Happy Mother's Day!

I realize that it is over a week past Mother's Day but I must defend my lateness by saying that I was out of town, away from the technology to blog, relishing (yeah right) in a family vacation at Myrtle Beach on Mother's Day and the whole week after.  Soooo.......in order to wish my fellow Mamas, especially those with daughters, a belated Mother's Day, I thought I would share this awesomely, deliciously hilarious and yet oh so true "prayer".  (((HUGS)))

A Prayer for All Mothers - by Tina Fey
“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.”

- TINA FEY- BOSSY PANTS

Been Awhile

So I know it has been awhile since I have blogged.  Life gets in the way sometimes.  I have a lot of thoughts, ideas, feelings running around in my head right now and I'm working hard to sort them all out - to form them into coherent words and sentences that I can put in font. 

The Hubs and I (and the girls of course) began attending New Spring Church a few weeks ago and I am changing.  My doubts, fears, insecurities, questions, and ideals are being challenged.  My purpose is being refined.............and yet, amazingly, I feel comfortable and at peace with my life and with myself!  Change has always been scary for me but this does not feel that way.  This is how I know that it is God speaking to me and, for probably the first time in my life, I am listening.

To be continued............................................................

Mmmm Cake!

So Madelynn and I are dabbling a bit in baking.  We are having so much fun experimenting with different recipes and ideas!  Of course my ulterior motive is creating memories with my daughters.  Madelynn loves to help in the kitchen and I am taking full advantage of it while I can.

Since it is Easter, we decided to try a new recipe for a chocolate cake with chocolate ganache frosting and make it festive by using yellow marshmallow Peeps to turn it into a sunflower.  I'll be honest and admit that the recipe came from Food Network and the Peeps idea came from Pinterest, though we did add a little "oomph" to both.

Here's the recipe:
cake
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup real fine sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/3 cup cocoa powder
dash ground cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla
2 Tbsp strong brewed coffee
3 eggs
1 1/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 cups milk chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350.  Spray two 9 inch round pans with cooking spray.  Sift together first 6 ingredients in medium mixing bowl and set aside.  In a large mixing bowl beat together vanilla, coffee, eggs, buttermilk, and oil.  Slowly add in flour mix and beat on medium speed for about 2 minutes.  Fold in chocolate chips.  Batter will be very thick.  Pour into baking pans and bake for about 35 to 40 minutes until toothpick inserted comes out clean.  Let cool completely.

One layer of baked cake

frosting
2 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup confectioners sugar
1/8 tsp salt
1 lb milk chocolate morsels
Bring cream, sugar, and salt to a boil.  Remove from heat.  Add in chocolate morsels.  Let sit a minute then whisk in.  Refrigerate for about an hour whisking occasionally, until spreading consistency.

I frosted the cake with slips of wax paper under the edges to protect the cake plate.  I frosted in the usual way - a blob on the top of the bottom layer, flopped on the top layer, a blob on the top of the top layer, then smoothed around the sides.

cake with frosting

After the cake was frosted, we added yellow marshmallow Peeps around the top edge to look like a sunflower.  I found it easier to keep them connected and kind of sculpt them around.  Someone with a steadier hand might be able to separate them and put each on individually.  We then, dropped leftover milk chocolate chips into the center to make it look like the center of the sunflower.  After removing the wax paper, I piped green leaves around the cake plate using a store-bought bag of green-tinted cookie icing.  And voila!  Not bad for our first attempt!  We think it's cute anyway.  Happy Easter!!!

Top view

Side view

To Grandpa

My grandpa, Joe Clyburn, passed away last Tuesday, March 20, 2012.  It came as a bit of a shock.  He had only very recently been diagnosed with lung cancer that had metastasized to his spine and to his brain (and we really aren’t sure where else as there was still testing left to be done).  While I knew in my heart that he did not have much time, I expected him to at least live through the summer, which would have given me the chance to see him alive one more time.  But in true Grandpa Joe form, he passed on in his own way, and, truthfully, it was probably better this way.  He did not have to go through chemo.  He did not die the painful drowning death that people with lung cancer sometimes experience.  He did not prolong his suffering, and I can remember him alive as the big, loud, exuberant man that he was, instead of the small, frail, sickly man that he became. 

I decided to blog about this, not just to honor my grandpa, but for myself.  Since his death I have been going over and through memories in my head.  I will be honest and admit that not all of my memories of my grandpa are positive.  You see, my grandpa was an alcoholic, likely a product of his time in Korea, aka “The Forgotten War”, but he was an alcoholic all the same.  I, however, feel no need to rehash anything related to that now.  It does not matter anymore and it does me, nor him, no good to detail that stuff.  His drinking never hurt me in any way.  I prefer to focus on the good stuff, and really, there was a lot of good stuff.

