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It was not my intention to drop completely off the blogging radar, but sometimes life calls. About two months ago, in response a friend's question regarding how my mother was doing, I wrote that although she wasn't in great shape, she at least seemed to have stabilized for now. At the time "stable" felt like a relief to say after the summer we'd just experienced. I still vividly remember hesitating with my choice of the word "stable". Although not really superstitious, I did worry that using my mom's name and "stable" in the same sentence might jinx the situation. I was hopeful though, so I kept it as is. As it turned out using "stable" was a bit premature.

Mom suddenly lost her ability to walk on October 29th and spent three weeks in the hospital. She then spent two weeks at a rehabilitation center trying unsuccessfully to learn to walk again. The rehab was too intensive given her overall weakness. It was recommended that she go to a skilled nursing facility where the therapy would be conducted at a pace more suitable to her current condition. This has caused considerable angst between my grandmother and us (my sister, my brother, and myself). My grandmother is hard of hearing which makes these discussions all the more difficult. My grandmother won't hear of a nursing home. She wants her home. In truth, we all want her home, but we disagree on the best path there. Going home directly means 2 care workers in the house 24/7 as she is completely bedridden and it takes at least two people to lift her. It also means less therapy than she would receive in the skilled nursing facility. The reality of the situation is that my mom cannot afford in-home care. In my heart I also believe that she will get better care and therapy at a facility.

Both my sister and I have offered to have my mom transferred to a facility near either one of us and for my grandmother to move into our homes. They are adamant that they want to stay in their current city. Even though I feel that my mother's care could be better monitored with more eyes on the situation I can't make them move. I am finding peace currently by continuing to let them know that my offer is still on the table should they change their minds. In light of their desire, my sister and I spent an afternoon touring facilities. We found a nice one that was close enough that my grandmother could very easily visit everyday. We took my grandmother to tour the facility and even got her blessing. The rehab facility had a wonderful caseworker who helped me get the arrangements made. My mom was all set to go on Tuesday.

I received a call Tuesday morning saying that she was being readmitted to the hospital because her liver was not functioning properly. In the last few days test after test has been run and we are waiting on the results. We do not yet know what is wrong this time, what procedure, if any, will be needed, if she is even strong enough to endure anything else, and she has lost her spot at the nursing facility and moved onto the waiting list.

Everything is up in the air again. I hate the feeling. I'm a planner. I'm an organizer. I'm a fixer. I'm a bit of a control freak. While it may seem silly (or at least leave gaping holes) to base one's life philosophy on a movie, I'm not sure where I would be in life if I had never seen Out of Africa. Once again I'm finding words to live by in this current situation. In the movie, Tanne is reflecting on how she and her love interest, Denys, navigate differently. She says that perhaps Denys understands something that she does not - that the world was made round so that we could not see too far ahead.

I find these words comforting not so much for what they say, but for the world they negate. - the one where we would know everything that is going to happen and when. I find this to be a much more frightening alternative. So when my mom's situation begins to feel out of control, I repeat these words to myself, and work on shortening my view and surrendering to the current of life.

And Now Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Mother

I ran across this post about 6 weeks ago and have been coveting the day that it too would apply to me. I believe that day has come. I think I can finally say the first trimester is loosening its death grip on me. This week I have begun to actually take an interest again in providing a clean, stimulating home abundantly stocked with healthy snacks and meals for those five lovely darlings currently depending on me for such things.

So here's to turning up the funky house music, baking a batch of cookies, and cleaning the house before my worst fear is realized; that being that all the hair the two dogs have shed in the last few weeks will reconstitute into a third dog before it is vacuumed up.

Wanting Things that Don't Matter Not to Matter

Mr. Garvey is a wonderful person. I often hear many complimentary comments from other adults who come in contact with him. They usually tell me how polite he is, how well-mannered and well-behaved he is, how mature he is, how smart he is, how athletic he is, how he looks out for the younger kids and plays well with everyone. All of this is true.

Underneath all of this, though, is young boy who has known and seen suffering that I can't begin to imagine. He grieves daily for his Ethiopian family that he loves and misses more than he can say. Sometimes a sound or smell triggers a memory and you can see the sadness sweep over his face. He becomes very quiet and introverted, lost in his thoughts and memories. He use to cry, but he rarely does that anymore because he has realized how much it upsets his sisters. He remembers his Ethiopian father's mandate that he must take care of his sisters. So he soldiers on silently and stoically waiting for the melancholia to pass. He waits to feel more settled and then returns to being his usual upbeat and determined self.

His life in U.S. has been pretty uneventful in a good way. He has transitioned into a new family, country, culture, and language with very few bumps in the road. He has embraced the many opportunities he now has without losing his perspective. Mr. Garvey has opened his heart to us and accepted us without reserve. He has forgiven us for any of our missteps along the way and is always willing to let us try again.

I have been pleased and relieved that Mr. Garvey and his sisters have been so openly accepted by our families, neighbors, and community at large. Racism, at least anything overt, has been non-existent. However, I knew at some point living in a small southern town that one of my kids would be the recipient of a cruel and confusing comment about skin color. It happened to Mr. Garvey the other night at gymnastics.

A new boy joined his class last week and teased him that he has been eating too much chocolate and that is why his skin is so dark. He went on to suggest that Mr. Garvey start drinking white milk as a means to becoming white. Mr. Garvey told him that he liked his skin color and did not want to change it. New Boy replied, "I doubt that. Nobody would want to have skin that is your color."

I want to tell New Boy how presumptuous and cruel and disturbing his comments are. I want to tell him that it is who we are and what we do with our lives that is more important than what any of us look like. I want him to know what Mr. Garvey knows. I want him to know what is like to live without enough food. I want him to know what it is like to see your own father refuse to eat so that you and your siblings may eat. I want him to know what it feels like to know that escaping the grinding poverty depends on getting an education but that your family only has enough money to send the oldest son to school and that's not you. I want him to know how it feels to be alone herding goats when a lion shows up. I want him to know how your life depends on being able to climb high and fast into a tree. I want him to understand how it feels to lose everything sacred and familiar and to begin again with strangers in a strange land. I want him to know how it feels to be told you are less than others because of a way you look. Of course, I don't literally wish any of these trials and tribulations on anyone including New Boy, but I do wish for things that don't matter not to matter.

