Thankful

I was awake at midnight last night with this post running through my head, so here goes...

I can't get the memories of Childrens Hospital out of my head. Maybe because Masen has been sick lately, maybe because it is Christmas, I don't know. If I close my eyes I have very vivid images of her room on the 8th floor, last room on the southeast side, next to the playroom, tiny, one little sleeping chair. Across from us was a baby, just a few months old, who came in with a brain injury and a horrible bruise across the left side of her head and ear. A child at her babysitters had beat her with one of those wooden hammers that come with peg sets, allegedly.

Just a few doors down from us was another baby girl. I have no idea her age, but she was able to fit into an infant carseat. I know this because that is where she stayed most of the day. She had no visitors, no family to hold her or love her, so the nurses placed her in a car seat and moved her crib in front of the door so they could see her from their station. When they had a break, they'd take turns rocking her, feeding her, and just loving her. I don't know what her story was, it was apparent she was not a "normal" healthy child. She didn't cry, or fuss or interact like most infants do. She had no family to take her home.

And I can see the little girl, about 8 years old whose brother had spent most of his life in the hospital. She herself was a healthy child, but had spent so much time at Children's that every nurse, every aide and assistant knew her name. She knew what time crafts were done in the play room and when the therapy dogs came, she knew all their names and what tricks they could do.

I see the grandmother pushing her grandson in his stroller, nobody knew how long he would live. I see the teenager watching the therapy dogs with his head down, the IV pole attached to his wheelchair and a cap on his bald head. I see big strong men brought to their knees watching their babies struggle to breath.

I see the nurses. I wonder if they know their impact on these families. I know the ones that had to put up with cranky Mom, ME, were fantastic. I was not exactly charming by the time we hit OKC. They treated my daughter with love and jokes and tenderness. They are amazing and all I know for certain is that God gave them something special when He made their hearts. To do and see what they do, day in and day out, and still have the capacity to smile and have hope is beyond words and must be of God.

So, today, the eve of Christmas Eve, I pray for them, and the families there. I promised I'd never close my eyes at night without asking God to fill those halls with His mercy and comfort. And I'll keep that promise along with my gratitude that our story had a happy ending. Today if you have a healthy child who has a messy room, and talks back sometimes, just give thanks to God that your worries only include how long to ground them.

He suffers from ManBrain

Last night: Dillon is doing whatever it is he does, Masen is in the shower and Chris is sprawled out across our bed flipping channels on the t.v. talking to me while I iron his work clothes for the week. The phone rings. Nobody moves. (ring again) Finally Chris rolls over and says, "You want me to get that?" (ya think?) But I was nice, I answered, "Please." (ring) Instead of just getting up and answering the phone, (ring) he replies, "Well, who is it?"

That big bandage across his forehead, is NOT I repeat NOT caused by me chunking the can of spray starch at him. Nope, not at all.

She's just soooo helpful

Dillon has decided that every tree he sees is a challenge. Unfortunately, he is much better at climbing up into the trees than he is at climbing down. He tends to get stuck. His solution is to hang in the tree and yell MAMAAAAAAAA until I come help him down. This afternoon all four of us were outside when we heard MAMAAAAAAA. Dillon was stuck in the big pine tree behind our house. His big sister let out a deep sigh, much like she was asked to donate both big toes to research, and said, "I'll go shove him out."

Isn't she kind to want to "help" her brother that way?! Maybe sadistic is a better word.

Senor Smoothie Buns

Dillon comes through the house the other day, rubs his butt and proclaims himself...SENOR
SMOOTHIE BUNS.

(did i spell that right??)

A New Routine

Well, it's done. I am no longer working. I am beginning my time as a SAHM. I did it for awhile when Sis was a baby, but this is different. And, well, I have to tell you that I absolutely L O V E every second of it. So many people told me how much I'd hate it, so many people thought it meant something was wrong. But the truth is, so many things are right. Chris and I decided to do this for our family and for the kiddos. I've already been on a school field trip, the Halloween parade, and more ball games than I can count. The house is clean (well, clean-er anyway), the laundry is done, dinner is home cooked more than rushed, and I can't wait for the holidays and summer break. We are focusing on our family. What can be more right?

Boys

While Dad and Dillon were staking out their "deer stand" the other day, they came across one of the many natural gas wells that have popped up around here. They checked out the pump house and Dillon asked what it was for. Dad told him it was what put out the natural gas. Dillon replied, "Oh yeah, give my daddy beans and he'll kick this things butt."

No comment.

I don't know where her attitude comes from.....

Decals my daughter wanted at the fair:

1. BITE ME CITY GIRL

2. Don't touch me - -it pisses me off. (ok, I like this one)

3. Barrel Racer

4. I'd rather be at the stall than at the mall.

5. Three barrels, Two hearts, One dream

6. Beat Texas and the steer they rode in on.

We aren't entirely certain she is just 11 years old. What we are sure of, she is one neat kid.