From the time I was about five years old (plus a brief period when I was a baby), I lived in a different state, or really I should say different states, from my grandparents.  That did not keep me from having a close relationship with them, however.  My Grammy and I always frequently corresponded by letters and we always made the trek back to Kansas City in the summertime to visit.  My grandparents often came to visit us, wherever we might be at the time, typically around Christmastime (especially when we lived in Florida - who wouldn’t take a Florida Christmas over a Missouri Christmas? lol).  My grandpa Joe would tirelessly watch all of the “shows”, cheers, songs, or other performances I would subject him to on his visits, and he would always give a thunderous standing ovation at the end.  Often he would come for his visit armed with a song (usually some old twangy country song at which I would giggle or roll my eyes)  he wanted me to sing for him and he would say, in his boisterous way, that I had “the most beautiful voice on a little girl” he had ever heard.  At some point, grandpa Joe, my brother Matt, and I would sit in the floor with all of my brother’s matchbox cars and we would race and 4-wheel over mountainsides (aka our legs).  “Chigabuggachigabuggachigabugga!” He was also known to play baby dolls or stuffed animals with my sister Cara and/or me, and we always made time to play catch or wiffleball out in the yard.  My grandpa loved sports. 

I remember grandpa Joe as always such a giving person.  I swear he could hear the ice cream truck from miles away and he would grab my hand so we could run together to the end of the drive where he would hook me up with whatever frozen treats (and yes that is plural) I desired.  There was never a trip to KC that I did not return home loaded with gifts.  I specifically remember one trip where I rode home in the back of our minivan with a gigantic stuffed raccoon dressed as Robin Hood and an enormous, never-ending bag of animal crackers.  Grandpa had a knack for finding stuff like that.  Even as an adult, I would continue to receive gifts from him during visits and by mail.  When I became “of age” and wanted to try my luck on the slots at the KC casinos (a novelty to me since gambling of any sort is illegal in SC), grandpa always pushed a fifty into my hand (and into the Hub’s hand after I was married) once we got through the doors and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Of course I blew it every time (plus a little of my own money) but we always had a blast doing it.

My grandpa was a Shriner and upon his retirement from Southern Bell after thirty plus years of service (where I hear he never missed a day of work I might add), he began volunteering in transport, taking children from area KC hospitals to the Shriner’s hospital in St. Louis.  Anyone who knows the traffic and frustration of St. Louis knows that this is no small feat!  When he could no longer provide transport services, he continued to volunteer in various capacities with the Shriners.  He really loved the work that they did for the kids.

There is one more thing about grandpa Joe that I would be remiss if I did not note, even though he would tell me not to make a “big stink” over it.  I mentioned before that he served our country in the war in Korea.  I just learned, upon his death, that he was a highly decorated hero.  Grandpa would, understandably, never talk about Korea; not to his wife, his kids, his parents; not to anyone, but it was known that he was grazed by a bullet on the side of the head, leaving him perpetually gray in that little spot from a young age.  When going through his personal items in a little lock box/safe that he kept in his man cave, grandpa’s discharge papers were uncovered.  These papers listed several medals and awards, including the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star.  It is unknown at this time as to how, exactly, he received these awards, but nonetheless, they were his and he was a hero.  I will never forget the beauty and nobility of the military at his funeral.  I'm not sure there was a dry eye present.

So, with that, I will close this up and bid him farewell.  He is probably up in heaven cussing me for going on and on about him this way.  Rest in Peace grandpa.  I promise to try hard not to “sweat the small shit in life” because, after all, “the cream always rises to the top”.        

5?!?! Really?!?!?!

Today my big girl turns 5.  Really?!?!?!  I can hardly believe it!!!  I will annoy myself today by reminding myself to "savor these moments" because it really does go by fast. 

I remember it like it was yesterday.  It was the morning of March 8th, 2007, a Thursday, and I was 5 days past my "guess date".  I went that morning for an OB appointment with my midwife and, as expected, I got the induction talk.  Desperately wanting a natural birth and to avoid an induction (yup I am one of "those women"), I gave the OK for a cervix check.  Upon hearing that I was already 4cm dilated, I agreed let my midwife sweep my membranes a bit.  I figured it was better that than all of the more invasive interventions that may come if I did not go into labor on my own by Monday.  After that fun, I went on to work.  I knew that if I went home "to rest" I would just dwell on what was to come and would make myself anxious and irritable (well, more irritable than most 40+ weeks pregnant woman is typically). 

