Ode to a Trapper Keeper

All of this back to school business always makes me sentimental so I was telling Little Emmer about the coolest, most awesome, greatest invention school supplies ever birthed. No not the pen that had all those colors you could click and change ink ( but that was pretty awesome ) - I'm talking about the Trapper Keeper. I told her all about the various designs and pictures you could choose from. Then if you were a serious student how you got the one with the double closure. And the absolute best part was the sound. I mean come on - if you don't just get chill bumps thinking about that awesome Velcro sound - you my friend are not my friend. ( or you didn't have the pleasure of going to school in the late 1980's).  Little Emmer still didn't get it so I had to compare it to the pitiful "binders" they have now. Then she got interested. So of course we google it. Couple of keystrokes - I was right back in 1988 -4th grade. Mötley Crüe was singing about stuff I didn't understand but I still liked the sound. Cheerleaders were my idol. And my Trapper Keeper was keeping organized and looking good. The world was good place. I can smell gym now. Ahhhh!! Still smells like feet. 

So of course her next question was - "Mom do they still make them?" Well let's just see. What did we do before Google? We lied. Or guessed. Or lived in world shrouded in sweet mysteries. But not today - today I am going to finally know if my old buddy, my old pal, Trapper Keeper (preferably a Lisa Franks design) is still made. And in less than 2.345688 seconds - I knew. It is!!! It's a miracle!!! I did a little inappropriate dance. But hey it's not everyday you can share something from your childhood with your own flesh and blood!! Here we come TK. We will just visit this website and what the what!? What is thing calling itself a Trapper Keeper? It has the words "Trapper Keeper" on it but that's the only thing I see familiar. Where is the shiny smooth plastic that protected my horse running through a green pasture, or my rainbow raining hearts down into fluffy clouds or those huge lips?? Where is the VELCRO for goodness sake? This is a mockery. This is a rip off ! This is a tragedy. 

We watched in the mirror as we grew up. We sadly watch as our children grow up. But never did think in a million years that my beloved Trapper Keeper would grow up. And unfortunately he grew up to be a responsible,boring, 58 year old man. He traded in his see through  plastic for some practical stain resistant nylon. He traded his fancy prints out for a more streamlined (*boring) one color that matches black. And sadly, he even gave up his Velcro for a zipper. Maybe a snap. I don't know I was too hurt to look. 

So my point is - some things  in the past were actually better in the past.  Youth is fleeting. We all grow up. And sometimes it sucks. 

Til tomorrow ! 

The Fabric of America

All over America last weekend there were huge parties with expensive decorations, long parades with elegant floats, and extravagant pyrotechnic shows put on by some of the best in the business.  I'm sure millions of Americans came and celebrated by some stranger they had never seen and will more than likely never see again.  I'm sure that the financial burden of the whole event was just a drop in the bucket to whomever or whatever corporate conglomerate sponsored the entire event.

I'd even bet everyone had a good time that went. But..... There's just something sweet and nostalgic about a small town's Independence Day celebration. Isn't that where it all started? From the small settling colonies to the small towns in the Midwest, America started small. It wasn't until we decided that small wasn't good enough anymore that we went big and then super size.  Last Friday night I attended my little tiny hometown Fourth of July celebration and I'll just say that it rivaled any show around.  Maybe it was just my sentimental attachment to my home or maybe it was the drifting laughter of the children sliding down slippery slides reminding me of everything that summer is about, or maybe it was the smell of hamburgers and hotdogs  wafting through out the park that symbolized the camaraderie of the men cooking , but I do believe that the gathering had some kind of special meaning.  Perhaps it was the reflection of the spectacular fireworks show in my own children's eyes and hearing the sweet oohing and ahhing that made the experience even more meaningful to me.  It meant that even though we go through each day knowing that life is hard and even though we don't know where this country is headed, our little town still knows what patriotism is and what being an American means. It means that in God we trust, in family we love, in friends we laugh and in neighbors we celebrate.  This is a great nation, no one needs to tell us that, but sometimes we need to be reminded that the very flag that waves over us is made up of single threads.  Those threads, my friends, are our small towns.  They are the fabric of our nation.  These small towns have treasures all in them if you look closely.  Or maybe you'll see one burst into the air on a hot summer night from the middle of a ball park.

Good job my little town!! My heart is so proud and full... Red, white, blue .... and a little maroon.
Can't wait to see what you do next year!

        

Til Tomorrow! 

God must have a sense of humor!

There are just so many things in life we take for granted.  I am as guilty as anyone. Especially since I have become "with child".  I've officially began my final and fantastic 3rd trimester.  The excitement is growing and so is my belly. With that said....  I can't remember the last time I was able to bend over and pick something up without it needing to be announced, a wardrobe adjustment, someone to monitor the situation, and an enormous groan.  It's quite the dog and pony show.  Do you know how many times a  person drops something during the normal course of a day? Two.  Do you know how many times a pregnant person drops something? Eight hundred and fifty seven.  Now, not only have I been missing the ability to pick up trash and not just kick it near the trash can and then wait for someone to come along and accuse them of missing the trash can and guilt them into picking it up, but I've also been missing having a full functioning bladder.  I'll tell you my favorite thing of all time is to feel as if I will explode at any given moment and knock anyone (children, old people, blind, deaf - I don't care) out of the way, only to discover that I can only muster a thimble full out.  Then we do that at least 8 more times in the hour. There's not like you actually have anything else to do.  Like work.   But if you think your bladder isn't working - just sneeze.  That will seem to empty it faster than you can think "Shazam!  I'm going to sneeze!".  Not every time you sneeze will you be incontinent, just when you have on the good pants. Or when you're in the grocery store and you have on pants. Or when you sneeze and laugh at the same time.  Or when you sneeze.   People everywhere are just sneezing away not aware that that tiny little instinctually act will put the fear of God in any pregnant woman who is at the wrong place at the wrong time.  I am pretty sure the Good Lord has a sense of humor, because this is funny stuff.  Who else would give a woman the dropsies (supposedly this is caused by a hormone that loosens our joints so that our pelvis, when time to give birth, will give way and the children can just walk out)  then give her such a huge abdomen that she can't bend over?  It's hysterical.  Speaking of bending over I haven't really tied my shoes in a real bow in months now.  Don't get me wrong I could, but I just like this life sustaining stuff I like to call oxygen.  It really helps a person to breath and whenever I bend over to tie my shoe the supply is cut off.  I used to be afraid of spiders, but now I'm afraid of tying my own shoes for fear I may pass out from lack of O2 and become brain damaged. But I'm okay, I'll not be able to see my shoes in a few weeks and then I just won't even care.  Now, don't get me wrong I'm not complaining, I'm just speaking the truth.  The truth we all know is true.  Which is the best kind of truth. I know this will end soon and I'm not taking that for granted, so for now I'll laugh.  And try not to bend over.  Or sneeze.  And maybe get some slip on shoes. 

