tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52419926586636345312024-03-12T20:24:37.114-07:00Down South MusingsAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-61136566358568380012010-01-28T06:09:00.000-08:002010-01-28T06:11:30.208-08:00Poppa, We Remember You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/?action=view&current=poppa-1.jpg" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" style="outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; outline-color: initial !important; color: rgb(48, 80, 48); text-decoration: underline; "><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/poppa-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>(Bernie ~ 9/15/1931 - 1/25/2010)<br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Poppa, We Remember You<br /> “This is a collection of our memories of Bernie,our Grandfather affectionately known as “Poppa.”<br /> by Kristin, Jessica, Rebecca, Rachel, Sarah and Hunter (compiled by Amy )<br /><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>With twinkling blue eyes and a mischievous grin, Poppa stole our hearts. We are not exactly sure how that happened since the minute one of us was born Poppa would call the baby a ‘sack of salt’ and threaten to sell him or her for fifty cents. We remember that instead of growing in value as we grew older, our worth declined until Poppa would offer to sell us for just a penny, box us up and send us around the world. But after a while he would sigh and say, “ I’d have to buy you back, though.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>We remember that his greatest joy was to convince us as toddlers to call ‘Nena,’ our grandmother and his better half’, ‘a Bum.’ But every one of us caught on to that joke and responded with “No.. you’re the bum, Poppa bum.” Which would make him chuckle and reply with, “Your all-right. I reckon I’ll keep you” Then he would point to Nena and say, “But She’s still the bum.. not me.”<br />We remember sleep overs with Nena and Poppa. Curled up in one of the huge recliners in the den, sipping on a ‘tiger’ cup full of ‘sugared down with love’ coffee, we would watch old Westerns. More than likely the movie would feature another favorite man of ours, John Wayne. In the evenings we’d stay glued to the set watching ‘True T.V.’ and marathon episodes of COPS. At some point during the evening Poppa would call out, “Ma, where’s my cream.” And we’d run to the kitchen to help Nena dish out the vanilla or butter pecan ice cream.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Even though Nena claims she can’t cook, Nena would make us cinnamon toast. We remember Poppa fixing us his special breakfast of “Frozen Maine Blueberries” Occasionally we’d go out to eat where Nena would eat her grits raw while the rest of us would copy Poppa and smother our grits with sugar. Eating with him could be risky because more often than not, he’d spider walk his hand across the table and try to snatch your food.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>At supper time, we would hike up the hill to Derry’s where we would listen to a ‘battle between the North and the South’ at every meal. Someone, usually Bert, would call Poppa an “ole Yankee” and threaten to feed him greens. You see, while Poppa may have adopted ‘sweetened tea, grits and ‘pecan’ pie, he couldn’t abide a ‘green’ of any sort.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>For as long as we can remember, Poppa and Nena would Summer in Maine. Which was okay with us as long as we got to go with them. There in ‘vacationland’ we would adopt his Yankee food, ‘bottled water’ from Poland Springs, cream of wheat, and Uncle Tink’s Blueberry Pie. And like Poppa, we found one food we couldn’t abide, Mincemeat Pie. Sorry, Aunt Arlene.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Walking the rocky beaches of Maine, touring the shipyards of ‘Old Port’ and ‘chasing the light houses’ along the rocky coastline, we wondered how Poppa could leave his native state. Until he explained to us how he grew tired of climbing out of the second story window on frigid school mornings, to dig out the seven foot snow drifts from around the front door to let his family out. <br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>We remember being still with Poppa and watching....listening. He always kept his binoculars close by as he would watch the birds and deer come to the feeders in the back yard. In Maine, he would take his bincoulars to the beach and to the bay. He was content to sit for hours and watch the ships come in.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>We remember Poppa’s hands. Gifted hands that filled our homes with his beautiful furniture. Hands that collected, sorted and archived stamps and coins, pieced together puzzels, and painstakingly built a ship in a bottle. Hands that were quick to hug, to hold and to encourage us. Hands that would hold ours as he spun us around the room with our small feet perched on top of his feet as he hummed a country western song. <br />Poppa, we remember you and we will not forget your humor, your love, and your lessons on life. We will remember that God let you stay a little bit longer on ‘borrowed time’ to be our Poppa and to have the chance to dance with you.</span></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-52728436871231031782009-08-15T20:51:00.000-07:002009-08-15T20:53:21.869-07:00<span style="font-size:85%;">From the moment I walked in the door with my iphone, my children claimed it. <img src="http://finfacts.ie/artman/uploads/2/iphoneJune102008.jpg" style="border-width: 0px;" alt="" /><br /><br />If Hunter is not playing games, Rachel is snapping pictures<br /> and downloading applications or Sarah is adding and mixing<br /> up the ringtones. And that is where I got into trouble.<br /><br />On Friday night, Sarah and I went to church for an event called Uprising 3.0<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"All rising 7th Graders and family, join us for a time of introduction to the</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Student Ministry of FBC. We will have a dinner prepared just for you at</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> 6:00 in the Fellowship Hall. During this time you will be introduced </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">to many of the ministries, programs and activities you can be</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> invloved in with Student Ministry.</span>"<br /><br />So... right in the middle of the youth pastor's talk...<br />my phone goes off. <span style="font-weight: bold;">LOUD</span>.<br />The ringtone... "DA DA DA DUM.... Bad to the Bone."<br /><br />Yeah. It went off at least twice before I turned it off<br />and everyone turned to me. Laughing. Hard.<br /><br />It was quite an uprising.<br /><br />When we got home, I gathered the children together<br /> and asked for a confession... "Who put "Bad to the Bone"<br />on my ringtone?"<br /><br />"It said "Piano Riff," Mama... not "Bad to the Bone," Sarah<br /> confessed. "What is "Bad to the Bone" anyway?"<br /><br />For those of you too young to know the song..<br />it's a classic. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7VsoxT_FUY" rel="nofollow">"Bad To the Bone"</a><br /><br />Keep the Faith,<br />Amy</span>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-12898638288870243622009-08-09T12:52:00.000-07:002009-08-09T12:53:57.668-07:00Workin'Austin lives for the moment his Daddy<br />comes home from work. If I ask him,<br />"Austin, are you a momma's baby?<br />He will sign "Daddy Tractor."