Nummies 911

Better Late Than Never

Many of you know that I have been sick since August.  It gets better and worse at times, but more about that later. I'm just mentioning that to explain why this post is so delayed.

HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY CAMILLE!

She is six years old and STILL into horses big time. Notice the red cowgirl boots which were an early present. 

Party Hats & Party Girls : Act 8

This is Heidi. Don't let her name fool you, this child is brilliant, decisive, outspoken, a leader and sometimes just a trial of her mother's nerves. I love her, though. I appreciate the outspoken honesty and unlimited curiosity which combined with her lack of patience often get her in trouble from simple disobeying to climbing up to a zip line and lacking the ability to dismount she does what any Heidi would do, she let's it rip. She was wearing a helmet I recall. So you can see where I get my drift.

Anyway, after my surgery, I spent two weeks recovering at my sisters and Heidi saw a party hat I knitted. She asked for one right away, you know the way kids ask for a candy bar or an icee, never thinking of the money and time that goes into buying those things or knitting a hat. Their lack of currency knowledge is refreshing to me. So, of course I knitted her a party hat and while she was slow to warm up, she was quite the model toward the end. She was very proud of it, which warmed my heart and she insisting on wearing it every where she went in the 100 plus degree weather of South Mississippi in August.

I've got lots of yarn left over, so if you want a party hat for a special little (or big one) just let me know. I'm going to put a few on etsy, but I love taking special orders from those I know.

Thanks Heidi for making me laugh, and from one short gut to another, we gals gotta stick together.

Love you,
Aunt Becki

 

      

 

Think You Can't Do Yoga?

Think again! Even my five year old modifies the poses. In fact, I think she may be developing a whole new set of "five year old" yoga poses. 

 

Molly, Me & Movies

Having a great time with Cullen and Molly here for the summer. Molly and I are watching lots of movies and having great talks about plots, foreshadowing, prejudices, and humor. Last night we watched Betty Davis in Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte. Another favorite was Lars and the Real Girl. Any suggestions? Or care to share your favorites?

Happy 13th Birthday Molly!

Happy Birthday to the light in my life, Molly! Molly is so bright and happy, yet can swing on a dime to dark and moody.  Easily pleased and just as easily frustrated. Loving and kind most of the time, but an occasional sharp tongued remark can cut deep.

Do you remember? Do you remember being 13? When your friends at school had the power to determine your entire mood for the day? When what people thought about you was THE most important thing in life? The time before you really figured out who YOU were, and all the information streaming in from parents, peers, teachers and advertising were telling you to be this or that and it was so confusing? It makes my heart ache thinking about it. But it is part of growing up...that confusion. It helps us define US. 

Molly wants so bad to please everyone.  I try and get her to understand that it is impossible and that finding out what makes her happy will be hard enough to do, much less make everyone else happy. But, she's young and she still thinks if she tries hard enough, she can accomplish the impossible. 

But just for a moment, Molly, if only for a brief moment, listen to what I see and hear.

I see an absolutely stunning young woman. She is tall (taller than me) and blond with beautiful pool blue eyes. Her legs are long and strong making her appear that much taller. She is comfortable in heels and dresses with jewelry and makeup. But she is also just as comfortable in sweats and converse shoes, with a bed head of tousled hair and eyeliner smeared beneath her weary eyes. She wakes with a smile and within minutes those eyes gleam with all her ideas for the day. She is artistic and sees beauty all around her, especially nature. She has an eye for color and always impresses me with her combinations. She is smart, smarter than she even realizes. She is loving and quick to give, of her time, talents, and gifts. She is sympathetic and has a unique insight into others when they need help. She is magnetic and has a pull that makes you want to be around her. But she won't be pinned down and has a need to be in motion most of the time. She is quick to forgive and promotes peace among her friends. She has a huge heart that you can see and feel instantly when you are around her.

I love her so much. Her presence can turn my day around like nothing else. From the very moment I conceived her, to her beautiful birth, she has healed me. From her demanding infancy to her stubborn preschool years, she taught me. With each milestone, I admire her and thank God for her.

So, Molly, as you leave your childhood behind and enter the teenage years, know that I am your biggest fan and I'll be here no matter what. You may never fully understand all that you've done for me and what you mean to me, but just know that I love you with all my heart and soul. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. Happy, happy birthday to you!

In keeping with tradition, the following is a link to Molly's birth story and how she healed a wound and created a mother. 