I spent the day tying up loose ends, preparing for maternity leave, and it was all in all uneventful.........................that is until about 4:00PM.  I was sitting in a meeting when a contraction hit.  I had had plenty of BH contractions, but this one was completely different.  It took me a little off guard.  Not wanting to alarm my colleagues, I calmly finished out the meeting and headed for my office.  By 4:30 I had had a couple more of these contractions and so I decided to head home.  On the way home I called my hubby and my mom to let them know what was up.  I had several more contractions on the way home, a few making me rethink my decision to drive myself home.  My hypnobirthing training was kicking in, however.  I was sort of living in denial that this was the real thing and I was really relaxed and calm.  I honestly hardly remember the drive home lol! 

So, I arrived home, the Hub meeting me in the drive, and decided to hop in the tub to see if the warm water would make the contractions go away.  On the contrary, they intensified!  I won't bore you with all of the details, but at some point, the Hub decided it was time to go to the hospital.  We called mom and the midwife on the way.  That 30 minute car ride was so incredibly intense - the contractions coupled with the bumps in the road were shaking my focus a bit and I was beginning to truly feel......dare I say it.........the dreaded "P" word.  (Those of us who are into hypnobirthing pretty much remove the word "pain" from our vocabulary.)  As we were nearing the hospital, I began to feel an urge to bear down. 

The Hubs and I walked together up to the L&D floor at about 7:00is pm where I was determined to be in labor (duh!) and at about 7ish cms dilated.  Woohoo!  At 8:14 pm Madelynn was gently brought earth side - right into her daddy's hands.  Yup, you heard it right: first baby - a little over 4 hour labor.  It was the most amazingly empowering experience of my life and I was immediately in love.

Today Madelynn is an incredibly smart, energetic, hilarious, and beautiful 5 year old.  She challenges me in ways I never knew possible and and brings me joy that I never knew existed.  I'll say again: I never knew love until I met that little girl.

So............happy birthday Madelynn!  Mommy and Daddy love you more than words could attempt to express! 

My Baby - My Hero

I say again, there is nothing so terrifying as when your baby is extremely sick;

• When you are rushing her to the ER at 3:30 AM;
• When they immediately get her to a room because her O2 sat is only 88%;
• When they are shoving tubes in her nose to deliver oxygen to her;
• When her blood is all over you from repeated attempts to start an IV;
• When the ER doctor says she is being admitted to the hospital;
• When the nurses call in a specialist for an assessment and he decides to admit her to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) for more intensive and closely supervised care;
• When you are watching her tiny chest struggling to rise and fall and thinking that the next breath might be her last.

My Isabella is my hero.

In the wee hours of Sunday, February 12^th, the Hubs and I made the decision to take Isabella to the ER because she had been struggling to breathe for several hours and “the fish” was no longer helping her.  She would pant and gasp and wheeze and her chest and stomach would sink and heave with each and every breath.  After arriving at the ER and discovering that her oxygen saturation was only 88%, she was immediately taken to a room where she was poked and prodded, given oxygen, taken for a chest x-ray, and, given an IV (or so we sort of thought).  Shortly thereafter the ER doc told us that her chest x-ray resembled RSV and bacterial pneumonia and her white blood cell count was sky high and so he was admitting her to the pediatric floor of the hospital.  Upon our arrival on the pediatric floor, the nurses discovered that Isabella’s IV was not functional and so it had to be pulled and started again, this time in her foot.  It wasn’t long before the nurses noticed her heart rate continuing to stay high, despite her being semi-asleep, because she was fighting so hard to breathe.  They decided to call in the Pediatric Pulmonologist, an" Intensivist", who reviewed her chart and x-rays and determined that she did not actually have pneumonia but rather inflammation in her lungs, “air trapping”, and likely a “reactive airway disease” i.e. asthma.  He recommended a relatively new treatment known as “heliox” where helium is combined with oxygen and mixed with albuterol to help open the airways.  This treatment would be a continuous flow for 4 hours and would need to be performed in the PICU.  Of course we gave our consent and we were whisked away and set up in a PICU room.  It was a heartwrenching thing to see my little sweet baby attached to so many wires and tubes, but still trying to smile.  She was so brave, so tough, so strong.

After one heliox treatment, it seemed things were improving.  Her lungs sounded more functional and she began to “perk” a bit.  About an hour later, however, she became very irritable and started pulling at the wires and tubes, thrashing, arching her back, and refusing a paci or bottle .  The respiratory therapist and nurse, upon listening to her lungs again, determined that she was likely having a bronchospasm, and so another 4 hour heliox treatment was started.  I was anxious and scared, wondering if my baby would ever be free from the tubes and wires helping her to breathe.  Still, she was so brave and strong, and soon she began to relax again; enough to be able to get a little sleep.