<br />Every afternoon, Daddy and his<br />little shadow will find something<br />to do on the tractor. And who could<br />blame them? It's air conditioned,<br />has an XM radio, and it's even<br />equipped with a Buddy seat.<br /><a target="_blank" href="http://x4e.xanga.com/1698575a79708233056230/b183877111.jpg"><img title="000_0006" style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; width: 227px; height: 303px;" src="http://x4e.xanga.com/1698575a79708233056230/z183877111.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />Austin prefers heavy lifting with the<br />front end loader. But more than likely,<br />they are raking, mowing, tettering,<br />or baling hay. Not too far into work time<br />I will receive the inevitable phone call,<br />"Come and get your son." The sound of the mower<br />and the vibration of the engine puts Austin to sleep. <a target="_blank" href="http://x68.xanga.com/c87f453064332251698920/b199870154.jpg"><img title="Camera phone 026" style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px;" src="http://x68.xanga.com/c87f453064332251698920/z199870154.jpg" height="400" /></a><br /> (Workin' Hard) ;)<br /><br />Keep the Faith<br />AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-22331076696536669162009-08-08T07:08:00.000-07:002009-08-08T07:23:59.930-07:00The Vet's Daughter<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif;font-size:16px;"><h4 class="itemtitle" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></h4><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><a href="http://x5c.xanga.com/e84f575b29333251577630/b199763414.jpg" target="_blank" style="outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; outline-color: initial !important; color: rgb(48, 80, 48); text-decoration: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="http://x5c.xanga.com/e84f575b29333251577630/z199763414.jpg" height="400" alt="102_5519" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; " /></span></a></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://x5c.xanga.com/e84f575b29333251577630/b199763414.jpg" target="_blank" style="outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; outline-color: initial !important; color: rgb(48, 80, 48); text-decoration: underline; "></a> (The Vet's Daughter)<br /><br />After dental appointments, I decided to take the five youngest </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">to lunch at a downtown cafe. Rebecca, claiming </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"privilege of the oldest child in the car," grabbed the front seat </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">while the others piled into the back. I was midturn to face the </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">back of the car to begin backing out of the parking lot when </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">my attention was caught by a small pink mark on my </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">daughter's neck.</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />"What happened?"<br />"Oh, I burned my neck with a curling iron," Rebecca grimace</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and lightly touched the sore spot. Unable to resist taunting </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">her sister, Rachel hung over the front seat and said. "It looks<br />like a hickey!" Rebecca blushed and said, "Trust me, I KNOW,</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">everyone at work and church has been harassing me about the</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">dang burn for two days."</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />Rachel giggled and with a wicked glint in her eye began</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">sing-songing... "Rebecca's got a hickey, Rebecca's got a</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">love bite, Rebecca's got....."</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />"Ring Worm," interrupted a very droll voice.<br /><br />For a single beat there was dead silence before Rachel,</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hunter and I burst out laughing. Sarah crossed her arms </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">over her chest and pouted at our laughter. </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"That's what it looks like to ME!"</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />Rebecca hung her head and sighed, "Only a vet's daughter </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">would think of that."</span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><a href="http://xb3.xanga.com/6dcf255b51c30251580741/b199766102.jpg" target="_blank" style="outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; outline-color: initial !important; color: rgb(48, 80, 48); text-decoration: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="http://xb3.xanga.com/6dcf255b51c30251580741/z199766102.jpg" height="400" alt="102_7227" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; " /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(Rebecca, Sarah and Rachel)<br /><br />Keep the Faith and keep away from burns </span></div><div class="itembody" style="position: relative; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; width: 683px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">caused by hot hair implements.<br />~Amy~</span></div></span>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-84399618879662493612009-08-03T11:26:00.001-07:002009-08-03T11:27:03.063-07:00Rebellion<a target="_blank" href="http://x97.xanga.com/6d4f731ac8335251155376/b199396938.jpg"><img title="100_7450" style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px;" src="http://x97.xanga.com/6d4f731ac8335251155376/z199396938.jpg" height="400" /></a>(Austin and a sibling trying to 'hold him down' <img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/winky.gif" /> )<br /><br />It was night time and my husband walked into our bedroom with his little shadow tagging behind him. "Time for bed, Austin," he said standing at the foot of our bed. "Go upstairs and get in <span style="font-weight: bold;">your </span>bed."<br />Giggling furiously, Austin climbed up the foot board and somersaulted into <span style="font-weight: bold;">our</span> bed. Rapidly crawling across the mattress, the defiant child tossed pillows out of the way, pulled back the comforter and snuggled down on his Daddy's side of the bed. Rolling on to his belly, he squinted his eyes and then began to 'snore' loudly.<br /><br />Hands on his hips, Hubby tried to hide his laughter and said, "Austin, that is pure-t-ugly. Get up and go upstairs to your bed. Now."<br />With louder snores and a few wiggles, Austin continued his disobedient mocking of his Daddy. Finally, a sister came in and rescued the pretender before he got into serious trouble.<br /><br />Funny. In one of the first serious talks that doctors have with parents who's children are born with an anomaly... "They" said he wouldn't be able to pretend and he wouldn't ever have a sense of humor. "Those are higher functioning abilities...," they sniffed. "Given his extra chromosome, you can't expect him to develop higher cognitive abilities." They didn't mean to be demeaning or discouraging, you understand. Parents need to understand and accept their child's limitations.<br /><br />Austin's in all out rebellion to do everything they said he "wouldn't be able to do." And like the good parents we are ... we are totally encouraging his rebellious attitude against authority. <img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/winky.gif" /><br /><br />Keep the Faith and Resist Conforming to the "Man" <br />amyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-88938054080277341842009-07-10T15:37:00.000-07:002009-07-10T15:46:23.486-07:00Mars Vs Venus<h3 class="groupname date"> <span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >So. We are in this really serious business meeting discussing our 'investment horizon,,' future educational trusts, special needs trusts... serious. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >And the gentleman, Marc, leading the discussion decides to tell a tale on a mutual friend of ours. Seems they were out golfing one day when "Dan" swings a bit too hard with his wooden golf club and </span><a target="_blank" href="http://fireflysouth.xanga.com/weblog"><img title="" style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px;" src="http://images.paraorkut.com/img/funnypics/images/g/golfing_hampster-11962.jpg" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >sends it into a nearby pond</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >.</span> <img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/bummed.gif" /> So it's <span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >floating in the pond.... and Marc encourages him to go after the club. So, Dan takes off his socks and shoes, rolls up his pants legs and wades into the water. About 5 feet into the pond, Marc whistles. Dan looks back and sees his friend 'relieving' himself into the pond. The other three males in the room think the 'tale' is hilarious and die laughing. I'm looking at him like..</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">This is funny? <img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/shocked.gif" /><br /></span></h3><h3 class="groupname date"><span style="font-size:100%;">Naw. This is GROSS</span>. </h3><h3 class="groupname date"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >Do you think the 'male' and 'female' sense of humor is the same?<br /></span></h3><h3 class="groupname date"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >I think not.<br /></span></h3><h3 class="groupname date"><br /></h3><h3 class="groupname date"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >Keep the Faith,</span></h3><h3 class="groupname date"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >amy </span><br /></h3>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-49852149496355183052009-07-08T17:55:00.000-07:002009-07-08T17:56:23.817-07:00Sweet Deal<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma; ">So I went to the mall today. I need camp clothes. Yes, I've officially lost my mind. Next week I'm headed to SC with a bunch of hoodlums... third to sixth grade boys and girls. <img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/shocked.gif" width="15" border="0" /><br /><br />Since I'll be living in a college dorm room (oh joy) and basically sweating it out with a bunch of youngun's in various camp activities (like chasing each other with water balloons) I decided to update the wardrobe. Thank goodness the sales are outrageous this time of year. I racked up some serious threads with very little cash. It was sweet. Anyway, I found this little green top and decided to wear it this afternoon. <br /><br />When I walked up to Rebecca at church, she gave me a blank look. Then she started laughing and said, "I had no idea who you were... you look twenty-ish. I was like... 'who IS THIS chick talking to me.'" <br /><br /><img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/shocked.gif" width="15" border="0" /> <img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/shocked.gif" width="15" border="0" /><br /><br />Yeah. I need to consider giving the girl an allowance.<br /><br />I'm headed back to the store in the morning to buy the same shirt in every color it comes in... 'You Betcha.' <br /><br />Keep the Faith,<br />amy</span><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-84919005184315625552009-07-07T08:30:00.000-07:002009-07-07T08:48:07.494-07:00Eyes of Love<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>One afternoon in a rare moment of '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">aloneness'</span> with my husband, I glanced in the visor mirror to check my makeup. The stark sunlight <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">revealed</span> every bit of my age and then some. I sighed and he asked what was wrong. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Getting older.... it's such a mean trick," I replied. "Inside I feel the same way I did when I was just a girl. Then... I look in the mirror and I see an old woman."</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Reaching over to grab my hand he said, " And when I look at you, I see the sixteen year old girl I fell in love with." </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>As he is not one for giving compliments, it made his words all the more special to me. I don't remember where we were going or why but.... I will never forget what he said. Truth was in his voice. And it occurred to me that he was right. When I looked at him, I saw the seventeen year old boy that I fell in love with nearly three decades ago. Time does change most things, but not the eyes of love. </div><div><br /></div><div>Keep the Faith, </div><div>amy</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-78782200979642996482009-04-03T15:56:00.000-07:002009-04-03T15:58:53.132-07:00Need Advice -- Quick!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: tahoma; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap; ">Okay. So Older daughter #3 has been invited to two proms. One on Friday night..the other on Saturday...different dates. So the big question is this... "Does she need two prom dresses?" What say you? <img src="http://us.st12.yimg.com/us.st.yimg.com/I/prom2000_2047_51396690" style=" border-width: 0px;" alt="" /> </span>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-35329966617242918272009-04-03T07:37:00.000-07:002009-04-03T07:38:52.228-07:00Flood<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: tahoma; font-size: 19px; white-space: pre-wrap; "><img src="http://widoweb.files.wordpress.com/2008/02/noahs-ark.jpg" style=" border-width: 0px;" alt="" /> They closed the schools today. My children want to know if they get the day off from homeschooling. Their dad told them that the only way they could have a 'flood' day was if there was a river of water flooding the house. There are some disadvantages to homeschooling. Let's hope they don't decide to plug up the tub and let the water flow. Last year we were in a ten year drought. I guess God is storing up the water for this summer. Meanwhile, the house is mildewing outside, the garden is a muddy river and the driveway is a 'slip-n-slide.' On one main highway, next to a pond, I dodged five turtles trying to cross the road...all at the same time. Other than the fact we are considering building an ark, it's life as usual on the farm. Keep the Faith ~ Amy</span>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-16016007346792738082009-03-29T16:30:00.000-07:002009-03-29T17:07:12.989-07:00Sunday Grace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SdAIXn04PuI/AAAAAAAAAHg/KTOSk3vw_E0/s1600-h/101_2165.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SdAIXn04PuI/AAAAAAAAAHg/KTOSk3vw_E0/s200/101_2165.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318760361845341922" /></a><blockquote> (Hurricane Ridge, NC ~ Rebecca's Photo)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"> Lord, you have been our dwelling place <br /> throughout all generations.