've realized that there's no harm in asking for it.  Still no burning bushes, but you know -- He speaks up eventually.

Last week I was heading to work, dreading a conversation that I needed to have with my boss because it meant admitting that maybe obviously I had made a mistake.  And it was funny, because as I climbed into the car and turned the engine over the radio came on, and the voice I heard said "It's OK to change your mind."  That was it, then straight into a commercial.  I don't know...  God could have a lot flashier way to reassure me but let me tell you -- to me, that was Him.  Maybe that's corny?  I don't care.

Tap, tap, tap.

Today I heard Him again, this time via an essay I found in a magazine I heard about from my good friend Amy.  It's like it was written for me, in language and concepts and contexts that I not only understand but in which I'm immersed.  And the message?  Right on point, painfully so.  

Tap, tap, tap.

I'm starting to get used to the tap, tap, tap.  I'm here to tell you:  Although it's a hell of a lot more effort, I'll take a tap over a whack any day.  Those whacks, they smart.  A LOT.  And I've had my fair share of bruises lately.

Tap, tap, tap away.  I'll be listening.  Or at least trying.

Once upon a time...

...there was a beautiful princess.

Lately, every night when I'm rocking her Sara asks me to tell her a story "about da pawk."  It always features a beautiful princess (you'll never guess what her name is) and her Papa and her Mama.  The beautiful princess climbs and swings, slides and runs and jumps.  She has the best time ever, as you can imagine.

The story always ends with the princess coming home for supper, then taking her bath.  She and her mama rock and say prayers and then it's time for sleep.

Amazingly creative, I know.

Oh -- and so you don't think this is just a fairy tale, you can see here what I spied out the window this afternoon.

Lovely, yes?  I'd call that a beautiful princess to be sure.

Here's the veg

Huh?

That's what I said. But evidently it means something to someone in Hagen, Germany. And oddly enough if you type that phrase into Google, mine is the very first site to pop up.

Again -- huh?

Google Analytics... so fun. I'm not sure why I ever even started with it except I was curious to see if anyone besides Rob and a couple of gluttons for punishment friends ever read it. Now I know that, through the magic of search engines, I've been visited not only by these faithful few but also web surfers from California, New York, Michigan, Illinois, Kentucky, Virginia, Georgia, Texas, Alabama, North Carolina, Arizona, and Vermont as well as an international crew representing the UK, Canada, India, and Germany. My favorite keyword search? "Diaper potty." An accurate assessment of my life to be sure -- at least if my blog posts are to be trusted.

Fascinating.

Oh, and a big shout out to Gas City, IN -- I seem to have a regular following there, as well.

The most humbling job on Earth, or why this vacation sucks already

This is my girl.  And this is how you will normally find her -- happy, talking, and on the move.

She challenges me every day.  EVERY day.  I have no idea how I should be parenting her but I hope against hope that keeping her alive and growing is good enough for now.

And then I opened the door after her nap and found her playing in her pack and play, licking some lozenges and shaking a bottle of prescription meds.  At least a dozen other miscellaneous pills were scattered around her feet.

I wanted to die.  Suddenly, what I'm doing is no longer good enough -- in fact, it's no where near close.

Thankfully God seems to have an override on maternal instincts, because while all I wanted to do was grab her and sob, and hide her away from the danger that had already come, what actually I did was get her to the hospital.  I tell her calmly that no, we're not going to the park, we're going to see a special doctor.  "I don't wanna see a special doctor.  I wanna go to the park."  I tell her that maybe we can go to the park tomorrow.  

It's not until the nurse in the emergency room asked me what she took that I found it hard to talk and the tears started to fall.  In truth I don't really believe that she took anything but that's not the point -- she could have, and that's the hard truth.  That's the proof that despite my best efforts, this day they just weren't good enough.

