Things I learned today at the doctor

If you have gained 24 pounds and then gain 13 more pounds, you will have gained 37 pounds.

If you eat sushi for dinner, you will have sugar in your urine the next morning.

If you eat sushi for dinner the night before your appointment, your genius nurse practitioner will assume you eat piles of rice all the time.

If you just say "Okay, I will," a lot, the genius nurse practitioner will let you go home a lot sooner.

If you zone out during the long boring DVD about the third trimester they play you while you wait for your blood draw, you will miss the doctor saying that there are many kinds of "IV birth control" from which to choose in the hospital.

I'm pretty sure she meant "IV pain control" since the whole birth control thing would be a moot point by then.

Turns out he's a comedian

I should have my mouth washed out.

Not just for my sailor talk some days, but actually washed, cleaned, scraped, out.

The dentist sends me into a complete panic attack. I hate it so much that I don't even read about it when other people have to go. I fear losing my teeth, but I fear the dentist even more.

So I avoid sugar in my drinks. I don't eat a lot of candy. I brush, floss, rinse, and water pic for my gums. I pray. Oh please, let my teeth be the teeth that don't need a dentist.

It hasn't always been this bad. I have always hated the noises that come from the dentist's tools. I think that is what bothers me the most. The scraping noises, and the poking of that damn pic thing. I hate the poking. The dread of finding a place that pic will stick.

Maybe if they didn't poke so hard, it wouldn't stick.

Completely irrational. I am completely and totally irrational.

Last night, when I was flossing, a chunk of the back of one of my front lower teeth came popping out with the floss. I went into hysterics. I was going to have to go to the dentist. And I had a HOLE in my tooth!

I cried myself to sleep, rubbing my tongue obsessively against the gaping hole in the back of my tooth.

This morning, I set about finding a dentist. That's right. I had to find a dentist here where I live. Where I have lived for an embarrassingly long time to not have a dentist.

I found one near the house and made an appointment for 11:45 AM. Then I sat and stewed. I chatted with some friends online who encouraged me and gave me great advice. They let me know that I wasn't alone in my irrational fears. I was scared to eat or drink anything because of the hole. I was scared to brush my teeth lest they all crumble into dust in my mouth.

Finally, it was time to go. I arrived early to fill out my paperwork. I had to wait another 30 minutes because they were squeezing me in as an emergency. When the nice girl came to take me back, she apologized for making me wait and told me that they were having issues.

I thought to myself, "I don't need to know that there are issues. Please don't tell me there are issues."

As I sat in that chair, waiting on the dentist, the tears came again. Then, thankfully, something got lodged on my contact, and I could blame the tears on my contact lens. He gave me a moment to clean them off and straighten them off, and then he looked in my mouth. He asked if I had looked in my mouth. I said I had tried.

"I've got some bad news."

The tears start coming back until I realize that my crap shoot of dentist choosing landed me a complete smart ass.

"You didn't break your tooth."

Did you know, that if you don't go to the dentist, that you can get calcium deposits built up on the backs of your teeth? I didn't. My ignorance didn't stop that from happening though.

I flossed away part of a calcium deposit. Something that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place. The floss was actually doing it's job.

The dentist laughed at me and began to scrape. He scraped away the calcium and told me that I had good looking teeth for someone who hasn't had them cleaned in forever. Then he quickly added that he didn't mean I didn't need to make an appointment to have them x-rayed and cleaned after the baby comes.

Once again, I'm a tool. A big baby, and a tool.

At least though, there were no shots and no poking. I'm hoping he is far less funny in February though. Far. Less. Funny.

Alone again, for now

The house is quiet. Momma and Daddy left this morning. Lovely is at school and then goes to her mother's house for a couple of days. Guy is at work. Always at work. It's just me and the pups for now.

Daddy did very well here, I thought. The stairs are problematic, but we couldn't do anything about that. He was up and down during the night and got off of his medicine schedule one day, but these are things that happen at home too. Overall, I thought the visit went well, and I don't think it will be as much work as was anticipated if they come for Bird's arrival in January.

Daddy is used to doing things and being the boss man. It is difficult to keep your patience with him now that he needs constant help, but then tells you how to do what he needs help with. Either that, or he wants you to help him right that second, even if you are already doing something else for him. I know it must be one of the many things that frustrates Momma, and with good reason. I just hope she doesn't feel guilty for being frustrated or out of patience sometimes.

