1,000!!!!

What have you done a 1,000 times? Have you brushed your teeth? (Let’s hope so.)  Have you done that many loads of laundry? (Likely…or, at least, your mother has for you.)  Practiced your letters in cursive? (It certainly felt like that in school.) Have you accumulated that many books? (I have – wish I had 1,000 more!) Run that many miles? (Some of us have…many of us never will.) Moved that many times? (Okay, even I haven’t done that, but I can guarantee I have packed and unpacked well over that many boxes.) Posted that many blog posts? YEP!!!!

For this is my 1,000^th blog post. 1,000. Over ten years (since January 2006) of birthdays, Christmases, summers (and winters) at camp, moves, books read, friends, family, the darkest valleys of my life and the intermixed joys and now even a little girl peeping over the bed at me as I type this. 1,000 memories.

For in a lot of ways, as I flipped through the binders that hold these blog posts, that’s what they are: memories. Memories of Allyson’s kids just born, learning to walk and talk, now running all over the place and reading books to me. Memories of my siblings as they celebrated birthday after birthday until they’ve all reached adulthood and I wonder where the time has gone. Different places I lived, people I’ve met on my journeys, locking keys in my car and seeing God’s protection in everyday life. Some things I don’t need to be reminded of – valleys that have made me who I am, mountains I thought I’d never see the top of (only to realize there’s a higher one beyond to still climb!). If 11 years of life can be summarized in 1,000 blog posts then my life is thus.

 I’ve pondered for weeks what exactly should be said at this moment of achievement. Lessons I’ve learned? Things I’ve laughed at reading them again? Sorrows that still hurt? I guess a lot could be said. But if the past 11 years have taught me anything it is this: God never changes. Ups, downs, clarity, confusion. Laughs, cries, peace, restlessness. It has all come and gone. And it will again. But through every single moment of it, this I learned and know: GOD NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER CHANGES.

Amen.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

To Daniel

To put it in 21^st century terms, the birth of my brother on this day 30 years ago completely screwed my life. In 1986 that was not a term used unless you were actually talking about putting a screw through something. But when you think about how a screw is twisted hard into whatever it’s intended to hold, that’s a pretty accurate description. Having a brother hurt.

If I was to see a psychologist, I’m sure there would be some “shrinky” words to use for how messed up I am from having a brother. But I’m also sure such words can be used for any of us who have siblings – brother or sister, older or younger. Siblings will do that to you – and I have seven of them!

But having a brother was different than having a sister. And 30 years ago, my life changed in ways I wouldn’t realize until I was much older. It would be easy to say that 75% of those ways were bad, but that’s to take what God sovereignly gives us in life and throw it back it back in His face as if He didn’t know what He was doing. God gave me a brother. I can either be bitter about it, or I can accept the many lessons that come with a brother – some I’ve learned, others I’m still sludging through.

Anyone who tells you there isn’t a difference between boys and girls either has their head in the sand or is avoiding the obvious. There was a world of difference between having my sister and having my brother. Even if Katey and I did love to go out and play Swiss Family Robinson, the following day we played house with our dolls. I never played house with Daniel. Or school. Or library. Nor was he in the midst of my sisters as they played switch-board operator or orphanage. In truth, I didn’t play a lot with Daniel. We couldn’t settle on the same games.

So while I didn’t have a lot of play time with my brother, I will give credit where credit is due. Surrounded by sisters (two older and four younger), I don’t even want to know how many times he had to suffer through girly movies, or lost the vote on where we were going, or was generally lost in the midst of our voices. It honestly couldn’t have been easy. No wonder he joined the Marines.

Today, it’s hard to believe the little baby boy I visited in the hospital is 30 years old. The little boy that loved big trucks, could get a crowd of adults to play tag and was generally a pest (like little brothers should be) is 30 years old. Lots of memories. Lots of regrets. Lord willing, the next 30 years will be better.

Happy Birthday, Daniel.

Moving

If there is one thing I know how to do it’s move. I mean, I have done it 17 times. But this is the first time I’m moving an office.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I once moved from one office space to another across the hall. That was a very tiny office, though, and 50% of what we moved were books. It’s fairly easy to move a stack of books from one shelf to another.

