Andrew’s co-workers raved about the cookies. That always feels good. I’m kind of baffled by the praise sometimes. I don’t make the prettiest, most complicated, or most perfect cookies. Really, I don’t. But I do take care in selecting what goes in them. Organic butter and eggs, real extracts, fresh leavening, high quality chocolate and fruit and nuts. Beyond that? I find, rate, modify, take notes, and follow recipes. I have records of what cookies I’ve made from year to year, what recipe I used, how I modified it, and even how it worked out.

That’s when it came to me. I put thought in. Food has become a no-brainer for a lot of people. They want it cheap at the grocery store, fast, and easy to prepare. So really, it was a combination of being about to eat one of my own cookies and seeing the “Solid Milk Chocolate FLAVORED” santa that Annabella brought home from school. Yuck. Milk chocolate flavored. Um? Really? Is it really so hard to make things out of actual chocolate? Gross.

If it looks like chocolate, and it tastes like chocolate, and it’s really cheap… WHAT THE HELL IS IT MADE OF?

So, so wrong. But yet such a great example of where we are all headed. I remember when I couldn’t make chili without a little brown paper bag of seasoning. I remember thinking I’d never enjoy spinach dip again, because I couldn’t make it without a soup packet. I remember my mom making spaghetti sauce from an envelope of powder, various cans, and water. So weird.

My hope for 2012 is for more people to go back to basics. Start buying grocery staples. Experience creating food that will nourish and sustain them, rather than deplete them, their families, the planet, and cause long term health problems.

Instant gratification, in terms of food = long term health problems.

Once you start to see that even the basics that are available are moving into a grey area… Between genetic modification, factory farms, pharmaceuticals used on animals, pesticides, coatings, injections… It is getting harder and harder to find quality sustenance. So consider that your frozen meal starts with the lowest common denominator; ingredients chosen not for how they were produced, not for their nutritional content, not for their quality, but for their low cost. Then add in tons of salt, texture agents, preservatives, flavor enhancers…

It is no wonder we are having a national health crisis.

We were talking about how I was excited to celebrate his birthday early and get on with the holiday preparation. He’s never asked me to hold off on shopping or baking cookies, or putting up the tree. It’s just me. I want to have his birthday be a separate, special time.

He said he’s never been a big fan of having a December birthday. My response, “OK, well, we can celebrate your next birthday in August, with mine, and we can both turn 40!”

Yeah, as much as he doesn’t care for a December birthday, he doesn’t want to be 40 either. But he was kind enough not to remind me that even with his birthday Sunday, his next birthday won’t be 40.

Redding wants a new baby. He was telling Annabella at lunch. She tried to convince him that a new baby would be less attention for them both and much more work for Mom and Dad. He doesn’t care. He said, “I’ve decided, I’m asking Santa. We’ll just have to wait and see if he brings me one.”

I told him when he grows up and is ready to be a Dad, he can have or adopt as many babies as he wants. “OK, Mom, I think I’ll have around 18.” I wonder if he didn’t get switched with a Duggar baby. Who wants 18 children? Luke and Kerry – I’m looking at you.

Annabella decided to play hostess for our guests for yoga this morning and got down cups and served water for all 5 kids. She vetoes my request that everyone get glass juice cups, giving the three smaller kids acrylic and herself and the next oldest medium sized glasses. Growing by leaps and bounds and using her own judgment. Could I complain about that?

She sang her ‘small group solo’ for her grandparents, Redding and I last night at dinner. She didn’t get all of the reindeer’s names in there, but she does have a lovely singing voice. It brings tears to my eyes.

While cleaning out the freezer, to make room for holiday cookies, I found the last container of stuffed cabbage. I had it for lunch today. I am sitting here trying to recover from too much yummy goodness, so I can go to the grocery store for the week. Man alive, I make some good stuffed cabbage. And Andrew? Guess what? You didn’t have to smell it this time. The house should be aired out by the time you get home.

I spent much of November posting things that I am thankful for on facebook and it is sticking with me. I can not get over how very fortunate I am. There’s still a tiny part of me that doesn’t want to let it be known that I feel so lucky or that I’m so happy. Like it will be taken away, like the only way it happened in the first place is because somebody is not doing their job. I don’t know. I’m goofy that way. I don’t want to jinx it. We don’t have the best of everything, but we certainly do a great job making the best of everything we’ve got.

Hilarious.

