Grandma and Grandpa Come to Town

Over the past couple of days, Grandma and Grandpa Sturm have been visiting. Even though it takes the ride to the restaurant and a few minutes into sitting at the table to warm up, we do love them visiting. After all, they bring us strawberries, treats us to mac ‘n cheese at Panera and take us to Eat ‘n Park for the salad bar (where, this time, we were introduced to the wonderful food called olives).

On this venture to Pittsburgh, we took Grandpa and Grandma to the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial which is in the midst of the campus for the University of Pittsburgh. We also drove up to Schenley Park to see a different view of the city. We went to Soergel’s, which is a farm where they grow apples, and berries, and have a nursery and all kinds of wonderful things like animals to pet, cider to taste and ice cream to eat.

At home, we played with our barn and animals with Grandpa and introduced Grandma to Amelia Bedelia picture books (which we love). We also showed off how fast a crawler we are and that we can walk (with help) and pull ourselves up very easily. Hopefully the next time we see Grandma and Grandpa, we will be running around by ourself!

At Schenley Park with the City in the distance. (This was taken the weekend before, but we drove up there with Grandma and Grandpa.)

Playing with our barn and animals with Grandpa.

Reading Amelia Bedelia with Grandma.

 On the tractor at Soergel’s.

Pregnancy #2

Can’t you tell I’m on my second pregnancy? Not nearly as many posts about it. I’m sure my few readers have no clue which week I’m on (finishing number 15 as we speak). And while there’s not much novelty to this one, it has been different. In some ways, very different.

The whole tired thing I’m not 100% sure is that different. For there is a big difference between being pregnant with no one but a grown husband to care for versus being pregnant with a grown husband and a toddler to care for. I can’t sleep in, I might manage a cat nap a few mornings a week because I insist Emry have “quiet time” in her crib with her books and stuffed animals for at least 45 minutes every morning and, while Emry mostly entertains herself, I feel like I am forever helping her clean up toys, feeding her a meal, changing a diaper or just picking her up because she’s stuck somewhere. So while I feel more tired, I can’t say I actually am.

Now the sick part I can honestly say is MUCH worse. I don’t get morning sickness. I didn’t with Emry, I don’t with this one. But I do get evening sickness. I suppose I shouldn’t complain much for I don’t throw up, or turn green, or have to give up eating. And by the evening, I can put Emry to bed and not have much to do. But I lay in bed nearly every night with an upset stomach, feeling miserable and sometimes wanting food to cease to exist. And it doesn’t matter what I eat, if I eat or when I eat. Nor does it apparently matter that my first trimester is supposed to be over. I am still sick.

I don’t have any cravings this pregnancy either. I mean, I do have one or two on occasion (usually French fries), but they pass and can be different. But there is one food I CAN’T STAND. Eggs. I feel sick…enough said.

I guess I might be getting bigger a little faster, but I’m not in maternity clothes yet and I might just be feeling bigger than I am because a couple of things don’t fit and I just feel out of sorts. I actually gained no weight between my first two doctor’s appointments. I’m sure I’ve gained now but while I’m already imagining 20 pounds, I know that’s not true at all. Looking at me, you can’t tell.

The conclusion of all this? “It’s a boy!” So says Ed. So says his mom. But I dare you to ask just about any mother who has more than three children, and I’m sure she’ll tell you the same thing: every one was different. This little orange-sized baby is not Emry. He (or she!) is himself. And that’s good. Even if it is sickly exhausting.

Emry Update

It has been a while since I’ve posted about Emry. Not because she hasn’t done anything new or isn’t learning something fun nearly every day. Mostly because I simply don’t take as many pictures, some of the things she is learning she would be better off never knowing (yes, she is a little sinner!) and a lot of things are mimicry of what she sees Ed and I do. Such as putting bags on her arm, or brushing her hair off her face when she’s tired, or shouting “Goodness!” when Ed surprised her the other day. (Yes, I use that word a little too often…)

But our little 16-month old is growing and changing even while she remains little and “behind”. I say that simply because she’s not walking on her own yet, although she has been walking as she holds onto things or with help for the past six weeks. She’s just taking her time, which I don’t especially mind. She gets into enough crawling. Not to mention the speed with which she can conquer a set of stairs. (Thankfully we have now learned to come down them again “feet first”.)

To prove that I actually do still take pictures (I try to get a few a week to text one to Aunt Grace in Kenya), here are a few of her newest feats:

This is how we like to “walk” – it always reminds me of Mowgli in The Jungle Book.

Picking out a prayer request. She’s allowed to pick a couple from the prayer box every night before bed – a task she loves to do.

