Listen to the wind blow...

Listen to the wind blow,
Lonely as a sigh.
Nothing overhead but empty sky.
Look up at starlight
On a dark night;
Are we all alone,
An island in space?
Or is there a plan
Where I have a place?

When I was a junior in college, I was the teaching assistant for a Geology 101 Honors class. It was a marvelous class, and a very fun first introduction to teaching geology. At the end of the semester, the class went on a field trip to Toroweap Lookout Point, Grand Canyon. As one of the TAs, I got to drive one the huge 12-passenger vans.

I didn't have a car the entire time I was in college, and so it had been 3 years since I had done any real driving. There I was, on a dirt road, driving a full van with loaded top (all our camping gear and luggage was lashed to the roof), trying to keep up with the professor's van. My windshield was covered in dust, there were alternating flashes of sun and shadow, and Dr. B. kept driving faster. 30 mph. 35. 40. Doesn't sound very fast, but it was a winding, mountain dirt road, with rocks on one side and a very steep drop-off on the other, and I felt like a 16-year-old driver again.

I was trying very hard not to panic. I slowed a little, but still didn't relax. White-knuckled, I uttered a silent prayer: Oh, Heavenly Father, don't let me crash. Don't let me kill everyone in this van. Help me to relax.

Could it be that heaven
Is man's imagining,
Reaching out for hope in childish dreams?
Stories so old then,
We've outgrown them?
Has God gone away
Or hidden His face?
Have miracles ceased to be?

Slowly, my hands released their death grip on the steering wheel. Our little caravan didn't reduce speed, but gradually I felt more and more comfortable. By the time we reached our destination, I was laughing and chatting with the students again.

But the power of God is plain to see,
There are wonders on every hand
To those who will see through eyes of faith,
Beyond the mind of man.

For how could we hope
To see His face,
Who never could see
His face?

The next morning, I lay on my belly with my nose over the edge of the canyon, looking at the Colorado River some 4000 feet straight below. An eagle soared below me, calling. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, enormous.

And I knew that the same God who created this grandeur; this canyon with its layered wall of millions of years, this powerful river cutting through solid rock, the wind in my hair and the eagle far below me--this same God cared enough about a frightened girl the day befo-- to send comfort, peace, and ability to her in her need. In response to a silent prayer, the Almighty God, creator of worlds, comforted His child.

Some may see a rainbow
As nothing more than light.
Others see a promise and a sign.
Everyday wonders
Without number
Are here all around
And wait to be found
By those who have eyes to see.
--The Power of God, Steven Kapp Perry

Warning: Stomach Flu Discussion Ahead

Ugh. Today was just an ugh day. Sorry if you called--I spent as much of the day in bed as possible and only answered the phone once. (It was Gee's orthopedist, so I had to take that call. His new DAFO braces are in, and Gee needs to be fitted for them on Monday.)

On the flip side, the sun was shining today and Em is finally feeling better. When this girlie gets the stomach flu, she gets the stomach flu. Nothing halfway about her. If it is a 24-hour-bug for everyone else, it lasts 72 hours for Em. For example, we had a little stomach virus right after Thanksgiving, remember? Hebs vomited once, Gee twice, Zee once, Momma a couple of times. Daddy was sick for about 36 hours, so he got it pretty bad. Em was sick for almost three days that time.

This time, with this "24-hour" bug she picked up at a good friends New Year's Party (it's all your fault, Lisa!! Just kidding!), Em has been sick since Saturday evening. Didn't eat or drink for nearly four days. (I was a heartbeat away from taking her to the doctor for an IV, honestly.) I've never been so worried about dehydration before. She wasn't completely lethargic, and she kept going to the bathroom, so we waited. Finally, on Wednesday morning, she started keeping water down, and then graduated to a bite of food here, a bite there. Some of it came back up, but yesterday she managed to keep some cereal down, and today she's been rocketing around the house, eating and playing just like normal. Whew.

Zee has the over-developed gag reflex (every time Em vomited, Zee fled the area), but Em's got the sad stomach. Poor thing. Glad that's over.

