mama says om theme: simple

We spent the weekend livin' the simple life on our first family camping trip. We figured our youngest was finally old enough to take the leap without worrying about waking the entire camp all night with a crying baby. So with our new tent and our truck loaded down, we headed to the mountains.



The boys loved hanging out in the tent eating s'mores. Who wouldn't?



The little guy was a wiped out and took an impromptu nap in the back of the pick-up on the way to the creek.



After climbing a mountain covered with boulders and exploring caves, we surveyed the awesome scenery. It was breathtaking!



Of course the trip wouldn't have been complete for our middle boy without finding an elk bone. He also came home with a spider bite but I guess that's the price you pay for taking a walk on the wild side.



The only glitch was that it got really, really cold at night and we did, too. After getting up about 300 times to cover the boys back up after they kicked off their covers, I stepped on my glasses. My husband said, "Surely, this night has to end soon..." We heard some coyotes and some crying babies, but finally morning did come and we were greeted by our two-year old who is very much a morning person. He came over to our bed, teeth chattering, saying, "Ma-ma, my m-mouth is mo-mo-o-ving." There's nothing like snuggling up to toddler with morning breath while staring blindly into the morning sun, broken spectacles in a neat pile next to the air mattress that has slowly deflated during the night. But I digress...

There may never be another first anniversary, first home, or first baby in our family, but we sure enjoyed our first camping trip and look forward to many more.


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tribute to my middle child

On this day, four years ago, I called my husband at work and said, "Hey, I may need you to come home. I think I may be in labor..." I hung up, wrote down the time, went back to doing dishes and waited to see when the next feeling came. Four minutes. I called him back and said, "Better get home now." He arrived 45 minutes later to find me waiting on the porch with my suitcase. My mother-in-law was already there to stay with our 2 year-old son. Once I was admitted to the hospital and checked, the nurse informed me I was already at 6 cm. "Kick ass," I said.

Unfortunately, the birth of my first son had been a traumatic experience. I am always grateful that he was born healthy, but other than that I hold nothing but resentment in my heart for the hospital and doctor I entrusted with his birth. I allowed myself to be induced which I later determined was pushed on me by my doctor to make it more convenient for her schedule. We had no reason to believe I was overdue or the baby in stress, but I succumbed to her nudges. From there on, the entire experience was out of my control. I was seconds away from a c-section when my son was finally removed by a vacuum. Because of an over-zealous nurse and the epidural that prevented me from feeling anything, my left leg was hyper-extended during delivery and I could not feel it from the knee down for weeks afterward. I was sent home to my third-story apartment to be basically trapped with a newborn. The day we brought my son home from the hospital it was raining and I had to literally scoot on my butt up 3 flights of stairs just two days after giving birth. It was the only way I felt I would not fall down. For months I couldn't take him for walks or even get out unless my husband was home to assist me down the stairs.

When I found out I was pregnant with our second child, I was thrilled but then my next thought was one of fear: I have to go through labor again. I began reading up on alternatives and decided that a home birth would be the answer. We went so far as to interview some midwives but after finding out our insurance wouldn't foot the cost, we had no choice but to go the traditional route. But just because we were going to a hospital, it didn't mean I was going to give up control again. I educated myself about natural child-birth and made up a birth plan. My doctor seemed to almost snicker at me when I presented it to her but it was too far in my pregnancy to switch doctors. I decided to pray about it, for a fast delivery and a healthy baby.

After hearing I was at 6 cm, I settled into my bed sitting crossed-legged and closed my eyes. I concentrated on relaxing my shoulders and breathing, in and out, slowly and deeply. It worked. The labor progressed quickly and less than two hours later it was time to push. It was such a routine labor that the doctor and nurse were chatting with each other about one of their new haircuts as I was pushing. I wanted to say, "Hey! There is something sacred happening here! Have some respect!" But I guess I was too co-dependent to be rude even while I was in labor. The good news was that my regular doctor happened to be on vacation so I had a different, more progressive one. She supported my decision to have no drugs and no I.V. She was an answered prayer.

