amy whilhoite

There is a blog I have been reading since shortly after it was begun around a year ago. It is about a lovely Christian woman Living With Leukemia. Her name is Amy Wilhoite and she has a rare form of leukemia, typically found in much older patients, making everything about her battle that much more challenging. Her strength has brought tears to my eyes on many occasions. Her will to live -- and live with faith -- is inspiring. She is the 26 year old mother of a one year old little boy, married to a man who has stood by her with a strength that is deeply touching. She has a close family and lots of siblings. She has defeated the odds repeatedly since the beginning. And this morning, I read that there is very little left that can be done for her. My heart is breaking with her and fighting with her.

that kinda poochy stage

We are going to a wedding in a week. The wedding of a very dear friend for over a decade now. My son is named after the groom and his family. Yeah, that kind of wonderful friend. And we could not be more ecstatic about going. Some weddings, I could give or take. I would not miss this for the world. Indeed, my own two precious children will be in the wedding with several nieces and nephews of the groom. Yup, extended family.

Early on, I decided that I would absolutely NOT be doing the last-minute-shopping-for-a-dress-to-wear thing. I am notorious for those problems, and refused to cave to the stress. Six weeks ago, I found a fabulous dress at a consignment shop that made me happy and bought it. This particular store has a lovely policy of allowing an exchange within five days. On the fifth day, I took a pregnancy test. It was positive. I did not take the dress back because:
a) I liked it
b) I thought perhaps it would fit still at two days shy of 12 weeks pregnant
c) I had no other options at that moment and didn't want to regret returning it
d) I was stinkin' unsure what to do

The end of the week was my son's Mother's Day Tea at school. He requested I wear the new dress since it was so pretty. I squeezed my feet into the one pair of shoes that matched (I thereby discovered that ALL my nice shoes no longer fit after having two babies...yes, that means more shopping, which oddly enough I do not enjoy), and thus became the most dressed up mom at the tea. I liked the dress that day, though it was not so comfy sitting in the kindergarten chairs.

As the weeks have progressed, so has my size. Just a bit. Not for the average person to see, but for my clothes to be just a bit tighter. For the "sucking it in" not to work or feel remotely okay. For the shape more than anything to begin adjusting. For that kinda poochy stage to kick in (versus real showing). For the beautiful dress not to fit.

Where does that leave me?
Yeah, stressing over a dress at the last minute, with two children in tow, not just one, since school is out. And suddenly realizing that we have a rehearsal dinner I need clothing for as well as the wedding.

I did actually find a dress at another consignment shop today (I'm a sucker for those places with great prices and clothes always pre-washed, no shrinking save poor laundry skills, though I do shop new as needed, too). Light blue, linen, knee-length, sleeveless, and roomy enough not to look peculiar with a funky bulge (for a whopping $6.50 since it was half price, thank you very much). Now, for rehearsal dinner clothes and shoes all around (watch, I'll spend all the money I just saved on one pair of shoes just to be done with it!). With two children in tow.

(I won't even think about the fact I still need to go choose glasses this weekend as well . . . shudder.)

spilling the pee cup still wins first prize, but. . .

knocking over half the cute little container of syrup from my plate onto my dress definely wins second. I am so incredibly clumsy. And that was so incredibly sticky. Especially where it pooled next to my leg and then made my dress stick to me until I could go home and bathe a second time. The massive amounts on my wrist that made the watch stick like it was glued washed off with two rounds in the bathroom, at least. Otherwise, our Father's Day brunch really was quite lovely.

the quiet in the house

A couple of days ago I was taking a late afternoon rest to ease the queasiness and exhaustion that usually overtakes me sometime before supper. I was not sleeping, just resting with a book; my bedroom is next to the living room and my favorite little people were peaceful and quiet. Every little bit I'd either haul myself up to see that all was well or ask Little B to please tell what Miss C was up to. When I say every little bit, I mean every five or ten minutes; my son was entranced in a book, my daughter in the secret hiding place behind the big chair in the corner, or tucked away in her room with toys--her location changed often, but "quiet" with my kids is usually not anything to worry about.

"Usually" is the operative word here. Miss C is definitely of the mischeivous, spunky sort.

My rest time ended when I asked Little B to please see where his sister had gone. In seconds he says, "Um, she's fingerpainting. On the counter."

My confession: I cannot seem to keep my kitchen counters clear. Cannot do it. This is probably one of my weakest spots. The dishes eventually get loaded, the laundry gets washed, the toilets only get so bad, the carpets do feel the stroke of the vacuum from time to time and the clutter that accumulates in my bedroom or on top of the tv either gets moved or dealt with sooner or later. But. The kitchen counters suffer. When I attempt to empty them and make them clear, they magnetize more stuff in less than a day. And there is always at least one corner spot that never gets cleared. I loathe it. But I have not figured out a system for the junk that calls it home. Pictures my kids draw, mail that lacks urgency but needs attention eventually, coupons I keep swearing off (typically for restaurants), piles and piles of this nonsense and other stuff. (May it stand on record that I am not solely responsible for the mess; I find toys and tools and other miscellaneous things that my dear family leaves by the wayside as well.)