I saw the social worker at the nurses station.  We hadn't met yet -- we had an IV to put in first, and a catheter, and a trip to radiology too -- but I knew it was him and I knew why he was there.  Confirmation that I hadn't met the mark that day and that The System had to step in.  He was apologetic, but he had to do his job.  I understand.  But I'm used to being on the other side of the patient chart and I knew what was being written.  In a blink I was just another lousy parent.  Just another one that screwed it up, big time.

He was apologetic, but he had to do his job.  The protocol is the same for everyone.  He had to notify the State.  CPS would be here tomorrow.  He would do his best to get us home as soon as possible, but now we had to wait on them.

A night on the pediatric unit, the CPS investigation looming large over our heads, the monitors and IV hooked up to our daughter alarming over and over -- it was a long night for Rob and me.  The only comfort was knowing that Sara really was OK.  If she did indeed swallow anything there was no evidence found in her labs or behavior.  Sara was fine.  

We were not.

    

Sara's pediatrician came in first thing and assured us that, never mind this, we are good parents.  Our daughter, despite this mistake -- a terrible, scary MISTAKE -- is thriving.  She is smart, and strong, and now also so brave.  We're not bad.  We're human.  We're going to be OK -- she would help to make sure of it.

And we are OK, or will be.  As it turned out the investigator was a very nice, normal woman.  She was quick and kind, and made what is without a doubt the worst day in my mothering career as painless as she could.  And it's over.  We're home, together, healthy.  That's all that really matters.

This child, she challenges me.  EVERY day.  Her little tiny life is a force to be reckoned with and this job of being her mother...  it's hard.  And humbling.  And painful.  

Thank God it's mine.

April showers bring may flowers, and obviously June showers bring...

...babies!

My cousin Kristin is expecting her first baby later this month. They've decided to roll with it and wait until the wee one's grand arrival to find out if it's a girl or boy. So -- a yellow, green, and orange shower it would be! I think everyone enjoyed it and Kristin took home a lot of nice things for her new little bundle.

Oh -- and the surprise hit of the day? Lucky bamboo! Everybody loved it. Who knew?

Awesome

 

I am not at all upset with the very nice folks at The Flying Cupcake. I am upset with the nasty super cell that passed through Indianapolis last night and knocked out their power.

Two dozen jumbo cupcakes with yellow, orange and green sprinkles down the tubes. Cause you know, you can't make cupcakes -- or Madagascar vanilla frosting! -- without power.

Damn super cell...

Long morning already

Sara and I are staying at my sister's during demolition. We're sharing a room, so the days start early.

Today she had me up at 7:30 -- not all that bad, all things considered. Here is my experience thus far, a mere 45 minutes into the day.

I hear: "Mama, are you up? Are you all done sleeping? Are you all done sleeping? Mama? Hi Mama. You get up now? You put your pants on. Mama, I all poopie. I poopie Mama. I all poopie. I go potty. Mama, I need to go potty."

I see: Ink pen scribbles. All over her body. From her nose to her toes. I don't know exactly when or how she got the pen.

I feel: The world's heaviest, wettest diaper. But no poopie. I put her on the potty and throw away the wet diaper.

I hear: "MAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! I ALL DONE GOING POOOOOTTTTTTYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! MMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I see: Sara climbing up on the dining room table and helping herself to some 2-day-old doughnuts.

I feel: My heavy eyelids, begging me to get back into bed.

I hear: A string of beads clanking on the hardwood floors.

I hear: "Mama, may I have some cho-ma-milk?" "Ank you."

I see: Two sippy cups on the window sill, one blue & one orange.

I hear: "May I have the orange one? Anks."

I feel: Sara stepping on my toes.

I hear: More bead clanking.

I see: Sara holding the beads behind her, at the small of her back.

I hear: "I have a long long tail! Like a kitty!" (Seriously? Does a two-year-old say stuff like that??)

I feel: Exhausted already.

I hear: "MAMA I WANNA COLOR" (coming from another room)

I see: Sara rummaging through something to pull out a coloring book and a 96-pack of Crayolas my sister has bought. I set her up in her booster chair and breathe a sigh of relief that she is contained for 2 minutes.

