Graduation Is So Sweet. Drum Roll, Please!

The household rose early today. Not because we wanted to, mind you. It was because we had an 8 AM appt. with Laura's ENT and I felt I needed to leave early to deal with rush hour traffic and construction. And as the moments ticked down before we left my stomach got more and more butterflies. What would this visit bring? Would we have to schedule surgery to remove the stubborn tube that was put in long ago and didn't come out on its own within the accepted time frame? Couldn't she just let them pull it out at the office? Would she scream bloody murder again or would she be a bit more grown up about it all?

When we arrived, on time mind you, Laura's immediate need was to use the restroom. It was then I realized she shared my butterflies and knew that this wasn't Dr. Dobbs or her Ped. There would be no toys or tattoos. Just pain and frustration on her part. And neither of us were looking forward to it.

When we finally got to see the ENT, he peaked in to her ears, and then smiled a big smile (he does this very well) and said "I think her tube is out and laying in the ear canal" I didn't believe him so he had to repeat it for me. And then he plucked the sucker out just to prove he was right. And Laura only made a small whimper. She was so brave. And she was tube free! No need for surgery. No need for more tubes. She's done. The Lord did it again.

As he finished up the visit he looked at me and said "Well, you've graduated. You don't need to come back to see me unless another problem develops." I, very unprofessionally, high-fived him and we left with lots of giggles, laughter and two Nemo stickers. While we like our ENT very much and appreciate him for saving her life, it didn't bother me one bit that we just might have seen the last of him.

She graduated. It is just one more way that she's growing up. And I couldn't be more proud of her.

Passionate About Feet!

Okay, okay. I'm not talking just any feet. I'm talking about clubfeet. Ones that need the correct treatment in order to walk down that aisle someday with pain-free, straight feet. I've learned over the years that those who become well versed in whatever disease, disability, or birth defect one might have and learn to successfully treat it without invasive procedures successfully become virtual zealots, encouraging other parents to follow in their path. I think I've finally gone over the clubfoot edge. And I think that's a good thing.

For several years I've been a part of the nosurgery4clubfoot yahoo group. It is made up of dedicated Moms who are spreading the word, those in the midst of treatment, and those looking for answers for their unborn child or perhaps one who is being adopted or has relapsed at an older age. Because of that group, I have closer communication with some of the dedicated, experienced Moms and I try to do my part to help when I can.

That help has been in waves. Sometimes we are concentrating so hard on what is best for Laura, it is hard to see what might be best for others. I've always been glad that the other experienced Moms were so dedicated that they could help families, and I've looked forward to the day when I could relax and feel just as passionate as they do. I think my time has come.

Last week I came across a blog written by a Mom who has a daughter with clubfeet. I read a few posts and felt that I needed to do something to help them get on the right track. A lot of Ortho Specialists claim that they are doing the Ponseti Method to correct clubfeet, but sadly they aren't. They might have been trained by him, they might have read his books and used his handbook, and they might have a great reputation as being the best in their area, but they deviate because they think they know more than 50 years of research shows. They become lax and either increase the chances of doing something wrong to a child's foot, or they greatly increase the chances of a relapse. Big Time.

So I began praying for this family. Hoping and praying is more like it. And I realized I'd just crossed the line in to the passionate, dedicated clubfoot Mom. It amused me and caused some anguish at the same time. What would become of me? Would I turn out to be one of those Moms who didn't listen and just tried to shove the correct Ponseti method down other parents throats? Would I get a cheerleaders outfit and do my thing from the sidelines? Would I think of nothing but clubfeet???

No. I don't think so. My Mom shares with me periodically about how great it is that we have contact with so many people through this wonderful technological medium and she is constantly amazed at what can happen through email and now blogs. So I figure I won't change much on the outside. I'll just keep better track, develop simple, calm answers to questions parents post and do my best to see that they are getting the best care they can for their children. And I'll pray a lot more for families I don't even know. I'll be praying that they have ears to hear and a heart that is open to doing something different if it means their child will have greater success with their feet. I'll be praying that they will be willing to do what needs done no matter how far they have to drive or how many phone calls they'll have to make to their insurance company as a result. And I'll be praying for Dr. Ponseti. He is a wonderful, calm, healthy 94 and we need him around for a few more years. But he also needs the Lord. I'll also be praying for Dr. Dobbs. He's seeing more and more patients who need help after someone else has had their hands on those precious feet and he needs wisdom as he deals with more and more unusual cases.