Til Tomorrow!

** I almost died taking this picture because I had to bend down really low to the effect I wanted.  So go me.  Risk taker...that's my middle name. 

Sweet Sweet Summertime

Hey Y'all! I'm baaaa-aack!  Can you believe it's summer time again??!! Every summer I always get this irresistible urge to become a teacher.  All I want to do is help those children.  I just want to teach those precious little darlings reading and writing and arithmetic.  And then teach them what arithmetic means.  Oh how I want to be a teacher... but then mid August comes and I'm really over it.  But hey, you don't have to be a teacher to enjoy the summer.  Almost everyone I know enjoys the summer some way or another (some a little more than they should - if you know what I mean).  To celebrate the beginning of the summer I've decided to let y'all in on some of my favorite things about summer.  So here's what made the Top Ten:

1. Grocery store feet.  People will fall into one of two catergories on this subject: People who have children and the people that do not have children.  Those of us that have children don't really worry about it. We don't sweat it.  We know that under all that nasty-footedness there is a real child foot under there.   We do this because most of us haven't seen clean footed children since the middle of May.  We don't mind it.  We feel like they are building up an immunity to all things- baldness, canker sores, insomnia, etc.  It works for us.  Now those of you that don't have children - you will notice the grocery store feet and snarl your nose up them. It's ok- it will be just one of the many things that you will be wrong about. 

2. Crickets and cicada's singing at night.  It's one of the most beautiful sounds at night. It's basically like the theme song of the summer.  And the hotter it gets the louder those little creatures sing.  I love them.....unless one of them lands on me and I will go all ninja on it and deliver a death so swift and powerful that all the other crawly buggy insects will think twice before they come near me again. I won't think twice about squashing their tiny little bug guts all over my patio or trying to cause them to become deaf by unleashing a bloodcurdling scream.   Other than that I love to hear their sweet song of the South.

3. Water.  I love love love the water.  Any form of it.  Pools, lakes, oceans, rivers, sprinklers. ( But not water theme parks: That is not water.  That is chlorine with a little water mixed in but it's mostly bodily fluids I need not think of- that is whole other blog I will touch on later).  You need to get out there and splash. I can guarantee if you find a cool swimming hole, your day will get much better. 

4. Long days. The mornings start earlier and the evenings end later.  The day is stretched out into infinity it seems.  The sun lingers.  These are the times that we can get so much accomplished. You could exercise, work out in the yard more, clean more.  Or in my case it gives me extra time to sit on my porch to list all those things I could be doing.  While drinking a cup of coffee.  So there. 

5. Summer Veggies.  Now if you live in anywhere within the sound of my keyboard, then you either grow a garden or know someone who grows a garden.  The "haves" are almost always eager to share with the "have nots."  Unless they caught your cat "fertilizing" their garden.  The law states they don't have to share with you then.   There are oodles of farmers markets, roadside stands or just plain ole friendly neighbors where you can pick up some of these limited time only vegetables.  Cursed are those that buy tomatoes from the grocery store in the summer time! Shame on you!!! May your socks fall down into your shoes forever!

6. Porch Swings. Don't try to analyze why a porch swing is so good, just sit down and revel in it's greatness. 

7. Home town ball parks.  Oh my.  The memories I have from the ball park are endless.  The neatly lined fields by some  sucker wonderful parent, the wafting smell of nachos and hot dogs, and the cheers when someone becomes a legend in their parents' eyes are just some of the things that come to mind when I think of my own ball park.  Ball parks are where we learn the basics and fundamentals as children and as adults we learn what the game is really all about. 

8. Lemonade Stands. If you have never stopped by an old fashioned lemonade stand and gotten a small cup of  Heaven, you have not lived my friend!! You are not only contributing to the success of a future entrepreneur, but also warming your own heart.  There's no other place in the world that you will drink a hot, sour and often times dirty glass of lemonade and ask for a second cup.  If you're lucky the dirt will only be on the outside of glass.  Well, I guess a little dirt never hurt anyone. 

9. The Wal-Mart fashion show. My summer is not complete until I have seen the "Braless Wonder".  She's like the Great Pumpkin in the Charlie Brown cartoon. She is an elusive mythical creature that comes out during the summertime. She sports a tank top, tube top, or any top... but no brassiere.  She is mainly seen at the Wal-Marts, but I have heard that she will make an appearance at your home town ball park occasionally.   You must wait for her.  You may even have to hide.  But when you see her, you'll know.  You'll just know. ... . 

10. Serenity. I have a simple formula for this.  No getting kids up for school + no homework the night before / vacations x 2 holidays that don't require buying presents for = peace. 

We only have a few weeks of summer we can soak up.  Find some water or a porch swing or even just a tiny little girl with a lemonade stand and enjoy it while it lasts.  You can thank me later. 

Til Tomorrow!

Naw'lins

The women sitting around me are all sitting in a circle.  We are in a dimly lit room that resembles a warehouse.  The smell is musty,  but the loud cheap perfume doesn't take away from the mildew scent.  The woman sitting to my left has on bright red lipstick that is also on her teeth.  Her short skirt is distracting me from looking at her fishnet stockings.  The woman on my right is smoking a cigarette while nursing her newborn baby.  I stand up from my chair and I say:
 Hello, my name is April.
*Hello, April*
I'm a terrible mother and I .......I took my kid to Bourbon Street.
*Gasps.... then one lady fainted*
This is the scene I have  imagined in my head.  I have a vivid imagination.  But yes it's true. Yes I took my kid, my sweet, innocent baby to Bourbon street.  My best advice to her was- "Don't step in any puddles" and   "Darling, that is a question only your father can answer. Go ask him."  I really think that it was a great experience.  She enjoyed it.  She looked at the "hobo's" as she likes to call them.  Then she informed everyone that a hobo was a man that had a beard and was dirty and stinky with no job and rode a bicycle - but sometimes they don't ride bicycles they just sit and look scary.  She's wise beyond her years.  I was going to take her into Marie Laveaus House of Voodoo  but they wouldn't let her in.  At first I thought it was because she was a child and they were protecting her eyes from seeing any evil entities or scary voodoo paraphernalia, but then the doorman/bouncer told me it was because she had a cookie and she looked like she would get crumbs everywhere and touch everything.  He was wise beyond his years.