Long story short, the second heliox treatment did its job and Isabella’s lungs continued to move air well with a little help from nebulizer treatments every 2, then 3, then 4 hours.  Steroids, antibiotics, and fluids were being pumped in her tiny body via IV.  “Maintenance meds” typically used to prevent/treat asthma were being administered by inhaler.  I began to relax as she began to be more like herself.  I no longer feared she would die.  The nurses and respiratory therapists were amazing and I credit them – as well as my baby’s strength and courage – for saving her life!

We were discharged a few days later with prescriptions for prednisone (oh joy!), FloVent (the asthma maintenance med), Singluair (another asthma and allergy maintenance med), and albuterol for the nebulizer.  It hurts me to see such a tiny baby, not even a year old, on so many meds, especially the ones that scare her so to administer…………but then it is far better than seeing her struggle, hooked to all of the machines, fearing for her life. 

It actually hurts to write about this, the emotion and fear still so close at hand.  I can feel tears pricking the back of my eyes.  I was doing a load of her laundry the other day and came across the little footie pajamas that she was wearing when we rushed her to the ER.  It made me sick to my stomach – the flashback, the emotion, the fear!  I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put those pajamas on her again. 

You really never know your own strength until it is sorely tested……….but my baby is my hero.  She is amazing and I love her more than words could ever express.

Nerd Alert!!!

Here I sit, mere hours before the official DVD release of the movie “Breaking Dawn Part 1”, and I must sheepishly admit that I’m really excited.  I must also admit, however, that the feminist in me sort of cringes when I say that.  “Why” you ask?  What in the world does a silly vampire movie have to do with feminism – or anti feminism so to speak?  Well let’s discuss, shall we?

Feminism and the vampire novel have not traditionally been “friends”.  At the very crux of sexism in vampire literature is the standard of male vampire and human female – where the vampire is extremely powerful (virtually indestructible), intellectually superior, and so incredibly gorgeous that even the most strong and virtuous victim cannot resist.  If this isn’t a metaphor for male dominance I don’t know what is!  In the old Dracula stories, the female characters are faced with two equally unpleasant alternatives: abandon their initial quasi-independence and accept the status of “victim”, which the men (both supernatural and otherwise) impose upon them; or give in to the seduction of the vampire and gain power – BUT it is power which is represented as sexualized and evil.  In the modern vampire stories i.e. Twilight, human Bella can only choose between relying on vampire Edward or werewolf Jacob to save her from whatever horrible things are happening to her (or are caused by her very human, very female uber weak and clumsy self), or relying on Edward to “allow her” to become a vampire so that she too has access to the power.  And don’t even get me started on Edward's control of Bella's actions and restriction of her choices. Bella's sense of self is so dependent on Edward that his absence in the second book of the series, New Moon, causes her to enter a state of severe depression. Some Twilight critics have even labeled Edward's actions in the series emotional abuse which may be appropriate, but it is also an extension of an attitude towards women that is hardly new.

So why in the world would a “go women” type lady like me be so enthralled with vampire stories and particularly addicted to the Twilight series?  All of the above is not to say that vampire stories are inherently anti-feminist. The power dynamic of male vampire/female human is actually uniquely set up for the possibilities of rebellion and exploration of the nature of power in any male/female relationship. If it is a metaphor for male dominance then it is also a metaphor for the options for women to respond to the power inequity.  And what about Buffy the Vampire Slayer?  Yay!  Go human girl!  Buffy does not always succeed in her battles with vampires, but what is important is that the outcome is not predetermined - she will not inevitably give in to her male opponent's superior strength and power. By the end of the series, Buffy's slaying abilities develop to the point where her once threatening enemies are increasingly represented as annoyances rather than equal opponents.

Inevitably, “Twihards” like myself will point out that Bella has powers; she is a “shield”, meaning that her mind basically blocks any kind of telepathic interference – and that she pretty much saves the day at the end of the series. (Funny though how for most of the series she isn’t really aware of this power – she actually thinks something is wrong with her because Edward can’t hear her mind – and so of course she does not have the ability to choose to use this power until near the end.)

I could go on and on about anti feminism and feminism in vampire stories, particularly Twilight since I am so ridiculously hooked on it, but I fear this is already getting boring and turning into something like a term paper for a Women’s Studies class.  All in all, it is kind of humorous to me that I am such a “Twihard”.  I mean, really, I am 30 something and I have children and responsibilities........but maybe that is exactly why I love Twilight.  While the novels are far from literary masterpieces, I find it so easy to get lost in them, to escape reality, to remember what first all-encompassing love is like, to think back on being an awkward lonely teen who would have given it all to be strong, fast, beautiful – virtually indestructible.  Perhaps I can see a little of myself in Bella.  Perhaps I can’t.  Perhaps I want to – or not.  Well maybe. 

Until later......(((Hugs)))