Surviving Christmas

As a “good” Catholic mom, I should be writing a post about the true meaning of Christmas.  I should be writing about how I am teaching my children about giving rather than taking.  I should write about spending more time praying than shopping.  I should write about growing in faith rather than growing in debt.  However, I would be misleading you.  As usual, I am an anxiety-filled shell of a woman hunkering down in her Christmas cluttered home, furiously wrapping countless presents from another budget-busting Christmas shopping disaster while yelling at her sugar hyped-up children as they fight over God knows what.  Yep, I’m a mess.  And the fact that I am such a mess in a season where I should be preparing for our Lord makes it that much worse. 

Although I love my fellow Catholic bloggers, I cannot STAND to read their “true meaning of Christmas” ramblings.  Yes, I know the true meaning of Christmas.  I know that it is a season of giving and finding joy and peace in that giving.  I know it is a season of preparing to welcome our Lord into this world.  But, I am convinced that these people who give us this wealth of information and Christmas season advice either don’t have children and families or are heavily medicated.  Here, in this day and age, Christmas has taken over EVERYTHING- from the coffee at Starbucks to the music in the dentist’s office.  And although it is great that such a large number of people in our society celebrate this season, Christmas has become something bigger than we can contain or control.  Christmas is that bull no cowboy hopes to draw.  All you can do is get on and pray you make it to the 25^th.

As I was driving today in the lovely holiday traffic trying not to call the person who nearly took out my front end a word I did not want my four year old to repeat, I was thinking about how hard it is to find balance in this season.  We are called to be in the world but not of the world.  How do we do that during Christmas?  How do I not let the anxiety of shopping in an over-crowed mall get the best of me?  How do I figure out which social events to attend and which to pass up in favor of family time?  How do I teach my kids that the exciting part of Christmas is the arrival of Jesus and not Santa?  How do I live in the Christmas season but not be of the Christmas season?  Every year, I struggle with these questions.  And every year, I say, I’m going to do A, B and C next year.  But, guess what!  It rarely happens.  There are so many factors I cannot control.  There just doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day, money in the bank and patience in my being.  The world’s Christmas gets the best of me every year and reading about how everyone else has it all figured out makes my inabilities that much more depressing. 

But I have to remember that feeling when Christmas finally arrives.  I can finally get off the bull and dust myself off.  I've made it.  We open the champagne and give the kids their presents, which assure us some peace and quiet for at least the rest of the morning.  And in that time, I can finally relax.  There are no more presents to wrap.  There are no more Christmas programs to plan or attend.  There are no more cards to send out.  There are no more cookies to bake.  All that is left to do is go to Mass and be with our Lord.  And that is grand.

But on a day like today (one where I worked a full and challenging day and then braved the holiday crowds with my spoiled, cranky children), all I want to do is spend the next 24 hours in the total silence of the adoration chapel.  And while I am in there listening to the sweet nothings He whispers to my heart, I want time to stop.  And elves to address and mail my Christmas cards, decorate the outside of my house, finish my shopping under budget, wrap all the presents, bake the Christmas cookies, clean my house and make a week’s worth of meals.  They can also do all the things I forgot to put on this list because my brain is Christmas-fried.  Now, that would be REALLY grand.

Drama and my Kids

I realized the other day that I have never wrote this story down. Although I have alluded to it in several blogs, I don't have the whole story all in one place. And I think that you would enjoy it. I have told it many times at parties. It’s my funny icebreaker story- but to the right people who enjoy a little TMI about a stranger. And not all of it is funny. It has its scary moments which are resolved by God's miracles. So far, there is a happy ending.


It's the story of how my children came into this world. Let me start with a little background. I am a planner. I am a controller. I am a perfectionist. I like to be in control of my perfect plans. At the tender age barely 21, I had a perfect plan for my life. Of course, I was going to do everything in the correct perfect order: graduate from college, get married, and THEN have kids. And my soon-to-be husband and I were practicing Catholics. We practiced abstinence. Except for once. Yep. Just one time we didn't. We slipped. We didn't plan it- it just sort of happened. We were already engaged and less than a year away from our wedding when we succumbed to our weak moment. And you'll never guess what our one weak moment resulted in. Yep, little Gerry was on the way. His due date was our wedding date. God has a sense of humor.

Well, my perfectionist planning self didn't think it was so funny. This little monkey wrench was really messing up my perfect plans that I thought I had control over. This surprise was the beginning of my life long lesson in how I am not in control of my life. So we cried. We sought counsel. We went to the priest who heard our confession, agreed to marry us anyway and moved our wedding date up. In fact, everything kind of fell into place for the wedding. The church was available, the rehearsal hall was available and everyone necessary to throw a grand New Orleans wedding was available. I would have the wedding of my dreams after all. I didn't even start to look pregnant until the week after the wedding.

Also, amazingly enough, I got through my senior recital and my student teaching while planning a wedding and pregnant at the same time. God must have given me supernatural strength. At any rate, the time was approaching for little Gerry to be born. My mother was late with both of us kids. I didn't really have any other family history to base my pregnancy on so I just assumed I would be late too. Three weeks before my due date, I went to the doctor who announced I was 1 cm dilated. Not a big deal but I should stop working and stay off my feet. So, naturally, I decided that evening to go out to dinner and then to Wal-Mart so we could stock up on all the baby stuff. I ate a roast beef po-boy from In and Out and then I didn't feel very well. The po-boy was the mistake, obviously. We went to Wal-Mart and I walked all over the baby section with Gerry and we got all the stuff we needed. And all the while, that po-boy was talking back to me. When we got home, I convinced Gerry to put the crib together so I could take my time getting the room ready (his room was actually our dining nook in our tiny one bedroom apartment). While he was doing this, I gladly went to bed to sleep off this mistake of a dinner.

At about 3:00 in the morning, I woke up and I still didn't feel well. I went to the bathroom and that didn't help. I started to wonder if I was having contractions and I even woke up Gerry so he could time the indigestion. He wasn't very happy with me. We timed it and it was not even close to regular so he convinced me that I was crazy and that I should never eat another roast beef po-boy from In and Out and that he should go back to sleep. And then he rolled over and went back to sleep. At 5:00, I got up to go to the bathroom again. As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, my water broke. Of course, I went to wake up Gerry again. He insisted on a thorough investigation to see if what I was telling him was true. It took him a minute to really wake up and fully appreciate my frantic nature and assess the situation. Once I was sure he was convinced that I was in labor, I decided that I should pack my nice hospital bag. I could be in labor forever, right? At least that is what everyone told me. I heard all kinds of horror stories about how the baby would refuse to be born and the story teller would describe these 15 and 20 hour labors with the ending being a c-section or sucking the baby out with a vacuum. So, since I was in minute 5 of my labor, I naturally assumed we had plenty of time. So I slowly got dressed and started packing my perfect bag for the hospital. While I did this, my husband, who was now fully awake and convinced that we were having this baby, was calling the doctor in a panic because that's what Millers do. During his phone call, the real labor began. I was doubled over in pain. Through my gritted teeth, I was yelling at my panic-stricken husband to tell the doctor I was going to the hospital NOW. And when the pain subsided the least bit, I began throwing my clothes for the hospital in the nearest thing I could find- a laundry basket. Gerry had me ushered out the door and into the car 30 seconds later with our haphazardly packed laundry basket in the back seat. Yes, we were the Slidell hillbillies going to the hospital in Metairie.

Normally, it's about a 35 minute drive from Slidell to Lakeside Hospital in Metairie. With my coaching (which was me screaming for him to go faster or the baby was going to be born in the car), we made it to the hospital in 20 minutes flat. To this day, Gerry won't tell me how fast he drove.  In my memory, it seemed to take forever for us to get to the hospital room. I kept asking the take-in nurse to go quickly. I kept asking for the epidural man all while clutching my poor sad little laundry basket. I remember asking the security guard for the epidural man. I wanted the epidural man so badly. My poor husband was absolutely terrified by my behavior and promised me he would find me the epidural man. We asked the nurses on the L&D floor as they got me out of the elevator for the epidural man. After they examined me, they found the epidural man pronto. When he walked in, it was obvious that he had been sleeping. At least I still hope that is what explained his appearance. He wasn't very happy to see me but I was so happy to see him that I instantly forgave him. He kept asking me to be still. And I kept trying but I was having labor pains so badly that I could barely see straight. And then after what seemed like forever, he was successful. I was numb from the waist down. He was my hero. After that, I felt a lot better so we decided to call people. First, we called Gerry's parents. Gerry was coming unglued to say the least so I thought I would let him hear some parental words of encouragement first. Talking to them helped his mood but I think it also gave him something more to worry about. They wanted to get from Orlando to New Orleans in time for the baby and his poor mother was going crazy trying to figure out what to do. On top of the fact that his father had tickets to the Bay Hill PGA Golf Tournament that weekend and he was going to have to miss it.  Then we called my parents. They decided to start driving. They were 8 hours away so they thought there was a chance they would make it. Then we called Nanee who lived only 5 minutes from the hospital. She said, "Oh, sh**," and then said she would be there in her blue suit asap. She wanted a girl badly so she was still holding a grudge that we decided to have a boy. After the phone calls, the nurse came back in and checked me. Then, she checked me again. And then she got another nurse to come take a look. Then they decided that I was fully dilated. It had only been an hour since we had arrived. So they contacted the doctor who said he was on his way. And we all waited anxiously for the doctor. The nurses kept coming back and checking me and calling the doctor who was always on his way. Finally, he arrived to the great relief of the nursing staff. I now know that they feared they were going to have to deliver the baby with no doctor. At the time, I was so relieved to be numb from the waist down, that I didn't pick up on the fact they were worried. As soon as the doctor arrived, they wheeled me into the labor room and Little Gerry was out in one push. From the time my water broke to delivery was about three hours. Everyone was shocked. Gerry's parents, who hadn't even left the house yet were quite disappointed they missed it. Nanee was the only other family member there for the blessed event. After the delivery, we took our sad little laundry basket and moved to the recovery wing. Visitors came and went. Little Gerry was a delight to everyone he met. It was absolutely the happiest moment of our coon-ass-hillbilly lives.

