Thankful Friends (UPDATED)

Each day I've been posting a different "What are you thankful for" question on Facebook. Here are the replies so far. I love how diverse my friends are!

Thankful for Nature

Hummingbirds
Rainy nights, afternoons, mornings....its alluring...;)
Landscape with big hills and waterfalls, island beach with a rock cave and and a waterfall. And all of those with a beautiful woman to compliment the scenery!!!
Quiet, cool, foggy, Smoky Mountain mornings where you can hear the acorns falling from the trees and hear the birds and squirrels playing (all enjoyed from a hot tub of course)!
Have to love that vitamin D...and Mt Rainier
Sunset on the beach. I need a vacation and a hurricane!!
I am thankful for my fur babies.
I love the way the trees turn yellow and red and orange during the fall. Our God is such a wonderful "artist" :)
The buttercups when they first peek through the snow. It is pure GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The sandy beach.
I love fall and spring. It reminds me of the crucifixion and resurrection. It's God's constant reminder that He has better things in store for us.......and there the most beautiful times of the year.
It's neat how the Crucifixion seems to have seeped its way into everything. He was slain before the foundation of the world. It's like the world always knew what was going to happen and always remembers. I look forward to that moment when Spring begins...and it will never end. God bless you all.
Trees just after they get really dark in color in the summer. Still new, but rich and seeing the wind blowing in the them.
I love animals. Going to the zoo makes me happy for a week. I also love my two "wild" animals. I`m so thankful for their companionship.
I love a perfect fall day. We only get a couple each year and I always look forward to them.



Thankful for Places
My bed and the BEACH!
I love going to the barn and sitting on the hay and smelling all the critters down there.
HOME!!
Disney World! No matter what kind of day I'm having, it always makes me smile.
I couldn't live without a place in God's heart. Gotta get & keep my name in the Book of Life (sorry if too deep).
I have to say that the shower is my fave...i can relax, rejuvenate, think, sing, etc.
Mom's House, we still kick off our shoes and splash in puddles, play hide and seek, or curl up and watch a movie with popcorn....no worries!
My room
The beach (if it's an off day) or the pool!
In the loving embracing arms of my wife.
My bed
The bath
Cancun!!!!
My recliner @ home.
At the school I work at. I know it sounds weird, but that's where I feel needed the most.I also love my job:)
I am thankful for our home and love being there.
When I was teaching, I was thankful for my classroom. It brought me a lot of stress, but it was also very fulfilling. I spent as much time there as I did at home, so it became special to me.
I'm thankful for my childhood home and that I ...can still visit there (even though I kind of hope for not much longer)
I'm thankful for the home I have with my husband and child. My big honking tub :)
I love a clean toilet when I really need one. Don't act like you don't get there and say, "Oh, thank you, Jesus" too.


Thankful for "Stuff"
I'm thankful for my Xanax!!!!!!!
Who wouldn't be thankful for chicken?
Modern appliances. (especially DVRs)
I'm thankful for electricity
I am thankful from my friends! I use them everyday, enjoy them AND they make life MUCH easier! Oh- and alcohol ;) for all the reasons listed above ;)
Indoor plumbing.....
The thought of doing a research paper without a computer (like I always had to do in the old days) is scary. And if I had to function in the kitchen without my microwave - oh brother.
Cell phone - always in contact with those I love and care about.
I'm thankful for my...computer! It links us all together!!
ANTIDEPRESSANTS!!!!! Oh...was it obvious I'm a teacher?
My car! Gets me to and from work and allows me to take care of my son and husband.
My phone! Wherever I am, I can take pictures and video of Amelia to share. It keeps me connected to everyone through text and Facebook (people actually TALK on their phone? When I was nursing those first few weeks after Amelia was born, my phone kept me company (and awake!) at night.



Thankful for Events
The birth of my children and grandchildren :) The most wonderful days of my life!!!
The decision to come to tennessee. Patrick and my lives are so much better. We are both happier because of it.
The day I was baptized, the day I got married and the adoptions of my boys. Happiest days of my life.
My salvation is the event for which I am most thankful. Second in line is my marriage and motherhood, both of which came together in one neat package!!!
Birth of my sons
I've got a weird answer: (VERY WEIRD!) I can honestly say that I am thankful for having had breast cancer. Through this experience, I was awakened to many "truths" to which I had been ignorant. I learned more lessons through this event than... any other event in my life. I learned who my true friends are, what truly matters in life, and the significance of our individual existences on this planet. I learned that I can endure more than I ever knew that I could, that I am loved far more than I ever thought I was, and what it means to really fight for people that you love.
The day God put my angel in my arms. She has changed me in more ways than one, but the biggest is slowing me down to see the beauty of this world through a child's eyes.
I'm thankful for the day I met my husband!!! I would not be where I am today if it wasn't for him!!
I'm thankful for the moment when Bryan Maness entered my life! Don't really want to know how it would've turned out otherwise!
Well of course I'm thankful for the day I was saved. And I am thankful for meeting and getting married to Lynn.
I'm thankful for the day I met my husband and for the day our daughter was born.

Thankful for Abilities and Freedoms
I am very thankful that I can go to church and worship my Savior without fear of being hurt or killed. I am thankful that I can worship in a beautiful building without having to hide in dark places. I am thankful for the ability to be able to go to work everyday and do my job. I am thankful that my back surgery was a success, so that I can continue doing my job every day. I am thankful that I have the ability to be able to physically do all the things that I enjoy doing.
I am thankful that I can go to Hartland Place on Monday nights to share the gospel with the teen girls. I am thankful that my husband is able to go each week to share the gospel with the teen guys.
My freedom. The ability to love who I want and live where I want
Being able to love you and John...a very long time...for only five dolla' ;)
Freedom to worship our risen Savoir Jesus Christ! And all of the reasons our great troops are defending our freedom.
I am thankful for my abilitu to multi-task!
I'm thankful for the ability to think independently....
I'm thankful for every day I'm granted.
I am thankful for freedom of Religion. I think many of this take this for granted!
Thankful for the ability to live and life after
The ability to see my child's face and hear her laugh.

Thankful for PEOPLE
Thankful for my healthy children and for the love of family and friends.

I'm thankful for a loving husband, two wonderful and healthy children, and a family who is there for me through thick and thin.
I am thankful for you and my other precious friends. I am so thankful for a Christian Mom that prays for our family without ceasing. I don't know what I would do without her many, many prayers for me and for my family.
I am thankful for my wonderful family.They are are my strenth when I am weak through God. I am thankful that I have a Christian Mother and Father who lead all of our family to Christ and is the best mother of five girls one could ever hope to have.
Grace Peper. I'm a better wife and mother because of her.

It was a random meeting on Bourbon St. in which I met a man that allowed me to examine myself and helped me learned lessons that have made me a better young woman. I'm a spoiled brat and sometimes focus on how a person can support me financially. I'm so thankful for having someone that can support me emotionally, spiritually and intellectually.
I'm most thankful for my hubby...he is the only person in the world that has never let me down, who loves me unconditionally, and who has earned my trust completely. He's the best person I know and I'm thankful that he puts up with me everyday!!