We got lucky enough to see a St. Paddy's day parade. It was kind of short though. Well, I think it was a parade - it had men and women dressed in green tight short clothes throwing beads and grinning like fools.  Come to think of it I may have seen a "I'm the bachlorette -Shhhhhh don't tell my husband you saw me here"shirt on one of those girls. Oh well, Paige thought it was a parade. And she got some cool beads.  The most unusual thing we saw was a tall, frizzy, red headed woman in a dress.  No wait, it was a man in a dress.  You couldn't really tell until you got up kind of close to him and saw arm her hair.  This wasn't woman arm hair.  This was man hair.  The kind that was hairy.  Only testosterone grows this kind of hair.  She had lots of freckles so I'm assuming he was a true red head.  At least she was trying to fool people with a tacky platinum blonde dye job.  His face was painted completely white.  I'm not sure what that was about.  Maybe her razor was dull and she couldn't shave her face and had a 5 o'clock shadow.  Fortunately Paige didn't ask any questions when we saw him.   Other than - Why does that man have on a dress and have his face painted white?

'Til Tomorrow

*post script- I actually had a wonderful time in New Orleans. I absolutely loved every single minute I was there and we did do some fun unbad stuff.... it just wasn't as funny!

*post post script- Check out the poll on the right hand side and be sure to vote.... IT'S NEW!

*post post post script - Just kidding! I'm done!

I apologize in advance for the picture...

I've never been much of a patient.  I'm more of a health care provider type.  I've only been hospitalized twice in my life : once was to actually be born and the other was to birth a baby.  I've had very little experience with being a patient.  I had my wisdom teeth taken out once.  Horrible experience.  I spent most of the 3 days recovering in bed with a head the size of a watermelon.  I didn't want to get up and I didn't want to take my meds and I didn't want to swallow water and I didn't to be touched but I didn't want to be left alone.  It wasn't a good couple of days.  I did stick tooth pick in my knee once - but that's another story.  It was a real bright moment in my life.  Anyway, to sum up the patient part of my medical career is to say that it has been short and thankfully so. 

About a year ago I started experiencing excessive tearing.  Not life altering but yet completely annoying.  It's the equivalent of your pantyhose always falling down or your socks always sliding down into your shoes.  It's almost as annoying as a car full of 6 year olds singing the only line of a Justin Beiber song they know.  (Baaaabaaaay baaaabbbaaay baaabbbbaaay ooooooo).  So for a year now I have dealt with my left eye tearing and crying at inopportune times.  It's really hard to have a serious conversation about flossing with someone while you have huge crocodile tears running down your face.  But a person can only handle so much and when my mascara wouldn't stay on I decided enough was enough.  There just is no justice in a one makeup eyed Louisiana girl.  I looked like a real live QVC make up special.  One side was the before and the other side was the after.  Ridiculous.  Now as you all know going to the doctor is not as easy as it used to be.  Doctors have to look at you, then refer you to another doctor that has to look at you a couple of times.  This doctor will then finally tell you what is wrong with you which is usually what the first doctor said anyway  and then one short year later they decide to treat you.  In my case the diagnosis was Dacryostenosis and in normal terms means stopped up tear duct.  The treatment for me was a dacryocystorhinostomy.  And in normal terms it means this: surgery.... where they place a plastic tube from your eye to your nose.  It's not as bad as it sounds.  I did wake up one time during the surgery and they were hammering and fine chiseling on my face.  I must have said something funny because I remember the mad laughter from the surgical team.  I think I said "HELLO ! I'M AWAKE!".  Humorous, I know.  Now after the next round of Versed I was feeling good and didn't know about any more hammering.  The next thing I remember was announcing to Jeremy - well it wasn't exactly announcing-  it was more like slurring "I'm not pregnant".  His exact response was, "Ummmm OK?".  Then I heard the nurse laugh and tell him I had taken a pregnancy test and it was negative.  He was still confused, he thought we had come for my eye. 

The next few days were nothing unusual. I spent 2-3 days whining and taking full advantage of my "patient" status. I slept. Then whined.  I ate. Then whined.  I watched television.  Then whined.  I really milked it.  I figure if I'm gonna have to lay up and be whiny, then I'm gonna be the best whiny patient ever. I even had poor Paige feeling sorry for me.  She asked me if it hurt and I gave her a dramatic story on the extent of the pain. Of course she believed me. I even left the little bit of dried blood on my nose to make my story more credible. It's sad when a mother will  misuse a sweet six year old's sympathy for her own personal enjoyment. I may have even asked her to rub my feet.  I can't remember for sure.  Then,  I asked Jeremy if I could have a bell to ring.  He said I'd gone too far. 

'Til Tomorrow

Stop the Insanity!

Today I'd like to talk about something very important.  This can be a touchy subject and it's not something people like to talk about. I feel like it needs to be put on the table and discussed because I know that other people are going through the same thing. I won't be naming names due to privacy issues.   There is no easy way to say this so I'm just going to say it: The bathroom is a place of solace and should not be used as the conversation parlor or the observatory. 

I have not used the bathroom by myself in SIX YEARS! SIX YEARS! I would love to go into my bathroom and not see anyone else's face or hear anyone else's voice.  Just once.  Just once, I would love 5 minutes alone without someone coming in to ask me what I am doing.  It's a strange phenomenon because when I come home no one wants to talk, no one can even remember what they did all day. I can go into the bathroom and within 2 seconds Chatty Cathy can remember every conversation that was ever conversed. And suddenly they even remember what they had for lunch.  (I still think they serve roofies at school.) They are even caring and want to know how my day was.  Sometimes these people will even bring a stool in to make themselves more comfortable to carry on the conversation.  Now other times, conversation is not what they want and they want to play games.  Mostly,  it's a twisted peek a boo game that consists of the peeker peeking and me screaming to GET OUT.  To try to ward off these intruders I try to keep my answers to all questions short one word answers. I am hoping those people/or person will get the hint.  Normally they don't. On the rare occasion that I don't have face to face time with these people, they like to stand outside the door and yell questions.  Usually it's "Where's this?" or "How do I find that?" or "HUH?" whenever I don't answer.  That is rare because most of the time they just like to look at me when asking me these questions. I do not want to draw a picture while I am here.  I do not want to play Nintendo.  I do not want to discuss the relationship dramas of a Kindergarten class.  I do not want to talk about stocks or bonds or retirement.  I would love to just be left with my own thoughts and my Southern Living.  But,  I must be the most beautiful thing they have ever seen as they just stare and sigh.  My protests fall on deaf ears because no matter how much I scream, shout, spit or curse, it does no good.  I know some of you are wondering why I just don't lock the doors.  I wish it was that simple.  You just don't understand - I live with Houdini's. They can pick any lock known to man.  They may not be able to find their own socks or be able to tie their own shoe but by golly they can use a bobby pin and a dust bunny to create a key. Their MacGyver skills do not impress me.  Not at all.  I have tried to reason with these people.  I have begged.  I have cried and I have bribed them.  They do not listen.  Threatening them with their little lives only leaves them with one option. 

And then a new game begins. The "Can You See My Hand" game.   I just sigh, resolve that God really must have a sense of humor and decide that there must be a support group that deals with this sort of thing.  I must go join it. 

