Operation: Grow Hair! (an update!)

Operation: Grow Hair Update!




not too shaby considering I've only been officially growing it out since mid December! woo woo!

Fear of Vacuums, Fear of Flight.

In just a few short days, our little family will be packing up and driving to California for our friend Cameron's wedding. Chris has already got the route mapped out and the itinerary planned and the hotels booked for our stops along the way. I have contributed to the trip by spending too much time perusing cheap, used Disney DVDs on Amazon.com- but never committing to buy any of them.

I'm sure the trip will be fine, and Ezra will be a trooper the whole way again, but this time? We're doing all the driving in TWO DAYS instead of three like we did last time. That's about 12 hours of driving each day. Oh, and by the way, have I ever mentioned here that we have a child? A toddler child? A toddler child who likes being strapped into his car seat about as much as he likes vacuum cleaners?

Confession: I have only vacuumed my house a handful of times since we've moved in. Ezra seems to think that the vacuum cleaner is a loud villainous monster whose sole purpose in life is to eat off his toes. I tried to vacuum while he slept, but it woke him up. I tried to put up the baby gate and vacuum really quickly, but he cried so hard he turned purple. So... the only time to practically vacuum is when Ezra is with Chris somewhere, but- let's face it... the last thing I'm going to do with my alone time is VACUUM. I'd much rather spend that time soaking in the tub or watching 'The Emperor's New Groove'.



Anywho, we will be on the road starting this upcoming Tuesday. We'll be gone about a week total. I'm aware that this is a quick trip considering four of the days will be spent driving, but it's much cheaper than flying the three of us anywhere, and Chris really enjoys driving long distances, so there you go. Besides, Chris and I aren't the best flyers in the world. We kind of hate it. Maybe it was from that one flight into San Luis where there was a broken air seal or something on the cabin door which caused a high pitched squealing noise the entire way- and also caused the stewardess to look like she had all but resigned herself to death as she whispered frantically into the phone on the wall and jiggled the door from time to time. That was....um, relaxing.

Or maybe it was the flight into Reno recently that turned us off from air travel. The one where the turbulence was so bad that I was forced to squeeze Chris' arm and yell, "I need help! I need help! I need help!", while the lady on his opposite side was grabbing his other arm and begging him to "make it stop! make it stop! make it stop!!"

The second I stepped off that airplane, all I could think of doing was chugging a bottle of vodka and NEVER FLYING ANYWHERE EVER AGAIN.

So, yeah! We're driving! Because somehow two days of car discomfort is much more appealing than 3 hours of plane discomfort! At least in the car there won't be any panic-stricken stewardesses. Unless you count me, of course. I'll be the one blurting out frantic driving tips and nervously tapping my foot a million miles an hour under the dash.

My poor husband...

Dance Where You're Planted.

He sways. He gets that look frozen on his little face that is a goofy half smile with the far-away eyes. He shifts his weight back and forth, back and forth as the music plays. Somewhat timid, somewhat shy... exploring movement to sounds. This is new for him, this dancing. Before, when music would play, he would seem uninterested at best- he would plug his ears and whine more likely. But now, now he is a dancing fool. In the car, at home, in the store. Always the same sway and the same look on his face. And I just can't help but laugh and giggle with him and sway along too. I'm teaching him to pump his arms and incorporate twirling into his routine. And we always end by touching our toes. Because why not? There is something POWERFUL in dancing. Something that breaks loose, something that breaks free every time you do it. I love that he is learning, exploring. I love that I am relearning too.

At church on Sunday, there was much dancing. The children started it- gathered in the empty space in the middle of all the chairs. Others joined in. A quick movement to my left, and then there was my husband- dancing his heart out in the space in front of my chair. And I just couldn't stop crying because it was like watching something so profound and amazing that I couldn't fit it all in. It was like seeing him shed some old skin before my very eyes.

