THE moment

Ever experience that "moment of no return" feeling at a theme park or county fair? You know. Your friends were all hyped up about this new ride that leaves your legs dangling, throws you through a series of fire rimmed hoops, shoots you into the air at an acceleration speed of 0 to 150 mph in 4 seconds, before dropping you 289 stories into a lake of dirty theme park water. You foolishly heaved the last bite of funnel cake into your mouth and followed along. At first it didn't really register, after all, that line was about 2 hours long and you were so appalled by the sight of that bikini clad twelve year old prostitot and her twenty six year old boyfriend making out that you didn't take much time to really study the insane physics behind the steel death machine towering over you. Then suddenly that last turn in the line is rounded and you find yourself next in line. Your heart starts pounding, the funnel cake in your stomach starts making demands you'd rather not meet in public, and you start desperately hoping that if you stare at the main Carnie in charge long enough he will spontaneously combust and the ride will be shut down. But alas, the line moves on. It's too late now. No turning back. You shuffle in behind your stupid friends and can't help but feel like you should be bleating and covered in thick wool. Your stomach continues to churn while you wait for that metal vice to come down over your head and shoulders. It descends with a heavy thud and a breath taking weight. Your shoulders are now pinned at an uncomfortable angle; your legs, wrapped around that very weird seat with the giant ass groove and awkward saddle horn, all combine to leave you feeling quite certain that if the physics fail and something catches fire, you are crispy toast history. The massive padding around the vice envelops your head so thoroughly you can no longer see your friends faces, or even turn your neck for that matter, which is just as well, your eyes will be squeezed so tightly the whole time anyway that your corneas will be in danger of slipping out. Then the floor gives way and your insides feel that first small lurch forward...

That feeling. Got it? Great.

I'm really happy about this next baby. But today, somewhere in between the potty training of the two year old and the forced feeding of broccoli to the enraged one year old, I got that "moment of no return" feeling. It wasn't awesome.

I thought, right now I have two kids and two hands. If it ever came down to it, I have one hand for each kid. Whether to pull them apart or hoist them up, I can handle it. But 32 or 34 weeks from now, I'll have three kids. I am pretty sure I won't be growing an extra arm during my pregnancy since I have never been known to spontaneously grow additional appendages. And so I have to wonder...which one of the kids will be stuck in the vice grip of my legs when my arms are full and things get out of control? Also of great importance: when will I ever get the chance to pee during the day when there are three kids in the living room, each experimenting with bungee jumping off the couch sans bungee? What happens at the grocery store when I have a long list of items to purchase and I must simultaneously Mr. Miyagi my way through the store as six tiny arms try to knock things off the shelves, which I will then have to catch mid-air at a mind blowing speed and with stunning accuracy?

I can just hear the Bear's voice as I type this... "Uh-ooooooo."

The "moment of no return" feeling didn't last long, thank God. I gave myself a quick pep talk along the lines of...

Nothing you give birth to will ever be as bad as you were when you were a kid. REMEMBER, they have at least 50% J in them and that is your saving grace. Besides, anything they come up with you have probably already done before...so you got this!

That little pep talk always makes me feel better for myself and a little more sorry for my own mother.

But either way, this does present an opportunity to kick parenting ass a la' Lucille Ball in Yours, Mine and Ours. Not in the "I want to become a widow with 8 children so I can marry an old sea captain with 10 children" but more along the lines of "breakfast for an army? fresh laundry? homework help? wonderful parenting advice? freshly painted nails after I just squeezed out my last kid? amazingly organized room assignment chart? christmas shopping for 20? AND I have no maid? Coming right up suckers! BOOYAH!" Yeah, more like that.

Realistically, I am not supermom, not even close. Lucy is amazing in that movie and I love her sense of humor throughout, but I won't ever be that kind of supermom. I can manage to keep my house in order and I kiss my kids every chance I get. I love them to pieces and even if this job does feel scary at times, I wouldn't trade it for any other. I love being a mom...even if the twists, turns and death defying drops are becoming increasingly loud, expensive, and not to mention, starting to steal funnel cake from my plate at an alarming rate.