Taking them to the 3D ultrasound was my favorite part of the week. They were really excited to get to see Bird, and the tech even printed some extra pictures for them to take back. It was incredibly cool to get to share that with them.

And the trip was happy. Even with Momma's scans looming in the near future and the reality of more chemo getting closer by the day, it was a happy trip. Of course, we are comparing that to our last two visits, one of which I lost a baby, and the other of which she was in the ICU on a ventilator. Not exactly tough competition for this trip. But we were happy. Or at least, I was. I know Momma's worried that she may not get to see Little Bird other than in those pictures, but I just don't believe that. I think she will team up with chemo again and push the cancer back at least once more.

If it's even there. We don't even know if it's there yet.

Last night, the five of us played a domino game that Daddy had been wanting to teach Lovely all week. The strange thing was, he couldn't remember how to play it. Every time we got to his turn, we had to explain the rules again. He tried to quit because he was holding us up, he said, but nobody minded. So he stayed, and he played. And even with the bizarre fact that he had to be retaught how to play with every round, there was so much of his old self there. He joked around and even broke out into the same random song that Guy did at one point. We all laughed. A lot. And it was good.

But now it is quiet. And I'm facing the third trimester.

This baby is going to be here before we know it.

I hope we are ready.

Haiku Friday, featuring Bird in 3D

Little Bird's sweet face
27 weeks today
He's got Daddy's nose.








Little Bird's shy pose
Smiling for the camera
I see there are no dimples.






Bird's eyes are shut tight
Giving us a big thumbs up
He must be cozy.







"Enough already
Can't you people let me sleep?"
Little Bird is done.







Haiku Friday. More here.

"I will receive unexpected morsels of food from above"

This past weekend, Lovely and I were in the kitchen making dinner and had the undivided attention of Pupstar. She is there at the ready, waiting to clean up any mess you might make or crumb that might spill.

When we put the meal on the table, Pupstar moved her position to lay down by the table and stare holes into each of us. Again, waiting on that bite to fall off your fork and onto the floor.

Lovely says, with a straight face, "I think Pupstar is using the secret to get us to drop food."

Perfectly timed silence. Then she grins.

Rounds of food spewing laughter all around. Man, it was funny.

Little shards of truth

I know. I'm supposed to be on break, visiting with my folks. And I am, but they need some quiet time, and so do I. Every once in awhile of course. So far it has been great having them here, and I think Daddy is doing really well. I am quite surprised actually. Pleasantly surprised.

He can't remember Lovely's name, and called her, "The little girl who lives here sometimes," which made me cry. But he can't help it, and it's not personal. I just continue to remind him, and Momma makes up for it by gushing about how wonderful she is. Which is true, so it's easy.

There is something on my mind though. Something that I need to flesh out, and I might as well try to do it here. I don't really want to go back to therapy right now if I can help it.

Guy wants to know why I think the hospital is the enemy. Why I feel like I will be fighting them tooth and nail to get the birth that I want for Little Bird to have. And while I'm not even convinced that I do feel that way, it is an interesting question.

I know that I want to be comfortable at the hospital. Comfortable as in relaxed and confident that I am being listened to and have first say in what is going on as long as things are moving along safely. I don't want to feel as though I'm being treated like someone who is sick or incapable of taking care of themselves. I want to feel strong, and I want to feel prepared.

So maybe I do feel that way. Maybe I do feel like I won't have much of a say and like everything is happening "to me" instead of "with me."

Little shards of truth still lay under my skin I guess. Things I haven't said aloud. Things I don't want to think about anymore. Laying under my skin and growing scars around them that are ugly and infected.

1. I had never been in the hospital before my D&C.

2. The last thing I said to anyone before they put me under was, "I don't care if he's dead. I don't want you to take my baby."

So there. It is really not a mystery. Just some things in my head I haven't learned to live with yet. Things that I didn't even know might be an answer when Guy asked the question the other day.

They probably have a lot to do with an answer. I know it's not the same. I know the two experiences are not related. I know all the logical answers.

Funny how none of that matters when you let your fears guide you.