 

Hand her the keys

    Camille is five and has the separation anxiety of a 14 month old. She is driving me crazy with it. At home, she frequently calls out, “Mommy! Where are you?”  I have to tell her what room of the house I’m in, or she panics.

    More frustrating is the fact that since I turned 40 I can’t remember shit, therefore, upon leaving the house, I have to make at least one trip back inside for something I forgot. Camille is buckled in already and she freaks out when I insist that she stay in the car for the 15 steps and 30 seconds it takes me to go back for an item.

    That brings us to this morning. We are getting ready and she is taking a proactive attitude in completing her morning duties. She is ready by the door when I begin to pack up my own stuff.  She turns to me and says very simply, “Do we have everything we need? Because, if not, I’m coming back inside with you.”

    At this point, I’m thinking it’s better if I just let her drive.

Being a Family

Yesterday, Anna told me that the Senate voted on Don't Ask Don't Tell. I held my breath as she looked at me and said quitely, "It passed." An unexpected flood of emotions ran through me. As I reached and hugged her, I began to cry with happiness for all that it would mean to us. Then came sobs as I thought of how this could lead to more and more for us as a family.

Meanwhile, a little five year old jumps around all over us, oblivious to what we are talking about. I pulled back, gave the little one a big hug and said "Now we can be a family." She echoed with no particular understanding, "Now we can be a family." Immediately, I regretted having said that outloud to her. "We ARE a family, Camille." She smiled.

And the fact is, we ARE a family. We have jobs, a mortgage, make lunches, go to school functions. We fight, make-up, disagree and compromise. We worry about our children and do our best to teach them right and wrong. We are a family.

But we have missed going to family day, promotions, change of commands, and hail and farewells. We don't have the privileges that other families do when a member serves in the armed forces. We give the same. We miss the same holidays and time away. We know it's not an option. We don't live near the base, or visit at work because we know that could be disasterous. We don't want to risk losing everything, years of service, over a simple fact, we are a family.

So while repealing DADT won't bring us the needed health insurance, or other financial benefits we need, it does mean that we can be a family in more ways that others take for granted. It also means that our service member is not in danger of losing a job because of this family.

And finally, it gives me HOPE.  Hope that one day, our family will have ALL the rights and privileges of other families.

 

Happy 14th Birthday Cullen

Fourteen years ago, on October 18th, I had my first child.  I entered motherhood with a traumatic birth but a very blissful babyhood. Cullen was a sufficiently difficult toddler and preschooler to teach me patience, which I needed for the next child, yet he was such a charismatic, charming little boy who endeared himself to anyone who met him. He is still quite the social magnet and can carry on a conversation with just about anyone despite age and other differences.  I remember we went to Robby’s wedding last year and he attended the rehearsal dinner with me. We sat at a table where I knew most of the people, but he didn’t. He was so adept at conversation, that everyone at the table was amazed to find out he was only 12 at the time. He still looks and acts older than he is, something people always said about me, but I wasn’t six feet tall at 14.

So in keeping with tradition, I’m posting his birth story. I love you, Cullen. Thank you for being the best son a mother could ever want.