I hear: The sound of 96 crayons hitting the table. And the first one being broken in half.

I feel: Like a schmuck. I should have known better.

I smell: Trouble. It's going to be a long, long day.

Gentlemen, start your demo!

Demolition is well underway. Thought I'd give you a little window into our world!

Credit where credit is due

Hey!  My very creative and talented friend Amy made this new blog header for me.  I love it!  It pretty much sums me up.  :)

Check out her website here.

Thanks Amy!

I know I'm 37 but I still sort of want one

These might be the cutest things I've ever seen.  Seriously.

My life as a Def Leppard hit

The walls are tumbling down. Literally. As I type this, I see the bare studs of the bedroom walls and feel the grit of plaster dust on the keyboard. Ah yes, it is grand.

I am not complaining for a minute, FYI.

Still, construction adds a whole new dimension to day-to-day living: Most rooms are an obstacle course. I routinely find building materials on my dining room table, kitchen counter, and bathroom vanity. And the dust? Well... it permeates.

In order to self-medicate my way through the process I have spent countless hours online Googling any number of household improvements. If you'd like an opinion on kitchen appliances, countertop options, or replacement windows just give me a buzz. I'm still reading up on whirlpool tubs and stamped concrete though, so if you'd like my take on those you're just going to have to wait.

Oh -- and on a completely unrelated note, my incredibly talented friend Elaine has posted some of my handiwork on her blog. Dig me! I'm creative! (And thanks, Elaine, for the very nice comments. You're not too shabby yourself.)

No news

I haven't really got a blessed thing to say, though I'm sure I'll spend a few hundred words here saying it. The father-in-law is coming Monday and I will admit to being mighty excited about the work that's going to get done after he arrives. Rob has finals tomorrow and I have to admit to being mighty excited about the work that's going to get done after he's finished with school.

Sara's great. She's taken to saying "Hey Mama! Guess what! It's ________ time!" You can fill in the blank with whatever she's jonesing for at the time: Dora, dinner, bath, snack, whatever. It's pretty funny. Isn't she a cutie? (I think so.)

I took today & tomorrow off from work -- simply because I can, which is a novelty for me. I spent the morning outside with Sara, drinking a lot of coffee, wandering the perimeter of the house thinking we should do this or that & trying to imagine how it's all going to look when it's done. Spent a fair amount of time pushing Sara on her "red one" (her red swing, not to be confused with Oscar's "green one" a couple houses down) and examining all varieties of rocks that she put on the bench next to me. We also fed the birds, which Sara very politely announced to the robin hopping along our front walk: "We go get you lunch now, OK bird?" I assume he gave her the all-clear because we filled up the feeder in short order.

It was a good day, with time spent outside & in, drawing pictures of Sara and Mam and Papa and Aunt Pants on the MagnaDoodle, lunch at MCL -- where she insisted on wearing her striped, newborn fleecy jester hat throughout the meal, thank you very much -- and a nice nap so Mama could clean the bathroom & get dinner ready. There was a nice rhythm to the day, not too busy, not to slow, just right.

Ah, for more of these. Someday. I know it will come.

For now, back to work. There's laundry to do and a bedroom to prepare for Rich. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!

Pastoral symphony*

We three went to Traders Point Creamery this morning. Despite the grey skies, threat of rain, and slight nip in the air, it was just about the perfect morning -- in fact, that maybe why it was the perfect morning.

I know TPC isn't a new discovery, but for our family it was a first. There was some competition for parking spots, which didn't give me very high hopes, but in the end our trip there was just right. We did some initial scoping of the place and didn't bring a lot of cash so there wasn't a big temptation to buy a lot of stuff we wouldn't end up using. We did get some locally-roasted coffee and I bought a small loaf of cherry bread from a mighty precious old farmer... when I asked him which kind of bread was his favorite, he admitted that everything he brought was his favorite. How could I pass him up?

Next time we'll come better financed and prepared to try some of the locally-grown, organically-raised produce. I love the idea of this and am slowly making some steps toward incorporating these concepts into our buying habits. In fact, before I started this post I was Googling to find some sources for canning and freezing our own harvest for next year.