I want to dance through life... in and out and between the way things "should" go. I want to be where my dreams will come true- even if it's not beautiful or glamorous or by an ocean. I think often it is good to move and break free and grow your own roots somewhere new. It's healthy. But it should never be a quick fix or a bandaid for some underlying emptiness. Because, at the end of this life, it won't make a heap of difference where I lived, but how I lived and what I did with the short time I was given.

So, for now, I'm dancing here- in my little house in Oklahoma City. I never thought I would live here, but about three years ago I made a promise that I would never hold on to a place tighter than I would hold onto my calling, my dreams. You can have your ocean! I am meant to be here- learning to write and love and pour myself out. I am able to stay home with my son, I am able to watch him learn to dance to cheesy grocery store music in the middle of the afternoon. I am able to demonstrate a life that blooms no matter where it's planted... that doesn't allow a place to dictate one iota of my happiness or sense of satisfaction. I want my son to see me this way.

All the days of my life.

Big Boy Bed.

On Sunday, after dropping my sister-in-law and her husband off at the airport, Chris and I decided to tackle the toddler bed purchase before heading back home. We stopped at some furniture places, but they didn't sell toddler beds, so we headed up to Toys R Us. On Toys R Us's website, I had seen this bed, and really liked it, but of course the store didn't have any and it wasn't available online, so we weren't able to get it. Instead, we ended up buying one they had in stock at the store, and it was actually less than HALF of the price of the other one. Can't complain about that!

We loaded the bed up in the car and hopped over to Target to try and find some bedding. I knew I wanted something cute and modern, but after the dismal selection of SCREAMING PRIMARY COLORED CARTOON MEMORABILIA BEDDING! they had at Toys R Us, I was doubtful if I'd find anything like what I was looking for at a store. (Or at least, a store I could afford.) I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I'd probably have to make my own bedding when we pulled into the parking lot at Target, but within minutes, I had found the cutest bedding in the whole wide world and I was so excited that I snatched it all up like a greedy, hungry seagull and swooped to the checkout line before anyone could accost me and steal my treasure. I got the last sheet, the last pillow, the last blanket they had in stock. I feel that if I had been a minute or two later, I may have missed out because the store was all but swarming with extremely pregnant ladies and their husbands- and they were all perusing the bedding isle with that same desperate look I had come in with- the one that says, "I refuse to plaster my kid's room in Pixar crap, so getouttamyway."... It was my lucky day.

We got home and set up the bed, and I was surprisingly emotionless as we took apart the crib my baby had slept in since DAY ONE... the one that made him look so tiny at first- a little peanut lost in a big shoe box with bars. I thought I would be all sad and unable to stop saying how big Ezra was getting over and over again, but I didn't really feel any of that. Maybe it was because I was anxious to see how Ezra would handle the transition and wasn't thinking about much else, or maybe it was because I am pretty much ready to let the baby phase of his life go as I try to grapple with the new... the talking (or complete lack thereof grrr), the potty training, the socializing...

I was worried it would be a long night of me placing Ezra back into bed time after time until he finally fell asleep, but of course I was entirely wrong. Chris read him some books and rocked him and sang to him, just like every other night, and then he gently placed him in his big boy bed. Without a peep, Ezra drifted off to sleep clinging to the side of his new freedom- with one leg dangling over the edge for good measure. He slept that way all night, and then in the morning, instead of bounding out of bed as I'd expected, he sat up and cried until I went into his room and got him. The next morning, I thought I'd let him cry a little longer in there until he figured out he could get out of bed ON HIS OWN, but instead he just cried longer. Until I went and got him. I'm thinking tomorrow morning, I'll leave a little fruit snack trail for him to try and coax him out of bed all on his own.

He's such a good boy.



green and brown mod elephants! Does this come in a queen size?

Not Dead.

I'm alive! I'm alive! For a couple of days there, things didn't look so good... but now I am better! And upright! And able to stay awake for more than 1 hour at a time!

