Happy Birthday!

Ok. I realize I'm a little late on this one, but Emily turned 9 last week. She decided to have a Chuck E. Cheese party. I thought maybe she was getting a little old for it, but after reviewing all of our party options, she looked at me with her hands on her hips and said, "Mom, everybody loves Chuck E. Cheese!" Yeah, I guess. Who can pass up a game of Skee Ball or Whack-a-Mole? Anyway, here are a few pics from her party.

As you can see, she is still completely enamored with horses and was thrilled with her birthday cake! It was a surprise, and no, I did not bake it. (That would have been the real surprise.)

This is a picture of Elyse and Wyatt, who were so enthralled with Chuck E. that they could hardly eat their pizza. Note Wyatt's balled-up fists. I guess he was getting ready in case the big mouse got too close. Elyse is the little sister of Emily's friends, Ashleigh and Jordan, and she and Wyatt have a very interesting relationship. They are church nursery buddies, depending on the day. They can be so sweet one minute, and then 'throw down' like siblings the next. I must say, though, that my money's on Elyse. Wyatt usually just hands over the source of conflict unless he's feelin' spunky. They are so cute and funny.

These are a few of Emily's friends who were able to attend the party: Jalyn, Veronica, Jordan, Julia, The Birthday Girl and Ashleigh. Emily's brothers (all of them) were also in attendance. Ryan, who is no longer impressed with Chuck E. Cheese, except for pizza and a mound of tokens, steered clear of the camera for most of the night and hung out with one of the other big brothers who was there. Elijah couldn't care less but seemed a little stressed out, maybe from the noise or from the biggest mouse he's ever seen, and spent the evening spitting up, alternating between Jay's clean shirt and mine.

Here's a picture of Chuck E. himself, doing the Birthday dance. I gotta add that Wyatt kept yelling, "Micka Mouse! There's Micka Mouse!" I think it's hysterical, but I'm not sure the teenage boy in the suit thought it was quite as funny. I guess to Wyatt, a mouse is a mouse, and they are all named Micka Mouse or Mimi Mouse (what he calls Mickey & Minnie).

This is Emily with her new Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus CD, which in addition to High School Musical and HSM2, is the new obsession. And I'm sad to report that I know way too many words to these songs. No, Emily's eyes have not changed color. The red-eye fix really did a number, didn't it? They are still a beautiful blue/gray like her Dad's and very sparkly, especially when she's up to something.

All in all, I think Emily had a good birthday, and since it was on Labor Day, it turned into several days of "partying." It's hard to believe how quickly they grow up. Being 9 is a good age, I think. It's o.k. to be between baby dolls and Barbies, karaoke and the latest "tween" sensations...and it's the last year of single digits.

The next few years should be interesting as we enter the pre-teen and teen years. Jay says that when the hormones hit, he might just move out. He knows that's not a viable option unless he takes half the kids, half the pets, half the laundry...you get the idea. Personally I think that even if he tries to "lay low" that he'll be lurking in the bushes with a big bat should any little boys who think they know it all happen to ring our doorbell or, God forbid, pull into the driveway and honk...that's another post entirely, and maybe we'll venture there one day. However, I do know that he's thankful to only have to "protect" one daughter, and is of the mindset that boys can better fend for themselves. I used to think so, but times are different. I've seen some girls that are way-scarier than most boys I have encountered so far. And being the mom to three sons, I realize that one day that means three daughters-in-law...again, another post. I only pray they choose well, and possibly run a back-ground check.

Buds

Wyatt and Elijah are pretty tight. He will kiss his baby brother on the head (I think because his hair feels like the fuzz on a peach and it tickles) and say every morning, "Good mornin' Wijah." But that hasn't always been the case. A few weeks after we brought Elijah home from the hospital and Wyatt realized he was actually staying and not just here for a visit, life got interesting.

I was sitting on the couch one afternoon nursing Elijah when Wyatt came and stood beside me. I didn't think much about it because we were watching Sesame Street together. I looked over to admire my darling, angelic, doe-eyed almost-two-year-old in that ethereal, sleep-deprived, hazy daze through which most new moms view life for the first few months, when I noticed that a vein was bulging out of Wyatt's forehead. Hmm, I thought. That's odd. So I asked him, "Watcha doin' Wyatt?" To which he replied, " I SQUEEEEZE IT!" Huh? Well, sure enough, I pulled back the blanket covering Elijah's legs only to unveil the vice-like grip of his big brother's pudgy little hand around his poor little leg. I "convinced" Wyatt to let go and that it was not nice to squeeze his brother so hard, that maybe a little kiss was more appropriate.