Spring Spring Spring

I never noticed Spring while growing up in South Florida. Everything here is always green, always blooming, always sprouting. With the exception of eagerly awaited Mango and Lychee flowers, Spring was no big thing.

Then I left for school in Chicago and Spring became everything. I often thought it was the best free advertisement my school had at its fingertips. If the year had ended mid-Winter, frozen solid and unbearably frigid, who would ever return to it? Instead we emerged from the ice into the long awaited warmth of a newly green world. We were wreathed in flowers and broke free from our icy cloisters. Thank heaven for Spring! I relished each day and loved every detail of this newly appreciated season...well, except for when the kids from Minnesota would rip off their shirts when it was still 40 degrees outside for a riotous game of frisbee that looked more like a horror film entitled "Attack of the Zombie Yogurt People." With that small exception, I really grew to eagerly anticipate and even live for the coming of Spring. Every day I woke up with a bursting energy akin to an MGM musical spectacular, especially if said musical revolved around strapping men with macho bible names who danced at barn raisings with the only hot ladies in town bedecked in gingham dresses of every color....but I digress. Spring is intoxicating, a definite love drug. I fell quickly and happily under its spell while I lived up North.

Now I'm back home again. In the land of eternal heat and summer, where everything is forever green green green. I am on the watch for Spring, it means new things for my garden. Those intense tropical rains will come and our lawns will take on a radioactive mutant strain of vigorous, unmerciful, unstoppable growth. I am naturally curious to see what will happen to my garden under these tropic circumstances.

But this year, Spring feels a bit like a children's book on the subject. You know the part! When the large wooden doors of the great red barn are finally thrown open to reveal that every animal within has had quite the busy winter. Lambs, piglets, ducklings, chicks, calfs, foals, are on hand at every page turn to bleat or moo an enthusiastic greeting and give us a fresh sense of newness and wonder. That is what Spring feels like at my house this year. Yes, at times like a barn filled to the lofts with animals and mayhem. But also with newness and wonder. First steps, new teeth, new words, new ideas (both angelic and sneaky), and beautiful moments of new discovery. My little lambs are finding out what they like. I am discovering their personalities. We are growing and finding our footing together. I'm so glad that while they unwrap the possibilities of what it means to be a child, I am also learning how to be a parent. It takes the pressure off, I think. How much more difficult to be a new parent to an expert child.

I taught the Bear how to say "Spring" which, when pronounced by him, sounds a bit like something read off a Chinese menu. He has learned so many words since Christmas I've lost count. Cubby has taken off. Literally. Like a rocket filled with charisma, Cubby can walk, smile and wave with the ease of a Presidential candidate. He has moves. Really, he does. I see it when he flirts with women at the grocery store while I shop for him. I love his sneaky smile and his five teeth.

Lastly, something else continuously reminds me of Spring and brings me hope that the recent season of coldness and death has passed, and not just because the reason makes me pee all the time. As the shock wears off, we are overwhelmed and truly AMAZED that this little one is still alive and well. We get to see him/her for the first time in a week and I am eager to hear that courageous little heartbeat.

wordie

My sister made a "wordie" from my blog. I am assuming that a wordie is built from words that appear consistently in someone's blog. At any rate, here is mine. Thanks Nat.

Life

This all started with a death. The death of our 4th conceived child. Then a few days later we went to a new Doctor, who suspected that I had lymph cancer. This woman put us through the ringer for a few traumatic days. One night J and I sat in bed, crying out to God to spare my life and making plans for the horrific "what if" neither of us wanted to say out loud. I told him I wanted to record video messages for the boys. One for every birthday, each first day of school and Christmas. Then a few special ones for their first date, finding a wife, weddings days, going to college, on the birth of their first child. I wanted them to hear my voice as the grew up. I wanted them to know all I wished for them and how much I loved them. It was a painful night as J and I cried out for God's mercy. He gave it to us. 5 hours later at South Miami Emergency room a medical team saved my life, by the will and grace of God, after I went into anaphylactic shock over a misprescribed medication given to me by the new Doctor.