A completely unrelated P.S. My sister's seventh grader is reading The Great Gatsby in school. Huh? I don't think I really understood that book when I read it in tenth grade. Thirteen seems a little young to be dealing with what Jen says "All that they do in the whole book is drink, party and sleep around." I'm pretty sure any deeper meaning was completely lost on my class of 15-16-year-olds. I can't imagine trying to teach it to 12-13-year-olds.

Allergic

So, Hebs is not allergic to pecans. Or peanuts. Or wheat. (Whew) Or almonds. Or...citrus, I think that was one of them.

He is, however, allergic to cow's milk. And eggs.

The milk left me unsurprised. I'd like to say it was mother's intuition, but really it was just simple observation. Twice I gave him cow's milk, twice he broke out in hives. I didn't give him milk, he didn't break out in hives. Voila! I'm a genius.

I didn't suspect an egg allergy, although we ate German pancakes (mostly egg, with a little flour and milk and butter) for dinner last night, and he has been sporting a lovely rash all over his torso today. Not hives, but still.

Having a 14-month-old allergy tested is interesting. You have to lay on your stomach, and they draw on your back with a marker and then poke you with little plastic darts that have been sitting in the allergens. (The nurses only tested for food allergies, which was fine with me given we don't have a pet and I've been told that environmental allergies are uncommon in babies.) Hebs didn't like having to lay on his stomach, but the poking didn't phase him at all. He honestly didn't care, being far more concerned with trying to scratch his shoulders and chest (dang rash).

The next step, waiting 20 minutes without touching or rubbing the tested area, was the hard part. Hebs loves to roll around, but obviously was forbidden. He loves to sit on Momma's lap and read books, but that puts his back in contact with Momma's (unfortunately ample) belly, so nope. He had to sit (or stand, something he's getting quite good at) for the whole 20 minutes. By minute 15, I wasn't sure we were going to make it the whole time. I peeked at his back several times, amazed at the three little bumps that were growing larger and redder by the minute. (The third bump was the control allergen--supposedly it makes everyone react and thus proves the test is correct. What do you suppose is in there--Human Allergen X (secret recipe)? Just wondering.)

We made it through and home and I gave Hebs a 1/2 tsp of Benedryl (to control the reactions). We'll have a doctor's appointment early next week so we can discuss what to do next, and I have to admit I'm curious. What do I give my Hebs instead of milk, so that he can get strong bones and muscles (not to mention the fat that is so important to brain development!)? (Not that my children ever drink milk, having inherited a violent dislike of the taste from their mother. Em is my exception--she loves a glass of milk. Yuck!) Why doesn't he seem to react to yogurt? Are eggs in a cookie mix okay? Do I need an epi-pen? (Doubt it.) And what can I do when he has a rash like he does today?

It's good to know, though, that I wasn't crazy and that he is allergic to milk. Answers are always so nice.

Adventures in Sacrament Meeting

What's the weirdest thing that has ever happened to you in church?

I have the obvious (but still funny) children stories: screaming for me (or Daddy) if one of us in on the stand for some reason; the yelling "AMEN" in the middle of an extra-long closing prayer; the smacking of lips after taking the sacrament; the loud demanding of more bread (or water) in the middle of the very quiet chapel...you know the list. You could probably add to it...feel free in the comments.

Then there are the slightly less common type: For example, when I was child a young man was reporting on his mission. He stood up at the pulpit, looked over everyone, and slowly turned a very pale shade of green. From where we were sitting, I could see the sweat break out across his forehead. He didn't actually faint, but had to sit down quickly. A sister in the ward ran to the kitchen and brought him a drink of water while the bishop quickly stood up and gave a short, impromptu talk about missionary work. I seem to remember this RM trying again, whether that day or another week, with a similar result. I don't think we ever heard his talk, and I remember wondering how in the world he'd gotten through his mission with such a profound fear of public speaking. Poor kid.