I'm thankful to have my Judy Bell..my granny. She supports me and my parents whenever and through whatever. My second year of college she had a tumor on her brain that was removed. When I found out about it, the surgery and treatment was already taking place. I thought about leaving and she told me that if I left school I would kill her. She is my best friend, my rock, my backbone...she's my Judy Bell..my granny.
I am so thankful for my son. He has brought a love and joy into my life that I never thought possible.
One person that I am thankful for is my son, John. He has always made me so proud, He has accomplished so much in his life. We have been through some tough times together He is always there if I need someone to talk to. He is a good listoner. He has a calm quite strength. He looks for the good in everyone.I most thankful he gave me Amber and Amelia!!!!!!
I'm thankful for my brother, TroyII. He really is one of the best people in the world. I'm so glad to have him in my life!!
My Granny... she taught by example. She had so much faith- in God, in people. She had a HUGE heart. Yeah, for sure my Granny.
I'm thankful for my Daddy. He took on the task of raising 2 lttle girls by himself.Tried to cook, fix our hair and dress us. I can still see him polishing our "saddle oxfords" burning poptarts or oatmeal! My Daddy is and always will be my hero. He's the only man in my life that has never disappointed me. Can't wait to see him tomorrow.
My daughter Harley. I love her dearly and she's a true blessing from the lord since I was told I couldn't have kids. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for her.
My sister, Paige. She's strong and sweet, loyal and loving, patient and persistent. We may have lost our mom, but when you put the two of us together we are the best of Mom. I love and respect her, and thank God for the blessing of a sister.
I'm thankful that I had my aunt Jo Ann in my life. She died 5 years ago, and I still miss her every day. She was the bravest, kindest, most amazing person I've ever met and she loved me unconditionally. She ran into a burning house to save her family, and spent the last 5 years of her life in pain because of it, but never became bitter or angry. I regret so much that she's not here to see my kids grow, but I'm thankful I had her for the first 26 years of my life.
I'm thankful for everyone and pray for my enemies, they keep me on my toes. However without our Lord and His sacrifices and His mercy we could never know any blessings. So I'll say Him and everyone else falls into place.

I am thankful for my husband's stepfather. He is so good to my mother in law and loves our family so much. I'm so glad she's happy. He has been so good to my husband and to me and we are so blessed that God gave him to our family.
There are way too many people including family and friends that have impacted my life in so many and diverse ways so would be hard pressed to pick one. I'm thankful for all of them past, present and future.
Although only married for two years, Michael, my husband, has opened my eyes to an entirely new world, and, for that, I am so grateful. I may have never had my little angel, Grey, if I hadn't so loved and enjoyed being with Michael, and known what a fantastic father he would be. What incredible blessings they are!
I'm thankful for my husband Matthew. We've only been married for 5 years, but we've been through alot. My nervous breakdown was the lowest point, but he really helped me keep grounded to life and feel safe. I will never forget that he is always by my side wherever and whenever I need him. He makes me feel strong and confident which is exactly what every one should have.
Mr. Cox! He and his wife use to write the article called Silver Linings in the Independent. He always said that I touched their lives, but he will never know how much he touched my life. When I was little his wife found out she had diabetes and they found out I had it and we would talk every time he came in the store. They moved here b/c of Freed and took me in as like one of their own since they never had kids. He is ONE of the few as I got older kept me straight with God!
Mr. Ed Brown was a teacher I had in elementary school. In the little school I attended, we had no tv, no radio, and believe it or not, no telephone. I don't know what would have happened if there had been a huge emergency of some kind! I am... thankful that he taught us to learn with both eyes and both ears wide open....to experiment with words, and to use our strengths to overcome our weaknesses. He made certain that we, despite our limited resources, kept up with the world around us, that we were nurtured, that we were prepared. One of my most vivid memories was the day that John Glenn orbited the earth: Feb. 20, 1962. With no other resource, Mr. Brown herded us out into the parking lot where his car and Mrs. Griffin's car (the only 2 teachers at the school) were parked; we formed a circle around his 1959 Chevrolet BelAire, he opened all 4 doors, and turned on the radio so that we could hear the broadcast of this historic event. Mr. Brown wasn't afraid to take risks for the sake of our learning; he was a pioneer in the field of education, and he had a very strong role in making me who I am today.
I'm thankful for Mama G because you were there and are there now during a crucial time in my life. Things just seemed so confusing then and I just hated living and being me. But getting to see you everyday gave me hope that maybe that day wasnt so bad. You supported me, helped me with my studies, got me, my actual cap and gown. You even came all the way back to memphis to see me walk across a stage I didn't think I would. God knew I needed help and He sent you. I'm thankful for you everyday because you helped me learn how to love Jasmine and try to make myself better. I'm thankful that you have a daughter that you can pass your loving spirit to. She will learn to care about the person for who they are and not what they don't have. She is a blessing .

This last one was shared with me via private message, but she told me I was free to share it. I've read it a half dozen times now and still cry.

I am thankful for Gladys Emerson Moore, my mama. In my eyes and many more, she was the most precious woman God ever created. I know everyone thinks their mama is the best but, I KNOW mine was. She was born in Dumus, Arkansas on February 20,1913. Her mother died when my mother was nine, leaving her the oldest of several siblings. Due to hard times back then, my mama witnessed the loss of two of her siblings. One feel into an old wood burning stove and died from infection from the burns; another had pneumonia and died. I asked mama why they didn't take them to the doctor. She said, "Honey, by the time we would have gotten them there it would have been too late."

Mama then became a mother figure to her three other siblings. The family moved to Tennessee to be closer to my Granddad's family. Mama went to school through the 6th grade. She met and married my dad when she was 16. They had 2 girls and 3 boys. Mama was very intelligent, and she helped each one of us with our homework. What I didn't realise when I was a child is that SHE was doing her homework as well.
Mama was always a caregiver. She took her wife and motherly duties very seriously. She took care of her dad, her mother-in-law, her husband, and her brother until their deaths. Then on January 10, 1991, I had to tell her that one of her own children had died. He had committed the unthinkable, taking his own life in Lakeside. He was a hoot and had taught Ag classes for 24 years in Dyersburg. He had a beautiful wife and daughter, a beautiful home, and 2 farms. However, he got into a state of depression and couldn't get out. I thought his death would kill my mama, but she was strong. Two years later, in 1993, I had to tell her about another brother. He was the oldest son and died of a massage heart attack at the age of 56. I also thought this would kill her but again, she held onto her faith in God.
My mother lived alone until she was 90. I had always promised her I wouldn't put her in a nursing as long as I was physically able to care for her. On March 31st, after her birthday, I had back surgery. My sister made the decision to put her in the nursing home. That's where I eventually held her in my arms to draw her last breath on August 17, 2004. I held her until Jesus took her hand. I know she had a joyous reunion with all the loved ones that had gone on before her. Her last brother died 2 weeks ago. He was 94!! I hope I have those longivity genes.
I loved my mama.

Those Who Must Not Be Named

People toss around the term "phobia" these days to describe anything they fear or often just dislike. Kind of the same way people will claim to be allergic to a food just to avoid admitting that they flat out don't want to eat it. (I have actually considered this with pickles). I'm pretty much scared of everything, but I do my best to overcome it and have a (somewhat) normal life. I have always been scared to fly, but I've managed to fly a few times now unmedicated and I didn't freak out. It's probably unhealthy how much I worry about being in a car accident, but I still get in the car each day. I absolutely hate being home alone at night and hate going outside by myself in the dark, but I can be alone now without turning into a paranoid freak who jumps every time the ice maker dumps some ice. I obsess over breaking a bone and only half watch any sporting even where such an injury might occur. I won't sleep with the closet door open or with my feet exposed. I'm scared of clowns and dolls and creepy masks. Come to think of it, there aren't many things I'm NOT scared of in the right situation. But I wouldn't call these fears "phobias." No, I'm just a total pansy chicken little girl.

I do have one legitimate phobia, though. It's one of the most well-known and one that many people share with me to a degree. I am an arachnophobe.

With the exception of people who study spiders or consider them pets (*cough*freak*cough*), I'm pretty confident in saying that no one particularly likes spiders. Most people seem to be generally icked out by them, with the best case scenario being rather unaffected by them. No one wants spiders in their house, crawling around on their belongings. My feelings toward spiders go far past dislike, though, and into the realm of pure, unadulterated hatred.

I loathe spiders. Big ones, little ones, black ones, brown ones, hairy ones. There is nothing about them that interests or fascinates me in the least bit. And not only do I hate them, but I am also terrified of them. And with good reason. See, this is not some illogical, unexplained fear.

