Post Holiday Hangover

No, Mom, this post isn't about drinking. It's about how hard it is to go back to work after a long holiday break. I know, I know...all of the people out there who DIDN'T get a long holiday break are like, do you want some cheese with that wine? And I totally get your point. But the post-holiday hangover is pretty awful, no matter which way you slice it.

Here's how it went for me this year:

I woke up on Monday morning feeling rested and ready to tackle a new year. Jeffrey was already at work because his post-holiday hangover involved rounding on all his patients in the hospital and being greeted by 2 solid hours of paperwork, drug refills, signing lab orders, and returning phone calls. What a dream.

Back on the homestead, I fixed both boys breakfast and shuffled them into the living room for our ritual 'let's see how many toys we can get out while she's cleaning up breakfast' game. As I grabbed their clothes from their room and prepared to argue with my 3 year old (again) over why he cannot wear shorts in the dead of winter, I heard Carter yell from the living room, "Mommy! Throw up!" This falls squarely into my top 5 least favorite things to hear yelled at me.

I got into the living room just in time to see the dog heave one last bit of dog vomit on the (formerly) cream-colored carpet. I quickly ushered her outside and cleaned up her mess. Dressed the boys, then went to my room to get myself dressed...which is where I found the second mound of dog vomit. It turns out that her tummy had felt a little questionable in that room prior to her little show in the living room. So I cleaned up vomit. Again.

Got myself dressed and went back into the living room to check on the boys. Everybody was playing happily until the moment that Harrison started to throw up (you guessed it) on the living room carpet. He up chucked every last bit of the oatmeal I made for him only 30 minutes prior. I was completely flabbergasted as to why my child, who had no fever nor any other signs of malady should suddenly fall ill and barf of my oh-so-recently cleaned carpet. As I stripped his clothes off and wiped his face and hands, I noticed a peculiar color and consistency of disgusting that I had run into before. Harrison had found a tiny bit of dog barf on a chair in the living room, picked it up, ate it, found it disagreeable, and thrown it up with his breakfast.

So I cleaned him up,  dressed him again, cleaned up his vomit, cleaned up the errant bit of Dixie's vomit, cleaned the carpet, cleaned the chair, and went to work to REST!

Post-holiday hangover is no joke.

Christmas Card 2015

 

Merry Christmas, everyone!  This year has been jam-packed with change for the Edwards family.  Here’s a quick update—Home alone style.

Kevin McCallister: This is it.  Don’t get scared now.

In January we began making preparations to sell our house in Temple.  We worked with a realtor who made very minimal suggestions on improving the house prior to putting it on the market.  Except for that suggestion that we keep all of the kids’ toys picked up at all times.  That was not a minimal suggestion.  I basically became a Houdini, ‘disappearing’ toys into every laundry basket, crevice in a closet, or hole in the wall every day before leaving for work in case we had a last minute showing.  All this preparation made it even more real that we were really leaving Temple and moving to Abilene. 

Kevin McCallister: No offense, aren't you too old to be afraid?
Marley: You can be too old for a lot of things, but you're never too old to be afraid.

In February Harrison gave us quite a scare.  One day I noticed that the soft spot on his head was swollen out instead of sunken in like it’s supposed to be.  An ER visit, MRI, CT scan, lumbar puncture, and several doctor’s visits later, we found out that he was completely fine.  Harrison handled it all like a champ.  His mommy and daddy, not so much.  (To be fair, Harrison got doped up every time he had a test run, the parents got nothing.)  We’re happy to report that this was only a minor bump in the road, and he’s now a completely happy, walking, babbling, mischievous 1 year old.

Kevin McCallister: [to Santa's helper] This is extremely important. Will you please tell Santa that instead of presents this year, I just want my family back. No toys. Nothing but Peter, Kate, Buzz, Megan, Linnie, and Jeff. And my aunt and my cousins. And if he has time, my Uncle Frank. Okay?