<br /> Before the mountains were born <br /> or you brought forth the earth and the world, <br /> from everlasting to everlasting you are God. Psalm 90:1-2</span><br /><br />Keep the Faith, <br />Amy<br /></blockquote>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-20398314118671138892009-03-26T05:56:00.000-07:002009-03-26T06:00:31.943-07:00Fun Giveaway<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VZFsgIXRCIM/SctagV7lcaI/AAAAAAAAJ3A/ozz8J0iFzF8/s320/abc.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VZFsgIXRCIM/SctagV7lcaI/AAAAAAAAJ3A/ozz8J0iFzF8/s320/abc.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I love the whole idea of the these decals. And <a href="http://www.restyledhome.blogspot.com/">Restyled home</a> is offering the cutest black chandelier! Leave her a comment for a chance to win!<br /><br />I've NEVER won a giveaway.. have you? <br /><br />Keep the Faith,<br />AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-57521690866061873102009-03-25T07:44:00.001-07:002009-03-25T07:50:19.812-07:00Graduate SchoolIn 2004, my husband and I went back to school. We entered the Graduate School of Parenting. That's where you learn to make wise choices about your child's health and future. The first decision we faced was made for us. When Austin's heart condition was diagnosed as critical, there was only once choice.. He would have to have open heart surgery to save his life. It was a wise choice to hand over our naked, vulnerable seven day old child to the surgery team. Within minutes after they restarted his newly repaired heart, his mouth, hands and feet were no longer blue, but a beautiful healthy pink. Within months he no longer had to take medications to reduce his heart congestion, his heart was beating perfectly even with a class 3 murmur. <br />Some choices are not so clear, the line between good and best is blurred. Thursday, we realized we are facing one of those decisions where you have to weigh out all the options, ponder, pray and then make a leap of Faith that you ARE choosing the best option for your child. It's never easy. It's especially difficult when it involves pain. <br />The nasal endoscopy both confirmed and discounted what the ENT suspected. Yes, Austin has nasal regurgitation, but no, he doesn't have a cleft palate. He has a larynx that is too large. I believe the Craniofacial expert's exact words were "His larynx is HUGE and that's the medical term for it." <br />This means that when he eats or drinks, some of it enters the sinus. Think of it this way. The larynx is a door way, the adenoids are the door jamb and the cleft palate is the door. The door is perfect, the adenoids are perfect but they don't fit the door way. So Austin's door from his esophagus into his sinus is always open and it shouldn't be. I asked the good doctor, "Who makes the decision about surgery, you, the ENT or the GI doctor." <br />He said, "None of the above, you and your husband make the decision. He's your child." <br />Yes, he is. And it is so hard to chose pain for your four year old son. The surgery is a step above a tonsillectomy. The surgeon will cut muscles from the inside of the throat and create a flap to narrow the 'door way.' Sounds simple. Of course, as the good doctor explained to me, they haven't done a lot of these. He can't guarantee that Austin won't continue to have sinus infections, that it will stop the nasal regurgitation or that he won't eventually sound nasal. <br />So why would we choose surgery? " Because, Mom, if he doesn't have surgery then I CAN guarantee that he will have all of the above. No doubt about it."<br />Over the next couple of months we will watch to see how the Prevacid works. The GI is scheduling a upper GI series and Endoscopy to see what else is going on in Austin's digestive track. Then ENT will ponder the results of the nasal endoscopy and get back to us with his opinion. Austin's pediatrician will also give us her opinion as she is the one who deals with all of the infections and the consequences of four rounds of antibiotics in three months on this little guy's system. She's thinking long term consequences. The antibiotics will stop working with his system. Then when he is hit with a more serious infection, there will be nothing left in the antibiotic arsenal to fire. <br />Thankfully, this decision to operate isn't urgent. We have time to sift through all of the information, to let the acid reducers do their job healing the mess the undiagnosed reflux made of his esophagus, vocal cords, and epiglottis. Austin has time to learn, explore and enjoy the world around him. <br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/ScpDxFM23aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/vKyQ2M512zY/s1600-h/102_6481.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/ScpDxFM23aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/vKyQ2M512zY/s200/102_6481.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317136820553047458" /></a><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/ScpEcQbxO_I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/Q4qa1WTpg5g/s1600-h/102_6483.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/ScpEcQbxO_I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/Q4qa1WTpg5g/s200/102_6483.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317137562302757874" /></a><br />"If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does." James 1:5-8<br /><br />Keep the Faith, <br />AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-32284747540209417752009-03-23T07:20:00.000-07:002009-03-24T07:27:58.678-07:00Make Time For JoyI have renewed a goal in my life. It should have been in place all along, but I became disoriented by an unexpected complication. I forgot to take time to rejoice. No matter what the circumstances, make time to create happiness.<br /><div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>After two day-long visits to the Emory Children's Center with just Austin, one sibling and me, I remembered our annual pass to Zoo Atlanta. This Thursday, we packed the sunscreen, camera, and the zoo pass and headed to the doctor's visit. Austin's nasal endoscopy may have been the starting point of our day, it didn't dominate our trip. A Carousel, rock climbing wall and train became the focus. Enjoying the beautiful spring day, the glorious colors of the fruit trees and the antics of a baby panda were the memories we carried away from our trip to Atlanta.</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7121.jpg"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7121.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 602px; height: 800px; " /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7191.jpg"><br /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7191-1.jpg"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7191-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 319px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div></div><div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7180.jpg"><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7180.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 513px; height: 799px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> "Preschooler tames tiger...stunning the crowd." </div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7090-1.jpg"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7090-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 486px; " /></a></div><div><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Willie B goes down for the count.. must have been the 'nostril hold' that caused the gorilla to concede the fight. "</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7128.jpg"><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102_7128.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 602px; height: 800px; " /></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102B6740.jpg"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/102B6740.