It all started when I was a little girl, maybe about five. There was a six-foot corner shelf in my bedroom on which I put my menagerie of stuffed animals. I had so many plush toys that they spilled off of the shelf and onto the floor on a regular basis, forming a moat of artificial fur between me and the shelf. One day I went to the critter corner and picked up one of my favorite bears from the overflow pile in the floor. Suddenly everything on the floor turned black and wiggly. The carpet pulsed with life. I don't think I screamed; I was so scared that I froze and (for one of the only times in my life) found myself unable to make a sound. I dropped the bear and ran to find my mother, my verbal skills returning in a torrent of screams, sobs and broken sentences. I told her my room was covered in spiders. My mother was alarmed but stayed relatively calm. Since I've always had a tendency to be rather, um, theatrical, she decided to check things out for herself. I wasn't exaggerating. Turns out the Octomom equivalent of the spider world had birthed her bastard brood in my pile of stuffed animals. There were literally hundreds of baby spiders. Mom had to call someone in to bomb my room and everything was taken out and washed. Needless to say, I was terrified to sleep in there for the longest time. Anytime I needed something from my room, I would run in and grab it and make a dash for the door. Up until that point, I had what I would consider a normal fear of spiders, just like any other kid my age. After the infestation, the fear had blossomed into something ugly. I was on the constant lookout for spiders. Under chairs, my bed, toilet seats, in my shoes--anywhere could be harboring one of the demon bugs. I have never once put on a piece of clothing that has been in the floor. Why? One time I picked up a pile of dirty towels and there was a spider underneath (I also hate to pick up piles of clothes now, too). If my quilt falls in the floor at night, I get up and shake it violently before I put it back on the bed. I will not put a pair of shoes on until they've been checked for spiders. This is a job I used to force on others but have finally been able to do on my own. It's also why I wear flipflops almost year round.


I don't like to see pictures of spiders. I don't like spiders at the zoo. I don't want to hear stories about other people's encounters with spiders. Anything that remotely resembles a spider--another bug, an oily spot on the ground, a half eaten Oreo -- automatically puts me on guard.

I know I sound totally off my rocker, but there's more to the story than just the childhood infestation. There have been other...incidences.

When I lived in Memphis, John and I were outside our apartment one day and saw something in the grass. John thought it was an injured bird so I (being the animal lover I am) ran across the yard in my bare feet to take a closer look. BIG mistake. It wasn't a bird. It was an em-effing TARANTULA. Now, you might be thinking, "This girl is seriously freaked out by spiders, so it probably was just a normal spider and she overreacted." Nope, it was a tarantula. A big, hairy, soul-devouring tarantula. John confirmed it after I went tearing back across the yard screaming profanities in four languages. We assumed it was some one's "pet" that escaped. John decided it would be best to catch the hell beast. At first I was adamantly against this until I realized that if he didn't catch it, then it would be free to sneak into my apartment and attempt to spoon with me. I told him he could catch it but threatened to call a divorce lawyer if he brought it inside the apartment. He caught the spider and then promptly left for work. I called our friend Caesar the maintenance man, hoping he'd dispose of the creature. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Cesar, I need you to come over here. We caught a tarantula.
Caesar: (laughing) Really? Me: No, seriously, man. You have to come and get rid of this thing before it escapes and eats me.
Caesar: (laughing) I'll be over when I get a chance.
Me: I love you, man, but I swear, if that spider gets out before you get here, I will set you on fire.
Caesar: (STILL laughing) Alright, alright, on my way.\

Caesar arrived at my apartment about a half hour later to find me staring at the spider's box/prison as if it were going to get up and tapdance. He walked over to the box and casually flipped the top open. Within about four milliseconds, he was six feet from the box, cursing in Spanglish.

"That's a tarantula in there!"
"No shit! I told you! Put the lid on before it escapes!"

Caesar admitted that he just assumed I was exaggerating about the spider since I'm a woman. I would have been offended, but I was too damned freaked out to be a feminist at the moment.

Caesar took the spider with him. He even got it a special spider box. Then one day he accidentally left it in the car when it was hot and the spider had a heat stroke and died.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...oh, sorry...

So now I had been through an infestation and an encounter with a monster spider. I was scarred, completely convinced that there could be another monster arachnid lurking outside, just waiting to jump on my face and eat my eyeballs.

I wish I could say my story ended there, but it doesn't. The worst is yet to come.

Flash forward about a year. We were still living in Memphis. John and I were going on a trip, and my mom had come to drive us to the airport so we wouldn't have to pay to park our car. We'd gotten everything loaded, and I was making my last walk though to see if we have forgotten anything. I kept feeling something tickle my cheek around my ear. Thinking it was a piece of my hair, I kept pushing it back. Around the third time I did this, I glanced at my hand. For just a moment, I totally froze. There on my had sat a not very tiny brown spider. The spider had been in the hood of my sweatshirt and had crawled out into my hair and onto my face. It only took maybe a second before I unfroze... and became utterly and dangerously unhinged. In an effort to get the spider off of me, I flung my arm out hard enough to damn near dislocate my shoulder and began screaming like I was being set on fire. My mother ran into the room, half expecting to find me disemboweled. There she found me thrashing around frantically. It was like Flashdance if Jennifer Beals had been cracked out on PCP. Within seconds, I was literally stripped down to my underwear, waving my hair around in my own version of Headbangers Ball. It took both mom and John to calm me down enough to explain what initiated my fit. I finally began my descent back to Earth once mom checked me over and swore there were no more spiders on my body or in my hair. John asked me what happened to the spider that was on me. I had no idea, of course. The last I knew it was flying across the room.

I got redressed (with a non-hoodie sweatshirt this time) and we headed to the airport. I've never admitted it until now, but I obsessed over that spider the entire trip. I wondered if it was in my bed, waiting for me to get home or if it had crawled into my closet to find another article of clothing to inhabit. I actually dreaded returning home because I knew that spider was somewhere waiting for me.

I honestly think I do have a phobia. In the time it's taken me to write this, I've had at least a half dozen "crawling" sensations on my legs. I've checked the ceiling above me twice. I pulled my feet up underneath me so they aren't exposed to whatever may be hiding underneath the sofa. Just thinking about spiders gets me totally worked up. This isn't an illogical fear, though. I may act illogical at times, but I think I'm totally justified in how I feel about those evil little creepy crawlers.

I support spider genocide. There, I said it. It's a terrible thing to wish the death of an entire species, but I am perfectly okay with it. Even the little tiny baby spiders. Kill 'em all.

Okay, that was rather dark and creepy of me to say. Here's a joke to lighten the mood:


What did one spider say to the other spider?

Nothing because I flattened their little spider asses with a phone book!

The end.

Sneaky Spinach

I'm on a kick to try new recipes. This shouldn't be a problem since any recipe I could possibly want is just a mouse click away, along with reviews and advice on how to make the dish perfect. The problem is finding dishes that both John and I will eat. He's pretty much a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy (and sushi, too, oddly enough). I generally hate anything that's green and plant-like. Oh, and green beans. They taste like little chewy dirt capsules.

Unless Amelia inherits my wacked out taste buds (and if she does I promise not to force her to eat things that repulse her), I want her to grow up eating vegetables. In order for this to happen, I have to (A) serve vegetables and (B) eat them myself since I don't subscribe to the "do as I say, not as I do" school of parenting.

So that leads us to tonight's experiment: Monterey spaghetti casserole. It has spinach in it which by itself I despise. However, mixed with cheese (lots of cheese) I can get it down.

Ingredients
1 egg
1 cup sour cream (I used a little extra since I had it and it's almost out of date)
1/4 grated Parmesan
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
2 cups of shredded Monterey jack cheese (also used a little extra of this since I LOVE cheese)
8 oz pack of spaghetti, cooked (unsalted) and drained (recipe called for thin but I used regular)
1/2 bag of chopped frozen spinach, thawed and dried thoroughly

Preheat oven to 350.

Boil water for spaghetti. While you wait, mix egg, sour cream, Parmesan and garlic powder. Add Monterey jack. Stir.

Thaw spinach and add to bowl. Stir.

Cook spaghetti. Drain and add hot noodles. Mix.

Lightly spray 8 x 8 casserole dish. Pour in mixture and bake for 30 minutes.



My thoughts:

John and I both liked this dish. Very cheesy and rich. I forgot to take a picture of the dish since I was starving and was busy stuffing my face as soon as it came out of the oven.