Later that day, I was sitting on my bed, looking at Elijah on the boppy when Wyatt bounced into the room and announced, "I need up." Awww, I thought. He wants to hang out with Mommy and Elijah. So I scooted Elijah back and sat Wyatt in my lap so we could see the new baby together. The next thing I know, Wyatt says, "I kick it!" and "kicks" Elijah's feet. We again had a "discussion" about how we have to be gentle with the new baby...yada yada, blah blah blah.

Well, just when I think he's not getting it, Wyatt shows some comprehension of our previous "talks" and proceeds to show me his understanding of this new life with a baby brother. I was again feeding Elijah when Wyatt climbed up beside me on the couch and rested his, in comparison- gigantic foot, on his brother's tiny head. I turned to give him "the look," to which he exclaimed, "I NOT kick it!" So, resigned to the possibility that he just may be learning, and too tired for another "chat," I allowed Elijah to finish the rest of that feeding with a foot planted on his forehead.

Wyatt and Elijah are now pretty close. That's due mostly to Elijah's super laid-back personality. And despite the occasional poke in the eye or being the target of a thrown toy, he thinks everything Wyatt does is pretty darn funny. I think, however, that Wyatt will somehow always have the upper hand in this relationship, and it will serve his younger brother well to learn to look over his shoulder and to beware. You can take a look at the following pictures, and decide for yourself.

Some days you get the boogie...

...and some days the boogie gets you.

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Disclaimer: This is all in fun. No infants were violated in the making of this post; no actual boogies exchanged.

Miracles

Pastor Larry has been preaching a series of sermons lately on the New Testament Church. And today's sermon was about miracles during that time. You know...like when the woman with the bleeding disorder whom no one had been able to help was walking among the crowd and reached out and touched the hem of Jesus's robe. She was healed instantly! And then there was Jairus's daughter, whom they said was dead. Jesus went into her room and told her to "wake up," and she did! Then Jesus told her family to give her something to eat. A sure sign someone is alive and well...a healthy appetite! There were lots of miraculous events going on back then...Jesus turning the water into wine at the wedding, Lazarus being raised from the dead, demons being cast out. The list could go on and on. It just got me thinking. The Bible says that God is "the same yesterday, today and forever." I believe that to be true, and if it is, that would mean that miracles still happen, right?

Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't seen any water turned into wine lately, and I'm pretty certain that none of my normal nightly dinners would feed thousands of people should they show up at my door. So, what is a miracle anyway? Ryan's American Heritage Student Dictionary defines it this way: 1) An event believed to be an act of god (should be capital G) or of a supernatural power because it appears impossible to explain by the laws of nature. 2) A person, thing, or event that causes great admiration, awe, or wonder. Ok, I think our previous list fits these definitions. But what about today? Right now? What about in our lifetime? Honestly, I'm not sure that if someone were raised from the dead in today's time, we'd quite know how to handle it. Maybe it's just me, but I think that after the media frenzy subsided and I had healed from my concussion from passing out cold and hitting my head, I'd be left in complete awe...speechless, totally without words. (Jay would probably think that in itself was the miracle.) On the other hand, I believe many other happenings could fit into our description of a "miracle." That's when it got me thinking. Have I ever experienced a miracle? Witnessed one? And I felt God whisper to my heart, "Bronie, look around you." Then it hit me. He unraveled a mystery for me.

Do you have kids? Have you ever held a newborn baby? I believe that the birth of a healthy baby is a miracle. Not metaphorically speaking, as in "Wow, with that traffic, it's a miracle we made it on time" or "After I drank all that coffee, it was a miracle I got to sleep last night." I mean a real, honest-to-goodness, act of God kind of miracle. Really, I do. I can't prove it to you scientifically or scripturally, but think about it. Think about all the things that have to happen in perfect timing, and in perfect order for God to "knit together" a newborn. Come on, really think. After conception, when this microscopic entity begins to divide, think about everything that must happen from that instant to grow this (yes, already baby) into a full-term newborn. How many events...hundreds? thousands? millions? I'm not a scientist or a doctor, so I can't say for sure. But I do know that there are a lot of things that don't "just happen" and that the events are timed, intricate, sequential and vital in producing the end result. And with that much going on, can you imagine the gigantic potential for error? Forget what you have read in the newspaper or have heard on tv about "the fetus" and even what you have read in most secular science publications. These things do not "just happen."