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 647px; height: 799px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Charis SIL';">We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name. May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Charis SIL';"> Paslm 33: 21-23</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Charis SIL';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Charis SIL';">Keep the Faith and Rejoice,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Charis SIL';">Amy</span></div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-6455533549766000172009-03-15T11:12:00.000-07:002009-03-15T13:17:01.829-07:00Sunday Grace<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/Sb1HB4aaEaI/AAAAAAAAAHA/wsVkQTVRVQo/s1600-h/102_6304.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/Sb1HB4aaEaI/AAAAAAAAAHA/wsVkQTVRVQo/s320/102_6304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313481233015640482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">"Come now, let us reason together,</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> says the LORD. </span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> "'Though your sins are like scarlet, </span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> they shall be as white as snow; </span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> though they are red as crimson, </span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> they shall be like wool." Isaiah 1:18</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Keep the Faith ~ Amy<br /><br />*** For more <a href="http://kariandkijsa.blogspot.com/2009/03/sunday-grace_15.html">Sunday Grace</a><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-90494912738464503152009-03-11T06:21:00.001-07:002009-03-11T08:21:01.330-07:00Bid to Save A Life<a href="http://aspecialkadoption.blogspot.com/"><img alt="Bid to Bring Kellsey Home" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v694/CAmommy2KJ/kellseysbutton.png" width="400" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.aspecialkadoption.blogspot.com/">Kellsey</a>, abandoned at birth by her family, lives in the Ukraine in an orphange. But she belongs here, with this <a href="http://www.myspecialks.com/">family.</a> And she's almost home. Help bring this precious baby to her mother and father and siblings who already adore her. God has a plan for her life. Won't you be a part of it?<br /><p>" Your eyes saw my unformed body.<br /> All the days ordained for me<br /> were written in your book<br /> before one of them came to be. </p><p>How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!<br /> How vast is the sum of them!" Psalm 139: 16-17<br /></p><br />Keep the Faith ~ AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-87181573908109745112009-03-09T18:40:00.000-07:002009-03-09T18:47:56.218-07:00I See Beauty<p> Christy owns China Garden. It's one of the two true restaurants we have in our tiny town. So we've gotten to know her. When we come in, she focuses most of her attention on Austin. She speaks to the other children, but it is Austin she loves. She always compliments him and tells us how cute he is. </p> <p>One Sunday evening, Sarah, Austin and I went in to get take out. We ignored the buffet and chose to order Wonton Soup, Sesame Seed Chicken and Mongolian Beef to go. While we were waiting, Christy brought Sarah and Austin bowls of ice cream then sat down across from me and said, "He looks different."<br /> She took her hand and made a circle around her face. I just smiled and nodded. She frowned a bit and tried again, "He doesn't look like your family."<br /> I laughed and said, "Well he looks the most like his sister, Jessica and his father."<br />"No..." Clearly frustrated, she paused to find the words in English. Finally she pats her cheek and says, "He look Asian...like me."<br /> Ah. I finally understood. "He has down syndrome," I told her. She tilted her head and looked puzzled. So I tried again. "He has an extra chromosome." Still, she looked puzzled and shook her head. "He was born with a birth defect."<br /> Ah, now she understood. "Do you know what I'm talking about Christy?" She just nodded. Then mumbled something about checking on our food. I hadn't realized that she didn't' know. I assumed it was apparent. Not only that, Jessica used to work next door at the nail shop and saw Christy daily..<br /> Christy came back out of the kitchen and sat back down. She told me our food would be ready in a minute.<br /> Then she got this determined look on her face, she leaned in close and said," I love him. I don't see different, I see beauty. His eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth....they are beauty to me." As she said each feature she pointed them out to me on both herself and Austin.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SbXGK3xjFlI/AAAAAAAAAGw/MhhSv__z5KU/s1600-h/103_0017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SbXGK3xjFlI/AAAAAAAAAGw/MhhSv__z5KU/s200/103_0017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311369225626130002" border="0" /></a><br />I couldn't speak, I just nodded. She looked at him closely then started again. "He not look like your family, he look Asian. And to us, he is beautiful. We all love him."<br /> Finally, I smiled and said, "When I look at Austin, I don't see different either. I see beauty. But when Americans look at my child, they see different. They see Down syndrome."</p> <p> Christy shook her head and began to tell me a story about a little boy she met in China when she was young. She was visiting her mother's mother and he suprised her while she was cleaning fish. The whole time she is telling me the story, she is pantomiming. She showed Sarah and I how she was bent over the fish cleaning when she heard a little boy say, "Hello." Her eyes got big and she pointed to Austin. "He look like him. His hair was dark and his skin was color like mine....but he look like Austin. He was the most beautiful boy I ever seen."<br />She got up to get our food and said again. " I not see different. I see beauty. If I not know his age, I'd not think anything except he is beautiful."</p> <p><span style="font-style: italic;">"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him." 1 John 4:7-9</span><br /></p> Keep the Faith ~AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-68078723756072058352009-03-08T10:27:00.001-07:002009-03-08T10:35:23.023-07:00Sunday Grace<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SbQAnKj-B_I/AAAAAAAAAGg/OFX46Qb-T_U/s1600-h/bigsparrow.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 413px; height: 413px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SbQAnKj-B_I/AAAAAAAAAGg/OFX46Qb-T_U/s200/bigsparrow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310870533426776050" border="0" /></a><br /></div>"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. " Luke 12 6-7<br /><br /><br />Keep the Faith ~ Amy<br /><br />More <a href="http://kariandkijsa.blogspot.com/2009/03/sunday-grace_08.html">Sunday Grace</a>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-86239786016182488882009-03-07T15:37:00.000-08:002009-03-07T15:38:19.877-08:00No More Tears<p>Florida- 6/26/06</p> <p>Friday we went to eat in a little cafe in Apalachicola, FL. Filled with tacky fish nets, it was crowded and we had to negotiate seating with the hostess. As she talked to me, she kept her eyes on Austin who was busy looking at the walls and the neon fish caught in those fake nets.