I liked the spaghetti, but I'm going to try it again but with a different pasta. Maybe farfalle or some penne lisce. I actually think I may add more spinach next time since I could barely taste it (even though I hate squeezing the water out of it because raw spinach smells unholy to me and I swear I still smell it on my hands). The only problem I had with this dish is that once it sets out for even 10-15 minutes, the cheese cools and gets "goopy." If you make this and go back for seconds, pop it in the microwave.

Emergency Cookies

When I heard about this recipe, I thought that there was NO WAY these cookies would be edible. Turns out, they're pretty darn good. And the best part is I almost guarantee that you'll have these ingredients on hand at any time. They are truly "emergency cookies," the perfect cookie for when you have a sudden craving or for when you suddenly remember that you signed up for the potluck in one hour.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup peanut butter
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup light brown sugar (if you don't have brown, the original recipe actually calls for 1 cup of sugar so you can substitute)
• 1 egg
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 teaspoon baking soda (or 1/2 T. of self-rising flour)

Preheat oven to 325.
Mix peanut butter and both sugars until smooth. Add egg, vanilla and soda and mix until well blended (don't overmix, though, or your cookies will be tough)

Roll dough into 2-inch balls and roll in sugar. Place on lightly greased cookie sheet. Press cookies lightly with fork in criss-cross pattern.

Bake 10-12 minutes. Allow to cool for fifteen minutes before removing from cookie sheet.

The cookies are very "peanut buttery" and are on the chewy side. I would have never known they weren't "real" cookies if I'd eaten them without knowing the recipe.

Simple Quiche

Last night, I decided to make a quiche. Since I haven't made one before, I didn't want to try anything too fancy, so I used a very basic recipe

I didn't have a quiche/tart pan, so I just used a plain pie pan. I also used a refrigerated crust (though I didn't have much of a choice--I realized that I don't have a rolling pin!)

While I preheated the oven at 375, I cooked some sausage. While it was cooking, I beat four eggs and stirred in 1 1/2 cup of milk and 1 1/2 cup of mild shredded cheddar. I also added some salt and a little Cavendar's seasoning (since John doesn't eat black pepper).

Once the sausage finished, I drained it and crumbled it into very small pieces. I added it to the egg mixture.

I put the pie crust in the oven for five minutes and then removed it and poured in the egg mixture. I baked it for about 30-35 minutes until it was set.

It turned out pretty good. We ate it with some grapes and apple slices and some leftover biscuits from Sunday that I wrapped in foil and stuck in the oven with the quiche.

I cut another piece today and warmed it in the oven for a late breakfast. It was even better than last night.

Think I'm going to try it again with spinach and a different type of cheese, maybe feta or Swiss. Possibly add some bacon in place of the sausage.

Sweet Amelia

It's October and Amelia is almost three months old. I'm already having a hard time remembering what life was like without her. I've spent many years loving other people's children. I've loved my friends and family's children and I've loved my students. But nothing--nothing--could have prepared me for what I feel when I look at my daughter. Now that I'm not sleep deprived, I want to start writing more about her. Before I had her, I said, "My blog is not going to become 'mommy central.'" Yeah... about that...

Tonight when I gave Amelia a bath, John said he couldn't believe how much of the tub she fills up now. It's like that with everything: her bassinet, her swing, even that damned car seat that has become the bane of our existence (but that's another story). She even wore a 3-6 month outfit yesterday. I was just so sure it would be too big, but I wanted to try it on her since it has a pumpkin on it. As I snapped those little buttons and realized that there was almost no spare material, I had tears in my eyes. My baby girl looked at me and grinned her big toothless grin as if to say, "It's okay, Momma. I'm still pretty little."

She's growing every day it seems. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and look at her lying there beside me, and I swear she looks different than she did the night before. It's as if some fairy sprinkled magical dust over her while we were sleeping. She's picking up new things so quickly. One morning I put her on her playmat and spent a good half hour rattling the toys and trying by best to get her to grasp the little rings. By lunch, I was standing in kitchen and heard a commotion from the living room. There she was with both hands clutching rings, shaking the hell out of the entire baby gym while kicking both legs in the air. Now I have to pry her little fingers off of the rings sometimes or we carry the entire playmat with us to the nursery.

Every day I'm amazed at how much more my heart swells. I tell her if I love her any more, I may just explode. And the closer I get to my sweet Peanut, the more I find that every aspect of my life has changed. Even watching a movie is a totally different experience. I sat down today to watch My Sister's Keeper. I wasn't incredibly interested in watching it, but since I'd read the book I thought I'd give it a shot. Note to self: NO MORE MOVIES ABOUT SICK KIDS. While I've always been one to cry when I watch something sad (especially when children are involved), being a mother has unleashed an entirely new wave of emotions. I cried and I sobbed and I heaved and I cried some more. And when it was over, I didn't put Amelia down for over an hour. I cried over her and talked to her and promised her that I'd do everything I could to make her happy and to keep her safe. I told her that she would never be alone as long as I'm on this earth. I told her she's beautiful and how complete she's made me.

And it started with a movie. A movie with Cameron Diaz, for Pete's sake!

I am crazy about my little girl. At one point in my life, I said IF I ever had kids, I hoped it was a boy. I was terrified at the thought of having a little me running around. And while I would have been just as happy and blessed if God had given me a little man, I am so thankful that I get the chance to raise a daughter. I swear sometimes I cannot stop staring at her. I'm glad you can't creep out a baby. I can't stop, though. I sit and stare at her like I'm afraid I'll forget what she looks like. And I know she's my child and I'm biased, but she is gorgeous. I wonder sometimes how something so beautiful came from me. She's her daddy made over which makes me happy. I love looking into her face and seeing him looking back at me. But even though she looks nothing like me, sometimes I feel I'm looking in a mirror. Does that make sense?

I could write more, but it's terribly late and there's a chance Little One will get up with the proverbial chickens. It's okay, though. I've always hated mornings, but I'm finding myself excited now since I start every day with her.

Three Minute Ficton

NPR has been running "three-minute ficton" contests. Entries cannot exceed 600 words and this particular contest required the stories to begin with "Some people swore that the house was haunted" and end with "Nothing was ever the same again after that." I STRUGGLED with the word limit. I decided to write the story and then whittle it down. When I finished, I was just certain I was only a tad over the limit. Nope. I had over 900 words. I'm not happy with the story since I had to cut so much, but considering I wrote it while I was a completely sleep-deprived new mother, I don't think it's too awful.   



Some people swore that the house was haunted. During the summer of ’91, my friends and I were consumed by our quest to sneak in and witness one of the fabled apparitions. Determined to start sixth grade with stories of the supernatural, we spent countless hours plotting how the three of us might escape the nighttime confines of our homes and the watchful eyes of overprotective parents.
It was an oppressively hot Tuesday toward the end of June when Clay decided it was time for the three of us to “grow a pair” and just blatantly sneak out. No grand plan necessary.

At 10:20, I threw on a pair of black jeans and a Bears t-shirt, gathering courage to slide my bedroom window open. I was halfway across the lawn when the flood lights illuminated me in all my rebellious glory. I turned toward the house, defeated.
Minutes later I was sitting in our breakfast nook, explaining to my father why he must let me go. He didn’t even begin to understand our fascination with the haunted house; in fact, he was more displeased with my destination than with my actual sneaking out.

“Going inside that house is breaking and entering, Jake. You could be arrested. And ghosts? Spirits? It’s not even Biblical, son. You and I both know what happens when we die. Haven’t I taught you better?”

He reached toward the counter and picked up his worn copy of the New King James, thumbing through it as I continued my appeal. I begged him to understand how much a venture inside of the house would elevate my status among my peers. Wearily, he closed the Bible, his finger still marking whatever New Testament book he’d been browsing. I lapsed into defeated silence, preparing to accept my punishment. He met my eyes across the table and sighed.

“If it’s that important to you, then you can go. But I go, too.”

I considered how many cool points I’d lose if dad chaperoned our late night outing and reasoned that I’d rather be marginally cool than not at all.

Clay and Whit glared at me as dad and I arrived at the rendezvous point. I mumbled an apology, explaining what had happened. Clay rolled his eyes but started walking toward the haunted house.