My second son was born at 5:24 pm., weighing 8 lb. 9 oz. He was healthy and strong. We named him after my father, a middle child. I was also a middle child, and my son was to become one himself.

He was a mama's boy from the beginning. He was also very difficult. For a while the only way I could get him to sleep was to put him in a completely dark room with the vacuum cleaner running right next to him. My husband warned me that I was going to burn the motor up but to me, it was worth buying 20 vacuum cleaners if necessary. The child would not sleep! As he's grown older I've come to realize he is very complicated and brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because I'm his mother.

His personality is multi-faceted. On one hand, he's naturally aggressive and contrary. He will never admit to having fun even when we spot him giggling and having the time of his life. We'll ask, "Did you have fun today?" And he'll reply, "No. Because so-and-so did such-and-such to me!" He never forgives. But on the other hand, he has a nurturing spirit and we'll catch him petting his purple unicorn, whom he's named "April", and talking sweet talk in her ear. When we were expecting our third son we were very concerned about how our middle boy would take it since he was so possessive of me. But as soon as we brought the new baby home, he was cooing at him and bringing him toys. And these days they are very close.

It makes me proud to have three sons who love each other the way they do. Their personalities are all so unique it's amazing they come from the same parents. Each one of them fills a niche in our family and it would be a completely different picture if any of them were not who they are.

The birth of my middle child was a healing experience for me. After feeling so victimized from my first birth experience, it really changed the way I felt about myself. It seems contradictory that his birth was so easy when his upbringing has been anything but. But I wouldn't trade him for anything. We middle kids have to stick together. We have a reputation to uphold.

mama says om: tumble, a mama's haiku

laundry day today
sort, wash, tumble dry and fold
where did my life go?



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black out

Last night, I sat watching the news where they were talking about how Denver hit a new record of 103 yesterday. The smiling anchor lady was explaining how the high heat and electric consumption had caused a few power outages that day but not to worry, there were no more problems. Then WHAMMO. My power went out. I had just finished my bourbon and Coke while watching a re-run of Grey's Anatomy and was about to go to bed. My husband was out of town and my middle boy had gone to bed with a dose of IB Profen to keep his fever down. Could it be a worse time to lose power?

I went and got the flash light which was fully charged thanks to my husband's good planning. He also has an emergency kit with everything from band-aids to twine prepared in case we ever have to make a speedy getaway in the middle of the night and live off the land in the mountains for a few years (hey, you never know). I checked the breaker box and everything was fine. Some of my neighbors had power and the others I could not be sure about. Maybe they were just asleep and that's why their houses were dark. The thought crossed my mind: Was someone trying to kill me? Had they somehow cut my power in preparation of sneaking in, knowing my husband was gone that night? Thankfully the bourbon kept me calm and when I found my phone to be in working condition I figured I was safe. I called the electric company to report the outage and a reassuring female computer voice told me it would be restored by 2:30pm the following day. Screw.

I went to open the windows since usually in Colorado there is a lovely breeze or high wind at any given moment but, just my luck, the air was stagnant and warm. I had a Texas flashback and hurriedly closed the window. Hopefully the cooler indoor air would hold us a few more hours until it cooled off outside, I thought. I just knew my boy would be spiking a fever around 4am when his medicine wore off and wake up in a hot house. Things were not looking good.

I lit a candle for the boys so they wouldn't freak out if they noticed their nitelights were out, and then climbed into bed and lay there in the hot, dark, quiet night. But I couldn't sleep. My mind was picturing my mint-chocolate chip ice cream defrosting and dribbling down onto the chicken nuggets and corn dogs in the freezer. I'd just gone grocery shopping and everything was chock full of food for the next two weeks.

How on earth did people used to live without electricity? How do they still not have power in some countries? Do they know what they're missing or are they just used to it? I could rest easy, although a little uncomfortable, knowing that within a few hours I would have mine back. Without light, hot water, a refrigerator, TV and computer, you might as well shoot me.