</p> <p>We ended up at two tables for four with Austin still in his stroller. Again, the hostess just kept looking questioningly at him and I began to wonder if she had a relative with Down syndrome. </p> <p>The stroller proved to be awkward, so Becca brought his high chair over. Austin was in a great mood while he waited for his chicken fingers and french fries. So we passed the time playing pat-a-cake and 'itsy bitsy spider.' When she heard us singing, the hostess left the door and came over and stood directly in front of Austin. She watched him pantomime the hand motions with a wistful look on her face. </p> <p>"My son used to do that for itsy bitsy spider." And she mimicked his motion...both hands meeting in the middle ...fingertips only. Finally looking at me, she moved in close, leaned down and said,"This is <strong>MY</strong> angel, Hunter." Around her neck was a medallion with the image of a cute two year old with light hair and round glasses. Ah, I thought, that's it. "Angel" is code in our world for a child with Ds. </p> <p>"He was two in this picture...he'd be six now. But he had a heart defect." </p> <p>My heart sank. I didn't want to know, but I asked anyway. She seemed to need to tell me. "So does Austin," I told her. "He had open heart surgery at a week old. What happened to your Hunter?"</p> <p>She kind of shrugged and continue to watch Austin. "He had surgery at 3 months...then a pacemaker. He did great. Then one day ...he started going down hill, then he was gone." I couldn't help it. In a whisper I said, "How scary." Then a bit louder, "I'm so sorry."</p> <p>We spent a few minutes more talking about the different heart defects. Then she went back to work. I couldn't eat. I fed Austin and just thought about two year old Hunter. I don't know if she had any more children.</p> <p> As we finished up lunch, I thought about what I could say to her. I felt a need to let her know that it was okay to have approached me about Austin.....and that I cared about her 'angel.'</p> <p>I sent the kids on out to the shops while I waited for our bill and watched the hostess roll silverware in cloth napkins. I racked my brain for something really meaningful to say. I almost walked past her without speaking. But she looked up at me and her eyes were swimming in tears. I reached out touched her knee and said, "Thank you for telling me about your son." I couldn't say anything else past the lump in my throat. She smiled and tried to speak but couldn't. We just nodded at each other as tears started to roll down her cheeks.<a target="_blank" href="about:blank"><img title="" style="border: 2px outset rgb(0, 0, 0);" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/S5000557-1.jpg" align="right" /></a></p> <p>She wiped her face, sighed and then went back to rolling her napkins. Six days later, I'm still thinking about her angel, Hunter, and the medallion she wears close to her heart. Holding Austin tight, kissing his sweet fat neck, and breathing in that baby scent that still clings to his skin....I realize that even if my angel stays with us only a short while, I'd still choose to be his mommy. Regardless of the therapy schedules, the medical bills, and yes, even the stares, my life is better with him than without him. </p><span style="font-size:85%;">"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away......I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21: 1, 3-4</span><br />Keep the Faith ~AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-69664876924842174102009-03-06T05:36:00.000-08:002009-03-06T05:50:04.830-08:00Kindred Spirit<div class="details"> <div class="itembody"><a target="_blank" href="http://www.xanga.com/fireflysouth/weblog"><img title="" style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/bean1352/feety.jpg" /></a></div></div>Before Austin began to walk, he wore orthotics called SMO's They are small braces that fit under his feet and stop just above the ankle bone. They supported his ankles and helped him keep his feet in the right position. At 18 months, his weak muscles and loose joints prompted Austin to roll his feet inward to find balance. The braces forced him to hold his feet in the right position and help train him to use the muscles properly. Made of plastic, we would occasionally have to have the braces adjusted as he grew. A technician uses a blow torch to soften the plastic then remold it to fit Austin's growing feet. It takes some time. <p> Locking a two year old up in a 'closet' exam room for 30 minutes or so is not easy. Several employees came to visit us to try to entertain Austin and keep his mind off the wait. As one young lady walked Austin down the hall holding one chubby hand, a young man, who walked with a slight limp and held his left hand close to his body, grabbed Austin's other hand. Off they went down the long hallway where 'Billy' was molding the braces. Jabbering away, Austin looked surprised when his new friend began imitating the sounds. Austin stopped and looked up at him. Then entranced, he reached up his arms to be picked up. Using one arm, the young man propped Austin on his hip and they continued to 'talk' to each other. Finally, with a big sigh, Austin laid his head on his friend's shoulder. Then, a few seconds later, leaned in close and gave his new friend a kiss. </p> <p> I was floored. Austin doesn't do so well in a crowd or meeting new people. He's a bit shy and will avoid eye contact till he 'warms' up. But these two....made a heart connection.</p> <p> I wish I'd had a picture of them, standing in the hallway ignoring the rest of us. There wasn't a dry eye in the office. </p> <p> As Billy refitted Austin's braces, we discussed homeschooling. His wife is a high school teacher and is depressed about the number of students dropping out of school. Billy walked us out and in passing pointed out two of their employees who had continued their education even though they didn't graduate from High School. One of them was Austin's new friend. He came up to tell Austin goodbye and offer an explanation. "I was teased so badly in High School...I just didn't want to stay. But I'm in college now....married and soon to be a dad."</p> <p> I admired him. I hope Austin will be like him. I hope that he will have vision, compassion and strength. Like his new friend, I hope Austin won't let the circumstances of his life stop him from achieving his dreams. That he won't let the cruelty of others rob him of compassion. And that he won't let physical frailty stop him from being strong.</p> <sup id="en-NIV-30417" class="versenum" value="8"> "</sup>Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing." 1 Peter 3:8-9 <p>Keep the Faith~ Amy</p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-83509403917304779872009-03-05T05:44:00.000-08:002009-03-05T05:46:08.198-08:00WordsFriday night is date night. We spend the time talking about what has made us happy or sad over the last week. It's our time. But my husband, being the guy he is, loves to talk to the wait staff at the restaurants. They are mostly college students. By the time we leave he has usually found out what their major, GPA and future plans are. It's tradition.<br />One night we had dinner with 'Tiffany.' She was a local gal who attended the county school system and graduated 2nd in her class. Wow. Pretty impressive. She's attending a local community college after nearly failing at the 'holy grail' --the University of Georgia her first semester. "What Happened?" we exclaimed, ..."too many outside activities." No. It was over her head intellectually...that was her response. Then she went on to say something that absolutely broke my heart.