House guests

Cleaning a house that has never been unpacked and is still being renovated is not an easy task. However, when your parents are coming for a visit, getting that task accomplished becomes much more important to you.

Guy and I spent the past two weeks trying to unpack boxes, put things away, build shelves, and clean, and clean some more. Even Lovely got in the act, coming to us and saying, "How can I help?" She really is an amazing 11 year old. And of course, it makes me feel good that she was excited for G-Daddy and Nana to come for a visit. In her words, "You can't have too many grandparents."

G-Daddy and Nana (who Guy and I lobbied to be called G-Daddy and Special Sauce, but Nana won out in the end) arrived last night, and seem to be settling in alright. They were up and down most of the night, but I'm not sure that is very different than when they are at home.

Daddy is ready to get out and run some errands today. Momma and I are not. The problems I've been having with my SI joint have really caught up with me, and I'm sticking to this chair and my hot pad as much as possible today. Momma of course does all the driving now, so she is tired too. We are just lumps on a log today, and it feels good.

So, dear internets, with this visit in mind, I'm about to have to hit the dreaded "mark read" on the blog reader. I'll try and catch up next week, but for now, I'm going to just have to miss you all. I will, however, say hello to the Reverend Momma for you.

Haiku Friday, doggie style

Downward facing dog
Doesn't hold a candle to
Shivasina dog.






Haiku Friday. More here.

She's so sensitive

If you prick me, do I not bleed?

If you simply look at me, do I not melt into a puddle of tears and insecurity?

If I close my eyes to sleep, do I not have terrifying nightmares?

I stare at this screen, wondering just what will come out if I allow myself to just type. Just type it all out and watch the words fall letter by letter.

And then I realize that I don't want to have to read it after I write it.

Sometimes I let it all get to me. Small things. Things out of place. Things I read in between the lines. Things that aren't the way I think they should be.

My Sil told me once that I hold people to high expectations. Make that my expectations. As in, I expect them to react the same way I would in certain situations. And then I get unjustifiably disappointed. She is right.

I think about that a lot now. When I get my feelings hurt, I think about it.

But these days, I don't think that's always the case. I think maybe I got hurt and blamed myself a little too quickly.

I find though, that I would rather just be hurt than do anything about it. Sometimes it's just easier.

And then, one morning I will wake up and wonder where exactly that friend went. When did they disappear? When exactly did it happen that I would put those memories in the trash and move on? And when exactly did I decide that it was better to just stay quiet, let someone hurt me, and cast my eyes downward until the tears won't slip out unexpected anymore?

People think I'm strong.

Those are the people who would be wrong.

Because you asked

Black Bottom Cupcakes (Cupcakes of Shame)

8 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 1/2 cups sugar, divided
1 egg
1 1/8 teaspoon salt, divided
1 cup chocolate chips
3 cups flour
1/2 cup cocoa
2 teaspoons soda
2 cups water
2/3 cup oil
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Combine cream cheese, 1/3 cup sugar, egg, and 1/8 tsp salt. Beat with whisk attachment until well combined and beginning to get fluffy. Stir in chocolate chips. Set aside.

Combine flour, cocoa, 2 cups sugar, 1 tsp salt, and soda with a fork to blend. Add water, oil, vinegar, and vanilla. Beat until smooth. Batter will be thin.

Place liners in muffin pans. Fill each 2/3 full of batter, then drop 1 heaping tsp of cream cheese mixture in the center of each.

Bake for 30 minutes at 350. Yeilds about 2 dozen cupcakes.

Cupcakes of Shame

Yesterday, Guy and I joined a church. After the service, they had a potluck for all the people who have joined in the past 12 months. I love a church potluck.

We signed up to bring dessert.

Saturday night, Lovely and I set out to make our Black Bottom Cupcakes. We have our own little system for division of duties, and can whip out a batch in no time now. She is in charge of the cream cheese filling, and I am in charge of the chocolate cake part. These rich, dark chocolate cupcakes with a cream cheese and chocolate chip filling don't last long around our house.

These cupcakes have been one of my favorites since I was a child and my momma would send them in my lunch box. It never occurred to me that they look a little funny.

Until yesterday.

Now, a potluck is more than just a potluck where I come from. It's almost a cooking or baking competition in it's own rite. Women, and some of the men, pull out all the punches to make sure that they are taking an empty dish home with them. That their dish is the one that has been scraped clean and then peered longingly into by the ones who took too long to go get their seconds.