While walking around to the back door, I glanced at dad, suddenly realizing that he was about the break the law. For me. He caught my eye and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

Once inside, Whit turned on his flashlight. The floor was littered with empty cans, the walls tagged with anarchy symbols and a giant orange “666.”

“Okay boys, you’ve got half an hour to find your ghost. Don’t make me come find you.”

Twenty minutes later, we were thoroughly bored and completely disappointed, having seen nothing scarier than a dressmaker’s dummy on the third floor that creeped Whit out.

Dad was waiting for us outside the back door.

On the way home, he was quiet and spared us a lecture. He never even said “I told you so.”



It was after midnight when I went to the kitchen to sneak a soda. At the table sat my father, his Bible open, hands clenched in prayer. His body shook slightly as he quietly wept. Between sobs, I heard him mumble broken pieces of Psalm 23.

“Dad?”

He jumped, hitting the light above the table and knocking his chair over.

He turned toward me, his eyes wild with terror, his face locked in a silent scream.

Nothing was ever the same again after that.

Harlene

Mother and Child by Ronnie Biccard

Every time she saw the girl, Harlene Johnson would say a silent prayer to Lord Jesus to give her the strength to smile and keep her mouth shut.

“Mornin’ Missus Johnson.”

Strength, Lord, Harlene thought. Just give me strength. “Good mornin’ to you, too. How’s your momma and daddy doing?”

“Oh, fair to middlin’. They’re worried sick about Frank, Jr., but I keep telling Momma that the Lord will deliver him back home to us.”

‘Cause you and the Lord are real close, I’m sure. You know how he loves lying little tramps.

“Well please tell them both they’re in my thoughts and prayers. Junior, too.”

Harlene breathed a sigh of relief as the young woman smiled, nodded and flitted off to greet a group of her school friends.

Lord knows they need prayers with a son off in war and a daughter like you.

Harlene could feel the lines in her forehead deepening and her cheeks growing flush. Her hands began to shake.

I’m sorry, Lord. Please forgive me for my hateful thoughts.

She took a deep breath and ran her hands down the front of her jumper right as Lorraine Booth approached from across the fellowship hall.

“Why Lorraine, hon, did you get a wave in your hair?

*******************************************************************

It was quarter to one by the time Harlene left church. She knew Emmit would be waiting outside for her when she arrived home. A small part of her dreaded seeing her son, which in turn brought a twinge of shame. But Harlene occasionally allowed herself the indulgence of resenting her son, justifying her feelings with thoughts of all she’d done for him.

As she turned onto Mullins Street, she could see Emmit standing in the yard. Her sister-in-law, Tallie, was sitting in an old metal folding chair with a bowl in her lap, undoubtedly breaking beans or shelling peas.

Emmit ran to the carport, waiting for Harlene to pull up. Before she could even get the emergency break set, her son had the door open and was pulling at his mother’s sleeve.

“Momma, did you go to the Lord’s house? Did you go there, go there today?”

Harlene forced a smile as she got out of the grey Chevette.

“Yes, dear. You know I go to church on Sunday mornings.”

“But Momma, you didn’t get me up. You didn’t get me up for the Lord’s house. How do I get to heaven without going to the Lord’s house? I need to go, Momma.”

“Emmit, the Lord will understand if you aren’t there. He knows you love him in your heart of hearts. We’ve talked about this. We talk about this every Sunday.”

“I know, Momma, but I love to hear the choir sing and putting my money in the plate. And I want to go and do the talking back to the preacher.”

“It’s called responsive reading, Emmit, not talking back. And you’ll get to go back. Just not now. We gotta wait ‘til September.”

“Why September, Momma?”

‘Cause that’s when she leaves this town.

“That’s when the worst of the heat is over. You know how bad the heat makes you feel, hon.”

“They has fans at church, Momma. They has fans. I’ve always managed to be nice and cool.”

Harlene suddenly felt very tired. And very old.

“Emmit, no more talk of this. We read our Bibles every night and your Aunt Tallie plays hymns for you all the time. You’re getting enough church at home right now. The Lord’ll understand if you ain’t there on Sunday morning.”

“But Momma, that’s the only place I get to see her…”

Harlene winced at the word “her.”

“Dammit, Emmit, that is enough!” she snapped, instantly regretting both her words and her tone as Emmit flinched and backed away from her. He dropped his head and made his way to the porch, past Tallie and her bowl. She watched his lanky frame disappear into the house.

Harlene closed the door of the car and walked toward the house. As she climbed the three stairs up the porch, Tallie kept her eyes on the peas in her bowl as she spoke.

“Har, you gotta take that boy back to church. You can’t keep him locked up here forever.”

“I will take him back. But not ‘til school starts.”

“You gonna have to forgive that girl ‘ventually, Harlene. Lord don’t like us to harbor hatred. Makes our very hearts hard.”

“It’s not hatred,” Harlene snapped. “I’m just protectin’ my son. My only son.”

She opened the screen door and glanced over her shoulder at her dead husband’s sister.

“’Sides, that girl ain’t yet to ask for forgiveness.”

******************************************************************************

Maxine McCalahan was seventeen when she married Louis Bethune, a twenty-year-old farmer’s son who convinced Max to cross state lines, lie about her age and become Mrs. Bethune. She was pregnant before her eighteenth birthday and gave birth to the first of four children in the spring of 1944.

The baby, a girl, was named in honor or her great grandfather, Harlow Bethune. Louis took one look at his new daughter and fell head over heels in love.

Harlene was as good a baby as anyone could want—-sweet natured and independent. She rarely cried and seemed just as content in her crib as in the arms of her mother.

It got around town quickly that Maxine Bethune was suffering from a bad case of the baby blues. Louis had confided to his mother that Max didn’t seem to like to hold the baby and that he would often come in from the fields to find Harlene in her crib, his wife sitting on the back porch smoking a cigarette and crying. Ella Bethune, who disliked Maxine solely for being born a McCalahan, made a point to share this news with her hairdresser, sewing circle and her Sunday school class.

Maxine’s bout with the blues lasted longer than the usual few days. Six weeks after his daughter’s birth, Louis found himself doing the largest share of feeding and changing. He would return from work to find a hungry—but oddly quiet—Harlene in her crib, her diaper soaked and soiled.

Then one day when he came home for lunch, Harlene was lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. Maxine was nowhere to be found. She didn’t arrive home for almost three hours.

As she walked through the door, Louis, holding their sleeping daughter to his chest, could not contain his anger.

“What the Sam Hill do you call yourself doing, leaving our baby alone?”

“Louis, calm down ‘fore you wake her up. I just had errands to run. Now move if you will, I need to soak awhile.”

“Errands? What errands? What was more important than watching after our daughter?”

“You’re blowin’ this way out, Louis. I fed her ‘fore I left. Not like she’s gonna get into anything anyway. She can’t even roll over yet.”

“What if somethin’ had happened? A… a fire, or somethin’?”

“There wasn’t no fire. Nothin; happened. She’s fine. I’ll bet she slept the whole time.”

As she breezed past him, removing her coat and tossing it on the sofa, Louis fought the urge to grab his wife. He wanted to shake her and scream at her for leaving their child alone, helpless. He took a deep breath and addressed her as she made her way to their bedroom.

“God only knows who saw you out there, Maxine. Don’t you think they were wonderin’ where the baby was? What are they gonna say?”

When she turned on him, there was fire in her eyes, but not the fire she had lacked since the baby’s delivery. It was anger as fierce as his own. She took a step toward him, her thumbs clenched inside her fists.

“I don’t give a good goddamn what they say!”

Louis sucked in a breath and stepped back. He wasn’t sure whether it was Max’s anger or the blasphemy she had never even uttered before that rocked him most. He took in a shaking breath and stepped back, setting the baby down on the couch.

He met her eyes and cautiously chose his tone.

“I don’t understand, Maxine. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. She’s just a little baby—“ His voice broke. “Our little baby. Why don’t you wanna take care of her?”

Maxine stopped but didn’t turn around. She felt like a bubble, ready to burst if blown any bigger. She knew better than to tell her husband the real reason she didn’t take care of the baby.