Sara was, of course, instantly in love with the place and spent a fair amount of time trying to catch and hug the chickens -- she wasn't succcessful, but this didn't seem to faze her. There were also a couple of cats roaming the grounds, with which she was instantly smitten. Not exactly "barn cats" and not exactly "house cats," they were freindly enough to be offended when we passed them by without the obligatory pat and possesive enough of the place to keep their eyes on us when we wandered out into the field. It was nice, since everyone else was in the barn at the market and we pretty much had the grounds to ourselves. And the occasional "cock-a-doodle-do" was really the icing on the cake.

It was one of those mornings I always imagine us having, the three of us together enjoying the fresh air and having enough time and space to let Sara have the independence she needs while Rob and I can spend a few minutes talking and walking and not worrying about her. There was an energy in the air, a mix of stormy weather and Saturday-morning anticipation that I find both invigorating and relaxing. We were in the city yet enjoying the pastoral setting, all at the same time. I'm not sure how it gets much better.

I love these accidental realizations of my imagination. They're so rare -- but I wonder how much more frequently they might occur if I just let life unfold rather than spending my time and energy trying to engineer "the ideal." It never works anyway. Good thing I've finally realized that, because it sure makes living a lot easier. It kind of give the concept of "going organic" a whole new meaning.


*The Pastoral Symphony is one of my favorite sections of "The Messiah." It's actually what was played (on a harp no less!) when I walked down the aisle at our wedding. If you're familiar with it, today was sort of a real-life expression of how I internalize the music: a simple melody gently carrying you forward to the next movement. Kind of makes me wonder what life's "next movement" will be.

Rock my world

I can honestly say that I've never been woken up by an earthquake. I'm sure my friends out west are laughing at us right now (much like we do when their interstate traffic comes to a halt after a light dusting of snow), but I'm here to tell you -- it's a little creepy. The bed was shaking, the walls were rumbling, the windows were rattling... my first thought was "what the hell is Rob doing now?!?," but then I realized he was just as confused as I was.

Here's the creepiest part: Riley is currently undergoing a fairly major addition to the hospital and, off and on all this week, we have felt the rhythmic vibrations of jackhammers or excavation or I don't know what. My desk vibrates, my coffee sloshes in it's cup... you get the idea. Just a few minutes ago we had what I assume is an aftershock. To be honest, it's kind of hard to tell the difference between the jackhammering and the earthquaking -- except that Rob just called me to ask how "construction" was going. And I have to say: Being in the basement of a six-floor hosptial during construction AND earthquake activity? Yeah, not so much.

I'm telling you, if our patients start speaking in tongues I'm out of here. Of course, it might be a little difficult to say if they're actually speaking in tongues or just here for therapy... So, scratch the tongues. But if I see swarms of locusts or floods or the dead rising from the grave? Then I'm out of here.

There's no place like home

My mom used to tell me how she frequenly felt like a second-class citizen when people would ask her what she "did" and she would tell them that she was a house wife. It was the seventies, you know, and she was supposed to be burning her bra and blazing career trails.

Well, whatever. Now it's thirty years later and I've got the career and the new promotion, and really what my soul is thirsty for is the life my mom led. I'm a house wife trapped in the professional world. Crazy, isn't it?

I don't think "house wife" is the right term anymore... I personally think that "home-making" is a much better descriptor, because that is what it's really all about. Now, my mom was no neatnik -- NOT EVEN CLOSE. And she didn't get me up every morning for a hot breakfast, or make sure all my clothes were ironed and laid out the night before. So what did she do? Well, she made our home. She shaped what was important to us (and not), created our traditions, and above all made sure we felt loved. And we did.

Before I get the certain responses that lots of women have careers and a fulfilling home life, let me just say that I understand that it's possible. At least to some degree, it's possible -- but it's really proving to be impossible for me. My attempts and creating the home life I want and the work life I require has left me falling short on every front. And let me tell you, that is a lousy place to be.