Mr. Garvey wants me to let the matter drop. He doesn't want to cause any trouble. He understands that what New Boy said is wrong and cruel. He tells me that it is New Boy's problem not his. He is prepared to just ignore New Boy. I feel ignoring this is not acceptable. We have agreed, for now, that I will speak privately to his coach so that he can keep an ear out for any inappropriate remarks in the future.

Anyone else have any wisdom they'd like to share?

A Mr. Laura Declaration

We told the kids about the pregnancy pretty early on mainly because I was feeling so bad that I needed them to understand that I wouldn't exactly be myself for awhile. We cautioned them that it was early and that sometimes something goes wrong and that a baby would not be born in May. Mr. Laura always says good night to the baby and finishes with "See you in May - maybe." The other day he walked up to me and said, "I know nothing is going to happen to the baby. He's gonna be all right." I replied, "You are pretty sure of yourself. I hope you are right." To which he declared, "I am sure of myself. Mr. Edwards and I were both in your belly as babies and we both made it out alive."

By George I Think She Finally Understands

I have written before about how much the girls argue with each other. Their arguments are never of very much substance or really ever about anything in particular. They are more of the endless "Yes it is - No it isn't - Yes it is - No it isn't" variety. My latest attempts at curbing this behavior is to simply point out the behavior when it is happening. That usually works for a little while until they find a new topic to disagree on. I was hoping that this might help them recognize the behavior and eventually allow them to police themselves. I, of course, had not seen much improvement and then I had the following conversation with Miss Almanzo the other night:

Miss Almanzo: I'm sorry for not listening very well today.

Ma: It's ok. We all have bad days. It is important for me to know that I can count on you to listen to me. Sometimes it is very important. I know you will do better tomorrow.

Miss Almanzo: I can't do it. I don't know how.

Ma: Yes, you can.

Miss Almanzo: No, I can't.

Ma: Yes you can. All you have to do is try.

Miss Almanzo: Now you are arguing with me.

That's progress, right? She recognized the pattern and called me on it!

I've Been Tagged

Egypt4 has tagged me for a meme:

Job’s I’ve held:
1) Restaurant hostess
2) Cocktail waitress
3) Mechanical Engineer
4) As an accountant (for the now defunct Arthur Andersen) doing Family Wealth Planning for wealthy folks - a really fun job. Lawyers are an absolute hoot to work with.

Places I’ve lived:
1) Atlanta
2) Buffalo, NY
3) New Orleans
4) small town in Texas

Food I love (must I really limit myself to four? This is going to be really hard):
1) All Ethnic Foods - never met one I didn't like yet
2) Coffee Heath Bar Crunch Ice Cream
3) A certain smoked Brook Trout I had eons ago at a bed and breakfast at Letchworth State Park in upstate New York. Pa and I ordered this as an appetizer 15 years ago and we still talk about it to this day. It is possibly the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.
4) Eating sushi with Mr. Edwards. He is simply hilarious to watch. He loves it so much that he can not stop moaning and sighing as he eats it.

Places I would rather be:
1) Someplace currently having an autumn
2) Someplace more open-minded and tolerant
3) Someplace actually addressing climate change
4) Someplace where I am not asked if I am babysitting or running a daycare. I really dread the comments once I start showing with #6

Movies I love:
1) Out of Africa
2) The Piano
3) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but really any movie by the screenwriter Charlie Kaufman
4) My Life without Me

TV shows I watch (OK this is going to be hard. I quit watching TV when Seinfeld went off the air, we don't have cable, and reception at our house is pretty much nonexistent. We do Netflix however so I've seen a few things):
1) Seinfeld reruns
2) The original BBC version of The Office
3) The kids and I always OD on the Home and Garden Channel when visiting my mom.
4) Frontline

Catching Up

My brain is beginning to throw off the pregnancy amnesia shackles as I make my way through the morning sickness phase (read: 24/7 constant nausea). It all seems so much worse than before. Is it because I am older? Is it because I am admittedly less over the moon about this pregnancy than my previous two? The answer I have come up with and am sticking with is this: I am just plain busier and have very little opportunity to just stop and surrender to this force. For pregnancy no. 1, I had no other children and was returning to college to work on a second degree. It was easy to catch naps and just be plain miserable for a few weeks. Ditto for pregnancy no. 2. I had one 3 year old and my mother and grandmother were temporarily living with us. Now I have 5 kids who are all being actively homeschooled, who all have classes two times a week, who want to meet their friends and play, who understandably just can't be as quiet and still as I would like. I have turned into grouchy mom and we are all marking off the days on the calendar until, knock on wood, this fatigue and and morning sickness make their exit. Despite my disposition, the kids are being troopers and really helping out with lots of chores around the house.
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A belated Happy Birthday to Mr. Laura who turned 7 last Friday! He had a very nice day with presents, lunch and a movie, and finished off with homemade peanut butter pie. He thoroughly enjoyed all of his presents which were keeping with his current interest of becoming a vet. We have read almost all of the books and played all of the games. The big hit was the Owl Puke kit he received. He has spent countless hours excavating the owl puke pellet for the bones of one unfortunate, yet tasty, little mouse. Thank you notes will be forthcoming albeit slowly.
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I thought I'd share the kids' reactions to the news of another sibling:

Miss Almanzo: Dead Silence. She was completely speechless, a first. I'm not sure if she didn't understand or if she is bothered by the news since she will no longer be the baby.

Mr. Laura: "How do you know you are going to have a baby? Who told you you could have a baby? When will it be here?"

Mary: Immediate jumping, dancing, clapping, and shouts of glee. If Mary has her way, I won't have to lift a finger as a mother of an infant. She has all ready planned out all of the baby's care. Every morning I am greeted with "I'm so excited. I just can't wait."

Mr. Garvey: "You're joking. I don't believe you. You said you were too old to have another baby." This was followed by jumping and dancing after he was convinced that it was true.

Mr. Edwards: Silent disbelief followed by "Really?" followed by "Really?" followed by the clencher "Really really?" followed by jumping and dancing.

Recent Utterances, Cosmic Humor, An Announcement, and Divine Punishment

Some conversations that I had one week in early September:

My mom: Did you know J. (my cousin) is going to have another child in April?
Me: Oh that's great! I wouldn't mind having another baby myself.
My mom: That's the last thing you need.
Me: Don't worry, I'm getting too old for that anyway.

I relayed the above conversation to Pa and we had the following conversation:

Pa: Do you really think you are too old to actually get pregnant?
Me: At 41, yea. As women age, their luteal phase of their cycle often becomes too short and it can make getting pregnant difficult. At this point all of the stars, planets, and moons would have to be in alignment - you know, nothing short of "perfect celestial harmony ".
Pa (laughing): That's reassuring.