Helping with the dishes. Because of lack of space, we use our dishwasher as our drying rack. She loves to “help” Ed put them in as they’re washed and “help” me put them away later.

At Raccoon Creek State Park. We weren’t sure what she would think of the water, but she let me help her walk right out into it up to her belly and then plopped right down. Except for a brief dunking when she tried to move too quickly, she sat there for over an hour splashing, digging in the sand and playing with the other kids. She loved it!

To Charlie

Today my baby sister is 23 years old. Twenty-three…

My memories of Abby (aka: Charlie) begin very vividly when our mom was pregnant with her. Abby was the most prayed for baby in our family for she wouldn’t stop turning flips in the womb. True to character, she didn’t care to do things like most babies. Head first? Why not feet first? (She did turn the right way before she was born.) I remember a late night spent in bed reading for hours while Dad rushed Mom to the hospital in severe pain. Not only was I left at home in charge of my sleeping siblings, but I could remember Christine…  I read (I could even tell you what book), prayed, listened, feared…until my parents came home. Mom had kidney stones (which she says is much worse than giving birth). Or how Abby got her name. “Father’s joy” seems like a wonderful meaning to a name – just be careful what you pair it with. “Renowned in battle” isn’t necessarily a meaning you want your child to attempt to live up to (as Abby does nearly every day of her life). Even if Louise was the last middle name of an aunt remaining…and even if it was fun for Jenny whose newest favorite book was Eat Your Peas, Louise!...I think I shall refrain from using it for my own children.

I’m sure my siblings and I ask ourselves every day how we even managed our lives prior to Abby telling us what to do. (Or maybe not…) For Abby has never been shy when offering advice. Finances, politics, how to bake a cake…it doesn’t really matter. She has an opinion. Of course, it’s pretty easy to completely turn the tables on Abby. She is way too fun to tease!

Abby’s motto growing up was, “If someone else will do it for you, why bother?” I have never seen anyone as capable of getting out of chores as Abby was. If she was paired with you to wash screens, weed the rocks or pick green beans; you had only to look around ten minutes later to discover she was no where to be seen – and you had finished the chore by yourself. She could always find someone to read to her. In our house, there was always an open lap ready to be backed into with book in hand. I don’t even know how many books I read to her during the long car rides to handbell performances. No wonder she struggled as she learned to read herself. As Mom discovered when she officially started Kindergarten, Abby’s motor skills left much to be desired. But why color when Caleb was always willing to and why cut pictures out when Jenny was as proficient as the Barber of Seville with a pair of scissors? Exactly.

From a very young age, Abby had her life planned out exactly as she wished. Dates, accomplishments – she probably had them written in some book. But we all know the end to the phrase “The best laid plans…”. Even though she started strong…well, I’m a planner myself. Perhaps not the “one-year, five-year, ten-year goal plan” type of planner, but I know a thing or two about putting things in order. And I find great comfort in doing so. Which is probably why God doesn’t always let me have my way. Nor has He Abby. And even though I know she wouldn’t exchange little Benny for anything…well, some changes God throws at us (often to get our wavering attention) are very difficult. Who knows what God now has for Abby’s future, but she will always be my baby sister. And I will always love her.

Happy Birthday, Charlie.

One More Things...

To say that anyone needs a vehicle would be stretching that meaning of that word just a bit. Especially in Pittsburgh. Unlike many major cities, Pittsburgh does not have a good tram/subway system. However, they have an excellent bus system. There are buses everywhere and they go just about anywhere you could imagine. Almost everybody uses them to get to work, or school, or even the store. I have not yet had the pleasure, but if I worked downtown I would certainly use them. Paying for parking downtown must cost a fortune…not to mention the headache of getting into Pittsburgh (where all roads either lead to a bridge – or five – and likely a tunnel). So, in Pittsburgh, you don’t need a vehicle.

But for our family, a vehicle is a necessity. There isn’t a bus that runs directly to Ed’s work (which is in another county), although I could take a bus to work since the move. A bus would get us to church and even to most of the stores we frequent. (Although, I don’t shop like a city girl – two weeks worth of groceries would not be fun to load onto a bus, even for our little family.) And this year we have certainly thrown our money’s worth at keeping our loan vehicle on the road.

It’s been one of those years where you weigh the value of the said high-mileage vehicle and wonder if it’s worth the money you’re tossing at it. On the other hand, a car loan certainly isn’t very desirable and we haven’t the cash on hand to buy a vehicle that would work for our growing family (especially when considering a necessary move before #2 arrives). So between clutch problems, car inspections, timing belts, rental cars so it can be in the shop and – the latest – four brand new tires…well, let’s just say I’ve shed my share of tears, we’ve had some heated discussions, I wonder why we have to have vehicles and every month I wonder yet again if God hasn’t just dropped me in this city and left me to fend for myself. Yes, the word frustrating doesn’t cut it.