Cullen’s Birth Story

It was a Thursday morning.  I was sitting on the loveseat in the living room struggling with putting on my shoes.  Mother sat next to me in the big chair.  Carl walked in and looked at us both as he crossed the room.   He said, “One of you is smiling and excited and the other isn’t.”  I said, “Well, one of us isn’t being induced today.”  Mother made a comment that she had been there and done that.  I was feeling very ambiguous.
    On the one hand, I had become relieved, if not a little excited when the nurse-midwife scheduled the induction.  After all, she was a midwife and she said that she induced both of her labors and did them without drugs, so it could be done.  And, I had been sick for so long.  This factor is easy to underestimate, but until you have thrown up for nine months (and I was two weeks post due) you cannot possibly understand the need to feel well again.  In fact, I was completely miserable.  Also in my mind was the fact that Carl was scheduled to go TDY the next week and Mother was long overdue at work.  Because I was so intensely ill during the nine months, Mother generously agreed to come early and help me prepare the nursery.  It sounded like a great idea and when she arrived three weeks before the due date, we hurried to complete all our tasks.  But, of course, as the due date came and went, it was painfully obvious that she was running out of time.  Everyday that I didn’t go into labor was one more day she couldn’t stay after the baby was born.  It seemed everyone was staring at me, willing me to have this baby, but still I crept along, no labor pains at all.
    And so there we were, getting ready very early on a Thursday morning to have this baby, no more waiting, no more guessing, no more feeling sicker than I had in my whole life.
    When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses and doctors checked me, admitted me and never once blinked an eye that this woman who was obviously not in labor just showed up to have her baby.  It was all very normal to them.
    After being admitted, having an IV started with Pitocin, and getting settled in my room, once again all eyes were on me.  Do you feel anything yet?
    I can’t really remember exactly when the contractions became noticeable or even when I started to use my relaxation techniques.  I only remember feeling very isolated once I had to concentrate on them.  I didn’t feel connected to anyone.  I felt they were tiptoeing around me.  After a long while in labor, I began to doubt my ability to handle the induced labor.  After all, if I were doing this naturally, I would have emotional signposts to signal my progress and perhaps I could have handled knowing that better.  As it was, I doubted my self, my body, from the very beginning.  When I didn’t dilate as fast as they thought I should, I worried I wouldn’t have enough strength to get through it all.  I started to inquire about pain medications and the midwife was eager to discuss them with me, even though she knew I wanted a natural childbirth.  The only encouraging word was from Carl.  He told me I was doing so great and asked me was I really sure I wanted to get the drugs.  In retrospect, it was one of the most important things he did for me and many times I have wished that I could’ve made him understand more how important not taking the drugs was for me so that he could’ve made a bigger deal out of it and talked me down from that ledge.  As it went though, I told him yes and he dropped it.  I have since told him repeatedly what a difference his comment made to me and how much I appreciated his confidence in me.
    I received the epidural and suddenly labor was gone.  The contractions slowed and we all relaxed.  Once again I was included in the conversation and activity.  We chatted and “caught up” until time passed and the midwife checked me again.  No progress.  9cm and no more.  She confides that the doctor will be in to check me and will probably want to talk about a c-section.  It seemed she was letting me in on a big secret, including me in the group, who was probably standing outside my room asking “Have they told her yet?  Is she prepped yet?”
    The doctor did come in and she did recommend a c-section.  I remained somewhat calm on the surface, after all, someone had let the cat out of the bag and I knew what she was thinking.  I asked to talk it over with Carl alone and we did.  I told Carl I wanted to try another hour, perhaps in a different position and see if I could make any progress.  The doctors agreed and I set into motion a plan to get me vertical.  This was no small task I should say because by this time I had an internal fetal monitor on, a contraction monitor, blood pressure cuff, IV, epidural, and oxygen mask attached.  I looked more like a science experiment than a woman giving birth.  We joked about the “X-Files” baby.
    Anyway, despite all this I managed to get Lisa, Carl and Mom to sit around me as I sat up with my feet hanging off the bed.  This was very uncomfortable for me because my legs were numb, and I’m sure it was no picnic for everyone else, but they never complained and stayed there with me for an hour.  The pressure was immense.  “Dilate! Dilate!”  I kept telling myself.  But how could I communicate with my body who couldn’t communicate with me.  I had shut if off.
    The doctors came in and checked me again and sure enough, there I was, stuck at 9cm.  So close, but I just couldn’t do it.  They started talking again about the c-section and this is about the time I lost it.  It was somewhere around 2am and I had been working a long time.  I was exhausted.