Pa and I first heard the term "perfect celestial harmony" in reference to toilet-training toddlers. It has been kind of a joke between us when something lucky happens like finding a good parking space or realizing that all of the kids have busied themselves with something (relatively) quiet.

I also relayed the conversation with my mom to a friend of mine and here's how part of our conversation went:

Friend: Do you really want to have another child?
Me: It's not so much that I want to have another child. I just like knowing that I could if I wanted to. The fact that one day it will be impossible to be pregnant is the one thing that really bothers me about aging. It would be cool to know I still "have it".

One more conversation between Pa and I:

Me: Mr. Laura came down this morning and wanted to sit in my lap. He is getting so big that I realized I don't have much time left before I won't have a child I can carry. It makes me kind of sad.
Pa: What about Miss Almanzo?
Me: She may be 2 1/2 years younger, but she is almost as tall as Mr. Laura and weighs more than he does. Her days are numbered too.

In case you don't see where this is going, it does indeed appear that perfect celestial harmony occurred sometime around August 25. My expected September period was late and then later and then later and so far has yet to make an appearance. I explained it away as the beginning of peri-menopause. The old body is finally starting to sputter and stall -the beginning of the end. I knew deep down this wasn't true though. Too many pregnancy symptoms were beginning to appear - waves of nausea, a ridiculously heightened sense of smell, bone-crushing fatigue, middle of the night trips to pee, aversions to any and all food. I finally peed on the stick and it confirmed my "haveitness". Pa is currently in denial and keeps vacillating between "How did this happen? I'm never going to get to retire" and "adding one tiny infant with no language or grief issues has got to be a piece of cake compared to what we just did" (That is adding three non-English speaking big children to our family at one time.)

I am currently a tangle of emotions and thoughts as the reality sets in. I am on the cusp of being a mother to 6. Yikes! How did I get here? One of my all time favorite movies is Out of Africa. There is a line in that movie that keeps playing in my head over and over. Denys Finch Hatton has just suggested that he could keep his things at Tanne's house and come and go from there. It is not the commitment she is hoping for from Denys, but it is a big gesture on his "live one day at a time" part. She responds by saying "When the gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers." That is exactly how I feel right now.

What a Little Fresh Air Does For Mr. Edwards

Mr. Edwards is my child who will come up with 5 million excuses as to why he can't go outside. If he does manage to get himself outside then, undoubtedly, there is a book in his hand and he has plopped himself in a chair to read. I can't really complain, though, he gets it very honestly from one of his parents (uhm, that would be me). The camping trip, of course, meant that he would be outside for several days in a row. All that fresh air did have an impact. Here is a funny picture of Mr. Edwards on the camping trip. And, yes, that water fountain Mr. Edwards is drinking out of is meant for creatures of the four-legged variety. He was quite disgusted when I told him, but then asked that I take a picture of him doing it again. Mary declined her turn at it and opted for one of the other drinking spots intended for us naked apes.

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Mr. Edwards is also my serious kind-hearted child who would never intentionally hurt someone else's feelings. He does not tease or pick on his siblings, although he stoically suffers their teasing quite often. One morning as I was helping Miss Almanzo with lotion, I asked her if she had put it on her face. She replied, "No. I need some for my other face." (I think what she meant was that she needed more lotion for her face). Mr. Edwards teased her, "Let's just hope that your other face doesn't have a mouth on it." It is no secret that Miss Alamanzo can carry on three conversations and sing and hum and make nonsense noise all at the same time, but Mr. Edwards teasing was uncharacteristic albeit funny. Even Miss Almanzo smiled.

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Did you know that the ant lion larvae holds its bodily waste inside its body for three years? Yea, me either. That is until Mr. Edwards and I were sitting all alone at the campsite. He is not much of a talker. He daydreams and reads and often prefers his inner life to what is going on around him. Anyways, as we sat there together, I made several attempts at conversation. He answered my questions but made no effort to keep the conversation going. I finally asked him what he would like to talk about? His eyes and face gave me that "Oh brother" look. I changed tactics and said, "Tell me something I don't know." That is when I learned all about ant lion larvae and their impressive holding capacity.

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We Survived (and it was fun)!

We're back with five somewhat filthy, minimally sunburned, slightly bug-bitten, extremely exhausted kiddos. We managed to get all that we needeed either in or on top of the van. The trip was fun and uneventful in a good way. Our day at the beach was a lot less stressful than I was anticipating. With Tropical Storm Gabrielle off the Carolina coast causing rip currents and rough waters, I was worried about keeping track of our 5 kiddos plus the other 2 kiddos of the family we camped with. Once they got the idea of having to stay in front of our umbrella, the day went well. I'm not sure what was most fun for them; the beach, the water park, the playground, playing in the woods, or eathing lots and lots of food that we don't normally eat at home. Here are a few pics while I go and attend to the not-so-fun part of the trip - the cleaning and putting away of everything.

More Info on the Jena 6

I first heard of the Jena 6 this past weekend from Emily at Collecting Raindrops. I found some more information on Egypt 4's blog today. I am also posting it to spread the word. Just when I think we may have taken a few steps forward with race relations in this country, I am always disappointed to find out that not everyone is in step.

More Info on the Jena Six

A Packing Paradox

We are going on our first camping trip this coming weekend as a family of seven. When the four of us use to go camping, the van was packed to the gills. So with reduced cargo room due to the fact that three more people will be in the car and the need for double the clothes, sleeping gear, and food, how does one make it all fit?

I'm thinking simply and creatively. I think I have gotten us down to the bare bones and that it will all fit. I'm concerned, however, about the inevitable expansion of our things that always seems to happen as you try to repack everything for the trip home. I'll let you know how it went when we get back.

Pa Gets His Walden Freak On

It has been a while since I have updated the progress at the farm. Construction was slowed way down this summer due to so much going on with my mom and to the extreme heat we experienced in late July through mid August. This Labor Day Weekend has been wonderful both weather and temperature wise. We have been out working at the land for most of it.

The barn is mostly complete. The lower walls are not on yet, but it basically provides us with shelter to store building materials which is what we wanted. Here are a couple of pictures


Pa has moved on to building a small (think Walden) cabin. He has been working diligently lately and has finished the foundation, the floor joists, framed the walls, and put the exterior sheathing on. Next he will work on the loft floor and then the roof. We plan to use this cabin on the weekends while we work on the farm and build the real house. This way we will have a place to escape to for breaks and meals. Here are a couple of pictures.