So when it was time to leave and I went to collect my plate, I don't have to describe my horror when there were only 2 cupcakes missing off of that platter. One that Lovely ate. And one that Guy ate.

Perhaps I can blame it on pregnancy hormones, but I actually cried. A little. I couldn't help it.

Lovely insists that if just one person had eaten a cupcake besides our family, that they would have been gone. She said that they wouldn't have been able to stop themselves from telling everyone how fantastic they were, and that there would have been a mad rush for the cupcakes at that point and none would be left.

I think she was only a little disappointed. Because after all, we were taking home a couple dozen of our favorite cupcakes. Ones that we didn't have to share now.

Nevertheless, I'm thinking of changing the name of the cupcake to The Cupcake of Shame.

I have failed my first potluck at the new church.

I should have just made a pound cake.

Haiku Friday

There will be more scans
No answers from the doctors
To be continued.

"Just want you to know
Not trying to worry you
I'm good at chemo."

Now there's more waiting
Until early November
I think she's alright.

********

Labugga wrote a beautiful haiku in honor of Andria's term day. It is posted at Andria & Co. Of course I cried a little. Andria is so close to holding her baby, and has held strong through many losses to be where she is now. I'm terribly happy for her and proud of her.

********

And for more haiku, or you have written a haiku for Haiku Friday and want to join the block party, go on over and visit Jennifer at Playgroups are No Place for Children.

Manly Meme

Slouching Mom has a meme up for grabs. The Man Meme if you will. You get to learn all sorts of cool things about herself and her main squeeze, Slouching Dad. I thoroughly enjoyed it, so I'm picking up the meme and moving it right along.

Besides. Everyone knows I don't talk enough about this man I married.


1. Who is your man?

To internet land, he is Guy. He is a husband, a daddy, a scientist, a musician, and an all around selfless man. He is also a blogger.

2. How long have you been together?

Not long really. We have been married for 15 months.

3. How long did you date?

Not long there either. A little less than a year before we got married. We were both separated or recently divorced while dating.

4. How old is your man?

43. Or forty-three-ific as he likes to call it.

5. Who eats more?

That's not even a contest. He eats a good three times what I can put away. But his dad is the champion eater. When Papa comes for dinner, I cook for an army.

6. Who said "I love you" first?

He did.

7. Who is taller?

He is. Except when I wear 4 or 5 inch heels.

8. Who sings better?

That's a tough call. I'm a better back up singer, but I would rather listen to him sing any day over me. He has the easiest voice to listen to.

9. Who is smarter?

Hahahahahaha. Him. So very much him. But he likes the way I think and that makes me feel smart.

10. Whose temper is worse?

Mine I think. At least I lose mine more often. But when he does lose his, it's worse than mine. Neither one of us can stand being mad at the other though, so we tend to work things out pretty quickly. We have both put a hole in the bedroom door though. His hole was bigger.

11. Who does the laundry?

Me.

12. Who takes out the trash?

He takes it around front for trash day. Whoever gets to the inside trash first takes it outside.

13. Who sleeps on the right hand side of the bed?

We both sleep in the middle, but I'm more on the right side.

14. Who pays the bills?

I send them out and keep the accounts balanced. He makes it possible.

15. Who is better with the computer?

He is.

16. Who mows the lawn.

We shared that until I got pregnant. Now he does.

17. Who cooks dinner?

That would be me.

18. Who drives when you are together?

Him. It makes him totally nervous to ride with me, although I think by now he knows I'm not going to hit things.

19. Who pays when you go out?

Well he makes the gesture, but we have all joint accounts, so whatever.

20. Who is most stubborn?

Whoever is most pissed at the time. The other one plays the role of diffusing. We take turns being really stubborn. Really though? I think I am.

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?

Whoever is wrong, usually. We try not to be wrong at the same time. It just works better that way.

22. Whose parents do you see the most?

His dad. He lives here. My parents do not.

23. Who kissed who first?

He kissed me first. And the heat that just ran through my fingers while typing that reminds me that it is still the best kiss I've ever had.

24. Who asked who out?

He's it here too. And I sat in stunned silence, making him think that he had just made a big mistake. When really? I just couldn't remember the word, "yes."