Maxine hated her new responsibilities, even more than she’d hated being pregnant. She hadn’t wanted to have a child, but being young and motherless since the age of six, she had no knowledge of how to prevent it. She had hated the way her body expanded and the lines it left in her soft skin. She hated the mornings spent leaning over a bucket, throwing up until she dry heaved. And as she lay with her legs spread on the delivery table and writhed in pain, she had secretly sworn this would be her first and last.

Now she hated all of the late night feedings and disgusting diapers. She hated the sour smell on her clothes from where the baby spit up. She hated being stuck at home all day with no one to talk to, her schedule dictated by someone else.

But mostly, she hated the way her husband stared at this child like it held the secrets of life. She hated how he no longer kissed her deeply when he arrived home. She hated the way he ran his fingers across the baby’s cheek.

The baby. She was sick and tired of the baby. She was tired of hearing about the baby and talking about the baby and even looking at the baby. All Louis cared about was that little lump of a human.

“I am going to soak for awhile, Louis. We can talk about this when you simmer down.”

As she shut the bedroom door and began to undress, she could hear her husband weeping in the next room, his sobs punctuated by occasional words.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Never, not even when he’d been angry enough to raise a hand to her, had Louis apologized to Maxine. Could it be he finally realized how little attention he’d paid his wife? Did he possibly understand how lonely and unhappy she was?

Maxine crept to the door, cracking it open just enough to see her husband sitting on the couch. Harlene, awake now, was across his lap, her eyes gazing up into his face. As he rocked, his tears fell into her pink baby blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

And then, in an almost whisper, “Don’t worry. Daddy will take care of you. Daddy will always take care of you.”

Maxine shut the door. Her lips parted, trying to form around a word.

Lost, she said, though no sound came from her lips.

I have lost.

***************************************************************************

“Now Harlene, I need you to listen and listen good. I know it hurts, I know you’re scared, but you must keep breathing, must keep pushing!”

Harlene shook her head and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“I want Sam!” she bellowed. “Get him in here now!”

The nurse cooed and pushed Harlene’s hair from her face.

“Now Missus Johnson, you know we don’t allow the men back here. We’re trying to spare them from seeing all of this.”

“Sp-spare him? He ain’t a fool! Get him back here! I need him, don’t you see that? I need him!”

The doctor and nurse glanced at one another, their eyes drifting to the nurse across the room, diligently working on the child Harlene had just delivered. The doctor nodded his head toward the door.

“But Doctor Wilson, we—“

”Hush. Just go get the father.”

Better he see us in here trying to save that baby, he thought.

The nurse hurriedly left the room.

“Harlene, I need a couple good pushes to get this baby out. Can you do that for me?”

Harlene sobbed from both exhaustion and fear. She was yet to hear a sound from her firstborn child. Sam burst through the door, ahead of the nurse, and rushed to Harlene’s side.

“I’m here, Har, I’m here now. Shh, I’m here.”

“You have to get her to push, Sam. A couple more pushes and we’ll have the other one delivered.”

Sam took Harlene’s hand in his but looked at the doctor.

“Other one? You mean one’s been born? Where is it? I don’t hear no crying, Doc!”

Harlene wailed and pulled at her hair as she was struck by both a contraction and the reality she would soon face. The doctor pushed away from the table and dropped his head. He spoke without looking up.

“We delivered one, Sam. They’re working on him, doing all they can do. But we can’t forget about the other one. I need her to push.”

Sam turned to his wife and took her other hand in his own.

“Look at me, Harlene. Look right here in my eyes.”

Harlene locked eyes with her husband, clutching his hands hard enough to breakt them. Sam began to take deep breaths, occasionally whispering, “It’s gonna be fine” and “You can do this.” Soon she was doing the same. Within a few short moments, she was calmer. A look of determination returned to her face, her impending sorrow momentarily forgotten.

“I’m ready,” she said quietly. “I can do this.”

In took only two hard pushes for the tiny life inside Harlene to enter the bright, cold delivery room.

“Please breathe,” she heard the doctor saying. “Please, God, please breathe.”

Suddenly a squall pierced the air as the newborn spent his first breath making known his arrival.

“Thank God!” one of the nurses shouted.

Thank God, Harlene thought, as exhaustion took over and she lost consciousness.

John

When I told people that John and I were going to have a baby, I was often told, “Your marriage will never be the same.” We were “warned” that we would never have a life again, that our sex would be nonexistent, that we would totally focus on our child and neglect one another. One acquaintance told me, “John needs to accept that he just won’t matter as much to you once the baby arrives.” Another woman actually said, “Oh, it’s a girl? You’re being replaced. She’ll be the lady in his life now.”

Now, I could have let all of this terrify me, imagining a lifetime in an unfulfilling marriage. However, I believe that in relationships—as in life—there are things beyond our control and there are things we can influence and decide for ourselves. Though I knew that having a child would change our marriage in many ways, I was determined that it would not be for the worse. Yes, I knew our “carefree” days were coming to an end, but that is why John and I waited eight years before trying to have a baby. We wanted that “us” time so that we’d be ready to give our time to our child unselfishly. And I knew that a baby would demand endless time and attention, but I made a vow to also find time to nurture our marriage so that Amelia could grow up in a happy home with parents who loved her AND loved each other.

I learned quickly, however, that no one wanted to hear my plan. Other parents would laugh or scoff at me and say, “Just wait—you’ll see.” I’m learning more and more that people project their unhappiness and frustrations on others. They try to predict how bad things will be for other people because deep down they hope it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Misery loves company, you know?

Throughout my pregnancy, though, there was one POSITIVE “prediction” I kept going back to, one that I’d actually heard a couple of years before. A friend of mine told me, “When you see him hold that baby for the first time, it will change the way you look at him forever.” I stored that away in the back of my mind, reminding myself to come back to it eventually and see if it’s true or if it was just her sentimentality speaking.

What I discovered is that it is true, or at least it was for me. The way I look at my husband, even the way I feel about him, forever changed the day A. was born. However, it didn’t just begin when I saw him hold our baby, though. It actually began before.

Throughout my pregnancy, people would frequently ask if we were excited (like I’d say no??). I would often reply, “Yes, we’re excited, though I think John is more excited than I am.” And thankfully, he was. I had a lot of anxiety about being pregnant and found the entire nine months to be quite stressful. I honestly believe it was John’s excitement that helped get me through it. He’s always been a sweet guy, but I began to see a tenderness in him I’d never seen before. Just watching him when he’d talk about Amelia would encourage me to stay positive. I laughed at him when he got his Droid and the first thing he downloaded was a contraction counter, but it made me happy that he was so eager to be part of her birth.

If you’ve read my baby story on my previous blog, then you know that I went into the hospital to have Amelia on a Monday morning and didn’t have her until Tuesday morning. Those 24 hours were exhausting and, at times, terrifying. But there was one constant throughout the entire ordeal of my labor and delivery—John.

John’s excitement didn’t wane during the 24 long hours we were at the hospital waiting for Amelia to arrive. It took the form of taking care of me. In the ten hours or so before the pitocin started my contractions, he made sure I was both comfortable and comforted. He never once complained or acted remotely annoyed when I asked him to (please) “get me this” or “bring me that.” He didn’t seem the least bit bored (though I know at times he must have been). They were our last moments together before adding to our little family, and he seemed to understand how important it was for him to be there with me, even if it meant just sitting in the room watching television.

Once my contractions started, John helped me through the pain and took turns with mom rubbing my back. Though I was in a lot of pain, it was comforting knowing that he was there close to me.

When I found out I would need the epidural that I’d so wanted to avoid, he assured me it was the only way and that everything would be okay. He promised me that it didn’t mean I was weak or had failed in any way.

And when I totally broke down from the pain, exhaustion and fear, he stood by my bed and did everything he could to keep me focused and calm while I cried and screamed. He’s honestly the one thing I remember during that terrible half hour. Whenever I’d open my eyes, he was there, saying my name quietly and holding my hand. Though he probably doesn’t think he was helping me, just knowing he was seeing me at my worst and staying beside me meant everything to me. I knew once I got to the other side of the pain, that once it was all over, he’d still be there.

