Happy 9th Birthday Nolan James!

In the nine years since Nolan first graced us with his presence, one thing we can all agree on, he has a flair for the dramatic. His arrival into this world could not have been any more of a cliffhanger than it was. I am convinced my grueling labor and delivery fraught with emotional turmoil was symbolic for the unexpected rollercoaster that is our son.

He is intense, persistent, kind, unrelenting, demanding, loving, spirited, loud, smart, abrasive, caring, passionate and has boundless energy. He woke his grandmother up at 6 this morning. By 8 he begged his dad to take him golfing and they golfed 18 holes. We went out for a late lunch and then came home for a family birthday party. But he was convinced Colton blew out some of HIS candles on the cake, and drama ensued. He stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the table, wounded and upset, convinced the world was against him.

We're getting used to it. Its his M.O. His signal. When he has had too much stimulation, too much noise, too much of a lack of structure and routine, he lets us know by falling to pieces. Its taken us many years and much trial and error. But with the help of some good parenting books we have come to understand him. And the cure for him when he is tempermental and out of sync, is to get him to bed. Then we pray for a better day the next day!

But you can't help but love him. He has many friends. Many. He does well at school. He is a really good athlete. And he has a soft heart. Last year he came home wanting to invite "Taylor" to his party. He kept asking if it was okay. I kept saying yes without understanding what he was asking. So I asked his teacher. I'm not kidding when she teared up. It just so happens that Taylor, is the girl that sits in a wheelchair. She can't talk although she does make vocalizations. She clearly would not have been able to bowl.

Nolan didn't care. His reasoning was that if he were the one in the wheelchair, he would want someone to invite him to their party, so why shouldn't he invite Taylor to his? She could watch and just be part of it, couldn't she? So I called Taylor's mom. And she was both excited and disappointed. They were going out of town. But she was thrilled that Taylor had been asked, and she thanked me. I set her straight, it was all Nolan's doing, not mine.

I have an entire journal filled with "Nolan" stories. If ever there were a book to write, it would be about my journey with Nolan. No story however, comes close to topping his story about God and the sunburn.

When Nolan was three he had gone to play the Sunday golf game with his dad one April day. It was unusually warm that day and got up into the mid 60's. It was just warm enough to catch us off-guard and Nolan experienced his first sun burn. Oh did he howl when I gave him his bath that night. He could not fathom how that red had gotten on his skin. We put some ointment on it and put him in bed and he was much better in the morning.

A few days later after his bath he came to me. We'd had one of those days. I was in bed, emotionally drained and exhausted. Its hard to be three. Its even harder to be a parent of a child who is three. I was startled to see him creeping into my room. His eyes were downcast. His voice was somber and serious. "Mom, he said, his voice filled with resignation, "I think I'm dying." I got up from the bed. My mind started to spin.

I said "Nolan, what is wrong?"

"My skins coming off," he said. "I must be dying."

I said, "Nolan, what have you been doing? Did you get into something? DID YOU PUT SOMETHING IN YOUR MOUTH?"

"Oh mom," he said, "Every day I do. You tell me not to, but I do. I just can't help it.

"What Nolan, tell me what you put in your mouth?"

"I ate grass once," he said. "I eat dog food all the time. Oh, and I licked the bottom of my shoe. Yesterday I tasted the side of the car and its pooey mom, don't ever put your tongue on it!"

By now I am trying to hold my sides that are jiggling from the laughter trying to escape.

"Now my skin is coming off. Mom, I'll probably be going to heaven tonight. Don't be sad."

I am leaning over inspecting what I realized is the peeling sunburn now and hugging him at the same time.

"Oh Nolan" I managed to choke out.

As I go to get some lotion he tells me he has to use the bathroom. I holler at him to close the door and wait for him to return. As he comes around the corner he is smiling. "Mom! I've got it," he says. "Do you think God goes potty? Because if he does, and he closes the door, I'll just sneak down from Heaven when he isn't looking and give you a hug so you won't miss me too much."

And with that he ran back to bed.

He is a keeper that one. He tries our patience, and manages to find our last nerve. But the joy he brings, the laughter, the unique way of being in this world. He is more, and with that, we are more too. I can't wait to have the rest of this journey with him.

We love you Nolan! Happy Birthday Peanut!

Flood Aftermath

On my way to the clinic this morning to get my Holter monitor removed, I traveled down along the river on one of the newly opened, dike-free roads.  It meanders down along the river, under the highway bridge and connects to the streets that carry me to the grocery store, my mom's house, and even the little clinic I go to.  Its been the first time I travelled it since the flood as the part of the road under the bridge goes completely under water when it floods.