So now we are going to fast forward 7 years. We are living in Dallas. Please take note of where we are living- Dallas. Mckinney-to be exact. We decide that it is time for Little Gerry to have a sibling. Then one week later, I discover that I am six weeks pregnant. So, we can kind of say that this one was planned. Can't we? I like to think he was planned. Let me have that much. I would also like to think that I am a little more prepared for what is going to happen. I happily explained to my first OB doctor that I delivered my first child in three hours with an epidural(epidural slows labor down). She agreed that I was high risk for rapid labor and we would put together a plan to deal with it. And then, due to the insurance company that seems to think they are more qualified than doctors to make decisions about my healthcare, I had to change OB doctors. I retold my story to the new doctor who assured me that rapid labor was no big deal and we would have a plan in place. I felt better. Two doctors had told me not to worry. I was also in better shape health wise than I was with little Gerry. In the seven years since little Gerry's hurried arrival, I had become a runner. I even ran regularly up until the time I started to spot early in the pregnancy and the doctors told me to stop running.

So, at week 32, I go to San Antonio on an airplane. Now 32 weeks is usually the cutoff date for out of town travel. I was fully aware of this. I asked all four of the doctors in the OB practice if I should go on this trip. They all said yes. They said, "Go and enjoy your weekend with your husband sans children. It will be your last for a while. All will be fine." So we went. We woke up at 4:00 a.m. to catch the flight from Dallas to San Antonio. So, naturally I was tired. I had to walk all over the airports to get to our destination which made me more tired. I started having more frequent Braxton-hicks contractions and I knew it was because I was tired. So when we got to the hotel, I took a nap. Gerry got me up in time to go to the fancy dinner sponsored by a company he did some work with. And I happily went. I walked from our hotel to the restaurant on the river walk. The wine was flowing! I kid you not, they poured at least 7 glasses of different kinds of wine. I had just a taste of each one. I LOVE wine. I am a teacher. When was I ever going to be able to drink expensive wine? So, I had to taste. About half way through dinner, I started having those pesky Braxton-hicks contractions except, now I had pressure. I was a little concerned about it. I kept hoping they would stop. When they didn't, I told Gerry that I wasn't feeling so well and that I needed to leave. So we left. I felt bad crashing the little party but I wanted to lie down. We started walking and the contractions started to get a little painful. I started to worry. And so did Gerry since I had to stop every five minutes or so for a contraction to pass. When we got back to the hotel room, we called the doctor. She told me to lie down for thirty minutes and see if that helped. If it wasn't better, then I should go to the nearest hospital with a labor and delivery unit and have them check everything. I waited 10 minutes and then told Gerry to call a cab. When we got into the cab, we asked the cabbie where the nearest hospital was with labor and delivery. He gave us a swift and free ride to Christus Santa Rosa in downtown San Antonio.

When we arrived, it seemed like forever to get me checked in. Really, in the last 7 years, you would think they would have the process more streamlined. At any rate, by the time I was actually on the gurney in the hospital room, I was already using colorful vocabulary to describe the extent of the labor pains to the nursing staff. They checked me and decided I was 2 cm dilated which meant they could stop the labor. They ordered the appropriate drugs which seemed to take forever to arrive. All the while, my vocabulary deteriorated. I was defiantly not a good catholic witness at the moment. When the drugs finally arrived, they asked Gerry to leave so they could start an IV. I was required to sit still while they inserted the IV which was no easy feat. After the nurse got the IV inserted and turned on, I announced that I had to push. She panicked. She turned the IV off and quickly checked me and decided that I was going to deliver. She yelled at me to cross my legs and ran to the door and started yelling "She going to deliver!" In her brief absence, I disobeyed and pushed. Crossing my legs did not quell the need for me to push. My water broke. No less than 10 people ran into the room with all kinds of beeping equipment. It was like a scene from ER. One of the nurses was going to try to get my gurney ready for delivery when I grabbed my ankles and announced I was pushing again. At this moment, a very young and barely awake resident ran into the room just in time to catch little Ben. Poor Gerry ran in right behind him and almost missed the whole event.

As soon as Ben arrived, he screamed and then I knew that he would be alright. If he had not screamed, I would have come off the gurney in an effort to save him. His scream was one of the best sounds I have ever known. At 32 weeks, he was amazingly developed. He weighed 4lb 11oz which was big for a 32 week old baby. He was breathing on his own. It was a miracle. He spent 9 days in the NICU and 2 days in the special care nursery simply because he was a little too young to eat well. They sent him home a few days earlier than they would have normally because they knew we wanted to get back to McKinney so badly. He had a feeding tube at home for the first week and a half and then every day after that, he was a normal, healthy baby.
So, as you can see, there was much drama surrounding the birth of each child. And it was all the more dramatic since no one anticipated the drama. Through these wonderful, tense, and sometimes humorous events, I have learned to let go. I am not in control. I do not know the plan. I can only have the faith that the one who loves me more than I deserve will take care of me and the ones I love. These events have tested every ounce of my faith. In the wake of the first test, I didn’t always find comfort in my God. I wanted to hold onto my control. I wanted to salvage my perfect plan for my life. After the second test, I couldn’t help but turn to my God. He gave me a miracle. Ben is here by the grace of God. As I look back, the lesson I learned is that these wonderful children are not mine. They are here by God’s will. It is my job to raise them so that they find His love and His will for their lives. It’s a tall order and I ask you to pray that Gerry and I will get it right.

Potty Training Miller Boys 101 and 102

I can defiantly say that the difference in potty training my boys has been striking. Gerry was the grandpa- stuck in his diaper wearing ways and refusing to change. While as, Ben is the dictator- taking absolute control of all substances leaving his body and wielding power from all those around him.

Gerry was nearly 3 and 1/2 before he potty trained. Up until that point, he outright refused to sit on the potty. He would scream and cry at the idea of not wearing a diaper. All the books say "don't force them" and "make it a positive experience." Apparently, they never met Gerry Miller. I don't know why using the potty was such a frightening event for him which made it all the more frustrating. We finally took the boot camp approach. We refused to put a diaper on him and played with him in the bathroom all morning while his potty awaited him. He held it from the moment he woke up (with a dry diaper)until around 10:30 a.m. Then, he finally made pee-pee on the potty while screaming in terror. Afterwards, we had a major celebration which must have had an impression because he totally changed his attitude and used the potty like a professional from that moment on. We skipped pull-ups and went straight to underwear.

And then there is Ben. Ben is my little dictator. He likes to tell me when I will eat, where I will sit, which toys I will play with etcetera, etcetera. In the beginning, Comrade Ben enjoyed the idea of using the potty. He would go all day with out an accident in the first week or so. Then, the novelty of the potty wore off. The dictator decided that it was old hat and he wasn't going to do it anymore-especially when Mommy suggested it. So we went back to diapers for a time. Then, I decided not to put any pants on him. He really liked this idea. He could use the potty without any help. And he did for a while- until that got old too and he was back to asking for a diaper or peeing on the floor. So, I broke out the training pants. Well, he didn't like that they got wet so he would very reluctantly use the potty. He would wait until the absolute last second- when the potty dance was no longer effective in delaying the inevitable. And then he would still insist that he didn't need to go. Of course, he would wet his pants just a little bit. And then he would make sure that I had given up waiting on him and went to do something else that wasn't paying attention to Ben. Only after this would he announce he had to "go potty, QUICK!" So, being the dutiful subject, I would halt all activities and run Ben to the potty and be amazed at the amount of pee that can come out of a two-year old bladder. This little routine has been going on now for a month or so. I have been trying to think up little ways to derail his game without hurting the potty progress, but all of my tricks have not really worked. He enjoys watching me drop everything I am doing to run him to the bathroom and if I ask him if he needs to go before his announcement, the answer is always "NO!" despite the yellow eyes and dancing feet. It has to be his idea and it has to interrupt what ever I am doing.

His power wielding game also works nicely when we leave the house. Except he doesn't wait until the last second. He is curious to see what other bathrooms look like. He wants to see how other toilets work and how other sinks work. Who knew that there were bathrooms all over town! Its been a fun discovery for him and every time we go out, he can produce at least 3-4 drops in the potty in order to justify a visit the new and interesting bathroom. I have considered traveling for the next 6 months or so in order to speed this process along, but then I figured the discovery of a new bathroom will also be old hat soon.

