Sorrrryyyy, Momma

Anyone else had a few days like this?


"You can't hide from God things," Jack negotiates a mouthful of oatmeal, "Yeah, because He knows what you have done." With a pause and a swallow, "He sees it INSIDE you."

Morning light shines across our table as the boy shovels in more gruel. Inside of me. I probably look all scribbled green. Green and no guile. I suppose like Lulie I'm pigtails and green tummy to God. And sorrrryyyy. Most days I still can't believe he forgives me over and over and OVER for all my faults. For not being perfect. I'm not perfect. I sigh.

The morning settles around us in breakfast bowls and puddles of milk. And as grace swoops down, I breathe in the slow moments. Children chatter, one helps Lulie scoop bites. Even as I sigh, I long to obey this God. He forgives me.

Poor Baby

Poor baby. Croup blossomed into a drippy soggy wheezing cold. Cough. Fever. Lethargic eyes half open. She laid on the couch for four days until we hauled in to the doctor. Something just didn't seem right.

As it turns out, the human ear can hold an ENORMOUS amount of wax. After a five minute excavation per ear we uncovered double ear infections. (And I mean EXCAVATION. I was seriously FLOORED. One piece was a half inch long!)

In any case, praise the LORD for Motrin and antibiotics. Lulie's like a brand-new girl.


*** Oh, and THANK-YOU for all your name suggestions! I have a feeling we will be taking our list to the hospital, so seriously, keep 'em coming. :)

Croup

Croup stinks. After two LONG nights I think we're finally over the worst of it.

And just to make my sweet mother smile, you'll be glad to know that Lulu successfully used and flushed all the rest of our Kleenex. To her credit she is now holding the box saying, "Bad, bad, BAD. Dat naughty." This is after wetting down her head with the cold air humidifier. Think she's feeling better?

Ok. Another day.
:)

Mordecai

"Here, just reach out your golden septor when you want someone to come." Jane grabs an old pink hanger out of Jack's hands, and points it at Lulie, "See, like this. You can come now Lulie." Lucy grins and barrels up onto the hearth, a pile of royal pillows and blankies.

"I wanna be Queen Esther," Jack says.

"You can't."

"I wanna be Esther!"

After a spell of yelling and haranguing on the pink hanger Jane settles the matter, "You can't. It's like how I can have babies and you can't."

"Because she's a girl and you're a boy," I call from the kitchen.

Jane raises her eyebrows, "It's like that. It doesn't really make sense."

"Oh, ok." Jack plays Mordecai.

Sunglasses

Dilated pupils do have benefits.






Momma and Dad buy you SUNGLASSES!






Think she likes them? They'll be dilated for six weeks.





Now, tomorrow we get a contact lens and this precious eye will be fully operational. Hard to believe it's totally blind right now!





Patching will be a breeze after this!

***

Jack grabs Lulie's hands, "Are you singing for joy for me, Lulie?" She giggles. He off. She sings a jumble of ABC's and runs after him.

The world is still simple.

The OR

"Jesus love me, this I know," I sing the words.

A nurse with white skin and pink cheeks administers sleeping gas. It's a mask, but Lucy doesn't mind. Her eyes flutter. She waves an arm. I hold her small pudgy hand and lean close. "Yes, Jesus loves me - - yes," the chorus encircles us. She's asleep and still I sing out the last words.

So many blue gowns and each one waits. And still I sing. All the perfection of a surgeon's team, the intersection of man and science, microscopes and scalpels that make 1mm incisions, precision, and still, they wait for my song's end. An unexpected reverence.

"Can I kiss her cheek?"

"Yes, you may."

Another nurse whisks me away. I feel as though we walk on water.

Post-Op

Before surgery.





Waiting to leave.





Relatively un-phased by the whole thing.





Sweetie.




Waking up. Slow. Post-op.




Ready for food again.


{Sigh} Thank-you, LORD!

First thing, our surgeon said the cataract was much bigger than expected once he opened the eye. It's amazing she could see so well. The Lord is good. Thank-you for your love and prayers. Now contacts and patching and grace. Day by day. Thanks.

Surgery

So, it's a go.

Tomorrow. Wednesday.

Check-in 7:15 am. Surgery 9:00.





Would ya'll mind praying?





Lord, if you are willing, I know you can heal me.





A grand request.

A grand God.





Here we go.

Change of Plans

The surgeon's office called. His favorite assistant for cataract removal is GONE this Wednesday. Sooo, surgery is canceled. We're waiting a week. Now, the big day is January 20. Don't you just love a surgeon who makes everything perfect for a delicate procedure? AND, turns out he performs this particular surgery almost every week. A practiced hand, what a gift.

So, what sort of questions should I make sure to ask before the big day? I feel like I should know, but haven't got a clue. I guess there are the obvious, like when she can last eat or drink, but other than that I sort of floundering. Any friendly advice?