'Til Tomorrow

* I cannot take credit for this pic... it's a stock photo... I usually am not carrying a camera while I am in the bathroom, but I'm glad to see this is a common occurrence. 

I Love Laundry!

I'm baaaackkk! I know some of you have been wondering what I have been doing and if I was still going to blog.  Honestly, I didn't intend on neglecting my blog this long.  I have been very busy and the writing just wasn't on the days agenda.  Now, what in the world is so important that I would not blog and inform all you good people on the boring details of my life? Well I'm gonna tell ya. Mostly I have been doing laundry. I'm not talking about a few loads - I mean hard core laundry.  Night and day - day and night.  From sun up to sun down.  Every waking moment I wash, dry, fold, put up, iron - the whole schmear.  I have developed tennis elbow from all the ironing and I have blisters from all the folding.  I even make my own detergent and hand wash at least 50% of our clothes.  Laundry has become my life.   I eat, sleep and breathe laundry. My hamper looks so lonely and smells fresh too.   OK, well maybe that was an exaggeration.  Maybe I haven't actually done laundry.  Maybe I tried.  Maybe I pulled it out of the hamper onto the bathroom floor and left it there for days until my husband got tired of stepping on it and put it back up.  Then maybe I pulled it out again and this time sorted it and then washed only the bare necessities. Maybe I washed a few loads then piled them on the couch waiting for someone to fold them.  Maybe I "fluffed" the load I had in the dryer for 8 hours waiting for the couch to open up again.
 OK, that was probably how it really went. Y'all know I can't lie to you.  I did have good intentions.   The laundry isn't done, but I listen to my baby every night read her homework.  I also get to step out my back door and see my baby brother in his yard and a cute blonde by his side.  From my window I get to see my dear old dad fly by and hear a honk as he goes by for at least the 14th time that day.  I'm back to getting my expected visits from Henry P at least 3 times in a weekend. I get to call my mom and love the fact she is just down road not in a hotel room. I get to watch as my neighbors use their front yard as a dirt track again.  I get to see all those creek checkers slowly ride by on their daily outing.  I get to sit down every night with my family. Yeah, I may not have all the laundry done, but we have clean towels and that's all that matters. 

'Til Tomorrow

Christmas Traditions

Christmas time is for family and traditions.  It's really for children.  It's seeing their faces light up on Christmas morning when they see all the presents under the tree or seeing them struggle with their lines in the Christmas Pageant at church.  It's hearing them sing all the wrong words to the Christmas carols and hymns.  It's listening to the sound of feet pitter pattering down the hall and hearing the screams of delight when they realize Santa came. It's the licking the spoon after candy making.  It's the hugs and laughter and joy from children that make Christmas so worth it. 
When I was a little girl my Daddy and I would go out into the woods a few weeks before Christmas on his horse to find the perfect Christmas tree.  Granted we were just looking for a old cedar tree that God happened to shape like a Christmas tree, but to me we were finding a treasure.  We'd look and look and I'd usually find all the trees that were growing up between a fence row - for some reason they were always the prettiest. Then I would ask my Daddy why didn't they make that fence go around the tree, and he'd explain that the fence was there first and the tree grew up into the fence.  Now that really blew my 5 year old mind.  Then, we'd have a very long conversation about how birds eat seeds and then sit on a fence and poop.  Lovely Christmas tree finding conversation.  Finally after some searching and more than likely me complaining about my booter being tired from sitting on the saddle and hungry and cold, we'd find the perfect tree.  We (meaning he) would saw it down then we (meaning he) would tie a rope around the trunk and we'd drag the tree home.  At that moment when we lit that tree up, it was just as beautiful as the tree that graces Rockefeller Center.  It was our tree, one that we were proud of, one we made memories with, one we started a tradition with. 
This Christmas we are continuing our traditions, not the Christmas tree one, but all the others that we have established over the years.  We will make candy on Christmas eve, read the Christmas story, eat and laugh on Christmas day, and make my wiener dog wear the reindeer antlers.  We are blessed enough to be able to do it with rejoicing hearts this year.  Sometimes I  imagine what life would be like if Heath hadn't made it, and I shudder at the mere thought, but Christmas time would be the worst.  My heart aches for the families that are without their loved ones this Christmas.  The only peace I can think they will find is remembering past Christmas's and the love that was shared then.  If you are blessed enough this Christmas to be with your loved ones - start a new Christmas tradition - don't wait for next year or for a near death experience to realize you need to love what is here in the present.  Begin a tradition that will carry on for years to come.  Even if it's as simple as riding in the woods to find love and make memories. 

From our family to yours - Merry Christmas!

'Til Tomorrow

Norman Rockwell Christmas

I love Christmas.  I tend to get a little over excited at Christmas time.  I cry at the dang Folgers commercial.  I act like I have never seen Christmas lights when I drive through Minden and press my face against the truck window.  Jeremy hates it when I do that - he says it leaves smears on his windows. Killjoy.  I almost lose it whenever Rudolph comes on prime time.  I turn up radio and sing Christmas carols  like I'm a rockstar.  I don't care if they all cover their ears or give me dirty looks - my coworkers secretly love it. I almost go into a diabetic coma eating all the candy everyone sends - I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.  I scared a poor little patient yesterday whenever I asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she said "The Michael Jackson Wii game," and then I screamed "Oh,OOOOH, meeee too!". She jumped and looked a little frightened.  I may have even spit on her a little bit.  I just love Christmas.  But then my anxiety sets in and I panic a little bit.  I realize that I haven't gotten everything done I wanted to do. I start counting all the things that are still not done and I have a small nervous breakdown.  I cry, press my face against the wall, lose it, sing loud, eat, and yell - but it ain't the happy excited kind.   I still have Christmas cards to mail, gifts to buy, candy to make, decorating to do and cheer to spread.  I start to count the days and I can't believe it's right here staring me in the face. But right before I have the melt down in the aisles of the Wal-Marts, I stop and breath and talk to people and realize - everyone is in the same boat and even if everything isn't  Norman Rockwell perfect - it is perfect.  We celebrate and rejoice because every year no matter what Christmas comes without fail. It will be just as perfect as the first Christmas even if I don't buy one present or hang one wreath.  I just have to remind myself every year. 

'Til Tomorrow

Confessions

Have y'all seen the picture of the smoking baby?  I mention it here to remind myself that other kids do bad stuff too.  I know when you looked at it you probably were appalled and then kind of laughed.  That was my reaction today.  But not to the smoking baby. 