I have been a little frustrated at this potty training experience. Everyone told me that Ben is so smart- he would train early and it would be easy. They were right about the smart part- he showed all the signs for potty training readiness at 27 months or so. But he has decided that he is too smart for potty training. It's too easy and boring and it doesn't interest him- unless he can get some entertainment out of it by wielding power from atop his potty.

The Princess goes Camping

This weekend, I was made to go camping. I had to go alone with little Gerry. My Husband conveniently scheduled the band trip over graduation camp out weekend. I knew of the conflict in September. However, the shock of actually having to go camping didn’t settle in until Friday. I always thought that camping alone in a tent with my 9 year old would be plan B. I just hadn’t figured out plan A yet. Well, unfortunately, plan A never materialized and I was forced to endure plan B.

You may think that I am overreacting a bit. Let me fill you in on a little background. I HAVE NEVER BEEN CAMPING. My family never went camping when I was a kid. I did go to Girl Scout camping which I thought was camping but now I have learned it wasn’t really camping. As girl scouts, we stayed in cabins and had real bathrooms next to our cabins. For me, this was camping enough. I do admit to being a bit of a Princess. I don’t do bugs. I don’t do dirt. I do require flushing toilets and clean showers. And if you want me to spend time outside, it must be dry and pleasant. I don’t do well with cold and hot. So you can see how camping is a bit out of the box for me.

The anticipation leading up to the camping was just as traumatic as the camping itself. I really avoided thinking about the whole event until about a week before it was supposed to take place. I still had a little hope that I could come up with Plan A but I was starting to mentally prepare for plan B. I watched the weather. Now, last year the weather was on my side. We had the threat of overnight severe weather so they canceled the overnight part of the trip. I was overjoyed. So I anxiously awaited the weather forecast for this camping trip. And there was a glimmer of hope. They were predicting thunderstorms on Friday night and Saturday morning. Camping was to begin on Saturday afternoon. So I started praying, “Please God, deliver me from this camping trip and delay the storms by one day.” I knew that God was my buddy and I believed that he would answer my prayer. I held out hope that He would give me that miracle all the way until Friday evening. When the weather played out like the original forecast predicted, I got nervous. Especially when I got the e-mail saying that even though it has rained a bunch, they weren’t canceling the campout yet. They were in a “wait and see” mode with the weather. That is when I had a light bulb moment regarding the weather and the camping. The rain was making the camp ground wet. Was I going to have to go camping in the mud? Surely, God would not do this to me! Are these people crazy? This campout should be canceled so I do have to sleep in the mud!

As evening wore on Friday, I got more nervous. That is when I decided to go buy camping supplies. At this point, I was holding out hope that Murphy’s law would come into play. If I buy all the camping supplies, then they will promptly cancel the campout. So I bought the camping supplies, and then checked my e-mail every 5 minutes. My answer came on Saturday morning: “Even though we may run into an occasional shower, the campout is a GO.” My heart stopped. I was really going camping. Camping in the mud and rain. Why is God doing this to me? Why hasn’t He delivered me from this camping problem? I knew what the answer was. It was probably going to draw me closer to my precious child and to Him. But why has he picked camping in the mud and rain to bring this about?! So, in my defeated moment, I began packing our camping supplies. The amount of stuff was amazing. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to get it from my car to the camping site. I was very overwhelmed.

The next morning, I got up, savored my shower and packed the car. We made a quick run to Wal-mart for dreaded rain gear. After dropping Ben off with my wonderful friend, we headed to the camp grounds. It was an hour long drive- an hour for me to think about all the mud and look at the dark clouds. When we arrived, my guardian angel in the form of a man with a pick-up truck helped me get our gear to the camp site. I promptly set up the tent all by myself. It was a nice feeling of accomplishment but I have to admit it wasn’t very hard. Then my friend arrived and I helped her set up her tent. After walking around a bit, we realized that we were the only two women camping without husbands. And my shoes were very muddy.

The first event was a water balloon fight at the pirate ships. The pirate ships are the size of real ships and the boys can launch balloons from the top of one ship and hit the other ship. Of course this was great fun for them. And I was enjoying watching it from the sidelines. Then the Cubmaster made all the leaders get on one ship and put all the kids on the other ship. Then after I reluctantly got on the ship, he suggested that the kids could leave their ship and try to get on the leaders’ ship if they wanted a better shot. This was not a good plan in my opinion. The other leaders made me take a water balloon so I could defend myself. I threw it at a kid but it didn’t break so I immediately went to plan B which was hide. That worked for a while but I was eventually hit and then I was wet. And my shoes were very muddy.

After the pirate ships, we changed, ate dinner and then headed out to the graduation ceremony. I was looking forward to seeing all the boys get their new neckerchiefs and advance to their next rank. We arrived and sat down and everything seemed nice. But really, we were being hunted. In those first few moments of our arrival, the mosquitoes were formulating their assault plan. It took them about 10 minutes for them to start their attack. And it was vicious. These were not normal mosquitoes. They were giant. Remember, everything is bigger in Texas. And they were not deterred by bug spray. I was killing them left and right. They tried every inch of my body and I fended them off as best I could. Unfortunately, they did succeed and I have a bite ON MY FACE. It’s such a wonderful souvenir. And after the battle was over and we were safely back at our camp site, my shoes were still very muddy.

For our evening activity, we had skits around the campfire. This was actually fun to watch. The boys love putting on a show for one another. Our boys ended up doing three skits. Their last skit was like one of those MasterCard commercials where the punch line was “watching Mrs. Lori’s face when we tell her she has to go potty in the woods, priceless.” After the skits, they gave me chocolate and I was happy. They all had a good time cooking their marshmallows and eating their smores. And then it was time to get ready for bed.

I was going to have to use what they considered to be a bathroom. I think it is called a latrine. The toilet is basically a hole in the ground and you bring your own toilet paper. I went inside and conducted a survey before I decided to actually use it. I knew there was a flushing toilet up the road but I also knew it wasn’t very clean. After weighing the long walk to the real bathroom with the conditions at the latrine, I decided to “man up” and use the latrine. I am proud to say I successfully used the facilities without touching anything. But my shoes were still muddy.

Sleeping in the tent went as well as to be expected. I am a very light and fussy sleeper. I did have an air mattress so I wasn’t completely uncomfortable. However, even though I had my ipod, I could still hear the bugs dive bombing the tent as I tried to fall asleep. It took forever for me to actually sleep. And then the wind woke me up at 5:30 and I couldn’t go back to sleep. It was very creepy. Even though I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to get up because it was FREEZING outside- well, I guess outside is inside when you are in a tent. Semantics aside, the point is I was COLD. And I was tired. Which I guess is why people kept inquiring about my rough night at breakfast. I guess I didn’t look so good. And the mosquito bite on the face didn’t help. I am really glad I forgot to bring a mirror.

After breakfast, we were to go on a hike. I was actually in better spirits. We were coming to the end of our trip!!!! Anyhow, I wasn’t that worried about the hike. I am a runner so I knew that I could handle the endurance it required. But other than that, I didn’t really know what we would encounter, so I guess you can say ignorance is bliss. As soon as we entered the woods, there it was- poison ivy. It was everywhere. We were hiking in the poison ivy forest. I immediately started to itch. And I was glad we were walking fast. I was worried the poison ivy would pass through my clothes and get me. And then the terrain got kind of rough. We hit a spot where basically people were sliding down this steep hill, hoping for the best. I decided to run down the hill into the arms of my other guardian angel in the form of a sturdy man with a good foot hold. After going up and down and all around in the poison ivy forest, we were allowed to pack up and go get our cars. The best news I heard on the trip yet! However, my shoes were still very muddy.

I must say that the trip wasn’t as horrible as I expected. I tend to think of the worst so I can take out the element of bad surprise. And I did have a good time with my son. He had a blast. It was fun to watch him be a boy with his friends. Being that it is Sunday, we had a short religious service this morning. And the man leading it asked this question: “Why are you here?” All I can say is this: it’s for the love of a 9 year-old boy. I got on the pirate ship for the love of a 9 year-old boy. I used a latrine for the love of a 9 year-old boy. I got harassed by Texas-sized mosquitoes for the love of a 9 year-old boy. I slept outside in a tent for the love of a 9 year old boy. I waded through the poison ivy forest for the love of a 9 year-old boy. I sacrificed my shoes to the mud for the love of a 9 year-old boy. When they put this baby boy in my arms 9 years ago, I knew in the back of my mind that I would have to endure the dreaded camping trip one day. And even though I avoided it like the plague, God made sure that I got to go so I could experience the love of a 9 year-old boy.

Missing Mardi Gras

One of the things I really miss about New Orleans is Mardi Gras. If you are not from there, when you hear the words Mardi Gras, you probably think about all the rude and crude behavior on Bourbon. But that is only one small part of it. Mardi Gras season is part of the glue that holds together the community of New Orleans. I am not speaking of the economic impact, but the social impact. For those who are in a Krewe, there are balls, supper dances, presentations, along with the culminating parade event. My husband did ride a few times in Zeus and enjoyed it immensely. But for us, that wasn't the heart of the fun. Our routine was a little more simple. On parade night, we would go to Gerry's grandmother's house and visit for a while. Then we would gather up all of our parade essentials and head out to Vets. We always stood across from shogun on the neutral ground and had a great time. Sometimes, we would dress up our dog Minnie and take her with us. After we had little Gerry, we would dress him in his favorite costume for the parade. One year on Fat Tuesday, I dressed up too and took little Gerry for a walk down vets before all the parades rolled. It was so much fun. We usually made friends with someone new and always ran into old friends. It was a time to catch up, have fun and enjoy time with family and friends. And at the end of every parade night, we would take those friends back to Gerry's Grandmother's house and have king cake and coffee(or a coke). I love all those memories. I had no idea that they would mean so much to me. They say that New Orleans is the biggest small town in America. If you don't know what that means, then head to New Orleans during Mardi Gras.