I'm sorry for the lack of posts, but I haven't been that ill in a really long time. I am so lucky, though, to have had a house full of people to care for me and care for Ezra as I lay in bed whimpering like a dying mouse. The timing of my sister-in-law and her husband's visit worked out suuuper for me, but for them? Their "vacation" consisted of much sitting around my house and watching many hours of Beauty and the Beast due to the fact that Ezra has figured out how to insert tapes into the VCR and then turn on the television and then press play. And then rewind them. And then start all over again. Sooo...lots of Beauty and the Beast the last few days... I think we need a lock for our TV hutch, or at least a very high shelf upon which I could place the likes of 'Cars', 'The Lion King', and 'Beauty and The Beast'.

I know every word to all of these movies now, and that's just not a skill I ever planned on possessing as a 24 year old woman, you know? Who am I to say, though? Perhaps it will come in handy one day... maybe I will be on a game show many many years from now, and they will ask some question about the cause of Pumba's banishment from his zoological peers and I will be able to look directly into the camera and say "FLATULENCE!", winning 30 million dollars instantly and a space cruise to Mars. (this is totally going to happen, just watch.)

Other than that, not much has happened around these parts. Chris and I are going to buy Ezra a new toddler bed sometime in the next couple of days, so I am hoping that the transition will be an easy one and that Ezra won't use this new found freedom to sneak into the kitchen late at night and eat all my Double-Stuff Cool Mint Oreos. Although, knowing this kid, we will probably wake up and find him straightening his toys out in the living room so that they all line up perfectly with the lines in the hardwood floor.

I'll keep you posted.

Peaks and Valleys.

Hello!

Update!

The world was just about to start back up after coming to a screeching halt due to COUGHY GOOEY FEVER BUG! We were this close! There was light at the end of the tunnel! And then? Oh, Then??

I caught it.

*cough cough*

I candt beethe thoo my nose. I'm so ache-y that even my hair hurts.

Yarg.

I finally took Ezra to the doctor a couple of days ago because his fever just wasn't going away, and they were kind enough to 'fit me in' at 3:45 that afternoon. After what seemed like an eternity of walking back and forth in a stuffy waiting room with a crying toddler, the doctor was able to see me. It was 5:20. They had shut off all the lights in the waiting room and tucked me away in an exam room in the back of the building so that my pediatrician could breeze through and tell me to just "keep my eye on it". Um... what do you think I've been doing these past few days? It's hard not to 'keep an eye' on the child that's been clinging to my neck like a baby orangutang for the past week.

Ezra started to feel much much better the next day. (Was that yesterday? I'm in a time haze. Is it Monday? Friday? January?) He's back to his old self now- full of energy! Boundless energy! He's up! Just in time for me to be down. Laid flat. On that oh-so-familiar couch of mine.

Lucky for me my fabulous sister-in-law is in town with her equally fabulous hubby to help me care for my stir-crazy kiddo and to help me feel like a somewhat social human being once again. They are like superheroes. Their super powers?

Adult conversation and the Nintendo Wii.



here are some photos from our last Wii challenge:




Thanks for all your encouragement and well wishes this past week. Even though I am the one who is sick now, I am feeling much better mentally than I was the past few days.

Happy Love Day to you all!!

Space Wasting Bump-On-A-Log. (Wearing a three day old shirt!)

I've only got one nice thing to say about the sicky-bug that has invaded Ezra's system these past few days: it was kind enough to wait until after Ezzie's birthday to attack. That's where my affection for this sicky-bug ends and my fanatical loathing of it begins...

The morning after Ezra learned to spit on his birthday candles, he woke up really really late. I'm talking like 10:30 AM. When he finally started making some noise in his crib, I went in to get him, and he was burning up with a raging high fever. He was lethargic all day and didn't get up off the couch until late in the afternoon. He was still eating, which was good, but the thermometer was peaking around 103 degrees and Ezra kept falling asleep while in the complete upright and locked position. We laid low, and over the next few days, I spent many hours sitting on the couch with my son- he dozing on and off while 'The Emperor's New Groove' played on repeat in our DVD player, while I perused the pages of eBay until I was in a similar zombie-like state.