Miraculous. We prayed that He would spare me, and he did!

We went to an ENT a few days later, who told us that she highly doubted I had cancer of the lymph. I still need to return for a biopsy just to make sure, but she extremely confident that I am cancer free.

I've been in the ER five times in seventeen days. Last night was the fifth visit. My fast heart rate, chest pain, nausea, tingling legs, etc. Along with my two close live births and two subsequent miscarriages made me a prime candidate for pulmonary embolism. We were horrified. Thankfully, after a few nerve wracking tests, we were relieved to find out that I do not have any blood clots in my lungs. The symptoms are now linked to the lingering allergens in my body from the initial reaction. I will still need to see the following specialists in the coming weeks: ENT (for biopsy), Cardiologist, Psychologist (for anxiety treatment), Allergist, and Infectious Diseases Specialist. We are praying that God places wise professionals in our path that will make accurate diagnosis of my health situation.

I am not afraid of sickness. I am secure in the hand of my Savior. My eternal life started when I asked the Lord into my heart as a child, it is not something I have to die in order to obtain. That life is already mine. Death can hold no victory over me, ever, my Jesus won it all.

Stating the above gives me peace. But it doesn't lessen my discomfort with doctors and hospitals. J and I are exhausted. I am close to my breaking point. I feel vulnerable. I feel guilt for the weeks I have missed with my precious boys. I can't nurse Cubby for 3 days due to the radioactive treatments I received in the hospital. It breaks my heart to hear him cry for my milk when I cannot give him any. And the Bear throws himself on the floor against furniture whenever I walk into a room, collapsing with a dramatic whimper and looking at me as if to say, "Now will you stay Mommy? Now will you notice me?" My heart bleeds when this happens. I am counting down the days until I can finally take care of my children again without interruption in the form of severe health issues.

This started with a death, continued with an impending death, interrupted by a near death, sustained by a possible death and now... now there is suddenly, life. Not just my own that has been mercifully spared, but the the new life that grows in me. We are pregnant again. Somehow, despite the recent miscarriages, the near death, the steroids, the drugs, the heart episodes, somehow, this little baby is fighting for its life.

I'm praying for this child every day and I will love him with all that I am for as long as I have him. There is a good chance that our child may be born with health issues due to the strain he is under at the moment. But he will be born into a home of love and into open arms. I pray that God protect him from that kind of painful suffering, but mostly I pray for his life to be spared. We will keep you updated on our lives.

Praise be to God.

Hat

Its been a rough month. Today I woke up, covered in hives and anticipating a follow up appointment with my primary Doctor to discuss my fast heart rate and ensuing anxiety issues from my four fun-filled hospital stays. I dropped the Bear off at my grandmother's house and took Cubby for a summer essentials trip to Target. I managed to find float toys for the pool, buckets and shovels for the beach, SPF 9000 for Cubby's white skin, shorts for the boys, and some moisturizing cream for my poor allergy abused face. Cubby pigged out on Elmo cookies while we shopped and would not stop campaigning for President as he waved and smiled at every shopper in the store.

On our way back to the car the sun started beating against my head. My poor scalp is still red and raw from everything I went through and it actually started hurting from the sun exposure. Deciding then and there that I would really rather not douse my head in sunscreen every time I leave the house for the next week, and because these last few weeks really have been the worst...EVER... I opted for retail therapy.

Cubby and I drove to my favorite store on this green earth, Anthropologie, for a nice stroll in a place void of cheerios and sippy cups so that Mommy could talk to the fancy sweaters. I tried on a few things just for fun and as I made my way to the exit I spotted it, the hat I had secretly adored for months and salivated paused over each time the Anthropologie catalogue came to the house. A cute Josephine Baker style straw cloche. As if some sweet Parisian designer had been working away all day and thought, "Aha! I shall make zee sweet hat to bring a smile to zee poor freckle faced Cuban who eez so very seek," and then made it, just for me.