Hey, I know I have all sorts of pie-in-the-sky ideas about what being a home-maker would be like. A lot of it is romanticized nonsense but I also know it would really be the best gift I could give to Rob, Sara, and myself. The creativity that I love and that keeps me sane (designing, scrapbooking, stenciling, photography, writing, singing, gardening, cooking, painting -- walls, not canvases!) isn't marketable. I know that there are those whose talent is extraordinary, and mine isn't. And that's really OK with me. But my family would benefit from it, and I could have the joy of shaping our lives and creating our traditions and making sure they feel loved.

That is SO what I want to be about. It's still not popular, it doesn't move us up the socioeconomic totem pole, and some (perhaps reckless) pundits have even suggested that it's "dangerous." Well, whatever! I'm no more interested in burning my bra or blazing career trails than my mother was. In fact, that path seems to lead inevitably to failure for me and my family.

So here's hoping I can be a new kind of trail-blazer, back to where my mother came from. I really can't wait to get there.

So I was sobbing

CJ and Sharon are really doing it: They're tearing down the old lake cottage and building new. We are all really excited and can't wait until it's done. It will be year-round now, and will have lots of room for lots of people. They've been talking about it and planning for it for months now and we're all so looking forward to it. It will be great.

So I was a little surprised to find myself sobbing the other night as I looked through the pictures Sharon sent of the place now that they've cleared everything out for demolition. It's a sad little thing, tired and literally decaying from some 40 years of use. My dad built it -- almost everything, except the block, he did himself. It is small (funny how it never seemed all that small when I was a kid) and we outgrew it forever ago. There was no air conditioner, no washer or dryer, and for the longest time no phone. It smelled "lakey" and was definitely not immune to bugs. In the last few years, to be perfectly honest, it was a lot of work just to be there.

But oh my gosh -- I cried and cried as I looked at those pictures. She wasn't in the photos but I could see Mom standing behind the island in the kitchen, putting out food for whatever crowd happened to be there that day and filling newcomers in on the house rules: she would show you where everything was, but after that you were on your own -- and no wet bathing suits on the sofa! I could see Dad sitting at the picnic table reading the Sunday paper early in the morning before the boats started up and it was so quiet you could hear every squirrel on the roof and every woodpecker in the cove.

They were both so proud of the place and loved sharing it with everybody -- literally, everybody. It didn't matter if they had known you for 5 minutes or 50 years, you were welcome to enjoy everything the lake had to offer. Mom would keep you well fed and supplied with dry towels (and don't forget to hang them up, because she wasn't doing it for you!) and Dad would pull you behind the boat for an hour if that's what it took to get you up on skis. No screaming allowed and kids had to wear life jackets. That was about it. All you were asked to do was have a good time.

I can't tell you how many weeks, or more likely months, I spent down there with Mom. We all but lived there in the summer. I don't remember what all we did, but I remember I hated coming home. We practically had the whole lake to ourselves -- and I had Mom all to myself, too. Some of my best memories of her are from summers at the lake. I'd love to do that with Sara some day, too. (Some day.)

So yes, I was sobbing. I'm sure I will again. Part of me wants to go down there, one more time, just to say goodbye to the place: smell the lakey smell, stand behind the island and look out at the lake like Mom did, sit at the picnic table some quiet early morning like Dad and just listen and remember. But I won't. I don't need to -- I'm doing it right now. Kind of like everything else with Mom and Dad, the blessing and the curse is that I'll never get to see them again, but I meet with them all the time in my memory.

This time, no promises

Ah, the time has come again to consider my weight dilemma. Or crisis. Crisis is probably more accurate.

This time I'm having an incredibly hard time committing to anything. It's been a lifetime of enthusiastic commitment followed, at some point, by giving up and then gaining it all back (plus a little more for good measure). I really, truly, feel defeated and suspect that defeat is the one thing that is going to guarantee my failure.

Rock, meet hard place.