The Little Things

I got to thinking today about how life was before I had children. Its been almost 9 years so it is hard to remember. But there are little things I do remember that are no longer part of my life. And I miss them. I wouldn't trade anything in the world for the experience of being a Mommy, but I can't help but miss these little things that are gone:

• Going to the bathroom by myself. It could be at home or out somewhere. I can't remember the last time I didn't have an audience.
• Reading an entire chapter of a book or the newspaper without interruption.
• Drinking an entire bottle of water without baby backwash in it.
• having a clean house
• sleep
• the confidence of knowing what is supposed to be in my purse is actually in my purse
• silence
• watching an entire 30 minute show on T.V
• sitting down with out being mauled or summoned

I could probably think of more, but I am too tired. Its been one of those days....

Sanity/Kitchen Update

Well, things are getting there. I have to hold onto that. For Christmas, we had painted cabinets with new hardware. However, the drawers on one side didn't work yet so all my Tupperware was in the office for the holiday season. And the garbage cabinet wasn't ready either which wasn't that big of a deal. The doors on the new cabinets above the old cabinets were not installed. And, to my great relief, the granite guy was found in Galveston. He was putting a new roof on his sister's hurricane damaged home.

So, my contractor came back today to do finish up the cabinet work which looks awesome. And I love the garbage in a cabinet so toddlers and puppies can't get to it. But he gave me a bit of bad news. The granite guy whom he spoke with on Monday about coming this week to do my counter tops, had a massive heart attack on Tuesday. He is alive. He has undergone a triple bypass. And he has been unconscious since the heart attack. And he is the only one who knows where my granite is (his son is trying to find it). I know that my granite is the least of the problem. Of course we are all more concerned about his well being. He is a very nice man and it would be tragic if he did not recover. So to say the least, the granite guy and his family need your prayers. I am reminded that sometimes there are things that are bigger than my insanity and the world doesn't revolve around my plans.

My Resolve

Well, here I am staring down another year of my life. It is hard to believe that it is 2009. It seems like just yesterday my father in law was sneaking us into Epcot loaded down apple juice and water bottles filled with Gin and vodka after illegally parking at one of the ritzy Disney hotels so we could ring in the new millennium in style. Almost 10 years has gone by. It seems like a second.

It is that time of year where one looks back and takes inventory of life and decides to re-chart, renew or just forget. As I stand on this precipice, what will I decide? How is it going so far? I know one thing for sure- I am getting old. 31. It is hard to believe that I am not in my 20s any more. What happened to my 20s? I lost them a year and a half ago. Obviously, I have still not come to terms with the fact that they are gone and I can not get them back. So, I may as well just forget them.

So, how should a 31 year old mother of two proceed? What should I be doing with this life? What should I renew or re-chart? I guess I should figure out where I am first. I live in suburbia in a nice neighborhood with a wonderful man who loves me and is married to me and two marvelous boys. I have great friends and a great job. It is hard to decide to change any of that since it is all so much more than I could have asked for. But the question is- Am I really living my life? Am I getting as much out of this life as possible? What kind of resolutions can I make to really live?

• Resolution #1- Exercise

I make this one a resolution every year so I may as well start of the list with it. So far, my pattern has been to exercise until my schedule gets tough and then quit until summer where I start again with renewed and guilt laden vigor and then give up when school starts and I become a marching band widow. So, I declare it now to all of you-all of these excuses for not exercising are just excuses! I am going to do it. If I blog about it, then maybe I actually will do it. All year. My goal is to run a half marathon. Maybe it will happen this year. I hope I am not too old.

• Resolution #2 Have more quiet time

This past year I started having my quiet time again. It is nice to sit with God each day. It is comforting to imagine me in his arms as we waltz around the dance floor of my life. It is nice to quiet my mind and feed my spirit. I will do more of this. It makes life easier.

• Resolution #3 Drink more Wine

They say that wine is good for you. So I say that I will drink more of it. And enjoy it.

• Resolution #4 Sit down

My Mom says that watching me makes her tired. Sometimes, she will examine my butt to see where the spring is. I tell everyone that I am too ADD to sit down and concentrate on something like a movie. When I sit down, I think of all the things I could be doing. There is always a list... So this year, I say out with the list! I am sitting down with my glass of wine and I am enjoying the movie. No matter how hard it is for me. I am going to sit down. (My Mom is going to be dumbfounded).

• Resolution #5 Have more sex

My husband will like this one. So, how did this come about you ask? Gerry and I were reading the paper one Sunday morning and there was an article about a pastor who put forth a challenge to his congregation- have sex for seven days in a row(we assume he meant with your spouse). Now, I know that my younger readers with no children will find this challenge not so challenging, but for us it was something we really had to work at. We have two young children and Gerry works all the time. Making time and finding energy for it was a challenge. But we tried it. We made it six days and then Gerry came down with some kind of virus (I hope it wasn't related to the sex). But really, it was good for us. It was a very nice six days. We definitely need more sex. I highly recommend it.

• Resolution #6 Give up control

I like to be in control. Of everything. I am a control freak. Everyone around me knows it. So this year, I am going to give up some control. I will let my kids clean up after themselves and compliment their attempt without redoing it while they sleep. I will let my husband do the dishes more often and tell him thank you instead of re-washing it all. I will also let him fold laundry and resist the urge to re-fold or re-hang everything. Basically, I will let people do things for me and I will be gracious and enjoy the fact that I didn't have to do it. (The wine resolution will help with this one.)

Now that I have made my resolutions, I am eager to see how the year will unfold. Will Ben learn to use the potty? Will Max stop chewing everything up? Will I enjoy working for myself in my own home daycare? Will Little Gerry finally make a goal in soccer? Will my husband finally get a raise? I don't know what the year will bring but I do know one thing- I will enjoy living it.

She's Come Undone

I have come to the conclusion that I must have a touch of OCD. We are in the process of a small scale kitchen remodel. It started in August with promises of actual work being done in October. Well, the work started a week ago. So the stress of getting it started was already pressing. But the actual stress of not having a usable kitchen is a million times worse for me.

Some of you know that I am a fairly neat person. I try to keep the dust off the furniture and cobwebs off the ceiling. Here in Texas, that is not an easy feat. I have been known to pick up toys and put away clutter and I have even cleaned the bathrooms. Generally, the biggest challenge of my household chores is the clutter. I like for everything to be in its place and when you live with a 31 year old man, 9 year old boy and 22 month old toddler, it can be challenging to keep up with the clutter. At this moment, my whole down stairs is consumed with clutter. It has swallowed up every inch of space. You can not see the tops of my dining room table or kitchen table. The dining room floor is covered. My coffee table is even burdened with the clutter. All of this clutter is the contents of my kitchen which makes it worse because everything was clean when it was taken out of the kitchen. Now that it has been sitting out in random places of the house for toddlers, husbands, children and dogs to "play" with, I feel the need to wash it all before it goes back. But that task is not really the source of my angst. I think the combination of the clutter and the fact that I can’t open the refrigerator, or use the sink really brought me to a whole new stage of anxiety. Although I did not know it until it actually became my reality- this is clearly one of my worst nightmares.

People told me that it would be hard to be without the kitchen. I am sure they even said things like you won't be able to cook, clean dishes etc.. But all of their warnings to me just didn't register. I guess the idea of not being able to use my kitchen was so unfathomable that I blocked out all of these "negative comments". As I look back on these conversations, I realize that I was obviously listening with filtered ears. And now that I am experiencing this elevated level of anxiety, I don't know that I could have heard it any other way.

When I walk into my house, I can't even think. The kitchen remodel is messing with my already abnormal degree of insanity. Nothing is getting done-even things that I could do with out the kitchen. I just can't bring myself to think a clear thought. All I can see is the clutter. Christmas is barely coming together. My parents are here on Tuesday and we can't find the granite guy. My contractor thinks he must be out of town. And the clutter is still there- forcing me to escape into the dark recesses of my conscience. To a place where I can forget about the clutter. Unfortunately, I forget about everything else while I am there. So I ask you to pray for me. Pray for the granite guy. And most of all pray for my family as they cope with a mentally absent wife/mother/taxi driver/maid/nurse/social organizer. If we can’t find the granite guy before Christmas, I may seek professional help.

Getting Max Fixed

There are many things I would like to fix about Max. The high pitched constant barking. The chewing up of everything. The fact that he will not come and finds it entertaining for me to chase him around the house. But, unfortunately, none of those things have a quick and easy solution. But there is one behavior that we can have him fixed for- humping. Yes, mother nature is calling Max to reproduce with anything he can get his paws around. I have had to remove his bed from the house because he was becoming way to intimate with it. My leg has been his next choice. Because of his need to answer nature's call, we are having him "fixed" this thanksgiving. My sister-in-law says not to hold my breath that this will end his humping days. I am hoping that it will at least slow down his little humping drive.