I like the hat. A lot. So I ran back to the bejeweled and stylishly bobbed sales associate and bought the cloche. I have been wearing it ever since. The sun can no longer smote my head with the fury of an Egyptian plague and I have a zippy 1930s cloud around me.

And yes, my hives feel s l i g h t l y less itchy now.

Sunken Treasure

The Bear loves playing with matchbox cars. We have a bucket from the Miami Sea Aquarium filled with about fifteen tiny cars and four trailer hitches that he plays with on a daily basis. He uses these cars to explore the world around him. In the mornings he loves to sit in front of our big bay window and line up his cars on the sill. While he plays with them he watches the big cars drive down our street and greets them with an enthusiastic, "Fire truck! Wow! Hi fire truck! School bus! wow! Hi school bus! Garbage truck! Wow! Hi Garbage truck!" You get the idea...

He is always on the look out for cars and he always has a tiny matchbox car in his hand or on his pocket. I love the way he says, "motorcycle, scooter, bicycle" and the cutest of the cute "vehicle" which he pronounces "vee-hick-le." The boy lives for cars. When he holds a matchbox car in his hand the whole world seems to shrink down to their size and together they can process everything. No details escapes his notice. The little car in his hand giving him courage to take it all in and explore the world around him.

A few weeks ago, before all the insanity began, the Bear and I decided to have a "Mommy and Me" date. I dropped Cubby off at his great grandmother's house and left with the Bear for a morning of fun. We went to the French Bakery and bought several flaky butter croissants and some hot chocolate. We strolled down Miracle Mile and watched the cars drive by while we ate. We laughed. We laughed a lot. Not at any one thing but at the joy of being out doors on a beautiful day and with each other. Its a wondrous feeling indeed when you realize your child likes you as a person and not just because you are the taller person with access to food. He spent that morning showing me just how much he likes me, and I showed him right back. I'm proud of my little man. I love his sweet obedience, caring nature and affectionate heart. The fact that he is absolutely gorgeous and a bona fide Prince Charming in the making doesn't hurt either.

After a good while of strolling we took off for the local library. The Bear loves going to the library. We play the same game every time we go. It begins in the parking lot, just before we come upon the long sidewalk that leads into the library's courtyard. This sidewalk is cloistered by several native trees and bushes and on cloudy days, this small walk feels a bit like a jungle. The jungle it became. There is a tiger that lives under the stone bench, he is usually sleeping, so when we arrive at the library we make sure to tiptoe our way down the path, quietly making our way over the softly crunching leaves until we break into the open sunlight of the courtyard. (Editor's Note: This is only the rule on the way IN to the library. On the way OUT it is very important to run and giggle loudly so that we wake up the tiger).

Once in the courtyard we make our way over to a large square fountain situated just to the right of the large wooden door that lead into the library. This is, of course, the ocean. We like to sit on the limestone rock ledge of the ocean and spot all the animals that live inside. The Bear always finds the most animals. Dolphins, fish, whales, sharks, seagulls, starfish, and even a seahorse live in this ocean. On our big day out however, we sat on the ledge finishing the last of our hot chocolate when the Bear inserted something unusual in between "dolphin" and "starfish."

"CAR!!!" he said.

"No sweetheart," I corrected, "you mean BOAT."

"No Mama, A CAR A CAR A CAR!!!" he yelled.

"A boat?" I asked again.

"A CAR!!!!!"

I looked at him and saw that he was pointing down into the water, nearly beside himself with excitement. I peered into our ocean and indeed, there at the bottom of the fountain parked between a decaying leaf and an old penny, sat a bright purple matchbox car. As if some sweet, mischievous angel had left it there just for my little boy. It really did carry the feeling of an intentionally well placed gift. We initiated a search and rescue operation to haul up our sunken treasure. After a few squirts of sanitizer, the Bear walked happily into the library, holding his matchbox car and ready for more boyhood adventures.