Thankfully, the computer lady was wrong and the power was up a couple hours later. My home cooled down and we all slept well. And in the morning our frozen waffles were just fine. Once again, I'm counting my blessings.

mama says om theme: relax

Here's my youngest son relaxin' with our big cat, Fangun. It's nice how animals can be so protective and attached to childeren. They're kindred spirits in their innocence, I guess.


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makes me wonder...

I try not to worry but here is the transcript of an actual conversation that transpired between my 6 year-old and 4 year-old on the way home from Arby's today. They received "Brain Quest" toys with their kids' meals and were "quizzing" each other:

6 year old: What is the answer to 22 and 11?

4 year-old: (long silence) Book?

6 year-old: No! Twelve o' Clock.


Hmmmmmmm.......

mama says om theme: whimsy

His first tooth fell out this week during Sunday School and he smugly presented it to us in a zip-lock baggie when we picked him up. He was beaming with pride and I think a little relieved to be "keeping up" with his friends who have already started losing theirs.

After carrying it around all day and showing it to anyone who would look, he later forgot about it. I stumbled upon the bag on his bedroom floor. An empty bag. O no.

I felt all over the carpet frantically but had no luck. I informed my husband of the missing tooth and he said no problem, we'd make another. He searched the kitchen and began carving a replacement from a white plastic bottle top. But I spotted a dried up piece of cream cheese, not too white, not too big, just right. We put it in the bag and hoped he wouldn't crumble it when placing it under his pillow later that night. That would be bad.

It went as planned and after I was certain he was asleep I tip-toed in, retrieved the cream cheese nugget and replaced it with some shiny quarters and dimes. The finishing touch was some gold dust my mom had handed down to me from her tooth-fairy days. I still remember how delighted I was to find the whimsical sprinkling of fairy dust under my pillow. It was more thrilling than finding the actual money. I used to get pieces of scotch tape and lift samples gently off the covers to save in my jewelry box.

Around three in the morning I was up for some water and stopped by his room to cover him up since he always kicks the covers off. He was half awake when I came in and said, "Guess what? The tooth fairy has been here!" And he drifted off again.

In the morning he was up at the crack of dawn to show us his treasure and I couldn't help but notice that he said nothing of the gold dust. I went into his room and saw that it was under his pillow but his cotton sheets had absorbed most of it and it didn't appear shiny. Just a brownish smear. I touched it with my finger and saw a shimmer. "Come here!" I said and showed him the fairy dust. His little brother touched it and tasted it, of course. And then began licking it off the bed. We panicked, not knowing what 30 year-old metallic dust might actually consist of, and shooed him out of the room. His elder toothless brother seemed a little detached and unimpressed. And I found out why today. He told me he thought he must have accidentally smooshed her to have left a smudge on his bed like that. He was taking personal responsibility for killing the tooth fairy.

After explaining to him that she was fine and the dust was just from her wings as she was delivering the money in exchange for his tooth, I wondered how it had become so complicated. I have friends who don't do the tooth fairy thing. They feel it is dishonest. And now I wonder if little white lies are worth it to try to spin some childhood magic. You just never know where they can lead...


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God Bless America!

I returned from my trip to D.C. on Wednesday afternoon. We had a busy and well-planned schedule and I was impressed at the stamina of the 60 and 70-something-year-old pilots throughout the week. I really had a hard time keeping up, especially during the parade when we had to wait almost 4 hours in 100+ degree heat and humidity before we even started marching. I started wondering what they would do with my limp body when I hit the pavement. Would they carry me to side as not to slow down the procession or would they call the paramedics? I actually made it to the end, though. I was proud to be walking with the veterans and was touched by the reaction of the crowd. Although Vietnam was obviously a devisive war for our country, all along the parade route people were shouting, "Thank you!" and giving standing ovations to the veterans. It was well-deserved and a long time in coming for many.