    I guess I should add here that despite all my childbirth education and reading, I was completely unprepared for this.  I was going to have a natural childbirth, and that certainly did not include a cesarean section.  In fact, I skipped all those chapters in the books.  I couldn’t even watch the video they showed at the Bradley classes.  Just the thought of being operated on, of being cut on, while I was awake was enough to make me shiver.  Now, here I was and my nightmare was fast approaching reality and I lost it.  I started sobbing and shaking and I felt completely out of control.  Later, Carl said that he had never seen me so scared in all his life.  I really was.  I was horrified.  Carl moved to my shoulders and held me as tight as he could among the attachments and wires and tried to calm me.  “Breathe,” he said.  “Calm down, breathe.”  It worked for a second or two but soon I was shaking again uncontrollably and it was with great fear that I signed the consent form and entered what I was sure to be hell.
    My next memory is that of the anesthesiologist talking to me about the operation.  “Put me out,” I begged.  I just couldn’t seem to accept the idea of being cut wide open while I was still awake!  “Surely you can put me under,” I begged again.  This gentle man very quietly convinced me that I did not want that because it would be worse on the baby.  Reluctantly I agreed and he promised I would not feel more than tugging.  What he didn’t understand was that was just what I was afraid of.
    It seemed an eternity until the operation started because at that time I withdrew into myself and started chanting and reciting poetry and English stories, Chaucer, anything to remove my mind from the reality of being strapped down, numb, to an operating table while my precious baby is cut out of me.  Carl arrived at the last minute so it seemed.  Once I saw him I felt better but I really never came fully out of my self-induced trance to communicate more with him.  The physical sensation I remember most was what seemed to be a catheter in my bladder that hurt painfully every time someone bumped it, which they were doing constantly.  My Shakespeare sonnets soon turned into a chant of “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!” to Carl, hoping he would stop them.  The next thing was the sound of Cullen crying and it was then I realized they had cut me open.  They asked Carl if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord and he rushed from my side to cut the cord.  I’m not sure how much this meant to him, but it later struck me as completely absurd.  I mean, here I am lying draped in a hospital operating room, belly cut wide open to deliver the child I could not birth while doctors and nursed lift the baby out of me and they ask Carl to cut the cord.  Well, why not just ask him to stitch me up while he’s down there?
    Carl, or the nurse, I don’t remember which, brought Cullen around and let me see him before they rushed him off to the nursery.  Carl and I had agreed earlier that he would attend the baby at all times and would make sure he wasn’t bottle-fed.  I know Carl was leaving to go with Cullen, but I was sure the bottle-feeding was history, because of course, when would I be available for breastfeeding?
    This left me all alone in the OR, my new family gone.  The anesthesiologist looked down at I’m sure what he thought to be a mad woman by now, and asked me if I wanted something stronger now.  I welcomed the chance to escape and shook my head yes into a deep sleep.  When I started coming to, I was in a different room and I was in pain.  My head wouldn’t seem to clear though and it was hard to let them know I has a new baby that I needed to get back to.  When a nurse asked me to rate the pain and I did, she gave me morphine.  I stayed there a long time.  I felt some of what it must feel like to be mentally insane.  Drugged so high you can’t talk plain and you are sure you are being held against your will.  I begged to go back to my baby.  “Soon,” they kept saying, but hours went by, then a shift change.  I started in on the new staff.  This must’ve been about 7am.  I cry when I think about all the time I missed with Cullen.  In hindsight, I could’ve probably shortened our separation if I hadn’t taken all those drugs, but no one told me at the time.  I didn’t know.
    When I was finally moved to a room in the maternity ward, Carl and Mom were waiting for me.  I guess I should mention that Carl took great pains to get to me in the recovery room to let me know all was okay with Cullen, but I barely remember that.  I was in the room and Carl was pacing and talking about the baby.  When I listened closely, which took considerable effort, I realized that he wanted to go get the baby because the baby had not been fed yet.  I was astonished!  It was now around 8:30 and I was sure some well-meaning nurse had fed my baby a bottle by now.  But Carl assured me no such thing had happened.  He reminded me of our agreement and I told him how in my mind I was sure things were changed because of the cesarean.  Well, he didn’t think so and when Cullen came to me, there was a sign above his head that read “Breast Only” in big red letters.  It had been about four hours since Cullen was born and he was hungry.  When he was handed to me I lifted my gown and he latch on and suckled beautifully.  It healed my soul to be able to breastfeed by baby.  It gave me back my confidence and my sense of motherhood.  This baby needed me after all.  I am eternally grateful to Carl and his efforts on my behalf to make sure Cullen and I could enjoy the wonderful breastfeeding relationship that we still enjoy today.
    Those first few days with Cullen were tough.  I was in a lot of pain and I drifted in and out of clarity because of the medications.  Still, they are beautiful in my mind, as if God sent a real angel to be with me.
    Looking back now, there are so many missing parts to the story, but these are the parts that remain vivid to me almost a year later.  I am proud of myself for enduring all I did.  The joy of my son had filled my days (and nights) and made it all worthwhile.