That's been my life since WEDNESDAY.

Something about all of this sitting and eating and not leaving the house has made me a bit crazy... a bit cheerless and glum. If ever there has been a time that I've failed my New Year's Resolution, (the one where I resolved to know taking care of my son was enough) it has been these past few days. I've felt lonely and directionless, like a bump on a log or a big waste of space. I've felt lazy and idle and far from being a good wife or mum. Chris has offered countless times to take over for a couple hours so I could get out of the house, but getting dressed and figuring out where I would go to kill a couple of hours becomes, somehow, overwhelming- so I choose to stay at home. On the couch.

I'm sure this is normal and okay and understandable, me feeling this way... I mean, I'm sure most mothers with sick children aren't dressed to a T and scrubbing the darkest corners of their houses while a gourmet meal simmers in the oven- timed to be *ding!* ready the second their husbands walk through the door, right? Surely not. You show me someone like that, and I'll show you someone who most likely has wires for veins and a micro-chip for a heart. Like Rosie from the Jetsons.

Oh man I used to love that show. I wonder if you can buy seasons of 'The Jetsons' on DVD somewhere?

eBay, here I come.

I Never Claimed to be a Poet. (and now you all know why.)

Thank you guys for helping us name our monkey. And now, your prize! Yes, it's cheesy rhyming poetry!

Rebecca

We've been friends since the beginning,
when the braces ruled my face;
You've made me laugh so hard
I spit milk all o'er the place.
(some went in your mouth, remember?? Serves you right.)

We had a notebook we called 'Barney'
that is still perched upon my shelf,
we filled this book with secrets
meant for us and no one else.
(RLMC 4EVAH!)

I could share pictures, tales, and nicknames
that would make you turn quite red-
but I'd have to make it rhyme,
so I'll just say this instead:

You may have rolled in dog poop;
You may have (oops!) peed by the shore;
but you'll ALWAYS be my bestest friend-
the one I endlessly adore.



Hope

You are the vibrant daughter
of a dearest friend of mine,
I've heard your lovely singing voice
and think that it's divine!

You are a little princess,
you've even got the dress-
you've got grace and spunk galore
you'll always be a huge success...

The world is your oyster, darling-
Carpe Diem! Seize the Day!
Turn that box into a Broadway stage
and your heart will lead the way!



Yay!

Always Two.

You were born two years ago today. Two years! Two years! Has it really been two years? Yes. It's been much more than two, hasn't it? It seems like it was lifetimes ago. And as I watch your skinny little human body wriggle in the tub, stretching out to submerge as much of your skin as you can at one time, I am baffled that you can almost touch both ends. How did this happen? Where did the extra skin come from? How did your bones find the time to lengthen under my very watchful eyes? I was watching closely! I was told to watch closely because 'it goes so fast' they all say... They grow! He'll grow! Time flies!

You giggle and drink bath water as I make the icky face, promising you the bestest, cleanest water you've ever had if you will just HOLD OUT and stop drinking the water your bum has been floating in for the last 10 minutes. You choose your bum water every time. Because, I'm discovering, you like to see me make the icky face. I try to act nonchalant, like "Oh, go ahead, Ezra! Drink the bathwater... Mommy doesn't even care, see?" But everytime, without fail, icky face breaks through and you giggle. You giggle. You giggle...

(when the baking gods hand you a lemon, you make lemonade.)

I love you, Ezra. I love how you make me laugh at all hours of the day. I love how we go places, and how we are the only two crouching in the corner at the bookstore- giggling like teenagers wrapped in an inside joke. We laugh and are foolish in front of perfect strangers. And they smile. We smile. Smile makers, we are! I love how we haven't used the stroller in months. It sits in the garage, covered in a layer of dust. No, no. You and me? We're walkers! Strutters! Hand in hand. Side by side. Your hand instinctively slipping into mine in the parking lot- on the asphalt; Your hand then letting go the exact instant your foot hits the grass of the park or the carpet of the library. Then you're running! And I'm chasing! Wind in our faces! Strollers be damned!



