My Mom's Here

The blog challenge , a contest to blog each day for the month of February, comes to a close tonight.  My capacity to accomplish work never ceases to amaze me, and I'm grateful for the push of the blog challenge to build my capacity of what I can achieve in the realm of blogging. We had a wonderful party at Sky Zone today, with many, many children; 47.  Thirty families, celebrating 7 years with our Naomi.  Several bubbles of our community came together: school friends, work friends, church friends, neighbor friends.  My sister and brother-in-law even came down with my nieces.   Nora is one of those brilliants who can pull creativity out of thin air, move an army, and whip party favors into shape.  She can do many more things, and is an amazing mother, to boot.    So, as my final post for the blog challenge, here is the poem that Nora and I wrote, with help from  the peanut gallery (our husbands).  The poem accompanied the favors for the party (which were clearly disjointed

Being on-call is like a pandemic in our house.  There is a heated moment when you get to the middle or near-end of a strategy game, especially a game we have, which is actually called Pandemic.  In this game, the world is simulated as having a pandemic outbreak of a disease, and the players are the health team trying to stop the pandemic and find cures.  We don't have an outbreak of disease in our actual household, thank goodness, we have an outbreak of the beeper going off throughout the night when Mike is on-call. Call days are clearly marked on our calendar.  "CALL" is exactly what I write on the top of each day Mike is on call; I dread it, he dreads it.  But it is a day set aside, part of the gig, and patients do not wait until the glossy hours of 9-5 to get sick, so someone has to be available.  We both know this full well, but this does not go without taking a toll on the household. As a wife, it is almost impossible to relax until the call has been taken, the

There should be a mandate that we speak with people with gray hair frequently, with depth, quality time, and purpose. Of course, I waited until I was 100 miles away from parents and grandparents to ponder what wisdom was said from our family members and friends who have gray hair, and now we are 200 miles away. Please know, I do not intend to say "gray hair" with any kind of degradation, but rather as a compliment, and a position of esteem, knowing that my baselines are:  Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life. Prov 16:31   The glory of young men is their strength, but the splendor of old men is their gray hair. Prov 20:29 In a culture where we try to cover up the gray hairs by getting our hair dyed, shaving heads,  putting in highlights, and ripping out the darn crooked coarse strands when they pop up during a quarter-life crisis, there has to be something said for the life learned and the wisdom of experience that comes through the grays.

Welcome to my world.  My face has rounded out rather widely over the last week.  I only took one week off of going to the gym, because of a rapid heart rate and palpitations.  Then lovely side effect of the prednisone moon face has appeared. Chipmunk cheeks, oompa loompa, I'm sure you get the picture.  I guess it really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.  My friend Meghan asked me how I was feeling as David and I rushed in late for gymnastics class.  "Good! Yup, back to my old self of cramming lots of activities in and being late!"  I'm very grateful I'm able to function and take care of things and then some. Let's hope this continuea as I taper down the prednisone.  I know the moon face is a cosmetic thing, and hopefully temporary, but definitely better than not being able to talk and swallow. I know it would be better to stay off of "white" carbohydrates, and was that a slice of pizza I had today?  Yup.  Just Begin : Well, back

David's cello teacher is fantastic.  Barb encompasses many ways I would like to be as a teacher.  One of her best attributes is her ability to analyze how her teaching has worked, how to critically evaluate the results of her method, and how to design and execute a plan to best educate any child as a musician.  Not only that, but she is great with David. He started to read bass clef music today after a few months of flash cards.  Traditional music teachers often argue that Suzuki students cannot read music. Since I started 400+ instrumental music students in this traditional way and I am now intrigued with these different strategies.    Bottom line without a lot of depth: As parents, we should be playing music for our children all the time.  Classical in the background and Suzuki CDs for their instrument as a habit.  The more they listen, the more they feel and internalize.  Then, whatever level they are playing at, they are able to feel the music and have vision for the end res

When Naomi was born, I was in production of Beauty and the Beast with Marple Newotwn High School.  This was one of my favorite jobs.  I was directing a high school musical and this was my first go at it! When I found out I was pregnant and the show opened a week after my due date, I was even more excited.  Yeah, sounds a bit crazy, but I loved the many aspects of directing a musical and was up for the challenge.  I was fascinated watching the vision of the scenery come to construction, the notes in the score become the characters' thoughts in sound, the lighting and sound cues transform the house into a new world, the moments of "aha!" when students understood their character enough to draw the audience in, and the Disney-cry moments when it really all came together.  We took Naomi to the show when she was a few days old, against medical advice but with plenty of drugs.  I could not tolerate not being there and at least catching a glimpse of what it could all look like. 