The thing is that I have more reason than ever to figure it all out. Every day I spend with Sara is confimation that life is SO worth living and living for a long, long time -- every day to the fullest. Cornball as it sounds I believe it. And yet I'm still left with my dilemma, and no amount of cold-hard logic or very real concern for my health seems to take an edge off the defeat.

So this time around I'm not fooling myself, not promising myself that I'm going to knock this off my to-do list like the laundry or paying bills. Chances are I'll never lose all the weight I need to lose -- but right now, I'd be happy with just some. Just something to make life a little easier, my step a little faster, my knees a little stronger, my hope a tiny bit brighter. I'm taking baby steps and the first one is just being aware. You skinnies out there probably never realized that some of us aren't even aware of what we're eating -- or maybe you don't have to be because you were blessed with good genes and a great metabolism. But for some of us it takes a real effort to think about what we're eating, what it's doing to us/for us, and why we're eating it.

And let me tell you, it IS an effort.

That's my goal right now. Being aware. Being present everytime I put something in my mouth and making a conscious decision about why I will - or won't - do it. It's hard. Maybe harder than weighing and measuring and keeping a food diary and coming off sugar. I don't know, because I've never really done it before.

Anyway that's where I am. I don't want you to question me the next time we have lunch together or take a mental inventory of what I'm eating. Really, you don't have to do anything except try to understand.

My quest to be aware has taken me back to my old friend, the Cooking Light website. This is what I made for dinner last night (along with some stuffing & tasty roasted asparagus) and by all accounts it was very very tasty. And for you cooks out there -- also SO fast & easy. No joke. I hope you like it!

Not sure what comes next, but I think awareness is going to keep me busy for awhile. Maybe Rob, Sara & I can make yesterday's afternoon walk a daily event. Not exactly a workout, but certainly better than sitting on my butt watching the Food Network. Ah, the irony...

We'll see. And I'll keep you posted.

Saturday morning sound bites

The beauty of most Saturdays is that Rob lets me sleep in. Usually that means I'm up at 7:30 or 8:00 (which he doesn't understand as "sleeping in"), but this morning I was up just before nine.

Last night we managed to get a sitter and go out for the evening. Feeling quite proud of ourselves we went to a relatively nice place for dinner (no trays, mascots, or waiters singing "Happy Birthday" in sight) and I ordered myself a Lemondrop. A nice idea in theory, until I woke up this morning at 6:30 with a pounding headache. Four Advil later and I was back in bed.

When I rolled out two and a half hours later the headache was mostly gone, just that whisper to remind you that you best not get cocky cause it could come back any minute. I sat on the edge of the bed to weigh my options: try to sleep it off entirely or push through and hope for the best?

That's when I heard Rob and Sara downstairs. And it went something like this:

S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
R: "Sara Hope NO! We do NOT touch knives! (unintelligible mumbling)"
S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp) "A, B C, D, E, F, Geeeeeeeeeeeeee, H, I J, K, na na na na na na na...." (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
R: "Sara Hope NO!! Get away from the stove!"
S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp) "(unintelligible happy sounds)"
R: "Ba-Boom! You're OK."
S: "(indiscriminate whine)" (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
R: "Sara Hope come back here."
S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
R: "Sara, I have oranges!"
S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp) "Mmmmmmmmmmmm....." (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
R: "Sara come HERE. Mama's sleeping."
S: (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp) "Mama? I go SEE Mama." (clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp)
R: "No Sara, come BACK here!"

And so it went.

I opted to hang out upstairs for a few minutes to see which direction my headache was going to turn before I jumped into the fray. Rob just brought up some coffee and when I asked him how they were doing he said "Um, OK." That was when Sara started up the stairs to see what she was missing.

God love him, he told her I was still asleep. He's such a nice man.

As for me, I think I'll fish out a couple more Advil, take a nice hot shower & then give him some relief. But I have to say, I've been enjoying the show. Those two.... peas in a pod. How I wound up as the Mama Bear of this crew is a mystery to me.