I had a childhood friend that I shared everything with.  We played together, took dance together, vacationed together, and even got in trouble together.  We were inseparable.  As running buddies, we shared a special secret.  We cussed when we were in elementary school.  And we cussed good.  We knew how to cuss like poets.  You know, using the cuss words correctly.  There is nothing more annoying than hearing someone use a cuss word out of context.  It's just so amateur -  not us, the professtional 2nd grade cussers.  We knew just when to say the correct cuss word and when.  We were cool.  I can remember a girl coming up to us on the playground and saying, "So- I hear y'all cuss. Is that true?" She was a grade ahead of us so it was just special she was even talking to us.  We replied, " Yeah.  So?" Older cooler girl, "Ok.  Just asking.  Cool."  Then she put her cigarette out with her foot.  Naw, just kidding about the cigarette -not about the conversation.  True story.  Now, we were young so we weren't using any big league cuss words.  We were smart about it, we made sure we didn't cuss around any tattlers or teachers or parents.  Anyway, we cussed and we cussed artfully.  I guess every kid does.  Sorry Mama.  I know you tried.

Today, I got "The Call".  The one where a teacher calls to tell you that your child asked if _____ was a cuss word.  THE CUSS WORD.  You know the one.  The granddaddy of them all.  After I revived myself with smelling salts and someone performed CPR on me, I composed myself enough to ask the teacher where she *gulp* heard it from.  Apparently, it was written down (not by her) and she sounded it out.  She is great with phonetics.  Mercy me.  Parenting ain't for sissies or the faint of heart. Yes - I was appalled but then I faked a laugh and then I moved on.  Thank goodness for good teachers. And a sense of humor.  And a strong heart.  And for Lava soap.

Til Tomorrow

Heroes

We aren't promised anything in life.  We aren't even promised that we will get to come home tonight after work.  Sometimes just the routine things that we do everyday may be our last time to do them.  What if the last time you talked you your mom was the last time? What if the last time you kissed your husband or wife was the last time? Or what if the last time you tucked your baby into bed was the last time?

I don't know Pie personally but I am pretty sure she's the baddest chick in town.  I am impressed with her quick wit and cool head. She's so cool that I think I might be her for Halloween next year. She makes women everywhere want to own a gun and know how to use it.  Now, if y'all aren't familiar with what I'm talking about I will give you the abbreviated version.  Pie was kidnapped at gunpoint from a gas station in Springhill while she was pumping gas.  She was then forced to drive into Arkansas, where she made a decision that probably saved her life.  She decided she wasn't going any further with this man.  She grabbed a gun, fired shots at the dude, bailed out of her car, and then she ran for her life.   As I watched her interview on a local news station, I was struck by her comment about "the will to live".  Wow.  She knew exactly what she had to do to stay alive and she knew exactly why she needed to be alive.  I'm sure in a million different ways she thought about a beautiful little 4 month old girl she needed to pick up.  She knew that she had so many things she had left to do.  If she was like me she had laundry that needed folding and chicken that needed cooking. She probably even had a Wal-Mart list.  She may have even forgotten to feed her dogs that day.  She had to give her husband a good night kiss and (if he is anything like mine) find his socks for him.  She had diapers to change and kisses to steal.  She had bedtime stories to read and a game of peek-a-boo to play.  She had a life to live.  An ordinary, extraordinary, plain, wonderful life.  I don't know what actually went through her mind, but the thoughts were of her family - that I'm sure of.  The will to live far outweighed any fear that she had.  Her will to live - her survival instinct - was fueled by a family that she had said good bye to earlier in the day and even though it was unspoken, she promised them she would return.  It was all in her goodbye.  You and I say it everyday - "Bye! See you later".  Some don't get to keep that promise, but Pie did.  She not only got to come home, but she showed her daughter what a hero is really made of. In years to come someone will tell that little girl what her mom did and she will be so proud to have such a strong courageous mommy.
Thanksgiving this year was sweeter than the last for Pie and her family. They had so much to be thankful for.  Whenever faced with a near tragedy it makes the plainest moments in life that much sweeter and more meaningful. 
I know about near tragedies, and I know about sweeter moments.  Tomorrow is never promised, we don't know what is in store for us.  What we do have is the now, the exact moment when we start living our life and we stop waiting for the tomorrow we are never promised.

Pie- I'm glad you got to keep your unspoken promise and come home - Welcome home to your new life!

'Til Tomorrow 

Microphones

Photograph by Amanda Morgan

I spent last Sunday doing something very out of character for me.  I spent the entire day at a Ropin'.  You can't say "rop-ing" it's not right... you must pronounce it Ropin'.  Glad we got that cleared up.  The Ropin' was a benefit for Heath and again the cowboys didn't disappoint.  Heath even made an appearance wearing his real clothes.   It was the first time he'd worn jeans in almost 3 months.  He looked good.  He looked normal.  He looked (as one of  our smart alec friends put it) like a "family of Mexicans had moved outta them jeans".  Not to worry, the good people from Sarepta and Ivan are trying fatten him up with tons of food being brought just about every other day.  This is the southern way - you can be hurt, but not hurt and skinny.  We love our neighbors and friends.
I missed a once in a lifetime opportunity at the Ropin'. I will never forgive myself for it either.  I missed my father giving a speech.  In a microphone.  Without stuttering.  Kids will probably study about it in history.  It will be right up there with Abe Lincoln's and JFK's speeches.  I even heard that he might be thinking of becoming a professional speaker.  He could be hired out for parties and stuff.  After the "Great Warford Oratory" the Ropin' got underway.  The whole day was another example of just how kind and giving people are.  I was touched to see almost every rider come by on their horse and tell Heath how glad they were to see him or just give him a big grin and then swallow the large lump in their throat.
An act of kindness late in the day made my brother the proud owner of one the saddles all those ropers came to win. A very kind gentleman that won a raffled saddle gave it right back to Heath.  This man was a perfect stranger.  His kindness won't be forgotten.
As I, the black sheep, sat and watched all day the riders and the sport my people love, you'd think I would start to get the fever.  The wrangler fever - as I like to call it.  I will admit that I can appreciate the dedication and skills it takes. This sport ain't for the sissies of the world.  First you really need to know how to ride - and ride well.  Then you have to be able to do two things at the same time- which totally disqualifies me.  I was, however, very interested in one part of the roping and I'm pretty sure that I could excel in.  I was very impressed with that lady in the box with the microphone.  Oh my-  how I need one of those.  There's power in that microphone.  I need one real bad.  She has the best job ever- hands down.  When she called out a name, they all listened.  She was a woman after my own heart.  So, whenever you see Jeremy tell him all I want for Christmas is: one arena, 87 cowboys to boss around, and a microphone.  That's all I want.
Thank you again to the men and women that made this day successful.  And to you - lady in the box with the all powerful  microphone: I love you and your microphone.