What's your dream job? I have asked this question many times among twenty-somethings, and love the responses.  Sometimes saddened by the lack of response, but when pushed just a tad usually twenty-somethings open up to perfect strangers about what their dream job is better than to their own parents. We just got home from the American Heart Association Capital Area Heart Ball, raising money for research in heart and stroke care.  We sat around a table with doctors and bankers and enjoyed everyone's company and stories.   My radar went to the sad eyes of the banker parents of their twenty-something year old children, where two out of the four children are heading to California to "find their life." Not bad, just different from the college-job-live track, and it is obviously bothering the parents.  The college-job-live track is a hot topic in our household and breathes insight to flaws in mainstream American education. But it is just funny to me, because I picked up

I washed my face this morning with a warm comfortable stream of water as the bustle of the morning buzzed on, and my phone distracted me with plans of the day and weekend.  It's so good to be back in the swing of life, talking, eating, going out with friends, and managing the household.  Albeit brief so far, I'll take it, this feels like a vacation from Myasthenia Gravis.  Let's hope this continues.   I'm on a medical plan to taper down the prednisone, so tomorrow I will be down to 20 mg daily.  I'm pretty excited about this, and hoping that as the artificial sense of energy I have had from the 40mg and 30 mg dosages will not pull me into lethargy.  I hope many other things, like that talking and swallowing continue to go well and that I can keep up parenting and living well, in whatever form it takes over the next season.  As I focus on each new day, the Myasthenia Gravis I am fighting takes a little more of a back-seat and I get a little more out of my days.  

The amount of adjectives accompanying my raspberry dark chocolate bar is astounding. Organic, fair traded, sustainably sourced, supports the protection of endangered species, non-GMO, and a few other engaging descriptions. I'm glad I left the wrapper downstairs to limit my eating to a fraction of the perfectly-made thing, and limit my thinking as to how righteous I am to buy such a perfectly-cultivated strip of decadence. As the three squares rest along my wine glass, I grab the computer and hear my dear little David.  Okay, this will have to wait, he is sick and I need to tend to him.  The illusion and delusion that I am doing something perfectly or righteously gets me every time. I know a bit of scripture and a bit of doctrine, a bit of common sense and a bit of wisdom, and am content to pray within my days and moments to learn more in due time. I'm deceived into seeing perfection by looking at wrappers and descriptions, status posts and pins, and usually fascinated with t

Today I bought a dress for our black tie event this weekend and buzzed around town shopping.  This week feels like a true doctor's wife week.  Mike had a media interview today and was quoted for an international press release, has community teaching tomorrow, a farewell party for colleague and fundraiser this weekend.  I'm going through lists of outfits and social graces necessary for both of us to attend everything with excellence and intentionally prioritize our precious family time in between. The mornings of bustling for an hour before school never lend themselves to visions that I would be sitting around a table the said evening, smiling like life is always a black-tie affair. So, this happened last Friday:  The kids and I both work up late, I ended up losing my cool in a far-less-than-beautiful way, and Mike walked in from the gym around 6:40am to an awesome family explosion.  Great.  Have a great day and go stick your tools in some hearts without worrying about my emo

I walked along our 14˚F fluffy snowy driveway amidst the scent of skunk and through the damp garage into our warm home.  I closed the garage door and could tell that Mike's game was not going well.  I would normally approach Mike's weekly Dominion match with hesitation, nervous if he was upset about the outcome or not, but this time I was just interested in the game.  "Hey sweets, how's the game going? Can I pour you a drink?" I asked.  The poor thing did not sound good, but was not unraveled.   For the first time in a while I was inspired to care about the game just because he cared about it. Perhaps some of my notes from the women's meeting tonight helped.  A lot. This evening, our senior pastor's wife, Beth, gave a wonderful outline and teaching.  It was not a tip sheet on how to be a better wife or how-to book on marriage, but a reflective and factual account of what loving our husbands means.  I love Carolyn Mahaney's book, Feminine Appeal , an