I smiled over this moment for the rest of the day. I wondered how many treasures I've walked by in the past few years. That special eye for discovery we possess in childhood seems more veiled with each passing year. How nice to have two little boys in my life who can throw back the shades and let the light in. Its hard to miss the little things in life now that I am always looking down at my two little boys...I am so thankful for that.

Stillness

It's been a week since our horrifying death scare. In the days that followed I endured an unrelenting and agonizing rash from the anaphylactic reaction that left me bed ridden and miserable for the entire week. I wish it had been a topical rash, but unfortunately the reaction was internal and felt akin to blood poisoning, a furious heat all over every square inch of my body that left me unable to touch or be touched. On Wednesday my medication ran out and a secondary reaction ensued which landed me in the ER once again on Thursday. After another merciful round of steroids and more prescription medications I returned home feeling as if I had aged one hundred years in seven days.

I tried very hard this week to be patient and find things to be grateful for. The obvious thanksgiving to the Lord was for my life. He protected me. He gave me the gift of five minutes, so that the ER team could reach me in time. My husband and his gentle care of me and the children also topped the list. I tried to let these feelings of gratitude win out over anger and frustration. But it wasn't easy to begin each day thinking, "My boys could have been motherless today. My husband could have been a widower at the age of 28." Life felt extremely fragile.

The first few days in bed were maddening. I am an extremely active person and the words "bed rest" are not welcome ones in my book. The latent anaphylactic reactions were so extreme that I could not easily relax and so, "bed rest", felt more like trying to lay still when all I wanted to do was roll around in a pit of gravel just to have the itch relieved. But I stayed in bed, most of the time, and tried to be still. I tried to listen. I am still trying. The hospital scene keeps playing over and over in my head, the minutes changing, the "what ifs" raging, the heart sickness over what one small negligence can lead to.

But I have never once felt forsaken in the past week. I have felt cherished and loved. I have been blessed with several moments of quiet stillness. I have felt a measure of peace in that stillness.

Some of the happiest moments of my week came when I was able to steal away into my garden. I have poured so much of myself into this space that I can't help but feel reconnected and revived just by entering it. I love the infusion of calm it brings before you enter or leave the bungalow. This week gave me a lot of time to contemplate the next phase of the garden and I am really pleased with the new vision.

The garden structure has been in place for six months now. The roses, hedges, and shrubs are growing and thriving. I really wanted to make sure that the garden flowed well before I transitioned the last remaining corner into the side yard. I also needed time to figure out how I would structure and phase in the last piece. Now that the garden is established, I can do just that.

The back left corner of the garden has no gate and no hedge row, it opens up into an empty expanse of side yard. I have always envisioned some sort of path trailing towards the backyard but did not quite know if I should introduce a more tropical feel into the vegetation since our backyard is almost completely shrouded in palm trees. I did not want an abrupt contrast between English garden and South Florida backyard. I decided to stick with my gut and ease into the backyard with more native foliage and edible plants.

In the next few weeks I am hoping to find a wide white trellis to frame the end of the garden and will leave it open, without a gate. I have already purchased a rootstock of fortuiana climbing rose in a species called "Joseph's Coat," which is a climbing rose in brilliant hues of orange and yellow.

Today I purchased several large honeysuckles bushes in tropical shades of orange which will form the border hedgerow lining the side yard out to the back yard. Then throughout the summer, I will slowly fill in the remaining side spaces with an assortment of perennials and herbs that begin with the more cottage variety buttercups and end with native beauties that will blend well into the backyard. At some point I'll acquire stepping stones or perhaps even more bricks to finish off the look.

I spent a quiet morning today, purchasing new plants and I even managed to tend my garden for a few minutes before getting tired. My heart feels protected and at rest within this garden that I love so very much. I am thankful that God spared not only my life, but my ability to continue with the life I love in the way I love to live it. Serving my Lord, loving my husband, teaching my children and growing my flowers and occasionally embracing a sweet deep stillness.