This fall we will get the portion of the field we don't currently have leased to a farmer cleaned up and fenced. We plan to plant pasture grasses and get a few goats and maybe a few chickens as well as get ready to plant a kitchen garden, with okra of course, for the spring.


The kids all protested spending entire days out at the land although they quickly busied themselves with filling in holes, cutting a path through the brush to the barn, sawing where Pa needed it, collecting nails, and discovering an abandoned hummingbird's nest and a black widow spider. Here are some utterances I overheard from the kids this weekend even though it was the last place they claimed they wanted to be.

Mr. Garvey: Sam, you didn't play with any of the toys you brought.
Mr. Laura: I know, but this work is just too much fun.

Mr. Garvey: Can we come everyday and do this?

Mr. Laura: This is so nice to have our whole family playing, I mean working, together.

Miss Almanzo and Mary: "It's my turn to saw.", "No it isn't.", "Yes it is.", "No it isn't.", "Yes it is.".......

Mr. Edwards: I am so mad that I have to go out there today. It will be so boring.
Mr. Edwards (after 10 minutes of being at the land): Wow I didn't expect this to be so much fun.


All: Do we really have to go home already?

A Challenge - Take 2

O.K. I had more fun than I expected doing this. The following ABC poem has been percolating in my head all day after hearing the term "bathroom cruising" on NPR this morning. It finally came together. Here it is below:

Arbitrary bathroom cruising
doesn’t exactly favor great hall incumbents.

Just knowing lust momentarily negates options;
produces quantifiable repercussions.

Senator’s toe-tapping;
unspoken vibrations which (e)xpose yearnings zealously.

A Challenge

Slouching Mom (who got the idea from Sanne) wrote a 26-word poem, each word beginning with a consecutive letter of the alphabet. She challenged others to do the same. Here's my attempt:

Adoption begets confusion,
Desperate events form grieving hearts

Inconceivable, jagged, karmic losses,
Many never overcoming parent's quivering relinquishment

Sorrowful thoughts, unimaginable,
Voracious wishes xhausting your zest

Hard Questions

As Mr. Laura sat at the table this morning drawing pictures of monsters, he asked me the following question: "Why can't the president of one country meet with the president of another country and do 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' instead of BAM! BAM! Blow People Up?"

This question followed on the heels of a question asked by Mr. Laura earlier in the week. He seemingly out of the blue asked "Are there really many good reasons to join the army?" Apparently this question was prompted by an ad on the radio declaring that yes, in fact, there are many good reasons to join the army. I guess the ad had not quite convinced him so he was checking with me.

Both of these questions reminded me of a question Mr. Laura asked me a couple of years ago. We had just received our adoption referral for Mr. Garvey, Mary and Miss Almanzo. We were discussing some of the more difficult aspects of why some children no longer have parents and need to be adopted. We talked about Ethiopia being a poor country and what that means like the fact that many Ethiopians don't have enough food to eat on a daily basis nor do they have access to medicine or health care like folks do in wealthier countries such as the United States. To which he asked, "If we have these things and they really need them, why doesn't our country share with their country so children don't have to lose their moms and dads?"

How does one articulate the complexities of these issues to a 5 and 6 year old? How does one explain that the motives behind a person's or a nation's actions do not always arise from a desire to "do the right thing" like sharing, solving disputes peaceably, or respecting the sacredness and dignity of life in all its many forms and colors? How does one explain that it is more likely that a person's or a nation's actions is based on fear and prejudice or on acquiring and maintaining money, power, or control over limited natural resources? Instead of even attempting to explain most of this, I am opting to encourage the act of the questioning itself. There will be plenty of time in the years to come, when Mr. Laura is more mature, to delve into the not-so-easy answers to these hard questions. For now I'll help him develop this habit of questioning. The answers and solutions to the big issues of our times will never materialize if we, as a citizenry, adopt a "that's just the way things are" attitude instead of realizing we have the right and the duty to challenge the status quo, the "powers-that-be", and the hypocrisy (our own and that of others) of our times.

A Saturday in Pictures

They're Growing Like Weeds

Here is a picture taken in June of 2006. It had been about 2 weeks since Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo arrived in the U.S. This is when they looked 3, 5, and 7. Mr. Edwards in this picture is 9 1/2.

Here is a picture taken yesterday afternoon, 15 months later.
Mr. Edwards is now 10 1/2 and Mr. Laura just about to turn 7. Mr. Garvey is now 1 inch taller than Mr. Edwards. Mary no longer looks like Mr. Laura's twin, however, Miss Almanzo is certainly poised to takeover that role. I'd say they look more like 5, 6, 8, 10, & 11.

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In other news, thanks to naturalmom for bestowing on me my very first ever blog award. I am often accused of being "too nice" by many of my firends, so it certainly seems to be a fitting award. I am however, completely uninitiated when it comes to how these awards work. Will there be a party in my honor? A cash prize? Will my name go down in the "Nice Matters" history books for all eternity? Will I have to give an acceptance speech? What happens if I have one of those "Not-so- nice" days? ;o)

A Sign of Autumn?

Our black lab, Thor, barks a lot. It is a character flaw that we have become pretty good at ignoring. His barking is mainly due to a misunderstanding, on his part, of property lines. He seems to think he owns our road and barks anytime any of the neighbors have the audacity to drive down the road we all share. One sure way to know that his barking requires our attention is when he is not only barking but running through the house frantically. Today, while we were getting lunch together, he began barking and running back and forth between the kitchen and the front door. I figured it was our mail lady delivering a package. I checked the drive but it was empty. We all went back to preparing lunch. Only Thor was not satisfied with the cursory attention we had given to his attempt to communicate something really important to us and would not settle down. I finally asked Mr. Garvey to check the front door to see if anyone was there. He came running back saying, "Hurry. Hurry. Come and see." Here's a picture of who we found at our front door just waiting for us to open up and let him in.

Of course being the nature lovers and homeschoolers that we are, we spent the rest of the afternoon trying to identify our guest. We think he/she is a juvenile, almost adult, rat snake. According to the description, they can grow to over 6 feet long and love, as their name implies, to dine on rodent. They are slow moving and when frightened will freeze often taking on a rippled posture. We also read that neonate Black Rat Snakes are the most frequently found snakes entering homes, usually in the early Fall or Spring. It has been so unbelievably HOT here for the last month that even I am willing to embrace this as a sign of Autumn - Come on in and make yourself comfortable!