Prayer. Who knew it would be a part of experienced, dedicated, zealous clubfoot parents trying to spread the word. I guess I should have known all along. Certainly Laura has had her share of prayers said over her from day one. And look at her. Who would ever know that she was supposed to be long gone by now. Prayer works. And along with Dr. Ponseti and Dr. Dobbs, who knows what might come if it? I smile when I realize I know. And I hope that I can pass on that legacy to Laura someday.

Girls, Caillou and Tools

A part of my childhood is revisited daily in my household. A part I only remember through stories from my parents, but is so intimately familiar that I feel as though I live it every day. Because I do.

Each morning and evening, I set Laura up on the edge of our bed and brush out her long hair. She LOVES the hair. HATES the brushing. She cries at the slightest pull and behaves much like I'm torturing her so I've learned to ignore it. I'm sure my Mom got to the same place with me resulting in my first hair cut at age eight where I went from long, long hair to a pixie in one visit to the beauty shop. Needless to say, I don't have a fondness for them to this day.

Anyway, to avert her attention while brushing out tangles we often employ either a bigger brother to play with her, singing with Mommy, or we turn on Caillou on who resides in the on demand feature of our cable programming. I love on demand. It is a partner with me in creating a calm, relatively scream-free atmosphere just before bed. Of course Laura is able to get herself together enough these days to tell me what it is that she wants me to do with her hair, but that is a whole different discussion.

Last night as I was brushing out her hair after her bath and wondering what I was going to do with it for the night, Caillou was learning how to problem solve and use tools. It prompted this conversation:

Laura: Mommy, I want some tools.
Me: Oh? What kind of tools?
Laura: Pink tools. *I work hard here to not snicker out loud*
Me: Of course. What kind of pink tools.
Laura: I need a wrench (pronounced wench), a hammer and what is that other thing called? The long thing?
Me: A screwdriver?
Laura: Yes, a screwdriver, that's it! I want a pink wrench, a hammer, and a screwdriver. Just pretend, Mommy.
Me: Of course.

There is a pause in the conversation as she watches more of Caillou. Then she adds:

Laura: I want one of those things in pink, too. A tool box. Like Caillou's with a handle that is pink and everything.
Me: But Caillou's isn't pink. It is blue.
Laura: I know, I know Mommy. But I want a pink on to go with my wrench, hammer and screwdriver!
Me: Of course.
Laura: So get them, okay? Then I can help you fix all sorts of things around the house after the boys break them.

Laughing out loud at this point is inevitable. I can't help it. She has such a practical view of life, doesn't she?

And so it goes here on the homestead. :)

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News

Sometimes it seems that some of the most interesting times of our lives are destined to repeat themselves. While this isn't all that bad when the interesting times were great ones, it can be frustrating when those times were ones you'd rather leave far behind you. And I mean far, far behind you. As in never have to look back, and never have to deal with it again, either. Ah, if only it were that easy peasy.

Yes, you read that right. Easy Peasy. If you've been reading the blog for awhile you'll remember that those cute little words were spoken by our wise, very comical Dr. Stone last fall. The very one who told me that removing a toe nail would be indeed 'easy peasy' and I had nothing to worry about. As it turned out, easy peasy wasn't exactly how I'd describe it but then I was on the receiving end and he was just doing the fun part. Well, at least from his perspective. So of course it was easy peasy. For him!

Anyway, it seems I am enjoying the same infection that attacked last year and we're working on getting rid of it with antibiotics. I'd rather avoid the whole toenail removal thing. And to that end, he took my very swollen toe, lanced it - can you say OUCH! - and the stuck a q-tip thingy in there to get a 'sample' to grow so he knew what we were dealing with. Uh yeah. Fun, that. NOT. And then, just to top off the event, he squeezed the sucker just for good measure. At this point I'm beginning to wish that the examination table were a bit lower so my other foot could make contact with something but I restrained. Wonderful patient that I am.