<br />While in high school, Tiffany was joint enrolled. She attended honors classes in school and at the local community college. the same school she is at now. She made all A's. She had a psychology professor who humiliated her in class one day. There she was, a high school senior, and he called on her. The classroom was full of college students. He asked her about a 5 step cognitive process that children go through as they progress from childhood to adolescence to adulthood. The step she missed was: THE CRITICAL THINKING AGE. He then began to berate her and ended with..."What are you doing here? You don't belong here. You haven't reached the critical thinking age...you need to go back to middle school." He went on to tell her that she'd never make it at UGA...."You won't last a semester."<br />As she finished her story she said, "And he was right." Stunned, my husband and I asked if she runs into this professor at the college now. "Yes," she nodded, "And he makes a point to say to me that I don't belong in college."<br />There was more to her story. The semester at UGA cost her the Hope Scholarship which is why she is working. She has brought her GPA average up and will have the scholarship restored to her by Winter Semester. Good for her. We did what we could to encourage her and tell her how proud we were of her to keep dreaming and working toward her goals. But, the damage was done. It was in her eyes. She doubts her education, her goals and herself.<br /><br />Our words have consequences. Once spoken, they can not be retrieved. We can either build up or tear down with our words. And you know what...it's far harder to build than it is to tear down. A few careless words can have a profound effect on someone's life...even a stranger's. But ... "A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver." Proverbs 25:11 Our words will produce fruit. It's up to us what kind of fruit they bear.<br /><br />Keep the Faith ~ AmyAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-83746616349262773732009-02-24T05:57:00.000-08:002009-02-24T06:30:24.300-08:00A Cry from the HeartI woke the children up at daybreak. "This may be the only chance we get to enjoy the beach...lets go for a walk." Amazingly enough, they rolled out of bed and out the door in record time. It was so gray that the ocean, beach and sky looked like one. But even that couldn't daunt their enthusiasm.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SaP_McI-RxI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/dKUvcUoQsu8/s1600-h/fall+2006+520.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SaP_McI-RxI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/dKUvcUoQsu8/s200/fall+2006+520.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306365375149917970" border="0" /></a><br />Hunter grabbed a shovel; Sarah grabbed a wagon; Rachel grabbed Austin and I grabbed a camera. We walked a ways, stopping every now and then to marvel at some treasure tossed up on to the beach by the storm the night before and to let Jess and Becca catch up to us. Then we came to the tide pools. Rippling sand islands surrounded by mini lakes stretched out before us and the kids squealed with joy. Jess and Becca tried to capture the perfect shot of the two of them while Sarah and Hunter waded out into the pool. Rachel, with Austin in the wagon, circled the water coming in as close as she dared without miring down in the mucky sand. Standing in the middle of the tide pool, I turned slowly trying to capture the moments with both my memory and my camera. Suddenly, I heard my name called. I turned to look at Hunter who was crouched down in the water. His eyes were huge, his mouth slack with shock as he tried to call my name again. Then, unable to do anything but cry, he sank back into the water. Before he went under, I gripped him with one hand and hauled him out. Blood soaked us both as I raced across the pool as fast as I could go holding him close and trying not to drop the camera. <p>I didn't know what had 'gotten' him. And it didn't matter. He called me and I had to answer. </p><p>Something cut about a one inch gash on his foot. I wrapped the bloody foot in a towel, held him head down, feet up (to his delight) until the bleeding stopped. The crisis past. Before long, he was digging up crabs and shells. </p><p>But I thought about that cry. How I couldn't do anything but run to him...to help him...to save him. The other children faded into the distance and all my attention was on the one who was hurt. I knew exactly where my other children where. I even knew what they were doing...but even so, my very being responded to that cry.</p><p>And I thought about God... how when we cry out He hears and He responds. David cried out to the Lord...'I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of my slimy pit, out of the mud, and mire, and set my feet on a rock, and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth...' psalm 40:1</p><p>The moment I pulled that bleeding child out of the water, I realized that the God of the Universe <strong>would</strong> come to the rescue of a single being out of billions. For a loving parent cannot do anything but respond when his child cries out to Him. No matter how slimy, deep or dangerous the pit is, God is coming in to pull one of His own out. Have you cried out to Him? He'll answer. </p><p>Keep the Faith ~♥<br />amy</p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-65718565212754465122009-02-23T07:30:00.000-08:002009-02-23T07:32:02.540-08:00Not Ten Feet AwaySeptember a year ago, I was walking on a beach with one of my older girls. She's a junior in college and we don't get to spend a lot of time together anymore. So it was a sweet time. She was telling me about her life, her hopes and dreams for the future. The tide was out and we collected shells as we walked. Even though it was around 6:00 in the evening, the beach was still crowded. Most of the people were on the section of beach that is exposed during the low tide. It's a large area with tide pools. This coast is mild. No big waves or surf to speak of, but the currents can be strong… and the calm water is deceptive. We stuck to the coastline because I had supper in the oven and we knew our time to walk was short. As we headed towards the crowd, I noticed a couple of people were out in the water a good distance from the shore. We walked within ten feet of them. I wondered if they realized the tide was coming in and that the sand bar they were standing on would be twenty feet underwater in an hour or two. But I didn't say anything. They were adults. It was none of my business. There were warning signs posted all along the beach about the dangers.<p>We continued up the beach a good ways, when I realized how late it was. The sun was setting so rather than follow the shore line, we cut across the beach in front of the empty life guard stands, the closed coast guard office, and I never even looked out to sea. </p><p>After dinner, the little ones wanted to swim in the pool. As we were coming down the stairs to the pool area, I noticed a plane flying dangerously low over the sea. I knew there was an airport nearby…but this was low. He circled around and then began panning the sea with a huge light. It was then that I noticed the blue and red lights flashing on the beach down by the lifeguard stands. Soon there were boats all along the shore. I watched them for over an hour. After I took the kids back to the condo, I went back and stood on the balcony overlooking the pool and the beach. I heard a woman scream. After that, the plane left the area, then the boats, and finally the lights on the beach moved toward the coast guard office.