'Til Tomorrow

ACME Dingo Boots and a Man

Several years ago I finally won an auction on e-bay for a pair of vintage 1972 ACME Dingo boots. I almost never win anything on E-Bay and if I do I wonder if I am getting the shaft.  Anyway, these boots were stinkin' cute.  They were also a size 7 1/2.  That wouldn't be a problem except I wear an 8.  I just figured I'd wear them without socks.  Or really really thin ones.  The best part was that they only cost me 12 dollars and to my surprise when they arrived they were real boots and not a picture of boots.  I absolutely loved them.  However, my feet did not.  The first opportunity I got to wear them out was a "date" with my husband.  Anything that gets me out of Sarepta and doesn't involve going to Bass Pro or The Home Depot is a "date" to me.  While we were eating at the restaurant I shall not name because I can't remember where it was, we got into an argument over something I shall not discuss - because I can't remember that either.  I'm sure it was Jeremy's fault whatever it was.  Finally after 45 minutes of staring at my steak and potatoes and not speaking we decide to leave.  I was mad, but I was looking cute in my 1972 Dingo boots.  The restaurant must have decided to wax their floors that morning with Crisco. Just as I marched past the bar, thinking mean thoughts about Jeremy - my beautiful, half a size to small boots defied me and I slipped.  The graceful creature that I am- was able to stay off my face and luckily I fell on my booter.  One leg went behind me and the other went way out to the side.  It didn't hurt. Much. Except for my pride.  Jeremy scurried up behind me just as the bar patrons turned from their stools.  I heard an "OOOOOOOO" and then they all gave me a round of applause and someone even whistled. It was a glorious moment.  Jeremy picked me up and rushed me out the doors as fast as he could.  My head never looked up until I was sure I was in the parking lot.  Here I was - mad at my husband for whatever he did to me, humiliated in front of half of Bossier City, feet hurting, and probably a pulled hamstring from my stunt.  As I hobbled back to our car my sweet, loving husband turns to me and asks "So, uh, where do you wanna go next?"  I wish I could say I smiled sweetly and kissed his sweet lips, but I won't lie to you.  Luckily the brain damage has blocked out what I said to him. 
 Unfortunately, I cannot say that was the most embarrassed I have ever been.  I have managed to embarrass myself many times over, but maybe we'll  talk about those another day.
So....... Jeremy tells me the other day that I probably won't be able to blog about Heath forever and I should probably should find something else to write about. I agreed. Sometimes he has good ideas. He's a really good husband/father/man. He still can't find the milk in the refrigerator. Or his underwear or socks. And he reads my texts over my shoulder - which drives me crazy and usually gets him an elbow in the gut. Other than that he's a pretty good guy. That got me to thinking- what in the world am I going to blog about? I guess everything and nothing. I will probably just have rambling thoughts and maybe even a idea every now and then. My hope is to make you laugh and smile. Just laugh - laugh loud - laugh at yourself - laugh at your kids. Life is just hard sometimes, we can fall down and sometimes in front of a lot of people.  I hope you have someone to pick you up or at least help you up.  Laughing makes things so much easier.  If you ain't laughing you ain't living.



'Til Tomorrow

Everywhere I look are signs

The crying started at the hospital.  It was a sad goodbye. All of them hugged him like they were hugging their best friend, not their patient. They kept telling us that we were going to be back, but we all knew it wouldn't be the same. Then Heath did something that took my breath away. He WALKED out those double doors, just like the last 80 days never happened. The same doors that he was whisked through on a stretcher with his life in peril.   I knew he would, but actually seeing it come true was just unbelievable.  He turned to the nurses, lifted up his arms and waved goodbye.  As he walked down the hall, my heart couldn't take it any more.  In that same hall, I had cried so many tears and said so many prayers, along with my family.  It was just too much to hold in.  I hadn't cried many tears in front of him, but now they were nothing but tears of joy.

The ride home was filled with so much anticipation.  The world looked different than it had before.  The landscape was painted with beautiful hues of fall and the air was filled with a chill.  The interstate was filled with cars passing us by.  We were taking the slow ride to home. As we approached Sarepta, the reality hit me.  He was coming home.  It was here.  Then we saw the first sign telling us we had 2 miles left. The signs were proof positive that we are honored to have some of the best friends people can have. Some of them were encouraging, some funny, all were heart warming.   The signs continued on and on until we reached Crow Lake Road.  Our caravan pulled on to the street and we were greeted by more people than we could count.  Men, women, children were there waving and cheering.  It was again overwhelming.  Their anxious faces scanned the cars to finally see Heath in person.  They were almost as happy as we were.  Our friends had made his homecoming just as special as a hero's welcome.  The sweet faces I saw wiped away tears and smiled through cheers.  My heart almost burst. Heath's own driveway held the best spectators.  Gunner and Paige jumped up and down with little excitement filled faces.  If you have never heard joy expressed, then you should listen to the squeal of 2 children greeting a man that has been gone from home way too long.  These little things in life are what matter. 
I watched as Heath walked to greet his welcome crew.  The gigantic grins and handshakes were abundant.  The gentle hugs he received from men and women brought a tear to my already crying eyes.  Then, he did the first thing he said he was going to do.  He just walked around and looked at everything.  I watched him as he looked around, looking at things as if it were the first time he had ever seen them. His horses even came to the fence to greet him.  They nodded and brayed as if to say, "Welcome home my friend".

After the crowd finally thinned, he stepped into his house for the first time in over two and a half months.  We were a finally a family again- right where it all started.  Ironically, Heath lives in the same house he and I grew up in. We had come full circle.  That night I watched something- that if you didn't know our circumstances- would seem so normal to anyone else. Heath sat around his own dinner table and ate dinner just like he had done many many times before. He laughed and talked with his family. He listened to Gunner and Paige tell about their day at school. Then, he went and sat in his recliner to watch the 6 o'clock news.
Heath's journey been so very hard and he has endured more than one man ever should. But then again, we wouldn't know how sweet life sometimes is and how it can be gone in a flash.  We have learned to cherish the good days and still praise Him when they are bad. 
Tonight when you go home and kiss your wife or your husband and your kids hello after a long day at work and you sit down for supper -  remember that somewhere there is someone in a hospital wishing he could be in his recliner watching the 6 o'clock news.  And a family by his side praying to get him back there. 

'Til Tomorrow

To Lyndi: Thank you for the welcome home.  I'm sure you will always let him call you "Aunt".

**Pictures by Sheila Robertson and Andrea Jones Neal - thanks girls!

Wow

Well what can I say... I am just too choked up for words.  I have waited so long for this and I cannot even begin to describe what it feels like.  The only way to perfectly describe it is to hold your breath for 80 days and then finally exhale.   I will blog about this, but not today... I want to get it just right.  So for now I will just say - Heath is home and today was a good day. 

I will leave you with what we left behind at LSUMC... a wonderful sight... an empty room with an empty bed. 

'Til Tomorrow

Our Burn Team

Some people go to work and it's just that - a job.  They are just paying the bills or getting by for now.  But a small few get to go to work and make a difference in peoples lives.......... 