When I taught high school orchestra, I used to have my students name a food, and then I would give them an analogy of how to play a section of music, in the description of the food they named.  One day they said, "pickle." We were practicing a watered-down version of Beethoven's Egmont Overture, and I alluded to the grit in the crunch that I need to hear in their accents and the friction of their bows on the strings.  The pickle snaps briskly and would be less desirable if it had no crunch and a soggy version of al dente.  I should hear the sour sorrow within the dark melodic lines and the refreshment of the bright green flavor as it cuts through the heaviness of the sandwich it accompanies.  I sometimes call this "psycho-babble", but as they would try to stump me with different foods that would seemingly make no sense to them about relating to the music, we would come up with something witty, and often their own ideas would add more than I ever could, erupt in

I love birthdays.  I like huge parties with lots of candles and mess. Surprises, and letting the kids cut their own lopsided slices of cake with family banter and lifelong jokes and stories.  I like sensing love in its many forms. Growing up, some of the most memorable times were getting together with cousins for birthdays. It was calming for me, as a child, to hear the adults laughing and enjoying movies in the background while we went outside to play manhunt or stay in and play sardines. Pinochle and movies, laughing and tons of snacks always left smiles and good memories.   I really want our kids to experience this kind of memory when they are older.   I'm reflecting on two pieces today.  One is a quote from Mark Twain, and one is a song from Jekyll and Hyde.  The quote by Mark Twain: The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. A New Life , from Jekyll & Hyde performed by Linda Eder, composed by her husband F

My Valentine loves games, winning and understanding me. He loves to hear the sound of my voice. He reminds me how refreshed he is to hear me speak again. He kindly leads our children with firm and fair words, boundaries and occasional treats; Lots of giggles, fun tackles, the bucking yak, and roller coasters. We fight and have conflict But not without a quest to understand each other better. He sees my tired eyes and directs me to rest in perfect timing. He knows my giftings well.  He looks well to my ways and the ways of our household. He protects my heart from words that are not true, no matter who says them. He speaks truth to me and weeds out false teaching. When I dwell on folly, he fills me with solid teaching and wisdom. He reminds me of what I have accomplished and what I am capable of doing. He commends me on the work I execute. He is an exceptional teacher, Making the complex simple. Leading lab staff through human hearts And physician support staff throug

I had the lovely experience of a 24 hour heart Holter monitor yesterday and today.  Thankfully, the results are normal, I have no arrhythmias, which is a pretty big deal when you're married to an electrophysiologist.  Even better, I can start slowly tapering down the prednisone. It really was not a big deal to wear the monitor.  Six stickers on your chest reading the heart from different angles are wired to a little beeper-like box.  I had an activity journal to keep, and documented sleep, activities and any "episodes."  The push for the heart monitor came because yesterday was the 8th day or so that I have had rapid heartbeat experiences, feeling as if my heart is thumping out of my chest.  Daily, it had gotten progressively worse, and flared up while I was either eating or if any kind of excitement escalated.  During my warm up at the gym yesterday, my heart rate suddenly jumped up, and after a text to Mike, had me in the doctor's office getting the

The warmth in my tea mug barely exists.  I stepped away too long from the heat of my Tazo cinnamon sweet spice tea in my over-sized Caribbean Sea mug. Did you ever get caught up in active thought and social media? The seconds tick on without the thought of a minute, and before my first agenda item, which was to check the news, I ended up sending 3 emails, checking Etsy for artwork, googling our Facebook name, and a few other things I can't even remember.  Before I knew it, my tea had the warmth sucked out of it and I didn't even check the news, which was my reason for picking up my phone and standing in one place with poor posture to get all of that "accomplished." I'll tap into a little story that David told us on the way to viola group class.  The kids were taking turns making up stories.  His went like this, "Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a dragon, and he was spitting out stops signs, and there was a stop sign, and another stop sign