Once I had the epidural, things got scary with the baby’s heart rate and my blood pressure. I didn’t even know at the time how touch and go it was. However, being confined to the bed, temporarily paralyzed and hooked up to various monitors and an IV and oxygen made me feel trapped and anxious. I started shutting down emotionally. Everyone in the room was focused on my physical needs; no one seemed to notice my emotional state… except John. He saw me giving up and didn’t let me. I look back now and see those moments as proof of the connection we have and I thank God for sending me a man with whom I can have such a connection.

When the time arrived to push, John and my mom stood on either side of me to hold my legs and help me through the delivery. I had originally decided I wanted to deliver kneeling or squatting

because it was more natural and allowed gravity to take its course. However, there was a small part of me that also hoped it would prevent John from seeing what was “going on down there” during labor. I mean, c’mon… we all know it AIN’T pretty. Of course, I was unable to delivery in either position due to the epidural, so they cranked the table up into a sitting position and pushed my legs behind my ears (well, it felt that way.) John basically had a front row seat for the whole show. I thought I’d be self conscious, but by that point, I wasn’t. The last 24 hours had taken away any small lingering doubts I’d ever had about him or our relationship. I’ve hears of women insisting their husbands not look, but there was no way I was going to deprive him of watching Amelia be born. And I’m so thankful I did! Watching the expression on his face when

she started crowning was all the incentive I needed to keep pushing as hard as I could. He was grinning from ear to ear and about to burst from excitement. It made it even more exciting for me.

And then… she was here. Purple and crying and lying on my chest. It was the single most beautiful moment in my life. I honestly can’t remember exact details since I was both exhausted and totally high on life at the moment. What I do remember, though, is my baby and my husband. Watching him look at her. Him kissing my forehead. His total concentration when he cut the umbilical cord. I had never loved him more than I did at that moment.

After a few minutes, they cleaned her up, wrapped her up and handed her to him. Which brings me back to what my friend had told me about seeing him hold her. I don’t know if it was just seeing him hold our baby or if it was the culmination of everything we’d been through during the labor, but it did change the way I look at him. Watching him hold our baby girl so gently, so protectively, was a powerful moment. I said a silent prayer to God in my heart for giving our child such a loving father… and for giving me such a loving husband.

Some of you have seen the picture on my Facebook of John holding her. There is a large tear rolling down his cheek as he stares down at her. It is my very favorite picture and I know it will mean so much to Amelia someday.

That night, after everyone had left and we were finally alone, John crawled into my hospital bed with me and Amelia. I don't want to write about the details of our conversation, but it was a moment I will never forget as long as I live. As we lay there with our newborn daughter in the dark quiet of my room, I knew nothing would ever be as important to me as my husband and child. I fell in love all over again with my husband that night.

I look at him with new eyes now. Even now, a month later, I love to watch him hold our daughter. I love how he kisses her tiny hands and feet and how he quietly talks to her. I love the way he is so gentle yet so strong. Every time I see him hold her, I honestly fall in love just a little more (if that's even possible).

And for those who said I’d be “replaced”? I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as loved as I do right now. Having a child has brought us so much closer and has ushered in an even stronger intimacy between us. I guess I could attribute it to sharing a child and having a “common goal” or something, but it’s more than that. We have this little piece of us, this living proof of our love for one another, and we are so excited that we get to raise her together. “Mommy and Daddy” are our titles now, but they didn’t replace “Husband and Wife.” We are both and it is wonderful.

Today is our nine-year anniversary. I look back on our wedding day and marvel at how far we’ve come and how much we’ve grown since then. My heart is full of joy and I have never been so content. I am so blessed to be married to a man who is the love of my life, my best friend, my confidante. He is the father of our beautiful baby girl and the protector of our family. He is my husband and my hero. And whether he’s holding our daughter or holding my hand, I am constantly thankful that God chose to cross our paths and bring us together nine years ago.

I love you, John.

A Baby Story

I've had so many people as me about my labor and delivery that I feel I can tell the story in my sleep. I never realized when I declared my desire to have a natural birth that so many people would take an interest in whether or not my birth plan became a reality. To be honest, there's parts of the day that are a bit fuzzy, but here's what I remember, starting on Monday, August 2nd. It's going to be long because I'm doing this for myself, too, as a way to document Amelia's arrival for myself. Some of this may also be a little more information than some of you want to read, so be warned.

I had been sick most of the weekend with some sort of bug that turned my stomach into a nuclear reactor. About 4:30 that morning, I got up and soaked in the tub. Once I got out, I threw up (again) and then crawled into the recliner to eat some crackers and watch CNN. Around 5:30 or so, I heard John in the bathroom throwing up. Just great, I thought. Now we're both sick. I went to tend to him and we both eventually crawled back into bed.

Around 6:30, I felt this weird sensation. It only happened once and was like electricity running in a line down my belly. Then I had a contraction. I got up and went to the bathroom where I noticed my pants were a little wet. Dang, I thought. Must have wet my pants. (This, by the way, is not entirely uncommon during pregnancy). When I stood up to go to the closet and get another pair of pajamas, I suddenly found my feet getting an impromptu baptism. Let me pause here to tell you something: I've always been told that when your water breaks, it's not like in the movies. Well, folks, mine was. And it didn't stop after the initial "gush"... but more on that in a moment. I stood there for a minute registering what was happening. I had made the decision during my pregnancy that when my labor started, I'd labor at home until either my contractions got close enough to warrant going to the hospital or until my water broke. I never imagined my water would break FIRST, forcing me to head to Labor and Delivery before my contractions even started. So there I stood in a puddle, mentally modifying my birth plan.

I calmly walked to the bedroom (leaving a "trail" all the way) and woke up John.

"Honey, I think my water broke."

"Wha?"

"I think my water broke."

At this point, he said something that I wish to God I could remember. I was in too much shock at the time to register exactly what it was, but I know it was COMPLETELY unrelated to what I was telling him and at the time I thought, I'll laugh about this later.

"John, listen to me, my water broke. I think I'm going into labor."

His eyes opened wider as he took in what I was saying.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, either my water broke or I've lost all control of my urinary system and need to go to the hospital anyway."

He got out of bed and we both headed to the bathroom to get ready and pack. We were surprisingly both very calm and relaxed. I knew I wouldn't be taking a real shower for a few days, so I climbed in to get clean and wash my hair. When I got out, I discovered a new problem. My water didn't "break and stop." Nope, it continued. This presented a problem: any clothes I put on would get soaked but I couldn't very well walk around nude and "christen" the bathroom floor. John suggested a towel. So for the next 45 minutes or so, I got ready with a navy terry cloth tail following me everywhere.

We loaded up the car and headed to the hospital (with me sitting on a garbage bag). I told John to take me to McDonalds so that I could get a biscuit. I was starving from being sick over the weekend and knew that once I got to the hospital, I wouldn't get to eat. (I wish now I'd ordered three sausage biscuits because that little biscuit didn't get me far over the next 24 hours).

Once we arrived at the hospital around 7:45, I text my nurse midwife to let her know we'd arrived. We headed to the check in desk. Luckily, I'd been "storked" several weeks earlier, so they had all of my information. They asked me have a seat for a minute while they got my file and printed my bracelet. Before I could even get fully seated, though, I felt everything get warm. John looked down as water seeped through my Adidas pants. Up until that moment, I'm not sure he entirely believed my water had broken. You know how those science people like their proof-- ha ha. His whole demeanor changed, though. We told the lady at the counter that I needed a towel because my water was breaking (again? Isn't it broke by now?). This prompted her to find me a NEW chair... a WHEELchair. Within 3 or 4 minutes, I was being wheeled into L & D.

I got undressed, put on the super-stylish hospital gown, and settled in to wait on Holly, the nurse midwife (who is also an absolute ROCK STAR and MIRACLE WORKER--more on that later). She came in and checked me to verify my water had indeed broken and to check my progress. I was 80% effaced and NO centimeters dilated. We discussed the plan for the day. Since I wanted to do it natural if possible, Holly told me she'd let me chill and come back to check my progress at lunch.

So I chilled for the next four hours or so with the monitors on my belly. Every once in awhile, I'd have a very minor contraction but nothing else. Mainly I just complained (constantly) about being hungry.