All we wanted for Christmas (in March) was an offer on our house.  It was on the market about 5 weeks when we got a call from our realtor one morning while we were eating breakfast with Grampy and Cindy on the farm.  He said, “We got an offer, and it’s asking price.”  I asked him why he sounded disappointed and he said, “Because you have to be out in 30 days.”  Our realtor knew that Jeffrey had to keep working until June 30, so he was afraid we’d say no to that offer.  I went back into the kitchen to discuss it with Jeffrey and talk about whether we could afford to live in a hotel for a while, but as soon as I said that we had a full priced offer and had to get out early, Grampy cut in and said, “Well, why don’t you live here?”  Right there around the breakfast table the plans were made.  We accepted the offer and planned to move to Grampy’s house the following month.

Linnie McCallister: Listen, Kevin, what are you so worried about? You know Mom's gonna pack your stuff anyway. You're what the French call "les incompetents".

So we started packing in three piles: stuff to go into storage, stuff to Grampy’s, and (because we like to be complicated) stuff to go to Minnesota.  Jeffrey was honored to compete in a national case competition called Clarion following their regional win in Lubbock.  The national meeting was in Minneapolis, so we shuffled the kids off on their grandparents and took a long weekend by ourselves.  The Minnesota trip could not have come at a more inconvenient time (just a week after closing on the house and moving to Grampy’s) but it was so worth it.  We came home refreshed and sporting a second place medal.

Kevin McCallister:  This house is so full of people it makes me sick.  When I grow up and get married, I’m living alone.  I’m living alone!

So there we were, my grandfather, my aunt, my family of four, and our dog, all living under one roof in Rogers, Texas.  And then it started to rain.  And it rained and it rained for almost all of May.  We spent a lot of time under that roof together, the six of us, and we might have gotten on each other’s nerves if we didn’t love each other so much.  But somehow between walks among the giant oak and pecan trees, tractor rides with little boys, and cooking meals together (because there are no fast food restaurants in Rogers!) four generations coexisted and thrived. 

Kevin: This is my house.  I have to protect it.

The little boys and I left Grampy’s in early June to head to Abilene.  I had long before given my notice at work and while we were having a blast on the farm, I felt there were projects waiting for me, namely a house that my parents had purchased intending to rent to college students.  The house was built in 1956 near ACU, and the minute Jeffrey and I saw the pink and black tiled bathroom, we knew we had to live there.  (That decision may have also been influenced by our financial state.)  The house has since gotten new flooring, crown molding, and many other updates, all courtesy of its DIY-crazy renters.  Jeffrey said his final goodbyes to Temple after graduation at the end of June and brought the last car load of stuff to Abilene to join us.   

Kevin: [after patting a healthy amount of aftershave on his freshly-shaven face] AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Once we all got to Abilene, life really seemed to speed up.  Jeffrey spent the first few months of his time in his new hometown studying feverishly for his board exam, taking his board exam, and then worrying about whether or not he passed the board exam.  (Spoiler alert: he did.)  Carter watched fireworks for the first time and went to his first candlelight devotional at ACU.  We went on family vacations to Ruidoso and Fort Worth.  Harrison learned to walk and turned one at the end of August.  We hired a full time babysitter for the kids who has become an indispensable part of our family.  I started working for my Uncle Gary at his dental office and Jeffrey started his medical practice with Hendrick Hospital.  Carter turned three in September and decided that he and Harrison would be lions for Halloween.  We tried (unsuccessfully) to convince Carter that the people who came over on the Mayflower were pilgrims, not pirates.  We tried (unsuccessfully) to convince Harrison that Christmas ornaments are to be looked at, not thrown across the room like basketballs.  We tried (unsuccessfully) to install our 9 foot tall artificial Christmas tree below the 8 foot ceilings of our living room.  And yet among all this chaos and change and pastel bathroom tile, we feel supremely blessed have had a home at all times, friends in every city where we’ve lived, and that to date, we have never left either of our children home alone for any significant amount of time.

Merry Christmas to you all, and keep the change, ya filthy animals.