So, my goal this week (well, over the weekend and into next week; I have to be realistic) needs to be clean counters. REALLY cleared off. My daughter is into things up there with her reaching and climbing. Gaining more counter space when we moved last year did NOT make my problem better. It grew. I need help.

Back to my daughter. My son had dressed her in her pretty pink dress earlier in the day (he has a thing for changing her clothes and leaving the various selections on the floor). She was using red finger paint. It says washable, but I have not finished that load of laundry, so I don't know if they're telling the truth yet. I am so very thankful he warned me that she was using fingerpaint because she chose the red tube. And she was very happily smearing it all over the counter, having glopped it onto various papers nearby as well as the dress, the chair, and the floor. Had she been crying, I'd have thought she was bleeding profusely and panicked. Instead, she gleefully squeezed out the last of it before I could get the tube away; actually, I had assumed it was already empty. I left her there while I moved papers, threw away the unsalvagable items, and wiped the areas nearby. I then proceeded to strip her down and carry her to the tub where Little B had made a bubble bath--with excessive amounts of bubbles, which thrilled her. While he watched over her safety, I finished cleaning up so she could not re-indulge once out of her bath. I must admit, though, I think that counter area would make a wonderful finger-painting surface that I would be able to wash rather than hang to dry. . .

busy yesterday

Little B had his 6 year old well-check-up way too early in the morning yesterday. He did so, so good. First of all, we were told last year that all shots were finished until he's eleven, and since shots are full of trauma for him, that was a huge relief. Well, things changed. Of course. They now want a chicken pox booster shot and so he we talked to him about it for a bit and he was the bravest little boy on the planet. Not one tear during the shot (a few at the news of the shot, but not during!). A year ago, it took three people to hold him down and was an ugly scene. I was SO proud of him yesterday. Also, he passed his vision test, which he failed two years ago which resulted in seeing an eye doctor who told us to return this year. Well, we'll still return, but it's for "floaters" this time; my son sees spots all the time, apparently. This was news to me a couple weeks ago and I was just happy to have this check-up already set. At least I'm no longer inwardly panicking over possible annuerisms or anything freaky.

I was also supposed to have my first filling yesterday, but once my dentist realized I was only 8 weeks pregnant, he put it off until my 2nd trimester. While we're going to try it without a shot, he doesn't want that to change partway through while I'm still in the 1st trimester. That was just fine with me since I didn't really happen to be overly excited about the prospect. I was mostly worried about getting a round of nausea partway through, so I'm going to make the appointment for about halfway through the pregnancy since that is when my "morning sickness" typically abates, at least in my previous experience.

And, I had an ultrasound yesterday afternoon and saw my precious new baby. I forgot just how real it becomes the first time you see the little bean shaped thing with a heartbeat pounding to beat the band. Life is so beautiful. My son was quite tickled because he got to see a video of the ultrasound and as always was full of awe. Now, we'll be pulling out the video of his ultrasounds as well as Miss C's.

So, it was a busy crazy day and I was completely beat by the end of it. Today, I've been too wiped out (and nauseated) to go take care of essential things like buy toilet paper (not to worry, we should make it to the end of the week) and groceries (well, I don't care for much food these days but my family may start to get annoyed soon if there is nothing to eat, huh? Shoot. . .).

my cup spilleth over

I had my first OB visit yesterday for this pregnancy.
I'd been feeling tired and "icky", so my father drove me while my mother watched the kids. They're wonderful that way; I think I'll keep them.

Just when I needed to walk out the door my phone rang. It was the doctor's office asking to move my appointment 45 minutes later since he had two women in labor. (One was still pushing when I arrived; poor thing, I wonder who was with her since I had my appointment and there were several women in the waiting room and the midwife in the practice was on vacation. . .) I spent the extra time Miss C down for a nap; only half the baby-sitting for Grandma this way.

You know how it goes at any appointment, first they weigh you and then for OB you have to pee in a cup. So, there I am, purse and water bottle across the small room, next to the door, since there is no hook or shelf to set them on, awkwardly holding this paper cup with my name, now half full of pee and wondering if there is any way they could make this more awkward. Immediately, I recalled trying to feel where the cup was at the end of my previous pregnancies since you surely can't see over the big belly. As I reminded myself, that yes, it will be more awkward before it's all over, I spilled the cup of pee.

Now, when I say I spilled the cup of pee, I mean half of it's contents sloshed over my arm, and split between the floor and my clothing. There was quite a puddle on the floor--you'd think I had not made it to the toilet--and my shirt had a large spot. When I looked down, it was on my thighs, my underwear, my pants in several indiscreet spots. I surely looked like I peed in my pants. I sat there, wondering what on earth to do and wished I had a change of clothes like I carry for my daughter.

I felt completely trapped with pee all over me and the floor and a wet cup that really needed to be put in the little metal trap door next to me. I wiped the cup down and took care of sending it on its way first. Then began using toilet paper to mop up myself and the commode and the floor and even my clothes (that was pretty ineffective). I nearly clogged the toilet with the extra tissue. I really didn't want to explain that as well.

Thankfully, I know to laugh at myself. I was cracking up when I stepped out and saw the nurse and ultrasound tech and told them what happened. I told the doctor later and even the lady who drew my blood (I felt obligated since I had to sit in her chair and I had almost-dry pee on me).

Graceful, aren't I? hahahaha!