Unfortunately, while I was making note of that cuteness for posterity, she got bored. What does my 8 year old do, in the backseat, when she is bored? Well, today, she leaned her head forward on the back on the front passenger seat and proceeded to spit. She spat several times before Andrew asked her loudly, “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

I’m not 100% certain, but I’m pretty sure that’s something she picked up her first week of 3rd grade — at school.

Now, I don’t want my kids spitting. I find it highly repulsive when people spit in pubic. However, I wish for my daughter to have the ability to spit without dribbling on her chin, something her Mom is an utter failure at.

Literally, spit, out of the mouths of babes. Sheesh.

It’s odd. I remember it fairly clearly. I had been lying on the couch, looking out the big picture window at the evening, and alternately putting the bead in my nostril and blowing it out. This one time, it didn’t come back out. Cue the freaked out mother, trip to ER, and general mayhem to get a cute little pink plastic bead out of my nose.

Tonight, as I was making dinner, Redding walked calmly into the kitchen. He had been playing nicely with Annabella down in the family room. He said, “Mom, I’ve got something fuzzy in my nose.” Since he’s been sick, I figured he just needed to blow his nose. So I got a tissue and started to vigorously coach him through blowing his nose. Then I noticed that really only one side was blowing.

Uh oh.

I asked him to tip his head back and I looked into his tiny 4 year old nostrils. I saw nothing in the one that was blowing, and nothing in the one that wasn’t blowing. Except the nothing was bigger. Was there some sort of black hole forming in my sons nose? I thought not.

“Hold on buddy!” I enthused, as I tried to tip his head farther back and pull the offending nostril out further to get some idea what we were up against. Nothing. Nada. I made no contact, I got no further information. A second of panic and then a brisk trot up the stairs to find my tweezers.

I put the little guy, who really seemed a bit baffled, up on the counter, turned the light on, tipped his head back and took the first shallow dip with the tweezers.

“Are they pointy? Will they hurt me?”

“Just be still, buddy. Just be still, I won’t hurt you if I can help it. The more still you are, the more careful and gentle I can be.”

About the time I burst into a mild sweaty panic, I made contact. I pulled the small round felt black olive out of his nose.

Then we had a hug and a nice tedious repetitive chat about how “We Don’t Put Things Up Our Noses.” Never ever ever ever again, got it? Period. End of story.

Next week they’ll be modeling for JC Penney apparently.

Annabella was totally excited, she knows the routine, she can manage her own stuff. She was talking about how she’s planning on making it to the top of the climbing wall this year. She is such a dynamo!

From the first time Annabella took a bus to kindergarten, Redding has been asking when he can ride a school bus. This morning as I watched Redding struggle up the steps onto the bus, taking one at a time, pulling his backpack up behind him, I teared up a little. Then when he got to the top of the steps, oblivious to other bigger kids waiting to get on behind him, he stopped and asked the driver, “Does this bus cost money?” The driver told him no, and he moved on to his seat. He never once looked back at me.

I teared up more than a little the first time I sent Annabella off to camp, but there was less than a moment to think about it because I immediately needed to get on with taking care of Redding. Today, it is just me. I’ve got some things that I’d like to do. I’m half expecting a call to hear that Redding has lost his little mind, half expecting that he’ll do so great that he’ll be king of the camp in no time.

Three years ago, when we dropped off Annabella, Redding was just out of the infant carrier car seat. Today he’s a feisty 4 year old wrestling with a backpack that weighs almost as much as he does. But lucky me, even though he’s getting to be a big boy, he still wanted me to pick him up so he could give me a great big monkey hug before the bus got there. He grabbed both sides of my head and put his forehead to mine and said, “I just love you so much.”

Keep your fingers crossed, I know mine are.

I keep waiting for them to look exhausted and bedraggled after camp. No chance. They come off the bus and want to know where else we can go before we go home. It’s crazy.

I would run and roll down hills, spin in circles until I fell down, and laugh so hard with my brother and sisters that I nearly peed myself.

I used to turn my tricycle over and and pull up handfuls of grass and run them through between the front wheel and the fender (it must have been a fancy trike!) to turn it into straw, or gold, or wool or anything else I wanted.

When I would get anti-social, I would grab a book and a flashlight, I would go into the bedroom I shared with one of my sisters and hang the hood of my robe over the tall post on the headboard, sit down under it and read. Alone, alone at last, for 5 stinking minutes! They never found me.

I remember thinking it was the coolest thing that my mom was a good bowler, but I really loved that she was a great baker.

And I used to carry things from one place to another by pulling up the front of my shirt and making a little pouch. Thanks for making me laugh and reminding me of fun childhood memories, Andrew.