'Barrages' and Bible Verses

A few mornings ago I was sitting in the living room with Carter while Harrison took a little cat nap.  Carter had asked me to help him build yet another 'barrage' (that's 'garage' in three year old language).  This is the only type of structure he ever wants to build.  No houses, no towers, no restaurants, only garages.  If he becomes and engineer we better hope that the automobile industry stays robust. 

Anyway, I told him that I wasn't going to help him right now, but that I would love for him to build a big garage all by himself and then show me.  (We're working on independence.)  He ended up building a great garage completely on his own, and suddenly I had a lightbulb moment:  I could teach him a bible verse about this!

I praised his garage and said, "I'm so proud that you built that all by yourself, and I love that you worked so hard.  Did you know that God likes you to work hard?  He says that no matter what you're doing, you should work very, very hard, like you're working for God (Colossians 3:23, Mommy Paraphrase Version)."  Carter nodded receptively and I gave myself a big, fat pat on the back for being such a purposeful parent. 

He continued to build, putting up a two tall pieces with a sharp cornered triangle on top.  Excited to continue our bonding moment, I asked him what that part was for.

"It's for hitting people." he said matter-of-factly.

Aaaand....here's a verse for mommy:  Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.  (Proverbs 16:18, KJV)

The Fair and Losing Nemo

I've loved going to the West Texas Fair and Rodeo for as long as I can remember. I love the rides, the games that cost a fortune, the rodeo, and (of course) the food. I got extra excited this year because I realized that the kids would love going this year PLUS I'm guaranteed to 'need' to go for at least the next 8 years, you know, for the kids. 

Off we went with Carter and Harrison in tow. Mom and Dad met us there, plus Leslie and Jordan. We gorged on food (first things first) then headed over to let Carter ride some rides. I was doubtful that he would get on any of those rides for several reasons: 1) he generally takes about 30 minutes to warm up to a new place 2) he would have to talk to the 'carnies' (carnival workers) and he hates talking to strangers 3) he would have to ride by himself because the rest of us were either too tall or too small to ride the poorly constructed kiddie rides. 

I could not have been more wrong. 

My oldest child, the one who refuses to wave hello to sweet little old ladies at church and who is too fearful to get a stamp on his hand from a librarian at reading time marched right up to every toothless, grimacing, heavily tattooed carnie and bravely asked for a ride and also a high five. Who is his child?!?  I'm officially concerned that he may grow up and join the circus. 

In my state of shock after the rides, I somehow managed to win 2 live goldfish to take home. Oops. As we left the fair grounds, I asked Carter what he wanted to name the fish. Not surprisingly, he responded, "Nemo." 

"But what do you want to name the other one?" I asked. 

"Nemo's dad."

"Marlin?"

"No. Nemo's Dad."

Great choice, buddy. 

Jeffrey's first question when I got home was what I was going to tell Carter if they died. I thought for a moment and decided that we would just pretend we lost them. Not ready for death conversations yet. 

And die, they did. Nemo went first, and then (much like the movie) Nemo's Dad went after him. Carter only asked once where he fish went. I pleaded ignorance ('I'm not sure, buddy, maybe they swam off somewhere...can't find 'em."). It worked. All's well that ends well. 

See you next year, Fair and Rodeo. 

A Letter to the Church, on my leaving

How I wish I had the words that those men of faith in the New Testament! Unfortunately I do not but nevertheless I was asked by our former preacher to write a letter to the church before we moved from Temple to Abilene, I did it.