 I have been working for almost 10 years as a hygienist.  Yes, it's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it.  And plus I wear gloves.  And a mask.  And a gown.  And glasses.  And an invisible force field.  I really don't even think of it as gross.  It's just spit and blood  - no big deal to me. Through out all the years of working, I couldn't  help but become a wiser individual. Things you learn in a dental office can be applied directly to your  life and I would like to share them with you.  Although, I have millions of life lessons, this is a blog not a self help book.  So to narrow it down, I have chosen my three most important:

1. Never try to get a "stray" hair off of a  woman's  face - sometimes it's attached. And  don't try to explain what you just did.  Do not say - "Oh I didn't notice it was part of your moustache". Just be quiet and pretend like nothing happened. 

2. When a child tells you they don't like the flavor grape - just believe them.  Do not test your theory that they will grow to like it - unless you enjoy cleaning up Doritos and Air-Head flavored throw up. 

3.When you tell someone to bite- make sure to move your finger.


Some people are blessed to go to work and truly get to change people's lives.  They have the honor of taking a broken person and making them whole again.  If you work in the LSU Burn Unit - you get to do that everyday you go to work.  I will FOREVER be grateful to these people.  For the past 79 days, they have taken care of every need that Heath has had - whether it was physical or emotional.  In the first critical days, Heath was probably the most watched patient they had.  There was not a breath he took or a hand move he made that they did not witness or monitor.  The compassion that they have shown us as a family is unmatched.  They have answered every question that has crossed our lips with professional grace and a confident knowledge.  These men and women are trained professionals that have patient care as their number one priority.  They come to work everyday knowing that they are taking care of someone who is going through the worst, most painful time in their life.  They know that each moment hurts worse than the last and they see what fire devastates.  They are the ones that know how far each and every patient comes.  Each shift that changes is just as good as the one before - the quality doesn't change.  When you talk to Dr. Sittig and Dr. Richardson about their nurses -they are so proud and confident in everyone of them.  If those two Drs. give a compliment you can bet its a pretty high honor.  As much as I can speak good of the professionalism and care they have provided for Heath, I can't speak enough to you about the friendships we have formed with them.  When I say its going to be bittersweet to leave, its because we have found an extended family in these people.  They have brought food for us from their kitchens, cried with us and laughed with us. They are just good people.  We will never forget them. They have made a difference in our lives.   When Heath came off that helicopter on August 25th they already knew he was coming and they were waiting.  When they rushed him through those double doors they began fix what was broken.  I will never be able to repay them.  They saved my little brothers life - plain and simple.   The only thing I can do is offer them my most sincere and humblest "Thank you".


 Dr. Sittig and Dr. Richardson : We are blessed to know you and know your "work".  Thank you doesn't really cover it.  You are the kind of doctors that every patient wants and every medical student should want to be.

Mike: - You have gone above and beyond and we are so grateful.
Big Daddy (aka David), Ryan, Kim, Jessica, Virginia, Jennifer, Susie, Angie, Susan, Debbie, Ann Marie, Dan, Robert Dale,Emily, Heath, Carol,    - Ya'll just don't know how much you mean to us.  Thank you isn't enough. 
Shannon, Shannon and Natalie - He will rope again thanks to ya'll.
Lloyd, Glaydis, Dana, Ms. Linda, Shawn, Janice, Sara, Beverly, Ginger, Cynthia, Scott, Annie, Amanda, Terrie - Ya'll are so precious.  We've come to love you.  Thank you. 
Jewels - You aren't going to be able to get rid of us.  We love you. 
And to anyone else that has had a hand in Heaths recovery at the Burn Unit I have not named (and not by intention - only because of brain damage) : Thank you!

Tomorrow will mark a bittersweet end.  Heath will be discharged from LSUMC and be able to return home.  When we leave tomorrow we won't be gone long, he will be back. But it will be for outpatient clinic once a week so they can assess how he's doing and he will continue his physical therapy there.  The days ahead will not be easy.  There will still be pain and and healing left to do.  There will be days when he doesn't want to do physical therapy.  He will be finding his way - trying to fit back into a world that he was suddenly jerked away from. His journey is not ending here, a new chapter is only beginning.

'Til Tomorrow

Everything that Stays the Same Changes

The shirts are still hung in the closet, all neatly pressed and patiently waiting.  His "good boots" are still by the door looking like they were just kicked off.  I'm sure those light bulbs that are out are ones that he meant to change.  The house still smells the same when you walk in.  Outside, his truck still sits in his driveway, right where he left it 75 days ago.  The dogs are waiting at my house, watching for him.  All the things that he was going to get to tomorrow are still left undone.   The grass has now become dormant and stopped growing and is now a crunchy brown instead of the lush green when he last saw it. The leaves have finally changed into their golds, browns, reds and yellows.  The pool now only holds memories of the summer.  The air is now cool and inviting.  Summer has finally given way to Fall.  Our babies started school and have now learned to read and recognize words. An entire season of high school football has passed.  The state fair has come and gone.  Halloween is now just empty candy wrappers and a buggy full of reduced costumes at the Wal-Marts.  We blinked and August turned into November. 
 Even though at first glance you would believe that everything is the same at his house just waiting for him to walk through the door, life has gone on.  Even though we have missed everything around us, we know that next time it will be sweeter and not taken for granted.    Sometimes it felt like walking through a long dark tunnel, feeling our way around.  Then we would feel someone grab our hand and lead us through another day.  I believe these were your prayers that you prayed. These prayers you not only prayed, but you believed with all your heart.  And they came true.  We saw the light at the end of the tunnel a long time ago we just had some walking and hand holding to do.  Now, finally we are reaching the light at the end of the tunnel.  The light happens to be Crow Lake Road - home sweet home.  Heath knows as well as our whole family that this is not where we go back to our regularly scheduled living, but now instead of a tunnel we see a field- a field of opportunities and dreams.   Wait- maybe Heath sees a roping pen instead of a field - those are really just fields without grass anyway.

Since the beginning, people have consistently asked me two questions : How is Heath ? and When is coming home? - Well ya'll - Friday November 12, 2010 Heath is coming home.  Get your dance moves ready.  (and your tissues! )

                                                    Picture edits by Amanda Sexton

Casts

Home is where the heart is.
I bet ya'll have seen that on a billion signs or plaques or pillows. I think that in the South it's kind of a motto.  I haven't really every thought about what it means until just now. I guess that home isn't really where you live its where you stay at the moment.  It's where you find love and comfort.  It might not be at the house you pay for every month.  It may be at your work if you have a wonderful work family, or in your car if you love driving, or maybe its your hometown.  It could even be in a small little hospital room in the burn unit of LSU. It's where you would find countless pictures of loved ones and drawings from children and cards of comfort on the walls.  It's where you'll find chocolate in the corner and an I-pod playing familiar songs on the table.  It's also where you will find family members gathered around a hospital bed visiting just like it was a dinner table.  That's where we have called home for the last 71 days. 