I’ve got two grandmothers that lived to be 96 and 89, right? So, back when I had my whole life ahead of me, I used to think that midlife and the crises thereof would begin to happen around age 50. I figured each generation would live a little longer, so 100 was easy money.

Sure, the kids (and all the myriad joys and pains they entail) changed my perspective somewhat. It took a decisive step toward, “Today, right now, this moment is my life, this is what matters.” With that, I stopped being willing or able to travel the country extensively. I stopped being willing to work ridiculously hard for someone whose life didn’t depend on me. Perhaps some of that is due to the extenuating circumstance of premature birth, transitioning to being a stay-at-home mother, and starting to appreciate the subtleties of ‘being in the moment’.

If putting myself through college and working my ass off in my 20′s, struggling like hell just to be taken seriously, were the salad years, then getting married, having babies and stopping working outside the home have been the meat and potato years. When you’re in the throes of raising kids, school/sports/activities/friends/growth/development/creating human beings, it seems like it could go on forever. What next? The empty nest dessert years? It does have a certain delightful ring to it. Certainly that’s what we’re all putting money in our 401k’s for.

But here’s the monkey wrench for me. My Mom has pancreatic cancer, she’s 65. She’s fighting, she’s fighting for all she is worth. But pancreatic cancer, in an advanced, inoperable stage like she has, is a losing battle. No matter how tough, Amazon-like, stubborn, or blindly optimistic the patient is.

I struggle to remain positive for her. To not push her. To support her in what little ways she will allow me. To be at peace with the fact that she is doing this on her own terms. Then one day I woke up and did the math. True, there doesn’t appear to be a strong genetic link to pancreatic cancer. Still, what if my ridiculous perspective on my own life expectancy is utterly… wrong?

What if my life is more than half over?

Staring down the other side of the mountain, there’s a couple things that occur to me. One, I need to take more vacations. Not in the budget? Too damn bad. This is my one time around (so far as I can count on) and I’m not going to waste it. I have places to go, things and people to see.

I need to stop feeling sheepish about enjoying escapist fiction. I like it, if you want to judge me, go suck one.

I need to put more energy into making the world a better place for all mankind. Otherwise I did a huge disservice to them in bringing my children into this world.

Somehow the idea of changing the world for the better seemed a whole lot more realistic when I had my whole life ahead of me.

To my mom, who gave being a mother everything she had. She had to, she was vastly out numbered. Thank you for making every holiday a special time, for supporting me through successes and failures, and for always giving with all your heart. (I love you, mom!)

To my Nana, who raised 3 children on her own, when such a thing was unheard of. Thanks for taking me fishing.

To my Grandma, who always liked a good shot of whiskey and is the toughest lady I may ever know. Give ‘em hell!

To my Mother-in-law Deb, who drove bus, juggled a house of men, and didn’t learn mothering by example. Thank you for your candor and for always taking my side.

To my Grandmother-in-law, Lue, who has the wackiest sense of humor and is a total Betty. Thank you for always treating me like one of your own.

To my sisters of birth and sisters of circumstance (you know who you are!), thank you for laughing and crying with me, for leading by example, and telling me it will all be OK.

Happy Mother’s Day!
Love,
Dawn

P.S. In honor of my Mother and her on-going battle with pancreatic cancer, I will be walking in the Relay for Life in August, on her birthday, actually. If you’d like to donate and help us fight cancer to give everyone more birthdays, click here.

In a word, yes.

Born at 26 weeks, weighing just 1 lb. 8 oz., Annabella faced many challenges before being released from the hospital.  I’ve written about it time and again.  Even years later, when we have the leisure to put such dramatic beginnings aside from time to time, it still tugs at my heart strings.

How is she?  How is she, really?  At a glance, she’s just like any of the other children in her second grade class.  She’s tall, which is kind of a shock after being so small for so long.  She’s socially adept with her peers, but would rather engage with adults, I think.  Sometimes I wonder if that comes from early isolation or from her level of verbal skills or intelligence.

She’s smart.  I had a friend from high school pay us a visit this Spring and he said, “You talk about her being smart all the time, I thought it was just, you know, normal parent bragging.  But she’s really something.”  There you have it.  Unbiased opinion of a parent of 2, who has had zero interest in flattering me in any way for over 20 years.

How?  How does a child with over 16 distinct brain bleeds get to this place?  I give her a great deal of credit, even from the first she had personality and tenacity.  I also know for certain that she got excellent care while in the hospital.  Beyond that I can’t say for certain.