But, yes, I know it could be worse. Accidents happen every day. I see at least two a week. One of us could be seriously hurt or worse. There are crazy drivers out there and, granted, none of us are the ever-watchful drivers we ought to be. At the end of the day, it is just a vehicle. And, at the end of the day, the money being thrown away on it also belongs to God. I guess if He thinks it’s better spent on a new timing belt than toward a new house…well, He has His reasons.

As usual, I just wish I understood.

Book Review

Janette Oke has been one of my favorite authors since I was eleven years old. Aside from those series of books we all read when we’re that age, her books lined up on my shelf were the start of my personal library. Over the last twenty-five years, I have read many different “Christian romance” authors – I still haven’t found one that can compare.

But, I will add, I don’t much care for the movies Hallmark produced that have been “based on” her books. As we all know “based on” is a loose phrase and I think “borrowed from” might be a better term – as in “borrowed the names of the characters and that’s about it”. For those who have never read her books, the movies might be fine. For those who have, I would say it’s safe to say that the movies are dismal.

So, I was not too thrilled to discover Mrs. Oke’s latest books are called by some “movie companions” to the newest Hallmark “based on” failure. (Which, I confess, I have not seen…but I loved Elizabeth Thatcher and especially the reliable, strong Wynn Delaney in the original “Canadian West” book series. “Based on” doesn’t cut it.) Mrs. Oke is a brilliant writer…had she succumbed to merely “movie companions” to guide her original works?

It took more than a little while to figure out the movies (and so the newest “Return to the Canadian West” trilogy of books) is not actually about Elizabeth Thatcher and Wynn Delaney (who appears no where) but Elizabeth’s niece Elizabeth, also called Beth. (As I said, “borrowed the names of the characters and that’s about it, totally confusing the matter”.) This is not made clear and for a long time I had little (to no) interest in reading a re-adaptation of a series I loved. But Janette Oke is Janette Oke…

Where Hope Prevails is the third and final installment of the “Return to the Canadian West” trilogy. And it proves to be Janette Oke at her finest. The characters are real, they have struggles, they triumph and they fail. The story of the second Beth Thatcher follows her through her engagement to Canadian Mountie Jarrick Thornton, but it is mostly a story of young woman’s struggles to love as God calls her to love, to be humble, to teach the children she loves and to learn to be the woman God has called her to be. While some people might think the characters are odd or even weak in their continued focus on God’s ways and what He would have them to be, isn’t that supposed to be how we strive as we live a Christian life? Mrs. Oke never lets that go, and that is why she shines.

So, if you are an old fan of Janette Oke, you will have to put aside your prejudices that the original Elizabeth Thatcher and Wynn Delaney cannot be improved upon and allow yourself to read yet another good story from a beloved author. You will not be disappointed.

This book was provided to me by Bethany House Publishers for review purposes only. To purchase: http://bakerpublishinggroup.com/books/where-hope-prevails/379060

A Monday to Remember

Like most human beings, I try to save my pride. I have to wonder why. It’s not like I don’t have enough of it with a great deal to spare. But I still find myself saying, “Well, at least I didn’t do THAT.”

Which, in this circumstance is one of the silliest things I could say. What I did do was bad enough. All I should be doing is thanking God it wasn’t worse, Emry is extremely good natured and I have neighbors who went above and beyond the call of duty.

I’ve been feeling so tired and not 100% myself with this pregnancy that I feel there simply isn’t enough time in the day to get it all done plus get caught up with the hundreds of little things I haven’t gotten done. After several naps this weekend, I felt that today would be the day I might catch up just a little…until I locked myself out of the house…with Emry inside.

Truth be told, it’s amazing I haven’t done it before. It’s rather a habit to lock the back doorknob when I exit. This time I was simply taking an armload of recyclables out to the bin. I was thinking more about the multiple things I needed to do when I got back inside, so I didn’t realize I had flipped the lock on the knob until I came back to the closed door and tried to get inside. It was lock shut…and I could see Emry happily sitting on the kitchen floor eating her snack.

Kuddos that I didn’t quite panic. But still…it’s one thing to lock yourself out of the house. It’s another to lock yourself out of the house at the same time you locked your 15 month old inside. I made my way around the house trying each window. But I’m too good about keeping at least one of the latches on each one locked. There was simply nothing else left to do: I went next door and asked the neighbors if I could borrow a phone.