Let's really dumb down this concept so I can grasp it. Let's imagine you are baking homemade bread from scratch. For some of you this will be easy to visualize. For me? It's a real stretch, but stick with me. The ingredients have to be added in the proper order, at the right time, baked at the perfect temperature and for the exact amount of time for the end result to be successful. Even I know you can't throw a package of yeast into a pile of flour and then into a cold oven and expect good things to happen. Yeast has to be mixed with water first, dry ingredients sifted together, dough mixed and kneaded and allowed to rise...you get the idea. Everything in order and in its own time. A recipe usually has just a few steps, and can you see how we could truly mess up even the simplest of tasks? My point is you can't just throw the elements together all willy-nilly.

And babies aren't just born soft and cuddly, with an ear on each side of their head, fingers and toes on their respective hands and feet, organs neatly placed on the inside and operating at full potential right from the git-go without some miraculous, God-inspired "knitting together." Let's face it. We really have no control over the order in which these things occur, and factoring in the potential for human error or wanting to speed up the process (which having had four children, I'll admit there have been times I would have liked to speed up the process), it's a good thing we humans are not in control of such a spectacular series of events! A healthy baby is a real-live, awe-inspiring, supernatural act of God and a wonder to behold (and hold).

So I ask you again. Do you have kids? Have you ever held a newborn baby in your arms and witnessed the perfection of a brand new creation? It doesn't particularly matter if you are the parent or if the child actually belongs to you, if it was birthed from your womb or in your heart; there's no difference. This miracle is just that...a MIRACLE. So please don't ever think that just because you haven't seen your cup of water suddenly turn into a glass of Merlot, or you haven't seen someone actually come back to life that you have not experienced or been witness to one of God's miracles. Chances are, you have. And so have I.

Miracle #1.......................................Miracle #2

Miracle #3......................................Miracle #4

Redneck MRI

Ok. So I go today for an MRI. I have submitted my insurance card for copying and completed my paperwork in a timely manner like the prepared, efficient patient and am waiting patiently in the waiting room for my name to be called. Then I hear it, "Bonnie?" Ugh! Oh well, I'm used to that. I don't make a fuss; I just get up and follow the nice young lady across the waiting room. Hey, wait, isn't the door that way? I continue to follow her...outside. Huh? Maybe it's in the building next door. I continue to follow her down the sidewalk, all the while thinking...this must be what little kids feel like. You're just told to follow along, not knowing exactly where you are going. But she didn't even hold my hand. We continue down the sidewalk, passing many available doors to the inside. We're running out of sidewalk. I obediently continue to follow this woman whom I am beginning to think might be lost. Then we finally reach the end of the sidewalk, and there it is. A trailer! No, I'm not kidding. It was a building on wheels. A mobile medical something or other. Was I surprised? Yeah, a little.

Anyway, I enter the trailer and look around to familiarize myself with this medical mystery...on wheels. Did I mention that? Anyway, there are a couple of cabinets, a desktop with two computer screens, two desk chairs, and to the left a rather large, thick door behind which resides "the tunnel." "Please remove all metal," spoken by the technician, snaps me back into the moment. "You can put your things in the cabinet behind the curtain," she said rather flatly. Ok, I think to myself. I can do that. Off come the wedding rings, out come the keys, stripped are the unmentionables with the underwire. Hmmm, I think that should do it. Then, I peek out from behind the curtain to politely inquire about my denim shorts with the metal button. "Oh. There's a gown in the cabinet; you should probably put that on," was the technician's reply. YA THINK?! What if she had let me enter the tunnel of doom with a metal button? Sheesh. I don't want to think about it. But I digress. As I am removing the last piece of "shrapnel" from my person, I am suddenly profoundly thankful that I only pierced my ears during what we'll call my "Stupid Years." And that I have yet to require a metal plate in my head. Anyway, once all "gowned up" and somewhat apprehensive about what is coming up next, I peel the curtain back and re-enter the "office portion" of the treatment trailer. (Only one step away, mind you. I think it's a single wide.) The nice lady dressed in the scrubs escorts me into the "tunnel" room. There it is...big and round and white and a little ominous looking. I guess I brought a little apprehension to keep me company, as a friend of mine who has also had an MRI lately was given Valium. We won't get into how that is SO not fair.

I am then told to lie down on what looks like a narrow table, and apparently it is somewhat similar to the belt at the grocery store counter...they are in control of the movement. You, like the loaf of bread and sack of potatoes, are simply along for the ride. So I lie down. "Scoot up, please," she requested, "A little more...good." She hands me two orange ear plugs, and says, "Here, you may want these." Then she proceeds to hand me this squishy thing-a-ma-jig that resembles the squeeze end of a blood pressure cuff. She informs me that during the procedure, I can squeeze it if I need her. Why would I need her? I wonder to myself. Then she shines a laser to "line me up" and sends me head-first into the "tunnel." I begin with my eyes closed so that I cannot immediately see how closed in I am, but it's kinda like Christmas...you can't help but peek. But with just one eye. Ok, there's a little head room. And a nice little breeze in the "tunnel." This is not so bad. Then I hear a voice, that with the ear plugs inserted, sounds tiny and far, far away, "Ok, Mrs. Victory, here we go. Be very still, please." Be still. Who's she kidding? There's not a lot of wiggle room. I begin to wonder, what happens if your nose itches or you get a cramp or you have to sneeze? Will it shoot you out of the "tunnel"? Ok, concentrate; be still.