A Little Glob of Love

It's a tumult in the bathroom. Pudgy feet pad down the hallway, and Lulie rounds the corner. Someone said, "Toothpaste," and Lucy's on a dead-run. Half-pajama-clad, she's shouting, "Me! Me!" In the bathroom Jack's usually on the counter dispensing water. Janie polices various toothpaste tubes; miscellaneous clothes scatter the floor. A squashed toilet paper roll is discarded in the corner.

Jane grins at Lulie, "Oh, you're coming in joy," she says. And in a moment of Biblical theater she exclaims, "Your faith has made you well. Here let's put more yummies on." Lulie's toothbrush is only partly saturated in spit, but she beams as Jane plops a generous blob of paste right on top.

Lunch. With. Company.

Ok. It's a lovely lunch, company and all seated around the table. Everyone visits, nibbles peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Smiles, laughes, no one careening off the bench. Lulie leans over and kisses my shoulder, little sweetie. She grins, hands behind her back. I mean who wouldn't soak up the attention? Then in a stoke of one-year-old genius, she decides to really impress everyone. I glance down just in time to see pudgy little hands now showing the whole table a handful of poo. Yeah, poo. Company. at. the. table. How long does this stage last?

Lulie's New Tricks

Pouty lip.




Tidy nose. (Also doubles as, "Shhhh.")




Little sack of sugar.

Lulie

Little sweet. We've patched 6 hours a day for months now. A few weeks and we head for another check. May the Lord bless our trip.






Thanks for your prayers.

Open Wide

"Go wash your hands with SOAP, Jack. Daddy said that WAS poop." Thankfully, picture and quote happened on different days. However, given his soft spot for Lulie we're all singing yippie-yahoo that no one is sick. We seem to have a theme lately on bowels and other grossness. I am getting a little de-sensitized.

On a lighter note, my life is filled with unending sweetness: Jack measures Lulie's pudgy baby arms with salad tongs. He pulls back a living room-sized bed for her and Jane. Janie declares she's, "Just feeling sort of gentle," and needs a Momma-date to Starbucks. The odd kaleidoscope swaddles me up, a corset of love.

Patching

I found one of Janie's babies faithfully patching away. Do you think this counts for double time?

Okay, I had to put a silly picture up so I wouldn't feel so glum. Lucy's cataract eye is lagging behind. {Sigh} It's not A LOT, just an octave. It's actually called an octave. That is, Lucy could decipher a certain interval of finer detail with the strong eye. In this case, an octave. Maybe it's just a fluke. Then again, maybe it will lag more next time... or less.

In any case, it's on to patching for six hours a day on into November. {Sigh} I shouldn't feel sad. She's happy and healthy and spirited. Just wasn't really what I expected. Maybe it will be fodder for something extraordinary.

Eye Exam

Tomorrow: Children's Hospital. Some of our country's best doctors continue to monitor and document Lucy's vision development. We thank the Lord for His provision. Please pray for favorable results on the vision test.

It's a little too quiet and ...

...the living room transforms into castles of laundry and a wicker turret. Jack and Lulie, wedged in a crunching basket stare intently at something: the strainer-ball, the one for brewing Christmas punch. Lulie waits. No one moves. The script obviously doesn't include Momma. Jack chinks open the tea-ball and offers Lulie contraband: Quaker Oatmeal Squares. A dilapidated cereal sleeve is mostly empty on the floor. Janie patrols strictly enforcing The Sharing Rule.

A few days later, Daddy finds more cereal rifled through the laundry. Momma's sweet on him for tossing in a laundry load.

Babylegs

Side Note: For everyone wanting more on the Africa story hop onto my momma's photo journal.

Click HERE to meet the people in my last post.

Click HERE for a day in the hospital.


:: :: :: :: :: ::

And in the spirit of pure sweetness, I present Babylegs.

That's right legwarmers are BACK!

Only a few short months ago my friend Heather tried to tell me, and now...























I'm convinced! (Incidentally, Heather writes a blog with an awesome title. Check it out HERE.)
























So, dress insensibly summer. Slap on polka-dot leggies and you're groovin' 'til lunch. Then in the noonday sun pull 'em off and soak it up!

















I think we've only made six or eight pairs...so far. For you bargain hunters, it's clearance season on women's knee high socks. Check out a great tutorial HERE to turn socks into legwarmers. Thanks, Cerissa! Your little Jude looks rockin' in them.
























Think Lulu likes them?!

HOME

So he stepped off the plane whole and handsome.

And HOME.































































































































































































More to come.

Love you ALL.

~Bethany

Firsts

Well, I'm sorry to say Daddy is missing a few firsts while away in Kenya. {Sigh} Like today, Lucy's first PUKE. A shame I know. Isn't this the sort of thing we should all be enjoying together? :) Alright, I know him immersed in the underbelly of human suffering has to count for something, but still I hate to hog the fun here at home. :) A few days ago Janie may have said it best, "I'm so happy I just want to grind my teeth." Ha-ha. Grinding away!

Which brings me to a very sincere THANK-YOU for all your prayers. Really, it's not so bad after all.

Putting things in perspective, this next day Craig will be visiting a Kenyan infant orphanage. By comparison, what a fabulous burden: my no longer puking baby.