This announcement to my family regarding Max's upcoming special surgery has brought several reactions from various members. My husband, who is not particularly fond of Max has actually felt a little sorry for him. I am not sure what it is about Men and their opinions about neutering that causes them to react with fear. I am guessing that their ultimate fear is that their wives will want them to have special surgery one day. At any rate, I have been touched that Gerry actually feels sorry for him a little.

Little Gerry didn't really react at first. He didn't know what we were talking about. But then, in the car the other day, he asked his Dad what it meant to have Max fixed. This totally caught my husband off guard. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall. So, my surprised husband went ahead and told him straight up that they were removing that special part of his body so he can't make more puppies. When little Gerry got home, he was so excited to tell me what Max was going to be missing. Now, I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. Soon he is going to put together that the girl dog is the one who has the puppies. How does the boy dog's special parts "come into play" so to speak? If any of you have any suggestions on how to handle this one, please share. We haven't even told him about Santa yet!

Drama and my Mama

It's not what you think. My Mom and I get a long great. However, we both have had a fair amount of drama in our lives. And our drama is always entertaining to the outside world. Sometimes I think that our lives are meant to be entertainment for others so God can keep up mankind's spirits and so on and so forth. In recent history, my poor Mama has had mower drama, dog drama, grandkid drama, and daughter drama (that would be my sister of course since I am a perfect child). Her most recent drama has been rat. Yes, you heard me correctly rat. They are having a rat plague at their house.



My parents live on what I like to call the "frontier". They reside outside a little town in Oklahoma called Walters which is about 5 miles past where Jesus lost his sandals. They have had many plagues at their house. I think they are actually experiencing the plagues described in the book of Revelation, but my Daddy says I am exaggerating. They have had the grasshopper plague where a swarm of grasshoppers ate an entire tree in one day. They have had the cricket plague several times which is really creepy because the crickets somehow make there way into every light fixture of their house and die. They have had the stink bug plague which actually closed down the town library one morning while my poor mother carried out the task of disposing of thousands of stink bug bodies that died there the night before. Up until now, the scariest plague they had was the scorpion plague where my very pregnant sister was attacked while leisurely watching T.V. on their sofa. I very reluctantly visited them that summer and had a run in with one myself that required some therapy. If you are familiar with my earlier post on my bug phobia, you would understand why. At any rate, this year the plagues have hit a new high. They are dealing with rats. In their garage. Yes, rats are living in their garage. Not the cute rats you see at the pet store, but the giant rats that are like the ones in the movie Princess Bride. And they are living in their garage. My mother has assured me that they do not live in their house. She swears that if the rats move in she is moving out. Life on the frontier will be over at that point.



When they first noticed the problem in the garage, they set out mice traps. They assumed that they had a few mice which was no big deal out on the frontier and the traps would solve the problem. The rats ate the bait and destroyed the traps. My poor Mother was beside herself. These "mice" were a force to be reckoned with. So she called the town vet(somehow in her mind he would be the one to call) and her told her to buy rat traps. This was the moment when she realized there were actually rats living in the garage. Again, she was beside herself. How could they have rats?! Moreover, how could she go to the store in her small, tightly-knitted town and buy rat traps?! In no time at all, it would be all over town that the Adkison's had rats! But living with the rats in the garage was worse than the rumors of the rats in the garage so she donned her Jackie O sunglasses and scarf and bravely went to town to buy the traps.



After the rat trap purchase, I got a series of e-mails over the next few weeks that described their latest body count. I also learned they were reusing the traps which was totally disgusting in my mind. I offered to send what ever amount of money was needed so no one had to touch rat bodies but they declined my offer. My Daddy explained to me that it was okay for him to dispose of the dead rat and reuse the trap and I was being overly concerned. Apparently, life on the frontier is altering their ability to think rationally. I have also had many conversations with my Mother about our upcoming visit and the rat plague's interference. I can deal with a grasshopper or a cricket in the light fixture. But rats in the garage will defiantly give me nightmares and unless we negotiated what portion of my therapy bill they were willing to pay, our trip must be postponed indefinitely. Since that conversation, she had called me several times and giving me optimistic news regarding their success in riding the garage of the rats. I have agreed to go through with the trip, but I am still very apprehensive. If you don't hear from me after thanksgiving, you will know that I am being held hostage by rats out on the frontier. Thanks for your prayers.

God's Purse Lesson

Well, the blonde hair strikes again! I have done something stupid. For those of you that know me, you know this is not uncommon. I can easily create my own drama with little to no help from anyone or anything around me. The stupid thing I have done has upset my son, made me call the police, cancel my credit cards and given my husband a good laugh in Indiana.

The stupid thing started when I was scheduling an appointment to be finger printed for my new preschool job. They wanted my driver’s license. So, I went to get my purse. I am not one who puts her purse or other important belongings in one specific place. It lands where it lands- usually after I find landing places for the child, diaper bag, keys and shopping bags. Well, panic set in when I couldn’t find it in one of the many, many landing places in my house. So I immediately looked in landing places outside of my house. Sometimes it lands on the freezer in the garage. When it lands there, I usually have every intention of going back to get it after I put down child, diaper bag, keys and shopping bags. However, as many of you know I am easily distracted and sometimes I forget to retrieve the purse from the freezer. In fact, it isn’t just sometimes, I admit, it is many times. It wasn’t on the freezer! Then I remembered that my son left the garage open for a short time this evening when he went to ride his bike. That is when I was sure that it was stolen. I have never had my purse stolen before. So I went into super panic mode. Unfortunately, it involves a complete interrogation of my son. I tried really hard not to upset him or lead him to believe that it was his fault in any way shape or form, but I don’t think I was successful. He is a bit of a worry wart and I failed him by even telling him that my purse was missing from the garage while he was riding his bike.

The first thing I did was check the credit card and bank card on line. No one had used the cards. I called and reported them stolen. Then I called the police. They took about 45 minutes to get here. In the meantime, I called my husband. He is in Indiana. He is never in town when drama erupts in my life except during the birth of a child and we were both out of town for that. That is another story I am not going to get into tonight. Of course he is from Mars and I am from Venus. He asked all the questions a man would ask. Are you sure it isn’t in the house? Did you check the car? Did it fall out of the car? Did you look under the car? Are you sure it isn’t in the house? Did you cancel the cards? Can I still use my cards? Etc… At the time, I didn’t think he was sufficiently panicked. He had an “Oh, well I am sure it will work out” typical man attitude towards it. I wasn’t impressed with his support. A woman’s purse is an emotional thing in her life and he totally doesn’t get it. What is wrong with him?

After I get off the phone, the very nice supportive police officer arrives. He asks me about my purse and the contents. After I tell him that the purse itself was worth $10, there was no cash, phone or other valuables in it, he decides that the thief probably didn’t see any need to keep it and maybe discarded it somewhere near my house. I was a little insulted that my purse wasn’t worth stealing, but relieved that he was so optimistic about finding it. He went to look. While he was looking, I looked at the dead petunias in my flower bed, victims of the 110 degree days we have had here lately. I decided to pull them up. Then, I went inside to get a wal-mart bag to put them in. And sitting on the counter in the kitchen was my purse. OH MY GOD, how embarrassed I was but incredibly relieved at the same time. I went back outside to find the nice supportive police officer. I had to yell for him down the alley, which of course drew out a neighbor. I am sure I will have fun with that tomorrow. I told him I found it followed by many apologies. He said not to worry- it made his job easier. This was no big deal and then he told me about the similar calls he gets about parents misplacing their children. That made me feel better, but since I have blonde hair, I am really going to be keeping an eye or two on the children.

After the very nice and understanding police officer left (with a good blonde story to share with his buddies), I went inside and woke up my poor worry wart son and told him I found my purse and it was in the house the whole time. He still was worried and we talked everything out for another 30 minutes. He admitted to me that he needed to come downstairs to get water and saw the police car which really means that he heard me talking to the policeman, immediately became thirsty and curiosity got the best of him. I think having to call the police was a little scary for him, but I think and hope I talked all the scary parts out of him. I am sure that this will be one of the many stories about his mother he will share with his therapist in his adult life.

I am really happy to have found my $10 purse with my identification in it. And in 5-7 business days, I will be able to spend money again. I look back on my conversation with my dear husband and now I realize that he knows me too well. I am positive that my stupid thing is another lesson that God has placed in my path: I need to make sure I know where all the precious things in my life are landing.

On Being 30...

Well, it has been 352 days since I turned 30. I am still trying to get a grasp on the situation. Turing 30 is a big shock. When you are in your 20s, you are still young, stupid and have your whole life ahead of you. Mistakes are made and you are shaped and made wiser by their consequences. And you shake them off because you have your whole life ahead of you. You are in the wonderful place in society where the “old people” consider you an adult and the “young people” consider you cool. You are in style, keep up with all the trends and understand everything about today’s pop culture. When you are in your 20s, aging is still a lifetime away.