25. Who proposed?

Him. I made sure to say yes much more quickly that time.

26. Who is more sensitive?

Holy cow, I am. I take things way too personally. All the time.

27. Who has more friends?

That's a tough one. I guess I do, but he chooses more wisely. As far as in real life friends? We are probably about even.

28. Who has more siblings?

We each have one brother.

29. Who wears the pants in the family?

He does, and I couldn't be happier about it.









Guy and baby MerMer. Currently our youngest niece. That will all change on November 2nd when we are all anticipating Bro and Sil's fifth little one to appear.

Now. If you could do a little something sweet. Guy has a blog with no comments lately. He only likes to write if he gets a comment, but I love to read what he writes. So can you help me keep him going and stop by to say hi? Thanks a million.

And I tag my momma, everybody's Mamma, and Liz. If they are willing to play along.

And the waiting starts again

When a mother has cancer, her first thought is of her children. The days that it gets hard and she gets tired, then she also has to face the guilt stemming from knowing that if she is gone, it will be harder on her children than on her. The days when she wants to be sad about the hand she has been dealt, she has to find some happiness to share with her children.

When she calls you to tell you that her CA125 levels are back up to where they were before the last battle, and we may be looking at a break in this miraculous remission from ovarian cancer, she doesn't cry. She doesn't complain.

She asks, "Are you alright?"

Always a momma. No matter how old her children are.

Momma's take on it is here. Of course we are hoping that the numbers will come back down and not continue climbing. All we can do is wait and see.

Happy Birthday, Pupstar

Today, or sometime around today, you are twelve. We chose today because you seemed to be about 8 weeks old when Babs picked you up on the side of the road. That was December 9, 1995.

Evil Babs was going to take you to the Mississippi Animal Rescue League. A misnomer, as you would have only lasted 8 days there before you became another pet who never got to go home. I couldn't bear to let that happen.

You spent the next few months going everywhere with me. Sneaking into the music building. Sneaking until we realized that all the professors loved you and didn't mind you being around.

You hated crate training. Hated. It. You had to be house broken without it, and you were. Our roommate did lose some biology notes to one of your accidents, but other than that, you did pretty well.

Sleeping in my shoes was one of your favorite pastimes. And you have always liked to spoon. You always liked it until Cleatus and Bird came along. Then you started preferring the floor by me. Until finally you have started camping out by Guy's side of the bed because of my frequent potty breaks during the night. Sorry about stepping on you, Love.

One day, I came back the apartment and found Ashley tossing a pink spikey football across the floor to you. You instinctively brought it back over and over again. The never ending game of catch started that day. You went on to beat out many Labradors at the vet school's Doggie Olympics in the fetch competition. I am so proud.

The tricks you know aren't traditional. You can "Get your tail," "Get the bunny," and then there is the oh so wrong, "Break it's neck." That one is of course reserved for your plush toys, and when given, you shake that plush toy back and forth with great determination that it will never squeak again.

Guy says that you know more words than any dog he has ever met. He used to try and tease you. He would say, "Wag your tail if you like me better than your momma." I would stand behind him with one finger lifted, and you would wait, like a good girl, not wagging your tail until I dropped that finger. It was months before he figured out our little scheme. He thought you understood every word he was saying. And honestly? You probably did.

You have been my constant companion over the past 12 years. Through everything, you have never left my side, nor have I left yours.

Dysfunctional. Codependent. Whatever. I love you, Pupstar. My sweet little pup.

Happy birthday.

Team WhyMommy: Another post to steal

This is the email I have sent to my local TV news stations. Each of them has a health reporter of some kind or another. My theory is that the stations need a new spin on Breast Cancer Awareness month. So why not focus on IBC?

I would encourage you to steal this post, paste in the appropriate call letters where indicated, and send it to the TV stations in your area. We don't need them to do a story on Whymommy specifically, but we do need them to talk about IBC. We need them to help us get the word out there.

So steal it. Edit it. Send it.

Go Team WhyMommy.

***********************

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and I've noticed that enter TV call letters here has always been pretty involved in stories and psa's about breast cancer during that time. Maybe everything is already planned out and such, but I wanted to make sure that you were aware of a little known type of breast cancer where early detection and correct diagnosis is crucial to survival.