Two years ago you were born. You cried and cried and then ate and we all slept curled up in the hospital beds as the light streamed through the plastic blinds. When we woke, the SuperBowl echoed from the screens of the TVs hanging above our heads. We were all triumphant and larger than life and the football players looked like ballerinas dancing on a silly green stage. Why are they dancing? It seems so ridiculous and surreal. My baby is asleep in the plastic tub by my bed and yet the football players keep dancing? Do they not know?



I promise not to call you terrible this year. You are not a terrible two. You are a wonderful boy and how did you get so big? Whatever this year brings, we will always come out on top, kiddo. You and me and daddy always safe in the storms. Do you hear me saying that? It's the truth. Now, promise me you will always be two. Some part of you- no matter how small- can it always be two? The part that giggles when mommy is disgusted? The part that knows I will guide you safely from the parking lot to the grass? The part of you that eats birthday cake with no hands? Just say you'll stay two. You'll be 30, but you'll also be two.

Forever and always two.

Happy Birthday, Peanut Butter.

Drum Roll Please....

You know this cute little monkey contest I decided to throw out there to the universe? It has eaten my brain this weekend. No crumbs left over. All weekend long, I have been compiling and narrowing, and re-compiling and re-narrowing my favorite names. And after spending an embarrassing amount of time doing so, (accompanied by an embarrassing amout of extra time spent staring into the eyes of a stuffed monkey- searching his little monkey soul for his true, spiritual monkey name) I always ended up with a list that was just about as long as when I started.

If I could have practically done so, I would have named him Coconut Joe Elliot Phat Quigley Mr. Teeny Furious George chewgy cappy anesthesia monkey Koko bingo dog mr. incredible shannon bob the monkey funky monkey chunky Little Breather Sloth Cream Ol' Chomper 'Here Brown Clown Disco Monkey Doodle Pepper Noodle Peeve Bot Ergo Smile Kyle Groundhogs Pancake HEMI B-didle Bunkie Arms El Presidente Carl Vinnie Skeet Fletch.

We could have called him Willy for short.

But, since I promised to pick a winner, I forced myself to 'Get Er Done' and just pick a name already.

...So I picked two. Because I'm a wuss and because two is ALWAYS better than one. (Unless, of course, we are speaking of snakes on planes or the number of times in your adult life that you've been confused as being a member of the opposite sex.)

...And then I picked a runner-up. Because, well... this is my blog and I can do whatever the heck I want so neener neener.

('Runner-up' will not receive a fancy poem, but will receive the comparable warm, fuzzy feelings associated with the indescribable honor of being publicly declared a 'runner-up'.)

drum roll please....

Runner-Up: Cam of Ms.Understood for the name 'Vinnie' !
I looked deep into the monkey's eyes and found a New Yorker named Vinnie staring back at me. So, there you go.

Winner # 1: Rebekah's daughter Hope with the name 'Chewgy' !
Not much to say here except Umm... coolest name ever?

Winner #2: My dearest bestest friend since Junior High School- Rebecca, for her monkey name that made me laugh til it hurt: Brown Clown !

And so, without further ado, I'd like to officially introduce you all to

Chewgy the Brown Clown (with the soul of a New Yorker named Vinnie):



you know you love it.

Your prize poems are on the way... I will post them in the next day or two.

Maybe not tomorrow, though, because (have I mentioned?) my itty bitty teeny baby boy is turning TWO YEARS OLD TOMORROW. There are cakes to be baked and snotty tears to be cried. ('he's getting so big! wahhh!')

You guys are the greatest.

I Didn't Even Launch Myself Off Of the Elliptical Machine!