So what I haven't witnessed, is how all the houses along the river fared.  Since its spring clean-up week in our town, you are allowed to drag any and all junk out to the curb.  Its not uncommon to see washing machines, stoves, outdoor furniture in disrepair, couches, and junk in general.  

What I wasn't prepared for were the houses along the river that had suffered damage.  I took a SMALL sample of pictures to show you what I saw house after house.  People literally lost a good portion of their house.  At first I saw piles of carpet which may mean an inch or two of water.  But then came the stacks of drywall, the washing machines and the dryers, the beds

And then the one that broke my heart.  The house stacked with all the children's toys.  And cribs and walkers and high chairs.  While we have had tons of people come pick through and take a lot of the items we placed out on the curb, everyone knows the stuff that has been touched by contaminated waters gets left alone.

But the full effect of all that damage, was very sobering and humbling to see.  I know some of these people have battled that river in the spring for years and not lost yet, until this year.  With the dump trucks rumbling past our house carrying the clay material from the dikes away, we otherwise have very little tell-tale signs of what we went through just a couple short months ago.

For a lot of people though, their lives are still in shambles.  The contents of their house strewn all about in their yards, looking displaced, tattered and covered in slimy filth.  

I noticed how much the river has gone back down. I took the last two photos from my car as I drove back under the bridge. And underneath the dried river bottom on the grass and trees, the green grass is springing up, lush and unphased. The deer will return shortly along with the rabbits and dandelions, and it'll be hard to tell the area was once fraught with the sheer force of mother nature.


Upon returning home I found the work beginning in my own neighborhood. The trucks are lined up again hauling away the dirt and clay and giving us back our bike path. It won't be long and we'll awake to the sounds of early am conversations between those out for a jog or walk, instead of the ever present dump truck lullaby we've grown so accustomed to.

"Wired for Sound."

After getting home from book club last night, I came home to find all of your sweet and encouraging comments to yesterday's news. I really FEEL your concern, your encouragement, your support. Plus, it is oddly comforting to know so many of you have experience with this very thing. I really welcome hearing about your experience and any advice you have.

So I am went in early this morning and got my Holter monitor. As the cool x-ray tech with spiky hair and funky glasses told me as she first scraped my skin (ouch) then attached the electrodes, "you are now wired for sound." So for the next 24 hours I wear the monitor as I go about my daily routine, and I keep a little journal of when I have symptoms and what I am doing when they occur.

I am thinking the diagnosticians are going to get really tired of reading my journal as pretty much every time I begin an activity, its "here we go again." Walked to car, increased heart rate. Took Dakota outside in the backyard, short of breath. Went downstairs to wash clothes, increased heart rate and short of breath... etc... Blah! The person who reads the test will be shaking their head saying, "oh no, another SAHM, why couldn't I get the traveling circus performer, because you know THAT will be a fun read no matter what." (Have you read "Water for Elephants? Wow! We were all talking about it at book club last night. It was described as gritty and gripping, I couldn't agree more.)

So as I am sitting here blogging, its occurred to me my heart is performing pretty normally. So I'm off to drum up some business. I am either going to go and plan a birthday party for the boys next week, or join the circus. I'll let you know what I decide :)

The Secret and a Contest

Jules over at Just Jules is doing a giveaway for one of her handmade pieces of jewelry. To be eligible for the giveaway she is asking you to answer the question "I am..." using a black marker on a sheet of white paper and taking a picture of it and sharing it on your blog. She plans to use the pictures on her blog in a photo project. If you'd like to enter just follow the link to her blog and follow the steps. Jules actually lives just a few hours from me in Minnesota.

So this was my entry... and no I'm not pregnant :) But I did go to the doctor. Last Thursday. The dermatologist. To have my moles checked. Glamourous, yes. So guess what she found?

Are you sitting down? What I am going to share with you is going to sound familiar... I had a rapid heartbeat. And I didn't think much of it. I could have been anxious wondering if I was going to have moles removed. We do have a strong family history for melanoma, and I don't mess around with too much sun. But at some point I do expect Dr. Kelly to tell me that one of my 562 moles does look suspicious.

However, my moles were fine. So with the coast clear, the nurse decided to check my heart rate one more time... she got the same number. Is this beginning to ring a bell for you as much as it did for me? I couldn't help but think of our sweet Stellan and Mckmamaand his long road with SVT, or supraventricular tachycardia.

So a normal heart beats at a rate of 60 to 80 beats per minute. Mine was at 134. Both times it was checked. So Dr. Kelly insisted I call my doctor and get it checked. I went to my internal medicine doctor on Monday. My heart rate was 136. I had lab work and an ECG. Guess what it showed? That my heart was beating rapidly :) But the technical, medical term for this? Tachycardia. It seems there are several forms this can take and that is what needs to be determined next.