<span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p><p>A small group of people walked off the beach and up to the landing where I stood. They told me a young woman had drowned. The lights....they were searching for her body in the sea. The scream....her friend who had tried to keep her afloat but failed. These two life long friends were wading in the ocean while the tide was out. When they realized how late it was and that the tide was rolling in, they headed back to shore. One of them couldn't swim. She stepped into a hole, sunk in the water over her head and the current carried her out into the deeper water. Her friend followed, pulled her head out of water and swam with them both for as long as she could. No one saw them struggling...or heard their pleas for help. </p><p>My stomach rolled and a deep regret settled in my bones ... I had walked right past them, <strong>twice.</strong> If I had but known... I could have done <strong>something</strong>. Swam out with a float.... a surf board...something. But I was too busy, hurrying back home and I never saw her struggle to live.</p><p>I wonder how many other people I walk past during the day who are drowning.... and I don't see them because I'm so busy. Maybe they are not in water, but drowning in a sea of worries, confusion and doubt....struggling to keep their head above water.... I could throw them an act of kindness, a word of encouragement... something. </p><p>Do you reach out to others when you know they are drowning in their problems and fears or do you mind your own business?<br /></p>Keep the faith...but share it. ~Amy<br />“Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are dong.”<br />1Thessalonians 5:11Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-46880958045382293772009-02-22T05:23:00.000-08:002009-02-22T10:06:30.046-08:00Sunday Grace*<a href="http://kariandkijsa.blogspot.com/">Ask Kari and Kijsa</a> post beautiful verses and photos on Sundays. I think that is awesome. So, I'm offering my own verses and praise to God this morning. This is our farm, and probably my favorite verse. ....the idea that <span style="font-weight: bold;">God</span>, the <span style="font-weight: bold;">creator of the Universe,</span> sings over <span style="font-weight: bold;">us</span>, fills my heart with joy and makes me feel humble at the same time. *<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SaFTofsDGFI/AAAAAAAAAGI/QWYt8QuyDY8/s1600-h/000_0002.jpg"> </a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SaFTofsDGFI/AAAAAAAAAGI/QWYt8QuyDY8/s1600-h/000_0002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eaD_KdKlQFA/SaFTofsDGFI/AAAAAAAAAGI/QWYt8QuyDY8/s200/000_0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305613791185279058" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The LORD your God is with you,<br /> he is mighty to save.<br /> He will take great delight in you,<br /> he will quiet you with his love,<br /> he will rejoice over you with singing."<br />Zepheniah 3:17<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Keep the Faith,<br />Amy<br /></div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241992658663634531.post-90653330132733689772009-02-20T06:42:00.000-08:002009-02-20T06:44:34.969-08:00The Birds<p><span style="width: 0px;"></span>While we were resting in North Carolina this past weekend, </p> <p><a href="http://x8e.xanga.com/1aaf014a76633234063823/b184755608.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0); float: left;" alt="101_2182" src="http://x8e.xanga.com/1aaf014a76633234063823/s184755608.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span></p> <p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p> <p>our resident photographer, <span style="width: 0px;"></span>Becca, snapped photos as she<br /></p> <p>walked around Junaluska Lake.<br /></p><p>(in these boots<a href="http://xdf.xanga.com/9b8f044bd6533234061556/b184753644.jpg" target="_new"><img style="border-width: 0px; float: left;" alt="101_2213" src="http://xdf.xanga.com/9b8f044bd6533234061556/s184753644.jpg" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span>)</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> <span style="width: 0px;"></span> <span style="width: 0px;"></span></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p><p><a href="http://xd8.xanga.com/cc68563767428234061520/b184753613.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border-width: 0px; float: left;" alt="101_2190" src="http://xd8.xanga.com/cc68563767428234061520/z184753613.jpg" height="400" /></a></p> <p> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p> <p>She found a cross that sits upon the hill overlooking the lake<br /></p> <p>and an old stone church with beautiful arch ways.</p> <p><a href="http://xcd.xanga.com/05ff0757d9333234066626/b184758110.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2246" src="http://xcd.xanga.com/05ff0757d9333234066626/s184758110.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span></p> <p>She also found a duck</p> <p><a href="http://x19.xanga.com/653f165400430234061650/b184753729.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2231" src="http://x19.xanga.com/653f165400430234061650/s184753729.jpg" height="320" /></a></p> <p><span style="width: 0px;"></span>"Such a cute little duck," She thought to herself. </p> <p>"I shall feed him, he shall be my friend, and I shall call him, Daffy."</p> <p> </p> <p>But then he brought a few friends with him. </p> <p><a href="http://x28.xanga.com/1f2f214a46635234061598/b184753683.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2229" src="http://x28.xanga.com/1f2f214a46635234061598/s184753683.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><a href="http://x49.xanga.com/fc2c855224431234063362/b184755201.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2230" src="http://x49.xanga.com/fc2c855224431234063362/s184755201.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><a href="http://xb8.xanga.com/be2f055500133234061691/b184753767.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2232" src="http://xb8.xanga.com/be2f055500133234061691/s184753767.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><a href="http://x63.xanga.com/d1cf354a35032234063746/b184755539.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2233" src="http://x63.xanga.com/d1cf354a35032234063746/s184755539.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><a href="http://x6c.xanga.com/526f365229632234063793/b184755580.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2238" src="http://x6c.xanga.com/526f365229632234063793/s184755580.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span></p> <p>Becca got nervous. It reminded her of this....</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><a href="http://xa5.xanga.com/4a6f315b52032234067852/b184759207.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="200px-The_Birds_original_poster" src="http://xa5.xanga.com/4a6f315b52032234067852/s184759207.jpg" height="310" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span></p> <p>So then, my 18 year old daughter ran up to the car and lept into the front seat. As we were leaving, this blocked the street.</p> <p><a href="http://xe7.xanga.com/6fdf265663135234068545/b184759791.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2299" src="http://xe7.xanga.com/6fdf265663135234068545/s184759791.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span><a href="http://x40.xanga.com/feaf275b64635234068626/b184759863.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="border: 2px double rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="101_2303" src="http://x40.xanga.com/feaf275b64635234068626/s184759863.jpg" height="320" /></a> <span style="width: 0px;"></span></p> <p>Becca choose to snap the geese photos from the safety of the suburban. </p> <p>Keep the Faith,</p> <p>Amy</p> <p>PS. It's a movie classic, over 40 years old. Scary. No one does scary like Alfred Hitchcock.</p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03324459827731987741noreply@blogger.com5