An Interesting Thought to Consider

Mary: Can I tell you something?

Ma: Sure. What?

Mary: In Ethiopia we did not have mirrors. I never knew what I looked like.

Ma: Do you remember the first time you saw yourself in a mirror?

Mary: Yes

Ma: What did you think when you saw yourself?

Mary: It was fun. I thought I looked nice.

As I pondered this, I found it odd to think about living my life without ever knowing what I looked like. On the other hand, I find it to be a very liberating notion.

Random Bits of Mangled English

Mary has been creatively combining and mangling the words to two songs (Barney's "I Love You, You Love Me" and "This Old Man".) She has been singing it so much lately that I now catch myself singing it her way. It goes like this:

I love you, you love me.
We're a heavy family
With a great big knock knock on my door.
Won't you say you love me too.

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On Monday and Tuesday of this week, we were at my mom's house to take her to her radiation appointments. On the first night I decided to take Miss Almanzo and Mr. Laura with us. As we got into the car, Mr. Laura asked, "Now why are we taking Nana to a radio station?"

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When Mr. Edwards was a wee babe, Pa started referring to Mr. Edward's farts in the tub as motorboats. The name stuck and was quite useful especially when out in public. No one really knew what Mr. Edwards meant when he announced, "Oh no, I've got to motorboat!" With three boys between the ages of 6 and 10, the obsession and humor to be found with bodies and bodily functions is almost endless. They have created their own catalog of fart euphemisms. Here is a sampling "How do you like the radio station I just chose?", "Who turned on their radio.", "I just dropped a bomb.", "Somebody fired it.", and "Somebody's got the juice." When does this darling stage end?
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Hummingbird Saved by Mr. Laura

I have discussed in earlier posts here and here about the animal lover that Mr. Laura is and his desire to be a veterinarian one day. This morning Mr. Laura was inspired to try and save a tiny, barely alive hummingbird Mr. Garvey had found laying on the floor of our sunroom. He acted quickly and confidently. He carefully picked up the tiny bird and placed him outside on the deck. Next, Mr. Laura was back in asking to make sugar water to feed the bird. As I prepared the bowl of sugar water for him, I suggested that he move the bird to a shadier, cooler spot. I brought the bowl of sugar water out to where Mr. Laura had placed the bird and began pouring it onto the hummingbird's beak hoping some would find its way into his mouth. Nothing happened. I for one thought the bird looked too far gone to be revived. Mr. Laura thought otherwise. He took the bowl from me saying, "you need to put him inside the bowl not pour the water on him." He gently lifted the bird and placed him in the bowl. Within 5 seconds the bird sat bolt upright and began to drink the sugar water. A moment later he flew away full of life. Mr. Edwards, Mr. Garvey, Mary, Miss Almanzo and I cheered and clapped for the bird and congratulated Mr. Laura on a job well done. You should have seen the smile on his face as he said, "Wow, I really have saved my first animal. This is good practice for when I am a veterinarian." I'd say he is well on his way.

Two Conversations on Looking Your Age

A few weeks ago, as Mr. Garvey and I were walking together, we passed a man who did a double take. In the last year I have grown quite accustomed to stares, double takes, and puzzled looks. Folks are usually trying to "figure out" my family. Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo are quite dark skinned. I, on the other hand, am of Scotch-Irish heritage. The question I am most asked about them when Pa is not with us is "are they mixed?" Based on their choice of question, it is apparent that their first assumption is that they are biracial only they can't seem to make sense of our two vastly different colorings. It is as if they are wondering how dark their father must be to have produced biracial children of such a dark color. So the question is usually asked in such a way as to let me know that they are a bit embarrassed and surprised that they are asking the question at all. When they find out that Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo are from Ethiopia, I am usually met with sighs of relief and nodding heads. Yes, the world (at least as far as genetics is concerned) does still make sense after all. Now they can continue on with life as they thought it to be. Order is restored.

Anyways, I was all set to ignore this man who spun around to look at us again. I was stopped in my tracks when he called me by my name. After a few exchanges of pleasantries and no doubt a puzzled look on my face, he said, "You don't know who I am do you?" I replied, "I think we went to high school together, but I am still trying to figure out how you recognized me. It's been 23 years." He graciously replied, "You still look the same as you did in high school." To which I thanked him and told him he had just made my day. After a bit more catching up, we wished each other well and said goodbye.

A few days later I am running an errand for my mother. She has requested a certain type of lotion for her face. It reminds me of sending Pa out to buy coffee for me. I tell him that perfection for me would be "shade-grown, fair trade, organic, certified bird-sanctuary, swiss-process decaf and Ethiopian" but to please try and find one that matches at least three of those requirements. I now understand how he feels. I was completely overwhelmed with the choices for lotion. As Mary, Mr. Edwards, and I are standing there reading the different combinations of day/night, anti-wrinkle, beta-hydroxy, spf lotions, we are approached by a man who is obviously well-versed in the lotions. He soon has it narrowed down to two for us to choose from. I start to thank him, when the following exchange occurs.

Man: I bet you think that I look younger than you.

My thoughts go something like this: He looks about 55. No I am not thinking that he looks younger than me. I am actually thinking about how much I hate crowded big box stores and that I just want to get this lotion and get out of here. Before I can think of a way to end the exchange right here and now I hear myself talking.....

Ma: How old do you think I am?

Man: 38.

Ma: Close enough.

Man: Well how old do you think I am?

Ma:(being generous, I think) 48.

Man: (becoming very loud and hysterical and definitely making a scene) 48? Do I really look 48? That is 10 years older than I actually am. I'm 38! I'm 38! I'm 38! Everyone tells me I look 38.

Ma:(really wanting to extricate myself from this situation) I am so sorry. I am really terrible at guessing ages. I really should not have even attempted. I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Really I'm so sorry.

Man: (calming down) It's OK. I am not good at guessing ages either. Everyone really does tell me I look 38 though. The funny thing is that I am really 55 but everyone says that I look 20 years younger.

We finally go our separate ways, but I still keep thinking about how upset he got. He really did look to be in his 50's. Maybe in a different situation, he wearing something other than a t-shirt and shorts and far removed from the unforgiving fluorescent lights of a big box store, he would have indeed looked much younger. Obviously someone has told him that he looks very young for his age. He obviously treasures this revelation. In fact he treasures this news so much, that he actually believes that he is the younger age. He is insulted that I only shave 7 years off of his actual age. While I admit I was flattered by the long, lost high school friend of mine whose statement made my day, heck maybe even my whole year, I don't of course take it literally. He was being kind. He was making small talk.