The river, just a few miles to our west, is half frozen, somewhat snow-clogged, and has a partial water stream sporadically running through its center.  Front Street runs south along the river's east side, and I love the switch from glistening snow, to glistening river, to baby mountains of ice interposed as I drive southbound. It's still a river, just in different forms.  It still needs the 6 1/2 bridges sprinkled between the two shores. Yesterday, I brought our children to our pediatrician not only for a well appointment, but also to pick our doctor's brain about what has been going on with Naomi.  Over the past 14 months, she has developed 4 new allergies to food and been diagnosed with eosinophilic esophagitis. I just found pictures from when we lived in our previous house (14 months ago) of her happily eating grilled salmon, and now she has a "fish allergy." As the Myasthenia Gravis that I have has flared up since last May, we have been praying for wisdom

The dark night sky twinkled back at me more than I am used to this evening.  We are far from big cities. My mind wasn't on how many more stars I am seeing than when in NJ or Philly, but on how many exist all together.   I attended a Singapore Math night at our kids school this evening.  Parents were led through each grade, K-6 and teachers laid out how the curriculum set up a strong "number sense" in each student's mind.  The beauty of the program is in the depth of learning and love of learning that each class is taken through.  It revamped math from the way I learned, how to churn out procedures, to now giving students tools to make the complex simple, with a strong base of familiarity in each problem.  Nurturing students into problem solvers instead of number crunchers.  And so it must be with our stars. Multitudes hung and named in strategic places.   To the untrained eye, scattered and randomly seen, but to the trained, within orderly constellations rem

Our little cast iron skillet sizzles many mornings with eggs to order.  Today, I made two eggs over-lite after sauteing garlic, mushrooms, and baby spinach and finished the dish with a drizzle of orange-infused oil. I sprinkled with salt and joined my mug of Rose Tea with a splash of raw honey while Mike graciously brought the kids to school. I could not begin eating without finding a pen and paper, because this little song kept bugging me, and in moments like that, the song will escape me unless I put the pen to paper.  I kept singing it, not sure where it came from, and not sure who it may help.  Maybe myself, someday. I think it is what God would say to someone who feels lonely, or may be a bully in some situations, but let each reader be the interpreter for this one . . . I see you when you're all alone Sad and desperate to be known I see you when the lights go down I see you when you wear your crown And lord it over so and so Please treat him kindly, you don't kn

My new conversation starter for twenty-something adults, who work in retail and the food industry, is to ask them what their dream job is.  It lights up their eyes, usually, and I've seen extra signs of life after asking this question; some have lifted their head a bit, clicked off their phone, pulled back a shoulder or two, and some have even made eye contact and gone into a long explanations as to what their plans and dreams are for their life.  Then, I have try to encourage them in their vision for their life. This past week, the only one who didn't have vivid plans was the register clerk at Moe's Southwest Grill.  He wanted to run a business one day, not sure what kind, didn't quite care where or how, but just to be able to tell people what to do.  He wanted authority.  The past week or two I have been working on winning back the authority of parenting our kids.  I have been down and out, up and down since October, and have not really been at peak strength since

As I sit with my black sparkly hat on, very comfortable in a warm house, I am recapping the day at the 11 o'clock hour. A concept of "spinning" was brought to my attention by our nutritionist, Trista Grey.  The idea that your are spinning mentally and constantly on-the-go, ticking away but tired.  Such is life while on prednisone or 10 cups of coffee, take your pick.  The caffeinated side effect is the same.  Working out certainly helps, and being able to talk about what I'm spinning about is a gigantic bonus. I had an opportunity to go out tonight with a great friend, Amy. We went out for a long drawn-out dinner and super conversation.  I love it when people invite conversation with questions, and Amy is one of those friends, whose questions point to her care for my well-being. I consider this one of the highest ways to be a good friend. I observed how she kindly listened and responded thoughtfully, as I chatted on, and on.  It felt so good to talk and just keep t

Mike and I play this strategy card game, called Race for the Galaxy.  He just bought the 2nd Expansion Arc, so we are playing tonight with an added "orb."  Very interesting.  I hated playing this game in the beginning, and then after playing about 12 times, I started to really like it.  Now, it's my favorite game that we play together.  But tonight, the practice game, with the orb, was very confusing.  Once the game was over, I realized that every token from the orb had symbols on it that could have helped me throughout the game.  "It's very beneficial to expand the orb so you can collect tokens, which give you bonuses throughout the game," he says while cleaning up the cards.  Would have been nice to know half way through the game, or possibly in the beginning? Oh well, it was practice. I had very good professors in college, and my violin professor had me pegged.  He would say things like,  "You should pray for the strength to practice and not pray