I've been to the YMCA a couple of times now, and have been thoroughly impressed at my complete lack of falling down or inadvertently walking into the men's locker room, or accidentally setting the treadmill to 45 miles an hour and not knowing how to shut it off again. It's been pretty much pain free (so far) (Oh, besides the sore muscles from my Pilates class.) And your suggestions helped me very very much.

Like, when I got there, I knew that I should just press the 'Quick Start' button on the machines and I knew that I shouldn't wear my slipper socks like I was planning on doing. I realized that I could pretty much avoid the locker room altogether and just come dressed already and take a shower when I got home. (duh) and I knew to look at my feet upon entering the locker room to use the potty. (This suggestion was a lifesaver.) Because, I love that the older women can feel so free with their bodies and stuff, but I think I'll stick with the view of my feet, thankyouverymuch.

My yoga class was great and I fit right in and most of the other people there were older and I didn't feel intimidated by young hot girls who could fold in half... And then in half again. (Like the ones in my college yoga class could.) It was relaxing and fun. Same with my pilates class. I'd never done pilates before and felt quite gangly and silly most the way through, ("do these rubber band thingys come in a "LANKY" and/or "BEAN POLE" size?) but over all it felt like a great workout and everyone is so friendly and helpful.

Me: "Where do you get those mat thingys?"

Nice Random Older Woman: "Right over here, hon. Oh the door is locked! I'll just go search the entire building for someone who can open this door for you and then once it is opened I will lay out your mat for you right here next to mine and we'll be BFFs forever and ever okay?"

Me: "Yes! Yes! A thousand times YES!!"

Ezra loves the childcare room because he gets to watch 'A Bugs Life' and 'Toy Story' in there which is pretty much the equivalent of baby crack to him. I went in there to get him from the nursery yesterday, and he was watching Toy Story with a group of kids. He was standing in the middle of the group- everyone else gathered around him in a semi-circle formation. Then he would point to the screen and 'GASP!'- turning to the other kids every few seconds saying, "Baba Do dada!!" As if explaining what was happening to the other, less informed children sitting around him.

In the hour that I'd been gone, he had become their chief. Their fearless leader. Ready to lead these children through the plot lines of any Pixar movie that came their way...

What a brave little soldier.

The Post-Anesthesia Post.aka 'Let's Name That Monkey!'

ezra's current state.

I just got Ezra to go down for a nap after returning from his dentist appointment. I feel emotionally drained, and physically... well, let's just say it feels a little bit like I've had a friendly nudge from an oncoming freight train. I've been so tense these last 24 hours that I think my muscles have decided to band together and fight back. Ezra is doing well now and I'm so relieved that he's sleeping soundly after getting a much desired belly full of food and a chance to snuggle up on the couch at home and watch a little bit of 'Cars'.

Last night, right before Chris and I were walking out the door to go to a friend's birthday party, the anesthesiologist called and had to talk me through some of the risks of the procedure, (loss of limbs??) and then tell me step-by-step what was going to happen this morning at Ezra's appointment. He spoke of masks and IVs and tubes being inserted through Ezra's nose and down through his throat so that he would continue breathing after they put him under. He told me Ezra would be hooked up to machines that would monitor his oxygen levels, heart rate, and vital signs. He explained that they would be administering Valium to allow Ezra to sleep through the disorientation of waking up and the nausea/headache that follows. We could expect a bruise from the IV and maybe a bloody nose from the tubes and a very cranky child with a sore throat after the drugs wore off.

As he was going on and on about risks and tubes and machines and drugs, I felt my breath getting shorter and shorter and my head began to swim. I felt suddenly buried, like an avalanche had just broken above me- immobilized with worry... and I found myself gently rocking back and forth on Ezra's window seat- trying to calm myself down as the doctor's voice kept pouring more cause for worry and concern into my brain. He was very sweet and kept asking if I had any questions, but my mind was on shut-down and all I could mutter was "Umm... I don't think so."