When you turn 30, this whole philosophy of life is turned upside down. You are becoming one of the “old people”. You are too wise to be foolish. Mistakes made in your 30s are almost embarrassing because you know you should know better. When you turn 30, keeping up with the pop culture doesn't seem as important. I have two young kids and keeping up with them takes nearly all my physical and mental energy. As I am forced to learn more about Elmo and Ben 10, pop culture seems to have passed me by. Now that I am a 30 year old mother of two, showing up to a PTA meeting in the lastest trend seems a little silly. You begin aging when you turn 30. When you see pictures of yourself from 5 or 10 years ago you think “wow, I looked young.” So logically, you must look older now. In my 20s, I started running as a hobby and for exercise. When I turned 30, the elliptical machine became a whole lot more appealing due to the aches and pains in my back and knees. And I thought to myself, so this is it. Here I am at 30 and I can’t run with ease anymore. That part of my life is over. As I examine my new wrinkles in the mirror, I realize that I am aging. I am entering a new part of my life. And it is not exciting. At least not yet anyway....

What it Means to Miss New Orleans

Written September 2005- Post Katrina

New Orleans is my home. I didn’t realize that until I moved away. When we moved, we were satisfied that we needed to leave and that we would not look back. We were tired of the poor school systems, persistent crime, listless economy, and dirty politics. We convinced our selves that the grass was definitely greener in Texas. I don’t regret our move, but I didn’t realize that missing New Orleans would be such an emotional event.
I lived in Slidell, a suburb across the lake from New Orleans. I graduated from High School there and returned after obtaining my degree from Loyola University in New Orleans. My husband spent his whole life in the area having grown up in Kenner and also attending Loyola. To us, New Orleans was normal. We grew up with Mardi Gras, gumbo, folklore, and other countless traditions and customs that are unique to this wonderfully historic city. We had no idea what a privilege it was to grow up in New Orleans. To see the grandeur of the river Mark Twain wrote about, and dress up in costumes and attend the parades that have rolled on the streets for a hundred years. To walk on the avenues that inspired Tennessee Williams and hear the music played by the countless jazz greats who call New Orleans home. To kneel in churches that have been standing for hundreds of years and to eat in the best restaurants in the world. To us, all this was normal. We assumed all cities had such culture and character. Now that we are gone, we realize how special New Orleans is and how we took it for granted.
We left because we were tired of the apathetic attitude which we thought held this great city back. New Orleans was a battered city laden with poverty, crime, and bad politics. I think that we wanted the city to be better and that is why we chose to be teachers. Through education, we thought we could make a difference and help the city’s children follow a new path to the American dream. Our idealistic attitudes changed as we struggled with cash strapped school systems in communities who did not pass the value of education to their children. We thought we could make a difference but then realized what a big problem it all was. We became overwhelmed and tired. We made the difficult decision to move because we wanted a better life for our family. We wanted to excel in our careers and we wanted our son to attend public schools that are able to educate and prepare the next generation for today’s world. Leaving New Orleans was supposed to be easy because the life awaiting us in Texas would be utopian compared to life in the crescent city. For the most part, life in Texas has been what we expected it to be. But leaving New Orleans was so much more difficult than we ever dreamed.
After we left, we understood why people won’t leave New Orleans. It is the biggest small town in America. The people in New Orleans are warm, friendly, generous and carefree. You can have a perfectly pleasant conversation with a stranger about anything while you are waiting in the line at the grocery. The people of New Orleans just have a way about them. They make me feel at home and comfortable with my self. They welcome me like family. I grew up with them and I naturally assumed that people are like this all over the country. I have come to discover that the people of New Orleans are as unique as the city itself.
We miss the history, music, traditions, and atmosphere, but most of all we miss the people. And that is why we are grieving over the disaster that has struck our city. Katrina has left a terrible hole in our hearts. When we lived in New Orleans, they always talked about “the big one”. They would mention it on the local news at the beginning of each hurricane season and it was a topic of conversation from politicians to environmentalists. They talked about the coastline, levees and flood control plans. But I don’t think anyone ever realized what would happen when the big one finally came. Talking about the big one was like talking about how California would fall off into the ocean. It just seemed unlikely. Unfortunately, Katrina would prove otherwise.
We are blessed that our family and friends from New Orleans are alive and safe. We know people who have only lost a few shingles and those who have lost their homes. I can not imagine what it is like to find your home and all of your possessions under 12 feet of water. What would we do? How would we begin to rebuild our lives? It is unfathomable. The people of New Orleans have a great task ahead of them. Katrina has left trauma that will take years to overcome. After the mess is cleaned up and the neighborhoods and businesses are rebuilt, the people will only have begun to heal. It breaks my heart to see them suffer.
Even in the wake of this devastation, I miss New Orleans more than ever. I feel blessed that God moved us to Texas. But I feel more blessed to have experienced New Orleans before this crisis. New Orleans will never be the same. Fortunately, many of its historical sites and areas were not flooded. However, the people of New Orleans are forever changed. They are scattered across the country wondering what lies ahead. They are waiting. Waiting for jobs, loved ones, meals and word about their great city’s future. I wonder too. What will it be like to walk down Canal Street or visit Audubon Park? Will I ever eat at the great restaurants in the West End, or party at Tipitina’s after so much death and destruction? Now, it almost seems like sacred land, land that should be respected and revered. What kind of scar will New Orleans bear? Is her innocence lost?
Missing New Orleans is particularly hard when I attend mass here in Texas. In college, I came to respect and admire the Catholic Church. After my confirmation in my sophomore year, my love and admiration for the Church continued to grow. My faith was nurtured in the walls of the great old churches scattered throughout the city. God spoke to me in these sacred places. From the smell of the hundred year old wood to the music of the pipe organ in an acoustically perfect house, the grand old churches bring peace and tranquility to my soul. I have not found such a place here in Texas. I am sure it exists and one day I may find it, but it will never be as special. My spirit will always be connected to New Orleans. When I kneel in her pews again, I will pray for her healing and for her people. May God have mercy on us.

My Phobias, the Ant Farm and my Son

Written Summer 2005

Ok. I admit it. I have a phobia. I am terrified of bugs. I know it doesn’t make sense. I mean we are a lot bigger than most bugs so it should be the other way around. Somehow, in my genes, the whole illogical fear that a bug is going to attack me and leave me to die is real. I understand that they are important to the whole circle of life thing, but that circle does not exist in my house. Therefore, insects will not exist in my house. I fear that I am passing this fear to my son who is 5. So now, instead of franticly screaming, I am putting on my brave face and using a calm voice to call my husband to kill what ever insect is torching me with its existence. This is my life. I am held hostage by bugs.

So, my son received an ant farm from his great-grandmother, Nanee. I was relieved to find out that the ants were not included. Anyway, my mother-in-law assured me that the ant farm would be safe and she told my son that the ants would come in the mail which meant that I would have to really order the ants. I inspected the ant farm for security very thoroughly. In my opinion, the top does not close as tightly as I would like but when I think about it, the only standard I would hold it to is sealing it shut with super glue which would not be good for the well fare of the ants. I was disappointed to see that the ants needed to be kept in a cool place away from sunlight. Preferably, between 60-70 degrees which meant that the ants had to live in my house. I have come to the conclusion that Nanee must not like me very much or she is trying to drive me insane.

So, because I want my son to like bugs and not be a strange and twisted person like his mother, I went ahead and hesitantly ordered the ants. Several days later, a suspicious package arrived and inside the package was a small glass vial full of “harvester ants.” As soon as I saw the package, I became concerned. Not only was the package covered in warning labels about biting ants, I could not see how I was supposed to get the ants out of the vial and into the farm. Was I actually supposed to take the top off the vial with my bare hands and hope that they would all get into the very small and insecure opening at the top of the container? This seemed impossible and I was not ready to try the impossible with biting ants. I read and re-read the directions carefully only to find that my worst fears were true. I would have to get them into the hill on my own. I put them in the refrigerator like the instructions described. I decided to leave them in there for an extra minute or two for safety precautions. To my delight, the cold refrigerator slowed the ants into a trance. I donned my gardening gloves and took the cap off the vial and violently shook the ants onto the sand in the ant hill. The top was on the hill half a second later. Success!

So, we have been watching these ants. They dig tunnels which seem to have purpose. They are the busiest creatures I have ever observed. They need water and food. Unfortunately, I am having a hard time keep them alive. I fed them things which were listed in the book, but they are still dying. In fact, now most of them are dead. So I have another problem. How do I explain this to my son who is already weary of bugs due to his mother’s strange behavior? Now it appears that his mother is killing the bugs. I am not trying to kill them! I promise I am not lacing their lettuce with Raid!

So, I decide to hide the ant hill from my son. Maybe if he doesn’t see it, he will forget about it. Maybe, he is still a concrete operational thinker like Piaget suggested. Well, this seems to have worked, until the other day that is, when he found the grave yard in my closet.

I guess that you can not hide the circle of life from your children. It needs an explanation. They need to know what happens to life and how the circle exists and sustains its self. And how the circles involving bugs do not exist in my house.

2003 in Review: The Miller Family Moves to Dallas

2003 In Review: The Miller Family Moves to Dallas

Moving can be a stressful event in one’s life. It involves other people handling your possessions and paying them thousands of dollars to break your precious china. Or worse, it involves challenging your physical stamina by getting that piano out of the second story living room and into a rented truck that cannot hold everything you own and tops out at 45 miles an hour. Not only do you have to physically pack and move your stuff, but you have to find a job, buy a house, sell a house, enroll your kids in school, make sure you have every record about you and your loved ones, get the dog to the vet, get the cars serviced, change your address on everything, establish all kinds of new services at your new house, and disconnect everything about your life from your previous place of residence. And if you are lucky like I am, you also have to prepare for the holiday season. Now, let’s top this off with one more adventurous undertaking. While you are going through the long list of things to do in order to move, in the meantime, you and your young family are living with your in-laws in their very nice, expensive house. Are we having fun yet?