What are the odds? I thought I was following Stellan's story so closely because, well just look at him and all of his cuteness. But was there another reason my path crossed with his? And MckMama, and her uncanny ability to digest large amounts of medical jargon and make sense of it and post it all? What a Godsend that has been.

And maybe my own words are coming to fruition. Do you recall my fondness for the E.E. Cummings poem "I carry your heart in my heart?" These were the words I used in a post back in December:

"I've loved this poem for so long now. And every time we lose yet another loved one, I carry them in my heart. It wouldn't surprise if a doctor ever told me my heart was enlarged. I'd tell him or her the truth. Its big because its filled with a lot of hearts I've carrried with me for years."

So I am getting some more tests scheduled and have a referral to a cardiologist. And I am taking it very easy. Other than having a cold I haven't felt too poorly. But I have been short of breath lately and a little lightheaded at times.

I've always anticipated I'd have to be careful with my moles. It wasn't a huge surprise either when I had my gallbladder out at 29. But it never really occurred to me, the other thing I could end up getting from my Dad along with the smattering of moles, is his big heart :) both figuratively and literally.

And now my secret is out.

Sunday Sun-day

Now you see her...




Now you don't...




Budding trees



Budding trees





Nest for rent




S'mores anyone?




Air hockey-stick guitar




Dike removal????

Colton's fruit salad.

For a boy who is a semi-picky eater, he sure does love a lot of aspects of food. He'll crawl up on my lap and say, "want to watch tv with me?" "Sure," I say. "What should we watch?" Almost always as we flip through the channels, its not the SpongeBob show or any other kind of kid's show that he'll choose. He will almost always light up as soon as a "cooking show" flashes on the screen. He is enthralled from start to finish. He is also no talk show food personality snob. No he is not. He doesn't care if you're Bobbie Flay or Rachel Ray, if you're talking food, he is listening! Although, Guy Fieri, with his "bleach-blonde hair in the air," has caused Colton to raise an eyebrow or bust a gut laughing. Sometimes Guy takes a bite of food that is sooo hot it "could cause your hair to stand on end," and he always says that as he dramatically looks up at his hair!

But hands down, Colton's favorite thing to do is help me "cook" or "bake." He gather's the ingredients, I measure, he dumps, I stir, he tastes :) Its a great tag-team sport we've perfected. With age however, he is branching out. The other day in a fit of boredom since mom has been sneezing and coughing and blech-ing, he came to me wanting the cookbook with all the pictures in it. He sat for the rest of the afternoon circlling page numbers and pictures of all the things he wanted to make. They ranged from dips to elaborate breads. But the one that had really caught his eye was a basic fruit salad. He came to me later for a recipe card and was so excited because he just knew he could make this salad. So he went through and carefully identified each fruit and asked Rick to write them down.

Here is how the list went:

peaches
pears
bananas
strawberries
blueberries
cherries
raspberries
grapes
cantaloupe
watermelon
apples
oranges
pineapple... etc.,


And then, he convinced Rick to take him to the grocery store. If you cook at all, you know there are two big issues to this list. One, between the bananas and apples that brown quickly, and the melding of all these varieties, the taste was questionable at best. And two, the expense of all that fresh fruit, would be enough to blow the grocery budget for weeks to come.


But Dad, who does not cook, took on the shopping challenge and I waited anxiously to see how he would fare. Apparently after he got to about 30 (!) dollars worth of fruit, Dad drew the line. And here is the beauty of Dad's thinking quickly on their feet. He bought, bananas, grapes, strawberries, melon, and a few more fruits on sale, and ONE BIG CAN of fruit cocktail!! Score one for Dad.

So yesterday we made Colton's Fruit Salad. We drained the fruit cocktail first, and (sort of buried at the bottom of the bowl), then adorned the top with the fresh fruit. By the time we were done slicing and dicing, Colton was beaming. I have to admit, it looked pretty yummy.

Plus, we decided we needed a little dip for it and here is the one we tried:

We blended together:

1 8 oz. package of softened cream cheese

3/4 of a cup of packed light brown sugar

1 tsp. of vanilla



And the verdict? Delish!! I wouldn't typically put in a can of fruit cocktail with a fruit salad... but the things we will do to please a six 6 year old! Move over all of you Rachel Ray's and Bobby Flay's... Colton J is on his way :)

Part Three: My Own Little Miracle

For a full recap: Part 1 and Part 2.

We arrived early for our induction. Dr. Johnson came in to break my water. She took the "crochet hook" instrument and proceeded to make the tiniest opening. I felt the warmth slowly trickle out and as I looked down I heard Dr. Johnson. Oh Sh@#! She exclaimed. Let me tell you, when your very kind and well-mannered doctor swears, you know two things... something just went wrong and your birth plan more than likely just flew out the window...