This move that will take place in less than two weeks is a whole different ballgame. For one, the place I work has been in that office area for 17 years. Let me repeat that. 17 years. Except for breathe, I’m not sure there are a lot of things I’ve done for 17 whole years. I won’t even begin to describe all the obsolete computer cords, CDs, paperwork or drawings (it is a landscape architecture firm – LOTS of drawings) you can accumulate over 17 years. Even I am a bit astounded.

The purpose of the move is multi-faceted. Suffice to say, a merger between two firms is suppose to occur January 1. We lost the toss on who got to move to who’s office space (probably because we rent while they own the building they’re in). So on top of the move, I have a ton on my desk pertaining to merging companies. But health insurance, 401(k)s, company insurance, taxes (and there are a TON in the city of Pittsburgh) and benefits have been set on the back burner while I focus on moving. The first goal, after all, is simply to get us there.

Which is easier said than done. I’m way behind as far as I can tell. Part of it is because I can’t simply start tossing things in a huge trash bin as I feel like it. And Missy, my boss and the owner of the company, all but freezes up when cornered to start going through stuff that really needs to be tossed. Reality is going to have to be faced within the next few days. Meanwhile she sits at her table and draws plans for a residential yard. Planting plans are much easier to deal with than tossing old drawings – at least in her mind.

I simply plow ahead with what I know must be done. File cabinets must be sorted. Things we’re getting rid of must be listed on craigslist. Books and pictures must be packed. And while I can’t say I’m getting very far, I will promise this: on July 29 that office will be packed and ready for the movers on July 30. It might take all day and night, but I swear it will be done. I’ve never missed a moving date, and I don’t plan to start now.

Teething

Emry has been sick but once in her 15-month life span. That included a fever and slight rash for a couple of days. She’s never had a cold, runny nose or any other ailment I have been able to deduce…until Tuesday.

When Ed arrived home, he picked her up and remarked that she felt a bit warm. Since we had just been standing outside in the very warm sun for a few minutes, we didn’t think a lot about it. But he called me at work about an hour later and asked where the syringe for the Tylenol was. The fever was mild, but it hadn’t gone down.

That evening, our little girl was not our happy, busy little peanut she typically is. She just wanted to sit in our laps, sucking her two fingers. Since she was still running a temperature, I gave her some more Tylenol before bed. Like her mama, she moans and whines in her sleep when she isn’t feeling well. I checked her several times that night and she slept until about 6:30 when she joined me in bed to just lay there, fingers in her mouth watching the fan until about an hour later. By then, she wasn’t warm anymore but she still wasn’t quite herself. She didn’t eat her typical hearty breakfast (she eats more than I do in the morning!), she wasn’t as lively and she was drooling more than she ever has in her whole life. I was pretty sure by then a new tooth or two were starting to make their way in.

Emry teeths SLOW. I mean, her gums will swell up for four or five weeks before the very edges of her little teeth just poke through the surface. Slowly, they’ll push their way into place. All four have been this way and they don’t seem to have particularly bothered her. I kind of expected these to be the same and her fever would soon disappear leaving behind swollen gums for the next month. By the time I left for work, though, she was feverish again and cranky.

Ed gave her some Tylenol and then put her down for a nap once the medication made her listless. Not quite an hour later, she woke up screaming. That is not at all like her, so Ed rushed to see what the matter was. She fought him as he tried to change her diapers. She didn’t want to be held or walked around, but she also didn’t want to be put on the floor. She didn’t want to play, or read, or be distracted. She crawled back and forth on the couch, stopping to roll onto her back and just cry. Ed said she looked like a little zombie, eyes glazed over and crying more in frustration at crying than in pain. About a half hour later, it was over. She was tired, but content again.

That evening as she happily feasted on spaghetti noodles, I happened to get a glance into her mouth and there it was: a tooth – the left incisor on her top, halfway in and ready for use. It certainly had not been there a few hours ago. My best guess is, it cut through and pushed into place in one painful half hour.

Now Emry is as happy as a lark again. No fever, no pain, no listlessness. She’s happily playing with her blocks as I type this and then we’ll go for a run. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t remember a thing about the appearance of her newest tooth. I just hope the others don’t come in the same way!

Grandpa and Grandma Visit!