My husband and I have just seen the light at the end of this tunnel, so I thought it would be an appropriate time to document our moving experience. Also, I wanted to send everyone an update on our lives so you didn’t think we fell off the face of the planet. It was my intention to have a Christmas letter this year, but that didn’t happen. After reading about this moving experience, you will understand why. Just so you are not left in suspense, we are still married, all family members are still alive, we are sober, and we do not feel the need for family or individual counseling.

It all started last school year. We are both Band Directors who work very hard and want the best for our programs and students. My husband is so good at his job, that he was one of the most successful band directors in the State of Louisiana last school year. Unfortunately, the administration was very uncooperative with some of the changes Gerry needed to make to keep the program successful; so, to make a long story short, Gerry and I decided that he would be happier if he found a new job. He did. He landed a Head Band Director job at a Texas 5A high school in the Garland ISD. He also got a $15,000 raise and many amenities that make his new job easier and a lot less stressful than his experience in Louisiana. So, the State of Louisiana lost two promising and tax-paying teachers. I hope that my Louisiana friends and relatives will think of our story the next time they hear the phrases “lack of quality teachers” or “shrinking tax base” on the evening news.

Our journey to Texas began in June of this year. We put our house up for sale and got several estimates from moving companies. We were getting everything ready so we could move the moment we had a contract on our house. The reason we wanted to be ready at a moment's notice was so we could stop imposing on Gerry's parents. They graciously opened up their home to our family to make this move easier on us. However, I don't think that they nor we knew what we were all in for. It makes for a funny story.... now that we can look back on it. And let me give a little disclaimer here that this story is told from my perspective. I am sure that if Cathy or Gerry would put pen to paper, they would have a story to tell and it would all be embarrassingly true.

Gerry's parents live in a very nice house. It has five bedrooms, four bathrooms, spacious living areas with beautiful dark hardwood floors, artistically landscaped front and back yards. The finest feature that I want to share with you is the white carpet. Yes, you heard me correctly- white carpet. The white carpet was a bit of a challenge for my son, dog, and sometimes my husband, especially since my gracious Mother-in-law has stain radar. She can sense a stain the moment it happens, even if she is on the opposite side of the house. She comes running, armed with stain removers, rags and vacuum cleaners. She finds stains that are unseen by the naked eye. She has a true gift. And in the true mother-in-law spirit, she still has not let me forget that day in Florida when my dog threw up on her antique-white wool rug, which left a permanent stain. I suspect that she spent many unsuccessful hours cleaning and researching the removal of this stain, and she has not let me forget it. She even gave me the rug so I can stare at the stain for the rest of my life. Given this history, you can imagine how my state of mind deteriorated during our stay on the white carpet…which led to the drinking.

Yes, members of both households drank heavily during our stay on Voyager Drive. I am sure the recycling man was very concerned when he encountered the overflowing bin of wine and vodka bottles. I am surprised that he did not turn us in to the local AA chapter. Ironically, the drinking contributed to the staining of the white carpet. For those of you who do not know, I am a bit of a klutz. While carrying a glass of red wine downstairs, I slipped and wine spilled all over the carpet, wall, and my new blouse. Luckily, my Mother-in-law was there in seconds, thanks to her stain radar, and we were able to get all of the wine out of the carpet before disaster set in. Unfortunately, Pops did have to repaint the wall, and well, my blouse was another story. Apparently, Cathy's stain radar is not exclusively for carpet use – it also comes in handy with laundry. I am quite glad that she made it her life’s work to get this stain out of my blouse. After three different stain removers and many trips through the washing machine, she finally gave the blouse back to me. Unfortunately, her stain radar is a curse for her because she still says she can see the stain. I see no trace of it, but I must admit that can be due to the heavy drinking.

And then there is my three-year-old son, the white carpet, beautiful dark hardwood floors and the Lexus. When we came to live with the Millers, my son was not potty trained and resisted the whole idea of potty training adamantly. Potty training was a must because he needed to start preschool, and I wanted to have the potty training under control before his little life was turned completely upside-down. So, we began potty training. Needless to say, urine did end up on the white carpet and unfortunately, so did some other bodily substances. They also ended up on the hardwood floors and some of the furniture. Fortunately, we were able to keep it off of the leather furniture. However, my chronically nauseous dog decided to “christen” the leather chair. It is almost as if she sensed that little Gerry hadn’t gotten his bodily fluids on the leather, so she took it upon herself to make sure that base was covered. As far as the Lexus is concerned, I have already chronicled that event in our lives with an e-mail entitled “Mommy and Little Gerry’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.” The title itself should speak volumes to you but, if you would like to read about a daughter-in-law’s worst nightmare, it is in an earlier blog.

Here I am going on and on about Cathy’s stain detection gift that I almost forgot to mention Gerry’s (that’s Old Gerry or Pops in case you are confused) gift of making sure that everyone in the household is able to watch every televised sporting event. He will race the TV through rigorous channel surfing to find a sporting event- any sporting event to watch. One evening when I ventured downstairs, he was trying to get Cathy to watch bull riding! His favorite thing to do is watch numerous sporting events at the same time where he is constantly switching back and forth between 3 or 4 channels. To the almost drunk non-sports enthusiast, this proved to be quite confusing at times. I am glad we were able to move out before the college football bowl weekends.

Anyway, Pops definitely has control over the remote control, which didn’t really bother me, but I think some power struggles occurred between the three men of the household. Both of the older Gerry’s got fed up with the youngest one and soon after we moved in, a VCR and DVD player appeared in the upstairs living room, and all Thomas the Train videos were banned from downstairs viewing. I will admit that those Thomas songs are really hard to get out of your head no matter how much wine or vodka you consume. Then there was the constant changing of the channels when the other male left the room. If you were hoping to watch an entire TV show, movie, or just 10 minutes of the same channel, then you were out of luck. I should let you know that at one point there were seven TVs in the house. However, their behavior was almost as if they were trying to establish territorial dominance over the TV viewing. It didn’t matter how many available TVs were in the house for their viewing pleasure. They each wanted control over the viewing process for the “clan”. It would not have surprised me if they started peeing circles around the remote control. The whole thing was humorous to watch from the sidelines with a good bottle or two of Australian wine...almost better than TV.

Another conflict we seemed to have with our wonderful parents was the time of the evening meal. Like most families, my husband, son and I usually eat dinner around 6:00. The Millers like to have the food ready by 6:00 and then they stare at it, smell it, and wait for it to get cold until about 9:00. Then they finally reheat the food, sit down and eat at 10:00. I hope that you agree that this is unusual behavior. My husband and I have developed some theories to explain or understand their strange eating habits. It is no secret that my in-laws are aging. Now, when one ages, things in one’s life may change to accommodate the lifestyle of the aged person. Sometimes, one such accommodation is meal times being pushed up. Let’s take a look at my Grandmother as an example. She is up at 5:00 A.M. and is sitting in the dining room waiting for breakfast. She eats lunch at around 10:30 and dinner is served at 4:00. My husband and I think that my in-laws are aware of the possible changes one makes in the aging process, so they are making the opposite changes in order to reverse the process. Instead of eating dinner two hours earlier, they delay the meal for four hours which apparently makes them feel better about their aging. Now, my mother-in-law fully accepts that this eating schedule is highly unusual and lets us know on several occasions at every meal time that we were welcome to eat at any time. Usually, she started asking if we were hungry at around 5:00 and the same question would be asked about every 20 minutes until we finally decided to eat dinner. And this was our daily routine from day one until the day we moved out. Needless to say, most of the alcohol consumption occurred during this time period every day. The longer we waited to eat dinner, the more concerned the recycling man became. I do sometimes wonder if God is putting these challenges in my life to help me “grow” as a person (I don’t think he planned on the drinking).

As you can imagine, living with my young family in a museum was a definite challenge, so we were overjoyed when the offer on our house came in early November. Yes, you heard me correctly, NOVEMBER! At this point, we have spent four long months living in the very expensive house with very expensive things and white carpet consuming more alcohol than a barroom full of mechanics. Of course we quickly negotiated and nailed down a contract and began dreaming of the light at the end of the tunnel. We frantically searched for a house to buy and found a lovely foreclosure in a nice neighborhood in McKinney. We were ecstatic (at this point we would have been ecstatic about a one room hut in the middle of a corn field and I am pretty sure my inlaws were building one for us). After we both turned in blood and urine samples to the mortgage company, we made our real estate agent promise that he would orchestrate the quickest closing on the face of the planet. I suspect that my in-laws had the same conversation with him. Little did we know that the banks selling foreclosures do not have feelings or care that you need to move out of your in-laws to avoid AA meetings or family counseling. They were uncooperative each step of the way, and by the time we actually signed our lives away in blood, we were ready to fire bomb the bank. We were a little stressed.