And what is wrong with looking your age? I am determined not to waste any energy worrying about every new wrinkle, grey hair, or slowly but steadily southward bound body parts. I really don't want to miss out on what this stage of my life has to offer by hopelessly and desperately trying to recapture a bygone youth. Anyone else out there for aging gracefully?

Okra Recipe

Well I've got at least one other person interested in trying okra. Naturalmom, author of one of my favorite blogs, left a comment asking for the recipe. Here is the recipe for Naturalmom and anyone else out there who may be interested.

The recipe is from Crescent Dragonwagon's (don't you love that name!) book Passionate Vegetarian. Give 1 lb. of okra pods a quick rinse and pat dry and place in a shallow baking dish. (She recommends skewering the pods. I didn't bother and it worked out just fine.) Pour marinade of choice over the pods. They will not be swimming in marinade; it may be necessary to rub the marinade around a bit to distribute it equally. Marinate for 1 to 2 hours at room temperature or up to 6 hours refrigerated.

Preheat grill to high and then lower heat to medium. Place the okra on the grill and cook until the first side is grill-marked, 3 to 4 minutes. Turn the pods and grill the second side for 3 minutes. Serve immediately.

Now for the marinades: She gives three choices. I have only ever tried the Indian version. If anyone else tries the Mediterranean or South of the Border, let me know what you thought.

Put all ingredients in a food processor and buzz until smooth, scraping down the sides if necessary.

Mediterranean: 6 to 8 large leaves of fresh basil; 2 cloves garlic, peeled and quartered; 1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped; 2 tablespoons olive oil; 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar; and 2 teaspoons of salt.

South of the Border: 2 cloves garlic, peeled and quartered; 1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped; 1/2 bunch cilantro leaves; juice of 1 lemon; 2 tablespoons olive oil; 2 teaspoons adobo sauce; 1/4 can chipotle pepper in adobo; and 2 teaspoons salt.

Indian: 2 cloves garlic, peeled and quartered; 1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped; 1/3 cup cilantro leaves; juice of 1 lime; 2 tablespoons sesame or peanut oil; 2 teaspoons salt; 1 1/2 teaspoons ginger, peeled and chopped; 1 teaspoon cumin; 1 teaspoon turmeric; and 1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne.

Here's hoping you like it as much as I did. If not, that's ok. It just means there is more okra left for me.:)

Two More Poems

The kids decided that Pa and I needed our own poems. These are also from all the small poems and fourteen more by Valerie Worth:

For Pa because he's been broken in and as Mr. Laura put it "he's a real dad now":
pail

A new pail,
Straight, tight,
Brushed to a cold
Silver shine,

Soon learns
Other ways:
Once filled with
Oats or ashes,

Grayed by rain,
Its handle
Bent, its
Bottom dented,

Grown peaceful
And plain,
It becomes
A real pail.

And for Ma and the inevitable day when "all the chicks have flown the coop":
fence

The old fence
Has fallen down,
A pile of gray
Rails resting
In the grass.

Where are all
The cows now,
That leaned
Hard there,
Hoping to get out?

Have they pushed
Through, and walked
Down the road,
Past all fences
Forever?

Poetic Essences

The kids and I have been reading a book of poetry by Valerie Worth called all the small poems and fourteen more. Several times while reading the book we would say, "oh that poem really fits (insert person's name)." We decided to go back through the book and find a poem for each one of them that aptly describes the essence of who they are right now. Here are the selections:

For "heady" Mr. Edwards:
book

Such a
Bountiful
Box of
Tricks:
Packed
With the
Five senses,
The seven
Seas, the
Earth's
Four winds
And corners,
All fitted
Exactly in.


For "strong and ever striving" Mr. Garvey:
acorn

An acorn
Fits perfectly
Into its shingled
Cup, with a stick
Attached
At the top,

Its polished
Nut curves
In the shape
Of a drop, drawn
Down to a thorn
At the tip,

And its heart
Holds folded
Thick white fat
From which
A marvelous
Tree grows up:

I think no better
Invention or
Mechanical trick
Could ever
Be bought
In a shop.


For "the collector" Mr. Laura
pocket

These things
Might go
Into the pocket:
Sea-stones,
A bright
Beetle,
Knitted circles
Of Queen Anne's
Lace;

These things
Come out
Of the pocket:
Sand, splinters,
Scraps
Of paper creased
And soft
As an old
Face.

For "Live in the Moment" Mary:
amoeba

Never wondering
What shape to take,
But with a
Slow shrug
Making a start
In any direction,
And then following,
Flowing wholeheartedly
Into the fluid
Mold of the moment

And last but not least, for "boisterous" Miss Almanzo:
fireworks

First
A far thud,
Then the rocket
Climbs the air,
A dull red flare,
To hang a moment,
Invisible, before
Its shut black shell cracks
And claps against the ears,
Breaks and billows into bloom,
Spilling down clear green sparks, gold spears,
Silent sliding silver waterfalls and stars.

Confessions, Obsessions, Okra, and the Good Life

I was born and raised in the south. With the exception of 5 years spent in Buffalo, NY and a year in Texas, which although south, is definitely not southern, I have always lived in the south. Food is a big deal down here and while I consider myself an eater of many varieties of food, I have never liked the mushy overcooked vegetables that you often find on many a southern table. One of my particular food nemesis during childhood was okra. My mother loved okra which in turn meant it showed up on the dinner table frequently. She would stew it with tomatoes, batter and fry it, or hide it in soups. No matter the preparation method, I could not bring myself to eat it. I do not like nor have I ever liked okra. There I said it. A few more blasphemous confessions from a southerner - I also do not like iced tea, rice and gravy, corn bread, butter beans, watermelon, cantaloupe, or tomatoes. I so despise melons that I won't eat any other fruit that has been touched by a melon. While one bad apple may not spoil the whole bunch, for me, one piece of melon does spoil an entire fruit salad. I realize that my not liking these foods in not very southern of me. Normally this would not be a concern to me, however, I am trying to eat more locally produced foods. I am doubting whether this will be possible for me living in the south. If it weren't for grits, peaches, and collards I would have all ready given up.