Or there is a third option. Dr. Johnson is also vocalizing exactly what she has encountered. "Normal" amniotic fluid is clear. What I quickly saw as I looked down was a pool of what looked like "pea soup," pooling underneath me. It was greenish-brown and I knew it was meconium. Meconium is a sign that a baby has somehow been stressed and has had their first bowel movement, in utero.

The rest of the day Murphy's law laid waste to any preconceived ideas I had concocted for myself about this birth experience. I was in bed for the day, tied to monitors and iv's. While priding myself on the ability to breathe through the initial contractions, as the crescendo of fastly intensifying contractions soared to unchartered magnitudes, my ability to cope with grace and dignity intact, waned.

I sent up the white flag and surrendered to the placement of the epidural in my back to assuage the pain. But not without, still another complication. I was allergic to the numbing medication they gave me and now had splotchy red hives breaking out all over. Oh the irony of deadening any sensation from the waist down while activating the most intense fiery itching from the waist up!

And then we were suddenly given the green light. I was 10 centimeters dilated. It was time to push. And push. And push and push and... push some more. On my back. Now on my side. How about on my knees? We carefully orchestrated each position while maneuvering iv's and oxygen masks and blood pressure cuffs and fetal monitors.

An hour passed. Then two. And three. Where was that white flag? And a fork... I was done. Convinced I couldn't do this. The baby was stuck. Dr. Johnson surmised it was facing the wrong way. Up, instead of down. But she kept telling me if she really thought I couldn't, she'd consider a c-section. But she thought I could. She tried the mighty-vac hoping that help with some suction on the baby's head might be the answer. After three pop-offs, she stopped, saying it was unsafe to proceed with any more.

In the meantime, I was deep within myself. I had long ago surrendered to needing some help. I prayed and talked to God, summoning some strength and courage to keep going. But a new thought was repeating itself over and over again in my head. What about that baby? What if he or she is scared too? The baby has been in that tunnel over three hours now. Why might he or she be finding it safer there, instead of in my arms? Because... I knew, in my heart, I still had the tiniest shred of doubt. I still didn't think I could handle whatever this baby was going to bring me. I was surrendered to it, resigned to it. But still not sure I could face it. And it was slowly occurring to me, that I was the one standing in the way of myself. I had to let it all go, every last ounce of it, released. I started blocking out the noises, the lights, the machines. I turned my only focus to reassuring the baby.

And wouldn't it be a beautiful thing to be able to tell you that is all it took and the baby came out? Well it didn't. But something did change. Dr. Johnson had been on the phone with a colleague who had a suggestion. He was coming in to see if he couldn't help "turn" the baby and facilitate the head through the last little bit. And as I had done before, I started to build a foundation of hope. "See baby? Mommy knows how you feel too. Its time we do this, together, no matter how uncertain we both are."

I might have retracted that thought had I known that Dr. C's idea was actually called "forceps." But in no uncertain terms, Dr. Johnson said this was it. And Dr. C said I had one chance. I would push with everything I had and he would turn the baby from face up, to face down. Believing for the first time that I had one chance to show this baby that not only was I ready, but excited to meet him or her, I pushed with renewed vigor and stamina, and the head popped out. While "searing pain" doesn't begin to describe what the forceps feel like, the amount of relief I felt when the head was out was indescribable.

One more push and the baby was out. And after all this time, while Dr. Johnson handed the baby off to the NICU team waiting, nobody remembered to tell me what I'd had! Girl, or boy? And then I saw, it was a BLUE hat they were placing on his head as they took him to be checked. They decided he sounded "chunky" and wanted to get him back to the NICU. They came to us to fill out the card on his bassinet and to let me get my first real peek at him. Nolan James. 7 lbs. 3 oz. 10:47 pm, May 14th, 2000. He was wide awake and alert. My eyes studied his. I slowly took in the landscape of his face, his tiny slender fingers, all that hair. He was perfect. In my heart I had all the answer I needed. Take a look. My own little miracle.



Two hours later Rick returned. Dr. Johnson and the NICU doctors had just finished checking Nolan over. Rick confirmed what we both had had seen with our eyes. They all concurred there were no visible signs of any birth defect.



But God hadn't done all of this work in my heart for no reason. I was being prepared. For just what, it would take awhile to unfold. It seems that in a lot of ways, our journey with Nolan was just beginning and being revealed to us. We had truly ended the chapter of this particular story. It turns out the name was not Down Syndrome. And even if it had been? I would unequivocally tell you, this much I believe, every baby is indeed a miracle.