Do you remember how I mentioned that God likes to put challenges in front of me? Well, December seemed to be the biggest challenge I have faced recently. It actually started over Thanksgiving. We went to Slidell and closed on our house and packed all of our possessions on a big truck to be moved into a storage unit in Plano. When we came back, I had a parade at which my Junior High Band was to perform. The day before the parade, I got very sick. I still went to the parade after which I drove myself to the emergency care center and was diagnosed with the Texas Flu. What a nice welcome gift! I was in pretty bad shape so the doctor thought I should have Vicodin. I slept for the remaining weekend and returned to school on Monday to prepare the K-4 Christmas program which involved the performance of 250 students. We were also supposed to close on our house on Wednesday of that week but the bank we were buying it from delayed the closing. The program was on Thursday evening, and it went well. We were able to close on the house the next day. The flooring projects started on Saturday (did I mention that the house had no flooring, so we had to have all new floors installed?). With the flooring half-finished, we decided to move all of our stuff on Sunday. We had to move on Sunday because Gerry was going to Chicago for a convention on Wednesday and was unavailable to help…how convenient for him. On Sunday night, the flu came back…or at least if felt like it did. The next day, I drove myself back over to the emergency care center where they decided that I did not have the flu again…this time I had pneumonia. Armed with antibiotics, narcotics, and other various medications, I returned to school the next day because I had to prepare a concert for the band that coming Thursday. Thank God the school nurse came to check on me frequently. Oh, and I almost forgot! When I came down with pneumonia, Little Gerry developed an ear infection and my father-in-law managed to have a freak accident with a wreath and a tack which left him with a punctured cornea. My poor mother-in-law will never forget that week. Her house turned into Miller’s Infirmary where she was the head and only nurse (let us not forget that my husband is out of town). I don’t think she wants to see the inside of another Eckerd’s anytime soon. The following weekend (the weekend before Christmas), I started unpacking and moving out of 4499 Voyager Drive. My in-laws most graciously helped me pack my car, my dog, and my son. They made a few more trips for me all by themselves. I have never seen them more eager to help! I could actually hear the cork popping on the champagne as they left my house for the final time on Saturday evening. My parents, who heard of my ailments, also decided to come help me, which was a good thing because I only had three days to move out of the Miller’s and work in the house before we left for New Orleans to celebrate Christmas.

So, let’s recap. I had three concerts, moving into a new house, the flu, pneumonia and a sick child all over three weeks time. And let’s not forget my necessary preparation for the holiday season and our impending trip to New Orleans to celebrate. Of course at this point, it was a little hard to focus on celebrating – I think you can understand why. Anyway, I am still wondering what sin I committed in a previous life to deserve those three weeks. If I have to look on the bright side, I will admit that the narcotics were a bit of a treat.

Now we are all moved in to our new house. It has been vacant for almost a year so it is quite dirty. I fear it will take months to rid the house of the dirt. The previous evicted tenants decided to take a few items with them so we have had to install flooring, a garage door opener, light fixtures, a microwave and other odds and ends. We have also been trying to evict some of the wildlife that moved in over the past year. My husband has been hunting down an elusive mouse for two days. He has developed complicated theories on the activities of this mouse so the traps can be placed in the most strategic positions in the house. I think he is disappointed because I don’t seem quite as interested in the theories behind the movement of this mouse. It only proves to me that men are hunters, and women are civilized. Of course, his latest theory blames the fact he has been unable to catch this mouse on me. You see, he says that when I discovered the mouse in my son’s pajama drawer I screamed so loud that I scared the mouse into the darkest recesses of the house never to be seen again. It is always amazing to me that when a husband is wrong or makes an error in judgment, he can always find a way to blame the fault on his wife. Maybe we do need family counseling.

Despite the difficulties and challenges we faced, we have enjoyed our move to Dallas. We think this is going to be a better place to raise a family and progress in our careers. Now that we have sobered up, we are very thankful to the Millers for opening up their home and taking care of us during this transition in our lives. Without their help, this whole thing would have been a great deal harder and a lot more boring. And I wouldn’t have been able to entertain you with another story of our lives. Stop in and visit if you are ever in our neck of Texas.

Love,

Lori Gerry III Gerry IV Minnie Dolphin……... and the mouse

Mom's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

A hot day in Texas, August, 2003

This day started with good intentions. I was going to take little Gerry around to some pre-schools so that we can get him enrolled. I just got little Gerry potty trained so I was ready to stop at any time and location and beg for the use of the bathroom if he so desired. I had trained myself for this moment. I thought that this would be the most challenging part of my day. I was wrong....

First, a little back ground information. For those of you who are unaware, we are in the process of moving to the Dallas area. Currently, we are staying with my in-laws in Frisco while we are waiting for our house to sell in Slidell. They are very nice people with very nice things in a very expensive and nice house. Some times three-year-olds can be worrisome in such situations but little Gerry (whom we like to call little Niles sometimes) has done well. Monday, Old Gerry (Pops) left for New York on a business trip and Cathy (Grandma) left for New Orleans because she was bored (or I suspect needed a well deserved break from us). So, we are alone in the very nice house with very nice things.

Well, like I said, the day started out with good intentions. I got Gerry ready to go look at schools and I was mentally prepared for the bathroom thing. At 11:00 we left the house. Now, my car is currently loaded up with boxes and stuff for my classroom, which I haven't been able to get into yet- another story. So I made a risky decision. I decided to use my Mother-in-Law's Lexus. I kind of felt like I should call and ask her, but I knew she wouldn't mind. She insisted that I use it to drive and pick her up from the airport and she has loaned it to me in the past. So, we load up and we are off. Of course I am driving carefully in the Lexus when we reach our first destination: the store to get a map. Afterward, Little Gerry decided he was hungry so then we stopped for chicken nuggets. While he was eating, I carefully studied my map. Then we were off again. I took a back road to get to the town I was going to and it was rather bumpy and curvy. As I was turning off of the back road to the main road, Little Gerry informs me that he "hurts". Well, because I am in the bathroom mindset, I immediately assume that he needs to go potty. So I speed off for the nearest gas station. As I am pulling into the lot, he starts vomiting all over the place- yes my son just vomited in my mother-in-law's LEXUS!!!!!!! The Lexus that I borrowed with out her knowledge! But I am a calm person and I can deal with a stressful situation on occasion. I carefully get my vomit-covered son out of the Lexus. Of course, he continues to vomit. So there I am at a gas station parking lot at a busy intersection watching my son vomit all over the place. I am sure that my new neighbors were NOT enjoying the show. Anyway, I am feeling very sorry for him. I know he doesn't feel good and he is covered from head to toe in vomit and this is when I realize that the emergency bag I keep in the car is not in the Lexus. I scrounge around the Lexus and all I could find was a napkin. One little lonely napkin to clean a three-year-old covered from head to toe in vomit and my Mother-in-law's Lexus! I actually thought about going inside the gas station to buy something to clean with, but my son just vomited all over their parking lot and he was going to have to track it into their store in order for me to buy something so I decided that they would definitely kill me. I had mentally prepared myself for begging for the bathroom- not asking for help to clean up my son's vomit. Anyway, I stripped him down to his underwear and put his clothes in the booster seat. I cleaned him up as best as I could with the napkin. I found a plastic bag in the trunk which I placed on the front seat and that is where I put my miserable child and we proceeded on the 30 minute drive back home with the windows down. Just for your information, today's high was 104 degrees. Anyway, I was petrified that I was going to get pulled over or in an accident and my son was not going to be in a booster seat. After thinking about it, I figured that if I were pulled over the officer would immediately let me go due to the smell.

After a long and fragrant drive, we finally get home. First I take him inside and give him a bath. Then I lay him down to see if he will take a nap. I then take a deep breath and go outside to clean up my Mother-in-law's Lexus. Did I mention that it was 104 degrees today? I will spare you the details with the clean up. I'll just say that leather is easier to clean up then carpet and I pray that my Mother-in-law's sense of smell has dulled over the years.

Well, you may think that this is the end of my story. It is not. It seems that when bad things happen to me, they happen over and over..... After all is cleaned up and I am sure the vomit smell is all in my head, my son announces that he is hungry. It has been several hours and he has held down diluted juice so I decide to give him a piece of toast. Well, that went fine. About 20 minutes after the toast, he announces that he has to go to the bathroom. He had just gone to the potty and made pee-pee right before he ate so I immediately assumed that he had to have a bowel movement. So I asked him if he had to go poo-poo. He said no- pee-pee. So he starts to go up the stairs and then immediately comes back down. He give me a strange look and starts to have diarrhea all over the beautiful hard wood floor- just missing the expensive wool oriental rug in the foyer of my in-laws very nice and expensive house. I got on my knees and thanked God for two things: that my in-laws are not home and that he missed the rug.

In conclusion, my son has had two baths today and is now only wearing his underwear out of fear for the unknown. I have cleaned up more in one day then I ever want to clean up again. However, being a Mom and a teacher, I know that it is possible I could have worse things to clean up- but I pray this is it. I just don't understand why it had to happen in my Mother-in-law's Lexus and in the expensive, very nice house. Please don't share this story. I haven't worked out how I am going to tell my Mother-in-law about my terrible, horrible, no good very bad day. With the way my luck is going, it will find its way back to someone in her very large family and they will share it with her. Then I will be homeless. Thank you for letting me vent. I hope your day was better than mine.

P.S. I told her and she laughed. Then I realized that she raised Gerry and Kyle. I am sure she has her own stories.... By the way, I am not homeless.