Are there any long-term problems?  Well, to be completely honest, I try not to think about things in that way.  I definitely prefer to look at the broad spectrum of normal child issues and not draw any correlations back to her rough start.

For instance, she has terrible handwriting.  She does.  Guess what?  So did her Mom.  Me, that’s right, I still have terrible handwriting.  Not only is my cursive like some kind of secret code, but my printing is virtually illegible as well.  Did she stand a chance of having good handwriting?  Maybe 50/50 at best.  Do I think it is related to her being a preemie?  Maybe, but then again probably not.  Her other fine motor skills seem to be, uh, fine.

Yes, over the years it has taken a lot of parental prodding to get her to do things with her own hands.  I have tended to baby her or fall into the habit of doing things myself if we’re in a hurry, rather than get all aggravated in trying to get her to do things for herself, the right way, and quickly.  Andrew has been the best possible influence in this area.  He can get her to do things I didn’t think possible.  It has worked out well for us.  But once her highness is convinced to use her own hands to accomplish things, she does just fine.

What about her lungs?  What about all the damage the respirators and high frequency vents did to her lungs?  Well, that is a remarkable thing.  She’s had two inhalers since she had RSV at age 2.  Prior to the day she was diagnosed with RSV, she’d never had an inhaler or a nebulizer treatment.  She’s still only ever had 3 nebs in her life, one of them last week at her 7 year check up.  That last was part of testing her breathing function with and without albuterol.  Turns out it is the same.  So, while doctors have tended to pin the label of asthma on her, it turns out her normal everyday lung function is…  you guessed it, normal!  This particular test was hugely vindicating to me, who has contended over the years that she doesn’t need daily asthma medication, just needs to have the inhalers when she gets sick.  So, hooray for Annabella!  The only hard part was finding out that her lung capacity is not where it should be at age 7.  The doctor believes that is because of her recent growth spurt, 3 inches since February.  She’s growing taller, but not so much broader.  Hopefully in the next 6 months to year she’ll start to fill out and her ribcage will expand, making more room for her lungs.  Still, all in all, not a tragedy.

Surely there is something, right?  Something even I can’t deny?  If I had to admit to something, I’d have to say it is her toe walking.  To begin with, she didn’t walk until she was almost 2, and only then because her cousin Kayla came over every day after school and made her.  Oh sure, she had a rigorous two years of visits from a developmental therapist and a physical therapist, from age 1 to age 3.  Even then, when she learned to walk it was on her toes.

We worked on some things, helped her build strength in her legs, helped her learn to walk flat on her feet, lots and lots of work just to make sure she was able to be flat on her feet, even if she chose not to be 100% of the time.  Now, years later she is seeing a physical therapist again.  It seems the recent growth spurt has left her bones longer than her muscles and she’s back up on her toes a good deal of the time.  The concern is that if it is not addressed the pulling of the muscles, her calves and hamstrings, can damage or even bend her bones.  That is certainly motivation enough for me to work with her every day to try to correct it and, with the help of her pediatrician, pressure her physical therapist into ordering orthotics to wear while she is sleeping.  Although, in looking up the spelling of orthotics, I just came across another idea.  Skateboarding shoes have fully rigid soles.  No bending in the soles, no walking on toes.  Behavioral problem solved with a $30 pair of Sketchers.

So, yes, if pressed, there are a few things that we work on from time to time that might be considered residual effects of being born so early.  For the most part, though, the greatest trouble we have lately is with Annabella being ‘of her own mind’ and wanting to do exactly what she wants to do, when she wants to do it.  She’s always had her own opinions, she’s just really comfortable sharing them right now.  She’s fast developing the attitude of a tween, she doesn’t want to be hassled with our schedules or requirements.  She is repeatedly reminded that we are here to help guide her, keep her on track, and help her learn how to grow into a capable adult.  I don’t think she’s buying it at all.  At this point we are merely holding her back from taking over the world.

Back in the darkest days of her hospitalization, I tried desperately to visualize her going off to Kindergarten.  I think I managed once or twice, with the kind of wavy vagueness of a dream when you’re half awake.  That was like the finish line, in my mind at that time.  Like, if we can only get her there, we’ll be home free.

So naive.  I was so naive, it is almost pitiable.  I had no idea how many hard miles lay ahead, or what beauty and wonder.  However you look at it, I can not deny that we are tremendously fortunate to have such a wonderful girl in our lives.  She is a ray of sunshine, a wonder who presents us with challenges and huge rewards.  She is my girl, and for all the trials and tribulations, I don’t think I’d wish anything to have been different, for risk of her being anything other than who she is.