Dear Western Hills, I remember one night at a middle school youth group meeting when the question that was posed by the teacher (who may have actually been our own Scott Meyer, coincidentally) was this: If your house were on fire and you only had time to grab three items, what would you take? Many of us said that we would grab our Bibles. Lots of us said we would grab a family photo album. (Of course nowadays no one would grab these items, but instead reinstall their Bible app and recover their photos from The Cloud. (I'm old, I know) Some asked if people counted as "items" because they wanted to make sure their family stayed intact. The practical ones chose a sturdy pair of jeans and sensible tennis shoes. The sentimental ones picked heirloom jewelry. Perhaps it was a morbid lesson for a middle school audience, but of course the purpose of the exercise wasn't meant to focus on the tragedy but rather to elucidate the things in our young lives that meant the most to us.  Barring a disaster like the one in our scenario, the closest each of us may come to facing a choice like the one above is when we move, as my family is preparing to do. As soon as our family found out that our careers would take us to a new city, we began to ask ourselves the important questions involved with such a task. What will we carry with us? What will we store away? What will we leave behind? As the physical packing commenced, we simultaneously started the process of packing up emotionally, too, by planning dates for farewell parties, last dinners with friends, and taking one long look at the time we've  spent here in Temple and at Western Hills.   Out of the time spent looking back, this letter was born. Church, if you'll permit me a few moments of nostalgia, I'd like to leave you with this letter. The things you take with you I will carry with me so many precious friendships because you welcomed me with open arms when we arrived in your pews three years ago. With a husband who was often working long hours at the hospital and me being pregnant for nigh unto half of my time at Western Hills, you carried me through some of the longest days, weeks, and years I have been challenged with in my life. You carried me physically,with meals brought over after the birth of my sons and outstanding nursery and children's ministry volunteers who lovingly cared for our boys so that I could listen to a sermon and be spiritually refreshed. You carried me to the Lord in prayer when I brought requests for myself or for others. You carried me through my first months and years of being a mother, with gentle advice and hugs and assurance that  his sprinting to the front of the auditorium during the sermon is probably just a phase. You have carried me, and now I will carry you. I will carry on the tradition of showering brides and mothers with gifts to prepare for joy to come. I will carry your hurts and prayer requests to the Lord whenever I think of you. I hope to carry away all the good and selfless and honest and kind lessons you taught me to my new church and to my new home.  The things you store away Just as I lovingly packed up what seemed like four billion cardboard boxes of knick-knacks and clothes and children's toys, I also prepared great memories for long term storage. Oh, the memories we all share! Do you remember how sweet our WHY students looked all dressed up for the Sweetheart Banquet?  The way the boys held out their elbows to escort the lovely ladies of the church to their seats. Do you remember how our preacher stood in front of the congregation only days after his mother passed away and preached a sermon full of hope and joy? "She will rest and she will rise," he said, with conviction that only comes from a faith that has been tested and found true. Do you remember the Trunk or Treat party at the Liles' farm last year? It was about four thousand degrees Fahrenheit on that October day in Texas, and yet we had kids and adults of all ages smiling and sweating for the sake of the young ones. Do you remember the arcade games made out of cardboard by the 56 students? The freshly baked bread loaves made each week for visitors? The Christmas parties? The home groups? The Spring tea party? The baptisms? All these memories, and so many more, I store away in my heart. The things you leave behind As we make our exit, I feel an emptiness inside at the thought of not seeing each of you regularly, however, it also occurs to me that we leave behind an emptiness for you, as well. The church will need a new soprano in the Praise Team rotation (and they've been begging for another tenor or two, as well), so if singing is your gift, consider this letter your call to action. In February of 2016, the Sweetheart Banquet will need someone, or perhaps a few folks, to spearhead the planning of this event. If you volunteer for this position, you won't regret it. You'll be so impressed by the way our Western Hills Youth work and conduct themselves, you'll want to do it year after year. The children's ministry will need a new worker to cover the months in which there is a 5th Sunday, although technically I forgot almost every 5th Sunday, so perhaps they've needed another volunteer in my place all along. Last but not least, friends, please remember that we're all moving. Much like our silly middle school game suggested, this earthly home is destined to perish and we will all need to choose what to carry with us, what to store away, and what to leave behind. So I say this: Continue to carry each other, store away all the love and sweet memories you can muster, and leave behind a legacy.  Thanks for the memories, Western Hills. We're going to miss you.