Inflammatory Breast Cancer is an often fatal type of breast cancer of which most people are not familiar. I only know about it because of a friend who was diagnosed recently. She is a 34 year old mother of 3 year old and 8 month old little boys and a scientist with no family history of breast cancer.

A quick look at IBC from the National Cancer Institute:

• Inflammatory breast cancer (IBC) is a rare but very aggressive type of breast cancer .
• IBC usually grows rapidly and often spreads to other parts of the body; symptoms include redness, swelling, and warmth in the breast.
• Treatment for IBC usually starts with chemotherapy, which is generally followed by surgery, radiation, targeted therapy, and/or hormone therapy.
• People with IBC are encouraged to enroll in clinical trials (research studies with people) that explore new treatments.
  

By the time women are diagnosed with IBC, it has almost always spread to the skin, making treatment difficult and categorizing it as a late stage metastatic cancer. Chemotherapy is first, followed by a mastectomy, which is followed by radiation. It wasn't long ago that IBC was a death sentence. Advances have been made, and now, "what was once universally fatal is now a disease that results in half of women diagnosed being alive in five years and one-third of women diagnosed surviving 10 or more years." (CNN) Improvements are great, but 50% survival rate? Surely we can do better than that.

Still though, if you ask 100 people, even 100 women, about IBC, it is likely that only 10 of them will have even heard of the disease. There aren't big drives for awareness or research due to the low percentages of breast cancer cases that are IBC, and also the fatality rate. It is hard to convince companies to invest in research on a disease that has such a high fatality rate. Not really a profit building move for them to make.

But it's out there. And women are dying from it because they don't seek help soon enough. Even doctors misdiagnose IBC as breast infections, delaying that necessary treatments weeks or even months. Early detection and immediate treatment is always a matter of life or death with IBC.

A group of bloggers and friends have been trying our best to spread the word about IBC. Let women know that you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer. There is a team of over 100 bloggers dedicated to getting the word out about IBC and supporting my friend through her journey. She has written a psa about IBC which has been reposted over 350 times across the internet, resulting in most recently having the story picked up by Parents magazine for their October issue. The best place to start tracking where all we have reached is on Toddler Planet, her blog. I've linked you straight to the media page.

She goes by the name WhyMommy on the internet, trying to save some anonymity for her family. Team WhyMommy is the group of over 100 bloggers who offer her daily support by commenting on her blog, sending emails, gifts, and with local friends organizing playdates, house cleaning, and meals.

I know this is long, and if you are still with me, thanks. The point is though, that people need to know about Inflammatory Breast Cancer. Women need to know that what appears as a breast infection isn't always a breast infection. They need to know that you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

I'll leave you with a few more links to get more information. If you can, please please make sure that in all of insert your station's call letters here coverage this month on breast cancer, that at least once, make sure that someone mentions IBC. You literally could save lives.

WhyMommy's PSA

IBC Symptoms

DC Metro Moms

Other news coverage


Thank you for your time and coverage on this incredibly important topic. Hopefully your station will be helping to get the word out about IBC. October is the perfect month to do it!

And after this I'll go back to not talking about it

Guy and I are joining a church next Sunday. It's been an interesting thing, introducing him to the type of church I grew up in. It apparently is very different from anything else he has seen in the past.

One of the things I like about the Presbyterian church is that it is community outreach and education oriented. I like that the structure can be traced back and found inspiring the structure of our country's government. I like that over 70% of the colleges and universities in this country were founded by Presbyterians.

They do stuff. They teach people. They help. They are action oriented and connect to people on more of an intellectual level than an emotional level.

I don't find that the spiritual and emotional overlap much in my life. I've never been a fan of the church movement I've seen that yanks people around by their emotions. Bringing them in by promising to give them everything they need. Consumer churches that rely on key changes in the music and emotionally charged speakers to keep people coming back for their next fix. Praise and worship songs whose lyrics are so fluffy and lovey that they have earned a place in the "Jesus is my boyfriend" songbook.

Churches have a responsibility to the community. An organized church with an active outreach program can be a powerful resource. And as a member of a church, I want to know what I can give, not what I'll be getting.

The community is all encompassing as well. It isn't just serving the members. It's serving the citizens of the city, state, country, and world. All of them. Not just the ones in the news at the time. Not just the ones who believe the same as you. Not just the ones that don't challenge your way of thinking. Everyone. The community is everyone.