Then it begins...the most obnoxious decibel-shattering, ear-splitting, migraine-inducing sort of noise you can imagine. I don't think I put the ear plugs in deep enough. I have little ears, which proportionately has nothing to do with my actual hearing. I have good hearing. Or I used to. Apparently I just didn't squish the plugs small enough to fit properly. Oh my gosh. Just when you think your last nerve has been jiggled loose by the crescendo of the jack-hammering, bad techno pop, and the off-the-hook phone, the noise stops. Momentarily. The most annoying sound is the "ANH ANH ANH" that sounds like you left your phone off the hook, and it is SO LOUD that someone three towns away steps out onto the porch and bellows, "Hey Motard!!! Hang up your phone!!!" I quickly consider my options: I can scoot out of here like a little inchworm and then I am seriously considering squeezing the squishy thingy in my hand, but I don't. I am somewhat curious as to what would happen. Will it set off some alarm that will signal her that I've had enough? Will she roll me out on the conveyor belt and give me a hug? Or will she, in that tiny, far away voice tell me, "Please suck it up, Mrs. Victory; we're almost finished." None of my options seem appealing. So I say it to myself, "Suck it up, Bronie; it'll be over soon and you can go home to your family. You will never be able to hear what they are saying again, but perhaps we can all learn sign language. And Jay will have to get up with the baby and answer the phone because you won't be able to hear them, and the doorbell..."

Sigh. I made it. I got to experience the head-first version, and then the feet-first scenario. Who knows? Maybe I won't have to do this again. But I can add it to my list of things I've experienced and be able to intelligently discuss it with someone who might be facing a "tunnel" of their own.

As I exited the mobile medical something or other, I thanked the nice lady. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her. I came home to my family, and wouldn't you know it, my hearing returned almost immediately. "Mom, can you get me a drink?" "Honey, is there any sweet tea?" "WAAAHHH! I don't neena nap!" "Why can't I have more computer time?" "Coo, pbbbssstttthhhh, ackh!"

Yep, I can hear, and sometimes it's noisy like a jack-hammer, a little annoying like the "anh anh anh" of the phone, but mostly it's beautiful and precious, and it's good to be home.

Sittin' in the "Man Chair"

It would seem that Elijah is being trained early by his big brother and Daddy in the art of the "man chair." Note the blank expression and "shlumpy" composure...arm slung onto the arm rest, the hand resting on the knee. He's well on his way. Next he'll be spitting and scratching and yelling at the t.v. over a fumbled ball. Oh well, maybe there's still time for a motherly intervention. One can hope.

"Aw, Mom! PB&J again?"

Wow. Apparently, Wyatt is tired of the same old boring lunch. But this is typical Wyatt. All out or passed out. There seems to be little middle ground for this little rockin' 2 year old.

Charlie (dumb animal #2)

This is Charlie. Bless his little heart. Adorable, isn't he? But he just doesn't seem all that bright. Potty training, using the "kennel method," just alludes him. Or perhaps he's just faking it, and we're really not all that bright ourselves. After being walked outside to take care of business, he prefers to hold it until he comes back into the house. He loves the ceramic tile. We've considered tiling a small portion of our yard to accomodate his needs.

Heidi (dumb animal #1)

This is Heidi, Emily's guinea pig. She eats 24/7, thus the "full figure" and obvious obsession with the food bowl. She is very messy with her food and bedding and thinks it is funny to turn her food upside down when it is full. I said she was messy, not smart.

WELCOME!

Welcome to our blog. Lots of people have blogs, so what makes ours different? Probably nothing on the surface. But we hope it will be a way to keep in touch with our family and friends, near and far. There may be some posts that you find riveting (and if you do, you probably need to get out more) and many more that will leave you wondering, "Huh?" Depending on the day, you may chuckle at a story, laugh out loud at a picture, "aawww" over the baby or simply be left wondering why you're even here. It's really just about us...our lives, our family, things we find interesting or amusing, things we wonder about, things we need to get off our chest, and maybe just some typing practice. However, we hope you at least leave with a smile.