But back to the okra. Recently we had dinner with some friends who fixed the most amazing Indian feast for us. One of the dishes was a grilled okra dish. I saw the okra and instantly thought "oh no". Wanting to be polite, I put one on my plate. As I ate, I cut the okra up and scooted it around on my plate in an effort to make it appear as if I had eaten it. Somehow a piece of it managed to make it onto my fork and into my mouth. I cannot begin to describe the experience. My taste buds were tingling and my tongue a tappin'. The combination of spices was heavenly. The okra was crisp and crunchy. There was not a hint of slime anywhere. I was suddenly sorry that I had not put more on my plate.

I have been thinking about this okra for weeks now. I have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of okra at our local farmer's market. Last week's market bulletin finally announced that the first locally grown okra would be available on Saturday. In three short days I would have okra. I could hardly wait. You know you are getting old when the idea of getting your hands on a vegetable makes you feel like a kid a Christmas.

Our bounty from the farmer's market this past Saturday did indeed include okra. I hesitated in cooking it for a few days for fear that it would not be as delicious as I remembered. I finally took the plunge on Tuesday morning. I prepared the marinade and grilled the cute little guys. I am happy to report that it was as scrumptious as the first time. I am now completely obsessed with okra. I am counting down the days until Saturday when I can get my hands on some more of those delectable green slender lady's fingers. I am scouring cookbooks for recipes. (Apparently a dry-heat cooking method like grilling is what is necessary if you prefer crisp over slime.) I am dreaming of okra. I am driving my family crazy with okra talk. I am planning where in the garden we can grow lots and lots of okra next year. I have not felt this way about a vegetable since brussel sprouts in 1996. I blame that obsession on account of being pregnant with Mr. Edwards. I ate brussel sprouts morning, noon, and night for months. I have no such excuse this go round. I have never thought of myself as having an addictive personality, however I am beginning to understand what a junkie looking for his next hit must feel like. I suppose obsessions and addictions when they involve locally grown produce and intoxicating spices may not be such a bad thing. If we all only had it so bad. It really is a good life. Watch out tomatoes, you're next!

HELP WANTED

On Sunday the girls woke up determined to fight, argue, and bicker with each other ALL DAY LONG. It drove the other five of us insane. They drove the boys so crazy that they declared it a "boy day" and played together in their room for most of the afternoon. We tried talking to the girls about it. We tried pointing out the behavior when it was happening. We tried ignoring it. We tried distracting them with new activities. We tried separating them by forbidding them to be in the same room together. Nothing worked. They seemed determined to annoy and be annoyed by each other no matter what. Their last argument before I finally banned them from being in the same room at the same time went something like this.

Mary: Can I try your dress on?

Miss Almanzo: No. It is too small for you.

Mary: Please, please can I try your dress on?

Miss Almanzo: No. It won't fit you.

Mary: I just want to try it on one time.

This continues for several minutes.

Miss Almanzo: I said no. Take my first answer. Quit asking me the same question again and again.

Mary: I did not ask you the same question again.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did.

Mary: No I didn't.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did!

Mary: No I didn't.

At this point you could safely go for a 30 minute run and not worry that you missed anything. Their arguing continued with each "Yes you did" and "No I didn't" getting increasingly louder. Miss Almanzo finally broke the stalemate with the following.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did and now you are arguing with me.

Mary: I am not arguing with you.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you are!

Mary: No I'm not.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you are!

Mary: No I'm not.

At this point you could grab a quick bite to eat without fear of missing any of the argument. Their "Yes you are" and "No I'm not" volleying continued until I could take it no longer. Now they were actually arguing with each other over whether they were arguing with each other. I sent them to different parts of the house until dinner. Mary went upstairs to her room and fell asleep. Peace and harmony settled over the house for an hour or so with the exception of an argument between Mr. Laura and Mr. Garvey. It went like this.

Mr. Laura: Can I play with your cars?

Mr. Garvey: No because you break them.

Mr. Laura: I didn't break them. It was an accident.

Mr. Garvey: Maybe in a little while.

Mr. Laura: I don't like you any more.

Mr. Garvey: That is not a nice thing to say.

Mr. Laura stomps off upstairs mad. Moments later he is back and he and Mr. Garvey are laughing and rolling around on the floor together.

There is definitely something to be said for the way the males in general handle their disagreements. They say what they have to say and then they move on. What is the significance of the way women argue and hold grudges? I know my sister and I fought like this as children. I can still hold a grudge when I feel that I have been unfairly treated. Anybody out there have any good suggestions for curbing the non-stop bickering and arguing between their daughters?

"Extremely Fascinating", Well Perhaps Not Anymore

Mr. Laura was an easy child for me to fall in love with. He was this incredibly happy, easy-going, snugly baby. He only had eyes for me for the longest time (I'm talking years and years and years.) . I must say I savored every moment of it. He learned how to charm the socks off of me from his earliest words. As a toddler, instead of saying "up" or "hold me" when he wanted to be picked up, he would toddle through the house declaring, "I want to hold you, momma". Needless to say he made me feel like he was doing me a favor by allowing me to heft his 30 or so pounds at his every whim. And needless to say, I picked him up often. As his vocabulary increased so did the words that I would find irresistible. He would still tell me he wanted to hold me and after I indulged him by picking him up, he would tell me things like "You are beautiful" or "You are delicious". As he grew and began to ask all of the "Why?" and "How come?" questions, he would often say, after I answered his questions, "You are extremely fascinating". Again and again he would manage to turn the situation around to where it was I who felt I had been given the greater gift in our interaction. I've been dreading the day that I would be replaced as the center of his universe. I know it will happen. I know it should happen. I already see signs that it is happening. So far it has been a nice gradual process. He hasn't completely pulled the rug out from under me. Things may be a changing though.

The other day we spent the afternoon at a friend's house. Mr. Laura, rather than playing with the other children, chose to spend his time with our friends' two dogs. A blissful and content expression settled on Mr. Laura's face for the rest of the day. After returning home, he described in great detail his afternoon with the dogs. He was very animated in his speech and gestures as he described the dogs' personalities, what he liked about each one, and how they interacted with him and each other. He then asked if animals had doctors. I said yes, they are called veterinarians. He declared that he would like to be a veterinarian and asked how he could become one. We talked about what kind of schooling was required. Always the planner, he wanted answers to such practical questions as Where the school was?, When could he start?, and my personal favorite, Would I be able to drop him off and pick him up from school?