With Age comes...

This year at the beach, I tried bodysurfing. Now please remember that just being on the beach is a huge step for me. Two years ago I looked like this.

But this year I was at Myrtle Beach and decided to give it a try. Cullen was my teacher. He waded out with me. Let me back up and say that I’m no great swimmer, and my sister, Stacy, who was my personal lifeguard all through childhood, made sure Cullen was looking out for me.  I had no idea how hard it would be just to get out to the point where you actually BEGIN to bodysurf.  I felt I was drowned and winded before I even started. After three or four failed attempts, we were far down the beach and Cullen motioned that we should get out and walk back up to where we started. This is when my epiphany came.

I’m walking down the beach. I’m tan. I’m 130 lbs. I’m carrying a bodyboard. The sun is shining and the breeze is blowing. I should be basking in this scene. But the reality is much different. I couldn’t think about any of that. I was only concerned with putting one foot in front of the other, so I didn’t fall down. I was breathing so hard and I could feel the sides of my vision closing in. My back was about to seize up. My legs were like jello from trying to withstand the blows of wave after wave. After a few paces, Cullen was so far ahead of me that I doubt he could have heard my call for help, even if I had mustered enough breath to actually yell. That’s when I kept saying, one foot after the other...get close enough so that my sister will see me when I collapse. When I got there, Stacy was watching my approach and while Cullen was still facing forward, I feigned a fall as if to say, I’m about to die. She laughed hard.

There were times in my life I would have paid good money to be 130 lbs, tan, on the beach, but now, I’m just hoping to survive. Later when we were both walking with boards, we joked that the young people are looking at us and saying, “What do those two moms think they are doing?” However, we agreed that even though age brings us less stamina, more aches and greater pains, the gift is that we don’t care what other people think.

I wish I had learned that a little earlier in life. I watched Cullen abandon the group several times because we were embarrassing, and while I understand that is just being a teenager, I hope he leaves that with his teen years and emerges with the self-confidence to do what he loves, no matter what other people think.  I spent too many years trying to please others and worrying about what everyone else thought. I still catch myself doing it now, but less and less often.

So here’s a quick video of one my many wipe outs. I hope you laugh hard and remember me the next time you see a mom trying something with her kids. I, personally, am extremely grateful for a “second” chance at life through my surgery and weight loss. I’m grateful that I COULD be active with my kids, instead of watching from the sidelines. So I intend to embarrass them every chance I get. That’s my small payback for all the diapers and sleep lost. Not an even trade, but hey, no one said life was fair.

Oh, and how about this picture!  Britt having the time of his life...me hanging on for dear life.

Operating on the Kitchen Island

Disclaimer: This story contains medical details that may be overly graphic for some readers. I am long past the shock factor, so I can no longer tell what might be too much. Read at your own risk.

It's always something, isn't it. Anna left Wednesday on a business trip to Florida.  Her dog, Chloe, is never happy when she's gone, and subsequently, there is always a good chance of drama.  She was only outside for about an hour when she came back in and settled in her bed without so much as a sideways glance in my direction. About 30 minutes later, I pass by and notice she has a two inch gash on her side.

Now it's 8pm and of course the vet is closed. The cut is long, but not bleeding and upon further inspection it is only the skin. These little greyhounds have skin that just splits open at the least little nick. It looks as if she got it caught on something like a nail and it ripped downward a couple of inches. It closes up perfectly and the wound is clean.  So the wheels start to turn quickly in my head and I go next door to my neighbor who assists an oral surgeon on mostly pediatric cases. I ask her if she would help me hold the dog, if I stitched up the wound. I really expected her to decline, but she never even paused to consider it, she just said sure and grabbed some gloves she had.

So we set up on the kitchen island because it was high with good light and as my neighbor, Jessica said, it was as cold as an OR.  I numbed the site with lidocaine and waited for it to set up. We cleaned the wound and then I stitched her up. It looked great!

However, as I was cleaning up, I started to think that she should probably be on some antibiotics. All I had was amoxicillin and I was thinking that she might need something a little more. So I decided to take her to the vet the next morning.

I steeled myself as the vet walked in the room. I was prepared for a tongue lashing about stitching up my own dog on the kitchen island.

"Before I show you, I want to let you know I stitched it up myself. I'm a nurse."

"OK," he said.

After looking at it, he said, "What do you want me to do? It looks good."

"I was thinking antibiotics."

"Sure," he said and sent the tech out to get them.

He asked, "She (the dog) let you do this?"

"Yes"

"That's the hardest part, not getting bit. Really the stitching is simple."

"Well, I was thinking of bringing her in, but ..."

"You did a very good job, I wouldn't bring her in if you can do it yourself."

"Thank you for not admonishing me about this."

He just laughed. I reminded him that not all doctors would feel that way. He nodded in agreement. 

So in the end...

MONEY SAVED: $hundreds

VET VISIT    : $80

Smile from a vet (and a great story to tell): PRICELESS

Oh, and don't forget, a healthy dog, which is the best of all!