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Happy 15th Anniversary to Us!
February 25th, 1995, we married at St. Vincent's Church, had the greatest party ever at the KC Hall in Jackson and then headed off to our honeymoon.
When we arrived, we opened a gift from my mother in law. It was the Dr. Seuss book, "Oh, The Places You'll Go!"
We had big dreams about all the places we would Go. We dreamed of traveling all over the country.
And we have.
We've been able to Go most directions, South, East and even West. We even had the chance to Go to Aruba a few years back.
We have been able to Go to many of the places we dreamed about.
And we've been to lots of places we never dreamed we would Go.
We never dreamed we would find ourselves Going to the hospital a month early to have a baby and getting there just in time to save her life. We didn't know that we would then Go to numerous doctors and other medical professionals a few years later to figure out what was wrong with her.
We never knew we would Go to the nursing home to face a grandmother who no longer recognized us.
We certainly never dreamed we would Go to the oncologist to see how we would fight cancer.
We surely never thought we would Go to the funeral of my sister's newborn son.
But the great thing about our marriage is that we Go together, hand in hand, to face what lies before us. The good and the bad.
It's a good thing Dr. Seuss didn't specify exactly where we would Go. We might have decided to just toss the marriage certificate and Go our separate ways.
Instead, we stayed together through all of the surprising places we would Go. And we will most likely continue Going places we never dreamed of Going. Both good and bad.
Hand in Hand. Together.
Scott, I love you and hope we have many years ahead of us.
Love,
Michele

Bringin' Home the Bacon...

I've been providing in-home speech therapy for about 6 years. I often purchase or donate items for the families I work with. But in some cases, I end up leaving with items that have been given to me. Scott is no longer surprised to see what I am carrying when I walk through the door at the end of the day. Of course, I am often given treats while I'm there. Sometimes cookies... a piece of cake now and then...today I had some monkey bread made from biscuit dough. Once a week or so, I purchase fresh eggs from one family. They have tried to turn me on to raw milk and homemade butter...but I hesitate. Several years ago, I stepped in a large pile of dog poo at a home and when I arrived at the next home, I left my shoes on the doorstep. The Mom felt so sorry for me, she gave me a pair of shoes to wear home. I've been given clothes that were no longer wanted, picture frames, gloves, candles, air fresheners, books, toys...the list goes on and on. Scott has banned me from bringing home any more live animals...I have brought home cats, puppies and even a turtle.
This week I received a skillet. What dialogue led up to me leaving with a skillet? I had offered to make a dog bed for my friend B., who has a child that I provide services for. I recently got a sewing machine (that's another blog post coming soon). I am trying to practice my stitches so I thought I could easily sew a dog bed for her 2lb dog named Peanut. B. offered to pay me but I refused to accept so she comes out of the kitchen carrying a gigantic skillet, complete with glass lid. B. does not keep anything in her home that is not required for survival so she wanted me to have this skillet since she has 2 of them. So I bartered a dog bed for a skillet. Scott was thrilled! He loves skillets. I think it makes him feel like a real man to have a big skillet.
I have learned over the years to accept these gifts graciously. When someone comes to your home every week for 3 years to play with your kid, saying Thank You is not always enough. What's more important is giving someone a skillet to fry up the bacon they bring home.
And that's all the thanks I need.