He was asking me about Ezra's height and weight and was he allergic to such-and-such? I tried to answer him the best I could- thinking if I was a pound or an inch off, he would give my baby too much gas and hurt him somehow and then it would all be my fault. I would be arrested. Jailed. Guilty of not knowing my son's exact measurements. He was asking me if Ezra was allergic to things- half of which Ezra had never even eaten before. What if he really is allergic and I just don't know it and then it messes everything up and there's complications and it's all my fault??

So, you know...freeeeaking out.

I hardly remember the drive to the birthday party because I was picturing the whole thing in my head and getting lost in the blurry red brake lights in front of us glowing through the snow.

We tried to keep Ezra up late and feed him food before he went to bed at 10:30 PM so he would sleep in later and wouldn't be as hungry in the morning.

He hardly ate anything all evening. Maybe two bites of chicken and some birthday cake. I worried.

****

When he woke up this morning, it was 8:00 AM. He immediately began asking for juice and food. The appointment wasn't until 9:30; the longest hour and a half of my life.

When we finally went back into the room where the doctors were waiting, I felt better. At this point, I was so stressed about him being hungry and thirsty, that the anesthesia didn't sound so horrible. Ezra was scared. They asked me to hold his arms and they pressed a mask on his face while he cried and screamed into it. A few moments later, my baby was limp in my arms and I was told to support his neck like I would a newborn as I placed him in the dentist's chair.

I nobly attempted to refrain from bawling my eyes out, but was extremely unsuccessful.

****

After everything was done, they brought me into a little dark room where Ezra was snuggled up on a reclined chair with a comfy blanket and a pillow. This was the worst part. The doctor was gently tipping Ezra's head back to keep his airway clear. His breathing was erratic and labored. His eyes twitched and opened slightly. His breath rattled in his lungs and he wheezed and twitched as the doctor tried to explain that this was all normal... that Ezra had a lot of mucus in his lungs and sinuses which would explain his breathing... that he thought Ezra might be coming down with a cold...

It took every ounce of strength in me to concentrate on what the doctor was saying. Ezra's breaths were ringing in my ears, playing on my worst fears. He was shaking and twitching and the doctor said it was the hiccups. Ezra would wake slightly and moan. All I could do was stroke his hair and tuck it behind his ears like he likes me to do when he's drifting off to sleep at home. We were then left alone so that Ezra could sleep for awhile- curled up in the dentist chair on a SpongeBob pillow.

I don't mean to sound overly dramatic here-- I am well aware that there are families that suffer through much, much worse on a daily basis... Families with terminally ill children and kids that are fighting against all odds for life... people who spend more time in hospitals than schools or their own homes... I know that Ezra's troubles today weren't even a drop in a bucket compared with other's battles, but it was still so hard for me to see him like this. I felt helpless and could do nothing but pray that his breath would slow and stabilize- that his lungs would find the air they needed... that he would sleep peacefully and then wake up and put his arms around my neck, look into my eyes and smile.

Two whole front teeth and a goofy grin.

After an agonizing half hour, he began to breathe normally. Instantly I felt myself relax. I began to shift my prayers to ones of exhausted thanks. Jesus in the room. SpongeBob on the pillow. I took out my journal and tried to write. Couldn't. Was too busy watching my beautiful boy sleep and breathe. I tucked the blanket around him. Cute blanket. Looked for the tag. Martha Stewart Everyday Baby. Thought to myself, "Does that mean I could find this at K-mart?" Then realized there were no K-marts in this city. Watched the snow drift down gently like it was not in a hurry to reach the ground. Felt the weight of the world lift. off. my. shoulders.

Thanks for all your prayers and encouraging words.

we received a monkey for our troubles.

he needs a name. hey hey hey! Let's make it a contest. if I pick your monkey name suggestion, you will win a prize. Since I can't think of anything cool to send you, I will do like Britt did and write a poem about you and post it here on my blog. Entries must be received (via comments) in the next 3 days. Not valid in West Virginia. ha! Just kidding. In fact, if you are actually from West Virginia and I pick your monkey name, I will write not one but TWO poems in your honor. (this is where you pretend to be excited.)