This month I entered a blog challenge hosted by a good friend, Stevie Parris .  The goal is to write daily for the month of February.  I wanted to challenge myself and see if the words came to the page at the mere discipline of sitting down and writing.  So I must write at this 11th hour, or I will be kicked out.  Let's see if the words come. I am struck today with how little we are.  Our grumblings and disappointments are just small dark spaces in the ocean when seen from an aerial view.  Today, when driving home from viola class with Naomi, David and our wonderful new babysitter, we found this bright light in the sky.   It was not moving and it was too twinkly and big to be a star.  It was perched over our house while pulling up, and we were all in awe and curiosity. Later in the evening, our babysitter texted me that she researched the light we saw, and it was Jupiter.  On the way to school, back on Wednesday, I was excited to see the beautiful sun coming through shiny cl

I was all over the track-by-track discussion of If/Then the musical on Sirius XM this morning. Fascinated, as I get to listen to the composer Tom Kitt and playwright Brian Yorkey candidly discuss their insights and experiences while putting together the musical production, If/Then. Their honesty with their own lives and experiences, transcending into the plot and characters' depth is very refreshing.  This kind of transparency turned the theater from an entertainment venue to a personal experience that could not otherwise be replicated.  They briefly discussed the 11 o'clock number, with the truth and power that they wanted to bring home in the final moments of the show.  While they were composing, they touched on the false starts and places they looked for inspiration, to the other great 11 o'clock numbers of musicals from the past.  Tom Kitt was honest, that at first he was intimidated by what was already written but pushed-on in the race to get it done.  I think tha

When you play a piece of music on piano, there is generally a melody line and an accompaniment. When you cast a show for Musical theater, there are soloists and leads, and there are small groups like a barbershop quartet, or ladies trio, and then the ensemble. When you make a house a home, there are cosmetic design fixes and then there is structural integrity. Within each of these scenarios, the trained eye knows what is keeping the melody, the soloists, and the pictures up on the wall in a house. When I am casting a show, I put my best musicians in those tricky small group positions.  Their moving notes and tight harmonies will carry the soloists and build up a foundation for the leads.  They will also set the bar higher for the ensemble, to follow their harmonies.  Granted, the leads need to be able to sing, but the leads do not need to be able to harmonize and blend with the majority of the ensemble.  A lead can learn his/her simple and often-popular melody, and belt it out.  (Th

I caved in when the Sirius XM Satelite Radio offered 5 months for $20.  Our subscription on our minivan had ended last summer, and after we had been harassed by Sirius Radio for months, with ludicrous offers, that wonderful bargain came.  I jumped on it because I love the Broadway channel,  the kids radio, and all the genres at my fingertips.  Today I heard a piece from "Songs for a New World" called Stars and the Moon on the Broadway channel.  I know nothing about this show, but the poor character would "rather have" extra than what she had, or could have had in the beginning.  Hoping and wishing, and pushing for more and more. Turns out, she concludes through Jessica Molaskey's penned lyric, "I'll never have the moon."  Isn't that the way it goes.  We want and want, and store up more and more, and we can never quite have the moon, which her original love offered her with a promise of commitment, but she sacrificed for money, glamor, trave

--> David is jumping on the couch and flopping off, throwing pillows.   You would never know that just a few hours ago he was decked out in a size 4 tuxedo, black bow tie, playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a Steinway concert grand piano, accompanied by a string quartet. The stage at the concert was set with three grand pianos, rows of young performers on stage left and right, and professional musicians from the community.   As groups of children went up in queue they performed the timeless Suzuki pieces with poise, skill, and musicality.   Naomi’s group quickly followed David’s, with three girls, between 6 and 8 years old playing Lightly Row.   The three grands with six little hands resounded together perfectly, big smiles and a triple bow at the end.   Applause.   The little fingers commanding the Yamaha and Steinway keys drew me back to the years of lessons and performances I had throughout my childhood, and drew me forward to a future for these kids