Or the time that my brother, who usually prepared the sacrament table, was sick. It wasn't his turn to bring the bread or anything, and he assumed (bad idea) that the other teachers would take care of filling the cups and putting the bread out, etc. The ward before us had neglected to clean up their sacrament, and so the priests and the deacons looked at the neatly covered trays, and assumed David had taken care of it. It wasn't until the sacrament hymn started that the priests discovered that it was the other ward's leavings sitting under there. We sang every verse of the sacrament hymn and listened to the organist keep playing the same song over and over, as the Young Men's President and the Bishop scurried around with the priests, finding the bread and emptying the trays and filling the water...not an especially spiritual sacrament meeting, I'm afraid.

All of this is a preface to pointing you to one of the funniest posts in all Mormon blogging: Adventures in Arizona at Mormon Mommy Wars. In a 300+ comment thread, everyone in the "bloggernacle" (the Mormon blog community) shares their weirdest sacrament meeting moments. And there are some seriously, seriously hilarious ones. If you have an hour or two, and need a belly laugh, head over there. (Kristy, I mentioned your Tucson lady-with-the-dog, and two other random people commented they knew about her too!)

And what about you? Do you have any funny/horrifying/hilarious stories about sacrament meeting?

A conversation between you and me

My dishwasher isn't working. This is a tragedy.

Now, Keryn, you say, there are many tragedies in the world, but your stopped-up dishwasher is not one of them.

Well, I know that. Haven't you ever heard of hyperbole?

Oh. Sorry.

It's okay. So, back to my tragedy.

Oh, yes, your tragedy.

Hush. My dishwasher isn't working, and my kitchen is most decidedly not laid out for hand washing. The sink is on the short part of a capital letter "L", and the microwave is on the only counter space next to the sink.

Your microwave is next to the sink?

So? It's where the ONE plug in the kitchen (that isn't being used for oven/refrigerator) is. Not the point. The point is, there's no place to put clean OR dirty dishes. Unless you open up the (not working) dishwasher. But that gives you about six inches of clearance to stand by the sink. To wash the dishes.

You poor thing.

I'm not getting a lot of sympathy, am I?

Nope.

Darn. Well, I spent about forty minutes today hand washing dishes, and putting the clean ones to dry in the dishwasher. It worked, but it was a pain.

You're so brave.

Gee, thanks. The point is--I need to try to fix the dishwasher. Because I don't really want to have to scrape my shins along the dishwasher door twice a day, everyday, for twenty-plus minutes. So I'm actually going to take apart the bottom-thingie of the dishwasher and see if it is plugged up. Hopefully that will solve the problem, because that is something I can actually try to fix.

Hey, good luck!

Oh, now you care?

Well, now you're not whining.

Oh. Good point. Thanks!

Gee's First Day of Preschool

So is this a gangsta pose? Or is it, "Whatever, momma, I'm too cool for school"? Or maybe, "Why do you keep taking my pictures, woman?"

Regardless of what that pose meant, today was Gee's first day of preschool. His first day of riding the school bus. The longest amount of time he has been away from relatives. And he did just fine.

This morning I asked him if he was going to school today. "Mmmm-huh," he muttered noncommittally. I got a better answer after breakfast and an episode of Backyardigans. "Want to get ready for school, Gee?" "Yes!!" he shouted with all the enthusiasm one could hope for.

We got dressed for school, packed a bag with the necessary diapers, wipes, and extra clothes they request, signed all the extra paperwork (I think I have signed my name more times for Gee than for the other three children combined), and put the papers in his little blue backpack. Even though the bus wasn't expected for another forty minutes, Gee put that backpack on and refused to take it off. He was ready for school.

When the bus pulled up in front of our house, Gee just about burst with excitement. "My bus! My bus! My SCHOOL bus!!!" The bus tech (they don't call anyone an "aide" anymore, they are "technicians") came out to pick Gee up and carry him aboard the bus, while I followed, getting the paperwork I needed from them.

And then I waved goodbye and let them drive off with my little boy.