Quick Post

Congratulations to my friend Holly L. who had the best caption for our vacation picture! Holly, I loved it and your gift card will be on it's way soon.
I am still cancer-free! Scott and I saw Dr. G last week and things still look great! We did have a little communication block for a moment. Dr. G asked, in her accented speech, "how is your memory" and when I looked over at Scott and said "Why don't you tell her", I got a deer in the headlights look from him. Apparently, he thought she said "How are your mammories" and he thought I wanted him to tell her what he thought of my boobs. Otherwise, it was a great visit. Dr. G did say she wants me to see the neurologist again for my continued memory loss. I told her I would never return to the jerk I saw before, whose identity shall remain unknown but whose name is synonomous with the color of darkness. If you remember, Dr. Darkness told me I couldn't remember anything b/c I had too much anxiety and I kid you not, he said Take 2 pills a day and call me in 6 months. I knew I wouldn't like him as soon as I walked in the room. I do not like old doctors. And when I say old, I mean old enough to date my great-grandma.
I continue to have very poor balance due to the neuropathy in my feet. I set a record last week for the most injuries sustained in the shortest amount of time. Tuesday, I fell on the gravel and to quote SpongeBob, "I ripped my pants!", along with the skin off my knee. Friday, I made the mistake of trying to catch myself while falling and ended up with a very bad sprained ankle. I would have been better off if I had fallen, then the knees in my pants would have matched, hole for hole. Instead, I will be limping around for a few weeks.
So that's all for now. Keep in touch!
Michele

Love, Honor and Cherish

Tonight I told the girls to sit on the couch b/c I had a surprise for them. I went to the basement and brought up a box that hadn't been opened for nearly 15 years.
The box contained my wedding dress. I sent it to the cleaners after the wedding and they cleaned it and sealed it up in a box.
So I took the dress out of the box tonight and let the girls see it...
They even tried it on...

Why would I choose to open it now?

Because I am donating it to a very special cause. The Mary Madeline project will use my dress to make outfits for the tiniest of babies that are born in hospitals across the country. The outfits are donated to hospitals and given to parents when their baby is born too tiny. This offers them a chance to have pictures taken in a beautiful outfit that actually fits their baby. I am donating the dress in honor of my nephew Declan who was born weighing just over a pound. Declan's name will appear in a card attached to each outfit. Some of the cards will also feature the name Kamryn Olivia, in honor of my friend's baby who was born too tiny.
When I first opened the box tonight, I whispered to Scott that I didn't think I could do it. But as I looked at the dress, I realized just how many outfits could be made from it. I am sure this is what I want to do.

I am so grateful I can put my dress to good use. I felt so helpless when Declan was born. All I could do was stand back and pray. Now I will know that the dress I wore on the day I vowed to love, honor and cherish will help other parents love, honor and cherish the memories of their tiny babies.

God Bless.

Love,

Michele

I'm organizing my tenna-structor!!!

Megan was a super happy toddler but she did have her moments when the temper would flare. When she was around two years old, she began using a phrase that we couldn't translate. Whenever she would get really, really angry, she would stomp her foot, slap her hand down and stammer "I'm...I'm...I'm organizing my tenna-structor!" It was very dramatic and appeared to be completely out of nowhere. She would only say it when she was really angry at us. We had to hide our giggles b/c it was so darn funny to hear her say something so absurd. For months we tried to translate and/or find the source of her quote. We tried different variations on the phrase, with the theory that she was mispronouncing a word.
One day we were watching her Pooh movie. It wasn't her favorite movie but we watched it on occasion. Suddenly, there on the screen was Rabbit, angry at Pooh & friends, stomping his foot, slapping his hand and stammering "I'm constructing my turnip extractor!". Apparently Pooh & friends had greatly interfered with the construction of this so-called turnip extractor and Rabbit was really, really angry. I immediately jumped up and yelled to anyone who would listen that I had finally, after all these months, translated Megan's phrase!
But it was too late.
"Organizing my tenna-structor" was here to stay. It now defined our anger and frustration at a situation. Burn supper? Spill your drink? Forget something important? That might be enough to make anyone organize their tenna-structor.
Today, I organized my tenna-structor when someone hacked my blog and posted spam on the comments. If it happens again, I will have to eliminate Anonymous comments. So in the future, if you try to post anonymously, it may not accept it.
So tell me what makes you organize your tenna-structor?

I can't think of a title for this one...

...so I'll just tell you what happened.