Around lunch time, Holly returned. I was now 90% effaced but still not dilated. I asked if we could wait it out a little while longer. Holly was all for it but told me that since my water had broken so early, I would need to start antibiotics when she returned after she got off work. I told her how hungry I was and she left for a minute and returned with banana popsicles. They might as well have been a steak dinner at that point.

Holly left to return to the clinic and I chilled some more, having a random contraction here and there. Around 5:00 or so she returned to check me again. I had actually dilated to 1 centimeter which, yes, was slight progress, but not anything close to being enough. In addition to the antibiotics, we decided it was time to start me on Pitocin. Though I'd wanted to avoid it, everything was just moving way too slowly and at this point it had been 10+ hours since my water had broken. Holly had a dinner to attend, so she told the nurses to start the Pit around 7:00.

The nurses started the antibiotics and fluids and I spent some time up walking around and visiting with family over the next hour or so. Around 7:00, the nurse came to start the Pitocin. It didn't take too terribly long for it to kick in and pretty soon my contractions were coming more regularly and with more intensity. Unfortunately, most of them were in my back. Women had told me about back labor when I was pregnant, but it is so much more painful than I anticipated. I won't lie--it was bad, bad pain. The abdominal pain was no worse than cramps I'd had during my period, but the back pain was pretty hellacious. I handled it pretty well, though, with the help of John and my mom. I spent the next few hours using my breathing exercises and alternating positions. I found the rocking chair to be good for handling pain, as well as leaning over the bed (which was raised up above my waist) and having John and mom rub my lower back.

After about four hours or so on the Pit, I told John I wouldn't be opposed to some Stadol. I was managing the pain but it was wearing me out. What I didn't realize, however, was that once they gave me the Stadol, I wouldn't be allowed out of bed. And that was NOT a good thing. Though the Stadol took the edge off a little bit, I couldn't handle the pain so well while lying on my back. Fortunately, Holly came in to check me again. After all the contractions, I was just SURE that she'd tell me I'd dilated to 8 or 9. No such luck. Though I was completely effaced, I had dilated from 1 cm. to a WHOPPING 2.5 cm.

I knew at that moment what was coming next, but I didn't want to accept it. My water had broken over 12 hours earlier and the four hours on Pitocin had been exhausting after all day in the hospital. There was no way I would be able to continue at the rate I was going without risking Amelia's safety (and the necessity of a c-section). It was time for an epidural to help me relax and to help the labor progress. I had been against an epidural since day one, not only because I wanted to experience labor but also because the thought of an epidural terrified me--not so much the needle going in my back (though I do HATE needles), but being basically paralyzed from the waist down. I started crying. Holly, John and momma tried to keep me calm and keep me rational. They all told me this was what had to be done and that I shouldn't feel like I'd failed in any way. I finally agreed to the epidural and signed the paper.

This is the ugly part that I'm not so proud of. For about the next half hour or so (I hope to God for the sake of my family and everyone in the L & D wing it wasn't any more than that), I gave up on my breathing exercises and trying to deal with the pain. To be honest, I think I just totally gave up in general. I was exhausted and angry and depressed and scared to death. And my anxiety was amped up even more because I knew that John and mom would have to leave the room during my epidural. So instead of "hoo-hoo-heeing" through the contractions, I... well, I screamed. I screamed as loudly as I possibly could. I screamed so loud that I literally couldn't feel the pain at times. For those of you who know me, it's no secret that I'm a fairly loud person anyway, so you can imagine how loud I got. No one could console me. And while I'm not sure I could have controlled it, I wish I had. I think I may have traumatized my mom. She told me later how hard it was to see and hear me in that much pain and misery. It wasn't my finest moment, but there's not much I can do now but try to laugh about it.

The anesthesiologist arrived. The first (rather curt) words out of his mouth were "What's with all this screaming?" He told me he wouldn't do my epidural if I was going to scream. It kind of pissed me off at first. I mean, I'm in pain. Would it kill him to be a little kinder? I realize now, though, he didn't have time to be warm and fuzzy and indulgent. He was needed all over the hospital and he didn't have time to wait for me to get my wits about me. And he wasn't about to risk my well-being and his career on a screaming crazy woman. And in the end, I'd rather get my epidural from someone who is serious about his job than someone who wants me to feel all warm and fuzzy.


While the anesthesiologist got everything prepared, I proved that I could be quiet and still during my contractions. I didn't do it on my own, though. Holly was there with me the whole time, keeping me focused and calm. It was soon time for the procedure. I sat on the edge of the bed, holding Holly's hands. She pointed to her forehead and said, "Put your forehead to mine." And eye to eye with Holly, I breathed my way through three contractions without moving (or screaming). The anesthesiologist started talking to me and even complimented me on my breathing. He told me I was surprising happy when I wasn't screaming. ha ha

I'm not going to lie: though the epidural didn't really hurt that much, the sensation I felt was worse in my opinion. I absolutely hated the feeling when the numbing agent was injected. I could feel my body going numb, slowly becoming paralyzed. It was just like in my nightmares.

They finished my epidural, got me into bed and put in a catheter. At this point, things get a little blurry because a lot of stuff started happening. Plus, I was an emotional wreck and had basically started shutting down. I can remember telling mom several times, "I'm trapped." I don't remember the order in which everything happened, but basically the baby's heart rate started dropping after every contraction and my blood pressure started dropping pretty drastically (around 90/40). I remember people looking kind of alarmed but I was too out of it to ask many questions. The result of all this was me being hooked up to a lot of tubes and monitors and stuff. They took me off of the regular monitors and inserted a fetal monitor that attached to the baby's scalp and an internal contraction monitor. In addition to the four or five bags of fluids I got over the course of my labor, they also pumped fluids into me to "bathe" Amelia since my water had broken so early in the day. I remember looking at one of the nurses and saying, "Are y'all going to stick a cord up in there and charge your cell phones, too?" I also got epinephrine twice for my blood pressure and they put me on oxygen, too. All this in addition to the blood pressure cup squeezing the crap out of me every ten minutes (in case I haven't mentioned it before, I HATE getting my blood pressure taken).

I'm not sure exactly how touch and go it was to be honest, but John told me the next day that he was really afraid they were about to wheel me back to the OR for a c-section. The good news is that I didn't have to have a c-section. The bad news is that I still had 8 more hours to go!

Once they got the baby and me stable, Holly left to get some sleep. John and mom stayed with me for awhile. My body was completely dead from the waist down and I had to depend on them and the nurses to move me. Periodically, I'd ask them to squeeze my feet, hoping I'd feel something. I was totally miserable. Plus, the hunger I'd had earlier in the day was replaced by an agonizing thirst that no amount of ice chips could satisfy. I started craving orange Gatorade for some reason.

As we marched on toward morning (and the 24-hour mark), the nurses came in periodically to check my progress. By around 6:30, I was fully dilated but they wanted to let me "slide" for a little while and let the baby move farther down into the birth canal. I was honestly too tired to be excited at this point.

About an hour later, Holly came in and told me it was time. I felt a rush of adrenaline as they sat me up and and repositioned the bed. Soon my legs were in these big furry stirrups, with John on one side and momma on the other. Holly told me I was going to grab my legs and push hard like I would if I were trying to poop and that I would keep pushing for ten seconds. At 7:50, I started pushing with my contraction. Well, I tried to push. Being completely numb makes it difficult to know if you're even pushing at all. It took me awhile to figure out exactly how to push, but once I did things went very quickly. It was actually really exciting. Holly was cheering me on the whole time. John was grinning from ear to ear and the look on his face was making me more and more excited. My mom, bless her, kept pushing with me. We laughed and told her not to pass out (or poop! ha ha) Soon they told me the baby's head was starting to crown and asked if I wanted a mirror. I said no because I was already having trouble staying focused on even counting (they actually had to count out loud for me!) I kept pushing like crazy and at 8:12 AM on August 3rd, Amelia made her exit from me and her entrance into the world!

When she came out, she was the most beautiful shade of lavender. In fact, my first words were, "She's so purple!" They put her on my chest and I was absolutely in love at first sight.