I also think that churches also have a responsibility to reexamine the societal aspects of their policies. Thirty years ago, Presbyterians were just another denomination who believed that women should know their place in the church and that it wasn't in the pulpit.

Thankfully, the PCUSA is a living organization. A group of people who aren't intimidated by change and growth. And because of this, they are now lucky to have my momma and a lot of other women in their ranks as kickin' ministers. Rock on, Reverend Momma.

In another thirty years, we will look back and say the same thing about allowing homosexuals to be ordained and serve in the church. We will look back and have to actually convince people that women and gay people were once held at bay, as lesser children of God, because it will seem so foreign in the future.

Like I said, Guy hasn't seen this before. He's intrigued, and we are both excited to have a place that we can step into well run programs that are feeding people, housing people, and teaching people. It's nice to be given something to think about on a Sunday morning. Hear some Bach from a good choir. Feel part of something bigger.

Next year, I'm hoping that the Reverend Momma will make the trip back our way to participate in the baptism of Little Bird. Sprinkle his little head and join us in promising to raise him knowing the principles and beliefs that are so important in our family. Raise him as a part of something bigger.

Haiku Friday

Happy Haiku Friday, everyone!




We're twenty-four weeks
If you came they might save you
But stay put awhile.




More haiku brilliance at Playgroups Are No Place for Children.

Little Bird says hi

Naughty Bird hid from the nurse again today. Then as soon as she found him, and before she could start counting, he bolted. Three times.

So my Turkish friend was half right. Bird may not be a girl, but Bird is naughty.

He finally settled down a little bit. Gave us a heart rate. And now? We are sitting on the couch with his dad, and Bird is doing a little tap dance just below my belly button.

I like to think that means he is happy.

Is there anybody out there?

I know there is. And I love hearing from you.

My commenting has gone down the toilet. There are so many people I try to keep up with now, that I find myself not having time to read and to comment. So then there are those that I won't click on in my feed reader unless I have time to comment. Like Slouching Mom. I know she is going to make me think, and I don't want to breeze through. Because of this brilliant plan, I now have 12 of her posts to read, and haven't left a comment in days.

That's not working well.

Anyway, today is the day to delurk. Just say hi. You can be anonymous, or even a first timer.

Or how about this? I would love to know about your pets. Do you have any? What kind and what are their names?

Or just say hi.

I'm just saying

There are a couple dozen pumpkin muffins in my kitchen right now.

I made them.

They do not suck.

That is all.

Monday yawns

Monday morning. Guy's back at work. I've got loads of laundry cycling through. Planning meals for the week in the meantime. Cleaning out the fridge. I'm a wild woman.

We had a really nice weekend. Got virtually nothing done, which is bad, but we spent the whole weekend together, which is good. Sometimes you just have to recharge together.

The Parade of Homes started here, and Guy said he would like to go look at some houses, so we did. We chose a few that were pretty far out, took the convertible with the top down, and off we went. I'm happy to report that we have picked out the house we would like to have when we buy a house that costs $3 million. That's a load off our minds.

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October 1 is Word to Your Mutha day. Granted, I think she named it that herself, but that makes me love it all the more. We should all be so proactive.

She has started a new site though that will be featuring her show about moms. The first installment takes you to the botanical garden with her three children.

Click on over and enjoy the show. It's quite good.

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Steph tagged me for a meme. Since it requires little to no brain power, and I haven't done one in quite awhile, here goes:

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet, current car)
Dixie Commander

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (favorite ice cream, favorite cookie)
Chocolate Ginger Snap

3. YOUR FLY “GUY/GIRL” NAME: (first initial first name, first 3 letters last name)
Mlon

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Blue Dog

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Temple Jackson

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters last name, first 2 letters first name)
Lonma

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite color, favorite drink and add” the”)
The Purple Zinfindel

8. NASCAR NAME: (first names of your grandfathers)
Hmmm, I don't know one of those. . .

9. STRIPPER NAME: (favorite perfume, favorite candy)
Pleasures Candy Corn

10. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s and father’s middle names)
Louise Henry

I'll tag Kami because she might need a little mindless distraction while waiting on the little one.