Since last Monday, after the surgery, the donor site was giving Heath so much pain.  The pain wasn't being relieved because of a couple of reasons.  When you are on pain medication for such a long time you will eventually build a tolerance to and also whenever you have harvested 3 times from one site in the last 60 days, the site might be a little tender. To help with the pain, the wonderful doctors and nurses decided to "install" a pain pump.  This pump delivered I.V. pain meds continuously and then Heath controlled when he needed a "boost" and with a push of a button he had some small relief.  During these days the pain was about as unbearable as it has been.  It's never fun to watch someone hurt, but watching someone who has already had to endure some of the worst pain imaginable, it just seems plain old unfair.  Time sometimes is the only thing will heal some pain and that is exactly what happened.  The pain has subsided some and he is able to walk and continue on with physical therapy.  
When burns heal there is a complication that will arise if physical therapy does not counter it - contracture scars.  These are scars that could become very detrimental if left unattended.  What happens is this- normal elastic connective tissue is destroyed and what grows back in its place is inelastic fibrous tissue.  These scars will resist stretching and will limit mobility.  If physical therapy isn't done then these scars will become very hard and surgery will have to be done.  Sometimes even with stretching and physical therapy, surgery will still have to be done.  This week Dr. Sattig and Shannon were worried that his arms are developing contracture scars so they decided that he would need a cast on his arms.  As of Tuesday he has been fashioning a cast on the right arm.  It will help to hold the arm straight and keep the contracture scar from becoming hard in the bent position.  Tomorrow, the right cast will come off and they will put one on his left arm.The left one will be left on until Monday.
His burns are healing nicely and there are only a few that are covered with dressings.  This is a huge change from the Michelin  Man we are used to seeing.  Now that he is so close to coming home the staff is preparing him for that day.  Heath is like their baby in a way.  They have seen him at his most vulnerable and have nursed him back from the brink of death.  They have seen him through the most horrible experience of his life and they all have a close bond with him.  71 days with a patient is a long time to become acquainted with your patient and their family and it didn't take them that long to fall in love with him.  I told them from the beginning that they would love Heath and they all do.  They care about everything he does - right down to his beard growth.  I know that Heath can't wait to get out, but I'm sure leaving a place behind that has cared for him when no one else could is a bittersweet moment.  Heath will be home in just a few short days and we cannot be more thrilled. Lord willing - it will be next Friday.  We are about to get what we have been praying for : Sweet Homecoming - our hearts will be home. 

'Til Tomorrow

Black Cat Sprinting

Happy Halloween! I absolutely love Halloween! I love to see all the costumes, eat all the candy and blame it on everyone else.  I love the idea of watching scary movies. As kids, at our house we never really watched scary movies.  It wasn't because we weren't allowed or anything, we just didn't.  I know its hard imagine, but not everyone had a VCR in their house.  We didn't.  We RENTED the VCR at the same time that we rented the tape. The less scary movies in our house, the less chance we would end up in the bed with our parents.  My parents like to brag that we were 14 before we slept in our own bed, but they are exaggerating a bit- it was more like 11 or 12. I think that the idea of being scared is much more fun than actually being scared.  Now being scared is just a part of life.  Sometimes we just can't help it. 

When we were little, our neighbors- the Ketchums', went out of town.  They had a very mean evil cat named Tom.  Michelle asked me to go and feed and water Tom while they were gone.  Tom, the most hissing cat I'd ever seen, had a particular hatred for my brother.  Whenever Heath and I would go there to play, that cat would stare and growl at Heath.  It never missed an opportunity to mess with Heath's head- always snarling at Heath whenever he was there. Anyway,  I was feeling really nice,  so I made Heath go with me to feed the devil cat.  We unlocked the door walked in.  The lights were off, so navigating around wasn't easy.  I found the food and poured it into the bowl and filled up the water bowl with water, with Heath as close to my heels as he could be.  We looked like Scooby Doo and Shaggy creeping around the dark house.  (I'm not really sure why I didn't turn on more lights, probably because I was threatened not to leave any on and not to make a mess.) Tom was no where in sight.  I tried to call her out, to no avail.  I told Heath that I figured the cat was outside and we should just go.  Just as we turned to go out the door Tom made a throaty snarl and we both sort of froze.  Then out of nowhere, Tom jumped out of a dark corner right onto Heath's calve. It looked like something out of a ninja movie when Heath did sort of a donkey kick behind him to thwart the feline attack.  Then he screamed so loud and sissy-like a 6 year old girl would have been ashamed. He flew past me like Death itself was chasing him. I swear I saw a little cloud of dust and if we hadn't left the door open,  Rodney and Tracie would have had to replace the door because of the Heath shaped hole in it.  I don't think I've ever seen his little short legs move so fast.  He ran the whole way home.  I left ole Tom with her food and bad attitude.  I could barely walk home because my side hurt from all the laughing I did.  I couldn't wait to get home and ask him what he thought got him back there  because he never turned around to see what it was.  I'm not sure if he EVER forgave that cat and come to think of it I don't think he ever went back into the Ketchum's house for that matter.

In the first 3 days whenever we didn't know if Heath was going to be OK, I have never been so scared in my whole life. It was a true living horror movie. Now that we are past that - new fears have emerged both for Heath and us.    "What am I going to be able to do when I get home? Am I going to hurt?   Who will be there? " The questions that Heath has are understandable.  Some of  them  he has verbalized and some I just know he's thinking.  The one thing that he wants more than anything is to come home but it's not as easy as just coming home and going back to his regular life.  Not knowing is the scary part.  Everything we do and everything that Heath faces now is new territory for all of us.  We don't have a crystal ball to foresee the future and that is terrifying to all of us.  What we do know is that Heath will need many hours of physical therapy.  We know he will be coming home soon, possibly as soon as 10 -14 days.  We know he will need his family to help him through his transition from hospital to home.  And we know he will not be getting a cat.  Even though that is all we have wanted and hoped for in 68 days, now that it is upon us it will be a big change.  We can't walk outside and ask a nurse when we don't have the answers. We aren't going to have the comfort and convenience of having everything we need for whatever comes up.  Throughout all of this we have lived on prayers and faith and we know that we will make it through and Heath will do just fine. Even though we don't know how tomorrow will turn out we know that we will be able to handle things.  Our family is closer and stronger than we were before.  What we have learned through this process is : we face things head on - not with our eyes shut, even during the scary parts- we don't cut and run.  We can't wait for the next chapter - scary or not. 

'Til Tomorrow

p.s. Heath got a pain pump a few days ago and the pain is so much better - so thank you for all the prayers !!!!