It was hard. (But I didn't cry.) He's only three, and seems littler at times because of the mobility issues. And three is little no matter what, especially for letting someone else drive away with your kid for more than three hours. I didn't know how he was going to do, on the bus ride or in the classroom. Scary.

The bus was supposed to drop him back home at 2:20, and by 2:15 I was peeking out the window every two seconds. Of course they were behind schedule, and it was 2:33 before they pulled up. I bounded out to get my boy, and see how things went.

The bus folks had nothing but good to say about Gee. He almost fell asleep on the way home (no surprise there), but he had been just great. We waved good-bye and went back into the house, where Gee was far more interested in unwrapping the "bus candy" they handed him at the end then telling me about his day. Then again, he's pretty young to be describing events very clearly. (Yet another reason I hate to see him go for so long.)

Luckily, in his backpack was a little note from his teacher. Mrs M. mentioned that he had had physical therapy today (the whole reason for attending preschool), and it had gone well. Also, he had had a "hard time settling in", and it would be better if I didn't come in as planned on Wednesday. (I was supposed to show them how to wrap his leg braces, but the PT was able to show them instead.)

Oh, dear. So he had a hard time settling in. Okay, I'm sure that's normal, and they have plenty of experience in dealing with similar situations. Wow, though. I'm not sure I like feeling...cut off...from my child like this. I certainly think Mrs M. was right to suggest I don't come in, and I will follow her suggestions at the beginning, but I don't have to like it. I don't know any better way for him to get comfortable, and if it were nursery or Primary I'd totally say "okay, no prob" but in nursery or Primary, I can at least spy on him. I feel isolated from Gee's school experience.

(Now is the time when you tell me to settle down myself. Take a few deep, cleansing breaths and remember it is the FIRST day of school. The very start. Everything is new for both of us. I'm telling myself that, right now.)

Don't grow up too fast, Gee-boy.

What I did on my Christmas Vacation

Sorry about the hiatus, but my husband gave me the most marvelous Christmas present ever. On the day after Christmas, he sent me down to Las Vegas to stay with my mother (and LaDale, and Telima & Tyler, and their kids...) for six days.

All. By. Myself.

When I packed, I only packed for myself. When I traveled (by Greyhound, always an adventure!), I didn't have to worry about potty breaks or bored children. Or vomiting children, for that matter--something that always seems to happen on long car trips. When I was there, I didn't have to keep children away from the living room (the only room that they can't play in), or cook meals for children who won't eat them anyway, or listen for the baby crying in the porta-crib upstairs. I slept in until 11, stayed up until 1, whatever I wanted.

When we went to the bookstore, I browsed uninterrupted. When we went to lunch at a sit-down restaurant, I didn't even consider approaching naptime, much less the delay between ordering and food. When we went on a (very short) hike at sunset, I kept track of my sister's or my brother's kids, but only sporadically, whenever one of the other five adults needed a little help. And the sun shone at least half the time.

It was marvelous, and refreshing, and I am SO GLAD to be back home.

I had a great time, but by New Year's Day, I was ready to come home. I missed talking politics with my husband, I missed playing with my children. I missed cuddling my babies. They missed me, too. Even three days later, Hebs crawls over to my lap and throws himself on me constantly. Gee (who starts school tomorrow, YIKES) said, "You're home, Momma?" When I said yes, he then shouted, "You're HOME, Momma!!!!" He wants tons of cuddles, too. Em (who is sick with a stomach bug today) snuggles in and tells me about her toys. Zee has almost talked my ear off, about all his adventures while I was gone.

Bradley missed me too.

(He says he has a new appreciation for my job. He is also of the opinion that all fathers should watch their children for a week, so they appreciate their wives more. Okay by me. We'll let him think that my life is tough, without pointing out that what he did was harder, because he had to do it 24/7, without the benefit of schedule and routine and normality. And the week after Christmas, no less. But, shhhh. Don't tell. Let him appreciate my "hard" job.)

I have the world's best husband, and the world's most amazing family.

Happy New Year!