I explained that although he was too young for formal training yet, that it was never too soon to start learning all he can about the animals he is most interested in. The more he learned now the easier school would be. I also mentioned that when he was a bit older he could volunteer at our local animal shelter and then as a teenager probably get a part-time job at a local veterinarian's office. Again he had some practical concerns, such as, Will I have to perform surgery on the animals?, How will I know what medicine to give each animal? and What if the dog is bigger than me?

Later that evening he approached me. Pen and paper in hand and poised to take notes, he wanted to know "what are the medicines that animals take?". When I explained that it depended on what was wrong with the animal. He then asked, "What kind of diseases do animals get?". I suggested that these questions were too broad and that he choose a particular animal to study. A bit disappointed that I was unable to provide him with a complete and comprehensive answer to the disease pathology and pharmacological treatments for any and all animals, he replied, "Let's keep it simple. How about a cat?". "Wild cat or house cat," I inquired. "House cat," he stated. I told him we could look for books on house cats the next time we were at the library. The disappointment became more pronounced across his face as he, maybe for the for the first time, realized that I don't know everything. He certainly at that moment did not find me "extremely fascinating". Ready or not Mr. Laura is growing up.

A Taste of Nepal or Not?

The clean kitchen and a new saute pan have put me in a cooking mood. Here are a few pictures of our lunch today. It was simple to make and I thought absolutely gorgeous to look at. Even better was that it tasted so delicious. The kids absolutely inhaled it. I scraped every last morsel from the pots and left the kids asking for more.

Another nice thing about the recipe is that you can substitute vegetables based what is seasonally and locally available. Green beans, sweet potatoes, eggplant, or cauliflower just to name a few would have all been as equally scrumptious. Today I used yellow squash, carrots, zucchini, and snow peas. They are cooked in a coconut curry sauce and served with rice and a red lentil dal which is seasoned with garlic, ginger, and turmeric. The flavors and textures were wonderful in our mouths. I can't wait to make it again with varying combinations of local vegetables that will be available throughout this growing season.

The recipe is from one of my favorite cookbooks called "The World in Your Kitchen: Vegetarian Recipes form Africa, Asia, and Latin America". It is a Nepalese dish called Dal-bhaat and tarkari (or Lentils and curried vegetables). According to the book and I quote, "This is the main Nepali meal. In the villages, rice is served only to guests or on festival occasions. Instead, a heavy porridge is made from maize, millet, or wheat flour boiled in water. The lentils or vegetables are often omitted and a single accompanying sauce called tyun is made from whatever dried beans or vegetables are available - such as stinging nettle and fern shoots".

I do take pause to consider that a meal I consider fairly basic and economic may be considered a meal to be served only on special occasions or to guests in another part of the world.

The Best Kind of Quiet

We awoke this morning to cooler temps and a slow and steady rain. Perfect conditions for a lazy morning and eventually some intensive cleaning. Our kitchen has been a bit of a disaster lately. With all of the trips we have been making to see my mom, the kitchen counters have become a collection point for all sorts of items. If there is one room in my house that I need to have clean and neat, it is the kitchen. I become miserable and grumpy until order is reestablished. Pa and I decided to give it a thorough cleaning today. We banished the kids and dogs from the kitchen and got to work.

Sometime while cleaning, we realized the house had become extremely quiet. When you live with five kids, a quiet house is rare and is usually not a good sign. Unsure of what may be going on, I decided to investigate. Here's what I found:


On the rare occasions that I find myself alone in my house, I never enjoy it as much as I expect to. I often find myself counting down the hours until everyone is back home safe and sound. The silence of an empty house always leaves me with feelings of longing and uneasiness. Today's quiet was sublime. Today's silence, while it lasted, filled me with peace and contentment.

Silver Linings

It has been a while since I have posted. Life has certainly presented us with some challenges lately. In mid April, it took three weeks for a respiratory infection which was more irritating than serious to work its way through all seven of us. Since the beginning of May we have been trying to convince my mom to see a doctor. She began acting in strange ways and had really become the "anti-mom". She was saying and doing things that were so definitely out of character. She was often disoriented, confused and unorganized. Finally on May 11 we got her to agree to see her doctor. She has been hospitalized ever since. In fact, on May 17th she had the first of 2 planned brain surgeries. Thankfully it was successful and she is getting along well.

Mother's Day this year was to be a milestone of sorts for me. Last year this time was both difficult and surreal. Five days before I was to leave for Ethiopia to meet Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo for the first time, my mom phoned to say she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and would be having surgery in two days. I made the two hour trip to be with her during the surgery and the day after. My grandmother, sister, and brother assured me that they had everything under control and that I should continue with my trip. I rushed back home to finish packing and to say goodbye to Pa, Mr. Edwards, and Mr. Laura. I spent most of Mother's Day that year 37,000 feet above the earth somewhere between Rome and Addis Ababa worrying about my mother, missing Pa, Mr. Edwards and Mr. Laura, and anxious about meeting my new children.

My Mother's Day expectations were high this year. This was my date for which I planned to look back and see how far we've come in exactly one year. My mom had finished her chemo in December and was getting stronger and more active this entire year. Life at home had really settled down. Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo are family now. No longer do I feel like I am babysitting for Ethiopia and wondering when their parents are coming to get them. So spending this Mother's Day in the hospital with my mom learning that her breast cancer had metastasized to her brain was not what I had foreseen.

Despite the circumstances, the mood was surprisingly light and often even funny. One of the lesions on my mom's brain was affecting her memory. She would often say the same thing over and over. Her most repeated statement was "Where is my black bag with my lipstick? Make sure you don't lose that. I really need it." She would also have times when she could not recall our names and would refer to us as that woman or that man. Her personality had also changed. She was mellow and relaxed and often displayed an uncharacteristic sense of humor. On the night she was admitted to the hospital, the nurses kept trying to get her to take her jeans off. She insisted on wearing them under the hospital gown because in her words "I'm breaking out of here just as soon as I get the chance."

Even though I'd rather my mom not be facing 2 brain surgeries and the impending radiation with all the horrible, horrible side effects, I am grateful to have experienced, even in a situation like this, unexpected moments of joy and laughter. I am humbled by all of those I know who have come out of the woodwork with all sorts of offers to help with my kids during the times I have to be away helping my mom. I am glad that my sister, brother, and I can work together to figure out how we are going to rearrange our lives to be there for our mom. I am finally so thankful for my children who even in the most seemingly somber of occasions can lighten the mood and make people smile. There are always silver linings.