Being way more introvert than extrovert, I’m not best friends with our neighbors, but I do know they are very good neighbors. He found a credit card in an attempt to unlock the door. (Apparently he is exceptionally good at that – in fact, he did it for her on their first date when she locked herself out of her apartment – but we have newer doors. Credit cards don’t work on them.) So, we checked all the windows again. The front door was a no go because I knew the dead bolt was locked. Our last attempt was the cellar door. He worked for a  good ten minutes with a block of wood wedging it up and another long piece  he maneuvered until the latch loosened. Sadly, I had forgotten: there’s a deadbolt on that one too.

Meanwhile, we were keeping an eye on Emry through the windows. She was as happy as could be playing peek-a-boo with us in the windows. It never crossed her mind that something was amiss. She just kept smiling and waving.

A good twenty minutes had now passed and we were out of luck. I had their phone, but while I thought I finally had Ed’s cell number memorized, I couldn’t recall the correct order of the first three digits for the life of me. So, my neighbor looked up the store number where he works and I was able to reach him. It was nearly an hour before he was supposed to be off, but my locking our toddler in the house was a good excuse to leave. He was home in 15 minutes. Emry was still as happy as could be. I was relieved, a bit embarrassed and more than a little frazzled at it all. I still am.

As you might imagine, I shall be very careful in the future. Not to mention I will be getting a spare key to hide. I could care less about locking myself out…but I never want to lock Emry in again!

Emry Can Scream, Can You?

One of Emry’s favorite books is Dr. Suess’s Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You? She loves sounds. She has loved sounds since she was a tiny little thing. She makes so many sounds, she challenges the idea that little boys make more sounds than little girls. Of course, she has a Papa who also loves sounds to help her out…

Emry can sound like the goats in her Little People barn: AAAHHHH! (And if you think we’re instructing our child in the wrong animal sounds, look up “Screaming Goats” on Youtube.)

Emry can sound like her Little People tractor: Ee-ii-ee-ii…. (Okay, so we’re having a little trouble with the “Oo” at the end of that song, but it works just as well to push it all over the house shouting/singing “Ee-ii-ee-ii!!!”)

Emry can sound like her piano: Roar! (Her toy piano also makes animal sounds, one of our favorite buttons being the lion.)

Emry can sound like a pig: La, la, la! (“No, no, you say, that’s not right…” Oh, good, you’ve read the book, too!)

Emry can sound like cicadas: Rrrbuzzrrrbuzzrrrbuzz

And it’s very, very hard to make a sound like that.

But thanks to Papa, they sit outside on the front porch these summer evenings and talk to the cicadas in the trees. It’s one of her favorite noises.

Generations

Today is my grandfather’s 83^rd birthday. The other day, I was looking for another picture when I came across this old picture of my first Christmas in December 1980. It’s of me and Grandpa. At the time, I’m the only grandchild. I was 10 months old and Grandpa would be 47 years old.  It was a long time ago:

The funny thing is the picture below. It is Emry’s first Christmas. Although not the first grandchild, she is the first granddaughter. She is 8 months old and my dad would be 61 years old:

I can hear my mother now, “That’s scary.”

Yeah…it is a little.

We live in a day and age when we capture almost everything on camera. Mostly because we have them on our cell phones which are in our pockets. Emry is only 15 months old, but she already knows she can look at my phone or Ed’s phone and find a myriad of pictures of herself. Enough pictures to fill my first photo album which runs from the time I was born until I was five. More pictures than Ed has of his entire life put together. She lives in a very different world.

But her grandparents have even less pictures…her great-grandparents less than that…and I might have one or two pictures of each of her great-great grandparents. While my family might have some photographs of the generation previous to that, that’s about as far back as it goes – and none of those pictures are of Great Great Grandfather William as a baby. All of I know of them are snippets of stories passed down, names and dates in a genealogy. You don’t have to go back far to loose who these people are.

It would be nice to say that Emry’s great-great grandkids will have a myriad of pictures of her, but the world this present generation captures on their phones is a fleeting as the world when cameras didn’t exist. Those moments will be lost in cyberspace somewhere. Many of them already are. No one will remember. And Emry will be a name and date in someone’s genealogy.

I love history. I love looking over the names and dates of my genealogy and wondering whom those people were. Sometimes I wish at least one of them had been someone really important whose letters and writings were preserved for generations – someone you could actually know. Those thoughts remind me yet again that I should write things down. I should write down the stories I’ve heard of my ancestors (no matter how distorted they might have become in the passing of them, there is some truth to them). Perhaps then future generations will have more than names and dates to look at – unless they decide Grandma Melissa’s ramblings take up too much byte space and need to be deleted. But I suppose that’s the risk every generation takes, attempting to pass on something worthwhile to the future…a risk I think would be worth taking.