This past week, my parents came to Pittsburgh to visit. We haven’t seen them since Christmas, so Emry has changed a lot and had a whole lot of new things to show them…once she warmed up.

She was not happy when Grandma climbed into the backseat of the car with her. She cried. But once she was happily munching on tortilla chips at the restaurant, she didn’t mind Grandma sitting next to her. After dinner, Emry was introduced to a pool for the first time. At first, she wasn’t sure what to think of the biggest bathtub she had ever seen in her life. (Since it was an indoor pool, it was a bit like that…) Again, she adjusted to her new surroundings and was soon happily kicking and swimming with Grandma, and splashing with Grandpa.

The next day was another adventure: the zoo. It was also my first time at the Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium, which was very nice (plus it was a lovely day to be out). Emry loves animals, so she was happy to be introduced to goats, kangaroos, monkeys and elephants in real life. I think her favorite was the aquarium, though. She loves to watch fish and here were fish much larger than her swimming about in huge in tanks. She liked the sharks (which I personally thought were creepy), turtles, penguins and all the various colors, sizes and shapes of the fish.

That evening, Grandma and Grandpa babysat while Ed and I went out. They took her over to a popular local restaurant (Eat ‘n Park) for the salad bar. They said I should have warned them how much Emry likes strawberries. I think she ate every single one they had. It is rather amazing to see how many such a little body can put away!

By the time my parents left on Sunday afternoon, Emry was quite happy with her grandparents. After all, it is two more people to play with who pay attention to her and laugh and clap at all her antics. When you’re that age, who doesn’t love an audience? And my parents enjoyed spending a few days with their only granddaughter. We can’t wait to see them again in September!

Emry petting the goat – she wasn’t at all shy.

Emry sitting on the bronze turtle at the zoo.

Showing Grandma and Grandpa our scrapbook.

Accelerated Learning

This past week, Emry has been on the fast track of growing up. As Ed reminded me last night, I kept saying the day would come when she would get up on those feet and run off without fair warning. That day is fast approaching.

About a week ago, I was in the kitchen getting dinner prepped and Emry was outside the kitchen door playing. I got a bit distracted and left her to her own devices a bit longer than 30 seconds before I stepped over just to see what she was up to. Up was right…up two of the steps she had climbed and was happily sitting there playing the mulch. A few days later, it wasn’t just two steps she scurried up. She climbed all six, crawled to the next one and up she went, crawled to the next one and up she went, and then crawled to the four that lead up to where the car is parked. Up those she went, too, and only stopped when I wouldn’t let her crawl out into the alley.

I woke up a few mornings ago to find her standing in her crib waiting for me. Now she pulls up on anything. We finally got her her first pair of good shoes this week, thinking that might encourage her to flatten her feet when she’s up on them. We were too late. She doesn’t need her new shoes to walk across the house with help. She’s hilarious to watch for at first she would drag her feet across the carpet. So Ed exaggerated picking up his feet and marching across the room. Ever wanting to please Papa, that is how she walks – picking up her knees high and then putting her feet down. Either she’s going to have great abs or she’s practicing for her future in a marching band.

I’m pretty sure that by the end of this month, I’ll be chasing a little girl around as she runs wherever she pleases. And while I’m glad she’s learning to walk, I wish she had waited a couple more months until after my first trimester. I’m exhausted enough every day without chasing a 15 month old around!

Happy 4th!

And with the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our Sacred Honor.  – last line of the Declaration of Independence

And they did. Nine of the fifty-six signers of the Declaration of Independence would give their lives for the signature they placed on that document. Seventeen would sacrifice their fortunes, loaning all their money to see the United States through a war and never seeing a penny of it returned. Men of fortune at the start of the war, they would die in poverty…but their nation would prosper.

Many of these men had their houses burned down by the British. They often had to flee for their lives, leaving behind wives and children they would never see again. They knew they could be arrested at any moment and hung for treason, yet not one of them ever regretted the signature they placed on that document. Ever.

These men weren’t soldiers. And though they probably wouldn’t call themselves politicians, that’s the job they were doing when they signed that document. But to them there was no difference. They were fighting for freedom – and any price was worth the cost.

Thank you.

Happy 240^th Birthday, America!