My trip began with a visit to the National Cathedral. It had an Episcopal service and they really made me wish our church could pull off a service like that every week. The choir sounded truly angelic and their voices resonated up into the arches. And I usually don't even enjoy choir music. The sheer size of the cathedral made me feel small, yet sheltered. It was amazing to think it was the same place they had services for President Reagan when he passed away in 2004.



The next day I was able to accompany my Dad and one of his fallen comrade's widows to Arlington National Cemetery. Once again, I was overcome by the sheer size and meaning of such a sacred place. I had never known the history of it, how it used to be the home of Robert E. Lee before he refused to lead the north against the south and took his family to Virginia. He was considered a traitor and they began burying bodies of soldiers in his wife's rose garden to make sure he would never return. He eventually sued the government and they paid him $150,000 for his land and that's what is now Arlington. There are about 300,000 buried there so far and right now they are burying about 24 each day. At this rate, they think it will be full in about 40 to 50 years. It is mind-boggling to see the white markers in their neat rows going on and on and on. And just when you think you're at the end, you come around a corner and there are still more. A heavy reminder of just how much our freedom is not free. One of the quotes I heard on the tour was that "war is when we use man's best to do man's worst." I regret I don't know who originally said that but I thought it was so true. We saw the changing of the guard and although I was disappointed it was not the Marines guarding the Tomb of the Unknown soldier, I was impressed by the discipline of the Army soldiers. Those that guard the Tomb take a vow to never drink or swear again as a sign of respect and honor for their duty. It was a living memorial to the fallen.



One of the most important parts of the trip for the many pilots and families, was the visit to the Wall. I had never been there before and was bracing myself. I'd seen pictures of it but what I'd heard was true, seeing it in person is powerful. As I walked down the Wall engraved with the names of those we lost in Vietnam, over 58,000, it kept growing and growing. It started out low and then rose above my head. The names go on and on. I imagined how it would be to see the name of my father on the Wall. Or of my husband or sons. I was thankful that my Dad was standing beside me, his name not etched in stone. He brought a copy of his book to leave at the panel with three of his friends on it. It was painful to see his heartache and regret. We then went to the panel with the name of our friend's husband on it. They had been married only four years and had a 10 month-old son when he died in a crash. I was wondering what her reaction would be as we came to his name. She immediately spun around, grabbed my hand and the hand of another to form a circle. She prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for her husband's life and the lives of all those who were listed on that wall. Her faith had gotten her through it all and it inspired me as we stood there. She did not question why it happened or feel sorry for herself as a widow. She has since gone on to live an active and full life, and not be paralyzed by her loss. I felt honored to have met her and been there with her at the Wall.




The reunion was full of many delicious meals and dancing and the beer and wine flowed freely. I saw all the things I'd hoped to see: the Lincoln, Jefferson, and WWII Memorials, the Washington Monument, even the Watergate Hotel. We even had private dinners inside the Smithsonian Air and Space museum and the National Building Museum. I was just amazed at how the city was so chock full of history. I was also ashamed at my lack of real knowledge of our country's history and will be going to the library to remedy that very soon. It's funny how they could make history seem so dull in school when really it's fascinating. I can't wait to learn more and teach my boys along with me.

The VHPA (Vietnam helicopter Pilot's Association) brought along four models of helicopters they had flown in Vietnam and we got to check them out and even climb inside them. I wish my sons could have seen them ,they would have loved it.



After surviving the parade and enjoying dinner, we headed down to the mall to see the fireworks. They were over-the-top and I loved it. Some people think it's a waste of money, but I've always enjoyed them. It was the perfect ending to an enlightening week. I'm so grateful I had the chance to finally see D.C. and I plan to go back and spend more time someday. I am truly proud to be an American. We may not be perfect, but I would never want to live anywhere else. There's a reason people from all over the world are risking their lives to come here every day.



I met some very tough and very good people this week. It feels good to know there are such quality people willing to serve their country, then and now. As a mother of three boys, I hope the day never comes when my boys go off to war. I am grateful for the sacrifice so many American mothers and families have already made to ensure our way of life. It is humbling and they will not be forgotten.