When he finally finished his dastardly deeds, he lead me back to his office to finish up. I'm busy being thankful that I wore sandals so my throbbing toe would not be shoved into a shoe, when the Good Doctor pulls one of the sneakiest, apparently well-thought-out tricks yet. He grabs the blood pressure cuff and shoves it on my arm. Talk about playing dirty pool...

Now I'm the first to admit my bp is a bit high, but it is not like I'm going to have a heart attack any day now. At least, as Dr. Stone assures me, not on his watch. So what is the big deal? At home, just the night before it was 134/84 - a great improvement over the previous measurement. And a wonderful testament to the relaxation brought about by a week at the beach. But just telling him that wasn't good enough. Oh no. He waited until after he ransacked my poor toe before he takes his reading. Imagine my surprise when it read 134/103. Yes, that was 103. *sigh*

He sends me off with a script for an antibiotic and a diuretic to help my blood pressure. A diuretic. Translation: You get a lot of time to ponder what new paint and/or wallpaper you want to use in every bathroom in the house. We have three. I'm intimately aware of all of their foibles as I've visited them so often in the past two days that I'm going to have to get my own bronzed statue commemorating the throne soon as I'm declared the "Most Frequent Visitor in 2008". Or at least replace the carpeting and tile in each one as they are wearing out at an ever increasing rate. And we aren't even done with the year, yet.

Ah, the Good Doctor.

But today, after just two days on the medication, I stopped taking it. Its effect on me, aside from the obvious, meant I was extremely nauseous and dizzy. Can't live like that. Give me fat feet from methyldopa any day over that. After all, I'm a good patient. Obedient. Really. I am. Most of the time.

So my trips to the our three water closets has lessened somewhat, and I'm wondering what he'll do to me next. Perhaps we can just wait a bit before starting something else. After all, here at home my bp was acceptable last night. Really it was. I have witnesses.

And so it goes...

Princess of the Potty

It is wonderful to be able to report that our Princess of the Potty is doing quite well at it and is actually wearing big girl undies during the day. YEAH for Laura! And while her foray in to pottying has had its difficulties, not to mention its delayed start, it has also provided some entertainment for us.

As we were travelling home from Stone Harbor, we were pushing the last leg of our journey when from the back comes a voice willing itself to be heard over the din of adult chatter, car noises and air conditioning. It said "Mommy I need to go potty." When no response was forthcoming, she went on to share a litany of pleas to get us to stop. But the one that finally brought a response from an adult, other than the advice to hold it awhile longer, was her plaintive plea "Pwease Mommy. Find a pee store, Mommy. I've got to go potty."

Ah, the wisdom of a four year old. :)

49 Years Filled With Love

While we were on vacation, my parents celebrated their 49th wedding anniversary. Forty-nine years. Married. Together. And to think that it started when they were very young and well, you know the rest. They have loved me, inspired me, corrected me, guided me, and walked beside me. They have accomplished much in their married lives, but the really cool thing about it all is that they are still married 49 years later, and still loving each other.

Jonathan made a special anniversary card for them in the sand. He may not realize it yet but because they've been married for so long and had such an influence on his life, he will be a better husband when he finally finds the one the Lord has for him. Meanwhile, he will keep it simple and honor his Honey and Poppy. A statement he made up himself and a heart he made for them to express his love for his grandparents. Emphasis on Grand. They are indeed grand. To him, to Matthew, to Laura, and to Don and I. And so Jonathan made his tribute from the heart. I wonder what he'll do next year.

Sunset Beach

In Cape May, there is an attraction that, miraculously, doesn't include sand. At Sunset Beach, the beach is covered with ocean tumbled rock, many from quartz, and you don't shell there. You look for Cape May Diamonds instead. We visited for a few hours and spent our fair share of time searching for our own diamonds in the rough. First, Poppy gave instructions and then they went their own way, digging down to find what someone else might have missed.







There is a bit of history there as well. Out in the ocean you can see the remnants of one of only 12 experimental concrete ships. Yes, you read that right. Concrete. Ship. Made to float... But I digress. Apparently, this one was purchased on order to make a reef somewhere else but was pulled from its mooring and washed up towards Sunset Beach. No one was able to pull it out at that time so it has remained right where it landed, slowly wearing away in the waves. As you can see, it doesn't really look like a ship now, but it still makes one wonder just how the navy thought a concrete ship was a good idea.