My profession requires I attend classes every year to keep up with my certification. I decided to attend one in St. Louis this week. I had registered just days before; when I asked on the phone if the course was full, the lady said "Oh, no, we have no limits! We register as many as we can!" The topic was Sensory Processing Disorder. This topic is not only helpful for my job, but I also happen to have a daughter with that diagnosis. I was looking forward to learning new information that might be useful.

When I walked in the room, 50% of the chairs were facing the back of the room. The hotel had put chairs on both sides of the tables, thus resulting in only half of the participants facing the speaker. Remember the "No limit" policy they mentioned? They weren't kidding. I was given a chair in the back corner of the room, with no table to sit at but I thought, at least I can see the speaker. When the speaker arrived, he said No worries, you won't need to see me at all today, there's no Powerpoint, there's no reason to look at me, we're just gonna read from the manual! That was my first clue that I picked a bad course. Clue #2 came when he said All questions have to be asked during the breaks.

I considered leaving but I knew that I wouldn't be able to count the hours, so I would be forced to attend yet another course. So I stayed. I played on my Blackberry, posted on Facebook, texted, whatever I could do to pass the time.

At lunch, I decided to eat in the hotel restaurant. I sat with 3 women I didn't know. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. One woman disagreed with every word that came out of my mouth. Another woman responded to each comment with something along the lines of "I"m breastfeeding" or "I need to pump", or "My breasts are really full". I mentioned that my daughter has Sensory Processing Disorder and the other woman waved me away with Oh, we all have sensory issues! When the meal ended and I said I needed a piece of chocolate, they all looked at me like I said I just crapped my pants.

So I found a hotel employee who informed me that the hotel did not have a gift shop but I could find chocolate in the laundry room.

Before lunch, the speaker had ranted on and on about how artificial and processed foods are destroying our children's minds. When I returned from lunch, the hotel had placed packages of artificially sweetened and overprocessed cookies on the tables for us to snack on. I would have raised my hand to comment on it, but remembered he told us Sorry, no questions or comments except at break time. So I ate the fake cookies and the laundry room chocolate.

The afternoon dragged on. I sat in bewilderment when he spent 15 min talking about the side effects of fluorescent bulbs in our schools. He suggested we ask the schools to replace the bulbs with floor lamps. He droned on and on about his research and his publications and his theories.

I finally walked out, 45 min early and shortly after he made a joke about someone being bipolar. If you know me, you know I find no humor in anyone being bipolar.

Of course, now that it's over, I'm glad I stayed. I got my 6 credit hours. I got a day off from work.

And had some squeaky clean chocolate.

Cheez-its Love Me...This I Know

As a mom/speech therapist, it's very important to me that my kids talk correctly. When they were little, I always listened carefully to their words and if they pronounced something incorrectly, I always provided a correct model for them. Neither of my girls could ever pronounce "crayon" and still today they say "crown" and it drives me crazy! We tried for months to teach Megan how to say "iron". She pronounced it "i-run". I tried not to be the speech Nazi but for goodness sake...if my kids couldn't talk, what kind of speech therapist was I?
When Megan was very small, there were 2 things (among many) that she really loved- Jesus and Cheez-its. Unfortunately, we were unable to discriminate between the 2 words. She could often be found standing at the pantry, asking for Jesus....please can I have a bowl of Jesus...I'm so hungry for Jesus. On Sundays, she would sing "Cheez-its Love Me, this I know" and she often professed to having Cheez-its in her heart.
Last night Scott and I did something we don't normally do. I started an argument and we fought in front of the kids. I was very angry about something and I really let loose. Luckily, it was brief and when it was over, Emily came into the office and asked me if I needed a hug. She leaned in and said "Mommy, I know why you and Daddy were fighting." My mind began to race. Had she really understood what we were talking about? So I said "Really?" She said "Yes, Mommy. I know that Daddy was talking to someone on the phone and he pronounced his words wrong."
All I could do was nod my head and say "Yes, you're right".
And if I'd had a bowl of Jesus, I would have thrown it at your Daddy's head.