As we retreated from the beach to visit the shops before moving on to the Cape May Lighthouse, Kayla and Jarryd came up. Both, obviously holding a small cache of Cape May Diamonds in their hands, looked at me and said "Now what? What do we do with them?" That is a question, isn't it? Now what? Hmmm... I shared that my Dad had a jar full of them at home, collected over many visits here. And that others took the bigger ones and made jewelry out of them - they could see the outcome in one of the shops. Or they could decided what else they might want to do with them. But for me, half of the fun is finding them and then knowing that when you look at them, they are a reminder of the peaceful day spent collecting them. I guess it is an age thing. :)

Stone Harbor

Stone Harbor. The words bring to mind seagulls gliding on the wind, beautiful sunsets, long walks on the beach, shelling, and the constant sound of the waves coming and going over the sand where we just walked. These were sounds we knew very well 12 years ago and that I was able to share with Don on our honeymoon 6 years ago, but last week I took the time to realize just how much I love Stone Harbor. I think everyone felt the same way by the time the week ended. Matthew and Jonathan were there for the first time and they now know why we love it so much there.

On Saturday we started our journey bright and early, but not as early as we intended. Doesn't that always happen? My Mom and Dad, our family, and my Sister-In-Law all climbed into Dad's Astro and off we went. We expected a 10 hour journey with a lot of stops for our newly peeing-in-the-potty princess, but made it in 8.5 hours with only two stops. As we sailed down the Garden State Parkway on the last leg of our journey, the smells of the ocean greeted us every once in awhile and only heightened our desire to get our feet in the sand.

Unloading the car was quite easy but we realized just how much we'd brought as Dad pulled stuff out of every nook and cranny he had in the car. The car top carrier was left for last and since we didn't have a ladder, Jonathan went up on top to unload. We shoved everything in the house, gathered together and headed down to the beach.

Here's our first taste of the ocean. You will note that the boys didn't waste any time getting down to the water.


The first few days there were very hot and humid so the boys tried to cool off in the 60 some odd degree water but it was just toooooo cold. However, down at the point of the island, there is a much calmer beach where tide pools are common and shells are plentiful. So we headed there. Here are some pictures from those adventure. You'll note that almost always, heads are bent looking down either trying to find shells or checking out something that they found while looking for that elusive uninhabited whelk.

Playing in the tide pools, which were much warmer than the ocean overall, was a fun way to get our feet wet without freezing!


There was a sandbar out a ways that could only be reached during low tide. It was a gathering place on and off during the week. Here you can see the first of many family gatherings there.


And the mighty team of Poppy and Jonathan were always together, heads bent, always looking. Determined to find their treasure.


And SUCCESS!!! Overall, Jonathan found three or four whelks and chose a few to bring home. They will be the happy home of some air plants as soon as we clean them off.


Even Mom braved the water to head out to the sandbar! I think this was her only venture into the water.


We also discovered that Laura loves water. And sand. And having her brother build things for her in the sand. Here Laura and Daddy play in the tide pools


And a picture of the three of us.


Mom and Dad


Mom and Diane


We were joined at the beach by my brother's family. They rented another house and we got to spend a lot of time together. Their house had central air - something we didn't think we'd need at the beginning of June at the beach but alas, we did. So common meals happened at his house. It was fun even though some folks had to sit on the floor to eat. Here's my brother, Scott, holding the always present shelling bag.


I'll post some more pictures of our trip in another post but this one, highlighting our beach adventures, wouldn't be complete without posting Matthew and Seth's attempts to body surf in the freezing cold, bone chilling ocean. I managed to catch one picture of them successfully 'catching a wave' but they are just dots buried on the white curls.









Jonathan joined them periodically but he had enough common sense to stay out of the water when it was just too cold. Smart boy, that one. :)


We finally were forced to pack up and head home. Since there was no ladder, we pulled the car up to the porch and Jonathan still helped load it from there. Here he is relishing his status as the chosen one to actually get on top of the car.


And so ends another week at the beach. It was refreshing, fun, relaxing, filled with family, packed with times we'll remember all year long as we plan for next years trip. Of course next year we'll rent a house with central air. :)

She's A Super Duper Pooper!

Okay, okay, okay. Yes, I know. She'll regret that I displayed that to the world some day. But I have to tell you, I'm ready to shout it from the mountain tops and I'm thinking that letting the whole world know that your stubborn, 'won't poop in the potty' child has gone twice in a row in the potty is something so fabulous, I'm willing to live with the long term fallout. Trust me on this. It is BIG news!

After taking umpteen videos out of the library, learning potty song after potty song, after potty song, I find that the one that means the most to me now is the same one that I was singing 12 years ago, too. "I'm A Super Duper Pooper" is one of the songs on the "It's Potty Time" video. This video was a standard in our home when Matthew was potty training and refusing to poop in the potty, too. At the time we thought it was because David had so many issues with pottying, but now I'm wondering if it isn't just the norm for those lucky enough to be born in our long line of stubborn er... make that determined folk. But for whatever reason, I think we might be well on our way to kissing our diapers and pull ups goodbye forever - at least during the day.

Just moments ago Matthew, Jonathan and I gathered in the hallway in front of the bathroom as we heard cries of "MOMMY! I pooped on the potty!" come rolling out of the bathroom. We all clapped, cheered and serenaded her singing:

She's a Super Duper Pooper,

She can potty with the best.

No more diapers to get in her way,

I bet you are impressed!

She's a Super Duper Pooper,

She knows when she has to go.

Take a bow,

She's a big kid now,

She's the best pooper you know!

Yes, we did that. And we'll do it again. And again. And again. As long as it takes. And when we're done we'll be glad. But secretly, I'll know that I've potty trained for the last time. So while my heart is soaring with pride at her accomplishments, I'll be a bit sad as well. She's growing up. I'll have to come to grips with that. Someday. :)

The Layers Of Life

Last week I quietly celebrated a milestone. One I share with my son, David. He's been gone for ten years now this past New Year's Day. Ten years we've gone on without him. Ten years that we've missed hearing his little, old man laugh. Ten years of family events, changes, and stories that he'll never know. Ten years that he's been whole and healthy, running through heaven, laughing all the way. He would have been twelve last week. Right smack dab in the middle of Matthew and Jonathan. Oh what sibling rivalry that might have been, eh? :)

Yesterday, another child joined him in heaven. Sydney, a beautiful, sweet little one who happened to have clubfeet had been out to see Dr. Ponseti in Iowa, was killed when her Angel Flights plane crashed shortly after take off. She would have turned 3 next month. Her mother, Christina, was with her. While Christina and the pilot suffered no long term injuries, Sydney died later in the day after her father was able to join them in Iowa in time to say goodbye.

My heart weeps for Christina. She has now joined the very private group of those who have lost children. She will know our private pain and our deep longing for what we can no longer have. She will have to balance the lives of those left behind with the memory of the child who has left her behind as she passed away, out her reach. She will wonder and go through endless what ifs in her mind. She'll dream about what she might have become had she lived as long as Christina dreamed she'd live when she first discovered that she was miraculously making another life within her own. She'll go through the blame, the bargaining and the weeping those of us in this very private world already intimately know. She will discover that time really does heal, but long before that happens, she will wonder if there will ever be enough time.

And in the midst of all of this, at the lowest points in her grief, she will begin to see that Sydney's life was full of purpose and joy. That she came for a reason, was here for a time and that, although she is now gone physically, she's never really gone. She will be a part of her life always. Nothing can change that. Not even death. She will realize that in Sydney's short life, she managed to touch more lives than Christina will ever begin to comprehend. That even though her life did not quite span three years, the number of people who are impacted by her will seem to fill a lifetime and more. And she will realize that none of us are here alone. There is always someone who enjoyed her laughter, loved to watch her eyes twinkle or couldn't wait to play with her another day. There will always be someone who will be willing to sit quietly with her while she cries at her loss and then rejoice with her as she shares sweet memories of Sydney, remembering even more as she talks. There will be sweet memories that will chase the tears away and suddenly, she'll realize that she's smiling again and it feels good. She'll find moments of peace and she'll begin to realize that her life is worth living and Sydney is cheering her on as she does.

David and Sydney lived their lives with all the strength, ability, joy and laughter they could muster. They would want us to go on. I am, with David's memories by my side. Christina will work through her grief and go on as well. Stronger. More determined than ever. With a dash of Sydney's laughter thrown in for good measure.